#can't look at this any longer !!! shades of green are such a pain

[yume-fanfare]

laundry day~

[theendisneat]

Left Behind [When Immortals Die]

Characters: Zhongli, Venti, Xiao, Scaramouche

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort, angst, death, self destructive tendencies

Word Count: 984

Zhongli

His mind was growing unstable, you knew. Though you were in the prime of your life, he was ending.

It was painful to watch. Sometimes you would get home to see his head resting against the table, his hands cupping his face as he breathed heavily. You would come up behind him and rest your hands on his shoulders, coaxing him to lift his head, but when he did, his eyes would be glazed, a more robotic tilt to his movement.

Sometimes it was more violent. Sometimes his draconic side couldn't decipher who you were and would lash out at you. It was never enough to warrant anything more than a band-aid, but Zhongli would have silent tears run down his face as he leaned his head on your shoulder, whispering exhausted apologies.

It was when he was little more than a shell that he told you he wouldn't see past today's sunrise. You cried over him, whispering desperately for him to stay, to tell you stories of the archon days and of Liyue's prospering; To help you make tea because you were so terrible, and to hold you against his chest.

A strange sight it was to see your once proud lover turn to something finer than sand, something so fine it fell through your fingers. The wind carried it out the open window, perhaps a last act from an old friend.

You were left sobbing on the bed, a gaping hole that your lover left behind, clutching the bed sheets as you tried to hold in your screams.

Venti

His voice faded out, never singing, never waxing purple prose poetry, never loudly cheering as he drank copious amounts of wine. It was disheartened to serve Venti do downtrodden, so silent and waiting.

His body went slower than his words, but soon, he could no longer fly. He never danced among the clouds, or played in small whirlwinds that curled around him like a comforting breeze. In fact, wind rarely blew around him at all, the air often stagnant throughout the lands now.

Many days were spent with Venti resting against your chest, his head laying limply on your shoulder, under the shade of Vanessa’s tree. His scratched voice would mutter out a simple request, a request for you to sing to him as he laid with little strength in his limbs.

It was this day that, under your very palms, you could feel Venti’s body slowly dissolve into pure wind. You cried as you sang, doing your best not to let the tears and choked voice inhibit what would be his final song with you.

As you finished the song, your arms fell limply in your lap, no longer holding the person you loved more than anything. You took gasping breaths, a fuzzy feeling invading your head as a part of you wished you could forget this ever happened.

Xiao

"Xiao, please. Can't you rest for just a moment?"

You held the crook of his elbow gently, stopping him from disappearing off onto the night once more, a worried gleam in your eyes. Your gaze raked his body, seeing the dark red spots that invaded his skin like a disease. They were growing rapidly as Xiao took on more and more duty, especially after Rex Lapis' passing, and acquired ridiculous amounts of karma.

It was staining his body with its accumulation, poisoning him from the inside-out, and it hurt you to witness it. Despite your warnings and wishes, Xiao never took any breaks, never rested for even a second. It destroyed your relationship just as it destroyed his body.

But you were determined to stay by him, loving him, caring for him. In this moment, he looked back into your scared, yet loving eyes with uncertainty and determination.

"I'll only be gone for a few hours." He murmured, in what he hoped was a comforting tone. "I'll even… join you in bed tonight, okay?"

Hesitantly you released his arm, your gut screaming against it, but you didn't want to push him too far. "Okay."

He vanished in a cloud of green and black, and it was the last you ever saw him.

Scaramouche

Cracks were littered across his body, you could see them in the early morning glow on the rare occasion you woke up before him. They traveled along his neck, and arms, and legs, and there were a few, impossible to see if you weren't looking, on his supple cheeks.

He didn't like to talk about them, didn't like the idea that something as crude as his body was holding him back from the greatness he knew he could achieve.

You tried to push him away from his pursuit of the gnosis, not in malicious, believing that he couldn't do it, but out of fear that he would finally destroy the past of his physical self.

He showed it to you in private, the small chess piece that gave the status of an archon, the tiny object that would give your lover his ascension to godhood. It was beautiful no doubt, but the manic look in Scaramouche's eyes terrified you. It was a hunger and yearning that you couldn't understand, but as he held it, a piece of his skin cracked and fell.

You gasped but he was too enthralled to notice and he asked you to watch him place his prize within his chest. You begged him not to, but it seemed you were just a spectator now, as Scaramouche placed the gnosis in the spot where his heart should be.

For a moment, everything was quiet. For a moment, you fooled yourself into thinking everything was okay. But those cracks moved rapidly, crawling across Scaramouche's skin like thin, all encompassing vines.

You screamed but it didn't shake the content smile on Scaramouche's face as he broke to pieces, each one shattering on the wooden floors like glass.

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love, Pt. 3

I wrote so many drafts for this chapter. But I'm so pleased with how it turned out. I hope you love reading from Altan's POV as much as I loved writing it. He's a little more free and unfiltered in his narrating. Also I'm so sorry that each chapter keeps getting longer!!! I just write and I can't stop until I get to the end! Thank you so much for the lovely comments so far. I'm really really happy to hear that so many of you like these characters.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Word Count: 3,025 (average 23 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, mention of masturbation, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

Altan POV

One month.

Why in all of the nine hells did I agree to one month?

If I had been smart, I would have said a week. Two at the most.

I was going to go insane.

Ever since I left Drunrag's forge, I could feel him. It was like we were tethered together by an invisible thread and when one of us moved in proximity to the other or further away, we felt the pull and release of that thread. I figured out very quickly that he lived a very structured lifestyle and I started to predict at certain times of the day when I would feel the pull of him.

And every day I would sense it when he would be closer to me and I would hope that maybe he'd follow the pull back to me. To tell me that he changed his mind. That he'd be willing to share one night with me.

Oh Altan, you sap, how quickly you fall for a pretty face.

I knew the symptom's of Drunrag's lordhovid was probably affecting me - I'd like to think of it more as augmenting what I was already naturally feeling...semantics I suppose - but I felt almost immediately that there was something special about Drunrag the moment I saw him.

Gods, how I wanted him. He was...well, everything.

Tall - well over six feet tall and looming. Having stood so near him, I knew he dwarfed me entirely. It felt dangerous, but so alluring.

Dark - Green skin, the shade of deep emerald, textured with dark freckles across his face and on his shoulder. His hair was black, but I caught lines of silver that ran through - it looked to be nothing related to age. It was pulled up into a topknot, but some hairs slipped and strayed into the front of his face. It was tantalizing and begging my fingers to pull his hair free and run through it. 

Handsome - Maybe a bit subjective, but truly, he was exactly my type. His height was matched with a thick build, his body possessing muscle and strength that was built to break me, but I just knew he would hold me so gently.  I saw how his piercing grey eyes noticed everything. They darted around him, taking in everything in rapid order. His tusks were pearly white - well maintained. I wanted to feel them on my neck with those large hands holding me in my place. I imagined what it would be like to be ravished by someone like him.

By all appearances, he looked like what most people would see as a dangerous orc - bound by a god-given oath for power and blood. My home was near where an infamous tribe known as the Wolves of Dirge frequently raided and pillaged for sport - but I found that Drunrag was more puppy than wolf, and I loved him for it.

Oh my Drunrag, if you only knew how many ways I dreamed of you ruining me.

I think I need to change the subject.

My symptoms were mostly manageable. I felt feverish and seemed to be sweating more than normal. I found that I was more irritable and easily flustered by any sudden shifts in temperature. The longer the day went on, I would also develop a pounding headache and a strange dull pain in the pit of my stomach. But I managed. I could stave off a bit of heat and discomfort as I needed to.

It was nights that were the worst.

With nothing to distract my mind or body, I would find myself in a frenzy. The first night I kicked my sheets off of the bed - it was far too hot - and I was near panting with frustration. My entire body was on fire, it felt like it would burn through the bed and I gasped and panted for air, for release.

My mind could only stray to one thing that could take it away: Drunrag.

Whether he believed it or not, I believed him to be something special to me. I avoided calling him my mate, as that would make him uncomfortable to call him that, but I knew there was a connection between us. I wished he could have seen it as clearly as I did.

But he didn't, and I was alone to comfort myself.

As the nights passed one by one, my self-control was dwindling. Each night, I could only see Drunrag in my head. I could close my eyes and imagine his weight as he settled next to me, laying so that my back was pressed against his chest. I imagined his arms snaking around my waist and pulling me towards him. His hot breath against my neck as he whispered to me how wonderful I smelled.

I wondered what he smelled like. Damn, Altan, you should have caught a whiff before you promised to leave him alone for a month.

No. No. Actually, that would have made things so much worse.

My mind refocused on the vision in my head and I imagined his large - such large hands - close over mine and bring them up to my chest where he would curl in and hold me close and let me feel his weight around me as we both fell into a fitful slumber.

Meanwhile, imagining this only brought me an edge of desperation as I stretched out on my empty bed which had no handsome orc man to hold me.

I couldn't deal with this lust alone. Not without him. Not without help. The only comfort I had was his name. His beautiful name.

Drunrag. Drunrag. Drunrag.

Drun.

If I was lucky, I could call him that as he held me. I would say it so sweetly to him, I would never say it in anger. I would hold him in return, his head on my lap as I played with his hair and told him all the gentle things no one ever told him.

Drun, you're so handsome, so stunningly handsome. Drun you're hands are so gentle, I know you could take such good care of me. My Drun, you make my head spin with want. Drun let me touch your hair again.

I laid alone in that bed, wanting, wishing, regretting.

In desperation I tried to pleasure myself, imagining my hands to be equal to Drunrag's - they weren't - and urging the lust to spill over enough to let me rest. I could feel the pressure building between my legs and I began to breathe harder, Drun's name on my lips as I worked myself harder.

But in the end, my body would not release. I could not be satisfied or sated. My body didn't want my own self-pleasure. It wanted Drun. I wanted Drun. If my father had seen me in such a state...I dared to hope that it would kill him with shock.

Why did I agree to a month of this?

I woke the next morning with a headache I could not abate and my body flushed with heat that would not go away, even after burying myself in cold water in the bathhouse.

It had only been four days at that point.

There was no way in any hell that I would be able to last another 26 days like this. Not only was it that I couldn't live like this, but I also wouldn't. My standards were too high to accept this much sweat from so little labour. I stumbled out of the room in the Inn I was staying at, gave a slight polite nod to the innkeeper as I shuffled out.

I'm sure I looked like absolute shit. And for the first time in a long time, I really couldn't give a shit how I looked.

I needed a bath, I needed a meal, I needed to change my clothes. In fact, I needed to leave this town before I stumbled into one of my father's goons.

But I also needed to see Drun again. My body couldn't take it. I followed the pull, not minding who I rammed or tripped into as I got there. I wound through busy streets and ascended down to the lower part of the city near the coast. We weren't anywhere near where his forge was.

I found myself on the docks of the town. The smell of fish and salt-sea air overwhelmed my lungs. It was enough to make a man puke if you weren't prepared for it. Which I wasn't and I found myself flung over the the edge of a dock and heaving my guts out.

"You 'right?" A voice called from behind me.

I wiped my mouth clean and looked up. The morning sun was shining just enough to block any features of the man. I couldn't see much of him besides a rotund silhouette and a tricorn hat sitting askew atop his head. Sailor folk, I could only presume.

"Fine." I said. I wiped my mouth and struggled to my feat.

"Oh, ain't you dressed fine for a day out on the docks." He whistled low. "Fancy."

Not really, I thought. These clothes had gone two days without wash. Though, in hindsight, that's probably much more often than that man ever washed his clothes. I blinked the sun from my eyes and took a closer look.

He was a short, round man with a twinkle in his stark blue eyes. A pipe was in one hand, and the other rested calmly against a pistol on his hip. His shocking white hair and deep wrinkles revealed a man with many years behind him on the sea. He seemed friendly enough.

I smiled back at him, it was nice to have a friend. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. You wouldn't have happened to see an orc gentleman pass by, would you?"

The man pondered for a minute, then shook his head. "Don't believe I have." He narrowed his eyes and looked at me more closely. "What would a fine young lad like you be doin' with orc folk?" He looked me up and down and I saw his eyes lock back onto my face. Something about me triggered and his friendly expression fell. "Oi...you match the description of that Duke's son that's gone missin'. You wouldn't 'appen to know anything about that, would'ya?"

I shook my head, forcing my best grin. "Handsome lad I've heard, but that's all I've gleaned from the gossip." I sidled my foot towards where I felt Drun's presence and began to slide away.

"Now, now son." The man's voice was low now, not remotely friendly in tone. I felt a chill run down my spine before my body began to burn even hotter than before. "The Duke's got a generous reward for anyone who brings his son back home. I ain't partin' with you till I know for sure." His fingers graces the wooden handle of his pistol and he tilted his head, a knowing smile on his face. "If I'm wrong, we split and pretend this never happened."

This man wouldn't hesitate to shoot if I ran, I sensed.. I wondered if my father had put dead or alive on that prize money. He'd likely be relieved to be rid of me.

The smile on my face fell as I realized the trouble I was in. I hadn't expected word to spread so fast.

Then again, I also hadn't expected to stay in this town as long as I did.

Damn you, Altan.

"Sir, please." I said, pleading. "I'm not going back to Durbesk. Help me and I'll double the price my father has offered."

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. "With what funds? You ain't got shit on you."

He was right, the gold I brought to pay for my room and board was nearly gone and it wouldn't even begin to cover the price my father demanded for my return.

I felt my heart race inside me. I couldn't go back to my father. Fear and panic set in as I saw the man take a step towards me, his pistol now pointed at me.

"As a precaution" He said, his tone was friendly, but I saw the glint in his eye was now a look of wicked greed.

My cries would fall on deaf ears if I begged to him. It wouldn't matter that my father hated my existence and wished me to be a different sort of son. One who would obey him, who aspired to be just like him with a pride and ego that outmatched anyone else. Who was arrogant and spoiled. Who believed money, stature and reputation was more important than music, art, and the simple pleasures in life.

He wanted a son that wouldn't kiss boys behind stables when they were fifteen. A son that wouldn't smile so much and laugh too loud. That wouldn't bring home rodents as pets and nurse them back to health and cry when they died. He had always wanted someone more tough, more heartless and brave than me.

No, this man wouldn't hear any of that. He could care less what sort of nightmares I faced at home at the expense of my father's disappointment and hate in me. And he wouldn't care that the only person who truly loved me - my beautiful mother - was gone and buried in an unmarked grave so that I could never find her.

My mother thought I was perfect the way I was, and told me so. She never wanted me to stop smiling or laughing. She told me my music was beautiful and that it reminded her of her home in the Silverwood. She told me that I was beautiful. Everything I loved about myself I got from her. My eyes, my hair, my heart.

I wish someone would understand how much I missed her. How much I wanted to be with her instead of here...running away from my life to start over away from my father. Away from everything that reminded me of her.

I bowed my head, fighting back the hot tears that I felt brimming at my eyes. Why was I crying at a time like this?

"Please." I said, faint and breathless. "Don't make me go back."

The man looked like he was about to laugh at me, when I suddenly felt the warmth of someone's presence behind me. The shadow of his height fell over me and I whirled around to see him.

Drunrag.

My Drun.

His eyes were like deep silver pools, blazing with the heat I knew was smoldering inside him. He didn't look at me, his eyes were instead trained on the man. I looked down and saw his hands were clenched into tight fists. Under each of his arms was a barrel, which he carefully set down on the dock on either side of him, then rising again to his full height.

"You're his friend?" The man asked, a sour tone in his voice that I didn't like one bit.

Drunrag didn't answer, only sniffed contemptuously before taking a step towards him, shifting around me so that he didn't come close to touching me. I still felt the sizzling heat between us.

"You have no business being here." Drunrag said. His voice was heavy and low, rumbling his chest that reminded me of bear's growl. My body reacted to it strongly and I stumbled back, unsteady and wavering.

"Yeah? And what's your business with him?"

"None of your concern." Drun's voice was level and calm, but I could sense the mounting pressure inside.

"You just want the money for yourself." The man protested, pointing his gun at Drun. My heart began to pound faster. Don't shoot him. Oh gods please, don't shoot him.

"I saw him first." Drun responded. "We can fight on it, if you wish." He cracked his neck side to side, then clenched and unclenched his fists. Muscles, tight from his tense posture, rippled and reacted to his movements. The man's eyes were on them and I watched gleefully as his pistol lowered to his side and his face fell open.

Drun continued. "Get lost...or I'll be cracking each of your finger one...by...one until your bones are ground to dust." He cocked his head. "Won't be much use on a ship with boneless fingers."

Oh dear gods above...that shouldn't have affected me when he said that, should it? I looked down at the barrel and decided it was for the best to take a seat on it. I needed to catch my breath.

"Stupid piece of shit, is what you are." The man spat, "Green shit straight from a horse's soured stomach. Cross my path again and you're gonna see a bullet right between your puny eyes."

I had never wish a person dead or suffering greater than this man. I rose to my feet, rage radiating off me.

Drun turned back at me, his eyes flashing and a deep frown on his face. "Stay back." His voice cracked. "I can handle this." He turned back and asked calmly. "Have you anything else to say before I punch out your teeth?"

The man shook his head and turned away from us, mumbling threats and insults as he shuffled away. Drunrag stood still, tensed and ready for any retaliation.

When the man was gone, he finally turned back. I looked up to meet his gaze, my thanks and gratitude on my lips when I saw he wouldn't look at me. Instead, he walked passed me and retrieved his barrels before turning and beginning the walk off the docks towards the main part of the city.

"Drunrag." I breathed out. I shuddered to hear his name out loud like that. I wanted to say it loud and open like that all the time, for it was the name of my beloved. My hero. My fated partner.

"Don't." He said, his voice dark. "I'm doing everything I can to stop this from affecting us. Give me time and stay away as much as possible." He finally turned, his eyes were still fierce as he looked at me. "Please don't get into trouble again. I don't want to see you hurt."

He walked away from me, barrels in hands. I watched him walk away.

What could I say to him to make him stay?

I remembered then what he told me in the beginning. He didn't want to mate. He made the choice to not do it. It was never about me.

Whatever made me think that I could convince him that I was worth changing his mind for?

I bowed my head, I couldn't bear to see him walk away from me.

[simp999]

Bloopers/Notes from "A New Home!"

☆I don't have anything too silly until ch. 15 :(

Ch. 1, Where am I?:

☆I started this fic at like, 2 am, just on complete impulse. Everything here just summoned itself from my 2 am brainrot.

☆I didn't really chat this chapter out with any friends, so nothing too silly.

Ch. 2, Meeting New People?:

☆I was planning on making reader more of a Simp, but I talked to my friends and we decided against it, since it would be difficult for reader to get along with characters more genuinely.

☆At the end of the chapter, "If I go to sleep here, will I wake back up in the real world?...", I was thinking of just posting chapter 3 where it said: You wake up, story over. The end.

Ch. 3, We are the Army.:

☆Army was an octoling since the beginning! You can see that in the banner. The background is made up of octopi instead of squids, and you can see a bit of a tentacle.

Ch. 4, If memory serves wrong...:

☆Bro I suck at writing flirty stuff. End me now, Aloha's difficult for me to write

☆The "nothin' personal, kid", was a total reference, and I plan on adding many more. I'm going to try my best to add some iconic vines that still suit the scene.

Ch. 5, Descisions, decisions.:

☆On the other hand, I looove drawing aloha! He's so cute and silly! I like to draw his tentacles very round and bubbly and man, his eyes are so pretty!

☆This was the chapter that made me start thinking about giving reader teammates, mostly because they needed someone other than a bench to sleep.

Ch. 6, Hoooow Anoooying.:

☆mASK MY BELOVED

☆Can you tell he's my favorite?

☆I wanted to make him a little silly, giving him more of a personality. He can't be scary all the time, I really do think part of it is an act.

☆Another anime reference: the lens of his gasmask shining, just like in an anime.

Ch. 7, SUB WEAPON HELL!:

☆I was torn between what to do for the banner. I already used Mask with his mask on for chapter 6, and I planned on using his maskless version for what's now chapter 13. But then I remembered another one of my favorite boyos, Desi! I know he isn't featured too much in this chapter, and I'm sorry, but I needed something!

☆Anyways, I know this entire battle by heart. I know all of Mask's voice lines. Save me.

☆I try my best to not show bias in my fics, but I will relentlessly show it outside of em'.

☆Ugh, can't wait for team cyan moments fr

Ch. 8, Newfound Family.:

☆THE GUYS FR

☆I was stuck between just giving reader nameless teammates, incase ya'll already had your own ocs in mind of something, but I HATE nameless characters. And characters that don't have a personality. I figured that I'd already have to give them personalities, so why not go all in.

☆Soooo, I threw in my beloved OCs! I've had these guys around for YEARS, so I know them and their personalities like the back of my hand, which makes writing for them super easy and fun!

☆bro they look so cursed with splatoon 1 hairstyles to me. I didn't have the heart to snatch their iconic hair, so ignore that.

LOOK AT HIM!! ITS NOT EVEN MILO ANYMORE HE'S JUST MARCUS SMH.

Ch. 9, Shopping Spree!:

☆I actually wrote this and the last chapter at 1 am by accident. I was like oho let me write a few notes down for tomorrow so I don't forget. But here we are 2k words later.

☆After seeing that the next day, I realised that the squad tm would take up 2 chapters total. There's 3 of them. So then I had to figure out how to do the banners. I worked it out, though!

☆Tasha's hair's longer I swear, it just didn't fit on the banner smh

☆Damn she and skull look a lot alike, huh

☆L

Ch. 10, Skull's Territory.:

☆I knew I couldn't have reader simp, but that doesn't mean I can't have some simpery!! So I have Milo, Leo and Tasha to do it!! They get to express my true emotions <3

Ch. 11, A Misunderstanding?:

☆sTEAAAALTH!!! <3333

☆My sweet boy

☆So the poll for background characters was mostly for him ngl

☆THOSE DAMN GOGGLES WERE SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS TO SHADE WAAAAH

☆I also may have colored them green by accident the first time and had to start over.

☆I reaaaally hate making characters like Rider go OOC, but I need the story to continue! I'm sorryyyy

Ch. 12, Getting Too Comfortable.:

☆FINALLY WE'RE GETTING SOMEWHERE UGH

☆Also, blushy rider. ♡♡

☆He wants that battle, dude

Ch. 13, Player Two?:

☆aaaAAAA MAAASK

☆May have made a 9 hour mask playlist to write to.

☆Ahem.

☆I was planning on going in official meeting order for these uhh "getting closer with the S4", (Rider, army, aloha, mask, skull.) but my clear bias for Mask got me to write for him first.

☆I struggled to choose which song, but the idea came to me because I learned all the lyrics to Kick Back(chainsaw man), not too long ago. But I figured I'd just go with one of the most well known series/openings.

☆Didn't make the cut:

-Was gonna have reader and Mask walk in the rain together. That's why reader grabbed Milo's umbrella, cause it was the biggest one.

-c'mon, that would have been cute

Ch. 14, ...You Didn't See that.:

☆I was planning this since the start to be honest. Not exactly this scenario, but I knew I wanted to throw this headcannon in there.

☆After seeing how much love my fic was getting, I was almost going to abandon the idea, afraid that my readers wouldn't like it, and leave.

☆Jeebus those tentacles took me way too long to draw.

Figuring out what to do for Army's meetup+scrapped ideas:

Ch. 15, Sweetheart.:

☆I only made it to 1k words with Skull's part, he really doesn't talk a lot so it's hard to fill up space.

☆Soooooo

☆You guys asked for it: Avi time!

☆Now finally, here's some of the discord chats I had with my friends. Plans for story along with memes. Blanked out hints for the next chapter.:

Ch. 16, An Unexpected Meetup.:

☆I completely winged it. I knew I wanted like- a dummy kinda where we'd see all the S4 at once

☆Sorry for minimal aloha time, we got him earlier in the series though! (Bias game strong, he's not my favorite s4 member :( )

☆I'll try for more aloha time soon I'm sorry

☆The kind of rivalry/jeasoulsy between them wasn't planned and I kinda don't like it, but it is canon that they don't really like eachother so

☆Eh

Ch. 17: Not Much of a Choice, Huh?

☆Ughhh this feels like a dating sim now and I hate it

☆But characters catching feelings ♡♡♡

☆Not to figure out how they deal with them and how readers gonna figure that out

☆Wah

Ch. 18: Challengers Approach!

☆ oOoo they catchin' feelings!!!

Ch. 19: The Freshest Squid on the Block!

☆ YOOOOO LEO FANBOY!?!?!

☆ Hehe, we love making Leo happy

☆ Ugh, Emperor. I was not looking forward to writing him. I personally don't have him as a favorite, I was never able to like his kingly attitude. (I looove his design as somebody who draws nd does character design, though! Well made character.) Buuut...(see ch. 21)

Ch. 20: The Absolute King.

☆Yesss! Reader showing more emotion!!

☆Someone's gettin' angyyy

☆Ohoho does this count as angst? Berly, but I'm enjoying it

☆ Did you guys know that I half specialise in angst? Yeah enjoy that info

Ch. 21: A Crushing Defeat.

☆ Making you guys hate him off the bat is a lot dunner to write! He was shitty and mean in the first bit where he was shown anyways, so suffer! He'll have to go through some character development eventually, but until then, he's your most despised rival mwahaha

☆I hope the wat I write him makes you wanna deck him in the face :)

Ch. 22: It Only Gets Tougher, I Promise

☆ ... what no, what makes you think mask is my favorite. I show no bias ever. (How many times have I said that, now?)

[doctorveranair]

SENSES & OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS.

MUSE:  Dr. Vera Nair

what does your muse smell like?

Always the lingering scent of hospital disinfectant, paper, hot cocoa, and the distinct tang of blood. It's in her hair and on her skin, even her shampoo never washes it away for long.

what do your muse’s hands feel like?

This is a woman who prizes her hands above all else. With them she holds back death and creates wonders on strings, and she treats them with care. Her hands are soft, her fingers strong and slender. She makes time to give herself a manicure every few days. A single thin scalpel scar on her left hand is the bane of her existence.

what does your muse usually eat in a day?

When a caring loved one reminds her to eat or requires feeding, she'll eat well. Unfortunately, though she is a fine cook, she does not enjoy cooking only for herself and will stick to lighter fare such as fruit, toast with jam or butter, or a can of soup. If it comes down to it, and it has, she can eat anything without complaint. However, for someone with such a powerful memory, quite often she genuinely forgets to eat and works through meals. Her favorite foods might be a spicy reminder of her childhood home or, failing that, a delectable fresh bread.

does your muse have a good singing voice?

She does. She simply isn't as comfortable sharing her singing voice as her violin music, but once in a while she might sing a few bars while caught up in the moment.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics?   

Nothing that could be considered a nervous tic, however she does have bad habits. The most obvious is that she never stops. Some part of her always needs to be doing something. She took up yoga as a teenager to help with her focus, but to this day she treats it as a frustrating part of her regular exercise routine that she isn't as good at as she'd like to be. Flexible, yes. Relaxed, no. Smoking a cigarette sometimes helps. It's the ritual that keeps her fingers busy and lets her mind finally slow down.

what does your muse usually look like/wear?

In the field, when not in scrubs and a white lab coat, she tends to wear her much beloved green anorak over either a thick sweater and jeans in colder weather or a soft, muted tee over shorts in warmer. When on the job in a more professional setting, carefully ironed blouses are tucked into belted trousers. Subtle patterns and soft prints abound. Ideally, she wears shoes she can run in for all occasions. This one does a lot of running and prefers her clothing to be practical. Pockets. Breathable fabric. Reversible. She almost always appears put together. Light makeup, clean nails, hair exactly as she likes it: Chin-length, curly, and full of bounce. Her eyes reflect a world of emotion. At times they appear whiskey brown, flecked with amber in the proper light. More often, they are shaded with a sadness or pain that she cannot quite hide.

is your muse affectionate?  how much?  how so?

She is certainly can be. Vera has a deep capacity for love. She'll quietly cook meals for two, hunt for the perfect little something, or maybe just trace her fingers over a bare patch of skin. More than that? Find out for yourself.

what position does your muse sleep in?  

No particular position. She does sleep much better with a partner, either platonic or romantic, ideally maintaining some form of physical contact. The nightmares are lighter and she is more likely to sleep longer.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Vera rarely yells. She has a harsh doctor voice that her wiser colleagues fear, but the closest she comes to yelling is her surgical bark. That can't be heard outside the operating theater, but if need be it can ring throughout the field camp.

@dontcxckitup-m

[devilslinks]

# 𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔 !

— 𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗕 𝗙𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 | 𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔, 𝗧𝗢𝗣 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥.

wc; ( 3.2k )

synopsis; your best friend, raihan and you find yourselves eager to get intoxicated in one another's company. what better place than a night-club, dim lights, the overwhelmin' musk of the various alcoholic beverages; it's every guy pairs wet dream. that is until raihan gets shit-faced and excuses himself to the restroom while he pukes up his spiked guts. only to return to watch his sister take you balls deep, down her throat.

a/n: no brain, only nessa and her magical throat 🤝

warnings. MINORS DNI, NSFW CONTENT, family!au, raihan and nessa are siblings, club sex, intoxication, dirty talk, the name princess, deep throating, oral (m receiving), throat bulge, throat fucking, cum eating, flirty!nessa, jealous!raihan, exhibitionism, voyeurism.

euphoria.

that was the only word that came mind when raihan and you got involved in recreational activities like you did. galar was a go big or go home type of region, and the two of you stayed true to that motto. the itchy, messily thrown together suits that matched all the way down to the type of socks you had on— the overexcessive amounts of booze, and the loud music which just barely drowned out the fits of laughter and discussion littered throughout the packed club. as soon as the doors opened, flooding your senses with nothing but the sickly sweet, aroma of sex and other intoxicating chemicals; that's how you knew the had night begun.

the two of you had been indulging, before you arrived on the scene— time seemed to blur together with head-spinning speeds or come to a full halt at the worst of moments. you don't even know how long you'd been locking eyes with the transparent shapes and manufactured blurbs dancing across the wall a good, twenty, maybe thirty feet adjacent to your seat at the drink counter. the weight of something too heavy for your alcohol infused mind to register until the bar hostess was practically brewing with irritation at your non-compliance with her attempts to have you regain control of your dazed state; sat lazily in-between your pointer finger and thumb, respectively.

hell you don't even remember waddling over to the bar with the company you had brought with you. but you didn't mind, the painfully challenging to recall memories mattered not when there was already another drink swirling around the rim of your shot-glass. raihan's shifty frame wiggling in and out of your peripherals as you tug the half-empty cup to the skin of your lips, craning your head back to knock down whatever liquid remained at the bottom. the delicious burn of toxins coated the lining of your throat, trails of steamy fluid leaving their mark as the mystery liquor made it way down your esophagus. whatever it was, it packed a punch and wasted no time forcing your lips to curve into a bitter sneer— eyebrows shadowing your face in a sour demeanor, as you used the hem of your suit sleeve to whisk away any spilt mixture that tarnished your cherry red lips.

you hardly have the chance to open your mouth for a second time to address the swaying body, huddled closer the counter than it is to your own. raihan is a total mess, loopsy, and feverishly hot skin to compliment— he's stained a harsh, sickly green against his natural melanin tone. doubling over in either pain or the sudden flow of too many drinks pooling in his system; whatever the emotion he was enduring was, he wasted not a second longer before hustling off into the large gathering of people. disappearing before his lips could slur the final word, missing from his dialect.

“hh..h fuck- my stomach is gonna explode, i'll catch you-” his gravely tone churning into the backdrop just as quickly as he initiated the conversation; the familiar hum of lyrics to a song you couldn't quite place your finger on replaced whatever words raihan had previously gargled out before dashing off towards the public restrooms.

your head feels like it weighs a metric ton this late into the night, threatening to tumble forward as if your neck had lost any and all of it's support. your eyelids pulling down roughly over your eyes like window shades before the sudden wave of loneliness hit you like a truck. fiddling with the collar of your dress-shirt was entertaining enough to fill the void that was the now empty stool, where your best friend once resided. but that quick fix subsided rather easily and the once overwhelming presence of boredom had returned to take a seat.

and then, so did she.

“shit, rai- back so soon? you alright?” your vision was foggy and adorned with blurry bits here and there— but it was still evident enough to make out that, whoever was indeed now in your friend's seat, was not the person you had chauffeured to the club with.

“damn, do i really look, that bad? it's me, y/n. the painfully better looking sibling. what did that idiot put in your drink?” the speech is followed by a laugh. it was a warm and inviting chuckle, one that seemed to relax every muscle in your liquor tense body the moment she parted her spit silken lips. you had been in her company earlier that evening, which made it a tad easier for your incoherent mindset to process it. but nevertheless it was hard not to distinguish who the women paying you a visit was at this point, even if you hadn't engaged with her previously; nessa was infamous for those enchanting looks. and in your dumbified state, those gorgeous navy locks tied together by aquamarine highlights were one of a kind and stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the room of normal presenting citizens. though your brain didn't want to pick-up any of your surroundings, you found it quite easy to fawn over her in that ebony dress and the way it hugged her curves in all the right places.

“fuck.. nes' when'd you get so.. so.” you couldn't even find the energy or hell, the words to cough up the remainder of the sentence, you were so taken aback by how stunning she was, even behind your bleary, drunk eyes. but nessa wasn't oblivious— you were sure she had picked up the hint you had layed out so bluntly, and the warm palm slowly inching up your clothed thigh secured that suspension for you.

“not even so much as a greeting? you didn't even buy me a drink first; asshole.”

her words are firm, yet so light hearted at the same time; but just enough to set your arousal over the edge. your headspace so vulnerable to teasing that you're certain she knew what she was doing to your conflicted mind and body. her sly fingers are enough to coax you to shuffle your bar-stool closer to her's— not a single word wriggled around your throat in response, instead the tangy after-tase of alcohol still heavy on your tongue distracted you and you were sure the whole bar could acknowledge your intoxicated musk.

her features held so many different emotions at once, as she pryed you for a reply— trying to tell you each one obscured behind that pretty face, way too quickly for you to decipher. her brows furrowed quizzically, one tilted slightly higher than the other as her half lidded doe-eyes stared up at you like prey at a final stand off with their predator; just humbly surrending their body to the circle of life.

“hah, you're one to.. talk, nes' just because 'm out of it- doesn't mean my numb skin can't feel your heavy hand toying with my waistband.” the both of you swiftly changed direction, heads leering down at nessa's free hand. you were infact correct, you observed as the woman swirled shapes into the expensive leather of your belt. pulling bits between her fingers now and then as she silently struggled with the metalic buckle. your groin swelled tightly, gripping your boxers closer to the fat bulge behind your suit pants; it would take an idiot not to take notice of the wrinkled fabric secured around your aching dick. her skin felt like a furnace, contrasting your slightly cooler temperature— but with her body pressing so desperately to yours, you were sure the warmth from her melted over onto your feverish flesh. the damp, sheen of anxious sweat made the fabric of your suit, dewy. sticking slightly against your hellish skin.

“mm, i guess i was wrong about the greeting part— hello there, you look happy to see me.” not a hint of shame obscured her voice, you're miserably watching nessa shift her weight as she now palms at the mound between your legs. you've seen countless renditions of this night loop in your head, but now that the scenario is a reality; it's agonizing to try to contain your primal urges, face to face. it's a chore not to profess all the vile things you wanna carry out with her, but she's already one step ahead. that glare is dangerous, it makes you feel like she's trying convey that the two of you are already in on something devious.

“let me take care of you.. y/n.”

“let me treat you, nessa.”

the both of you drawl out in what would be perfect unison if your mind wasn't foggy and running slower than usual. you had both finally voiced the elephant in the room, the one which was just positively dripping with thick tension up until this moment in time. you're still squirming under nessa's grip, she can feel you whine and pant everytime she gives your cock a light squeeze between her fingers and it's not long before the two of you are absent from the bar and clawing at one another's linen around the corner. closest to any vacant area within eye-shot. well, as vacant as a small room seperated from the bustling club-life can get.

did you think the night would come to a close with your friend's sister skillfully sucking the soul out of your sloppy cock? not in a million years, but you'd be damned if you didn't want it to end on any other note. nessa fell to her knees before the two of you even made it out of view— planting herself in-between your thighs like she was a trained professional; no flaws in her technique as her tongue slid obediently from her mouth and latches onto the moist fabric masking her mouth's destination. nessa's fingers are long and slender, as they snake up your hips and meet at the belt tangled around your waist. you can feel your cock pumping against the seams of your pants, the uncomfortable sensation making it appear as though you'd rip through the cloth if your cock was imprisoned a second longer.

with the head-splitting atmosphere of the club playlist stretching and stuffing your ears to the brim with fast pitched edm that made your skull pound and jitter. as well as the added hum of the gym leader whispering inaudible nothings against your bulge as she at last pushed your pants down, and past your ankles; material getting caught on the fancy design of your shoes. you felt like you were on the brink of death, but the enticing appeal of hooking up with your best friend's relative kept your iron-will alive long enough to rough it out and pass the irritation that came with being black-out drunk.

your storm of worries fizzled just as quickly as they sprung up, maybe it was the alcohol but you swear this girl had the hands of the divine; you were washed away into infatuation once more. nessa's teeth hike up your boxers until they meet the waistline, pulling down on the hem with a familiar aggressiveness as she relishes in the way your big dick pops to life and looms over her lustful features; all chubby 'n decorated with veins fer' her viewing pleasure.

“shit.. i'm gonna have so much fun with your cock. you wanna make your stupid slut already? my mouth is just asking for it.” the first piece is low and almost voiced as if it was meant for her ears only— but the second half is most definitely directed at you; as she tilts her head to plant a few delicate lovebites along the base of your shaft. fingers looping gracefully around your hilt as she admires the girth you carry.

“fuck..” you hiss, cock twitching violently as you pleaded with sinful eyes. she had barely started her reign over your dick before guttural groans and mewls slid past your lips. the sensation of her tiny tastebuds as they trailed over the little glob of pre-cum that drooled from your cockhead was insatiable. the sudden action sent your hips forward almost automatically, like they instinctively acted on impulse; it felt so right. merely a few inches breached past her lips but there was enough speed and prowess in your thrust to drag a surprise gag from the mouth attached to your dick.

impatience was on the horizon, the buzz from copious amounts of alcohol had knocked down a few pegs. you were now fully aware of the figure positioned at your feet like she was praying for a god, and soon you'd make her chant like she was being fucked by one as well. broad fingers clamped down, squishing both sides of her jaw while simultaneously easing your length deeper, and deeper down her gullet like your dick was her last meal on earth. you throw your head back before letting it fall forward against the wall, watching those desperate dark iris' pool with puddles of lust that seem to be neverending.

“come'on princess, you know how badly you want this-- you gonna let me ruin this pretty throat?” you thumb over her warm cheeks, eyes glossy and threatening to ruin the simple makeup she applied before she arrived. the uncomfortable stretch of her esophagus molding as your cock fills the empty gaps in her throat with every inch you have; is one that isn't unfamiliar to her. dragging your pulsating veins along the dip in her mouth, her tongue greedily laps up any and all of the skin yet to be consumed by her.

“jesus.. fuck, oh fuck. take it, nes'. shit.” your cock fully slips into her, heavy and swollen as it spears her right down the middle; eyes rolling back into her skull as it's just too fucking big. bigger than anything she's previously had inside of her, anyway. your core bleeds with spots of warmth as you take the time to bask in the way every individual wall in her mouth feels as it constricts you almost painfully. sucking you in before she slides you back out of her throat once more; repeating the tedious cylce that has the two of you in a heated frenzy.

despite all the sudden and erratic pain, nessa bobs her head in sync, coaxing you to go as deep as humanly possible. rocking your hips as they snap against her face with every good fuck you give her— watching yourself grow rapidly from the outside of her neck, the moist skin now holding a curved bump near the middle. nessa takes the initiative. removing a hand from one of your thighs, she uses four fingers to lightly push and stroke the bulge; almost as if she was jerking you off while you ravaged her inards.

she knew exactly what she was doing, and it had you riled the fuck up.

you picked up the pace, delirious from the amount of stimulation your precious cock was receiving. with your erection fully encased by her face and your dick bouncing off the gummy walls of her gullet, you could tell her throat was already forming bruises with a throbbing soreness to compliment, time come the morning. your rough hands dig behind the back of her head, hands feeling lost amongst her ocean of hair— beautiful locks just perfect for pulling. you yank her face forward, lowering yours as well to not only established authority but to get your point across to the cockdrunk slut mindlessly slobbering all over your messy shaft.

“mfph-- please, cum.. i want- all!” you can just barely string together what sounds like whines for more— i guess she can sense just how close the knot in your stomach is to bursting because she grips the back of your thighs and tugs them forward with whatever coherent muscle strength she has remaining. just in time for the tension in your core to coil tighter and tighter, the lowerhalf of your body trembling with all the signs of an incoming orgasm.

“does my dumb little girl wanna be fucked, that, bad? hah, fuck nes' what would your brother think?” you mock so cruelly, totally disregarding the fact that there is a slim possibility, raihan is searching for the lost pair. and it just so happens that nessa's poor little brother had been observing for a little over half the engagement. fist wrapped around his pathetic cock, suit collar pulled between his fangs, ocean blue eyes fixated on you; your hip strength, the way you rolled and plunged balls deep into his sibling. his body felt so empty, only riding his high off the two of yours', praying he'd finish before you caught him lurking like a sleaze. it was so unfair, why did nessa get to taste your sultry cock before he did?

you can feel the bass reverberate in nessa's throat as her lips nip at your hilt, impatiently trying to babble out a response adequate enough to your liking. her mind is flying, no correct sense of direction as it attempts to form a reply, but all that breaks past the barrier is a few pitiful mewls. her nose is burried in your pubes and she's lost all feeling in her throat, only motivating her to show off the lump on her neck even more. you watch as your length disappears into the depths of her mouth for the hundredth time that night, hands pushing down the lacy strap of her dress in a last ditch effort to find something other than her hair to latch onto for support. her scalp is on fire and she can only accept the stinging sensation as the roughness of your thrusts increase in magnitude.

the club is filled to the brim with lewd moans and needy pants; those of which included raihan's. every inch of her esophagus is being used— you happily ram your cock down her throat a few more times, your balls were quivering wildly. contracting and spasming, boiling with a fat wad of potent seed all ready to venture inside of her. nessa squeals, feeling a thick bulge travel up the length of your cock, up to the head and straight on her tongue; some spurts flowing down her neck while the rest collected in her mouth. painting her insides a translucent white that would surely stain.

just for good measure, nessa deep throats your empty dick with a few simple strokes; a white, sticky ring forming around the base of your shaft after she detached from your dick. a lewd pop, followed by a line of stringy saliva connected her lips to your bottomed out cock before she ruined the trail by letting her tongue lull from behind her teeth. letting you get a nice overhead view of her empty mouth, watching as the last bits of your load traveled down her throat and out of sight for good.

“god.. such a g'girl. you sucked on my cock so nicely, princess. wasn't that a way to end the night?” a blissed out smile creeps over your face, marveling in the aftermath you caused. you gave the right side of her face a few taps from your cock— dried tears and sloppy makeup tainting her cheeks. cum dripping from the corners of her mouth, as a cocktail of her own spit and your semen coats the back of her throat. it was all one big look of;

euphoria.

[sassyhobbits]

for one night standards would you write a scene where aelin cant be found in the castle maybe bc shes doing sth ridiculous with her daughter like a mother daughter photoshoot to surprise rowan with later but when rowan can't find her he gets all panicked and out of his mind bc he still has unresolved trauma from when she was kidnapped and its all angsty until he has both back in his arms but also gives rowan a chance to talk and work through his experience with aelin gone? (because lets face it he probably ignores his feelings about that as much as possible in order to not burden aelin further and because it was just too painful)

loved this idea!!! i also added the prompt “Because I know when I open my eyes this will all turn out to be a dream and I’ll lose you again“ Thank you to everyone who supported ONS!! i had such a fun time writing it and im always happy to come back to it. enjoy!!

~~~

Rowan Whitethorn was generally a patient man.

He knew how to wait his turn, to take his time. He was always one to raise a brow at those who seemed to be in a harried rush to everything. It seemed stressful, to say the least. He was perfectly content to sit back when needed.

Except for now.

He had made a trip back home to Doranelle to surprise Isolde for her graduation from her masters program. Aelin had wanted to come as well, but with the baby and the responsibilities she had back in Orynth, it just hadn’t worked out. Still, she sent her well-wishes to Isolde through a video chat, letting little Eliora babble into the camera and say hello as well.

Their daughter was just over six months now, already growing far too fast for Rowan’s liking. He treasured every moment he got to spend with his two favorite girls.

And although he was always happy to see his family back in Doranelle, it had been the longest he had been away since Eliora had been born. It made him highly impatient to return home.

His jet touched down in Terrasen in the early afternoon. It was summer, though the day was mild. The sky was a vivid blue, fat white clouds floating lethargically on the breeze. Absolutely beautiful.

Due to the time difference, he hadn’t been able to call Aelin before he had got on the plane. He tried to reach her as he slid into the dark sedan that would drive him from the airport to the palace, but all he got was her voicemail.

Maybe she was in the shower, or changing Eliora’s diaper. Maybe their daughter had a finicky night of sleeping and now the pair were trying to catch up on their slumber. It was fine. Or so Rowan told himself. He still hadn’t been able to stop the small clench of nerves at the pit of his stomach.

He scolded those foolish feelings. Of course his wife and daughter were safe. They were just waiting for him to return.

The drive was quick and easy and he was back at the palace before he knew it. His feet carried him towards the room he shared with Aelin, a small smile curling on his lips as he thought about having his wife and daughter in his arms once more. He missed the feeling of Aelin curled against him as they slept.

“Aelin?” he called, pushing into their room and nudging the door shut behind him. “I’m home.”

He was greeted by nothing but silence. No sound of running water in the bathroom to suggest a shower, so soft snores or shifting sheets meaning a nap. He strode into the bedroom, finding that the bed was already neatly made, not a thread out of place.

He dropped his bags by the dresser, noting that Aelin’s phone had been left there, face up. He picked it up, seeing that she still had the notification of a missed call from him and a few miscellaneous emails that hadn’t been checked.

“Aelin?” he said again, moving towards the nursery. He had gotten used to the sight of Aelin sitting in the rocking chair with Eliora, either when the babe was hungry or she just wanted to hold her daughter. Rowan had countless pictures on his phone of the two of them in that position. The sunlight streamed from the window and hit them just right in the mornings, making them look like a painting.

But the nursery was empty and the window was shut.

Those nerves reared their ugly heads once more. He had no reason to assume the worst, the palace was one of the safest places in the kingdom.

But… Aelin had once been snatched away from him on palace grounds. During their own wedding.

Rowan shook himself. No. That was the past. This was now.

Since his wife didn’t have her phone, he knew it would be fruitless to try and contact her that way. But, Rowan knew Aelin better than he knew himself.

He began a sweep of the palace, checking out her favorite haunts. The library was a bust, so was the gym. He had checked the kitchens to see if she had swooped in for a snack or something sweet, but she wasn’t there either. Rowan luckily ran into Aedion, asking the prince if he knew where Aelin was. But her cousin hadn’t seen her at all that morning.

With each failed attempt at finding them, Rowan’s fears steadily crept up. It wouldn’t be much longer before they had wrapped themselves around his throat and pulled him deep into their depths.

He took a long breath to center himself before striding out into the gardens. His heart started beating faster, not seeing any sign of her at first. Rowan’s fingers curled into tight fists as he stepped over fresh, green grass. Gods, where were they? If something had happened to them…

But before Rowan’s fears could conquer him, he heard a soft voice on the summer breeze. A familiar voice at that. Relief washed through him, heavenly and soothing, as he followed that melodic sound.

It was Aelin. It didn’t take him long to realize that she was reading one of Eliora’s favorite books to her. It was a silly tale, and it was made even more vivid when Aelin told it. She was an excellent story-teller. They didn’t know how much Eliora really understood, whether she just liked the brightly colored pictures or the faces her mother would make when she told it. Regardless, it always made the little princess smile.

Rowan rounded a hedge, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight before him.

Aelin had spread out a large quilt under the shade of a willow. Some of Eliora’s toys were scattered about, but currently, the toddler sat in her mother’s lap, wide-eyes glued on the book before her.

Rowan couldn’t help but think Aelin looked stunning today. Her golden hair was left loose, swaying on the breeze, the summer sun bringing a healthy flush to her cheeks. She wore a silky, pale blue wrap-dress, bare feet tucked beneath her as she read. Eliora looked mighty charming too in a bright pink dress with a matching bow.

Rowan strolled towards them, Aelin’s eyes jumping towards him as she noticed his presence. A huge smile broke out on her stunning face.

“You’re home!” she greeted, putting the book she had been reading aloud down. Eliora, no longer entertained by her mother’s storytelling, crawled over the quilt to grab one of her brightly colored toys. “I thought you were going to call me when you landed?”

“I did, Fireheart,” Rowan said. He lowered herself behind Aelin on the blanket, his wife situated between his legs, before wrapping his arms tightly around her and tugging her back into his chest securely. “You left your phone in our room.”

Rowan placed a lingering kiss on Aelin's shoulder, breathing in her scent deeply. She was safe, in his arms, Eliora happy as can be, sticking her toys in her mouth. Everything was fine.

Aelin turned in his arms slightly, brows knitted slightly. Rowan knew she could see right through him.

“What is it, Ro?”

“It’s nothing, love.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes at him, as if to say, Don’t you lie to me, Buzzard.

Rowan heaved a sigh, reaching out and brushing some of Aelin’s silky hair behind her ear. “It’s just… you didn’t answer me when I called, and I couldn’t find you and Eliora when I got back. I just couldn’t help but think…” His hand drifted until it rested on Aelin’s abdomen, right over the scar she bore from fighting her way to freedom. He saw understanding on his wife’s face.

“We’re here, Rowan. We’re safe.” She placed a gentle hand on Rowan’s cheek, bringing his gaze towards her.

“I know,” Rowan whispered, jaw clenched. “But sometimes, I just worry that when I open my eyes, this will all turn out to be a dream. And I’ll lose you all over again.”

Aelin took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “This is real, Rowan. We both fought for this life, for each other. And nothing, nothing, is going to take it away. Ever.”

Rowan saw the determination blazing in Aelin’s eyes. She was right, of course. This was their life now, they had built their happiness bit by bit, even when so much seemed to want to go wrong. But Aelin and Eliora… they were everything to him. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to banish his fears entirely, but he would treasure every moment he spent with them.

Rowan leaned in, kissing Aelin softly before murmuring against her lips, “I missed you.”

She smiled, kissing him again. “I missed you too, Ro.”

They indulged in a few more slow, sweet kisses before loud babbling sounded, tiny hands twisting into Rowan’s trouser. He looked down, finding Eliora’s wide eyes looking up at him, flashing a gummy smile.

Aelin laughed. “It looks like someone else missed you, too.”

Rowan grinned, reaching out and picking up his daughter. He held her up high, making her release the sweetest little laughs, little legs kicking in delight. He kissed Eliora all over her little face before tucking her in one arm, throwing the other around Aelin. Immense love and devotion flowed through him, holding his two girls close.

No wonder why he had been so impatient to get home.

[fayeimara]

Meant To Be || One For Every Billion

9. Stranger

You put your phone away just in time to hear the melodic tone announce the train's arrival at Tokyo Station. Collecting your duffel and swinging it over your shoulder, you stand to exit, sad to be leaving but excited to head home and see all your familiar devils again.

The terminal is pretty busy so you're glad to have some sense of familiarity, certain you're headed the right way to the exit where Shin is supposed to meet you. You've only just entered the vast circular dome when you hear your cousin's voice call out your name, turning in pleasant surprise to see him making his way towards you.

"I thought you were going to wait outside?" You ask him as he reaches you, reaching out to take your bag from your shoulder.

He shrugs with a glance behind him, "Yeah, yeah, just didn't want you getting lost. It'd be a pain."

"Uh huh... Ren sent you in, didn't he?" You ask and his sheepish smile is answer enough.

His phone is beeping pretty incessantly, probably his brother, but it forces him him to walk in a crowded area without looking where he's going. This could end up in a pretty hilarious disaster for your album but you're pretty exhausted even though you've been sitting for the past few hours. Maybe you can let it go just this once, since you'd like to avoid time doing damage control when you could be enjoying a nice warm meal and a long soak in a tub instead.

You're about to link your arms with him to guide him through the stream of people when a sudden force knocks into you from behind, literally throwing you off your feet. You only just manage to catch yourself before you completely face plant on the floor, an indignant, "Hey!" slipping from your mouth before you even look up.

When you do however, it's to meet the wide, golden eyes of a boy that's apologizing profusely, now sprawled on the floor as well, you're guessing from running right into, and subsequently tripping over, you. You're about to give him a piece of your mind for not watching where he's going, especially while running as fast as he had to have been, but he's up in a flash, dragging you to stand upright with him without even an offer of help first or another word from you. Then he's off again, rushing away while still throwing useless, fading apologies over his shoulder.

Is this karma for wanting something similar to happen to Shin? And just when you were about to do the right thing too. Great. You watch the strange boy's form get further for a moment, white-grey hair streaked black at the roots the last thing you see before he's swallowed up by the crowd. Well, here's to hoping he doesn't bowl over another unsuspecting victim, but that's their problem now. You turn back to Shin as you brush off the knees of your leggings only to notice his phone is up and aimed squarely on you even as he's doubled over with laughter.

You're considering if there's a word for killing one's cousin - parricide? - when a light tap on your shoulder pulls you away from your creatively dark thoughts. This time the gaze you meet is filled with mirth, at least as much as you can tell, since the girl's eyes are mostly unreadable behind a pair of top-rimmed glasses and the elegant fall of her blonde locks shading part of her face, effectively hiding her full expression.

"Hey! I saw what happened and felt like I should apologize for Bo."

"Bo?" You ask in confusion.

She smirks and now you're definitely sure she's amused as she tilts her head to study you, "Yeah the adorable dumbass that just ran you over. I swear he's never usually that rude, just an unfortunate combination of enthusiastic and slightly oblivious."

"Oh, okay.. I mean, thank you but you shouldn't have to be the one to apologize for him. He kind of did anyways, I guess." You say the last with an unhappy twist to your lips.

"Sure but really, he's not usually rude like that, he just panicked when he realized he forgot his bag."

Before you have a chance to reply further, Shin cuts in with a smirk, "Please, no need for a beautiful girl like you to apologize. Why don't we just exchange digits so if there's any lasting damage, we know who to reach out to."

You're already throwing a dirty look his way before he's finished his lame attempt at flirting but almost laugh instead because the girl's expression changes so fast from the kind, conciliatory one aimed your way to a cold look of disgust that he's got to feel down to his bones.

Even her tone is effortlessly chilling with hard reproach, "Dude, you don't even know my name."

You grimace in solidarity, taking your turn to apologize, "I'm sorry about my cousin. He's apparently never spoken to a pretty girl outside the family before."

"Nah, it's all good, we probably all have one of those." Her response is laidback again, body angling back to you while subtly cutting Shin out of the conversation.

"Those?"

You both ignore his overly exaggerated wounded tone and she continues, "Anyways, just thought I'd do the right thing and check if you were okay?"

You give her a bright, reassuring smile, "I was quite literally thrown off, I guess, but I'm physically okay. Just give your friend a piece of your mind for me?"

"Oh, you can bet I will. But seriously, he's not at all like he came off, I promise."

You shrug because it's not like it matters - what are the odds you'll ever run into her or her friend again? You're about to say something to that effect when Shin's phone rings and he rushes to step away to take the call. Probably rushing a little too fast but such a swift and clear rejection will do that to a guy.

Speaking of, "By the way, I promise I'll make him pay for being such a douchebag later too."

Her mouth curves into an amused smirk once again, "Make him pay, huh? I almost wish I could see that. But I seriously couldn't care less, I'm used to people being little shits. And what are the odds I ever run into him again?"

She's rolling her eyes with her words, an eerie echo your own thoughts on her friend, when a smooth, soft-spoken voice cuts into your conversation, "Run into whom again?"

The two of you turn to see startling blue-green eyes trained intently on her, as if her answer is the only thing that matters, but you realize she also knows this dark-haired stranger when she narrows her eyes on him before responding, "No one important. What took you so long?"

"I stopped to get something for you. The least you can do is tell me what I missed."

"Aw, Akaashi," Her eyes turn soft with a happy tone and you're the one that feels like the intruder to their conversation now, "What'd you get me?"

"Nothing important." He throws her own brush off back at her in a careless manner as he gently tugs a strand of her hair. "Who's this?"

"Just an unsuspecting stranger Bo ran over." She gives you another apologetic smile but it drops when the guy continues.

"Uh-huh. And the guy that was just here?"

Her lips turn down in displeasure as a little snark enters her tone, "Were you just watching from somewhere like a creeper?"

"No, brat." He gives her deadpan look but his actions again contradict his expression as he swats her forehead before she can even react to dodge, "I saw you talking to him while walking up."

"He's just her cousin, please chill."

The guy gives you a look as if you're somehow to blame for something, asking her, "Did he say anything weird to you?"

"Define weird? Can you please back off? Thanks." Turning back to you while shaking her head in exasperation, "Sorry I feel like we're just here trading apologies for the guys in our life."

You were a little stunned at the odd interaction at first but her comment prompts sudden laughter to spill out. How true.

"Maybe we should get shirts made? Like those 'I'm with stupid' ones but 'Sorry for this guy' instead." Even as you speak, only her eyes are looking your way as she laughs at your words.

The guy, Akaashi, continues to watch her with a mostly blank look masking his thoughts. But if you're reading it right, you're sure there's a bit of his own displeasure and.. something else. Then, as if he feels you watching, his eyes slide over and, suddenly, you see the politeness that was first missing emerge. His posture straightens from where he was slightly leaning in towards her and his hand drops from where he'd reached out to mess with the ends of her hair behind her.

You're pretty sure you shouldn't ask if they're a couple, just a gut feeling, and you've long since learned to trust those. Is it just pretty obvious to everyone but them?

"Hey, sweetheart! You're still here." You cringe at the renewed hope in Shin's tone as he returns to round out your strange little gathering.

He definitely doesn't notice the sudden stiffness of the other guy's demeanor at his words, even after he answers for the girl sharply, "She hates being called sweetheart."

Does she? Or does he just hate hearing someone else give her a term of endearment?

Shin blinks in surprise as if only just noticing the addition of this guy, "Huh? Who are you?"

"What's it to you? Excuse us," The guy looks at you with considerably less hostility than was aimed at your cousin just now, "We have to be on our way."

Then he grabs the girl's hand and literally drags her away as she throws one last half amused, half exasperated look over her shoulder. You're about to turn away but you catch one last moment that holds your attention a little longer as he pulls a small item from his bag.  It looks like a small box of soy milk and she glances at it before turning her face away, pulling her hand from his and speeding up to walk ahead of him instead.

You can't see if they exchange any words but you have to smile as, after another moment, she holds an arm behind her and he gently places the drink in her open palm. That's when you also notice the guy that ran you over earlier re-enter, a bag now slung over his shoulders as he calls out while racing to catch up with his friends who look back but continue walking to their terminal. What an interesting bunch, one that makes you miss your friends all the more.

Turning back to Shin, you ask, "Ready to go?"

"Do you think they were dating?"

"Oh my god, please let it go, weirdo."

Prev | Next

Masterlist

Behind The Scenes!

-Suna and Y/n got close real fast, but that's the power of bonding over games

-Mystery girl is inspired by & based on my incredible, beautiful, talented moot, Suvi <3

-Shin was really in top form today, huh?

-Also, there isn't a specific word for killing a cousin but there are a lot of words for various kinds of murder... like, too many

-Akaashi is usually nicer, he'd actually typically have been the one apologizing for Bokuto but.. he was off buying soy milk (:

A/N: Thank you all for your patience <3 Bokuto is the last of the seven main characters to make a (brief) appearance! Now it's back to America and school for Y/n but she'll be back for more... I can't wait to see it unfold from here :D Can you?

Taglist: @delusivist, @prettyinblack231, @kac-chowsballs, @sakusasimpbot, @hawkthekinnie, @poppi144, @oikawasbuttcheeks, @tanakasimpcorner

[1a-imagines]

Bunny band-aid.

Characters: Izuku Midoriya

Overview: You cant seem to catch a break lately and to top it all off you end up getting hurt! Luckily a cute hero is here to help patch you up!

A/n: Me and my friend were talking about dekus red bags that he keeps attached to his hips. She asked what i thought he keeps in them and i said probably first aid stuff and that spiralled into a long conversation about how cute it would be if he had little cartoon/bunny band-aids that he would give to people.

And well- how could I pass that up?

"Why does this always happen to me?" You whined as you hopped around your small apartment, simultaneously pulling up your skirt as you tried to slather your toast with butter.

This morning you had received an angry call from your boss, yelling at you to get in as soon as you could. They were slammed and ,sure, you could imagine that must be stressful for any boss but it feels like your boss in particular was a ticking time bomb.

It was best not to get on his bad side, and so you didn't argue with him about the fact it was suppost to be your one day off.

You also had to ignore all the angry texts from your family for having to cancel on dinner with them yet again. How many times did that make it now? 6? You felt like the worst person ever for letting them down so many times, but your work just kept getting in the way!

You keep telling yourself you'll make it up to them, but you never have the time.

You could feel yourself slowly breaking down but you put on your brave face knowing that you'd only be in more trouble if you showed up at work crying.

You quickly finished your toast and downed your coffee before grabbing your bag and rushing out the door. You ran down the stairs until you reached the street, almost tumbling over a few times.

Your job wasn't too far- if you were quick you could make it in 10 minutes and maybe your boss wouldn't fire you?

So you ran.

You ran all the way down the street, narrowly avoiding other pedestrians and jumping over a few stray cats. You felt like you were running so fast that stopping seemed impossible. Your legs were going faster than you could keep up with. This is the sheer amount power and fear your boss held over you.

What a jerk.

Just as you were running past the park you felt one of your feet get caught on a loose pavement slab. Your eyes went wide as a gasp escaped your lips. Your whole body flew forward and you watched helplessly as the ground beneath you got closer.

You held out your hands and closed your eyes, bracing for the impact. You grunted in pain when your body inevitably hit the hard concrete. You had fallen so hard that your body had even bounced off the ground and skidded to a harsh stop.

That was it.

That was the breaking point. You didn't even have the energy to push yourself up. You lay there, your knees and hands stinging as you let the tears run down your cheeks.

Why was the world so against you lately? Have you done something wrong? Did you really deserve this harsh fate?

Personally, you liked to think you always tried your best. That you gave everything you all and you always went out of your way to help people. Overall, you were a pretty good person.

So why has fate decided to punish you lately?

You forced yourself to push your body up onto your backside and that's when you noticed the contents of your bag had also spilled out onto the ground.

Great…

You sniffled and rubbed your stinging cheek to rid yourself of the tears "Why can't I catch a break…" you muttered solemnly.

Once you had finished your pity party you figured it would be best to push yourself up, but before you could move, the sound of fast paced steps coming in your direction caught your attention.

You saw a boy in a green costume running up to you. When he finally reached you he knelt down, his big eyes filled with worry. He was panting a bit too, showing he must have ran over to you pretty fast.

"Are you ok!? I'm so sorry I couldn't catch you! I saw you fall from across the park and ran as fast as I could." He apologized so sincerely it sounded as if he completely blamed himself for your fall. You were about to say that it was ok but he gasped, successfully cuttinf you off.

"You're bleeding!!" You followed his gaze to your hands and knees.

He was right, You most certainly were bleeding. However, that much was to be expected after such a harsh fall like that. It wasn't a whole lot though, Most of them were just scrapes, but they still stung.

"Hold still! I have some first aid on me. I'll clean and bandage it up for you!" He said, reaching into the red bags strapped to his hips and pulling out a bottle, a cloth, and some bandages.

"You're a hero?" You tilted your head. The costume, plus carrying first aid, made you guess he was. Although you had never seen him before, was he new? You were a pretty big hero fan and you had a feeling you would've remembered someone like him. He smiled softly as he poured the gauze onto the piece of cloth he had.

"Sort of… I'm in training." He paused and looked up into your eyes. "This might hurt a bit, if it hurts too bad just tell me to stop, ok?"

You nodded your head. He was so gentle and reassuring. If he was the future of heroes then it greatly comforted you. The hero society could really use people like him right now. Especially after All Might's retirement.

You hissed in pain when the liquid hit your open wound. Even though you were no longer a little kid it was still one of the worst pains in the world to have to clean up scrapes with that unholy liquid.

It hurt, but didn't want to stop him. He was being so careful and gentle with the way he applied it, it would've been kind of nice if it wasn't burning like a bitch.

"Shouldn't you be focusing on saving people who actually need it right now?" You asked, your voice sounded more bleak and horse than you liked. You could hear the hopelessness in your own voice and you didn't like it. He looked back up at you, that same small smile was still on his lips, had it ever left?

He stared deep into your eyes and it almost made your heart stop for a moment. "What kind of hero would I be if I left a pretty girl crying in the middle of the street?"

"Crying?" You reached up to feel your cheek. You were still crying? You hadn't even noticed. He had been distracting you from all the sadness of your life with just his smile alone. It was incredible…

Wait, did he call you pretty!?

"It must hurt, I know, but don't worry, I'll fix you right up!" He said.

He thought you were crying because of the pain? The pain wasn't so bad, nothing you couldn't handle anyway. These tears were from stress, from holding everything back for so long.

Though you weren't about to tell him that.

You watched him bandage up your hands which seemed to have taken the most damage from the fall. How could you work with bandages all over your hands? You were so going to get fired.

It was kind of sad that despite being hurt, all you could think about was inconveniencing your boss. It was an unhealthy mind set to have.

"What's your name?" His voice broke through your thoughts.

"Oh! Uh- Y/n." You replied shyly, the embarrassment crying in front of him was starting to seep in. You turned your head away when you felt your cheeks heating up. You'd never really been a person to cry in front of people. So this was really embarrassing for you.  

"S-so, what about you? What's the name of my new hero?" You glanced over to him with a lopsided, bashful smile.

You saw him freeze at the sound of being called your hero, his cheeks turning the same shade as yours. Maybe even more so.

"O-oh, It's D-Deku." He stuttered out a reply as he finished wrapping up your hands.

He put the bottle and cloth back into the bags on his hips and pulled out a few bandaids. He took the paper off it and placed them over the scrapes on your knees.

"There! All done!" He pulled back and that's when you noticed the pattern on the bandaid. It had little bunnies on it!

'That's so adorable!' You inwardly squealed. Who would've guessed a hero would be carrying something as cute as this!

It made you gush.

"Thank you so much!" Ever since meeting him you had really perked up. Somehow, he had washed your worries away, maybe all you had really needed was to know that someone cared about you? That you weren't so alone?

Or maybe it was simply because it was the first nice encounter you've had in months! Which was saying a lot since you're legs and hands are currently bleeding.

He soon stood up, offering you a hand and pulling you up too.

"It's nothing! Really! You don't have to thank me!" He waved his hands in front of him shyly. It was like he wasn't used to people wanting to repay him.

Deku grabbed all the items that had fallen out of your bag and brushed the dirt off them before handing them back.

In all honesty, heroes were something a lot of people took for granted, but it was times like these that made you realise they were humans too.

His gesture may have been small but he had still made a big impact on your mood and on your day. You wanted to show your gratitude. After all, he didn't really have to come help you. Hero or not, he still could have walked away or ignored it.

"No! Really! I want to repay you somehow!" He had somehow made you feel the first thread of happiness- or was it hopefulness? That you had felt it for a while. It was so refreshing and he had helped you more than he was probably aware of.

Maybe there was also a small part of you that wanted to selfishly spend more time with him too. He was like a sudden breath of fresh air in your life and you weren't willing to let that go so easily.

"How about I buy you lunch?" You asked with a smile.

You phone began buzzing in your pocket and that's when you remembered you had work!! You pulled out your phone and upon seeing your boss's caller ID you felt your heart freeze. You could only imagine how pissed off he must be right now.

You looked up to see the worried face of your new hero, he must have caught on that something was wrong. Did he really care about you that much? You were nothing more than an acquaintance to him, and yet seeing you frown was clearing upsetting him too.

The world really did need more people like him.

You weren't sure where this sudden boldness had come from but you declined the call, and like that, weight on your shoulder was lifted. You shoved your phone away.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't make you feel a bit special

You'll deal with the consequences later.  

You smiled up at him. "Are you free right now?"

"Actually, I finish my patrol duty in 10 minutes." He replied. "If you don't mind waiting for a bit, then I'd love to get lunch with you!"

You shook your head.

You didn't mind waiting at all. You'd happily wait days, weeks even, to spend more time with your new hero. Something in your heart was telling you to get to know him better- to not let him go so easily.

Maybe fate was finally giving you the break you so desperately wanted?

"Great! Then wait here and I'll be back as soon as I can, ok?" He smiled so brightly you could practically feel the warmth radiating from it.

"It'll be my treat! To make up for not catching you in time!" He declared before running off, not giving you time to fight him on it.

You were supposed to be the one repaying him but it seemed he was now treating you to a meal instead, and you had a feeling that he wasn't going to stand down from it either.

You sighed happily and clutched your bag to your chest as you stared down at the cute bunny band aids that decorated your skin.

"Maybe today will be a good day after all."

[freddieslater]

The Vampire Diaries Verse (Screw-Canon Style): Klaus Mikaelson x Stefan Salvatore x Hayley Marshall | Put your arms around me and I'm home

Requested by anonymous

For a moment, Klaus can't feel a thing. It's like he's just there, floating in an abyss of nothing, without a corporeal form. Not quite existing, but just enough for him to be aware of it. Maybe this is true death, he thinks.

Or maybe it's his punishment for every sin he's committed in his life. Not quite peace, not quite hell. A limbo of sorts, where he'll be all alone, forever accompanied by nothing but his own mind. And he's content with that. It's not endless torture, and he'll take anything over that. There would be too many possibilities for ways that he could be broken.

No, this is right. This is what he deserves, and he is okay with that. In a way, he makes peace with it in that moment. 

Then it's as if he blinks, and things slowly start to form in the abyss. It turns from pure darkness to a light shade of grey, silhouettes and objects hazy and unfocused, as if just out of reach. Colours start to seep into the picture before his eyes, and his heart starts to sink. Of course he doesn't get off with simply being isolated for the rest of eternity. 

Murmurs echo around him, drifting closer, getting clearer. His eyes narrow, trying to pick out a word, something that'll help him figure out what exactly is going on. He's supposed to be dead. If he's not dead then the hollow could still take over. Everyone, especially Hope, will still be in danger. 

Laughing catches his attention. He whips around, on high alert, already trying to shift in anticipation of a fight. But his teeth stay blunt and human. He doesn't feel himself get stronger, or angrier, or feel a need for blood. Not even the presence of magic inside of him, the curse of the hollow trying to get free. It's all...gone.

"Aw, he thinks he's still the all-powerful hybrid. Isn't that adorable?"

Klaus goes completely still. His chest constricts, the air getting caught in his lungs as his head snaps up. Something won't let him turn around, though, let him see for himself. Fear. This is a hallucination of some sort. Probably caused by the hollow. Just a mind game.

"The cutest."

His heart twists, and he really can't breathe. It's not possible. Those voices. It can't be.

But he forces himself to turn around now, his heart stuttering in his chest. And there they are. His stomach drops and he can only stare wide-eyed in disbelief at Hayley and Stefan, standing so casually in front of him. So alive, their eyes bright and full of something he never thought he'd see in either of them ever again. Both wearing smiles with this look on their faces. 

"How..." he starts, but can't figure out the rest, simply shaking his head. "This isn't..."

The amusement softens across both of their features, turning to understanding. His mind can barely keep up, trying to process it and failing. It's the Hollow. It has to be. Even in death it won't leave him be, let him rest in peace. 

"It's real, Klaus," Hayley says, and her voice sounds so real. 

He just shakes his head again as Stefan nods, confirming it. He goes to step back, but stops when Hayley reaches out, her hand settling on his shoulder. The rage that had been building at this mind game he's being forced to play fizzles out like a flame underwater. It feels like everything inside of him stills, as if the whole world slows to let him catch up. 

His eyes follow her arm to her hand. He can feel it. The gentle pressure of her fingers curling around his arm, giving a squeeze of proof. Warmth emanating from her skin, and the closer he listens, he realizes with a start, he can hear her heartbeat. The same heart that he heard being crushed. The same skin he saw catch alight under the burning sun until there was nothing left of her. Yet here she is. 

Slowly, he draws in a sharp breath, light-headed all of a sudden. He lifts his eyes to meet her soft, assuring gaze. It's not a trick. He knows, because hallucinations even get things wrong, and only the real version of Hayley has ever looked at him like that. 

"It's real," he echoes back to her, and her mouth curves a little more as she gives another, single nod. 

He doesn't think, just moves, brushing her hand off to pull her into him. Her surprise is clear, but she hugs him back, arms winding around him. Klaus can barely bring himself to remember to breathe. He can feel her. Her small, powerful body in his arms, her hair against his face. Her heart beating against his chest and beneath the skin of her neck. She's real.

The second wave of realization makes him cling tighter, his breath coming out in a harsh gasp. His eyes move without him really controlling his actions. They lock onto that familiar pair of green eyes that are shining so brightly, still holding that same look that Klaus has never felt like he earned. That he thought he had missed his chance to ever see again when he heard of his death while he was too many miles away. 

Hayley pulls back, and despite the part of him that read every single letter she wrote to him wanting nothing more than to hold onto her forever, he lets her, his gaze still locked onto Stefan. 

"Well," he breathes out, "I heard you ignored me, as per usual, and did a lousy job of taking care of yourself."

Stefan's mouth curves into a grin and a soft chuckle. "You're one to talk."

Klaus can't help but laugh in return. He's crying, he realizes, feeling the wetness around his eyes. They both are. 

"I'll admit, I've missed you," Stefan says, and holds a hand out to him with dancing eyes. "Welcome to the afterlife, old friend."

Glancing at his hand, Klaus scoffs. He doesn't even hesitate in knocking it aside and pulling him in with a hand on his shoulder instead. Stefan instantly wraps his arms tightly around him, face pressed into his shoulder. Klaus grips the base of his neck and closes his eyes. For the first time, when he exhales, it doesn't feel like a weight is crushing him. 

It doesn't feel like he's going to drown in a sea of grief and despair, but is home at last. 

Yet again, he finds himself unwilling to break apart. But he forces himself to anyway, only he doesn't let go. He leans in without worry, without thought, feeling Stefan's desire as strongly as his own. Stefan, who moves to meet him as if it's the most familiar thing in the world, as if it hasn't been decades since they last kissed. 

In his heart, it doesn't feel like it has. Everything feels right now, like a rush of memories flowing through him, dropping every barrier he had in place. The same effect that Stefan has had since that day in 1922.  He just never thought he would get a chance to feel it all again, not like this.

A throat clearing draws them apart with grins. Klaus steps back and looks over at Hayley, her eyebrows raised but a smile glinting in her eyes.

"Don't worry, little wolf, there's plenty more of me for you," he says.

Hayley rolls those brilliant eyes that he's adored since their first meeting as well. "Still obnoxious in the afterlife. Got it. Are we sure this is peace and not hell?"

"Ouch." Klaus presses a mocking hand to his chest with a wolfish grin. "And here I thought you would be thrilled to see me again."

"This is certainly better than the last time we reunited," Stefan jokes, tilting his head. "Well, sort of. We're all kind of dead this time around, so I'm not too sure about that, but at least no one is trying to kill each other. That's good, right?"

Hayley doesn't agree. A dark look crosses her face. "I was hoping it would be a lot longer before this." She looks at Klaus, and he understands the glint in her eyes before she even says it. "For Hope's sake."

He presses his lips together, swallowing down the lump in his throat and the stinging still lingering in his eyes. The reality of it had slipped him for just a moment, but now he nods, smiling sadly.

"I know," he says, then draws in a shaking breath. "But she's strong. Like her mother. She can survive this." He glances at Stefan, laying a hand on his shoulder. "And she has Caroline looking out for her, along with Rebekah and Marcel, and Freya, and even Kol."

Stefan makes a noise at that, disguising the flash of pain in his eyes at the mention of Caroline. "Kol? I'm a little more worried about her now."

"Yeah, that wasn't your most uplifting speech," Hayley agrees with humour in her voice. 

"I knew there was a reason I never wanted to introduce the two of you," Klaus says dryly, and points a finger at them. "I will not be ganged up on! Elijah will be joining us soon, I assume, and the last thing I need is three against one."

"Oh yeah, no can do, buddy," Stefan says, patting his hand. He shares a grin with Hayley. "We've gotten pretty close waiting for you over here. I don't know if we can make any promises on that one."

Hayley shakes her head. "Absolutely not."

"Alright." Klaus drops his hand from Stefan's shoulder. "I'm going to wait over there for my dear brother, far away from the two of you."

"Yeah, good luck with that because we're not going anywhere," Hayley says cheerily, and Stefan agrees.

Despite the front he's putting on, he feels an insurmountable joy. He hopes they're right, because he couldn't bear to lose either of them again. Just seeing them together feels like a blessing, something far more precious than anything he has ever been deserving of in his life.

He would be happy to listen to the two of them tease and trade jibes about him for hours, because it means they're both here with him, and happy. At peace. He understands now why he's here, somewhere in the middle of the bayou. This is his peace. Stefan and Hayley. They're his happy ending, the one thing he never thought that he would get. He's happy to be wrong.

[thatsweetsexypsychotroyotto]

I'm Not a Bad Person- Chapter 7

SUMMARY: Troy Otto does have feelings you know. Especially when it comes to his childhood friend, Jaymie. Whatever they are, they're rooted deep, and growing.

PAIRING: Troy Otto x OFC

TRIGGERS/ WARNINGS: Language and the typical FTWD stuff

WORD COUNT: Fuck if I know

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry I took so long getting this chapter together. I changed my mind on how I wanted to present an upcoming thing. On to the usual note: my plan is to follow along with season 3, but with Jaymie involved. I'll veer off and switch shit up a lot. It'll be in different characters' perspectives throughout the series. I'm not great at writing but I try my best. Hope you like it enough. All characters except OFC don't belong to me.

*******

Chapter 7

(Alicia's POV)

A moment ago I was dreading the thought of attending Gretchen's Bible study. However, as a freshly packed bong is passed my way, I am pleasantly surprised to find that my expectations were shattered. I asked about Geoff, whom Gretchen had mentioned at lunch. She exchanged guarded looks with the two boys and Jaymie, then got up and headed towards a barrel, in which she pulled out a smaller sized cage. In it was a living, decapitated head. She placed it on the table in front of me. Seeing the biggest threat to the human race vulnerable and behind thin bars had me feeling sovereign. The THC shrouded my mind and I laughed for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Geoff wants to know what it's like out there," Gretchen states on behalf of the snarling head, referring to life outside of the ranch; where the dead have taken over.

"Chaos, ruin, and it changes you; not like Geoff- something worse... Can I ask Geoff something?" Gretchen nods. "Who are the Ottos?"

Gretchen and the boys tell me all about the founding family, which leads to a comment about Geoff being indifferent about Troy. "Troy took Geoff's body," Gretchen whispers loudly.

"Troy's done a lot worse than that." They really have no clue. From the corner of my eye, I notice Jaymie shifting uncomfortably on the other end of the couch.

"Troy and the militia do what we can't. They protect us." Gretchen defends him after giving Jaymie a sympathetic look.

Dare I say it? Yes. I dare. "If people here knew what he really did at the border, everyone would feel differently. You would feel differently."

"Alicia." I meet Jaymie's eyes to see a silent plea for me to stop.

I think of what he did to Luciana's people. I think of Travis being thrown in a pit to fight the dead on Troy's command. I think of what would have happened to Nick if- "No. I don't get it, Jaymie. I don't understand how you can defend him the way you do when you know what he's done."

The girl looked somewhere between heartbroken and pissed. "You have no idea what he's really like, Alicia. And you haven't got a clue as to what he's done for me." She seemed to stop herself too late from saying the second part; like she didn't mean to say it out loud.

Now I'm curious. "Well why don't you tell me what he's really like!" Angry sarcasm spews from my lips. "And what the hell has he done for you that nullifies the murdering of innocent people?!"

***

7 years ago

After yet another long night of hitting the bottle, a very inebriated Jackie stumbled down the hallway to her own bedroom, passing her daughter's on the way. She slurred boisterously, "Jaymie, I'm home! Love you, sweetie!" as she staggered by. Jaymie huffed a sigh of exasperation, but yelled an "I love you too, Mom," anyway.

About 5 or so minutes later, she heard her mother throwing up through the thin walls. Jaymie rolled her eyes in annoyance, put her earbuds in, and fell asleep to some music to drown out the nauseating sounds in the room next to hers.

When she awoke in the late morning, Jaymie made her way to the kitchen to fix her mother the usual mug of green tea, a slice of buttered wheat toast, and a bottle of water to help with the hangover she knew Jackie would have.

Jaymie kicked gently at her mom's bedroom door as to knock, since her hands were full, then skillfully raised her leg up and turned the knob with her foot and toes. "Wake up, Mom. It's almost noon." Jaymie sat the tea, toast, and water on Jackie's dresser and made her way to the windows to open the curtains and blinds. "I need a ride to the ranch. I told Troy I'd help him clean out the stables today." She turns away from the brightness, the sunlight bringing the room to life; everything except- "Mom?" Jaymie stands frozen, time itself stopping, as her gaze falls on her mother's pale, lifeless body; vomit dried to her face and sheets.

Jackie's eyes are open, but she can't see her daughter rushing to her side; can't feel her daughter's hands grab her arm to shake her, only to pull back in horror at both the rigermortis which had set in, and the feel of her cold skin; can't hear her daughter's heartwrenching screams and cries; can't recognize the pleads coming from her daughter's lips to come back, to not leave her, telling her she loves her, becoming that little girl again calling her 'Mommy,' instead of 'Mom.'

After a short while, Jaymie called the Otto residence. Jake had been the one to answer the phone. In between the sobs and panicked breathing, he pieced together what happened. After alerting Troy and their father, Jake stayed on the phone with Jaymie for a bit longer while the other two went to help her.

Troy rushed into Jaymie and Jackie's home and found his best friend back against the wall in her mother's room with her arms around her legs, pulling them to her chest. He was at her side in no time at all, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, letting the rest of her tears soak into his flannel shirt. He wrapped her up in his firm embrace, keeping her body snug up against his own. That was the first time Troy held Jaymie in his arms.

Jeremiah had called 9-1-1 after taking a long, sad look at his friend that he and his late wife had spent many nights drinking and playing cards with.

Once the police, EMTs, and coroner had arrived and done their jobs, and Jackie was taken away in a body bag, Jeremiah and Troy took Jaymie back home to the ranch. The two teens rode in the back of the pickup, Troy once again holding his friend in the comfort of his arms. He didn't know how to empathize much, but he hated seeing Jaymie so heartbroken. He wished he could take that pain from her; though there was something about that moment that had him feeling warm and, happy? Then he realized: it was because he felt needed. He was needed.

The Ottos had intended for Jaymie to stay there with them, but several days after Jackie's funeral, a woman from social services showed up. Apparently Jaymie's father, John, requested custody of her. This was completely unexpected, as John had left his daughter and her mother 5 years prior, with no contact since. Jaymie was stressed out far worse than any 12 year old should be, but what made matters worse was that John lived 8 hours away from the ranch. Jaymie was devastated, and frightened. Troy was already coming apart at the seams at the mention of her having to leave; she was his anchor.

They both held it together well enough thanks to daily phone calls. Little by little though, Jaymie's spirits seemed to dampen, her voice became meeker, and in the middle of a sentence she would suddenly state that she had to go, and hung up. Troy knew something was wrong. He wanted to go to her, to check on her, to rescue her from whatever it was that had her on edge; but he didn't know her father's address.

Some time later, Troy received a letter with Jaymie's name above the return address. He opened it in a hurry. However, as he read her heartfelt words, his eyes began uncharacteristically flooding, his face heated up and turned an angry shade of red, and then everything in his mind went black.

*******

[izanyas]

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow (8)

Take care while reading this one.

Rating: M Words: 10,100 Warnings: brief gore/medical, novel spoilers, off-screen rape.

[Read from prologue]

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow Chapter 8

Wei Wuxian had always known the Lotus Pier in shades of gold and green. He had always known the pink of sunrise over calm waters, the cool autumn air on his skin as he wetted his hands picking lotuses. As a child, it seemed to him that his life would unfold bathed in the same soft colors. He put flowers in his shijie's hair and wrestled Jiang Cheng into the mud and watched as the sun burned over the horizon.

Smoke rose over the houses where he had grown. It was impossible to know how much of the darkness which loomed high above was due to it or due to clouds, how much of the fire had been smothered by rain and how much still licked at the walls of the mansion, of Madam Yu's pavilion, of the training grounds where only hours ago he had picked up a bow.

How he wished he had a bow.

The Pier shone red everywhere they walked. They slithered in through the water ways, diving whenever something moved, wading slowly through mud and ash. Wei Wuxian's back had gone entirely numb, his wounds forgotten in the face of his duty. At every little sound, he grabbed the other two's collars and pulled. At every long shadow, he held them still and listened.

Jiang Yanli's tears had grown silent. Jiang Cheng had stopped shedding any.

"Maybe they escaped," he told his sister in a white, shapeless voice. "They must have escaped."

"Yes," Jiang Yanli said, and cried harder.

Now they crouched by the entrance of the main hall, hidden behind a smoldering barrier, unable to flee from the truth. They watched Wang Lingjiao whimper in the arms of her master. They watched Wen Chao pull a sword out of Jiang Fengmian's still chest, jade and blood flecking the ground and glinting in the flamelight. Wei Wuxian's fingers dug into the burning barrier. The pain stinging his palm was nothing next to the one in his heart.

In the end his golden core was melted, and he was stabbed by a nobody.

Madam Yu's body lay not far from her husband's. The gold ornaments had been ripped out of her hair; Wei Wuxian saw them shine above Wang Lingjiao's head.

"Sir, we didn't find Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng," said a beta standing by Wen Zhuliu's side. "They must've fled before we arrived."

"And took Zidian too, I bet," Wen Chao answered with a sneer.

"We're still counting the items, but it seems the treasury wasn't touched by fire. Sect leader Wen will be very pleased."

"What about the omega house?" Wen Chao asked.

The beta woman bowed deeper. "Untouched as well," she replied, "but it doesn't look like anyone was living in it."

"That Wei Ying was just walking around," Wang Lingjiao simpered, cuddling closer to Wen Chao. "They let him free even here, how despicable."

"Decadence," Wen Chao declared. He dropped his hold on Wang Lingjiao and stepped away from Jiang Fengmian's corpse, kicking away broken pieces of blackened wood. "No wonder their clan stopped birthing omega decades ago. Yunmengjiang is finally reaping what it sowed. They should've known that they would be punished for their impudence."

Next to Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng let out a broken moan.

"Find the children and kill them," Wen Chao ordered his troops, satisfaction dripping from his voice. "When you find that omega, bring him to me alive. I'll kill him with his own sword."

Wang Lingjiao laughed. Wen Chao turned his back to them. His white coat flew around him, carried off-ground by the hot air, baring at his hip the bronze pommel of Suibian.

Wei Wuxian barely remembered how they escaped again. He had known that coming back was a mistake—he had known what they would find, he had known that the sight would only break Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng more thoroughly—but he hadn't had the heart to refuse them. He hadn't had the heart to lie.

He felt no hunger and no pain as they ran into the mountains. His throat was dry from the smoke, parched and rough when he spoke, but he did not stop to drink. He felt the wounds in his back pull and open again. He felt cloth stick to his skin from sweat, water, and blood.

"We need help," he told the other two when they finally stopped. "Gusu is closest, we should seek shelter there."

There was a stream singing behind the rocks where each of them took time to drink. Though the night was deep and cloudy, this path was as it had always been: mountains rose around them and shivered under the wind, cool and quiet and infinite.

Wei Wuxian felt that they should shake. He felt that the earth ought to open under his feet and the heart of the world to howl.

"Gusu is no more," Jiang Yanli replied. "The Lan sect is already weakened, A-Xian."

"Lan Zhan will—"

"What about Lan Zhan?" Jiang Cheng cut in.

They were the first words he had spoken in hours.

"A-Cheng," Jiang Yanli said mournfully.

But Jiang Cheng did not look at her. "What about Lan Wangji?" he repeated, glaring at Wei Wuxian. "Didn't you hear what they said? Are you in such a hurry to prove those Wen dogs right?"

"Who cares what they said?" Wei Wuxian retorted. "We need help and Gusulan is the closest sect. Lan Wangji is a just man, he will shelter you."

"Oh, yes, Lan Wangji is the epitome of righteousness," Jiang Cheng said with such cutting sarcasm that Wei Wuxian felt his heart ache. "You'd know all about that, Wei Wuxian. Father should've let you take his name before he saved you from that cave."

Wei Wuxian's blood turned to ice.

"A-Cheng," Jiang Yanli said in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Wei Wuxian replied before Jiang Cheng could. He felt once more as if he were watching himself speak from a distance; as if he were floating above, the scene he was in the middle of laid very far under his feet. "We should go—"

But Jiang Cheng was not done speaking. "Ashamed, are you?" he said, rising from the rock upon which he had sat. His hurt was so stark over his face, dug deeply into the lines of his mouth and eyes, as if ready to crack his skin apart. It dyed his words into a different sort of violence. "Whatever for? You're the one who defended him—you're the one who made a spectacle of yourself with him in Qishan. It's because of your faith in Lan Wangji that our home is burning, isn't it?"

Wei Wuxian's mind ran emptily. The cold spread from his chest and toward his extremities, stiffening his limbs, plunging his heart in lethargy.

Jiang Cheng's stare tinted itself with disgust the longer Wei Wuxian stayed silent. He turned to his sister and said, "Wei Wuxian is in such a hurry to go to Gusu because that's where his alpha is. He already spent a heat with him, after all. Who's to say he's not carrying a little Lan—"

Wei Wuxian's hands had grabbed Jiang Cheng's collar before he realized it, tugging him close in rage and sudden, painful fear—but Jiang Cheng was faster, his back unhurt and his soul pushed forth by anger, and he pushed Wei Wuxian to the ground with both hands wrapped around his throat. Wei Wuxian's gasp of pain was choked right out of him.

"No!" Jiang Yanli yelled in anguish. "Stop it, both of you!"

Wei Wuxian's fingers tightened at Jiang Cheng's collar. "You don't know anything," he wheezed through the hold strangling him.

Jiang Cheng's eyes glinted in despair. "Am I not right?" he roared at him. "Would we be here if you hadn't made an enemy of Wen Chao, would my parents be—be—"

Jiang Yanli had thrown herself at her brother, trying to pull him off of Wei Wuxian, her face once more running with tears. Each of her sobs made Wei Wuxian feel a little more breathless.

Jiang Chang's hands tightened again. Wei Wuxian's sight was blurring. He felt tears spill over his cheeks and realized too late that they didn't belong to him.

"Why couldn't you just stay in your place?" Jiang Cheng cried. His hold loosened at last, yet Wei Wuxian didn't cough, didn't breathe, didn't try to get away. "Why can't you just accept who you are!?"

At last, Jiang Yanli managed to pull her brother sideways. Jiang Cheng fell onto the muddy ground with sobs shaking his shoulders; she held him tightly against her, her own face twisted in agony, begging him not to hurt Wei Wuxian. Please, she said over and over. Please, A-Cheng.

Jiang Cheng dug his fingers into the dirt and pleaded, child-like, "I want my mom and dad."

Wei Wuxian's eyes burned. He pressed the heels of his palms against them and crushed his own tears away.

He, too, wished for his father.

"I'll go to Lanling," Jiang Yanli said a few hours later as they dove deep into the mountain, away from the oft-walked paths and roads. "I'm sure Jin Zixuan will help us."

"Shijie, that's too far, you can't—"

She raised a hand, silencing him. Zidian glowed on her finger more brightly than it should. "A-Xian," she said, "I'll be fine. I'm armed, and I know the way very well."

"Let us come with you," he begged.

Madam Yu's words still rang through his head: Will you protect them, Wei Ying?

"I'll be faster alone," she replied. "I'm inconsequential—Wen Chao wans A-Cheng because he is the heir, and he wants you because he hates you. He won't care if I escape. He'll come after you two, so you have to stay together and protect each other." She looked apologetic as she added, "Plus, even if we disguise our identities, traveling with an omega will give us away immediately."

"What are you two muttering about now?" came Jiang Cheng's voice from where he had lagged behind them.

Wei Wuxian stared at Jiang Yanli. He too often forgot how much older she was than him and her brother, yet he could see it now in every line of her face. She had inherited all her looks from her father.

"Go to Gusu," she told him. Her hand braced his elbow, squeezing tightly. "Ask Lan Wangji for protection. I'll come back as soon as I can with help from the Jin sect."

Wei Wuxian's chest ached. "What Jiang Cheng said earlier—"

"It's okay, A-Xian. It's okay."

He didn't know what she meant by it, but her smile was warm. Her fingers lingered on his arm in affection and trust.

Wei Wuxian watched distantly as she explained her plan to Jiang Cheng. He refused at first, of course; he shook her arm and pleaded with her and held her tight against himself, unwilling to let her go. Unwilling to separate from the last of his family. Jiang Yanli brushed his hair out of his face and kissed his forehead.

She wasn't crying anymore.

They split up at dawn. Jiang Yanli headed north and they headed westward, silence heavy between them, their clothes stained with all sorts of grime and blood. Wei Wuxian thought tiredly that even if he could disguise their scents, their physical state would give them away.

It was the first day of spring. The sun that lit their way was warm; the flowers budding on each trea, on each green patch of damp grass, softly drank in the rain and dew.

Wei Wuxian had never before felt so wary around other people.

The first village they stopped at was one he had visited several times before. At no point of those previous visits had he ever felt cowed by his status or anyone else's—he walked proudly besides Jiang Cheng or Jiang Fengmian, on his way to a hunt or heading for another town. He had teased his shidi in the middle of the widest street, where everyone could see. He had laughed loudly.

Now his head hung low as they slithered through the smaller passageways. He hid his face and hair, covered his training clothes with a stolen cloak, took the bell off of his waist and shoved it in his sleeves. He breathed shallowly.

He made a mistake when he stole money from an old beta seated in front of an inn. The man caught his scent and went wide-eyed and loud, almost catching Wei Wuxian altogether. Only the presence of many other people prevented him from knowing to which cloaked figure the treacherous omega-scent belonged.

"You'll have to go get us food yourself," Wei Wuxian told Jiang Cheng when he came back to the narrow alley where they hid.

"I'm not hungry," Jiang Cheng replied.

Wei Wuxian grit his teeth. "You are hungry," he retorted as calmly as he could. "Jiang Cheng, you don't want to eat, but you need to. We don't know when we'll be able to stock up again, and inedia must be avoided unless we have no other choice."

"What do you know—"

"I've lived in the streets before. I know what I'm talking about." Wei Wuxian added, "Please."

For a moment he thought Jiang Cheng would not listen. Words from the previous night still rang through his ears hourly, anger and shame both coiling within him at Jiang Cheng's accusations.

Who's to say he's not carrying a little Lan?

Wei Wuxian couldn't stop hearing it, and each time seemed to make him feel sicker.

But Jiang Cheng relented. He pushed himself to his feet and roughly took the money that Wei Wuxian handed him, leaving the shadow of the alley after covering his head with his hood. Wei Wuxian sat against the wall and ignored the pain in his back.

There were posters even in this town bearing his face and the siblings'. There were written descriptions of their crimes and appearances, of their status, of their scents.

Honey, Wei Wuxian's said.

He thought of Wen Chao breathing too close to him and calling him sweet. He thought of grabbing Suibian from the man's hip and cutting off his head as he should have done months ago.

Jiang Cheng was taking much too long to come back. Wei Wuxian tried to keep calm at first, knowing how shocked his shidi was, how confused he would probably feel on his own. Perhaps there were many people queueing to buy food from the street vendors. But minutes turned into an hour, and soon the sun started setting over the town. Wei Wuxian's heart was hurried when he rose to his feet and exited the alley, looking wildly around for a sign of Jiang Cheng.

He searched like this for an hour more. He avoided close contact with other people, but looks were still thrown his way as he ran around the little town. Night had fallen by the time he came back to the alley, hoping desperately to see Jiang Cheng waiting for him there.

He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. Wei Wuxian let go of prudence and approached the nearest vendor.

"Sure I saw him," the woman told him, "he got dragged away by a couple cultivators in white clothes."

She continued talking, but he didn't listen. Not even when her face suddenly turned suspicious and she inhaled loudly, rudely, exclaiming, "You're that omega!"

Wen Chao's orders indicated that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli could be killed on sight. If his lackeys had not done so, then they must have carried him back to the Lotus Pier. That was the only hope Wei Wuxian could hold on to.

He ran as he had never ran before. He grabbed the training sword at his hip and poured as much energy as he could within it—until his very core seemed to sag with exhaustion, until new aches rose through his body and heat choked him that felt too much and too familiar—until, at last, the sword rose.

Wei Wuxian jumped upon it.

Even when flying, he was slow. He pushed and pushed himself over the mountains they had painstakingly crossed on foot, mindless of the cold numbing his face and hands, guiding himself with starlight. It took hours for him to reach the Pier; he landed in Yunmeng behind a mansion he used to climb as a child, falling immediately to the ground, unable to breathe.

Pushing himself to his feet again felt like the greatest effort he had ever spent on something. Greater even than holding to the cursed sword inside the Xuanwu's throat and waiting for Lan Wangji to finish cutting off its head. He stumbled and walked and ran his way to the Pier, hiding when Wen cultivators crossed his path.

"... delivered himself to us just like this," one sneered as she walked past the wall behind which he had crouched. "How far has Yunmengjiang fallen!"

Wei Wuxian could not, would not, cry.

He took to the Jiang house by water again. He crawled through spaces once meant for playing, breathing in the smoke still rising softly over what had been his home, looking everywhere for a hint of stormscent. He found it near the dorms where his dead shidi used to sleep. He knocked out the beta guarding one of the rooms before the man could cry out in alarm and broke open the door.

Jiang Cheng lay over one of the small beds. He was still as a statue. Wei Wuxian's fingers shook when he placed them over his open mouth, looking for air. He almost sobbed when he found it.

Already outside people were gathering. He knew his own scent must have been noticed among the guards, and no sooner had he put Jiang Cheng over his back and opened the window that someone barged into the room and yelled, "Wei Wuxian is here!"

He climbed above the roofs, running as fast as he could, exhaustion weighing on him more heavily than even Jiang Cheng's slack body did. He barely avoided the arrows shot at them from the ground. He felt his very heart stop when cultivators rose to his level on their swords and started their own chase.

He tripped near the row of houses where his bedroom was. This part of the Pier had not burned as thoroughly as the main mansion did—walls still stood tall, barely blackened by smoke. Wei Wuxian lost his footing there and felt gravity leave him as he swayed over the edge of the roof. He only had the presence of mind to switch so that his back hit ground instead of Jiang Cheng's head.

The pain on his still-healing wounds was unbearable.

"Shit," he expelled as he rose again. "Jiang Cheng, please, wake up."

But no amount of shaking him and slapping his face took him out of his slumber. If Wei Wuxian could not feel his breaths on his fingers or how warm his skin was, he would have thought the other dead.

He lifted Jiang Cheng once more, a pained moan escaping his lips. He walked toward the door of his bedroom hoping that no one had seen which way he fell. He stuck his back to the wall when voices rang from the entrance of the courtyard, obviously headed toward him.

And then someone grabbed him and tugged him inside the room.

Wei Wuxian fell harshly to the floor, Jiang Cheng sliding out of his grip much the same. He was blind to anything but fear when he unsheathed the training sword—its blade blunted by the spiritual energy he had forced onto it earlier—and stuck it to the throat of the smoke-smelling man who had captured him.

"I'll kill you if you make a sound, Wen dog," he whispered with all the hatred his heart could hold. "Don't think I'll hesitate for a second."

The young man lifted both hands in surrender. He was shaking and looking at Wei Wuxian in an odd mix of relief and fear. "I'm—"

"Silence!"

The blade dug into the man's neck. Skin bent around its tip. Had it been sharp, he would be bleeding already.

Yet the young man did not stop. He breathed in and spoke again in a softer voice: "Young master Wei, I'm not going to hurt you."

"What did you say, dog?" Wei Wuxian replied.

"Don't you remember me?" the young man asked. His hands came forward as if in offering, bare and unharmed but for the calluses born out of archery. "The competition…"

Wei Wuxian stared at those hands without understanding. He breathed again the scent of smoking wood, pleasant if a bit strong, and the memory came to him of an earnest smile in sunlit, rocky mountains.

"You're… Wen Ning," Wei Wuxian said.

Wen Ning nodded slowly. His smile looked the same as it had on that faraway day.

Wei Wuxian dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

"Young master Wei!" Wen Ning said worriedly, crouching by his side.

"Jiang Cheng," Wei Wuxian breathed. He crawled toward the fallen form of his shidi, grabbing his wrist so he could feel his pulse and reassure himself of Jiang Cheng's continued living. "What, what happened to him?"

"I'm not sure," Wen Ning replied. "I heard he was captured earlier, but I don't know what they did…"

Wei Wuxian rose again. Wen Ning immediately helped him lift Jiang Cheng onto the bed, making sure that his head was comfortably laid on the pillow and tugging the cover over his body for warmth. The familiarity of the room ached in him the same way that the Wen branding iron did when it touched his chest; he looked unseeingly at the childish drawings pinned above the bed, at the closet and drawers still full of his clothing. Not much had changed, and yet he could not believe that he had slept here only two night prior and not known any grief.

Wen Ning fidgeted with the sash around his middle. "I, I'm not staying long," he said, mistaking Wei Wuxian's apathy for anger. "It just smelled nicer here than…" He blushed and shut his mouth. "I'll go prepare a tonic for master Jiang to drink."

"Please," Wei Wuxian said emptily.

Wen Ning nodded and left.

It occurred to Wei Wuxian that the other may be lying to him. That perhaps the next person to enter the room would be another Wen lackey, armed to the teeth, or even Wen Chao himself.

He was so tired. This place—this room—made him feel for the first time just how little rest he had taken since Zidian had bitten into his back. Every shift of his shoulders pulled at the scabbing lashes. Every intake of air made him feel a certain emptiness where usually his energy shone.

He pulled the cover away from Jiang Cheng and checked him over for wounds. He found one painful cut from a discipline whip on his belly, as well as a few bruises around his ribs from being kicked around, but he looked otherwise unharmed. There was no bump or blood over his skull, no broken bone that Wei Wuxian could see.

Still he would not wake up.

Wei Wuxian grabbed Jiang Cheng's hand and squeezed it as tightly as he could. His own fingers felt terribly cold.

Wen Ning came back a few minutes later with a steaming bowl in his hands. He set it next to Wei Wuxian nervously, eyeing him sideways. "Young master Wei," he said, "you look hurt too."

"I'm fine," Wei Wuxian replied.

"Please, I can help. Let me help you like you helped me."

Wei Wuxian chuckled bitterly. "Like I helped you?" he said, vaguely recalling a group of young cultivators bullying Wen Ning in Qishan—recalling Wen Chao's arrival and the first words he ever exchanged with the man.

Would he be here now if he had bowed to Wen Chao back then?

Would the Lotus Pier have burned?

Why can't you just accept who you are?

His hand left Jiang Cheng's slowly. "What you're doing now far exceeds what I did then," he said. "You have no obligation to help me."

"I do," Wen Ning replied—he smiled as he said it with a different air about him, looking as if he understood something that even Wei Wuxian failed to. "I really do. You see, I—"

The door opened.

Wei Wuxian did not think as he jumped to his feet and unsheathed his sword. The woman who walked in held pride in her every step, painting her as alpha even if her arrival had not brought with it a strong, peppery scent. She froze at the sight of Wei Wuxian pointing the blade at her, the door slamming close behind her by the strength of the wind outside.

"What did you do," she barked at Wen Ning.

He seemed to cower before her. Wei Wuxian made sure to stay between her and Jiang Cheng as she walked along the side of the room, wondering idly if he would have to protect Wen Ning as well.

"Everyone's looking for you, Wei Ying," the woman said to him.

Wei Wuxian clenched the handle of the sword till he felt splinters dig into his palm. "They won't find me if you stay quiet," he replied.

"Sister," Wen Ning said in a small voice.

The woman sighed, irritated.

Wei Wuxian could see now the resemblance between her and Wen Ning. They had the same nose, the same round eyes making them look younger. On Wen Ning, they seemed to make him perpetually sad and gentle. On her, they simply looked piercing.

Wen Qing, he thought, eyeing the white jade pendant at her waist in the shape of a twisted snake.

He had only ever heard of her before.

"Qionglin, what did you do?" Wen Qing repeated.

Wen Ning's back straightened. "I couldn't let him be caught," he replied with surprising determination. "Sister, I couldn't. I know you couldn't either."

Something pained flew over her face.

"You need to leave," she told Wei Wuxian in an even voice. "We'll all be dead if you get caught here, Wei Ying."

"Sister—"

"It's his business if he wants to parade around like he does!" Wen Qing interrupted loudly.

In the silence that followed, only the wind could be heard.

"It's his business if he doesn't hide," she said to her brother. Wen Ning's face paled. "Do not destroy everything we've built just for him. Do you understand? I won't let you, even if I have to tie you up and carry you on my back till we die."

"What are you talking about?" Wei Wuxian asked.

His arm ached from holding the sword. The depleted core in his chest seemed to sigh in agony with every breath he took.

"It's none of your business," Wen Qing said curtly. "Now leave. The search for you has gone to the other side of the Pier, you should be able to make it out."

Wei Wuxian's free arm came to rest on Jiang Cheng laid behind him. "He won't wake up," he said.

"There's nothing I can do about that."

"You're Wen Qing." Wei Wuxian's sword lowered. "You're the most famous physician in the Wen sect," he continued, uncaring that his words turned to begging. "Please—please, heal him. I'll do anything."

"I won't heal him," she repeated, baring her teeth. "Just take him and go!"

"I don't have any money to offer you," he said.

Wei Wuxian felt as if he had done nothing but kneel through his whole life. Kneeling for meditation and kneeling in Lan Qiren's class—kneeling in front of Wen Yueying, kneeling under Zidian's blows, kneeling as Wang Lingjiao branded his skin forever.

Kneeling in a boat and watching as Madam Yu went to her death.

He kneeled once more with both palms facing the ceiling. The sword slid from his grip and fell to the ground with a clatter of metal. "I have nothing to give you," he said, despair evident on his voice, mindless of Wen Qing's widening eyes. "I know you owe me nothing, but please," he begged. "Please heal him. I promise to go, I promise to never speak of your help to anyone. I promise to help you in any way I can for as long as I live—please."

"Sister," Wen Ning said urgently.

Wen Qing seemed even angrier than before. "Get up," she spat at Wei Wuxian. "Do you bow for so little!? Is this truly the Wei Wuxian that my brother can't stop praising?"

"Would you not beg for your brother?" he replied.

He saw the answer in her eyes just as she saw that she need not give it.

"Would you kneel for just any alpha around you, then?" she asked slowly.

"No," Wei Wuxian answered. "But for this one, I would kneel a thousand times over."

She looked at him in silence. Wind slapped at the windows, some cracks letting air filter in and making the curtains flutter. A door slammed loudly in the tempest. The oil lamp on the desk shook ever-so-slightly, its light flickering over the walls.

"There is no alpha in the world worth kneeling for," Wen Qing said. "Get up. I'll see what I can do."

He did so shakingly. He felt confused over their exchange, but his relief was stronger. He watched with gratitude as Wen Qing approached the bed and took Jiang Cheng's wrist in her hand.

She examined him for a few more minutes, much more finely than Wei Wuxian had. She took a jar from the bag tied to her belt and opened it; a strong, garlic-like smell filled the room as she applied the cream inside to the whip mark over Jiang Cheng's belly.

"He should wake up in a few hours," she declared once she was done. "I need to check on the state of his core, but I can't do that while he's unconscious."

Wei Wuxian had to hold his weight against the wall so as not to fall from relief. "Thank you," he said.

Wen Qing glared at him. "Wen Chao left this morning," she told him. "He'll be back in five days. In his absence I am to watch over the Yunmeng Supervisory Office, so if you stay quiet, you should be fine. But you and Jiang Cheng need to be gone when Wen Chao returns."

Wei Wuxian nodded.

"Sister, thank you," Wen Ning said, smiling.

The glance she gave him was much kinder, though her voice remained harsh. "Give Jiang Cheng that tonic you prepared—I looked it over, it's not bad. Leave some for Wei Ying as well."

With those words, she left.

"You should sit down," Wen Ning told Wei Wuxian. "You look very pale, young master Wei."

"I'm fine," he replied tiredly.

Wen Ning looked like he wanted to say something else, but his mouth stayed shut. Wei Wuxian sat by the head of the bed and watched him pour liquid into Jiang Cheng's slack mouth slowly, massaging his throat to make him swallow. There was about a third of the tonic left in the bowl when he handed it to Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian drank it without flinching at the bitter taste of plants.

"So you're Wen Qing's brother," he said once he was done. "I never would have guessed."

Wen Ning smiled awkwardly. "Hardly anyone does."

"I never would've guessed she was beta either. The way everyone talks about her, I figured she was alpha. Her scent is pretty strong too."

It had remained behind her, pepper tickling his nose and fooling him into an almost-sneeze. Her being alpha would make little sense in light of their conversation, however, despite how surprised he was that Wen Chao would entrust his newest conquest to a beta. Perhaps Wen Chao was capable of appreciating competence over status from time to time.

Wen Ning took the empty bowl from his hands and replied, "My sister and I are both omega."

Wei Wuxian stared at him.

"It's what I was trying to say earlier," Wen Ning went on, a faint dusting of pink coloring his face. "The reason I feel like I should help you. You and I, and my sister, we're the same."

"You're not serious," Wei Wuxian let out.

But Wen Ning shook his head and said, "I am telling the truth."

Wen Ning smelled of smoke. In the aftertaste of the fire that had ravaged the Lotus Pier, his scent seemed enhanced, different for its touch of humanity, for its presence. Wei Wuxian remembered noticing how strong such a scent was for a beta when they had met years ago and Wen Ning had bowed to him with his shoulders.

He tried to look for deceit in Wen Ning's eye, but sincerity in the flesh seemed to look back at him. He tried to imagine any alpha or beta pretending to be omega and found his own mind rejecting the mere thought as inconceivable.

"How?" he asked roughly.

He found himself taking hold of Wen Ning's hand without any forethought. He held it in the same way Wen Yueying had held his, months ago, desperate for a kind touch. Parched for trust and company.

Wen Ning's voice came quiet and empathetic. "There are drugs," he replied. "We use them to change our scents."

"Like moonless tea?" Wei Wuxian said.

"You know about moonless tea?" Wen Ning said enthusiastically. "Yes, like that. There are more. My sister knows them all from our father."

Wei Wuxian couldn't let go of Wen Ning's hand. He felt, all of a sudden, much younger than he truly was.

Wen Ning's face once more softened with understanding. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I met you," he said. "I couldn't believe that there was an omega cultivator somewhere who wasn't hiding who they were. You are incredible, young master Wei."

"I never knew how," Wei Wuxian replied. "I never knew—"

His throat tightened on a sob. He covered his face with his free hand, trying and failing to crush his tears before they fell.

Wen Ning crouched by his side and took his shoulder in his hand.

"There's more of us out there," Wen Ning told him, not once looking down on him for the sobs now shaking him. "You're not alone."

Wei Wuxian had never needed something as much as he did those words.

They talked more after he calmed down, though Wei Wuxian felt that he didn't need to. Wen Ning answered a few more of his questions: he told Wei Wuxian about his and Wen Qing's omega father, who had also been a physician when Wen Ruohan's alpha father ruled the sect. He spoke of the man's early death with well-consumed grief. He said that he had met other cultivators who came to his sister for teas and potions to mask their status and live freely. He said that he didn't need moonless tea himself, for his fevers were few and far-between and only caused some mild headaches.

He never berated Wei Wuxian his ignorance.

Wen Qing came back to check on Jiang Cheng a few hours later. Wen Ning had left by then to sleep somewhere else, saying that now that Wei Wuxian was here, he didn't want to take his room. Wei Wuxian dozed on and off for a while in the silence, the oil lamp burning slowly, his sword never far from his hand. Jiang Cheng didn't stir at all.

He blinked sleep out of his eyes as she walked into the room. In her hands she held a small clay jar full of a different cream than the one she had used earlier. When she saw him, she said, "This is for you. Take off your clothes."

He obeyed without thinking. A sharp hiss escaped him when he tried to pull cloth away from his back; as he had thought, it had stuck to the wounds.

"You're useless," Wen Qing said, but she crouched behind him and slowly peeled the training clothes away from his skin.

He tried to keep his voice down despite the ache of reopening cuts.

"Qionglin told me he saw some blood on your back," she commented. "You've had quite a whipping."

"Madam Yu wasn't very pleased with me," Wei Wuxian muttered.

There was a short silence. "I take it back," Wen Qing replied. "If this is the work of Purple Spider's Zidian, you're lucky to still have skin."

The cream stung when it touched his inflamed back, but Wei Wuxian did not complain. If anything its cooling effect immediately seemed to soothe the prior burn. He hadn't realized how much pain he was in till it started vanishing.

"A-Lin told you about us," Wen Qing murmured while she worked.

Wei Wuxian nodded.

"He's foolish. Since meeting you he hasn't stopped talking of visiting Yunmeng or sending you a letter. He seems to believe you can't handle your life on your own."

"I'm glad that he told me," Wei Wuxian said. "I wouldn't let you touch me if I didn't know."

Her hand pressed more harshly against what he felt to be the bigger cut. He winced. "Don't make the mistake of thinking every omega you meet is your friend, Wei Ying," she said. "Many will resent you just as much as any alpha does, whether or not they live hidden."

"I know that."

"I don't think you do."

She bandaged his back in quick, assured moves, glancing with distaste at the sun-shaped scar on his torso. It was still very white and tender to the touch, though it had stopped leaking weeks ago.

"Wen Ning said that your father taught you," Wei Wuxian said once she was done. Wen Qing stoppered the cream jar without a word, waiting for him to finish speaking. "Your other parent…?"

"He died before father gave birth to Qionglin, but he knew, of course," she answered.

"I thought the odds of having so many omega in one family were almost non-existent."

Wen Qing didn't immediately answer. She switched the oil in the lamp and took Jiang Cheng's pulse for a moment, apparently satisfied with whatever it told her. Wei Wuxian relaxed a little.

"It's not impossible," she said at last. "Especially outside of bigger cultivation clans, who care so much about monetizing their offspring that they forget to care for them. There are very few omega cultivators, since they know what they risk if they are caught, but some more lead normal lives as merchants or craftsmen."

"And they all know to find you for drugs?" he asked, surprised.

Wen Qing snorted. "Of course not. I'm not the only person in the world who knows how to make these potions. But hearsay works for those who can't make them by themselves, and it's not as if they know I'm omega either. I'm risking enough just by doing business with them."

"Then why do you do it?"

It was the one question Wei Wuxian truly wanted to ask: why would someone as careful and ruthless as Wen Qing, who was ready to throw Wei Wuxian out wounded for the sake of protecting herself, risk being discovered like this? It couldn't be for money.

Wen Qing looked distant when she replied, "I don't want my life to be spent waiting for an alpha to rape a child into me, Wei Ying. If someone comes to me wanting to escape that fate, I will help them no matter the cost."

He thought of Wen Linfeng, so young and so afraid in her fine, silken clothes. He thought of the burned main house only a few steps away where once a man had come to bargain for ownership of him.

He understood.

Jiang Cheng woke up at dawn the next morning.

Wei Wuxian thought he had stopped feeling hurt by his shidi's animosity and blame. He knew his own responsibility in the fall of Yunmengjiang, as much as he wanted to shake and roar and cry that he had no idea at the time what his actions would bring. But Jiang Cheng's sharp accusations of having sided with the enemy ached in him—he couldn't help but feel guilty for the comfort he had experienced here, for letting Wen Ning hold his hand and tell him You're not alone, when Jiang Cheng lay lifeless right next to him, his sister gone and his parents dead.

Jiang Cheng shoved him away weakly and asked, "Did you feel my spiritual energy?" and Wei Wuxian discovered for himself the depthlessness of grief.

It seemed that his whole body ached as he watched Jiang Cheng fall on the bed with a needle in his forehead, Wen Qing snapping at them to be silent lest they attract attention. He felt as though his world was shattering again, as though the recovered strength in his own chest was betrayal of the worst kind.

He had promised Yu Ziyuan to protect her children. Less than a day later, her son and heir had lost his golden core.

This kind of despair felt to him like fever. He spent hours sitting by Jiang Cheng's bed and watching his own hands glow with power, wishing that he could share that strength. Let Jiang Cheng take half, take all of Wei Wuxian's spiritual energy; let it be reparation enough for Wei Wuxian's mistake and how badly he had failed as senior disciple of the Jiang sect.

Shame consumed him for a whole day before he found the strength to move. In his mind an idea had brewed, born out of the rumors he had heard about Wen Qing when he was still young, when he still thought his life would be spent with his feet underwater and his head turned to the sun.

He waited for Wen Qing on his knees. He asked her for help once again.

"You're out of your mind," she replied, wide-eyed and so much closer to terror than he had ever seen. "You have no idea what you're asking."

"I know you wrote about it," Wei Wuxian said evenly. "It's possible."

"In theory! Do you think I've ever tried to do this before, you madman?"

"He can't live like this!" Wei Wuxian shouted.

It was almost night, and no one but the two siblings seemed to ever come around here unless they needed Wen Qing's help. He risked raising his voice because he had no choice; because what he wanted to do was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.

"He's the Jiang sect heir," Wei Wuxian said, nails digging into his own thighs. "I swore that I'd protect him. I swore that I'd follow him, that I'd help him. He can't take revenge without power. He can't be the person he was raised to be without a golden core."

"Jiang Cheng will learn to live with it," Wen Qing said. "You and I both know it's possible to live outside of what people expect from us."

But Wei Wuxian shook his head, eyes fixed to the ground, kneeling still in front of her.

There was no point in trying to make Jiang Cheng live like this. Even if Jiang Yanli found them again and the Jin sect extended its protection—and how Wei Wuxian dreaded meeting her and admitting to her how badly he had failed her last remaining family—Jiang Cheng would not accept it. He would rather die than live out his existence so soullessly. He would end his own life.

Of this, Wei Wuxian was certain.

"Please," he told Wen Qing. He put a hand over his heart the way Jin Zixuan had all those years ago, hoping despite how useless the gesture was coming from him that she would understand. "Please. He's my brother."

In all but blood, in all but lineage: Jiang Cheng was Wei Wuxian's brother.

He was his family.

That night Wei Wuxian lay in his childhood bed for the very last time. It had taken hours for Wen Qing to figure out how to apply her year-old theory to practice; he had spent them trying out different anesthetics and sleepily feeling her jolt his core this way and that with her own energy, shaking her head, trying every few minutes to dissuade him again. Wen Ning watched all of it happen with frightened eyes. He never said a word.

"I can't use any anesthetic or numbing agent on you during the transfer," Wen Qing told him once all of her trying turned fruitless. "Do you understand what that means? Do you understand how much pain you'll be in?"

"I understand," Wei Wuxian said.

"You may die, Wei Ying. You may die tonight if I do something wrong, or even if I do everything right."

"That's fine," and it was fine, he thought, calmer now than he had been in days. "Just make sure to finish the transfer even if I do."

"Young master Wei," Wen Ning whispered helplessly.

Wen Qing turned away, clasping her two hands together, and ordered her brother to tie Wei Wuxian to the bed as securely as he could.

So did Wei Wuxian lie in the bed that Jiang Fengmian had once laid him in after picking him from the streets of Yiling. His arms and legs tied with rope to all corners, his torso secured to the sheets. He saw the fear and anger with which Wen Qing gathered what she needed and thought he understood why she did what she did, why she spoke as she did.

She must have sacrificed so much and worked so hard to maintain her own freedom, to become such a renown cultivator. She must ache at the very thought of him sacrificing his own struggles for any alpha.

What she didn't understand was that Wei Wuxian did not think of it as sacrifice, but as duty.

Wen Qing finished installing wide recipients full of boiled water by her feet. She finished lining up the scalpels and other tools she had cleaned and prepared beforehand. She looked at Wei Wuxian and asked, "Are you ready?"

"I am," he answered with no doubt in his heart.

The worst thing wasn't the pain, he found through the long hours that followed. The sun rose and set and rose again before she was done, and Wei Wuxian screamed and whimpered and expressed the physical pain in many more creative ways, soon losing sight of why he was here in favor of wishing it was all over. It was terrible. It was painful. Many times he felt himself slip toward unconsciousness with relief, only to be woken up by Wen Ning and thrown back into hell.

But the pain was not the worst. The worst was not even when, twelve hours through, Wen Qing's bloody hands emerged from his torso holding a small, golden sphere.

No, the worst was loss.

It was a kind of hollowness that Wei Wuxian could not have described for all the riches in the world. He felt separated from something more precious and vital than he had ever suspected, something cherished, something he selfishly wanted to keep for himself forever. The worst was the loss and grief that his soul experienced, deeper than any physical pain and so much harder to heal.

He slept for a whole day after they were done. When he woke up, his eyes flew to Jiang Cheng still resting atop the table. Wen Qing was sat by his side and looking at her own hands in horror.

Wei Wuxian's stomach dropped. "What's wrong?" he asked. Her head jerked in his direction. "Did it not work, is he—"

"It worked," she interrupted, her face once more free of anything but irritation. "He's fine. The core is healthy and working."

The relief he felt at her words was oddly muffled. Even looking at the color and peace that Jiang Cheng's face had grown back, Wei Wuxian felt very little joy.

Wen Qing cleared her throat. "I'll do what you asked me to do once you two leave, but that's all," she said. "This is the last thing I do for you, Wei Ying."

He nodded his head in thanks.

"Come eat," Wei Wuxian told Jiang Cheng. "I won't tell you about Baoshan Sanren unless you eat."

It was easy to play him, easy to deceive him. Jiang Cheng already looked so much healthier now, with four uninterrupted days of sleep and a brand new golden core. He ate with enthusiasm, questioning Wei Wuxian about his mother and Baoshan Sanren and how long the trip to Yiling would take.

Wei Wuxian lied to him with surprising ease.

In a way, things felt much easier now. Wei Wuxian still knew of his sins and faults, but they didn't ache as they used to. He found simple satisfaction in knowing Jiang Cheng to soon be out of harm's way. His mind ran slowly through idea after idea of how to take care of Wen Zhuliu and make sure Jiang Cheng's core was never again at risk.

They walked to Yiling slowly. Wei Wuxian's body felt sore and overheated, but this too was distant, almost as an echo. Wen Qing had warned him that he may develop a fever from the shock of surgery. He found it nothing to be alarmed about.

During the day, he guided Jiang Cheng in silence. During the night, he met with Wen Ning and Wen Qing and put final touches to the charade. When the day came to abandon Jiang Cheng at the foot of a deserted mountain, he was ready.

"Remember," he told Jiang Cheng, tying white cloth over his eyes. "You mustn't take this off under any pretext. There are no beasts on this mountain, but you mustn't look, even if you fall. When someone asks you who you are—"

"I must say I am Cangse Sanren's son, yes, I know," Jiang Cheng cut him off, impatience rolling off of him in waves. Wei Wuxian would have laughed at him, once; now he felt nothing. "I'm ready."

"I'll wait for you at the village we saw on our way. Come find me when your golden core is restored."

Jiang Cheng started walking up the mountain. Wei Wuxian looked around his shidi's feet out of habit, searching for rocks or roots he could possibly stumble on. Wen Ning was in charge of chasing beasts away, but one couldn't be too prudent. If only Wen Qing had allowed him to climb as well; she seemed worried that his body wasn't in good enough condition to, but Wei Wuxian disagreed.

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng stopped. He turned around. Wei Wuxian straightened his back and frowned, wondering what danger was holding him this time, but all Jiang Cheng did was open his mouth and ask, "You'll really be waiting for me?"

Surprise rendered Wei Wuxian silent.

"Yes," he replied at last. "Of course I will be."

"And Baoshan Sanren can truly restore my core?"

"I promise she can."

Jiang Cheng seemed to have one more thing to say. His face was tense under the white cloth, his knuckles pale around the stick he was using to walk. "Thank you," he declared. "When I'm back, I'll…" he struggled. "We'll talk then, Wei Wuxian. I shouldn't have called you a traitor."

Emotion flickered through the gaping hole in Wei Wuxian's chest. "Go get your core back and then we can join shijie," he replied.

Jiang Cheng smiled and once more started ascending. He didn't turn around again till he was out of sight.

Wei Wuxian sat on a thick root with a sigh and thought, Now there is nothing more I can do.

He expected to feel relieved. He expected to feel panicked.

He felt nothing at all.

There were still several hours to go before he needed to be back at his inn. Wen Qing had given him money for it, and then slipped a vial of mud-like substance into his sleeve, avoiding his eyes. "In case you need to mask your scent fully," she had said.

"Oh," Wei Wuxian had replied. "I should take it now."

Wen Qing had shaken her head. "No need. Your scent is… well, it's a lot weaker now."

He hadn't fully believed her till the innkeeper had smiled and accepted his money without a hint of suspicion.

Wei Wuxian waited idly for a few hours. He glanced at the path that Jiang Cheng had taken and which so far led up the side of the mountain. He wondered how Wen Ning was faring, watching over Jiang Cheng's ascension while making sure not to be seen or heard. Wei Wuxian hoped Jiang Cheng took his advice to heart about the blindfold, at least when he reached Wen Qing at the summit. The whole plan would fail if he caught a glimpse of her.

The forest grew louder as night approached. Small animals scurried between the branches overhead, birds and squirrels, owls perhaps. Wei Wuxian saw a deer run through faraway bushes. He listened to the cracks and shuffling sounds of nature around him.

It was the reason he noticed when one noise came louder than the rest.

He jumped to his feet despite the pain tugging at the stitched wound in his torso. His hand found the handle of his blunt sword, and for a second he regretted not taking the time to sharpen it before he left Yunmeng. He had no other weapon on him.

It seemed the noise he had heard, suspiciously close to a footstep, was only the fruit of his imagination. After a while of waiting he relaxed his stance, the tip of his sword falling to graze the ground.

Then he turned his head sideways and saw Wen Zhuliu jump toward him hands-first.

Wei Wuxian sidestepped it with a cry, but he wasn't quick enough to escape the second blow. Wen Zhuliu's palm struck him flatly on the chest, making the surgery wound throb in answer and pushing Wei Wuxian backwards. Pain tore into his right shoulder. Wei Wuxian shouted, looking down, glimpsing with horror the end of a blood-stained sword.

The person behind him pulled the sword back harshly; Wei Wuxian fell to his knees, agony blinding him for a moment, unable to do anything as a hand gripped his hair and Wen Chao's voice exploded in laughter.

His back ran with cold shivers.

"Wei Wuxian," Wen Chao crooned, bending so that his smug face appeared within Wei Wuxian's eyesight. His fingers tightened in Wei Wuxian's hair, ripping entire strands away and forcing his head upwards. "There you are at last, omega. I so wanted to see you again. Did you enjoy seeing the Lotus Pier burn?"

Wei Wuxian stared at Wen Zhuliu, finding the sight of him a tad less griping than that of Wen Chao. Wen Zhuliu stared back with a frown, the hand with which he had struck him twitching oddly by his side.

Wen Chao jerked his head around till Wei Wuxian was looking at him again. "Did you abandon that poor, coreless alpha?" he asked.

Wei Wuxian smirked.

Immediately, Wen Chao's smile fell. It was with anger in his voice that he went on, "You won't be smiling long. Wen Zhuliu will melt your core, and then I will kill you, Wei Ying."

"That's fine," Wei Wuxian replied.

Blood splattered down his chin warmly. He licked his lips.

Wen Chao grit his teeth and asked, "Do you recognize this sword?"

Wei Wuxian had recognize it the second he saw its tip running with own blood. Still, seeing Suibian's handle be held between Wen Chao's wiry fingers made nausea simmer in him.

"That's your sword, Wei Ying," Wen Chao said, tapping the flat of the blade against Wei Wuxian's neck. "I'm going to kill you with your own sword. I'll keep it as replacement for the one you stole from me."

"Kill me, then," Wei Wuxian answered, "It doesn't matter."

He found that he could still experience delight. He found that although his heart had felt detached from him ever since his golden core had vanished into Jiang Cheng's body, this sort of cruel amusement, of vow of revenge, could still elicit joy out of him.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me," Wei Wuxian spat at Wen Chao, grinning at the man's dumbstruck face. "Torture me, kill me, do whatever you want with me. I'll come back to haunt you, and I will be the fiercest of ghosts. You will never know peace again, Wen Chao."

"You little bitch," Wen Chao seethed, brandishing Suibian high over his head.

Then he cried out in pain. His fingers untangled from Wei Wuxian's hair as he grabbed his own wrist, and Suibian fell from his grasp, leaving behind a burned-red hand. The handle of the sword seemed to be smoking slightly.

"Master," Wen Zhuliu exclaimed.

"It's nothing!" Wen Chao shouted. "Leave us!"

"But—"

"Leave, dog, before I make you!"

Wen Zhuliu's mouth closed tightly. He bowed at the shoulders and walked away, disappearing slowly through the thick foliage.

Wei Wuxian stared at Suibian. Its handle had stopped smoking, and he put all of his strength into reaching it, though the movement made his chest throb and his shoulder weep blood all over his clothes. He was almost touching it when Wen Chao's foot planted itself on his wrist.

He grunted in pain. Wen Chao glared at him more fiercely than ever before. "What the hell did you do to that sword?" he asked, still nursing his burned hand.

"Have you never heard of such things before?" Wei Wuxian retorted. "It's obvious that Suibian found you unworthy of wielding it."

"Unworthy," Wen Chao repeated softly. "Unworthy?"

He lifted his foot from Wei Wuxian's wrist and kicked him in the ribs.

Wei Wuxian immediately rolled to his side, spitting blood onto the grass. He had all but felt bone break under the strength of the blow, and now another ache was added to the remnants of surgery, the branding mark on his skin, and the hole in his shoulder. He moaned pitifully. He tasted dirt on his lips.

Wen Chao fell to his knees beside him and, grabbing him by the arm, forced him face-down onto the forest floor.

"Unworthy," he said again as he kneeled astride Wei Wuxian's thighs. "I'll show you who's unworthy, Wei Ying."

Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh. He wanted to repeat to Wen Chao what he had said before—that no matter what torture was brought to him, no matter which horrible way was chosen to kill him, he could handle it. He had survived two nights and one day of surgery, wide awake in the ruins of his own home, with next to him the brother he had failed more than anyone in the world. He wasn't afraid of anything, he thought. Not anymore, not ever again.

But Wen Chao's hand grabbed him by the neck. He leaned over Wei Wuxian's back with all of his weight, the scent of him suffocating, and said: "I'll show you your fucking place."

His lips brushed wetly against Wei Wuxian's ear.

I don't want my life to be spent waiting for an alpha to rape me.

He found that fear, like devotion, had no limit that a human could reach.

The Yiling Burial Mounds spread under their feet like the painting of a nightmare. Wei Wuxian heard little of Wen Chao's spiel as the man explained to him just how his flesh and soul would be torn apart, never to return again. He took in the smells of rot and decay, the burned aspect of the valley and hills, as if a great fire had once ravaged everything. No plant grew as far as the eye could see. If was as though the grassy path that they had walked to the edge of the cliff-like hill was the only touch of color around.

Wen Chao grabbed Wei Wuxian by the hair and balanced him at the edge of the precipice. He forced Wei Wuxian to turn around and face him again, to Wei Wuxian's dismay. He never wanted to see this man's face again.

Behind Wen Chao, Wen Zhuliu watched silently.

"You'll never haunt anything or anyone," Wen Chao declared, tangibly satisfied.

It was that satisfaction. That smugness. That air of superiority as he rose from Wei Wuxian's body earlier, the memory of him as heavy, it seemed, as the real thing—

Wei Wuxian used the last of his strength to spit in Wen Chao's face. The saliva that sprayed over the man's cheek was pink.

Wen Chao groaned with disgust, wiping himself with a sleeve. "You really are such a blight on your kind, Wei Ying," he said. "Not even worth the price that someone would've paid for you. What happened to that lovely scent of yours?"

"Fuck off," Wei Wuxian replied.

He tore himself out of Wen Chao's grip and fell into the abyss, unwilling to give the man the joy of throwing him himself.

Down, down, down he fell, till all he saw of Wen Chao was a white spot against the sky. Till all he felt was the wind in his hair washing away every other touch. Till his eyes closed and consciousness faded away from him at last, taking away all the pain, all the terror, all the shame.

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[praximeter]

Hi, different nonnie to the one asking about post night war fic, but I can't wait for the one with Teddy. I love the way you've written Bucky's sibling relationships and his protectiveness of them. Do you have any Barnes family centric fic recs? Could be pre or post war thanks!

Aw, thank you, nonnie, that really means a lot to me. I never expected to completely fall as head-over-heels for my OCs as I ended up doing throughout the course of writing this fic, and the idea that you and other readers are connecting with them too is so gratifying – you have no idea!

Barnes Family Fic Recommendations, Part 1/?

My Ghosts Are Six Feet Under by @what-alchemy. 

Steve showed up on Becca’s doorstep a month after the invasion in New York, larger than life and trying to hide it.

With that, Becca plopped the ball of dough onto the flour-dusted counter, wiped her hands on the rag, and crossed her arms over her chest as she fixed Steve with her best grandkid-wrangling glare. He slouched over to her, eyes downcast and properly chastised.

“I don’t remember how,” he said quietly.

“Just push it out with the heels of your hands,” Becca said. “Fold and start over. Fold and start over.”

This fic does a great job at establishing a realistic sibling relationship between Becca and Steve & Bucky, while still characterizing Becca as an obviously old woman with a lot of life experience. 

Becoming by @southsidestory

The serum straightened Steve’s crooked back, healed his weak lungs, and brought new color to his vision, and sometimes Bucky wonders what else it could do. Maybe the secret of Steve’s desire for Bucky was imprinted on his genetic code, and like every other imperfection stamped there, Erskine’s formula wiped it out. It would explain why Steve no longer looks at him with quiet longing, and Bucky almost hopes that the experimentations of a mad scientist are to blame. Because the alternative is too painful to consider, that Steve simply stopped wanting Bucky of his own accord.

@southsidestory is at her absolute best in this WIP. She has put together one of the most inventive and daring interpretations of the Barnes family in all of Cap fandom, in my opinion. Note: it’s not necessarily a happy one, but well worth reading.

new york is the ocean (and the ocean is bleedin’ salt) by defcontwo

It is 1970, and ten minutes and however many blocks ago, Rebecca Barnes looked across the street and out of the corner of her eye, saw a man ascending from the U-Bahn and set off down the street. He had on a dark coat and he walked with a deep, heavy weight to his gait, a swagger with no joy in it, and for all that he walked with his head down, she saw enough to be sure, in that moment so completely dead certain, that he wore her brother’s face.

The trouble is, James Buchanan Barnes has been dead for twenty-six years.

I really enjoy stories that imagine the effect Bucky might had had on history, and on his family members. This fic does a lovely job of that.

Yearning That One Day Soon by ashen_key

“Becky, can I come home?”

OR:

Every Sunday she could, the ninety-year-old Becky Barnes went to the Brooklyn Promenade to people-watch. Only this Sunday, she saw a ghost.

“I…tried to find our place, Becks. I got lost. I got lost.” He looked young, but the confusion reminded her of the very old. “I tried to go home, and…”

“It’s changed, but I’m still in our old apartment,” she said, hopefully reassuring. Or maybe not. Maybe there was nothing comforting she could say to him. The last letter he wrote her from the war, he signed it as he’d signed all his letters: I’ll try and be home soon. He’d tried.

Love this vision of Becca, and I really like the way the author wrote Early!Recovery!Bucky. Again, it reminds you of all that Bucky missed, and all that Becca lost.

Demobilization by @743ish and sallysparrow017

When the Statue of Liberty slides into view, the whole ship roars. It’s deafening. Bucky throws his fist in the air and yells along with everyone else. His heart is in his throat. The Statue of goddamn Liberty. Bucky wants to climb up her robe and kiss her sour green face.

The cheers rise up again as they go by her, and then die back down; most of the guys are just happy to sit and smile and watch the city float lazily into focus. They know they’ve got days more of barracks and bunks and cheap train seats before they’ll get to see their families in Pittsburgh, or Columbus, or Chicago. But Bucky’s home, he can see Brooklyn, and he laughs and shades his eyes from the sun and feels crazy with happiness, and this has to be the slowest fucking boat in the world, but at least he has a good view while he dies of impatience.

——

In 1945, Bucky comes home from the war.

One of my favorite fics of the past year or so. @743ish is so extremely talented at giving body and character and soul to the setting and characters, which include Bucky’s family. This is a really lovely fic, there’s no other way to describe it. 

[feynites]

have you ever heard of the elysian fields (or Elysium)? it's a kind of Greek heaven where you could 'live' how you pleased and do what you wanted. I believe you could also make it look how you wanted to and create your own paradise. (i hope i'm not being too bold here but) would you write a story based around a girl who found paradise in a forest? I'm not much of a writer but it's an idea i can't get rid of. sorry to bother you, don't worry if it doesn't interest you i just thought i'd ask ^-^ x

Now, here is the trick to mortal man’s mind:

It cannot abide a paradise.

A god is a long and lonely thing. Like mountains, their kindhave been there since long before ours; and like mountains, before us, they hadno names. Mortals are but whispers to their ears. Breezes and fleetingdaydreams, our passions and pains, insults and even worship are beneath theirnotice, contrary to what we ourselves might claim. The mountain does not carethat it has a name.

But it should.

Because the mortal mind cannot abide a paradise. A paradiseis endless beauty. It is the power and untouchability of the gods. Safety,plentitude, and eternity.

Ask your ancestors, who lived but the blink of a god’s eyeago, what paradise was shaped like. They might tell you, honeyed fruit andcomfortable shade, sweet ocean winds, and soft places to rest their heads.Bodies that do not tire, or grow ill, and endless summer days in which tofrolic and play and delight in one another’s company.

How soon the mortal mind grows bored with its success. Howeasily the first paradises began to fail. The minds of mortals are written upontheir souls. Sweet fruit. Cool shade. Long days.

Days upon days upon days, until the taste of the fruit wasunwelcome, and the complacency of the shade grew dull, and the endlessdiversions of athleticism and play no longer seemed endless. Give it enoughtime and all sweetness will sour, without change enough to renew it. The longertime draws on, the more change is needed. The harder it is to go back, torepeat, to remain.

Ask your grandparents what paradise looks like, and theymight tell you it is a garden. Or a golf course. Or a spa. It is eternity withloved ones, or even with countless diversions. But none of it would hold.

Paradise, in the mortal mind, in a mortal soul, can onlylive in a moment. That is why the mountain should care that it is has a name.Why the gods intimidate and appease and avoid, by turns, the children of thisgreen glass globe.

However old and unconcerned the mountain is – what mortalsname, they can destroy.

Gods are made for paradise. For eternity. Unchanging,delighting, and content in all they are. But mortal souls persist with mortalminds. And the gods are growing fearful, these days. For Elysium is empty, andthe heavens are being abandoned, and the torments of eternal punishment can,too, lose all meaning as they become simply dull and mundane. What mortalssouls in time can become, the gods themselves do not know.

But what we in life do to mountains, in death, we may well doto the gods.

 ~

 You wake in a forest.

You don’t live in a forest. Didn’t live in a forest, anyway. Or near to one. You lived in acity. Glass and concrete, with plantlife confined in neat little rows, andlimited to gardens and small parks and the fancy hedges out in front ofwealthier homes. When you were younger, you had indulgent grandparents whowould take you to the city’s biggest park. You loved nothing more than goingthere. Losing yourself among the old trees, and their massive roots, andlistening to the peacocks cry, and the ocean strike the sea wall near the parkroads. Pointing out plants and birds and squirrels to your grandparents.Imagining what might live in the hollow of massive, old trees, and watchingsunlight fall through the canopy, and feeling small and young and surrounded bymany old and mysterious things.

But that was long ago. A memory of a moment of paradise,that somehow grew sweeter in your mind as the years passed, and yourgrandparents passed, and your world seemed to veer away from all the thingsthat delighted you. Into cold buildings and grey streets, schools you hated andpeople you hated even more. Bitterness came dressed in glass and stainlesssteel, and the shine of headlights, and erratic flicker of streetlamps.

There is none of that, when you wake.

Just forest.

Beautiful forest, deep and thick and far as the eye can see.You feel light. You move easily, and without the barest notion of pain. But youcan still feel things. The sunlight’s warmth on your skin, and the breezeblowing through your hair, and the soft mulch beneath your feet. The scent oflife is all around you. The sound of familiar and unfamiliar animals calling,and branches rustling, and some babbling brook passing unseen in the distance.There are trees around you as vast as skyscrapers; and others as small anddainty as flowers. Mushrooms, too, seem to come in all shapes and colours andsizes. There are flowers the unfurl as you walk past, and vines that hanginvitingly from branches that look more than sturdy enough to climb.

Paradise.

For a long time, you simply wander through it all. You knowthat you are dead. You would have that might distress you, once upon a time,and in a way you think that it does. But there is no immediacy to that distress. It exists like the knowledge at theback of your mind. That you are dead, and this is paradise, and there is nogoing back except by way of memory. You wander, and for a while you find onlyplants, and hear animals but do not see them. But then you find a nest ofbright-feathered birds, and watch them, too, as you settle into the hollowbetween a great tree’s roots, and watch the breeze blow leaves and feathersalike into soft whirls and currents.

You are very calm. Trauma has not followed you here. Youthink about your life, and hopes and dreams, and the people you left behind.You wonder if you can find your grandparents, and when you do, you know thatyou can. That they are out there, somewhere, in their own paradise; and it iseasy enough for them to find you, or for you to find them. Or anyone else youcare to, so long as you both wish for it. There are people who might try tofind you, dead souls who would look, but who you would not to see. And so theywill never find your paradise.

It would not really be paradise, if they could.

Instead they will find an image of you. An illusion of you,that they will never know is not real. The same is true of any of those whowould rather be without you, and the first moment of unease since your deathcomes to you, then. Because what if someone you love only ever sees you againas an illusion? What if you never have the chance to make amends? You left somethings unfinished. Many things, in fact. People you care about might hate you.People might never forgive you, and how would you even know?

You let it go, at length. It is hard not to, in this calmand beautiful place, which encourages a certain degree of contemplation. Evennow that you have met eternity, of a sort, you do not really still believe init. There is something in you that repels the notion. This may be the waythings are now, but ‘forever’ isstill too long for you to believe in. Things will change. Doors will open. Yoursituation will not last for always, and you can enjoy it, for now.

So, you do.

You wander your forest. And you find your grandparents, andothers, too. Old friends, and lost family, and companions. The cat you lovedlike nothing else when you were a child jumps down from the branches of one ofyour shady trees, and wanders through sweet-smelling flowers with you, andhelps you fish for motes of light in a nearby stream. The best friend you lostin highschool invites you to wander through the desert caves of her ownparadise, setting up crystals that refract the light into vivid shapes andimagines more beautiful than anything to have ever graced a cinema screen. You donot tire, but sometimes you rest for the pleasure of it. You do not knowthirst, or hunger, but sometimes you feel inclined to eat and drink anyway, totaste food or feel the bubbling trickle of soda pop on your tongue. There isalways enough for you, whatever you find yourself wanting.

And after a while, the forest begins to change. When youfind yourself wishing for caves like those of your friend’s paradise, you findone. And then another. Mossy and overgrown and different-looking – more likewhat you enjoy – but they have everything you might hope they would. Small,golden-furred monkeys help you gather up crystals, when the other souls youknow do not visit to do it, and you make art and play games and deviseever-more ways to delight yourself. You find treasures, and go on adventures,and sometimes you simply float down the waters of your stream, watchingbranches sway and listening to the whispers of knowing the come to you. That sometimes tell you whenever anothersoul you know has passed, or whenever something in your paradise has changed.

It takes you a long, long time. Longer than you think youcould have ever marked when you were alive.

But eventually, you begin to hate it.

You try many things to avoid that. It is not a pleasantfeeling. So you change the forest. You change yourself. You visit others, moreand more, and you conjure new things, as often as you can. You make up stories.Lovers and adventures and dramas that drag you at your own whims. You smashcrystals and burn trees and build towers only to, inevitably, tear them backdown again. You set paradise ablaze, and you know that in the blink of an eye itwill be perfectly fine again. Ready to be burned down again, to the objectionsof no one, unless you conjure up someone specifically to object.

And so, eventually, you simply burn it all to sand and dustand then darkness. You sit in the dark, and you know that this is nothing. Thatyou are nowhere.

A long time passes. Or, possibly, it does not. Time mattersas little as anything else. But after a while, you become aware of a sort oflight. Like a star, but, it has been a long time since you saw things the waythat you did when you were alive. A long time since you looked up at a nightsky, and felt small and young, and surrounded by things that were old andmysterious.

Below the edges of the star, there is a mountain.

You did not make it. The mountain is no one’s paradise. Andthough you search your thoughts, you find, somehow, that you do not know whatit is. Where it comes from, or what seeing it means. You think, and wonder, andwatch the light ripple at the edges of it. Is it even a mountain? No answerscome. You try to blot it out with the darkness, but you are not really seeing it. Nor the star above. They arenot things you are making; they are more… things you have somehow, now, realizedare there.

Where?

Elsewhere.

You pick yourself up, after a time. Pick yourself up, forwhatever is left of ‘you’, after all this. It has been a long time sinceanything really felt new, or strange, or beyond you. You try to move towardsthe mountain, but you find it is always the same distance away. In that elsewhere that is not paradise, that isnot a place you can reach. But you know you are not the only one moving towardsit. You can feel them. Others you’ve known, others you’ve loved, who have beensitting in their own darkness. Who had lost meaning for you, along witheverything else. But as you press forwards, insistent, searching, you rememberthat they are real.

That you are real.

The moment of paradise is done. However long it takes, now,you will move on. You will find the mountain. What then, you do not know. Butyou do not think it is anything you can understand as you are now.

And that is the most amazing relief you have ever felt.

[malvoliowithin]

Yeah , I meant Richard III and Anne Neville! I'm trying to get around to read something about Richard II, but I can't find a novel that seems both historically accurate and romantic. Anyway! My prompt is 'the feeling you get when you see again the ex you are still in love with, but that you have hurt too much'. Thank you for the time you are dedicating at this prompts! I love read about them!

All right so! I had to AU for this one, because while Richard had relationships with other women prior to Anne we have no historical knowledge of who the heck said women were, and Anne was, obviously, married before she was married to Richard but her first husband got killed so this is where we do the AU thing. Quick AU description, and then I’ll put the fic itself under a cut.

Edward of Westminster survived Tewksbury. However, he was captured, and Anne was also taken as a prisoner. Their execution dates were set when George of Clarence (at the request of his wife, Isabel) asked for Anne’s pardon on grounds that she was married under her father’s consent rather than her own and had no certain ties to the Lancasters (the marriage was not consummated.)

Richard of Gloucester added his support for George’s request. Edward IV reluctantly agreed, and after that, it was up to Anne: she could divorce her husband and let him go to his death alone, or she could die with him. She divorced him. Edward then placed Anne under George’s control with strict orders not to let her out of his custody and to keep her closely guarded. 

However, before Edward of Westminster could be killed an uprising army gathered by Margaret of Anjou freed him and they fled, again, into hiding. The war continued. (Okay I lied about this being quick)

After that everything went more or less as it did historically in regards to Anne’s marriage, Richard married her for his share of the Warwick and Beauchamp fortunes, and eventually entrusted her as regent. However, the war throughout Edward’s reign has been much fiercer since the Lancasters have a direct heir to the throne (so, the war of two Edwards. However yeah I’m not gonna get into war stuff let’s just get on with the story shall we? Here we go: )

Richard was wearing the face he reserved for the darkest of times; deaths, betrayals, and eves of battle. While the men of his army celebrated around them, he stood silent, staring coldly at the fires that had been kindled outside for the victorious army to gather around. Ten thousand men had been killed that day, and now they’d won. Anne hadn’t seen that part, although she’d been there when her husband had staggered home and fallen the moment he’d gotten into a tent. For a moment she had thought he’d been wounded to death, or at the very least seriously injured, but he’d only stared up at her with a face like an iron mask and she’d braced herself for the worst.“Lancaster has been taken.” It was then Anne heard the screaming. Jubilant. Wild. Her heart leapt, but she only nodded solemnly and put her arms around her husband’s shoulders. Loyal.“You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” Richard asked. Anne nodded. She’d been preparing for this moment since her second wedding night. She knew in her heart that either Richard would return to her as a corpse or Edward would be killed. They could not both survive. “Good. I’m not going to request you come, because it will be ugly. I’ll warn you of that early.”“I know,” Anne said. She had hoped it would be a merciful death, but it was likely to be gruesome in its undertaking. She knew. She had seen Henry’s body displayed. He was her father in law, then. Her father, too, had been killed in battle. She was no stranger to violence. “I’ll come.”Richard regarded her for a moment before nodding. “Very well. If you like.” He got up, taking Anne’s hands briefly in his own. His face didn’t change - Richard was not a man to show affection in face or form or even words, but in deeds. Still, Anne knew him well enough to know what such actions meant. Three years of marriage hadn’t softened him, it had only given the two of them time to learn their own private language of caring. Brief touches, quiet moments. Frankness of speech. Absolute loyalty and trust. He had never said so, but Anne suspected Richard liked her better than he liked most of his men, and even many of his own family. 

They were interrupted by the entrance of a guard. Richard stood, looking formidable even at his slight stature, and Anne rose with him. “What is it?” he demanded.The guard bowed low before responding. “My lord. Lancaster has made a request.”“And he shall be refused,” Richard snarled.“My lord, it concerns… your wife. He wants an audience with the Duchess.”Dead silence.“What… would he with her?” Anne watched her husband carefully. His fury was guarded, but it was still present. The guard would be wise to watch his step.“I don’t know, my lord. That was the only request he made. He’s still in custody, and his chains have not been removed. Constant guard, like you ordered.”Richard nodded sharply and turned to Anne. There was no malice in his eyes regarding her. “Well. Will you meet with him?”Anne blinked. She had no desire to meet with Edward - nor had she, not since she’d taken Richard as a husband. She couldn’t face him, not after the day she’d been offered her life or her loyalty in front of all of England and had selfishly chosen her life. Still, she couldn’t deny the fact that underneath her convictions and her choices, she still cared for Edward. Loved him, even. She could not let him die without some closure. No.“I will go,” she said quietly, steeling herself for whatever was to come. Her husband nodded calmly. “Go, then. If he has any desire to bargain for his life and thinks he can persuade you because you are soft, teach him otherwise. And let him know that if he harms you or threatens you in any way, I shall increase the pain of his death a hundredfold.” Anne nodded, kissing him goodbye. “I’ll return soon. Wait for me.” To the guard she requested three men to escort her, only to wait out of earshot. She wanted privacy, but she knew that Richard would want her protected well. 

Edward of Lancaster was bound and chained to a post, guarded by five men at all times, about a half mile from where the encampment was set. They had taken no other prisoners of any importance and the rest had been dispatched with haste, but Lancaster was a prize to be reckoned with, and his death would be therefore more public.He looked up when he saw Anne approaching, and their eyes met. He looked only a very little older than when she’d been married to him. He looked a bit more drawn, weathered, but his face still held a touch of the softness of youth. His eyes were still the same shade of green-blue, and his hair was surely as golden as ever under the mats and dirt. He was lovely. Anne didn’t smile when she walked up to him, but he did, breaking into the same boyish grin he’d always worn when he saw her coming.Her heart sped up. God, but he was still the man she loved. “Lady Anne.”“Edward.”“You used to call me Ed.”She sighed, looking down. She had expected anger, solemnity at least, perhaps bitterness at being betrayed not once but twice, but no. There was only the same old Ed. “Yes, I did, but I don’t think I ought to call my enemy by a pet name.”“Are we enemies, Anne?” he looked hurt.“If it were just me, I would say no. However, I’m married to your enemy, and so we are.”“Right. I forgot that bloody boar managed to tie you down,” Edward scowled. “Tell me, has he hurt you any? Hit you? Locked you up?”“That ‘bloody boar’ is my husband, Edward. And no. He’s been nothing but kind. Now, you didn’t come here to insult my choice of marriage, unless this is your way of being spiteful.”“No spite,” Edward’s eyes were gentle. “No. I came to say goodbye. And to tell you that I loved you. I wanted to hear that you loved me too.”Anne’s breath caught in her throat. She was not dishonest. She would not be dishonest. Edward could do nothing, not chained up like this, not guarded - it couldn’t be a trick, could it? Still, to confess love for him while her husband waited for her a half mile off…“Come on, Anne. Gloucester hasn’t frozen your heart, has he? You can still love, I hope. Do you remember how you used to climb on my back so you could get a better look at the frescoes in the cathedral in Westminster? Or how we used to ride down along the Thames and watch the ships dock? Or how you used to kiss me good morning and good night? I would have done that every night, Anne, for the rest of your life.”She was silent.“Never mind,” he sighed. “You don’t have to lie to me. Does Gloucester treat you well? Kiss you? Hold you? Tell you how beautiful you are, how wonderful?”Her husband did none of those things. And Anne couldn’t deny that it would have felt heavenly if just once - just once he would. That she could thaw him. That she could have Edward back, and sleep by his side, as his queen, and have him wrap his arms about her and kiss her face one dozen, two dozen, three dozen times.But she also couldn’t explain to Edward how it felt when Richard spoke to her as his most trusted partner, or when he held her hand just a moment longer than he needed to, or when he saw her coming and his face softened, just slightly. Or how when the day was done and he came back from a long journey, remaining strong and indomitable in front of all his men and all the world, he would come to her and only when they were alone would he relax. Only then would he cease to be a tireless warrior and become a man, exhausted and seeking respite. “Edward,” she said finally. “I did care for you and I - I don’t want to see you die. But you’ve got to realize that I’m not the child that was wed to you by my father’s hand.”“No. You’re a Duchess.”She nodded. “That’s right. I am a Duchess. And Gloucester has earned my loyalty and my respect. I don’t regret him,” she knelt down then, and looked him in the face. “But I don’t regret you, either. I’m sorry it turned out like this. I’m - sorry I chose to abandon you back then, but I don’t regret it.”He looked at her gently. “No? Then let me go.”“No, Ed.”“Please. I’ll forge an army. Five times as many men, and better trained. I’ll bring them back here when I’m done with Edward and I’ll -”“Kill my husband?”“I’ll free you,” he was staring at her like she was something precious and rare. A diamond, perhaps, or a crown. “You can be my queen. You can have that.”“I’ll never be queen, Edward. I don’t want to be queen anymore.”“Please, Anne.”She shook her head, rising to her feet. “No. No. This is my life. I’m sorry, Ed,” she was. God above, but she wished she could let him go. Her throat tightened, and she dared not say more for fear of breaking down. “Goodbye.”“Anne,” he said as she turned away. “Anne, please. At least - at least kiss me once before you go. Just give me that. Give me that, please, sweetheart?”No. Anne made herself keep walking, hardening her heart, becoming steel and stone. Keep walking. Keep walking. If he thinks you’re soft, teach him otherwise.He was a dead man anyway.

Richard was awake when she returned. She’d never once known him to break a promise. He looked up, moved aside for her to sit beside him, which she did. “What did he want?”“Closure,” Anne said simply. He nodded. In the darkness his eyes were bright and almost soft. Almost. “Did you give it to him?”“Yes.”“My gentle Lady,” he remarked. Anne smiled. He didn’t question her further, because he knew she would do nothing to harm him. Perhaps it was an empty gesture. Perhaps he knew she had no power against him. But she knew Richard well enough to know that trust was not something he easily gave, in particular not to the daughter of his old enemy, to the ex wife of his current one. That kind of faith had to be earned, and yet, he’d given it. Perhaps trust was the closest thing he knew to love.She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I love you,” she said. It was not a lie. They’d simply never needed the words.His response was a kiss on the top of her head.