#combined with his memory of the circle and blood everywhere

[acecasinova]

Hullo!!! I hope it's not too late for this sorry but if you're still up for the ask meme

🍼, 🍎, 🥂 and 🥑 for Lazarus? :D

I am ALWAYS down to answer OC questions~~ (And I love my horrible, terrible lil vamp lol)

🍼 [BABY BOTTLE] What's your OC's first memory? I don't think Lazarus can definitely say this is his first memory, since it resurfaced while he was asleep (and I let the DM be wholly in charge of what happened to him before he came through the Mists) but.... The earliest memory he might have was of being led into a room with about a dozen people standing around a magical circle. He was brought to the center of the circle, then blacked out, and when the memory resumed, everyone had collapsed and he and the circle were COVERED in blood. (And definitely of no consequence, we got solid evidence that Lazarus is an eldritch, non-standard type of vampire that feeds on other vampires [and actually physically grows and sprouts red kudzu from the corpse in the process of doing so] who, according to Esmeralda, should NOT be able to Embrace/Turn others, but uh.... they sure seem to have made Lazarus somehow) Before he had that revelation though and the earliest concrete memory he has is in the woods outside of Valaki, the wolf he'd just killed still warm as he drained its lifeblood. No thoughts beyond what cave or tree he might sleep in that night.

🍎 [RED APPLE] Who does your OC value above all else? He's actually weirdly loyal for someone who's chaotic evil, but there are PRECIOUS few people he's actually loyal TO, so it seems to work out lmfao. Might makes Right has really always been what he values most (ish) but Strahd and one of his Iron Nails (dm turned the Wives into SCARY paladins) pretty thoroughly broke him and their strength and HOW they did it just,,,, doesn't sit right as "earned". What he REALLY values most but can't or won't put into words is freedom and he's kinda taken it to the extreme of wanting freedom from society as a whole (Not particularly achievable, esp as he's being dragged kicking and screaming into personhood lol)

🥂 [GLASS CHEERS] What is your OC's 'aesthetic?' He's SO GRUNGY. Sleeping in the same clothes you've had for years, stained with mud and blood that's so ground in it's basically part of the fabric now. Dirty claws always out, hair hastily pulled away from his eyes but still wild Very "Lost Boys"type vampire- if Barovia had denim and safety pins he's be all OVER that stuff~

🥑 [AVACADO] What will they never back down about, even if it makes them seem bad? Murder is fine, actually? Lazarus doesn't exactly have qualms about being called bad or evil or anything like that, because..... he is tbh. But he also likes to argue that he doesn't need to have morals or listen to them, because he's a monster, not a person and morals are for PEOPLE. He's SUPER insistent on this, actually, and REALLY stubborn about claiming to not be a "person". That might actually change if the party is determined enough, but I don't think they'll ever get him to let go of the idea that a lot of the time murder IS the answer and you can't go your whole life NOT killing if you're going to claim you're a strong person.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #19

Beware! Not gonna lie, this prompt is creepy. I was feeling some horror vibes and decided to write it down. Whether or not it's actually creepy is for you guys to decide tho. However, just in case...

CW: Mentions of blood/ectoplasm, human experimentation, and descriptions of other unsettling imagery. Mind the tags!! They can give you a summary of what this prompt is about.

(#) = Notes at the end of post. Important context!!

✦

Echoes of the Soul

Danny is captured and taken away by the GIW to be experimented on and despite the combined efforts of his friends, family, and former enemies he's never found. Decades pass, the GIW were shut down at some point and put to trial for all of the atrocities they committed while Danny is recorded as the first superhero know to history. Tragic though his story may be, many modern teenage heroes look up to him.

Danny would only be seen as a memory by the world. Seen as someone who did actually exist at some point, but time and mystery have lessened his impact on other's thoughts and emotions like many other people and instances throughout history. However, it isn't until Jason is on his way back to Gotham since the first time he died(1) that he accidentally/unknowingly takes a detour.

He can't pinpoint why he's taking a longer route back to the city of his birth and death, but something in his chest, his heart, is telling him to follow an unknown path. Though mildly irritated, he follows it regardless. The incessant tug at his ribcage eventually leads him down some back roads into the middle of nowhere, where he finds something.(2)

From the outside, it looks like a regular dilapidated house in the country that was long left abandoned. Something inside Jason screams that the isn't the case at all. He dismounts his motorcycle and circles the property for anything suspicious. He's as cautious and stealthy as a cat stalking a mouse through the grass. Finding nothing, he eventually makes his way to the door, having to break it down to even enter it.

As he steps into the house, all the hair on his body stands on end and he's immediately on edge. Nothing on the ground floor seems suspicious, if a little empty. It was clear nobody had lived here for quite some time, but the feeling in Jason's chest wouldn't leave. If anything, it wrapped itself tighter around his chest, squeezing his lungs and heart to point of almost panicking.

Searching the house and finding nothing in the side rooms, he eventually finds a door to what he can only assume leads to the basement. As soon as his hand even touches the doorknob, his skin is crawling with chills and his teeth are chattering no so much from the cold but from fear he can't locate the source of.

The door creaks when it opens and reveals the stairs leading down into a yawning mouth of darkness. Flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other, he cautiously begins his dissent. Once at the bottom, he finds another door. Only this time, it's completely out of place. Instead of a rotting, wooden door barely hanging onto it's hinges, this door is made of thick reinforced steel with a lever and a keypad where a doorknob should be. It's not difficult to figure out the code to unlock it. With his history, it might as well of been child's play to crack it.

Once the door was opened, however, he wished he'd left it locked. He wishes he never even set foot in this house or even followed the tugging at his ribs in the first place. On the other side of the door was a lab. All of the equipment and surfaces were left in disarray, some trays full of tool even knocked onto the floor as if whoever owned the lab was in a hurry. Or whatever they were studying was trying to get out.

The fact that he was looking at a destroyed lab, was the least worrisome observation, however. Everywhere he looked there were splatters of glowing green, some duller than others. Just the sight of them had the Pits roiling in upset, tinting the edges of his vision green as well. He steps further into the lab, careful not to step on any of the sharp tools littering the floor as well as any puddles of glowing green.

Eyes constantly scanning for any movement, he eventually makes his way to the center of the room, right next to a large, steel lab stable, complete with wrist, ankle, and neck staps. The surface was littered with deep scratch marks and more splatters of the same glowing green substance that he can only assume is blood. There was even an almost perfectly shaped handprint of the stuff curling around the edge of the table. Morbidly curious, he reached out to touch the handprint, wondering if it was related to the Pits somehow.

He didn't get to wonder for long, however. As soon as his fingertips so much as brushed against the handprint, the feeling he'd been following for the past week suddenly had his chest in a stranglehold followed by a vomit-inducing yank that left him dizzy and off-balance. He didn't have time to gather his wits before his ears were flooded with hair-raising screams and sounds of struggle.

Ignoring the nausea, his head whipped back up to the lab table he was standing in front of. What met his eyes was a young boy with black hair and terrified green-tinted blue eyes as he laid strapped to the table with men in white lab coats surrounding him, with one in particular having his green stained arm elbow deep in the boy's vivisected chest.(3) This one is important! More context below!

✦

Notes:

(1) This takes place before Jason returns to Gotham in Under The Red Hood

(2) What Jason is feeling is his baby halfa core reacting to a distress signal being sent by another halfa.

(3) This isn't a time travel prompt. What happened here is Jason got sucked into a very corporeal memory/imprint that belonged to Danny. What Danny experienced in that lab filled him with such raw emotions that everything that is part of him (i.e.- his blood) trapped every experience into a playable memory when said blood is touched. The memory is, in essence, still very much a part of Danny. What does that say about Danny's current existence? He's trapped. He's trapped in a neverending, disjointed cycle of reliving everything that was done to him and is forced to haunt the very lab he was held captive in. What does this mean for Jason since he got sucked into it? He's trapped too! However, with another person there, they can help Danny break out of the cycle and free himself. What will escaping mean? Will he permanently die? Will he come back a full ghost? Will Jason helping another person through the horrors of their own death help bring closure to his own? What does this mean for the rise of Red Hood? That's all up to you guys!

[anncanta]

Arcadia

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Mature

@hopipollahorror @ravenathantum @dragatha @ladyhaley28

Read on AO3

Or read below

The blue strip of surf stretched right and left, ending in humpbacked rocks overgrown with pines. Agatha waved to the owner of the fishing boat that had brought her and stood, watching the silhouette of a small vessel move away, dissolving on the verge of sky and water.

Pine trees hung over Agatha`s head, casting their shadows on the white sand. The thick scent of pine needles mingled with the scent of the acacia trees scattered up the slope. Walking forward, Agatha turned onto a narrow path that stretched from the beach.

She didn`t have a watch with her – going here, she left it at the hotel, like a smartphone with a navigator. She did not want to be discovered at the very end of the journey.

Is this the end, she thought, stepping out from under the canopy of pines and looking down at the blue-green sea, the heaps of shell rocks, and the terraced vineyards on the other side.

Agatha closed her eyes. More than six months later, she was still struggling. It was hard to get used to how much ... things there were in this world and how convenient at the same time it was arranged. Zoe was no help to her: after both of them realized that Agatha had returned, and neither of them was crazy, with a feeling of strange relief, the great-niece retired until her death, transferring the body, position – and mission to Agatha.

The mission was to her liking. It was not difficult to manage Harker`s center – Zoe`s memory and Agatha`s own curiosity and ability to absorb new knowledge at a frantic speed allowed her to feel like a duck to water in a new role in a month. But her new life overwhelmed her.

‘How do they eat it?’ she thought irritably, looking in the restaurant at a three-layered fish dish topped with a structure of either greenery or weightless cream. ‘Author`s roll,’ the menu announced succinctly. Complexity, brightness, and variegation seemed to be the calling card of the time. Wherever Agatha appeared, wherever she looked, everywhere she was met by spectacular colors, sharp combinations, and screaming comfort.

It must have been because she was a nun in a previous life, Agatha told herself as she nibbled on an author`s roll, crossed the street on an orange-and-white zebra strip, and circled the acid-lit nightclub.

She found that life is completely arranged – from morning to evening, allowing you to focus on the main thing, without being distracted by almost anything. She didn`t need to clean, she didn`t need to cook – there were services for everything. If desired, you could not even buy a car. Why, when there is a taxi?

Agatha learned everything about the work of the Harker Center, figured out and delved into every detail. She read Mina`s notes and appreciated the work that went into the foundation`s research. She was sincerely sorry for Zoe, but even stronger than pity for her great-niece, she was angry.

They missed him. After they found him and captured him, after holding him in their hands ... It was beyond her understanding. But there was also something else. Something frightening and unsettling, something that made it hard to believe that the events at the Harker Foundation, as Zoe had assured her, ‘didn`t matter.’

This was what made Agatha quit her job, put aside promising research, take her mind off the study of new viruses and focus on one thing.

Dracula gave Zoe his blood. He gave it himself. After that, he left the Harker  Center and soon disappeared.

It took Agatha five months to find him. Using the old connections of ‘hers’ and other people`s acquaintances, the secret police departments of four countries, and the scientific reputation of Zoe Van Helsing, she was able to find his lair.

Two days after Zoe`s smartphone received a message – a screenshot of a satellite image with coordinates – Agatha was in place.

How did he end up in such an outback, she wondered as she climbed the slope. Knowing Dracula, Agatha could imagine several options for where he could go. She started with them. Again Romania, if not the old castle, then some of those that have been better preserved. America, North or South, Africa or Canada. In the end, if Europe, then Paris or Rome.

The Adriatic Coast was not even on the list. After receiving the data, Agatha double-checked it several times. But the information was correct – a lone dot on the map sandwiched between a grape terrace and pine groves.

The plateau that the path led to looked absolutely wild. No railings, no trash cans, no benches. There were probably no tourists here, but even the one who lived here did not seem to care about the minimum comfort. In a small gap between the pines and low bushes, a staircase was hidden, carved directly from the stone. The yellow shell rock was washed away by wind and rain. In some places, flexible stalks were breaking right out of the porous surface. Purple thyme blossoms swayed in the bright sun.

The house stood before her and loomed all at once. Two-storey, squat, with French windows, it seemed dormant in the haze of summer heat. There was no driveway, fence, or gate. Thickets of thyme, ending at the feet of Agatha, passed into a trampled area outlining a small courtyard.

She is safe during the day, Agatha told herself as she entered the terrace, which was enclosed by a yellow stone balustrade.

The armchair stood with its high back turned towards the terrace railing, the sun, and possible guests. Large even for its owner, it completely hid the seated person. However, the chair had neither a canopy nor a convertible top.

In the chair, tucking his right leg under him and leaning back on the wicker back, Dracula settled down.

He was wearing blue jeans torn at the knees, a white sweatshirt, and blue loafers. Sunglasses hid the upper part of the face. A windbreaker jacket was lying on the arm of the chair nearby. It had been cold in the morning, Agatha remembered absentmindedly.

He sat in an armchair and looked pleased, relaxed – as if not noticing that he was no longer alone. As soon as Agatha thought about it, Dracula moved and pushed his glasses down on his nose.

‘Agatha?’

For a moment she looked at him in confusion.

‘Why don`t you burn in the sun?’ she finally squeezed out.

‘I am burning,’ Dracula replied. ‘The heat is terrible today.’

He got up from his chair and took off his glasses.

‘Agatha Van Helsing.’

She frowned.

‘Are you sure I`m not Zoe?’

‘Zoe wouldn`t have come.’

It was true. In their last conversation, which took place between her and Zoe, the niece, whom Agatha called to go together in search of Dracula, flatly refused and died. Somehow she looked at her strangely, thought after Agatha. As if she was offered to participate in something that did not concern her, in something alien, moreover, intimate. But Agatha didn`t have time to think about it.

Silently, Agatha watched as Dracula tossed his glasses on the seat of his chair and approached her.

‘You don`t burn in the sun,’ she repeated.

‘Why should I burn – it`s hundreds of miles away,’ Dracula replied. ‘But you need a wide-brimmed hat. You have delicate skin.’

‘What the hell is going on here?!’

In the summer silence, her own voice seemed to Agatha both sonorous and fragile. Dracula looked at her for a long time. He said,

‘Let`s go to the house.’

***

What did she expect? Showy luxury? A replica of a Transylvanian castle she`s never been to? The originals of Dali and Picasso on the walls? Agatha didn`t know. Passing into the simply furnished living room, separated from the terrace by a stone arch, she sat down on a low sofa with light upholstery. Next to the sofa, last year`s fashion magazines were scattered on a rough stone coffee table.

After briefly disappearing into the next room, Dracula returned and placed a glass of orange juice on the table in front of Agatha. He sat down in the chair opposite.

Agatha looked at the glass. She took it, drank it – one sip, then another. She finished her drink and placed the empty glass on the table. She looked up at Dracula. He sat in an armchair with his legs stretched out and looked at her.

‘How long have you been living here?’ Agatha asked.

Dracula smiled.

‘About six months. Frank found this house for me at the end of October ... no, December.’

‘Why?’ Sicilian oranges, freshly squeezed juice, Agatha noted, licking her lips. He keeps human products, so he has guests.

‘I like it.’ Dracula`s smile became disarming. ‘You saw – it`s beautiful here.’

And besides, it`s secluded, calm and no one will hear the screams.

Judging by the expression on Dracula`s face, he guessed what she was thinking.

‘You haven`t changed at all, Agatha.’ Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. A stretched tear in the right trouser leg revealed tanned skin. ‘You are still vigilant and stubborn.’

‘How did you manage to defeat the sunlight?’

She doesn`t have any weapons, Agatha thought. She didn`t take anything with her. No aspen stakes, no crucifix. Why didn`t she take a weapon?

‘I didn`t have to defeat it.’ Agatha flinched. He sat very close. He smelled of the sea and sun-warmed grass. After giving Agatha a quick glance, he got up and walked over to the fireplace.

‘I have always been fascinated by your love of questions,’ he said without turning around. Taking something out of a box on the mantelpiece, Dracula placed it in front of Agatha, leaning across the table.

Agatha lowered her eyes. On the coffee table next to an empty glass lay a small silver crucifix.

‘Francis Alexander Renfield, my lawyer,’ Dracula spoke again, ‘is a top-notch professional. I can recommend his services to anyone. Frank is quick, smart, and practically devoid of flaws. Except for one thing,’ he smiled at Agatha, who looked up at him, ‘which is terrible ignorance of everything that does not concern jurisprudence.’

Agatha blinked in confusion.

‘When we met,’ Dracula said, ‘Frank saw that I was being held in some strange cell and that the sunlight scared me. He didn`t know who I was, he didn`t know anything about vampires, let alone ancient legends, so he thought it was some kind of quirk, my personal phobia. And he turned out to be right.’

Without letting Agatha ask a question, he continued,

‘Because at the time when I was so ... kindly welcomed at the center, I had not yet settled in London, having rescued from your niece, Frank drove me straight to his house. The night went well,’ Dracula said thoughtfully. ‘But in the morning he wanted to please me and made a surprise.’

Agatha was frowningly silent.

‘He sent a maid to me with a sumptuous human breakfast. A goodly Spanish donna with a crucifix on her chest. At seven in the morning, she woke me up by opening the curtains. And when I screamed, she thought I was having a heart attack and tried to help.’

Taking an empty glass of juice, Agatha looked inside and put it back.

‘She`s fine,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘I gave her a vineyard in Seville.’ He looked at the sea through the archway. ‘I would have given more, but she would hardly have taken it. She said that she and her husband would name a new grape variety after me.’

Agatha got up.

‘You are no longer afraid of the crucifix and the sun.’

‘No, I`m not.’

‘And I understand that the invitation to enter the house –’

‘– is also not a problem for a long time.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘In what sense?’

He spoke politely as if he really didn`t understand.

Agatha walked across the room. She looked back at the table, at the empty glass.

‘There are no barriers left for you in this world,’ she said, turning to Dracula. ‘You can move freely, you can enter anywhere. You could choose to live where and how you want –’

‘That`s it. How I want.’

Dracula interrupted her abruptly, though his tone remained calm and light.

‘Have you ever wondered,’ he said to Agatha, frozen in mid-sentence, ‘about what the life of a vampire is like?’

Agatha was silent.

‘Oh, of course not.’ Dracula smiled, and she recognized the smile – it was the way he looked at Zoe that day. Seeking look, prickly and passionate. ‘It didn`t even cross your mind.’

He turned around and sat down on the sofa.

‘I told you. I told you and Jonathan and Zoe, and many others. However, none of you heard. Blood is lives,’ said Dracula. ‘Lives, stories, and testimonies.’

The room became quiet.

‘You know ... remember,’ he looked up at her, ‘remember, I threatened you in the monastery? I said that you would become a part of me. That you will always be with me?’

Agatha nodded.

‘So, this is true. They all live in my blood. Everyone I`ve bitten, everyone whose story I`ve learned, everyone I`ve tasted …’ He chuckled, closing his eyes. ‘They are all here. With me.’

Agatha stared dumbfounded at Dracula.

‘I thought you –’ she began.

‘And you know, they all talk,’ said Dracula. ‘Most of the time they chat actively. Some are almost inaudible, others are heart-rendingly yelling. Someone happens to make a conversation. Even argue. It`s easy to control, but …’ He trailed off, lost in some thoughts of his own. Then he raised his head. ‘By the way, you were surprisingly gentle.’

‘You too,’ said Agatha, unexpectedly for herself.

Dracula raised his eyebrows.

She pointed to her neck. Shrugged.

Dracula smiled.

‘Well, I guess we have a lot to thank each other for.’ He got up. ‘Now, if you`ll excuse me, Agatha, I need to get back to my business.’

He turned and went to the terrace. After a moment`s hesitation, Agatha stepped after him.

‘Are you … are you serious?’ she asked the blue T-shirt faded on the back.

Having reached the edge of the terrace, Dracula stopped at the parapet. Only now did Agatha see that they had walked around the house. At this point, the platform protruded forward, forming a balcony, and hung over a slope that descended to the sea.

‘What do you mean ‘serious’?’

‘Do you think I`ll just … leave?’

‘Why not?’

‘And you are going back to killing?’

Dracula looked at her.

‘Agatha,’ he said, ‘were you listening to me?’

‘Every word you say.’

‘Then why,’ Dracula spoke distinctly and clearly as if addressing a child, ‘why did you decide that we were talking about killing?’

She got angry.

‘What else can you do?’

Dracula laughed. Happy loud. Agatha looked at him in amazement, and he stood with his head thrown back and laughed, laughed.

‘My God,’ he said laughing, ‘Agatha. You really didn`t listen. So read my lips: I`m tired. I have lived a huge, endless life. I have seen more than any person can imagine. I met kings, commoners, and monks, I knew composers, scientists, aristocrats, prelates, thieves. Events and epochs passed me by, replacing each other like some kind of bad carnival. I`m filled with them, Agatha.’

She looked at him without breathing.

‘Thanks to you, I woke up in a world that has everything. Absolutely. Food is delivered to your home. You can get to another continent in a day. A virtual museum lives in my plasma TV.’ Dracula smiled. ‘Do you really think that having ceased to be afraid of the crucifixion and stepped out into the sun, I would prefer someone else`s throats to all this?’

He fell silent. Agatha blinked.

‘You need to eat.’

‘Donors, donors, Agatha Van Helsing.’ Now he looked disappointed. But at the same moment, as if thinking about something, he smiled again. ‘How long have you been here? Six months? Eight? And all of them spent to find me? Oh, I`m flattered, but Agatha, trust me, there are more important things in this world.’

Agatha looked at him in amazement.

‘You are forty-two years old, as far as I know.’ Dracula tilted his head. ‘You grew up in the countryside, then moved to the city, where you lived for a year or two until a story happened that you do not like to remember. The monastery was your salvation – at the same time shelter and support. How did you say to Jonathan – marriage without love? But now, Agatha, you can go there,’ he waved towards the sea, ‘take a bus, a train, a ship. See Taipei and Paris and London. Go to the desert, to the mountains, to the rainforest. You can dance with young admirers and learn music online. You can live not one, but a thousand and one lives.’

He paused and smiled.

‘Go and live them. And let me stay here.’

Agatha bit her lip. She felt dizzy. Everything was confusing, mixed up inside. She worked so hard, it took her so long to get here. So much energy wasted. She wanted to protest, attack him, scream, all at once. She took a breath.

He`s lying, she told herself. He set everything up. He gave ... why did he give Zoe his blood?

‘I thought you wanted ... to bring me back,’ she said, bewildered. ‘I thought you wanted ... You want to continue the game.’

So silly. How naive and stupid.

‘I wanted to,’ Dracula smiled at her. ‘Believe me, I really wanted to. Poor Zoe,’ he rubbed his forehead with his fingers, ‘I pressed her. Literally, put the idea into her head. I made her obsessed with it.’

Dracula turned away from the green horizon and the blue sea below.

‘For the first three weeks – maybe more – after I was released from Harker Center, I waited for you almost every evening. I`ve been waiting for you to come. And then I stopped.’

He paused, smiling thoughtfully.

‘I knew that Zoe most likely wouldn`t stand the temptation and drink my blood. Which will most likely wake you up. Because your DNA will match. And then it suddenly occurred to me ... That if you really come back …’ He looked at Agatha, then at the landscape over his shoulder. He paused again and walked to the edge of the balcony.

‘Look, Agatha.’ He turned around. ‘I just bought this house then. I remember going up here and seeing how beautiful it all is. It was like I saw the world for the first time. I saw how bright, huge, detailed it is. In all my life as a vampire, I`d never been able to grasp it completely. And then I thought, I don`t want you to come.’

Agatha listened silently. Some birds were singing in the distance – or maybe insects. The smell of acacias mixed with pines and thyme was stupefying.

‘Why would you come?’ Dracula continued. ‘Who and what would you come to and what could you find here? Old walls and old books? An old vampire, tired of other people`s voices?’

‘I finally figured it out.’ Dracula smiled, as if not at her, but at something inside. ‘If I can get you back, then the best thing I can do for you is leave you alone. Go in peace, Agatha Van Helsing. And may the world give you everything it has.’

He stopped. Agatha stood looking at the small pebbles of the shell rock resting on the toes of her shoes, feeling how the floor of the balcony heated to the core gives her warmth. The wind carried the breath of the sea.’

I waited and didn`t wait for you. In the dream I heard you coming, sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling your thigh pressing against mine. I was overwhelmed, washed over with a wave of anticipation. I knew that you would throw back the blanket, climb up to me, I could almost taste the moisture on your skin, your shivering shoulder blades, the vein on your neck, my hands on your shoulders.

I knew: that`s impossible, and yet I heard how you quietly step on the creaky floor, how you enter the rooms, how you recognize, study the layout of the house, how you rearrange things in the rooms, how you inhabit them. I loved you and confessed, searched and raved, imagined every rustle, your every breath, and every splash of the sheet.

I was here with you. I was with you. And now I`ll be alone.

Agatha woke up, looking at him. They stood opposite each other, and Dracula, slightly throwing his head back, gazed into her eyes. The sun showed wrinkles on his face.

‘You said it out loud.’

He twitched as if coming back. Like he was only just now noticing her.

She approached.

‘You have been alone for too long. I know how it is. You get used to speaking your thoughts because no one hears them anyway,’ she said. She put her hand on his neck.

There was no way to the rooms and no time to think about it. There was no time to wait. She was naked – a string on a lyre. A sunspot on the bed, pine trees on top of the mountain. She was inside a body that knew kisses and caresses, given to her by a person who could and knew how to love. And yet she was the first, and the first was the one who was now next to her.

…

‘Does it always smell of the sea here?’

‘Almost always.’

Agatha rolled onto her back.

‘Impossible.’ She laughed. ‘It just can`t be.’

Dracula looked at her in surprise. He moved closer, pulling her towards him.

‘This place. Pines and the sea. Acacias. Grape. And I kept thinking – how did you get here? You don`t remember.’ Seeing the puzzled look on his face, she smiled.

‘What should I –’

The understanding in his eyes was so obvious that Agatha laughed again.

‘A dream house,’ she muttered through her tears, ‘a gently stolen dream house.’

There was only one time when she came to her senses on the Demeter. Even before she understood what the glass in his hands meant, before she realized that pieces were disappearing somewhere, before she could figure out the essence of the game.

The brief moment when the cabin flashed before her, the sea in the porthole and the spread-out bed, was replaced by a picture: she is standing on the terrace, looking at the mountains, and light green waves are splashing somewhere below. The summer sun heats the shell of the balustrade and Dracula stands behind her, inhaling the scent of her hair.

‘Why is it stolen?’ Rising up, Dracula looked at her. His eyes were openly laughing. ‘I would say – the returned one.’

He leaned over. For a long time.

‘This is your house.’

The sun`s rays tinted copper to his tousled black strands.

‘No,’ said Agatha, shaking her head. ‘It is ours.’

[ask-third-circle]

I have been meaning to ask..

Why are the marks on toliki on the places they are?

Like, why cogs in the neck, hands, feet and eyes?

Is there any particular reason?

This is very long and full of spoilers, so get settled in and please keep your arms, legs and feelings inside the vehicle at all times!!!

<3

A long time ago, a fight ensued between Traebit and Deity (a man who was involved with the creation of arfri, Toliki's species)

As expected of Traebit, he was using mainly psychological means to torment his opponent, and began to step closer.

Deity's lover Scally (also involved in the creation of arfri) has had enough and runs over there to at least get in between the two.

But Traebit, excited on how much his words are affecting Deity, decides to strike.

Deity pushes Scally away.

Blood goes everywhere and Scally out of instinct covers his face, and so when the blood lands on him it lands kind of like this.

The chaos of bleeding and also seeing his lover covered in blood but calm enough to comfort him … how do I describe it? It became a core memory for Deity, and influenced the creation of Arfri, which he and Scally were working on together.

And so the body parts of Scally that had blood on them later became an important part of the shifter uniform:

In combination with colour rules, where black means responsibility/devotion and white means a new start/open to new possibilities …

The uniform is black meaning you should be a responsible shifter when you wear it … but sometimes, as shown by the white accents, it is necessary to break the small rules to keep the peace or serve the greater good

The fact that these same areas are where Toliki has his markings ...

...means that he has basically been told by the universe that no matter what new information or new opportunity comes his way, he is still a corrupted member of his species.

By the way, it would probably repulse other arfri to even see purple, let alone have purple in the areas of the body usually reserved for "open to new possibilities"

The reason there are cog shapes is because the category of creature he is is called a Cog. It's like having a tattoo of a rose if your name is Rose: A really obvious, non-metaphotical, slap-in-the-face reminder that he is Different and no matter what clothes he wears to hide it, his body will still display that he is CORRUPTED and should REMEMBER that he is a Cog even if he cannot BE a good cog.

The order of creature categories goes like this:

Unlimited - Gods, etc. Residents of the third circle e.g. Traebit, Pelor, Creator, other creator gods etc. Nothing stops them from doing what they want forever.

Wish Makers - ~Humans~ and similar creatures. They are only one level below gods themselves. They are not "unlimited" just because they HAVE LIMITS. Even if all diseases and ailments are cured, a body can only do so much. You only have so much time. You have to take breaks to eat and poop. Sometimes wish makers ask gods for special powers, but it's rare that this is actually given.

Immaterial - OH, IF ONLY I HAD A BODY!!! This category is for those who maybe have wishes, but cannot even begin to work on their goals because they don't have physical bodies to experience the world with. Sometimes they possess a physical creature, but it doesn't last for long. They prefer humans because of our sophisticated language abilities and the fact that we pride ourselves in making artworks. Some examples of immaterial are ghosts, and also ideas waiting to be born.

The Devoted - No wishing. No desire to change. Humans might make dolls and pretend to be gods. Immaterials might possess someone and pretend to own a body. But the devoted is a category that has no intention of becoming something different. It's worth noting that they are not BENEATH wish makers/immaterial, just seperate from them. (Imagine a 40 year old learning to drive for the first time and the instructor is 20. Maybe in life the older one knows more and could guide the younger one but in the case of driving, the younger one knows more.) Plants are in this category. All they do is grow and grow without any regard for whose perfect lawn they are interrupting. the Guardians are in this category too (remind me to make a post about the guardians lmao)

Cogs - Truly the only ones who ever get anything done. But it's such a shame that they have no free will. Arfri, for example, were created to serve shifters and protect them from evil. Humanise them all you want, but cogs are literally living tools. When was the last time a letter (in a word (in a sentence (in a book))) said to you "hold on i need to rest" ??? When a pen no longer produces ink, do you not throw it away? (unless it's a hello kitty pen, and then it still has a function; to be pretty, even if it doesn't write.)

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 27

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader   CW: Spoilers for HP OOTP, blood/injury, bullying, fighting, sexism A/N: There's a scene in here that references Chap 28: Snape's Worst Memory. If you want, go back and read the flashback scene. Everything that happens in the flashback stays the same aside from the addition of the reader.

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 27: OWLs

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The last month was spent with lessons being devoted to review as the OWLs drew near. McGonagall had given them their examination schedules and went over the procedure for the following weeks during their Transfiguration lessons. She’d gone over the rules; mentioned the ban of Auto-Answer Quills, Remembralls, Self-Correcting Ink and others of the same likes.

Nobody spoke a word to each other. Everyone was rushing to do any sort of last-minute studying. Emmeline kept quizzing James with cue cards but was interrupted as Marlene became too agitated, threatening to throw a shoe, politely, at the couple.

Nobody spoke a word to each other. Everyone was rushing to do any sort of last-minute studying. Emmeline kept quizzing James with cue cards but was interrupted as Marlene became too agitated, threatening to throw a shoe, politely, at the couple.

Their first exam, Theory of Charms, was scheduled bright and early for Monday morning and they were all forced to study into the late hours of the night. There was a manic gleam in Lily’s eyes as she re-read sections of her textbook, Remus flicked through The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5; Sirius and Mary were surprisingly calm as they practiced locomotion charms, Peter was so nervous that he kept dropping his wand. Dorcas had to be given Draught of Peace while Y/N was left practicing incantations under her breath, charming nearly every object in sight for practice. After all, Charms never was her strong suit.

“Fuck it,” Marlene announced, standing up to grab a bottle from their secret stash of Firewhiskey.

“You sure you want to drink that now?”

“I’m not getting pissed, it’s one drink.” Before Marlene had the chance, Remus grabbed the bottle from her hands and took a swig. “That’s against the rules, McKinnon, and you’re underage.”

“Remus John fucking Lupin! Stop abusing your prefect powers!”

But she and Sirius, of course, had their ways of coping with the stress.

“Do you — mmm — think it will be that hard?” Y/N said in between kisses. Sirius was the one to approach her.

Y/N had been doubtful about their situation, considering Sirius was flirting with other girls but they weren’t together. She knew that — she had no claim and besides, she trusted Sirius enough to not lie and deceive her had he been with anyone else.

Sirius’s hands flew down to unbutton her blouse and shrugged off his shirt. “Dunno. I’spouse I’ll get all Exceeds Expectations or Outstandings anyway. Don’t need — ah — to worry.”

Y/N tilted her head away from Sirius who pouted and quickly pressed another kiss. “Maybe you’re the arrogant toe-rag.”

“You’re too mean to me,” sighed Sirius, wearing a bemused smirk. “Watch your mouth. D’you know how many women — nicer women — want my attention but you get it?”

Inwardly, Y/N felt her heart soar. He’d just eased her speculations. “Me? Watch it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“Fine,” Y/N then peeled herself off of him, buttoning her clothes neatly. Her lips twitched up in a knowing smirk. “Be like that then.” And then she walked out the door, leaving Sirius to whine and chase after her.

“Wait — I didn’t mean that — wait! L/N! Come back, please?”

She was growing really fond of Sirius. Even hearing his name made her heart flutter.

When Y/N finally went to bed, she remembered about the career consultation she had with McGonagall and her persistence in helping her become a Healer. It left her wide awake.

That morning was deathly quiet as Professor McGonagall stood in front of them in the Great Hall as desks were lined in neat rows. Her eyes scanned every student before her hand went to grab the large hourglass sitting on the desk beside her along with any spare quills, parchment, ink bottles.

“You may begin.” McGonagall turned over the hourglass and Y/N heard the flipping of papers. Her heart thumped in her chest as she took one last glance up and then lowered her eyes on the paper and began to read…

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June 8th, 1976

Maybe it was the combination of the sun beating down on their backs or the tension from the recent surge of Death Eater attacks or stress levels rising from OWLs and future NEWTs, but everyone was on edge that day.

Y/N was hiding in her little nook under the tapestry, watching the sun reflect on the water, glistening and calm before she rolled over, deciding to slip out. Yes, while it may be for her safety, being stuck with a partner to go everywhere was annoying and began to grind on her teeth. There was never a moment to be alone anymore, especially not with the stalking map.

They'd just completed their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. So far, Y/N thought Potions was by far the easiest examination, aside from Herbology. She wasn’t looking forward to Transfigurations…

But as she roamed the halls, fanning herself with her review notes and debating if she should go find Regulus, a few students ran in the opposite direction. Their faces were filled with curiosity and surprise. Some giggled, others gossiped and a few gave Y/N questioning looks.

In fact, so many students were following the rest. A student, most likely a third year, came running past Y/N before she stopped them. “Excuse me, is there something going on today?”

“Oh!” A look of recognition crossed the student. “You’re Lupin’s girlfriend, right?”

“Sure... Why?” “Something’s going on by the lake with the Marauders.”

Y/N navigated her way through the crowd and out to the courtyard. Under a beech tree near the edge of the Black Lake where she and Regulus had spent their day trying to swim, stood a group of students. All wore different coloured robes, huddling together in a large circle. Distantly, she could hear a faint buzzing and caughten a glimpse of gold. A golden Snitch.

She pushed her way through the students. Amid the circle, there was a flash of familiar dark red hair and Lily’s voice. “You make me SICK.”

Lily stepped out of the circle and the only thing Y/N heard was James’ bombing voice shouting after her. “Hey, EVANS!”

Angry tears threatened to spill down as Lily ran away. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Emmeline stormed out quietly, but unlike Lily, tears were freely streaming down. Y/N could hardly see over the bodies and faces of the crowd as they pushed and bumped into each other.

She was about to chase after Lily until the bright flashing of lights caught her attention. A gasp went around and there in the air was Snape, hanging upside down with only gray underpants waist down. Pink soup buds were all over his face and mouth and Sirius could be heard saying something.

“Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?” James taunts, talking to the crowd. A large gash was on his cheek, blood cascading down and droplets sprayed on his robes. A loud round of cheers went round.

Remus finally stepped in hesitantly, whispering into James’ ear as his hand clutched his forearm, lowering his wand. Whatever he must’ve said to James finally kicked in as Snape thudded to the ground. She caught Sirius’gaze who went to open his mouth but it was too late as she turned around.

They hadn’t listened to her. They went looking for revenge.

There will be another time to be cross. Her priority was to find Lily.

She ran through the corridors and passed by an elf going to start preparing for dinner before stopping them. She had an idea.

“Please, is there any way you can get Jelly slugs in the next couple of minutes and bring them to Gryffindor's common room?” The elf gave a curt nod.

Y/N bolted up to her dorm and there, a bag filled with Jelly slugs was left on a nearby table as she snatched it. She knocked a few times on the door, hearing Lily’s sniffling. “Can I come in?” There was a faint yes.

As she opened the door and closed it, Lily didn’t face her, but instead let out a bitter, “Are you going to say ‘I told you so?’ ” Y/N cautioned. This was already the most either had spoken to each other in a month.

“Do you want me to?”

Lily let out a weak laugh. Y/N rounded on her, coming to sit on the edge of her bed. It stayed quiet until Lily spoke again.

“I’d known that our... friendship was falling apart. But I thought — I thought maybe… he would change? I thought… he cared about me.” Lily finally broke as tears came cascading down her face.

Her heart ached at the scene and opened her arms wide to let Lily hug her. Her head fell into the crook of Y/N’s neck as she wept and she was there to hold her until she stopped crying. In a muffled voice and through thick tears, Lily explained what had happened and Y/N swelled with ferocity.

“I’m sorry…” She muffled into her.

Y/N’s lips pulled into a tight, uncomfortable smile. She only wished Lily didn’t have to go through that to realize Snape wasn’t good. “I’m sorry too.”

Lily pulled away, still leaning on her as Y/N floated a box of tissues their way.

“I brought you something. It’s silly but…”

She took out the Jelly Slugs. Lily wiped her tears away and took the bag, studying it for a while. Lily gave a half cry, half laugh and went to hug her again. They stayed like that for a while.

Nightfall came and Lily refused to leave the common room, wanting to avoid the Marauders and the other students there at the lake. Marlene and Dorcas stopped by with food for them but kept their distance, knowing that Lily wanted to be alone.

There was a soft knocking on the door, Y/N got up to answer it. Mary was there. She looked tired, but that's all Mary had been looking like these days.

“Mary?” Lily asked, “What is it?”

“It's… Snape. He’s been sitting outside Gryffindor’s portrait for hours now.”

There was a shift in Lily who immediately got up, pushed past them without a word and marched down the stairs; gripping her wand with full force. Both students gulped, knowing not to get in her way.

Mary then turned to her, “Potter asked to speak with you. He’s asking to meet at his dorm.”

And that’s exactly what she did. Y/N stomped up to his dorm. Waves of rage followed off of her as she swung the door open.

“Lupin, Pettigrew, you should leave.” Her voice was void of emotions, empty, like a machine, as she stared down at Sirius and James. From what Lily said and the little she saw, she wasn’t mad at them.

Not only had James and Sirius broken their promise, their cruelty reached a new high, causing the mess that they were all currently in, but Sirius had also broken the little trust she’d given him. Admittedly though, a part of her anger stemmed more from Lily’s behalf.

Snape, by every means, deserved payback. But the way it was handled… James and Sirius might as well be the same as Snape. A prank, a hex, a couple of jinxes were great, but had James gone further like he said…

“What the fuck did I tell you.” At her tone, they both seemed to flinch.

“He deserved it!” Sirius said, standing up.

Y/N ignored him, continuing to stare at James. It only then occurred to him that she wanted an answer. She expected more from him than she did Sirius.

“He called you and Evans a you-know-what. Then physically harmed you and Moony — and then everything else. Why are you angry? He’s a daft —”

“Daft?” Y/N mocked, “I gave you one job —”

Sirius laughed in blatant disbelief, “He’s right!”

“Silencio.” Sirius went mute and she turned back to James. “What were you trying to do?”

He scoffed, “I was trying to get him back. He doesn’t get to treat you like that and not get any sort of repercussion.” James folded his arms. “You seemed fine with the pranks, what’s your problem now?”

“I’m fine with pranks because typically you and your boy-band prank a group for laughs. Even if he deserved it, you already crossed a line by pulling his pants down! Had you pulled off another layer —” “I wasn’t really going to do that!”

“How would I know that?” Then she whipped around to Sirius. “And you! I trusted you not to go do something stupid!”

James looked at them confused. She unmuted him. Sirius was not having it.

“You’re up yourself. Get off your high horse — white knight shit!” “Do you want me to mute you again?”

Y/N sighed, walking to sit on Remus’ bed while both Sirius and James defended their actions. She wanted to throttle them.

“Pureblood snobs,” she said out loud. “You do realize that if anything, you just fueled Snape even more? I don’t doubt that now we all have targets on our backs because of your little stunt.” The idea of what Snape was willing to do now after severing ties from Lily only scared her. She was reminded that yes, Snape was a highly skilled wizard, known for his hexes, fondness of dark magic, lingering with wannabe death eaters…

They both gaped. “We didn’t think of it like that —” “Because you don’t have to think about it! You made it worse!”

It was silent after that, as the implication of what she said sunk in.

“I —” Sirius sputtered.

James sighed, going to sit on Peter’s bed across. “I’ll make it right.” He wore a large white bandage, sliced open from Snape. Man, fuck Snape.

“Fucking idiots,” she breathed out. She tried to ease the anger from her system entirely. Instead of fighting, she left the room wordlessly and went back to her dorm.

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June 12th, 1976

They’d just finished their Astronomy examinations which were held at night. The moon light was faint, ready to reach its peak in a few hours.

After Snape’s incident, Lily had given James the brunt of her anger. She gave him detention for the rest of the year with Professor Binns. Sirius had been given a good earful while she left Peter alone. Even Remus got a scolding for not stepping in and using his prefect influence.

Y/N had taken some time away from the Marauders, mostly out of respect for Lily who rightfully was upset about the entire ordeal. But with how the sections of the exam were taken, they were split into different towers; the girls in one tower, Y/N and the Marauders in another. She was forced to walk with them, because of their wonderful agreement: partners.

James was remorseful, along with Sirius who pulled her into a broom closet multiple times to apologize.

James, overall, was fairly beat up. After their squabble, the Snape incident, he and Emmeline had broken up. It had shocked her, confused as to why they broke up until Marlene chimed in; he’d asked Lily on a date during the Snape incident.

If it could get any worse…

Y/N decided to stay by Remus and Peter as they walked back to the common room.

Remus clenched his eyes shut every so often. He appeared to be in pain. His complexion was so pale she swore she could see the veins flowing with blood. It was as if his skin was not quite opaque but stretched thinly just enough to cover him. The muted light from the moon shone on his skin as a vein strained against his neck; waterline rimmed red, lips parted to suck in air like it was a struggle. She would’ve been worried, standing so close to Remus as his chest heaved, had he not looked like he commanded every inch of his body.

Remus was… alluring in the lighting. But his breathing hitched and everyone’s head rotated towards him.

“Are you —” She started.

“I’m fine,” he lashed. His tongue poked out to swipe across his teeth, gazing up to a nearby window. Alway the moon’s most watchful admirer.

The Marauders looked at each other.

“Alright,” Peter chimed, breaking the tension. “Moony’s been feeling down today. I’m going to take him to the hospital wing.”

James nodded, speaking cautiously. “Whiskers, let’s go?”

She shook her head. “I’ll walk back — go with him.” Remus needed their assistance more. There was this gaze in his eyes, golden and gleamed in the low light. It was like he was looking straight past them.

James shook his head. “No, we all stay in groups. It’s safer — for all of us.”

No, it’s safer for me. James and Sirius were fine, it was just her that needed the protection and the very thought made her sick.

They walked with her, stopping at the edge of the hall leading to the common room; both in a rush and Y/N didn’t want to hold them back anymore from Remus. They bid their goodbyes and James walked in front, leaving Sirius behind who gave a small smile and left.

She turned and walked to the portrait and there, sitting on the ground for the fifth time since that day; Snape.

“Get lost,” she snapped. “Lily doesn’t want to talk to you — let alone see you.”

As she was about to step into the portrait, Snape muttered, “Stupid Muggle.”

“Maybe if you washed your fucking hair for once, Lily would’ve returned your feelings. Go fuck yourself.” She hurled, wheeling around. Waves of rage flowed throughout her body as the boy stared at her, flooding with wrath.

The remark was his breaking point as he slipped his wand from his sleeves, his face pulled downwards in a sneer as he walked towards her. Before she could retaliate or register what he was doing, Snape already cast a spell. The look in his eyes told her to be scared.

Y/N flew backwards, thrown against the stone wall behind her as she fell onto the corridor floor. Her head slammed against the wall, hard. The impact was so great that the stone was covered in her blood, some of her hair caught onto the jagged edges. It was dizzying and she couldn’t properly think straight. She went to reach for her wand but saw it rolled a few feet away.

“Filthy Mudblood. I always wondered why a bunch of Purebloods would cling to you. Do they feel pity? Or are the rumours true and you’re their toy?”

Snape had bent down, wand digging sharply into Y/N’s neck. She mustered all the strength she had, yelling, “JAMES!”

“Pathetic,” he spits, “Can’t handle poor ickle Snivellus Snape?”

There was a loud ringing in her ears and her vision seemed to blur. She tried to push Snape away but instead, he pushed her against the wall roughly, her head slamming yet again. She cried out, tears now pouring from the hot white pain that shot right through her skull.

“James! J-James — Sirius…”

She could faintly hear the Fat Lady yell in the background, yelling at Snape to stop but. But he raised his wand, incantations ready to spill from his tongue as a bright red beam shot out from the darkness.

“Stupefy!” Instead of James, Sirius stood tall as he held Snape’s wand.

“Ah, the boyfriend — I mean, the other boyfriend. Well, Black, you need to start keeping her on a leash.”

Y/N was too disorientated to even understand what Snape was saying. Her head bled as she fought the urge to close her eyes. Sirius’ eyes were wide with terror as he stared down at Y/N as he digested Snape’s words.

Strangely, Sirius was quiet as he glared at Snape; chest heaving as if he was holding back.

“I’m surprised, really…” He flashed his menacing sharp teeth. “I thought it was a full moon tonight.” He grinned ear to ear, thrilled that had the upper hand now. All the colour from Sirius’ face drained in a second, completely caught off guard as the greasy-hair boy used this to his advantage. Using wandless magic, Snape pried his wand back from Sirius’ grip and quickly rose to his feet; wand pointed as he rounded him.

Snape continued, “Is that why your mates aren’t here? Helping that mutt of yours? Tell me, is he an experiment? Keepin’ him around for when you get bored.

“I bet you get bored often. What’s it like, having no family to return to?”

She didn't have time to even blink as two bolts of red came spurting out of each wizard's wand. Flashes of light illuminated each boy as sparks crashed together. The sound had Y/N scrambling towards her wand which landed a few meters away. Finally grasping her wand, she points it directly at Snape.

"Expelliarmus!" The last bit of energy she had was released, dropping her wand by her side as Snape's wand flew behind him. Sirius had walked up to him as he delivered a sharp punch to his nose and shoved him against the wall behind.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Sirius shouted. Snape became still, rigid in his hold.

"Why don't you take a trip down to the Whomping Willow tonight." Sirius muttered a counterspell as Snape picked his wand up and ran. “Deactivate the tree.”

As the echo of footsteps hushed, Sirius walks toward Y/N, taking her wand and his before shoving them into his pocket as he proceeds to lift her bridal style from the ground. She could feel the wandless magic he was using to help lift her, to avoid hurting her anymore. Before she could say anything, the pain in her nerves intensified. She felt like she was on fire. Sounds of whines and high moans left her mouth as Sirius began to panic, his feet surging forward as he ran towards the hospital wing. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Sirius whispered, but it was directed more to himself rather than Y/N. She scarcely noticed him squeezing her hand gently. “You’re okay darling.”

Her arms felt heavy and darkness rushed over her like a thick blindfold as the last thing she saw were tears blurring Sirius’ vision, his body shivering in adrenaline.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

Two chapters over the weekend because I was ✨ inspired ✨ and my neighbors can't stop fucking (noisily!) and I'm,,, envious.

Strange adventures in Hell. There are descriptions of desperation and doom, lots of magic and - hear me out - forced/reluctant hand holding 😌 Oh my God, they held hands!!!

"What. Were. You. Thinking?!" Strange was seething, his enormous figure and broader height towered over me, the blood-red of his cape vibrating, the only spleck of colour in the grey and dusty dark world.

"I had no choice in the matter," I replied as calmly as I managed, gritting my teeth, memories of our past stand-off fresh in my mind. We could have bickered until the end, until one of the beasts flying overhead spotted us and decorated the bleary grounds of this forsaken planet with the crimsons of our life blood. "I think it's best if we get to safety first, argue later. I have no desire to become somebody's lunch."

That much was true: I had taken a good look at our surroundings as soon as I recovered from the vacuum-like sensation of being pulled into a magical gateway; the visibility was terrible, the planet's natural light very scarce. Several suns were hardly visible in the sky, their rays barely penetrating the mists and the ashes freely floating in the air.

There was oxygen even if breathing in a full lungful seemed impossible; I tried not to think about the contents of the air, or the possibility of radiation poisoning, as the multiple amulets and charms seared into my skin where they rested under my clothes. I had four bottles of water, some bandages and salves and a sacrifice for a single ritual to my name and absolutely no conviction that Mother Earth would be able to hear the call of an earthling gone so astray.

But it was hope, so I held on.

"Fine," Stephen sighed, suddenly looking tired and weary, glancing around with furrowed brows. "Let's see if I can open a portal," his hands did that complicated set of gestures that I'd grown to associate with a golden circle and sparks on the ground. The thing flickered, once, twice, before disappearing, as if the Sorcerer's magic had run out of batteries. "Yeah, I thought so," he whispered to himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"The bad news first, please," I interpreted his hesitation with a realistic outlook on our predicament.

"I can't open a portal just anywhere on this planet. We need to find a... Rift, of sorts," the man was anxiously looking around. "And those things, they'll smell us... Right about now," his eyes shot up at a winged, rapidly approaching shadow. "No good news, I'm afraid."

I allowed myself a small sigh of disappointment, keeping a tight leash on the panic slowly creeping up my body. The feeling of determination, the power of Gaia within me was still present, laying in a cozy dormant ball slightly south of my solar plexus. "Give me your hand, please," I reached out to Stephen only for him to promptly recoil.

"You should've thought about the consequences of your actions, I'm not going to hold your hand because you're scared shitless," his words were sharp but they lacked the venom. He wouldn't, or couldn't, meet my eyes.

"I know you have scarred hands. I'm a healer and you don't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed I, I've seen worse," I stated in my best 'mutant nurse' voice as Stephen's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. "Those things can't sense me. And I know they won't be able to sense you too if we have skin-to-skin contact. So unless you want me to get under your... Robes," I gestured to the layers upon layers of clothing he had wrapped himself in. I considered the possibility of his whole body being covered in scars, too, and couldn't help the pang of sympathy. "Take one glove off and give me your damn hand before this trip to Jurassic Park goes full pterodactyl massacre!"

I saw the thing in the sky open it's mouth - but no sound came out, the clouds reducing it's outline to a vaguely triangular shadow. There was something very unusual about this planet's atmosphere.

With a couple of jerky movements, Stephen slid off the glove from his left hand, looking away as his large, dry, warm palm encompassed mine in a gentle, trembling grip. It made no sense to interlace our fingers, so I help onto him like a child holds onto their parent; the size difference of our hands and his imposing aura surely made me feel like one.

We stood a foot apart, watching the shadow in the sky begin to circle the place we stood in, it's gaping maw opening again and again, before it zigzagged across the sky with a strong dash of confusion, it's graceful glide becoming a series of rapid turns and twists. With a final inaudible shriek, it flew off into the dusty greys of the horizon, becoming a dark spot far away in mere seconds.

The silence was so loud in this world. Like the eerie stillness of my, undoubtedly haunted, apartment, I was eager to dissipate it with something beyond our combined heavy breathing. "Please don't tell Tony," I timidly gave our touching hands a sway. "He'll never leave it alone."

A chuffing noise coming from above had me whip my head up to see Stephen holding in a puff of nervous laughter; his shoulders dropped slightly as he eyed me in turn. "What makes you think I won't tease you about it?"

"You wouldn't dare," I took mock offense, rising my leaking nose to the skies.

The grumble and the eyeroll I expected, the smirk that faded into a ghost of a smile I did not. "We should go. Usually there is a rift within a few miles of every location everywhere," he tried to keep the content expression as he spoke but the storm in his eyes betrayed his concern. They were so blue, I felt like I was drowning.

I let myself to be tugged in a direction - everything seemed exactly the same, a never-ending ashen wasteland with the occasional dark grey rock that crumbled to dust as soon as the heel of my shoe touched it. My light blue sweater quickly became the colour of rotten wood, a sickly, dull monotone between brown and gray.

The complete lack of any kind of natural noise brought out the desolation of this wretched place; if we gripped each other's hands tighter, neither of us chose to acknowledge it. It was too easy to get lost in your own mind when the surroundings were dead set on rebuking anything that was in any shape or form alive.

I caught myself thinking that this must be what people think Hell should look like.

Strange walked briskly for the most part, periodically clearing his throat and eyeing me when I struggled to keep up with his long strides. It could have been an hour, or maybe two, of aimless wandering and rapidly imploding portals accompanied by Stephen's increasingly overcast face before I made the man stop and offered him a water bottle, which he insisted we split between us two.

It didn't take me a tarot reading to figure out our chances were grim. Needless, I gave him the same look I give to injured, scared mutant children when they come to the bodega for the first time; a look of quiet temperance.

And then we walked, and walked again, as Stephen grew moodier and moodier, marching on with the force of a seasoned soldier, only taking breaks when I forced him to stand still and breathe with me. As cautious and closed-off as he was, I pressed onto the fact of me being a healer of sorts, and he relented if briefly, always reluctant, always seasoned by a great dose of bewilderment.

"Do you feel that?" Stephen's stride halted, both feet firmly planted on the ground.

The ground had tremors had coming from deep within, small shocks that could have been easily missed if not for the complete lack of sound on this world. My nod was mute, I didn't trust my voice not to break when I clearly knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, endless fields of nothing all around us.

"Hold onto me," promptly, I was grabbed and pushed into his chest, his long arms easily picking me up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. "Hold tight, I might need my hands," my face grew hot as I wound my arms around Stephen's neck, clinging to him like a monkey, a palm resting on the soft fine hairs if his nape. It felt too intimate somehow, in the wake of imminent danger.

The Cape that previously swayed behind him in rhythm with his steps billowed, the red fabric of it tough as it levitated us a few feet above the ground. I felt Stephen tense with each tremor; within moments, the surface shook and stuttered more and more, cracks appearing in between the dust, turning the plains into a marble-patterned patch of darkness.

We rose above it, high enough that I could see the veins resulting from the quake stretch far out into the wasteland, jagged, abrupt lines of even more concentrated darkness. And as quickly as the quake started, it was over, leaving little evidence as the ground settled.

Stephen floated us to a larger patch of the ground, criss-crossed with thinner, less prominent lines, poking the ground with his foot before allowing it to fully bear our weight. He was shaken, there was no doubt. "That was... Something," he stated lowly.

"Mhm," I hummed, fighting the urge to frantically look around, forcing my hand from clutching at his palm like a lifeline. I had decided on a plan while I was busy playing baby koala - not that there were many other options except to wander these god forsaken bare badlands until our painful demise. "Listen, Strange, I'm aware you don't hold my people in particularly high regard but you're going to have to trust me on this," my words came out derisive as I placed his palm on the back of my neck and kneeled, forcing him to do the same behind me.

The contents of my bag greeted me grimly with out last bottle of water and the couple knick-knacks that gathered the black dust on them. I hastily poured the water into a bowl, dipping my fingers in it, and added the crushed bones to the mixture.

The time that was required to make a paste-like mixture, I used to address a bewildered Stephen. "This is a last resort. I don't know if it will work, we're not on Earth," I briefly breathed my distress. "I don't even know how far we are from home. But I refuse to die here, in this grotesque Hell, without putting up a fight and Gaia has always looked out for her flock. I might get very, very sick if this is successful."

The warning had him attempt to object before he cast a long look around us, shoulders sagging, as motioned for me to continue, those piercing blue eyes boring into my face. "Tell me what do I need to do," his voice quietly attempted to soothe my very obvious fear.

I was terrified, both of dying, nameless, faceles in this world full of Nothing; the prospect of withering away after depleting all my resources was, perhaps, equally unappealing, but dying on my home planet sounded better than dying here. "Have faith," I replied curtly, beginning to chant softly under my breath as soon as Stephen's expression hardened.

My eyelids grew heavy, limbs filling with lead and molten lava as I summoned the forces of Mother itself; my body was aching, exhausted by answering her call as it was. The warm ball in my chest that previously comforted me grew, spreading its smelten power through every vein, every vessel. No part of my body was left cold. A sense of purpose filled me, pushing me forward, driving me to move, to run, to leap.

"This way," even to my own ears, my voice sounded pained. It felt as if I was walking through swamp waters, full of clay and debris, each step taking my barely coherent form through an individual bog full of pins and needles. The force of Mother Nature burned inside of me, enraged at the state of her surroundings.

Stephen spoke to me but all I could hear was mumbling, thousands of voices, low and shrill, unintelligible to the human mind. I could feel the sorcerer's pain; the itch and burn in his throat, the constant, dull throb in his scarred, broken hands. His hand in mine only intensified the situation and I fought with his injuries like I fought with the black dots in my eyes, I forced down the unpleasant sensations, setting fire to them, letting the reigns of control on the raging inferno within me slip just the smallest, tiniest bit.

The steps of his long feet stuttered as I felt the discomfort lessen yet I simply towed him along. Time leaked through the cracks in my eyes, which were mostly unseeing anyways. The useless things grew blind at some point, not that I noticed it on the greys and blacks of the surrounding scenery. It was harder to walk, my breathing grew laboured with the extertion as we finally reached the place that felt right.

"Here," I rasped, voice so quiet it could have been mistaken for a breeze. I craved to feel it; the soft puffs of wind, the sound of running water. I had called for Earth and she demanded its child back.

The portal appeared without a stutter even though Stephen's hands shook; I saw the uneven channels, the energies traveling through them at an uneven pace. As soon as I pushed through the wormhole, coming to my senses in an unfamiliar, light room, I fell to my knees.

Stephen's pained moaning told me he was probably experiencing the same stinging, burning sensation on his skin; my eyes, they were the worst - my eyeballs felt like they were melting, leaking out of my sockets into thick, gelatinous tears streaming down my face. I blindly groped for the sorcerer's hand, directing the forces within me to soothe his hurts much like I had done in the wastelands.

"Strange?!" A masculine, shocked voice exclaimed before footsteps crashed into my sensitive ears with the force of an elephant herd. "Oh my God, they're here! Tony, come!"

"Stop fucking screaming," Stephen gasped out as I felt him curl into himself.

"Friday, scan them," I recognised Tony's voice, the tiredness and desperation standing out in it more than it did in the rest of the whispers in the room.

"They appear to be experiencing a sensory overload. I would recommend to engage Peter's Cooldown mode," the mechanical voice replied, barely audible. The noise still grated on my ears after spending... How long were we gone?

"Do it, Fri," Tony's soft footsteps reached us; I smelled the spices of his cologne next to my and Stephen's prone forms. "You gave us a scare there," the tone was admonishing but gentle.

"We were scared shitless ourselves," I attempted to speak, only now noticing how grating my voice sounded. "We were in Hell," I mumbled to myself, slowly removing my hand from Stephen.

"That," he coughed up the word, breathing through his nose before speaking again, his voice sounding much better than mine. "That place was as close as possible to biblical pits I have ever seen," there was shuffling and gentle murmurs as the two men ensured each other of their presence and well-being.

The burning sensations receded back to my core, the embers of the fires dying out, leaving me feeling like deflated beach ball, all shell and no filling. With a groan, I rolled over onto my back right in the middle of the pristine carpet on the floor, forcing my eyes open and breathing through the pain until I could somewhat see the champagne coloured ceiling without black dots obstructing my vision.

Shuffling noises reached my ears as a familiar round face with light red hair came into my line of sight, Wanda's gentle features concerned. "Star, do you need to go to medical?" She eyed me almost suspiciously but the question was earnest.

The idea of a doctor fixing a magical burnout was bizarre to me, as if it ever was that easy; I chortled sardonically. "No, Wanda, there's nothing wrong with me that a doctor would be able to fix," I replied honestly. "I should call Odette."

"I've called, she said to notify her when you return," Sam's voice was gentle as he approached. I could feel him glaring daggers at a rapidly reddening Wanda. "She was the one who said you'll definitely come back," he offered me his hand.

I had to choke down a moan of relief as I grabbed it. The warmth, the life of another human being, the precious gift of a beating pulse under my fingertips was divine. "You should listen to her. She knows her stuff." It was easy, talking to Sam as if he was an old friend. He had one of the most pleasant auras I've seen on a human being.

"I'm a doctor," Stephen suddenly perched up, sounding almost bashful. "And I can aid the healing process," he stated over Tony's disgruntled mumbling. "If you can explain to me how the hell you managed to hold a... an entire sun's worth of energy!" The more he spoke the more bewildered he became, tone growing in pitch, ending the sentence with an exclamation.

"I don't know," I replied with a sigh. The whole indignation in this man, I was not prepared to face. "When I took this up," I gestured vaguely to the burned, bent metal adornments I began to remove off my body. "I thought I was going to get an increase in tips and a better outlook on life. Help my friend with her asthma as much so she wouldn't have to use her inhaler every time she gets suprised or scared," my jewelry hit the floor with a dull clank, piling up into bent silver I wouldn't even be able to cleanse and repurpose.

Sam whistled lowly, poking at a necklace that had twisted on itself, a grotesque spiral of dull ashen grey.

"I certainly didn't think that a bleeding mutant accepting his fate as cannon fodder will call for the Earth itself," my tone grew vicious. Exhaustion was nesting in my bones. "And that Mother Nature would take over my body, pour lava into my veins and bleed recklessness into my thoughts. But here I am, freshly out of Hell and alive and kicking."

A stunned silence was interrupted by Tony's frantic whispering. "You are not leaving my penthouse for the foreseeable future," as the weight of the incident set on him. The knuckles of his hand clutching Stephen's dirty tunic turned white.

"I am," Stephen eyed me with a strange look in his eye, as if he was seeing me for the first time. His eyes then turned to Tony, who'd began rambling, arguing with Stephen. The sorcerer stopped the word vomit with a grim confession. "I'd be dead if not for Starlight. I'd be meat and bone, splattered across a barren, radioactive land in the deepest, darkest pits of the universe."

I felt my face droop in slow-motion. My throat flexed, swallowing a thick lump of filthy mucus, I coughed up, "Ra-radioctive?" As soon as I could work my voice without it squeaking.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[honeys-bnbdc]

Day 5, Dramatic Rescue

These aren’t to be taken too seriously, I even put (crack) after the more ridiculous ones because I’m so benevolent. Some of these are very outta context, so don’t get worried if you don’t em lol- also, ignore any and all typos bc I didn’t proof read this, it jus came straight from tha dome to this post <3

-Whenever Sho laughs, he causes Asuka to laugh and vice versa- this has caused Manjoume so many headaches, he hates being in the same room as them when they get like that

-Placing a flat hand on Johan’s chest grounds/calms him down (making small circles helps too!) Johan is not conscious of this fact, but the rest of the friend group has picked up on it, half em knowingly, and the others unknowingly lol

-Kenzan is gay and trans, he also has an older sister

-Junko and Momoe don’t do anything dueling related when they graduate, and they also don’t get an influential job their parents wanted them to have

-The two have their own houses, but they end up staying at the other’s for weeks regardless

-Through a series of hijinks and shenanigans, Motegi, Taizan, Alice, and Kagurazaka end up going on wacky adventures together- they become good friends despite how they have almost nothing in common

-Judai once had a girlfriend during first year, but they were so unromantic and just hung out with eachother as friends, that they forgot they were even dating (crack)

-Kenzan and Rei are still best friends in college, they even went to the same one somehow

-Kenzan often helps Sho out at the dojo when he has time, and while he’s no longer on the path to becoming an archeologist, he still goes with Jim on any digs he goes on, or just discuss stuff about it lol

-Martin is genderfluid, that’s it, that’s the whole hc

-The only reason Martin’s dad was able to continue seeing him was because Martin convinced him to talk to his mom, and they all discussed when and how he could visit him (after alot of yelling and more fights) but his mom only budged because they never actually signed the divorce papers and Martin really wanted to connect with him again, and that’s honestly the main reason she even considered it (this is a very dumbed down version)

-Judai’s flakey with all his friends still, but he’s in contact with Misawa, O’brien, and Edo, in that order lol

-He’s mostly in contact with Misawa since he still lives in the dark dimension, so it’s easier for Judai to comfortably drag him along everywhere

-Asuka and Kenzan are the buff mom friends of the group- no I will not be taking questions on this

-Junko’s a whore and an adrenaline junkie, no I will not be taking questions on this either (this is more for when she’s older, but she did date around in school)

-Judai’s parents are actually very supporting and dot on Judai whenever they remember he exists- in fact, they’re very independent people, so they barely even see each other or call, so they also neglect each other lmao

-Edo likes to play matchmaker, but he’s actually good at being subtle, so no one notices-plus he doesn’t do unless he’s around the people in question, he doesn’t care to go out of his way (crack)

-Jim was the first person O’brien took to see his parents, and Jim was in awe that he didn’t take Judai first

-Asuka has to call Fubuki at night whenever her paranoia gets too bad, and she’s afraid he’s gone again

-Asuka also tends to overthink and overwork, so she typically has to write lists and repeat what she’s done during the day so she feels like she done enough to deserve rest (yea, this one’s not happy lol)

-Judai actually forgot his memories twice, the first time after the card contest, and the second time right before he left to the academy (I like to think his middle school and academy self are like two completely different people, just so we have another Haou on our hands lol- this can be considered crack)

-Hayato is the type to be constantly anxious about losing his friends, but never contacting them because the nerves make him nausea, and just downright feel bad

-Sho often calls Hayato sporadically just to ramble, Hayato enjoys them alot, and it reassures him that he can just call them and talk about anything (these two hcs are at constant war with each other) (Sho also knows that this helps reassure Hayato lol)

-After Ryo started distancing himself from Sho, he would feel so bad that he would talk himself in circles to Fubuki, and Fubuki would just nod along each time and be, “man, I don’t know what to tell you; either commit or go talk to your little brother”

-O’brien gives the best hugs in the group, everyone is delighted whenever he gives out the rare hug

-Taizan doesn’t have any powers, he’s just so strong that lesser duel spirits are attracted to him, and bigger spirits can materialize if they respect him enough lol

-Alice and Judai are siblings- this is never discussed with each other, they just are

-Kagurazaka is so embarrassed by his high school (and middle school) self that he ends up working at a friends bakery after graduating, and he likes to show off his analysis and psychological skills by guessing the customers orders and favourites lol

-Motegi and Judai are like siblings with too big of an age gap so they never really connected, but they still care for each other a lot-- y’know what I mean? Ya gotta know what I mean---

-Asuka is aro demi, that’s it, that’s the entire hc----

-Burstlady once set the red dorm on fire because she wanted to show off to Judai...by boiling some tea that doesn’t really need that much heat- anyways, she was so embarrassed that Judai just lied and said he wasn’t paying attention lmao

-Glow Moss is something of a cold blooded animal despite, y’know, not having blood- whenever they want to feel warm he just kinda sticks to one of the warmer monsters; they hate it when they do that because they’re like silly putty that’s just a little too sticky

-Sho is dyslexic, no one notices til they graduate

-After everything’s settled down, everyone has jobs, in college,etc., the crew plan big outings with each other and due to past experiences, Asuka or Jim have to be the “leader” when they go out because they’re the only two “actual” responsible ones- Edo and O’brien don’t care to keep everyone in check, Kenzan, Misawa(also, Misawa’s alot more lenient since he’s gotten older), and Rei are too easily swayed into doing stupid things, plus they forget to check on everyone, Ryo doesn’t even want to come to these, Fubuki encourages the others too much, and everyone else is too chaotic

-Whenever they can’t do these outings in a big group, they have to actually plan out who gets to be in a group together because certain combinations end in property damage or a restraining order

@gxmonth The group is a lot more goofy when they’re older while simultaneously more stressed lmfao

[mytwilightimagines13]

Memories from the past (Part five)(Caius Volturi)

Word count: 2043

The street was very narrow, cobbled with the same colour stones as the faded cinnamon brown buildings that darkened the street with their shade. It had the feel of an alleyway. Red flags decorated the walls, spaced only a few yards apart, flapping in the wind that whistled through the narrow lane. It was crowded, and the foot traffic slowed our progress. We found another street at the end. The buildings were taller here; they leaned together overhead so that no sunlight touched the pavement—the thrashing red flags on either side nearly met. The crowd was thicker here than anywhere else. We continued the walk through the shadows, even when we reached the plaza with the clock tower in the middle. Coming out of the dark lane, I was blinded by the brilliant sunlight beating down into the principal plaza. The wind whooshed into me, flinging my hair into my eyes and blinding me further. I pushed urgently toward it, not realizing till I bruised my shins against the bricks that there was a wide, square fountain set into the center of the plaza. I glanced up at the clock again. Some sort of pull lured me towards it.

A deep, booming chime echoed through the square. It throbbed in the stones under my feet. Children cried, covering their ears. Alice pulled me towards them back into the shadows. The clock tolled again. We ran past a child in his mother's arms—his hair was almost white in the dazzling sunlight. A circle of tall men, all wearing red blazers, called out warnings as we barrelled through them. The clock tolled again. On the other side of the men in blazers, there was a break in the throng, space between the sightseers who milled aimlessly around me. My eyes searched the dark narrow passage to the right of the wide square edifice under the tower. I couldn't see the street level—there were still too many people in the way. The clock tolled again. It was hard to see now. Without the crowd to break the wind, it whipped at my face and burned my eyes. That was the way we went, towards even more shadows. Edward walked in front of me while Alice walked behind me, gently pushing me into the right direction. I was so mesmerised by the small town and the beautiful plaza it contained that I hadn’t seen the two dark shapes detach themselves from the gloom. "Greetings, gentlemen," Edward's voice was calm and pleasant. “The girl as promised.” “And no harm done. We made sure of that.” Alice said, her hand still on my lower back. "Very well. Shall we take this conversation to a more appropriate venue?" a smooth voice whispered menacingly. “Very well.” Alice said as she gently pushed me for ward. “I will take it from here, miss.” The smooth voice spoke again, walking closer towards me. “Very well, Demetri.” Alice said as she took a step back and the other took a step closer to me, now occupying the spot Alice just seconds ago held. I finally dared to take a closer look at the newcomers. They were both concealed within smoky gray cloaks that reached to the ground and undulated in the wind. The second, taller man still hadn’t moved, but I felt his glare on me. “How can we be sure this isn’t some trick?” he asked. “Your Masters can confirm that it isn’t, as you should know, Felix.” Edward said in a harsh tone. The one named Felix growled at him. Wait, what? Humans can’t growl. "Felix," the second, more reasonable shadow named Demetri cautioned. "Not here." He turned to Edward. "My apologies, Edward. We have had some… disappointments in the past. That is all." My eyes were adjusting to the deep shade, and I could see that Felix was very big, tall and thick through the shoulders. Felix and Demetri stole closer toward the mouth of the alley, spreading out slightly so they could come at us from two sides, forcing us closer into the alley. "Let's behave ourselves, shall we?" Alice suggested. "There are ladies present." "Enough." The voice was high, reedy, and n came from behind us. I peeked under Edward's other arm to see a small, dark shape coming toward us. By the way the edges billowed, I knew it would be another one of them. Who else? At first I thought it was a young boy. The newcomer was as tiny as Alice, with lank, pale brown hair trimmed short. The body under the cloak—which was darker, almost black—was slim and androgynous. But the face was too pretty for a boy. The wide-eyed, full-lipped face would make a Botticelli angel look like a gargoyle. Even allowing for the dull crimson irises. Her size was so insignificant that the reaction to her appearance confused me. Felix and Demetri relaxed immediately, stepping back from their offensive positions to blend again with the shadows of the overhanging walls. Edward dropped his arms and relaxed his position as well—but in defeat. "Jane," he sighed in recognition and resignation. Alice folded her arms across her chest, her expression impassive. "Follow me," Jane spoke again, her childish voice a monotone. She turned her back on us and drifted silently into the dark. Felix gestured for us to go first, smirking. Alice walked after the little Jane at once, Edward following her at once. “After you, mia bella signora.” Demetri said as he gently pushed me to follow them, my confusion most

likely clear on my face. The alley angled slightly downward as it narrowed. My mind was racing as my feet moved forward on automatic pilot mode. What was going on? Where these people some kind of cult? Would I be sacrificed to their blood lusting god? There was a loose curve to the alley, still slanting downward, so I didn't see the squared-off dead end coming until we reached the flat, windowless, brick face. The little one called Jane was nowhere to be seen. Alice didn't hesitate, didn't break pace as she strode toward the wall. Then, with easy grace, she slid down an open hole in the street. It looked like a drain, sunk into the lowest point of the paving. I hadn't noticed it until Alice disappeared, but the grate was halfway pushed aside. The hole was small, and black. I stopped dead in my tracks. “With all due respect, I refuse to simply fall to my death thank you very much.” I said, trying to find a way to run far away from these people. “No worries, signora. Just close your eyes and I assure you that you will be safe.” Demetri said as he gently placed his hands around my waist. I sighed in defeat, knowing there was no way out of this. I was doomed. Death was approaching with every heartbeat. “Very well.” I closed my eyes so I couldn't see the darkness, scrunching them together in terror, clamping my mouth shut so I wouldn't scream. I felt Demetri pick me up slightly and jump down the hole. It was silent and short. The air whipped past me for just half a second, and then, with a huff as I exhaled, he gracefully landed on the floor without a sound. Demetri stood me upright and placed his hand on my back again, ready to guide me forwards. It was dim, but not black at the bottom. The light from the hole above provided a faint glow, reflecting wetly from the stones under my feet. Felix jumped behind us and we continued our stroll in silence. The sound of the heavy grate sliding over the drain hole behind us rang with metallic finality. The dim light from the street was quickly lost in the gloom. The sound of my staggering footsteps echoed through the black space; it sounded very wide, but I couldn't be sure. There were no sounds other than my frantic heartbeat and my feet on the wet stones. The path beneath our feet continued to slant downward, taking us deeper into the ground, and it made me claustrophobic. I couldn't tell where the light was coming from, but it slowly turned dark gray instead of black. We were in a low, arched tunnel. Long trails of ebony moisture seeped down the gray stones, like they were bleeding ink. We hurried through the tunnel, or it felt like hurrying to me. At the end of the tunnel was a grate—the iron bars were rusting, but thick as my arm. A small door made of thinner, interlaced bars was standing open. We all ducked through and hurried on to a larger, brighter stone room. The grille slammed shut with a clang, followed by the snap of a lock. I was too afraid to look behind me. On the other side of the long room was a low, heavy wooden door. It was very thick—as I could tell.

We were in a brightly lit and unremarkable hallway. The walls were off-white, the floor carpeted in industrial gray. Common rectangular fluorescent lights were spaced evenly along the ceiling. It was warmer here, for which I was grateful. This hall seemed very benign after the gloom of the ghoulish stone sewers. The heavy door creaked shut behind us, and then there was the thud of a bolt sliding home. Jane waited by the elevator, one hand holding the doors open for us. Her expression was apathetic. Once inside the elevator, the three figures with cloaks seemed to relax further. They threw back their cloaks, letting the hoods fall back on their shoulders. Felix and Demetri were both of a slightly olive complexion—it looked odd combined with their chalky pallor. Felix's black hair was cropped short, but Demetri's waved to his shoulders. Their irises were deep crimson around the edges, darkening until they were black around the pupil. Under the shrouds, their clothes were modern, pale, and nondescript. I cowered in the corner, cringing against the wall, their red eyes freaking me out even more. They were most defiantly a cult. And I was the stupid lamb that jumped happily and unknowingly into their bloody arms. Bloody hell. Stupid lamb I am. The elevator ride was short; we stepped out into what looked like a posh office reception area. The walls were panelled in wood, the floors carpeted in thick, deep green. There were no windows, but large, brightly lit paintings of the Tuscan countryside hung everywhere as replacements. Pale leather couches were arranged in cosy groupings, and the glossy tables held crystal vases full of vibrantly coloured bouquets. The flowers' smell reminded me of a funeral home. In the middle of the room was a high, polished mahogany counter. I gawked in astonishment at the woman behind it. She was tall, with dark skin and green eyes. She smiled politely in welcome. "Good afternoon, Jane," she said. Jane nodded. "Gianna." She continued toward a set of double doors in the back of the room, and we followed. As Felix passed the desk, he winked at Gianna, and she giggled. On the other side of the wooden doors was a different kind of reception. The pale boy in the pearl gray suit could have been Jane's twin. His hair was darker, and his lips were not as full, but he was just as lovely. He came forward to meet us. He smiled, reaching for her. "Jane." "Alec," she responded, embracing the boy. They kissed each other's cheeks on both sides. Then he looked at the group before his eyes landed on me with curiosity. "Is this really her?" he noted, looking at me. Jane nodded, a proud look on her face. "Nice work." She laughed—the sound sparkled with delight like a baby's cooing. "The Masters will be so glad to finally meet you, madam. Master Caius and Mistress Athenodora especially.” Alec said, speaking to me directly now. I only looked at him in confusion "Let's not keep them waiting," Jane suggested. Alec and Jane, holding hands, led the way down yet another wide, ornate hall. Yup. I was going to die. To some weird BDSM cult… great. Stupid little lamb I am.

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Fated Year

Notes: Here’s a New Year fic! I can’t believe I started writing about this character since July? August? I noticed that I’ve gotten somewhat better at my skills, and I’ve made such Wonderful, Lovely Friends and Followers through these tough times, and I can’t ever be so grateful enough.

Without further ado, here’s a fic for the New Year

Rating: E

Setting: ABO with my own twists, and Biker! Tai (bc a fellow simp suggested it and I’m hooked)

………

 One of the major things that did not change throughout centuries, was the slim promise of a Fated Mate. Contrary to belief, dynamics didn’t really play a roll on fate’s cupid, no, fate itself did. it was just a roll of dice, a stroke of luck, the clouds sifting underneath the moon’s soft glare, shedding light upon the traveler’s path.

 Lupine blood is adaptable, but those stuck in their old, “traditional” ways, had seemed to forget that. It is not always an alpha paired with an omega, or an alpha being head of the home, or betas lacking any scents or personality, or, the one stereotype that you’ve hated the most, omegas needing a knot to sate their so-called “eccentric” heats.

  At worst, heats made the skin flare, areas aching, and one use a lot of energy in satisfying those areas. It wasn’t the incoherent, scrambling to find just about anybody. No, you were very coherent, and wary of your surroundings, anxiety crawling up at you if you didn’t feel safe, refusing any advances.

Sometimes, home didn’t feel right if the neighborhood was seedy, and walls thin enough for impotent scents to leak out through the cracks.

However, you weren’t at home, right now. You were in the emergency room at your local hospital.

It started out innocently enough as a day. You, wanting a break from tending the small greenhouse in your secluded backyard, decided to take a stroll around the bustling city, handing out small business cards that had your shop’s logo printed neatly with your signature and info. Smiling, greeting, and nodding whilst handing out the pink, flowery cards, you were unaware of what was yet to come.  

Oranges, faint vanilla, and the soft bite of earthy sandalwood, had hit your senses out of nowhere. In the middle of a bustling town, it was hard to detect who and where the mouthwatering smell was from emitting from, yet it was of no use, for it was about a day old. To your utter shock, your lower area began to clench and ache, leaking out slick. You stilled, eyes widened with fear as you heard worried mumbling around you, and then, when your knees buckled, a shout for the ambulance.

This couldn’t be real, or even happening, you kept thinking, the crowds of people stopping to only stare. Did your heat overpower the blockers? You asked yourself, luckily for you, a police officer had yelled out for them to keep moving and to mind their business, she and others formed a circle around you, as a few helpful betas released their calming pheromones, near you. You weakly murmured out your gratitude as your shoulder muscles relaxed, only slightly, as your senses heightened, the ache worsened, and you had found yourself clutching your abdomen, kneeling on the ground, you were sure that you were about to die of shame. You’ve always took your scent blockers, suppressants, and had never went into heat at a public place, knowing that each cycle was calculated, and they had only happened twice a year. This year was beginning to end, soon, and you’ve already went through your heats alone and cooped up in your closet.

The only explanation that had crossed into your mind, made you still in more shock, as you heard the ambulance siren began to cry out into the distance, driving near you.

………………

He was frantic, like a dog on the trail of the scent that had hit him twice as hard than any greaser could, three weeks ago. At first, he laughed it off with his buddies as he sipped on some sake, just recently gotten out of his rut. Granted, it wasn’t a large one like that of an alpha’s, but it was as worse than his usual ruts, and it kind of freaked him out, a little.

Being that of a dominant beta, he figured that he was just as fine the way he is, although a known biker who had beaten up thugs, he had manners, and a stable job and income. He not only had the strength and build to stand up to most alphas, but the calming scent to lessen the shoulders of a friend or family member. If one didn’t know any better, they’d say that he was an alpha. He was tall, round yet muscular, and at first glance, gave off the “bad boy” attitude.

Oh no, his personality couldn’t be more polar opposite, however. He had a soft heart, and had to reject a lot of admirers, because through and through, he was bit of a secret romantic. Well, he tried to keep it secret, but “Sorry, waitin’ for my mate”, and not ever really having anybody, really spoke volumes. He knew that it was nearly impossible for a soulmate to fall into his lap, but he hoped, he really did.

Fated mates were rare, and rarely happened between a beta and any other dynamic. Especially with omegas. He didn’t believe it, at first, but then again, beta ruts happened at least once a year, rarely more, and scents didn’t trigger them, at all, until now. His friends had gleefully explained this right after he crawled out of the damned house in a post-rut haze, asking anybody and everybody on what the hell had just happened. His shock didn’t waver, even after the proud cackling and congratulations from his friends from him learning the news, was only a week prior ago.  

Although his memory was a little vague, he remembered the sweetness of the omega’s scent. Strawberries, cream, and a hint of honey. It was a classic combination of smells, and he couldn’t believe that it sent a jolt of electricity through his being, him itching to just take a bite. When he had understood that he was basically married by fate, he had taken some time for himself to think through his disbelief, excitement, fear, worry, and joy.  

Although he loved his bike, and hanging out with his fellow motorcycle buddies and work colleagues, he knew that he had wanted to settle down, as well, and just hope that the person liked him and his lifestyle. Especially, hopefully, if the person was as sweet as their scent is, and of course the rarity of fate throwing him in what he had been craving for. Of course, he wholeheartedly accept no for an answer, if his intended rejected him, and little small insecurities had been preparing for that, but, he was wanting to try, and he didn’t mind taking that leap.  

So, he revved up the engine of his motorcycle, and scoured the area in where that scent was. Two days, he had been trailing the scent, hoping to find it. Did the other person went into heat right after he did? There were no news or calls on the radio at the local police station, about it. He had began doubting himself, wondering if he was just a weak beta, having a scent bother him, and it wasn’t fate at all.

Through his internal struggle while slowly rolling through the streets, his body automatically froze, as he all but stomped on the brake pedal. That. It. The scent. It didn’t affect him, too badly, but he knew that his body temperature had risen up, and he was on the prowl. Heat. Their heat had just recently hit. It must have been because his own pheromones had still lingered from the day before, and now his little omega unfortunately had to deal with another heat this year.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew that two heats in a year were the natural limit, and thus this year ending, meant that this might be the poor dear’s third one. His instincts sang out to nurture and comfort, but he didn’t know who and where, and asking somebody might label him as a creep, if he didn’t feel like one, already. He pinched his nose, huffing slightly as he looked absentmindedly onto the ground. A flash of pink flying by as the wind had picked up, caught his attention. Cards, and a small group of them had fluttered within the wind, scattering throughout the street. He gingerly stepped onto one, refusing it to flutter away as he picked it up, freezing for a millisecond as he had noticed that the scent lingered there the strongest. Curiously, he rushed to catch another card, to see if it had a different scent.

Joy overcame him as he had noticed that these were the person’s cards. His person’s card, and with information on them.

……………..

You were always coherent during your heats, whilst hurting, lustful, and writhing, but you knew where you were, the times to eat and to drink water, small breaks, and so on. However, a facility wasn’t your home. It wasn’t familiar, too bright, and had sent you almost panicking, if it weren’t for the powerful, soothing scents of the friendly beta doctors. Your skin was heated, but the sweat had instantly felt like ice as the cool room had touched it.

 You were in the emergency room, a blanket was placed upon you by a sympathetic nurse. Softly telling your thanks, you awaited for the doctor, wanting to be discharged and just to wrap yourself into the familiarity of your nest, wishing that the particular scent that comforted you, yet drove your hormones wild, was there.  

 It was a beta’s scent, you knew. Not too flowery or sweet of an omegas, nor rustic, loud, and too dominant of an alphas. It was in the middle, perfect and soothing, and you felt yourself relax a little by the memory of it. Multiple times, your phone had rang from numbers in which you did not know. You chewed your lip. You managed to grab your handbag, but not the cards, in which had scattered everywhere after your fall. Feeling stressed, you didn’t answer any of them, except the more frantic callers, such as your friends and family.

Another unknown number rang. Admittedly, you were tired, and wanted to chuck the thing against the wall, but you were a little curious, this time. Most of the ringers had stopped, minutes ago. Taking your phone, you pressed the green button as you held it to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked first.

“Hey there, Strawberry. Do ya believe in Fated Mates?” Even through the static of the phone, the person, the man had a rough, yet warm, honeyed voice.  

“Who is this?” You asked, surprised. Was this a joke from the other person? Where they trying to lure you or set you up? Of course your scent had probably reached about everyone, so it didn’t surprise you that he knew of it.

“Orange, vanilla, and maybe sandalwood, ring a bell?” Answered your inward thoughts, and you couldn’t help but stiffen with surprise.  

“How did you know? Who is this?” You pressed for answers, and the stranger delivered.

“Name’s Taishiro Toyomitsu.‘M a beta, so you could imagine my surprise when a scent, of all things, hit me like a freight train, causing me to go into my second rut. Strawberries, cream, and honey, right?” He soothed, letting the information sink into you. It was very plausible and possible. You didn’t tell anybody of the incident, or the details. You believed him, strangely enough.

“Alright.” You decided to cut to the chase in your answer, as your heart had pounded lively within your chest. It was quiet for a second.

“Alright?” Hope was obvious in his tone of voice, and you hummed. It wouldn’t hurt, you were sure in which scent had made you go almost feral, and if the man didn’t smell like it, he could leave. If he did, then probably with you, your heat addled inward thoughts chimed in. It didn’t take you long to tell him which hospital that you were in.

“Ah, the hospital, Babe? Hold on, I’ll rev up my engine, an’ we’ll get to talkin’, alright?” He cooed rather gently, and you found yourself nodding, but told him your agreement, nonetheless.  

 Just as you hung up, the elderly doctor strolled in, smiling politely, yet apologetically. Lavender and chamomile flooded softly throughout the room, soothing your cramped muscles and calmed down your heavy breathing.  

“Hello, many people call me Recovery Lady, but you may call me Chiyo-san! So I’ve heard that this is your third heat, this year? Fated mates are such a lovely thing to see, it being more rare than winning the lottery. Do you mind answering some questions?” She rambled on in the sweet grandmotherly voice, and you couldn’t help but agree, finding yourself climbing down from the panic and stress ever so slowly as you wrapped the blanket tighter around you.

It didn’t take long, you basically asking for her to let in a man with the specified scent, and she agreed.

“Since you’re not in the deeper stages of your heat, being dizzy and tired and weak, you may be discharged, today. Good luck with bonding with your soulmate~!” She chirped as she handed you some papers to sign, and so you did. Of course, being in a more vulnerable state, you had to wait until the mysterious stranger of yours took you home.

 You’ve given yourself time to think upon basically being married, and it didn’t take you too long to not minding it. It was a leap, a rush, a blindfold into the unknown, and yet, you’ve been waiting for this moment. Like most omegas, you wanted to break the stereotype and have a job, a home, and to marry later in life. It was just your preference, and what better way, than to let the stars align somebody for you? Although Chiyo’s scent lingered, you calmed your own self down, by thinking of another, particular scent.

As if a miracle, a soft, yet subtle knock landed on the other side of the door, tore you away from your thoughts. Although a bit nervous, your instincts were oddly more calm, softly singing at you that this was meant to be, and you found yourself more eager, than anything.  

You told him to come in.

The door couldn’t have opened more slowly enough, even if it was basically pushed open with a force of hurried eagerness. You stared at the person equally taking you in, as time seemed to freeze to a screeching halt as sweet oranges and earthy sandalwood spilled into the room along with him.  

 Despite the scent that you’ve craved so dearly was a bit calm, his appearance was a little wild. His too tight of a white tee stained with a bit of motor-oil, contrasted against coal-colored leather jacket and thick, sturdy gloves and ankle-high boots, indicating that he was probably a mechanic, or at least somebody who knew how to read and ride the streets, well. He was large, tall, round, and yet carried a scent that contrasted his appearance. Sharp amber irises stared at you unabashedly as you drank more of him in.

Metallic goggles held up soft yet wild, wind-ridden yellow hair as he thumbed nervously at the chain that was linked to the hem of the pocket of sharp blue jeans.

“Ah, hello, Taishiro.” You greeted a bit too stiffly for your liking, but nervousness was leaking into your scent, and the both of you knew that he could smell it.

“Just Tai’s fine, Sweetheart.” He cooed, and you were glad that the static of the phone didn’t mask his personal voice, this time. You told him your name, and he tried it out, you liking the way it sounded as it rolled off of his tongue.

“So.” He shrugged, giving the silent offer of you taking the reigns in what you had wanted. He stood there, waiting eagerly, yet patiently ready to pounce when you’ve giving the word, and you had to admit, the thought was a pleasant one.

“We ready to go? My place isn’t much, just a flower shop.” You admitted sheepishly, and a warm smile graced his lips.

“Ya wanna talk about it on our way?”

You eagerly agreed, pleasantly surprised by the beta’s sweet demeanor.

……………

He listened very carefully as you all but rambled over the engine’s loud purr. You rather have him drive, and as he agreed, he suggested that you sit in front of him, so that your now over-heated body could cool down, as he gripped the handlebars. Of course, it was a silent excuse for his chest to lean over your back, and him to lean in to hear you. Whether his breathing softly against your ear was intentional or not, it didn’t help the spike of illicit electricity jolt through you while he murmured his input and replies.

Your flower shop came with your home connected to it. Once your grandmother’s, you inherited it as a gift after your graduation in business class. It wasn’t easy. Your parents wanted you to fit in the more “traditional” role as an omega, but your grandmother, an elderly alpha, had fire in her blood and command, had you stay with her, and focus on your studies. Of course nobody dared to temper with the head of the family, and so you were free to focus on yourself. Of course, you had been labeled as the new “heir” of the pack, and not liking that at all, your family cut contact. You shrugged at his sympathetic apology.

“They’re not my problem, anymore.” I have new family, was on the tip of your tongue, but you decided to leave it, for now.  

The ride to your home, wasn’t that long, but the two of you drove slowly, taking the less populated route as the sunset inked the sky in an array of colors. Being winter, the glistening snow on the ground had shimmered with the sky’s dying light, sparkling off twinkles of light, creating a romantic atmosphere all around you.

 Still in slight disbelief, you had still enjoyed pondering over the complexity of the situation. The two of you, in all of the beings in the world, were only a select few who were truly genetically compatible. It was now when it had fully dawned on you, when you felt the cool wind breeze lightly against your clothes and ruffle your hair. The cool air did help sate your heated body, but it was stubborn. Your body wanted to burn up, to spend itself in warmth to relieve the aching between your legs. Him of course, feeling you shiver slightly, could only bring his body closer to you, a silent promise that you’ll be warm, soon.

You gulped, knowing that he could probably smell how enticing your flavors had become, and you couldn’t help but hope that he would want a taste.

Soon, it was very soon. Of course he had explained that he found your location by card, and you believed him, even after he showed you the pink little slip after he parked in your driveway. You were still chilled, and had to reluctantly tear yourself away from his scent that was literally cloaking you.

“What do ya wanna do, Princess?” He asked bluntly, yet there was a shy bite of uncertainty laced in his tone of voice, and sympathy pulled at you.    

“Be in my nest.” You couldn’t help but wish aloud, and he hummed.

“Don’t blame ya, there, Hon. Ya got goosebumps all over ya. I don’t have work, ‘cause of the holidays, but I’ll leave my number here, so ya can call me, in case.” He stated, and you felt surprise.

“You’re...leaving?” You asked in wonder, and he, ready to turn the engine, stilled.

“Um…it’s a private time for ya, right? Besides…I didn’t know, um, what ya wanted….” He was rather sheepish, now, scratching the back at his head as red burned at his ears. Your mind screeched to a halt, as your heart skipped a couple of beats at the sight of a rough n’ rumble biker man, was being coy. You kind of liked it.  

“I would like to learn more about you. We could talk, and I can make extra space in my nest, if you want to stay the night?” You found yourself murmuring rather shyly, yet looking at his surprised look through your lashes.

A loud grin split his features before you could blink, and he hugged you, squeezing your body against his softer, yet stronger one as his scent crashed into you like a wave. Pupils large, you took in a deep, silent breath, basically tasting the oranges on your tongue as a sizzle of heat shot through you and he stiffened.

“I would love to sit with you and talk. I know the ball’s rollin’ a bit too fast, but I’m fine with what you’re fine with.” He hummed soothingly, and that itself helped with the anxious turn in your stomach.

………….

Comfort was an understatement. You were relaxed against him, feeling his chest and body rumble as he spoke, talking with you as you asked your own questions. He was a mechanic, and a biker. Once in a street gang, he disliked the violence, and turned against those who had hurt the weak. His mother loved him, and his step-father emotionally supported him. Either weren’t too thrilled that he liked revving up the streets with his friends and motorcycle, but he never once had broken the law, and was even friends with a few of the officers. He just liked what he liked, and you found yourself respecting that.

Of course, he lived in a decent apartment that wasn’t too shabby, but he had felt that he could use a companion. He chuckled nervously, as you leaned your head back against his chest to stare up at him.

“Ya…ya could say that I was always kinda of a romantic.”  He smiled softly, tucking in a stray hair behind your reddened ear. Of course, him being a beta, wasn’t a sex-craved fiend around omega heats such as alphas were. Yes, you were his mate, but beta’s usually weren’t affected too much by those in heats or ruts, and he, although flushed, was mostly more calm, letting his pheromones wash over you in a sense of security that you’ve been waiting for your whole life.

“If I wasn’t busy focusing on graduating, I was working and distancing myself away from those who were toxic.” You admitted, and although it was a vulnerable statement, you felt it breeze out of you in relief. He looked at your red face in surprise, but didn’t embarrass you further as he ran his fingers softly through your hair, enjoying the sheer intimacy between the two of you in your quiet bedroom nest. You were getting sleepy, he could tell, but since the both of you hadn’t eaten, yet, he kissed your cheek.

“Take a nap, Sweetheart. I’ll be back with somethin’ to eat.” He promised, and you nodded off, feeling him pull away reluctantly, yet wrapping the blankets around you.

……………. Nsfw

It was New Year’s Eve. Two days had passed, since then, and you couldn’t help but like him considerably. It was inevitable, you were hooked. Both being mature adults, the two of you had the potential to carve your ways into having a healthy and communicative relationship. Still early in your heat, he had given you space, giving you pillows and blankets from his home, drenched in his scent. As you rode out your heat, he excitedly told his friends and family that his new mate owned a flower shop, keeping the more secretive details to himself.

 You would have felt guilty, but you couldn’t help but soothe the ache between your legs as you slowly rode one of the pillows that he’d brought you, letting the soft cotton fabric rub against your clit, soaking in your juices, as you buried your face into the blankets that he’d brought you, his scent flooding your heat-raddled senses as your eyes watered with the need of relief. You preferred smaller spaces, shrouding yourself in the boxed in feeling of your closet as the only light was a flickering vanilla candle, chiming in helpfully with Taishiro’s own lingering scent.

It wasn’t enough. Your heart hammered frantically, skipping beats as you bit into the blanket, feeling tears of frustration pool at the corners of your eyes. Usually, a pillow, or even fingers, would do the trick to sate one round of your heats. This was different. Your body knew the potential of what you could have, and now it sung for him, and even desperately rutting up against a pillow or your digits, were futile, now, and only created a mess. You groaned, agitated and unsatisfied as aches of emptiness speared through you.

You didn’t want to use him, or call him to just satisfy your needs, but you were desperate and in pain, and your body this time, was dependent on his scent. Your mind was bordering on delirious after the first three failed orgasms in the next two hours. He was at work, you knew, but his shift would end, soon, and you could just make a call to let him know ahead of time…

You panted lightly into the pillows, a sheen of sweat covered you. Deciding that you had felt icky, you wanted to test if a cold shower would be merciful to you, this time.

………..

He was over the moon, humming happily to himself as he gripped the wrench, tightly twisting the bolt into a right turn, tightening it flush to the metal of the bike. Of course his parents were ecstatic, his friends and co-workers happy for him, and although some tried to hide their jealousy, he brushed it off.

He admitted, he was a little worried. Fated heats and ruts packed a bit more punch that normal, seeing that a lover’s pheromones could naturally make the other go crazy. He would known, his rut lasted more than it should, and he was furiously biting into his pillow, hands clutching at the sheets as he frantically rutted into them, doing nothing but mussing up pre-cum and semen into a giant mess. He never felt so punched, wrought out, and unsatisfied, and he couldn’t imagine what his poor darling was dealing with.

He was surprised when she called, but at the same time, was elated and worried.

“Baby, are you alright?” He didn’t miss a beat when he answered.

“I…I’m not.” Came almost too stiffly, yet the voice broke a little at the end, and he couldn’t help but bite his tongue in a whine. It wasn’t a tough call to know that she was distraught, and he understood. If what packed a punch to him, he couldn’t imagine what it could do to his omega.

His omega. He confirmed mentally, still getting use to the fact that he had a partner, now.

“Honey, are you sure that you want this? You’re in a vulnerable state, right now, and I will not take advantage of ya.” He’d rather set himself on fire, than to live with the guilt of using and hurting his precious partner, but he knew that although rare, an unattended heat or rut could have grave consequences on one’s body. Especially if it was caused by pheromone withdrawal.

“I’m coherent. I know that you should get off work, soon. Unless you don’t want-?” The sentence hung, and he understood her reluctance, then.

“I’ll be there, soon, Dearest. Rest assure, I do want, an’ we can save some pillow talk for later, alright? Ya don’t sound too well, and I’m going to fix that, alright?” He hushed gently, half-aware that his scent was fanning out, yet it was futile.

“Alright.” Came the weak relief of a reply, and he hung up, turning to search for his boss to get the go-ahead to leave, early.

………………….

You could only send a quick “door’s unlocked” text, before drying your hair, wrapping your naked form in a soft blanket, as this time, you flopped on your bed. It didn’t work, if anything, your body tried harder to burn up, warming you up, as well as your stubborn muscles and pheromone couldn’t just get the hint that you needed a break.

He was your last resort. You really did like the thought of him touching you and being affectionate. What you had minded, was him being uncomfortable, or reluctant and not really wanting to make love, yet. Your ears burned.

You desperately called him. While he was at work. Shame and a bit of guilt ate up at you, but your mind couldn’t process it further, as the front door of your bedroom door had flew open, surprising you in your blanketed form. The familiar smell had struck lightening to your senses, as well as of course the new mix of motor oil and grease, but that didn’t deter you.

He was staring at you, pupils blown wide with a sympathetic look that barely drowned out the pure hungry one. You swallowed thickly. He had a dried smear of oil on his face, his hair wild, and he wore a tight, orange shirt, this time. You still had the dried tear stains, your body flushed despite the cool shower, and of course your distressed scent lingered in the air. His shoulders softened as he shut the door, making his way towards you on the bed.

“Oh, Baby, look at ya.” He fretted, cupping your cheeks as he leaned his forehead against yours. You sighed.

“Do you want this?” Was blurted out between the two of you. Faces reddening, he shyly looked down, first.

“I mean…you’re the one in heat, ya know?”

“I didn’t want to just…use you because I was in heat. You’re not a tool, Tai.”

The two of you looked at each other.

He burst out laughing, to your utter dismay.

“What?” You tried, but he wiped his eyes, giving short little huffs as he caught his breath.

“We’re both worried about somethin’ that’s equally consent, right?”

You nodded.

“So we can waste no further time, right?”

“Right.” You answered, and he stared at you, before leaning in to kiss you gingerly. You could scream in relief at the contact, and he moaned into the kiss gripping your hand gently, giving it a soft squeeze. You decided to pull away the blanket covering you, letting him indicate the hint as he all but stripped off his clothes, placing them in the closet, noticing the used pillows that he’d given you.

“They helped?” He murmured, glancing from them to take in your exposed form. You laid there, feeling his eyes rake over you, and you couldn’t help but like the burning intensity from amber pupils as you took him in, as well. His tight shirts paled in comparison to what was underneath. He was a sight to see; muscular, yes, but you loved his roundness, too, and although not really knowing him, he had made you feel comfortable and warm, and things that you don’t usually feel.  

“Considerably. I…don’t use other people’s things like that.” You told the truth shyly, despite the crawling inferno in your abdomen. He couldn’t help but feel the need to just nurture, his beta instincts screaming at him that this is his mate, you need to be taken care of. Going with them, he couldn’t help join you on the bed, seeing that you’ve kept the blanket only around your shoulders. He leaned down and kissed you, running his calloused, worked hands across the goosebumps on your heated shoulders and arms.

It was fluttery and warm, and although it ended a little too soon for your liking, he pecked your cheek, before burying his face into the crook of your neck, letting you do the same as the two of you let each other’s scents of “home” wash over the both of you. Time slowed down for a minute, but then you couldn’t help but let out a low whine as your heat sparked up again, and he of course could smell it directly.

“I wanna take this slow, Honey, but ya look like a wreck wanting to get some relief.” He hummed, gently kissing your ear, relishing in your small shiver.

“I was worse, earlier, but a cool shower and you had helped me, considerably, but I think it’s crawling back up, again.” You whimpered, and he understood.

“Alright. Lemme take care of ya, Sweetlin’.” He murmured, hesitantly breaking away, turning his attention to the literal core of your problems. You looked so flushed down there, sopping wet with slick and just needing to be laved with attention, and so he did. He ignored your small jump and slight yelp as he breached two digits past your folds, and into the loosened muscle of your opening. Of course omegas were born to take it with little resistance, but he was a considerate mate.

 Bringing one of your legs on top of his shoulder, and the other securely around his waist, he eyed your reactions as he slowly pumped now three fingers into your tightness, eliciting small whimpers of approval from you, making his inner beta purr with contentment, knowing that he was soothing and satisfying his hurting beloved intended.  

Your couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, biting the back of your hand as he scooted down, letting himself being able to properly taste you and your insides fluttered at his bitten moan of approval. Good mate, he was such a good provider. Coming when you were in a dire time of need, making sure that he had full consent. Your legs tightened over his shoulder and waist when his attention went to your bud, lolling it stiffly around his tongue as his fingers pumped, curled, and stretched, and you felt yourself tighten like a bow string, ready to be set loose, any moment.

“Sweetlin’, are ya ‘bout to cum?” He broke away to ask, and you bit out a whine of disappointment at the loss, but nodded your head, anyway as you opened your eyes, seeing him through a constellation of blurry tears as you blinked rapidly.

Sighing softly, he gingerly gave a small kiss to your inner thigh, rather apologetically.

“Don’t fret, Honey. I’ll give you what you want, alright? I’m just makin’ sure that you’re ready, an’ still wantin’ this.” He hummed, and you felt a trickle of relief from his caring sincerity. Your hands, once clenched in the sheets, reached over and stroked his cheek rather gently.

“I’m fine, Darling.” You couldn’t help but gaze upon him rather softly, as he gingerly took your hand that held his cheek, and kissed your palm, letting his nose nestle in the scent glands within your wrist as he returned your equally, gentle look of affection.

“Alright.” He said after your affirmative nod. You were slick and loose, and he guided himself to your opening, pushing the tip of the head in, stilling as you stiffened. He regained his posture to hover over you, bringing his hands upon your breasts, kneading them gently as he leaned down, fawning over you with attention and affection, pushing forward slowly when he felt that your body relaxed more into his kisses.

“That’s it, Honey. Just a little more, alright, Darlin’? You’re doin’ so well, Sweetheart.” He murmured lowly, hot breath fanning over your flushed face as you took him in to the hilt, finally.

You were ready to burst, and he seemed to know it.

“Go ahead and cum, alright? We’ve got other rounds to go. I bet ya’re pent up. Poor thing.” He cooed, letting his gentleness wash over you as you rolled your hips, liking the way that the curved, fat head, hit a certain spot within you. Contrary to belief, omegas didn’t need a knot to be satisfied, and with your only mate, you already were. Taking his cue, he met your thrusts rather ecstatically, giving sharper, shorter ones while not pulling out even an inch, thumbing your clit, cursing as you couldn’t help but feel yourself tighten around him rather harshly. Wanting to receive a biting mark in which signified a mated bond for life, he asked, and you delivered, sharpened canines didn’t think twice to the inner omega’s and beta mate’s command for you to just claim, and you did.

All of the failed attempts of an orgasm, earlier, came crashing into you as the metaphorical bowstring snapped, shooting jolts of electricity and sheer tears of relief flooded your eyes, your teeth had clamped harder onto the spot near his jugular, and he didn’t hesitate to give you his own mating bite, rutting into you rather wildly like a rabid animal, teeth sunken into the skin of your scent glands, marking you as his, as he churned your tightened walls.

He was riding with you through your own euphoria, him stilling, only to flood them with his own release as he let out a pure satisfied groan into your bitten flesh. Staying still fter what had seemed to be multiple minutes, he released his jaw from your wound, as you did the same. The two of you favored to slowly lave at each other’s freshly scarred bites, healing them.

After a while, you broke free, panting harshly as you felt dizzy with relief, having the dreadful heat be sated by such a kind and wonderful lover.

“Might be a lil’ too soon, but fuck it. I love ya.” He panted out as the two of you climbed down from your climatic highs, he making sure that you weren’t seriously too hurt by the bite. He brushed your sweaty locks of hair away from your face, and you cupped his face rather gently, kissing him.

“I love you, as well.” You admitted. Sure it was soon, but you couldn’t care less. He deserved to know that his feelings were reciprocated, and you, feeling relieved and yet tired, wanted him to know it.

“How about we clean up, a little, and continue this later, alright?” He hummed, and you agreed.

………………….

After cleaning up, you rested your head on his arm as the two of you talked about everything and nothing. His scent had actually helped keep your heat at bay longer than originally planned, and so the two of you were content in just the sheer intimacy of lazy pillow talk.

Each admired one’s bite, although it did break the skin and scarred, one’s saliva had healing properties to keep it cleaned and from getting infected. Now and then, he opted to kiss yours, licking a fresh stripe to help keep it cleaned, and you did the same.

You didn’t remember when you had fallen asleep, but you’ve never felt so peaceful within your life, waking up with him gripping you into a tight hug, a string of drool pooled at the corner of his mouth as he snored rather softly. Finding this cute, you checked the time on your clock, and decided to stir and wake him up around midnight, celebrating the New Year with a New Year’s kiss.

………………….

Aaaaaaaaaah. It’s done and took me a little bit longer than I thought it would, but I’m happy with it. For those who’re new to abo, I tried my best to explain, but also throw in some twists (ie our boy being a beta bc they’re Important and need more love).  

[god-of-dust]

@richardcampbellganseytheiiird asked about the wip tag game:

I NEED to know what PRIDEMOTHEFPHUCKER is because that title has me gagging on laughter. xD

just so you know, i opened the document and the first line is “LOSE URSELF TO DENS”, all caps included.

the story is a modern AU describing zuko’s first pride and him meeting the gaang there; i had no actual plot in mind yet, apart from zukaang happening in the future.

an unedited excerpt, featuring starry-eyed zuko, mai being mai and also being queer for ty lee, aromantic katara and shameless jet bashing:

So this is what a pride parade really looks like.

Zuko was used to seeing them through videos and pictures, more often than not followed by horrible, demeaning comments about how degenerate and filthy those people where, and he privately had to admit that a lot of people were wearing revealing and flashy clothes (if they could even be called clothes, Zuko's seen people more covered at the beach).

What he's seeing now is a lot like those pictures, but also so much more. More people, for one, but also more color, more variety, more music, more balloons, more glitter—oh, the glitter—, more life.

Rainbows were everywhere, on every flag and article of clothing and smiling cheek; they hurt Zuko's eyes... and his chest, too. A healing kind of hurt, like the sting from disinfectant, but without the sterile smell.

He can imagine what his father—Ozai, he corrects—would say about his being here. Probably nothing at all, in fact. Ozai doesn't waste words when it comes to show his displeasure, and Zuko has the scar to prove it.

Nevertheless, not even Ozai's looming judgment is able to ruin this.

“Your eyes are falling out,” Mai says from his side. Like him, she usually steers clear of crowds, but  this time she was the one who convinced him to come. Well, it was more the combination of Ty Lee's influence on her and her knowledge of Zuko's weaknesses; the relevant part, though, is that now all three of them are here, admiring their surroundings, and smiling with uncharacteristic (except for Ty Lee, of course) openness.

“It's... a lot,” he admits, “but not bad.” I'm glad to be here.

That's when Ty Lee takes their hands and pulls them both into the heart of the crowd, yelling over the music, “Don't think I'll let you two stay in the sidelines all day! Come on!”

Everybody's moving, a pulsing wave of shaking hips and restless legs. He tries to blend in and follow the upbeat rhythm, swaying from side to side, stiff as a wooden plank; and yet, his ability to care about his lack of dance skills has taken a vacation. He feels his smile getting broader, ridiculously so. For the first time in ages, Zuko's surrounded by strangers and it isn't suffocating. He's a nobody here, a black speck in the middle of an ocean of others who somehow, someway are his kin; it's the day where the underdogs run the place, and he lets himself take in that power, that link, that humanity, to save it in a quiet corner of his memories. He'll probably need it in the future.

A body bumps into him, hard. Zuko turns in that direction, instinctively rooting himself in the best defensive stance the cramped space allows.

It seems that while Ozai can't rain on this parade, there's definitely someone else who can, and he's staring at Zuko with the usual air of superiority, head tilted as if in challenge.

How could Zuko have ever found that smirk charming, he doesn't know. What he does know is that expression on the face of the not-so-charming douchebag in front of him, and it means that he's trying to stir shit; from the murderous intent he can feel radiating from someplace on his left, Mai knows too.

“What a pleasant surprise to see you here,” Zuko's ex from hell says.

“Pleasant surprise, indeed,” Mai scoffs. She's murderous, Zuko can tell, and as much as it's comforting to know that she's got his back, he also has to put a stop to this before she decides to act.

Trust him to have never learned his diplomacy 101. “Jet, what are you doing here?” Great, Zuko, that's the right question to ask a queer person. Congratulations.

“Out and proud, remember? In fact, what are you doing here? Didn't expect you'd ever find the guts to be out so publicly,” Jet taunts, “What will your daddy think, I wonder?”

“That's none of your business.” It's easier to feign calmness when he's not forced to hear Jet's irritating tone and scornful words.

Jet lifts his chin towards Mai, whose hands are twitching. “Ah, but I see you brought your favourite beard. Still trying to cover your closeted ass?”

Diplomacy be damned, Zuko's tempted to just let Mai do her thing—the one with sharp blades and a not-so-polite amount of surgical enthusiasm. Why should Zuko bother preserving this asshole's physical integrity? It's not like he deserves it.

Whispers come from behind Zuko, and he remembers that he's not playing saviour out of the goodness of his heart; they're in public, people are all around them in a newly-formed circle, keeping their distance and watching with varying degrees of interest. Their conversation hasn't escalated enough to be worrisome, but Jet isn't famous for his self-restraint... and neither is Zuko, for that matter.

He's also remembering that he's not quite that comfortable with crowds.

As he opens his mouth to retort, someone steps in and places their body between them, their back to Zuko, effectively cutting him—and Jet—off. Their t-shirt marks them as security, and air almost freezes as they speak.

“I saw your friends and I knew you'd be somewhere close, stirring trouble. You never disappoint, don't you, Jet?” the girl says, with a cold, acrid venom in her tone that's nothing short of a work of art.

For a second, Jet's face makes a complicated thing; Zuko has no time to wonder about it, as it morphs lightning-quick into an arrogant upturn of lips.

“Katara! Since when are cishets allowed to play security?”

She tenses, then relaxes again. “I'm not having this conversation. Your gatekeeping shit's gotten old years ago.”

The scene unfolds in front of Zuko, and he really should take advantage of the crowd to make a swift exit. It's clear the two have history, and it's not his business anyway. He darts a glance to Mai. She ignores him, glaring daggers into Jet instead.

“Yeah, because you know I'm right and you don't belong here. You act like the troubled martyr as if you're not waving your little flag and claiming non-existing problems to feel special. Do chick-flicks oppress you, princess? Boo-hoo,” Jet mocks, wiping away imaginary tears with his knuckles.

Definitely not my business, Zuko's mind provides.

“Are you unable to talk with people without being an utter piece of trash?”

Nevermind. Now it is.

Mai's stepped forward to stand close to the security girl, chin high and back straight, elegant and dangerous as a poisonous flower; her enemy's enemies are her friends, after all, and Jet let his mouth run a little too much for her taste. In fact, she's been wanting to draw Jet's blood—in a not so figurative way—for a while now. The douchebag is offering her vengeance on a silver platter and her behaviour screams that she's going to take it.

Zuko doesn't want her to. He wants to leave. There's too much for him to lose here, badly stitched wounds ready to be exploited, new ugly memories ready to unearth the old ones from their shallow graves, emotions that he's not sure he's ever managed to hold secure.

But he loves Mai. She's started this and he'll back her up if needs arises.

Please, let this be quick and painless.

Then Jet looks at Mai and laughs, a revolting sound, and Zuko's fist is two seconds away from being snugly encased into the fucker's fucking face.

my notes say that katara is the one that decks jet in the face after this. ooops.

[sahbibabe]

Ignoring The Obvious

Soulmate AU

Sephiroth/Fem! Reader

Part Eleven

Your hospital stay is short. Your training commences. Reno has serious problems with being... well, helpful. Or encouraging. Especially with a giant Shinra dog chasing you through vents.

THE BED WAS HARD, YOUR knees were killing you, your abdomen was on fire, and the nurse was steadily refusing to give you morphine no matter how much you begged. You had spent the better part of two days as high as a kite, blissfully unaware of the train wreck of memories about to hit you the moment you were weaned off of your medication. The file─your unfiltered, raw test subject notes and classifications─sat innocently on the nightstand as if it was completely separate from the emotional turmoil you were facing.

       It would be easy, so easy to slip into the mercenary's mindset and ignore the pain. To shove the emotions aside and bury them so deep you didn't even have to acknowledge their existence. All you had to do was will them away, and they would be gone. But that was unhealthy and the moment you did that, all of your progress would be ruined forever and you would start from scratch once more.

      But did it really matter? You asked yourself the same question over and over again as you watched the Chocobo documentary on the one-channel television network. You would be going back to that life anyways, with that same mindset and habits, without anyone to stop you from doing otherwise. You would be killing people for Rufus Shinra in the name of eliminating competition; a petty game was what it all came down to.

        And you were the knight who guarded the King.

       You looked away from the television to your food. It was plain hospital food, rich in protein to help you replace all of the blood you had supposedly lost while you fought the doctor tooth and nail when he tried to get a needle in your arm for an IV. Reno had laughed when he told you about the resident's injuries, but it only made you feel sick to your stomach when the nurses had to strap you down like a wild animal.

      Other than Reno, your only other visitor was Rude, and he had been thoughtful enough to bring you a bouquet of real flowers. He wouldn't say where he had gotten them from when you asked, just sat in silence, so you asked him instead how Hojo was doing with that stab wound, as smug as you might have sounded.

       "You didn't stab Hojo," Rude told you bluntly, a slight hint of confusion in his voice. Your smugness was wiped from your face. "You stabbed an assistant doctor who had come in to check your new vitals."

        "No," you had whispered,"no, that… That was Hojo. I remember it like it happened seconds ago…"

       "It doesn't matter. The doctor has been treated and compensated out of your salary. You'll be fifty thousand gil short."

     And that had been the end of that.

     Now, you picked at the cheap, plasticky roast beef on your plate and pushed your asparagus around in circles. You weren't getting anywhere without the alarms sounding on your bed, so you were effectively a prisoner until they turned them off. Add that to the iron they were slowly feeding into your IV and you felt like a rabbit confined in a small cage, pacing a few steps at a time.

       Out of the corner of your eye, sitting right beside the file you were desperately trying to avoid reading, sat the Book of Colors: a book that translated all of the different colors soulmates might see, their specific combinations, and surprisingly, origins.

       The strings felt snug against your fingers as you weighed your options, kneading your fingers into your palm. There was a lot you could learn about the authenticity of soulmate bonds through that book. People followed it like gospel, spoke of it as something holy. You had never had a reason to read it until now, or the money to, but now you had prime opportunity and the eyesight to help you do it.

      You picked up the book and pushed your lunch tray away from the bed.

       It was a hefty leather thing, dyed black and sewn with gold thread to display the title: The Book of Colors. One could easily take it for a children's book, but it was so much more than that. A quick glance at the spine showed it was the newest edition.

       The first page you opened it to described the various types of soulmate bonds, everywhere from bonds to the literal soul to telepathic communication. It depended heavily on the people bound to determine what kind of bonds they got. Cynical, unfair people walked around without color vision until they met their soulmate; quiet, shy people got telepathy; and people like you, a mercenary gone civilian, got strings.

       "Strings guide the lost home," you mumbled, tracing your finger over the plain description beneath the header,"and return hearts to where they belong."

       One of the authors theorized heavily that strings meant involvement with the lifestream personally, or some kind of way to identify past soulmates with one another.

       "It's a very unique thing, the strings," the author wrote,"just like anyone else's, but this means that the two souls have already connected before in the past. Eons or two hundred years ago, who can say?"

      You skimmed over the rest and flipped over to the colors, the part you had been dreading and also curiously dying to read. There were sections to different soulmate types, some colors meaning different things, so you found your section and settled down in your springy hospital bed.

       "Identify the weave of your strings," the book told you. It offered a small chart of different weave types. "You may have two types or you may have four. Find yours and look at the pairing chart to determine the intent of your bond."

       That was easy enough. You shook the threads out and looked closely at their weave; there was a single double braid, what looked like a dutch braid, and an elaborately woven pattern that repeated halfway through the string on each one.

       "The double braid signifies a union between two people," you read, following the lines with your finger. "If there is a child born from that union, two becomes three on this specific line."

        You didn't have a third thread, like you expected, so you moved on.

      "The dutch braid signifies a match with power and darkness. Don't worry yourself, though! Darkness can be equated to many things, such as self conflict, a trouble within the body, or even a mental disconnection from stress."

      Sephiroth didn't seem to be mentally disconnected, but you didn't even know him that well. You messed with the threads for a few moments, stuck on that phrasing, before finding the last section where the more elaborate braids were.

       "This gorgeous flower patterned weave means that you have reunited with your soulmate several times in various past lives. Much like additional colors to the vision discussed in the previous soulmate identification, the different petals on it connote just how many times you have been with your soulmate in past lives. Count them! How many do you have?"

         You raised an eyebrow and counted the individual petals. One, two, three, four, five, six, and… just burgeoning on the final petal, weaving itself before your eyes, was seven.

         But there wasn't a number for that─there wasn't even a color combination or weave combination for the mess around your hand. You checked several times, but to no avail; no one had ever had gold, purple, and green and black threads.

       You slammed the book shut and tossed it back on the nightstand just as the door handle turned and popped open. Reno sauntered past the threshold and made himself at home in the guest chair, eating popcorn and humming an odd tune.

       "So, how's the chocobo documentary doing?" His eyes sparkled with mirth. "Making you bored yet?"

       "Sure. If you count restlessness as bored." You crossed your arms and fixed him with a hard stare. "When can I get out and do my job?"

        "In an hour." Reno threw a handful of popcorn in his mouth dismissively. "Doc says you're cleared to start training and work off that excessive energy you have."

        "Good." You ripped your blankets back and hopped out of the bed. The floor was still cold beneath the cheap socks the hospital had given you. The world swam around you for a moment and you steadied yourself against the nightstand. "Good. That means I didn't pass the exam?"

        Reno shrugged. "You never finished it. Tseng pulled some strings. As long as you pass training you should be fine."

       "Why do you sound like you doubt me?"

       "You'll find out in… oh, about an hour."

      And oh, find out you did.

      "Reno, I'm going to murder you for this."

       Sweat traced rivers down your face as you shimmied your way through the ventilation system of the training barracks, a guard dog snapping at your heels. He didn't answer over the comms system, but you knew he had to be laughing at you somehow.

       "Shit," you yelped, feeling the dog's teeth sink down into your shoe. You kicked back on reflex and it cried out, releasing you instantly. You moved a little faster, relieved at the sight of a vent, and slammed your elbow down on the grate. It didn't budge and there was a very pissed off hound breathing down your neck. "Oh, fuck me."

       "Keep on moving, [Name]!" Reno chortled. You scowled and got on your knees, moving as fast as you could given the cramped space. "Three minutes left!"

        "You and your three minutes can go to hell!"

       "Yeah, but then who would sic hounds on you then? You'd fail your training no problem."

      "Reno," you growled, shoving your fingers into another grate just ahead and pushing down hard. It swung open. The dog got closer. "I'm going to kick your ass."

       "Get out of the vents and then we can talk!"

        You dropped neatly onto a bench, the leatherwork groaning beneath your feet. You hopped off and opened the door right as the dog dropped out behind you, hightailing it down the hall at full speed.

        "Gotta take out the dog, too, [Name]!" Reno reminded you.

        Feet skidding into the marble floor, you whirled around, cursing Reno for his snarky reminders and tackled the dog head on. It flailed as you wrapped your arms around its neck and cut off its breathing, barely keeping purchase by pinning your knees to the over muscled thighs. It growled and tried to bite you, the struggle slowing second by second, until it flopped down on the floor, tongue hanging.

         Unconcious, but not dead.

      You reclined back on your haunches with a sigh, wiping sweat from your forehead, and when you opened your eyes, you found the full brunt of Reeve Tuesti's gaze staring you down.

       Your hand dropped from your forehead. Not even your labored breathing helped you forget that you had somehow ended up in a completely different building than Reno had told you to go to.

       "Damnit."

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Bury My Love (Final Part)

jooA/n: This is the final part, folks, it’s BIG SAD until it gets happy. It’s been a long road and I love this fic a lot, it’s a little bittersweet to finish it! Also I finally made a banner after the final part :/

Warnings: The softest, saddest smut ever written in my entire life, unprotected sex, big sad, bit angst, but happy ending finally

Word Count: 2265

taglist: @purpletigertaetae​, @lvupmushroom​, @wannatrymebitch​, @jooheonbee​, @confusemonkey​, @wuggaboo

You’re asleep when your phone rings, and since Namjoon never called, only has your number for emergencies, you rush to answer it.

“Yes?” You answer, and your heart is pounding.

“Hello, Y/n. I’m sorry to call so early…I need your help at the office.”

"N..now? It's not even seven, Joon-"

"I'd consider it a personal favor to me, Y/n."

You swallow hard, blinking sleep from your eyes. Lately it was taking three glasses of wine to get you to be able to sleep and your stomach feels heavy and sick. But Namjoon didn't know any of that, didn't know you were heartbroken and grieving the loss of someone you maybe never even had, and he'd never asked you for anything.

"Okay. Give me half an hour."

You feel like you're going to vomit when you pull up to the building. Maybe a bottle of wine wasn't the best sleep aid.

You realize you must be the first staff at the office, and you're grateful you'd taken the time to put on a little makeup because you feel your face paling when Namjoon's office door is open.

Are you about to get fired? Is that why it was Namjoon who called? For moral support?

It's Jungkook you see first when you walk in, limbs feeling heavy.

"Noona! Thank God you're here." He says, and gives you a big bear hug that makes you smile a little.

Namjoon flashes his dimples at you, too. 

Then your eyes fall on the couch, where Yoongi is sitting, shoulders slumped, and your heart seizes in your chest.

"What is this?" You ask, voice cracked.

"It's an intervention," Namjoon says firmly.

Yoongi doesn't speak, doesn't move. The room reeks of alcohol and vomit. Yoongi looks pale and thin and you hate how it makes your throat seize with worry.

"We just want you two to talk," Jungkook says softly.

You take in a deep, slow breath. "Listen, I'm glad that you all think enough of me to ask me to talk, but-"

Yoongi speaks for the first time and his voice is hoarse. "They know."

You swallow, your throat feeling full.

Namjoon stands from his chair and pats your shoulder as he walks out, while Jungkook just 

flashes his bunny smile and follows.

You feel like you can barely breathe when you sit down in Namjoon's desk chair.

"I'm sorry," Yoongi chokes out, head still hanging, looking small and defeated. "I'm just so fucking sorry."

"What happened last night?" You ask, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, how badly you ache to reach out and take his hand.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nothing. I got too drunk and Kookie was worried and... I'm sorry. I'm sorry it got out, I didn't want that."

"So what, you're upset your dirty little secret got out?" You spit out, grateful for the anger that rises in you because it helps not to hurt so much.

Yoongi looks up at you, and the look on his face spears right through your heart. He looks so tired, so stricken, and all you want to do is throw yourself into his arms and you hate yourself for it.

"No. No, I'm upset because I was a fucking idiot. I thought I could protect you. I thought I could keep you from...from all this."

You're quiet for a moment, your blood boiling, head spinning. "Are you trying to tell me that you broke up with me ...that you ripped my heart out ...to protect me?"

You can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "I...you don't understand, Y/n, you don't know what it's like, what people are like when stuff like this gets out…"

You’re stunned into silence, and Yoongi wrings his hands in his lap. “Y/n.”

“Fuck you, Min Yoongi,” you say, voice shaking, and you stand up, trembling with rage. “You think I didn’t think about that? You think I didn’t know that things might get hairy, dating an idol? You thought I just jumped into this without knowing that?”

He’s looking up at you blankly, mouth parted. “I-”

“I did it anyway, Yoongi. I did it anyway because I’m in love with you, you fucking idiot!” Angry tears are spilling from your eyes.

Yoongi swallows again and stands, his hands coming out and hovering near your arms, as if he’s afraid you might push him away. “Y/n...I...I love you. I still love you so fucking much, and I-”

A sob hitches in your chest. “Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this now? What’s changed, Yoongi? You must still think I’m too weak and stupid to date you, to get through stupid shit like scandals and being apart -”

“I don’t-”

“The only thing that’s changed is that I’m moving on. I’m moving on and you’re not, you’re just moping around and demanding to know who I’m fucking like you didn’t give up any right to know that the second you broke up with me over a fucking phone call!” 

Yoongi’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes are wet, searching your face.

“It’s not like that, baby, I swear. I swear to you. I thought I could do this. I thought I was strong enough to let you go and let you be happier but I’m not. I’m fucking not and it’s a knife through my gut every time you look right through me like I never meant anything to you. Did I? Did I ever mean anything to you?”

“How can you even ask me that?” You’re sobbing in earnest, now, and you suddenly feel defeated, sitting down on the couch hard.

You feel him sit down next to you, feel his hand rubbing circles on your back and it just makes you sob harder. It’s been such a long few weeks, so many nights just crying and wondering why he didn’t want you, why he’d turned on a dime from the sweet, soft boy he was with you to that harsh asshole on the phone, telling you he was too busy to listen to you cry.

"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness," Yoongi says, voice shaking. "I know I don't deserve you. I never did, but I….I still want you. I need you, baby, I feel like I can't breathe without you."

"Why are you doing this to me? Why now, when I was just starting to think there was life after you…"

Yoongi's hands clutch at yours. "Please," he gasps. "Please, don't. I don't want you to move on. I can't watch you move on, Y/n, it'll kill me."

"Because you're jealous? Because you're territorial? Some knee jerk reaction-"

"No. No! Because I realized that you're stronger than me. I realized I had underestimated you."

You can't speak, just crying, and Yoongi cups your face in his hands.

"Please," he says, voice low and broken. "Please, let me...let me touch you? Let me show you how much I still love you, doll, please…"

You whimper in the back of your throat, giving in, letting yourself melt against his mouth when he kisses you, hard and hungry and desperate, and you know this might all fall apart, that you might end up heartbroken all over again, but you can't bring yourself to care.

***

There's something in him that's so desperate he can barely remember to breathe when you kiss him back, when your hands clutch at his shirt, something in him telling him this might be the last time he gets to feel his palms on your skin, the last time he hears his name breathy on your lips, and it hurts, feels like broken glass in his chest because this, buried inside you a few moments later, this is the place he feels most at home.

He ignores his body urging him to go faster, fucks you slow and deep, tears spilling from his eyes like they'll never stop, blurring your face. He wants this to last as long as it can, wants to burn the memory behind his eyelids so that he can bring it up when he thinks he can't keep going, when you leave him because he deserves it, because he hurt you.

He doesn't delude himself that he'll have the strength not to beg you to stay, so he makes it last, ignoring the pull in his stomach, the ache in his balls, your whimpering and pleading.

The couch is too small to touch you everywhere like he wants, to commit the memory of your skin under his hands, so he cups your face, kissing along your cheekbones, the salt of your tears and his own tangy on his tongue.

"I'm sorry," he says, words hitching in his chest because they aren't enough, even combined with the reverent way he's looking at you, how his body is slotted with yours like a puzzle piece. "I love you. I love you so fucking much and I'm so fucking sorry."

Your only answer is the way your back arches, how your cunt clenches around his cock.

Yoongi cries out in frustration when he can't hold back anymore, when he spills inside you, kissing you over and over again, moaning into your mouth and he holds you so tight when it's over, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm pulse around his spent cock and he hides his face in your neck when you wiggle under him.

"Not yet. Not yet, please." He murmurs against your skin, feeling wide open and raw, like if he lets you up you'll slip away from him for good and you're breathing hard under him.

"Yoongi. Yoongi, let me up." Your voice is soft but he thinks maybe that hurts worse than if you we're yelling and he shifts to let you up, covers his face with his hands as he hears you shuffling to get dressed, feeling like there's someone sitting on his chest.

He thinks for a moment that he can do it, that he won't break down and beg you not to go but after a moment of silence a sob catches in his throat.

"Baby. Y/n," he mutters, and it's a hoarse whisper that hurts his throat. "Don't."

You take his hands from his face and you're dressed and kneeling beside him on the floor.

"Yoongi."

He looks over at you miserably, and your eyes are so soft it's a spear through him and he prays there's enough liquor hidden somewhere in Namjoon's office to get him through the day.

"If I give you another chance, will I regret it?" You ask, searching his face, and he's so shocked he doesn't answer for a second.

He scrambles up, adjusting his half off clothes, leaning down towards you.

"Never," he breathes. "Never, I'll never hurt you again, I swear."

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and there's hope rising in his chest and he's not sure he'll survive it if you change your mind, not now, so he cups your face in bis hands, brushes his nose against yours.

"I swear, baby. I'll be so good to you, always."

"Yoongi...I can't do this again. You can't do this to me ever again."

He shakes his head fiercely. "Never, never, never," he chants, kissing you all over your face, and when you smile the pressure in his chest finally breaks.

He pulls you up into his lap, squeezing you tight, kissing every inch of exposed skin he can reach, and you're giggling when you pull away and it feels strange to be smiling, like he's almost forgotten how.

"I gotta go to work now," you say, smiling, and Yoongi pouts.

"I just got you back. You can't go to work." He grumbles, and you kiss his nose.

"I can go to work, and you can go home and shower and sleep. You're a mess, Min Yoongi."

He nods solemnly. "I am. I've been such a big mess without you. You have to take care of me. I clearly can't do it myself."

You grin and that's when there is a soft knock on the door, Namjoon peeking his head in.

You scramble up and Yoongi whines, grabbing at your hand.

You manage to dodge him and he stands up, squeezing your hand in his. You look up at him. "I'm gonna try to get out of work," you say, and peck his cheek before releasing his hand.

As you pass Namjoon you nod to him. "Thank you."

Namjoon smiles at Yoongi.

"Yes, thank you," Yoongi says quickly. "Thank Kookie for me, too." As he passes Namjoon, he whispers, "I'll replace the couch."

"Wait, what?" The leader calls after him.

***

He spends days with you, hands all over you, murmuring apologies into your skin with his mouth and his hands and you end up having to take three days off because of muscle strain.

When you try to go home on the third day, he sits up and grabs you around the waist, yanks you back into bed.

“Move in with me,” he whispers against your neck, and things move pretty fast after that, even though he still gets nervous when you go out in public, making you wear a hat and a mask and clutching your hand tight.

It’s worth it, in the end, all his worry and fear, because he gets you at the end of the day, gets to hold you tight against him and bury his face in your hair and breathe in your scent, and he’ll be damned if he ever does anything to jeopardize that ever again.

[notapaladin]

a little mystery to figure out

The rumors reaching Nezahual’s ears can’t be true. They suggest that Tenochtitlan’s Master of the House of Darts and the High Priest for the Dead are...together, and Nezahual’s met Acatl. No, Teomitl is clearly going to be pining forever.

He decides to visit his sister city, and learns much more than he really wanted to.

Also on AO3!

-

Not for the first time, Nezahual reflected that his life couldn’t get any better than this. He was a healthy young ruler with slaves to serve his every whim and his pick of lovely, inventive concubines to share his mat; he had only to wave a hand, and a dozen servants would rush to attend him. The mat spread out in his palace gardens boasted two thick cloaks and a deer pelt to cushion his reclining form, and above him a pair of noisy motmots fluttered like living jewels.

By his side, his current favorite concubine—Miyahuaxochitl—picked up a delicately carved rosette of fruit, studying it for a moment before popping it into her mouth. “Hm.”

He put an arm around her, pulling her a little closer. “Is it not to your taste?”

She thought for a moment and shook her head. “No, my lord, it is. Forgive me, I was only...thinking.”

“Oh?” It wasn’t an accusatory question—of course she was entitled to the contents of her own head, though he’d never been especially impressed by her sagacity—but she flinched anyway. He registered, belatedly, that he’d been using what his childhood playmates had called the “creepy snake face,” the one that supposedly made him look like a rattlesnake eyeing a bird’s nest. It wasn’t like he could help being curious, but when you were an agent of Quetzalcoatl, that apparently came with side effects. Oops.

At least she got over her unease quickly. “About the tales you told of your last visit to Tenochtitlan. Working with Teomitl-tzin and Acatl-tzin.”

“...Thinking about other men?” He smiled.

“Not like that.” As he hope she would, she shoved him lightly and pretended to take offense. “I was wondering how Teomitl-tzin’s marriage is going. I don’t like to think of anyone being unhappy in love.”

“His wife is the Guardian of the Duality in Tenochtitlan.” And absolutely the most terrifying woman I’ve ever met. Too bad Teomitl snatched her up first. We might have killed each other, but gods, I’d die happy. He twined a lock of Miyahuaxochitl’s hair around his fingers. “I’m sure it’s going fine.”

She didn’t seem soothed. Her gaze drifted over the sparkling water of the nearest fountain as she replied, “...Well...yes, my lord, but…”

“But?”

For a long moment, she silently traced meaningless patterns over his bare chest. It tickled, but not enough for him to be distracted from her words when she finally spoke. “It’s only that...you mentioned he seemed awfully close with her brother.”

“Acatl is his teacher.” But even as he spoke, his mind whirled. The pup is often angry—I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s his base emotional state—but when Acatl was accused of treason...gods, he was frantic, and not on his own behalf. And there’s the way he looks at him when Acatl can’t see him... Nobody looks at another person like that if they aren’t at least a bit infatuated.

Miyahuaxochitl had clearly reached the same conclusion far ahead of him. He mentally revised his opinion of her brainpower. “Mm. That’s...not the kind of closeness I mean…”

Anyone who could do the things she could with her tongue had no business blushing like that at a mere insinuation. And she hasn’t even seen them together. I swear the only time Teomitl wasn’t glaring at something was when he was looking at Acatl. “You really think so?”

She nodded. “I listen when the slaves talk amongst themselves. They all say that when those two were guests at your summer palace, they seemed...very close. And some of the merchants, too—rumor has it that Acatl-tzin never used to even step foot in the palace until he met Teomitl-tzin, and now he’s there all the time.”

He found himself remembering the last time he’d been in their combined presence. The bloodstained courtyard. The ghosts. The ahuizotls, all teeth and claws. And the way Teomitl had looked at Acatl, even with his sword drawn and visions of the Turquoise-and-Gold crown filling his head. Well. That would certainly explain a lot. I wonder if...no. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I’d question whether Acatl even had blood in his veins. The poor pup is doomed.

The thought made him grin. There was, after all, a way for his life to improve—watching Teomitl splutter in impotent rage. “I think it’s time I spend a week in Tenochtitlan again.”

&

Pomp and circumstance were, of course, the prerogative of a Revered Speaker traveling to an allied city. But for once, Nezahual found himself curious as to what would happen if he took the subtle approach. Accordingly, his boat docked in the Atempan calpulli—if the memories of his spies served, Acatl had been from there—and he prepared himself for a nice, long walk on a sunny day. He’d even taken the steps of leaving his guards with the boat and most of his jewelry; they would follow an hour or so behind, to be ready in case he needed them. Meanwhile, in his least elaborate cloak, he could pass for a nobleman’s child instead of an Emperor for a day.

Ah, the sacrifices he made for the sake of information.

For being the domain of peasants, the calpulli really wasn’t as shabby as he’d imagined it would be. Children ran underfoot just as they did in the outskirts of his own city, and women called to each other as they spun thread and ground corn. He’d been walking for perhaps half an hour, heading deeper into the city, when he heard a name that gave him pause.

A group of women had gathered in an open courtyard to spin maguey fibers; one, middle-aged, sat down on the outside of their little circle and commented, “Saw our Acatl the other day.”

Acatl was a common name, but the degree of pride in her voice suggested he was more than just a fellow peasant. If he squinted, he thought he could make out a certain family resemblance—that girl shared his nose, and that woman had a precise copy of his jaw. Cousins, then. He made a production of stretching and leaning against the wall of the opposite house, for all the world as though he was fascinated by the birds in the tree branches above, and watched as a woman with red ribbons twined through her marriage braids perked up noticeably at her words. “Oh? How’s he doing?”

Their arbiter of knowledge grinned as she set her spindle whirling. “Seemed to be doin’ quite well for himself; had a nice new pair of silver earrings and all.”

Now that was interesting; Acatl was entitled to a degree of splendor as a High Priest, but her tone suggested he’d only recently begun to take advantage of it. Red Ribbons nudged the woman next to her. “Remember when he went off to calmecac and announced he’d stay on as a priest? His parents were furious!”

General sighs around the circle. Nezahual privately marked down Acatl’s parents as idiots.

A buxom woman in a flower-embroidered blouse muttered, “What a waste.”

Though this mildly blasphemous statement seemed to meet with some approval, the older woman let out a defensive huff. “Hey—he’s an excellent priest! Our Acatl, a High Priest!”

Flower Blouse sighed wistfully, a motion which did interesting things to her chest. “I know, Auntie. I’m sure you’re proud. But...he’s so handsome.”

There were collective nods. One girl clasped a hand to her chest and gazed wistfully up at the heavens, as though the mere thought of Acatl was enough to send her into rapture. Nezahual raised an eyebrow. While that is certainly an apt enough descriptor if you’re into older men, his personality...then again, I do seem to have a knack for running into him in stressful times. Stressful times he’d occasionally caused, but that was besides the point.

Red Ribbons looked thoughtful. “No wonder all the girls were so upset. Remember Huchimitl?”

A slender woman with her hair in a maiden’s plait smirked at her. “Just the girls? Because I remember your husband, when he was young—”

“Her husband, then? My brother, now! You should have heard him when he was at the boy’s calmecac, it was all Acatl-tzin this and Acatl-tzin that—“

“Girls!” Their auntie aimed a scorching glare around the circle, and all five of them suddenly found their spindles utterly fascinating. “You should be ashamed, gossiping like that about our High Priest for the Dead!”

The maiden was either brave or suicidal. “Auntie, you started it…”

“I was merely telling you what I saw!” She sniffed. “Ridiculous girl, it’s hardly my fault if our Acatl wants to finally take advantage of his place in the world—the Duality knows it took him long enough. Why, I remember when you all were young...”

Judging by the assembled eye-rolls and badly stifled groans, it seemed she was about to break into one of the dreaded When I Was Your Age speeches bemoaned by younger generations everywhere. Nezahual had heard his fair share as a child, and had no intention of staying and listening to this one.

Accordingly, he pushed off from the wall and continued on his way with a thoughtful hum. Clearly, Teomitl would have significant competition in the—vanishingly unlikely, he’d seen the way Acatl reacted to the suggestion of sexual intercourse—event of Acatl ever breaking his vows of chastity. Still, he mused. New earrings, for a man who never wears any. The pup must be trying very hard.

Hm. His last meal had been just after dawn, and he was getting hungry. The market should be packed at this time of day, and he had an excellent memory of a certain old grandmother’s tamales. He steered himself towards it.

&

Tenochtitlan’s main market was, indeed, packed. He felt the cacao beans and gold-filled quills wrapped in his cloak, gaze drifting over stalls selling jewelry and knives and caged animals. A woman on a spread-out blanket was haggling intently over the price of a caged parrot; her neighbor was trying desperately to interest a sacred courtesan in a length of orange cotton. At another time he might have bought both—he could always use a sacrifice to Xochiquetzal, just to be polite—but the smell of roasted meat was distracting.

He wound up buying two tamales, leaning against a tree to eat them just in time to avoid bumping into a porter with a load of bulky, fragile feather fans. Quetzal feathers predominated, a blazing iridescent green, but he spied bright blue cotinga and the delicate reddish-pink of spoonbill feathers as well. They were fit for a nobleman, if not the imperial court itself, and he wondered which featherworker’s shop had turned them out.

They were apparently quite impressive to the merchant manning a blanket full of wicker baskets, who remarked, “...Big order.”

The porter shrugged, adjusting his hold as the topmost fan made a bid for freedom from its carrying strap. “Oh, these? Straight to the Temple of Mictlantecuhtli.”

“Again?!”

“Yep.”

The merchant blinked slowly. “...Tlaloc’s green dick, who died?”

Another shrug. The errant fan hit the ground, and he swore as he knelt to pick it up. “Nobody important, so far as I know. At least, not recently.”

Given the way the merchant leaned forward, eyes gleaming as he lowered his voice, he’d come to the same conclusion Nezahual was rapidly arriving at himself. Such expensive feathers were either payments for services rendered, or...well. Payments for services you hoped would be rendered. Nezahual stopped chewing momentarily, the better to eavesdrop on the man’s murmur of “Must be a personal gift.”

That got a snort and a badly hidden grin. “Dunno why they bother. Acatl-tzin’s just gonna sell ‘em and give the proceeds to the poor anyway.”

“Pft, you have no romance in your soul—oh, I’ll let you go.” He’d spotted a potential customer, and beamed encouragingly at the woman who’d made the mistake of getting too close with intent to buy.

As the porter trudged off, Nezahual returned his focus to his lunch. They were really excellent tamales, spiced meat punctuated by the sharp bite of roasted chilies. He wondered if the woman who sold them would be interested in moving to Texcoco. It’s generally frowned upon to kidnap your allies’ citizens, but I might just risk it for more of these. It wasn’t like Tizoc would care, after all. Acatl might—the man was irritatingly principled—but a man who would sell that many expensive gifts to feed the poor probably wouldn’t complain too strenuously if one old woman got a new job in Nezahual’s palace kitchens.

He shook his head, biting back the smirk that wanted to escape. Poor, stupid Teomitl. That’s not a man that can be bribed onto your mat.

A pair of market girls passed by arm in arm, snapping their gum. He was about to tune them out, but their chatter snuck into his ears anyway.

The one in the pink blouse had a particularly chirpy voice; it would be just the thing to cheer him up after a tedious day, as long as she never brought up her current conversational topic again. “Did you really see the Master of the House of Darts down by the knife-seller the other day?”

Her companion—pale blue skirt, yellow makeup—nodded cheerfully. “Mm-hmm!”

A long, wistful sigh. “Mihmatini-tzin is so lucky.”

Blue Skirt puffed her cheeks out thoughtfully. “I wonder when he’ll take a concubine or two…”

That earned her a cheerful, laughing shove. “What, you think you’ll stand a chance?”

She was promptly shoved back, nearly colliding with a young man carrying a load of blankets as she cackled. “I just might!”

The joy in both girls’ faces was infectious, and Nezahual found himself with a genuine grin. Pink Blouse was smirking widely at her friend, showing off teeth that had been dyed a brilliant red. “You’ve got some competition, don’t you?”

“...Hm. I guess so. But...Teomitl-tzin’s really handsome.”

While Nezahual found himself regretting his decision to go incognito—neither girl had noticed him, and he was sure they’d revise their opinion of Teomitl’s supposed good looks if a better option presented himself—Pink Blouse let out a crack of laughter. “Hah!” Gum snapped cheerfully between her teeth as she added, “You’re not the only one who thinks so, I’ll tell you!”

He wondered who those people were—besides Mihmatini, who was proof positive that love made you blind and stupid. Nobody who looked that much like Tizoc could be that handsome, surely. Maybe on a foggy night. At a good distance. But before they could elaborate, he lost them in the crowd.

Both tamales were becoming distant memories, and he closed his eyes against the glare of the day to ponder his next move. Atempan and the markets had been enlightening, but they wouldn’t give him the answers he sought. He knew the palace would be his best bet, but there would be questions and politics and Tizoc there, none of which he especially felt like dealing with. At least not yet.

The Sacred Precinct was on his way, so he’d walk slowly. And if he engaged in the time-honored pastime of flirting with the next pretty girl he saw, that was absolutely besides the point.

&

It was mid-afternoon by the time he crossed over the canals to the Precinct walls, but the open plaza was as crowded as the markets had been. He kept his ears open and his mouth shut anyway. You could learn a lot from gossip if you were quiet. You could learn even more if you were Quetzalcoatl’s agent in the Fifth World, but he decided not to press his luck yet. His attendants were still keeping a significant distance behind him, and calling on the Feathered Serpent was something he preferred not to do in public. People always made such a fuss when your eyes rolled back in your head and spectral scales shimmered along your arms.

Ahead of him, one priest of Huitzilopochtli was huddling with another. He slowed his pace and pretended to be very interested in the sight of two sacred courtesans bickering.

The younger of the two priests was looking around warily, but his gaze slid right past Nezahual without seeing him. He clearly had different, worse problems. “...Quenami-tzin still seething?”

“Mmyep.”

“...I think I’ll take the long way back to the temple.” Nezahual couldn’t judge the priest for his wince; being under Quenami’s power had been bad enough for him, and he had been an Emperor since boyhood.

It didn’t take a genius to imagine why he was in a bad mood now. He remembered that load of feathers for the temple of Mictlantecuhtli, and smirked to himself. I can only imagine what he thinks of a peasant’s son accruing so many riches—and then to give them away! All because Teomitl thinks Acatl is one to be courted like a maiden.

The older and wiser priest nodded, but he was already distracted. The two bickering courtesans had descended to a screaming match, with vocabulary even Nezahual hadn’t heard employed in quite that way. It was fascinatingly undignified. “Good idea.”

“I mean, can you blame him?”

“It’s not Acatl-tzin’s fault that he—“

But Nezahual’s pace had slowed too much, and whatever wasn’t Acatl-tzin’s fault was lost when he nearly collided with a priestess carrying an armload of bloodstained grass balls. Since they had a regrettable tendency to roll all over the place when dropped, and since he had been raised with manners, he had to stop and help her pick them up. By the time they were finished, the priests had moved off.

He sighed. There was nothing for it; he’d have to enter the palace.

&

As he’d predicted, it was a unique form of torture. He’d met up with his attendants, so at least he was properly dressed for the obligatory good-to-see-you-glad-you’re-not-dead-yet audience with Tizoc-tzin, but having to listen to the man’s voice sucked all the pleasure out of what should have been a soothingly rote speech. It would take time for a proper banquet to be arranged, leaving him with several hours of free time he seriously debated spending in the women’s quarters. It would probably be worth it if he got caught. Tizoc was almost definitely not up to the task of entertaining a lady, and the women were sure to be bored.

He’d made up his mind to try it when he ran into Teomitl. Almost literally ran into, in fact; the man was striding through the palace corridors at his usual brisk pace, only to stop dead when he saw him. He was wearing the red cloak of an off-duty Master of the House of Darts and a frown.

After a pause just long enough to be insulting, he addressed him. Aww, he was learning politics. “Nezahual-tzin.” A stiff, perfunctory bow. “What brings you here?”

“Would you believe a diplomatic visit?” He tried for his most winning smile.

It didn’t work. Teomitl’s eyes narrowed, and when he drew himself up Nezahual realized that the man was still taller than him. Every line of his body screamed irritation. “...No.”

He paused for an instant, considering, and then let his smile widen. It had always been fun to needle Teomitl, even when they were children—the man was always so serious, so dignified. Of course there was a place for such things, but if the man was in love...it would be terribly amusing to watch that dignity crack. “It is! I heard some very...interesting things about your lovely city on my way here, you know.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Apparently Acatl-tzin’s very well-liked.”

Teomitl’s fists clenched briefly, then relaxed. Oh, he was touchy. “As he should be.”

And quick to jump to Acatl’s defense, as well—there’d been no hesitation in his words. Nezahual remembered the day they’d rescued Acatl from a traitor’s death; it had been the only time he’d ever seen Teomitl so frantic. Acatl had been oblivious then, and he was oblivious now. “A shame he hasn’t noticed. I’ve heard he’s gotten some expensive gifts recently.”

“Mm.” His jaw was tight, and he was resolutely not meeting Nezahual’s gaze. There was a faint tinge of red in his dark face.

Nezahual fought an urge to snicker. Allied ruler or no, they were presently alone in the courtyard and he didn’t particularly care for being punched in the face. The jade rod piercing his septum as a symbol of his rule was just as breakable as his nose was, after all. “Is he the sort of person who enjoys a bit of luxury? Do you suppose he’s the sort of person who’d then think kindly of the sender? You know him so well, after all.”

Teomitl sucked in a breath. “I suppose it’s none of your business, Nezahual-tzin. Good day.”

Then he stormed off, and Nezahual didn’t stop him. Baiting Teomitl was highly entertaining, but he’d had his try at that for the moment. Until the banquet, he’d enjoy himself in more leisurely pursuits.

The banquet, when it came, was fascinating to watch.

Mihmatini and Teomitl sat together, and he found himself studying them. She was radiant in feathers and jewels, but were her eyes tight around the edges? Did she suspect that her husband was besotted with someone else? It had been blindingly obvious to him even when he’d attended their wedding; he’d made it through the ceremony and half the feast before he’d had to sneak off to laugh himself sick. Mihmatini was an intelligent woman, but...well, love did make you blind.

Or maybe she’s just trying not to see it. Of course, all men took their pleasure where they pleased, but he imagined it had to be much different—much worse for the wife—when the one your husband had designs on was your own elder brother. But they weren’t acting as though anything was amiss; as the evening wore on, she leaned against her husband’s shoulder, and Nezahual strongly suspected she was holding his hand where he couldn’t see. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think Teomitl had never gone behind her back to overthrow his brother.

...Speaking of brothers…

He turned his gaze to Tizoc’s gilded screen. Tizoc had always hated priests in general and Acatl in particular; his attempt to get the man killed proved that. The part of Nezahual’s mind that was always turning over schemes and inspecting them from new angles wondered idly how he’d react if he knew his younger brother was interested in his greatest foe, if that was something he could use...but no, he wouldn’t sink that low. Teomitl was not an enemy he wanted to have when the man became Revered Speaker in his turn. And an enemy I’d have in truth, if I did something to jeopardize the life of his favorite priest.

Who, to Nezahual’s surprise, was in attendance. Apparently his unannounced visit was judged a significantly important occasion to merit the presence of all three High Priests. Acatl was seated between his fellows, wearing full regalia and an expression which suggested that if either man tried to speak to him, he’d drown them in their soup bowls. Next to him, Quenami was grinding his teeth; it appeared his foul mood had persisted all day, and Nezahual would bet quite a lot that it had something to do with the silver earrings in Acatl’s ears. They weren’t large or ornate, but they glittered where they caught the torchlight.

As he watched, Acatl turned his head in Teomitl’s direction, and their eyes met. Teomitl, caught in the middle of raising a soup bowl to his lips, flushed and set it down.

Nezahual tried very hard not to start cackling into his grilled turkey.

&

In the end, the confirmation of all those rumors was an accident. He really didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But he’d been about to turn in for his own mat when the idea struck him, and so before he could think better of it he was on his way to Teomitl’s chambers. Maybe the man would spill something interesting if he prodded him hard enough.

Teomitl’s chambers turned out to be occupied.

Very occupied.

To give them credit, they were trying to be quiet; if he hadn’t been actually in the courtyard and aiming for silence himself, he might not have heard them. But there was a very familiar rustle of cloth, and the distinct crackle of a thin reed mat, and then—

He knew that voice. He knew it very well, even though he’d never heard it like that.

“Ah, hah, Acatl…”

Impossible.

He sat down hard in the packed dirt, feeling his world rearrange itself to make room for the noises he was hearing. That was Teomitl, half-breathless with pleasure, and that was Acatl’s answering indistinct murmur, and that was the faint slap of flesh against flesh, and that was the steady rustling of reed mats under a man’s weight. He’d thought Teomitl pining, trying desperately to catch his dignified tutor’s attention. The idea that he’d succeeded...

He realized he faced a crossroads. He could slink away while they were busy with each other—undoubtedly the honorable choice. He could interrupt them—crude, dishonorable, and likely to result in severe physical pain if not immediate death.

Or he could sit down in Teomitl’s courtyard to wait.

He found himself waiting for a long time—enough to pick out the constellations above his head and develop a certain respect for Acatl’s stamina, but not long enough for him to fully pin down what he was going to say. It seemed he might owe Teomitl some sort of apology, which was a distasteful thought. He could bear it, though. Apologies, advice, perhaps some gentle mockery—yes, that was how he’d deal with this.

Eventually the sounds from within faded to a quiet conversation, and then to the faint rustle of someone getting to their feet. He glanced idly at the entrance curtain as its bells jingled, taking in the sight of a formerly-chaste High Priest making his escape from a lover’s embrace. The key word there being formerly; Acatl may have once sworn a vow of chastity and celibacy, but he’d clearly not so much broken it as shattered it to pieces and performed a merry dance on the shards. There were the faint marks of teeth in his collarbone and bruises at his hip, and his previously neat hair was in disorder.

Oh, and he was staring at Nezahual in open horror, such that Teomitl scrambled up off the mat and all but knocked him aside in order to take up a protective stance in the doorway. Any moment now, the open horror would transmute itself to outrage.

Absolutely nothing could have stopped his tongue. “You two seem to have had a very pleasant evening.”

Teomitl had clearly gotten as good as he gave; there were the beginnings of some fantastic marks on his throat. Much more important, however, was that his eyes had gone solid jade, and the air was starting to fill with the scent of the lake. “You.”

“Teomitl!” Acatl seemed to have shaken off his horror; now he laid a hand on his lover’s arm as though that alone would stop him from doing violence. Then again, he’d seen the man accomplish the same with words before.

“Acatl…” It came out in a snarl. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Nezahual, who was beginning to feel some mild concern.

“Look, if you kill him, it’s a diplomatic incident and it’ll start a war with Texcoco!”

“...And?”

“And I think Tizoc-tzin will probably want to know why!”

Nezahual decided he could probably risk interjecting. Acatl was being reassuringly sensible about the whole thing, and Teomitl’s eyes were returning to their normal dark brown. “I heard some very interesting rumors in Texcoco. You’re lucky that Tizoc-tzin never thinks beyond threats to his person.”

He watched as Acatl and Teomitl exchanged uneasy looks. It was Acatl who spoke, with his gaze fixed on Nezahual; the air around him grew measurably colder, though it didn’t seem to affect Teomitl at all. “...Rumors?”

He’d had a lot of time to stitch together the day’s overheard conversations into a cohesive whole, and he discovered he was amused by the tapestry it presented. “You two, together, seem to be rather a...popular notion among the people of Tenochtitlan. Aside from Huitzilopochtli’s clergy, of course.”

Both men recoiled for a moment, their faces red, and then they spoke at once. “I—“

“—That is—“

He held up a hand. “I won’t breathe a word.”

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed, cold as the bottom of the lake. He saw jade reflections dance in their depths. “You wouldn’t be so accommodating unless you want something from us.”

He’d also had a lot of time to determine what that something would be. It seemed a simple favor, and one unlikely to cause offense. Not with what he’d seen. “...Should Tizoc-tzin’s death come with a reasonable amount of warning…”

He paused, watching the way both men stiffened. Acatl’s fingers twitched as though to take Teomitl’s hand before he visibly pulled himself back; Nezahual couldn’t help but smile. As though we don’t all know the useless craven isn’t long for this world.

“You let me tell him on his deathbed.”

Teomitl was still suspicious, but he seemed inclined to listen. “...Why?”

“Star-demons,” he said promptly. He’d seen them only at a distance, but the carnage—the bodies in pieces, such as he’d never even seen on the worst battlefields—had stuck stubbornly in his mind. And to know it was Tizoc’s fault...yes, he’d be very much pleased with the chance to make the man’s last moments that little bit worse.

“...I’ll give you that,” Teomitl muttered.

“Excellent!” He affixed a charming grin to his face. “So we have an accord. I must confess, I really hadn’t expected Acatl-tzin to be swayed by pretty silver earrings. I would have held out for solid gold—“

Through gritted teeth, Acatl snapped, “I think you should leave.”

Since he didn’t want to be an ahuitzotl’s dinner—an annoyingly likely scenario, given the way Teomitl was vibrating with rage—he left. Quickly.

EXTRA: Some Weeks Earlier

Teomitl’s life changed irrevocably over lunch, of all things.

He’d started showing up at Acatl’s house with tamales after a long, frustrating argument with the rest of the war council regarding preparations for the next campaign, when he’d only wanted to comfort himself with the thought that at least he could do one useful thing by making sure the man he loved remembered to eat that day. It had quickly become a routine. Hearing Acatl’s voice, seeing him smile...it was good. It was all he would ever get, but it was good. He’d become an expert at ruthlessly beating back the corner of his heart that still stupidly yearned for more. He knew he wasn’t going to get it.

Even if Acatl kept looking at him. And smiling. And laughing, sometimes, a half-disbelieving chuckle that made his heart do unpleasant things in his chest.

Acatl wasn’t laughing now. He’d seemed preoccupied all day, and barely picked at his food. Teomitl’s chest hurt, and he told it sternly to cease. If you keep doing this to me, he told his heart, I will have you removed. Today’s meal had been worryingly quiet.

Acatl broke the silence without looking up from his half-eaten tamale. “...I heard some...interesting rumors from my cousins yesterday.”

Teomitl swallowed. Acatl had a lot of cousins. Not as many as he did—he could still count them all and didn’t need a chart to figure out how they were related—but a lot. It was probably nothing. “Oh?”

“They seem to think your feelings for me are…” He trailed off, and Teomitl had the pleasure of seeing him blush. It almost distracted him from the heartstopping terror coursing through his veins. “...Not quite platonic.”

“Ngyrk,” he said intelligently.

Acatl dropped his gaze to the floor. “...I try not to give credence to gossip.” He swallowed visibly. “But.”

“But,” he echoed. Maybe if he prayed hard enough, the earth he sat on would sink into the lake. Or one of the gods—at this point he wasn’t picky—would strike him down.

Acatl drew a slow, hesitant breath. He still wasn’t looking at him, and Teomitl realized his hands were starting to shake. His own were only spared that indignity by balling themselves up into fists so tight that his nails cut into his palms. “...If...they were accurate…”

He managed to force the words out somehow. I am no coward. If he’s going to throw my heart back in my face, I can damn well meet it head-on. “If they were? What would you do, Acatl-tzin?”

“...I’d say we should be more discreet, for starters.”

We. His heart leapt, and this time he didn’t tell it to stop. He could barely breathe; the dread had faded, and pure joy was fizzling up to replace it. “Does that mean you—“

Acatl pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help him up as well. “It means, I think we should continue this discussion inside.”

They didn’t wind up doing much talking.

[iwhumpyou]

The Cost (Part 3)

Masterlist.  Wergild.

Taglist: @whumps-the-word, @swordkallya, @whumpy-daydreams.

Part 2.

~#~#~#~#~#~

It hadn’t even been a day and Jace was already displeased with the arrangement.

Not with Nerali – he’d seen her face relax after she’d drank some spring water, and he could see the gruesome edges of her wounds where the bandages didn’t cover them all the way, and he owed it to her.  She had given him his future back, and she deserved to have one of her own.

But Nerali being there meant that Mirai was following her around like an overeager duckling with far too many knives, and Jace wanted to have a talk with Nerali (the kind with him very slowly sharpening his sword in a dark room) but Nerali could literally not lay a finger on his sister right now.

But Mirai being on Nerali’s tail meant that Aidan was constantly lurking in the background, arms crossed and scowling fiercely as he glared at Mirai, at Felix, at Jace, at anyone who wasn’t Nerali.

Intellectually, Jace knew that Aidan’s powers were suppressed.  He knew that the key to Aidan’s cuffs rested around his neck (because he’d already checked it four times that hour).  He knew that Aidan had about as much chance of hurting Mirai as a feral cat, even if Mirai was still recovering.

But Aidan was very good at glowering and the lack of visible sparks did nothing against the countless memories of raging flames.

Aidan had always taken Clarissa’s friendship with Jace as a personal affront, and Jace was twitchy about having the man inside his compound walls, cuffed or not.  Aidan was dangerous and he ran on spite – where Nerali wanted to please her sister, where Clarissa wished to unite the forest, Aidan had only jealousy and rage.

There was a reason he would’ve rather had Clarissa’s youngest siblings accompanying Nerali, and the reason was that Aidan put everyone on high alert.

Jace (who had plans for the day that had not involved lurking just out of sight of his sister and his guests) spent three-quarters of his time watching Aidan, and being thankful that the elementalist was scowling in the sun instead of lurking in the shadows.

And then after dinner, when he could finally lead them to their rooms and post a heightened guard around Aidan’s, the insufferable elementalist had walked into the room he was giving Nerali, nodded, and proclaimed it suitable.  Jace had given it up as a futile argument and arranged for a second bed to be delivered to the room.

Jace had passed the room three times in the middle of the night to check on the guard.  He’d met Felix twice doing the same stretch.

Judging by Aidan’s dark circles and darker glower, Mirai and Nerali were the only two people who actually got sleep that night.

Jace glowered at Aidan, sneered at the return glare, set Felix on guard duty and swept away to get some actual work done.

He checked for the key seven times in the first hour alone.

~#~

“Where’s Nerali?” she asked when only Robin, Frances, and Davina showed up for lunch.

“With Aidan,” Robin answered, not looking up from her meal.  Clarissa pursed her lips and let it go.

She had seen Aidan’s face. He needed time to calm down, and if seeing Nerali in front of him, alive and well and whole, was what he needed, so be it.

(Clarissa ached to hold her sister in her arms and never let go.)

No one showed up for dinner.

After sunset, Clarissa went around the compound, a sliver of worry caught in her throat, and tried to find her siblings.

Robin was in the infirmary, counting bandages.  Frances was reading a book, his tone clipped and terse.  Davina had looked at her with a gaze full of contempt, as icy as the room she’d frozen over.

The next morning, only Robin showed up to breakfast.

“Where’s Nerali?” Clarissa asked again.

“With Aidan,” Robin responded, staring at her meal.

Clarissa took a slow, steady breath.  “And where’s Aidan?” she asked, unable to hide the edge to her tone.

Robin looked up.  Her expression was not reassuring.

~#~

Aidan shivered as cold winds tugged at his clothes, the wooden platform creaking.  Far below him, fires flickered and occasional snatches of conversation or laughter drifted up.  If he looked down, if he paid attention, he could probably pinpoint which one of them was his sister, moving awkwardly with arms that had only half-healed.

But he wasn’t looking down. He was staring up, at twinkling stars and a half-full moon, and letting the cold night air chill his frozen skin.

A raucous chorus of laughter burst out and he winced.  He squinted downwards, at the forest floor far, far below, and he could see a slim figure balancing on their hands, swaying like they were dancing.  Nerali was talking to a woman that was not Mirai, not that it mattered.  His little sister had taken very well to Jace’s clan – goodwill that was probably brokered by a combination of her sacrifice to break the curse, Nerali’s good nature, and the way Mirai became hilariously flustered every time Nerali decided to return her teasing.

Aidan got hostile looks every waking moment of the day, and he couldn’t even lurk in the shadows because he couldn’t bear to leave the heat of the sun.  He knew that he was being followed everywhere he went, and he was painfully aware that the moment he did something wrong – or the moment they said he did something wrong – he would be attacked.

Clarissa had made her stance on family members getting injured quite clear.  Sure, she’d get mad, but her precious peace was worth more than elementalist blood.  Aidan knew that.  Jace knew that.

The only thing stopping him from getting jumped was Jace’s honor.  And the thought was frightening, the same way a clawed fist around his heart was frightening.

He turned back to the sky. The platform was high and secluded and no one had stopped him from climbing the ladder to the top.  He needed a moment to think, to breathe without the weight of suspicion and resentment on his back.

The ladder creaked, and Aidan tensed.

He turned, the railing digging into his back, uncomfortably aware that there was only one path up to the platform and that it was a long, long way back down.

His mood worsened when Jace peered over the side.

Jace considered him for a moment, clearly calculating the distance between Aidan and the ladder, before pulling up the last few rungs and straightening up onto the platform.  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, crossing his arms and tilting back to stare at the stars.

Aidan cracked first.  “Are you allowed to be up here with me?” he asked, going for patronizing but ending up with uncomfortable.

“Am I allowed to be on my clan’s lookout post?” Jace blinked, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Aidan clenched his jaw. “Your bodyguard follows you whenever he’s not following me,” he said curtly, “And here we both are, with him nowhere in sight.”

The faintest trace of amusement crossed Jace’s face.  “Felix is having dinner,” he crossed the platform and motioned to the bonfires on the ground.  Aidan struggled to remember how to breathe – Jace wasn’t within touching distance, but he was significantly closer than he’d been on the other side of the platform.  “And I don’t need a bodyguard in my own compound.” 

Aidan wanted to press him on that, wanted to ask ‘are you sure?’ with a smirk and dancing flames – but he didn’t have the dancing flames.  He didn’t have his powers, and his sneers and glares felt like skin stretched thin, a mask twisted out of proportion.  Jace could break his arm with a barely a thought – Aidan was a trained fighter, but without his powers he was only human.

Jace – and Mirai, and Felix, and all the others – was not.  Not entirely, anyway.

“Why are you up here?” Aidan asked finally, his tone stuck somewhere between belligerent and annoyed.

“Wondering what you’re doing up here,” Jace said easily, and Aidan watched the lines of tension in his posture, the way his head was turned slightly towards Aidan even though he was staring at the ground, his stance careful not to lean too heavily on the railing.

“I’m not trying to spy on your clan,” Aidan scoffed.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Like I care about your stupid compound anyway,” Aidan huffed, tracking Jace’s movements.  “I’m just here for my sister.”

“I’m aware,” Jace said, straightening up.  Aidan stilled, and watched as Jace crossed to the ladder.

“It’s cold up here,” Jace said, before he left.

Oh, he had no idea.

~#~

Part 4.

[silver-lily-louise]

My Darling, Believe Me (For Me, there is No-One but You)

- A Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘Ah, my beautiful Alexander. The brightest star in all my skies, the only angel I’ve ever known to walk the earth... The love of my life.’  Magnus gets a lil’ tipsy, and thinks it very important that Alec knows how special he is. (Title is from Aretha Franklin’s ‘I Say a Little Prayer’.)

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

In the three-and-a-bit years they’ve been together, Alec can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Magnus visibly tipsy. Warlocks are, apparently, natural heavyweights in that department, and Magnus enjoys alcohol regularly enough that his own tolerance is even higher.

But tonight is a special occasion. They had decided to host a party to celebrate their anniversary, mostly as an excuse to see some of the friends and loved ones they’ve been a little out of touch with ever since the move to Alicante. And after a trying week – some sort of magical disturbance in the Seelie realm had caused a mild knock-on effect on all local magics, and therefore a not-so-mild headache for the local High Warlock – Magnus had waited until all the guests were comfortable, and then swept Dot, Meliorn, Maryse, Isabelle and Maia onto the balcony with him. ‘Alexander,’ he called, ‘would you hold the fort for a while? We’ll be back once we’re all a little less sober.’ Isabelle whooped, and Dot blew Alec a kiss as they all disappeared outside.

The party is over now, the guests either travelling home or retired to the spare bedrooms. Although Alec has seen his husband throughout the evening, it’s on the balcony again that he finds him – enjoying the view, or possibly letting the night air cool the alcohol in his blood. Alec suspects it’s a combination of both.

The door swings shut behind him, and Magnus looks around at the quiet click, his face lighting up as Alec wanders over to join him. ‘Ah, my beautiful Alexander. The brightest star in all my skies, the only angel I’ve ever known to walk the earth.’ He steps forward, looping his arms around Alec’s neck. ‘The love of my life.’ Alec rolls his eyes, but he smiles fondly, his hands coming up to rest on Magnus’ hips. ‘Okay, come on. Let’s get some water in you, and then go to bed.’ But Magnus doesn’t put up the expected protest that he’s fine, he doesn’t need any help handling his drink, thank you very much. Nor does he raise an eyebrow suggestively, and remark on Alec’s eagerness to take him to bed. Instead, his brow furrows, and he looks… sad, Alec realises with concern. ‘You don’t believe me,’ he murmurs. Alec stares, confused. ‘What? Of course I believe you. I love you too -’ ‘No, no,’ Magnus says, shaking his head. ‘You know that, I know you know that, I tell you every day – but it’s more than that. You,’ he says, tapping the tip of Alec’s nose for emphasis, ‘are the love of my life.’ He pouts a little, a surprisingly childish expression for someone centuries old. ‘I believe you, when you tell me that. Why won’t you believe me?’

And maybe Alec doesn’t have to handle a tipsy Magnus often, but he knows his husband, and so he knows that platitudes won’t get them anywhere. Instead, he gives a gentle smile. ‘Magnus, we’ve talked about this. Nephilim love once. You’re the only person I’m ever going to feel this way about.’ He moves his hand up to the small of Magnus’ back, rubbing small, reassuring circles. ‘But you’re a warlock, Magnus. You’re immortal. I don’t expect the same of you, and I promise, it doesn’t change anything.’ It had taken him a while, but he had eventually made his peace with Magnus’ box of memories, and the future it represented. It’s hard, knowing that one day, Magnus will love someone else – but the alternative would be a potential eternity of loneliness, and Alec would hardly wish that on anyone, let alone Magnus. ‘We have now. We have this lifetime,’ he says. ‘I don’t care what happens after that, as long as you’re happy.’

But the frown on Magnus’ face only deepens. ‘No, I… I need you to understand,’ he implores, leaning forwards. ‘You need to understand. When you made that deal with my father, when you left me so that he’d return my magic – I didn’t just mourn. I went to Brother Zachariah. I begged him to – to just take it all, all the memories of you, because you were everywhere I looked and it hurt. More than I could bear.’ Alec swallows hard. ‘I’m sorry, I-‘ But Magnus waves a hand impatiently, a lazy, presumably unintentional spark of magic jumping onto the stone railing as he does. ‘No, that’s not – that’s not what I mean, that’s all in the past now. I forgave you a long time ago. The only reason I’m telling you all this now is because I need you to know. You need to know what this, what you mean to me.’ His hands are bracing either side of Alec’s neck now, grip just light enough that it isn’t uncomfortable, but strong enough that Magnus can ensure he keeps Alec’s gaze. ‘In all my years,’ he says quietly, ‘nothing – no other loss, no other heartbreak – has made me that desperate. I’ve been tempted, of course, but I’ve never actually gotten that far, never actually asked to have the memories taken. But it’s like – it’s like you still see yourself as the norm. Like the latest in a long line of loves, easy to forget. I assure you, Alexander; nothing could be further from the truth.’

Alec’s jaw works as he tries to find the words to respond, to refute. ‘That – I don’t – ‘ He shakes his head; there’s a part of him that wants this desperately, wants to cling to Magnus’ words like lifesaving validation, but he knows that isn’t fair. He can’t ask this of Magnus, can’t ask to be this, not when Magnus might have hundreds of years ahead of him once Alec’s gone. And so he shakes his head in denial, and Magnus sighs. ‘Alexander,’ he says softly, his hands dropping to Alec’s shoulders. ‘Please. Please, believe me on this. You’re different to anyone I’ve ever met. No-one else has called my cat eyes beautiful, or so wholly accepted my greatest failures. No-one has ever wanted to change the world for me.’ He smiles a little. ‘In over seven-hundred and fifty years, you’re the only person I’ve ever married – because you’re the only person I’ve ever truly wanted to marry.’

A stray tear slips through Alec’s otherwise iron control, and Magnus cups his face with one hand, wiping the tiny drop away with his thumb. ‘You know my past, Alec. I’ve always been honest about it. I have loved before – I have loved passionately, and I have loved deeply.’ He takes a slightly shaking breath; but his gaze is fierce, certain, even as the alcohol hazes his focus. ‘But I have never loved like this.’ He kisses Alec, and it’s warm, rum-sharp and honey-sweet. It settles like a blanket over Alec’s whirling thoughts, and he doesn’t want it to end.

When they eventually break apart, Alec wordlessly leads Magnus to their bedroom, keeping one arm around his husband’s waist. A casual observer might not see the necessity, as Magnus still seems so clear-headed – but Alec knows better, knows how the intoxication hits Magnus’ co-ordination faster than his eloquence. He feels a gentle amusement remembering the last time Magnus indulged in drink; how he insisted he was fine in beautiful four- and five-syllable words, even as he clipped every doorway and piece of furniture in his effort to walk the short, straight path to the kitchen. Magnus is humming now, a tune that slips between major and minor in a way Alec faintly recognises, but not enough to name it. He barely seems to notice as Alec undresses him, coaxes him to drink a small glass of water. He settles under the covers with a heavy, contented sigh, his eyes falling shut – and Alec is just about to turn away, when he hears him mumbling.

‘Please believe me.’

Alec’s throat works for a moment, and then he bends down again, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ temple. ‘I believe you, Magnus. I believe you.’ He doesn’t know whether it’s a miracle or a tragedy, but he’s telling the truth.

***

Three days later, Alec finishes his work for the day, and doesn’t go home. Instead, he takes the elevator down to the lowest basement level, stepping out into the bright, soft lighting of Alicante’s largest and most closely guarded library. Magnus will be out late, having portalled over to Greenland to help resolve a leadership issue within the Warlock Council there, so Alec knows he has at least a few hours to kill and he plans to make the most of them. He walks with a sense of purpose, as if determination alone will make what he’s searching for easier to find.

There’s a strange sort of hum to the dark wooden bookshelf he approaches; an aura that whispers of the knowledge stored in these tomes, these ancient histories of almost-forgotten magic. It’s residual power from a time long passed, a time when the divide between the Divine and the Infernal was at its greatest – but also a time when the differences between those magics were so few as to be almost imperceptible.

Alec gathers the three oldest-looking books, the ones whose leather covers are worn hard and smooth and whose pages are aged yellow and sweet. He settles himself on the nearest armchair, and remembers what he said to Magnus in Edom, what seems like a lifetime ago now. I’m never leaving you again.

He opens the first book, and starts looking for a way to keep that promise.

~oOo~

[fablesrose]

Of Kings of Shadows XIV

Chapter XIV

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: On Wattpad –> Here

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What do you mean she's gone?!" Fury stood abruptly at his desk, slamming his hands on the table.

The Avengers had a variety of emotions painted on their faces.

Shame.

Sadness.

Defeat.

Calculative.

Determination.

Restlessness.

Anger.

"We mean, Director Fury," Natasha started sharply, obviously not happy, "that she's gone. Taken, left, disappeared, I don't know."

Steve lifted his head from his hand and looked at Fury from his chair, "All we know is when we got back to the Quinjet, the agents left behind to guard were unconscious. Tracks were everywhere in the area, whose, unknown. There weren't any signs of a struggle, but they were gone."

Fury sighed, sitting heavily back in his chair, "the base you were sent to take down? Was it a trap?"

Tony stopped pacing, "It was about the same difficulty as all the other bases. Full defense systems, guards, not any ground-breaking information in it, but that's been usual for the last few bases we've taken down... If it was set-up it was more of a sacrificial lamb then a decoy."

Fury rested his face on his clasped hands, silent for a moment. His eye sparked for a moment and he looked back at Steve, "wait, you said 'they.' How many Agents are missing?"

"Two."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lied on my cot staring at the ceiling. They dragged my body from that room, drops of blood following behind me. They haphazardly checked me for any serious injuries then left me on my bed. I knew I had a concussion, but I didn't think I had any broken bones, luckily.

I spent most of my recovery time lying on that bed. Not that I had anything else to do. Jasmine occasionally got called out and came back covered in bruises, sometimes cuts oozed blood as well. She didn't talk about her fights. Every time she came back there was a little less light in her eyes, and there wasn't a lot, to begin with.

The only fight we talked about was mine. The dropped me onto the bed and left the room.

"So, looks like you won." She barely looked at me, my gut didn't twist. "Not without a few casualties of your own looks like."

I swallowed, my mouth dry, "I didn't." My voice was quiet, scratchy, barely heard.

"What was that?"

"I didn't win."

She paused, an unrecognized expression crossed her face, "You- you lost?"

I nodded slowly, my head pounded so I  stopped.

She whispered, mostly to herself, "how are you still here?"

A tear fell from my eye, but I just stared at the ceiling, too numb to move, "I don't know, Jasmine... I don't know I don't know I don't know!" I was scared. If they kept me around after I was too weak to win by their rules than I don't want to know what's in store for me.

"Did they say anything to you?"

I squoze my eyes shut, trying to focus on the memory even though it wasn't too long ago, "He said I was better than that... He needed a strong queen."

Jasmine stood from her cot and walked over to mine, "Oh, honey." She gently lifted my head and placed it on her lap, giving me an apologetic look when I winced. "You're in for a world of trouble... I've only heard rumors, half comments..." She stroked my hair. She seemed to be in a trance like she wasn't thinking about what she was saying. "They said I was passed up for the role-" she snapped out of it like she remembered something she didn't want to say out loud.

We sat in silence, staring straight ahead, not sure how to proceed. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. I did know that I didn't want to feel so... Powerless. I wanted to have some sort of control, and I didn't want to feel this pain again.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, baby girl?"

I looked into her eyes, determined, "I don't want to lose again."

She swallowed visibly and looked a combination of scared and sad before returning her gaze to the wall.

We didn't talk about another fight. I just lied there, day in, day out. I kept thinking, trying to decipher who was behind this, how to get out of this, how to even last into the next week. Whenever that is. Everything was blending together. The food was eatable, enough to keep us strong enough to fight I guess, but not much more than that.

I didn't get called out for weeks. I recovered faster than I thought I would, from experience mostly, but maybe it just felt that way being locked in a cell with nothing to do. I started to try and work out once I felt I was able. Push-ups, sit-ups, planks, Russian-twists. Anything I could think of that didn't require equipment. I found I could do a lot more than I used to without getting winded and sore.

I hated waiting. The silence bothered me. It seemed to suffocate me. I couldn't decide if it was better when Jaz was or wasn't there. When she was there she made quiet noises to break the silence. It wasn't so lonely, but it was hard to fill the silence when she was there. Awkward. When I was alone I was free to let out a little crazy, sing, talk, just make a bunch of nonsense noises.

'Don't you, forget about me Don't, don't, don't, don't Don't you, forget about me'

Why is it always the songs that remind you of your hardship that gets stuck in your head? It bugged me that I couldn't remember all the words, so I would just hum the tune then mumble out the words I could remember. I clenched my teeth every time I got to the chorus again. Hoping-- praying, that they didn't forget about me. That they were so close to finding me.

For now, I just kept working, training. I did drills in the small room and imagined a dummy to practice sparing. Jaz didn't want to spar with me. I didn't really ask her though, either. It could get pretty dangerous with the cots, and she was already pretty beaten up all the time. Every time she recovers enough to move around without wincing, she gets called out again.

It's been a couple of weeks since my last fight. They didn't check my injuries since right after, but they did leave me pain meds. Extra pain meds I guess I should say. Jaz got a couple in the next meal after her fights, but not as many as I did.

"Jasmine?"

She hummed at me.

"Do- do people hoard their pills?"

She fiddled with her own before swallowing them, "Yes, sometimes."

I looked up at the camera in the room, "Do- they have to know about it though, right?"

She looked at me with sad eyes, "They don't stop it though... Don't care."

"Why don't you?"

"I plan on surviving. I haven't gotten to that point... yet." She reached over and took my hand, "I won't try to stop you if you decide to do it, but I want you to survive with me ya hear?"

I nodded and squeezed her hand, "Yeah, okay."

I didn't know how much time passed, but it was at least a couple of days when the guards came for me.

It was the same rules. Don't start until told. Win.

It was another skinny guy across the room. He didn't have the crazed look in his eyes. He looked dead, weary, but not sad. No, he was still going to put up a fight. He was more calculative.

I stretched silently this time, not beginning a conversation. The only things that moved were his eyes. He was watching my movements, carefully, planning. He didn't give me the same opportunity, but I felt that if I was loose than I would fight better so I didn't stop my movements.

The intercom clicked on and I prepared myself for him to rush me. We were told to begin and I flinched, ready to duck out of his way, but he didn't come after me. I saw him smirk at my apparent show of weakness.

We circled each other, slowly spiraling into the center of the room. I was tense, my heart was beating, I'm sure my hands were shaking from the nerves. He seemed relaxed, he knew what he was doing. He seemed to be waiting for me to make the first move, but as we got closer and closer he seemed to realize I wasn't going to make it. I saw as the gears in his head switched from a defensive mindset to an offensive one. His stepping pattern changed slightly. There were a couple of involuntary twitches of the muscles that told me he was preparing to strike.

That's when I knew when to go. Right as his left quad twitched slightly I pounced to his left side. The surprise on his face told me everything I needed to know and flipped his leg out from under him. Unfortunately, my socks caused me to slip as well and we ended up rolling around in a ball trying to get the upper hand.

He grabbed at my hair making it a knotted mess. I'm pretty sure I ended up kneeing him in the crotch, but obviously not hard enough since he stood up again once we separated. I licked my stinging lip and watched his every move. We were both panting heavily, trying to look for an opening.

I took a moment to gulp in a deep breath, holding and releasing it shakily. He must have taken that as a moment of weakness and rushed me. I quickly stepped out of his way, shoving his head down as he flew by. I made sure to get a knee into his gut causing him to let out a strangled grunt.

I quickly forced him onto and over his knees, me behind him. I straddled his back and held him in a head-lock. I held it tight, slowly cutting off his air.

I felt his breathing become shallow and his body go limp under me. I let go once he was unconscious. I stood catching my breath. I became concerned once no one opened the door to let me out. I sat down against the wall on the other side of the room, leaning my head against it.

I was tired, sore, but it scared me how easy it felt to do that. How long am I going to have to go through this? Days? Weeks? Months?

Years?

No, the Avengers are looking for you. They may make a mess but they always get the job done. They'll get to you before then.

I sighed and looked at the man lying unconscious across the room. I could barely see the lump breathing, but I knew I didn't kill him. I don't know how long I sat there, staring at his body, subconsciously humming the song suck in my head.

Eventually, the guards came in to collect me. I wondered what took them so long to come in, but I walked out with them. At least two very large guards would accompany me whenever I left my cell, this time was no different. It looked like it was the same as every other prisoner in the compound, but two guards came in the room to take me, and when I exited, only one smaller, dirtier guard entered the room for my opponent. I found it strange but thought it wise not to question it.

They shoved me into my cell and left me to my own lack of devices. I sat in the small open area of the cell and began to stretch again to cool off and prevent soreness. Jaz didn't say anything to greet me, only to comment on my victory.

"So, you did it then?"

"Yeah, I won. It took them a really long time to come in and get me though..."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. I sat next to the wall staring at his unconscious body for a long time before they came in." I switched positions, causing a strained wheeze to escape, "Is that an intimidation tactic or something?"

"Unconscious you said?"

I hummed in the affirmative.

She didn't answer for a little while, "Interesting, I don't know, hon."

She's lying to you.

Noxy, there's no reason to lie here.

I finished my stretch routine and we didn't talk about the fight anymore. I lied on the bed, like the countless hours before. The silence was deafening. I wanted to say something. Anything! Break the silence, stop Noxy from speaking all of my deepest fears.

It's been weeks. If they haven't found you yet are they ever going to?

Who's behind it and what do they want with you?

Maybe you should start hoarding those pills.

"Hey, Jasmine."

"Whatsup?"

"What's your last name?"

She took a moment like she was trying to decide if she wanted to answer me or not, but finally sighed, "Okoro, Jasmine Okoro."

"That's a nice name."

"What's your last name?"

"L/n."

Jasmine rolled her head to the side to look at me, "I guess if we ever get out of here we can find each other again."

I mirrored her movement, "That's a nice thought."

"You look tired, get some rest."

I rolled over and faced the wall. I tried to ignore the twisting of my gut. It became easier with each passing day. The cameras combined with Jasmine, the guards. Everyone was watching me. The only thing that made me special in that whole government agency was my ability to sense when someone was watching me. I saved lives doing it.

Look where it got me. It couldn't save me from this.

Natasha said that many people could feel eyes, but they tended to ignore it so it went away.

And the Lord said that thy talent had been ignored so thine talent shall be taken away.

I think the Bible said something like that.

There is nothing for me now. A cell, a shadow of an MI6 agent next to me, and if she's right, an innumerable amount of experiment tables ahead of me. A whole world left behind. A whole future. A whole beautiful, bright future ahead of me. Now I'm surrounded by cold, white walls. Nobody to remember me.

My future now looked very, very dark indeed.

I began to hum to urge my cold body to sleep.

'Don't you, forget about me.'

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