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nikethestatue · 3 years

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Just Breathe

Of Fawns and Shadows

Chapter 7 I know it’s been 3 weeks, but this is almost 60 pages and 23,000 words!

Summary:

The twins teach Elain something about the brothers, and Illyrian males

Elain flexes her magical muscle

We learn much more about Azrie’s background and his mother

Some Prythian history is explained

Elain pleasures Azriel in a variety of ways that he enjoys

Heavy NSFW elements

This is a long chapter, but also is a set up for many things that will happen in the future, hints are dropping like bombs!

Tell me what you think. I love reading comments and reactions.

Just Breathe

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

Pabo Neruda

Elain woke up groggy and tired. ‘Woke up’ was probably the wrong term, because she barely slept at all last night.

Yesterday, after the four of them woke up after their impromptu nap, Azriel took her back to the orphanage and stupidly, she almost cried. They stood at the gates, swathed in his shadows to keep the two of them from prying eyes.

He stroked her hair, then her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones, as he murmured endearments to her.

“Do you want me to come to the River House for dinner tonight?” he asked, hoping to placate her before she unraveled in front of him. But she shook her head stubbornly and pressed her lips to the inside of his palm.

“They are leaving tomorrow,” he reminded her, and then leaned in and gently kissed her neck. “And you should wear a scarf,” he chuckled.

“I think that I left it at the House,” she looked around, suddenly feeling lost.

She was returning to the real world, at least for tonight, and it’s not where she wanted to be. She didn’t want to live her regular boring life. She wasn’t interested in going back home after her time with the children, then possibly meeting with city planners, while Feyre and Rhys smiled at her politely, their expressions telling--they were indulging the strange sister who had her singular interests. In exchange for their tolerance, she cooked and baked, and looked after their estate, now that Feyre was busy with their boy. How did she, Elain, become the odd, spinster sister? She didn’t know.

Up until two days ago, she was utterly miserable. Every day, she’d wake up hating her life, the monotony of it all, while cursing herself for being so selfish and ungrateful. She was living a comfortable, well-tended life where she lacked nothing, where she had people who cared for her, where she could make herself useful, and where she wasn’t burdened by societal expectations. Despite all that, inside, she was hollow. Only her children brought a spark of joy into her life, her children, and the shy, pointless glimpses at Azriel, whenever she managed to lay her eyes on him. Her damn bond pushed and pressured, though over the past few years she’s become accustomed to it, to its tug, its phantom presence which floated inside of her.

She held Azriel’s hand in hers, unwilling to let go. He kept stroking her face, his thumb on her lips, under her eyes, over her chin and nose.

“Don’t be sad, emani,” he begged. “I hate leaving you like this.”

She wasn’t going to lie to him and say that she was just fine. She wasn’t.

She wanted her life with him, where it was the two of them and happiness. Was she envious of Cassian and Nesta? Of their wild, passionate, maddening devotion to each other? Perhaps. But she didn’t want what they had. She wanted her own.

“Ahh, I want to come in,” muttered Azriel, looking longingly at the crazily-painted building.

She chuckled sadly, “If you do, they won’t let you go.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be let go.”

He looked down at her, into her sad eyes the colour of amber and then leaned to kiss her hair.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he promised.

She kissed his hand and then he watched her walk inside the gates.

Something empty and cold settled inside his stomach.

It was late when Elain was walking home. She opted to eat dinner with the children, and then they all had story time and finally, she helped with nighttime rituals of bathing, dressing, tucking and hugging.

Lex floated next to her, its presence suddenly a comfort to her. She never thought about, never considered that she was unsafe here, in Velaris, but when she turned around, she noticed a trail of shadows. To an untrained eye, they were just that--shadows that spread over walls of the buildings, the cobblestones beneath, stretching and moving the way all shadows did. But now, they were her friends. Her protectors. They were not just an empty, thoughtless, natural entity, but a mysterious sentient thing that cared for her, because its master cared for her.

“Lex, what do you like?” she asked, surprising herself. She wasn’t intent on having a conversation with a shadow.

“I like stars,” said Lex simply.

“Stars? That’s beautiful, Lex. But why?”

“Because that’s where I am from. Stardust. The song of the wind and stars created us. Here, we were born at dusk. There were so many of us once before, free to roam and live at dusk, amidst the oncoming darkness and the fading light. Now, there are very few left,”

“Where did the shadows go?”

“Dusk left and the shadows left with it. Only a few remain now. The master and those who serve him.”

“Are you talking about Azriel?” she was confused. Lex was prone to wax lyrical and talk too much, or too little.

“Yes, lord Azriel. My master. The last master of all shadows.”

“Hmm,”

“So I am here, with you and my master. Until maybe we return to the dusk with my master. Maybe with you too.”

Elain had no idea what Lex was rambling about, so she let it drop.

With the shadows slithering behind her, she felt safe, protected even, so she walked slower than usual, taking in the evening sights and sounds. Envious again. Envious of all this life around her. Life that bubbled and spilled on the sidewalks; laughing Fae stumbling from bars and public houses, distinguished couples out on their evening walk, lovers holding each other’s gazes and bodies, not seeing and not caring about anyone else. But she...she was invisible. Not because of the shadows, but because that’s what she’d become. Elain the Beautiful. Kingslayer. She now trudged quietly and lonesomely down the streets, wondering when in the world she became a shadow herself? A shadow of her former self, an invisible entity that no one paid attention to?

The human Elain did not want this sort of life--she enjoyed the balls and the outings, she enjoyed attention and beautiful things, lovely gowns, male company and compliments. And the Fae Elain wasn’t sure if that changed very much--he still liked parties and balls, and nice dresses and dancing. She didn’t want to be quiet and lonesome and obscure. She wanted to glow and sparkle and love and live with adventures and travels.

She felt a beast of wonder prowling under her skin. A beast that wanted to unleash and see the world turned, and reforged. She felt the beast, but feared it--it was her new Fae self, this untamed wild thing that the Cauldron gifted her. She didn’t know what it was, and why it was there, but it beckoned and seduced her with its presence and the thoughts that she had.

By the time she got home, Feyre and Rhys already retired for the night and she walked to her suite. She sat down on her bed, looking around.

“Go to sleep, Lex,” she said.

“I am not tired.”

“Then do whatever you want,” she plopped down on the bed, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Why are you sad?” inquired Lex.

“You are the shadow, you tell me,” she muttered, annoyed.

“You are in love with the master.”

“Very astute observation,” she said tartly.

“Master is not rude like you,” noted Lex.

She threatened, “I am going to ask the master for a different shadow.”

“No you won’t. I am going to sleep.”

For something that shouldn’t have had emotions, Lex sure seemed like he was angry.

There was a knock on the door just as soon as Elain changed and put on her robe. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to talk to Feyre, but she hid her grimace and said ‘come in”.

To her great relief, it wasn’t her sister who stood at the door, but the grinning wraiths. What’s more, Cerridwen held a bottle of brandy and a glass, while Nuala held two glasses, which she raised as a peace offering and an invitation.

Elain burst out laughing.

“You seemed in a right mood tonight,” grumbled Cerridwen, as she pushed past Elain and made her way to the small sitting room.

“So we came to cheer you up!” Nuala followed her sister.

...Thirty minutes later, the three of them were deep into the bottle, buzzed and laughing.

“Aww,” Elain rubbed her temples. “I am not used to drinking every night! I got drunk yesterday,”

They snickered and Nuala winked, “we know!”

Elain blushed, remembering that one of them had been to Azriel’s house to deliver her clothes and toiletries. They knew where she spent the night.

“So,” Cerridwen, stretched out on the sofa, was sipping her drink slowly. Among the three of them, she was an expert at holding her liquor. “Did all that pining between the two of you amount to anything?” she inquired bluntly.

Elain blushed and mumbled about being given a shadow.

Cerridwen rolled her dark eyes and shook her head, “Honey, that’s not what I wanted to hear. Is he any good? As good as they say he is?”

Confused, Elain nodded, “he is good. He is very nice.”

Cerridwen bubbled her lips, shaking her head. Nuala smiled into her glass and said, “Elain, what my sister is so rudely trying to ascertain is whether you’ve made love. I am going to go with a ‘no’, but,”

“No!” exclaimed Elain, blushing profusely.

The three of them had discussed males, and bedding them, without going into explicit details, but this was different. While Cerridwen preferred women, but also enjoyed discussing males and their ‘shortcomings’, Nuala was, used to be, Azriel’s lover.

“Elain, I don’t care,” assured her Nuala, seeing the panicked discomfort on Elain’s face. She waved her hand, “it’s in the past. Whatever happened,”

“So you can go and jump his bones!” encouraged Cerridwen, raising her glass in a salute.

Still hot, from embarrassment and alcohol, Elain murmured, “it’s not like that...We haven’t,”

“Well, why not?” shrugged Cerridwen. “With those wings of his, he ought to know what he is doing,”

Elain’s brow furrowed. “His wings? what do the wings have to do with anything?”

The twins exchanged meaningful glances, and Nuala laid her head on Elain’s lap, saying, “El, there is still much that you don’t know…”

Elain recalled all the offhand comments that her sisters, Mor, and even Amren had made about wings over the years. The knowing glances and the smirks.

“Is it something sexual?” she sighed at last.

“Of course it’s something sexual!” cried Cerridwen with a laugh. “Have you touched his wings?”

“Why would I touch his wings?”

“Just try it,” encouraged Cerridwen, “see how he reacts!”

“Don’t,” Nuala shook her head, and then pointed an admonishing finger to her sister, “you stop that!”

“Why?!” laughed Cerridwen.

“Elain,” Nuala stroked Elain’s hand, “don’t listen to her. And don’t touch an Illyrian’s wings without permission. They are...sensitive,”

“I thought because it hurts them,” started Elain.

“Oh no. It certainly doesn’t hurt them.”

Elain shrugged. “So, that’s the big deal? Their wings are sensitive to touch?”

“Nu, tell her!” pleaded Cerridwen.

Elain looked down at the sprawled Nuala with expectation.

“It’s the size, honey,” finally blurted Cerridwen, choking on her laughter, “the bigger the wings, the bigger,”

“The cock,” concluded Nuala.

“What?” Elain snapped, blushing deeply. Feyre’s comment from earlier today came back to haunt her. “You two are just teasing me,” she folded her arms on her chest, “it’s not true! You are just saying this because you know that I haven’t been with a Fae male,”

“And what a fine Fae male you’ll get to be with,” Cerridwen whistled and Nuala smiled.

“Well, I am sure that Cassian is,” she began, but Nuala interrupted, shaking her head,

“Oh no. Cassian wants to be the biggest,”

“But our shadowsinger got him beat by a margin,” said Cerridwen meaningfully. “A measurable margin.”

“And Rhysand?” Elain blurted, immediately regretting her outburst. Oh gods. Now she was going to be walking around and eyeing the males’ wings!

“The High Lord,” said Nuala, “possesses a High Fae endowment.”

Elain waited, knowing that they weren’t done. So Nuala added, “The Illyrians are naturally,”

“Better equipped,” supplied Cerridwen. “Why do you think that the High Fae hate them so much?”

“And some Illyrians exceed even Illyrian expectations, like a certain shad-,”

Elain buried her face in her hands, yelling ‘stop it, stop it, stop it!”

The sisters were laughing at her. “Don't tell me this!” she exclaimed. “I have to face him! What am I supposed to think about now?”

“Probably his cock,” offered Cerridwen unhelpfully.

“Ugh, I hate you both!” she moaned.

Nuala slid her arm around her and butted her shoulder, “Well, take consolation in that he knows what he is doing!”

“Well, I would hope that at 500 years old, he’d know what he is doing,” groaned Elain.

Cerridwen gave her a look. “Hmmm. Don’t bet on it. Males don’t always learn...”

“539,” said Nuala casually.

Elain glanced at her. “What?”

“He is 539 years old. He will be turning 540 soon.”

“When is soon?

“Imbolc,” said Cerridwen. “He and Cassian celebrate it together.”

Elain sat up, asking, “They were born on the same day?”

“Azriel was born on Imbolc.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Elain admitted.

“A holiday to celebrate the Mother. It’s halfway between Solstice and Spring Equinox. It’s a lovely little holiday, without much fanfare...Anyway, he will be 540. Cassian will be 539.”

“But they were born on the same day??”

Cerridwen, despite the alcohol, became serious, almost wistful.

“Well...No one knows when Cassian was born. He was taken from his mother so young and the records were lost, if there was ever even a record of his birth. So, from what we’ve gathered, when they were boys, they’d celebrate together, since Cassian was also born in the winter. After they survived and won the Blood Rite, Azriel offered Cassian his birth day--so they’d always share it together. So ever since they were boys, they’ve celebrated their birth day on Imbolc.”

So, Elain woke up groggy and tired. ‘Woke up’ was probably the wrong term, because she barely slept at all last night. Her head was heavy with the aftermath of the drinking, though she paced herself last night, and wasn’t suffering, unlike yesterday. She knew there wouldn’t be a tonic prepared thoughtfully for her and waiting on the sink counter, so she exercised self-control and let the twins drink. She even promised to make breakfast today, for Cerridwen begged her, knowing that there would be a price to pay for their late night shenanigans.

Sleeping alone, without Azriel, even after only two nights together, was strange. At least three times during the night, she caught herself reaching for him, for the feel of his hard, warm body in bed with her, only to find cool sheets. It unsettled her. Was she being needy and so dependent on him too quickly? Or was it something else? Was it the Mother, or the Cauldron telling her that she was correct to seek him out--to search for him in her sleep, and when she was awake, and that it was right to need him and want him?

The house was still quiet, the servants moving silently about the wide corridors, dusting and wiping and watering pants, and curtsying in front of Elain, which was not something she wanted them to do, but they insisted. She snuck into the nursery.

“Good morning, my baby boy,” she cooed at Nyx, who was sitting in his crib, playing with Brute, waiting to be picked up. He knew his aunt was the first one who usually got him roused in the morning, and the moment she entered, he was up, holding onto the slats of the crib, his little wings fluttering excitedly.

It took Elain a bit of time to learn how to hold him properly, and the wings, their delicate soft bones, their thin, silky membrane scared her and made her terribly nervous.

By the time Nyx was about to be born, Azriel ‘allowed’ himself back in the house. The relationship between him and Rhys was still strained and oftentimes tense, aggression simmering beneath their skin, that Fae male call for dominance still very much present when they were together. But Azriel, for the sake of other relationships, for the love of the Inner Circle, kept his rage in check, as he always tended to do. But there was happiness, there was a new and beautiful life that came about after so much strife and sorrow and danger that it would be petty and dishonest not to celebrate it. So Nyx was responsible for patching things up between the adults, at least on the surface.

That day, after the brutal birth and Nesta’s sacrifice, Feyre finally fell asleep, with Rhys by her side. Nesta was recovering, and Cassian was freaking out, worrying about everybody. He and Mor were running around, arranging for things and taking care of formalities, but Elain was left to oversee Nyx. That’s how they bonded, Nyx and his aunt, who loved him from the moment he emerged into the world. But she was scared to pick him up, unsure of what to do with the wings, and how to position him in the crook of her arm.

“Like that,” said Azriel softly, emerging from the shadows, watching her try to pick the baby up. His scarred hands gingerly cradled Nyx, and then he laid him into Elain’s waiting arms. “Make sure that the wings drape over your arm, like this,” and he showed her. Nyx settled at once, quiet and content. “Perfect,” Azriel almost smiled. “You are a natural with an Illyrian babe.”

Those words haunted Elain to this day.

“Lana!” Nyx yelled, lifting his arms in the air. She picked him up, and he threw his short arms around her in their morning greeting. She changed him, dressed him and then, following his command ‘Boot!’ grabbed Brute and went downstairs.

But she soon became aware that she wasn’t the only one awake.

Passing by Rhysand’s office, she heard familiar voices--the three males. Colour flooded her cheeks as she quickly scurried by the door, hoping that they wouldn't hear her and she could avoid them. After last night’s conversation about the wings and the wingspans and all those other things, she really had no desire to face them. Had no desire to stand before them and sneak peeks at their wings and compare.

However, as soon as she put Nyx down in the kitchen, a dark shadow tapped on the reeses of her mind and she allowed him in. ‘Elain, please join us in the study,’ said Rhysand. Before she could even respond, he added, ‘His nanny is coming.” Unsurprisingly, Nyx’s nanny appeared in the kitchen the next moment. Elain greeted her with a forced smile and then walked to the office. She smoothed her skirt before entering, without knocking.

The three males were standing around the desk, all had their arms folded on their chests. What in the seven hells did she walk into? Cassian looked at her, his eyebrow arched and then smiled his spectacular smile and somehow, immediately, eased her worries.

“‘Morning baby girl!” He greeted her, and then went to hug and kiss her cheek, when Rhys cleared his throat. A formal conversation then. No room for informalities. Elain therefore, reached on her tiptoes and kissed Cassian’s cheek. “Good morning, Cass!” she said cheerfully, and then with great pretend indifference she inclined her head towards Azriel. “Az.” He was in full uniform, which jolted her somehow, for she was used to seeing him in normal, civilian clothes lately. Him in uniform always made her a little uneasy.

“What are you doing here, petal?” asked Cassian.

“I asked Elain to join us,” explained Rhys. Perhaps for her sake, he went behind the desk and sat down. Crowded by three enormous Illyrians, she looked like a tiny flower in a dark forest. Azriel and Cassian were the same height and she only reached under Azriel’s armpit with the top of her head. Rhys was only just a tad shorter than the two. Or maybe he sat down to assert dominance and remind everyone who was the High Lord. Either way, Elain did not care. She and Rhys played these little power games all the time. She, for example, wore blue exclusively since Solstice. Every shade, every hue, but always blue. Just so he’d be reminded whom she loved. Gone were the pink and pale gowns of her human life, now replaced by her Fae wardrobe, which spoke volumes about where her allegiance lay.

Cassian and Azriel exchanged somewhat confused glances, but did not say anything, waiting for Rhys to explain.

“You are aware that Feyre and I are leaving for Winter Court later today.”

She nodded.

“Mor is coming along.”

He tapped his fingers on the shiny mahogany surface and then stated,

“You are the only remaining person with...power,”

Both males whipped their heads at him, then at her.

“What do you mean ‘power’?” asked Cassian.

Shadows wafted around Azriel, his face inscrutable, but his posture tense.

“Elain is the only one who still possesses Cauldron-given powers. Nesta’s have been considerably diminished, and Amren doesn’t have anything of significance left. Unless one of you wishes to escort us to Winter, and leave Mor here, Elain is the only remaining Fae with extraordinary powers. Hence, I’d like to ask you,” he looked at Elain, “to consider protecting Velaris should the need arise.”

“Rhys,” began Azriel, but Elain interrupted him and nodded, “Of course. I’ll do whatever needs to be done, though I hope we have no need for it.”

Cassian glared at her, “What kind of powers you got, El?”

“And how do you know that she has powers?” challenged Azriel, his face darkening, hazel eyes boring into Rhys.

“We had a conversation,” said Rhys calmly, “and Elain chose to...showcase her powers.”

“Showcase them?” repeated Azriel. “Wonder what sort of conversation the two of you were having?”

“That’s between my sister-in-law and myself,” began Rhysand, but Cassian stepped in and said, “cut the horseshit, everyone. What is going on? How do you know that she has powers? She never demonstrated them,”

“He pressured her,” Azriel gritted out. His siphons came to life, flickering and filling with their cobalt life, and in response, Rhys’s power woke up, slithering around him and then extending into the rest of the office like a dark beast. Azriel took a step towards Elain. She, in turn, remained unfazed by the display, her icy Archeron flame blazing in her brown eyes.

“I did not pressure her,” corrected Rhysand, “I simply made a request as her High Lord and she did not take kindly to it,”

“I reminded Rhysand that he is not my High Lord,” Elain chimed in coolly.

“It seems that I am,”

Azriel raised his hand and ordered, “Back off, Rhys.”

“You shouldn’t force her to reveal her power, Rhys,” Cassian said, all amusement and humour gone from his voice. “Especially alone--it’s unchecked. Do you recall what happened with Nesta?”

Rhysand shrugged, “I wasn’t asking Elain to scry.”

“Rhysand,” Azriel’s voice was grave and so cold, it sent an actual chill down Elain’s spine. “You want to ask something of me, go ahead. Hells, if you want to order me and pull rank,”

“I don’t pull rank,”

“You pull rank all the fucking time,” growled Azriel. “But I swore an oath to you and I will serve you to the best of my abilities. She,” he jerked his chin in Elain’s direction, “is off limits.”

“Not when it concerns the stability and safety of my court,” parried Rhysand.

Elain glanced at him with disdain and almost wrung her fingers, before stopping and simply dropping her arms at her sides. Somehow, the movement centered her.

“I have never jeopardized the stability of your court,” she almost snarled, but stood still and tall. “If I may be so bold, but I remind you that without me, you wouldn’t have won the war. I was the one who found the Suriel for Feyre, which resulted in turning the tide of the war. I stabbed the King of Hybern. Because of my vision, my mate located Vassa and forged alliances with the humans,”

At the word ‘mate’ Azriel flinched. It did not escape Cassian’s attention.

“And,” she stopped abruptly, pursing her lips. “I��ve said enough,”

“What else did you do?” asked Cassian, turning fully to her, his eyes narrowing.

Elain felt herself bursting with strange, tingling energy. The males’ wings twitched, almost flaring, as they all glared at each other and it felt stifling in the room, despite its vast size.

“Nothing, Cassian,” she snapped at him. “Think!”

Power rumbled. The air filled the scent of jasmine. Siphons flared, just as shadows swarmed. Elain barely felt Lex’s cool touch against her hand, as it tried to calm her and bring her back. Lex did not lunge to protect her, only fluttered about, serving as a diffuser. Azriel’s shadows went wild, concealing him almost entirely. He remained steady, but she noticed his thumb stroking the hilt of Truth-Teller.

“Aright!” Cassian stepped forth, arms raised, “alright. That’s enough. From you, Cauldron Princess,”

At that, Azriel snarled and Elain rolled her eyes.

“And you, Your Darkness,” Cassian glared at Rhys. “Settle the fuck down everybody. You want to take it outside and have a go at it,”

“No,” snarled Azriel. “You wait with Elain outside. And I will have a talk with my High Lord.”

Cassian chewed his lip, but made to take Elain’s hand, following Azriel’s order. Yet, she did not budge.

“I am not a girl to be ordered around,” she shrugged Cassian’s hand off her shoulder. “I am a woman, and you’ll all treat me with the same deference that you afford your mates. As I promised,” she looked at Rhys, “I will protect and defend Velaris and its people to the best of my abilities, if I am called upon to do so. You,” she turned to Azriel, her gaze unflinching, “are not asked to fight my battles for me. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions and standing by them. And yes, I know that my power is untapped and largely undiscovered, but I don’t need to be provoked into displaying it. I am not a wild beast to be poked and prodded in order for me to unleash. Now,” she glanced at the clock, “I am late for my children. Have a nice trip.”

“I’ll fly you,” offered Cassian softly, gently stroking her shoulder.

“Thank you, but no need. I’d rather walk.”

Without a second look at both Rhys and Azriel, she turned around and left the room.

Azriel’s face remained impassive and he made no move to follow her, but Cassian saw it--Elain’s cold indifference would torment his brother for the rest of the day. Elain’s rejection, however small, her denial of Azriel’s protection, her calling Lucien her ‘mate’ would grate on Azriel’s psyche with relentless self-flagellation. They all had their demons to fight, but Azriel, perhaps, had the most.

Elain grabbed her jacket, so riled up that she couldn’t get her arms into the sleeves. A sleepy Feyre appeared at the top of the stairs, but before she could ask, Elain walked out the door and into the cold. She shivered. Her body felt hot, still brimming with that energy, the anger and whatever else floated inside of her. Unlike Nesta, she didn’t hate her power, for it gave her a measure of self-control, or protection, even if she wasn’t entirely sure how to use it just yet. Sooner or later, she’d have to learn.

“You’ve upset the master,” announced Lex. It trailed her faithfully, sort of latched onto her shoulder.

“I am not discussing this with you,” she snarled.

“The General is also upset,”

“Alright, wonderful, everyone is upset with me. Great. You happy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Mind your own business.”

But Elain was upset. She didn’t mean to lash out at Azriel. She didn’t mean to call Lucien her ‘mate’. But, like all Fae males, Azriel was over-protective and became aggressive when she was challenged, instinctively standing up for her, as she was his female. But she did have powers and she could handle Rhys herself, and didn’t need Azriel’s involvement. Especially if it created bad blood between him and Rhys--Mother above there was already plenty of it.

She walked quickly, cooling off with every step, her emotions running high, and

feeling both sad and cold, as she huddled in her jacket. She forgot her scarf. She’d upset Azriel. She sort of fought with Rhys. She was hungry. She didn’t feed Nyx, leaving him behind with the nanny. So far, this was a fantastic morning!

The children greeted her happily, hugs and kisses, and for a moment, she forgot everything, lost in the sense of familiarity and joy, the loud tales of their petty squabbles, the who did what, what they had for breakfast, and much more. She forgot everything, until Temal bounded and wrapped her around the legs in his usual fashion.

“Good morning, love,” she smiled at him, trying to smooth his thick, black hair. He looked at her with his perpetually eager enthusiasm and quickly asked, “Lain! Where is Az? You know, Lain, I read so much myself and I have to show him, because I have to read with him. And then we go fly. Where is Az?” he kept looking around, holding her hand, chewing his lip, his eyes darting about the hallway. He was used to having Elain come with Az every morning now, and Azriel’s absence perplexed him.

He tugged on her hand and demanded impatiently, “Where is Az, Lain?”

“Good morning to you too,” she said softly. “Let’s all go outside for our morning,”

“Where is Az?” he asked again, concern-lacing his voice now, his eyes dimming.

He kept looking around.

“Is he coming?” he asked impatiently, still hopeful.

But Elain’s slight hesitation was all that Temal needed to murmur sorrowfully,

“He don’t want to come no more?”

“No, he does,” Elain began, but he interrupted her, angrily, throwing her hand off his shoulder,

“No he doesn't! He doesn’t want to fly no more. He doesn’t like us,” his eyes were instantly brimming with tears.

Now other children were overhearing them and their faces were showing the same disappointment as Temal’s, though there was something like devastation written on his.

“Go get your jacket,” she told him, and he let go of her entirely, head hanging low, shuffling to the coat racks.

Other children came over to her, asking the same question, looking concerned and upset. Elain felt terrible, hating how this made them feel, being abandoned and feeling unimportant, again. She didn’t know what to say to them. How to explain.

“Azriel will come back,” she assured them, but he wasn’t here, and her assurances fell on deaf ears.

Slowly, the children shuffled outside, the mood subdued. It was quiet, as they meandered along the courtyard, some of them climbing and others getting on the swings, swinging halfheartedly.

Temal went all the way to the back of the yard, towards the wall, and absently dragged a stick in the dirt, drawing something in the mud. Elain left him be for the time being, as she sat with the younger children around the table for their lesson. But attention wasn't on her. Every time a shadow passed by the door, all heads turned that way, necks craning, and then--a wave of disappointment. While Elain helped the little ones with their tasks, Lex informed her “your boy is very upset.”

“I know, Lex,” she sighed.

“He thinks that the master’s abandoned him.”

Elain did not respond.

Lex offered, “do you want me to go and play with him?”

“No, I’ll go and talk to him,” she got up and walked over to Temal.

“Temal,” she called out to him, but he wouldn’t face her and just mumbled, “I don’t wanna talk, Lain.”

“Why not?” she asked gently.

“I don’t want to,” he shrugged, digging deeper into the mud with his stick.

“Is it about Azriel?”

Silence.

“Tem-,”

He turned to her, his face stained with tears.

“Why he don’t come, Lain? Why?”

Temal, like all Illyrians, was not much of a crier. Whether hurt, in a fight, or upset, he never cried, and simply walked away and dusted himself off. This much emotion was completely foreign to him, yet tears ran down his sharp cheekbones.

“I don’t know why he leave me, Lain,” he sniffled. “Everybody leave me…” he added. “My ma--I don't know her. Maybe she was good, but she leave me,”

“Your mother did not leave you, Temal,”

“She did,” he argued. “But you know, I am happy with my mali. We have a good life, and then my mali go away and he...He go to Vallahalla, and I never see him again. He leave me too,”

She paled, not knowing what to say.

“Your mama and mali loved you though,” she said softly, “so much,”

He wiped his tears with his palm and said, “why they leave then? They don’t love me,”

“My mama and mali also left me,” she told him, “but I know that they loved me,”

“I like Az and I think he like me too, but now he doesn’t even come,” Temal shrugged. “And I think that Sunni is sad too, because she likes him, and she don’t even talk.”

“Temal,” Elain said firmly, “Azriel never goes back on his world. If he said he will come, then he will,”

She sounded so confident that Temal looked up at her, at last.

And then, his face broke into a thousand smiles or pure joy and awe. Sprinting past Elain, he rushed to the other side of the yard. She was smiling, even without looking, sensing the commotion.

“Well, hello Illyrians!” bellowed Cassian, “and the rest of you, future warriors! Are you ready to train?”

A deafening scream of ‘yes!’ was the response.

Elain turned around. The two gigantic Illyrians swaggered through the doors, and stood, arms folded, observing the mass of children before them.

The children stared. Stared in awe. Stared at the Commander General. In front of them, in the flesh. Even these orphans knew who he was, recognised him immediately, and now gawked, unable to tear their eyes from him, from his colossal, towering presence.

“Elain here said that some of you want to learn how to fight?” he asked breezily.

Eyes lit up and waves of eager nods rippled across the gathered children.

“Well then,” he decided, “I guess you got yourself a teacher. Az and I are going to be teaching you how to fly and how to fight. Is that good?”

Oh, it was good.

And then Elain snorted a laugh, when Sanaai came upfront, ignoring Cassian completely, as she raised her arms in silent command before Azriel. He picked her up and she immediately found her place against his chest.

Cassian began commandeering at once, while Azriel quietly made his way to Elain.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she looked at him and then there was an uncomfortable pause. Then he reached into his jacket and withdrew her scarf that she’d left behind in the house, when she was so eager to escape. Wordlessly, he draped it over her neck and then wrapped it around carefully, watching her the entire time. She shuddered from the warmth. From his thumb brushing against her jaw.

“Az!” Temal wrapped around Azriel’s legs, “you came!”

“Of course I came,” said Azriel, surveying the boy’s face. “Were you crying?”

“No!” Temal flushed. “I don’t cry. But I happy. You came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” assured him Azriel. “Now run and get in the formation.”

Once Temal was gone, Azriel looked at Elain and asked her seriously. “Why was he crying?”

She brushed her fingers against his own and said, “He thought that you would not be coming.”

Sanaai shifted in his arm and looked up at him, indicating that she, perhaps, thought the same.

“And you?” he asked.

“I’ve never doubted you. In anything.”

Elain stopped at the Palace of Bone and Salt after she’d left the orphanage.

Feyre informed her that everyone was in Winter, that it was beautiful and there were ice castles and sleds and ice rinks everywhere, and that Nyx took well to his first winnowing and was now ogling polar bears and eating a cinnamon and cranberry scone.

It all sounded very nice, but Elain secretly winced--she hated winter. She didn’t like the cold, and no amount of mulled wine, snowmen, pine decorations or spice cakes could ever change her mind. Winter always harkened back to the days of their poverty, the freezing cold in the hovel, the dark, dreary evening, endless, endless nights spent in silence or bickering.

No, Elain loved the light, the sun, the warmth of spring and summer. She loved the scent of flowers, the regeneration of earth, the waking of all life. She dreamt of visiting a beach one day, especially after Feyre had described Adriata to her. So polar bears and roasted chestnuts could stay forever in Winter Court for all she cared.

“What are you going to buy?” asked Lex, flitting and gliding nosily the produce stands.

“Ingredients for dinner obviously.”

“What are you going to make?”

“Shouldn’t you know? Isn’t it your job?”

“No, I don’t know. But once you select something, then I will know.”

Dealing with Lex was often akin to talking to Temal, yet Elain enjoyed it. She came to depend on her gossipy, opinionated shadow in the past few days and somehow, having it near her brought her a sense of camaraderie, almost a friendship. She began understanding how Azriel felt with his shadows, how they took him out of his unbearable loneliness once he learned their language, and how something similar was happening to her right now. Because she’s been lonely, so lonely and hopeless, and solitary, and if it weren’t for the twins, she didn't know what she’d do. Perhaps, the male who’s been just as lonely most of his life knew how to recognise the signs, knew how to read her and her emotions and saw inside. He was always the only one who saw. When nothing made sense in her life, he was able to offer a semblance of peace, or normalcy. Even something as simple as treating her respectfully and kindly, without looking at her with confused concern was sometimes enough to bring her out of her emotional stupor.

Elain’s made her decision as soon as Feyre told her about the trip to Winter Court.

So, as she loaded her basket with chicken, rosemary, lemons, bread, apples and pears, her resolve only grew. Once she paid, she told Lex ‘take me home’.

“You don’t know where your home is?”

She sighed and clarified, “Your master’s home’.

“Oh good, let’s go,” Lex perked up at once. “Master will be happy if you are there. He always wants you to be there, you know.”

She didn’t know. She didn’t know if Azriel, in fact, wanted her there. Yes, he gave her the key, but was it appropriate for her to just barge in and make herself comfortable? She didn’t know. Elain was a polite and proper person, with good manners, who always behaved appropriately in all situations. She wasn’t the snarling Nesta, or, at times, incomprehensible Feyre. She was Elain, who’d let the three Fae males into her house, who cleared it for them to conduct their business and who convinced Nesta to host the queens. She even managed to charm the Cauldron--whatever that meant. She could do many things, but this step was something entirely different. She was taking it for herself.

She vaguely recalled where the building was located, but Lex led her along the streets with confidence, yakking away the way only it could, while she barely paid attention, growing more and more nervous the closer they came. And then, at last, behind a little square, she eyed the building decorated with etched jasmine and moonflowers. She stopped and looked up. It was a long way up to the….she counted...twelfth floor. This must have been one of the tallest buildings in Velaris.

“Let’s go,” urged her Lex.

Elain swallowed and then crossed the little square and opened the door into the building’s foyer. There was a wide, winding marble staircase. She sighed, bracing herself for the climb. With her basket it was going to be a trek.

When she climbed to the fourth floor, Elain stopped, panting. Was she out of shape? Probably. Perhaps Cassian was right, and she needed to come to her senses and do some exercises, but she was never going to tell that to him. Admitting any kind of defeat to Cassian meant a lifetime of taunts.

“Are you going to go all the way up on your own two feet?” asked Lex casually.

She was huffing, and waved him off, muttering, “whose feet am I going to be going on?”

“I can just take you there,” Lex suggested.

She looked at its dark form, floating playfully around her. When it was just the two of them, Lex did whatever it wanted and didn’t stay true to the laws of physics, so it bobbed and bounced however it wished.

“You can?”

“Yeah,”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier and made me,”

“You didn’t ask,” it reminded her.

“I really hate you sometimes,” she groaned, while it enveloped her in its dark mist and the next moment, they were upstairs, standing by the door.

“Thanks,” she said. “Why didn’t you just take me inside the apartment?”

“I can’t,” Lex admitted. “Only you and the master can enter. No one else, without your permission. Even us.”

“Oh,” Elain didn’t know if she was surprised, flattered or proud, or maybe all of the above, as she opened the door and entered.

Azriel and she only exchanged a few words today, after the children’s training, when they were all moaning and groaning from their aches and pains. Elain pulled Cassian and Az aside and warned them to be gentler and more careful, and that this wasn’t an actual Illyrian training camp. Cassian tried to argue, but she gave him a brief ‘Archeron stare’ and that was the end of the conversation. Luckily, the two did bring two bags full of balms and salves with them, for all the scratches and tender muscles. They had stopped at the apothecary and that is why they were late coming in the morning.

Azriel only said that he’d see her ‘later’, and that he was going to work. No indication of when and where he’d see her, and considering that he was in uniform, with at least four siphons, ‘work’ didn’t sound like a relaxing endeavour. But she didn’t ask, and only smiled and hid her worry inside.

So she hung her jacket, removed her boots and her scarf that Azriel always insisted on, because she ‘could get a cold’ without it, according to him. She wasn’t even sure if Fae got colds, but his obsessive protectiveness was still adorably endearing.

“Lex, can Nuala or Cerridwen understand you?” she asked as she walked to the back of the spacious apartment and stopped in the bedroom.

“Yes. Why?”

“Can you go and ask them to bring me my clothes?”

“No.”

She whipped her head and stared at the dark stain in the corner of the room. “Why not?” she demanded.

“Because I am not permitted to leave you,” Lex explained.

“Even if I order you?”

“You can order me to do other things, but I can’t leave you.”

She gave an exasperated snort, but Lex announced in his usual, non-chalant way “If you need clothes, they are already here.” It flew to the closet and Elain followed, and when she opened the door to the impressively enormous wardrobe, there they were--a rack hung with some of her dresses and skirts, and inside a glass lined cabinet, there were personal items, stockings and hose and tights and underthings. Everything was arranged simply and precisely, in a way that implied that she was expected, wanted and belonged here. It somehow made her belly soft and warm, like a cluster of butterflies skidded over her skin, though she ordered herself to think rationally. This was hardly different from when Nesta moved into the House of Wind and began living with Cassian and Azriel. It was probably just as,

Oh, gods, who was she kidding?

Of course it was different!

Nesta didn’t move into Cassian’s room.

Cauldron, was she really about to live with a man? well, a male? Just...live with him? Sleep with him in the same bed? She had no idea what she was doing! She’d never lived with a man...and, and, surely he had expectations. What were her own expectations? She certainly, well, she certainly desired him. Wanted him. But beyond her mild fantasies, she didn’t even know what she wanted precisely. A part of her yearned to live that wild, unbridled passion that she saw with her sisters, but her sisters were more experienced by the time they’d met their mates and then there was the damn mate bond. Theirs, surely, worked very differently from hers. Yet all that screaming, and panting, and moaning -- she truly had no idea where it came from with them. Whatever she felt with Greyson was reasonably pleasant, especially the second time around, but it certainly didn’t inspire any groaning or panting from her. She’d seen Cassian’s lacerated back, raked over with Nesta’s nails. What could inspire such passionate violence? Besides, she didn’t even have nails--hers were trimmed rather short, though she at least put varnish on them.

And now she was here. Awkwardly taking off her skirt and cardigan, to change into something...well, he liked her in his shirt, so she searched to locate a stack of plain, informal shirts, which were all kind of the same and took one. Paired with leggings, to which she grew rather accustomed lately, taking after Feyre’s penchant for them, she figured that she looked decent. She’d never worn trousers or pants outside, or when she knew that there would be visitors, but alone with Nyx, or when it was just Feyre and Rhys and her, she didn’t care. Rhys cared even less. Three nights ago, she noticed Azriel’s utter shock, mixed with such obvious desire when he saw her in her tights, for the first time. She didn’t think that he even tried to hide it. So if that is what made him happy, then she was going to wear it.

She didn’t dwell in the bedroom for much longer, lest it made her too nervous and bombard her with unwanted thoughts.

Without Azriel’s perfectly distracting perfection to scramble her brain as it always happened when he was around, she took the time to look around, though she still didn’t allow herself to touch anything. Back in the kitchen--her domain--she began unloading her purchases on the sleek marble counter, and then spotted a familiar item on one of the side tables--a Symphonia. She turned it on and as she began preparing dinner, the music selection came as a surprise to her, an interesting insight into Azriel’s mind.

The Symphonia wasn’t filled with waltzes and minuets of Nesta’s preference, but with lots of dance music--not something she’d expect from the quiet, solemn Azriel. There was folk music, and fast, melodious songs, as well as music from what Elain assumed were other courts. Curiously, she definitely heard songs and dances of Human Lands, some of which she used to sing as a girl, as well as Illyrian melodies--haunting and glorious. Lex, as it turned out, liked music as well, as it informed her ‘I like stars and music and flowers!’ Lex, apparently, was a romantic and a dancer to boot, because the faster the musical numbers, the more Lex bounced around the kitchen. “You dance well!” Elain complimented it, as Lex swooshed and bobbed and floated, wrapping itself around Elain’s hips, as she ground and writhed against the counter, waving her knife and her tasting spoons in the air. It was probably a good thing that Lex was a shadow.

‘Master doesn’t dance like you!’ Lex half-complained, half-praised.

“We’ll get him to dance with us,” promised Elain.

Behind them, a male cleared his throat and Elain and Lex halted their dancing abruptly.

Azriel was standing, propped against the wall, arms folded on his chest, a smile on his lips.

Elain flushed. Happy.

“Glad to hear that the two of you are conspiring against me,” he chuckled.

“You are home,” she whispered.

“You are home as well,” he said, peeling away from the wall. He extended his hand and she came over to him and took it, and he pulled her to him. Elain slipped into his embrace and he murmured into her hair ‘dance with me?” His jacket was still cold from the flight and she shivered when she wrapped her arms around his torso. He pushed her head into his chest and they swayed to the music, he leading her into a slow, languid spin across the room. The melody switched to something slower and more sensual just in time, and he smiled against her head that smelled so delicately of jasmine. Perhaps the gods were smiling upon him today, after all.

“Are you tired?” she asked, her voice muffled by the press of her face into his chest.

She held him so tightly, so desperately, it was as if he’d just returned from war, and not a day of work. Granted, he had to make a quick trip to the human lands and back, but she didn't even know that.

“No, love,” he said, “not tired at all. Especially not when you are here.”

It did not escape him that Elain had called this place ‘home’.

“I am just glad to see you here,” he admitted, and then finally pulled her face away from his chest and gently grasped her chin in his scarred fingers, making her look up.

“Is it alright?” she asked, unsure. “That I am here?”

“Is there any other place you’d rather be?” he challenged, his eyes twinkling with a teasing delight. “Is this not the place where you belong?”

“With you,” she gasped, reaching up and stroking his cheek in her warm hand that smelled of apples. “Only with you.”

He kissed the inside of her palm and concurred, “only with me.”

“I only want to be with you,” she nodded. Whatever happened between them in the morning seemed to have been forgotten. Azriel didn’t forget, but he was going to bring it up later.

He slung his arm around her shoulders, knowing that she would not be happy if he released her.

Gods, he was leashed! This golden pink girl with her chocolate-brown eyes wrapped him and wrung him and remade him into something utterly new. With her, he was a man reforged. A sharp, brutal edge that always lived inside of him, that cut deep and unflinching, was somehow dulled by her, as if she managed to tame the cruelest parts of him, at least when they were together.

“So, what smells so fantastically?”

Her soft small hand was stroking his back continuously, and Azriel wondered if it was to remind him that she was with him, and that she was his. Or, perhaps, to reassure herself that he was with her.

“Chicken!” she announced, burying her face in his arm, smelling the delectable scent of him, mixed with cold air and wind. He began unbuttoning his jacket, as they made their way into the kitchen but she swept his fingers aside and took over the task. She wouldn’t release him, and Azriel...well, he never wanted to be released. She was soft and warm under his arm, fitting into him with some inexplicable, magical precision, as if she was wrestled out of his body once and now they were put together again. He, who detested human touch with such vicious dislike, he, who did not enjoy the feel of anyone’s hands on him, often not even in the bedroom, he couldn’t get enough.

She pulled his jacket off at last, while he stroked her petal-tender cheek with the backs of his fingers, “Chicken?”

She nodded, and then kissed his cheek. “It’s the best chicken you’ll eat!” she promised.

“I bet,”

“No, it’s so good, you’ll want to marry me!”

He laughed, amused by her excitement and this self-praise that was unlike her, “Well, I’ll still marry you, regardless of the merits of this chicken,”

Elain’s eyes shot up and she looked at him, biting her lower lip.

It was the second time in just as many days that he said that he’d marry her. The words fell from his lips with ease and confidence. As if he really wanted to do just that. As it was inevitable. He looked down at her, reading her question, the hopeful expectation in her eyes.

He gently pressed his thumb to her lower lip and pulled it down from under her teeth.

“Just say the words,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.

She snorted and said, “I am not marrying a man who hasn’t even kissed me yet!”

Azriel laughed and nodded his agreement. “I wouldn’t either,” he said, taking her hand and leading them to the bedroom.

She plopped on the bed, tucking her legs under and watched him chuck off his layers. The shadows swarmed and picked everything up, with each item disappearing in the dark smoke.

“They are useful,” she noted, somewhat amazed at what she was observing.

“They are indeed,” he nodded, and then asked, “how’s Lex? Is it,”

“I am good!” interjected Lex.

“Really. And was I asking you or Elain?”

“I am good,” repeated Lex, with even more conviction. “You can ask her, but I am very good and nice too.”

“Nice and good,” hummed Azriel, while Elain was trying to stifle her laugh.

“So, is Lex nice and good?” Azriel asked at last.

She could almost sense the shadow’s nervousness and therefore, said,

“Lex has its moments.”

Hiding his smirk, Azriel proposed, “You want another one?”

“No!” Lex whirled right in front of them, jumping back and forth between the two. “Elain likes me!” it insisted. “Elain, tell the master that you want only me.”

She sighed and nodded, “Yes, Lex, I only want you. We are good friends.”

Placated and smug, Lex calmed down and rested on Elain’s lap.

Azriel was laughing softly.

“So how did this wearing of my shirts come about?” he inquired, watching her watch him. He undressed slower than usual, for her benefit. But secretly, he couldn’t get enough of those huge innocent eyes looking him up and down, glaring at every bit of revealed skin, raking him with a hungry gaze. Her lower lip was clamped between her teeth again, and it drove him insane...to be watched like this, with those brown eyes so filled with desire and that plump, pink lip. Perhaps he should just pull that lip with his teeth, kiss it, lick it, bite it...marry that plump lip and its owner, everything be damned.

Elain shrugged, “It wasn’t anything romantic, if that’s what you are hoping for,”

“Oh, you wound me,” he clutched at his chest dramatically. “And here I thought that you were so starved for my scent that you hunted down my shirt,”

“Pfff,” she rolled her eyes, “dream on, batboy!”

Azriel couldn’t remember when he laughed so hard. Her pure, absolutely delectable dismissal of him was just precious. And ‘batboy’?

Once he finally stopped hollering, and she snickering, Elain said, “Nyx puked on my dress one time, so as I was carrying him, while he was screaming, and we were both covered in vomit,”

“Yes, that is not a romantic story,” he agreed.

“I saw your shirt on the chair, and grabbed it, and since it’s long enough to basically be a dress, I just changed into it and that’s how it came about. Also,” she ran her fingers over the sleeve, “you have very nice shirts,”

“Yeah?”

“Soft and well-made. Such fine material, even for this simple shirt.”

“Small pleasures,” he shrugged, now completely undressed, save for his black undershorts. His wings fluttered loosely behind his back, relaxed.

Elain cocked her head, watching him.

“I’ll go wash up,” he said, though didn’t move, enjoying her unblinking, intense scrutiny. “Care to join?” It didn’t hurt to offer. One day, she might just surprise him.

“I would,” she whispered, her throat bobbing at the sight of him, “but my chicken says otherwise.”

“Ahh, well, the chicken,” he nodded. “It needs more tending to than Nyx.”

Once Elain returned to the kitchen, she let out a long, ragged breath. Watching Azriel--an almost naked Azriel--was the best, and the worst experience. He was almost criminally handsome, and when he extended his casual invitations to her to join him she fought the urge with every fibre of her being. She had to still her breathing, recalling every detail of his bronze body; the dangerous cut of all his muscles, that powerful chest, arms so thick with muscle and sinew that back in the human lands someone would call them ‘tree trunks’. The tapered waist, and that vee that slid smoothly away from his narrow hips...gods...And that gorgeous nonchalance of his entire bearing--who ever thought that Azriel was bashful and demure? But perhaps, it was just for her. All of it was just for her. His relaxed easy confidence was reserved only for the person that he felt utterly comfortable with, which was her. He never hid from her, never pulled his hands away, never shied away from his scars in front of her.

She really needed to pull herself together, yet a dull, but pleasant ache blossomed inside of her and she shifted and pressed her legs together, as she attempted to busy herself at the stove. But when Azriel was around, all rational thought left her and all she wanted to do was sit and stare at him like a fool. How could she have thought that Greyson was the epitome of manliness? She chuckled to herself, slightly shaking her head at the preposterous thought. Greyson. A boy. A boy full of hot air and exaggerated self-importance. What a fool she’s been. What a fool.

She gasped with surprise when strong, warm hands squeezed her hips. Azriel’s walk was so soft, he was almost entirely soundless. Even her new, acute Fae hearing couldn’t pick up his movement. He turned her around slowly and she found him on his knees in front of her, his face pressed into her stomach.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, kissing her belly through the fabric of the shirt. His hair was damp, and he was wearing his usual black and gray, a short-sleeved shirt that revealed all of his musculature, as well as the black ink of his tattoos, and soft slacks that he usually favoured at home.

His hands stroked her sides, her ribs and then landed back on her hips, stroking and squeezing, until he looked up at her and cupped her bottom, not in any sort of playful manner, but intimately, tightly.

“Sorry for what?” she gulped, as she caressed his face with her thin, calloused fingers.

“For earlier today,” he explained, kissing her stomach again, his lips finding skin beneath the shirt and brushing over her navel. Those large, brazen hands kneaded her behind, unrestrained, cupping and massaging, and Elain’s breath hitched in her throat, as she felt her breasts grow heavy and aching. “It’s very difficult for me to stay calm when I feel like you are being placed in an uncomfortable situation and Rhys,”

She pressed her finger to his lips and said, “I can deal with Rhys,”

“He has no right to force you to reveal your powers or use them,” Azriel insisted, looking her over with a serious, displeased expression. “And you should’ve told me that he,”

“When we initially had that conversation,” she recalled, “I was angry with you anyway,”

“Which I hate,” he interrupted, his look stern.

“That’s in the past.” She shrugged. “It didn’t last long, I’ll have you know. I don't think that I am capable of staying angry with you for a long time,”

“That’s a relief at least,”

“But he forbade me from seeing you,”

His handsome face darkened even further at her words, but she added,

“And that made me very...let’s just say that I was much angrier with him than I was with you. I understood then what had happened. That you didn't stop seeing me on your own volition and that the order came from him. I couldn’t control my temper,”

He smiled softly at her and teased, “you have a temper?”

She chuckled and nodded, “I do have a temper. But when I lost it, I revealed my hand,”

He kissed her knuckles.

“Not that I was hiding it, but the power, it rumbled. It resurfaced and it faced his power. And both--fought.”

“Who won?” he inquired, genuinely curious. His arms were banded around her, hands still on her behind, still stroking and squeezing, and she grew hotter and more heavy-lidded by the minute.

“We didn’t challenge each other to a fight,” she snorted. “But my power felt strong. Like it could respond to him. It didn’t like the challenge, if I am being honest.”

“Hmmm,”

“What?” she took his face between her hands and made him look at her. “And why are you still kneeling?”

He grinned and kissed the inside of her palm, “I like it here. You feel nice in my arms.”

He pulled down the waistband of her tights, just until it reached her hip bone and kissed her there. Then he pulled the other side, and kissed her other hip bone. She swayed on her feet and he held her up, those strong hands holding her bottom, supporting her.

“Feels good?” he teased, winking at her and she let out a soft moan, as he trailed kisses down her bare belly, burrowing under the shirt.

“No!” she moaned at last. “It feels terrible...because I want more,”

“I can give more,” he offered with a twinkle in his eyes.

This was nothing but light kisses. Not sensual, open mouthed kisses. No. Just soft little pecks and nips on her skin. Both of them were completely dressed. Yet Elain felt as if she was melting in his arms, as if his lips were branding her skin and his closeness slithered over her flesh in a silken caress and an invitation.

“Az,” she gasped.

“Yes, love?” he sounded innocent. As if he wasn't driving her veritably insane with his every touch, as if she wasn’t yearning to have him spread her right here, on this cold tiled floor and plunge into her, quickly and roughly.

He tsked and shook his head, flicking her nose playfully, “what are you thinking about?”

“How I am annoyed with you right now,” she gritted her teeth and he laughed in response.

“I rather like keeping you a little on edge,” he confessed and then finally rose to his feet. He leaned over her, his hand gently squeezing her throat. His warm breath caressed her ear and he whispered, “I should love to hear some of your naughty thoughts,”

Elain flushed, shifting against him, breath uneven and heavy.

“Will I?” he pressed, his thumb stroking her neck slowly, his face at her ear.

“Will you what?” she managed.

“Hear them?”

She swallowed.

He did not release. His thumb swept against her tender skin, and he remained stooped over her, waiting.

Gods...he expected an answer.

“I…” she babbled, not knowing what to tell him. Yet she wanted to tell him everything. Every, undoubtedly, juvenile, uninteresting fantasy that she had.

He kissed her ear and waited, patiently.

“Yes,” she breathed at last. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said simply and then kissed her ear again, the new, elongated tip, to which she was still unaccustomed.

“Will you?” she asked suddenly. She didn’t expect to ask this, but here it was. He watched her intently, and she clarified, “Will you tell me? of your...needs?”

He gave her his usual amused look and then, “Yes”.

Simple. No arguments.

“You will?” she stuttered.

“Do you not want me to?” He sat at the table, and crossed his long legs in front of him, feet bare.

She flushed a deep, lovely pink--Cauldron damn him, but he loved making her blush--and then murmured,

“I do. But,” she swallowed, “I am very nervous. Is that alright for me to admit?”

In one long, graceful swoop, he tugged her to him, and made her stand between his legs.

“You know you should never worry, right?” he asked, squeezing her hips in his hand. “Never. I will never,”

“I am not worried about that,” she waved him off. “Never you.”

“Then what?” his brow furrowed.

She licked her lip and her blush deepened, “I don’t know anything,”

He waited for her to speak her mind, without interrupting.

Centuries of conducting interrogations taught him patience, taught him when to push, and when to pull back. Eventually, everyone broke. And it didn’t always involve pain. In fact, using Truth-teller or any other methods of ‘enhanced interrogation’ was the last resort, typically utilized in most stubborn, or desperate cases. Azriel did not resort to torturing anyone unless he absolutely saw no other option. Not due to any sort of kindness or mercy--it was not his job to be merciful or emotional--but because allowing someone to simply speak and unburden yielded better, more truthful results.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

His thumbs only brushed against her hips, soothing and encouraging, his hands still holding her tightly.

“Do what, baby?” he asked at last.

“You,” she sighed. “This...I want this,” her voice fell even lower, “more than anything. I want us--you and me and everything that comes with it. But,” she shook her head in frustration.

“But you are inexperienced,” he offered.

“Utterly,” she confirmed. A deep blush flooded her cheeks, “It’s embarrassing, but I’ve never even seen a naked man,”

His brow lifted just a tad in surprise.

“But…” he stumbled, “aren’t you...are you a maid?”

“No,” she muttered, “I am not. But I didn’t see it. We...we weren’t naked.”

Azriel whooshed a breath and swore softly. “You mean to tell me that that fool had you to himself and didn’t even manage to get you naked?”

She smiled shyly.

“I know that I am awkward and probably too proper, and you are gloriously beautiful and desired by everyone. So, I would understand,” and her voice broke at this, “if you don’t want to take this further. I would...I don’t want to burden you with my inexperience. My complexes, which I am sure that I have,”

“Shhhh,” he bubbled his lips and shook his head in admonishment, “shhh. No. No. You,” he looked her up and down, slowly, measured, “are everything I’d ever wanted. Beautiful beyond words, yes, but so much more than that. If it was only your beauty that enticed me so, that would be one thing, but all of you makes me...crave. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything before. Elain, you are magnificent and exquisite in every possible way. Loving you is no burden,”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, as she stroked and stroked his face nervously,

“I worry...that I won’t be enough,”

She almost-

Almost.

Almost wrung her fingers, but he tracked the movement and she just dropped her hands onto his shoulders.

Azriel was absolutely fine with the idea of doing whatever Elain was partial to. He was perfectly aware that she was an innocent, not that he’d compare her to his own experiences, which would be laughable, but even in human terms, she was barely touched. It didn’t stop him from imagining how he’d love to teach her in the ways of love and pleasure, slowly, patiently, but thoroughly. Until she came into her own. And he understood her hesitation, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that he tasted in her scent. Which would simply not do. But the gods knew--Azriel was a patient male.

He pressed his cheek to her hand and gently stroked the sides of her torso.

“Will you trust me?”

She nodded.

“You will always be more than enough. Just remember--take whatever you want from me, take away bread and water, take my peace, just never take yourself away from me. And,” he paused for a moment, as if hesitating, but she stroked the back of his neck and he whispered, “don’t...please, don’t call him your mate. Even if he is.”

She made a move, to step back, but he held her tightly, his hands almost spanning the width of her hips, and looked at her.

“I can handle your anger,” he assured her. “And I can attempt to be less,”

“Territorial?”

“Hmmm.”

“Domineering?”

“Hmmm.”

“Over-protective?”

“Hmmm.”

He chewed his lip and then said, “No. None of those things will happen, I was just joking.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, for he was completely serious, and deep down, she knew that he wasn't going to change. If this was the path she was taking, she needed to accept him the way that he was, and that she was always going to be his primary concern.

“I don’t know why it slipped out,” she admitted, and bowed to kiss his head, laying her cheek on top of his skull, in his soft, thick hair. “I am sorry,” she begged.

He was quiet.

She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his solid, thick shoulders, pushing his face into her chest.

“I never think of him that way,” she continued. “I think I wanted to snap at Rhys. Stand my ground to him, but it came out so wrong,”

“But it’s true,” Azriel sighed.

“I don’t think so,” she argued.

“It is. I’ve come to accept it. That you will never be fully mine,”

“That’s not true,” she interrupted him and then tipped his chin up, looking down at him with her luminous amber eyes. “I will never be his. Yours, it's a different story. I will always be yours. In every way.”

She cupped his face and added, her voice urgent, “The thing is that, I’ve always wanted to be yours. I think from the time I ever laid my eyes on you. It seemed like an impossibility back then, but you were breathtaking… Nesta was smitten with Cassian. And I was smitten with you, and now I am free to declare it.”

She kissed his forehead and added, “And I am sorry. I know I hurt you, unintentionally, but I know it was the wrong thing to say. You are right, I don't ever want us to fight.”

He smiled, relieved. This morning’s tension sat in the pit of his stomach, even after he’d seen her again, during training. Even after they were done, he was still thinking about it, about her calling Lucien her ‘mate’, and about her ignoring him. When he and the too-excited Cassian left the orphanage and Cassian was in the throes of planning entire training sessions for the children, Azriel still couldn't concentrate, turning the morning’s events over and over in his head. Only when Cassian interrupted his brooding contemplation with a ridiculous question, did he manage to snap out of it.

“So, is he yours?” asked Cassian.

“Is what mine?”

Cassian sized him up and then jerked his chin, “The boy. Temal. Is he yours?”

Azriel couldn't help, but roll his eyes. “Are you insane? What are you even talking about?” Cassian shrugged.

“You can’t deny that the resemblance is uncanny.”

“He is an Illyrian,” Azriel snapped. “I am an Illyrian. He had parents.”

“Alright. If you say so. Elain sure is doting on him like he is yours.”

“She just likes him,”

“She doesn’t like anyone else like that,” observed Cassian. And then, added, “It’s alright. I get it. But it would be funny if he was yours.”

“I don’t fuck Illyrian females,” reminded him Azriel. “We, don’t fuck Illyrian females.”

“True,” Cassian nodded and smiled. “But I’ll be damned! Does she love you or what….She even got a youngling who looks like you.”

“Fuck off.”

Azriel got up and kissed her head, while he began setting the table, and she busied herself with her famed chicken. It was the first time ever he was having dinner with someone here, in his house, and for some reason, it made him both uneasy and so excited, it felt like when he was a youngin, with his first kiss.

The chicken, Elain’s presence in the kitchen, his shadows resting, except for the ever-present Lex--this was home. Never before, ever, did he feel at home. Even here, in this house of his, which he loved, he always felt a visitor. Now, there was something grounding him, making him stop and savour the moment, live in the now, enjoy every scent, and touch and sound. Even the clinking of dishes.

“Can you please sit down,” she ordered him.

“But I want to help,”

“You are here to relax and...adore me,” she shrugged and he grinned.

“I do adore you,” Azriel sat down compliantly and propped his chin, watching her intently, his one siphon slumbering on his wrist. His lovely, darling girl. He truly was a fool for her, but he didn’t care. He smiled to himself, thinking what an obedient, good hound he was now.

She finally arranged the dishes on platters and delivered them to the table.

“Oh,” he inhaled the delicious blend of spices, of lemon and herbs and Elain watched his eyes close with delight. A whiff of something familiar and dear washed over him. Home. Childhood. But not his childhood and not his home. This--this is how he imagined home, with these smells and with this female.

“So,” she sat down and began to serve him, “I know you don’t like Illyria,”

“But this is Illyrian food,” he said quickly, recognising the dishes.

“Butuzuli,” she said, her accent pretty and precise when she pronounced the Illyrian word. A glorious concoction of crispy, golden rice studded with pistachios, Illyrian spices and dried apricots.

“How did you know?” he wondered, amazed. The look of the dish was exactly the same as if it came from the cook in his father’s keep.

“Shashlama,” she gave him a heaping pile of roasted eggplant that was smothered in parsley sauce. Then, he began carving the gorgeous, brown-skinned chicken and the smell of lemon and rosemary was intoxicating.

“I’ve been learning,” she said, pleased by his reaction to the food.

“From who? How?”

He tucked into the rice and the vegetables and barely stifled a moan. This was divine.

“Alright, I am going for the chicken!” he warned and Elain giggled, watching him.

The meat was perfumed with garlic, the woodsy scent of rosemary, the fruity, tangy addition of lemon and it truly was the best chicken Azriel’s ever tasted. He was normally a polite, elegant eater, with good manners, who was able to pace himself, but tonight, he wanted to gobble everything down like Cassian.

“Baby, this is…” he could barely string coherent words together. “May I curse?”

She burst out laughing, almost choking on the wine that he’d poured, but nodded.

“This is fucking delicious!” he groaned.

“Good chicken?” she was laughing merrily.

“Magnificent chicken!” he looked at her and then winked, “I might very well have to marry you after all,”

“Told you!”

As they settled comfortably over their plates, the Symphonia still playing something softly in the background, Azriel asked,

“So you’ve been learning to cook?”

“I know how to cook,” she tore a piece of flatbread, and popped it in her mouth,

“Well, I know,”

“but I’ve been reading up and learning about Illyrian cuisine. The cook in the orphanage is Illyrian, so she’s been offering me recipes and showing techniques,”

“But this is not just Illyrian,” he noted, “this is,”

“Bagratian?”

“Yes.”

She smiled at him.

“Well, here is what I figured--I have a brother, and a brother-in-law, who are Illyrian, and my child and the man who is my whole world are both Illyrians from Bagratia, and my children will be Illyrians with Bagratian blood, so how could I not learn of their culture? Their food? The language? Histories?”

He put his utensils down and stared at her, “You know that I am from Bagarat?”

She shrugged, “I guess I do. Does that surprise you?”

“You surprise me every day,” he bit his lip, awed. “But...Did Cassian tell you?”

She placed more rice on his plate, since it was something that disappeared almost immediately, and said, “No. But Temal looks like you,”

So she knew. And noticed.

“I read up on the Iron Eagle camp,” she continued her explanation, “where he is from, and then learned that it was in the province of Bagratia, and then Rhys confirmed that you are indeed from there. Are you impressed with my investigative initiatives?”

Very few people knew of Azriel’s background, of where he came from, which House, what province, and it struck a different note in him that Elain was interested, and that she took the time and effort to learn about his roots. Illyrian history and traditions, even its geography were not easy to come by. Illyria was a world of its own, with little written lore or documents, therefore, it couldn't have been just a simple book that she picked up to read up on Illyria. She must have gone to the Library for additional research.

“I truly am,” he nodded, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it.

“The cook’s husband is from Bagratia, so she learned about the foods once she married him. She explained that Bagratia is different from the rest of Illyria--more open, with more trade, hence the varied and spiced cuisine, and different customs as well.”

“Culturally, it’s much more diverse than the rest of Illyria,” he suppressed something dark inside of him at the memories, willing himself to separate his own history from the actual place.

Elain paused for a long time, watching his darkening expression, the recollection of whatever was plaguing him.

“Will you tell me?” she finally braved the question.

He didn’t require an explanation of what she was asking.

“Tell me the good things,” she offered.

He scowled and shrugged, “very few good things to tell, if I am being honest.”

She waited, allowing him to make the final decision.

“Bagratia,” he said at last, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual, “is the one province in Illyria that could be considered ‘wealthy’. There is even a capital city--Bagarat. Most of the Illyrian Lords come from there and the breeding of Illyrians for Killing Power originated there,”

“Why?”

“Well, a smart and cunning Illyrian lord, millennia ago, spun a crafty tale,”

He chuckled and helped himself to more eggplant.

“Honestly, this is so good,” he muttered, as if the food was a welcome distraction from the tale he was telling.

Elain smiled and then, to his utter delight, she stretched her legs out and placed them on his lap, as per his previous request. She said nothing, as she relaxed against the back of the Illyrian chair, which was probably less than comfortable for her, and played with her food.

“I am glad you are enjoying it,” she said sincerely.

He gently stroked her calves and perhaps it gave him some internal stability, but he continued,

“That lord, he spun a wild, but believable tale of Enalius being from Bagratia. You know who Enalius was?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’ve read about him...Cassian gave me a book,”

“Cassian gave you a book?”

“It surprises you?” she chuckled.

“A little. What book?”

“The Histories of Illyria. He said that if I learn Illyrian, he’ll give me the original, written in Illyrian.”

“That’s Cassian,” Azriel sighed. “Always trying to drum up support for his favourite cause.”

Now fully satiated, Azriel allowed his wings to droop around him, as he stretched his legs out and absently played with Elain’s bare feet.

“So naturally, an entire profitable industry was created out of the lore of Enalius, and suddenly there were all these markers, conveniently found around Bagratia.” He snorted, waving his hand and announcing, “This is the cave where Enalius spent the night before the battle! This is the stone upon which Enalius sharpened his sword! This embankment was where Enalius and his followers feasted on roasted goats!”

Elain laughed at his performative demonstration.

“But, eventually, it led to the honing of power that Illyrians became famous for. Unsurprisingly, Bagratian lords tried to usurp most of it, and breed it into their lines. That’s how the siphons came about--the breeding pool was too limited, too narrow and the power couldn't be controlled anymore. The siphons managed to direct the power output through magic, though it took a while to perfect the system and the usage. When an Illyrian male comes of age, fully comes into his power, there is a period of trial and error with the siphons--too few, and you can destroy everything around you, break the siphons, unleash the power incorrectly and sloppily. Too many siphons, and they put a damper on your strength and might, essentially tying your hands.”

“And you have seven…” it wasn’t a question, but Elain stared at his brown, scarred arm with its leather band around the wrist and the dully glimmering cobalt stone.

“Yeah,” he glanced at the siphon. “Seven.”

He smiled, recalling, “I kept breaking them, because they couldn’t contain the power. I received two right away, because the Commanders saw that one would never be enough, but I broke them. They added another, and another, and I broke all four. Finally, landed on five. It lasted for a bit, but the five broke during a battle in the first War, which really wasn't ideal,” he said mildly. Elain couldn’t even imagine. No siphons meant no shields, no protection, no ability to heal, and no actual power, beyond the physical prowess.

“So you fought?”

“Hand to hand combat…” he nodded, “for over four hours. Took me ten days to recover the use of my arms afterwards.”

He stretched his arms in front of him, flexing his fingers. Elain was probably the only person in the world, except for Cassian, in front of whom Azriel felt secure enough to do that.

“So, you were born in Bagratia,” Elain began, but he interrupted, shaking his head,

“Not only born. I am half Bagratian,”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“You are an Illyrian,”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “For all intents and purposes, I am. I winged, dark-skinned Illyrian. But to Illyrians themselves, I am not only a bastard-born, but also a half-breed. Cassian, for example, is fully Illyrian. Devlon, whom you've met, too. Emerie. Me--I am a little different.”

“So what does it mean?”

Azriel drew his scarred thumb over the rim of his wine glass and then said, his gaze flitting absently about the open space of the apartment,

“My mother, she is unusually beautiful,”

Elain looked at him, as if a mystery was solved—the mystery of his own unbelievable handsomeness. Because Azriel was just that beautiful. Rhysand might have preened and claimed the title of the ‘Most Handsome High Lord’, but Azriel was indisputably the more classically, elegantly handsome one.

“In Bagratia, besides its claim to Enalius and a high concentration of power and Illyrian wealth, there are a number of other people that have settled there over the centuries. Some just comprise small settlements, but others have entire subcultures, because their numbers are quite large. My mother—she came from such a people—they call themselves Hiberions—who claim to have escaped a great cataclysm, back millennia ago. No one really knows where they came from, as they had no written record, but whatever did happen, it caused this nation to disperse around what is now the Night Court. Some settled in and around the coast, but many ended up in Illyria.

There are speculations that Hiberions were invited by an ancient High Lord to the Night Court, and offered sanctuary. Hiberions themselves claim a different story, and say that they were the original founders of the Night Court, and that they allowed others to settle on the land, but over time, they were weakened due to internal struggles and were pushed out of the seat of power. Kier, Mor’s father, claims that he is a descendant of the Hiberions, and that Hewn City was their original capital,”

Elain’s eyes flew wide open, but Azriel shrugged with his usual nonchalance.

“What?” she murmured. “Is it true?”

He scratched his chin and said, “Hard to say. I haven’t investigated it very closely. But rumour has it that the ability to wield shadows and that shadowsingers as a phenomenon originated from the Hiberions. Because they might have been the inhabitants of the Dusk Court,”

“What is Dusk Court?”

“A Court that perished, they say. A great Court, but….it doesn’t exist anymore. Don’t you find it strange that there is a Night, Day and Dawn, but no Dusk?”

“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted truthfully. “But I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

He drew his palm over her foot, and she squirmed a little, giggling.

“So, your mother?” she reminded him, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

“My mother is a Hiberion. Well, mixed—Illyrian and Hiberion,” he tugged on his lip for a moment and then said, “if you think that Illyrians are horrible and treat their own like shit, then you should only see how they treat those who aren’t pureblooded Illyrians. Less than nothing. Therefore, Hiberions who live in Illyria usually keep the most menial jobs, and live in great poverty, with almost no rights at all.”

Elain bit her lips, but did not say anything, wanting him to continue.

“The one thing that Hiberions have is that they can breed with Illyrians, and that they are, generally speaking, very good looking. Hence the women are prized and valued, and typically can obtain employment in a Lord’s keep. Unfortunately, their beauty is usually their downfall as well—they attract unwanted attention.”

Elain swallowed, understanding perfectly well what he was implying.

“Is that what happened to your mother?”

He nodded.

“My father was a Bagratian Lord, wealthy, with a training camp located on his lands. That always brought him steady income. He was married to a female—an arranged marriage—and they had two sons.

“My mother was engaged to be married to a hunter, also a Bagratian, who traded in pelts. She worked in the training camp, and that’s where she’d met Rhys’s mother. Because my mother was a half-breed, she had wings, but they were lame, and did not develop as quickly as normal wings do. Therefore, flying was always very difficult for her, and that’s how she avoided being clipped. They didn’t bother with her, seeing that she couldn’t fly away anyway.

The hunter, he was wounded the winter before they were set to get married, and couldn’t support himself or her, while also needing a healer, at least for a period of time. So they decided that she would seek employment at the Keep…my father’s Keep, just for that winter, until the hunter recovered. She was hired as a maid, and all was well for a while, but that was until my father saw her and became smitten at once.”

Azriel cleared his throat and considered for a moment, before continuing,

“I don’t know if ‘smitten’ is the right word. Infatuated? Obsessed? Enthralled? I don’t know…But whatever it was, he pursued her relentlessly, spurned even further by the fact that she had no interest in him and was in love with the hunter.

“But my father was a Lord and she was a poor half-breed in his employ, with nothing to her name and no protection. The hunter tried to come and take her away, but my father hid her and wouldn’t release her.”

“He forced her?” Elain sounded broken, her face paling.

He nodded.

“Surely. Perhaps he wasn’t violent, but it was not her intention or desire to be with him. The wife might not have cared, for it was common enough occurrence for a lord to keep women available for sexual pleasure, but then my mother became pregnant.”

“With you?”

“No.”

Elain sensed that he was about to tell her something horrible, and she didn’t want to hear it, yet she knew that she had to. That this was something that he probably didn’t share with anyone. He was trusting her with his family lore, broken and terrible as it was, filled with pain and suffering, but she felt a sense of kinship, as it was an honour to hear his story.

“The wife beat that babe out of my mother.”

Elain sucked in her breath as her hand instinctively went to her stomach. He tracked the movement, but didn’t comment.

“Hiberions aren’t like the Fae,” he explained. “They are Fae, but like Illyrians, they are a separate race. So certain common traits of the Fae don’t apply to them—females get pregnant easily, or at least at the same rate as humans.

“So, within months, my mother was pregnant again—this time with me. The wife threatened my mother again, but the Lord overheard and broke the wife’s arm in a fit of rage. So, she, more or less, left my mother alone after that.”

He stopped speaking and looked out the floor-length window in front of which they were sitting.

“And then?” Elain asked softly.

“And then it became a different story…mine.”

Which meant that he didn’t feel like discussing himself or his childhood. She understood and did not push.

But she did ask,

“What happened to the hunter?”

“I found him,” Azriel said, still looking out the window, his jowls working hard.

“And?”

“And he was still alone, waiting for my mother. He knew that somehow, he’d get her back, and one day, she’d return to him and they’d be together. It was after the War and I had my seven siphons by then. Rhys, who was very gravely injured, and almost lost his wings in the war, had recovered, and so we went together, back to my father’s Keep. Cassian and Rhys and myself, and the hunter.”

“Your mother was alive?”

“She was. We let the hunter take her away…”

Elain didn’t need details about what had happened afterwards.

Nesta had mentioned what the three brothers did to Cassian’s village and the males who had destroyed his mother’s life. How they laid waste to the entire settlement, barely sparing the females and children. She imagined that something very similar took place at Azriel’s father’s Keep.

So, she bypassed the question and the details.

“And your mother?” she asked instead.

“She and her husband, the hunter, live together to this day.”

Elain’s face sparkled with genuine happiness, and somehow, that made all the difference.

Azriel wasn’t sure if he should share his background, and even as they started to discuss Bagratia, he didn’t think that he’d veer off so deeply and completely into his family history. Now, he felt like some weight had been lifted off his shoulders. There was lightness, even despite the topic of the conversation and all the memories that it brought up. Perhaps, it was Elain’s gentle, contemplative acceptance, or the sorrow written on her soft, flower-like face, or this happiness that she was displaying right now that made his tale tolerable and worthwhile. She reached and grabbed his hand and asked, “Your mother lives?”

“She does. And it pleases me that she is happy. She deserves it.”

Elain threaded her fingers with his and then, quietly, inquired, “Will I be able to meet her? Not now, of course, but,”

“I think she’d love to meet you as well. I think she’d love to meet you anytime. You have similar qualities, even similar interests,”

“Like what?”

“She is an accomplished baker—actually, that’s what she does. She has a pastry shop in the town where they live. It’s very popular,”

“Is that where you got your sweet tooth?” she joked.

“Probably. Even if I’d never eat anything sweet until I was an adult.”

“Why?”

“My childhood did not allow for sweets,” he answered blandly, not wanting to return to that place in his head.

Instead, Elain asked, “what else?”

“She likes flowers, like you. They have a lovely garden.”

He smirked then, and made a wide gesture with his hand,

“And speaking of flowers...I see we have all these weeds now in the house,”

“Weeds?” she shrieked indignantly, while he nodded and laughed.

“Weeds?”

“Yeah, weeds...I’ve never had flowers in this house,”

“That’s weird but also untrue,” she cut him off.

“Is it?” he was laughing.

“I saw two jasmine plants--in the bedroom and in your study. Are they weeds that you allow?”

He got up so swiftly, she barely registered it with her own eyes. And then he was on his knees in front of her, cupping her face between his rough palms. She slid towards him, wrapping her legs loosely around his torso, just under the wings. She smiled at him, and nudged her face to kiss the inside of his palm.

“What?”

He looked at her long and hard, as if trying to drink in her loveliness, memorise every line of her face.

“I must have jasmine,” he said at last, leaning in and kissing her cheek. Then the other cheek. Then her temple. And then tenderly, slowly, each eye.

“Az,” she breathed, wrapping her hands over his thick, strong wrists. His thumbs brushed along her face, and he said, “you are my jasmine, my beautiful flower. The scent is you. The day I returned from the human lands, from your estate, after meeting you for the first time, I had to go to Hewn City and perform some unpleasant tasks.”

Elain guessed, but did not question what those tasks might have been.

“And then I went and bought a jasmine plant, because all I wanted to do was think about you.”

Her breath halted and she stared at him.

He sighed apologetically, “I didn’t have anything of you, so I figured that maybe I could have your scent,”

“I smell of jasmine?”

“You don’t know?” he seemed surprised.

She shook her head.

“Jasmine and honey. You are a cross between a flower and a pastry,” he smiled and kissed her face again. “My favourite scent. So whenever I slept here, I’d always wake up to your scent and it made for a good day…”

He reached behind her and then scooped her in his arms.

“I am proud of myself, because I managed to keep these plants alive this whole time!”

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, while he rose to his feet.

“What about dessert? And the dishes?” she protested unconvincingly.

He nuzzled at her neck and growled, “You are my dessert.”

She shivered with pleasure, and he added, “and dishes...that’s what I have the shadows for. They’ll take care of it. Lex,” he barked. “Make yourself useful and clear the table.”

“I don’t know how,” Lex immediately protested.

“Then learn,” Azriel suggested, as Elain laughed into his neck.

“I don’t want to. Don’t you have others to do the dishes?” Lex argued.

“How about doing what I tell you?” Azriel proposed.

Lex floated to the table, apparently surveyed it and then declared,

“I am tired.”

“That’s the shadow you gave me?” Elain whispered into his ear. “A shadow that is lazy and that gets tired?”

“I can hear you, Elain,” Lex pointed out.

“If you are so tired, go to sleep,” she told it.

“I don’t want to. I am not so tired.”

“Lex is only so tired when it comes to clearing the dishes,” Azriel huffed and released a cloud of his own, less problematic and temperamental, shadows. “You can do whatever you want, but don’t bother us until the morning.”

Elain stroked and scratched the back of his neck, laying her head on his shoulder, as he carried her slowly to the bedroom, his face buried in her hair.

“Did you like dinner?” she asked, sighing softly and happily.

“It was perfect. Perfect. But, one request, if I may?”

She looked up and smiled, “you may?”

“Raisins in the rice...lots of raisins,” he requested.

“A little side of rice with a mountain of raisins?” she laughed and nodded. “Raisins it is.”

He kissed her cheek and she pouted, “But I really wanted you to have my dessert!”

“Breakfast? Dessert pastry for breakfast?” he offered, giving her a conciliatory kiss.

“I suppose.”

They finally made it to the bedroom, and Azriel closed the door behind them with his foot.

There was a sleek, comfortable leather chair in the bedroom that stood by the wall of windows, and Azriel headed straight for it, sprawling easily, his wings splaying against the wide back. He did not release her, but sat her on top of him, so she straddled his hips. His large, warm hands immediately migrated to her lush bottom, perhaps his favourite feature of hers, at least so far. He was hoping that he could explore many, many more parts of her, slowly and thoroughly, and soon.

She looked at him, her face soft and rosy, that delicious blush of her spreading slowly over her cheeks. Gods, he thought that he’d never get enough of that blush, would never want to stop making her blush like that, because of how his proximity made her feel.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and he tugged on the silk ribbon that tied her long, thick braid.

“You haven’t called me ‘baby’ today,” she reminded him, her voice warm and husky, and the sound of it made him shift beneath her.

“No?”

She shook her head, his tongue slowly brushing her lower lip, before she clamped it in her teeth, watching him from under her lashes. Slowly he released the thick golden strands of her hair from the plait and it fell like a silky curtain around her shoulders and her face.

His finger lightly pulled at the collar of his shirt that she was wearing and he leaned and kissed her collarbone.

“Well, that’s my fault then,” he breathed against her neck, and kissed the other collarbone, before he unbuttoned the top button. “Will my baby forgive me?” he then kissed between the collarbones and proceeded to unbutton another button.

“I don’t know,” she gasped, “what will you do?”

“As penance?” he smiled, watching her pulse quicken, and the vein under her pale skin fill with blood.

“Let’s hear it,” she welcomed coyly.

He smiled, amused and secretly entertained. It was adorable when she took a little bit of charge, and decided to be in control. He liked it. She was quiet and unobtrusive, but she knew when to stand up and be heard and when to step back. She wasn’t as shy and retiring as everyone assumed she was, but that was probably because very few actually paid attention and learned about who she was. She did. He paid attention to everything.

“I undress you?” he proposed simply.

She squirmed just a bit, but then gave a single nod.

He found the buttons for the back slats of the shirt and then asked casually, as he worked them with his fingers,

“Tell me what you want, my darling girl.”

His voice was soft, but there was something imperative in his tone, which left little room for debate.

“I-I...what do you mean?” she stammered.

He was cool and steady, as he pulled the shirt off her shoulders and repeated, “Just tell me what you want?”

“You?”

He smiled,

“Are you unsure?”

“No! I am very sure. I just don't know what you are asking,”

“I think that you do,” he said evenly.

“What do you want?” she then asked in turn.

He sighed and placed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. She gasped, but he pulled away before she could even react.

“You, emani,” he said simply. “I want you, just as well. But I also think that I want more…I think that I want everything. Everything you can give me, anything you are willing to share with me. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I think that I want to be greedy this time around. For the first time in my life, I want a woman, a female,”

“A woman,” she murmured.

“A woman,” he agreed easily, “to give me all of her.” He cupped her cheek, his eyes bright and almost entirely green in the dim light of the bedroom. “Body--yes,” he looked down at her, and almost groaned, “gods yes, I want this body. But so much more. I don't want to sound like a feral Fae male,”

At that, Elain smiled softly, wordlessly giving him permission to be just that.

His hands grabbed her hips, grounding her on his thighs and he said, “But I don’t care. I want you to be mine. I want to know every day, every moment that you are mine and that you feel something for me. Because I want to be yours. I don’t give a fuck about your bond, the lack of our own,”

“We don’t need a bond,”

“We don’t,” he nodded, “because you are mine and I'm yours.”

“And that’s more than enough for me. Also, you are already quite feral, so I don’t think I need any more ferocity.”

At that, Azriel laughed openly and she giggled, liking when her jokes made him laugh. Then, more seriously, he added, “I think that after 500 years, I am ready for something new. This nomadic existence is nice, but honestly, I think that I am tired of wanting...of hoping. I have you--if you’d have me--and I am ready to,”

“Oh, no, am I making my shadowsinger settle?” she mused.

“I think the shadowsinger doesn’t mind settling at all. When I built this apartment,” and he jerked his chin, “it was the first thing that was my own. I’d always shack up in the House of Wind, or at Rhys’s, and it was fine. I felt busy, and I didn’t feel like….” he stumbled. “Like I deserved good things. Any things, really. But then Rhys was Under the Mountain, and we protected the city, kept everything running, and I started thinking that there had to be a reason for all of this sadness and when I looked at the people who lived, who had families and some semblance of happiness, who found joy in the very day, I thought that maybe I should try to strive for the same. It took me another half a century to meet you,” he chuckled tensely, and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “But here we are. And honestly,” he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “coming home tonight, and finding you here,”

For the first time, perhaps ever, Elain watched him being emotional about something. Or at least as emotional as he ever got.

“It was the best feeling,” he concluded at last. This was also probably the most Azriel’s said in his entire life--tonight, when he told her of his mother, when he was making this confession to her right now, was the most verbose that Azriel’s ever allowed himself to be.

“I like being here. With you,” she said simply and sweetly. And then she leaned in and kissed his eyes softly. “Cooking for us. Being in this house…”

Azriel knew that Elain’s nature was domestic, nurturing, and she was happiest when she had control over her life, over her domicile, over her surroundings. He wasn't the only one who needed control in his life--in their desire for planning and order, they matched very well. The upheavals of the past decade certainly pushed her to crave a sense of stability and ownership, and he accepted that. Liked it, since that’s what he was lacking in his own past.

For her, he’d wrestle and wrangle the peace and tranquility that they both craved.

“Now...will you undress me already?” she ordered impatiently and he grinned.

“It’s your turn,” he reminded her, “I’ve said more words in the last fifteen minutes than I’ve in the past century.”

As he slipped his shirt down her torso, baring her pale skin, so in contrast with the dark bronze of his own, she said quietly, barely looking at him,

“I like it when you tell me what to do.”

He did not press, waiting for her to speak. His heart lurched with secret satisfaction at her words, but he tried to keep his excitement muted.

“Not in everything,” she continued, her head inclined towards her chest, watching her breasts, covered with a lacy wrap.

The Fae, as she quickly learned, did not wear corsets. And thank the Mother for that. Their clothes were practical. No petticoats, no unnecessary shifts, no hooped skirts, no scarfs or flounces to cover the bodice. No issues with females wearing trousers or pants either. The Night Court fashions were on a more scandalous side, so much so that Elain and Nesta often bucked at some of the dresses that were presented to them. Feyre and Mor favoured scraps of translucent fabric and some strategically placed belts and straps and that’s about all. Elain still wore dresses, but none required half an hour of cinching and tying to get into them. Undergarments were simple as well, elegant and well-made, for the Fae took pride and care in their immortal bodies and their underthings. She grew to love the uncomplicated breast wraps, that supported everything quite well, but allowed for easy movement and only needed a satin tie or a few pearl buttons to stay put.

“But I don’t want to even pretend like I know anything,” she lay her hands on her lap, to prevent herself from squeezing her fingers. “And I…” she licked her luscious lip, “I think that you would enjoy telling me what to do.”

Her gaze fell on his mouth, the sensuous line of it.

“I would.”

His throat bobbed just a bit, excitement coursing through his veins.

“So you’ll have to tell me,” she decided. “And I will listen.”

“You’ve been listening to me already,” Azriel noted, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, as he stroked the nape lightly. “I’ve noticed you are not wringing your fingers anymore.”

“I don’t,” she nodded. “Thank you for that. I didn’t think much of it when you told me, but now I understand. Surprisingly, it centers me. My mind doesn’t race when I do it.”

“A concentration technique,” he smiled.

“But also a test, I think. To see if I would listen?” she cocked her head at him.

He didn’t want to lie, so he nodded.

Softly, she wondered, “Is that what you like?”

“Control? Yes.”

“Pain?” she blinked nervously.

“No. Not pain. I certainly prefer pleasure to pain, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t indulged in both. With you,” he ran his thumb over her mouth, “I think pleasure is the way to go.”

She kissed the pad of this thumb, its rough skin and decided, “I trust you. I think that I would like to listen to you and do what you tell me.”

“Thank you, my sweet,” he unbuttoned the rest of the buttons with his available hand and tossed the shirt on the floor. Without breaking eye contact, he said, “open up” and Elain, a little unsure, parted her lips. “Lick.”

She made to reach for his wrist, but he only moved his head and guided her, “Mouth only.”

She acquiesced, and slowly pulled the thumb inside her mouth, swirling her tongue over it, watching him watch her with a content, pleased expression on his granite-hewn, perfect face.

“Lick,” he said again, without any further prompting. She licked. She dragged her tongue up and down his thumb, secretly marveling at the fact that his hand was the first thing that he allowed her to touch so intimately. Despite the intricate network of thick, mottled scars that covered his hands, snaked up all the way to his forearm on his left arm and reached his bicep on his right, his hands were beautiful, like the rest of him. The fingers were long and strong, with well-cared for nails, and the palm itself wide and large and powerful, his fist frighteningly enormous.

Elain licked, as thoroughly as she could, finding that it made her pant a little, squirm atop of him, and she didn’t understand why. She hoped that he was enjoying it, because she certainly was.

“My good girl,” he stroked her hair, dragging his other hand over her head, and at the name, she felt her nipples strain against the silk and lace of her wrap, “suck now…”

Barely giving her time to pause, he fed two fingers in her mouth, index and middle, and she gulped on air, sucking them inside. “Nice and slow,” he coached softly, rubbing them against her soft, wet tongue, “show me, how much you like it.”

She liked it. Even if the fingers took up most of her mouth, there was something sensual and primal, having his hand in her mouth. It was daringly intimate, and while she dreamed of kisses and caresses, somehow, with this one gesture, he brought her into a different realm. It was a place where she yearned to step into, and explore the possibilities that she hadn’t even imagined yet.

She sucked, slowly, as instructed, acquainting herself with the feel and the taste, watching him prod her mouth rhythmically, in and out, while she met the shallow thrusts with her tongue and lips.

“Good,” he approved, and she loved the praise on his lips, and how he watched her, her face, the workings of her tongue, and the even, languorous bobbing of her breasts within the confines of the wrap. She propped herself on his shoulders, as his arm wrapped around her waist and he squeezed her behind. He increased the speed ever so slightly, reaching almost all the way to her throat, and she dripped on her chin, but as she attempted to wipe the saliva, he shook his head and she stopped.

“Messy is good,” he whispered into her ear, leaning closer, so that her breasts slid and bounced against his chest, and the brush of her nipples over the silk became almost painful. A wave of heat rolled over her entire body, and for the first time in her life, she felt an ache. An ache deep inside of her, a ravenous hunger, which remained unsatisfied.

“Keep sucking,” he muttered into her cheek, his lips pressed to it tightly, as he lightly bit the hollowed spot, the teeth scraping over her skin. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, probably more strongly than she anticipated, perhaps even hurting him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to stop, but gods, the ache inside of her was horrible.

Azriel felt the powerful drip of her arousal against his thigh, as she writhed against him, warm and wet and panting in his arms. He loved watching her become this excited, offering him her mouth, giving him pleasure, her swift little tongue working tirelessly and hurriedly over his fingers. His sweet, beautiful girl. It wasn’t particularly difficult to keep himself in check right now, though he definitely considered taking this a bit further...perhaps undressing her more. But then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remain so composed if she was naked. Perhaps tomorrow.

He allowed her to suck for a bit longer, until, without warning, pulled his fingers out of her mouth.

She was taken aback at the loss, and stared at him, looking alarmed.

“Baby, was that good?” he smiled at her, and seeing that he wasn’t upset, she nodded eagerly.

“I can suck more, if you’d like,” she offered.

He wiped her wet chin and then brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them. The gesture caused her to bloom with a delectable blush that he loved so much.

“Did you...did you like it?” she almost whispered, and he teased her,

“Why are you whispering?”

She chuckled, wiping her chin.

“But yes, I absolutely loved it,” he said, relaxing back in the chair. “You did so well.”

She smoothed her hair and then straightened out, a small smile on her full lips, and watched him easily, but assuredly slide his palm between her legs.

She was warm and damp, and he brushed a knuckle along the seam of her sex, soliciting a little yelp of surprise and enjoyment from her.

“I am wet,” she blurted, and then stopped, eyes wide.

“You are,” he said simply, approval lacing his voice. “Have you not been wet before?”

He cupped her, holding his palm against her leaking core, but did not press further. He wanted her to open up to him, and somewhat surprisingly, she did,

“I don’t think I have. Not like this.”

It pleased him to hear that he’d made her this wet, but a question gnawed on him nevertheless,

“But when you gave him your maidenhead, you must have,”

“Not like this,” she said shyly, shaking her head.

“It hurt then?”

She nodded.

Annoyance rippled over his face, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Usually, he was not this expressive of his feelings, whatever they were, but with her, it was different. He cupped her cheek and then pulled her to him, so she sprawled on his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

“It’s a shame that he didn’t make the experience better…”

“They say it always hurts,”

“It doesn’t have to,” he argued. “It has to be pleasurable.”

“I guess I was expecting it,” she shrugged. “It was...alright.”

“Alright should never be the experience, especially not the first one,” he sniped, but didn’t push.

She ran her fingers over his chest, feeling the thick, hard mass of his pectorals beneath the thin knit fabric of his shirt. Azriel stroked her bare back, walking his fingers along the spine.

Suddenly, she murmured, “I want to shout.”

He waited, wondering when she meant.

She didn’t move, didn’t look at him, but remained tucked into his chest.

“I want to shout,” she repeated at last. “From pleasure. I’ve heard them...Nesta and Feyre. They scream.”

“And you haven't?” even though he posed it as a question, it was more of a statement. It did not particularly surprise him that she hadn’t had a climax, but internally, he felt a twinge of sadness. Yet, there was also a hopeful feeling of anticipation fluttering in his chest--for he’d be the one to provide her with her pleasure. He’d be the one who’d make her ‘shout’.

A plan was already forming in his head. Even when it came to sexual matters, Azriel preferred to plan ahead, have a path to follow, but then again, most of his encounters were pre-arranged in some way, so it was easier to accomplish. With Elain though--his Elain was special. She was his heart’s desire, and for her he felt many things, including passion. Passion was not something he dabbled in frequently, since he was not one to be quickly overcome by it, and never did he lose himself or his senses in a female. Sure, there was an occasional tumble against the wall with a panting, willing, nameless female, but it was an itch to be scratched, and nothing more.

“No,” she ground briefly against his hand, pushing into him. “But I want to. I think it would be nice to let go...to feel that free. So unburdened.”

She fell quiet and then, after a lengthy silence added, “With you. I want it to be with you only.”

“I should hope so,” he smiled. “Now, I would like to take you to bed and sleep in your arms. The entire night. Because I am fucking tired!”

Elain laughed and sat up, before jumping off him and tugging him off the chair.

“I want you to sleep in my arms as well!”

Elain loved getting ready for bed alongside him.

Needless to say that she’d never done that before. Even back in their hovel, she tried to carve a few minutes to herself, in privacy, even with her sisters banging on the privy door. But she never felt uncomfortable with Azriel, and even now as she washed her face, combed through her tangled hair, brushed her teeth, she watched him do the same next to her, and it felt inexplicably normal.

“I’ll finish undressing you,” he warned, before she headed into the closet. She paused, and sensing her hesitation, he added lightly, “You know, I can undress a female without baring her.”

“Is that a shadowsinging ability?” she joked, picking out a nightgown from the stack that one of the twins had delivered.

“No,” he called out from the bathing room. “It’s a male’s ability.”

When she emerged, he was standing by the bed, reading some document which he somehow fished out of somewhere. He was naked, save for his black undershorts, which contoured everything with egregious explicitness. Elain glanced down his torso. Those well-defined hip muscles, as well as the ridged abdomen were nothing but a mouthwatering temptation. But then she snagged another look,

And he caught it.

A smirk appeared on his lips and he said,

“You can look, you know.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she declared primly, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You are right, not at all,” he jerked his head to have her come to him. He sat down on the bed and she approached, stopping in front of him.

“This will be my job, from now on,” his voice was heavy with promise, “to undress you. Every night.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “What if I want to undress you?”

“Then you should.”

He easily rolled her tights down her thighs and legs, until she stepped out of them and stood in front of him, almost nude, in only her silk underwear.

Elain was more supple, more voluptuous than her sisters. Nesta was rail thin, with surprisingly large breasts, a ramrod straight back and long, skinny legs. Feyre was both feminine and boyish at once, pretty, lithe, but unremarkable, at least to Azriel.

Elain, his Elain, was a delicious pastry incarnate. She was correct, he did have a sweet tooth. And she satisfied all his aesthetic cravings, and possessed all the qualities that he enjoyed. Contrary to what others thought, Elain was not small or petite--she was as tall as Feyre, and both were just a tad shorter than Nesta. But compared to an Illyian, these girls were small and delicate.

He couldn’t stop himself, and placed his hands on her hips, drawing a scrutinising gaze over her luscious body. Then, he placed a soft kiss on her belly, before rubbing his cheek over her soft, full breast. She stroked the back of his neck, down his spine and sighed with enjoyment.

“I have a proposal,” he looked up at her, and then drew a naughty finger along the cleft of her cleavage. She rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed at the reaction. “Don’t trust me?”

She did. And she was always intrigued by his ‘proposals’.

“Every night this week,” he began, punctuating his words with mellow, light kisses up and down her chest and the valley between her breasts, “you’ll show me a new piece of yourself...What do you think?”

“Naked?” she breathed.

“Yes, baby, naked.”

He pressed his lips to her nipple, suddenly biting it through the silk of her wrap. Her nipples were thick and plump and he easily caught one between his teeth, considering how overstimulated she already was. She hissed softly, when he bit. He bit. Not particularly painfully, but he bit and tugged the nipple with his teeth, watching her the entire time.

She gasped a mewling ‘oy’, and he released, but only slightly.

“A little bit every night, until nothing is left. Until you are bared to me in all your loveliness.”

“Yes,” she groaned, as he nibbled and tugged on her nipple. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

“Is this what you want to wear,” he went to take the nightgown from her hands, but she dropped it on the floor and said, “I don’t want to wear anything. Just this.”

He scooted back and pulled the covers and the blankets for her.

“I won’t argue. Come here.”

She slid in bed beside him and he moved on his stomach, which was his preferred sleeping position. His wings draped over the two of them, and he pulled her closer.

She kissed his shoulder, and settled under his arm.

His breath evened out, and she thought that he fell asleep, until

“No one’s made dinner for me before,” he murmured.

She stroked his forearm and then kissed his shoulder again.

He was warm and solid next to her, a veritable wall of muscle and she never felt more comfortable and content in her life. He slipped his heavy, large leg between hers, and her thighs wrapped around him instinctively.

“No one?”

He tucked his face atop of her head and kissed her face.

“No.”

“I will cook for you,” she offered, “and we’ll cook together. And you’ll cook for me. Because no one’s cooked for me either.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

Elain smiled and then asked,

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Gulchatai.”

“Now I feel like I know something about you...something personal. It’s nice.”

“Elain, wake up!”

A cool whiff of air bounced up and down her face, and Elain swiped Lex away, only to have it come back momentarily. “Wake up!”

“Leave her alone,” she heard Azriel’s hiss. “Right now.”

“Why can’t she wake up?” complained Lex. “I am bored!”

“She doesn’t exist to entertain you.”

“I am awake, I am awake,” she moaned. “Stop sitting on my face.”

Eyes still half closed, she made her way to the bathing room, took care of her needs and appearance, and splashed her face with cold water.

She glanced at herself in the large mirror. She couldn't say what it was, but she looked different. Confident? Perhaps. But more like ripe. Ripe for the taking.

As always, Azriel was propped against the headboard, swarmed with shadows, wearing his glasses and reading pages of reports.

“Come here, baby,” he called, “morning kisses.”

She smiled and bounded towards the bed, immediately giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“My gorgeous girl,” his hand swiped over her bare stomach, then her naked thigh. “Did you sleep well?”

“I always sleep well with you,” she kissed him again. He wrapped his arm around her and pushed her head into his chest.

“Morning news?” she smiled, watching the swirling mass of dark shadows around him. He nodded.

“Lex, do you have any news for me?” she then inquired.

“I don’t know anything!”

“How come everyone else knows something and you don’t know anything?”

A pause, and then Lex sat on her chest and asked, “what do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the children,” she proposed.

Azriel was listening to them absently, smiling.

Shadows, just like horses or puppies, had to be trained and cultivated. Elain was learning that lesson right now.

“Temal’s got into a fight,” reported Lex. Elain rolled her eyes. “Is he hurt?”

“No. But he was put on time-out.”

“What about the other boy?”

“He has two back eyes. Temal has one. And then Kira ate a big slice of cake before dinner.”

Then Lex rattled off her schedule for today, and asked, “You like this news?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Aziel was stuck dealing with some issue, already sending his shadows on some investigative mission when Elain threw on his shirt from yesterday--the first thing she found--and padded to the kitchen. Lex, as alway, was now yapping nonstop, giving her unnecessary gossip about the Fae that she barely even heard of. But as it was the case everywhere, there were famous Fae, scandalous Fae, notorious Fae. There was Anselma, a very popular singer, who was married, but her husband has been seen with another singer, Gunda, who was also sporting a pregnant belly. Whose babe do you think it is? pressed Lex busily.

“Well, I don’t know!” Elain shrugged, as she began preparing coffee. She didn’t bother with tea, because she actually grew to like coffee quite a lot. Azriel had the best, finest variety, all the way from Day Court, where the soil produced the best coffee crops.

“How can you not care?” exclaimed Lex, “everyone is talking about it! It’s news.”

“I think the babe is Coast’s,” she humoured the shadow, even if she didn’t care.

“I think so too!” Lex agreed immediately.

Elain set the table, when Azriel entered quickly, shaking his head, looking at the clock.

He, nevertheless, slowed down, and came behind her, sliding his hand under her shirt and pulling her to him.

“I am sorry I am not helping,” he murmured, kissing her neck tenderly.

“It’s fine,” she smiled.

“I’ll cook dinner tonight?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

“Or would you like to go out?”

She pointed to the table and said, “How could I forget--you are supposed to be courting me.”

“I am courting you,” he reminded her and poured them both coffee.

“Human courting is all about balls and being seen in society, and picnics and Tea,”

“Do you want to go on a picnic?” he teased. “It’s late autumn? But, if you insist,”

She laughed and took a sip of her drink. “I like this courting more.”

“Oh thank the gods.”

He dug into the pear tart that she’d baked yesterday, and groaned with delight and pleasure, as he polished off the first slice and then moved on to the second right away.

“This is glorious,” he grumbled and Elain smiled a soft, secret smile, watching him enjoy himself.

“Why didn’t we eat this last night?”

“You took me to bed!” she exclaimed, indignant.

“You should’ve insisted.”

“Oh, so it's my fault?”

“I feel like it kind of is,”

She threatened, “I will take it away!”

“Fine, try,” he challenged. “But don’t think that I won’t fight you for it! Just because you are a girl and I like you. And I’ll win.”

She bubbled her lips and parried, incredulous, “I have Cauldron powers! You are just some little Illyrian soldier…”

He burst out laughing and then grabbed her hand and kissed it. “We’ll have to have a discussion about your powers later. But, baby, there is nothing little in this Illyrian soldier.”

She immediately glanced at his wings that were peaking behind him.

“Now he is Cassian,” she muttered.

He laughed, but then tipped her chin and tsked, “no, no, no. You won't weasel out of this that easily. You’ve been eyeing my wings since last night. Don’t think I didn’t notice. You’ve never paid them that much attention before.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Hmmm.”

“You are the one saying that you are huge!” she threw.

“I never said any such thing,” he took a slow sip and raised his brow at her. “But tell me...you and the twins have been gossiping about the wings?”

“No,” she lied.

“Hmmm.”

“Stop humming!”

“What did Cerridwen say?” he inquired. Cauldron damn him. Was there something he didn’t know?

“She said absolutely nothing. Other than that you are...well-endowed.”

Elain blushed at his amused smirk.

He looked her over, lazily, seemingly forgetting that he was in a hurry.

“The tart was delectable,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Then, he tugged on his lower lip and mused, almost to himself.

“But I am still hungry.”

“I can make you eggs,” she proposed.”Toast,”

He ran his finger along her arm and murmured, “I have something else in mind. A Bagratian breakfast.”

But if Elain expected him to move and prepare this breakfast, he didn’t shift from his chair.

He thought and then moved his plate and patted the spot that the plate vacated.

“Come here, baby. My beautiful sweetheart,” he urged her off her chair, until she sat, a little stiffly on the table in front of him. “Let’s spread your legs a little, so we are both comfortable,” and he parted her thighs, while pushing himself closer to her, settling between her legs.

“May I have my breakfast?” he asked her, kissing her cheek softly, watching her sink and melt against him.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“This breakfast,” he whispered against her skin, placing slow, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, as he undid the few buttons in the back of the knit shirt, “is very, very popular…”

Elain could barely breathe, let alone pay attention to his explanation. Not when he tugged the shirt down her body, not when his scent washed over her, and not...oh, gods…

Azriel didn’t take his intense gaze off her when he pulled on the silk string of her breast wrap and it parted easily for him. Elain stopped breathing, pink and gorgeously hot in front of him, her hair a halo of dark gold around her, her knuckles white, as she gripped the edge of the table. He smiled and kissed her neck again.

“Why are you so tense?”

“I...I don’t know,” she panted softly, her breasts rising and falling, just barely covered by the silk. “I, Az...oh...I just want you so badly,” she admitted nervously.

“Good.”

And then he flipped the flaps of the wrap off her breasts, baring her completely for himself.

“Why are you so beautiful?” he muttered wholeheartedly, looking at the lovely pink nipples that swell before his eyes, at the soft, generous roundness of her breasts.

Her back arched just a bit, as she displayed herself fully for him, no longer shy, once he laid his eyes on her and took her in with such unabashed hunger in his eyes.

“Taste,” she breathed and at once, he was a male unleashed. He brought her breast to his lips and bit her fat pink nipple, like he did last night. But there was no silk barrier between them today, and she felt his hot breath and the sharp clamp of his teeth over the nipple, as he pulled it deep in his mouth.

She almost tumbled on top of him, but he held her still, threading his fingers with hers, pressing her hands into the table.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, “Az...gods…”

“You are so delicious,” he vowed, working his tongue over the nipple, wrapping it over the little knob, licking and licking with relentless determination. Elain squirmed and panted next to him, but he kept her hands firmly in his grasp, not allowing her to touch him. Her arousal hit him like a wave of pure ambrosia, the scent indescribable, her whole body melding into him. He wished he could adjust himself within his pants, but that would mean releasing her hands and he didn’t want to do that. So he bit the soft flesh of her breast again, sucking on the tender skin and watching tiny purple marks bloom along the trail of his teeth, until he returned to the nipple and sucked it deep into his mouth. She buckled and cried out, babbling something, and grasping his fingers painfully, while he sucked harshly, feeling the nipple grow and firm up in his mouth, lapping on it with ravenous determination.

“Fuck, Elain, baby,” he grunted, licking the underside of her breast, before covering the whole globe with kisses.The kisses were not soft or gentle, but candidly lustful, his mouth possessive, claiming, marking her. “Feels good, my sweet?”

“Az, my love, I need to…” she whined, almost in tears of frustration, especially as he pulled on her nipple with his teeth again, offering her the sweet, lacerating pain that she was craving so much. “Let me touch you,” she begged.

“Right now, it’s for me,” he declined. “If you're touching me, I can’t concentrate on you. Or what I want from you. And your tits are magnificent!”

“Suck more,” she begged, “please…”

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned, and then ordered, “don’t touch,” when he released the grip of one of her hands. Obediently, she pushed her hand under her thigh, so as not to be tempted. He cupped her other breast, squeezing it tightly, quickly learning that gentleness was not something Elain needed. In all his previous fantasies, his assumption was that she’d like a sweet, tender approach. And truth be told, he didn’t expect to unleash on her quite so ferociously right now, surprising even himself. But she took it all, and she wanted more. So when he dug his scarred, strong fingers into her supple flesh, and when he brought the two glorious globes together, to suck her swollen tight nipples at once, he knew that she wanted him to do just that.

He loved breasts. He especially loved Elain’s breasts. But as he worked his mouth on her, sucking both of her lovely nipples, he also loved her response. She almost fell back on the table, and he caught her just in time, before her head landed on the hard surface. He cupped the back of her head, and stretched over her, kissing each swelling breast, and dragging his tongue thoroughly over each nipple, while she leaked and trembled under him.

“Good?”

“Oh good,” she admitted breathlessly. “Why didn’t you do this to me before?”

A smile touched his lips and he tongued her nipples leisurely, watching her, as he reminded her, “This is a forbidden romance, my love.”

“Oh yeah...I forgot,”

“I think that our High Lord doesn’t want me to do anything to you.”

He winked at her and she grimaced. She was ridiculously wet between her legs, but she no longer cared. Actually, she lost all inhibitions and all sense of propriety. She didn’t care about anything, other than his beautiful, demanding mouth on her breasts, his tongue working magic on her nipples.

Before she could do anything, he pulled her up, so she sat back up in front of him.

“I haven't forgotten my breakfast,” he winked at her again, and then, unexpectedly, dipped his fingers in the butter jar, and smeared a generous layer of fatty, creamy sludge over her breast, his thumb teasing her aching nipple inexorably.

“Oh,” she gushed, as he settled on the chair, between her legs, and held the breast in one palm, while concocting something enticing.

“The Bagarat Breakfast Bun,” he explained casually, as if he wasn’t sprinkling her buttered tit with a dash of cinnamon, and then a pinch of sugar. “Who needs pastries, right?” he pondered, and then gobbled her whole breast up, swallowing a good part of it, licking off the sugary spiced butter with his tongue, scraping his teeth over the skin, the nipple.

Elain almost fainted. Her vision darkened and were it not for the support of his massive arm, she surely would have fallen over.

“Sit still, baby, and let me enjoy,” he commanded with pretend sternness, as he treated her other breast with the same care and also added a dash of cream, which leaked obscenely into his mouth off her nipple.

“Oh, I think I like this version more,” he concluded, dribbling more cream over her breast and sucking it off her nipple, along with the butter.

“It’s a lot of fat, this early in the morning,” she protested, “you will have a heart attack!”

“I am immortal,” he reminded her. Then, he ordered, “hold your titties for me, please. So I can enjoy them in peace.”

She smirked, but cupped both of her breasts and presented them to him, as he dipped her nipples in even more cream and sucked hungrily.

“My love,” she cooed to him, after she dipped her nipple into the cream herself and sprinkled it with sugar, “I think that I like your Bagarat pastry.”

“Bun,” he pinched her behind, “Bagarat Bun.”

He sucked a little more.

The little jar of cream was empty.

“Tomorrow, we’ll share it,” he promised, but did not elaborate.

She nodded. She’d agree to anything right now.

“By the end of the week, you’ll be feeding me yourself,” he added and then softly kissed her lips, securing his promise with his mouth.

He straightened and got up, brushing his thumb over her lips and popping it inside, for her to suck. She sucked, willingly, eagerly, watching him.

“And you will be naked,” he concluded, running his hand over her head.

She nodded.

“Would you like that, my good girl?”

She nodded again.

She looked ravaged and he loved it. Swollen tits, dripping with sugar and cream, and coated in the remnants of butter, her hair a mess, her mouth wrapped around his thumb, sucking noisily.

The idea of his cock in that glorious mouth, sucking just as noisily made his unbearably hard. He was already hard as granite, his cock aching and demanding, but when she sucked his fingers, it released a beast within him.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and bent to kiss her.

“Thank you, my love,” she murmured, her brown eyes looking at him with complete adoration.

“It was a perfect breakfast, Lainey,” Azriel smiled. “Thank you. I’ve got to go, but I will see you later?”

“Of course. But I have a request for you to mull over,” she jumped off the table, not bothering to cover up.

“I am listening.”

“I’d like for you to teach me how to handle a dagger.”

#elriel #elriel fanfic #fanfic #acotar fanfiction #elriel fanfiction #azriel #elain x azriel #elain archeron #elain #azriel and elain #my writing #of fawns and shadows

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Note

an idea- Janus just being roman for some reason or another when suddenly patton apears. he asks if he can rant about something (Janus says yes) and procedes to indirrectly confess his feelings to Janus. -Vibe

ok hang on let me just---

He feels uncomfortable in his own skin, sometimes, so he slips into another. He never means any harm by it, not in moments like these, and especially not this time. But his scales are itching and irritated, so it is a relief to get rid of them for an hour or two, and he chooses Roman’s form because he knows that Roman and Remus are occupied with a project, and will be for hours yet. He doesn’t intend for anyone to see him, but it can’t hurt to be cautious.

He doesn’t intend for anyone to see him, so of course, someone does, in the one minute in which he rises into the kitchen, intent on fetching a snack and spending the rest of the day napping and watching soap operas until he feels vaguely like himself again.

“Hey, Roman?” someone asks, and someone is Patton, because of course it is. He can feel himself blushing already, so he places another illusion atop the first to mask it.

“Patton!” he says, turning to grin at him as Romanly as he possibly can. “What’s poppin’, padre?”

Patton smiles back, but--- there’s something off. A strange look in his eyes, like anticipation but not quite, almost a jitteriness. It doesn’t seem like anything bad, but it’s certainly a bit odd.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Patton says. “I kinda wanna talk about something? And I mean, no pressure if you don’t feel up to it, but I feel like I need to get it off my chest, and I think you might understand the best?”

He blinks, a tendril of guilt curling in his chest. This conversation isn’t meant for him. But he hardly wants to reveal himself now--- the moment for that, if there ever was one, has passed, and even besides that, he wants to know what’s on Patton’s mind. Selfish of him, he knows, and probably not precisely moral, but then, morality is hardly his area of expertise.

“Sure,” he says. “What’s up?”

Patton sighs, leaning against the wall. Some of the tension drains from his frame, and he crosses his arms, cupping his hands around his elbows.

“So, uh, I think I’m in love?” he says, and something in Janus’ heart shatters.

He knew, after all, that his own feelings would never be requited. That he would be better off keeping them to himself until he could force them away for good. But still, it hurts, deep inside, and he struggles to maintain Roman’s face.

“Oh?” he says, and fights to keep his voice even, to force down the tremor that wants to creep in. “Do tell.” And he winces, because that’s far more like his typical cadence than Roman’s, but somehow, Patton doesn’t seem to notice.

“I just---” he starts, and then cuts off shaking his head, his eyes squeezing shut. “I just feel so good? When I’m around him? He makes me really happy, and I want to spend time with him, like, all the time, and he’s been so kind and funny and he’s so pretty and I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss him, so, uh. Y’know? I think it’s love?”

Bitterness is a potent drug. But he refuses to give in to it, refuses to hurt Patton because of it. He smiles, as warm and inviting as he can muster, encouraging him to go on.

“And literally everything he does, it makes my chest feel warm and fuzzy, like I’m floating and I never ever wanna come down. He laughed at a joke I made the other day and I wanted to just---” He flaps his hands around a few times--- “grab his hands and swing them around and just hold him for a little while.” He beams. “Did you know that he slurs his s’s when he’s excited? He did it when we were talking this morning and he was so embarrassed but I thought it was really cute and that’s when I figured out that I wanted to kiss him really, really bad.”

Wait.

“And have you ever looked at his scales?” Patton continues, completely unaware of the bomb he’s just dropped. “I mean, really looked? They’re all green-brown if you just glance at them but when you look at how they reflect the light, they’re actually a bunch of colors. A lot of yellow, but there’s greens and blues too, and gosh, they’re just so gorgeous.”

What?

Janus feels lightheaded.

“Do you think I should tell him?” Patton asks. Janus wrenches his attention back down to earth with an effort, and sees that Patton is peering at him now with worried eyes. “I guess that’s what I really wanted to ask, since you know the most about this kind of stuff. I think I want to tell him, but I’m scared he won’t feel the same way. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I lost his friendship because of this.”

Janus is still reeling, is still stuck on I think it’s love, trying to reconcile that with the fact that Patton--- is talking about him? And that can’t possibly be right, because why on earth would Patton like him? But he can’t be talking about anyone else, because no one else hisses their s’s, no one else has scales, so it must be him. Patton loves him.

“Uh, Roman?”

He shakes himself. “Right, sorry,” he says, and his mouth is so dry, and he needs to think of something to say, something that will end this conversation, because he feels like he’s about to vibrate right out of his skin. He needs a moment to process this, to absorb it and allow himself to believe it. “I, uh, I think you should go for it. Take that leap!”

Patton stares at him. “You really think he’ll be alright with it?” he asks, soft and insecure.

“Patton,” he says, “I don’t know how he could possibly turn you down.”

He is, quite possibly, giving too much away with that. But Patton thinks he’s Roman right now, so he won’t realize that Janus has just confessed to the fact that he would do absolutely anything for him. Anything at all.

Patton grins, bouncing on his heels, his spirits seemingly buoyed. “Okay!” he says. “I think I’ll do that, then! Thanks, kiddo!”

Janus flashes him a smile, not trusting himself to say anything else, and he watches him go. The second Patton has left the kitchen, he drops his disguise, too overwhelmed to keep it up. He shakes his hands a few times, fiddles with the edge of his capelet, runs his finger down his scales, and when none of that feels like enough, he buries his face into his hands and squeals. He’s very, very glad that there is no one else around to see, because he simply can’t stop himself; there is too much emotion rising up inside of him, bursting out, eager to be free, to be expressed, and he can do nothing but let it out.

And when he’s calmed down just enough to think coherently, he sinks out and into his room. It seems that he has a confession of his own to prepare.

#this is not proofread so don't examine it too closely #but i saw this right after you sent it and i simply had to write smth for it #sanders sides #ts sides #moceit #janus sanders #ts janus #patton sanders #ts patton #not using the taglist for this bc i spent like. 45 minutes tops #ask #vibe anon #ficlet

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jadonsanhco · 3 years

Text

18th of April

alternative title: happy birthday badass bitch

for my dear friend emily @travellvogue

“Working on your birthday shouldn’t be allowed,” you thought to yourself as you stepped inside the house, where you had longed to be all day, exhausted from a full work day. Your birthday started off amazing – with breakfast in bed prepared by your lovely boyfriend, a dozen presents that were way too expensive for your liking though you loved them a lot, and several bouquets of the prettiest flowers from that florist down the street decorating every room in the house. “Only the best for my favourite girl,” Trent had said with a smug smile, having really outdone himself for your birthday this year and he was proud. Even though he knew you’d be happy with some lush bath bombs or some books (which were of course included in the presents as well) he couldn’t stop himself completely spoiling you on your special day.

After that great start to your day you had reluctantly gotten dressed in your work outfit, hopped in your car after a goodbye kiss from Trent and drove to your work for a full day of phone calls and meetings. Now that you were finally home, you couldn’t wait to spend the final hours of your birthday with your man.

“There she is!” Trent smiled at you, coming from the living room to greet you in the hall. “How was your day baby?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your lips and gently brushing one of his hands through your long hair. “Tiring. I missed you,” you mumbled, leaning closer again for another kiss, and another.

“Mmm I missed you too,” Trent smiled against your lips. “I told you, you should’ve taken the day off,” he added, quite disappointed he didn’t get to spend the entire day with you, but it was alright – his plans for tonight would make up for it. “I definitely will next year,” you giggled, definitely having learned from this mistake, knowing you would have enjoyed your birthday much more if you could have spent it at home with him instead of having to smile at everyone who wished you a happy birthday at work – you could have done without all the birthday attention. Besides, you had discovered that planning other people’s birthdays on your own birthday wasn’t exactly ideal either, seeing all the great plans you were putting on paper and in moodboards for strangers while you spent your day at the office.

“Well madam, to show you what you’ve missed all day, I have prepared something for you,” Trent smirked, making you raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh? And what is this something that you have prepared?” you asked, the night already starting to look promising. “That’s a surprise, you’ll see in a few minutes,” he winked. Of course it was. “I hate surprises, you know that,” you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile appearing on your lips.

“Trust me?” Trent asked and came up behind you, covering your eyes with his hands after you nodded. He led you through the house, making sure you wouldn’t trip or bump into anything, until you could feel a breeze on your face, the sliding doors leading to the garden being pushed open. “Mind your step here,” Trent said as you stepped outside, letting you go a little farther to the place he had prepared everything.

“3,2,1… Tadaaa,” Trent removed his hands from your eyes so you could see, a small table in front of you with food that looked delicious, table decorated with flowers and even the plates were all set in a fancy way he had seen you do on special occasions like Christmas and other family dinners. As you looked around the garden you noticed how pretty it looked, fairy lights decorating the trees, some lanterns hanging around the area as well, and there were even some white and pink balloons floating in the air that said “Happy birthday Emily”, the strings attached to the railing of the steps that lead up to a raised terrace in the back of the garden. The fire pit was on for some extra warmth since evenings in April were not quite warm enough yet to stay out for too long, though since the sun was only just starting to set you could still feel the warmth of the sunlight on your face.

“Did you do all this?” you asked Trent with a smile, turning around to see a proud grin covering his face. “Yes. Well… I have to admit, mum helped me out a lot, especially with the food,” he chuckled a bit, knowing that if he would have done the cooking all by himself it would probably be a takeout, but he wanted you to have the best homemade food possible and his mum happened to be a real chef, your favourite meal being one of her specialties.

“I love it, thank you,” you pressed another kiss to Trent’s plump lips before taking a seat at the table, Trent serving you your food before sitting down in front of you. “Bon appetit,” he winked at you and took a forkful of carbonara in his mouth. You ate in a comfortable silence, talking about your day a bit but you didn’t want to talk about work too much while you were enjoying your birthday dinner. Instead, you listened to Trent telling you all about how he and Di spent their day preparing for your birthday, cooking and decorating.

“I know it’s getting a bit chilly out now,” Trent said after you had finished your meals, “but I feel like only now the sun is setting you’ll really be able to appreciate what I did with all the lights.” You laughed a bit, but nodded your head, agreeing that you couldn’t go inside now dusk was finally setting in and the lights lit up the garden beautifully. You couldn’t let all his hard work go underappreciated.

“The fire should keep us warm, and I’ve got some blankets so we can cuddle.” You followed Trent to where he had set up some blankets and pillows, happily sitting down in front of him with your back leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped around you to both keep you warm and pull you as close as possible to him.

“I love you so much,” he whispered after a few minutes, both of you looking up at the stars as if you could try and find constellations, though you never really managed to. “I love you too,” you smiled, turning your head to give Trent a kiss before letting your eyes go over the stars in the sky again, more of them appearing the darker it got.

“I’ve got one more present for you,” Trent broke the silence again after a while. “Trent! You’ve spoilt me enough!” Trent laughed, having expected this reaction from you since he had already given you a bunch of presents before, but this last one was perfect to give to you right now.

“I promise it’s not something expensive or fancy.”

He stood up to go inside and get you your present. A shiver ran over your back from the loss of warmth, the cool air getting to you now you no longer had Trent’s body heat keeping you warm. Trent quickly returned with a gift bag in his hand, thin paper on top to cover up what was inside.

“You can look,” Trent smiled and sat down behind you again, the warmth radiating off him already protecting you from the chilly air better than the fire could. You reached your hand into the bag, your fingers touching soft fabric. A grey sweater was revealed when you pulled out your present, the material being so soft you instantly wanted to wear it and feel it on your skin. You held it up in front of you, the size definitely way too big for your body, and the sweater was just grey other than something small embroidered at the bottom of the sleeves.

“You know how you always steal my hoodies? I’m about to have none left since they’re all on your side of the closet, so that’s why I bought you this. It’s in my size, so it fits you the same as mine fit you. And my initial is on the sleeve so you can always think of me when you wear it,” Trent pointed out the small black T you noticed earlier.

“I’ve even put my cologne all over it already so it smells like me,” he winked, making you giggle a little, knowing one of the reasons you always wore his shirts was because they smell like him.

“Thank you, I really like it,” you smiled, pulling yourself out of Trent’s embrace a little so you could pull the sweater over your head, the soft fabric feeling so comfortable, and the scent of your boyfriend’s cologne making it even better.

“Thought it was perfect to give you this now so we can stay out here a liiittle longer,” Trent said and wrapped his arms around you once again, not ready to go back inside yet as he was enjoying spending time in the garden with you a lot. The doggies, that had been sleeping in the living room most the time, eventually came out for a cuddle as well, a bit afraid of the fire at first but they enjoyed being all close to you and wrapped up in blankets with you, happily continuing their nap outside.

You spent your night in such a simple way – dinner, cuddles, kisses, and just Trent’s company – but it was all you ever needed. You didn’t need a big birthday party or many visitors, you just needed Trent to make your birthday a memorable one. Even going to work earlier in the day couldn’t ruin it for you, and the idea of your and Trent’s families visiting later in the week was something to look forward to, but in that moment, cuddling by the fire with your little family, you felt happiest and more content than ever.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagine #trent alexander arnold imagines #trent alexander arnold blurb #trent alexander arnold blurbs #trent alexander arnold fluff

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 133

Whew. I finally get a chance two queue chapters and add to my buffer! Yayyy me! Kind of long author’s note, feel free to skip to the readmore.

Seriously, though, I managed to only work 5ish hours of OT this week instead of the 25/wk I’ve been clocking the last several weeks. It’s been a ride, for sure. Thank you for bearing with me through this frankly-insane time.

@baelpenrose and I have had more chances to write together in real-time, which considering both our schedules and living 3 timezones apart has been a delightful miracle and I will never take it for granted ever again.

@anotherusrname and @the-raven-fae have been very encouraging of my efforts to work less, which - it turns out - has been a huge concern for oh, my entire family... Sorry I worried you all. :( I’m trying to do better! Swear I have vacations coming up!

@charlylimph-blog has just been... such a support. She literally texts me every night at 10pm my time to tell me to take my most important medications. Sainted Eldritch Fae cannot be appreciated enough, and somehow I have two.

Final shout outs go to @snickerfritz, @just-a-pastel-bunny, and @eldritchmoths for love-bombing my inbox recently. Seeing anyone speed-run through this story lets me know that I’m not wasting my time.

Don’t forget to check out the podcast!! AhhhhH! I want to scream in delight each time a new episode is released!

Focus, I told myself, breath coming in short pants. It was easier said than done, with sweat dripping into my eyes while I constantly tried to pay attention to where I was safe to move to without putting myself in the line of fire. Seeing the incoming hit, I ducked and pivoted to my left -

“Oof,” I grunted as I took a blow to the ribs. I managed not to be winded or fall, but I was pretty sure something just broke.

A voice taunted me. “You have got to get better at keeping your guard up.”

“I am,” I panted. “My ribs are a lot tougher than my face.” Refusing to be distracted, I jumped back from the next hit and started circling wide.

“And I hit harder than your sister.”

Yeah, well broken ribs are for bitches, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had a broken rib before. I was fine. Out of reflex more than forethought, I pivoted my leg and bent my knee to absorb the shock of the next hit - this one to the thigh. Grabbing the offending leg, I held tight around the calf with one arm before shoving upwards on the heel with the other, dropping him onto his back.

Unfortunately, the kick to the chin I got as a result also landed me on my back.

Like an exceedingly annoying ninja, Arthur sprang to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up off the floor. “You should have expected that.”

I scowled and rubbed my jaw. “Why am I sparring with you again?”

“Because Tyche’s busy and I’m the only other person willing to actually hit you hard enough to teach you anything.”

Rolling my neck, I tried to relieve some of the tension that was setting in. “It’s not like aliens are going to know Terran hand-to-hand combat,” I pointed out as I took my stance for the next round. This time, his movement was a lot more fluid, which told me he was going for grappling instead of striking.

The kick I almost took to the face told me that his stance was also a lie.

There wasn’t any time for trash-talking, this time around. I could barely find time to breathe as he aggressively attacked, although I barely managed to avoid him actually touching me. I wasn’t an idiot - if he got a hold of me, I would be waking up from a forced nap with a sore throat. However, after what felt like an eternity and was probably only about five minutes, the odds of keeping it up were dwindling. My heart was pounding in my ears, my lungs were searing with the effort of trying to keep up with it, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I had enough stamina to outlast him. The man ran a 5k a day as a warm up. Even more humiliating, I had spent the entire time running and dodging without even a chance to mount a counter to any of it.

Finally, I was spent. Every time I tried to raise my hands, they shook so badly that there was no chance of landing a hit, even if I had the opportunity. My legs were trembling, my knees burned, and the broken rib felt like someone was twisting a hot blade into my side. Feeling defeated, I dropped my hands and squared my feet up. The blow to the solar plexus was unsurprising, as was the chokehold he put me in as soon as I doubled over. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time this had happened while sparring with him - or even with Tyche.

I was so frustrated. No matter how much I sparred with either of them, I felt like I hadn’t gained any ground. The whole point to training so hard was to prove that I actually could defend myself. Councilor or not, the thought that I was going to be shoved in the back of the Archives in the event of an attack was insulting. Not only that, it was even more insulting than the time I had round-the-clock guards. No one else had to put up with this, why did I?

“Tap out, Sophia,” he warned me. He wasn’t squeezing yet, but he had his arm locked tightly enough that I couldn’t get my head out. When I silently refused, he sighed and applied pressure, pissing me off even more.

I’m not helpless, I growled at myself. The anger at myself and the frustration with the situation flooded my mind, and I started pulling against the hold with my legs.

“You’re going to break your neck,” he grunted as he leaned the opposite direction. I may not have had his stamina, but I could also leg-press nearly five-hundred pounds. He could let go, or lean back, no other options.

Spots were floating in front of my eyes when I felt his posture change, and as soon as I felt it, both my arms swung up. Assuming I was going to hit his face, he leaned back even further…

Right into the path of my cupped hands, which hit his ears hard enough to bruise both my hands.

“Ow, FUCK!” he shouted, the pain of his ruptured ear drums distracting him just enough that I was able to pull my head free.

As soon as I stood, he reached up to one of his ears, only to pull his hand away and see blood. “Son of a - “ he stopped when he realized what happened. “Huh. That… that is a pretty neat trick.”

Oh, just you wait, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, as soon as he tried to shift his weight for another assault, he stumbled. Trying to compensate, he made it even worse and ended up falling flat on his back. Dropping his head to the mat in defeat, he splayed his limbs out to try to gain some sense of equilibrium. “Oh that is cool,” he muttered, obviously for my benefit since he couldn’t exactly hear himself.

I managed to get him to his feet and drag him to the corridor as the medical transport arrived - there was no way I was going to try to walk him to a medbay. Once his eardrums were restored - along with his internal balance - Arthur stood and stared me down. “That was a dirty trick, Sophia.” Without warning, I was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. “I am so proud of you. Do that, a lot of it.”

“Can’t breathe,” I gasped.

He released me, stepping back. “Right. The rib.”

I tried to wave him off. “It’s just a broken rib. I’ll be fine.”

“Medbay.” He gestured around the room. “Stop being stubborn.”

“You’re overreacting - “

“If you trip and fall, which you will, you can puncture a lung.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“It’s been broken all of ten minutes. Medbay. Now.”

I glared at him. “If you think this is the first broken rib I’ve had, you’re insane. It’s not even the fiftieth.”

“Stop reminding me that I can’t go back to Earth and kill someone who is hopefully dead anyway. You made me go to the medbay for some broken teeth after the fight with Jokul. Also, with your luck it’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself by breathing, and I am not going to be the one who’s next up on Tyche’s shit list. Go. Medbay. Now.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but was cut off by swearing and Arthur literally just picking me up and dropping me in the closest berth. With exactly zero shame, he pinned me down by my shoulders and hips while one of Noah’s avatars held me down from the other side and scanned, then healed, my broken rib - both of them, it turns out. Finally, they both let go of me. “Can I leave now?” I asked petulantly.

“Only if you tell me the eardrum trick so I can figure out how to use it on other species.”

Sliding off the berth and to my feet, I ran a hand through my hair. “Easy. You just cup your hands so there aren’t any cracks between your fingers, like this.” I demonstrated. “And then try to clap your hands through someone’s head, right over the ears. Force of the air ruptures the ear drums, and the trauma reaction kills their spatial sense and balance.” When he tilted his head at the simplicity of it, I shrugged. “Women’s self-defense classes.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Speaking of women and self-defense, we have got to get you more in the habit of striking and blocking with your legs. Pretty sure you’d kick like a horse if you tried.”

“If I kick you, I’ll break something.”

“Your legs are a lot tougher than you think - “

“I meant something on you,” I clarified, staring at the ground.

I didn’t look up, but I could hear the savage grin in his voice at what he said next. “Oh, we have got to try this.” When my head snapped up, sure enough, he was smiling. “If you can land a kick on me, I won’t even be mad if you break something. But that’s not what I meant.”

“You want me to test it on someone else?” That wasn’t exactly a better option.

He rolled his eyes. “Maverick literally does calibrations for a living. Pretty sure he’s got something that measures impact force. Then we do the math from there.”

“I feel like I’m on an episode of MythBusters,” I grumbled as we headed out of the Medbay and back towards my office.

“I know!” he agreed enthusiastically.

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#the miys #found family #aliens #apocalypse #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #hfy #self defense #science fiction #sci fi #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

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passport-guardian-benrey · 4 years

Text

Comic' 15th Birthday

Well Comic and Fresh celebrate Comic' 15th birthday and Comic gets something special

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

Fresh was busying himself finishing hanging up streamers in their shared livingroom, he glanced at the clock and checked to make sure everything was in place for when Comic woke up.

He had a table with punch for the two of them and some breakfast foods he "borrowed" from a buffet restaurant in another AU, and a very large, very colorfully wrapped, gift placed front and center. Fresh thought he heard movement in Comic's direction and scrambled to hide behind the table.

Comic entered the livingroom while rubbing their eyesockets, they looked around the room.

fresh jumped up from behind the table. "SURPRIZE BRAH!" A banner that said Radical Birthday on rolled from the ceiling and he threw a Furby at the ground that exploded violently into a shower of glitter confetti... It left a burn mark on the floor.

Comic flinched at the loud noise, after they calmed down a bit they smiled at Fresh, "so it's my birthday already, huh?" They looked around the room again.

"Yeah!" Fresh grinned at Comic.

The smaller skeleton is smiling, still slightly scared from the explosion but mostly okay.

Fresh's grin falters a bit. "Ahhh. Sorry, I didn't mean to spook ya, dude."

"no worries, really" Comic looked at him "sooo what's the plan for today?"

Fresh smiled wide again "Well I got us some bomb food... And this," Fresh smacks the top of the giant gift sitting on the table "This baby's for you." He looks at Comic. "Other than that we have the whole day free to celebrate however it would float your boat my radical brotato chip."

"well maybe let's begin from food . . . i'm kinda hungry" Comic rubbed their eyesockets again.

Fresh whipped a couple plates out of nowhere and gestured to a steaming hotel pan full of spaghetti complete with stolen buffet tongs and an industrial sized bottle of ketchup and maple syrup. "Sweet! I snagged some grub for us. Dig in my dude dude."

Comic chuckled once they saw the food, "you know that I could cook something?"

They took a plate and put some spaghetti on it and was about to cover it with ketchup, but suddenly stopped "wait, do we have chocolate syrup?"

Fresh grinned "Yoooooooo! Now we're talking!" He dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the sauce and dashed back handing it to Comic.

Comic poured the syrup onto their spaghetti.

Fresh grabbed his own plate of pasta and after Comic was done he took all three bottles and squeezed the disgusting trifecta over the top while giggling.

Comic sat down and began to eat their pasta.

Fresh joined Comic and snarffed his down happily. although, he looked a little green in the face.

"are you okay?" Comic is worried.

Fresh paused eating, "Yeah I'm fine dude. Why?"

"you don't look really good . . . you know like you're sick or something" Comic is looking at him.

Fresh blinked slowly, processing. "What? Nah dude I'm good!" He laughed a little too loudly to cover it up "You're trippin."

"are you sure?" Comic is just worried.

"Yeah dude, this is my enjoyment face." Fresh smiled at Comic.

Comic doesn't really believe him, "okay . . ."

Fresh takes another bite and flashes Comic a thumbs up. Comic soon finished eating.

Fresh finished too and he ported both their plates to the kitchen sink. "'aight!" Fresh was practically vibrating in excitement. "What next?"

"gift" Comic stood up and walked over to the box.

"Heck yeah!" Fresh bounced over to the table with Comic "I think you're gonna love it!"

"probably" Comic smiled at him, adjusted their glasses and opened the box.

Inside the box was another box. Fresh was smilingly mischievously. Comic opened the next box.

Inside the box was another box. Fresh snickered, watching Comic.

Comic looked over at Fresh and opened the next box.

Inside the box was another box. Fresh was full on giggling at Comic's expression now.

Comic chuckled and opened the next box.

Inside, curled up neatly, was a long bright green Furby.

Comic slowly grinned and looked at Fresh, they look really happy.

Fresh's own grin spread on his face. "Yeah?" He bounced in place a little.

Comic basically threw themselves at Fresh, wrapping their arms around the much taller skeleton "thank you thank you thank you!" They are really happy.

Fresh stumbled back with a little "oof" and hugged them back "Hahaha I knew you'd love it."

Comic let go of Fresh and picked up the long Furby looking at it.

Fresh grinned at Comic. "It's sick right? You know what you're gonna name em?"

Comic thought for a second "neon, i'm naming them neon" They're smiling.

"Niceeeeeeeee! It fits them." Fresh hugs Comic tight squishing the Furby between them. "Happy birthday brah."

"thank you" Comic' smile disapeared "today's the anniversary of our first meeting too . . ."

Fresh reflexively hugs them a little tighter at the memory. "Yeah it is..." Fresh looks down at Comic and looks at their face to see how they're feeling.

Comic looks a bit tired, probably due to the nightmares that they have around this time of the year. A small frown is present on their face.

Fresh holds Comic's face in his hands, squishing their cheeks a bit. "What can I do to turn my heckin fly birthday brah's frown upside down?"

"dunno really . . ." Comic is hugging Fresh.

Fresh looks at Comic thinking. "Video games?" He suggests "You're lookin a little tired for other birthday activities and junk."

Comic nodded "it sounds good"

"Sweet!" Fresh lets go of Comic and boots up their atari console. Comic is looking at him.

Fresh gets everything set up, sits down criss cross applesauce and holds out a controller for Comic. "Mario 'aight?"

Comic nodded and took the controller.

Fresh grinned at them encouragingly "Get ready to taste second place. Don't think I'm gonna take it easy on ya just because it's your b-day, scrub."

Comic chuckled "well i won't go easy too"

"That's what I like to hear." Fresh laughs.

Comic is trying to focus on winning.

Fresh keeps getting distracted watching Comic play, they're kinda adorable when they're focused on whooping his butt.

After a while Comic yawned and stretched a bit.

"Tired?" Fresh looks at Comic.

"a bit . . . didn't sleep much during the night . . ." Comic rubbed their eyesocket.

Fresh frowns sympathetically "Wanna take a nap then?"

Comic slightly nodded, they yawned again.

"Nap time it is then!" Fresh stands up and stretches discarding the controller on the floor. He offers a hand to help Comic up.

Comic takes his hand. Fresh pulls Comic up with a smile. As soon as they were standing he picked them up and carried them to their room.

Comic holds onto him and closes their eyes.

Fresh tucks Comic in, throwing blankets over them and giving them gentle pet on the head. "Happy birthday brah." He moves to leave.

Comic is watching him, "thank you . . . thank you for everything"

Fresh pauses at the door looking at Comic, a light blush on his face. "It's no problem dude... sleep well."

"um . . . fresh?"

"Yeah bro?"

"c-could you stay a bit with me? at least until i fall asleep . . .?"

Fresh's blushes. "Y-yeah! For sure." fresh clambers on top of the bed next to comic and snuggles up to them.

"thanks" Comic smiles slightly, moves a bit closer to Fresh and closes their eyes.

Fresh watches them drift off to sleep and soon closes his own eyes.

#comic #comic!sans #fresh #fresh!sans #underfresh #asks and requests are always appreciated and needed #undermine #undertale #undertale alternate universe #undertale ask blog #undertale au #ut #au #utau #utmv #skeleton ask blog #ask blog #neon #neon the furby

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

In their Place Ch. 3

Chapter 3: A Shattered Reflection

Summary: Illinois and Eric rejoin with the group as Damien’s condition persists.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

While the fight with Dark had been going on, Illinois was busy taking the hero’s bait and circling around Eric.

“Well, well, what’s a cute thing like you doing in a dangerous place like this?” Illinois smiled at Eric. “Ooohhh, dulcito,[1] this suit looks amazing on your calves. Tell me who made it, so I can commission them to make more.”

“Logic and Bing,” Eric was blushing under his mask.

“Well! I know where my next paycheck is disappearing off to,” Illinois decided, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a pair of Jims racing over with a camera. “Well let’s put on a little show for the cameras, hero.”

Eric startled and looked at the camera. Illinois didn’t even give him time to be embarrassed because he dove right for him and began a fight that was half wrestling, half throwing magic that if it hit Eric was mostly a light show; and all a show for the camera.

Both Illinois and Eric were having fun playing it up for the cameras when Illinois’s heat physically lifted off his head and Illinois caught the little bronze star inside it glowing a violent dark purple and kept trying to tug the hat in a direction. The direction that Dark had flown off to fight the heroes.

“Let’s lose the paparazzi, dulcito,” Illinois told Eric. “My old man needs some help.”

“Ills, wait,” Eric told him before Illinois produced a couple smoke bombs and dropped them around them. He scooped Eric up into his arms and ran off with him. Both of them disappeared into the smoke.

The heroes had finally relocated outside the ruined building, taking Damien and the chair with them.

Marvin was pacing and trying to come up with a new idea. Silver was floating nearby with a new mask, courtesy of Marvin. Jackie standing to him, talking. Patton was sitting on the ground next to Damien. And the mayor had an ice pack to his chest and a cigarette in his mouth.

Damien had a lot to think through, he was apparently in the future, he’d been running around with a demon. His father would have killed him if he was still alive.

He needed to finish his cigarette, go home and take a nap.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out,” Patton tried to reassure Damien helpfully. The mayor rolled his eyes. He’d been told the hero next to him was named “Captain Morality” and along with not being an absolute asshole had given him the ice pack. So Damien was pretty sure that out of the three he was currently Damien’s favorite.

Then Marvin stopped and looked at two people running over. “Shite! Illinois’s comin’ in hot.”[2]

“Where is he? What did you fuckers do?”

“Ills.”

The arguing was giving Damien a migraine, he couldn’t deal with more new people. He was still sore from the apparently failed exorcism. Or maybe it was successful, he’d never even been allowed to see one to tell.

“Slow yer[3] roll casanova,” Marvin ordered.

Rolling his eyes, curiosity got the better of him, and he looked back to see someone standing next to Marc. He was the only one not masked and he looked younger than Marc. Damien looked at the dark hair, the light tan complexion, the way his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed when he was clearly angry and thought: “Is he Celine’s?”

With that one thought Damien decided he was done with this charade and wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and lock himself in his basement, and get so completely lost in whiskey He couldn’t remember who he was anymore.

Damien could still feel the phantom hand of his father on his shoulder. The man had only been dead a couple of years — at least to Damien, now it was a couple decades at least — but his threats and orders still weighed on his soul.

It seems he’d been mentally gone so long that he’d missed another of Celine’s children, and probably countless more.

Damien shakily got up from his chair and started to turn away, clutching his cigarette like a lifeline. The ice pack left on the chair.

I don’t want you to even look at that child, his father had ordered. It’s bad enough you’ll be related, but I can’t have another null in the family. You—

“아빠”[4] The young man was coming to stand in front of Damien.

The mayor instinctively flinched away, looking back and expecting Marc to come over and pull his son away.

“I’m not,” Damien started, more confused. “I can’t—”

“아빠[4] are you okay?” The young man asked, clearly worried.

“I,” Damien faltered, his mind trying to push down the hope. “Marc!”

Illinois startled and tracked Dark’s eyes to Silver, glaring at him in absolute rage, “Ex-fucking-cuse you?”

Mark held up his hands, “I’ve told him ten times now, I’m not whichever Mark he’s thinking of.”

“We’ll deal with this later,” Illinois decided, then turned to Dark. “Alright, what happened?”

As Illinois had been talking, Damien was having a minor meltdown. Illinois saw the look on his face and his expression and tone softened considerably.

“It’s me,” the young man tried to urge. “Illinois?”

When he saw a continued look of confusion, Illinois realized that Dark wasn’t hurt, he was having an episode. “Oh no, we need to get you home.”

“Yer not goin’ anywhere,”[5] Marvin ordered.

“Fuck off, Copperfield,” Illinois pulled out a piece of chalk and drew open a portal. Dark flinched away from it.

“Come on, dad,” Illinois held out his hand, halfway through the portal.

Almost as if the Manor was sensing a problem it extended out and pulled Illinois, Damien, and the heroes into the Manor and the portal winked closed.

“Ughhh, you’re gonna be pissed when you come to again,” Illinois realized as he saw the other heroes, pulling Eric closer to him.

“Great,” Damien looked around, recognizing the Barnum estate. “You should have just left me there, it was closer to my place than here.”

“No, we live here,” Illinois clarified.

“Yes you live here but I don’t,” Damien snapped back up as he started for the door.

Just as he hit the foyer, Damien stopped at the large portrait hanging on the wall. It had previously sat in the Manor’s living room office, hidden and tucked away in the most private corner for Dark to look at. Since the portrait had been updated the demon had been convinced to bring it out into the main entrance hall.

The sight of it froze Damien dead in his tracks because neither Marc nor Celine were in the picture. Illinois was there but so were four other young men, one young lady, and two individuals that Damien thought looked familiar but couldn’t recognize.

Along the black frame frame in golden colored letters read the name: “BARNUM-DOOM” which completely halted Damien enough for Illinois to catch up.

“I think you need to lie down for a bit,” Illinois tried to offer.

“Where— Who—” Damien tried to place why the one with the curly mustache looked so familiar. Then Damien really looked at the man’s wide toothy smile and everything clicked.

It was Wil’s smile.

Damien’s hands trembled as he reached out to touch the picture, treating it so delicately as if the image would change to a different man.

“아빠?”[4] Illinois walked over, seeing the tears starting to fall from Damien’s face.

“Is,” Damien’s throat felt like it was clogged. “Is this your father?”

“You’re our father too,” Illinois reminded him.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Damien, he looked like he’d been completely frozen in place.

“We’re adopted,” Illinois told him, then corrected, “well most of us, Bim is yours by blood.”

“I can’t have children,” Damien’s response was quiet, almost a whisper.

“You guys did it with magic,” Illinois lied, mostly because explaining to Damien how cloning worked when Illinois barely understood it himself and the mayor would just be here for an hour at most seemed like a bad idea.

“Oh,” Damien replied, looking back at the picture. “That’s me with him?”

“Yes,” Illinois answered.

Damien fought the feeling that his throat was unbearably tight and he gave the only response he could: taking a step towards Illinois and wrapping his arms around him.

Illinois flinched a bit in surprise because normally Dark was not a hug-person, he avoided touch. The young man’s only thought was that Damien felt ice cold. But he ignored that thought, his father needed him.

“He did come back.” Damien was shaking as he held onto Illinois. “He came back and gave you to me.”

Illinois gave a sad smile as he hugged him back. “I’m here.”

Eventually, Damien pulled away, looking back at the portrait with a huge, excited smile, “Six? That’s amazing.”

Illinois looked back at the family portrait, and smiled. They’d had to force King and Yancy back into suits to take it. Illinois pointed to each of them. “That’s Host, there’s me, Kaylor or “Kay” for short, Yancy, Yan, and Bim.”

Damien’s hands traced over the bandages on Host’s face. “What happened?”

“He had a bit of an accident,” Illinois explained carefully. “He’s blind but his magic helps him navigate around.”

“The poor thing,” Damien looked around, “is he here?”

“No, he lives with his boyfriend but he’ll probably turn up,” Illinois told him. “He has a way of doing that.”

“Bim, Yan, and I are the only ones who still live here,” Illinois explained. “The others have moved out.”

At that Damien looked emotionally crushed, “Oh, I guess you are adults.”

Illinois looked back into the other room where the heroes were all awkwardly watching, Illinois and Damien blocking them from leaving through the front door. The young man needed to completely defuse the situation. “Damien” needed to go to bed and he needed to kick everyone but Eric out.

So Illinois took a deep, quiet breath and decided to tackle it one problem at a time. Step one: isolate Eric from the other heroes.

“Before we lose the plot,” Illinois began to gently steer Damien towards Eric who looked nervous. “Sweetheart, he already knows your face, you can lose the mask.”

“Oh,” Eric realized and quickly pulled it off and put his glasses back on. “Hi, Mr. Dark.”

“Uhhh,” Damien looked a bit uncomfortable.

“아빠[4] this is Eric, he’s my fiancé,” Illinois reintroduced. “We’re getting married in September.”

“Aren’t you a little sweetheart,” Damien smiled at Eric.

Eric smiled back nervously, his smile getting bigger as Illinois came over to wrap his arm around him.

“He’s amazing,” Illinois smiled lovingly at Eric who blushed and ducked his head at the compliment.

Illinois began herding Eric and Dark to the nearest couch, talking about wedding plans and Damien seemed to get more excited.

He turned to the four heroes, and opened his mouth to start the process of ushering the unwanted intruders out of his home.

But another voice cut through the air.

“Are we having a party?” Wilford’s slurred drawl cut through the air like a bullet. “Been ages since we’ve had company.”

The adventurer looked to see his other father walking in from the kitchen and Illinois only had one thought in his mind: “Fuck!”

Wil chuckled as he walked over to throw his arm around Illinois, “Sorry my boy, did I interrupt a good ol’ fashioned joke?”

Illinois heard his phone go off and looked to see that almost all of his siblings had tried to contact him. “Dammit!”

Damien stared up at Wil from his seat on the couch and unseen a metaphorical fuse was lit. But for now Damien was so happy. “Wil?”

“Mhmm?” Wil looked over at Damien. “Yes my sweet licorice?”

Illinois answered his phone, it was too late to quietly whisk Damien safely away so he had to run damage control, “Yeah, King, just saw your texts.”

Damien let out a choked sound and came from around the couch to run at Wil and wrap his arms around him.

Wil returned the hug and chuckled, “My, someone’s cuddly today.”

“I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Damien clung onto his partner.

“Never for long,” Wilford chuckled as he picked Damien up, his arms bracing the other man like a seat. “I am here now my Darkling, don’t you worry about a thing.”

Mark was a bit surprised by the look of complete adoration on Damien’s face.

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” Damien smiled, resting his forehead against Wil’s. “You are.”

“Is anyone dead?” Bim walked out of the kitchen. Then he froze at the three heroes, “The flying fuck are you doing in my house.”

“We’re having a party,” Wil announced.

“The fuck we are,” Bim spat and looked at Damien, who was still in Wil’s arms, “are you serious?”

“I—” Damien started.

“You know what, have fun, I’m heading somewhere else,” Bim decided, not even letting Damien finish. He used his hand to cut through the air with his aura and made a portal large enough for him to walk through. It snapped closed after him.

Damien looked like he’d been stabbed as he glanced at the spot Bim had just been in. He glanced at Wil, “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Wil was very quick to reassure. “He’s just in a mood is all.”

“Bim’s a brat,” Illinois announced loudly, briefly pulled away from his conversation with King

“Fuck you Ills!” Bim’s voice came from upstairs.

Illinois laughed, “Talk to you later Kay.” Then he hung up and pocketed his phone.

“Dad, why don’t you go get some drinks?” Illinois offered to Wil.

“Oh, of course, how rude of me,” Wil chuckled, setting Damien down who tried to follow Wil.

“Do you need any help?” Damien asked.

Wil gave Damien a quick peck on the cheek, “I know my way around a liquor cabinet, just go enjoy yourself, my dear.”

“If you insist,” Damien smiled and went back to the couch.

He looked back at the living room and had an odd flash of recognition, the faces of the people in the room briefly flashing to different guests he couldn’t quite remember.

As if something was dreadfully familiar.

“You okay?” Patton asked, immediately picking up on the tense air around Damien.

“I just,” Damien began but was distracted by some pictures on the mantle. Pictures of what looked like a happy and lovely family. One he couldn’t remember because a demon had been walking around in his body.

Giving him everything he had ever wanted and more.

“A demon is supposed to ruin your life, not make it infinitely better,” Damien said.

“Well that’s great fer yah,”[6] Jackie chimed in. “But he’s made our lives a livin’ hell.”[7]

“Don’t,” Illinois placed himself protectively in front of Damien.

“Don’t what?” Mark felt indignant fury come over him. “Don’t tell him that he let a demon crawl around in his skin and strangle the life out of my town.”

“Now I—” Damien tried to defend himself as Mark lightly pushed Marvin out of the way.

“Or how about the fact that Dark let Logic almost get tortured and killed by the guy who just walked through here,” Mark argued, turning to Patton. “Or did you forget.”

“I didn’t forget, I just—” Patton spoke up but Silver was so angry.

“Wil’s a mass murdering nut job,” Mark reminded.

“Wil is many things,” Damien argued back, “he might be an eccentric but he’s not a murdered.”

“He is and Dark has been letting him fly off the handle and kill people whenever he wants!” Silver shouted. He pointed to Illinois, “You’re a thief. Bim’s a cannibalistic psychopath.”

“You’re lying!” Damien tried to push around Illinois to punch Mark in the face, but Illinois held him back. Rage and anger boiling from a part of Damien’s soul he couldn’t control. “Wil would never! You should know better, he’s your own brother! You’re just jealous that Celine left you for him!”

The instant those words left Damien’s mouth the fuse hit the end of its line and the memories came flooding back. The awful memories that left Damien dead and hollow.

In the wake of the mayor’s words the room went deadly silent. As if a bomb had gone off in the room.

“You,” Damien choked out as a dull ringing echo slowly seeped back into the room and the colors slowly started to fade. Recognition flared in his eyes, and slowly the black bruises on his neck came back and were getting darker and more necrotic-looking. “You stole everything from me.”

The look in Damien’s eyes was one of such hatred that Mark could physically feel it.

Illinois felt an aura push him out of the way. Damien let out an enraged scream and lunged at Mark.

Mark threw his hands up to protect his face, and began floating so he could get away but the hit never came. When he looked back Damien seemed trapped by some force as he screamed and tried to struggle. All too soon his screams began to get weaker and his skin began to turn grey.

Damien stiffened and Dark looked up.

“Get out of my house,” Dark growled and four was a gust of wind before Patton, Mark, Jackie, and Marvin were all tossed outside the front door.

Illinois and Eric were left in the living room as the house went back to normal.

“You can stay,” Dark told Eric who looked nervous. “You have a new suit I see, it certainly seems better than the old cloth one you had.”

“Uh, thanks,” Eric stammered nervously.

Wilford walked out with a tray of drinks, all of them swirling with his aura. The Host quietly, as his narrations would allow, followed behind him. He looked around the room. “Huh, didn’t we have company?”

Dark walked over and kissed him on the cheek, “That was last week, Wil.”

“Oh, silly me,” Wil chuckled and a portal opened for him to practically throw the tray into and dusted off his hands. “You know time, she plays hard to get.”

Illinois stomped over to stand next to the Host, glaring at his older brother, “Why didn’t you help?”

“Illinois will see that events are better this way,” the Host explained. “Besides, the Host helped stall Warfstache in the kitchen while Dark’s blue soul was losing himself.”

“You’re a real asshole sometimes, you know that right?” Illinois glared at him.

“The Host has been told,” the Host smiled and took a seat on the couch.

As the two young men spoke, Dark took the opportunity to portal to the front steps of the Manor and saw the four heroes still there.

“I thought I told the three of you to leave?” Dark reminded.

“I was so close!” Marvin shouted.

“How’s Damien?” Patton asked, everyone just letting Marvin rant off to the side.

“Screaming in eternal torment, as he usually does,” Dark told him, watching Patton flinch in sympathetic pain.

Dark’s expression softened, “As I hate being on anyone’s debt, expect me to pay back the favor shortly.”

“But I didn’t really do anything,” Patton reminded.

“Damien’s dead isn’t he?” Silver asked, that got Marvin’s attention immediately.

“Ahh, the matter of you,” Dark smiled. “By the reaction you had to Damien calling you “Mark” I can conclude that is also your name? You’re lucky that I’m not as blinded by rage that I can’t tell that you have a different face.”

“You saw that?” Silver asked.

“Of course I was watching, I was trying to get Damien back on his leash,” Dark snapped. “Do you know how long it takes to get him to do anything? He’ll be throwing one of his fits for the next month!”

Dark groaned and after cracking his neck twice, her form changed to look like her red soul. Marvin stared at her in realization. “There, at least he fell back asleep. He was resting peacefully before you four showed up.”

“They’re both dead, aren’t they?” Marvin thought out loud. “That’s why the spells never worked.”

Dark looked at Marvin. “Damien as a person is dead and shattered into pieces. He’s more like a wild animal than a person. He feels things, and occasionally can string errant thoughts, but the nice docile mayor you all desperately have been trying to reach is gone.”

“Is there—” Patton began, still trying to be helpful, and reminding Dark a bit of Damien’s old naivety in the process.

“No,” Dark began massaging her temples. “No, you’re all decades too late to help. Just let him rest. In about a week he would have been fine, but now that you’ve woken him up early that might not be the case. Just go and never bother me about this again.”

With that Dark turned to walk into a portal, the huge gate doors to the property opened. It took a while for the heroes to finally leave. Marvin heading off first and Patton lingering behind, as if he wanted to knock on the door and try to offer to help again.

Eventually the fronts were left cold and vacant, the gate doors swinging back closed and locking behind the heroes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. “sweetie” in Spanish

2. Shit! Illinois’s coming in hot.

3. your

4. “Dad” in Korean, under informally. Phonetically read as: “appa”

5. You’re not going anywhere

6. Well that’s great for you

7. But he’s made our lives a living hell.

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty-two: when in england

“Such a trip,” Sam muttered under her breath.

“Such a trip to go on such a trip?” Marla chuckled.

“Exactly!”

The two of them had taken their spots by the window which looked out to the vast stretch of Atlantic Ocean as it disappeared into the northern darkness. The sun was already starting to rise up before them, ready to welcome them to the other side of the waters: the sky overhead had been painted that rich dark violet and it bled into a bright tangerine orange with the brand new day on the horizon. Off in the distance, Sam spotted the first clouds of the fall up north and she wondered about that night in Sweden, that night when Cliff was killed, especially since Metallica themselves were three rows behind her and Marla. Every so often, she heard a giggle from Lars and then another one from Jason, but that was as far as it went with them back there.

Here she was, right next to Marla and across the aisle from Belinda and Joey, both of whom had fallen asleep when they left New York City the evening before. Aurora and Emile were in the seats behind them, and Sam knew she still hadn't told him yet.

As far as the two of them knew, their union stood on the shakiest of grounds. Every so often, she overhead Emile speaking about rum and whiskey and she wondered why on Earth he would be mentioning those things to Aurora of all people. She needed to tell him soon; if not there on the plane while everyone was still asleep, then later when they were in the hotel room.

She stared out the window once again at the colorful sky and for a second, she swore she saw the aurora borealis itself off to the north in all of its neon green glory. But then again, it was merely part of her imagination, especially once the plane reached the Azores followed by the outskirts of the British Isles. The clouds gathered around the edge of the islands and Sam sighed one of relief when she remembered she had in fact brought a couple of sweaters with her.

“Britain gets cold, even this time of year,” Lars told her over the phone during the night before, “so dress warm. No exaggeration—dress warm.”

They touched down in East Midlands: she spotted the castle down below, the venue Anthrax and Metallica were supposed to be playing at come two nights from then.

“They're gonna be going on after Bon Jovi and Cinderella of all bands,” Aurora said right into her ear.

“Wow,” Marla declared.

“Bon Jovi, Cinderella, and then W.A.S.P.,” Aurora continued. “They're gonna be the odd ones out, if you ask me.”

Sam turned to Marla, who raised her eyebrows at that. They touched down in East Midlands right as the low clouds collected up in the early morning sky for a bit of late summer rain: Sam shook her head as she realized she had left that black hat back home. Their hotel was right down the block, but she still yearned for the protection of that wide brim.

She bowed her head as Marla and Aurora walked on either side of her, and Belinda right behind them, on the way across the narrow street: behind the hotel stood a stream with waters deep enough to swim in at some point, as well as a small stone bridge that crossed over into a stretch of bright green grass. Things were in fact greener.

“Once we're checked in I'm gonna call my parents,” Sam said once they were in the small, warmly lit lobby, to which Belinda glanced down at her watch.

“It's probably ten o'clock at night back over there,” she pointed out.

“So? My dad told me to call once we get to England no matter what time it is.”

“Wish my parents were like that,” Marla confessed.

“Yeah, me, too,” Belinda added with a slight grin on her face. Sam turned her attention to the bar on the other side of the room, and Marla did, too.

“Looks like we've got cocktail makings on hand,” she noted, and then she turned to Sam.

“I'm gonna get a bottle of that sweet stuff over there for later on,” Marla told her. “Martinis for us ladies for a bit of a celebration.”

“What sweet stuff?”

“Marshmallow vodka. A little bit of that in juice? Tasty.”

“Sounds good.” Sam showed her a grin, and within time, they checked into their rooms; Sam, Marla, and Belinda took the one on the left, down at the far end of the bright warm corridor, next door to Emile and Aurora; meanwhile Joey, Frank, Dan, and Charlie took the one across the way. James, Lars, Kirk, and Jason were in four separate rooms themselves on the other side of the building; but Sam need not protest. She had left the United States for a short time and relished in the feeling all the while.

Marla had bought a large bottle of the marshmallow vodka, which had a dark pink label on the front; and she stashed it in the small wine cellar on the other side of the room for the time being. Sam wondered what sort of drink she had in mind as she began to unpack her things for the next few days there in East Midlands.

One of the first things she took out was her journal, a small set of pencils, and her black ink pens. She thought about the little drawings for good luck she had made for Charlie over the course of the North American stint of the tour: given they were overseas now, she figured it would be best to make a single special ink drawing for them. A special drawing to signify that she was outside of the United States, no less.

She lay flat on her stomach on the full sized bed and plunked the journal before her as if she was a little girl with a coloring book. Aurora had gone out somewhere in the hotel, while Belinda took her spot on the other bed and looked over the guide there in the drawer. Sam wondered what she could draw for Charlie as she adjusted her pose there on the bed and tucked her arms right under her chest. They were across the hall: she could always walk on over there and ask him about it, but then again, she had no idea if either of them were any decent, either.

Soon, Marla returned to the room with a towel coiled upon her head.

“You took a shower?” Belinda asked her.

“Yeah. No way I'm walking about here without feeling refreshed. That shower is the bomb, by the way.” She made her way over to dresser drawer she had claimed upon check in, and then she turned her head to Sam on the bed.

“So I've got my inks and my good paper with me,” she told her.

“Oh, good! Good, good, good. The British must see your art, Samantha!” Marla stated that last part in a fake British accent.

“Not sure what to draw, though.” She extended her arms out before her so she resembled to a lion on her throne. “Do you know if the boys are settled in over there?”

Marla shook her head.

“I've been in the shower, so I'm afraid not.”

“I haven't heard a peep over there since we came in here,” Belinda confessed, and without another word, Sam climbed off of the bed and she ambled over to the door: their door hung wide open and as a result, she could see Charlie seated with his back to the wall and his drum sticks in either hand. He glanced over at her and nodded at her.

But she continued on in there and he froze right in his spot. He then extended a hand for her and she stopped right in the doorway.

“Joey's changing his clothes,” he told her.

“Who is it?” Joey's voice floated out the door.

“It's Sam.”

“Oh! She can come in.”

Charlie chuckled at that and Sam made her way into the room: indeed, Joey stood between the beds with no shirt on and his shorts pulled all the way up past his waist.

“What's up?” Charlie asked her.

“Would you like me to draw you something?” she suggested. “I've got my inks with me.”

“Oh, sweet! Um—yeah. Draw us!”

“The four of you?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, do it, Sam!” Frank called from behind the bathroom door.

“No rush, though. The show itself is in a couple of days and we're going on near the middle of the set, too.”

“Sure, sure. I gotta sketch it out first, anyways.”

Charlie then gave her a high five and Joey followed suit with her as well, and then she returned to the room for a pencil sketch of the drawing in question. But she decided that a single drawing wouldn't be enough for them. They were a full fledged quartet now, each with their own vibe and feeling, especially with Joey at the helm as guitarist and lead singer.

She spent most of that first day in the hotel room with her journal right before her: lucky for her, the pages were perforated at the binding: she pictured what would happen once she had put down the black ink, and each of the four drawings in a frame, framed for each of them to take along all around the world following that show before the castle.

At some point, Belinda lay down on the bed for a nap to help her cope with jet lag, while Marla went out for something to make cocktails with, which in turn left Sam alone with the drawings in progress. By the time she opened the cap on the one millimeter pen, the door opened and Aurora sauntered into the room.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Sam greeted her, taken aback. “What's going on?”

“Emile's taking a nap,” she told her.

“Bel is, too.” Sam nodded to the opposite bed and Belinda, who had rolled over onto her side, away from the soft gray light that filtered in through the window next to Sam.

“What'cha doing, though?”

“Drawing something for Charlie. I also want to make a special drawing for the fact we're in Britain, too.”

“Right, right, right.” Aurora then stooped over and she opened the cabinet on the wine cellar, the one which had the bottle of marshmallow vodka inside of it. Sam lifted her gaze and gasped as she recognized that hot pink label on the front.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait—you seriously wanna be drinking that?” she asked her, stunned. Aurora sighed through her nose and she held the bottle right before her chest.

“I'm not pregnant,” she announced, to which Sam gasped again.

“Oh, damn—really? How'd you figure that out?”

“Time of the month.”

“Ah. But you missed one, though.”

“Yeah, I know—no idea why, though. And I thought Marla told you, too.”

“No, she—didn't say anything about it.”

“Really?”

Sam shook her head and then Aurora pried off the cap and took a small swig from the bottle, much to her surprise.

“Jesus,” she muttered.

“What?” Aurora raised an eyebrow at her.

“You're really gonna go there, aren't you?”

“Go where?”

“With—that.”

“It was just a little bit of vodka I drank right there. Marla said she's going to mix it in to give it a little 'oomph' but not too much.”

“Right.” Sam hesitated right in her tracks.

“Right? Right what?”

“If being around Joey when he's drinking is anything to go by, it's that one sip turns into a full bottle of booze.”

“Sure, sure, sure. Sam—I assure you that I'm not like that. I can keep it under control—I've drank on my period before but I've always kept it to a level.”

Sam squinted her eyes at her, but then she returned to the pad of paper upon her lap. Soon, Marla returned to the room with a couple of bottles of grenadine and some lime juice; but Sam was focused more so on the papers before her. She put down ink by the time Belinda woke up for a drink herself.

Black curls for Joey and Charlie both. That feathery crown atop Dan's head. Lush hair on Frank's head. Each of them with a bit of cross hatchess for shading on their faces.

Marla whipped up a glass of midori sour for her once she had signed her initials on all four of the drawings; she took a sip and nodded her head.

“Oh, man, that's good,” Sam remarked with a swirl of her glass. She glanced up at Marla. “Where'd you learn that?”

“Sam, I grew up in Hell's Kitchen. We know how to groove.”

Belinda chuckled at that; behind Marla, Aurora poured herself a small glass of that straight marshmallow vodka for a shot. Sam then set down the journal to show Marla the drawings.

“Holy wow,” Belinda remarked.

“Oh, man, you're getting clean with your lines,” Marla added as she held her glass away from the bed's surface. “Love how you gave their hair plenty of glimmer and depth, too.”

“Power of negative space,” Sam told her; careful not to damage the drawings, she took each of them off of the perforation and then she took one more sip of her drink before she made her way across the hall to meet up with them once again.

The door had been nudged shut part of the way, but she could hear Joey's laughter on the inside there. She held the drawings close to her body as she knocked on the door panel with her free hand.

“Charlie?” she called into the room. A brief amount of silence in there; she nudged the door open and she was met with Dan and Charlie's backs.

“Charlie!” she called again, and he whirled around and he gaped at the drawings that she put on display before him.

“Oh, wow!” he proclaimed.

“Damn, those are amazing!” Dan followed suit.

“These are all pen and ink. Just exactly how you asked and then some—I didn't want to do a single drawing, so I made four. One for the each of you.”

“Excellent! I'll put these where everyone can see them.”

Charlie showed her a smile and then he put his arms around her, and Dan did, as well. Joey, who stood on the far side of the room, then snapped his fingers.

“Oh, Sam!” he started, “there's someone I want you to meet. He's already across the way at the castle.”

He strode up towards her with what appeared to be a dark blue bandana in one hand.

“You gonna look like a bandit when we go over there?” she teased him, to which he laughed at that as they made their way out to the corridor.

“Nah, it's to keep my bangs off of my forehead. If there's anything I can't get used to, it's the humidity here.”

“The humidity?” she laughed at that. “You're from upstate New York—how could you not be used to humidity?”

“No idea,” he confessed as he set the bandana atop his head. “But it's the truth, though.” He paused for a second to better tie it behind his head, and then he led her down the hall to the front door. The rain had stopped long enough for the clouds to break apart a bit: the afternoon sun filtered through in a gray haze, but it was enough for the castle to light up by the tops of the turrets.

He waited for her to catch up at the curb, and then they continued onward to the other side: he led her down a narrow pathway lined with lush, soaked trees and shrubs. She thought about the quiet place, that nook in the woods that she and Charlie found together when Stormtroopers of Death were recording their album. He bowed his head a bit for a low hanging branch and she did as well; and then he led her to a tall blue and gold tent pitched up right outside of the castle. He held the door flap for her and she padded inside first.

She glanced about the tent, and the stacks of amplifiers on the right side, as well as Metallica's equipment: indeed, she caught the sound of Lars' drums beyond the tent there. The show itself wasn't starting up, and yet he already rehearsed for it. Next over were lights and more equipment for Bon Jovi's set, as well as all that Cinderella needed; but as Joey stood right next to her, he nodded at the short, sinewy gentleman walking towards them. He had a mullet all around the back of his head and a bare spot at the crown, a hooked nose, and a serious expression on his face, and yet, when he recognized Joey, the corners of his beady dark eyes crinkled with the smile.

“Hey, I know you—sort of,” he called out to him as he adjusted the lapels of his black leather jacket.

“Hey, Ron—it's been a while.” Joey threw his arms around him, and then he turned to Sam.

“Sam, this is my friend, Ronnie James Dio,” Joey declared. “Ronnie, this is my friend Sam—better known as Sam I am.”

Ronnie wagged his finger at her. “I've heard a bit about you,” he said in a soft voice, complete with that distinct upstate accent.

“I've heard a little bit about you, too.” To which he shrugged.

“I'm like little Joe Mama right here—I get around the upstate area.”

“That's the only way to do it,” she pointed out with a shrug herself, and that brought a chuckle out of him. “Is there any chance we'll be able to see the infamous Rainbow or Elf?”

“Well, I'm with my own band at the moment—simply called Dio. We're gonna be goin' on once Metallica wraps up the day of the show.”

“It's just rehearsals right now, anyways,” Joey assured her as he reached up to adjust his bandana.

“Although—come with me. Both of you.”

Sam followed Ronnie into one side of the tent: he was like a wizard, especially with that mullet of hair at the back and that black leather upon his body. He stood before a small table the size of the nightstand back at the hotel room: as she came closer, she spotted a series of silver picks strewn about the surface. There was one at the top with a chain attached to it.

“There's no rainbow or elf here,” he told her, “but there is a—a certain sabbath, though.” He picked up that one silver pendant from the table's surface and he showed her the words “earth eternal – sign of the southern cross” etched on the front, as well as the words “Black Sabbath” on the back.

“Here—” He unhooked the pendant and she lifted her ponytail for her.

“It's like you're getting blessed, Sam,” Joey remarked, to which Ronnie chuckled at that; but he kept his eyes fixed on the clasp at the base of Sam's neck.

“Blessed by the gods,” Ronnie added as he moved the clasp to the back of her neck. She peered down at the pendant in the middle of her chest.

“Thank you,” she breathed, to which he winked at her.

“We've been seeing a lot more women in our audiences lately,” he told her. “Not sure if it's 'cause of that amazing punk band Anthrax have been touring with, or because of Doro, but—we have to treat them well.” He leaned his head in closer to her and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Especially the ones we make friends with.”

And she nodded her head at that. Ronnie turned to Joey right then.

“And I have something for you, Joey,” he declared. But Sam turned away for a moment, just so she could have a better look at that silver pendant. He did in fact feel like a wizard, and it did feel as though she had received a blessing of sorts. She ran her finger tips along the etching on the one side and she tried to think of the most powerful of magic to protect her as she went on her way. Yet another thing she had to protect with that black onyx box back home.

She was about to take a step forward when someone gasped out right before her.

She opened her eyes and there was that little sliver of gray once again. That sliver that haunted her dreams, and for a split second, she swore that with Ronnie's blessing, that she had brought the mysterious man in her dreams to life. But he shook his head about and he raised his eyebrows at the pendant about her neck.

“Hi,” she greeted him in a soft voice.

“Hi—I wasn't expecting to see you here,” Alex noted.

“And I wasn't expecting to see you here,” she echoed him. “I mean, I got the letter from Testament last week saying that you guys are going to be out here in Europe for a few dates.”

“Yeah, but—didn't expect to see each other here, though,” he pointed out with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Well—yeah. But anyways, what're you doing here?”

“Just hangin' out for a bit. I was about to see what Charlie's doing.” He shrugged his shoulders and he ran his fingers through his otherwise jet black curls. “Besides, you think we're gonna miss our guys and their big gateway to being at the pinnacle of the world?” he asked her with a little nod of his head. “Playing in a castle no less?”

“Their literal ascension to rock royalty?” she followed along.

“Exactly! It's also the second time Metallica plays here, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam folded her arms across her chest.

“That's what I'm told, yeah. So I'm told, anyways. So—you know. Bay Area represent.” He bowed his head forward for a better look at that pendant. “That's badass. Where'd you get that?”

“Oh, Ronnie gave it to—” She turned around and gestured back to Ronnie and Joey, but they had disappeared. “—me.”

“Wow,” he breathed, and then he turned his head. “Oh, there's Charlie.”

She followed Alex to right outside of the tent, where Charlie sauntered up to the door with those drawings in hand.

“Where's Joey—he's gotta see this one of him closer,” he told her with a twinkle in his eye.

“He's over there somewhere,” Sam pointed to the other side of the tent, and before Alex could say anything, Charlie bowed away from there to fetch Joey and Ronnie. Alex then turned back to Sam with a puzzled look on his boyish face.

“What was that?” he wondered aloud with a gesture to the drawings.

“Oh, that was—”

“Hey, careful—” Aurora interjected right then. She staggered towards him and he backed off from her. Sam stood still as she watched her best friend stagger into the tent. She sniffled and she rubbed the tip of her nose.

“What's—What's goin' on?” she asked Sam.

“Wow, how many shots have you had since I left the room?”

“Enough for a—a—a—a good time. Enough to get ready to party. Party!” She shot out her arms on either side of her and almost punched Sam right in the face all the while.

“Aurora, the show's not for another couple of days and you're already drunk!” she proclaimed.

“What's the good in that?” Aurora giggled and then she turned to Alex. She clutched onto the front of his shirt and lunged right into his face, and showed him her tongue.

“Hey, cutie pie,” she slurred out to him.

“Aurora!” Sam exclaimed.

“Aurora,” Alex tried to wriggle out from her grip, “—Aurora, c'mon, you're knocked up and smashed—wait a minute, lemme rephrase that.”

“Shhh,” Aurora pressed a finger to his lips, but he moved his head back away from her hand.

“But—”

“No, no, no, nah—Alex—listen to me—listen—listen—listen—”

“I'm listening?” he sputtered and hunched his shoulders. Aurora giggled at him and patted the sides of his face.

“You're cute,” she noted with a slight slur of her speech.

“I try my best,” he quipped, and he gave her a shrug.

“Nah, no—you are just too cute for words, Alejandro.”

“Alejandro. Back up, I thought you were Korean.”

She giggled at him. “Naneun dangsin-ege kiseuhago sipseubnida,” she quipped.

He froze right in his tracks with his eyes wide with confusion.

“Neon jeongmal aleumdaun sonyeon-iya,” she continued, “dali saie mueos-i issneunji boyeojuseyo.”

“Uh... yeah,” he said, baffled. He backed away from her and looked over to the door. Sam tried to step in between them, but Aurora lunged for him. He bowed away from her as a result.

“No—No!” she sputtered. “Alex—come here—come—come—”

“Nah.” He strode over to the door with a horrified look on his face.

“Come!” she called out to him as if he was a dog.

“No way!”

He ducked away from her before Sam could say anything to him. He was the faster runner even if Aurora hadn't had anything to drink all afternoon. He headed out to the trees, and Sam followed suit. They reached the street; Alex continued on to the other side of the hotel and the small bridge which led over to the grass. Panting, he skidded to a stop and Sam did as well right in front of him.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demanded.

“I have no clue,” she confessed.

“Hey!” Aurora called out from the left, and Sam wondered how she got out of the tress so fast. She collapsed there onto the grass right next to them: her hands clutched onto Alex's ankles, and he almost lost his balance as a result.

“AURORA!” Sam shouted.

“ALEX!” Aurora shouted as well.

“Shit!” Alex staggered back towards the stream, such that he almost fell in.

“What's all this yelling?” Marla called out; Sam turned around to see the look of dismay on her face. Marla then looked down at Aurora, who lay there on the grass with her arms outstretched before her.

“Oh, god,” she muttered, and then she returned her attention to Sam and Alex. “Bel and I have been trying to keep her in the room for like twenty minutes and she was like, 'no, no! I wanna party!'”

“The way she is, I don't think so,” Alex called from his spot there on the grass.

“She's not pregnant, by the way,” Marla told him.

“Wait, she isn't?” His face turned as red as a cherry tomato.

“Not even one bit,” Sam resisted the urge to cackle like a madwoman right there.

“She's fucking hammered, though! Nah, man, I ain't doin' that!” Alex clambered to his feet and he walked at a brisk pace onto the bridge. Sam and Marla returned to Aurora, who had passed out there on the wet grass.

“Want me to get Bel and Emile?” Sam offered her.

“Nah, I can do that. You can help me roll her over, though.”

They both rolled Aurora onto her side. Her smooth eyes were sealed shut and her mouth hung wide open; they both stood up in unison, and then Marla headed back into the hotel to fetch Belinda and Emile. Sam turned her attention to the bridge: she spotted the crown of Alex's head on the other side, and she walked on over to him just to check on him. He stood there with with his elbows rested upon the stone railing and he gazed out at the darkening waters under the bridge.

“Hey,” she said to him. He never turned his attention to him.

“Are you okay?” she gently asked him.

“Yeah,” he replied with a bit of haste, “—I hope so.”

His bottom lip trembled. “I thought she—she—” He could hardly talk.

“I tried telling you that she wasn't, though,” Sam pointed out as she lingered closer to him. “And if I'm being perfectly honest: that has to be the first time I had ever seen her three sheets to the wind like that before.”

Alex stood perfectly still, still with his elbows rested on the bridge's railing. He gazed out to the murky waters with his eyes large and the color barely returned to his face.

“There was no way I was going to, though,” he assured her.

“Going to what?”

“You know.” He hesitated for a second and then he cleared his throat. “—while she's drunk.”

And then she gasped when she realized what he meant by that.

“Well, if it's any fairness to you, Alex, I wouldn't want you to, either,” she said. “That's like the last thing you need right now.”

He then turned his attention to her. His eyes were still large; he never said anything to that, but Sam meant it. He returned to the black waters before them, still in silence; silence save for the loud wretching noise Aurora made on the other side of the grass.

“Really hope she brushes her teeth,” he said in a soft voice; she wretched again and that one in particular sounded rather hard. It made him grimace and it made her bow her head a bit.

“I'm sure she will.” Another wretch. “Scratch that—I know for a fact she will. Especially since she's married. Married to Emile no less.”

“At least six times.” Another wretch, and that time he shook his head at the sound. “Six more times of that.”

“You know, we are in England,” she pointed out. He flashed her a mortified glance.

“What, you want me to get drunk myself?” he asked her. “Samantha, I've already dropped a bit of acid the size of my pinky nail and it got my ass grounded for two weeks straight.”

“No, but what I am saying is you can have a drink yourself without—” Another wretch. “—that right there.”

“I dunno,” Alex confessed with a shrug of his shoulders. “I tried beer once and I just about did what Aurora's doing right now.”

“What about wine?” she asked him.

“Haven't tried wine—on its own. I've had steak marinated in wine, though. That's pretty good.”

“That sounds good, too.”

Yet another wretch.

“Man, she's gonna be sore tomorrow,” he remarked, and he turned his head into the direction of the hotel. “Speaking of steak—”

He gestured for her to follow him back to the hotel.

“Metallica and Dio are treating us all to something, it looks like.”

“Anything to get us away from that,” she said.

“Right? When in England, you gotta party after all.” And that in turn made her laugh.

********************

korean translations:

“naneun dangsin-ege kiseuhago sipseubnida” = “i want to kiss you”

“neon jeongmal aleumdaun sonyeon-iya” = “you are such a beautiful boy”

“dali saie mueos-i issneunji boyeojuseyo” = “let me see what you have between your legs”

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crimson-dxwn · 4 years

Text

A Little Mischief (Sofi + Thire): Chapter 4

Summary: Here it is, my lovelies! At last, Chapter 4. This was a tough one for me to write, for some unknown reason. Please enjoy about 6,000 words of smut and added gratuitous fluff.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sexiness ahead ft. some light bondage, NSFW and 18+, ALSO there is the aftermath of what basically is battery but also could be considered sexual assault.

CHAPTER 4

A hand was stroking her hair. It felt amazing, compared to the way the rest of her body ached stiffly - right now her left hip was completely numb. Right on the edge of sleep and waking, she thought it must be Thire. He’d always loved her long hair, loved running his hands through it when she wore it down. Last week she’d found out he like pulling it in bed...

The hand stopped stroking, but it wasn’t Thire’s voice she heard.

“It’s time to go home for a while Sofi,” the soft voice said, “you need to shower and eat something.”

When she wrenched her gritty eyelids open, she finally had her answer.

A slight woman was leaning over the little cot set up by Thire’s bacta tank, an imposing red-armored figure looming behind her. The woman had to be Mouse, if Fox’s posture was any indication. Before her brain was fully operational, she laughed a little at Fox having his wife come and collect her, like she was some sort of emotional ticking time bomb. From what she understood of their relationship, they pretty much came as a matched set. So really this shouldn’t be much of a surprise.

“‘Mokay. I’ll stay here.” She glanced back up at the tank and the vitals readout, making sure he was still there, still alive. Usually she stared at the tank until she could see his chest rise and fall until she let her eyes close. Unwilling to leave him, she snuggled herself under the blankets a little farther.

“Sofi, you had crackers for dinner last night.” When Sofi reopened her yes, both Mouse and Fox both looked profoundly unconvinced of her ability to take care of herself. “When was the last time you went home?”

She wracked her brains to try and remember. Thire had been in bacta for...three days now. Or was it four?

“At least I ate something.” Mouse sighed and Fox shifted impatiently. Sofi watched his helmet tilt up, almost imperceptibly, to watch his brother floating in bacta. He was probably just as worried as she was. He and Thire had known each other for years. Maybe they hadn’t been close on Kamino, but now they were as close as batchmates.

“You can come back later, but let’s get you a change of clothes at the very least.”

Sofi looked down at her dirty scrubs peeking out from under the hospital blanket. There were still little smears of his blood on them and the utterly exhausted part of her brain almost made her laugh at it. She’d been spattered with blood too when she first met Thire. She felt - and probably smelled - like the angel of death. Maybe a shower would do her some good.

“Okay,” she acquiesced, “but I’m coming right back afterwards.”

“That’s fine,” said Mouse, “Fox will stay with him until you get back.”

Sofi managed to get home okay, after all, she’d had some rest. But she didn’t dare let herself lie down on her bed or the couch for fear of falling asleep again out of pure, eviscerating exhaustion. Showering was the acceptable alternative that would perk her up a bit, to wash some of her worry off as well as the grime. The searing heat of the spray helped to work some tension out of her muscles, cramped from her constant perch on the cot next to Thire’s tank.

Mouse was right, she did feel better after showering. Gulping down some water, Sofi pondered when she’d have to go back to work. Paid time off was limited and she still wasn’t sure when Thire would be able to leave the hospital. Fortunately, he was young and healthy, in his prime, so to speak. That he had going for him, and also the particular Mando stubbornness that she supposed came from Jango Fett. Kaminoans certainly didn’t seem like the most tenacious of people.

Sofi glanced at the inviting cushions on her couch. A little nap couldn’t hurt. She’d only been getting snippets of sleep the last few days, waking at every little voice and beep. A few hours couldn’t hurt. I’ll just rest my eyes, she thought, and slipped into sleep.

Hours later she was wrenched out of sleep by her beeping comm. Thire was coming out of bacta.

She rushed back to the hospital, anxious and excited. Fox was still there with Thire, as promised, bucket off and standing ramrod straight beside the tank. Nurses and med droids milled about, prepping the room.

“Commander,” she greeted, sidling up to the tank. She pressed her hands to the transparisteel, studying Thire’s unconcsious form for any signs of trouble.

“Ma’am,” he replied. Thire had told her so much about his brother, his vod as he called him. Commander Fox was a formidable man, but Sofi knew from Thire that his hard exterior hid a softer center. Not that she would ever mention it.

“You can call me Sofi, if you like,” He smiled down at her.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sofi,” said Fox.

“Likewise.” Together they watched the bacta slowly start to drain, inching down gradually. Nausea rose up in her gut as she waited.

“What the hell happened to him, Fox?” She didn’t bother with rank, not caring much for formality at this point.

He sighed, somehow looking even more burdened than usual. It was easy to see how Mouse would soften his edges, even him out a bit.

“We had a tip on a being-trafficking situation down in the lower levels. One of the hut’uune set the place on fire to cover the evidence up...from what Stone told us, it sounded like he was in a hostage situation with one of them. He saved a woman but the trafficker shot him.”

Tears prickled in her eyes, not for the first time that day. She knew she shouldn’t be angry at him for taking risks, but she was; wanted to tell him how much of a self-sacrificing idiot he was, but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t be the Thire she loved without his caring nature.

It was slow going after leaving the hospital. Sofi didn’t think she’d ever had a worse patient in her entire career. After insisting that he be discharged with her, she’d brought Thire to her place so he could have some peace and quiet. He repeatedly insisted that he was fine to go back to work, despite being at death’s door mere days ago. Truthfully, he didn’t even seem that happy to be alive.

He’d never raised his voice at her before, but now he was as testy as a wounded animal; she felt like she was constantly tiptoeing around his varying moods. It was exhausting. The worst part was that he wouldn’t let her help him. Sofi practically had to beg him to let her put bandages on, even though they both knew he couldn’t reach.

Confronting the problem head on seemed the best option after a week of him shutting her out. Surgery and bacta had taken care of most of the critical damage, but the immobility and energy needed to heal had taken a lot out of him.

“Thire?”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look up from his comm.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” She tried putting her hand on his forearm but he shook it off, though he finally looked her in the eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, “I’m here, aren’t I?” Irritation showed plain on his face, still drawn from recovery.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” she said; she prayed he’d understand, “Thire, I saw you come into the hospital. I saw how bad it was. Even with bacta, there’s no way you’re back to one hundred percent.”

“You don’t know me, then. Because I’m fine. I honestly don’t even know why I’m here.” He threw the covers off of himself in frustration.

That hurt. But she wasn’t entirely surprised. She’d get to the bottom of this, fix whatever was going on with him and they’d be back to normal.

“Maybe you want to talk to someone about it?” she suggested.

That was apparently entirely the wrong thing to say. He glared at her, face hardening. She’d really upset him now, she could tell by that look on his face, the way he jerked and turned away from her so she couldn’t see it.

“I’m fine,” he ground out, still facing towards the windows, “Actually, I’m better than fine. I’m going back to the barracks. I need some alone time.”

“Are you sur-“

“- I’m not one of your patients, Sofi. Stop treating me like I am!” The tone in his voice shut her up and she watched him awkwardly put on his blacks and lower body plates, breathing harshly. The upper ones were long gone, tossed aside in the back of an ambulance somewhere, slicked in his blood.

She just sat there on the bed, too shocked to cry, staring at his back as he left her flat, walking stiffly through the pain and slamming the door behind him. This was nothing like the Thire she knew. It was hard to be upset with him, but it was like his personality had changed overnight and he refused to talk to anyone about it, least of all her. She could feel him pulling away and felt like there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Rare was the moment that Thire truly felt afraid. In the last week, he’d had two. One, when the certainty had come over him that he was going to die, and second, when he realized he lived but was gravely injured. Possibly irreparably. Civilians didn’t know about decommissioning, and his fellow clones only whispered the word, even as grown men. He and his brothers had grown up with the constant visceral terror of not being good enough and never being seen again, being stolen away in the night. Regular children had terrors of imaginary monsters, but for the clones they were real.

Which was why he couldn’t let anyone see, even though he knew that the Kaminoans couldn’t touch him here. That fear had been so real and raw for the majority of his life that it was something he just couldn’t snap himself out of. His brothers would understand. They were the only ones who could and would protect him.

All Sofi’s constant ministrations had done was make him feel like a child again. A terrified child. He cabbed it back to 300 Republica and stiffly made his way to his bunk, ignoring the stares from his brothers at his sweaty face, bucket under his arm, straining to keep it together until he reached his bunk. No one dared confront him. When he did arrive, he thanked whatever privileged bastard decided to give them private rooms before he limped to the fresher and started puking his guts out.

He kept having dreams about the hospital.

------

The next two weeks passed in a blur. Somehow they felt like the longest two weeks of his life, and other times he wasn’t sure how that much time had passed since he’d seen Sofi. Two weeks was the longest they’d gone without speaking in the entirety of their relationship. He’d composed messages to her, but hadn’t had the gett’se to send them, to apologize for his di’kutla behavior.

Being babied hadn’t helped his anxiety about his injury and like a coward, he couldn’t bring it up to her. To his displeasure, his anxiety had only worsened since his grenade injury in the beginning of the war. The medic then had told him he was lucky to come out of that still walking straight, which had resulted in him having daily panic attacks for weeks. He sighed. Since he’d stormed out of her place two weeks ago, Sofi hadn’t contacted him once. Not that he expected her to - he fully expected her to be pissed, and she had every right to be.

Which was why he almost didn’t answer her text. He knew he wasn’t mad at her, he knew that. It was his anxiety talking. He also knew their relationship was over. How could Sofi ever want him back after the way he’d raged at her. She deserved to be with someone who was as vibrant as she was. Still, his heart ached to see her again, hear her witty banter, see the way she smiled at him when he was doing something mundane and thought he couldn’t see. All of it.

He’d received a cryptic text from her number asking to pick her up, signed by one of her coworkers whose name he didn’t recognize.

Sofi was sitting on the curb with a cup of caf, wearing a paper scrub top. He was too scared to ask what had happened to the one that she had been wearing that matched her bottoms. His blood boiled at the implication. He may not have been there to witness what happened, but he could sure as hell connect the dots.

“I got your text.”

“I didn’t text you.”

“Well someone did.” A long pause stretched between them. Sofi sat, sipping her coffee, looking for all intents and purposes extremely bored, while he stood in front of her, watching, waiting for an explanation. It didn’t help that his guilt was eating him alive and she wouldn’t - or couldn’t - look at him.

“Surprised you even answered, Thire.” Her voice was flat, alarmingly so, her face smooth and expressionless. This was nothing like the Sofi he knew. He wanted her to rage at him, scream or curse - something. An ice pack rested over her right palm, dripping a puddle onto the duracrete.

“The text said something happened.” Thire’s worry was growing the more she wouldn’t look at him. She just sipped her coffee like nothing in the universe was wrong, like it was morning and they were still together and he’d run down to the corner shop for two cafs, black.

“I don’t kriffing know,” she said, irritation plain, “ask the asshole who texted you. My cab is coming in five minutes and I just wanna go home.”

“What happened to your hand?” Her eyes flicked down to the appendage as if she had forgotten it was there.

“Nothing.”

“Can I look at it?” he asked carefully. She shrugged. Taking that as a yes, he crouched down in front of her slowly, though he wasn’t sure she would even notice him. He moved the ice pack and a livid bite mark met his eyes, right in the meat of where her thumb met her palm. A human bite mark. Thire clenched his teeth.

“You gonna tell me who did this?” he asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Dark almond eyes met his, almost black in the darkness, reflecting the speeder lights passing by. He braced his hands on the armor covering his thighs

“Patient tried to get fresh with me. Ripped my top, tried to shove his fingers in my mouth. I pushed his face away and he bit me.” He watched her look at her hand and poke at the bruise like the appendage belonged to someone else.

“That’s battery, Sofi, you should press charges!”

“It’s not that serious, Thire.”

“Half your hand is black and blue.”

There seemed to be a lot of shrugging going on tonight. She repeated the movement, still staring straight forward.

“I just want to forget about it.” The crack in her voice was the only thing that stopped him from pushing her further.

“Fine, but I’m taking you home.” As if in response, her cab pulled up and Thire talked to the cabbie, flipping him a few credits for his time. Fortunately, she mounted his speeder bike behind him without argument and held onto him gingerly, touching the least amount of surface area as possible.

She let them into her apartment, moving slowly towards the bedroom and he followed, unsure of what he should be doing, or even if she wanted him there. Sofi finally settled on the edge of the bed and Thire joined her.

“Has stuff like this happened before?” A shrug. Yes, then. She didn’t seem to want to elaborate, so he didn’t press her. But it didn’t surprise him.

“Go shower and change and I’ll sit with you.” She didn’t fight his suggestion and rose, stiffly grabbed pajamas out of her drawer and slid into the fresher. A half hour later she was still in there and Thire was starting to get concerned.

He knocked softly on the door, with no answer and Thire could hear that the shower was still running. He knocked louder. Maybe she’d fallen or passed out or worse and the last thought scared him enough to open the door to check on her. Sofi was huddled in the corner of her shower, arms wrapped around knees, head resting on top of them, so still she looked frozen as the water from the shower poured over her.

Thire was a little scared to approach after what had happened earlier, unsure of how comfortable she’d be. He stripped his armor plates off and clambered in the shower with her. The water was still hot, soaking his blacks in a matter of seconds, wetting his hair until it plastered down to his face; instinctively, he sat and wrapped his arms and legs around her huddled form. Normally obstacles and insults rolled off her back like nothing - her unshakeable confidence was one of the things he loved most about her, but this - this was different and it scared him.

For a moment her body tightened, relaxing after a beat, wet head coming to rest on his shoulder. He held her for a while in silence, letting the water fall over them.

“Cyar’ika, let’s get you changed.” She nodded in response and squeezed his arm a bit, as if to reassure him she was okay. He turned off the water for her and she wrapped up in a towel while he shed his soggy blacks. Fortunately, he kept a few pieces of civvy clothing at her place which were still strewn on a chair in the corner. They donned their sleepwear in silence and she let him curl up behind her in bed, like old times. After a few minutes, neither of them were asleep and Thire couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said. She squirmed and readjusted so that she was facing him in bed, hand on his face, softly stroking his cheek.

“There’s no way you could have known, stuff like this happens more than you think,” she whispered, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I know. I just wish I had been,” he continued, “-and I know I was wrong when I left.”

“Me too.” She paused, looking down at her bitten hand. He took it in his, finding that he needed it more for his reassurance than her comfort. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I knew you were mad and I wanted you to have the space you needed.”

“I don’t even know how many times I wrote and rewrote messages to you. I was just too afraid to send them,” he said, forcing himself to continue, “...the reason I blew up at you...you didn’t do anything wrong. I was scared.” He choked out the last word. Here he was, a Commander, pride of the GAR, admitting he was terrified. How he hated it.

“I know,” she admitted, “I could tell by your reaction, but I didn’t want to press.”

“I’m sorry.” Thire hung his head, he had to get this out, or else he would never be able to tell her. “When we were young, training, there were rumors that if you were defective….the Kaminoans would decommission you.”

“Decommision?”

“Kill us.” His bluntness astonished him, but it was the truth. “That’s why I get anxious when I’m sick or hurt. Not because of you.”

“I forgive you.” She brushed a kiss across his lips, and he noticed tears in her eyes again. “And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you had to go though that.”

“Forgiven,” he replied, returning the kiss and pressing her to him so that they were flush.

“I care that you’re alive. Even if we’re not together,” whispered Sofi.

“Do you want to be together?”

“Yes,” she said, “Do you?”

“More than anything,” he replied.

---

Thire and Sofi sat in her kitchen, happily sipping caf and eating savory pastries from Ordo’s - their usual Sunday morning routine. He met her eyes over the top of his mug and smiled.

“I want a baby, Thire.”

“What?” His eyes went a little wide but he was able to keep his reaction somewhat under control, except for the fact that he choked slightly on a bit of pastry.

“With you.” His watery eyes considered her, sitting across the table from him, a perfectly placid expression on her face.

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

She gave him a little pause to think about it.

“And I don’t want to wait. You’re it, Thire. I knew on our second date. And then you got shot and it just put everything into perspective.”

“I get that.” He considered it. A baby. “I feel that way too. I love you, Sofi. If it was legal I’d carry you to the Senate Building right now and marry you on the spot.”

“What do you think? About what I said.”

He considered her proposition. A baby. Fatherhood had always been an abstract concept to him, having never had one himself. But in the past year, he’d let himself consider the notion once or twice. Okay, maybe more since he’d met Sofi.

“I think I’d like to. Try at least and see what happens.”

“Good, because I’m overdue for my birth control hypo and I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

Per usual, she managed to drop his jaw to approximately the level of his knees. That was his Sofi, always direct. She never did anything by half.

“Take your clothes off and sit down,” she commanded, nodding towards the bed. He raised an eyebrow slightly but complied. She knew he liked it when she was a little bossy in bed, and today was no exception, if the state of him was any indication.

She stripped her clothes off in front of him, slowly, backing away when he reached out to touch her.

Thire was obviously feeling better, because the look in his eyes was hungrier than she’d ever seen it. Oh, this was going to be fun. She made her way over to her closet to where Thire’s pile of discarded clothes still sat. He’d gotten in the habit of leaving his civilian clothes at her place, but never got in the habit of folding them. When he left, she hadn’t had the heart or energy to get rid of them.

She bent to search through the pile, giving him quite the show and he practically growled. But he stayed put on the edge of the bed, slowly stroking himself as he watched her.

Finally she found what she was looking for. The worn leather belt he’d worn on their second date. She strolled lazily back to him, belt in hand, and grabbed his wrist, yanking his hand off himself. He got the idea pretty quickly.

“Can I tie you up?”

“Hells...yes,” he replied. She pushed him back so he was lying flat, arms above his head and used the belt to strap his wrists together. The muscles in his arms looked delicious like this. She traced her hands down them and sighed.

“Too tight?” He shook his head no.

“Pretty,” she remarked, “Be good and stay still for me, Thire.” He interrupted her before she could start in on him.

“Sit on my face. Want you to come first.” Her core clenched, and she smirked at him. “Please,” he begged, smirking back at her. The little shit.

“Well since you asked so nicely.”

She straddled his talented mouth and he licked into her, circling her entrance with his tongue, pressing it into her. He knew exactly how to drive her insane, even without using his hands.

“Ah…” he nosed up to her clit and she swore under her breath, closing her eyes against the pleasure and gripping the headboard. Already, her legs were starting to shake, but he was relentless, grinding his tongue on her clit with maddening pressure until she was the one panting and begging and then she came with a breathless sigh.

When she finally came down from her high she bent to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips, slipping her tongue in his mouth, careful not to touch his cock yet. Sofi liked seeing - and hearing - him desperate for her.

“Should I give you what you want?” He just groaned in response as she finally took his cock in her hand, stroking gently. By the look of the muscles in his neck, he was certainly desperate.

“I guess I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, centering herself over him. Thire gained a little composure back and their eyes met. Gods, she was crazy about him. She’d never felt safer or more cared for in her entire life - she loved him and she loved him so kriffing much - and looking in his eyes now he saw her feelings mirrored there - in the deep glowing brown of his eyes, the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, trusting her completely.

Without breaking eye contact, she took him inside her fully, just pausing for a moment and reveling in the feeling of their bodies joined together. His hips gave an involuntary jerk, pushing father inside and rubbing her clit against his abdomen and it spurred her to move, riding him until she was breathless again. Somehow he’d freed his hands, because suddenly she felt them in her hair and he was tugging her down to kiss him.

She could feel him getting closer now, and she let him take the reins, allowing his warm calloused hands to grip her hips and thrust up into her, deep and slow. Together they found a rhythm and Sofi lost herself in him, listening to his breath come harsher and harsher, feeling his grip on her hips tighten until he came with a groan, pulling her hips down onto his as he filled her.

Resting her hands on the hard planes of his chest, she stilled, curled over and catching her breath. Warm hands stroked her thighs and rearranged her onto her side, facing Thire, whose stamina was decidedly better than hers. He wasn’t even breathing hard anymore. Languidly, she tipped her chin up for a kiss and snuggled into him, deciding to stay in the moment for just a few more moments before they started their day.

------

[2 months later]

The speeder thrummed under him, a fitting companion to his buzzing thoughts. Sofi had been acting strange that morning. She’d never been much of a morning person, but this morning had been different.

For one, she had Ryshcate for breakfast. One of her new coworkers sent the sticky Corellian pastry home with her a few nights ago and she’d eaten two pieces with her caf this morning. Second, she’d practically booted him out the door, bouncing on the tips of her toes like she was late for work. Which she wasn’t, he knew. It was her day off.

Something was definitely up.

Even though she knew they were trying to get pregnant, Sofi was still nervous staring at that stupid stick lying on the fresher counter. Pretty much every friend she knew had at least one scare, including her, and those three minutes waiting for the simple little test to develop had probably been some of the longest minutes of her life, though nowadays they were second to those minutes waiting for news after Thire had gotten shot.

She’d splurged on a little more expensive test, for no reason at all except that she felt hopeful. They’d only been trying for two months, really she didn’t expect it to happen this soon. People tried for years sometimes without any luck, and she’d just gone off her hypo. The elderly woman who owned the shop down the street, Hellah, had given her a soft knowing look when she had taken her credits. Sofi had bought some other little things along with the tests so she looked less suspicious - why, she couldn’t know - but at least she had some chocolate now if she needed it.

It was way too early to have any major symptoms. She was just late. Really late. Thire was working and she didn’t want to take a test with him there, for whatever reason her brain had conjured up. They’d both obviously contributed, but for some reason this felt private. Secret even. Before now, a pregnancy test was always something you hid from men until there was something to tell, so they didn’t have to worry.

He’d get all excited and then she didn’t want to see his disappointment if the test was negative. So she’d sent him off to work with caf and a kiss on the cheek and rushed to the little corner store as soon as he was gone.

The test bleeped insistently and she could hear her heart beating in her ears all of a sudden. Why are you so nervous? You’ve taken tests before. It doesn’t really matter what the test says, anyway. Even though she knew what she wanted it to say. But they hadn’t been trying for that long, she didn’t even know why she was doing this. She stopped trying to bargain with herself and just looked at the kriffing test.

Pregnant :)

Pregnant, she was pregnant. Holy kriff. She stared at the window for a moment, trying to let the word sink in. That was fast. Thire was gonna lose his mind. After they’d talked a few months ago, he’d been a lot more on board than she thought.

The revelation kept hitting her in waves. She didn’t feel much different, which was the weirdest part. And she’d never felt so intensely happy and insanely terrified at the same time. Her head hit the wall behind her.

Now she just had to tell Thire somehow.

------

Thire’s eyes were glued to the sono screen and she laughed softly. He had never been exposed to this side of life before and it was kind of sweet to watch his reactions. He also hated hospitals, so his nervous energy was out the roof, but Thire put on a good face for her. She had purposely picked a clinic far away from her work, far away from prying coworkers and Thire’s traumatic memories. He’d never seen a sonogram before and kept asking the tech questions.

Sofi, on the other hand, was used to seeing sonos. Scary ones. The emergency ward used them all the time, and rarely for this, but when they did it usually revealed something horrible. She half expected to see a lacerated liver show up, or other worse things she didn’t want to think about. But what she did see was even more shocking than that.

She gasped and Thire broke his searing eye contact with the monitor. Thire was apparently beginning to catch on, as his face was approximately a hand’s length from the screen. This was completely new to him, but he always caught on incredibly quickly. Lately she’d sneaked peeks of what he was reading on his datapad before bed and it was always dry, statistical obstetrics manuals. It was no wonder he’d been a little grim and nervous before this appointment.

“What?” he asked, “What is it?” By his panicked tone, it was obvious he’d done way too much reading after she’d broken the news, because now he was worried about every tiny thing that could go wrong. She turned to the sono tech.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Sofi asked grimly. The tech laughed a little, fiddling with the sensor on her still-flat stomach. Thire was still looking oppressively somber and reached out to place his hands over hers.

“It’s definitely what you think.” She smiled kindly and pointed at the screen. “Heart here,” said the tech, touching the screen, then adjusted the sensor, “and a second here.” Oh gods. Thire squeezed her hands in his. Twins. Their relationship was still full of surprises, it seemed.

He was looking down at her like she’d hung all the stars in the galaxy and she couldn’t help but start giggling incredulously. Thire’s deep laugh joined in with hers and the sono tech smiled and looked away, letting them have a little moment to themselves.

“Isn’t two good?” he asked, more confused than he’d been since he was a cadet. He didn’t know anything about medicine, and he was trying to learn as fast as he could. The twin chapter hadn’t come up yet. He supposed he was lucky Sofi knew enough for the both of them. More than enough, he sometimes thought.

She tended to be anxious about illness and injuries, even more so after he got shot. Maybe she’d want to stay home for a little while when the baby - babies, he corrected himself, still a little stunned - were little. Her doctor sent them home with approximately a million pamphlets and Sofi got about as many blood tests.

He thanked the maker he was a man.

“No Thire, in this case two isn’t always better than one,” she sighed, “but I’m still happy.” She squeezed his hand as they walked together out of the clinic.

“Me too.” Looking down at the little black and white flimsi, he studied the two little beans. “Look at them! They’re so small.” Two. Two babies.

The Coruscant Guard has been exposed to more than regular troops. The first time he and Stone were on patrol and saw a pregnant humanoid, they thought something was seriously wrong. But now he was used to it, and was secretly glad that he wasn’t the one who was doing the hard work in this situation. Because it made him a little green to think about how two babies were going to fit in one person.

#A Little Mischief #my writing #gen writes #OC: Sofi #Commander Thire #CC-4477 #CT-4477 #Commander Thire x OC

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thursdayplaid · 4 years

Text

Silver and Scaled Chapter One: Witness Statements

Tags: Li Qian, Ye Zun, Time Travel, Mental Collapse, Amnesia, Hallows related shenanigans, dangerous overuse of magical artifacts, drawing the wrong conclusion from available facts, the weirdest ship ever

Li Qian wants to save the people she cares about, Ye Zun doesn’t want to be left behind and so they try and try and try. The Hallows want to reshape the world. ____________________________________________________

Ye Zun knelt on the floor of Dixing Palace staring at the smear of blood where his brother had once been.

There was a hesitant stumbling behind him, someone roiling with the shaking floor. “Where-?” came a woman’s voice. “Where’s Shen Wei? Where’s Zhao Yunlan?” “He died,” Ye Zun said. “And now the rest of us are going to die too. The barrier around Dixing has been breached. Light energy is leaking in and mixing with the dark energy that’s been building up. We’re sitting on a bomb that’s going to crack this planet in half and send us off to peacefully float through space. So, you see it doesn’t matter if I killed him.” He looked at her with wide eyes. “It’s okay that I killed him, you see. Because we’re going to die anyway. We were going to go away together but something happened. And I ended up here.”

A small woman collapsed next to him, scraping her elbows as she tried to catch herself. She was holding the Hallows in her arms and her face was smeared with tears and dirt and blood. The Lantern was lit but the Longevity Dial was glowing even brighter, harder to look at. “No!” she said, voice small and fierce all at once. “I’m not going to let that happen!” He laughed at her. “Who are you to stop the end of the world?”

She scowled at him and arranged the Hallows in front of her. “If you’re not going to help I’m not going to waste my time!” She began picking the Hallows up, one at a time, two at a time, rearranging them, trying out different formations. “How did you even get here?” he asked. “I-” she turned and looked at him with her large dark eyes. “I was a student of Professor Wei’s, he was always kind to me. I took a job and- Well. I came down with the rest of them to help stop Ye Zun.” “Don’t you know who I am?” he asked her, leaning close. He could see that she did, but she just shook her head and started in with the Hallows again. “I know I can fix this if I just figure it out!” She clenched the Longevity Dial in one hand. “When you care about people you do whatever’s necessary to help them! There’s point in giving up! I’d rather die trying to save my friends!” The Dial turned sun bright with a golden glow and then the other Hallows. They floated up in the air, round and round, pulling the girl up on her toes. A portal formed in the air above them.

If the Hallows really were going to work he might be able to get his gege back before the Haixingren poisoned his mind.

Ye Zun leapt to his feet and wrapped his arms tight around her waist, “You’re not going anywhere without me!”

*** Li Qian and Ye Zun stood side by side on a barren world. There was a melancholy to her face like the white marble lid to a tomb. It might have been mistaken for serenity, it wasn’t. She was tired. Her hand tightened and released on the Longevity Dial as though the gestures of one in an unheard conversation.

The man’s face was wild with a mix of protective fury and hunger. His eyes a little too wide, his smile a little too sharp, the movement of his body too tight in some places, too loose in others. An imitation of a person. “Rest for a little while.”

She shook her head, her hair fallen into her face. With her free hand she was writing notes on her arm about what had and hadn’t worked. It didn’t help to go to Zhao Yunlan first and keeping Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan separated took too much effort. Where their two hands interlinked swirls of dark energy curled between them. Both of them fed and fed off of each other.

“Friend,” Ye Zun said the word barbed to stick in and catch inside. The hook of his arm pulled her close enough her head rested under his chin. “Rest for a little while. Going back takes so much out of you.”

“I don’t know how much radiation our bodies can take,” she said. She inhaled deeply. “Not all energy is good for the human body, and I have no idea what it would do to yours. The sooner we leave the better. The time before this, was that when we tried meeting with the Crane Tribe or the time before that?”

Ye Zun gave her a sharp look. “Don’t we have other things to worry about?”

His teeth looked bright and sharp when he bared them. “Very well. We’ll try again. Hold tight to me. Don’t think you can escape and leave me here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, her voice tired. He tsked at her and squeezed her hand just a little too tight.

She nodded. “We were close. We’ll get it next time.”

***

The ninety-first time ended in fire.

***

The ninety-second ended in ice.

***

Zhao Yunlan held out his hand for her to shake. She paused with her mouth open ready to speak but suddenly going blank. “Her name is Li Qian,” Ye Zun said, leaning in too close.

Of course that was her name, she really needed a nap. “As he said,” she told Zhao Yunlan and counted out the acceptable number of seconds to shake a hand before drawing it back again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. We hear you’re interested in becoming a police officer. We thought we’d offer you something a little more intriguing.”

This had to work, it was such a great idea.

***

The hundredth time he blinked down at her when she introduced them as husband and wife. His hand had been resting on her hip, it seemed a natural conclusion anyway.

“Of course,” Zhao Xinci said. “Follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Shen. My office is this way.”

They didn’t like him. He remembered they didn’t like him, but they had to try something different. All the obvious things weren’t working.

Her face was controlled, serene, her eyes swept over the inside of the SID. Her hand went to the Longevity Dial under her sweater for comfort. The SID wouldn’t always look like this - he remembered brick? a room of glowing spheres? - or maybe it wouldn’t always be at this location. Or maybe he was confused. He did get confused sometimes. Was she his wife? He knew he loved her, and in most of his memories she was with him. (She wasn’t though. He had ten thousand years of memories where he was totally alone, betrayed by one who loved him. Had someone taken her from him? Is that why he had been so hungry for blood? Is that what had made him tear at Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei in front of each other? Had they stolen his wife from him? Had they taken her away? She never would have left on her own, not her.)

He remembered Shen Wei, or was it Shen Mian? One wore black, one wore white. He- he remembered Shen Wei as a child in his distant memory, he remembered one of them at least. Or maybe both? Things were confused. But there had been a small face looking up at him in the fruit tree, there had been small hands reaching up for a large father’s hand to throw down a special fruit just for him. He had been happy in that moment. He had always liked to be important to the people he loved.

His hand flexed and she looked up at him, blinking in question. They’d spent so much time together he read the words in the sharp up and down of her eyelashes. She was not a peony with an infinity of fluttering layers. She was a lotus, all her edges sharply defined. He smiled back and she read everything he had to say in the flat curl of his lips.

She sat down first and then he sat down second.

Zhao Xinci leaned forward on his arms - informal - and clasped his hands together. “So you said there’s been some weird lights?”

She opened her eyes wide as she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think it might be aliens.”

***

The man- the man tried to wipe his face but only accomplished smearing blood across his sweaty skin. His name- He couldn’t remember but Li Qian would. She wrote careful notes on her skin from palm to the inside of the elbow where her flesh looked plump and soft as sponge cake. She had held something once in her hand. Her palm had been burned with a fishscale pattern that glowed gold. She had lost whatever it was. Or had she?

There were other things. Other things she had to worry about.

She ran up the steps, Li Qian with her hair pinned up in a bun with that jade pin he stole for her. When she saw the mess she screamed in frustration. “What were you thinking!” “He stole my face!” he screamed back at her. “He’s your twin, moron!” she roared at him. “And we’ve been trying to save him!”

“Oh,” he said quietly, staggering sideways into her. “Oh. I forgot.”

Her back bowed with the effort to take his weight but she didn’t let go.

He felt his eyes begin to leak. “Oh. Oh. Gege. I remember now.” “It doesn’t matter,” she told him, her arms tightening around his ribs.

“I won’t mess up again,” he told her. “I’ll remember next time.”

He didn’t remember. The Black Cloak Envoy was at the center of things and so the man killed him a few dozen times to see if it helped. She was furious every time, turning silver cold and meteor metal hard. The hard line of her mouth cut deeper into him than any sword could. He tried killing the Lord Guardian - Yunlan - a few times instead. Most of the time though that meant having to kill the Envoy as well any way.

They went back and forth through time like a rubber ball thrown against brick, the hard thunk of the end of the world hitting them every time. She’d broken something in herself. Her body shifting and changing. He thought about their ancient ancestors crash landed and the frantic way they reshaped their DNA to survive. He liked to think about her. He liked to think about her probably too much. He thought she knew he was thinking about her too much but they only had each other. If he was cruel to her, if he tried to hurt her or get her to hurt herself he thought she would probably leave and take the consequences. She was strong, effortless in an emotive silence, and laughing like a fish leaping up into the moonlight, and firm in the set of her jaw and the clench of her hand in his.

She’d had a jade pin in her hair once, an ancient stolen thing that had once belonged to an empress, but it had been lost when the bombs fell.

He liked to think about her DNA changing inside her body. He imagined the little helixes zipping and unzipping. He wanted to measure her by fingertips. He wanted to hold her the way a mirror held a reflection the way a shadow held a heel, the way winter held the cold. She didn’t mention it so he didn’t either. They laid side by side in a ditch while jets flew overhead framed in starwork gunfire and flaring comets of missiles. He thought about her cells, the nucleus, the lysosomes, the mitochondria. He pictured the cells of her liver, and her eyes, and her stomach. His mouth watered. He imagined her cells splitting and dividing, increasing, growing so she was more and more and more so that she took an even infinitesimally greater part of the percentage of things in the world.

He thought about how each person died to gunfire and bombs that she would become a greater percentage of the population. A soldier came down into the ditch, fumbling a gun in surprise when he saw the whites of their eyes. She reached out a hand and glowed gold and the soldier aged forward, forward, forward until his back curled and his muscles turned to loose chicken skin and his eyes turned cloudy and then his dried skin cracked open over aged bone and the soldier collapsed into a pile of dust at their feet.

It would be so easy to roll over on top of her. They were lying side by side. It was just a matter of tipping his body over. Flipping himself like a pancake. He didn’t do it.

She reached out and took his hand in hers. He squeezed it back.

***

The two hundredth time there wasn’t much they could do, it was one of the most delicate timelines. They opened a bakery and waited. They had a few decades before the end. Their mooncakes were considered the best in the country and they did the majority of their business around the Mid-Autumn festival. She liked how much fun he had, how he experimented with types of lotus seeds and rose petals and jelly molds. Liked how she knew how to make him laugh and how easily he made her laugh as well.

***

Time two hundred and one he realised that the timeline just before would have been the perfect time to make his move. He could have done something! She had stayed with him for so long. She hadn’t needed him. She was so clever, with her eyes swishing back and forth, back and forth over all the possible timelines as if she wasn’t sorting through a stack of universes in her head. Instead they baked cakes and he had eaten their neighbor who played loud music at midnight, and the world hadn’t ended anyway. What a waste!

***

Shen Wei was staring at that moron Zhao Yunlan. “Maybe it's the end of things, but at least we found each other.”

“Gross,” the man said.

The woman elbowed him in the ribs. “Let them have their moment before the planet blows up.”

***

The two hundred fiftieth time he kissed her glowing palm. The one with the fish scale scar.

She stared up at him. She was too surprised to speak and too careful of him to act rashly.

They had avoided death so far, but they were running out of oxygen.

She wrapped her arms around them and pulled them out into the river that was the stream of time.

***

He watched her patience crack at trying to explain to a man who wouldn’t listen to her and was too stupid to understand even after she had explained it three different ways so simply that a child could comprehend it. “No,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The Dixingren aren’t creating the Dark Energy. The Dark Energy already exists. With Dixing sealed, the dark energy can’t escape and it’s been building up. Like when you shake a bottle of soda and then take the lid off and it sprays everywhere.”

“I don’t even know who you two are, why should I even listen to you? You just walked in off the street!” Zhao Xinci said, of all the inane things, and so Ye Zun slammed his head into the desk. No one talked so dismissively to her.

***

The three hundredth time they watch the earth explode from the moon. It seemed the thing to do. He handed her a moon cake. Beautiful. Perfect. Expertly pressed. She looked up into his face. It was a subtle gesture. It put no demands on her at all. There was no way she could eat it. But he had carried it up for her and given it to her anyway.

***

He looked down at the smouldering remains of Dixing. “Well, I mean, it was worth a try.”

She let out a sigh. “Yeah. I suppose. It couldn’t have made it any worse.” She rolled up her sleeve to make a note on the skin of her arm next to all the other notes. “Don’t breach the barrier around Dixing after the buildup started, still explodes.”

He turned to face her, already done with the flames below. He pulled her hair back from her face and pinned it up carefully for her. She smiled, tilting her head so he could stroke down her neck. Her skin didn’t feel quite the normal temperature. She seemed both too hot and too cold all at once. She was pushing herself too hard. He had always admired her determination. When the Hallows had stolen his senses she hadn’t stopped until he had devoured new sight, new hearing, new touch. His measured the curve of her shoulder by the fingerprint. “Do you need a moment to find a new timeline?”

“No,” she told him. Smiled up at him to press a kiss to his cheek. “I have one in mind.”

His mind was still… off, memory perforated, but he remembered her. Remembered that she hadn’t left him, that she wouldn’t leave him and that was important because he’d- Because he’d- Someone had-

He looked down at her arm. The first on the list was to protect Shen Wei and Gui Mian. He had killed… he knew he had killed Shen Wei, had he killed Gui Mian as well? Is that why it was so important that she was here with him? Because he had killed them and she had been angry or sad or disappointed and left him? Is that why he was so afraid of being alone? Had she left him before and he had to find her and keep her this time? (Had she forgotten that he had killed them? Was it wrong to keep it secret?) “What’s wrong?” she asked looking up at him with those bright, bright eyes, sometimes silver and sometimes gold. Glowing like little moons in the dark. They had a bakery together once and they had made moon cakes and he could have told her (he could have eaten her so she’d never leave him again) but he hadn’t and almost lost his shot but she introduced them as husband and wife. Why would she do that if they weren’t married?

She held his face in her hands. “Do you need a rest? Do you need a moment? We have an hour before the dark energy could kill us.” He wrapped his arms tight around her. She felt so sturdy in his arms. “I almost forgot how we met. I- I don’t know how. I almost forgot about the bakery. You’re my wife. I remember you’re my wife.” She was silent for a moment. “It’s okay. I can’t remember the wedding or my name sometimes. But I can remember how we met. We opened a bakery together and I asked if the great Ye Zun wanted to bake cakes for the rest of his life and you said here in the sunlight with a friend is the only place I want to be. We did most of our business in Mid-Autumn. You made these beautiful moon cakes.”

He let out a laugh that was mostly tears, his arms tightened around her. “Let’s go, please. Let’s go back to the sunlight.”

***

“Maybe we should go back further,” she said from where she was leaning against the wall of the barn. They don’t need a light, she’s glowing faint and soft. A light that is such a faint gold it’s almost silver. With the care of someone who had been made to practice starvation she sawed the top off a fresh egg with her pocket knife and threw the yolk and white back like a shot. The eggs were all theirs, the man she traveled with had killed the farmer who had come to check on the animals before she could stop him. There weren’t any animals to check anyway. The Yashou they had freed from the camp down the road had eaten all the livestock raw, tearing into it like creatures that had forgotten they’d once passed for human. She knew her dear friend had enjoyed watching them eat, she hadn’t been able to stay in the barn, but he had been almost whistling when she finally braved coming back in. Her dear friend had wanted to keep walking past the Yashou camp, find a safe place to regroup, but she had insisted. She was glad she did for all that they were about to abandon this timeline. It wasn’t the worst they had seen, but it was in the top ranking.

When they left the temporal energy would curl back into the time river like none of this had ever happened. They wouldn’t be able to try this tributary in the flow of time once it had atrophied, but the suffering here would disappear, unwrite itself. Once they left this specific suffering could never happen again. Maybe something worse, maybe something equally as bad, but never again Yashou camps with collars and cattle prods and cages.

She cut open another egg with the same precision and care as the first. Her body had stopped bothering with feeling hungry really, but she knew she needed the calories. She watched Da Qing where he was lying on a soft pile of hay with the little Yashou children the cat had insisted on carrying out. She didn’t know how much longer the cat would last. She’d seen him die many times before in many other timelines but it hurt more now for some reason. Da Qing’s lips were so pale from loss of blood. Her hand reached out to hold tight to her husband’s, his arm hooked up around her shoulders to pull her close. He was a man for whom impulse control was temporary at best. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head out of habit. Her hand fell to rest on his thigh. It reassures her for them to be braced off each other.

“How much further back?” he asked.

She pulled back her sleeve. First in the list was Save Shen Wei and Gui Mian.

“Farther than we’ve gone before,” she told him. “Back to when we can really change people’s minds.” She had become close enough to some of the members of the SID in their previous tries - especially the attempts where they had plead their case to the Black Cloak Envoy. She knew a lot of their secrets. Shen Wei, the Envoy's name was Shen Wei and she cared about him, she had to. Saving him and Gui Mian was the first thing on the list. She had to care about him, otherwise why would she have gone through so much? The influx of energy punched holes through her, took things without her knowing what they were, but she had written down the notes of what they needed to do. That was something else, something that couldn’t be stolen.

“Alright,” he told her. “You can do this. Deep breaths.”

***

"Zhao Xinci really is a great shot," the man said.

"Maybe we should try something different," Li Qian replied, mouth a thin line as she bandaged up his arm.

"No, you had a good idea, Wife," he insisted. "It's just the execution of it.” He winced. “Maybe the wrong choice of words."

She ducked her head, “We can’t. That was our only attempt at that branching path. We’ve burned it now. It’s just another endtimes.”

“We’ll try earlier then! Or later! We’ve done it before!” he insisted.

“Not all branching paths are so flexible, Ye Zun,” she scolded him, and oh yes, that was his name. He was Ye Zun. “And it takes a lot out of me to separate the strands,” she told him. In his frustrated silence she concentrated on bandaging his arm. His energy transfer would heal him fast enough, but she wanted to do something and he was the sort of person that thrived on being fussed over.

“Don’t demur,” he said before his voice tinged with pride and warmth. “It wasn’t a total failure. You’ve killed to keep me safe. The blood red on your hands and face. You slit the throat of Chief Zhao when he tried to hurt me and you took my hand in yours still hot from his blood and you ran away with me. You chose me. You cried and you cried but you chose me before anyone else.” He was whispering at the end, drunk on the words in his mouth.

She pressed her hands to his cheeks and pressed her forehead to his. “We’re going to fix this. We can do it.”

***

They sat and watched Shen Wei and his brother doing battle against whatever it was the Regent had turned into. The last three living creatures locked in desperate battle. Why were their boys always trying to kill themselves? There wasn’t much they could do about it this time. One of the energy shackles was still around his wrist and they didn’t have any tools to take it off. He couldn’t help in the battle and his clever wife was limited to how much she could help in situations like this. She was a soft golden light next to him, her hair was shock white falling in a curtain over the edge of the building. Shen Mian screamed out and flew backward. She shivered and gripped hold of Ye Zun’s hand. She had always found her motherly affection at odds with the cold efficiency choosing timelines demanded. They knew something must have happened to her long ago when whatever started this cycle that had damaged her mind.

“We can go,” he told her.

“I need to stay here for them. It’s important for parents to be there for their children, even if they can’t help. It’s important to be there,” she said.

“As soon as we leave this timeline will roll back. We should go, I can’t protect you like this. They wouldn’t know one way or the other,” he said.

“I would know!” she snapped at him.

She only had memories of the boys as adults. She would laugh and tell him stories about Shen Wei - his sneaky sense of humor that sounded like a mirror of hers, their shared interest in the sciences, how her poor son had not understood technology at all. Shen Wei had been an attentive son - protecting her and the Dial from danger, bringing her food when she was in the hospital in a sign of filial piety. He didn’t say how he knew how much it broke her heart how much her memory was scattered and broken. That she couldn’t even remember holding her own sons in her arms as infants. He shared what he could remember with her as if that was any sort of panacea for her heartbreak, how she blamed herself. She had to have loved them, she wouldn’t have put herself through this if she hadn’t. He wouldn’t have agreed to this without the fishhook of familial love caught in his flesh.

She also didn’t seem to remember he had been the one to kill the boys that first time. Maybe she did and had blocked it out. Maybe she didn’t know and had just stumbled upon the scene.

She kept watching. He just held her hand, he was too tired to do anything else. He watched the fight with a blank curiosity.

"Husband," she said. "There's something I need to tell you."

He had seen the world young and the world old, it was very rarely good when someone said they had something

"I've been discussing the future and the past with the Dial. We've seen two choices moving forward," she told him. "In one you replace the original Longevity Dial with this one and I wait inside it and in secret I guide and protect the Lord Guardian, I ensure the guardians of this world gain the holy tools and I use my power to ensure that Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei meet much, much earlier. It is the easier way and it will work. We've run through the calculations.” Her lips pressed together as though to brace him for what she was about to say. “Doing it this way will bind me to the Dial forever. And it will use up all your energy, but it will work. The world will be saved. It absolutely won't end. And Shen Wei and Shen Mian will be safe at the end of it."

He staggered forward, almost tipping off the edge of the building, almost surprised into saying yes. In another universe he may have. He was strong, but he didn't know if he could bang his head against the wall ten thousand more times. Not when there were only two avenues of success left. They had an option. They had a chance. In another world he said yes and in someways it destroyed him, remade him. “But we would never see each other again,” he said.

She nodded.

In this world he reached out and dragged the pad of his thumb against the skin of her cheek. She so often looked so still so serene when really she was the maelstrom, she was the moon exerting her power on the sea with a look. She was so loved by him. "I would rather stand in the bones of a dead world with you then save everyone and have you forever out of reach. I’m not an easy man, I don’t like people. But I liked you once and had two sons with you. Now even with our memories stolen from us I fell in love with you again,” he said despite everything they’d been through. “Who but you and I know each other’s pain of giving up so much, such an unbearable sacrifice, only to lose everyone who was supposed to love us. We have been abandoned by the whole world except for each other. We have been desperate for someone to want us. We have been desperate for anything like family, and yet here we are. After everything we’ve done, we’re alone. Alone except for each other.”

To her credit she didn’t look away.

“I would never hurt you intentionally nor lead you to hurt yourself,” he swore.

“You’d think that would be a simple oath,” she half-laughed, looking down at where their fingers interlocked. “You think that would have been so simple for anyone else to love us. Perhaps we are the only ones who can see clearly, or perhaps we are blind together.”

“I would rather be blind with you than clear sighted alone. What is the second option?" he asked.

"My energy is still damaged," she warned. "I’m falling apart. I'll need to be bound to something. Could you stand that?"

"If we were together I could stand anything," he answered too quickly.

She smiled, so small and so big all at once. “We’ll see.”

#guardian #guardian fic #here you go elvencantation #li qian #ye zun

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wintersweetbou · 4 years

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Glaiveweek 2020- Day 2. This Never Happened

Day 2 of Glaiveweek 2020! @glaiveweek

Prompt: Fun and Games- Prank Wars, Tickle Fights, Hide and Seek Warp Tag

Summary: A glitter bomb in Titus Drautos’s personal office starts a series of shenanigans never before seen in the Citadel. Eyebrows, laundry, and dignity are lost. For a moment, all hell breaks loose. Then the King walks in to check on his glaives. What he sees will never be forgotten.

Titus Drautos stretched, watching heavy raindrops spatter his window. Monday meant training with the glaives, supply forms, meeting with the king, and preparing his budget proposal for the council to approve... He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Getting the money needed to keep the glaive running was like pulling teeth out of those stingy bastards.

A boom startled the Captain into glancing down below. Lightning flashed as a bunch of newer glaives ran from the safety of the parking garage into their headquarters. The greenhorns whooped at the cold, splashing each other as they ran. The more experienced glaives warped the distance, laughing. Titus smiled, and gathered himself together. Time to address the troops.

Midmorning combat drills in the arena began with Titus circulating with critique. Nyx was quick, but needed endurance. Libertus had him panting after the first few rounds. Good team- balanced eachother out... Tredd lost his patience and was subsequently thrown by Luche into a wall. Crowe had to be repeatedly reminded that fire did not solve everything, and Pelna lost an eyebrow in her resulting demonstration that fire did indeed solve everything. The only senior members not giving Titus a headache were Axis and Sonitus- just smoothly sparring like everyone was supposed to be.

The Captain massaged his temples as a resounding boom, flash, and cut off screech filled the arena. Crowe had not only broken through Pelna’s shield, but also managed to dash him against the ground hard enough to knock him unconscious. She was at his side, checking him over apologetically. Nothing broken, aside from some pride, and a probable concussion.

“I’ll take him to the hospital. Crowe, no more magic in combat sparring! Tredd, if you don’t like the taste of dirt, change your approach! Luche, you are in charge while I’m gone. After drills, run through the warp course- focus on precision. And when we get back, meet in the briefing hall. Crownsguard wants to run security simulations in the castle- joint exercise might be good for us all.” Titus called out, after hefting the noodly Pelna in his arms.

Various murmurs of assent rose behind them as they left. Pelna came to a few minutes later, groggily settling into a seat in a crown fleet vehicle. The trip to and from the hospital was uneventful- Pelna would be fine if he took it easy, it was a mild concussion. The glaive was more embarrassed to have been carried off by his boss after passing out. The paperwork was minimal, and they were out of the hospital in no time. The glaive seemed more steady as time went on, but there was a slight wobble to his movements as they got back in the vehicle.

“I’m sorry for being a bother, thank you for the ride.” Pelna stated, eyes down as he buckled in.

“I take care of my glaives. Be thankful it is only a mild concussion” Titus stated fondly.

By lunch they were back, and Titus explained the proposed joint field exercises with the crownsguard. The glaives seemed open to the idea. The captain delegated requisition forms work to Pelna for the afternoon, and asked that Crowe check in on him every so often. With peace seemingly achieved, Titus left them to afternoon resistance training and cardio.

Crowe descended on Pelna the second the captain was out the door.

“I was out of line, I am so sorry- are you ok?”

“Mild concussion, just a bit tired. I’m ok, just don’t hit so hard, ok?”

“Yeah...I’ll check on you, no napping while concussed.” Crowe hugged him softly, smoothing his hair where it stuck up and running a finger where his left eyebrow no longer was. Pelna smiled softly, and hugged back.

“Take it easy, Khara. I’ll be up after the first rotation.” She smiled, lightly tickling him under his arms. He flinched, squeaking, and fled when her smile turned predatory. She chuckled at his swift retreat, and turned to the weight room, where the other glaives had started.

One rotation later, Crowe trotted up the stairs with a mug of tea to and down the hall to the offices, to find Pelna semi-asleep over a stack of forms and files. She smiled and slid the mug over the desk.

“Pels? Peeellls? Wake uppp…” A murmur in response.

“I brought tea, just the way you like ittt.” A grunt.

“Please? I know it's hard, and my fault, so here is my support. Wake up!” A grumbled five more minutes mom had Crowe tickling his neck. He squirmed and hiked his shoulders up, slapping lightly at her hands. She slipped a hand under his arm and dug into his pit. Pelna squealed and burst into giggles. Crowe grinned as his arms crashed down, trapping her hand there. She kept it up for just a squidge more and then stopped enough for her to get her hand back. “Awake now?” She grinned at his tired nod.

“Sorry. The lights kind of hurt my eyes, so I closed them for just a sec…” He rubbed the heels of his palms over his eyes, groaning.

“Drink the tea, and there are some energy bars left in the snack drawer. I suggest breaks. It helped me when Libertus knocked me into that rock formation a few months back...I still haven’t repaid him for that…”

“No more injuries today, Miss Altuis. Please?”

“Very well, Mister Khara. Drink, and eat. I promise no blood will be spilled by me today. But you gave me a lovely idea.” Pelna nodded tiredly and lightly sipped at the tea, letting the caffeinated warmth soak into his bones. Crowe skipped lightly back down the hall. Second rotation was about to begin, she had to hurry. Down the stairs she saw the door ajar and heard voices on the other side. Impatiently she yanked the door open and squawked as ice water drenched her, bucket settling over her head with a solid clunk. Laughter echoed throughout the weight room but stopped when they saw just who they had drenched.

Time stopped as she lifted the bucket, fire coursing through her veins. She scanned the room, looking for the guilty party. There. Libertus and Nyx, trying to look innocent for the amount of time it took for her to cross the room and lob the bucket at them.

“We weren’t trying to drench you! Tredd was being a dick, and ran to get something...We were supposed to get Tredd!” Libertus said as Tredd burst back in the room, pausing at the puddle in the doorway, and then at the sight of Crowe sopping wet, holding a giggling Nyx by the throat.

“So unprofessional. Such children. Much wow.” Tredd grinned and turned back to the machines, continuing his reps.

Crowe snarled, shaking Nyx, and released her grip on his shirt only to grab at his waist. Nyx yelped and curled in on himself laughing, just as she knew he would. She clawed into the meat under his floating ribs, earning a squeal, and followed as he sank to his knees. Crowe smirked- Nyx never could take side tickles, especially if you got your nails in there just right. Nyx squished himself forward into a tight ball, howling. She plopped down onto his back, searching for just the right angle. He thrashed weakly under her, and cried out to Libertus for help.

“C’mon, we still need him. Release.” Libertus grunted as he attempted to slip an arm around her, only to be bitten on said arm in response. Libertus jerked back hissing. Crowe found the spot she was looking for, and Nyx broke into what the internet would call ugly laughter. He screeched and pleaded for mercy between desperate guffaws.

All in the weight room were now watching the kerfuffle as Libertus struggled to pry Crowe off Nyx. Libertus was easily the strongest glaive save the captain, but she was fighting dirty- biting, kicking. Calls of encouragement to Crowe, snickers, and fond sighs echoed around the room, training forgotten. Nyx was screeching in tears when Libertus finally hauled Crowe up, only for her to twist in his grip and jab into his ribs. He cursed and folded inward for just a sec, long enough for Crowe to clamber on his back and begin blowing vicious raspberries on the back of his neck where the braids left him exposed.

“Release! Release!” Libertus roared, violently twisting to shake her off, getting desperate. Crowe never waivered, and continued as his strength waned.

“How long do you think he will last?” Tredd snickered to Luche from his perch on the rowing machine. Luche leaned against the wall, smiling as Libertus started to snort between his growls at Crowe.

“Dunno. He’s held on pretty good for a while now. Compared to some, anyway.” Luche gestured to Nyx, still panting in a ball on the floor mats.

Tredd nodded, chuckling as Libertus broke, still thrashing, into a giggling fit punctuated by snorts of random intensity. Luche stretched, glancing out the one window- the storm still raging, even stronger now, since the rain appeared to be going sideways. Tredd snorted at the scuffle, drawing Luche’s attention back to the present. Libertus tapped out and Crowe relented with a smirk, sliding off his back and landing with a laugh.

“Cardio in ten, then cooldown and then home.” Luche murmured. Tredd nodded absently, collecting his things, writing down their current weight and reps. The other glaives did the same, slowly collecting themselves and ambling toward the arena for laps and sprints.

Pelna groaned, stretching his shoulders. So much damn paperwork for such stupid things. Every little thing from weapons to office supplies to toilet paper had to be requisitioned, signed, and returned for financial approval. This fucking sucked. He rubbed his eyes, and glowered at the stack of forms, slightly smaller, but still there. The captain stomped in then, looking worse for wear.

“How was the meeting?” Pelna tried to appear chipper.

“Slow. The council wants to challenge every little bit of our budget, and the king had little to offer…” The captain said, the anger in his eyes cooling into exhaustion.

“We're in this together, we appreciate you taking care of us.” Pelna glanced up, re shuffling the stack of papers. Drautos nodded, and walked back to his private office in the back of the cubicles, lightly shutting the door. Pelna shook his head. That. That was worse than doing boring forms all day. He couldn't imagine having to argue for toilet paper and keep a straight face. He turned back to his work, but startled when a loud pop and a shout exploded from Drautos’s office. Pelna shot up in concern, hearing vicious cursing, a second pop, and what sounded like furniture being tossed around. He was halfway across the office floor when the door to the captains office flung open, revealing Drautos, disheveled, wild eyed...and covered in fine, bright pink glitter.

“Are you ok Sir?” Pelna’s jaw dropped, then closed as he took in the fury building in the captain’s eyes and frame. The captain wordlessly held up the empty glitterbomb, and pointed to his office. Pelna slowly leaned around to peer into the sparkle blasted space. From the spray, it was rigged to blow when someone opened the main desk drawer, pointed right where one would sit at a desk, chest height. The second charge coated everything else. It was everywhere.The walls, part of the ceiling,the desk, cabinets, couch...the entirety of the floor...it would never come out of the cheap industrial carpet entirely…

The captain shook himself like a dog, shedding a fair amount of pink sparkles, but as with any fine glitter, it stuck to his skin and clothes. Pelna watched in silence as the captain strode over to glare into the mirror by the small kitchenette in the corner. He snarled, and rounded on the backpedaling glaive.

“You're not the type for this kind of stupidity, Khara. Did anyone come to visit my office?” Pelna shook his head, glancing worriedly at the door. Drautos was not one for outbursts- his control was normally too strong, but the ridiculousness of the situation had worn that away.

“I don’t know who did this, but when I find out who..” Drautos grinned, all teeth.

Pelna nodded, slowly backing towards the door. It might have been the light. It might have been Pelna’s concussion messing with his sight, but with a boom of thunder the power flickered out and Drautos’s eyes glowed blood red in the dark. Pelna’s heart skipped a beat as the captain laughed, talking to himself about what he was going to do to the prankster. It was too much, the glaive backed slowly out of the offices, turning to warn the others.

The group prepared in the arena, lightly warming up. The usual three laps around the arena for a main workout, and then one lap interval sprints for max overload. Lightning flashed overhead, the carbon dome of the arena showing the storm’s fury on full display. The glaives looked up into the gale. Some sleepy, some calm, some excited, and some indifferent. But they all looked. And the power flicked out. Murmurs of surprise flicked around the group, then of concern when Pelna warped into the arena. He staggered with the landing- stupid to warp while concussed- but he looked like a man on a mission.

“Drautos is coming! Whoever in the mother of fuck did it needs to run for their lives- stat!”

“Who did what?” Luche steadied the teetering glaive, putting an arm around him for stability.

“Who did what indeed, my glaives…” Drautos rumbled from the hallway entrance. There was a collective intake of breath at the sight of the captain of the kingsglaive plastered in pink glitter prowling along the edge of the arena. The newer glaives choked back grins, and the more experienced glaives barely held back dropped jaws. Pranking each other was one thing- a common occurrence even!- but glittering the captain? Unthinkable. Until now.

“Since nothing is sacred, the afternoon cardio session will be different from the usual. I want the prankster. Until I get a name, we are going to play a little game.” The glaives dared not to move as their captain circled, grinning with no mirth. No one said a word as Drautos spun, shedding sparkles like a murderous Tinkerbell, typing in a long string of numbers into a security keypad. The building shuddered slightly, and red emergency lights flicked on every so often. Enough to see by, but not enough to see well. Lockdown.

“Sir?...” Libertus began in concern, but was cut off by a laugh.

“Lockdown, as you know, means that the doors to the outside are shuttered and barred, as are the windows, and passageways to the rest of the citadel. We are locked in. There is just the domed arena, and the facilities in the corners- the offices to the north, barracks in the east, armory in the south, and holding cells in the west... I want a name.”

The glaives glanced at each other nervously. Pelna looked at the most rambunctious glaives- Nyx, Tredd, Libertus, Crowe, Luche...all had the wild eyes of kids being blamed for something they didn't do. The others peered into the darkness, innocence on their sleeves. Pelna’s brow furrowed. Who the fuck did it?

“Until I get a name, we will be playing unfair hide and seek. For the next two hours, I will seek- and drag those I catch into the holding cells. Those who are caught will run laps and polish the armory for the next week.” A communal gulp spread through the soldiers.

“Those of you who manage to remain free will have no punishment. If I get a name, all get off free and we forget this happened.” The group inhaled and steeled themselves. Nobody had a name to give, or had the balls to speak up.

“Very well...you have two hours.” Drautos slid his phone out, set an alarm, slid it back in, and growled at his glaives.

“One, two, three…” He slapped a palm over his eyes and snarled.

Reality shimmered in the arena as all glaives present warped away at once, in a wave of effervescent fire, with an incredulous captain angrily counting to one hundred in the epicenter. The fleeing soldiers fanned out once out of hearing range. Pairs or trios of friends slipped into the gloom together, hoping to hide out, or have the option to sell eachother out. Nervous energy crackled in the dark between the red emergency lights. Where to hide? Who would get caught first? Excitement tinged the anxiety, and grins flashed in the maroon glow.

Pelna staggered down the southeast hallway- warping while concussed was awful, but doable. He glanced left- a pair of glaives scampering into the armory- Nyx and Libertus. The armory had crates of gear, weapon racks, a cargo bay, supplies....stacks of things to hide in or behind...not a bad idea. Three glaives slipped him on his right, headed towards the barracks. The barracks was the obvious choice for any seeker to start- rows of lockers, cots spread in small groups, little clusters of couches and tables. Not many glaives used the barracks often, it was just a spot to crash and heal between deployments, or for new recruits who hadn't any outside lodging arranged yet. Rent was fucking cheap, and so was the food brought in from the keep’s kitchens. Pelna stayed a month once, when he first started. It worked.

An arm wrapped around his waist, and Pelna jolted back to reality, barely managing to restrain the punch to Crowe’s now grinning mouth. She pulled him into the shadows as a panicked shape skittered past. She held a finger against her lips, and pointed upwards. Pipes and vents ran the length of the hallway ceiling, supplying heat, air and water to the facilities. He raised his surviving eyebrow. There wasn't enough room for her to squeeze up there, let alone him, or that the air vents probably would not take their weight. She tugged him along, to the doorway to the armory, and pointed up again. He grinned- the main vent widened and dropped lower as it snaked into the armory. There was enough room for someone to curl up there in the darkness against the ceiling, definitely Crowe, probably Pelna. But both? Not without some severe cuddling. She dropped her stance, hooking her fingers together, gesturing to boost him up. His eyes widened, and he started to shake his head, but approaching footsteps quashed his thoughts. He stepped up, and jumped, boosted by Crowe. Pelna hauled himself up quickly, and slid into the shallow, low space. He spun, listening intently. He heard a grunt, and then grunted himself as Crowe popped up and tucked herself into his chest cavity. He held back a noise of surprise as she pressed her face into his neck, making herself comfortable. Or as comfortable as anyone was going to get wedged between a vent and drywall. The skittish steps passed as a lone glaive darted into the armory. They relaxed.

“How did you know about this spot?” Pelna whispered.

“Growing up with Nyx and Libs taught me to find little nooks to hide in. Perfect spot to snipe paintballs from.” Crowe breathed, and Pelna felt her feral grin against his throat.

“Still. How did you know we would both fit?”

“Promise not to tell?” He promised.

“Perfect napping spot. If you go to the office doorway, the hot air return is above the door. I've got a bit of canvas so my skin doesn’t stick to the metal, and some blankets up there. It's heaven.” She smiled.

“That sounds like heaven. Can I steal a nap or two up there?” Pelna breathed.

“Sure, as long as you leave snacks as tribute, and keep the secret..” He nodded.

The door below them to the armory crashed open. His arms slipped around her in shock, holding her close, both holding their breath, listening hard. They couldn’t see, but they could imagine.

“Here I am, glaives! Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Drautos called out into the dark armory. Silence greeted the captain, but he knew better. He grinned, settling into the game. He wanted to play with his glaives, a little mind game could give him a name faster as their nerves failed. He growled into the gloom, stalking around the edges, looking for disturbed gear and boxes. Nyx watched from his perch laying flat on the roof of a transport van. The captain was sticking to the upper armory, tapping on storage crates, Nyx was safe for the moment. As long as the captain didn’t come and check the spare vehicles by the loading dock…

The captain's snarl forced his attention back to the present, and Nyx trembled minutely. Drautos was almost to Lib’s crate- he had stuffed himself in an empty weapons crate, the only kind big enough for him to squeeze into. The captain continued along the row, tapping some, opening others….Nyx gripped the van’s roof rails tight. He was almost there. Two crates away. One crate. Libs!

A choked sneeze echoed through the armory as Drauto’s hand descended towards the crate. The new recruit that slipped in at the last minute. He had dove behind a stack of crates by the door just as Nyx clambered up the van. Drautos grinned madly, teeth shining in the red light. The internal screaming was palpable from all parties but the captain, who personally favored evil glee. Nyx winced at the short scuffle. The captain had the new recruit in cuffs and out the door in under a minute.

Hearing the two sets of steps pass, one steady, the other not so, Nyx peeped over the van roof. He hopped down, and ran as quietly as he could to Libertus. He tapped the lid, just like they used to do in their treefort back in Galahad before it all burned. Libertus cracked the lid slowly, then opened it fully at the sight of Nyx grinning like a madman.

“He almost had you! He was right here! If that newbie hadn’t sneezed!” Nyx whisper-gushed.

“What if he comes back? Get back up there!” Came the whisper-shouted reply.

“It’s fine! It’ll take at least five minutes to lock up the newb and get back here. We have to stretch when we can. How comfy is that box anyway?” Nyx looked at Libertus, all crammed down in that cube crate.

“My neck is killing me, but I’m good. Now hide! If we get caught cuz of you…!”

Twin shadows darted into the armory, and Nyx jumped into the crate with Libertus without a second thought. It didn't quite work though- Nyx was now straddling a kneeling Libertus, their legs stuck solid against the sides of the crate, arms steadying each other. Nyx felt Libertus vibrate in silent fury, and he struggled not to laugh at the entire situation.

The shadows paused, and stepped closer to the struggling pair. As they passed an e-light, their identity was revealed.

Tredd snapped a pic with his phone, and did his best not to make any noise while laughing his ass off. Luche wheezed into a fist, trying desperately not to collapse at the sight. They gestured wildly at each other- Nyx waving happily, Tredd curling his hands into a heart in response, Luche pointing at the space under a nearby weapons rack, Nyx giving a thumbs up, and Libertus flipping everyone off. Luche slid under the rack and Tredd hid under a coat rack packed with old cloaks behind the doorway- after helping get the lid over the now officially stuck pair of galahdians in a box.

Crowe and Pelna could partially see and hear all of the shitshow that happened next. The fact that their screams and laughing fits escaped notice was a miracle. It was fast, maybe two minutes, but the Citadel would never forget the moment when all dignity was lost. Time slowed, yet sped up at the same time. Like a demonic Rube-Goldberg machine on crack with yakety- sax playing in the background.

Drautos returned to the armory with a sense that others were still hiding there. He threw the door open and bounded in. The door flew wide open and hit a pile of cloaks- something supposedly soft- with a painful clonk and a groan. Something on the far side choked on a giggle, and something close by it thumped in place. Drautos grinned, and advanced into the room uncaring of the poor glaive behind the door. He listened hard, and a large crate in the middle thumped again. The captain braced himself and popped the lid. Then all hell broke loose.

Libertus shrieked and flailed, tipping the crate over on its side with Nyx cackling wildly plastered up against him. Drautos roared in surprise, then roared in laughter as he realized two of his finest were hopelessly stuck. Tredd launched out of his hiding spot with all the grace and glory of a boosted turkey, sprinting out the door and taking the coat rack with him. Luche gave up on life and howled with laughter, clutching his ribs. And Drautos? He showed why he was captain.

In a mad dash that would be immortalized in glaive mythos forever, Drautos hauled his crate of glaives over one shoulder, snatched Luche and slung him over the other, sprinting after the sentient panicking coat rack. The captain dropped Luche, gathered every ounce of his strength and yeeted Libertus and Nyx, screaming, at the running pile of cloth. Tredd made it to the edge of the arena before he was blasted with the box-shaped force of several hundred pounds worth of galahdian hysteria. The cloth and soft training floor absorbed the worst of the blow, the glaives landing in a tangled mess of limbs and cloaks.

Drautos, dragging Luche by the leg, jogged over to admire his work, Luche now sobbing with helpless laughter. The captain gently plopped Luche down with the others and planted a boot on the crate, looking down at his soldiers. Nyx was in much the same state as Luche. Libertus hissed and spat like a cat, frantically trying to claw his way out of the crate. Tredd laid there like a slug, seemingly done with the world- probably examining the life choices that brought him here. Drautos stretched and loosed a puff of glitter on the pile of squirming glaives.

“Anything to say for yourselves?” The captain growled playfully.

They opened their mouths to reply, but were cut off by the lights flickering back on and the lockdown features sliding back into normal position. The main door clanged open- the king, flanked by his shield and the marshal strode in. Regis froze at the sight, seemingly unable to believe what his eyes were seeing. Clarus’s mouth worked silently, at the same processing error of his liege. Nobody moved until Cor Leonis coughed pointedly into his fist. Sonitus and Axis strode out uncertainly from behind a column. Pelna and Crowe staggered out from the hall, leaning on each other and still giggling wildly.

“I take it you found my gift?” The Marshall called. The glaives inhaled deeply before breaking into a cacophony of rage, amusement, and confusion.

“I have a name…” Drautos pulled himself up to his full height and fixed his eyes on the marshal. He tossed his cell keys to Axis.

“Release the prisoners. No punishments. This never happened.”

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