#fragile and hurt. bracing for pain. and that makes me so sad. i wish i could go out into the woods and wander. just breathe

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[demonlovesangel]

Elucien VS Elriel throughout the books

Brace yourselves because this is going to be a LONG post but I'm going to do it because people seem to disregard Elain's feelings at all times, especially regarding how she reacts around both Lucien and Azriel. So here we go!

And by the way I'm only going to count actual interactions to make it fair, and the most important ones because if not I would be here all day.

Acomaf

Elucien

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him-

~

But Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder.

At Lucien- whose face she had finally taken in.

Elriel

Elain said, "It's all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare but Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

~

Rhys chuckled, Cassian's wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

In Acomaf we can see the start of both relationships, but they start with a real difference. Elain and Azriel get along from the very beginning, whereas with Lucien she cringes away because he's one of the reasons she was turned and she doesn't know him, even if she did realize he's her mate.

With Azriel though they talk about his flying, how beautiful it is, she smiles and asks him directly every time. Their interactions come naturally.

Acowar

Elucien

For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. "Lucien," she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. "From my sister's stories. Her friend."

"Yes."

But Elain blinked slowly. "You were in Hybern."

"Yes." It was all he could say.

"You betrayed us."

He wished she'd shoved him out of the window behind her. "It- it was a mistake."

Her eyes went frank and cold. "I was to be married in a few days."

~

She looked away- towards the windows. "I can hear your heart," she said quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

"When I sleep," she murmured, "I can her your heart beating through the stone." She angled her head, as if the city held some answer. "Can you hear mine?"

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, "No, lady. I cannot."

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. "No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really." A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. "He did. He saw me. He will not now."

~

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. "It felt... strange," Elain breathed. "Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib."

Lucien exposed his palms to her. "I'm sorry."

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded as she shook her head...

~

But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow the movement hiding the gleam of his eye- the longing and sadness.

And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go... He did not glance back at Elain.

Did not see the half step she took towards the stairs- as if she'd speak to him. Stop him.

~

"I'm fine," Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, "Are you-"

"Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... Yes, I'm in one piece."

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips.

~

Lucien shrugged. "First- here. To help. Then..." Another glance at Elain. "Who knows?"

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, "You could come to Velaris."

Elriel

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

Azriel smiled faintly. "Would you like me to show you the garden?"

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breath of his shoulder. The wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him did not shy away as she nodded- just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

~

"I can help her," said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his finger as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.

~

The shadowsinger angled his head.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, "Should we- does she need...?"

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now- unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need..." Azriel trailed off. "A seer," He said, more to himself than us. "The Cauldron made you a seer."

~

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

~

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek...

~

Elain weighed my words... And slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

(...)

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

What is funny to me here, is how the relationship between Elain and Lucien seems forced but at the same time they kind of try. She directly says to him he betrayed them, continued to ignore him and eventually she did try to get close (in her own way) but apparently decided against it. And at the end even Feyre has to nudge Elain to say something to Lucien, which she did.

Elain's relationship with Az starts off from him putting her down on the town house's foyer, and her never balking away from him. Like literally never, in all their interactions she takes his arm, his hands, looks at him unblinkingly, and even kisses his cheek. Ends up accepting Truth-Teller too, and locking eyes with Azriel. The sweetest girl is not afraid of the most frightening illyrian male... Considering how Elain is, that says a lot.

You can look at this in many ways, but no one can deny that by this book, Az and Elain have a mutual understanding and chemistry.

Acofas

Elucien

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. "Both of you."

Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

~

My sister rose to her feet. "I should get refreshments."

Lucien rose as well. "No need to trouble yourself. I'm-"

But she was already out of the room.

Elriel

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

(...)

But I strode to my seat- nestled between Amren and Mor- in time to see Elain say to Azriel, "Hello."

(...)

But Azriel only took Elain's heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, "Sit. I'll take care of it."

Elain's hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them...

~

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

(...)

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

~

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room my sister showing him the plans she'd sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

Honestly, for me, this is by far the most telling book even if it is a novella.

The interaction between Lucien and Elain was so forced. She didn't want to be there, he was kind of uncomfortable too and he even says he can't stand being in the same room as her. Afterwards Elain clearly shows no interest in him and even leaves the room. And Elain says to Feyre that he's not entitled to her affections of attentions, we really need to pay attention to her!

With Azriel though... Wow, their interactions just kept on growing and growing. Elain is clearly affected when she looks at him, her throat bobs, she gets all shy (in a good way), smiles at him too, and even gifts him the headache powder because she was paying attention to him throughout the previous months. That clearly says how much she's been noticing Azriel. Not to mention she explains all her gardening plans and they stay talking after everyone went to bed.

I honestly think it's really cute and that's how a relationship should develop.

Acosf

Elucien

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

~

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian's heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of the newfound boldness to be seen.

Elriel

"I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall," Elain admitted. "She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

~

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly, she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

By this point it's just painfully obvious. Both Lucien and Elain are uncomfortable with each other even if Lucien still does try (but I still think it's because of the mating bond, not because he likes her). He even says in a previous chapter that he's not always in Velaris to see his mate and looks uncomfortable saying that.

With Azriel we can see something has happened or is happening. Small glances, Elain getting shy but smiling at him, him smiling at her and her looking away? That charged look? Elain's breath caught slightly? There's definitely something going on there and we know what it is from Az's PoV. By that point they have been looking at each other, smiling and brushing hands, not to mention Elain started every single interaction in that PoV. She wanted to kiss him, and gifted him another funny and thoughtful gift yet again because she notices him.

~

I didn't put every single one of the interactions, just the ones that said a lot from Elain's reactions because that's the point of this post, to show how she clearly acts around the two males. And I didn't put the PoV because it's a bonus chapter even when it clarifies Elain's feelings.

With Lucien it's forced, she cringes away, doesn't know what to do, and in the end she's just uncomfortable and clearly doesn't want anything regarding their situation.

With Azriel it started off naturally, they developed a friendship with mutual understanding and respect, and it evolved into something else. The interest in each other was always there. Clearly both of them don't know what to do with this because the feelings are strong and have been there for a long time (at the very least a year because of the last Winter Solstice). From the PoV we know it's not easy, even if both of them like each other (Elain has a mate whether she likes it or not). By this point, because of all the external influences, they can't be together, but I think that's what going to play off in her book, choice.

We need to take into account Elain's reactions and choices. Elain's book is most probably the next one, she's going to be the main character as Feyre and Nesta were. What she wants or needs is what matters, not what everyone else thinks. And from all her scenes we can gather that she's going to fight to make everyone change their mind regarding what she wants to do, who she wants to be.

As you would with a female friend, be supportive of her journey and choices and don't bring her down because it's not what you would have chosen for yourself. Everyone deserves the world, and everyone needs to follow their own path and make their own choices.

[kyloren-theprince]

Feral

What makes Hux more feral than Ren? Lack of consent? Maybe, but Kylo isn’t one to always adhere to your every plea; sometimes what he needs is to fuck you hard and fast and without remorse and he never really asked to do that. But deep down, you and Ren both know what you want is each other.

Warnings: smut, edging, inappropriate use of the Force, swearing, brief mention of assault, blood

“Damnit, Ren!” He stands between you and the door, his body solid and taut with barely – just barely – contained rage. He could kill you no problem. But it's not about whether or not he could, the matter at hand was would he. You clench your fist, steeling yourself. “Move.”

He takes a jagged breath, bracing, everything about him so barely controlled. The air hums with an electricity that makes your hair stand on end, makes the lights buzz a little louder than before. Without his helmet, the dark tresses of his hair fall over his face, curling handsomely around the edges of his cheekbones.

“No,” he growls lowly. His left eye twitches. “You’re not leaving.”

“Like fucking Kriff I am!”

“Where are you even going to go?” He’s challenging, squaring off. You roll your eyes. “Are you running to the resistance? Go fuck off with whoever’s left?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t be a fucking child. I’ll stay right where I’m needed-“

“And yet you want to leave,” he interrupts.

“Yes!” You manage to sidestep him, closer to the door, but not yet there.

There’s pressure on your wrist, not warm enough to be his hand, but firm enough that it’s clear you’re not getting out of this quite yet.

“Why? Give me one good reason why.”

You turn on a credit, the hair that managed to free itself from it’s braids flying wild. “You are a lot of things, Kylo, but a man of reason is not one of them.”

“One!”

You watch the way his chest heaves, his fingers twitching. A pain taps the nerves in your arm. You must flinch because he releases only a hair, but it's enough that he’s not hurting you. You look at him, in his eyes, and your heart aches at the sight.

They’re red, glistening enough to know that he has tears in his eyes. You were the only one to ever see him cry (and live), but now you were the cause. Your voice softens.

“I need you to understand that I am not you little fuck toy. You don’t get to use me and then leave for days – weeks – and then get pissed off when I’ve left these quarters during that time.”

His lips press together tightly. You consider the idea of continuing to talk, but you just swallow, feeling the ghost of a hand trail across your palm, pulling on your fingers just enough to have a sense of longing. But then it’s gone, and Kylo lets you walk through those blast doors without another word.

––––

Two, almost three, weeks have passed since that night, and while the ache of Kylo’s absence weighed heavy on your spirit, other issues have arisen. These ones, however, you never realized the extent of before now. Most personnel on the Finalizer recognized your authority, and regarded you with the same respect as before, but there were few outliers.

Take General Artimage Hux for example: he’s a man of some power, and with the idea that he is irreplaceable in his head, he’s proven himself quite the pain in your ass.

He was always on your heels, offering you comfort you didn’t ask for, kind words you didn’t want to hear, gentle reassurances that made you want to pull your hair out, grab him by the ear and thunk him on the forehead, right between his eyes. Either that or kill him.

Right now, as he’s calling your name from the other end of the otherwise empty hall to your temporary quarters, you’ve decided on killing him.

“What is it, General?” You slow enough to glance over your shoulder, hating how close to you he always wants to be. “I’ve somewhere I need to be.”

“And where might that be, darling?” He teases, smoothing over his uniform.

His voice. It’s grating on your ears, makes your head hurt in the worst way. Stars, debriefings with him were awful but this was outright torture.

Maybe that’s how we should interrogate the prisoners, you think. Make him talk to them for a few hours. Melt their brains with his bantha shit.

“None of your concern,” you reply curtly. You don’t give him the courtesy to look at him, you don’t have to. “You’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Your door is in sight, but he’s still here. “Actually General,” you snap, turning sharply to face him, “you don’t. Report to your post immediately.”

The cocky motherfucker has the audacity to stop as well, flash his teeth in a smile, bend at the waist and ask, “Or what?”

A beast within you runs rampant, gnashing its teeth, scratching, writhing in his presence. You don’t move, only watch as he flinches, clutching his neck as he chokes.

“You seem to have forgotten your place,” you snarl. “Or you’ve forgotten mine. Which is it?”

He garbles around the pressure on his throat, usually so pale face having taken on a red tone, ripening into a purple. You release him, and he sucks in deep, lungful of air. He’s panting when he looks at you again, his eyes no longer teasing, but dark and dangerous. In a moment, your head throbs upon its impact against the wall, your arms pinned between your bodies. Hux’s breath on your face makes your skin itch.

“Your place has been Ren’s whore.” You thrash, and he takes hold of your chin, knocking your temple into the support pillar. Your vision goes spotty, but you still push against him. “But now he’s thrown you out like the cheap thing you are.”

So many emotions are screaming through you, your fight or flight going haywire. Was your brain even processing? Ren’s whore, you hear him say. His hands are moving, dragging, feeling across the planes of your torso.

Spiraling, your consciousness produces the image of walking into your quarters, the one you shared with Kylo, and burying yourself in his chest, running your hands through his hair. Even in the daydream, you’re crying, apologizing over and over. You imagine him saying your name.

Maybe he hates you for what you did, and that makes it worse, so much worse, because that’s the only place you want to be. You want to be in the arms of the person who hates you so fucking much. You’re slipping under, drowning in whatever nightmare this is, shutting down, but you don’t want to. No, no this is not going to be how this turns out. You’ll die before then.

“What was that?” It’s Hux again; grating, disrespectful, disgusting Hux. “I thought you said something, darling.”

You pry your eyes open. You bring your knee up, but he pins both legs with his own, amused by your struggle. He opens his mouth to say something, but you spit right there on his face, wishing it were poison or acid instead.

“You,” he says lowly, leaning close to your face, “are going to regret that.”

You bare your teeth. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Without further warning, you bite down on the bridge of his nose, forcing your teeth down tight around the bone until there’s a resounding crack, copper on your tongue. He shouts, smacking at your face until you let go. He prods at the break, flinching, staring at you with wide and pissed off eyes. He shifts his weight towards you, the very beginning of a step, but you throw him back with the Force. He crumples to the ground, rolling slowly to his hands and knees.

Ever on time, the patrol of the evening comes into view, and with one little flick of your wrist, Hux is sent flying to their feet. They stumble to a stop, looking to you for orders.

“Take him,” you instruct.

They move without hesitation, binding his wrists together, and escorting him to the brig eight levels down. You stand there, in the middle of the otherwise empty hallway, just breathing.

Kylo, you think, hoping – knowing – he can hear you, meet me at the throne.

––––

He’s come home from battle looking better than he does now; the bags beneath his eyes are prominent, shoulders slumped with their own weight. He doesn’t move when you enter the room, doesn’t say anything as you walk towards him. He just watches with those sad and tired eyes. You stand next to him, inches from the throne, studying its intricacies that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Do you understand why?” Your voice is soft, fragile even. He feels his heart twist in his chest, guilt sinking lowlowlow. There’s another moment of silence save for his breathing, and you pull him from his thoughts with the gentlest call of his name.

“I do,” he answers, fearing he’s spoken far too loud for the moment. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t defend himself in anyway, he just knows these last three weeks have been eating him alive. He was rotting in ways he hadn’t expected to. And maybe to say he understood was a lie, but he knew he’d at least try to accommodate, to listen to you a little more than just your moans.

You nod once, eyes somewhere else entirely. Gentle is not his forte. You knew this, you didn’t expect him to console you, you didn’t ask him to, but carefully – awkwardly, even – he reaches out, pulling you into his chest.

“Kylo,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt, feeling every thump thump thump of his heart. It felt good to say his name, feel it roll on your tongue.

His hands move from your back to your face, ducking down to kiss you deeply. “Say you won’t leave.” You run your hands through his hair, fingers spread wide over his scalp. “Tell me you wont leave again, ever. You can go wherever the fuck you want, but you’ll come back to me.”

Ren’s whore.

“If you promise me the same.” His brows are twisted, and you know with that one look that he’s heard Hux’s words. You shake your head. “I don’t know what I’m-“

He kisses you, short and fierce this time. “You’re Empress. You rule beside me.”

“Wha-“

“And you’ll stay by me.” His words are sharp, but he softens when he says, “Please.”

Though weak, you smile. “How could I ever refuse you?”

His sinks, smashing your lips together in a flurry, and you take it as an apology. Words he was terrible at, but he could show you, Kriff could he show you.

There more he kisses you, the more you dissolve into his touch, shaking, melting away at his fingers. His grip turns a little harsher, nose scrunching up.

He spins, sitting on the throne and pulling you with him, onto his lap. “You-“ he runs his hands up your thighs, thumbs drawing harsh circles “-fuck.”

You cup his face, kissing him, letting his hands roam, but keeping his lips firmly against yours. He’s jumpy, hips rocking, grinding his covered cock against your heat, growling when you don’t move more than your lips against his.

He wants control, needs it; can feel it scathing beneath his skin, but you’re not backing down this time. You need this just as much as he does, more maybe.

You tug at his belt, pulling away to tear off his pants, hands sliding up over his thighs, the thick muscles would tight and jumping at the press of your thumb. His eyes burn into yours, nose scrunched up.

“If you don’t sit on my cock—“

“You’ll what?” He doesn’t flinch at your sharp tone, but his face relaxes, lips parting so pretty, pupils blown wide. You push his arms down to the throne, pinning him by his inner elbow as you shift back onto his lap. His fingers flex. You gyrate your hips, barely dragging your heat over his aching erection, and he visibly shakes.

You’ve never felt this powerful in your life; not when you cut down enemies, had troopers obey your every command. No, having the mighty Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the galaxy, trembling beneath you was what made you feel fucking invincible.

Almost drunk on it, you lean forward, daring, “What will you do, Kylo?” He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Bend me over? Fuck me stupid?”

Poking at the beast is fun. He locks up, every muscle drawn tight, and he gives a clipped, “Yes.”

You reach out with the Force, seeing bind to his arms, and falling heavy with weight. You knock the snarl off his lips when you take a fistful of his hair and tug, pushing his head against the back of the throne, baring his pale throat. His lips part again, arms taut against the invisible pressure.

“Then you,” you taunt, leaning in close, “haven’t learned your lesson.”

All the ways you could bind him flit through your mind, and you know he sees them too, you make sure of it. His eyes grow darker. Every heavy breath makes his chest puff, flexed, bracing for something that might happen, might not. Nearly lost in it, you bring him back to reality, letting only the head of his dick slide into your wet hole.

“Is this what you wanted?” You sink, just enough to watch those pretty lashes flutter, before rising again. He growls through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna have to use your words.”

He hates this, hates you’ve turned the tables. Or maybe he likes it. Fuck if he really knows. He does know he likes seeing you like this, all commanding, rich with… stars, he’s not sure what this is. But you’re flushed, focused, articulate even as your cunt drools all over his lap. It’s a tug of war, whether or not he submits, so he gives back what you’re so good at: being a brat.

“Is this what you wanted?” He lets his tongue drag over his teeth, watching your head tilt as you follow his eyes. “You wanted to come prove something to your Supreme Leader?”

“No,” you hum and oh, he’s in for it now. He holds his breath when you lean forward, the pressure of hands working over his hips and pressing down at the tops of his thighs. “I wanted to break you.”

His back arches, breath coming in harshly, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack as he moans, wishing he could hold your hips down on his, your cunt sheathing him so suddenly he’s keening. He groans, the sound catching on the back of his throat, reverberating. You wigglegrindclench, and he gasps, willing you to move. Your grip on his hair loosens, running your hand through the dark tresses, stopping only at his jaw to tug his lower lip. Kylo’s eyes are glazed over when he looks at you again.

“Please,” he breathes, the plea surprising you both.

“Please what?”

“Fuck!” He snaps weakly, breath leaving in a big sigh. “I don’t know, just please move. Please.”

You roll your hips, biting your lip when he chokes on his own voice. “Will you be good?”

There’s a moment of mixed emotions, clarity returning to his eyes. He blinks, face scrunching up, shaking his head of whatever thought occupying it.

You click your tongue, “What a shame.”

Pressure at the base of his dick and he jerks his hips up, eyes wide, flitting between a plea and a threat as you tighten the grip, fucking yourself on his hot length. He swears, pants, leans forward to bite at your breasts, but you take hold of his chin, pushing his head back against the throne.

“Uh-uh,” you chide. “You didn’t want to be a good boy, so this is what you get.” Breathless but determined, you lean forward, still bouncing. “I’m gonna use you like some dumb fuck doll, and you’re not gonna do a thing. You’re not gonna touch me, taste me—“ you make a point of tightening the invisible cock ring, earning a low, gutteral moan “—and you’re not gonna cum in me either.”

The threat almost makes him scream. He tries to bite it back, but your walls are hugging him so tightly, making this obscene squelching noise everytime you move. Sweat drips down to the hollow of your throat and stars does he wish to drink it down. He breathes your name, husky and desperate for you, for release, both.

“Please,” he begs again. He closes his eyes, nearly melting when your lips ghost over the smooth skin of his neck, nose following the line of his scar. “P-please! I’ll be a good—“ his throat clicks “—good boy! Let me cum, fuck, let me cum please!”

Those words felt foreign on his tongue, but how his whole being sings when your fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s almost there, would be if not for your hinderance, but he can feel the way your walls flutter and clench, and he knows he’s not the only one.

“Do you think you deserve to?”

“No!” Spitting that out was easier than he expected. So was, “I don’t deserve you or your cunt!”

You hum, but don’t acknowledge it further, chin dropping to your collarbone as you pant shudder shake, heat coiling at the base of your spine, muscles flexing. Kylo’s back bows, chest and face angled towards the ceiling, a loud, low moan rumbling through him.

He tries not to think about it — how fucking badly he wants to cum, fill up your pretty cunt — tries breathing, counting, squeezing his eyes shut. He forces his mind away from his orgasm, and of course it goes to you; his conscious seeks out the thread intertwining the two of you, the shared bond through the Force.

A new sensation zips through him, flitting through his thoughts, makes his brain buzz on his own skull. You sigh, moan, and he feels it, feels it against the planes of his face, feels it hum through his head like a tidal wave. Everything is so bright and electric, but there’s something there.

It’s small, tucked away, felt by numb fingers. It’s young and fleeting and yielding and disappearing melting hiding gone behind the eruption of your orgasm, and Kylo feels all of it.

In every cell in his body, he feels you clamping down on his cock, gushing, cumming all over his lap, moaning loud loud loud for him. He feels your release through you and his mind is spinning because Kriff his cock is still so full and aching as you pull away. He whines, low and pitiful.

“Go on.” His whole being hums with your voice, the pressure of the cock ring relieving into a stroke over his shaft. “Cum, Kylo.”

And he does, he fucking cums; thick spurts that touch his chin and splatter on his chest, such a big load that lands all over him. His body sags against the throne, breathing deep through chapped lips.

Fuck, maybe he blacks out for a moment, dragging his eyes open when his cloak is tossed over his lap, the fabric making his over sensitive cock twitch. When the blast doors hiss open, and troopers march in escorting Hux, Ren doesn’t move.

You briefly admire Kylo; the sweat makes his hair curl into his eyes, everything about him draped so leisurely across the ancient seat, thighs spread. The flush of his usually pale skin, little marks across his neck, make him glow. His gaze meets yours, unchanging, but curious. Hux clears his throat.

“Supreme Leader,” he acknowledges almost reverently, falling to one knee.

That something is back, scathing and scratching behind the walls of your mind, and Kylo sees it, turning to Hux slowly. “Your business here is not with me.”

You turn, and it’s now that Hux swallows thickly. At the bottom of those steps, he looks so small and scared, as he damn well should be. His back straightens when you walk forward, the troopers moving back as you approach.

“Empress,” he says lowly, far less reverently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Something dark clouds your eyes, and Hux’s façade fades further. He reaches out, just the barest lift of his fingers, and that’s it.

Kylo’s saber flies easily from its hilt, landing in your palm, burning hot as it cuts through the air, through skin and bone, Hux’s hand falling to the floor in a sickening heap. He cries out, cradling his arm, wailing, face red. The smell of burnt flesh curls at your nose.

“If you touch another woman without her permission,” you promise, low, dark, and deadly. You put the tip of the saber beneath his trembling chin, forcing him to look at you. “I will take more than your hand.”

He nods as best he can, whispering hoarsely, “Yes, ma’am.”

What a sight to behold: an empress wielding a blade to a feral man’s throat, threatening his life with little effort and full understanding.

When Hux is half carried away on tremebling knees do you turn back to your husband. You kill the saber, slowly retuning to him, offering it for him to take. Your heart was hammering in your chest. Whether that’s from the exertion of fucking him or the adrenaline of Hux’s punishment, you weren’t sure.

Kylo’s lips remain parted, eyes wide as he pushes the saber away with the side of his pinky, his focus zeroed in on you.

“Is that what possessed you?” His voice is low, hoarse despite the way he tries to clear it. Your lip twitches and that’s all he needs to know.

He urges you forward, the Force gentle at your back, but buzzing with anticipation. You stand between his parted legs, letting his hands touch your waist, sliding up to your ribcage as he sits up. His thumbs move soothingly. He angles his head upwards, almost your height, but not quite given he’s still sitting.

He wants to say something, he should, but he’s replaying that moment in his head over and over and over until he’s dizzy with it. The power and radiance of you always left him so hard, and now was no different; with his shifting, his robe falls, revealing his cock, already flushing a deep red, precum falling from the slit.

“You are exquisite,” he breathes finally, loving the way your pupils blow wide at the sight of him. And while he doesn’t have words beyond that, your lips meet fiercely in a kiss that you both moan into, and stars he can show you just how much he needs you.

[tomtenadia]

Go your own way

Ok, I did something crazy and I wrote an ACOTAR fan fiction.

I haven’t written a fan fic in decades and I found myself rusty beyond belief.

I wasn’t even sure I would remember how to do it. But the ACOTAR series is so full of angst that for some reason i found myself inspired (who doesn’t love a nice angsty ff?)

First of all I want to apologise. As I said... i Haven’t done this in a very, very long time so my writing style is suffering. Also, I am literally new to the fandom as I finished the series this weekend. I did try to follow canon as much as i could, but please be patient if i have gone OOC a bit. Again, learning again how it all works.

The fic is about the moment when Mor finally tells Az why she can’t love him. And there is also a hint of Elriel because I am savagely shipping Elain and Az. 

It’s definitely set in a not so far future after ACOFAS.

In my head it sounded great, I am not sure if I did manage to write something decent. So please have patience.

The title is from the song Go your own way from Fleetwood Mac.

I would like to thank you @illyrian-lover-flower for the chat that actually sparked the idea for this fic. I hope you like it.

Thank you all for reading. Let me know what do you think.

***

Go your own way

I look at Azriel from a hidden corner in the kitchen and a tug of happiness fills me.

He is sitting in the living room beside Elain and they are chatting in the rare calm of the town house and her smile is so bright that it could lit up the room. His gaze instead… the one of a fool in love.

His scarred hand gently cover hers, a touch almost out of place and perhaps appearing far too gentle to those who do not truly know the Shadowsinger.

But I do. And he can care. He had been at my side for over five centuries, he saved my life. He loved me. He still does and I keep breaking his heart because I can’t muster the courage to tell him the truth. Because truth is… I do care about him. More that I can admit. Just not the way he would like me to. And because I love him I always avoided the truth.

I need to let go. He needs to let go.

I study him with Elain and I sigh happily.

She might have another man claiming to be her mate but I noticed how they slowly got closer together. How she showed him day by day her growing affection. No sudden and glorious declarations of undying love. Just those timid steps toward their own personal corner of paradise after hell was literally unleashed on all our lives.

Slowly I move my body and I make sure that Az notices my presence in the kitchen.

His head snaps to me and with a tiny movement of my head I tell him to join me in the kitchen.

He bows to Elain and like the prince charming that he is, I see him kissing her hand and excusing himself.

I brace myself for the discussion ahead. One I am not sure I am ready to have.

“Were you spying on us?” He says to me with a strange glint in his eyes “You know that’s my job.”

“I was just here for a tea.” I tell him showing him my mug still full with steaming liquid.

I take a deep breath and he notices the tension rising in my body.

“What’s wrong?”

I can see him going in full alert. The war was over but there was still so much to do that we could still not declare us fully safe.

“We need to talk.” I said to him in a whisper and I look at him in the eyes.

“Strategy talk?”

I shake my head “Us talk.”

He freezes in front of me. I take a sip from my mug trying to buy me some time to think how to best breach the subject.

“Az, I need you to be happy.” I can see him staring at me, confused.

My right hand touches his arm and he is startled at that contact “I can’t give you what you want from me and I know that deep down you know it as well.” I take a pause to study his reaction but he just stares at me almost terrified by my admission “We have been dancing this dance for over five centuries, but the time has come to let go. But also…” and I take a deep breath because I know that once I admit to him that I lied to him all this time, it will hurt more that the whole revelation in itself. “I can’t love you, Az because I like women. I have known for a while now but, a part from Feyre, no one knows, because I am too much of a coward to tell everyone.” And as I finally open up my heart to him I see a flash of something dangerous in his eyes. But he still stares at me in silence and a part of me wishes he would just lash at me. It would hurt less.

“I love you, like a brother and that will never change. But this is all I can give you.” And I feel disgust wash over me. After all he has done for me… but words are betraying me and I don’t think I will ever be able to fully tell him how much he means to me. Not even if we have another millennium together.

“You never…” he finally manages, reining in his fury “Why you didn’t say anything? Did you think that I would judge you for your sexual choices? You know I don’t care. Why? Why the secrecy and the lies?” His tone rises a notch and I can feel tears welling in my eyes. And in his… fury.

His body shifts and it looks as if he getting ready to leave and I grab his arm again “I am sorry.” Is all I can breath while I try not to break “I am still dealing with this. Still accepting who I really am and I don’t know, Az. This is so fucked up.” My other hand abandons the tea on the table and lands on his other arm, grabbing him almost as if to ground me to that earth that was slowly sliding away from under my feet.

“I loved you. I love you.” And his confession hits me deeply. Never had he pronounced those words to me. But I have always know.

“I know.” I say softly as the tears eventually start to run down my cheeks “I know.” I repeat and I take a step toward him.

“Five centuries, Mor. Five damned centuries.” He sighs deeply “I need…” he stops as if not being able to finish that thought. I can see him struggling with something.

“I need you to be happy…” I finish the sentence for him and his stare is like a knife in my heart.

With my head I nod to Elain in the other room “Go your own way. Be happy. I have hurt you enough. You have endured enough.”

“I am not leaving you.” Word uttered with fierceness.

“You will still be my friend. I will still be here. I am just asking you to stop pining for me.” I turn his body around with force and point it to the living room “You gave her Truth-Teller. You almost died for her to save her. Don’t tell me that you don’t feel anything. By the Mother, everyone can see how close you two are.”

“She is someone else’s mate.” I can hear him whisper quietly while I track his gaze slowly following Elain’s movements in the living room. “Story of my life. Azriel, the sad bastard doomed to fall in love with women he can’t have.” And I hear him snort.

And that confession breaks my heart because I can taste his pain. I squeeze my hands harder on his arms “Stop it.” And my voice looses all its gentleness “Hate me, curse me, shout at me if it makes you feel better but please give up on your love for me. I am not worthy of you.” And I see his head snap back at me incredulous at my admission. Not knowing that I am aware that the only reason why he never told me it’s because he never felt worthy of me.

I caress his face and I try to give him a smile while my tears still run down my face “You are worthy.” And slowly I move a step toward him and I bury my face in his chest.

For a moment he doesn’t move then I feel his strong arms fold gently around my back.

He kisses my hair and I hear him sigh “Do you really think I have a chance with Elain?”

And a fragile smile appears on my lips as I sense the change of tone in his voice.

I move away from the embrace and look at him “Just get a move on… Cassian might get tired of chasing Nesta and decide to give it a go with the last Archeron sister available.” I joke and I can see a glint of fun in his eyes and my heart feels suddenly lighter.

“You can always ask Cassian if he has some female friend to lend you. Considered how obsessed he is with Nesta there is probably a long line of females all sad and lonely down in Velaris.” He winks at me and he turns to go back but he stops on the threshold.

I grab his hand “I love you.” I whisper to him.

He doesn’t reply but turn to me, stoops and kisses me on the cheek. Then disappears back in the living room.

I can see him placing a gentle hand on Elain’s shoulder. Her face turn upwards and gives him a beautiful smile.

I take a sip of my now almost cold tea.

“Go your own way…” I whisper to him.

“Be happy.”

[flowerfan2]

One Night in Milwaukee - Ch. 4

David x Patrick, 12k so far, A03

Being stuck in the Milwaukee airport is bad enough.  Then David realizes that the man who broke his heart is sitting right next to him.

Chapter 4

David kisses him so tenderly Patrick feels like he’s going to melt.  It’s a lot, this forgiveness, after a long day of worrying that his confession was going to send David running again.  Patrick breaks the kiss and pulls David into a tight hug, burying his face against David’s neck.

David rubs his back and sniffles a little bit.  “Well, now that that’s settled, I suppose I’ll cancel my flight for tomorrow.”

“What?” Patrick pulls back and stares at David.  “You already booked a flight for-” He realizes his mistake, and breaks into a choked laugh.  “Asshole.”

David looks almost bashful, ducking his head and running his hands up and down Patrick’s arms.  “I actually told work I’m taking the week off.”

Patrick searches David’s face, which is touchingly vulnerable.  “Yeah?  That’s good.”

“Do you, um, want to let me in on your plans?”  David asks.  “Because I know you didn’t want to talk about it before, but I do kind of have to let people know where I’ll be after that.”

With a rush, Patrick remembers that the two of them know precious little about each other’s lives.  Patrick doesn’t even know where David lives, although he assumes it is somewhere in the vicinity of Toronto.  But even that is just a guess.

“I’m sorry I blew you off earlier when you asked about that,” Patrick says.

“It’s okay,” David replies, not even going for the joke.  

“I was sort of preoccupied,” Patrick goes on.  

“You were afraid I was going to run again,” David says plainly.

Patrick hesitates, but then admits it.  “I was.  Not that you wouldn’t have been entitled to, but-” Patrick’s not sure how to finish this sentence and keep the fragile peace they have found.

David takes in a long breath, which turns into a jaw-cracking yawn.  He half-smiles at Patrick, abashed.  “As much as I really do want to talk about this-” he waves his hand between the two of them, “I think my body has finally realized how little sleep it’s gotten in the past few days.”

“You need your beauty rest,” Patrick says, agreeing.

David doesn’t seem to take this as a compliment, shaking his head dismissively.  “I’m just tired.”

“No, of course, you’re right,” Patrick says.  “Can we talk tomorrow?”

This call-back to Patrick’s line so many years ago causes David to quirk a hint of a smile, and Patrick lets out a breath, hopeful that they have made it over at least this particular hurdle.  As they head down the hall, he reaches out and takes David’s hand, leading him into the larger bedroom.

David pauses as they go inside, giving Patrick a questioning look.  

“I’d really, really like it if you stayed in here with me,” Patrick says.  He wishes he had a better argument, a way to explain it, but he just wants David near. He wants the smell of his skin, and the warmth of his body.  It’s an ache that won’t go away.  

Patrick has been without David for so long, and now that he’s been reminded of what it’s like to be in his presence, he doesn’t want to give it up.  Not even while he’s asleep.

“You sure?” David asks, and it gives him a sad sense of déjà vu, back to when David hadn’t learned to trust Patrick’s interest in him, at the very start of their relationship when David seemed to think it was just a matter of time before Patrick grew bored.

Patrick catches David’s gaze and pours his heart into his words.  “Very sure.”

David gives Patrick one of his sideways, <i>I can’t help it</i> smiles, and follows Patrick into the room.  There’s a moment of awkwardness as they settle under the covers, Patrick’s ribs protesting as he positions himself on his side facing David.

“That doesn’t look comfortable,” David says, frowning.  “Shouldn’t you be propping yourself up with pillows or something?”

Patrick doesn’t like thinking about being in the hospital, poked and prodded and asked to tell his story over and over, but he did make a point of remembering his discharge instructions.  “They told me it wouldn’t matter, that I might need to sleep more upright for the first few nights, but if I wasn’t having breathing problems I could do whatever I wanted.”

This doesn’t satisfy David.  “Okay, I wasn’t even thinking about breathing problems.  Are you doing any breathing exercises?  Should you be doing them now, before you go to sleep?”

“What do you know about breathing exercises?”  Patrick asks, annoyed as he realizes what’s going through David’s head.  “Have you been researching broken ribs?”

David sits up.  “Yes.  Anything wrong with that?”

Patrick presses a hand over his face, a wave of embarrassment running through him at the thought of David surfing the web reading about sleeping positions, and how to clutch a pillow to your chest to cough, and making sure to take deep breaths throughout the day to keep mucus out of your lungs.  

“Hey,” David says softly, scooting closer and putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.  “It’s okay.”  David gently shifts Patrick on to his back, and settles close to him, one hand lightly resting on his arm.  “This should help keep you still, so you don’t hurt yourself during the night,” David says, his voice barely above a whisper.  “If you need me to move, just let me know.”

Patrick’s still got his hand over his eyes, and he feels David press a kiss to his forehead, carefully avoiding his stitches.  He wants to say something, to tell David he’s fine and he doesn’t have to worry, but the truth is that his ribs hurt like crazy, and his head is aching, and David’s gentle touch is making him want to cry.

“Shhh,” David says, his arm reaching over to cradle Patrick.  “You’re okay.  You’re safe.  It’s all right.”

Patrick doesn’t know if David can tell that Patrick is still feeling that booted foot landing on his chest, still hearing Jamie yelling for help.  If David knows that it isn’t just physical pain that’s got Patrick tied up in knots. He thinks that he does, as David continues to stroke his arm, and murmur tender reassurances.  

When Patrick had allowed himself to imagine getting back together with David, it generally featured hot and heavy sex, maybe passionately tearing each other’s clothes off, not David comforting Patrick as hot tears slipped down his face.  “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and he can feel David shaking his head against his cheek.

“Mmm, no, don’t apologize,” David says.  “It’s okay.  I’m here now.  You’re okay.”

As if something deep inside him was waiting for permission, Patrick starts crying in earnest, clutching at his stomach as his ribs protest.  David holds him and strokes his back, and Patrick can tell how hard he’s trying not to panic himself by the way his voice rises as he tells Patrick over and over that it’s all right.

Finally, Patrick is able to catch his breath.  He opens his eyes to see David watching him.

“Patrick,” David says, his throat tight.  “Are you okay?  Can I get you anything?”  David’s still wrapped around him, holding him together, and Patrick realizes he’s soaked the neckline of David’s shirt with his tears and possibly other unmentionable fluids.

Patrick blows out a long breath and braces himself to sit up, David trying to help.  “A tissue?” he asks.  “And a do-over?”

David darts up and comes back with the box of tissues from the bathroom and a glass of water.  He perches on the side of the bed while Patrick blows his nose, and helps Patrick with the glass, taking it back and setting it carefully on the nightstand after Patrick gulps the water down.

Patrick’s head is still pounding, but he doesn’t think he can stay awake even long enough to think about taking more pain pills.  He lets David pull the covers up around them, and holds out an arm for David to carefully curl up next to him.

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary,” David says, just as Patrick begins to drift off.

“Hm?  What do you mean?”

“No do-over necessary,” David says.  “You’re doing fine.”

Patrick snorts.  “Hardly how I wanted to celebrate getting back together.”

David finds Patrick’s hand and rubs his thumb over his knuckles.  “We’ll go get a giant cookie tomorrow if you insist,” David says.  

“Ha ha ha.”

David brushes a gentle kiss to Patrick’s lips.  “I’m here with you,” David says, his voice filled with emotion.  “I don’t need anything else.”

Patrick breathes deep, despite his aching ribs, and falls asleep surrounded by the warmth of the person he loves most in the world.

*****

Patrick wakes up slowly to bright sun shining in around the edges of the window shades.  It takes a moment to remember he’s in Florida, and then suddenly it all comes back to him – the airport, and <i>David,</i> and, less pleasantly, Patrick’s breakdown last night in bed.

He reaches out but can tell immediately that David isn’t there.  There’s a split second of stomach dropping panic as Patrick wonders where David went, but then his hand lands on an oversized post-it note stuck to his phone.

Went for a run.  Be back soon. XO

Patrick feels almost giddy with relief, and stares up at the ceiling grinning like an idiot.  His brain skates right over the “run” part of David’s message, and focuses on the end – “Be back soon.  XO.”  He remembers leaving little notes for David in the early days of their relationship, always with a little “XO” at the end.  David always tutted at him for acting like a middle school kid with a crush, but the notes made him blush prettily and Patrick kept it up for months.  He’s not sure why he stopped.

Patrick carefully sits up, stiff and aching, and gets out of bed.  He takes David’s note with him into the bathroom, running his fingers over the words.  He wants to keep it, as solid proof that David Rose is actually back in his life, but he’s not ready to fold it up small and stuff it into his wallet.  Instead he sticks it on the mirror, where he’ll be able to see it as soon as he gets out of the shower.  Just in case he starts to wonder, again, if this is really happening.

He lets the warm water relax his muscles as he tries not to overthink whatever it is that has brought David back to him.  It’s tempting to call it fate, given how very unlikely it was that he and David would wind up in the same place at the same time, especially when that place happened to be the Milwaukee airport.  It’s not even a usual hub for connecting flights to stop between New York and Toronto – Detroit is much more common.

After he showers he stares at himself in the mirror, his eyes flickering back and forth between his image (the bruise on his temple turning yellowish-green, the skin around his stitches hardly red at all and not even worth a covering bandage) and the note from David with its little “XO.”  The two don’t seem to go together, yet, somehow, they do.  Kind of like what people thought about him and David.

He shaves and towels off, padding into the bedroom, hoping to hear David out in the kitchen.  But the house is still quiet.  He gets dressed, pulling a blue button-up and jeans out of his suitcase, and wanders into the other bedroom.

The bed is neatly made, the white duvet fluffed and arranged carefully over the ocean-colored pillowcases.  David always insisted on making his bed, even back at the motel, which made sense given that it was their living space as well as his bedroom.  He still doesn’t know how David and Alexis survived in that room together for so long, although he envies the closeness that came out of it.

The closet door is open, and it clearly contains items not belonging to anyone in the Brewer family – David’s leather jacket and heavy black boots.  Patrick feels a little creepy looking at David’s things, especially when he sees that his suitcase is mostly empty, except for a few carefully folded sweaters, and starts opening drawers to see what else David brought.

But the drawers only hold some of Patrick’s spare clothes, from a trip last winter to visit his parents. The mystery is solved when Patrick hears the ping from the washing machine in the hall bathroom.  He wonders how early David woke up, and if he did anything else besides his laundry before he headed out.

Patrick helps himself to a cup of coffee from the half-empty pot in the kitchen and glances at his phone, realizing that David must have been gone for over an hour.  For the first time, it sinks in that David is apparently out exercising, and not only that, he was up long before ten o’clock in the morning.  What happened to the “I don’t do well with running,” not-a-morning-person David Rose he used to know?

As if in answer to his question, Patrick hears the front door open.  David comes in, sweaty and still breathing a little heavily.  “Hi,” David says, making a beeline for the sink and pouring himself a glass of water, which he drinks down in a few long gulps.

Patrick can’t tear his eyes away from David’s body.  His damp t-shirt clings to his chest, which seems to have gotten broader since Patrick last saw him.  His waist is trimmer, too, and the thigh muscles revealed by his silky running shorts are more defined.

David catches him looking, but instead of a pleased blush he just looks embarrassed.

“David,” Patrick says, stepping closer, “you look great.”

David grimaces.  “No, I’m disgusting.”  He tries to slide past Patrick and back down the hall, but Patrick stops him with a hand on his arm.

“David.”  Patrick knows it’s not the time to be flirty, but he can’t let David think for one more moment that he is anything less than beautiful.  “You look great,” he repeats, holding David’s gaze.

David still has trouble accepting it, but he purses his lips and blinks at Patrick.  “Thank you.  Now, let me take a shower, and tell me that again when I’m clean.”

“Will do.”

David starts to move off down the hallway, then turns back and sighs.  “I don’t have a single clean shirt left.  Can I borrow one of yours?”

Patrick hates that David even has to ask.  There was a time that David tried out Patrick’s clothes like a kid playing dress-up, even wearing one of his much-maligned button-downs to that job interview with Stevie.  It amused them both to no end to watch David acting out the roles that he associated with Patrick’s staid Gap purchases.  

The times that Patrick tried on David’s clothes are even more treasured in Patrick’s memory.  He won’t ever forget the look on David’s face when Patrick put on a skirt. They fell into bed and fucked like rabbits, never even making it out the door.

“Of course, everything’s still in my suitcase,” Patrick says, pushing aside the memories.  “Take whatever you want.”

David nods his thanks and disappears into the bathroom.

[onthepageoftears]

What Was Lost —  Pt 2 (Jaskier x Reader) || Witcher

A/N: And part two is here! Thank you everyone for reading, and also thank you to all my new followers! A reminder that I now have a taglist, so don’t be afraid to sign up through the google doc I created (the link is in my description) :) Also, this is my fourth @thewitcherbingo entry, whoop! Enjoy!

Summary: Y/N, a famous bard, is cursed by a sorceress and loses her voice, leaving her only hope to get it back with the famous Witcher and her rival, Jaskier.

(based on this post)

Bingo Square Filled: Road Trip

Warnings: grief, language, angst, fluff!!

Words: 2,047

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

(Pt 1)

Though you were a traveling bard, this trip seemed excruciatingly long. Geralt insisted on taking the paths with little to no interaction of villages, meaning you couldn’t even stop to talk to the townsfolk. Not that you could anyway. But still, a big part of traveling was meeting the people, and with Geralt, that was the last thing on his mind.

It didn’t take long on the trip for you and Jaskier to start making music. Despite your lost voice, you couldn’t keep yourself away from your lute. And even though you learned that Geralt cherished his peace and quiet, you also learned that Jaskier didn’t give two fucks. So, the two of you made a great team in annoying the Witcher, one chord at a time.

You secretly thanked the gods that Jaskier was there. When before your rivalry was a playful past-time, now it was almost completely gone. What replaced it was…a friendship, which was something you realized you never really had until now. Watching the bard perform had been a pleasure, sure — but performing with him was so much more exhilarating. You couldn’t wait to get your voice back so you two could sing the best songs both of you would ever write. It was a bold statement, but something felt right in your gut as the two of you wrote random lyrics and came up with new chord progressions in your downtime.

It was the night before visiting the sorceress, and Jaskier was strumming his lute and humming along. You watched him with your body leaning against a tree trunk, smiling as he made nonsense lyrics and fucked up his chords repeatedly.

As you listened to Jaskier strum away, your smile faded. In the short bursts of time that you were enjoying yourself, you would suddenly remember what circumstances you were under. In a matter of seconds, like the flip of a coin, your mood shifted. Your heart jumped to your throat as the same questions you had been mulling over for the past few days swirled in your mind. What if the sorceress wasn’t where Geralt thought she was? What if she refused to give you your voice back? What if you could never sing again?

“Y/N?” Jaskier’s voice took you out of your trance; his hands were no longer playing the lute, and instead, he looked at you with concern. “You’re not crying because of my singing, are you?”

You laughed, though no sound came out. The sick feeling returned to your stomach as you wiped the tears from your cheeks; you picked up the notebook beside you and wrote: your singing is the least of my pain right now.

“I take that as a compliment.” Jaskier gestured to the lute in his hands. “In that case, any requests?”

You gave him a sad smile before writing in the notebook: I want my voice back.

“Hm. Well, I’m not familiar with that one…” His amused smile faltered when yours didn’t appear. He placed the lute on the ground next to him and focused on you. His jaw clenched as it searched your face. “We will get it back.”

You nodded your head but turned away from Jaskier’s gaze. You were still unconvinced; you decided to change the subject.

You pursed your lips as you wrote: do you hate me? Then turned it to Jaskier.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “If I hated you, would I have gone on this journey to find your voice?” You just stared at him, each blink more dramatic than the next. He rolled his eyes harder. “I don’t hate you.” He sighed, then quirked a brow. “Do you hate me?”

You smirked, then wrote: next question.

Jaskier groaned. “Now come, that’s not fair.”

You shrugged and made a ‘zip the lip’ motion. Jaskier grumbled to himself and turned back to his lute, where he began strumming a song you two thought up just the other day.

—

“This is the place.”

You didn’t know what you expected. A large castle, maybe a few guards standing out front. Possibly some rabid animals ready to attack. After the surprisingly long trip, you thought the climax to your journey would lead to a crazy battle — at the least. But this…this was anything but that. It was a small hut, barely sturdy looking. You were positive that if you threw a rock at the front door it would fall off its hinges. You supposed the sorceress had some sort of magic enchantment on the structure, keeping it upright. If she didn’t, the walls were sure to fall down come the next storm.

Jaskier must have been thinking the same thing, as his nose was scrunched up. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“This is where she was last time I saw her.”

“Which was?”

Geralt blinked. “The last time I saw her.”

“Great. Fantastic.” Jaskier threw his arm forward. “Lead the way.”

As Geralt walked towards the hut, you felt your stomach drop. This was the moment of truth. This was the end of your journey.

Jaskier placed a hand on your arm. “Are you ready?” You nodded. It was now or never.

You were grateful that Geralt and Jaskier went in first; your stomach did about twenty-five flips as you followed them into the hut, your head whipping from side to side as you looked for the sorceress.

The hut was filled with dozens and dozens of trinkets; you thought if you breathed they would fall over. Bottles of random ingredients, liquids and solids alike, filled shelves that lined the walls.

“Fidelia.” Geralt spoke, making you turn your head to the corner of the room. There stood the familiar sorceress, smiling the same smile she did a couple nights ago. You shivered.

“Geralt. How strange it is to see you again.” Her eyes flicked to Jaskier, then quickly to you. “Ah. I see.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, “We’ve come to…ah, claim Y/N’s voice back.”

The sorceress — Fidelia, nodded. “That you did."

The room grew quiet as Fidelia squinted her eyes at Jaskier, then back to you. It would have been awkward if not for Geralt’s interruption.

“Fidelia. Her voice.”

“Yes, yes.” Fidelia brought her eyes back to you. She closed her eyes and breathed in, listened. It made you feel self-conscious, like she was listening to your thoughts. Which, maybe she was.

Luckily, she didn’t close her eyes for long. In fact, only a couple seconds after, she smiled. “Looks to me like you found what you needed.” The sorceress winked at you and stepped away to reach into a cabinet nearby. She pulled out the jar she had the night you met her. “Open this up and your voice will find its way back to you. Be patient. It will settle when it is ready.”

You tentatively took the jar from her hands, almost expecting her to rip it away. When she didn’t, you hugged it to your chest.

Geralt’s body weight creaked on the wooden floor as he leaned forward. “If I hear about something like this again—“

“You’ll never let me hear the end of it. I understand. Stay a bit, Geralt, so we can catch up. I might have a favor to ask you.” She turned to you, her smile as fresh as ever. “Take care now, darling.”

You barely nodded before gripping Jaskier’s sleeve and pulling him out of the hut, leaving Geralt and Fidelia to reminisce on whatever times they shared.

As soon as the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath. Your heart banged in your chest, begging you to get further away from the hut, just in case. You motioned for Jaskier to follow you and ran down towards the river that you had passed on the way to the hut.

You finally caught your breath as you sat down on a log near the river. The sound of frogs filled your ears and you breathed in again, this time feeling more at ease. You looked down at the jar and wondered, just for a second, if the return of your voice would hurt. Shaking that thought away, you uncapped the lid, bracing yourself for the worst. All you felt was a small gust of wind — then, nothing.

“So.” Jaskier sat on the log next to you and nudged your shoulder. “Have you truly...found what you needed?”

You took a big gulp and looked down at the jar in your hands. It was such a fragile thing, and just minutes ago it held an even more fragile part of yourself. You could now only hope that your voice was back — though the sorceress said it may take a while, your faith was flickering.

You looked to Jaskier and shrugged, a sad smile forming on your lips. For some reason, you thought back to your childhood — to the mother you never had, the father you wish you knew longer. Your eyes teared up at the thought of all that you had lost in the past; you wondered why the world had to take so much away from you, and why, when you were just beginning to feel better, more was taken away.

But now it was back, in your hands. And still, you felt like something was missing.

“You know, what I said about your voice. It wasn’t true.” You turned your head towards Jaskier; he was looking at a tree in the distance, probably avoiding your eyes. “At the tavern. And before that. None of it was true.”

You smiled at Jaskier, but the smile turned to a frown. I want to help you find what you were missing. This whole time, you thought what you were missing was your voice. Surely, that was part of it, but...maybe what the sorceress had meant wasn’t your voice — it was your companions. So many years after losing what was left of your family, and finally, you found a new family of your own. You had been traveling the Continent for years trying to fill the gap in your life that music couldn’t; and now, the gap was nearly overflowing.

You turned to Jaskier, heart brimming with… love? Excitement? You didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. All you wanted was the be with Jaskier for the rest of your life — for forever. Though you still couldn’t speak, his eyes caught yours at just the right moment; at that moment, he smiled. You smiled. And you grabbed his face and brought it to your own, capturing his lips with all the words you wanted to say to him, all the songs you wanted to sing with him. And he responded, placing his hands firmly on your waist, allowing you to lean into his grip, feeling the steadiness that his presence brought you.

At the feeling of his hands on your hips, you hummed; his touch brought butterflies to your stomach, butterflies you hadn’t felt in a long time. But then, your eyes opened wide with realization. You hummed.

You broke the kiss with your own smile and pulled back with a laugh.

“Thank the gods!” Your voice was husky, barely a whisper, but it was enough. Your smile stretched at the sound of your own voice; though it had only been gone for around a week, it felt like an eternity.

“I never thought I’d be saying this.” Jaskier’s smile lifted into a teasing smirk. He brought a hand to your face and wiped away a happy tear that fell without you knowing it. “But I am glad to hear your voice again.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but decided better of it. Jaskier watched you with a furrowed brow as you reached for the notebook you were carrying around; his eyes followed your hand as it wrote two words onto the page: Fuck off.

“I will definitely take that into consideration.” Jaskier nodded thoughtfully and pulled you in for another kiss; as his hands traced the sides of your face, you silently thanked the sorceress for forcing you on this journey — though, part of you still wanted Geralt to kick her in the face while you laughed as loudly as your lovely voice would allow. 

But maybe that was a bit harsh.

———————————————————————————————————

Tags: @trees-fanfic​, @sdavid09​, @mystrade-shipper​

(if you want to be added/removed to/from the taglist, don’t be afraid to send me a message or sign up via the link in my description)

[himikiyo]

we’ll be fine, i’m told // himikiyo week day 1

Himikiyo Week Day 1: Past + Future

"Beating up my lungs might be a bit counterproductive if you're trying to get them to work." They pursed their lips in thought so seriously, loose strands of hair framing their face where it escaped the messy bun they'd put it up in. No makeup today, and the dark circles under their eyes stood out a little too much, suggesting they weren't sleeping well. They were beautiful as always though, sitting there with wrinkled pajamas and their mask pulled down.

Danganronpa acceptance letters arrive. Himiko wishes they didn't.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

"So you really got one too...What are the odds?" Himiko could hear the undertone of nervousness in her own voice as she said it. She could only hope it was less obvious to Korekiyo. This was what they were both aiming for. It would be rude to seem disappointed by their success.

It was an utterly ordinary day, standing in sharp contrast to the news they received. She'd opened the window part way when she came in, letting in a pleasant late summer breeze. Sunlight streamed in too, a stripe of illumination stretching across the bed. The door was closed, but it was impossible to completely block out all the noise from outside, the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses in the halls. The hospital wasn't a great place for privacy, but that too was a familiar routine.

The two letters sitting atop the blankets were not. Aside from the names, one being addressed to Yumeno Himiko and the other to Shinguuji Korekiyo, they were identical down to the Danganronpa emblem. On behalf of Team Danganronpa, I'm pleased to announce you've been selected as a participant for season 53. It said much more than just that, of course, but that was the sentence her eyes kept drifting to. It was the only one that mattered.

Sitting cross legged at the foot of the bed, she just stared down at the pages, hand smoothing out some of the creases in them. The date they'd have to report for pre-season preparations was just a few weeks away. The clock was already ticking.

"I know, right? Only 13 slots open to the general public this year, and we got two of them. I didn't think it was really possible." Kiyo was smiling when she peered up at them, a warm expression that seemed to light up their whole face.

"We'll get to become legends together, just like we wanted." She smiled back, unable to fully explain why the thought made her stomach hurt. "The whole country's gonna love us. Maybe even the world."

"My sister's going to be so jealous."

"That's a win all on its own. I'd pay to see her face when she finds out." That, at least, she meant wholeheartedly. She'd never met their sister, but from the stories she heard, the elder Shinguuji sibling was miserable to be around. She loved Danganronpa, and tried to audition more than once herself, only to get turned down each time. At 27, she'd long since aged out of eligibility, so seeing Korekiyo accomplish what she never could would surely hurt all the more.

"No need for payment," they replied, sweet smile taking on more of a mischievous edge. "I'll take pictures."

"Mm, how thoughtful of you. I'll be looking forward to it then." Himiko giggled, leaning a little closer. "I just hope she won't give you too much of a hard time. You can always stay with me if things at home get bad, you know. Remember that." They weren't always at home much anyway. With their fragile health, trips to the hospital were frequent enough that even Himiko had gotten used to it in the months since they met. Still, she wanted to make the offer. Her protective side hated thinking about the things they had to endure.

"Can I come over even if things don't get bad? If I just want someone to curl up next to at night?"

"Thoughtful and cute? I really did win the jackpot." Uncrossing her legs, she moved closer still, acceptance letters crinkling beneath her. Korekiyo was sitting back against the pillows, rumpled sheets pooling around their legs. She practically tipped herself into their lap, one hand coming to rest on their shoulder. The other gently cupped their face, thumb stroking over their cheekbone. "Yeah, you're welcome any time."

They still leaned into her touches so eagerly, even after all this time. Like she was offering them water in the desert. They were kindred spirits in that way, she supposed. She couldn't deny that she had the same reaction when they curled an arm around her waist. Her shirt had ridden up just a little, and the sensation of cold fingertips grazing her bare skin made her shiver even as she welcomed it.

"I'll keep that in mind," they said. "If my health cooperates."

"I'll fight your lungs if they don't behave," she offered jokingly, fingers still lightly stroking their cheek.

"Beating up my lungs might be a bit counterproductive if you're trying to get them to work." They pursed their lips in thought so seriously, loose strands of hair framing their face where it escaped the messy bun they'd put it up in. No makeup today, and the dark circles under their eyes stood out a little too much, suggesting they weren't sleeping well. They were beautiful as always though, sitting there with wrinkled pajamas and their mask pulled down.

"I dunno, it could be like how you can smack electronics to make them work sometimes."

"If I was going to allow anyone to manhandle my organs, it would certainly be you." They brushed a kiss over her lips, so quick she barely got a chance to enjoy it.

"Ooh, how romantic. As fitting as that would be for Danganronpa, I don't want to kill you." She made a face, imagining how unpleasant it would be to actually have a hand inside someone's rib cage. Yeah, no thanks. She'd pass.

"You don't? That's a shame. Well, the offer's still open if you change your mind." They weren't joking around anymore, and that was exactly why Himiko had been selfishly hoping they'd get rejected even after she opened her own letter that morning. It would hurt to know they were all alone, sitting here in the hospital and watching her on TV, but the thought of them in harm's way was so much worse. It didn't matter that the possibility had been looming over their relationship from the moment they met at auditions. She didn't really think it would happen.

"Mine is too, from back then," she said softly, gazing into their eyes in search of recognition. After a moment, she found it — a spark of remembrance. They just smiled though, holding her a little closer. Close enough that she couldn't meet their eyes without straining her neck, which was clearly Korekiyo's intention. She gave in, adjusting her arms and pressing her face into their shoulder instead.

"Hey, Shinguuji? This is gonna sound a little crazy, since we don't even really know each other, but let's stay in touch. Then if neither of us get in...we can run away together. It's not the same as going out in a blaze of glory, but it's gotta be better than just going on like this, right?" She picked at a rip in her jeans, already bracing herself for rejection as she waited for an answer. As well as they'd been getting along, this was still someone she only met a couple hours ago. What meaning did chatting in a crowded, noisy convention center really have, sitting on the grimy floor and commiserating as they waited their turns to audition?

"I couldn't," they said, expression pained even through their mask. "It's nothing against you, Yumeno-san. I can already tell I'd love to run away with you, have all sorts of adventures..." They rested a gentle hand over hers on her knee, its weight warm and reassuring. "It's just...my health. I wouldn't want to burden you. It's been a little better lately, but it's still rare for me to go more than a few months without going to the hospital. It wouldn't be as easy as just leaving and going wherever. Not right now, anyway. Maybe someday, if I improve more."

She swallowed roughly, trying to keep the sadness from showing on her face. She wanted to protest, to say she wouldn't mind. She could look after them, make sure they got to a doctor whenever they needed to. But as if already knowing her response, they kept talking.

"And more importantly than that, what if I die? My condition isn't terminal, but there's been scares before. There's a chance of me dying young no matter what. If I'd be leaving you all alone...No. I'd be afraid of what would happen to you."

"I..."

"We should stay in touch anyway though. We can still be friends."

"Yeah." She nodded, forcing a smile. "Definitely. I'll visit you all the time. If we don't get in, we can watch Danganronpa together anyway and make fun of the losers who stole our spots. It'll be great."

"I think it's a little too late for that now, don't you?"

"What, scared of causing a scandal?" she teased weakly. "No one's ever just ditched the show after getting accepted. It'd be newsworthy at least."

"Newsworthy, yes, but not in a good way."

Well, she couldn't exactly argue with that. She shrugged, pulling away from their shoulder in order to give them a kiss. Instantly, some of their tension diminished as they smiled into it, lingering for much longer than before.

All too soon, however, the moment was abruptly put to an end anyway, door opening as a nurse came bustling in. Himiko's face flushed and she broke away from the kiss, though she didn't bother getting up from Korekiyo's lap. She was almost as much of a fixture here as Kiyo themself, so the nurses usually didn't give her a hard time, even when she stayed past the end of visiting hours. She didn't recognize the one here now, perhaps she was someone new.

"How are we doing?" the nurse asked Kiyo, noting down a few numbers from a monitor. Himiko zoned out as they answered a few questions about how they felt, how they were breathing, and so on. She used to pay close attention, soaking up every tidbit of information on their health, but she'd grown less anxious over time as she got used to what was normal and what wasn't. Today, all things considered, was normal. They'd probably be discharged in the next day or two.

"I heard you got a letter from Danganronpa today. Congratulations." It was only then that Himiko jolted back to attention, glancing over. The nurse seemed politely interested, but she couldn't get a read on whether she had a positive or negative opinion on it.

"Thank you," Korekiyo said. "Himiko received one too," they added a moment later, nodding toward her. "I consider myself quite lucky to have the chance to participate alongside her."

"Ah, your girlfriend? Well, congratulations to you too then. I'll be back to check on you later, Shinguuji-san."

Once they were alone again, the atmosphere wasn't exactly the same as it had been before.

"Girlfriend, huh?" Himiko quipped, arching an eyebrow. It was the most accurate term for what they had going on, and in all fairness, it was the only thing the nurse could reasonably assume, seeing her on their lap like this. They'd just never really said it out loud before.

"What, you don't want to be?"

"Hmm..." She pretended to think about it, but not for too long, not wanting to make them nervous. "I dunno, I think I'm okay with that." Even for a joke, it was difficult to hold back enough to give off the impression of casual indifference.

"You think?" they echoed back at her, all indignant tone and adorably pouty face. "Not much enthusiasm."

"No, really, I think I'm pretty lucky. Lots of people would want a girlfriend as cute as you. Would kill for the opportunity, even. It's just..." She bit her lip, glancing off in the direction of the window. "What would you say if I wanted to be more than that?" When she looked back to Kiyo's face, they looked abnormally serious for something that they both knew was just playful messing around.

It wasn't a lie. If their relationship continued on like this, she'd be happy to get married someday. It was just awfully soon to be talking about things like that. She didn't honestly expect them to offer up that kind of commitment when the status of their very life was uncertain.

"I wouldn't mind," they said despite all that, arms still curled around her waist. "After we win the killing game, a flashy proposal will be all but expected."

"Someone's confident now." Himiko raised an eyebrow. It would be more encouraging if she thought it was real, but it'd probably be enough to fool anyone else.

"People like us don't apply to Danganronpa thinking we'll live," Shinguuji said, and she could just about imagine a wry smile on their face behind that mask. "The weirdos, the easy ones to demonize...they always die. That's what I'm counting on."

"That's morbid." She made a face, looking at their pretty features and wondering how anyone in their right mind would make this person the token freak. "Would it be rude of me to say I don't want you to die?"

"No, I don't think so. It probably means you still have more humanity than most of the people here. I don't want you to die either." They paused, taking a deep breath that seemed to catch in their throat along the way. Their free hand, the one not holding her own, fiddled with the zipper of their backpack, where she knew there was an inhaler stashed away. "And yet we're both still here trying to kill ourselves. Why is that, I wonder?"

"I don't know. I bet you could come up with a theory though. You don't need an Ultimate talent to see the world for what it is."

"That's what you want, right? For me to have hope and try to live?"

What she wanted was for neither of them to have gotten those letters in the first place. She wanted to go back to that day at the convention center and ditch auditions with them to have lunch at a shitty diner instead, joking around and making plans to hang out without the looming spectre of death hanging over their heads.

"Yeah, that's right," she said softly. "I want us to win together, and then we'll have an amazing life with our huge piles of money or whatever. Away from all the people who've hurt us."

"Then that's what we'll do," they said as if it was settled just like that. "And then you won't be my girlfriend anymore. You'll be my fiancee. It's a promise."

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

“I feel like an idiot—I stuck up for you against everyone!” w javi 🥺

Javi x Steve because apparently I’m incapable of anything else. Sorry lol

Steve had felt like he was treading water in the middle of the ocean since… since Horacio had died. Some days he managed to almost forget what had happened, they would all get so busy chasing leads, chasing Pablo, that he would barely remember anyone else besides Escobar, Javi, and himself even existed. Then they would join up with Search Bloc and go on the hunt and there would be someone new, someone different, sitting in the front seat- his seat. And he would remember it and it would hurt all over again. A new wave would smack him in the face and try to drown him and he would have to fight through it to get to the other side and have a moment of calm floating again. If just for a few seconds. He could do that. Live through the bad moments for those fleeting periods of rest. He could. This would get better. Eventually it had to get better.

No, it was Javi he was really concerned with. The waves seemed to wash over him harder and more frequently and he didn’t think he was as strong of a swimmer as Steve was.

It was hard watching Javi go through this. One second he was more irascible than usual and Steve would need to keep at least six feet back and as far out of sight as possible if he didn’t want to get hit with the stray bullets of his rage and grief. He was apt to lash out at anyone or anything that got in his way or looked at him a half second too long and he could be vicious. The broken chair and smashed lamp in his apartment were a testament to that. Steve had borne the brunt of his unique form of mourning on more than one occasion when he wasn’t observant enough or fast enough to get out of the way and he tried not to resent that.

Because he didn’t have those precious moments of just floating calmly and gently between the waves of pain that Steve did. Between the waves of remembering that caused his outbursts, Javi was just sad. Just broken. And honestly, Steve hated those hours more. He would come home to find his partner sitting in the dark, staring at the floor or the ceiling or something of Horacio’s they had missed when they boxed up all of his things that had somehow migrated to their place. He wouldn’t look up at Steve as he made his way over to him. He wouldn’t flinch or give any acknowledgement that he recognized anyone else was in the apartment when Steve would sit next to him and touch his shoulder or his neck or his waist. He would allow himself to be drawn into Steve’s arms and would continue to just stare.

Occasionally Steve would feel a shuddering breath drawn into Javi’s smoke damaged lungs and the broad shoulders more used to carrying than being carried would shake under his arms. Steve preferred those signs of life to the passive way Javi would allow his body to be moved and manipulated however Steve wanted.

Steve defended Javi’s terrible temper at work to anyone he heard criticize him. He never mentioned the death of Carrillo, not only was he not confident that he could without breaking down himself, but no one else needed to know how close the three of them had been. That was private, that was theirs, he knew Javier would not appreciate his coworkers having that kind of insight into his real life. What the three of them had cobbled together, with each other and for each other, couldn’t really be explained to an outsider anyways. Steve had barely understood it himself. But he was able to snap back that Javier had been down in this shithole country longer than nearly all of them and he was tired. Tired of the corruption preventing him from doing his job. Tired of not knowing who he could trust to keep the secrets necessary to ensure all of the idiots he worked with got back to base safe every night. Tired of the differing agendas between different American government agencies and all of those agencies and the factions within the Colombian leadership. Tired of fucking everything.

“So maybe all you lazy fucks should back off and leave him alone. You don’t like getting barked at? Stop doing things that are gonna make him bark atcha.”

Steve was frustrated and sad and mourning and tired and lonely. He missed Connie and the baby. He missed Horacio with a special kind of ache that he didn’t think would ever go away no matter how many hundreds of miles eventually separated him from the place where he had been shot.

Most of all he missed Javi. The Javi he had fallen in love with who sighed like he was so put upon every time he had to translate for his gringo partner, but who’s mustache twitched up at the side in the way Steve knew meant he was trying not to smile.

He missed not having to fight the rest of his co-workers on his partner’s behalf. He didn’t want to have to keep beating them away from Javi so his partner could sit and wallow by himself, isolate from everything except his thoughts of revenge.

He wasn’t entirely sure what Javier was doing those times that he slipped away from the base or the apartment at odd times by himself. He thought he was being so sneaky but when you sleep wrapped around a man you do tend to notice when that man suddenly isn’t in your arms anymore. Steve defended his absences to the ambassador, to Search Bloc, to himself. It was better that he rode out his waves of irritability and rage by himself where he couldn’t do damage to any of the professional relationships that they needed to catch Escobar and finally put this nightmare behind them. He told himself that over and over as Javier disappeared more frequently and for longer and came back drained and empty and unwilling to look him in the eye.

If Javi was cheating there wasn’t much Steve could do about it. He needed his partner too much to ever come out and ask him. He didn’t really want to know the answer.

So when he found Javier sitting outside smoking and looking pensive he sat down next to him and braced himself for a confession. Javi had that look on his face, the look that said he knew he was about to hurt someone but that that wasn’t going to stop him. Steve took a drag on his cigarette and waited. He was not going to be the one to start this conversation, if Javier wanted to upset the fragile peace they had carved for themselves since Horacio had left a hole in their lives and extra space in their bed Steve was not going to make it any easier on him.

“I need you to prepare yourself for some blowback,” Javier told him, barely meeting his eyes and quickly looking down at his chin again. Steve sighed. Oh this was so much fucking worse than some hookers.

“It goes high up. And these people aren’t going to like it when I try and get myself out of it.” Steve looked away, willing Javier to stop speaking. To not be saying what he thought he was saying. He wouldn’t. He would never. He wouldn’t betray everything he had taught Steve about being down here- wouldn’t betray Horacio’s memory like this. They pushed boundaries, but they did not cross them. That’s why he has been so upset when Carrillo… No. he couldn’t be saying what he thought he was saying.

“If they come after you about what I’ve been doing, you protect yourself first.” Javier ducked his head and met Steve’s eyes directly and deliberately, with his normal intent for the first time in what felt like years. Steve cursed the fact that that direct and forceful gaze still sent his stomach into tailspins.

“You didn’t know anything,” Javier ordered. “Understand?”

Steve sat in silence, smoking and staring at the grass in front of him for what could have been hours or could have been seconds.

“So this is what you’ve been doing? All those times you snuck out? I thought you were seeing hookers again. I wish you had been seeing hookers again!” He saw Javi open his mouth and reach for his shoulder out of the corner of his eye and he dodged his hand.

“No, dont. Don’t fucking touch me right now man.” Javi’s hand immediately snapped back to his side and he just stared at the side of Steve’s head. “Los Pepes? Really Javi? This is what you’ve been doing? How you chose to avenge Hor-“

“Don’t fucking say his name,” Javi ordered, interrupting Steve fiercely. Steve scoffed.

“Why not? He’d be so proud that this is what you’ve become. That this is how you chose to honor his memory.”

“I got him fucking killed, alright?! I have to do something, fucking anything, to make up for that! And the only thing that feels like it might make a dent in the debt I have to pay for what I did is to catch the fucker that killed him and this is how we fucking do it, alright?!” Steve turned to face Javi, incredulous and getting angrier by the second.

“You didn’t kill him, Escobar did! And don’t give me some bullshit about trusting the wrong informant; you fucking know that both he and I would have made the same decision as you did. Fuck, Javi,” he paused, throwing his cigarette to the ground and standing to pace away from his partner. “Fuck, you need to stop man. You need to come back and quit it with this shit, ok, you. You really fucked up man, and you should have fucking told me what you were doing.”

“Why? So you could have stopped me?”

Steve threw his hands up and stalked back to him.

“Yes! So I could have fucking stopped you, Javi do you- This is serious man, people have fucking died!”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

“If you knew that why the fuck did you keep doing it then?!”

Javier dropped his own cigarette between his feet and watched as the grey ash shifted and finally blew away in the wind.

“Because I had to do something. This fucking country and this fucking war had already taken everything from me and so if something needed to be done, I guess I was the person to do it.”

Steve stood, looking at the top of Javi’s bowed head and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Everything, huh?” Javier looked up at him, frowning. A look of startled, contrite realization passed over his face and he held both hands out to his partner, standing and qualifying,

“No, baby, no that’s- no that isn’t what I meant. Not everything-“

Steve backed a step away from him, shaking his head and determined to ignore the hurt in Javi’s eyes.

“No you said everything and you don’t say things you don’t mean, isn’t that right? Well,” he scoffed, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Great to know finally where we stand, I’ve been on tenterhooks since we got the news.” Javier flinched and shook his head, silently pleading for Steve to hear him out. But this. No.

“I feel like an idiot. So what were we doing all those months? Was I just some novelty that the two of you used to distract yourselves with? Or was it just an easy way to keep the gringo in line and compliant?” Javier’s eyes had started to take on that hard glint that Steve knew to watch out for but he did not care. “I suppose I know why you’ve been so fucking distant ever since he died, just going through the motions until you can figure out a way to let me down easy? God, I stuck up for you against everyone!”

“Well maybe you fucking shouldn’t have!”

Javier and Steve stood nearly nose to nose, breathing hard, fists clenched, and furious.

“You’re right, this has all been a fucking joke. We’re done. I’m done. I just. Just stay out of the way when this all fucking blows up alright? I don’t want to have to save your ass again- I’m going to be a little busy saving my own.” Javier took a step back and Steve could see regret and anger and hurt on his face and if he hadn’t been so mad himself he might have reached out, smoothed everything over, apologized and held him like he needed to be held just to stay in one piece.

But Steve was so mad. Mad at Escobar, mad at the Colombian government, mad at his government, mad at Horacio for getting shot, mad at Javier for so many things and he wasn’t going to shove it down and wait for the wave to pass this time.

“Fine,” he growled, glaring at Javi.

“Fine,” Javi said with a nod, and walked past Steve.

And that, apparently, was that.

[made-me-deep-blue]

mc x dark!mc - obsession

Word Count: 4573

Summary: Amy Ashryver has a one-on-one personal talk with her inner darkness after the Opera Hall Massacre, and finds herself torn between illusions and reality. 

Warning: TW, Heavy angst, teeny bit of fluff at the end, some spoilers if you are not caught up with BB3

Based on EXO’s Obsession: https://youtu.be/uxmP4b2a0uY

Tags list: @wildsayeed @kashikokawaii @iddevouryou @kamilahsayeed-owns-me @sayeedbound @lightning-fury @timetopartaay-waitno @hamiltonstorywriter @midnightstress

-

The door clicked shut as Amy closed the door to her room, Rheya already moving to her bedroom as the younger vampire slid her shoes off.

“You did wonderful today, my darling,” Rheya purred. A sight to behold, as expected of the Mother of Vampires, fully naked and drenched in blood. Amy merely spared an empty glance at the former priestess, before proceeding to shed off her blood-soaked clothes and wash it off in the bathroom.

Amy felt a hand tugging on her wrist but didn’t bother to respond to the touch. She didn’t feel like communicating with the world in general.

So she decided to send her words through her powers, a small whisper in Rheya’s mind. What is it?

“Is there something wrong, my dear?” Rheya might look and sound worried for her, but Amy knew she was nothing more than a woman who was isolated for over 3000 years and needed to understand how the current world runs.

She might have lost her betrothed long ago, and Amy is the descendant of her own daughter, but nothing could compare to the loss that now wrecked inside her vulnerable, vampire body. A large wound scored across her chest, Amy couldn’t tap on her well of emotions at the moment.

How did she felt? Sadness. Devastation. Hopelessness. An ale tankard’s worth of anger and rage. A whole universe’s worth of emptiness that could not be healed and filled up again.

Amy slowly eased Rheya’s hand off her wrist and gave an empty look to the naked woman on her bed, sending words through that bridge formed between them. I would like some time alone if you don’t mind. I need to clear my head.

Understanding filled Rheya’s eyes, and Amy tried her best to push past the guttered look in her predator-bright eyes. “As you wish, dear. I will be at my mansion if you need me.”

The amber-haired woman didn’t send words through her powers, instead ducking into her bathroom and braced her arms against the sink. When she raised her head to see her reflection in her mirror, she ran her red eyes over her face. Despite being nocturnal, the dark circles under her eyes weren’t doing it any justice, and her eyebrows just felt so heavy to even raise them.

Her amber coloured, messy half up-do was slightly unkempt and soaked with blood, along with the lower half of her face and nearly her whole body. As much as it smells more alluring than any wine, Amy felt like she wanted to puke right now. She needed to get all this blood off of her body, stat.

Then, she saw—thought she saw her reflection warp. Her hair was now moon-white, with two smaller braids with different lengths, which reminded her of a dreamcatcher’s feathers, tied at the left side of her head starting from above the shell of her ear. There was a strong hint of red and purple eyeshadow around her eyes, which brought them out more due to her pale complexion. On top of that, there was a chain that ran across her face and hung onto her ears and a scar down her right eye and a cut on her lower lip.

Despite not smiling herself, Amy’s reflection grinned wickedly, causing Amy’s eyes to widen.

Please stop it now

She shook her head and reopened her eyes, seeing herself in the mirror again. Not wanting to ‘hallucinate’ any further, she picked up the pace and turned on the hot water and let it seep into her skin, into her hair that would wash away the coppery tang of the blood and the slight stickiness on her pale skin.

Out of nowhere, she felt something—or someone, lurking in the bathroom. A presence, not a physical body.

As the night makes me blind

You snuck in again

A ghost of sinister chuckling followed. Amy wanted to believe that it was just her body’s response to being drained of all emotions in a single night. 

You lick around my ears while I’m asleep, stare,

Then you scratch and laugh

Amy watched the red of the blood cloud the clear water on the floor. Watched the colours swirl together, no doubt making her stand in a red sea of some sorts.

She heard it again.

That sinister chuckling, and what felt like a finger tracing her jawline from her back.

She shouldn’t be scared of it. That might be just amongst the chorus of voices in her head, lingering from the PTSD she had after she was killed. No—it was different. It sounded like her own voice, laughing softly behind her back.

Your voice whispers endlessly

Oh you’re the bad dream kill

Amy decided to scrub harder at her skin. As if the extra effort could erase all the events that had happened prior to coming back home. But no—it couldn’t. No matter how hard she scrubbed at her hair, her body, nothing could erase that beautiful face wrecked with sadness and devastation from her mind.

Those swirl of emotions couldn’t move past each other so Amy couldn’t remember who that painstakingly beautiful woman was. Her name…

Her name.

She felt her pent up anger building up and immediately clenched her fists tight and shut her eyes closed with that same pressure.

Deep breaths, Amy. Deep breaths. It’s okay, you’re going to be—

“…no, I’m not fine…” Her words were near guttural, feeling the pricking of her fangs on her lower lip. 

She felt something thicker than water trickling down her fingers, and that familiar coppery tangy scent filled the room. The skin at her nails knitted themselves back together, and the water washed the blood away as nothing happened.

Amy needed to get out of her apartment, stat.

You keep possessing and calling me

To come to where you are, yes to come to you

Stepping out of her immensely suffocating bathroom, Amy was relieved to notice Rheya’s absence, better without a powerful ancestor in her apartment, more specifically in her bedroom. Sliding open her wardrobe doors, she picked out a full monochrome ensemble; a dark grey turtleneck sweater, a black leather jacket, black skinny jeans and a pair of black vans. 

Once she was satisfied, Amy took a deep breath and stepped out of her windows, silent and unseen, leaping into the silent night.

You say you know me? (I don’t think so)

Who are you to snuggle in (I don’t think so)

You cover my eyes (I don’t think so)

You cover up the truths (I don’t think so)

It was definitely a hindrance when she awoke from the dead for barely a week and she had to race against two other experienced vampires by leaping from building to building, but now that it was becoming part of her daily routine, she became better at it. Using the momentum, she did flips between buildings and all sorts of stunts to get the energy out of her system.

Finding herself in the familiar path, Amy decided to head towards the building her heart desired. Not her mind. It definitely wasn’t in the right state to bear all of the pain she was going to feel once she reached. Don’t even mention her heart. Such a versatile organ but yet something so fragile.

Deciding that it wasn’t the best decision to break into the CEO’s office (yet), Amy landed to a stop on the rooftop of the Ahmanet Financial Building. The last time she was here, it was where she had taken the initiative to kiss that woman first. That woman, who was a tough shell to crack.

She who had decided to let her in of her own accord.

She…

Amy reached into her mind, struggling past the jumble of emotions and thoughts in her mind which was preventing her from thinking straight and have clearer thoughts—

Let go of the empty dreams (I don’t think so)

Don’t make me spit out the poison (I don’t think so)

You’ll never have me again (I don’t think so)

Shut up and go away

A wave of agony crashed into her head with turbulence. It seemed that whenever she tried to remember her name, all that would come out would be a headache, or worse, migraines. She had been lost in her emotions that she couldn’t remember who her significant other was.

Yes. She had been her lover. The love of her life. The one who had that tough eggshell to crack and finally let her in. The only human she’d ever accepted back then.

“Adrian finds solace in the company of others. I find it in solitude.”

Amy’s eyes drifted to the pool next to her.

“Swimming here alone, under the stars…it brings me peace.”

“But you invited me up here,” Amy pointed out.

Kamilah looked at the young woman pointedly, “So I did.”

Thousand nights, I repeated so many times

A vicious cycle of nightmares, I’ll end it now

As Amy stripped out of her clothes, she heard her own voice drift to her vampiric ears, with a heightened sense of hearing.

“Hey, Amy…”

The turned-off exit light

Get away from me now

The water lapped at her arms as she slowly sunk into the depths of the pool. She allowed the cool and calming waters to seep into her skin, the lazy waves of her amber hair. If only the memories could wash away just like the water does to Amy.

She knew she couldn’t turn back time. But her, with so much power, she should have that power to turn back time. Back to the first generation of Bloodkeepers, and end them. So that none of this would happen.

But yet…

I’m sick of it

“You try so hard to play the big, bad villain. But your heart’s never been in it, has it?”

Ha! It’s enough

All the gibberish on my ear Imma let it blow

She felt a hand on her bare shoulder, as if her own self was just right next to her ear, deftly speaking those words.

“People have hurt you, haven’t they? They didn’t believe in you… They didn’t trust you… didn’t need you… left you.”

Amy swivelled her head to hiss and bare her fangs, but only stopped to find the reflection of herself that she saw in the bathroom mirror smirking wickedly at herself.

My five senses are focused on it, on edge

You come in and stir it up recklessly

“But did you ever stop to think… ” Dark-Amy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “…maybe they’re not the problem?”

Sure, it was her fault. Her fault that Rheya had returned because of everything that had happened with Gaius. Her fault that she had to be Turned because she was so important to a vampire who had loved and lost so much that she couldn’t bear to lose Amy. Her fault that she had to be a Bloodkeeper and that only amplified her powers after she became a vampire—

Amy riled for a punch at her alternate self. “Stop…stop it!”

Her reflection rippled as Amy’s fist passed through, leaving a gaping hole through her chest, but the image shifted, stitching herself back together. 

Dark-Amy mused. “Whoa! I didn’t know that this would get a rise out of you, but still…”

Amy pulled back her hand, sinking further back into the water. “When Serafine told me that there was a darkness in me… it was you, wasn’t it?”

“I’m surprised that it took this long for you to find out, Amy,” Dark-Amy examined her midnight-black fingernails, clicking her tongue. “I guess now that we’re vampires, everything seems clearer, doesn’t it?”

When I fall asleep with one eye open

You permeate without a sound, the phantom

Amy rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and eyed her alternate form. “What do you want from me?”

“While you tried to keep me low, I’ve obviously heard what you told Rheya and everything that had happened prior to us coming back to the apartment complex. I was just having my fun at the opera house when you and your doing-good decided to ruin the party.”

Amy only winced in return, then muttered, “I… I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Shadows curling around her body in tendrils, whisking away into the late night, Dark-Amy perched on top of one of the sun-tanning chairs along the edge of the pool and crossed her legs. “You just keep running away from reality, don’t you?” She sighed.

“There’s already one Rheya,” Amy grumbled. “We don’t need another one in New York City.”

I’m so sick and tired of it

When the light turns on, I hope you’re gone

“You, however,” Dark-Amy jutted a finger at Amy’s chest. “Are different from her. Because you are a do-gooder.”

“But—”

“Don’t you dare ‘but’ me, Ashryver,” Amy could see her dark self’s different coloured eyes; white on the right and the same cerulean blue of her own on the left. “We’re 23 years old and that beautiful hag is 3 centuries older than you. Of course you—we—can make a difference.”

You say it’s for me? (I don’t think so)

Who are you to snuggle in (I don’t think so)

Permeating deeply (I don’t think so)

I’m confused (I don’t think so)

“How?” Amy questioned.

Dark-Amy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, huffing. “Do I really need to tell you, Ames? You have to accept me in order to keep moving on.”

The darkness. That was what she meant.

Amy swallowed past the lump that was formed in her throat. She knew what would happen if she’d succumb to the darkness that was lying dormant inside of her. That woman had told her of the countless horrors that she had to undergo because of the darkness that blinded her and soaked her in the blood which could metaphorically not be washed away.

What would happen to her if she were to do the same? Would she be the same person the others had seen her before Rheya came along and manipulated them at her whims?

“I just don’t know if I’m capable enough to do so,” Amy shrugged. She disappeared beneath the shimmering surface and reappeared a few metres away from the edge where she was sitting at with Dark-Amy. She slicked back her hair with a hand. “After all, I’m pretty much a baby still in vampire years. Most of my heart is still human.”

Take whatever (I don’t think so)

Don’t even be seen (I don’t think so)

You’ll never have me again (I don’t think so)

Stop your obsession

The shadows curling around Dark-Amy’s body twisted and receded, somehow as if in amusement. She stood up from her seat and walked across the surface of the water, before dropping to sit with her legs underneath her.

“You doubt yourself too much,” she scoffed, cracking her white coloured eye open. “I bet you hadn’t review what amazing shit you did in this past year after dragging yourself into this rabbit hole.”

Amy and the others had found the truth of who was behind the increase of Feral attacks last summer. She and the crew managed to beat the shit out of Gaius into the new Tree of Eternal Life. And also defeated a rogue group of vampires who were terrorizing both humans and vampires alike.

That was indeed a lot that she had managed to accomplish in almost a year, but it…didn’t feel enough to feel like it was a big deal.

Dark-Amy raised her hands in defence. “I’m not as bad as you would portray me to be, I’m not all those power-hungry bitches like a certain old hag we know. I’m part of you, which means your do-good would influence what I do as well.”

Thousand nights, I repeated so many times

A vicious cycle of nightmares, I’ll end it now

Amy chuckled softly, eyeing her duplicate. “Really?”

She groaned. “Spare me from the doing-good part please, it doesn’t go well with my personality and fashion choice, talk about resume too.”

“Like I will, you’re pretty unwilling.”

Dark-Amy’s lip ring glistened under the moonlight, small chains dangling from the rings. “Why did Adrian even hire you as his assistant where you could be a comedian like that comedian-turned-scriptwriter…what was his name again?”

Amy rolled her eyes in amusement. “Seth Levine?”

“Ah, yes,” Dark-Amy said. “But you get what I mean.”

The light version of herself looked away and stared at the horizon beyond these tall city buildings of New York. Of what it could be if everything was resolved. If everyone wasn’t under Rheya’s control, and most importantly, in her advantage.

“But…” Amy contemplated. “It feels like it’s a lot to take in. I’ve never let the darkness take over me like that. I’ve already heard countless stories of other people sharing to me their experiences. Makes my skin crawl.”

Dark-Amy laughed gruffly, before ruffling the top of Amy’s wet hair. “You’re just making excuses.”

The turned-off exit light

Get away from me now

Amy chuckled softly, a small smile tugging at the end of her lips. “You really aren’t that evil, a broody duplicate of me, huh?”

The white-haired woman mimicked barfing, smacking Amy’s bare back. “Please don’t. And also can you please get back into your clothes? You’re gonna catch a cold and we’re gonna be one step behind in trying to stop Rheya.”

After much convincing, Amy was dried off with one of the towels lying behind the bar and back into her dry clothes and standing next to her supposed ‘evil’ doppelganger. Both of them stared down at the New York City nightlife. 

“So you’ve been lying in all of the Bloodkeepers of all of my ancestors?”

“Pretty much,” Dark-Amy had her arms dangling over the railings. “I would only be awakened if any of them happened to be Turned into vampires, which in that case, didn’t happen until you. You’re the first Bloodkeeper to be Turned.”

“That’s why when my blood and hers fused…”

“You became Rheya’s equal,” Dark-Amy finished her sentence. “That’s why she wanted you specifically out of your quintet. She keeps saying you’re special, it’s because you’re her equal.”

That darkness. The one standing right next to her, it also blinded Rheya and thus straying her from the path to justice when she had claimed that she didn’t want to rule as a Goddess over Mydiea just as how the late King Kaelisus did. In the end, she still did, until her demise in what would be formally known as the Tomb of the First.

“If you accept me,” Dark-Amy said, still looking down at the streets. “Your mind will be cleared and you’ll be able to remember things… the people whom you deeply care for.”

That beautiful woman crossed her mind again. But without a headache this time.

Amy turned to face Dark-Amy squarely with resolution. Without hesitation.

“Alright, I’ll accept you.”

“Good, then take my hand.”

The shadows coiling and shifting around her arm seemed to grow stronger as Amy reached her hand forward. “Remember, relax as I merge myself with you. If you happen to hesitate or lose focus, I would only feed on your fear, anger and… you know the consequences already.”

Amy didn’t need her to mention it twice. She’d heard enough.

“Alright, then hang on tight, me.”

Blacken my heart,

Creepin’ dark night,

Stainin’ my soul

When I open my eyes like yet I’m still asleep,

Amy felt overwhelmed immediately as her darkness converged on her senses like a stampede, but there was a constant calm presence, probably from her doppelganger, soothing her nerves as the process took place. 

She could feel the dark aura coiling around her limbs, her torso, its tendrils an anchor to hold her down. Then, the change came. She felt it; in the roots of her hair, the muscles in her body, and her five senses all returning, but clearer.

Amy was then brought to a white coloured space, with Dark-Amy on her opposite end, shadows curling in tendrils off her body as usual. 

There were images—memories—floating around them. Her memories, all from the day where Amy had first met Adrian Raines for the job interview. And there was her first meeting… with what would be the former Council members, Lester Castellanos, and her.

Amy still couldn’t bring herself to remember her name.

“Your emotions are still in the way of your memories,” Dark-Amy’s voice echoed, but yet she didn’t speak verbally. “Allow me to resolve that for you.”

Amy closed her eyes and braced herself for the impending wave of darkness that came at her.

The sudden goosebumps and its clear traces,

And the names on the ground that are owned by no one

Call out, dance tonight

Say it what you like

She felt a dark presence worming into her head again, and a memory flashed before her eyes.

Amy was back in the conference room again, and she peered into the box that held two gifts from Adrian to his fellow Council members. She picked up the bejewelled scarab and faced toward the woman.

Then, the words just rolled off her tongue of familiarity.

“This scarab is for Kamilah Sayeed.”

The image shifted again.

The times we were

Happy together, I know

They were in Kamilah’s apartment, with the former carrying Amy in her arms in a spin as they laughed happily. As they slowed down, they came together in a passionate kiss as Kamilah dipped her low, when Amy noticed the gleaming bands on each of their left ring fingers.

This wasn’t a memory. This was a vision of the future.

I have to end them now

Forget everything yeah

God before she could even relish herself in the small moment of happiness, she was wrenched back to reality again.

As the blinding light receded, her first instinct was to reach her lower lip, where the cold metal of Dark-Amy’s lip ring laid pierced through her flesh. A hand through her hair confirmed that it was not her amber-coloured hair but moon-white instead. And her sleeves and pants definitely felt tighter than before. Must be the increase in muscle definition.

She also felt much looser than she was an hour ago. No more strained muscles, tight knots in her back. No more migraines and headaches.

It all happened in a blink, barely giving her any time to react.

As her hand reached out to catch a familiar ornate dagger which whirred towards her back.

Amy’s eyes sank into the intricate patterns of the metal hilt, as they disappeared into the silver blade. The ruby engraved on top of the hilt gleamed under the moonlight as she ran the cold, sharpened blade along her tongue, spinning on one heel to face the owner of the dagger.

Lavender, laced with cedarwood. That was what her scent was. She committed it to memory, ever since she was Turned. She took advantage of her heightened sense of smell to commit her beloved’s scent to memory. It was engraved in her mind.

“Amy?” 

You say you know me? (I don’t think so)

Who are you to snuggle in (I don’t think so)

You cover my eyes (I don’t think so)

You cover up the truths (I don’t think so)

Kamilah Sayeed’s hostile expression immediately morphed into that of wariness, disbelief and shock. “I heard a faint heartbeat from my office and footsteps as well. I thought it was an intruder, considering it being out in the open, but I didn’t expect it to be you.”

Amy chuckled, tossing her now white hair behind her shoulder as she flicked her wrist where her hand held the dagger. It was as if her dark counterpart was taking the reins of her body. Since she trusted her from the conversation they’ve had and how tired she was, Amy trusted her to take over for a while.

“You shouldn’t be here, Kamilah,” sadness and fatigue filtered into her tone. “Not after what happened tonight.”

“I’m real, Amy. I’m here.”

Let go of the empty dreams (I don’t think so)

Don’t make me spit out the poison (I don’t think so)

You’ll never have me again (I don’t think so)

Shut up and go away

Amy shook her head. “How am I supposed to know that you’re being manipulated by her?” She lied. “How am I supposed to know that you worship me more than you do to her?”

Kamilah Sayeed wasn’t with her. She clearly saw and felt what happened at the opera house. Amy nearly puked while remembering the sea of crimson red which coated the seats and the stage and basically…everywhere.

Even if she could still feel the long years of Kamilah’s life still wrapped around her.

Thousand nights, I repeated so many times

A vicious cycle of nightmares, I’ll end it now

Kamilah opened her arms. “That’s for you to find out.”

The turned-off exit light

Get away from me now

“No, no, no, no, no…” Amy felt her chest starting to get tighter, her breath coming in short as she tried to stabilise herself. “No… you aren’t real. I saw what happened… I killed everyone, because… no…” A growl escaped her throat as she struggled to fight back her tears.

Amy suddenly hated the way that sadness and pain, filled her hazel brown eyes. She should be the one feeling those. She was sure she didn’t see things.

She was still hyperventilating, murmuring under her breath still as she hurriedly turned on her heel to leap off the rooftop, but a pair of strong arms managed to hold her in place.

There was that scent again. Intoxicating and inviting.

“Get…away…from me,” Amy resisted, growling through gritted teeth. “Get…away from me!”

Kamilah still didn’t let go as Amy thrashed harder this time, bellowing.

“Let me go!”

One night what I saw in the darkness

Was the strange shadow that chased me after

“Amy!” She heard her darkness calling out to her in her ears, ringing like church bells. “You have to stop resisting. I already ran my aura over her, and she’s here for good, not under Rheya’s orders!”

No… I know how Rheya hides the fact that she manipulates people. Kamilah died right in front of my eyes. This… this isn’t real, it must be a ruse to get me sabotaged.

“Please, Amy, habibti,” Kamilah whispered softly into Amy’s hair. “I promise I’m not here to hurt you. Please… “

“Amy, you have to listen to her. I already know that she’s speaking the truth, now it’s just you who has to believe her.”

The turned-on exit light

It’s me looking at myself in the mirror

Hot tears were already streaming down Amy’s cheeks as she thrashed and screamed in Kamilah’s arms, with the latter’s cheek pressed to the top of Amy’s head with her eyes closed.

As if she already knew that everything would be okay.

Get away from me

“Get away from me!” Amy screamed, her voice rasping with a choked sob. “Please… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Nonsense, you would never,” Kamilah said. “Because you know who you care for, Amy Ashryver.”

Disappear

Her full name seemed to awaken her, as her screams and cries of protest slowly died down, sinking slowly into the older woman’s arms.

Get away from me

As she broke down completely into Kamilah Sayeed’s embrace.

[happy-haunts]

Emily DeClaire Pt. 1

EMILY DECLAIRE Pt. 1

Chapter one | Constance pt.1 : Constance pt.2

Chapter two | Mister Topper pt.1 : Mister Topper pt.2

Chapter three | Madame Leota pt.1 : Madame Leota pt.2

Chapter four | The Hostess

Chapter five | Captain Blood pt.1 : Captain Blood pt.2

Chapter six | Emily DeClaire pt.1 : Emily DeClaire pt.2 : Emily DeClaire pt.3

Chapter seven | Finale

!! WARNING THEMES OF VIOLENCE AND ABUSE !!

I walked with the group out to the hill by the river, along the way Constance and Red were telling me about what they learned from Madame Letoa as well as Terra was telling me all the rather mean stuff William had said to her. I enjoyed this- I enjoyed listening to everyone and how excited they seemed over their adventure. I enjoyed not having to speak, not having to explain just yet all of the things I was hesitant to share.

“And he told me the character I liked from my books was ‘boring and predictable’!” I looked at William who was standing beside me like a bodyguard, all this time without my memory had that made William fall into such a sour personality? 

I shouldn’t have been so selfish.

I kept my smile lifted as they shared, but the closer we got the more reality sank in. I couldn’t tell them the truth, about my past, about losing my memory, about anything! Maybe I could just lie? No… That wouldn’t be right, especially since Constance and Red went through all that heartache to find me.

“Hey, don’t worry.” William nudged me and gave a small smile, “It’ll be okay.”

“Are you even the same person?” Terra exclaimed, examining William as if he had grown another head.

I couldn’t help a giggle but it was halted as I got to the hill, the river was reflecting the moon perfectly and the breeze that blew through my form felt like fresh springtime.

“Wow… this is a really great view.” Constance gasped.

“Yeah, maybe I should bring you out here for a date one night?” Red wrapped her arm around Constance’s shoulders with a smile.

I took a seat in the grass, my large dress laid out around me and everyone else following suit, there was a long span of silence before William finally cleared his throat while looking at me - as if to indicate that I needed to start speaking.

“Um, yes … Well where to start?” I laughed nervously, “I should preface this by saying this story is not for the lighthearted.”

“Most of us have murdered people, Emily I think you’re the only one we’re worried about.” Constance said, “If you’re not ready we can wait until you are?”

“No! No! I’m ready! I’m overdue actually…” I couldn’t help it, whenever my heart hurt I had to smile because if I didn’t smile I might break down. “Let’s see I’ll start with … My parents.”

-----

I was raised in New Orleans Square with Claude and Dinah DeClaire, they were the best parents that anyone could ask for.

They worked tirelessly to make my life better and in return I stayed home and tried to keep our apartment cleaned as well as tried to cook meals for them when I was old enough.

One day when I was seventeen, I decided my parents worked too hard and they should take some time to themselves. New Orleans Square had so many places to eat and enjoy yourself so I encouraged my parents to come home early that day, I helped them both get dressed up and sent them out to have a lovely dinner while I stayed home - waiting to hear about their magical night.

But they never returned.

Instead the only ones knocking on my door were the officers who discovered their bodies, who had to tell me my parents had died.

I was selfish.

We were getting along just fine without evenings out, without getting dressed up, and without fancy meals! So why did I have to ruin it?

The officers found out I still had living relatives in a town up the river called Liberty Square - a grandfather and a grandmother known as Howard and Elizabeth DeClaire.

At least I would have someone to mourn with, someone to work through the pain with.

When I arrived at their home it was very clear that - contrary to what I had thought - we would not be mourning together.

I stood at the door while they took me in, my grandmother was beside my grandfather, both of them had shocked looks on their face as though they were seeing a ghost.

“Howard. Get her out of my sight.” My grandmother finally said and turned away from me, holding her arms tightly, from how her shoulders shook it seemed like she was crying.

“I’m sorry, I know this must be an inconvenience but I can clean and cook -.”

“No.” My grandfather’s voice was deep and though it was only one word it still shook me. “You’ll be staying upstairs.”

“Of course, I appreciate everything-.”

“Follow me.”  I had decided that perhaps talking could wait until later, after all I might have lost my parents but they lost their son.

I was taken to a dusty room on the second floor, all that inhabited the space was a cot, a wardrobe, and a desk with a mirror hanging above it. It was almost as big as the entire apartment my parents had, which felt like I had an entire house to myself - sure the dust wasn’t ideal but once I was back up to it I could clean it all off.

“You are not to leave this room.” I turned to my grandfather who I didn’t notice had been standing right behind me - an intimidating realization seeing as he was built like an oak tree and I was more of a sapling.

“But surely you don’t mean to keep me up here? I was hoping we could go see the town together.” I started pulling at my fingers nervously, “Like a family?”

My grandfather’s eyebrows rose as though what I was suggesting was some kind of disgusting taboo, he struck me across the face. “We are not a family, you might have Claude’s eyes but you are not my granddaughter.” I cupped my cheek while salty tears began to streak down my cheeks. “As far as I’m concerned if you died in that carriage accident I would have been blessed.”

I was overwhelmed with emotions as I dropped onto the floor, gasping for breath as I tried to calm myself down. But he didn’t care, he walked out the door and left me there sobbing .... broken.

I balled my hands into fists and pressed them onto my temples, I wanted to carve out whatever it was about me that wasn’t good enough. Why couldn’t they love me? Why couldn’t they comfort me?

“Mom… Dad…” I sobbed looking to the ceiling, “I wish you were still here, I wish you never left … I need you…” I curled up in a ball on the floor as the crying only increased. “Please… I need you.”

----

It was like that for several days until I eventually ran out of tears to cry, Delilah was the servant who came to take care of me which meant she brought me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I hoped that meant that perhaps my grandfather was wrong and they hadn’t hated me enough to let me die.

I didn’t eat anyway.

It didn’t matter if I did or not, however, my grandmother saw this as a problem it seemed. And she remedied my “act of defiance” with pain. When throwing the food at me didn’t seem to work she slapped me, when that didn’t work she whipped me with a switch, and when that didn’t work still she had one more trick.

My grandfather had come into the room that day with my grandmother close behind, she looked sickly almost - her frame was fragile but in her hand she held a long iron rod. I was sitting beside my window as I had for … Well to be honest I’m not sure how long? Days perhaps? It couldn’t have been more than a week, could it?

“Get up.” She commanded.

“What is the point of treating me like this?” I couldn’t scream so my voice merely came out cracked and hoarse. “If I starve myself then I’ll die faster.”

“Howard.” Grandfather grabbed me and I was taken to the kitchens where servants parted to watch me be thrown to the floor, my dress was ripped down the back as grandmother put the iron in the kitchen fireplace. Grandmother’s cough was dry and even I could feel how it scraped her throat, as she hacked she pulled the iron back out and I saw what it was.

It was a brand. A brand in the shape of a letter ‘B’

I clutched my chest as hard as I could to brace for the pain as it seared into my skin, the worst part was when she pulled it back and part of my flesh came off with it. My screams were more like weak wheezes, my tears just phantoms.

It seemed it was too much for grandmother as she collapsed holding her iron, the group of servants all getting down to grab her as my grandfather began shouting for them to let her breathe.

I looked to the kitchen door and saw the sunshine, the grass, and the river. The warm air wafted over my face - giving me the strength I needed to bolt for the door.

I wasn’t sure if they had noticed my absence by the time I raced to the neighboring house, but I squeezed through their fence and stumbled into a rock. Not a rock. It was a graveyard?

I was gasping from the sprint and took this opportunity to duck behind a larger headstone, my back was burning from the pain but it also helped me feel something, something other than this deep pit which had formed in my chest. After awhile of hiding I checked to make sure my grandfather or any of the servants weren’t near, I began to walk through the graveyard noticing that first - there seemed to be hundreds of graves, and second- some had their names washed away from their headstones.

I knelt beside one and traced my fingers over the small indentations where words once used to be, how sad that they could no longer be remembered…

I was selfish.

Here I was forsaking the life I have been given when these people had all been forgotten in their deaths. I pressed my lips onto the cold stone and tears came once more, my arms creeping around the headstone till I clutched it so hard against me I might have broken it in two.

“I’m sorry.”

“And what are you sorry for?” I jumped and ducked behind the headstone, noticing that the man looking at me was … Odd. He had startling white hair although he looked rather young, a noose was hanging around his neck, and his clothes looked halfheartedly draped over his figure. “Are you the one who killed them? If so then I commend you on how young you look for your age.”

“Well no, I didn’t-.”

“Then don’t apologize.” He waved his hand to me, “Now, let's take a look at that brand.” He took a step toward me but I crawled back while shaking my head.

“Don’t, please, I…” I hugged my arms and sucked in a breath, “I deserved this.” He placed his hands in his pockets and looked me over as I said so, he contemplated his next words.

“That’s not what the apparitions say.” He walked toward me and took a knee before me, reaching out his hands to inspect my brand. “They saw you running into the graveyard terrified, but they claim you have been separated from your guardian ghouls.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, or what he expected me to think as he told me all this.

“I was just… I overreacted.” I didn’t want him to concern himself, especially once grandfather and grandmother found out I was out of the house.

“Hm.” His smile was ghoulish on it’s own, but somehow charming. “Well, I do hope you won’t overreact while I go retrieve some bandages for that nasty wound.”

“Of course.”

I found myself almost longing for him to return, as though however long I had gone alone made me desperate for some kind of companionship. When he finally came back he was joined by a gorgeous man who had a gown in his arms.

“Dear god Vincent! Where did you scrape her up at?”

“She came here actually, I was unfortunate enough to get the grim news from Cousin Mel - and right in front of Granny.”

“Oh lord whatever will you do…?” The gorgeous man rolled his eyes, “She needs a new dress that much is certain, however now that I look at her I think I should have gotten her a yellow one.”

“How garish! The black is perfectly fine Dorian- she is wearing black so replacing it with another black gown is preferred.”

“No, matching a color to her is much more important - ugh, I would brand her for looking so washed out.”

“Dorian!”

“What? She looks like she’s been living in a cave!” Dorian crouched down to me, “Sweetheart, how long has it been since you got some good sunlight on that rather exquisite complexion of yours?”

“Um … I’m not sure …? A long time?”

“Just as I thought, you have to get out more - doctors orders.” I had been paying so much attention to Dorian I hadn’t noticed Vincent behind me as he patched up my brand, his cold hands making me jump.

“Just a moment, I need to get this covered up so you don’t get an infection. That’s what happened to our great Uncle Hector - one papercut and a month later he was in the grave.”

“That’s awful, I’m so sorry.”

“It really was awful, ugh, it looked like he needed to die.” Dorian made a gagging sound.

There was a clearing throat from beyond us and I grabbed onto Dorian’s hand on instinct, he dropped the dress to grab my hand back - no doubt he thought I was falling or perhaps fainting. I didn’t want to turn around to see who it was, I wanted to assume this may have all been a dream and I was still seated beside the forgotten tombstone.

“Ah Mister DeClaire, what brings you out this way?” Vincent beamed, but his eyes seemed to wander a moment as though someone was whispering in his ear and he had begun trying to concentrate.

“I’ve come to retrieve my …” Grandfather rolled the word around in his mouth a bit before finally growling, “Granddaughter.”

“You?” Dorian furrowed his brow, but then looked to my hands and back to my face. I could tell what he was thinking and I didn’t want him to say anything.

“I should be going, I’ve inconvenienced you enough.”

“Here, take this gown that one is ruined and I’ll try to find you a more suitable color another time.”

“Mister DeClaire I can only imagine how you feel, seeing your granddaughter in such a state.” Vincent looked hardened. “You know we are Gracey’s, we can find who did this and ruin them.” It sounded more like a threat than an offer for assistance.

“How very generous of you, but I don’t think there is enough evidence to even prove she lives here, other than your word - so finding who did this would be all for naught.”

“That’s a strange thing to point out.” Dorian grumbled, but I hurried to grandfather’s side and hugged the dress against my chest.

“Thank you Vincent, Dorian, but I think we’ll be alright.”

And without another word we had left.

Grandfather walked me all the way up to my room and closed the door behind him,I took a seat on my bed with my back facing him as I listened to the floorboards creak beneath his feet while he stalked closer to me.

“Your grandmother has passed.” My heart sank and I slouched harder into the dress I clutched against my chest. “You killed her because of your stubbornness.”

“No I-!” He grabbed my jaw and pulled me closer to him, his blue eyes were exactly like mine, exactly like dad’s.

“But now you are mine alone and I will not tolerate defiance, nor will I be intimidated for the lies you told the Gracey boys.” He pushed my face as he released my jaw, his eyes looked me over and I heard him take in a sharp breath. “Get dressed, you look like a devil’s temptress.” I looked at myself sadly and saw that my sleeves had slipped off my shoulders- so I quickly pulled them back up.

Once he was gone I changed into the new black dress, it was a little big but still fit somewhat correctly, looking in the mirror I saw that Dorian was correct about my face. My normally vibrant brown skin was now an ashen and pale muted muddy color, I had deep bags under my eyes, and my cheeks were sunken in slightly from lack of nutrients.

But for the first time something stirred inside my chest, as though the kindness Dorian and Vincent offered gave me something back that I had once lost. A hum came from my lips as I shakily got to my feet and rubbed the fabric of my skirts between my fingers.

“Sing sweet nightingale, high above me ….” I cooed, “Oh Sing sweet nightingale high above… ah…” I held the note as I felt the last of the sunset on my skin.

Perhaps things were not as bad as I once thought, perhaps this was just a chapter I would have to get through.

----

I was wiser for that day, I was much more cautious, I was filled with hope.

So I began sneaking out of my room regularly at night, picking the wildflowers behind the house and taking them to the graveyard to mourn for the nameless, I reserved two flowers for Dorian and Vincent every night as thanks.

One night as I was placing flowers and humming I stumbled across another Gracey brother, he looked about my age with striking resemblance to Dorian. (although not as handsome, since Dorian seemed to take much better care of his skin.) The boy was sleeping hunched on one of the forgotten graves, I saw one of his hands had a bandage wrapped around it, it seemed to cover most of the back of his hand. I tried not to wake him but the flower I placed had ended up brushing against his hand, his eyes snapping open and the boy grabbed my wrist.

“I-I’m sorry!” I shouted, he seemed suspicious of me.

“Who are you?”

“E-Emily!”

This boy was definitely not like Vincent and Dorian, he was much more on guard- harsher it seemed. “What the hell are you doing here anyway?” Much harsher.

“I’m placing flowers on graves.”

“Why? They aren’t your family.”

“Because my family is… far away… so I thought I would remember the people here.”

“How ridiculous none of these people would care about you when they were living - I wouldn’t give them the time of day.” This was his family, surely he didn’t really believe such a thing about his own family? Even though my grandfather was rough with me I was sure he just needed time to know me.

But still I persisted they must be good people, until I started crying… It was foolish of me but I began thinking about my parents and if they were forgotten like this? 

I didn’t mean to start crying but it seemed his cold attitude washed away, instead he began trying to remedy the purpose for my tears. But I knew there wasn’t much that could be done, he still asked and tried to help as best he could.

How sweet.

I made sure to ask if he would be back tomorrow night as well because I wanted to see him again, I wanted to talk to him more, I wanted to see more of the boy beneath all that ice.

And we did, every night after that I came to see him and we placed flowers in the graveyard while we talked about his family. I found out his name was William and that he dreamed of leaving this town someday and being in a place no one knew his name- so he could make a new one.

We lay in the graveyard looking at the stars one night, my fingers inching closer to his before I finally gave his hand a tight squeeze.

“We should leave this place.” He mused, “Together, we should run away and see the world.” I pulled my torso up to look at him now, the moonlight washing over his pale skin, I pursed my lips with concern. “Emily I’ll show you the world, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“I’ll go with you if you promise to make me your wife.” I could see William turning red even only illuminated by moonlight. “I love you William.” I said softly, leaning down and pressing my lips against his as I stroked my fingers against his hair. When I pulled away he caressed my cheek with his thumb, smiling at me.

“Alright, I’ll make you my wife and we’ll leave this place.”

“We should practice dancing! Tomorrow we can go down to the river and you can teach me how to tango!” William laughed and wrapped his arms around my waist, rolling me over onto the grass beside him.

“Well if that’s what you want then we will! How can I say no?”

We seldom met each other during the day but I loved when we were out in the sunshine, especially when it was for dancing! The rocks were smooth beneath my feet as I slid them into the shallow water, William came down the hill beside the river holding a box in his hand.

“Ooh! Have you already gotten your suit?”

“Hardly, this is for you from Dorian.”

“Aw! Dorian is so sweet, did he say what it was?”

“No, so open it up quick! I need to know if I have to kill him for it.”

I gave William a playful nudge and flipped open the box, it was a yellow dress and on top of it was a note in beautiful handwriting which read:

“Doctor’s orders.”

 The dress wasn’t overwhelmed with embroidery, nor was it made from fine silk, it was a simple canary yellow which was soft to touch.

“Oh my goodness it’s gorgeous…” I felt tears already welling up in my eyes, William chuckled and pulled me into a hug.

“Hey, hey it’s just a dress.”

“Just a dress? This is wonderful, please tell him I loved it!”

“I’ll tell him, now didn’t you want to learn to tango?”

I set the box safely off to the side where it wouldn’t get wet and slid into place in William’s arms, he instructed that the dance would be rather fast but I wasn’t much concerned. I knew I had a talent for dancing - I could feel the music in my body as it told my feet to move or my arms to extend. Every movement felt like another flap of my wings till I would be free from the four walls of my room, free from rules, and free to be who I am just like when mom and dad were alive.

I stepped back and William stepped forward, my hips swayed from side to side as they stepped fast in time as William kept count. As we step - turned I lifted my leg against his hip, William grabbed hold though I could tell he had been caught off guard. I grinned and flung my body backwards and he slowly turned me, I was brought back up to William’s face and I kissed him. I ran my fingers through his hair - pushing him back more while he returned my advances.

And then we fell into the river, I couldn’t hold back my laughter since I felt rather silly for not realizing we were falling sooner.

“Good thing you have a new dress I suppose.” William chuckled, I splashed him.

“I can’t change in front of you! Don’t be so devious!”

“I didn’t mean I wanted you to change out here!” His cheeks blazed red as he helped me up from the water.

“I can’t believe my betrothed is so eager to undress me, I bet Dorian and Vincent would scold you if they knew.”

“That’s it!” He grabbed me by the waist and walked into the river till we were waist deep, then he released me.

“WILLIAM!” I screamed only to be muffled by the water, when I bobbed back up I tackled him into the river till we were equally soaked.

As we walked from the edge of the river I noticed the bandage on his hand was missing, the wound made my stomach turn.

It was the same ‘B’ which my grandmother branded me with.

“William… Who did this to you?” I gently took his hand and turned my gaze to his ocean blue eyes.

“Oh that? I got it from… One of the boys in town, there is this annoying hatter that always hassles me about ‘rules’ in his ‘shop’ and -.”

“William,” I smirked and stroked my thumb over the scarred tissue. “Tell me the truth.”

His expression turned grave as he sucked in a breath, “My mother had talked with your grandmother a while back…” He held up his palms, “N-not that it’s her fault, rest her soul.” I had never come around to telling William about my grandmother or my grandfather, it never came up in conversation so it didn’t need to be stated.

And I wasn’t going to bring it up now, not when William was in such a state.

“William, what happened?”

“Yes, anyway, my step-mother calls it a… ‘reminder’ and she believes that it will make me behave better.” I kissed his hand and pulled him into a hug.

“You shouldn’t have to go through something like that.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t matter.” He stroked my wet hair, “How about we go dry off and … forget about my step-mother?”

We lay on the grass behind one of the tree’s in grandfather’s backyard as I hummed to William, his head resting on my chest while I ran my fingers through his hair. “Sing Sweet Nightingale, High above me…”  I hummed while the warm summer breeze ran through the air, the blue sky had never been a prettier blue, and all the elements combined caused my eyes to close.

I could lay here forever.

I could keep this moment forever.

But moments are nothing more than that mere minutes before they are over.

I opened my eyes and my grandfather was standing there looking down at us, terror filled my body as I realized the dream had ended.

“Emily.”

“Grandfather!” I shook William awake and quickly got to my feet, still wearing my soaking clothes no less.

“Ah! A pleasure to meet you Mister DeClaire.” William stood with me and offered his hand, grandfather did not take it.

“You are not only disobeying my orders but you have whored yourself out to the bastard of the Gracey heirs.”

“What did you just call her?” William wasn’t quite my grandfather’s height at the time, he only reached his shoulders, and he was not built quite the same either width-wise.

“William…” I stepped between them, standing tall as I met my grandfather’s cold gaze. “It’s time for me to go.” I turned to William now with a smile I had hoped was convincing, “I shouldn’t have snuck out, but perhaps I’ll see you another time.”

“Unlikely, your mother has told me this is not the first time you have snuck out Emily, I’ll see that you and this bastard-.”

“William.” I snapped, “Had nothing to do with this.”

“No, this is unfair! Emily was just-.”

“Shut up boy.”

“William, I have to go now … I’ll be alright I promise.” I pecked him on the cheek, but William pulled me back and kissed me deeply, when we pulled away he looked at my grandfather and saw himself home.

I sighed with a dreamy smile as I watched William leave, only to have my grandfather grab my wrist and pull me into the house, throwing me in my bedroom.

“You stupid child.” He growled as I stepped back from him, trying to put my bed between us - but it seemed he was following my movements. “But then again slave blood must attract slave blood alike.”

“Stop it, please, I really do care for William and I know you saw that.” I bumped against the wall but my grandfather proceeded to approach me. His frame towered over me and his eyes were wide with rage. “If you could just take the time to get to know him-.”

“There is nothing I need to know about that bastard, you act as though I’ve concern for your virtue!” He snarled and slapped me, “You’re nothing to me but an inconvenience, it is by my pity you still breathe.”

“You can’t believe that.” I whimpered as I pressed the back of my hand on my cheek, tears were starting to fill my eyes. “We’re family, please - please! Can’t you realize I just want us to be a family?”

“We are nothing!” He grabbed my throat and I thought my head would burst, I couldn’t breathe, his fingers seemed to be burning into my skin. “Your blood is nothing like mine!” He released me as I dropped to the ground gasping for air.

My grandfather stepped away from me and slammed the door behind him.

---------

I hadn’t worried too much about that night like I should have, I told myself that nothing was wrong as long as William was alright. I could handle anything from my grandfather - so long as William was there waiting for me, smiling and reaching out to me for another dance.

I was selfish.

I slipped out of my room, tiptoeing down the stairs, and finally stepping out of the kitchen door to the backyard to pick flowers as an apology to William for yesterday.

I had decided to go out during the day so that I might also grab my dress from Dorian, which was still nestled against the tree in the back.

As I held the box in my hands I started selecting the flowers, one after another as I hummed to myself and daydreamed…

I could see William now, laughing at my silliness because he understood that my grandfather was just worried about me. He had to be worried about me.

Because we were family.

Family means that you love each other.

I hadn’t seen him behind me, I hadn’t noticed that he was listening to me sing, I hadn’t noticed that he had begun looking at me differently.

Flower petals burst into the air when I crashed into him, but I could still make out his face through the petals. His eyes were wide but not with anger, he looked at me like I was something he had lost - as if I could replace all that he lost.

He kissed me.

I couldn’t help trembling as he did so - if not because he held my arms so tightly that it hurt, then it was surely because I feared he might do it again. It was much more terrifying than the branding, the hitting, and any insult I had heard.

When he pulled away from me he lifted his hand to my cheek which made me wince on instinct.

“I did that, didn’t I?” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about but, I gathered that perhaps he had bruised my cheek when he slapped me yesterday. “I shouldn’t have, but you made me so angry.”

“I’m sorry grandfather.” He clenched his hands into fists.

“Stop calling me that, Sir will be satisfactory.” Grandfather ran his fingers through my hair, “Sing to me again.”

“What?” I stepped back but one of his hands still gripped my arm and kept me near.

“You’ll sing for me tonight, you’ll sing to me after dinner.” But he could still see I was hesitating. “I will love you, Emily, if you sing only for me.” I still didn’t feel right, something felt wrong, dirty… As if he meant something more. “You wanted me to love you, you wanted this.”

“Y-yes Grand- sir.”

“What are you doing out here? When I forbid you from it?” He tilted my chin up to him more now, I must have given it away in my eyes because he glared at me just as I was used to. “William.”

“I’m sorry I wanted to see him after what happened yesterday-.”

“There is no need to worry about yesterday.” Grandfather’s smile was far worse than his glare, it was as though I could once again feel the brand burning my back. “Because William is gone.”

“What!”

“He is a bastard, it has been a long time coming, but seeing his lips…” He grabbed my throat and I felt his grip tense. “But… There is no more to worry about, you have me now.” That smile, that terrifying smile. “And that is all you wanted.”

“Yes, sir.”

He escorted me back up the stairs and I sat on my bed, the box covered in flowers was still pressed against my chest. As soon as I heard the door close behind me I faltered, dropping the box and covering my face with my hands while I sobbed silently.

William.

William.

WILLIAM!

But what could I do? Where has he gone? Another horrifying thought trailed through my mind.

Was he dead?

[overlyobsessedgaygal]

Borrowing from Supervillains

Words: 1,226

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Logan, Roman

Summary: Virgil is a borrower living in the house of three supervillains, Logic, Morality, and Creativity. When he gets caught Morality takes it upon himself to stand up for the poor little guy. But more troubles lie ahead for Virgil and you can't always trust a supervillain.

  Virgil wasn't exactly sure why he chose to live in the house of literal supervillains. The fact that regular humans were evil enough was something that stood out to him everytime he left the walls, if a regular human would torture and kill him what would an evil human with super powers do?

    Well, Virgil didn't plan to find out. The three supers lived in a mansion with plenty of empty rooms for Virgil to hide away in. Two of the three, Creativity and Morality, were forgetful and would leave food and materials lying around.

   In other words, Virgil had it good living here. Easy access to what he needed and easy hideaways. The only downside was Logic, the third villainous human of the house. He not only kept everything in perfect order, he was also a scientist.

   Scientists did not get along with Borrowers. Not at all. Borrowers that were caught by scientists were experimented on, studied and dissected. So, once again, Virgil questioned why he chose to live here.

   This time he had a lot more to panic about then why he had chosen to live here, because this time he was staring into a pair of bright brown eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses.

    Stupid, Virgil cursed himself as the human known as Morality continued to watch him closely. Virgil knew he needed to steady his breathing, drown out the panic in his head and focus on escaping. This was all easier said than done.

      Morality shifted his eyes from the small person in from of him to the pack of crackers left open on the counter. Understanding crossed his features and Virgil felt all calmness leave him.

    Virgil hadn't just been caught, he had been caught in the act of stealing. Whatever facade that had been keeping Virgil silent this long crumbled as he dropped to his knees, arms crossed in front of his face, panting so hard his whole body heaved with each breath.

    “P-please don't cr-cr-crush me!” Virgil managed to stutter out. The air moved around him and he braced himself for the crushing sensation of the human’s fingers against his fragile body.

     “Alright open your eyes, little guy,” Morality said softly. Virgil took a shuddering breath as he peaked around from the corner of his elbow. Morality had one hand held out, a broken off piece of cracker held in the tip of his fingers.

      Virgil looked between the offering and the human. Morality was making it a habit of not looking directly at the small person, not wanting to stare him down. A kind smile stretched across the human's face and Virgil couldn't help but reach out to take the cracker.

     His heart was still pounding hard against his chest and breathing was a manual task, but he accepted the cracker with shaky hands. “Th-thank you, sir,” Virgil tried to go for respectful. He knew the human was in charge and he wanted the human to know he knew.

     He had heard from the walls as Creativity and Morality tortured people who opposed them, heard then demand obedience. He was just going to give that to them from the start and hopefully avoid the torture and punishment, and hopefully the lab.

    Morality giggled. “It's Patton, Kiddo. You don't have to call me sir.” Virgil swallowed harshly and nodded at the words. He had already screwed it up. Morality didn't seem mad at him but he knew how fast that could change.

     Footsteps entered the Borrower's hearing range and he went wide eyed and took a step back as he recognized them as Logic. There was no way he could deal with that right now. The cracker slipped from his hands and he backed up a few steps. His eyes were wildly searching for a way to escape.

     “Whoa, Kiddo, calm down. That's just Logan, he won't hurt you.” Morality’s words didn't calm Virgil down one bit.

     “N-no! No science!” Virgil was aware that his words didn't make sense but the panic induced fog spreading through his brain wouldn't allow him to think up a coherent sentence.

    Morality frowned at him, a sad look on his face. The footsteps were closer now. “Kiddo…” Patton trailed off as Logic entered the kitchen. His eyes were locked onto Virgil.

    Virgil didn't think, couldn't think, he just ran. Ran to the first opening that he saw, in between two cereal boxes. His hole was just in the other side of the stove, the wide open stove.

   “Logan!” Mortality’s voice boomed as he yelled at his partner. “What are you doing? Put that down this instant!”

     Virgil could feel his heartbeat pick up. What did Logic have? A book? A shoe? Something to trap him with? His vision went blurry around the edges and he could feel his lungs ache as he realized he was lacking a vital part of being alive, oxygen.

    As he desperately tried to pull in the air he craved so desperately he heard a cry and then the cereal box fell away. He looked up in Logic’s cold, calculating eyes before he fell limp to the ground.

   Virgil woke up wrapped in a warm embrace. He struggled and kicked, instantly recognizing that he was in a human grip. The fingers around his torso were leaving bruises and cutting off his breath.

   “Roman, maybe set him down,” Morality’s familiar voice cut into the panic in Virgil's mind. “Not in the cage.” The way the words came out sounded so defeated that Virgil could already tell he was in trouble.

    “Patton, while I understand your wish to accommodate him as a guest however the scientific aspect of this discovery is to great to risk his escape,” Logic said. His voice sounded so set that Virgil knew he wasn't getting out of this.

    He blinked open his eyes. He found he was being held between the thumb and index finger of Creativity while Logic stared at him. Morality had his eyes glued to the ground.

   “I-i'll talk. No experiments, please. I'll be good,” Virgil found himself begging. He knew that even if he answered questions the chances of him being dissected were high, but avoiding some of the harsh experiments where he was kept alive afterwards in pain sounded good enough.

     Morality let out a little gasp and snapped his eyes to Logic, a stern glare already in place. Creativity shifted his hold on Virgil awkwardly. “What type of experiments are you expecting?” Logic asked, a stiff tone to the question.

     Virgil shuddered. “My emotions function the same as a humans, so do my pain receptors. I can explain them more, just please, please, don't test them.”

    Patton reached his hand out, under where Virgil was suspended. “drop him.” The order was a growl and Roman was quick to obey. Virgil found himself cradled in Morality’s hand.

    “Neither of you will touch him, he is not a specimen or pet. He will not be treated as one,” Morality sent each of his companions a glare. Virgil was shocked to see Morality’s eyes glow a sky blue color. He heard both Creativity and Logic gasp and looked over to see tears leaking from their eyes.

   Patton turned and swiftly, yet carefully, walked from the room. He winked at Virgil with a sympathetic smile. “That's why you don't mess with an empath.”

[wannabeliterature]

God asks Nature a favor

God greeted Nature with a soft voice, attempting not to startle the creature, who tended to get distracted quite easily.

“Hello, my dear Nature. How have you been?”

“Hello, God. I have been well, thank you, although your Humans are acting up again. What do you require now? It is for one of them, I assume?” replied Nature, taking off her glasses with a sigh, and bracing herself for the response she feared.

“You see, Nature, there is this girl in Venezuela. She has been having a hard time lately. Her father passed away two weeks ago, and he was very important to her; she lost her faith and told me she wanted nothing to do with me. She even threatened to end her life with the pills on her nightstand... I would try to explain the grief and suffering she is experiencing at this very instant, but I believe you might already understand it.”

As He spoke, God frowned, and His eyes turned sad. Seeing His sorrow and realizing His appeal to her own loss, Nature softened.

“Being that the case, I thought I would try to lift her spirits a bit by giving her a nice sunset today. What do you say?” finished God with a smile and a kind look. He knew Nature disliked bending her rules, even for Him and His Humans, who she did not fully comprehend.

“My dear God. You know I am yours, forever faithful, and happily so, but just yesterday I cured a cancer patient for you, and it was not easy. Wasn't that enough?”

“The man wasn't ready yet, Nature, he had to live.” God paused, tilting His head, deep in thought. “My darling, I know you are neither lazy nor incapable. What is it, then, that bothers you?”

He looked at Nature, who lowered her gaze. Seeing her reluctance and knowing she was a proud being, He added gently:

“My child, you cannot see them as a species that ought to have a limited amount of care. Each of them is infinite to themselves and thus deserves all our efforts. We must attempt to understand them, Nature... I wish you would love them, dear, as I do.”

For a minute, there was only silence.

“They have hurt me, God”

God took Nature's hand as He saw tears welling up in her green eyes. She started to sob, covering her face out of shame, and God hugged her, understanding her pain, having felt the cruelty of humanity just as deeply as Nature was feeling it then.

“I know, my precious Nature. I know. But we must understand. You must see them as individuals and know the value of each of them. As one of the Humans wisely said, they must be ends and not merely means. Besides, they have created Art, and Music, which you seemed to have liked very much. You especially enjoyed Chopin, correct?” After a few seconds, God felt Nature nod against His chest. “And they can be so, so kind. Truly, they can be... Listen, I have felt their vulnerability, their weakness, their sensitivity, their utter and invariable fragility. It is difficult for them, too, you know. If you could only see them as I do, know what I know, what lies deep within them, their ignorance of the evil they are doing, you would understand, my love. I know you would.”

Nature, clinging to God, slowly calmed down.

“I am uncapable of understanding, I think, but I will love them through you, if I can,” said Nature with a weak voice, “For the record, though, I did create Art and Music before they did...  And I will figure out a way to make that sunset.”

“Thank you, Nature. I am sure she will appreciate it,” answered God with a smile and bright eyes, “Now, I must bid you farewell, for I have a meeting scheduled with one of the Humans.”

Nature nodded, already thinking about how she would paint the sky.

“By the way,” said God with a small smile, knowing what Nature planned, “she likes purple.”

Nature laughed and watched God walk away, wondering how a creature could be as loved as that girl in Venezuela, and smiling when she remembered that she was equally treasured herself.

[sweetteaanddragons]

You said that you went heavier on the hurt than the comfort in that fic. I know it was supposed to be an AU, but would you consider writing a second half where Elrond is exchanged for Gil-Galad? The shock on the faces of the other elves when they realize that Gil-Galad wasn't killed and that Maglor really does love the twins would be beautiful. Also, poor Elros needs his brother back. The reunion of the twins and Maglor could be the comfort. (I'm not crying over this. Ok, maybe a little.) (2/2)

Thank you for your lovely comments in your earlier ask! Here, as requested, is the second half of the AU that I originally wrote for @swirls-of-randomness in which Elrond becomes king and Gil-Galad gets kidnapped by Feanorians.

Quick note: Elros and Gil-Galad have a discussion about the situation; not all views presented therein accurately represent my own.

. . . .

Gil-Galad is not at all sure why he’s not dead yet.

It’s not a new thought. It’s one that’s been plaguing him since they handed him a crown and told him he was king. 

The other kings in exile had all died - Fingon, who had looked so impossibly strong when Gil-Galad was small, Fingolfin, who had been able to challenge Morgoth himself, even Feanor, who, whatever else everyone said about him, had at least not lacked for might.

The other kings too: Finrod, whose death he had imagined in a thousand nightmares, Turgon, whose daughter really should have been the one to take the crown, Thingol, who had attracted Melian herself . . .

He knows all their deeds, all their power, all their strength.

And he knows how they all died.

Gil-Galad has never once seen the light of the Trees. He does not have any legendary deeds to his name. He does not feel strong.

He doesn’t know why he’s not dead yet.

He can’t ask anyone that, though, of course, because even he knows that’s not the kind of thing kings say.

He asked Círdan once anyway because he can ask Círdan anything, and he still remembers the terrible grief that had swept over Círdan’s face before the older elf had pulled him close and said, “Because I am not dead yet, and they will never reach you so long as I can yet stand in their way.”

He had known intellectually, even then, that no one could make that promise. Not really.

He knows it in his heart now, because he is tied to a post in a Feanorian tent, the blood of his kin still drying on his rope-burned hands, and Círdan isn’t here.

The Feanorian lord had been badly injured, he’d seen, before he was hauled away. If he dies -

Gil-Galad is going to die. He forces himself to take away that comforting if and confront himself with it. He is going to die, and he might as well get used to it.

The tent flap opens, and he braces himself for fury, for swords, for anything. 

He does not brace himself for a boy just entering adolescence that is carrying food.

The boy looks weary past bearing, but he does his best to smile anyway. “Hello,” he says. “I’m Elros. Did you know your men stole my brother?”

. . . 

Gil-Galad learns three things in the many visits that follow:

First, that Prince Maglor is apparently recovering and expected to live after all.

(“He has to live,” Elros says the first time, fiercely. “He has to,” and Gil-Galad is not at all convinced, but with each subsequent visit Elros gets a bit lighter, and Gil-Galad slowly comes to believe with considerable relief of his own.)

Second, that there is considerable debate in the camp what to do about their new prisoner.

(“No one really wanted you,” Elros explains before smacking his forehead and saying with surprising intensity, “Of course someone wants you, that’s not what I meant at all,” and he waits before Gil-Galad nods a bemused acceptance of this before continuing on. “It’s just the people that want you are all over in your camp, and we didn’t mean to take you from them, it just sort of happened, and now we can’t decide how to get you back without getting shot at and whether or not we should ask for something when we do.”)

That we is the third thing he learns: that Elros has some very odd and somewhat concerning ideas about who constitutes that we and exactly who was stolen from whom.

(“Of course we were stolen,” Elros says, frowning, “but that doesn’t mean it was alright for you to try to steal us, anymore than it was alright for them to try to steal those stupid gems from Sirion just because the gems were stolen from them first. Stealing is stealing.”

“That’s not how the law works,” Gil-Galad tells him. “And my men weren’t trying to steal your brother from you, they were trying to save him.”

“Stealing is stealing,” Elros says stubbornly, and he sits there and glares until Gil-Galad allows the subject to drop.)

. . .

He doesn’t try to convince Elros to let him go so that they can run away together because a) he’s almost entirely certain they’d be caught before they left camp, b) it would take a miracle for the two of them to survive the trip to the Isle of Balar alone, and c) he’s nearly positive Elros would refuse point blank.

That does not quite stop him from wishing he’d tried it when a man with faint scars still covering his face and missing one hand entirely enters the tent.

“Prince Maedhros,” he says, and he’s proud that his voice does not shake and that he sounds like the king he spends most of his time thinking he is only pretending to be.

“Cousin,” the prince returns, irony not quite covering the pain and bone deep exhaustion all too evident in his voice. “You’ll be pleased to know that Maglor is well on his way to a full recovery.”

Gil-Galad is pleased, both for the obvious reason and for Elros’s sake, so he’s able to say so quite sincerely.

Maedhros looks at him, a little surprised, and in the silence that follows, Gil-Galad can’t quite refrain from blurting out, “So now what?”

Maedhros looks at him for a long moment and says, in a voice now entirely void of all emotion, “So now we can spare the men to escort you and Elros back to your home.”

Gil-Galad’s second thought, after disbelieving relief, is, “Have you told Elros that yet?”

Maedhros leaves without answering, but that doesn’t matter.

Gil-Galad already knows that the answer is no.

. . .

It was a good plan, Gil-Galad thinks in all fairness. A generous plan, even, since the Feanorians weren’t supposed to get anything out of it. It was just a slow progression of the hostages - Gil-Galad, who still can’t quite believe this is happening, and Elros, who is refusing to speak to either Gil-Galad or Maedhros - between the two sides.

Except halfway across the field, someone suddenly breaks off from Gil-Galad’s side and takes off running towards them. Gil-Galad looks sharply to the archers, fearful that hostilities may be about to break out, but it is just one small form that he abruptly realizes must be Elrond.

Elrond, who grabs his brother’s hand and takes off running with him, the movement so smooth that it’s like the two of them have been planning this.

They are running towards the Feanorian side.

He should stop them, he thinks, but he can’t, not without shattering the fragile balance already teetering on the edge of violence.

Instead, he walks forward.

Círdan is there the moment he’s in range, and though they’re both careful to preserve the dignity necessary for such a public moment, surely there can be no harm in an embrace.

Círdan holds on just a little too tightly, and Gil-Galad presses that memory into his mind, to keep and hold onto when he inevitably lets go.

“I thought we’d lost you,” Círdan says hoarsely as he steps back.

“So had I,” he admits, finally daring to look back across the field. “We did lose them,” he says, and his heart aches for the little boys who refuse to be stolen twice.

But Círdan has an odd look on his face. “Maybe,” is all he says, and he keeps a hand on Gil-Galad’s back as they turn to walk away.

. . .

(Maglor weeps when he sees them, and Elrond isn’t sure if they’re sad or happy tears.

“I’m sorry,” he says helplessly, feeling his own tears well up at last.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Maglor says fiercely. “Not to me. Not ever,” and he opens his arms a little: always an offer, never a demand.

Elrond burrows into them immediately, gently as he can after he feels Maglor’s silent flinch. Elros is right there next to him in the embrace, and for the first time in weeks, Elrond doesn’t feel that horrible blankness hovering anywhere near him at all.)

[detroitbecomeyandere]

His Muse pt.6

One morning after Markus woke Carl up he went to your room. You were surprised to see his shirt was ripped. “What happened?” Your hand reached towards the tear but you stopped before touching him. You had grown, not quite close- but forming a friendship with the android in the passing months.

 He brushed off your concern with a small sad smile. “I’m fine. It was just some protesters y/n. Nothing to worry about.” You frowned at his words but allowed him the moment. You two stayed like that for a minute, him sitting on your bed and you sitting by him with your knees up to your chest. “Let’s get you dressed. I’m sure Carl would love your company.” You nodded, getting up and following Markus to the closet as he picked out clothes for you to wear.

 Markus turned and left, heading downstairs to Carl after he laid down your clothes to wear. The day passed like any other- minus another confrontation with Leo that Carl had you leave during. Until Carl had Markus start getting him ready for a night out. “Are we going somewhere?” You couldn’t help but ask, he hadn’t let you leave the house since Markus kidnapped you. He even had a judge come in to get the two of you married instead of taking you to the courthouse. It hadn’t stopped him from ordering a wedding dress for you and getting a picture of you standing next to him. Of course in the painting he had given you a smile that wasn’t there.

 “Oh no darling. I’ve got something I can’t get out of. I’m sorry but as much as I would love to have you with me as company, I just can’t trust others around your beauty.” He turned towards Markus before speaking again. “No no, not chains. The silk rope will be enough, just make sure to do a very good knot.” You stared at Markus as he walked over to you with a long coil of rope in his hands. You felt afraid and couldn’t help but cry a little as he placed your hands together, wrapping the rope around the wrists and occasionally giving a tug to test the resistance before finally tying the rope around one of the piano legs. “Go on, give it a test! There should be enough room for you to walk around and keep yourself entertained darling.”

 You could only stare at your bound hands, shock numbing you to the fact that Carl and Markus were leaving. You waited until you could hear the front door shut before trying to pull the rope out from under the grand piano. You had to stop from the pain, the almost 600lb piano refused to move, and the rope refused to give. Injuring yourself was not something you wanted to do while trying to escape. You looked around the room, the rope was long enough for you to reach the dining table and eat some of the fruit laid out there. You wandered as far as it would let you, searching for a knife, for anything that would allow you to cut the rope.

 After what felt like too long you gave up, lying down on the lounge and taking a nap. A sharp tug on your rope and cursing woke you up. You fell off of the lounge and looked to see who had tripped over the rope. It wasn’t Markus. You knew it couldn’t be Carl. It didn’t sound like him, and he couldn’t have tripped over it like that. The rope tugged and you followed the motion in the dark room to gasp in surprise at seeing Leo standing there.

 “What are you doing here?” He just gaped at you, looking down at the rope in his hands and then tracing it to the rope wrapped around your wrists. “Leo. What are you doing here? Carl isn’t home.” You couldn’t stop the small tremor of fear in your voice as you spoke. You didn’t want to be here alone with him. With your hands tied together you knew you wouldn’t be able to fight him very well if he attacked you.

 He closed his mouth and looked up at you with a glare. His eyes were still as blood shot as they had been that morning. “Did he do this to you?” You turned away and didn’t answer. “Tell me! Did he tie you up like this?” He yanked at the rope as he spoke, raising his voice at you. “No, I bet he told that toy of his to do this.”

 You ignored his question. “Why are you here Leo? I thought Carl kicked you out.” You looked around behind him, but couldn’t see in the darkness. You gasped when he pulled out a knife, trying to pull back but he still held onto the rope. “Please don’t hurt me!” You were surprised when he sliced through the rope near his hand. “What-?”

 Leo gave a shrug and closed the knife before putting it away. “Look, I’m far from perfect- but I can’t hurt you when you’re defenseless like that.” He turned and walked into the studio. You followed behind him, not sure what to do now that you weren’t stuck to one room, but your wrists were still bound together. You sat down on a stool as he started to look through paintings. Ignoring him you tried to wiggle your hands free. Your wrists were starting to get raw and pink from the constant friction as you tried to force the knot free.

 He didn’t react, but you jumped when you heard the automated voice, “Welcome home Carl.” You put your hands back in your lap, unsure of what to do. You knew it was too late for you to escape now. You could hear the two of them speaking as they entered the other room. You watched the door, your heart pounding in your ears as you heard Markus’s voice. “And Mrs. Manfred is missing.”

 You could hear Carl’s voice again, too low for you to hear his words. After a long moment you saw the doors open and Markus stormed in, quickly followed by Carl. Finally Leo reacted to them entering the room.

 “Leo.” He sounded almost resigned to the fact he was here.

 The younger man turned, smirking as he looked over Markus. “Oh look who's here. My father’s plastic toy!” He turned back to the paintings and you glanced over at Carl who entered further into the room.

 “Leo, what’s going on?” He turned to look at you, eyes roaming over to make sure you were unhurt. You gave a nervous smile in response. Leo had only scared you, it wasn’t as big a deal as him breaking in.

 Leo barely reacted, “You refused to help me. So I’m helping myself. It’s crazy what some people will pay for this shit.”

 “Don’t touch ‘em!” Carl barked at Leo. He turned to you, “Did he hurt you darling?” You shook your head quickly.

 Leo ignored Carl’s question, seeming to not care about you anymore. “Look, they’re all going to be mine sooner or later anyway. Just think of it as a downpayment on my inheritance.” You found yourself wincing at his calus words.

 “Markus get him away from here. Get him outta here!” Markus glanced at Carl in concern before walking over to Leo.

 He looked down at the smaller man, “Look, I’ve already called the police. You should go now before you get yourself into more trouble.”

 Leo glared at Markus for a moment before turning towards you, “More trouble than having a girl tied up in the house?” He turned over towards Carl, “All you ever do is tell me to go away. What’s wrong Dad? Not good enough for you?” Carl came close towards the two of them. “Not perfect like this fucking thing?” He got in Markus’s face at the end of his sentence.

 “That’s enough! Get out, right now! Go on, move!”

 “What makes it so special anyway, huh? What’s it got that I don’t?”

 “Leave him alone!” You jumped up at Leo shoving Carl away. You desperately wished your hands were free, all you wanted to do was cover your ears and hide. The yelling as too much for you.

 Markus turned away from Leo and towards Carl as his chair spun around before he could catch himself. “Come on! Let’s see what you got!” You were crying by now, it all felt like too much.

 You almost missed Carl’s next words, he spoke them so softly. “Markus, don’t defend yourself. You hear me? Don’t do anything.”

 Leo got in Markus’s face again. “Go ahead, hit me! What’re waiting for? Think you’re a man? Act like one!” He shoved Markus again.

 “Stop it!” You looked back towards Carl, he was leaning over and grasping at his chest. Panic filled your mind as you ran between Leo and Markus and to Carl. “Stop it Leo!” He yelled and started to fall out of his chair, you tried to hold him back up.

 It all felt too much as you looked between the three of them, Carl still yelling for Leo to stop it and Leo still shoving Markus around and yelling in his face. “Too scared to fight back, you fucking bitch?” He punched Markus on the last word, you ran from Carl’s side to shove back at Leo.

 “Leave us alone! Just stop! Please?” He swung again, catch you across the jaw and knocking you down before continuing his assault on Markus. You felt dazed, realizing your head must have hit the concrete flooring as well. Markus braced himself against the table, almost as if to catch his breath. Carl was slumped over in his chair, and Leo was gearing up for another swing.

 He continue his verbal assault as Markus stood back up, “Oh right, that’s right! I forgot you’re not a real person. You’re just a fucking piece of plastic! Listen to me-” He grabbed Markus by his shirt again and got close to his face.

 “No, Leo! Leave him alone!” Carl sounded pained as he gripped his chest even tighter, almost falling out of his chair.

 “I’m going to destroy you, then it’ll just be me and my Dad and that bitch. I’m going to tear you apart and nobody’s going to give a shit, you know why? Cause you’re nothing. You hear me? You’re nothing!” He punched Markus again and you were torn between going to Carl and trying to stop the one sided fight.

 The choice was made as Carl fell out of his chair and collapsed on the ground. You screamed. Markus and Leo both turned towards him, “Carl no!” He was quickly by Carl’s side, holding his hand and cupping his head with the other. “Carl, no.” He sounded so pained.

 “Humans are fragile machines. Take care of her for me.”

 “Carl, don’t leave, okay? Please, don’t go- don’t leave please!” He was crying, holding onto Carl while Leo stared in shock and you could only cover your mouth. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry.

 “Remember Markus, don’t let anybody tell you who you are.”

 “No. No! Dad! No, please.” You walked over to Markus, placing your hands on his shoulder as he slowly lowered Carl’s head.

 Leo spoke up and you wanted to punch him. “This is all your fault. This never would have happened if it wasn’t for you!” You stood up, not caring if your hands were still bound. Your husband, your captor, the man who loved you was now lying dead on the ground because of him.

 The police finally arrived as Leo was backing away from you. He turned towards them and you turned towards Markus, he was still in shock. Markus slowly turned towards the police, lifting his hands as he stood up. Leo pointed to him, “The android, it was the android.”

 You realized what was happening the moment Markus fully stood up. You screamed as the officer fired his gun twice. Both bullets hitting Markus and knocking him down to the ground. The female officer walked over to you, taking in your ripped dress, the bound arms, and the growing bruise on your face. “What happened here?”

 You backed away from her, holding your hands up and looking around wildly. “He killed my husband.” You turned away from her to glare at Leo. “You killed my husband!” You lunged at Leo, trying to hurt him in anyway possible when the officer grabbed you around the waist. “He killed them both!” You were screaming, hysterical by now. So much had happened so quickly you felt like you were drowning. You gave up fighting against the officer and went limp in her arms, sobbing now. “He broke in, my husband and his android were at a party. He tried to rob us and Carl had a heart attack.”

 Leo stared at you in surprise, looking between you and the other officer. The male officer walked over to Leo and handcuffed him. “You’re coming with us then.”

 The female officer guided you to the living room, away from the bodies of Carl and Markus before sitting you down on one of the couches. “Do you need to see a doctor?” You nodded, now too tired to even speak. The rest of the night felt like a blur, officers speaking to you, nurses speaking to you, then finally a doctor standing before you.

 “I’m sorry Mrs. Manfred but we’re not going to do an x-ray of your face. We wouldn’t want to risk the baby.”  You felt numb as you stared up at the doctor.

 “What baby?” All you could think of was Carl telling you how beautiful your children would be. You had hoped he was wrong about Markus being able to get you pregnant. It looked like he wasn’t.

 The doctor faltered for a moment before speaking again. “You’re about 10 weeks pregnant. I’ll have you set up with an OB Mrs. Manfred.” You nodded numbly, widowed and now pregnant. You managed to hold yourself together until the automated car dropped you off at Carl’s house- no, your house. You managed to walk inside and crawled into your bed, crying yourself to sleep.