#he treats you with reverance. he stays one step behind you like a living shadow. he will not leave the house without you there with him.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

That nosleep post about the lady who killed her husband who came back six months later is making me think things

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) And the dreams that you dream of   DC COMICS

A03

It’s a weight off his shoulders.

Alan had known for a long time that his dirty little secret was dragging him down, had known that it was a vice around his heart and a collar around his neck that had stopped him from ever really being happy with himself. He’d lived his life hiding, and keeping secrets; for his own safety at first, and out of fear of change afterwards once it started becoming more mainstream. Back when he was a lad, being caught with another boy was as good as a death sentence - he’d heard so many stories of other kids and men like him being found in alleyways, of them being attacked and beating out in the open and still no one cared enough to help.

It was the norm, and Alan had tried to conform.

Alan Scott had known since grade school that he wasn’t normal, that he wasn’t like the other boys. Boys who would talk about how pretty Betty Noris was, or the shape of Dorothy’s assets. Instead, Alan had found his gaze lingering on the other boys during gym class, or the look of the bare chests of the men who would help his Ma move furniture. He’d known for a long time that it was dangerous, had known even before Jimmy and Robbie from the next block down had caught him and their kid brother behind the fish market. They had beaten Alan black and blue, had spit on him while he’d laid on the dirty ground and pulled Johnny away from him, promising worse if they ever saw him sniffing around their brother again, that they wouldn’t tell anyone this time that Alan Scott was a fag because it would drag their family’s good name down with him.

Johnny hadn’t been able to meet his eyes again after that, had sat on the opposite end of the classroom and kept to himself even more than he already had in the first place, and Alan had locked that part of himself away. He had hardened himself to everything around him, had become the kind of man expected of him.

But he hadn’t been fully happy. Not with himself, and not with his life.

Becoming Green Lantern had helped, it gave him a meaning that he hadn’t known he was missing. He made friends and comrades that would last him for decades afterwards, friends who knew and cared for him, no matter what Alan was. None of them were normal, none of them fit into the society of their time, for whatever reason. They were all freaks and outsiders, abominations who had all found themselves brought together by a shared desire for justice in an unfair world.

The Justice Society.

As Green Lantern, Alan could save people, could help people. Could slowly let out parts of himself that he had kept locked away for so long, ever since he was scrawny and twelve, and kissing Johnny Moore in a hidden part of the market. He could never  say what he was out loud, not fully, not without the words that he wouldn’t learn until much later in life, when more and more people like him started coming out of the shadows to live their lives openly and make their voices heard. He made friends and friends, people who didn’t care that Alan wasn’t right, because none of them really were either.

What was looking a little too long at men to aliens and immortals after all?

What was it to a man that could run faster than sound? A man who liked men and women equally and kept it hidden just as Alan did?

The Justice Society gave him Jay, and despite him being a raging ass, it also gave him unconditional love.

The Justice Society didn’t last forever, but the connections he made did.

Never before Alan had called what he had with Jay more than friendship, but they both knew it was more than that. Friends didn’t have the same sort of relationship Alan had with Jay, friends didn’t fall in love with each other and stay in love for as long as they had. Friends didn’t sleep with a married man, even with their partner’s wife’s permission. Joan was a lovely, wonderful woman, who deserved the world, and by god, Alan knows that Jay was willing to give it to her if she asked. The Garricks would never have blood children, not without the lack of trying, but Alan knows they considered the new generations of speedsters their own, just as they considered Alan’s children family.

Unlike Jay, Alan hadn’t been able to settle down. He hadn’t been able to keep up the facade he had built up, even if he had tried. He had loved Rose and Molly, had adored them, but not in the ways that they deserved. He had grieved Rose when she’d died, he had let Molly go so that she could find happiness, and he had kept going, kept hiding.

But hiding had taken its toll.

He has adult children now. Children with lives of their own. He’s old, and getting older, and the world is changing. It’s not perfect, he knows, but it’s so much better than the one he had grown up in. There’s still people like Jimmy and Robbie Moore out there hurting people like him, but this generation refuses to keep quiet or hidden. Alan is damn proud of them; he may wear a mask, but those activists? The ones who stood up and made themselves heard over the years and the ingrained belief that they were lesser because of how they were born or who they loved? Who refused to stay down despite everyone telling them to?

They’re the real damn heroes.

Alan wishes he was half as brave as them.

As it stands, he’s making the truth known. He’s coming clean, and it feels like the rush of adrenaline that comes with flying, that swoop in his stomach as his feet leave the ground. Telling Jen and Todd the truth had felt so,  so wrong, but so right at the same time. He’s an old man now; he’d been lying and hiding since before they had been born, and still they didn’t care. They loved him regardless of it.

They had called him brave.

Alan doesn’t feel very brave, not after all these years, but he does feel free.

It’s after telling his kids that Alan finds himself Keystone City, in front of a familiar little townhouse that Alan is pretty sure he knows better than his own apartment. He lets himself in like he always does, and wanders in, mind feeling like it’s moving as fast as Jay runs.

“Alan?” Jay is in the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel and looking soft and domestic, dressed down in slacks and a t-shirt he remembers Barry getting him as a gag on Father’s Day. He’s as beautiful as the day Alan had first met him. His hair is whiter, sure, and his face more lined, but his blue eyes are as kind and warm as ever, and standing in the golden light of the sunset, Alan wants to sweep him into his arms and kiss him.

God - Alan is getting sentimental in his old age.

Propping a hip against the counter, Jay folds the towel over his shoulder, studying him with a gentle sort of care that comes easily to the speedster, and Alan finds his worries melting away. “Everything alright?”

“I told Jen and Todd.” Alan blurts out before he can stop himself. Jay makes it so easy, to tell him everything, to bear his soul and put his heart in his hands. He knows that Jay would protect it, just as he protects everything else. He’d treat his heart with gentle love and sweet care that Alan still doesn’t know if he deserves to have. “I told them. About me.” His eyes slide away from Jay’s, a habit developed after years of not telling anyone.

After years of hiding.

“Alan.” Jay’s voice, deep and kind with the smooth Midwestern drawl Alan had first fallen in love with as a young man, draws him back. It grounds him in ways that Alan can’t describe. “I’m proud of you.”

“I love you.” He whispers, like a promise, and it’s loud in the bubble of space-time that is Alan-and-Jay. He’s never said it before, not out loud. He had been too scared to let it pass his lips or form on his tongue. Jay had been so much more patient than Alan ever deserved, letting him lead him on for as long as he had.

He can see the surprised delight in Jay’s eyes, the stunned part of his lips, and Alan wishes he could have been brave enough to say it years ago.

“I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years.” His voice is louder now, but it still shakes, and if possible, everything about Jay gets softer.

“I love you too.” The speedster says without hesitation, and Alan steps closer, into the bubble of his space, feeling the sparks of static electricity dance across his skin as it always does this close to Jay.

“Can I kiss you?” He breathes reverently, and Jay laughs faintly, gently taking his face in his hands, warm skin against his jaw.

“Do you really need to ask?” Jay teases, and Alan’s lips quirk.

“Yeah.” He says, like a sap, “I like it when you say yes.”

Jay’s blue eyes sparkle. “Well then,” he says with good humour, “my answer will always be yes, Alan.”

Like a fish on a line, Alan is reeled in, letting Jay pull him closer and tilt his head, before he presses their lips together.

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 1 - for it is important that awake people be awake

Next chapter >    

AO3  (go to AO3 for complete list of tags for this fic)

Masterlist

(TW: violence/graphic imagery, guns, snakes, fear)

(The title for this chapter comes from “A Ritual to Read to Each Other” by William E. Stafford.)

Roman's gut twisted painfully and his eyes snapped open. He sat up. His room was still dark, the heavy curtains blocking out whatever moonlight would have fallen across his bed, but he didn’t need it. He’d lain his clothes and equipment out before going to sleep a few hours earlier. The routine was so ingrained into his mind at this point, light became arbitrary.

Roman’s movements were almost mechanical as he folded back the covers and slipped into his shirt, pants, and armor with long-earned efficiency. The armor was a gift from Logan, who stood as the only person Roman had ever told about his nightly endeavors. It was made of a tough but flexible leather that wasn’t as protective as metal, but far quieter—which Roman found worked to his advantage most nights. Logan, being the obsessive problem-solver he so often was, hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the curse. It had been sealed in Roman’s own blood—against his will, of course, but it made no difference. According to the dragon witch, whose brilliant plan it was to have Roman fight a demon for the rest of his life, had told him that he was the only one capable of keeping it at bay.

Yeah, right, he thought sourly as he wrapped a ruby amulet around his bicep. Another “gift” from that blasted dragon witch. Roman had given up pestering her for a remedy for the curse several months ago, finding the long haul up into the mountains far too much work just to be rejected. He couldn’t even kill the stupid thing. It was immortal. He could weaken it, sure, and make things easier for himself for a few weeks, but it always came back.

Sometimes stronger.

What did the dragon witch expect to happen? Eventually, he would die. Whether it was the demon’s doing was yet to be seen, but he definitely wouldn’t outlive it. What then? Would she simply pass the curse on to another? Continue the viscous cycle of torment? Stop complaining, he scolded himself, pressing his lips into a thin line and cinching the leather guard tight about his forearm. It’s been a year. You should be over this by now. 

Picking up the pace, Roman holstered his two pistols on either side of his belt, slipped a dagger into a sheath secured around his stomach beneath his shirt, and picked up his sword. He was best with the blade, though he wasn’t foolish enough to go in without back up weaponry. He despised the guns most of all. They were loud and clunky and gave him a headache to use, but more often than not they got him out of perilous situations, so he kept them. The sword was heavy, though Roman was so used to it now, it felt comfortably weighted.

Doing a quick double-check to make sure he had everything he needed, he opened his door and stepped out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Roman had grown accustomed to traversing their house in silence, dreading the possibility of Patton or Virgil discovering him sneaking out loaded with weapons. He turned a corner, about to head down the stairs, when he noticed a warm amber glow trailing up the wall. Someone was still up—or they’d left the light on, at least. Was Virgil having trouble sleeping again? Or was Patton indulging in some late-night baking? Both options were likely. Could Roman manage to sneak by without being noticed? Thoughts raced through his head a mile a minute. Something inside him pulled, like someone plucking a bow string drawn dangerously taut. The curse compelled him forward, and he nearly stumbled down the steps as he pulled back. He had no choice; he had to leave. Could he sneak out his room window? It was a long way to the ground and the only tree was by Patton’s bedroom window. He’d risk injuring himself by jumping, which could put his life in jeopardy later. He’d have to try and sneak past whoever was out there. It wasn’t worth having to face the demon with a twisted ankle. Perhaps he could knock them out and convince them it was all a dream? He shook his head. He couldn’t attack any of them. It would eat him up inside.

Slowly, he peeked out over the banister. A short reading lamp sat on an end table beside the couch, barely light enough to keep the shadows in the corners of the room at bay. Bathed in gold light, the figure in the chair turned out to be Logan, hands clasped in his lap and eyes staring vaguely at the wall, deep in thought. Relaxing somewhat, Roman straightened and continued down the stairs as quietly as possible. The third one down was always squeaky. Logan hadn’t noticed him yet, and even as Roman approached, he stared at the wall, chewing on his bottom lip and mouthing silent thoughts to himself. Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“Logan,” he said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Logan jumped, startled. “Wha—oh, it’s you. I was wondering when you’d leave.”

“What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”

Logan cocked his head to the side, considering. “The sun sets at nine p.m. and rises at seven-fifteen a.m.. By all accounts, we are less than halfway into the night,” he said, gesturing to the otherwise dark and empty house. He cleared his throat. “I, er, wanted to see you off before you... left.”

“I’ll be back before the sun rises, Lo,” Roman said, waving a dismissive hand and trying to hide the strain in his voice. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you can’t stay up like this every night.”

“I think you’ll find there are many things I can do,” Logan said, his normal sternness hardening into something akin to anger. “One being making sure you arrive back home in one piece. Are you positive I cannot accompany you? I’m sure there are options we haven’t explored yet.”

“Logan, you—“ Roman tripped forward into Logan as the curse tugged at him once again, endlessly insistent. Logan caught him, but Roman quickly righted himself again, struggling to keep the pain from showing on his face. He cleared his throat. “You know I can’t do that. You being there would only distract me and put me in more danger. I’d be too worried about you getting hurt.”

Logan studied his face for a moment before sighing and letting him go. “Very well, but you better come back.”

Roman put on a smile, chuckling. “Of course I will. Have a little faith, Lo.”

“I shall try,” he muttered as Roman opened the front door. He glanced back one last time only to see Logan lower himself back into the arm chair and lose himself in pained thought.

                                                  * * * * * * * * * *

The forest was only two blocks away from their house, so Roman didn’t have to walk very far. He’d devised a route through the neighborhood that led him behind houses and between backyard fences to lessen the probability of someone spotting him waltzing around dressed like a walking armory. Most nights, however, were largely uneventful save the occasional barking dog. The sudden noise used to scare Roman.

Now, he had bigger things to be scared of.

The forest dampened every noise as soon as Roman stepped through the tree line. Though he could still see civilization through the trees, he felt a thousand miles from any sort of help were something to happen. The curse wouldn't allow him to leave until the first signs of dawn—he would know, he'd tested it. Many times. The beginning was always the most dangerous part. The demon knew exactly where he was, and at what time he'd be there. The trick would be escaping into the darkness of the woods and losing him along the way. He shook off the nerves breeding in the pit of his stomach, and trudged deeper into the darkness, sword at the ready.

Ah, the darkness. He’d brought a flashlight only once before, and had barely escaped the night with his life. Turns out, a bright beam of light does more to give oneself away than to help locate a possible predator. He never made the mistake again. Since then, he’d become quite familiar with the dark. However, it was less of an old friend and more an impartial entity desiring entertainment regardless of who ended up on the wrong end of it. He took no solace in it, but rather treated it with deference and wary reverence.

Something shifted in the trees above him. Roman froze. Dense fog clung to the ground, curling around his legs like ghosts desperate for living touch. The moon was nothing more than a sliver, denying Roman what little light he usually counted on. The heavy slithering bounced around him, as if it couldn’t decide which direction it came from. Roman pressed his back up against a tree and held his sword in front of him.

“So brave,” a chilling voice hissed. Roman’s stomach dropped. “Have you not bored of this constant battle, yet, little prince?” Roman kept his eyes on the canopies and his mouth shut. He’d never figured out why both the dragon witch and the demon called him a prince, but he’d rather that than his own name. Roman refused to give it that power.

“I tire of this endless game. You drag out the inevitable,” the demon sighed. It sounded vaguely human, though if that human had swallowed shards of glass and gargled with shrapnel. The sound of the beast dragging its enormous body through the branches still eluded Roman, jumping around his head like he wore headphones that kept shorting out.

“Why?” it breathed so close to Roman’s ear, he could feel it. He tensed, swinging his sword around. It sunk into something solid. It took Roman a split second to realize that it wasn't a giant serpentine head, but the tree trunk. He tugged. It didn't budge. Terror swept through him in the same second as a grating laugh echoed around the trees. He abandoned the sword and hadn't so much as taken a step away when a wall of cold, hard scales slammed him back into the tree. He could feel the creature's muscles undulating and constricting beneath the smooth plating, slowly crushing him into the wood. It was dark, yes, but Roman had seen it before on nights with a full moon: a gold scaled beast with a body several times thicker than the trees and a head the size of a small car. Eyes like pools of molten lead the size of Roman's whole face and fangs longer than his arm. He'd only been caught by it a few times in the last year. Each time he'd nearly died. Though, he was ashamed to admit, they didn't usually happen quite this fast.

He'd definitely set a new personal record.  

Luckily, he'd managed to pin his arms in front of his chest, so he could somewhat resist the creature's constricting. He took short shallow breaths and pushed outward with all of his strength, but it was a futile effort. The constricting halted, and the monster lowered it's head to meet Roman's eyes.

"Tell me why."

"You think I want to be here?" he spat. "A dragon witch cursed me."

"Dragon witch?"

"Yes, the dragon witch named Ursula. You know, after a whole year of barely five words to me, you're suddenly really chatty," Roman said derisively, hoping to distract the beast from the fact that he was slowly reaching for one of his pistols. Not exactly easy when your arms are being crushed by a gigantic reptile, but progress was being made nonetheless.

"All this time and she still holds onto that ridiculous nickname. You'd think she'd have learned to imprison me with more than a sniveling child," it hissed, baring its enormous fangs. Roman paled, wriggling his arm toward the holster a little faster now. It reared up its head and tightened its hold. Roman cried out, the air slowly forced out of his lungs. He saw stars.

"I am no troublesome pixie that can be held over by a simple curse. She will pay for this insul—"

BANG!

Roman drew and fired the pistol faster than he'd ever before. It hit just below the demon's eye, ricocheting off its scales and off into the night. The snake hissed angrily and released him, retreating in a spiral up the tree and into the canopies once more. It knew better than to stay in close range while the guns were out, regardless of it's tough armor. Roman may not like guns, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use one. So far, the mouth and the eyes were the only weak spots he'd located.

He dropped to the ground, heaving and retching. Roman scrambled to his feet. There was no time for recovery. He tore his sword from the tree and sprinted deeper into the forest. He needed to find shelter or somewhere to hide. While he couldn't see the serpent as well when it was in the trees, it couldn't move nearly as fast. If he managed to lose it, he may just have a chance.

Calm down, Roman. You've been doing this for three hundred and sixty-five nights, and you haven't lost a single one. Don't make tonight any different.

The battle was nowhere near over, and the night had only just begun.

                                                 * * * * * * * * * *

Roman fumbled for the key beneath the place mat. It was almost five-thirty in the morning, and though the sun hadn't technically risen yet, his curse had seen fit to release him as soon as the first hints of light played at the horizon. It was still relatively dark, the skyline glowing a pale blue-green against the starry indigo above it. His ribs ached, his knees and elbows were scraped, his clothes and face were streaked with mud, and he was covered in blood up to his elbows. Not his own. Last he checked, his blood was red, not black. It was the demon's, from when he'd driven his sword through the underside of its mouth. He hadn't seen his reflection yet, but he could imagine the horror show that was his appearance. The stuff never really dried, either. It remained sticky like tar and was an absolute nightmare to try and get out of the leather armor Logan made him—not to mention his own hair.

Eventually, his sloppy fingers found the spare key and managed to stick it into the lock. He turned it, replaced it beneath the mat, and pushed the door open. The house smelled of cinnamon and happiness, due in great part to Patton's baking yesterday. The lamp still sat on in the living room, illuminating Logan's sleeping features. His glasses hung askew across his nose and some fancy-pants scientific book lay open on his lap. Roman closed the front door behind him as softly as he could manage, then froze with his foot inches above the floor. Virgil had just mopped last night. If Roman took one step off the front rug, he'd track mud, dirt, and demon blood through the entire house. Cursing under his breath, he leaned forward, reaching for the coat closet. He nearly fell on his face and woke the entire house, but in the end he'd acquired what he'd been looking for: his old jacket. It was worn, fraying, and impossibly comfortable, and would do exactly what Roman needed it to. He could always wash it later, right? Laying it open on the floor, Roman stepped onto it and proceeded to shuffle his way down the hall toward the stairs. True, he could have simply taken off his boots, but they were laced up tight and sticky with blood he didn't have the patience to deal with in the middle of the house. He'd see to it once he got to the bathroom and didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him. He passed by Logan, who had fallen asleep in the arm chair, snoring softly.

It was a long, tenuous journey, but he eventually made it to the base of the stairs. There, he was met with a new problem. How was he supposed to make it upstairs on his jacket?

"Roman?" Logan muttered groggily, squinting at him.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," Roman whispered, waving a hand at him.

"What's all over your—is that blood?"

"Yes, but be quiet!" Roman hissed. "You're going to wake up everyone else!"

Logan stood. "What do you mean yes? Are you hurt?" He reached a curious hand out toward the black goo covering his arms.

"Don't touch it," Roman snapped. His temper was worn thin after the night he'd had, and the last thing he needed right now was a scientific analysis of demon blood. He sighed, "Sorry, Lo. I just... need to get to the bathroom. Could you get some towels or something to lay on the stairs so I can—" he started, but Logan apparently had other ideas. In one swift motion, he hooked an arm under Roman's knees and scooped him up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" Roman demanded, "You're going to get it all over you."

"Irrelevant," Logan said, though his nose crinkled slightly at the stench of death covering his friend. "I shall simply carry you upstairs. It will be faster and more efficient. Don't worry about the jacket, I'll take care of it. Now," he shifted his grip, "are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yeah," Roman said, though it came out as a strangled gasp. The way Logan was holding him put pressure on a bruise he'd gotten while the overgrown worm had tried smothering him in a swath of mud. Logan cocked an eyebrow and didn't move. Sighing dejectedly, Roman instructed him where he could place his hands to cause him the least amount of pain. After a few moments of readjusting, Logan set off up the stairs. Roman was impressed at how steady Logan was despite carrying his entire weight up the stairs.

"Watch the wall," he grunted, and Roman tucked his feet in to keep from leaving streaks of mud down the hallway. They passed Patton's room, then Virgil's, then arrived at the bathroom. Logan set him down on the tile flooring, promising to fetch him a clean pair of clothes and a bag to place all of the blood spattered articles in. After one last concerned look, he closed the door and left Roman alone in the bathroom.

He grimaced as he glanced at his reflection. Roman looked like he'd been run over by a garbage truck. Blood, dark and glossy as pitch, speckled his face and neck and clumped in his hair. It covered both forearms up to his elbows, as if he'd dipped his arms in black paint. Contrastingly, his own crimson blood had dried across his upper lip and chin from the bloody nose he'd received when flung into a tree. Sickly gray mud clung to the rest of him like plaster. Carefully, he peeled his clothes off and tossed them into a pile near the door. He'd had hopes of the washing machine saving them, but looking at them in a pathetic heap on the floor, he doubted anything could be done. He'd have to burn them later.

Returning his attention to the mirror, his throat constricted. His torso was mottled with a myriad of purple and green bruises, or maybe that was just more mud. They certainly felt like bruises. His eyes trailed down his shoulders, then came to rest on the grimy amulet still tied to his upper arm. He turned it over in his hand, wiping the dirt from its surface.

Think of it as insurance, the dragon witch had written in a nice, instructional letter on how to handle his curse. Insurance that you don't go dying on me too soon. Any injuries you sustain while wearing the amulet will heal as soon as you take it off. You won't even need to sleep, my prince. Easy as that.

Scowling, he undid the clasp and pulled the necklace from his arm. Immediately, burning cold energy coursed through his body. He bowed forward and rested his elbows on the counter, biting his fist to keep from making a sound. It took a considerable amount of self control not to collapse to the floor and itch his gradually healing skin bloody. It felt like a million spiders with needles for legs crawling around inside him.

Some healing magic, Roman thought venomously, breathing hard through his nose. Feels worse than healing normally.

But it was faster. And Roman couldn't risk Patton or Virgil finding out simply because they touched a tender spot. There was a knock at the door.

"Roman? I've got some new clothes and a trash bag, can I come in?"

"Hold on," he choked through gritted teeth. The sound was more like a whimper than Roman would have wished, but there were far more pressing matters for him to deal with than a measly voice crack. An entire year of this, and he still wasn't used to the feeling. How pathetic. He stumbled into the shower and pulled the curtain.

"All right," he said, leaning heavily against the tiled wall. He wasn't going to pass out. He been in worse shape on previous nights. This was nothing. Roman heard Logan open the door slowly, then silence. He heard the faint scrape of him picking up the amulet. Roman had explained its purpose to him the night he'd found out. Mainly because Logan had demanded to know how he wasn't a pile of mush every single night. No one could take a beating like that every twelve hours and still be walking, let alone acting like nothing was going on.

"Are you going to be okay, Roman? Do you require any assistance?" He came closer to the curtain.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Logan." Please don't look, you'll only worry. Don't look.

A pause. "Very well. I will await you downstairs when you are done cleaning up." Another long silence as Roman clenched and unclenched his fist as the healing magic completed its circuit around his body. The feeling eventually faded into a dull prickling. Logan sighed, set the amulet back down on the counter, and left.

Roman let out a breath and cranked the faucet as far to the hot side as it would go. The water was scalding, but he didn't care. The demon blood slowly dissolved from his skin and hair, swirling down the drain in a disgusting black soup of mud and dirt. He wished he could wash it all away, scrub the demon from his pores and the pain from behind his ears.

Clean water streamed down Roman's face in the place of the tears he did not shed.

Thanks for reading!! You can find the rest of this fic on AO3, here.

[iwantutobehapppier]

#1 Crush Pt 2

Pairing: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Reader

Summary: After that wet dream Bucky tried his best to keep his distance from you, not sure he could control himself. However, that isn’t very easy in such a tight space, especially if your stay is extended. 

Warning: 18+ Smut, a little bit of smut haha, dirty thoughts, pinning?

Word Count: 1,250

A/N: Sorry this is a day late, yesterday was just no good for me. Ended up being a drabble less sex in this one than the most, my bad! Anyway, Happy Belated 7th Night of Chanukah. Here it is a continuation of #1 Crush. 

Bucky’s fingers twitched resting on his thigh as the two of you sat at the tiny kitchen table eating breakfast in silence. It had been two days since Bucky’s nap emission fiasco and since he had kept a pretty good distance from you. Fearful of what idiotic thing he might say or do next.

Just as you went to say something the SAT phone on the living room side table rang. Bucky shot up and rushed to get it, practically sprinting away form you. You frowned at the sight, he had been acting so strange since the first night. You weren’t sure exactly what had happened, only that when he came out for dinner he had new pants on and a soft blush on his cheeks all night.

“Bucky,” He breaths out answering the phone You watch him nod his head in affirmation of whatever the person was saying on the other end. It was utterly charming and adorable he would do such, the person on the phone unable to see it. Bitting your lips you had to stifle your giggle.

“What?!” His outburst pulled you from your admiration. “Another 48 hours before extraction?” His tone was exasperated. “I don’t know if there is enough food to last-”

You frowned, these houses were stocked to last up to four months. As if your thoughts were conveyed by the person the phone Buck audibly sighed.

“Right right, I know.” Silence once more. “Okay, see you soon.” Hitting the end call button on the SAT phone he placed it back in its original spot. Breakfast forgotten Bucky sat on the couch rubbing his forehead in contemplation. He wasn’t sure if he could last the final day, let alone the 2 more days now tacked on. 

You take a tentative step towards him wringing your hands in front of you, unsure what could cause such a sour mood, yes it sucked to be stuck here longer but did it really warrant such a dramatic reaction? Enough was enough, clearly, there was something wrong with him and you weren’t going to be treated poorly because he was in a piss poor mood. 

“Did I do something to upset you Bucky?” Bucky looked up noticing how close you were to him, your knee practically brushed his bent leg. He wasn’t sure he could handle much contact with you, considering what a simple dream did to him. His brows furrowed in confusion at your words. 

“What? No you could never-” He was quick to correct this misunderstanding, you could never do anything wrong, it was him, always him but you wouldn’t let him. 

“It’s just that.” With a pause you sit next to him on the couch, you notice his fingers twitch in response, “You haven’t really talked to me since we got here and-” 

“Listen you’re fine.” Bucky sighed and scooted from you but was impeded by the couch armrest. Why did you have to sit so close to him? “I’m just- It’s just that..” His words trailed off, the intensity of your attention on him, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, unconsciously he licked his lips at the thought. Oh and lips, how could he think of anything but how tempting your lips looked? 

“It’s just what?” You placed an encouraging hand on his knee. He feels his throat tighten at the warmth of your fingers through his pants. Looking down at your hand then back up, could he just go for broke and tell you the truth?

“I can’t be in the same room without wantin’ to kiss you,” Bucky’s words quicken, he can feel his palms sweat “And I know a dame like you wouldn’t see much in a guy like me given who I am and what I’ve done but I just-” He stutters like a damn fool, a fool head over heels for you. “I can’t help what I want.”

“I want that too” Bucky swore he was hallucinating, or at the very least asleep again.

“You do?” Not bothering to answer you leaned over and kiss him. 

The kiss was better than his dream could have ever been. Your pillowy lips pressed to his was heaven on earth. The way your breasts pushed against his chest sent a tantalizing tingle down his spine. His hands wrapped around your back, pulling into his lap and tighten around you, wanted to mold you to him.

And he did want to. He wanted to keep you with him forever, this feeling, this elation he felt in your presence. You didn’t look at him with shadows of the past as Steve did, you don’t look at him as a forced tag along, like Sam does at times. You don’t even give him worried glances, like those who read the SHIELD/Hydra dump often do. Instead, you looked at him as a man. 

A hesitant slip of your tongue along his bottom lip was rewarded with his hands trailing down your back to grip that ass he had been dreaming of. When his tongue met yours you let out a soft whimper, his fingers kneading into your supple behind. He began to rock you against him, the wait and constant desire you leading to equivalent of a pressure cooker of passion unleashed on you. Bucky would have you whole if you’d let him. He hoped you’d let him.

Nipping your bottom lip, Bucky captured your bottom lip between his giving a gentle suck. Kisses trail down your mouth, chin, and neck until his face is nuzzling into the dip between shoulder and neck. He inhaled deeply, his senses overloaded by your scent he can’t help but push your hips harder on his ever-growing arousal.

“Bucky,” his name passes your lip like a prayer if he could hear you say his name in such reverence every day he’d gladly do whatever you asked of him. 

“Let me love you,” his voice heavy with passion against your neck. 

“Yes,” barely a whisper but he hears it.

Suddenly you were on top of him, the only barrier between the two of you, your moistened panties. His cock rubbed against them adding pre-cum to the mess you had made.  Bucky’s soft blue eyes admired every curve of your body, hands cupping your breasts, moving to your hips. Pulling your panties too the side, impatient to wait any longer you slowly raise your hips and line his pulsing cock to your entrance.

Slowly you take him, Bucky’s fingers twitched on your hips, tightening to a point that will certainly leave bruises. His eyes entranced on the sight of your delicious tight heat taking him inch by inch. 

“Such a good girl,” He praised when you were full of him, your hands on his abdomen to keep you up. While you gave your body time to adjust to him you yelp at the feeling of a pinch on your ass.

“Hey!” You slapped his chest in retaliation.

“Sorry babe,” His tone anything but apologetic, “Had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

“Aren’t you supposed to pinch yourself?” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I’d rather pinch you than me,” Bucky lifted you up and almost off his cock before dropping you back down. A chorus of moans fell between the two of you. How had he gone so long denying himself this? One thing was certain, he had a good idea on how the next few days were going to pan out. Two extra days may not be enough.

[lots-of-little-pink-clouds]

The Princess Who Will Never Wake Chapter 3

Summary: Lettow finds out about Aila.

Characters: Mainly Lettow for this chapter. Lots of Aila/Lettow angst.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724877/chapters/71200482

Notes: ... I, uh, totally didn't forget about Riga. I swear, I didn't! (Rip Riga, we hardly knew you) She's here now, so it doesn't matter!

Anyways, I thought about ending it with Lettow in the caves holding Aila's ashes, but that felt too rushed. Then I thought about ending it with someone else's POV or the aftermath of when Lettow returned to Tucson, but I figured this would work better. This particular story is about Lettow, after all.

I wanted to give him some sort of closure by physically going to Aila's tomb and then set up stuff for later, why he stayed and what not. In this case, he'll be actively looking for her killer by using his resources as Prince (which is how he discovers Julian was involved). Unfortunately, it can't be his top priority, no matter how much he wants it to be (Princes are very busy running their cities and he's also focused on maintaining his image within the Camarilla).

I hope I did it justice.

June 7th 2009

Aila's resting place was not far from the city, a two-hour drive at most. It would have been wiser to leave the next night instead of risking the sunrise. Dove would have been more than willing to accommodate him and readjust his schedule. As it was, Lettow barely managed to hide his car in a safe location and sink into the earth before daylight came. Yet despite the overwhelming urge to sleep, thoughts of I need to hurry and I hope I'm not too late and Please, please, please flitter across his mind, keeping him awake long after the sun rises.

The heat of the Arizona sands eventually lull him into a doze. Fragments of memories and turquoise-scattered dreams wake him again and again and again, their familiarity comforting and haunting.

Lettow fully wakes as soon as the sun sets, hands shaking, undead heart thumping, and so, so hungry. Rising out of the ground, he finds Riga waiting for him. She perches on the roof of his car with her head cocked judgementally.

"I apologize for leaving you behind, my friend," he says. "I was in a hurry." He grabs treats from the glove compartment and feeds his eagle companion. She accepts the peace offering, nipping at his fingers. "Now come. There is someplace I need to be."

Lettow gets back into his car and drives, Riga flying overhead as he throttles down the deserted road.

Eventually, he arrives at his destination.

Aila chose a series of caves just outside Tucson to be her resting place. It was only within the last twenty years or so that humans built a warehouse above it. The original builders evidently knew of the caverns below their investment, as they decided to capitalize on the additional storage space. Luckily, they didn't go deeper.

Lettow acquired it as soon as he became Prince, but never used it for anything. Instead, the warehouse sat abandoned, a silent tomb for its lone resident who should have remained undisturbed.

Until now.

The first thing he notices are the faint car tracks in the sand. If Lettow hadn't been looking for something, he probably wouldn't have seen it. If he'd been a night later, the tracks might have been gone entirely, covered by dust kicked up by a desert breeze. Dread pools in his gut as he gets out of his car and makes his way closer. Riga settles on the roof of the warehouse to keep watch.

The entrance to the warehouse was pried open. He jogs over and places a hand on the rusted metal door. Bent and misshapen. No claw marks though. A crowbar?

He slips inside. The moon shines through the warehouse's windows, hitting steel beams that cast long shadows across the wide, open room. He creeps along the warehouse floor to the backwall. Embedded into it are a series of doors. Lettow skips the men's and women's restrooms, the two offices, and the lounge, and stops in front of the door at the far end. Opening it, he descends into the warehouse's basement.

Lettow lets vitae pool in his mouth. He pushes past the ravenous hunger, focusing and thinking I have to keep moving, I have to find her. His Sight helps him navigate past old storage containers and further down into the dark cavernous depths of the warehouse.

He knows this path like the back of his hand. He remembers when he helped carry her coffin - more of a large crate, really, less suspicious that way - as far down into the caves as they could possibly go. He travels down it again and again in his dreams, hoping beyond hope that one day, Aila will wake at the end of them. But she never does.

Why did she leave me?

Why wasn't I enough?

Am I not worth living for?

The thoughts cling to him like a shroud and he falters. He closes his eyes, pauses, takes a deep breath to calm himself.

She's fine, he thinks. She has to be.

Lettow continues down the path, hunger gnawing at his mind and desperation in his step.

He nearly trips over the crate as he turns the next corner. A loud and hollow Thunk! echoes throughout the caves. Lettow's hands grasps the edge of the opened wooden box to regain his balance when the realization hits him.

No...

He looks into the crate.

Nothing.

Nothing except ashes.

He pushes himself backwards, falling to the ground, frantically looking around the area for something, anything to indicate she was alive.

"Aila!" he cries.

His voice is the only one he hears.

"AILA!"

Lettow crawls back towards the crate. He reaches inside with shaking hands. Gently, he scoops up some of the ashes. For a long time, he stares at them, so long that his Sight fades away, leaving him alone in the darkness.

Then, he holds them close to his chest and cries silently.

Lettow doesn't know how long he sits there. Eventually he pushes himself to his feet. He forces himself to let go, to carefully place Aila's ashes back into the crate and make his way up to the surface. He returns with a bucket from his car. Reverently, he transfers Aila's remains into it. Once he's certain he left nothing behind, he carries her out of her tomb.

Riga awaits him, flying down from the warehouse roof to perch on his shoulder. She croons and nuzzles the side of his head. Lettow reaches up and runs his fingers through her feathers.

With his eagle at his side, Lettow walks away from the warehouse and out into the desert. The moon hangs high above, illuminating his path. He climbs to the top of a sand dune and stares out over the vast expanse towards the eastern horizon.

A memory comes to him: him and Aila, wandering through a similar desert halfway across the world.

"Do you remember that time, Aila?"

He gently places the bucket onto the ground beside him. Looking out into the distance, Lettow shoves his hands into his pants pockets, the white fabric below his knees stained with Beau's dried blood.

"It feels like a lifetime ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was looking forward to eternity with you. But fate had other plans."

He swallows.

"I'm sorry," Lettow whispers. "I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you. And I'm sorry I couldn't stop this from happening. I promise you, Aila. I'll find who did this."

And then what?

What would he do once he was face-to-face with her killer?

He doesn't know.

Lettow wrenches his gaze away from the horizon. Kneeling, he scoops up some of Aila's ashes. He closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath, and lets go. The desert breeze carries her far, far away.

He hopes she'll eventually make it back to her homeland.

Once all of her ashes are gone from the bucket, Lettow returns to his car. Riga hops off his shoulder and onto the roof as he collapses into the driver's seat. Closing the door, he starts the engine.

His phone buzzes.

Lettow grabs the mobile device from the passenger's seat and checks his messages. Several missed calls and unread texts. He sighs heavily.

A Prince's job is never done.

[douxie-casperan]

I was hit by a scene from the Trollhunter!Douxie AU earlier and I need it out my brain. This is not the entire thing mind, I’m afraid I’m gonna keep what happens after this to my chest in case I end up using it somewhere but having this exist will be enough to remind me what it was in the future. Enjoy!

~

The way the revered elder of Trollmarket could so easily sneak up on even Archie when he truly wished to was honestly alarming and every single time he could feel his skin bristle with goose bumps at the sudden boom of voice in his ear or tap of staff upon stone. It was looking increasingly unlikely he'd ever get used to it and from the way Zoe shot him a look that read, seriously? it was a pretty shared sentiment that did nothing for the nerves when they were playing at being little more than modern teenagers with a pet.

"Trollhunter, a word in private if I may. Your companions will stay here until your return," Vendel utters in that voice of his that commanded respect earned by his station. Before the wizard can even think of an answer to give back in turn they are already strolling away at a steady pace back up the pathway to the Heartstone with the expectation of being followed without a need to prod further. Letting out a defeated sigh knowing there was no point to even try arguing on this one, Douxie stands a bit closer so that the current cat can transfer shoulders easier since this particular invitation appeared to be denied to even his shadow which is a sting he'll have to bear for now. If all hell went and broke loose at least they'd have one another's backs.

"Alright you heard him you two, better behave yourselves," he says giving him a gentle scratch on the head once draped comfortably enough as though he belonged completely without shame.

"Pfft we'll wait to start the riot until you get back, promise."

They're given a dramatic eye roll before he is quick to catch up and fall into step not wanting to cause any insult by making him wait whilst ensuring to walk just behind as you are meant to with those of a higher status than yourself along with folding his hands out of sight for it would seem tapping into old habits as naturally as breathing. If it was considered a bothersome trait it is certainly not voiced aloud.

"Any reason you just want me alone, sir?" He asks trying to dampener the worst of his curiosity to simply get a huffed noise back as though it should be obvious to even a mere child.

"Cats are not the only one with ears, I trust you are well aware of this fact."

"... Ah."

The remainder of the walk finishes in silence beyond the sounds of their footsteps and the gentle thrum of the essence of fire captured in living crystal until they both disappear from the sight of his closest friends. His mind whirls with questions and there merest hint of panic for what he might be blindly going into without any form of support other than the Amulet currently sitting in the pocket of his hoodie. Already he begins to map out an escape route should it come to that.

 It could be counted on one hand the amount of times he's had the privilege of coming to the workshop, despite the job title the trolls were surprisingly skittish about letting mere humans anywhere near the place like a bad omen would be beckoned by considering it. The low whistle passed his lips before it could be stopped in awe of how the colours seemed even brighter and gentle warmth vibrated strong though instead of admonishment it is only treated with amusement. Surprisingly Douxie is allowed to wander a little, making sure not to touch because you really shouldn't be, looking between the facets and stone with almost childish awe. It is only when a light cough is heard that he snaps back to attention and comes to stand before the Elder again a mite sheepish but not regretful.

"Before I give the reason I summoned you here I wish to convey that repeatedly you have proven yourself knowing the value of secrecy and as the Elder of Heartstone Trollmarket I can only reiterate the appreciation for the discretion despite the difficulties it must cause to you upon the Surface. I misjudged his choice as error though I hope you can forgive and understand why that conclusion so struck me," is stated using the official tone seldom used beyond addresses. In a breath, the milky gaze turns serious and pins him down to the spot.

"While many of my compatriots may be blind to a truth before their very eyes, I however am not. It is through this same curtsey I give you this privacy to state your case."

Eyes widen a fraction and with not knowing how best to react he simply feigns ignorance while desperately trying to ignore the oppressive aura coming from the larger troll's presence making his heart beat faster.

"I'm sorry...?"

"Boy, did you really believe I would be so ignorant to not recognise a soul bond mark when I saw one? Trolls may not dabble in the kinds of magic you humans do nor to the extent but our hands are dipped into the same waters." The tip of the staff makes a resounding bang on the floor making him flinch.

"And I most certainly hope you do not consider me a fool and attempt to lie to my face beyond this point, wizard."

Fuzzbuckets

[twistedapple]

Through These Eyes

Here it is! I’m very nervous about it though, since I’m currently training to work mutiple points of view at the same time, and switching from one POV to the other is not an easy task, both intellectually and emotionally. Bonus point for handling a canon character and needing to be careful about not having him out of character and feeling just like himself in regard to the way his thoughts and feelings are conveyed... Anyway, this is a very interesting exercise, practice will make it perfect getting more canon infos as well lol Bianca’s profile, Bianca’s backstory

Recommended playlist: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Without further ado...

---------- 

He never really minded being on his own, and there were times when staying in this large castle still felt oppressive, even the usual company of his supervisor and various servants wouldn’t abate the feeling. In those moments, he would sneak outside and go for a little exploratory stroll. The Valley, as secluded as it was, still had its fair share of inhabitants and locations – his favourite were the abandoned ones. It wasn’t the most princely thing to do but he couldn’t care less, he just wanted to have his bit of fun and quiet – besides, that sort of escapism was harmless. Granted, he would consistently be on the receiving end of a sermon once he’d returned – with his position, disappearing without even a guard was deemed reckless. Well, with his position, he could also easily care for himself and escape them anyway, so why bother having them follow him in the first place? Plus he’d probably be tempted to lose them out of sheer mischief. No matter how the issue could be considered, the outcome would be the same. So he left on his own once again to seek a bit of peace, somewhere away from the castle. Where, though? Ah, this area would do, the unkempt garden had an oddly charming and peaceful atmosphere.

Green firefly-like lights slowly disappeared as he made his advance towards the location, following a messy and clearly disused path with the sure foot of a person used to the exercise. The sky was clear and pale moonlight cut a sharp shadow, making his horns look even longer than they already were. The fresh scent of plants was all around him, along with something else, something unexpected. Magic? He couldn’t be fooled on that – after all, he only had to shake one of his hands for bouts of flames and sparks to randomly appear. He remained young and was still learning to properly master his magic, yet his power was immense. So, intrigued rather than worried, he approached the supposedly abandoned place to inspect it further, his curiosity picked. His raised hand glowed with a faint, green light as he was checking specific areas and trying to figure out what was going on. The traces of magic he had found were awfully similar to whatever had caused some strange taint in other parts of the Valley lately, how curious. Then, that’s when he felt he wasn’t alone anymore. He couldn’t see where they were hidden, but he was clearly being observed. Not willing to play any mind game, he stood tall and ordered.

- Show yourself!

Under blue moon, they met. A small, slender silhouette emerged from behind a half ruined wall covered in ivy and he could have almost mistaken her for a human, had it not been for her eyes – cat-like, abnormally bright golden amber eyes shining too much for it to be caused by the pale moonlight. A slithering shadow disappeared behind her as the young woman moved forward, a cheeky smile on her lips. 

- Now that’s a visit I certainly never saw coming. Not even a guard?

His gaze fell on her and he immediately felt a pinch in his chest. Of course, she knew who she was facing. After all, Malleus’ silhouette was too unique to remain unknown. However, his initial reaction – caused by sheer habit – quickly left place to a certain degree of surprise. Was she poking fun at him? Well well well, how brazen. He couldn’t let that pass now, could he?

- Wasn’t this place supposed to be abandoned? It was, last time I strolled around.

- ... Strolled? Well, I settled in fairly recently, was even planning to rearrange a part of the garden to grow some stuff for myself... Look, is there a part of the area you’d rather have me leave untouched? I don’t really care, I’m pretty much passing by anyway and I’m all alone, so I don’t need much room anyway.

At each word she was getting bolder and bolder, and by the time she’d finished talking, Malleus found himself more amused than anything else. People usually weren’t casual towards him, and they certainly wouldn’t dare start a negotiation two seconds after having met him. He didn’t even know who she was yet... The entire situation felt refreshing and this fact alone motivated him to simply go with the flow. He even decided to cut a bit, just to see how much gal she had.

- Negotiating? Do you realise who you’re talking to?

- … Oh yes, I do, but my motivations for this negotiation are better left for when we’re more hm acquainted with each other. So, is it a good enough reason for you to still feel comfortable hanging around? 

The whole situation was getting better by the second and Malleus found himself chuckling at her question. She was there rather illegally, yet she was treating the place as her personal domain and even inviting him. That last bit felt especially precious – he was so used to see people consider him with either reverence or fear, so used to whispers even to his face as people clearly felt uncomfortable in his presence... For a second he had considered pushing her around a bit more but this thought stopped him in his tracks. Yes, it was a proposal too precious to decline.

- Such a gracious host. Though I may need a name at some point...

As their chat progressed, they’d been getting closer to each other, circling slowly. Even though he had decided to not push too far, he still decided for one last test. If she truly wasn’t human, she’d react appropriately – and she did, declaring her identity a secret for now in a teasing manner.

Under blue moon, they kept seeing each other. Despite the place not belonging to her, she acted like a pleasant host towards him and extended a permanent invitation to her humble abode. While Malleus was certainly amused by the nerve she would casually display, he was also most appreciative of that invitation – for someone like him, used to be... Left behind, yet having an increased crave for proper social interactions as time passed, it meant much and more. In exchange for this kindness, he offered to involve her in his own hobbies, chief among them the exploration of abandoned places and the observation of the many gargoyles commonly found on buildings in the Valley of Thorns. It may have seemed like a strange way to have people relate to him, but it was the easiest one for Malleus. He felt like he could slowly pour his feelings out through the use of his past-times – it was simpler than directly expressing his feelings, somehow. Whenever he’d try to do that, he’d stop mid-sentence as discomfort would settle in his chest and cloud his mind, embarrassment weighting in the back of his head. She never judged him for that. In fact, she remained patient and involved in his architectural rants, showing a genuine interest and obvious knowledge of history. She let him open up on his own term and when he started disclosing his personal thoughts, the grace with which she received them and seemed to take them into account never failed to make his heart leap a bit. Similarly, if he had trouble reading her in the beginning, over time it felt easier – as if him opening up pushed her to return the courtesy.

Under blue moon, he started spending nights at her place – to chat, to watch her work her hedge magic, or to simply be alone together. He even became the first person to hear her sing again after years of silence. By that point, he had a name for her – Hilda -, and knew she had taken an interest in his musical skills since the day she’d noticed the calluses on the tip of his fingers. One night, he appeared with a lute and, as Hilda was working on some orders for a nearby human settlement; he started playing some gentle tune he had decided to prepare specifically for this occasion – a small present for her and for no other reason than the fact that it pleased him to do so. Under the watchful eyes of a dark, cat-like beast with eyes of pale fire sitting next to her, soft sounds filled the main room of what Hilda was using as current living quarters and soon enough, a humming joined in and launched a discussion. Malleus couldn’t help notice yet another testimony of what seemed to be a solid education, but chose to keep his questions to himself still. He preferred to have her come forward with whatever she kept to herself, rather than question her – he feared it may make her step away from him and he treasured their relationship too much at this point to risk such a thing. These considerations aside, it was the first time he heard something musically oriented from her and a question still had to be asked once he finished playing his tune.

- You seem well-versed in music, how come you’ve never brought it up before?

- Well, it’s been a while since I last did anything related to it, but your little tune motivated me… It’s the first time I heard it, your creation?

- Yes, if you were to hear me play for the first time, I thought I could make this occasion memorable. Considering your reaction, I take you enjoyed it? I shall do that again at a later date, then.

Under blue moon, they found themselves more and more involved with each other as time passed, to the point Malleus started acting like an accomplice to her occupation of empty places and quiet trade. He would often catch himself giving Hilda long looks, either while silently wondering what could be the reply to her mystery, or simply because he felt like watching her be about whatever task she decided to put her mind to. One of his favourite moments was when she would use her magic and one of those curious magical surges would happen. Most of the time, it seemed more annoying than dangerous and the face she’d make in these moments was amusing – pouting with her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Then there’d be the dangerous times, when he’d find her bandaged and not allowing herself to use magic for some time. In those moments she’d be in a darker mood, though assuring Malleus that he shouldn’t take it personally as it was not directed at him. Still, he’d stay and help her out with what needed be done regarding the trade she had going with the locals. This trade mostly consisted in alchemy and potions for all sorts of things – from improving the growth of crops to various charms made for all sorts of purposes. Interestingly, Hilda’s preferred tasks would be related to the care of the land itself, which she seemed surprisingly knowledgeable about. When Malleus questioned her on the matter, though, she merely replied that her unique magic was tied to the land and that it felt obvious for her to feel concerned about it – whether by caring for the wilderness or helping farmers in their endeavour. And while this trade didn’t provide her with many riches, it seemed to give its own wealth of information and links to a great number of persons. This alone picked Malleus’ interest since it was something he couldn’t do as easily as her for various reasons – people fearing his power, people recognising him in an instant... Meanwhile, Hilda’s overall deceptively human-like appearance, small stature and approachable atmosphere seemed incredibly useful when it came to treating with people – be they humans or faes. When he’d find her dealing with her clients, he’d enjoy observing from afar for all of those reasons; it wasn’t just about fulfilling some sort of curiosity, but to learn a bit as well. In those moments, his own isolation would weight on him too, yet Hilda’s smiles would never fail to abate the feeling. 

Under blue moon their bond grew stronger, before reaching a new point one day, as Malleus was helping her move in a new place he’d suggested. That night, there was a feeling of casual closeness between them, as if they’d done what they were doing more than once. It was an easy ballet made of back-and-forth to put Hilda’s belongings in order.  They would cross each other and, as she stayed close to him, he first surprised himself silently basking in her delicate scent of sweet grass and fresh flowers before realising that he simply wanted her even closer. It fully dawned on him when they found themselves side by side, their eyes locking. He’d never expected a time as short as a missed heart beat could pass so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. Closer, a scent like a secret garden. Closer, lips brushing against lips. Closer still, as he felt her lean in the touch and replied in kind by running his fingers through her hair. Suddenly, it felt like a fire was roaring inside him and neither of them would let go of the other. For a moment, nothing else mattered... Until he felt a strange sensation under his fingers. Breaking the contact, he looked and noticed her ink black hair covered in small, pale blossoms. His first thought was to consider them like a bit of starry night sky, yet he kept that to himself and went for a chuckle instead.

- You did tell me about those magical surges of yours... But I had never seen that sort of thing happen before. Did you?

- What are you talking abo- blackthorns blossoms? No, that one is definitely new, though oddly specific. I wonder what could have caus-

- To put it simply, I’d say you... You-made-me-bloom. Literally. 

- Pff... Hahahaha well at the very least, know that the blackthorn suits you perfectly. 

- You’re enjoying it all, aren’t you?

-Oh, I enjoy it a lot.

Seeing her redden and implode on the spot was most amusing to witness and provided him the final push to keep going – there was no objection on her part, only her hands pressing on his chest and her fingers tightening slightly over his shirt.

Under blue moon, Malleus discovered her mystery. All he needed was a name, and a name he heard accidentally. That evening, he arrived as usual, surrounded by green firefly-like lights and not too far from Hilda’s current dwelling – but not too close either. However, the air itself was heavy with magic and it felt like the earth was ready to crack open at any moment. Not knowing what was happening in the usually quite place, Malleus concealed himself with a spell before making a careful, calculated approach to assess the situation – or try to. He may have had honed his skill in escaping his guards whenever he left the castle, however it wasn’t a reason for him to act foolishly and risk putting himself in danger. As he got close, however, he started having a feeling of déjà-vu with the way the magic affected the area. Like a twisted, gloomy taint that would warp the immediate surroundings. That’s when his eyes fell on thick branches of blackthorn breaching erratically the earth and growing thicker, fuller at their center. There a person was held prisoner, ruthlessly pinned in place by the long thorns and under the watch of a large, black dog-like beast with eyes of pale fire. Then Hilda approached, a bundle in her hands and a cold, ominous expression on her face that Malleus had never seen before. With a biting tone and thorns in her hair, she unwittingly provided the information Malleus had wanted to ask for a while now – merely waiting the proper moment to do so. 

- Since you were following orders, I’ll let you go back to my family, but you’ll bring them these bones. Tell them this it what you found at the end of the trail. You’ll be freed from this cat and mouse game in the process, isn’t it nice? Your Lady Bianca Bosconero is dead.

Bosconero? That name alone was enough to explain everything, even though she’d been guarded about it – and about pretty much any information that could give her identity away, when he thought about it. That’s why she stayed so vague when it came to her magical abilities as well – because she wasn’t just a Bosconero, based on what he’d been witnessing. She was without a doubt the current holder of the ancestral magic passed down in the family for generations. While the Bosconero were historical allies of the Draconia, their work would be oriented towards diplomacy, especially in regards to humans, thanks to their generally deceptive human-like features, so they would often communicate to provide reports regarding the state of affairs outside the Valley, but would not so often show their face. The foliate face of the Green Man himself was their coat-of-arms, of course she’d be skilled in the fields of growth, death and rebirth, as she demonstrated in her care for both the wilderness and crops, as well as her specific knowledge in alchemy and potion-making.

Yet, as relieved as he felt by this realisation, Malleus couldn’t help feeling hurt by all the omissions Hilda – no, Bianca – had made. Granted, based on what she had said as she released the prisoner, it looked like she had taken extreme measures to protect herself from her own family, but his chest still tightened at the idea that she’d kept it to herself all this time, rather than talk to him. With the current state of their relationship and his own power, he could easily provide her the safety she needed, so the feeling of rejection was present despite his attempt at rationalising the whole situation. This is what motivated him to appear as soon as Bianca cleared the place and found herself alone again. He wanted to hear it all from her own mouth. 

-… Bianca Bosconero? From the Bosconero household? Is it who you are?

---------- 

As soon as he moved from his hiding spot and addressed her, Bianca froze on the spot. The thorns he could previously see and feel in her hair, eyes and words seemed to vanish, leaving only a faint dark, smoke-like trail that dissipated in a second. She turned towards him and her face quickly went from cold fury to surprise, then fear. And while Malleus had never been exactly good at reading people’s emotions, at that moment he was certain he could almost hear her scream internally. It made him feel uneasy, but he couldn’t help scowling at the entire situation – at her, too. A heavy silence fell on them, during which Bianca seemed to search her words. Now, what would they do...

- Yes, you heard it right.

- Why did you stay silent about that? Not talking about it when we met was one thing, but enough time has passed since then, don’t you think?

The tone of his voice carried something regal and cutting that surprised even him, yet he kept a composed face while questioning Bianca.

- How much did you hear?

- The end of your exchange. You haven’t answered my questions.

- ... What was I supposed to do? Involve you in family matters? The Crown Prince himself butting in to help clean a family’s personal laundry, can you imagine how people would react to that? Why would I get you involved in something that could only tarnish your reputation, what could you gain in that?

- ...

At her questioning replies, Malleus fell silent and lowered his head slightly. She had a point, and technically it would also have made him guilty of not only getting in the way of her family – a short way to gain political enemies -, but of assisting her with all sort of illegal things, such as squatting or practicing non-authorised trade at the border. Knowing who she really was would have potentially damaged his own social and political status as well... Yet, the cat was now out of the bag whether they liked it or not. They had to compose with that from now on. 

- Now, your identity is out but your problems are definitely far from being solved, aren’t they? How are you – no, we – supposed to proceed?

In reaction to his new questions, Bianca looked at him with a tired look he had never seen before and let out a loud sigh while slowly rubbing her hands together, lips slightly pinched. Malleus was familiar with that gesture: she was fully focusing on all of the parameters they had to figure out the most efficient course of action.

- Right now... Right now only you and Erico – the person you saw, he’s my mother’s assistant -, only you two know what’s going on with my identity. I guess the priority right now is for me to move somewhere else, this place is compromised.

- What about him, then? He’s bringing fake bones to your home. Your mother is a well-known alchemist; I don’t doubt she will fully be capable to see through your trick. Do you think you could face her?

- Honestly? I... I doubt I’ll ever be able to really face her. Not with the erratic nature of my magic.

- You’ve been putting your magic to good use almost daily, ever since we met –

- And most of what you saw are perfectly reasonable spells. If I were to face my mother, I’d have to resort to a full use of my Unique Magic, this is where trouble begins for me.

As they were talking, Malleus felt the tension in his brows abate along with his initial hurt. Rather than feeling put off by her secrecy, he appreciated the fact that it was done not out of malice, but to keep him out of trouble. For that reason, he decided to close the initial distance between them and felt his heart tighten when he saw Bianca lower her eyes, an uneasy look on her face. Her usually soft tone sounded more stifled when she spoke again.

- Malleus... I’m sorry I lied to you like that...

- And the situation has been clarified. Don’t worry about that now – besides, we have to find a new place for you, among other things.

He gave her a gentle smile, then they went back to her hiding place to tidy things up and ready themselves to move. He came back more regularly in the nights that followed – an event rare enough to be noted, considering the risks he was willingly taking -, to help her out, talk about her reasons for doing what she was doing, as well as to simply keep her company. He also discovered the full extent of her magical abilities during one of these nights.

They had decided from a common agreement that, to increase her safety, Bianca would get some help in the improvement of her defensive magic. As expected, the Gift inherited from the Green Man was a powerful magic – powerful, but highly finicky and unpredictable. Bianca explained how she would usually work: her Unique Magic, Forest Queen, would work as the concept of a territory and she would select a manageable area – usually herself and maybe a radius around herself. From there, the summons inherent to her Unique Magic would come forth as she called them. However, that’s where the full extent of the Gift would strike: with a territory large enough, the land around her would twist and quickly turn into a deep, dark forest. In the mean time, the unpredictability of that magical source would translate into random effects that would affect Bianca and her spells. It could be happy accidents, such as the twinning of a spell, or unpleasant ones such as getting trapped in her own thorns – she had shown him the scars it had already caused her in the past. And despite his own magical abilities, Malleus couldn’t help feeling unsettled whenever he looked at her forest, seeping with something ancient. It was only an impression, but as soon as he laid his eyes on it, he had a terrible feeling that going in there would be a terrible idea. The feeling towards most of her summons was similar, Ire and Dread, the towering antlered creature and the beautiful yet threatening black horse, being the ones eliciting the strongest impression of imminent doom to him.

However, for all the fright her Unique Magic could conjure, there was also the amazement at seeing the world dance with her as she moved, followed by a new wilderness at each step. For him whose magic would be naturally inclined towards destruction through fire and lightning, these magical feats were compelling. Even though there was a natural weakness to fire-related magic, the renewing ability of that ability was intriguing. Yet, it also came with the most unpleasant limitation: a heavy use of Bianca’s magical energy, something that already required her attention as it seemed she was prone to blotting. But as long as they remained careful about it, they could exchange blows; it would never fail to make Malleus’ heart leap, seeing someone who didn’t fear his magic and would even be willing to discuss with him through spells. Such an event was so rare it made the entire situation even more precious to him, and he wanted to cherish and nurture it. 

Under blue moon, she disappeared. When Malleus arrived, it was already far too late, the place was cold and empty, save for some partially thrashed objects. The night following the first attack, she had explained what she was running away from, and as he was taking in the now abandoned place, Malleus knew that despite his help, she had failed to face her mother. The thought was enough to give birth to a cold guilt, somewhere deep within him. Even though his rational side dictated that he had done what he could at his level, that he couldn’t predict this event, that him getting directly involved in that fight would only have made everything worse – even for himself -... He still couldn’t help feeling guilty for not having been there. The weeks that followed were spent in a strange haze, during which he did what he needed to do out of habit, yet his thoughts were somewhere else – a manor marked with a foliate face, ink black hair, amber eyes and crimson lips. His constant daydreaming was only broken when a large bird with eyes like pale fire and obsidian feathers found its way to the window of his bedroom. Malleus quickly recognised Sly, the bird-like summon. A smart one that definitely deserved its name. It could sing, imitate voices and create charms to distract its victims. However, this time it seemed it had been used for the considerably mundane and charmingly old fashioned task of bringing a letter.

“M. My mother took me back home. I tried my best, but I think the fear she invokes still got the better of me. I am not allowed to have a phone – among many things -, so I’m afraid a messenger bird will be the best option to keep contact with you. I hope you are well. – B. PS: no need to give him food or water.”

The handwriting had more sharpness to it than what its overall fairly round letters let on at first sight – the extended verticals were most indicative of it. The paper had a delicate, green floral scent that was unmistakable. His hearts beating in excitement, Malleus read the letter five more times before taking some stationary material and preparing his reply.

“B. I can’t believe you are asking me how I am doing when I’m the one who should be asking you how you are faring. I’m sorry I couldn’t be – can’t be – there for you. Is there anything I can do?- M. PS: exchanging letters like that is charmingly old fashioned. It also has a better chance of reply from me, since it looks like my magic doesn’t always agree with more modern means of communication.”

After having closed the letter with a non-descript seal, Malleus approached the black bird, which quietly held a foot so he could bind the letter to it before silently flying away. Thus started an epistolary exchange between Bianca and him, during which he made sure to carefully store all of her letters so he could occasionally take a look at them. However, this too was put to an end by Crimilde Bosconero.

“M., I think this will be the last letter between us for a while. I’m sorry things have come to that, but you know I don’t want you to be needlessly involved in my personal mess. I’ll try to figure a new way out, I’ll let you know as soon as it happens. In the mean time, please take good care of yourself. I love you. – B.”

Malleus felt something twist in him as he read the letter, worry over her situation getting mixed with the elation caused by the last words in her letter. He immediately proceeded to work on what would be his last reply, in which he chose to pour his own feelings for the sake of clarity and as a promise to her. The surprisingly hopeful tone of Bianca’s last letter motivated Malleus to be patient and keep going, chasing away the unpleasant thoughts by remembering the feeling of her body against his, how he would lean in her gentle touch when she’d caress his cheek. And while it wasn’t exactly what he’d call the greatest time of his life, his patience still led to an unforeseen surprise on the day the carriage meant to take him to Night Raven College arrived. While he thought only Lilia and him would pass the coffin-shaped door, he was instead surprised to see a small silhouette with ink black hair appear as well. As soon as they saw each other, they almost made a move to join in an embrace, but held back as Lilia was giving them both a curious look – yet spared a comment or, more likely, thought it as hard as possible but chose not to embarrass Lady Bosconero out of politeness. Malleus knew some questions would be asked later, in private, now that Lilia had the missing piece regarding his pupil’s curious behaviour.

Under blue moon, they met again. It happened a few days after they had both settled in their dorm and in their new rhythm of life. Malleus couldn’t tell if it was the privacy of their tête-à-tête, the fact that they could finally see each other again, or maybe a bit of both, but Bianca openly displaying her emotions as she sought his embrace and started crying had his heart skip a beat. At that moment, he was fully hit by the degree of trust she had in him, even after all this time forcefully apart. She had yet to explain what had happened once all communication stopped abruptly, but judging by her reaction it had been difficult for her. Malleus decided to not press her with questions for now and silently offered the safe comfort of his arms instead, breathing her in and wishing for that moment to last forever, his fingers tangled in hair covered with pale flowers.

Throughout their first school year, even though they were in different classes and different dorms, it felt like they were offered a perfect opportunity to get to see each other on a nearly daily basis, in a setting that allowed less secrecy. It gave Malleus the occasion to fully discover new sides to Bianca, as she was not only being around him, but being around other people as well. There was still a form of amazement at seeing her skilfully deal with the very same people who expressed fear just by looking at him. This very situation also seemed to be a source of concern to her, as she wouldn’t hesitate to include him whenever they had joint classes, when most people would leave him behind. Still, most people - some of his classmates seemed to not really care about whom he was, some would even occasionally try to have their bit of fame on Magicam when he was around. So Malleus would regularly reassure Bianca that she didn’t need to worry about him – she already had enough on her plate and he didn’t feel like burdening her further. Indeed, she had started hatching a new plan to cut free from her family, a plan involving legal means that’d be harder to discuss – and would ensure her mother’s tractability. Malleus was of two minds about the whole situation. On one hand, he wanted her to finally be free to live her life the way she wanted; on the other hand, completely burning bridges with her family may endanger a future he wished to share with her, deep inside of him. However, all too aware of the stubbornness she might show if he started arguing, especially considering how both of them were involved in this issue and how determined she was to protect his name and title by keeping him out of what she deemed private dirty laundry, he decided to bypass the issue by directing her to Lilia for advices on legal recourses. After all, his chaperone was definitely old enough to have both the knowledge and the ability to take a step back on her situation, and he knew that she would listen to him – if only out of respect for his status and the insight he could provide. 

However, directing Bianca towards Lilia was only the first step in his personal plan to settle the dispute between mother and daughter. He still had to tread carefully if he wanted to keep Bianca by his side without antagonising House Bosconero – which would be a terrible move potentially affecting the diplomacy of the Valley of Thorns. As his third year started, he had the pleasure to see her come back with some interesting news; she had managed to cut lose Crimilde’s influence over her – at the cost of a debt and the loss of any financial privileges, which he had in mind to deal with himself, but without completely destroying her relationship with her family. Now, the subtle part of the plan was slowly starting, requiring him to act as a mediator. For someone like him, that would inspire fear in most people yet didn’t excel in reading their heart, it felt like quite the challenge to undertake... But this year had started with certain curious events, which made him consider that the months to come would be unusual and full of surprises. It could constitute an excellent learning experience.

[violet-author]

Your Wallet And Your Heart, She Has Both ((18+))

This fic is the product of over a weeks worth of work, as compared to my usual stuff that only takes a few hours or so, I think it may be my longest fic yet. Inspired by the Author of the Spinel Fic titled “Yearning” ((Read it here! )) And to anyone questioning what Spinel actually IS in this fic, I don’t even know myself. Spookier that way. Warnings: Death, Yandere, Stalking, Discussion Of Domestic Abuse, Light Horror, Cake

“Nevah had a reason ‘til tonight, to chase a fella down, then I looked at you leaving the hotel, so I followed. Cause I just had to know… who was that othah chick you were with? They seemed pretty miffed when ya left yer room, you dropped ya key on the way too so… I had another reason to follow you… and the third… I guess I just like ya face. Cute like a doll It… spoke to me, if that makes any sense…”, she stops to take a sip of her drink, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me, what with the pink hair an’ all, so uh… I’m Spinel.”

Another sip of her drink, and a gentle chuckle as she looked down into her glass, “Don’t worry about tellin me yer name. I already know it.”, she held ip your wallet, and slid it back to you, “again honey, don’t worry. All your money is safe and sound where you left it. I’m not a thief, well, maybe I am… but… I don’t like stealin from pretty people like you, and ah… I got reasons to follow ya… I won’t be too far if ya evah need me for anythin, and I mean that, anything.”, she finished her drink and stood up, she pushed you down into your chair when you tried to follow, she put down some cash to pay for the drinks too. “No pal, I follow you, you don’t get to follow me ok? And ah… check you wallet. Left a present.”, and so… she left the bar. You check your wallet, her phone number was written on a piece of paper neatly tucked inside… along with 300 extra dollars. You feel as if she’s special to you already. A new best friend… You head back to your hotel room and pack your things, you’re breaking up with the beast of a person you were with… true love’s on its way, and so are you. Getting into your car… Lightning strikes behind you, the outline of her in your back seat… you check… no one there, you turn on the radio… just static… you drive off anyways. You want to call her as soon as you get home. “I just couldn’t leave em alone now could I? But… One look at em while I sat on the balcony next to their window the first night they were here… and I just finished offin my now late boyfriend too, kinda glad I wear these gloves all the time too… who am I talkin to? Oh yeah, me. So anyways… I just had to meet em… not like they had a choice… I covered my tracks pretty well and kept the ‘do not disturb’ sign up on the door with a sock on the knob… staff musta thought we was bein reeeeal quiet with the lovemakin… Hmm… what did he even do for me to waste one o’ my favorite butterflies in the back o’ his heart… oh yeaaaah… caught him smoochin some other broad in the same bar I found my new lovie dovie… hehe place o’ fate I tell ya, who? Me!”, she laughed at her little half joke…“Anyways… so now they’re in their house and I’m just sittin here in the backseat of their car, planning my next move… who knows, maybe ah… maybe I’ll marry this one… or are they gonna be number 12… I hope not… that face of theirs… oof… nevah seen a prettier picture, would look even bettah with plenty of my lipstick marks all over their cheeks…. damn I wish I could gotten out with em buuuut…. people freak out when someone they just met is suddenly on their car… looks like I got a long night… bettah get some sleep too… gotta be well rested for our dare tomorrow… not that they have a choice, it’s their neck on the line aftah all… but they don’t know that yet… they will. I’ll make sure of it.” Later on in the day, Spinel knocks on your door “Ok so uh, well I got outta your car and I locked it like a good girl, cause I know I am one, I knocked on your door hopin for a chance to see ya again and it’s real cold out here, so let me in ok?”, said Spinel after you opened your front door. Shocking it were to see her, to know she was hiding in your car the whole time… you figure she’d break into your home if you denied her now, so you let her in. She walked past you with a tired looking smile, and you took in the sight of her, pink hair in a pair long pony tails, long sleeve black shirt, form fitting with a black tank top adorned with a pink skull having a heart shaped crack on the forehead, a dark pink skirt looking stylishly tattered, and stockings stripped with pink and black, with a pair of thrice belted heavy looking knee height heeled boots, by all accounts… she should be noticed anywhere. You noticed her footsteps don’t make a sound… and you ask why.“Uuuh, I dunno either I just… step lightly? Kind of a wiiiierd question to ask babe, why don'tcha let me handle the questions ok? Number one, who was that bitch you were with? Number two, do ya live alone?”, You sigh and respond, she is your ex-girlfriend, you broke up with her a few hours ago. And you reluctantly say yes, you do live alone. “Hmmm great! Guess you’re all mine then!” You ask what she means “What do ya think it means pal? Means I’m your girlfriend! Ain’t ya happy for that? I mean… look at me? The cute skirt, the thick legs, my adorable face,  plenty of hair for ya to pull, you’d be stupid to reject me, and you look pretty smart to me hun, so say yes. Say I’m yours”, her expression hardened, “Say it. 'Spinel, you’re mine’, I want to hear it straight from those pretty lips.You hold yourself silent for a few seconds… and relent, you guess you need to be with someone… you can’t imagine being alone again… you say what she asked you to say, suddenly you feel a prick on your finger, it starts to bleed pretty badly, she holds your hand up and licks the blood away with a teasing giggle in her throat. "There, all better, now you’re stuck with me, I don’t leave you and you don’t leave me, got it hun?” You feel clawed hands crawling on your back… you don’t remember what happened next. You wake up next to Spinel. Trying to understand what just happened… you fail miserably. “M, m, mmm… last night was fun buuuut… I didn’t get to go as far as I wanted, they passed out before I could actually do anything, guess lettin em feel that clawin fear mighta been too much for em to handle. Still, maybe I oughta hold off on doin anythin freaky. They don’t seem like the lewd type anyways… heh, but the look on their face, if I wasnt already in love with em I woulda fallen for em right then and there, oh gosh their eyes were practically burning in terror! And the way their mouth hung open like they were aboutta scream, ooh that was bliss… hm, oh? Looks like they forgot somethin. They were sure scramblin outta bed when they woke up… hmmm., now that I think about it… oh. Oh no. No no no no… nobody rushes that fast at 5 in the mornin…”You were at work, a boring office job, but your coworkers kept to themselves, so you had no issues most of the time. But today, they put in a little pink palm tree in your cubicle, you nearly fell over on sight of it, thinking it was Spinel. You held your heart, feeling the thumping flesh within pounding a beat you could almost dance to, with a nervous chuckle you cover it with the seat cover on your chair and get straight to work. You pushed away every thought of her that you could, focusing solely on your work, typing code and responses, sending reports, the kind of mind numbing work your brain can just check out from. As you dozed off by little degrees your fingers quickened… until it was four hours later, and you realized you finished everything early, gleefully you hop from your chair, with plans to go down to your favorite café for a treat, do you head into the bathroom, change clothes, and head to your car. And you freeze. The night before the last the lightning struck and you saw her shadow in your car… and then she appeared at your house the next day. You remember that very well. So you make a point of checking every inch of your car as thoroughly as you can, the back seat, the front, the trunk, under the car as the wheels on yours put it a foot and a half off the ground… and curiously you check in both small compartments in the front of the car, you haven’t the slightest idea why, you just had to be sure she wasn’t hiding anywhere. With the check complete, you carefully got inside your car and drove off to taste some sweetness. You park, get out, check your car once more, then lock everything that could be locked on it before heading inside. The dimly lit room spoke of serenity as piano played to some slow classical tune from speakers overhead, the sound of rain played softly along with low thunder rolling away to add to the calming aura of this revered area, revered by you at least, here you felt the safest you could be outside your own home, but with her… you felt this was you last bastion of comfort. And you were already reconsidering staying with her. But those thoughts had no place here, you looked over the menu, burying your gaze in it completely and said to yourself you’d have a pumpkin cake and hot chocolate. Your heart beat swift on feeling a familiar voice rattle through your skull. “And how are ya gonna pay for that babe?”, Spinel said in an agitated tone while waving your wallet in one hand while she supported her head on the table with the other. She stared you down, her expression? Wrath. Directed all on you. You froze under her glare, speechless. “5 in the morning. Who rushes out of the house at five in the morning? Were you late for work? Or… did you just wanna get away from me? Didn’t even give me a kiss to say goodbye, didn’t check if I was awake, didn’t even offer breakfast. What kind of a lover are you huh? Hmph… doesn’t matter now. You’re gonna make it up to me, ok?”, she slammed the wallet on the table, “I’ll have what you’re having, and after this you’re takin me to see a movie, got it? Maybe more time in a dark room with me’ll teach ya to appreciate me more, little reminder honey, I came to you, and you said yes, so start acting like you want me.” The dim cafe grew silent with your focus narrowing on her, and all you heard was your heart beating steady as the booming tick of the clock sounded off every second to the unerring passage of time. And she stared. She stared and waited for an answer. the lightless void casted by failing shine seemed to grow ever deeper, surrounding you both and trapping you with her in an infinite darkness, such was her chokingly gripped presence around you, her small stature exuded energies unheard, and you swore you could see the inky tendrils of the depths emanating from her, a being incomprehensible to mortal ken. Her truest nature forever concealed as this negative glare only gave the hollow shell of what she really is, shaded by the limits of your mind. You stared into those eyes, a lover scorned she felt she were, and your silence only confirmed and fed the flowing madness slithering from her…Each ticking clang of the clock sounded closer to your demise, here and now. Speech had found you once more to snatch you from the jaws of Cerberus. You apologize. You tell her an excuse along with it, or rather, attempt to before she cuts you off.  “Oh you’re sorry now? Well how sorry are ya honey? Sorry enough to get me all the deserts I want? Sorry enough to take me out dancing? Sorry enough to… propose to me?” That last question ended with a grin as wide as her mystery, and as the darkness surrounding you both. You’re left speechless, blushing through the shock and scrambling in your mind for an answer when she takes the reigns of the conversation once more. “Ok that last one maaaay have been a bit too far, I mean… we’ve only been datin a few days now, and to be honest, while I ain’t lettin another girl even touch you, I’m not too sure I wanna spend the rest of your life on me! And I do mean that. Mean what? darlin ain’t ya listening? The rest of your life, not my life. I get the feelin I’ll still be around when you’re gone… but uuuh… I’ll enjoy every moment you’re alive. Oop! Changed my mind, Your life’s mine, the rest of you too, and ain’t nothin you can do about that ok? Nope, not gonna wait for an answer. Way I see it… we’re already a married couple, I mean… you did sign me in blood and all. But let’s drop this discussion and pick it up never, the waitress is comin ovah to take our ordahs!"And in a single moment as if on the flick of a switch, even the dim light of the cafe blinded you with the darkness disappearing behind the curtain of reality, though what reality even is you scarcely have a grasp on with the realizations of otherworldly powers that exist in front of you in the form of Spinel. You check the backlit clock on the wall, time had stayed still as the darkness enveloped you, and you laid back in your chair while trying to make sense of what just happened, what felt like hours was no time at all, but interrupted you were again by the waitress, asking what you wanted to order. Spinel only had a smile on her face while you placed the order, she held up the menu you had and pointed to a large vanilla cake topped with fudge and strawberries, did what she said in the darkness even happen? Either way, you order that cake for her, in addition to getting for her and yourself a hot chocolate and a pumpkin cake. You’re looking at the waitress as she write down the orders, and as she walks off as well, and a pulse is felt, a ringing in your ears deep as ocean, and a foul taste in your mouth as you look back at her, a closed smile on her lips, but her eyes wider than ever. "Does she look good to ya honey? Does she tickle your fancy?” You immediately reply in a nervous tone that she doesn’t. that he girl in front of you is prettier than she’ll ever be. “Good answer babe, she’s a fuckin mess compared to me, right? O’ course I’m right!” The confections both drink and dessert were served to the both of you, a second person coming to drop of the cake, it was big enough for three, but she parried your spoon away from it, claiming the whole thing hers. So the spectacle began, Her sipping the cocoa in her tall cup alongside heavy bites of this behemoth straight from a baker’s dream. It took her a mere half hour to consume the whole of it, and like a good lover you lean over with a napkin and wipe the frosting from her lips, a shy smile as your expression, your simple actions sparking a tender moment through the confusion and creeping terror in the back of your mind, and that moment was watching her cheeks flush a gorgeously vibrant shade of pink, and in that instant, everything seemed to click. She was just as nervous around you as you were around her, without the upper hand the air of danger just faded away to the dullest rhythm in the background, until her hand snapped to grip your wrist.  “Oh now I know I made the right choice… my last love ain’t never did something like this, would you believe I caught the bastard cheating on me with some tart, some junky trollop? You wouldn’t do that to me right? No… I know you wouldn’t, you’re sweet. You just want a hug, a kiss, and a kind little word whispered into your ear, yeah? You just want someone who wants you, someone that won’t make you feel like you’re just another problem to deal with. Someone like me, who won’t let you go. Who’ll never let you go. Someone like me that’ll keep loving you 'til…“, She inched in closer, "You’re…”, and her lips brushed by your ear… “Dead."  Stunned by that she shoved you back down into your seat. "What’s wrong babe? Don’t like that? Oh… you do? Well aren’t you starved for affectio- oh… So that’s why you were with the girl with the bad attitude… You know I… I watched you when you checked into the hotel, a whole week of seeing her yell at you… sayin stuff like no one would love you like her, that you were lucky she even looked at you.” She sniffled, sounding on the cusp of a rising weeping sorrow, “But it’s ok now honey. It’ll be ok, cause you have me!”, she sighed, a sort of content flow to her breath, while she relaxed in her chair, “And I have you. Were you scared of me before? I’m not sorry for that. That’s just how I am, but I won’t hurt you. Not enough to kill ya anyways. Not enough to make you hate me. I don’t think my heart could take another crack. Darling… If you left me now. I think I’d just break. We kinda just met and already I don’t think I can live without you. You can feel it too right? Our souls tyin themselves to each other? Actually ah… they’re already pretty tied up. Signed me in blood remember?” You certainly do remember, that night your finger bled and the claws creeped upon you, you remember that much and nothing more, how you felt then feels so far away now, her love is different, it’s a confusing amalgam of tenderness and terror, when once you only felt a terror from the last one you were with, but even the fear strikes you oddly, like a sickening wine who’s taste leaves you only wanting another drink of it, a long and slow swig of the emotions she has you pour from your very core, reveling in the swirling dizzy tones of this deep song she played for you with every motion she made toward, away, and around you, with every word spoken, she enthralls you. The same feeling you had when you wanted to call her, a soul bewitched by a strange woman… and whatever trance she had you in just now from her confession, lifted when you snapped back to lucidity at home.  Herself snuggled up on your lap, a horror movie playing while she smiled, your hand in hers, clutching each other warmly… a moment that your realization of the sudden shift in scenery did not ruin… she was in love, and so were you, and while love itself seems blind, love itself would blind you, and you would let it cloud your vision as long as you loved her, and as long as she loved you. This one tender moment, It’ll remain one of your greatest treasures, and as the movie ended, she sat up and stood, offering her hand to you, eyes sleepy and showing a soft joy plain as day, she led you upstairs, she led you to bed, shoes kicked off the both of you, she eased you into bed atop her, and held you close, tight, and the covers seemed to jump over you both to guard from the chill mysteriously entering the room, you closed your eyes while the pair of you turned onto your sides, and a kiss marked the occasion, brief it were on the lips, but the love? Eternal. And so it were that you slept in her arms and her in yours. Ready to give her the rest of your life. Ready to give her your very soul. and in all honesty, she already owns it.

[baejax-the-great]

Intruders

Pre-relationship Fen/Hawke, 1762 words

Fenris finds his mansion is not as empty as he’d like it to be. 

Read on AO3!

~~

There were voices in the mansion. Fenris had been out, waiting for nightfall before heading down to the stalls to purchase some hot food. If he had been up in the room he had claimed for his own while he waited for the slave hunters to find him in Kirkwall, he might not have heard the muffled sounds over the crackling of the fireplace or the whipping of the wind by the window.

He padded down the dark corridors until he located light spilling from the cracks around a door. Hunters, burglars, whoever they were, they were unskilled, foolish, and they would not live long enough to learn from their mistake. Fenris unsheathed his sword, took a breath, and kicked it open.

The muffled sounds, laughter, he realized, immediately ceased. His momentum brought him over the threshold, his sword already arcing toward the unfortunate intruders, when he realized it was Hawke and Bethany in the room before him.

The force needed to divert his aim threw off his balance, his body smashing into the table just after his sword did.

Both Hawkes watched him with matching wide, brown eyes. Bethany’s mouth had dropped open.

Hawke was the first to recover. "Hello to you, too, Fenris," she said from her place on the floor, “Lovely evening.”  He scrambled to his feet, leaving the sword where it lay. Bethany sat behind Hawke on a chair, a bowl in one hand and a small brush that appeared to be covered in paste in the other. A blob fell off the end and landed in Hawke’s hair.

“You said he was fine with us using this room,” Bethany accused her sister.

“What I actually said was--”

“You know what you implied!”

“Well I didn’t think he’d even notice we were here! And I certainly didn’t think he’d greet us with enough force to level a building. Lesson learned.”

“What are you doing here?” Fenris demanded. Their squabbling along with the strangeness of the scene prevented him from beginning to process the fact that he’d almost murdered the two people in Kirkwall who had thus far shown him the most kindness during his stay here.

Hawke whipped her head around. “Isn’t it obvious? Bethany is touching up the roots of my hair.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Did she not understand that he had almost killed her? “What?”

Hawke huffed. “Unlike you, I don’t have naturally pale hair. Or super-naturally pale hair, I suppose.” Fenris stared at her blankly. Bethany had finally noticed the glob of paste that had fallen on her sister, and was now attacking it with the little brush in her hand.  “I dye it,” Hawke clarified, “Or Bethany does, really. She’s very good at it when no one is swinging a sword at her. She could do any color you like. If you wanted to try a different color for your hair--”

“I don’t,” he snapped. He had almost taken her head off, and she was asking if he wanted to change the color of his hair? “I mean, why are you doing this here?”

“It’s very tight in Gamlen’s house,” Bethany said without looking up,  “And he disagrees with the smell. Hawke said you weren’t exactly using these rooms… Well, what she actually said,” Bethany continued, yanking on Hawke’s hair and earning an annoyed yelp, “Was that you wouldn’t mind, which I took to mean you knew she’d been using your mansion as a storage room and weren’t about to bludgeon us to death.”

By the looks of it, they’d been coming here for weeks. The cobwebs were gone, the hearth was stocked with plenty of firewood, and a pile of books sat next to an armchair. The table that he’d wounded with his botched entrance held a collection of weapons taken off the thugs Hawke was always attracting, along with poisons, lockpicks, and jewelry she had not yet fenced--things she would not want her uncle to get his hands on. He turned back to Hawke, who had apparently been very successfully evading his notice while carrying heavy burdens inside of his home.

“You dye your hair?” he asked stupidly. Pale hair caught attention, and he knew this not only from his own silver hair. Hers was striking. As tall as he was, with large, dark eyes set over high cheekbones, Hawke did not need gimmicks to draw the eye. He found his gaze constantly pulled toward her. But in her line of work, with a sister she wished to hide, it seemed foolish to alter her appearance to become more noticeable.

“Mine would be as black as hers, otherwise,” Hawke said, with a tilt of the head toward Bethany.  Then again, Bethany was also a beautiful woman, but he had not realized this until he had spent an evening with her in the absence of Hawke.

“When I was young, my mother cut my hair very short,” Hawke continued, “For a time, nobody could tell me apart from my brother. You can imagine how both of us felt about that. Bethany came up with the solution. She was only supposed to make my hair a little lighter, but it came out almost white. I liked it that way, so I kept it.”

He supposed beauty was its own sort of distraction. Fenris wondered if he would have allowed them to finish their work on Hawke’s hair if she had not aimed her most charming smile at him. Certainly his enjoyment of the evening did not hinge on the beauty of his companions once he had sat down in the armchair with his supper and opened a bottle of wine for them to share, but it may have been the catalyst for him to stay in the room at all. Even as she sat on the floor with her head covered in paste, he found his eyes naturally settled on Hawke. In the firelight, he realized she had freckles.

For their part, the sisters seemed happy to spend an evening without their mother or uncle. They stayed long after Hawke had washed her hair of the paste and sat drying it with her back to the fire, both of them happy to have someone new to share old stories with. Having none of his own, Fenris contented himself to listen.

But then, Hawke had a way of drawing him out. He had no childhood memories or sibling squabbles to relate, but she got him talking about his time in Kirkwall. This naturally led to his opinion of HIghtown, and from there his assessments of his neighbors, their goals, their weaknesses, the flaws in their security measures. Hawke’s face lit up as he guessed at their probable vices. A couple months with little to do outside of Hawke’s excursions, and he’d had time to observe the nobility of the city.

“They’ve all been in each others’ beds,” he noted, “Except for Lady Carrac. After a time, it became clear to me that she preferred the beds she found in the Chantry and the clergy who occupied them. Her husband touts her piety to all around.”

“No,” Hawke laughed, hand on her chest. “Next time I’m there I’ll be too busy wondering which one it is to properly ignore the Revered Mother.”

“They’ll be wearing perfume,” he replied, “Clergy can’t display fancy clothes or trinkets from their trysts, but a bottle of perfume is easily hidden and the scent can be worn in the open. It adds to the game.”

“So I’ll just have to sniff them all like a mabari. No, wait, I have one of those. Porthos can find them out for me.”

Fenris turned to Bethany, who had been silent for a time. Her head rested on Hawke’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Hawke followed his gaze and flashed a rueful smile. “Don’t take it personally. I think it’s something about being the youngest child. As long as she feels safe, she can fall asleep anywhere. It’s no reflection on your conversational skills.”

“If it were, it would be accurate.” He frowned. “After what happened tonight, she feels safe with me?”

Hawke grinned. “You only tried to kill us for a moment, and then you stopped. That counts for something. Anyway, you know how it is. People try to kill me every day. If I held it against them, I don’t think I would have any friends left in this city.”

Friends. He had used Hawke for his own ends, and offered his service in repayment. The truth was he needed the coin and she attracted jobs that he couldn’t.  But friends… the last people who had treated him kindly had ended up slaughtered by his own blade. He had nearly killed her tonight. Fenris could not afford to have friends.

“I should probably take her home,” Hawke said with a sigh, “But it was nice to spend a night out without risking the templars. She never complains, but I know the Hanged Man can be too loud for her. We are just simple country girls after all.”

An apostate and her mercenary sister who, in an effort to find an evening of peace, broke into the mansion abandoned by Tevinter magisters and claimed by an ex-slave with the ability to rip out hearts-- they were anything but simple. Their lives were complex, and Fenris didn’t need to add to it. They did not need a friend like him. Still, watching how Hawke coaxed her sister awake with some quiet words, Bethany’s small complaints and Hawke’s teasing nudges, he felt a sort of longing for an intimacy he didn’t remember. Perhaps he’d never had it. He turned his gaze away.

“Are you going to tell anyone my secret?” Hawke asked as he escorted them to the front door.

It took him a moment to understand her meaning. “That you are vain about your hair?”

“That’s one way to put it,” she muttered with narrowed eyes, but she nodded.

He assured her, “I will tell no one.” Both women stepped into the cool night air and out of his home.

“Good,” Hawke said with a smile over her shoulder, “Because I set up a card table the next room over, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us this week. Everyone will be over around eight tomorrow. Goodnight!”

Fenris let out a huff of air at her retreating back as Hawke guided her sister into the shadows. Closing the door, he considered bolting it, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. Hawke had a way of getting in places she wasn’t invited.

[ichigo-daifuku]

Beloved

SLBP Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Sanada Yukimura/MC; Sanada Nobuyuki/MC

In a place called Shinano, she was beloved.

Explicit | Warning: Mildly Dubious Consent. If you have decided to proceed reading, please do so with caution. Thank you!

Word Count: ~5k

The steam that surged from the warm water clouded my vision as I sank in its depths. One ripple came after another with each step I took until I settled down and leaned against a giant rock placed on the side. The temperature was perfect. At the sudden onslaught of warmth that seeped through my skin and soothed my tired body, I rubbed my palms together and hugged myself. The relief was instantaneous; I felt my tense muscles loosen up and my nerves finally calm down.

Save for the occasional sound of water dripping from my skin, it was quiet. Not another soul was present around the area, the moon above and the bamboo trees that surrounded the onsen served as my only company. I let out a sigh and relished in this rare moment of tranquility that life has offered. The anxiety I felt moments ago seemed like an illusion. I was at ease, left to wallow in my thoughts as the swirls of steam formed abstract figures above the waters.

It seemed like it was only yesterday when I bid my family and our restaurant in Kyoto goodbye to go on an adventure in a far away place. But in reality, it has almost been a year since I began working for the Sanada clan in Shinano ‒ a good year.

Even before I met them, I had heard of them. Snippets of conversations from our customers in the restaurant kept me informed of the happenings in places beyond Kyoto. There were discussions focused on Sanada Masayuki, the clan’s current head, whose strength and brilliance in military strategy made the clan a formidable opponent in the battlefield. The reputation of the Sanada clan made everyone aware of the two sons in its bloodline. People who allegedly encountered him said that they never met a more warm-hearted and gentle soul than the elder Sanada brother, Nobuyuki, whose wisdom would leave the clan in capable hands as its intended heir. The younger brother, Yukimura was known to all as a valiant warrior. His faithful devotion to the Tiger of Kai, Takeda Shingen, was noted to be nothing like any relationship between a liege lord and a retainer fellow samurai had witnessed before. They spoke, some with reverence and others dislike, of the warriors of Sanada, who were unafraid of death, ready to cross the river to the underworld with the six coins embedded on their crest. Despite my knowledge of the ruthlessness in the realm of the samurai, I shivered at the thought.

At first, it was only the honor of working for a prominent samurai family that spurred me to do well in my job as a cook. But as time passed, it became more than that. Never in my life did I expect that a family of such high social standing would treat their workers in a way that almost felt like family. From the very first day, everyone in Ueda Castle had been welcoming and friendly, even the members of the Sanada family themselves. I was so grateful that I would regularly visit the nearby shrine to offer my gratitude to the gods who brought me to this wonderful place. Now, it felt like every victory of the Sanada was my victory, too; as if every warrior's wound was a mark that bled against my own skin.

But perhaps, my feelings on the matter were so strong because I had fallen in love, deeply, to a man of the Sanada.

I remembered that day ‒ that particular sunny morning in Ueda. It was not the spirited battlecries of training men that attracted my attention when I arrived to sit on the veranda by the garden, but rather the faint murmurs of two boys hidden by the bushes.

“Come on… You need to take the first step to becoming a real man!” Although I could not see him, I knew that voice belonged to the younger Sasuke. He was a charming kid, that one. I was sure he would get along well with Yahiko if they ever got to meet one day.

The other one was far taller than Sasuke. The thickets did nothing to cover his muscular frame as well as the bright color of his kimono. Lord Yukimura scratched the back of his head and frowned. After a few moments of silence, he blurted out, “Hey! What do you mean ‘first step’?”

Sasuke paid no heed to Lord Yukimura’s question and hummed in deep thought. “A-ha! Lord Yukimura, if you do this right, you’ll make the Sanada clan proud!”

“Really?” Lord Yukimura tilted his head sideways as he considered Sasuke’s words. His expression changed into a more determined one, voice full of conviction, “You’re right, Sasuke! For the Sanada clan!”

Lord Yukimura emerged from the bushes and unexpectedly, marched straight to the veranda. He stopped a few steps in front of me and I looked up at him, confused. In a stiff motion, he reached out the hand that was hidden behind his back and held towards my direction a bright blue gentian. Despite his obvious nervousness, he held the flower carefully, a handsome blush painted on his cheeks as he suddenly averted his eyes when mine met them. “For you.”

Our fingertips brushed when I received the flower with an equally nervous hand. Lord Yukimura’s blush seemed to be contagious. Still, I cleared my throat and managed to answer, “I love it. Thank you, Lord Yukimura.”

“Can you…?” He pointed to my head.

“Oh, um… of course, Milord,” I replied, a bit shy. I placed the gentian on my hair through the ribbon that secured its plaits. “There.”

“Ah… well… it… erm… suits… you.”

“Aw, maaaaan. Just when I thought you were being cool, Lord Yukimura!” Sasuke said from beside us.

“You…! You’re still here?” Lord Yukimura jumped slightly, flustered. I don't blame him. I myself didn't notice when Sasuke arrived!

Sasuke’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? Where else would I be?”

“Come on. Time for training!” Lord Yukimura picked up Sasuke and deposited him on his shoulder. He walked a few steps and came to an abrupt stop. It seemed like he forgot something. I wondered what it was. 

Lord Yukimura turned around and raised his hand in a small wave. “Later!”

Oh. I smiled and waved back. “Yeah, later.”

Lord Yukimura and Sasuke went on their way while I sat there and fiddled with my fingers. The weight of the flower in my hair made me feel giddy. I swung my legs back and forth the ledge and touched my cheeks. I knew I was smiling like an idiot but I couldn't help it, I was just so happy. Footsteps against the wooden floor made me straighten up and turn to the direction where it came from.

“Good morning,”  Lord Nobuyuki greeted as he emerged from the corner.

“Good morning, Lord Nobuyuki.”

He proceeded to sit down on the veranda with me. Immediately, his eyes zeroed in on the flower that adorned my hair. “Oh, it’s a gentian.”

“Ah, yes.” I shifted my gaze self-consciously as I remembered what happened minutes ago. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very.” He smiled. “Stay still.” Lord Nobuyuki reached out to adjust the flower given by his brother on my hair, the back of his hand touching my neck. “There you go. Perfect.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s been quite some time since you came to us. How are you liking your stay in Ueda so far?”

“It is a beautiful place, Milord. Although I miss Kyoto, I can’t say I haven’t fallen in love with Shinano.”

“I am glad to hear that.” Lord Nobuyuki’s smile broadened. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up falling in love and marrying a man of Shinano, too.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. A spark of hope lit inside my heart. After all, the man I had fallen in love with, Sanada Yukimura, was a man of Shinano.

The bamboo trees rattled against each other as the wind blew. With it, the crickets hummed, loud but unobtrusive in the background. Was it midnight already? I couldn't be sure. Barely a sound came from the inside of the inn where our small camp rested for the night. After tonight’s stopover, we would be back on the road on the way to Mikawa, to Hamamatsu Castle. It was for the diplomatic negotiations between the Sanada and the Tokugawa. Eyes closed, I folded my hands together and prayed for a successful outcome. In the time that I spent with the Sanada, I continuously witnessed Lord Yukimura back and forth the battlefield. Every sendoff was filled with worry, every homecoming filled with relief and joy. I would have loved to run into his arms each time he left and came back, but I could only fight the urge to do so. I wasn't his woman. I didn't have that right.

A few weeks before the trip to Mikawa, I finished my chores and sat down under a tree in the garden. After my materials were placed neatly on the ground, I began to sew a pattern on a small cloth. With each prick of the needle through the silk, I whispered a prayer of hope that no sword nor arrow would harm Lord Yukimura in the battlefield. With every inch of the thread, I expressed my silent affection and wished for him to live a long, happy life. It was all I did until a shadow stood against the sunlight and loomed over my hunched form.

“Hm? What are you up to?” It was Lord Nobuyuki.

“Good afternoon, Milord. I’m making a protection charm.”

“For?”

“For Lord Yukimura.”

“May I see it?”

“Of course.”

Lord Nobuyuki’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he sat down on the grass with me. I handed him the half-finished charm I had been working on for the past hour. I was suddenly aware of how numb my fingers had become, but I paid it no mind. This was the only thing I could do in hopes of protecting Lord Yukimura. A little pain on my hands was nothing if it meant I could do something for his safety, no matter how silly a protection charm was.

Lord Nobuyuki traced the stitches of the embroidery between his thumb and index finger. “You’re very kind.”

“You are far kinder, Lord Nobuyuki,” I said, my words sincere. I tried to respond to his smile with one of my own, but I only managed to make an awkward curve of my lips as it trembled. My shoulders followed suit. I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears, worried for Lord Yukimura.

During breakfast that day, the clan’s discussion centered around the huge possibility of a war with the Tokugawa. I nearly dropped the bowl I was holding as Lord Yukimura stood up and volunteered himself to lead the frontlines. Of course, Lord Yukimura would. He wasn’t known as the hero who appeared once in a hundred years for nothing. Even that bravery, I loved about him… But at times like these, I wished he wasn’t always so ready to die. I cleared the rest of the dishes with shaky hands as I caught the wind of Lord Nobuyuki suggesting negotiations with the Tokugawa with Lord Masayuki.

Embarrassed by my sudden outburst, I moved to wipe my tears with my sleeve when Lord Nobuyuki reached out to me with a green handkerchief.

“N-No, I couldn’t possibly ‒ ”

At my refusal, Lord Nobuyuki himself wiped my tears. The fresh scent of his handkerchief made me cry even more. It smelled the same as Lord Yukimura.

Lord Nobuyuki did not ask a single question as I let the pent-up emotions out of my system. He continued to wipe my tears and pat my back every now and then. Truly, he is far kinder than I could ever be. Lord Yukimura was lucky to have him as a brother, and the Sanada to have him as its future liege lord. I remembered everything I heard about him long ago and knew that Lord Nobuyuki deserved every word of praise given to him multiplied tenfold.

When I calmed down, I kept my gaze on my lap, embarrassed for breaking down in front of Lord Nobuyuki. He must have thought I was a strange woman, mad even. Unbeknownst to him, my tears were for his brother, whom I was lucky to be even be considered a friend of. Every day was a struggle to bury the romantic sentiments I had for Lord Yukimura. It grew stronger by the second. I didn’t know what to do anymore.

At the sound of my name, I hesitantly shifted my attention to Lord Nobuyuki. I opened my mouth to apologize for my behavior, only to be met by a poke on my cheek. “Milord, what…?” I started to say, only for Lord Nobuyuki to poke my cheek again. Again. And again. What was he doing? Despite my sullen mood earlier, I couldn’t help but giggle at the silliness of it all.

“It worked.” He smiled, pleased with himself.

“What did?”

“The magic trick my mother taught me ‒ to make a someone smile.”

In the time I stayed with this clan, that was the only time I heard of the late Lady Sanada. I was always curious, but I respected the people of Ueda far too much and never dared to pry. One look at Lord Masayuki and I gathered that Lord Nobuyuki and Lord Yukimura had gotten their beautiful baby blue eyes from their mother. After that encounter with Lord Nobuyuki in the garden, I found what he said lingering in my mind. The magic trick. I didn’t understand what was magical about it. But it wasn’t long before I did.

I finished the protection charm. The little trinket was tucked safely underneath my pillow, hidden away from everyone else. Only one other person knew that I made one for Lord Yukimura.

As I was coming back from a walk one afternoon, I found him, my beloved, pacing back and forth by the gates ‒ waiting for me. Lord Yukimura greeted me as he always did but an unusual silence fell between us. He had a somber expression from his face, so different from his usual happy expression that I loved so much. “I was hoping to ask you to make me some sweets…”

When Lord Masayuki announced the plan for peace talks, Lord Yukimura’s facial expression darkened at the mention of the name of the Tokugawa’s liege lord. I gathered he was not exactly thrilled to go to Mikawa. Seeing Lord Yukimura upset like this made me lonely. I asked myself what I should do when a thought came to my head.

“Please don’t fret, Lord Yukimura.” I poked his cheek with my index finger. His lips part in mild shock at my gesture until he gave me a smile ‒ that same smile he showed me when he gave me the gentian. It seemed, even for a moment, he was relieved of his worries. It worked. The magic trick worked.

“Okay.”

“How about some donuts?”

His face lit up in childlike joy and I fell in love all over again. “Really?”

“Yes, I made some a while ago. Wait in the veranda, please. I’ll get them from the kitchens.”

I walked inside the castle with a spring in my steps; I made Lord Yukimura smile. That thought made me happy. I hummed as I prepared the donuts for Lord Yukimura. I hoped he would liked them, or at least I hoped they were something that would ease his worries. Tray in hand, I walked out the kitchen. I turned to a corner and bumped into someone coming from the other direction. The tray shook from my grasp, but it was steadied by the person I bumped into. His other hand flew to my arm to stabilize me from the sudden impact. I blinked as my sight registered the familiar green finery of Lord Nobuyuki.

“I am so sorry, Milord!”

“Are you all right?” Lord Nobuyuki peered into my face, worried.

“Y-Yes, I’m really sorry.”

“There, now. There’s no need to apologize.” He stepped back to give me some space. I steadied the tray once more and the action caught his sight. “Hm?”

“Oh, um, would you like a donut, Lord Nobuyuki?” I offered the tray to him. “Please take one, as a token of apology from me.”

“Ah, well, I always love your cooking,” Lord Nobuyuki took a single donut from the tray, “And if you insist like that, it is impossible for me to say no.”

“Thank you. I hope the donut is to your liking, then.”

Lord Nobuyuki and I passed each other as we parted ways to go to where we were headed before my clumsiness. To my surprise, he called my name just after a second. I turned around in curiosity to see a hopeful expression on Lord Nobuyuki’s face.

“Do you think you can make anmitsu next time? For me?”

That was the first time Lord Nobuyuki has asked for anything from me. “Of course. Anything for you, Milord.”

Lord Nobuyuki gave me one of those dimpled smiles. This time, I could smile back at him before I turned around completely and continued on my way to the veranda.

“I’m back.”

Lord Yukimura turned his head at the sound of my voice. He was an enchanting figure against the orange and red hues of the sunset. He flushed the moment I sat down next to him. As I handed him the tray, I wished it were always crimson blushes that would stain his cheeks, never the same fiery shade of blood on his armor.

The thought jolted me back to the present and strengthened my resolve for what I was to do on this night, why I was here in the first place. I emerged from the comforts of the warm water and rinsed my body from a nearby well. Dressed in the thin fabric of my sleeping robes, the protection charm that was once in my pocket now in my palm, I gathered all the courage I could muster and left the comforts of the onsen.

Tonight, I was going to confess my love for Lord Yukimura. Even if it was supposed to be the main issue, it was not our difference in social status that bothered me, but rather the question whether our feelings were mutual or not. If he felt the same way, then I would be more than happy to be with him. Just the thought of it was enough to make my heart pick up its pace. But if he felt otherwise… it would hurt me. Still, I would nurse my broken heart in the shadows and continue to support him like I always did.

Lord Yukimura and I were always in the company of other retainers, so I decided that tonight would be the right time. Upon our arrival, I overheard Lord Nobuyuki setting our room assignments with the innkeeper and asked him about it.

“Since most of the rooms are taken, some of us will have to stay in the upper floor, others in the lower floor.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll be staying in the lower floor.”

“What about the warriors like… Lord Yukimura?”

“In the upper floor.”

“I see.”

In the pitch black darkness, I tiptoed through the corridor with the stealth that would rival a kunoichi. When my nervous breaths threatened to turn into hyperventilation, I covered my nose and mouth with my palm. I dared not to bring a lantern. I couldn’t be found by anyone. To another person, I had no reason to be here, and at midnight… but I did have a reason, one that only Lord Yukimura needed to know.

At last, I arrived and slid open the shoji door of Lord Yukimura's room as silently as I could. The area was smaller than our place in Ueda, but was nevertheless well-kept and comfortable. With the knowledge of the identical placement of essentials in his room and mine, I treaded across slowly. The further I went, the closer the sound of steady breathing came. I became hesitant to continue my plan. There were more than a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t continue. Maybe Lord Yukimura didn't feel the same way. Maybe he would get mad at my audacity to barge in his room in the middle of the night. Maybe I would get thrown out of Ueda afterwards.

In my moment of distraction, I tripped and fell on something… No, it was a person’s body ‒ Lord Yukimura!

He grunted at the sudden impact and I panicked. My hands fell on his shoulders. I felt him stiffen in shock. “Oh, no! It’s just me! I’m so sorry, Milord! Are you all right?” I quickly straightened myself and sat down beside his beddings. “I ‒ I’m so sorry for barging in.” This was it. This was now or never. “I know it’s so sudden but please hear me out.”

The rustle of cloth told me that he had set his blanket aside and sat up properly as I rambled. “I have something to tell you ‒ something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.” My mouth suddenly felt a bit dry, I cleared my throat before I continued, “I… I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way you do. Each moment I spend with you is just… so precious. I appreciate everything you do for me. When you’re happy, I am happy. When you’re sad, I feel sad, too.” Emotional, I paused and tried to find the right words to say. “If you’ll allow me, I want to experience every laughter and tear with you ‒ the two of us together. There is no one but you in my life. I love you… and if you will have me, then I am yours.”

I touched his arm, and then his shoulders, until my fingers found the sharpness of his jaw. I leaned closer to press a kiss on his cheek, but instead his plush lips were what mine connected with. Surprised, I tried to pull back abruptly. His firm hand flew to the nape of my neck and held me in place. A startled cry escaped my lips at the action. My mind fell blank. I couldn't believe it.

Our first kiss was chaste. It was a firm touch of Lord Yukimura's lips on mine. I felt our warm breaths mix as we explored the taste of each other for the very first time. It was gentle, everything I imagined it would be and more. Each kiss that followed turned more passionate. There was not a hint of hesitation even as the sound of our mouths meeting in the otherwise silent room made my cheeks heat up. My lips parted and met his tongue halfway, the kisses from then on deeper than ever. It dawned to me that I was kissing him ‒ really kissing Lord Yukimura, the love of my life, and he was kissing me back. In that moment, I dared hope that my feelings were not one-sided. With every brush of our lips, I felt as if it was the both of us who were succumbing to the yearning that had been left unexpressed for so long ‒ not just me.

The protection charm in my hand fell somewhere on the floor, lost in the darkness as Lord Yukimura hoisted me onto his lap, his hands on the back of my thighs. I clutched his robes, accidentally loosening them in the action. Pressed close to him like this, I was enveloped in the fresh scent of him that I loved so much. His fingers grazed the back of my collar slowly, while the other hovered around my belt. Somehow, I knew what he asked for.

I broke away for a moment. “I… I’ll do it.”

His body fell back into the bedding while I worked on the knot that held my robes together. Together with the blanket, all my clothes and second thoughts was discarded on the side. Skin bared, I was suddenly aware of his intense desire as I settled myself back on his lap. I couldn’t help but cover myself up even if it was dark, which I felt was ridiculous since I had been the one to come to him. He knew it. He pulled my arms away from my chest and replaced them with his palms. He sucked in a breath as he met my bare skin, flushed not because of the bath, but out of the need for him. The warmth of his touch made my pulse quicken as he caressed my sensitive body, giving undivided attention to my breasts, to my abdomen, down to my thighs.

“I…” I began to say, only to be cut off by a moan I failed to stifle. He traced the skin on my inner thighs, not far off my most delicate area. “Please…” I begged, not even sure what I was begging for.

But he knew what I needed. Lightheaded, my breaths turned uneven as he tenderly caressed my slit. It was slow, odd at first, until his ministrations sent waves of pleasure all over my body. Instinctively, I found myself moving against him. I felt the need to do something ‒ anything ‒ to chase the strange feeling that loomed within me. He moved back and forth, around and all over. At some point, I started to feel unsteady. He bent his strong legs against my back so I could lean on him. I bit into the back of my hand to quiet myself as my body twitched reflexively, meeting my release.

I panted, mind still in the midst of the haze of pleasure as my trembling hands fumbled with his robes, struggling to untie it to quicken his pace in undressing. In the dark, the both of us could not see, we could only feel. I indulged in the contact of his bare skin and leaned down to kiss his sculpted body, up to his chest, where I heard the quick pace of his pure heart, alive and beating. Somehow, I had imagined Lord Yukimura's fingers to be more calloused, his skin rougher, his body more scarred. But as I reached his waiting lips and drowned in his kisses again, I realized something.

My fantasy didn't do him justice.

I leaned back and shifted my shaky legs in position, eager to reciprocate to the gratification he had given me. His hands on my waist, he guided me as I eased myself down his hard length. Slowly, until my slick heat accomodated him to the hilt. In all sense of the word, I was one with him. For better or for worse, there was no way my relationship with Lord Yukimura could be the same after this night. He let out a strangled groan at the way I took him. I winced at the slight pain and feeling of fullness I'd never experienced before and paused to regain my breathing. I knew of the hushed conversations of women in the castle about life's sensual pleasures. To hear about it was one thing, but to experience it was another.

I rose and fell on his lap in fractions and moved in the same, steady pace until I started to feel the pleasure gradually overcome any initial discomfort I felt. The pace of our movements picked up and his hips began to meet mine with every thrust, each slap of our skin distinct in the quiet. The beddings turned askew while the floor creaked slightly in our desperation to be closer than we were before. Once again, I felt the sweet sensation of pleasure rising up in my abdomen. I arched my back and this time, I was unable to stifle my scream in ecstasy. Still in pure bliss, I felt him pulse within me. My body would remember him as I took all of him and everything he had to give. He was the one I loved, after all. Nothing could ever change that.

Still one and the same, he shifted to a sitting position and embraced me. His arms caged me in their protection and I dared hope I was his beloved, as he is mine. He buried his face on my shoulder and showered light kisses along the collarbone. His hair tickled my cheek and I brought my hand up to run my fingers through it.

His hair...

Two voices were audible from the corridor. They grew closer by the second, perfectly clear through the thin wooden walls of the room. Although the two attempted to be hushed, their familiarity made their conversation seem louder to my ears. One of was all calm, in contrast to the other who sounded anxious as he voiced out his worries to the former.

“I told you it’s nothing to concern yourself with, little lord.”

“But she’s not in her room…”

“Who knows? Maybe she’s still in the women’s baths. Would you like to check?”

“W-W-Women’s baths? N-No… Why would you even suggest that…?” The flustered, distraught voice paused before he spoke again, “But I – I heard something here… I thought I heard her voice…”

The other man sighed. “You must have been dreaming, dear.”

“Y-Yeah… Maybe I was…”

I shivered, on the verge of putting everything all together.

Footsteps grew nearer with every second. The shadows came first, until the light from the lantern brought by the two people who walked along the corridor passed through the shoji door and illuminated the room. The moment was short, but it was enough.

His hand darted out to tuck a stray lock of hair from my face behind my ear. I found myself caught in his affectionate gaze, entranced by his dimpled smile. The hand that rested on the small of my back reached up to cup my face and the pad of his thumb brushed along my cheek. He spoke the words I longed to hear that night, his voice that deep, beautiful, and gentle lilt that has brought me comfort many times before.

“I love you, too,”  Lord Nobuyuki said, reverent and satisfied, “I love you so, so much.”

( ಠ ͜ʖಠ)

...

.....

.......

ANYWAY! During the Hearts Awakened & Enthralled Event Story, Nobuyuki joked that perhaps MC "should marry a man of Shinano". Although this fic was not set in that ES, it got me thinking of how the phrase could refer to either Sanada brother.

The story might have been a bit odd, or even far-fetched at some points, so thank you for humoring me. I hope you enjoyed it, no matter what interpretation you ended up with. Thanks for reading! xx

Tagging @pseudofaux because this was the WIP in the Plot Question Tag Game! 💓

Ichigo Daifuku's Masterlist

[ryukoishida]

Night.Frost 《夜。霜傳》: Outtake

Night.Frost | 《夜。霜傳》

Outtake 3: The Young and the Hopeless

Featuring: ShangGuan YueYou, ShangGuan YeLing, Nie Kai, LingHu Zhe, Qiu ZiYan  (上官月優，上官夜凌，聶凱，令狐哲，秋紫煙)

A/N: I wanted to end 2019 by posting an outtake that I’ve written to commemorate the 8.31 incident in Hong Kong by incorporating the event into the timeline of the original novel I’m currently working on. It had been a stormy year, especially during the last 6 months for HK-ers, so I want to use my creative outlet to sort of, I dunno, illustrate my take on it.   

-

August 31, 2019, around 11:00PM Prince Edward MTR Station

A night when many would remember the Hong Kong Police as terrorists.

Chaos. Horror. Blood. Screaming for help. Screeching in pain. Cowering in fear.

Tear gas filled the claustrophobic corridors of train cars.

Police shouting commands, throwing insults left and right like they cost nothing.

Indiscriminate violence against defenseless citizens who were on their way home.

Walking amongst them was an army of young people dressed in black shirts, yellow helmets, and gas masks — proud citizens and defenders of this city they called home.

A home that was currently sick, broken, tainted, but a home nevertheless.

And they would sacrifice all they had to offer to make this world right again.

Including their lives.  

-

Mid-September, 2019 Moon Shoal Club Headquarters, Central

“Captain, I trust you know how to handle this best,” ShangGuan YunXing stepped out of the Moon Shoal Club captain’s office, her figure dressed sharply in business attire was half casted in shadow by the office’s fluorescent lighting.

“We won’t let you down, Chief,” ShangGuan YueYou, the leader of the clan’s most revered exorcist team, followed closely behind the older woman and replied briskly. Coming out lastly from the room was a glasses-clad man in his early 20’s, who stayed quiet during this exchange.

The other occupants in the headquarters, who’d been trying to eavesdrop or peek through the blinds into their Captain’s office as casually and quietly as they could for the past twenty minutes, immediately returned to their previous positions at their desks pretending to be engaged with their paperwork.

At the sight of the ShangGuan Clan’s Chief departing, the members of the Moon Shoal Club all rose up from their seats and bowed their heads low in respect as they greeted her in unison, “goodbye, Chief ShangGuan.”

All with the exception of one man slouching in the corner, the distaste in his blood-red eyes hardly disguised from the mess of his dark curls. He had his two hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, body language exuding nothing but hostility and eye glimmering silently as his gaze met briefly with YunXing’s before he turned his head away as if he couldn’t stand the sight of this woman after all.

“YeLing…” YueYou uttered with a hint of warning under her breath.

YunXing ignored this, silently nodded once to acknowledge the team, and walked out without another word.

It wasn’t until they heard the elevator’s creaky humming that signified YunXing’s leaving that the members of MSC released a comically unified exhale of relief.

“So… what’s that all about then?” Qiu ZiYan was the first person to speak up, leaning back into her chair as she threw the pen she’d been twirling nonstop to the side. The writing utensil fell perfectly into its cylindrical stand.

“Meeting in ten minutes,” YueYou announced simply instead of answering her subordinate’s question. It was unusual for the captain to look so solemn, for even though ShangGuan YueYou was known in the community as one of the fiercest and most accomplished exorcists of her generation, she was the type of captain who led and guided her team with a merciless attitude when necessary but otherwise treated them as if they were all part of a family.

After YueYou went back into her office, all attention snapped to the remaining attendant of that secretive meeting from earlier: MSC’s vice-captain, LingHu Zhe.

“Must be something huge if the Chief herself had come down to talk to the captain about it,” Nie Kai, one of the youngest members in the team, piped up. “Brother Zhe…”

Zhe cleared his throat, too loudly and obvious to be natural, propped his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, and sighed when the other members of MSC kept staring at him expectantly.

“All I can tell you is that it has to do with the 8.31 incident from a few weeks ago,” Zhe said uneasily, “you’ll hear the details of the mission at the briefing later.”

“Ehhh, but Ah-Zhe…” ZiYan was rolling her chair towards the direction of the vice-captain with shining, hopeful eyes trained onto the man who held the answers to all her curiosity.

“Don’t you ‘Ah-Zhe’ me, Qiu ZiYan,” Zhe, who’d known ZiYan since their academy days, was long used to her ministrations, and so was unaffected by any pleading and puppy-eyed looks the woman was unabashedly sending his way, “I’m still waiting for your report from the Po Hing Fong case.”

“You’re no fun, vice-captain,” ZiYan pouted after being reminded that she did, in fact, still have a huge pile of irritating paperwork to go through before the case she’d been working on can be officially closed. Defeated, she rolled herself back to her desk and began to half-heartedly sift through the stack of files and tap out phrases on the keyboard.  

“And you have too much fun sometimes,” Zhe shook his head fondly at her before he, too, returned to his desk closest to YueYou’s office to gather files for their upcoming meeting.

By the wall where the two youngest members of MSC were sitting, the young woman named Nie Kai turned to her childhood friend and work partner with a worried frown lining her brows.

“Ah-Ling, you probably shouldn’t have acted that way with your grandma,” she fiddled with the frayed ends of her hair, “the captain looked like she was about to strangle you when you did that thing that you do.”

ShangGuan YeLing grimaced. He knew he was going to get an earful from his elder sister when they got home after tonight’s shift, and he was not looking forward to it.

But the reaction was almost instinctive at this point. Even when he was young, and before their turbulent relationship went from mere familial obligations to professional ties, ShangGuan YunXing had always ignited a sort of fight-or-flight response in YeLing. The elegant woman’s stony glares, unsmiling lips, distant words, and unrealistically high expectations for her grandchildren only made up a small portion of why YeLing disliked the old woman; something invisible that YunXing radiated from her mere presence made others, including her own blood-related family, fear of crossing the leading figure of the largest and most influential exorcist clan in Hong Kong.

“Let her,” YeLing shrugged nonchalantly, though to Kai, it seemed incredibly forced, “I bet that old woman would rather see me dead in a ditch than to continue disgracing the all mighty ShangGuan clan.”

“No way, there’s no way your grandma would wish you dead, even if… even if…” Kai didn’t want to say it – she didn’t need to – ‘even if she’d never really treated you like family, like a grandson.’

More like a pawn, like one of the many pawns on her majestic scheme of political chessboard.

YeLing glanced over at Kai, saw that she was chewing her lower lip for fear that she’d say the wrong thing, said too much.

He sighed, pushed himself out of the chair, and stretched until his joints cracked noisily, making Kai wrinkled her nose in revulsion.

“C’mon, let’s head to the conference room before my sister actually comes out and strangles me for being late to an important meeting.”

-

“I assume all of you already have some idea about what happened during the night of August 31 down at Prince Edward station,” YueYou turned on the projector in the darkened room, and various images and footages of that night’s events began to pop up on the large monitors in the middle of the conference table.

Sitting before each member of MSC was their own personal tablet, which contained all the documents and files required for this briefing.

“More or less,” YeLing said, hiding a yawn behind the back of his hand.

Sitting next to YueYou, Zhe added, “though depending on what news outlets people have been watching, there are two very different perspectives of the events of that night circulating on the Internet these days.”

“Idiots who blindly consume what the media feeds them can’t tell the difference between facts and fiction these days,” YeLing scoffed.

“So, what does Chief ShangGuan want the MSC to do?” ZiYan wanted to know, dragging her gaze away from the grisly and gory photographs and turning to the head of the table to direct the question at their captain.

“Cleaning up after the police, I’m willing to bet,” YeLing interrupted with an unimpressed snigger, and only stopped when YueYou threw him a meaningful glare. Still, that had never stopped YeLing from running his mouth when he was on a roll. “What? Am I wrong?”

“There is a reason why MSC and other organizations under the ShangGuan clan are separate entities from the other disciplined forces of the city,” YueYou ignored her younger brother’s jab and continued, “we don’t have the right to evaluate the actions and decisions made by the police department, and in turn, they have no right to budge into our businesses and cases either. This has been the arrangement set up by the clan elders and the government officials before our generation.”

YueYou’s solemn regard swept around to each and every member of MSC before pausing at YeLing, “We carry out our duties as told, and we don’t ask questions. I don’t want to hear anything controversial coming out from the mouths of my own team that can potentially endanger the clan’s reputation. Am I making myself clear?”

She was speaking to them as a group, but everyone knew that YueYou was directing this little speech especially at YeLing, who murmured a reluctant, “yes, Captain.”

“There were a few casualties during that night’s operation, though it was never disclosed to the public as the government fears that the news would bring up a new wave of disorder and uproar,” YueYou continued calmly.

“At least they’re right about that,” YeLing muttered, obvious disgust dripping in his tone.

“…how many?” Kai, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the briefing thus far, finally asked in a soft voice. The underlying trembling did not go unnoticed by the team.

“Three,” YueYou replied.

On the central screen, photographs of two women and one man – all no older than early 20’s – were displayed. Their smiles forever captured, though their bodies were battered and abandoned.

“So young…” Kai murmured.

“Too young,” ZiYan agreed, eyes darkening and lips pressed into a firm line. “So, what’s our assignment?”

“According to the records, the police department hired a few Tao priests to perform a consecration ceremony a few days after August 31st to help with the three souls’ transcendence passage…”

“They did a half-assed job, didn’t they, these so-called priests?” YeLing guessed.

“That’s one way of putting it,” YueYou couldn’t even find the energy to scold him about his choice of wording this time.

After reading the reports that the police department had sent over a few hours earlier, the scowl on her face only grew deeper and deeper. She hated the political aspects of her job – playing nice with the other governmental departments – but as the captain of Moon Shoal Club, and as the future heir of the ShangGuan clan, YueYou had to force herself to refine her public relations skills, compromising where it was necessary, taking advantage when it benefited their clan.

“For the next two weeks after the consecration, we had received reports of civilians travelling on the trains between Prince Edward Station and Sham Shui Po Station having witnessed particles in the shape of or heard voices of the three deceased protestors.

“But these sightings shouldn’t even be possible if the priests had done their job right,” ZiYan offered.

“Precisely,” YueYou nodded in agreement. “What we suspect is that the priests had merely created some sort of boundary to trap these spirits within certain specific areas of the stations, as well as along the route between the two stations,” YueYou switched the images on the central screen and continued, “if you look at the diagram here, the red marks the spots where these spirits were said to be seen or heard, and there are consistent patterns to these sightings: always in the same locations, always around the same time – approximately eleven o’clock at night.”

“Disturbed spirits are always the strongest and most active near their time of death,” Zhe said, “but given enough time has passed, they will gradually weaken and eventually disintegrate.”

“Somehow, I find it really hard to believe they’ve mistaken consecration with boundary craft,” YeLing rolled his eyes and leaned further back against his chair. “You sure they aren’t trapping the spirits on purpose?”

YueYou’s gaze shifted sharply towards her younger brother but said nothing.

“How do you mean?” Kai asked her partner. “Why would anyone wish to purposefully and knowingly trapped a deceased person’s spirit in the mortal realm? That’s just… cruel.”

“Guilt, maybe?” YeLing shrugged, “or they’re just terrible pieces of shit that want to punish anyone who didn’t see things their way even after they’re dead.”

“Enough,” YueYou didn’t need to raise her voice, but the subtle impatience was enough to make everyone shut up. “Here’s the assignment we’ve been given directly by the elders: tomorrow after the trains stop running at around one o’clock in the morning, we are to access and investigate the scenes where the sightings had been recorded, locate the spirits, and take care of them. We can’t have civilians running into them constantly and spreading rumors about the 8.31 incident anymore.”

“And by ‘taking care’, you mean…?” ZiYan raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“What we usually do with them,” Zhe answered for the captain. “We will try our best to convince them to move on to the other realm in their own terms, but if they refuse to leave, we will have no choice but to carry out our duty as usual.”

“But we only do what we do because the spirits we deal with are violent and malicious in nature!” Kai protested. “Their existence was solely for destruction because no humanity is left in them anymore, but these people…” she halted abruptly to look at the photos of the three victims on her tablet again, “…they were just kids trying to fight for their lives.”

“Regardless, they don’t belong in this realm anymore,” YueYou said, “and if they are causing problems for the mortals, it’s our duty as exorcists to send them off. You have all been in this field of work for more than three years now – you aren’t fresh out of the Academy anymore – act like a professional and do not sully the name of the ShangGuan clan. I believe we are all more than capable of doing that.”

A few seconds of stagnant silence as the members of MSC mulled over their captain’s words and the underlying warning of consequences if they failed to follow the code of conduct.

It was true; even the youngest of the group – YeLing and Kai at the age of 19 – had been working out on the field since they were 16 years old and newly graduated from the clan-run Academy that aimed to train young, inexperienced Crafters into top exorcists that serve the community as a liaison between the living and the dead.

Zhe and ZiYan, on the other hand, were a few years older and had transferred from another region’s team into Moon Shoal Club in Central three years prior. The two had been classmates since their Academy days, and both were known as top performers in their various areas of expertise: Zhe in long-range gun craft, and ZiYan in Transcendental Aesthesia, the ability to sense and communicate with the weakest of spiritual particles.  

But even so, most of the cases they deal with on a daily basis involved angry, violent spirits that had completely transformed from what they used to be: the humanity in these ghosts that refused to leave the mortal realm for all kinds of reasons gradually dripped out, sucked dry by darker matter around them, and before they knew it, these beings became creatures that knew neither reason nor logic. Only singular, destructing emotions drove their actions, maintained their essence.

Spirits of people who had recently just passed away were much less dangerous; most of the time, they were more confused than threatening, and once they realized the fact that they had died, a majority of them would move on.

“We’ll meet at Prince Edward Station Exit B1 tomorrow morning at one o’clock,” YueYou seemed satisfied by the silence her speech had brought, and she continued with a more upbeat and encouraging tone, “remember to bring all your gear. The station should be cleared out of any MTR staff and police officers by then. We will be able to freely do what’s necessary without the fear of being seen by non-Crafters.”

“Make sure to rest well today,” Zhe added, smoothly taking over as YueYou concluded the briefing by turning the lights back on. The fluorescent made everyone’s faces seemed even more pale than usual, “it’s going to be a long night.”

-

Mid-September, 2019 1:04 a.m. Prince Edward Station (Exit B1), Mong Kok

In the early morning hours, neon lights of store signs still shone brightly over the slumbering city, but the windows of the surrounding residential buildings were mostly darkened, the deserted streets with the occasional late-night taxi rolling by and the incessant tik-tik-tik of the traffic lights on red casting the area in a smog of desolation.

By one of the station’s exits located in the corner of Nathan Road and Prince Edward Road West, three figures and a bird perched on its owner’s shoulder stood waiting, motionless like a paused movie.

“Brother Zhe and Sister ZiYan are late…” Kai murmured worriedly, her fingers rubbing restlessly against the plastic handle of her cello case. “That’s rare. A-Ling, you think they’re okay?” She looked towards her partner, who merely took a swift glance at his wrist watch before looking over at his elder sister.

YueYou didn’t look too perturbed by the fact that two of her subordinates were running late for an important assignment, though her animal familiar Xiao Yan gave a shrill, little chirp in response, the noise it made sounded strangely eerie in the near-silence.

Bouquets of white flowers were tied along the bannisters that bordered around one of the exits of Prince Edward Station. Scraps of paper money leapt and fell from the current of breeze. Puddles of wax from melted candles stuck to the concrete of the steps, the fragrance still lingering in the air long after the distinguishing of the flames. Pasted on the walls were posters filled with angry and desperate messages, written by friends and families and strangers seeking for answers and justice for those who’d been injured and supposedly died during the August 31 conflict:

生要見人，死要見屍

‘We want to see the person if they’re alive; we want to see the body if they’re dead.’

Every few days, these flowers and posters would be thrown away by city street cleaners, but by the end of the day, the bannisters would be decorated flush with mourning flowers and message cards again.

When the minute hand on YeLing’s watch stroke seven, the other two members of MSC finally arrived, breaths short and cheeks flushed from rushing their way over.

“Where were you two?” Kai sighed with relief at the sight of the senior members arriving safely, though both seemed suspiciously nonchalant for two people who were late to work.

“Uh… traffic?” ZiYan shared a slightly guilty grin with Zhe, whose flush deepened in colour as he quickly rushed over to YueYou’s side to apologize for their tardiness.

“Sister ZiYan, it’s one in the morning,” YeLing snickered, red eyes twinkling knowingly, “you’ll have to try harder to convince Captain over there.”

“No matter,” YueYou said, her tone and expression as neutral and inscrutable as ever. “We’ve already delayed enough. Let’s head down to the platform.”

As they made their way down the stairs, their steps echoing emptily through the narrow corridors of the underground station, Kai commented, “the flowers and candles outside… most of the public must be very convinced that people have died that night.”

“And who can blame them?” ZiYan replied with a grim expression, the lenient atmosphere from before having dissipated immediately as they descended deeper into the station. “People who participated in protests have gone missing for the past few weeks; dead bodies showed up in the waters with no substantial evidence of being suicide cases; and the police’s defensive attitude did nothing to assuage people’s beliefs or stop the rumors.”

The air was sickly stale the further they went. Non-Crafters would attribute this to the city’s terrible air quality caused by pollution, but Crafters like themselves could immediately recognize the decaying scent as the lingering presence of spirits, a trail left behind by those who wander the mortal realm even long after they died.

Prince Edward Station itself harbored a few spirits that mostly kept to themselves, and upon sensing the presence of the exorcists, who emitted the kind of vitality that creatures from the other side tended to avoid, they were smart enough to escape to the other parts of the station to make way for them.

There were four platforms, two on each level, and there was nothing that caught their attention when they reached the top level.

Afterall, the conflict did occur on the platform at the lower level.

It was getting increasingly harder to breathe the closer they got to where the sightings were recorded. Like dragging their bodies through viscous mud, the members of MSC felt the immense strength of boundary craft attempting to force them out.

“Yeah, this is definitely not what a consecration feels like,” YeLing muttered, his grip on the handle of his violin case tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“Kai, is there anything you can do about the boundary?” YueYou turned to her young subordinate and asked. “If we force ourselves, our bodies might not be able to withstand the pressure.”

“I’ll try my best, Captain,” Kai nodded. She pulled out her weapon – RuSu, a standard-size cello constructed of craft-enhanced wood, and matching bow – and began to play a melody. It was light-hearted in nature, and tiny silvery cicadas began to materialize in the air around the exorcists; the creatures fluttered towards the boundary tinged with red and radiating stifling pressure that hovered over the staircase that led further down into the platform on the lower level, and attached themselves as if the boundary was covered by flowers filled with fragrant sap.

When nothing happened, Kai pulled the bow across the strings with more vigor, the notes reverberating so loudly that the humans could feel their skin prickling from the oscillating waves of sound. The change of intensity in the tune ignited something in the silver cicadas, for their wings trembled at a higher frequency than before, the humming more noticeable, more urgent.

Soon, the red particles that made up the boundary began to vibrate as well, and as the melody of the cello grew deeper and the cicadas beat their wings harder and faster, cracks started to form, and they spread and split until the moment Kai played the last note and the silence hung heavily in the air, the wall shattered at last, the particles dissipating like dust and the silver cicadas, too, flew back into the oblivion.

The exorcists instantly felt the pressure reduced, and YueYou squeezed Kai’s shoulder encouragingly with a smile before leading the group down the staircase, with Xiao Yan flying just a little bit further ahead of the humans, its beady black eyes flitting cautiously this way and that to detect any oncoming danger.

“Nice one, Kai,” ZiYan slapped the younger exorcist lightly on her back, making Kai smiled sheepishly at the compliment.

Even though Kai managed to destroy the main boundary, once they made it down to the lowest level of the station, it looked as if the priests hired to do their job went even further than any of them had imagined, for the grey-purple walls of the entire island platform had been splashed a glowing red invisible to the eye of non-Crafters, but to those who had the powers, the unnatural glow of the blood red particles signify only one thing: the spirits who were located within the vicinity at the time when this boundary had been summoned would have no chance of escape.

And those that could not escape had only one fate awaiting them.

That of annihilation from their vitality being viciously sucked dry, until nothing of their souls remained but scattered ashes and dispersed smoke.

Though no one said anything, each and every one of their hearts grew heavy with realization.

It was just as YeLing presumed: this was no mistake. These priests were purposefully trapping spirits down here with no intention of letting them pass over to the other side peacefully.

Why they would do such an inhumane thing to begin with, none of them had the time to consider that right now, but they knew that there were people in their field of work who were desperate enough to do anything for monetary rewards.

Without another word, the five exorcists split into three groups; they spread out and ventured into different directions to inspect the area. The red glimmered eerily over their pale complexions, casting parts of their faces in shadows that flickered and dimmed like a weak flame.

“Guys, over here!” ZiYan called from the end of platform three, where the Chuan Wan Line train ran and continued on to the next station in Sham Shui Po. When the rest of MSC got to where ZiYan and Zhe were, they found the spirits that closely matched the descriptions provided by the witnesses of the recorded sightings.

From the first glance, it looked like there were three people trapped in the corner behind the red wall. Two of them seemed lifeless, piled on top of another on the floor like puppets with broken strings, blood still visible from the last moments of their life. The last one was kneeling on the floor, fists pounding against the wall though he knew it was useless, a young man in his early 20’s wearing all black and a yellow helmet.

His head was lowered, blood and tears were dripping down in rivulets, and so he appeared not to have noticed that he had attracted an audience. It seemed like it had been an eternity being trapped here, seeing the living world went on around him though the other side was blind to him and his companions’ existence.

“These three were most likely protestors who were involved on the night of August 31st,” YeLing was flipping through case files on his phone as he stooped down to get a better look at the other two spirits’ faces. After studying the photos of recent missing persons reports, YeLing concluded with a resigned sigh, “Leung LaiLing, 18 years old, and Lee KaYi, 17 years old – both were reported missing after August 31st, last seen by a couple of eyewitnesses on the train who were injured that night as well.”

“But who’s this?” Zhe wondered, his sympathetic gaze focusing on the man still kneeling and pounding against the boundary as if that was the only thing he knew to do to make a sound, the only thing he could do to seek help. It was hard for Zhe to swallow, seeing the recently passed away young people directly in front of him, utterly desperate in their fight for freedom yet powerless even to help their friends and keep them safe; the calm in him shriveled at the sight of the three spirits, and replacing that composed nature that had earned him the position of vice-captain in MSC was a slow-brewing storm of bitter acid and roaring rage.

Zhe knew, as part of the ShangGuan Clan, he must follow the oath he’d made after he graduated from the Academy as well as the strict rules of the clan itself. In the past, he had no trouble doing that; he had no reason to question these rules, but the reality was here and now, and he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t at all affected by the sight before him.

He often wondered how YueYou did it. He stole a glance at their Captain, and saw what he’d expected: an impeccably composed expression and red eyes that betrayed no shift of rising emotions.

“Will someone tell him to stop banging on the boundary?” YeLing pulled himself up to his feet again. “Hasn’t he realized that it’s not helping?”

“Ah-Ling,” Kai quietly warned him and shook her head as her partner glanced over at her questioningly.

“Let me try and talk to him,” ZiYan murmured. She carefully got down onto her knees so that she would be able to look at him at eye-level should he lifted his head up. Focusing on enhancing her vitality by closing her eyes and taking a few deep, measured breaths, ZiYan felt all her senses becoming more sensitive and receptive, her Transcendental Aesthesia ability flickering on.

She lifted her arm and pressed her palm gently against the part of the boundary where, trapped on the other side, the nameless man was still pounding silently.

“Hey,” ZiYan thought, transmitting the word through, the area around her palm gleamed purple for a moment, and that was when the man froze.

His body was still shaking as if any moment, a slight breeze would disperse his soul into the unknown oblivion, but it seemed like he could hear someone’s voice addressing him. Frazzled and confused, he slowly lifted his head up.

It was excruciating.

Such a simple, natural gesture as lifting one’s head up to communicate with another person face-to-face should have been easy, but as the man stayed still enough for all the exorcists to truly observe him properly for the first time, they immediately noticed the angular bump on the side of the man’s neck.

A shard of white covered with hints of blood and plasma pierced through the skin.

His neck was broken.

Kai took a small step back in shock, slapping her hands over her mouth so the gasp that escaped from her lungs wasn’t as audible, but no one could blame her for such a violent reaction.

When ZiYan finally saw the man’s face, all she saw was blood and tears smeared across what would have been a finely sculped, handsome face, but bruises taint his skin blotchy purple and swollen in odd places; the whites of his eyes were bloodshot as well, so seeped with old blood that it was difficult to distinguish irises from sclera. His symbolic yellow helmet was slightly askew but still sit proudly on his head like a crown.

ZiYan had to maintain very tight control over her facial expressions to not convey the shock and horror her heart was weighted down with.

The man held his palm up to meet ZiYan’s, bloodied lips curving up into a weak smile, and it might have been ZiYan’s imagination, but it looked as if a trickle of hopeful light flicker in the spirit’s dark, lifeless eyes.

“You… you can see me? And the people beside you?” his lips moved but none of the other exorcists of MSC could hear him because of the disruptive particles that made up the boundary.

ZiYan nodded.

“How much time has passed since… since that night?”

“It’s September 16 today.”

“I tried…” he swallowed – or tried to, because it was impossible but it was a habit that he had when he got emotionally overwhelmed – and continued, “I tried to let them go ahead of me first, through the tunnel towards Sham Shui Po – tons of people were escaping down that way – but then they got caught by the bastard police and I-I can’t go – not without those two!”

“What’s your name?” she asked gently.

“Wong TsunWei.”

“Okay TsunWei, we will try our best to break the boundary and release you and your friends,” ZiYan motioned to her teammates, “we believe the only reason why you guys are stuck in this part of the station is because of the boundary craft. Once the boundary has been lifted, you three should be free to pass on over.”

The man stared first at ZiYan, then he gradually let his gaze drift towards the other members of MSC, one after another, each time spending a few seconds to maintain eye contact, before he lowered his head again without another word; he had also retracted his arm back to his side and shifted more towards the back and closer to his friends as if to protect them from harm.

“What did he say, ZiYan?” YueYou asked.

“They’ve been stranded here since August 31,” ZiYan replied as she stood up and turned to face the group, her expression grim, “he seems confused at best – doesn’t even know how much time has passed since he died. He told me that he and the other two were going to escape by following the train tracks heading towards Sham Shui Po, only that they never made it out of here…”

“And this young man’s identity?”

“He says his name is Wong TsunWei,” ZiYan said, and directed the next question towards the younger exorcist, “YeLing, are there any records of such person in the system?”

“Give me a sec,” YeLing pulled out his phone again to scroll through the missing persons reports from the police department’s archive. After several minutes of searching with no satisfying results, YeLing decided to widen his search. “Here’s something. His name didn’t come up in the police’s missing persons database, but it seems like his acquaintances have been searching for him through a Facebook group called ‘Hong Kong Missing Populations’; the group is apparently established after August 31st, and Wong TsunWei’s name popped up quite early on. From the photos posted on the group’s page, that seems to be our guy.”

He nodded over to the spirit who was still huddled close by his two companions, his eyes quiet but wary when he glanced over at them once in a while.

“Wait, so does that mean his family never officially filed a missing person report with the police?” Kai wondered.

“A lot of people have mysteriously disappeared since the start of the anti-extradition bill protests back in May,” Zhe recalled with a frown, “of course, rumors began to get crazy once bodies of these missing people were found, mostly under suspicious circumstances that the police brushed off as mere groundless rumors.”

“Brother Zhe, you really think this is the police trying to hide the deaths of these protestors in order to keep their reputation clean?” Kai found this instance just outright immoral, not to mention unbelievable, as the Hong Kong police had reputation of being one of the world’s most respected and trustworthy disciplined services.

Or at least, they used to.

These days though, no matter who you asked on the streets, the young or the elderly, those still in school or in the working class, the people’s trust towards the police had only been decreasing significantly over the past few months.

In reality, people had more faith in their own capabilities than in the police.

None of the members in MSC had ever discussed this whole situation, but they all read from different news outlets in their own time, and formed their own opinions, though they knew to keep politics out of their work since their organization was so closely tied to the government.

“You can’t convince me that these three here – and who knows how many others – have nothing to do with the police,” ZiYan shook her head, the revulsion was obvious in her tone.  

“It’s not in our place to investigate whether or not this has anything to do with the police,” Zhe reminded her gravely.  

“Ah-Zhe is right,” YueYou, who had been rather quiet during this discussion, finally spoke, and all the members grew quiet, “the river water doesn’t interfere with the well water: we do our jobs, and they do theirs. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Now, before we start, I want to make myself clear one more time: our mission is to make sure no non-Crafters will be subjected to another sighting, and that means this can go one of two ways,” YueYou continued in her usual composed tone that often had others mistaken her as cruel and impassive, “once we’ve gotten rid of the boundary, and should they decide to move on in their own terms, then all the better for everyone. If they have any last messages they’d like to send to their family and friends, we can at least promise them that much. However…”

Because things rarely worked out that smoothly, and YueYou had learned to always have multiple back-up plans, she needed to ensure that her team understood the consequences.

This was unlike any other missions the team had undertaken; in a way, YueYou knew that ShangGuan YunXing was testing them – YueYou as a leader, and the others as exorcists – by assigning this mission to MSC in the first place.

“If the three spirits refuse to leave, we will have no choice but to do what we usually do,” YueYou needed her team to understand the severity of this mission; they couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, or leave any strings untied that would give her grandmother the excuse to disband and rearrange the personnel of Moon Shoal Club. She had hand-picked and recruited these people for a reason. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Good. Ah-Zhe, Kai, let’s spread out,” YueYou took out her white jade vertical flute ChuanHun and Xiao Yan flew back to her usual perch on YueYou’s shoulder, “the three of us will focus on lifting the boundary. YeLing, ZiYan, you two stay close by with your weapons ready in case the spirits have other ideas.”

YeLing and ZiYan nodded and positioned themselves accordingly after the other three exorcists spread out, about two meters apart to form a triangle that enclosed the trapped spirits along one of its edges.

While YeLing pulled out his violin RuQi and placed it in the crook of his neck, bow fixed on the strings, ZiYan reluctantly put on BaiHui, a pair of fingerless, leather-sewn sap gloves that perfectly fitted over her slender fingers. She, too, positioned herself defensively adjacent to YeLing, her hazel irises darkening with worry.

Pursing her lips over the blowing hole of ChuanHun, YueYou played the first notes, gentle and sweet like the song of a phoenix, and then Kai joined in with the lulling deepness of the cello, both instruments’ sounds complementing each other in a serene yet melancholic song.

From Kai’s playing, silver cicadas materialized once more, but this time instead of attaching themselves to the wall of the boundary, they followed the golden string of ChuanHun’s melody, bounding themselves to the delicate thread as it weaved over and across the glowing red boundary to create a sheet of gold and silver hovering just above the wall.

While the two musical crafters created a web, Zhe loaded the cartridge into his Beretta handgun, took aim, and accurately shot four times, each time aiming at one corner of the gold and silver net until it was securely pinned. The craft circuits carved on the specially-manufactured bullets activated and emitted a violet glow that proliferated along the paths of the golden thread and silver cicadas.

As soon as the entire net was burning with violet flames, YueYou and Kai quickened their tempo; like before, the cicadas’ wings thrummed and the threads trembled; the vibrations of both caused the extra thick wall of the boundary to crack under pressure, bit by bit, inch by inch.

The process took longer than before, even with three Crafters’ combined powers, but within a few minutes’ time, the fissures became more apparent, growing longer, wider, until with a definitive strident splintering, the boundary was broken, the particles dissipating like dust.

Sweat tainted the three exorcists’ temples, signifying how much vitality they had expended in order to break apart the boundary. Even they would have to agree that, despite the priests’ underhanded ways, their boundary craft was of first-class quality.

YueYou nodded at ZiYan, wordlessly telling her subordinate to go ahead and talk to them.

“TsunWei, can you hear me?” Once more, ZiYan kneeled down so she could see the three spirits better; people tended to be less intimidated when spoken to the same eye-level after all. She then tried to get the other two’s attention by calling out their name as soothingly as possible as to not startle them.

The young woman called Leung LaiLing seemed to have heard ZiYan’s voice. Slumped over face-down against the ground, she attempted to push herself up, arm shaking with effort, but it was difficult and the exorcists soon realized why: she could only use one arm, because her right arm had been twisted at a sickening 90-degree angle, rendering it completely useless.

“H-help us…” she sobbed, her long hair matted with blood covering half of her beaten face. She reached out, eyes desperate, and ZiYan reached back out to the stranger and held her hand without thinking.

“ZiYan!” Zhe shouted, wanting to warn her.

“It’s okay,” ZiYan assured him, her gaze never leaving the woman’s.

Addressing LaiLing again, ZiYan told her gently, “you and your friends should be able to go now. The force that’s been trapping you here is gone.”

LaiLing shook her head, eyes squeezing tightly closed.

“Is there anything you want to say to your family or friends before you go?” ZiYan asked, since that was the most common reason why spirits decided to stick around after they died. She figured a young person like these three probably still had many things they wanted to accomplish or say before they were willing to go on to the other side. “We will try our best to relay your messages to them.”

LaiLing’s hand was icy cold in ZiYan’s, and she felt a light squeeze against her fingers.

“It’s… it’s not that,” LaiLing said weakly, tears dribbling down her cheeks like pearls. They fell onto the ground and disappeared, as if they’d never existed in the first place.

“She’s right…” the other woman who had been lying limply beside her spoke up. Lee KaYi, most likely still a high school student, with her neatly clipped hair and innocent wide eyes, pulled herself into a sitting position. There were no outward signs of her injuries, so it was likely that she suffered from internal bleeding before she died. “We can’t go like this… there’s still so much we have to do.”

“You’ve already done so much,” ZiYan sighed, the sympathy for these young people growing overwhelming; she knew this was dangerous, letting emotions overriding her logic, especially during missions like this, but she was only human.

Still alive, fortunately. Still capable of having compassion for others. Still wishing to help those who needed it, even if they were on the other side.

“Let the others carry on and do the rest,” ZiYan felt her eyes growing hot, but she wouldn’t allow one drop of tear to escape, “and we will ensure that you three will be remembered, that your deaths will not be discarded as another ‘accidents’.”

“We can’t go… not yet…” TsunWei stood up with movements spasmodic like a robot running out of battery. His bloodshot eyes were depthless and dark, and streams of thick blood were flowing down his cheeks; he glared out into the world and saw nothing – no hope, no light. The dark swirl of confusion, frustration, and sorrow churned wildly within him, having grown exponentially in the duration of being entrapped behind the boundary. Now that the boundary had been destroyed, that darkness was allowed to grow without any restraint, and the last strip of humanity that had been binding that monster was loosened.

“Our fight is not done yet. We can’t leave here yet, not like this.”

“ZiYan, you should move away now,” Zhe warned her quietly. With quick, practiced movements, he changed his cartridge with another set of bullets, and took aim at the staggering spirit whose appearance seemed to have shifted right before their eyes.

Something within Wong TsunWei’s spirit snapped. His eyes and his heart only sensed those who were with him or against him, and he would do anything to kill those who sided with the wrong, the tainted, the dirty ones.

Leung LaiLing’s grasp on ZiYan’s hand became too much, the exorcist’s bones creaking from the immense strength of the undead, and when she tried to pull away, the spirit’s hold tightened even more.

ZiYan hissed in pain, wide eyes searching for the woman who had been so desperate and helpless only a few seconds ago now consumed by Resentment, and realized at last that she was already lost and gone.

A report echoed sharply, the flash of violet light tore before ZiYan’s eyes, and the bullet from Zhe’s Barretta sank into the middle of Leung LaiLing’s forehead.

Where the bullet hit, thin black lines began to trek in all directions from the wound, down the spirit’s face, her neck, and along her limbs like roots of a plant. Uttering a spell under his breath, Zhe activated the craft circuit on the bullet, and trickles of electricity travelled along the pathways of the black threads, rendering LaiLing paralyzed and immobile.

As soon as her fingers slackened, ZiYan ripped herself away, and Zhe grabbed her arm roughly when she got close enough, pulling her to stand behind him. Even though he didn’t say anything, ZiYan could tell the man was angry; he just wasn’t the type to shout, but ZiYan found that LingHu Zhe was much scarier when he was silent.

“Stay behind me,” Zhe murmured lowly.

ZiYan nodded numbly.

Taking a silver cylindrical container in the size of an adult’s index finger, Zhe brushed his thumb against the craft circuit engraved on the metal of the tube, triggering the spell and causing Leung LaiLing’s limp figure to get sucked into the container.

Even in her last moment of consciousness, her spirit’s form disintegrating into a fog-like substance, Leung LaiLing was trying to grasp for something that was now impossibly far out of her reach.

Zhe clasped the Soul Vial back onto his utility belt.

“YeLing, incapacitate Wong TsunWei. I’ll take care of Lee KaYi. Ah-Zhe, back us up when necessary,” YueYou’s commands were simple, concise, and didn’t allow any of the exorcists in her team to argue.

“Yes, Captain!”

A trilling of violin notes began to reverberate within the walls of the underground station, the melody crafted a silver cord that chased after Wong TsunWei, who regained much of his energy and newly driven by a surge of Resentment. He grabbed the end of the cord bare-handed and yanked it as hard as he could, causing YeLing to trip forward, nearly losing his footing if not for Kai pulling the back of her partner’s shirt to steady him.

“Thanks,” YeLing huffed. His song didn’t get interrupted, and with a fast change of melody, the cord glowed with heat, orange light radiating from the length that continued to dance lithely in the air.

Wong TsunWei immediately let go of the cord when he realized that it was burning him, but YeLing took that one moment of hesitation as an opportunity: he flicked his wrist sharply to play notes in a higher register, and the cord abruptly changed its direction, winding around the spirit’s wrist twice before pulling him backward to knock him off balance.

The black dusty particles of Resentment flared angrily around Wong TsunWei as he tumbled onto the floor gracelessly.

“Brother Zhe!”

“On it.”

Another shot rang out, this time the bullet hitting the spirit’s chest. The same black lines crawled over Wong TsunWei’s skin, but instead of electricity, small flames licked the down the paths, and the spirit screamed in agony, arms swinging wildly in a feeble attempt to take someone, anyone, down with him. But as a newly passed away spirit, Wong TsunWei’s powers blazed and dimmed without a predictable pattern.

“We can’t go… we can’t… we’re still… we can still fight damn it!”

Dark blood frothed around his mouth, and he choked on the thick liquid, the odd angle of his broken neck made his movements even more similar to that of a haunted, broken puppet.

After struggling for another few seconds, he, too, went limp, his eye sockets still widely stretched to display black, unseeing eyes that would never see the light of day again.

When the four exorcists looked over to their captain, they noticed that YueYou had already acquired Lee KaYi’s spirit and was just putting her Soul Vial away.

The station was very, very quiet once the noises of the activated craft circuits died down.

One level above them, they could make out the belated unrest of other spirits, a pulsating, continuous hum and murmuring that was impossible to ignore.

YueYou strapped her ChuanHun xiao back to her side, and the rest of the MSC members took that as a sign to conclude their mission.

-

After they had a short debriefing, YueYou dismissed them for the night. As the members of MSC went on to their separate ways, YueYou locked herself inside her office.

The room was dimmed except for the sole source of light from her desk lamp.

She threw herself into the office chair, all traces of her usual elegance and poise that made her seem polished and difficult to approach seeping out of her being for the moment as she closed her eyes tiredly.

She thought back to her team members’ expressions and the opinions they bore for the police and the ShangGuan Clan, and she considered omitting some of the things they’d said in the report she was supposed to send to YunXing.

Before she could go further with this consideration, her office phone rang.

YueYou waited for the third ring to sound before she picked it up.

“This is MSC’s ShangGuan YueYou,” she uttered into the receiver, sinking deeper into her chair as she waited for the other end to say something.

When the other side spoke, however, YueYou suddenly became more awake, her back straightening instinctively, and said, “Grandmother? Good evening.”

A pause, and then a small, bitter smile appeared on YueYou’s lips.

“My apologies, Chief ShangGuan. What can I do for you?”

-

“Oi, LingHu Zhe,” ZiYan bumped her shoulder against the man standing next to her, but all she received was more heavy silence.

It was around five o’clock in the morning, and they had gone back to Zhe’s tiny apartment on King’s Road in North Point after they left MSC’s headquarters. Dawn was about to come and wake up the city, but until the first tinge of sunlight tainted the horizon, Hong Kong still slumbered heavily under the pretense of peace and serenity.

She couldn’t stand it. This silence. Zhe not talking to her.

“Are you going to be like this?” ZiYan snapped.

“Depends,” Zhe said quietly. They were both looking out from the apartment unit’s balcony. Calling it a balcony was being generous though; the little stoop that jutted out from the 18th floor of this aging building had only enough space to fit a few potted plants, so with two full-grown adults standing there, it was more than a little cramped.

But that was fine, too, ZiYan thought to herself, enjoying the solid warmth from the body next to hers.

“Ah, the man finally speaks,” ZiYan’s voice was brimming with sarcasm.

Zhe sighed, and finally turned around to face her. Beneath the lenses of his glasses, the man looked exhausted, his bottom lids bruised with shadow, “ZiYan, what were you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”

“What do you mean?” ZiYan asked, frowning as she turned and glanced up to meet the other exorcist’s eyes.

“You’re just trying to help them, I get that,” Zhe’s expression softened, “but there’s a point when you should know to behave professionally and remember that first and foremost, we are part of the ShangGuan Clan.”

“I thought we’re human beings first and foremost.”

“Don’t get philosophical on me,” Zhe smiled wryly, raising his arm and flicked his partner’s forehead softly, before his tone turned serious again, “you know as well as I do that it doesn’t work that way – not when we’ve taken an oath to serve the Clan.”

“Ah-Zhe, you can’t possibly tell me that you believe what we’ve done tonight – exorcising those three kids’ spirits and hiding what the scumbag police did – don’t tell me you’re all right with that.”

“Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter whether or not I agree with the purpose behind the mission,” Zhe tried to explain as patiently as he could. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t understand the frustration behind ZiYan’s words; after all, for a brief moment when he saw the three young people’s defeated spirits trapped behind that ruthless boundary, his heart mourned for them too. “We are only carrying out our duties. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“So, you agree with ShangGuan YueYou’s way of doing things, huh?”

“YueYou is my childhood friend, I’d trust her with my life,” Zhe only said, though he neither agree nor disagree with ZiYan’s statement.

“Yeah, she’s your friend, but she’s also our Captain, and most of all, she’s ShangGuan Clan’s future successor,” ZiYan reminded him. She didn’t want to say it out loud, but from her observation of working under YueYou for the last few years, she could tell that the woman took pride in her work, and would do anything to get to the top. But ZiYan also understood that Zhe and the ShangGuan siblings shared a relationship that was akin to family, so she held her tongue, and with an exhausted sigh, she asked, “you’ve never considered that things could have progressed differently if we’d just taken some time and talked to those kids?”

“That’s not how we do things, and you’ve seen how the Resentment had affected them, changed them. It would have been too risky to spend any more time negotiating with them at that point. Leung LaiLing – you were holding her hand – you knew, better than any of us, that the Resentment had completely consumed her, causing her to lose control, and there was no going back when that happened.”

At that, ZiYan’s lips pursed into a tight line, jaw taut with roiling frustration.

Zhe tried to soften his tone when he felt the bitterness and rage radiating off of ZiYan’s tightly drawn frame, “ZiYan, you’re so kind to others and I remembered, when we first met at the Academy, that your wish was to become an exorcist who help the dead pass on peacefully. That’s a noble goal, and I admired you for it back then; now, too. Always have. But…”

He paused, which made ZiYan looked up at him with query in her eyes, and Zhe smiled softly at her, his hand wrapping around her slightly smaller one, and warmth instantly engulfed her in ways she always found comforting whenever she was with him.

“We do not have any choice but to follow the rules.”

ZiYan allowed Zhe to pull her closer into his embrace, and she buried her face snugly against the crook of his neck. She felt Zhe gently kissing the top of her head before wrapping his other arm around her shoulders.

‘But do we never have a choice? Or are we just choosing to blindly follow the rules set out for us?’

-

“Kai, I ain’t driving your drunk ass home, just going to put it out there now,” YeLing downed a gulp from his bottle of beer, set it down on the bar table, and looked over at his partner and best friend who was nursing a cheap cocktail in her hands.

The rosé spritzer Kai had been drinking was only half finished, the melting ice cubes gleamed like frosted jewels floating in a sea of pale pink bubbles under the dimmed light of the pub, but her usually pale cheeks were already growing rosy and warm.

She hadn’t said a word since they sat down about half an hour ago after they had been released from the night’s duty.

It was a little past three in the morning, and even in the SoHo district of Central, many bar patrons had started leaving for home, drunken and sated for the night, ready to return back to reality after a few hours of restful sleep.

“Yeah, not like you’re going to be driving yourself anywhere, either,” Kai murmured with a defiant smirk, knocking her glass against YeLing’s beer bottle.

“Hmm,” a nonchalant response.

“You know… I’ve been thinking about what Sister ZiYan said…” Kai said after taking another small sip of her drink.

“About?” YeLing asked, though he already knew what direction this conversation was going.

He knew her well enough by now to read her easily, and he’d seen how Kai had reacted to the three spirits during the mission earlier, the initial shock when she first saw the disfigured bodies, the horror when she realized who’d done this to the kids, and the sympathy, even guilt, for not being able to help them even during their last moments of existence.

“What we were doing tonight – apprehending the spirits instead of helping them pass on to the next realm,” Kai’s grip on the glass tightened, the liquid inside sloshed around from how hard she was shaking from fury, “we’re basically helping the police lie to the public by cleaning up after their mess and hiding the fact that they’ve… well, they’ve committed murder.”

“You heard what my sister said,” YeLing reminded her, red eyes gleaming with a quiet warning. Though at the mention of his elder sibling, his brows instantly gathered into a slight frown. As much as he looked up to his sister, who was the only family member YeLing was willing to trust and depend on, there were a handful of times during their time working together that YeLing thought she had made some dubious decisions, but as her subordinate and younger brother, he had never tried to question or challenge her.

As ShangGuan YunXing loved to remind her grandson, he was not in the place to ask questions.

“I did,” Kai said quietly, gaze lowering to stare at the bottom of her glass as if answers would float up to the surface if she glared at it hard enough, “and you know I respect Sister YueYou a lot. I’m not saying she’s wrong; I mean, she wasn’t the one who gave the order. I don’t think she has a choice in the matter, either.”

She took another swig, the sweet bubbly alcohol sliding down her throat hotly, almost suffocating her, but she bit down the urge to cough.

“But I just can’t live with myself,” Kai sighed, sagging into her seat and craning back to stare up at the dark ceiling, and white spots danced merrily across her field of vision, making her a bit light-headed for a brief moment, “knowing that we’re almost as bad as the police themselves…”

“We’re not the same,” YeLing muttered, voice raw from alcohol consumption barely audible.

-

‘You will not be forgotten,’ she promised silently to the three spirits forever trapped, eternally lost.

Like many of the black-clothed civilians all around her, she placed a white candle on the concrete steps of the exit of the Prince Edward Station, the single lit wick weak and dim, but gathered into tens, hundreds, thousands — and maybe then, the flames would blaze bright enough to eliminate the darkness and reveal the truth to the world.

[potterandpreferences]

Hi again 🙈 if your accepting request I was wondering if you could do a readerxremus lupin with prompt 26. Where reader and Remus dated before in hogwarts but after graduation split up due to remus not wanting to get them involved with the wizarding war. Year or two later before James and Lilly death meet again at a bookstore? Love your work!😆❤️

Prompt List

A/N Sorry about the wait for this. Got it done in the end 🙈 I hope you like it, lovely!

26. My heart is racing

You sighed softly as you stared at the books in Waterstones. You weren't quite sure what you wanted to buy, but Merlin only knew how much you needed a good story to distract you from the horrors of the wizarding world.

Thanks to a grandma being a witch, you were technically classed as a half-blood. It was a minor saving grace given the purge against muggleborns. It was a safety net you had to cling to inbetween setting up safe houses for your muggle relatives just in case the tides turned against you as well. You knew things would have to come to a head sooner or later, but being limited to propaganda in the Daily Prophet and reports of disappearances, there was very little informative news to be had. In the meanwhile, you lived in fear that each day would be your last.

A book cover caught your eye in the classics section, and you found yourself pulling Pride and Prejudice down from the shelf. You hadn't actually read it yourself, but you were familiar with the story. Your ex-boyfriend, Remus Lupin, had given it to Lily as a birthday present in sixth year. He'd known she wanted to read it and, having read it himself, felt it would be a rather poignant gift in regards to her attitude towards one Mr James Potter.

You flipped the book over, reading one of Mr Darcy's famous lines that was situated in the middle in place of the blurb. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. James had ended up quoting that to Lily many times during seventh year, soon stopping after Lily started calling him Mr Collins every time he did so. It was a fond memory for you, even with the pain of missing your school friends.

You had always intended to read the book, but never quite been able bring yourself to do so when Remus suddenly broke up with you at the end of seventh year.

Your eyes filled with tears and your hurriedly blinked them away. It still hurt to think about. You'd had no idea that Remus was planning to end the relationship. You'd been so excited for the end of the year, wanting to introduce him to your family. Those dreams were shattered, and you never knew the real reason as to why he'd done it.

Oh he told you it was because he was a werewolf and it was dangerous and that he'd never be able to support you financially, but you knew they weren't the real reasons. It was probably him being a martyr so he could fight more proactively in the war. He wouldn't be content to live as you did, just trying to carry on with day to day life but always ready to run and hide at a moment's notice.

"Y/N?" It took you a moment to register that you had really heard Remus' voice and that it wasn't just your imagination from the unexpected trip down memory lane. You looked up, finding him standing a few steps away. He didn't look well; his clothes were shabbier than you had ever seen them, there were deep shadows under his eyes, and he was littered with more scars.

"Remus," you whispered breathlessly, clearing your throat as you tried to move past your surprise. "It's good to see you again."

"And you. Are you well?" He asked, stepping closer to you uncertainly, as though he was no longer sure if was welcome in your personal space.

You smiled softly, nervously releasing the book with one hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm as well as can be expected what with..." You trailed off. He would understand what you meant, and besides that you were in a muggle bookshop and could hardly make reference to a current war in Britain.

Remus nodded awkwardly before catching sight of the book you were holding. He gently took it from your hands, flicking through it with a nostalgic smile in place.

"Do you want to get a drink? There's a café just upstairs. My treat." You hoped he'd agree, and smiled in relief when he caved at the hopeful expression on your face when he finally tore his gaze from the book he now held. You led him to the cafe, where you both ordered cups of tea and you also bought two double chocolate chip muffins to entice him into staying longer.

There was a slightly awkward silence after you'd both gotten comfortable at the table for two you'd selected, neither of you quite knowing what was a safe topic to discuss. That silence broke as you both made a bit more small talk, assured each other that your families were safe and well, and mourned the loss of mutual friends. James and Lily were married now, apparently, and it hurt more than you thought it would to acknowledge that when Remus broke things off with you, you'd stopped hearing from the other marauders and Lily and her friends too. Such a resurgence in pain led to you asking the question that had weighed on your mind for a year.

"Why did you really break up with me, Rem? And please be honest this time," you pleaded, not at all remorseful at the abrupt shift in conversation.

Remus looked like a deer caught in headlights, a resemblance that would have would have made you laugh at any other time but now just brought tears to your eyes. Seeing how upset you were, Remus' expression softened and he took hold of your hands in his.

"I was asked to go undercover with the... the other people that have my condition." He looked around anxiously, making sure no one would overhear this conversation. "I know you think me a man, but I am dangerous, and the others who have nothing left to lose are even more so. I didn't want you to get targeted even more. You're already on this ice as far as You-Know-Who's lot are concerned."

You looked at your hands, fingers firmly wrapped around Remus', and could help but bitterly think that you were right. He was being a martyr, on the front lines while you stayed home like a coward. "I love you, Remus. I wish you'd just told me what was going on."

Remus' breath caught in his throat and he stared at you wide-eyed. "You still love me?"

"Of course I do, you numpty. I'll never stop."

Remus opened and shut his mouth like a fish out of water, looking so completely bewildered and lost that you couldn't stop the watery laugh that escaped. The sounded seemed to change something in Remus, who nodded firmly as if he had made some big decision.

You watched, confused, as he suddenly stood up and moved around the table until he was next to you. His hands cupped either side of your face almost reverently, and before you could question what he was doing, he leant and kissed you soundly.

You were breathless by the time he eventually pulled away, and more than a few people had clearly stopped to watch was going on before carrying on with their lives.

Remus didn't move far away after the kiss ended, simply kneeling on the floor and tilting your head down to keep your foreheads pressed together. "I was an idiot for breaking up with you."

"You were, but you were trying to keep me safe. My idiot," you teased, smiling when he gave you another peck on the lips.

The tables turned when he used his superior hearing to tease you back. "I can hear your heart racing," he smiled smugly, pleased he still had such an impact on you. You shoved his shoulder lightly, an embarrassed flush starting to form even as he laughed and rubbed his nose against yours. "It's okay. My heart is racing too."

You both knew this wasn't an automatic fix. There were still risks to getting back together, but at the end of the day you gave each other a million new reasons to keep fighting, to keep hoping that Voldemort would be defeated soon. In the words of Jane Austen, distance is nothing when one has a motive.

[edgy-fluffball]

The Shine Of Scales In The Night - Or: Humanity’s Abyss

One of the coolest, most awesome people in the world has finished another run around the hot gas ball in the vast emptiness of space and I felt like taking up an old prompt they gave me ages ago. Without further ado, @tigerthealien HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

No one ever returned from the mouth of the river. It was common knowledge not to walk beyond the griffin head-shaped cliff from which the river tumbled into its bed at the bottom before it continued to flow towards the glistening sea. The swirls and currents the motion created between river and sea made the water salty; not quite salty enough to kill but unbearable enough on human tongues. The spot was not mentioned in the village beyond the cliff and the people were careful to get their water at a safe spot before it tumbled over the edge, mixing with the sea and losing its fresh taste.

It was a spot abandoned by birds and animals, the plants surrounding it were lyme grass and fox flowers that had gradually found its way to the river banks. The flora mirrored the surroundings, taking to the circumstances and adapting accordingly. The emptiness of nature around the pool between the sharp rocks that made up its boundaries emphasised the dead silence that held a tight grasp around it.

Disturbing the peaceful waters, so the villagers believed, conjured an evil spirit, devoted to the protection of the pool. It was the reason for any disappearances, any illnesses that overcame the village, untimely death of children and responsible for any immorality and sin committed in the community. The elders had given the shadow a name and the legend was told in hushed voices, evidence given in dark corners and token of good luck sold to travellers and locals alike.

The few who were not scared off by the stories of sightings of description of the beast, thought again once they had been taken to the rows of tombstones in the graveyard, each one dedicated to one that had tried to seek out the spirit, each one buried after their corpse washed on shore in a bay on the other side of the village. The villagers dedicated a tombstone to them, engraved it with a warning for others and held a mass on their behalf before gathering at the inn to drink on a memory they did not share and listen to more stories of the spirit’s bloodlust, told by the elders.

One morning, just as the gates were opened and the first trader and farmers entered the village to set up their market stalls, the children walked towards the school, and the men unlocked their workshops and stores, a dark horse was seen trotting onto the market place. The rider sat hunched over in the saddle, armour dull and battered, with deep scrapes and kinks in the metal, the indicator of an eventful life. Wives stopped to look at the tall figure and watched as it demounted in front of the tavern. The armour made no sound despite the metal plates and pieces knocking together. The eery silence sounded as a song, lamenting the loss of something the villagers could not understand. They watched as the rider led the horse towards the stables, briefly spoke to the stable boy and gave him a few coins before handing over the reins. He still wore his helmet when he entered the inn.

The gossiping villagers returned to their daily tasks and work eventually, reluctantly as they busied themselves. Every now and then, eyes found the inn’s door and remained there for a moment before they moved on, as if they had been caught doing something forbidden.

The rider left the inn again in the afternoon, helmet covering his face, hands gloved and armour adjusted in place. His sword sat tightly fixed to his hip, causing whispers around the market square. It gleamed in the pale sun light.

He had the stable boy get his saddled horse, mounted it and left the village again. The gatekeeper was the last person to look after him. For a moment, everybody stood rooted to the spot. Then, the mob ran to find the innkeeper to enquire about the new arrival.

All the innkeeper could report, however, was that the knight had demanded a room, food and care for the horse before retreating to his room and coming down mere moments earlier. He had not answered, the eager innkeeper reported, when he asked where he was heading.

The inn was packed that evening; men, women and children stood crowded around the counter, trying to spot whoever entered through the front door. One of the youngest children, a girl hardly older than four years, asked her mother why everybody had gathered and was told that travelling knights never brought any good with them, the newest arrival being no exception.

‘But why?’ the child demanded to know.

‘Because the spirit doesn’t take kindly to intruders,’ the mother answered, squeezing her daughter’s arm, too tight, making the child cry, ‘it will decide to get rid of us, too, if we allow trespassers to go to the forbidden pool.’

The girl hid her face in the mother’s shoulder, sniffling quietly as the tension grew with every passing minute. The Elders sat huddled together at one table, conversing about important things that no other could hear. A few of the young men tried to best each other throwing darts under the watchful eyes of the young women, drinking from tankards taller than their hands. Near the fireplace, a group of musicians played a melody speaking of love and loss, the warmth of home and safety of the fireplace.

A cold gust of wind made the candle flames flicker. The door had been pushed open and the knight stepped over the threshold, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His helmet covered everything except his eyes and they shone in the dark of the entrance. He moved through the crowds towards the counter and barked an order at the innkeeper. A tankard of ale in his hand, he pushed towards the back off the room, past the Elders, the darts board and flock of young girls.

The wooden bank squeaked as he sat down, the sound being the only thing audible in the room. Heads had turned, eyes followed him and whispered conversations stopped mid-word. A heavy hand dropped on the table, leather squeaked as gloved fingers grabbed the tankard.

Then, one of the Elders pushed his chair back, got up and moved towards him. The villagers reverently moved aside, allowing him to pass through their bulk.

‘Stranger,’ he greeted the knight, ‘welcome in our community. What leads you here?’

The rider tilted his head, dark eyes glistening in their deep sockets in the shade underneath the helmet, ‘Thank you for the warm welcome. My aims and destinations, however, are mine to deal with.’

‘Are you planning on seeking out something specific?’

The knight turned and seemed to look around, ‘Heard a rumour, wanted to follow up on it.’

The Eldest inhaled sharply, ‘I truly have to advise you not to follow up on it. No good ever comes from rumours, that is well-known. We are determined to keep you out of harm’s way.’

‘You can try,’ the knight lifted the tankard, ‘yet I am determined. And you sound like you are threatening me.’

‘No human has ever returned from the pool, we are not going to allow you to –‘

‘Your sword is shiny,’ the small girl had slipped out of her mother’s grip and made her way over until she stood next to the knight, ‘why?’

The knight seemed to stop and halt for a motion, ‘It is sharp. I need to look after it.’

‘Nothing else is shiny.’

A sound escaped the darkness under the helmet, a sound resembling a chuckle, ‘You are a smart one, aren’t you? Armour protects you, no matter the state. A sword needs work and caring to stay sharp. Are you interested in my sword, young lady?’

The girl giggled and nodded, ‘Mum says it’s dangerous.’

‘No, not when you know what you are doing, little lady,’ the knight loosened the strap holding the helmet in place and pushed it up over his face.

Revealing a face that did not match what every single villager had made up to be the expected. The elders jumped up, righteous anger and disgust on their faces. Men spilled their drinks, women gasped and the kids stopped playing under the tables.

‘A woman! A disgrace! Dishonour!’ The cry reverberated from the walls, sniping and cutting, being repeated in every mouth. The knight, hand tight around her sword’s pommel, let it happen. If anything betrayed the collected expression she showed, it was her twitching eye lid as she looked around the room.

The Elders led the parade of angry villagers past her. Spitting into her face and threatening to set the dogs on her seemed not to touch her. Her face remained unchanged, a mask, motionless as if cast in iron. Only, when the kids were pulled away from her and the little girl was treated harshly enough to make her cry again, she got up, took her helmet and left the inn without another word. The villagers followed her, outraged by the audacity to keep her cool and not react to the insults and slurs yelled after her.

‘Get lost!’

‘Drop dead!’

‘Unnatural bitch!’

‘Get yourself killed!’

Some of the younger kids, hiding behind their mothers’ skirts and a few of the young women stared after the rider with something resembling sadness in their eyes. The Elders were quick to usher the people back into the inn, one already beginning the tale of the handsome hunter determined to catch the evil spirit, and how he died. Only the Eldest stayed outside in the onset of a dark night and followed the knight, giving her the exact location to the forbidden pool. His face and eyes betrayed the hatred he wished to conceal but the rider got on her horse and left him in the mud they whirled up as they galloped out the gates.

***

Despite the warnings and gruesome stories, the first sight of the forbidden pool, long before the long climb down the cliff began, was one to behold. No matter whether sun shine, rain or night time, the pool with its lively surface and wild waters seemed to shine with fallen starlight. Its glimmering waves transported a warm shine towards the sea where it bled into the current.

The horse refused to set a single hoof on the narrow path leading down to the riverbed. The rider dismounted and took the saddle of the trusty steed’s back, smoothing down the fur and whispering a few words in its ears. The mare huffed and began to graze. The rider stayed with it a moment, stroking its neck. Then, she took her sparse belongings from where they had been attached to the saddle, shouldered them and set out to climb down to the moonlit pool.

The rubble under her feet told the story of attempted descends, the sander marks spoke of unsuccessful attempts and the broken branches on the trees lining the path made all too clear where prior fighters had tried to hold on for just a moment, a moment of safety before they plunged to their deaths.

The knight steered clear of the trees, the beaten tracks and loose stones. She made her way down the cliff, sticking to where her own feet guided her instead of following the trail others had made. Her sword dragged over a few smaller stones, upsetting their balance and sending them over the edge. She could hear them hit the ground and rolling into the riverbed with a small splash.

The closer she got the waterfall, the stronger she felt the cool spray on her face. Water, drifting on the wind, caressing her skin and following the hard lines of an expression that did not know a soft touch. She did not wipe it away, let it pool under her eyes until drop after drop slid towards the corners of her mouth, almost like tears.

And then, just as her legs and knees began to tremble with exhaustion and the constant danger of slipping and falling, her feet hit even ground, sandy soil giving way under her boots. She breathed a sigh of release, stumbling a little as her legs gave in. Her hands managed to catch her weight as she collapsed, a mere stone’s throw from the riverbank.

The water gurgled, unaffected by the sunk down figure on its banks. It flowed, unfazed by her shallow breaths, over the cliff and plunged into the pool of shining stars and moon light, rolled and stomped with the force of the feral sea that licked into the freshwater, drawn in by the uncommon movement. It entangled between the mossy rocks that lined the pool, salty sea wedding the fresh, pure water coming from the mountains to the banks. As the swirls mixed and sweet, fresh water turned salty and lost its refreshing taste.

The moon watched as the newly created water as it made its way towards the sea, singing its song of what it had seen and experienced. Drops jumping out of the bed cheered; shattering against the dark soil they betrayed the taciturn waters and let out their tale of the knight at the pool. They did not stay around to see what followed their talkativeness.

Their song and chatter reached the ears of a being, swimming up and down along the coast, waiting for the tides to allow it to swim inland. A single soft splashing of water gave away its position just underneath the surface, a gleaming tail flicking. It watched the river mouth, ready to use the first opportunity to go and see for itself what the twaddling waters had been talking about.

***

The water’s sad song, unheard through the lapping of the river, nothing more than a whisper was the first thing she heard when she opened her eyes. It was still dark around her with nothing but the moonlight allowing a little clarity. She pushed herself up on her hands, shaking her head to get rid of the fogginess in her brain.

Something had changed, she felt. The pool’s brawl had died down a little, a mere ambient noise, not the roaring waterfall that had dominated her descent.

‘You are alive.’

She groaned and rolled around on the hard floor. A small sound behind her made her look around but the churning surface of the pool was nothing more than that, gleaming water splashing up, licking at the rocks.

‘Who are you?’

It sounded like the gurgling of water, as if the person spoke through a mouthful of liquid. The knight scrambled to her feet, hand around the handle of her sword.

‘Who’s there?’

‘Didn’t they warn you? I am a rumour. A whisper. A bad dream,’ the voice replied, giggling against the water, ‘No one ever comes to see me anymore. It gets so boring and lonely out here and the waves stop talking to me after some time.’

The knight still peered into the pool trying to make out where the voice came from. She pulled the sword out of its sheath, pointing it at the water.

‘This is stupid,’ she pressed through her teeth, ‘what am I doing, fighting water?’

‘It’s shiny,’ the voice came closer, water lapped over a stone, ‘I like shiny things.’

‘You and me both,’ the knight stepped closer to the shore, ‘now show yourself.’

‘I don’t know if I want to. You were lucky the tides pressed out of the stream and I couldn’t get back before. I would have started singing the moment you stepped onto the path. And what a shame it would have been.’

‘Are you checking me out?’ The knight looked around, ‘this is hardly fair.’

‘I’ll give you that,’ the water parted and something peeked up above the bank, ‘hello. Nice to meet you.’

The knight stared. Her mind was wiped clear, the sight in front of her was too much to summarise it in words.

The slender arms leaning on the dark soil shimmered wet and blue in the moon light, hair stuck in tight, dripping strands to a slim neck. For a moment, the knight thought to have seen extravagant jewellery around that neck, then it hit her.

‘You have gills!’ She dropped her sword, knelt in front of the creature and got closer to its face, ‘do you have a tail, too?’

Water hit her face as something splashed behind the shape in the pool, ‘I do. Do you want to see it?’

The knight nodded and sat down properly at the edge, ‘May I? This is truly exciting, if you forgive the honesty. I have never met a cryptid before.’

Gargling laughter was the answer. The knight followed every slow move the creature made until it had swum into the middle of the pool and turned on its back. Its tail flicked from one side to the other, lazily moving as if it was treading water.

‘It looks amazing,’ the knight let her gaze linger on the shining scales.

A blue shimmer radiated from the whole length of the finned tail, a shimmer that followed darker patches on the gleaming surface of the palm sized scales. It looked like there were stripes embedded under the protective layer, stripes in a colour that resembled black more than anything else – and yet, the tail glowed in the dark of the pool. The knight felt a shiver run down her spine.

‘You are beautiful,’ she breathed, ‘thank you for showing me. My mother always told me about your kind – she lived close to the sea and a whole flock of them were always close by. She told me one day I would find them again so I followed the whispers and rumours.’

‘You wittingly found my kind? We kill the humans we find, we sing them a lullaby and drown them,’ the creature returned, pointy ears twitching like an attentive dog’s.

‘You are a cryptid, the humans you catch are the ones that do not respect that you have been around for so much longer than us,’ the knight smiled carefully, ‘why are you here? My mother always made it sound like you were gregarious?’

‘The others are, I got excluded from the pack. I don’t fit.’

‘I know what that feels like,’ the knight sighed, ‘we have that in common.’

‘How do you not fit? You look like a normal biped to me. Maybe a little prettier than the ones that came here before.’

‘Thank you,’ the knight leant back to hide her blush in the darkness of the night, ‘but I am a disgrace to humankind. Wherever I go, I get driven away when they see what I am. I figured, chasing shadows would make more sense than something humans could never give me.’

‘I cannot breathe underwater,’ the creature swam closer to the edge, ‘at least not properly. I need to stay close to the surface and the coast, otherwise I’m at risk of drowning. It breaks my heart every time I try to get out there because I think something changed and I could re-join my family.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the knight started to take off her armour, one piece and pauldron after the other, ‘that must hurt you. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘You are nice,’ the mellow voice came closer, velvety soft and musical, ‘but you can’t change the fact that my gills and lungs don’t work the way they should. I try to enjoy what little I can when I feel strong enough for a proper swim but I need to return to the pool before the tide locks me out and I have to tread water. I love the way water parts for you, the way it swirls around my tail. I love how my hair moves in the water like its one with the currents and how cool it is against my skin when it is wet. I love how quiet it is under the surface and how violent water can be, but also how gentle…’

The knight finished taking off her armour and crossed her legs, ‘No wonder you sing for the men who try and catch you.’

‘I could still sing for you, if you decided to use the shiny thing,’ the slender arms reappeared on the riverbank, ‘I’ll take that risk.’

The knight smiled, ‘I’m not going to use my sword. I promise. Do you have a name?’

Water hit her in the face, the creature disappeared under the surface and came back up a moment later, gasping for air, ‘I do! But no one ever asks for it because no one cares.’

‘I care,’ the knight lifted her arm, ‘so, what is your name?’

‘Tiger shark,’ a hand was held out the water, ‘I extend you a biped greeting. If you were a merperson, I would insist on a finbump.’

The knight chuckled and shook the hand, ‘My name is Eua. Nice to meet you, Tiger.’

They grinned at each other for a moment before settling back, Eua against the Cliffside, Tiger into the water.

‘What are you planning to do now?’ Tiger asked, blowing bubbles into the rippling waters, ‘Your quadruped is still up there.’

‘It’s fine, I’ll figure something out,’ Eua leant back, ‘for tonight, I would like to stay here – if you allow it.’

Tiger’s dark eyes blinked and her jaw dropped, ‘Of course I will, you can stay for as long as you want and need to.’

‘Thank you,’ Eua smiled, ‘I’m going to be back in a few minutes, just…getting the horse and my things.’

‘Of course,’ Tiger splashed with some water, lighting up the droplets sailing through the air, ‘I promise not to sing!’

‘Thank you,’ Eua grinned back over her shoulder, ‘to a bright future.’

Tiger waved after her with her fin, splashing up a little more water before resting her chin on her forearms. She watched as Eua climbed up the cliff, smiled to herself and started humming a small melody.

Eua perked up, ‘Hey, are you singing?’

‘Humming.’

‘Please don’t, I already don’t want to take a single step more,’ Eua yelled downhill and turned back around, ‘at least let me get my horse.’

Tiger closed her lips, allowing no further sound to escape. She waited patiently for Eua to return, waited with all the questions she had about biped habits and what they were going to do, two outcasts who found their own place in the world together. They would take on any challenge, sword and fangs ready to defend each other, no questions asked.

They just did not know yet how deep the effects would run.

[hellospunkiebrewster]

Flight Risk - Part I

Author’s note: Here it is, part one of this angsty emotional journey. I hope I’ve done it justice. Some NSFW in this chapter, so please, be gentle with me. The prologue is here.

The characters and portions of the dialogue from one of the scenes belongs to Pixelberry. I’m just borrowing it for fun. If you call this fun.

Summary: Liam finally has all the freedom he’s dreamed of, but still he feels so chained to his home.

Tags: @madaraism, @theroyalweisme, @viktoriapetit, @hopefulmoonobject, @captain-kingliamsqueen, @syltti78, @pbchoicesobsessed, @captainkingliam, @queencatherynerhys, @jamielea81, @bobasheebaby, @ranishajay, @blackcatkita, @jlouise88

It was two hours into the eight hour flight and he hadn’t spoken since take off. His hand rubs up and down Riley’s thigh absentmindedly as she nuzzles into his neck, gratefully breathing in his scent, something she had not been entirely prepared to say goodbye to. She wants so desperately to say something, but isn’t sure what would make this better for him. He continues to stare down the aisle, a deep pain in his heart.

Cordonia. It was his home and his duty. Liam was brokenhearted at the notion that his home would never welcome her. He tried to reason his way out of it over and over. It was because they didn’t know her but nothing changed when they did. It was because she was a foreigner unaccustomed to their traditions and again nothing changed when she embraced them. He made this realization the moment they stepped back on Cordonian soil, she wouldn’t ever be welcome there and he was done with allowing someone else dictate his happiness. It was in that moment that he knew he couldn’t ask her to endure any more, she had already sacrificed enough. Now was his turn.

She’d been dragged through the mud, over and over, and still she stood with him. Always making sure he was happy, that he was coping. She’d left everything behind for him because of that minute spark of electricity she felt with him. He knew he wanted nothing more than to be with her, but even as a king he was so powerless to change the way she would be treated, not by the public but by his peers. It hurt so much to see her rejected like that, relegated to alleys and shadows, when she deserved to be on a pedestal.

The plane shifts ever so slightly in trajectory. He notices and tenses, surely they wouldn’t call for the flight to be diverted over this. They knew where he would be headed. He thought back to making the arrangements, perhaps they shouldn’t have been so impatient to get to their destination. The should’ve hopped around, so they’d never know when to expect them in New York City. They could’ve flown to Amsterdam, taken a ferry to Newcastle, and continued from there. That would give them time and leave more of a trail. At least this way he knows no one else can arrive before them, he supposed. He only hoped that they had enough of a head start, that perhaps they’d be halfway over the Atlantic before they were noticed missing. Nothing more than some light turbulence, the plane continued on.

“It’s okay, we’re going to be okay. We’re together.” He feels her chest reverberate against his side as she reassures him. He nods to himself remembering the days before, when they were in New York.

--

“I seriously can’t believe you. A private ferry, to the Statue of Liberty, at this time of night?”

“Being a king has its benefits.” He felt a pang in his chest as soon as the words left his lips. These lavish outings were fine, but he hated how they had to be in the shadows, to the side. She deserved more than that. The only thing he truly wanted, he could never have as king.

He smiles at her and wraps his arms around her from behind as she leans against the railing, facing Lady Liberty. When the ferry lands at the dock, he leads her to the base of the statue.

“She really is something, isn’t she?”

“She is.” The words are barely there, a ghost on his lips. They’re surrounded by stillness and the quiet hum of late night New York behind them, staring up at her in reverence.

“Riley, do you remember the Coronation?”

“How could I forget?” She turns to him, her mouth downturned in a frown, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“I was going to propose to you that night, in front of the entire court. And not doing so will remain the biggest regret of my entire life.” The breeze rustles her hair and he sweeps a stray lock of it from her face.

“You couldn’t-”

“Fate’s been cruel to us. It would’ve been so poetic if you could’ve come out on the other side of this conspiracy here in New York, where we met. I’d have proposed right here and we’d come full circle.”

The breeze picks up around them, whipping her dress about, her hair stinging her face, her tears barely maintaining their grip at the corners of her eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring, a vintage gold band set with three deep blue sapphires.

“This was my mother’s and since I saw you in Cordonia, at the masquerade ball, I knew I’d be giving it to you one day.”

“Liam, I can’t, not when-”

“Please.” He was barely holding on now. His voice cracks on his next words, “If nothing else, as a reminder of what we had, what I will always have for you. You’ve opened my eyes to what the world can be, it’s been an honor to witness your strength and be the object of your love. You give me courage, you make me better, I only wish I could give you everything you wanted, that I could be everything you wanted.”

She watches as he slips the ring on her finger and his heart breaks. He wishes it could mean something more. He pulls her to him, tears in his eyes, and he kisses her, tender and sad.

“You know, she’d have loved you, my mother.”

“Perhaps in another life, in another world.” She says quietly as they break apart. Her eyes glisten in the dark and she sniffled softly. His eyes were filled with longing, hurt, and sadness. He turned to face the Statue of Liberty, his eyes running up to the crown.

“I thought it would be nice to spend our last night in New York together, just us, I’ve arranged for us to go to the top. That is, if you’re up for it.” He took in her features, set in sadness. She nodded, a wistful smile pulling at her lips.

“There’s nothing I’d love more.”

Several minutes of climbing later, they arrive, a bit breathless. Liam pulls her into a kiss before taking in the view.

“Wow. I have never seen New York like this before. Breathtaking.”

“It really is,” she responds, still catching her breath, looking over the water to the skyline. Her cheeks are rosy with emotion and her eyes threaten to spill again. This was one of many lasts for her, for them.

“I’m glad I get to share this with you. I’m not sure I’ve ever truly understood before, this is why they call it the City of Dreams. America has always been a place that people come to achieve their dreams, New York City in particular. I had no idea how true that would be…” he trails off, thoughts warring behind his eyes, his brow knotted and untangled.

“You know… you carry a piece of that New York hope with you everywhere, it’s what makes you so special.”

“I do?” Her voice caught in her throat as emotion struggled against her need for for him.

“You help people achieve their dreams. Helping Drake find Savannah, helping Hana stand up to her father, helping me realize that I deserve more than a queen, I deserve a partner, a wife.”

“I think you’re giving me way too much credit, I didn’t do any of that.”

“And still, with all we’ve put you through, with all I’ve put you through, you stay humble.”

Riley looks down at her hands, her fingers spinning his mother’s ring around her finger. “You’re right about New York, it’s probably one of the most inspirational places in the country.”

“I’d go so far as to say the world.” He places his fingers under her chin, bringing her face up to look at him. His eyes roam her face, taking all of her in, her lips, her nose, her cheeks, before settling on her eyes.

“Lady Liberty exudes that New York possibility, the notion that it doesn’t matter who you are, you’re welcome here. That even when things are bad, they can get better.” He gazes over the water for a moment before turning back to her.

“There’s one more thing I wanted to say tonight. You’ll always have a home in Cordonia and I’ll never let anyone or anything threaten that ever again.” He was holding on to her for dear life. He couldn’t bear to see her go even though he knew she would be leaving. A tiny inkling of a thought, of hope, worms its way into his mind. He struggles to see what was so great about being king if it meant saying goodbye like this, to someone he loved with every tiny particle of himself. Surely, he could make them see reason, break off the engagement, live happily with her for a time as an unmarried king, and then, perhaps then, once the flurry of excitement died down, they could be happy. Together. He looks at her, reverence in his gaze. He’s resolved to do something about it, the moment they step off the train in Cordonia.

“I have never wanted anything more than you.” He kisses her and feels goosebumps rise on her skin under his touch. She sighs into the kiss and her hands find his chest to steady herself. He pulls her lower lip between his teeth, sucking lightly. She stumbles backwards, her back finding the glass. He deepens the kiss, only coming up for air when she breaks away.

“Liam, I want you.” Her voice is quiet and she fights to keep her tears and emotion at bay. She wants to remember him like this, to remember the bliss of being with him, just him. One of his hands finds the cool glass and he braces himself, running his fingertips over her jaw and down her neck to her chest. She pushes his jacket from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor behind him. Riley’s hands fumble at his buttons before slipping inside his shirt and feeling his chest and stomach. His hands move to the fastenings at the top of her dress, faltering when her fingers dip just inside his waistband. He pulls one shoulder down, exposing one of her breasts before he takes it in his mouth, flicking her nipple with his tongue roughly. His hand slips your her other shoulder from her dress.

He stands back up to kiss Riley on the lips once more, pressing her bare back to the glass and she shivers. His hand flicks the elastic of her underwear before pulling it to the side, drawing circles, slipping in between.

“Liam…”

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he breathes against her lips before catching her in another kiss.

Her hands find his belt, working furiously to unbuckle it before undoing his pants. Her hand slides in, feeling him firm against her, and she frees him. One of his hands grips her thigh as she hooks her leg around his hip and guides him to her. He starts slow, relishing how she feels around him, enjoying every little sound she makes.

He thrusts into her, each time bringing a wave of electricity that courses through her body, until they’re both panting and shaking, their legs weak.

--

He turns his attention to her, turning to kiss the top of her head. His fingertips slightly tingle from running circles on the fabric of her jeans and they graze up her thigh and in. He could feel her shift ever so slightly at his teasing touch. Her hand slips under his shirt, her fingertips riding along the waistband of his pants, before dipping in just slightly, barely an inch.

“Liam…” her voice comes out in a airy whisper, against his chest. His fingers swirl closer to her center and upon feeling the warmth she is radiating, even through her clothes, he feels the familiar tightening in the fabric of his pants.

Riley shifts and kisses him on his cheek. Her lips move to his ear and she speaks in a breathy murmur, “You’ve been quiet, care to join me?” Her eyes flit to the vacant lavatory sign and back to his, a sly smile rising to her eyes. Her bottom lip rakes against her teeth. She slips from his side, peeking back at him as she saunters down the aisle.

Liam closes his eyes for a moment, drinking in this tiny moment of bliss and centering himself around it. They were finally able to be together, on their terms, in a way. This isn’t how he would’ve planned it, but they were free, for the moment, of the gossip and looks. He didn’t want to think of what awaited them when they landed, he wanted to think of now.

He looks up and down the plane before placing two light knocks at the door her saw her disappear into. He hears the door slowly and quietly click open and slips in with her. There’s barely enough room for them to stand together so she props herself on the ledge of the sink, pulling him into a hungry kiss.

“I like this brash impulsiveness, Liam. I know you’re worried, but I’ve never wanted to jump you more.” Her eyes flash before darting downwards.

“What’s back there doesn’t matter anymore, all that matters is us, you.” His insides were being chewed up by his anxiety, even with her here, in front of him like this. Her hands at the waist of his pants, her eyes hungry, her lips devouring every part of him. He closes his eyes as he feels her fingers on his zipper.

--

“Ugh, LaGuardia is the worst,” Riley mumbles from the back seat of their cab. “Always under construction, always the worst traffic.” She glances over at Liam who looks out the side window anxiously, scanning the people lining the sidewalk, waiting for their loved ones or their Dryves. The moment they landed Riley had used a payphone to track down some old friends and locate a vacant apartment in Chinatown, it was small and a friend who was going to be out of town on business was willing to sublet it to them for the next few months while they got on their feet and figured out what exactly that would look like.

--

Each morning, Liam went for a walk to get his paper and coffee. He rose early, grabbing a small coffee and the New York Times from a street vendor. It wasn’t long before the man outside their building knew him by name. His walk took him to a new spot, a new bench, each morning as he explored the city he was now forced to call his home.

He perused the newspaper once he’d settled on an appropriate bench for the morning, immediately flipping to the International News section. His eyes would frantically search the page for any tiny mention of his homeland. It had been nearly a week before he saw anything: Royal Wedding Mysteriously Postponed Indefinitely. That was it, no mention for the next couple of days. His routine continued, his search for the perfect spot in New York City, while he and Riley figured out life and themselves, what they looked like together without the throne. It was something they had never contemplated. He began to tutor a couple kids in their building, in history and civics.

Over time, he developed favorite spots for different moods but Battery Park quickly became one of his favorite places in the world, rivaled only by the top of the statue he had such a clear view of from his usual spot on his usual bench. Like the days before, he brought his coffee and a newspaper to read in the crisp early morning air. The city had only begun to wake up. Today, his paper sits untouched on the bench beside him as he contemplates his view.

...Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me...

The words roll around in his mind, hitting all too close to his heart. The monument he so loved, was calling out to him in the words inscribed at her base. He was finally breathing free. He had all the freedom he dreamed of right now, but his heart still ached for his home. He struggles against himself, against the sheer urgency to return home, to fix what he’d done. His brother was never meant to be King of Cordonia and rightfully stepped down, using the correct channels. Here he was, the less impulsive one, the less brazen one, and he had stolen away, like a thief in the night. More than anything, he wanted to make it right, to make sure his people and country weren’t suffering because of his actions.

He stood from his bench after finishing his coffee, never once glancing at his paper, never one flipping to the International News section, never once reading the headline: Public Calls for Statement from their Absent King after Postponement of his Nuptials.

--

[theheartchoice]

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dean/cas  |  teen  |  2.6k  |  coda for 12x10 (part 1 of 2)  |  ao3 

Cas recovers in the bunker under Dean’s care (part 2).

Ishim's words has gotten to him. Add in the physical beating to that emotional one, and Dean knew Cas could do with a good night's rest. He insisted Cas at least try to close his eyes and turn his mind off for a few hours while his body recovered.

They stood at the threshold of Cas' room—one barely lived-in and lacking all nuance of personal touch—and Cas reared back, slightly. 

"Dean, this is pointless. I'm not tired." And yet his eyes were hanging from his head, and the entire walk from the garage Cas had leaned his weight into Dean. "I can do research in the librar—"

"—Cas, enough! Alright? You're getting some shut-eye, and that's final." If he had to treat Cas like a stubborn child then he would. He knew what was best right now, even if Cas couldn't see it.

Cas' riposte died on his lips, sighing as tired eyes drifted from Dean to the empty room.

"You spent enough of your angel mojo healing that dick to earn yourself at least one goddamn night's rest. You need to heal. I won't take no for an answer."

Dean urged him through the doorway, hand at the small of Cas' back, closing the door with his boot behind them to dissuade any worry of Cas escaping back into the hall.

Hand still gripped in Cas' coat, he led him to the bedside and switched on the lamp. The room was bare. No pictures or art or weapons on the walls. Nothing on the desk but a blank notepad and pen. The TV remote sat on the nightstand beside the keys to Cas' Lincoln Continental. The drab palette and lack of character was not a welcome sight, with nothing at all to garner that feeling of home.

Dean made a mental note: tomorrow, he would help Cas decorate—any way he wanted.

It was a good idea, one he should've thought of sooner. Because he noticed something mingled in the exhaustion of Cas' features that tugged at his heart, like a child wanting to leave a place they found.. disturbing, unfamiliar, uncomfortable. 

"C'mon.." 

Dean turned Cas to face him, giving him something alive and reassuring to focus on. Palms slipping beneath the shoulders of his coat, Dean shifted it down til Cas worked it off over his hands. Dean hung it on the back of the door and returned his focus to his friend.

"You don't like it here, huh?" he muttered, avoiding Cas' eyes while loosening his tie.

When Cas didn't answer Dean looked up, snaking the tie through his grasp and searching Cas' face for a visual answer.

A weary sigh deepened the lines in Cas' face. "No, it is a.. nice room. Thankyou."

"Right."

Dean didn't believe him. Cas knew he didn't believe him. But neither had the energy to care at the moment. 

Unbuttoning Cas' shirt he was surprised to find a second layer: a white singlet was half-tucked where his shirt had been into the wasitband of his trousers. Dean left Cas to finish up, expecting him to follow through from his example, and turned towards the dresser. 

"What are you doing..?"

Dean pulled open a draw. 

"There's nothing in there," Cas mumbled, spying Dean from the corner of his eye as he reached the final button.

The cotton dragged over his skin, feeling considerably more heavy than the light weight it should be. It seemed to gather with a thud on the floor as it fell from his shoulders. 

Reaching to remove his under-layer, Cas inhaled deep to muster the strength of raising his arms above his head. Perhaps a few hours rest would do him some good.

But he still couldn't shake the feeling of the room: it felt foreign, belonging to someone else—or many someones, like any of the countless, nameless motel rooms he had stayed in over the years whether with, or without the Winchesters.

He struggled as the fabric caught on its ascent, trying to keep his balance and free himself from the tangled confines of one too many layers.

Steady hands came to land on his shoulders just in time, before hoisting the confounded garment from his head and arms while helping him stay upright. 

"..There y'are."

Dean's soft smile sparkled, but was paired with concerned brows digging forward. He was worrying about Cas—again. 

Cas felt like a burden much of the time, and now he had let show his dislike for the room the brothers were kind enough to offer him. He had been ungrateful, and guilt churned sleepily in his gut.

"Thankyou, Dean." He needed to say more, needed to find words of appreciation lest Dean kick him to the curb, again. "I—.." But he wasn't given the chance.

Tossing the singlet on the ground with his shirt, Dean reached for a pile of clothing—of unfamiliar clothing—folded and waiting on the bed.

"Comfy shirt—" Dean let the old tee unfurl in one hand, "Comfy pants—" he let the pair of flannel pyjama bottoms unfurl in the other, both pieces of sleepwear hanging in display. 

"Where did you..?"

"I filled your dresser a few days ago. Thought you would've noticed, by now."

Cas was dumbstruck. He glanced over at the open draw, now piled with all manner of casual clothing. Dean lay the tee and pants on the bed before stepping towards the closet.

"And, I thought it would be a good idea if, y'know.." He stood holding open the closet door. Inside were a dozen or so white dress shirts neatly hanging, aside a dozen or so pairs of dark slacks. "Better you have some spares than waste your mojo on stitchin' cotton. I just figured, anyway.."

Cas' feet were on auto-pilot as he found himself beside Dean, fingers trailing along the garments that had been bought, prepared, gifted just for him by the one person in the world whom it meant the most to recieve them from. 

"Dean, I—"

"—Don't sweat it."

Cas smiled. "But, how did you know—"

"—I took your measurements. When we got back from Gitmo, I just needed to keep myself busy, y'know.. With homey things. I did laundry. Found your stuff.. Went out, bought some more."

"But you were mad—"

"—And I needed a distraction. From those government spooks, from Billie.. Retail therapy. Works wonders." His smile stuttered as he continued on. "And.. this is your room, Cas. It should be filled with your things, with you."

Cas' arm moved of its own accord, hand suddenly squeezing Dean's bicep. "Thankyou," Cas reiterated, pouring every ounce of gratitude and fondness he had for this human into his words, and into the look of admiration and affection he gifted back to him.

Dean Winchester was a treasure.

Clearing his throat, Dean moved back to the mess of clothes on the floor, gathering them up and placing them in the hamper in the corner.

"Hey—" He called to Cas, who turned with one hand still caressing his new wardrobe. "Pants too, 'cmon."

Cas gave a nod, and began on his belt. He had somehow regained composure of muscles, managing not to trip and stumble as he stepped out of his trousers. It was as he worked them over his ankles that Cas noticed six pairs of boots standing to attention at the bottom of his closet, cloaked in shadow.

"This.. must have been an expensive," he remarked, turning back to Dean. 

"It wa—.."

Cas stood only in his black boxers, and the sight took Dean by surprise. He straightened from folding back the covers of the bed and cleared his throat again.

"It was worth it. Anything to flex my pool skills. Actually made more than I ended up spendin', so.. win-win." 

He beamed at Cas, though his face had reddened some and he avoided prolonged eye contact.

Dean grabbed the edge of the hamper basket and tilted the opening toward Cas, prompting him to throw his trousers in. 

Cas gravitated to the bedside, reaching for the sleepwear and pulling on the pants—almost tipping forward, but Dean's hand again braced him, keeping him from falling. Cas peeked up and gave a small smile of thanks.

The some flannel was thick and hugged his skin in the cool night air. As he pulled on the tee his eyes drew downward, noting the imagery on the front, while feeling the soft, worn fabric of the sleeves that reached his elbows and the torso that hung loose enough to curl up in. This was familiar.

"This is.. yours?"

Dean nodded, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Yeah, well.. You need it more than I do."

Cas quirked his head at that. His hands held the hem of the shirt taught, the upside-down symbology of Dean's favourite band stretching out beneath him.

"It's comfort, Cas. And you deserve a little comfort. You deserve to feel comfortable—here, 'cos.. this is your home."

The flannel pants were helping, but it was the warmth of Dean's words, of his sentiment that flooded and embraced Cas like a hug from the inside out. 

And then his arms were around Dean, wayward again.

Where words failed, or didn't come, actions had always spoken clear and sincere between the two of them. Cas buried his face in Dean's collar, sighing into the contact, the familiarity, the comfort of good company.

Their bodies were flush. Dean's head told him that his arms wrapped around Cas to hold him steady. But his heart beat a different story, drumming bold and bathed in sunlight as his angel embraced him.

Whatever bad air threatened to taint their friendship, Dean revered what they shared too damn much to let it fall apart, to give up on it. He may have been mad at Cas for his reckless behaviour, but they would find a way to work through it, like they always did. And in the meantime he would be damned if their profound bond twisted into something distant and unfamiliar.

He didn't want Cas to leave—not again. So he needed to make sure he had a reason to stay—to want to stay, like the feeling of home that couldn't be found anywhere else.

Dean patted Cas' back and let their bodies part, reeling from the warmth and the feeling of hope that their friendship was still in tact.

"Alright, bedtime." Dean steered Cas to sit on the edge of the mattress. "Eight hours at least." 

The angel tucked his feet in and settled down beneath the covers. 

"Dean?" Cas stopped him as he reached for the light.

"Yeah, what's up..?"

"I—.. would you—.. I mean.."

Dean moved closer to the bedside. 

"What is it, Cas?"

"Would you mind.. staying?" Cas tried, uncertain. ”Just.. until I fall asleep?”

Without hesitation, Dean nodded, moving around the bed towards the armchair which looked comfy enough, if not sat in for over forty years.

The rustle and movement of sheets caught his attention, and he turned to find Cas had folded back the covers, a bare space inviting Dean to join him.

Oh.

Dean’s eyes flicked between the bed and the chair as Cas stubbornly tried to fight off sleep.

If he was being honest, he could cut and run right now; go back to his own room and his own bed, feeding Cas some bullshit excuse. But he would no doubt find himself sleeping restlessly, waking several times in the night to wander down the hall and check on Cas. He might as well just stay the night.

He toed off his boots and left them by the nightstand. His belt came next, before he slipped out of his jeans and folded them on the arm of the upholstered chair, flannel following. The last item was his watch, which he placed beside the small bedside lamp before tucking himself in beside Cas.

It was only then that he noticed the angel staring: wide eyes framed in exhaustion, but definitely staring—at Dean.

“What..?”

Cas said nothing, but a smile sparkled in his eyes before he leaned carefully out of the bed to switch off the light. 

He settled back down beside Dean, who hoisted the covers up over his chest.

Better a mattress than some old manky chair, he though. And even though it wasn’t memory foam, he had to admit it was damn comfy. The ache eased out of his bones as his muscles melted into the lure of sleep. He might well beat Cas to dreamland.

They both needed this: Cas’ grace needed to recharge, and Dean had face-off with one too many angels in the past 24 hours, earning him at least a few hours of comfortable unconsciousness.

The shadows pressed in on him, insistent. Cas’ smile lingered in his mind, and before he could surrender to sleep, one more thought nagged at him.

There was something he had to do, something that had to be done now else the courage would fade—soon enough today would become tomorrow and the moods and mindsets of now would be reset, post-sleep.

Not trusting his fatigued self to make any hasty decisions, however, Dean fell back on instinct, giving over to the whims of his body; it was both his out to be bold and his later excuse should things go awry.

His arm moved around Cas. He shuffled a little forward, and, to his delight, Cas shuffled a little back. The warmth of a body beside him ensured Cas was there, and alive. The weight of his arm around him ensured Cas would stay.

Dean’s hand fisted loosely in the sheet around Cas’ torso.

Cas’ hand found Dean’s bare forarem, resting there, warm flesh on warm flesh, grazing patterns with just enough pressure so as not to tickle.

Dean inhaled steady, slow, deep, his nose buried in the soft tufts of hair before him. A solid, warm expanse of angel in his arms, safe, near.

The gift of clothes were a kind gesture, helping Cas to feel less out of place in a space that had been reserved just for him. But it was the human curled around him, warm and alive and falling asleep in his bed, that helped the room to finally feel like home.

The last thing Cas felt before sleep, was the press of Dean’s lips in his hair.

The last thing Dean felt before sleep, was Cas settling back into his touch.

Now, wherever Cas was, when his mission or the next battle would take him far from the bunker, far from the presence of the Winchesters, he could at least find comfort in the memory of Dean beside him, around him. Anytime Cas was homesick, he would think of this moment.

He would think od his place in the bunker; think of Dean.

They were one in the same.

Dean was his home.

[jennifercrowart]

D&D Diary - The Yawning Rodent, 2

Refresher: After meeting the friendly ratfolk of the Yawning Rodent tavern and the Rat's Nest, and travelling through the Underdark caves and fighting off a few twig blights and giant spiders, our adventurers Lugs (grung Barbarian), Lurks (grung Rogue), Aelia (tiefling Cleric) and Valas (drow Sorcerer) have arrived at the foot of the Sunless Citadel.

Sunless Citadel spoilers!

The party stands in front of the courtyard of the Sunless Citadel. Lurks heads through it first while the others hold back, and he dextrously makes his way through all the rubble. When he reaches the front door of the citadel, he suddenly falls through a trapdoor! In the pit is a few goblin skeletons, and a fresher goblin corpse being picked away at by a giant spider, which he dispatches with one slice of his dagger. After Lurks takes some coins, a scimitar for himself, and a shield for Lugs from the fresh body, Lugs hurries over and leans into the pit with his club to offer him a way to climb out (considering he's only 3-4 feet tall in the 10 foot pit). Remembering that he's a frog, Lurks just does a straight 15 foot vertical jump out and lands next to him.

The party edges around the newly-discovered trapdoor, and into the citadel's first room: the floor of a circular tower. More dead goblins are here, with one of them skewered to the wall, and all the bodies have already been looted. There's a door to the left and a door to the right, and Lurks quickly looks over them for any traps or locks, but they're fine.

The party splits up to find that the right door leads into a hallway with three more doors ahead, and the left door leads into a room with a single stone door sporting an ornately carved rearing dragon on it, a keyhole in its mouth. The rooms so far have been as dark as the caves outside, and littered with rubble and cobwebs - Lugs and Lurks keep relying on their stock of torches, while Aelia and Valas cope alright with their darkvision.

Lurks, with Aelia, tries to pick the left room's dragon door, but can't quite get it. Lugs, with Valas in the hallway, tries one of the doors to find an empty dead-end room, and another door that's also made of stone, with a carving of a swimming fish-like dragon on it. With this second dragon door also locked, he tries to punch it down, but just ends up with a sore hand. Lurks and Aelia regroup with them in the hallway, and Lurks has a go at picking this dragon door too, but his pick easily snaps. He unfurls his set of tools and squints, saying that his mismatched set of twig lockpicks "worked on the doors back home" but don't seem to cut it in here.

The party tries the third and last door at the end of the hallway, finding it unlocked. Inside is a larger open room with a small fire pit, bedroll, and a large empty cage in the floor with bars that have been wrenched open. Green paint is all over the floor and walls, in a written language that none of them can understand. Whimpering sounds are coming from the bedroll, with something tossing and turning restlessly inside. When the party talks as normal, the thing inside it seizes up, as though trying to be as still as possible. Lugs tips the bedroll upside down, and out slides a skinny-looking kobold covered in scars, who had been sleeping inside.

Terrified and confused by this sudden awakening, the kobold starts begging for his life, saying that his name is Meepo. Aelia manages to calm him down saying they're not here to hurt him, while Lurks investigates the cage and finds some white dragon-like scales that seem to have been scraped off when whatever was once inside the cage squeezed through the wrenched-open bars. Meepo sees the scales in his hands and starts crying out in distress that his gang's beloved dragon had been stolen by the rival Goblin Gang while he was taking a piss, and begs the adventurers to get her back in exchange for his leader, Yusdrayl, answering the questions Aelia and Lurks had tried asking him about the Sunless Citadel.

Before he leads them to Yusdrayl, Valas asks if Meepo can tell them where the doors branching from this room go. He explains that behind one door is where they would keep the dragon's food, and Valas nervously asks, "is it still... living?" to which Meepo replies that of course it is, "because live feeding is great and ethical". Valas awkwardly quips under his breath that he's heard otherwise, but politely thanks him for the information. Through another door is a way to the goblin gang's territory, and through yet another door is one of the Kobold Gang's guardrooms. He also explains that the painted writing around the room says "Here There Be Dragons", but, sniffling, he sadly picks up his paint and brush to correct it to "Here There Don't Be Dragons".

Aelia asks if they can go into the guardroom, and Meepo comments that that's a bit weird, unsure why she'd want to. Eventually she convinces him, and he shouts, "ticklecorn! Let us in!" at the door. After a moment, the door opens to reveal three kobold guards playing a card game by a fire pit. Aelia asks them a few questions, but they're not very cooperative.

"Where were you when the dragon was stolen?" "Uh... I don't know, having a piss." "Why don't you go get it back?" "Erm... then... who would guard this place?" "Are there more guards?" "Well, yeah........ but...... ehhh..."

Finding the guards useless, the group has Meepo take them to where Yusdrayl, the Kobold Gang leader, is sitting in a stone dragon throne at the end of a large hall. She's dressed in robes with a ring on one of her hands, and in front of a small pile of treasures. Aelia, with GP signs in her eyes, tries to make a deal with her, as Aelia favours gold over dragons, and Yusdrayl favours her dragon over gold. After a bit of bargaining, the party strikes a deal with her to find their dragon in exchange for four of the treasures from her pile, with the first one in advance. They choose the mysterious-looking key that's in the mouth of the stone dragon - the Kobold Gang hasn't been occupying the citadel long enough to have found out which door it opens, focusing more on taking and holding their territory from the Goblin Gang. Meepo is to go with them to find the dragon, as he's the gang's 'keeper of dragons'.

Before they leave, Lurks introduces himself to Yusdrayl and treats her with reverence, offering his hand out to her. Yusdrayl awkwardly shakes his hand, and he slyly inspects the ring on her finger; he decides that the simple silver ring is not worth enough to pickpocket from her at this time. He asks her about the magical fruit they'd heard about coming from here - a piece of fruit that's been conflictingly said to both cure any illness and drain the life of those who eat it. She says that she knows the strong new leaders of the Goblin Gang work for someone called the Outcast, who lives below where they are now. Once every 6 months or so, they give the goblins a strange piece of fruit to go sell on the surface.

The party departs from the heart of the Kobold Gang Territory. When he leads them in and out if it, Meepo yells "ticklecorn" every so often. When asked what he's doing, he explains that it's a password to let the guards in rooms off the hallways know that they're allies passing through, not strangers or the Goblin Gang.

Theorising that their new key could open the first stone dragon door they found, the party already detours from going into the Goblin Gang's territory to look for the dragon and goes to test their theory. The key fits the lock perfectly, and from all the dust and stale air, it opens up to a room that hasn't had anyone set foot in it in ages. There's a row of dull broken orbs, and one intact glowing one. Lugs steps right up to it, and it starts playing haunting music that charms the whole party, sending them running back through the citadel's rooms and out the front door against their will - right into the trapdoor pit. Lugs, Lurks, and Valas manage to overcome the charm, and while Valas helps Aelia and Meepo climb out of the pit, the other two go back to the orb room so Lugs can smash it and stop the music.

Lugs, again, rushes first into the next hallway, stepping on a pressure plate that sends an arrow flying over his head. Lurks easily disarms the trap, and they carry on to the next room, which is seemingly a dead end. Aelia finds a secret door recessed into the wall, and as she's inspecting it, Lurks approaches the large, beautiful dragon statue off to the side. In Common, it speaks a riddle:

"We come at night without being fetched; we disappear by day without being stolen. What are we?"

Valas answers, "the stars", and the secret door opens into a long room. The first half of the room has five statues of elves across six small alcoves, and the second half of the room is cut off by a pit of spikes that's 10 feet deep and 10 feet wide, which Lugs and Lurks quickly leap over with their froggy legs. Aelia, Valas, and Meepo warily stay on the other side, while the other two find a large sarcophagus, lit by a sconce holding green fire. Suddenly, a quasit - a bipedal insect-looking creature - comes out of the shadows, and casually warns Lugs to leave (while Lurks quickly ducks behind a pot as tall as he is). As Lugs can't understand Common, he just throws a thumbs up and a grin, and starts talking in Grung. While the quasit is confused, Lurks leaps out and attacks with his dagger and scimitar, and Aelia on the other side of the spike pit deals the finishing blow with a quick Toll the Dead spell. The quasit swears out of shock and anger as he melts into a puddle of steaming goo.

Meanwhile, Valas inspects the first half of the room, and finds that the empty sixth alcove has a secret door. Inside is a small room, with more of that draconic writing on the wall that they saw in the Kobold Gang's dragon keeper room. Asking Meepo to read it, it says, "A dragonpriest entombed alive for transgressions of the Law still retains the honour of his position."

Accidentally (and, I mean, who can really say who's at fault?), Meepo then comments, "Oh boy, Meepo hopes this has nothing to do with that creepy troll in the-"

A beat, and then he blankly turns to the camera. "Meepo has revealed the secrets of the game. Now you have to die." He unzips, and out steps me, with one of those Men In Black memory wipers. Flash!

Anyway, Lugs uses his brute strength to start snapping the six rusted clasps holding the sarcophagus' lid in place. When he runs out of strength for the last one, he just lies down on the floor, depressed. Lurks tries to make him feel better, but Lugs wins the pep talk vs depression contest, so Lurks sticks his finger up his nose, claiming that "this usually cheers him up". Now channeling his depression into fury, Lugs goes into a rage and busts the last clasp, sending the sarcophagus lid sliding across the room along with his brother Lurks.

Inside the sarcophagus is an emaciated troll, whose eyes snap open!!!!!!! Dun dun dunnnn.....