#him because that’s just the presence he holds. and the conversations continue. they lengthen until one day your eyes land on him and you

[verryberriess]

Whatever This Is | Chapter 1

READ PROLOGUE HERE!!

Whatever This Is

Synopsis: In which Jude and Cardan meet again after seven years, but not on good terms.

thanks to @maastrash for helping me edit LOL!!!! :D

CHAPTER ONE

The last time I saw Cardan Greenbriar was seven years ago.

Today, seven years later, we were a mere few feet apart. I’m unsure whether to feel relieved or insulted at his lack of acknowledgement. Relieved that maybe he has forgotten my face and I could continue along with my life, undeterred and unaffected as ever. But insulted, because, maybe he has forgotten me.

“Are you ready to order?” The cashier startles me. I didn’t realize that the line had suddenly quickened in pace. He must be new, since I haven’t seen him around the Torre’s until today.

Thankfully, I respond with my usual order without thinking. The cashier nods and I fumble my purse in search of my wallet. I’m able to quickly spot my cyan-colored wallet and unbutton its strap with haste, fishing for my credit card from the compartment with my nail. The card is stubborn, in a tight space stuck to two other cards.

“Sorry,” I look up and flash the cashier a tight smile, embarrassment coloring my features.

The cashier responds in turn, his green eyes alight in amusement. “It’s alright. That happens to me all the time.”

I immediately return to the war against my card, which finally relents. I slam it into the card reader, chip in first. While the payment approves, I smile and say, “Thanks for your patience,“ peering down at his name tag to add, “Beckett.” He is handsome and new, and on another day I would try to get to know him, but I am in a hurry, so I walk from the bounds of the register and head straight towards the door outside.

The door swings open in response to my adrenaline and haste. I curse inwardly at the crowd outside of Torre’s that seems to have gotten even bigger. As I mutter “Excuse me’s” and sidestep around the large number of people, I inspect the streets for an absurdly tall head of iridescent midnight hair. I am quickly astonished to see that exact head right in the middle of the large crowd, showering the thrall of excited women with a crooked smile.

Cardan stands in the middle. While he keeps his hands at his sides, his posture is loose and his torso leans in to angle himself for a selfie with another woman. The woman presses her back into Cardan’s again. He doesn’t seem bothered by this at all.

I zero in on the changes in his features. He has gotten taller, his face more angular. His style has been perfected, dressed in a dark suit and decorated in gold rings and darks and blacks while the midnight black hair atop his head seems unruly and untamed, as if on purpose. All these years and he seems to have perfected perfection, looking more horrifically beautiful than ever. I have forgotten this obtrusive charm I had once been fooled by, and even after all these years I am disgusted at myself for still being reigned in, captivated.

But all of a sudden, for a few seconds, he turns his head away from his surroundings and regards me with his eyes, looking as if he were noting my presence with the same disgust, and then quickly looking away. The exchange was so quick, I had barely registered it.

Yet, as I stand at the outskirts of this group, I am reminded of the past, and how I have gotten over this already. I have replayed scenario after scenario of reunions in my head after the first few months of my departure, but I had never really anticipated some overly-large crowd separating Cardan Greenbriar and I by just a few feet.

A few feet that might as well be an ocean. Or two.

I can’t help but marvel at how we were once more than acquainted with each other. That look had reminded me that everything is over, that he wants nothing to do with me. Seven years could be more, if I refocused myself. I could do that, I reminded myself. Seven years could turn into forever.

A twinge of sorrow worms its way into my gut. I squash it.

I turn around. My coffee must be done by now and I want to head to work before I’m late. I suppose the sidewalk will take some weaving around and being late was not on my agenda.

My steps are forward. I make my way back to the door of Torre’s, pulling open the door to step in.

But a familiar voice, ringed with the same distinct tone of arrogance and authority that I haven’t heard in years, ceases any of my movements.

“You need to back up.”

My grip at the handle falters, and another person shuffles out on the other side. They thank me for holding the door for them.

Instead of responding, I turn back around and face the direction of where the voice had called. The atmosphere feels almost different. Where the women had once been gathered around him, they now stand at a distance, clearing for the space he had requested.

I watch one of them snap a quick selfie while he is in her background. She leaves the group right afterwards. My eyes move back to where Cardan is, but he is walking towards my direction, uncaring of the people around him.

I pull the door handle hurriedly and slip inside into the safety of Torre’s. The chatter and ambiance of the coffeehouse usually offer safe haven from San Francisco’s morning bustles, but not today.

I could feel his looming presence right behind me, about to catch up to my stride. I’m not about to do this right now. I don’t think I can.

The choice is ripped away from me, however, when a gentle grip takes hold of my wrist.

“Jude?” The voice is soft, a complete one-eighty from that of authority outside.

I still immediately. I first turn to check the surroundings, discovering that none of the women from outside have followed him in. Then, I glance at the hand which still grips my wrist. I try to shake it off. Cardan’s hold is firm, but he reluctantly lets go. He removes himself slowly as if he is unsure whether or not he should.

Taking a step away, he stands and shifts awkwardly. He is too tall now, absurdly towering over me. Where he used to be only about an inch taller, he is now a few inches above my height. He is no longer able to slouch against me without adjusting himself as easily anymore.

The distance between us is off-putting. Though traits like his height and broadness separate us physically from our past selves, it is the other changes in our approaches and personalities that further highlight the obnoxious tension between us.

Why he suddenly acknowledges my presence is a mystery to me. Why he is here astonishes me. I am unsure if fate is cruel enough to have forced us to meet in this kind of circumstance, or if this was a making of pure coincidence.

Cardan stares at me with some deep intensity. I want to be rid of his scathing stare, grab my coffee, and disappear from this whole ordeal. Pretend that this stain of an encounter had not been inked upon seven years of spotless script.

“Cardan,” I say stiffly. Once acquainted, but now strangers. I am hesitant to say more, despite all the questions that rage within my mind and my wickedly cursed heart. Everything about this is full of uncertainty and unpredictability. A type of situation that I am not entirely familiarized with, since plans and strategy have always ruled my life. It is frustratingly tiresome.

Cardan eyes the row of occupied couches, and later the arrangement of empty rustic tables and chairs. He gestures out to the seats, “Why don’t we find a seat? I imagine that we have much to catch up on.”

I secretly consider his offer, but my brain votes to think of ways to escape his reach. Before I can make a decision though, I am led away to an open table. I am reluctant to make this encounter any longer than it should be, but I decide that I should at least gain some reasoning for his recent presence.

“I’m glad you’re so eager to see me again. After all, it’s been so long.” Cardan resumes his usual nonchalant character. “What an extraordinary coincidence running into you here.”

For a moment, I remark on his wording. I am glad that this turned out to be an occasion of pure coincidence.

Concern or indifference? I decided on the latter tone to respond with. “Yes, it certainly has been a while. But considering how we left things, I’m surprised that you even want to be near me.”

He raises an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth lift slightly. “Considering how we’ve left things, I’m surprised you’ve let me into your vicinity.” It doesn’t look like it, but the small twinges in expression reveal that he is thinking of what to say next. I am about to retort back, but what he asks next catches me off guard as he continues, softly, “Why did you leave for so long?”

My cheeks heat. At this, I am suddenly hyper aware of how close he is, of his overwhelming heat despite the violent cold that rages outside, and how he almost whispers his question, with a compelling mix of rasp and seduction. He towers over me, as if using his height to shield me from the world like he has done so many times those years ago, but in this instance, it feels as though he is also looking for something. Cardan is cautious though, leaving room for retreat.

If I am not careful myself, I imagine that I would fall into his chest, and take advantage of the closeness that I had secretly yearned for nearly a decade. Seven years be damned, my focused mentality would dissolve into dust.

I announce my resolve by taking a step back. The distance between him and I is lengthened. Although my heart curses at me, my mind is indiscriminate. I hadn’t expected this conversation to go about this way. Though, I also didn’t know what to expect. Everything was unpredictable at this point and many things have changed. I didn’t know what response he wanted, because he should’ve known why I left.

“... Because of you.” I say gruffly. I leave little context, wanting him to fill in the blanks.

For a second, a mixture of hurt and surprise leaks into his expression before it is masked again. In that second I can’t help but relish in a small sense of satisfaction that I had got to him. Hurt for hurt. An eye for an eye. Whatever game he is trying to play at this time will not rouse a fraction of feeling from me. Not again.

“I see.” Again, Cardan contemplates. He does not show anything, but his eyes start to roam around us, like he is taking in the coffeehouse setting again as if he wasn’t just here only a few moments ago.

“Excuse me?” The green-eyed cashier from before stands in front of us.

He looks between Cardan and I. Cardan, in turn, twists to the direction of the abrupt voice, and slowly assesses his form. I watch his eyes trail up and down the cashier’s physique, his face contorting in judgement before glaring at him, clearly annoyed by his abrupt intrusion.

Beckett turns to me instead, smiling brightly. His dimples deepen and his white teeth flash to me. He holds out a branded cup of Torre’s. “Hey, Jude right? We called out your name earlier, but I don’t think you heard us. I thought I’d bring your coffee to you before it got cold.”

“Thanks so much, I almost forgot.” I take the cup from him and gently set it down at our table.

“Of course.” Beckett still hovers over us, his attention only towards me. “Andrea told me you were a regular here. I should have known.”

“Yes, I come here often. But it’s okay, I noticed that you’re new here too. And it’s Beckett right?” I ask.

Beckett replies, “Yeah, it’s actually my second day.”

Beckett hovers over us. I notice that he is handsome, with close-cropped blonde hair that is slightly grown out. His green eyes twinkle as he observes me in return. He is well-muscled and tan from what I could see of his arms, which are mostly covered by his gray, long-sleeved uniform.

I take a quick glance at Cardan. His fingers tap the tabletop in a particular rhythm as he watches the exchange between Beckett and I.

“Well, I better get back to work now. If you need anything else, check your cup.” Beckett smiles again and walks away.

I look back at the coffee cup and peer at Cardan who eyes its side, a murderous expression set upon his facial features. His eyes are cold and his jaw is clenched.

As I take the cup in my hands, I inspect the sticker attached to the side of the cup. A phone number written in scrawly blue ink is scribbled onto the light orange sticker.

“​​I didn’t realize hand-serving customers was a part of the job description.” Cardan remarks icily.

“Well,” I clear my throat. “At least he’s done something you didn't have the balls to do seven years ago.”

A/N: i haven't been here in a while... hello! let me know if you want to be put on the tag list lOL

[rodeoxqueen]

AWAS

CHAPTER ONE: BE NOT AFRAID 

“Dante and Vergil return from Hell to tie up loose ends from their year-long absence. While they seek a sense of normalcy, the fates send them anything but.”

Contents: Violence, Blood and Gore, Brotherly Banter, Explicit Language, Slight Angst 

Rodeo’s Two Pieces: 

I'm very excited to show y'all what I have been working on since hell, November of 2020. Thank you kindly for sticking around.

Back to the present, where the world turned on its axis for months without the weight of the blood of Sparda upon itself, the tides had changed.

In the midnight, had the stars laid witness to the damn near impossible. A portal had opened from the underworld, and two brothers stumbled out. Clutching their swords, Dante and Vergil reunited with the human realm.

How long had it been? Of endless violence and humorous quips thrown at the other, as the years of the gnashing of teeth smoothened the rough patches of their disjointed childhoods?

“We’re back, Verg.” Dante chuckled, arm over his brother’s shoulder.

“We are.” Vergil echoed. The obnoxious weight fell off of him and landed on the ground with a thud.

Dante had got on his knees and kissed the earth that they now stood on.

“Don’t be a fool,” Vergil said, staring at the moon. After years of wanting to become one with Hell, he tilted the false king’s crown to admire the clear sky.

Dante rolled to the ground, sighing in relief.

“We’re back.” He repeated. His brother nudged him with the Yamato.

“Get up. We must find our way back.” Eyes closed and a grin across his face, Dante let the wind pass through his bloodied and matted hair.

“Now we sound like a real team.” Vergil scoffed.

After a few moments, Dante got back up. They had arrived back from Hell to a cliffside overlooking a city that was not Redgrave.

“I assume you have unfinished business in Redgrave.” Dante nodded.

“I sure do.”

The portal became a forgotten relic, the Sparda brothers nowhere to be seen, their demonic presence known to the world.

Dante was known for many things, but mainly for how much of a constant he had remained in everyone’s lives. Never changing, staying the same as he was, an unstoppable force of sarcastic expression.

And also a huge manchild.

Vergil rubbed his temples in frustration.

“Dante. When I referred to unfinished business, I was clearly referring to your shop.”

“Yeah? And I was referring to this.” Dante bit into another slice of pizza, practically moaning.

Vergil sat ramrod straight, sitting awkwardly in a pizzeria. The two were the elephants in the room, both slathered in demonic gore and toting swords. People either gawked or left the establishment.

“You are still an idiot after all this time.”

“Yeah, and I’m also still hungry.”

“Surely your business is more important than this.”

“Meh.”

The blue devil waited for him to finish an hour later, the long-held bill lengthening after months of his absence.

Of course, he had to have indulged a few pieces of his own. It was nothing like the gaminess of demon flesh he had forced himself to sustain upon. It was almost melting in his mouth, unlike the resistance of the shank of a demon. He was never one for vegetables as a child, Dante even more so. Yet the crunch of the toppings was well-received to Vergil, deprived of basic human sustenance for a few odd decades.

However, he found it unthinkable Dante would continue to indulge himself in this for as long as he did.

The door reopened and closed once more to reveal the broad daylight of the streets. Clean, pristine, the sounds of cars and people filled in the crisp air.

Vergil’s boots walked upon a paved road for the first time in ages, man-made and unassuming concrete with stubborn weeds growing from the crevices. No mouth-having crimson blooms that grew to a man’s height. Just simple creatures that fell softly to his weight on their fragile stems.

He had never been here before, where Dante claimed to be his home.

“What’s after this for you, Vergil?” Dante asked his brother, swiping a few demons out of his way.

Vergil, also in his triggered form, huffed a dismissive sigh.

“You know, you should stay with me. Devil May Cry’s always got a spare couch to crash on.”

“Why would I do that?” He slashed a horned devil in two, spewed in putrid green blood. Dante chuckled, knowing there was hesitance in his voice.

“Because I’m offering, big brother. When’s the last time you’ve had a place to call home?”

“I believe you know the answer to that question.” Vergil slid onto his knees under a crouching demon, disemboweling it from top-down. A final gunshot rang his ears, a noise he had to get used to with Dante’s reliance on firearms.

Dull thuds and a flash of red, Dante stood above his brother, offering a now-human hand.

The horde was cleared away like dust on a counter, gone with the wind. Vergil and Dante stood in silence, two children again.

The younger pulled his brother up, insistent stubbornness in his eyes.

“I didn’t hear a no to my offer, Vergil.” Vergil sighed, releasing his hold of his brother’s hand.

“You did not hear a yes either.” Dante chuckled, following his already-leaving brother.

From the past to the present, Vergil’s answer had been neither, never spoken of what he was to do after everything. Yet here he was, now the latter of the two when it came to guidance.

There were many ways the two could have made their entrance to Devil May Cry and have it be a smooth transition back from months of Hell. Dante kicking down the door with a loud “I’m back baby!” was simply not one of them.

Vergil saw that a familiar dark-haired woman was sitting on the desk, absent-mindedly waiting for Trish to return. A girl who once blamed him for her father’s corruption, now a woman with no heed to his presence.

Lady had dropped her nail file, eyes wide at the sight of the two brothers.

“Dante,” Lady whispered as if she was greeting a ghost.

“Yep, it’s me. In the flesh.”

“Dante…”

“Did you miss me? Love what you did to the place.” Dante commented at the cleaned-up shop.

Her face of still confusion warped into anger.

“Dante!”

“Oh boy.”

The next thing he knows, Vergil watches his brother get lectured like a dog. Standing up yet with the attitude of a man in a fetal position, Dante let himself become used to the sound of their tirades once more.

“You had the audacity to give the deed to Morrison. Crazy bitches?! Really!” Dante shrugged.

“I mean if I barked up your tree all day you’d be calling me a-”

“Hey, Lady.” Trish walked into the shop, icily glancing at the two brothers.

“Look at what the hellhound dragged in.” Lady pointed to Dante and Vergil.

“Oh please, I could smell them from a mile away.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Hell doesn’t have any spas. Shame we couldn’t freshen ourselves up before coming here.” Dante sassed. Trish gave a pointed look.

“As much as it was nice to do some hot girl things, we could put Dumb and Dumber to good work.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lady gave a toothy smile.

“How do you think we got this place managed? Money. Money that you now owe us.”

“Hey! I never said you had to do anything.”

“You’d be real upset if we didn’t do anything either, Dante.”

Finally, after sitting through an eternity of harsh words and steep bills, Dante had more than ever landed himself in shambles. Again. At least he was liberated to take a shower. After Vergil of course.

He was surprised to find that the water was still running, and even more elated that it was hot water. Man, maybe paying the bills was a good thing. It felt like ages of grime and gore had been swept off his skin, his hair finally a familiar stark white. In the steam of the bathroom, he breathed out relief.

When he stepped out, he was surprised to see Vergil laying on his bed completely asleep. Usually uptight and composed, Vergil curled in on himself wearing some of Dante’s clean sweatpants that caught dust from all the months they were gone.

With a smile on his face, Dante chose the couch for once and didn’t complain.

They all deserved rest, Dante taking his nap with a magazine on his face. Future Dante could deal with this.

He never expected there to be any neater ends than the frayed knots he left in his human affairs. Yet, he wasn’t alone this time. Neither of them was.

The next few days, Dante gave his nephew a call. Well, more like Nero called him and Dante finally picked up.

Vergil had gotten up after days of practical unconsciousness, foreign to the comfort of a bed, a place to stay, yet much obliged to remain where he laid.

He came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes still. Dante’s voice was muffled until he was in the same room, Dante speaking through the phone to his son.

“Hey, your old man’s here.” Vergil shook his head, having no interest to answer, yet Dante kept waving the phone in his face.

Taking the phone, Vergil heard his son take a breath.

“Hey, Vergil. Nice to see you back from Hell. Um, can’t imagine that was a fun time.” Nero said, unknowing of how to speak to his stranger of a father.

“Indeed.” Dante face-palmed, sitting with another one of his accursed magazines.

“Yeah, um. I have your book.”

“Hmm.” Nero sighed.

“Do you want it back? I’m coming over soon for business reasons.” A hint of desperation and embarrassment from Nero went over Vergil’s bedhead.

“That would suffice…”

“Alright-”

“Thank you, Nero.” Vergil blurted, seeing Dante mouth the words “say thank you.”

Nero stopped for a minute, a few moments of silence on Vergil’s side.

“No problem...Vergil. I got to go. Take care, alright?” Vergil hmmed as a response. The line went dead.

Dante’s grin immensely irritated Vergil, a man who was incapable of second-hand embarrassment.

“Stop that. Wipe that expression off your face. You wanted a conversation with me and Nero, there you have it.”

Dante propped his face up with his hand, a cat that ate the canary.

“Nah.”

Vergil growled in annoyance.

Unfortunately for Dante, and luckily for Vergil, bills had to be paid and jobs to be done. Morrison had arrived a few days later, pleased to see an old friend returned from the underworld. Walking in, he was barely surprised that the shop had returned to a pig-sty appearance.

“Morrison! Nice to see you again.” Dante welcomed, sitting at his desk. Vergil eyed the unfamiliar man, reading through a book.

“Got a new job for you boys. About time you got those girls off your backs about having your little vacation in Hell.” A familiar smell of cigar smoke traced the air, Dante leaning back on his chair, intrigued.

“So Morrison, what nasty demonic critters does this gig entail?” Dante asked, arms crossed.

“There’s a demon runnin’ around towns, causing a lot of trouble.” Morrison placed a photo down, blurred and poorly taken. Although, the grotesque purple skin and rippling eyes on its body didn’t leave much to admire.

“Huh,” Dante mumbled. Vergil examined the picture.

“I’ve never seen a demon like this before. Sure is ugly, though.” Dante noted, pointing at a flat and angular head, pallid yellow eyes that bulge out of its sockets on the sides, and needle-like teeth in multitudes.

“My sources say it’s been going North, the last town they passed was here. Just this morning. It’s making some distance, I’d get to it as soon as you can.” Morrison revealed a map, a red circle around a certain landmark.

“It’s scaring the shit out of people and causing some casualties to be contained.”

“Alright, we’ll take ‘em.” Dante stuck his hand out, expecting cash. Morrison tutted, patting Dante’s shoulder.

“You’ve been spoiled, Dante. Nah, you’re gonna bag this son of a bitch and then we can talk about payment.”

Dante groaned, taking the job. Morrison tipped his hat to Vergil. Vergil glared in return.

“It’s been nice catching up with you boys.” He called out, leaving the shop.

The door thudded as it shut, and the two were alone once more.

“Well, we just got our get-out-of-jail card. Come on, let’s get going.” Dante grunted.

“Must you complain about everything?” Vergil muttered.

Outside, it was late morning with a slight breeze. The familiar sounds of a motorcycle came to Vergil’s attention.

Dante had sat on Cavalier, expecting Vergil to get on.

“Must you rely on that garish thing?”

“It’s too bad you can’t fucking teleport somewhere you’ve never been. Get on the motorcycle.”

Dante patted the seat, Vergil obeying for once.

“Ready for your first job?”

“More than you are.”

They tore through the streets of Redgrave, going north.

The sun rose and started to fall, endless roads leading through towns and cities that paid them only a slight turn of their heads.

The map’s glaring red bullseye had become a dead-end of sorts, the two resorting to walking instead.

Redgrave had always felt muggy with the air of hell creatures around. Here, in this unmarked territory, it had felt clearer. But also more unsettling, the idea of a demon scuttling about more of an awful surprise.

They felt consumed by the empty streets, busted in windows, and vacated shops and residential places in their lonesome wandering.

Something before had wiped this location clean of humans, and now something else was lingering in its place.

“This area has been abandoned.” Vergil walked over giant cracks through the ground, leading to a deserted town.

“Not surprised,” Dante answered, thinking about a certain tree, “good thing we don’t have to deal with any more civilians.”

A buzz in his blood reminded Dante that something was certainly there. The alleys were a perfect spot for creatures to linger, waiting for prey.

As below, so above. A ringing through the air was quickly parried by steel. Dante’s sword stopped a shower of needles from stabbing him, a stray one cutting the side of his cheek. It jolted him as a creature bounded the rooftops of the buildings, a hulking mass of reptilian skin.

Vergil raced after the creature, having blocked all the assailant’s long-distance attacks. Claws dug through the tiles, running on all fours from rooftops to silently treading the paved roads.

It’s clearly after an objective.

Dante chased after the beast from the ground, firing shots at the agile demon. Vergil jumped buildings, gritting his teeth at the demon’s inherent ability to evade and attack back, dodging tail spikes.

The streets all lead to the town center, where a fountain long cleaved in two from giant roots, stood.

Dante and Vergil came across the demon, purple skin stretched over its pointed bones, facing a cloaked individual.

“Hey, pal-” Dante was shushed by Vergil, the two standing a distance away from the hunched-over beast, much taller than either of them when standing on its hind legs.

Neither of them had expected another person in this area, clearly an oddity in the shambles of civilization.

“Famulus. Servant of Raphael.” A rumbling growl echoed in the night in response.

“I’m obliged, filthy halfling.” It hissed, crouched over and leaning to leer to the monotonous voice.

“You will tell me where he is.”

“His brothers may have underestimated you, but my master has known of your presence. Sending his best, I, to exterminate you.”

The person said nothing, as all that was all that needed to be said.

“Looks like we found it’s been searching for,” Dante mentioned, alerting the attention of the formidable monster and unassuming humanoid.

Glazed-over eyes narrowed with bloodlust met the twins as they readied themselves for anything.

“I will bring Raphael the heads of Sparda, once I am done with you.”

The hooded stranger turned their head to the two. With their face void of any expression, the twins had no idea what to think of them.

A pulse went through the air, Dante and Vergil’s skin jolting at a sudden warm wave in the air. Milliseconds after, a rotating ring of golden energy rattled through the stones, passing through the spaces in the pavement that lead to Dante’s boots.

Vergil and Dante were thrown like ragdolls meters away by an unseen force, Dante hitting the ground twice and rolling to a stop as Vergil stuck a landing with the Yamato through the floor.

A golden sphere surrounded the bruise-colored demon and the humanoid, who cocked their head in a disinterested manner, glaring at the taller creature.

Dante touched the wall before them, warm and pulsing with life. Despite the magnitude, he noted how it didn’t seem to hurt him, only pushing back from his own applied pressure.

Vergil paid it no mind, conflict occurring right before their eyes.

Famulus lunged at the smaller person who dodged, hands grappling at a giant maw, throwing its body to the barrier.

Tail spikes unfurled and bristling, Famulus’ hackles rose.

On hind legs, the demon stood well-over the miscreant, who allowed the beast to come to them. No matter how fast Famulus struck, claws phased through the empty air where it expected pliant flesh. Even swipes of its giant tail between quick strikes and heavy blows had been easily dodged.

A rain shower of blade-like projectiles flew at them, their body dropping down to avoid several. Dozens stuck above where their head was, a near fatality.

A needle whistled as it was caught by a calloused hand, palm tightly wrapped around the quill aiming for their chest. Several had torn through their cloak, nearly pinning them to the ground. They let out a startled noise, moving themselves up.

Famulus ran at them, prepared to rip them apart while they were down. Surely a cowardly move than preferred, but a move nonetheless.

They whipped their head around, jaw gritted. The same clutched quill was thrown like a javelin straight into Famulus’ snout.

Pulsating pain and white-hot agony made the beast screech, purple flesh burnt and smoking.

They shook themselves free of any spikes, clad in ancient robes. Nothing a common human would wear now. Even a demon could tell something was off about this one creature in human skin.

This was no common miscreant come to place vengeance upon its master. Raphael had requested Famulus to obliterate this insect as if none of his lord’s underlings could defeat them.

You shall return them to their grave, Famulus. A low gravelly voice rang through the demon’s head, a present message. The snake-like eye in the middle of its forehead rolled back and returned when its master’s command became silent.

“Yes, I shall.”

The foe stiffened as if they had gotten the answer they had been looking for. Famulus knew that. And like the devil it was, it goaded their curiosity.

“You will never make it to my master’s domain. I will gnaw on your bones, putrid being.”

If only if Famulus knew that there was no goading a foe that was already plotting several paces ahead.

Lashing out, a meter-long arrow-like appendage was fired at them once more while the demon began to collect its true power from the air around it.

It missed the mark, sinking into the ground to have the intended target land upon the blunt end, balancing coyly. Several more jabbed at the barrier, sticking into the protective sphere as the cloaked being ducked and turned to avoid scythe-like claws and disemboweling long-distance attacks. Famulus struck a blow that surely meant death, supposedly cornering the prey, until they vanished in thin air. A hazy afterimage materialized and faded away, swiped into nothing.

Immediately, they appeared to the side of the demon, who just began to rear its head to perceive this teleportation.

Legs bent as they were parallel to the ground, they drop-kicked the reptilian brute, scaly skin rippling at the impact.

Famulus��s neck snapped the wrong way, letting out a moist creaking noise as the body stayed stubbornly rooted to the ground. Incapacitated, it could not stop the smaller fighter from leaping onto a begotten tail spike from the ceiling of the barrier, yanking it, and falling back down to its capitulum.

The hooked and jagged arrowhead bit through toughened flesh, securing them to the flat of its head, glowing hand pressing against the middle eye, the key to finding Raphael.

A once distinguished demon, Famulus lashed its head about like a common beast. The joints in its neck realigned, sickening crunches with each segment joined.

Pushing their energy into the convulsing eye, Famulus felt its connection to its lord become not of its own.

Paralyzed from the sensation of a pulling force, tugging away at flesh, and seeping their own life force into it, digging into its mind, Famulus’ muscles twitched and convulsed like an animal to be dissected.

Famulus snarled to itself.

The veins leading to the spike stuck in its head pulsed, conducting electricity straight to the open palm. A strained cry left their mouth as they relented their hold.

The final twist of its head thrashed them off to hit the ground.

Flashing images of a lair, of an iron throne, flashed through its mind.

Famulus had failed to hide his master’s location. And with that, its murderous intent grew.

Despite the finality of its fate, its tail swished with anger and boiling rage to either do the job or keel over in defeat.

The thief got up with little grace again.

Its many eyes had noticed the bloodstains within their cloaked form, old wounds from recent battles. There wasn’t much damage left for them to take.

No one could dodge the Mjölnir.

Dante felt the hairs on his arms stand at full attention. Brows crossed, the older Sparda swiped through bits of his hair that lilted up from their slicked-back position.

“Hey, do you feel that-”

A beam of dark lightning was emitted from Famulus’s tail, striking straight into the opponent’s chest, shards of pure energy slicing through the air with a symphony of cracks rattling the street. Several pebbles flitted off the earth, scorching hot.

The lightning was overpowering, the cries of the stricken muted, body curling to itself with arms stiffening at the chest.

Dante and Vergil both believed defeat was imminent, preparing to have to take out the demon themselves.

When the flashes of demonic power died down, Famulus had witnessed the impossible.

Even with the golden shroud having been faltered, the thunderstruck figure had not been smitten.

Famulus’s needle-tooth grin dropped at the turn of events, rearing back on all fours.

Black lightning danced off their skin, flickering yellow sparks onto the cobblestones.

“No one of that stature could be capable of such an atrocity, and still be human.” Vergil thought to himself.

Famulus was the strongest of the Pessulum litter, demons that nursed from the deadliest of storms to emerge the top of their species. The demon had killed bigger and stronger with less than it had exhibited today.

And now, this runt of a creature had stood against it with no fear, not even close to death? Taking its strongest attack with no problem?

A rush of fear chilled its electrified veins. Stories of the being, whispers amongst Raphael’s underlings, its master’s own grinding teeth at the news of his brothers and their sudden falling, proven true by the might of this mysterious being.

Famulus would live with no merit to his name, scorned by Raphael, seen as less by its inferiors.

“If that does not kill you then I will!” Famulus jumped, claws extended like scythes to slice flesh to ribbons.

Clumsily taking one step forward, tense arms fought back to form one hand pointing to the snout of the devil, the other to the skies.

The thunder was released from its subjugation, deafening annihilation.

A blinding beam of sheer gilden lightning shot right into the demon, many opaque eyes centering at the color of death. Through the other hand, thunderbolts went off like firecrackers into the atmosphere, exploding rapidly and chaotically.

“Holy shit,” Dante exclaimed, sparks dancing off the paved path and flittering in the air.

Vergil ground his heels to the ground, the frontward force of the explosion pushing against him.

The blow sank into purpled flesh, veins and nerves turned from putrid black to nearly white, keeping the demon trapped in the air, still positioned to pounce and disembowel. Famulus didn’t even make any noise, the renowned servant burned alive.

Seethingly hot, with the very air molecules shaking at the display, the twins watched skin and bone become ash and dust. Killed by one’s trump card.

Not even a fallen tail spike was left, the aftershocks settling the twice-over-cremated remains scattering to the wind.

The redirection of the lightning strike had taken a toll on the hooded figure, who straightened up shakily, face revealed for all to see.

A pair of eyes were two suns in the dead of night, a contrast to the light blue ones that perceived them.

Standing alone, centered by destroyed store windows and melted streetlights, they seemed impassive to their might. It was as if they weren’t just blasted with lightning, where their fabric was scorched the only evidence of the offense.

Dante and Vergil didn’t know what to do, not knowing if this person would attack them as well.

They stayed where they were, the moon right above their head, shining around their crown of messy hair.

“Be not afraid.”

Voice hoarse, their mouth moved differently than to the words they just called out.

Before the twins could think of anything to say, the figure beyond them collapsed.

Vergil was silent, still processing all of this. Who was this person? What were they looking for? Who was Raphael?

Dante rushed forward, heavy footsteps raising ashes from their resting place.

Vergil followed, the Yamato ready to be unleashed at any hesitation.

Dante turned them over, noting the strange force surrounding them had remained. As if someone larger was there.

A human face from under the worn, textile cloak greeted them, exhausted and at peace with unconsciousness.

Two lines dripped down their face from their nose. Bleeding crimson, a human above all. In-and-out, slow breaths moved their chest just enough to know they were alive.

“A half-demon?” Vergil questioned himself.

“If they killed the demon, do we have to split the cash with them?” Dante blurted. Vergil raised an eyebrow at the inquiry.

Before he could retort, Dante had lifted them, their stature dwarfed in strong arms.

“Let’s ask them when they wake up.”

“Dante, you are not bringing that thing back.”

“You’re right. I’m not. You are. Open a portal.” He said with a shit-eating grin.

Vergil reluctantly did so, the Yamato ripping open the fabric of space. He would regret this, he was sure of it.

[sunseteyes]

FLUFFVEMBER DAY 13: YORIICHI TSUGIKUNI

prompt: i love you (prompts are by @jojosmilktea)

word count: 1,296 words | themes: gen!reader, slow burn-ish, yori’s era i have no idea when dont ask me please, manga spoilers because well yori is a spoiler himself lmao

tags: @kacchanori @chickynn @todominica @sparkleswritings @brinthie @patricia-ceballos @giyuus-wife @bitchtrynafck @astrxrism @animatedarchives @deephasoceanmagic @strawberrysalwa

rv: this kinda gives me the vibe to “roze continue this or i will smack you” because i have an angst plot hidden behind this but yes of course it’s not stated here much because i don’t want to really lengthen this more lmao. enjoy reading!

✒︎ breath of love

yoriichi never was a showy or a vocal person. you knew that since the start—before you even had gotten to talk with the sun breath user.

having an enhanced sense of sight, you could always see and read other people with their slightest bits of movements—always being able to observe what they feel, think and are about to do. that’s what you expected when you became a demon slayer, being one of the strongest with the help of your small yet strong impacted ability.

people notice your ability when you come to help them when they needed it, even if they haven't said it yet. you were always everyone's shoulder to cry on, always the person who people call as "friendly". the friendly pillar.

when you first saw yoriichi, you knew in an instant that he would be a tough one to crack. because despite being able to catch what one’s reactions were, you should also have the knowledge to determine who the person really is for not everyone is exactly the same and it speaks with their actions too.

you observed him from afar, the alleged sun breath user that taught everyone their own breaths—the very reason why the demon slayers were starting to evolve and get stronger and stronger by the day.

you? you became a love breath user.

you know of the word love and of course you feel it, but it surprised you to have it as your own breath. when yoriichi told you that you’d use love breathing, as a matter of fact, you looked him in the eye with an incredulous look and it became the first time for you to never have read what the other person’s intentions were. in short, you could not figure out yoriichi at all.

a tick of a brow, a quirk on the corner of a lip, a twitch on the eye, none of those were shown on his refined and reserved face, as if he doesn’t have emotions at all.

he’s a blank.

“why?” you say, teeth gnawing on the insides of your cheeks the moment you realized you let out the question.

he looked at you, speaking nothing. yet for some reason, you knew that he was waiting for you to finish off and complete your statement.

“why love breathing?”

yoriichi’s face was unbothered, unmoving as a stone, aside from the small gap on his lips as he moved them to speak.

“is there any reason why not?”

the lump on your throat was an indication that you couldn’t answer, the confusion in your mind starting to build bigger and bigger as seconds passes by. for a moment there, you thought you two would just stand in silence, eyeing each other like two eagles awaiting for one to break the peace.

“i’m just curious.” you let out, not knowing exactly why you asked him such an idiotic question that left you hanging on a cliff when you were asked back.

you expected him to answer, nonetheless. but alas, none came out of yoriichi’s lips and he merely looked at you in the eye. you found his stare intimidating that you shuddered on your own, averting your gaze away as you pushed the question on the back of your mind, choosing to ignore the fact that he did not answer it.

but that moment hunted you as you used the breath, curiosity choosing to make its way to your mind until you noticed something that caught your eyes.

"why are you holding back?" you questioned him, a frown appearing on your lips as you eased up the same time as he did, abandoning both of your defenses from the seemingly silent training that you got assigned with for the day. it was not unusual for you to meet yoriichi at least once or twice a week since he usually trains with the pillars to test their strengths and be able to determine if they could still handle the breath that was allotted to them. after all, each one of you are merely testing whether you could do what someone like yoriichi could. that even if you all could not be on the same level as his, all of you try to.

he was the goal—one to attain to not die in this line of work.

yoriichi was silent again, and it takes all of your energy not to let your anger seeth in at his silence. after all, he's still an honorable man and he's someone who you all should respect for teaching you his techniques, even if some were trying to talk behind his back for it. some people are ungrateful, after all.

you're not. you respect yoriichi, but you're wondering if he does the same to you too.

"you fit well with it." he suddenly says, shocking your system at the sound of his calm and full voice. he rarely speaks, only when he is needed.

"with what?"

"love breathing."

the words he said slowly processed in your mind but you eventually realized what he meant. it was the answer to your question from weeks ago, the one that made you curious the entire time.

"that's why you picked it for me?"

yoriichi looks away but it was not to avoid your eyes. it was to look at the sky that he always had seemed to adore. "i didn't."

at that time, questions raised in your mind but you didn't ask them in fear that you would be left hanging once again. instead, you let the silence and peace greet you, feeling much more comfortable than before. which is rather curious, honestly.

you found yourself liking the tranquility that floats above your head every time you were with yoriichi, and before you knew it, you craved for his presence more and more, even watching him train with the other slayers from afar. he didn't seem to notice it, but even if he did, it didn't look like he minded it.

yoriichi frequently watched the sky, and you didn't know what took over you to do it with him one morning, sitting down next to the sun breath user with ease and composure that you've never felt before. you were raised in a family of fighters, and it must be the reason why you craved for the serenity that yoriichi brings to the people that are around him.

with him, it just seems so... peaceful.

"you meant that i was the one who chose the breath of love, didn't you?" your question surprised you. you only wanted to start a conversation but before you know it, words were already spilling out of your lips.

yoriichi turns to look at you then, and a wave of cold water washes over you for an unknown reason. it was as if you were refreshed and you were born anew whenever yoriichi's gaze is focused on you. you couldn't read him again like usual, but you didn't mind it anymore. he didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. you already figured out how to know what he's thinking. you begun to understood the heart that lies beneath that stone surface of his.

you know this. you know this feeling so much.

in fact, it's so ironic.

you look at him, a smile appearing on your face.

for the very first time, you felt as if you were the one who was being taken care of. all your life, you determined how people think, feel and act. you became someone who felt responsible if they feel lonely one bit.

but now that you're with yoriichi, it was you this time.

you were falling for him. and you'd better stop yourself from showing any signs of it or you'll be the first to say i love you.

[lifblogs]

Get Lost More Often

1915 words, read on ao3

Anakin decided he was an idiot. He wished he had come to that conclusion before taking a hike around Lake Louise in Banff National Park and getting lost. Obi-Wan had warned him against it, but he’d wanted to go anyway. And here he was, freezing his ass off on his way up a peak. Why did he need to climb his way up instead of returning to Fairmont Château where there’d be a nice cozy bed, and hot chocolate, and one of those electric fireplaces? The wind had had the audacity to snatch his map out of his hands, so now he had to get up high to make sense of his surroundings. Hopefully if he made it to the top he’d be able to see the hotel and plan a route back in his head.

It wasn’t that Anakin wasn’t smart. He just did reckless things from time to time. Okay, all the time.

Anakin stopped his hike upwards, and tried to find the best path to continue onward. Right now the ground was becoming more rocky than ever, giant boulders clustering together. He realized it was the perfect shelter for a predator like a lynx or a cougar, and unfortunately there were quite a few of those. But he figured he’d smell one before he was in danger. Maybe. A very tentative maybe. And then there was the off chance that some other large animal would bother him.

He cursed himself as he grabbed hold of a rock and started to climb, his durable hiking boots thankfully helping him scrabble upward. Through the lush greens of the conifers he was able to see a gap, and past them, down, down, down was the lake: all a brilliant aqua that would surely kill him within fifteen minutes of submersion.

Despite being lost and bitterly cold the trip was still worth it just to get a look at that extraordinary glacier melt.

A twig cracked, and Anakin scrambled up and over the rock. He turned, but nothing caught his eye.

Probably a squirrel. Hopefully a squirrel.

Rather than staying in one spot he had his eyes roam all around for at least a minute. He spotted movement in a tree, and was surprised that it was a lot of movement, a branch making a loud thwack as it snapped back into place. Right above that branch was a black furry mass clambering up the trunk.

Closer inspection showed it to be a black bear.

If you let a black bear know you were there and proved that you were big it was relatively harmless. So Anakin stood to his full height, waved his arms, and shouted a greeting at it.

The bear startled, and nearly fell out of the tree, which set Anakin laughing. And then it was on its way.

Anakin had to be on his way now too, taking note of the lengthening shadows. He did not look forward to the idea of being stuck out here at night.

“Just keep climbing,” Anakin told himself as he took to a rocky path through the thinning trees. “Find the hotel.”

~~~

“He should’ve been back by now,” Obi-Wan told the small young woman in front of him.

He had gone to one of the lodges near the hotel that had local rescue and rangers. The woman he was speaking to was short and slim, and had her brown hair up in a bun. A few curls had come loose. She seemed all business in her brown ranger’s uniform, yet she had come out from behind her desk to comfort him.

Obi-Wan was stroking at his beard, anxious from Anakin’s absence. The woman whose name tag read Padmé Naberrie had a reassuring hand on his arm as he gave her all the information he could about his friend.

“I’ll find him,” she assured him, and then she set to work, gathering gear, relaying information, getting someone to cover the desk.

Obi-Wan sat in one of the beat-up handmade wooden chairs.

Oh, Anakin. Why are you always like this?

This vacation had been Anakin’s idea. Obi-Wan would’ve preferred somewhere warmer, and had thought that’s what Anakin had in mind when he used the word exotic. Heading north to try and see all of Canada’s lakes had, however, been how Anakin defined the term. So instead of relaxing at a beach or even just inviting his friend Cody over for drinks, he was here, waiting for Padmé to head out so Anakin could be found.

When she seemed about ready, a heavy backpack hoisted on her shoulders, Obi-Wan grabbed his own pack.

“I’ll go with you,” he offered.

“No offense, but you’ll only slow me down.”

“But I’m strong,” Obi-Wan argued. “And I can move quickly if need be. Please, I just want to find my friend. He’s like a brother to me.”

She eyed him, probably trying to figure out just how muscular he was under his jeans, flannel, and fleece-lined jacket.

“Fine,” she relented. “But there are two rules and two rules only: do exactly as I say, down to the letter, and follow my footsteps about four to five feet back.” Obi-Wan frowned in confusion at that last one, and despite the seriousness of the situation, her brown eyes seemed to glimmer with amusement. She started leading him out, as she offered further explanation: “You don’t want to get hit with the branches that snap back after I pass.”

“Right.”

Padmé led him over to a large all-terrain truck, and once they got in, they headed out.

“So tell me about Anakin,” Padmé inquired.

Obi-Wan did, even as the road became dirt and then their path took them off of it, the vehicle bumping along and jostling them inside.

~~~

Anakin reached the summit of the peak, but there was a slight problem: it was sundown. Sure, he could see the hotel, but traveling there in the dark? Maybe he could stay here. He had a flashlight, he had plenty of back-up batteries. And there was a bigger problem than the dark and cold if he decided to travel. From what he could tell with where the hotel was positioned, he’d have to hike across grizzly territory, or risk taking a much longer route and getting lost yet again.

~~~

I wonder how Obi-Wan’s doing with looking for me.

There was no doubt his friend was looking for him, or had gotten someone to help. He was just like that: always caring, always ready to save Anakin’s ass despite his feigned reluctance.

Then he had a better idea than traveling in the dark and lower temperatures. He could make a signal fire. So Anakin set to work, and in fifteen minutes he had a decent fire going. Now all he could do was sit and wait, he supposed.

Anakin settled down onto the ground, and then started in on the water and energy bars he had in his pack.

“There, did you see that?” Obi-Wan asked, pointing at a flicker of orange light that was up high in the darkness.

He and Padmé had been traveling on foot for some time now, Obi-Wan following her lead because he had no idea how she was able to figure out where Anakin had been, though he noticed she’d often travel back and forth in straight lines, doing that for many yard sometimes, until she’d hurried them on. Despite his worries for Anakin he liked being in her presence. He trusted her, and he wasn’t totally sure why. Maybe it was her sure and steady demeanor, and the calm, reassuring way she spoke to him.

“Yep,” she told him. “Come on.”

Anakin wasn’t sure how long he sat there, working on deep breathing to calm his nerves every time he heard something moving, which was near-constant. The night was loud with all kinds of night-time creatures, and it left him uneasy. He huddled closer to the blazing heat of the fire, pulling his jacket tight around him, and shoved his hands into his armpits. Eventually, he heard steps clumping against the ground, branches and undergrowth rustling, rocks clattering.

Eventually it grew so close that he was on his feet.

Stupidly, he asked, “Who’s there?”

Turned out it wasn’t so stupid after all because next thing he knew there was a petite woman in a ranger’s uniform stepping into the light of his fire.

Anakin let out a breath of relief, which was cut off in an excited shout as Obi-Wan stepped out from behind her.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” the ranger asked.

He grinned at her, beyond relieved by her presence. “I’m fine. Mostly just cold and hungry.”

Obi-Wan put an arm around him. “Come on, let’s get you back.”

The ranger said, “You know, you really shouldn’t travel out here alone.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you should’ve had a map.”

“The wind took it.”

“Better to stick to a trail.”

“I got that… now.”

But Anakin was too happy at being found to be annoyed. He was actually glad that she clearly cared.

All conversation that didn’t have to do with getting back to civilization died down.

A few hours later—hours of pain-stakingly making their way down the peak and around the lake with only the  light of their flashlights—they came to an open area where there was a large truck parked on the dirt.

“Nice ride,” Anakin commented, as he climbed in, Obi-Wan relinquishing the passenger’s seat for him.

Anakin had expected something a bit clipped from the ranger, but to his surprise she grinned at him.

“Want to see how fast it can go?”

Anakin soon had a look to mirror hers. “Hell yeah.”

They set off, the night racing past them.

“Not to be a downer, Padmé,” Obi-Wan cried, “but hitting something and overturning this isn’t really what I had in mind!”

“Relax,” Anakin told him.

“Relax? You were missing all day.”

“Yeah, and I’m here now.” He turned to his savior. “So, Padmé, is it?”

“Yep.”

“Pretty name.”

“I could say the same for you.”

He laughed. “But at least you have the prettier face.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“No?”

“Well… maybe. But hey, maybe I should get lost more often.”

“Do you two mind flirting later?” Obi-Wan asked.

Padmé flashed Anakin a secretive smile that left a giddy feeling soaring through his stomach.

~~~

When they made it back to the lodge, Padmé gave Anakin her number.

“What are you doing up here anyway?” she asked him as she handed him the slip of paper.

“Exotic vacation. Wanted to see all of Canada’s lakes.”

“That’s ambitious.”

Looking her up and down and liking what he saw he responded, “I’m an ambitious kind of guy.”

“Great, then take me out with you next time. Or we could do something else. Are you staying at the Fairmont?”

“You bet!”

“How about I see you there tomorrow night for dinner?”

“Can we do dessert too?”

“Only if you’re thinking about the same dessert I am.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

She gave him a quick embrace and kissed his cheek before saying, “Great, it’s a date.”

“It’s a date!” Anakin called as he left, getting into Obi-Wan’s car.

“You got her number, didn’t you?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Sure did.”

“I’m getting exiled tomorrow night, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and rolled his eyes, and then pulled out onto the road. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me, my young friend.”

[forgotten-envies]

No Stronger Thread Than Ours

Thank you @miraculously-purple for the prompt! It’s finally done! It’s ~4000 words and can either be read on AO3 here (x) or under the cut.

Wei Wuxian could only remember one conversation he ever had with his mother. It floated in his mind with little detail, the edges as hazy and warped as a dream. Sometimes, he thought he could recall the deep scarlet of his mother’s ribbon. At other times, her laughter, ringing and loud. Most often, he could not find the event itself, could not distinguish between memory and fabrication and was left with only her message, void in tone but permanent in meaning. 

_________

This is your red string of fate. It leads to the one you will love and be loved by.

Wei Ying sat outside the Jiang compound, sulkily watching as a red string coiled, swayed, and darted across the lake. The setting sun warmed his back and cast a long shadow all the way to the edge of the dock. Shijie was inside, meeting her newly betrothed for the first time. Wei Ying was not inside because the stuck-up, gold-plated peacock had dragged his dog with him.

He kicked the water and watched the thread bob like a fishing line. It was an ongoing experiment of his, to see which objects could affect it. People couldn’t, other than him. Nor dogs or trees. He bet even the claws of a divine beast would pass right through. Still, it rippled in the wind and water as if it were actually there and affected. It wasn’t. He’d tried fishing with the thing before, but no bait could be attached. He had high hopes for using it with a spiritually-infused needle, though. 

A tug on the string pulled a grin out of him. There is, of course, one other person that can touch it. The one on the other end. He pulled it into a taught red line strung between two fingers and plucked it with a nail. He adjusted the length and did it again, picking out a crude melody. He thought he could make a language out of it, like the Lans do with their guqins. 

This is how he was found later, scattering thoughts into notes, a phrase. A presence, tall and comforting, settled by his side. He broke off his ciphered letter and pouted up at his shijie. She smiled and folded her legs under herself. “A-Ying, what’s wrong? 

He snuggled up to her side and looked up at her through his lashes, silver eyes wide. She took his hand with a giggle, familiar with this routine after two years as his shijie. “You shouldn’t marry Jin Zixuan,” he whined.

She laughed, surprised. “Why not?”

He twirled the string around a finger. If he knew the person on the other end, he was sure they’d help him. Wei Ying spoke clearly, laying the case before his understanding shijie, “He brought a dog and said the lake smells bad. When I opened  the gate for him, he asked Madam Jin to take him back to Lanling. The peacock wouldn’t eat the cakes you made for him and he didn’t even say you looked pretty!” Her face fell, but she brought an arm up to wrap around him. Wei Ying mentally kicked himself.

“Don’t be disrespectful to your seniors.” The rebuke was half-hearted and soft-edged though, and she rubbed her pinky with her thumb. The nail caught on an invisible cord and her lips lifted a little. “A-Ying, do you know where the red threads lead?”

“The person you’ll love.” He furrowed his brow, wondering what this had to do with Jin peacocks.

Warm hands patted his head. Quiet and slow she explained, “And who will love you in return. A-Ying, Mother set up my engagement to Young Master Jin because we are connected by this.” She brushes her fingers against his pinky. “Jin Zixuan is the one I will marry.”

This made little sense to the boy. “But Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang aren’t connected! You could marry someone else.”

A strange look crossed her face as she sighed. “I think they might be, A-Ying. They love each other in their own way.” He found this hard to believe; impressions of soft touches and laughter lit up the picture he’d formed of his own parents. She flicked his nose. “And Young Master Jin  and I just met. It’s only natural that we don’t love each other yet.” They sat together in silence as Wei Ying composed a ‘hello’ on the thread. 

Their shadows had stretched, rippling on the lake when Wei Ying’s small, unsure voice asked, “Does it take a long time?”

“Hm?”

“To love someone?”

She shook her head and pulled him closer. “I think it takes longer to learn how.”

_________

It may bend,

Wei Wuxian’s too-long, awkward legs tripped on a tree root. He caught himself and kept going, winding his way through the forest surrounding the lake Lotus Pier was built on.

Jiang Cheng was full of it, obviously, and a terrible prankster. Who could believe his half-spun tale of following his thread and meeting his partner? Certainly not Wei Wuxian, who’d once seen his shidi insult his crush to her face, fist clenched and the cake he’d bought as a present to her ruined. He had to laugh at the memory; the girl, a visiting disciple a few years older than them, had smiled and patted the frozen Jiang heir on his impressively blushing cheek, thanking him with a, “Red is my favorite color!” She’d disappeared while Wei Wuxian had been too busy laughing and they never saw her again. 

So clearly, he had evidence.

Still, the general theory holds true. Two people were connected by a continuous thread and therefore could find each other by simply following it to its end, though parents discouraged their children from doing it. Wei Wuxian had brought it up before to Uncle Jiang and was merely answered with, “They are threads of fate. You shouldn’t rush it.”

But he was restless and it was summer. The Yunmeng sun seemed to stick to one’s skin, seeping its too-bright rays through burned ears. It turned thoughts into the soft, catching mud on the banks of the receded lakes and encouraged the most reckless of decisions.

He wiggled the string like a trill. It was a habit he’d developed, a simple way to convey laughter to the person on the other side, as he wasn’t there to teach his partner the basic language he’d made. Still, he continued expanding the language and sending his letters. He wanted that person to know how he was feeling, wanted to form a relationship. Maybe that was why he was out here, trekking through the forest and spooling red thread around his fingers before it shortened.

It was behaving… strangely, if such a thing could behave at all. It stretched through tree trunks as it normally did, unaffected, but at other points, it wound around several different trees and formed elaborate knots. He knew why the string twisted, who wouldn’t? The Thread and its Three Difficulties were taught early on in the form of stories and cemented in copious allusions. All three were directly caused by the wishes or actions of one or both thread-mates; ergo, his partner was bending the thread.

Honestly, Wei Wuxian couldn’t understand at all why someone would do this. Who didn’t want to meet their partner? Their confidant and future spouse? Well, he wasn’t anyone to be afraid of! And they were destined to love each other, after all.

He circled four trees, straightening the latest knot, and kept following it. The problem was that the thin string could barely be seen from only a few feet away, so he couldn’t simply bypass the entanglement and shorten the string as it fell behind him. So he did it this way and wasn’t sure if it was better to blame his slowly growing dizziness on the heat or his circular motions. Last night’s second jar had been a sweet mistake. He can’t bring himself to regret it.

Hours passed. Several times, he groaned out loud at especially layered or lengthy configurations but didn’t turn back. After the last one, he’d sent, “Just make it a little easier. I’m trying to be friends with you!”  across the thread, but the words seemed to have no effect, or at least no positive one.

The shadows lengthened until the only light came from the talisman glittering in Wei Wuxian’s hand. Made even harder to see in the dark, the string could only be followed and not anticipated.

Finally, he could feel it straightening out, wavering less and forming only very simple knots. He smiled and trilled a laugh, recklessly bounding through the night as he chased his goal. 

He seemed to reach some sort of transition in the terrain, the end of the forest, perhaps, and broke through it. He paused, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, inhaling deeply the fresh, night air, smelling faintly of lotuses. 

His eyes snapped open, and suddenly, he thought he hated nothing more than the lake that spread out in front of him, illuminated by the glow of Lotus Pier at its center. He had followed the thread, gotten turned around so often that he couldn’t tell North from South, and essentially made a very large circle, ending up not far from where he had started.

In the shifting glow of the talisman, his red thread shot off into the forest once more, twisting around a tree like a last teasing, parting wave. 

As he made the short walk back to his little boat, a thought, the only reasonable conclusion, cleared his mind of any lingering sun-induced daze and chilled him in a way the slight breeze could never achieve. 

The recipient of his many letters, his thread-mate, did not want to be found. 

_________

Stretch,

The Cloud Recesses were beautiful, quiet and peaceful in a timeless, pristine sort of way. Its stones had never been stained with spilled dye, its waters ran mountain-cold and pure, and its people walked slowly and purposefully, confident yet humble in their talents. 

All of these qualities, however, faded to a pale background in the presence of its Second Jade, Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian’s thread-mate. He was purity, icy coldness, and a cloud’s grace. He spoke little, saving his words for only the most important things, the complete opposite of Wei Wuxian who talked even when he could not speak, plucking messages to a person who never responded, aside from biting out scathing remarks about Wei Wuxian. 

And that was it, wasn’t it? His jade-like face never smiled at Wuxian’s antics, only glared and turned away. His deep, soothing voice bit out rebukes for breaking the rules. His powerful frame held no comfort, but rather sidestepped gentle, yearning touches. 

His red string, so bright against colorless robes, hung between them and spooled in a pile on the ground. 

“Lan Zhan!”

“We are not close.”

In the frigid emptiness of a cave under Qishan, hours of battle and days of synchronous preparation led to two people, their breaths shallow and hearts weakened. They stared at each other, gold and silver mixing until one blinked, slow and threatening sleep.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan… sing for me.”

Lan Wangji, brow furrowed in pain, in worry, gently held Wei Wuxian’s hand as if it would break at the slightest movement. In the dark, no excess thread lay between them, no distance separated. 

The world faded and Lan Zhan sang. 

When Wei Wuxian was dropped into the Burial Mounds, he reached out, clutching the taut line as he fell, wishing he could be caught, held, saved. 

When he walked out, shadows filling his fractures and curling around his steps, he did not follow the string. It spilled lax and trailing on the ground, a line of red blood against death-gray. He laughed, but for the first time since he’d begun the habit, he didn’t share it with Lan Zhan. The spirits laughed with him. Good, they said, a grating hiss, feel our resentment, feel our pain. His chest tightened with it, the weight a constant companion, now. Be our revenge! On the last word, familiar screams filled his mind and he pulled out his flute, black as the place it came from, and began playing.

He hunted and he tortured and he had his revenge. When Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan found him, smiles and laughter concealed the damage to his spirit, but the person they expected him to be had died with a prayer on his lips and left barely more than a shell for resentful energy in his wake.

“Wei Wuxian!” “Lan Wangji!”

Again, Wei Wuxian walked out of the Burial Mounds, a flute at his side and a red thread dragging on the ground before him. This time, though, a child sat on his shoulders, laughing pure and untainted, uncaring of his small dinner, lack of playmates, and a guardian who was not his parents. 

The people he now lived with healed Wei Wuxian in a way that the resentful energy could not replicate. A few treasured moments with Wen Qing or a-Yuan or any of the other people who had, quite suddenly, become his family, scattered themselves throughout every bad day. They each featured prominently in the good days. No day could be called perfect when living in the Burial Mounds, but a certain balance formed, a precarious yin and yang.

On the days he was the most clear-headed, he found himself sending messages to Lan Zhan, an activity that had stopped during the Sunshot Campaign. He played about his inventions and his breakthroughs, Uncle Four’s wine and the adventures of a-Yuan. He thought, a strange feeling too warm to be resentful energy curling around his heart, that Lan Zhan would make a good father, though a stricter one than himself. 

In Yiling, Lan Zhan found a-Yuan and spoiled him more than Wei Wuxian thought the austere man capable of. He shared a meal with the two, a red string pooling underneath the table. Wei Wuxian tried to keep the conversation on lighter matters, asking about gossip he knew Lan Zhan wouldn’t provide. For his trouble, he learned of a wedding he couldn’t be invited to, a painful reminder of the family he’d left behind. Inevitably and with his typical direct manner, Lan Zhan changed the subject.

“Can you control it? Will you stay like this from now on?” The Second Jade of Lan probably couldn’t imagine a life in the Burial Mounds, tainted in a way the Cloud Recesses weren’t. He would never choose to walk the single-plank bridge.

When he ran out of the tea shop, Lan Zhan followed. He spared Wen Ning and even helped return him to consciousness, but he would not stay. Wei Wuxian led him to the barrier and with a rueful look, finally answered his question.

“What other choice do I have?” Stay here, and do not leave, Wei Wuxian didn’t say.

Lan Zhan left and did not turn back.

_________

And fray,

Everything blurred together as the shadows whispered and screamed, pulling him down, down, building his resentment at himself, at the righteous, at the shadows themselves. He raised an army brimming with power and darkness, held together by an iron seal. Both him and them, control, control. 

Let it burst out in a wave, let it destroy.

Weak and trembling, frayed threads touched a frayed being. “Goodbye.”

One army against another, familiar faces battling his own end, his final weakness.

As the seal broke, Wei Wuxian acknowledged a truth that he’d chosen to ignore since that day in Yunmeng with his shijie. Between his hands, the blood-red string vibrated, conveying his heart. But a pinch stilled movement and stopped sound, so nothing ever reached his thread-mate. 

Lan Zhan hadn’t heard.

He plucked a laugh across the connection, no fingers to still it, and shuffling feet turned toward him.

_________

Quiet, thin notes gently pulled Wei Wuxian from the depths of sleep. Slowly, he became aware of the warmth that surrounded him, the body pressed against his chest and the quilt draped across them both. Bright, mid-morning sunlight streamed into his eyes from the window above their bed and Wei Wuxian turned his head to bury it in Lan Zhan’s hair.

The lullaby-like song stopped as his husband turned to face him, graceful in a way Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought possible before marrying him. Soft, golden eyes drifted over his face, taking in the sleepy mess of it all. His lips upturned, a content smile. Neither of them spoke, enjoying the peaceful beauty of both the morning and each other. 

They didn’t often have the opportunity to spend mornings in bed together. Supervisory responsibilities required that Lan Zhan be ready much earlier than Wei Wuxian’s habitual wake-up time and they both taught the junior disciples in the afternoon. As such, he treasured such chances to simply be. No boundaries lay between them, no expectations to uphold. They could brush light kisses to tired eyes, entwine their hands, and let themselves breathe.

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, regulating his breathing to match his husband’s as he entered a casual sort of meditation. He didn’t, couldn’t, stop thinking altogether, but he had become decent at dismissing whatever thoughts came up as unimportant in the moment. Mastery of the technique had by no means been achieved, though..

Eventually, Wei Wuxian’s curiosity got the better of him. Turning so Lan Zhan’s arm curled around his shoulders, he voiced the question that floated lazily at the back of his mind. 

“What instrument were you playing?” he said, voice low and smiling, “It couldn’t have been your guqin. Wangji is deeper. Besides, you only played one note at a time and it doesn’t fit on the bed anyway.” He laughed, quieter than usual but just as happy.

Lan Zhan brought their hands to his lips, peppering a few kisses onto his husband’s knuckles. He looked up, turning their hands so that their little fingers lay in front of Wei Wuxian, the red thread connected to them wrapped loosely around their hands.

His mouth opened quickly once he understood Lan Zhan’s meaning. “You played a song… on the string?” 

“Mm.” Lan Zhan hummed, low and trailing.

He rubbed their thumbs together, thinking. “You know I used to do something like that too?” He glanced over at Lan Zhan and found his head tilted forward in interest. “I made up a whole language! I was inspired by the Lan Clan, of course, but it’s very different from the guqin language, seeing as there’s only one string.”

He smiled wistfully, remembering all the letters he’d sent to his thread-mate even before he’d known it was Lan Zhan. “I would compose letters to you. You couldn’t hear them, of course,” he laughed, “but I liked imagining that you could, that you listened to each one.” He shook his head. “It was foolish, I know, but you’d silence me all the time! I had to talk to you somehow!”  Lan Zhan’s face didn’t slip into his typical fond exasperation at the teasing, instead dropping the smile and becoming serious. 

Wei Wuxian turned back over and brought his free hand up to cup the beautiful face. “Hey, are you okay?”

Lan Zhan looked away, a shadow of sadness coming to rest over his eyes. “I would also speak to you, in a way.” 

Wei Wuxian fought to keep his many questions from bubbling out of his mouth, knowing by now to let Lan Zhan finish whatever he wanted to say. 

“I composed songs on it to convey my thoughts, like Brother.” From what he had learned from them both, Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan often conveyed their emotions to each other via songs and duets. It was simpler than stumbling over words that could be misinterpreted.

“You… played me music?”

“Mn.” His ears looked a little pink, now.

Wei Wuxian smiled and moved closer, pressing their hands between their chests. “Well at least the conversation was two-sided then, even if neither of our messages reached each other.”

Lan Zhan shook his head, a slight, confused movement. “I often received a message from you.”

“A message? Nothing gets through to the other side.” He pinched the string like he used to and plucked it. No vibrations traveled to Lan Zhan’s little finger.

Lan Zhan shook his head and moved a finger to the string, flicking it quickly in a familiar motion.

Oh.

“You… you knew those were from me?”

“Yes, Wei Ying.” There was that fond exasperation, relaxed and a little teasing in itself which, fair. It’s not like anything else could have touched the string.

“Do you know what it means?” He’d never mentioned it to his husband; such a small thing had never seemed important. Besides that, it’d become natural to him, second nature.

“It is Wei Ying’s laugh.”

Surprised, Wei Wuxian did just that, a little too loud for such a morning, and, reflexively, trilled it on the thread. His eyes widened. “My Lan-er-gege knows me so well!”

Leaning in, he offered a kiss, and they stayed like that, lips barely moving against each other, for a long while, until once more, Wei Wuxian broke the silence with a quiet, “I’m glad we know how to love each other, Lan Zhan.”

Eyes gentle, he pulled Wei Wuxian into his arms. 

But it will never break.

[nightvision-of-thesoul]

stolen hearts

Part 2

things are beginning to change at the outpost, in some strange and unexpected ways. 

The resounding thud from Venable’s cane brought me and the rest of the grays to attention, making it clear we could return to the tedium of tending to chores around the outpost. Nearly as fast as Langdon left, we all scurried in the same direction he did, only to quickly scatter throughout the different sections of the large common room. The task I had set before me prior to the preparing and serving of dinner was scrubbing down the stairs. Menial at best, it was an understatement to say that I wasn’t looking forward to it. Especially after the events of the evening, the last thing I wanted to do was confine myself to the floor and put myself in an even more poor position to present myself as a deserving subject to follow Langdon to the sanctuary. That is, if I was even able to be granted an interview with the man himself. The more I thought about it, the sillier it seemed. If I wasn’t even considered worthy enough to be above scrubbing shit stained toilets, how could I be considered worthy enough to repopulate the planet by someone who clearly held more influence than our current leader?  

While I tried not to think too hard about it: the prospect of never returning to this bunker proved too enticing not to hold on to at least some semblance of hope that I could possibly be chosen. However, I knew that regardless of what I felt about my station, I could be dead in the ground, or worse yet, covered in lesions and pustules aplenty, mind and body addled with radiation. I thought about that while I scrubbed, always trying to seek out the positives, not only in a world that had constantly sought out negativity but in this microcosmic one as well. I was surrounded by people who were the center of their own universes within this one, people who were callous, cruel, and unforgivably full to the brim with hubris, impulses I hoped never to align myself with. When it really came down to it, why were they the last people allowed alive? If the Sanctuary was looking for these kinds of people to repopulate it, did I even want to be a part of that future? The people I was surrounded by would sacrifice their own children for a shot at being allowed to say they were important enough to be selected for some unspoken, nondisclosed honor. I supposed money was the root of all their evils though, and in the end I couldn’t fault any of them for the way the acted, their actions being a product of that evil. Sometimes even that made me feel all the more alienated, still in the lowest position even in this world. I wanted so badly to belong, but felt like there was no way I ever could, not when the remainder of the populous was narrowed down to these select few.  

Lost in all my own longing and self-doubt, I hadn’t even realized I had stopped my scrubbing. Instead, I found myself sitting on the floor, tears flowing loosely down my cheeks, which were flushed not only from the heat of the surrounding candles but also from the intense sensation of loss and in some ways, shame. Loss of the world that I had once known, loss of the purity that could once be found in humanity, and finally, loss of my sense of self. I wondered how I could even think I was a part of what Langdon was looking for, and the idea inexplicably broke my heart.

My self-pity was interrupted swiftly by the raucous thud of Venable’s cane contacting the hard floor behind me. I scrambled to a standing position, unintendedly spilling the bucket of soapy water at my feet. Torn between standing at attention like I was always required to do and bending down to clean up the mess, I chose to remain upright and see what it was Venable was about to request. Her eyes fell disdainfully on the spill, but she returned her attention to me without comment.

“Layla, would you escort Mr. Gallant to my office please? Mr. Langdon is waiting to begin his interview.” Feeling the blush deepen in my cheeks, this time from pure embarrassment, I could do no more than nod quickly and scurry quickly past her to the living area where Gallant still remained, hastily wiping off my cheeks.

The hairdresser was chatting cordially with Coco, something about how the apocalypse was no good for split ends as he caressed the blonde tips of her hair with disgust.

“Mr. Gallant, Mr. Langdon is ready for you now,” I called from the doorway to the room, clearing my throat to signal my entrance. He slowly turned his head towards me with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Let’s get this over with.”

I walked briskly in the direction of Venable’s office, Gallant traipsing along behind at his usual relaxed and aloof pace. My heart fluttered unexpectedly at the prospect of seeing Langdon again, his sharp jaw and measured tongue weaseling their way back into my mind as we approached the large sliding doors. I could tell Gallant was excited by the idea as well, for his pace began to pick up behind me the closer we got to the room, closing the space between us as I grabbed the ornate handles and took a pause before I opened the entrance to the office.

Langdon’s immense presence was there to greet us, waiting patiently just on the opposite side of the door, his lips still upturned in that sultry smile that suggested he knew something you had no way of knowing. I nearly jumped, startled to be met with his soft and unblinking gaze that met my eyes before I had even known he was there. His hands were folded behind his back, and it looked as though he was waiting for me to speak.

“Mr. Gallant is here to see you sir.” Though it took considerable effort, I forced myself to hold his stare, taking note of how the yellow light from the fires caused the blue of his iris to melt almost seamlessly into the whites of his eyes.

“Right on time. Thank you, Ms…” His honeyed voice trailed off, awaiting a response.

“Layla.” Suddenly I felt ridiculous saying my own name, like somehow it wasn’t worthy enough to be said.

“Mmm, Layla.” He let his breath linger over it like he was trapping it in a cage. “You may leave us now.”

I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath until he finally transferred his attention to Gallant, who was practically jumping over my shoulder to make himself a part of the interaction. It was interesting how he had this strange sort of effect over everyone. With a quick flick of his eyes, Langdon signaled me away. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t hurry away with my tail tucked between my legs as I had done after the first time we all met him. For whatever reason, he didn’t give me the same sensation as Venable, who tried her damndest every moment to remind you that you were beneath her. No, Langdon stirred something else entirely in me. Amid the squirming desire to crumble in his presence, the desire to stand rigid and unflinching, unafraid, before him, was equally as strong. His authority was undeniable, in an effortless way that made him far more menacing than Venable could ever hope to be. That was the closest I could come to describing just what it was about him that made me so uneasy. I couldn’t begin to shake the memory of his eyes looking into mine as though he was standing face to face with my fully bared soul, a rattling experience considering we had only just met.  

I returned to where I had begun the evening, the floor still splattered with the cleaning fluid. Trying to repress him from my mind, I knelt back down again and got to tidying up my mess.

*****

The evening began to stretch on, lengthening more slowly than the spread of molasses. Gallant still remained in the interview, but I had since moved on to other tasks, sweeping, dusting, tending to the many fire pits in the main room. Though time had no real meaning here, I could tell it was impossibly late. Letting out a monumental yawn I began to make my way towards the spiral staircase, just past Venable’s office. A high-pitched tone caught me off guard from behind the doors. For an instant, I wasn’t sure if I should stop or not, but the words spoken were what caused me to stop in my tracks and press my ear tenderly against the wood.

“Do you like leather?” The question came from Langdon. Above the crackle of the coals behind me I couldn’t tell if Gallant had answered or if he was just waiting, wondering what to say. The high-pitched voice rose again, giving me my answer.

“I like a lot of things.” Another pause followed before . “Can I ask you something? Are you gay? Because I’m getting a real major hit off of you.”

“Does the idea of that excite you?” The words came out almost biting, an undertone I wasn’t quite sure was a good or a bad thing. All I knew was that I didn’t like that the answer wasn’t immediately no. I couldn’t pinpoint why that would matter to me: I had known of Langdon for less than 12 hours. His sexual preferences meant less to me than Gallant’s, or anyone else’s for that matter. So why him, why now? Trying not to read too much more into it, I leaned closer to try and drown out any excess background noise.

“Yes.” Gallant’s reply was slightly breathless, signaling his deeper intent. “What are you going to do about it?” The question seemed odd being asked from his perspective, but held me rapt nonetheless. The space between this moment and Michael’s reply seemed to last for eons. I tried to listen now above my own heartbeat, the steady rushes of blood that clouded my ears. When he spoke again, his voice was much closer, making me nearly jump out of my skin. I could tell he was only inches from the door, the only thing separating us the inch and a half thick slab of sturdy oak. Though I know it was the heat of the fire behind me, it was as though the warmth of his body radiated through instead, causing my cheeks to blush uncontrollably once more, the third time this evening. I knew I should walk away, but it was like an unspeakable magnetism holding me in place.

“Let’s continue this conversation another time.” His tone invited no answer this time, and before I could move an inch, the doors were thrust apart, exposing me like a deer in some goddamn headlights.

There was a moment where he began to turn again towards Gallant, but he stopped cold in his tracks, expression of cool repose melting quickly into look of undignified shock as he saw me standing outside the door. It looked almost foreign compared to his usual composure, like I was somehow able to catch him unawares. The three of us remained frozen for an instant, but Langdon was still the first to regain his poise.

“Are you going to tell me just how long it was you’ve been standing there?” Each syllable was measured evenly, thinly veiling an impatient undertone. An inexplicable fear trickled down my spine like ice water, and I did as well as I could to repress the chills that riddled my body. The look he gave me held no warmth this time, but instead of mixture of frustration and what looked like confusion. The reasonable thing to do would’ve been to apologize, maybe say I was just passing by, but I decided instead to rise to his challenge, feed that confusion I could clearly see in his features.

“I hadn’t planned on it, sir.” I matched my tone to his as best I could, each word coming out of my mouth a bolster added beneath my feet to give me higher ground to stand on. His visage hardened like stone before he took a few sauntering steps towards me, his boot heels clicking in an echo that resounded throughout the room. His breath was sweet and warm, washing over me as he postured himself just a few inches away. Unblinking, his slanted eyes gave me a slow and steady once-over, causing me to feel much less like a human being and more like a bug under a microscope. Despite the overwhelming sensation of exposure, his unwavering gaze turned the ice water running down my back to butterflies trying to escape my belly.

“I believe you’d better go now, Ms. Layla.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it rumbled low and with great purpose. He lingered on the “s” in my title, reminding me uncomfortably of the snakes that had been resurrected earlier.

“Good night, Mr. Langdon. Mr. Gallant.” I peered over his broad shoulders to find the blonde sitting slack-jawed and gaping at the interaction, dark brown eyes peering over his purple tinted sunglasses. He quickly shook his head and gave me a half-hearted smile, turning around once more in his seat. I met those baby blues one more time before turning on my heels, looking forward to nothing more than being embraced by the comfort and seclusion of my bed. I could feel his gaze like a target on my back, but resisted the urge to look back. Despite our now-growing distance, the butterflies refused to yield.

@sojournmichael @ritualmichael @readsalot73 @kaigitana @queencocoakimmie @itsyagirl01 

second installment is here!!!! i forgot that i had a name for our girl already so i hope that that doesn’t bother anyone, i had never originally planned on publishing it anywhere so i just never changed it up !!! i hope u guys enjoy thank u so much for your support it means the world!!!

[yearningcalum]

druglord. (c.h.) 2

in which druglord!cal can’t seem to stop fucking up. 

Word Count: 1.5k

WARNINGS: slightly nsfw, violence mention, gun mention, adultery mention

part 1

After the incident at the benefit, Calum thought it only be best that you lay low for a while. Calum’s idea of laying low & yours were ultimately opposites, and that led to quite a bit of bickering. Whenever he’d suggest you go sight-seeing or to the beaches, you’d scoff. Of course, he’d be absolutely appalled at your public display of annoyance, and that would eventually lead to a small scuffle until he was quickly reminded of the untreated bullet wound you’d earned while covering his ass.

               Now, you sat lazily wrapped in a white linen sheet, sitting on the plush, memory foam bed watching Spanish cartoons. Calum had stepped out to take a phone call which piqued your interest just slightly. Before, he’d never been afraid to take calls in front of you, but for the past month or so, he’d been taking lenghthy calls away from your presence. Of course, your mind raced with explanations, but when one of his “goons” had told you to give it a rest, you did.

               Your eyes fell on the clock next to you, and upon realizing it was nearly 3pm, an involuntary sigh left your lips. With a huff, you stood, dropping the sheet to reveal your bare body. The “goons” swooned at your bare figure, relishing in how the sun danced across your glowing skin. You were a goddess among men; a goddess with a gun. Just as you were slipping on your thigh-highs, Calum boyishly swung the door open, his eyes locking with yours almost instantly. A series of lustful expressions played across his gorgeous visage before he collected himself. “Y/N, a word in the bathroom please,” he choked out, and you shrugged, pulling up your tights & pinning them with a garter. You strut into the bathroom, Calum trailing closely behind.

He pressed you against the bathroom counter, lips immediately ghosting along your neck. Instinctively you lengthened it, giving him more room to explore while his hands did the same. “Gorgeous little thing,” he muttered as his fingers slipped along your slick slit. A gasp left your lips, triggering Calum to clasp his hand over your mouth. “Silencio, angel,” he teased, slowly moving his middle finger around your clit. The euphoric-but-sudden high he provided urged your legs to close around his waist, pulling him closer. As he nibbled on your ear, slowly dipped two digits into your heat, pumping just slow enough to make your back arch. “S-Sir, fuck, please,” you manage to utter, and he chuckles. He continues his slow, harsh assault, making beckoning movements deep within your core. As your eyes screwed shut, he whispered dirty nothings to you, practically begging you to hold off on release. As his thumb traced feather-like, delicate circles into your clit, you felt that release calling your name. Just as you’re about to beg him for permission, a hard knock greets the door. The sudden noise yanks you from your thought, and your eyes lock with Calum’s. “He wouldn’t,” you though, and he winked at you, pulling himself from you entirely. “Boss, we’ve got to go. The boys downstairs said there’s trouble, and they’re headed up.” He smirks at you, that shit-eating grin tearing you apart. “You’ve got work to do, escort.”

               Quickly you grab your gun holster, wrapping it around your waist. Within seconds of slipping on a La Perla lingerie set, compliments of Calum, there’s an unsettling knock at the door. Calum stands in front of you as an awfully cliché attempt of shielding you. “Hey, idiot. I’m supposed to be protecting you. Move.” He chuckles nervously, clutching his glock before taking place behind the granite nightstand. As the door busts open, shots are fired, and it’s all a quick blur. You find yourself gripping the arm of an attacker, flipping him over your shoulder & putting two bullets where his eyes are. “A shame you’re ruining your cute underwear,” Calum calls and you blindly, but accurately, fire a shot into the wall just beside his head. “ ‘twas a joke!” You scoff, kicking another oncoming attacker in the chest, following with bullet to the chest. The “goons” assist with clearing the walk-way, and you signal Calum to follow you.

               As you make a dash for the elevator, you can hear a mob of people charging behind. Quickly, you knock on a random door, and before the patron can fully open it, you kick them aside, shoving Calum in and closing the door. “Hey what the-“ the occupant starts before taking in your appearance. Messy, tousled Veronica Lake waves, a blood-speckled lingerie set, and one pink Jimmy Choo heel. Calum stares the occupant, a middle-aged American clearly, down. “She’s mine,” “I’m not,” “You are. Now shut up while I open this window.” Calum strides to the window in the far left of the room, opening it and peering out. “We can totally make this jump,” he grins, and you roll your eyes. As you see the gathering mob of clearly anti-Calum individuals, you spin around to see Calum eyeing the window. Quickly you shuffled to the window, eyeing to see it was only about 2 floors. Under you lie a car, some walking patrons, and conveniently, a fruit stand. “Calum, I need you to tie all these sheets in here together. I’ve got a plan,” you spoke hurriedly. He nodded and got to work, while you scurried back to the door. Heavy knocking and gunshots sounded, and you let out a huff. “Pinche!” You cursed yourself, grasping both of your pistols from the holster.

               In a flash, you swung the door open, grasped a human shield and made a break for the stairway. The hostage ended up attempting to fight back, so you ruthlessly threw him into open gunfire before dashing down the stairwell. At the bottom, you met Calum where you knew he’d be: the fruit stand. You grasped his hand, hurriedly ushering him around the corner to meet his “goons” in their SUV with the illegally-tinted windows. Quickly you clambered in, and as soon as you were sure the opposers were lost, you slapped the utter daylights out of Calum. His shocked & angered expression fazed you none; he’d always managed to get you into some deep shit. The stinging in your shoulder caused you to gnaw at your lip until Calum provided you with a clean towel he’d kept around for the purpose of taking hostages. You bite on it tightly as he poured a bit of tequila in your wound, groaning against the towel. “You know, you could be a little better at this job, Y/N” he snipped. Before you could answer, his phone rang obnoxiously loud. You spat the towel out, glancing at the name on the screen. “Anna,” you mumbled, heart racing. He answered the phone, eyes trained on the scenery passing as we drove down to San Gil. Your eyes were trained on him as you listened to the conversation.

               “I can’t talk right now, my love. I’m busy.” He mutters, and your eyes are blown. The words sting worse than your wound as you begin piecing all the facts together. “Darling, I-I can’t talk to her right now. I promise I’ll be back for the next doctor’s visit. I’ve just got…things to attend to.” His voice falters as his eyes meet yours. “What” he mouths and you huff, turning your gaze back to the window. “Where’s my boy, Jack? How’s futbol? Does he like Spain as much as I said he would?” Your stomach churns as you hear his soft chuckle, the one you thought to be unique to you. “Calum, you need to come home. We miss you,” you overhear the soft, angelic voice say. He sighs, ruffling his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be on the next flight, but be warned. I’m bringing a colleague of mine.” Your eyes snapped to his, and he shrugged.

               When the call ended, your first instinct was to punch him in the throat, but you didn’t. Being the classy individual you were, you calmly asked the driver to pull over. “Get out of the fucking SUV Calum,” You snipped, and he did. You followed, gripping your 22 tightly. As he stood there looking dumbfounded, you quickly rose your gun & fired it at his shoulder, a bullet piercing his skin along with his black button-up shirt. A shriek came from his lips as he clutched his shoulder tightly. “What the fucking shit?!” You smirked, spinning the gun with your fingers before putting it back in its thigh-holster. “You’re a fucking asshole, and assholes get shot.” A smile was plastered on your face until you heard the words, “Is this because you didn’t cum earlier?” “No you idiot! It’s because you have a family!” You acted on impulse and kicked him right in the shin before huffing and hopping back in the car. Needless to say, the ride to the airport was a silent one.  

A/N: Thoughts & feedback would be fabulous! also, would love some requests for other projects! bless up!

(also checkout my youtube podcast series for a free ship/blog rate <3)

[pinknerdpanda]

Heaven Sent - Part 1

Word Count: 2,226

Characters: Y/n, Arabella (OFC), Castiel, Dean (Mentioned), Sam (Mentioned)

Warnings: Snark, Heaven-Induced Insanity, Language, Angst if you squint

A/N: This is Part 1 of a mini-series I wrote for @ellen-reincarnated1967’s “Andi’s Back in the Game” challenge. Beta’d by @hannahindie and @wheresthekillswitch who also helped me to brainstorm and nail down exactly where I wanted to go. Thank you both so very much!

Tags are at the bottom - please send me an ASK if you would like to be added (or removed).

Heaven Sent Part 1

“Please state your name, rank, and classification.”

“My name is…”

“A little closer to the microphone, please,” Arabella interrupted.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and leaned forward before speaking again.

“My name is y/n, guardian, first class.” I kept my tone light and conversational. She nodded once, jotting down notes and continued.

“And why are you here today, y/n?” She smiled one of those painted-on, forced smiles and I did my best to play nice. It’s not like I had a lot of options at this point.

I took a deep breath. “I am here today because the human in my charge died.”

“And can you explain the circumstances regarding the death?” She surveyed me from over the top of her thin, rectangular reading glasses. I consciously worked to unclench my jaw; she already knew.

“Yes, it was the result of a hellhound attack, brought on by a contract forged between said human,” I cringed, unable to speak his name, “and a crossroads demon.”

The scratching sound of her pen against paper filled the small, sterile room. She glanced up “And do you understand the necessity of this hearing?”

“And as governed by HARP: Human/Angel Relations Protocol, section 39, paragraph B, subsection D52b, any guardian unable to prevent such deals from occurring is thereby subject to a performance review and official hearing.”

“Thank you, y/n. Can you state for the record, please, the name of the human previously in your care?” She was enjoying this a little too much for my liking.

I leaned forward again, gritted my teeth and strained to keep the disdain from my voice. “His name was Dean Winchester.”

-----

“Probation, Castiel. Probation!” I angrily snapped the twig I’d been holding into a dozen smaller pieces as I spoke. “I was the best at my job. The best! And that self-absorbed, self-righteous, obstinate ape, Winchester, ruined everything.” I looked at my brother and the strikingly blue eyes belonging to his vessel studied me carefully.

“The Winchesters are vital to the plan,” Castiel’s voice was low and unnervingly calm. “We all have our orders.”

I groaned and tossed the sticks under the bench we sat on. “He made his choice. Not me; him! But I’m the one being punished for it.”

“He did go to hell, y/n,” Castiel tilted his head to one side. “I’d say he’s getting his fair share of punishment for his decisions.”

“Serves him right. And all to save that overgrown scab of a brother.”

He sighed. “For as much as I have enjoyed observing humans over the millennia; watching them change and grow from single cell organisms to complex beings with brains capable of achieving the unimaginable…” his words trailed off as he stared into the distance. “I don’t think I will ever fully understand why they do the things that they do.” He looked at me then, the faintest glimmer of empathy shadowing his face. “So what now for you?”

I couldn’t help but to chuckle, mirthlessly. “Vocational rehabilitation. I have to complete a minimum of 6 months of classes, though Arabella has already determined that I must complete 9-12 months due to the severity of my offense. It’s times like this that I really question management.”

The look on Castiel’s face was pure righteous fury and his blue eyes burned brightly. “Who are we to question the will of God, y/n?”

“Who says that any of this was God’s will!? Management? Let’s see, Uriel, Zachariah? Well they are about as believable as that whole ‘Moon Landing’ thing in the 60’s,” I stood. I knew that’s one point of contention that Castiel and I would never be quite able to reconcile and I regretted having said anything to begin with. “I need to go, Castiel, or Arabella will hunt me down in ways that are utterly unfathomable.”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak but I left in a flutter of wings before he could get a word out.

-----

I would like to say that the months that followed at the HARP Facility were full of insightful training and useful information culminating in a clearer understanding of how I could be a more effective Guardian to future humans in my care. I’d like to, but as that would be a lie and would therefore lengthen my sentence, I can’t.

I can, however, say that if there was any benefit to be gleaned from the experience, it would be further confirmation that I truly was the best in my field. And while it was somewhat comforting to realize my name and reputation preceded me in this place, my peers’ open bewilderment at my presence among them only worked to cement my extreme resentment toward the eldest Winchester. My notoriety also proved to be somewhat polarizing as most of the other angels seemed to give me a wide berth. In all my centuries of existence, I’d never experienced loneliness.

Castiel came to visit me once a month. He gave me updates on his garrison and news from Earth. Having walked among the humans for so long, being separated from them now felt as though my left wing was missing. Though our time together came to an end more quickly than I would have liked, the promise of his return gave me something to look forward to each month.

Until, one day, he didn’t show up.

It had been a particularly difficult time at the facility as the news of my offense had spread amongst the other residents. The murmurs of stunned admiration had turned to mocking whispers and the isolation from my peers became increasingly apparent, though now for a different reason entirely. Counting down the days until Castiel’s arrival had been the only thing keeping me sane. He’d always had a way of comforting me in a way that few others could.

I could hear the low din of laughter and whispered jokes at my expense as I’d made my way to the courtyard and found our usual bench unoccupied. I was early, but I was happy to wait for him. I watched as the other angels’ visitors arrived, observing their interaction with those who’d made the journey to see them. After hours of being rooted to the same spot, with no sign of Castiel or his tan trench coat in sight, the realization that he wouldn’t be coming hit me.

It wasn’t painful as I’d expected. It felt more like nothing; like all emotion and feeling had been struck from my being and I just simply was. I returned to my bunk, barely aware of any movement on my part, much less the open taunts of those around me.

In this place, the frequency to the “angel-radio,” as it is so often referred to, was shut off to the outside world. I had no way of knowing if Castiel was alive or dead. Neither option was comforting. If he was dead, then I’d lost the one true friend I’d had. But if he was alive and had just chosen not to visit, then the result was the same: I truly had no one.

When I said that looking forward to Castiel’s visits is what had kept me sane, it was not an exaggeration. After that day, when I’d waited in vain for him to arrive, I began a slow decent into madness. I could feel myself coming undone at the seams. Where I’d previously been able to at least maintain a straight face during my group trainings, I found I was no longer able to keep my face neutral when the HARP Approved Counselor said something particularly infuriating. After a while, my verbal filter failed.

I don’t know exactly what I said, but I remember referring to his lack of functioning genitalia and insinuating that his alleged “wisdom” equated to something just below that of a fortune cookie. I later wondered if he’d known exactly what any of that meant or if it was just the blatant insubordination that got me sent into solitary confinement. Really it didn’t matter. All I knew was that one minute I was standing on top of the desk, berating a superior and the next, he was gone, as was the room and the other few dozen angel who’d been staring at me wide-eyed while dodging splatters of spit as I’d ranted and raved.  

For as long as I’d existed in this universe, my head had been filled with the chaotic, but comforting chatter of my fellow angels. Even at HARP, with the signal limited to only those who’d had the misfortune of ending up here, there’d been a constant buzz echoing in my ears. But when they said solitary confinement, they hadn’t just been referring to my physical separation; my voice was the only one I could hear and the silence was almost overwhelming.

It was hard to gage how long I was away. A counselor checked on my at regular intervals that I assumed to be daily, but for all I knew it could have been weekly. A lack of biological timekeeping will do that to you. Whatever the frequency, I’d gotten good at timing them.

It was a brief encounter; there would be a loud click and a thin beam of light would crawl across the floor as the door slowly crept open, a counselor would poke their head in the door and nod curtly before sliding the door closed again. It grew apparent that they were required to lay eyes on me regularly. At first I would ask as many questions as I could manage before the door slammed shut again; where was I? How long would I have to stay locked away? Where’s Castiel? They never spoke so eventually I just stared at them blankly as they entered. After a while I started feigning death or exhaustion and allowed my vessel’s body to fall completely limp. Then, just as I knew the counselor’s eyes had fallen on me, I would jerk my head up and shriek. The looks on their faces; they were so alarmed. Every time! Even now it makes me giggle thinking about it.

One day I’d planned a spectacularly gnarly attack. I’d learned that, while my powers remained weak, I was still able to heal my vessel from minor cuts and abrasions. I’d managed to slice a decent sized gash in the palm of my hand and, before healing myself, had spattered an impressively gruesome amount of blood in one corner of my cell and doused the front of my shirt to mimic a stab-wound. I laid there for what felt like days, pretending to have been brutally murdered, but the door never opened.

I went to examine the door. Tentatively at first. I pressed my ear to the cool metal and strained to hear any sign of footsteps or wings flapping. The silence was so thick it made me want to scream, just to hear something; anything. I opened my mouth and unleashed the most ear splitting, gut wrenching shriek I could muster. I screamed for every frustration, every disappointment, every snide comment and side-eye from the other angels, Castiel abandoning me and even Dean Winchester - may he roast in the depths of hell; I screamed until my throat was raw and my lungs burned. It reverberated off of the four walls and the metal door and made my ears want to bleed until at last it was again replaced with silence.

I kicked the door as hard as I could, a loud metallic thud competed briefly for attention before fading into oblivion. Over and over I rained down kicks and punches until my knuckles were a bloody, ragged mess. As I stepped back and shook my head to regain some level of concentration before I healed my hands and started again, I noticed the barest sliver of light on the floor near my feet. It was so thin it could have been a strand of golden hair, but it was there. I allowed my gaze to travel up the length of the strand and that’s when I saw the crack in the door.

Although I would like to take credit and say it was my intrepid and vicious attack on the door that had caused it to slide open a fraction of a millimeter, it was not. A solid, seven inch thick door made of the same metal used to craft angel blades is more than one angry and generally insane angel can defeat. I weighed my options for a moment. I decided it was worth whatever risks I’d just pseudo-considered and carefully slid the heavy door back. The hall was empty and the same silence I’d grown accustomed to in the cell greeted me here too. Although, now outside the confines of my home-sweet-cell, the broken sound of angel-radio trickled once again through my brain.

The sound was like static from a distant FM station, but I caught a few words. Castiel...Hell…Vessel...saved…thousands…decimated. Whatever was going on, it was huge and somehow, I’d been forgotten in the midst of it. I didn’t, for one second, consider the repercussions of my next actions; of how much grace I may or not have possessed at the time or even exactly what my endgame was. I only knew it was now or never and I fled.

Read Part 2 here

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[hazelcmist]

A Reason to Dance

Wrote this for @timepetalsprompts fall bingo card. I missed the deadline but it still feels like fall where I am. Not my best but there’s’ ten x Rose, cider, a fall festival and some dancing. :)

“Maybe it wasn’t as impressive as other times we saved the day, but her grandson’s all she has left and today she almost lost him,” he explains. “In that one hour without him she was terrified that she’d lost the one person she loved more than anything else, the most important person in her world.” Turning away from her, he faces the weak light slanting in between the now empty covered stalls. “But then we showed up and she found him.” Rose nudges him with her shoulder and loops her arm through his. “A happy ending.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The sun slinks behind the town wall and the two of them walk through the scattered red leaves and lengthening shadows. He talks the whole time, but his mind is large enough that he can turn the gob on and still be somewhere else. She finishes her cider and he whisks her off in hot pursuit of smoke. They may have missed the market, but the night’s festivities are just beginning. They join the others, lighting the bonfire and listening to the stories of the origins of the autumn festival. Then the music starts and the dancing around the fire. She’s never seen the instruments they play or heard any of the songs before, but the music feels the same to her. A local sweeps her off her feet and she stumbles through the jaunty steps until she finds the rhythm. She’s stepped on his toes three times, finished her second cup of spiked cider and is laughing by the time the Doctor cuts in. “Enjoying yourself?” “Aren’t you?” “Not nearly as much as you and your new friend.” He glances darkly over her shoulder at the attractive younger bloke. “Jealous?” she teases him, toying with the lapel of his coat. “Timelords don’t get jealous,” he says loftily, but his fingers tighten around hers and his hand slides almost possessively over her backside. He’s a better dancer than her, leading her through the steps with an ease and grace that seems at odds with those long gangly limbs. The fire burns brighter with every turn and she feels the warmth of the alcohol and his intoxicating presence suffusing her body. He twirls her around and she swears she can sense the planet moving beneath them. The world keeps spinning long after he catches her flush against his body. “Rose?” “Mmmm.” She nuzzles the buttons at the front of his shirt. “Think we should head back to the TARDIS.” She lifts her heavy head and is startled to find the air thick with smoke as the locals put the flames out. People are leaving, saying goodnight and goodbye, some coupling off for the first time. Most of them aren’t being very shy about it. “It’s a traditional mating festival,” he informs her after they nearly trip over a busy couple behind a bale of hay. “Could’ve mentioned that to me before I started dancing with that single bloke,” she grunts noting that it’s her dance partner from earlier and a girl about her own age who couldn’t wait to get home. “What would you have done if I had gone off with him?” she asks as the pair stumble to their feet, brushing straw from each other’s hair. “That wouldn’t have happened.” He sniffs, adding, “He’s not good enough for you.” Rose snorts as the giggling couple run off into the night together. The cider gives her some liquid courage to keep the subject flowing. “Dunno, he was a bit… pretty.“ She’s itching for a reaction from him. She gets one, but it’s not the one she’s expecting. “I’m pretty,” he practically growls. “Yes, but you don’t…” she trails off as their eyes meet. There are burning embers reflected in his gaze. Maybe all it would take is a spark… “Doctor, you don’t dance.“ “What are you on about?” He scoffs, tugging her away from the smoldering remains of the bonfire and down an alley that’ll take them back to the TARDIS where he can shut the door on this whole conversation. “We just spent the last forty-seven minutes dancing circles around everyone else. Clearly, I can dance and I do dance.” He guides her out of the path of another horny couple, smoothly gliding around her, letting go of one hand to take the other. Rose sighs. “That’s not what I’m-” But it’s too late, he’s already babbling. “Did I ever tell you about the time the King of Prussia asked me to teach him how to dance, so that he could impress the Lady Albans? Mind you this wasn’t Earth’s Prussia, you wouldn’t believe how many Prussia’s there are in the galaxy-” Rose rolls her eyes as he dances away from the topic and steers them back onto their woefully platonic track. Some of the earlier warmth leeches from her veins. The cider had been strong but not strong enough to change the unshakeable truth she constantly struggled against. The Doctor wasn’t the God that people mistook him for, but he wasn’t a mere human either. He flirted but he didn’t dance. He was above that sort of thing, he didn’t have the same urges that she did, and even if he had who was to say that she and her ephemeral lifetime were worthy enough to match with someone who was practically immortal? “Rose?” Shaking herself out of her reverie, she realizes that they’ve stopped a short distance from the TARDIS and that he asked her something. “’m sorry, ‘m listening,” she urges him to continue. His eyes sweep over her, softening. He releases her fingers to wrap his arm around her. “Are you tired?” he asks, rubbing warm circles on her back as he leads her to the TARDIS. “I was going to take you to Prussia, not Earth’s Prussia, there’s this dancing contest, but we could always do that tomorrow.” “Trying to prove something to me?” she teases him with a flirty smile as he fishes the key out of his pocket. “I candance,” he insists, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. “Really?” She arches a brow and catches the tip of her tongue between her teeth. “Yes, really.” He shuts the door behind them and lounges against it. She rakes her eyes over his deceptively lanky form. And damn, it’s a bleeding shame he doesn’t dance because he looks like he’d be a bloody good dancer. Crossing her arms over her chest, she steps forward with a challenge. “Then by all means take me to Prussia and prove it.” “I could,” he pushes off the door, leaning in so close that his cider sweet breath fans out across her face. “But I’m not taking you to Prussia tonight.” “Why not?” she wonders, “’m not tired,” she begins to protest, but he interrupts her in gravelly voice that thrums through her like the sultry chords of the last song. “I don’t need to take you to Prussia to prove that I can dance,” he murmurs in her ear as his hands curl at her hips. She licks her lips and he smiles. That’s the only warning she gets before he’s whirling her round and round the console until she’s dizzy. She giggles and shrieks as he dips her so low that her hair trails along the grating. He suddenly freezes and her breath catches at the way he’s gazing at her with all of the gravity of a thousand planets. She’s terrified that this is the moment he runs, that this is when he lets her down “easy”, that this is when he finally drops her. “Don’t let me fall,” she squeaks, scrabbling at his sleeves. “Too late,” he whispers and lowers his lips to her throat. Rose gasps as he swiftly pulls her back up and into the steps of an impromptu tango that ends some time later with swollen lips, mussed hair, racing hearts and her pressed against her bedroom door. “Are you convinced yet?” he asks huskily and grinds against her. “Might need some more proof,” she pants, tugging on his tie and fumbling with the doorknob behind her. He’s more than happy to prove himself. And that night they dance.

[onceinabluemoon13]

Tale As Old As Time: Prologue

Blame @sherlollysmooch. Dedicated to everyone who’s ever wanted to turn John Watson into a candlestick.

Once upon a time there lived a prince, at once both terrifying and beautiful in his brilliance. Rumors spread amongst his subjects of his extraordinary ability to deduce all a person’s secrets with nary more than a single glance.

Prince Sherlock (for of course, a man with such astonishing talents would have a name equally as extraordinary) spent most of his days locked away in his laboratory, preferring the solitude his experiments offered to the mindless chatter of those he found inferior.

Indeed, his only companions were a select group who had known the prince for most of his twenty-two years, who understood the idiosyncrasies of their employer and when it was best to leave him be.

The household was run by Sherlock’s older brother, who had relinquished his claim to the throne in favor of a role behind the scenes in which he felt more comfortable. Mycroft could always be found hovering around his brother, one eye always on his watch to ensure that they were never behind schedule.

Sherlock’s closest friend (although the prince would never deign to call him such) was his bouteiller John, a man a few years Sherlock’s senior. His family had served Sherlock’s for generations, and the two boys had grown up together in the Holmes family’s vast palace.

The castle’s other inhabitants often wondered about John’s strange bond with the enigmatic Sherlock, for surely there could be no two men more dissimilar in both appearance and personality. Whereas Sherlock was dark-haired and temperamental, John was fair and personable. He could often be found flirting with the maids (although a particular blonde beauty named Mary seemed to hold his attention with increasing regularity).

Sherlock would have preferred to stay locked in his castle with only his servants indefinitely; however, the demands of his position required him to mingle with common citizens more frequently than he liked. He often held elaborate balls at his palace, where the most stunning and powerful of his subjects could interact with him in the hopes of influencing his opinion. The prince would listen to them drone on, silently cataloguing every little detail about them and trying not to roll his eyes at their inanity.

It was on one such occasion that Sherlock’s life, and the lives of all his servants, would be irrevocably changed.

XXXXX

The evening was winding down, and Sherlock’s patience was waning. He was currently engaged in conversation with Lady Katherine Riley (well, she was engaged in conversation; he was merely pretending to pay attention). Lady Katherine was an acquaintance of the guest of honor, renowned opera singer Janine de Garderobe, and had been invited to the party based on that association alone. Even Janine’s husband, court composer Maestro Lestrade, found the woman irritating beyond compare.

Lady Katherine’s diatribe on the horrid manners exhibited by those in the lower classes was cut short when they were interrupted. Wiggins, one of Sherlock’s footmen, murmured something to the prince that had the latter man rushing off without even excusing himself from the lady’s presence. Wiggins winked at her before following his master. Lady Katherine’s shocked gasp at the indecency was drowned out by the din of the crowded ballroom.

Sherlock paid the affronted woman no further heed as his mind was suddenly preoccupied with a much more interesting conundrum. A thief had been caught attempting to steal food from the kitchen downstairs, and was currently being detained in the front hall.

When he arrived in the hall, his eyes scanned over a small, unremarkable old woman. Her greasy hair had seen better days, and hung around her shriveled face in lifeless curls. He was taken aback for a moment; surely someone daring enough to steal from a prince would be more noteworthy than this graying, wizened slip of a creature. She trembled under the watchful gazes of his guards and stared resolutely at the floor beneath her feet.

He cleared his throat, and the woman’s head shot up. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing over her; she knelt in front of him, gripping the ends of his coat in her grimy hands.

“Please, sire, have mercy!” she wept. “Would you spare a loaf of bread for a starving old woman? I can offer you this rose as compensation.”

She held out the blood-red flower.

The prince stared at her for a moment. Perhaps it was because he had just spent countless hours biting his tongue, or maybe it was because he wanted to show off for the crowd that had amassed behind him as partygoers learned of the disturbance in the hall. Whichever it was, he began deducing the woman, detailing every one of her secrets for all to hear.

His observations were cruel and senseless. The protestations of the thief went ignored as he continued to taunt her, laughing as his remarks became increasingly personal and unkind. The tittering of the crowd urged him on.

He did not spare the woman another glance until he noticed something odd about her countenance. Where before her expression had been helpless and downtrodden, she now appeared furious. The lines on her face smoothed themselves out. Her hair straightened and lengthened. She stood up, the cane she had been holding forgotten by her side.

Sherlock took a step back and stared in horror as she transformed into an enchantress right before his eyes. Realizing his mistake, he tried to apologize for his earlier actions, but the damage had already been done.

The Enchantress smirked as she looked down upon the prince.

“Your arrogance is your undoing,” she whispered, but everyone in attendance understood as though she had spoken directly into their ears. “You have no compassion or love in your heart.”

Frightened villagers rushed out of the castle, though the prince and his servants remained frozen in fear and shame.

The Enchantress cursed the prince and changed him into a monstrous beast. The visages of his servants were altered as well, their punishment for standing idly by as their master humiliated a defenseless woman. All memory of them was removed from the minds of those they held dear. An never-ending winter plagued the palace and it’s grounds, a reflection of its master’s icy heart.

Before she disappeared, The Enchantress gave the prince the rejected red rose as a gift. If he could learn to love another before the last petal fell, and that person loved him in return, he and his servants would be returned to their human forms. But if he failed, they would remain in their cursed forms forevermore.

What do you think? I’ll probably post on AO3 tomorrow sometime! Sorry for no Molly yet.