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wildlyglittering · 4 years

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The Space Between

I have a few pieces of Nessian fan fiction already pre written so I’m just going to drip feed them into my feed every Sunday.

Enjoy (I hope!)

***

Cassian left Velaris far later than intended.

He meant to fly at first light but with the previous night’s send-off drinks for the Inner Circle, all due to go their separate ways for the summer, that first light turned into the hot midday sun.

For Cassian, his departure was routine. It was a regular schedule now, this constant flying back and forth between Velaris and the Illyrian mountains. Rhys kept him busy but the camp kept him busier, so much so that at times he was more a creature of the sky then land.

The prior evenings political discussions of Rhys, Feyre and Az’s imminent stay in the Dawn Court was mindless chatter to Cassian’s ears and he tuned them out with political thoughts of his own. How many recruits did the camps have now? Was Devlon training the females? Were the rumours of an uprising true?

All throughout, one thought was stronger than the others.

Nesta.

Always, Nesta.

Between the mountains and Velaris lay the expansive wilderness where Nesta made her home. Part of Cassian’s schedule was to visit her on his flights between places but it had been months since he’d last seen her face.

Distance, he'd once told her, only makes my heart grow fonder. She'd rolled her eyes at the saccharine sentiment but a delightful blush spread on her cheeks which indicated she wasn't as stone-cold as she'd have others believe.

It was a half-truth on his part.

To say he longed for her was an understatement. Nesta occupied his mind continually and she now owned a space in his heart he once didn’t have for anyone. Distance made him yearn but it also made him cautious.

Nesta’s decision to live away from Velaris was something Cassian once thought as an attempt to distance herself from him. She wouldn’t return to the mountains, he understood why, but it was her refusal to come back to Velaris that surprised him as he thought she’d found some peace with the city.

Her refusal hadn’t been about Cassian, he understood that now. There had been an opportunity for her to regain her independence and, though she never expressed it aloud, a way for her to establish a new identity for herself in this world.

She took it.

Despite this, Cassian hoped she would eventually come back with him to Velaris. He hoped that this new version of Nesta was transferable and that she could thrive on the cobbled streets next to the shining river of his city as she had amongst the expanse of wildflowers.

It ate away at him, Nesta, however powerful, out in the nothing all alone. Still, if that thought ate at him than others consumed him, the gnawing set into motion by others he loved.

Will the bond last? Mor asked. It's uncommon for mates to be apart like this and unfair for one mate to deliberately part themselves from the other.

Nesta isn't a wing, he told Mor. Without her physical presence he still functioned and besides, the emotional connection was unbreakable.

I worry about you my friend; Rhys said. If I can't be with Feyre within minutes I don't know how I would bear the day.

Cassian deflected their words with a smile and a wave and clad himself in invisible armour.

He’d landed, finally, although hours later than he wanted. Sweat tricked down his back and face, his leathers clung to the thick muscles of his arms and thighs. The journey was over half a day’s flight from the city but he always made it in less.

The mountain peaks were visible from the wilderness but only barely, appearing so small it looked like an ant could crush them. There was a small forest and stream within walking distance but aside from those and a cottage it was nothing but thick stalked wild flowers for miles, colouring the landscape with pinks and yellows.

It was a combination of summer heat and protection spells which caused the cottage to shimmer.

Cassian had landed a slight distance away, wary of the protection magic that was always a little too keen to exert itself, and wandered through the flowers to the grey stone building ahead. Mor had expressed incredulity that Nesta hadn’t demanded a mansion with servants while Rhys joked, she was too sour to keep them even if she did.

Cassian ground his teeth but said nothing. Nesta’s experiences weren’t his to share, he justified.

Despite the poverty, despite going to bed with an aching belly and fears of starvation.0 the memories Nesta held of small cottages remained untainted. In mansions, she’d been dragged from her bed and forced to watch her sister drown before water then filled her own lungs. In palaces, she was made to recount those events to eager eared strangers. In tents, she listened to the screams of the dying.

It was those places where she’d started to lose piece after piece of herself until nothing remained.

It was this place, this small cottage, where Nesta found herself once more. The old Nesta flared again, a small spark which turned into wildfire.

Cassian let himself in, the latch opening to him easily.

The main living space doubled as kitchen and comfort. An overstuffed sofa sat in front of an oversized hearth with a butcher’s block next to it, complete with mortar and pestle and the fresh herbs Nesta gathered from her garden. Three rooms branched from this one. The first was the bathroom, the second Nesta’s bedroom and the third was empty.

There was no sign of Nesta and a glance through the window towards the garden showed Cassian that Nesta wasn’t there either. It was likely she’d grown impatient of waiting and had wandered to the woods to gather supplies.

Cassian weaved around the stacks of books, one pile fast becoming as tall as himself, to go find her when a heavy clunk of a handle sounded behind him. Nesta appeared from one of the smaller rooms, it just surprised him to see which one it was.

"Hey sweetheart," he drawled, "what were you doing in there?"

Something moved down the bond but Nesta had muted it somehow and Cassian could sense a sheer kinetic energy rumbling outside of his reach. She said nothing but took a deep breath before standing aside, leaving the room behind her open to his view.

***

The third room was no longer empty.

Cassian stood in the middle; every muscle tensed for battle; his wings snapped taut behind him.

Nesta had opened the window to clear the lingering musk and the beginnings of a soft summer breeze drifted in ruffling the delicate lace curtains that now hung from the frame.

The lazy dancing curtains were the only movement in the room. Cassian remaining locked in place with Nesta just as rigid beside him.

His heart started pound on the bones of his ribs, and he imagined it bursting straight out of his chest to land in a bloody heap on the floor.

The walls had been painted a soft yellow, reminding Cassian of the pats of butter served in small dishes when Feyre and Rhys had 'proper company.' The new bookcase and shelves, both empty, were a thick, rich cream.

His pulse beat out a rhythm on the roof of his mouth.

A rocking chair draped with a downy feathered blanket sat in the corner but the most prominent feature, positioned against the wall, stood the crib.

Waiting.

The pulse was behind his eyes now, the objects in his vision dancing as he heard the whispers that travelled down the bond. Nesta hadn't moved but those sharp blue-grey eyes stared at him all the same.

Were his legs always this clumsy? he wondered. Did he often give full control of his body to something else? Cassian was moving but they weren't his feet. He loomed over the crib like a grotesque gargoyle and touched a giant, calloused hand to the wood before reaching in to grasp at the blanket.

These weren't his hands, he decided. His were designed to clutch the handles of blades, to wrap around throats and squeeze until faces turned blue. They weren't meant to touch small blankets embroidered with bees.

I can rip this with both hands, he thought. Turn it into shreds within seconds. I am the Lord of Bloodshed and I tear things apart.

His pulse pounded in his ears now, his tongue feeling like it had engorged in his mouth ready to block his windpipe and choke him like he'd choked many others. Nesta was glaring and throwing her panic at him until he swallowed it down.

His knuckles had turned white clenching the blanket. Cassian envisioned a small body, sleeping and breathing and dreaming in this bed, relying on Cassian's hands to hold it, to keep it safe.

There was no more air in the room, no more breath in his lungs and his ears were filled with the beat of his own heartbeat, and Nesta's, and now one other joining them.

***

The later afternoon sun had dipped and outdoors had cooled significantly which was welcome, the open blue sky more so.

They were in Nesta's small garden, amongst the vegetables and flowers, and yet it wasn't obvious to Cassian how they arrived.

His chest hurt, he remembered that. His lungs were burning like flames had leapt down his throat and scorched everything they touched. He'd been grasping at his skin, digging his nails into the hollow of his throat to claw a way for the air.

Cassian walked out here. He must have. Nesta following.

She stood in front of him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the pulse in her wrists jumping. Cassian viewed every beat so clearly from his vantage point on the ground, the solid hard ground where he'd crumbled.

The breeze, the one which had danced around the curtains in the nursery -- dear Mother, the nursery -- was as welcome as a kiss from a long-lost lover as it caressed across his wings.

Come, it sang, fly away. The sky is yours.

Something else was singing, no screaming, down the bond but Cassian pushed it down. Panic had emanated from Nesta, rolling off her in waves and he thought he could handle it. But now, after he fled from the cottage, she was drowning him.

On the surface she appeared ready for battle, her face as sharp as one of Cassian's blades and as deadly. Had she spoken? Her voice was small as though she wasn't close at all but standing miles away, the words travelling through wind and across the mountains.

From their positions, his knees digging in the dirt, his face was level with her stomach. One glance was all he allowed himself before his eyes darted away.

Nesta still looked like Nesta. There was no glow or scent to her skin, no softness to her face or additional roundness to her already full curves. Her abdomen remained flat, giving no sign of the life existing within, the life that Cassian helped create.

It would be smaller than one of my fingers, he thought and his wings twitched. The breeze and the sky calling him to freedom.

She'd seen.

The noise fogging his mind was cleared away by a sudden blast of magic.

Nesta's voice reached his ears clearer this time.

"What exactly are you intending to do?" Her tone was so chilled he was amazed his flesh didn't blacken from frostbite.

Cassian dug his hands into the ground before lifting them to cover his face. The fresh grass and earth lingered on his fingertips, and he inhaled deeply in an attempt to tether himself.

What did he intend to do? His thoughts splintered, images and names racing through every possibility he considered. Fly away, he told himself, fly to the mountains, fly home to Velaris, fly, fly, fly.

Rhys would know what to do.

Rhys always knew what to do, as did Mor. He would seek them out and get them to decide what was best. Their presence would be a soothing balm for him and while not quite as soothing for Nesta they had an authority she would have to acknowledge. Rhys and Mor would know what is best, he thought. Nesta wouldn't think so at first but they would want to be involved.

Everything would be easier for all of them this way.

He wanted to explain but it was hard to concentrate, the whirling tornado of his mind pierced with the frozen shards of Nesta's. The more he thought of Rhys and Mor, the more the breeze turned into a wind whipping across his wings.

"We can't do this," he found himself saying. "I can't do this; you can't do this." Here. Alone. That's what he meant to add but his voice cracked and the words wouldn't come.

He dropped his hands and glanced up at her, his Nesta. On her face she wore something close to devastation, not even an expression he'd seen after the Cauldron when she was trying to bathe again, laying sprawled and soaking on the floor of the bathroom.

Her words came without hesitation.

"Get out," she hissed. The sharpness she pushed through the bond at him was done with intent. If she had been ice before then Cassian couldn't describe this now, other than a swift stab to his gut with a spike.

The link between them was now blocked.

"Nesta...." he trailed off. The wind hurt now, cold and stinging against the membranes of his shivering wings. There was a violence, an unnaturalness to it, and Cassian understood underestimating Nesta was a dangerous thing.

The surrounding torrents blew stands of her hair from her braid and ruffled her dress but didn't make much else of an impact, her body remained upright and unyielding while Cassian's began to bend.

There was a chance to stop it. Nesta's magic could have been blocked with his siphons, and he could have stood, placed his hands on her arms and told her all this was a misunderstanding.

He didn't do any of them.

Nesta had offered him an opportunity to flee and so, while her storm raged around her small garden, Cassian opened his wings and let it carry him off into the sky.

***

It was evening when Cassian returned.

The brilliant blue of the mid-afternoon sky had turned into a deep navy with streaks of ruby from the setting sun.

Everything was silent, that silence extending to their connection through the bond.

Now, when he reached out it was as though he were touching the abyss. Whatever else she might do from this point onwards; retreating from him and blocking the bond was something Nesta had already done.

Earlier, when he'd left, he'd flown over the wilderness and was halfway back to Velaris when he changed his mind. His flight was half to clear his mind and half to flee to sanctuary.

He couldn't complete his journey and continuously turned round over and over in the sky, battling with himself. To fly forward or back was the question he struggled to answer.

Could he not do both?

Now he was calmer he would explain to Nesta it was more dangerous for her to be alone during this... situation. Perhaps what happened in the garden was a lack of control, her hormones playing havoc on her abilities.

He couldn't leave her here, unable to defend herself properly if the need arose. She couldn't go with him to the Steppes, not now, but maybe he would be able to convince her to be under the protection of Rhys and Feyre.

Nesta wouldn't love his plan but this was a plan put in place because of how much he loved her.

That was the intention.

He'd landed heavier than before, an extra burden pressing down on his shoulders. Everything remained unchanged from earlier aside from when he neared the cottage and he felt a new pressure on his body.

His wings flared on instinct, to brace himself against an invisible enemy’s onslaught but none came. Each step was as though he was trudging through mud, each one clunkier than before. When he reached the border of Nesta's boundary he realised he could no longer move.

When Cassian turned to walk back where he came, the strain lifted and, along with it, so did his feet.

He tested this a few times, the weight growing with every effort he made towards the cottage until he had to give up. When he did and turned back, the feeling his spine was going to snap into two melted away.

Nesta’s shields were always up but until this point her magic had never extended to Cassian.

She'd blocked him from reaching her, physically and through the bond. He stood outside staring at the grey stones of her walls wondering if she knew he was here.

She knows, he thought. She just doesn't care.

He'd left her for a moment, for a stupid moment, and now she'd rejected him absolutely.

Cassian convinced himself Nesta’s powers were unpredictable and this was adding to the evidence she should be among others. He was sure when she realised, she would lift her barriers and come to him.

So, he waited.

She never came.

***

The summer in Illyria had been brutal and so had Cassian. The sun scorched his skin and he fought through sweat soaked leathers, pounding his knuckles into the flesh of other Illyrians, his brethren, until the heat made his head throb.

It was only when the trainees were on the verge of collapse did he allow them to rest.

His reputation of fearsome was fast becoming one of cruelty; but he didn't stop, couldn't stop, until one day he observed an Illyrian child watching him, all skinny scabbed knees and curious eyes.

Cassian reached out a bloodied, bandaged hand as a gesture to show the boy some defence moves only for the child to flinch and curl his small, developing wings around himself as some form of meagre protection.

At that point, Cassian knew he had to temporarily turn the reigns over to Devlon, however reluctantly. His head wasn't where it should have been, thoughts of Nesta and the long silence between them which now lasted over a month had taken prominent place.

He hadn't attempted to reach out to her.

It was best, he decided, to leave everything until she was ready. This situation’s resolution had to be on her terms. But there was something else stopping him. He didn't want to discuss what they evidently needed to discuss, and he was scared, that if he tried to connect with her, she would refuse him again.

He would protect himself for the pain of her rejection by not giving her the chance to reject him at all.

Cassian had arrived back in Velaris in the afternoon, the new autumn air holding the residual warmth from summer within the city. He stood on top of the House of Wind, letting the breeze drift across his wings. He'd arrived without notifying anyone, not that there were many to notify. Feyre, Rhys and Az remained in the Dawn Court and Amren had decided to live out an eternal summer in the Summer Court itself.

He didn't mind. He wanted to take a moment, to gaze out on the place he called home and feast upon the red brick rooftops and shining surface of the Sidra without interruption.

Velaris was always a welcome sight and returning was the equivalent of someone throwing a blanket over Cassian’s shoulders to ward off the chill. This time though, it was as though the cold wind he’d experienced at Nesta’s had stalked him via his bones.

Something was disjointed now. He was happy to see his city but Velaris didn't hold the same thrill of excitement he usually experienced. Now it was as though it was a muted song, still remaining a pretty melody but harder to hear.

Was this how Nesta experienced Velaris? Or did she view it with more ambivalence? Was the city received with vitriol? Less a song and more a scream.

He thought of her, as he always did, alone in her cottage but now not alone. He'd learnt to turn the thoughts off quick; the pang in his chest made him want to cry.

Perhaps his sadness radiated outwards or maybe there was a part of him which called for help without realising but as he stared outwards, a soft and warm hand slid through his unwinding his clenched fingers.

"Hello, you."

Cassian looked down to see the golden hair of his best friend as she rested her head against his arm.

"Hello, Mor." His voice didn't crack but it was close.

She raised her face, her smile slipping into a frown. "Oh, my darling," she said. "I sensed you were back in Velaris but thought it was strange you didn't come to say hello."

Mor studied him for a moment, those deep brown eyes of hers absorbing every inch of his face, seeking out the truth which wouldn't take her long to find.

"You've had a fight with Nesta. A serious one."

It wasn't a question, Mor already knew the answer.

The years had melted away some animosity but it would be a lie to say it had disappeared. Time had patched over the intensity but was unable to purge the resentment completely.

Nesta removing herself from Velaris had gone some way to soothe the mutual dislike but the resolution was more a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ than any deeper healing.

Cassian knew Mor had felt a sting of rejection when he and Nesta had bonded and on some level, she had taken it as a strike to their friendship. Mor had advised him all those years ago to not accept the bond, and he'd proceeded regardless. Her fear, she told him, was that Nesta would burn him out with her anger.

Mor's concerns were from a place of love, but he'd accepted the bond from a place of his love. Besides, there was a kernel of truth in Nesta's statement to him that Mor didn't want to lose the life she'd spent centuries crafting and how Cassian was part of that.

Even though, regarding him and Nesta, there was part of Mor waiting for what she deemed inevitable but Cassian chose to ignore the tinge of hope he heard in her voice at her statement.

"Yes," he replied, "but it was my fault. I didn't respond to the news particularly well."

"What news?"

The truth would out, how could it not? Before his cowardice crept in again, he told Mor everything and watched as her eyes grew wider.

"Cas," she breathed and stepped in front of him, her arms stretching around his body, her cheek pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her as tight as he could. He needed this; he needed a friend.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed. "I don't know if I want to do this at all."

The memory of the small child he had once been morphed into the image of the boy he had inadvertently terrified at the camps. That image warped again into something smaller and more precious, an image he quickly discarded.

"Death and destruction are my talents; I doubt I'd be soothing anyone's pain away with kisses and cuddles." He let out a mirthless laugh.

Mor pulled back, standing on her toes, so she could reach her hands to his face and positioning him to look at her. "You're the best of us, Cass. You have so much love to give anyone. You love without question, defend without question and you'd die for those you love. I don't expect you'd do anything less for your child."

She squeezed his cheeks together until he grinned at the ridiculous expression she was making him wear. "You'll make a wonderful father; I know you will."

Mor let go of his face and stepped back into his arms for another hug. Cassian held onto her words as tightly as he held onto her.

"I wish Nesta were in Velaris," he sighed.

Mor tensed in his arms.

"Oh."

"She's strong but the wilderness is no place for a pregnant female. I don't think isolation is the best place for her right now. Or for a baby."

"I agree," Mor said. "So, bring the baby here. We have space in every one of the houses for a nursery, two nurseries if you want. And we have Nuala and Ceridwen on hand. Plus, the rest of us will dote on it and when you need to go to the camps any one of us will protect it with our lives. Can you imagine such a fantastic life in Velaris, with all these aunts and uncles around?"

Something wiggled its way through his stomach, an unease which twisted like a worm. Cassian let his arms loose from Mor's body. "And Nesta."

"What?"

"Nesta will need to be here too."

Mor stepped back with a look on her face that told him she'd tried to forget Nesta was part of the equation and didn't want to be reminded. It disappeared fast into a practiced smile. "Of course," Mor waved her hand in the air like she was batting away a fly. "And Nesta, of course."

"Except I don't think she'd come," Cassian continued, watching as Mor marched to the roof edge to look down. Her body was as rigid as Nesta's had been when he had last seen her.

"Make her."

"Mor..."

"What?" Mor turned to face Cassian. "It's not just her anymore, is it? If she wasn't so selfish, if she wasn't so..." she trailed off.

Cassian's skin began to itch, like he had grown too large for it and now it wanted to split open. His tongue pressed upwards against the ridges of his mouth where his pulse began to click.

A forced smile slipped onto Mor's face. "I just mean, she's renowned for being stubborn but sometimes, in the past, her actions haven't exactly been beneficial for her, have they? Right now, she's being stubborn and though that may benefit her, it's not benefiting you or the baby. It makes sense for her to be in Velaris at this stage, so she has immediate access to healers. You just need to convince her this is for her own good."

"Even if I do, she won't stay."

"Don't make her."

His head began to hurt again, the heartbeat a pressure against the back of his eyes. "Mor, you're not making sense. First you're telling me to make her come here and now you're telling me I can't make her stay."

"Once she's here and can see how much better it would be for the baby to be in Velaris she might stay," Mor's voice conveyed enthusiasm even if her face didn't. "But if she decides she doesn't want to stay she doesn't have to. Nesta may realise it would be better for everyone if the baby was here. Think of all you can give it; think of all we can give it. What can Nesta provide in her hovel in the middle of a field? If she wants to go back let her, but she shouldn't be allowed to force that life on your child."

What he experienced with Nesta in her garden came back in an instant. His heart beating hard against his ribcage, the pulse reverberating into his skull, while his breath squeezed from his lungs.

There was an emergence of something he hadn't felt towards Mor before, something which itched and crawled in his skin the more she spoke.

"I can't begin to fathom what she'd be like as a mother, Cass. You would have all the love in the world for your child, but would she? How fit is she? Do we want to wait to find out?"

If there was a spark which existed in Nesta that turned into the occasional furnace then it was true the same could be said for him. The difference was Nesta was ice until she became fire, Cassian was warmth until he became flame.

In Cassian’s mind lived a million images of Nesta but there were always ones he visited first. She'd held his hand once on a battlefield, tended to his wounds with gentle fingers. She'd pressed her body against his ready to die with him.

When he'd been poisoned in the Illyrian civil war, she'd stayed with him when the troops moved camps, knowing he was too ill to fly and too weak to fight.

During one of Cassian’s first trips to her cottage she spoke about her plans to make a little garden all the while chopping vegetables for a broth that was his favourite.

Her cheeks blushed a dusky pink and her hair looked orange against the firelight. Cassian thought if Nesta had any siphons that would have been their colour, flame for a creature of heat and warmth.

His siphons, the seven red ones, were now glowing.

"Cass?" Mor's voice was concerned.

Mor’s words had pierced his skin like poisonous barbs and though the venom wasn't intended for him, he was not immune. Still, it alarmed him, that some primal part existed within to trigger his power. It was only his reflexes caused the surge to mute.

"What's happening?" Mor's voice was small and croaked, the verge of a teary outburst imminent. He wasn't the only one alarmed at the indication that some part of him wanted to blast his lifelong best friend from the rooftop.

"I think we're done."

Nesta, while never fond of Mor, hadn't said a word about the other female since moving away. Part of her healing was to let go of what caused her pain, and she had deemed Mor something to let drift away.

These words Mor said freely stung him. Cassian and Nesta had chosen to honour the bond and so when Nesta was struck then Cassian must also suffer the blow. Although there was a consequence of their love living in Nesta's body that he didn't want to face, it didn't negate his love for Nesta.

"I have to go."

"Cass, please... wait!"

The siphons had dimmed, back fully under Cassian's control and Mor ran forward, clutching at his arms with wide eyes as the ripples of her panic spread thick throughout the surrounding air.

Mor called after his retreating back even as he took to the sky. The irony didn't escape him, that for the second time in several months Cassian flew away from a female he loved.

***

Every morning Cassian was drenched in sweat like he’d been fighting through the night.

Screams echoed in his mind along with the splashing of water as Nesta sank beneath the Cauldron, Hybern’s leering face never far away. Dreaming of memories was nothing new but now as the images raced through his mind, he dreamt Nesta with a swollen stomach and as she screamed it was followed by the shriek of a baby’s cry.

Cassian had tried not to dwell on what Mor had said, the questioning of Nesta’s ability to mother, although those images also came unbidden. He saw an empty crib, a baby lying on the cold ground while Nesta walked away and Cassian remained absent.

He shook those thoughts away and sharpened his anger at himself and at Mor for forcing these thoughts into his head.

Cassian had managed to flee from two females but now, three weeks after his encounter with Mor, he actively sought out a third.

Elain lived on the estate of Feyre and Rhys’ river house and had done so for decades.

There was a complicated history between Az and Lucian, of which Cassian didn’t know the full details. Whenever he’d asked Nesta, she pursed her lips like she was sucking on something sour and refused to say a word.

Cassian assumed Nesta was upset that Elain chose to reside so close to Feyre and Rhys, that she hadn’t wanted to forge ahead with her own path. But Cassian never understand why Elain would want to be anywhere else when everything she needed was at their doorstep.

A cottage had been built for Elain in the gardens, some considerable distance from the house to allow for privacy for all residents. Thick trunked trees and tall flowers took care of the rest and the walls were draped with wisteria, covering everything aside from the windows and doors. If you weren’t looking, you wouldn’t have known it existed.

The door was wide open, as if she knew he would come, and Cassian stepped inside the stone floored hallway and followed Elain’s humming to where she stood in the kitchen. Her back was to him, her golden-brown hair so like Nesta’s, loose down her back and scattered with greenery. Elaine didn’t turn to greet him, concentrating on arranging flowers in a vase even as she spoke.

“Shame you and Mor still aren’t speaking.”

Cassian hadn’t spoken to anyone about their argument and to his knowledge, neither had Mor. He shouldn’t be surprised that Elain knew, Elain had a strange way of knowing everything but she sounded far too pleased about the development for her sympathies to hold true.

“Mor spoke out of turn.”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“Yes, but...” Cassian trailed off. Yes, but this time she went too far. This time. This time. To say it was a sad acknowledgement of the other times and the shameful fact he’d let them slide.

Elain turned, waiting for the completion of a sentence she knew he wouldn’t finish.

She was usually the gentlest of the sisters but there was nothing gentle about Elain at this moment. Out of the Archeron’s, it was Nesta and Feyre who looked most alike but there was something currently hard and cold about Elain that reminded him of his mate. His chest ached.

“Why are you here?” Elain’s tone was sharp, dismissive as though Cassian were a greenfly on her rose bushes she needed to squash out.

“I need your help.”

Elain raised a delicate eyebrow and leant back on the wooden table behind her, her fingers trailing through the flowers laid across it. “Go on.”

“I’m worried for Nesta, she’s all alone in her cottage and too far from help if she needs it - not that she’d ask for it, which is a concern itself.” He sighed at Elain’s immoveable expression. “I just want her to be someplace safe, just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

All the images rushed in at once, all his fears. Just in case someone breaks in and drags her out of her bed, just in case someone throws her into the cauldron, just in case someone tries to poison her, tries to set her cottage on fire, just in case she gets ill.

“Just in case she can’t cope.”

“You think you can’t?”

Cassian groaned and tugged his hands through his hair. “I don’t know! But at least if she can’t and she’s here then she’d have you and Feyre. Well at least you, Feyre is barely here.”

“And you?”

“What?”

“And you? You’ll be here and ‘not away.’”

“Yes, yes of course. And me.”

Elain picked up a flower, a cream one with splashes of pink, and twirled it. She seemed to be fixated on the petals as they spun, round and round, as the silence grew in the room. Eventually she spoke.

“You want me to convince her to come here and you think she’ll listen to me because it’s me.” It was almost a whisper how soft she spoke it.

The scene changed so fast.

Splotches of crimson appeared on Elain’s neck and Cassian watched her fingers tighten around the stem of the flower. “It’s history repeating all over again. Drag us to Velaris because you want it, exile us to the camps because you want it.” She scoffed. “And so, she comes to Velaris, for what? Nesta will watch as Feyre and Mor and Rhys cluck over the baby because it’s yours while they try and forget that Nesta had anything to do with it.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open, a void had formed between his brain and mouth and no words took shape.

“We can’t just be shuffled around like pieces on a game board for whenever suits the High Lord.”

“I haven’t.... I don’t.... I haven’t spoken to Rhys about it. I don’t even think he knows Nesta is even.... it’s my idea. Mine. To keep her safe.”

Elain let out a shuddering breath and released her fist. The flower, its stem now a green pulp, slid from her hand and landed on the floor. “Do you believe that Nesta isn’t safe where she is?”

Cassian thought of the expanse of blue sky over Nesta’s head, the mountains looming in the distance and the dark green tops of the woods. The fields were filled with nothing but wildflowers and aside from her little stone cottage and garden there was nothing for miles and no one but Nesta.

He could imagine the sound of the wooden door breaking, the splintering as the wood split as fae forced their way in. It hadn’t happened but ‘yet’ was never a word far from his mind.

Her magic was strong though and her will greater.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, “but I do know I want her here.”

“That’s even worse,” Elain said looking him straight in the eye, her voice taking a harder quality. “No. Until Nesta herself wants to come back I won’t be involved in asking her. I’m not going to conspire with you or with anyone to take away her freedom no matter how desperate you are.”

She grabbed the vase and pushed past Cassian, “I’m grateful she was even able to get out.” She placed the vase on a ledge and stared at it for a moment before facing Cassian again. “Do you want this for her?” She gestured around.

Cassian couldn’t understand what was wrong with ‘this.’ A home, safe in the grounds of their High Lord and Lady. Constant protection and constant company. If they built a cottage next door to Elain than all sisters would be in the same place. Nesta didn’t even need to live in the house if she didn’t want.

He sighed, the truth edging free. “I don’t. She’d hate it.” He scrubbed a calloused hand over his face, “I just don’t know what to do. Maybe Rhys and Feyre will tell me, they always know what to do.”

A snort, far from ladylike, emitted from Elain. “They would bend everyone to their will if they could, trap everyone in this place until it suits them.” A faraway look entered her eyes, “I should be with Lucian, in Spring, Day and Autumn, floating between them all like a butterfly. They have such beautiful colour.”

There was another moment of silence, wherever Elain was she was no longer with Cassian. “Elain,” he asked, “why are you here?”

It was an assumption on his part that she loved living in the Night Court, that her heart was here along with her body.

His question snapped her back to him and she scoffed again. “I’m a piece of the game they play with Lucian, of course. An heir to Autumn, an advisor to Spring and the sole heir to Day? Mother forbid he decides to not play nice with Rhys.” Vitriol spilled from Elain’s tone. “Feyre, sweet childish, Feyre thinks I want to be here because that’s what Rhys has convinced her to think and your precious Morrigan lost her best buffer between her and Az so she needed another one. Don’t think I didn’t hear her egging Rhys on to keep me here.”

He didn’t know. Truly didn’t. That Elain was held in a prison of flowers and pleasantries. Cassian knew that her and Lucian hadn’t an easy start to their mating bond, there was some entanglement with Az yes, but this was always her choice.

It worried him how little he knew.

Maybe Elain detected something in him as her eyes softened. “People respond in extreme ways when they’re scared,” Elain continued. “You and Nesta have that in common. Unfortunately, she’s significantly more stubborn than you.”

Elain took one of the flowers from the vase and crossed over to where he stood, tucking it into a band of his armour, the peach petals a strange sight against charred black leather. At least he wasn’t completely without Elain’s grace.

“Have you tried to contact Nesta?” she asked him. “Really tried?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then I don’t want to see you again until you have.”

***

Immortality and time were complicated bedfellows. One moved quick and left the other one floundering. What were years when there were so many decades? What were decades when you could live centuries?

Months were nothing. Weeks even less.

Feyre, Rhys and Az had arrived back from Dawn at the full change of the season. The greens of the trees had long turned gold and red and now, another cusp awaited. The trees grew barer and the petals had long since fallen from their stalks.

This was the longest he’d gone without speaking to Mor and he hadn’t tried to approach Elain again.

This was also the longest he’d gone without Nesta and Cassian believed he would have suffered less if someone slid a blade between his ribs.

He trained at the House of Wind; he ambled through Velaris. His body was one place and his thoughts another. He was in the training arena when Rhys returned.

“I’d say congratulations my friend but I don’t think that’s what you’d want me to say.”

Rhys was leaning against the wall, a grin on his face. Cassian sighed. He was in little to no mood for one of Rhys’ cocky moments.

“I don’t think I deserve a congratulations.”

��Well I’m sure you had some involvement in this escapade.”

Cassian grit his teeth. The conceiving of a child between mates wasn’t something he would refer to as an ‘escapade’ but he could hardly defend himself.

“Funny,” Rhys continued, “how the Mother works. Some she blesses with the joy of motherhood and some she curses with a joyless mother.”

That feeling wormed its way again into Cassian’s stomach, irritation? Frustration? Whatever it was, it was an ever-increasing desire to take his knuckles and smash them into Rhys’ sculptured cheekbones.

“How was your trip?”

It was deflection at its finest and Cassian watched as Rhys’ face sparked. “Excellent. We managed to get what we wanted and Feyre decided to-”

Cassian let Rhys’ voice drift into one ear and out the other. He didn’t care about the trip or negotiations or whatever wealth Rhys managed to accumulate for the Night Court. He didn’t care for what silks and jewels Feyre was now re-gifting. He wanted to ask his friend, his brother in all but blood; ‘Was the Cauldron wrong in choosing us? Will I make a good father? Will Nesta be a good mother?’

He couldn’t. He couldn’t show his High Lord that Cassian, General and Commander of his armies, was scared of something he could cradle in the nook of his arm. It was like a dying dog showing its bare throat to a hungry wolf.

“I’m disappointed to hear from Mor that you aren’t speaking to her though.” Cassian snapped back into the present.

Cassian shrugged and leant on the wall opposite. “We had a disagreement,” he said as disinterested as he could.

“Well she’s upset. Make it better.”

There, Cassian’s skin prickled again, his blood burning hot in his veins. Rhys not knowing, or worse, not caring why the silence occurred in the first place. Cassian’s feelings were irrelevant in this situation and what Mor said about Nesta seemed to be no concern.

Rhys had moved the conversation on again, such surety that Cassian would call to heel. Cassian thought of Elain slowly crushing flowers.

It was at the mention of Nesta’s name that Cassian dipped back in.

“They had a ‘disagreement’ too and now she won’t speak with Feyre either. Whatever slim thread of rationality that your female had has now completely gone and Feyre is distraught.”

Of course, Feyre had made this about herself. Of course, she has. Cassian’s thought was so like Nesta’s voice that he wondered if Nesta had re-opened the bond, even for a minute, to listen to his conversation. But the walls were still up and it was just his own voice inside his head.

“I told Feyre being ignored by Nesta isn’t such a bad thing,” Rhys chuckled and then stopped at Cassian’s look. “Sorry, my friend.” Rhys leant across and rested his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “I jest.”

Yes, and he always did. Joke after joke. Time after time. Small barbs of poison like Mor’s that landed on Cassian’s skin and sank into his bloodstream.

“She tried to convince Nesta to come to Velaris. Feyre’s also tried to convince Elain to get involved because she’s the only one Nesta is speaking with. Elain wouldn’t have it,” Rhys shook his head. “She’s becoming more like Nesta each passing day.” He let out a sigh. “Were it the other way round.”

Would Rhys want that? Cassian pondered. Nesta stuck in a cottage on his estate, nursing an infant at her breast and glaring at him as he approached. It would be more than flowers Nesta would be crushing. Cassian suppressed a grin at the thought.

“I wouldn’t want that for her,” Cassian said.

“What? You wouldn’t want a safe, contented life for her? Not that she’ll be content with anything.”

Cassian thought of the turn of last autumn and Nesta joyfully showing him a full basket of berries she’d picked and how she planned to turn them into jam. There was a sharp tug, right under his rib cage and he brought his hand up, pressing his palm against it.

Rhys had noticed the movement, the arrogant smirk finally sliding from his face. What little love he had for Nesta, he still had volumes for Cassian and his friend in pain wasn’t something Rhys would revel in.

“I can bring her into Velaris if you want?” His voice was solemn. “Talking her into it won’t work but I can command her as High Lord and she wouldn’t be able to refuse.”

There was a part of Cassian that leapt at the offer. Nesta would be safe among the Inner Circle, she would have Elain as company and eventually she would speak to Feyre again. She’d be safe.

She would also hate Cassian for the rest of their lives.

“No,” he replied, “I couldn’t do that to her.”

Rhys shrugged. “If that’s what you want. If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll do it for you and Feyre. And for the child. I can’t be entirely convinced Nesta wouldn’t eat her own young.”

***

Cassian was really living up to his reputation of violence and brutality. The blood, not his own, that he washed from his fist turned the water a pale pink at the bottom of the bowl. It had been an hour, maybe less, since the rooftop ‘conversation’ with Rhys.

There was a soft noise from the corner of Cassian’s suite, an exhalation of air that could have been either a disappointed sigh or restrained laugh. “So, you’re getting into fights with Rhys now?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied, “and once I’ve cleaned up, I’m going to go back to the roof to continue my brooding before I was so rudely interrupted.”

There was a definite chuckle and Az stepped from the shadows, a smile gracing his mouth. “Don’t go swapping talents with me now, I’d hate to have to go around punching my High Lord in the face.”

“Rhys has a nose like a rock, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The smile slid from Az’s face as he came closer, stepping next to Cassian in the designated wash corner of his room. The ornate mirror, some monstrosity chosen by Rhys or Feyre, hung above the basin and Cassian could see both his and Az’s reflections on the surface.

“I’m worried about you, brother,” Cassian watched and then felt, as Az’s scarred hand came to rest on Cassian’s shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

Cassian felt his jaw lock into place, he didn’t want to engage in another discussion today that wouldn’t go well for either party. “I’ll warn you now, if you want to be dismissive about Nesta this won’t go well.”

Az raised his hands in surrender. “Why would I be dismissive about Nesta? She’s your mate and soon to be mother of your child. Besides,” he said with a grin, “I’m not stupid.”

Cassian snorted and turned, giving Az an affectionate thump on the arm before picking up a dry cloth and walking over to his bed. He sat on the cover, scrubbing his hands dry, minding the broken skin on his knuckles. “Go tell that to Rhys and Mor.”

Az’s grin slipped away and he walked to sit beside Cassian. “Rhys knows he crossed a line and that you were defending your pregnant mate. I’m sure that’s why he didn’t hit back.”

“It was a long time coming,” the words were a truth that Cassian had taken an even longer time realising. He was filled with shame at how long.

“Yes,” Az replied, “it was.”

Cassian didn’t hide his flinch.

“Mor however doesn’t understand what she’s done wrong.”

Cassian buried his face in his hands. “Of course, she doesn’t. I’ve let her get away with comments about Nesta for years, decades even. But they’re questioning Nesta’s ability as a mother now, damning her before she’s even had a chance to prove them wrong.”

“You’re sure she’ll prove them wrong?”

“I know she will.”

“Then why not wait and let the evidence speak for itself?”

“Because I know Nesta wouldn’t want them thinking this about her, I don’t want them thinking this about her.” The next part came out as a whisper, “I don’t want to think this about her.”

Az raised an eyebrow, “You’ve thought she’ll make a terrible mother?”

“It’s crossed my mind but then I don’t think I should be anyone’s father.” He paused. “We shouldn’t be having a baby.”

There. It was what on been on his mind the second he knew about its existence.

Never mind the enemies they’d collected over the years, what if he and Nesta managed to emotionally damage the child beyond repair? What if they hurt it physically? What if it died? What if Cassian died and left it fatherless the same way Cassian had been?

He couldn’t hide how much he lived for war. It called to his blood. In times of peace he worried he was bored, worried the bloodshed was too invigorating. That’s why he craved Nesta’s company and the eternal battles using their words.

Nesta never tried to turn him into a creature of peace but instead provided an outlet for his energy, even their card games by the fire turned itself into fierce competition where only one would hold ultimate dominion.

They were happy. It just wasn’t an environment for a child.

“You won’t be ‘any’ child’s father though Cass,” Az said, “and Nesta won’t be ‘any’ child’s mother. It’s a child of you both, it will exist as part of you both.” It was like Az had read his mind, “Whichever way you raise it will be the right way – for you both and the baby.”

“I ran from her.”

“You can run back.”

“I wanted her to come here.”

“Are you going to make her?”

Cassian shook his head with vehemence. “Never.”

A hand clapped him on the back. “My friend, you’ve known for a long time what needs to be done, now you need to stop avoiding Nesta and face your future. It’s a glorious one.”

“Our resident seer has seen that has she?” It was a joke said with a smile, a way to lighten the tension of the room but Cassian saw Az’s face grow sombre. Az once loved Elain, maybe still did, but he clearly had his own issues he’d been avoiding.

“You could ask her. Even better, you could make it happen itself.”

“I need to talk to Nesta,” Cassian said, “truly talk to her.”

“You have this,” Az told him, “both the conversation and fatherhood. Nesta and you, you’re well matched. It’s agony to be around at times, but you’re well matched.”

Cassian clapped a hand onto his friends back, “You are my favourite Az, just don’t let any of the others know.”

***

The feeling was like someone had come along and removed rocks from his shoulders. Purpose, Cassian decided, gave you strength.

His leathers were on, his windows wide open and Cassian had finished wrapping his newly retrieved bundle into the satchel on his bed when Elain walked in.

He started, amazed at how she trod so gently that his fae ears couldn’t hear her approach.

Elain’s hair was bundled into a messy bun, sprigs of mistletoe decorating the strands. She’d switched to winter clothes, thicker material but still softer colours and it was jarring to see the pale pastel blues against the dark wood of Cassian’s rooms.

Cassian hadn’t thought that Elain even knew where his rooms were.

“Can you give Nesta this? She’s got back ache and I told her I’d send her some Scia Root.” Elain held out a lumpy muslin cloth tied with ribbon.

Cassian frowned as he took it. He’d realised after his conversation with Az that he was ready to go to Nesta, to grovel and beg her forgiveness. He would have thrown himself down at her feet if he needed to but he’d kept his intentions to see her quiet, telling no one.

“How did you-,” he trailed off. There was no point in asking. Elain just knew what Elain knew. He felt a sliver of something along his spine, maybe there were other reasons Rhys didn’t want Elain and Lucian together. All that power. All those Courts.

It wasn’t his concern. Elain’s comments about Nesta’s back ache however was and he shoved the roots into the side of the satchel. There was much he missed and Nesta’s body changing and the baby growing were two of those things.

Elain stood at the end of his bed, head cocked and smiling. “The baby will have your eyes you know.”

His breath stopped short, hands stilling on the strap of the satchel that he was adjusting to fit his width.

“And Nesta’s smile,” Elain continued. “I know that seems a contradiction but you’ve seen it, she has a beautiful smile.”

He had. It was. Rare but like most gifts, the most precious were rare.

He knew that there would be a baby. Obviously. His focus had been on how small, and fragile it was, how him and Nesta had unlimited potential to let it down. He’d just never really considered it as a separate entity, one comprised of him and Nesta and a whole component that would be uniquely its own.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat. “You’ve seen a vision of the future then?”

“Oh yes,” Elain replied and Cassian watched as she ambled about his room looking at every artifact she could see, her fingers touching every surface.

“Is she smiling in this vision of yours?”

“Nesta? Oh yes. The baby smiles a lot too. It’s very loved.”

“Good, that’s.... good.” He said the words flippantly, as though his heart weren’t pounding in his chest again, as though the spots of light hadn’t re-entered his line of vision. “Am I in this vision?”

Elain stopped in her meandering and turned to face him, those deep brown eyes of hers, bottomless with what they could now see, scanned his face. “It depends Cassian.”

“On what?”

“On whether you want to be.”

He’d had enough debates with Rhys and Az on fate versus free will to last him a thousand lifetimes over, often with him arguing the power of the Mother. In this moment he would argue the other way. The future was in the hands of those who would carve it out for themselves.

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “It’s taken me too long to realise it.”

“It took the time it needed.”

Cassian wanted to reassure Elain that he was ready and if there were times he wasn’t then he would make himself ready.

He wanted to say that he would always defend Nesta, he should have always defended Nesta and that he would murder and maim before he let anyone rip Nesta and their baby away from the place Nesta considered home and that included those he considered family.

He didn’t say all this because he suspected Elain already knew and besides, those words needed to be for someone else.

Before he left, he turned to Elain as she stood, having moved to the window next to him to watch the first flakes of snow.

“I hope-” he began and trailed off. “I mean for you and Lucian that-” again he stopped. Words weren’t his strength. Elain didn’t turn around but he saw her nod and a slight smile in the reflection of the glass.

It was a smile that spoke of war yet to come.

***

The wilderness was covered with blankets of thick white snow and spiked patterns of frost. Icicles hung from the branches of the forest trees and the ground was long in its sleep, not a trace of life to be seen.

The flakes that swirled around him as he flew caught in his hair and eyelashes until all he saw were blurs of white.

To say not a trace of life was incorrect because life bloomed in the cottage in front of him. Smoke billowed from the chimney and lights shone from every window lighting up the place like a solstice tree against the darkening sky.

Cassian squeezed the satchel strap until his knuckles turned white before he took a deep breath and strode forward. He felt himself pass though the magic barrier, the one that shielded Nesta from unwanted visitors, the one she’s turned on him all those months ago.

He didn’t know whether the shield for him was down recently or had been brought down months ago. He was too ashamed to ask.

The air shifted as he neared the cottage, she knew he was here, probably had done since he landed. It was possible she knew the second he left Velaris. As he neared it, he could see the door was slightly ajar. Nesta may not be greeting him with open arms but in her way, this was gesture enough.

Much had changed inside.

The piles of books that threatened to crush a fae under their groaning weight had been cleared away and stacked onto bookshelves. The knives that casually adorned the butchers block had been tidied away out of sight.

The fire crackled and spat behind an iron gate and a pile a green wool lay strewn onto the sofa, two knitting needles embedded into the skein. Part of the wool had already transformed into a bootie for a foot and the shape of a leg was forming.

Cassian wandered over, picking it up between his fingers and marvelled at how soft it was against the calluses of his fingertips and how small it sat in the palm of his hand. I’ll protect you, he thought, me and your mama and there’s no one more formidable.

Maybe his thoughts were a beacon for all to hear but there was a clunk of a door latch and Nesta once more emerged from the room that was now the nursery.

If Cassian thought the cottage was much changed, it was nothing in comparison to his mate before him. Nesta’s hair seemed longer but that could have been because it was loose down her back and not braided into its usual coronet.

Her hair tumbling in waves also made her face appear softer and rounder or at least that’s what Cassian thought until he realised that Nesta’s face was softer and rounder. Her sharp cheekbones may have been less pronounced but her skin glowed as though a flame was lit within her.

The greatest change was, of course, her stomach.

Even if Cassian had wanted to continue avoiding the evidence of his impending fatherhood he wouldn’t have held much of a chance. Nesta’s stomach protruded from her slight frame and straining against the fabric, the impression of her belly button pressed against the material. Cassian found himself fascinated at how glorious it looked.

Something else was edging its way in now, pushing down the shame and fear. The primal, ferocious part of him that existed was screaming to snatch Nesta away and carry her somewhere even more secluded then where she currently was.

He was still staring at her belly, still holding the woollen sock when Nesta’s hand came to rest on her stomach followed by a not so subtle cough.

Desperately shoving the nerves down, he looked back at her face. The softening of her face and glow of her skin hadn’t dampened the sharpness residing within. Her eyes were tired but not sad, a resolve existing in them that whatever happened with Cassian, whether he was there or not, she would be.

Cassian opened and closed his mouth like a fish gulping in the air unable to find the words that would ever convey how sorry he was.

Nesta just fixed him with a stare before she spoke. “I was going to make some stew. Are you staying for dinner?”

He stammered out a confirmation and watched as Nesta’s eyes flitted down to where he still clutched onto the sock before she turned away.

Though the cottage was small and the physical distance between them minimal, Cassian felt the gulf.

Sorry, he wanted to say. Please forgive me, was the other. If she wanted nothing to do with him or if she wanted him to have nothing to do with their child it was within her right even if both those decisions would smash what was left of his heart.

Nesta began chopping vegetables in silence and Cassian finally put down the sock and the satchel and turned towards the nursery.

From the corner of his eye he saw Nesta pause as he approached its door.

“May I?” he asked and she nodded without looking, continuing with her task.

The room had been filled with more items than when he’d last seen it. The lace curtains still adorned the window but now fae lights twinkled around the pane and Cassian could see snowflakes as they danced and twisted in the air.

The rooms dusty, unlived smell had completely disappeared to be perfumed with both with Nesta’s scent and that of a bouquet of flowers sat on a table and enchanted to permanently bloom.

Cassian recognised it from Elain’s kitchen, the very ones she was arranging when he visited. He thought of the peach petals of the flower she gave him and how vibrant and alive it looked next to his leathers.

The bookcase was now filled with books, all bound in cream, yellow and green and clearly recognisable as children’s stories from the Night or Day Court. There were a few that Cassian didn’t recognise but he knew enough to understand they were from the Mortal Lands.

The ones that had a shelf of their own; bashed and burnt edged, tarnished and worn with dark brown leather trims were unmistakably Illyrian.

Even though she couldn’t be sure that Cassian would be there, even though he couldn’t have been sure he would, Nesta still found a way to secure items from half their child’s heritage.

The rocking chair was now prepped with a cushion and the crib, still the most prominent feature in the room waited patiently for its impending occupant. A mobile of stars and winged creatures hung down above the centre and swayed when Cassian trailed his fingers over it.

He’d missed so much already; he’d almost missed so much more. The fear was there but next to it, deep in his belly, now lived something else. Excitement had started to take shape.

When he returned to the kitchen he strode to where Nesta stood as she buttered bread and pretended to ignore him.

“Nesta,” he murmured and she paused. Her face had affected an air of disinterest but her hand trembled as she held the knife and he remembered months ago when her clenched fists did the same.

How had he been so stupid? In his previous terror he mistook those signs for rage and yes, she had been angry, but there was the undercurrent of something else. She’d been terrified too, still was, and he’d let his own fear confirm hers.

“Nesta,” he said again and turned her so that she faced him, their bodies so close that her full belly brushed against his. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to focus on a point on his chest.

But she wasn’t pulling away.

“I’ve been such a fool,” he said and reached forward to cup her face in his hands. Nesta closed her eyes and a solitary tear slid down her cheek. “Such a fool,” he repeated as he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, caressing it against her cheek.

Nesta let out a shaky sigh and nodded and that seemed to break her, a sob wrenching its way free from her mouth.

He pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms and revelled in her presence, her scent, her everything. Another sob came from her mouth, pressed against his chest and he heard her muffled voice, “Stupid hormones.”

***

They sat side by side on the couch in front of the fire. Their bowls lay empty on the floor and Cassian’s bare foot rested against Nesta’s as she tucked herself next to his body. He played with a strand of her hair, twisting it in his fingers and watched as her eyes grew heavy until they closed, her hands resting on her belly.

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and although he didn’t want to interrupt their fragile peace, he knew he needed to.

“Nesta,” he began and felt her tense by his side. “I need to-”

“It’s fine,” she said sharply, cutting him off. Although she had let him back into her home there was still ice left to thaw. He could leave it, accept the battle was done but he knew the hurt he’d caused would fester. Someday, maybe not soon, but someday, the wound that Nesta hastily patched up would only re-open.

As Cassian was the cause of that wound he needed to ensure he healed it.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know my father. I imagined to myself that he was an exalted Illyrian warrior, maybe even Illyrian royalty, and it was war or some other disaster which tore him away from the female he loved. I convinced myself he’d died, either fighting or fighting to get back to her.”

Nesta remained silent but Cassian continued.

“I also managed to convince myself that he would have thought my mother’s pregnancy the best thing that had ever happened to him, that he was overjoyed with his peasant female and the son she would give him. I always hoped, if he had died, his dying thoughts were of us.”

Cassian stared into the flames behind the grate.

“They were the wishes of a child. My father either didn’t know she was pregnant with his bastard or didn’t care. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was one of the best warriors we’ve ever had, he fucked a launderess in a camp and that’s where it ended.” Saying the words out loud caused a different kind of ache in his heart but to move forwards, he had to close the past.

“If he knew she was pregnant,” he continued, “then it didn’t matter - he left us. I told myself I would never do that and yet, that’s exactly what I did.”

Nesta let out a shaky sigh. Cassian continued to let the strand of hair twirl between his fingers, the firelight shading it a brilliant copper.

“I don’t know how to be a father,” he admitted. “I was scared – am still scared – that I’m going to ruin both your lives. I shouldn’t have run. I still don’t know how to be a father but I’m not going to run again.” Cassian placed a kiss on the top of Nesta’s head. “I will always be sorry.”

Nesta let out another sigh and turned in his arms to face him. “Cassian,” she began and glanced away to take a breath before facing him again.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared. My parents were present but they were never really there. You know about my father and my mother – she loved my father deeply but she resented having children. I’m scared that I’m like her and the way I was with Feyre...” she trailed off and Cassian saw her throat bob as she swallowed.

“You were a different person then. You and Feyre have made amends.”

Nesta shook her head. “When she sent me to the camps, I hated her. Hated her. Back then I would have done anything to tear her life apart.” She looked at him, reaching forward to clasp his hands in hers.

“That feeling’s gone, I’m just so tired now. Except...” Nesta took another breath. “It was something you said, about needing to speak with Rhys. I was terrified that Rhys and Mor would take my baby away. I was scared you and Feyre would let them.” She looked away again, her eyes someplace other than the room. “I knew what I would have done to you all if you tried.” A smile briefly touched her face.

Decades had passed since Cassian watched her hack at the neck of Hybern until the gristle and bone finally snapped. She’d held the severed head in her hands, her face splattered with blood and a smile, wide and ghastly, stretched across her face. It was the shadow of that smile that appeared now.

Cassian thought back to the recent conversations with Mor and Rhys, how Rhys was willing to use his authority as High Lord to bend Nesta to his will.

Even though Cassian had once wanted her in Velaris, had tried to convince her it was the right place, had considered that her and the baby should be made to live there, he would never have allowed it.

Nesta never would have allowed it.

He looked down at his hands, currently clutched in Nesta’s. His own blood had run down his knuckles and into the ground. He had wrapped those hands around the throats of traitors, had used those hands to wield blades, slicing them into the guts and hearts of enemies. His first kill was a throat split so wide he’d almost severed a head himself. He pictured the faces of his friends, the fae he had called family. If any one of them had tried to take Nesta’s baby away from her, Cassian wouldn’t have just let the rampage happen, he would have joined in.

“You’re not your mother,” he told her, flipping their hands so hers were now clutched in his. His calloused thumbs caressed her soft skin. “I’m not my father. This baby is ours, no one else’s.”

“I know,” she looked at him with fierce eyes, “I would take down anyone who would try and take it away from me. Even you.”

“I would never do that,” he said, “I promise.” He kissed the top of her head again and she let out another sigh, this one so soft it was barely audible. Cassian took a moment to breath in her scent before shifting to the satchel he brought with him, his stomach twisting.

Nesta slid away, so that she faced him, eager to see what he was doing.

The leather was old and worn but it was sturdy, protecting its plethora of contents over numerous centuries and now protected the precious gift Cassian had brought back with him from Velaris. The parcel he pulled out was misshapen and wrapped in plain linens tied with brown string but he hoped the contents would be significantly more impressive. He cleared his throat and held it to Nesta. “It’s for you,” he said. “Well actually the baby.”

Nesta took the parcel from him and unwrapped it with careful hands, a gasp escaping her. Cassian knew that Nesta was intrinsically aware of what this was, of what this meant to him.

Even after all this time the blanket was soft. The edges may have been a little frayed but nothing that was detrimental, it was still a good blanket. The colour was a light dove grey and, embroidered in a dark thread, were the symbols for growth, strength and health.

“It’s an Illyrian baby blanket,” Nesta breathed.

Cassian nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. “Yes, mine.”

It was the only item his mother left with him at the training camp. She’d given the instruction to hide it and hide it well as the others would assume it as a sign of weakness. Cassian did exactly as he was told, burying it beneath a tree and only digging it up when the training camp moved to new ground.

For him it wasn’t a sign of vulnerability, it was a vestige, the last sacred remnant that someone had loved him. Now it was to be gifted onwards, now he had someone extra to love.

Nesta’s smiles were delicate things that could be snared by a passing doubt or remembered fear and which left her face almost as soon as they appeared. This smile, this wonderous smile now present, would be etched into Cassian’s memory forever.

“I don’t want the baby growing up without experiencing some of Velaris,” he said, “and I want it to see the Steppes but it’s going to be spending a lot of cold winters here. Even early spring has a bite so I decided it needed something warm.”

Nesta bundled the blanket up and touched the fabric to her face, rubbing it against her skin as if to test the softness.

“I want the baby to live where you’ll be most happy,” Cassian continued. “I would like to live where you’ll be most happy. Perhaps I could, in time?”

Nesta shot him a sly look. “Perhaps,” she said, “in time.” Cassian watched as she buried her nose in the blanket, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “It smells of the sky somehow,” she said, “and the woods. It smells like you. Thank you.”

Nesta put the blanket down and leaned forward, kissing Cassian gently. His heartbeat raced in his chest like it always did when their lips touched.

She reached forward and took his hand placing his palm over the girth of her belly, resting hers on top. When she pressed in slightly there was a movement in response, a shifting of life that had been disturbed and so it kicked out in protest.

Cassian gasped. “That’s....”

“A foot,” Nesta continued, “she’s a kicker.”

Cassian grinned as he felt the kick again imagining small toes pressing against the inside of Nesta’s belly. “Wait,” he said as Nesta’s comment dawned on him, “she?”

“Yes, we’re having a girl.”

There was nothing he could say to that. A new fear now existed, to be a father of a daughter, to have two strong willed females in his life who would present him with new challenges that he couldn’t begin to fathom. The fear was part of the process, he knew this now, it would make him work harder.

Cassian would let fear sharpen him, make him stronger.

“We’re doing this,” he said, “we’re doing this together.”

Nesta smiled again, her fingers clasping round his.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “together.”

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #i wrote something #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessianfic #nessian fic #nesta x cassian

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hollenka99 · 4 years

Text

The Doctor’s Sons

Summary: This entire clone situation with Ranboo has been occupying Docza’s mind but not for the reasons Techno seems to think.

Warnings: Implied/referenced death

If he was going to be honest, he wasn't particularly paying attention to the conversation going on behind him. He thinks it was about Techno's experience of travelling in the TARDIS with him. Whatever Technoblade and Ranboo were discussing, he was glad the two of them were getting along. This entire cloned offspring situation had thrown him for a loop. It certainly complicated matters. He would rather focus on figuring out how best to placate both sides of the war between the humans and Hath. Although, undeniably, he may have developed a soft spot for Ranboo without entirely meaning to like Techno had. "You will. Won't he, Doctor?" He is brought back to the present. "Hmm?" "Do you think Ranboo'll see any new worlds?" "I suppose so." A warm smile forms on his face. As unsure as he was about these events, there's no doubt he wouldn't mind another friendly face tagging along. "You mean- You mean you'll take me with you?" "Well, can't leave you here, can we?" "Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you." Ranboo's arms find themselves around the Doctor before he can react. It is too familiar of a feeling. Wilbur stares down at the key his father had handed him moments before. "You're trusting me with your TARDIS?" "Well, better than you stealing one like I did." The force of the hug is not something he is expecting. "Thank you, Dad, thank you! I promise I'll take good care of her." "You'd better. And don't be gone for too long, okay?" With a grin, his son pulls away. "You got it." "Come on, let's get a move on." And like that, Ranboo is rushing off round the corner. For a split second, he could have sworn Tommy was the one leaving his sight. "Careful, there might be traps!" "Kids! They never listen." He can feel Techno glancing at him, face falling as he realises his Time Lord friend isn't so ready for joking around. "Oh, I know that look. You see it a lot where I'm from. Piglins with frowns and smaller versions of themself. You've got Dad Shock." His brows momentarily furrow. "Dad Shock?" "Sudden unexpected fatherhood. Takes a bit of getting used to." Ah. "No, it's not that." "Well, what is it then? Having Ranboo in the TARDIS, is that it? What's he going to do, cramp your style? Like you've got a sports car and he's going to turn it into a people carrier?" Might as well be truthful. "Techno... I've been a father before." "What?" "I lost all that a long time ago, along with everything else." "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me? You talk all the time but you never say anything." "I know. It's just... when I look at him now, I can see them. The hole they left, all the pain that filled it. I just don't know if I can face that everyday." And it's true. If he allowed himself the chance to truly reflect on it, he'd be too preoccupied with all the memories Ranboo had unintentionally caused to resurface.

----- Wilbur appears at the door of the TARDIS with baby Tommy on his hip. He nearly doesn't notice, busy with performing maintenance on the console, but when his eyes catch on his son by the entrance, he happily pauses to face them with wires still in his grip. "Is something up?" "Oh, it's nothing. Just thought you might want to know Tommy's found a new way of getting around so everybody better watch out." He moves so the infant is positioned to stand of his own accord. Crouched, he encourages his brother. "Hey Tommy, you want to show Dad what you can do?" Tommy obliges by taking a number of clumsy steps before collapsing to the floor. Oh forget the wires, so long as he kept them away from the toddler's reach, it wouldn't be a problem. By the time he's taken a step forward, he is going back on his initial reaction. Come to think of it, there was only more work to be done now. His hands weren't entirely clean either. And besides, there was time to celebrate this milestone later. "That's amazing, boys. Guess I need to Tommy-proof the TARDIS now that he's walking. Call for me if you need anything." "Sure. Come on, Tommy." He throws open the doors. "This, boys, is Spica, in the constellation of Virgo. Or, at least, what's left of it because in a few short minutes, it's going to begin collapsing in on itself." "You've taken us to watch a star die?" Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What's the point in travelling the universe if you can't admire the view every now and again?" He smiles. "We'll stay here for a little while then I'll bring us a few weeks forward so you can both see the supernova at its peak." True to his word, their father soon repositions them so they have a more enticing display to witness. Arms on both of his sons' shoulders, they all marvelled at the sight before them. "One day, when you're both done with the Academy and only if you want to, of course, I will show you the universe. Then, perhaps, you might want to see it for yourself and show me things I've missed. Sound good?" Wilbur, already intrigued by it from a young age but in love with the prospect ever since he faced the vortex in its purest form, beams at him. "Definitely." "Will we get to see more stuff like this? It's really pretty." Tommy asks in a voice that is small yet paradoxically loud. "Oh, you bet. All of time and space with just the three of us. It'll be great." "Tommy, you'll be fine." He reassures the eight year old who was due to be sent to the Time Lord Academy. "But I'll be away for so long. And... and what about the Untempered Schism?" "Yeah, maybe you'll go crazy." "Wilbur." A warning glare. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." He throws his hands up, failing to suppress his grin. "It made me want to graduate as soon as possible. Arguably, not the best thing for a kid who had only started his time at school since it made me insufferable as a student but now I'm free to go where I like." "But remember, if you run, there's no shame in that. I did and I haven't really stopped. Honestly, you shouldn't even be exposed to it so young but unfortunately, it's part of growing up for us." "We'll be here for you, whatever happens." "Exactly." Tommy looks between his father and brother. He nods with more confidence than he's had all day. "Alright." When he feels a significant breeze in his living room, he knows something isn't right. His hypothesis gets proven when he sees a fireplace by one of the walls. An opening appears from the fireplace he knows he shouldn't have which reveals Wilbur and a boy with bright orange hair. "Surprise! Sorry to show up uninvited but you're a very difficult man to get ahold of. Don't worry, Tommy was the one who gave me the co-ordinates." "H-Hiya, mate. It's been a while." "Yeah... about that. This is Fundy." Once sat at a table with tea for the adults and biscuits for the kid, Wilbur launches into the story of what he had been up to since leaving home. Including, it would seem, discovering a planet where a branch of humanity's descendants had evolved camouflage abilities, meeting a half-Ichthyoan woman there and staying for her. When Fundy returns to his father's TARDIS, subsequently leaving the range of being in their earshot, the older of the Time Lords puts forward the question that had been bothering him. "Are you going to stay there indefinitely?" Wilbur chuckles. "No. You think I could do that to myself? Nah, I'm there for Sally and Fundy but once he's grown up, I think I'll leave. For now, I've been doing the same sort of thing you did. They barely notice I'm gone most of the time." "I don't think what you're doing is wise." "It'll be a while before I'm 100 and I don't plan to find myself in a situation where I'd risk regeneration any time soon. I have plenty of time to have my hearts broken. No need to rush into it with one of my first serious relationships." "If you're sure, Wilbur..." "I am. Don't worry." "You shouldn't do this." "The time for adventures is over." Wilbur says grimly. "For now, at least. I can't stand by and let our people lose this war, not if I can help in some way. Stay on the sidelines if you want, be there for Tommy. But I need to do this. I don't think I could forgive myself if I didn't do something." "Wil-" "We're meant to only observe, right? All of time and space and we're meant to let histories happen as they were supposed to, never interfering in the slightest. You can't make yourself do that. I can't either. We've made friends but we've also seen the natives of the places we visit get hurt or even die. Sometimes we had the power to prevent it but failed to do so somehow. Well, this is me trying to prevent needless deaths if that's possible. The Daleks can't win. We both know how devastating that would be to the universe. They just can't. It- it's already leaving the universe destroyed in its wake. So I'm not letting that happen, not if I have any say in it. You've made Earth your home and I'm glad you've found a place like that. But... Gallifrey is mine." His eldest son chuckles. "I can't find my Earth if Gallifrey burns right before the rest of the universe does." "I can't... I can't let you do this." "Tommy, Sally and Fundy. Look after them for me. Please. Yourself too, of course. I promise I'll be back in one piece before too long. Same face as well, hopefully." "That's not funny." Wilbur takes his hand, a grin forming. "Like I'd let a Dalek exterminate me. I swear I will be absolutely fine. You have nothing to worry about." He sighs. “Please stay safe.” “Of course.” When Wilbur heads out the door, he reiterates his promises. In a way, he does keep one of them. Wilbur does return in one piece. The only loophole was that it wasn't the way his son intended to do so. He isn't even recognisable to his own family.

Tommy activates the breaks while his father is in the middle of preparing for another trip. "You need to stop running." "Excuse me?" "Wilbur died and it seems like all you can do is jump in your TARDIS for another adventure. You refuse to talk about him, you don't let yourself stay anywhere for long or speak to people unless you absolutely have to, you- you barely even look at me either. Guess what, I miss him too. And trust me, I know I'm the worst with dealing with this sort of thing but at least I'm not acting like everything is fine. You told me it would be a trip or two to help make it easier. Bullshit. Let me go home." "What, so you can fight yourself? No, I don't think so. Over my dead body." "Yeah. Yeah, actually, you know what? I think I might. He was right. This is not the time to hop from planet to planet or from one time period to the next. I'm going home one way or another. Even if I have to sneak back to the TARDIS when your back's turned. It's not like I don't know the co-ordinates." "We are not going back to Gallifrey, it's too dangerous." "You don't have to step out that door when we land but I will." The two of them end up participating in a glaring contest. "One last trip." He offers. "Do you not understand the meaning of 'no'?" "Let me fit in one more then you can go. You can even pick our destination, if you want." With everything he has, he wishes Tommy had stood his ground and insisted on returning home. He wishes he himself hadn’t been so persistent in attempting to keep his remaining child close. At least that way, the young Time Lord wouldn't have been armed with only curses during an unexpected run in with Autons. ---- "It won't stay like that. He'll help you, we both will." "When they died, that part of me died with them. It'll never come back. Not now." "I'll tell you something, Doctor, something I've never told you before. I think you're wrong." The clone of himself with Enderian DNA sprints back into view. "They blasted through the beams. Time to run again? Love the running, yeah?" "Love the running." The pain of his conversation with Techno seemingly erased from his face, he lets adrenaline fuel this next part of the adventure.

#dream smp #philza #docza #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #technoblade #ranboo #my writing #based on a scene from the doctor's daughter

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athenril-of-kirkwall · 4 years

Note

"OC telling LI about their past" with a pairing of your choice for DWC? :D

Here you go, enjoy! Hopefully!

Solavellan, “Reminisces and Fables” (AO3)

Rivka stood over the map in the meeting room, with all its little counters and symbols, in particular the two which were lain over Redcliffe Castle, and the other on Therinfal Redoubt. As she looked from one to the other, deciding which course of action to take as concerned closing the Breach, she felt her fingertips stroke the long scar running down her temple, ending shortly above her right eyebrow.

So deeply engrossed in thought was she that she hadn’t heard Solas walk in, only noticing his presence when he spoke.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, “But you appear as though you might need some advice, or simply to talk about your impending decision.”

“Solas,” she said warmly, looking up to greet him, “I suppose I do. Incidentally, just how long have you been standing there, watching me stare at tokens?”

“Not very,” he answered, “Merely long enough to note your tic.”

“My tic?”, Rivka asked.

“Merely that whenever you are deep in thought, you touch your right temple, and when the problem is of a specific nature, you run your finger along it,” he explained.

Rivka crossed her arms, asking, “Interesting. How often do you look at my right temple and my fingertips, Solas?”

Some colour rising in his cheeks, he defended himself, saying, “Only…often enough to notice that it is a habit of yours. May I venture a guess, seeing as that is hardly a fresh one ascribable to your encounter with the Breach, or our exploits since then?”

“You hardly need to, Solas,” Rivka said. “I must’ve forgotten who I told it to before, but I simply fell on a riverbank whilst gathering herbs one day—”

Solas shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “A just-so story, and one that pins no responsibility onto anybody except your own childish clumsiness. If you’d allow me to give my opinion…”

Her eyes flashing with anger, Rivka turned to fully face Solas and closed the distance with him, spitting, “I beg your pardon?”

“Its origin is one of your most formative memories, Rivka,” he explained, “Which guides your thoughts so strongly that I could not help but catch glimpses in your restless sleep those few days after your recovery from the initial attempt to close the Breach.”

“You dare—”

“I did not wish to pry, but I could not simply stand here and accept the sanitised version of your story,” Solas said, standing firm. “I can guess from how you touch your temple whenever Ser Rutherford enters your vision or when you consider even the possibility of going to Therinfal Redoubt, or you might wish to save some time by clarifying its meaning.”

Her heart still thundering with rage, Rivka collected herself with several deep breaths, before saying, “Fine. It seems to me that keeping secrets from you is a pointless exercise. Just know that this anecdote has never travelled beyond my clan before.”

“I understand, and I apologise for asking you this so forcefully. I merely thought that vocalising your thoughts might help you resolve your current dilemma.”

Sighing, Rivka sat back on the table. “I don’t know, maybe you’re right. Where to begin…? Well, I think I’ve mentioned before how as a First-in-training I was basically tending to the children, right?”

“Yes, hence your skill at telling the old fables.”

“Yeah, that,” Rivka said. “Once, about five years ago, I was trying to keep them occupied whilst the clan was out hunting when Templars from a nearby city came on a raid, hunting apostates or maleficars or whatever the shems call mages they don’t like. I told the children to run for the hills whilst I occupied one of them. He didn’t like that at all, and tried to kill me, spitting every curse he knew as he tried to carve me in two.”

Solas cast his eyes to the ground, saying, “Forgive me. I sensed the fear and pain in your memories of that scar, but hardly knew…”

Rivka shook her head. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago, and I suppose I’m glad I can finally tell someone here about it before getting corrected on how they must have been exceptions, or particularly ignorant, or whatever. I was still very raw as a mage back then, and could only put up a barrier a couple of times before he got in range, and we tumbled over the edge of a riverbank—that much is true about the version I tell people—and that’s when I struck my head against a rock.”

“I’m so sorry,” Solas muttered.

“It’s not as though you were him, Solas,” she said, continuing, “When I came to, I was being forced underwater, with my face up, thankfully. He was trying to drown me, probably while he was searching for his sword to finish the deed, but that didn’t last long at all—thank the Creators. The hunters from my clan had returned, and one of them got an arrow through his neck, and another one killed him. As that Templar fell down and I got my breath back, his helmet came off and I saw his face.”

“Oh?”, he asked, wondering what that detail’s significance was.

Rivka choked, holding back tears, before finishing, “He couldn’t have been a few years older than I was. He was barely a man, and whatever Circle he reported to had turned him into a zealous mage-killer—I don’t think they taught him the epithets, but at least most of the people spewing them aren’t killers. I want to tell that story to everyone I meet who thinks that the Templars can go back to doing good. It’s not even as though I harbour any resentment for Cullen in particular, I just hear it the most from him.”

Sighing empathetically, Solas stepped closer to her, saying, “You can imagine with the life I’ve eked out for myself that close encounters with Templars are no stranger to me either, although my experiences are perhaps not as vivid or perilous as yours.”

Looking up at him as she wiped her eyes dry, Rivka said, “Thank you. You were right, Solas. It did feel good to get that off my chest.”

“And you are truly remarkable,” he said in return.

“What do you mean?”

Stroking the underside of his lip, he said, “The man was trying to murder you, and to this day you still feel sorry for his life…and his death. That takes a compassion scarce few people in this world have.”

“I think you give me too much credit,” she said. “It just seemed like such a waste. In another world he could have been here, at Haven…or maybe one of the hundreds we’ve killed in the Hinterlands…or in Therinfal right now. I don’t want to imagine, sometimes.”

“At any rate, this goes a long way in explaining your reluctance,” Solas said.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Rivka said, “Am I allowing my own personal experience to colour my judgement like this? Maybe Cullen’s got a point, but maybe he doesn’t.”

Thinking hard, Solas said, “Perhaps I might be able to help you there a little, with a story of my own.”

Perking up, Rivka asked, “Oh? What would that be?”

“Well, a parable told of Fen’Harel at any rate,” he said, smirking, “Who seems to be fast becoming your favourite stock villain.”

“I didn’t know you paid those fables much heed,” Rivka said, her curiosity piqued.

“They serve their purpose,” Solas said, “As do all stories, in their own way. Forgive me if my retelling isn’t quite as entertaining as yours are.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said with a smile.

“Very well,” he began,

“The Dread Wolf had been feasting well upon a flock of august rams, but to his regret, he swallowed one’s remains rather too quickly and a small bone became caught in his throat. He was in pain and discomfort, being unable to eat or drink, and went from animal to animal to help his suffering, but they simply laughed and left him to his plight.

“Finally there was a heron by a riverbank, who asked him to promise her a reward should she help him, and he readily agreed, his pain being so onerous that he would do anything to alleviate it. She used her long beak and reached down his throat to fish the offending bone out, and having completed her task, turned to Fen’Harel and asked for her reward.

“Fen’Harel said to her, grinning with his teeth bared from ear to ear, ‘Your reward? Is it not enough reward that you have had your head between the jaws of the Dread Wolf and lived to tell the tale?’”

Rivka’s brows pinched towards each other, as she said, “I think I’ve heard that one before. Is it not the moral of the story that the heron’s being greedy for what should ultimately be an act of charity?”

Solas clasped his hands, leaning by his side on the table. “That certainly is a valid interpretation. But consider this other one: The powerful have no reason to reward the weak for their help with such inconveniences, terrible as they may be, once it is lifted and their power is restored.”

Casting her gaze at the marker which lay atop the Templar stronghold on the map, she asked, “Are you likening the Templars to the Dread Wolf then?”

“Hardly,” Solas said casually. “Merely that there is no guarantee that there will not be another Templar like your assailant, nor an elf like you at his mercy, ten or even twenty years down the road, regardless of what course of action you choose.”

“Is your opinion of them that low?”, she asked.

“Low?”, he retorted. “I think that’s positively optimistic. It appears, however, that by dint of your mark that the decision falls to you and who can help seal the Breach more effectively…well, I must have taken up far too much of your time by now.”

“Not at all,” she said, returning to his gaze. “Thank you, Solas. For hearing me out, and for your advice. I think I know what to do.”

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he said, departing the chantry.

Rivka turned back to the table, sweeping some of the tokens off it and peering at the one marking Redcliffe Castle with a new determination, making her decision.

@dadrunkwriting

#rivka lavellan #solas #f!lavellan/Solas #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #aether effect #ao3 #prompt fic #fanfic #athenril-of-kirkwall #tevivinter #dadrunkwriting #da drunk writing circle

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

What Was Bound, What Was Loosed, part 2

Written for day 18: horror. I’m really sneaking this in just before midnight. So hard to write.

Vlad was occupied with shepherding along a sensitive reaction in his lab when his portal winked out of existence. Engrossed in his experiment, he didn't notice at first, not for several minutes. But, soon enough, the steadiness of the light, the lack of green in it, began to unnerve him.

Leaving the chemicals alone for a moment wouldn't make them explode. Probably. If they did, well. He had more than enough money to renovate his mansion. Again.

Almost immediately, his eyes caught on the gaping, empty hole in his wall where the portal had once been.

"That- Impossible!" He took several quick steps forward, but did not enter the portal or stand directly in front of it. The portal was gone, but he could see that the containment mechanisms were still working, electricity periodically jumping from exposed wires. He reached for the power cut off switch.

Reality rippled. Briefly, Vlad experienced a sensation akin to being moved through a thick membrane.

He found himself among the treetops of a lavender forest, the green sky of the Ghost Zone swirling brightly above him. Disoriented, he put a hand to his head. Natural portals had a tendency to be turbulent, but he had never been through one that felt like that before. Had his portal somehow escaped its moorings? He would have thought he would notice something like that, something like a portal sneaking up behind him. The did glow, after all.

Then again, he had been distracted by his portal's unexplained absence, so maybe not.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Butter biscuits," under his breath. By the time he got back, his experiment would have exploded, and his lab would be in shambles.

No matter. He could always rebuild. The real issue was where he was. He went ghost and-

Nothing happened.

Wait a moment. He examined his hands more closely. They were mottled, blue on tan. He pulled a strand of his hair in front of his eyes. It, too, had suffered a color change. His individual hairs were alternately dark grey and silver.

He felt his heart speed up. This was a problem. A large problem. He would have to retreat to his lair in the Rockies until he could fix this and return to normal. Until then, he wouldn't be fit for the public eye; his secret would be on display for all to see.

After he confirmed that, at least, he still had access to all his powers, he flew up over the tops of the trees.

The island he had found himself above was large and unfamiliar. Trees stretched out below him in all directions, leaves whispering against each other in the faint ectoplasmic wind. Ugh. Well, he'd find something, or someone, familiar sooner or later. He had traveled through the Ghost Zone extensively while searching for the Skeleton Key.

He scanned the sky, looking for signs of civilization. There, so far away he could cover it with his thumb at arm's length, was a gathering of buildings. True, in the Ghost Zone that didn't mean much, what with all the ruins and the buildings that formed randomly from the ectoplasm, but Vlad didn't have all that much to go on. He'd take the risk.

Ellie had been high in the sky over Louisiana, looking forward to eating some of the famous cuisine of New Orleans, when she was briefly plucked out of reality, tumbled around, and redeposited in the Ghost Zone. Somewhat stunned, she merely floated for several long minutes.

But Ellie was nothing if not adaptable, and she quickly recovered enough to look around and try to figure out what had happened. Maybe she'd been sucked through a natural portal? That didn't quite feel right, but it wasn't as if she were an expert on natural portals.

She shrugged to herself and looked around. Cajun cooking would have to wait for another day. In the meantime, she could amuse herself in the Ghost Zone.

If she could find anything amusing, that is. This particular stretch of the Ghost Zone was depressingly empty. Or was it simply misty? It could be hard to tell.

She picked a direction at random and started flying.

It took Vlad longer than he would have liked to reach the little city. About halfway there, the wind had strengthened to a gale, blowing him back, away from the possibly-inhabited island. It had died again, just as Vlad crossed the island's shoreline.

At first, Vlad believed that the island was entirely uninhabited. No ghosts came out to greet him or drive him off. There was no movement behind the windows or doors. The streets were empty.

But, then, he discovered that all the island's residents had gathered on the far shore, floating together in a loose cloud. They were looking down, at something far below the island, occasionally pointing.

Not keen on drawing attention right away, Vlad gently pushed himself into invisibility. He approached the edge of the island cautiously, and with no little trepidation. Given the timing, this could very well be related to the disappearance of his portal and his sudden presence in the Ghost Zone.

Beneath the island, a long, slender finger of blue wove through the more typical ectoplasmic green.

Vlad frowned at the sight. A river, perhaps? But if that was the case, why were the locals so excited?

He couldn't get any information like this. Reluctantly, he turned visible.

"Excuse me," he asked a relatively quiet ghost in full Roman legionnaire armor. "I've only just returned to the Ghost Zone, and everyone seems rather excited. Do you know what's going on?"

"Coronation," said the ghost, breathless even for one of the dead.

Vlad frowned. "Pardon?"

"Coronation!" exclaimed the ghost. The other chattering ghosts fell silent, and turned towards the legionnaire.

"Are you sure?" asked a green-skinned young woman in a toga, her pale yellow eyes huge. "Coronation?"

"It could be nothing else!" proclaimed the legionnaire.

"What do you mean, a coronation?" asked a ghost in more modern clothes. "As in, a king? This isn't going to be another one of those things where we all run away, is it?"

"No!" said the legionnaire, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders. "This calls for celebration! A new king has been chosen and crowned!" He tossed his helmet into the air, and it reformed on his head a moment later. "The Realms shall heal from their wounds, and a new age will dawn!"

Vlad fought down a stab of jealousy. Once, he had hoped to gain that position. Well, he could determine how to turn the Zone's new political circumstances to his advantage later, when he was at his leisure. For now, he had more immediate concerns.

"Heal from their wounds?"

"Yes!" said the legionnaire, excited, his head bobbing. "After a coronation, the King's Grace sweeps through the land. Ghosts are called home! The tears are healed!"

"The tears- Surely, you don't mean the portals."

"I do, at that," said the legionnaire, grave in a way only a ghost could pull off. "That is what happened last time. Oh, that I am so lucky as to see a new king rise. May he be a kind one!"

"The portals have closed?" pressed Vlad. "All of them?"

"Yes, all of them."

"For how long?"

"When Pariah Dark took the throne," said the ghost, "it was a good century, at least."

"No," said Vlad. "I can't be away from the mortal world for that long!"

The legionnaire patted Vlad's shoulder consolingly. "Family in the other world? Friends? It is hard to leave such things behind, but, well, memento mori. They will return to you in time! Be glad instead! This is a happy occasion!"

With that, the legionnaire was borne off by his fellows. Vlad could hear some of the ghosts already making plans for a party.

"Wait," he said, snagging one of them by the elbow. He braced himself slightly, expecting to have to field an ectoblast. Instead, the ghost, a middle-aged woman with an elaborate coif, merely looked at him quizically. "Do you know the way to the Fenton Portal?" he asked, desperately. "The permanent ghost portal, guarded by Phantom."

"Oh, thinking that one might not be sealed?" asked the woman. "Best of luck to ye. It's off that way," she pointed. "When ye reach the Seven Obelisks, bend right, so you're aiming between Red Mountain and Mammoth Island.

"Ah," said Vlad, "I know the place. Thank you." And then he did a double take, because when was the last time he had genuinely thanked anyone?

He shook his head and flew, as fast as he could.

Luckily for Ellie, a great wind kicked up shortly after she began flying and blew off most of the mist, letting her see clearly. She did have to take shelter for a moment behind a large floating boulder, to avoid being tumbled head-over-heels by the wind, but that was a minor inconvenience at best.

It did however, mean that she had a chance to look at herself and realize that she was wearing her human clothing. Weird. She had definitely been in ghost form when she got sucked in here, and she could have sworn she had still been in it. She tried to change. Couldn't.

Oh, this could be bad. What if she was destabilizing again? She needed to find Danny. He'd know what to do.

When the wind died back, Ellie peered out, and spotted what looked like a village in the distance. She flew to it, as quickly as she could, though it still took a distressingly long time to reach, nearly an hour.

The people of the town appeared to be in the midst of setting up for some kind of party. Normally, Ellie would love to stay, find out what was going on, and participate in any way she could, but the whole 'I might melt' thing really wasn't conducive to that.

"Excuse me," she said, flagging down a matronly woman. "Do you know how I can get to Phantom's Portal?"

"Why," said the woman, "you're the second person to ask me that today. Ye just go that way until ye reach the Seven Obelisks, then bend right, so you're aiming between Red Mountain and Mammoth Island. Keep on going straight 'til you hit it. If it's still there, you won't be able to miss it."

"Second person?" asked Ellie. "Who was the first? Did he look like me, but a bit older?"

"He had similar hair, aye," said the woman, nodding.

Ellie smiled. Maybe Danny was here and she'd be able to catch up to him.

"Thanks!" she said, brightly, before bounding off.

It was not until she reached the obelisks that she thought to wonder what the woman meant by 'if it's still there.'

Well. It probably wasn't important, anyway.

After a few hours, Ellie had reached more familiar territory, though she still hadn't caught sight of Danny. Her anxiety was building. She didn't want to melt. Not again.

She was so focused on that thought that she didn't notice the myriad tiny and not-so-tiny changes creeping through the Zone. The blue swirls, the more vibrant plant life, the slight alterations in the orbits of the islands, the way the whole atmosphere of the Zone seemed less foreboding, friendlier.

Finally, she reached the stretch of the Ghost Zone where the portal should have been located, but the whole space was...

Empty.

The portal wasn't there.

She reached up to seized her hair in her hands. How could it not be there?

A few strands in her hair fell in front of her eyes. It was striped, white and black. Oh, Ancients, it was spreading.

And then, to her horror, the voice of the person she least wanted to see split the near-silence.

"Danielle?"

Vlad sat on an boulder, staring at the space the Fenton Portal should have occupied.

He wasn't despairing. He was planning. If a portal could be made from that side of the veil, surely he could make one from this side. If he couldn't do so with technological means, there were mystical ones. Before resorting to that, however, he should try and find ghosts with the ability to make portals. He knew that some existed, though he had never encountered any directly, himself, with the exception of Pariah Dark.

Speaking of the old king... Perhaps dethroning the new one would make the portals reopen. A fight with the new king, whoever he may be, wasn't something that he would enter into lightly, but if all else failed...

His eyes returned to the former location of the portal, and he clenched his fists. He couldn't be trapped here for a hundred years. He just couldn't. It was unthinkable. Too horrible to contemplate.

A small figure flew into view. A familiar figure.

It couldn't be. But why not? If he had been sucked in here by the coronation of the new king, then why not the other two half ghosts?

He flew forward. "Danielle?" he called.

The girl turned. Clearly, she had been crying.

"Vlad!" she exclaimed, with venom. Her eyes narrowed in something approximating concern. "What happened to you? Are you destabilizing, too?"

Ah, and there was a theory to haunt his nightmares. "Not to the best of my knowledge," he said, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. "I presume you were also brought here by the coronation?"

"The what?" asked Danielle, drifting backwards, hands up, ready to block or deliver a blow.

Vlad rolled his eyes. "The ghosts have crowned a new king. Why now, rather than all the years Pariah Dark slept, I have no idea. Regardless, it has had certain effects on the Ghost Zone, and," he looked at his blotchy hand with distaste, "apparently, us. You aren't destabilizing."

"That's what you'd like me to think," said Danielle.

Vlad scoffed. "Please. I don't care what you think. I don't suppose you've seen Daniel? I suspect he's been brought here as well."

"No," said Danielle.

"And you wouldn't tell me even if you had, hmm?" said Vlad. "I'm not interested in picking a fight with him. For the moment, we have the same goals: return to the mortal world."

"How do you know what his goals are?"

"Have you seen how he dotes on that town of his?" asked Vlad. "Not to mention his dolt of a father. Of course he wants to go back."

"Assuming he's even here," grumbled Danielle. Even so, she relaxed her guard.

"Well," said Vlad. "Where is he?"

"I already told you, I don't know."

Vlad frowned. "Then, if you were he, where would you be? It should be easy for you to deduce. It is, after all, what you were designed for."

Danielle tilted her chin up, defiantly, nostrils flaring, but she reigned in her temper. Doing so was the one thing in which she had surpassed her original. "Knowing Danny and his luck, he's probably right at the center of all this."

Vlad angled himself towards the place where all the blue swirls were radiating from. "Of course he is."

The two half ghosts arrived at what had once been Pariah's Keep.

"Wow," said Ellie. "This is different." She craned her head back, trying to take the whole thing in. "Reminds me more of a palace than a keep, now."

"What would you know?"

"Excuse me? I've been to Europe? I know the difference."

Ancients, she wished she wasn't as worried about Danny as she was, but if he was trapped or something she'd need Vlad's firepower to break him out.

Cautiously, the pair moved closer to the palace. It wasn't empty.

"Shades," said Vlad, his voice low. "Not true ghosts. They follow the will of the one who casts them. In this case, most likely the king. I would have expected more of a crowd than this, though, considering how recently he was crowned."

"Yeah, like, a party or something," agreed Ellie. "But this place looks really big, maybe they're all just inside?"

"Perhaps," said Vlad.

"So, do we sneak in, or what?"

"No," said Vlad. He smiled, thinly. "I believe I will request an audience. Perhaps I'll offer my services."

The audience was denied, and all other attempts to gain access were rebuffed, firmly, but with a gentleness not often found in the Ghost Zone. The shades only had one thing to say: Return when the king wakes.

Not having many other options, Vlad and Ellie adopted an uneasy truce as they searched for Danny- or at least his allies. They had similar needs, after all, as they both had a human half.

Uneasy was definitely the key word.

Danny's allies had made themselves frustratingly scarce. Vlad was contemplating an attempt to establish himself in a community, or at least make a base of operations.

A week and a half later, one of the shades came to them.

The king wakes, it said.

It was practically an invitation. Ellie wasn't convinced accepting it was a good idea, at this point, but she had to admit that she didn't know where else to look for Danny. He had to have come through. Every other ghost and half ghost had, right down to the smallest blob.

They went back to the palace. A shade led them through perfumed gardens and past tinkling water fountains. Ghostly insects played among luminous flowers. Detailed statues marked turns in the path, and the rest of the stonework was carved just as intricately. A distant wind chime sounded once every minute or so, presaging the arrival of light gusts of air.

They were brought to a small circular paved area that was lined with benches. Two ghosts, real ghosts, stood on either side of one of those benches. That bench was occupied by a small, slender figure. A crown of glassy flowers and silver vines adorned his striped hair.

He turned slightly, slowly, to face them.

Ellie couldn't restrain a gasp. Danny was missing an eye.

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2020 #day 18

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bakubabes-tatakae · 4 years

Text

The Uchiha In The Leaves (Part Four)

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be in a taglist for this feel free to let me know! Happy to do it for anyone!

(Kakashi Hatake x Reader)

Summary: What happens when Y/N finally returns to the Village Hidden in the Leaves? Her life is flipped upside down when not only does she find the man that’s awaited her return, but she finds someone she thought she’d never see again.

AO3 Link

Part One, Part Two:*NSFW Ahead!*, Part Three

Part Four:

Word Count: 5055

*Kakashi's P.O.V*

As the kids ran through the woods their mission was clear, they were becoming seasoned, they knew what they were doing. They all answered Y/n and I when our voices emerged through their earpieces.

Sasuke’s brooding voice was heard first. “This is Sasuke, I’m at point B.”

The bubbly pink-haired Genin spoke next. “It’s Sakura, I’ve made it to point C.”

And finally the number-one knuckle head Genin. “Naruto, I’m at point A. Believe it.”

I scolded Naruto through the headset. His response should have come sooner. If we were out of the village on a real mission we would have assumed something had happened to him. “You’re slow Naruto.”

As I attempted to scold him further Y/n cut me off. “Okay, squad seven. The target is moving, follow it.”

The kids all surrounded a lone bush. I watched them closely, they all had determination in their eyes. “What’s your distance from the target?”

Naruto was first to answer me this time, clearly learning his lesson. “Five meters, I’m ready, just give the signal.”

Sasuke nodded. “I’m ready too.”

Sakura blushed as she watched Sasuke intently. “So am I.”

“Okay, now!” The kids all sprang for the bush, each wrestling a small brown cat. Naruto was the first of them to grab and not let it slip. He hugged it tightly so I changed my focus to Sasuke. “Can you verify the ribbon on the right ear?”

He turned back toward Naruto, taking a glance at the cat. “Affirmative, we’ve got a positive ID.”

Y/n gushed with excitement, grabbing my arm and squeezing. “Right, lost pet, Tora, captured. Mission accomplished!”

Naruto was never pleased with the missions we picked for them. The cat hissed as Naruto spoke about it. “Can’t we get a better mission than this! I hate cats!”

* * * * * *

When we got back with Tora the owner was overjoyed to see her. The cat writhed with anger as her owner’s grip around it tightened and she made it a pancake as she squeezed it to her face. It screamed at her as she squeezed it, the owner none the wiser.

The five of us stood before her, Naruto still brewing about the hiss he had gotten in the woods. “Dumb cat.” He laughed at himself. ‘He deserves to get squashed.”

Sakura’s look turned to horror. “No wonder he ran away.”

We made our way to the Hokage to get our next mission. Our leader spoke to us. “Now then, for squad seven’s next mission we have several available tasks. Among them; babysitting the chief counselors three year old, helping his wife do the shopping, digging up potatoes, and-”

Our faces turned to cringe as Naruto spoke over him. “NO! I want a real mission. Something challenging and exciting, not this little kid stuff! Come on old man!”

I was dumbfounded by Naruto’s actions, not that it should have surprised me. Nothing Naruto did surprised me anymore, I was accustomed to his stupidity.

Y/n looked over at him, trying to ease the tension a little. “Naruto, enough.”

Suddenly Iruke stood up and slammed his hands on the table before us, jumping the five of us. “How dare you?! You’re just a new Genin with no experience, like everything else you start with a simple mission to work on your skills and prove yourself!”

Something was bothering Naruto today, we could all tell as he fought back. “Are you serious? Babysitting is not a mission, it’s just stupid…”

I lifted my fist and sunk it into the top of Naruto’s head, he fell to the ground holding his head, a welt already starting to grow. Y/n and I were never going to hear the end of this one. “Will you put a lid on it?”

The Hokage’s look had never faltered as he looked on at Naruto. “Naruto, it seems you do not understand the task you have been given.” Naruto stopped rubbing the welt on his head, silencing his bellyaching, to look up at the Hokage. “Listen, many kinds of tasks come into our village every day, from babysitting to assassinations. These requests are carefully recorded and analyzed.” He lifted a hand to point at the scrolls in front of him. “They are ranked A, B, C, or D, depending on their difficulty. We ninja are also ranked by ability. Hokage at the top, Jonin, Chunin, and Genin at the bottom. At the highest level we pick missions and assign them to ninja with the proper experience. If the mission is successful we receive a fee that supports our village and our work. Since you are untried Genin, just starting down the Shinobi path; you are given D level assignments, of course.”

The five of us had zoned out during the Hokage’s speech, beginning our own conversation, regretting it not too long after as the Hokage’s booming voice was heard above ours. “SILENCE!” The anger was clear on his face.

I placed my hand on the back of my head, rubbing it. “Oh… sorry.”

Y/n smiled an apologetic smile toward him.

Naruto’s next wisecrack of the day escaped his lips. “You always lecture me like you’re my grandfather or something. But, I’m not that little bra that used to pull pranks all the time. I’m a ninja now, I want a ninja mission.” He turned around and sat down, sulking.

Y/n shot a glare at Naruto before turning to me. “We’re going to hear about this later.”

I rubbed my head nervously again. “Yea, we are.”

The Hokage chuckled. A huge surprise to us all. “Naruto wanted us to know that he’s not a brat, just a former brat, and he wants a mission. So be it.” Y/n and I looked up at him with wide eyes. “Since you are determined I’m going to give you a C ranked mission. You’ll be bodyguards on a journey.”

Naruto turned back around to face him. “Really? Yes!” He jumped up. “Who, who? Are we guarding a princess? Or some big wig counselor?”

“Don’t be so impatient. I’ll bring him in now.” He looked to his right. “Send in our visitor.”

A bigger man in a sun hat, clearly intoxicated and barely able to make coherent sentences came out. “What the? A bunch of snot nosed kids?” He took another swig from his bottle. “And you, the little on, with the idiotic look on your face, you really expect me to believe you’re a ninja?”

Naruto laughed as he looked between both of his fellow Genin. “Who’s the little one with the idiotic look on his…” Realization hit him as he realized he was the smallest.

Naruto tried to run at him and I grabbed the back of his jacket, holding him back with ease. A sigh left my lips. “You can’t demolish the client Naruto. It doesn’t work that way.”

He took another swig. “I am Tazuna and I’m a master bridge builder. I must return to my country. I’m building a bridge there that will change our world and I expect you to get me there safely, even if it means giving up your life.”

* * * * * *

As we reached the outer gates Naruto was the first one out, dashing through the gates and jumping around. “Yea! Alright!”

Sakura’s annoyance was all over her face. “What are you getting so excited about Naruto?”

“This is the first time I’ve ever left the village. I’m a traveler now, believe it!”

Tazuna was not amused by Naruto’s antics. He looked toward me. “Am I supposed to trust my life with this runt? He’s a joke.”

I chuckled. “He’s with me and I’m a Jonin, along with Y/n. She’s just a Jonin from another village. No need to worry.”

Naruto turned around and pointed directly at Tazuna. “Hey, never insult a ninja, it’s a big mistake. And I’m one of the greatest ninja ever. Someday I’m going to be Hokage and you’ll look up to me. My name is Naruto Uzumaki. Remember it!”

Tazuna took another drink. “Hokages are powerful and wise, you are puny and brainless. The day you become Hokage, I’ll sprout wings and fly.”

“Shut up!” I’m willing to do anything to become Hokage, no matter what it takes. And when I do everyone will have to admit that I’m the top ninja, including you!”

“You can become Hokage ten times over and to me you’ll still be a nobody, a loser.”

“I’m going to make you pay for that right now.”

Naruto jumped at him and Y/n and I both grabbed his backpack. I was getting annoyed with the two of them already. “I told you Naruto, you’re supposed to protect the client, not attack him.”

Y/n looked over at me as Tazuna started to walk away. “Well he is kind of being an ass.”

I made an agreeing noise so that I didn’t encourage Naruto.

As we walked Sakura tried to make conversation with the bridge builder. “Hey, Mr. Tazuna, can I ask you a question?”

“What is it?”

“Your land is the Land of Waves right?”

“Yea. What of it?”

She turned to me. “Kakashi-Sensei, there are ninja in that land too, aren’t there?”

I looked over, happy that I could teach them something and keep them from causing more trouble with the client. “No, there are no ninja in the Land of Waves, but in other countries there are hidden villages, each with their own different customs and cultures where ninja reside.”

“To the people of this continent the existence of Shinobi villages means strength. In other words, that’s how they protect themselves and maintain the balance of power with neighboring countries. The ninja villages are not controlled by any government. They’re independent and have equal status.

“Now a small island like the Land of Waves has natural protection from the sea, so there’s no need for a ninja village. The five ancient lands that possess Shinobi villages are the Lands of Fire, Water, Lightning, Wind, and Earth. They each occupy vast territories. Together they are known as the five Great Shinobi Nations.”

“The Land of Fire had the Village Hidden in the Leaves. The Land of Lightning had the Village Hidden in the Clouds. The Land of Wind had the Village Hidden in the Sand. The Land of Earth had the Village Hidden in the Stones.”

Y/n cut me off. “The Land of Water has the Village Hidden in the Mist. That’s where I came from after my Clan was wiped out. THat’s where I became a Jonin.”

I started again. “Only the leaders from these villages are permitted the name Kage, which means shadow. Hokage, Mizukage, Raikage, Kazekage, Tsuchikage. These are the leaders, the five shadows that rein over thousands of ninja.”

Sakura was elated. “Then Lord Hokage is really important.”

They all stared straight ahead and I spoke up. “Hey! You all just doubted Lord Hokage, didn’t you.’ They all shared the same nervous look. “That’s what you were thinking.” Sakura and Naruto shook their heads furiously. I placed my hand on Sakura’s head. “Well, anyway, there are no ninja battles in C ranked missions, so you can relax.”

Sakura looked up at me. “And we’re not going to run into any foreign ninja or anything like that?”

I laughed. “Not likely.”

* * * * * *

As we got further and further the group got quieter and quieter. Nobody knew what to talk about anymore. Y/n and I walked at the back of the group. Every so often I would take her hand when no one was looking, holding it for a couple of minutes. I noticed something as we walked. I slowed Y/n down and turned our attention. THere was a single puddle in the middle of the diry, it hadn’t rained in weeks. We both slowly started to walk again. Suddenly we heard noises behind us. I was the first to turn around. There were two ninja coming toward me with chains. “What?” The chains wrapped around me and I felt myself get squeezed. As soon as I was able to, I used my substitution jutsu and jumped into a tree. Time to see what these kids could really do.

I probably should have told Y/n my place before we started, but maybe her panic being real will kick the kids into gear. Y/n looked around, her head moving a mile a minute. “Kakashi!” The fear on her face manifested deep. She never fought alone, she refused to since the Uchiha massacre. I knew she could do this without me, she didn’t need me as much as she thought she did.

She had not fought solo or been in a situation where she had to since the night that Itachi attacked her family. I could see her panic setting in more as she looked around, her gaze searching for Sasuke. The two ninja appeared behind Naruto.

They spoke to them with a menacing tone, trying to get him riled up. “Now it’s your turn.”

Naruto turned around. They got their chains ready to whip and lunged at him. Naruto froze in place and from out of nowhere the Uchiha siblings got to work, finding strength in each other. Y/n hollered to Sakura. “Protect Tazuna, Sakura.” Sakura jumped in front of him and stretched her arms out. Sasuke and Y/n jumped into the air. Y/n took out a ninja star and caught the end of both of their chains, spiking them into a tree. She was using Sasuke being there to get her through feeling alone, she had a look of pleasure on her face and the sound of the ninja star embedding in the tree rang out. Sasuke came from behind her with a kunai, putting it through the center of the ninja star to keep them in place. I hadn’t seen better teamwork in a long time. The Uchiha siblings were beginning to be an incredible team.

With Sasuke around, Y/n seemed almost calm while she fought. Both ninja tried to pull their chains out. Sasuke landed on both their arms and kicked them both in the face, causing them to fall backwards, yanking their chains out of the mechanisms on their arms. Just as Y/n and Sasuke thought they had them they split ways. Y/n let Sasuke stay the course he was since it was easier for her to change her ways. One of them headed right for Sakura and Tazuna. Sasuke jumped down in front of them. The other was headed for Naruto again. Y/n soared for Naruto, landing in front of him.

As the Uchiha hit the ground in front of Naruto I saw the rage that I had seen in her eyes the day that she left the village to find Itachi. She would soon become unfocused, it was time for me to intervene. Y/n lunged at the ninja, she wasn’t thinking anymore. As she lunged the ninja grabbed her arm and flung her against a tree on the other side of him. She hit hard and collapsed on the ground.

I jumped down from the tree I was in and lunged, grabbing the two ninja by the necks, standing in front of everybody. They all stared at me with blank expressions. “Hi.” Sasuke's face turned from blank to unimpressed. “Naruto, sorry I didn’t help you right away. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I just didn’t think you’d freeze up like that.” I walked over to Sauke. “Good job Sasuke, very smooth.” I looked over at Sakura, smiling. “You too, Sakura.” I began to talk before I turned around. “And you, Y/n, I’m glad that you’re now-”

Y/n was still laying on the ground by the tree. I hadn’t noticed that she hadn’t gotten back up. That wasn’t like her. I began to worry a little. “Y/n?”

Sasuke looked over to where she was. “Y/n?” He pushed me out of the way and ran over to her. He dropped next to her, panic filled his voice. “Y/n, are you okay?” She didn’t respond to him. She must have been knocked unconscious by the hit.

I tied the two ninja up before I ran over to her. “Move Sasuke, she’s just unconscious.” I took the water bottle that I had attached to my side and splashed water on her face.

With a jolt Y/n sat up, she winced and grabbed her side. “Crap, my rib.” She tried to stand up, but wobbled but wobbled and fell back down.

I slowed her down. “Hang on, relax a second. You were unconscious.”

Sasuke crawled closer to her as she reached out for him. You could read the terror on his face like a book. Since they had found each other Y/n was his weakness and he along with myself was hers. She pulled him in and reassured him. “I’m fine Sasuke, it’s just a rib. I’ve had worse… trust me.” He smiled and we both held her stand up.

When he was calmed down he looked over at Naruto, ready to taunt him. “Hey,”

Naruto looked up. “Yea?”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Sarcasm painted his voice. “Scaredy cat.”

Naruto went to step forward at Sasuke and I stopped him, noticing his head. “Naruto, stand still, these ninja have poison in their claws. We need to take it out of you quickly. You have to open the wound and remove it.”

Naruto looked panicked now. I knew he was scared, but it was the only way to save him. “It’s in your blood so don’t move around, that spreads the poison.” I redirected my voice. “By the way, Mr. Tazuna.”

He jumped as I talked to him. “Yea, what?”

“We need to talk.” We all stood around the two tied to the tree. “They’re Chunin from the Village Hidden in the Mist. Their specialty is relentless attack. They’ll keep fighting no matter what the sacrifice.”

One of the ninja spoke up. “How did you know about our ambush?”

“A puddle on a clear day? When it hasn’t rained in weeks?”

Tazuna sounded angry. “In that case, why did you leave it to the Genin and the panicky Jonin to do that fighting?”

Y/n glared at him and the ninja on the three spoke, taunting her. “Y/n, he would be so ashamed that the one he trained turned out to be such a wimp. He’d be so disappointed.” Y/n turned around and stared daggers at the ninja who was chuckled. Who were they talking about?

Y/n lunged at them a little and I grabbed her arm, stopping her from hitting the two men. “Shut up you disgraces. My thirteen year old brother just whipped your asses.”

I spoke back to Tazuna, ignoring what had just happened. “I could have taken them out quickly, but then I’d have learned nothing. I need the kids to see how real the situation was too, that’s why I didn’t say anything to Y/n.” I felt her glare on me. “I had to know how their target was and what they were after.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I wanted to know whether they were after us; ninja attack ninja, or if they were after you; the master bridge builder. When you put in the request you asked for standard protection from robbers and highwaymen. You didn’t say there were ninja looking for you, hunting you down.”

Y/n saw where I was going so she joined in. “If we had known it would have been a B ranked mission or higher. Our task was simply to get you to your destination and protect you while you finished building your bridge. If we knew we were wielding attacks from enemy ninja we would have staffed differently and charged for a B ranked mission.”

I stopped Y/n, seeing how angry she was getting. “Apparently you have your reasons, but lying to us is not acceptable. We are now beyond the scope of this mission.” I tried to make myself sound like an authority figure.

Sakura tried to sound apologetic. “We’re Genin, this mission is too advanced for our training. We should go back. And I really think we should get Naruto back and treat his wound. We have to get the poison out as soon as possible. Back in our village we can take him to a doctor.”

“Naruto’s hand could become a problem. I guess we should go back to the village.”

We all saw Naruto’ hand raise and come back down, the kunai in it slicing open his palm. “Why am I so different? Why am I always…” He turned away from us.

We all stood in shock except for Sakura. She ran toward him. “Naruto! Stop that! What are you doing?” Naruto went off, rambling as the feeling of being a burden washed over him. “I worked so hard to get here. Pushing myself until it hurts. Training alone for hours. Anything to get stronger, to reach my dreams. I will never back down again and let someone else rescue me. I will never run away. I will not lose to Sasuke.” At the sound of her brother’s name being mentioned Y/n smiled a little. “Upon this wound I made this pledge. Believe it. Bridge builder, I’ll complete this mission and protect you with this kunai knife.” He turned back toward us with the knife still in his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Determination littered his face.

I was growing concerned. He was losing a lot of blood. “Naruto, that was really cool how you took the poison out and all, but if you lose anymore blood… you’re going to die.”

Panic rippled through Naruto’s body and Y/n started to walk toward him. “Give me your hand, it’s a good idea to stop the bleeding now. Seriously.”

His panic spread even more. “No, no, no, I’m too young to let it all end like this.”I snapped at him in an attempt to snap him out of it.

“Naruto, show Y/n your hand.”Naruto ran over to Y/n, terror in his eyes. “Help, help, help.”

Sakura’s anger with Naruto grew. “Naruto, you’ve got a self abusive personality. It’s called masochism.”

Y/n took his hand and stared. When I noticed she was just staring I looked over. “Kakashi,” She motioned for me.

I walked over and we both stared at his hand. Naruto noticed that we weren’t doing anything and got worried. “Uhm, you guys have a really serious look on your faces. Am I okay?”

I grabbed some bandages from my bag and handed them to Y/n. She tried to calm him while she worked. “Yea, you should be fine.”

He sighed with relief and looked over at me before thanking Y/n and walking away.

As we got farther down the path everyone seemed to calm down from the event before. Y/n and I hung back, talking about what had just happened, careful that no one could hear us. She spoke first. “What would make the mist ninja come after him?”

“Maybe he owes them something, that’s the only thing that I can think of. Nothing else really explains it. What did they mean when they said that ‘he’ would be disappointed in you? What are they talking about?”

“That’s a long story that I can’t explain right now. It had something to do with when I was in the Village Hidden in the Mist.” She stopped and gave me a small, weak smile before continuing.

“What made Naruto heal that fast Kashi?” Y/n only ever called me by my pet name when no one was around.

“I can’t explain that now either. I’ll tell you tonight when everyone’s asleep as long as you tell me about what the mist ninja meant.” She gave me a look of worry before agreeing.

* * * * * *

Tazuna finally led us to the edge of the water, heading to where his bridge was going to be. We hopped onto a boat and settled in. I sat on the farthest end with Y/n next to me. The boat was crammed so me having my arm around her shoulders didn’t seem like a big deal. It was something we could get away with this time.

There was fog all around us. It was the protection for this small village. Sakura was scared. “The fog is so thick, you can’t see anything.”

The person steering the boat spoke in a whisper. “The bridge isn’t far now. Our destination is just ahead. The Land of Waves.”

We all looked forward, not able to see anything through the fog. When Naruto was finally able to see something he hollered. “Woah, it’s huge!”

The driver got angry with him. “Quiet! I told you no noise.” He was whisper yelling back at him. “Why do you think we’re traveling like this, huh? Cutting the engine and rowing, moving through the dense fog. It’s so they don’t see us.”

Naruto covered his mouth and seemed apologetic. I looked over at the bridge builder. “Mr. Tazuna, before we reach the pier I want to ask you something. The men who are after you, I need to know why. If you don’t tell us I’m afraid I’ll have to end this mission when we drop you ashore.”

Tazuna was annoyed. “I have no choice but to tell you. No, I want you to know the truth. Like you said, this is beyond the scope of the original mission. The one who seeks my life is a very short man who casts a long and deadly shadow.”

Y/N looked up. “A deadly shadow? Who is it?”

“You know him, at least I’m sure you’ve heard his name before. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the world. The shipping magnate, Gato.”I had heard that name before. “Gato? Of Gato transport? He’s a business leader, everyone knows him.” I was in shock.“Gato. He’s a very famous tycoon from a company that’s true, but below the surface, with the same ruthless methods he uses to get businesses and nations, he sells drugs and contraband. He uses gangs and ninja. It was one year ago when Gato first set his sight on the Land of Waves. He came to our island and used his vast wealth to take control of our transport and shipping. Anyone who tried to stand in his way simply disappeared. In an island nation a man who controls the sea controls everything. Finance, government, our very lives, but there’s one thing he fears. The bridge, when it’s complete, will join us to the land and that will break his control. I am the bridge builder.”

Sakura was putting the pieces together. “So that’s it? Since you’re the bridge builder you’re getting in this gangster’s way?”

Sasuke looked over at Y/N and I. “That means those guys in the woods, they’re working for Gato.”

Y/N looked over at him again. “I don’t understand, if you knew that he was dangerous, knew he’d send ninja to eliminate you, why did you hide that from us?”

“Because the Land of Waves is a small, impoverished nation. Even our nobles have little money. They are common people that are building this bridge, they can’t pay for an A or B ranked mission. It’s too expensive. If you end the mission when you drop me ashore there will be no bridge. They assassinate me before I reach home. Don’t feel bad about that, of course, my sweet little grandson will be upset. He’d cry 'Grandad, I want my Grandad’ and my daughter will condemn the ninja of the Hidden Lead, denouncing and blaming you for abandoning her and father and living her life in sorrow.”

Of course he would bring up kids and grandkids. Anything to sucker us in.

“Oh well. It’s not your fault, forget it.”

I rubbed my forehead through my headband and looked down at Y/N, who had sunken down in the boat further. “Well, I guess we have no choice. We’ll have to keep guarding you."

Y/N looked up at me and then held her arm out to Sasuke, who leaned over on her, sighing.

"I’m very grateful.” Tazuna smiled.

Y/N grabbed at her side and winced a little. I looked over at her. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m not leaving you guys, I’ll be fine.” She sat back up and winced some more. She was in a great deal of pain, she had to have been to show it. “It’s an old injury, it’s just been hit again.”

I knew what she had meant by 'old injury’. It was something that had happened while she was saving Sasuke from Itachi, but she would never let him know this.

The driver spoke. “We’re approaching the shore, Tazuna.” He looked down. “We’ve been fortunate, no one has noticed us so far.”

“Nice going.” Tazuna appeased him.

* * * * * *

The Land of Waves came into sight as we went through a small tunnel. When we reached the pier we all climbed out of the boat. We thanked the driver who then wished us luck and drove back off. Tazuna turned to us. “Take me to my home and by that I mean get me there in one piece.”

Y/N and I hung back some again so we could talk as everyone else sped up ahead. I looked over at her and I knew she could hear the concern in my voice. “The next ninja they send won't be Chunin, they’ll be Jonin, like us.”

“These guys aren’t ready to fight Jonin level ninja, Kakashi. They don’t have the skills. They could barely take on us at subpar.” She was starting to get her panicked voice back.

“Keep yourself calm or the kids will notice Y/N.” I put my hand on her back since no one was looking.

Seeming to relax, she looked back up at me. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just worried about who they’re going to send. They’ve got some pretty tough Jonin in the Mist Village. I can think of one in particular.” She had known this personally.

Taglist 💕 @nubiadethemyscira @nimeryaa @o-franzii-o @chidori-mint

Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight: *NSFWish Ahead!*

Updated 5/8/2020

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ocular-intercourse · 4 years

Text

@mangosandchili, Asher, the 4th

🌲 What is the kindest thing your OC has ever done for someone? What is the kindest thing someone has ever done for them? On the flip side, what is the worst thing your OC has done to another person?

People probably don’t immediately consider Asher to be kind, especially not since Adam disappeared. But that’s just because Asher tends to hide it. He is full of kindness, but most of it is silent, secret. Being kind for him is easy, cause he has the means to be kind easily, he does not want the attention because he does not want the praise for something that is so effortless with his privilege. He’s the person to pay for a meal when nobody is looking and when they go to pay the waiter tells them it’s already taken care of. He makes donations, but never in his name. He protects every single person close to him every single day. That’s probably the kindest thing he does, taking the weight of the world on his own shoulders so nobody else has to help carry it. As long as his father is focused on him, he’ll leave his brothers be, as long as he plays along with his father’s wishes for as much as he can bare, his father won’t punish him by harming people close to him. As long as he does not tell people about the things that are happening they are not implicated, they can just live their lives without worry. The kindest thing.. oof, I mean ppl are kind to him all the time cause they want in on the money and connections, so he does not trust a lot of it, or take it very seriously. Devin sticking around even after learning about his father and everything that is happening would be the one. Asher might not want it, but he’s definitely thankful for it, and it does save him. The worst thing is another wonderful painful thing to think about for Asher cause he sees so many terrible things he could list, but one is and will always be on top: Getting Adam killed. You could argue that it was his father, not Asher’s fault at all, but Asher would just counter with if Adam hadn’t known him, hadn’t been his boyfriend, he would not have died, so how could he not blame himself.

🌳 What does your OC do when they see others upset or in pain? An upset friend? A stranger?

That is extremely dependent on the situation. A lot of time he has to keep in mind who is there, what they will see, what his father might hear about it. If he can tell the problem is periodical, it will go away without his help, he will more often than not just ignore it. It’s not worth it, putting people on his father’s radar by associating with them. Most things people are going through are nothing compared to the things his father would do to them if Asher gave him any reason to believe they could be a useful tool to hurt or motivate him. People close to him, Devin or May, he would stay away from them in public, make it seem like he could not care less, and check in on them as soon as he has the opportunity to do so without witnesses. No wonder people think he is self-absorbed and cruel.

🌿 What is something true about your OC that they refuse to admit about themselves? Is there any reason to this besides embarrassment?

Anything positive probably. He is so deep down the rabbit-hole of hating himself for everything that has happened that he can’t accept the good things that are still there. That’s why he can’t understand Devin’s interest for the longest time, it makes him so angry to think he could see something worthwhile in him, he imagines it might just all be about the money. But Devin does eventually list a list of things that made him fall for him, one sounding more outlandish than the next to Asher’s ears. Most of all that Devin watches so carefully, he can see the stuff Asher tries to bury by being deliberately assholeish. He tells him how he can see his kindness, even when he tries to hide it, in the little things he does and hopes nobody notices, he sees how much he cares, that he tries to push for justice in the discussions he has with their teachers, he sees how big his heart is when he puts on an entirely different persona in front of his siblings.. and Asher cries out of relief of somebody seeing anything worthwhile in his character, but he still refuses to accept these things as true. Or more accurately, he argues them away, these things don’t count, most things, most accomplishments, don’t count for him, cause he either sees them as an act he puts on, or a direct result of the money and support he grew up with. That’s why he can’t stand the ‘gifted’ lable either, any talent he has he only has because he had all the resources of the world on his hands and a father at the back of his neck that did not allow him to be mediocre at anything. He does not quite see that only because you are expected to be extraordinary at something most people can’t just simply comply to that and actually succeed. But to him it’s all worth nothing.

🍃 Describe a regular day for your OC. What is their schedule (if they have one).

His day has always been packed with activities and schoolwork, he’s very used to little free time, he is not exactly good at relaxing, or maybe he relaxes better by doing stuff than by doing nothing at this point. Being with Adam he had wrangled a bit more free time to be with him but he’s still very much overscheduled. So he has the art school classes, working on projects, learning, he has tutors for different languages, mainly mandarin at the moment, he goes to the shooting range, he has teachers for self-defense, he does not go to classes for instruments anymore but he still makes time to play, he goes to night school economics classes on the side, has to do the work and learning for that, he makes time for his siblings, time for the dance classes for the elderly he attends as a volunteering partner, he has clover, though she is well taken care of by the family’s staff, and any time in-between he probably fills with reading, or travelling to see exhibitions or concerts in other cities. There’s the social obligations of upper class people, socializing, fraternizing. Church on Sundays. And then there’s the times his father calls him in, demands him to be there, that can be as simple as business meetings, or dinner with some powerful allies, or turf war discussions with other crime families, or his father dealing out his punishment to the people that wronged him. And then recuperating from seeing people tortured and dying and suffering… Therapy. his plate is FULL. Which is not a bad thing, it keeps him occupied. He would simply not be able to do nothing, it would ruin him.

🍁 What is your OC’s most traumatic experience? (If they don’t have just one traumatic experience either pick one or describe them all!)

:) hooo boy, Asher has a whole portfolio of traumatic events, there are so many they start to become normal to him. He is surrounded by a lot of violence and psychological warfare. Of his father wanting to break him into becoming something he does not want to be. And when Asher refused his father’s orders too much he came up with a new way of disciplining him. Top of the list is of course seeing his boyfriend, love of his life, who he’s been with since they were practically children, tied to a chair, get shot and die, right next to him. By Asher’s father. As an direct answer to Asher’s behavior and educational measure, showing what happens when Asher disobeys. There’s not topping that, really. Maybe there is, but I refuse to.

🍄 How would your OC react to the death of a friend/family member/loved one? Is there anyone they can confide in?

:)) Godddd. Well, the one close death he’s been subjected to he has not really been allowed to deal with, no time for healing and grief. He did go to a clinic for a while after suffering a psychotic break down after what had happened. Asher tried for a while to tell the police what his father had done, even wrote to more distant police departments or investigators, only to always be redirected to his father till he had enough of Asher trying to rat him out and threatened sending Asher himself to prison for Adam’s murder, the staff at the clinic would gladly testify about Asher telling them about it, or threatened other people getting hurt if he kept trying to spread information. Officially, Adam ‘went missing’, the police covered it up, deduced he just ran away, queer kid from a somewhat small town, probably wanted to get away to the city. Asher and Adam’s family very much advocated against those findings, to no avail. He does not really have anybody to confide in. His therapist works for his father so he’s not very inclined to talk to him too truthfully. Other than that he has nobody he would share something like that with, cause he is too paranoid of his father finding out and tying up loose ends. Till now he’s pretty much just relied on numbing medication to get through the day, sleeping pills to get through the night. He has panic attacks and break downs and is irrational and aggressive, he is a mess, but he has no choice but to keep going. He has successfully pushed anybody away enough for them to either not care or leave him alone. I feel like, and Asher would hate that thought, anybody else dying, would almost feel like relief to him. One less person to be constantly scared for. One less reason to stay alive.

🌾 What would your OC be like if they were evil. Or if they’re already evil what would they be like as the good guy?

Evil Asher would be happy??? That’s really the ideal solution to all his problems. If he complied to his father, happily, to step into his footsteps and become his successor, he would not have a single problem. All of his trouble comes simply from him not being able to live with hurting other people. If he’d just be able to do that, no problem, he could just life his regular life at the side. So evil Asher would be soon-to-be crime boss, and good at it.

💐 How would your OC react to somebody telling them that they love them? (+ bonus give another characters/OC name!)

Nausea, doubt, refusal, panic. He does not want it, there is nothing good that comes from loving him, other than putting people in danger, when his father considers them as effective ways to threaten him. He hardly let’s other people say positive things about him, I love yous are definitely too much, he would probably be extra dickish the next couple of days, trying to scare you away more effectively. Devin definitely has been through that a couple of times, any time Asher lets him get a bit closer the next day he pushes him away twice as hard. Good thing Devin is persistent, as long as he knows Asher is just putting on an act because he is scared and hurt, he has no problem seeing past his behaviour.

🌷 What does your OC hate about themself? What lies about themself do they believe? On the flip side, What does your OC love about themself?

:))) It’s all shame and guilt and hatred. Even if he has good sides, they are either an act, or they are just useless? They do nothing for him, or for others. He’d rather be a bigger asshole, feel less, care less, and other people would be much safer.. well the regular civilians at least. He tries sometimes to convince himself, the people his father deals with, the ones he kills or punishes, they are in that situation for a reason, they dealt with the wrong people, they have made that deal knowing what could happen. Better to hurt them, than to hurt unsuspecting folks. But he just can’t justify hurting people, no matter who. So maybe what he hates the most about himself is his code of morality. He also hates thinking about his childhood, about admiring his father, before he knew about any of the crime. The lies he believes about himself are the ones he tells himself, about how terrible and unlovable he is, just a snobby rich kid with no redeeming qualities. He’d really have to dig deep to find anything he would actually consider lovable, I can’t quite come up with anything honestly. Jeez. Poor boy.

🥀 What is something your OC blames themselves for and is it really their fault? Does it keep them up at night and is there any lingering trauma?

Adam’s death, of course. Not that he has any control over his father’s actions, but he could have told Adam more about what was happening with his dad, so he could have made the informed decision of getting the hell out of there. He thinks about it all the time. His guilt, what he could have done differently, how he’s not allowed anything good anymore, cause Adam is somewhere rotting in a ditch and he is living, enjoying things? Impossible, not allowed.

🌺 In what situation would your OC be pushed to commit an act of violence? Would they go as far to kill someone if they had to? How would this affect them and their relationships with others?

:)))) He is constantly being pushed to commit acts of violence and he constantly refuses even though the consequences are hard. He does, however, finally, eventually, get pushed over the edge, when he’s once more facing the same situation, of the boy he loves sitting tied up in front of his father. He laughs about it sometimes, afterwards, the absurdity, the god-complex of his father, who really thought putting them in a room, giving Asher a weapon and telling him to kill his boyfriend would somehow not lead to his own death. So yeah, Asher does decide to kill his father. Thought the deciding part is not exactly an active choice, he blinks and is suddenly kneeling over his father’s perforated body. Which is probably the only way you could get Asher to kill someone, not by making him choose to consciously, but by giving him no other choice, for him to lose control and let his desperation take over. Devin tiptoes around Asher for a while, cause he’s just scared of what that did to him. He’s very attentive, looking for shock and trauma and anything he can help with.

🌸 What would your OC do if they were given god-like powers or the ability to change anything about the world for a whole day?

He would want to meet dead people, mostly artists, he admires. Have a chat with Van Gogh, meet Kurt Cobain, pick Hieronymus Bosch’s brain.. Just talk about creation and inspiration and their world views.

🌼 Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

One of his loved ones dying because he was stupid enough to agree to be close to them, as secretly as they could, cause he should know better, his father has eyes and ears everywhere, how could he be so stupid and selfish. Alternatively his father finally giving up on converting Asher and trying to do the same to Gabriel, or Leo when he is older.

🌻 What advice would your OC give to their younger self? What advice does your OC need now?

Kill him NOW??? You will kill him eventually, just do it now. Safe Adam. Right now, hm, probably something about sharing the burden. Talking to people, his family specifically, since they are involved some way or another anyways and might just be able to help, if only by having an open ear. But he’s a burned child, he is way way too scared of consequences to his actions now that he would want to take risks, even if they seem unlikely. Better safe than sorry.

#mangosandchili #ocs #asher

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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Bruce started as batman at 18 didn't he? And is supossed he took dick a year later So did bruce adopted a 9 years old when he was 19??? And omg why doesn't anyone make fics about it, imagine a this young bruce taking care of a kid (lets imagine he is not been shitty written here please) I think it can be hillarous

Noooooooo, I don’t think there’s any comic continuity that goes with the idea Bruce was Batman already at 18. That idea is hilarious to me, because baby Bruce Batman is like, now a must have. LOL. But no, it tends to shift a lot due to frequent retcons, but as far as I’m aware, the general consensus is that Bruce left Gotham when he was eighteen to go traveling around the world and learning all his skills from various teachers.

This took a number of years (and also, he somehow had time in this period of his life to pop into college and get a degree there, though as far as I know that’s always just been one of those mentioned in passing things, so its likely no writers have really ever tried mapping out the timeline of when Bruce was in college versus world traveling).

Anyway, so we know that at some point in his early twenties Bruce returned to Gotham and began as Batman….and that he was Batman for only a couple years or so before the Graysons died and he took in Dick. So the youngest Bruce was is most likely twenty four or twenty five, which while still PLENTY young to be raising an eight or nine year old (and plenty of potential to be explored here), its not like its completely out of the realm of possibility, as there are teen fathers with similar age gaps between themselves and their kids by that point.

However, one thing I want to point out, that I don’t think I’ve ever seen mentioned before in discussions of how young Bruce was….is that there’s a huge difference between Bruce and other fathers his age who might have kids Dick’s age at that point.

And that is the fact that while Bruce at 24, raising an eight year old Dick, is about what you’d get if he’d had a kid at age 16….Bruce only STARTED raising Dick when he was ALREADY 24. This is significant, because the part of being a teen parent that tends to result in the most difficulty, by all accounts I’m aware of….is the TEEN part. Struggling to take care of a child while still being deemed mostly a child yourself in society’s eyes, having limited access to resources, education and other things, and by the time you’re old enough to be the ‘equal’ of most parents in terms of age, standing, etc….your child is already eight or nine as well.

What’s different here, of course, is that Bruce didn’t have Dick for the early parts of Dick’s life, and so while he’s still plenty young by the time he enters fatherhood around twenty four or so (even if that’s not what he thinks of it as at the time), he had no split focus or priorities keeping him from transitioning from a teenager to a fully independent adult BEFORE he arrived at that point.

What I mean is yes, Bruce raising Dick at age eight when he’s only twenty four IS superficially similar to someone who had a kid when they were sixteen, and now they’re 24 and their kid is 8…..but the how of getting to that point is vastly different, and thus results in Bruce being in an extremely different position when he’s raising an eight year old, than literally anyone else his age would have been in, taking in someone as old as Dick at that point.

I raise this merely because I think there’s a tendency to just look at the basic picture of Bruce age 24 taking in Dick age 8, and drawing conclusions just from that on a surface level - and I do think this also plays into the tendency to sometimes view Dick and Bruce’s dynamic as less father and son than with the others, because of how young Bruce was and how old Dick was.

But when you focus not on their ages, but the place in life that Bruce was at by that time….it presents a very different picture IMO. Bruce had all the advantages of wealth, he had Alfred’s support, help and guidance, he was finished with his schooling, college included, and while nominally involved in his family company he didn’t really have to work so much as he worked when he chose to. Plus on top of that, he’d already established himself as Batman for a couple years by that point, meaning by the time he chose to take Dick in, he’d already….grounded himself in his chosen life path and was committed to it and it was well underway.

Point being, despite his young age, Bruce was ideally situated to provide for a child (in terms of not just material things, but also in regards to being able to devote so much of his time and attention to Dick and his recovery). To a degree that even most parents years older than him would envy. And while the age gap between he and Dick in years isn’t that huge, in every other respect, there was no doubt that Bruce had everything he needed to occupy the role of primary caregiver/guardian/parental authority…..it was his money, his house, his company, his life’s ambition as Batman…..everything else besides his age was very much An Adult, Quite Capable of Adulting. (On paper, at least. LOL).

So I’m just saying, I think focusing just on their respective ages can paint a misleading picture. Since with all of the above in mind, Bruce and the stage in his life he was already at by the time he was twenty four….isn’t really all that comparable to what most twenty four year olds are like at that exact same point in life. So looking at him in his mid twenties raising an almost ten year old, I think you kinda have to…adjust for that, mentally. Because viewing Bruce and Dick through a lens without that adjustment and expecting to see a similar dynamic to what there is between most 24 year olds and 8 year olds….is bound to end up skewed.

And just to be clear, this is NOT to say that it was easy for Bruce to take in and raise Dick, by any means. I’m not a parent myself, but I can’t imagine that its ever easy or a given when it comes to taking in an orphaned child and not just raising them from that point, but helping them heal from their trauma as well. And no matter how much Bruce had going for him, he was still only twenty four or twenty five, and speaking from experience, it doesn’t matter HOW old you FEEL or THINK you are when you’re twenty four….give it another ten years, and you’re bound to look back at yourself and go “no, twenty four year old me was a baby. A toddler. What business did anyone have treating me like an adult, my adulthood was a LIE!”

Anyway. So yeah, I’m just saying….none of this is meant to disregard or gloss over how young Bruce still was and how much growing and maturing he still had to do himself, nor is it to suggest that it was ever going to be ‘easy’ to raise Dick, given everything he’d already been through by the time he ended up at Wayne Manor.

Its literally just about…..I’m all aboard the idea of exploring the dynamic between twenty four year old new (and in denial) father Bruce and his precocious eight year old (and not even ready to think about him in those terms yet) son Dick. Yes please!

I’m just saying that when doing so, an angle to possibly keep in mind is that Bruce at age twenty four was never going to have all that much in common with most people at age twenty four, and so trying to use other young single parents or other twenty four year olds or even yourself at age twenty four, is like…..probably not as useful or accurate a measuring stick as it might seem at first glance, IMO.

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moeruhoshi · 5 years

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Witch AU

I wrote so much of this that I’ve been on such a long fucking block bruh

~000~

“Lucy darling, are you ready for bed?” Layla hummed as she slowly peeked into her daughter’s bedroom, finding the little blonde tightly tucked in with a broad smile spread on her lips.

“Yes, mama! Virgo tucked me in!” The younger Heartfilia chirped as her mother approached her bedside. “Will you tell me the story now?”

“Yes, yes, I promised, didn’t I?” She giggled as the little girl nodded and beamed with bright eyes as Layla took a seat with a leather-bound book ready in her hands.

“Yes!” Lucy snuggled her doll close to her chest as her mother began her most favorite tale again.

The Boy and the Witch.

It was a love story that began with the life of a young boy in a rural village devoid of magic.

It was entirely unheard of, a sin even. The world had yet to learn that magic was not as inherently evil as they’d all assumed; it was pure and light and brought happiness. Although, it wasn’t terribly easy to teach a concept to people too afraid to even speak of such a thing.

The boy knew of such things but found himself indifferent, neither scared nor obsessed. Magic had yet to even cross his eyes or pierce his soul, so where lied his worries?

After the boy, would appear the witch. Every now and again, a little girl would be born into the world; one who was beautiful and charming, gifted, and blessed with the powers to do and create anything.

The witches coven existed to teach these girls how to manage their abilities. They were eventually given a choice; to stay in the safety of the coven or leave to live amongst humans.

One girl, in particular, left the coven when she became of age and happened upon the small but busy town amidst her journey. Her beauty allowed her to fall in the accepting arms of the people, a home soon built and full of mortal things she longed to have.

And it was there that she went to the market where she met a boy, the boy unafraid of magic.

Love at first sight, for the young witch. It was a witch’s curse to experience such a mad desire, intense and petrifying, one that clung to the very being of hers meant to be and would never let go.

He too felt drawn to her favorable beauty, and sweet smile prepared to protect her secret and to hold her heart close always.

“Will I find my love like the good witch in the book?” The tired reflection of the sun yawned as she fell deeper into the fluff of her pillow, smiling softly as her mother placed a kiss upon her forehead.

“You will, little one, I promise.”

As Lucy grew, she grew with the thoughts of hope and a heart full of the shadow of hers genuinely meant to be. It was not a curse to her but a blessing, to know one day she would be graced with the eternal love of another, somewhere upon the mortal earth.

But her faith shattered one day as she walked about her home, elder witches and sisters happy in the streets until the breakdown of one broke her dear dreams.

“Mama…what happened to Aquarius?” Lucy whined, afraid as she clung to her mother’s skirt, shivering at the sight of her dear friend raging by the stalls, others too afraid to restrain her anger.

“She’s upset, maybe it would be best for us to go home,” Layla quickly turned and held tight to her daughter’s small hand, pulling her through the overcrowded road.

“M-Mama!” The older woman walked much to fast for the younger to catch up with her, their hands losing each other in the building disarray.

“Lucy!” Aquarius snatched her small body back, frenzied eyes staring at the poor child now stricken with an almighty fear. “It is a lie! The stories are not true!”

“W-Wha––”

“Men lie and kill, hurt for fun! There is no joy in the arms of a man who has no need to keep true to his beloved! Nonesuch rule exists in the mortal realm, love is not true! They love only themselves!”

And why would her sweet sister lie? Why would her most trusted and dearest friend lie? Madness filled her heart, and pulled her into its arms, destroyed her mind and tainted her powers. That was all that lied ahead of love; anger, hate, pain. Stories were only that, stories.

Humans surely had no knowledge of true love. Even if a witch found her destined one, he would not love her as she loved him, no. She would only be pining for a soul never meant to belong to her in the first place.

How dare a man to trick her sweet sister? How dare a man to ruin her most trusted and dearest friend? And how dare the thought of a man almost steal her pure heart as well?!

She would not stand for it! She would do anything to avoid that cruel fate, curse any human who dared even to think of leaving her in that devastating state. After Aquarius had spoken to little Lucy, Layla tried to clear up the misunderstanding with the truth, saying;

“It’s very uncommon for a man to ever betray his witch, please don’t think too much about what she said, dear.”

But Lucy didn’t buy it. She had no longer had any faith in love.

Lucy bitterly ignored the soon-coming day of her future, the day when all young witches had to leave their coven. It was customary to at least spend a year traveling in the mortal world before settling on the decision whether or not they would return home.

Lucy planned to begin her travels and move around as often as she could, hoping to avoid anyone that dared approach her too casually. Eventually, she would come right back home and perhaps begin teaching magic to the following generation as her mother had done.

“It’s much…brighter than I imagined,” Lucy sighed as she held her hand up to hide the sun from her eyes, taking in the full view of the field before making her way towards the rocky path sure to lead her into town. No longer trapped behind the faux wall hiding her people, she could begin her journey into strategic hiding.

She soon happened upon a village much like her own, full of busy people moving to and fro, all excited to sell and buy things.

The book she used to love so dearly at least got one thing right, the people were attracted by her masked aura and comparative beauty. She was given food, even money, and a place to stay at the inn free of charge for the next couple of days.

From there, she would charm her way onto the back of merchant carts with a smile or sob story, hiding her true feelings of disdain behind every word. She would ride into different towns with a wooed human taking her somewhere new every week, getting a general feel for how she should move about and interact, calmly moving from place to place as to avoid the man of her future.

Aside from her hassle to avoid her fate, Lucy lived a quaint life. She rarely used her magic outdoors, conjuring money or food in the safety of her own room. She was also efficient in attack spells, could transport and mind wipe; yet having a reason to use such skills.

These abilities proved to her that she was strong, stronger than her heart, stronger than the weak woo of a human. Her magic would be her strength, and she would not fall into despair.

But fate was fate, and fate had no plans of letting her escape its almighty grasp. Witches were meant to fall in love and painfully so. Avoiding fate would only result in its quicker approach, brewing a massive storm of meant-to-be’s. In other words, the day the witch dreaded came upon her suddenly and unfortunately; the day she fell in love.

It was in a seaside town, the name of which she hadn’t bothered to remember. There was a lively marketplace, and she wanted to enjoy some quiet shopping, luckily having found an empty cottage upon the hill to occupy. It seemed like a charming town, far away from other places and only the seventh or eighth rural city she had traveled to. She could settle in that house until it was time for her to go home without a broken heart or impaired magic.

It was only the third month outside of the coven, and no witch had ever met their beloved until the sixth, so she was positive such a meeting was impossible. But her plan to stay holed up quickly came crashing down once she set her eyes upon a boy just her age or possibly even a bit older.

He was buying fruit it seemed, haggling over the price of honeydew melon with the vendor at a stall. There was a sword sheathed at his side, leather boots on his feet, pants tucked tightly into them, and a billowy tunic hiding his broad chest.

Their eyes met as the wind rustled his long bangs, filling the witch with an indescribable longing. Her heart pounded, and her skin turned hot, even her magic began to spark at her fingertips. His eyes were sharp and pierced her soul, forcing their way into her deepest parts, quickly violating her and melting away the ice that clung to her veins.

Lucy quickly dashed in the opposite direction, running back into her home, crying for the world to take it back.

She felt her mind had gone and was swiftly replaced with obsession. An obsession with seeing him, with touching him, with wanting to hold him close and never let go. But Lucy was quick to reject such a passion for this mere human.

“I cannot…I will not..!”

But oh, how he’d looked so darling…so beautiful and perfect, absolutely enchanting. This is what the witch in her story felt, how her body burned with delicate flames when she met her true love. Even as her eyes had only set on him for the briefest of moments, it was all her heart needed to be swayed.

Sleep finally graced her, thoughts calmed from the beautiful man; though dreams filled themselves with the immortal moment that the boy argued for his fruit.

…Maybe…hopefully, she would see him there tomorrow.

But no, he wasn’t there. Nor was he the next day, or the one after that. A week passed, and then another, he was entirely and absolutely nowhere to be found.

She was restless and oddly itchy, twitching with nervousness. Her body buzzed with a whirlwind of…whatever she was feeling; something that continued to build up and practically overboil inside of her. The frustration of being unable to find him grew unsteadily, her stomach twisting with nausea as she could not control anything within her heart.

Lucy would stalk the marketplace and mildly stare down each person who walked in front of her, making sure none of them could be the boy she had seen. As much as she hated to do it, she could not resist the urge that called her to continue a search for him. The swimming feeling reminded her of hunger, something that became rapidly natural for her body to do.

How hard was it to find someone with such distinctive curly brown hair anyways?! In the wake of foolish desperation, she begged the fruit vendor to know if she knew the boy.

“Oh, that boy? Sure, he lives quite a ways away, though. Only stops into town every once in a while. Idiot that one is though, always paying triple the price for food and never lettin’ anyone return the money.” The woman chuckled and shook her head. “Why don’t you take a melon since he already paid for it? And it’ll be a good snack if you want to walk up to that house of his. Can’t say you’ll get very far even if you do, the fella’s second prince of this nation.”

Second prince, Natsu Atlas Dragneel, born to the King Igneel Atlas Dragneel and name omitted lowly maid of the royal palace. The first prince and rightful heir to the throne were Ignia Giltena Dragneel, born to the King and his Queen.

Such facts were easy enough for her to look up in the town’s library, but Lucy wished she hadn’t been so desperately interested to seek out such answers in the first place.

It was equally as easy for her to gain gossip on the royalty amongst other townfolks, no one was very tight-lipped when all she did was bat a soft eyelash.

“I hear the prince isn’t so interested in politics, too rowdy and energetic for that sort of thing,” A bartender spoke as he absentmindedly dried wooden beer steins with a dishtowel. “Don’t go tellin’ anyone, but I can’t let him back in here after the mess he made when a couple of us guys gave him his first sip of ale. Was pretty funny though, drunk youngins make for good entertainment,”

“Why does he live so far from the capital?” Lucy asked as she twirled her finger passively in the drink she’d ordered moments ago.

“I heard the first prince has a pretty bad temper, doesn’t really like the boy though he don’t care any for the throne. I’m sure Ol’ King Igneel ordered it as a precaution; his highness comes through town to visit the boy often. But I’m sure a lot of folks around here would like it better if he were runnin’ things in the future. A real smart one he is, even as a natural-born idiot,”

“Any reason, in particular, you’ve got an interest in the kid?” Another man snickered, drunk and flushed with red as he hiccuped in the barstool beside her. “Infatuated, are ya? Lot of pretty young things think he’s quite the catch,”

“I do not!” Lucy quickly snapped, although the men could see her apparent embarrassment, more than tipped off by her attempt them to push their thoughts in the ‘proper’ direction.

“Royalty marries royalty, I’ll have you mind. Loving that boy will get you nowhere,” The bartender offered her the advice as he continued his work until others shouted his way and asked for another pint.

Love, the curse, the horrific end of her life. It was already happening, her magic suddenly submissive to the feet of a man. He would tame her, crush her, and throw her away as had Aquarius’ man had done. She would soon become mad and unhinged, such an ending was inevitable. The bartender was right, loving him would get her nowhere.

#fairy tail #nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu and lucy #natsu x lucy #nalu fanfiction #lucy and natsu #lucy x natsu #fairy tail nalu #nalu witch au

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the-creeping-shadow · 4 years

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Shade’s OCs

Here is a list with all OCs I have so far, including fandom and non-fandom OCs. Some of these might appear new to you (if you have been following me for a while); some might seem familiar. I offer this as a reference, but also as a way to talk about characters a bit. No facts are set in stone; questions and such are always welcome ^^

I’ll start with the ones I’ve already introduced here.

Fandom OCs/Fan characters

Anna Haas My Outlast fan character who exists in an AU based on The Murkoff Account. The result of the question “what if the baby was real?” that appeared in my head one day, Anna exists in several iterations depending on several factors.

Her introduction into the world was more than a little messy; the assault on her mother, Michelle, resulted in Anna being born way too early and spending the first months of her existence in NICU. Obviously she survived the whole ordeal. Under the care of her mother Anna turned into an overall friendly and optimistic child who is very close to her parent, albeit often worried about her given the trauma Michelle endured (which she tries to hide in front of Anna, but the psychological consequences still show up). She’s a headstrong person, determined to pursue any goal she sets for herself, and has a certain tendency to want to take on a leading role in whatever project or even game she is involved in. These traits carry over when she grows up. The past of her family very much interests her even if the truth about her father and her parents’ involvement in Mt. Massive end up taking a toll on her world perception. She becomes more reserved, perhaps even more irritable in certain aspects after the “revelation”, but sets on a quest to find out what exactly ended up happening to her father with a goal to find disclosure and a peace of mind - a dangerous endeavour perhaps, but one she considers worth the risk. The outcome of all this will ultimately depend on two major variables in her story...

Kyniera the Imp A DOOM OC heavily inspired by the codex entries in 2016 and various headcanons I developed about the species’ biology. Not entirely compliant with the lore presented in DOOM Eternal, as she was created before the new game came out; so to some degree she might exist in some AU as well.

A determined survivalist long used to the harsh ways of Hell that are not that much friendlier to demons than they are to any other life forms (especially so if you are a low-ranked Imp - considered nothing more than cannon fodder), Kyniera is an Imp who has gathered enough experience and a certain amount of caution as a result to survive longer than many others of her breed. This, coupled with a growing sense of self-awareness that is present in older Imps only, makes her suitable to take the role of pack leader in any Imp group she finds herself in. If not leader, then at least someone who is confident enough to influence group decisions, especially when it comes to hunting. An unfortunate event has resulted in her, among other lower beasts, being captured by higher-ranking demons and carried off to a combat arena in the depths of Hell to fight against oftentimes stronger opponents for the sheer amusement of Hell denizens but also to test the physical prowess of the members of Hell’s armies, including herself. Kyniera, much to everyone’s surprise perhaps, has proven to be a particularly resilient Imp, showing good knowledge of how to use her innate fire ability and agility to her advantage, becoming somewhat of a “pet” in the arena. Not necessarily a good thing for the Imp as the arena masters and spectators were probably more curious to see how long she will prevail mentally, out of sheer sadistic delight. However, one losing fight convinces her to turn tail and run eventually - and she manages to escape the arena, overcoming her own fears. With a growing hatred towards the “higher-ups” and an unwillingness to die for anyone, Kyniera wishes to distance herself from all Hell politicking and solely focus her efforts on survival and hunting alone. An endeavour that may not come easy as she still ends up getting caught in the crossfire of intra-Hell conflicts between warring factions which ultimately sends her down a path that just may lead to a particular metamorphosis...

Non-fandom OCs

Synth Rex Synth is an old and powerful daemon lord* who rules over an entire realm. He appears to be a cheerful and playful person who interprets almost everything as a game of sorts. Whatever is said or even done to him, Synth will keep smiling and talking in a friendly and ofttimes jolly way. This demeanour keeps showing even if Synth is experiencing negative emotions - as a way to keep up his composure, but also as a way to “troll” people, especially so if they appear more hostile. With his mindset mostly revolving around the maintenance of his realm, Synth is willing to do a lot of things to ensure the prosperity of it. He can be described as a scholar of sorts since he enjoys reading and travelling throughout the multiverse to learn and explore different dimensions, the people, cultures etc. It's one of the more effective ways for Synth to occupy himself and prevent boredom. Other occupations may be training, alchemy, and watching individuals and events having managed to pique his interest, especially if they feature revenge. Unlike my fandom OCs, there is no set storyline for this universe. It’s more of an open world revolving around Synth’s realm and his family as well.

Elizabeth Morgan Elizabeth is a fairly old and mighty daemon and Synth's lover. Elizabeth is what one can describe as a willful and self-confident woman who will not let others influence her in a negative way or push her around. Charming, elegant, and equipped with experience collected over 712 years of her life, Elizabeth prefers to use social skills to go about many matters. This is further helped by her mind control abilities which she can use quite deftly, provided an entity is not more powerful than her. She will often meet others with an overall pleasant demeanour, polite, respectful, and decent, simultaneously confident and not afraid of speaking her mind. Greater slights against her or her family will leave a bitter taste in her mouth and will not be forgotten so easily. As a daemon, Elizabeth has no inhibitions about using her mind control abilities to further her goals. She can be a manipulative person who likes to use a person's mental weak points to convince them of acting or thinking in a way benefiting her. When talking proves to be futile, Elizabeth is still capable of defending herself and will not hesitate to do so: like others of her species, she possesses enhanced strength and the ability to shapeshift into a fearsome daemon form.

Shannon Rex [picture not yet available on Tumblr] Shannon is the first and eldest of Synth and Elizabeth's children. Shannon had had a shapeshifting "accident" at the age of three months, having transformed into an indescribable, amorphous shape which appears to be their daemon form, which significantly differs from the usual form. Ever since, Shannon has to struggle with shapeshifting slips a lot, though their powers are getting better as time passes and they become an adult. Shannon is an introverted and reserved person, somewhat taciturn. Serious and determined, Shannon mostly occupies themselves with books and training and might not necessarily be a person who is in for the "silly" type of fun. Having been raised by a caring, but strict father who has set a firm schedule for his child and having been around their father's subordinates a lot, Shannon is disciplined and generally well-behaved. Due to their problems with the shapeshifting power and initially slow telekinesis, Shannon tends to be insecure about themselves, constantly questioning their worth and might. However, with frequent training units and being the offspring of a daemon lord, it might just be a matter of time until Shannon actually becomes powerful.

Cynthia Rex [picture not yet available on Tumblr] Cynthia is the second and youngest of Synth and Elizabeth's children. Cynthia is a happy and jolly six-year-old child (there is a huge age gap between the children), always curious and with a tendency to ask a lot of questions concerning how things work and what they are. She also has a bit of a mischievous streak and will attempt to play pranks once in a while. Close to her family, she is pretty much seldom seen anywhere away from a family member unless she decides to explore her father's castle on her own. Around strangers Cynthia becomes quiet and will cling to whatever family member is accompanying her at a time. As a child she is unaware of a lot of things existing in the multiverse and has a generally optimist attitude, though she knows not to trust people she does not know, which is mostly because of her family frequently telling her that she should not trust anyone outside of her family and her father's subordinates. Cynthia has recently begun undergoing training units in addition to lessons, which often leave her tired.

Thetis The result of my fascination with sharks, the desire to design a mermaid based on the great white shark, and depicting sharks in a positive light while maintaining the fact that they are (majestic) predators by nature.

Thetis is a very curious and inquisitive great white shark mermaid. While Thetis tends towards the introvert side of the spectrum, she is still open to talking with others, always willing to learn new things. She meets others with a friendly appearance and will not, contrary to what might be said about sharks and shark mermaids, seek any hostile intentions whatsoever as long as she is not agitated or hunting prey. Even though she has no inhibitions about killing other living things (specifically prey), she does so only for the sake of self-preservation and would scoff at others for "wasting" a kill, or put differently, for killing and harming other living things for any other reason than self-preservation. Still, Thetis does enjoy the thrill of the hunt itself and will speak rather openly about hunting if it ever comes to that. Depending on which universe she is set in, Thetis may dislike humans (or other humanoids, depending) for all the things they are doing to sharks and maybe even mermaids. However, she would never actively go against any unless the human provokes her intentionally.

Xenia Used to be a fan character of mine before I decided to rewrite her entire story and include her as a non-fandom OC in my own multiverse. As a result there are still gaps in her story, though her personality/concept remains similar.

An agent working under Synth Rex among his ranks. Xenia has endured an excruciating, unhappy childhood that left her permanently scarred - physically and mentally. An escape from her world, after she has exacted revenge on her tormentors, was offered by Lord Rex, who had become interested in her story, promising a better future for her. While Xenia was hesitant to take his offer to work for him first, she accepted it and ended up in a better position after all, as she perceives it. Still, her life has left her bitter, cynic, and mistrustful. While she tries to keep up a good relationship with her fellow agents, approaching her is still difficult as she prefers a solitary lifestyle, slow to trust anyone. Her manner of speech tends to be sarcastic often. Xenia belongs to an unspecified human-like species, possessing powerful telekinetic abilities that have developed and strengthened as she grew up. It was this power that allowed her to turn her "fate" over.

*the depiction of the daemon might drastically differ from “canonical” mythological depictions in places. These characters exist in a multiverse created by me and thus adhere to lore created by myself.

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daybreak-academy-fanfic · 4 years

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Daybreak Academy: Chapter 55

Empty Words

Summary: In which Brain apologizes and Skuld makes Ven a promise. Word Count: 1,847 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

Ephemer knew a good barrage of curses; many of which he had learned from Gula and Aced. Which one would be better for the situation? One of the s-words? Perchance that delightful f-bomb he's heard so much about? Yes, maybe that one, repeated multiple times with an increasing range of incredible panic.

Never leave Anora, I love you.

Why did he say that? He was lucky that Anora pretended not to notice before heading back to the cabins. Maybe she had taken it as a compliment- but it was the first time Ephemer had ever uttered the words 'I love you' since they met. Hopefully it wasn't that obvious that it was meant romantically. Hopefully. It was still incredibly mortifying either way.

Suffice to say, he did not sleep at all before they were all called to get on the bus. He wasn't the only one that looked rough. Strelitzia looked like she hadn't slept in days- her eyes looked weary and had light bags under them. She refused to look anyone in the eye, and more than once she almost fell asleep on Lauriam's arm while standing up. Brain also looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep; his fedora slightly skewed than usual. Actually, the more Ephemer looked at him, the more it looked like Brain had been in a fist fight with someone.

Anora hung around Invi like a zombie. It had to be Invi in particular because Shelby wouldn't let her get near Ava. Invi didn't seem to make a fuss about it and opted to use Anora to help back everyone's things onto the bus. This worked out in the girl's favor because then she could find a place to sit, toss her stuff so no one could sit with her, and stay there until they were ready to leave. To further her new found spot, Anora curled herself into a ball on the bench seat and threw a blanket over her body; it hid her from the world and for a brief moment could allow her to believe that nothing else existed.

She must have gone to sleep because the next time she was aware of everything, the bus was in motion and someone was gently shaking her.

“Anora? You awake in that cocoon of yours?” Brain's voice asked. It sounded quiet, almost a whisper, as if he was trying not to wake her up if she was sleeping. Carefully, Anora brought her blanket down. It actually made her heart stop to see how close Brain's face was to her own. He was kneeling at the bench seat to be about eye level with her- considering the distance between seats, it looked like a very uncomfortable position.

Brain also looked to be in some amount of shock in seeing Anora's drowsy face. Almost bashful, he placed a finger at the front brim of his fedora to hide a bit of his face from her.

“I, uh… I wanted to say that I was sorry.” he told her. “This summer, I'd thought I do some… let's call them social experiments. The funny thing is, experiments fail if you don't account for every variable. I thought I knew the variables. But I didn't. So… even if it doesn't make sense, I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry.”

Anora's face crinkled into one of small confusion. Seeing it allowed Brain to let out a light laughter.

“Just go back to sleep, Anora-bird. We can talk again later.” And with that, he gently brought her blanket over her head again and left.

Brain refused to look up as he went back to his seat. On the way, he did happen to pass the seat Lauriam and Strelitzia were sitting in and paused for a moment. Strelitzia had gone to sleep with her head against her brother's shoulder.

“I hope you're happy now.” Brain darkly mumbled to Lauriam.

“You still need to talk to Ephemer.” the older of the two replied without even looking at him. Brain let out a gruff sound of acknowledgment before returning to his seat. Like the initial confrontation with Lauriam just hours after the girls' kiss, the meeting with Ephemer was not something Brain looked forward too, nor planned to go his way.

. . .

Anora did eventually come out of her hiding spot after they made the first restroom stop. Once they were moving again, she had a small thought and pulled out her phone. Her email inbox was almost deserted so it took little time to find a particular email. She pressed the 'Reply' button but hesitated to type a new message. After several minutes of struggling to write something, she instead started to reread the thread.

She really needed to meet back up with her cousin. There was just so much that she wanted to tell him- but travel to Daybreak Academy would have been expensive. She almost felt like she'd need him for a lot guidance in the very near future. But she couldn't ask her cousin to constantly go back and forth just for her. Could she? It's not like he wasn't already doing that for his fiance…

The girl quickly shook her head. What a dumb idea. Her cousin had a life outside of her, just like everyone else.

Curious, Anora picked up her head to see what everyone else was doing. Ephemer and Skuld were talking to a very happy Ventus (the boy turned around in his seat so he could face the other two), Strelitzia and Lauriam were occupying their time with a travel version of Reversi, and Brain was minding his own business with something Anora couldn't see. Unlike the drive down, Aced was driving the bus now. Invi was on the phone talking to some teachers still at Daybreak. Gula and Ira were also talking about something Anora couldn't quite pick up. Then there was Ava and Shelby, the Vulpes headmaster once more insisting that Shelby stay on the bus seat instead of roaming freely around.

Anora wondered for a moment if she could sit with Ava. But Ava likely would have wanted to talk- and that was if Shelby let Anora near his 'mother'. Anora wasn't really ready to talk about anything yet. Trying not to think about her inherit loneliness, her gaze finally fell on Brain. Lightly nibbling her lower lip, Anora carefully got up from her seat and started to walk over to where Brain was.

Ephemer happened to notice her out of the corner of his eye. He stared at her with a blank, weary look as she softly asked Brain something. There seemed to be a sense of surprise from the older boy, but he moved over so she could have a seat. The initial jealousy Ephemer had as he watched the display was quickly overridden by fear. Why was he so jealous all of a sudden? Anora was her own person, she could talk to whoever she wanted to. One little accidental love confession (one that she completely glossed over, mind you) wasn't enough to spark that much jealousy in his heart. Was it…?

This summer was the worst.

“This summer was the best!” Ven happily cheered. “Do you think we'll be able to go back next year?!”

Skuld gave him a small smirk of bemusement. “I don't see why not. It's ultimately up to the headmasters though- it's their timeshare, after all.”

Ven grinned from ear to ear. “My family always goes to the beach whenever we can, but it was nice hanging out with you guys. I can't wait to tell my dad that I finally beat someone at volleyball!”

“Headmaster Aced was going easy on you.” Skuld teased. “You've never seen him in a 3 to 1 match with Ephemer, Gula, and Ira. He had them begging for mercy just before the five minute mark. Isn't that right, Ephemer?”

“Huh?” came the absent response as the boy brought his attention to the others. “What did I do now?”

“And you guys say I'm the space cadet.” Ventus lightly giggled. But the boy's initial amusement gave way into a mild concern. “You've been doing that a lot lately, though. Are you okay?”

The disheartened stare Ephemer gave Ventus should have been the only answer the youngest needed. Regardless, Ephemer put on a light smile before telling him, “Don't worry about me, Ven. I'm fine. Might have caught a cold or something, but nothing to be worried about. Honest.”

“Oh...” was Ven's small answer. “O-okay. If you insist.”

Ephemer gave his friend another thin smile before reclining a bit in the bus seat. Both Skuld and Ventus continued to give him a wary glance, as if they were expecting him to confess that he wasn't okay. And maybe he would to Skuld later- but he'd never say it to Ven. They could hold off on having a talk about unrequited love when Ventus was, at least, five years older.

“I can't wait to get back to campus.” Skuld decided to say, hoping to redirect the conversation. “I've got to get into contact with my therapist so we can resume our sessions. This summer was nice, but I don't want to waste that feeling with biting off more than I can chew. Another year, another step closer to finally graduating.”

“Oh!” Ventus suddenly realized. “This is Lauriam's last year at Daybreak, isn't it?”

Skuld gave a small nod of agreement. “Brain and I've got another two, not counting this year. Then Ephemer's got three.”

“And I just started… sorta.” Ven finished. Giving a small, exasperated sigh, he put his head in his hands. “I hope guys all decide to take that internship thingie Headmaster Ava promised us. It's gonna be so lonely without you guys there.”

“You won't be alone.” Skuld told him. “You'll make other friends, and we'll be sure to keep in contact.”

Ven gave a small, rather sullen sigh. “You promise?”

“Promise.” Skuld agreed with a nod. “No matter what we do or where we'll go, we'll always be friends.”

It went unnoticed by the others, but Ephemer let out a small snort. 'Friends.' Didn't he say that he and Anora were just friends not that long ago? It seemed like it had been a lifetime away. Now here he was, practically stewing in jealousy because she chose to sit with someone that wasn't him. Maybe when school started up again, he'd be so preoccupied with schoolwork that he wouldn't think about Anora as often. Maybe he would shrug off that he admitted to loving her too. And he could forget about her kiss with Strelitzia, and how beautiful she was, and how much he just wanted to grab her face and…

Once more tuning out whatever conversation Skuld and Ventus were having now, Ephemer made himself a bit more comfortable in his seat before closing his eyes. Since his dreams got him into this mess, maybe they could shed some light on what he should do next. Because, honestly? He had no clue what he was doing anymore.

#daybreak academy #chapter 55 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Ephemer #Anora #Brain #Skuld #Ventus #Summer 2020 #Season 1

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vicunaburger · 5 years

Text

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 3/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,594 Warnings: M for Language

Notes: AW MAN. HERE WE GO.

In Which There is a Sleepless Night

Lydia, in fact, did not ease Holidae into an introduction with Beetlejuice that afternoon. Nor did the subject come up during dinner.

Or after dinner.

...or at any point that day before the two women retreated to their respective sleeping areas for the night.

Not for a lack of reminders that the ghost so thoughtfully bestowed upon his best friend during every single lull in the women's conversation. He made grotesque faces behind Holidae's back in order to frustrate Lydia into compliance. Lydia did her damndest to ignore him, which was a precarious balancing act of keeping her expression neutral and stopping him from physically manipulating their surroundings.

Twice she had to stop random objects from being chucked across the room. She was mildly impressed at herself for catching them - sports were never her forte - but running all over the house after the ghost was exhausting. It was when he started picking at Holidae's sweater and flipping bits of her hair into her face that Lydia decided to bring out the heavy weaponry.

Whilst Holidae's attention was distracted for a moment, she quickly muttered Beetlejuice's name two-and-a-half times in a row.

All poltergeist-esque shenanigans ceased immediately, and Lydia could finally relax enough to try and get some sleep after such a long day of moving. Dejected, Beetlejuice resigned himself to following Holidae around like a strange, otherworldly dog. Lydia thought better of telling him to stop outright; knowing he could throw a fit and plunge the house into absolute madness.

With a final warning, Lydia closed to the door to her room, assuring the ghost the promise of tomorrow.

That wasn't soon enough.

Holidae shuffled through her new bedroom, unaware of being followed by the spectre, and flopped unceremoniously upon her bed with a sigh. She was glad for the day to finally be over; truth be told. Not that she didn't appreciate the fact Lydia offered the home stay in the first place, quite the opposite.

Since their graduation from college, the roommates had bounced from sofa to sofa while they tried to find a permanent home. It was difficult to pick a location to settle in for the time being as Lydia's art career tried to get off the ground. Finding inexpensive places to live while traveling around the country for art shows was proving to be the needle in a haystack. Landlords didn't really want to give discounts for absentee tenants.

It was sheer luck that Lydia's parents had decided to spend several months traveling around the world, leaving the house in the girls' care without a thought for monetary repayment.

Holidae rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. A nagging voice in her head told her this whole situation was just too good, and that the other shoe was destined to drop down at any moment. Maybe it was her own anxieties that had made the day feel...off since their arrival. Lydia's behavior, the strange mood of the house... it could have been all in her own head.

Beetlejuice paced around the room as Holidae stared off into oblivion, occasionally stopping to see if she were doing anything entertaining. He hated being invisible again, especially since all the residents of the house were able to see and interact with him on the regular. And Lyds had expected him to last a whole night being bored because she didn't want to scare her breather friend or some shit?

Patience might have been a virtue, but it wasn't one of his.

He scratched the stubble of his beard thoughtfully, "If I were a breather... which, ehh, not trying that again; what would make me want to see me?"

Holidae sat up with a jolt, startling the ghost as he pondered over his next course of action. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she got up and padded over to the empty space he was currently occupying. Beetlejuice backed up out of reflex, unsure of how corporeal he may or may not have been to her at the time. The Handbook was a bit fuzzy on interactions with breathers who were more receptive to otherworldly influences; but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, he was the one usually disregarding personal spaces, not having his space invaded so abruptly.

"Hey, short stack, a little warning next time would be nice." He reached out, one of his darkened fingertips prodding against Holidae's forehead.

Reflexively, Holidae swept her hand upward, thinking there was some sort of insect she couldn't see in the dim room lighting. Her hand hit something.

Something heavy.

With an undignified squeak, she stumbled backward, catching the corner of the bed with her ankle and landing square on her ass on the hardwood floor. Hissing in pain, she rolled over on her side, letting loose a litany of curses into the crook of her elbow to muffle the noise. Beetlejuice was torn between wanting to help her and wanting to laugh at the slapstick display. He probably should help her out a little, seeing as if she was hurt Lydia could come into the room he would get blamed, but he could always vanish and feign ignorance.

Nah, Lydia would blame him anyway.

"That's it... I've gone insane. It's the house!" Holidae moaned in defeat, curling up on the rug. "Okay, Lyddy, I've got the next idea for the art show. Just come here and take photos of the pathetic nutcase on the floor. What once was a human, now pile of barely held together nerve endings."

The ghost took out a business card from the right breast pocket of his jacket, shaking it clear of cobwebs before materializing a pen in his other hand. He crossed out a few things, scribbled down some additions, and sat down on the floor beside Holidae. With a little finesse, he flicked the card so that it would land within peripheral vision of the woman curled up like a roly-poly.

The minutes crawled by, but eventually, Holidae noticed the small card a few inches from her head. Gingerly sitting up, rubbing the base of her spine, she picked up the card; the yellowed paper embossed with dingy black ink.

"Betelgeuse, the Bio-Exorcist...say my name three times..." Holidae mumbled, flipping the card over. "Professional... matchmaker, psychoanalyst, and amateur massage therapist. What the hell is this?"

Beetlejuice's face split into a wide grin, his sharpened teeth glinting in the dim light of the room, "C'mon, follow instructions..."

Holidae looked around the floor just in case there was anything else that could explain the sudden appearance of the card, wincing as her bruised skin protested the movement. Could it have been an art project of Lydia's? Fake advertisements? Maybe she had been experimenting with graphic art in her off hours? If the card required speaking something aloud, it could have even been a foray into performance art. Weird stuff.

"Ugh," she made a noise of frustration, flipping the card around idly in her fingers. "This is dumb. I'm dumb. Why am I even thinking about this for long? It's just some stupid set of weird things... and... and random pieces of paper. Probably garbage."

Beetlejuice tugged at his hair in frustration, the hue reflecting streaks of deep red, "Just. Say the words. Very simple. Three times. That's it. It'll be a magical fucking experience."

Brow furrowed in dismay, Holidae stared at the card as though it would suddenly catch fire in her hand, "Beetlejuice..."

The ghost perked up, "Yesssss?"

"Beetlejuice..." she continued, a chill in the air making her shiver.

One. More. Time.

A deep breath filled her lungs, and she looked upwards toward the stationary ceiling fan, "...Beetlejuice?"

The familiar sensation of being pulled fully into the material plane - which felt like a weird pinching sensation he could never understand - washed over Beetlejuice as soon as the words left her lips. He could feel the living world, the warmth radiating off the breather in front of him; the general alive-ness of the atmosphere of the house. It was so different from the Neitherworld; so much more appealing compared to the drab, monotone world he had inhabited for countless eras.

Holidae could feel something shift in the air around the room, but it wasn't something she could pin down into a tangible sensation. The lightbulb flickered in her bedside lamp, the shadows crawling along the walls like serpents or a swarm of insects. A musty, heady smell like freshly tilled earth filled her nostrils; mixed with the acrid scent of smooth cigarette smoke and cheap liquor.

And just like that, she was no longer alone in her room.

One of the most eccentric looking men she had ever seen was on his hands and knees in front of her, smiling with a mouth full of distressingly sharp - stained - teeth. He was dressed in a matching suit of black and white vertical stripes... at least at one point they might have been white, it was hard to tell under the fine layer of grime and various imperfections. A shock of bright green hair was fluffled up on his head, and his rounded face sported a five o'clock shadow.

Holidae's jaw hung slack as she tried to process his sudden appearance. She felt so... small in his presence, as though his entire being filled the empty spaces in the room.

The wood floor under his hands and knees creaked suddenly with his new weight, his body shifting into a crouching position, "Hiya, Holly-Jolly."

#beej x oc #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice x oc #beetlejuice x self insert #writing time

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queerhargreeves · 5 years

Text

This Brother Thing

Diego can’t stop his hand from shaking like how it used to at 18. Like how it used to before Eudora. He’s just tired. So, so tired. He reached down to pick up the syringe once more, wiping it with the alcohol cloth for the 9th time tonight, and resumed the familiar position.

Diego needs help and he gets it from the most unlikely sibling.

WC: 3k+

TW: needles, internalized toxic masculinity, body dysmorphia, body image issues, implied/referenced past child abuse

“Fuckin’ hell.” Diego cursed under his breath, his hand shaking and the bullet wound in his shoulder grounding him from completely losing his tempter with a dull, constant ache.

The man was currently stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror. He was clutching the fleshiest part above his hip with his injured arm and held a syringe in his good one. He took another deep breath and attempted the motion again. But not even a moment later the sound of the needle crashing onto the cool tile floor filled the still air in one of the 42 bathrooms - the one closest to his bedroom. It was 11 PM, almost 12, and Diego Hargreeves here almost forgot to do his T shot for the week. To be fair, this wasn’t your average week, even for the ex-superhero.

The pathetic excuse of a father died, his time-traveling brother came back after 17 years of being gone and returned in the teenage body he left in and he learned that said brother lived through the end of the world for ages and became a killer. And the end of the world has this week. But then his other brother was kidnapped, one of the most important women in his life died trying to save him. Diego killed his mother but his mother came back. His brother became a war vet and was gone for ten months. His assumed ordinary sister had powers and slashed his other sisters throat and she almost died in their arms. And his babiest sister almost destroyed the entire world. But then she didn’t. The Hargreeves lived another day as did the rest of the world. Thanks to the help of his now veteran brother who can conjure ghosts to be physical and his brother that’s been dead for years killed assassins that were after him and the rest of his siblings. But that’s all in their past now. Their new version of normal is all seven of them are all living under the same roof again for the time being, just like when they were kids.

So forgive Diego if his weekly testosterone shot happened to slip from his mind, okay? It shouldn’t be, well it never used to be, this damn hard. Not anymore at least. His fear of needles certainly made this weekly process hell at the beginning of his medical transition - this intimate moment in the bathroom he’s been doing since he moved out all those years ago could last up to two hours at a time. Shaky hands, intense staccato heartbeats, and hitched breaths were too common of an occurrence. But then he met Eudora Patch. And everything changed.

The two met during his second semester of the police academy. He admired her from afar for a good while, too scared to approach the woman. Diego was more than content watching this incredible person answer any and all questions with vigor and a spark in her eye. The way she bit on the inside of her lip when a question challenged her, her pencil beating against her notebook, made his heart flutter. If she didn’t understand a concept in class, she was adamant on making sure she figured it out, class and professors be damned. Diego learned how she was more than capable of standing up for herself. Being a black woman in a very male-dominated, whitewashed environment was certainly not the easiest of experiences. She faced comments daily, not just from her peers but from authority figures as well. But Diego knew he was officially head over heels for her when he watched her spit an ignorant 20 something year old out after he made a comment about how “Eudora the explorer” and “go Diego go” were to better suited for a life behind bars than on the field.

And that was how they officially met. Eudora stood up for him and in return, he bought her a coffee.

And then they went out again the next night and the night after that. But before they went on the third night, Diego needed to get something off his chest before he fell any more. He needed to tell her about his identity. Coming out is never something you do once and it doesn’t really get easier.

He practically bolted out of his last class of the week, beelining right to the classroom across the hall to meet up with Eudora. They made it a habit to meet up after class, but this time felt different and he made it quite obvious. If avoiding her for a week wasn’t telling enough, his constant leg bounce, his fingers playing with the fabric of his sweater sleeves, and the gum-chewing at an impressively fast rate was enough. And Eudora, being the quick woman she was, knew that something was up. She sat Diego down on the bench outside and took his hand in hers, reminding him to breathe with exercises she’s learned. She whispered sweet affirmations as she waited for the man in front of her to collect himself. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally uttered the words.

“I-I’m trans.” The statement hung heavy in the air, the tears threatening to spill out of Diego’s eyes as he stared at his hand in her lap obscuring his vision. Then, a gentle finger tugged his chin up and soft lips met his very own.

“It’s okay.” She said softly, sealing the deal and leaned in for another sweet kiss. The two fell quickly and madly in love after that. Eudora would help Diego with his shots, taking his shaking hands in hers and kissing his knuckles. She kissed the spot of injection before she sterilized the area, and guided both of their hands to the designated area. She never patronized him for his apprehension, not a single time. She knew this vulnerability was hard for him and she was honored that he trusted her enough with something this intimate. Even after every fight and argument, she would never use his vulnerability against him. She was there every week to help if he needed it. And if he didn’t need the extra assistance, she still checked up on him to make sure he got it done.

However, they were two strong, independent people. Quick-witted and rash. They had a tendency to lash out before thinking, their mouths reacting before their brains. They certainly had their good moments. They had wonderful, healing, amazing moments with one another. They had blissful nights of falling asleep in each other's arms as Eudora traced the scars under his pecs after they finished exploring their bodies together for hours. They had long car rides where the two opened up about the most intimate parts of themselves. Then finishing off the ride by belting out 80’s dance songs at the top of their lungs, windows down and hair blowing in the wind. These kinds of nights made it seem like it was them against the world. It was as if these moments would never end.

But they also had equally as world-shattering, soul-crushing moments. They had nights where they only saw red, both of them quick to react to the other’s fractured egos. Especially when Diego got himself kicked out of the academy. There were plenty of eyes rolled and slamming of doors, conversations left with a bitter taste in their mouths and hearts. There were hurtful words thrown around that had the capacity to cut right through the other as fast as one of Diego’s knives, if not faster. They knew how to hurt each other. And they did hurt one another. But they also loved each other. The two of them continued to play this song and dance for years and years.

But that song was over. Dance finished. Eudora was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.

And now Diego can’t stop his hand from shaking like how it used to at 18. Like how it used to before Eudora. He’s just tired. So, so tired. He reached down to pick up the syringe once more, wiping it with the alcohol cloth for the 9th time so far, and resumed the familiar position.

He took a quick sharp inhale and squeezed his eyes shut. But as quick as that inhale was, the exhale was even quicker. It came out as a strangled groan and the syringe clattered against the floor once more.

“God fucking dammit!” Diego choked out louder than he realized and clenched his fists tight, willing them to stop shaking. He couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t stand how he is no longer able to even take care of himself right now. He should be past this. But he didn’t have Eudora to talk him down. He didn’t have her kind voice and gentle grip to help nor her nagging texts anymore. He didn’t have anyone.

“Oh, my bad. I-”

Diego whipped around in one swift motion, now eye to eye with his biggest brother. He was dressed in a thin grey long sleeve shirt and pajama pants. Oh yeah, his brother who was almost killed on a mission and was injected with Chimpanzee DNA to survive and is now three times the size of a normal human. The brother who had his body horribly mutilated without his consent by their poor excuse for a father.

“Sorry, didn’t realize this was occupied. I can, uh…” Luther trailed off and Diego watched as Luther took in the sight in front of him. Syringe on the floor, Testosterone bottle of to the side, and his brother in near hysterics and barely keeping it together. He looked as if he would fall apart at the softest breeze of wind.

“I-I-I,” Diego quickly snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenching and fists continuing to shake at his sides at an ever faster degree. He threw his head back and burning holes at the ceiling with his eyes, trying his best to regain some sort of composure. Luther didn’t need to see him like this - didn’t need to see him weak. Pathetic, inadequate Number Two.

“Hey, no Di,” Luther started as he softly closed the door behind him, “It’s okay.” He commented with a voice that Diego doesn’t think he’s heard before. At least not in a very, very long time.

“You’re okay… It’s okay.” He gently placed his hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, desperately hoping Diego believed him even if he wasn’t the best at comforting other people. But Luther didn’t miss the way his brother’s muscled stiffened under his touch. That broke his heart even more.

Luther was also tired. He didn’t want to do this anymore - the fighting and ugly comments. The two were always trying to one-up the other, trying to “out man” and assert their dominance. They have been doing it for the last 20+ years, or as long as their number rankings have been enforced. It was their idea of normal. But if looking death in the eye for the hundredth and most catastrophically devastating time taught Luther anything, it’s that all this petty stuff is useless. He loved his family. He loved Diego.

“I can help. Is...is that alright Diego?” Luther asked cautiously, not wanting to over step any more boundaries than he already has. He eyed Diego for any sort of reaction, which he was not rewarded with. He took a deep breath and removed his hand from his shoulder in the hopes that giving him some space would help.

“It’s not a big deal, I promise. We’ve...we’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” That earned a small shrug from Diego which Luther considered progress from the almost catatonic state he’s been in since he’s walked in.

“I, uh. After you came out I looked into this sort of stuff.” He paused and took a seat at the edge of the bathtub, “I researched anything I could at the library about trans related stuff, testosterone, surgery, passing, binding. After you left... I made sure Pogo sent you enough money for your transition and stuff. I watched videos of trans people documenting their transition. I’m not an expert by any means but it did help me understand you better. I know trans people have a high rate of...of hurting themselves.” Diego finally met Luther’s eyes, which Luther considered the biggest win yet and he decided to continue. He was already this far off, might as well. Apparently, this whole communicating thing works.

“I want you to know I never thought less of you because of this. And same with your stutter,” Luther added, knowing that was yet another thing Reginald and his brother berated himself constantly for, “You’ve always been unapologetically yourself. You knew who you were such a young age and you always stood up for what you believe in. And that made us butt heads a lot and I’m sorry about that. You weren’t blinded like I was. I have so much respect for you, you know? I want to be better at this brother thing.” Luther sighed and wrung his hands together.

“I-I’m also sorry I made that comment about your job. You’re definitely a lot better at this whole being a ‘real grown-up’ thing than I am.”

And that earned a snort from Diego which Luther couldn’t help but smile at that. The anxious pit in his stomach lightened.

“You’re already getting better at this brother th...th-” Diego stopped for a moment, eyes locked with Luther. And he didn’t see a trace of judgment or a hint of mockery. All he saw was patience. “Thing.”

Luther gave a small nod, a faint smile ghosted on his lips.

“And I meant it when I said I can help you with your shot.”

“I-”

“I know you’re capable of doing it yourself. But with your gunshot wound and everything that’s happened this week...it’s okay. To accept some help I mean.” Luther couldn’t help but hold his breath ever so slightly. This was more emotions and vulnerability they’ve shared in the last 10 minutes than the pair has shared over the last 29 years.

“O...Okay. You can - you can help.” Diego finally spoke after a moment. His voice shook as he still sounded cautious, but the act of him letting Luther do this for him alone spoke enough for the bigger man.

A wave of relief washed over Luther as he stood and gave Diego’s good shoulder another squeeze. He bent down and picked up the syringe on the floor and carefully placed it down on the bathtub next to him. He quickly opened the cabinets next to Diego’s head.

“Should probably sterilize this one more time,” Luther said as he grabbed a cotton swab and alcohol. In a few swift motions, he managed to dab the alcohol onto the swab and placed the items back in the cabinet. Wordlessly, he picked up the syringe and cleaned the needle as well as the area above Diego’s skin. If Luther didn’t know where to inject the red fingerprint marks on his skin certainly helped plenty.

He washed his hands before picking up the needle again and dropped down to his knees to get a better angle. He had his left hand on the area above Diego’s hip and the syringe in his right hand. Being 6’5 didn’t make this an easy angle, but he was willing to do whatever he needed to do to make this go as smoothly as possible for his brother.

“Okay, I’m gonna touch you now,” Luther warned gently placed his hands around the area so he didn’t jump at the contact. Diego looked down for a moment and nodded, braced himself with still shaking hands.

“I’m going to count down from three and go for it at one. Sound good?” Luther watched as his brother gulped, eyes squeezed shut. But still no answer.

“If you can’t say yes or no, can you give me either a nod or a shake of the head?” He pressed gently.

Diego took a deep sigh, and another one, before finally nodding.

“Okay, here we go.” Luther raised the syringe right above the flesh he grasped between his fingers.

“Three, t-” Luther quickly injected the syringe before he could even finish the word, pushed down at the plunger, and just as quick as it started he pulled the sucker out.

“Okay!” Luther breathed out, getting up from his spot on the floor and finding the needle cap and putting it back on.

“You did good, Di.” He gave the shorter man a soft smile and an affirmative nod.

Diego finally breathed out the air he didn’t even realize he was holding. He stared down at the injection site without saying a word before pulling the rest of his shorts up. Not a drop of blood. He didn’t even feel a pinch.

He finally looked back at Luther, his blue eyes and smile comforting his residual nerves. He opened his mouth for a second before shutting it once more. He gave a small shake of his head and wasted no time in wrapping his good arm around his blonde brother.

Luther let out a tiny squeak, his arms hovering above his brother's shoulders in the air. He couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden touch, not used to anyone wanting to get this close to his new body. He wasn’t a fan of this new body so why would anyone else be?

“If-If it’s okay for me, it’s okay for y...you too, Lu.” Diego muffled into his shoulder, tightening his grip to show him as such. It’s okay. It’s okay.

Luther relaxed ever so slightly and let himself be held. He slowly dropped his arms and wrapped them gently around Diego, careful not to justle his hurt arm.

This? This felt nice, foreign as it is. He loved his brother. And his brother loved him. They were taught that emotions were a weakness. They were taught that intimacy and vulnerability are things that deserved to be shunned - something they should be ashamed of. But this new, radical concept of trying to rebuild their relationships as a family is the best thing that has ever happened in their lives. The Hargreeves are going to be

#diego hargreeves #trans diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #luther protection squad #luther positivity #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fic #fanfiction #tua

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doubledeaky · 6 years

Text

Man in the Mirror

Joe Mazzello x Reader Smut

A/N: Hi, everyone! Thought I’d treat you all to a lil Joe fic while I’m working on the third part to “See What a Fool I’ve Been.” Had the idea for this a few weeks ago and finally finished it today! This is my first smut so please be nice and feel free to leave constructive feedback! Hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Much love! -m:)

Summary: Joe has been struggling with some body issues after the enormous success of Bohemian Rhapsody, due in part to the media’s constant prying and criticism. On a particularly hard day, you remind him just how beautiful he is.

Word Count: 3,883 words

Warnings: mentions of a negative body image and insecurities, brief mention of a panic attack, sexual content (18+ only please!), cursing, general angst and fluff

Note: I can’t stop you but, please do not read if you are under the age of eighteen, thank you! Also, keep in mind all scenarios mentioned here are fiction! Thanks!

Joe had always been confident. That’s just how he was, it was a part of his identity. However, this confidence had begun to wane as the success and popularity of the newest movie he was starring in steadily increased. Don’t get him wrong, Joe had absolutely loved the “Bohemian Rhapsody” experience. Traveling the world, meeting new people, making new friends and of course, gaining new fans; it was all great. However, the movie had been Joe’s first big commercial success in a while and he’d forgotten what it was like to be thrust into the public eye. Constant media attention, whether negative or positive, was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. He enjoyed the praise of his professional equals and the dedicated support of fans but there were drawbacks.

Joe wouldn’t consider himself conventionally attractive, he knew that, but the media constantly reminding him that he isn’t as attractive as his “Bohemian Rhapsody” co-stars or that he doesn’t fit the bill of a Hollywood star was beginning to eat away at him. The dull ache in his chest had been growing steadily more noticeable over the last few weeks. Even after the release of the movie, months of press conferences, and awards season; the press really hadn’t cut him any slack. They criticized nearly every aspect of his being; his looks, his personality, his acting ability—everything. For the most part, he could handle it, but it was becoming an overwhelming presence in his life. He couldn’t escape it and Joe often found himself questioning his worth on a regular basis. Joe welcomed constructive criticism, but the words plastered on tabloid covers were just low and cruel. Seeing the occasional negative article or comment about his acting never really bothered him, but, for some reason, the ones involving his physical appearance struck a nerve in him. Today was especially difficult, he was upset to the point of being inconsolable. He had been sprawled out on his bed with tears blurring his vision occasionally, in and out of his view every few minutes. He made no noise but the tear-soaked sheets behind his head spoke volumes.

He groaned quietly as he sat up, glancing at the mirror across the room and suddenly felt dread settle in his gut. He’d been avoiding his reflection as of late, but that was pretty difficult considering his career revolved around being constantly gawked at by the judging eyes of others on a fifty-foot screen. Appearance was everything in his line of work and it really was taking a toll on his spirit. Nevertheless, he turned towards the mirror and narrowed his eyes which were still blurry with tears. He pushed himself from the bed and positioned himself at the front of the mirror, right in the middle, in all his glory. He grimaced, feeling beyond vulnerable under his own critical gaze. He ran his right hand over his bare chest, which the magazines thought wasn’t muscular enough and now, he did too. He felt his racing heartbeat under his palm and his hand fell limply to his side. His left hand came up to pinch the small amount of fat around his middle. “Disgusting,” the word printed in a soot black on those magazine covers taunted him mercilessly. He sighed deeply, his chest rattling under the threat of growing sobs. He pressed hard against his lower abdomen with two fingers, feeling for muscle underneath the very thin layer of fat enveloping his lower stomach. They were there, and they felt strong and lean, but it wasn’t good enough for the judging eyes of the press; nothing he did ever was. His hands came up to his face as his eyes carefully scanned over his features. Joe had never disliked his face until his fame began to grow. People were always quick to poke fun at his aquiline nose and fire-red hair, his freckles and, he’d be the first one to admit, large forehead. Those were once things he liked; they made him feel different among a sea of similar faces. Now he felt like an outsider; these things he once appreciated were now holding him back and he felt angry, he felt cheated. His arm fell to his side and he toyed with the waistband of the sweats he wore. With each passing moment, he was reminded of every way in which he was inadequate. He wasn’t tall enough, wasn’t attractive enough, wasn’t muscular enough; he wasn’t good enough. The thoughts were overwhelming, and his head ached; a sharp sting in his temples reminding him of an impending migraine. His breathing picked up and the pressure in his chest was suffocating him. There it is, a panic attack.

His breaths were swallow and he walked backwards slowly until the backs of his knees hit the end of his bed. He fell back and gripped his head in both hands, suddenly feeling faint. He could no longer hold back. A violent sob ripped from his throat, almost coming out as a scream. He clenched his jaw, his teeth clamping harshly against one another. His entire body shook, ribs sore from heaving so aggressively. His mind begged his lungs to breath and somehow, they listened, taking in a big gulp of air then releasing it slowing. His breathing eventually evened out and the crushing pressure in his chest was reduced to a slight tautness. He unclenched his jaw and fists, letting them fall from their previous position in his hair. His scalp felt sore from the force at which he was pulling his locks. He straightened out his posture and resumed his gaze in the mirror. He just had a panic attack and by the looks of it, he was hunting for another by repeating the very action that had triggered said episode.

Joe stared blankly at his reflection. An array of emotions still bounced between the walls of his mind. Anger, disgust, sadness, numbness; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the particular sentiment he was experiencing. What was completely clear in the mess of thoughts swirling in his subconscious was that he hated the form staring back at him with red-rimmed, cold eyes, endlessly taunting him. Nausea welled up in his throat and he had to swallow hard to prevent the gag present at the back of his throat. Hot tears wet his cheeks again and he finally was able to identify a strong sense of anger billowing in his chest. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be as successful or attractive as his co-stars? Why?

Joe felt his fist ball up tightly, nails pressing painfully into the skin of his palm. He resisted the urge to destroy any object within his reach and tried to relax on the edge of his bed in an attempt to find peace. He huffed in frustration, bringing his arms around himself and clawing at the skin of his upper arms. Anger dissipated but was replaced with disgust. He hated the way he looked. His body, his face, everything; he was unhappy with the man before him but was doomed to spend his life trapped within the confines of the vessel he hated so much. He felt afraid, he felt helpless. The hands gripping his arms came down to rest upon his thighs, still clenched tightly, then fell to his sides. Hot tears sprung from his amber eyes as he gripped the sheets surrounding him. Disgust disappeared, and sadness took its place. Joe’s entire being was racked with sobs. He felt the hollow feeling of despair. He was alone in this world with only his self-deprecating thoughts as company. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his head on the left one, exhausted from this evening’s “activities.” Tears continued to fall from his tired eyes, soaking the material of his sweats. Sadness evaded him after a few moments and numbness made a home in his chest, reminding him of how fleeting raw emotions can be. He remained this way for about an hour, rocking back and forth softly until the jingle of keys brought him out of the dissociative state he occupied. He began to panic again.

“Shit.” He whispered, wiping his tears and getting up quickly from his position on the bed. He heard your sweet voice call out to him and his heart broke. He rushed to the bathroom and sighed at his current state. His hair was mussed beyond repair, his eyes were clouded in a blood red hue, and his tears gleamed brightly under the vanity light. His panic grew; he knew that the moment you saw him you’d know that things weren’t alright. He turned on the faucet quickly as he heard your chipper footsteps nearing the bedroom, splashing a handful of ice-cold water over his face. He shivered and flinched slightly as he heard the door open.

“Joe, baby? I’m back.” You said, and he could see you scanning the room out of the corner of his eye, your head peering into the closet briefly. He cleared his throat in attempt to dispose any evidence of crying.

“In here, babe.” He said hoarsely, he cursed himself and mumbled self-deprecating statements under his breath. His head shot up as you entered the bathroom and he plastered a saccharine sweet grin on his face, mostly genuine but slightly forced. You returned his seemingly cheery gaze and pulled him into a hug, appreciating the sight of him shirtless with only a pair of sweats hung low on his hips. You softly raked your nails across the expanse of his toned upper back and he sighed contentedly. Despite the ecstasy he was feeling under your soothing touch, he pulled back involuntarily, suddenly feeling insecure. You furrowed your brows and pouted.

“What’s wrong, bub? Did that tickle?” You asked with a honeyed giggle and he grinned but expertly avoided your eyes.

“No, just having an off day.” He said, looking down at his feet. He wasn’t completely lying, it certainly was an off day. You tried to find his gaze, but he maneuvered his eyes discreetly to avoid yours. You felt concern bubble in your chest and you took his hand gingerly, he tensed. You closed your eyes and took in a deep, rather shaky breath.

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, trying to sound sincere and not condescending. You always wanted to know if he was doing alright, always. No matter how much he assured you he was fine, you always asked, and he always seemed pleased to let you know. Now he seemed shy, which was out of character for Joe and his larger than life personality.

“Um, no, I’m fine.” He said through gritted teeth, attempting to seem nonchalant. Now he was lying, right through those pearly whites.

“You’re a great actor, Mazzello. But a shit liar.” You joked, but your statement meant business. You took a step closer to him and he didn’t back away, relief flooded your nerves. You felt bold and laced your arms around his middle, this time he did back away. Your face fell, and a worried frown dressed your features. Joe felt guilt beyond measure; he didn’t care that he felt shit, it was your feelings he was trying to save. Joe sighed, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Joey, what’s wrong? Please.” You whispered, your voice desperate and choked with tears. Joe felt his insides stir uncomfortably and his heart lurched. He cleared his throat, but nothing could stop the flow of tears building in his eyes.

“I-I just...” Joe couldn’t finish his sentence, he felt foolish. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Joe was a confident and outgoing individual, always had been. Now he felt lost and could no longer identify with the man everyone said he was. Things had changed, he had changed. Tears streamed feverously down his face and as your gaze met his, you followed suit. He collapsed into your embrace, crumbling under the weight of societal pressures. You clutched him tightly, afraid you’d lose him if you didn’t. You brought him slowly to the bed and sat him down, soothing him with a gentle hand across his lower back. His head was buried in the dip of your shoulder as he sobbed violently into the material of your shirt. Joe chastised himself as he cried pathetically into your neck. He hated himself for putting you through this, for allowing you to fall in love with him. You quieted your own soft sniffles into his naked shoulder, giving it an occasionally peck as his sobs were reduced to soft cries, then shaky but consistent breaths. Your hands continued to work circles across his back and you felt your eyes begin to flutter shut, feeling relaxed in his strong arms despite the situation. You both remained quiet; when he was ready to talk, you would listen. You weren’t going to pressure him to speak when he couldn’t find the words.

You felt the weight of his head leave your shoulder and you lifted your eyes to meet his, which had an unfamiliar dullness, but they looked calmer. You reached up and rested a hand on his cheek, brushing your thumb over the bone under his honey-colored eye. He sighed, leaning into the warmth of your palm and closed his weary eyes. You grinned fondly, feeling a warmth develop in your chest. Joe suddenly frowned, and his eyes opened, partially hidden under his furrowed brow. You felt worried, but anticipated his words nonetheless.

“What exactly do you see in me?” He asked, sounding almost ashamed that the words had left his mouth. He hung his head, embarrassed, while you were gob smacked, completely blindsided by his query.

“What? Joe I- “You stuttered still in a bit of a daze, but he interrupted you.

“Don’t lie to save my feelings, please.” He hissed, bitterness soaking his words. You were shocked by his sudden change in demeanor and shifted uncomfortably, your hands now resting in your lap.

“Is that what this is all about?” You asked, gesturing to the space around you. He diligently avoided your questioning stare and you sighed, feeling a bit deflated. You took his hand in yours, gripping tightly.

“You know how wonderful I think you are. Why would you let some sleazy columnist allow you to forget that?” You laughed but your words were sincere, and Joe knew you were right.

“No, I mean...what do you like about me...physically?” He whispered the last half of his sentence, his words feeling silly once they left his tongue. You bit your lip and brought your hand up to force his gaze level with yours. You brought your plush lips down on his, the kiss searing hot and full of passion. It was enough of an answer for Joe, but you weren’t finished with your reply.

“Seems you’ve also forgotten how beautiful I think you are.” You whispered, thumb tracing his lower lip as you scooted closer to him. He sucked in a sharp breath, already feeling heat pool in the pit of his stomach at your words. You smirked, enjoying the affect you had on him; it suited him well.

“Need I remind you?” You asked, resting your forehead against his as your hands ran up the length of his torso and linked behind his neck.

“Please.” He whimpered, eyes closed in bliss, only accentuating his plea for your touch. You smiled wide, taking a seat on his lap.

“Your wish is my command, my sweet boy.” You said, sultry and sticky sweet. He groaned at the pet name you’d assigned him, enjoying the way it fell from your parted lips. You promptly sat back, hands coming down to rest atop his thighs. You leant in and kissed him slowly, tenderly; trying to communicate the love you held for him in a single, fleeting action. He felt it, and he hoped the way his lips chased yours desperately when you pulled away acknowledged that. Your delicate fingers toyed at the waistband of his sweats and he whined, desperately craving the sensation of your lips around him.

“What do you want, honey? Tell me what you want, Joey.” You said, desire dripping from your words as your fingers began to dip just below the elastic. He groaned, hips bucking slightly at your touch, but you caught him and stilled his movements with your free hand. You quirked a smug brow, awaiting his response.

“Fuck, I want your pretty mouth. Please.” He whined, shamelessly desperate and his request had a wave of heat flooding the space between your legs. A soft moan escaped your lips and you gingerly pushed him onto his back, your nails raking across his chest.

“So beautiful.” You whispered, and Joe’s face burned red. He attempted to hide his fierce blush but was unsuccessful. You laughed softly at his flustered state and nodded your head “yes” up and down.

“It’s true, my love. You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.” You state as you roll your hips softly against his lap. The broken, needy moan that escapes him is enchanting and your shimmying down the length of his body until your eyes are level with his groin in matter of milliseconds. He sits up slightly, groaning at the sight before him. Your eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide with lust, your hair is falling delicately around your features, and your lips are plush and swollen from feverish kisses. He can’t believe his luck, and he sends up a silent prayer to whoever brought you into his life. Your still focused on the waistband of his pants, teasing him cruelly by placing kisses above and around where he needed you most. Your hands are splayed across his lower stomach and your eyes admire his figure, pure adoration is all that can be read from your gaze. He smiles but it’s cut off by a sharp inhale when you pull down his pants, which he promptly kicks off, with the utmost grace, the rest of the way. You laugh and feel gratitude blossom in your chest, “my boy,” you think to yourself. He looks so eager for your gentle touches, but his eyes read nothing but sin; he wants you, you know it and your taking full advantage of that. Your legs are still planted firmly on either side of his legs and you bring a finger to trace the prominent outline of his cock through his boxers. You feel your mouth water and your ears perk at the sound of Joe’s whimpers. He’s fidgeting now; his body begging for release, for anything, as long as it’s you making him feel this good.

“Please, Y/N” He begs softly, and your body is set aflame with a burning desire for him. You lower your face to his, he can feel your breath fan over his neck and it has his eyes fluttering shut. You press feather-light kisses against the column of his throat as your fingers finally dip below the waistband of his boxers, grasping his cock delicately in your hand. He gasps, the sensation of your lips working hickies into his pale skin and your hand working his shaft agonizingly slow is overwhelming to say the least. He moans softly and it’s such a beautiful sound it has your steady movements faltering. You release the skin of his jaw with a loud pop and kiss your way down his sternum and then his stomach, the hand working his cock pulling down his underwear fully as you go lower. You slowly bring a finger to your mouth, pointing at it, and Joe’s watching you intently, awaiting your next move.

“Is this what you want?” You say, gesturing to your lips. He nods frantically, the locks of hair not slicked down by sweat bouncing with the movements of his head.

“God, yes.” He says, nearly breathless.

You smirk and grab the base of his cock, licking a long stripe up its entirety. Joe almost doubles over in pleasure, finally feeling the relief he so craved. His hand immediately laces through your hair, anchoring you to him. Your lips finally surround his cock, focusing much of your efforts on the tip as you bob your head in a steady rhythm that has Joe gasping for air. You glance at him through your lashes and it’s a scene carved in precious marble. Joe is awash in a layer of sweat and his form is glowing under the ambient light of the orange sunset seeping through the window. A god among men, truly. You pull your mouth off of him briefly, your hand replacing the velvet of your tongue.

“Look how beautiful you are, Joe. So beautiful, and all mine.” You say, your voice needy and silky smooth. You close your lips around his cock again, shutting your eyes softly, savoring the feeling of him pulsing in your mouth. He’s moaning, an arm thrown over his eyes and chest heaving. Your name leaving his parted lips like a prayer.

“Fuck.” He gasps, his hips bucking up into your mouth and you push down a gag, hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You know he’s close and you want to relish in every moment leading up to his release. You pull your mouth from him again, your hand working him at a pace that has him seeing stars.

“You gonna cum, baby? Cum for me, sweets.” You coo, applying even more pressure to his shaft and his hips buck violently into your hand. You await his climax, mouth agape, ready. He cums with a sweet, low moan and your mouth is there to catch his seed. Feeling dizzy and unbelievably hot as you taste him. Your hand ceases its movements and you place his now soft member back into his boxers. You smile down at him as you sit up and cross your legs. He’s breathing steadily now, eyes closed in bliss, mouth stretched in a fucked-out grin, and skin gleaming with a post-orgasm haze. “Absolutely divine,” you think as you place a soft kiss to his lips. He kisses back and pulls you down atop of him, giggling. There he is.

“My beautiful boy.” You say quietly, as you rest your head atop his chest which rises and falls evenly with the pattern of his breathing.

“Thank you.” He whispers, fingers brushing delicately over your arm; his other arm wrapped around you in a tight embrace. You look up at his face; his eyes are fighting to stay open and you allow him to enjoy the welcome fatigue. He really needs some rest. Your fingers trace abstract patterns on his chest absentmindedly, your lips pressing chaste kisses to the base of his neck. The room is filled with an ethereal orange light, the both of you bathed in its glow. This is it, this is heaven.

“So beautiful.” You whisper, as you feel your own body give in to sleep. And so, you do. The both of you perched atop a mound of white cotton sheets, beautiful under the welcoming embrace of the setting sun. Love is still fresh in the atmosphere of the room and it’s perfect, because it’s him. It’s familiar, calm, and warm. It’s home and it’s so, so beautiful here.

Thank you all for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated! -m:)

Also, thank you @goodoldfashionrogerboy for proofreading! You’re the best! :)

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