#i think i once said (to myself) that rule of rose and haunting ground were two of her fav games ever

[sevinite]

my oc george blessing everyone with a silent hill/fatal frame inspired serve

[buildmeafairytale]

Demon Boyfriends: Elow &Siphorus

Suprise! I wrote something! What’s better than one demon boyfriend, you ask? Two demon boyfriends, duh. I started this literal months ago, and I’m not going to lie, it's very self indulgent and porny. My praise kink is clear and in full swing. I was going to make one of the characters a hard core brat but he turned soft, what can I say. Anyways, I hope you guys like this! This is a link to my Ko-Fi, everything is appreciated but nothing is expected. <3

Life has been going great for you. Too great, really. You landed a well paying job in a cute small town named Talon Valley. You found the cottage of your dreams in the forest a few miles out of town. It was perfectly desolate and had a garden already set up in the back, as well as shelves that will work perfectly to store your potions. You already picked a great altar space, as well. It was your first time living alone, and you were excited to finally practice your craft in peace. 

Except there was no peace, and you soon discovered you were not alone. At first, the misplaced items didn’t phase you. You were still unpacking and you really didn’t know where you set things most of the time anyway. Only after the first couple weeks when things were supposed to be in their places, did you start to notice. 

You were a witch, sure. But that didn’t mean you weren’t easily spooked. You didn’t want to make things worse, so instead of doing a cleanse that could anger something stronger than you, you did a few charms and protection spells on yourself. That did nothing to stop the tiny torments. If anything, they increased. Not only were several potions moved, but they were mixed together haphazardly. Then your blinds would open after you had closed them, or your fridge would be left cracked. All harmless things, but knowing someone or something else was doing this was enough to have you constantly on edge. You just wanted to relax, dammit!

You never thought of this side of living alone. During the day, you were living in a beautiful cottage in the lush green forest, but at night it felt as though you were in a haunted cabin in the woods. You really couldn’t take it anymore. You had cried and whimpered all night when you felt you were being watched, and by the time the sun rose you had resolved to deal with this. 

You gathered some materials and made your way out of the house. After all, a summoning spell required a lot of concentration and you certainly wouldn't be able to do it in there. You found a nice clearing not too far from your home, and set up. You lit a few candles, did a few incantations, and waited. You were about to give up when, in a puff of smoke, a demon appeared. They were crouched down with blue flames dancing around them, but even still they seemed massive.

As the demon uncurled and stood himself upright, it seemed as though more and more limbs appeared. You counted six arms coming out of him, his whole body a gradient of black to white. His pitch black fingertips seemed as though they were covered in soot, and as you got closer to the middle of his body his skin was more and more milky white. Hooved feet clap on the ground. He had dark eyes and horns like a ram’s curled on the side of their head, with long black hair in between, and he towered over you.

He lowered himself and took your shaking hand in one of his large ones, his pure white eyes staring at you. 

“It is lovely to meet you, my master,” his voice is like velvet, and he flashes you his sharp teeth at you before placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “They call me Siphorus. I cannot wait to be of service to you.”

You let out a bleating laugh, unsure what to make of this. You weren’t expecting such a large and powerful demon to come; you weren’t even out of the broom closet and this kind of thing should take years of real practice. 

“Um, master?”

He chuckled under his breath, “Yes, master,” he rose, “You summoned me and I am under your command. I promise to fulfil anything you ask of me.”

You ignored his suggestive promise. Smooth as he may be, you were out in the middle of the woods for a more important reason. “You can just call me Lily if you’d like? And well, I sort of need your help with something?”

“Like I said, I am under your command, master,” he prompts you, a clawed finger lifting your chin up. 

“There’s something in my house,” you tell him, clearing your throat and putting some space in between the two of you. “Something spooky and it...watches me I think. I don’t know how to make it go away by myself.” 

“A powerful witch such as yourself?” he frowns “No matter, I shall play the role of your gallant protector.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Honestly, who talks like that? For someone who looks so formidable, he’s a bit on the odd side. At least he is going to help you. 

He starts towards your house, although you aren’t sure how he knows the way.

“Ah yes, I can feel his presence here.” Siphorus opens the door for you with a flourishing gesture.

 As soon as one of his hooved feet lands on the other side of your doorway, chaos breaks out. Cabinets are slamming, furniture is being overturned, and the lights are flickering. 

“She is MY master! GET OUT!” A voice yells out as lightbulbs start to explode. You let out a scream as glass flies at you, covering your face and burying it in the stomach of the demon by your side. With a wave of his hand Siphorus halts the glass midair, something you probably could have done if you hadn’t been so panicked. You step away from him once again, your face hot. You try to convince yourself it’s from his inner hellfire, but you aren’t too sure. 

Siphorus clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner. “Now now, let us not make a mess of our sweet Lilians home, hm?” 

An angry hissing sound responds back, things slamming and shaking but nothing as messy. 

“This is quite the tantrum. Honestly, show yourself and be gone!” Siphorus calls out, and a figure starts to appear. 

White hot flames spiral out in your living room and from within it steps another demon. This one is almost as tall as Siphorus, but not quite. He is lanky, and his skin textured, light colored but red seemed to be pumping underneath, as if it was scar tissue. This one only has one pair of arms, and has no hair. His eyes are cat-like and stare straight at Siphorus, flames around him roaring even stronger.

“GET OUT!” the figure yells, and you flinch into Siphorus once again. 

The flames suddenly go out, and you turn to see the other demon looking at you now.

“What,” he paused, swallowing thickly. “What is going on? Did you...find a new demon?” He asked, his voice sounding distraught.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You stand there confused at his words. He doesn’t sound scary at all, if anything he sounds heartbroken. The fear melts away, and you take a step away from Siphorus. 

“What do you mean a new demon? This one belong to you?” Siphorus asks, eyebrow raised. You just shake your head, and he heaves a dramatic sigh. 

“Of course I belong to her. I became attached to her weeks ago and she brought me home. She was walking in the forest and I felt her energy. It was lonely so I came with,” he hissed these words out, eyes turned to slits. 

“She was scared and I had to keep her safe! She was making protection charms and satchels and sticking them everywhere.” 

“From you, you nimwit! She didn’t even know you were in the house!” Siphorus admonishes him, “You should have at least presented yourself!”

His face falls further and the demon places himself on one of your dining room chairs, dwarfing it.

“But, she never asked for me? I was never summoned to do her bidding, or had any reason to show myself. I just thought she knew I was here, and would ask me if she needed anything. Since she didn’t ask, I just watched over her.” he sniffles, and you get a knot in your throat. 

A pitiful “Oh,” passes through your lips. You move over to him, letting him scoop you onto his lap.

“I just wanted to be a good demon, I’d never had a master that was such a nice witch,” he whines high in the back of his throat, nosing at your hair. You coo at him the way you would a scared puppy, doting on him with attention and sweet pets on his scarred and hairless head.

You then hear a scoff from Siphorus, both you and the new demon turning to look at him.

“What?”

“The two of you are absolutely pitiful, do you know that?” Siphorus asks, baffled.

You stay cuddled up, “Well, wait - what is your name?” you look up into his eyes, his fangs pushing into his soft looking lips. 

“Elow, master,” he replies into your hair, still trying to get as close as possible to you. 

“Elow, it’s nice to meet you,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile he readily returns. “Well I’m absolutely fine with Elow staying. And I don’t think we’re pitiful.”

Siphorus sputters. “Well, I suppose we have a bit of a problem, then. You summoned me to get rid of him, and I cannot leave until your summons are completed.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just don’t feel good about making him leave now, Siphorus.” You tell him, and feel Elows long arms wrap even tighter around you.

“Yes, Siphorus. Please don’t make me leave now,” Elow asks him, eyes wide.

You assure Siphorus you will help him in any way that you can. 

“You can stay here until we figure out how to let you go back, of course. I- do you sleep?” you ask them. “I can get some rooms ready for you!” And you scurry off, hoping that the two demons get along.

You aren’t sure how to act now that you have both demons staying in your home. Firstly, you layout some ground rules as far as Elow touching your potions and leaving the fridge door open. He looks so sad after your gentle scolding, so you take some time to comfort him as well. The two of you snuggle up on your small couch and watch a movie. He’s informed you that he has been starved of contact for a long while, and he basks in your touch. You enjoy it as well, and his warmth lulls you to sleep. When the two of you wake, you are covered in a blanket. It’s soft and black, and not one you had seen before. It smelled slightly of fire. 

The three of you had settled into a routine. On the days you went to work, you came home to a clean house, and a meal. It was all so domestic, and occasionally one or both of your demons would produce a human glamour and come with you into town. They always kept on sunglasses, though, because they couldn’t change their eyes. You doubt the inhabitants of Talon Valley would mind. Siphorus had informed you that most of the people living here were some kind of supernatural being. As a witch, you fit right in.

So well, in fact, that you had befriended another witch already. She was much more confident in her abilities, and had already figured out a solution to Siphorus being stuck with you. 

Coming back from a visit with her, you had mixed feelings. You had a solution, sure, but you had grown so fond of your demon. You didn’t want to let him go, and already felt hollow just thinking about him departing. You creak the front door open while lost in thought and were unprepared for what you were seeing. Standing in shock, you take in the scene before you.

 Through the doorway, you can see Elow on top of Siphorus. His head is thrown back, and high pitched moans leave him. You can make out the deep bass of Siphorus encouraging him as Elow bounces on his cock, thoroughly impaled. Siphous is leaning back on one set of hands, with the others on either side of Elow’s hips and face. Elow’s own hardness bobs between his thighs, long and thick. It’s textured like the rest of him, but redder.  You feel your own face get hot, and the gasp that leaves your lips is what finally catches your demons’ attention. 

Elow is embarrassed and won’t look at you, trying to hide behind a tangle of sooty arms. Siphorus just smirks at you, taking in your doe-eyed appearance. You feel as if your heartbeat is between your legs. 

“Isn’t our Elow so beautiful,” he draws out, running his hand along the other demon’s flank. Elow shudders, still fully seated, and you nod. “So beautiful, so good for me. For us,” he purrs into Elow’s ear, his milky eyes still locked on yours. This time Elow actually moans, weather that be from the thickness spearing him open or the words alone, you are unsure. Siphorus beacons you closer, and you feel as though you are under a spell.

With a touch of your magic, the door is shut and locked. Your feet carry you closer to them, and Elow peaks at you, somehow both demure and debauched. He isn’t much smaller than Siphorus, really, but he looks tiny like this. He whispers a “Hi,” into your hand, kissing it gently. You return the sentiment, caressing his face. He squirms and whimpers, and you see his cock jump. “Oh, honey,” you coo, and pull him in for a sweet kiss. One of Siphorus’s hands tangles in your hair, while the other of the set is on Elow’s head, encouraging you two. He encourages you vocally too, his pleased throaty moans making your kiss turn feverish. 

“Join us, master,” Siphorus implores you, a hand wandering down your thigh.

Behind the lust you feel for them, a sense of nervous insecurity rises when you go to take your clothes off. You pull off your outerwear, taking your time. Your demons must sense your hesitance, as they pull you between their intertwined forms, Elow at your back.

“Shh master, just focus on my hands,” Elow tells you, ever so sweet. His hands move along your breasts, kneading the flesh there. One rises up, covering your throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just holds his hand there. His thumb comes up to brush along your lips, and you take it into your mouth without a conscious thought, sucking and wrapping your tongue around it, an action that draws moans from both of your demons. 

“Do not try to hide from us,” Siphorus’s voice is but an echoing growl, teeth pressing into your ear. “We can smell you, master. The air is thick with your want, let us serve you.” From where you rest on his torso, you can feel his hips moving, along with Elow’s hardness pressing against your lower back. You whimper around the thumb in your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Elow removes his hands, and you let out a pleading moan, not wanting them to stop.

“You have to tell us, master. Tell us what you want, and it’s yours, please,” Elow says, his voice a breath of a whisper.

“Yes, darling, just tell us,” Siphorus echoes the sentiment, and you feel dizzy with want.

“Please,” you breath out, “Please touch me. Take me,” you plead to them. 

No sooner do the words leave your lips their hands wrap back around you. You push your butt back onto Elow’s pulsing cock, rolling against it. He whimpers out, and you can only imagine how full he must feel. You use your magic to take your clothes off, not wanting to break the contact with your lovers. Feeling them against your skin is worth any nervousness you may have been feeling. Siphorus captures your mouth in a kiss, and although you may be his master, it is clear who is in control. The press of his teeth to your lips has your hips jerking, and you’re sure they can both feel how wet you are perched on Siphorus’s muscular abdomen. 

Siphorus’s hips are moving harder now, meeting Elow’s bouncing ass. A pair of Siphorus’s hands wrap around your hips and in one fluid motion, hovers you on top of his face. Your hands find his horns, steading yourself. He makes a loud, wounded noise at your grip, and Elow moans out at the particularly hard thrust that follows. You take that as a sign to loosen your hold, and pack his reaction away in the back of your mind for another day. You then look down and see Siphorus’s tongue, so very long and pink, seeking out your heat. 

He suddenly growls, and flips you around so that you’re facing Elow, and his tongue presses into you. It stretches you and you feel it press against your walls, long enough that it can still curve to press to your clit. The sensations are overwhelming, and you cannot help but rock against them.

You get to watch Elow being fucked, and you meet his mouth in a frenzied kiss. Both of you are being held tight by Siphorus’s hands, being pleasured by him. The hands around Elow are thrusting him up and down, and the peek you get of Siphorus’s member has you clenching harder around his tongue. He laps up the wetness spilling from you as if he is starved, the noises coming from him sound as if he is tasting salvation. Elow acts much the same, drinking from your mouth as if it is the finest wine. 

You feel all too much and not enough, and you wrap a hand around Elow’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in your grip, and Elow turns to putty, begging. 

“Please don’t stop, please master,” he whines, high in his throat. Incoherent noises keep coming, and you assure him you won’t stop, pressing yourself further onto Siphorus. 

“Not gonna stop honey, wanna make you feel good. Such a sweet demon, aren’t you? My sweet demon.” You praise him and his movements turn jerky. The noises leaving him become even more frantic and high pitched. He reaches a crescendo and spills into your hand, covering you in his thick white cum. You don’t stop until he is pulling away from your hand, a whimpering mess convulsing on your other demon's cock. Your other demon, who is now redoubling his assault against your cunt, seems close as well. You watch him tense up and with an animalistic grunt, fill up Elow with his seed. His tongue is still fucking into you, and the visual he and Elow provide is all that is needed to push you over the edge, tensing and jerking away as your climax leaves you breathless. 

The three of you pull yourselves apart, you considerably more out of breath than your demons, who are much quicker to recover. Elow is behind you while Siphorus leans upright against the couch, stretching out his many muscles and preening before you. You let your eyes rake over him, and you feel desire bubbling in your skin. 

His nostrils flare, and his eyes dig into you even harder, predatory. You feel your heart pound and you’re sure he can smell your want, just as he said. 

“Oh, Lily, you think we are done with you?” Siphorus asks you, reaching over to tuck a sweat soaked strand of hair away from your face. 

“I hope not,” you whisper out, ignoring how hot you feel your face getting. You gnaw on your lip, and feel Elow stretch his arms out. You lean into them, already feeling breathless. 

“C’mere master, please? Can I have you this way?” He asks, tucking you to his front. One hand moves to rest on your throat while the other goes to your leg. You nod eagerly, letting him hoist your leg up as he nudges his member against your opening. He ruts against you before seating himself inside in one lazy thrust. All of your nerve endings are ablaze, and your hands wrap around his forearm, keeping his hand pressed against your neck. He keeps a slow pace, and molasses runs through your veins. The moans that leave you sound desperate, and you watch as Siphorus fists his cock, his other hands tweaking his nipples and moving up and down his body. 

You can feel the magic he is putting off, and it’s as if his hands are touching you from where he is in front of you. He is content with watching this time, it seems. 

“Deeper, Elow. Give it to her deeper.” Not just watching then, apparently. He is giving orders as well. You moan out as Elow follows his direction and presses deeper into you, an eager “Yes'' leaving his lips. A phantom hand, courtesy of Siphorus, is circling your clit. The slow but persistent pleasure had you throbbing and jerking back into Elows arms, the two of you overstimulated together in the best of ways. More phantom hands ghost over you and go to Elow, who lets out a whorish moan at the feeling. 

“Good boy, just like that,” Siphorus praises and nods.

 You whimpered and met his milky gaze, “You too darling, you’re such a good girl for us. Such a good little master, aren’t you?” he asks, his smirk downright predatory. 

His words pull a noise out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of making. Between his words, phantom hands, and Elow’s deep movements massaging your inner walls, you don’t last long. You feel yourself tense again, sparks flying through your veins as you milk the cock nestled deep inside you. Siphorus is still talking to the two of you, praising you though you can’t make out the words. Elow finishes too, locking himself inside you as he fills you with his seed. He grunts and makes breathy sounds into your neck as he continues to fill you.The warmth of it has aftershocks rippling through you, and you lean your head back against his shoulder as the two of you enjoy your afterglow. He slips from you minutes later, and you feel his plentiful cum running down the inside of your thighs. You should feel a bit grossed out, but all you feel is sated and claimed.  

Siphorus must have finished with you as well, since you feel tendrils of his magic cleaning you up. They run up and down your body, prompting you to further melt into them. Your eyes peek open and he is there, smiling and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Shh, let me get us comfortable,” he tells you, before conjuring up a nest of blankets and cushions for you, all with a subtle fiery scent. You and Elow don’t even have to move, all the better since you still very much feel boneless. If Elow’s soft and content noises are anything to go by, he feels the same. Siphorus nuzzles himself in, the three of you tangled together. 

“May I admit something, my dearests?” he asks us, answered only with a humming affirmative.

“I- Well, I didn’t have to stay. I’ve been free to leave but I just really, really wanted to stay.” You had not heard him sound so vulnerable before, and you squeeze one of his hands. You’re surprised, but not upset by the news. If anything, it lifts a weight off of your shoulders.

“Pft, tell me something I did not already know,” Elow teases him, his eyes still closed and a smile on his face. 

Siphorus sputters, taken aback, but it turns into hearty laughter. 

“I’m glad you stayed,” you tell him, kissing him in your half - asleep state.  

The blankets and content hum of magic in the air lull you to sleep, surrounded by your loves.

[therealjammy]

The Lady of Half-Death

Hi, hello, posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, in case you don’t feel like venturing to Ao3. 

This work’s alternate title: “Lucky One” 

Content Warnings: Very NSFW, a brief but graphic depiction of violence. (This work is meant for 18+ only!) 

It’s also told in first person POV, the Forbidden Perspective, so sorry if that’s not your jam.... Thank you for reading xx

--

I.

November, 1937

On a bitter November day, early in the morning, I was roused by the tinkling of the bell hanging beside my bed. Being Mother Miranda’s most competent servant, I was long used to a summons during the small hours of the dark. She was night’s creature, bent over her studies and her subjects until a bitter sun lit the sky, almost unaware of time’s passage, while her servants kept in perfect time with every striking hour. I splashed sleep from my features with bitterly cold water from the basin on my dresser and wrapped myself in my warmest robe. I lit a candelabra, savoring its small warmth as I donned my silver mask. It had frightened me at first, how the servants wore these metal things elongated into an elegantly startling bird’s beak, but when serving the Lady of Ravens, one had to know to whom they pledged their loyalty, both inside and outside the house’s grounds. Though the metal was light, it still made one’s head ache after only a few minutes of wear, and was a constant irritation after many hours. But like a pain that was more a nuisance than anything, it was easily set aside.

           I walked quickly through dark hallways and creaking staircases, passing through rooms whose furniture was covered in sheets and rooms whose contents were not. Each was quiet as the long-dead.

           The doors to the laboratory opened on soundless hinges. Inside, there was only a spotlight on the latest occupied table and the stoic figure of Mother Miranda leaning over it, her hands coated in deep crimson, her subject unmoving. Her face was drawn into a deep, displeasured frown.

           “What may I bring you, ma’am?” I asked carefully.

           “Tea, Trudy,” replied Mother Miranda. By the ancient tiredness in her voice, I knew the kind I ought to fetch.

           Staying true to her grief, Mother Miranda had a fondness for black tea, steeped for five minutes to be strong, made stronger with a dollop of Sanguis Virginis, a sweet but robust red wine made by Lady Dimitrescu. She kept the largest bottle for herself, but sent a smaller one to Mother Miranda every winter. The bottle was red and adorned with golden flowers crawling up its sides.

           By the time I brought the fresh tea to her, Mother Miranda’s hands were washed of blood, and the subject on the table was covered with a white sheet, slowly turning scarlet. I set the teacup and candelabra beside her and gave a professional distance.

           “The nature of science,” Mother Miranda said, picking up the teacup, “is to fail again and again.” She held it delicately. There was rage underneath that delicacy. “Every vessel thus far has been unfit, even if it’s accepted the Cadou, and with each unfit one I feel as if I am losing her more.”

           “You might feel like Tantalus, ma’am,” I said after a pause, “with your goals evading your grasp, but I rather think you must be like Orpheus.”

           “Attempt until death,” she murmured. “Yes, child, I believe you’re right.” A long sip of tea. Underneath her golden mask, her pink lips turned a deep red. She set the cup gently in its saucer and rose from her chair, black robes shuffling quietly. “Come. Let us begin anew.”

           I lifted the mutilated subject from the table, wrapping the sheet about her carefully, and carried her fresh limpness to the courtyard with the others. Her cooling blood seeped from the sheet and onto my robes, and it dripped onto the bricks and my feet, leaving a sticky trail. It was cloying, but it was a sweet perfume compared to the rich decay that wafted from the courtyard’s cold soil. In the dark, I saw there was already a space made for her. I lay her carefully in it. A good sacrifice deserved gentleness once the deed was done, after all. In that sense, I was more merciful than Mother Miranda. Once a body was no longer of use, she would carry it out herself and toss them hastily aside, for only one body mattered above the rest.

           “In life and in death,” I said over the grave, “we give glory to Mother Miranda.”

           I sprinkled a handful of dirt over the covered girl and left her to the bitter, near-winter air.

           Inside again, I scrubbed the table twice with soapy water and dried it thoroughly. I lit more candles, placing them around the table’s edges, away from the notes that Mother Miranda spread across the surface. While she organized them, I brewed another pot of tea, bringing it and the gifted bottle of Sanguis Virginis with me. When I had poured my own cup, Mother Miranda gestured to the wine. Pour that in, too. I obeyed without question. Grey eyes watched me drink, unchanging even when I made no face at the taste of wine and blood mixing with strong black tea. I’d learned long ago that reactions caused reactions. I remained impassive, though my stomach still curdled and rebelled at the taste of the sinful wine. To the others—Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu— the wine was a sweet and prized possession. If ever it was sold, it would be incredibly expensive.

           I brought a chair and perched myself next to Mother Miranda. It was always a thrill to be at her side, to study her volumes of notes and drawings and glimpse the way her mind worked. But more than that, I cherished the nights like this, when it was only the two of us. I enjoyed her company. I desired more of it, because I desired her. At times I believed she knew this, but then she would dismiss me so easily, brush by without a care, and I’d question if she knew at all.

           Attraction, I reminded myself, was a science, too, and like an experiment gone horribly wrong, it was best if one didn’t share the results.

           I cleared my throat and straightened in my chair. “We should begin where this one failed,” I said. “Pinpoint a reason, compare it to the rest.”

           We pored over notes for hours, comparing observations, Mother Miranda writing furiously in her looping scrawl underneath a page titled Quinn. The candles burned low, and the sky lightened outside the laboratory’s several windows, revealing a cold, white-filled dawn.

           “The conclusion is painfully obvious,” Mother Miranda sighed at last, pushing her nearly empty teacup aside. It’d turned cold hours ago. “I must find a truly unique vessel. The village is rotting with diluted blood and therefore cannot be used again. Three of the Lords—those children!—were ones I found outside. Diluted in other ways, perhaps, but strong enough.”

           “Yet you declared them all unfit,” I remarked.

           “Because they were too much,” Mother Miranda said stiffly, “and the rest have been too little. They served their miserable purpose and now I must find yet another clean slate! And to think I’d chosen so carefully…” A hand curled into a fist, clenched improperly due to taloned fingertips.

           “Send me to the field, Mother Miranda,” I said. “I will search for you.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for her other hand darted quickly out and knocked her teacup and saucer from the table. They shattered on the floor, black-red tea pooling around their remains.

           “Do not be dim, child; it cannot be done by you. It must be me.” She paused for a long moment, coming back to herself with a single, sharp shake of her head. “Please,” Mother Miranda said around a breath, “forgive my outburst.” She moved smoothly to the shattered teacup just as I did. We knelt out of time but reached for the same piece, her gold-plated fingers brushing my bare ones, sending a brief, hot shock through my being that ended in my chest.

           “You need never ask my forgiveness, Mother Miranda,” I said, slowly withdrawing my hand and reaching for a different piece. “A woman in grief doesn’t know her own actions.” And it was her grief, I thought then, that made my heart ache for her. That made everyone’s hearts ache for her. Mother lost a child, they’d say. No greater tragedy exists. We must be kind.

           “Grief is some people’s undoing,” Mother Miranda said. She had stopped picking up shards of teacup, a few pieces cradled in a hand. Her gaze was on the puddle of bloody, wine-soaked tea. “It festers like a splinter left in too long, or a piece of metal unable to be dislodged, and it consumes, until its host perishes with it. I’ve known it for many stretches, but rather than give myself to despair, I have chosen determination; for the parasite cannot fully live while its host fights it. So fight I must.”

           Her face was a pale reflection on the tea’s surface.

 II.

The next morning, a snowy one, Mother Miranda went for a walk. In her absence, her rule passed to me, and then to the Head Housemaid Vera, a stout older woman who kept the other servants in strict line. I was, however, only consulted for advice or for orders. Other than that, I was blessedly alone, a spectre haunting the laboratory while I organized Mother Miranda’s notes and gave into my own musings, letting my mind take up the cluttered space. Many things ran through it: thoughts of my former life, of the people I’d once seen and never would again, and if I followed that line, I knew exactly how I’d come to be here. Sitting alone in a tepid laboratory, surrounded by paper, rotting with attraction.

           It’d been there from the beginning, for there was always attraction to a leader, and many reasons behind it. People were attracted to safety and to comfort, to promises and protection, but highest of all, a deity that preached all the above. People backed off their words more often than they gave in to them, but a deity never would; their word was given and kept. It was learned, it was ingrained, and so like everyone else, I held that same attraction. I gazed upon the same likenesses of Mother Miranda and prayed for protection, for strength. I prayed to one day work for her—the highest blessing of all!—and that prayer was answered. She came to my door in all her godly glory and the paintings held no candle to her real beauty.

           The attraction molted once I’d begun to work for her properly. She was aloof and cruel and methodical, but there was talent and beauty, too, and soon enough I began to realize there was a person underneath the deity. And it was the person whom I thought of, now, wondering where her walk was taking her, who she was talking to, what she was thinking. I imagined her underneath a cold white sky, ashy flakes of snow sticking to her black robes and veil, the harsh, mountainous landscape reflecting her own desolation back at her.

           I thought, as I filed the last of the notes away, that I would make her return easier. Oftentimes her walks changed her mood; one never knew the sort she’d bear when she walked through the doors. It could be the silent sort of rage, during which she’d seal the doors of her laboratory shut and refuse to emerge for days, or the one where she’d return with a deadly ice in her eyes and drag the nearest servant by the wrist to her chambers. Sometimes they’d be alive and shuffle from the room with their clothes barely on; other times there was an unfortunate mess to clear away.

           During my luncheon, I called Vera to me and ordered the most frequented rooms be given a thorough cleaning, excluding the laboratory and Mother Miranda’s bathroom.

           “And her dinner?” asked Vera, once she’d given the orders to four maids. “Something comforting, I assume, as the latest loss is still ripe in the courtyard.”

           “Yes,” I agreed. “A shepherd’s pie with marmite in the gravy, and the bottle of Sanguis Virginis.”  

           “Very good, Miss Bevan.” Vera bowed her head and left.

           I went over the bathroom myself, being careful to put every object in its proper place. I drew a bath, the water unbearably hot, but by the time Mother Miranda returned, it would be perfect.

           I loitered for a long while in the bathroom’s silence, sat on the chessboard floor, gazing out the window to the snow-covered hills, the occasional drip, drip of the tub’s taps serenading me into a trance, filled with visions of blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and impeccable hands.

           I wasn’t the first to think of her in this light. Far from it. Worship came in many forms, after all, and many people fell to this one. Except mine was to the woman I knew, not to the idol emblazoned on a shrine dangling from a peeling wall.

           Unable to think of nothing but the bathroom’s suddenly stifling heat and the absent Mother Miranda, I left, unaware of where I was going until I collapsed on the chair I’d occupied earlier, everything about me aching for someone who saw me only as a servant in high regard—but a servant nonetheless. The fact, I thought, unbuttoning my uniform enough to feel cool air caress my chest, made me desire her all the more.

           I propped a shoed foot on the seat’s corner to give myself better access and began my pleasure gently, my head falling against the back of the chair once the rhythm was established, my free hand indecisive on where it wanted to stay—a breast, the chair’s edge, the table; at least until my mind offered me a vision of Mother Miranda ordering me, from between my thighs, to keep it planted firmly on the chair’s edge. There it stayed while my other moved, and behind my closed eyes I saw a skilled tongue working me up, teasing, licking slowly as if to claim ownership to even that part of me; I saw intense eyes meeting my own, telling me to give myself over; in my mind I whispered my glory to her. I twitched erratically, my movements almost clumsy; a few moments more and I’d be tumbling into the blissful void—or would have, had I not heard the door open and the familiar, near-silent movement of the woman living in my head.

           The silence that beat between us lasted only a moment and yet it felt like centuries. Mother Miranda’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits, and before I could manage to stumble out an explanation, she strode to me in five heavy steps.

           “You dare defile this space with your musings?” Mother Miranda hissed, her grip on my wrist vicelike. “Do you not know how ill I find this gesture? How ill it makes me to think you care naught for the meaning of this room?” Claws slashed at my cheek, the first sting of it only surprise at first; it burned when I realized she’d cut flesh. I felt blood welling, but I could not bring a hand up to staunch its flow. Nor could I staunch the fresh wave of heat that pooled in my core at Mother Miranda’s fury. Cold eyes darted from my still-wet hand to my face. Mother Miranda scoffed, roughly releasing my wrist. “Attraction is a damned wicked creature,” she said. “It morphs perspective and thought. It makes one act rashly, makes one believe they’re subtle. You think I’ve not seen your lingering gazes, child? How you bask in my company the way you would underneath the sun? How you are afraid of my rage but it arouses you all the same?” She chuckled lightly, dragging gold-tipped fingers over my cheek, the metal blessedly cool against my heated skin. Having spent so much time in close quarters with this woman, I was no longer terrified by the talons. Their scraping made the coil in my belly curl tighter, and if she were to slip bare fingers against me, she would find me all too ready for her. I met her eyes with a steely look of my own, hoping she wouldn’t see shame, but Mother Miranda was wise in ways I couldn’t fathom. She saw through people as if they were cheesecloth.

           She hummed, fingers roving lower, tracing my pulse hammering in my throat. “Is there any shame about you, Trudy? I should think so, as you are not my equal.” Moving lower still, to the buttons I hadn’t undone, hovering like she wished to tear them—and perhaps she did, for her hand gave a small twitch. “I am higher than you will ever be, yet you stand here, gazing at me so defiantly, trembling with your want of me… Do you think it will make you rise to my level?”

           Her words were fog clouding the forests of my brain. I could think of nothing but how I wanted to serve her, to fall to my knees and pledge fealty, even if it was sworn with her hand guiding my mouth between her thighs. I said, “No, Mother Miranda.”

           “No, indeed. But,” a taloned thumb slid over my lower lip, “it’ll bring me pleasure to see you try.”

           When she kissed me, it was with a slowness that one could believe was care, but I sensed the possession. I opened my mouth to it, leaned into it, every nerve alight at the thrill of kissing someone I had once dreamed of serving under. Her hands drew me close to her, splaying across my back, bunching up my uniform, and her kisses became rougher, filled with need. I met every one with a need of my own, my shaking fingers undoing the rest of the buttons down my front. The movement caught Mother Miranda’s eye; she pulled back, her gaze intense, the color high in her cheeks, watching intently as the top half of my uniform parted and revealed bare skin. She reached out, two fingers gliding smoothly over my collarbones, my sternum, tracing the swell of a breast; gooseflesh rose in the touches’ wake, and my breathing trembled.

           “You are practically untouched,” Mother Miranda said quietly. There was, to her, no greater sin than a specimen that remained unstudied and uncatalogued.

           “Only practically, Mother Miranda,” I returned.

           She leaned down, burying her face against my bloodied neck. Lips pressed softly, tongue lapping slowly— tasting me. “Have you not known love?” she said. “Or devotion?”

           “Fleetingly.” There was the blacksmith, Cristian, in whose strong arms I felt safe. There was Tatiana, who made me feel at peace even after our desperate acts. But with this life, they were fleeting. To serve one of the Lords or Mother Miranda herself, it was until death. “The only devotion I know,” I continued, my voice growing thinner the lower her mouth travelled, “is to you.”

           Mother Miranda hummed against my chest. “You worshipped well, then, Trudy,” she said, rising, taking my chin between two fingers and tilting my face up to hers, “but what of now? How shall you prove your worth to me?”

           I grasped her unoccupied hand and pressed it against my breast, holding it there. I wanted her to feel it, to feel my heart underneath it, to know she could reach in and take it because I offered it to her. “Take what you will,” I said.

           What was left of her resolve crumbled. Mother Miranda swept me into her arms with a low growl, lifting me as easily as she would a child and setting me hastily onto the table we’d cleaned the night before. Impatient fingers worked the rest of my clothes away. She tossed them aside and pressed me into the cold wood, impossibly dark eyes drinking me in, lingering on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Places I hoped she would kiss. Places she did, in that order, her mouth untamed, leaving harsh love-marks behind. Throughout that act, she didn’t once touch me; I was strung so tightly that even one finger tracing me would’ve been my undoing. It was a sort of torturous study, I realized, clamping my tongue between my teeth when it nearly made me beg for release; she was seeing me as a case, testing my own resolve. How long could she make me wait before I begged forgiveness? Time ceased to exist. I could not tell how long she made me hang.

           When she finally did touch me, I was relieved. Instead of a sigh, a long whimper escaped my mouth. Mother Miranda groaned in response, her fingers twitching and pausing against me, surprised at the slick want they found. Her second touch was heavier, more confident. My hands couldn’t help but cling to the back of her neck, which was covered by a thick cotton veil. I realized I’d touched her without her consent, but when I made to pull away, her free hand came to rest over both of mine, and together we slid the veil from her head.

           Blonde hair, a darker gold in the dim light of the laboratory, fanned around her face, gracing my bare forearms, soft as silk. Without the veil, it was tantamount to seeing her naked.

           “Cling to me,” Mother Miranda breathed.

           It was as much permission as I was going to receive.

           I buried my hands in her hair and leaned up to kiss her. I accepted her tongue when it slipped between my teeth. I opened for her when, at last, she slid fingers inside me.

           And when she truly took me, she devoured me, sprinkling evidence of her use across any expanse of skin she could reach, uncaring if teeth dug in too much, if my back was rubbed raw from the wooden table, if her golden talons left angry scratches. I clung harshly to her during my crisis, my cries only winding her further, for when I was barely limp, she withdrew entirely and carried me to her own chamber. Deposited on her bed, I watched through bliss-filled eyes as she undressed.

           Black robes pooled at her feet. In the blue-white moonlight, she was harshly ethereal. Everything about her seemed to glow, including her eyes. And sprouting from her back were five pairs of midnight wings. I wanted to catalogue it as a dream, a delusion caused by a mind still recovering from an intense crisis, but the wings, like Mother Miranda’s arms and legs, were very much a part of her.

           “Look while you can,” she said. “Commit it to memory, for true revelations are rarely given so freely.”

      ��    She stood for study, allowing me to take in every inch. My eyes lingered where hers had lingered on me.

           “Do you reject me, Trudy?” she questioned softly.

           “No, Mother Miranda,” I replied. I offered her my hand. “I’d fall to my knees in prayer if I were not otherwise occupied.”

           She accepted my hand and leaned over me on her bed, naked and otherworldly, and in my long, exquisite worship of her, I met death eye to eye and thought there would never be another equal.

[dadoroki]

Reminder [3]

Dabi x F!Reader x Hawks

Description: the final chapter to the story ends here. You’re given an ultimatum, having to choose between your painful past and your current present.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

A/N: I can’t believe it’s been about 7-8 months since I wrote part 1. Whoops!

“Not so hard, Keigo.”

You hissed in pain as the man dabbed the cold cloth on your facial injuries. “Not my fault you wanted to play hero and fight all those Nomus yourself.”

If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have been alive. Iv tubes were hooked onto you and the beeping sound of the monitor aggravated you more than the nagging winged-man himself.

“Yeah well someone had to do it.” The sunset highlighted your face and Keigo couldn’t help but fall distracted. The moment was cut short the minute he heard a loud screech coming out of you. While being distracted, Keigo had accidentally pressed deeply into your wound and in return, you punched his arm. “Ow, sorry sorry.”

“Whatever.” You groaned as you laid back down, facing your back towards him. He was about to question your sudden change in attitude but sensed a weird aura around. Getting up from his seat, he headed towards the door in a hurry. “I’ll come by tomorrow alright? There’s something I gotta deal with.” Without looking back at him, you gave a weak wave.

He quietly shut the door to your room but before he could turn the corner, a voice caught him off guard. “So you and Y/N, huh? Never thought she’d go for someone so low.” How did he know your real name? A low chuckle left Hawks’s lips. He turned around and sent a fake smile followed by a wave. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have we met before? Oh right! I sent dozens of my feathers at you. Hope it didn’t kill ya too much!”

Dabi clenched his teeth, roughly pushing himself off the wall. “I’m gonna burn you to pieces you little chicken shit. You hear me?” Hawks playfully held his hands up. “Woah, calm down buddy! But if you’re serious, why don’t we take it somewhere else?”

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

And that’s exactly what happened. The two men faced eachother with two different expressions. One held eyes full of rage and anger while the other was smug and laid-back.

“What’s with the face? Makes you look even more uglier than you already are.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Hawks rubbed his chin, observing the man infront of him while thinking deeply. “I still don’t get it. Why do you hate me so much?”

Dabi only scoffed in response. “Enough talking. When I’m done with you, I’ll be sure to give Y/N your burnt chicken wings as a present.”

Hawks didn’t have time to think as blue flames ignited his way. He flew around the abandoned area, the flames following close and burning everything behind him. Now it was his turn to strike. He flew towards Dabi, a long red feather making it’s way into his hand and he striked. Dabi managed to dodge all his attacks with ease, causing the winged hero to flinch. “Huh, you’re so weak. I don’t understand Y/N.”

Hawks ignored his instigation, attempting to hit him at least once but continuously missing all his shots again. “Look at you, you can’t even hit me. Why would she pick a weak man like you? You couldn’t even protect her.”

Emotions ran deep inside Hawks. More specifically guilt? Insecurity? Deep down, he knew everything Dabi said was nothing but the truth. He couldn’t protect you and for that, his worth for you was a newly engraved insecurity. That sadness turned into matched anger, causing him to hold a tighter grip on his feather and putting all force into the swing.

Dabi let out a maniacal laugh, gripping onto the man’s wrist and throwing him onto the ground. He watched unapologetic as Hawks squirmed beneath him in pain. He reached down to his jacket pocket and took out a shiny object, twisting it between his fingers above the injured hero in a taunting manner. “Keigo Takami.”

Once the name reached his ears, he froze in sheer horror. First your name and now his? He slowly realized the shiny object was the promise ring he gave you. “You.” The unstable man continued with poisonous venom leaking from the single word. “It’s all because of you. Y/N no longer cares about me and that’s all because of you! I’ve always despised you Keigo. Even when we were kids.”

Hawks was at a loss for words. He was in disbelief, unable to comprehend the situation. “I’ve always despised you since the day we met. The day I realized my feelings for Y/N. But of course, you just had to be in my way. You were always in my way.” Dabi psychotically laughed, recalling the memories like it was yesterday. “You know, I used to blame Y/N for not knowing how I felt. But I loved her so much and felt stupid for even thinking about blaming her.”

Dabi laid his hand flat on Hawks’s face, watching the man hiss in pain as the light heat made contact to his skin. “And then I started to blame myself. I was the reason why she didn’t love me back. I wasn’t good enough for her.” The heat began to increase, making the hero groan in pain. If the first one didn’t leave a burn mark, this one definitely did. “But then I realized it wasn’t my fault nor was it her’s. It was yours, Keigo. Did you know I was planning on killing you back then? To pretend it was a double accident? I was gonna kill you but then I thought about Y/N. She’d be alone and depressed out of her mind and so I chose to spare your life. Man, was I stupid for that.”

With that, he removed his hand to reveal a complete burn mark along the hero’s left side. He stood up and dusted himself off, facing his hand towards the half concious man lying helplessly on the ground. “You ruined my life Keigo Takami and now, I’m about to end your’s.”

Before Dabi could finish him off once and for all, a pleading voice called out for him in a distance. “Touya, please! Stop it!” The voice was so pure and angelic that Dabi couldn’t help but retrace back to the old days. Back when he was Touya. He slowly let his hand fall, backing away from Hawks.

Dabi was undoubtedly a powerful man. However, no matter how powerful or strong you are, everyone has their own weakness. And for him, it was you.

You limped over as fast as you could, the pain from days prior still taking in effect. “You need to let this go. This was all in the past.”

“The past can come back to haunt you.”

“The Touya I know wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not Touya.”

“You are to me. You’ll always be Touya.”

That’s all it took for Dabi to be wrapped around your fingers. Those eyes once filled with hatred and rage were replaced with sadness and despair. In that moment, he fell completely vulnerable to you. “Just choose me damnit, Y/N.”

You rose a brow, confused at his words. “I know we have our differences but my feelings for you never changed. You promised me you’d always choose me so why can’t you just do that goddamnit?”

You realized at that point, you were given two critical choices. These two choices would lead to two very different outcomes.

Firstly, there was Touya. He wasn’t the same person he was back then but nonetheless, you still made a promise to him. Plus, it was hard to see him as Dabi when all you saw was Touya. Deep down, you were aware that some feelings were still there for him though you definitely wouldn’t admit it.

Secondly, there was Keigo. You always saw him as a friend but as time went on, it was like the friendship turned out to be a stepping stone for something new. Honestly speaking, you already imagined what it would be like to have a future with him.

The time to choose was now. You deeply sighed, getting ready to reveal your answer.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

You stood infront of the mirror, taking a full look at yourself. Who would’ve thought the day would come for you to finally get married. A long white dress that made you look like a princess, your hair pinned up, and a sparkling veil travelling from the top of your head all the way down to your dress. The final piece was a necklace which you were having trouble putting on.

“You need help?”

Glancing back, you saw that beautiful faint smile to which you returned. The man made his way behind you and took the necklace from your hands. You watched as he clipped the chains together and smiled, matching his gaze through the mirror. “Thank you, Touya.”

“Anything for you.” He admired you from your reflection, eyes travelling all around to every single detail. He never thought he’d see the day where you were like this. All dressed up for the wedding. An uncomfortable silence filled the room and you couldn’t help but clear your throat. “You should get going soon. You shouldn’t even be here and your family came by the way.”

Touya hummed in response and nodded. He made his way towards the door but stopped and faced you. “It’s not too late, Y/N. Just come with me an-”

“No, Touya.” You said abruptly. “I’m not changing my mind. You know I can’t. It’s the right thing to do anyways.” The right thing to do. He sighed in defeat and quietly left your room. The moment you heard the door shut, you deeply exhaled and rubbed the sides of your forehead in stress. You stared at the promise ring Hawks had given you years ago. Today was the day where he would replace that promise ring with a wedding ring, just like he promised.

“Keigo. I choose Keigo.”

That was a sharp pain in Dabi’s chest like he’d been stabbed right there and then. He was expecting some kind of hope, at least just a little bit, to have you say his name. But you didn’t. There wasn’t even any hesitation when you spoke.

“Why? Why him? Am I not good enough for you?!”

You stared at the ground, unable to look the broken man in the eyes. “It’s just how it is, Touya. I don’t make the rules and I can’t choose any differently. I’m sorry.”

Huh, what a joke he thought. When you’re chained to the institution, you have no choice but to submit yourself. That’s exactly what happened to you and because of that, you were now their little puppet to control. Had that not happen, would you have chosen differently? Would you choose to live your life with him and keep that promise?

Hands deeply shoved in his pockets, Dabi walked away from the building and never turned back.

Tags for my peeps that had to wait😂: @trenchcoatdevilsworld @bmthevick @thepplaskingmonthsago

[astraeagreengrass]

The Queen's Husband [8/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 3.020

Warnings: angst, I'm evil, very brief mentions of violent acts

A/N: f you're interested, I posted some visuals for this story here and here. Many, many, many thanks to @xbuchananbarnes​ for helping me with this chapter. I hope you like it ♡

Series masterlist

“The man that stabbed your uncle, Baron Zemo. He said something before he killed himself: Hail Hydra. I’ve heard these words before, Your Grace. I’ve heard them from the mouth of Joseph Rogers, the Duke of Arvenia and King Steven’s father.”

“What?” you gasped.

“It’s true, Your Grace. I swear on my uncle's grave! I would never lie to you, especially not about something this serious,” Peter quickly assured. The harsh wind and the deep purple shadows under his eyes made him appear much older than his budding years.

“I don’t doubt your honor, Peter,” you said. “But perhaps you were mistaken about the man you saw?”

The boy shook his head.

“As much as he tries, Lord Rogers is not very discreet, Your Grace. It was him, lurking in the shadows of the Keep. I know what I saw.”

Peter’s words were half a confession, half a desperate plea for you to believe them. You never trusted Lord Rogers - he was pompous and greedy - but he was your husband’s father. That made him your family.

Of course you knew there was at least a small amount of conspiracy in your Court - especially when it came to West Ergonans - but to think of an entire treasonous plot lead by your very own in-law? It was preposterous.

“He mentioned your mother, Your Grace,” Peter whispered.

You turned to him so fast the joints in your neck cracked.

“My mother?”

“Yes. He said a man named Sitwell,” Peter visibly flinched, and not from the cold, “stabbed her. In Geotach. And apparently Lord Rogers was the one to convince your father to announce her death as suicide, because no one would believe otherwise.”

An agonized scream rose from your larynx, spilling past your vocal cords. It nearly escaped from your throat, but you bit your tongue, coating your mouth in pungent, metallic blood. It made your stomach queasy.

Your mother’s death was discredited and you were ruled as a grieving girl, spinning tales to fill the void her absence left. It was told that you were sent to live in Foghar because the memories of Albeon were too much for you to bear, but in reality, it was exile: your father never forgave you for running away that night.

“You were supposed to die, Y/N. Not her!”

He passed without ever speaking to you again, leaving you his throne and his ghosts.

Not many knew the truth of your mother’s murder. Even less fully believed in you. This secret was kept under lock and key, in a vault safer than those beneath the dungeons of the Keep, and not one person would risk your trust by sharing it - not even with a good boy like Peter Parker.

Your uncle held his squire in very high regards, but not even that was enough to divulge your privacy.

“Who would Lord Rogers meet?” you mumbled tentatively. In your mind's eye, the words came out of your lips vermillion-colored.

“Thrice he met with Lord Pierce, the Marquess of Gormes. And in one occasion he met with a man I couldn’t recognize. He was white and dark-haired and visited the Keep in November.”

Your stomach churned with sickness and you desperately wanted to puke from sheer despair. You slapped a hand across your mouth, holding back a gag.

Lord Pierce was repugnant with his sleazy ways and sexist remarks, but unfortunately that was the normality rather than the exception. Gormes was very close to Arvenia as well, so it made sense that him and Lord Rogers were always together. But still...

Your heart screamed inside your ribcage for you to trust Peter. To storm the Keep to the ground as you scavenged for answers, overturning every stone and every rock. You wanted to take the clay from the bricks and shape them with your bare hands to the form of Rogers and Pierce, just so that you could tear them apart the way they did to you. Yet, your reason - the guiding voice of your reign, trained from an early age to be rational - warned you that there was no actual evidence.

It sounded you so much like your father, haunting your mind like the waves that nearly drowned you.

You wanted it to drown. And your enemies alongside it.

“Peter, I have a mission for you,” you declared. “Ride to the sacred city of Kamar-Taj. Find the Ancient One, tell her everything you just told me. Ride at full speed and stop for nothing. Wear the crown’s colors and hoist the dragon banner - it will ensure you safety on the road. Once you get there, the masters will provide you with food and shelter. If anyone asks, say you're on a special assignment given by Lord Stark before his accident.”

The boy's soft brown irises widened.

"Your Grace, I’m just a squire," he stuttered. "Only knights are allowed to hoist the dragon banner.”

You lowered the hood of your cape. The gale was still blowing fiercely and some pieces of hail slashed your cheekbone, yet you supposed it was more respectful this way.

"Give me your sword, Peter," you asked in the gentlest voice you could muster.

It was no more than a dress sword, more for decoration than anything. Peter was loyal, committed and diligent, but young. Too young. You sent a prayer to the Gods that he didn't pay for the sin you were about to commit.

With a flick of your hand, you mentioned for him to kneel. Natasha and Wanda stopped pretending they weren't paying attention to the conversation and turned, mouths agape with stupefaction.

You touched the sword to Peter's left shoulder, then his right, then his left again, and announced:

"Arise, Sir Peter Parker, Knight of the crown of Ergona," Mother, Maiden and Crone, please protect this boy. "Be safe."

You stood by the window until Peter’s horse disappeared in the foggy wastelands of the surrounding fields. The blood dried in your mouth and in your face, though your gums still tasted sour. There was no sundown, but rather just the sooty grey sky turning inky, as if the death of this day shouldn’t be granted even the simplest of ceremonials.

When night came, you returned to your chambers. People greeted you on your path, bowed their heads in respect, yet the hallways never looked more like a prison than they did then. At some point, Natasha held on to your elbow. Or perhaps it was Wanda. Maybe it was another one of your demons.

“Should we call for the King?” you heard one of them say.

“After what we’ve heard today, do you think the King can be trusted?” the other replied.

Above the fireplace, the Dragon on the tapestry mocked you.

Steve entered without knocking. His hair was longer, almost reaching his chin. He said he had no time for a haircut, but you knew he kept it that way because you liked it. Or so you thought.

He could be a liar.

He could be a traitor.

“Ladies” he greeted, his small smile thinning when he noticed your distress. “My Queen.”

Steve kneeled before you, just like that first afternoon in the rose courtyard. The sight of him made you miss summer and the simplicity of falling in love.

I love you, Steve, you wanted to confess. I love you but that’s not enough anymore.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he whispered and you knew you’d suffer in ways that not even Hydra could conceive if Steve’s love turned out to be a lie.

“We need to talk.”

A bang on his chamber door startled Sam Wilson awake.

In a flash, he grabbed the knife he kept under his pillow and rose, tiptoeing from the bed to the entrance.

“Who is it?” he asked in the most severe voice he could muster.

“It’s Wanda.”

He quickly twisted the lock, sighing when he came face to face with your handmaiden. The candle she was holding made her auburn hair look as if it was painted by the flames of a forest fire. She was hauntingly beautiful.

“You scared me.”

“My apologies, Sir Wilson,” she said. “But the Queen is summoning you.”

Sam nodded.

"I will make myself presentable. Should I meet her at her chambers?"

"No, sir. The Queen requested that you dress appropriately for the weather, and meet her at the stables. She has also commanded you to bring whatever weapons you can carry."

"What?" he exclaimed. "Did something happen?"

"These were my only instructions, sir. Please don't be long."

Wanda turned and rushed down the dark hallway before Sam could ask her anything else. The clock on his mantel told him it was a little past two in the morning. He'd gone to bed a mere four hours earlier, having spent all day reunited with the King and the Council going over the assassination attempt on Lord Stark. You hadn't joined them, but that was expected considering your bond with your uncle - Sam supposed you wouldn't leave Tony's side bedside until he was fully healed.

It wasn't the first time you called for Sam in the middle of the night. He was the Captain of your Queen's Guard and the Queen hardly worked regular hours. But the request for warm clothes and weapons was unexpected, if not suspicious. Still, Sam was fast to dress himself, tucking two daggers inside his boots for good measure before following the path Wanda took.

The Dragon Keep at night was an eerie, unwelcoming place. He didn't believe the legends surrounding your ancestors, but whenever he roamed the fortress at night Sam thought it might have actually been built out of dragon fire, if only for how hostile the hallways were - as hostile as a dragon's mouth, it seemed.

"It's meant to be a stronghold, not a home," you once said, and he wondered if you thought of that yourself or if you were paraphrasing your father.

Sam didn't encounter anyone on his way to the stables but a few wandering rats, yet when he got there he was surprised to see Clint Barton fixing the harnesses of four Thoroughbreds, attached to a black, inconspicuous carriage. In the corner, you, Natasha and Wanda whispered with your heads together. They looked up when he arrived.

"Finally," you said. "I thought I was going to have to come get you myself."

You were trying to be funny, but Sam could only stare at your tired face and sad-looking eyes. You looked stunning as always, in leather breeches and a cloak as dark as the night that waited beyond the gates, but forlorn, distant. As if your lips had never tasted joy and your spirit never roamed freely under sunlight.

"What is this, Y/N?" he asked. "Where is the King?"

Behind you, Natasha and Wanda glanced at each other.

"The King won't be joining us, Sam," you explained. "I need to go on a journey, and I need my best friend to come with me. My crown won't protect us where we're going, in fact, I don't know if it will be worthy of anything at all after tonight. So if you chose to stay I will understand."

Sam shook his head.

"This doesn't make any sense."

"I know," you whispered. "But I can't tell you anything else right now."

Sam Wilson was your first friend. He'd throw pebbles at the window to get your attention while you were studying at Arauta, the Duke of Foghar's ancestral home.

"How come you never play, just study?"

You told him then that you were the princess, and you had to be prepared for the day your father, the King, commanded you to return to the Capital. He giggled then, such a cheerful, melodic blast of glee that you were the trees still remembered it, and cherished the sound of his happiness.

"Yeah, right," he'd snickered. "If you're the princess, then where's your crown?"

When the crown came, Sam stood by you, as a comrade and Knight. And you couldn't help but feel like you were once again asking too much of him.

"Of course I'll go with you, Y/N,” he exhaled, past and present blending together in the space of his breath. "Someone has to look after your royal ass."

He hardly ever saw you cry, but you did when you hugged Natasha goodbye, whispering her a quiet be safe before the entering the coach. The Master of Whispers soon disappeared as the horses started their gallop.

The carriage was way past the city gates when your tears stopped.

The following morning, Bucky Barnes found the King slumped on an armchair by the fireplace of the royal chambers.

The knight was heading to the Armory when Steve’s valet intercepted him, babbling nonsense about the King being in shock and the Queen being nowhere to be found. At first, Bucky was doubtful. All was as it was in the Dragon Keep and perhaps the only thing out of the ordinary was the heavy snow that fell overnight, covering the lands and roads in a thick icy blanket. The staff was still spooked by the attempt on Lord Stark’s life, but the assurance that he would survive soothed their nerves a bit. Yet, the valet had such a haunted look in his eyes that Bucky caved, turning around and following the man to your quarters.

His first knock was light, and so was the second and third. When the fourth knock returned without even a muffled response, he turned the knob slowly, finding the door unlocked.

“Your Majesties?” Bucky announced his presence before entering. He couldn’t see the bed from the entrance, but, even so, he didn’t want to accidentally catch you in a compromised position.

Instead, he saw Steve, wearing the same clothes as the night before, turning your engagement ring on his hand. There was no sign of you.

Bucky mentioned for the valet to leave, before shutting the door. Whatever had happened, it was a conversation he didn’t need to hear.

“Steve?” he said, softer this time, approaching the King as one would an animal.

There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his face was puffy from crying. His hair was disheveled, rumpled like the linen shirt stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. The sparkling blue Sapphire of the ring was the only somehow still managed the catch the light in the dull room.

“Steve?” Bucky repeated, finally standing face to face with this best friend. “What happened?”

“She’s gone,” Steve croaked.

“What?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Who’s gone? The Queen?”

Steve nodded, still not looking up from the ring.

“She said she wanted some time away from the Capital. That what happened to Stark put ‘things in perspective’ for her and that she needed to think about us.”

“But… Where did she go?” the knight stuttered.

“Foghar,” Steve replied. “Sam and Barton escorted her. Her handmaiden went as well.”

Bucky was speechless. He’d bet his sword - hell, his sword and his armor - that you were as in love with Steve as he was with you. You weren’t friends, but after months living in Albeon and watching you interact with various lords and politicians, Bucky could understand why you were so guarded. A Queen’s life was full of hardships and loneliness. Yet, from his conversations with Steve - and how overjoyed he was with your seemingly growing affections - it seemed like your relationship was progressing well. Bucky never expected you to just leave.

“Did she say when she’s returning?” he asked, even though the answer was clear as day on Steve’s desolate face.

The King shook his head.

“I think I was wrong about Y/N, Bucky,” he sniffed. “And I think she was wrong about me, as well.”

“No pal, you can’t mean that,” Bucky exclaimed, leaning forward and gripping Steve’s shoulder. “Perhaps the attempt on Stark’s life scared her. He is very dear to her and maybe she thought it could’ve been you. I don’t know! But you can’t possibly think she doesn’t love you.”

“How can I not think that? She never said it. I gave her everything and at the first hardship she just… Runs.” Steve barked, his voice failing at the end.

He was broken. A thousand battles couldn’t ruin him, but you could.

Another knock came, and Lady Natasha entered.

“Your Grace,” she announced. “Lord Stark is awake. He calls for you.”

Steve gave her an affirmative nod and cleared his throat.

“I’ll see to him right away,” he turned to Bucky. “What are you doing today?”

“I was on my way to see Hill at the Armory. Maybe she can help identify the silver dagger Zemo used to stab Stark.”

For a few seconds, Steve was quiet. Natasha was still waiting by the door, implacable and impassive.

“I need you to do something for me,” the King said. “I need to you ride to Arvenia and escort my father to Court. Leave as soon as possible. I’ll send him a raven explaining that he should expect you.”

It was Bucky’s turn to frown.

“Your father?” he asked, puzzled. “Why?”

“Stark still has months of bed rest,” Steve explained as he laced his boots. “My father was once the Master of Coin. I could use his help.”

It made no sense. Steve’s relationship with his father was strained, to say the least. As far as Bucky knew - and he knew quite a bit when it came to the King - Joseph Rogers was far from being father of the year.

He wouldn't say so as Lady Natasha was still present, but he couldn't help the nagging sensation that this was Steve's way of getting back at you for leaving. And it was a shitty way.

Still, he bowed.

"Anything else, my King?"

Steve looked up, and his handsome face was still flushed and puffy from crying. He was so far from the man that Bucky always knew that it brought a cold dread to his heart.

"No," he replied. "Safe travels, my friend."

Bucky nodded and left the room, without hugging Steve goodbye.

[pluviophile-bookworm]

AWAE 3x2 rewatch: thoughts and reaction

This is dedicated to the one and only Lucas Jade Zumann, who turns 20 today. Now, without further ado, let’s dive right into this episode.

When did Marilla become what TVtropes calls an Amazingly Embarrassing Parent? I mean, it was a matter of time, now that she’s a full-on mother to Anne. And Gilbert’s reactions are everything. Everything, I tell you.

How wonderful - Anne is going to town to learn about her past. I love how they incorporated this into her story in the series, it’s, as Anne herself would say, so much more ‘romantical’ than what the books gave her as a backstory. Also, there’s something about train rides that I love so much... maybe it’s because I don’t get to ride on a train very often, so it’s exciting for me... but let’s turn our attention away from me and back to Shirbert on the train again. 

‘Yes, I’ve taken notice of that.’ Wow, the wording. I bet he’s taken notice of something else, too. But with how Anne is treating him, Gilbert doesn’t seem in a hurry to confess any feelings just yet. Plus he seems not to know how... this is so perfect yet so frustrating at the same time.

Matthew’s awkwardness around women warms my heart. He’s just such a precious cinnamon roll and that’s that on that. 

This ride makes it, once again, so clear just how similar Anne and Miss Stacy are. True kindred spirits. Her incessant talking and unquenchable excitement over everything, combined with Matthew’s awkward struggle to find words, remind me so much of Anne’s first ride to Green Gables. 

Mary’s happiness over seeing her son, and his own cheerfulness compared to the last time we saw him are just everything. Everything - I’ve got a feeling I’ll be using this word a lot in this post. This episode is just that good, at least so far. I’ve allowed myself enough time and distance to forget what happens in it (or at least the details, I do remember some major stuff), so I can experience it almost as if for the first time. I love that about rewatches. 

Elijah is thinking about staying - what a lovely family they could be. But he’s quite... wary of Delphine, as if he’s jealous of the family his mother has built herself in his absence. I don’t really know the feeling, but I can tell it’s a horrid one. 

But look who it is - the man himself, Cole Mackenzie! I’ve been so excited to see him again, and now here he is, in flesh and blood. His friendship with Anne is just... you guessed it - everything!

I am so beyond happy to hear Cole talking excitedly about his new school and new friends, and his happy new life. This guy deserves the world - and he’s getting increasingly large portions of it now. So brilliant.

I see we’re being introduced to Winifred Rose here. She certainly seemed like a potential kindred spirit in her introducing scene - too bad her and Anne’s relationship to Gilbert wouldn’t allow this to happen. But who knows - maybe someday in the future... #renewannewithane

May I just say how much I agree with Miss Stacy on the matter of choosing to be single. No one should be forcing you to find a partner if that’s not what you want. I remember coming out to my high school ‘friends’ as aroace. Their immediate reaction was to try and find me a boy. Some people just don’t understand that not everyone needs romantic  (or otherwise) companionship to be a happy, functional human being. I admire Miss Stacy for standing her ground on the matter.

Anne’s traumatic past haunts her more than ever once she goes back to the orphanage she’s spent most of her life in. I think I’m getting traumatised just by watching, imagine what Anne has lived through. 

Poor Anne can’t even muster up the strength to speak, traumatised as she is. Thank gods for Cole, always there to help out. But I guess he must be realising now, just as I am for the second time, just as I was the first time around, how much Anne has really been through in her short life so far. She’s really lucky to have the Cuthberts now, and her friends, friends like Cole. But she’s still haunted by all the trauma. I’m crying. I don’t know if I can carry on with this rewatch. I might just stop right here. 

Seriously, thank gods for Cole. How can he always bring so much light into other people’s lives, even back when he didn’t have that much light in his own? And to be honest, Anne does the same for people. She’s done it so many times that she needed someone to do it for her for once. Thank gods for people Cole. 

‘If you’re having fun, you’re doing it wrong.’ That is a serious red flag. I know things were different back in time, but I really think that you can’t have fun with something unless you’re doing it wrong, it’s better not to do it at all. So Gilbert should pursue what makes him happy, not try to stick to formalities that, at best, bind him. But hey, he’ll have to figure that out for himself. I can’t possibly go in there and tell him. But gosh, how I wish I could...

‘The best part of knowing the rules is finding acceptable ways of breaking them.’ I feel like that’s an important message. Rules aren’t meant to be obeyed blindly. It is crucial to know when and how to a rule to make the world a little bit of a better place. I’m not sure that’s the message here in this situation, in fact I think it’s most likely not, but I’m taking what I can out of it, and I’m flying with it. Isn’t that what I always do? Twist any topic towards an aspect I can talk about - since I can’t really talk about a great many things. Well, whatever, let us try and focus on the episode at hand now. I really struggle with staying on track. But I still have half of this episode to rewatch, so let’s get back to where we were. 

Elijah is seriously out of line. Seriously. I get he’s bitter that Delphine is getting the family he didn’t quite have, but his mother is right about him needing to sober up. And Bash’s trying to understand him, but some people really need to meet the business end of things rather than the kind, understanding end. 

‘Catch a man. Is it like fishing?’ Gosh, Muriel Stacy, you crack me up. But she’s absolutely right, you know. Romance and courtship should not be like fishing or hunting. A partner is not an object to be obtained, not a prize to be won. They are a fellow human being with needs of their own. But if Muriel doesn’t want one, as I said somewhere above, she should in no way be forced to ‘catch’ a man.  

Anne needs proof that she was loved... well, look no further than the pair of lone siblings who accepted you in their home and in their hearts. Look no further than the Cuthberts. 

Gilbert is quite unusually cheerful today. I’m guessing that would be courtesy of Winifred. In another universe, maybe. Either way, there is a more serious issue at hand. Elijah again, who else. He’s stolen from John Blythe’s possessions, as if he has the rights to. 

‘Fraternising with savages’? Seriously, Marilla? After all the good things I said about you? Not that they weren’t true, mind you, but that doesn’t make the part about calling other people, fellow human beings, ‘savages’. No one deserves to be treated like that. 

Gosh, that was quite a way to say those three little words. Three heavy, meaningful little words. And sure, as far as I understand, for I am no mother nor do I want to be, worry is the biggest sign of a mother’s love. And despite all the things Marilla said about the Mi’kmaq, she is a good mother to Anne. 

Let’s sum up: Marilla is an amazingly embarrassing mother, but a mother nonetheless; Anne is so cold to Gilbert that he has to resort to awkwardly courting Winifred - why?; Anne’s quest for her own past; Cole returns - thank gods for Cole; Elijah is also back, but I can’t welcome him with open arms; Miss Stacy is a true kindred spirit who, however, does not need a man to be happy; Anne is haunted by her traumatic past; Elijah steals from a dead man; ‘fraternising with savages’ - have we forgotten Anne was also a person whom mothers didn’t want their children fraternising with?; Marilla says ‘I love you’.

[hopelessromantics4life]

Ethan and MC playlist

Part two [2]

1. Bleeding Love- Leona Lewis

Closed off from love, I didn't need the pain

Once or twice was enough and it was all in vain

Time starts to pass, before you know it, you're frozen, ooh

But something happened for the very first time with you

My heart melts into the ground, found something true

And everyone's looking 'round, thinking I'm going crazy, oh

But I don't care what they say

I'm in love with you

They try to pull me away, but they don't know the truth

My heart's crippled by the vein that I keep on closing

You cut me open and I

Trying hard not to hear, but they talk so loud

Their piercing sounds fill my ears, try to fill me with doubt

Yet I know that their goal is to keep me from falling, hey, oh

But nothing's greater than the rush that comes with your embrace

And in this world of loneliness, I see your face

Yet everyone around me thinks that I'm going crazy

Maybe, maybe

And it's draining all of me

Though they find it hard to believe

I'll be wearing these scars for everyone to see

2. No one- Alicia Keys

One, two, three, four

Yeah

Yeah

This is dedicated

I just want you close

Where you can stay forever

You can be sure

That it will only get better

You and me together

Through the days and nights

I don't worry 'cause

Everything's gonna be alright

People keep talking, they can say what they like

But all I know is everything's gonna be alright

And no one, no one, no one

Can get in the way of what I'm feeling

No one, no one, no one

Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you

Can get in the way of what I feel for you

When the rain is pouring down

And my heart is hurting

You will always be around

This I know for certain

3. Don't give up on me- Andy Grammer

And I will stay

I will stay with you

We'll make it to the other side

Like lovers do

I'll reach my hands out in the dark

And wait for yours to interlock

I'll wait for you

I'll wait for you

'Cause I'm not givin' up

I'm not givin' up, givin' up

No, not yet

Even when I'm down to my last breath

Even when they say there's nothin' left

So don't give up on

And I will hold

I'll hold onto you

No matter what this world'll throw

It won't shake me loose

4. Strangers in the night- Frank Sinatra

Strangers in the night

Exchanging glances

Wandering in the night

What were the chances?

We'd be sharing love

Before the night was through

Something in your eyes

Was so exciting

Something in your smile

Was so inviting

Something in my heart

Told me I must

I must have you

Strangers in the night

Two lonely people

We were strangers in the night

Up to the moment when we said our first hello

Little did we know

Love was just a glance away

A warm embracing dance away and

Ever since that night

We've been together

Lovers at first sight

In love forever

It turned out so right

For strangers in the night

5. Love in the dark - Adele (cover by Leroy Sanchez)

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

We're not the only ones

I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said

You know I'll always mean

It is the world to me

That you are in my life

6. Tell me you love me - Demi Lovato

Bad at love, no, I'm not good at this

But I can't say I'm innocent

Not hardly

But I'm sorry

And all my friends, they know and it's true

I don't know who I am without you

I got it bad, baby

Got it bad

Oh, tell me you love me

I need someone

On days like this, I do

On days like this

No, you ain't nobody 'til you got somebody

You ain't nobody 'til you got somebody

And I hope I never see the day

That you move on and be happy without me

Without me

Oh, what's my hand without your heart to hold?

I don't know what I'm living for

If I'm living

Without you, ooh

7. Shallow - Lady Gaga, Bradley Cooper

I'm falling

In all the good times I find myself

Longin' for change

And in the bad times I fear myself

Tell me something, boy

Aren't you tired tryin' to fill that void?

Or do you need more?

Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?

I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in

I'll never meet the ground

Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us

We're far from the shallow now

8. Fire on fire - Sam Smith

Then I saw you and I knew

Maybe it's 'cause I got a little bit older

Maybe it's all that I've been through

I'd like to think it's how you lean on my shoulder

And how I see myself with you

I don't say a word

But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know

There you go, saving me from out of the cold

Fire on fire would normally kill us

But this much desire, together, we're winners

They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners

But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms

'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me

And look in my eyes

You are perfection, my only direction

It's fire on fire, mmm

It's fire on fire

When we fight, we fight like lions

But then we love and feel the truth

We lose our minds in a city of roses

We won't abide by any rules

9. The scientist - Coldplay

Tell me your secrets

And ask me your questions

Oh, let's go back to the start

Running in circles, coming up tails

Heads on a science apart

Nobody said it was easy

It's such a shame for us to part

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said it would be this hard

Oh, take me back to the start

I was just guessing at numbers and figures

Pulling your puzzles apart

Questions of science, science and progress

Do not speak as loud as my heart

Tell me you love me

Come back and haunt me

Oh, and I rush to the start

Running in circles, chasing our tails

Coming back as we are

Nobody said it was easy

10. Run to you - Lea Michele

The city sky's feeling dark tonight

We're back to back with our heads down

Just look at me, give me more tonight

Just give me more of your love now

Let's set fire to the lonely night

You're beautiful when you look at me

Let's give love another life

Cause you'll be safe in these arms of mine

Just call my name on the edge of the night

And I'll run to you, I'll run to you

I would run to you, if you want me to

Just give me some kind of reason

I'll take the pain, take it all away

Just give it some kind of meaning

Let's let go, let it be the start

You know I'm feeling the same thing

Let's let go of our broken hearts

Even if it's gonna break me, love

Gonna make my way to you

Anyway it's gonna take me, love

[gusu-emilu]

Cantatio: Chapter Nine

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying (POV Lan Zhan)

Summary: Lan Zhan gets caught up in a sparring showdown.

Cloud Recesses Academy AU, Rated T - read on AO3

After scurrying away and hiding behind the lantern arrangement once more, Wei Wuxian peeked out to look at Lan Zhan, then tilted his head and batted his eyelashes. He voice was like a low flute melody twirling around Lan Wangji.

“Lan Er-Gege,” he said, dragging out each syllable. “You’re going to scare little Xianxian.” He lifted the jars of liquor with another clink. “Why not savor a cup of Emperor’s Smile with him instead? Hm?”

< Ch. 8 | Ch. 10 > | chapter list

There was only one thing to do. Lan Wangji and Wen Qing hurtled down the stairs to flee the corpse and the haunted guqin. Lan Wangji skipped three steps at a time, while Wen Qing pitter-pattered on each individual step, somehow managing to keep up. The guqin raged behind them.

They did not stop until they reached a lofty door at the bottom of the stairs that swung open to a courtyard. The slammed the door closed.

The guqin could no longer be heard.

Lan Wangji heaved in the fresh spring-water air of the Cloud Recesses. It embraced him, swelled inside him, and instantly quieted his mind. The familiar white, moonlit gravel shifted under his feet as if to welcome him. They were safe.

This courtyard was near the edge of the central Cloud Recesses, where roofs of pavilions formed a wall around the academy.

Lan Wangji looked behind him to see that the building they had been in was a tall watchtower guarded by two lion statues. It was the mingshi, a tower used for spirit-summoning. But Lan Wangji had never heard of housing corpses in the mingshi, nor a secret room at the top that contained a wailing guqin.

The two guardian lion statues outside the mingshi had snarling faces. Like pixiu, guardian lions came in pairs: one male, one female. These two had been joined in protection of the mingshi for countless years, frozen in their powerful stance, ready to ward off evil. Hopefully they could also contain whatever type of evil was possessed by the corpse and the guqin inside.

Wen Qing staggered over to a tree in the center of the courtyard and sank down along its trunk to sit. She panted from their race down the stairs. “What just happened to us?”

Lan Wangji did not have an explanation, so he did not reply.

Rule #49: Do not trespass.

With self-loathing, he mentally added another round of beatings that he would have to receive tomorrow as punishment for breaking more rules.

A silhouette flashed on top of one of the roofs.

Lan Wangji jerked his head toward the motion. It disappeared with a rustle.

He scrutinized the buildings of the courtyard, scouring every crack and corner for movement. The hairs on his skin prickled. Someone else was here.

Wen Qing rose to her feet, having also noticed the disturbance.

Bracing himself in a martial stance, Lan Wangji unsheathed Bichen. The sword absorbed the bright glow of the moon overhead and emitted its own hungry shine. He listened for any hint of sound.

On one of the terraced walkways that lined the buildings, a soft blue sphere flickered behind a lantern pole.

Lan Wangji leapt forward. In one fluid motion, he cornered the neck of the intruder beneath the fierce blade of Bichen.

It was Wei Wuxian.

“Ahaha! Lan Zhan! No need to be so hostile! I’m just on my way back to our dorm! No need to behead me!”

Lan Wangji slid Bichen back into its scabbard. “Why are you out past curfew?”

Wei Wuxian puffed his fluffy bangs out of his face and grinned. “Why are you?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes darted through the crack between two of the lanterns and spotted Wen Qing under the tree. Then those sly irises grazed over Lan Wangji’s ruffled robes, all the way down to his feet.

“Ohhhhh. Hm, hm, hm. I know precisely what’s going on now, Lan Zhan, you big promiscuous radish. You’re having a moonlight stroll with your girlfriend. Well, I won’t disturb you two lovebirds! I’ll just be on my way now!” He raised his voice to direct the last two sentences toward Wen Qing, who shot back a disgusted glare.

“Untrue,” Lan Wangji said with a slight edge in his voice.

Wei Wuxian backed away down the walkway and raised his hands apologetically. “Really, really, I don’t mean to intrude! I’ll keep your secret safe, don’t worry,” he said with a wink.

Beneath his left hand, two egg-shaped turquoise jars hung from a string and clinked against each other.

Lan Wangji’s upper lip twitched. “Alcohol is prohibited in the Cloud Recesses.”

Wei Wuxian swung his hands behind his torso to hide the liquor. “Ah, really? I didn’t know.” His eyes crinkled into a rueful smile as he continued backing away. “Oh well, they’ve already come in with me, so I might as well enjoy them. I’ll see you later, Lan Zhan.”

As he turned to run away, Lan Wangji pounced in front of him and swung Bichen at the thread that bound the jars together. He missed by only a millimeter.

Wei Wuxian jumped back and cradled the flasks into the bend of his arm. “Hey! What gives! Isn’t it prohibited to fight without permission in the Cloud Recesses?” His eyes filled with mirth. “Mr. Head Disciple, don’t tell me you’re going to break one rule just to enforce another.”

Lan Wangji swiped at the string again.

“Hey! Stop it!”

After scurrying away and hiding behind the lantern arrangement once more, Wei Wuxian peeked out to look at Lan Zhan, then tilted his head and batted his eyelashes. He voice was like a low flute melody twirling around Lan Wangji.

“Lan Er-Gege,” he said, dragging out each syllable. “You’re going to scare little Xianxian.” He lifted the jars of liquor with another clink. “Why not savor a cup of Emperor’s Smile with him instead? Hm?”

Heat rose to Lan Wangji’s cheeks.

“Shameless.”

He dashed Bichen against Wei Wuxian, who checked it with his own white blade. Soon they were flying to-and-fro, leaping up and down and across from roofs of the Cloud Recesses, swords striking each other with metallic clangs that reverberated across the courtyard.

Although Lan Wangji’s precise, trained movements were executed with merciless force, something light bubbled in his abdomen. A hint of thrill. Pleasure, even.

Wei Wuxian was a match he had never met in a swordsman of his age. His technique was nothing like that of the Jiang Clan. It was wild, spontaneous, unorthodox, like a devil twirling its limbs in a cunning tango. Their blades were intertwined in a cosmic dance, more celestial than the stars that twinkled above their sparring figures.

It wasn’t the first time that Lan Wangji had to guess what his opponent would do next. But it was the first time in a while that sometimes, he guessed wrong.

They descended to the floor of the courtyard and struck at each other with flashes of their blades, even more vigorous than before.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian’s sword dropped. His arm slackened at his side, and he fell limp to the ground with a plop. The porcelain jars shattered, crimson liquor snaking through the gravel beneath them.

A needle stuck out of the side of his neck.

“I can’t believe the level of idiocy I have to put up with around here,” Wen Qing hissed as she marched over from the tree she had been sitting under, hands clasped behind her back. “And you’re called one of the Twin Jades? Are you really this incompetent? Why would you swordfight out in the open? You’re going to wake someone up with all the noise and get us caught for being out after curfew!”

Lan Wangji stared at her, then down at Wei Wuxian. The tan young man’s his mouth was lolled open, his body pressed into the ground like a deadweight.

“Forgive my carelessness.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wen Qing crouched down and plucked the thin silver needle out of Wei Wuxian’s flesh. He jolted up with a start, his eyes glassy.

“What? What just happened?” he said loudly.

“Shhh!” Wen Qing pressed a finger to her mouth. “I won the swordfight. That’s what happened. Let’s get out of here before someone finds us.”

Wei Wuxian looked very confused. “You won? What?”

“Never mind. Get up. We’re leaving.”

“Nooooo! My Emperor’s Smile!” Wei Wuxian wailed when he saw the red fluid puddled at his side.

“Be quiet!!”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, then slowly stood up, his back slouched. He let his hand fall and pouted.

“Lan Zhan, I worked so hard for that liquor,” he whined as they walked across the courtyard. “It was a reward for myself for being so focused on my studies, my only glimpse of joy in this soulless place. I even paid for it with Jiang Cheng’s own money. What am I to do with myself now? I think my entire life has lost its meaning.”

Just as Lan Zhan was about to shush him, they all skidded to a stop in front of the stone path leading to the dormitories. Two figures were walking up the trail toward them.

They scrambled behind a wall to hide. Wei Wuxian’s elbow jutted into Lan Wangji’s stomach, causing a sharp exhale of pain to escape from him. Could Wei Ying be any less careful?

They peered the around edge of the wall. One of the approaching figures wore artic blue robes, the other a grayish seaweed color. It was Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

“Are you really sure that’s where Young Master Jin went?” Lan Xichen said in his balmy voice, sounding slightly amused as always.

“Guangshan’s slimeball son has servants of his own,” Nie Mingjue said. “He has no business bothering a Lan Clan servant of the Cloud Recesses in the middle of the night.”

“Xichen-ge, Mingjue-xiong, I’m quite certain,” said a demure voice that did not match either of the senior disciples. “I overheard him discussing it with his cousin before our quad retired to sleep. He vowed to scold the servant woman for stepping out of line.”

Jin Guangyao appeared between Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

“It’s such a stupid fucking reason.”

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen chided.

“I’m right, though! What blockhead gets free soup and a love letter from a young lady and then struts over to her house to insult her for daring to give it to him!” Nie Mingjue’s footsteps became a bit louder. “Every one of those Jins is a self-important ass. Every one. Almost as bad as the Wens. I regret letting them take you away from Qinghe, Meng Yao.”

“Jin Guangyao,” he corrected.

Nie Mingjue shook his head. “Your old name was better.”

They passed the wall that the three curfew-breakers hid behind. They clutched each other and sank deeper into the shadows. Lan Wangji scooched an inch away from Wen Qing and into the slender masculine figure of Wei Wuxian beside him. His breath sharpened as dark hair brushed his neck.

“I’m sure Young Master Jin is planning to thank the Lan servant, not scold her,” Lan Xichen said. “He might have only spoken such words as a matter of pretense under peer pressure.”

“Maybe. But Xichen-ge, he sounded rather convincing.”

“Doesn’t matter what he plans to say,” Nie Mingjue said. “When I find him, I’m chopping off the arm that he dared push away that bowl with. Fucking prick can’t even treat a lady properly. And I had to get woken up because of it.”

“Guangyao is sorry for waking you, Mingjue-xiong. I only wanted to see my young master returned to the dorm safely.”

Their voices faded into mumbles as they disappeared around a corner at the other end of the courtyard. Lan Wangji stayed motionless for several seconds to ensure they were gone.

And also because—

Wei Wuxian smelled like plum blossoms.

Disgusting.

He gave the young man a mild shove with his shoulder as he stepped out from behind the wall and away from that offensive scent.

“What was that all about?” Wen Qing scoffed as she followed.

Wei Wuxian was still crouched in the corner. His face was covered in a shadow that seemed to be created by his own aura and not by the darkness beneath the wall. He laughed, but the sound was chilling. Eerie.

“Soup from a Lan servant? Are you kidding me?” His eyes narrowed. “My shijie made that soup. My shijie made soup and a note to leave outside Jin Zixuan’s dorm as a gift, to try to make her future husband—oh, I don’t know—acknowledge her existence. I already knew that he didn’t accept it, but he actually thinks a Lan servant did it? Are you fucking kidding me?”

His fists shook as he rose to his feet and stepped into the bright moonlight of the courtyard. The shadow of his rage still covered his face.

Lan Wangji rested a hand on Wei Wuxian’s chest, trying to send calmness through his fingertips and into the trembling body beneath them. “Wei Ying.”

He pushed Lan Wangji’s arm away. Lan Wangji placed it right back.

“Wei Ying.”

The young man’s breath started to stabilize. His chest expanded and shrank under Lan Wangji’s palm in a raw, laggard pattern.

“Fine. Let’s just get back to the dorms. I’ll deal with the peacock later. I’ll make sure every he knows that not a single golden thread in his trashy robe lets him deserve Jiang Yanli.”

His anger simmered down as the three crept along the stone path to the dormitories. Wen Qing turned at the fork in the path and departed for the girls’ dorms. Her only words of goodbye were a sharp glare at Lan Wangji and the cryptic, “Tomorrow, we talk.”

Indeed, they would talk tomorrow. With the discovery of a secret room, a corpse, and a haunted guqin, it seemed that their list of mysteries was growing rapidly.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian walked across the moonlit grass to their dorm.

“You do not approve of your sister’s fiancé.” Lan Wangji said it like a statement, but really it was a question.

Wei Wuxian scoffed. “Do you?”

Truthfully, Lan Wangji had never thought about Jin Zixuan before with much more than indifference. But if his own sibling—if Lan Xichen—were in love with someone who spurned them, he would have had very strong feelings about it.

Except, Jiang Yanli's situation bothered him more than he expected.

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove,” Lan Wangji said.

“Of course it is,” Wei Wuxian said. “You’re my friend, so you can tell me what you think.”

Lan Wangji took a few moments for these words to sink in.

They really were friends? What did friends do together? Run into each other after dark, swordfight on rooftops, and share their thoughts with each other?

…Maybe that wasn’t so bad.

“Young Master Jin should work harder to be her best partner."

“And he’s doing the exact opposite,” Wei Wuxian said.

Lan Wangji listened to the gentle sound of their footsteps, which had somehow fallen into sync with each other. After some thought, he said, “He may come to recognize her value.”

Wei Wuxian looked over. “You think so?” His gaze was questioning, but accepting, like he truly cared about Lan Wangji’s opinion even if he disagreed.

Lan Wangji nodded. “Perhaps if he learned of her true affection.”

“How could he not know? It’s so obvious.” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I just want Shijie to find someone who will be good to her. Maybe I shouldn’t be so resentful all the time. I don’t know.”

“It is not wrong to defend your family.”

Wei Wuxian only smiled, and did not have anything else to say after that, which felt unusual. At least his anger had been quelled, and some of the brightness returned to his face.

They arrived at their duplex.

An unnerving sight made Lan Wangji flinch.

There was a body sprawled across Wei Wuxian’s bed with a leg hanging over the side. It was in the same position as the person Lan Wangji had seen in the bed at the moment Wen Qing jumped in through the window. Lan Wangji had thought the sleeping man on the other side of the room was his roommate.

Now that Lan Wangji recalled the image again…could there have been two bodies in the bed?

And one of them was still here.

Wei Wuxian laughed nervously.

“Oh. Haha. I forgot about him.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3! New chapters posted every Monday on AO3 and Tuesday on Tumblr.

Ch. 10 > | chapter list

[altumvidetur]

Haikyuu!! Fic Recs (MatsuHana)

Fic Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I’ve decided to split it in a series of posts, starting with my OTPs. So here we go with some MatsuHana!

rated m for, by orphan_account

He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

of weather, of leisurely tensions, by b_minor

Two boys share an umbrella.

Don’t Lie, Bright Eyes, by tookumade

“Where do you see yourself in twenty years?”

It’s nearly one in the morning and Matsukawa, tucked up comfortably in bed next to Hanamaki, is on the verge of drifting off into blissful sleep when the question stirs him.

“Why are you trying to give me a late-night existential crisis?” he mumbles.

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 4 - leaving home)

Roses, by h_lovely

(Summary by me: slow burn, friends to lovers, things are kinky, I’m pretty sure this is the best MatsuHana I’ve ever read.)

You’re in Pink (and I’m in blue), by Hyeyu

Takahiro held his gaze a few seconds in silence before he sighed. "...It's only been a week, okay? S'not serious yet."

“Not serious yet?” Something jumped in Matsukawa’s jaw and he abruptly released Takahiro’s hand, sending the petals cascading to the ground. Takahiro was going to have to clean them up before the others started streaming into the clubroom, and wouldn’t that be fun. “You’re coughing up fucking flowers, Hanamaki.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

-

Hanamaki Takahiro has 99 problems and Hanahaki flowers make up 98 of them.

Good Bad Ideas, by tookumade

When Oikawa asks his friends to help out at his nephew’s birthday party, they get a little more than they bargained for.

(written for Haikyuu!! Rarepair Week - Day 1 - beginnings, celebration)

texting (with a capital S), by parenthetic

Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

Wet Your Whistle, by darkmagicalgirl

Hanamaki gets a job as a bartender. Matsukawa likes his uniform. (Alternatively: Matsukawa tries to ignore his huge crush on his friend-with-benefits. He fails.)

[obnoxious clucking noises], by parenthetic

On the last night of their last training camp together, Oikawa has a bad idea, Hanamaki goes along with it, Iwaizumi sort of wishes he had better friends, and Matsukawa proves himself to be particularly adept at intimidation tactics.

Love Doesn’t Come with an Instruction Manual, by plumtrees

Seijou 3rd years (now college freshmen) go to ToyCon. Oikawa has a spaz attack over Star Wars, Iwaizumi is his designated babysitter, Hanamaki is adorable, and Matsukawa doesn't know how to deal.

Here Today And There Tomorrow, by tookumade

A first meeting on opposite sides of the volleyball net, and chance meetings afterwards without it.

A Ring of Cream, by plumtrees

Hanamaki has never been one for grand romantic gestures, has never been one for romantic gestures at all, but Matsukawa's a stubborn guy.

Who can't bake for shit.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa (mostly Iwaizumi, really) to the rescue.

Morning Glory, by darkmagicalgirl

On their days off, Hanamaki and Matsukawa's mornings follow a sort of routine.

Even Though It All Went Wrong, by plumtrees

It hadn’t always been so cold. Matsukawa remembers a time where the sun shone high, its rays bright and its heat pleasant like a blanket against his skin. He remembers Hanamaki holding his hand, remembers his cheeks hurting because he’d been grinning so much. Hanamaki had opened his arms wide, and Matsukawa ran straight for them, like he’d been magnetized. He picked up Hanamaki easily and twirled them around, danced with him until they both tumbled along the grass, laughing like idiots.

He remembers because it’s all he can do now.

Crescendo, by plumtrees

Day 1 for MatsuHana Week: Online

-

The voice continues to feed him instructions, the deep rumbling purrs reverberating across his body, each hiss and click of a consonant like a sharp bite, each roll of his tongue a slide of silk against his overheating skin.

Fuck, he loves it.

Somewhat Well-Kept Secrets, by tookumade

“Why don’t they just… date already?” said Iwaizumi.

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 2 - cream puffs, in the background)

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, by plumtrees

Day 3 of MatsuHana Week: Tattoos and Flower Shops

-

Hanamaki, cheeks as pink as his hair, says, "I was drunk."

"Okay?" Matsukawa prompts.

"And it's way too expensive to laser something this big."

Holy shit. "Okay?"

"Look, can't we just go with 'I made horrible life decisions in college that are now coming back to haunt me' and move on?"

morning, noon, night, by b_minor

A day in the life of two losers in love.

on the anatomy of crushes, by carafin

A part-by-part dissection of their relationship. Medical school AU.

-

‘See you tomorrow?’ Hanamaki asks. He’s still smiling faintly, still carrying about his usual air of quiet self-assurance, but there’s no mistaking the hopefulness in his voice. ‘On the bus, I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ Matsukawa says, and tries not to make it sound too much like a promise. ‘See you tomorrow.’

(Falling in love is really, ridiculously easy.)

Dating Is Not A Nine-To-Five, by tookumade

“What if,” said Hanamaki in a whisper, “we walk in and there’s a yakuza member getting his tattoos done, and he tries to kill us because we saw his face?”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 3 - tattoos and flower shops, coffee shop)

To Fit Myself In The Spaces Between, by tookumade

It's late, a boring movie is on TV, and the remote control is nowhere in sight—and that suited them just fine.

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 4 - midnight, no control)

It’s not even close to your birthday, by squidmemesinc

The shoes look like they could be some kind of gothic lolita item, with thick, tall heels and Mary Jane straps that have little silver hearts on them. The socks are simple except that they run all the way up to his mid-thigh; the crisp white makes enough of a contrast with his skin that the colors flatter each other, rather than subdue them. Then there's the dress. It's just plain black, short and slim, though the skirt flares out at the waist. Takahiro's eyes run up it, stalling where it cuts off around the shoulders and has a wide boat neck trim with a thick ivory collar. The final piece is a simple pink ribbon—not even a necklace, just a ribbon—tied around his neck with the bow in the back.

Where Was I, When The Rockets Came To Life, by tookumade

In a city like this, there wasn’t much of a chance that they would meet again, and given Hanamaki’s current career of choice, if they did, then it was more than likely to be because of a cruel joke set up by fate. He was not about to let his heart be broken now. He had more important things to think about…

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 5 - glasses, piercing)

not like the movies, by bravely

“Here,” he says, offering the thumb back to Hanamaki. Absentmindedly, Hanamaki licks it back off. “Thanks.”

Then he blinks.

“Wait,” he says. “Shit, wait. Was that supposed to be romantic just then?”

“ — Well.” Matsukawa clears his throat. “You tell me, I guess?”

No One Else Like You, by auber_jean

"It’s not at all liberating to finally have it said out loud, because it makes it all that more real, and Matsukawa was doing really well pretending that he wasn’t in love with his best friend."

With the turn of graduation, Matsukawa finds himself choosing between a future that he has planned or something more.

live it up, drink it in, by puny

Hanamaki's not a detective, just a wing spiker with a hangover, but he's gonna figure out who gave him all these hickeys if it damn well kills him.

Begin, by Karasuno Volleygays

It's the last day of their high school years and the first day of the rest of their lives. As they spend the night under a blanket of stars, they can't help but wonder where will they go from here?

Playing Doubles, by squidmemesinc

“We always said we were going to fuck at every possible time of day,” Takahiro says, rolling his hips gently over Issei’s.

“I do remember saying that once. Do you have the calendar on hand?”

Captured Light, by plumtrees

“The smile you’re wearing in this photo,” Hanamaki continued, just a little bit sad, “you haven’t smiled like that in a long time.”

Matsukawa looked at the photo again. It was awkward; it always was, seeing himself through Hanamaki’s lens. He’d never really focused on himself whenever he looked at the photos Hanamaki took of him, but now his eyes actively trailed over his face, the crinkle of his eyes, the twinkle in them from the light reflecting off of his cellphone, the smile wide enough to show an entire row of teeth.

He tried to emulate the expression, only to realize how foreign it felt on his face.

-

A love story like most love stories, stuck between busy days and too little time spent together.

Matsukawa learns to take it easy, and Hanamaki is his teacher.

Marks, by Andramion

The room is quiet when Issei gathers the pillows under his arms and lies down. He presses his nose into his shoulder, closes his eyes and focusses on the barely-there touch of fingertips to his skin.

Hanamaki always does this, every single time.

Sure, by kiyala

Beginning university brings a lot of changes with it. As Iwaizumi and Oikawa deal with going to different universities, Hanamaki thinks about his own relationship with Matsukawa.

nebulas, by tothemoon

“You'll have to let me think about it,” Hanamaki says to him while they're looking at soup stocks in the supermarket one evening, because he knows being with someone is not as simple as he'd like it to be.

(At this, Matsukawa does not fret. He goes for the snack aisle, instead.)

Settled, by kiyala

Hanamaki and Matsukawa go for a walk in their hometown in the middle of the night, and reflect on the things that have changed since high school.

Staking a Claim, by iwaizumemes

"Do you think they can tell?"

"Tell what?"

"That we've fucked in all their bedrooms."

something of a disaster, by latenights

“This is the part where you make a wish and blow.”

“Now, let’s not get too hasty—“

“I meant the candles you bastard.”

that’s you get (for waking up in vegas), by skittidyne

“There was an Elvis?” Hajime asks.

“He was the officiator. It’s the cliché, right?”

“…Officiator of what?” Tooru asks with a look down at Takahiro’s hand.

“You can borrow my phone to pull pictures from for our wedding album.” Issei reaches over and grasps the hand with the ring on it. Everyone is staring at their clasped hands like a three-headed lobster just crawled onto the table. “You were both the best men and I was very, deeply touched by how affected you both were at the ceremony,” he says in a perfect deadpan.

(( or: iwaizumi does not want to be the responsible one, and thus they suffer the consequences, or, perhaps, 'suffer' is a bit too strong of a word ))

Wilds, by AngryKitten

Makki waded back to him, two handfuls of stones dripping lake-water. He was grinning, like he always did, like their lives were one great joke that Matsukawa only occasionally understood. Hanamaki tipped his hand, and the rocks tumbled out into the bottom of their canoe.

“For later,” Hanamaki said.

Parting Words, by kiyala

Matsukawa confesses his feelings for Hanamaki at graduation, knowing that they're unrequited. Hanamaki's not so sure about that.

we could be the greatest team, by anyadisee

Oikawa mock-gasps. “Makki! You should know that I was genuinely planning on talking about strategy! I just thought it would be polite to wait for Iwa-chan and Mattsun to get back. But since you brought the topic up”—Hanamaki opens his mouth to protest, but is ignored—“have I told you how amazing Iwa-chan is? Like, he’s just the best boyfriend ever.”

“Wow, I never would’ve guessed what with, you know, how much you’ve been talking about it,” Hanamaki deadpans.

Oikawa waves a hand airily. “Don’t be jealous that my boyfriend is so sweet and romantic.”

Now it’s Hanamaki’s turn to raise eyebrows. “Excuse me, but did you just indirectly drag Issei?"

[in which hanamaki and oikawa get competitive, matsukawa and iwaizumi are good boyfriends, and the rest of seijoh somehow get involved.]

chocolate, by tellalie

“We have to do something,” Mattsun says.

Tides That Bind, by rubyfiamma

Matsuhana Fluff via prompt #19. Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were.

Room to Talk, by holdontoyourhulahoops

In which one snarky comment from Yahaba makes Hanamaki realize he's been a dirty hypocrite all this time.

The Best/Worst Places to Cry in the City, by AngryKitten

“Okay this is going to sound weird, and I get it if you want to say no, but I know a good place to cry and it’s only like a block from here. If you need to, um, let that out or something.”

Matsukawa gets hit on while crying in public and it might be the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Or it might be the best.

plus one, by orphan_account

"Did you know we're dating?"

"What? Says who?"

"Says everyone apparently."

"Oh," Hanamaki frowns for a few seconds before shrugging and turning his attention back to the chocolate fountain. "Nice."

Making Sense, by kiyala

Sharing an apartment does very little to help Hanamaki deal with his feelings for Matsukawa. Perhaps that's not such a bad thing.

and indeed there will be time, by plumtrees

Between volleyball and the looming end of their high school years, Hanamaki thinks he’s already dealing with more than enough, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, no one else gets the memo.

-

Alternatively: “I am not in love with my best friend!” says Hanamaki Takahiro. Nobody buys his bullshit.

snakes, meth labs and something like love, by orphan_account

"Did you know snakes can give birth to between ten and 150 babies at any one time?"

Matsukawa tenses. "And how many have you, um— How many have you found?"

"Four," Hanamaki sighs, voice shaking slightly with what sounds like pure, unadulterated defeat. "So far."

Flamingo, by JanaRumpandRCJawnn

Summary by me: series with Trans!Makki, dealing with transphobia, and a nice lovely characterization of Ushijima.

it’s cold out there, by bishounen_curious

Seijoh's parties are always a mess, but this one takes the cake.

he’s a looker but i really think it’s guts that matter most, by respectableflourish

His fellow first year loves volleyball, has a chill factor verging on glacial, partakes in the type of verbal repartee Takahiro has only ever dreamt of finding in another person, and just so happens to exhibit an eyebrow and eyeliner game that is on another fucking level.

my heart beats for contract law, by orphan_account

"You had an emotional breakdown in a McDonalds drive-through."

"Mmm."

"And proposed to me."

"Shhh."

"In a McDonalds drive-through, Hiro."

Takahiro huffs out a nervous laugh, keeping his eyes closed. "You love it," he repeats, nuzzling closer.

services i can provide, by commovente

“So, what’s this?” Matsukawa asks. “An apology?”

Hanamaki drawls the words out, but he’s rambling. “I mean, I was actually going for a bribe, but. You know what, Mattsun? I’m nothing if not adaptable, so. Yes. Consider this an apology.”

it’s easy being with you, sacred simplicity, by earlgrey_milktea

a conversation at half past three.

poolside, by tothemoon

At eighteen, it'd been a matter of wading.

At twenty-five, Hanamaki tries not to fall in headfirst.

need a little sweetness in my life, by orphan_account

The smell of freshly baked bread, watching his cakes rise, listening to customers endlessly praise his desserts? All that is great but, Matsukawa thinks as he shuffles closer to the counter to greet him, the best thing about his job is the man standing in front of him.

And he doesn’t even know his name.

Lemonade, by carriecmoney

“Seriously, after Oikawa’s Oikawaness, Iwaizumi with the shoulders and the intensity and the caring about people shit and you with…” Takahiro gestures at Matsukawa’s everything. “That. What am I?”

Sing For Me, by rideahorse

The first time he hears Matsukawa singing, it’s in the shower, post-practice, when Matsukawa is likely positive no one’s around to hear it. Takahiro doesn’t even know what to think at first; Matsukawa sings just as he talks, voice a low timbre, barely changing pitch as it navigates through some melody that is so familiar yet unreachable in Takahiro’s mind. It’s English, too, so Takahiro wouldn’t understand it anyways, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that the locker room suddenly feels ten times hotter and Takahiro feels like he might melt into a puddle of very gay and very confused sludge.

Realisations, by kiyala

In which Hanamaki realises that Matsukawa is a werewolf, and has a few other realisations while he's at it.

Magical Mishaps and How to Deal, by plumtrees

Hanamaki Takahiro loved Matsukawa Issei. Sometimes. Mostly. When he wasn’t being bull-headed or overly-difficult. Which wasn’t a lot of the time now that Hanamaki thought about it. Shit. But he digressed.

Demon-mating was a for life kind of deal. Certainly not a decision one could make out of the blue, without years of prior thought and much meditation. The day he asked for his mother’s blessing, the day he planned to ask Matsukawa to be his mate, she had told him If you’re sure you’ll be happy with him, then all I hope for is that he says yes and by some miracle he did and here they are now and Hanamaki could say with all the certainty in the world that he loved Matsukawa Issei with all his heart and soul(s).

But some days…dear gods, some days…some days he just made it really, really difficult.

-

Or: Matsukawa accidentally turns Kindaichi and Kunimi into babies and guess who has to help him clean up his fucking mess.

Pink and Yellow, by hotcocoa

Hanamaki is beautiful, Matsukawa is supportive, and both of them are the luckiest boyfriends in the world.

hang out fall in love, by carafin

In which Hanamaki's humble medical practice is threatened by an intractable asshole a witch doctor who's just moved into the shop down the street. Medical/Witchcraft AU.

-

As far as Hanamaki’s concerned, and as far as bad life decisions go, setting up your witch clinic right next to an actual, proper, medical clinic is practically akin to setting up an all-you-can-eat buffet right next to a gym. Or a sex toy shop next to a church. Or a vegetable patch next to a goat farm. Or – yeah, the point is, this Matsukawa guy has totally cornered the market in Terrible-Life-Decision-Making-Skills.

Baby It’s Cold Outside, by dancingwithwings

Matsukawa looks round. And – heaven help him – he’s greeted with the guy from a couple of apartments down, the guy who dyes his hair to look like a strawberry for reasons unbeknownst, looking so disgruntled, so bedraggled, so akin to a drowning cat, that it almost makes him laugh out loud. The guy is barefoot, wearing only a towel. And the look on his face might turn Matsukawa to stone.

In which the fire alarm goes off, Hanamaki is in a towel, and Mattsun just really needs to study.

Zenith, Nadir, by tookumade

A former god realises that it's time to say goodbye.

Parallel Lines, by orphan_account

Yesterday night, Matsukawa had told his parents that he was joining math club, which lead to several confused smiles from them as they tried to figure out his change of heart.

“Didn’t you say you were allergic to competitive math?” His mom had asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re very supportive of your decision, but-”

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they’d let it go because no sane parent prevents their child from joining math team, which is intellectually beneficial and looks very nice on college applications. This, in turn, prevents Matsukawa from having to explain that he’s joining- dear god- because of a crush.

this isn’t exactly how i thought i’d spend my adult years, by jadedpearl

When Hanamaki coughs–hacks–the guy, who's been near comatose this entire time, opens his eyes and looks over a little, seemingly with the least amount of effort possible. "Bless you," he says, but his eyes are still sleepy. Hanamaki turns his head and stares at him. "I didn't sneeze." The guy looks a bit surprised. "What?" "I coughed." "So?" "Who the fuck says bless you when someone coughs?"

The Courage of Stars, by FairyLights101

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Then again, not many things were.

sugar pink liquor, liquor lips, by h_lovely

His lips still taste like sugar and liquor; they’re rosy and plush as they fit softly against Matsukawa’s own.

What would you do (if I told you that I la, la, la, loved you?), by Frenchibi

5 IwaOi moments as seen by Hanamaki and Matsukawa ... +1 moment of revenge :'D

Shoulda Known, by fxvixen

He quickly composes his face to look concerned. “What’s the matter there, sport?”

The groan cuts off.

Hanamaki lifts his head, a few strands of hair flopping onto his forehead. He narrows his eyes at Matsukawa’s attempt of a poker face. “Never call me that again.”

~or~

matsuhana feels and cuddles

Time and Distance, by kiyala

Matsukawa is attending university in Kyoto. Hanamaki comes to visit.

Kaleidoscope, by tookumade

Fall in love in five cities.

press play, by airblends

“Makki, you want in on our intro?” Oikawa gestures with his hand.

“Nah, I already promised Issei we’d do one for his channel. There are only so many intros a man can film in a day.”

“Issei, huh?” Oikawa’s lips settle into a knowing smirk. Iwaizumi coughs into his fist, gently prying the camera from Oikawa’s hands to turn it off.

Hanamaki’s face burns up, his cheeks a fiery red. “We’re just friends,” he says, the phrase rolling off his tongue by sheer reflex. He has lost count of how many times he’s typed it into the comment section beneath his videos. At this point he might just start to believe it himself.

New Ground, by kiyala

About new cities and new relationships.

Trusting Things Beyond Mistake, by twinkrevali

"‘I–’ Hanamaki starts, then stops, turning to face the lake and frowning as the words fail to reach him.

Matsukawa pushes himself up to look at Hanamaki properly, hands resting in his lap.

‘You,’ he prompts, and Hanamaki looks at him, eyes shining.

This must be, he thinks, what they call a moment of clarity."

Would You Rather, by jadedpearl

“Y’know,” Hanamaki says, stretching his arms above his head, “I don’t even get why Oikawa is the popular one. If this was an anime, I’d be the main character.”

The setting sun burns his edges gold, alights the sharp planes of his face. Matsukawa looks away, faces forward, towards the houses that wind out of sight.

“What makes you say that?” he replies easily, because things have always been just that, with Hanamaki.

too scared to say (that i want you), by urieskooki

"How could he not hate me if he knew?"

Falling in love with your best friend sucks.

one-way ticket, by noyabeans

post-chapter 258.

-

in an alternate universe, they would be the ones on that screen, feet solidly planted on the smooth ground of the tokyo gym and the smell of air salonpas around them.

take my hand, take my whole life, too, by earlgrey_milktea

matsukawa and hanamaki, a few years down the road, and years to go, together.

all our stolen moments (i’d spend forever with you), by earlgrey_milktea

quiet moments between matsukawa and hanamaki.

it's all worth it, in the end.

Switched Jerseys, by chromyrose

After practice on an afternoon shortly before the Spring High tournament begins, they’re the last two people changing in the club room. The weather is starting to turn for the colder, and Hanamaki sighs when the cool air touches his heated skin after he takes his jersey off. He feels a warm hand on his back, and looks over his shoulder...

oh we’re fading fast / i miss missing you now and then, by earlgrey_milktea

It’s strange, missing someone. You find them in every thing you do, and you think you want them back, but you don’t. Not really. Not now, not like this.

-

issei and the quiet that hanamaki left behind.

i thought i could tame these memories to keep me company like a housecat, by earlgrey_milktea

So he stayed here, in a house that hasn’t been a home in a long time, with a cat that keeps looking out the window as if waiting for someone that isn’t coming home.

-

takahiro and the empty house and lonely cat that issei left behind.

those days are dead and gone (but we’re still here), by kythen

They're graduating today and Hanamaki doesn't want to get out of bed.

stranger things, by tinypersonhotel

In 2012, the men’s national volleyball team took home the bronze at the Asian Cup. Tokyo Skytree opened to the public. Also, the dashing Hanamaki Takahiro and painfully cool Matsukawa Issei started a radio show out of Aoba Johsai’s abandoned A/V room and accidentally became the two most popular guys in school.

Daily Password: [ ], by tookumade

“Neko Atsume?” Hanamaki says sleepily when he recognises the song coming from his phone. He opens his eyes with a mystified smile. “You’re still playing?”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 1 - music)

tell them i love you, by tookumade

“Are you two serious about it, though?” Oikawa says dubiously after training when they’re leaving the clubroom together. “Could you seriously tell each other ‘I love you’?”

“Of course we’re serious!” protests Matsukawa at the same time Hanamaki says, “Of course we can!”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 3 - romantic gesture)

like a river, by astersandstuffs

“Is that a confession? Are you actually confessing to me right now?”

“Hm. Yeah.”

-

Or, they still have a lot to learn (and maybe that's the thing about being together).

Baby(sitting), Maybe, by tookumade

“One day,” says Hanamaki, “we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

“Mm-hm,” Matsukawa hums.

“It’ll be a cute little story. We’ll tell our friends, and they’ll laugh along with us. They might even be sympathetic.”

“Mmmm…”

“You’re absolutely right, sympathetic is reaching way too far.”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 6 - children, bonds)

Matsuhana Week 2017, by h_lovely

Day 1: music//relationship goals Day 2: competition//petty Day 3: romantic gesture//fairy tale Day 4: in danger//leaving home Day 5: food//science Day 6: children//bonds Day 7: on video//surprises

A God for Every Season, by timkons

Mortals have all kinds of foolish tales, like how Hades and Persephone's annual reunion causes the seasons. Matsukawa knows better.

Habenaria Radiata, by tookumade

Hanamaki turns onto his side so that they’re facing each other, and his smile is warm; Matsukawa feels his heart skip a beat, as it always does whenever this happens, and he wonders when he’ll ever get used to it, when it’ll become normal enough that he doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach every time Hanamaki smiles at him.

(Probably never, if he’s being honest with himself. He is content with this.)

take my heart and put it in your pocket, by Frenchibi

Issei blinks. “I ain’t drinkin’ any of your froofy Christmas Latte thingies.” “Orange Caramel Mocha.” “What?” “Vanilla Chai Latte.” “Ew.” “Cinnamon Hot Chocolate.” Issei rolls his eyes, resigned. “Fine. That doesn’t sound too awful.”

Remind Me, by tookumade

For Hanamaki and Matsukawa, their first meeting consists of a small accident, a terrible first impression, and the start of something new—maybe something better.

(In which they learn to keep trying, and to try again.)

like twinkling lights and the warmth of your hand, by earlgrey_milktea

mattsun and makki go on an impromptu date.

in a daze, by wyverning

The sound of a camera shutter goes off, and Issei lazily cracks open an eye to see Hanamaki grinning down at him, phone held loosely in one hand.

“That was the best Kunimi impression I’ve ever seen,” he says by way of explanation.

Clueless, by Elleh

If anyone had asked Issei how he’d thought his night would end, he’d have never said: catching my best friend moaning my name while fucking himself.

There’s an odd second, between Issei entering their room and sliding the door of the bedroom open, in which Issei is still oblivious. Skin prickling, a sudden dryness in his mouth, but oblivious. He’s taking his shoes off when the first moan catches him.

He stills right on the spot, a shoe hanging from his finger, the other hand half-way to opening the bedroom. Issei swallows, images of Hanamaki with a girl from the hotel, that’s why he didn’t want to come with us drink, the bitter taste that realisation leaves behind. Issei shouldn’t care Hanamaki’s having sex with someone, but the sourness turns into rage—and maybe disappointment. He’s gonna have a serious conversation about boundaries and, you know, could you let me know in advance, so I find—

“Issei… Mmmh, fuck.”

IOU, by Karasuno Volleygays

Matsukawa Issei goes in for a tattoo and ends up with an interesting new friend in Hanamaki Takahiro. Soon his visits to his tattoo artist's studio in the back of a restaurant become a highlight of his days, and that's before feelings start to wriggle their way into the picture.

take a screenshot, it’ll last longer, by h_lovely

It’s all fun and games until someone pops a boner in a staff meeting.

lapsus linguae, by astersandstuffs

“I’m literally your best friend,” Matsukawa says.

Takahiro pauses. “Shit. You’re right.”

Reflex, by hiuythn

Nobody likes to talk about how Hanamaki and Matsukawa met, which is a shame, because they both think it's the funniest fucking thing to ever happen to either of them.

my way home, by tookumade

Matsukawa has been sitting at their freshly-placed dining table and staring at his copy of their new apartment keys for at least an hour.

(Hanamaki checks his watch. Okay, five minutes; same thing.)

first light, by tookumade

Iwaizumi and Oikawa immediately break out into booing and gagging noises, because as much as they both think themselves mature and reasonable people, they are honestly idiots. Matsukawa just grins and takes a sip of his own beer, pleased, but Hanamaki is frozen, eyes wide and a blush creeping across his face in a way that had nothing to do with the beer.

Tactical Retreat, by Karasuno Volleygays

After years of getting their asses handed to them by the seemingly psychic Iwaoi bond, Issei and Takahiro opt to spend the rest of their paintballing trip engaged in other activities.

Mirror Flower, Water Moon, by h_lovely

Matsukawa’s gaze lingers on Hanamaki. He’s talking about something, ranting on and Matsukawa isn’t sure about what at this point. He should be listening really, how rude of him. But spring has just sprung and the little pink petals dotting the sidewalk match so pleasantly with the strawberry shade of Hanamaki’s short-clipped hair.

(Or, a study on timing and how to get it right.)

quidditch gloves, parchment, and custard cream, by h_lovely

After class, Matsukawa finds Hanamaki in the tall cushy grass by the lake.

[sariasprincy-writes]

Hollow Point - Epilogue

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty // Thirty-One // Thirty-Two // Thirty-Three // Thirty-Four // Thirty-Five // Thirty-Six //  - Epilogue Part I (here) 

Epilogue Phantom Pain

Berlin, Germany

It was raining again. Water fell from the sky, pelting the ground and speckling the glass of the store fronts lining the sidewalks. Inside a little coffeehouse a few blocks from the city center, Sakura sipped her mocha as she watched the sky attempt to drown the earth beneath it.

The little shop wasn’t terribly large. Just big enough for a few tables. She sat by herself while the rest of the room was occuied by a group of young, high school-aged locals. They chatted animatedly in rapid German; their laughter only broken up by the tinkling of the bell above the front door.

Sakura didn’t look up as the chair across from her was pulled back before a man in a raincoat sat down. Kakashi pushed his hood back before he let out a relieved sigh, obviously happy to be out of the rain. He ordered a plain Americano from the waitress and waited to speak until she brought it out to him in a large porcelain coffee mug similar to Sakura’s.

“How did your meeting with your contact go?” Kakashi asked before he taste-tested his drink.

“As well as could be expected,” she replied. When he shot her a curious look, she explained with a faint glare. “He was more interested into getting into my pants then talking actual business.”

“Which is why you choose to work with women,” Kakashi provided.

Sakura tipped her head. “Still, he proved to be of some use. As it turns out he knows of someone who wants to begin moving product into New York.”

“Oh?”

“Her name is Karin. She’s a Russian dealer out of Moscow. She smart and crafty, but she’s been busy fighting other dealers within the country to branch out.”

Kakashi’s brow arched in surprise. “You’ve been watching her a while then.”

“Almost a year,” she nodded.

“She shows promise then.”

Sakura hummed her agreement as she drank from her now-lukewarm mug. “I’m not ready to introduce myself yet though. She has some in-house cleaning to do before she can consider branching out. Until then, I’ll keep watch from a distance. Ino thinks Karin would help Tenten keep up with her orders.”

“That would ease the flow of product out of Cairo too,” Kakashi said.

Sakura nodded again, her gaze distant as her mind worked through the ins and outs of her business. There had been some Egyptian Federal Agents poking around her eastern port lately. They were moving so much product it was beginning to draw the eyes of the government; something she needed to shut down soon.

“Is your shoulder bothering you again?” Kakashi asked abruptly.

Confused, Sakura realized she had been massaging her shoulder through her sweatshirt where Izuna had shot her nine months ago. It ached on cool days or when she sat still for too long. And when she allowed her mind to wander…

She dropped her hand. “It’s fine.”

Kakashi obviously wasn’t convinced, but she continued before he could press her. “Any word on Kisame?”

The ex-Marine observed her for a long moment before he finally shook his head. Sakura didn’t know if she was more relieved or disappointed. Kakashi had spent the last few months bouncing between Egypt and Israel, mostly keeping an eye on Temari’s operations and checking in with the latest news in Tel Aviv. If there was any news on Kisame, Kakashi would have heard.

“Temari hasn’t seen or heard anything from him since he arrived in Cairo nine months ago,” Kisame said. “He likely scouted out what became of Akatsuki in Egypt before he returned to Israel. He’s been underground since then.”

“Hopefully he got another assignment,” she murmured, none too hopeful. Sakura didn’t doubt Kisame still had it out for her. Especially since their last meeting had ended on less than friendly terms.

“Speaking of another assignment, you’re heading back to New York almost two weeks earlier than you planned,” Kakashi said, absently stirring his coffee. “What’re you working on?”

“Nothing in particular. Tenten is looking to recruit more men. Her influence is spreading faster than either of us anticipated.”

“Tenten has the money and resources to handle that on her own,” he said in confusion.

“Yes, but I want to be there to remind her who provided her all her new territory,” Sakura said, just a hint of sharpness entering her tone. “Tenten and I get along just fine, but she plays by her own rules. I don’t want her forgetting this is my game.”

Kakashi considered that with a single side-nod, as if to say he agreed with her reasoning.

Sakura fell quiet after that, her mind running through the errands and projects that needed her attention when she returned to the States. She needed to meet with Tenten, check in on Ino, and Sakura tended to have this habit of dropping by Tobirama’s. Purely to get an update on his numbers, or so she told herself.

“What time does your flight leave?” Kakashi asked.

Sakura checked her watch. “Four hours from now.”

“Do you want me to join you or do you need me to check in on Temari again?”

Whatever Sakura was about to say fell forgotten as she heard Itachi laugh somewhere behind her. Abruptly she jerked her head to the sound, her heart skipping a beat in her chest. Only for her gaze to land upon another man. He was a young American, about Itachi’s age with a deep laugh like he used to have.

Not for the first time, Sakura forced herself to remember Itachi was gone, he’s dead. She had stood on the hill in Arlington nearly nine months ago as they lowered his casket into the ground. His entire family lined the front row of mourners, including Shisui and someone Sakura recognized from a photo on the mantle above Itachi’s fireplace: Sasuke, his younger brother.

Then they had stamped the newly dug earth with a name plate. Sakura had only visited it once.

Still, Itachi haunted her. She heard his voice in crowded places and felt his touch in her dreams. She wondered when she would ever stop thinking about him.

“Sakura?”

At the call of her name, she turned her gaze back to Kakashi. There was an expectant look on his face that reminded her he was waiting for an answer.

“Check in on Temari,” Sakura finally replied. “If the police aren’t poking around again, come join me in New York.”

With that decided, they finished their coffee and stood to leave. Under the awning, Kakashi told her he’d keep in touch and to update him on the situation in New York. She nodded her assent and waited until he was out of sight before she dared glance back at the coffeehouse.

A dull ache rose in her chest, but she inhaled and exhaled quickly, pushing the feeling away as she turned her back on the café. She had a plane to catch.

xx

Queens, New York, United States of America

As soon as she landed, Sakura made her way to Tobirama’s mansion. It was late when she arrived. The stars were already out and a bright, full moon illuminated the sky even against the polluting city lights.

As usual, the guard let her pass. She drove up the circle drive and parked out front. Immediately a staff member greeted her and accepted her car keys to park her vehicle in the garage. The butler answered the door before she had even started ascending the entrance stairs. In the doorway, he accepted her coat without anything more than a polite ‘good evening’.

Tobirama greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. His brow arched curiously. “You’re here early.” Then he glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. “Nearly two weeks early.”

She cocked her head, a smirk lingering in the corner of her mouth. “Should I come back later?”

His gaze lingered on her a moment. Then the corner of his lips flickered up into a smirk before he grabbed her and roughly sealed his mouth over hers. They stumbled to the bedroom, bumping pictures on the wall and tripping over discarded clothes until Tobirama hoisted her onto his hips. Her legs wrapped around his waist before her back hit the wall just inside the bedroom door.

A sound between a gasp and a moan ripped out of her throat as he lined himself up. Then he settled deep inside her, allowing gravity to do its job as his fingers bruised her thighs. Sakura wasn’t even sure if he had closed the door behind them, but she couldn’t care less as he started a hard, fast rhythm. Her head fell back against the wall as he buried himself into a particularly sensitive spot, her breathy moan turning into something sharper as his teeth bit into the soft skin of her neck.

Then Sakura retaliated. Her fingers tangled into his hair, jerking his head back before she crushed her mouth to his. She wasn’t sure if she had missed him, but she was certain she missed this, and she tightened her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

Their battle lasted until climax. Sakura came with an unmuffled cry before Tobirama carried her to the bed. He finished inside her before he rolled off to rest on the bed beside her. Sakura didn’t move until her breath evened out and the sweat on her skin began to make her feel cold and sticky. Without a word, she pushed herself to her feet before she made her way to the joined bathroom.

Inside, Sakura took a quick shower and wrapped herself up in one of the plush towels on the rack before she paused in front the mirror. Steam clung to the surface and she wiped it away with her hand, only pausing when she caught sight of the ugly, circular scar on her shoulder just below her collarbone. It had healed well after the surgery and would fade more with time, but it was a stark reminder of what had happened that day.

Sakura turned away before the memories could surface. She rubbed some lotion onto her legs and ran a brush through her hair before returning to the bedroom.

Her bag had appeared in the hall just outside the door and she brought it inside before dug out her computer bag. Tobirama was still in bed, his own laptop open in his lap.

“How was Cairo?” Tobirama asked.

He didn’t look up at her as she settled on the far side of the bed, one leg bent at the knee in front of her while the other hung off the side of the mattress.

“Boring,” Sakura replied as she booted up her system. “Temari has a pretty good handle on everything happening over there.”

Tobirama side-eyed her. “So, what did you do for the last month?”

“Hung out at the beach. Drank frilly drinks.”

“You’re not the kind to drink frilly drinks,” Tobirama said flatly.

Sakura couldn’t resist her smile. The man was right about that. “I went to Germany.”

Just as she expected, he blinked in confusion. “What the fuck is in Germany?”

“A contact,” she replied, unfazed by his language. “You remember how I said I might be able to get a line into Russia? There’s someone in Moscow that might be willing to start trading into New York.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay, but why meet in Germany?”

“Because that’s where he lived. I don’t fucking know. We just did,” she said, attitude creeping into her voice.

Tobirama was hardly put off by her tone. He didn’t look up from his computer as he asked, “So now what?”

“Now we wait to see if this new dealer contacts me,” she shrugged, her eyes turning down to her computer as her finance software loaded up. “It might take a little while, but I think I have what she wants.”

On the other side of the bed, Tobirama cocked his head. “Which is what?”

“Guns, money, power. Exactly what every other woman wants.”

He shot her an odd look as if to say he doubted that was what every woman wanted, but Sakura ignored him. Instead, she turned down to her work, double checking her accounts and her gun stores.

She was still balancing her finances when her phone went off a little while later. She picked up her phone absentmindedly, saving her work before she glanced at the caller ID. Instantly, she froze. The number was unsaved in her contacts, but she knew who was on the other end.

Orochimaru.

Closing her computer, Sakura stood from the bed. She picked up the call, but didn’t speak into the receiver as she grabbed the first article of clothing she found off the floor. It was Tobirama’s shirt. Quickly she slipped it on over her head before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

In the hall, a maid passed by. She nodded respectfully at Sakura before she quickly retreated down the other end to give her privacy. Sakura hardly even glanced in her direction. The staff were already used to seeing her half-naked, if not fully, by now.

As soon as Sakura was sure she was alone, she held the phone to her ear. “What?”

“Well isn’t that an unpleasant greeting. Shall we try again?” Orochimaru replied cheerfully. When Sakura remained silent, he huffed. “Fine, be that way. I believe you know why I’m calling.”

“You want to collect my debt.”

“Smart and beautiful,” he chuckled.

Sakura resisted the urge to growl. “What do you want?”

“And straight to the point,” he complained. “Very well. There is a man named Inuzuka Kiba. He’s a drug runner that I want taken care of. He’s mostly a ghost, but he commonly does his business in-”

“Moscow,” she finished.

She heard Orochimaru’s surprise through the phone. “You know him?”

“I know of him,” she said vaguely. “Why do you want him gone?”

“Oh darling,” he chuckled too fondly. “When I cleaned up your mess in New Jersey, did I ask any questions?”

A glare settled across her expression, but she forced it away with a sigh. As much as she hated Orochimaru, he had a point. And taking care of Kiba might actually earn her a favor in Russia.

“Consider it done,” she eventually said.

“Excellent.”

Orochimaru hung up then, but Sakura didn’t immediately return to the bedroom as she weighed her options. She hadn’t exactly been planning on moving into Russia so soon, but with Orochimaru’s orders, she had no choice.

After another minute, Sakura finally returned to the bedroom. Tobirama was still sitting where she had left him, computer on his lap. He glanced up at her briefly when she paused beside the bed, her phone still spinning slowly in her hand as she thought.

“What is it?” he asked.

Blinking her thoughts away, Sakura tossed her phone down onto the bed. “Remember how I wanted to go to Russia?”

“Yeah.”

“Turns out we’re going earlier than I planned.”

Tobirama arched his brow in surprise. “When?”

“Next week.”

Xx

Moscow, Russia

Music filled the ballroom. It drifted from the orchestra down below and rose up into the high ceiling. Men and women were dressed in expensive evening attire with glasses of champagne and whiskey in their hands provided by passing servers.

From the second floor, Sakura stood shadowed on a balcony overlooking the elegant party. The faint murmur of conversation reached her ears, but from her distance she couldn’t make out their words. Especially not when they were laced with such heavy Russian accents.

Like a hawk hunting her prey, Sakura watched the party-goers mingle with a calculating gaze, her eyes sharpened with black eyeliner. The people below looked like business men and women, and perhaps most of them were, but her sights were set on one.

Karin.

The beautiful woman stood out in her sparkling, silver dress. The material brushed her ankles, but it hugged her bust and curvy waist, the bits of crystal in her dress sparkling against the giant chandelier overhead. Her red hair spilled over her shoulder in silky curls, her bangs framing her youthful face. She was only a few years older than Sakura, but even she had to admit Karin was doing well in the Russian Underground. Especially now that Kiba was out of the picture.

“Is she ready?” a voice asked.

Sakura didn’t turn her gaze away from Karin as Tobirama came to a stop beside her. The woman below them was fingering a flute of champagne, but Sakura had been keeping an eye on her for near that of an hour. It was only her second glass.

“Not quite,” Sakura replied. “Perhaps after another drink.”

“Should I warm her up for you then?”

Sakura turned her gaze away to peer at Tobirama then. There was a reason she had invited him to come along with her. He looked dashing in his black-on-black suit. The color was normally slimming, but this particular outfit made Tobirama’s shoulders broader, his muscles more apparent. Dangerous without being overly intimidating.

He really was an attractive man with his dark eyes and grey hair. Under the shadows of the balcony, the ridges of his cheekbones were emphasized, the cut of his jaw stronger. He was a silver fox. Exactly the type of man Karin was attracted to.

Sakura smoothed her hand over one side of his collar, pressing it down firmer. Then she smiled. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes to get acquainted.”

Tobirama smirked faintly, the harsh shadows making it appear more cruel, before he slipped away. Sakura tracked him as he descended the stairs and slipped through the crowd until he was standing beside Karin. He took her hand as he introduced himself, bowing slightly as he raised the back of her hand towards his mouth. He didn’t kiss her skin, but he came close in a polite greeting.

Sakura hadn’t told Tobirama she was using his charm to gain a hearing with Karin, but he had always been smart. Sakura didn’t put it past Tobirama to have figured it out himself.

From her shadowed vantage point, Sakura watched the pair like a predator. Tobirama flirted with Karin seamlessly, bold but not abrasive. His intentions obvious but unapologetic. The red-haired woman fed on it. From her research, Sakura knew Karin had been starved for attention in her childhood. And who better than Tobirama to give all of his to her now.

Sakura continued to stand there until Tobirama’s gaze briefly flickered in her direction. A silent cue that Karin was ready for her now.

Stepping away from the balcony, Sakura adjusted the shoulder of her black evening gown, ensuring it covered the scarring on her shoulder. At the same time, her phone pinged in her clutch purse, a stark reminder to mute the device before she went into this meeting.

Fetching her phone, Sakura unlocked the screen to silence her ringer when she saw an unusual text message: a simple location with a date and time. It was from an unknown number, but the description was oddly familiar. There was only one person who ever texted her like that:

Itachi.

tbc…

[redbelles]

@anthropologicalhands​ here you go! thanks for the ask ✨

hilariously, i p. much can’t write unless i have a title in mind? it seems to shape the story as i go, so i typically end up stealing song lyrics as soon as i have an idea, if only to put myself out of my misery. anyway! atla, twd, rdr2, ac: origins, dc, and pitch under the cut!

in our bedroom, after the war

post-series atla zutara au wherein i geek about politics and reconstruction and consequences, and also break zuko into tiny sad pieces before katara gets to smooch him. also there is a dragon.

and wept for break of day

twd au: post-coda, (loosely) inspired by the short story “bullet in the brain”; eventual bethyl

Mass hallucinations, one broadcaster said. String theory. The collective unconscious. Just a whole buncha scared fools, grasping at straws while the world reels, trying to understand something too big and too ugly to ever understand. 

She sits there in the dirt, numb and shaking, hands clenched so tight that her nails bite deep into her palms. She presses harder, carving sharp little crescents into skin that’s not nearly as callused as it should be. 

The world feels like it’s falling away beneath her, spinning out wildly, carrying her someplace foreign and strange. Her skull throbs and aches. There’s no scar on her wrist. Beneath the dirt, her nails are painted cornflower blue, bright and vivid as a summer sky. The dead don’t walk. 

But they did, didn’t they?

I lived it. I remember.

it ain’t no sin

twd au: beth wakes up during her abduction and it gives daryl time to reach the car, and then daryl and beth bang about it

She doesn’t hear the familiar twang of the bow, but when the word chokes off into a gurgle of blood and the graceless thump of a body hitting the ground, she knows.

Daryl comes sprinting out of the darkness, quiet as a hunting cat. The driver’s side door swings open, the cop’s buddy stepping out to try and salvage the situation. Daryl fires, reloads, and fires again, so fast her eyes can’t follow it. She’s so dizzy that it seems like one smooth motion. One breath, just long enough to aim, and then the arrows are gone and Beth and Daryl are alone in the night. The men are dead. 

Good, she thinks fiercely, angry and shaken and still unable to stand. Good. 

He goes straight to the bodies as she finally hauls herself onto the grass, listening as he yanks the bolts free. Three awful squelches; visceral, obscene. She gags again, and then Daryl is there, dropping to his knees beside her. 

“Y’alright?”

late for the sky

rdr2 au: arthur/sadie, set immediately after the massacre at hanging dog ranch

“You didn’t have to stay,” she calls. There’s an ache in her voice he doesn’t know how to parse. 

“Sure.” He leaves it at that, no fuss about letting Freyja rest, about needing to catch his breath, though neither would be a lie. There’s no room for chatter; the air between them is full up with grief.

“Sure?”

No meat on that bone, but he can see her chewing it over all the same, worrying at it. Sadie Adler, shaken. If he held a mirror up to her face, he’s half-afraid he’d see fire. Smoke, ash, the orange blaze of a cabin as it burns to cinders. 

The memory sends a chill skittering down his spine, a cold knife that lodges somewhere near his heart. 

He ain’t the only one held hostage by that particular cruelty. Still knee-deep in the river, Sadie shivers. The water keeps running red around her, blood flaking off her hair and skin, melting into the current, soft as snow.

this loneliness won’t last

rdr2 au: arthur/john/abigail post-game fix it fic

There was heat pouring off John. A droplet of sweat trailing down his cheek. He smelled like salt and sunbaked earth. The thought skimmed through his mind like a water on a pane of glass, crystal clear and out of reach all the same. Then John’s mouth crashed over his, and Arthur had no thought left. 

He couldn’t help himself. He bent into John like a windswept tree, looking for shelter. Looking for relief. John pulled him in, held him close, hands fisted in the worn fabric of Arthur’s shirt. Need kindled in his blood, bright and sharp and burning, and he stiffened. Pulled away. John wouldn’t have it. He pulled him back in, nipped at his mouth, trailed fire over his skin, kissed him like Arthur was his to keep.

He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to stay right where he was and live in this moment forever. But then it was over: John stepped away, breathing hard. His fingers were still wound in Arthur’s shirt. He let go like it hurt. 

“Don’t leave,” he said, staring at Arthur like he could sear the words into him. Make him stay through force of will alone. 

And then he was gone, just like always, just like before.

pieces rendered

ac: origins post-game, post-dlc bayek/aya fix it fic

Amunet, he reminds himself, wincing at the cool bite of aloe against raw skin. It is hard to remember in moments like these, alone in the twilight dimness of the cave mouth, safe from the eyes and ears of those who have only ever known her as a Hidden One. 

She is Aya in his thoughts, sometimes, no matter how well he guards his tongue. When the world slips and the ache of all he’s lost will not subside, that is the name that rises in his heart. Wife, lover, friend. Mother of his child, the woman he once thought would walk beside him in this life and the next. Aya. 

Amunet is the shadow of a wild wind, always blowing away from him. “North,” she told him once, “to set the sea aflame.”

She did. She does. 

Perhaps someday he will come to terms with that.

stolen car

sprawling fic series that explores the batfam universe through the lens of jacy petra todd, the second robin. the bad robin.

She holds a gun to a rapist’s head and presses the muzzle into skin hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make the piece of shit kneeling in front of her whimper. 

They’re in a warehouse out by the docks, in the corner of a shadowy park, in some shitty back alley, trash piled up in careless heaps and the rats ignoring them. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before. There’s blood on the ground. There is always blood on the ground. 

“Please,” they say, “please, don’t do this.”

“Come on,” she says, laughing. They hate it when she laughs. The helmet distorts her voice, turning it harsh and metallic, until the sound of it is like a knife under their skin. It is a weapon like any other; she is not afraid to use it. “Beg some more. See where it gets you.”

They cry, or retch, or shake, big tough men learning what it feels like to be powerless. Sometimes they piss themselves, the sharp odor of urine burning against the stink of blood and gunpowder. 

The Bat may rule Gotham, but Crime Alley is the Red Hood’s haunt, and her lines are hard and fast. Everyone in the city knows what happens when you cross them.

“Please,” they say, staring up at her, searching flat red metal for an ounce of mercy. They never meet her eyes. Instead, they look where a mouth should be, and beg, just like she tells them to. “Please, please, I won’t do it again, I’ll never do it again, please!”

The gun doesn’t waver. Gotham beat the softness out of her wayward daughter years before Batman ever found her, before Robin ever fluttered into the Joker’s path, before she seared and burned and screamed her way back to consciousness in the Lazarus Pit. 

“No,” she tells them, voice like a knife, gun steady in her hands—

stone by stone

sequel to no burden that will not float away featuring shitty coffee, former robins being bad at feelings, and the current robin judging them for it

[fire from fire]

[redacted] au where [redacted] dies and [redacted] snaps

She walks through the streets like a reckoning. She does not sing.

with a hawk above you crying

wonder woman fic inspired by emmylou harris’s michelangelo

last night i dreamed about you / i dreamed you lay dying / in a field of thorn and roses / with a hawk above you crying / for the warrior slain in battle / from an arrow driven deep inside you long ago—

Diana finds Antiope, and loses her, and finds her again.

you know the time is now

pitch, mike/ginny, mid-season onward au where they actually have to deal with their feelings

after all the bullshit surrounding the all-star game, mike decides he needs to take a step back, distance himself a bit from the ginny baker madness. so of course the first thing he does after the all-star game is get into a brawl. he can’t even blame it on some sort of convenient rage blackout. he makes a calm, rational decision to follow the fucker up the first base path, and calmly, rationally punches him in the face while ginny watches, stunned, from the mound.

varitek a-rod brawl whomst???

ask me about my wips!

[just-another-obsessed-fangirl]

Lover (2019) Sentence Prompts

feel free to change pronouns and other specific details

How many days did I spend thinking ‘bout how you did me wrong?

Lived in the shade you were throwing ‘til all of my sunshine was gone

I couldn’t get away from you

In my feelings more than Drake

Your name on my lips, tongue-tied

Free rent, living in my mind

But then something happened one magical night

I forgot that you existed

I thought that it would kill me, but it didn’t

It isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference

Got out some popcorn as soon as my rep started going down

Laughed on the schoolyard as soon as I tripped up and hit the ground

I would’ve stuck around for you, would’ve fought the whole town

Would’ve been right there, front row, even if nobody came to your show

But you showed who you are

Sent me a clear message

Taught me some hard lessons, I just forget what they were

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price

You know that I bought it

I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

What doesn’t kill me makes me want you more

It’s new, the shape of your body

It’s blue, the feeling I’ve got

It’s a cruel summer

It’s cool, that’s what I tell ‘em

No rules in breakable heaven

Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine

We say that we’ll just screw it up in these trying times

We’re not trying

Cut the headlights

Summer’s a knife

I’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

If I bleed, you’ll be the last to know

I’m drunk in the back of the car

I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

Said, “I’m fine,” but it wasn’t true

I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you

I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer

Just to seal my fate

I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?

He looks up grinning like a devil

We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘til January

This is our place, we make the rules

There’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close?

Take me out and take me home

You’re my lover

We could let our friends crash in the living room

I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want ‘em all

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

My heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue

All’s well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true

You’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

At every table, I’ll save you a seat

I would be complex

I would be cool

They’d say I played the field before I found someone to commit to

That would be okay for me to do

Every conquest I had made would make me more of a boss to you

I’d be a fearless leader, I’d be an alpha type

When everyone believes you, what’s that like?

I’m so sick of running as fast as I can

I’d get there quicker if I was a man

I’m so sick of them coming at me again

If I was a man

I’d be the man

I hustled, put in the work

Shake their heads and question how much of this I deserve

And they would toast to me

What’s it like to brag about raking in dollars and getting bitches and models?

It’s all good if you’re bad and it’s okay if you’re mad

I’d be a bitch, not a baller

They paint me out to be bad

It’s okay that I’m mad

I’m ready for combat

I don’t want that, but what if I do?

Cruelty wins in the movies

I’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you

I jump from the train, I ride off alone

I never grew up, it’s getting so old

Help me hold on to you

I’ve been the archer, I’ve been the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling, but who could stay?

I search for your dark side

What if I’m alright right here?

I cut off my nose just to spite my face

I hate my reflection for years and years

I pace like a ghost

The room is on fire, invisible smoke

All of my heroes die all alone

They see right through me

Can you see right through me?

I see right through me

All the king’s horses, all the king’s men, couldn’t put me together again

All of my enemies started out friends

His footprints on the sidewalk lead to where I can’t stop

His hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it’s mine

He got that boyish look that I like in a man

I am an architect, I’m drawing up the plans

It’s like I’m seventeen, nobody understands

He got my heartbeat skipping down 16th Avenue

Wanna see what’s under that attitude

I want you, bless my soul

I ain’t gotta tell him, I think he knows

I’ll make myself at home and he’ll want me to stay

He’d better lock it down or I won’t stick around

Good ones never wait

He’s so obsessed with me and, boy, I understand

Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

We could follow the sparks

I’ll drive

Where we gonna go?

You know I adore you

I’m crazier for you than I was at sixteen

I’m lost in the lights

Ripped up my prom dress

Running through rose thorns

I saw the scoreboard and ran for my life

No cameras catch my pageant smile

I counted days, I counted miles 

It’s you and me, that’s my whole world

They whisper in the hallway, “She’s a bad, bad girl”

The whole school is rolling fake dice

You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes

We’re so sad, we paint the town blue

Voted most likely to run away with you

My team is losing, battered and bruising

I see the high fives between the bad guys

You are the only one who seems to care

The damsels are depressed

Boys will be boys, then where are the wise me?

Darling, I’m scared

No cameras catch my muffled cries

I don’t really wanna fight, ‘cause nobody’s gonna win

I think you should come home

I’ll never let you go, ‘cause I know this is a fight that someday we’re gonna win

She’s a bad, bad girl

High, like your friends were the night that we first met

Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet

I’ve read all of the books beside your bed

Cold, like the shoulder that I gave you in the street

Cat and mouse for a month or two or three

Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe

Kiss me once ‘cause you know I had a long night

Kiss me twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright

Three times ‘cause I waited my whole life

I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

You’re the one I want in paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams

In the icy outdoor pool, when you jumped in first, I went in too

I’m with you even if it makes blue

Takes me back to the color that we painted your brother’s wall

Without all the exes, fights, and flaws

We wouldn’t be standing here so tall

I want to drive away with you

I want your complications too

I want your dreary Mondays

Wrap your arms around me, baby boy

Drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar

I rent a place on Cornelia Street

We were a fresh page on the desk, filling in the blanks as we go

As if the street lights pointed in an arrow head leading us home

I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends

I’d never walk Cornelia Street again

That’s the kinda heartbreak time could never mend

I get mystified by how this city screams your name

I’m so terrified of it you ever walk away

Jacket ‘round my shoulders is yours

Memorize the creaks in the floor

Back when we were card sharks

I thought you were leading me on

I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street, before you even knew I was gone

You called, showed your hand

I turned around before I hit the tunnel

Sat on the roof, you and I

You hold my hand on the street

Walk me back to that apartment years ago

We were just inside barefoot in the kitchen

Sacred new beginnings that became my religion

Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts

Flashbacks waking me up

I get drunk but it’s not enough

The morning comes and you’re not my baby

I look through the windows of this love even though we boarded them up

Chandelier’s still flickering here

I can’t pretend it’s okay when it’s not

I dress to kill my time

I take the long way home

I ask the traffic lights if it’ll be alright, they say, “I don’t know”

What once was ours is no one’s now

The only thing we share is this small town

It was a great love, one for the ages

If the story’s over, why am I still writing pages?

My heart, my hips, my body, my love

Tryna find a part of me that you didn’t touch

Gave up on me like I was a bad drug

Now I’m searching for signs in a haunted club

Our songs, our films, united we stand 

Our country, guess it was a lawless land

Quiet my fears with a touch of your hand

Paper cut stings from out paper-thin plans

My time, my wine, my spirit, my trust

Tryna find a part of me you didn’t take up

Gave you so much, but it wasn’t enough

But I’ll be alright, it’s just a thousand cuts

I love my hometown as much as Motown

Something happened, I heard him laughing

I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent

They say home is where the heart is, but that’s not where mine lives

You know I love a London boy

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet

Darling, I fancy you

I guess all the rumors are true

Boy, I fancy you

Now I love high tea

You can find me in the pub

We are watching rugby with his school friends

Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride

Babes, don’t threaten me with a good time

God, I love the English

Doesn’t have to be Louis V up on Bond Street

Stick with me, I’m your queen

The buttons of my coat were tangled in my hair

I didn’t tell you I was scared

That was the first time we were there

Holy orange bottles, each night I pray to you

Desperate people find faith

Now I pray to Jesus too

Soon you’ll get better

You’ll get better soon ‘cause you have to

I know delusion when I see it in the mirror

You like the nicer nurses

You make the best of a bad deal

I just pretend it isn’t real

I’ll paint the kitchen neon

I’ll brighten up the sky

I know I’ll never get it, there’s not a day that I won’t try

I hate to make this all about me, but who am I supposed to talk to?

What am I supposed to do if there’s no you?

This won’t go back to normal, if it ever was

It’s been years of hoping

I keep saying it because I have to

You’ll get better

We were crazy to think that this could work

Remember how I said I’d die for you?

We were stupid to jump in the ocean separating us

Remember how I’d fly to you?

I can’t talk to you when you’re like this

Staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town

I’m New York City

I still do it for you, babe

They all warned us about times like this

The road gets hard and you get lost when you’re led by blind faith

We might just get away with it

Religion’s in your lips

Even if it’s a false god, we’d still worship

The altar is my hips

We’d still worship this love

I know heaven’s a thing, I go there when you touch me, honey

Hell is when I fight with you

We can patch it up good

Make confessions and we’re begging for forgiveness

Got the wine for you

You can’t talk to me when I’m like this

Daring you to leave me just so I can try and scare you

You’re the West Village

You still do it for me, babe

You are somebody that I don’t know

Taking shots at me like it’s Patrón

Damn, it’s 7 AM

Say it in the street, that’s a knock-out

Say it in a Tweet, that’s a cop-out

I ain’t tryna mess with your self-expression

I’ve learned a lesson that stressing and obsessing ‘bout somebody else is no fun

Snakes and stones never broke my bones

You need to calm down

You’re being too loud

Can you just not step on my gown?

You’re coming at my friends like a missile

Why are you mad when you could be glad?

Sunshine on the street at the parade

You would rather be in the dark ages

Making that sign must’ve taken all night

You just need to take several seats

Try to restore the peace

Control your urges to scream about all the people you hate

Shade never made anybody less gay

We see you over there on the internet

Comparing all the girls who are killing it

We figured you out

We all know now we all got crowns

I blew things out of proportion, now you’re blue

Put you in jail for something you didn’t do

I pinned your hands behind your back

Thought I had reason to attack, but no

Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

Chemistry ‘til it blows up, ‘til there’s no us

Why’d I have to break what I love so much?

It’s on your face and I’m to blame

It’s all me in my head

I’m the one who burned us down

It’s not what I meant

Sorry that I hurt you

I don’t wanna do this to you

I don’t wanna lose this with you

It’s all me, just don’t go

Meet me in the afterglow

It’s so excruciating to see you low

Just wanna lift you up and not let you go

This ultraviolet morning light below tells me this love is worth the fight

I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Went off like sirens

Tell me that you’re still mine

Tell me that we’ll be just fine even when I lose my mind

Tell me that it’s not my fault

Tell me that I’m all you want even when I break my heart

I promise that you’ll never find another like me

I know that I’m a handful

I know I never think before I jump

You’re the kind of guy the ladies want

There’s a lot of cool chicks out there

I know that I went psycho on the phone

I never leave well enough alone

Trouble’s gonna follow where I go

One of these things is not like the others

When it comes to a lover

I’m the only one of me

Baby, that’s the fun of me

You’re the only one of you

Baby, that’s the fun of you

I promise that nobody’s gonna love you like me

I know I tend to make it about me

I know you never get just what you see

I will never bore you, baby

There’s a lot of lame guys out there

We had that fight out in the rain

You ran after me and called my name

I never wanna see you walk away

Living in winter, I am your summer

Hey kids, spelling is fun!

There ain’t no I in “team”, but you know there is a “me”

You can’t spell “awesome” without “me”

School bell rings, walk me home

Sidewalk chalk covered in snow

Lost my gloves, you give me one

“Wanna hang out?” Yeah, sounds like fun

Video games, you pass me a note, sleeping in tents

It’s nice to have a friend

Light pink sky, up on the roof

Sun sinks down, no curfew

20 questions, we tell the truth

You’ve been stressed out lately, yeah, me too

Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand

Church bells ring, carry me home

Rice on the ground looks like snow

Call my bluff, call you “Babe”

Have my back every day

Stay in bed the whole weekend

My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in

Everyone looked worse in the light

There are so many lines that I’ve crossed unforgiven

I’ll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

I don’t wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

I don’t wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night 

Now I see daylight

Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky

I became the butt of the joke

I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked

Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down

Maybe I’ve stormed out of every single room in this town

Threw out our cloaks and our daggers

Because it’s morning now

It’s brighter now

I can still see it all in my mind

All of you, all of me, intertwined

I once believed love would be black and white (but it’s golden)

I can still see it all in my head

Back and forth from New York, sneaking in your bed

I once believed love would be burning red

It’s golden like daylight

You gotta step into the daylight and let it go

I wanna be defined by the things that I love

Not the things I hate

Not the things I’m afraid of

The things that haunt me in the middle of the might

You are what you love

[pinkalexlive]

I swung, aiming for surprise, directing the iron at the skull.

It caught the iron mid-swing.  I tried to wrench the weapon free and failed.

Another hand emerged from beneath the hides.  I had to let go of the weapon and back away before it could claw at me.

It took a half-step forward to follow.  It dropped the tire iron onto the road, where the snow muffled the sound.

Blake you can’t fight this with a stick so please run before you die and also get Rose more hurt maybe. Is this what got Molly?

“How does this end, then?” I asked.  “We wait out here by the side of the road until I freeze to death?”

I paced, watching how it followed.  The knobby, long-fingered hand came out as I drew too close.

There was a hint of hysteria in my voice as I spoke, “Can’t go forward, can’t go back.  I won’t go left.   Will you let me go right?”

I like that he’s talking in the middle of this. Makes no sense, I’d be breathing hard at least, but I like it.

The hop hadn’t inspired a sudden attack.  Briefly turning my back, too, seemed like it was fairly safe.

That in mind, when I found flat ground under my feet again, I ran.

SMART BLAKE YES

“Rose,” I gasped out the name.  I fumbled for the mirror, but my hands were frozen.  I got a grip on the bar that was supposed to fix the mirror to the ceiling and pulled it out.

“-here.”

Her voice was faint, tiny, and muffled, cutting off as though someone had reached out to muffle her.

ROSE IS ALIVE YES

I could feel a sick feeling in my gut, a combination of fear, despair, and the exhaustion of running.

I saw a figure up ahead, through the tree cover.

A quick glance back showed me the other one was still following.  Closing the gap.

“Hello!” I called out, and I was surprised at how hoarse my voice was, my throat made raw by the heavy breathing of frozen, dry air.  “Help me!”

The figure pushed through the cover of branches.

A bird skull, a covering of overlapping hides, bleached white and stained, and a heavy wreath of branches around the neck and shoulders, like a nest.

And there goes my good mood. Oooh no.

There, in the distance, in a gap between neat rows of trees.  A third, with the hides forming a hood over the bird skull.  Shorter than the others.

Bad bad bad

“Rose,” I said.

I heard only a whisper of a noise.  I wiped the mirror against the side of my leg, mid-run.

Bad bad bad bad bad

I came face to face with another of the bird-skulls, not looking carefully enough for the white skull and white hides against the snowy background.  It clawed at me, backhanded, and dashed the mirror out of my hands.  I fell, a result of the combined impact, pain and surprise, landing just beside the flecks of blood he’d clawed from my hand.  My glove was cut, the skin around it exposed, and a line of blood was nestled in the center.  Bewildered, I watched as the skin parted and joined together, as I opened and closed my hand.

Okay Blake I know that you are amazing but now is not the time to admire yourself

No mirror, no Rose.

WAIT WHAT

It clawed at me, backhanded, and dashed the mirror out of my hands.

NO

Were they wanting me to try to cross?  Was that the plan?

I sat by the bank instead.

I looked at the bird masks that had gathered formed a loose three-quarter circle around me.

“This okay with you bastards?” I asked.  “Can I sit?  You like this?”

The hides flapped in the wind.

“Motherfuckers,” I said.  I moved my hands up to my armpits, squishing them beneath my arms.  I could feel the pain in my wounded hand.  My cheek felt tight where I’d been scratched.

Blake: I want to run

Deerbirds: Run that way

Blake: Okay now I will not do that

“Please tell me reflections in water work too.”

“Yeah,” she responded.

Alright, so not everything’s fucked! That’s good!

“Does it matter?  I think those orders are why they’re behaving this way.  Barring my path to keep me from certain areas.  Driving me away from shelter, wearing me out.”

“They want plausible deaths.”

That means we have a smart antagonist for a smart protagonist... I’m ready for sassy Sherlock and also sassy Sherlock vs Deerbird Moriarty!

“Not sure how I’m supposed to do that,” I said.  I sighed, and my teeth chattered as the air passed through my lips.  “All I can figure is they don’t want to claw me to death.”

“Molly was clawed to death,” Rose said.

I closed my eyes.

Blake: Okay that’s neat Rose but could you please keep those thoughts to yourself thanks

Alternatively,

Blake: *inhale* boi.

I forced myself to my feet.  I was shaking, now.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m not,” I said.  “I just hate sitting still.”

“You need a plan.”

“Any fucking ideas?” I asked.

Man, it’s only been two chapters but I’m so invested in Blake. I know he won’t die here but I am really scared it will happen anyway.

Maybe that’s the blogging’s fault?

The three-masked one slowly removed one mask from its shoulder.

It dawned on me.

That mask was going to be mine.

One of those is Molly. Calling it.

“I’ll take a guess, if you have to give me one, Rose.  Just lie convincingly.  I’ll lose heart if I don’t buy it.”

“Your three o’clock,” she said.

Nothing more.  No details.  No explanation on why it was the right direction.

Right.

I always love the chemistry between clones. It’s always unique but similar, and this is no different.

Each step was a careful one as I made my way towards the middle of the pond.  I transferred my weight with care, doing my best to avoid putting too much weight on one point at once.  The three-masked one moved to cut me off, keeping me on the ice.

I heard the faintest cracking sounds.  Around me, not them.

I made a beeline straight for three-masks.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh-

Woman’s hands, oddly enough, with flecks of nail polish still on one.  Wizened, worn, abused, with bits of nail splintered off where they had maybe scraped violently against something.

Grandma Rose?

The ice didn’t break beneath them.  My heart sank.

I collided head-on with three-masks, and felt her stab at my shoulders through my coat, clawing through fabric with no heed for her own well being.  Frenzied, violent and noisy after the almost tranquil quiet.

Are they ghosts? Wendigos? Some other horrible creature? Either way, they don’t ‘properly’ exist physically.

In one motion, full-body, I managed to heave it about three feet.  I watched it bounce off the ice and slide, uselessly, towards the middle of the spread out bird-masks.

It lay there for a good ten seconds before the ice broke.  I watched as the things plunged into the water.

Yay! Something worked!

Leaving me with only two to deal with.

I ran, fueled by desperation.

I ran, fueled by the adrenaline that pain was dumping into my body.  Through shock and fear.  Nothing conserved, nothing saved.

Thick trees tore at me, costing me my toque.  My frozen hand and foot were throbbing, now, and my injured hand was so cold I couldn’t open my fist.

NOT THE TOQUE! Saddest death so far. Rip toque, enjoy clothes heaven with scarf.

I found the end of the trees.  A strip of snow.  A line of road.

Squat, short buildings, and a sign reading ‘truck inspection area’.

Headlights flared in my field of vision, blindingly bright.

I staggered forward, collapsing onto my hands and knees.  I could hear a vehicle’s door open.

I’d say Blake is safe but I’m feeling more paranoid than he is.

“Good god, man,” a deep voice said.  “What the hell did you get yourself into?”

I thought about explaining, about the others.  I’d sound crazy.

I thought about making an excuse, saying I was chased by some delinquent kids.  It would get the police involved, and it would delay me.

“Car broke down,” I said, a little numb.  “I thought I’d take a shortcut, got turned around.  I- I- panicked.  I started running and got hurt.”

“We’ll get you an ambulance, not to worry.”

Why do nice people in this make me nervous?

“If I don’t get you to a hospital, and you die-”

“I’m not going to die,” I said, not sure if I was lying.  “Drop me off at the rest stop, I’ll warm up and get food.  I’ll hitch a ride to where I need to be.”

“If you’re positive,” he said.  “I don’t want you haunting me or anything, and I don’t want lawsuits either.  I don’t make that much money.”

He nodded.  “Sure, then.  You need help getting up?”

I like this guy but still don’t trust him. Also, did Whatbomb miss a line there?

Was that a rule, here?  No monsters after sunrise, or no monsters when others could see?

I made eye contact with Rose, in the side-view mirror.

She looked drained, haggard.  Almost worse than I did.

Day is typically good in stories, so I’d say yes. Also, Rose is okay! Yay! Kinda okay. Maybe a little worn down.

As the truck driver talked to some employees, negotiating a way to get me to my stop, I saw a man in the corner with an oddly crooked stance, leaning against the wall as if his limbs wouldn’t hold him up, the whites of his eyes too white as he tracked us with his gaze.  Staying out of the way, almost out of sight.

SUSPICIOUS! STAY AWAY BLAKE, THAT’S A BADDIE

Wow. The chapter’s already done. Not much calling it in this chapter, so I’m gonna hold off on analysis until after a few more ‘calling it’s.

I’m really nervous and I love that!

[thekitchensnk]

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 7)

Rating: T Warnings: Violent imagery Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 “They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

She frowned in concentration, and her tongue stuck out from between her teeth. She stared with pin-point focus at the knife in her hands, her gaze absolutely ferocious and directed at the object of her wrath.

“Don’t move. Don’t move a muscle. Don’t. Even. Breath,” she gritted out.

Cold sweat coated the back of his neck.

“Nah, Ran-chan-“ Gin attempted, trying to placate her.

“No!” she shouted with determination. “I’ve got this. Don’t you dare.”

With a swish of the knife and a few colourful expletives, she cut carefully at the last of his lopsided, unevenly chopped hair.

“Aha! There,” she said with triumph, her hands on her hips. “All done. You should have a look at your reflection in the river. I’ve done a brilliant job, even if I say so myself.” She puffed up with pride and laughed magnificently. “The girls in town will be fighting after you.”

“Ya’ did say so ya’self,” he pointed out grumpily. “And have those hags in town after me? Thanks a bunch, Rangiku. Done me a real favour there.”

Her satisfaction was incorrigible, and her self-praise had known no bounds even then.

“You’re just being petulant because you cut it lopsided when you did it yourself, and you looked stupid for a whole week because you wouldn’t let me fix it. Face it, I’m the best and you’re the worst!” she sang.

“I was cuttin’ it with a knife!” he said defensively.

“So was I!”

That’s why he had been nervous to let her fix his hair, though he would never say as much out loud. Any man would be nervous with a sharp blade pointed at his neck. “Yeah, well-“ she had him cornered, and he knew it –“let’s see how well ya’ did, then. Can’t be possibly be worse than my job,” he muttered. “Pass me the water?”

She passed one of their water jugs obediently, and he traipsed outside with it. He found a level, flat stretch of rock, and poured the water out onto it. He went silent for a moment, reaching down into the dark plains where his power lay. He inhaled, and reached out for it, and instead of throwing it at the water and the rock, the way he had once done, he shaped it to his intent, feeling the contours and implications of the word frozen in his mind. Stillness, he thought. Fixed. Cold. He looked at the curve of the water, and imagined its fluidity.

The amorphous puddle in front of him froze slowly, and he exhaled in triumph.

Next to him, Rangiku whooped.

“That’s amazing! Have you been practicing?! When did you learn to do that?”

It had taken a degree of incredibly fine, precise control. The power they had loathed being shaped in such measured, purposeful ways. It was as if he was missing some element of the process, some set of commands or rules. The water would unfreeze in seconds, he knew- his power couldn’t really do ice- and so he bent quickly to look at himself in the ice.

There was nothing lopsided about his hair at all anymore. She had done a very good job, he had to admit it. He glared.

“Alright, ya’ win. Ya’ the hair cutting champ.”

He saw her reflected in the impromptu mirror he had made, and her hand made its way to his head, her fingers threading delicately through its newly cut strands; her hand ghosted down to his neck, and tenderly, so tenderly it could break his heart, she brushed away some of the remnants which still lay there.

“Whoops! Missed some. Sorry,” she said, barely thinking about it.

Goosebumps rose on his neck at the casual intimacy of her touch, and he watched her, unaware, in the reflection, turning over in his mind how often it felt like there was no dividing line between him and her, that they were two halves of the same thing made whole; gold and silver, boy and girl, light and dark.

When she turned to look at her own reflection, he looked away quickly, as if burnt, suddenly shy to be caught.

She frowned slightly, and her hand left his neck to play with the ends of her own hair.

"It's getting long," she mused. She turned to look at him, and his gaze jerked upwards, to look her in her forget-me-not eyes. "Will you cut it for me?"

The knife was in her hand and she offered it to him, and for some reason, his mouth went dry.

"After the job I did on my hair? Ya'd trust me after that?" he tried to stall for time.

“Yes," she said simply. "It's different, cutting someone else's hair. You can see properly. You’ll be fine." She paused. “If you leave me bald, I will get my revenge. You know that, right?”

His eyes went to the knife that she held out to him, and he was haunted, suddenly, by the thought of driving it pommel deep through her neck until the blade stuck out her trachea, by the thought of arterial spray and the crimson of her blood splattering over the plants and across his chest, about its hot liquid warmth gushing out over his body and going cold in the morning air; how her body would go slack, and her eyes dull, and her skin gray, and how her mouth would gape in the way that all corpse mouths seemed to gape.

If she only knew the things he had done with that knife, and how easy, how simple, they had been- like drawing water from the river, or pulling carrots from the ground.

Did the ability to imagine doing such things to her make him capable of them? He didn’t know, and he didn't want to know.

He shivered in the warm air, feeling a little sick, but took the proffered knife. Reluctantly, he bid her to sit down in front of him anyway.

Her amber hair lay slightly askew, and he could see a glimpse of her neck, made golden by the sun, between its strands. It would be so easy, he thought, and yet. And his mind kept butting up against that thought. It would have been the simplest thing in the world, like snuffing out a lantern, and yet-

Could he?

He would sooner stab himself.

She bared her neck to him, and let him hold his knife there, millimetres from her, and she did not flinch for a second. It was as if she didn’t realise at all that with one slip, he could end her.

She trusts me, and the truth of that settled across his shoulders like a blanket, like a burden. She trusts me with her life. He felt sick.

Would I trust her with mine?

With a sure and certain hand, he began to cut, and unaware of the thoughts which had raced through his small head, she chattered on blithely.

---

One day in the early autumn, he took her to a sunny spot in the garden and made a cheerful announcement. "This spot is for ya'. Ya' grow whatever ya' want here- onions, scallions, garlic, cress, cabbage, whatever ya' want. I’ll help ya’."

It had come so out of the blue that she was completely thrown.

"What?" she asked dumbly.

He moved from foot to foot energetically. "The garden is ours, but I want ya' to have this bit for ya'self. I'll help ya' turn over the earth so that we can start growin' things."

"To grow anything?" she asked.

"Anythin'," he reaffirmed impatiently.

She hesitated for a moment, but he knew her face too well for it to slip past unnoticed.

"What's the matter?" he asked immediately.

"Nothing," she said a bit too quickly.

"I know what 'nothin'' looks like," he said. "Spill."

She bit her lip, and her ears started to go pink with embarrassment.

"Could we grow flowers?" and for some reason, she felt shy. She looked up at him, and he was grinning. "Don't laugh at me!" she demanded, her face hot.

He laughed, but it was a happy, care-free thing, a laugh which rose up into the sky and into the winds, and carried her up there with it. He would be sad to pass up on regular scallions, but there was always the occasional patch growing wild in the woods, so it would not be too much of a loss.

"I'm not laughin' at ya'," he said easily. "It's ya' patch of the garden. I wanted ya' to grow what ya' wanted. If Ran-chan wants flowers, she'll get flowers. Come down here and help me turn over the soil." He beckoned her closer. "It's a mucky job, so ya'll want to hitch ya' yukata up, like so," He had gathered the fabric above his knees and tied it before kneeling on the threadbare grass.

She had followed suit, and knelt beside him, her calf bumping absent-mindedly against his. Her limbs had been thin and starved once, he recalled, when she came to him, but they had grown healthy and strong in the time since. The sight pleased him

"We're just goin' to turn over the earth with our hands," he said cheerfully. "Ain't got no spade or fork to use."

She glared at him. "You didn't say that we'd have to put our hands in the mud for this."

"Nah, Ran-chan, that's just life. Gotta get ya' hands dirty sometimes and muck in if you want flowers."

The ground gave way easily, even only using their hands, and the air was soon full of the dark, loamy smell of fresh earth. He delighted in picking up worms when they found them, pink and wriggling, and dangling them in front of her, because she'd shriek and laugh and push him away.

"That's disgusting!" she'd shout in outrage. "How can you even touch it, Gin?"

She appreciated it even less when he slyly bumped her with his shoulder, causing her to over balance and land in the mud.

Working together, they cleared the area quickly, though they did not get away unscathed. He had several streaks of mud on his face from when he'd brought a worm too close to her, and she'd swiped her hands on his face in revenge. Her knees and the front of her legs were brown with dirt, and her hands were not worth mentioning. But they had smiled, and joked, and the hot morning had passed quickly.

By early afternoon, the sun was shining thick and fast, and they were almost finished. He had rolled his sleeves up, and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.

"We're almost done here, I reckon," Gin said decisively. "I'll stay and neaten up the edges. Do ya' know which flowers ya' want to plant up?"

"Some of those spindly red ones that grow by the river," she said, having thought about it whilst they had been digging. "They're not due to bloom yet, but it shouldn't be long." Her eyes shone with excitement.

"Go on then," he said indulgently. "Make sure not to damage the roots. Ya' know what ya' doin'?

Her answer was an undecipherable noise yelled back at him and lost to the wind as she sped off to the river as quickly as her small legs could carry her.

The patch of cleared earth was not large, and was made clumsily by the small hands of children, but it would do.

He attempted for a few moments to neaten up its edges, but was too lazy and content to exert much effort. His knees ached from having knelt too long on the hard ground, and he knew he would be in desperate need of a dip in the river. He almost groaned at the thought. Birds sang in the eaves, an unmelodic, but cheerful twitter, and the sun baked the back of his neck.

Idly, he thought of flowers, and pondered whether they would attract bees, fat and bumbling, and whether they could possibly get honey for their efforts. It would be nice, he thought. Maybe we could dip the persimmons in it.

It was, he thought, a beautiful day, and so he decided to bask in the sun on his back until she returned, a satisfied vulpine smile on his face. Let her catch him, he thought.

She emerged twenty minutes later from the forest, her arms filled with a bouquet of crimson, spidery lilies which she held like a bride. Some were as of yet still only in the bud, some beginning to reach the fullness of their bloom.

Her face peaked out from between the beautiful red flowers with their strange, ungainly tendrils. Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled and the sun played in her hair.

She was so beautiful, that day.

She raised the flowers to him in triumph and as she did so, they began to tumble from her arms, and she had to bend and fumble clumsily not to drop them. He could not help but smile softly at the sight.

Looking at her, something in his chest tightened, and he could not say what it was, only that it was half agony, half tremendous sweetness, and entirely of her making.

He rose to his feet.

"Here," he said calmly, "Give them to me. I'll carry 'em for ya’."

She looked up at him quickly, and smiled brightly when she met his gaze, her eyes crinkling warmly. She handed the flowers over.

"They're pretty," he mused, opening his eyes fully, though the flowers took up only the smallest part of his attention. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, and could not explain why it did.

He felt a tendril-like petal between his fingers. "This was a good idea ya' had. I wonder what these are?"

She had no idea. In truth, she knew little about flowers, only that there were certain kinds that you shouldn't eat because they were poisonous, some that came in the spring, and some that came in the summer. There had not been the space to think about beautiful things before she met him.

She had chosen these because she knew that they were bright and interestingly shaped, and it had been as simple as that.

"I don't know," she said. "It’s just a pl-". She broke off, and stretched out her hand, distracted. She could have sworn she felt rain.

The world paused, like the attention of creation was focused on a grand spectacle far off in the distance.

She heard a hesitant pitter-patter.

 And then an uncertain stutter of rain drops bouncing off the ground.

The gentle tapping grew heavier and heavier until, suddenly, it became a drumming cacophony, the sound echoing across the garden, and the world turned green and blurred as the air overhead filled with water, with great lashings of water, pelting down. The sun kept beating brightly and relentlessly, and the raindrops shone like diamonds hanging in the air, and the world tilted and overturned.

She could not see; he could not see.

She grabbed his hand blindly, and startled, he allowed the flowers to slip from his arms and his fingers and crash to the ground. She ran exhilarated through the rain, laughing and laughing deliriously, leaping over the vegetable beds and odd mounds of earth, and he followed, delighted and laughing and letting himself be led after her.

He would have followed her anywhere.

When they reached the house, they were soaked through, and water dripped on the floor. His hair lay flat and drenched across his forehead, and hers hung in a wild mane about her head. They bumped together clumsily, and clung to each other to keep one another steady. Their feet were wet and water pooled on the ground.

His lips had found themselves on her forehead, so tightly were they pressed against one another, and the rain clattered against the roof like the banging of a war drum.

"The fox is- the fox is having his wedding," she laughed, struggling to catch her breath.

"What?" he asked, dazed and blinking, trying to wipe the water from his eyes. There was still mud from earlier in the day on his face, and it smeared where he rubbed.

"I-" she paused for a moment and glared at him. "I don't know! I don’t know why I said that. It's a saying, I think."

"What's it mean?" he said, trying to catch his breath.

"I dunno. It's just what you say when the sun shines and the rain rains at the same time. I think I must have heard it when I was still alive. The fox is cunning, and sneaky, and powerful, right? When he does stuff, he doesn’t like people to see, so he makes it rain.” She explained it all as if it were commonsense. “He didn’t want us peeking in on him."

"Huh. The fox is havin' his weddin'," he echoed, turning the phrase over slowly in his mouth. It was poetic, he thought- but he still didn’t have the first clue what it meant.

But she had moved on, stepping away from him to peer outside. The air was thick with falling rain.

"Will the flowers be alright, do you reckon? Will they die if we don't put them in the ground right away?" she asked, concern written all over her face. "It was tough work digging them up and carrying them here. I got mud under my nails."

"They should be okay," he considered. "They'll get plenty of water in the rain at least, and rains like this never last long."

"Ugh," she groaned suddenly, looking at her arms. "I'm still covered in dirt. I wanted to go and wash up in the river before we ate and went to sleep.” She pouted, her hands on her hips. “Maybe I should just take my clothes off and stand outside in the rain and let it do the washing for me," she said petulantly.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Nope," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "That would be silly. And anyway, there's not enough rain now for ya' to get clean."

“I bet a bath in a sunshower would feel like nothing else in the world,” she teased, not because she knew what it implied, but because he had forbid it.

But as if his words had intervened directly with the weather itself, the drumming on the roof quietened to a patter and stopped completely soon after.

Birdsong resumed, and with it the lazy background hum of cicada music.

“You did that!” she accused. “You stopped the rain with your powers!”

“I wouldn’t know how to do that even if I wanted to!” he complained. “I don’t know why ya’ complainin’ anyway- standing in the rain wouldn’t have got ya’ clean, and now there’s no rain, ya’ can take your bath in the river, like you wanted.”

She huffed at him.

“But we’ll plant the flowers first.”

He sighed in frustration, and ran a hand through his hair. The dirt on his hands transferred, leaving a dark streak, and she giggled at the sight.

“We’ll plant the flowers first,” he said.

 ---

(And they had. They had bloomed through the autumn that year until even after her birthday had come and gone, and they had come back year after year after year without fail, even after they had both left the old house to tumble down into ruin and the garden to be overcome by the wilderness.

The spider lilies had shone in bursts of scarlet and crimson against the verdant trees, and even when they planted other flowers there, they always took pride of place.) 

(They were still there even when she returned years later, a tired woman weighed down by grief and betrayal, but wiser.

She looked at those flowers then and knew too late their irony. She thought of then of the fox’s wedding day, and of a foolish girl who had carried a bouquet of red spider lilies in her slender arms to the boy she had loved, bride-like and ignorant, so ignorant, of what was to come.)

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Mother dragon (8); Winchester brothers x reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well I’ve had this done for a couple days now but I went head and started up the next couple parts, hopefully pt.9 will be out soon as I am halfway done with it, just need to brush up the beginning section of it. Okay so here is where things get a little fun, as well as a bit sad. Not only do you guys get to see more mother-son bonding time but we also get Stephen’s backstory (so I hope you all got your handkerchiefs out cause it’s a sad one). Also listen to the song I have listed in this chapter, TRUST ME YOU’RE GONNA WANNA LISTEN TO IT. Hope you all enjoy this chapter and I’ll see u for the next update.

Taglist:

@onebigfangirlworld

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

_________________________________________________________

“Mum. Mum!” I groaned.  I felt a hand nudge my head trying to wake me up.  “C’mon wake up old maid.”

“That’s offensive.” I tiredly groaned; my voice hoarse with sleep.  I opened my eyes to see Deacon standing there, but when I looked towards the opening of his den I saw that it was still dark outside. “Deacy what time is it?”

“Based off your phone 4:01am.”

“And why am I wake?”

“To give you this.” I felt a suitcase slam by my legs.  I rose up from the bed and looked at it and he sat down at the foot of my bed looking right at me.  I opened the suitcase and based from the light of the moon bouncing off the crystals, I was surprised to see my dragon suit.  “I also brought some clothes for you as well as the boys, but since they mostly wear flannels I felt like it wasn’t much for the brothers to worry about.”

“Deacon why did you bring this? Who—”

“I had Stephen help make a quick portal to the Bunker, but he doesn’t know about this. I just told him I needed to get you some clothes as well as the boys. Can’t have you lot wearing the same clothes every day.”

“But how did you get past the Bunker’s hard-plated steel walls?”

“Guess the Men of Letters as you put them, didn’t know about hybrid dragon magic.” Deacy shrugged nonchalantly.

“Now again, why bring this?” I said pointing to the dragon suit.

“You said you never got to test this flight suit out, nor did you think you ever could. Well, you’ve now got the perfect training field.”

“The sanctuary?”

“As well as outside the mountains. This whole sanctuary covers an entire mountain range of forests, geysers and even the sea with ocean cliffs. It’s perfect for all young dragons and it’ll work for you to.”

“I—I don’t know Deacy I—what if someone sees?”

“That’s why we’re doing it now. The only one who would be up is Warren but with me to protect you, I doubt he’ll do anything to stop you.” I looked at him hesitantly until I felt his hand cover mine as it was placed over my helmet, “Please. I’ve longed to fly side by side with my mum ever since I was able to fly.”

“Why must you be so adorable when you pout?” I moaned out as I cupped the side of his face.

“Well my grandfather was a dragon, and my grandmother was a tiny little bunny.”

“You are so full of shit.” I laughed as I shook my head at him.  “Okay if my son wants to fly with his mum then who am I to stop him?”

“Yay thank you mum. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.” He chanted as he embraced me in his strong arms.

It took about maybe 10-15minutes to make sure that everything was hooked up right and buckled in.  Once I had observed myself in a mirror, I stepped out of the bathroom and as Deacy still sat there on the bed looked up at me he was in awe.

“Whoa.” He got up and began to admire everything about the armor.  He stroked over the shoulder pieces, tracing the patterns of the scale-design I had imprinted on the armor.  “Is this what activates the wings?” I nodded and he pulled the string and out they popped from my back making me jolt.

“Easy Deacy the string is super sensitive, even a light pull will cause them to open up!” I warned him as I pulled on the string to my right pulling them back into my back.

“When we get done, I’ll give you some of my shedded dragon scales to cover all this up. As I told you dragon scales are as tough as the thickest armor.”

“Even when they’re shedded off?”

“Even when they’re shedded off. Dragon scales remain strong and durable. We’ll just need to sew them or glue them onto the armor.”

“Thanks Deacy, that sounds good.” He nodded with a grin then he said.

“Now grab hold of my hand,” he took my hand and said, “and hang on tight.” His wings came out and we took off flying out of his den and soon out of the sanctuary.

We soon arrived at a sea cliff, he landed and walked towards the edge of it.

“Uhh why are we here?”

“First rule of flying is to get the experience of strong winds blowing your wings giving you that lift. And this is where Stephen, Warren and I take the young dragons to practice just that.” He soon walked up to the very edge before turning back towards me.  He merely grinned before extending his arms out and falling backwards.

“Deacon!” I cried out, worried that my son was falling to his death at this point.  Soon I heard the sound of air hissing and he soon came back over the cliff, his wings out and his long hair blowing backwards.

Once again was that smug grin on his face as he proceeded to fly around.  Allowing the strong winds from the ground to either lift him up or he free fell a couple of feet before allowing himself to be lifted back up again.  

He even showed off some fancy flips tucking his wings inward before extending them back out until he flew sideways out of the way of the geysers current and flipping forward down to the ground in front of me.  He stuck the landing and said.

“Ta-da.”

“Ehh I’ve seen better.” He gaped at me at my teasing and said,

“Well Mrs. I’ve seen better, maybe a little toss off the cliff will make you change your mind.”

“Deacon I swear to God you push me off this cliff and I’ll come back and haunt your ass for all eternity.”

“I’m kidding mum! I’d never do that to you.” He said as he wrapped his arms around me from behind rocking me side to side. “You ready?”

“You sure this is safe?”

“Just relax, everything that jumps from these geyser cliffs are always floating. Unless you’re a rock I doubt you’ll sink.” He took me over to the side of the cliff and I could already feel the warm wind blowing against my face, like a hairdryer.  I looked over my shoulder at Deacy and he nodded.

I took a deep breath and slowly scooted towards the edge but at the last minute I chickened out and said.

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry I can’t! I can’t!”

“Hey, hey mum. Mum.” He cupped my face into his hands and he assured me, “Breathe.” I took a deep breath in before exhaling outward. “Think of flying as our swims at the lake back home. You remember? You’ll feel weightless but just relax and let the wind be your water.” He took my hand and squeezed it tightly.

I whimpered as I looked down at the cliff to see that it was probably 1000 foot drop.

“It’ll be okay. You can do this mum, just close your eyes and take a deep breath.” He pulled the string activating my wings and I put my arms through the loops and took a shaky deep breath in before exhaling as I closed my eyes.

Then I stepped off of the cliff.

I let out a scream but I didn’t feel myself falling.  As I slowly opened my eyes I saw myself flying over Deacy’s head.  He smiled up at me and he soon joined me.  He flew over to me and took my right leg and said.

“Straighten out your legs and put them together.” I did as he told me to do but my feet were pointed downward as normal, “No have your feet in a point. Like one of those ballet moves. There you go!” He flew back towards my front and we were soon hovering face to face of each other.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this!” I exclaimed over the winds of the geysers.  Deacy smiled at me before he resumed doing all of his fancy and show-off tricks.  Flipping around, diving low before being lifted back high into the air.

But this time as he dove underneath me, he phased into his dragon form and slowly eased himself underneath me.  I pulled my wings in just as he was close enough for my legs to wrap around him.  I managed to get onto the junction where his neck met his back and I grabbed onto what I could without hurting my son as he now flew out of the way of the geysers and was flying on his own now.

Deacy slowly took off flying high toward the sky in a slow and steady fashion.  The sound of his wings flapping every now and again was like the sound of a heartbeat.   As we now touched the clouds I couldn’t help but extend my hand out and I felt the fluffy, silk powder of the clouds brush through my fingers.

As we soared through the clouds, I gained a little bit of courage and extended both my hands up like my wings before lifting them up over my head like I was on a rollercoaster.  Of course you know I couldn’t contain my cries and laughter of sheer joy and excitement.

I held on as Deacon now did a small loop-d-loop before going even higher so that I now had a clear view of the stars and we even soared over the full moon as the clouds lay below us like an ocean.  I was just in awe at the beauty before me as I couldn’t take my eyes off the sky, that was until the clouds gave us a clearing of the entire landscape of Deacon’s home.

The mountains, the ocean, the forest, it was like a perfect paradise where dragons could live in peace and start families of their own.  A safe haven.

I saw Deacy turned to look up at me and it almost was like he was smiling up at me.  I acknowledged him by lying down across his neck and stroking his neck hearing him purr.  Deacon gently dove downward over the ocean and we flew above the water till we reached the shores and that’s when he took off upward over the mountains.  

The smile on my face just wouldn’t come off. I don’t know how long it was that we were flying but soon Deacy had taken me to the perfect landmark so that I could see the sunrise over the land.  The stars fading away until tomorrow night and the sky turn from a pitch black color to a majestic purplish, pink color of the sunrise.

“Oh Deacy.” I awed out. “I—I have no words to how I feel right now. But if I had to say anything, I’d say…..thank you.” I kissed his dragon neck and he purred lovingly and the two of us continued to watch the sunrise until he decided it was time to head back.

Once we arrived back at the sanctuary and stood before the floor entrance, Deacy lowered his head and adjusted his front leg wing so that I would have an easier dismount.  I pulled my right leg over his back and placed my left foot onto his arm without going through the sensitive layer of his wing and then hopped right off. I walked in front of him and he lowered his head towards me.

I placed his hand under his chin and stroked upward making him purr and grumble lovingly.

“Thank you Deacy. That was so worth waking up at 4 in the morning.” He grumbled lowly before opening his mouth and actually licked me.  

I screeched out a laugh as my entire face and torso of my armor was now covered with dragon spit. “Deacon!” He then let out what almost sounded like a laugh.  “Guess I had that coming to me, given all the wet kisses I’ve given you throughout the years.” He nodded proudly.

It was then with his head, he gently ushered me in the direction of the den.  I looked back toward him and he gestured with his head for me to go in. “Guess you’ve got some Alpha business to take care of huh?” He closed his eyes as he softly nodded. “Okay, maybe I can catch up on some sleep.” He let out a soft roar.  

I nodded and walked up to him and placed my hand on his nose feeling him exhale strongly.

“Be safe my son.” I then leaned my head against his muzzle and embraced it.  I heard him rumble deeply before I released him and stepped back as he looked up toward the sky and lifted himself off the ground with ease and took off flying, giving me a roar for so long.  I stayed at the entrance till I saw him fly away over and under the other side of the mountain.

I smiled as I waved to him before heading back into the safety of the den and back to Deacon’s room before any of the dragons saw me, or worse Sam, Dean or Cas.

Everyday for the next week was pretty much the same when it came to Deacon and me.  He’d wake me up at the but crack of dawn and we’d go out and practice my flying skills. The geysers helped me with my aerial control and of course riding with Deacy got me the feel of flying like a real dragon.  Finally Deacy decided that it was time for a different sort of flight, he had me meet him late one night before going to bed and explained to me that on our next flight, he’d let me control his movements and flight patterns.

Of course me being held with so much responsibilities I was nervous, hold on that’s not the right word. I was freakin terrified.  But with some assurance he somehow managed to convince me to do it.  So he taught me the best way he would be able to feel what I wanted him to do.

If I wanted him to go right, I’d lightly kick my right leg against him and the same vice versa for left.  If I wanted him to fly upward, then I would stroke his neck upward, and if I wanted him to do a dive then I’d just lean my whole body against his neck before lifting myself up for him to fly normally.

We practiced the signals a few times until finally Deacy with an old ship’s sail allowed me to blindfold him and at the early peaks of dawn we took off flying.

Play video

We were now hovering over the ocean over some light clouds that hung about the sky in the evenings.

“Okay Deacy, you sure you still want me to go through with this?” I asked hesitantly hoping that he’d say no.  Unfortunately for me he didn’t as he nodded and grunted out a determined huff.  I groaned inwardly as Deacy continued the fly blindly for a bit, slowly leaning sideways circling before flying outward again. “Okay, I can do this, I can do this.”

I then leaned my body against him and immediately, Deacy took a nosedive down towards the ocean till I leaned back up and he now flew normally, allowing only his wing to skim across the water.

“That’s my boy! That’s my boy.” I said as we headed towards a sea cliff bridge.  Seeing the opening I prayed that Deacy would just fly straight through the hole and not hurt himself.  Thankfully we went through just as the seagulls from above flew out from their nesting posts high on the cliffs.

“Yes I did it!” I exclaimed as I kicked my right leg and he turned but I was distracted as I had my son hit his side up along the sea cliff.  “Sorry!” I reared him to the left but suddenly another boulder was there and his lower left side was hit and I said, “My fault.” He roared at me and I said. “I know, I know focus sorry. I’m not doing this on purpose I swear!” Once we were clear of the sea cliffs I stroked his neck upward and he huffed as he immediately took off flying upward.

Deacon flew upward as fast as he could and I couldn’t help but cheer.

“Yeah! Go baby boy!” Oh god this was awesome! The wind in my hair, the adrenaline pumping through my body.  And Deacy seemed to enjoy himself as I heard him roar proudly and a grin across his face.

But then something went wrong.

As we hovered over the air for a brief moment, I felt myself being lifted off of Deacon’s back.  I soon felt myself in midair before I started plummeting thousands of feet to my death.

“Deacy! DEACON HELP!!!” I saw him look down and shake the blindfold off of him and he tried to dive down quickly to save me. “OH GOD!!! OH SHIT!!!” I kept screaming as I was freefalling, spinning out of control.  I didn’t know what to do, I was in mid-panic.

“MUM YOUR WINGS!! PULL YOUR WINGS OUT!!!” I heard him say.  I looked up to see him back in human form still trying to reach out for me.

“BUT WHY CAN’T YOU JUST GET ME THE HELL OUT OF THIS MESS!?”

“JUST DO IT MUM!!!” He cried down at me. “HURRY!” I soon found myself nose diving and so I tried to get a grip on the string and soon my wings came out and I was now upwards like an angel with wings but I was still falling down past the mist.

Shit now I can’t even see what’s in front of my face.  So this was it, this was how I was going to die.  But then something that Deacon once said to me about the important thing about flying.

“Never think with your head, flying comes from gut instinct.” As I saw a huge boulder just a few feet away from me, something suddenly came over me.  I closed my wings for a brief second to pull my helmet down over my face then reactivated my wings and stirred right.

Left, right, right, hard left, up and over, bring wings in, spin through the hole and deploy wings once more.  It was all instinct as I used the air currents to guide me through the maze of boulders and sea cliffs in this thick mist before finally I came out and was still flying over the ocean.

All by myself.

The suit works.  It works! Oh my god I just did that! I really just did that! Oh my god this was fucking awesome! I did it! I flew like a dragon!

“YEEEEEAAAAAH!!!” I screamed out.

*Deacon’s POV*

She did it.  I knew she could do it.  All she needed was that little push and all be damn, she did it. She was now an officially honorary dragon.

*My POV*

After a very successful test run with the suit and finding out that it works in a real life scenario, I was just overjoyed. Deacon and I were now in the forest and I couldn’t help but tackle my son embracing him tightly.

“Did you see that?! Did you see that!? I flew the suit flew ohh! You were right it does fly.”

“Didn’t I tell you? And you wouldn’t believe me.” He mocked.

“I’m sorry, okay you mighty Alpha dragon you were right and I a mere mortal was wrong. Does that help your ego any?” I teased.

“If anything it’ll give him an even bigger head than he already has.” A voice soon spoke up.  We both turned around alarmed and soon four wings came into view as landing down before us was none other than Stephen.

“Stephen, what—what are you…..”

“Doing here? I thought you should remember that you gave me the night watch for this week? But I guess your mind was occupied with other things.” He said first looking at Deacy before turning to face me at his last statement.  I looked down shamefully but then saw Stephen’s feet standing in my vision and he looked at me and asked, “May I?” he gestured towards my suit.

I nodded giving him permission and he first took hold of the wings lifting them upward feeling the texture of them. “Incredible.” I heard him mutter.  He then went to grab my helmet that was now on the ground and observed it closely, “Real dragon scales. Probably from our alpha’s shedded ones. Same thing for the rest of your armor.” He felt around the armored plates of my shoulder pads, before looking me straight in the eyes.

I felt his hand gently cup my face and he smiled softly as his deep blue eyes were just beaming with awe.

“A human learning the ways of our people. Never did I think I would live to see the day.”

“I hope I’m not a disappointment.” I asked wearily.

“On the contrary, you might just be our salvation.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“A good story for another time, c’mon we should be getting back.” Deacon said.

“Deacy—”

“Now mum.” He demanded.  I sighed heavily and spoke not another word and got onto his dragon back as he continued to glare at Stephen as he now took off flying back towards the den.

Later that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Stephen was meaning so I decided to pay the half breed a visit.  I was told by Apophis that at this time of the day Stephen is either schooling the young dragons or off meditating somewhere. As I once again left the den and ventured through the forests, I soon heard Stephen’s voice saying.

“Good work Neville. Excellent improvement Ginny. Keep those legs tucked in Harry.” I walked through some bushes to see Stephen surrounded by what looked like over 30 baby dragons all practicing their flying.  I smiled softly, so the half breed of the nest is actually a teacher to all young dragons. “Good sharp turn there Jared,” it was then he turned around and saw me. “Well seems we have an unexpected guest.”

“Hey, it’s the mama dragon!” one of the young dragons called out.

“Let’s get her!” Soon they all flew towards me and before I could even react I was soon tackled by dozens of little boys and girls all talking over each other asking me questions.  I laughed as I tried to break free of their dragon glomp.

“Hang on I—I need to breathe!” I laughed out.

“Alright off of her you lot!” Stephen ordered and they soon got off of me. “Sorry, they always get excited when someone comes to see them practice their flying.” Stephen apologized as he helped me stand up.

“Oh trust me, Deacy was this energetic at their age so thankfully I’m used to it.”

“Miss Mama dragon are you secretly like us?” a little boy dragon asked me.  I looked down at my armor and said.

“Well not really, see this suit I built helps me to fly around. I can’t fly without this suit.”

“Why not?”

“Jareth, I’ve answered that question to you hundreds of times before.” Stephen said.

“Yeah but I want to hear it from the source.” Jareth looked up to me with pleading eyes and I explained.

“Well, you see unlike you dragons we humans aren’t born with wings. In order for us to fly we’d either need the help of a very large machine called an airplane to get us from place to place.” He nodded in understandment.

“Okay everyone, I think for today I will let you all go a little early. Back to the den, no wondering off.” The children all cheered and they took off flying.

“No different from human children when it comes to getting out of class early.” I said.

“I try not to be boring with my lessons.”

“And I don’t doubt you are. You seem to make school a bit more exciting, at least with you classes would always be outside, instead of a poorly lit room.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you could give me some answers.” I said. His face grew solemn and he said.

“I can assure you that Deacon would have my ass if he knew I told you the truth.”

“Which is why he won’t hear about it from me. Being with the Winchesters has taught me a thing or two. And one of them is lying. So c’mon Stephen what did you mean that I could be your salvation?” He sighed heavily and said.

“Walk with me.” We then walked deeper into the forest.

“As you know; not all humans are good. Not just the threat of hunters but poachers as well. In our case we deal with a lot of dragon trappers. More common here in the UK than anywhere else. America is rare with their trappers because there are hardly any dragons in America nowadays.”

“That I do know. That’s how I found Deacy, but then again you probably knew that.” He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Well, this home, this sanctuary. We’ve only lived here for about a year and a half. We’ve been moving from home to home trying to find a safe haven for all of us. From the famed dragon trapper and poacher, Percy Theodore-George Anderson.”

“Wait, wait. You mean like the Theodore Saint George, the Dragon Slayer?”

“Yes, unfortunately. His heritage even traces back to Saint George’s bloodline. He’s known for most of the dragon killings throughout all of Europe. And for the past 4 years, he’s been after us. Especially Deacy, because of him being the Alpha dragon.” I was shocked.

My son—was being hunted. As was his entire nest. And he was suffering this for 4 years now? I looked down as Stephen continued,

“I know that you and the Winchesters mainly save people, but I was hoping that with you being Deacon’s mother, perhaps you could help us find a new home. For all of us. I know it’s a huge responsibility but I can feel that with Percy’s constant threat breathing down his neck, I can feel like Deacon’s losing his confidence to protect us. And if he does, then we all do.”

I placed my hand on his shoulder and said.

“It may be difficult to convince the guys, but even if they won’t I still will. Whatever it takes.”  He smiled and suddenly embraced me.  Of course I was stunned at first but I knew this must’ve meant a lot to him.

He was my son’s dearest friend after all, and I can’t ever repay him for looking after my boy all this time when I couldn’t. I happily embraced Stephen back before separating and he nuzzled his head against mine.  A common dragon form of affection I’ve learned while being here.

“If you don’t mind me asking; how did you meet Deacy?” he looked down and said.

“That’s a long story.”

“Well lucky for me I love long stories.” He softly chuckled and soon we found ourselves to sit down right by the side of a lake.

“My story is….well to say the least a tragic one. I’m not proud of what I’ve done in my past but, I can’t deny that it happened. As you know my father was a dragon and my mum was a witch. Their relationship was—well not out of love. In fact my own mum could barely stand the sight of me. So at the young age of 10, I came home from school to find her gone.”

He looked down at the water to his reflection in disgust as he continued.

“For years I hated myself for what I was. No witch covenant that I came across wanted me because of my dragon genes, and no dragon nest acknowledged me because I was impure due to my witch blood. So I spent most of my life as an outcast. A loner in the lands of South Wales, before finally finding and settling a private farm just 20 miles from London.”

“I know the feeling of being alone. I mean, even with Deacy I was still alone.”

“But never did I think in my whole life, would I come across the one good thing in my life.” His eyes showed solemnness, remembrance but also pain.

“A dragoness?” He shook his head. “A witch?” again he shook his head.

“Believe it or not, she was human. Anita. The second I laid eyes on her when she came stumbling into my homeland, it was—like a force had come into my life. And she was the most beautiful woman I had ever met. I took her in, gave her a safe home and eventually we fell in love.”

“Did she—”

“Know of what I was?” he finished my question. I nodded worriedly that I had offended him but he said, “Eventually I did. At first I thought I had lost her forever, especially since she was human and everything humans saw as ‘different from them was a monster’. But not Anita. She accepted me for who I was, what I was. Both sides of me. From then on I knew I had found the love of my life.”

Stephen place his fingers into the water and his hand glowed a warm golden color as the water took shape of a vision of a beautiful woman with blonde hair and green eyes.  In her hair were what looked like wildflowers, her skin was porcelain and delicate so I could see why he fell for her.  Hell I know Charlie would.

“We spent years together, until eventually she gave me the greatest gift I could ever hope for.” The image changed to him holding Anita in his arms, but what caught my attention was that he was now cradling her baby bump stomach.  “We had a daughter. Hannah. And she was just the splitting image of her mother.”

“Oh Stephen.”

“But as I’m sure you know; happiness never lasts long.”

“Hold on, let me stop you there. To spare you the pain of reliving it, I think I can take a wild guess of what happened. Hunters found out about you and killed your wife and daughter in retaliation.”

“If only it were that easy.” He said grimly. My heart stopped and I tilted my head to the side and guessed again.

“Was it—witches? Dragons?”

“I only wish.” He took a deep breath in before exhaling and turning towards me saying, “Let’s just say you and I have a common hatred. Tell me, what was it that killed your parents?”

No.

I placed my hand over my mouth and he said.

“I should never have left the house. But Hannah she—she was sick. I left to find some herbs that would help her feel better……” he trailed off as he sniffled and wiped the tears from falling down his face as he looked up.  “It took so long to find them, but just in the barn, there Anita was—still holding Hannah in her arms, a pool of blood surrounding the both of them, their clothes coated in the red vile substance.”

The vision of both Anita and little girl Hannah faded away as the water rippled.  I looked to Stephen to see him now look grim and stoic.

“I was in utter grief. I blamed myself every day for leaving them defenseless.”

“You couldn’t have known Stephen. Just like I didn’t. You were doing a greater cause though; you were trying to help your daughter get better. And I…..had I probably lived here and known of your case; I would’ve put a stop to those Vampires. No one deserves to lose their family like that, I would know firsthand. Be thankful they didn’t make you watch as they drained their lives though.” I leaned myself against his side giving him a comforting hug.

But that’s when Stephen dropped a bombshell on me.

“If only you were born 400 years ago.” I looked at him shocked.  He—he was over 400 years old!?! “As you know witches can keep their youth up with their magic. I told you I’m not proud of my past, I did whatever I took to stay as young as I could in order to one day find the Vampire nest that took my family from me. Until then; I figured that if I were to lose my family, then so should everyone else.”

Oh god Stephen you didn’t…..

“Anywhere I went, if I so much as came across a happy family, it was either hex bags or burning the entire family inside. It wasn’t until about 20 years ago that I came across the nest that killed my family. Of course blinded by rage I didn’t hesitate to burn them all alive, and when I came across the head vampire of the nest, the one who had bragged about draining my little girl’s life as she cried out for me and flaunted wearing the very necklace I had once given her as a present. I made sure—his death was agonizingly slow.” He then pulled out a small silver necklace with a ruby gem at the center.  “As I took this back from him, I told him ‘never flaunt a piece of your killing before a dragon-warlock.’ And so he burned for eternity. I think the fire might still be burning to this day.”

“You hexed him didn’t you?”

“To be burned for all eternity but to never turn to ash or die. He will know every single day of the amount of pain he had caused me.”

“And Deacon? He just—found you one day?”

“To put it yes. You taught him well on how to detect the findings of supernatural cases. It was about 6 years ago in Leicester where I was going to take my next target of a family of hunters who had been poking into my business. So I baited them with a case and waited until the parents left so that I could burn their happiness away. But it wasn’t until I saw their daughter sleeping on the couch. A box of tissues lying next to her and a damp rag across her head. It—reminded me of Hannah. Seeing that child sleeping like that, smelling ill it—opened something up inside of me. The lost father instinct I guess. And it was there I met Deacon.”

“He was helping them?”

“I suppose so.”

“Deacy said that you knew who he was, did you know right there in the hunter’s home?”

“Yes. One sniff of his scent and a single look into his eyes, I knew that he had the blood of the Alpha within him. I was shocked to put it lightly, I didn’t even know an Alpha dragon still lived. We dragons are rare in ourselves but an Alpha is even rarer to come by. But one look at him and I knew who I was dealing with. After taking him away from the hunters when they came back, I brought him to my cave and we just—talked.”

“Meaning you explained to him what he really was.”

“As well as introductions. Where he had come from, and he told me that I had a second chance to redeem myself. Of course I thought he was joking but he brought up the hunters’ daughter. If I had truly lost myself I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her, but I did.”

“Well I can defiantly see why he would think that. If you were truly past the point of no return, and believe me I’ve seen some serious killers, hell I’ve seen soulless people. But if someone like you who had been killing families for over 400 years, stopped at the sight of a sick little girl, then there is some light within that darkened heart.” I placed my hand over his heart to emphasize my message.

“Now I see where our Alpha gets his wisdom from.” Stephen spoke with a warm smile.  I smiled back and merely shrugged.  “So now flashforward to today for the past 6 years now, I have been a teacher to every young dragon that is born into our nest. It’s like—regaining back the fatherhood I had lost so long ago.”

“It suits you, they all seem to love you.”

“That’s only because I go soft on them, Deacy’s a bit of a tough love instructor, as you may have seen up in the air earlier this morning on your flying lesson.”

“Wait you—oh fuck no! You mean he—”

“He does that all the time with the young ones. Trickster you might call him.” Oh that boy is going to pay dearly for that stunt. “He and Apophis are pretty much the same, and Warren well—he’s more of the drill sergeant. That’s why he mostly handles the sparring part of young dragon training.”

“I can imagine why.” I muttered.  There was silence between us for a moment before he said.

“It’s starting to get dark out.” I looked up to see that the sky was signaling that the sun was about to set.  When I turned back to Stephen I saw that he was now in dragon form.  He held out his front leg and I mounted onto his back and he took off flying back towards the den.

When we finally arrived back at the den, I got off his back and he told me.

‘Well you should get some rest, want you up bright and early tomorrow morning for your lessons.’

“Lessons?”

‘Yes. You’ll be joining the ranks of the young dragons in my class.’

“You mean it?” he nodded and he took off flying. He kept his eyes on me and said.

‘Remember to meet us out here at 8am sharp. Don’t be late.’ I nodded then he took off flying for his duties.

Okay then, looks like I’m going to dragon school, should be interesting.

[whumping-newbie]

So I am just finishing off the BTHB request for @justplainwhump and realised that it was way too long before getting to the forcibly stripped part.

This is a direct continuation of the “Don’t Let Them See You Cry” square, but this is Setup for the “Forcibly Stripped” square.

Enjoy :)

POV: Michał

Warnings: kidnapping, held at gunpoint.

The library was a historic monument in the capital city.

It was once the centre of all knowlege, and until the turn of the 19th century, was the only library in the whole country. It was one of the oldest buildings standing besides the castle and the cathedral, and they were glorious in their heyday.

I say that, because the library was burned down a week after the takeover.

I wasn’t there to see it, but you could see the smoke for miles. It was sobering, because a lot of books within were important historical records - literal treasures of the past, that needed protecting.

They had gone up in smoke.

The old country was gone, and a new one rose from its ashes.

Dressed now in my civillian clothes for this particular mission, I did not think it wise to bring any kind of weapon with me, or an indication of who I worked for. The fighting had long since stopped in the streets - the armed patrols of the army had made certain of that, but ambushes were occuring. Emil had mentioned this to me, that the area around the library was an area where these attacks were occuring in great frequency.

It’s almost like he wants me killed. Does he know how I feel about him? Probably not. I hope not, at least.

Maybe I’m just expendable. It’s safer to sacrifice one person in such a mission. After all, if they were so certain that this informant had told the truth, why not send a whole squad to arrest a group of traitors?

I keep telling myself this is all for Matylda’s sake. Her entire demeanour had haunted me since last night when I had seen her, that little noise replaying over and over in my head, the way she shifted against Emil’s touch that she daren’t fight back against. The closer I can get to her and her friends, the more I can do to help.

Even if it means betraying the one I swore loyalty to.

But what is an oath of loyalty when you have no idea if they are even still alive?

Even months after the devastation that occured here, the ashes had mostly been blown away by the coastal breeze that passes through here, so all that remains is the skeletal form of the building. The outer stone walls and many of the inner walls remain in place, blemished black with soot. There were the crunchy shards of broken glass, that once made up the grand stained glass window above the staircase. Very few shelves remained here, much less books. What remained here had been exposed to the elements, puddles of water had flooded some of the corners where the bitter autumn weather had tarnished the once grandiose interior.

I tried to get my bearings. I imagine that if I were making a secret hideout in the abandoned and decrepit remains of an old library, I would make the entrance realtively easy to access. Something that could be easy to move without causing too much disturbance to the surrounding environment. It was more difficult to tell now where that could be.

There was a sharp sound that echoed through the area moments later - a rock falling to the ground, perhaps - and I spun around trying to look for the source. I couldn’t see much more than I had already seen, but there was something that caught my eye. A still standing bookshelf against one of the walls. Something about it seemed... off. I slowly made my way closer to it. I couldn’t be certain that the noise came from here, but this place is certainly suspicious. Unlike the rest of the building, there was almost no rubble or broken glass littering the floor in front of it. I tried to ask myself why that would be - perhaps this was the one spot in the building that managed to be sheltered from crumbling stone or glass. I found that unlikely, which only left me with one other alternative.

I didn’t have to spend too long thinking about this, though.

Something cold and round pressed hard against the small of my back, and I barely had time to register that before a low voice spoke in a harsh whisper.

“Make any sudden moves, and I kill you now,” the voice said, the dark undertones illuminated the fact that their words were most certainly not a joke. I didn’t move from my spot, not daring to turn around either.

That was a gun on my back, and the person behind me had the upper hand in almost every capacity.

“On your knees, hands on your head - slowly,” the voice ordered, and I could do nothing but comply. I slowly placed my hands on the back of my head, and wordlessly dropped to my knees, keeping my head forward facing. I tried to ignore the stabbing pain that shot through my knees as I landed on a patch of shattered stained glass, feeling them implant into my skin. That bare bookshelf was suddenly very interesting, I thought to myself as I rushed to remember captivity training. The same rules that every soldier is trained with, following in compliance with the Geneva Conventions. The rules that apply during times of war. A civil war, true, but the person behind me is not a soldier. I know that much.

Civilians are not trained in the rules of the Geneva convention.

And beyond that, there is nothing I can do if they do decide to shoot me dead. The side of the war I serve currently is technically non compliant with the Geneva convention too, so it’s fair game to the resistences who don’t use it either.

All the same, I should keep my mouth shut. Speak only when spoken to. All I can do is give them my names, my rank, my date of birth. I have uttered this advice before, but when in a threatening situation of any kind, give only one word answers wherever it is possible.

One word answers are harder to misinterpret, the meaning with them is clear.

“Who are you?” the voice asked, nudging the gun barrel into my back to prompt me to answer his question.

“Jełen, Michał Jełen,” I replied, keeping my eyes forward.

“What are you doing here?” the voice nudged me again, the threat still active and present.

“Aleksander Ignacek,” I said slowly, remembering the name the terrorist had divulged to me. I felt the man with the gun remove the barrel from my back for a moment, I could hear the gears turning in his head as he processed what I was saying. I breathed for a moment, allowing myself the luxury despite the gun still being there, but I needed to. Needed to stay calm.

The gun returned, more forceful this time, “how do you know that name? Where did you hear it?” I didn’t answer quickly enough for his liking, and he grabbed my hair. I bit back a surprised noise as he leaned in to hiss into my ear, “answer me!”

“You’re resistance?” I asked in a whisper, breaking my personal one-word answer rule in favour of two.

“And if I am? I asked you a question, and you better answer fucking quickly,” the man sounded angry now. This needed to de-escalate quickly, otherwise I could end up dead, “where did you hear that name?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, “one of your men,” I said slowly, “told me to tell.”

The man seemed to be weighing up his options. I think I struck a nerve with him. I didn’t have time to think on it much, because he hit me on the back of the head with the handle of the gun, really, really hard,