#identify and misty step

[slashire]

Tuesday

Summary: you accidentally grab at the same book as another, turns out it's the reason why you look forward to every tuesday. You and Spencer, after meeting, enjoy each other's space in the little bookstore, it escalates to him asking you out to dinner.

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, slow burn, a tiny trauma dump from spencer

WC: 2219

an: I'm working on part 3 of the black butler one, but I'm currently in between moving so Idk when I can post it! :(

The first time it happens, it's raining, light, misty rain, the kind that's more whisper than weather. The air smells faintly of damp pavement, crushed leaves, and the orange peel you tucked into your coat pocket on the walk over. You duck into the little bookstore nestled between a florist and a vintage clothing shop, your usual Tuesday sanctuary, and shake the rain from your sleeves as the door swings closed behind you with a soft, familiar chime. The sound feels like punctuation, a gentle full stop at the end of whatever outside noise you've left behind.

Inside, the bookstore hums in its quiet way, old jazz murmurs from a corner speaker, blending into the rustle of pages and the soft scuff of someone moving between stacks. The place is warm with the scent of old paper and wood polish, with something slightly citrusy you've never quite been able to identify. You follow the creaky wooden floorboards instinctively, stepping around a table stacked with faded Penguin Classics, past the fiction aisle, and into the back corner, where Psychology lives, tucked between political theory and poetry like some strange venn diagram of the human condition.

You reach for the book without thinking, Cognitive Development and Psychopathology.  It's dense, unflinchingly clinical in parts, but you’ve been circling it for weeks. There's something in the way it weaves together early development, trauma theory, and behavior patterns that fascinates you, how it reads more like the anatomy of memory than an academic text.

And then, as your fingers touch the spine, another hand reaches for it at the exact same moment.

The contact is brief- cool fingertips brushing yours- but it's enough to make you glance up.

He's taller than you, but somehow he manages to take up less space than he should, like he's trying to shrink himself to fit the bookstores hush. His hair curls slightly from the humidity, soft and unbrushed in a way that suggests he might have run here through the rain without an umbrella. He wears a navy cardigan over a mismatched shirt and tie, the pattern of the tie slightly crooked. He looks surprised, blinking at you with warm, honey-colored eyes behind wire-framed glasses.

He pulls his hand back immediately. 

“I-sorry. You go ahead,” he says, his voice low but clipped, as though he's used to recalibrating mid sentence. “I've read it before. Several times, actually. Though I find I never quite retain the same interpretation twice.”

You pause, glancing down at the book again and then back at him. “Sounds like memory reconsolidation.”

That makes his eyebrows lift, sharply, delightedly, as if you've just said the exact right thing on accident.

“Exactly. Yes. that's actually-well, it's the core of the problem, isn't it? That every time we retrieve a memory, we alter it. It's not like a file you open and close. It's more like…like clay. Always being reshaped. Dr. Vass even argues that therapy, at its best, is just carefully controlled memory destabilization. But of course, her sample sizes were too small and skewed toward outpatient populations, so..”

He trails off, blinking again. Then he lets out a breath and offers a shy, crooked smile. “Sorry. I ramble.”

“No,” you say, a little too quickly. “It's refreshing.”

He glances at you as if he's trying to determine whether you mean it. Then his smile deepens, just slightly.

“You have good taste,” he says.

“Likewise,” you reply, this time, he actually lets out a quiet laugh, something barely audible but genuine.

He offers you his hand, like the thought just occurred to him. “Spencer Reid.”

You shake it, noticing the precision in his grip, the careful way he measures touch like he's learned to be cautious with his presence in the world. You give him your name in return, and he repeats it softly, almost to himself, committing it to memory.

Something shifts then, something subtle. Like two books leaning gently into each other on a shelf, no longer strangers.

You think that will be it. But the next Tuesday, he's there.

You spot him first, seated in the philosophy aisle, one leg curled under the other on the faded armchair near the back. He's reading again, The Denial of Death by Becker, but looks up the moment you enter, as if he's been listening for the sound of your step.

“Hi.” he says, the word a little breathless, like he didn't realize he'd been holding any until just now.

That day, you talk about Carl Jung. The week after, it's Virginia Woolf. Once, your conversation spirals from Plato to neurolinguistics to the way children invent private languages and how that might intersect with trauma encoding. He speaks in long sentences, hands moving in rhythm with his thoughts, building out entire structures of ideas in the air like he's mapping galaxies. You never feel lost, though. He pulls you into the orbit of his mind with ease, always pausing to check if youre still with him, always listening as intently as he speaks.

He starts bringing you books, ones he thinks you'll like, secondhand copies with his thoughts scribbled in the margins. You bring pastries from the cafe down the block. On rainy weeks, he brings tea. It becomes a ritual. You become ritual.

Sometimes you sit in silence, reading side by side. Other times, the words don't stop until the shop closes and the clerk politely flicked the lights. The world outside shrinks into irrelevance when he's across from you, head tilted, brow furrowed in thought.

You learn how he cracks his knuckles when he's nervous. How he won't interrupt, but his eyes light up when he's holding back a thought. How he listens, really listens, with the kind of reverence that makes you feel like what you say matters, like it's being gently stored away somewhere sacred.

He tells you things you know he doesn't tell most people. That he's been called a genius, but he doesn't always feel like one. That he used to hate silence, but lately, he's been learning how to sit with it. That he never had a favorite place in D.C, not really, too transient, too loud, but this bookstore, he says one day, without looking up from his book, “feels like breathing again.”

You don't answer. You just smile and turn the page.

Five months after that first accidental brush of fingertips, he gives you a book.

He doesn't say anything. Just place’s it on the table between you. A worn copy of Letters to a Young Poet, soft-edged and underlined. You open it without thinking, and a folded piece of paper falls out.

Your name is written on the front in careful, narrow handwriting.

Inside the note reads:

I've found a rhythm in these Tuesdays.

A stillness I didn't know I needed.

I used to believe connection was accidental.

Or infrequent.

But then I met you. And it didn't feel

Accidental at all.

I was wondering,

Would you like to have dinner with me?

No pressure.

Just one more conversation.

-Spencer

You sit back slowly, heart thudding in your chest, the soft sound of pages turning somewhere in the store now impossibly loud. When you look up, he's not pretending to read. He's watching you, quietly, hands folded in his lap, eyes full of uncertainty that doesn't match the brilliance of his mind.

You smile, small, certain, and hold up the note.

He straightens, blinking once.

“I'd love to,” you say.

The smile that breaks across his face isn't perfect. It's not suave or practiced or cinematic.

It's real.

And just like that, the story turns another page.

The dinner is set for the following friday. He chooses a quiet, tucked away place, of course he does, a little family-owned bistro with books stacked on its windowsills and flickering tea lights on each table. He texts you the address precisely, three days in advance, and follows up on Thursday to confirm with a slightly self conscious, “Still okay for tomorrow?” 

You reply yes, and he sends a single reply back: looking forward to it. Very much.

The phrase plays on a loop in your head as you dress.

You arrive first. The table is already reserved, near the back, half-shielded by a tall shelf of antique hardcovers. You glance around at the soft lighting, the quiet music playing in the background. It doesn't surprise you that Spencer found this place. It feels like him: thoughtful, hidden in plain sight, full of depth and charm you only see when you slow down.

When he walks in, you spot him immediately.

There's something about the way he carries himself tonight, more upright than usual, but still with that signature nervous energy he never quite masks. He's wearing a dark sweater and blazer, and his hair is a little more carefully styled than usual, though it still curls loosely around his ears. His eyes land on you, and the second they do, his shoulders drop just a little, like he's been holding something in and finally remembers how to breathe.

“Hi,” he says, pulling out your chair for you, and then his own. “Im...Im really glad you came.”

“So am i,” you answer, and his lips tug into a smile that takes its time spreading, like it's blooming rather than appearing.

The conversation is easy. Of course it is. You talk about books at first, he asks if you've started The Body Keeps the Score, and when you say yes, he leans in, visibly excited, launching into a soft but passionate explanation of how somatic trauma therapy has reshaped the way we understand memory storage. He stops himself three times mid-ramble, apologizing with flushed cheeks and glancing down at his hands. You touch his wrist gently once, just to steady him. “I like listening to you,” you say, and he glances up at you like that's something he doesn't hear very often but wishes he did.

Over pasta and shared wine, the conversation deepens.

He tells you about his mom. He doesn't launch into it the way he does with literature or statistics, it's slower, careful, like unwrapping something delicate. He talks about her schizophrenia, about the sharpness of her mind before the illness settled in, about how he used to read her poetry and scientific papers out loud just to keep her anchored. You don't interrupt. You just let the quiet stretch when it needs to, holding space for the weight he's always carried.

“I used to think I had to fix everything,” he says, voice low. “That if I just knew enough- read enough, understand enough- i could make it all go away. But some things aren't puzzles. They Are…ongoing.” he pauses, then looks at you. “You make it feel okay to have some of those pieces still unresolved.”

You say his name then, softly, and his gaze flickers to yours with something unguarded, something that's not just gratitude but recognition. Like he sees something in you he didn't expect to find, but can't quite let go of now that he has.

You talk for hours, until your plates are cleared, until the wineglass between you is empty, until the candle burns low and the lights dim just a little more.

Outside, the air is cool and still. The rain has passed, leaving behind the shimmer of wet pavement and reflections in puddles. He walks you to your car without speaking at first, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. You match his pace naturally.

“I…don't really do this,” he says suddenly, stopping just before you reach your door. “Not just the dating thing. But the part where i…care this quickly.”

You feel something shift again, like the pause before a page turn.

“I haven't either,” you say. “But I do.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, the world shrinks to the narrow space between you. He doesn't lean in. He doesn't rush. He just looks at you, and it feels like a long-held breath finally being released.

“I'd like to see you again,” he says. “Outside the bookstore. Not that I don't love the bookstore- I do. But I'd like to know what your laugh sounds like in other places. What you look like in the morning light. What you think about on a Sunday when no one’s asking you questions.”

The words are so Spencer- half poetic, half exact, more honest than most people are allowed to be.

“I'd like that too.” you say.

And then he smiles, and it's the real one, the one that  starts in his eyes and unfolds all the way through him, like he's not sure what's happening, only that it feels like something he doesn't want to stop.

He brushes your hand with his before he leaves. Just barely. But it's enough.

Enough to know this is only the beginning.

Enough to know the next chapter is already writing itself in quiet, deliberate ink.

[legendofmorons]

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter thirteen - who is she? (a misty memory)

Pairing: poly! Chain x reader, Wind & reader

Rating: T

Summary: while everyone manages to spot the town a mishap with magic dungeon leads to you entering the dungeon alone with only a dazed Hyrule for company.

(Aka: Wind's both psychic and tempting fate, Legend is screaming internally, some fae lore, and Time has a Repression Canyon. You and Hyrule are not doing well become Hyrule is under the influence of something. No one is having a good time right now, except for Dark, who is currently off screen and being dramatic.)

Warnings: cursing, grief, hypnotism/ mind control, Time's Repression Canyon (TM),

Other: If I missed anything please let me know.

Previous masterlist next

This chapter contains descriptions of mind control/ hypnosis. If you would like to read this story but skip this chapter a summary instead you can find it here.

-------

"Maybe we should split up," Hyrule suggests as your group walks.

"No," you say in perfect sync with Four.

"Why not?" Hyrule asks.

You just stare at him.

Is he being serious right now?

"You are injured, (Y/n) was recently singled out by the Shadow, and Wild has most of our food supply. Splitting up with no plan or destination is not a good idea," Four says as he crosses his arms.

Wild stops, gaze narrowing at something in the distance, "What is that?"

"Looks like a dungeon?" Hyrule offers faintly, almost lost in his own mind.

"We don't have to do the dungeon, do we?" You ask hesitantly.

"I'm sure we're fine," Four says. "There's no shadow there as far as I can tell."

"We should still head towards it. It's the first identifiable thing we've seen," Hyrule's says.

You don't like how much sense he makes.

Dungeons, while a staple for the Zelda franchise, are a pain in the butt. Even the shrines that are sort of mini-dungeons are a pain.

There's the dread of having to do a dungeon for real even though the boys say you probably won't need to.

At least it's probably a forest temple. Those are usually the first dungeon in the games and are a little easier puzzle wise to help you get the hang of it.

You walk forward with Wild at your side while Four and Hyrule follow. The air lightens with each step now that you all have a destination of sorts.

Spooky and Epona walk on either side of you and Wild.

The birds in the trees sing and crow happily, a constant that sets you at ease. After all, animals go silent when there's predators nearby.

"Do you know anything about dungeons?" Wild asks you as you walk along the trail.

That's a trap of a question if you've ever heard one... but it isn't meant to be.

"Some," you say after a moment. You aren't ready to try explaining the video game thing or the memory things, and you don't know if you ever will be.

"Like what?" Hyrule asks, his eyes lingering on you.

Oh, he always did match your curiosity, didn't he?

(They all do, but some of them hide it better.)

The thought about matching curiosity seems correct and yet wells up from the part of you that the dreams and memories come from.

"There's lots of puzzles, and a lot of times, there's a tool to get," you say with a half shrug.

"There's also usually a boss," Hyrule adds helpfully, coming back to awareness.

Whatever the traveler was thinking about seems to have let him go.

"That sounds right," you nod along.

Wild shakes his head, "Bosses are awful."

"Would you rate it zero out of ten?" You ask.

The words come out of your mouth with little thought, and you aren't sure why they come out either. Unfortunately, you can't take it back.

"Negative four," Four says before he stops to think about it. "Wait - no pun or joke intended."

"I believe you," you say easily, "Bosses sound awful."

"You should have seen thunderblight," Wild says with a tone that implies a story he isn't ready to tell.

With the knowledge that you have seen thunderblight as well as the knowledge that you shouldn't say that, you just offer a sympathetic smile. "Sounds like a tough fight."

Wild snorts. "It was."

"Do you have dungeons in your world?" Hyrule asks.

"Not like yours. Our dungeons are more like prisons?" You trying to explain.

"Like jail?" Four asks.

"Yes."

"Strange," Hyrule says.

You smile a little, "I guess it probably is."

Conversation peters out as you continue to trek towards the dungeon.

You can't say why exactly you feel you're going to be doing the dungeon, but you have the ever sinking feeling you will be completing the thing.

The presence of both the males with you and the two animals is the best solace you have. The comfort of knowing that not only are you not alone but that you are surrounded by your boys is addicting.

Your boys... they are your boys.

They are so undeniably your boys, and yet they aren't.

You remember things about them that you could only know from living a loving relationship with them, but you don't know their last names or favorite colors.

You know what their hands feel like in your own.

You know what kissing them feels like.

The feeling of their arms around you as they tell you they're going to protect you is burnt into your soul, apparently in a literal sense.

For all of that, you don't know how they like their coffee or their favorite scent for soaps.

Your mind spirals until you find yourself before the dungeon.

It's not a dungeon you recognize off the top of your head.

The large step pyramid is over taken by vibrant flora and fauna with carvings of vines and triangles alike. It's definitely a forest temple, then.

"Is that a town?" Hyrule asks as he points towards the left, but he sounds as if in a daze.

Maybe it's exhaustion?

You turn and look over, squinting. "Maybe?"

"Two of us could go see while two stay here just in case the others show up?" Hyrule offers."

"That's not the worst plan," Wild muses. "But it still has us splitting up,"you frown.

"We have a plan and destination this time," Four says as he looks the group over. "Wild and I could scope out the potential town while you and Hyrule stay here."

There's the urge to argue against staying here, but in reality, you can't come up with a good reason not to. Hyrule has a hurt ankle, and you don't have the practice to both scope a town out and to wrangle a panther.

"If you're sure," you say because you don't want him to feel as if you are ignoring him.

Four looks at you, eyes the same - almost purple - they usually are when they look at you.

(They used to be a constant silvery gray color, but now they have flecks of four different colors and switch between the dominant hue. A consequence of the foursword?)

"We're sure," Four says.

"We'll be fast," Wild says with a tight smile.

"Just be safe," you tell him.

"We will," Wild says.

("Just - just be safe," you tell the young man with the long hair.

He takes your hands in his, smiling soft and sad. "I still have to show you those sunsets, I'll be back.")

Four and Wild head towards what is hopefully a town. Their figures shrink against the horizon as they move away.

Hopefully, nothing goes wrong.

As if the universe heard your a low grinding sound, the dungeon behind you gives makes you hiss out a curse. That can't be any good.

It's fine.

This is fine.

The sliding cicle door seems to be opening.

"That's... ominous," Hyrule manages weakly, eyes lingering once again on your frame with a strange glint.

"Just don't go in," you say tightly, "Something is really wrong here."

"Yeah..." He frowns, voice strange as he looks to the dungeon.

The air feels like it is trying to eat you alive now.

Spooky growls at the dungeon as they get between the dungeon and you.

Epona won't look at it.

Hyrule is swaying, looking more and more dazed by the second.

"Hyrule?" You ask.

"Hm?" He asks, leaning towards the dungeon.

"Hyrule, what's going on?"

"Don't you hear it?" He asks.

You have just enough time to think the words 'oh shit' before things go wrong, and Hyrule stumbles through the opening of the dungeon as if in a trance.

"Stay here, you two," you say as you follow after Hyrule.

It's a horrible plan.

You know this as soon as your feet move, but he is already hurt and almost in a trance.

You can't just let him wander in alone.

Even the time it might take to catch up to Wild and Four could spell disaster for Hyrule.

As soon as you clear the doorway, the dungeon door rolls shut at a terrifying speed.

The large rolling stone circle that is the door looks too heavy to move, and when you try to open it anyway, you find it weighs more than anyone can move without magic.

Great.

You turn and find Hyrule standing a few steps in front of you as he sways, humming as if he isn't aware he is making sound. The tune is a much slower and half haunting version of the fairy fountain music.

The air feels even worse inside the dungeon.

Hungrier.

You close the distance between you and Hyrule.

All right, you guess you're doing the dungeon.

This is fine.

You have the practical of puzzles, at least...

Oh boy...

-------

Legend walks through the grassy plains as he and his two companions head towards the town with a sense of dread. He dosen’t know what is wrong, only that something is.

He can't help but wonder over your safety.

Who are you with?

Are you alone?

What is he going to do if you die again? You -

You aren't his.

Not the way he remembers and craves.

You are on a lifetime where you don't actually know him.

How is he to tell a different Link you died?

You aren't dead, though.

Legend can't stand the thought.

He needs you to live.

He'll keep his emotions as his problem.

You don't remember him.

You aren't his (Y/n)... but you are.

This whole thing makes his head spin. His main goal with you - this version of you that isn't on the same reincarnation he is - is to follow your lead with whatever form of relationship you want.

Legend sighs heavily as he fiddles with the ring that he never takes off. (The ring that was once going to be your ring...)

He just needs to get his head on straight. That's all.

Legend can do this.

"Do you think anyone else is already there?" Wind asks from the right.

"I don't know," Warriors sighs.

"Where else would they go? I haven't seen anything but this town," Legend says with his most even tone.

His anxiety dosen’t have to spill all over everyone else.

Wind rolls his eyes. "I hope you're right."

"I just have a bad feeling about this," Legend says with a sigh.

"How bad can it be? We're in a place with little to no monsters," Wind shakes his head.

Legend could just shake the sailor; you never ask that. That is just asking fate to come in and wreck things.

Warriors shakes his head, "We don't know where the others ended up."

Wind sighs, "You both need more faith in them."

"I have plenty of faith," Legend says primly, "I just also know everyone in the group is a magnet for trouble."

"What do you think is going to happen? It's not like dungeons can force you to enter them and then disappear until you complete them," Wind rolls his eyes.

Legend's eye twitches. He has to bite back the urge to physically shake Wind. You never ever tenpt fate like that. Especially not after asking 'how bad can it be?'.

"I'll take your word for it," Warriors says with a frown.

Legend just focuses on walking to the town. He is not dealing with this.

He is focusing so hard on that that when he hears the sharp, demanding meow of Spooky, he almost screams.

"Spooky?" Wind asks, frowning, "What are you doing here?"

Spooky meows again, tail lashing as they stare down Legend.

They don't stare at Wind.

They don't stare at Warriors.

Spooky stares right at Legend, as if demanding his attention.

"Where's (Y/n)?" Legend asks slowly.

He feels absolutely ridiculous asking a cat about this, but the cat seems to know something.

The cat seems to wat him to do something.

Spooky turns and starts running towards a spot past the town.

"Are we supposed to follow them?" Wind asks.

Legend dosen’t bother with thinking, "Yes. Come on."

The veteran surges forwards with the aid of his Pegasus boots. He knows Warriors and Wind are both following him.

Legend knows Warriors is unusually fast even among the heroes, so he trusts the captain to keep up and help Wind.

Legend can't believe he's chasing down a preadator.

Spooky runs through the area, ignoring rocks and trees and grass alike. They have a mission as they run.

Spooky stops at the main treeline of the forest, where the only notable thing is an incredibly large faerie circle of strange mushrooms.

Legend skids to a stop, looking around and finding no trace of you.

"Where are they?" Legend asks as he looks to Spooky.

Spooky yowls at the mushrooms circle, pacing back and forth between Legend and the circle. Their hackles are raising. Their ears are pinning back.

Legend grips his sword and grits his teeth.

Spooky does not seem to look at Legend. They seem to be challenging the mushroom circle itself.

Legend is safe enough. Legend is not actively being threatened.

Warriors and Wind skid to a stop and Legend's side.

"Where's (Y/n)? Why's Spooky so mad?" Wind asks as he steps forward to check on the panther.

Spooky growls, nudging Wind backward to create space between the sailor and the mushroom circle.

Legend can't argue with that.

The mushroom circle feels wrong.

Faeries are not all good or all evil. They are like humans. They have the ability for both, and the individual can be a mic of either.

But the magic itself that makes the faerie circle feels like fear and hunger alike.

Like nightmares and thorns.

Like a Venus fly trap starving for food.

"I don't know, but I don't think we're going to like the answer," Legend grits out.

"Why did Spooky bring us here?" Wind frowns. "I don't understand."

"It's a faerie circle," Warriors says, "And an unusually large one at that. It feels... malicious."

"That's a nice description," Legend huffs.

"So... you think the circle has (Y/n)?" Wind asks softly.

"I don't know."

"We couldn't go in?" Wind offers.

"No," Warriors says. "We can't. Not without having a solid plan."

Legend starts looking around. They need answers.

They need help.

They need Hyrule, because the resident Faerie will have the best idea of how to handle things.

Not everyone knows Hyrule is part fae, but Legend does, and Legend really needs his brother's help.

"I really don't like this," Warriors says. "We should find the others."

"And leave? What if (y/n) comes out and needs help?" Legend asks.

"Well-" Warriors starts only to be cut off by a loud whinny.

The sound of fast hoodbeats sound as what is presumably Epona rushes forward.

"LEGEND!" Wild calls breathlessly as he runs after the horse.

Legend turns, finding that all the others outside his group are running towards him... all the others except you and Hyrule.

"Did you see the temple?!" Wild demands.

"Temple?" Wind asks incredulously, "There's no temple."

"Yes, there was," Wild chokes out.

Four curses sharply before he says, "They went in."

"They weren't supposed to!" Wild snaps.

"The locals said the place lures you in," Sky tries to soothe.

"Wait - What is going on?" Legend demands.

"Hyrule and (Y/n) went into some magic place that only exists sometimes," Wild explains as he wave shis hands around.

"Easy now, cub," Twilight soothes as best he can as he sets a hand on Wild's shoulder. "Ya can't go s'plainin' like a cucoo with its head cut off."

"What does the temple have to do with the faerie circle?" Warriors asks tightly.

"Bad things," Wild hisses.

"Everybody, take a moment and pull yourselves together," Time cuts in with an authority that Legend clings to for the moment. "Once you're all calmer, I'll explain. Until then, you have to trust Hyrule and (Y/n)."

Legend is ready to pull his hair out. He grips the edge of his cap as well as his hair, tugging.

It isn't about trusting you and Hyrule. It's about needing you to both be safe and alive.

-------

Hyrule walks forward with little thought, his mind fogging over at the sound of his honeybee's voice calling for him.

"Link? Where are you? I'm scared and you promised to protect me!" You call to him.

Hyrule makes a soft sound.

He's failing you!

Someone walks at his side, but that dosen’t matter.

There's the sound of grinding behind him.

Distantly, Hyrule has just enough sense to think 'that's not good'.

The room Hyrule walks through has a walkway of mossy stones with tall pillars of craved wood. Magic hangs in the air.

The magic feels so weird.

A hand grabs his wrist, and your voice cuts through the haze again, louder and more insistent. "Hyrule!"

He blinks, looking to you with wide eyes. You're right here, so why did your voice sound so far away before?

"Link, please!" Your voice calls from far away despite Hyrule staring at your face.

Your mouth does not move.

Something is very, very wrong, and whatever it is has your voice.

Wait...

You aren't his honeybee.

The other voice has to be his honeybee!

Hyrule isn't sure what you're doing here. Aren't you usually with Sky and Wind?

"Hyrule, I need you to help me," you say to him tightly.

Your eyes are a little wide.

Your grip on his wrist boarders on desperate and bruising.

You are not his honeybee, but you look ready to run. You share a face with his lost love, but you are also someone who isn't part of the fight of good vs. evil, and you need his help.

"What's wrong?" Hyrule asks as he watches your face.

You swallow hard, "Hyrule, you went into the dungeon!"

"What dungeon?" Hyrule asks.

"What - Hyrule, we're in a dungeon. Your ankle is still busted, and the door just sealed!" You tell him with half desperate fear and half disbelief.

Hyrule frowns, trying to make sense of your words. The entire situation feels far away.

Come to think of it... the air feels like a dungeon and fae magic.... strange.

"LINK!" Calls his honeybee from wherever they are.

They're in the dungeon!

"Why are you in here?" Hyrule asks you as the haze starts to creep back in.

You tug his wrist to get his attention, "I followed you in. Why did you go in?"

"You followed me?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He asks, utterly unsure.

You have no ties to his honeybee despite the many similarities, and you are not a hero. You're lovely and all but he doesn't understand.

"You're going into a dungeon in a daze with a busted ankle, I wasn't going to let you be alone and get hurt," you say as if the answer is obvious.

"Oh. That's sweet of you," Hyrule says.

"It's- Hyrule. We need to leave," you say firmly, stepping back and gently tugging his wrist with you.

"Leave?" He echoes, squinting behind you. "There's no door."

"What?!" You demand as you whip around.

He watches as you realize that there is, in fact, no door.

"Oh fuck," you manage as you turn back to him. "That's bad. A minute ago it was just too heavy... I was hoping you had something... and now it's gone?!"

The sound of your voice is the clearest thing for him but the words sound as if he is bobbing in and out of water.

"We have to go forward. That's where my honey bee's voice is," he says as he steps towards the direction where he hears the voice when it speaks.

You just stare at him with a strange mix of horror and sympathy. "I don't think - Hyrule, I haven't heard a voice besides yours."

"You will," Hyrule says, unsure why he says it or even what it means.

He starts walking down the path with the columns on either side.

Your hand still holds his wrist, and you follow him.

"NO! LINK HELP!" His honeybee calls from further within the building.

Hyrule starts to run, dragging you along as he rushes forward.

All he has to do is get to his honeybee.

There's nothing too hard about that -

You yank him against a wall with a hiss of his name.

Hyrule's back hits the wall with a thump just as an arrow whizzes by. If he were still running down the path, it would have hit his head.

Where did that come from?

You're getting better at this adventure thing, he decides. He should tell you that later.

You move your hand off his wrist and instead lace your fingers through his.

The fog in his mind continues to thicken until all Hyrule knows is your hand in his and the terror in his honeybee's voice.

There are rooms and torches.

Moss and stones.

None of it matters.

Any time you jerk him somewhere, he registers there is a threat but not where or what it is.

He hopes that when you meet his honeybee, you like them.

There's still a faint nagging at the back of his kind that something is wrong and that he needs to focus on you and not the voice he can't see the source of.

He ignores the nagging feeling.

-------

Time is not looking forward to telling anyone about the dreaded temple that is now missing with only the faerie circle as a marker it exists. He is actually hoping not to have to tell them.

Of course, you go into the thing.

Of course, Hyrule is with you on a bad ankle.

Why wouldn't that be what's happening?

He takes a slow, steadying breath. He can do this.

Wild still looks ready to fall into a tizzy with Four staring into the distance and through everyone...

None of the others looks ready to listen.

Time dosen’t know how long they have to wait.

He dosen’t know how long it will take for you and Hyrule to come out.

(Because you will come out. There is no other option. That can not lose you or Hyrule.)

"Can I start?" Time asks.

He hopes desperately for you to jump out and yell surprise or for someone to tell him not to explain.

"Sure," Legend says stiffly.

"I can't say who went in first or why, but after talking to the locals, this temple is known for luring in the grieving and testing them. If they fail, they die," Time says slow and steady.

He focuses on the bark pattern of a tree ten or so feet away. If he focuses on the bark pattern, he dosen’t have to acknowledge the words that come out of his own mouth.

"What?!" Warriors demands.

"The temple is run by a fae who enjoys feeding on misery," Time sighs.

He hates that.

Time hates that this is yet another story where the faerie is the villain. He hates that the fae get such an overwhelmingly bad rep because some of them are bad.

So many of them are good but no one speaks of them.

"We need to get them out," Sky says as evenly as he can. "There should be a way..."

"Not a real one," Legend hisses.

"Like I said... we just have to trust them to come out," Time says even as his heart shatters.

"They'll be fine," Wind says with a conviction that so few ever get to have.

Time takes a deep breath, a slow inhale through his nose and an even slower exhale. He shouldn't argue.

He can't afford tobsew the seeds of doubt and fear into the group.

He can't water the doubts and fears they already have.

"They aren't in it alone," Time decides, the words are weak as soon as he says them, but everyone looks to him anyway.

Legend just sighs. "There's that..."

"I still don't understand," Four says with a far away llooks. His eyes stare at his own boots. "(Y/n) was nervous about the idea of going into the dungeon at all... why did they go in?"

Time can't help the relief that you at least have the sense to be weary of the place. That dosen’t change that you are currently in it, but you might pay better attention.

"I don't know... but Epona came running after us not too long after we hit town," Wild sighs heavily, voice high and tight in a way that betrays barley restraining terror.

"Spooky got us," Warriors says softer, "Seeing them without (Y/n) was absolutely terrifying."

Time is just grateful Epona is the one who came to fetch his group.

(Though the urgency in her body and the way she bit and pulled and whinnied at them until the followed her is still rather heart wrenching.)

"Ya heard Time, we jus' gotta trust 'em," Twilight says as calmly as he can.

Pride swells in Time's chest. His boy is coming so far as a leader.

"Where just worried," Sky says as he looks around. "We trust them, but (Y/n) hasn't faced a dungeon before."

"Not to mention Hyrule's ankle," Wild says immediately.

"His ankle?" Legend asks lowly.

"He's fine. It's just sprained," Four says firmly.

"We should focus on getting potions and supplies now so when they come out, we can help them," Time says.

He can't afford to let the boys spiral. He can't let fear over take them.

Time needs to distract them.

"That's a good idea," Sky says, quick to jump on the distraction.

"Twilight, Wild, why don't you stock up on meat? Warriors and Wind, you should go to town and get anything Wild says we need for meals. Legend, Sky, you go and get potions and any other medicine you see," Time says, trying to put the groups together as best he can. "Four, you and I will set up camp."

The others all grumble but pair off to do as he asks.

Setting up camp is routine now, something that Time is grateful for.

A temporary stone circle for the fire pit along with a perimeter check are both easy enough to ensure.

The only issue is that Time can't ignore the magic the mushroom circle radiates.

All he can do is wait, but Time hates waiting.

He just has to keep it together for the others. He can't fall apart because they need him.

Time takes every negative emotion he has about the current situation and shoves it into his patented repression canyon before promptly deciding that he will simply deal with the emotions never.

He has things to do.

-------

Next

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[puckingeccedentesiast]

Summer Quam's

Description: “It’s like 500 degrees, we are not cuddling!” “But you already threw off all the blankets?!” “I don’t car- STAY ON YOUR FUCKING SIDE!”

Welcome back to thedevilrisen fic's! I am looking forward to writing the more! I think I may be a little rusty, sorry in advance!

Word Count: 1.4k

----- ----- ----- ----- ------

Distraught storm clouds rolled over the horizon, their gloomy rumbles accompanied by piercing claps of thunder as blinding flashes of lighting embellishing the cool grey and cinder coloured sky.

With them they brought warm, moist air which was just on the side of uncomfortable, when the summer storm's roll in the humidity dial permanently spins, like a compass without an identifiable magnetic force. The only hope of relief being the rain that would come, days dragged by, elongated as clouds grew larger and larger, dense and weighed down by droplet's begging to be released from their misty prison.

Movement inside the apartment was very little, dehumidifiers hummed in several different rooms, fan's purred as they fought to circulate the hot air. Still nothing changed, the uncomfortably of the night never dulled as the sparkling lights in window's dimmed into a lightless cavity.

However in your apartment, calmness was not achievable not matter what happened. Restlessness was prominent throughout the evening, the constant changing ice packs to keep cool. The refusal to eat hot foods made it very hard for Connor who was trying to make dinner and stick to his meal plan because according to him a pint of Ben and Jerry's was not an appropriate even when you were dying.

Yes. You were told you were being melodramatic and to come and help chop tomato's for the salad Connor was going to make as a compromise to not eat hot food. Thinking that the cold food would be less problematic. He was so wrong.

"Connor." you whined, for most probably the fifteenth time in a span of about five minutes.

"No, Y/N." he stated, slightly irritated, the heat creating a simmering tension that danced like a mirage. Utterly fed up with not only the heat but your complaining Connor was very much now regretting asking for your assistance. "How about you just go and get a shower or something? I'll finish up here."

You frowned slightly at his borderline begging tone, you knew for basically being a polar bear who lived in the cold the heat was not compatible for him. Knowing it would be better than risking a small, meaningless argument you agreed and meandering down the hallway, soft carpet compressing and splaying underfoot as you moved to the bathroom.

Even though it would be sensible to bathe in freezing water, you didn't, finding the cold water jarring and instead opting for a mid-warm shower instead. The water, slid down your body, cooling you off but not dropping your body temperature completely. Taking the edge off the heat but after stepping out of the shower, seeing the steam still curing up towards the fan on the bathroom ceiling which hummed, as the light gently flicked.

Not bothering to wash your hair tonight, knowing that it would be a nightmare to dry with the moisture in the air and running the hair dryer would create more heat which was not needed in the apartment.

Moving back into the hallway and venturing into the kitchen where Connor sat, left leg swinging beneath him on the bar stool. His fork stabbed at the green leaves and cooked meat in the decorative bowl his mother had sent as a gift set when you first moved in to the apartment six months ago.

"Your's is in the fridge, I wanted to keep the smoked salmon cold because I know you don't like it warm." Connor mumbled, looking down, guilt swirling in his stomach at the fact that he had snapped earlier, he didn't want to but the heat did funny things to him.

"Thank you, love." You moved, cautiously across the tiled kitchen, sighing as the grey tiles cooled the bottom of your bare feet. Opening the fridge, squinting slightly as the all-but surgical light shone out, picking the porcelain plate up off of the top of the tupperware containers in which the plate was so precariously balanced on top.

Feet pattering back across the floor as you moved to slide into the vacated chair, that Connor left after he had his food so he could shower before bed. Stabbing into the greens and listening to the crunch as the fork pierced though leaves and you brought them to your mouth. Connor's cooking was always delicious but something about the heat was altering it, or maybe the lingering tension left in the air from the tense exchange previous.

Swallowing the last mouthful food, slipping off the stool and around the counter top. Placing your hand on the corner of the bench that protrudes to stop your hip from bumping it and aiding the already blooming bruise from when you hit it previously that day, you placed the plate into the sink, gently on top of Connor's.

Almost tip-toeing down the hallway to your bedroom, you stepped inside, hand holding the door, opening it slightly before shutting it behind you. Glancing around to see Connor pulling on a pair of sleep shorts, hair still damp from his shower.

Shuffling along the carpet into the bathroom as you picked up your toothbrush, off of the charger. Uncapping the toothpaste and squeezing a blob onto your brush. Coming to life with a purr you brushed your teeth while straining to listen to what Connor was doing.

Spitting out the foamy liquid when the electric brush pulsated to signal you were done. Pulling a folded hand towel out from underneath the sink, cleaning the corner's of your mouth from the foamy remnants before hanging it to dry over the faucet.

Moving with purpose back out into the bedroom where Connor had dimmed the lights and drawn the curtains before clearly settling into bed himself. His large frame, draped in the sheets fidgeting around trying to get comfortable amidst the heat.

Walking around to your side of the bed, picking a loose fitting sleep shirt off of the floor, that you are pretty sure belonged to Connor six months ago but was somehow commandeered during a visit to his apartment in Chicago and gently pulling it over your head. Opting for just the shirt instead of sleep shorts and a shirt.

Pulling the cotton covers back from the mattress and plunking down into the gap made, swinging your feet onto the bed and tucking them under the sheets, before dragging them up your body and shuffling into a laying position, in the same place you normally lay. Close to Connor so you can feel his body heat, and more often than not. End up cuddling.

Tonight though, you hesitated as Connor could potentially be personified as a windmill. Writhing in the sheets as though they were gripping him and trying to force him somewhere against his will. Rolling over away from his flailing limbs as he flug half the sheets to the foot of the bed, in what seemed like a mad ditch attempt at getting comfortable.

Finally after a few more seconds of tossing and turning, whatever vice that was supposedly gripping him and refusing the respite of sleep let go. Settling onto his side you saw this as your perfect opportunity to snuggle in, tucking yourself under his arm allowing the weight to lull you into a floating state.

That was until he snapped, an angry and guttural sound of irritation projected towards you, "It's like five-hundred degrees, we, are not cuddling."

This made you giggle slightly, even in his anger clouded state you knew he would never mean that. Like a defensive child he pushed you across the sheets, clothes gripping as he did so.

"But Con! You already threw off all the blankets?!" You whined back, thinking that once he'd done that would have been enough, but it was not, beginning to wriggle back towards him.

"I don't car-" he cut himself off, feeling your warm skin brush against him again. "STAY ON YOUR FUCKING SIDE!"

You erupted with giggles, rolling around on your side of the bed, finding his defensiveness hilarious, accepting the fact you weren't going to get cuddles tonight and hoping the heat would die off by tomorrow.

-

Later into the night, when the clouds rolled over and the droplets fell, chasing each other down windows and dispersing the heat from the air. In the slumber that was once restless but now no more, Connor dragged you into his arms where you laid, tangled till the morning sun rose.

[velvet-paradox]

Rewarded

Fandom: Call of Duty/ Fantasy AU Pairing: Knight!König x Princess!Female reader Summary: You've been living a double life to get close to the kingdom's blood Knight. Length: Long Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY, L-bomb, friends to lovers, pining, magic, p in v, creampie, smut.

"Squire! Where the devils are you?"

You came running through the stables, your cloak, cardinal red flowed and swirled around your form. You nearly tripped over a bucket, dust and manure kicking up behind you. Maybe you would have reached your destination more swiftly had you not been carrying that book about.

"I say, squire!"

You stopped just short of your Knight, only bumping just slightly into his polished armor. You had done quite the job this morn! You could make out your own reflection in the metal breast plate or rather the reflection you had created.

"I am here sire. I made great haste through the halls but to no avail I am proven to be late once more." Your knight, the one you bet on every joust, a victor, a champion merely looked down at your presence. What König saw was a scrawny squire boy, moppy hair, holes along the thighs of your leggings, boots a size too big and shrouded by a far too portly cloak. The complete opposite of your true identify.

"You need to put that brain rot away, where it belongs. In the catacombs, in the libraries, down in the archives and not in the stables, boy!" König tsked you through his helmet, only enough room to see his gorgeous blue eyes sparkle behind them. One this occasion he had smeared some coal along his face, making the two orbs stand out like stars in the night sky.

You had often wondered what that would be like, oh how you enjoyed his company! To lay beneath the stars out in the mossy valley, just you and your knight, enjoying the silence. Counting stars, making out constellations. Sharing knowledge. Passing the time. He might even one day choose to hold your hand in the misty dark.

"But it not just some tome, sire! Theses are ancient texts, a forgotten language that I refuse to let drift along like wood in the river. Someone took the time to write all of this down, is it not in favor of knowledge to not let that die on deaf ears?"

"You think too much for such a squire. Come now, put that down and help me."

"But sire--"

"Oh no, boy! Not that 'knowledge before the blade' stuff again. Just do as you are told."

You did not wish to set the book down on some filthy hay, König's pride and joy of a black and grey speckled horse, Sapphire, had recently relieved herself on, you kicked over a half full buck and set it down.

"Aye 'ave you been in here long?" The captain, John Price announced with his booming voice into the stables. It never failed to make you jump, stepping on the armored foot of the Knight. He toked on a cigar from some other realm, it smelled sickly sweet it made your nose twitch.

"Yes sir, all evening, why?"

"The princess… she is feared missing. Again. The king of course has asked me to keep it quiet but I thought maybe she were out here with you." John gave you a sneering look as you kicked around some dirt.

"Nay. And why should the princess be out here with the likes of me, then?" König retorted.

He gave you a bump when he heard you curse in the presence of the captain.

You knew why he'd asked, König did as well. It is simply because--

"You two are well aquatinted. Everyone in the kingdom knows that! If she were not lusted after by suitors here or in the next realm, courted by Sebastian Kruger himself but you did not hear such from me, I would say she would on your arm, no?" Price chuckled out plumes of smoke.

"Hardly. We are merely friends. And no, I have not seen her grace."

"Very well. The scouts will be looking over the grounds, if you see her, let her know she is requested to the box."

While they chatted about the celebratory joust, being small and hidden, were able to slink away. An empty stable, no prying eyes, you revealed yourself in the corner. You whisked off the glamour magic that had made you König's squire boy. Rounding your bare shoulders, holes were daintily carved out in a wave like design that carried across your chest. Embroidery details of flowers and leaves sewn delicately through the sheer puffy sleeves.

With your head held high, you hurried out of said stable, outside of them truly, and feigned your innocence. You even hummed a little tune as you passed by, loud enough for if not one but both were to hear, to keep your secret hidden.

"Aye! My lady Y/N, where have you been?" Price barked and proceeded to bow as you made your way back to these men as if you were not just there moments ago.

"My dear captain, is it illegal for me to strut about my own kingdom? Since when?"

"That is not what I meant, I-I merely was concerned for your well being. Foreigners have been known to steal royalty at such large events. Held ransom or far worse, my dear."

"And you think the great König would have allowed that?" You scoffed, leaning an arm onto König's shoulder like a foothold. The gentle rattle of his armor was cool against your sheer sleeves. "I think not sir. I was just strolling about, enjoying the days warmth and as you can see, no harm fell on me."

"Very well," Price announced, hiding his cigar from your dress. "When you are finished here, Sebastian will be waiting for you in the box. Good luck König."

"Yes, König," you taunt, playfully of course. This double life thing was getting quite tiresome but this was the bed you made and you must lay in it. "Very good luck."

"Have you already placed your bets, my lady?" König asked, banter in his voice as well as he stroked Sapphire's tidy mane.

"First thing I did this morning!" actually the first thing you did this morning was use a bit of magic, not too much to be suspicious but enough to polish the armor the big man before donned. "You know I always bet on you."

"Ah! My biggest supporter, really."

"Ha! All of the kingdom adore you König, and you know it." You clasped your hands in front of you, testing him to see if he'd cave and look down at your cleavage. "Where is your squire? he has left his book."

"That old thing, I should just let Sapphire piss all over it. More harm than good that thing. He most likely tore out of here in a frenzy, terrified of Price."

"König! You take that back at once, if the boy has a hobby, let him have it. Lord know he needs something to deal with the likes of you all damn day!"

"I mean this in the nicest of ways dear princess, but kindly, piss off." You snorted when he tripped against the stool, bending over and righting it for him so he could properly mount Sapphire. This time you did in fact catch him peeking. Blue eyes on yours quickly thereafter.

"As you wish sir," you curtsied and just before you swayed away from the stables, you grabbed up the book. "For safe keeping of course."

"Of course, princess."

….

"Whose he up against again?" Sebastian asked next to you, over the roar of the crowd. His breath already reeking of wine.

"Keegan. USMC's finest knight. Did you not see the bulletin when you arrived two days prior?"

"Guess I was too concerned about getting between my princesses legs." You whacked him arm, your father was nearby and heaven forbid he find out you are sleeping with the potential enemy, or that you were no longer pure. Might send him into an early grave.

The truth was you hadn't slept with the man beside you, flirted with the idea, but then he would say something most fowl and you couldn't help but pray your father might put you out of your misery and have the man exiled from the kingdom.

"Watch your tongue, Sebastian. You do know I can order it cut from your face, correct?"

"Would you continue to use it?"

"You are a sick man, Kruger. Ugh."

Everyone was finally settling down for the joust, your countrymen across from you shouting jeers and the dislike for your Knight, vice versa. It was all fun and games until someone had a little too much, lost in their cups, sheets to the wind and made the wrong choice. They'd end up sleeping it off that next day in the stocks if not worse depending.

All that mattered was the book safely hidden under your seat and that König would turn to be the victor, to receive a kiss upon his helm.

Sapphire soon set the scene, prancing out on the left side of the course, shaking her mane, swishing her tail, stomping her hooves into the sand. König held up his arm, his decorated lance, to the cheering crowd. As he did his first lap around, he had Sapphire stop in front of your box and curtsey, König even tipped an imaginary hat to you.

Keegan did the same, one lap and a show of grace and gratitude.

"Who do you suppose--"

"König never fails me."

It was true. Almost as if by some divine luck did König always win once you began betting on the man. You'd watch from your fathers' box until you were old enough to get your own, years now, close in proximity of course, had to remind you not to shout too loudly, that it wasn't very ladylike. You spat at that remark. A lady can choose whatever she does. The tantrums you would throw about hearing conversations of betrothment, sent off or given to some ugly prince or old king. Blegh. The thought of being touched made your blood boil, it was bad enough Sebastian thought you might lay with.

Bundling or bare. Yuck.

One might think, by your words, that you had used your magic to keep the score, keep him on the winning list of things but this was all König. You were told he was special. The faeries told you so one evening in the veranda, making their little mushroom circle so they could live lavishly, dancing about like fire flies.

"You know of König? the blood Knight, yes?"

"Of course."

"He is very special, not only to you but to all the realm, all who look upon him. See that he is looked after. Cared for, loved and he shall return it ten fold!"

"I am not going to use a spell or curse him."

"No no, princess. Not like that. How would you nurse a kitten back to health? with time and care, patience. Preside over him as much as you can and you will be grateful and rewarded."

Their high pitch whispers in your ear tingled the hairs on your arms and neck. The little fae never left your garden, had been there before you were even thought of all those years ago, let alone how would they know about König?

And he did not fail yet again this night. The clashing of lance to chest plate, the crowd, the roar and grunts of pounding steeds and hooves in sand. The excitement, the adrenaline of watching two brutes joust and beat each other back and forth for all its' worth. All the praise, to be champion. All the spoils to the victor. Keegan was a dear friend and ally, all was not lost after the battle. Armor a bit dented, but nothing too serious. No wooden pieces had been lodged anywhere tender.

König trotted Sapphire towards your box and you made your way down the little steps, leaning over the balcony and looked straight into his eyes. They were on fire. He radiated heat and exhaustion.

You put your hands on his pauldrons and leaned in close.

"You fought valiantly, you are rewarded kindly." You kissed both sides of his helmet, lingering a bit on the second one as you could smell his aroma, distinctly König with added sweat of course. Bergamot, red currants, burning wood, hay; divine. "My blood Knight."

Sapphire even allowed a little snout pat before trotting off.

….

"Should I be worrisome, child?" Your father asks of you, as you lay in bed lipping through the pages of the book. He does not care much for your reading habits, most unbecoming of a young lady even though you are closer an age to König than most of the gentry women you surround yourself with. They are of the season, supple and willing to marry old wealth, put up with splotched hands on smooth skin, made some slave woman of her own name in a locked away tower somewhere. You've heard the horrors, seen the terrors. It is not pretty.

"Of what now, father?" You ask without even looking up.

"Of your friendship with the blood Knight," your father paced the length of you room, settling himself out on to the balcony, hands drawn and clasped behind his back. With a sigh you will your legs to move, to bookmark the page and get up. "Are you two… meaning to be more than friends?"

"Father please. König and I are truthfully platonic," you pat his shoulder with a genuine smile, even though behind your eyes and heart you wished nothing more than to be his beloved. "He cares for winning jousts as much as I. A true KorTac champion, yes? A real Knight."

"I suppose your are quite right, I just… I get the feeling there is something there and I do not know if I wish it to be true, someone to look after you once I am gone, well taken care of, loved. I do know you spend some time with Sabastian, supervised of course, to each their own child, I just do not care for his arrogance and stature."

"His stature?"

"He boasts himself too much, puts on airs. Is most embarrassing I must say."

"Agreed! Truth is father, if I were to be presented to someone for marriage I would gladly take König's hand any day."

"As friends?"

"As friends."

….

That was a lie but you did not wish to rush your father off to an early grave, if he knew your true intentions with your Knight. You would spend hours, disguised as his squire boy, listening to him rant and retell you stories of his valor, fighting off ogres at the outer wall of your kingdom. How he'd gained the trust of the elves, the way they taught him a few choice words over roast fowl and freshly caught fish. How the fire breathers danced in the moonlight, when he saved the life of several children from a dragon. He had the scales of the fallen beast sewn into his chainmail for added protection.

Not only did you want to watch the stars with König, some nights you would cast out magical hearts along your ceiling as you wished he would make you see them. Oh to be underneath him, you thought with a sigh, to see his face for the first time, to touch him, to kiss him. Maybe a true loves kiss if the faeries were correct.

"Preside over him as much as you can and you will be grateful and rewarded."

The ballroom is filled with jovial voices, sober until the actual dance begins. Sheathed swords line the walls, of all sizes, your kingdoms banners flow and move against the high ceilings. Other knights stop by your throne and bow their heads before moving on to get a drink, or something to nibble on. Which is what you are doing, quietly of course, cant be seen as royalty with spinach in your teeth now can you?

"Your grace, will you be joining me along the dance floor this evening?" Kruger suddenly popped up, he always does that, he' so slinky. Quiet as the field mice you used to catch when you were small.

"Must I?"

"I would appreciate one dance before I go to the wall, pray tell who knows how long I shall be without your beauty this time."

Forever, you grumbled to yourself and covered your mouth with a fake smile. "One dance."

"One time is all I need, princess."

Gowns of gold and greens, blue patterns woven into the busts, everyone was buzzing about, König's repeat victory, who was going to be wed at the beginning of the season, bets on who would be in the stocks come next morning.

A round of applause erupted and you need not guess who its' praise was for. He towered over everyone here he might as well be an elf. He waved and bowed to everyone, Keegan following suit, getting his own set of admirers. Some flouncy women would be joining him this evening no doubt to soothe his loss.

"Do you think you could handle that much attention, my dear? All eyes would be on you as well if you were to wed the blood knight."

Your father said next to you, a goblet in hand as he watched you watch König do his tour about the ballroom.

"I don't mind. I am not jealous, father. He can do as he pleases, go where he is needed most, helpful as long as he comes home to me in one piece."

"Well… Kruger will be displeased to hear it."

"Pfft, I do not care what the likes of Sebastian Kruger have to say. He is most, annoying is to put it lightly."

"Agreed."

The music is as light as the conversations as you dance a round with Sebastian, he's easy to move with. You've danced with him before, when you caught his eye apparently. He'd been trying to get your attention, bringing you blood stained trinkets in exchange for your affections. You weren't buying it and when he wasn't looking you'd toss them into some bushes with a roll of your eyes.

He suggested another dance when the orchestra faded out into a newer song and thankfully you didn't have to turn him down as you two bumped into König.

"Afraid not friend, this one is for me."

Kruger slunk away, giving you a bow as it would be highly inappropriate to argue with the winner of the nights' champion. It didn't help how König had said for me. You would ride that high for weeks, surely.

"You did save a dance for me didn't you, princess?"

He'd cleaned up, lighter gear of course, different helmet too. He'd even scrubbed off the coal, though his eyes were still just as bright and clear. He bowed.

"Several in fact, my knight." You also bowed and got into position, holding onto his armored body, you began to move about the room. "Have you already danced with some fellow maidens? Am I slim pickings?"

"Ha! I did not know you were suddenly a jester, my lady!" König chuckled behind his helmet, fingers intertwined with your own as he turned to spin you out only to bring you back in with your back to his chest. "Maybe you should start wearing one of those hats as well."

"Oh please, König. I know you are what the youths call a lady killer."

"I shall have you know, your grace, I have never killed a woman in my life!"

"Not seriously, you oaf."

He shook his head at you as you continued to dance, another song melted into the next and you thought he would bid you good night but instead insisted, begged for another dance. Who were you to object to his request? Plus he was warm and playful and you didn't have to pretend, using magic to be this close to him.

"You did not answer my query?" You pulled your body closer, leaning up against his armor, a blur of your reflection caught in the chest plate.

"Nein my lady, I do believe I only have enough energy to keep up with thee."

"You mean your name will not be attached to any maiden but myself?"

"That is correct. Should I use force and bring out my dagger, make it a point to the kingdom that I dare court the princess after a joust? Say the words and I shall." He joked and spun you, making you dip your head back.

"Oh König, you know I am a firm believer of knowledge before the blade."

He stilled for a moment, looking at you with earnest blue eyes. You were about to inquire what was suddenly the matter when it dawned on you what you had just exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon…. I did in fact not know that about you."

You flustered and shrugged as the other dancers proceeded to swell and dance around your still forms. "I uh, it is a common phrasing, is it not? One should be skilled in both, I am sure your squire would not mind giving you a tour in the archives. Should you pull out your blade you may as well bring out your quill as well." You tried to cover your tracks, it seemed to work as he was swaying a bit, getting into the groove of the dance once more.

"I suppose so. I have only heard my squire say such is all. And what shall I learn down there, hmm?"

"Perhaps the art of properly courting."

"Ouch! Oh how you wound me, a dagger to my side. That means I shall have to try harder to impress you then, princess. And I will."

….

You had been down in the libraries all evening, getting permission from König to do some light reading which of course meant you were pouring over that big book. The choice words, the incantations and spells were incredible. Written in a form you had you use your own magic to decipher, it took a few tries to figure out the meanings. Why were they written in the first place? If you know the casts, why keep them locked and in this two clasp book? If you are born of magic, like yourself, you would already have the knowledge, already gifted just needed to harness and control it.

You bit into your thumb while you deciphered the words in the air above you, kicked back, rocking dangerously on the back two legs of your chair.

Just then the doors burst open loudly, others studying shooshed the intruder and you could hear the clank of armored boots. Hurriedly you put the words back into the book just in case.

"Squire! There you are."

"Well yes sire, you told me I could study today."

"I think I have made a grave mistake."

"What have you done?" You asked and brought the chair back to its' original position.

He clanked and pulled out another chair, seating himself next to you, his helmet is in hands. "How old are you lad? Maybe fifteen?"

"I am all of sixteen, sire." Which is a complete farce as you are about double that, give or take a few months. "Why?"

"I figured. You have not yet begun courting young maidens. Do not follow my example as I made an absolute baffoon of myself last night at the ball. I did not mean to admit hidden feelings but I did so freely! How can I court her? What if she thinks I jest too much, I know how much she humors me with her wit but for the sake of my name and title, what shall I do?"

You looked confused. "Who did you make a mockery in front of? I did not see any such act. Was this behind closed doors?" Saliva had pooled in your mouth, had he admitted his admiration to some other beauty after your dances last night? Had you been actual slim pickings? Was he trying his best not to crush your feelings?

"You were there last night? Well my eyes were elsewhere I suppose. The princess, what must she think of me now? I dare not show my face to her. Well, you know what I mean, boy. I was in such a jovial mood I let my feelings out of their cage and for what? She is probably laughing about it with her friends. If word gets out--"

"What did you say to her, sire that would leave you in such a state?"

"I told her in not so many words that I plan on courting her! Impressing her! Showing off as if I have not been in love with her for years, how foolish of me, squire. What was I thinking? Jousting I can do with my eyes closed, protect the kingdom, no problem. Man the wall with the other Knights, tell me when and where. Battle, I have been to plenty and fought valiantly to see another day, clearly. But love, squire? I am but a pest." He clunked his helmet down on the long table.

You winced as you bit your tongue, watching your blood Knight pound his fist as if he were just a boy the age you were glamourized as. Not the recognized Knight all of Kortac and the surrounding realms and kingdoms knew of. He was in love with you? How dreadful it must've been to watch Kruger try to impress you, expressing himself with gestures.

"Sire, maybe this is not the best place to have this conversation," you shakily say, looking about the other knowledge seekers who were giving you two a dirty look. "Maybe your chambers?"

With a huff he lifted his heavy head and looked at you. "I suppose you are right, boy."

You felt incredibly small here, alone, with your Knight. His room was massive, tools of the trade, several sets of armor on display. Swords, some chipped from battle hung up above his bed in display, he did have a book or two set aside but their slipcovers looked a tad dusty. His bed was large and draped with several blankets, fluffed pillows too.

He sat at his desk, taking off his gloves and tapped where his mouth would be. "What should I do squire? What young man knowledge can you share with me if any?"

"I'm afraid I am not the right one to ask, um would you mind closing your eyes for a moment?" You held your hands behind your back, rocking on the balls of your feet.

"No funny business, or I'll take off your nose."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Just humor me a moment."

"Fine fine."

König sighed and shut his visor, you rubbed your hands together as you normal did to conjure up some magic. You took your time to reveal yourself, from the prickling, silly feeling at the crown of your skull to the ends of your feet, shimmering and fading away like balls of sand. Long gone was the boyish façade of leggings and a tattered cloak, replaced by your clean skin and dress.

"They don't have knowledge to share, but I do." Your voice came through and instantly König snapped his visor open and stood. "What are you doing here, my lady? Where is my squire? He was just here… are you in league with him?" König looked around his room, moving about, looking behind curtains, opening cupboards and closets, even the trunk at the end of his bed. Beneath it. Looking for a ghost with no name.

"I've been lying to you, König. It was the only way."

"The only way for what?" He said peeling back the curtains from his window again just to be certain.

Words bloomed and died on your tongue several times over before you finally came up with, "It was the only way I could get close to you unsupervised. No lady in waiting, no escort."

"What sort of trickery is this? Where is my squire, princess? He's here somewhere."

"I am your squire!"

"Prove yourself." He said and paused, waiting, standing still.

With a wave of your hand you transformed into his young apprentice, shock in his eyes. "See. I have been using glamour magic to conceal the truth, the faeries told me you are special and that I should look over you. I would be rewarded if I did and all that was was just an excuse to further our relationship."

"Why? Why go through the trouble?" He asked after being very visibly shocked that you were two in the same, one person, same thoughts, same actions. He came around the bed and looked down at you fumbling with your jewelry, twisting your rings, messing with your necklace. "I am just a Knight."

"Nein. You are not just some Knight König, you are my Knight and I am over the moon in love with you." You answered with a shrug when you changed back. "There was nothing to stop me."

"You love me?" König's voice wavered, on the very knifes edge of sounding accusatory. "Truly?"

"Incredibly so."

He inhaled deeply and walked past you, leaving you to look out one of his windows, you padded your way over to the high glass pane. KorTac was bustling, moving like ants in their hills and nests. Tears welled in your eyes when you did not hear him any further, left to sulk in your own dismay.

You had lied to him, pretended to be someone else entirely. Tempted to use magic, to quell your sorrow, maybe conjure up a storm so everyone know how pained you were in this moment. You may have lost him for good. You knew how filthy he thought liars were. Even if you did care for the Knight, your actions spoke volumes. Tomes the size of that book you so cleaved.

The door to his chamber creaked open, you couldn't hear his armor but instead came heavy footfalls followed by the locking of the door. "Do you mean it? The care you have for me? It is true?" His voice sounded different.

"Of course I mean it." You wiped at your eyes, tears had clumped your lashes together as you watch two little girls skip through the market below.

His footsteps pounded the floor, his hands rested on your shoulders and for the briefest of seconds, you caught his face in the glass of the window. You gasped.

"What are you doing?"

"If what you say is honest and true, turn around and face me."

You did, turning around you rocked on your feet seeing his bare face. The shape of his jaw, the curve of his lips and the bridge of his nose. All is revealed. He even smiled a little.

"You are handsome, no wonder you cover your face. Everyone would either wish to be you or to have sex with you!"

König snorted into a laugh. "Well thank you my lady, I have been called many things but handsome is not one of them." He smiled again, wider this time. "I can't believe I didn't realize it was you all this time, you kept your eyes and nose the same."

"I'm glad you didn't, I would be in quite some trouble."

"Certainly," König hummed and touched your face with the back of his hand, he'd never touched you like this before. He thumbs over your bottom lip and chin, tilting up your grinning face. "You are a very naughty girl. You have witnessed me shirtless on quite a few occasions over these last several months. Unchaperoned. How scandalous! And to think every time you went missing you were really with me."

"I was not complaining."

"Nein nein, my squire would do no such thing."

….

The first round of kisses were light and sweet, a hint of some sort of berry slipped into your mouth when he licked inside. His hands in your hair, cupping your face, holding your neck, ghosting over your collar as he wrapped you up in his arms.

It didn't feel strange or out of place when you pulled at the strings of your gown, letting it loosen around your shoulders before letting the garment pool around your feet. You stepped out of your flats, climbing on to his lap. The way his shift moved against your bare skin sent shivers up your back.

His large hands, used to battle and action, calloused and laced with past encounters felt warm against your back as he rocked you, laying back when you pushed at his chest.

"Are you in control, princess? Shall I give up all resolve?"

You only smirked and laid across him, brushing some stray strands of his hair behind his ear. "If you love me you will you let me."

"I would let you do unholy things to me." König admitted, tucking his hands behind his head as you moved down his form, lifting his shirt and mouthing over the skin you found in your wake. A large bruised on his ribs were nursed by your lips, kissing over the tapestry of scars that made him. He took it off soon after, helping you take off his trousers as well.

You stilled your hand above his groin, feeling the heat radiate off his conditioned body.

"Do I have your allowance?"

"You have every permission, princess."

You were overly full when you rose to fit him inside your cunt, already as mess of arousal. The noise he made when you sat, taking all of his length at your speed was incredible. You desperately needed to hear it, more of it. Apparently for König as well as he let out more sighs and moans of pleasure, grabbing your rocking hips and rolled you over with a hrmph.

He hissed through his teeth, "I can't take much more of that pace I'm afraid, my lady."

"Eager to fill me are you Knight?" You giggled, feeling him twitch inside you, he bent down and framed your head with his hands, pining your wrists to the bed.

"All night if you let me."

"Like you said," you leaned up and kisses him hard, flexing your hands. "I would let you do unholy acts to me."

That motivation is what got you pinned and fucked more than once that night. His thick cock slipping through your folds as if you were made for each other, he fit so snuggly. Your pussy trapped him, the praises he sang in your honor. How you sobbed his name when he thrusted into you, moving his hips as if he were riding Sapphire. The reverb of the meat of your ass when he finally rolled you over for a second round, bouncing and reveling in the way König's voice sounded almost watery against your ear.

I love you's in between sloppy kisses, the sharp pinch of teeth on flesh. You couldn't get enough. Yes your Knight was inside you, both of you moving as one, connected. Attached. The look in his eyes when he'd pull his cock out slowly only to push it back into your spongy, wet walls. You moved up the bed, the wood of the headboard bouncing gently with his thrusts.

"You are a naughty princess, haven't even properly courted you yet and here you are, balls fucking deep."

"Keep it up my love, you will cum for me once more."

"Can't believe you feel this fucking good. All our b-banter, our back and forth for this to turn into true love. I love you princess."

König held your throat while you rode him, moaning his name, scratching your nails down his arms. You leaned down, burrowing your face into this side of his sweaty neck, on instinct you licked some of it, delighted by König's groan and grab to your hip, you bit down, sucking on him.

You came again, holding on to him tight, the feeling of him bucking up into you, matching push and pull with a chase to climax together once more. You were already sticky, already filled up three times, as round after round had you two on the edge.

"One more princess, one more time for your Knight." König purred after digging his free hand into your hair, keeping you at his neck.

"I don't think I can! I am empty." You whined but kept fucking him.

"Nonsense princess, you are simply filled with me. Load after load you have taken. I am addicted to this pleasure you have wrought out of me."

It was then that you straightened up, leaning back enough to rub at your bundle of nerves, swollen still, dripping wet with hidden activities. König enjoyed the look of what you were doing to yourself, holding onto one of your breasts as you rubbed yourself faster, König could not take his eyes away.

"König please…. bitte I can't… I can't last… I'm--"

"I know it I know it, my love. I can feel you shaking, let it out for me bitte. Then we rest."

You felt it building up, your heart pounding in your chest, exhausted and incredibly satisfied. You could even hear how wet you were, how messy your pussy could sound. Messy with his cum and your arousal, thinking of yourself roaming your kingdom with his seed dripping down your unseen legs got you there. You toppled over, a fresh release of wetness and you were done for.

"One. Last. Time."

Slain by your own hand.

"Bless you princess, I knew you could do it." König groaned, finishing inside you for the fourth time, you were sure he was the empty one now. The morning light shone through his windows as you both laid there, holding hands and catching your breaths.

You laughed into his shoulder, sore but in the best and earned way possible. He kissed your forehead and tucked into your side. You were glad that you had listened to the fae, because you were clearly grateful and rewarded.

Tagging: @powerfultenderness @nepomami

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon "Ghost" Riley Pt. 21

Word count: 5589

Warnings: minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, use of weapons, mentions of injuries and death.

My feelings towards Price are continuously conflicted. On one hand, he’s been very generous throughout my stay with 141. He seems to trust my word at face value and has offered me protection with Soap and Ghost. He also seemed genuinely impressed with my work as a translator, and then again with my performance on the phone with my father.

On the other hand, he is the entire reason I’m here. Sure, Ghost arranged everything, but Price is the man behind every step 141 takes. Nothing is done without his permission. My existence is simply a form of currency to him. My value relies on how much my father is willing to sacrifice for me. Markets are rarely stable in times of war. One wrong move, and the stock will tank faster than in 1929. I feel the dip approaching like a rollercoaster at the top of a hill. Imminent. 

As he stands in front of me, Price has a welcoming presence, despite all of the atrocities he’s committed. Despite everything he has put me through to gain the upper hand on my father. Despite everything he is going to put me through.

His voice is soft as he speaks. We’re alone in my quarters. He leans against the dresser as I sit in bed with my legs pulled to my chest.

“We identified another rat,” a double agent. Another one of their supposedly well-vetted men who turned out to be a terrorist in disguise. His shoulders remain rigid and his arms cross over his chest. “He was in our transportation unit,” Price continues.

I search my mind for some of the faces I’ve come to recognize. There are too many to remember. I don’t know if I’ve even talked to any of the task force members in that unit. Everyone I know is an extension of Soap’s circle.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

“Nothing yet,” he answers. “We can’t risk tipping off the ultranationalists or the exchange being called off,” his thick English accent reminds me of a misty, fall day spent at a café. It’s cold, but there’s also something comforting about it - about him.

It makes sense how the ultranationalists always knew where we were. The mole could’ve tapped the vehicle GPS or tipped them off about which bases we were at. All of those attacks couldn’t have succeeded without him.

“Are there more of them?”

“Rats don’t lie alone,” there’s an underlying tone of disgust in his otherwise reserved voice. His message is loud and clear and more unnerving than ever. The men in 141 are even less trustworthy than I originally thought. “But I didn’t stop to visit about pest control.”

The air feels colder as the words leave his lips. My breathing pauses and the false ease of our conversation drops away like a theatre curtain.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“Affirmative,” he confirms.

“When?” my soft voice is urgent.

“In fifteen minutes someone will drop off your gear. In forty-five you’ll get on the van. And in one hour we depart,” My chest clenches and I feel a nervous ball form in my stomach. I can’t believe how fast this is all happening. I’m not ready. I don’t have a plan to save myself if this all goes south. He doesn’t care if I live. Neither does my father. He might say he does, but he doesn’t, not really. I’m just an excuse for them to meet head to head. Just an excuse for them to pick a fight with one another. They don’t care what happens to me. Only I do.  Price watches my reaction closely. I can tell he half-heartedly expects a breakdown.

“Will Soap come get me?”

“Soap’s team left an hour ago,” they’re gone already? Why’d they leave so early? Why aren’t they all leaving together? I know the answer I’ll get if I ask these questions. I turn my attention back to the exchange.

“What’ll happen when we get there?” Price shifts his weight. He’s a busy man. He doesn’t have additional time to stand here and let me quiz him.

“We’re meeting at an old landing strip in the forest just past the Russian boarder. The exchange will happen in the clearing. Only a few of us will be there for the handoff: Ghost, myself, and a couple other sergeants.  The rest will be waiting in the surrounding woods on our side. But they won’t be alone. The ultranationalists will have men waiting on their side of the woods. In the event that this all goes South, you’re going to retreat to the defilade,” he takes a decisive step away from the dresser with his feet pointed towards the door. I don’t have much time to get any other information from him.

 “Wait what’s a defilade?” the word stumbles across my lips.

“The men in the trees,” Price pauses. Like always he has the army green hat on his head and is dressed in partial camoflauge. “y/n, I’m not saying it’ll turn into a dogfight, but your father doesn’t exactly have the best track record. Be prepared for that possibility.”

I heed his warning closer than anything else he’s said all morning. Why is Price going through with this if he thinks its going to go to shit?

“I’ll see you soon enough,” There’s a knowing look to his face. Maybe it’s the way his eyes slightly squint or the ghost of a smile that tugs at his lips. It ambiguous. Comforting yet concerning.

Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, a member of the task force drops off a bullet proof vest and new clothes to change into. She is tall and wears a uniform almost identical to the one passed onto me.

“Once you’re dressed, I’ll escort you to transportation,” her voice is low and confident. There’s something reassuring about her presense and I’m just glad it isn’t Bennet or one of his friends taking me there.

After hastily throwing on the tactical gear and bulletproof vest, there’s still a piece of fabric sitting on my bed. When I pick it up I recognize the familiar black, fabric bag from several weeks ago. They’re blindfolding me again. Its eerily soft between my clenched fingers. I can’t fucking believe they’re doing this to me again. After everything, why now?

If Ghost was here, would he make me wear it too? Or is this all Price’s doing?

Her firm hand rests on my upper arm as she leads me throughout the compound. Soon the smell of gas filters through the mask and I hear the rumble of multiple engines. People are talking. Orders are barked from one person to the next. Gear is being loaded onto vehicles. Metal clinks and clashes against each other. Everything is in motion.

And then I hear his voice.

Ghost’s distinct tone cuts clearly through the air. It’s powerful and travels with a force that is impossible to ignore. I can pinpoint the exact moment he notices me. The orders he’s giving briefly falter. Then he’s approaching the sergeant and informing her he’s got it from here.

His strong hand replaces her’s. I imagine the warmth of Ghost’s hand through his glove and my sleeve. Ghost’s chest brushes against my shoulder as he leans down to speak. I blindly await his words, only imagining what we look like to the rest of the soldiers. Will they even notice or are they too preoccupied right now?

“You’re riding with me. Don’t say anything. The blindfold will come off once we arrive,”

“Where is th-“

“Don’t. Speak.” Ghost lowly cuts me off.

The van reminds me of the one before. Similarily, I think we’re strapped in against the walls of the vehicle. But I can’t tell for sure.

Ghost quickly buckles me in. His fingers are fast, yet cautious. He takes care not to pinch my skin between the clasps. For a second it almost feels like he’s lingering just to touch me longer. My remaining anger towards him melts for a moment. In a strange environment where I’m stripped of my senses, he’s the only thing that’s familiar. He’s the only one I might just be able to trust.

There are low murmurs amongst the other task members, but not the cheerful kind like before. These are the types of conversations reserved for before high-risk missions. Conversations that hum just above a whisper. They know not everyone will return. You can hear it in their voices.

The van rocks back and forth as we drive. Ghost’s thigh presses against my own. I melt into his side. The firmness of his strength is a reassuring senestion. My hand rests between our legs as my thumb gently traces back and forth along his pantleg. I wonder if he can feel it? I wonder if he knows how this is going to end?

The terrain progressively deteriorates from pavement to gravel to dirt to something far more unpredictable. When the van suddenly stops there’s a split second of absolute stillness. It only lasts for a single breath. Then, it’s go time.

The clicking sounds of seatbelts fill the air. Orders are reaffirmed down the line. Shuffling bodies exit the van. Cold air wafts through the doors.

The blindfold is harshly yanked off my head. Ghost’s calm eyes latch onto mine. In the sea of chaos flowing around us, he remains anchored.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Ghost only nods once, his eyes telling me all I need to know.

Thick forest surrounds us as teams of armed men meticulously clear the surrounding area. It’s daylight, but the shadows of the trees make it feel like dusk. The snow crunches under my feet and bitter air bites at my skin as visible clouds form when I exhale. We’re back in Russia. Ultranationalist territory.

Price appears from another van followed by a formation of armed men who surround Ghost and myself.

“We’re clear. Their men have claimed their half and the rest are waiting on the flat.”

“How many?” Ghost asks, his hand is glued to the automatic riffle clipped to his vest. His eyes continuously scan the area for threats. Everyone is on high alert. Something is happening behind the scnenes that I don’t know about. I can just tell.     

“Half a dozen,” Price responds.

“Beyond the zone of action?”

“TAC estimates about fifty,” Price’s attention is entirely on Ghost. He trusts his opinion more than anyone else on the task force.

“We’re outnumbered,” Ghost’s jaw clenches under the skull mask. His response is short and matter-of-fact. He doesn’t like this. “Update on demolitions?”

“They’re ready,” Price smirks knowingly. What the hell have they got planned? Where is Soap?

Ghost processes what Price has just said. Despite his hesitancy he seems to find some reassurance in Price’s words.

“Right. Y/n,” my eyes are already on Price. “When we go out there, you stay in the detail circle until instructed otherwise. Keep your act up. Sell it to your father. If something happens, retreat to the West side of the flat,” his instructions echo between my ears. This is real. This is happening.

“Affirmative,” I force my chin up.

Then like no time has passed at all, we march as a unit through the trees into a long opening. It’s an old landing strip once used for planes with an abandoned hangar at the far side of the field. The sun gleams through the opening in the trees and reflects off the snow. The brightness hurts my eyes at firt, but then as they adjust, I see several men gathered at a table in the center of the air strip. Its them. It’s him.

Fear pummels through my veins. It’s violent and demands my attention. Every sense feels heightened. Dread fills my body and weighs me down like iron restraints.

It takes everything I have to push myself forward. Every action feels forced. Snow sinks up to my shins as we walk, adding extra resistance. The space is large, spanning multiple football fields.  I feel their eyes on us from a hundred meters away. I don’t think I can stomach seeing my father after everything.

The tension is killing me.

Four men surround me as Price and Ghost lead them towards the group. The Ultranationalists have more men at their station, but some of them must be the prisoners theyre supposed to exchange.

At least that’s what I think until Price clears his throat. “You’re missing three sergeants,” His voice sounds different than I’m used to: louder, demanding, dangerous.

“No one’s missing, Captain Price.” My father’s all too familiar voice reaches my ears. “I assume it’s Captain Price, you didn’t exactly leave room for introductions.” it’s warm and relaxed. “They’re resting just beyond the treeline. We only wanted to garuntee your honest intentions before bringing them out,” he sounds completely in control, with his attention completely on Price. It gives me a moment to really look at him.

I haven’t seen my father in weeks and while he looks exactly the same, I can barely recognize the man in front of us. His beard is longer, but still well groomed. He’s dressed in dark greens and greys, the same as the other Ultranationalists. A toque covers his head and a warm winter jacket is hugged by a bullet proof vest. A chest holster hides a gun while his hands remain open and falsely inviting. His eyes look darker than normal. He must be tired. Or maybe it’s hidden rage that gives them that look. I can’t tell anymore. He isn’t the person I once thought I knew, that much is certain.

Our eyes meet and my blood runs cold.

“Dad?” my voice croaks. Price’s reminder to play into the traumatized daughter act weighs on my shoulders. Suspicious eyes square me up from every angle. There isn’t a single person here who fully trusts me. One wrong word and we could all end up dead.

“Y/n?” his brows furrow as his head cranes in my direction. “Y/n, are you okay? Just be patient darling, you’ll be safe soon,” I note how he chooses his words to influence my emotions. How many times has he done this before without me noticing?

“Right, lets cut to the chase then, bring the rest of my men out and she’s all yours,” Price says. I watch as my father eyes him up for a second and then nods in agreement. He barks an order in Russian to one of the men behind him who repeats it into a transmitter.

Then Price steps to the side, opening up a hole in the baracade of men surrounding me. Ghost does the same as he turns and our eyes lock. Under the skull mask I see his lower lids tense with suspicion. He doesn’t trust the Ultranationalists. Every person here has conflicting goals and values. No one is safe.

I can’t look at him for long. Beyond them, someone else expects me.

I take off running into his arms and hot, genuine tears fall from my eyes and freeze to my cheeks. As his arms wrap around me, I can’t hide the shudder of terror that ripples down my spine. It’s becoming harder and harder to separate my father from his actions. When I close my eyes, I see the footage of him ordering the execution of hundreds of vulnerable people. “I’m scared, Dad,” the hushed truth leaves my lips and brushes against the fabric of his coat. He doesn’t react to my words.

“Those aren’t my men,” A type of hollow furry reverberates through Price’s chest. A realization. A confirmation. They let me go too soon. Now I’m in my father’s arms, while the men marching towards them are more Ultranationalists. Not the taken 141 soldiers.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” he says with his arms still wrapped around me,” as I look over his soulder and past his soldiers, I see more men dressed in grey and green emerge past the treeline and stalk in our direction, guns in hand.

I hear Ghost whisper something into his com. I wonder how many guns are trained on us right now? How many snipers are hidden in the trees waiting for clearance?

“You don’t get to change the conditions of the exchange last minute.”

“I suppose you’re right. That’s not normally how we do things,” my father finally releases me from the hug. His leather glove wipes the tears from my face. The empty, almost irritated look in his eyes tells me he isn’t satisfied. “We don’t typically go through the effort of an exchange. However, Captain Price, these are unique circumstances. Yet, I can’t help the feeling that you are getting a better deal than we are. Look at all these men you’re getting. They’re incredibly valuable to us. They know a lot of information. Information that could hurt a lot of people. Not to mention your men who will be returned to you, once we adjust our terms, of course.”

“Is her life not valuable enough to you?” Ghost’s voice booms across the snow. It’s the first time he’s spoken since arriving. His official introduction to my father. In another life, I wonder if they’d like each other? 

“Of course it is,” he brings a hand to his heart and holds onto my arm with the other. It isn’t. I feel his grip tighten. “But that doesn’t mean this is a fair trade,” My stomach drops. He just confirmed everything I’ve feared without directly saying it. My life doesn’t matter as much as having an advantage on 141. He wants more. That greedy fucking bastard.

“What is then?” Price demands.

“You,” he answers. “And several lieutenants. Then we’re getting somewhere.”

“Negative. Never going to fucking happen. Get that through your thick, Russian skull,” large clouds form in plumes as Price’s burning words meet the arctic air. I sense the tension rising as more Ultranationalists approach the group. We were already outnumbered. Now it’s at least two to one. Why haven’t they called backup yet?

“It will. Wilingly or not,” there it is. The underlying threat of violence that has simmered just under the surface of this entire meeting has finally emerged. The Ultranationalists are more than willing to fight. Maybe they’re even counting on it.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Price sneers. I spare a glance in Ghost’s direction to find his eyes already on me. They’re unreadable. He’s never felt so far away.

“Yeah? What’s that?” my father’s cocky voice bites back. This entire time I feel his hands tighten around my arm as though my winter jacket isn’t there. The heavy vest weighs me down. The cold air hurts my skin. Everything feels off. And just when my attention is focused on every uncomfortable detail, Price’s words cut through the air with such clarity they almost don’t sound real.

“If you don’t follow through with our original deal, your wife will die.”

I feel my father freeze. His molten iron grip solidifies. At the same time my heart drops and it feels like I’m falling. My mom? 141 has my mom? My eyes flicker to Ghost, but he won’t look at me. He lied to me. Again. He fucking lied. Ghost had every opportunity to tell me and he didn’t. My cheeks flush with betrayal. After all this time… How could I be so stupid to trust him?

“That’s impossible,” for the first time, my father looks genuinely rattled. The Ultranationalists were supposed to have a team in New York to protect her. She would be almost untouchable. Yet, Price reaches into a large pouch on his vest and pulls out a tablet. On the screen is a livestreamed video of my mom tied to a chair in our family livingroom. The surge of panick that courses through my veins is indescribable.

Somehow, they did it.

“Go get my men,” Price lowly orders and I don’t doubt for a second he’d kill me or my mom to get what he wants. It’s a terrifying realization. He is willing to do anything to protect his task force. All notions of morals and ethics fly out the door when it comes to his men. Bennet was right. I’m not safe with them.

More orders fly out of my father’s mouth in Russian which are then repeated through the transmitter. All eyes are on the treeline waiting for the captured task force members to emerge.

I can’t bring myself to look at Ghost again. Not after this. Not after such a devastating betrayal.

Just as they emerge from the trees, a popping noise behind us in the distance snags my attention. I turn my head just before the men do, seeing nothing. But that noise, that unmistakable noise can only be  one damning thing.

Just like that, all bets are off the table.

I’m yanked behind the line of Untranationalists as each side raises their weapons at each other. The line hudles together and pushes back towards the trees as men from each side scream orders and threats at each other.

Over the shoulders of the Ultranationalists, I briefly see the six task members shift into formation, covering all angles. Price yells out something about their men and I realize they didn’t get ahold of the promised Ultranationalists or their captured soldiers. They are leaving completely empty handed, with the exception of my mom. If this doesn’t turn around, they’ll kill her. Nausea floods my stomach. I feel the blood leave my face. If I wasn’t being pushed back by my father, I would be sick right now.

The distinct sounds take me back to the night the Ultranationalists ambushed 141’s base. I’d never heard gunfire so close before, but that’s nothing compared to now. What once originated on the other side of the field, now sounds to be only meters away.

Price said if I get the chance, to escape to the West side, but right now, that’s impossible. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know that it’s any safer than being with my father. Nowhere is safe. The forest is crawling with armed men and even if I did escape, everyone would be looking for me and I don’t have anything to defend myself with.

“They’re moving forward!” I hear someone yell in Russian. We’re just entering the treeline as more men flood around us and then break into smaller groups. Everything is so completely chaotic and yet seemingly rehersed.

My lungs burn and for a moment I forget how cold it is outside. Adrenaline and panic fight with eachother as I try to distinguish what to focus on. So much is happening. I completely forget about my father’s grip on my arm.

“Y/n,” he braces my shoulders, encouraging me to look at him. His eyes are wide with excitement. I feel like I’m going to be sick looking at him. “Everything is going to be alright dear, we’ll escape to the trucks. Alright? Just follow me, okay?” I manage a small nod.

I’m yanked forward as we run through the trees. The group of men with us switched from those on the field and now there are only four additional Ultranationalists escorting us. I don’t know how long my father pulls me along for. It feels like miles and hours, but can’t be more than a few minutes.

A loud eruption shakes the ground as snow and dirt fly through the air and a tree crashes beside us. Holy fuck, that was close.

Smoke clouds the air as people shout and bullets fly. The scene can only be described as a deadly, gorilla clusterfuck with the goal of taking out as many people from the other side as possible. We are in an incredibly dangerous position.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, one of the escorts is shot in the leg and drops to the ground. Red stains the snow around him. My father yells in Russian to keep going.

We weave through the thick pines and any sense of direction I once had is gone. My heart thunders in my chest.

A loud shot rings through the air and another Ultranationalist drops to the ground. A second shot sends a bullet through his skull.

Someone is following us. Stalking us. Toying with us. My gut turns.

For a second, I wonder if it’s a sniper.

Then, a knife comes flying through the air, lodging itself into the back of the third of my father’s men.

It’s in this moment, I know exactly who is after us. After me.

The last soldier turns around and fires blindly into the trees behind us. As soon as his clip is empty and he pauses to reload, a single bullet pummels through the trees and it too, pierces his skull and stains the snow a brilliant red. His body slumps to the ground with a muffled thump.

My father pushes us behind the trunk of a large tree and grips his handgun in both hands. He doesn’t need to tell me to be quiet. I don’t think I could make a sound if I tried.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions echo in the distance, but there’s nothing close to us like there was before. The majority of the fighting is taking place closer to the air strip.

The only place Ghost ever struggled with stealth, is in the snow. There’s no technology in the world that’ll muffle the sound of his footsteps strategically approaching the tree we’re hiding behind. You can hear the frigidness in the air as the crunching snow gets louder. He’s close.

“Throw your weapons to the side of the tree and then slowly step out with your hands in the air,” Ghost’s demanding voice fills the air. A dissatisfied grumble ripples through my father’s chest. I shift to move from behind the tree and a large hand snags the back of my vest, pulling me back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

I bite my tongue. He doesn’t know Ghost like I do. There’s no escaping him. The best I can hope for is that he doesn’t want to kill either of us.

“I won’t repeat myself,” his voice sounds closer already. I can imagine him on the other side of the tree with his assault riffle pointed in our direction. Part of me wants to believe he wouldn’t fire on us. But I honestly don’t know anymore.

“Forgive me darling,” the hushed words come as my father wraps his arms around me from behind. He pulls me against his chest and presses the barrel of his gun to my temple before stepping out from behind the tree.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the panicked words bubble up my throat as I try and escape his deathly grasp. I twist and throw my weight around, but it’s no use. Even with one hand occupied, he’s simply too strong. “Let go!” The barrel of the gun bumps against my head as hysteria begins to cloud my better judgement.

Just feet away, Ghost stands with his weapon aimed directly at me. At some point he clipped the riffle to his vest and switched to his handgun. Behind the daunting skull mask, his narrowed eyes calculate our every move with extreme precision.

I’ve heard the rumors about Ghost. Caught wind of whispers detailing the horrors he’s capable of. I’ve even witnessed some of the brutality myself working as his translator. Yet none of that cruelty was ever directed toward me. Now, I find myself looking directly down the barrel of his gun. There is no escaping Ghost’s wrath. There’s no escaping my father’s wrath.

“Put the gun down,” he calmly instructs my father. There’s something different about his voice. Something tense. I notice a stiffness about his posture that isn’t usually there. I’m not the only one who picks up on his behaviour either.

“So that bastard was right,” spite laces my father’s voice. His hot words travel down the back of my neck as his arm wraps tighter around my chest. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

I blink. My mouth dries up and I’m left speechless. How the hell does he know? How did Bennet know? Who else knows?

“No, dad-” the words start to tumble out of my mouth.

“Don’t lie to me, little bird,” his tone is venomous. I’m a traitor to him. Sleeping with his enemy. “You fucking whore.”

Tears prick my eyes. His words stun me and I can’t help the self loathing that weighs down my shoulders.

“Let her go or I’ll shoot,” fearful tremors shake my body. My vision starts to blur with emotion. I’ve never felt so scared in my life. I truly may not survive this.

“Then what?” he sneers “You’ll kill me anyways.”

“If you don’t, your wife will die,” the ultimatum is clear. “Is she really worth it?” Ghost’s words sting like never before. I wish one of them would make a decision, put me out of my misery.

Then, as if without thinking at all, my father releases me from his grip and takes a large step back. My weak knees barely hold my shaking body and when I turn around to face him, I truly don’t recognize the man in front of me anymore. Hundreds of burning questions ache for air, but the only one that escapes my lips begs for the devastating truth.

“Do you- do you even love me?” I force myself to make eye contact with him. From the very start of this horrifying journey, something has been missing. Like I was trying to read a misprinted book.

My father purses his lips and furrows his brows. I know the answer when our eyes meet. Not now. Certainly not after betraying him like he thinks I did. He inhales like he’s about to answer when three deafening gunshots pierce the air. I feel the bullets whiz through the air beside my head and watch as one tears through my father’s arm and two hit him in the shoulder. His gun falls to the ground and his eyes buldge as he realizes what just happened.

Ghost rushes past me and tackles my father to the ground. He forces his arms behind his back, despite the bleeding wounds, and zipties his hands together. He groans empty threats, but they’re so muffled I can’t make them out. None of this feels real. Every part of my body feels numb and full of static. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult.

Ghost stuffs my father’s mouth with a gag and then covers his head with a black bag. I try to tune out the harrowing sounds of his muffled moans and the distant gunfire and explosions. I feel a panick attack building under the surface of my skin. This is all too much. My knees finally give in.

“Y/n? Y/n,” Ghost’s voice softens as he abandons my father for me. His gloved hands are gentle as they embrace both sides of my head. I flinch away from his touch, causing him to falter. “You’re safe y/n, I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe,” he crouches to the ground beside me and pulls me against his bulky chest. I missed feeling his warmth so damn bad. I want to trust him. God do I want to, but all he does is lie to me. “We just have to get closer to the runway. Then the extraction team will get us out of here,” he strokes my hair as he speaks.

I’m not ready when he pulls us up from our position on the ground, but there’s no time to be ready. Every second we waste in the forest - in Ultranationalist territory - is another second we risk running into more of their soldiers.

Someone is going to notice my father’s absence, if they haven’t already. And they will come looking, if they haven’t already. In which case we are in even more danger.

Ghost lifts my father to his feet and forces him to walk, at times roughly pushing him ahead. Watching them makes my stomach twist into a knot. I can’t believe I haven’t thrown up yet.

He switches the handgun for his automatic riffle again and uses the sight to scope out the surrounding woods.

I have no idea where we are, yet Ghost seems to know the exact path to our destination.

Twice, he takes out multiple men in the distance before they can spot us, but our treck back is otherwise eerily silent.

I don’t remember waiting for the chopter or boarding or the ride back to Latvia. But I do remember the pained sounds escaping my father’s chest as he sits across from me, still blindfolded.

I completely forgot about Soap’s absence admidst clusterfuck of everything else going on. That’s until I hear another member of the task force briefing Ghost on a separate attack they planned to take place while the exchange was happening. The whirling of the helicopter makes it almost impossible make out their words, but Ghost’s eyes give away everything.

“He was injured sir. Badly. He lost a lot of blood on the way back to base and they didn’t have the equipment to operate in the air,” I feel my heart rate pick up and watch as Ghost completely freezes.

I don’t hear what Ghost asks him next. I do however, see the soldier shake his head with remorse.

Dread consumes me.

[tophat-69]

it's the good, defining itself

Following the events of the series finale, Viktor saves Jayce by sending him back in time and across realities to the night everything changed, and unwittingly revives himself as well. Viktor is determined to undo his past mistakes even if that means leaving Jayce behind. That idea is complicated by their souls now being intertwined. And fate isn’t done with them yet.

Read it on AO3

Length: 92.4k words (complete)

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Jayce Talis/Viktor, background Silco/Vander

Tags: Post-Canon Fix-It, Soulmates, Dream Sharing, Time Travel/Alternate Universe, Zaun Revolution, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mental Health Issues

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Disability, Discussion of Mortality, Canon Suicidal Ideation

Author's Note: I wrote this by putting out a chapter a day for 22 days as I went from the holiday break, to the flu, to pneumonia. I'm still not entirely sure how that happened and I'm pretty sure it was a fever dream. That could, however, still be the pneumonia talking.

Read if you want Viktor being adopted into the Zaun crew by force, ending up mentoring Powder and Ekko, while also fighting for Zaun's independence and figuring out that maybe yes Jayce is in love with him despite the whole destroying-the-world thing.

Excerpt Below Cut

It’s a strange thing to consider, how a body can be shredded to its base components and reduced back to the stardust from whence they all came. How a soul can be disassembled, thoughts and dreams and ambition boiled down to a single spark. 

How time and space are human constructs, imposed by simple mortals to make sense of the endless dream they’re all merely players within.

It’s stranger still that Jayce Talis recognizes the feeling of his atomization well enough to identify it the moment it begins. He was expecting it when he took Viktor’s hand, but not the peace that came with it this time. Standing in the belly of the Hex Gates, it had been terrifying to find himself unraveling. Now he finds it almost romantic how their edges fray and clear the arbitrary boundaries between them.

Jayce would have been content with scattering into oblivion. He’d accepted that his end was near, and to reach it with a man he long ago discovered was the other half of his soul… that was better than he could have dreamed. 

Jayce knows that they’re both thinking it, can feel Viktor alighting on the same bleak humor as Jayce does, attuned and enmeshed as they bleed into each other. This is another precipice that they are perched at the edge of, this time together. It is the beautiful and ironic bookend to two doomed lives that they each separately contemplated ending, just to be pulled back by the other.

There are no divides between them. He can feel Viktor’s resignation to his failure, his relief at finding a peaceful end to a life of pain, his dreamer’s idealism that twisted with the power that consumed him, his guilt at the losses that he caused, his fear of oblivion, and above it all the boundless affection that thrums between them, matched and merging with Jayce’s own devotion. But as warm as it feels suffusing them both as their souls ebb with their consciousness, it’s the last of those emotions that is so dangerous. 

Jayce, who couldn’t let his partner go regardless of the cost and the promises broken, recognizes that a moment too late. 

He can feel when a sharp frisson of intent sizzles suddenly through the blurred boundary between them.

Viktor has always been focused and directed, fierce and driven, so unhesitating that even his most rational choices seem impulsive. But there is intention in everything that Viktor does. He is a man of science that alights on epiphanies in brilliant flashes of genius, and a man of action who’s always raced against time.

For not the first time, Jayce finds himself fatefully a step behind.

Viktor, don’t…

Viktor’s intangible hand thrusts through the misty dissolving cage of Jayce’s ribs, grasping the spark of Jayce’s soul the way he once seemed to cup the whole world in his palm. For Jayce. Always for Jayce.

Viktor’s eyes burn golden, now a mere impression in the yawning expanse of space, twin stars. A single pulse of determination fuses Jayce back into consciousness even as his body fades away. 

Viktor’s voice is an ethereal whisper in Jayce’s thoughts as light blazes through the darkness of space like a supernova. 

Live, Jayce. 

Read the Rest on AO3

[kyehwas]

🌑 chaconne ft. park sunghoon

-> or, every step sunghoon takes makes him need you more

|| wc + warnings || 0.8k words / fem!reader, royalty au, prince vampire hoon, blood

Sunghoon had been dreading the night of the ball. The last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by people he didn't know or care about.

Somewhere else out there in Riverfield, you weren't that excited about being forced to go to a dance. Your mother urged you and your sister to go. Your sister was elated, but you on the other hand, would rather just stay at home.

Sunghoon stood at the door, greeting guests as any prince would. He didn't recognize anyone who came in, all the "aww you grew up so fast"'s and "i was great friends with your mother"'s drove him insane.

Until you came in. With a fancy gown and beautiful features, you immediately captured Sunghoon's heart. He didn't even believe love at first sight was real until you came.

Your sister noticed Sunghoon's smile as he greeted you and her and she grinned and leaned closer, “He totally likes me, did you not see the way he smiled?”

Deciding to feed into your sister's irrationality, you replied, “You should go ask him for a dance. I'm leaving.”

You went up the stairs, searching for a bathroom to hide in. As you were doing so, you bumped into the very prince your sister was talking about.

“Where are you going?” He asked. He brushed his raven black bangs back, and his eyes had some sort of glint in them that you couldn't identify.

“Upstairs. Where are you going? aren't you the host of this party?” You retorted, trying to move past him, but your efforts were futile.

“I don't want to be here either. It was my parents who forced me to do this. ‘You need to talk to new people!’ Yeah right,” Sunghoon complained, and you snickered in response. “My name is Sunghoon, by the way. You?”

“I'm y/n. Nice to meet you, Sunghoon,” You smiled in a way that made Sunghoon's heart do a backflip.

“Nice to meet you too, y/n. Pretty name for a pretty girl.” Your face burned up and you awkwardly laughed and thanked him. Not wanting the conversation to end, you attempted to think of a new topic.

“My sister thinks you like her,” You told him, “She said you were smiling at her differently when we entered.”

“Your sister?” Sunghoon scoffed, “Do you want to know who I was really smiling at?” His hands took yours, and when you didn't pull away, he took it as a sign to move closer.

“Tell me, Sunghoon. Who were you smiling at like that?” You knew the answer, and he knew you knew. That didn't stop Sunghoon from saying what was on his mind, “You. You're beautiful. Dance with me, please.” He moved your hands and his into position and started to gently move in a triple time rhythm. 

You weren't sure what to do at first, but you managed to figure out how Sunghoon was moving and match his pace.

Sunghoon's eyes opened as you leaned into him, and suddenly the smell of your blood drove him into a frenzy. He inhaled and exhaled sharply. “Y/n. You trust me, don't you?”

“Of course I do,” You answer, even if you had just met him. “Let me…” Sunghoon doesn't even finish his sentence before you feel a sharp pain on your neck and a groan from Sunghoon.

You opened your mouth to scream, only for the man you thought wouldn't hurt you to reach up and cover it. “Sorry,” He mumbled, lips still sucking on your skin. He licked the droplets of blood from the pierced skin and pulled away, gaze softening as he noticed your misty-eyed expression.

“Are you… a vampire?” You faltered, trying to ignore the stinging feeling on your neck.

“I am, I didnt want to scare you away this early. I'm sorry, y/n,” Sunghoon pulled you in for a hug, rubbing circles on your back. “Don't tell anyone, please.”

“I won't, promise.” You held up your pinky finger and he intertwined it with his; a promise that would last you for life.

Then, the two of you heard an indistinct shouting. “My father is calling, let's go down.  We should talk later.” 

When you and him went downstairs, you parted your separate ways. Sunghoon to his parents, you to your sister. 

“Y/n! Did you see Sunghoon? I wanted to ask him to dance, but he was nowhere!” Your sister asked you, shaking you back and forth. “What are those marks on your neck?”

Your eyes met Sunghoon's from across the ballroom. He winked at you, and you winked back at him. “I didn't see Sunghoon anywhere, sorry. Um… a mosquito bit me.”

“Yeah sure, I'm going to look for Sunghoon now, see you!” Your sister left you alone in the ballroom, with only a mark on your neck, a secret relationship, and a kept promise remaining with you.

[bookvvitch]

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

CW: dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral sex, praise kink, fem dom, loss of virginity. Proof read but no beta.

Ch 10: How Lucky

You’ve been trying to wear Spinner down for what feels like an impossibly long time. 

Seasons have changed. Holidays have passed. And your patience is beginning to wear quite thin. He was supposed to be close to his limit weeks ago!

You know he’s attracted to you. You can feel the length of him digging into your back any time you sit in his lap and fudge your way through Majora's Mask, his breaths hot and choppy against your nape, hands firmly planted at each side of his body to restrict himself from grabbing you. At least you thought so.

What gives? You guys have made out already, so why doesn’t he respond to any of your come-ons?

The thought that he was the one teasing you all this time irks you in a way which you hadn’t thought to be possible. Especially on days like today.

As much as you would love to pretend that the action-packed lifestyle of loaning out your quirk is always fun and lucrative, you’ve found yourself struggling to find proper clothing that’s a) easily stolen, and b) can withstand all of the grime and damage that comes along with fighting. You’re currently trying your best to salvage a pair of jeans, but unfortunately, it’s looking like this is a job for the laundromat.

“Would you like for me to mend them?” Kurogiri asks between swipes of cleaning cloth to a shot glass. 

“No, but thank you. I don’t mind my own patchwork so much as I do the dead Nomu smell that I can’t seem to wash out of them,” you pleat the pants until they’re compact enough to fit in your hands. “I wouldn’t mind a lift to the laundromat, though, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course,” he obliges you instantaneously, a hazy opening to another location transpiring before your eyes.

Walking through the portal feels as misty as he looks, cool and tingly, the shift in space somewhat jarring when you step into the facility. The place appears to be empty as you scan the premises, but a faint humming can be heard somewhere in the foreground. It sounds familiar. Is that…? Oh. The little tune K.K. Slider sings at the end of New Horizons. It’s around this time that a mop of magenta hair catches your eye. 

“Spinner?” Your voice drags his face in your direction. 

He hits his elbow on the corner of a washing machine, rubs it soothingly as he says, “H-hey, Yumemi, I.. I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

“Me either,” you hold up your pants, “but getting the battle stench out of these things couldn’t wait.”

“Nomu guts got on you too, huh?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna throw ‘em in with mine? I-I haven’t started it yet, is all,” he averts his gaze, still rubbing anxiously at his arm. 

You approach him with a grin, “That’s really nice of you. Sure you don’t mind?”

He shakes his head fervently, “Not at all.”

He’s so cute when he gets nervous like this. Tomura has a similar kind of innocence when it comes to women, but Spinner almost seems to have a total lack of understanding of what to do when you’re around in general. And with the way that he clenches his jaw, eyes darting to everywhere but you, his chest heaving over the simple act of being in the same room with him, you think you’ve identified the issue: he doesn’t socialize with anyone. At all. Which means he is more than likely not going to make a move, no matter how much you throw at him, due to being overwhelmed and under-socialized.

Cute.

You lean against the washing machine, throwing your pants in with his clothes, caring not to look at the contents inside, and then slap the button to get it to start. Going over the best strategy in your head on the fly, you sit atop the machine as it begins to spin, your feet dangling, skirt climbing up your legs. It isn’t for long, but you catch him looking, a fleeting currant glance that lingers for just a beat at your open thighs. You have a nagging suspicion that perhaps he was hoping for a quick glimpse at your panties. Guess you’re overthinking how much you need to strategize a conversation with him.

“I think you’re really cute, you know,” your confession has him gasping, cheeks bright pink, and he slaps both hands over his mouth to stop any more sounds from escaping. 

“What?” The word is muffled behind his palm. “This.. that’s not cool. D-don’t say things like that, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not being mean, and I’m not trying to joke around. I think you’re cute. And you’re really nice, too. I like you. I think you’re attractive. And if you like me that way, too, you should come to my bedroom when the laundry’s done.”

His eyes are wide and owlish as he slides his hands down from his mouth—which is so ridiculously dry right now that he swears he could choke—his breaths shallow and audible in the room.

Spinner swallows thickly, “C-come.. come to your room? For what?”

You kick your feet, giggling before you bite your lower lip. Your eyes flit to the door of the establishment, most of the wall it resides within a large, somewhat taped-up window, with a few people occasionally walking by in clear enough view. Yeah, you would definitely get caught if you tried fooling around with him here. Though you have your doubts that anyone would care with this area being a villain hub. But still. It’s in your best interest not to garner that kind of attention.

You sigh, “I wanna practice some more,” and your sultry tone hits him below the belt.

As if he were a prey animal feigning his own demise, he stands wholly and completely still, not even a twitch to show he’s among the living. Taking pity on him, you grab him by the wrist, placing his hand at your thigh and making direct eye contact all the while. A few stuttered exhales are knocked from his throat, punchy and raw, his feckless gaze not missing how you creep his hand closer to the hem of your skirt. His Adam’s apple bobs when you release him from your grasp. The touch lingers, sweltering against his palm, and you grin at him surreptitiously as you hum in approval of his digits splaying across the plush of your thigh. Balmy tension grows thick between you, the air becoming stifling. 

He looks at his hand. Brushes his thumb in a circle over your smooth skin. Looks to you for a gauge in reaction. You aren’t laughing, or recoiling, or pushing him away. Had you been serious after all?

“I’m leaving it up to you,” you hop down, texting Kurogiri to get you back to the hideout, “so I’ll be in my room if you’re interested.”

You scrunch your fingers in a wave before you walk through the portal and into the kitchen.

Now is probably a good time to shower. 

————

It’s as you’re drying off in your room that you hear footsteps outside of your door, stopping just at the threshold. How lucky, you think, to have the opportunity of taking two virginities in a row. He knocks tentatively, so soft it’s nearly inaudible—but you’re quick to answer, giving him no chance to turn tail. 

“Ah! Fuck, s-sorry, I didn’t know!” He covers his eyes when you open the door, dressed only in a towel, still wet. 

You can tell he’s about to slam the door closed, or possibly climb up the wall to escape the situation, so you pull him in and lock the latch behind you. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, panting, cheeks on fire and mouth agape. He feels like he’s going to faint. Your towel is damp and clinging to your skin, barely covering your torso, the curve of your ass noticeable from beneath it.

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently, “I knew you might come by. You’re allowed to see me like this.”

Trembling hands are carded through his hair, “O-okay. That’s fine. Totally.”

“You ready to practice, or do you need a minute?”

His eyes meet yours, so big and bright that he can see his reflection in them. God, you’re so pretty. You’re so… well, hot, actually. Spinner would normally have a bit more of a romantic inner dialogue regarding you, but right now, with the only thing shielding your bare form being that tiny little towel, it’s difficult to think of anything other than what’s underneath. Practice is going to be difficult. 

“I’m ready,” his tone is strained, the shake within his words unforgiving. 

You drop the towel at your feet, his arousal pushing prominently to the front of his pants as he throbs at the sight of you. He isn’t sure what the etiquette is exactly when it comes to this, so while you lean in to kiss him, his eyes remain wide open, surveying whatever inch or outline of you they’re able to capture. Your tongue snakes into his mouth, and you can taste the mint of his toothpaste, feel him tensing as he tries to figure out what he should do first. His erection brushes up against your stomach when you keen into him further, eyes rolling skyward as his fingers drag along the wall behind him. You trail kisses across his jaw until you reach his neck, nipping at the tender flesh there, eliciting a sharp groan to pop from his throat.

“Remember last time we practiced?” You ask into the junction of his neck and clavicle.

“Uh-huh,” his voice is airy and light, the tilt of his brow digging into his eyes. As if he could forget the last time you practiced. He’s been fucking his fist to the thought practically every day.

“You’ve gotta touch me. I really like it when you touch me.”

He exhales a breathy curse as he reaches to grab two greedy handfuls of your hips, careful not to sink his claws too deeply into the tender flesh there, pawing at you as though you’ll soon disappear. You’re plush and warm up against him like this. The sensation sends tingles through his extremities, zipping like the electric sting of static.

“Talk to me,” you speak into his mouth between kisses. “I wanna hear if you like something.”

Shuuichi moans heatedly, nudging his hips forward when you slot yourself closer to him, “I-I like touching you. ‘Nd you touching me. Feels good. It all feels really good.”

Your hands travel the contours of his body, acclimating him to your touch, a sudden gasp knocked out of him as your grip curls around the tent in his pants. At first, he writhes atop the wall, bucking into your fingers as your tongue laps over the pulse at this throat. Heat pools at your center when the pull of your grasp yanks this desperate keen from his chest, your lips wandering the line of his jaw, this jab of satisfaction coursing through you when he shudders.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you, Shuuichi?” Your question saunters to his ear, the words pluming steam from an engine into the atmosphere.

He nods his head with a quiet, “Yes.”

“Can I have it?”

He nods again, this time hastily, “Have it. Have me, p-please.”

With a grin, you increase the pressure over the pulsing bulge in your hand, sliding your palm up and down his shaft, relishing in the damp spot that’s growing at his tip. His head falls back to the wall with a thud, instinctually bucking into your touch as little whimpers catch in his throat. You switch to rubbing your thumb under a sensitive spot right beneath the head of his cock, and he slams his eyes closed, panting, a heady moan of pleasure pouring out of him.

“Stop. I need a minute, God.. ‘F you don’t stop, I’m gonna—“

“Practice is over, Shuuichi. That means you’ll need to last a while. You need to get off once before since it’s your first time,” you say to him, pointed and unwavering.

A flame’s flicker sparks at your core when you pull him from his pants, gripping him tight within your hand, smearing the precum that drips from his slit for lubrication. You aren’t sure exactly what you were expecting, but you’re pleasantly surprised. He’s got to be the biggest out of everyone, long and thick, heavy in your palm, with a trail of magenta hair leading from the base of him and up to his navel. He’s less monster fucking and more we wanted to try body paints. Not that you would care either way, if you were being honest with yourself. Seeing the look on his face is way better than anything else you could’ve asked for. 

“You were keeping such a pretty cock from me all this time?” You click your tongue. “That’s not fair. Mmf, you’re really big, aren’t you? Hope you like eating pussy, I'm gonna need you to warm me up before I can take you.”

The idea alone of eating you out has him close to unraveling, that familiar plunge into ecstasy fluttering at his core. He can’t believe you’ve got your hand around his bare length like this, watching his expressions twist as you stroke him, capturing your lower lip in your teeth and cooing praises with each sloppy rut into your fist. A particularly firm press of your thumb to his slit has him arching his back off of the wall.

He smears his face with his hand, words slurring, “Fuck, I’m.. Hah—oh that feels so good.”

He sucks in air through his clenched teeth, grunting, attempting in vain to bite back a strangled whine as his vision begins to sparkle, his cock pulsing in your hand and ropes of cum splattering into your palm. He looks so spent already. So fucked-out and messy, his hair falling into his face, the rapid rise and fall of his chest a true testament to how ruined he is. His cheeks blaze crimson when you lick his cum clean from your palm all the way to your wrist. This is so goddamn filthy. There’s no way he can ever go without it again.

You hither him with your index finger and sit at the edge of your mattress, legs spread, inner thighs slick with your arousal. Shuuichi thinks for a moment about what you said before. How you like to be touched. How he needs to give you more. So he kneels in front of you, hands kneading your breasts, all blush and narrowed eyes as he licks away a bead of water that trails down your abdomen from your still-wet hair, only stopping once he reaches your sternum. He can understand why you seemed so eager to have your hands on him before. Seeing your brows slant, lips parting to release the hitch from your breath, those yummy little whines slinking out when he rolls your nipples between his fingers is all fucking intoxicating. He mouths at one dusky peak, sucking until it hardens, a string of saliva connecting from his lolled tongue as he parts from you.

“I like the way you sound when I touch you,” his voice gravels an octave lower, pupils blown out until they’re near to overtaking his irises. 

“I want more,” you mewl. 

“Tell me and I’ll do it. Whatever you want.”

You spread your folds with your first two fingers, eyes twitched up and needy when you tell him, “Taste me.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quick he is to follow your order, diving between your legs as if it’s the only place for him to survive. Just looking at your dripping cunt has him hardening again already. 

He swallows down the knot in his throat, “Are.. are you wet because of me..?”

“I am so fucking wet because of you.”

A desperate sound racks from his chest, his stomach coiling, the way he wants you having all but grown teeth. He’s so nervous. Feels himself trembling, adrenaline skittering over his skin.

It takes every last bit of his strength to ask you, “Where do you want my mouth?”

“Here,” you rub the swollen bud at your center.

He’s gentle at first, sweeping his tongue across your clit, delicate laps teasing you in a way that’s unintentional. But when you grind yourself into his face, the vibrations of his groan tingling pleasantly, he increases the pressure, rolling the flat of his tongue more firmly in response. A pair of garnet eyes plead for your reassurance. 

You trace the pads of your fingers along his shoulders, “That feels good. Ahh—you’re doing such a good job, k-keep going.”

Shuuichi takes the encouragement in stride, delving his tongue into your sopping cunt, audibly loving every second of getting to devour you like this. Needful whines and growls blossom in his chest, never having been so satisfied as he is watching your expression shift when he returns the plush muscle to your puffy clit, your moans heightening, crying out for all of the stars you’re seeing. His dick twitches at the sound.

You tap him lightly on the forearm, “I’m warmed up. Nngh, Shuuichi, fuck me.”

But he isn’t too keen on relenting just yet. Sliding his arms behind your legs, he captures your thighs within his hands, pulls them apart for better access to your pussy. He narrows his eyes, locking a possessive gaze onto you as he laves viscously over that cute little clit of yours. If you should choose to end things after you cum, so be it. He doesn’t care if he gets to lose his virginity if it means you’ll cum all over his face.

A gush of fresh arousal slicks down to his chin, and he groans through an open mouth at the realization. He’s making you all messy like this. You’re wet for him. And you’re gonna cum for him as many times as he can get you there. He flicks his tongue up and down the soft bud, his eye contact unyielding as he spreads you apart, your clit visibly throbbing at his hungry strokes. You moan his name like you mean it, like this is as carnal and debauched for you as it is for him, gripping at your bedding until your knuckles blanch. White-hot bliss washes over you, fizzing and snapping at your core, overtaking your senses, tipping you over the edge as he gives a few whiny “uh-huh”s at the feeling of you cumming beneath his tongue. 

Your thighs clamp around his head, his fingers now sinking into the swell of your hips, pulling you as flush to him as he can manage. Let him suffocate this way. He’ll die a happy man.

“Shuuichi,” the husky tone has his eyes rolling back, “I’m serious. You need to fuck me. Right now.”

With some reluctance, he releases you, murmuring darkly, “I like tasting you.”

“God, it shows.. But let’s see how much you like being inside of me,” you grin, taking his length in your hand to line him up to your entrance.

His confidence is back to faltering some now, though not enough to keep himself from giving you a lusty once-over, his garnet eyes glittering as they trail your form. He inhales sharply when you tug him forward, your legs wrapping around his hips as the tip of his cock breaches you. His hands float nervously above your waist, unsure once more in such uncharted territory. You whisper sweetly for him not to be nervous, but he can feel the release he’s hurtling towards gaining on him much too soon. He throws his head back, swearing under his breath, the enthusiasm already so heavy-handed and he hasn’t even sheathed himself inside of you fully. His gaze snaps back to you, eyes like saucers. Shuuichi chews his bottom lip upon seeing himself about to slide inside of your cunt, sending you clenching around what little of him is within you.

“Ready?”

He nods, cheeks smattered pink. The second you move to sink his cock into the warmth of your drenched walls, whimpering at the stretch, he’s practically gawking at the sight of you swallowing up his length. You wriggle to accommodate the intrusive girth. Struggling to maintain his composure, he holds his breath as you ride him from atop the mattress to keep from screaming outright. He wants to bark. To howl. To let you pull him on however tight a leash you want. He’s yours. From this moment on, he belongs to you.

“Fuck,” the word is knocked out of him, laced with a moan, “how.. how are you so tight?”

His eyes fall closed, pinched beneath flexed brows, panting in ragged heaves and hips jerking unskillfully. You roll your hips, work him in and out of you as he adjusts to the rapturous squeeze of your pussy. He lets out a shaky sigh when you guide his hand to your apex, fluttering around him while he rubs you in sloppy circles with his thumb, the slacking of your jaw sending heat roiling under his skin. 

“You feel so good. Yes—ngh—like that, fuck me just like that,” you mewl, quivering as his cock slams against a sensitive spot up inside of you. The fabric below where you’re joined is sopping, the face you’re making so lewd it’s bordering on sinful, pleasure-soaked and jolting each time he impales you on his cock—though the way your voice shatters would’ve given you away in spite of it all.

“‘F you don’t want me to cum, don’t say things like that,” he chokes, the low rasp of his voice causing you to shiver. His hands grasp erratically at your thighs, practically squirming, your name falling mellow and broken from his lips. “A-ahh, ’n don’t look at me like that. You can’t.. God, just fucking look at you. What the hell? F-fuck, I can’t handle it.”

“How quickly can you recover if you cum?” Your hands lock behind his neck.

“Quick.”

“Then cum inside me and keep going.”

He’s about to ask if you’re sure, but you answer before the words can escape him, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist and increasing the speed at which you rut against him. It takes no time at all before his orgasm crashes into him hard, all-consuming, waves of pleasure throbbing up from his center, and he’s thrusting into your cunt down to the root as he jumps inside of you.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s it,” he whimpers at your praise. “God, I love feeling you cum in my pussy like this.”

He slips himself out of you halfway, cursing under his breath at how his release drips down his length, combining with the slick of you to create this milky ring of arousal at his base. You’re pulsing over what’s transpired, and it enthralls him. His thumbs spread you apart so he can admire the vulgarity of it all. 

He is absolutely beyond ruined.

You, on the other hand, are reminded of why you love fucking villains so much. He doesn’t even soften inside of you. His refractory is ignored entirely, his stamina shocking as he pistons himself back into you, a cry singeing your throat with the return of his thumb to that tight ache at your clit. The overstimulation is something he isn’t used to, a delicious burn that touches on nerves he wasn’t previously aware of. His heady whines catapult to the ceiling, the wet slapping of the mess he’s made in your cunt sure to never leave his mind again. Your eyes have grown hazy, half-lidded with lust. Locking onto them pulls another jagged moan from his mouth.

“I know I shouldn’t be makin’ sounds like this.. Y-you’re just so—nngh—so tight,” his voice is raw and breathy, low in his register from being held so long behind his teeth.

“No,” you gasp, “lemme hear you. I love all these sounds you’re making for me. So pretty. Such a good fucking boy.”

His breaths pick up, soft whines woven in between them as he rubs your hardened peak, the anticipation of your undoing stirring him up, your heels digging into his back to encourage him to thrust harder. He obliges without question, staggered curses slithering from his lips. He’s so flushed and blissed-out, his pupils dilated wide, those pitiful mewls that scoop from his throat up into his head curling your stomach in knots. You tighten around him purposefully to give an experimental squeeze. He sobs at the pressure. 

“Feels so good. Hah—shit, ’s like you’re sucking me in. Gonna—oh fuck—gonna fill you up. Y-you want it? Want it in your cunt?” He’s near babbling, his words stringing together, as gauzy as his eyes have become.

“I do. I want it,” your voice trembles along with the throbbing of your walls. 

“Bet you fuckin’ do,” a particularly rough thrust has you crying out for him, and he angles himself to bully the spot once more. “That feel good? Fuck,” the curse leaves him like a shaky prayer. “You look like it feels good. Looks like I’m gonna make you cum again.”

You nod fervently, “I'm there.”

“Yeah?” He presses harder into your clit, fingers so slick that his digit glides across the swollen nub, the tip of his cock nudging that ledge deep within you. “You cumming on my cock?”

He feels even bigger as you clamp around him like a vice, milking him, his breaths catching, all but weeping at the sensation.

“God, yes! I’m cumming. Oh, keep fucking my pussy, I’m cumming,” the last of your words slur and warble as you drag your nails down his back, your eyes not leaving his while you spasm around him.

He pauses for a few seconds just to enjoy the bliss, to watch you trembling underneath him, to fully appreciate this earth-shattering tremor of your center as a shiver runs through him.

"Feels.. uhnn—feels fucking amazing when you cum on me," he croons.

He grabs you by the hips, plunging deep inside of you, pounding you ruthlessly and wringing every last bit of your orgasm from your puffy cunt as his own high crashes violently upon him. You feel him pulsing, a second load of his hot cum spilling within your walls. He groans, eyes screwing shut, loitering in and out of balance from the sheer exertion of three consecutive rounds. Panting, his arms collapse, finally softening as he positions himself next to you on the mattress. 

“Is,” he huffs, collecting his breath, “is sex like that every time?”

You snicker, “If you do it right.”

You card your fingers gently through his hair, careful, as though he’s spun glass. You’re so beautiful. Radiant, even, with the way your cheeks darken, hair clinging to your face and shining like spider’s silk. You smile at him genuinely. Sweetly. Softly. Like he means something. Like he’s worth doing this with.

Fuck it. 

He thinks he might love you.

[bg3-chaos]

So a little preamble for this post: I have serious chronic pain. I have a migraine every single day. It’s fucking awful. I haven’t mentioned it because it didn’t seem relevant.

And then I read some more of Gale’s dialogue, more critically. He talks about the orb the same way I talk about my migraines. Simultaneously downplays and impresses the significance of it. Doesn’t want to talk about it very much even once you know. He’s an arch mage who, when you meet him, can’t even cast Misty Step. And while Wyll mentions the tadpole affecting his pact magic, no one else says anything similar as far as I’m aware. Which leads me to believe that Gale’s not incapable of the magic as much as he is too exhausted and distracted to conjure it. Gale is in chronic pain every single day, and he never outright says it. Even after the orb is gone.

This probably isn’t a new revelation, but it just reinforced how much I identify with (and adore) him. Or maybe I missed a bit of dialogue and it’s outright said at some point, which would make me feel a lot dumber for missing it. But damn, knowing my husband can actually understand the daily pain just makes me love GaleTav more. (I HC every Tav I play with similar issues to me.)

[sea-side-scribbles]

Solas wakes up in the strange new world of his own making and it terrifies him. Ridden with guilt, he joins the Inquisition and begins his lonely research in order to correct his mistake.

He doesn’t expect to find consolation in the presence of a human who wields ancient elven magic without knowing it. Who is way too gentle for an elgar’thanelan, but doesn’t know that either.

Solas, for his part, doesn’t know how to stay away.

Dorian wonders if the mysterious elf just enjoys playing with a Tevinter. He wouldn’t expect anything else.

Chapter 1- 13 | Right after uthenera, Solas is found by a Dalish clan. This goes well until it doesn’t. (Basically my excuse for world building and hilarious misunderstandings.)

Chapter 14 | Solas joins the Inquisition.

Chapter 20 | Dorian appears in Haven.

Chapter 56

This realm was more likely what Dorian expected from the fade. No fluffy clouds, no bright blue sky. Just the endless green depths, inhabited by rocks that looked dark against a misty light that didn't come from the sun. Gone was the lush forest overgrowing crumbled walls. Dorian found himself confronted with a massive archway that arose from the arcades around the yard. The tiles under his feet were made of smooth, dark stone that, in a strange way, felt just as deep as the fade sky above him. The floor was solid, but Dorian could sense the depth under his skin. He was sure to see fibers of orange light flare up inside it, wandering from tile to tile until they created a large, convoluted tangle in the middle of the yard. Dorian wasn't sure if he should walk on this.

To add to the confusion, the fade was filled with eerie noises. He couldn't identify them. Some sounded like voices, others might've been the rustling of leaves in the wind, footsteps, buzzing insects, calls of wild animals, raindrops on stone...Were they just all the noises this temple had ever witnessed? Would explain the pressure in his ear.

When he focused on the way ahead of him, he saw the flickers continued on the archway. The figures and patterns carved into it seemed to move. He was certain to feel their eyes on him from time to time, as if the entire building knew he was here. As if they waited for him to walk through. Dorian wasn't sure if that was welcoming. Before the archway, he recognised large statues of elves with long robes, holding staves. They looked like guardians. Or priests? In front of them, tiny in comparison, stood the real elf, hands folded behind his back, expecting him.

Dorian wasn't willing to let him wait, confusing surroundings be damned. The experience resembled that of the fade-tavern, but he fought for every step forward. Solas came to his rescue, much quicker on his feet. The sound of his steps broke through the eerie almost-noises as he closed the distance between them to hold him gently in his hands. The touch sent bolts through Dorian's skin, but not unpleasantly so. He hadn't felt this since their first meeting and gasped in surprise

“Did I hurt you?” Solas was startled and let go. Dorian moved to hold him instead, but not experiencing the bolts again. “Perhaps it was just...the feeling of someone real touching me...You know what I mean...” Solas appeared to watch him for any other signs. “Can you see the temple?”, he asked then. The question made Dorian smile. “Indeed. It's incredible. Nothing I'd ever identified as elven architecture, judging by the ruins. It doesn't even look like the same place.” He felt a sting in his heart when Solas' features showed deep melancholy. “The decay is grave. What you see in the waking world has been deprived of the magic it held in ancient times.” “So the rocks are what's underneath this? This is all just enchanted?” “Magic was once a part of elven nature, Dorian. To them, spells felt as natural as breathing. To ask if these stones were enchanted to change their shape, would be like to ask if ice was water enchanted to be cold.” “And when their magic faded, the stone remained.” “Yes.”

“Solas, I'm so sorry...” “Not again, Dorian.” “But these wonders. I...” Elven lips stopped his rambling. Surprised and entranced, Dorian complied. The scandal! An elf and a Tevinter, kissing in an ancient elven temple! He wondered what Solas' ancestors would've thought. His musings ended when Solas dipped him, when he lay in elven arms, his consciousness only held together by their kiss. Dorian didn't know how much time had passed when he was on his feet again. Solas then locked arms with him and began to lead him towards the entrance. It was a helpful gesture, since he wouldn't find the way on his own. But also, they looked like they strolled, like a couple in a park. They weren't a real couple, of course. Not in any other sense that they were two people next to each other. But the image delighted Dorian still. He reached for Solas' hand and curled his fingers around it. The elf let it happen.

“This Dirthamen-fellow wasn't very popular, was he?” Solas made a choked sound, almost a chuckle. “Why do you think so?” “His temple isn't exactly well-attended.” “No?” Solas halted and turned back to the yard. Dorian followed his eyes, confused. “Is there something I should see?” “Look closer, Dorian”, Solas whispered in his ear. Not exactly a way to make him more focused, but he tried nonetheless. The yard displayed its usual deepness. From here, the dark stones felt even more like an abyss. The lights made him blink. “There”, Solas whispered, lips very close to his cheek. He pointed at a corner in the arcades. Fortunately, the walls were steadier there in comparison to the rest. “The shades.” Dorian stared. Then he thought he saw them. Just slightly darker silhouettes moving. If they didn't move, they would've been unnoticeable. “Just them?” “No, they are all over the yard. Don't you see them?” Disappointment in himself filled his stomach. “No. I'm afraid I'm blind.”

Elven fingers caressed his bare shoulder. “Not blind. Only inexperienced.” Dorian could've protested naming all the tests he had passed with flying colors in the Circles. His own research. But oh, well, proof was right before his unseeing eyes. “Can you hear them speak?”, he asked instead. “Faintly. The loudest voices are prayers.” “Makes sense, I suppose.” “The tragedy has not happened here. It began inside, when the priests were imprisoned in their own temple.” Dorian felt a tickle along his spine, thinking about the journey ahead.

They went to the portal that was just as hard to look at as the rest. And closed. Dorian furrowed his brows. How to open an abyss? He didn't see a handle. But surely, his elven companion would find everything. Indeed, Solas stepped forward to put a hand on the surface. A light blinded Dorian shortly, then Solas let go. From the spot he touched, more fibers grew from the light and disappeared into the depths of the temple. “One must give a secret to earn admittance”, Solas said so casually as if he told him to shuffle cards. Dorian processed the information, halfway distracted by the interesting features studying him. “...and I guess there is no group discount?” A slight tremble flashed over Solas' face. An acknowledgement of his joke. “I am afraid there is not.” The fibers winded in their never ending dance. Suddenly, Dorian understood what the archway had waited for. He cleared his throat. “Usually, there are consequences for giving secrets to an unknown force in the fade. Let alone a god.” Solas smiled at this. “I gave nothing of use for Dirthamen, should he ever walk these halls again. But you do not have to go further if you do not want to.”

Dorian shifted from one foot to another. Solas was so certain about this. A mage with a healthy sense of caution in every situation. So it should be safe. “I am sorry”, the dreamer said softly. “Elven temples usually demand offerings for access. I should have warned you.” Dorian's concern for Solas only grew. “How much did you give them already?” Solas tilted his head, very playfully for this situation. “The term 'secret' is open to interpretation. Is there nothing insignificant but unknown about you?” “I am full of fascinating secrets, my dear Solas. Insignificant and myself don't go well together.” “I do not know what you had for breakfast before we took off”, he offered light-heartedly. “Because you mysteriously disappear from Skyhold every time the Inner Circle assembles.” “That is not true. And now is not a good time for such accusations.” The soft protest rose a chuckle from Dorian. The dreamer joined him shortly after and they fooled around in front of an ancient wonder.

Dorian held up his hand. “So...Like this? I just hold hands with it?” Solas nodded. “And think of the secret you are willing to give.” The abyss was cold under his hands. He felt like touching water, but there were no ripples in the solid stone. The light flashed and tiny needles pricked his skin. The fibers. They took from him. Or did they come of out him? The process was quickly over and Dorian watched his secret flit away with the others. The knot of lights untangled as the portal opened for them. “I gave him the secret recipe for Nessum's Flavoured Wine”, he quipped into the silence. “It's a capital sin, I know, but I hope it'll cheer this place up a little.” He earned another smile from Solas.

They descended together, arms still linked and Dorian tried to be not too embarrassed by the sorry state he was in. He barely recognised what lay in front of his eyes. Thinking of Solas next to him helped. He spotted a light further down the stairs. It moved in an odd pattern. “What's that light?” “It is a spirit.” “A wisp?” “No, it is older. You will recognise it when we are closer.” Indeed, the light changed when they neared. It morphed into a figure of an elven woman, dressed in a robe like to the ones he had seen at the statues. Her face showed the lines of a complex tattoo, similar to Ellana's. Her long hair was braided behind her back. “Dirthamen leanatha, eolas aesayelanen”, she said, bowing down. Solas answered something elven in kind. Dorian found he should at least try to be polite. “Avannaris delectato”, he greeted her with a little bow. That made her stare at him, her lips forming an “o”. “Ahn aven?”

“Do you speak Trade Tongue, honoured disciple? It would make communication among us easier”, Solas asked her, but did not seem to mind Dorian's improvisation. “Yes, I know Trade. But what did you speak?”, she was still fixated on her human visitor. “I've never heard it before.” “That was Tevene, the language of my homeland”, Dorian felt a little awkward explaining this to an ancient elf, spirit or not. “Do you all talk like this?” “Not anymore, we mostly speak Trade now. Just a few phrases survived, as flavour.” “You forgot about it? But that's sad.” “It's not entirely forgotten, we could learn it if we wanted, but we use it less.” “Can you teach me your words?” “I...” He cleared his throat. Solas just gave him a cheeky smile. “We might not have enough time for that.” “Oh...” She looked disappointed, but her face lit up again when her mind went somewhere else: “Are you here for the secrets?” “Not for them alone, the temple itself it quite interesting.” For some reason, Dorian was leading the conversation now. “We were close by and...curious”. That made her bob on the spot, clenching fists in excitement. “Just like me! You've been here before, but I couldn't reach you. It's nice you came back.”

“Well...Do you live here?” “I'm here now”, she said as if she didn't understand his question. “I couldn't go inside because of the pain, but now it changed.” “The place is cheerier now, I hope?” “There's relief. Salvation. Despair and anger, too, but they're forgetting why. New people come, like you.” “This is good news. And the secrets are still here?” “They are deeper down and quiet. You added new ones.” She smiled at them. “It felt good.” Ah, there were the consequences. Spirits would gossip about his secret for ages to come. “Who are you? Do you have a name?” “I'm Viera. I'm here to serve the God of Secrets and Knowledge. I've just passed my trials and I'm so nervous! I want to learn everything! When Dirthamen disappeared, everyone left. But I'm here now.” “May you find the answers you seek, honored disciple Viera”, Solas spoke again. “Oh, 'honored disciple'! Nobody has called me that for a long time!” Her childish behaviour made more sense to Dorian now. She was an apprentice, likely one with a tragic fate that had attracted the spirit.

“You may call me Dorian, and my charming elven companion goes by the name Solas.” “Dorian”, she repeated happily. “Dorian, Dorian. What does that mean?” “Ah...” He thought that this temple became too prying for his taste. “I don't know, I never asked.” “Why not?” “I think it's good enough as it is.” She eyed him as if dragon wings grew out of his back. “You are so interesting.” Dorian grinned in triumph. “I know.” “Will you stay for a while?” Now, the perspective of being studied by this spirit offered itself. “Er, we'll just go for a stroll and then leave...We don't have much time, right, Solas?” He gripped Solas' hand firmer. Before the elf could answer, the spirit asked: “Can you kiss for me?” Dorian suddenly had something in his throat.

“It would add a positive memory to the temple”, Solas whispered into his ear. Surprised, Dorian turned around. The dreamer acted not so secretive among spirits, apparently. Despite the prying eyes next to him, Dorian didn't feel like refusing the unexpected offer. This time, he cupped Solas' cheek, relishing the spark he saw in his violet eyes. Ignoring the squeaky sound it produced from the spirit, he stroked the sharp cheekbones with his thumb. The elf seemed to relax into his touch. He just did that. He looked like he melted in his hands, every time they touched. How could Dorian refuse this? How could he quieten the sweet lies he told himself? Well, not at all.

Dorian kissed him deeply, without restraint. Solas' fingers tugged at him, pulling him close as if he wanted them to merge into one. Their tongues clashed this time, with no gentle foreplay. Solas' teeth nibbed at Dorian's lips. They got carried away a little. When Solas drew back, Dorian had forgotten the temple and the spirit. Viera watched them in awe, her clenched fists pressed against her temples. “Thank you”, she sighed. Dorian cleared his throat. “The pleasure is ours, honored disciple of Dirthamen. If you allow us, we will proceed now”, Solas took the talking part. “May Dirthamen protect your secrets”, she said, supposedly a goodbye. “May he protect yours as well.” “Vitae benefaria.” Dorian couldn't help nudging her curiosity one more time. “May your life be blessed.”

Descending deeper into the dark temple, Dorian said: “That was...pleasant. Unexpected.” “Keep your mind open, Dorian.” “Kaffas, I do! This place just doesn't feel welcoming for innocent curiosity and prompted tongue-play!” Solas squeezed his hand. “How do you feel?” The gentle tone made Dorian immediately forgive his sharpness. “I'm...dizzy. But perhaps the temple isn't the cause”, he went to purring. He saw Solas' mouth corner twitch. “Focus on the fade for now. We shall return to this when we are awake.” “You're making me look forward to waking up. For the first time in my life. You're a miracle.” “I know.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Dorian gasped. The hall was huge, the ceiling far away. It had no torches, but floating lights, resembling the secrets that illuminated the stone from inside. For a second, he thought the floor was still wet, because of the brightly polished stone that reflected like water. He recognised the columns, now free of the unwanted greenery, that grew up into the air. The walls were decorated with golden mosaics, glimmering in the moving light. He remembered parts of them from the ruin. When he really strained his senses, he found flickers of shades everywhere. Solas turned to him to cup his cheek and look him in the eyes. It appeared he had squeezed the elf's hand in his struggle. “I...I'm fine”, he produced.

Proceeding, towards the obscure end of the hall, they were stopped by an appearing spirit. He didn't look as friendly as the disciple. Dorian guessed this was a priest. “Diana, alinen! Ahn anel min?”, he asked in a demanding tone that hurt in Dorian's ears. “We are Seekers of Knowledge, like you.” This time, Solas didn't bother with elven language. “The knowledge of this place is not meant for you! Leave!” “We have given our secrets to Dirthamen. Now we will take what is due to us.” Dorian was impressed by Solas' still placid demeanour. He didn't backtrack an inch and didn't look intimidated by his ancestor that glared at him. Dorian got glared at as well. He wondered if he was the cause of all this resentment. Wouldn't be the first time.

“There is an aura around you that says you do not belong here.” This could describe a Tevinter as well. Or did this spirit sense they were from the waking world? “We mean no harm, honored Seeker”, Solas answered firmly. “I second that”, Dorian began and immediately the glare fell on him again. Suddenly, the impact almost swiped him off his feet. He staggered, blinded, clutching Solas who caught him. “Dorian...!” “I think...he doesn't...like me...”, he pressed out of clenched teeth. “Perhaps...we should leave.” “No. You earned the right to be here.” Dorian was about to tell him how flattered he was, when the invisible power suddenly let go of him. Gasping for air, he dared to look out of his eyes again. The spirit was gone.

“Huh...I guess he had better things to do than to humor us...” Dorian struggled back on his feet with Solas' help. “Or he realized his mistake.” The elf sounded so snappish all of a sudden, as if this spirit really offended him. “Which kind of spirit was it?” “Perhaps ignorance. Would that befit a Seeker of Knowledge?” Obviously, Solas wasn't in the mood for analysis. Dorian held his hand when they went on into the obscurity before us. After a few steps, he wasn't so sure anymore if he wanted to go there. “Solas?” The elven eyes were the only pleasant sight in this place. “What is wrong?” His words had a strange echo. Dorian glanced ahead. His feet stopped, but he felt like he moved anyway. “Do you...see that?”, he asked, but his voice got swallowed by the chasm in front of him. He was falling, in a way. But still standing.

Now he knew why this hall was obscure. The temple ended here. The fade had reclaimed this place, eaten into the glossy stones. Their secrets spilled out, now with nothing left to hold them, swirling and tangling helplessly on their way down into the dark. But from them, something sprouted like a plant in fertile ground. The fade had filled itself with secrets until even its depth couldn't hold them any longer. Dorian recognised the wolf statue. In a deeper sense he had never felt before, he felt the mad whispers and screams of despair that sculpted it. It's eyes glared down at him. It had so many.

Every piece of light in its pulsing body had become an all-seeing eye. Its maw gaped open, its snout was too long and wide for that of a wolf. The body...changed. It grew. From the shaggy limbs of black fur, its essence extended towards the temple, clawing their way back in. Dorian saw it growing into his direction, slowly but certainly, calling for him. Whispering madness into his ear. He didn't want it to touch him, but he couldn't move. His limbs were paralysed. He couldn't scream, for his tongue lay uselessly in his mouth and his lips were an adamant barrier. Only his eyes could watch the inevitable. The wolf was only inches away. Solas' hand that had steadied him was gone. He floated, immobile without an anchor in the depth of the fade. This was the end.

He gasped for air when his mind was pulled back into the waking world. Darkness surrounded him still, but Solas' arms were around him. His hand drew circles on his back. Then there were kisses, on his cheeks, his forehead, his hair. “Ir abelas...ir abelas...en'an'sal...Shalan ma...”, Solas whispered in elven, over and over again. It felt like a lullaby. “Solas...”, he sighed in relief, feeling his tongue again. Elven hands cupped his cheek. “I am here, Dorian. You are safe...” He saw relief in his glowing eyes. The eyelashes fluttered. “What was that?”, he pressed out. The memory made his blood freeze. “A nightmare within the temple. It cannot reach you here.” For good measure, Dorian cuddled closer into Solas. Stole a kiss. Then another. Solas gave him everything. Apparently, he didn't intend to let him go, either. They held each other the entire night.

Notes:

Dirthamen leanatha, eolas aesayelanen: “Praised be Dirthamen, Seekers of Knowledge.” Avannaris delectato.: “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.” Put together with canon Tevene “avanna” for “hello” and “delectare” for “to delight”. Ahn aven?: “What is that language?” Viera: “Path of dreams” Vitae benefaria is not translated in canon, it roughly means “the benefits of life”, I just made something up Diana, alinen! Ahn anel min?: “Halt, strangers! What are you doing here?” Ir abelas: “I am sorry” En'an'sal: “gift, blessing” (I found “gift” as a translation for “Dorian” and went with it) Shalan ma: “I protect you.”

[thesirencult]

Astrological Predictions I Wrote Down Last Year Which Are Still Relevant- and will continue to be!

Note: I'm not here to spread fear and anxiety. Bad aspects do not exist. Our lives and the way the Art Of Astrology is expressed in our reality is a mix of different colours and vibrations. These predictions have been made with my own personal way of interpretation so please don't ask how I came up with some things. Don't drive yourself crazy trying to see the "mechanics" and "practical details" behind the predictions, simply read them and see if intuitively you vibe with them. Keep in mind these are written in a "personal notes" style so it is a tiny bit chaotic!

A year ago I did not post any content about astrology and tarot online, at least at this scale. Posting these personal observations is not a way fro me to "toot-my-own-horn". I'm actually quite skeptical about Astrology's capacity to "predict" but right now, looking at those notes it is apparent that most of those things have already manifested or are beginning to take form in our physical reality.

Enjoy and let me know what your thoughts are about what's coming.

2023 MAJOR ASPECTS

Pluto In Aquarius (23/3/2023, 3 months and then again in 2024): 20 year cycle, society, tech, consciousness, innovation on STEROIDS, last time 795,819, 1781 -> discovery of uranus, islamic/arab domination in north africa, fall and rise of dynasties in europe (foundations of europe as we know it now, al-Khwarizmi founded the field of algebra

Saturn In Pisces (7/3/2023, 26 february, may 2 2026): structuring the "unstructureable"

Jupiter In Taurus (16/5/2023-25/5/2024): wisdom of nature, stay ready/still, green

17/7/2023 -> N.Node in Aries/S.Node in Libra: love-war, Ares-Aphrodite, war between the feminine and the masculine. Fall of red pill and radical feminism, individual vs parrtnership.

Where Jupiter goes, Saturn follows. Dune, The Hermit energy. In the past few years with Jupiter in Pisces and Aries disillusionment was IN! Fights through screens (Aries), were just another day. Saturn clears the way after Jupiter's orgy. Dreams NEED a practical use (note from now : we have this whole hustling culture thing of set goals and be practical, we are basically trying to give structure to our dreams and create a step by step path to our vision). Example: astrology, NFTs and crypto, drugs, manifestation, art -> how are they contributing to our society and the betterment of it? Dissolving-then Forming-> identifying, dreaming-act/plan -> success. Only through the loss of individual power we realize we are nothing without a link to the rest of "life". Submitting to something greater/ fear (misty) of something destroying us or confronting external life. Sacrifice/Servitude. Who are you when stripped away from the world? (prison): stripped off the matrix/network, inner contemplation, power to serve to experience unity, science+spirituality meeting. loneliness + isolation = going deeper within,monk mode. developing a conscious ego. Information utilized/weaponized to help/guide the masses. Increasing consciousness and broadening the mind. We are realizing we are experiencing the "shadow" not the "idea" (Plato/Jung/archetypes)/Antigone-> divine law / human law/ loss of faith and search dor a new framework of values. Discipline in meditation, yoga driven towards God. Fight between atheism+spiritualism/nihilism+purpose. Turning inside because you lost faith, there you will find God and meaning. The form has outlived its usefulness -> conflict with the status quo and law. No church in the wild/godless. Saturn's death by Jupiter (taurus = structure).

Transformation of rules, social norms, ideas of humanity and how we use science+technology to manifest those ideas. Social + technological REVOLUTION. Renaissance. Turning to humanitarian, liberal arts/spreading knowledge-teaching. Astronomical discoveries, vaccines/antibiotics(shortages?), innovations in trade, change in the way religions and churches are structured as well as other organizations. More open. Blockchain. "Anonymity" but transparency. 48 laws of power, the prince. philosophy-> utilitarian/kant/pure reason. "how to maximize happiness for the majority. streamlined techniques. Pluto in Aquarius will bring the desire to reform. After 2044 these changes will be established. Everything will be brought to the surface. going deep and facing demons. PROMETHEUS MYTH , FIRE -> DARK SIDE OF TECH (note: AI). decentralised internet, open sourcing, energy. YOU CAN'T REACH GOD THROUGH TECHNOLOGY/CAN YOU? Grid failures+extreme weather. Internet cables connecting countries -> separation from WEB -> Who are we? power over...= domination / power with...= networks Pluto -> Πλούτος, abundance but can turn to greed -> eruption -> realizations. Society = individuals -> change= self change!

Society is going to turn its hopes, wishes , knowledge, resources and tech powers towards abundance and sustainability. Physical environment = abundance. I'm seeing a rise in holistic+cyclical approaches, natural medicine and art expression close to natural processes. Expect movement from big cities to the countryside and creation of luxury reatreats/hotels close to nature-sustainable.

source:thesirencult

[angeart]

With interest, Grian watches Scar heave breaths and clutch at his chest. The surrounding caves full of lava pops and hissing mobs fall away, bringing them somewhere dark and misty instead. The ground is smooth and pitch black, some blocks of it gently floating away in a way that’s entirely disturbing; a picture of a quiet and broken world. Glancing appraisingly around, Grian takes a step away from Scar, swishing his tail impatiently as he waits for him to calm down.

“Gee, Grian. Can’t you bring us somewhere nice for once?” Scar huffs out breathlessly, still slightly bent forward. His messy brown hair falls into his eyes, partially covering up his expression.

Grian itches to step closer and push Scar’s hair away, so he can see his face in full. “I can’t,” he lies, a hint of sulkiness in his voice. His nose scrunches up a little as he wrangles the strange urges nestled in his heart, and he takes one more step decidedly away from Scar.

 Taking a final deep breath, Scar straightens up. “Can’t or won’t?” he presses.

“Can’t,” Grian insists, even though the words feel like gravel in his throat under the scrutiny of Scar’s gaze. There’s something in Scar’s eyes as he looks back at Grian, and Grian can’t quite identify it—something veering on expectant. Something hopeful, maybe. Something strange. His tail sharply swishes again, agitated, and he blurts out: “What are you the most afraid of?”

“What?” Scar startles, visibly flinching under the abrupt ambush.

“What are you the most afraid of?” Grian repeats, pinning him down with his gaze. “We went through plenty things. You scare easily. But what is The Big Bad Scary Thing for you? I can’t quite figure it out.”

Scar feels his heartbeat in his throat. He purses his lips and stays silent.

They stare at each other.

Swish, swish, swish. Grian’s tail flicks from side to side as he waits.

Scar thinks Grian might explode if he won’t give him something. He releases a breath, wilfully loses the staring match and stammers out: “I—I’m not telling you that!”

Grian’s tail droops, suddenly weighted as he pouts. “Aw, why not?”

It’s a display of innocence, but Scar knows he’d be barking up the wrong tree if he wanted to find a shred of innocence in the demon that stands in front of him. (And yet a part of him wants him to willingly let himself get deceived. A part of him wants to think that it’s not as impossible as the rest of him makes it out to be.) Gritting his teeth, he pulls up every defence he can muster; unease sings in his veins, ready to be called upon once again in this dreamscape, always so, so very close to surface here. “You’ll use it! You’ll use it against me!” he accuses.

“I’d never,” Grian says simply, his lips twitching into a toothy grin.

“Pfhshs, you would, you absolutely would, you menace!” Scar protests, taking a stumbling half-a-step back, as if having physical distance ever helped him in here. (It never helps. Sometimes he feels like closer is the only right place to be. Like the further he runs, the more danger he’s in.)

The familiar sound of giggles bubbles out of Grian; his eyes are bright when they meet Scar’s again.

Running on some faulty setting, Scar’s heart skips a beat at the sight. He blames it on adrenaline—on the constant looming feeling of awaiting terror; on the lingering fear that so stickily clings to him whenever he dreams—but somewhere deep down in the pit of his stomach he knows that’s not it.

He watches Grian quiet down again, eyes grazing the surrounding dreamscape almost contemplatively. There’s a small tilt to Grian’s head as he thinks, a curve to his throat and jaw that makes Scar’s fingers twitch. He pries his gaze away and forces himself still, instead watching the world slowly float away around him and get swallowed by the void.

Is that what’s going to happen to him if he keeps standing here?

Dread curls through the spaces between his ribs at the thought, even though he’s aware it’s better than most alternatives.

Grian’s hum interrupts his thoughts, and the dread in Scar’s chest grows thicker and more insistent.

“I noticed,” Grian starts musingly, “that you don’t usually dream about other people.”

Scar blinks, trying to regain his footing in the seeming randomness of the topic. “So?”

“Well, most people dream about other people in their lives now and then,” Grian notes. His dark eyes hold Scar hostage. “Bad dreams, you know. Them getting hurt? Or getting hurt by them? Things like that.” His tail swishes. There’s something both grim and intrigued in his expression as he continues hungrily watching Scar. “But you don’t.”

There’s a flash image rushing through Scar at those words: Mumbo, drenched in blood, sobbing helplessly as he collapses on the floor and curls up on himself. Scar, hovering around him, not knowing how to help.

He tries to cover up the shakiness of his breath with false bravado. He isn’t going to let Grian have that.  “I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he retorts, his voice carrying only a hint of his fraying nerves. He doesn’t think he could bear that kind of nightmares.

Grian cocks his head, eyes still lingering on him in that scrutinising way. “Is it because you don’t have anyone? Is that what you’re secretly afraid of? That you’ll die completely alone?”

Scar’s brows pull into a bemused frown. “Are you insulting me?”

“What?” A genuine confusion disrupts the intensity of Grian’s gaze.

“I have friends!” Scar huffs out defensively.

“Wait,” Grian shakes his head, feeling like he’s suddenly two steps behind Scar in this conversation. “Why would that be an insult?”

This whole time, Grian thought there’s simplicity in fears. Everyone was scared of something. And Grian did so very much enjoy putting his hands in that particular jar of honey, so tantalising and rich and sweet. There was fascination in watching it all unfold, so raw and terrible. Seeing the frantic urgency, the rising swell of overwhelming emotions ready to consume. Yet at the end of it, there was nothing. Always, always. Inevitably, it’d end. They’d all wake up.

All but him.

They’d wake up and none of it would ever be real.

He was just playing. It didn’t mean anything.

Scar is looking at him as if maybe it meant something.

“Well, you’re—” Scar starts, a baffled edge to his voice. Wasn’t it obvious? He thought it was obvious. But Grian keeps looking at him with that same confusion etched into his features, and so Scar fumbles for a way to put his knee-jerk thought into coherent words. “You’re saying I might die alone. Isn’t that kind of like suggesting that I’m unlovable?”

There’s a beat of silence when Grian parses through his words, slots them somewhere within himself.

Scar can’t tell where Grian’s slotting them. He just wants to be understood, and for them to move on.

But Grian doesn’t swiftly move from it quite like Scar hopes.

His tail once again gravitates straight down; his wings droop and his bat-like ears twitch and pull back. “Oh.” It’s a small sound, timid and fractured and just a little bit guarded.

Scar watches Grian’s face scrunch up again, in a way that’d be completely endearing if it wasn’t so alarming. Because Grian doesn’t usually make a face like this. He’s sulky, sure, and he’s chaotic. He cackles and sighs and swishes his damn tail and—

He shouldn’t look timid. He shouldn’t look like he’s about to get hurt.

“Grian…?”

When Grian speaks, his voice is even quieter, cracking with something unsure. “I didn’t know it’s…” He stops, the words hitting some dam within him. I didn’t know it’s bad, is what he almost says. His frown deepens, and he’s not looking at Scar anymore; he’s staring at the ground, as if it held the answers he so desperately needed. “I didn’t…” He trails off again, sheepish. I didn’t mean that you’re unlovable hovers on the tip of his tongue, but he bites at it until it dies in his throat.

A sharp urge to step closer and lift Grian’s chin sears through Scar.

Before he can do anything, Grian lifts his head on his own accord and meets Scar’s gaze.

Grian’s dark eyes are full of some deep pitfall, a ravaging emotion that Scar fails to identify.

“Am I?” Grian asks, words imbued with painful desperation. Am I unlovable? echoes through him, thrums through every part of him with the wild force of his heartbeat.

He shouldn’t be asking this. Why is he asking this?

It shouldn’t matter.

Why does it hurt to think it?

He should be coating the words in sharp edges. He should be using them as knives. He should be digging his claws into Scar, mocking him that yes, maybe Scar is unlovable. He should be trying to see if that scares him. If it hurts.

Isn’t that what nightmares should be about?

But instead, Grian’s the one in pain.

And yet.

And yet it looks like Scar is hurt too, somehow, anyway. There’s a faint fragrance of fear in the air, an unfamiliar tinge to it that Grian can’t quite pinpoint.

A part of Grian wants to stay and figure it out. It wants to indulge in the way Scar looks right now; it wants to step closer, to put his sharp, clawed fingers against Scar’s pulse point and find out what makes it beat like that.

The other part of him is cacophonic and loud, ringing alarm bells and frantically trying to get him to run away.

Run away from what? Run where?

This is his world. This is his place.

He isn’t supposed to hurt here.

He isn’t supposed to hurt here.

He doesn’t realise his breaths are turning rapid and shallow; his heart is throwing a tantrum, causing havoc within him. All he knows is that he has a strong urge to hide. To protect himself. To stay safe. Deeper, deeper in the dreamscape. That’s where he should be. That’s where he needs to go.

He steps away from Scar and with wide eyes and too-loud heartbeat, he watches Scar follow.

“I’m done playing for today,” he lets him know, the words raspy and wrong as they barely make it past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t give out any more chances; he turns around and runs.

The ground rumbles in the wake of his footsteps, walls pulling up behind him, blocking Scar’s path to him and rendering him unable to follow.

[15depressedducks]

Flowers Can Grow in Concrete C12

Every 2-3 days V would help N for a day. All he needed was some oil and a good charge. All V needed to do was keep the child accompanied so J wouldn’t murder the child. They need to keep a close eye on Uzi considering, J keeps staring to find when is the best time to swoop down and slice her head off. She kept throwing dirty looks and growling at the two of them. Lines seem to fade in under her eyes, which looked, bigger?.

N had chatted to her about Uzi’s birthday. It was October 31 and if they wanted to do anything for her, then would be the best time. V already had a gift, It was the choker her mom was wearing. She had told N about it, he thought it would be fine.

It had been a month or two since N brought Uzi home. N had changed her into different clothes that fit her better. It was a dark purple T-shirt with a black ‘:3’ on it. She also was wearing some black sweatpants.

V was hanging from her nest, watching the two play some weird game N probably made. Uzi would stand about 10-15 meters away from N, and N would run at her with his claws and ‘X’ on his visor. Uzi was supposed to move out of the way, but N always made sure he swerved away from her.

Looks like they're having fun! You should join! No. I don’t need to play any games with them. They can do that. Not me! Well N might need help~! Ughhhhh. Fine. 

V untangled her tail And soared above the pod. Heading straight to Uzi.

N was running straight at her, neither paying attention to V.

V grabbed Uzi and took her up into the air. Uzi screamed at the top of her voice box. N was looking around in a hurry.

“EEEEAEAEAEAEAEAEAAAEA”

“UZI! WHERE’D YOU GO?!! WHAT HAPPENED??!”

“Up here moron bot!” V was grining, Uzi stopped screaming and looked around.

“V! YOU CAN’T DO THAT! I WAS REALLY WORRIED!” V chuckled No!No!NoNoNoNoNoNo! Don’t do that!! Heh, make me~

“I’m fine N-AHAAHAAHAHHAAAAAEEE” V lighty tossed Uzi about her by a meter. Then caught her, and repeated the process.

“V!” N launched up and caught Uzi. She clung tightly to the fur on his coat.  Now look at what you did! Poor Uzi is all shaken up! This is’n-Shut up, I can also identify when I messed up! Don’t need you!

Uzi slowly opened her eyes, N was landing. “Wait… That was kinda fun…” Oh? She liked it… TAKE THAT PROGRAMED CODE! I-I'm not-Never mind… You’ll figure it out soon…

V landed beside them. “We can do that some other time. N. I’ll take over. You still haven’t learned how to take care of yourself and a kid.”

“Hehe… Yea…” N shifted around and lightly kicked some snow. “Okay Uzi! Be good for V!” N lowered Uzi to the ground. She was so small compared to him. She doesn't even reach my waist! Smol babe. What-?

The second, Uzi was on the ground, she tackled V. Just like before, she froze up. She didn’t freeze up as bad, but it still happened. Uzi’s arms acted like rope and tied her legs together. V’s optic’s hollowed, hands hovering, tail straight, mind buzzing. Small thing! Why!?

N was trying his best to hide his laugh. “Uzi, please let go?” V managed to croak out. Sweat was dripping down her visor.

“Oki!” Immediately after Uzi wasn’t touching her, she stepped back a bit. She exhaled a sigh. Well, do you know why I locked up? I think we both know~ I-Y-Shut up.

N walked away, leaving Uzi with V. “Squirmy Wormy! You want to play for some time?”

“Oki!” Uzi Jogged to their spot. Now with Uzi being there for well over a month led to some changes. Now a mattress layed there. It had a fitted sheet with the design of rainbow dogs, N picked it himself. It had a drawer/cubby tower beside it. That was filled with art supplies, toys, and snacks. Resting between the two was one of those lap boards. The design was a misty memory at that point. Lines and color blotches filled it with playfulness. 

Uzi was jumping on the make-shift bed, laughing and giggling. V sighed, and sat on said bed, legs arching off of it. “What are we going to play today?” Uzi said, jumping with every word. She was eager to know.

“I-Um,Well, you see”

“Please? I really want to know!”

“How about,” V tapped a claw to her chin “Hide and seek.”

“Yes! I’ll hide in the best spot”

“You pick the worst spots, what are you talking about?” J shouts, peaking out of her nest.

“I’m sure you will” V said with some sarcasm but a cheery smile. She turned to J, her face sour and said with a tone that could kill a god “You are not a part of this.” her voice could freeze any living thing. The venom could kill a honey badger. Uzi is currently scared and crying in the corner after V just yelled.

“What i'm telling the snack the truth” J replies, her full head out. Her hair is a bit worse for wear. 

V just sighs and shakes her head. She turns back to Uzi, showing a soft smile. V tries to comfort Uzi saying “I’m sorry Uzi, I didn’t mean to scare you”. But Uzi isn't listening, Uzi is sobbing uncontrollably, scared for her life.

“Nice job with your toy, traitor.” J shouts mockingly  

V snarled and bared her teeth. She was in her fighting stance with claws at the ready “J. Leave me and this kid alone.” Her tone was cold, the venom in it could kill a fucking honey badger. Uzi started to whimper.

“Alright fine” J replies, curling back into her nest. The intense yellow eyes were gone from view. V immediately turns to Uzi and tries to comfort her. Uzi is sobbing. She sat down to be on her height. Her claws formed into hands, but hesitated to touch her. Uzi reached for the hand and pulled it to her face. Tears rolled down her visor. She was rubbing her head in V’s hand, seeking comfort from it.

V froze. I-Uh-Um-Help! Geez, You don’t know how to comfort a kid? What would you do for Tes-DON’T! Don’t say that name.

V took her free hand and put it on Uzi’s back, And pulled her in for a hug. It was a bit tight but nothing would break. Uzi just sobbed.

“Y-You sounded l-like the m-monstersss!” She was stumbling over her own words.

“What monsters?”

“T-the ones in t-the bunker!”

“Oh…” V kept rubbing her back. Happy home much? Or happy neighbors?

“I’m sorry.” V looked morningful “She was just being mean and that was  the only way I knew how to make her stop”

“I-it’s okay…” Uzi sniffled. Her tail wrapped around them.

—————

They stayed like that for sometime. V saw N out of the corner of her vision go to his nest. Ok, now he’s asleep. Good.

“Are you feeling better?”

A small sniffle came “Yea…”

“Alright, do you want to play hide and seek now?” V pulled her off her chest, hands on shoulders. She had a soft smile displayed.

“Yea..!” Uzi said, whipping the last tear off her face. She had her playful look back on her face.

“Okay, I’ll count.” Her voice was soft like a caretaker’s. She smiled as the kid didn’t even wait for the count down, she just ran to the pod. Time to count I guess.

“1”

“2”

“3”

“...-...”

“18”

“19”

“20!”

“Ready or not! Here I come!” V was grining. She had her claws out for fun, walking towards the pod.

She circled around the pod.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

A shadow covered hers. She turned around and snarled at the foe.

The threat.

[16mistypaw]

Misty's Whumptober 2024

Day 2 (Trust issues)

Link stumbled towards the portal. Stepping through the swirling mass, instead of seeing Lana or any of his other allies on the other side, he was dropped in an unfamiliar area and his heart spiked with anxiety. The portals always took him back to where he came from. What had gone wrong with this one?

Weary and wounded Link stumbled towards the portal, ready to go home already and close the gate for this realm. The battles just never seemed to end, and the exhaustion he felt was a constant at this point. He stepped through the swirling mass, expecting to see Lana or any of his other allies on the other side. Instead he was dropped in an unfamiliar area, and his heart spiked with anxiety. The portals always took him back to where he came from. What had gone wrong with this one?

A rustle of leaves behind him had him spinning around, drawing his sword to meet the lizalfos’ blade. It nearly threw him back with the force of its blow; this single lizalfos was much stronger than the weaker, more numerous ones he was used to. He surged upwards, throwing the other blade off his own and slicing at the monster's face in the same movement. It jumped back, easily dodging his swing and leaping over him.

He was too slow to turn and meet it, as it’s sword met his back and threw him to the ground. Quickly flipping himself over he braced his sword above him, eyes flinching closed as the lizalfos raised it’s own blade. The expected blow never came. Instead the monster shrieked in pain, startling as he looked to see what happened.

The lizalfos was writhing on the end of the blade sticking out of it’s chest, before it twisted and was torn out to the side, nearly tearing the monster in half. It collapsed a moment later, dead and slowly dissolving into black smoke, revealing the one who had stabbed it from behind.

“Are you alright?” The man was on the taller side of average, with bulky looking armor and an equally large sword in his hands. A single blue eye stared down at him, the other scarred over and surrounded by strange markings. They offered him a hand up, which he hesitantly accepted. Even standing, the stranger was nearly a head taller than him, and Link tried not to let himself feel intimidated. He had just saved him after all.

‘Unless he just wanted to capture him alive.’ His mind supplied. Which he couldn’t make himself deny. Traitors within his own ranks had tried to turn him over to Cia more than once, blaming him for the war and believing his capture would be the end of it. He couldn’t trust his own soldiers anymore, he certainly couldn’t trust someone he didn’t know.

“I’m fine, just some bruises.” He lied. Better not to show weakness when he was still uncertain of their motives. “Can I ask your name?”

An expression he couldn’t identify crossed his face for a moment, before settling into something almost resigned.

“It’s Link.” The newly named other Link replied. “We already know each other, though I’m not surprised you don’t recognise me like this. I fought by your side in the war, when I was only ten.”

“The kid? He’s back at-” He cut himself off. The other Link, if that really was his name, had no business knowing where his younger brother was. “You’re not him.” He settled on. The kid was safe back at camp, awaiting his return along with his other allies.

“I am, went by Mask because of the masks I wore to fight.” He insisted.

“That’s common knowledge. You’ll have to be more convincing than that.” Link shot back. Something fell between them, and they both glanced down to realize his sword had slipped from his hand. Blood collected at his fingers, trailing up his arm and beginning to stain his shirt where it was torn at the shoulder. He habitually flicked his scarf over his other shoulder with his non-bloody hand, hoping to avoid ruining the blue fabric.

“You’re injured.” He sounded almost accusing as he reached forward. Link stepped back, stumbling over his own feet. A hand on his uninjured shoulder prevented him from falling, but was quickly removed when Link violently flinched away from the contact.

“Don’t touch me!” He snarled. The other man looked hopelessly lost on what to do in this standoff, clearly thinking over his options.

“I won’t without permission.” He agreed, and Link bristled. Did he think he would get permission to do so? “But you either need to heal yourself or let me help.”

Link leaned against a tree as he searched through his bag. He already knew he was out of healing items, but desperation made him check again anyways in the vain hope he had missed one. He didn’t realize he was sliding down the tree until he was abruptly sitting on the ground.

“Captain!” He looked up at the man anxiously hovering over him. “Please, let me help.”

“No.”

An uneasy silence settled over them briefly as the other started rummaging through his own belongings. Link caught glimpses of masks like the one his kid brother wore, but it would be easy enough for someone to make replicas. The one he ultimately pulled out though gave him pause as it was held out to him. Not to take, certainly not if it was the real thing, but for him to examine.

“Take a look at this. I promise, it’s really me.”

Link reached out cautiously, touching the red and blue markings on the blank eyed mask. It wasn’t wood that met his fingers, but a smoother material that felt closer to skin. Just like the original Fierce Deity’s mask.

“Is it really-? No. It can’t be.” Link withdrew his hand as if burned.

“What will it take to convince you? If-” They trailed off, looking pained. Then, “Please, don’t make me do this.”

“Do what?”

“The mask. If I put it on, will that be proof enough?” They were practically begging now.

“Only Mask can use that, even if it were the real thing.”

They took a deep breath, stepping back a few paces and bringing the mask to cover their face. Bracing himself, he pressed it to his face. And then screamed, the mask merging seamlessly with his face as his body and armor changed in response to the powerful magic. It took all but a few seconds, and then the Fierce Deity himself was looking down at Link where he sat on the ground.

Though Link had seen the Deity many times before, it was a new experience to meet him outside the battlefield. They reached out, then paused and withdrew their hand without touching him.

“Little Soldier. Do you believe him now, that he is who he says?”

“Kishin?” Link faltered a moment before continuing. “It really is Mask? How? He was resting at camp after the last battle.”

“It is. The young one is still where and when you left him. This one is from a different point in time, long after he left your war and grew up in his own time.” He paused, scanning blank eyes over Link’s form. “He is concerned for your health, may I tend to your injuries?”

Link warred with himself for several long moments. It really was Mask after all. He knew better than most his aversion to touch, and the reason for it, which meant the Deity knew as well. They were both safe, and though he hated to admit it he needed the help.

“Alright. Just…” He trailed off, unsure what to say.

“I understand.” And somehow Link knew he did. Guilt began to knaw at him as Kishin helped him pull the tunic and chainmail over his head. He had treated Mask poorly, when all he had wanted was to help. He was vaguely aware of Kishin speaking, then a sharp stinging in his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. Kishin paused in washing the wound, and Link belatedly realized he had told him he was going to touch him.

“It’s alright, Little Soldier.” Link forced himself to relax as the Deity resumed cleaning the wound. It was a deep cut, it would take time it to heal completely. A potion was handed over, which he drank while a bandage was wrapped around his arm and pulled snug. At last the Deity deemed his work complete, allowing Link to pull his shirt back on.

“Thank you.” The Fierce Deity simply nodded in acknowledgement, reaching his hand up to press against the marks on his cheeks.

“It had been a while since Link has used my power. Please, look after him until he recovers.” With that Kishin dug his fingers into his cheek, his magic dissipating as the mask came off in his hand. Mask swayed, roughly sitting himself on the ground next to Link.

“Mask, I’m so sorry, I should have listened-” Mask held up a hand, cutting him off.

“It’s alright, I understand.” He gave a tired smile.

“Even still, it wasn’t fair-”

“Captain.” Link shut up at the firm tone. “I said it’s alright. I know why you did that, I don’t need an apology.” Mask stifled a yawn, leaning against the tree. “I need to rest. We can talk more later, okay? I’m just happy you’re okay.”

“Alright. Later, then.” Link reclined against the tree beside his brother.

“I’m glad to see you, Link. I’ve missed you.” Mask’s voice was quiet, on the verge of sleep.

“I’m glad to see you too, brother.” Link leaned into Mask’s shoulder, allowing himself to relax. It didn’t take long before they had both dozed off, safe and secure within the other’s presence.

[thearcanecat]

Cinderella’s Castle one-shot props! I had a lot less time to put this together, but it was based on Snow White so I got an apple, a bodice with lace, and a comb. They also fought a dragon, because dragons are cool. The magic mirror was also there. The maps are based on the layout of the Hurstmonceux Castle.

Players:

Ella: Divine Soul Sorcerer Human

Tadius: Eloquence Bard Human

Lord Hop-A-Lot Oath of Ancients Paladin 4/Battle Master Fighter 12 Custom Lineage

Briar Grizzwald: Glomstalker Ranger Half Wood Elf

Crumb couldn’t make it unfortunately. :(

New rule: Every players has 1 Ragweed Token that can be used to change one dice roll. Players need to tap the wood block to activate it.

Everyone did closet cosplays! Ella had a green skirt and general fantasy look. Briar had a dagger. Hop-A-Lot had a green shirt with a chest plate and cape. Tadius had a black shirt and some red fabric over his arm. I wore part of my Narrator cosplay. It’s not finished yet I’ll post photos when it is.

Ella and Tadius are out ruling the castle. Lord Hop-A-Lot was in the Swamp waiting for his mansion to be built. The bastard brother has heard news of his sisters’ deaths and was traveling to learn more. On his way, he found the apple that the Prince had thrown, which had made it all the way to the Swamp. It was poisoned. At the castle, there was a mysterious reflection in the floor which told them about the Castle That Was which was being attacked by a dragon. Ella had a mirror and used it to speak with the reflection easier. It’s name was Amir the Mirror and it was cursed to rhyme which it really hated. Crumb stayed behind the keep everything in order (and because the dragon terrified him). To get to the Castle, first they needed to cross the Unreachable Peaks, for which they needed the help of the Six Dwarves. (Their father had mysteriously vanished many years ago) Tadius was able to convince the dwarves to help them and get better at communication. The Dwarves helped the party through the mountains and led them to the castle, which was under siege. The castle belonged to the Goblin Queen, who had failed to gather enough forces to help her. The goblins were losing badly. Tadius cast message to speak to the dragon whose name was Ebony Wood. She had been cursed by an old hag by three magic items and was turned into a dragon. Sir Hop-A-Lot was still very bloodthirsty and wanted to kill a dragon. The party tracked the castle searching for the Goblin Queen. There found her bedroom, which had a map of the Lands That Are and a list of the fiercest people in all the realm. Many of these people had been visited by an old hag who cursed them and took their power. The party found the Queen in a room, planning strategies against the dragon. As soon as she was identified, Tadius cast guiding bolt. Sir Hop-A-Lot initially failed to restrain the Queen, but used a Ragweed token to change that and captured here with the Fairy Queen’s arms. With her on the ground, the battle was easy. As they all stomped her to death, it was decided that Ella, who has glass leg prosthetics, no longer had toes. It’s just the glass slippers, nothing else. With the Queen defeated, their attention turned to the dragon. The creature had an object stuck in its throat, a comb stabbed in its head, and rope tied around its chest. Tadius 8th level dispelled magic on the rope, Ella took out the throat with scorching ray, freeing an apple. Tadius used It’s fire breathe did a lot of damage. Sir Hop-A-Lot jumped and then misty stepped to get onto the back of the dragon. Tadius dimensioned doored himself and Ella to the dragon as well. Tadius tried to remove the comb and used a Ragweed token to succeed. With all the items removed, the dragon turned back into Ebony and everyone fell to the ground. After healing everyone up, Ebony introduced herself. She was a Dragonborn with scales as black as ebony wood, eyes as red as blood and teeth as white as snow. She had been adopted by the dwarves when she was young. Without a Queen, the goblins had no where to go. Hop-A-Lot offered them to come and work for the crown. They unionized and taught him what that meant. The party brought Ebony back home, took gold and treasure to the castle, and all the workers learned about unions. Now with confidence, the masons told Sir Hop-A-Lot that building a house in the middle of a swamp does not work. So now he had a goal to create a floating mansion.

Overall I had fun! I had a day and half to write this one shot and then GMes it while jet lagged, so it was a little rough around the edges, but everything went well!

[dystopiandramaqueen]

I so identify with Nat in S3 “Thanksgiving”

(Spoilers under the cut)

She was the one who most wanted Coach to live.

They were friends. They saw eachother as equals. Real people. Nat was the only one who knew Ben was gay. The only one he felt safe enough to share that part of himself with. And he knew she wasn’t a little kid. He trusted Nat with the gun. And gave her lover condoms. Like. They looked out for eachother.

She knew coach was innocent. She knew where he was and she pretended not to. To protect him from mob mentality and the violence of Shawna’s grief.

Then - when he was found- she gave him a trial. Made sure he had a defender. Tried to keep the group from tearing him apart then and there.

The majority of the group did NOT find him guilty.

Until Shawna bullied the weak into changing their vote so she could have blood.

Every step of the way Nat tried to protect him.

Tried to reduce his suffering. Even at his own hand. “Eat.”

When Misty force fed him- and he puked it back up- Nat saw how this torture would go on for ever. And she took matters into her own hands.

That’s what it feels like to be human sometimes.

You try your best to protect people.

The mob wants blood and vengeance and suffering.

They WANTED to kill coach.

But when Nat did it - quietly, for HIS good - the group was enraged because they couldn’t USE him anymore:

-Misty couldn’t use him as a sexual object, a “boyfriend” doll- a role he never wanted.

-They couldn’t keep him alive as a good luck charm- a totem to get them home

-they couldn’t keep him alive to torment- using him to feel control or benevolence or whatever they were getting from his continued existence

But most of all? They wanted to watch. They have become the wilderness. A hungry, blood thirsty pack of death craving wildlings. They wanted to kill him and watch and get off on the power of it.

They wanted him dead, but not peacefully. Not in the dead of night. Not for HIS benefit. Not on HIS terms.

It’s sickening.

I’m proud of Nat. She did the right thing.