#like if he hesitated or made a stupid move out of fear while fleeing that was probs close to a desth sentence for him

[novaursa]

The Last Dragonslayer (The Lost Chapters)

- Summary: One last tale of the Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The conclusion of this story has been expanded by popular demand.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

Above the God's Eye

The wind howls above the God's Eye, where the skies churn with dark clouds. You can feel the heavy weight of your sword at your side, its hilt familiar in your grip, the legacy of your ancient order pulsing through the blade. Below you, the twisted expanse of Harrenhal rises, a testament to the folly of dragons and men. But your focus is not on the crumbled towers or the history beneath your feet. Your gaze locks onto the monstrous shadow circling in the distance—Vhagar. The largest, oldest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, her scales rippling like molten jade under the waning light.

Aemond Targaryen rides upon her back, his long silver hair streaming like a banner of defiance against the darkening sky. The patch over his eye gleams, a stark reminder of the hatred he harbors for you. You feel it as sharply as your own, a hatred forged in fire and blood. But there is something else beneath his fury—a fear he won’t admit, one that only you, of all people, can summon in him.

You stand tall on the back of your mount, the Banshee—a creature from the depths of the world, more beast than dragon, her long leathery wings blotting out the sun as she shrieks across the sky. It is a scream like no other, a sound that turns dragonfire cold, that sends a shiver of dread through creatures bred for conquest. Your Banshee is a nightmare made flesh, darker than the sky itself, larger than any dragon. Her glowing green eyes narrow with hunger, fangs bared in anticipation of the kill.

Aemond circles above you, tugging at Vhagar’s reins. His voice reaches you across the distance, carried on the wind like a taunt.

"Run while you still can, Y/N!" he bellows, his arrogance sharp. "You cannot hope to defeat the might of Vhagar. You will die like the rest of your kind—forgotten, a relic of Essos, your bones dust beneath dragon fire."

You say nothing in response, only urging the Banshee forward with the barest of commands. She roars, a chilling sound that cuts through the sky like a blade, and you feel the thrill of her power beneath you. A primal connection between rider and beast, honed through generations of bloodlines. Your people were not conquered by the Valyrians—they resisted, even as the Freehold rose in dominance. Dragons fell to your blades, your creatures hunted them to extinction in your homeland. The legacy lives through you, and today, it will be written in blood.

Vhagar turns, her massive wings unfurling as she prepares to attack. The ancient dragon’s roar echoes like a crack of thunder, but the Banshee is unphased. You’ve seen this dance before—dragons are always arrogant until they’re faced with something that terrifies them. Vhagar hesitates, her massive body trembling, but Aemond snarls and spurs her forward.

“Do it!” Aemond shouts. “Burn her alive!”

Vhagar releases a torrent of fire, but the Banshee dives beneath it with lethal speed, cutting through the air like a shadow. You’re already on the move, sword drawn, the ancient steel gleaming with deadly intent. The Banshee spins through the sky, her wings slashing at the air as she rises above Vhagar, letting loose another scream, one that rattles even your bones.

Vhagar falters. The sound is too much, too unnatural. She tries to retreat, her instincts urging her to flee, but Aemond yanks on her reins, refusing to give in to fear.

"Fight, you stupid beast!" Aemond’s voice is filled with desperation now, but you can see the fear in his remaining eye. He knows, even if he won’t admit it.

You push the Banshee into a dive, the wind screaming past you as you close the distance. Vhagar rears back, trying to snap at you with her massive jaws, but the Banshee is faster, more agile. She lashes out with her talons, sinking them deep into Vhagar's neck. Blood erupts from the wound, spraying the sky in a crimson mist. Vhagar roars in agony, thrashing wildly as she tries to shake the Banshee off.

Aemond’s curses are drowned out by the sound of his dragon’s suffering. He clings desperately to Vhagar’s saddle, struggling to maintain control as the Banshee rips into her flesh with relentless ferocity. Your sword flashes, and you bring it down in a deadly arc, slicing through the thick, leathery membrane of Vhagar’s wing. She howls, the injury throwing her off balance as she plummets toward the lake below.

But the Banshee is not done. She dives again, her jaws locking around Vhagar’s throat, and with a sickening crunch, she rips it open. Blood pours from the wound, a river of hot, steaming liquid that paints the sky red. Vhagar's struggles grow weaker, her mighty wings faltering as she begins to fall. But even as her life fades, the Banshee does not stop.

Her jaws clamp down on Vhagar’s still-beating heart, ripping it from the dragon’s chest. The wet, sickening sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping fill the air as the Banshee devours it whole. You watch as she tears into the liver next, blood drenching the sky as she feasts on the dying dragon.

Aemond, thrown from the saddle by Vhagar’s final thrash, scrambles to his feet on a small outcrop of rock. His once-proud visage is now twisted in disbelief, covered in the blood of his dragon. He stares at you, fury and fear mixing in his violet eye.

"You—" he starts, but he doesn’t get to finish.

With one swift motion, the Banshee turns her gaze toward him. Her glowing eyes lock onto him, and she lets out a low, rumbling growl. You don’t need to give the command. She strikes like a predator who knows her prey, her jaws snapping around Aemond’s body. His scream is brief, cut off as the Banshee crushes him with a sickening crunch. Blood spills from her mouth as she devours him, piece by piece.

It’s over in moments.

The skies are quiet now, save for the distant echo of your Banshee’s final shriek as she consumes the last of Aemond’s body. You sit atop her back, your heart steady, your breathing calm. The blood of Targaryens, of dragons, stains the air, marking the end of one more chapter in this endless cycle of fire and blood.

You lean forward, resting a hand on the Banshee’s neck as she licks her blood-soaked jaws. "Let them remember this day," you whisper. "Let them remember what happens when dragons challenge those born to slay them."

The wind carries your words across the battlefield, to the ashes of a dragon that once ruled the skies, and to the man who thought himself invincible.

The Dragon Prince and the Dragonslayer

The courtyard of Dragonstone is alive with the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore, the wind carrying the salty tang of the Narrow Sea. You stand in the center of the courtyard, sword in hand, its weight an old, familiar comfort. The sword is unlike any in Westeros—its hilt and blade adorned with intricate designs that speak of its Essosi origin. Passed down through generations of your family, it is a weapon forged not just for battle, but for the ancient art of swordplay, a style lost to time.

Luke stands before you, eyes wide and eager, his own sword gripped tightly in his hands. The boy has always had a fire in him, a determination that you recognize, but today there’s something more—a request that he’s hesitant to voice.

“Are you sure, Lucerys?” you ask, your voice calm but firm. “This isn’t something you learn overnight. It’s not like the training you’ve had.”

Luke’s jaw tightens, but there’s a spark of excitement in his violet eyes as he nods. “I’m sure, Y/N. I want to learn. I’ve seen you fight. It’s different. It’s... graceful but deadly. I want to be able to protect my family, to fight for my mother. Please, teach me.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. He’s young, still growing into himself, but there’s no mistaking the resolve in his voice. This is more than just curiosity—this is about loyalty, about becoming someone his family can depend on in times of war.

“Very well,” you say, stepping back and motioning for him to take his stance. “We’ll start with the basics. Forget what you’ve learned with the knights and their heavy blades. This style isn’t about brute force. It’s about precision, timing, and reading your opponent.”

Luke’s brow furrows as he shifts into the stance he’s been taught, but it’s rigid, his grip too tight on the hilt. You circle him, the soft clink of your sword against your thigh the only sound between you.

“Relax,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Your sword isn’t a hammer. Loosen your grip. Feel the flow of the blade, not the weight.”

Luke adjusts, trying to mimic your posture, but it’s awkward, his movements still tied to the way he’s been taught to fight. You stop in front of him, reaching out to gently correct his grip, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you guide him into position.

“Think of it like a dance,” you instruct. “You move with your sword, not against it. Watch.”

You take a step back, lifting your own sword. With a fluid movement, you swing the blade in a graceful arc, slicing through the air with precision and speed. It’s a dance, each movement flowing into the next, your feet shifting lightly on the stone floor. Luke watches, mesmerized by the ease with which you wield your sword.

“See?” you say, coming to a stop, the sword resting lightly at your side. “You let the blade guide you. Don’t fight it. Let’s try again.”

Luke nods, determination etched on his face. He takes a deep breath, mimicking your movements as best as he can, but there’s still hesitation in his swings. You step in close again, showing him how to shift his weight, how to flow through the movements instead of forcing them.

“You’ll get there,” you assure him, seeing the frustration flicker in his eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect right away. It’s about learning how to adapt, how to use your opponent’s strength against them.”

For the next hour, you guide him through the basics, correcting his stance, showing him how to strike with precision rather than power. There’s sweat on his brow, but he doesn’t complain. He listens, he watches, and slowly, you begin to see the change. His movements become less stiff, more fluid. There’s a natural grace in him that surprises even you.

"Like that?" he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes after a particularly well-executed swing.

You nod, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Better. You’re learning quickly. But remember, this isn’t just about the sword. It’s about the mind. You have to stay calm, even when the battle rages around you.”

Luke nods, his expression serious. “I’ll keep practicing. Thank you, Y/N.”

You sheath your sword and place a hand on his shoulder, giving him an approving look. “You have the heart for it, Luke. That’s what matters most. But don’t forget to take your time. Don’t rush what you’re not ready for.”

As you speak, the familiar sound of footsteps catches your attention, and you turn to see Rhaenyra approaching from the far end of the courtyard. She’s draped in black and red, her long silver hair billowing slightly in the wind. Her eyes fall on you first, and then on Luke, her expression softening as she watches the two of you together.

"Mother," Luke greets, sheathing his sword and offering her a small smile.

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before she turns to you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see you’ve been giving Lucerys lessons. Did he beg, or did you volunteer?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “He asked, and I couldn’t say no. He’s determined. He wants to protect you.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her gaze flicking between you and Luke. There’s pride in her eyes, but also a deep, unspoken worry. The war is heavy on her shoulders, and she knows what it means for her children. She steps closer to Luke, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’ve made me proud, my son,” she says softly, her voice filled with warmth.

Luke looks up at her, the boyish smile returning to his face. “I’ll keep practicing, I promise.”

Rhaenyra kisses his forehead, then turns to you as Luke takes his leave, retreating to practice on his own. The courtyard feels quieter now, the air between you charged with a different kind of energy. Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a softness there, a connection that has grown stronger with each passing day.

“You’re good with him,” she says, her voice quieter now, intimate. “He looks up to you.”

You step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her body in the cool evening air. “He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He has your spirit.”

Her eyes search yours for a moment, and then, without hesitation, she closes the distance between you, her hand coming to rest on your arm, fingers trailing lightly over your skin. There’s a softness to her touch, but also a weight—a trust that goes beyond words.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “In this war, in this chaos… you’re my constant.”

You reach up, gently brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering there, caressing the soft curve of her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your voice firm but tender. “I’ll fight for you. Always.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and then, slowly, she leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. There’s a peace in this moment, a stillness in the midst of the storm that rages beyond these walls. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the warmth of her so close.

“You are my heart,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin. “And I am yours.”

You don’t need to say anything in response. The bond between you is deeper than words, forged in fire and blood, stronger than any sword. You stay like this for a moment longer, lost in each other, before she pulls back slightly, her hand still resting against your cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks softly, a playful glint in her eye.

You smile, your fingers brushing over her hand as you nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turns, the lightness in her step a stark contrast to the heavy world that surrounds her. You watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin, knowing that no matter what battles lie ahead, no matter what enemies rise to face you—you will always stand by her side.

The Past Lives

The winds howl across the dark, jagged cliffs of Dragonstone, but you barely feel the cold. Standing at the edge of the precipice, the sky overhead is filled with swirling clouds, dark and tumultuous. Your eyes, however, are not on the present, not on the sea crashing below or the distant lights flickering from the castle behind you. No, your thoughts are far from this place, far from this time.

You have lived many lives. Far too many.

The weight of it presses down on you now, like an invisible chain that has grown heavier with every passing century. There was a time when you had felt invincible, when the bond between you and your Banshee was something you had reveled in. Immortality was not something you had feared—then, it had felt like freedom. The blood ritual that had sealed your fate had been your choice. You had chosen to bind yourself to your Banshee, chosen the power and the bond that came with it.

But time changes everything. You had no idea, back then, what it truly meant. You couldn’t have.

Your mind drifts to the ancient ruins of Valyria, now long turned to ash, but once an empire of impossible might. You were there when the Freehold ruled the skies, when dragons cast shadows over cities, and sorcerers shaped the world with fire and blood. Your people, the Dragonslayers, had been the last stand, the ones who resisted the dominion of dragons. You remember the battles fought in the sky, the screams of dragons as they fell to your blades and the primal terror they felt at the sound of a Banshee's scream. 

But your people are long gone now, consumed by the same fires that once forged them. You watched as the Doom swallowed Valyria, watched as your homeland crumbled under molten rock and fire. You fought, you survived, but the world you knew died that day. And with it, everyone you had once called kin.

Empires rose after that. You saw them all—the Free Cities, the Rhoynar, even the rise of Oldtown and the Reach. You fought in wars, watched as kings claimed thrones and lost them, as cities were built and then turned to rubble. And you never changed. The world around you shifted like the seasons, but you remained. Unaging, unyielding, bound to your Banshee, your soul entwined with hers.

At first, there had been others like you, remnants of your order who had survived the fall of Valyria. You remember them vividly, their faces, their voices, their laughter. You remember the brothers and sisters you had once fought beside, who had shared your bond. But even they could not withstand the toll of immortality. One by one, they had fallen—some to madness, some to the blade, and others to the slow decay of time. And you had been forced to watch it all.

You close your eyes, the weight of centuries pressing in on you. The names of those you loved haunt your thoughts. Faces flicker in your memory, faces of people long dead, faces you cannot forget. It is a terrible thing to love when you cannot die. To watch those you care for grow old, wither, and pass on while you remain. It is a curse as much as it is a blessing, this immortality.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you feel the presence of your Banshee nearby. Her glowing green eyes watch you from the shadows, her dark, leathery wings folded against her massive body. She is a part of you, and you of her. The bond between you runs deeper than blood, deeper than any love you have known. Yet even she cannot ease the pain of loss.

You think of the lovers you have had, the fleeting moments of happiness in an otherwise endless existence. There had been many over the centuries—strong, beautiful souls who had entered your life like flashes of light. But they were always temporary. Mortal. You had loved them fiercely, but they all left you in the end. Not by choice, but by the slow march of time. You remember holding their hands as their eyes dimmed, feeling the coldness creep into their skin as life slipped away. And you, left alone again, unchanged.

Until her.

Your thoughts drift to Rhaenyra. She is different, and yet she is the same. The moment you met her, you felt the familiar pull of love, the warmth that you had thought long gone. You had tried to resist it at first, tried to keep her at arm’s length, knowing the pain that would come. But Rhaenyra—stubborn, fierce, and full of fire—broke down your walls, just as others had before her. Now, you are bound to her, not by blood or ritual, but by something deeper.

But Rhaenyra is mortal. Like all the others. And you know, in your heart, what that means. You know how this will end.

A part of you wants to run, to leave her before the inevitable comes. You know that one day, you will have to watch her wither, to see the light leave her eyes as it has with so many others. You will have to endure the agony of her loss, just as you have with everyone else you’ve loved. The thought of it terrifies you, more than any battle, more than any dragon. 

You hear the soft rustle of footsteps behind you, and you turn slowly, already knowing who it is. Rhaenyra stands at the edge of the courtyard, her silver hair catching the faint light of the moon. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she can sense the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Y/N," she says softly, her voice gentle, yet filled with concern. "What troubles you?"

You don’t answer immediately, instead letting your eyes trace her face, memorizing every detail—the curve of her lips, the strength in her gaze. You wonder how long you will have with her before time claims her as it has claimed so many others. How long before you are left standing alone once again, the cold shadow of immortality your only companion.

Rhaenyra steps closer, her hand reaching out to rest on your arm, her touch warm and grounding. "You’ve been distant," she whispers, her brow furrowing slightly. "Please, talk to me."

For a moment, you are tempted to pull away, to retreat back into the safety of solitude. But her eyes hold you, her presence a balm against the ache in your heart. You sigh, your voice low and rough when you finally speak.

"Do you ever fear time, Rhaenyra?" you ask, your gaze distant. "Do you ever fear the years slipping away, taking everything and everyone you love with them?"

Rhaenyra frowns, tilting her head slightly. "Of course I do. Time spares no one. But that is why we must live now, in the present. Why we must cherish what we have, for however long we are given."

You look at her, your heart heavy. "But what if time spares one of us, and not the other? What if I must watch you wither and fade, as I have watched others before you?"

Rhaenyra's hand tightens around your arm, her expression softening with understanding. "You have seen more than any of us can imagine," she says quietly. "But that is not our fate. Our fate is what we make of it, here and now. You have me, Y/N. And I have you. We cannot fear the future, not when we still have each other."

Her words are a comfort, but the ache remains. You close your eyes, leaning into her touch, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of her hand against your skin, the steady beat of her heart. For now, she is here. For now, she is yours.

But in the back of your mind, the shadow of time looms, reminding you of what is to come. Always watching. Always waiting. 

And you, immortal and unchanging, will face it again.

The Rogue Prince

The sun hangs low over Dragonstone and the courtyard where you stand, gently tending to the Banshee. Her massive form is hunched, wings folded tight against her body as you move your hands over her dark leathery skin, inspecting every inch. The creature is quiet, save for the soft rumble of her breath, her green eyes glowing faintly as she watches you with an ancient understanding. There's a bond between you, one forged in blood and ritual, something deeper than words or time. A connection that goes beyond mere companionship.

But that connection, that understanding, is not one shared by anyone else. Especially not by those who feel the primal fear that the Banshee's presence invokes. She is a thing of nightmares, a creature bred to strike terror in the hearts of dragons and men alike.

You hear the soft crunch of boots on the stone behind you and know, without turning, who it is. Daemon Targaryen, always light on his feet, his presence unmistakable even when silent. He has an aura about him, a sense of command that fills any space he occupies. Still, you sense a hint of hesitation in his steps as he approaches the Banshee, something unusual for the Rogue Prince.

“You must have lost your nerve, Daemon,” you call over your shoulder, the faintest hint of amusement in your voice. “I never took you for a man who hesitated.”

Daemon’s voice, rich and low, carries a mocking edge as he replies, “I don’t hesitate, Y/N. I’m simply weighing whether or not I want to be torn apart by your little friend here.”

You laugh quietly, running a hand along the Banshee’s side, feeling the strength of her muscles under her skin. “She wouldn’t tear you apart—at least not if I told her not to.”

Daemon steps closer, his eyes fixed on the creature before him. Even for a man who rides Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, there’s a certain respect—or perhaps a deep-seated fear—in the way he regards the Banshee. Caraxes is terrifying, yes, but the Banshee is something different. Something older. Something darker.

“She looks like she crawled out of the Seven Hells,” he mutters, folding his arms as he studies the beast. “Is there any part of her that doesn’t scream death?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “She’s not so bad once you get used to her. A bit like you, I imagine.”

Daemon chuckles, moving even closer. He stops just a few paces away, the distance between him and the Banshee still deliberate. Her green eyes flicker toward him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest, but she doesn’t move. You can sense her wariness, her innate mistrust of anyone but you, but there’s no aggression in her stance. Not yet, at least.

Daemon’s eyes shift from the Banshee to you, his expression turning playful. “Does that thing even have a name? Or do you just call her ‘Beast’?”

You roll your eyes, returning to your task of checking the Banshee’s wings. “She has a name. But you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Not with that Valyrian tongue of yours,” you tease, glancing up at him. “It’s an old name, from my people’s language. Far older than any of your words.”

Daemon watches you for a moment, clearly intrigued. “Humor me. Let me hear it.”

You pause, running your hand along the edge of the Banshee’s massive wing. It’s a name that few have heard, fewer still have spoken aloud. A name passed down from generations of Dragonslayers, from a time when the world was different, when your people stood against the might of Valyria itself. You hesitate, knowing how the sound of it might unsettle even the most fearless of men. But then, Daemon is not most men.

You murmur the name softly, almost under your breath. It rolls off your tongue like a whisper of the wind, ancient and guttural, a sound not meant for human ears.

Daemon’s expression shifts as he hears it, his usual bravado tempered by something quieter, more thoughtful. “I see what you mean,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “I doubt I could manage that without a few drinks.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I told you. But she knows it, and that’s what matters.”

Daemon’s gaze drifts back to the Banshee, the massive creature still watching him with glowing eyes. He inches closer, almost imperceptibly, as if testing his own courage. He reaches a hand out, hovering just shy of the creature’s leathery skin, as if waiting for some signal from you—or perhaps from her—that it’s safe.

“She’s not like a dragon, is she?” he asks quietly, his voice no longer teasing.

You shake your head. “No. She’s older than dragons. The Banshee is a predator, made to hunt them. Her instincts are sharper, more calculating. But she’s loyal, in her way.”

Daemon lowers his hand slightly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the Banshee’s wing. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move, accepting his touch with a kind of reluctant tolerance. You watch him carefully, knowing that this moment is not just about him facing the creature—it’s about him conquering the fear she inspires. And for a man like Daemon, fear is not something he allows himself often.

“You know,” Daemon says, his tone lighter again, “I’ve always thought dragons were the pinnacle of terror. Now, I’m starting to think there’s something worse.”

You smirk, folding your arms as you lean against the Banshee’s side. “Oh, trust me, Daemon, there are worse things in this world than dragons. Much worse.”

He glances at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Like you?”

You tilt your head, your eyes meeting his. “Perhaps.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Daemon is many things—arrogant, reckless, fierce—but he is also perceptive. He knows of your relationship with Rhaenyra, has seen the bond you share, and yet he does not object. Perhaps he respects the connection, perhaps he knows that you and Rhaenyra are tied by something deeper than even he could touch. Or perhaps it is simply that he, like you, understands the burden of being more than what the world expects.

“You’re a hard one to figure out,” Daemon says, stepping back from the Banshee and folding his arms again. “But I suppose that’s why Rhaenyra loves you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “And you’re not?”

Daemon laughs, the sound rich and genuine, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I’m an open book, Y/N. But you—you’re something else entirely.”

You shrug, turning back to the Banshee. “Maybe. Or maybe you just haven’t figured out how to read me yet.”

Daemon grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Give me time.”

As he walks away, leaving you alone with your Banshee once more, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Daemon Targaryen may be many things, but fearful is not one of them. And perhaps, in some strange way, he understands you more than anyone else—because like you, he walks the line between power and fear, life and death.

And though the Banshee watches him with her glowing eyes, she too understands.

The Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was silent, save for the soft crackle of the torches lining the walls. The Iron Throne loomed before the gathered court, its jagged edges a testament to the power it represented. And seated upon it, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen—first of her name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She had worn the crown for years now, her reign hard-fought and blood-soaked. The weight of it showed in the lines that etched her once-youthful face, in the silver hair that had begun to streak with gray. But there was a strength in her still, the fierce fire of a Targaryen queen who had battled for her birthright.

Today, however, her thoughts were elsewhere. Far beyond the hall, beyond King’s Landing, beyond even the lands she ruled. They were with a memory—one that had haunted her for years. A memory of you.

The court was in session, lords and ladies arrayed before her, but she barely heard their voices. Her mind was with the last time she saw you, so many years ago now. You had saved her children, stopped the ships of the Free Cities at the Gullet, and then... vanished. You had promised to return, yet the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and still, you had not come back. Rhaenyra had waited, even when reason told her that you were lost. And still, somewhere deep inside, she had never stopped waiting. But now, so many years later, even the hope had begun to fade.

Until today.

“Your Grace,” a guard interrupted her thoughts, stepping forward with a slight bow. “There is a visitor at the gates. They claim to be a close friend of the Queen, though they come from distant lands.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, her gaze sharpening as she regarded the guard. “A close friend? Who?”

“They would not give a name, Your Grace,” the guard replied. “But they were insistent. Said you would know them.”

Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she felt the familiar pull of hope, a sensation she had long buried beneath the weight of her duties and losses. She composed herself quickly, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened.

“Bring them in,” she commanded, her tone betraying none of the sudden storm inside her.

The court murmured softly, curious at this unexpected arrival, but Rhaenyra paid them no mind. She sat taller on the Iron Throne, her hands gripping the arms of the seat, her breath catching in her chest. Could it be? After all these years?

The great doors swung open, and the guards entered, flanking a figure draped in the travel-worn garb of distant lands. Your steps were measured, slow, as you crossed the hall. The torches flickered as you passed, casting shadows on your face, but Rhaenyra’s eyes never wavered. She knew you. She had never forgotten.

It was you.

You looked exactly as you had the day you left her—unchanged, untouched by time, your features sharp and ageless. Your eyes, those eyes she had known so well, gleamed with the same strength and wisdom that had captivated her so long ago. Your movements were graceful, as they had always been, as if the weight of the world did not cling to you as it did to everyone else.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat as her world tilted, the very axis of her reality shifting with your presence. Her mind struggled to grasp what her heart already knew—that you had come back. You hadn’t aged a day, while she had grown older, while years of ruling, of loss, had worn her down. And yet, here you were, as if time itself had no claim over you.

You stopped before the Iron Throne, your gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, the years fell away. You bowed your head slightly in respect, but there was a knowing smile on your lips, a look that spoke of secrets shared, of a bond that had never truly been severed.

“Your Grace,” you said, your voice like a familiar song, one Rhaenyra hadn’t realized she had been longing to hear. “It has been a long time.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened around the arms of the throne, her heart racing as she fought to find words. “You...” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, disbelief and something more—something raw and painful—tangling in her throat. “You’ve come back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” you said softly, your eyes never leaving hers. “I always keep my promises, Rhaenyra.”

At the sound of her name on your lips, something inside her broke. She rose from the Iron Throne, descending the steps slowly, her eyes locked on yours as if afraid that if she looked away, you might vanish again. The courtiers, the guards—none of them mattered. In this moment, it was just you and her, and the years that had stretched between you dissolved like mist.

When she reached you, she hesitated for a brief second before raising a hand to your cheek, her touch tentative, as though testing if you were real. The warmth of your skin, unchanged, made her heart ache with a mixture of relief and pain. She had waited so long.

“You haven’t aged,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with awe. “Not a day. How...?”

“I told you, Rhaenyra,” you replied, gently taking her hand in yours. “The bond with the Banshee—it comes with a price. Time doesn’t touch me the way it does others.”

Her eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too tangled to name. “And yet... you left. You didn’t return.”

“I had to protect your children,” you said softly, regret flickering in your voice. “And then, I couldn’t come back. There were things I needed to see, places I needed to go. I didn’t want to drag you into the curse of my immortality.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched as she heard the pain in your words. She had lost so much—friends, lovers, even family. But you... You had been her constant, her anchor in the storm. And now, here you were, offering her a path she had never imagined.

Your fingers gently entwined with hers, your grip steady and warm. “Come with me,” you whispered, your voice filled with the weight of centuries, with the promise of something beyond the world she knew. “I’ve seen worlds beyond this one, Rhaenyra. Places that would take your breath away. Let me show you.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze dropped to where your hands met, and for a long moment, she was silent. She thought of the realm she ruled, the Iron Throne that had been her father’s, her birthright. The crown that weighed so heavily upon her head. But then she thought of the years that stretched ahead—of the loneliness, the losses yet to come. Of the children who had grown, who no longer needed her in the same way.

Slowly, deliberately, Rhaenyra reached up and removed the crown from her head. It felt heavier than it ever had before. Without a word, she dropped it at the base of the Iron Throne, the clatter of metal against stone echoing in the silent hall.

She turned back to you, her lips curving into a smile that was filled with a rare lightness, a freedom she hadn’t felt in years. “I’m ready.”

Without hesitation, you took her hand, your grip firm as you led her away from the throne, away from the court, away from the world that had bound her for so long.

And that was the last time anyone ever saw the Dragonslayer or the Dragon Queen. The court whispered of their disappearance, of how the crown was left behind, a symbol of the queen who chose love and freedom over the weight of a kingdom. Some said they went east, to lands beyond Essos, to realms where dragons and gods walked side by side. Others said they were never seen again because they left this world entirely, into places where neither time nor death held sway.

But in every corner of Westeros, in every whispered legend, one thing remained clear—Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had found her heart once more. And she had followed it beyond the edge of the world.

[intern-seraph]

hush my darling, don't fear my darling

After an incident in Alchemy, you flee to the Botanical Gardens to have a breakdown in private. Of course, things don't go quite as you expected — but that's not always a bad thing.

i started this fic when i was in a pretty shit place emotionally+self-esteem-wise. finished it in a similar state. so this is literally just leoyuu hurt/comfort bc i needed another clinically depressed person 2 cuddle me. intended as romantic, but can easily be read as platonic as well :) read beneath the cut!

Originally posted on Ao3

CWs: some gross medical metaphors, low self-esteem, nameless nrc students being nrc students (rude assholes)

You hate it when you get like this. After 5 overblots, you should be tougher. Tougher than this, tougher than breaking down over some stupid comment from an asshole classmate. But, well, you can’t really stop the tears once they start, so all you want to do right now is find an isolated place to hide and cry it out. Showing weakness in front of your classmates is a no-go. You’ve only recently managed to earn the rest of the school’s respect. That would put you back at square one.

“Why did the Headmage let a useless, magicless klutz like you in?”

It’s not even the meanest thing you’ve been called in your time here in Twisted Wonderland. But something about the venom in your classmate’s words as you sat sprawled out in a sea of broken glass just made you crack. You let Professor Crewel chew out the boy after helping you up and checking you for any injuries and fled the room. Ace and Deuce and Grim didn’t have any chance to follow you.

He ran into you! It wasn’t even your fault! You scold yourself again for taking his insult so personally, but that only brings you closer to the brink of tears. Angrily, you mash the heel of your palm into your eyes to get rid of the tears threatening to finally slip free. With your free hand, you reach out and open the door to the botanical garden. There’s nobody here at this time of day, not unless Professor Crewel needs someone to grab ingredients.

Well, nobody save for one person. But Leona is probably outside napping in a patch of sunlight (like the big kitty cat he is); at least, you hope he is. You don’t want him to see you like this. You don’t want him to see how pathetic you really are.

You duck under a mass of large, broad leaves. Your breath lodges in your chest, a hard lump of hurt that oozes out of you in quick bursts like fluid from a lanced cyst. Nobody’s here. You can cry now. The sobs you’ve been holding back make your body shake. Sharp, painful gulps of breath punctuate the thrum of your pulse in your ears. Clutching your uniform blouse, you fold in on yourself.

“... Hey, Herbivore.”

It sounds like you’re underwater. You move with the same sluggishness as you look up to meet Leona’s eyes. His face appears in blurry smears, though his frown manages to pierce through your tears.

“Oi. Hey. Quit crying,” he mutters, reaching out one hesitant hand while the other runs through his hair. “Look at me. Breathe.”

All you can do is wail even louder. He winces. Then, he seems to toss aside his reservations and touches your shoulder. In one sharp, jerky motion, you lurch into his arms. Leona hisses, but catches you nonetheless. Your trembling hands clutch at his vest as you cry into his chest.

“H-hey, whoa.” His hands fumble for only a moment before he wraps his arms around you more firmly. He pats your head with a distinct discomfort. “You’re getting snot all over me,” he says without malice. In one smooth motion, he scoops you up and cradles you like you’re made of porcelain. You let him carry you over to the shade of one of the larger plants and seat you on his lap. His touch grows more confident as he rubs your back and rocks you from side to side. “Breathe for me, Herbivore. Nice ‘n slow. I’ll do it with you, even. In… and out.”

You hiccup, but manage to mimic his slow, deep breaths. He scratches your scalp as a reward, the gentle scrape of his blunt nails helping to ground you.

“That’s better, yeah?” Without looking up, you nod. A slow sigh hisses through his teeth. “I hate seein’ you cry like that.”

“Sorry,” you mumble into his clothes.

“‘S not your fault. What the hell happened to make you cry like that?” He keeps scratching. You melt, sniffling but no longer sobbing. It takes a moment to put your thoughts together.

“It’s stupid.”

“So?”

“I-It’s really, really stupid. You’ll laugh.”

“Try me.”

You hesitate. With a slow, halting breath, you say, “There was an accident in Alchemy. One of my classmates yelled at me.” You don’t let him respond before you continue, “See? I told you it’s stupid.”

“An accident? Are you hurt?” Leona pushes you back so he can look you over. You bat at his hands and chest in protest.

“I’m not hurt! I swear! The only thing hurt is my pride…” You try to laugh, but it comes out as more of a croak. He scowls at you. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“You —” he yanks you into his chest, hand curling around the back of your head and keeping you firmly in place “— are such a pain in the ass. How about you let someone else worry about you for once in your life?”

“Didn’t think you cared.”

He scoffs. “Idiot,” he mutters as he squeezes you. “You’re part of my pride. ‘Course I care.” A gentle rumble builds in his chest as he flops onto his back, bringing you with him. He buries his face in your hair, ignoring the way you squirm. “Quit moving.”

“Leona, I’m fine now!”

“So?” He rolls you both onto your sides. Peering over his shoulder, you can see his tail flick with contentment. “You interrupted my nap, so I’m keeping you until I’m done with this one. ‘Sides, aren’t you all tuckered out from all that crying?”

That kills any argument. Because you are tired. Exhausted, even. After all, you ran all the way here from the alchemy lab, and you cried so hard…

With a sigh, you relent and wriggle closer. You don’t miss his quiet, triumphant chuckle, nor the subtle press of his lips to your scalp. “Fine,” you mumble, “but only for an hour or two.”

“Sure, Herbivore.”

Several hours later, you wake up drenched in dew, but warm and safe in the arms of a slumbering lion.

[wilsons-journey]

Uncomfortable Truths

“Corr? What is going on?”, Kying turned to his beat up friend. Confused. He spoke about an emergency - an assault. But in this place was no trace of something like this. Then Kying noticed something else,... this was the place he always met up with Val. In the past at least,...

“Exactly Corr. Tell him. What is going on”, was suddenly heard from the shadows. Valefor emerged shortly after. And as Corr backed away in fright. Kying took a step forward in irritation.

--- A few moments before

Within moments, Corr's Companion fell lifeless to the ground. They didn't stood a chance against the stranger, that came suddenly out of nowhere. Corr backed away. In his Claws holding a little Knife to protect his life. But he knew, that won’t save him. With a swift move his blade was took away, before he found himself on the ground. It was now his own Weapon, that was hold at his throat. He could feel the blade slowly cutting into his flesh.

“Interested in speaking, in exchange for your life?”. It was an offer Corr was more then willing to take. Without hesitation he started babbling, only to save his own skin.

Coward, promptly went through Valefors head. The contempt for this man grew with every second. Not only that he betrayed Kying and spoke disparagingly about him. He was a spineless rat, too.

“Well, thanks for the information,...”.  Corr gave the red furred Charr a scared smile, before he was attempting to leave. Only to find that he was still being held.

“Can,... I go?”, he stammed. A wicked, wide grin spread across the others face. “You said-”.

Valefor immediately interrupted the Charr. “I know what i said.”, he growled and leaned a little forward. “But there's one small thing, I need you to do for me.” Val’s grip tightened momentarily. Contempt boiled inside him.  He would’ve love to get rid of him right here and now. But it had to wait.

“Bring me Kying.”. Again, there was no hesitation from Corrs side. He nodded eagerly. Valefor frowned, but he kept his anger together. “And don't even think about telling anyone about this. I'll keep an eye on you.”, with that Valefor let go of Corr - with one last instruction. Valefor gave Corr a very designation place, where he should bring Kying. With that the Charr frantically stumbled away. At his heels was Valefor, keeping an eye on him from the shadows - making sure he won’t do something stupid.

Luckily for Valefor, the threat has worked.  Corr obediently complied with his request, without telling anyone. He even made sure, no one saw him and his ugly beat up face.

Nobody, but Kying. With him, he showed up at the agreed place.

---

“What is is?!”, asked Kying tensely.

Valefor ignored the Warrior. Instead, his eyes were on Corr. "Don't ask me. Ask him.".

Now Kying eyes also focused on Corr. The eyes of the supposed friends met and with that it slowly was dawning on Kying.

"What do I have to do with that now? Leave me alone!", Corr scolded, stepping back slowly.

“Corr,... what is the meaning of that?”, Kying intervened. Corr turned silent. His gaze shifted back and forward. With every second that passed without an answer, Kying seemed to break. His gaze filled with sadness, disappointment... pain,...

“Can,... Can I go now? You’ve got what you wanted from me!”.

It didn’t made sense to Kying, yet a bitter fear seemed to be confirmed. It explained the gnawing feeling he had with Corr in the past days. Something was off and now he seemed to know why - Valefor played a fucked up game with him and Corr. But the question was why? His head went spinning,... Confused Kying lashed out at Valefor in anger. He seemed to notice what was going through Kying's mind. Instead of saying anything, Valefor answered Kyings angry glare with a steady gaze, before running towards Corr and ignoring the Warrior once more.

Kying was now boiling with anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you!? You're a sick!" he scolded, while he watched Valefor catch Corr, that was about to flee. He was captured with ease and found his throat resting on a blade again. "Try to escape again and I'll make you bleed like a pig." A warning aimed solely at Corr. A cold whisper in his ear. Then he was pushed back in Kying's direction.

"It hurts me that you think that of me... but I'll ignore it for now." reploed Valefor to Kyings angry face. And it wasn't a lie, it really hurt him. At the same time, he couldn't blame the warrior. The whole situation was fucked up. Valefor felt deeply sorry for the other. Something similar happened to him, too. It ended with a knife in his chest,... A memory and a scar, that has never left him.

“Now, tell him what you told your friends so eagerly before.”. Valefor crossed his arms and waited for Corr to talk. Kying on the other hand, grew more and more confused.  And even though Corr came forward with the situation bit by bit, it was as if the words missed Kying. He was shocked and visibly overwhelmed by the situation. It was only when Corr suddenly fell lifeless to the ground, that Kying was torn out of the trance.

“Did you really have to?”, Kying muttered angrily. It was less about Corr, but more about everything else.

"Did you have to destroy that for me, too?" The words almost became a wail. 

“Acting like the biggest asshole. Saying we're nothing more than strangers and now posing as a savior and friend. Just fuck off,... what a fucking joke is that...”, followed bitter.

Why does every relationship has to end in a mess for him? But in the end, it seemed to be his fault again. He knew something was off,... yet he craved for something good so badly, he closed his eyes to all the red flags. But being betrayed like this, was a new low for Kying.

“Better you know it now, than later,... when you get to close.” Valefor looked at Kying with a firm expression. It was not clear, what was going on in his head. But this lack of emotion drove Kying mad.

"What do you know?! … just,... just fuck off,...”, he spat.

Better than you think, Valefor thought to himself, but he didn't dare speak. So he turned to the lifeless body of Corr and picked him up.

"I'm sorry that it had to happen like this.". He looked back one last time, then he disappeared into the shadows as so often.

Without looking back Kying also left the place. His thoughts as heavy as his heart. He felt lost,... betrayed,... empty.

- To be continued.

--- Follow up of:

RIP Corr, your were a spineless waste of space. A pretty waste of space. I really liked your hair. Still I feel a little sorry for him in the last panel. He looks so beat up. But,... he deserved it. He was actually a piece of shit <:T

But Corr's death will have consequences. Maybe not right away, but later.

[subjectnr8]

SoapxGhost pt3

"Warmin' yer hands"

There’s an odd feeling of numbness. It’s spreading with a hot touch, from his aching head to his frozen feet. With a groan Ghost sits up in his bed. His head immediately started throbbing. “Faking hell-” His sheets felt wet, he must’ve started sweating during his sleep.

Ghost reached out to the glass of water that always stood on his bedside table. With every sip he got painfully aware of the scratching that had nestled in his throat. Good Gods, what did he do to deserve this? The heat from before started to come back, now spreading in his face, making his eyes watery.

It would take Ghost some more convincing later to finally accept that he is sick, but his symptoms are clear. Headache, sweat, shivers, the heat in his body, the aching muscles. He had a flu. Great, bloody amazing.

Nevertheless, Ghost took in his surroundings and searched for something ,somebody, that could help him with all the pain he was feeling. Painkillers, tea that magically would appear, a warm blanket, Johnny with his fancy flask. But nothing. Ghost’s room was empty and lonely. On most days Ghost appreciated having a room for himself, but now with a raging sickness inside him, he would accept somebodies help without hesitation.

The ache in his head was killing him, so he just snuggled back into his bed and buried his face in his pillows. He shivered. With sheets wet from sweat they were clinging to his aching limps like a second layer of skin. Ghost would have to change them, make himself tea and getting meds for every single complain he had. But he couldn’t. He felt exhausted, just sitting up right now felt like the most intense workout session.

7 am. Training had started half an hour ago. They would miss him, they would look for him. He was sure. Not many in the taskforce had the guts to step into Ghost’s room, let alone remind Ghost that he was late for training. But people like Soap and Gaz, they would burst through the door any second. They would tell him off, making stupid jokes as always. But they would take care of him.

Teary eyes focused on the door. It was hard to rely on others, especially for Ghost. But in order to perform well in the taskforce Price had made it a necessity for Ghost to have at least 3 people he would let close to him. Close as in “I sit next to them during lunch” and “I don’t groan loudly when I am partnered up with them”.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. With a desperate try to flee from all his aching Ghost had fallen asleep again. It was an uneasy sleep, with way too many thoughts running laps in his head. His shivering body was losing liquid and warmth left and right and Ghost could just helplessly lie there and pray for his mates to come find him.

Coughing hurts. While trying to sooth the endless scratching of his throat, Ghost had fallen into several coughing fits. Each cough sending another wave of pain through his body. He felt like whining, like whimpering. Complaining, crying, swearing, God damn why? Why him? It reminded him of a few nights ago. Where he was tempted to dumb all his emotions out on Soap.

He whined, hiding his face under the sweaty blanket. Johnny. Fuck, Johnny what is taking you so long?

There has been a soft knock. Or not, Ghost could be hallucinating by now. The heat in his body made him dizzy, he felt like puking. Another knock, firmer than before. Ghost didn’t answer, didn’t move. In fear of puking or passing out, or was it the sheer exhaustion that took over him? Either way, he stayed hidden under the blanket.

A firm hand grabbed him by his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Simon?” Oh, John. Not the John he was so frustrated about, but he now was in good hands. And that’s all his mushy brain could care about.

Sorry I missed out on training. Apologies sir, I’ll be out in a second. I overslept, Captain.

“Price…” Ghost sniffled, fever making his eyes seem glassy. He wiggled his head out from underneath the blanket so it now only covered his lower half of his burning face. “I-.” With the sight of his Captain he instinctively searched for an excuse. Something that would assure Price that he was fine. That he was sorry.

Price on the other hand didn’t hesitate as he reached for Simon’s forehead, a deep frown forming on his bearded face at the touch of burning, sweating skin. A sigh left the older man as he sat down on Simon’s bed. Ghost gave up on trying to find an excuse, his eyes silently following Price. “I knew something was up with you, but I didn’t expect a full blown flu, Simon.”

The soft usage of his name made Ghost relax. He despised his name, yet hearing it whilst feeling like dying indeed felt… good. Price provided some warmth while going through the typical symptoms of a flu. Ghost only nodded his head, groaning in affirmation every time a symptom applied to him. For a second time Price reached for Ghost’s forehead, letting his hand linger a little longer.

“I’ll be back in 30, I need to do a checkup on my boys out there, but I’ll send a nurse in to do a check up on you. Until, keep on fighting, son.” Price rose from bed and put Ghost’s balaclava down on the bedside table. Ghost hadn’t been wearing his beloved masked and had not noticed at all. With a groan he turned over again to try and find some more sleep. Having Price here was oddly comforting, yet, when wasn’t it? Price spread this weird feeling of comfort and safety, similar to the warmth Soap always emitted. But with Price it was more… fatherly.

you can find pt4 here >:)

[gog-urt]

thinking about how the only way we ever see neil being shown love pre-foxes is his mother keeping him alive and safe. she died while trying to protect him and i think that shows a lot in his actions. he repeatedly throws himself into the line of fire for the people he cares about because that is love for him before the foxes teach him there is more to it ):

[wearywinchester]

Found

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When the outcome of a hunt is less than ideal, Dean’s there to make it better.

Requested by Anonymous: “Would you be able to write a Dean x reader fic in which they get separated during a hunt and he finds her stabbed and bleeding in the basement?? Maybe she's passed out??”

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff

You were quiet as you walked along the dirt path, dampened from the earlier drizzle. Dean’s hand was heavy in yours as he held it tightly, tugging you closer to his side the moment he’d felt you’d strayed too far away or walked too far behind. His mood was evident, clear in the way his jaw stayed locked in its tension and clearer in the way his cheeks were flushed a pale tinge of pink. He was angry, he was worried, he was scared.

He may have felt better now that you were with him again, that you were standing on your own two feet, but that fear still lingered there in waves each time he thought about what could have happened.

He knows he shouldn’t think like that, he knows it’s not good for him to dwell on things that could have happened instead of keeping his attention on what really did. Because you were here and you were alive and that was all he needed but still, that thought stuck stubbornly in his head and plastered itself in the forefront of his mind, having his stomach a mess of knots that wouldn’t let him forget it.

Your shoulder ached, numbing and throbbing partially from the torn fabric Dean had tied tightly around it to stop it from bleeding anymore than it already had. At least until he could handle it properly.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, quiet and soft as he casts his gaze down at you.

You simply nod as you set your eyes on the ground, on your boots and his as you walk along towards the car. You can hear the underlying anger in his voice no matter how soft, anger that isn’t entirely directed at you but it was very much there and you heard it, heard the vulnerability mixed in there too.

He just hums, tugging you a bit closer to his side once more when the path narrows some, hand warm and calloused around yours. You feel the press of his lips on the top of your head as you walk, something that would never go unnoticed and something he’d always do no matter how upset he may have been with you.

He was upset and rightfully so.

In your life as a hunter, there were a lot of uncertainties in everything, and there was never a hunt you’d been on where everything went as expected. Never a hunt where something hadn’t gone wrong no matter how big or small it’d been. There was always something in every hunt that reminded you to keep your guard up, that reminded you to expect a change in plans and to prepare yourself for the very worst.

But even with that being said, you can’t be perfect every time, no matter how prepared you are.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to get separated, even on the easiest of hunts. But it was always something that bothered Dean, always something that had him nearly pushed over the edge each and every time it did happen. Because every time you get split up it makes him less happy with the idea of you hunting in the first place. It only adds to his incessant worry simmering in his stomach over the fact that he knows you won’t ever quit, not for a long while.

The mere thought of what could happen to you every time the three of you get in that Impala for a new case is something that makes his stomach twist into knots and churn. It doesn’t matter if it happened every time or just once in a blue moon, regardless of that it happens way more often than he’d like it too.

And it happened again.

You’d gotten separated back there, and the cause wasn’t lost on you. You were hunting a rogue pack of werewolves, there were just two of them left after the other had been snagged by another hunter. You’d heard one of them in the near vicinity, something Sam or Dean didn’t take notice to. Maybe it was a trap, surely it was—it wouldn’t be the first time you’d been outsmarted by a monster but you always came out on top in the end.

Regardless, you found yourself taking off in the direction of the noise, never having been one to do anything but throw caution to the wind. When you thought back on it now that you were in your current predicament, it wasn’t your smartest decision, not even close because it turns out it very much was a trap, one put together by a more than frightened werewolf.

They must not have been turned for very long, he couldn’t have been. You could tell by the way he acted, on edge as something akin to fear danced across his expression. You could see the way his nerves had wrapped around every move he made, and you could see his hesitancy before fleeing and giving in to the temptations one would have as a werewolf.

But you’d been alone, alone in a basement with a werewolf plenty stronger than you and your blade. You didn’t even try and compare your strength, knew it was comical to even think you had a fair chance. You gave it your all and put up a good fight, but you found yourself stuck in a vulnerable position when he’d knocked the knife right out of your hand.

He could see the fear flicker in your eyes just as much as you could see the very same in his, but you didn’t let that stop you in that moment. Not as you gave it another shot. In your own stupidity you took another shot.

He may have been riddled with nerves but his adrenaline seemed to outshine that by a million miles, taking the knife gripped tightly in his hand and taking a swing at you in his own self defense. Your yelp was unmistakable when the blade pierced your skin, sharp and unforgiving as it jammed into your shoulder without pause. Your agony was unmistakable as he looked in your eyes, panic sinking in the golden yellow of his own as he yanked it back out.

His panic was clear as day as he’d looked between you and the bloodied knife in his hand, chest heaving as that adrenaline continued to pulse through him. You could see that fear, the fear of the two angry hunters who’d surely come to look for you without an ounce of doubt. One especially furious hunter who’d take him out without a beat of hesitation.

He looked at you, at your widened eyes and startled expression before he dropped that blade with a seemingly deafening clatter, watching your face scrunch and contort in pain for a moment longer before he ran off in a hurried escape, leaving you alone.

You were left to fend for yourself in that basement should he choose to come back, left to double over in pain and sink to sit on the concrete floor. The injury wasn’t severe, it could have been far worse and you knew that. But the pain was still much more unbearable than you’d hoped for and that was what had stolen your attention. That and the sight of the blood on your palm when you pulled it away from your shoulder was enough to have nausea simmering and bubbling in your stomach.

You knew it wasn’t good when you felt yourself breakout into a sweat, your ears ringing. It was all there, all telling that you were about to pass out until you’d gone and done it.

That’s how Dean found you, slumped against the wall by yourself as a more than noticeable stain sat against your shoulder.

Now here you were, back with a less than thrilled Dean Winchester and Sam who’d kept quiet despite how relieved he was that you were okay.

The only sound was the occasional clear of a throat and the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves under tired and stomping footfalls. You noticed the way Dean glanced down at you every so often with all the concern in the world in his eyes, and you noticed the dimples by the corners of his mouth as he pursed his lips.

Despite that, you still felt the brush of his thumb across your knuckles as your fingers curled around the back of his hand. It was a tender action, one that comforted you more than you’d admit.

He opened the door for you as you got to the car, wanting you to sit up front with him this time. After that, he found that even having you in the backseat was farther than he’d like you to be even if there was no longer a threat for you to be separated any more.

It was quiet the whole way back to the motel—no classic rock on the radio, no nothing. The tension wasn’t quite as bad as you��d expected, not really. But it was quiet save for the rumble of the engine and the tapping of Dean’s thumbs on the wheel. The occasional clear of Sam’s throat and the grumble falling from Dean’s lips when someone cut him off.

He snagged your bag from you before you could carry it yourself, slinging it over his shoulder as he helped you out. The two of you went off into your room as Sam disappeared into his with a mumble of a good night, locking the doors behind you.

The first thing you did was kick off your boots as Dean shrugged off his jacket, lips pursed once more for a brief moment.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, a sigh leaving your lips and a look tossed his way as you wander to the motel bathroom.

The lighting was less than flattering as you turned on the light, Dean coming in behind you after having snagged his first aid kit from his duffel. He set it down in favor of bringing his hands up to the dirtied fabric tied around your shoulder, loosening the knot he’d tied before unraveling it completely.

That pressure had fallen away now that it was gone, that pressure that relieved some of the pain and now it started to seep back in as you scrunch your nose. The look on his face was less than pleased as he looked at your exposed shoulder, blood smeared on your skin and half dried.

You saw his frown and you saw the crease between his brows deepen, saw the anger simmering as he bit the inside of his lip.

“He’s lucky Sam found him first,” he mumbled, angry as he flipped open the lid to the kit.

He was careful as he wiped away the dirt and blood, pausing whenever you winced and lightening his touch every time.

“I’ve had worse,” you say softly, an attempt to make him feel better though it only made it worse.

“You were stabbed, Y/n,” he says, irritation in his words as he puffs a huff through his nose, nostrils flared. “You’re bleeding and it could have been a hell of a lot worse.”

“Well, it’s not,” you say, and your nonchalance has him less than pleased as he grabs a half used roll of gauze to wrap around your shoulder.

“Y/n, you passed out from the freakin’ thing and you still look like you might do it again. So stop acting like it wasn’t a big deal ‘cause it damn sure is to me,” he says, voice raising a fraction as his cheeks tinge pink once more his movements with your shoulder still ever so gentle despite it.

“I passed out because I saw the blood, Dean,” you try to reason, tone on the cusp of annoyance as you feed off of his anger.

He shakes his head as he looks away, his hand dragging down his face and over his mouth, lingering there for just a few moments. He clears his throat as his tongue swipes over his lips, jaw tensing when you brush past him out of the small bathroom and into the main area.

His gaze followed after you as you rifled through your bag in favor of more comfortable clothes, changing out of your jeans. You winced uncomfortably at the raise of your arm, immediately regretting it as a yelp leaves your lips.

He’s quick to stand at your side as he helps you take your dirtied shirt off, digging around in his bag and snagging a t-shirt of his. He always brings extra, he knows you like them far more than your own pajamas, knows they bring you a little more comfort.

“Could have asked for help, you know,” he says, brows still furrowed as he helps you put it on in a way that is far less painful than your stubborn actions.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, two words he knows is a lie and it has him huffing as you disappear into the bathroom.

You see the scrape across your cheek when you look in the mirror, can see just how tired you looked and you could see just how much it took out of you. You still felt faint, still looked like you could go for a round two with passing out. There was no hiding that, no way around it no matter how many times you told him you were fine. They were just words to him in moments like this, words he took with a grain of salt and rarely ever believed to be true when you spoke them.

Not when this kind of thing happens.

You sigh as you grab a washcloth, turning on the faucet and dampening it under the tap. You brush it along your cheek, wiping it clean of the dirt and debris before dragging the cold fabric across the rest of your face. It made your cheek look a little better, a little less scraped but it was still there, no matter how faint it’d been.

You draped it over the counter and switched off the light with a sigh, stepping back into the room. Dean had been in a change of clothes, sat against the headboard with the blankets splayed over his lap. His look was brooding and displeased as he flipped through the channels on the motel tv, and you saw the way he bit the inside of his cheek.

You’re quiet as you look at him for a moment, as you wait a beat before climbing into bed, tucking yourself into his side. He doesn’t react for a second, brief before he relaxes with a heavy sigh and tugs you all the more closer. He doesn’t care that he’s angry and doesn’t care that he’s frustrated, he’ll never push you away in moments like this.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that isn’t uncomfortable like it had been earlier as your head rests on his shoulders. You merely hear the sound of the tv, the sound of his breathing as his heartbeat presses against your palm from where your hand rests over his chest.

It’s after a few moments that you lift your head once more and look at him, your gaze softer than before as it bounces across his face. Soon after, he’s turning his head, meeting your gaze and it has you biting your cheek for a moment. Just a moment before you lean up and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

When you pull back you see the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly, you see that crease between his brows smooth out just a little more. You see him settle down. You give him one more for good measure, lips lingering over his cheek.

“Thank you,” you whisper, forehead pressing to his temple. You can see his confusion when he pulls back, pulls back in favor of pressing his forehead to yours. “You always come ‘n find me. You’re always there.”

You hear the softness of his chuckle, you feel it brush over your mouth as he presses a soft kiss to your lips, moving upwards and pressing to your forehead before he looks at you once more.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he brings his hand up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along that scrape you’ve got there. You can see he’s unhappy about it, can see the unease dancing across his face as he swallows thickly at the mere thought of it. But he looks at you, looks in your eyes with a certain fondness, a certain softness in his gaze for a moment more before he drops his hand and tucks you under his chin.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” he says, words quiet as he kisses the top of your head.

He’d do it in a heartbeat, he always will.

Your smile is soft as you brush your thumb over his knuckles, nodding lightly against his chest. “Just try not to go runnin’ off like that.”

You laugh softly, looking up at him once more. You lean up and kiss him, tender as his freckled nose bumps yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, soft against his lips before you lay back against his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment as he lets out a breath, smiling to himself.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispers.

He knows you’re too stubborn for your own good, too independent. He knows you’ll wind up doing the same thing because that’s what you always do. It scares the life out of him but he’ll always be there.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lanea-1

[peachyyykid]

Deceivers Ch. 11 - Revenge

Word Count: 4089

Chapter 10 - Parting

Chapter 12 - Daytrip (nsfw)

Disclaimer! tw: y/n is having a panic attack

As someone who experienced panic attacks before, I realised that writing one invested me a lot emotionally. If a detailed description of a panic attack triggers you, you might want to skip that part. Also, everyone experiences them differently and coping mechanism differ as well. Just remember that all of these experiences are valid and that you are loved! :)

---

"Kid!"

You didn't question the urge to run into his arms, but you didn't expect him to catch you either. But he did, and as his non-metallic arm pulled you into his chest, you felt something you hadn't felt in a very long time: safety.

You clawed at his fur coat, muffling your sobs with the soft fabric.

"What did he do to you?", he whispered into your ear lowly, while his angry eyes never left Deku, who was scrambling around on the floor with his trousers undone.

"G-get off my ship, p-pirate scum", he stuttered, visibly scared of the huge pirate that just sent his door flying.

"I will", Kid snarled at him, "but you're joining us."

And with that he extended his metal arm by adding more and more random metal, grabbing Deku's throat. He tried to get away, but to no avail. Kid strengthened his grip and he let out a gargling sound, kicking his legs in the air.

The redhead spun Deku around and hurled him right through the empty doorframe towards his ship. Killer was waiting on the other side and knew exactly what to do. He caught the flying man (who was looking awfully pale) and slammed him down on the deck. You heard a faint scream in the distance, right after Deku's body hit the ship.

After making sure that Deku couldn't run away, Kid looked down at you, wiping away your tears with his rough fingers. He had let go of all the metal, but his eyes were still angry as he took in as much of your face as possible.

"Tell me what happened", he whispered in a commanding tone, and you sniffled before you spoke.

"W-we fought, and he said awful things to me, and then he tried to rape me and he... he had my parents killed. K-kid, he's responsible for all this. He killed my parents!"

You started sobbing desperately again and your knees felt weak. They gave in and you sunk towards the floor, but Kid picked you up. He pressed your trembling body against his and held you safely while he jumped aboard his own ship, the cold air cooling your tear-stained face.

Deku was trembling as well, but for different reasons. Killer was towering over him with his arms crossed and the rest of the crew was shooting him intense, blood-lusting glares. No one in this world would want to swap with him.

Kid landed and gently placed you on the deck. You slumped down to your knees immediately, staring into the distance with blurry eyes. The sun was setting already, painting the sky in beautiful red and orange hues. It would have been a wonderful start into a new life, but Deku took all that from you. Your body felt weak and lifeless, your arms hanging down your sides.

Kid kneeled down in front of your trembling frame and looked at Deku, who was sitting a few metres away from you. He was whimpering pathetically, looking for a possibility to flee, as if Killer would let him.

"Wire, take some men and ransack the ship. Then sink it", Kid commanded.

"Roger, Captain", Wire's calm voice answered, and he and most of the guys entered Deku's ship.

Then his face turned back to you. He gingerly took your jaw in his big hand and brushed your cheek with his thumb, just like he did in that one night.

"Look at me", his rough voice told you, and you obeyed.

Seeing your puffy eyes and your tear-stained face awakened something deep inside of him, and he wanted to destroy whatever was causing you this kind of pain. You looked at him like he was the only one who could make it all better, and he understood, his face absolutely serious.

"Angel. I want to hear it from you."

His amber eyes bored into yours. They were full of rage, but not because of you.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

Killing was wrong. No matter what kinds of horrible things someone had done, killing wasn't the answer. That's what a previous version of you would have said. But looking at Deku, you only saw a monster. A deceiving monster that had dared to take your life into his hands. You wanted to hurt him like he hurt you, he didn't deserve forgiveness.

Kid knew exactly that you couldn't do it yourself, so he had asked you if you wanted him to do it for you. And you really wanted it. There was not even a hint of compassion that you could spare for this man.

You looked at him, his eyes were pleading with you. Kid had asked you to make a decision. You could easily show mercy and say no. Deku mumbled apologies directed at you, rambling about how he shouldn't have overreacted and that he would treat you well as a mistress.

With empty eyes and the calmest expression on your face, you took in the satisfying sight of Deku shaking with fear.

"Yes."

It was merely a whisper, but everyone on the ship was silent. The only sound to be heard was Deku's pathetic whimpering. You didn't take your eyes off him, not even when Kid stood up slowly, revealing his full height again. The setting sun stretched his shadow, and it swallowed Deku's body whole.

Kid slipped off his coat and put it over your sunken shoulders without saying a word.

His shadow was coming closer to Deku with every heavy step he took, and he anxiously scrambled away from him, only to bump into Killer's legs. He was cornered between the two men, and he yelped in fear when Kid took the shiny knife out of his bandolier.

The knife fell, and Deku probably thought that Kid had dropped it by accident, because his eyes widened, and he opened his mouth when the knife didn't hit the ground. It hovered under his chin instead, the blade forcing him to look up at Kid.

"W-what kind of magic is that?", Deku screeched.

"It's a devil's fruit you moron", Killer mumbled and shook his head in dismay.

"I'm just making sure that you know who's the boss around here", Kid growled and pushed the blade a little further into Deku's skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"I really wonder what she saw in you", he scoffed.

"P-please I will do anything... y-you can have the 15 million b-berry! You can have e-everything, just let me live!", Deku pleaded, trying to grab Kid's trousers. He looked up at him with doe eyes, in a futile attempt to gain his pity.

Kid bared his teeth and kicked off Deku's hands as if his futility was contagious, while an array of swords gathered behind his tall figure. They hovered in the air, framing Kid to make him look even more dangerous.

"You're not even worth listening to. Just by looking at your stupid face I can feel the wretchedness trying to rub off on me", Kid growled.

His signature smirk was back, and with a flick of his hand, all the sword's blades turned towards Deku. They made a clunking sound that filled the silent air and seeing their reflection in your glassy eyes gave Kid the final push.

With another flick of his hand, each and every of the swords sped towards Deku's trembling body, swallowing his cries for mercy.

He screamed in pain and desperately tried to protect his body, but there were just too many blades impaling him. They pinned him to the ground in an upright position, covering him in his own blood. His breathing became more and more shallow, and he looked at you with pain-filled eyes.

You watched the sight like in a trance. You felt inner peace for a split second, but then

nothing.

Nothing at all. It was gruesome to look at, but it didn't bother you the slightest.

With wheezing breaths, Deku's life ended in front of your eyes and your face didn't show any signs of remorse.

"Feed him to the fish", Kid growled and then blocked the space between you and Deku's body so you couldn't see him anymore.

You snapped out of your trance and realised what had just happened. It was good that you didn't see your ex-fiancé's dead body anymore because your stone-cold facade might have faltered.

Kid kneeled down in front of you again and you finally looked at his face. His frown was back, but his eyes were almost too soft for someone who just murdered a man without hesitation.

"Thank you", you mumbled flatly, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm going to take a bath", you added instead, sounding absent. Your body was there, but you felt like your soul was just hovering over it. The bath didn't actually matter, you just wanted to get away.

You tried to get up, but your legs were still too shaky. Kid was watching you for a few seconds, huffing at the fact that you couldn't take even a single step without tumbling over.

Suddenly, Kid flung you over his shoulders without a warning, ignoring your shriek.

He just scoffed and carried you to the cabin's bathroom, placing you in the empty bathtub. You raised an eyebrow at him when he sat down on the toilet, making no move to leave the room.

"I'm really thankful that you took revenge on my fiancé for me, but that doesn't mean you can watch me bath... naked...", you said quietly.

"There's no fiancé anymore. You're single and I saw your tits already", he smirked.

Although you couldn't deny that, it wasn't the best time to point it out and no excuse to creep on you in the bath.

"That's not the point."

"Then leave on your underwear, but I'm talking to you right here and now", he demanded with a growl, and you were too worn out to discuss and you knew that he wasn't really the patient type anyways.

Your gut didn't give you any warning signals either, so you just rolled your eyes and slipped of your shirt, shoes, and socks. The bra that Charlos had given you didn't cover anything and didn't give you any hold, so you had gotten rid of it immediately. Once your training had started, you made your own bra out of bandages from the infirmary, so this was what you were wearing at the moment.

Not ideal, but better than being naked.

You let the water run into the bathtub under Kid's watchful eyes, and when it was half full and after you put a nice foamy soap into it, you realised that you could have taken a bath later, after Kid was done talking to you. But it was too late for that now.

You watched the foam floating around on the surface for a second, thinking about the events of today with a frown.

"Where do you think you're going next?"

His question caught you of guard and you blinked some tears away that you couldn't really prevent from building up.

"I don't know. I need to see my brother."

What happened with Deku today absolutely destroyed your chance to be reunited with Tenmon and it became painfully clear to you right now.

"And where do you think you're staying until you find him?"

"I don't know", you said again.

He was quiet for a second and then displayed his signature smirk.

"If I promise you to help you find your brother, you will stay on the Victoria Punk as our doctor."

You shot him a sudden look and raised an eyebrow. Why did he offer you so much help out of the blue? Suspicion rose in you, and you narrowed your eyes.

He just scoffed in response.

"That's it, sweetheart. There's no catch. I will protect you until you find him, and you'll protect my crew in return."

You thought about his offer. If there was no catch, you could only win. And you had to be honest with yourself, there was no way you would even last a day in the New World on your own.

He held out his hand and you looked at it before you slowly put yours in his. Your hand was tiny compared to his, and you studied all the calluses and the roughness on them. It was obvious that he had worked hard with these hands, and it just added to the fascination that you already felt for him.

Suddenly, as soon as his hand enclosed yours, he pulled you towards him harshly. The water splashed against the edges of the tub and Kid's grip was strong around your hand. You let out a startled yelp and to your dismay, you felt your face redden.

His face was so close to yours now. It had become a familiar feeling to you, just like the smell of expensive rum, mint, and metal. He licked his lips and pulled you even closer. Your tits were pressed against his hard chest, and he placed his mouth next to your ear.

"We're gonna be a great team", he purred into your ear lowly, his breath tickling your neck.

You prayed that he didn't see that you had goosebumps all over your body. Your face felt so hot that you were sure you looked like a tomato and a tingling feeling spread from your chest to your stomach, to your crotch, and even into your thighs.

What the fuck is that?

Who were you kidding, you weren't stupid and not as innocent as Deku and your parents had wanted you to be. Just because you never experienced lust, didn't mean you wouldn't recognise the feeling if it ever came. You were sure that this was it, but why today and why with Kid?

He leaned back and your heart told you to pull him back, but the rational part of your brain interfered, so you just sat in the tub dumbfounded.

His smirk didn't falter, and something told you that he knew what an effect he just had on you. How embarrassing, you thought and slowly turned around, facing the wall.

He chuckled and finally left the room, and once the door was closed you took of the makeshift bra and let yourself slip under the water surface, mentally cursing yourself and Kid until you had to come up for air.

You stayed in the bathtub for as long as you could justify, to avoid Kid. You hoped that he was either not in his room, or already fast asleep. You dried yourself extra slowly and scolded yourself for not having asked Killer for another shirt.

You tried to put on the white button-down but as soon as the material touched your skin you had memories of Deku leaning over you and pinning you down flashing through your mind. You shuddered and bile rose up in your throat.

You looked at the shirt and felt new anger and sorrow in your heart. With gritted teeth and a frown, you pulled on the sleeves as hard as you could and ripped the shirts to shreds. Seeing the heap of white cotton pieces gave you a small feeling of victory. You couldn't let a dead Deku control you like that.

After putting the bandages around your chest again, you took a deep breath and slowly opened the door to the bedroom.

Kid's back was turned towards the room, and he was breathing steadily, probably meaning that he was sleeping. As quiet as possible, you made your way to his desk. There must have been a place where he stored his clothes, but the desk was really the only option in this room. Actually, thinking about it, you had never seen him with a shirt on.

You carefully pulled out one of the bigger drawers and to your surprise, you saw a few neatly folded shirts in there. All black.

I bet Killer folded these...

You grabbed the first one and couldn't resist taking it up to your face. It smelled as you expected: Fresh laundry and metal. It smelled comfortable.

You shook your head rapidly and slipped the shirt over your head. You looked absolutely lost in it, but it would do for sleeping.

On tiptoes, you neared the bed and slipped under the covers. You didn't feel the need to roll one of the blankets into a sausage anymore, and you looked at the ceiling wondering why. So many thoughts were ghosting around in your head...

Why do I trust him all of a sudden?

Just because he killed someone who did me wrong?

He didn't just do me wrong though, he literally had my parents killed.

But still, why would Kid kill him? There's no personal gain for him.

Why is he so keen on helping me lately?

What's in it for him?

Does he still hate me? He's still complicated, but it feels different.

He could have done unspeakable things to me the last week, but he didn't.

Don't even get me started on the other night... or today.

How he touched me. Like I'm precious.

I haven't felt precious in such a long time.

And why do I get butterflies when he touches me?

Why the fuck did I feel lust when he touched me tonight?

Oh my God, what on earth is wrong with me?

Your eyes widened almost comically when another thought hit you.

Do I like him?

You covered your face with your hands and tried not to scream into the quiet room. You gave yourself a small slap, but you couldn't deny that Kid was... interesting. He definitely was, but that didn't mean that you liked him.

Yes. Yes, that's the point. He's interesting, but that's it. It's just a very stressful time I'm going through. Of course I would feel fascinated by someone like him.

You sighed in content. You found an explanation that was fitting your narrative.

The mattress shifted abruptly, and your heart jumped, thinking that Kid was awake. But he had just turned around and his face seemed peaceful, the kind of peaceful look that one could only have while sleeping.

You couldn't turn your face away without studying his. You took in the sight of his sharp features and his fluffy, red hair. It fell on his forehead because it wasn't held up by his goggles, making him look a little younger. It was refreshing to see him without his furrowed brows.

You couldn't resist the urge to take a strand of his hair into your hand. You never touched it before, and it was just as soft as it looked.

It was also the first time that you could look at him without him noticing. There was no smirk, no angry eyes or frown.

He didn't look like a pirate anymore, just like a young man. He almost looked vulnerable, and you realised that he must have seen a lot. You wondered about his motivations to become a pirate and if all the things he had experienced left marks on him, inside and outside.

Like you said, he was fascinating.

You watched him breathing calmly, the blanket raising and lowering in a steady pace. It hit you like a brick.

"You saved me so many times", you whispered so quietly that he couldn't wake up from it.

You were right when you thought that killing Deku had no personal gain for him. He could have taken his ship and his belongings anyways, but he made sure that you decided Deku's fate and then acted accordingly.

It was a twisted sense of justice, but you had to admit that you didn't care.

It had been another hard day that left you absolutely drained. The knowledge about the circumstances of your parent's death scooched in between the thoughts about Kid and became prevalent.

You never got to say goodbye and they died without knowing what had happened to you. They never got the chance to see Deku's real face. You regretted not telling them about the conversation in the garden back then, maybe everything would be okay right now. Deku's words were ringing in your ears.

You chose to disrespect me that night, so I made you pay.

Yes, your parents wouldn't have backed out of the marriage deal. Deku had them wrapped around his fingers. He had buttered them up completely to make sure that anything you would say about him would fall on deaf ears.

You tried to steady your breathing when you felt hot tears forming in the corners of your eyes. The insufferable feeling of guilt washed over your whole body. Throughout your childhood you had learned how to speak to a future husband, and if you hadn't decided to throw all that courtesy stuff overboard at some point, your parents would still be alive. Of course, your life with Deku would have been horrible, but at least your family could have been happy.

Screw you for becoming your own person with your own wishes and morals.

Deep down you knew that it wasn't your fault, but the guilt felt so strong. It was crushing you, causing you to question every decision you ever made.

Suddenly, your heartbeat was picking up. It happened so rapidly that you were scared it would rip your chest open, so you clutched at your shirt and pressed your hand down. But feeling your speeding heartbeat like this made it even worse. It made your chest hurt like someone had punched you. It tightened and it was becoming gradually harder to breathe, a lump of suppressed tears forming in your throat. Your body felt hot, and you couldn't move, only shake. Your eyes darted around frantically and breathing felt more like choking. You wanted to get up, get fresh air or a glass of water to calm you down, but you were losing control over your body. Wheezing breaths mixed with the sound of quiet sobbing, while your vision blurred. Every cell in your body was screaming for help. You tried to get at least some air into your lungs, but it felt like they had shrivelled up.

You weren't in the right headspace to think anything of Kid opening his eyes suddenly, now looking at your shaking body while you still fought for air, your sobbing and whimpering filling the room. He let out a low growl and moved his hand towards you.

You tensed up immediately but surprisingly, his touch didn't scare you at all. As soon as he saw that you didn't flinch, he grabbed the small of your back and pulled you into his chest, enclosing your trembling body with both of his arms.

"Breathe with me", was all he said.

Your chest was flush against his and you could feel how he inhaled and exhaled slowly, in a steady pace. His heartbeat was calm, and you tried to concentrate on his breathing, mentally counting the intervals between each breath.

After a few more ragged breaths, your heartbeat synchronised with his and you followed his breathing pattern. You were still shaking a little, but the scariest part was overcome. Soon, the sobbing died down as well.

With each inhale and exhale you got calmer, and soon you felt like you were in control of your own body again. Hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around Kid's body as a silent thank you.

He stiffened but didn't push you away. He expected you to let go at some point, but you didn't. You didn't want to. You experienced the same feeling as earlier this evening when he held you after saving you from Deku. It was a comfortable feeling of absolute safety, like nothing in this world could do you any harm.

You wanted more of this feeling, so you kicked off your blanket and went under his instead, entangling your legs with his. He let out a breath he had been holding and snuck his other arm around your head to place his hand on it, brushing your hair with his thumb.

There was no empty space between the two of you, but at this very moment this was exactly what you needed. You forgot about all the pain and guilt in his embrace and enjoyed the comfortable feeling of warmth and safety.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep again, and you followed soon after.

Memories of the last week rushed through your mind and you realised that being here wasn't all that bad.

[ramzawrites]

IronGolem!Hybrid!Reader - Protector - Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Male

Pairings: none

Characters included: Quackity, Fundy, Tubbo, Punz, Technoblade, Philza, Dream

Warnings: blood, character death, cursing

Series: Part of my Iron Golem request series! 💙

Summary: Y/N helped the Butcher Army to escort Techno towards his trial only for this trial to turn into a surprise execution. An execution that finally gives Y/N the chance to flee that he was so desperately looking for, all along. Even if others had to push him towards this opening.

Words count: 2684

Authors Note: Woops I thought this would be the last part but there will be a part 4 after all o7

As they begun moving Techno followed along quietly. Never pulling on the chains, just dutifully following behind Y/N. His eyes mostly trained on the horse that Quackity was now riding.

They walked back to where they left their horses and got back up on theirs. Y/N got Quackity’s horse and let Techno on it, leading that horse along as he rode his own black steed. Sometimes petting his horse, his rough hands weaving through the long black mane, more as a way to calm himself down rather than the horse.

Riding between Quackity who was at the front while both Fundy and Tubbo stayed at Techno’s side while Ranboo stayed at the end of the group. Ensuring that Techno didn’t try anything too stupid.

Throughout the whole ride Fundy and Quackity began taunting Techno, Tubbo would occasionally chime in as well while both Y/N and Ranboo stayed quiet.

It surprised Y/N a bit that Techno actually responded to some taunts with his own snide remarks that would usually shut the other party up, for a short moment at least. He certainly had his wits about him.

Y/N couldn’t help but look up to Technoblade in a sense. He himself was escorted away in a similar manner but other than Techno, he immediately gave up and just followed along with his captors. Not even saying a word against them and while Techno did follow them along as well, he still talked back, made them feel stupid about their own thoughtless comments.

And Y/N enjoyed the frustrated exclamations of the group whenever Techno made one of his targeted comments. This was not a good situation for the warrior but he kept his dignity and a part of control and power in this situation.

Technoblade was strong and Y/N was not.

No, Y/N was weak willed and naïve. He should have fought more. Tried to escape or tried to send along a message to his home, to his people. Should have asked Ranboo to maybe check up on the town, after all he seemed to be the most reasonable one of the group but he didn’t. He was too scared and just gave up. What kind of protector was he?

Then again, he couldn’t fight, and he had to work with what he can do. Sometimes staying alive was the best and even most rebellious thing someone can do. Maybe if he was just patient enough, he would find a chance to flee! Though whenever this thought crossed his mind he feared that he had missed his one chance already due to his cowardice.

It didn’t take long for them to reach L’Manberg. Getting off the horses to walk back into the town middle. Y/N still holding the chains that were keeping Techno’s wrists bound.

As they walked further into the town, they passed Philza’s home.

The winged man stood on his upper balcony, staring down with a cold expression “You actually got him.”

“Get inside! You are on house arrest!” Tubbo just yelled back as an answer but Techno turned to face his friend, pulling on the chains in the process. Y/N pulled them back again, scared with what could happen next.

“Phil! Phil! What did they do to you!”

Fundy got his axe back out and pushed the flat side against Techno side, urging him to keep on going. This unspoken threat seemed to be enough for him to ignore his old friend and instead continued to follow Y/N who in return followed Quackity and Tubbo.

Though as Y/N pulled his gaze away from Philza, he could see a fond softness in his eyes. Worry mixed with anger. It was the first time he saw genuine emotion on his face, rather than the forced smiles he portrayed usually.

“Lead him up there, keep the chains around his wrists in there and stand close by.” Tubbo ordered the Iron Golem Hybrid, pointing at what looked like a cage right beneath a strange structure that Y/N couldn’t immediately make out what it was for.

But there was a foreboding feeling in the air.

Y/N opened up the door and without a word Techno just walked inside. The gate crashed shut again.

He could finally let go off the chain that he held on to. Dropping it as soon as he could. But the feeling of disgust stayed or maybe it was guilt. Maybe a mix. The less he thought about it the better, so instead Y/N just concentrated on Tubbo who begun a speech.

What kind of trials does L’Manberg have?

This wasn’t really a trial was it?

“Hey, Y/N, right?”

Y/N didn’t respond but stared at Techno from the corners of his eyes. Why was he talking to him? How should he react? Should he even react? Would the others hurt him if he visibly reacted?

“I know of you. You were-“

Though Technoblade didn’t finish his sentence. Smoke appeared in front of the stage and a person covered in armor appeared. They wore a white hoodie with netherite armor on top. Not even waiting a beat as they begun to attack the Butcher Army with their axe and crossbow.

Tubbo pulled his shield in front of his face, barely catching the arrow that came flying directly towards his face “Pull the lever, Big Q!”

Lever? What lever?

Even Techno seemed surprised letting out a quite frankly comical confused noise.

There was no hesitation on Quackity’s side. He immediately sprinted towards the structure and pulled the lever. Y/N could see a redstone pulse running up the build.

What the hell was going on?

Technoblade pushed his hands into his pocket, pulling out a small golden figure. Y/N couldn’t see it very well, but he immediately knew what it was.

A totem of undying.

Surprised Y/N stared at Techno only to see something black falling down.

He completely tuned out the sound of the fighting and screaming, his senses concentrated on Technoblade. His eyes directed at the black anvil that was flying with incredible speed down towards the cage.

Before Y/N could properly process what was happening, or the implications of this whole ordeal, the anvil was already on his eye level.

It connected with Techno’s skull with a sickening wet crack, immediately followed by an explosion of green light. It was so bright Y/N had to shield his eyes with his arms. Surprised by the warmth that came off the magic that engulfed Technoblade and revitalized his body. Pulling him away from the land of the dead and stitching his broken body back together.

As fast as the light appeared, it was just as fast gone. Y/N removed his arms and saw Techno jumping off the anvil and over the iron bars.

The man literally, just died but he didn’t waste any time to flee once he had the chance. Was it jealousy or admiration Y/N felt? He didn’t know, either way he was impressed.

While Y/N seemed to be a bit dazed, still trying to process this, Techno used the chance in between the chaos all around them to take a look around only to spot a masked man leading his horse away.

“He has Carl!”

He then proceeded to grab Y/N’s forearm and pulled him along. Techno’s grip was strong and unrelenting. Pressing down uncomfortably on a few burns that were just beginning to heal properly hence why Y/N’s first reaction was to pull his arm away, but the Pig Hybrid was holding on. Not giving him a chance to protest.

Why did Techno do this? Why did he tug him along? He clearly knew of Y/N but how? What did he know?

So, the best option was to follow him, right into a little opening at the side of a hill. Inside there was a room, lined with chests and another opening that seemed to lead into tunnels.

But what really caught Y/N’s attention was the man that held the reigns of Carl. A white porcelain mask with a smiling face hid away his face. A cloak hiding his physique and probably weapons.

Once inside the room Techno let go off Y/N to snarl “Dream, give me Carl.”

This masked man was the infamous Dream? His green hood was pulled up, the mask looked already unsettling but with the added shadow of the hood? As he stared at Y/N it felt like he was sizing him up. As if to wager something out.

Once again Y/N felt incredibly small under someone else’s gaze.

Dream slowly got closer and gave Techno the reigns of Carl “You brought him with you? I’m surprised, Techno.”

Techno walked up to Carl and pressed his forehead against that of the horses as a greeting “I don’t think we have the time to talk about this Dream, besides weren’t you the one trying to get him out of there?”

“Yes, I suppose you are correct. We don’t have the time to talk about this though. You two better get going. There should also be some armor and potions in one of the chests. And Y/N?” Dream turned towards him now “We’ll meet again, I promise you. You will get your revenge.” With that he ran off through the opening that Techno previously pulled Y/N in.

Techno rummaged through one of the chests. Letting out a disappointed sigh as he spotted some iron armor. With trained movements he slipped surprisingly fast into the clunky armor. Fastening it around himself and hooking the potions to his belt.

Hooves clicked on the stone ground as Techno lead Carl towards the tunnels “Not to put too much pressure on you but if you want to get out of this mess you better come with me.” Techno’s eyes rested calmly on Y/N. He was serious and looked like he was calculating something but there was something genuine and almost friendly mixed in.

“I- uh, understood.”

This honestly felt unreal. Like a dream. Though Y/N hasn’t decided yet if this was just another nightmare. It felt like a trap. Too convenient but what could he do? Run back out towards the city? He can’t fight like Dream or Techno, he wouldn’t get the chance to flee. Besides they would just capture him again and he didn’t want to think about how he might be treated afterwards.

His best bet really was with Technoblade but why he would do this for him after he escorted him to his own execution, he didn’t know.

Hell, how did he even know of him?

“Now, Y/N.”

Techno just begun moving into the tunnels. Y/N made sure to stay close. A spark of hope inside his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in ages. Is it okay if he takes this spark and holds it close? Just in case it breaks out into a fire?

Almost as if to answer this question both Techno and Y/N heard a voice coming from behind them. It wasn’t Dream’s. No, Y/N knew this voice too well. It was Quackity. Quackity has found him and would bring him back.

That spark seemed to dim after all.

“What the fuck is this? What is this Techno? How the fuck did that Anvil not kill you? And now you are stealing my things? Stealing my blacksmith?”

Techno let out a cackling laugh as he made sure to stand in front of Y/N. Grasping the hilt of his netherite pickaxe in one of his hands.

“Listen here Quackity. I tried telling you that the root of the problems here was government! I fought alongside you to show you! And you used me! So, I retaliated with force, to prove my point but you still formed a government! After that I was content with getting away from it! I tried to retire! I swore off violence! You still hunted me down! You-“

He moved his head around a bit, looking at Y/N from the corner of his eyes only to snap back to Quackity “You hurt my friends!”

Quackity didn’t seem to have noticed this but Y/N did. Techno referred to Y/N as his friend? He somehow felt like he was missing some vital piece of information. Never in his life has he even talked with him before this. Maybe he really just meant the horse, it stood off to the other side but surely, he must have only meant Carl. Perhaps Philza as well? Yes, those he must have meant. No way did he group Y/N in there as well.

Not after he was the one who escorted Techno away from his peaceful life with chains around his wrists.

Quackity bit down on his lip in anger before he answered “Techno, I don’t care about that. All that I care about is that you are on my hit list.”

“Hit list? What kind of Hit list?”

“I’m building up a nation and this nation needs direction, organization and I swear no matter what it fucking takes me, I will fucking kill you.”

Once again Techno laughed “Quackity, do you really think you are enough to kill me? Even unarmored and only in iron armor?”

At this point Y/N was straight up jealous at Techno’s confidence and cockiness. He would have just cowered in fear, given up but Techno did not. He stood strong, calm. Like a boulder between turbulent waters.

That spark that seemed to dim inside of him seemed to flare up again. If he just stayed close to Techno and trusted in him, maybe he is allowed to hope. Just this once.

Obviously Quackity tried to stay calm and collected beforehand but this seemed to push him over the edge “So be it! I’ll fucking kill you right here and now!”

He immediately took his axe out and jumped towards Techno who confidently blocked the attack with his pickaxe. With a simple twist of his arm and body, he hooked Quackity weapon with his own and then used his whole body to pull it out of his hands.

The axe flew through the air, landing with a loud clanging on the ground in front of Y/N. He didn’t think much about it as he slowly stretched his hand out and grabbed it. Holding the weapon close to himself. Seeing how he couldn’t fight, this weapon would be useless in his hands but at least he could ensure that Quackity didn’t pick it up again.

It was the first time he rebelled against him. It was the first time he took some sort of control over this situation. He did not give up. He did something.

As he looked up he could see a shocked Quackity.

“I only have this pickaxe, Quackity, but I’ll put it through your teeth!”

There was this bloodlust to his words. A malice that Y/N expected from Techno before he met him. As his only idea of him was that what the butcher army told him.

He realized that their stories relied on a kernel of truth though in this moment he wasn’t scared of this Techno. No, he saw pain, self-preservation and conviction in his actions right now.

Quackity evaded one of Techno’s attacks only for his second to hit. Hitting his open mouth with the pickaxe and dragging it across his face. Resulting in Quackity to fall down motionless. Blood spilling to the ground as his body slowly dissolved into gold dust. He was respawning.

Technoblade just took Quackity’s first life. Just like that. It went over so fast. Like it was nothing.

Without seemingly missing a beat he turned around to look Y/N dead in the eyes, now calm again “We need to go. Now. I’ll explain everything to you once we are safe. I promise.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer and instead begun leading Carl through the tunnel again.

Y/N took a second to stare at the dissolving Quackity only for Techno to pull him back out of his thoughts “Y/N!”

“Why are you helping me. Just- Just tell me this. I’ll follow you, I promise, but I need to know.”

Techno sighed “Because how couldn’t we? How can you see injustice and not do anything?”

____

Tag: @plaguedoctorsnake

[trensu]

I had a thought about a vaguely Cupid-and-Psyche inspired crack!fic where Elias is a god of Love

(Jon: don't you mean Emotional Manipulation?

Elias: you say to-may-to, i say to-mah-to

Jon: ... I say to-mah-to, I'm not American, what does this have to do with anything?)

Jon is obviously Cupid. Elias took a shine to him and made him immortal against his will and keeps him as his servant or smth. Idk Elias is a douchebag, okay? ANYWAY, Elias is also a petty bitch and so he gave Jon Love arrows

(Jon: it's mind control.

Elias: they inspire passion, Jon. Just bc you don't experience it, doesn't mean--

Jon: No. Me being ace has nothing to do with it. They're mind control arrows. These people wouldn't have done all that if they weren't being influenced.

Elias: you have no romance in your soul

Jon: ...i find your interpretation of love and romance extremely suspect.)

Whenever Elias feels jealous or neglected or just plain bored tbh, he sends Jon out with to shoot whoever's caught his ire with one of those love arrows and has them make fools of themselves. Jon does it (he's bound to Elias for handwavey reasons so he can't really disobey) and it usually gets him in trouble. It's how he's gotten all those scars. (Jane Prentiss falling in love with worms and attacking Jon with them when he accidentally stepped on one while trying to make an exit was pretty tame in comparison to Jude Perry's reaction when she realized Jon struck Agnes with an arrow so she'd fall for some no-name mortal boy).

Such is Jon's life. Being immortal is not all it's cracked up to be when you can get injured and scarred. So when Elias started muttering about Peter's wandering eye, Jon knew it was only a matter of time before he'd send him out with those arrows again.

Peter, apparently, had been showing too much interest in a mortal boy named Martin, whose Loneliness tasted as bittersweet as dark chocolate (or so Peter claimed as he boasted during his dinner with Elias while Jon slowly sunk further into his chair the more irritated Elias's scowl grew).

"make him fall in love with something hideous and embarrassing," Elias had seethed at him, practically throwing the quiver at his head. At least two of the arrows pricked him so he was quite grateful that he was immune to their mind control (Elias: don't be ridiculous, Jon. Having you susceptible to the magic you're tasked to handle would be a stupid move on my part. You could get compromised and be completely useless to me!)

Grumbling, Jon set out to track down the mortal boy. He was not prepared for the the way the sunlight glinted off of Martin's light hair or his warm smile. He was not prepared for the twinge he felt in his heart when Martin's pale eyes glimmered with tears after receiving his mother's harsh words (the pain, worryingly, felt all too similar to the slice of the arrows he aimed at people).

He didn't want to shoot Martin with one of the mind control arrows. He wanted Martin to be happy. So he persuades his good friend Daisy to get her gf Basira to fake a prophecy. To her credit, she did a fantastic job delivering a fake prophecy. But there was some sort of miscommunication (or Martin's mother deliberately misunderstood; it could go either way). Instead of telling Martin's mother to marry off her son to a kind and handsome man with a gentle heart in order to avoid the wrath of the gods, the prophecy was somehow interpreted as sacrificing Martin's hand in marriage to some sort of hideous beast that lived at the peak of a nearby and treacherous mountain.

(Jon: how did she get that idea from your prophecy? what exactly did you tell her???

Basira: i can't fake a prophecy, Jon. and i'm not telling you what the prophecy was

Jon: What?? Why not???

Basira: it would violate the oracle-client confidentiality clause on the consent form we have them sign prior to a reading)

Jon was irritated by how quickly and eagerly Martin's mother was to dress up her son and dump him on the mountain. He was tempted to use the arrows on her, instead, but he figured Martin would be upset if something happened to his mother so he refrained. Jon fretted as Martin started his slow procession up the mountain. Martin wasn't made to endure such a harsh environment, and even if he had, he shouldn't have to!! Martin deserves to be loved and treated well and get given all the good things life could offer!!

So Jon constructs a luxurious enchanted castle using godly magic and more favors than he probably should've called in. He puts big obvious signage to Martin knew it would be his castle provided by his non-existent monster spouse.

(Daisy: he's gonna get suspicious when his monster spouse doesn't show up. he'll probably leave and try to find it. he seems like the self-sacrificing type and you know how those get.

Jon: i have a plan

Daisy: .... is this like all your other plans?

Jon: shut up, daisy)

So Jon pretends to be the hideous monster spouse Martin was expecting. Sort of. He only visits after dark, and informs Martin that he can not bring light into the room for if he sees his visage he'd be cursed (or something; Jon came up with something on the fly and was definitely not suave about it but Martin complied and that's all that mattered). He spends his nights with Martin, telling him stories and meekly asking permission to pet his hair and hold his hand while doing his best to ignore the pounding of his heart and the heat on his cheeks whenever Martin softly says yes. He didn't say yes the first time Jon asked, and Jon skittered away from where he had been creeping closer. He respected Martin's boundaries (he isn't Elias, after all) but as he and Martin spent more time together, Martin became less guarded and began to allow Jon close.

It got to the point where they would cuddle in bed and Jon was so content in Martin's arms that he occasionally dozed with him. Everything was great and Martin seemed genuinely happy to spend his days in the castle learning new hobbies and such while spending his nights with someone he couldn't see. Until one day Martin asked if he could have his mother visit. Jon wanted to say no, but the hesitant way Martin asked tasted too much of fear of rejection for Jon to deny him.

(Daisy: why do I have to guide her here?

Jon: bc you're my friend and if you don't Martin will be sad which means I'll be sad and you'll have to listen to me cry about it and you hate that

Daisy: damn it jon)

And because martin's mother is awful and bitter and spiteful, she tells Martin he should find out what his "captor" looked like. his spouse was a monster, after all, he should know what he's dealing with so he could defend himself and her if it should decide to attack them. so one night, shortly after his mother left, he waits until Jon has dozed off before quietly lighting a candle.

Jon wakes when he feels hot wax drip onto him and sees Martin staring a him with a shocked expression. Jon realizes what happened and flees in a panic. He knows what he looks like; short and skinny an riddled with scars of all kinds. Ofc Martin would be disgusted by him. He ends up licking his wounds at Elias's.

(Elias: my poor delicate darling precious boy

Jon: really, Elias?

Elias: can't a father worry about his child??

Jon: you're not my father!! you kidnapped me and immortalized me against my will!

Elias: details, details. anyway, you can stay here until you recover from your grievous injuries. byyyyee!

Jon: where are you going? elias? why's the door locked? elias?? LET ME OUT, YOU POMPOUS ASS)

When Jon recovers and finally manages to escape, he finds out that Martin had been trying to find him but Elias had given him impossible tasks to prove he's worthy of him. Thankfully, Daisy, Georgie and Basira all helped him out, much to elias's displeasure. Since Martin completed the tasks, Jon was able to reunite with him and they lived happily ever after~!

[wolfieslae]

"liam saved theo from his never ending nightmare so theo saved liam from himself"

it’s no surprise to anyone, i’m a tiny bit obsessed with thiam.

when theo first arrived to the show i liked him already, i felt like he was an interesting character with an interesting backstory, i wanted to learn more. the more i did the worst it got but i kept thinking he was interesting and i liked seeing how he was able to plan his take on the pack. he managed to insert himself in the life of the characters and turned it around, when his plan failed, he still got his pack but ended up killing them all, i admit, kinda real bad, and then he got drag down to hell.

during the fifth season we found out that when he was ten he was manipulated into thinking his older sister – tara – wanted him to have her heart, because his had a genetic disorder. he believed the dread doctors when they told him they could make him better and he killed his own sister – taking her heart. he then left with them and was raised by them, raised believing that power was all that mattered and that he would be nothing and no one without it.

in season six episode six liam and hayden decided to bring him back because they needed his help with a supernatural creature in town, while hayden was more resistant, liam did not hesitate to smash kira’s sword into the ground and free theo, saving him from his never ending nightmare at the same time.

very rapidly we understood that whatever power theo might have stolen from his chimera pack – more specifically josh – he wasn’t in possession of them anymore, he was back to "classic theo" part coyote and part wolf. after he helped with the ghost rider, liam and hayden locked theo in the holding cell at the sheriff station. theo wanted out and liam wanted answer, they made a deal and liam broke the sword and with it any chance of theo going back to hell, his never ending nightmare.

when they needed him more, liam and stilinski broke theo out of jail but unfortunately the sheriff was taken and only theo and liam were left, leaving them no choice but to work together to flee the ghost riders. they – liam – had one goal, lure them away from scott, lydia and malia who were trying to get stiles back.

the both of them ended up at the hospital where, and i quote, liam said "when the ghost riders find us, i’m not gonna do anything for you, i’m not gonna help you, i’m not gonna save you, i’m gonna do exactly what you’d do to me, i’m gonna use you as bait". we all know he did not keep that promise, in fact, while fighting with a ghost rider, he pointed a gun at the one theo was fighting and shot, saving his life in the process. to "pay him back" and maybe prove that he wasn’t as bad as liam made him out to be, theo offered himself as bait.

while we all thought he had been taken in the hunt, we found out he hadn’t when out of nowhere he came back and saved liam from one of the ghost riders at the school, leaving liam able to get on with his god awful – but working – plan to get into the hunt.

while theo later on fought at the side of scott, malia and peter, he was forgotten and left alone. obligated to live in his car.

we found that out on season six episode twelve, where i noticed that the deputies coming to wake him up seemed to always wear a different uniform, did theo move around? or is the beacon county just, that big?

he was shot and didn’t come back until three episodes later (not gonna lie, these were the three most stressful weeks of my life).

when in episode twelve we found out he was living in his car, we also found out that he might have been the first target for the anuk-ite. thankfully, theo caught the spider early and got rid of it before it took his body and with it, his life.

when he came back in episode fifteen, he was hang up and tied to an electric fence in gerard and monroe’s headquarters. along with two other werewolves. when he thought he was free, he ended not being and was taken into custody.

during episode fifteen, when nolan was caught trying to sneak into the sheriff station liam automatically recognized him as the one who tried to make him shift in front of the whole school by beating him up. by scott’s reaction we understand that he might not have told him. but some of the shots during this scene were interesting, showing liam on the first plan with a close-shot accompanied by a blurry theo in the back. we understand why in the next scene that they share, in the bathroom.

theo confronts liam about what is happening, saying he will not risk his freedom. while liam first manages to stay calm during the discussion, he looses control when talking about brett and lori’s death. he punches theo before heading out and saying "i’m still working on my anger".

while we don’t know what happens between episode fifteen and episode sixteen, we understand that something might have clicked in liam’s brain, because, while he reacted poorly, theo seemed to be the only one noticing that something was wrong with liam. could this be why he brought him with him at the zoo? maybe.

it could also be because theo seems to be able to handle liam. theo has a past and liam knows it, theo doesn’t shy away in front of danger and maybe this is what liam needs at the moment? someone who will not hesitate to get in the way to stop him from doing something stupid?

there is also a line in this episode where theo says "i’m not dying out here because you want pay back against a kid who kicked your ass" and while i have no recollection of anyone explaining to theo what happened in the prior episodes with nolan and liam, maybe someone did between episode fifteen and sixteen, liam perhaps?

the car conversation is also interesting because now theo knows how bad liam has it with his anger, and the fear the anuk-ite brings is not helping "people only feel one emotion at a time liam". he also knows liam needs help "you brought me here because that thing that came out of the wild hunt is affecting you too" at this moment theo has already made up his mind, whether liam wants his help or not, he is going to get it.

and funny enough, liam doesn’t seem that resilient – oh he is yes – but not so much because deep down he knows he needs it, he also knows that whatever technique theo uses, it seems to be working because in episode seventeen, during the locker-room scene, liam calms down a bit too quickly for my liking (wrong i absolutely loved that).

theo uses reversed psychology and makes it to seem like liam would turn into a murderer, into someone like him "i’m the one with experience here", theo even uses "we" so that liam can feel more of a "bad person" because of what he might do. but in the end, it works and liam calms down.

now here is my favorite part, right after that liam asks theo "why do you keep trying to save me" and while theo answers something so dumb i don’t even want to mention it, i know it’s because liam saved him first and now theo feels obligated to return the favor (well, he does seem to enjoy it anyways).

theo can be seen in the next episode, number eighteen, right at the beginning, in the animal clinic with scott, liam and mason.

mason agrees with theo and liam doesn’t seem to like it, everything he says to or about theo seems to come out as an insult, but why? they seemed to be getting along well in the prior episode? finishing each other sentences when showing the dead bodies gabe brought them to to scott and malia? maybe because he’s starting to realize he might need theo more than he thought? and he doesn’t want to acknowledge it?

either way, theo and mason are sent to the tunnels to find aaron. they are both clearly uncomfortable being with each other but theo even more because the tunnels are where everything started and he surely does not want to stay or be here at all.

mason ends up hurt, and theo decides to try and take his pain away. first of all, great decision, it shows that he is trying to change, that he at least knows he can do it at some point and wants to. unfortunately he isn’t able "you can’t take pain if you don’t care". theo still decides to stay with mason while waiting for help.

the next time we see theo, it’s at the beginning of episode twenty, the finale. he is in his car, driving to somewhere on the phone with scott.

here are some details that don’t sit right with me. their phone call lasted twenty six seconds. there is no way theo answered the phone, got in his car, and drove to what seems to be the highway in twenty six seconds, so where was he going? was he leaving town because of what had happened with mason in the tunnels or liam’s sneaky comments at the clinic? because even after all his efforts, he is still not being accepted and knows he probably never will? probably. but i’m glad scott called and asked for his help.

he got to the hospital and saved liam’s ass – again might i add.

then, there is what is for me, their most important scene, for their relationship but also for their own character’s arc.

the elevator scene.

where they promise each other they weren’t gonna die for each other. where they lie their ass off.

i have a theory about this scene. remember the look? yes that one, the famous look down. based on my calculations, it is way too low to be directed to liam’s lips as people believe it to be, no, i think it’s directed to his chest, most importantly, his heart. because liam lied, and theo heard it. now of course theo lied too but he’s a professional he knows how to keep his heart steady.

and of course liam knows that theo knows because the look gives it away, which is why he accepts to fight with him (and damn, they make a pretty good team! i mean, that back roll? come on!) and i think in that moment they understood that no matter what, they can’t hide from this anymore, whatever this is (my money’s on anchor with a touch of love).

but in that moment i knew. i knew that because liam allowed himself to get help from theo, allowed himself to be anchored by theo, he anchored theo too. he gave him a reason and the opportunity to stay on the right path, on the path to redemption. and in that moment theo realized that he mattered, that he had a purpose.

can we also quickly talk about the small shot of theo flinching at the sound of the gun going off? when has he ever done that? he was literally raised by the dread doctors, he’s not afraid of anything, but not knowing if liam was on the other end of that gun shot scared him.

now we all know that part of why theo was able to take gabe’s pain was because he saw himself in him, the kid who trusted the wrong people and suffered the consequences, just like he did. but part of why he was able to care was because liam cared. liam gave theo a reason to care.

and this is why i love them so much. because their relationship, again, whatever it is, is special. it’s unlike any we’ve ever seen in the show. it’s important because it takes into consideration who they are on their own. it doesn’t exist just to add a relationship or a story-line to the show, it exists to fit on their own story-line, to make them better people.

as the title says, liam saved theo from his never ending nightmare so theo saved liam from himself (and fell in love with him in the process).

they are so important to me because i like when relationships have meaning, and theirs seems to be just that, meaningful.

[eliemo]

Getting There

Part Two of The Worst Thing in the World

Summary: Logan says it will take some time. He promises the others will always be patient. Virgil knows this, he just wishes it wasn’t quite so easy to push him back over the edge. 

Masterpost

Notes: I plan on writing a bunch of these, so don’t worry! Janus and Remus’s reactions will come soon! 

Learned behavior, especially in cases like this, was incredibly hard to unlearn. Logan had made that very clear, many times, assuring Virgil that it was perfectly reasonable to have some occasional setbacks. 

A long talk and a cuddle session, while Patton’s go-to medicine, wouldn’t magically fix all their problems. 

Logan had insisted on pulling all four of them aside the next day, delving into research and tactics to use to ensure Virgil felt safe, to gradually undo the damage that  had been done. 

Patton and Roman had been listening intently, nodding along, sure to pause and ask for Virgil’s input whenever it was needed, holding his hand and making sure he was never overwhelmed. 

There were some...unpleasant phrases thrown around during the talk. Abuse, trauma, conditioning...it all felt like something dirty. Like he was tainted, broken. 

And of course they knew what he was thinking, they were all so kind and attentive, so openly worried, quick to reassure and comfort.  

It helped, but...but still. Virgil was still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that all the things he went through, all the things he’d been taught were normal and expected weren’t...weren’t ok. That it wasn’t normal. 

He’d deserved it. That’s what they told him. He went through all of that pain because that was just the way it was, and there was no other choice. 

Had he really been stupid enough, pathetic enough to just believe that and let it all happen? If he was so easy to take advantage of, so easy to hurt, then why wouldn’t the light sides end up doing the exact same thing, no matter how well meaning they were in the beginning? 

He knew it was stupid and unfair to have those thoughts. And to make it worse, he knew they knew he was thinking it. 

They wouldn’t do that. They’d sworn it to him too many times to count. Like Logan said it was just...going to take some time to believe it. 

And things did get better. Slowly. He might not have even realized progress was being made if it weren’t for the less than subtle praise the three of them kept offering, the pride and hope that was impossible to miss. 

As embarrassing as it was, being practically applauded for something as small as  forcing himself not to fall into a desperate string of apologies for bumping into someone’s shoulder, he couldn’t deny that it helped to some extent. 

He did wish he was doing a little better, though. Sometimes he had to force himself not to flee if someone was in a bad mood, silently remind himself that no one was going to hurt him, that he didn’t need to be afraid, didn’t need to protect himself and hide. 

It didn’t always work. 

And there were always going to be slip ups. Little mistakes and thoughtless behavior that Virgil would never hold against the others. They were trying so hard and like Patton had said, mistakes were part of being human. 

There had been a...particularly bad day during a rather stressful filming week. Their schedule was finally allowing them all a bit of a break, and Virgil had taken up residence in the living room for the afternoon, lost in his own head in a futile attempt to relax. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d left some things strewn around. Just a few pillows and blankets- it wasn’t a big deal, he’d clean it up before he headed back up to his room like he usually did. At the time, he was too tired to really give it much thought. 

And then Roman had stalked through the living room, nose buried in his notes, mumbling something under his breath. He was clearly swarmed with the work Thomas needed from him, lost in thought and stress, and on his way to the kitchen he’d stumbled over one of the pillows. 

Virgil smirked and sat up with the intent of calling the Prince a clutz, hopeful that their familiar banter could reduce some of the tension from the workload, but Roman beat him to it. 

“Jesus, Virgil will you clean up your mess?” He snapped, kicking the pillow aside. “I don’t have time to be tripping over your stuff!” 

And then he was gone, disappearing into the kitchen, and Virgil had...froze. 

It was fine. He knew it was ok, he knew…

But all of that had disappeared in a second, all rational thought drowned out by cold, all consuming fear and memories, harsh realizations that Roman was angry- angry at him, and Virgil had left a mess, and whenever he’d left a mess before he’d been punished--

That snapped him out of his shock, instinct and panic taking over, and he threw himself from the couch and dropped to the floor, gathering everything into a pile and frantically trying to fold the blankets with trembling hands. 

It was fine, it was fine, it was fine. He’d made a stupid mistake but he could fix it. It would hurt less if he just cleaned it up. 

God why wouldn’t his hands stop shaking? His chest was aching, his grip weak and unsteady. It took far too long to get the blankets folded, and when it was finally done the end result was uneven and lumpy, nothing that would get him out of any trouble. 

He didn’t even know when he’d started crying, fear and hopelessness setting in all at once, but suddenly he was sobbing, breaths quick and ragged as he desperately tried to smooth out the blankets, refusing to focus on getting a hold of his breathing until it was fixed, until the room was clean and Roman didn’t have to be angry anymore—

“Kiddo?” 

Oh no. No no no, he wasn’t ready for anyone else to see what he’d done yet. It was still a mess, he’d still left everything a mess and he was a mess, and he was just going to make them more upset with him and then it would be worse. 

“Virgil.” There was someone kneeling beside him, and it took him a moment to realize it was Patton. “What’s wrong?” 

Virgil shook his head, knowing Patton was looking over the mess Virgil had created, growing just as angry as Roman. 

“I-I’m cleaning,” he managed, wincing when his voice came out a pathetic, weak stammer. “I d-didn’t mean to- mean to leave it a m-mess, I was- I was gonna clean it up, I didn’t mean to upset him, I didn’t--” 

“Hey, it’s ok.” Patton’s hands were suddenly over his own, squeezing gently to stop Virgil from frantically trying to fix the wrinkles, the folded blankets still not even remotely acceptable. “Breathe, honey. Can you look at me?” 

Virgil obeyed almost immediately, not willing to risk making anybody anymore angry than they already were, trying to stop his ragged sobs to no avail. 

“There you go, kiddo. Can you take some deep breaths for me?” 

Virgil shook his head. “I- I can’t, I have to fix it, I- I’m trying to clean it up, I promise.” 

“It’s ok,” Patton said again. “It looks fine, Virge. You know it doesn’t need to be perfect.” 

“Yes it does,” Virgil argued, because he knew it did. He was already in trouble, making it perfect and spotless was the only way to lessen the inevitable punishment. “I already made him mad and he’s gonna- he’s gonna...I have to fix it, I have to--” 

“Nobody’s going to do anything to you, Virgil.” Patton frowned, moving Virgil’s shaking hands from the pile of blankets. “Who do you think is mad at you?” 

And for a second, Virgil wasn’t even sure. Just for a second, he almost said another name, too many memories overlapping. 

But then it cleared slightly, and he was only blinded by the current panic of what he’d done, still unable to fully grasp what was being said to him. 

“R-Roman, he...I didn’t realize that he wanted it clean I-I didn’t know and I ruined it and he’s upset and he’ll--”

“Slow down, kiddo,” Patton said, for some reason looking even more distressed when Virgil snapped his mouth shut, watching the moral side with wide, wary eyes. “Roman’s a bit distracted today, I’m sure he isn’t upset. He probably doesn’t even realize.”

Virgil hadn’t even noticed until Patton frowned down at their hands, but he’d been desperately fighting against the other side’s hold, frantically trying to go back to smoothing out the blankets without even realizing. 

“Here,” Patton said, gently easing him back. “How about I go get Roman, and then we can--”

“No!” Virgil had ripped his arms out of Patton’s grip, scrambling backwards without any clear thought of what he was doing. “N-no, no Patton, please let me finish, let me just try, I can do it I swear, he doesn’t have to be upset, I can be better, I can fix it please--” 

“Honey,” Patton tried, and Virgil knew he was scaring him but he couldn’t seem to stop. “You’re ok. I promise. Remember what we said? You’re safe with us.” 

Virgil curled in on himself, hunched over on the living room floor, mind scrambling desperately to latch on to what Patton was saying, trying and continuously failing to make sense of the warped reality his panic had created. 

“Please don’t get him yet,” he found himself begging. “Please, not while he’s angry, please, he’ll hurt me, I don’t want him to hurt me again.” 

And that was when Virgil had known, both he and Patton, that he wasn’t talking about Roman anymore. 

But he didn’t stop his pleading, and Patton didn’t even hesitate, carefully lowering himself beside Virgil who forced himself not to flinch away. 

The thought of fleeing to hide briefly crossed his mind. Patton would eventually call Roman in, and Roman would see the mess Virgil still hadn’t cleaned up, and he’d still be angry. 

Virgil had tried hiding before. It didn’t always work, and it often led to worse punishment once he was caught, but on the off chance that he got away, the anger had usually faded by the time he resurfaced. 

Usually. It often wasn’t worth the effort. 

“You’re ok,” Patton said again, pulling him from his thoughts. “I’m right here. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Virgil. Ever again. Can you breathe with me, please?” 

Virgil nodded, something screaming at him to obey, just do what they wanted and it would be ok…

It took an embarrassingly long time for Patton to talk Virgil down, for Virgil to even remember where he was, what exactly he was so afraid of. 

But it all came back, slowly, the real world filtering in around the panic, the soothing voices, the gentle reminders that he wasn’t in any danger. 

Oh. Great, he’d done it again. 

It took Virgil a second to come back fully, blinking as he registered Patton sitting beside him, watching with wide, teary eyes. 

Oh, god. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed, now for an entirely new reason. “I’m ok Patton, I just thought...fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that.” 

“Language, kiddo,” Patton said softly. “You don’t need to be upset with yourself, and you have nothing to apologize for.” 

Virgil’s breathing was still too shallow, his chest aching with each gasp, and before he knew it he was reaching for Patton, letting himself melt into the other side’s embrace. 

He managed to keep himself from crying again, just barely, closing his eyes against Patton’s ever soothing words of comfort and safety. 

They’d been down this road too many times by now, some days worse than others, and Virgil had no idea how long his family was going to put up with this. Their patience seemed endless, but everyone had their limit. 

“I’m trying,” he said after a moment, desperately needing Patton to understand. “I’m trying, Pat. I‘m trying so hard to be better, I swear I’m trying, I don’t want to keep doing this but I just--”

“You’re making more progress than you think, kiddo,” Patton said, cutting off his frantic rambling. “And we’ve already told you, there’s no rush. It’s gonna take time, and that’s ok. We aren’t going anywhere.”

They’d all told him that at some point. Told him he was getting there, that it wasn’t his fault when he slipped up, that they wouldn’t give up on him. 

They’d all promised, all in their own way. Virgil only wondered if they’d realized just what it was they were signing up for. 

He didn’t get a chance to respond before Patton was carefully pulling away, smiling almost apologetically. 

“I’m going to get Roman now.” He frowned at the way Virgil’s shoulders tensed, eyes cast downward. “I’ll tell him what happened. But we can’t just leave these things unaddressed, you know that.” 

He did know. Logan had said it enough times, along with countless other tactics and behaviors to help Virgil that never seemed to work. 

Nothing ever worked. He couldn’t even recover properly. 

But when he nodded miserably Patton just gave another small smile, squeezing his hand before standing from the couch and hurrying into the kitchen. 

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, Virgil left to hunch over himself beneath his pulled up hood and press into the corner of the couch, when there was the sound of footsteps rushing towards the living room. 

He managed not to flinch, just glanced up and watched as Roman practically came barreling into the room, eyes wide and face flushed. 

Princey looked like he wanted to rush across the room to Virgil’s side without a second more of hesitation, but a glance back at Patton in the doorway stopped him in his tracks. 

“Virgil, I-I’m so sorry.” He was breathless, and Virgil’s throat felt tight at the waver in his voice. “I should have known...I wasn’t even thinking--” 

“It’s ok,” Virgil said, willing his hands to stop shaking, pushing down the cruel, nagging voice shouting warnings in the back of his mind. “Really, Roman. It was a stupid overreaction. It’s on me.” 

Roman took a careful step forward, only moving the rest of the way to the couch when Virgil didn’t immediately tense up or move away. 

“I am sworn to protect you,” he said, voice oddly small as he lowered himself beside Virgil. “I was stressed and distracted- but that's no excuse. I should never have allowed myself to do or say anything that could make you feel unsafe.” 

Virgil let out a trembling sigh, the obvious guilt in Princey’s eyes like a punch to the gut, so painfully undeserved, and all his fault. 

He took Roman’s hand, noting how the creative side almost instantly relaxed at the physical contact. “You were stressed, and you just asked me to pick up my things off the floor. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.” 

“And I shouldn’t have been so aggressive,” Roman said. “You have no reason to be ashamed of your reaction, especially with the stress you’re under. I promise it won’t happen again, Virge.” 

The reassurances, as always, settled something in Virgil’s chest, breaths coming a bit easier, a weight gradually lifting from his shoulders. But it still just felt...wrongly placed. 

“It’s ok if it does,” he said, finding himself leaning against Roman’s side. “We’re...learning, right? All of us? It’s- it’ ok if we have slip ups. It happens.” 

Logan had said something similar to all of them countless times before, his words of course were much more steady and eloquent, but Virgil knew Roman would recognize the words for what they were. 

“You’re right.” Roman still sounded unconvinced, but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to dwell over it too much when he was being pulled close, once again enveloped in strong, safe arms. “And we’re getting there. Together.” 

It wasn’t the first slip up that had sent Virgil back into that awful, panicked state, and it definitely wasn’t the last. 

It was stupidly easy to trigger him back into that mindset, convinced he was too much, that he’d done something horrible, that he would be punished and hurt accordingly. 

He was assured it was ok, that it was “normal” to react like this after going through the things he had, but Virgil was almost sure he was taking an absurdly long time to show any improvement. 

But then again...maybe that wasn’t entirely true. 

Improvement could be so slow, so small, that maybe the bad just sometimes happened to overshadow the good. 

The first time Virgil really noticed it, he’d been finishing up putting away some clean dishes, Logan setting the table for dinner while Patton and Roman idly chatted over their cooking. 

“Virgil?” Logan called. “Those glasses actually go in the other cabinet to your right. Do you mind moving them?” 

Right, he’d known that. “Oh, yeah. Sure.” 

It was only a few cups, and he wordlessly moved them to the next shelf over before closing the cabinet and making his way over to the couch until dinner was ready. 

Or at least...that was what he planned on doing before realizing that everyone in the kitchen was staring at him. 

They were trying to be sneaky about it, but Virgil could very clearly see everyone was watching him with wide, poorly hidden smiles, looking ridiculously giddy like he’d just announced he’d won the lottery. 

What the hell? 

“Uh, guys?” he asked. “Everything ok?” 

Logan was the first to speak, and Virgil wondered if he was imagining the pride radiating from the logical side. 

“Everything is satisfactory, Virgil,” he said, reaching forward and squeezing the other’s shoulder.. “Thank you for doing the dishes.” 

Before Virgil could even consider calling him back as he walked away, Patton let out a noise that could only be described as a squeal, practically flinging himself forward to envelope the anxious side in a tight hug. 

“I am just so gosh darn proud of you, kiddo!”

“I- what?” 

Even Roman was looking like he was forcibly holding himself back from joining in, and the Prince was actually bouncing on the balls of his feet, smiling so wide Virgil felt something in his stomach swoop. 

“Give him some space, Patton,” Logan spoke up, having stopped to watch from the doorway. “You responded extremely well to my request, Virgil, but apologies if we overwhelmed you.” 

As Patton pulled away, Virgil once again opened his mouth to ask what on earth everyone was so happy about, before it suddenly dawned on him. 

He’d put the dishes in the wrong cabinet, a mistake that had been pointed out by another side. 

It was exactly the sort of thing that would send him into a panic, make him lose himself in a fit of frantic apologies, paranoia and anxiety rising up to choke him, to send him under a wave of regression. 

But...that hadn’t happened this time. 

It hadn’t even occurred to him to apologize. No panic, no fear, no flood of memories and guilt. Just a simple mistake that he’d quickly corrected and then promptly forgotten about. 

And he still didn’t feel the need to apologize or get out of the enclosed space. 

Huh. 

“See? I told you,” Roman said, leaned up against the kitchen counter. “We’re getting there, Stormcloud.” 

And...yeah. Virgil supposed he was right. It was slow, sometimes almost invisible, but that really didn’t matter. They were getting there.  

[passable-talent]

Is this even necessary? Yes please part 6!!!

and so we return, one whole month later

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 |

After Azula’s attack, and the forced flee from the Western Air Temple, you spent a few days being pissed at Zuko. Like, really pissed. You didn’t speak to him at all. This was something that concerned and confused the prince, because it had seemed like the two of you were making real progress only a few nights before.

What had happened?

He didn’t try to fix it before he left with Katara. Partially, he thought, to give you space, and because he assumed that your issue would be easier to fix than Katara’s. So for a day or so you simmered, just like you had back at the Western Air Temple, rage as always masking your hurt.

When he returned, and things with Katara settled down, he found you perched among the jagged stones that lined the pathway up to his family’s old vacation home. You were still hidden here, but felt even excluded from the team, which let you think, and sulk.

“Y/N,” he said, announcing his presence as he climbed up the rock. You had your back to him, and your shoulders tensed up. You didn’t face him.

“What do you want,” you asked, giving him a shoulder so cold he’d lose his firebending.

“I want to know why you’re angry with me,” he said, and you looked up at the sky, frustrated, as though he should clearly know without you needing to tell him.

“That so?” You spat, and as you weren’t wearing shoes, you sensed as he walked closer to you, arms at his sides. It seemed he was attempting to be non-threatening.

“Yes. I realized I’ve done a lot of explaining, and not much listening. Whatever is keeping you so angry at me, I’ll listen.” You fixed your gaze to the stone in front of you, glaring, before you shut your eyes tightly. Your fists tightened up, and you brought your arms to your chest, and it was like your body was contracting to prepare for an explosion.

It was.

“You want to know why I’m angry with you?” You shouted, turning around while throwing your hands down to your sides, “it’s because you’re so stupid!” Your gaze avoided his, but not purposefully, instead because your anger manifested in rapid movements while you spoke. “You get ambushed by your psychopathic sister, who has been known to manipulate you, and you- you go after her anyway?” You held up your hand, four fingers shown to him, just in case he’d forgotten how to count.

“She had four airships. And you had nothing. No backup. You didn’t let Aang or I follow you, and you charge off into battle.” You leaned forward, a snarl on your lips.

“I watched you fall. I thought you died!” With the final exclamation of your anger, you stepped forward and shoved him backwards, but with a twist of your planted front foot you moved out of the way some of the jagged rocks he might’ve stumbled or fallen onto. Anger finally released, your expression turned to one of pain, of fear, of sadness.

“You told me you’d make it up to me. You can’t do that if you’re dead.” You turned to the side, now avoiding his gaze as he collected himself from the ground, and felt tears begin to fall.

“For so long I mourned Lee, right? Thought that the guy I loved was gone, because who you are isn’t who he was. And I finally figure out that that’s not true, that you are almost as good as I thought you were, and then I think you’ve died...” you trailed off, wiping the wetness of your face with a roll of your shoulder.

“I’ve already mourned Lee, I cant mourn Zuko, too, okay? I don’t want you to die, especially not by something stupid, like charging into a battle you couldn’t win.” You turned your eyes back to him, and found him staring at you, an expression you’d never quite seen on his face. It wasn’t a clear expression that you could pin, other than that he looked so... young. Surprised, almost.

“What?” You asked, voice still a bit jumpy from being choked up.

“You said you loved me.” It took a mental backtrack through your words to realize that you had, indeed.

“Zuko...” you breathed, and you turned toward the horizon, where the sun had long ago dunked into the ocean but still it reddened the sky. You brought your hands to the other’s bicep, as though it could help you protect your heart, and you forced some of your own hesitation away as you breathed out.

“Zuko, I loved you,” you admitted, finally, and that rush of it almost made tears re-emerge. “I did. You were sweet and funny and we got on so well.” You heard him step toward you, and you looked away from where he was near to being. “But the reality I thought I was living in... the floor fell out from under me. The Dai Li were secretive, and they weren’t what I thought they were. Iroh wasn’t just a kind old man, but was a fire nation general. The new leader of the Dai Li wasn’t a brilliant young soldier, but was a fire nation princess. A manipulative and snakish warrior who wanted to topple the earth kingdom. There was a war going on I’d never even heard of!” After the volume of your statement drained away, you hung your head, closing your eyes before your gaze could find the ground.

“And I wouldn’t have minded finding out you were the prince of the fire nation. Some part of me says I should’ve figured it out myself. What hurt me was that... you had so much more anger than I thought you did. Sure, you could be moody, but when we found you in those catacombs, the way you looked at Aang...” You let out a breath, and opened your eyes to look out over the ocean.

“I didn’t know you could be so... malicious. It was something I’d never seen from you before.” You turned your gaze to him, and let your mind wander to the moment when you stood between him and Katara, when Aang was dying. You remembered that predatory look in his eye.

“Did you even see me, that day? Or could you only think about getting to Aang?”

He didn’t answer, and you spared him from needing to. You didn’t think you wanted to know his answer.

“I think that I’ve blamed you for everything that went wrong that day. Aang’s death, your betrayal, the Dai Li’s betrayal. And I guess that isn’t fair. But I can’t seem to let it go.” You felt tears well up again, and Zuko slowly slipped his hand into yours.

“I want to forgive you,” you said, squeezing your palm around his fingers, “I want to let go of all this anger, and grief, a-and confusion, but I look at you and I... I see this boy who made the wrong choice. And that’s so frustrating, because you’ve made the right choice, again and again, you’ve defended us and helped us and fought alongside us. It’s not fair of me to focus on your mistakes when you’ve been making up for them.” You took a deep breath, and with its shaky exhale, let go of some of the sadness still clawing at you.

“I just want to let it go, so I can love you again.” There was an instant’s pause, when the prince took in your words, an instant’s pause in which the waves crashed on the shoreline and a bird cawed overhead. An instant’s pause, and then Zuko tugged you by the hand into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You hugged him back, tightly, almost squishing his torso into yours while a final few trembling breaths fought their way out of your lungs.

“I’m sorry,” he said to your shoulder, and you could hear emotion in his voice. “You deserve so much better than me. I’m so sorry. I- Y/N, I loved you then, too. If it weren’t for you, I might not have had the courage to leave the fire nation. You helped me change, and you didn’t even know it. Please, please don’t be mad at yourself.”

“I’m glad I met you,” you whispered, when a few moments had gone by.

“Me too,” he said back, laying his face down and into the crook of your neck.

You could’ve stood there and hugged him forever. You could’ve stayed in his arms, where you knew it was safe to be conflicted. He understood, and didn’t ask you to change, or make a decision. Maybe Zuko was better than Lee after all- he was flawed, but he chose to overcome those flaws and be a better person in spite of them.

It made him stronger. And, you thought, it would make you stronger.

Your heart had been broken. You’d been lied to, and cast aside. But you found it in yourself to forgive him, and to be honest with him, and to keep him close to you.

“Zuko?”

“Hmm?” You pulled from his chest, your eyes dry of their tears but heart still raw and open. You were ready to forgive him, and to move forward.

But there was one more thing.

“I need you to tell me what happened to Iroh.”

request for pt 7

edit: pt 7 requested!!

edit: | part 7 | part 8 |

-🦌 Roe

tag list- @furblrwurblr @eridanuswave @bernadineisreborn @angxlicwanda @lmaoashley-blog @celamoon @mywigglybaby @silentwhispofhope @the-girl-in-the-box @mavix @eury-dice3 @ninipoo1 @bigbuckyenergy @lucensei @srgania @uncovered-mad-man @11mb0 @pillowjj @ilovespideyyy @heavensgaymenace @thearachna-kid @llama2264 @anime-simp @akariblue @lostgirlheart @kacchasu @jainaixo @ctrl-alt-jeon @tadpoledancer @i-bitch-you-bitch @wetleafwrites @vintageroses1014516 @kittyddandnyla @smol-vy @lana-isabelle @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak

[seaswalllow]

(warning for; implied violence and death, discussion of violence and death.)

athazagoraphobia

--

your name is nothing. you do not need a name. you have never needed a name, only the fear and the knife in your hand.

--

you’ve known fear. watched deer break their legs as they flee, and bray as the wolf pounces. watched shepherds tumble down cliffs, bears crash through frozen lakes into the icy depths.

death is your birthright. fear is your bread, and adrenaline your butter.

--

and then you blink, and you are watching a boy of 12 steadfastly avoid his own eyes in the mirror at midnight.

you smile. he does not see the way that the glass shudders and warps to match. you have seen empires crack under their own weight, and gorged yourself upon the last, desperate cries for help from sunken ships. yet something, something thrums under the skin of this little boy, oily and afraid, and you think that you will be sated indeed by the magic curling underneath.

--

come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly…

hello?

there’s plenty to see, and plenty to feast, by the by…

who’s there?

beware the strings, and beware the knife-

i’m not scared-

oh, bull-fucking-shit. i can hear your heartbeat from miles away.

--

who- who are you?

you. well, the you that you’re afraid to see in the mirror.

i’m not afraid-

oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t make us do this again. i don’t appear unless you’re afraid. and for whatever reason, your jackrabbit-y little heart decided to pound hard enough to let me know where to pop up. do you really think that you can lie to us about the one thing that’s summoned me?

us? are there-

you. and me. let me tell you, as your new shadow, you can’t lie to yourself any more than you can lie to me.

… i don’t want you as my shadow, what do you mean-

hah. sorry, kiddo, you don’t get a choice.

sleep tight, jackaboy. who knows; maybe on your first night, i won’t bite.

--

it’s as amusing the tenth time as it is the first time. leaning out of the mirror, you tap your knife on his shoulder. he yelps. he spins, and then he runs.

this is the first time that you are able to peel out of the mirror and into his shadow in time.

you don’t pay any attention to it, at first. the distance that you must keep ebbs and flows.

anti, stop, he pleads, stumbling over roots, leaping over fallen trunks as he delves further, and further into the forest. joy crackles through your veins, and the shadows at the edges of your vision resolve into crisp focus. you feel alive like you have never before.

--

what the fuck did you just call me?

i- anti, i couldn’t just keep calling you nothing-

--

you can’t stop smiling. joy sings through you, crisp and clean, sharper than the claws digging into your palm.

--

say that again.

..what?

anti?

what a stupid name.

--

you’ve caught him, as always. you will always catch him. but this time- this time you are marvelling at the oilslick rainbows playing through your shadows, the sharp breath in your lungs, the burn of the chase in your chest.

--

and then one day, when you catch him, you feel the steel of the blade as it presses into the back of his neck. you feel it in your hands, you feel a ghost of it on you.

--

being a shadow means just that: you’re disconnected. you can feed, you can see, you can touch, but you cannot be touched. for the better part of centuries, you have had only the velvet darkness to wrap around you, and that was that.

and along comes a boy of 14 with old magic, old fear carved into his bones, and with a name, he has done the impossible.

he’s made you.

--

you are never afraid. you are the fear.

--

there is fear, cold and familiar, coiling in your gut, reflecting off of bared teeth and a blade.

--

you drive him off, and then you sink down, into the shadows, onto an overgrown forest floor that prickles at you, and against a tree that digs into your back. splinters dig themselves deep under impossible skin, and you laugh until it sounds like you’re screaming. it burns.

it burns, it burns, and you love it, and you hate it.

--

you can’t let him see you like this. not now, not ever.

--

he sleeps better than he ever has that night. and you just watch.

--

(you will berate yourself for that, later. it will only prove his point, later, when you are older and angrier.)

--

but for now, you let the headiness of your giddy joy rush through you. it’s not as sweet as toddler’s; not as finely nuanced as an elder’s. but it will do, and when your jackrabbit tells you i’ve never seen you smile this wide, i’ve never seen it reach your eyes, it is the only thing that prevents you from following through with your threat of carving him into much less joyous pieces.

--

and then quite abruptly, the soap bubble pops.

--

he’s made you, and that means that he’s changed you. you take that knife-sharp paranoia, and shape it. hone it, until you can hold it just above the tender skin that pulses atop his jugular, in the pitch black night. you are not afraid; you are the fear, and you will use it as you can.

--

how did you do it?

how- how did i do what? anti, anti, put the knife away. you’ve never come this close, put it away.

how did you make that name? nobody’s made a name before.

did nobody think to?

why would they? fear doesn’t need a name. you don’t need words to feel your wheezing breath and the way that your hands go all icy numb in the way that you hate because you can’t move fast enough, and never will.

that sounds so lonely.

to you, maybe. solitude’s the worst, isn’t it? ‘cause there’s nothing left to be scared of except what you dream up in that thick little noggin of yours. who knows- it might be a monster with sharp teeth like mine, or it might be a slower death.

answer my question.

how did you do it?

i don’t know! i just did! i just- you’re everything i’m not. we’re not. so i-

so you named me anti and it fucking stuck. somehow. after decades upon centuries, a little boy made stupid by his fear rounds it out nice and even-

--

(here’s the secret: it’s not your first time.)

(here’s the secret: you will take that with you to whatever grave awaits an undying creature.)

so you clamp down on that knife-sharp paranoia and you pull it all back to yourself, feeling your edges swell and settle with something like relief.

--

don’t do it again, you spit at him, false heart hammering as hard as his own.

--

he does it again anyways. when you sneak into his dreams and watch his face twist like a funhouse mirror, he shouts for you to stop, all in that unfamiliar name.

he does it again, when you jump at him while his back is turned.

and again.

--

it’s not an unfamiliar name.

--

no, no, no.

--

he tries to reach a hand out to you. you eye it lazily at first, until he draws closer. the hesitant calm snaps something in your gut. you flinch, and leave it dripping.

--

what happens to you if there’s nothing left from him to feed on? what happens to you if there’s nothing left to be afraid of? routine breeds familiarity; familiarity breeds comfort. you are forged from everything he is not- this leaves no room for his soft edges and gentle smiles.

--

you feel calm, for the first time, and it sets your false heart jackrabbiting faster than it ever has before. so you bite, and you flee.

--

and then you have to fix the problem.

--

(there is a thick, ropy scar across your necks. he won’t stop flinching every time he sees you, in turn. it sits, warm and rotten, as it makes a home in your gut; you purr as you take your fill.)

(he flinches as he feels you curl up, warm and content, in the bleeding space under his heart. this makes you purr harder.)

(but you haven’t fixed the problem. his neck prickles as yours does. why didn’t it fix the problem?)

(this is the problem: your heart beats the same as his does. this is the problem: you want it to stop. this is the solution: the cold weight of your fear and your fury in your palm. this is the solution: if something is making you weak, you cut it out.)

--

and then something snaps in your guts as you lunge and he screams in your voice. and then you are burning and burning and burning-

-

and then there is nothing at all.

[billy-the-hurricane]

200 harringrove

Hi sorry it took me a ridiculously huge amount of time to do this, but here we gooo

200. "He loves you, you know? He's just afraid of admitting it"

_

Steve and Billy's friendship was.. complicated to say the least. Admittedly, Hargrove having punched the shit out of the other boy last November was probably not helping their case. Before that fight, it had been rivalry, mainly fueled by Billy while Steve tried his best to just ignore the guy. After that, they kept their distance for a while, and Steve found out from Dustin that Maxine had threatened her brother with a nailed bat to leave them alone. But the whole thing felt off to Harrington. It's a good thing Hargrove wasn't trying to fight with him anymore, but it seemed everything else was gone with it. His fire died down. Billy came back to school with a black eye Steve knew for a fact he wasn't the one responsible for, and alarmingly quiet. Him who usually was loud and obnoxious was just trying to stay quiet. After interrogating Max (god forbid he'd ask the guy himself), he wasn't given much of an answer, but it seemed Mayfield definitely felt somewhat of an embarrassment when the question dropped. This only concerned him more. The real turn however was one time Steve drove the redhead back to Cherry Lane. Both Neil and Billy's vehicles were parked here and as soon as they got out of Steve's beamer, they could already hear some fighting was going on inside.

"Steve, you should leave now" Max had told, despite the concern written across her face.

"why? What's happening?" Harrington asked with a worried frown that only deepened as Neil's voice raised even louder. They could hear him like he was simply in the room next to them and not outside the house. Max bit the inner side of her cheek, swallowing hard.

"Please, you really sho-" The girl had started before their discussion was cut short by the most haunting pleading Steve's heard. At least in a while. It was clearly Billy screaming, with the sound of a vase breaking right after. He couldn't make up the exact words, but it was obvious the blond was begging for this to stop.

And things kind of clicked. Why Billy was behaving the way he did. Despite Max trying to avoid this being known, because Billy doesn't want it to be known he's guessing, Steve knows now. No matter how much his guts are telling him to storm inside, to just do something, anything, he leaves. He feels extremely gross for days afterwards, spent the weekend wondering if complying to the redhead's request had been a good idea at all. When Billy showed up at school with a scar forming on his eyebrow, having split it in a way that probably would never grow back, Steve had no doubt about the situation.

So he tried finding small ways to somehow approach Billy, befriend him. It was clear the guy's behaviour was stemming from his life at home, but Steve was certain that with some help, he could give the blond a more healthy outlet than knocking people out. This was definitely easier said than done, with Billy being very hostile at the idea of ever hanging out or even being seen with the guy. But one step at a time, one meaningless small talk at a time, they started actually hanging out at lunch. Then after school. Shared joints and deeper conversations ensued over the course of a few months and although this didn't fix Billy's issue, it was obvious he wasn't as agitated anymore.

The main turning point for them was a night of April. In which Steve confided in his own insecurities. Brought up his failed relationship with Nancy, the fact that his parents themselves didn't know him more than on an acquaintance type of level. He felt alone in a stupidly big fucking house all the time, stuck with nightmares he couldn't describe to the blond. For a second he thought maybe Billy would mock him, or flee his way out of the conversation but he did not. He listened. Hargrove let Steve talk and although it was clear the Californian native wasn't used to give advices, he genuinely tried and it showed. Then he opened up too. Billy seemed really hesitant for a hot minute, but he confessed to the abuse at home. The fact that it's been happening for so long and gradually getting worse. The fact that it took an awful turn when Neil caught him with a guy.

Holy shit.

That wasn't expected for sure, caught him off-guard for sure and judging by Billy's face, it showed. The guy looked like he was seeing someone dying. It hit him now. Just how much trust Billy has in him now, to even just share this.

"Nevermind, I'll just go" Hargrove blurted out, getting up with a reddening face. An awful sense of embarrassment coursing through his body. He just made a fool of himself. Again. As he walked out, Steve ran after him, grabbing his wrist but Billy instantly moved it away almost mechanically.

"Listen man, it's okay, I just didn't expect it" Harrington awkwardly let out, watching Billy's back still turned towards him. "It's a bit of a lot to process at once that's all. I think I figured out for your dad, but I didn't know you.." the brunet went on, earning a chuckle that held no joy from Hargrove. "It's okay. That doesn't change anything for me. I'm sorry this happened to you, you don't deserve any of it. Just know you can always come over if you need to sleep away from your house"

And just like this, Billy's sexual orientation was never brought up again. Steve was supportive and offered him a roof more than anyone has in YEARS. He was always stupidly kind, never asked for anything in return. Billy finally had a safe space and someone he could count on. Billy laughed harder than he ever had with him, and the experience was mutual. It was just. Easy. Stress free. Well until he caught feelings. Until he came to realize just to what degree Harrington mattered to him. He'd rather die than admit it, of course, but they were there. The stupid fucking butterflies. Whenever Steve smiled too bright of showed too much care. Usually Billy found a way to distract them both with something totally different, just so he can focus on something else than the way he feels. But with time, it became harder and harder and the fear of slipping up grew bigger and bigger. As much as it pained Billy, he slowly tried distancing himself. Just to avoid this disaster.

However, what Billy hadn't anticipated was just how much this would hurt Steve. He just couldn't understand what the hell he did to upset Billy. And whenever he asked, Hargrove would assure nothing happened and they're fine.

After weeks of useless back and forth, Steve asked Max. Asked what the hell was wrong with Billy. And apparently that was a really stupid question, judging by the stare she gave him. She shook her head with a whispered "boys" before looking around them to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

"You really have no idea?" the redhead asked, crossing her arms.

"Not really, no" the teenage boy reiterated with a sigh.

"He loves you, y'know? He's just afraid to admit it" Maxine explained. "He's changed a lot since you guys made peace. It's obvious he cares a lot for you, so please don't let this destroy your friendship. Just give him time to move on-" she started, cut by Steve that was finally processing the words.

"He's in love with me?" Harrington questioned, although the answer was given to him even before he spoke. Well, damn. He didn't even add anything else, just left with Max calling him behind him.

He just hopped into his beamer and drove off, later realizing he probably scared her to death, she probably thought he was about to fight with her brother over it. But he just had to see Billy. It's now been weeks since he's been questioning himself over this, over how much he cares about the blond. Over the implications of it. But hearing Billy loved him was like all of his thoughts now made sense. He parked into the public pool's parking lot, knowing Billy was on his Saturday shift. He walked in, ignored the girl at the entrance, vaguely explaining he was there to see Billy and headed to the lockers, finding him there.

"The hell are you doing here?" Billy told, putting his sweater on properly as Harrington was just walking towards him in an overwhelmingly confident manner. Now dragged into a changing room, he's really starting to freak out.

"Jesus man, what's your issue?!" Hargrove insisted as the brunet locked the door behind them. "What do you want?"

Steve just found himself speechless once locked in here with the other, now only fully understanding what this was. "You're in love with me" he let out, quite breathless sounding. And Billy turned white like a ghost. The guy that usually dripped in confident was losing all of his arrogance in seconds.

"No" Hargrove mumbled out, his voice now slightly shaky. There were no fucking way out. Both of the discussion and physically.

"You're not a good liar" Steve smiled, watching the blond embarrass himself like a twelve year old.

"Fuck off" Billy replied, trying to move Steve out of the way, just to get his arm pulled even closer into Harrington's space, chest pressed against chest. Steve had this dumb smile on his face, and Billy felt like this was a joke at his expense. Couldn't be anything else. "That's not funny. Just beat the shit out of me, get this over with already"

"I want you to tell me. Say it to me, please" Steve said, completely ignoring Billy's previous words.

"Are you serious?"

"Please" Harrington asked again.

"I.." he looked away, swallowing tightly. "I'm in love. With you"

In response, Steve gave him one of those beautiful bright smiles of his, his hand sliding up to cup Billy's cheek. "You're beautiful" he told before leaning in to kiss that fucking idiot.

[storiesforallfandoms]

soulmates ~ paul lahote;twilight

word count: 1827

request?: yes!

“i screamed in joy when i saw that you write for twilight as well! can i request a Paul Lahote imagine with a witch!reader? the pack are patrolling & comes across the reader who was using her magic, then Paul imprints on her while on his wolf form & he just starts rubbing his head on her? it’ll be great if the reader has a feeling that Paul is her soulmate/imprint. they meet for 2nd time after that but this time Paul is human. just a bunch of fluff!”

description: in which she meets her soulmate in his animal form and tries to find him to know who he really is

pairing: paul lahote x witch!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

There wasn’t much to know about her soulmate after their first meeting. He had approached her with his pack while she was trying to cast a protective spell on Forks. The pack were angry when they first saw her, baring their teeth and ready to attack. She was preparing a get away when one of the wolves stepped forward. His eyes were wide, as if he were in a trance. He had approached her, slowly and cautiously, before rubbing against her.

She wasn’t sure how she figured out that he was her soulmate. She just knew. There was a feeling she had the moment he began to rub his giant head against her, like all she wanted to do was to protect him and keep him safe. There was an unspoken agreement throughout the pack that they would not hurt (Y/N), and left instead, running as fast as possible in the other direction. Her wolf stopped long enough to look at her, longingly, over his shoulder, before he followed the pack.

Under any normal circumstances, (Y/N) would’ve thought she’d never meet her soulmate face to face, unless it was a chance encounter. But, lucky for her, both of them were anything but normal.

(Y/N) found a hair from the wolf left on her clothes, which was all she needed to cast a tracking spell. She waited until night fall as to not draw any attention to herself, and night made her spells more dramatic sometimes. She sat on the floor of her small house and closed her eyes. She focused solely on her memory of the wolf; his dark silver fur, his light brown eyes, his towering form as he approached her.

In her hand, (Y/N) held the hair that the wolf had left on her. She whispered the spell, her voice soft but focused. She began to see a vision of a house, a small house. She could see young men approaching the house, and a woman with a horribly scarred face; she was young but she was like a mother to them. She could see that the house was surrounded by forest, and there was no clear number or address of where it was.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself before continuing her spell.

Before she knew it, she was seeing the exact path from the small house to her own. She frantically grabbed for the pen and paper she had left for herself and quickly drew the route as it played over for her once more. Once she had it drawn, her eyes snapped open and she gasped. As she tried to regain her breath, she looked down to see a perfect map from her house to the place where her soulmate was. She looked at it for a long time before smiling.

In the morning, she would embark on her adventure, and she would find her soulmate.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) slowed the car to a stop in front of the house from her vision. There was barley any sign of life besides smoke coming from a chimney. There were no cars, none of the young men from her vision, nor the mother like woman. It seemed empty and she wondered if she was too late.

She got out of the car and approached the house. Her mind was screaming at her to turn around and to leave again. There was a chance she was at the wrong place, or her wolf soulmate and his pack had already up and left before she found them, but she had to know for sure. She couldn’t leave without getting some form of answers.

She knocked on the door and waited for any movement inside. (Y/N) mentally cursed at herself for not bringing the hair in case she had to do another spell. It would’ve been easier to find him from there and not to have to go all the way back to her house for a stupid hair. Luckily for her, however, the scarred woman answered the door.

(Y/N) was shocked and realized she hadn’t prepared anything to say. How did she explain why she was there without sounding insane? Lamely, she managed to force herself to say, “Hi.”

The woman looked her up and down a moment before saying, “So, you’re the one Paul won’t shut up about.”

(Y/N) was taken back by the comment. So his name was Paul, and he hadn’t stopped talking about her since their brief meeting? “I think so, I haven’t exactly gotten to know much about him yet.”

The woman smiled warmly at her. “Come in.”

She poured (Y/N) a cup of tea and introduced herself as Emily, the fiancee of the pack leader, Sam.

“The silver wolf that rubbed against you was Paul,” she explained as the two women sat at the table in the kitchen. “He’s the third in command of the pack, and the most impulsive one. The boys were shocked that he didn’t go right for an attack when he saw you.”

“That’s comforting,” (Y/N) said with an awkward chuckle.

“They didn’t know what you are,” Emily explained. “You’re a new entity to them, and you were in their territory. They were willing to protect the territory from whatever you were.”

(Y/N) nodded. That did make sense, but now she felt uncomfortable sitting in the house of a pack of werewolves if it meant they might attack her.

The sound of male voices approaching the house drew the attention of both women. (Y/N) was tempted to flee before they arrived, but she wanted to meet Paul face to face. She wanted to see the human face of her soulmate, to learn more about him, and she didn’t want to fear his friends.

The men came into the house, roughhousing and laughing. They all seemed to stop simultaneously when they noticed that Emily wasn’t alone, and they came to recognize who was sat with her.

“Gentlemen,” Emily started, smiling softly at them. “This is (Y/N).”

One of the men stepped away from the group to approach her. (Y/N) rose from her seat, looking deep into his brown eyes. It didn’t take long to clue in that this was her wolf, her soulmate. She could tell just by looking at him.

“You found us,” he finally said. His voice sounded like music to her ears.

She chuckled. “I did. You left a helpful hint behind on my clothes.”

(Y/N) held out the silver fur that Paul had left on her. He looked at her in amazement, wanting to reach out to touch her to prove that she was real. He hesitated. This was the first time they were truly meeting, he didn’t want to scare her away so quickly.

“How did you find us?” one of the pack members asked.

“And what are you?” another added. (Y/N) could tell by the authority in his voice that he was the alpha, Sam.

“I’m a witch,” she responded. “As far as I know I’m the only of my kind here in Forks.”

The pack looked skeptical, except for Paul, who was still entranced by (Y/N).

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” she continued. “When you caught me in the field, I was casting a protective spell over Forks. I’ve heard of the animal attacks, the ones that aren’t exactly animals. I was hoping to cast a spell to protect the people of Forks and to cast whatever, or whoever, is behind those attacks out. You interrupted me when you arrived.”

“Forks doesn’t need your witchy voodoo, they have us,” one of the younger members of the pack spoke.

“Embry,” Sam said, sternly. He turned to face Paul and the two of them shared a look. “I think you two should talk in private.”

Paul turned to (Y/N) to ask, “Want to go for a walk?”

~~~~~~

The two walked in silence through the woods for some time. Neither really knew what to say. What do you say when you’re meeting your soulmate for the first time?

“I feel like we both have a lot of questions,” Paul finally said, breaking the tense silence.

“Not many I can think of, but I’m sure more will come up,” (Y/N) agreed. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you come find me?”

“Witches believe that everyone has a soulmate, but when you’re a witch or a wizard, you actually know when you’ve met your soulmate. There’s this feeling of electricity when you touch for the first time, a desire to spend all your time with that person, to know as much about them as you possibly could. I was hoping to be able to actually talk to you, but you and the pack ran off so quickly. I was left to my own devices to find you.”

“A spell, I’d assume.”

(Y/N) nodded. “There’s a spell to track people, but only to where they normally reside. There’s no way to track them to their exact location, which is why I took a chance coming here to see if I could find you.”

Paul moved in close enough that his arm brushed (Y/N). She felt another spark of electricity, confirming her suspicions that he was supposed to be her soulmate.

“About the pack,” she continued. “Emily mentioned that I was in your territory, and usually the pack attacks non-humans in their territory. Why didn’t you guys attack me? Why were you so reserved when you approached me?”

“Shifters also have something like soulmates, except we call it Imprinting,” Paul explained. “It came happen whenever, to whoever. There’s never a warning, a premonition. You see the person and you just...you know. You’re connected to them for life, whether it’s romantically, platonically, in a sort of brotherly way. However the person they’ve imprinted on wants them to be. Once someone in the pack has imprinted, there’s this rule that the rest of the pack leaves that person alone. Even if you were something dangerous, the pack would have to leave you be since I imprinted on you.”

(Y/N) nodded along to Paul’s explanation. “Anything the imprintee wants to be, huh?”

Paul stopped and turned to look at her, causing (Y/N) to stop walking as well. “Anything, which leads to the question of us. What do you want us to be?”

(Y/N) didn’t take much time to think it over. Instead, she took Paul’s face in her hands and pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his. It caused that stereotypical feeling of fireworks that is always mentioned in romance novels, except (Y/N) new that was the electricity of their soulmate bond.

Paul held her to him as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“Is that a good enough answer?” she asked, a cheeky grin on her face.

Paul smiled back. “That was the answer I was hoping for.”

[torialeysha]

Cold feet - Part. 17

A tailored twist.

Song: Royal Blood - Out of the black

The house was more like a mansion. A lone, vast, Victorian structure that was nestled perfectly by the sea. It’s white painted facade blended seamlessly in to the clouds that decorated the pale blue sky above. The tidy surrounding grounds stretching for miles, and rooted right in front, next to the gravelly driveway was an evergreen, spirally branched monkey puzzle tree. It was nothing less than celestial. A piece of heaven that you could call home.

It was the first morning you hadn’t suffered from sickness and apart from the exhaustion you felt from exploring and getting acquainted with your new house, you felt a lot brighter than you had done in weeks. A brightness which was soon to be disturbed by your anxious thoughts worrying about what was transpiring back in London; What was Charles thinking now you hadn’t returned? Would he have gone to your mothers thinking you was there? You hoped not. Your mother was innocent, you didn’t want her getting dragged into all this.

You tensed when a strong set of arms circled your waist then relaxed instantly when you felt Alfie’s beard tickle your neck as he planted a kiss there.

“Have you managed to get hold of him yet?” You asked him about Tommy.

“Na.” He sighed into your hair. “What about Ada?”

“I tried the hotel but they said she checked out yesterday.” You replied. Disappointed you hadn’t been able to get in touch but grateful that she was away from this spiralling mess.

“Try not to worry, pet. We’ll sort it.”

You nodded faintly, unable to share or find comfort in his resolute optimism. You leaned back into him and pulled his arms tighter around you as if the security of his burly prison would grant you the extra reassurance you needed.

“Shall we go for a walk on the beach?” You suggested a suitable, much desired distraction.

“I can’t today, Yahalom... I’ve gotta pop back to London.” He explained almost casually.

“What?” You choked, turning in his arms to check the seriousness of his excuse.

“I’ve some loose ends I need to tie up and I’ve gotta pick up Cyril as wel-“

“Can’t you get someone else to do all that for you?” You interrupted sharply.

“There’s things that need my personal attention. Signatures and suc-“

“-Then I’m coming back with you.” You told him before he could once again finish.

“No, you’re not.” He scoffed.

“I need to go back!” You insisted sternly. “I need to collect some things. I’m going to need more clothes.”

“I brought all the clothes you left at mine. They’re in the wardrobe. Anything else you need I’ll buy for you.”

“You can’t stop me from coming with you.”

“Wanna bet?” He challenged.

“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you? That’s why you don’t want me tagging along. You’re going back there to try and handle this yourself.” You surmised with an increasing dread tightening your insides.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous!” He huffed. “I’ve got unfinished business back there thanks to our sudden and fortuitous get away yesterday. So I need to go back and sort ‘em out today. And you coming with me means I ain’t gonna be able to deal with anything because I’ll be too busy worrying about what you’re getting up to.” He stipulated brusquely.

“Oh don’t give me that, Alf. You could still worry about me down here on my own. I Could fall and hit my head. Anything could happen.”

“I’ve thought of that.” He agreed with a nod. “That’s why I’ve arranged for Ishmael and Daniel to come down and keep an eye on you while I’m gone.”

“Babysitters?”

“Peace of mind, pet.” He corrected.

“What about my peace of mind?” You demanded. Alfie returning to London for any amount of time made you feel ill with unease.

“I’m old enough and ugly enough look after myself, in’t I? I won’t be long, a few hours at most.”

The shrill ring of the doorbell interrupted your stand off and stopped you from arguing further.

Neither of you moved to answer it.

“I don’t wanna leave ‘ere on an argument, Yahalom.”

“Then don’t leave.”

He sighed heavily. “The sooner I go, the sooner I can get back.”

The bell rung again.

“Fuck sake! Hold on a minute!” Alfie roared towards the closed front door.

“Please, my love. I’m begging you, don’t go back there until you’ve spoken to Tommy. At least see what he has to say about all this.” Desperately your pained eyes beseeched him to stay.

“I don’t need to run anything past anyone. I handle my own business, right.” He gritted angrily.

“That’s not what I meant-“ You were cut off by the bell ringing a third time followed by knuckles rapping loudly on the door.

“Are them cunts deaf?” Alfie bellowed before turning his broad, slightly hunched shoulders and marching to the front door.

You followed him, stopping at the bottom of the staircase which stood opposite the door.

“Fine, go back without me.” You told him just as he reached for the door handle. “But be Warned, if you’re not back here by dusk then I’ll be on my way to London to look for you.” You threatened, abruptly turning on your heel and retreating up the stairs, leaving him to greet your babysitters. 

Alfie grunted, muttering something in Yiddish as he answered the door.

“What took you so long?” Alfie demanded as way of a greeting.

“Sorry, boss. The traffic was a joke.” Daniel explained.

“I’m gonna be fucking late now.” Alfie moaned. “Listen carefully...” He carried on in a hushed tone. “Don’t let ‘er out of your sight, right. And under no fucking circumstances let her leave ‘ere.”

With a vicious foreboding you observed Alfie leave from the bedroom window. You had purposely bid him a cold and transient farewell in hopes he would realise the purgatory he was subjecting you to and maybe change his mind, but it appeared he was determined in his return. Now without the consolation of a proper goodbye, you watched with choked desolation and worry as he left.

Aided by his cane, he trudged towards his automobile. He opened the car door and hesitated. Turning at the hip, his eyes rose to the bedroom window and connected with yours. Your breath caught in the back of your throat, your sweaty palm pressing against the frame of the window to steady your wavering.

“Please come back to me safely and in one piece.” You implored him quietly.

He winked as if hearing your silent plea and with one last longing look he was gone.

You peeled yourself away from the window once he had driven out of sight and debated how you could occupy yourself over the next few hours so they wouldn’t be longer and more gut wrenchingly painful than they was already going to be. The first thing you decided to do was call your mother to make sure she was ok and to see if Charles had popped by looking for you.

You chose to use the phone in Alfie’s office, the four walls that were predominantly him supplying your heavy heart with comfort from his absence.

Lifting the receiver of the telephone, you asked to operator to put you through.

A mess of papers littered Alfies desk and you tried to put order to them as you waited for the call to connect. A piece of paper scribbled with an address of one of Alfie’s warehouses and a time of 12 o’clock stole your attention.

The call connected the same time as the ring of the doorbell. Your brow furrowed at the unexpected noise coming from downstairs. Maybe it was Alfie having forgotten something. Thinking no more of it, you left it to one of the men to answer it.

“Hello?” Your mothers voice croaked impatiently a second time down the line.

“Mum? Are you ok?” You asked, relieved to hear her voice.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Are you ok?” You asked again but her reply was drowned out by a sudden fracas erupting from downstairs. You held the receiver away from your ear to garner more clearly what was unfolding. Two loud, horribly familiar bangs pierced the air followed by silence. You jumped up from Alfie’s desk with a gasp, your mothers questioning voice still tumbling down the receiver that was rattling in your now trembling grasp.

“I’ll call you back.” You murmured quickly and put the phone down.

Resisting the urge, somewhat instinctively to call out and break the deafening silence, you instead left Alfies office and proceeded tentatively downstairs to investigate. Your cautious steps grinded to a harrowing halt as you came face to face with Luca Changretta. Time seemed to stand still as shock sucked the air from your lungs and robbed you of your ability to scream. In your peripheral vision you saw the bodies of Ishmael and Daniel, both covered in crimson and lying motionless on the floor. 

Transfixed with utter disbelief and fear, your wide and frightened eyes focused back on the Sicilian devil and his two minions. Luca removed the matchstick he was chewing on and gave you a discerningly wicked grin, revealing in just a look that he knew everything. Coming to your senses, you turned instantly and flighted back up the stairs away from him.

“Get her.” You heard him order his two henchmen who padded heavily up the stairs after you.

You took the steps hurriedly, two at a time just making it to the top when your foot clumsily clipped the last step. You lost balance, stumbling forward and smashing your head unforgivingly on the opposing wall. Dazed, you tried scrambling to your feet in a last ditch attempt to escape but the blow to your head wouldn’t allow it. With a helpless groan you sunk dizzily back to the floor. Your surroundings became foggy and the chasing shadows blocked out all light as they neared. Any effort at fleeing was now futile but still you persisted, clawing your way desperately along the carpeted floor, not giving up until you felt a pair of forceful hands tug at your waist.

Alfie drove straight from Margate to his warehouse where he had arranged to meet Luca Changretta. He waited a full 45 minutes before a van pulled in to join him. He watched carefully as Luca emerged from the passenger seat followed by his men. Alfie was outnumbered by two, and quickly his mind weighed up the probabilities of him walking out of there alive. He concluded that the odds were in his favour considering what they had arranged in their first meeting; Luca needed Alfie to take one of his men as his second to the fight in Birmingham so they could get to Thomas Shelby and kill him. Making Alfie a indispensable asset - for now anyway.

“You’re late!” Alfie’s voice boomed, echoing through the expanse of the bare warehouse. “Now you better tell me what the fuck this is all about, mate? I mean we’ve made the fucking deal, in’t we? What more is there to say?”

“We made the deal Mr. Solomons.” Luca agreed. “But the truth is I don’t fucking trust you.” The matchstick in his mouth rolled from one side to the other. “Ya see, I’ve heard a lot about the devious reputation you’re notorious for Mr. Solomons. And you selling out your peaky pal, it got me thinking that I need some sort of... insurance, in case that fickle brain of yours is planning on double-crossing me.”

“What the fuck you on about?” Alfie frowned deeply.

“You’re a tough nut to crack Mr. Solomons, I’ll give ya that. No close family, no wife or children. I dug deep looking for some way in which I could feel more secure in our deal but I couldn’t find a fucking thing... But then our mutual friend Sabini told me something very interesting. Ya see, he had the great fortune of bumping into a whore that you’ve been seeing.” Luca removed the matchstick from his mouth and pointed it at Alfie, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “And, well...according to her, you’re not as untouchable as I thought... I just can’t believe it’s been right under my nose all this time.”

Vacantly, Alfie stared at him. “Well it’s fucking big enough, innit. I mean, I’m surprised you can see fuck all with a conk like that...”

Luca’s teeth caught the match he was chewing and bit down on it hard.

“Listen mate, if you wanted to know the size of my cock you should’ve just asked instead of chasing rumours like a headless fucking chicken. Now, why you’d be foolish enough to trust the word of a whore, I don’t know. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I ain’t got a clue what you’re rambling on about. So do us both a favour, yeah, stop beating round the bush with that smarmy fucking arrogance of yours and lay your cards on the table.” Alfie spouted stoically. Although he had begun to feel heavy with apprehension.

“Ok. I figured you’d play dumb.” Luca gave a blasé nod, then signalled to his right hand man. “Matteo! Lay my cards on the table for Mr. Solomons. Let’s see if that will help jog his memory.”

Alfies heart leapt up in to his mouth as he watched with knitted brows, Matteo step to the back of the van they had arrived in and pull the doors open wide. He reached into the back and dragged you from the vehicle. Bound and gagged you could do no more than comply. You were planted on your feet and guided forcefully forward. Your watery, bloodshot eyes bulging as they raised from the ground and fell upon a morosely stunned Alfie. A muffled version of his name erupted helplessly from your throat but was silenced by the material wedged in your mouth.

Alfie stood aghast, seized with an impotent anger. His body trembled from head to toe with an agonising rage that he was struggling to contain. It had finally happened; what he dreaded the most, what he fought diligently for so long to avoid.

“Not so fucking cocky now are we Mr. Solomons.” Luca smirked, strolling to your side.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate.” Alfie started tensely. “Me and ‘er was just a bit of fun, right. She don’t mean nothing like that to me.” His forged confession sounded pitiful even to his own ears but out of desperation for your safety it was all he could do.

“Is that so? Then you won’t mind if I blow her fucking brains out.” Luca mocked, producing a gun from his belt. You flinched when the cold metal of the narrow muzzle landed at your temple.

Alfie growled, immediately whipping his own gun from the waistband of his trousers and pointing it at Luca. Automatically Luca’s henchmen drew their weapons and directed them at Alfie.

“As I thought.” Unfazed, Luca clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “It’s amazing what good pussy can do to a man.” He hummed, sliding the gun down your tear soaked face to your breasts. When the material of your dress stopped him from going any further he cocked his head disdainfully in Alfie’s direction, his thin lips curling up into a superior smirk.

“It pains me to see you like this Mr. Solomons.” He lied, enjoying the power he had over the squirming Jew. “But your dirty little secret’s out. You might as well put your weapon down and give it up.”

“Let ‘er go now or the deal’s off.” Alfie warned tightly.

Deal? You thought. What deal?

“You’re a funny guy, Mr Solomons, thinking I’m going to let go of something this priceless that easily. This here is my insurance. This here is giving me the absolute confidence that I needed to ensure that you don’t fuck me over.” Luca rasped. “Nothing’s changed, the deal still goes ahead as we planned and I still honour your costs for doing so. Then once the deed is done, I meet you outside of Birmingham and hand back the girl. As I’m sure you can understand, it’s nothing personal, just business... I mean, I suppose it is a lil personal actually considering Y/N’s meant to be betrothed to my cousin.” He glared in your direction.

“Na, that’s not gonna happen, mate - Because trust works both ways dunnit and I know for a fact, right, that you ain’t got no intentions of handing her back, dun’ I?”

“And what makes you say that?” Luca asked, seemingly bemused.

“Well once this deed’s done and I’ve fulfilled my part of it, it’ll make no difference to you if I’m dead or alive, will it? So granted, you’ll meet me outside Birmingham afterwards with the girl but only to put a bullet in my head and hers. So unless we come to some sort of compromise, the deal is off.”

“And what compromise do you suggest?”

“I want ‘er at the fight. I want eyes on ‘er the whole time-“

“-You want me to send her to the fight unaccompanied?” An incredulous Luca interrupted Alfie. “What, so you can run off into the sunset together before Shelby’s been dealt with and screw me over? No, no, no. She’ll need a chaperone at least. Someone I can trust...” He thought for a moment, and while he deliberated your mind struggled to process what you were hearing. Alfie had made a deal with Changretta to kill Thomas. You sobbed, shaking your head vigorously in protest, wishing it wasn’t so, wishing that your life didn’t now depend on it.

“Charles - as her rightful fiancé, he will accompany her.” Luca’s proposition quietened you but your inner turmoil worsened. “I’m assuming that’s no longer the case now though, huh?” He addressed you. “I wonder what he’ll have to say about all this.” He tutted.

“That’s not happening either.” Alfie told him through gritted teeth.

“Mr. Solomons.” Luca sighed exasperated. “You’re acting as if you have a choice in the matter. Be grateful, huh? You requested a compromise and I’ve given you one. Y/N will be at the fight as you wish, with Charles who I trust and who’ll be under strict instructions to behave himself. Then once it’s done he’ll hand her over. However, I want to make myself clear, Mr. Solomons, any funny business before my men carry out their duty, then all bets are off.”

“Alright.” Alfie grunted. “But let me also make myself clear, yeah, if any harms done to her, I will unleash it back on to the lot of you fucking threefold, mate. Make no mistake about it.”

Luca grinned. “Let me assure you that Y/N will be in safe hands. She’ll be heavily guarded until the fight... bare that in mind if your thinking about attempting a rescue, it would be a shame to ruin that beautiful face of hers just because you’ve tried to be a hero.”

Alfie said no more but you could tell he was seething. His furious gaze moved from Luca to you, his eyes softening ruefully. Tears fell helplessly down your cheeks as you stared back at him, your anguished look willing him wordlessly not to go through with it.

“I’ve gotta say it’s refreshing to see this softer side to you Mr. Solomons.” Luca admitted teasingly. “Let me tell ya, if I had a heart it’d be breaking right now - but I don’t, so now we’ve come to an understanding, Imma get this show back on the road.” Luca grabbed one of your shackled arms and tugged you backwards towards the van, pulling harder as you tried to resist, Alfie lurched forward angrily to intervene, stopping when Luca’s henchmen once again drew their weapons on him.

“Remember what I said about being a hero, Mr. Solomons.” Luca Cautioned. “Don’t worry, just a couple more days and you’ll be reunited.” Luca reasoned as he bundled you into the back of the van and slammed the doors.

“Oh, and I have to apologise...” You heard Luca’s muffled voice continue through the metal of van.

“I made a bit of an unavoidable mess in that beautiful house of yours. Just add the cost of the clean up to the bill.”

The van wobbled as the men occupied the front seats

“Toodle pip.” Luca bid Alfie farewell in a mock British accent, and the engine of the van roared, then after a beat the it took off, throwing you forward. Unable to keep balance you collapsed weakly onto your back and just laid there, staring into the darkness. Visions of Luca’s smug mug and Alfies tortured frown plagued your mind, followed by the horrendous, gory image of Ischmael and Daniels expired bodies; their blood spent at your expense. Then your imagination ran wild with the things that hadn’t happened yet. Like the treacherous murder of Thomas Shelby, and the anger, pain and plotted vengeance of the peaky gang for the loss of their leader and kin... But possibly worse than that - due mainly to its imminence, was the dreaded notion of having to face Charles. Luca’s words rung hauntingly in your head

‘ wonder what Charles will have to say about all this?’

You wasn’t worried so much about what Charles was going to say but more so about what he was going to do...

Previous

Tag list: @storm-bjorn @alsheyra @lililolli @jaegers-and-kaijus @lightwoodt @stars-trash-18 @anrm1 @innerpaperexpertcloud @alitheamateur @hardygal69