#mercy was chaos but they made the right decisions eventually

[bhaalsdeepbat]

I'm playing my struggle to resist Durge on tactician and we stormed Moonrise today. Jaheira apparently doesn't heal at all between Last Light Inn falling and storming Moonrise, so Grandma arrived looking like she had the shit beat out of her and had no higher level spell slots.

Jaheira spent the entire time cowering behind some barrels while maintaining Entangle. She single handedly kept a door effectively locked by the ogre being stuck in it, which let Astarion be the best little killer around. His killing spree in Moonrise will be a tale heard across all or Faerûn.

Astarion, equipped with Daddy's Favorite Bhaalspawn's cloak, took out the three cultists in the back room alone. He kept disappearing between hits with single hit shots. He took out four cultists on the main floor, then snuck up to the rafters and took out two of the archers before he finally got caught and the remaining cultists all rolled initiative. It was so funny.

I can't wait to give him a new bow when we reach Baldur's Gate. The Hellrider Longbow is going to decimate. He's going to be even deadlier I am SALIVATING. He's going to creep right up and shoot them in the face. If they have the luck of surviving that, he'll proceed to rip their throat.

Minthara was also there. She spent a majority of it twiddling her thumbs bc grandma had our choke point...choked.

Shadowheart didn't follow the corruption arc script, so she got to keep her radiant armor and learned some cool Selûnite shit (reclassed to light domain). She was a fucking beast with her divine intervention in the room she was defending alone. She had been the mvp of act 2 (after Astarion solo missioned stealing the Blood of Lathander without blowing the creche, and nailed it), and continues to.

Even if she is really mad at Ashe for killing Isobel.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 1: Secret New Beginnings

Masterlist ° Chapter List (Coming soon)

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Now that you and Michael are somewhat together, you have to navigate your relationship, but there is something hanging over you, untold secrets that keep you from fully trusting each other. But Michael finally feels safe around you and he cares, and you might just be falling for him, after all.

Warnings: Fluff, some angst, self-doubt, cussing, talk about sex and violence as well as murder

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: SO I finally got the first chapter done, yay me! I struggled a little with the transition from Butterfly Effect to this, but I hope you like it anyway. See it as a kind of prologue to set the scene. It's my starting point for this series. I will be posting a list of Installments soon, I just need to make it look nice.

The butterfly effect is often used in context with chaos theory, but they don’t equal each other. The notion is that a seemingly insignificant event, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, could set in motion a chain of events with far-reaching and unpredictable consequences. 

In the aftermath of a shattered soul, Michael finds himself standing on the precipice that could perhaps lead to a new beginning. No, he is sure that the second chance he was given already set the new beginning in motion, and he owes that to you.

His past, as so often, blurs with his present. It’s tumultuous and it echoes deafeningly loud in his mind, but he can’t help but ponder the path of destiny that led him straight into the arms of a woman that has been looking the darkness inside of him straight into its poisonous eyes from the beginning, not once turning away. 

His past decision had wings that flapped ever so slightly and caused the world around him to collapse. People got hurt. He, himself, got hurt in the process. In the blink of an eye, his life changed. He saw it coming, deep down. He’s been a Kinsella from the beginning and he knew that getting close to him would eventually lead to destruction for every kind soul that decided to have mercy on him. But he was naive, he became careless, he did his work and thought that was enough to keep his loved ones safe – he failed, and then, when he tried to get back up, he failed again and he paid the ultimate price. 

But he has tasted the light. He caught a peak of what his life could look like, and for the first time in a long time, he feels the seeds of hope grow into a field of beautiful flowers in his chest. The sun came, shone its light into his life, and the rain met its rays just right to lay the foundation for a rainbow. 

Michael wouldn’t consider himself happy, but he saw what could be and he thought to himself, “I have to at least try.” So that is what he promises himself to do, every day, as long as it takes for his life to find the right path again. He doesn’t know if there even is happiness in the cards for him, but he can try to fix what he broke, and he finally doesn’t feel alone in it anymore. 

Chaos isn’t limited to the realms of science – it is an undeniable force that ripples through everyone’s existence. And for Michael, the bullet holes in his house and the gaping black void in his chest function as a stark reminder of the chaos that rippled through his existence eight years ago. 

Each decision he makes can change the course of his life and those around him inevitably forever, and that is a huge burden to carry. Once you realize the effect even the smallest events can have, there is no turning back. Anxiety grows fast, faster than poison ivy, and it threatens to consume you whole. 

You – you and him – made a silent promise to take the wheel before it would be too late, take the pen, rewrite your story, and find a way to make a happy ending happen for both of you. You are the one who convinced him to have a little faith, and you taught him that trying to be optimistic might just make life a little easier to deal with. 

Michael doesn’t deserve you and yet, he has you.

 The day he walked into the café looking for something familiar was the best day of his life, even though it was littered with gray clouds. Meeting you changed everything, and all it took was your conviction to sell him a cup of coffee that wouldn’t taste as simple as a double espresso and a gentle smile, and he was hooked. 

The Butterfly Effect brought you together; it has a double meaning. For one, you work at a café with the same name as one of the effects that are born from chaos theory, and two, the day he met you, he is convinced your decision to write that note on his coffee cup was you flapping your wings and setting everything into motion – and now he’s lying in your bed with you by his side, the sun streaming in through the slit in the curtains, and he can’t believe his eyes as he gazes upon you.

Your features are peaceful. You are peaceful. You are his safe haven. He didn’t expect himself to get infatuated with another person so soon after escaping literal hell, but there is something so sweet and innocent about you, so normal, so serene, he couldn’t help himself. It’s what he craved without even knowing, and maybe it’s selfish to ignore the danger just for a little while, but he couldn’t hold back any longer – he needed you and now he has you. If it were that simple, he could rest, but deep down he knows that this is only the beginning, and not all new beginnings are always good. Some beginnings start perfectly fine and then they drop and lose themselves in darkness, and in the process, you fall with them. Deep down he knows that nothing is ever as it seems, not with the life he lives, his history, his past, and his family. 

As he looks at your sleeping frame next to him, he wonders if you have secrets of your own. Well, maybe you have; it would be only human of you to do so. But then he thinks about your tendency to say yes to everything, to forgive and to give back so easily, always ready to please people, always on top of your game, and he begins to worry if there is a darkness in you he hasn’t quite caught yet. He realizes your story isn’t as clear as his. You only told him about your parents briefly, but that’s it. He considers you a breath of fresh air, but behind every bright smile often lies a deeper meaning. 

Michael gets lost in thought, hoping no one seriously hurt you to make you the person you are now – you told him you fought hard to get where you are now, but what problems did you have to tackle in the past? He only then realizes that you are still a mystery to him. But he hasn’t told you everything either, so you both have parts of yourselves you are not ready to share yet, and perhaps that’s good the way it is.  

You stir. His hazel eyes are still glued to you. You look so lovely like this. His lip curls up into a tired smile as he watches you come to life, your fists coming up to your eyes to rub them. You stretch, causing the covers to slip from your body just enough to catch a glimpse of the top of your breasts. You’re an ephemeral creature and he can’t believe he’s allowed to call you his now. 

His lips press to your cheek. Your eyes are still not open, but you smile a little at the gesture. Slowly but steadily, his lips move lower. This is the second night he has stayed with you now, and he is addicted to you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips when he reaches your neck. His hand cups your jaw, the other keeping himself up as he comes closer. His beard tickles, scratching at your sensitive neck as he nips and kisses you everywhere he can reach, but his touch is gentle as if you’re glass in his eyes. His lips suction around your pulse point then, marking you to be his. The blood pools under the skin and it is quick to turn purple. He licks over it with a smirk; it isn’t the first and won’t be the last mark he will leave on your perfect skin that is softer than any silk he has felt before. 

You wrap a sleepy arm around his shoulders. “Mhmm,” you mumble, a subtle sign that you’ve awoken from your slumber. 

He smiles into your neck, giving the hickey another peck before lifting his head to look at you. “Mornin’,” he says. 

You open an eye. “Morning,” you say. 

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face before planting his lips on yours. 

“How long were you staring at me for?”

“A while.”

“Why?”

“Yer just too gorgeous, pet.” His accent is thicker in the early hours of the morning, you’ve noted. “Besides, you look so peaceful when yer sleepin’. Makes me want ta squish your pretty face.” 

A giggle slips past your lips. “That’s a bit extensive, don’t you think?” you tease. 

He shakes his head. “Never.”

You open your eyes fully now and turn your body in his direction. “I could get used to this,” the admission comes in a quiet puff of air.

He tangles his fingers in your hair and only hums in response. He could get used to waking up next to you as well, but words fail him. You look like an Angel in the soft sunlight. He swears he can see a halo above your head, that’s how divine you are. 

“What’s on your mind?” you ask him. 

He blinks out of his daze and meets your eyes. “Nothin’ important,” he says. 

“All of your thoughts are important to me.”

“Not those.”

You furrow your eyebrows, but you leave it be. Forcing him to talk is not something you want to start or you could ruin the trust that persists between you. He will hopefully come to you when he feels ready to talk, or if that ever happens.  

With a peek at the clock, you notice that your alarm is about to ring. With a heavy sigh, you entangle yourself from him and sit up. 

Michael pouts when your warmth leaves him, his fingers slipping from your hair and down your bare back. He brushes the skin there, tracing your moles and stroking down your spine. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and you pause your movements, reveling in the feeling of his calloused fingers painting gentle shapes over your heated skin. 

“I have to get ready soon,” you say. It’s torture, almost, to have to leave him like this. 

Michael in your bed, shirtless and with his brown locks standing in all directions is a sight to uphold. You want to capture this moment, brand it into your brain and never erase it again. You want his perfect lips to be etched into your skin, his fingers tattooed, his voice injected into your bloodstream – you’re not sure where this desire comes from, this need to be close to him at all times, you are just getting to know each other, but he makes it impossible to think straight. You get lost in his eyes, his soul, and the desperate need to protect him fills you up like an empty cup until it’s overflowing. 

He’s not trying to sleep with you, you know that, he’s simply trying to keep you close a little while longer. He doesn’t want to face the day. He doesn’t want to be without you. You haven’t talked about how to navigate this, you just thought you would figure it out as you go, but there is sadness in his eyes when you look at him. 

There is a beat of silence before he speaks, and his words deliver cracks to your heart. “I don’t want to go home,” he says, and his voice borders heavily on a breathless whisper. 

You pick your shirt off the floor, slip it on, then turn around to face him. “I know,” you say just as quietly. “I would offer you to stay, but–“

“We haven’t reached tha’ level of trust yet? 

Your silence serves as an answer to his question. Michael nods, understanding where you’re coming from, but part of him is still hurt. You trust him to a certain extent, but he has a dark past and there are things not yet resolved between you, things unsaid that haven’t been addressed, and until you’ve figured that out, you have to take baby steps in the direction you want the both of you to go. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you when he sees the pained expression of guilt and regret flash across your face. “I have ta talk to my brother, to Amanda, about my job. I– I have ta think about Anna. Talk to my solicitor. I couldn’t stay even if I wanted.”

Part of that is a lie; he can easily talk to his attorney over the phone and he doesn’t feel like Amanda or Jimmy deserve even a tad bit of his attention, but he has responsibilities and he can’t ignore them forever. Besides, he has no money left and he has to find a way to get through that, too. Those are the things he can’t tell you because he feels so stupid like he would be a bad influence on you, and they are treacherous thoughts. 

You take a deep breath. “Let’s go through your application tonight,” you offer, picking up on your idea from the day before.

The Butterfly Effect is understaffed to the point you sometimes have to work seven times a week instead of getting your day off like you did yesterday, but that’s not the only reason you suggested offering him a job. You told him that your boss gives everyone a second chance if they need one, especially those fresh out of prison who have nowhere to go because even the most minuscule changes can change the course of what happens next, of what happens in the future. It’s not just the name of the café, it is a metaphor, and everyone you work with is so vulnerable and human, you know Michael would feel a lot more comfortable there than having his family breathing down his neck all the time.

He didn’t tell you much, but you already don’t like them. 

Michael thinks about your words, his chest heaving with a heavy sigh. He looks at the ceiling, his hand, then back at you. He nods. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Hey–“ you lean over to press a kiss to his lips. “I care about you, you know that?” 

His hand finds its way to the small of your back, eyes fluttering close as you come closer. “Mhm.” He leans in for another kiss. He knows you care. He can feel it in his bones. You care with utmost devotion, and he doesn’t understand what he did to deserve you. 

“I’ll get you that job, and then I’ll help you get your daughter back. I don’t know her, but you sound like you love her and she should get the chance to reconnect with you. You’re not alone anymore, Mikey. You have me now, and I’m with you, every step of the way. I choose you.” 

God knows your father failed with his duties to actually be one. In Michael’s case, it wasn’t voluntary that he left for so long and he deserves a second chance as much as Anna deserves a father. 

“I choose you too,” he whispers. “And I can’t thank you enough…”

“Lucky for you that you don’t have to thank me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay,” – you kiss him again before getting up – “I promise.” You flash him a smile as you make your way out of the bedroom, leaving him behind. 

His hand drops to the mattress in defeat. He wants to spend forever in bed with you, wrapped in your cocoon, but he knows that’s not possible. So he lets you go. 

You wouldn’t go as far as to say you’re in love, not yet, but you’re getting damn close to falling for him. It’s as terrifying as it is exciting, and maybe it’s a little nerve-wracking, too. You’ve never been truly in love, you never learned how to love, and yet Michael pushes you a little closer to the edge every day. You just have to make sure you’re attached to a parachute in case you plummet to your demise. In that case, there’s not much that can help you anymore, and you’re not sure if you’d survive it, either. But probably – highly likely – not. 

You put his dirty clothes in the washer the day before and then hung them out to dry. You spent most of your day in your underwear with him, anyway. But now it’s time to leave and he has to get dressed into something. You don’t want to sound possessive, but this is a sight you want to reserve only for yourself.

You’re doing your makeup when he comes in to brush his teeth. You step aside to make some room for him in your small bathroom that’s meant for one person only, but you make it fit. He stands behind you, watching you through the mirror. You can tell he’s avoiding himself and only staring at you, and you can weirdly relate to that. Some days, or most days, actually, you can’t stand your reflection either. There was a time when it was exceptionally bad, but you don’t want to go into that. Your mind has been reeling enough, and it’s only morning. 

The conversation and the revelations about Michael have lit something inside of you, a candle you had long believed to have gone out, and that candle sparked a wave of nostalgia that you can’t shake now. You are eerily similar when it comes to personality, except you have learned how to handle your burdens, and he hasn’t even begun. Still, there is a part of you that is and will always somehow remain stuck in the past. But you’re not ready to share that with him yet. You doubt you could share it with anyone but the demons in your head, which are luckily still sleeping and haven’t planned to attack and tear you down just yet. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” he breaks the silence and the thread of your thoughts. 

You look at him. “Just some things,” you say. 

“Anything you might want ta talk about?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I’m okay.”

“Okay.” He leaves it at that, although his hand lands on your waist almost protectively. 

Michael walks you to work. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he does so anyway. Taking his hand, he stiffens for a moment and you fear he might pull away, that this is too much for him, but then he squeezes your hand back and you realize he doesn’t mind. 

You walk to the café in silence. The birds chirp in the trees around you. A soft breeze moves through the streets of Dublin. The sun is out, which is nice, and the temperatures are a little more bearable today. You watch as the leaf shakes in sync with the wind and the oxygen you breathe tastes clean. 

“You can come in if you want,” you say when you reach it, “I can make you a nice Americano, maybe? Or I could introduce you to the world of caramel Frappucinos...”

Michael’s heart swells, but he shakes his head with a soft smile. “I’m good,” he says. “Thanks though.”

“You sure?” You step closer to cradle his cheek. “You look a little tired, darling. A good caramel Frappucino with extra strong espresso might help you come back to life.” You’re only half-joking.

He chuckles. “I’m gonna be okay, ya said that yerself. Don’t worry, love, I’ll survive without coffee.”

You purse your lips; it’s cute, the way you pout and expect him to change his mind. You don’t want him to leave, he suspects. 

Now that you crossed all boundaries, had sex, and qualify as a couple now, there is nothing more you want than keep your routine. You have gotten used to turning his head with your coffee skills, and he seemed to always enjoy them. But things are different now, there is no denying the obvious. Things won’t go back to the way they were because your dynamic has changed. 

“Okay,” you cave, “Well, call me if anything’s wrong or if you need me.”

“Yer at work, I wouldn’t want ta disturb you.”

“Just do it,” you give him a stern look, “and I’ll text when I’m off so you can come over and we can work on making sure your application fits our requirements.”

“I doubt tha’,” he says, “but I love how much you want ta try.” His smile is genuine, but somehow, his words remind you of what he said only a few days ago.

People would like you more if ya wouldn’t try so hard. 

You swallow. He notices. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“No, it’s okay,” you say. 

People pleaser, a voice calls in your head. You can’t even admit that his kind words today hurt you almost the same as his cruel words did. 

“Hey–” he pulls you closer by the waist. “When I said tha’, I didn’t mean it.” 

Your forehead leans against his almost naturally and you breathe the same air as him. You can feel his heartbeat under where your hand touches his chest, searching for silent support, and his hands cradling your face offers more than that. He’s genuinely sorry. He didn’t mean it. If he had, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand with him here now. He opened old wounds, and he apologized. They’re not fully healed, not fully stitched up, but you can accept that. 

“Your kind heart is special, and I hold it very dear to me,” Michael says. 

You nod. You’re not a lie detector, but you can see in his eyes that he’s determined to mend what he did, especially now that he sees what an effect it had on you, and how much it still affects you. His words cut deeper than a knife ever could. 

“Okay, thank you,” you say softly. “I needed that.”

He kisses your forehead. “Have a good day at work, pet.”

You never thought you would say it, but you love it when he calls you that. It’s intimate, much more than ‘love’ could ever be. 

“And you take care of yourself,” you shoot back at him. 

He smiles, planting another loving kiss on your lips. They move softly against yours, savoring every last second you get with each other. And then, with one last glimpse at your watch, your break free. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Mikey.”

“Yeah,” he says your name, “See ya tonight.”

He’s about to say ‘Love ya’, but he quickly realizes that it’s too soon and you’re not even sure he means it yet. His definition of love got a little confusing over time. After losing Allison, he’s never paid another thought about falling in love again, and he still feels so hollow inside, he’s not sure if he’s even capable of feeling like that again. But he likes you and he cares and he wants to be with you – he wants to see where it goes, and if he ends up feeling the same spark again that he did when he first met his wife, he won’t hesitate to claim you forever. 

It’s a surprising thought, but he accepts it. 

You can’t help the smile on your lips as you enter the café. You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine again. Though when you look up and see Sarah behind the counter, her face pale and bewildered as she stares outside at Michael, your smile fades. 

“Damn it,” you curse under your breath. 

You forgot she was working with you today, and you told her about what you found out, so she knows what he did. She doesn’t know the truth behind his story though, which means she thinks he’s some kind of psychopath and would tell you over and over again to stay away from him, and she just saw you kissing the man you both cursed to hell the night you told her about it. 

She’s your friend and she cares, and you probably fucked up now. You and Michael, whatever it is between you, is fresh and you wanted to keep it a secret until you could be sure it wouldn’t be met with too much judgment. That’s too late now, the cat is out of the bag. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Sarah hisses as soon as you’re behind the counter. 

“Sarah–” you begin, but she cuts you off again. 

“Did ya just– why did you kiss the same guy ya told me was a cold-blooded murderer who just got out of prison?!”

“I can explain.”

“Yer insane, that’s the explanation!”

“Would you quiet down?” You look around yourself. The café is crowded with people. 

You take a deep breath, trying to stay as calm as possible as so not to disturb anyone. They don't need to hear about your love life or your bad decisions or how Sarah is out for blood because her eyes darken and you could swear she's ready to tear Michael's head off if he ever comes near the café again. "I understand that you're worried, but you need to trust my judgment on this one," you say. "I can't tell you everything because this is his story to tell, not mine, but he came to my apartment and he needed someone and we talked, and... I've spent time with Michael, and I've seen a different side of him. He's working on changing his life, and he deserves a chance."

She shakes her head, the disbelief evident in her eyes. She is fuming inside, you can tell. If you were alone, she would give you a full run-down and leave you as shocked as you are whenever your boss does the same, and it scares you a little. You know it's tough love, but the way she's talking about him doesn't sit right with you. "I can't wrap me fuckin' head around it, especially after everythin' ya told me about his past. Killing his wife, leaving a daughter behind, eight years in prison... I mean honestly," she says your name, "What is fucking wrong with you? It's like you're willingly walking into a dangerous situation, ready to risk your life for a guy ya barely know. And I don't doubt that the two of you fucked, didn't ya?"

"Sarah, be quiet," you growl. You don't often get angry and you hate confrontation, but this is Michael she's talking about. "If you're gonna slut shame me, at least do it in private."

But she shakes her head, a little bit of guilt coming through. "I didn't mean it like tha', I meant your general tendency to fuck with the wrong guys."

You raise your voice slightly, "It's not like that, Sarah! People can change. I believe in redemption, in giving second chances. And I'm willing to see past his mistakes. If you knew his story... you would think the same because Michael... he is not heartless, okay? He is compassionate and loving and he's been through a lot of shit in the past and he just needs someone. He needs me and he cares just as much as I do. He pushed me away because of his family, to protect me, but I chose to stay. It's not his fault. I accept him, I choose him and I stand by that."

With a groan, he lifts a red towel from the counter. "What color is this?" she asks abruptly.

Confused by the sudden question, you reply, "Red, obviously. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Sarah's voice grows sharper if that is even possible. "Oh, so ya do see colors. Good. Because this is a red towel, and tha' bastard, he's a walkin' red flag. Can't you see that?"

"Don't talk about him like he's evil."

"Oh, I will and I fuckin' am 'cause you can't see clearly fer the life of ya."

You purse your lips. “I can see that you're concerned, Sarah," you say, "but you're also letting your judgment cloud your understanding. Michael's trying to make amends. He's not the same person he was before."

"Yer risking so much for someone who may not even deserve it. Is that what you want? To be with a man with a questionable past, a man who could potentially hurt ya? Are you sexually attracted to danger or somethin'?"

Maybe you are just a little, but that doesn't matter now. Michael is different. Every last bit of doubt you had about your relationship evaporates. 

Hurt and anger blend. "You don't understand. I thought as my friend, you would support me no matter what, but instead, you're just tearing me down because you’re not okay with my decision. Mine. It is my life, Sarah! Michael deserves a chance to prove himself, just like anyone else."

"I care about you," – her expression softens – "and it scares me to see ya making choices that might put you in harm's way. I don't want to lose ya."

"I need you to trust me on this."

Sarah sighs. "Promise me that if you smell even the slightest whiff of danger, ya'll walk away?" she says.

You reach out and grasp her hand. "I promise,” you say. 

But you know that this is far from over.

Unbeknownst to you, her words planted a little seed of an entirely different kind of doubt in the garden of your soul, and it would soon have every right to grow, but not into a flower this time; this seed of doubt has the potential to turn into a terrifyingly large tree, and its roots are going to be the death of you. 

Maybe even quite literally. 

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @shouldbestudying41 @your-not-invisible-to-me @glowstick-lesbian @ms-murdockswift @acharliecoxedfan @loveroftoomanyfandoms

[princess-ibri]

Disney Rumpelstiltskin Part 3

(Thanks for your patience! Sorry it took so darn long, I got stuck on the ending, and didn't want to give up until I had figured it out. Its still a bit rough, it started to get rather complex with my larger DisneyVerse creeping in, but I hope it satisfies! )

So the Imp has come back to make good on Corinne’s last, unsettled payment she owns him, and of course he drops the bomb that he wants her baby daughter, which Corinne of course is not in anyway cool about.

It’s at this point that he reveals that all the other things he had her give up where tests to see just how far she was willing to go, giving up her mother’s treasured necklace, Henri’s ring, symbols of Love being more important then power and prestige. He’d had an eye on her for a while, and these tests were to see if she has the potential in her for for Dark Sorceress material and surprise —She totally does!

And she can’t really get on in moving up the Dark Sorceress ladder if she has a baby holding her back, so if she’ll just dump the kid for him to dispose of then she can come with him and get on with growing her dark magical powers, maybe even eventually elevating herself to the throne—

At which point Corinne cuts him off and declares she doesn’t want that at all! She just wants to live peacefully with Henri and their baby, she’s happy with the luck she’s had and doesn’t want more power, doesn’t want to be like the people she’s seen in Dior’s court, constantly scheming and backstabbing and never being actually happy.

The Imp’s face falls, golden eyes flashing with disappointment—and anger. Fine, if that’s how she feels, then she doesn’t have to join him in creating magical chaos. He’ll just keep to the original deal and take the baby, and she can stay and be happy with her boring human husband. They can always have another brat anyway right? If Henri still wants her after finding out she tradded their child to get where she is. She really should have read the fine print on that first bargin the made. But the Imp considers himself a merciful being, he’ll give her three days to think it over and change her mind

Left alone and horrified at the realization of all she has to lose, her family, her humanity, Corinne comes to a decision—to tell her Henri the truth and hope he can forgive her and help her save their child, for the baby’s sake if not for hers if he finds he can’t love her anymore.

But of course he can, he’s always been the best of the people in the court, and he’s not about to lose his beloved wife and child without a fight. The Imp said she had magic, powerful magic of her own. Couldn’t they use that magic to find a way to stop him?

And Corinne starts to feel hope. There's something in that. She might not be powerful enough to go toe to toe with the Imp, but if she could find a way to go around him? Find a weakness of his? She clutches a handful of star, the thing that had started this all off, and summons the magic to her, focusing on what the Imp had taught her into bringing it to the surface. A ball of gold begins to form, a string coming loose and shooting out the door, slithering off into the darkness. Hesitanting only as long as it takes to grab a weapon, the couple join hands and race after it, two Theseus's pursuing the Minator into the labyrinth...

They find their way to strange tumbled down structure in the middle of the forest. It looks abandoned enough, but both know looks can be decieving. They cautiously enter the ruin-- but not cautiously enough it seems. A dizzing burst of light explodes around them, and when they can see again, the Imp sits before them, chuckling darkly.

"What, did you expect to sneak up and find me dancing around the fire singing my True Name? "

Instantly the two find themselves bound by the very thread they'd followed, as the Imp continues to gloat and heckle them. Rage builds up inside Corinne, the same anger she's felt from feeling the neglect of her father, the contempt of the village and Dior and his court. And with the rage comes an idea. What had the Imp said about dancing about and...

"I want to make a new Deal" Corinne says sharply, cutting off the Imp mid taunt.

"Oh? And what is it you could possibly offer me now Dearie? Ready to join me and leave the little people and their little minds behind after all are you?"

"No, I still want to stay with Henri and my baby"

"Then I'm afraid you've nothing I want"

"I think I do..." Corinne whispers, taking hold of the thread of gold that binds her, the thread she herself had conjoured, meant to lead her to find a way to undo this creatures hold on her.

"I'm offering you my Magic"

The Imp's eyes blaze, despite his effort to appear as calm and unruffled as usual, and Corinne can see she's struck gold. "You said I've the potential for great power. I'm offering you that in exchange for leaving me and my husband and child in peace together, free from any harm or machinations you or yours might try. If you promise to leave us be, you may take my magic for yourself"

She twists the cord in her hand, and it shifts into a shining contract and quill, ready to be signed.

"Sign here, and all that potential, all that power is yours"

The Imp hesitates only a moment, greed winning out over caution, seeming not to notice the golden tendrils that flicker along the edges of the quill and contract and loop back into the coil still holding Henri trapped. With a grin of wicked glee he signs the contract with a flourish--

There's a crackle like lightning in the air, and now it's Corinne's turn to smile as the tendrils linking the quill and contract she'd conjured shine with power, looping around herself and the Imp and Henri--and the iron dagger Henri holds in his hand, the dagger that now bears the True Name of the Imp, "Rumplestiltskin"

"A little something for insurance" Corinne says, smirking at the wide eyed Rumplestiltskin. "Iron cannot be touched by the Fay, and so this name can never be erased. If you ever try to break this contract, or if you ever try to touch me, my husband or child again, this dagger will be your undoing. You really should have read the fine print"

For a moment there's an unbearable tension, and then Rumplestiltskin laughs, darkly, wildly. "Oh well played Dearie, well played. Well far be it from me to break the bounds of a contract. I'll be on my way then, but remember--all magic comes with a price. You've paid for our original contract with yours, but you've made a powerful enemy as well. I may not be able to harm you three, but I hope you don't plan on having any other children anytime soon. Enjoy your Happily Ever After while it lasts..."

And then with another flash, he's gone.

And they do enjoy it. They raise their daughter and begin to grow old together, and while there is some sadness that they can not risk having another child, they find that their daughter Regine is enough for them. And for several years all is well.

What happens after that is another story...

Background Bonus Stuff:

Why does Rumplestiltskin deal in babies in the DisneyVerse? Well, long ago a prophecy was made that a Child born of Common Blood raised Royal would be the undoing of the Demon Queen and all her ilk, from whom Rumplestiltskin was of the lineage. He and his family took this to mean a child born from a commoner and a royal. So anytime there's such a child one of them pops up to try and prevent the child from reaching their full potential, influencing events either directly or from the shadows.

Rumplestiltskin prefers corruption over destruction, and turns the children he takes into people unfit to combat the forces of evil, if he cannot turn them fully. All information our couple could have learned if they'd bothered to ask the young woman he'd delivered to be Dior's wife...

(A certain magic mirror that holds the soul of Rumplestiltskin's father tried to help a vain queen destroy a beautiful dark haired princess several centuries ago, and will pop up again to give two sisters in a frozen kingdom some trouble in a few centuries to come. )

Part 1 Part 2

[queen-of-many-fandoms]

GN!Reader & Omega — Chaotic Bff Shenanigans (Headcanons)

@violetjedisylveon

Requests: Open

Masterlist

Apologies for any typos or low quality (I'm a little rusty at headcanons), I don't have a beta reader and I started writing this really late at night. Or should i say early morning? (A.n. Cont. at end of post.)

Also, Happy (late) Life Day!

Chaotic Besties doesn't even begin to describe the two of you. More like Twin Terrors, Double Devils, Cohorts of Chaos . . . you get the idea. It was almost like you'd both made it your mission to singlehandedly give the Batchers grey hair.

On one of their trips they stopped on a planet that was in the middle of it's rainy season. When the Batch wasn't looking you and Omega got into a mud fight. By the time you're done, you both were covered head to toe in mud. Echo shook his head, muttering "Now I know what Rex felt like", and shooed you both into the fresher to clean the mud off.

Crosshair found some toy blasters that fired foam darts when the Batch was getting more supplies. He bought them for Omega and you to practice your aim. Totally not just because he thought you'd have fun playing with them. You both used them to sneak attack the Batchers.

An your pranks! Oh, Ka'ra help the poor Batcher that was on the receiving end of one of your pranks. They learned that lesson the hard way. Put simply, don't keep the two of you cooped up, without entertainment, in the Marauder for longer than 3 days. It was three weeks of haraan. Never again.

Sometimes though, you could wrangle one of her brothers into helping you with pranks. Wrecker was always on board with pranks, no matter which of the Batchers was the target. Surprisingly, Crosshair would help you with pranks. Not directly, but he would be the look out, distract the target, or give you ideas. (And if Hunter's the target, you can bet your bottom credit Cross will help you with the prank.) Echo, however, is The Master when it comes to pranks. If you wanted to pull off a really good prank, he's your man. (Rex didn't exaggerate when he said he was a menace.)

Whenever you were able, you and Omega would have a sleep over in her "room." You'd almost always end up staying awake long after everyone else had gone to bed, just talking and giggling over dumb stuff. (Until Tech catches you and lectures you on the importance of a good night's sleep. Oh the irony.)

One night you both had a ✨️brilliant✨️ idea. 'Why not create our own secret code just for the two of us?' (Once you created it) You used your code, hand signals you had come up with, to plot pranks right under the the Batchers noses. (Anytime one of her vode (usually Tech) started to catch on to the signals meanings you'd change to new signals.)

One day while being lazy outside on whatever planet they'd stopped on, you'd both realized that out of all of her vode, somehow, you'd never pranked Crosshair. And that needed to be remedied. (👈 it was that thought right there that should've made you realize you probably needed your heads examined.)

Regardless of what the prank was, the repercussions would be swift. To say that your life flashed before your eyes would be an understatement. You both thought you were as good as dead. Luckily, he seemed to be in a slightly merciful mood (shocking, amiright?) and settled on chasing you up a tree and waiting at the bottom. You were treed like a pair of tookas being chased by a massiff. He eventually lets you climb down. . .

Only to ambush you a little later. He gave you both a good dunking in a cold lake. You and Omega then decided that it was better pranking with him rather than against him. (That was probably a smart decision if you wanted to actually live to old age.)

Tech makes Omega a data pad. Big mistake. Especially with the camera mode. Because, like her brother Tech, Omega records (pretty much) everything. One of your favorite past times is trying to jump scare Omega's vode. It's always hard to jump scare Hunter. (Which makes it all the more satisfying when you do.) The two of you also now have plenty of blackmail material. 😌

Another thing that was a common reoccurance, was you and Omega bringing any injured or lost animals you found back to the Marauder. This time it was a tooka.

Omega: "Can we keep it?"

Y/n: "It's hurt and it can't take care of itself."

Y/n & Omega: *puppy eyes* "Please?!"

Hunter: "I'll think about it. But no promises."

(There's now a one eyed tooka that runs around Cids bar. He's become a favorite with the regulars.)

One planet they visited was covered in snow. Apparently Omega had never seen nor played in the snow. So, obviously, you taught her all the tricks you knew for building snowmen, snow forts, and making snowballs. And, obviously, you just had to put that knowledge to use by ambushing her vode. You got your shebs handed to you. Her brothers have good aim and a wicked throw.

Some bonus ones I had nowhere to put:

Hunter mixing up your names 'cause he's a Tired Dad™. "Omega– Haar'chak!– I meant Y/n!"

Hunter swears having you two around has sped up his aging.

You both are also very curious and love to experiment. Sometimes with not the best results: “What if we…” (literally a minute later) *something explodes*

(A.n. cont.)

I'm terribly sorry that it's not quite what you asked for. I really struggled with the original request and ended up scrapping what I wrote multiple times. Also life and the holidays kicked me in the shebs. It always happens the minute I say I have free time. Every time.

I really do like your idea though, so maybe (big maybe there) I can eventually write it as a oneshot. I'm so so sorry I couldn't get it done quicker.

[poison-blackheart]

Legacies

Hope Mikaelson X Darkness

Warnings: mention of killing

A little Darkness won't hurt.

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

Hope Mikaelson, the daughter of Klaus and Hayley , was always known for her resilience and strength. However, after the loss of her mother, father, and other loved ones, she found herself struggling to cope with her grief. As the pain consumed her, Hope made the decision to turn off her humanity.

At first, it seemed like nothing had changed. Hope was still the same strong, confident young woman she had always been. But soon, her friends began to notice something was off. Her once warm and caring nature was replaced with a cold, calculated demeanor. She didn't seem to care about anyone or anything anymore.

Hope's powers also became more powerful and dangerous. Since she died and became a full tribrid, She began to use her magic without any regard for the consequences, causing chaos and destruction wherever she went. Her friends tried to reach out to her , but she remained cold and distant, refusing to let anyone get close to her.

As time went on, Hope's actions became more and more extreme. She started to manipulate and hurt those around her, using her powers to control them. Her friends became increasingly concerned for her well-being, but it seemed like there was nothing they could do to help her.

But when she lost her humanity, she became a killing machine. No one was safe from her wrath. She went on a killing spree that left the entire town of Mystic Falls in fear. Her victims were chosen at random, and she showed no mercy. It was a bloodbath.

Eventually, Hope's humanity was turned back on, but the damage had already been done. She had caused so much pain and destruction that it would take a long time for her to earn back the trust of those she had hurt. But Hope was determined to make things right and become the person she once was. It was going to be a long and difficult journey, but with the love and support of her friends and family, she knew she could do it. She has always been a force to be reckoned with.

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Welcome To The Darkside: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 1 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series

A/N: I just posted a story I know but I’m in love with this idea right now and this is my favourite fic right now. It’s going to be a three or four part fic I think and your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Here is a piece of my heart right here.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, sort of Blood Kink I think, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 1 : Welcome to The Darkside

The gunshots around you frightened you more than anything in your life ever had. The merry, joyful ambience of the carnival was ruined in an instant. Screams around you provoked your panic-stricken form to gather your wits and run or hide. It wasn’t just you caught up in this dreadful situation, there was also someone you’d protect at any cost.

Picking your daughter up and setting her on your hip, you looked around for the way out. Who would have thought that open grounds were hard to get out of? Another wave of terror ran through you when the gunshots audibly neared and the crowd ran in random directions.

You decided to go along the way you recognised the games and shops at. You ran as fast as you could, checking on Grace in between to find her looking curiously all around but still more intent on eating her cotton candy than inspecting. You couldn’t be more thankful for kids' oblivion than at that moment in time.

A bomb explosion up ahead in your path made you halt in your tracks because you knew some of the attackers were scouting there. Turning back wasn’t an option, neither was crying and you were sure you closer to the exit this way. Another blast behind you took away the option of you retracing your path. You weren’t considering it but it gave you little comfort to have your options open.

As the shrieks and screeches grew tenfold, your best bet was to hide, the assaulters had already surrounded the field, the chaos around you informed you. Jumping through innumerable dead bodies, of kids and adults that ached your heart, and dodging bullets while laying low, you went inside a photo booth to hide.

This will not be in vain; you’d protect Grace no matter what.

The curtain to the photo booth provided cover from predatory eyes while the rest of the metal booth was quite safe against bullets you concluded hopefully.

You were just looking for a weapon to prepare for any adversity that might come your way, when the sound of crunching of pebbles made their way to your ears.

Failing to find a weapon in few seconds you opted to attack the intruder yourself when a voice reached your ears, “Mama?”

You puzzled your eyebrows and lowered your defences by just a bit when a toddler stumbled inside the booth, blonde haired and blue eyed. You were definitely not this girl’s mama but you grabbed the kid’s forearm and pulled her inside, shushing her gently and seating her beside Grace on the sitting bench inside. You were thankful Grace entertained her by offering her the pink cloud of sweetness.

You peeked outside but failed to find anyone else in 20 metre radii of you, nobody resembling the wandering kid nor looking for one. You did not know what you would do with another kid in your hands in this dire situation nor was it a wise decision to bring her inside and take her under your wing but you did not have it in you to leave an unsuspecting child, a mere four or three-year-old at that, during a calamity so extreme.

Your maternal instincts governed your thought process, imagining Grace to be in her shoes, all alone and discarded while a possible terrorist attack was happening. The kids’ corpses lying outside gave you no doubt that these children’s fate would be the same if found by the attackers.

A small tug in your dress made you look back and you found the azure eyed kid at your feet, offering you the street food you bought earlier while hugging your leg and observing you. Grace munched in the back silently, still happily eating and unaware.

You kneeled and whispered, “What’s your name, honey?” Maybe the girl understood the urgency, maybe she was just mimicking you but even she murmured in a low voice, “Sarah.”

You nodded, “Sweetie, I need you to sit there quietly and make no sounds, okay? We are playing a staying quiet game.” That was a stupid thing to ask of a kid but you hoped, you really, really hoped she would comply.

Her eyes widened in recognition of something as she eagerly asked, still in a hushed mumble, “Like I does for Dada in meekings?”

“Yes, you smart kiddo. Exactly that.” You replied with what you hoped was a convincing smile and ruffled her hair while nudging her towards her former seat. With kids, you knew a little encouragement went a long way to get them to do things. She whispered an ‘okay Mama’ and went about and sat.

You didn’t get to enjoy her obedience as the thud of pebbles crunching met your ears again. Your breath hitched; your intuition told you that this was not another kid confusing you for its parent.

Your eyes found a discarded piece of metal rod from the booth’s wrecked framework. You grabbed and hoped for the best, to save both the kids at your ability’s mercy.

Steve only saw red. The moment the first shot sounded in the air, he knew whom the assailants were, whom they were coming for. Going out tonight was a bad idea, a really reckless one indeed but when his daughter started bawling seeing the carnival’s lights from the car and wanted to get up and close, he couldn’t say no. He really tried to though, he really did.

It hadn’t been even a year since his wife died, but the father-daughter duo was getting by. He knew his wife took his daughter to the carnival and bought her things, toys and teddies, on every birthday of her own. It was a ritual his wife started, spending her birthday with her little offspring during the daylight and going out for a romantic dinner at the end of the day with her dear spouse. If only things could still be that way, could still stay the same.

When his wife turned out to be an elaborate spy all along, he was baffled. His professional side was, dare he say, impressed by the commitment to character but his personal side was beyond disappointed, disheartened in the worst way because his daughter was his most precious asset in this cruel world and that gift was given by such a treacherous person.

She begged and pled for mercy, to let Sarah have her mother and swore on her life that she quit her espionage journey when she actually fell in love but Steve didn’t trust a single syllable out of her filthy, deceiving mouth, not anymore.

He didn’t kill her though, because Sarah was his first priority no matter what. Her assassination was the work of his rival mob, ‘The Vice Kings’ led by the bastard Rumlow. It was an open invitation for war in the city, for them money came first and useless people had to die. They killed two birds with a single stone, git rid of a useless former member and successfully made a statement.

Then began the still happening rivalry between those Vices and his mob, ‘The Avenging Cartel’. The wound from his wife’s assassination was still fresh, he didn’t miss her as much as he had taken the hit to his pride. There had been a peaceful agreement until the brutal maiming of his spouse and now he was working more than ever, barely able to make time for his princess and that was his only regret, missing her childhood.

And now he felt more futile, his palette of emotions ranging from hues of ire to shades of dread. He couldn’t believe his entourage of trained professionals failed to monitor a two-year-old. He had just stepped aside to take a call, leaving her with his latest driver and three bodyguards. How could he be that clueless to not realise the imposters infiltrating his ranks, standing right there and selling away his location?

As soon as the sound of the first firearm shooting reached his ears, he leapt towards his daughter only to find her missing. His little minx thankfully escaped for one of her little adventures and successfully evaded these cheats, whom he shot right in the middle of the eyes when he glanced at the grenades packing in the coats’ undersides.

His moment of gratitude evaporated in mere seconds as he realised that the Vices now surrounded the entire area, their mission being his daughter’s abduction. If they wanted to kill both of them, they would have already, considering Steve’s distraction gave them quite too many openings. They wanted him to surrender, because mobs worked that way; only when one leader signed off his territories did it become the other party’s possession. If they just cut one head, another would grow in its place, a new leader would succeed the predecessor.

He sent emergency signals to both Barnes and Wilson, the only ones he could trust right now, summoning them with back-ups. The screams of the crowd did not ease him at all, piling on his burden and stress as he prayed for the first time ever, that by some miracle he would reach his daughter first in this field and she would safely be in his arms by the end of the night, not become a victim to what his enemies were planning.

He did have a tracker in her pendant but this realisation hit him later than he’d like to admit, the frustration clawing away his wits. The ground was now quite empty, piles of bodies scattered across the field abruptly where people became victims to the grenades, any person who failed to protect themselves, died. As he was pulling his phone out again, his eyes caught sight a flower bead. The same bead he and his daughter used to make a bracelet a month ago. She wore that everywhere, to day-care, while bathing, to birthdays.

The bracelet was obviously broken now but it was almost like a trail that led to his treasure, like in the Hansel and Gretel’s fairy-tale that Sarah loved. He followed with quiet steps, the beads far apart and some resting under the debris but they sure did lead him somewhere, and when he found the even the pendant in his path, he knew he had only the few beads to rely on.

Some thumps and crashes made him alert, his pistol ready, and when he neared carefully to a distorted metal framework of sorts, his eyes widened.

A young woman had a body in front of her lying on the ground. In a pool of scarlet it rested, still and unmoving while her breathing quickened, her eyes shining with tears that she tried too damn hard to confine to her eyes. He knew how hard the first kill always was, but one grows numb with increase in body count.

Brave women were his type and he would have been turned on by her courage, her hands stained red with whatever weapon she attacked with. Her soft facial features and her curves in the dress she wore were a show stopper for sure, and he would’ve been flirting with her if it was not for the brutal severity of the situation, his daughter missing and in possible danger.

His vigilant senses, courtesy of the epinephrin, picked up two things; the butterfly bead that rested in the door of the booth the woman stood at and the creep shadowing her from behind, ready to attack with a baseball bat he might have found in one of the other game shops.

Steve used his position behind the neighbouring booth to make a bull’s eye shot, the bullet going just an inch above the female’s shoulder and going across the creep’s head. The logo on the corpse’s leather jacket showed Steve he picked the right side to defend.

The sheer suddenness of the move caught the woman off guard as she dropped her weapon and twisted back to find the soulless eyes of her possible attacker staring at her. She quickly armed herself with her attacking rod once again and tried to trace the bullet back from its shooter, her eyes wide and calculating.

Steve decided it was time to interrogate, to find Sarah.

The graze of the bullet above your shoulder alarmed you and you stood dumbfounded only for an instant though. You were sure the bullet was meant for you but the thud of a body behind you, seemingly preparing to attack you proved you wrong.

Calming yourself, you still stood on the ball, because someone killing your attacker didn’t necessarily mean you were safe. With just a pull of the trigger, your fate could very easily be the same. You had to play this smart.

“Lower your weapon. I won’t repeat myself.” A husky voice called out, laced with seriousness which left no room for argument.

You did as he said, knowing that shabby rod was no match against the gun. He stepped out from his hiding position and gave away his location, steps slightly treading towards you. Your hands trembled, heart thumping a bit too loud while blood and sweat coated your frame.

When moonlight lightened his face, you saw his blonde luscious locks, slightly overgrown, a neatly trimmed beard darker than his hair and the cerulean blue eyes that were clear as crystal but shadowed with proficiency.

“Good, now did you see a kid around here? Blonde and blue eyes?”

His question didn’t surprise you, the gun barrel trained on you did. The previous man you had killed, that laid dead ahead of you had asked the same question. You did not know why they were after the toddler nor did you have the time to dwell on it. Time was of the essence now and he was expecting an answer.

The fact that he saved an unsuspecting lady was a plus point, but you also had to consider that he was threatening you all the same. But if that was his kid, it was understood, the resemblance between them was uncanny but that wasn’t enough proof. However, as your flickered to the man you killed, you noticed the logo on his jacket was the same as the one on your possible murderer’s jacket. It still wasn’t enough evidence but you had no choice, the man had a gun and you had two kids relying on you. At least he wasn’t on the bombing side.

“Yes, what is she to you?” You tried to be brave but you were sure he saw right through you.

“You don’t ask the questions here but this one I’ll answer. She is my daughter. Now, where is she?”  

“How do I know you’re not lying? I can’t just and her over to you!”

“Her name is Sarah; she is my carbon copy. She is wearing a pink dress with white flowers; pink crocs and her hair is in a ponytail with a white scrunchy. She had two white clips in her hair beside the ponytail. Enough proof?”

No, you could be a creepy paedophile for all I know.

You were still contemplating when he spoke again, “She’s my daughter and I know she’s in that booth beside you. I appreciate you trying to protect her I think but she’ll respond to me calling her. Sarah?”

The little toddler poked her head out, her eyes brightening in recognition and you heaved a sigh of relief involuntarily. Your maternal instinct made you anxious for kids you barely even knew. She ran towards her father shouting ‘Dada’ and jumped into his arms while he hid his gun. You almost snorted at that, tons of dead bodies surrounding you and he was worried about the gun?

He propped her up, hugging her tightly, and with what you knew now, he was scared to death and rightfully so.

Grace poked her head out and ran towards you now, hugging you from behind your legs and silently peeking at the mysterious human. You held Grace’s hand now, intertwining your fingers and felt relief after long. Even though there was no knowing that the man would help you two but you gave yourself comfort you weren’t alone here, not anymore.

Sarah turned and met your eyes again and whispered lowly, “Oops Mama, I think the games over! Sowwy!”

Steve’s eyes widened at that and you laughed at her innocence, feeling light. You played along with the kid, “It’s alright.” You didn’t want to play ‘Mommy’ anymore after that thinking it would offend her father but even, he chuckled, his laugh beautiful and boisterous.

Suddenly men dressed in black and armed with weapons ran about, skidding and crossing you to survey the area out. You shielded Grace once again but the father ahead of you didn’t even flinch. Noticing your unease, he came closer and put a hand on you arm, “I’m Steve and don’t worry, these are my men, the good guys.”

You nodded, not agreeing with his idea of good and bad but since you hoped he did acknowledge that he owed you one, you hoped none of these men would attack you. You introduced yourself and he nodded.

With Sarah on his hip, he started following one of his men and you followed along hoping to get to the exit. He even asked to drop you home but you refused, just wanting to get to the parking and put all these guns out of your kid’s sight. He tsked over his shoulder and you knew he would insist again later but for now he listened intently to the man he addressed as Buck.  

This Buck eyed you several times, not so discreetly, while Steve renounced the whole incident of some spies and whatnot. You closed your eyes, not wanting to eavesdrop and just wanting to relax but you could do neither right now. They were after Sarah; you had presumed right.

Sarah made grabby hands from over Steve’s shoulder while Grace slept soundly in your arms, maybe jealous of her. She pouted and then slowly began her lower lip began to tremble. A whine escaped her mouth as she started bawling. Steve stopped to shush her but she continued screeching, “I miss Mama!” and tried to get away from Steve and jump into your arms. Buck looked surprised while Steve’s eyes pleaded yours and you nodded and gave Grace to her and took Sarah in your arms, gently shushing her and patting her back. She drooled in the crook of your neck but that was nothing new and quietened down. You didn’t want to give Grace away but you couldn’t see another child so miserable, not when you had one of your own.

Steve and ‘Buck’ observed you, not saying anything so you broke the silence. “I’m sorry she confuses me with her mother, I hope she doesn’t get offended by this.”

“She’s no more.” Steve looked down and you cursed yourself for breaking the silence, make the situation more awkward and unbearable.

“I’m sorry.” Well that was better than joking about how Grace didn’t have a father either.

“Don’t be, she deserved what she got.” Steve mumbled and continued walking with ‘Buck’, lightly patting Grace and kissing her forehead.

The peck should have bothered you but you were too engrossed by his words to eavesdrop further or check on Grace. What did he mean she deserved it? You didn’t even want to think of the probability of him killing her. With all the soldiers that surrounded you, you suddenly realised he was capable of more than you thought and you felt stupid for feeling safe with him when you did. He was a leader of sorts, a person with unimaginable power and you had dived headfirst in the kind of things you should avoid at all costs. Even though you hadn't crossed him or weren't on his bad side, getting involved was a mistake.

You learnt this lesson the hard way soon enough.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 6 -

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Wen,” the boy with the gentle smile who called himself Meng Yao said, bowing. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Wen Qing did not especially want to talk to – anyone,  really, but she really didn’t want to talk, least of all, to a boy some seven years her junior, from another sect with everything that entailed. But just over his shoulder, she could see that Wen Ning was smiling, his cheeks almost bulging with the force of it, as he spoke with the other children, making friends for the first time in his life, and she supposed it was in her best interest to make friends as well.

“I’m not planning on staying, you know,” she told him, just in case, and he nodded agreeably. “I’m a prisoner of war.”

A very comfortable prisoner of war. Who may or may not have put up very little fuss about getting captured when her supposedly secure carriage escort had gotten raided by the Nie sect, especially when their sect leader had recognized her by sight on first meeting and bowed politely instead of taking her head off at once as she might have expected. He’d even asked after her brother’s health – Wen Ruohan hadn’t done that once in the entire time she’d known him, and still less after he’d abruptly gone mad.

And he had, in fact, gone mad.

There was no other way to explain his behavior.

One day he’d been fine, scheming and vicious and narcissistic the way she’d always known he was but also cautious and thoughtful, set upon a slow and inexorable scheme of domination that would see him eventually claim all that he desired, and the next moment he was – very nearly unhinged. He saw himself as the rightful master of the cultivation world, just as he always had, except now it was as if he had had safely it in the palm of his hand and then had it snatched away from him, rather than anticipating a future prize to be eventually savored; he was frustrated and so, so angry, lashing out at all around him.

His sons had loved the idea of attacking the other sects – Wen Xu was old enough to plan out battles, the son of Sect Leader Wen’s previous wife, while Wen Chao, who was still young but old enough to tear off the limbs of small creatures, couldn’t wait to torment the children that had shown him up in achievements, stealing the accolades that he viewed as belonging to him.

They were still young, she’d told herself, and didn’t know better, could still be educated into something like kindness and compassion, but she’d also known that that wouldn’t help them if the other sects defeated theirs - that was the problem with war like this, where there was no room for mercy. What idiot would permit them to live long enough to seek vengeance for their clan?

What idiot would allow her and Wen Ning to live, assuming the same would be true for them?

As a result, Wen Qing had been much less enthusiastic about the whole project, although after her uncle had made an example of the few generals that dared to protest his decisions she was very quiet about her lack of enthusiasm. It didn’t mean she agreed with anything he was doing – that wasn’t new, she hadn’t agreed with anything he was doing for years now, but she’d gotten used to closing her eyes and shutting her ears, but nowadays it was much worse than before. He was acting as though he’d already finished all his carefully-laid plans – the ones he’d previously recognized were necessary as a foundation for the strike he would be ready to make in five or ten years, the one-shot-kill domination of the cultivation world – and nothing, seemingly, could be done to convince him otherwise.

Not even the risk to his precious sons.

The Fire Palace was full of new people, and new things, too, and if Wen Qing ever found out what sick, twisted mind had come up with those torture machines…

“Of course you’re a prisoner, Mistress Wen,” Meng Yao said smoothly. “I am merely acting as a prison guard. Would you like some lunch? Or a bath, or some rest…?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not a servant,” she said. “Your clothing is too fine for that.”

“I’m a disciple of the Nie sect, a new one,” Meng Yao said, and she thought he almost sounded surprised about that. “That doesn’t mean that I can’t see to your comfort.”

Wen Qing looked again at Wen Ning, who was now being lured onto the training field and a bow pressed into his hand by excited youngsters. His cheeks were bright red, a sure sign that someone was complimenting him – probably the Wei boy, the Jiang sect’s ward, who was waving his hands around very enthusiastically as if he were trying to sell Wen Ning whole and entire, clothing and crown thrown in for free. The other children seemed just as enthusiastic, though, excluding perhaps the Lan sect’s second young master who mostly just looked harassed but continued to linger as if he were hoping for even more harassment.

It seemed…exhausting.

“A bath would be nice,” she said, giving in with a sigh and wishing, not for the first time, that she wasn’t one of the oldest of her generation. Wen Xu was older, yes, but he obviously wasn’t here, and most of the Nie sect that were her age would be away to war soon enough if they weren’t already. She foresaw a great deal of babysitting in her future. “And then, perhaps, a conversation with some relevant individual to pass along important battle information that I definitely wouldn’t have access to, being a humble and unimportant doctor?”

Meng Yao grinned at her.

“Oh, I think something like that can be arranged,” he said cheerfully. Probably more than he would be if he knew half the information she had to offer was completely insane – for example, her uncle had gotten terribly fixated on demonic cultivation of late, claiming that it would allow a single man to take down a battalion, except he had no idea how to make any of it work. She hoped he never figured it out. “The more the merrier here, Wen-jiejie, and I think we’re all of the opinion that the sooner this war is over, the better. Wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re not the only one who thinks so,” Wen Qing said tartly, not sure if she appreciated the intimacy or not. At least it boded well for her future survival, and Wen Ning’s... “Part of my uncle’s insanity has been his – quite frankly – ridiculous conviction that he needs to kill all of you specifically before you, and I quote, ‘threaten to shoot down the sun’.”

What madman would target the sun?

Maybe they should, though, she thought, and not as unwillingly as she’d always believed she’d be if it ever came down to it. Wen Ruohan might be her uncle, her patron, the one who pulled her up into the sky, and she’d always been resigned to the fact that if he was shot down, so would she; the knowledge had paralyzed her, forced her to be indifferent to his crimes. But the Nie sect was treating her as if she were still Dafan Wen, just different enough to be left out of the dirty water Qishan Wen was splashing all over her surname – through war, through domination, through the attempted kidnapping and murder of lots of innocent children...

Maybe it would be good for him to understand what it’s like to be made a target.

“I like that,” an unexpected voice behind her said – it was the Nie sect leader again, looking unusually boyish without his war-armor and with a smile on his face instead of a scowl. She abruptly wondered how old he was, and how much he’d suffered collaterally when it had been his father who’d been the target instead of her uncle; it hadn’t been something she’d thought much about before. “If there was ever a need to shoot the sun down, it’s now, with Wen Ruohan equating himself for it…it’s like aiming at kite flying in the sky that’s in desperate need of deflating. We could call the war the Sunshot Campaign.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Wen Qing couldn’t help but scoff. “What’s the likelihood that something like that catching on?”

[stardustprompts]

the dragon republic - r.f kuang   sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw :   drugs , suicide mention , illness , addiction , death , murder , nsfw  , language

‘I’m telling you, you’re not in any state to be useful.’

‘get out of bed and stop being such a brat.

‘you will learn to control yourself, and you will start protecting them.’

‘you think you’re on the brink of madness, you think that this moment is going to be when you finally snap, but it’s not.’

‘eventually you learn to exist on the precipice of insanity.’

‘it should have been you. you should have died.’

‘revolution is fine in theory. but nobody wants to die.’

‘you can stop pretending to be my friend, because I know that’s all you came for.’

‘you’re dead. I saw you die.’

‘all you want is to get your revenge. but you could be so much more. do so much more. you could change history.’

‘can’t I be happy? I’ve missed you.’

‘of course you’re in on this madness. what did I expect?’

‘you’re frightened all the time. you think everyone’s out to get you, and you want them to be out to get you because then that’ll give you an excuse to hurt them.’

‘fuck your pain.’

‘you asked how large my sorrow is, and I answered, like a river in spring flowing east.’

‘if you just keep breathing, I’ll tell you a story.’

‘you spend your whole life chasing after some illusion you think is real, only to realize you’re a damned fool, and that if you reach any further, you’ll drown.’

‘you don’t have to suffer alone, you know.’

‘you’re so strong. whatever you’re seeing, whatever you’re feeling, it’s not as strong as you are.’

‘she thinks it’s funny to watch her prey squirm before she kills it.’

‘she knows what drives men, and she takes their deepest desire and makes them believe that she is the only thing that can give it to them.’

‘I don’t need your fake sympathy.’

‘I know nothing. I help no one. let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

‘you are my greatest weapon. do not disappoint.’

‘you’ve been feeling the pull, haven’t you? it’s consuming you. your mind is not your own.’

‘does it ever bother you? that you are only a pale imitation of ____?’

‘are you insane? you want to live, you fucking hide.’

‘I know you’ll fight her to the end. but I hope you realize you’re going to go mad trying.’

‘I would never lie to you.’

‘I mean, sometimes I think maybe I can stop, maybe I can just run away. but what I’ve seen—-what I’ve done—- I can’t come back from that.’

‘when you have the power that you do, your life is not your own.’

‘people will seek to use you or destroy you.’

‘you can’t do it alone. I’m all you got. you have to trust me.’

‘you don’t know how to fix me, do you? you never did.’

‘good men are dead because of you. I hope you know.’

‘I saw how you were hurting. that looked like torture. I thought you might be relieved.’

‘you’re always talking about ____ like he was some great hero. but he wasn’t.’

‘I’d die before I let anyone hurt you’

‘you can’t keep me safe, so you might as well let me fight.’

‘I like you better. aren’t you flattered?’

‘how does it feel getting a taste of your own medicine?’

‘it’s like I’m frozen in one moment. and no one knows it because everyone else moved on except me.’

‘I can’t figure out who’s right or wrong, and I’m the smart one, I’m always supposed to have the right answer, but I don’t.’

‘I just wanted it to be over. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to hurt them, not really, I just wanted it to end.’

‘I suppose it’s not easy going to war against friends.’

‘___ made her choice. she just happened to be dead fucking wrong.’

‘he’s still grieving. and there’s nothing you can do to make that hurt less.’

‘you know what your problem is? you have no impulse control. absolutely zero. none.’

‘you have to fight for something, you can’t just—just live your life like a fucking coward.’

‘it’s not about who you are, it’s about how they see you. and once you’re mud in this country, you’re always mud.’

‘I stuck with you because we thought we’d stay together. we’re always supposed to be together.’

‘it sounds like you’re saying that people have to die for progress.’

‘war’s different when you’re not struggling for survival.’

‘your secret is safe from ___, if that what you’re asking. but I don’t understand why you’re lying to me.’

‘I’m not stupid. I know what I saw.’

‘don’t sentence us to death just because you’ve been humiliated.’

‘she’s telling the truth. you’re just not listening because you’re terrified that someone else is right.’

‘cant give orders for shit, but you love taking them.’

‘I realized that he’d gone crazy and that something had broken and that that path was just going to lead to his death.’

‘did you think he’d fall in love with you if you just did what he asked?’

‘don’t lie to me. I know what you’ve done.’

‘we  /  I don’t need your permission to exist.’

‘you’re little children, grasping in a void that you don’t understand for toys that don’t belong to you.’

‘he dared to threaten us  /  me. he deserved what he got.’

‘would a simple thank-you suffice? or did you also want a hug?’

‘you think it makes you strong, but it’s going to destroy you.’

‘I didn’t think it was worth scaring you when I couldn’t do anything about it.’

‘you weren’t going to tell me I was going mad!’

‘she promises you peace when you know you ought to be fighting a war. that’s worse.’

‘no one has to die. you can have everything back. everyone. no one has to go.’

‘he only has as much power as you give him.’

‘you can tell me everything I hate about myself, but I already know. you can’t say anything to hurt me more.’

‘I loved an idea of you. I was infatuated with you. I wanted to be you.’

‘I loved you too. do you believe that?’

‘it’s alright to cry. I know what you saw.’

‘our dead don’t leave us. they’ll haunt you as long as you let them.’

‘that boy is a disease on your mind. forget him.’

‘he was brilliant. he was different. you’d have never met anyone like him.’

‘this is why we are polite to our allies.’

‘we’re soldiers. we’re always about to die.’

‘I want it more than anything. but I can’t ask you to do this for me.’

‘you are going to kill him. and then nothing will save you.’

‘if you love him, then you can trust yourself to protect him.’

‘you have the same eyes. angry. desperate. you’ve seen too much. you hate too much.’

‘all we have is this story unfolding, and in the script of this world, nothing’s going to bring ___ back to life.’

‘I can’t look at you and not see him.’

‘we’re fighting for something good. something worth fighting for.’

‘I have to do this. otherwise I have nothing.’

‘i’m going to tell you a story. I want you to just listen. and I want you to believe me. please.’

‘I don’t think I can die. i’ve tried.’

‘when you have this much power and this much is at stake you don’t fucking run from it.’

‘I’m scared for you. for both of us. I can’t help that.’

‘if you stay here you’ll die for nothing.’

‘you’re my sister. how could I not remember you?’

‘holy shit. you’re going to die. we’re all going to die.’

‘you never think, do you? you always just pick whatever fights you want, whenever you want, and fuck the consequences—-’

‘if you die, I die.’

‘we’ll keep surviving until we’re safe and the world can’t touch us. one enemy at a time, agreed?’

‘you don’t know anything going into a battle. you only know the stakes.’

‘I had a dream. you died.’

‘I just want to make things right between us. what’s that going to take?’

‘I really am sorry. please, I don’t want us to end like this.’

‘please—- you have more enemies than you think you do—-’

‘you taught me the meaning of fear. nothing more.’

‘I know what kind of person you are— you betray those who help you and you throw lives away like they’re nothing.’

‘we are precisely the same, you and I.’

‘we’ve acquired more power than any mortal should have the right to, which means we have to make the decisions no one else can.’

‘the world is our chessboard. it’s not our fault if the pieces get broken.’

‘would you really do things differently, if you had another chance?’

‘tell me you wouldn’t have given up everything. tell me you wouldn’t sacrifice everything and everyone you knew for the power to take back your country.’

‘you don’t understand the stakes, because you don’t know the meaning of true fear. you don’t know how much worse it could have been.’

‘I’m sorry I hurt you. but I had a plan to protect my people, and you simply got in the way.’

‘____ discards allies without blinking when they are no longer convenient, and if you don’t believe me when I say you’re next, then you’re a fool.’

‘you need me far more than you need them.’

‘you think that he’s invincible, but he is more fragile than you think.’

‘I know that he’d throw himself off a cliff for you. please stop trying to break him.’

‘a puppet to the end. when are you going to learn?’

‘I know what you told him. now I want you to tell me the truth.’

‘have you ever considered being less of a pretentious fuck?’

‘do you have any idea how much trouble you are?’

‘do you want someone to rearrange your face? because I’ll do it for free.’

‘I just don’t want the world to break you.’

‘don’t you dare puke on me.’

‘if you’re trying to drown me, then you’re being a little obvious about it.’

‘why do you always think someone’s trying to kill you?’

‘I feared you, I hated you, and that never really went away.’

‘you can’t beat that thing. you have no idea what you’re up against.’

‘this is what happens when men are fool enough to toy with heaven.’

‘chaos is clever. it can disguise itself as rational and benevolent. it can make us merciful. but in the end, it must always be hunted down and destroyed.’

‘if you’re going to kill us all then you’ll have to kill him, too.’

‘he’s not the one we’re trying to save.’

‘you’ll be alright. it’s not as bad as you think it is.’

‘I’m supposed to be a soldier! what the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left

Summary: Life goes on, whether we will it or not

Read on AO3

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left 

***

When a hermit crab dies, its shell is left behind, sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Empty and lifeless, it remains motionless as the waves cover it with sand.

Jamie had once owned a hermit crab. After it had died, it rattled him that the beautiful shell that looked so much like his pet remained even though the crab was gone. 

Now, Jamie himself was nothing more than a hollowed out shell. 

He knew his heart was gone, every ounce of love within him ripped away, but what had surprised him was that it was as if she’d taken his very body with her as well as his soul. He didn’t have the energy for even the most basic tasks. Food was tasteless. His vision seemed foggy. As tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Life seemed to happen around him, but he hardly managed to bring himself along with it. He was being buried under the weight of the emptiness. 

Nothingness shouldn’t have been so heavy. 

He spent three weeks laying in his bed. Barely eating, barely moving. 

Jamie was aware that he was wasting away, but he couldn’t seem to care. Claire wouldn’t want him to give up without her. Even more compelling, he wouldn’t want her to act like this without him. Even as he’d sent her back through the stones, he’d told her to live a good life without him. He wanted her to be able to move on. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do the same, and he never would. After knowing the joy of a full life, there seemed nothing left for him in this hollow existence. 

If he could have reached out and grasped onto some sort of hope in his new life without her— not that any seemed to exist— he still would have chosen not to. All the right decisions, the healthy decisions, the ways to cope and move forward— they all seemed like a betrayal. He didn’t want to move on; he wanted Claire back. 

The first time he’d uttered the horrible truth of Claire’s absence outloud was when Murtagh had forced it out of him. His godfather had come banging on his door after Jamie had ignored his texts for weeks, eventually barging in on Jamie’s state of depressed chaos. He had dragged him out of bed, forced food down his throat, and shoved him in the shower. After Jamie looked less like a corpse, Murtagh coaxed the story out of him— at least, the only story Jamie could give. 

“She’s gone,” he forced out. Hearing the words aloud was like a knife to the gut. He’d known they were true— every beat of his heart without the answering one of hers next to him made that truth abundantly clear. But being forced to say it aloud brought a whole new level of pain. 

Murtagh clearly didn’t know whether he meant she’d broken up with him or died. His godfather tried to probe him for details, but Jamie didn’t have it in him to explain anymore. 

“There’s nothin’ left for me,” Jamie rasped, “she was it. Claire—” his voice broke on her name, but he forced it out, finding some amount of reverence in the shape of it on his lips, “ Claire was my heart and soul. I dinna ken what to do, a ghoistidh.” 

“Ye do what ye have to, lad,” Murtagh said firmly, “ye keep going.” 

“How?” he looked up at him with tears shining in his eyes. “How can I keep going without her?” 

Murtagh brows drew together as he grew thoughtful. His expression reflected the gravity of the situation. His godfather knew that he was desperate for a reason to keep going, crying out for help. Words couldn’t heal him, but something had to be said. Murtagh took his time before saying them, very carefully. 

“Ye’re no’ without her, though. No’ really. Ye’ll carry her memory wi’ ye. Ye keep going, and ye bring her wi’ ye, even if it’s no’ in the way ye would have liked.” 

Jamie swallowed the bile rising in his throat. All he could hear was buzzing, the cotton in his ears growing somehow thicker. 

“I don’t want to,” he forced out, shaking his head, “I don’t—”

The meager contents of Jamie’s stomach rose, and he rushed to the trash can before collapsing to his knees and heaving into it. The grief in his heart tried to force its way out of his body, and he wished it could just end this and tear him from inside out. Murtagh hovered behind him, offering him a wet towel, and Jamie sat back heavily against the cool wall. 

“I ken she wouldna want me tae give up,” Jamie said quietly, barely above a whisper, “but I just dinna want tae keep going.”

Murtagh’s eyes swam with emotion and his face crumpled underneath his beard as his brain came to a conclusion. Clearly his godfather thought the love of Jamie’s life had truly died. And she may as well have been to Jamie, or maybe she had actually di—

The fear that Jamie had been fighting for weeks rose inside him again. It was possible that Claire really was dead. More than just possible. She’d said coming through the stones had been torture, and she’d been so weak afterwards when Jamie had found her the first time she’d gone through. He could only imagine what the trip had done to his barely conscious lass, hanging on by a thread. Or maybe he had waited too long and it had been too late. Maybe she’d gotten back and was too weak to even draw energy anymore. Maybe she’d died on that hill, all alone, grieving his loss as much as he grieved hers.  

This fear haunted him, both waking and sleeping, tearing him into pieces. Seeing Murtagh’s face as the man thought Jamie was mourning her death, Jamie wasn’t so sure he wasn’t . He wished he could know what became of her— anything to stop this horrible speculating that churned his mind. But he was left in the dark. Left to hold on to the tiny comfort that he had done what had to be done. 

For his wife. 

Jamie let his head fall onto his knees, hugging his arms around them so they were pressed tightly to his chest. 

“Jamie. I willna allow ye to waste yerself away,” Murtagh said firmly. “I ken ye’re hurting, and I would never suggest ye ignore it. I only ask that you take care of yerself, even when ye dinna want to. If not for the memory of her, then do it for me, aye?” 

He raised his red-ringed eyes enough to see his godfather, and he realized there was real fear lingering on Murtagh’s face. 

As much as he wanted to let himself fade away, he could never do that to the man sitting in front of him who he loved so dearly. 

“Alright,” Jamie agreed, “alright.” 

***

When Jamie was young, his parents had a yearly tradition where they would send him to his grandfather’s house to stay for a couple of nights. His grandfather was loving enough, but every time Jamie went, he was overcome with intense homesickness. He would cry himself to sleep each night of the visit, feeling like the guest room was freezing to the bone as he imagined the warmth of Lallybroch. 

Every day now felt like that homesickness magnified a hundredfold. 

Claire had been the true home of his heart. Jamie longed and ached for her in ways he hadn’t known possible. 

Only that home had been lost. And he was left lying awake at night dreaming of her warmth and missing her with every fiber of his being.

***

While driving on the highway during a long road trip, inevitably one will see a plastic bag being blown down the road. Aimless, empty, and completely at the mercy of the wind. Jamie would watch them sometimes, tracing their progress before they drifted away. But he never asked himself where it would end up because it didn’t matter. The bag would simply continue on, moving forward without a destination. 

Jamie was no more than a bit of plastic pushed by the breeze. He stayed rooted to his life only by his promise to Murtagh. He began to go about his days with empty precision. He would wake up at 8, brush his teeth, eat one cup of parritch, and head into work. Every night he would come straight home, take a 30 minute walk around his property, cook himself dinner, and fall asleep to the murmurs of the tv. 

On the rare nights when he allowed himself out of his robot-like trance, he would venture into the closet of the guest bedroom where Claire’s dresses still hung, and he would bury his nose in it, hugging it close to his chest, searching desperately for a whiff of her earthy-rose scent. 

On those nights, he would cry himself to sleep. 

Jamie continued on, but he had no idea what he was moving toward. 

***

When he was a lad of about 5, he and Willie had gone out to the barn to play. They had a bit of rope with them, and Willie thought it would be fun to try to walk a baby goat like they walked their dog, Rufus. They’d fashioned a leash for the poor thing, but when the time came to “walk” it, the animal had simply laid on its side as he and Willie had dragged it through the dirt, wailing its disapproval but not moving a muscle until Jamie’s parents had run out and grounded them for a week. For the goat, there hadn’t been so much active resistance as simply a complete shut down. 

When Jenny showed up at Jamie’s door one night, ordering him to get in the car to come over to dinner, Jamie had simply obeyed. Getting dragged was easier than fighting. 

She’d driven him straight to Lallybroch, where she, Ian, and the brood resided, and Jamie somehow managed to find a weak smile within himself for the sake of his nieces and nephew. 

As soon as he came through the door, he was overcome by a stampede of little feet and grabbing hands. Chubby arms wrapped around his legs, his hands were grasped, and his body became a playground. 

“Weans! Where are yer manners?! Say hi to Uncle Jamie!” Jenny admonished. 

“Hi, Uncle,” came the obedient responses from wee Jamie and Maggie. 

Before Jamie even had a chance to respond, he was obliterated by an innocent, well meaning question that cut him the core. 

“Uncle Jamie, where is Ms. Claire? Can she come to dinner too?” 

Jamie froze, every muscle coiled up on instinct from hearing that name. He’d tried to numb it out, tried to let himself get dragged on through life without the roadblock that was any mention of his lost love. 

Jenny knew, of course. Murtagh had told her about Claire’s “death”. Her face shown with sympathy as she watched Jamie stumble back onto the bench seat behind him. He sat down hard, pressing his hands to face, and peered down at wee Jamie. 

His voice was thick, nearly unrecognizable, when he managed to force out the following words: 

“She’s gone to live forever with the faeries.”

His eyes flicked up toward Jenny, whose face showed raw grief. She may not have liked Claire much, but hearing about her death spoken in such terms, or at least seeing Jamie like this, seemed to wreck her. 

Only somehow, speaking those words— the truth, disguised as a fairytale for children— actually freed a tiny knot in Jamie’s chest. 

Wee Jamie looked both disappointed and intrigued at the news. 

“Gone to live wi’ the faeries?” he echoed. 

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. He glanced up at Jenny again, and then back at the weans. Every thought in his head seemed to vanish, and he hadn’t decided to do anything, but his body was moving. He leaned down closer and gestured them toward him. Lowering his voice, he said, “can I tell ye a secret? If ye promise ye willna tell?” 

Both children nodded eagerly, waiting with baited breath. 

“Claire is a faerie. I found her on the faerie hill one day, and I took her in. She wasna meant to be here, you see, it was an accident. But we fell in love, and she decided to stay.” 

“But why did she go back then?” wee Jamie asked. 

Jamie swallowed hard. “She… well, she ran out of faerie dust. She needed tae go back to live with the faeries so she could have all the faerie dust she needs.” 

Tears gathered in his eyes, and he had to blink hard not to shed them. 

“I”m sorry ye lost yer faerie, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie said, reaching out her hand to rest it gently on Jamie’s knee. 

He took it in his, marveling at just how small it was. But brought him comfort, and for the first time in the past three weeks, he thought maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in the world. 

“Me too, Maggie. Me too.” 

***

a/n: One more chapter to go in arc II, and it's a big 'un. See you tomorrow and thank you so much for reading!!

Next

[limitlessgojo]

Jujutsu Kaisen Manga Thoughts

I honestly think Gege sensei has written it very well. The choreography of the fight scenes and the villain origin stories stand out to me a lot.

In particular, with Satoru saying that love is the most twisted type of curse (vol. 0). And at this point it was his love for Geto that made him unable to cremate his best friend when he ended him. Which led to Geto's body getting hijacked by Kenjaku. Also, I couldn't stop thinking about how a lot of things went wrong during his high school arc.

If he didn't think of extending the stay with Suguru and the Riko Amanai in Okinawa one day longer (obvs he did it to please her) he wouldn't have gotten burnt out/exhausted.

If he didn't think about Riko's happiness and free will to live and just decided to push through straight away with the merger

If he didn't let his guard down all the way until the end

Its the acts that were done out of Satoru's kindness (selfishness???) that helped to contribute to the current situation we are in. Of course he wasn't the only one that helped lead to this.

If the merger pushed through, I highly doubt Suguru would have turned out the way he was. And Satoru eventually pulled through with his fight with Toji so I didn't really worry about that aspect.

It brings us to a question I always asked myself again and again. Is it worth sacrificing someone in order to save the lives of millions of people?

With Tengen at the mercy of cursed spirit manipulation, (which would have been stabilised with the star plasma vessel merger) if they didn't care about Riko's feelings, Japan might still be normal in the story. Kenjaku wants the country to merge with Tengen right?

A lot of people are to blame. Obviously Suguru for changing, but I also surprised myself for thinking that Satoru was partially to blame.

(Satoru -> Kenjaku hijacking Geto since he was able to get his corpse intact.

Geto -> for deciding that non shamans were worthless creatures

Tsukumo -> i believe her discussion with Suguru helped him to finalise his decision in purging humanity to help them "ascend"

Toji -> assassination of the star plasma vessel. Shunned by the Zenin family)

These people all are jujutsu sorcerers or came from the Big 3 Families. It is incredibly ironic how the shamans trying to save(? Do they even try to save people or just cause chaos🤡 the elders don't hesitate to condemn sorcerers they disapprove of or are afraid of) people, but also from the same group of people, arises the origin of evil.

Anyways, the main point I'm trying to get at is: you can do things out of love and a good will, but they can still end up turning on you and the people around you.

Like how Suguru and Satoru wanted the best for Riko, but it ended up bringing devastation to the world. Which shows how twisted it all is. Love and curses are seemingly entangled with each other.

[ptitelidio]

Imagine: Levi founds out that Annie finally got out of her glass coffin.

Levi had been resting for an hour, or two. He didn’t remember exactly what had happened before… everything was so confused in his mind.

Laid down on the bed of his cabin, he sat painfully holding his head with his hand. He felt a sudden headache torturing every brain cell of him. He was pretty sure he felt that before… only once though. Back then, he nearly gave up on his hope, on the idea that his comrades sacrificed countless times for Eren and yet, it had been in vain. Eren disappeared into thin air. Levi didn’t understand him from the beginning, how the brat was not able to tame his anger since he was an ado.

His deceased friends, his former squad came in a flash to his mind, Oluo, Eld, Gunther and Petra. Despite the recent events, he tried so hard to convince himself that their death was meaningful. He truly believed it at first, but right now he didn’t know what to think. He could feel again Petra’s warm and slow breath on his hand as if she just died a moment ago, her eyes mid-closed, just… barely conscient. Her pupils were moving with difficulty until they met his. She tried to articulate a word, but he didn’t hear anything. It was chaos inside of him despite the apparent sternness of his features.

The only thing he could do was to hold her face with his hands on her bloody hair and tighten his embrace. Their retrieval was horribly silent just like the forest around them whereas chaos descended upon his squad some minutes ago.

"I swear your deaths won’t be vain…" he whispered. He doubted if she had been listening or not, it was she who usually made sure that every soldier heard what Levi had to say before they passed. His heart clenched when he eventually resolved to close her eyes forever.

Levi got a grip on himself when he heard the floor creak, he still hadn’t gotten used to that boat in which they were confined in order to reach Liberio. The sea had been too tranquil, maybe a lot of things happened while he had been rambling.

Suddenly, something important came to his mind. He remembered Hanji telling him that Annie managed to get out of her crystal in which she had been stuck for years. How convenient, he cursed. A long time ago, when she hid herself in that coffin, he had been wondering what kind of tortures he would inflict her. But years passed and he just dropped it… but now, he thought she had questions to answer. Not that he wanted answers but because he needed to hear at least a sense of regret in her voice.

Hanji and Armin told him that she helped defending Paradis Island just before they got into that boat and he was thankful for that, at least she tried to make up for her past mistakes. In spite of everything he found to defend her, he couldn’t stop but twirl his own penknife between his fingers… revenged clouded his judgement whereas he always thought he had no common point with Eren, but in a way, he was just like him. Only a killing machine and without Erwin around, he was lost. He would always rely on his judgement and now he had to take decisions and live for himself. He couldn’t know what the right thing to do, as always it had been a thorny dilemma, but you’re not able to know the outcome until you act.

Then he woke up, penknife in hand and closed the door. As if his steps were controlled by some mysterious force, he knew exactly what to do and where to find Annie. She was in her bed, still as ice, what a coincidence. He had been looking at her immobile face for a long time asking when she would go out, and now she was at his mercy. His hands were shaking of anger while the reflection of his bloodthirsty eyes glowed through the penknife.

He knew he could do it; it was easy for him. However someone prevented this from happening, he didn’t immediately understand how or why. He didn’t intend to hurt Annie, all he wanted was to threaten her as he used to do to get answers. He fell on his knees to the floor and loosened his grip on his knife. It was Petra who saved him once again, she wasn’t there physically but he heard her. He remembered her very last words, words he completely discovered again because his brain made him forget using a defense mechanism. Her last words before leaving this cruel world now resonated through his soul.

"Levi Heichou…" her tremendous and feeble voice made him close his eyes.

"Tell me…"

"Is… my time up? I hardly hear anything… at least… w-was I a brave soldier to your eyes?"

He had been hoping it was not too late before she could hear what he had to say.

"You guys had been the real heroes and I only stood by."

Petra, Oluo, Gunther, Eld… I think… you wouldn’t want me to do this kind of stuff. Annie… she’s just a kid after all. The blond carefully listened when she heard the knife fall on the floor, in fact she wasn’t asleep at all from the very beginning. She just let her down slowly in her bed when she learned that the titans trampled on Liberio and its inhabitants. It was too late for her father therefore she had no reason to fight left. Before she woke up, Levi had already disappeared, but she didn’t know it was him who entered.

[harley-style]

DREAM SMP Swap AU

Dream = Wilbur : Dream comes into the server to help these two kids who are trying to stir shit up -- why not, right? He's got a fondness for chaos but also very protective and caring over his friends. VERY FOND OF TUBBO. To the point of.. well, brotherhood. Wilbur = Dream : He had a vision, to create a place where people could emancipate -- he's not above being the bad guy to keep that ideal in place. He's charming and self-confident and isn't afraid to use blackmail or get all up in your business. Has dirt on everyone but Dream. Constantly threatens secrets but subtle, yanno? Again, very charming, very persuasive.

Tubbo = Tommy : Still very sweet, but Big Crime often comes out to play more often than not. Also a huge trouble magnet, tried to start a...Honey smuggling empire? For some fucking reason, despite its innocent sounding plan, is a threat to Wilbur's land but no one has any idea why. Tommy = Tubbo : Tommy has an innate fucking fixation on music discs. He's got Cat and Mellohi personally. He dreams of starting up a music cafe/music area...? He and Dream get along swimmingly, Dream actually gifts Tommy a few music discs too, but also pins Tommy with the name discount Dave Strider.

Fundy = Eret : Was convinced earlier on by Wilbur to continue his 'legacy' and ideals. Fundy further grows into a neutral party, doing things only when it benefits him. Is the traitor from the first war. Eret = Fundy : Gets far too involved with stuff and the only way out is if he wiggles through the restraints on him. Yes that's metaphorical.

JSchlatt = Technoblade : Assists through uses of contracts and business deals. Like, hello, Tubbo's Honey smuggling business? He and Dream make an agreement, he supplies Dream and Tubbo with shit, and Dream does favors for Schlatt. Technoblade = Jschlatt : Anarchy lmfao. Was actually brought on by Wilbur in secret. Acted as a benefactor for Dream before turning around and causing chaos in the land Dream Tubbo and Tommy built. Blood for the blood god, only the strongest gets to the top kind of government. There's always fucking pitfights. Oops.

Philza = Callahan : Largely uninvolved in the events, mostly just there to supervise Wilbur, Tommy and Techno. Duh. Callahan = Philza : Has personal history with Dream, tries to convince him not to do the thing that could hurt everyone else. Minimally succeeds.

Alyssa = Niki : Ready to defend her home and her family. Niki = Alyssa : Neutral, but ready to back Wilbur up if need be.

Sapnap = Bad : Arsonist, goes around and burns shit whenever he wants to. His base is a Nether inspired fortress. Also, he has to deal with a Nether problem in reference to the Red Vine problem from the original SMP. Hotlands? LMFAO Bad = Sapnap : Helps when asked. Started out on Wilbur's side, as a favor, but slowly shifts neutral due to the conflict between factions.

Karl = Skeppy : Gets held hostage? That's what preoccupies Sapnap's time. He suddenly disappeears or gets trapped in a cell. Skeppy = Karl : Runs around doing supply runs. Gets his friends into various stints to try and settle the conflict through friendly rivalry and competition. It doesn't always work.

George = Ranboo : Unlike original Ranboo, George is highly unsympathetic and needs concrete fucking facts before he acts, and that kind of backfires on him in the end. As a favor to Dream (how many favors is Dream involved in honestly) he runs messages back and forth from Tubbo to Tommy. Ranboo = George : Largely uninvolved in the conflict, like Niki, but unlike OG George, is not absent. He's just there to assist. One of the most innocent and purest people on the SMP, knows when to keep his head down. When his house burns down, he doesn't really believe its Tubbo who did it -- he knows the kid has been framed because he'd been WITH him at the time, but Wilbur pressures him to admit it.

Quackity = Punz : Wilbur's loyal paid henchman. Quackity will cause shit for the appropriate price, he's not exceptionally picky. That stunt he did as Mexican Dream was great and everyone in L'Manberg loved it. Punz = Quackity : One of the best fighters under Techno. Has more morals, but keeps them secretly. Very good at hiding his true intentions/feelings.

(sorry about the other characters not being on here, i dont know them enough to make swaps, or dont know who they'd make a good swap with. Swap who you wanna swap though! i'd like to hear your take on this matter! HEADCANONS ACCEPTED TOO AT THIS POINT EVERYTHING HERE IS FROM WHAT I REMEMBER AND MY HEADCANONS)

PLOT

-Wilbur starts the SMP with Niki, slowly invites others like Ranboo, Tommy, and Tubbo.

-Tubbo expresses a desire to Fuck Shit Up and Tommy says they can get Dream, he's an expert at getting away.

-Dream is extremely protective of them both. Tubbo more than Tommy but that's fine because Tommy is largely independent.

-Tubbo gets in the weirdest shit but Tommy can roll with the punches really quickly.

-Wilbur gets tired of their crap and burns down Tubbo's establishment. It's like the Disc Wars except it's the Great Honey War. Bee War? Basically he's tired of Tubbo hogging all the Honey related expenditures.

-Dream gets the idea to make a honey smuggling empire, as a joke, but Tubbo is Big Crime and he's going with it. Tommy just wants chaos, and he was getting bored tbh.

-Eventually the Honey thing turns into Resource management, so Tubbo Dream and Tommy have a hold on all major supplies

-Shit happens and Dream, Tubbo, Tommy, Eret, Sam, Fundy and Alyssa establish an independent nation. Dunno what to call it bc the server is called the L'manberg SMP so....

-The fight for indepencence still happens. Instead of 'Green boy' Wilbur is named 'E-boy'. Dream still says "WE HAVE NO MERCY FOR YOU" when Wil calls for a ceasefire negotiation, but Wilbur does threaten the nation saying  "If there is no white flag by tomorrow, then you can kiss your sorry little arses good bye. That's my final warning."

-Turns out Fundy's been secretly funneling information to Wilbur in exchange for the safety of his friends, and also because Wilbur's his dad....uhm. Also! He and Dream are circling each other and others are like "OH MY GOD YOU GUYS ARE DEAD RINGERS FOR QUEERPLATONIC MATES JUST MARRY ALREADY" bc I like FundyWasTaken but others might not and its okay, we'll label it as platonic, but can be read otherwise depending on your tastes. But for this, it's very close platonic.

-Wilbur goads Tommy into a fight, as brothers do, but Tubbo steps in and Wilbur fucking jumps at the chance.

-This is the start of Dream's descent into madness. No one fucking threatens or pulls one of his friends like that. Denied. It's still subtle though, so he's okay for now.

-Tubbo and Wilbur face off. When Tubbo pulls back bc he genuinely doesn't want to hurt anyone, Wilbur takes the chance and beats him.

-Tubbo, however, makes a deal. Let their nation stand on its own, and he'll give up the Resource Empire he started. Wilbur accepts, with the condition that they unify their alliance with a...marriage? So basically, political marriage between Wilbur's heir, Fundy, and Dream, the leader of the revolution.

-YEAH I WENT THERE THIS IS VALID

-They're strained at first, but Dream and Fundy slowly mend their relationship post-betrayal.

-Fast forward a few months later. The Nation doesn't really have a leader, as per the agreement, but it does have a representative. All decisions are made via majority votes, and that decision is voiced by the rep and sub-rep, Dream and Tubbo respectively. Tommy's just there to have a good time and causes chaos as per usual.

-Enter Technoblade. He's been called in by Wilbur to...ah. Dismantle a little...nation. Sounds right up his alley. But he asks Wilbur to wait and see what happens.

-Tommy and Dream get the idea to hold a tournament to celebrate their independence, an all out brawl for everyone to kick back and relieve stress. There. That's where Techno comes in.

-He gets Punz to join him after like, being paid (ofc) and they fucking dominate the tournament. Dream's about to congratulate them but Techno turns the fuck around and declares his right to rule the nation. If anyone wants to fight him for the title, they're welcome to try.

-Dream loses another life to Techno trying and failing to fight it. He and a few others lost their first life sometime elsewhere? I guess? Probably by being blown up by Wilbur, idk.

-Tubbo and Dream are chased out by people who reluctantly follow Techno's orders, and Tommy, torn between his friends and his brothers, stays behind. Oh jeezus.

-Since Techno is a fighting GOD, no one's able to usurp him to make things turn back to normal. But Dream is smart, and knows Wilbur's 100% behind this. Fundy kind of knew but didn't do shit about it, which is why Dream rejects Fundy's offer of sanctuary. He can't be sure his husband will stay on his side, after all. It's nothing personal.

-Dream and Tubbo hide away somewhere, probably not a ravine but?? A mountain or something? They manage to get Sam away enough to ask him to build a super cool Redstone contraption thing that opens for them. ooooo.

-I'm not good at names but for the sake of jokes I'm gonna call their land the 'Bee's Knees' bc at some point Tubbo finds a fuckton of Hives hanging from Trees. Bee Mountain if Dream's feeling especially salty.

-SPEAKING OF DREAM. his insanity is on course now, it's slowly eating away at him and in fear of hurting Tubbo he's slowly distancing himself away. Tubbo's like what's wrong but Dream can't answer -- he doesn't know what's wrong with himself either.

-Tubbo and Dream need to go back and confront Techno, but they can't wait for long else Techno's going to obliterate everyone and their extra lives. They call Schlatt in.

-Schlatt's a pure business man and draws up a contract. He'll aid them in terms of supplies, but most of the revolution is on them. They agree.

-Tommy is actually really fucking good at lying and skirting around what he reveals to Dream and tubbo as a spy that Techno would have believed him if he didnt' know his brother. and Wilbur's warnings, of course. That results in Techno just being fucking done with Tommy's bullshit and plans his execution in another tournament? I guess?

-It doesn't go like the festival. First of all, Schlatt can't fight for shit, so why would Techno call him up the stage? No, Schlatt fights dirty. techno doesn't set much rules so theres no rule against poisoning Tommy quick and easy before the fight. Tommy loses another life and is on his last. Tubbo is spitting mad, but Schlatt points out that nothing in the contract covered this, so he's free to do as necessary. Tubbo is stopped by Dream who, at this point, is just overtaken by the need to one-up Techno.

-Also, Wilbur's been slowly persuading Dream to just. Let go. Let the monster inside of him free, he 'deserves it'. By the end of it all, Dream does. He snaps and lets loose the monster crying for blood inside him.

-Callahan is left to convince his old friend not to do it. In a moment of clarity, Dream stares on in horror of what he'd done. In his rage he managed to deplete ALL of Techno's lives (not really but shhhh), cause massive bloodshed, and terrified everyone in the process. He asks Callahan to kill him. Callahan does.

-Yes we'll get to Ghost Dream eventually.

-Anyway, Schlatt still does the Wither plan, because, uh, Drunken Rage. He was so stressed out from the ensuing conflict that he's like "LETS JUST FINISH THE REST OF YOU. THERE WILL BE NO CONFLICT IF YOU ARENT THERE TO FIGHT."

-and then he uses the line from the Lego movie on Tubbo like "Oh, Tubbster. It's nothing personal. It's just Business(tm)".

-Schlatt still dies of stroke. He does come back as a ghost though, that's one main difference.

-After everything's said and done, and the dust has settled, everyone decides to disband the nation, and just live their lives. like, they're done, wilbur, they get your point, jfc, let them rest.

-but uhhhh someone frames tubbo for setting fire to ranboo's (the server sweetheart) house. wilbur immediately decides to exile tubbo in 'anger'. acutally, he wants tommy and tubbo separated.

-tommy's not standing for it though, he fucking fights his way until wilbur threatens him and tubbo's like YES FINE OKAY I'LL AGREE TO BEING EXILED STOP THREATENING YOUR BROTHER

-tubbo's exile arc is not as sad as tommy's, but rather very tense because wilbur keeps riling tubbo up and taunting him. he still keeps contact with tommy though because they arent going to be separated just like that. no way. tubbo just gets a little more mad and gets short tempered like a lot.

-ranboo's not even that mad about it, he knows tubbo would never burn his house, there was a conspiracy on board and even if there wasn't he's like "arent yall overreacting its just a house, didnt you all do this like before the first war even began, what even (also, ranboo was WITH tubbo at the time of his house allegedly being set on fire. Not that he'll admit to it, because he and tubbo made that agreement long before)

-eventually he finds out that wilbur just wanted to pin the blame on tubbo to make him leave, and ranboo's like "IM DONE WITH YOUR CRAP WILLBUR STOP HURTING THE PEOPLE I CARE ABOUT" and leaves

-with the nation gone, people started to solidify their groups. sapnap and karl deal with their own thing, quackity still runs errands for wilbur, george is the main person ferrying messages from tubbo to tommy back and forth, etc.

-there's a funeral for dream, ofc, fundy arranged it. all of dream's shit was hidden because fundy doesnt want wilbur to get it.

-niki's still there managing her bakeshop but doubles as an informant for wilbur because she's well liked within the server

-ghost dream is present and he's a chaotic troll who mostly hangs around tommy. he's really hyper active and is always on the move, you can never catch him sitting still for like, 5 minutes

THAT"S ALL I HAVE FOR MY SMP SWAP AU PLEASE BE GENTLE I DONT HAVE TIME TO GET ALL THE FACTS STRAIGHT FROM THE OG SMP qwq

[behindheremeraldeyes]

damirae week 2021 friday, may 7th: nightmares & mythology

title: unholy balance

summary: "He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.” - Greek AU-ish Ao3

Years of coming and going through those silent woods, and yet, his eyes have never once seen the sun kiss her skin. Every day and every night— every winter and every summer— she’s trapped inside that dome, caged and exposed like the living statue they need her to be. He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.

Decades before either of them were even born, the oracles foresaw that a girl born during the blood moon would be the balance between doom and salvation. She alone would withhold the power to keep evil under control and protect the world from eminent destruction. A genuine gift sent by the gods so that men would be able to prosper without ever knowing things such as hatred, anger, poverty or sickness.

When the said girl was finally born, then, all the people gathered to celebrate the beginning of a new era, and before she even had the chance to become a child, she was already turned into a blessing. They named her Raven as to symbolize wisdom and longevity. She was a lovely girl and even if their days of playing around in the streets didn’t last long; he has always cherished them with all of his heart.

Everyone who had the chance to meet her could see how pure her heart was, and if anything, they believed she could use that heart of hers to save the world. She had enough goodness in her for that, and as long as she kept on smiling, they knew things would eventually work out. However, even if most people believed she was meant only to bestow grace upon them, the oracles knew better than to ignore the most crucial part of the prophecy. The old texts describe her as a balance, after all, and the slightest mistake can make it hang the wrong way.

As ordered by the village’s council, then, she was to be kept away from everything and everyone who could distract her from her celestial mission, and since no one objected— no one with the power to, at least— they were quick to build her a place where she could focus on her prayers. With her childish features and her amethyst eyes; she was thrown into her own private sanctuary, where she could be adored, but never disturbed.

Seen, but never loved. Not truly.

Ever since she was imprisoned, her voice was never heard, her skin never touched. People can approach her dome in order to steal a glance and leave her some offerings for the sake of their crops, but that’s as far as they will go. Eventually, they all walk away with smiles on their faces, and they don’t come back until the season changes or they need her for something else. Some of them never really return.

That has been her life for at least 16 years now. Their life, actually, for he has been observing her never-changing routine ever since he was selected to be one of her guardians. And though the Wayne heir has always prided himself in the way he keeps his emotions at bay, something about this— about her— makes his blood boil in pure annoyance.

Perhaps it’s because they used to play together or even it’s just his way to express his discontentment with the place he was raised in, but Damian hates seeing her like that. Trapped in her own blessing, she was deprived of every choice in her life, simply because she was born on that stupid night. They’ve filled the folks’ heads with a curse that would befall upon them if she were to stray from her path, and the worst part—

The worst part is that she believes those words. She really believes she has a duty to fulfill, a life to sacrifice in the name of a greater good.

Bullshit, he thinks.

That girl was meant to be special. Meant for greater things and wider horizons, however, they’ve given her the responsibility to hold the world’s weight in her tiny hands. No one dares to move a muscle to help her, and if anything, they count on her not to drop it because, if she does—well— may the gods have mercy on their pathetic souls.

It’s not fair. She deserves so much more than just this, but apparently, he’s the only one who thinks like that and who has actually tried to do something to help her.

One night, years before he was even assigned to his current position, Damian snuck into her pristine garden. As the skillful warrior he was trained to be, it was quite easy for him to pass through the guards and reach her dome. He knocked on the glassed wall, and after a few seconds, she came into view. She had grown considerably since the last time they had met, her face thinner and more delicate. Her beauty was breathtaking and her amethyst eyes mesmerizing. Until today, he doesn’t believe he has ever seen a girl as graceful as her.

The ivory skin contrasted with her dark hair, and there was a fleeting essence in her features that made his chest grow tighter. A sad and ephemeral beauty, hidden from the rest of the world. He couldn’t find it in himself to look away, and for a moment, Damian understood why people would come to see her.

Looking at her brought him peace. However, her sadness broke his heart.

‘Come with me. I can get you out of here and you can be free’, he remembers telling her, promising to keep her safe. He had meant every single word he told her that day. Every promise regarding a better future— every new sky he wanted to show her— but it was all meaningless. Raven gave him no answer, instead choosing to offer him an apologetical smile that spoke volumes.

She couldn’t go with him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t be that selfish. Not when the world depended on her.

And so, he left as if he had never been there to begin with. Although he hated that village, Damian forced himself to stay, and when he was old enough, he took upon himself the job to keep her safe. He became her guardian, vowing to stay by her side, waiting for the day when she would grow tired of all that hypocrisy.

Waiting for the day when the balance would finally hang to the wrong side.

He has kept on visiting her at least twice a week, their eyes exchanging silent promises that might never be fulfilled. They don’t talk, no, but he can’t bring himself not to go. It’s stronger than him. Seeing her makes him feel at ease, and deep inside, he hopes one day she will make up her mind and ask him to take her out of there. He wants to be there when she makes that decision. And until that day comes, silently, he shall wait.

Today, though, he stands on his spot like every other day, clad in his green and gold armor. His emerald eyes are set on her small prison, and there isn’t one day when he doesn’t wish for it to fall apart. For it’s spring, the garden looks exceptionally beautiful, with the prettiest flowers of the land blooming just for her. He likes to think nature does that on purpose, provoking her with its true colors and teasing her to leave the comfort of her imprisonment.

The other guards are far from him and even further from her shrine. Soon, their shift will end and others will come so they can continue their full-time surveillance. It’s another day like so many others, with a sky just as blue.

However… something feels different.

Perhaps it’s the chilly breeze of the upcoming autumn, or even the unusual silence enveloping the area— Damian can’t quite pinpoint. Something is uncharacteristically unnatural, and he knows it’s got something to do with her. His eyes drift towards her dome, his lips pressed in a thin line. He can feel the weight of his sword hanging from his waist, and all of his senses are oddly alarmed.

The world beneath his feet is alive, he can feel it in his core. The change is coming, and perhaps the balance is tilting.

His eyes blink, and suddenly, nothing is what it was. The ground is shaking, birds are flying away from their nests, and dark clouds are gathering above their heads. Damian sees the other guards looking around, confused, and once everything seems to settle, a horrified scream tears reality apart. It’s her, he knows. She’s the one who’s screaming and before he can even think through, his feet are desperately taking him towards her dome.

His heart is beating faster now, and he knows it’s not because of the run. Something’s wrong with her and he needs to do something before it’s too late. The clouds are growing darker, lightnings roaring inside, but his feet can’t move any faster— god knows they’re trying to. However, all of his efforts prove themselves useless when an energy burst sends him and all the other guards flying backwards. His back hit the ground with a loud thud, all the air from his lungs escaping through his lips.

What on earth did just happen?

His green eyes are wide now as everything he has judged to be a lie is happening right in front of him. The wind is blowing violently, his soul shaking in sudden fear, and a crimson vortex emerges from the celling of her dome, ripping it all apart. This isn’t good. This isn’t normal. It’s too powerful and too maleficent to be fought back with his bare hands. Right now, he knows his priority is to take her and run towards a safer place. Damian needs to find her. He needs to save her.

While all the other guards are running away from the epicenter of the chaos, he’s the only one running towards it. He doesn’t allow his own heart time to be scared as he’s already rushing inside, his eyes scanning the place in search of her. Broken glass is scattered across the floor, and for her cage is quite small, it doesn’t take him long to find her.

Raven is kneeled down on the floor, her purple robe covering her small body and shards threatening to pierce through the skin of her legs. Her hands are covering her ears and a painful expression is taking over her demeanor. “Stop! Make it stop!” She mumbles, shaking her head and causing her hood to fall back. Her dark locks are falling forward now, brushing her tear-stained cheeks.

She’s completely different from the girl he first met all of those years ago. She’s scared— powerless, even— and all of that celestial composure of hers is nowhere to be found. Raven has lost control over whatever it was she has been keeping inside for all of these years, and even if he knows they’re due to suffer the consequences of her outburst, he couldn’t care less about that.

Right now, he only cares about her.

“Raven!” Her name rushes out of his tongue in an exasperated tone, and soon, he’s kneeling down in front of her. His hands are quick to touch her trembling shoulders, making her head shoot up in pure shock. Amethyst eyes are now locked with his emerald ones, and even if they’re still filled with horror, now he can see traces of relief in her irises. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Damian, I-I…” She starts, stumbling upon her own words. Her voice is a bit hoarse from the lack of practice, but when she says his name, it’s still as melodic as he remembered it to be. “I’ve set it free, Damian. I couldn’t control it and now it’s free!”

“What!? What is free, Raven? Tell me.” He asks, his eyes frantically scanning her body as he searches for any bruise or anything that might suggest she’s hurt. At first glance, thankfully, he finds nothing.

She looks straight at him, and Damian can tell she’s debating whether or not to tell him the whole thing. Eventually, then, she closes her eyes, more tears streaming down her face and her knuckles turning white as she tightens her grip around herself. Her slender fingers reach for her head, tracing the opaque red crystal that decorates her forehead.

“My father. He’s been trapped inside this crystal ever since I was born, and I had the job to make sure he never escaped. But now…” The girl bites her trembling lips, and she takes one last breath before continuing. “But now he’s free and he will use all of his demonic powers to spread evil and misfortune all over the land. It’s just like the prophecy said, and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Hey, don’t say that! You were trying your best.“

“It was never about trying, Damian! I had a duty to fulfill, and I failed! All of those years trapped inside that stupid dome for nothing! People are going to die and it’s all my fault!”

His heart is breaking as she speaks, despair lacing every word that leaves her mouth. His brows furrow in condolence, as he can only watch as she cries like a small child in front of him. She feels responsible for all of this, of course she does. After so many years of being told she was the person who had to keep all the evil inside, it’s only natural that she would eventually believe all of those things. Guilt is now getting the best of her, and he’s not doing anything about it. She’s hurt and lost, and all he can do is watch.

Great fucking job, he thinks, anger running through his veins. Now that the balance has finally weighted to the wrong side— now that she’s finally free like he wanted to— he can’t find it in himself to help her. What’s he supposed to do? Damian knows better than to lie to her. He knows she won’t be convinced by his words if he simply says it was not her fault. He cannot tell her everything is going to work out, no. For all he knows, things might never get back to the way they used to be.

Life might never be simple again. He won’t go back to his job as her guard, and she won’t ever go back to that dome of hers as their protector.

Things are going to change.

And perhaps that’s not something that bad, is it?

Now that she has released the evil that was trapped inside of her crystal, she’s finally free to roam the world and do as she pleases. Raven is free to touch the trees and smell the flowers as much as she wants. No more dome to keep her trapped, and finally, she will be able to feel the warmth of the sun touching her skin.

Maybe he’s not taking things as seriously as he should be, but this new life doesn’t seem so bad. Any life where there’s a slight chance for her to be happy is a life worth fighting for.

And that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He will fight for her. For her freedom and for her chance to make her own choices. He will fight because, deep inside, he knows there’s still—

“Hope.” He murmurs, almost as a whisper, but it’s loud enough for her to hear. Once more, she’s looking at him with hopeful eyes, and his heart is beating faster than before.

“What?” She asks, confused, the tears stopping for a moment.

“Hope, Raven.” He starts, his calloused hands now reaching for hers. He caresses her skin with his thumb, a tender expression now spread across his face. “As long as you’re still alive, there’s still hope. Your father might have escaped, sure, but you’re the one who has kept him sealed for all of this time. You’ve done it once, I’m sure you can do it again.”

Her ribcage is moving up and down, her eyes looking at their connected hands. His toned skin against her ivory one makes his chest feel slightly warmer, and he’s glad to see that her shoulders are no longer trembling. “How do you know it? How can you be so sure of that, Damian?”

“I’m not.” He starts, his grip on her hand growing a little stronger. “But I have hope, Raven. As long as you’re here, with me, I have hope.”

Her eyes are looking at him with enough intensity to make his heart skip a beat. He knows she’s looking for a breach in his confidence, but when she finds none, he can feel her hand relaxing under his touch. Her eyes are now brimming with new tears, and in an impulse, Raven throws herself over him, her small hands tugging on his armor. She presses her face against his chest and his arms are fast to welcome her in a warm embrace.

She must have missed this, he thinks. Human contact, that is.

A person to hold her and who believes her, even if she doesn’t. A person to bring hope into her despairing world.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, bringing her closer while she cries her heart out. “You’ll be okay.”

Raven has been deprived of so many things for so long, and he wonders if she even remembers when it was the last time she has felt another person’s touch. He’s hugging her so tightly right now, as if she might disappear if he’s not careful enough. Her tears are soaking his cloth, and perhaps that’s the proof he needs to be sure that she’s not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He holds her like that until her exhausted body gives up and she falls asleep. Her breathing pattern is slower now, and he doesn’t dare move in fear of waking her up. Tomorrow, when she’s awake, they can think about what to do next and how to solve their problems. Tomorrow, things will be different.

After so long, at last, a new dawn awaits for both of them.

fin.

-----

a/n: So, for this prompt, I’ve tried to play around a little with Pandora’s myth and I’m happy with how it’s turned out (maybe I could’ve done something different, but more than anything, I wanted to keep it “short”). There are a lot of nice things involving greek mythology, and the stories have always fascinated me. I hope you guys have enjoyed this one, and please, tell me your opinion! It means a lot.

[ibijau]

You’re a marked man, brother, part 5 (end) / also on AO3

With everything over, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue move forward

After returning to the Heavenly Court, Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji, and Nie Mingjue had to report to the Jade Emperor what they had discovered about Jin Guangyao. This, in turn, created a great deal of chaos to be dealt with, and a number of heavenly officials were demoted as a result of this reveal. No matter how clever Jin Guangyao had been, no matter how powerful the fate changing spell and the curse laid on Nie Huaisang, it would have been impossible for Jin Guangyao to remain in place for this long without anyone noticing. In the days that followed his death, a number of his former friends, his subordinates, and at least one higher ranking civil god were revealed to have at least suspected he didn’t belong in the Heavenly Court, and to have profited from his position to scheme and get away with corruption.

There was a trial. 

Aside from those former associates forced to confess their crimes, Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were also called to explain what they had discovered, and the circumstances of those discoveries. To recount these events in front of their peers, to explain how they had both been tricked into betraying someone they’d loved as dearly as Nie Huaisang, was a true torture.

When it was over, when the emperor had given his judgement and they were free at last, Nie Mingjue took Lan Xichen to his palace. Truly, Lan Xichen had barely stepped inside his own home the whole time. He couldn’t bear to be there and see marks of Jin Guangyao’s presence, constant reminders of how he had been so thoroughly fooled. It wasn’t that they hadn’t all three made memories in Nie Mingjue’s palace as well, but Lan Xichen felt the sting of betrayal a little less strongly there.

Still, it was the first time the two of them were alone since everything unfolded, and for the first time in their long acquaintance Lan Xichen felt uncomfortable as they sat together, Nie Mingjue pouring wine for both of them. Lan Xichen didn’t normally drink, but on that day he decided an exception might be needed.

“So,” Nie Mingjue said when he sat as well, glaring at his cup of wine. “You and Huaisang.”

Shivering slightly, Lan Xichen put down his own cup of alcohol. Perhaps drinking would be unwise after all. He'd known they couldn't avoid that conversation forever, so why not get it over now, when they'd already exposed so much of themselves? 

“Me and Huaisang,” he confirmed in a whisper, nodding slowly.

“How long…”

“It happened after you ascended,” Lan Xichen explained, only to wince as he realised this might not sound good. “There was something before as well, but we became lovers after you ascended. It would have happened even if you hadn’t left, I think. That just… precipitated things.”

Lan Xichen remembered Nie Huaisang so cheerful in public, so happy for his brother and involved in those early efforts to get him followers, who once broke into tears in his arms when they were alone because he just missed Nie Mingjue so much. Lan Xichen had offered him all the comfort he could give, and Nie Huaisang had seized his chance to change things between them… not that Lan Xichen had put up much resistance anyway. 

“I had offered to take him to the Middle court,” Nie Mingjue said in a low, threatening voice. “The instant I ascended, I came back for him, and he refused. Was it because…”

Lan Xichen quickly shook his head. "No!" he exclaimed, and instantly Nie Mingjue relaxed. “I wouldn't have asked him to stay for my sake. I offered as well,” he said, his chest constricting at the memory. He’d first seen his own brother of course, but his second trip back to the mortal world had been for his lover. “He also refused. He said he wanted to take care of your father, especially since things had started going bad.”

That moment haunted Lan Xichen, ever since their encounter with the Magpie King. It had been their last time together, and he could see himself, in his newly ascended glory, lying in bed with Nie Huaisang’s head on his shoulder, warm and comfortable and nearly happy, save for Nie Huaisang rejecting his offer. He hadn’t known then how bad things had become for his lover, hadn’t known about the rumours, about the true state of old master Nie’s mental health. He just knew that Nie Huaisang had laughed and said he wasn’t ready yet to give up on mortal life, that he needed to be a dutiful son, that he’d miss his mother too much, and his little pet birds as well.

“I should have insisted,” Lan Xichen sighed, staring at the cup of wine he dared not drink. “If I had insisted, perhaps I could have saved him and he wouldn’t have become…”

He trailed off, thinking of the Magpie King’s disgust over their accidental betrayal, of him demanding their deaths, rejecting the idea of reconciliation. To think his A-Sang, mischievous but kind heart, could have become such a person…

“I should have insisted as well,” Nie Mingjue said. “But that kid was stubborn as a mule, and I’ve always spoiled him.”

He served himself more wine, which he drank too quickly.

"He was begging when I killed him, you know," Nie Mingjue whispered, sounding haunted. "At the time I couldn't even hear what he was saying, couldn't recognise who he was, just a stranger who'd come into my house and killed my family. But now I realise, now I can remember what I didn't hear back then, and he was begging me for mercy.” He drank some more. “Thought I was angry at him for killing father, for not saving everyone. He thought I hated him, and then I murdered him.”

Lan Xichen shivered. He hadn’t been there that day, but he remembered the memory the Magpie King had shown them. He wished he hadn't been made to see that. Nie Huaisang, desperate and broken… that wasn't how Lan Xichen would have preferred to remember him. 

“I can’t touch Baxia anymore,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “I’m so out of balance, I think she’d turn on me if I so much as looked at her.”

Unsure what to answer, Lan Xichen said nothing. He thought that Baxia, having once beheaded Nie Huaisang without hesitation, would have no right to judge Nie Mingjue now… but that wasn’t how sabre worked. At that time, Nie Mingjue had been absolutely convinced to be in the right, and that was all that mattered to Baxia. Now he was full of doubt, and the sabre would have hated to be yielded with uncertainty.s

Lan Xichen sighed, and drank his cup of wine after all.

He had little dignity left to preserve anyway.

-

Once things had settled in the Heavenly Court, and while his palace was being cleansed from the more obvious traces of Jin Guangyao’s prolonged stay, Lan Xichen suggested that Nie Mingjue and him take a break to visit the mortal world. 

Or rather, to visit a certain undead part of it. Nie Mingjue initially showed some reluctance at the idea of going among ghosts and demons when he still couldn’t touch his sabre, but eventually agreed to go to the Burial Mounds to meet with Wei Wuxian.

They were well received there, even more so than Lan Xichen on his first visit. They were offered tea, and welcomed into the Demon Slaughtering Cave which appeared to have been hastily cleaned up for them. It wasn’t as comfortable a place as their palaces in the Heavenly Court, there were papers everywhere, broken trinkets and half abandoned experimentation hidden under whatever old robes had been around, but Lan Xichen found it less distasteful than he would have expected only some weeks earlier. There was a certain homeliness to this mess of a place, or perhaps it was just because Lan Wangji looked so happy there with his husband.

The tea was served on an uneven table, in mismatched cups, and the four of them sat together to share pretty little cakes that Lan Xichen had brought, his brother's favourites. 

“I’m not sure I’ll have the answers you seek,” Wei Wuxian warned them before they could even say anything. “We’re not… I’m not on bad terms with the Magpie King, but I don’t know if I’m on good ones either. And he’s just never been the sort to talk about himself. For most of our acquaintance I wasn’t even sure who he was. Doesn’t help he changed faces every so often.”

Lan Xichen nodded, throwing a glance at an ashen looking Nie Mingjue. He hadn't wanted to come here, and looked as if he thought it had been the wrong decision. 

“We understand this,” Lan Xichen told his brother-in-law. “It’s just that… you and Wangji are the only people who can tell us anything at all.”

“I’ll try my best,” Wei Wuxian promised. “And I can speculate a bit about some things, too. So… where do you want me to start?”

“How did you meet him?” Nie Mingjue asked.

Wei Wuxian grimaced and fell silent for a moment. Lan Wangji took his hand and squeezed it gently in encouragement, prompting his husband to smile weakly at him before returning his attention to the other two.

“You probably won’t like that,” he said in a more serious tone than Lan Xichen had expected from him. “But I first met him when he tried to convince me to betray king Jiang Wanyin. We were allied to the Jin, the king’s sister married to their prince, and the Magpie King thought I could help him ruin both kingdoms at once. I had no idea back then why he was so determined to throw the Jin dynasty into chaos. But anyway, I refused, insulted him copiously for ever thinking I’d turn on my shidi, and then I ran to try and warn the Jin that there was trouble brewing.”

He paused and grimaced again, leaning against Lan Wangji who wrapped one arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. 

“Didn’t go so well,” he muttered. “Didn’t go well at all. I died, a bunch of Jin died, the Jiang dynasty ended, all that. I stuck around though. Didn’t much like the Jin, but their little prince was my late shijie’s son, and I figured I should protect him in her memory. So of course, when I met the Magpie King again and he wanted to get rid of that kid, we had a bit of a fight… he sucks at combat, but the way,” Wei Wuxian claimed, looking at Nie Mingjue. “I wouldn’t have expected the connection to you.”

“He never cared for that,” Nie Mingjue confirmed, just a touch of his old exasperation piercing through. “So you fought him and won?”

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “Fought him and lost, actually. I was just a small ghost, and he was a Devastation, even if he wasn’t too great at it. He tried again to make me turn against the Jin, but I refused again. I think I must have said something about family coming first, and that might have impressed him. From what I’ve heard since, he’s got a soft spot for that.”

Nie Mingjue paled at what he had to take as an attack, but Wei Wuxian quickly reassured him.

“I don’t think he’s nearly as mad at you as he looked that time,” he said. “He really does have a soft spot for those who protect their families, and he’ll be merciless to those who betray them.”

“Like we did,” Nie Mingjue said.

Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue in annoyance and shoved a cake in his mouth. 

“If he were really mad, Sangcan wouldn’t have been like that,” he claimed, making himself more comfortable in Lan Wangji’s embrace. “And that’s the true heart of him, I think. The Magpie King is the persona he uses to be scary and impressive, but I’ve seen him as Sangcan far more often, and he’s not so bad like that.”

"I thought Sangcan was just a clone he'd created," Lan Xichen said. 

"And one of many no doubts, but his favourite," Wei Wuxian claimed. "It's the form I've most often met him as, over the years, and the one with the most personality. He only brings out the Magpie King if it's necessary, and he brings out Sangcan when he wants to be recognised by those he knows. Even gave him part of his name, eh?"

"I used to call him Sangcan when he was a child," Nie Mingjue confessed. "He hated it, so I'd stopped doing it by the time Jin Guangyao joined our household."

Lan Xichen's breath stuck in his throat. He remembered something about that. Nie Huaisang had told him, once, and he'd been so annoyed about that old nickname. Lan Xichen had tried to comfort him with poetry, Nie Huaisang had blushed and… and he'd wanted to kiss Nie Huaisang so badly even though that wouldn't happen for another few years.

"So Lianfang-Zun wouldn't have known to seal away that name," Wei Wuxian mused. “And so Sangcan was still able to use it. I guess right from the start, he must have been looking for ways to get around that curse and make someone guess who he was. Lan Zhan, didn’t he even approach you directly when you first met?”

Lan Wangji nodded, and glanced at his brother, looking rather sorry.

“He asked if I knew him. He was disappointed when I didn’t, and again when I introduced myself.”

Something icy spread through Lan Xichen’s heart. 

His brother and him looked similar, enough so to have been mistaken for twins on occasions. Nie Huaisang could easily have spotted Lan Wangji during one of his missions in the mortal world and been given false hope for a moment, only to realise that he’d made a mistake. Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji had never met as mortals, but Lan Xichen had spoken a lot about his brother to the boy he loved.

He wondered what it must have felt like for Nie Huaisang, seeing a man who looked so much like his lost lover fall in love with someone else. Lan Xichen’s marriage wasn’t much talked about among mortals where tolerance for these things came and went like waves on a beach, but among gods and ghosts it was a well known fact, one that Nie Huaisang couldn’t have ignored. To know this, to see something similar happen with Lan Wangji… 

He sipped on his tea to give himself a moment and get his emotion under control. 

“Does this all mean, then, that Sangcan is the real him?” Lan Xichen asked, more hopeful than he ought to have been.

But Sangcan had been… nice. A little awkward, a little clumsy, a little silly, but nice. Sangcan was a coward but he hadn’t hesitated to follow Lan Xichen into the Unclean Realm, and he had jumped in front of him when Jin Guangyao would have stabbed him. If Sangcan was the real Nie Huaisang...

“I think Sangcan is just one part of him,” Wei Wuxian corrected, “and the Magpie King is another part of him, and maybe there’s other personas I just haven’t had a chance to meet. If you put all of them together, that’s probably the real Nie Huaisang.”

Lan Xichen couldn’t help slumping down a little.

“The anger is real,” Lan Wangji said. “The kindness is real too. When Jin Guangyao would have stabbed you, Nie Huaisang protected you both times, in both his shapes.”

Lan Xichen nodded, unconvinced, but Nie Mingjue scoffed.

“Jin Guangyao attacked because Huaisang pushed him to it. I’m not sure he gets points for changing his mind about seeing us dead.”

“He showed you who Jin Guangyao was,” Lan Wangji countered with surprising vehemence. “Without this proof of character, you might have missed him.”

As unpleasant as it was, Lan Xichen couldn’t deny it. Until Jin Guangyao’s first attempt to stab him, he had wanted to believe that his late husband had truly just made an honest mistake which got out of hand. He might even have been foolish enough to want to give him another chance if he hadn't died, especially after Nie Huaisang made it clear he had no wish for reconciliation.

They had spent centuries together. Lan Xichen had thought they were in love. He’d told himself they were in love. He’d done his best to respect his husband’s boundaries, to never ask for more intimacy than Jin Guangyao was willing to give, to content himself with the companionship they shared even when he’d felt at times as if they were friends rather than husbands. Lan Xichen had done his best to be good, but he still understood why the other man would have jumped at the chance of getting rid of him, after being forced to pretend for so long.

“Nie Huaisang’s method was wrong,” Lan Wangji said. “The goal was commendable.”

“Wangji, it sounds like you actually like him,” Nie Mingjue remarked, sounding almost envious. Lan Wangji and him were on somewhat cordial terms, but they'd never managed to become particularly close, even though Nie Mingjue would have liked to. 

“He helped me before,” Lan Wangji soberly replied, looking at Wei Wuxian, refusing to elaborate.

“Yeah, he’s a sentimental one, when he’s not playing up the Magie King,” Wei Wuxian agreed, nuzzling shamelessly against his husband. “He even came to our wedding, as Sangcan. He’s a sap, really.

“He was different that time,” Lan Wangji pointed out. “His manners were serious.He seemed more sad. He must not like weddings, but he came for us. He came as his entire self.”

This caused a new pang of pain to Lan Xichen. He’d been so shocked at first to learn that his brother had gone and married a ghost king, and then everything else had happened, the Magpie King, the trial in the Heavenly Court, but now that he could think about it, he realised he had missed his brother’s wedding. 

Not just missed it: he hadn’t been invited to it, Lan Wangji apparently believing that Lan Xichen would be uncomfortable with such an odd union. And he had been at first, but he’d come around quickly. He would have come around then too, if only Lan Wangji had told him.

Instead, in those past centuries, Lan Wangji had never once mentioned Wei Wuxian, or else only in such a roundabout way that Lan Xichen had never realised his brother had fallen for someone.

“It must have been a pleasant wedding,” Lan Xichen said, careful to keep his voice even.

Wei Wuxian burst out laughing. “Not really? I was under shock after actually surviving the trials of Tonglu Mountain, and Lan Zhan got all sappy over seeing me again, so we decided to make it a thing before anyone could say anything. It was just the two of us and the Wen siblings, but of course the Magpie King always knows everything and he crashed our wedding as Sangcan. He did bring some wine and good food though, so I guess it’s fine.”

“Nie Huaisang told me where to find Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, which made his husband gasp.

“You never said! That explains how you found me so quickly then. Lan Zhan, shame on you for keeping secrets from your lawful husband and consorting with my enemies! Or my friends? Honestly, I don’t really know what Sangcan and I are, ahah.”

After this Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen lingered a little longer in the Burial Mounds, but not too long either. There was something about Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian's joy that was painful to witness, when the two of them were only starting to process the loss they had suffered. They were both invited to visit again whenever they pleased. Lan Xichen intended to take that offer, and knew Nie Mingjue probably wouldn't.

Whatever his feelings toward ghost kings, Nie Mingjue still asked Wei Wuxian to tell Nie Huaisang that his brother missed him, should he meet him again. Wei Wuxian promised to do his best.

"But you know,” he said, “with Jin Guangyao dead, the fate exchange spell must have lifted, and his luck probably returned. So he'll meet you for sure if that's what he wants, and then you can tell him yourself." 

It was meant as a comfort, surely. 

All Lan Xichen heard was that they would never see Nie Huaisang again if he didn't want to be found. 

-

Weeks passed, turning into months, into years. Lan Xichen built a new normalcy into his life. He missed Jin Guangyao, at first, if only out of habit. For centuries, they had rarely been apart for more than a few days at a time after all. But as time passed, it became easier to be on his own. 

He kept himself busy answering as many prayers as he could, only avoiding San-Zun temples. Those were quickly falling in disrepair anyway. Even without formal announcement, mortals could always tell when a god had fallen, and they were usually quick to turn their prayers elsewhere.

When he wasn’t working, Lan Xichen often spent time with Nie Mingjue. It had been awkward at first, the spectres of Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang lingering between them, pulling them apart. But having lost so much, neither of them was willing to lose also their last friend, and they managed to find a new balance. Lan Xichen also made sure to frequently visit his brother in the Burial Mounds, and to give him some mission or other to justify his prolonged stay in the mortal world. Everyone knew why Lan Wangji was absent from the Heavenly Court, but Lan Xichen preferred to keep up appearances.

Then, when he could, Lan Xichen wandered alone in the mortal world.

It was something he already used to do before, sometimes dragging Jin Guangyao with him as he looked for something he couldn’t quite name. The only real difference now was that he no longer had to pretend he wasn’t looking for the boy he had loved in his youth.

Lan Xichen knew that Nie Mingjue was doing the same, had always done the same. He knew also that recently they’d both caught glimpses of a silhouette here and there, of a face, that always disappeared too fast into crowds. On good days, Lan Xichen thought that Nie Huaisang was waiting for the right moment to approach them. On bad days, he suspected the Magpie King was just keeping an eye on them, waiting to strike perhaps, his revenge not over yet.

No matter which it was, Lan Xichen continued looking for him, knowing he would be glad to see him again, however changed Nie Huaisang might be.

-

There had been enough prayers coming from that city, and all of them urgent enough, that Lan Xichen had come in person to check the ghost terrorising that area. 

The ghost in question, which seemed to be of Wrath level, had been abducting newborns for years at that point, but recently started doing so at such a speed that the whole city lived in terror. Cultivators of all levels had tried to solve the problem, only to end up dead. A small local martial god had also attempted to check the matter, but he had barely escaped with his life and had come to ask Lan Xichen for his help. 

Lan Xichen, who had only stayed out of this because it would have seemed rude to take action on that other god's territory, agreed to lend a hand. 

The city in question wasn't very big, and it wasn't very rich either. Since the ghost's attacks had become more frequent, every new or expecting mother who could had left the city to spend time with relatives, and some older children had been sent away as well, in case the ghost decided to broaden its tastes. Walking the streets, Lan Xichen noticed an air of sadness and despair all around, which only further motivated him to solve the issue. 

Yet just as he was starting to investigate the matter, a rumour spread through the city. The ghost had already been eliminated, and the latest child it had stolen had been found alive. Nobody had borne witness to that heroic act, but the child and the remains of the ghost had been found before the city's Zewu-jun temple, and many prayers had been done to that god, people said, so it wasn't hard to guess what had happened. 

Lan Xichen, who knew very well that he hadn't done anything yet, was stunned to hear this. 

He finushed his investigation while the city exploded in celebration. A quick check confirmed that the slain ghost appeared to have been powerful enough to have terrorized the city, and it bore marks of having used the energies of very young children to sustain itself. The danger had passed, but Lan Xichen couldn't figure out how. 

A little suspicious of this situation, he decided to linger a while in that city. Taking on a mortal shape, he wandered among the celebrations, enjoying food here and there while staying on the lookout for whoever had brought peace back to these people. 

Because he was so attentive, he spotted a man sitting at a table in front of an inn with a bowl of soup to eat, and froze on the spot. Lan Xichen hesitated, just a moment. But the coincidence was really too great to ignore, so he walked to that table and sat on a free chair. 

"It was you, wasn't it?" He asked, startling the middle aged man across from him. "The Wrath, you took care of it?" 

Sangcan dropped his spoon and stared at Lan Xichen with wide, fearful eyes.

"Zewu-jun!" Sangcan explained, before pressing a hand to his mouth, eyes darting around. "So you came here for this? Ah, my lord, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. There was no intention to steal your kill, my lord! But, well… that Wrath owed the Magpie King a debt, and it was trying to get out of repaying it, right ? So of course…" 

He gestured pathetically toward the celebrations. Sangcan really just looked like a pitiful man, terrified in front of someone more powerful than him, just as he had back then. It made Lan Xichen doubt, but still he had to ask. 

"Are you just Sangcan today, or are you fully yourself?" 

Sangcan frowned at the question, then glanced around. Seeing that nobody was paying them any mind, he sat straighter and passed his hand in front of his face. His features changed, though his clothes stayed the same simple ones. It was the same face he'd worn as the Magpie King that time in the Unclean Realm, though his expression retained a softness that was more like Sangcan's. 

"I guess Wei Wuxian babbled too much, as usual," Nie Huaisang sighed, nearly pouting. "So, what does Zewu-jun want from the Magpie King? Apologies, perhaps?" he asked, his tone making it clear those were unlikely to be offered. 

Lan Xichen motioned a waiter for a pot of tea before turning his attention back to the other man. 

"I take it you haven't seen Wei Wuxian since that time?" 

"No. I'm waiting for the honeymoon to be over," Nie Huaisang said, definitely pouting this time. "Wangji and him are just unbearable, aren't they? It makes me regret getting involved, the world doesn't need such disgusting displays of affection." 

"They can be a bit much," Lan Xichen admitted with a chuckle. "But I understand they've waited a long time for this." 

"You can say that again," Nie Huaisang muttered, producing a fan to hide behind. "Come now. You aren't here to talk about your brother's love life. Whatever you have to say, say it already." 

The waiter returned, serving tea for both of them, giving Lan Xichen a chance to gather his thoughts. He hadn't really considered what to say when approaching Nie Huaisang. Having spotted him, he had just found it impossible to stay away. 

He took a sip of tea. It was nothing like the exquisite brews he was served in the Heavenly Court, but there was something refreshing and pleasant in how plain it was. Simple wasn't a bad quality, Lan Xichen figured. 

"I missed you," he said, quite simply. 

Nie Huaisang snickered, eyeing his own cup of tea with suspicion. 

"Did you now? After I made your husband try to kill you, you somehow missed me?"

His voice wasn't as gentle as in Lan Xichen memories. Right then, it carried a viciousness that the A-Sang of old would have never shown. It had disturbed Lan Xichen when he'd first met the Magpie King in the Unclean Realm, but it no longer did. It was only to be expected that they had both changed, after such a long time, and Nie Huaisang certainly had a right to some bitterness. 

"I missed you before," Lan Xichen explained, earning an unimpressed look from the other man. "I did, believe it or not. There were parts of you that Jin Guangyao couldn't erase. Parts he didn't know about, like the name Sangcan, or…" 

Lan Xichen trailed off, heat colouring his cheeks at the thought of what else Jin Guangyao hadn't known about. 

"I spent centuries looking for a lost friend by the name of A-Sang," he said with an embarrassed cough. "One I assumed would be a ghost. Mingjue-xiong too was missing you, although in his case…" 

"Da-ge never misses me," Nie Huaisang scoffed, closing his fan with a sharp gesture. "Not then, not now. I killed his father back then, and now I've defiled his precious sabre by using it to kill dear Guangyao. Don't lie to me, Xi… Zewu-Jun. I know how da-ge must feel about me. I've heard he won't even use Baxia, now that she has been tainted."

"You're right, and you're wrong," Lan Xichen mildly protested, thinking of Nie Mingjue’s guilt, of him resenting the sabre that hadn't stopped him from doing the irreparable. "You should speak to him. You've been spying on him anyway, haven't you?" 

Nie Huaisang shrugged, looking away at the ongoing celebrations with affected nonchalance. 

"No more than I've always done before," he said, reopening his fan and moving it in a slow, elegant manner. "I had to keep an eye on things, to see if Jin Guangyao's spell might weaken with time." The fan stilled. "And also to make sure he wouldn't harm you or da-ge," Nie Huaisang confessed. "I knew what he was capable of, even to those he called his friends… and he was getting strong enough he might soon have no longer needed you two." 

Lan Xichen thought of the number of gods, small and big, who had confessed to being part of Jin Guangyao’s network during the trial. And those were only the ones who had been careless enough to be caught. Not to mention Jin Guangyao's cult among mortals had been on the rise in the past century, with more and more officials praying to him for good fortune. 

"Do you think he would have…" Lan Xichen started, only to realise how pointless the question would be. Jin Guangyao had shown he was more than ready to get rid of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue at a moment's notice. "Ah. Then I owe you my thanks for protecting us, and Mingjue-xiong as well. I am sure he would love to thank you in person. He really does miss you, no matter what you think." 

"He misses his little brother," Nie Huaisang corrected, fanning himself again. "I'm not sure I'm that person anymore. And I'm not sweet little A-Sang who flirted with you either. That person is dead."

"Then let us get to know you as you are now," Lan Xichen pleaded, aching to reach over the table and grab Nie Huaisang's hand. "We just want you in our lives, whoever you are." 

"If this is about the red thread between us," Nie Huaisang started, squaring his shoulders, but Lan Xichen quickly shook his head. 

It was good to know that they had been fated once, and heartbreaking to realise this had been stolen from them. But having spent centuries at the side of a man who barely tolerated him, all because fate dictated it, had dampened Lan Xichen's faith in the idea of soulmates. That was why he hadn't used the spell which showed read thread a single time since Jin Guangyao’s death, no matter how tempting it had been to see if he could find Nie Huaisang that way.

"I don't trust fate," Lan Xichen said. "It isn't meant to be trusted anyway. I just want to know the person you have become, and let you find out the same about me. If something happens again between us, I will be happy. If it doesn't… then I hope we can be friends. That would please me very much."

Nie Huaisang raised his fan, trying to hide a creeping blush. 

"I see. I see, you're really just as sappy as your brother then!" Nie Huaisang whined. "How terrible, this is just… I don't like fate either. I hate it! But I… I've missed you, and I've missed da-ge. I've missed you both so much, sometimes it felt like it was killing me a second time that I might never be around the two of you again! But you… and da-ge, you really think he'd…"

"I can call him here right now," Lan Xichen offered. "He'll be here in an instant, and he'll tell you himself what he feels."

Nie Huaisang tensed at the offer, the hand holding his fan trembling badly with emotion. But in the end, after a long hesitation, he nodded shyly. 

"I want to see him," he whispered. "I've… I've really missed him." 

"Then I will get him to join us," Lan Xichen replied. "Let's find somewhere more private though. You know how Mingjue gets when he's emotional." 

"He'll cry everywhere," Nie Huaisang laughed, as if his own eyes weren't shiny with nearly spilling tears. "I'll go inside to see if we can rent a private room, just give me a moment." 

He dashed away to find the innkeeper, while Lan Xichen smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. 

What was lost couldn't be retrieved, but hopefully they might build something new from the ashes of everything Jin Guangyao had destroyed. 

[lloydskywalkers]

wishful thinking

good evening it’s missing garmadad hours again, that is all :’’) takes place somewhere after season 10, since we don’t...really know where Garmadon is at the moment.

It’s pure chance Garmadon’s at the compound in the first place.

He’s been trying to stay out of the affairs of humans, even since the girl who brought him back left him with the worst of headaches to deal with. Garmadon doesn’t understand them, humans and their petty drama, their odd phrases and the way they ask him to stay. So most of the time, he leaves them alone. It’s a generous gesture, on his part.

But every once in a while, there are humans who refuse to leave him alone, in which case he rescinds any generosity and makes an example of them. The humans in the compound he’s dealing with tonight are particularly persistent ones — they’ve been tracking him for weeks, trying to jump him when they think he’s not watching. It’s beyond irritating, and he doesn’t have much patience these days — if any at all. So tonight he’s tracked them, right back to their little hideout, and he’s been having a decently chaotic evening of carnage so far.

Garmadon’s only planned on that — walking in, leaving a message, then walking right back out. But halfway out the building he pauses, his eyes drawn toward one of the long hallways, the lights above flickering in and out as the power sputters.

He’s not sure what half-wakened sense in him pushes his feet further into the flickering hallway, but he goes. It’s mostly quiet at this point, the majority of the people having made the wise decision to flee, and apart from a few muffled shouts in the distance, the hallway appears to be empty.

Garmadon’s almost disappointed.

Shrugging the thought off, he’s about to take his leave — when a door slams open, voices echoing frantically as one of the white-coated men blabbers into his radio, followed by another man who drags a crumpled, limp figure.

Their eyes meet and both sides freeze, standing in place as the lights flash and flicker above them. The first man’s face goes white as his jacket. Garmadon’s eyes slide downward, and land on the familiar sleeve of a torn gi, bright blond hair stained red as a steady stream of blood drips down the boy’s forehead.

Garmadon’s eyes return to the first man. He looks rather green, now.

As he should be, considering it’s likely the last thing he’s going to see.

**********

In retrospect, Garmadon has no idea what he’s doing. It isn’t as if he’d planned on taking the boy with him, he’d just…ended up with the small ninja slung over his shoulder as he’d run, leaving the compound and its chaos behind. Now he’s a good several miles away from any form of civilization, in the middle of nowhere, with an unconscious Green Ninja bleeding all over his arm and no plan whatsoever for dealing with him.

At least the boy isn’t awake to start shouting at him again, he thinks. Garmadon barely knows how to deal with the boy now that he’s a silent dead weight — he’d rather not deal with him spouting self-righteous tirades at him every five minutes.

A part of him debates just leaving the boy in the woods for his team to find. His friends are probably out searching for him now, if he knows anything about them. It certainly didn’t seem like the boy was there on his own volition, so Wu’s little students are probably worried.

Garmadon’s lip curls at the reminder of his brother, and he quickly banishes the thought. No, he can’t leave the boy here. He’s wounded, blood still staining the edges of his forehead, and it’s not like he can defend himself when he’s out cold to the world. Garmadon will just have to take him along, for now.

Garmadon pauses, his steps faltering. It abruptly occurs to him that he doesn’t know why he cares what happens to the boy. All they’ve been to each other is a headache, so it doesn’t make sense that he’s suddenly concerned. And yet, there’s some dull part of his mind doesn’t question it at all.

He eventually decides he’s not going to think about it, and continues on his way.

The boy still hasn’t made so much as a sound by the time Garmadon finds them a cave, taking shelter from the misting evening rain. This is — troubling, he thinks. He can’t remember how sturdy humans are supposed to be, but the boy shares his blood. He should at least be stirring by now.

Garmadon sets him down gingerly on the ground, eyeing the gash on his forehead. It’s stopped bleeding at least, crusted over in dried blood. That’s one less thing for him to worry about.

Garmadon immediately grits his teeth, tugging at his hair in frustration. Worried. He shouldn’t be worried. He’s tried to kill this boy before, it doesn’t make any sense.

A rumble of thunder echoes in the distance, and Garmadon lets his arms hang limp, the burst of hot anger draining away. Nothing makes sense, these days. He looks back at the Green Ninja, who’s unconsciously curled in on himself against the chill. Staring at the boy’s ashen face, Garmadon realizes, once again, that he has no idea what he’s doing.

His gaze drifts downward, catching on the familiar green fabric. The boy’s gi is torn and tattered in places, and he can see the skin beneath is marred by ugly, bruising red circles. That would explain why he’s yet to wake up, Garmadon figures. If they’ve drugged him this heavily, he should be out for a while. Small mercies, he supposes. At least he’ll have quiet.

The boy shifts again, curling in on himself further as he shivers. Garmadon stares at him for a beat, before heaving a sigh. He tugs the traveling cloak he’s been using from his shoulders, and tosses it haphazardly over the boy.

There. He’s done his part.

Garmadon stares at the rain outside, fingers tapping restlessly. Maybe—

Quickly, he tugs the cloak higher, up over the boy’s shoulders. That’s all, though. Well— he could pull the edges around him tighter, too. That way the chill wouldn’t seep in as much, then maybe—

Garmadon forces himself to snatch his hands away, crossing all four of them haughtily in his lap. This is ridiculous. If the boy were awake, he’d probably be trying to lecture him about memories again, and whatever else Wu’s fed them all. He should let him freeze in his sleep, it’d be a kindness.

Instead, he pulls the edges of the cloak tighter around the boy, and immediately wants to drown himself.

Oh well. It’s quiet now. That’s enough for Garmadon.

As if the universe itself is conspiring against him, that’s exactly when the boy starts moving.

**********

At first, Garmadon thinks he’s woken up. He’s got ten different sarcastic greetings ready for him as well, since he can only imagine what the boy’s reaction will be to finding himself stranded with Garmadon. The acidic words die on his tongue as the boy whimpers, eyes still screwed shut as he curls up further into the cloak, trembling slightly.

So most likely not awake, Garmadon muses. He knows little about the Green Ninja, but he knows he’d probably rather die than show such weakness in front of him.

Then again, maybe not, Garmadon thinks. The boy does seem to like his pathetic displays of emotion, and the way his expression scrunches up in pain is a familiar one.

Curious — certainly not concerned — Garmadon places a hand over the boy’s forehead, only to jerk it back at the heat that blazes beneath his skin. He frowns, racking his memory as he tries to remember whether this kind of heat is normal for humans or not. Or human hybrids? Whatever the boy is.

Judging how th boy’s starting to shift restlessly, his breathing odd and hitching, Garmadon decides it’s probably not. That could…possibly mean trouble. In hindsight, he probably should’ve at least figured out what they drugged him with, Garmadon thinks, watching as the boy shudders in his sleep, racked by another bout of shivering.

Garmadon hesitates, caught by indecision. Really, he shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like this is his problem. It’s the boy’s fault, for getting caught in the first place. And if Wu and his friends wanted him safe, they shouldn’t have let him get caught. Complete irresponsibility all around. The Green Ninja is reaping what he sowed, and Garmadon, of all people, shouldn’t be worrying himself with it.

But as he watches the boy writhe in the grips of fever, his face flushed and his hair matted in sweat, something in Garmadon’s chest goes uncomfortably tight. He feels almost battle-ready, as if he’s caught in the middle of a dangerous fight — he feels like he needs to fight, to slash and tear at whatever’s come over him.

But there’s nothing to fight except the boy, tangled in his cloak and moaning in delirium, and Garmadon—

Garmadon doesn’t know what to do.

The boy’s breathing falters, stuttering oddly on a gasp. Garmadon’s heart stutters with it.

No, he scolds himself, furiously. He hurt the boy far worse than this himself — the muddled memories he has from when he was first awoken are clear enough for him to remember that. The ninja can take far worse, and Garmadon shouldn’t care in the first place.

And yet.

The pressure on his chest grows worse, and Garmadon recognizes the feeling as something akin to fear. It can’t possibly be fear, of course — that would be ridiculous. Again, he doesn’t fear for the boy. He hardly even knows who he is. He’s stubborn and likes to yell at Garmadon, and he likes to stare sadly at Garmadon even more then he likes to yell at him. He was an unbearable thorn in his side when Garmadon fought against him, and nearly as bad when Garmadon fought with him, and he wears green. That’s about it.

The boy gives a muffled whimper, his face contorting in pain as he curls up tighter. His chest rises and falls rapidly with how short his breathing is, and sweat beads up at the corner of his forehead. Garmadon takes a breath of his own, straining against the nameless emotion flooding through him.

Oh, yes. And he’s Garmadon’s son, as well.

Sharp teeth bite the inside of Garmadon’s cheek as he grinds them. He despises this world. He despises this boy.

He tells himself that, over and over again. He keeps repeating it like a mantra, even as he sits frozen by the boy’s side, unable to leave.

(Unwilling to leave?)

The rain outside grows worse as the night draws on, and so does the boy. His breathing grows labored, his skin still radiating an unnatural heat, and Garmadon swallows back nausea. A large part of him wants to flee. He could scout the area for an hour, perhaps, or walk aimlessly around in the storm, until the boy either gets better on his own or dies. He’s preparing to wage war against the instinct in him screaming to stay, when he catches the first slip of tears across the boy’s cheek.

Ah, Garmadon thinks. Now he’s crying in his sleep. Wonderful.

Instead of scoffing in derision at him, Garmadon hesitates. Carefully, he sets a hand on the boy’s forehead, before slowly tugging it through his hair. The boy’s breath hitches, before slowing into something easier, and he goes finally, mercifully quiet.

Garmadon raises an eyebrow. Hm. He repeats the motion, and the boy’s pained expression eases, tightly-strung limbs finally going limp. Garmadon runs his hand through the thick locks again, catching on a tangled blond curl, and the boy almost seems to lean into the touch, his breathing finally steady.

Garmadon pauses, curiously. Something flickers in the back of his mind, a dull memory in duller colors. A hand, weathered and human, gently ruffling the hair of the same boy. His hair’s cut in a different style, and he seems younger, but his laughter’s the same.

Garmadon blinks. He doesn’t recall ever having heard the boy laugh.

His hand stills. The nameless emotion is back, welling up in his chest and constricting his heart. It makes his eyes smart and burn, staring at the boy, so Garmadon tears his gaze away, shuddering as he exhales heavily.

His eyes close tightly for a beat, then open as he sighs. At least the boy’s not crying anymore.

Not that he cares.

**********

The boy’s fever breaks soon after that. He sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night, and Garmadon watches him, trying vainly to sort out the mess of tangled memories and emotions that whirl within him. He spends most of the time trying to root out the buried part of himself that’s drawn toward the boy, to track it to its source and destroy it.

He’s unsuccessful at either one.

The first pale rays of dawn are starting to reach the cave as Garmadon gives up, standing with an irritated huff. He drags a hand across his face, fighting back exhaustion, when a quiet rustling from behind snaps him around.

He meets the boy’s bleary, half-awake gaze with wide eyes. There’s a heavy moment of silence as they stare at each other, neither moving. Then the boy finally speaks up, his voice cracked and rasping.

“Dad?”

Garmadon goes still, his breath catching in his chest.

Then he latches onto the shadows, and leaves the cave before the boy can blink again. He gives a startled yelp, gasping out a “wait!” before he stumbles back to the floor, caught off-balance. Garmadon pauses just outside, gathering the shadows around him until he’s obscured from view, but still—

Still not leaving, he thinks angrily at himself, as his feet refuse to move.

The boy emerges shortly after him, immediately shutting his eyes against the brightening morning sun. He presses a hand to his temple as he shakes his head, as if clearing his ears from water. He’s blinking dizzily, and for a second Garmadon worries he’s still drugged, and he’s about to have to play babysitter even longer.

But the boy finally straightens, his head swiveling from side to side as his eyes search the forest. He’s quiet, but he doesn’t have the same fever-ridden look from earlier. He looks tired, if anything, though there’s an odd expression of tentative hope on his face.

It dies as quickly as it appears, and the boy scowls. His hands ball into fists, his jaw clenching. “Stupid,” he mutters, and for a second, Garmadon thinks he’s been found out — and called out, apparently. He continues bitterly, “Idiot, what’d you think it was, you’re so stupid—”

He kicks angrily at the ground. Garmadon realizes the boy is talking to himself, rather than having spotted him. He watches as he falls quiet again, his hand clenching and unclenching around the bruising marks on his arm with a pained expression. He doesn’t make any other move, though.

Garmadon frowns. He doesn’t understand why the boy hasn’t left yet. There’s nothing for him here, unless he’s holding onto some foolish belief that Garmadon’s coming back.

The Green Ninja finally slumps in defeat, sitting heavily on the ground and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as he gives a quiet, shaky shudder. He stays like that for a bit, hands pressed tightly against his eyes, before stirring again, slipping a tiny radio from his sleeve and wiping his eyes on the edge of his gi.

The radio bursts into static as the boy turns it on, and he rattles it once before speaking. “Hey, Kai?”

There’s a beat of silence, then the radio explodes into sound, loud voices crackling over each other, frantic and concerned. The boy cringes, before speaking again. “I’m fine, I’m — yeah, I got out. I — I um…I’ll explain later. Can you come pick me up?”

Garmadon frowns, straining to hear the staticky response.

“—any idea where you are? We’ve been looking since yesterday, Nya’s losing her mind—”

“I don’t…know? Um,” the boy winces, rubbing his head. “Middle of nowhere, right now. It’s…I’ll explain later, I promise.”

There’s a smattering of responses before they fall quiet, likely moving to track the location. The boy blows his breath out, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting the radio hang limply from his hand.

“Lloyd?” the radio crackles again, the voice on the other side unsure. “You sure you’re okay?”

The boy is silent, his expression working as he swallows. He fumbles with the radio again, clicking it on. “Yeah,” he croaks. “I’m okay. Just tired. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He then switches the radio off, throws it several feet away from him, and buries his face in his arms, bracing them against his knees.

Garmadon takes it as his cue to leave. There’s not much left to do but watch the boy sniffle miserably to himself, and that’s not exactly appealing. He slips quietly from the clearing, clinging to the shadows as he moves further and further from the boy.

He almost hesitates. Something stings in his chest, with every footstep he takes further away. It’s an ache that almost feels familiar, if he thinks about it enough. As if there’s something in him desperately trying to tug him back.

Then Garmadon grits his teeth, shoves the feeling down, and presses onward.

He doesn’t want to be here when the rest of Wu’s students show up, anyways.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Anchor in the Waves- Chapter 3

Woohoo!! We made it! Here is the rescue!! 

Warnings: graphic violence and an disturbing image (i’m so sorry) but the worst is behind us! yay!

All translations are via google...and there is ALOT of translations. Our “couple” finally gets talk for more than 3 seconds! Finally! 

Reminder there will be an epilogue after this. I’m hoping to have that up this weekend since i’ll have some more time. 

Tag List: @happyveday​ @evelynshelby​

The arduous trek from the ship to the slavers' tents above the beach seemed to sap all the energy out of Finan. Certainly, it could not be enough for the beaten, starved slaves to carry their own bodyweight. Oh no, they were forced to carry pelts for trade. Their captors walked alongside the line of chained slaves to encourage cooperation. 

 In front of him, Uhtred stumbled in the sand, his pack of pelts slipping to the sandy ground. Landing on his knees, he stayed down. Just staring at the ground, his shoulders hunched over, head bowed. He looked like a man who had forgotten the sweet taste of freedom. Bound and chained was all he knew, all he expected in his life. So very different from the man who first boarded the slave ship last year. 

 Immediately, Finan dropped to his side, tugging on his arm. "Get up, ya have to. That's it, get up."

 "Move it, slaves!" One of the Danes screamed, quickly approaching from further down the line.

 Uhtred staggered to his feet with a grunt, eyes unfocused. Without a word, he picked up his pack of pelts and continued onward up the hill.  

 Readjusting the pack on his own back, Finan looked up to see how much further they must go. The sandy ground made walking laborious with the added weight of the pelts. He hoped they received a respite once they reached the top. Though the cynical part of him doubted it. These Danes cared nothing for their slaves, working them until they were skin-covered bones and one foot in the grave. 

 At the top of the hill, Finan could see Master Sverri standing there surveying. Next to him cowered Aine. 

 A jerk on the chains pulled Finan back from his staring. He followed the procession of slaves, keeping one eye on the unsteady ground and another on her. Since leaving Islond, he laid eyes on her only one other time. She had been marched from the back of the ship to the front and then later marched back. He guessed they were keeping her in the protected compartment where they stored the trading goods. Hopefully it would keep her from the worst of the sea. 

 When they reached the top, Finan met her eyes for as long as he could. She stared back with terrified eyes until Master Sverri shoved her to the side and she toppled, due to the chains around her ankles tripping her. 

 Without a conscious decision, he took a step as if to help her but the shackle around his ankle prevented him, along with the jeers of the Danes. So he kept moving; eventually to stand under a tent, free of the pelts but still bound. One of the other slaves wondered out loud if they would be fed and watered but another slave scoffed. Finan kept silent. 

 Rubbing his hands together to create warmth, he kept an eye on Uhtred, standing just in front of him. He knew what was wrong, why Uhtred had become a shell of himself, even more since they climbed out of the ship. He had seen it himself. Halig’s body. Still strapped to the front of the ship. The sight of it caused bile to rise in Finan’s throat. The body had been defiled by the waves and curious creatures in the water. Ropes still wrapped around the ankles and wrists, holding him prisoner. Even in death. 

 Shifting his gaze, Finan looked across, trying to locate Aine once again.  He worried what it meant for her to be here. Was Master Sverri planning on selling her? Leaving her here? Or would she continue to travel with them as his own personal slave while on the ship? Thoughts of her fate filled him with both dread and rage. He promised to keep her safe, to free her. He could not do that if she was sold to another. 

 To his surprise, Master Sverri walked towards the group of slaves, followed by a Dane with a black eye patch and a few others in their wake. 

 What transpired next was something out of a fever dream surely. 

 The Dane with the eyepatch tried to goad Uhtred into fighting him. By the way that Master Sverri and the other Danes treated him, this one-eyed Dane was someone of importance. The man had a sword tossed at Uhtred’s feet, pulling his sword out casually. 

 "He's too weak." Finan said, begging for this not to happen. Hoping there would be mercy. Hoping Uhtred would not take the bait, that he would stay submissive for once. He could see Uhtred's arms and legs quivering from fatigue and weakness. After all they had been through, after all they endured, he could not bear to watch Uhtred die. Especially by this pompous arse. This could not be his end. 

 It did not matter. The fool still picked up the sword and threatened the one-eyed man, showing more life in that moment than he had since Halig was taken. "I will kill you."

 "Uhtred, I am pleased you will try."

 Finan thought he would witness his friend, his newfound brother in all but blood, be decapitated. Fallen to his knees before the one-eyed man, Uhtred just watched as the one-eyed man drew back his sword. Finan covered his mouth with his hand, willing himself not to cry out. He closed his eyes, unable to watch what would surely happen. Death. Uhtred's death. At least it would be swift. Yet he could not witness this. He refused to. 

 Just when the sword was to be swung...horses burst over the ridge and charged the Danes. 

 He stood frozen in shock. Saxons, a woman and a large blond Dane rode through the slavers and those that came with the one-eyed man, killing them without hesitation. The Danes ran haphazardly, none fighting back but moving like rats escaping a sinking ship. Shouts and battle cries replaced the sounds of the crashing waves and seagulls. 

 It was chaos. It was mayhem. It was a slaughter. 

 None of the slaves moved, none dared believed what they saw before their eyes. Was this freedom or new masters? What would become of them? Their shock and chains kept them stationary. 

 The large, blond Dane approached Uhtred, claiming to be a name named Ragnar. At hearing Uhtred's broken voice, his silent plea in just the utterance of his name, Finan felt tears come to his eyes. 

 "Free them all." 

 Finan looked around as he felt one of the Saxon soldiers hammering away at the chain with a sword. He stepped out of his shackle, an almost euphoric feel. He was free. They were free. No more rowing. No more chains. No more beatings. 

 Finally free…

 With that thought, he started scanning around for the one he promised freedom too. He had seen her last when Master Sverri tripped her. Where would the bastard have taken her? Finan took a step forward, his gaze searching everywhere. She had to be here still. She must be. 

 Movement on the far side of the tents, drew his eye. Master Sverri stumbled, a hand pressed to his ribs...and at his side, he forced Aine to walk, pulling on the rope wrapped around her wrists. She followed slowly, looking over her shoulder continuously as the other slaves were being freed. She stopped at one point, eyes wide and mouth parted. The stilted movement caught Master Sverri off guard. He yanked on the rope but when Aine refused to move, digging her feet into the ground. He grabbed her forearm roughly and pulled, forcing her compliance. 

 The Irishman knew what he had to do. What he wanted to do. What he had dreamt about for almost two years...and now no one would stop him. 

 Without looking away from his target, he snatched the sword lying next to Uhtred and stalked over. His legs threatened to buckle under him due to the weight of the sword. A familiar feel, a sword in hand. A piece of him clicked back into place as his fingers curled around the handle. A warrior. He was a warrior once again. 

 "Finan…" Aine mouthed his name like a prayer as he drew closer, never taking her gaze off him. Her brown hair hung limply in its usual braid down her back. Her dress was torn and dirty.

 It was as he came closer, the simmering rage under his skin rose into an inferno. Closer now he could see the bloodied lip on her dirty face, the bruises on her cheek and wrists, and the haunting, dark circles under her eyes. Yet it was the way she watched him approach, not out of fear even though his intent was evident, a sword in hand and flames in his eyes. Hope and awe gleamed in her bronze eyes. She watched him as if he were a conquering hero from childhood stories. Which could not be further from the truth. 

 A snarl grew on his face as he surveyed her pain. Not directed at her, no, never at her...but at the one who inflicted it. 

 Master Sverri turned around, hearing his staggering approach. His gaze met Finan's and hardened. "What, slave? Come to kill me? Come to take the bitch?" Angrily he threw down the end of the rope and shoved her away, making her stumble. "Take her. She's useless anyway. Take her and go!"

 "Aye, but first ya must do somethin'."

 "What?" He sneered, hand still pressed to the wound on his side.

 With that, Finan thrust the blade through the slaver's throat. His blue eyes bulged and blood seeped into his mouth, painting it red at the intrusion. "Pull." He commanded then withdrew the blade. It slipped out, covered in red, an offering of the bastard's life force. Finan watched the man whom he swore to kill, fall over dead. His blood staining the sand below. 

 Finan stood there for a long moment, staring down at the crumpled form of the bastard. It was over. He should feel relieved, elated, avenged. Right now though, he just felt exhausted. His hand shook with the weight of the sword still hanging from it. His body felt on the verge of collapsing from the adrenaline coursing through him. It was the sound of a shaky breath that reminded him he was not alone. 

 Looking up, he met Aine's wide eyes. Both stared at each other in unbelief. 

 “Rinne tú é. Shaoradh tú mé.” She whispered, bottom lip quivering. Slowly, as if her feet were unsteady, she stepped closer to him, eyes still holding his. (You did it. You freed me.)

 Suddenly remembering the rope binding her wrists, he dropped the sword in a rush. Reaching forward, fingers fumbling, he untied the rope then watched it fall. That sight, even more so than the dead body near them, gave him pause. She was free...and that bastard could never touch her again. He fulfilled his promise. 

 Gently, almost hesitantly she touched the tips of her fingers against his cheek, bringing his attention back to her. His eyes closed briefly unconsciously at the soft touch. So long he longed for her gentle touch, to save and protect her. Now it was done. They were free. He opened his eyes to see fresh tears escaping from both her eyes. Carefully he cupped her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away the tear and grime on her fair skin. 

 A quiet sob broke from her lips. “Rinne tú é, Finan.” (You did it, Finan.)

 As if drawn together, they collapsed in the sand, arms around one another. Tears streamed down both of their faces unhindered. Neither paid attention to those looking on. Their captors were dead. Blood still coated the sword used to kill the man they both loathed. Years of pain, torment and despair was released as they clung onto one another, their tears cleansing more than just their faces. 

 “Táimid saor, a stór, táimid saor in aisce.” He whispered repeatedly into her hair, unsure if it was reassurance for himself or for her. It all felt like a dream. Yet as she just held onto him tighter, her face buried in his chest, he knew it was no dream. (We are free, my treasure, we are free.) 

 They were free.

 *****

 The fire crackled before her, providing warmth and light against the darkness of night. Aine stared at the flames dancing. For the first time in years, her stomach was pleasantly full and warmth hugged her like a long-lost friend. 

 The others around the fire conversed, particularly the Dane- Ragnar. He spoke to Finan's friend, Uhtred, about what was occurring in the different kingdoms. 

 Aine only half paid attention. None of it interested her truthfully. The places and people mentioned meant nothing to her. The words flowed around her carelessly, her main interest was the flames and sensation of being warm and fed. 

 Anxiety rose in her chest as she peeked at strangers around the fire. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders, more for the self-comfort than the needed warmth. The action drew the eye of the man to her side. Finan tenderly reached over and slipped his fingers between hers. She squeezed back, surprising herself when she leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder. They had only held hands in the past, pressed their foreheads against the slats, pretending to touch one another. Now that they could actually touch, actually hug and be close, she found herself unable to be far from his side. She also trusted him completely. His presence was a solace she desperately needed, especially amongst all the new strangers. Her mind preyed on her fears that she would be alone, discarded eventually. Yet with him by her side and his promise repeated in an endless loop in her mind, she fought back the fears. 

 Finan broke the uncomfortable silence that descended over the small camp. "So, ya Uhtred's brother...ya look nothin' like each other."

 Aine smiled while the others laughed. 

 "Eat." The fighting nun said, trying to pass the extra food to the ex-slaves. Uhtred silently declined, bringing a frown to her kind face but she relented. Next, she held out the bowl towards Finan and Aine. 

 Finan peeked at Aine, giving her hand a brief squeeze to get her attention. When she gave a small shake of her head against him, he looked at the nun. "Our tongues are small and our feet have barely touched dry land...it'll take a little while."

 That seemed to satisfy the nun. She smiled at them and set the bowl back down, no longer pressing the issue.

 "And you," Ragnar pointedly looked at Aine. "How did you come to be here?"

 Stiffening as he seemed to examine her, she hesitated. How could she explain? Would they reject her if they knew? Everything she had been through, the thought of laying it out in front of all these strangers made her mouth dry and throat close up. All she wanted to do was forget it all. 

 When Uhtred spoke, it surprised everyone. His voice was rough from disuse and crying earlier.  "She gave us food and blankets. She kept us alive."

 Ragnar nodded, eyes softening as he looked from Uhtred back to her. "Mmm...for that you have my thanks."

 Finan pressed his cheek to the top of her head, drawing a small smile from her. The group sat quietly for a time, the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of the waves embracing the silence. 

 "The night is late. We need to rest." The nun said, standing up and dusting off her dress. She looked down at Aine. "Would you prefer to stay near me or…" Her gaze flickered to Finan and back. 

 "Cad ab fhearr leat?" He whispered, giving her the choice. (What would you prefer?)

 Although it was not much of a choice, her answer obvious to her. "Ba mhaith liom fanacht leat. Tá muinín agam asat ... níl aithne agam orthu." (I want to stay with you. I trust you… I don't know them.) 

 Finan looked up at the nun. "She'll stay with me, if ya don't mind. I made a promise to keep her safe and I mean to keep it."

 The nun smiled. "Very good."

 They all settled for the night, each finding their own spot in the grassy plain above the beach. Several fires burned around them, for the warriors and other ex-slaves still lingering about. A few slaves had scattered already but most seemed to be in a state of shock at the change of fate.  

 Aine laid on the grass, staring up at the stars. She snuggled further into the blanket wrapped around her. After all the events of the day, she assumed she would be exhausted and drift to sleep immediately; but found sleep eluded her. The nearby sounds of snores, shuffling, and a few of the warriors talking quietly as they kept guard surrounded her. The ocean waves crashed down on the beach and the call of seagulls could still be heard. She blinked slowly, watching the stars twinkle above. 

 "Caithfidh tú dul a chodladh." (You need to go to sleep.)

 She smiled at Finan's sleepy comment, thinking he had dozed off some time ago. He lay to her right, able to feel his body heat even through her blanket. Initially, he had tried to put some appropriate distance between them but she did not care. After everything they endured, she needed him close. She startled a bark of laughter from him as she rolled over, placing her head against his shoulder. He just pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head and settled back, hugging his own blanket to him. 

 "Na réaltaí ... is cosúil go bhfuil siad níos gile." (The stars...they seem brighter.)

 "Aye?" He yawned, turning to his side to face her. Carefully, he reached over and held her hand. "Téigh a chodladh, Aine. Ní aisling é. Nuair a dhúisímid, beidh muid saor fós." (Go to sleep, Aine. It's not a dream. When we wake, we'll still be free.)

 She squeezed his hand and rolled over to face him fully. Watching him, she brought their joined hands towards her face, rubbing the back of his hand on her cheek. Was that why she could not sleep? For fear that when she woke, she would be back in Islond or on the ship? That this would all only be a beautiful dream to torment her. Or when she awoke, she would be all alone? But this was real though. The feeling of his calloused hand in hers, the rough and chapped skin against her cheek. The grass beneath her and the stars above. This was real. Plus she knew, in the depths of her soul, he would not abandon her. He promised. She would not be alone. Without a second thought, she kissed the back of his hand, tasting the lingering salt from the sea on him. 

 "Ní féidir liom a rá leat cé chomh minic a smaoinigh mé ort. Conas a mhothódh sé tú a shealbhú, teagmháil a dhéanamh leat, tú a fheiceáil ag gáire agus ag gáire." He ran his thumb over her lips, eyes locked on the movement as he confessed his secret. (I cannot tell you how often I thought about you. How it would feel to hold you, to touch you, to see you smile and laugh.)

 "Tá mé anseo ... agus táimid saor." (I am here...and we are free.)

 "Sea, scíth anois.” He tugged her closer to wrap an arm around her waist and guide her head to his chest. "Cosnóidh mé tú." (Yes, now rest. // I'll protect you.)

 *****

 "Are you Finan's woman?"

 Aine startled at the question, looking over her shoulder at the fighting nun- Hild, she said her name was.

 She paid no mind to the sudden tension hovering over Aine as she continued her train of thought. "He seems a good man. Clearly he cares for you...and you him."

 "I... I am not sure."

 Silence settled between them as Hild continued to brush Aine's long hair, trying somewhat successfully to get the knots and tangles out. 

 When Aine woke up that morning, still cuddled in Finan's arms, tears filled her eyes. This was not a dream. It was all still real. She was still free. Finan was safe and free. She pressed her head back to his chest, wanting to linger in the peaceful moment. The feel of his chest rising and falling with each breath, his heartbeat under her cheek, the warmth from the blanket and Finan still swaddling her. It was the most peace she had found in years. 

 A soft growl of her stomach brought her back to reality. Carefully, she slipped out of his embrace, hoping he would sleep as long as he could. Most of the camp was awake at this point, the sun showed it was mid-morning. Hild found Aine before she could even begin looking for her. After eating, they searched for new clothes for herself and the ex-slaves still around. Aine found herself enjoying Hild, the peaceful presence of this woman was something Aine did not know she craved until she found herself dwelling in it. For so long she had lived in constant fear and anxiety. Around the men, Aine still found herself lowering her head, refusing to meet their eyes. 

 Hild brought Aine to a small nearby lake where Aine was able to cleanse the grime, dried blood and saltwater from her body and hair. It felt completely divine. The cold water caused goosebumps to appear on her skin. She wished she could wallow in the water. To have it cleanse her body and her soul... but Hild reminded her the men might want a turn cleaning themselves also. That was enough to get her out of the water and into her new, dry clothes. 

 Now they sat under a large tree, just within sight of the camp but far enough away to have a guise of privacy. Aine picked at the dark blue kirtle they managed to find for her in one of the slaver's tents. She also wore a white shift underneath the kirtle and Hild magically found a thin belt to wrap around her waist. With the new clothes, clean skin and body, and her hair being brushed out, Aine felt a renewal bubbling within her. No longer did she feel like a freed slave. She was a woman again. The feeling of her brown hair, hanging softly down her back, a brush sweeping through the locks, the dress covering her completely, it all felt so normal. Though she knew it would take time before she felt like Aine before her time as a slave...if she ever was that person again. For now though, she tried to enjoy the rejuvenation as she soaked in the sun.

 "What will you do now? Will you join us or do you wish to return home?" Hild asked, interrupting her thoughts. 

 Aine opened her mouth but no words came out. What was to be done with her? What did she want now? Questions she had been denied to even think for years felt like they clogged her throat. She had to make a choice. Would they even want her to stay? 

 Hild must have sensed her fear and confusion for she kindly tapped her shoulder before she rose. "You do not need an answer now. Just think on it. Wessex is a good place to call home. If you do not wish to travel with us. I know of a nunnery nearby you could stay until you decide."

 Aine nodded. Thankful Hild did not press for an immediate answer. 

 "Tell me about...Wessex." She hesitantly said. 

 So Hild spoke of Wessex and King Alfred as they walked back to camp. Aine was surprised to see Finan sitting around a low fire, talking and eating with Ragnar and the scary Saxon warrior- Steapa. As the two women approached, all eyes turned to them. It was the pair of warm, brown ones that Aine focused on. When they noticed her, they widened almost comically, never leaving her own. 

 "Uhtred still sleeping?" Hild asked, moving towards her pack. 

 "Aye." Ragnar answered. 

 Hild hummed then turned to the Irishman. "Finan, we have found some new clothes for you and I can trim your hair if you would like."

 "I'll do it." Aine blurted out loudly, immediately regretting it but unable to retrieve the words from the air. The others glanced at her, Hild raising a single eyebrow. Aine fiddled with her dress, ignoring their looks, as she coughed then spoke up again. "I... I’ll trim it...um, his hair."

 "Aye...aye, that be kind, thank ya." He jumped to his feet as he answered, his gaze only flitting to Hild before returning to Aine. 

 Hild handed Aine her scissors, a small smile on her face and a seemingly knowing look. "When you're finished, I'll take those and find Uhtred. Take your time though."

 A blush warmed Aine's cheeks but she tried to ignore it as she started walking back to the spot her and Hild had just been. Finan followed on her side, frequently stealing glances at her making her blush grow. 

 "Cad?" She finally asked. (What?)

 He chuckled, shaking his head. "Feiceann tú.... álainn." (You look...beautiful.)

 "Tá sé na héadaí." (It's the clothes.)

 "Níl ... is tú féin é." He winked at her when she glanced his way. (No...it is you.)

 Aine bit her bottom lip, casting her gaze downward. Butterflies erupted in her belly. She was unsure why this interaction felt different. More potent. More intimate. She had slept in his arms last night...but this felt different. 

 He sat down where she indicated on the patchy grass. Kneeling behind him, she started to cut his long, unkempt hair. With each snip, each strand of hair falling to the ground, his shoulders seemed to straighten slightly as if a physical weight was being lifted. When she was almost done, his hair cut close to his head, she voiced the very question Hild asked her. Needing to know his answer. Desperate for it. 

 "Ar shocraigh tú cad a dhéanfaidh tú ... nuair a fhágfaidh siad?" (Have you decided what you will do...when they leave?)

 "Ceapaim…" He sighed, rubbing a hand over his scraggly beard. "Ní féidir liom dul ar ais go hÉirinn. Níl aon rud ann domsa, ní tar éis ..." (I think… // I cannot go back to Irland. There is nothing for me there, not after…)

 She watched him clench his fists as if cutting off his words physically. They had never talked about the depths of their pasts, what brought them to slavery. Topics neither one wanted to remember. So, hearing he could not return to Irland shocked her. 

 "An bhfanfaidh tú ansin? Taisteal leo?" (Will you stay then? Travel with them?)

 "Uhtred ... is deartháir dom anois é. Is cosúil gur fir mhaith iad na daoine eile ... agus an bhean atá ag troid." He grinned then looked over his shoulder at her. "Agus tú? Cad a dhéanfaidh tú?" (Uhtred...he is a brother to me now. The others seem like good men...and the fighting woman. // And you? What will you do?)

 What would she do?

 She moved to kneel in front of him, starting to trim at his beard. His eyes pierced as he watched her, waiting for her answer. She knew what she wanted to do, where she wanted to be...but could that be her future? It felt like a lump in her throat, refusing to dislodge. 

 "Mo bhaile ... rinne na Danair ionsaí ar mo shráidbhaile. Maraíodh gach duine ach ... ach an cúpla duine againn tógtha mar sclábhaithe. Níl aon rud ann domsa ach an oiread." She confessed, tears pricking her eyes at the memory. Something she had shoved so far back in her memories she hoped it would never see the light of day. The screams of her sisters, blood coating the filthy hands that held her down, fire reaching into the sky as it devoured her home, the maniacal laughter of the Danes...death...death everywhere she looked. (My home...my village was attacked by the Danes. Everyone was slaughtered but...but the few of us taken as slaves. There is nothing for me there either.)

 She did not realize her hands had started to shake with the memory until Finan clasped them between his, rubbing his thumbs along her skin. She tried to focus on his touch, the calluses on his hands, the warmth they provided, the strength in them. Anything but what she witnessed, of what had so violently been destroyed. 

 "Tá brón orm, Aine." (I am sorry, Aine.)

 His words jolted her back to her senses. Swiftly, she slipped her hands from his, running them over her cheeks and eyes even though no tears had fallen. Without a word, she continued trimming his beard, bringing it to his jawline. He watched as if studying her, trying to read the secrets that lay in her eyes. Biting her bottom lip, she focused on the task at hand, refusing to meet his eyes. Though staying focused became difficult as an incredibly attractive man began to take form under her hands. Once done, her hand rubbed along his jawline, tracing it. Not just for stray hairs but to touch him once again. 

 To her surprise, his hand cupped hers on the side of his face, holding it there. "Fan liom, a stór." (Stay with me, my treasure.)

 She stared at him in shock. 

 "Fan liom. Coinneoidh mé slán tú. Níl a fhios agam cad atá os ár gcomhair ach déanfaidh mé gach rud chun a chinntiú go dtugtar aire duit ... agus sásta ... ach fan." His words seemed to tumble out of his mouth, desperate to fill the air between them. (Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I do not know what lies before us but I'll do everything to make sure you are taken care of...and happy...just stay.)

 She stroked his cheek, thinking on his words. Could this be her future? This man before her, who befriended her through slats and slavery, who once again gave her a reason to laugh, who became as important to her as the breath in her lungs. Was this her fate? She finally spoke, hesitantly. "Agus má dhéanaim ... cad a bheidh mé?" (And if I do...what will I be?)

 His brows furrowed. "Cad atá i gceist agat? Tá tú saor." (What do you mean? You are free.)

 "Níl ..." She glanced down, scared to meet his eyes but when his thumb skimmed her lips, her eyes returned to his. "An mise do bhean?" (No… // Will I be your woman?)

 His eyes widened momentarily and he sucked in a sharp breath. Before she could retract her hand, waiting for his rejection, he kept it firmly against his cheek. "Ar mhaith leat é sin? An é sin a theastaíonn uait?" (Would you like that? Is that what you want?)

 "Sea." She whispered. (Yes.)

 "Sea?”  A grin spread over his face. "An bhfuil tú cinnte?" (Yes? // Are you sure?)

 "Thug tú ar ais an saol dom ... shábháil tú mé. Is mian liom a bheith le do thaobh." (You brought me back to life...you saved me. I wish to be by your side.)

 He cupped the back of her head, bringing their foreheads together. "Aine, a ghrá, níl tuillte agam duit." (Aine, my love, I do not deserve you.)

 "Tá tú agam ar aon bhealach, más mian leat mé." (You have me either way, if you want me.)

 "I gcónaí, riamh ó thug tú orm gáire a dhéanamh sa pheann, ag insint dom conas a mhallaigh mé agus sin mar a bhí a fhios agat gur Éireannach mé. Sin nuair a bhí a fhios agam ... theastaigh uaim leat mé." (Always, ever since you made me laugh in the pen, telling me how I cursed and that's how you knew I was Irish. That's when I knew...I wanted you with me.) 

 Aine huffed a laugh. "Ní raibh ansin ach an dara huair a thug mé cuairt ort." (That was only the second time I visited you.)

 "Is cuma. Ba tú mo dhóchas agus mo shlánaithe..." He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. "... Ba mhaith liom tú a phógadh anois." (Does not matter. You were my hope and my salvation… // ...I would like to kiss you now.)

 "Le do thoil…" (Please…)

 He tipped his head, slanting his lips over hers. Even though they were wind-burnt and chapped, tasting of salt and the stew he had been eating, Aine thought she had never tasted anything better. His hands held her face so delicately, his lips touched her with such reverence like she was a treasured prize. Never before had someone touched her with such care, such adoration. It was addicting. They broke apart after a moment. A short and sweet kiss that brought giddy smiles to both of their faces. 

 "Mo bhean ... mo ghrá ..." He murmured, carding his fingers through her hair. His eyes alight with devotion and a lazy smirk on his lips. (My woman…my love…) 

 She beamed, warmth streaming from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. For a moment she wondered if this was a dream. The two of them sitting there in the sun, faces still so close, one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest, his hands in her hair. Her lips still tingled with the taste of his kiss. Here was someone who wanted her, cared for her, protected her. She would not be alone. 

 “An aisling é seo?” (Is this a dream?)

 He chuckled, nuzzling her as he pulled her closer. “Más ea, níor mhaith liom múscailt.” (If it is, I do not wish to wake.)

 It had to be impossible for her heart to flood even more with affection for him...but somehow it did. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and pressed their lips together. This kiss lasted longer than their first and ended with her mostly in his lap, hands in each other's hair and both breathless. Their chests rose and fell heavily as they beheld one another. The air around them thick with unspoken promises and declarations in the morning sunlight. Both of their lips swollen and red from the sudden passion, hair slightly messy now but neither cared. So much pain and torment had led to this moment...this moment of perfection. 

 Finan raised his eyebrows, mischievous gleam peeking past the dilated pupils. "Ó? An é seo an rud a chaithfidh mé dul i dtaithí air? An bhfuil tú ag goid póga uaim?" (Oh? Is this something I'll have to get used to? You stealing kisses from me?)

 "Mmm ... tá amhras mór orm go dtroidfidh tú an iomarca ar ais ach más fearr leat pógfaidh mé duine eile ..." (Mmm...I highly doubt you'll fight back too much but if you prefer I kiss someone else…)

 He slammed his mouth against hers, cutting off her words. She giggled through the kiss but returned it with equal ardor. When he finally released her, his lips hovered over hers possessively. "Riamh." (Never.)

 "Go maith."She wiggled out of his lap, even as he tried to pull her back down. She stood up and faced him, pointing a finger at him. "Má aimsím tú ag pógadh duine éigin eile, gearrfaidh mé do choileach as." (Good. // If I find you kissing someone else, I'll cut your cock off.)

 He stared at her dumbly for a second then threw his head back laughing uproariously, something she had never seen him do before now. She decided the sound might be her new favorite thing and she hoped to hear it every day in the future.

 "Bhí a fhios agam go raibh tine ionat." He teased, rising to his feet. (I knew there was a fire in you.)

 She shrugged. "Tá Gaeilge agam." (I'm Irish.)

 "Go bhfuil tú ... mo Ghrá." He stepped closer. Pressing his forehead to hers, he entwined their fingers together. "Cuirimid tús lenár saol nua anois, le chéile."  ("That you are...my Iove. //  We start our new lives now, together.)

"Le chéile." (Together.)