#my au: the paths we take glittering and entwined

[pennywaltzy]

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined (A “The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined” Story” - 7/7)

So I took some time off from this story after I got a particularly nasty piece of feedback, and this chapter is kind of a “Heh heh fuck off” response to that piece of feedback. It’s also the end of this particular story! I’m definitely going to pick up in this general time, before they all go on the Enterprise, for the next few stories, and then it will start to answer the actual prompt and Kirk deals with having an addict’s mentality with no actual addiction. But I hope all of you, especially @greenskyoverme, enjoy this ending.

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined - Before the new ship the USS Enterprise is set to take its maiden voyage, it's new captain, Captain Spock, attempts to meet some of his crew on their "home turf." What he and Ensign James Kirk do not expect, however, is the rare connection that makes Kirk Spock's bonded t'hy'la. But Kirk is hiding a secret that is slowly killing him, and this unexpected connection leaves them both with problems: for Spock, it is how to remain unattached in the face of a personal crisis and for Kirk, it is how to remain alive with the secret he is keeping from both his captain and his best friend.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 7 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI? | MY PATREON

The room was dark and overly hot when he woke up again, a calming silence coming from Spock’s presence in his mind. “Turn the heat down,” he murmured. There was a rustle to his side and then the hum of the heater stopped.

“You never told me it was KCW,” he heard Bones say, his tone of voice a cross between angry and exhausted. He had to wonder how long he’d been asleep, and if Bones had been awake the entire time. He knew that Bones had extremely potent coffee from the terraformed farms on Mars that could keep someone awake for at least a few days, but the crash was horrible.

Not as bad as your crash could have been, he thought to himself. There was a shudder that went through his body, and then Bones was there, another glass full of ice-cold water coming up through a straw. He wasn’t so voraciously thirsty this time, but at least he was a bit more aware of things, and not in the state of paralysis the coma he’d been put into was. He wasn’t as much of an expert in xenolinguistics as Nyota was, but he had known the Vulcan terms she used. She knew they were bonded, him and Kirk, and that it might not be approved of by their family.

His own family would probably disown him for being the soulmate of an alien. Maybe not his mom or brother, wherever the hell they were, but certainly his uncle. The man hated all things space and would rather Earth be the only recognized planet in the Federation. Good thing he barely spoke to anyone in his family, really.

“You would have killed me if the drug didn’t first,” Kirk said.

“Have you really been doing it since you were in Iowa?” Bones asked.

“Only way I would have survived,” he replied. “My uncle had me doing all the hard labor, missing school. KCW gave me energy and kept me awake.”

Bones was quiet for a moment. They both had crappy pasts; Kirk knew all about his ex and how he never got to really talk to his daughter Joanna, and that when he said she’d gotten Earth in the divorce settlement he’d only been half-joking. Starfleet had been all that was left for both of them, but his stupid addiction would have cost him everything before he even got to go into space for long. Now that he knew he’d have died, he had a much more sober attitude, pun notwithstanding.

“Next time you need to pull the stay awake for a day or two crap, you have my coffee, okay?”

“I don’t need KCW anymore,” he replied. “Whatever Spock did, I have no urges for it.” He shuddered again. “Just some crappy withdrawal symptoms.”

“But you’re alive,” Bones said, getting up again. At least now he could hold the glass and keep drinking the water when Bones got up. Suddenly there was a blast of cold air and he knew Bones had turned the air conditioning on. “Not shuddering because you’re cold, I take it. Skin feels hotter than the afternoon sun of the bay.”

“I do feel really warm,” he replied. “But the ice water is helping.”

“Then I’ll keep it coming,” Bones said, cracking him a small smile. “Spock, huh? Not Captain?”

“Well, he said I could call him that when we were alone.”

“The telepathy thing is true, then,” Bones said.

“I think it’s different with us. We have a bond. But yeah, touch telepathy is a thing. He said if he were to touch my hand or something now, he’d only hear what I wanted him to hear, thoughts wise. But...we can talk, in here.” He moved a hand, even though it felt like lead, and pointed to his head. “It’s weird, but kind of nice.”

“Trust you to find your soulmate and then have all this drama afterward,” Bones said with a huff of a laugh, and Kirk felt himself grin. The worst was over, he hoped, in terms of withdrawal symptoms and Bones' anger. Not that Bones could have saved him even if he’d known what he was on, but it wasn’t something he should have kept from him. It had been bad enough that Bones had covered for him so many times. He owed it to his friend to be on his best behavior from here on out.

And Spock, too. Spock had saved his life. The least he could do was give him a chance, wherever that may lead.

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 82 - Silence

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 8,000

Summary: For the Ratchat, who witnessed this very first HP AU scene being written, and made it my legacy.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

The Snatchers hadn’t been sure if he was Yato, but the spell Hiyori had used proved useless as they were still being led to the Sorcerer.

Their hands had been bound and wands taken before they Disapparated into a small country lane in the middle of nowhere. Dusk cloaked them as the Snatchers pushed and shoved them into up a lane no bigger than an alley.

Yato could barely see, his face swollen and puffy from the jinx Hiyori had blasted him with, but he had heard Kazuma had also been Snatched. He heard Yukine cursing him briefly before being ordered to shut up. Their bags had been searched and taken. One of the Snatchers – a man who seemed to be stuck halfway between human and werewolf – carried the Sword of Gryffindor, using it every now and then to prod them along like cattle.

They trudged silently before being brought to a halt. Lamplight illuminated a hazy image of black and grey ahead of him, and Yato pried his eyes open. Black, wrought iron gates in the shapes of serpents latticed together stood before them, dark and tall and imposing before them.

Yato felt his heart stop. He knew those gates; they were once his prison bars.

The creak of metal sounded in their ears and the gates melted away, the snakes slithering away into the stone arches to allow the Snatchers to push their prisoners up the gravelled path. A looming shape appeared up ahead, but Yato didn’t have to squint to know what it was. A stately home – a castle, really – lay cloaked in darkness, save for the few lamps that shone on the porchway to shine down on visitors. The windows were dark with inactivity, but inside he knew there would be life and death.

The lead Snatcher banged three times on the black door, ignoring the serpent knocker. After a few moments light spilled over them, cutting through the darkness and burning Yato’s sore eyes.

“What’s this?” A gruff voice said.

“We’ve come to see the Dark Lord,” the Snatcher rasped. “We have Yato.”

A hand gripped Yato by the scalp, pulling his head back to present him to a blurred figure surrounded by the gleaming light of the manor.

“Doesn’t look like him,” the voice said. The blurred shape of a head moved to peer around Yato. “But I know those two – friends of his. Bring them in.”

It took Yato a moment to recognise the owner of the voice; he hadn’t heard it since they killed Professor Tenjin. Kugaha.

What was he doing at Father’s house? Yato thought briefly. A shove propelled him forward, stumbling through the threshold followed by Hiyori, Yukine, Kazuma, and the rest of the Snatchers.

Kugaha led them the way through the mansion, white marble gleaming on every surface. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling every few meters, dazzling his eyes painfully under the swelling. The hallway blurred from dark to light as they passed, but even without his full sight, Yato knew the walls were lined with portraits of great witches and wizards.

They passed what Yato remembered to be the drawing-room where Father took guests late at night. The fireplace was barely a flicker, but numerous lamps and candles had been lit on the mantlepiece, enshrining the portrait above it of Salazar Slytherin.

“If this is Yato, his sister will know,” Kugaha said to no one in particular, not bothering to turn his head.

Yato felt his heart twist in his chest. They were led into a vast room that Yato recognised as the main parlour, though it was more the size of a ballroom. The chandelier seemed to not have been lit in years, hanging on an iron chain above the center of the room. The fireplace was roaring, licking at bits of wood that servants – or slaves – fed into the flames. Beside it stood a girl dressed in white.

She turned at the sound of footsteps marching into the room, echoing off the empty walls. Her eyes grazed Kugaha, then flickered to Yato’s deformed face. There was a moment's confusion, but it was swept away the instant she saw Hiyori and Yukine stood behind him.

“Nora, come here,” Kugaha ordered.

Nora made no move, her profile flickering in shadow and flame as she stared at Yato. She knew exactly who he was, and it terrified him.

Kugaha ripped Yato from the Snatcher’s grip and dragged him forward towards the firelight. “Is this your brother?”

Nora didn’t reply, and Kugaha pushed Yato forward in response. He avoided eye contact, and it seemed Nora was doing the same. She looked smaller, shrunken into herself as if parts of her had been chipped away since leaving Hogwarts.

“Well?” Kugaha pressed.

“I don’t know,” Nora murmured. She stole a glance at Yato, feigning interest, but looked away just as quickly.

“Look closely!” Kugaha urged. “If this is him, the Sorcerer, your father, will reward us beyond our dreams! If we call him and it’s not him…”

“If it’s not him, it’s not him,” the half-human called from behind. He had propped the sword on his shoulder, his other hand on Yukine. “Leave his ugly mug in the dungeon and question these two, since they’re meant to be his friends.”

“Is this his girlfriend, Nora?” Kugaha gestured for Hiyori to be brought forward. she stumbled to catch herself as she was hauled up beside Yato. “And that blond boy? Are these the ones?”

“I – they were friends…” Nora mumbled, perhaps hoping that the words would be lost, and they were when the doors on the other side of the room slammed open.

A woman’s voice pierced the air, sending their hearts beating even faster. Her robes billowed around her, hair loose from its usual style though the beads remained entwined in some strands. The darkness of the room only accentuated the paleness of the skin and the fire highlighted the mad glitter in her eyes as they fell on the prisoners.

“What’s all this about?” Oshi barked.

It may have been the swelling, but Yato swore he saw Kugaha puff his chest out in pride. “The traitors, my lady,” Kugaha replied.

Oshi circled Yato and Hiyori with wary eyes. Her gaze roamed Yato’s face, taking in the pink scarring and the swelling which was beginning to lessen around his eyes. She looked between the two, noticing Hiyori’s avoidance to meet her eye. Her gaze went over their heads to Kazuma, and then Yukine.

“Oh yes, this is definitely Yato,” Oshi smiled slowly and sweetly. “He has his Mudblood pets with him.”

“I told you it was him!” Kugaha hissed to no one in particular. Nora’s eyes slid away from Yato, guilty: a silent witness to their sentencing.

Oshi raised her sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark, indelible on her arm. Her fingers hovered above it for a second, to summon her master, before Kugaha caught her wrist.

“I will be the one to inform the Dark Lord,” Kugaha said smoothly. “They were found under my watch –.”

“Actually,” the half-human cut it, “We were the ones who found them, so we will be claiming the gold –.”

“Gold!” Oshi shrieked with a manic smile, shaking Kugaha’s grip from her arm. “Take your gold, you filthy mongrel. I seek only my…. Lord’s…”

Oshi’s eyes dropped from his fanged face to his hand. Kugaha took the chance to pull his sleeve up his arm, the Dark Mark scarred but irremovable on his arm as he moved to summon the Sorcerer.

“STOP!” Oshi screeched. “DO NOT SUMMON HIM!”

Kugaha froze and the room hung in silence.

Oshi brushed past Yato, a finger raised. “What is that?”

Yato risked turning his head to the side. Despite his clearing vision, it was hard to make out that Oshi was addressing the wolf-man who held the Sword of Gryffindor.

“A sword,” he grunted.

“Give it to me.”

“Finders Keepers.”

There was an immediate flash of red and a thump of flesh on marble. There was a roar from the other three Snatchers, releasing their captives and drawing their wands to face off Oshi.

“Are you mad, woman?” Kugaha roared, all pomp and circumstance gone.

They were never a match for her; she was a witch, mad and skilled and without conscience. They all fell where they stood, laying on the marble in various degrees of injuries.

Oshi bent and picked up the sword, the hilt glimmering in the firelight. She held it before her, examining the blade. A groaned cough came from her feet. The Snatcher who had held Kazuma wheezed and tried to roll onto his back, but Oshi placed her foot on his throat and pressed down.

“Where did you get this?”

Her voice was no more than a whisper that would’ve escaped them if the room hadn’t been so quiet. A rasp came from below, and her foot pressed tighter.

“Where?! This sword is meant to be in my vault!”

“In… the girl’s… bag…” the man wheezed.

Oshi snapped her foot to the side and a crack resounded in the room. When she moved away, dark robes willowing, they saw the man’s neck bent at an unnatural angle. Yato’s heart thrummed again as he realised Oshi was heading back towards him… but her eyes weren’t on him.

They were on Hiyori.

“What does it matter they stole the sword? We have it now,” Kugaha asked, but Oshi threw up a hand in disgust to silence him.

“Shut up, I need to think,” Oshi ordered. “The Dark Lord cannot know about this, he cannot know that anything was stolen from the vault.”

Her gaze fell on Hiyori again and Yato felt her arm flinch against his.

“If this is Yato, then he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to kill him himself… But if he finds out… I have to know….”

Oshi trailed off and turned to Kugaha. “Put them to the cellars with the other one.”

“The Dark Lord –,” Kugaha argued.

“DO IT! HE’LL KILL US ALL IF I DON’T FIX THIS!” Oshi screeched back. “DO IT NOW!”

Yato felt a chill roll over his body. His eyes weren’t as swollen now, and he could see the pure, unadulterated madness and fear in Oshi’s eyes. She clutched the sword in her fists in front of her, knuckles white.

Kugaha’s jaw clenched but he didn’t argue. Holding out his wand, he gestured for Yato and Hiyori to walk ahead of him and join Yukine and Kazuma by the pile of bodies.

“Wait.”

Yato and Hiyori froze. Kugaha raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Except… except for the Mudblood.”

Kugaha’s lips twitched into a smile. He caught Yato by the arm, pulling him away from Hiyori. Oshi had her wand trained on her, a malicious glint already forming in her eyes.

“NO!” Yato shouted, his mouth cooperating with him despite the tingling swell of his lips returning to normal size. “YOU CAN HAVE ME! KEEP ME!”

A blow struck Yato across the face, hard, and the word went muffled. Between Yukine’s shouts for Hiyori, he heard words murmured in his ear.

“Welcome home, Yaboku.”

~

The cell door slammed shut behind them and the lock clicked into place. Kugaha’s footsteps echoed and receded up the stairs until silence enveloped them.

Yato gripped the bars and shook them, but they held fast despite their aged rust. He swore under his breath, turning back to Yukine and Kazuma, eyes adjusting in the dark.

“We need to get out of here,” Yato said.

“What is this place? Why have they brought us here?” Kazuma asked, wringing his hands.

“This is Father’s house,” Yato said darkly.

The gravity of those words was lost on Kazuma, but Yukine knew exactly what that meant.

“Why are we here? Where is he?” Kazuma asked.

“Hell do I know,” Yato grumbled, running a hand through his hair. His mind raced with memories: The death of his parents he couldn’t even remember, the ‘recruitment’ for Father’s army that led to nothing. Meeting Nora. The endless days where they were giving punishment worse than death for defying Father. The dying screams of those who would not surrender. The feeling of losing himself to something much stronger; a connection forming between him and Father which could not be broken.

“Do you know a way out?” Yukine asked, but Yato shook his head.

He glanced around the room, familiar and cloying with dampness that clung to his clothes. One of these dungeons had been his home for a time when Father took him, and he had no intention of staying prisoner again. Not when he knew of what may be waiting around the corner.

A scuff came from somewhere in the darkness, and they froze.

Yato reached for his wand, but cursed when his fingers remembered it had been taken by one of the Snatchers. They waited with bated breath and strained ears as a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the slivers of light cast by the cell door.

“Kazuma?”

Bishamon – dirty, her hair matted at the ends and completely filthy, and alive – looked at them with wide, reproachful eyes.

“Bishamon!” Kazuma cried.

Kazuma surged forward and took Bishamon’s face in his hands, not noticing the way she flinched at the contact. From the look of her, it seemed she hadn’t eaten properly in weeks, and her skin was littered with cuts and fading bruises.

“What are you doing here?” Bishamon whispered, pulling herself away from Kazuma’s embrace. Her eyes finally slid away to the shadowy figures. From the look on her face, she knew exactly who it was despite the slight swelling.

“What is he doing here?!” Bishamon exclaimed.

“He sold us out!” Yukine spat, shoving a finger at Kazuma.

Bishamon looked aghast. “What?!”

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma begged, but Yato couldn’t meet his eye. His gaze fell on the slivers of light that shone down through the cell bars. Yukine folded his arms across his chest, eyes brimming with hate.

Kazuma whirled to Bishamon, eyes pleading. “I couldn’t take it. You’ve been gone for months, I didn’t know if you were dead! I had to get you back. What have they done to you…?”

Kazuma reached a hand to touch her face again, but Bishamon knocked his hand away aggressively.

“You should’ve known not to do this! How could you turn the only hope we have of killing the Sorcerer over?!” Bishamon exclaimed.

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma begged. “We can get out of this. It’s just a few of them-.”

Yato briskly crossed the room to the cell door. He wrapped his hands around the bars again, searching the perimeter for a weakness as he did so often as a child, a chink in the rock that could work the hinges free, but found nothing.

“There isn’t a way out,” Bishamon said softly. Months of captivity had taught her that much.

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Where’s Hiyori?”

Yato’s attention snapped back to Bishamon. The realisation that Hiyori wasn’t among them gave Bishamon a sudden chill of fear. Hiyori – her friend, her teammate, her disciple – was not with them. She looked between their faces, looking for grief, but Yukine jutted his head skywards.

Fear filled Bishamon’s eyes. “Why?”

“We have the Sword of Gryffindor. Apparently, it’s meant to be locked up in Oshi’s vault?” Yukine said.

Kazuma nodded. “At Gringotts. She sent it away after we tried to steal it, to keep it safe. How did you steal it?”

Yato recalled the high halls of Gringotts bank. He’d been there a few times, but he never had reason to open a vault with his pittance of money. He had nothing worth a dragon guarding. “We didn’t steal it, the sword appeared to me.”

There was another beat of silence.

“Let’s hope that Oshi believes that,” Bishamon answered.

Yato frowned. “Why wouldn’t she? Gringotts is impenetrable. No one can steal from it.”

No one could answer that question. Not because they didn’t know of Oshi’s madness, nor because they didn’t know of her ruthlessness.

The question went unanswered because of the screaming.

~

The screaming lasted what felt like hours but could have only been five or ten minutes. It was enough to drive Yato into a frenzy.

“HIYORI!” Yato bellowed up the staircase that descended to the cell, his knuckles white as he thrashed against the cell door. “HIYORI!”

Bishamon had begun to weep, snuffled breaths against Kazuma’s shoulder. Yukine cried silently, knowing it was useless to throw himself at the bars the way Yato did.

Eventually, an eternity after the screaming stopped, footsteps echoed above them and approached down the stone steps. Grey robes appeared, and Kugaha’s face appeared at the bars.

“You fucking bastard!” Yato spat. “What have you done to her?!”

Kugaha didn’t reply. He swiftly pulled his wand from the folds of his robes and hit Yato with a spell, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Yato’s head spun, barely aware of the sound of the cell door clicking and grating open. Kugaha raised his wand against the others, herding them backward until he stopped with Yato at his feet.

Kugaha dragged Yato to his feet by his collar, pinning one arm behind his back and pressing his wand to the side of his neck.

“There’s something we want you to see, Yaboku,” Kugaha said wickedly with a manic grin on his face. He roughly pushed Yato forward and up the stairs to the hall where they had been brought to hours ago. The cell door clicked behind them with a wordless spell.

The injured Snatchers stood around the edge of the room, Nora amongst them but half-hidden in the shadows. On the ground in the center of the hall, Oshi straddled something with her wand drawn.

“Oh look, there’s our Yaboku,” Oshi smiled sweetly, surveying his face now that the swelling was gone. “Welcome home.”

Kugaha shoved Yato to the ground before he could reply, his body hitting the cold, pristine marble with a crack. Looking sideways, he squinted past the stars that had formed in his vision, and his blood ran cold.

Hiyori lay unmoving beneath Oshi, a wand pressed painfully hard into her throat. Her watery eyes stared petrified at the ceiling, arms pinned down by the knees of the witch above her.

“Hiyori?” Yato whispered shakily.

Hiyori’s eyes darted to him, terror evident in her eyes as she saw he had been dragged into whatever they were about to do next. She moved her head slightly, her lips parted slightly to speak as fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes before she was silenced by a slap across the face. Hiyori’s sharp gasp was following by quiet sobs, shoulders shaking as she tried to contain them.

Yato hastily moved to push himself up, seething at the witch who had made him listen to Hiyori’s agonising screams, but Kugaha’s foot planted itself into his back, pinning him down. Oshi smirked at him before slowly leaning down to Hiyori, making her flinch and try to shrink away from whatever twisted idea she had in mind.

Her lips brushing against Hiyori’s jawline up to her ear as she relished in the scent of sweat and fear, whispering quietly into her ear.

“Oh, look. Your boyfriend is here. Want to give him a little kiss?”

Hiyori gave a small shuddering sob as Oshi abruptly sat back up, bursting into a happy laugh as if she had told a funny joke. Grinning, she tilted her head to Yato who still lay trapped on the ground, his teeth gritted as he stared daggers at her.

“Well, now that you’re here, Chosen One, we can begin,” said Oshi said sweetly, her malicious eyes boring into him.

“This is how it’s going to work. You tell me how you got into my vault, else your little girlfriend here,” Oshi pressed her wand harder into Hiyori’s neck, a trickle of blood seeping out of the puncture she created. “Won’t be your girlfriend for much longer.”

“You… bitch,” Yato said heavily, trying to move his head so he could face her, but a hand fisted in his hair, pinning him back down. “Let her go.”

“Tut tut, that isn’t how you speak to your masters,” Oshi said mockingly. “I’ll have to punish your little friend for that.”

Oshi moved swiftly and gripped Hiyori’s left arm, plunging the wand deep into her flesh.

Hiyori’s head turned immediately back to face the witch, allowing Yato to see her face. Her guttural scream echoed through the hall and reverberated through the manor. Her back arched in pain and her face contorted in agony as she heaved for breath.

“STOP IT!” Yato screamed, thrashing desperately as he tried to escape his captors. Another boot kicked him in his side, winding him. Unable to move or breathe, he continued to hear Hiyori’s screams.

Tears running down her face, she frantically tried to pull free as the wand carved into her, but was subdued by the point being pressed to her throat once again as she heaved through the pain.

“Do I make myself clear, Yato?” Oshi asked him. “If you don’t answer, she gets hurt. If you haven’t answered by the time I’m done, she dies. Now, how did you get into my vault?”

“Torture me instead!” Yato pleaded, “She doesn’t know anything!”

“Wrong answer.”

She drove her wand into Hiyori’s arm once again, carving. Hiyori screamed louder than before, voice on the edge of breaking.

Yato pleaded for it to stop, uselessly twisting himself around onto his back where a fist connected with his jaw. His right temple smacked back onto the floor, blurred eyes meeting the sight of Hiyori’s legs kicking wildly as she tried to throw her torturer off of her to no avail.

When it had stopped, her head fell to the ground and lulled to the side, empty eyes looking at the blood which streamed from the growing wound.

“Stop it,” Yato whispered. “Don’t hurt her.”

“THEN ANSWER THE QUESTION!” Oshi screamed. “HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY VAULT?! WHO TOOK YOU THERE?!”

Yato fell quiet, breath rasping as he looked at Hiyori. Her unfocused eyes were looking at him, but they looked lifeless. His throat hitched at how she looked exactly like Sakura when he killed her. He felt as if he was being crushed, not by the weight of Kugaha whose weight immobilised him, but by the realisation that he was slowly killing the person he loved.

Bishamon was right; no matter what the truth was, Oshi would not believe it. Hiyori’s screams when he was locked in the dungeon was proof of that.

“Magic,” Yato croaked, hoping that the change in answer would protect Hiyori from further harm. “We used magic.”

“THAT’S ONLY HALF AN ANSWER,” Oshi screamed, losing patience with how long it was taking. “I’LL STOP WHEN YOU’VE TOLD ME EVERYTHING.”

Her hand squeezed on Hiyori’s arm, forcing more blood out and opening the wounds wider. She plunged the wand into the skin, again and again, dragging it harshly through the soft tissue as she carved her way down her arm.

Hiyori thrashed harder than before, the pain more intense as the witch branded Hiyori as what she was. She released strangled screams with every breath, her voice becoming weaker and more cracked as it went on, begging for it to end.

Yato fought weakly against Kugaha, his fists missing his target, and punches raining down on him as they asked the question again and again. Trying to push himself away, another pair of hands pinned his hands above his head to stop him from fighting or protecting himself. A great weight lay on his chest, stopping him from moving. Even if he could move, he would drag himself to Hiyori’s side and let himself die in her place.

Minutes passed and the screaming became weaker and weaker until there was silence. Hands going slack, Yato allowed himself to be beaten as his heart plummeted, oblivious to nothing but the silence. The punches slowed to a stop and a heavy silence hung in the air.

Twisting his head to look at Hiyori through blackened eyes, he could see her brown eyes staring blankly back at him but did not show any signs of their usual brightness. Slowly, they closed.

Dried and fresh tears stained her cheeks and starred her lashes, her mouth hanging open slightly as if still gasping for air. Blood trickled from the injury on her arm which had splattered blood white marble. The tarnishing streaks of blood from the brand engraved into her arm like ink on parchment read a word - a word he had come to hate.

One word that marked her as unworthy of the wizard life.

Mudblood.

Her name barely made it through his cracked lips at the first few attempts. Perhaps because he’s been beaten senseless, or perhaps because the mere sight of what he’d done to her.

“Hi... yori,” Yato said breathlessly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he spoke her name.

Oshi stood up and smirked, kicking Hiyori’s body so she rolled over to face Yato. Wiping the blood off her wand, she walked away, happy at her handiwork. Hiyori lay still, her limp body turned towards him. Blood had slowly stopped seeping out of the wounds on her arm and neck.

“HIYORI!” Yato choked, wrenching a wrist out of his captor’s grasp and thrashing wildly. A wand was instantly pressed to his heart, but still, Yato fought to reach Hiyori’s side.

“Let him go,” A quiet, familiar voice sounded from the edge of the room, from whom he did not know.

Reluctantly, Kugaha pressed his knee harshly into Yato’s stomach as he pushed himself up, leaving him alone on the blood-splattered flagstones. He rolled himself onto his stomach, straining as he began to drag himself pitifully towards Hiyori, leaving bloody marks on the floor with each movement.

Reaching her side, his arm reached out shakily, pulling her broken frame into his protection. He gently touched her cheek, but she did not react.

“Hiyori! Wake up!” Yato whispered, voice thick with emotion and tears beginning to spill. “Hiyori! We can go home now… just like you wanted...”

Yato's eyes looked into her face, praying that there would be some sign of life, but she may as well have been dead in his arms. His fingers trembled as they slid up her face and into her hair, his other hand wrapping around her waist pulling her against his chest. Her head and torn arm rested on his shirt, blood staining the fabric.

“We can go home…” Yato repeated, voice cracking. He closed his eyes and put his lips against her forehead. His hand trailed from her hair down her neck and to her back, where he held her in a gentle embrace, afraid that she would shatter entirely. “Let’s go home.”

“You killed her, Yato,” a voice said mockingly after a few moments of silence. “If only you answered the question, she would still be alive.”

Yato opened his eyes, tears distorting his vision. He turned to look at who had spoken, seeing that Oshi was taking delight in his anguish.

No, Yato thought, but it was a desperate thought that slipped through his fingers like sand. Hiyori wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be dead. Not like this. Not here.

“Take him away, we’ll start over with one of the others.”

Yato snapped, panic rising as Kugaha and a Snatcher moved towards him to drag him away from Hiyori.

“No!” Yato tried to scream, but his voice was too weak and broken to raise. He wrapped his arm tighter around Hiyori, desperately holding onto her so they wouldn’t be separated. Hands grabbed his arms and hair, trying to pry him away from her, but he wouldn’t let go.

Never.

“Petrificus Totalus.”

Yato’s muscles locked into place. He was picked up easily and slung over Kugaha’s shoulder, unable to resist or scream.

“We’ll give you some time to decide if you want to tell us or not,” Oshi called after him. “If not, we’ll start over with that little kid you’re so fond of.”

All Yato could do was look at Hiyori’s fragile body getting smaller and smaller as he was taken away.

~

Yato had been dumped back in the dungeon where his companions waited in terror, hearing the screams from above suddenly cease. They rolled Yato over, trying to ask him what happened when they saw bloodstains over his clothes.

Yato’s eyes frantically searched their faces, trying to show them that he was paralyzed. But when they asked about Hiyori, pain tore through him again and tears burned behind his fearful eyes, unable to fall.

Kazuma was beside himself. He had become a bigger mess than Bishamon as he realised the full weight of his actions; that he had led them to their torture and deaths. He begged forgiveness, and the anger that had raged inside them turned to grief and hopelessness.

Trapped in his mind, words in his Father’s voice haunted Yato.

Look how much you’ve hurt her, he taunted, you couldn’t protect her. She’s dead now because of you. You only had to do one thing, and she would have been safe.

Poor Yaboku, you just killed another. Did you love her? Did she love you? Does she hate you for not saving her? You’ll never know. Because you killed her.

All you desire is possible. All you dread is inevitable.

The thoughts tortured him endlessly, hissing sweetly about how much she must have suffered, how relieved she must have been when he arrived, thinking that he would stop the pain. How terrified she must have been when she realised, he didn’t love her enough to save her.

The curse eventually wore off and Yato weakly flexed his fingers as he worked the muscles loose.

Yukine sat him up against the wall, asking what happened. Finding his voice, still weak and cracked, Yato began to tell them what happened. Shock, anger, and fear filled their faces as they listen to what they endured, disbelieving that Hiyori could be dead. The fears that Father knew to play on had become common knowledge, and it had been used against him.

“She isn’t dead!” Yukine cried out desperately, fingernails digging into Yato’s arm, trying to cling to evaporating hope. “She can’t be dead!”

“Yukine…” Yato said brokenly, bowing his head and biting his lip as the tears threatened to spill. He couldn’t let Yukine see him like this.

A sting of pain struck Yato’s stomach, his earlier beating catching up to him and forcing him to clutch himself and double over. He felt something solid in his pocket pressing against his hand.  Realising what it was, he pulled Sakura’s two-way mirror – now cracked and missing a few pieces – from his pocket.

Yato held it up in front of his face. It was a child’s wish – one he didn’t believe he would ever outgrow – but there, a large green eye looked back at him.

“Help us,” Yato whispered, not knowing to what or who he was begging.

The eye vanished from the reflection, and Yato’s hand fell into his lap. They sat in silence, no words to console him or even offer a plan of escape. Minutes ticked by. Footsteps on the staircase alerted them of Kugaha’s return.

“Well, Yato, what’s your answer?” Kugaha asked.

“They don’t know anything. Take me to Hiyori and I’ll tell you,” Yato demanded, determined to keep his friends from harm for as long as he could.

“That’s not the agreement,” Kugaha said nastily.

The door opened and Kugaha strode across the room, wand pointed at Yukine. He roughly grabbed his hair and began dragging him towards the door. Yukine yelled in protest, hands clawing at Kugaha’s wrists as Yato tried to stand up to protect him. Falling, he grabbed Kugaha’s leg, clinging onto him like a child.

A bolt of light hit Yato’s back, making him cry out and release his grip. Kugaha’s aimed his wand at Bishamon and Kazuma as they stepped forward to stop him, grinning happily at their powerlessness. Yanking Yukine outside, Kugaha locked the door.

Yato gaped for breath as he pathetically tried to drag himself to the iron gate.

“I’ll be back when we’re finished with this one,” Kugaha’s receding voice called out to him. “Can’t make any promises that he won’t end up like your girlfriend. You better hurry up before we kill the other ones too, Yato.”

Yato collapsed on the ground, his hand stretched out to the locked door. He weakly called after Yukine, but his voice had shattered from grief.

Kazuma kneeled next to him, softly speaking words he did not hear. They’re going to die because of me, Yato thought to himself. Defeated, he lay his head on the ground, wishing he had never dragged his friends into this.

And then someone Apparated in the room.

~

Kugaha released his grip on Yukine’s hair and shoved him to the ground.

Yukine shielded his head with his arms, his curled-up body hitting the ground hard. After a moment he moved his arms apart slightly. A pair of feet lay a few meters in front of him. His head moved slowly to take in the person lying before him, sickness setting in his stomach as he saw Hiyori’s unconscious form. Bloodstained her clothes and face, skin pale as marble.

“Hiyori!” Yukine shouted, frantically scrambling towards her. He knew she couldn’t be dead; it was just a sadistic ploy. Hiyori couldn’t be dead…

A fist in his stomach stopped him from reaching her, his body crumpling to the ground as the breath was stolen from him. He knelt on the ground, head pressed against the ground as he clutched his stomach as he gaped for air, blurred tears distorting the dried streaks of blood in front of his face.

Fighting for breath, a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Slender fingers dug into his chin, forcing him to face his friend’s unstirring body.

“That’ll happen to you if you don’t answer me,” Oshi hissed in his ear.

“Let me help her... I’m begging you!” Yukine choked out, legs weak as he noticed the word carved in Hiyori’s arm.

“How will you save a dead person without magic?” Oshi sweetly asked. A lump rose in Yukine’s throat as he realised that he was powerless to save her.

Something hard pressed into his spine, bringing his mind back from the edge.

“Crucio.”

~

Yato stared disbelieving at the short figure that had Apparated into the cell.

It was impossible. No one could Apparate into the cells – or even this house, as he had found out all too soon as a child – yet Ebisu stood before them.

“Ebisu?” Yato asked quietly.

“I have come to rescue Master Yato,” Ebisu shuffled his feet, unnerved to have so many eyes on him at once.

Yato looked at him, agape. The mirror, the eye… did Ebisu have it all this time? The questions were short-lived in his mind as Yukine’s first cries drifted down to them. Yato felt his heart shudder. They needed to be quick.

“Can you Disapparate from this room?” Yato asked quickly.

Ebisu nodded.

“Can you take humans with you?”

A nod.

Another scream reached them, and Yato’s plan bloomed to life. “Ebisu, I need you to Apparate us out of here, to… anywhere. Take Kazuma and Bishamon first -.”

“No chance, we’re not leaving you,” Bishamon interrupted.

Yato hesitated for a second, but more hands would make escape easier. “Fine. We need to get our wands and bags back from the Snatchers, then get Yukine and Hiyori.”

Ebisu nodded and reached his hands up. Yato held Kazuma’s shoulder, and he and Bishamon took them hesitantly. A second later they were at the top of the stairs of the dungeons. Yato looked around and realised they were only a few rooms away from the great hall, though Yukine’s cry and Oshi’s voice would’ve easily directed them. Yato silently beckoned them forward, sticking to the edge of the hallway, which was filled with wide, draped windows.

Yato stopped short and ducked out of sight behind one of the heavy curtains, dawn breaking over the fields in the horizon and temporarily blinding him. Ebisu tucked himself beside Yato, and Kazuma and Bishamon hid behind the other curtain. Yato twitched the curtain and peered further up the hallway.

Two Snatchers had emerged from the great hall, talking quietly to themselves at the bottom of the staircase just out of sight. Yato looked over to Kazuma and Bishamon, who nodded silently in response.

They crept forward on silent feet, leaving Ebisu beside the curtain, thankful that they were looking the other way. Yato flung himself at the taller Snatcher, clamping a hand over his mouth and hanging on as he thrashed. Kazuma had hit out at the other Snatcher in an attempt to knock him out, but it seemed that his punch had landed awkwardly.

Yato cursed inwardly. if they made any noise, someone would come looking and they would be back in the cells, or under Oshi’s wand. Kazuma’s Snatcher reared back, wand in hand and a warning call rising in his throat. A metal pitcher was against his head and the Snatcher fell to the ground in a thump.

Bishamon breathed heavily, setting the pitcher back on the small table she’d found tucked beside the staircase.

Yato rummaged in the Snatchers pocket, hands finding stickiness and finally three wands which he recognised as his own, Hiyori’s and Yukine’s. Beside him, Kazuma emerged victorious with his own wand, and Bishamon picked up the Snatcher’s fallen wand.

They crept along the hallway, looking back over their shoulders to make sure no one was there, but there was not a soul in sight. Yato briefly thought of Ebisu before the air was punctuated by another of Yukine’s cries, and Yato’s heart somersaulted again.

They pressed their backs against the doorway’s arches, wands to chests. Yato slowly peered around the door. Oshi straddled Yukine in the same fashion she had tortured Hiyori, who still lay in the center of the room. Kugaha and Nora stood to the side of the room, flanked by two Snatchers.

Yato noticed three new figures in black robes on the opposite side of the room, their arms tucked into their sleeves. The only woman among them wore an ornate headpiece unlike her companion’s black hats, but Yato instantly recognised the man to her left. His slate grey eyes watched Yukine’s torture with no sympathy: Mitsuguri, the man who had read Tenjin’s will to them. One of Amaterasu’s traitorous advisors.

Yato quickly scanned the woman and the other blond-haired man. Mikagami and Mitama, the other advisors who betrayed the Minister of Magic for the Sorcerer. They were here. Why?

Yato felt a chill run up his spine. Had the Sorcerer been summoned? Was he on his way now? No, it couldn’t be. Oshi was so desperate to know how they had acquired the sword that she wouldn’t dare bring the Sorcerer here until she could hide it.

Yukine’s broken voice pierced the air again and Yato snapped back to attention, finding Kazuma’s and Bishamon’s eyes on him, hands tensed and nostrils flaring. With a nod, Yato gave the order.

“Stupefy!”

Yato, Kazuma, and Bishamon surged into the room, wands blaring in a multitude of green and blue light that bounced from the walls, windows, and the chandelier as the room descended into chaos.

Oshi was on her feet in a second, teeth bared and wand spitting green blasts in their direction as they dived for what little cover the room offered. Nora pressed herself to the wall, mouth agape, as Kugaha slipped his wand from his sleeve. He drew his arms wide with a wicked smile, glad to finally have some fun.

Yato threw himself to the floor, his and Yukine’s wands clutched in his hands as he fired a blinding spell towards one of the Snatchers that advanced on him. In the madness he saw three plumes of blackened robes Disapparate, leaving an empty spot where the advisors had stood.

Yato swore inwardly, but Oshi’s cry caught his attention. Yukine had kicked his leg out, scattering Oshi to the floor and sending her wand spinning around the cool marble. She snarled at Yukine, but he was already up and on his feet, arm hanging by his side and limping furiously towards Yato. Yato was relieved to see no blood on him, but he could see the fury and fear in his features. Yato pressed the wand into Yukine’s hand and together they entered the fray.

The two Snatchers had engaged in a duel with Kazuma and Bishamon, spells and sparks flying as they defended each other and attacked in sync. Nora and Kugaha were moving towards them. Kugaha stepped over Hiyori’s body like she was a fallen tree, a grin on his face, but Nora looked back over her shoulder like she wanted to run.

Yato’s eyes flickered to Oshi who had grasped her wand, eyes glittering with malice, and tore at them like a wildcat.

Without a word, Yato and Yukine threw themselves forward.

The spells deflected off the shields they threw up, the onslaught of three witches' firepower pushing them back and barely giving an inch for them to fire. Oshi cursed every murderous hex she could think of at them, and Kugaha bore down on them.

On the other side of the room, one of the Snatchers had fallen, leaving one more facing down the unstoppable power Kazuma and Bishamon presented as a team. A particularly well-aimed from Kazuma sent his wand flying from his hand, and the Snatcher was knocked out by Bishamon.

Yato’s eyes flickered to Nora. She was stood back a bit, her hand raised with her wand protecting them, but when their eyes met, something in her waivered. For the briefest second the shield slip, Yukine’s stunning spell got through and hit Oshi straight in the chest, sending her flying backward and landing in a heap. Kugaha’s smile turned to a snarl and he redoubled his efforts, but it seemed that Nora’s protection was gone now. Yato hit Kugaha with a freezing spell and he fell to the ground stiff as a board.

“Drop them.”

Yato’s eyes snapped to the middle of the room. His heart stopped. Oshi held the unconscious Hiyori up to her chest, a sliver of a silver blade pressed to her neck.

“Drop them,” Oshi growled. “Drop them or she dies.”

Yato heaved, anger and desperation rising in his chest, but lowered his wand. Beside him, he saw Yukine, Kazuma, and Bishamon lower their wands too.

She snapped her head to Nora. “Summon you father!”

After the briefest internal struggle, Nora raised her sleeve, face contorted, and Yato saw the ugly scar of the Dark Mark on her arm begin to rise and coil underneath her wand.

He’s coming…. The voice from the wedding echoed in Yato’s head. They needed to get out of here. Now.

“DROP THEM!” Oshi screeched again, knife pressing further into Hiyori’s throat and drawing the barest whimper.

Her voice echoed around the room. The reverberation faded away, and a dull squeaking filled the room. Oshi’s eyes clouded for a second in confusion, as did the rest of the room.

Slowly, their eyes went up.

Ebisu clung to the thick iron chain that suspended the chandelier above Oshi’s head, his hands methodically twisting the fastening. Dust and cobwebs rained down on them, and a second before they could react, the chandelier came crashing to the ground.

Oshi threw herself backward, knife clattering to the ground as she and Hiyori fell inches away from one of the pointed edges. Yato and Yukine surged forward over Kugaha, a blasting spell knocking Oshi even further back away from Hiyori. Yukine grabbed Hiyori by the shoulders and hauled her up into his arms.

Yato crashed into Nora, sending them both sprawling the ground. He rose up over her, seeing the Dark Mark contort and writhe as if the serpent had come alive in her flesh. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds before Yato wrapped his hands around Nora’s wand and wrenched it from her grasp. The Dark Mark sunk back onto Nora’s arm, shifting over the pale skin.

Yato kicked his way back up and stumbled to the back of the room, hearing Oshi stirring behind him and the sound of metal scraping stone. Ebisu stood on the fireplace with Kazuma, Bishamon, and Yukine with Hiyori in his arms.

Ebisu snapped his fingers and a second later he was holding a wand – Oshi’s wand. Shock registered in her face which was quickly filled with rage and disgust.

“How dare you take a witch's wand!” Oshi screeched. “How dare you defy your masters!”

Ebisu drew himself up taller, eyes glittering in the remnants of the fireplace and the breaking dawn through the windows. “I have no master. I am a free elf!”

Yato felt the clamp of a small hand on his shoulder and instinctively reached out for Yukine’s and Kazuma’s hands.

As the world spun and turned to darkness, he caught a glimpse of Kugaha’s frozen face, Nora’s tears, the redness of blood, and the silver of a dagger.

~

The world came back in the form of a grey sky and a biting wind that stung their cuts with saltwater. Yato stood alone, staring at the bleakness of a grey sea far from shore and an old cottage stood on the tufts of grass that edged the beach.

Bishamon and Kazuma were a few feet away, clutching each other and just as disorientated. Beside them was Yukine, untangling Hiyori’s limbs from him and laying her on the beach, frantically looking into her face. Yato took a step forward, questions on the tip of his tongue.

"Yato..."

Yato spun around, the small, weak voice catching his attention. Nothing but grey overcast skies met his view. Until he looked down.

Ebisu stood hunched over, the ornate handle of a dagger lodged in his stomach. Blood smeared his small hands and bled dark red droplets into the wet sand below as he took faltering steps forward.

Yato dived forwards, catching Ebisu as he collapsed. His mouth hung open in unmasked horror, eyes fixed on the bloody weapon buried to the hilt in Ebisu’s stomach.

"Y-you're okay, it's okay," Yato hushed, trying to keep the panic from his voice. He turned to look at Kazuma and the others. They watched him silently, morosely, already accepting what Yato could not.

"Kazuma... there must be something... that bag..." Yato’s eyes fell on the backpack slung over Kazuma’s shoulder, remembering all of the potions and salves they had. One of them at least, just something to stop the bleeding, anything. He looked back up at them, silently pleading for Ebisu's sake.

Yukine turned away, biting his lip as he stared down at the unconscious Hiyori. Bishamon's eyes were glassy as Kazuma gently shook his head.

"Yato..." Ebisu's hand gripped onto Yato's shirt as tightly as he could, mustering the last of his life force for a farewell.

Yato looked down at them, breaths shuddering and blinking away tears as he looked at his pale face.

"I'm... glad that I... met you…" Ebisu forced his sentences, staring at the sky, clinging to what remained of his time left in the world. "I don't... want to die."

Ebisu final words were stolen by the wind. His green eyes still observed the sky above, even after they dulled and didn't move again. If not for the way his body went slack, or the way his hand loosened its grip on Yato's shirt, Yato may have been able to pretend that he was only sleeping.

If not for that, Yato would have believed that he hadn’t killed the last of his family.

[a-dorin]

underworld | kylo ren au

warnings: none at all!

summary: one summer night, persephone is in the field gathering wildflowers. a stranger enters the meadow, declaring himself as hades, king of the underworld.

the sky was a blanket of rich navy, the stars bursting balls of glittering light above. a soft hum tumbled from your lips, weaving together with the noises of the night. summer heat clung to your skin, strands of frizzy hair falling into your vision from the humidity.

stalks of grass swayed gently as the summer breeze rolled through the meadow, the petals of wildflowers glowing in the moonlight. a content smile formed on your lips as your fingertips grazed the soft petals.

since it was summer, it was not quite your domain. the tasks of the green season were under horae. well, your mother pitched in as well. after all, harvest would be soon, as the days were passing quickly.

gently, you lowered yourself to the ground, sitting in the meadow. you began to pick flowers, gathering them in abundance. the daisies, lilacs, marybells, along with milkmaids were perfect for decoration. you pondered the possibilities of what you would do with the flowers, subconsciously weaving them together into flower crowns.

a shiver ran down your spine as a cool breeze entered the meadow, alarming you. your eyes wandered up, noticing a dark shadow about twenty feet ahead. you swallowed, the feeling of immediate danger creeping into the back of your mind. should you run? should you call out to the strange figure?

however, a small part of you felt as if you didn’t need to run. you were entranced, curiosity filling you to the brim. who was this person? was he a god? or, was it a goddess? a monster? a creature from the underworld?

“hello!” your voice carried across the meadow, the moonlight reflecting off the grass.

there was no response back. you frowned, hurt that there was no friendliness. if this individual was a god, they were not being kind. typically, the gods greeted one another. especially ones from olympus, even if they did not see eye to eye. it was just tradition.

the figure approached you, taking slow, careful steps. you remained still, arching a brow. confusion replaced the curiosity. soon, features came to light.

the man was tall, overwhelming tall, with long, lithe limbs. as he inched near you, it was apparent that he was lumbering through the meadow, his steps heavy. he was adorned in clothes of the night, with silky, luxurious black robes. a cape billowed behind his frame, catching the wildflowers. his raven locks swayed in the breeze, pale skin glowing in the moonlight.

soon, you were face to face, taking in his traits. he had a strong face, with high cheekbones and sharp jawline. freckles dotted his skin, all over his face. his eyes gleamed a rich brown, lips tinged pink. they were plump and soft. he appeared older, much older. yet, he was wise. this man was daringly handsome, but you could sense he rarely saw sunlight. he was a man of the darkness.

a wave of intensity washed over you, almost sweeping you off of your feet. a warm feeling spread into your chest, heart racing in your chest. you wanted nothing more to just reach out to this individual. to hold them. to touch their skin. to feel their lips on yours. you swallowed, attempting to mask the feelings. however, they were too strong, lingering in your thoughts as you faced this stranger.

“who are you?” the question tumbled from your lips, the words quiet.

a low chuckle rumbled from the stranger’s throat, “i see your mother has yet to introduce us.”

“you know my mother?” narrowing your eyes, your tone was sharp.

“we are acquainted.”

“how?” you demanded, “if you were acquaintances, i would have had met you by now.”

“well her and i have an issue. we never see eye to eye,” the man mumbled, letting out a huff.

the stranger’s dodginess was beginning to become agitating, “who are you?”

“i am hades.”

you let out a quiet gasp. never in your life had you expected the king of the underworld to be so handsome. your mother always described him as a heartless monster, with cold, hungry eyes. hades’ eyes were beautiful. quite beautiful. a rich, creamy brown with depth.

“but you’re so beautiful,” you breathed, wonder bursting into your mind.

hades’ lips curved into a smile, “why thank you, persephone.”

the sound of your name coming from his lips ignited a spark within you, a blush tinging your cheeks. self-consciously, you stared at your sheer white robes, realizing that there was nothing left to the imagination. hades could see every inch of you, drinking in the sight of your curves.

“you’re the most beautiful woman i have ever laid eyes on,” hades murmured, his tone laced with softness, “you are radiant in the moonlight.”

“thank you,” cautiously, you averted the god’s intense gaze. his eyes were almost hypnotizing, “i should be heading back, my mother is going to get worried.”

“wait,” hades interjected, reaching out to grasp your hand. you widened your eyes, blushing as skin met skin, “when can i see you again?”

the intense feeling overcame you once more, fingertips crackling, as if the touch was almost electric. like lightning. you shook your head slightly, in vain attempts to shake away the feeling.

“i don’t know if that’s possible,” you whispered. after all, your mother was quite protective. only the gods knew what she would do if she found out you encountered one of her least favorite immortals.

“please,” hades pleaded, his eyes desperate, “please. i want to see you. meet me here tomorrow night.”

“i will try my best,” you mumbled, turning to walk away from the god.

“i will be looking forward to it,” hades called out.

strolling back to the temple, excitement bubbled up within you. even though you had just met hades, you felt a connection you had never felt before. was this what romance felt like? what love at sight felt like?

never in your life had you encountered such a handsome man. your mother rarely allowed you to leave the confines of the temple. what excuse were you going to come up with this time? how would she react? would she buy the lie?

as the stars twinkled above, hades watched as you walked away, his heart swelling in your chest. he was determined to make you his, as you were his destined soul mate. he knew it from the first encounter.

it was love at first sight. two souls destined to intertwine. two pathes entwining together. and that was the beginning of the story of hades and persephone.

the king and his rightful queen of the underworld.

tagged: @kylozealot @splittothebone @lexie-witchsoul @mothernature161

[offbrandmercyplates]

Ms. Emmibee makes some Greek God AU Emster comics, so I follow immediately with a fanfic WEEEEE

The title of this post kind of says it all, but hey! I’m Yours The Author, and if Ms. Emmibee will allow it, the following story will be posted on my fanfiction and AO3 accounts, sooner or later. Like the first fanfic I posted here, it combines a few of the comics and even some fan art, to an extent (shout out to amee-racle for the inspiration of one of the scenes here!) into a semi-coherrent story. I originally started with an introduction scene that showed the Kore (Emmi) and Hades (Gaster) seeing but not meeting each other for the first time, but I realized the main scene I wanted to get to could be more concise and still deliver most of the same information, so I did some reworking. I hope you like it! This involves the “pomegranate” comic, mentions some stuff related to the “jewels” comic, and has a reference to amee-racle’s fan art of Kore and Hades with flower crowns! See you at the bottom!

The Meeting and the Benefits of Breaking the Rules of the Underworld

“My name is Kore. I’m the goddess of spring,” the floating humanoid in the long dress stated.

The skeleton god stared at her. “I am Hades, the King of the Underworld.” He looked a little prideful when he said that, but his expression quickly reverted to one of bewilderment. “Now I’ll ask again: how did you get down here?”

“You left the cave open when you came down here,” Kore replied.

“…Oh.” It was silent for a few moments, aside from the distant drips of water from the cave’s ceiling and the breeze Kore naturally stirred. Hades slowly pointed behind her. “The exit is that way.”

“I know.”

“…Then why don’t you leave?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“…Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Ah, you’re here on business. Very well; what do you wish to discuss?”

Kore held out her cupped hands. In the light of the crystals hanging from the walls and ceiling, a small pile of jewels glittered in her palms. All sorts of stones, in all sorts of colors. “You’re the one who’s been leaving these for me to find, right?” She asked.

“A-ah…” Hades blushed and tightened his grip on his golden staff. “I just—you—you liked that star sapphire I dropped, so I thought I’d let you find more,” he admitted.

Kore shifted the stones around to examine the smooth blue gem with a white star pattern in the middle. “Well… thank you!” she grinned happily, and Hades quickly adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.

“Y-you’re welcome…”

“And I have something for you!”

“…You do?”

“Yep! I made this for you!” She put the stones away in the pouch tied to her waist, then lifted the flower crown off of her head and placed it over his own shiny crown of metal.

Hades blinked and lifted the flower crown a bit to inspect it. It was a crown of large roses, alternating between yellow blossoms with red tips and lavender blooms. The woven stems weren’t thorny at all, and they didn’t wilt, suggesting they were made with magic. “…Oh.” He slowly let the crown settle on his head. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

It was quiet again. The pink and yellow blossoms woven into Kore’s long and wild locks shed their petals into the breeze, only to regrow and repeat the process. It was a very picturesque scene.

If Hades had lips, he’d probably be biting them nervously. This little goddess was stirring… unnecessary feelings, as well as a breeze. “You should probably go—” he began.

“Got any snacks around here?”

“…Wouldn’t… you rather eat the food from above?”

“I want to try new things.”

“Well…” he thought for a moment, then raised his free hand towards the wall of the cave. It shifted open, revealing a path that led to a garden. Kore floated through the garden, technically impolite for not having waited for permission to enter, but forgiven nonetheless. Hades followed after her. “Many from above believe that no life can exist in the Underworld,” he explained. “This is both true and misleading. Plants that die above ground regrow down here; their life force entwining with the Underworld’s logic. The food in this garden can be eaten by gods and even mortals who live above, bUT–!” He gestured wildly for her to stop.

Kore had picked a shiny red pomegranate and ripped it in half with her bare hands, revealing the glistening seeds. She had been about to dig in, but paused and looked up at him, awaiting an explanation. Hades straightened his long black tunic and tried to look calm. “But you must not eat that pomegranate.”

“Huh?” Kore cocked her head to the side, hovering at eye level. “Why not?”

“The pomegranate is sacred here. It represents the very nature of the Underworld: life,” he gestured to the little spring goddess, “and death,” he put a hand to his sternum. “It is connected to the Underworld, just as I am. If you eat its seeds, you will be bound to the Underworld, and…” he blushed, “to me.”

“Ooooh,” Kore hummed.

“Indeed.”

“…”

Without breaking eye contact, Kore shoveled every seed in both halves of the pomegranate into her mouth. Hades’ jaw dropped open, sputtering sounds barely escaping his teeth as she licked the juice from her fingers, still looking him right in the eye sockets.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He finally managed.

“You just explained to me what it means.”

“YES, BUT—”

“So when should the wedding be?”

“THE WHAT?!”

Kore pulled some of the flowers out of her hair and began to weave them together as if she didn’t just seal her soul to a cave under the ground. “Oh, can we invite my mother, too? I feel like the Goddess of Nature wouldn’t take kindly to not being invited to her daughter’s wedding.”

“M-mother Nature?”

“Mm.”

“She is going to destroy me…” Hades covered his face with his hands.

Kore finished the new crown and set it on her head: an alternating mix of yellow primroses and pink cherry blossoms. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her. Besides, being a goddess bound to the Underworld doesn’t mean I have to be here all the time, right?”

“Well… technically, but—”

“So I can spend some time above ground and spend the rest of the time with you!”

“I—I! I…”

Kore’s smile grew smaller. “Do you not want to…?”

“No! I mean—I… won’t make a very good husband. I’ll disappoint you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She hovered next to him and gently bumped his skull with her head. “C’mon, let’s go say hello to your new mother-in-law!”

“This will not end well…”

***

I don’t know much about the logic of eating food from the Underworld in this AU (Hades specifically mentions the significance of the pomegranate, and that had to have come from somewhere), so I went with the concept that plants that die before their time or under specific circumstances can grow and bear fruit in the Underworld, and anyone can eat any of that food /except/ the pomegranates. In reality, you likely can’t eat any food from the Underworld, but it was just a thought.

Hades can open a cave to go back to the Underworld, but sometimes he forgets to close it behind him, hence how Kore got in.

Flower and jewel symbolism:

Roses generally mean affection, but the color of the rose is often extremely important! Yellow roses with red at the tips of the petals represents falling in love, while lavender-colored roses represent love at first sight.

Star sapphires are often called “the stones of destiny”, and can extend mental focus and knowledge.

Sakura blossoms are practically the living symbol of spring and can represent renewal.

Primroses represent young love, and yellow primroses can represent spring and the sun.

Hades’ “I’ll disappoint you” line is based on something similar he says in a Zarla MercyPlates comic, where Papyrus tells him to be good, and Gaster says something like “I’ll try, but I’ll just disappoint you.” Ah… parallels.

Alright, I think that’s everything. Let me know if it’s okay to post these on my fanfiction and AO3 accounts. I’ll see you around! Keep being awesome! ~~~ No YOU keep being awesome!!! This is absolutely lovely hhhhhh

You’re more than welcome to post this on AO3 and FF. I’ll definitely post it here!

Now to respond to the notes!!

The pomegranate thing is great! The pomegranate symbolism from the comic is actually based on its IRL symbolism, which is similar across many cultures (representing life and death, and also love sometimes), and I think your explanation is really cool!

Hades forgetting to close the cave door is a big mood tbh.

I recognized the “I’ll disappoint you” quote and i CRY

Have I mentioned how much I love flower symbolism??? I LOVE how you used that in this!!

Thank you so much!!!!

[angelnightrose]

Prompt 1: Marriage AU

It’s time again!! Here we go, Infinitemonth 2019! When I rise from my grave to throw fic at all of you. :3 @itsashowtime

The entire kingdom had been bustling with excitement and celebrations all day. It had been over a year of peace, of prosperity for everyone, of overflowing happiness and love. Even now, long after the sun had set, the castle was still awake and lively as music poured from the halls and people continued to laugh and dance through the night. 

The party’s guests of honor however, were nowhere to be found inside the castle. They had taken their chance and slipped away once things had gotten busier, wanting to spend their night alone with just the two of them instead of in the stuffy, crowded ballroom.

Jougo and Mamoru had slipped past the guards, around the castle walls, and disappeared into the warm summer night. They ran arm in arm to the tree by the lake where they used to spend so much of their time together. Jougo laughed and leapt into Mamoru’s arms, kissing his husband as they spun around in the soft moonlight. 

Eventually Mamoru let Jougo’s feet touch the ground again. Their foreheads stayed gently pressed together, neither of their smiles faltering. Jougo let his fingers brush through the short hairs on the back of Mamoru’s neck. 

The brunette laughed, his voice barely above a whisper as his mind drifted back to a different time, “This is where we met, isn’t it?”

Mamoru’s smile grew, “Yeah, it is. It seems so long ago now, that first night when I woke up here. No memories, no name, nothing but you.” His eyes opened again, taking in the soft caramel eyes looking back at him, “How many nights did we meet here?” His fingers softly brushed against Jougo’s cheek as he continued to reminisce, “How much time did we spend here? Talking, laughing, watching the stars, skipping stones on the lake…”

Jougo took hold of Mamoru’s hand, giggling as he once again met those emerald and sapphire eyes that shined back at him, brighter than all the stars in the sky above, “Not enough, not nearly enough. I wanted to spend every second I had with you. I still remember how every night as soon as I could get away I ran here just so I could see you.”

Mamoru gave a short, quiet laugh, “And I spent every night waiting for you.”

The pair stood there in silence for a moment, holding each other close and simply enjoying the peaceful night together, the only sounds coming from the chirping of insects and the water rippling along the lake’s surface. 

Jougo elected to rest his head on Mamoru’s chest, and Mamoru softly ran his fingers through Jougo’s hair. It was an action they’d repeated so many times, both in the soft, tender moments like this and during the long, troubled nights that saw them breaking down and wondering if it was all worth it.

For just a moment, everything felt like it had before. No titles or status, no stupid castle politics, no war trying to tear them apart, just two boys falling in love with each other.

Even with every moment of pain they endured, every action or word they wished they could take back and could never truly make right, and everything they had to deal with even now. For them to have made it this far, to have experienced every laugh, every smile, every soft midnight kiss, everything up to this one moment together and every second they would have in the future. They knew it had all been more than worth it.

Jougo stepped back, still smiling and taking Mamoru’s hand in his own, “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Mamoru didn’t even get a moment to respond as he was suddenly dragged away. Jougo looked back at him as he rushed them along, the same bright, excited smile Mamoru had always known painted beautifully across his face. Mamoru too found himself laughing along as well known memories of a time long past greeted him once again.

The open field of the lake’s edge gave way to a well worn forest path as Jougo continued to lead his beloved down a trail that became increasingly familiar as they went. The plants had become overgrown over the years trying to swallow up the pathway before them, but Mamoru could see places where the foliage had been carefully tended to and trimmed away so as to keep the trail clear.

As they neared the trail’s end and the forest began to thin, Jougo suddenly stopped and turned around, overwhelming excitement clear on his face. He beamed as he held Mamoru’s hands and practically bounced on his feet as he gave another instruction, “Okay, we’re almost there but you need to close your eyes.”

Mamoru was a little confused but closed his eyes anyway, he felt Jougo’s fingers entwine with his own and softly smiled. He trusted that whatever his husband was planning wasn’t going to lead him into too much trouble. 

Jougo giggled, reaching up and stealing a quick kiss before he lead Mamoru the rest of the way out of the woods. He stuck his tongue out even though Mamoru couldn’t see it.

“And no peeking!”

Mamoru laughed in response, “I’m not, I promise.”

Jougo smiled and pulled Mamoru along through the rest of the forest, leading him out into an open field. He stopped and let go of his husband’s hands, stepping back and beaming as all the excitement threatened to burst out of him. The anticipation was immeasurable, he couldn’t wait a moment longer for Mamoru to see what he’d done.

“Okay Mamo, open your eyes.”

Mamoru’s eyes opened and all he could do was stare in silent awe as he was met with a sight he was certain he’d never be able see again.

A field of beautiful crystal roses stretched out before him, each flower sparkling in the moonlight. A million memories of the two of them laying among the roses doing everything from making flower crowns, to sharing secrets, and telling each other stories flashed through his mind. Sure they’d spent a lot of their time back then out by the lake or in Mamoru’s old cottage, but here? This place was special for them in a way words could never truly describe.

Seeing it again like nothing had ever changed left Mamoru at a loss for words, “I thought I– This whole place was burned to ashes. How…?”

A proud grin grew on Jougo’s face.

“I found a few that survived and replanted them here. I decided to keep coming back to check on them, sneaking out when you were asleep to make sure they were still growing back and to take care of them. They kind of just took off, and I think they’re even prettier than they were before.” Jougo giggled and took hold of Mamoru’s hands again, “If you think about it, they’re kind of like us in a way.”

Mamoru chuckled softly, tears welling up in his eyes as he let his arms wrap around Jougo’s waist, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He paused, trying to compose himself as a mix of emotions ran through him, “They’re beautiful Jougo, thank you.”

Jougo reached up and kissed the tears off Mamoru’s cheeks. He felt tears of his own starting as he gently touched his husband’s face. There wasn’t anything he could think of that could even come close to being as perfect as this, standing here in the arms of the man he loved, a field of roses that shined almost as bright as the eyes of the man in front of him stretching out around them. Not a single thing in the world could even hope to compare to the warmth and joy in his heart right now.

This was the life they’d fought for, what they’d cried and screamed and tore each other apart for. So that every day, so that every second of the rest of their lives, would be just as wonderful as these moments right here. So they could spend all the time they had with each other. For now and forever. 

A late summer breeze blew across the field, sending a flurry of bright shimmering petals up into the air around them. The petals sparkled and glittered as they slowly and softly fell back down, like an iridescent halo surrounding them.

Jougo was first to break the silence, “I love you so much. Happy anniversary, Mamo.”

“I love you too, Jougo. Happy anniversary.” 

Mamoru pulled Jougo close and kissed his lips, smiling all the while at the memories of their first wonderful year of marriage, and also at the thought of the many happy years together that they had waiting ahead.

[everlarkstoastbabies]

Cursed: an Everlark fan fiction

It’s been so long since I’ve written any Hunger Games fan fiction, but after literally blowing the dust off my copies of the books I’ve been inspired by the series re-read here on tumblr. This is an idea that’s been on my mind for quite some time. I’m so happy to finally be posting it!

Summary: Katniss and Peeta end their Victory Tour with an encounter from a mysterious fortuneteller. When they wake the next morning, they’re not quite... themselves. This is Everlark: freaky Friday style. Canon divergent AU. 

Chapter 1

The Presidential mansion sat alone atop the hill in the middle of the Capitol, perfectly positioned so that every resident in the city could see its imposing form from all angles. The surrounding night would have been still and silent if not for the raucous party in full swing in the mansion’s vast courtyard, and in the center of it all, the star- crossed lovers of District Twelve.

The glittering lights and the loud music were headache- inducing by this point in the evening, and Katniss wanted nothing more than to go home. Peeta stood faithfully by her side, his hand wrapped around hers as it had been all night, but the wear was starting to show on him, too. It was long past midnight, their bellies were full, and their eyes were beginning to droop, but Effie had promised them only thirty more minutes at this final party and then they’d be on the train home. The Victory Tour was at an end at last, and Katniss and Peeta were nothing but grateful to be headed back to District Twelve.

A loud laugh from the partygoers echoed behind them. Katniss looked past the tables laden with food and the dance floor filled with people to see Venia and Flavius exiting a tent on the edge of the party. The pair of Katniss’s prep team members tottered towards them on wobbly legs, clearly intoxicated out of their minds.

“Have you two gone to see Madame Alcina yet?” Venia slurred when she stumbled over to Katniss and Peeta.

“No, we don’t really-“ Katniss said.

“Oh you must go have your palms read! She’s simply divine,” Flavius trilled, pushing the pair towards the tent at the edge of the yard. Katniss looked to Peeta, who merely shrugged.

“Why not?” He murmured to her. “It’ll kill some time, won’t it?” Katniss couldn’t argue with that, especially because she could spot a few more Capitol citizens making their way towards them. The hordes of party guests had hardly left the pair of them alone all night and Katniss wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more of the colorful, self-possessed people than she already had. So Peeta hooked her arm through his and led her to the tent draped from top to bottom with glittering red shawls. On the outside, a sign: Fortunes by Alcina- Discover what your future holds.

Katniss had to resist rolling her eyes. It was exactly the kind of superfluous thing that would exist in the Capitol and nowhere else in Panem, where people had no better way to spend their time or money. Besides, President Snow’s cold eyes had already told her what her future was going to look like, and she doubted very much that the truth of it lay in this tent. She followed Peeta inside anyway because the alternative was no more desirable than having her future predicted by someone who couldn’t have the faintest idea of what her future as a victor could possibly mean. Upon entering, they laid their eyes upon the most eccentric women they’d seen anywhere in Panem.

Katniss and Peeta were no strangers to the bizarre fashions here in the Capitol, but this woman was something else entirely. What little they could see of her natural skin was ghostly pale and the remainder of it was covered entirely in spindly, black tattoos. They curved and twisted, creating a cacophony of indistinguishable shapes and patterns upon her skin. Her hair was a fiery, unnatural shade of red. Here in the glowing candlelight it seemed to flicker like a real fire. Her eyes were dark, the pupils so enlarged in the dim lighting that it was impossible to determine their true color. There was something peculiar about the eyes, too. Something in them that was steady and solid and perceptive. The vapid self- absorption that possessed so many people in the Capitol was entirely lacking here. This woman had eyes that could see right through your very soul. “Ahh,” the woman purred. “I was hoping the star- crossed lovers would find their way to my tent.” Katniss and Peeta shared a raised eyebrow glance, and then turned back to the fortuneteller.

“Well, we were told that you’re the best,” Peeta piped up on instinct. Katniss was grateful that he chose to fill the silence. Something about this woman and this place made her mouth go dry, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. An uncomfortable tingle slithered up her spine.

“Have a seat,” the woman said, gesturing to the two armchairs across from her spindle- legged table. The pair did as instructed, and the woman turned to Katniss first. She extended a withered hand, palm up to Katniss. “Your hand, please, dear.” Katniss placed her olive- skinned hand into the woman’s heavily tattooed one. Madame Alcina ran a long finger down the center, eliciting a cool shiver that zipped up Katniss’s arm.

She spent a long time tracing the lines of Katniss’s hand before she spoke. “There’s conflict,” the strange woman whispered finally. “Oohh yes, and determination, defiance. But beneath your stubborn air, your heart has always known the answer you’re seeking now. Find the place where your heart and your mind come together.” Katniss blinked at the woman in confusion, her trademark scowl settling into place. What on earth could that mean?

Madame Alcina turned next to Peeta. Again, she studied his palm for several minutes, running a finger down every single line and crease of his hand. “You, young man, are at war with yourself. At odds with your love and your desires. The only way to fix it is to confront it.” She grabbed a shocked Katniss’s hand, entangled her fingers with Peeta’s, and then began gesticulating wildly in the air between the pair of them. “Your destinies are intertwined so very closely together, you may not even realize it at this moment! You need to become one! Take the path that leads to each other and never look back. Your fates are sealed within each other! Realize that potential and all will be well.”

Silence hung heavy in the air when the woman finished her impassioned fortune, her pupils blown and chest heaving with excitement. Katniss and Peeta gaped at her, their hands still laced together, and at a complete loss for how to respond. Luckily for them, time was on their side, for Effie chose that moment to poke her head through the front flap of the tent.

“Katniss! Peeta! Venia said you’d gone this way; the train leaves in twenty minutes and the there are some important goodbyes you must make!” Their escort placed a stern hand on both their shoulders and promptly ushered them from the tent, but not before Peeta could glance back at the mysterious woman, whose jet black lips were quirked into a smug smirk on her tattooed face. He couldn’t explain the reason for it, but her expression gave him an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though the feast he’d eaten earlier had come alive and was attempting to make an escape from his belly.

The feeling stayed with Peeta as he led Katniss through the crowd of socialites and gamemakers and politicians. By the time they bid farewell to the highest-ranking officials in Panem and boarded the train, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Do you think she was right?” he asked Katniss as soon as the door to their shared bedroom slid closed behind them.

“Do I think who was right?” Katniss asked, distracted as she went to work tugging the pins out of her elaborate braided hairstyle.

“That Madame Alcina woman. Do you think she was right about our… well, our destinies being so closely wrapped around each other and all that?”

Katniss gave a derisive snort and massaged her scalp, now freed of its updo. “Of course she was. We’re engaged now, Peeta. The whole country knows that, so yes I guess you could say our destinies are entwined.” She held up her fingers and made air quotes at the last word, rolling her eyes. “It’s all mindless drivel, anyway, just like everything else in the Capitol. I wouldn’t waste your time worrying too much on it.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you notice something… I don’t know, something different about her? She seemed real, Katniss. Not like the preps, or even like Effie. I think she knew we’ve putting on an act.” This gave Katniss pause as she thought it over. Yes, the woman’s black eyes had given the impression that she was more intuitive than most in the Capitol, almost like President Snow in a way. Not quite in the same cold and calculating manner as he, but in a more discerningly subtle way. Then there was the fact that something about the woman had sent unusual shivers tingling down her spine from the moment they entered her tent, but Katniss had attributed that to the lateness of the hour and the awkwardness of the situation.

“I think our fates were pretty much sealed the moment I held out those berries in the arena. She probably realized that and took advantage of it to try and scare us.” Katniss reasoned.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peeta said, though uncertainty clouded his voice.

“I am.” She nodded her head as though the matter was settled. “Don’t let it bother you. We have so many other things to worry about right now, as it is.”

She has a point, Peeta thought, as they climbed into bed together. It was silly to worry about the fleeting words of a woman they didn’t even know. Not when real dangers from real enemies lurked so clearly in the periphery of their lives. Katniss nestled herself into Peeta’s side and he wrapped his arms around her, just has he had almost every night they’d spent aboard this train. Despite his troubled thoughts, his exhaustion- combined with Katniss’s body heat and soothing rhythm of the train as it slipped through the night- lulled him into a dreamless sleep almost instantly.

It was Katniss who woke first the next morning, the sun a mere sliver of brightest orange on the horizon. The train compartment was still mostly blanketed in darkness, and the scenery was whipping by much too quickly to determine where in Panem they could possibly be. With a measure of sweeping relief, her first thought was that wherever they happened to be, it was certainly far from the Capitol. Also that sometime today, they would be home. Her second thought was that she needed extract herself from Peeta so she could use the bathroom. She made to gently disentangle herself from Peeta’s still sleeping form, dragging back the blankets and attempting to exit the bed as quietly as possible. Then she lost her balance the second she tried to step down onto the carpet, landing on the floor with an almighty crash and an even louder yelp of shock.

The reason for her fall was explained at once when Katniss tried to pull her feet underneath her into a standing position, and she found that the left leg of her pajama pants hung flaccid and empty. The right was presently splayed out in front of her, but the left leg appeared to be missing entirely.

She only had one leg.

Her arms flailed as she felt around wildly for her missing leg, her hands landing on her upper thigh and following it to the end where it tapered into nothing but smooth skin and bone just below the knee. Katniss froze, the rising panic in her chest overwhelming her as the light from the bedside lamp flicked on and Peeta leaned over the side of the bed to investigate the commotion.

“Katniss, are you alright?” Only it wasn’t Peeta’s concerned voice that called out to her. And it certainly wasn’t Peeta’s face, either.

It was her voice. Her face. Her body.

As he peered down at the fallen body on the floor, Peeta realized at the same time Katniss did that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. For he was looking down at himself, sprawled out on the floor wearing only pajama pants and noticeably missing his prosthetic leg. His eyes flew down to inspect himself still in the bed, noting the tanned, slender hands that could not possibly be his own and the raven hair fanned out across his torso. He brushed the long strands away from his chest and his hands froze on his body. Were those… breasts? He ventured a squeeze, and sure enough, under his palms were two plump mounds of flesh. Small, but most definitely present. He gaped at his chest in horror, his newly silver eyes meeting the blue irises of the body on the ground that- by every law of common sense and plain reason- should have belonged to him. Yet inexplicably, it didn’t.

They held the gaze for a long time, chests heaving with panting breaths and minds racing for an explanation. This wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t, and yet…

“Katniss,” Peeta whispered, “I think we’ve been cursed.”

As absurd as it sounded, as absolutely, utterly impossible as it was, instinct told Katniss that Peeta was right. What other explanation could there possibly be? Still in a state of shock, Peeta climbed out of bed and grabbed the prosthetic leg propped against his nightstand. It was subsequently the weirdest sensation in the world to help Katniss put the leg onto his body from the outside. He fastened it around the stump below the knee and watched as the Capitol grade alloy melded itself seamlessly with the flesh of her (his?) leg. He pulled her to her feet and she wobbled, unused to the indescribable feeling of solid floor beneath an extremity that did not exist.

“It takes some getting used to,” said Peeta.

“I don’t want to get used to it. I want to fix it!” Katniss snapped. But upon seeing the look on his (her?) face, she backpedaled at once. “Peeta, I’m sorry. I just- I don't get it. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know," he replied, wracking his brain for a reason, any reason that would explain why he woke up in Katniss Everdeen's body this morning, and she woke up in his. If he was correct, and they were in fact cursed, someone had to have done this to them. But who? President Snow seemed the most likely candidate, but how on earth could he have managed something of this scale? And better yet without their knowledge? He was a cold, calculating, monster of a human, but still he was just a human.

"What if... what if whatever did this to us isn't… human?" Peeta supplied. Katniss merely raised her blond eyebrows. "What if the Capitol created some kind of mutt or virus and we came into contact with it unknowingly at the party last night?"

"It's possible," Katniss said, though doubt filled her voice.

“Maybe Haymitch knows something about it. He’s been around the Capitol for a long time. He might be able to help us,” said Peeta.

“No! We can’t let anyone else know about this.” There was an unmistakable ferocity in her voice that belonged to Katniss alone, regardless of the body she happened to inhabit at the time. “We have to hide this until we can find a way to reverse it!”

Peeta had opened his mouth to respond just as a sharp rapping on the door made them both nearly jump out of their skins. “Up up up!” Effie’s voice trilled though the door. “We have our last big day in front us! You two will be back to District Twelve in just a few short hours!” With a mutual flood of relief, they heard the click- clacking of her heels marching away from the door.

“Look, we won’t tell anyone,” said, Peeta, his tone low and conspiratory. “Not yet, anyway. But for now if we don’t want anyone to find out, I think the best course of action is for each of us to act as much as possible like the other. Do you think you can manage that, Katniss?”

Katniss wondered- could she pretend to be Peeta Mellark? He was so much better than her already, not only at putting on the act, but also at making it believable. Between the two of them, he carried most (okay, practically all) of the weight of the star-crossed lover’s ruse. His were some awfully big shoes to fill, but at the moment she couldn’t see any other choice in front of her.

She had a feeling her face showed as much doubt as she felt when she gave him an affirming nod, but if it did, Peeta did not say. Instead, they gathered the clothes Cinna and Portia had chosen for the day’s closing ceremonies and headed their separate ways to change. Peeta into the bathroom while Katniss remained in the bedroom.

When the bathroom door had closed behind him, Peeta hunched over the sink, locked in a staring contest with his reflection in the mirror. His long hair hung in a wild tangle around his shoulders, his grey eyes over bright with shock in the sunken purple rings surrounding them. The strange thing was, he didn’t feel any different in this body, save for the fact that he had two intact feet standing on solid ground. If he closed his eyes, Peeta could have sworn up and down that he was in his own body and this was nothing more than an elegantly crafted nightmare, courtesy of the Capitol. He switched on the tap and began furiously scrubbing his face with the icy water flowing from the jet, as though he could scour away the olive skin and return it to its normal pale and freckled state. When he looked up at last, Katniss’s reflection stared back at him, entirely unchanged.

With a grunt of frustration, he turned defiantly away from the mirror and grabbed the pile of clothes he was meant to wear. I can do this, he thought. After all, how hard could it be to impersonate Katniss Everdeen?

Back in the bedroom, Katniss sat gingerly on the edge of the bed to remove Peeta’s pajama pants, still unsteady on his prosthetic leg. How on earth had he learned to walk with this thing as smoothly as he did? Some days she forgot he even had it at all, as sure and steady was his gait. That was, until he’d take it off at bedtime with a groan of relief and her eyes would flit away from the remaining stump of his leg. The stump itself wasn’t what bothered her so much as the reminder of how it had come to exist in the first place.

She wasn’t brave enough to remove the underwear despite the fact that Peeta had been wearing them since yesterday; she knew they’d both worn underwear for much longer periods of time in the Games. One more day would do no harm. His jeans, however, did turn out to present a bit of a problem. Once she managed to finagle the left pant leg up the metal leg without tripping and falling flat on her face again, she found that the seam of the pants, centered as it was, rested uncomfortably against her crotch. Having had no idea this was how it felt to wear pants as a man, Katniss decided she wasn’t terribly fond of the sensation.

Katniss took a couple of precarious steps around the room to test the waters before coming to the conclusion that this simply wasn’t going to work. Given that she had no intention of asking Peeta how he always managed this situation, she did the only thing that made sense. She dove her hand valiantly into the pants and shifted his package away from the seam and to the right. It did feel better off to the side, though it still felt strange to have something dangling there at all.

She startled when Peeta exited the bathroom and tried to look as though she hadn’t just had her hand down his pants. He was fully dressed with the exception of one article of clothing clutched in his first. “I don’t need this thing.” He thrust the bra at Katniss and she flinched away from it as though he’d tried to hand her a venomous snake.

Interpreting his reluctance to mean that he couldn’t figure out how to put it on, Katniss fought to keep the corners of her mouth from turning upwards into a smile. “Oh yes you do,” she said.

“Why? It’s not like… well, I mean- it’s not like there’s all that much there to support.”

She folded her arms across her new masculine chest and glared at him with narrowed eyes, but she had to admit privately that Peeta did have a point. Her breasts weren’t particularly prominent, which is why all of the bras Cinna designed for her had a little additional padding in them. The extra boost was usually necessary to fill out all the pretty dresses he’d made for the Victory Tour, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell Peeta that. “Because... because if you don’t Haymitch and Effie and Cinna will definitely notice and they’ll suspect that something is off,” she said, which was true enough anyway. “Here, I’ll help you. Take off the dress.”

Without stopping to think of the ramifications of doing so, Peeta followed her instructions and slipped the dress over his head. Suddenly Katniss was face to face with her own bare chest; the small but proud breasts peaked with the cool air of the train compartment. “Turn around,” she gulped, her mouth sapped of moisture while her face flooded with color. In the back of her mind, she wondered why the extra parts in her pants twitched at the sight.

Equally as beet red as Katniss, Peeta turned away from her to face the wall. He felt her arms encircle his waist and her hands at his back, fastening the garment. He was eternally grateful that he wasn’t currently in possession of his penis when her fingers brushed his nipples as she adjusted the cups of his bra, but there was still an unfamiliar surge of electricity that jolted in the hollow valley between his legs.

The blush had not faded from either of their cheeks when they left their room to join the others for breakfast. For once they were grateful for Effie’s incessant prattle about schedules and timetables, for all they had to do in response was nod and smile. Katniss thought she caught Haymitch giving the pair of them the occasional sideways glance from behind his flask. She looked away each time it happened, convinced that their mentor would see her behind Peeta’s eyes if she allowed herself to make eye contact with him.

They stumbled through the rest of the day (for Katniss this was literal- damn leg) pretending to be each other.

While Katniss was prepped and ready for the cameras hours before they were to arrive in the district, Peeta gained an immediate understanding of why she always bemoaned the prep process when he was forced to sit through her beauty routine for the first time. He’d thought he had it bad, but the hours Venia, Octavia, and Flavius spent slathering him in pungent goo and curling his hair and powdering every inch of exposed skin was mind-numbing to the point of torture. It went on and on and on all morning long. Luckily the preps chatted amongst themselves about the party last night as they worked on him, with Octavia notably disgruntled about the fact that she’d not had her fortune read by the Great Madame Alcina.

“I’m going to be famous in the Capitol one day,” Flavius said with a wistful sigh. “Madame promised that I’d soon have my very own tribute to style.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful!” Venia gushed. “She told me I’m about to find the love of my life! What about you Katniss? Katniss?”

Peeta was only startled out of his reverie when Venia’s hand landed on his shoulder, momentarily having forgotten that to the prep team, he was Katniss. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” He put on his most Katniss-like expression and tried to recover from the fumble.

“What did Madame Alcina tell you about your future?” Venia hedged.

And then it hit him. Madame Alcina. The fortuneteller. Of course. He could have slapped himself for not realizing it sooner. He tried to cover the moment of hesitation. “Oh! She… she said Kat-Peeta and I are going to have a long and prosperous life together.”

“Did she say anything about children?” Octavia pressed eagerly.

“She... hinted at that.” Peeta said evasively.

“Oh can you imagine!” Octavia gushed. “Any little baby of theirs would be absolutely adorable! With his hair and her eyes…” Peeta let them carry on about the nonexistent Everlark (really, how stupid) baby that would never be, but his mind was racing. What had the mysterious fortuneteller said to them last night? The hour had been so late and he had been so tired, but he squeezed his eyes shut, picturing the scene and willing his brain to remember.

Then his eyes flew open. He had to find Katniss.

Also on AO3 and FF.net

[asoftervirge]

A Royal Bond: ...and Coronations (5/12)

RATING: PG PAIRINGS: R. Sanders/V. Sanders (main); L. Sanders/P. Sanders (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

FIC WARNINGS/KINKS: None in this chapter! :3 FIC SUMMARY: The Coronation of Prince Roman & Princess Virgil of Alexandros

TAGLIST: @hellomusicalnerdhere, @bunny222, @hexdream18243, @ss-mafia-au, @calvindientesblancos, @backatthebein, @saphael-malec102, @thefallendog, @entpscarleharrrr, @asleepybisexual, @the-fandoms-are-takin-over, @pansexual-cat, @derpiest-unicorn,  @zaidiashipper (if anybody else wishes to be tagged, please let me know!)

<< Chapter 4: Of Weddings... >> Chapter 6: coming soon!

CLICK HERE IF YOU READ IT ON AO3 INSTEAD!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is the last chapter that will have a PG rating! Starting next chapter, they will have a more mature rating. Going down the typical A/B/O route from here on. Though, everything will tagged appropriately I can promise you that. If anybody wishes to be removed from the tag list due to these changes, please let me know immediately. I care about my followers/readers and I don’t want you guys to be squicked out by anything that I will write in the future. Also if you wish for me to, I can send summaries of chapters should anyone wish to be removed from the list. xx

The day that everyone in Alexandros anticipated, and Roman & Virgil feared, finally arrived.

Thomas has stepped down.

Roman and Virgil will become the King and Queen of Alexandros.

It wasn't as though they weren't expecting this day to happen, they just didn't expect it to happen so soon. Then again, it has been a little over a year since they got married and became Prince and Princess.

So for the people, and Thomas apparently, that is was the right time.

Even though Alexandros doesn't make coronations as huge of spectacles as weddings, they're still considered to be equally important occasions.

While Logan and Patton were going around the Palace to assist in any way they would, Roman and Virgil were getting prepared. Despite them not being Patton, Virgil found his Beta servants to be very sweet and pleasant. He chatted idly with them as they helped him into his dress and did his makeup.

Knock, knock. The door opened to reveal Roman, who looked exactly like his Father in his coronation attire. The Beta servants bowed in respect and Roman responded with a kind smile. He held a hand up to dismiss them and they did so promptly.

Virgil looked up to see Roman staring at him. He smiled softly and the Prince walked over to him. Roman gently titled his wife's head so he was facing him. He picked up the eye pencil and held it in front of him.

The omega flinched like he always does with eyeliner.

"Shhh..." Roman soothed and he carefully put the makeup on Virgil. It was hard for him not to try and not move, but Roman held a grip on his chin and he didn't want to upset his alpha. "There," Roman said after a short while. "You look beautiful."

Virgil smirked. "Always been beautiful to you." During their one year of marriage, Virgil was slowly coming out of his shell to the pleasure of everyone. Roman laughed.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Virgil laughed lightly. "Guess not." He accepts the hand that Roman gave him and stood up, giving his husband a better look at his dress. It was a royal purple with black accents on the skirt. His earrings were purple faceted beads that were points, they also had black filigree and wiring. His necklace was a choker with black lace and a large purple diamond in the center, a smaller diamond hung from that.

He looked regal and deadly at the same time.

"So...you ready?" Roman was snapped out of his trance by Virgil's question. He snorted.

"No. Are you?"

"Hell no!...Do we have a choice though?"

Roman shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not." He wrapped his arms around Virgil's waist and pulled him close, medals pressed between them. "Don't worry, Virgil. Everything will be okay."

Virgil sighed and buried his face in his husband's jacket, smelling his scent. "Hope so."

Roman rested his cheek against Virgil's hair. "You'll make a great Queen."

"And you an excellent King." Virgil agrees.

Their moment was interrupted by a Beta handmaid walking in. "Your Highness, they're ready for you."

Roman nodded at her and she left. He looked at Virgil and raised a hand, lifting his index finger, thumb, and pinky before twisting his hand twice. "I love you."

Virgil pecked Roman's lips before repeating the sign. "I love you too." With that, Virgil slipped his arm around Roman's and the two of them slowly made their way to the throne room.

The two eventually made to the doors of the throne room and waited. Logan Patton met them outside and wished them the best before Patton escorted Virgil inside. He stood at the very front of the crowd and could see that instead of one large throne, there were two sitting side by side. He looked around and saw red and gold everywhere and he felt out of place wearing purple.

Patton squeezed his hand reassuringly as the horns blared.

Logan entered by the thrones holding a large book and Roman entered down the aisle. The prince knelt before Logan as he said, “Sir, is your Majesty willing to take the Royal Oath?”

Roman looked up and said, “I am willing.”

The logical adviser nodded and then replied, “Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Alexandros according to laws and customs?”

“I solemnly promise to do so,” Roman replied strongly.

“Will you, to your power, cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?”

“I will.”

“Will you to the utmost of your power, maintain the laws and customs that govern the binding of alphas and omegas? Will you be a guide to those presented as alphas and keep them on the right and just path? Will you lead and uphold your Father’s previous decrees of the Omega Consent Laws, along with maintaining the abolishment of Omega slavery?”

“All this I promise to do.” Then he stood up and faced the people in the throne room, looking straight into Virgil’s eyes and said, “The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep.”

Logan nods and places a large, ornate crown on his head. “Then I proudly, and honorably, dub thee…King Roman of Alexandros.”

All the people cheered, “Long Live the King!”

Virgil can’t help the joy that is seeping from his chest as Roman smiled at him. Logan steps to the side and Roman stands on the highest step. The people quieted down in anticipation and Roman finally speaks, “My first act as King, I wish for Princess Virgil to please kneel before me and pledge allegiance.”

The omega took a deep breath and steps up and kneels in front of Roman, bowing his head in reverence and submission.

“Virgil,” Roman begins. “Are you willing to take the Royal Oath as I did?”

Even if he was working on being more outspoken, he still got anxious and regress. “Y-Yes.”

“Will solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Alexandros according to laws and customs along side me?”

“I solemnly promise.” Virgil said, although his response wasn’t as strong as Roman’s.

“Will you, to your power, cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?”

“I will.”

“Will you promise to bear true allegiance to me, our heirs and successors according to law? Will you give your loyalty to Alexandros and respect its rights and freedoms? Will you uphold its values, observe its laws faithfully and fulfill your duties and obligations as Queen?”

“All of this I promise.”

“Finally, will you bear rightful heirs to the throne, be that they are Alpha, Beta, or Omega? Will you ensure that our reign will continue through our successor and future generations to come?”

And there it was. The promise of giving Roman future princes and princesses in front of the entire Kingdom. As if Virgil didn’t have that expectation placed on him already, the fact that Roman asked him that pledge was all the more reason for people to be ashamed of him if he didn’t do so soon.

But he couldn’t not say anything in front of his, their people. So he just simply, and albeit robotically said, “I promise to fulfill my duty as an Omega and Queen of the Kingdom.”

While Roman didn’t say anything about that, but there was an uneasy look in his eyes. Virgil ignored it though. The King nodded and grabbed the smaller, ornate tiara from Logan and placed it on Virgil’s head. “Then I honorably dub thee…Queen Virgil of Alexandros.”

All the people grew loud again as they cheered, “Live the Queen!”

Virgil took his place beside Roman as the people beheld their new rulers. The two looked at each other with varied expressions: Roman with nervousness and Virgil with an almost blank one. Roman wanted to ask why he sounded so…lifeless when he pledge to bring him heirs, but Virgil seemed as though he didn’t want to talk about it.

All he could do was hold his hand out for his omega, which Virgil took. Their fingers entwined delicately, their wedding rings along with the jewels on their crowns glittering in the light.

The two of them sighed quietly in the midst of the chanting.

It was going to be a long reign.

“Long Live the King! Long Live the Queen!”

[petyrbaealish]

My second promised prompt for my 400 Follower Celebration. Hope you like it!

For: My 400 Follower Celebration. Halloween themed prompts.

Prompt: By @escapist-capsule: "Corpse Bride inspired (sort of) Sansa is about to marry Joffrey but she is nervous about her vows, goes to woods to practice but when she says them loud and puts the ring on a branch Petyr shows up telling her she vowed to love the lord of underworld. She probably freaks out at first but he shows her that Joffrey is basically human living demon and she chooses Petyr over him. ?"

Tags: Petyr x Sansa, Halloween, Hades/Persephone Parallels, Marriage, Canon AU, Godswood 

Title: Come, Steal My Heart, My Soul, My Body (read below, or on AO3. Link here.)

Summary: Sansa seeks the godswood for comfort for her impending marriage to Joffrey. The Lord of the Underworld answers her prayers.

Come, Steal My Heart, My Soul, My Body 

It was cold, the chill slipping beneath her clothes and into her bones, soothing her stuttering heart in its icy embrace. The moon hung low in the sky, its light barely visible through the trees that ran thick in the woods just outside of Winterfell. Still, Sansa could see well enough, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness that many found oppressive, but felt rather freeing to her. The dark held no terrors that the light did not. There were more ways to cloak a crime than the absence of light.

She was to be wed tomorrow, to a boy she barely knew. He was from a good family, his father close with her own, and quite handsome besides. They were to be married in the Sept, joined for all eternity in front of the Seven, for though her family had kept to both the old gods and the new, her husband to be and his family had long ago parted from the old ways. Sansa had always been drawn to the Sept rather than to the godswood, more like her lady mother than like her father, but tonight she sought solace from the old gods, her prayers unanswered by the Seven.

Until tonight, she’d been thrilled with the prospect of marrying Joffrey Baratheon. Never had she imagined that her life would truly be one to record in the songs, though she had hoped and prayed it might be. He looked every bit the part of her knight in shining armour. But as the day waned, her nerves slowly got the better of her. And she remembered the moments that had collected rust on that perfect vision, the hints of something horrible lurking beneath Joffrey’s handsome exterior. She wondered if perhaps the life that awaited her might not be a song, after all.

Afraid to voice her concerns to her family, Sansa had gone to the Sept, craving reassurance. Finding none, she turned to the only source of comfort left to her, the family godswood, and the heart tree that connected the living with the old gods.

As she approached the weirwood, its pale bark almost blindingly white against the black of night, the wind picked up, rustling the tree’s blood red leaves. Sansa shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her body, the reaction born not only from the cold but from the mysteries that always clung to these woods. The old gods were listening. She could feel it.

Drawing close enough to touch the roughened bark, Sansa reached out a hand to the weirwood’s trunk, taking in a deep breath to steady her nerves. Closing her eyes, she prayed, asking for whatever assistance the gods might give her. She imagined that they could hear her pleas, that their words would come to her, drifting along the soft breeze that was playing with the loose strands of her flame kissed hair.

“We are one and the same, you and I,” she murmured. “Pale of skin, haloed in fire. A face that does little to show the depths of our character. Though you may grimace to the world, I see the kindness in your heart, just as the smile upon my lips fails to reveal the uncertainty within. I ask that you guide me along the path I am meant to take, for you know better than I.”

The air was quiet, but for the faint sounds of leaves caught along the breeze, her own shallow breaths, the thrum of her heart. Sansa strained her ears for a sign of the knowledge she hoped would come, but if the old gods were whispering, it wasn’t to her. Choking back a sob, she closed her eyes in hopes of stemming the flow of tears, and hugged the tree, the bark scraping against her cheek.

The tears never came, her family’s heart tree providing the comfort she needed despite its silence. She sank to her knees, still holding onto the trunk, drawing strength from the contact. Her mind slowly settled, the kinks unknotting in her thoughts and in her body, until she’d finally regained her calm. Perhaps she ought to be marrying in front of the heart tree, rather than in the Sept. While the Seven had done little to soothe her heart, the heart tree’s solid presence had quieted her anxieties, at least in part.

Sansa opened her eyes, calling up an image of Joffrey, seeing them wed in her mind’s eye. Her nerves still fluttered, but less so, and she rose to her feet, still picturing the scene. They would say the vows much as they would in the Sept, but here in front of the heart tree instead.

A septon stood in front of her, his voice steady and sure. “In the sight of the old gods and the new, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

Sansa fumbled in the pocket of her cloak for the ring she’d taken earlier, from her parents, the ring she was meant to give Joffrey. In a flight of whimsy, she reached for a nearby branch, imagining that it was Joffrey’s outstretched hand, that one of the twigs was his waiting finger. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, her heart in her throat, she said the words as she slipped the ring onto the twig, trying to hear Joffrey say them right along with her. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

As she spoke, she heard another voice, soft and gravelly, speaking the same words. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

The realization that she’d not been merely imagining the voice only struck her once she’d finished her vows. Startled, Sansa opened her eyes and gasped. She was no longer holding onto a tree branch, but a man’s hands. A ring glinted on his left ring finger, and on her own finger was a second ring, though she hadn’t noticed the slip of cold metal along her skin. She watched, astonished, as both rings transformed before her eyes, turning silver, set with jewels shimmering in the moonlight, sparkling white and ruby red.

Feeling dazed, Sansa slowly trained her gaze upwards, taking in the man before her. Dark stubble flecked with grey peppered his jaw, thickening at the point of his chin and above his lip. His mouth was turned upwards on one side in a half twist of amusement that caught her off guard, though his eyes betrayed nothing of the thoughts within, vibrant greenery entwined with smoke. Though his hair was nearly as black as his cloak, silver temples glittered in the moonlight.

He was older than her, to be certain, but not so much as to warrant the grey, she thought. And though he wasn’t like the knights her heart normally yearned for, there was something about him, an allure she couldn’t quite define. Those eyes gripped her. That smirk bewitched her. His voice had charmed her.

Whoever he was, he had ensnared her heart in a moment’s glance, their spoken vows binding them together for all of eternity. She’d said the words with him, however intentionally so, and now she was his and he was hers, until the end of their days. She should have been terrified, bound to man she’d never met, had absolutely no knowledge of.

And yet she wasn’t.

He was the answer to all of her prayers. Sansa had asked the old gods for assistance, and they had provided. She was free from her obligations to marry Joffrey, having now wed another. A man whose very aura exuded power, even as it inexplicably comforted her.

Sansa stared at him, marveling at the planes of his face, enraptured. She knew she should say something, but her tongue had failed her, so she simply tightened her hands in his and waited, patiently, for him to break the silence.

He was most obliging.

Freeing one hand from her grasp, he raised it to cup her cheek. “What a fine Queen you’ll make, sweetling.”

Sansa leaned into his touch, though her gaze never strayed from his. “Queen?” she whispered.

He nodded, mouth quirking again. “Oh yes,” he murmured. “For I am the Lord of the Underworld. You will rule by my side, and truly, it will be for all of eternity.”

Her breath caught. He certainly had a wicked sense of humor. “Do not tempt me with such sweet lies, my lord. I am already yours.”

His smirk grew. “Though lies may drip from my lips like honey, that shall never be the case with you, my love.” He took a step closer, lips a hair’s breadth from her own. “And my lady wife has no need of such formalities. You may call me Petyr.”

Sansa licked her lips unconsciously, her tongue just barely grazing his mouth as she did so. She was trembling, though not from the cold, which had hardly seemed to touch her since Petyr had appeared. “Petyr,” she breathed, closing her eyes as she anticipated the kiss that was sure to come.

His lips were soft against hers, a light brush, drawing a whimper from her throat. Petyr chuckled at the sound and released her hands, reaching instead for her waist, pulling her closer, before he kissed her again. Sansa clutched at his shoulders instinctively, lips moving tentatively against his, her head spinning, her whole body throbbing.

She hardly knew what to think, of his words, of the way he had suddenly appeared, stealing her heart, and her soul. All she knew for certain was that she wanted this, wanted him. The details hardly mattered, so long as he kept kissing her so.

When Petyr pulled away, Sansa stared at him, chest heaving. She felt as though she were drowning, but pleasantly, exquisitely so, and she wanted nothing more than to be pulled back under the surface. His eyes gleamed as they found hers, mouth lifting in another smirk, and he stepped further away, raising an arm to gesture at their surroundings.

Sansa’s eyes widened, and she gasped, caught entirely off guard. No longer were they in the godswood, but in a cavernous hall, carved completely from black onyx, veined with silver and polished to a high sheen. Thousands upon thousands of white crystals hung from the ceiling, draped in a manner reminiscent of cobwebs, their dull lights reflecting up and down the hall so that it seemed that she and Petyr were adrift in an endless sky of stars. At one end, atop steps that rose to a dizzying height, and in front of an enormous mirror that made the room seem to stretch on forever, stood a pair of thrones. They were carved to match the room, so that whoever might choose to sit upon them would appear to be floating in mid air, among the stars. The thrones were identical in all respects save for one, ribbons of red threading through the one on the right.

She really was to be Queen. His Queen. And of the Underworld, no less.

And Petyr, he was her king. Her husband. Her love.

“What do you think, my love? Does it suit your tastes?” His voice was low, but the gravel in its timber still echoed along the otherwise empty hall, rattling her bones, her heart.

Sansa nodded, still awestruck, from the room, from how she’d come to be here, from him. “Very much so,” she whispered.

Petyr stepped closer, lowering the hood from her cloak. As he did so, she felt a tingle in the air around her, along her skin. She glanced down in surprise to see that her dress had changed, its fabric turning silky and smooth, it’s color an inky black, rare gemstones of sapphire blue and ruby red smattered along her neckline, down her hips, along the hem and the train, which pooled on the floor like liquid in her wake. An intricately woven shawl was draped about her otherwise bare shoulders, strands black and gossamer fine, mimicking the cobwebs of light up above. Diamonds dotted the shawl in abstract patterns, much like prey caught in a web, though far more precious than something whose only worth to the spider was sustenance.

Her hair tumbled loose about her shoulders and a gentle pressure atop her head told her that she now bore a crown, though she could not see its design. Sansa tore her gaze from her new finery to see Petyr’s attire had changed as well, altering slightly to match the magnificence of her own, a cloak sweeping from his shoulders to the floor, velvety black with silver accents. A crown rested atop his perfectly coiffed hair, wrought from silver, its writhing twists reminding her both of bone and of the limbs of the weirwood tree where they’d met, pillars of onyx in varying heights set about the rim

Petyr offered his hand to her, and together they ascended the steps, a journey that took far less time that she might have expected, considering their height. He led her past the thrones, to stand in front of the mirror, and her breath caught as she took in her reflection. She looked absolutely stunning, tall and poised, and somehow older, wiser, a new aura of power clinging to her with a presence that seemed undoubtable. Her dress hugged every curve, the contrast of the dark fabric with her pale skin heightening the appeal of both, and her hair seemed even more vibrant than usual, a halo of fiery curls that held a light of their own. Perched in their midst was her own crown, a delicate latticework of silver vined crawling ivy, with brilliant blood red flame tipped leaves, each its own masterpiece, the gems glittering from the light refracting around the room.

She’d never felt more beautiful, than in that moment.

Sansa tore her gaze from her own reflection to take in her new husband’s beside her, and was pleased to see how well they complemented one another, and the clear pride shining in his eyes. Wordlessly, he took her hand once more, leading her around to the pair of thrones. He stopped in front of his own, hand still clasped with hers, and with a meaningful look that prompted her as to his intentions, they each took their seats, together.

Suddenly, the room, previously empty but for them, was packed with souls. Sansa fought not to show her surprise as she took in the fathomless sea of people, who, as one, knelt on one knee before them. Heart pounding, her gaze swept over the crowd, taking in the sheer number of people she was meant to rule over.

She’d never felt more powerful, than in that moment.

When Petyr spoke, his voice was soft, tone measured but still eerily commanding. “Rise before your new Queen, the Lady Sansa.”

And they rose, in unison, keeping their heads bowed, eyes lowered, in reverence. Another beat, and they vanished, leaving the newlyweds alone once more. Sansa turned to look at Petyr, smiling shyly as he squeezed her hand.

“And so my new Queen begins her reign,” he murmured, raising their joined hands to place a kiss across her knuckles.

Sansa watched as his lips skimmed her skin with rapt attention, her heart hiccuping. It suddenly occurred to her that this was her wedding night. Though she’d of course been preparing herself for what would come, she’d not been expecting to have to worry until tomorrow evening. Of course, she hadn’t expected a lot of what had happened today. And yet everything thus far had most pleasantly surprised her. Perhaps she had nothing to fear.

“You look frightened, my love. Not regretting your decision, I hope?” Petyr asked, though he looked more amused than worried.

She shook her head. “I did not entirely wish to marry Joffrey. Something felt amiss, the more I came to know him.”

His lips curled. “I don’t doubt that. There is much evil, in the world above. Your intended, however, seemed to attract it in excess. You would have suffered greatly, in his hands.”

Sansa bowed her head, shuddering to think of what Petyr might have meant. Beside her, Petyr shifted and reached over to cup her cheek, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Do not think on it, sweetling. You’ve escaped that particular fate.”

“And why did you spare me?” she asked, voice trembling.

His hand moved from her cheek to card through her hair. “You chose me, as much as I chose you, tonight. I heard your prayers, and I saw your fate, should I not answer them, as well as every moment you’ve lived from birth, and I knew you would be my Queen. The path was written for you already, we had only need follow it.”

She felt the truth in his words, deep in her bones, and this knowledge made her heart soar. Reaching up, she caught the hand still toying with her curls in her own, placing a kiss on his palm. “I am very fortunate, it seems. Few marry for love, in this day and age. And yet, though I met my husband only this very night, I see the truth in my heart.”

Petyr’s eyes darkened, in a manner more befitting of lust than danger, and Sansa bravely pressed her lips to his palm once more. Never breaking eye contact, he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. Her limbs felt shaky as he guided her back to the mirror, then stepped through the glass as if it were water, his hand clasped in hers ensuring that she followed close behind.

Slightly disoriented, she took in the room around her, which, judging from the enormous bed dominating the space, was a bedroom. Like the room they’d left behind, its decor was dominated in black and silver, deep red rose petals drifting from the ceiling in a gentle rain, coating every surface with their velvet touch. The petals caught in the folds of her shawl, in his cloak, in her long, flowing hair, delicately adorning their already captivating magnificence. Behind her was the same mirror she’d just traveled through, and Sansa reached out to touch the glass, flinching slightly as her fingers passed through it.

He chuckled. “There are stranger things than that yet to come, Sansa. The Underworld is entirely unlike the world above. And as the King and Queen, we can do as we please, to bend reality to our whims.”

She turned to face him again, pondering this new revelation. “You’ll teach me?”

“Oh yes. Soon, you’ll no doubt be my equal, as such,” Petyr replied. “But time enough for that later, don’t you think?”

Before Sansa could begin to imagine what it might mean to be his equal, and as Queen of the Underworld no less, his mouth was on hers, and all thoughts contrary to the need stirring in her veins were blissfully quiet. He’d stolen her heart, and likely her soul as well, and now he was intent to steal her body. And, like the others, she’d willingly give it. He could have everything she had to offer, if only she received the same in return.

Notes: I see this as an AU, set in Westeros, where Robert never became king (so Joffrey isn't royalty), and Petyr died that day during the duel, at Riverrun, only to become Lord of the Underworld.

Also, they might not have rings in Westeros, but in this AU they do :P

Hopefully you liked it! I'm really happy with how this story turned out :D

[mousedetective]

Fanfic To Do List: 11/5/17 - 11/10/17

So, it's been a while since I've done one of these, but I'm doing my own writing goal this month to finish a few WIPs, flesh out some series and write at least 25K worth of fic. I want most of this to be donation fics, fic exchange fics or promised gifts, so that's what I'm going to work on until my kidlet commandeers my laptop again next weekend.

Write my son's birthday fic (MCU - "Thor Ragnarok" gen

Write get well fic for @canibecandid (Sherlolly soulmate​ AU probably)

Write at least one fic per series for @greenskyoverme

Write at least one fic per ship per series for @posterofamyth

Update the following WIPs: "Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures," "What Matters More," "Children Of Light, Children Of Dark," "It Takes The Whole Of London," "Let No One Be Abandoned Here" and "The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined"

Start at least one of the Sherlolly fics for @come2myrescue

Write my exchange fics for Phryne Ficathon, Holmestice and Star Trek Ficathon

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

our souls entwined, official first chapter

If you’ve already read Lena’s part, skip down to see Kara’s. For those of you who have seen my previous post, this is a continuation of my new His Dark Materials/Daemons SuperCorp AU.

From now on, continuations of this piece will be posted on this page under this tag: #our souls entwined

i. lena

Sariel settles as a peregrine falcon on Lena’s sixteenth birthday, soaring high above the guests milling about the grand ballroom of the Luthor estate, dark plumage catching the light of the many chandeliers glittering from the ceiling.

The sapphire gown her mother had commissioned for the event is cool and smooth against her skin, but the heavy collar of diamonds resting around her neck is a weight she’d gladly shed. Tuned into her train of thought, Sariel swoops down to rest on the brace around Lena’s left forearm, a masterpiece of finely crafted leather embossed with the Luthor crest.

Even before today, Sariel had always favored winged animals, so Lena keeps quite the collection of guards and braces in her room. It doesn’t match her dress, not by any means, but Lillian has allowed it, if only to show off Sariel to the guests.

No matter what form she takes, Sariel’s eyes have always remained resolutely gold, and people have been fascinated by her daemon’s eyes since before either of them were out of infancy. Most people are unsettled by her piercing gaze, but Lena doesn’t mind it- how could she hate anything about her own soul?

But most people aren’t like Lena.

Most people have regular daemons with regular eyes, who can’t stray more than a few feet from their human’s side.

Lena is born with a golden-eyed daemon who can fly far from her side- a testament to the witch blood in her veins, however diluted.

This is the first thing that sets her apart from the world, but it will be far from the last.

ii. kara

Kara is the second person in centuries to be born with her soul outside of her body.

For the rest of Krypton, daemons are a thing of the past. Years of careful genetic engineering had erased all traces of weakness or flaws from the population, including the unique vulnerability of having one’s soul exist in corporeal form.

Kara defies the science behind her birth, and Faida shimmers into existence within minutes of her being placed into her parents’ arms.

She is too young to care, much less even understand, why the tears her mother cries are not of joy.

Deep down, Alura-el understands then that her daughter is meant to follow in the footsteps of her sister, her twin, who shares everything with her except for the singular anomaly that now sets her daughter apart from all others as well.

Think about it, Alura! Why else would I have this daemon, if my path is not destined for the stars?

She just doesn’t want to believe it.

Despite her highborn heritage and place among the nobility of Krypton, Kara zor-El lives the first years of her life as an outcast amongst her peers.

It makes no difference to her whether or not the other children wish to be her friends- Faida is company enough, and the pair of them spend their days giggling over her transformations into all of the creatures Kara learns about through her studies.

Kara is glad that she is not alone in having a daemon- her Aunt Astra’s daemon, Erelah, is settled as a bird for which Krypton has no equal- large and beautiful, with red and gold plumage and fiery eyes.

“Why do we have daemons?”

This is the question she asks often when Astra manages to visit, bright eyes lingering on Erelah’s iridescent feathers.

“Why us, and no one else?”

“Because we are meant to explore the stars, Kara, meant to find the world on which our daemons belong- and us too.” This is what she usually says. It’s why she joined the military guild- to explore planets and solar systems beyond their own and find a place where daemons were the norm, rather than the exception.

Astra’s smile grows dimmer with every passing year when she asks the question, and it’s only when Kara turns ten years old that she gives her a real answer.

Kara asks her after the celebration, but Astra no longer smiles in response. “Because, little one, we must go to Earth.”

Kara perks up at the answer in spite of her aunt’s lack of enthusiasm, grinning broadly as Faida swoops through the air in jubilant circles. Today, Faida has taken the form of a bird, like Erelah, so the pair of them can fly together as their partners converse.

“So you’ve found it, then? The planet where daemons are from?”

“Yes, Kara, I have.” Tears well up in Astra’s eyes, and for the first time in her young life, Kara feels the first stirrings of fear.

Kara scrunches up her face, narrowing her eyes at Astra. “Why are you sad? Is ‘Earth’ not a nice planet?”

“It’s a beautiful planet, little one.”

“Then why-”

Alura enters the room, cutting Kara’s question off with a wave of her hand. “That’s enough talk of Earth, Kara. You don’t wish to upset your aunt any further, do you?”

Shame reddens Kara’s cheeks, and Faida’s feathers droop in response. “Of course not,” she whispers, moving forward to brush the tears from Astra’s cheeks as she crawls into her lap. “Don’t cry anymore, Aunt Astra. We don’t have to go to Earth if you don’t like it.”

Astra nods, but her gaze is locked upon her sister’s face, identical expressions of despair etched across their matching features. “It’s alright, little one.”

“Yes, Kara,” her mother continues, echoing Astra’s careful tone, “It will all be alright.”

It is the first time that either of them will tell her a lie.

Love it? Hate it? Let me know!

Yes, Astra will be alive in this fic. Alexstra/General Danvers stans need more fanfiction, and this is my gift to them.

xoxoxo

[unintelligible-screaming]

ill met by moonlight, part 4/?

vrisrezi, fae vriska au

(part 1)(part 2)(part 3)

the fic about how terezi opens a gateway to the fae realm in a 7-eleven at 2 a.m. partly influenced by @hypeswap​ and also that one “if you blow a fairy, do you owe them a debt?” post.

this particular chapter is safe for work. it’s also my favorite chapter so far.

You take that shower. You wander around, tired and spent, and then things get hazy—you recall falling asleep with an arm flung over you, but it may have been a dream. When you wake, your body tells you that it’s been a long time, at least eight hours’ worth, maybe more. The covers are pulled over your head, but light pierces the fabric, and when you sit up groggily there is sunlight streaming through the window, drenching Miss Blueberry’s bedroom in gold. You rub your eyes and sniff around you. The bed smells like your host. Also like sex. That happened, didn’t it? Oh man. You can’t wait to tell your friends how fun it is to fuck a faerie. You have a brief struggle with yourself regarding the relative merits of laziness versus getting up and figuring out where Miss Blueberry went so you can plan your imminent encounter with the queen of the fair folk. The struggle is resolved when you hear the front door opening. It’s followed by loud stomping—you are unsurprised that Miss Blueberry likes aggressively smashing her soles against the ground—and then the faerie pokes her head into the bedroom. “Oh, you’re awake,” she says. “Where were you?” you ask, tossing off the covers. “I had to make a delivery.” “There’s something on your cheek,” you say. It’s a drop of blood, and it smears when she rubs at it, bright red against her grey skin. You decide it’s better not to ask what “delivery” she’s talking about. Your clothes are in a heap in the corner, so you pull on your shirt while your fae host speaks. “You slept super late. It’s afternoon, sunset is in a few hours, and that’s the only time you’ll be able to enter the Court. We should get going.” “Fair enough,” you say, digging through the debris of her belongings to find your glasses. “First we gotta talk about the debt you incurred last night.” There’s a pause. Then: “Are you fucking kidding me?” “I’m a prelaw student, honey, and I didn’t get off,” you say sweetly. “I require compensation.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Wow, okay! You know, if you’re looking for round two, starting with that is a huge turn-off right there!” “I’m not looking for round two,” you say. “Or, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, quite the opposite in fact, but I’m on a bit of tight schedule. I just wanted to let you know I have something in my back pocket if push comes to shove.” “What, you’re just keeping it until you feel like using it?!” “I was under the impression that was common practice for your kind.” “Yeah, but. But. You’re a human.” “I’m part dragon. We like to hoard things. Leverage included.” “I knew the offer to fuck had strings attached,” she says. “Now get in the car so I can get rid of you faster.”

* * * * * * * *

When you step outside her house, the street is hazy, despite being only a few feet away from the doorstep. It’s… weird. You feel like you could see the pixels if you squint hard enough. She takes her car keys out and extends them forward, and her car is just there, and you could’ve sworn it wasn’t there a second ago, but you can’t quite be sure that you just didn’t notice it. She unlocks the passenger door for you and you resolve to stop thinking too hard about the logistics of fairyland. The engine starts with a furious growl, and she’s floored the gas before you’ve managed find the seat belt. “Whoa there,” you grunt as your skull comes into abrupt contact with the headrest. “What?” she asks, looking genuinely confused. There’s an odd stretching sensation to reality, and suddenly the two of you are zooming along a busy highway. You grimace at the queasiness in your gut. “Mind if I ask how long the drive is?” “Depends on traffic. It’ll slow down in once we enter the city. Everyone wants to be near the Court. Most don’t get in.” She wrinkles her nose. “But you’re a mortal, so you’re interesting and they’ll let you in anyway, even if there’s a waitlist.” “I do always strive to be interesting,” you say. “How far away is the city?” She gives you a weird look. “Um…?” She gestures to the windshield. You blink. You could have sworn you were on the highway, but no, the car is crawling along, struggling through standstill traffic along a crowded city street. The roar of honking and chatter from foot traffic pounding the choked streets fills the air, barely muffled by the rolled-up windows. A heavy beat from a faraway boombox vibrates through your bones. “Oh, you’re fucking with me,” you say. In the lane next to you, a truck driver with mismatched horns glances down at you, does a double take, and leans out his window to shout something you can’t hear. You shake your head. “I hate fae travel.” “What do you have against going in straight lines?” “Your definition of straight lines seems designed to turn my kidneys inside out.” The sun has finally touched the horizon, and the colors that spill over the sky compete with the pulsing lights of the city, turning on one by one. They burn like neon and flicker like torchlight, gilding the sides of skyscrapers whose giant logos are in a script you can’t read, whose hulking scrawl shifts when you look at them out of the corner of your eye. When you look from a larger perspective, the jammed highway is a writhing snake, and its violent urban rhythm winds toward a single spot. In the center of the city, a single skyscraper stands so tall, its uppermost reaches dissolve into the darkening clouds. It looks as if it’s made of blocks of obsidian, glittering like starlight on a black ocean. “What’s that?” You point. You think you know what the answer is. “It’s the Queen’s Court,” says Miss Blueberry. She’s looking straight ahead, calm and unmoved, but there’s a hint of something else in her voice, a touch of reverence she can’t quite suppress. There’s an itching in your palms. You can’t help yourself. You roll down the window and take a long sniff. It smells like a storm front. It smells like glamour. The structure radiates power through the air, prickling your skin.

As you get closer, people on the sidewalks are beginning to dance, their wings shimmering in the dimming air. You wish you could take a photo, but electronics don’t work in this place unless they’re entwined with faerie magic, like the car you’re struggling through traffic in right now. Miss Blueberry pounds on her car horn. “What’s taking so long, huh?” she shouts out the window. “You in the blue SUV! Yeah, you! I’m talking to you! There’s a spot open to your left! If you’re gonna go that slow you can switch lanes and get out of my way, asshole!” The blue SUV doesn’t seem to care. Miss Blueberry shakes her head in irritation. “At least in the mortal realm they can fucking drive.” You frown. “It’s almost sundown. We might not get there in time.” She groans. “You’re right. We need a shortcut, or I’ll be stuck with a debt riding my back forever.” She starts to search her dashboard with her fingers, pressing down at random intervals. “Where is it?” you hear her mutter. “It’s here somewhere…” Then the place below her index finger lights up in blue. “There we go,” she says, and the blue spot forms a rune that looks like how fermented flowers smell. She addresses the blue rune. “I’m on the crossroads between twenty-third and forty-seventh. I need an escort to the Court for me and one other person, before sundown hits.” Nothing happens. Then, a scratchy voice echoes into the enclosed space, as if from far away: “You got an appointment?” “No, I don’t have an appointment,” she snaps. “I’ve got a sword about the length of my leg, though, so if you want a demonstration—” “Alright, alright, on our way,” the voice says quickly. The blue rune disappears. You raise your eyebrows. “Is that the fair folk version of a phone call?” “More like a direct line,” she says. “They’re kind of incompetent and half the time they don’t even answer, but sometimes if you shout at them enough they’ll do you a favor.” “Okay,” you say, and suspicion starts to trickle in, because you’re fairly sure that the average fae can’t just get an escort to the front door of the Queen’s Court, no matter how threatening they sound. “When you say escort, what—” Before you, the traffic is parting like a wave. Coming down the lanes of traffic, steady and  sedate, are six… things. Their bodies shimmer like a beetle’s carapace. The proportions are almost humanoid, but not quite, just off enough to be disturbing. They have wings, but with none of the beautiful, sweeping elegance of the wings belonging to the faerie next to you—they’re multi-jointed, and they look like something belonging to a bee, or a wasp. There are spikes all over them, and you call them things because their expressions are flat and dead. The cars and dancers bend away from them like trees, falling silent where there was once noise. You don’t blame them. These creatures are unsettling in a way you can’t describe, and the closer they get, the more you cringe back into your seat. “Oh, finally,” says Miss Blueberry, annoyed. “Took them long enough.” When they reach the car, she hits the gas and speeds down the aisle they’ve created, as if this is nothing more special than a traffic light turning green. As she drives faster, the creatures keep pace, carving a path ahead with nothing but their dead, steady stares. The passerby move away without prompting. “What are they?” you whisper, and this is it, this the first part of faerieland that makes you truly scared. “Drones,” she says.

Drones. Legendary creatures that serve the queen herself, fashioned from the discarded bits of flesh and power left over from faeries she decided were unworthy. You don’t know of a single person who has seen them and lived. You swallow. It’s not long before the car stops at the sidewalk, right in front of the Queen’s Court. This close, there’s a crackling in the air that makes the hairs on your arms stand up straight. The drones march to a pair of tall black doors, turn on their heels, and go still enough to be statues. “Well,” says Miss Blueberry. “This is your stop.” The drones are right there in the corner of your eye, they won’t stop staring. Your stomach is hollow with nerves. “You have to get me through the doors first,” you say. She rolls her eyes. Her expressions are so exaggerated as to be comical, and you can’t help but find it endearing. “Fiiiiine,” she says, and gets out of the car. The two of you walk up to the doors. They’re black basalt and have a metal padlock, identical to the ones barring the mysterious door in her house. She reaches lazily with a claw and it clicks open. “So,” she says. “That’s one debt done.” “You still owe me.” “I know.” You glance at her, at her dark blue eyes and proud shoulders and wings with the tiniest hint of an anxious flutter. On an impulse, you reach out and grasp her hand. She twitches, surprised, and you step forward and kiss her. When you’re done, a touch of her sweetness lingers on your tongue. You say, “I can’t just keep calling you Miss Blueberry, you know.” “What, planning on making this a regular thing?” she says. You don’t come up with an automatic no, and that alone adds another layer of nerves. Your answer should be no. You’re walking into an incredibly dangerous situation and letting her seduce you further is a bad idea of epic proportions. “I was thinking,” you say, even though thinking is the opposite of what you’re doing right now. “I want you to give me your name.” She tenses, and then laughs loudly, shaking her head. “You’re hilarious.” “I’m serious.” “Oh come on. A couple hours of sex for my true name? That’s so far from being an even trade-off that it’s in an entirely different dimension.” “I’ll make it more even,” you say. “I’ll give you my name, under the condition that if I do, you swear to tell me yours.” The name of a mortal holds less power than the name of a faerie, so unless she's clever about you'll be fine, but this is still a colossally stupid thing to do. “Why?” she says, searching your face. “Why do you want it?” It’s getting darker. The horizon is busy swallowing the sun, and you have only moments to get through that door before your time is up. "Do we have a deal?” you ask. She nods. “My name is Terezi Pyrope,” you say. Her breath catches, and her hands come up to touch your shoulder like she can't help it. She leans in, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “Vriska,” she whispers. “Vriska Serket.” Vriska Serket. A shudder runs through you. You’re acutely aware of where your skin touches hers. You step back, turn to the door, and push it open.

[pennywaltzy]

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined (4/? - A “The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined” Story) - NEW CHAPTER

So it is with a heavy heart that I have decided to pull this fic from WIPBB for the time being, as I seem to be getting more negativity for the chapters I’ve posted than anything else. I got a pretty crap comment from someone who didn’t even read the whole thing while I was trying hard not to have a mental breakdown and that just killed it for me. I may go back to it, but I’m not sure. But anyway, here’s one of the newer chapters.

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined -Before the new ship the USS Enterprise is set to take its maiden voyage, it’s new captain, Captain Spock, attempts to meet some of his crew on their “home turf.” What he and Ensign James Kirk do not expect, however, is the rare connection that makes Kirk Spock’s bonded t'hy'la. But Kirk is hiding a secret that is slowly killing him, and this unexpected connection leaves them both with problems: for Spock, it is how to remain unattached in the face of a personal crisis and for Kirk, it is how to remain alive with the secret he is keeping from both his captain and his best friend.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 4 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI? | MY PATREON

He’d had a very hard time sleeping the night before. It wasn’t so much he’d had weird dreams, because he’d had them before when coming down from KCW, but this was different. They weren’t his dreams, or rather his thoughts. It was the guy he’d caught the sight of across the bar. Whatever had happened he’d thought it’s just been some weird drug-induced thing or maybe a new withdrawal symptom, but now that it was morning and he was awake and there was still some sort of...presence...in his head, he wasn’t so sure.

And honestly?

It scared the fuck out of him.

He shuffled to the kitchen to get some water, his hands shaking. Damn it, the withdrawal was worse this time. He should have just gone and found a bump of KCW anyway because this was hell, this whole experience. He felt so hot, so tired and so drained, as though every muscle in his body was made of lead and that not even an entire ocean’s worth of water would be enough. It had been well over a day since he had a bump, the longest he’d ever gone since starting. He nearly dropped the glass while trying to get the water and just before he brought it to his lips there was a knock at the door. With a sigh, he took his glass and slowly made his way over to answer it.

Once the door was open, standing in front of him was the man from the night before. Only now, in the overly bright light of day and without the man in front of him wearing the beanie he had worn at the bar, he could see more clearly said man was a Vulcan, with a very authoritarian bearing, who was none other than his new Captain. He’d seen a picture of Captain Spock and aside from what looked like a slight bit of stubble on his face, this guy in front of him was the spitting image.

Shit.

“Captain Spock, I presume?” Jim said, finally taking that first drink of water and trying not to chug down half the glass to preserve some dignity.

“In the words of my sister Nyota Uhura, you look like shit,” he said, giving Kirk a quizzical look.

Oh, that was just great. His Captain was related to his best friend’s girlfriend’s roommate. He wasn’t sure Uhura was his biggest fan but he was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten a glowing report from her. He raised his glass to Spock. “Well, you know my secret, I suppose. You stopped me from being...better.”

“I stopped you from damaging your body more than you already have, Mr. Kirk,” he said. “You are unwell.”

“I’m fine,” Jim said, turning away from the door but not shutting it behind him. If his Captain followed, fine. If he didn’t, fine. He didn’t care right now. He wanted water and rest. “I can quit any time I want. This is just temporary.”

“I know it is not,” Spock said, his voice quieter, more calming. “I can tell what it is doing to you, Mr. Kirk. This withdrawal will kill you if you do not have my help.”

Kirk stopped. “What do you mean?” he asked, turning around.

“Your body temperature will rise too much,” he replied. “Your organs will boil. Your blood will boil. You will die. That is what the poisons do to the addicts who try and stop taking it when they get to your point in their addiction. But I can help.”

At that moment something flashed between them in this weird mental link they shared, and he saw Spock helping someone else, a member of his crew before who had gone through the same thing. This time the glass did slip, shattering on contact with the floor. That broke the link between them, and he stared up at Spock in surprise. “Wha--?”

“I have the necessary experience, and it would seem there is a connection between us that should be explored, Mr. Kirk,” he said. “I think it is in your best interest to let me help you.

Kirk began to nod, but a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him, accompanied by a sense of overheating, and he felt himself feel faint and fall forward, and the last thing he remembered was Spock catching him, almost as if he expected it.

[pennywaltzy]

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined (1/? - A “The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined” Story)

So this is going to be the start of a series with the same name because I love this title, but basically, this is going to set up for an AU Star Trek 2009. Spock is a Captain, Kirk is an Ensign who will end up the First Officer, and they’re soulmates. Fair warning: in this story, Kirk is addicted to a drug that kills any human attempting to go through withdrawal, but that’s something most humans don’t know. Spock is going to save his life and this is the only story where he’ll be an addict, but it is a prominent theme in this particular story. I hope @greenskyoverme will forgive me because apparently I had chapter 2 and 3 both finished and could have posted them last year. ::sheepish look:: Sorry!

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined - Before the new ship the USS Enterprise is set to take its maiden voyage, it's new captain, Captain Spock, attempts to meet some of his crew on their "home turf." What he and Ensign James Kirk do not expect, however, is the rare connection that makes Kirk Spock's bonded t'hy'la. But Kirk is hiding a secret that is slowly killing him, and this unexpected connection leaves them both with problems: for Spock, it is how to remain unattached in the face of a personal crisis and for Kirk, it is how to remain alive with the secret he is keeping from both his captain and his best friend.

READ CHAPTER 1 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI? | MY PATREON

“Stardate 2258.66. This is Captain Spock of the Starship Farragut. We are returning to port in San Francisco after a three-year voyage exploring the farthest reaches of the known galaxy. Starfleet Command has said that it is their wish to decommission this ship and reassign the crew to new ships in the fleet, and I will be given captainship of the newest ship in the fleet, the USS Enterprise. I am...unsure...how I feel about this situation. I must ponder it some more.”

Spock turned off the recording mechanism on which he did his logs and then looked at the place which he had called home for the last three years. Home was an unfamiliar concept to him; Vulcan was not home, and neither was earth. He was a child of two cultures, two planets, and as such fit wholly into neither. He had essentially turned his back on Vulcan by choosing to go to Starfleet Academy and had, within five years, become the youngest Captain on record, surprising absolutely no one, it had seemed. His mother had been pleased. His father, he had not been sure about.

He would rather have not told them, he thought, but it was proper. It was, he supposed, an honor to have the youngest Captain in history as your son, but then, Starfleet was not too aware of Vulcan culture, and only one-half of his family was human.

He had always done his work with due diligence. He knew he was not everyone’s favorite captain, but he had no need to be. What he cared most about was doing his job, and doing it within the rules set forth by the Prime Directive. He cared about keeping his crew safe. He cared about keeping his ship in one piece.

And he cared about his duties above all else, it seemed, even himself.

He had bonded with no one on his crew, and as such he would not be sorry to see any of them leave his command. Perhaps it would be best if he had an entirely new crew. Perhaps he could study in depth the last three years and see where improvements could be made. Learn and improve. That was always his way.

He reached over for the paper logs he also kept. While technology was a marvelous thing, he did not entirely trust it. There was some comfort to pen and paper. For three years he had dutifully recorded is thoughts, some of which had not made official logs, and he went to the ones which were the earliest from this voyage. There was some time until they arrived in San Francisco and he would have to supervise the deboarding. He could begin his process of revisiting the past and improving upon it.

---

“Bones, did you see? We both made the Enterprise crew!” James Kirk was nearly bouncing up and down with giddiness. Well, maybe not giddiness. It could be the aftereffect of his last bump of KCW. He usually felt pretty upbeat after he had some, and generally pretty shitty when he hadn’t. If it hadn’t been for that wonder drug he swore he never would have managed to make it through the Academy, not while trying to balance a social life and other responsibilities on top of it.

He’d tried for years to make his mom proud. For years to show her he wasn’t a screw-up, wasn’t a mistake. His dad had died when he was a baby, his brother had high-tailed it out of there when he was old enough to survive on his own, his uncle...well, the less said about him the better. And while his mom had gone off and traveled the stars Jim had stayed in Iowa and tried to just survive and be good for as long as he could, but eventually, he’d said to hell with it. And he’d made mistakes. Made more than he could remember until he’d been given the choice: jail or Starfleet.

It had only been because someone liked him he met Bones his first day. Leonard McCoy was no stranger to a crap life, and they’d bonded. Bones was more or less a straight arrow, though he had his vices, and he tried to guide Jim as best he could, with some moderate success. They’d made it through the Academy just in time to get placed on the newly commissioned Enterprise, under a returning Captain from one of the ships that was being decommissioned. He’d heard about the Captain, Spock. Supposed to be a tight-ass but fair. You didn’t mess around with him but he’d make sure you were okay.

Could be worse, he supposed.

Bones rolled his eyes. “Look, Jim, we gotta talk.” He grabbed Kirk’s arm mid bounce and pulled him to a shady grove of trees in the quad, looking around to make sure no one was nearby, and then pushed Kirk to something resembling a sitting position. “Just because that crank you take doesn’t show up on piss tests doesn’t mean I’m going to cover for you forever if you’re still taking it when this mission starts.”

“I can stop anytime I want,” Kirk said, with an indulgent shrug, but his fingers started tapping nervously against his leg. The very idea of quitting was just not appealing in the slightest, even though he knew this mission was five years in deep space and he had no idea if there was any way he could take that much KCW aboard or if he could get more once they left Federation space. The very thought of it all was making the euphoria of his hit ebb away like the water draining out of a tub.

“That’s bull and you know it,” Bones said, starting to pace. “You’ve been on this crap since day 1 when I met you. Do you even eat anymore? I mean really eat? I can’t think of the last time I saw you eat an actual meal of real food. And don’t think you’re going to have unlimited supplies of water like you do now, or get to take a bathroom break anytime you need. It’s not going to be like the Academy.” He shook his head. “I should rat you out. You know I should.”

“Don’t!” Kirk said, scrambling to his feet. “You know I need to go on this mission. I need to go out into space.” He reached over and put his hands on Bones’s shoulders. “You know it’s important.”

Bones stared into the eyes of his friend. “You need to get help, Jim,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t kick this habit by the time the mission starts, I will tell the Captain. Got it?”

Kirk nodded, willing to agree to anything to get on that damn ship. “Fine. I’ll do it. Okay?” He could. He really could. He could kick the habit. He hadto, now. Bones wasn’t the type to make idle threats.

He just hoped it didn’t kill him in the process.

[pennywaltzy]

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined (6/? - A “The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined” Story) - NEW CHAPTER

And in this part (the last one I have so far) Kirk and Spock have a telepathic conversation about what happened, what needs to happen and what could happen in the future.

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined -Before the new ship the USS Enterprise is set to take its maiden voyage, it’s new captain, Captain Spock, attempts to meet some of his crew on their “home turf.” What he and Ensign James Kirk do not expect, however, is the rare connection that makes Kirk Spock’s bonded t'hy'la. But Kirk is hiding a secret that is slowly killing him, and this unexpected connection leaves them both with problems: for Spock, it is how to remain unattached in the face of a personal crisis and for Kirk, it is how to remain alive with the secret he is keeping from both his captain and his best friend.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 6 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI? | MY PATREON

“Drink or I’ll hook you up to an IV.”

The water felt good against his lips, like he’d never had a drop of it before in his entire existence. He was sucking it down through a straw but at least Bones had added ice. Damn, it felt like...what was the old Earth term? Manna from heaven.

And heck, if he’d believed in heaven or hell, he was wondering why he wasn’t currently dead and in one of those places. Probably the darker, hotter one, knowing the stupid shit he’d done.

Bones didn’t say anything else and he shut his eyes again. He felt so damn weak, like he’d been wrung out like a rag and hung out to dry. Whatever the Captain had done, he was grateful, but he hoped the man didn’t feel even a quarter as bad.

No, Mr. Kirk, I do not feel...wrung out like a rag. Just tired.

He squeezed his eyes shut. So you really are in my head?

Only if you wish me to be, as you and I are connected. It is rare for this connection to be formed between a Vulcan and a human, but there are exceptions. And in your case, our connection may have been what saved your life.

He hit the bottom of the glass when it came to the water he was sucking down and soon the straw was gone and another was in its place. How much am I going to have to pee when I’m done with all this water?

There was silence on Captain Spock’s end for a moment. Humor?

Kind of, yeah. I mean, do you even get humor? I don’t know most Vulcans who do.

I am only half-Vulcan. Vulcan father, human mother.

How is that even possible? There aren’t many cross-species children that live unless the genetics are compatible and I wasn’t aware humans and Vulcan were.

Only with manipulation at the genetic level, Spock said, sounding almost proud. Do you know much about Vulcan genetics?

Not really, but xenogenetics, in general, is an interesting course of study. I took all the classes I could in it.

Yes. I saw that in your records. You have taken more classes in more areas of study than any Academy graduate who will be on the Enterprise. The work of KCW?

Yeah. Kirk was silent as he finished another glass of water and a third was given to him. There was a thirst in him he didn’t think he’d be able to quench, but it didn’t feel like it did when he was between bumps. In fact, as shitty as he felt, he didn’t feel any urge for the drug. It really is out of my system.

You are very lucky, Mr. Kirk. Had it been an overdose and not a withdrawal, not even our connection could have saved you.

Our connection as t’hy’la?

Do you understand what that means? The tone in his head sounded curious.

Friends, brothers, lovers. I doubt the first two are the intended meaning with this telepathic connection though.

You have surmised correctly, though there need be no reciprocal emotional feelings between us as there are with humans. I just need you near to keep the contact open and to occasionally touch you.

Vulcans are touch telepaths, aren’t they?

Yes, we are. But I imagine if I were to touch your skin now that the poison is out of your system I will hear nothing that you do not allow me to hear. But drink now, and rest. I shall do the same and we can converse more when the symptoms have passed.

So this isn’t the worst of it?

KCW is a poison, Mr. Kirk. There are still aftereffects, but I believe I’ve saved you from the worst of it.

You can call me Jim, you know.

And you may call me Spock when we are alone.

Thank you, Spock. But there was no answer and he felt exhaustion wash over him again as well and he imagined that right now, both of them were going to catch up on some much-needed rest.

[pennywaltzy]

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined (4/? - A “The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined” Story) - NEW CHAPTER

And here is Kirk floating in and out of consciousness, hearing what’s being talked about over him while Spock gets the drugs out of his system.

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined -Before the new ship the USS Enterprise is set to take its maiden voyage, it’s new captain, Captain Spock, attempts to meet some of his crew on their “home turf.” What he and Ensign James Kirk do not expect, however, is the rare connection that makes Kirk Spock’s bonded t'hy'la. But Kirk is hiding a secret that is slowly killing him, and this unexpected connection leaves them both with problems: for Spock, it is how to remain unattached in the face of a personal crisis and for Kirk, it is how to remain alive with the secret he is keeping from both his captain and his best friend.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 5 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI? | MY PATREON

Notes: Vulcan Translations -

t'hy'la - Friend/lover/brother k'war'ma'khon - Extended family kan-sorn - A purposefully induced comatose state of the Vulcan mind

---

“I don’t understand. He’s doing what?”

“Boiling alive inside. It is the way KCW kills humans. It gives much but miss even one dose in over twenty-four hours and it is fatal.”

“Shit, if that doesn’t kill him I will.” There was silence for a moment. “Sorry, Captain.”

“No apologies necessary. If he was not my t’hy’la it might have been too late last night. He has a chance.”

“Until he wakes up.”

“No murder, Doctor. Captain’s orders.”

And then there was cooling on his forehead and he slipped back into the darkness.

---

“Spock, are you sure you can do this again? I’m worried.”

“Nyota, I must. He is...connected...to me.”

“Seriously? Jackass Jim Kirk is your t’hy’la? Mom is going to throw a fit when she meets her new k'war'ma'khon. Human or not, he’s a junkie. Not to mention Father knowing you’re bonded to...him.”

“I am more concerned with saving Mr. Kirk’s life at the moment.” There was silence for a moment. “He is coming out of kan-sorn.”

“How did you get him into the Vulcan coma-- Oh. T’hy’la stuff. Nevermind, I don’t get it still.” A shorter pause. “Do you need anything?”

“Just peace and quiet, and perhaps the herbal tisane Mother sends you for when I’m done.”

“I’ll go brew some.” A rustle and then silence for a bit.

Sleep now, Spock’s voice said softly in his head.

And sleep he did.

---

“Dammit, Captain, I’m a Doctor. This is what I do.”

“He needs to stay very cold. I can regulate his body temperatures myself, I just need warmth. It is too cold in this room.”

“Leonard, just turn the heat up. I’ve only seen this once, but I think if anyone can save Jim, it’s not going to be us.”

“Christine...”

“I know. But you have to have some optimism in this situation. Nyota says he’s saved someone from overdosing. Withdrawal isn’t much different with this stuff. He’ll be fine.”

“Fine, but I’m not leaving.”

“No one expected otherwise.”

---

“...swear to God, Spock, Mom will kill me if you die saving him.”

“You know I do not believe in Earth religion.”

“No jokes. It’s just an old human phrase. I mean it though. Don’t you dare die on me or I swear, I’ll sic Sybok on you, and I still owe him a punch in the face.”

“To sic my half-brother on me is not necessary, my dear sister. He is past the worst of it. We do not need his presence complicating our lives any further.”

“Yeah, we just have your soulmate being Jim Kirk to worry about.”

“I thought you were friendly with him.”

“Until I found out he was going to kill my brother with a damn KCW withdrawal.” He could hear Nyota sigh. “Your sure he’s past it?”

“I am. And if we are lucky, he will never crave the drug again. Now, I must rest.”

“Take my bed.”

“No. Here is fine.”

“I’m stepping in, Captain. I’ll wait with him. You go to your sister’s bunk and sleep this off.”

“If you insist, Doctor.”

“I do. I’ll wait with the jackass. Anything I need on hand?”

“Water. As much water as he can stomach.” There was the press of a hand to his chest. “Sleep.”

And then darkness again.

[pennywaltzy]

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined (3/? - A “The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined” Story)

And here is the first meeting (of sorts) between Kirk and Spock!

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined -Before the new ship the USS Enterprise is set to take its maiden voyage, it’s new captain, Captain Spock, attempts to meet some of his crew on their “home turf.” What he and Ensign James Kirk do not expect, however, is the rare connection that makes Kirk Spock’s bonded t'hy'la. But Kirk is hiding a secret that is slowly killing him, and this unexpected connection leaves them both with problems: for Spock, it is how to remain unattached in the face of a personal crisis and for Kirk, it is how to remain alive with the secret he is keeping from both his captain and his best friend.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 3 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI? | MY PATREON

“Jim, behave yourself tonight,” Bones said as they approached the bar. Kirk had to refrain from rolling his eyes. That had been the plan...more or less. He hadn’t told Bones how sick he felt, having held off for a while from having another bump. It had been a long time since he had actually felt this bad, and maybe a little KCW would help alleviate the problem. Fortunately, at this particular bar, he knew where to get it discretely.

Bones walked in and made a beeline for Christine, who had saved their usual booth for them. Really, he hated to be the third wheel on their dates, but it almost seemed like Bones didn’t want to let him out of his sight. At least Christine and her roommate were good people; he liked them, though he wasn’t really attracted to Nyota. She was attractive, she just wasn’t his type. Probably her background growing up on Vulcan; he hadn’t met many Vulcans and absolutely no humans other than her who had been there, but there was something about all of them that came off as...weird. Honestly, he had no idea what his type was, to be honest. He was pretty fluid with who he spent time with and gender didn’t mean much to him. He’d always been the type to judge more on personality and...well, other attributes.

But that was a long time ago. Since he’d entered the Academy, he’d kind of put a halt to most of the random flirting and focused more on his studies. Not that he didn’t have a social life, but it wasn’t like he was a sex maniac, either.

Besides, you don’t want anyone finding out your secret, that nagging voice in the back of his head told him. He usually considered it the angel on his shoulder and just as summarily ignored it most of the time. Not that the devil on his other shoulder spoke up all that much, just to remind him he needed another bump by being a bastard to his body.

Maybe he really should quit.

Just...not tonight.

He moved closer to the bathrooms, trying hard not to bump into anyone in the crush of people at the bar that night. There were so many people in the place it was a literal crush of bodies, and in his withdrawing state, that probably wasn’t a good thing. When he would wait a bit between bumps, he’d get antsy and irritable, and that was when he’d drift back to his old ways and start picking fights. Usually he stuck with Bones, who seemed to be so used to the irritation that would come off those times that he’d just put up with whatever crap would come out of his mouth, and Bones never let him get physical, but now he was on the opposite side of the bar and Bones was with his girl and…

He let his eyes scan the room, moving over to where Bones and Christine were sitting, joined by Nyota and someone else, someone new. The man looked up and he felt something he’d never felt before, a sort of...connection in his mind, opening if nothing else.

The man’s eyes grew wide. T’hy'la, he heard a male voice say in his mind.

His own eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his ears. Hell no. HELL NO, he did not need this crap while he was withdrawing, it didn’t mean shit--

Withdrawing from what? the voice asked in his mind, but before he could really process anything he elbowed a tall guy who was usually in Security Training at the Academy in the side of his neck. The man whirled, picked Kirk up by the throat, and glared.

“Fuck you doing?” he asked in a thick New York accent.

“Let...me down...” Kirk managed to get out.

“Not till you apologize,” the man said.

No, no apologizing he had to go had to leave… He swung his foot out and kicked the beefy guy holding him up square in the balls, and was dropped to the floor. He stood up and Security Guy took a swing at him, hitting someone else when Kirk dropped to the floor. He felt sick and ill and fuck it, he was going home now, he thought to himself as a bar brawl started around him and he crawled away from the first of it. He expected with the last string of thoughts he had that the voice would question him again, but it was blissfully silent, whoever or whatever it was.

Good.

If he never saw the man he locked eyes with again, he thought as he hightailed it to his bike and turned it on, so much the better.