#night swim (took the piss out of it first time around but its growing on me. also i put my faith in blumhouse)

[beepbeepdespair]

oops

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: IX

A/N: Apparently I cannot write short chapters. Thank you for your patience and for all the likes and reblogs and kind comments on the last chapter. I love you all so much. Special shout-out to @starlight-starwrites​ for listening to me whine about this chapter.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: NC-17, for acts of warfare (blood, guts, and gore--our Tully is a little mean), Face-sitting, fingering, using sex to go to sleep, a few kisses

Word Count: 14.2k ( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Read Chapters I-VIII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Nine: The Monster, The Maiden

King’s Landing still smelled of piss and soured bread.

Robb’s missive had come just after they had set the Lannister fleet alight at Lannisport. Yara and her fleet would be left to sack Casterly Rock with a majority of Y/N’s small band of men while Obara and Arya and a handful of Riverlanders set off toward the capital with Y/N.

Cersei had grown desperate and crazed. Growing only more bold and paranoid after she was crowned Queen.

King Tommen was dead. Margaery had been thrown into the Black Cells under suspicion of his murder and the new queen had pulled nearly all of her loyal bannermen to protect the city. Obara surmised that it was a Faceless Man, sent after the king after the Iron Throne refused to pay their debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos.

So much had changed since she had left the safety of Sunspear’s shadows. And yet not enough. The Lannisters still called themselves the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms and the Realm still suffered.

Obella’s tactics had kept all but a handful of the men under Y/N’s command alive. The Westerlands had been put to the torch and their gold and silver mines plundered in the dark of the night. The small band of Riverlanders hid in the dense forests and picked off the Lions’ bannermen when the roads forced them to march two-by-two. She, Arya, and Obara had been welcomed as guests at Pinkmaiden and settled there as their first command stronghold. When asked why she did not think to travel to Riverrun, Y/N’s answer was simple. “I have asked men to leave their homes to fight. I do not go home until they do.” They had never stayed in a location for longer than two days, moving from target to target with brutal efficiency.

But now she was back in the gods-forsaken capital that she had narrowly escaped.

“Has it always smelled like this?” Obara asked, nose crinkling as the wind carried the putrid stench up to the high hill above the city.

“Yes,” both Arya and Y/N answered.

The men at their backs looked grim and anxious in their cloaks, trying to hide their armor. While the Northmen and Dornish were still marching toward the capital, the Reach knights and cavalry had been the first to arrive at the gates of the city, demanding the release of Margaery—the rightful queen. It provided a well-enough distraction.

Y/N slipped off Qēlos’ back and patted the mare’s side in thanks. The beautiful horse had earned her weight in apples a thousand times over in this terrible war. She handed the reins to Lord Blackwood who promised to keep her safe until she returned.

“But are you certain-”

“Lord Blackwood, my answer has not changed since the last time you asked. I thank you for your concern but it is unwarranted.”

The older lord’s face colored with an embarrassed blush and he dipped his head. “Of course, my lady.”

Arya barely concealed a laugh as she, too, dismounted but Obara was stone-faced as her feet hit the damp grass. Patrek Mallister was quick to offer his hand to take her horse’s reins. (In truth, he’d been quick to do anything Obara needed. When they were still setting the Westerlands ablaze and picking off their infantrymen from the cover of forest, Y/N noticed that the majority of men under Obara’s command were either half in love or half terrified of the eldest Sand Snake. Patrek was decidedly the former. His time as a captive of the Freys after the Red Wedding had stripped him of the wandering eye he was known for.)

Obara and Arya stepped to Y/N’s side and they each took a deep breath.

“May the Warrior protect you,” one of the men whispered at their backs.

But Y/N could scarcely hear it over the thudding of her heart. No matter how many times she had readied for battle and shadowed warfare, her heart always leapt into her throat. And maybe that kept her alive, the slight-panic keeping her senses heightened.

“This way,” Arya said, leading them down, down, down. While Tyrion’s crude drawing of the placement of the wildfire around the Red Keep and King’s Landing was safely tucked into Y/N’s small pack, Arya was the one leading them into the mouth of the passages beneath the city. She had warned them about the smell.

It did not help.

Once pleasant and cool water gave way to stink and muck that had Y/N retching. Arya shushed her above the lapping brown water as one of Euron Greyjoy’s longboats neared where they had been treading against the waves. And then, much to her horror, it became clear that they would have to submerge themselves in the muck to avoid detection as the boat sailed by. Through the brown water and with burning lungs, Y/N watched the boat sail across the surface and she nearly vomited when they quietly crested, feeling the disgusting water line her mouth as she clutched her pack to her chest.

“Nearly there,” Arya whispered, starting a slow swim toward a dark corner of the wall.

They were quiet as they hoisted themselves up into the stone hole, gurgling with more sludge. But Y/N could not hold back her retch any longer as they finally curled around a jagged corner. It echoed in the dark and she winced when she heard it.

“Come, Little Fish, do not let your stomach fail us now.” Obara’s words of encouragement were stilted as she tried to keep her own rolling stomach contained.

“The worst is behind us,” Arya whispered with a small smile, murky water on her lips.

Both Obara and Y/N sighed at the girl’s unflinching (if not dark) optimism they quickly set off after the young Stark, following her steps in the dark, twisting tunnels and up the tight steps of uneven stone stairs which led to more tunnels and more stairs. They walked in silence for a long stretch of time, the squish of their soaked boots the only sound they heard. But dim light soon trickled down from some unseen room above to light the path Arya led them on. With the light came the realization that they were surrounded by dragon skulls, damp and dusty with the passing of time.

“I once thought they were monsters,” Arya whispered, a far-off look on her face.

“Is this what you found when you disappeared for half a day?” Y/N asked, skirting around a skull with teeth as long as her arm. It all seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been worried about where Arya had hidden away and Ned had sent Y/N and half his guard out into the city to look for her. When Arya arrived back at the Tower of the Hand, reeking and dirty, near dark, Ned had been both relieved and furious with his youngest daughter.

“It was,” was all Arya said, voice sad. It had been a lifetime for her, too.

And now they were here, in the bowels of the castle that had tried to rip their lives asunder and had very nearly succeeded. But now it was their turn.

The dim light only grew a fraction brighter as Arya finally slowed to a stop—but the noise grew, too.

The first voice was unmistakably Cersei; “the Red Keep has never fallen.”

“Our own father helped it fall. Have you forgotten everything?” Jaime near-snarled in return.

Y/N crept closer to light on quiet feet and followed it so she could more properly hear the conversation. Any bit of information was valuable, even if she was soaked in muck down to her skin. She pivoted so she could look up into the room above, a tiny sliver of stone crooked in its place. She recognized the carved pillars and marble lions of one of the interior courtyards even through the small field of vision the stone allowed.

“Father is here—he will never allow-”

“Our father is not a god despite your best efforts to make him one in your heart of hearts. And neither are you.”

“He will keep us safe. I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Let them try to take my crown.”

“They will try!” Jaime pressed. “The Tyrells are at the gates and the wolves and Martells are coming. What will you do when they arrive and Father’s plans fail you? Yara Greyjoy’s fleet have taken Casterly Rock. There are whispers of Riverlanders picking our bannermen off from the trees after torching most of our bannermen’s lands. What will you do?”

There was a pregnant pause and Y/N felt Obara tug on the back of her jerkin, trying to get her to move.

“Let them have ashes.”

Obara tugged again and Y/N let herself be pulled away this time as she fumbled to grab the wax-coated map of Tyrion’s wildfire storehouses from its hiding place in her pack, unhearing of Jaime’s reply. “We must be quick.”

Arya huffed. “You were dawdling.”

But the three of them set off in search of the glowing jars of fire and found them almost exactly where Tyrion had said they would be and quickly—and carefully—started to move them, hoping that Tyrion’s map proved accurate again. It took hours of cautiously shuffling in the dark to move the cracked glass jars and half-filled barrels they found to where they needed them for this plan to work. They did not have the time to completely empty the city of its wildfire caches and knew there were still piles of them in secret coves and shadowed corners of the city’s underbelly.

Through more thin walls and cutaway stones, they heard whispers. Whispers of the forces outside the walls. Whispers of movement of the gold cloaks and Kingsguard around the city. Whispers of doom with the arrival of the Northmen at the gates.

Whispers whispers whispers.

When her arms ached and her clothes had dried, they moved the last little jar into their pile. But the tiny jar refused to settle and tried to topple from its perch. Y/N thrust her hands out and caught it before it shattered on the floor. A single drop leapt from the jar’s depths and missed her hand before it spattered on the ground, hissing and smoking against the stone.

“We have to go,” Obara said. Even through the thick walls, they could hear the din of movement along the balustrades, readying for battle. Obara had a small barrel in her arms, too. The second-to-last piece in their plan.

Y/N froze for only a moment before she tore off the sleeve of her tunic and shoved it into the top of the jar in as a makeshift stopper. She could use it later, she reasoned to herself, as she stuffed it into the small bag at her back.

Arya was pressing her ear up to the slab of stone at the end of a squat, dead end tunnel. She only needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach it, face tight with concentration. “We’re good,” she whispered before reaching up to move the stone. A whoosh of cooled night air came with it.

Obara started to slowly pour out the contents of her barrel, leaving a sickly green trail from the pile of jars up to Arya’s side. “You first, Pup,” she said, crouching to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.

Arya then leapt and scrambled up into the dark. Her little hands reached down for the barrel Obara was holding and Obara followed her path up once the barrel was out of her grasp.

“Little Fish,” Obara whispered, “come. We’re nearly finished.”

Y/N glanced back at the pile of wildfire. It looked so much smaller from a distance. She hoped it was enough. Obara held out a hand for her and Y/N took it, needing the help to get out of the tunnel. They were just outside the city now, right at the edge of one of the Old Gate. The grass was damp beneath their feet with early-morning dew as Obara took the barrel from Arya and quickly emptied its contents down into the hole and then trailed it away to leave a smoking green puddle. She discarded the barrel as they crept toward the sparse forest, hoping the growing sun would provide enough cover so the guards on the walls would not see them. The murmur of a city ill-at-ease crept over the high walls and gave a beat to their retreating steps.

Tytos and Patrek were hidden behind the first handful of trees, looking more worried than Y/N expected.

“The Tyrells have retreated for the moment. The archers on the walls have kept them from battering down the Lion Gate,” Tytos said as he handed over the reins to her horse. “And the Northmen have arrived.”

“Have they seen you or our men?” Y/N asked as she rifled through one of the saddlebags for a canteen and a scrap of cloth and quickly wet it, wiping it across her face.

“I do not believe so, my lady.”

Y/N nodded and then tossed a fresh and damp cloth to Arya and Obara, letting them clean their faces, too. She then grabbed a small canteen of ale and swished it around her mouth before spitting it out. “Raise your banners. It is time we made our presence known.”

Tytos nodded once again and signaled toward the men lining the dark of the trees.

Y/N hurried to pull on her armor and huffed out a thanks when she felt Obara’s rough fingers tightening laces or adjusting the pauldron over her shoulder that she had skewed in her haste. Arya’s armor was impeccably placed even without help and Obara slapped at Patrek’s hand when he tried to assist her.

The banners of the Riverlands started to rise as they stepped out of the tree line. Shouts came from the wall when they were spotted.

Y/N patted Qēlos’ flank as she pulled her bow and quiver from the horse’s tack, sending the mare further into the woods to wait.

“Archers!” Some gold cloak yelled from his perch. “Archers!”

Y/N nocked her arrow and Arya lit the end. Dirty fingers pulled the string tight for just a moment as she angled it up into the sky and then let it loose. It sailed through the air and hit the small puddle of green at the base of the wall.

A terrible crack and boom filled the sticky dawn air and Y/N nearly lost her footing as some invisible force shoved her back. Green flames filled the air and the city wall erupted into a storm of broken brick and black dust.

“The wall!” someone cried, muffled against the ringing in her ears. “They’ve breached the wall!”

Y/N righted herself and watched as her small band of Riverlanders and Obara and Arya surged forward in a wave, quickly followed by men in copper armor, pressing into the city’s wound as the green flames of the wildfire continued to eat at the wall and screaming soldiers.

The Dornish had come.

She nocked another arrow and let it fly, tearing into the neck of a distracted solider at the top of the crumbling wall. Another pushed an archer taking aim from his perch. Again and again she picked off the remaining soldiers on the balustrade above the hole in the wall until her quiver was empty. But then, even over the din of the battle, she heard a distinctive crack. Metal breaking and smacking against stone and brick.

“The gate! Defend the gate!”

And now there were two.

Y/N slung her bow across her shoulders and drew the pair of small blades from her belt and pushed forward, trailing behind the press of Dornish and Riverlands.

The city was in chaos. Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard and Westerland bannermen were scrambling over the rubble and wreckage, swords clashing against the invaders. But the Reach and North had pushed their way through the Lion Gate.

There would be no escape.

A man in red and gold armor screamed as he ran at her, spear thrust out in front. Y/N was able to dodge it but his feet could not be stopped and she sank the end of one of her blades through the eye slot of his helmet. She knew she needed to keep moving. Her armor was not meant for full-scale combat like this. But she would not leave her men, Riverlander or Dornish, to fight alone.

But the battle raged. Her small blades were coated in crimson and her arms ached as they pushed forward toward the Red Keep. Toward Cersei.

She caught sight of Arya in the skirmish ahead. The little wolf was holding her own for the most part against some City Watch brute but a well-timed kick to her stomach had Arya falling to the ground, her little sword slipping from her grasp.

“Arya!” Y/N screamed as her heart leapt into her throat to strangle the air from her lungs. “ARYA!” She pushed through the pulsing group, watching the Gold Cloak sneer and stalk toward Arya who struggled to get to her feet. Y/N fought against the crowd, dodging an ax at her throat and a sword at her stomach with a desperation and savage grace a person could only conjure for someone they loved. But she knew… She wouldn’t get to her in time. She wouldn’t make it. The man raised his sword, sweaty face pulled tight with glee and ready to strike the life from Arya Stark and then-

A golden hand caught the sword just as its reached its crest and Jaime Lannister shoved the man back before driving his sword through his belly.

Y/N slid to a stop on her knees as she reached Arya’s side, pressing Needle into Arya’s grasp again and urging her to her feet and back into the near-safety of the advancing crowd. Jaime gave them both a look as they stumbled back, unreadable and…sad. But then he was gone between the swarm of swords and shields.

The Bells did not ring. There would be no surrender. She expected nothing less from the queen.

But perhaps she should have remembered Cersei’s cruelty, her need for control, and Cersei’s own words. All Y/N could think about was finishing this—finishing this war, this stupid war that had taken too much from everyone she cared about.

As the sun started to settle high in the sky, she heard a rumble. Even over the roar of the growing battle, she heard it. Felt it shake the stones beneath her feet. And then the city burst. Green flames and thick smoke filled the air as brick and wood rained down like a terrible storm, ripping through Westerland armies and invaders alike. Dirt clouded her mouth and she tasted fire as her ears started to ring with an intensity she had never experienced, pushing her back and on unsteady feet. With dazed eyes, she watched a man in a gold cloak stumble forward, mouth open in a silent scream as the emerald flames blazed across his armor.

Someone’s hands grasped at her arm and tugged her to the side, finding a bit of refuge behind the fallen remains of an inn. Arya was looking up at her, covered in soot and blood and Y/N watched her mouth move for a few moments, unable to hear anything but then it came back in a wave.

“-taking the Red Keep.”

“What?” Y/N asked, tongue heavy in her mouth.

Arya frowned. “Did you hit your head? Robb is about to take the Red Keep. Cersei must have sent someone to light the rest of the wildfire.” Arya turned to look at something over her shoulder and stiffened. “Come on. We haven’t finished this yet.” The younger girl pressed Y/N’s blades back into her hands. She hadn’t even realized she had lost them. And then Arya was striding away through the rubble, disappearing into a haze of smoke as green flames continued to lick at the wreckage.

Y/N shook herself, trying to free her mind of the buzzing and sluggishness and opened her pack, making sure that her own stash of wildfire had not started to crack or bubble. It was intact, thankfully, and it gave her enough momentum to push forward. Another gold cloak ran into her path a few steps later. His armor was blackened and charred, and buckled when she kicked at his chest to knock him toward the ground before driving one of her blades into the small gap between his cuirass and helmet.

It was easy when they staggered and stumbled or looked too long at the green flames. It was easy. When had it become so easy?

But it didn’t matter when she kept Obara from falling to some red cloak’s sword through her back or when Tytos was knocked from his horse by a City Watch soldier. It didn’t matter that it had become easy when she was keeping her people alive. The ground continued to rumble as more small pockets of wildfire roared to life and burned everything it could. But she kept moving forward, her steps trailing behind Obara’s as they pushed up the steps toward the Barbican of the Keep. It had been reduced to chunks of splintered wood and twisted metal, trampled over by the advancing armies. Y/N turned as she reached the top—just for a moment—to see the destruction the war and wildfire had brought upon the city. Almost a quarter of King’s Landing was gone, swallowed into the maw of black smoke and broken stone. The Red Keep was still burning. More green flames had reduced most of its outer walls to piles of smoking rock and ash. Only the Holdfast still stood tall. If Cersei’s plan had been to burn the advancing armies in the streets—she failed. But a sizeable group of Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks still stood between them and the crown that sat on Cersei’s head.

And they pushed and swung their swords and battered their shields, driving the loyalists back or into the ground.

But then something caught Y/N’s eye. Drew her attention like the Stranger had placed their hand upon her head and turned it.

Tywin Lannister was standing outside the smoking Tower of the Hand. His sword was bent and his helmet fell from his fingers with a clatter. His guards had abandoned him; his grand army reduced to only a handful of men. But his face still hardened when his cold eyes raked over her. Even as the battle had clearly been lost, he held his head high and pointed his sword toward Y/N with a sneer. “Come along, girl. Let us finish this.”

Equal parts dread and joy stoked her soul then. And her heart thundered in her chest even as she knew that the time was short. As Tywin took a step toward her, she threw one of her blades, aiming for his throat—and he deflected it easily, as she knew he would. But her hand dove into her pack and her fingers found the warm glass. Y/N threw the jar at him, uncaring of how her shoulder popped and ached with the sudden movement. All she could do was smile when she watched it smash across his chest plate, dripping green. His eyes grew wide as recognition flickered across his face. She bent to pick up a piece of burning wood and threw it at him, watching the green flames erupt.

Fire makes people dance. And Tywin was no exception. He screamed through the green.

The scrape of a sword against a sheath gained her attention.

It was Oberyn. Dark eyes alight with want and fury and, with a single stroke, took Tywin’s head from his shoulders. It still burned as it rolled across the stone, spitting green embers in its wake. The body slumped to the ash-covered ground, plate armor smacking against broken stone. And then Oberyn was marching toward her, sliding his bloodied sword back into its sheath. With his usual brutal grace, he wrapped his arm around her waist and slanted his mouth against hers, uncaring of the grime or dirt. Y/N quickly reciprocated, pressing her lips firmly against his. Months of separation, months of wondering if she would see him again despite her promise, months of yearning poured out of her as she grasped at the back of his neck to pull him closer, uncaring for the moment of the surrounding destruction. All there was, was Oberyn Oberyn Oberyn and his beautiful mouth that she had missed too much.

He only pulled back to breathe before he took another kiss, smiling against her mouth. “Blood suits you, my moonlight.”

And it suited him, too.

**

Tywin’s head looked large as it sat next to Cersei’s. Most of it had escaped the wildfire because of Oberyn’s quick removal but half of it was still charred.

The man and woman who had destroyed her family had been reduced to silent heads on a soot-covered floor.

Robb was sitting on the Iron Throne, Widow’s Wail across his lap and a hammered bronze and iron crown settled over his dark auburn curls. The grime and blood of battle still streaked his armor but he looked every bit the portrait of a king with Grey Wind sitting near his feet, gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like someone’s arm. The remains of the Throne Room were filled with dirt-smudged commanders and lords who had sacked the City. Oberyn found all of it tedious and had slipped away with a kiss to her temple to help his men settle into camp for the night.

The sun was setting, casting the entire room in the warm glows of pink and orange over its broken walls and melted windows, like the gods were presenting them all with a bit of beautiful quietness for their victory. Their dead would be tended to later, before the city would be looked over to see what could be salvaged. The story that Cersei had set the stashes of wildfire alight as a final effort to kill the advancing armies was already being whispered throughout the smoking city. No one needed to know that the only reason why more destruction had not been reaped was because of Y/N, Obara, and Arya’s actions in the winding tunnels. It was their secret to keep and hold.

As Robb started to hold court, presiding over the captured Lannister forces and learning Euron’s fleet had turned and run when the wildfire had started, fleeing East toward Essos, Y/N excused herself, trying to fill her lungs with something more than soot. She walked through the winding halls, some half broken and others still filled with groups of injured needing a healing touch. And perhaps it was muscle memory, but Y/N found herself standing outside the door of her old room before she could remember turning that corner or walking down this hall. Her fingers brushed against the wood. The wound from Gregor’s sword had not been patched and it splintered under her touch when she pressed against it. For a moment, she thought of opening the door and walking in and seeing what else had changed or stayed the same. But her hand retreated. Her life was not here anymore. There was no need to step into a place of terrible memory just for memory’s sake.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and Y/N’s heart leapt into her mouth at the sight. “Jon?”

His face morphed from anger to surprise to joy and then he was running toward her with outstretched arms.

She met him halfway and threw her arms around him, uncaring of the blood or dirt and grime. He still smelt of fresh snow and pine even over the stench of battle. His gloved hand found the back of her head and he held her close—like he was afraid she would disappear from his grasp if he let go too soon. “Your hair is so long now,” she murmured into his shoulder.

And his answering laugh sounded choked in his throat. “I have so much to tell you.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

But then Mace Tyrell cam huffing and puffing into the hall, still clad in his gaudy golden armor and red in the face. “My lady, Lord Snow, His Grace is requesting your presence.” He then turned and half-ran back toward the throne room without an ounce of grace and his tarnished golden armor untightened and slapping against his extremities with each step. Y/N hid her laugh behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

“You have not changed at all, Y/N,” Jon quietly mused.

“Oh, I have changed quite drastically, dear cousin. But not the parts that matter.”

Jon shook his head with a small smile. “I will hear your stories one day.”

“As I shall hear yours,” she promised just as they walked through the broken threshold. But the respite was torn away the moment she noticed who had been lead in chains in front of Robb’s new throne. A handful of Freys were on their knees and snarled at her as she walked past when Robb waved her forward to stand at his side. They were surrounded by the small band of men she had brought to King’s Landing—every one of them looked hungry for blood. And if there had not been an audience, Y/N would have let them slake that need.

“House Frey has refused to bend the knee,” Robb said, his light eyes cold and hard as his gaze moved to the men at his feet.

“Usurper-!”

Whatever insult the Frey had wanted to spout was silenced when Tytos cracked him across the face with a closed fist, his dented gauntlet still covering his hand. “Silence!”

He turned and spat blood. A tooth clinked against the floor. “Bitch.”

Tytos raised his hand again to claim the rest of his brown teeth but Robb stood from the throne and strode down to the man and grabbed the Frey’s greasy hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat. The edge of Widow’s Wail pulled a thin line of crimson from his throat as he gulped. “Tell her what you confessed. Tell her, braggart,” Robb seethed, making sure to angle his face to look at Y/N. But every other person was staring at her, too.

And Y/N wished she had Oberyn to stand with—to feel his steadying warmth at her side when the man’s hard stare ripped across her face. But Arya was a comfort too, moving to stand at her side with a snarl of her own. “We found your father outside Pinkmaiden. He tried to bargain, said the Red Wedding did not have to stain all of our hands.”

Y/N could feel her heart stutter in her chest but fought to keep her face neutral. “But you did not care to treat with my father.”

“We dragged him to Harrenhal,” another man said with a laugh. “Took his head and gave the rest to the bear.”

Y/N felt her stomach roll. Bile was rising in the back of her throat in a terrible wave as she curled her into fists behind her back. Grey Wind rose from and licked his bloody chops, baring his sharp teeth and the man cowered and shriveled. “You boast of your own damnation. Have they never taught you of what becomes of men who do not heed the gods’ warnings? Or have the gods never touched The Twins?”

The Freys bellowed, screaming and hollering this and that but all she could hear was a dull roar in her ears, watching their dirty faces contort with their own simple rage.

She dragged her gaze to Robb. “I have heard what they had to say, Your Grace. What else would you have of me?”

Robb stood straight, ignoring how the prisoners still fumed. “I would have nothing of you, my lady. You and your house have paid a high price for your loyalty.”

Robb’s words pushed something both cold and soft against her fragile heart. She nodded once, knowing his words meant more than their simple meaning. “House Frey has wronged more than just me and mine, Your Grace. You know that better than anyone. Do with them what you will. I do not care for their mortal coils and the gods will not care for their souls.” And she watched, a little entranced as they were dragged away, one by one, and slowly the Freys’ screaming was snuffed out. Y/N noticed a bit of tension leech from Robb’s posture as the quiet settled over the crowded room and he retook his seat.

But it was quickly washed away as the next prisoner was brought in, chains singing with each step. A quick kick to the back of his legs brought Jaime Lannister to his knees in front of Robb. And the last living lion in the city actually smiled. “Stark, we must stop meeting like this.”

Maege Mormont started to draw her sword when Robb held up a hand. “You once made my mother a promise. An oath. To return her daughters to her care.”

“I did.” His green eyes flickered to Arya at Y/N’s side.

“You failed.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “I did.”

“And then we find you fighting alongside your sister.”

“To be fair, it seemed your sisters were already in the care of your cousin so my oath-”

“My sister is the only reason your head is not on a spike,” Robb seethed. “She told me of how you saved her life.”

“Is this true, Lady Arya?” Some lord from the Reach asked. He was quickly met with looks of derision from the surrounding Northmen for questioning her or Robb. (“Of course it is true! She’s no reason to lie!”)

“It is true,” Y/N said, stepping in front of Arya who looked ready for the ground to swallow her whole. Her pride was a fearsome thing. “I saw it with my own eyes. Against his own bannerman, he raised his sword to keep Arya safe.” Murmurs started to slide through the assembled crowd and Robb’s jaw ticked to the side but all Y/N could see was Jaime’s soft, sad smile when he looked at her, like he was remembering how she cried and asked him not to tell anyone. A quiet kindness repaid.

“Your brother has been granted exile.”

And Y/N watched Jaime’s eyes widen, almost hopeful, as Robb continued to speak.

“You will have until sunrise to find a way out of my kingdom. If I see you again, your head will be thrown into Blackwater Bay.” Robb waved his hand and the chains encircling Jaime’s wrists and ankles were released. “A life for a life, Lannister. I suggest you make the most of it.”

**

“Perhaps they’ll have a song about my father when this war is truly over and the city is rebuilt. They can call it the Fish and the Bear.”

“I would hope the bards would grant him a more fitting song. He had more tales to tell than the way he left this plane, my moonlight.” Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as they stood on the balcony of her room, watching the city settle in for the night and she pressed her ear over his heart, listening to its beautiful beat and letting it steady her own.

It had been nearly a week since they had taken the Red Keep and Robb had been proclaimed king. Everything was slowly being rebuilt. Northmen and cavalry from the Reach were staying to help the city’s smallfolk resettle and survive, creating a sense that all would be well. The gold taken from the Westerland mines settled the Iron Throne’s debt with Braavos. Margaery had been surrounded by the maesters and healers the Tyrells had ferried with them in the war, making sure her time in the Black Cells had not permanently injured her, but had been presented to Robb just this morning and he had gladly accepted her as his queen. It was all a show, of course. The alliance between Robb and the Reach had been forged in the shadows long before he ever set foot in the city. The plan that Oberyn and Ellaria carefully crafted had unfolded beautifully. There were a handful of pieces left to move but Oberyn and Dorne were thankful for a bit of respite and Y/N was grateful for his arms to fall into when she felt that insidious ache once again grow in her chest. Oberyn made it easier to bear. He had kept her close when the other lords and ladies started to learn of her campaign in the Westerlands and what she had done—looks of horror and morbidly curious whispers disappeared when Y/N was in his arms. She only wished that Ellaria was there, too. It had been far too long since she had them in her arms. She needed them both.

“You are being called back to Sunspear, are you not, my prince?” A raven had arrived from Dorne just after they had broken their fast.

“We are being called back to Sunspear,” he mused before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But you are not coming with me.”

Y/N had not said anything to give him that inclination. But Oberyn always knew. She felt him breathe in the scent of her skin as she sighed, burrowing a little closer to his warm chest. “I have to finish it.”

“I know, my moonlight, I know. And I will never keep you from your wrath.” He leaned back to gently cradle her face in his warm hands. “But I will have you promise me, again. Promise me that you will not forget us. Come home. When you are finished, come home.”

**

“Tell me something, Arya. Something good.”

“I met a boy. Named Gendry.”

A dense fog had settled over the damp grass, curling its ghostly fingers around the trunks of the trees that sheltered Y/N and the armed men from any eyes that might be scanning the land from the safety of their chambers.

Arya spoke, unhurried but succinctly, about her time disguised as ‘Arry’ with Yoren and then the Brotherhood without Banners, as Y/N waited for her men to finish a perimeter check. Most she knew, having gleaned it from conversations with Arya back in Dorne when they took breaks at the training grounds with Obara. But it seemed she placed the secret of Gendry a little closer to her heart. “I thought I saw him in King’s Landing before we left. Working as a blacksmith again.” Arya almost sounded wistful. “I didn’t ask or get too close. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t know what to do if it was him.”

“I think we have both learned that fear gets us nowhere, Arya,” Y/N said softly. “If he makes you happy, makes you laugh, try. Seven know you deserve some joy.”

Arya’s mouth tilted up in a small smile and she looked out toward the formidable fortress of The Twins, seat of House Frey. A strange location for such sentimental talk but it seemed the pair both needed a bit of respite. The handful of Riverlands men who had gone with her to King’s Landing were accompanying her for one last mission. And a small band of Northmen who were heading home were given leave by their king to help Y/N if they chose—and they did.

Ghost, Jon’s white direwolf, trotted to her side on silent feet and Qelōs whinnied in greeting. Y/N had met Ghost after taking King’s Landing when she found Jon wandering the ruins of the holdfast, trying to find a kitchen so he could feed Ghost. The direwolf was decidedly quieter than Grey Wind but no less protective of his chosen Stark or anyone Jon seemed fond of.

And where Ghost was, Jon always appeared. She watched Jon slide through the trees to stand at her side.

“Twelve guards on the perimeter. Five archers in the Water Tower.”

“Inside?”

“No more than forty.”

Y/N nodded and tightened her grip on the reins. She knew most of the Freys and their allies had been in King’s Landing and had been disposed of in battle or by the ax.

But she wanted all of them.

“They seem to be gathering who they can. Must’ve heard whispers of us marching North.”

But the Freys had few allies left. They were the only house in the Riverlands who had not sent forth supplications and oaths of fealty to the new king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the simple bit of parchment in Y/N’s saddlebag was all the protection and fodder she needed to fan the flames already consuming the dark part of her heart that had led her here. It read simply; House Tully was once again Lord Protector of the Trident and the liege lord of the Riverlands. Any and all actions House Tully made on behalf of the Crown to secure allegiance and peace were sanctioned and accepted.

Perhaps Robb did not know what Y/N meant to do. But maybe he did, letting her loose on the House that had caused both her and her sweet cousins so much pain. She had kept her wrath contained while at war. It burned and raged under her skin but she had pulled it back like a tiger on a chain, knowing that if she had let herself be blinded by her need for vengeance, she would have only caused herself and others more heartache as her men would fall to the sword and ax because her plans would have left them vulnerable instead of safe. But now they were safe. This was the final piece. And she could let it finally burn.

A window pushed open and caught Y/N’s eye. A glint of metal, a cage, was revealed in low candlelight. The rookery, it would seem. Y/N watched a raven fly and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She nocked it and pulled her bow taut, listening to the string sing under her fingers. The arrow flew and took the bird from its flight. They would have no support.

Y/N drew another arrow and turned to Jon. “Give the signal.”

**

“Your father would be proud, my lady. You are a force, just as he.” Tytos was still filled with compliments even as he let a maester stitch up a gash on his arm.

Y/N managed to smile and dipped her rag into a bowl of fresh water and dragged it across her blood and dirt caked face and neck as she glanced out the window. For a moment, she doubted Brynden Tully would be proud of her. Letting loose a band of men still raging from victory and anger from the betrayal of the Red Wedding onto enemy territory and giving them permission to do whatever they wanted and needed to take the fortress was not honorable or something he would have ordered. But he was gone and she still breathed. She was a survivor—and she knew he would be proud of that.

Portcullises crumpled and arrows flew. Swords ran red and the fortress burned. The siege had lasted all of a handful of hours—just long enough for her to spend her quiver of arrows as she picked off fleeing Freys as they ran across the bridges. But it was finished. Almost.

Y/N grasped Tytos’ uninjured shoulder and squeezed, telling him to rest as Patrek ran into the room and told her they had finished gathering the Freys as she requested. He led her out of the damp, dark castle and onto the grass just on the edge of the Green Fork. A band of about twenty men were on their knees as the Northmen and Riverlanders created a circle around them with dirtied swords kept them from wavering.

The last of the Freys. All of them were guilty. Every single one of them knew of the plot and drew their blades when the time came. Each one had benefitted in some way from the slaughter of the Red Wedding and murder of her father.

Patrek continued on as Jon separated himself from the group and touched her arm just before they reached the group. “This will not bring them back,” he whispered, dark eyes pleading. He had seen enough bloodshed.

Y/N pushed his hand from her arm and stepped forward. “No, it will not. But blood begets blood. And I shall bathe in it. There shall be no root or stem left.”

Patrek had dragged a large stump from the tree line and set it at her feet. She watched a few of the men nervously glance between the stump and Y/N, knowing what was coming.

“Your men have refused to swear fealty to King Robb, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your House has refused to bend the knee. Guest Right was violated for greed.” Y/N held her hand out for the ax Lord Cerwyn had across his back and he gave it readily. “I have learned that if you pass the sentence, you should swing the sword. I gave the order.” The weapon was heavy in her grip as she remembered Ned’s words. She’d just been a girl when he had said them and his eyes were sad. But she knew the words to be true and just. “Bring me Lord Walder Frey.”

Two Northmen darted into the group of Freys and pulled a snarling man, still in his sleeping clothes, up and then dropped him to his knees at Y/N’s feet.

“Little Lady Tully,” Walder sneered with rotted teeth. “If your cousin had been half the bitch you are, she might still be breathin’.”

“The gods gave you a chance to be true when they sent Lady Catelyn to your door. They gave you another when your men found my father. You and your wretched family betrayed mine. Now you must reckon with me.”

Walder’s face contorted and splotches of red dotted his grey cheeks. “You-”

Y/N swung the ax and buried it into his neck but it caught on this spine. His eyes grew wide as blood spurted and oozed from the wound. Walder’s mouth opened and closed with silent curses and stained his brown teeth red. She yanked the ax back and watched the Frey crumple down onto the stump before finally cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders. “Bring me the next,” she called out over her shoulder. “I should like to finish this before nightfall.”

She needed a new ax after the third Frey. And a damp cloth to wipe the blood from her face and hands.

“Bring me the next!”

A tall man was then shoved to his knees in front of her, brown hair thin and greasy as it stuck to his sweaty face. He snarled up at her, as a handful of others did before.

“Name?”

“Raymund Frey.”

And that gave Y/N pause. “Arya!” Arya came running, a stranger’s blood streaked across her cheek but still bright-eyed. Y/N handed over the ax. She took it with a frown and glanced at the Frey. “This is Raymund Frey.”

Realization dawned on the young Stark’s face and her grip tightened. If the Freys had not been so fond of bragging, perhaps they would not have known he had been the one to slit Catelyn’s throat at the Red Wedding. But they knew. And so, Y/N watched Arya bury the ax into the man’s neck.

And when all of them were gone, bodies left out to be pecked by hungry carrions, Y/N walked out into the river and washed the blood from her hands. It was finished. The blood in the rivers had washed her clean.

**

Riverrun had managed to survive a handful of sieges and a brief Frey occupation without losing its integrity. Jon and Arya accompanied her to her family’s seat and she invited the Northmen to rest in its halls for a fortnight before continuing North.

Houses from the Riverlands descended upon Riverrun when they heard of her return and Edmure’s release from the bowels of Casterly Rock. And Y/N was not sure if they had heard of her campaign at the Twins or in the Westerlands but a handful of them stuttered and avoided eye contact when they once again swore fealty to House Tully and bumbled through lathing compliments for King Robb as if he were standing beside her. It amused Arya endlessly who poorly concealed her giggles behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

But Edmure had been much changed since his time in Casterly Rock’s dungeons. He walked with a limp and was in need of a cane. The fingers on his left hand were crooked, healed broken and at strange angles. And his vigor had left, his pride, too. Whenever anyone asked for an edict or command, his blue eyes flickered to Y/N and she found herself answering.

Settling feuds, giving instruction on how to rebuild, granting clemency, and doling out justice when needed. Through all of it he seemed to look to Y/N for guidance, to answer for him. She had only planned to stay long enough to make sure the Riverlands were at peace but Edmure gave her pause.

It was exhausting and confusing and Y/N, more often than not, found herself in the familiar kitchens late at night in search of wine. While she had anticipated that being within Riverrun’s familiar halls would finally grant her some peace, all she found was longing for the warmth of the Dornish sun and the gentle touch of Ellaria and Oberyn. The sound of the little ones laughing in the Water Gardens while Obara hollered out formations at the training field. Riverrun was so…quiet. Had it always been so quiet and cold? A small comfort was taking her father’s childhood rooms as her home. It was a way to feel close to him but the ache that had settled in her heart grew a little easier to bear with each passing day. And receiving a raven from Winterfell made her smile, too. It was from Sansa, stating that she had sailed North from Sunspear and had settled back into Winterfell without issue, a small band of loyal Northmen at her call. She had been named Warden of the North by her brother Robb and Y/N remembered how the broken throne room had been filled with cheers at the news, even if Sansa had not been present to hear it. But her own troubles persisted.

Jon found her the night before he, Arya, and the Northmen were to depart for their homes. She poured him a large glass of wine and ushered him into a seat in the dark room and finally pried his story from him. He spoke of betrayal and death and love and loyalty until the sun rose with the next morning.

“Out of all the Starks, you were the most prone to finding trouble.” She reached out to grasp his hand and squeezed, matching tired smiles on their faces. “But you survived. That is all that matters to me.”

He laughed and rubbed at his eyes as she smiled. “If you ever tire of the snow, come to Dorne. I will always have a place for you.”

And then she led him out into the sun to join the rest of the Northmen and bid him goodbye with a tight hug and a kiss against his head and she turned to Arya who begrudgingly gave back the Sand Steed she had stolen before hugging Y/N with a ferocity only she was capable of.

“Find your joy, little wolf,” Y/N whispered into her hair as she held Arya tight. “You deserve it. Now, stay safe.”

Arya nodded and sniffled once before clearing her throat as she pulled back. They both whispered soft goodbyes to each other as the morning light continued to grow. And then Y/N watched them disappear on the horizon with a heavy heart, knowing she was strangely alone now in the place she had called home. As she stepped inside, she nearly bowled over Roslin. Apologies tumbled from Roslin’s mouth as she cradled her son to her chest, almost shaking.

Y/N bit back a sigh and plastered a smile on her face. In truth, Roslin was a genial and gentle woman. Pretty. Loyal. So unlike the rest of her family. Y/N saw how she constantly looked to Edmure with love in her eyes and was met with a broken smile in return. And when the news had come of what had been become of her family, Roslin almost seemed relieved. It made Y/N wonder what she had endured while under her father’s thumb. “It is nothing, my lady. My fault. You are Lady Tully now. Apologize for only what is necessary.”

Roslin froze for a moment, as she always seemed to do whenever Y/N spoke with her, but then nodded with a small smile of her own. “Of course, my lady. Thank you.”

The pair spoke for a little longer, Y/N asking after the health of her babe, a boy nearing his first nameday and named after Edmure’s childhood idol and pride of their house, Kermit Tully, who had led House Tully to the height of their power during the Dance of Dragons. Yes, Y/N supposed, Roslin would grow to be a fine Lady Tully.

If only she could ensure Edmure would become the man she needed him to be.

Y/N eventually found herself slipping away after bidding Roslin a good day and walking up toward the rookery, she wanted to send a raven to Sansa to ask how she was faring. The ravens cawed in greeting as she stepped inside. They always recognized her, the intelligent little beasts. But it was the open window that drew her attention. A white raven cawed as it turned to watch her approach. The noise came again as she brushed a finger against the bird’s back and it fluttered its wings, showing the slip of parchment tied to its leg.

Y/N already knew what the missive would say – white ravens only appeared with the changing of the seasons.

The raven cawed against and nuzzled against her finger as she untied the parchment before flying away. And she was right – “winter has come” was all the Citadel had written, probably in haste to finish the hundreds more needing to be sent.

When she asked Edmure what should be done, finding him sequestered away in Hoster’s old rooms, he gave her another tired smile and asked her to make sure the other Riverlands houses were informed and cared for. Yet another obstacle. Dorne had never seemed so far away.

Y/N ordered the overfilled storehouses of the Twins be emptied to make sure the houses beleaguered by the long war would not starve and wrote to Willas and Olenna in Highgarden to secure a few hundred bushels of grain and barley as well. Even with the war, the Reach had enough to spare. And so, more weeks slipped through her hands. Lords and ladies from across the Riverlands came to Riverrun to receive what House Tully could give them and continue to ask for guidance from their liege lords.

An envoy from House Vance was the latest to arrive and it was then that Edmure seemed to finally show some of his former self. He smiled and greeted them, welcomed them, and helped them settle for the handful of nights they would be housed at Riverrun. And a breath Y/N did not realize she was holding finally pushed its way out of her tired lungs. He would be fine, she told herself. He just needed time.

Even Roslin seemed to settle more into her role at Edmure’s side. It was comforting to know that House Tully was secure once again. She sent a raven to Dorne, telling Oberyn and Ellaria she hoped to leave within a fortnight and arrive before the first snow of the new season. It put a certain spring in her step to think that soon she would be back in Dorne. She would be married and-

“Y/N!” Edmure called her name and snapped her from her pleasant reverie before the evening meal. She walked to his side in the hall and offered a small smile. “I have a gift for you, cousin.”

Before she could ask what the gift was, they were ushered into the hall for the meal. Edmure then pointed out Lord Vance’s third son and prattled on for a majority of the meal. Kirth Vance was handsome, she supposed, and he spoke kindly to servants and squires alike and tended to his horses and hunting dogs with care and doted on his nieces and nephews—if Edmure could be trusted. But every word nearly turned her stomach and she resorted to pushing her food around her place in a poor attempt to look like she was eating.

Ser Kirth was almost bashful as he met her gaze and quickly ducked his head with pink cheeks. “He thinks you are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen,” Edmure continued to whisper. “Kirth is not one to overstep—he would listen to your commands and see them through as a faithful consort to you here at Riverrun.”

And then she saw what this was.

“I would have the room,” Y/N said, rising from her seat. While most everyone quickly scurried away, including Roslin and her babe, Edmure signaled for Kirth to come closer. “No, no, Ser Kirth. My dear cousin has misread my intentions. I would speak to him alone.” Another ruddy blush took over his cheeks and he tipped his head before all but running from the hall. When the door firmly shut, she rounded on Edmure. “How dare you.”

Edmure stood, cane clacking against the floor. “Y/N-”

“If you think for a moment that you have the ability to coerce me into staying by offering me a man like that, you do not know me at all.”

“You led the Riverlands to victory. Not me. Not little Robb. You, dear cousin. You raised the banners and called on their loyalty and oaths. You bled alongside them.” Edmure pulled in a shaking breath and pressed harder onto his cane. “Riverrun should be yours.”

“I do not want it.” Y/N turned away from him, trying to hide her disgust. “Is this why you have shunned your duties? You believe you cannot serve your people.”

“I know I cannot.” And he sounded so defeated that she almost turned to comfort him. But rage kept her still.

“Then the Lannisters have won. They sought to strip you of your will and pride and make you a soulless creature of their making.” And Edmure was quiet and that was what had her turning. Her once near-boastful and handsome cousin had all but curled in on himself, face warped and scrunched like he was near tears. “Don’t let them win, Edmure. They are gone. You are still here. You are the man who led men into battle without flinching. You are the man who sheltered smallfolk here, in your home, because you knew they were scared.” Her voice cracked, broken in her throat. “You are the man who read me stories when I was a child. You are a good man. True, brave, and honest.”

Edmure shook his head and a single tear escaped his eye. “I cannot be that man again. I am tied to the family that imprisoned me, killed my sister-”

Y/N reached out to place her hand over Edmure’s on the head of his cane. “The Freys are dead and at my hand. I would gladly do it again. But that woman loves you—loves your son—despite your best attempts to spurn them. The gods have given you a fine wife, Edmure. Do not squander it.”

“She-”

“Is your wife. The mother to your heir. You were once a man of honor. Be so again. No one shall claim the Twins. Let it rot if you wish. Roslin loves you, chose you over her family. There is no ill will in that woman’s soul toward anyone. Just love.” Y/N sighed. “We know love in any form is rare, Edmure. You have found it in Roslin. I have found it-”

“In Dorne,” Edmure grumbled. “Yes, I have heard of your betrothal to Prince Oberyn and your dalliances with his paramour.”

Y/N pulled back her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, a sad shield against the wound he had cut. “I am happy. They love me. I love them. Why can you not see-”

“He has daughters older than you, Y/N. All of them bastards. Do you not believe you could find someone more suitable to call husband?”

“And you think Kirth Vance would be suitable?” She bit out, anger replacing the hurt. “I would give Oberyn eight more bastards if the gods allowed!” She bellowed as something protective struck at her stomach, even if the targets of her cousin’s ire were thousands of leagues away. “He loves me and I love him and Ellaria. He fought beside me, for me—for the gods-forsaken pile of brick and mortar because he knew I once called it home.”

“It is your home!” Edmure yelled in return. “You are a Tully-”

“I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell’s wife in all but name and I am going home!” Her chest heaved and she wiped a hand across her face, trying to calm herself before said anything else. “You are the Lord of Riverrun. Lord Paramount of the Trident. You are not a child. Your life has led to this moment. Do not forsake Hoster’s teachings for your learned meekness. He named you as his heir—be the man he knew you to be. Because I cannot and will not be.” And then she left, leaving Edmure alone.

**

Y/N pulled her fur-lined cloak a little tighter about her shoulders as she strode out to the stables. Qelōs was being tended to by the stable hand and her tack was waiting to be placed on her gleaming back. Full saddlebags were ready for one last journey South. Y/N had spent the last night in Riverrun’s Sept, praying for guidance and for her father’s soul one more time—another quiet goodbye. She thought it would be fitting to do it here, in his former home. And as the sun rose the following morning, it was the most at ease she had felt in almost a year.

“I am never coming this far North again,” Obara said, moving closer to her to try to get a bit of body heat. The large fur cloak and gloves were not enough, it seemed. Obara and Oberyn had led an envoy to the Riverlands to collect Y/N and ensure she was safely delivered back to Sunspear. Frost had started to stick to the grass around Riverrun, thin sheets of ice collected over patches of the rivers and Obara had been distraught about the temperature since she arrived with her father two days ago. Ellaria and the rest of the Sand Snakes had stayed in Dorne. Loreza and Dorea had apparently caught a bit of a fever with their first Winter and Oberyn and Ellaria both wanted to keep the rest of their daughters healthy. The little ones would be fine, but Ellaria and Oberyn always wanted to be sure.

Y/N chuckled at Obara’s plight and pulled a thick wool stole from one of her bags and wrapped it around Obara’s shoulders, making sure to tuck it high around her neck. “What of your plans to see Seagard? Hm? Lord Patrek will be devastated.”

Obara sniffed and looked away. “He must wait for Winter to end if he wishes to have me at his home. I am of Dorne. He-”

“Is in love with you, Obara. And Lord Mallister is amiable to the match if you wish it.” Y/N assumed tales of Obara saving his heir’s life and fighting beside the Riverlanders may have something to with Lord Mallister easing his views on who could be a possible match for his son. That, and Oberyn Martell being her father, a Prince of Dorne and the man who took Tywin Lannister’s head from his shoulders was a definite bargaining point. Y/N finished tucking the stole around her frigid companion. “But I am happy to simply see your face again.”

“Sap,” Obara said with a small smirk. “If I have to hear Father wax poetic about your eyes the entire ride to Dorne, I will be forced to murder you both.”

“Oh, I expect nothing less.”

They spoke a little longer, watching their horses be readied for the ride before one of the stable hands said, “Oh, Lord Tully! Good morrow!”

Y/N turned to see Edmure at the mouth of the stables. Roslin was at his side, a small smile on her delicate lips. Something was bundled in his left arm, his right still holding his cane. It had been a tumultuous two weeks within Riverrun’s halls. Edmure had stumbled when regaining his duties but fulfilled them with more confidence with each day. He had kept his conversations with Y/N at a minimum and had steadfastly refused to speak to Oberyn more than necessary when he first arrived. But Edmure softened. At almost an alarming rate. But perhaps that was simply Oberyn’s charm. His pervasive magnetism that could draw nearly everyone to his side if he wanted them. Edmure was no exception. And that gave Y/N a little comfort, to know that Edmure did not hate her betrothed as he had tried. Knowing her two families, no matter how different, were coming together was a solace. Riverrun would survive under Edmure’s lordship.

The pair stepped closer and Roslin helped Edmure press the bundle into Y/N’s arms. “It is a gift for you. A reminder of… of Riverrun.” Not of home. Not anymore.

Y/N looked down at the bundle and watched it move, the tip of the fabric peeling away to reveal a fluffy snout. Y/N quickly unwrapped the dog with a huff of a laugh as it wiggled in her hold. The pup fit comfortably in her arms and had the most beautiful black fur with a tuft of white on his chest.

“He is of the Riverlands, hearty and loyal. Even if Riverrun is no longer your home, I’d like… I’d like if you still had a piece of us with you.”

The pup squirmed in her grasp and raised up on unsteady legs to lick at her chin with a happy yip. A fortuitous distraction for both Edmure and Y/N as they tried to clear the tears from their eyes. Y/N nodded and pressed a kiss to the dog’s head before leaning up to kiss Edmure’s cheek. “He’s wonderful. Thank you, Edmure. A treasure to be sure.”

It was not an apology, not an outright one anyway. But Y/N accepted it just the same. It was a soft ending to a hard chapter.

But she was ready to start a new one.

And as Oberyn walked into the stables, a soft smile on his face, she knew it would be a good one.

**

The distance between Riverrun and Sunspear seemed so long and so short at the same time. Each night was spent in Oberyn’s arms, trying to reclaim the time she had lost. They would whisper about their plans for the future, of how they both wished Ellaria in their arms when the nights grew colder and colder.

But it was good. It was soft and gentle and eased the ache she had held against her heart like a shield since she had left his arms. It was good.

The pup had grown astonishingly fast. He often squirmed out of her grasp in the saddle to trot alongside their horses. If there were ever a body of water near the road, he quickly jumped into it to wet his fur and then happily scampered back into line, proud of himself.

“He is a little bear,” Oberyn once griped as the pup’s sharp teeth nipped at his leg when Oberyn had moved to help Y/N down from her horse. The pup seemed a little insistent on having Y/N’s attention at all hours and he only grew bolder as the distance from Sunspear grew shorter. Obara found her father’s frustration with the pup endlessly entertaining and would also lathe attention on the pup at any moment. She followed her father’s lead in calling him a little bear, much more affectionate in tone. And Y/N supposed the name just stuck. She called him her little river bear in High Valyrian, but settled on just calling him Gryves for short.

As they crossed under the stone arches of Sunspear and the crowds cheered, little Gryves happily pranced next to Qelōs and snapped his jaws, catching the flower petals the people of Sunspear had thrown into the air in celebration of their return. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes were waiting on the steps of the fortress and Y/N dismounted before Qelōs even stopped and raced up the stairs. Tears were in Ellaria’s eyes as Y/N wrapped her in her arms and she could taste them as she pressed her lips to hers again in again in a fevered frenzy as an incandescent warmth bloomed in her chest at just the simple touch of Ellaria’s skin. And it took Ellaria holding her still, gentle hands on the side of her face, to realize she was crying, too. “No more tears, my Tully,” Ellaria whispered. “You are home.”

A happy shriek had them pulling apart to see Dorea and Loreza bowled over on the steps being licked by Gryves whose entire fluffy body was shaking with how quickly he was wagging his tail.

Oberyn stepped to their side and kissed Ellaria soft and slow before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s smiling mouth.

Yes. She was home.

**

Gryves huffed for the third time, disturbing her attempt at sleep. Or maybe the dog knew she couldn’t sleep and was sharing in her plight. Y/N gave up after she heard him huff again and slipped out from under her blankets and padded over to her balcony, letting the cool breeze wash over her as she pulled the doors open. Gryves’ nails tapped against the stone beside her and they both walked to the railing, looking out over the still-bustling fortress.

Her wedding was tomorrow. Her dress was carefully hung and her maiden’s cloak alongside it. Daisy had been bouncing in each step in the last week, happy to have her friend back safely and to “finally see you married to your prince, my lady!” Daisy and Daemon’s own ceremony would be held the following day. People were buzzing about down below, readying for the festivities. While the ceremony would be small, Doran insisted on letting them have every finery they wanted. Y/N did not care if she had to marry in a threadbare sack and in bare feet and they only had blood oranges for their wedding dinner—she simply wanted to be married.

Gryves placed his front paws on the railing and looked out over the small crowd, too. He let out a soft ‘boof’ as he watched. He was still growing, his head now coming to her waist but he was still as playful as ever—and patient. Loreza had fashioned him a hat that looked peculiarly like an otter and he let the girl set it on his head and sat still long enough for the girls to coo over him before getting distracted by a gull he promptly chased into the sea. He was doted on by almost everyone who resided in or worked around Sunspear. (Oberyn was still trying to find a way to get the dog to like him and stop nipping at his leg whenever he tried to kiss Y/N.) Sarella was home (“For only a moment!” she insisted.) from the Citadel and the Sand Snakes were all together again and Y/N found them all to be wondrous company. Daisy and Daemon were still steadfastly in love, perhaps even more so that Daemon had returned unharmed. All of it was so idyllic. So perfect. And for a moment, Y/N once again wondered if the world was about to crash around her—but she quickly dismissed the thought and she thought of Ellaria telling her that happiness does not have limits and that she had the ability to choose every joy and happiness that was placed at her feet. And Y/N wanted to seize every last opportunity.

A knock at her door had her turning and Gryves kept to her side as she walked back into her rooms to open the door. Ellaria was on the other side with a soft smile and Gryves darted around her and into the darkened halls, probably in search of Loreza or Dorea. Y/N stepped back to let Ellaria in and softly shut the door behind her. Before Y/N could ask what she was doing, Ellaria had grasped at her face and pushed her lips to hers, easily delving into Y/N’s surprised mouth to lick and explore. Y/N faltered for a moment before letting her hands slide around Ellaria’s waist, bunching the silky fabric of her dressing robe between her fingers. Ellaria pulled away for a moment to press soft, wet kisses against Y/N’s cheek and down her neck, humming as she felt the thrumming pulse beneath the skin.

“I knew you would not be sleeping, my Tully.” Another kiss to Y/N’s panting mouth. “And I will have to call you something else after tomorrow, won’t I?” Ellaria’s laugh was light and her fingers started to trail up and down Y/N’s arms, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“You can call me whatever you desire,” Y/N said, tone breathy.

“And if I simply wanted to call you mine?”

“I am already yours.” Y/N leaned forward to press her forehead against Ellaria’s as her hands gently grasped Ellaria’s hands in hers, wrapping her fingers around her wrist. “I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered the vow against Ellaria’s lips. It was no Sept. There was not a Septon in sight nor any other trappings of the ceremony. But Y/N meant the vow as seriously as she would tomorrow with Oberyn.

And then Ellaria was kissing her again, tightening her grip on her wrists like she wanted to brand her touch to Y/N’s skin. “I am yours and you are mine.” Ellaria then dragged Y/N forward and spun her around before pressing a hand to her chest and pushing. Y/N didn’t even realize they had come so close to the bed until she fell onto it with a laugh, greedily grabbing at Ellaria’s legs as she climbed over her and stole another kiss against her smiling mouth. “You need to sleep, yes? I have two options for you.”

“Oh?”

Ellaria nodded and trailed her lips across Y/N’s chin, nipping at her jaw, before sliding down her neck again and letting her tongue dip into the notch between Y/N’s collarbones. “I can have you brought tea. Or…”

“Or…” Y/N played along, letting her hands slide up from Ellaria’s legs to her hips but her grip stuttered when Ellaria’s mouth suddenly pressed over her chest, tongue finding her nipple even through the cloth and teasing it to a hardened peak. When she was satisfied with one, she quickly did the same to the other.

“Or I can tire you out myself,” Ellaria said, situating herself with ease so she could lay her cheek against Y/N’s chest, undoubtedly listening to her fluttering heart. “Which would you prefer, my Tully?”

“You. Always you.”

Ellaria’s smile was bright even in the dark of the room as she sat straight and shuffled down the bed while signaling for Y/N to center herself in the blankets. She gracefully stretched out beside her slowly pushed the edge of Y/N’s chemise up, up, up until it exposed her lace-edged small clothes. “You’re always so pretty for me,” Ellaria mused before her fingers trailed over the front of them, already coaxing a moan from Y/N’s lips. “It has been too long since I’ve been able to touch you like this. You are never to leave us like that again.” She leaned down to kiss Y/N’s lips again, licking into her mouth. “Swear to me.”

“I swear it,” Y/N said, last word a breathless gasp as Ellaria’s talented fingers slipped beneath her small clothes and found her heat, ready and wet for her. Y/N had not even realized she had become so wet, only able to focus on Ellaria.

“Good.” Ellaria dragged the damp small clothes and dropped them to the floor. “So pretty,” Ellaria whispered as her fingers started to push through Y/N’s folds, gathering her slick before trailing up to her clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure to have Y/N’s hips lifting from the featherbed. Again and again, Ellaria would push through Y/N’s folds, barely dipping into where she needed her most, as she pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses against Y/N’s panting lips.

“Please,” Y/N near-pleaded. “Please.”

“And always so polite.” And then finally—finally—Ellaria curled her fingers into Y/N’s pussy in one single motion and delighted in Y/N’s high pitched whine and how the younger woman fisted her hands in the silk sheets at her sides. Ellaria leaned up just enough to seal her mouth over Y/N’s, all teeth and tongue and heavy, warm breaths as her fingers started to move, dragging in and out even as Y/N’s fluttering walls tried to pull them tight.

The familiar coil was starting to grow and unravel at an embarrassing rate and Y/N heard herself nearly wailing as it snapped and that delicious wave of pleasure washed over her. But Ellaria did not stop. Her fingers continued to curl inside her, Ellaria’s other hand pressed down against Y/N’s belly and pinned her to the bed. Y/N cried out at the burst of pressure she felt bloom and the coil started to wind itself again, now with an unfamiliar bite and sting that sang with each movement of Ellaria’s fingers.

“Oh please,” she said, words choked in her throat. She reached out to grasp at Ellaria’s wrist, pushing her further, letting her fingers brush against the spot only she and Oberyn could reach.

“That’s my good girl. Take what you need.”

Even through her hazed mind, Y/N keened at the praise. She wanted to be a good girl.

Ellaria licked across her panting mouth and bit at Y/N’s spit-slicked lips, smirking the entire time. Y/N’s walls fluttered around her fingers and she pressed her thumb against her clit with enough pressure to have Y/N cry against her mouth. Slick soaked her hand but she did not cease her movements, pushing her fingers into her until her hips pressed up against her grip and Y/N’s fingers clawed at her shoulders.

“El-Ellaria I-”

But she pressed her down to the dampened blankets and smiled. “So beautiful,” she said. “Give me another. My good girl.”

Her thighs shook, nearly clamping down over Ellaria’s arm as wave after wave of terrible pleasure wracked her body. The room blurred as her arms slid down Ellaria’s back to pull her close as if she were not the one inflicting this delicious torture. The sounds that came from Y/N as her fingers continued to move could only be described as lewd. Wet and frenzied.

“Give it to me,” Ellaria said, steady and low against her heated skin.

Y/N cried out as another jolt of blinding pleasure shot through her, hips finally lifting from the featherbed as her vision went white. Her heart continued to roar in her ears. Ellaria’s fingers slowed their assault before pulling out, leaving Y/N feeling empty and spent even as her body shivered with residual tremors. Ellaria’s glistening fingers dipped between her kiss-bitten lips and her tongue twisted and slid to gather everything she could. When she was finished, she shuffled down Y/N’s body to press a kiss against her wet cunt and Y/N let out a broken moan. Her dark eyes sparkled when she looked up at her. “One more.” She licked a broad stripe up from her hole to her clit and Y/N keened, nerves alight and near painful. But the long strokes of Ellaria’s tongue continued, broken up by little kitten licks against her clit or dipping inside. Every flick of Ellaria’s glorious tongue brought Y/N closer to the precipice but it came sooner than either of them anticipated, dribbling out of her with a broken sort of cry and a new puddle between her thighs. With a final kiss, Ellaria rose and walked to the vanity near the open balcony and pulled a golden cloth from its pile before dipping it into the small basin of water Daisy had left for Y/N to wash her face earlier. She slid onto the bed again and wiped between Y/N’s still shaking thighs with a gentle touch, delighting when she shivered. “Are you all right?” Ellaria asked as her tongue peeked from between her lips out to clean the shining mess from around mouth.

Y/N sighed with a tired smile. “I am perfect.” She reached out toward Ellaria’s soft skirts and felt the silk slide between her fingers. “But I would like to please you, too.”

Ellaria smiled and dropped the damp fabric to the floor. “Are you sure?”

“I am. But I hope you do not mind guiding me.”

Ellaria slipped back onto the bed and her knees bracketed Y/N’s thighs as the younger woman gently pulled the skirt up to reveal Ellaria’s uncovered mound, shining in the candlelight. Y/N’s hands slid from her waist to the backs of her thighs, urging Ellaria up toward her face. Ellaria had taught her many things, one of them being how to give her pleasure with just her fingers and Y/N had delighted in the taste of her love. But, in truth, Y/N had been fascinated by watching Oberyn make Ellaria cum with his wicked tongue. She wanted a taste from the source, too.

“By the gods, you are perfect,” Ellaria murmured holding her skirts higher so she could look to see Y/N’s face between her legs. She reached down to curl her hand around the back of Y/N’s head, pulling her up to meet the crux of her thighs.

Y/N quickly licked a short but firm stripe from Ellaria’s hole to her clit, earning a soft sigh in return. The bitterly sweet taste of Ellaria was heavenly and Y/N quickly, selfishly, licked again and then wiggled her tongue against Ellaria’s hole, trying to collect as much as she could.

“That’s it.” Ellaria’s grip tightened on her head and Y/N licked again and again before taking a chance and pulling her clit into her mouth and sucking. They both sunk into the pillows.

Y/N reached up and around to grasp at Ellaria’s hips as her licks grew bolder, encouraged by Ellaria’s moans. They grew louder as her tongue started to delve and lick and press. Ellaria would sometimes murmur instructions, “to the left” “right there” “a little harder, my darling” and Y/N followed each with wild abandon and squealed when Ellaria pressed down onto her mouth and moved her hips, grinding against her tongue.

“So good,” She panted. “So good.”

Y/N ate her out in earnest, sloppy and spit sliding out of the corner of her lips between covetous licks. Ellaria could suffocate her like this easily—and Y/N would die happy.

Exploring fingers slid down and Y/N simply pressed against the bundle of nerves and smiled when Ellaria wailed in response, head tilted back to press the sound into the sticky night air. Her hips moved faster. Y/N did all she could to keep up, to give Ellaria as much as she had given her. The hold on her head tightened and Ellaria suddenly stilled above her with a groan. The thighs on either side of Y/N’s head shook and the taste of Ellaria flooded her mouth. Y/N pulled her fingers away from her clit but gave a few final licks before Ellaria pushed off and then sat beside her on the pillows.

Ellaria caught her breath with a laugh and then leaned down to press a kiss to Y/N’s lips. “I cannot wait to teach you everything I know.”

Ellaria kissed her again before Y/N rose and wet her own bit of cloth to wipe between Ellaria’s thighs. She lathed a kiss against each of Ellaria’s legs before pulling her skirts down again as she lounged on the featherbed. “I will be a dutiful student.”

The laugh Ellaria let out was tired but joyful. And they spoke for a few more stolen moments, Ellaria constantly checking to make sure Y/N was not overworked or feeling strange as they shared slow kisses in the moonlight. “Will you be able to rest now?” Ellaria asked as Y/N yawned.

“You have thoroughly exhausted me.”

Ellaria’s smile grew and she kissed Y/N one more time before she slipped off the bed again. “Then I shall see you in the morning, Princess.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of the title. “In the morning, my love.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040​ @paintballkid711 @huliabitch​ @stitchers-in-stitches​ @iellaren-uodo-rian​

[voiceless-terror]

Resignation (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Twenty Eight: Mugged

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker

Summary: 

Who was it this time? Plenty of avatars seemed to have a bone to pick with him these days. He closed his eyes, not even attempting to fight back. Just waited for the inevitable “Archivist” said with utter loathing. So the words he heard next surprised him.

“Empty your pockets. Now.”

Jon gets mugged. It’s surprising how little this bothers him.

He could almost laugh at the sheer mundanity of it. 

Stumbling towards the tube, soaked with rain and bone-tired, Jonathan Sims ran into some trouble. He’d been running into trouble a lot lately. Just last week he’d been burned, thrown through the sky, and hunted like a dog in the span of hours and now, here he was, being pulled into an alley and thrown against a brick wall with painful force.

Who was it this time? Plenty of avatars seemed to have a bone to pick with him these days. He closed his eyes, not even attempting to fight back. Just waited for the inevitable “Archivist” said with utter loathing. So the words he heard next surprised him.

“Empty your pockets. Now.” 

Jon opened his eyes, baffled. It was a human. A man with wild, desperate eyes and an unwashed smell. But human. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill robbery. He was getting mugged. He couldn’t help the delirious smile that made its way to his face. This of course didn’t please the man robbing him and he was promptly slammed back against the wall, his head bouncing off the brick with a painful thunk. Stars flooded his vision as shaking hands moved in his pockets, pulling out a phone and a mostly empty wallet.

“Here,” he whispered, holding his hands out beseechingly. “It’s all I have. Sorry.” Sorry was his default response, apparently. Even when getting assaulted. 

“Fuck’s sake,” the man murmured, flipping through the empty wallet and holding Jon against the wall with one fairly lax hand. He wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t even fighting. Jon was very, very tired of fighting. The man paused, seeming to consider his options.

“The jacket too, then,” he demanded, ripping it off one of Jon’s shoulders. He hastily complied, peeling the other arm off and handing it over. It was one of Georgie’s, oversized and warm. He would miss it, and she certainly wouldn’t be pleased. His legs started to shake as he watched the man grapple with his things- it had to be over now, Jon had nothing left. Except for perhaps his shoes, the one nice thing he had been wearing when he went on the run. The man was agitated, conflicted. Just leave, he pleaded, unable to get the words out. I don’t have anything else to give you.

“Stop lookin’, freak!” A hit to the face, another slam against the wall but this time the hands didn’t stay, letting him sink to the cold, wet ground. A kick to his ribs for good measure and finally the man was off, his footsteps echoing on the pavement as Jon keened in pain. 

Everything hurt, the pain throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His head was swimming and black spots were dancing in his vision. He couldn’t call anyone, not without his phone. Why not just cough and shiver for a few more minutes, perhaps someone would walk by and see? You left at midnight, idiot. No one’s out except for you. And robbers. He would have to handle this himself, then. So with great effort, he managed to raise himself with weak arms into a sitting position with his back resting on the wall behind him. Blood trickled down his cheek like a stray tear- that must be where the throbbing in his temple was coming from.

It was strange to think about how easily he let things happen to him. He was so shocked, so pleased that it wasn’t another supernatural being coming after him that he did nothing, acting like it was inevitable. He could still hurt, still feel pain, still experience things that normal humans did. It certainly wasn’t normal that he found this so comforting. He let out a bark of laughter that turned into a groan of pain- time to get out of the cold. The Institute wasn’t so far, he had only been walking for ten minutes. He could do ten minutes, if he leaned against a few walls and took a few breaks. Jon would manage. 

It was painstakingly slow and each move was torturous, but he eventually made it back, leaning against the front door with so much force that it slammed open and he stumbled to the floor on all fours. Nausea rose in his throat but he couldn’t throw up, not in the main hallway. It was bad enough that his palms left a bloody handprint that would surely spook the janitor; to leave him with vomit as well would be too much. Ed was always so nice to me, he thought, mind in a fog. Even when I didn’t deserve it.

On all fours was how he made his way over to the door to the Archives. Standing was no longer an option, not with his consciousness fading like it was. He had no time to feel embarrassed about scooting down the stairs like a child; by the time he collapsed in an office chair, he was already gone.

______

Another day in paradise.

Tim arrived unusually early to the Archives that day; he accidentally left his charger at the office and his phone was his main source of entertainment nowadays. He could always convince Martin or Melanie to take a long lunch break with him to make up for it. What the boss doesn’t know, the boss won’t mind!

There was a wet floor sign in the lobby, likely the result of last night’s rain, although the sidewalks had looked fairly dry as Tim walked in. He’d grabbed a coffee on the way, feeling unusually perky for another day in the hellscape they called the Magnus Institute. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad day after all-

No, it wouldn’t. It would be even worse.

The Archives were dark; not unusual since he was the first one in. On flicking the lights, however, he found his desk to be occupied by one sleeping boss.

Fucking Jon.

He groaned aloud but still the man didn’t wake. What the fuck was he playing at- the man had an entire office at his disposal and he decided to take a nap here, of all places? Was Jon trying to piss him off? Tim stomped towards the desk, ready to shake the man awake with a hand on his shoulder when he paused.

Jon’s shirt was oddly damp, like he’d been caught in the rain and never truly dried off. Tim could feel his shoulder blade through his shirt- this was typical for Jon, he’d always been bony, but this was verging on downright unhealthy. And he was shaking, small, trembling motions that Tim could feel even from his light hold on his back. 

Concern warred with anger in his chest. Jon had always inspired his big-brother instincts, small and nervous as he was. But now the over-protectiveness was unwanted, a burden to the rage he kindled in his heart. You don’t deserve my sympathy. Not anymore.

But he found himself pitching his voice low and shaking his shoulder as gently as possible. “Boss?” he whispered. “C’mon, time to get up.”

“Hnngh?” the voice that responded was nasally and barely audible from the pillow of Jon’s arms. Tim let go as he watched Jon come to, raising his head to reveal a grotesque crime scene of a face. It was bloody and bruised, even swollen in parts. His nose was coated with blood and his eyes blackened. 

“What the fuck?” he swore, grabbing at the bottom of his face and pulling it towards him, shock overriding his concern. Jon gasped in pain from the motion and his arms curled around his stomach as if shielding himself. He looked like he’d been beaten, and badly at that. Tim felt his ire rise- whether it was at whoever had done this to Jon, or at Jon himself for letting this happen, he couldn’t tell.

“Seriously, why are you here?” he asked severely, grabbing onto the man’s shoulders and ignoring his wince. “Go home, or the hospital or wherever the fuck you need to- not work, not my fucking desk.” He let go as the man seemed to shrink in on himself, looking so small and defenseless. Jon had no right to look like that. “Should I be calling an ambulance? It’s too early for this shit.” The anger kept spewing forth. It was easier to blame Jon than see him as a victim. It didn’t feel great- but then again, what did anymore? 

“I’m- m’ so sorry,” Jon croaked. His eyes refused to focus, staring somewhere left of Tim. “Took m’ phone, took-took everything.” Jon’s eyes were starting to water and Tim had to look away; he couldn’t face this pathetic, vulnerable display. He didn’t like what it made him feel. “Nowhere else t’go, not- not anymore.” The hiccup was the final straw and Tim found himself shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around Jon’s shoulders in an almost involuntary gesture.

“Only you would get in this mess,” he muttered, unwilling to match his words to his actions. He gingerly took a hand to Jon’s side, ready to help him up. “C’mon. You’ve got to go to a hospital. I’m not letting you bleed all over my desk.” Jon began his typical protests, mumbles of “I’m fine” and “Jus’ take me to my office” that Tim ignored in favor of gathering the man up in his arms as gently as possible. His head was already lolling against Tim’s chest, surely a bad sign. He went completely silent as Tim carried him out of the institute, only waking when Tim managed to buckle the seatbelt across his lap in his car.

“Wher’ we?” he swiveled his head around, trying to get his bearings. “Where we goin’?”

“The hospital, like I said,” his voice struggled to carry the irritation he wanted it to. “Like you should’ve done last night. What happened, anyway? Piss off another person trying to get a statement?” He pulled the car out of the parking lot in an unsafe maneuver and merged into traffic. 

“Nnnh,” Jon’s head dropped back to his chest and Tim sped up in response. Damn, damn. “Jus’ a guy, y’know?” And he laughed. It was an unhinged and painful sound; Jon grabbed at his sides again. “Jus- just got jumped. S’ kind of sad.”

Tim let the information sink in with a growing dread. Jon had been jumped, robbed, and beaten to shit and his first response was to go back to work. To laugh. To think a year and a half ago this would have horrified him- Jon would be inconsolable, embarrassed and angry. Jon wasn’t angry anymore. Tim had enough of that for the both of him. He wanted Jon to get angry, to be mad, to yell. At least then he would recognize him.

Jon went on, every word a dagger in his chest. “Y’know, this is the sec’nd time this happen’d in a week. S’weird.” He paused, his eyes squinting ahead in confusion. “I mean, if y’count Daisy. Took my stuff. Laughed. She gave it back, though. When- when Basira convince- convinced her not t’kill me. Dead-” Another hiccup and a laugh. “Dead men don’t need wallets.”

“Stop,” Tim said, his voice hardened. “Just stop. Stop talking.” No more reminders that Jon almost died. That the woman who did it still walked around the Archives and Jon said nothing. That if this were six months ago, Tim would have killed her for even touching a hair on Jon’s head with the intent to hurt.

“S’rry,” Jon mumbled. They didn’t speak for the rest of the way.

Tim waited at the A & E for more than a few hours, firing off a text or two to Martin, telling him not to worry if he saw any blood at his desk. This had the opposite effect, but Tim was too tired to deal with his fussing. He’d had enough excitement for the morning.

Jon was released surprisingly quickly, a nurse hurriedly pushing him into Tim’s arms with a rather false sounding “Feel better soon!” Jon had bandages all over his face and neck, and Tim could see through his thin button-up that he’d had his ribs wrapped up. He was listless as Tim wrapped him in his coat again, leaning heavily into his side as papers fell from his hand- a pamphlet on broken ribs, concussions, and a prescription for heavy painkillers. Tim balanced him with one arm, reaching down to pick up the paperwork with the other.

“That was quick. They ask a lot of questions? You look like a battered housewife. No offense.”

Jon laughed a bit at that- more loopy than unhinged. “Just tol’ em I worked at the Magnus Institute- didn’t ask questions after that. Wanted me in and out, I suppose.” Another horror of their job- nobody to run to when things got rough. Turned out hospitals were just as bad as the police. Fucking figures.

They continued to walk out to the car, Jon limping along in his hold. “This had nothing to do with whatever shit Elias has you doing, though,” he responded, slowing down as Jon winced in pain. “Shouldn’t you be reporting this? You lost your wallet, your phone. Gonna need that.”

“Oh, Tim,” Jon sounded so resigned, but gave him a soppy, unnerving smile. “S’not worth it. Who's gonna call me, anyway?” 

Tim didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just buckled him into the passenger seat and got in the car, sighing. “Where’s home?”

Jon gave him a surprised look. “Institute’s fine, really-”

“No,” Tim raised his voice, stern. “I’m not taking you back there. Just give me an address, and take one fucking day off. No arguments.”

Jon shrunk back at his tone; he’d forgotten how much he hated yelling. Never reacted well to it. Even when Tim was trying to be nice, he still fucked it all up. Jon rattled off an address about twenty minutes away and they drove there in silence, Jon’s hands fidgeting in his lap and Tim’s hands gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force.

He didn’t help Jon to the door. He didn’t want to see how he was living. If he needed help getting around. When Jon tilted out of the car, trying to shrug off his coat, Tim stopped him with a hand to his arm.

“Just bring it back tomorrow. You look like you need it.”

And Jon nodded, so surprised and so thankful. It’s just a fucking jacket! He wanted to scream. Stop looking at me like that!

He watched as Jon stumbled up the stairway, knocking at a door. It opened and a hand reached out to steady him, Jon leaning into it gratefully. Tim drove off before he could get a better look.

Jon came in the next day. He limped and Martin fussed. He tried to smile at Tim. 

Tim did not smile back.

_______

Months later, Jon will wake up in his cot, curled around the jacket. It was Tim’s favorite- well-worn but expensive. Jon had tried to give it back but Tim just shook his head. A week later, he died. And then it didn’t matter anymore.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251512

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - Part 4 (Finale)

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BRI GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!!

I absolutely despise how Tumblr formats these on mobile. If anybody knows how to fix this, let me know PLEASE

thnx for waiting

—

You assumed it was around high noon when you woke up, judging by the thick layer of sweat that replaced your sleeping bag in hugging your entire body. It was now sprawled across the canvas floor, forgotten, and your hair clung to the skin of your forehead. And between the heat and the events of the prior night, you felt almost feverish and sick.

It was a nice surprise that nobody had disturbed you, though — and you silently hoped that theme continued throughout the remainder of the day as you begrudgingly emerged and reveled in the cool fresh air that greeted you on the outside of the sauna that was simply a tent in the Georgia summer heat. Judging by that sun... it was going to be another miserably hot day.

Before, you had never been one for swimming in any body of water that wasn’t a clean and chlorinated pool. Maybe it was the small part of you that had been spoiled, but ponds and creeks weren’t your favorite means of cooling off until you, quite literally, had no other choice; but you would always fondly reminisce of the in-ground swimming pool at your moms house growing up as you waded into the cloudy pond water. You were only ever there one week a month, so it was a damn luxury even then, and a far-fetched dream now.

The suns reflection shimmered on the water ripples you caused as you waded in and you sighed contently, actively trying to ignore the constant lingering scent of fish and mud and algae as you scrubbed your filthy fingernails against the soap bar in your hands, lathering it up enough so that, maybe after one or two rounds, your skin might begin to feel relatively clean again. Your now-soaked tank top clung to your skin — you think maybe it was white at one point, but decided not to question the faded stains that decorated it now.

Dunking beneath the surface you rubbed your fingertips vigorously against your scalp, silently wishing you hadn’t spent years taking advantage of all of the luxurious products and fancy soaps always at your disposal. Fuck — even a new, cheap 50¢ soap bar would be like gold right now compared to the slimy old bar in your hands. Your hair was dry and coarse, and admittedly you’d be mortified at the current condition of it if you had any time to worry about anything other than not starving or getting eaten alive. You scrubbed your eyes free of the murky water and stretched, content to take your time and daydream for the moment until you had to start your day. You’d been left alone, and figured it was intentional.

Good. You could get some shit done.

So you hadn’t expected to turn towards the shore and find Daryl standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights when your eyes met — yeah, modesty had gone out the door for you months ago, but you couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on your face when Daryl instantly whipped around and threw a hand up to shield his eyes as if he had really anticipated finding you pond bathing, what, fully clothed? What was he expecting to see?

“Shit,” he stammered, “uh, ‘m sorry, I just —“

“I do have some clothes on,” you replied as you fully emerged onto dry land and doubled over to pick up your dirty towel tossed carelessly into the grass. Even in the skew of the sunlight and shadows you could see the flush creep up his neck and cheeks and turn the tips of his ears pink. But you found yourself wanting to squash any sort of relief or joy you’d first experienced upon noticing him there when last nights fiasco began to run through your mind. You had no idea what he possibly wanted with you — was he going to chew you out again? The mere notion had your stomach twisting in knots as you rung out your soaking wet hair and cast your eyes back down to the ground and away from his own piercing gaze that had returned upon hearing you weren’t completely nude.

“I thought.. I thought you were doin’ laundry,” he explained, again turning away as he spoke, quickly and sheepishly. Like a child caught red-handed, he was always fleeting and nervous and ready to escape. “Nevermind, ‘m sorry, I’ll — “

You didn’t allow him to finish because, when you saw him start to take a step forward and leave, you lunged your hand on to his shoulder. Where the sudden balls came from, you had no fucking idea. Daryl was the one notorious for his bravery when everyone else needed the strength, but situations like this? He would turn tail and run away at the very first opportunity you even hinted at that might give him some sort of escape. But the way you saw it, he had obviously sought you out for a reason; and the way that things had ended last night left a bad taste in your mouth that you, whether you admitted it to yourself or not, we’re desperate to alleviate.

“Stop.” It was a bit more forceful than you’d intended but you were so positive that he would break into a sprint just to get away from you at that moment that you didn’t try to soften it. To your surprise, he stiffened, but nonetheless halted in his tracks. “Do you need something?”

Almost as if to prove to you that you knew nothing about him the way you thought you did, he spun toward you abruptly: “M’sorry — for last night.”

The apology took you by surprise in the best way, uncoiling the anxiety that had slowly begin to twist around in your gut. He had a way of keeping you on your fucking toes, it sure seemed. Quite literally speechless, he’d blindsided you, and you shook your head to clear the swarm of thoughts and prioritize your next words knowing that you didn’t have a lot of time to voice them before he would inevitably shut you out again or take off running. “Wait,” you tried, feeling him start to pull away at your lack of an immediate response; you could see the uneasiness etched in his features and even feel it in his stance. “Wait —“

But he cut you off, just like he did when he was chewing you out back in the woods the night before. This time, however, was far different, and you couldn’t quite decide what exactly had changed.

“Jus’ listen to me for a second, alright?”

He was breathing heavily and rapidly through his nose — not from overexhetion, but in an unreliable attempt to keep his voice steady and confident. You nodded in response.

The tensity in his body, the stiffness in his muscles, it was tangible — his legs were actively trying so hard to move him away from the situation, to let him pace like the caged animal he always reminded you of, desperate to run and hide. He wanted so desperately to speak, but seemed unable to form the words.

“I didn’t... I never meant to...”

Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless, it absolutely broke your heart as you stood there watching. Waiting. Waiting for some other words to come to you because the ones that you kept drumming up inside your head just weren’t good enough to fall on his ears.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Daryl’s head dropped, and he choked out a sob.

You felt strangled. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sound. The guilt that followed was crippling and seized your entire body within its white-knuckled grip, but was almost instantly overshadowed with fear; fear and regret and shame and you thought you might be sick with the overwhelming emotions before you just decided to throw your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your still damp body so close to his that maybe you could meld the two of your souls together.

“I’m sorry, Daryl.” Face pressed into his chest, your words were muffled and wavered unsteadily as you struggled yourself not to break down. “I never shoulda said what I said. It was fucked up, but it was a lie. I swear I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to piss you off.”

“That don’t make it okay to hurt you!”

Admittedly, you faltered at his reasoning, but your mouth kept rolling on autopilot because you knew how Daryl would take to your silence as a reply. “No, but —“

“No, it ain’t ever okay to do what I did.”

He shook you off with a violent shrug of his shoulders, your arms falling limply to your sides.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you offered, not surprised when he shook his head in response and gestured wildly with his hands on either side of your head, hands clenched in fists, almost as if he was fighting some internal battle and, by the looks of it, losing miserably.

“Ya don’t get it, Y/N!” He spun on his his heels, abruptly turning away from you and replacing that distance between the two of you that you were growing to detest. “Ya don’t get it. Ya were right.”

You raised your eyebrows at him though you weren’t sure if it mattered with how he faced away from you, and you weren’t sure if you could just see his own features particularly well today or if it’d come from hours of staring at him, watching him, studying him while you simply tried to figure him the fuck out.

“I dunno why, but ya get me so.... fuckin’ mad sometimes. It’s like, ya know how to get right under my fuckin’ skin.” His voice was low now, rough with exhaustion and the scent of lingering alcohol. And while you could feel your heart drop at his admission, you had to fight the sense of pride and joy you were feeling that he even fucking admitted it.

This is what you’d been working so hard to get from him; it’s also exactly what got him so mad in the first place, and therefore the mess you were currently in that ensued. Whether or not the alcohol coursing through both your systems had anything to do with it didn’t matter to you anymore.

“When ya said that, it just...I dunno. I didn’t wanna fuckin’ believe it,” he ran an exasperated hand down his face before turning away from you, fueling your unconscious need to step forward after him again, softly, like you were trying to catch a wild animal, fearing that he would turn and break away from you at any second. “But what I did — Merle woulda done the same damn thing! He woulda done it without a second fuckin’ thought!”

His hands raked through his hair, distressed and frantic, and you reached out to grasp his wrists and steady him, your hands comically small next to his, strong and secure and familiar. At first, he flinched; tugging away from you half-heartedly before giving up and allowing you to gingerly lower his hands down in front of him, in between you, where they remained trapped in your grip.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Daryl,” you said softly, choosing your words carefully as if any wrong one would scare him off and send him fleeing again. As firmly as you held his wrists before you, one foot remained turned as you anticipated him doing just that. And the fear of watching him run again had, at some point, outweighed the fleeting fear that Daryl might actually want to hurt you — and you felt disgusted in yourself when you realized it. “You aren’t like Merle. You’re so much better.”

It was almost worth celebrating when he didn’t reply, and instead remained still as a statue, towering over you in the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The same type of heat, you thought, that burned inside of his very being; one that he’d spent so many shadowed years trying to extinguish. Thinking it was wrong. Thinking it was weak to simply care about somebody. All because of one single person.

You hated Merle Dixon, and if you ever saw him again, you swore you’d make sure he’d hate you just as much.

“You said Merle would’ve done that without a second thought — but you? Look at yourself, Daryl. You obviously feel so bad, so... guilty. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here. Do you think Merle ever felt this way about anything he’d ever done before? Do you think he ever apologized to anyone?”

Once again, his silence was reassuring. He was listening, considering your words... you only hoped that you wouldn’t say the wrong thing this time.

“The fact that you have so much remorse just shows that you are nothing like your brother. You are so, so much better. You are worlds away from ever being anything like him, Daryl.”

You could almost hear the gears turning behind his ocean blue eyes as he took in your words, deep and powerful though they were short. You couldn’t deny you were just content that he had stopped his angry outburst although now it was clear he was far more mad at himself instead of you.

“And I... I’m so sorry for the things that I said. I hope you can forgive me. I was drunk and angry. But I want you to know that... you can trust me. And I’m here for you.”

Now, you could almost feel his stare boring through you, the intensity behind his eyes unable to be ignored as it rose the hairs on the back of your neck and sparked goosebumps that trickled down your spine with a shiver you tried to stifle.

Now what? Daryl was unpredictable. Especially when it came to raw emotions like this, you thought to yourself. Can you stop him from turning tail and running, should that be his next move? Did he believe anything you were saying?

With one swift motion, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, warm and familiar, quick enough as to not be able to stop himself from doing so once he decided it was what he wanted to do, it seemed.

Though it was forceful, it was good. It was much more natural than the last time he’d moved that quickly toward you, you recalled. Much better actually, you realized, as you silently acknowledged that, this time, you sure as fuck didn’t flinch away and instead, hugged him back.

You looked down at the ground, sighing contently — oh. Despite your minimal clothing and every excuse to be totally naked in the cool water of your pond bath, your boots were still strapped on tight. You know... just in case.

[wellthatwentbetterthanexpected]

(Wo)man down

Nat has worked herself to the ground recently, but hey what’s one more run with Steve before she calls it quits and goes to bed? Apparently a bloody disaster, that’s what.

Nat knew she shouldn’t have come to training this morning. She’d only returned to the compound from her latest solo mission at 3am that morning having not slept for at least 36 hours, and it was only 6am now. Damn Steve and his early bird tendencies. She prayed that the triple espresso would get her through until could collapse in bed and sleep until spending time with Bruce in the evening.

Upon exiting the compound Nat sees that Steve is already warming up, he stops and waves eagerly at her as she approach’s.

“Good morning Natasha, how was your mission?” He pulls her into a warm embrace. She had grown a lot more comfortable with the touchy-feely ways of some of her fellow avengers, even though it still isn’t her favourite thing.

“Fine.” She replies, returning the embrace. She was not being short with him, but both of them knew she wouldn’t disclose much more than that. Years of working alone still keeps her lips tight.

Nat begins her warm up, jogging on the spot before stretching. As she bends to touch her toes, all of the blood rushes to her head. Never normally an issue, but today it caused the outer ring of her vision to turn black and her ears began to ring loudly. She wobbles and begins falling but saves herself just in time to, less than elegantly, sit down. The ringing eases and the black fades from her vision. Unfortunately though, Steve noticed. He was by her side quickly, squatting down beside her.

“Nat? What’s wrong?” He asks, concern written all over his face. His hand has already found its way to her wrist, measuring her racing pulse. She pushes his hand away lightly, and uses it to stand up.

“I’m fine Steve, just jet lag.” Not technically a lie but definitely not the truth. But before he has the chance to question her further, Nat flashes him a grin and pushes past him cheekily, “loser makes breakfast!” She shouts as she runs off.

Ten minutes in and Nat knows she’s fucked up. Big time. Her breath is ragged and fast, which after ten minutes is appalling for someone in her field. Her vision is swimming in and out of focus, and she stopped being able to hear much over the ringing in her ears over a minute ago. She’s been around long enough to know what’s going to happen next. Nat can just make out Steve’s figure a fair distance ahead of her (thank god for his patriotism and his red white and blue running gear making him hard to miss). She slows down gingerly to an unstable stop. She plans to lower herself to the ground slowly and wait for it to pass, and somehow alert Steve to her distress. But as most of her plans seem to go recently, it did not happen the way she planned. The second she stopped running, her legs turned to jello and she feels herself falling towards the ground, blacking out before making contact with the cement.

“Tasha.... come on wake up.... dammit open your eyes.”

Nat can hear the voice floating somewhere around her head, disjointed from everything. Slowly she began to feel herself returning to her senses. Her ears are no longer ringing and she can feel the weight of her aching, exhausted body. And what the FUCK was the new throbbing pain in her head?! Groaning in pain she tried to open her eyes, just about succeeding in making her eyelids flutter.

“Nat? Can you hear me? It’s Steve. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Nat groans in response, forcing her weighted eyelids open, attempting to focus on his face. The black spots had gone, however she was viewing everything through a red haze. She lifts her hand to rub whatever it was out of her eyes, only for Steve to grab her by the wrist.

“No, don’t touch it Nat. You hit your head pretty hard on the pavement, you’re bleeding.”

She groans again, blinking until the blood clears from her eyes, “What happened?”

“You tell me!” Steve said, “ One minute we were running and the next I look over my shoulder to see you stop and fall to the ground! Were you hurt on your mission? Are you sick?”

“Steve, Jesus, enough with the 20 questions.” She moves to sit up, Steve gently helps guide her up until she’s sat up, but keeps his grip firmly on her upper arm as she sways a little. “I’m exhausted.” Nat states simply.

Steve looked at Nat blankly, waiting for her to go on. Being exhausted is nothing new for either of you and you both know it. She sighs deeply.

“Steve, I’m more than exhausted. I haven’t slept in over 36... nope, make that 37 hours now. I’ve spent the last week running around chasing bad guys whilst living off half rations. Before that I was was off with Sam dealing with the issues in Washington. I haven’t had a decent nights sleep or a decent meal in forever. I have nothing left to give.”

She’s not sure where that rant had come from, but felt a small weight lift off of her shoulders. However this was also met with a new wetness on her face, and she realised she were crying. Dammit. She aggressively wiped the tears away, pissed at herself for getting into this state.

Suddenly she felt herself being encased by strong arms and pulled into a tight hug. And that was the final straw, Nat sobbed, all of her exhaustion and emotions spilling down her cheeks and onto Steve’s top. And that’s where she stay, unmoving other than Steve repositioning the two of them and her sobs which rattles through her chest. Slowly Nat was able to start calming down. Steve was rubbing her back and whispering a reassuring “shhhhh” as he held her up tightly. Had he not been there Nat was sure she would have fallen face first back to the ground face. A few more raggedy breaths later and she began to regain a little control of her emotions, and gain awareness of what was happening. Oh my god, she were in a public park sobbing on Captain America’s chest. Emphasis on Public. She pushes herself away from Steve, instantly in surveillance mode, checking that no one was watching them and they weren’t being filmed.

“Nat you’re fine, no one is paying the slightest bit of attention.” Steve said, reading her mind as usual. He leant back onto his heals into a crouch. “Want to try standing?”

She nodded slightly, allowing him to pull the two of them up to standing. She swayed dangerously, the position change threatening to push her back into the darkness of unconsciousness. Steve held her tightly until she regained use of her legs properly.

“Can you walk? I want to get you back to the compound and have Bruce check you over.”

Nat contemplated her ability to walk, her legs more stable but still unsteady, but nodded. She tactfully chose to ignore his comment about seeing Bruce, knowing she wouldn’t follow through but didn’t want an argument.

Slowly they made their way back to the compound, Steve’s arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders, supporting her without being obvious. She made it most of the way before her legs decided to give out on her again.

“Shoot, Tasha, alright okay I’ve got you.” She felt him guide her to what she assumed was a bench, she couldn’t be sure because once again she couldn’t see through the dizzying blackness. Damn she’s not been this exhausted in a very long time. Or was she concussed from the first faint. The throbbing pain that wasn’t easing probably meant she could confidently add concussion into the mix of shit happening to her right now.

She allowed Steve to guide her head down between her legs, grounding herself with the rhythmic circles he was rubbing her back. She could hear him talking in her ear but the words were making no sense. Everything feels disjointed, Nat feels disconnected from the world, completely out of it. In her haze she’s vaguely aware of Steve moving away a little, his voice getting further away but his hand remaining on her upper back. When he moved back beside her she felt more aware of her surroundings, but remained with her head down.

“Hey Tasha, can you hear me now?”

“Mhm”

“I’ve called Bruce, he’s going to meet us at the entrance. You’re dehydrated, malnourished, exhausted and now concussed. Your body is fighting a losing battle with itself, we need to go and get you sorted.”

Nat raised her head and looked at Steve, that movement alone almost sending her pitching forward off of the bench, however Steve had her held securely by the shoulders.

“Can’t walk.” She said, her voice quiet and weak even to her own ears. All she wanted now was sleep, nothing else mattered. She slumped into Steve’s side and closed her eyes.

“No, come on Nat, I know you’re exhausted but I need you to stay awake. Nat? No come on open those eyes for me. Right dammit okay I’m going to run you back.”

She couldn’t have protested even if she wanted to, she was already bridal style in Steve’s arms by the time her foggy brain managed to work out what was being said. And any further protest she may have had died on her lips as the rocking motion of moving became the catalyst that pulled her fully into unconsciousness.

Nat didn’t remember getting back to the compound, she didn’t see the surprised then concerned look on Bruce’s face as Steve had rounded the corner with an unconscious Natasha in his arms. She didn’t recall the elevator journey where Steve reeled off what had happened, his voice growing ever more anxious. She didn’t hear Tony’s surprised shout when they ran past him to the medbay, nor did she hear him helping Bruce set up the equipment.

The next thing Natasha was aware of was the sound of rhythmic beeping and the quiet chatter of low voices. Opening her eyes she took in the scene before her. Steve was sat directly to the right of her, his posture tense, and his hand held hers tightly. Bruce was stood at the bottom of her bed flicking through a chart. To her left she could make out Tony, leaning back into his chair with his feet propped on the end of her bed as a footrest.

“Feet off my bed Stark.” She managed to croak out hoarsely.

And just like that all eyes were on her.

“Nat, thank God.” Steve said quietly, squeezing her hand and pulling his chair closer. He passed her a glass of water and the liquid felt amazing running down her throat.

“I think you’ll find,” Tony started, swinging his legs to the ground, “ that’s technically this is my bed, in fact, 95% of the stuff in this building is mine.”

Nat flipped him off before looking towards Bruce.

“What’s the verdict Doc, will I live to see another day.” She joked.

“Well, you’re dehydrated for a start. The low blood sugar, low blood pressure, and anaemia are obvious signs of malnutrition. Steve told us how long it had been since you last slept so that’s another box off of our bingo card. Add to that the concussion you’ve managed to give yourself, I’d say you’ve got a full house.”

“Basically Little Red, you’re about as good at looking after yourself as I am,” Tony joked, “except when you hit your breaking point you sure as hell do it with flare don’t you. I thought poor spangles here was going down with ya at one point!”

Nat laughed before turning her attention to Steve, who was not laughing, in fact he looked as wrecked as she felt.

“Steve?” She asked quietly, giving his hand a small squeeze and making eye contact with what she could only describe as sad eyes.

“Alright Brucey, let’s give these two some time to talk this out.”

“We’ll be in the lab if you need us.” Bruce said, smiling calmly at Nat and Steve as they left the medbay.

“Hey, I’m alright. They’re fixing me up and I’ll be good as new by evening. What’s with the sad eyes?”

Steve looked at her, “how did it get so bad? How did I notice how ill you were getting? I should never have let you come on that run. I’m sorry Natasha.”

“Hey no, what are you talking about? This was my fault, I know my limits and I should have known I’d passed them. I should have rested. I’m sorry I put you in that situation.”

Steve gave her another sad smile, another reassuring hand squeeze, and stood up. Nat wondered what he was doing as he went over to the main desk, aka the desk that lives in the medbay and belongs to “I’m not that kind of dr” Banner, and opened the top draw. He smiled and turned around, peanut MnM’s and Gatorade in hand.

“Time to work on your dehydration and malnutrition Agent Romanoff.”

[dracusfyre]

Number 22. Of the 50 Kisses prompt list

YOOOOO this was the first time I’ve ever had someone ask me for one of these prompt lists, thank you @zola9612​! Hope you enjoy this :D

(also on AO3)

~~~~~

Tony sighed wistfully and looked out over the moonlit ocean, listening to the muted crashing of the waves hitting the cliffside. He was sitting on a pile of rocks at the base of the cliff, close enough that he could feel the spray. The night was clear and crisp, the stars bright despite the regular sweeping beam of Tony’s lighthouse at the top of the cliff. The wind was strong and steady from the east, and Tony could smell the hint of a storm out over the water.

 “When will my lover come home from the war?” He mourned loudly, plucking petals from the rose in his hand and casting them into the water. “It has been nigh-“ he checked his phone “-thirty-seven hours and forty-two minutes since I seen him last. I fear that I might soon forget his face and be tempted to love ano-shit!”

Even though he had been semi-expecting it, the cold, wet hand that wrapped around his ankle and pulled him off his perch into the frigid water was a surprise. He laughed, knowing that Bucky could feel the vibrations of his amusement through the water, and found Bucky’s lips with his own. Bucky’s hands tangled in Tony’s hair as they kissed, mouth hot; Tony could taste the salt of the ocean and a wildness that was all Bucky, and it never failed to thrill Tony to his bones. Under the water it was dark, too dark for even Tony’s eyes to see, and all sound was muffled, and there were no smells but the sea, so the only thing that Tony could sense the feel of Bucky against him, under his hands and against his mouth. He stroked firmly down Bucky’s sides, gripping his fins and feeling the muscles move under Bucky’s skin as he kept them steady in the water. He felt more than heard Bucky’s groan, vibrating through his chest, and he bit lightly at Bucky’s lips to get more of a taste of him on his tongue. They didn’t normally get frisky like this under the water – after all, Tony had a lovely large bed with soft sheets and dark curtains to keep out the sunlight back at the lighthouse – but apparently Bucky was in the mood, hands plucking urgently at Tony’s clothes to get at the skin underneath. Tony wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist as he pulled away from Bucky’s mouth just long enough to wrestle his shirt over his head, and then they jerked apart in surprise as they felt something plunge into the water right next to them.

He heard Bucky’s instinctive, startled cry of alarm and tried to see what was happening, but all he could see was the rapidly disappearing reflection of moonlight off the bubbles streaming through the dark water. He felt the woosh of water as Bucky swam after who- or whatever it was, and kicked his way to the surface to wait for him, raking his hair away from his face as he treaded water and cursed his lack of natural buoyancy. But it was only a couple of minutes before Bucky’s head broke the water with is cargo in tow.

“What the hell?” Tony said. It was a person. Some stupid idiot had jumped into the ocean in the middle of the night in late October; it was a miracle that he wasn’t already getting hypothermia. And it was a stranger, to boot – Tony knew everyone in the tiny town that was closest to the lighthouse, and he’d remember seeing a man this good-looking and brain-dead. “Did you just jump into the water? For God’s sake, why?”

“I s-saw you fall in, and you didn’t c-come up,” the man said, shivering but surprisingly lucid given how cold he must be.

“For Christ’s sake,” Tony started, but Bucky cut him off.

“Let’s get him warmed up, then curse him out,” Bucky said, and as Tony made his way back to the rocks and picked his way around the base of the cliffs towards the trail up to the lighthouse Bucky started towards the pebbled beach with the man in tow.

“I can swim,” Tony heard the man protest, and smiled when he heard Bucky’s click of disgust.

“Shut up,” Bucky said crossly, and Tony knew he was pissed that this guy had interrupted his plans. He all but tossed the stranger onto the beach, and that was when Tony noticed that the man was naked.

“Hey!” Tony called out. “Why are you naked? Where are your clothes?” But he wasn’t sure that the man heard him, because he was staring at Bucky as he laboriously pulled himself onto shore with his arms and great big heaves of his tail. As graceful as Bucky was under the water, he was as ungainly out of it, at least until he was far enough on dry land to trigger his transformation. Tony, of course, had never seen him transform in the day, but at night it was lovely – moonlight shone slick on his skin as the water streamed down it, then there was a soft pearlescent glow and when it faded, Bucky looked like any other man, if more muscular than most. But now he was just as naked as the stranger, which left Tony feeling overdressed and somewhat bedraggled with his wet hair and dripping clothes. “Fuck it,” Tony muttered, and kicked his own clothes off as well, stopping only to grab his phone in its waterproof case out of his pocket then leaving everything else on the rocks to gather later. Other than Bucky and now this guy, Tony had never seen another living being out on this finger of land that jutted out into the ocean, connected to the mainland by a ribbon of land so narrow that it didn’t even have a proper road on it and it disappeared in particularly high tides.

“Are you not human either?” The man exclaimed as Tony approached.

Tony shared a glance with Bucky, who was pulling his long hair away from his face and tying it up with a hair band he kept around his wrist for just that purpose. “Well…” Tony hedged, then he stopped and scowled. “Wait, what do you mean, either?”  The man looked alarmed as Tony came closer and leaned in; underneath the salty, fishy smell of the ocean, he caught a trace of – “You’re a werewolf?”

“Maybe we should talk inside,” Bucky suggested again, and Tony led the way up the trail to the lighthouse, hitting the lights as he went inside. Towels always hung by the door, and as they all dried off Tony studied the newcomer. The man’s hair was dark now, but he could tell that it would dry to a burnished gold, and he had a thick beard that emphasized his strong jaw and framed a full mouth. Now that they were standing on level ground, Tony could tell that he was tall, barely taller than Bucky, and his body was just as thickly muscled. Bucky caught him staring and raised an eyebrow with amusement as Tony just shrugged and smiled.

Tony tossed Bucky his clothes from the back of the couch, then went into the bedroom to grab a pair of pants and something for the stranger to wear. “My name is Tony,” he said as he handed the man a pair of Bucky’s old shorts. “And to answer your question from earlier, no, I’m not human. I’m a vampire.”

The man had the grace to look chagrined that he had jumped into an ice-cold ocean to save a vampire from drowning. “I’m Steve. I’m sorry for barging in on you both, I just was exploring the area when I caught your scent, then I saw you go into the water-“

 “It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,” Tony said, waving off Steve’s apology. He gestured for Steve to take a seat and hit the button for the coffee pot, the one human habit he hadn’t been able to kick even after all these years. “This is Bucky, and you might have noticed that he’s mer.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Steve said, and Tony glanced over to see that the man’s face was suspiciously red as he looked at Bucky. This time it was Tony’s turn to smirk as Bucky studied Steve with equal interest, his previous hostility draining away at the potential to get to know someone new and exciting.

“I’ve never met a were before,” Bucky said. He scratched his chin as if he actually wanted to be running his fingers through Steve’s beard, and Tony could sympathize. Bucky’s face was as hairless as his body, in and out of the water, and Tony had lost the ability to grow a beard like that when he turned. “What brings you to the area?”

“I just got out of the military, and needed some time to clear my head, so I took some time off to roam. Oh shit! I’ve got a bag with my stuff in it, I dropped it near the cliffs.” He half-stood as if he was going to go retrieve it right this second, but Tony stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s safe for now, I’ll get it for you. Are you hungry? Bucky keeps us well stocked with seafood,” Tony offered, perching on the edge of the armchair where Bucky was sitting as the coffee maker burbled and hissed.

“No, please, I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Steve said. “I’ve already imposed enough. I should get going.” He shuffled his feet a little but made no move to get up, and Tony suppressed a gleeful smile as he met Bucky’s eyes again.

“You should stay,” Bucky said as if on cue, curling his feet up underneath him in the chair. “What, were you planning to get a hotel room or something? You’d rather stay with humans?”

“Well, no,” Steve admitted. “I’ve mostly been sticking to the woods and only going into towns when I had a craving for a hot meal.”

Tony had to laugh at that, because that was also pretty much the only reason why Tony had ever gone into towns, at least until he’d met Bucky and didn’t have to leave the lighthouse to feed anymore. “Well, we aren’t the best chefs but we can make a hot meal, and we’ve got a spare bed if you want it. If you need to feel useful, I’m sure we can find something for you to do around here.”

  “Okay,” Steve said after a moment, nodding. “If you’re sure.”

[writefightandflightclub]

Bulletproof (First Order!Poe x reader)

What is this? This is the 2nd of 14 short prompt requests I’ll be writing as part of my 500 follower celebration! See my call-out for requests (now closed... unless you’re desperate!) and credit for prompt list creators here.

What is the prompt? This awesome prompt from @woakiees -“i’m feeling #45 from the third prompt list with fo! poe (”you took a bullet for me.”) maybe some angst with a happy ending? or not happy. you decide!” Hope this is something like you had in mind, woakiees! <3 

Author’s note: I tried my best to write angst idk.

Word count: I failed on my 500 word limit AGAIN. This one is 1.5k words. Maker!

Warnings: Language, sex references. Shooting / serious injury.

GIF: By @poe-dameron​ (unrelated to the story except for that fabulous salt and pepper).

You didn’t think it through. You just jumped. It’s not like you had to time to weigh it up, in the heat of the moment. Not like you decided it should be you instead of him. It just couldn’t be him. Not Poe. Not the man you’d loved hopelessly since the Academy.

You thought he might at least be grateful. Might finally get a soft look in his eyes. You know the one; that look, when someone’s eyes seem to become just a little deeper, a little more expansive, like they contain the swirling depths of a galaxy. Like love is birthing new stars behind their eyes, all for you.

You thought he might run to you, cradle you. Cry for you. Maybe love you. Finally. In your final moments.

Instead: “What did you do?”, the Commander spits, an expression so sour painted on his face that he could be looking at rebel scum, not at you. His dark eyes black holes, his body as still and grey and imposing as a Coruscant skyscraper.

“I took a bullet for you, asshole.”, you rasp, clutching at your stomach, peering down at the blood stain expanding outwards like a red giant. “Fuck knows I’m regretting it now.”

Unceremoniously, despite efforts to style it out, you drop to your knees, on to your side, pain flaring in you like the dying sun painting itself across your uniform. It hurts, it burns, but you try to hang on to the pain, to focus on it. You know that once your star stops burning, the sky simply goes black. You’re damn sure you want some more fire yet.

Your eyes reach out to Poe, still stood there, motionless. He’s lost his decisive edge, that unerring control and power he always seems to have over everything, over you. He’s floundering. You call his name and then finally he comes to you, at least. Presses a cloth to your wound.

“Ah, you fucker.”, you bitch as it stings.

“Just fucking hang on. Apply pressure.”

You’re on your back now, with the sky -not his face- above you. This isn’t how you wanted this to go. Not how you wanted to go. The suns are dazzling but you’d much rather his eyes were the last thing you see. You had always preferred the night. Always could get lost in his eyes, like being marooned on dark, shadowed planets. Instead, your life force is slipping into the insipid pink skies overhead.

Your eyes swimming, you search for him, try hard to focus-up, to fight through the growing haze. You tune-in to the crackle of his comms beside you. You hear him signalling for the field medics, a flurry of barked orders. Telling them he’s down, not you. Using his position, you realise. The Order don’t typically care all that much about sacrificing soldiers. At least he happens to care about one.

“You need a medic?”, you tease, before realising the words would wrack you with pain. “You always were dramatic, Dameron.”

“Says you. Why can’t you just walk this off, huh?” Now his stony face is looming over you. That’s better. Looking into his eyes is much better. Even if he does run a tell-tale hand through his hair; a gesture he only ever performs in the most fraught moments. Even if his hands do come up red, flecking his face with your blood as if your dying sun is bathing him in its dappled light.

He’s positively beautiful.

Still, it’s not half as romantic as you might have imagined it would be, taking a bullet for Commander Dameron. No speeches. No thanks. No declarations. Of love, or otherwise. But at least he does stay with you, even as the bullets and explosions threaten him further. And at least he does offer you his hand, which you clasp tightly as if you might never let go. Then a little less tightly when you can’t hold on.  

You’re suddenly heavy. Tired. Your eyes begin to flutter closed, until you feel him slap you repeatedly across the face. Who would have thought it would be so useful to have a kinky lover around in life or death situations?

Perhaps delirium is beginning to set in.  

“I th- thought you said there was a time and a p- place for public displays of BDSM, Commander.” Why are you suddenly so damn cold.

“You shut your smart mouth or I’ll have to make you, you hear me?” there’s a slight crack in his voice, you think. A pained, heartbroken attempt at a smile which almost reaches the corner of his eyes.

He drags your head on to his lap then. Still looking positively furious at the whole situation. Looking like if you die he might kill you, along with everyone else in the galaxy.

He lets you reach up and stroke his face, his hair, his beard, for once not caring who sees. “My Poe.” You try to bend your face into a soft smile as you feel yourself beginning to slip further away, like you’re floating in space with no gravity. “I love you, y-you know…?”

You don’t get to find out if he says it back.

So this is what it feels like to die?

It could be worse. At least you get to maroon yourself on the shadowy shores of his eyes as everything fades to black.

 *******

You wake up, shocked to be alive in the First Order med bay. Not for the first time.

This is the first time, however, that you wake to find Commander Dameron  sleeping in the chair next to you, gripping your hand in his, his crown of salt and pepper curls nestled at your side. 

Your mouth forms the shape of the words before any sounds comes out.

“W… What..” you rasp, tugging at his hand with what little strength you can muster. “Poe. What happened?”

BB-8 is the one to jostle him awake, detecting you’re conscious first. The black and orange droid beeps sharply at his master, tipping his antennae up towards you to direct his gaze. Fighting through the fog of sleep, the Commander’s eyes meet yours. Then, he is gripping your hand a little tighter. He is looking at you with an intensity that’s oh so familiar, but which suddenly hits different.

You repeat your question. What happened?

He pauses to suck in a deep breath, as if he needs the force of it behind his words. And yet, his voice comes out small. “You took a bullet for me.”  

You head lolls towards him, eyes searching his. You’re groggy, but you hope you still manage to look indignant. “And let me guess. You’re pissed off?”

He shoots you a dismissive look and stands. Still in his bloodied battle clothes, he looks uncharacteristically dishevelled. He looks like he’s never left your side since the battlefield.

There’s that deep breath again, hinting that more forceful words are coming. He begins with your name, and it fills his mouth, as if he’s putting everything he has behind it.

Then: “I’ve wished it for a lot of things.”, he starts, voice impassioned. The way he sometimes gets on the bridge, or over the comms in his TIE. “Power. Empire. Quashing the scum once and for all.” He strokes your cheek so lovingly with the back of his hand that you think your heart might burst. “But I’ve never wished I had the force more than in that moment, when I needed to bring you back to me.”

He stoops to plant the softest kiss to your forehead. “I love you. You’re my match. There’s no rank, no war, no battle, and no victory I care about winning if I’ve lost you. There’s only you. I need you to know that.”

A happiness is swelling in your heart and spilling from your eyes, tears coursing their way down your cheeks.

His eyes crease at the corners, playful. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re always so dramatic.”, he teases.

Maker, you love that man. Always have, ever since the Academy. He’s certainly the only one you’d take a fucking bullet for.

“Now.” He announces, smoothing his demeanour, his uniform, and adopting a stance that means business. “I had to royally piss off Hux to stay here with you. Plus, I can’t let him have all the fun planning the counterstrike against the bastards who shot you, can I?” His delicious eyes glisten with malice, and you can’t wait to hear the horrors he’s likely to concoct in the name of revenge.

He collects his gloves from his chair and moves gracefully to the doorway, eyes lingering on you. “Bb-8 will stay with you. Get some rest. And then, when you’re rested, get the droid to send me your most brutal suggestions for how the counterstrike should go down, OK?”

He winks at you, and you return a soft smile. “Commander? Don’t get shot.”

His eyes twinkle, the birth of stars behind his eyes as he finally gives you that look. The look you’ve waited years for. “Right back at you, sweetheart.”

Maybe from that day on, the Commander remembers to soften, just a little. Only for you. It seems, that after all these years, you finally penetrated that bulletproof heart.

And, oddly, all it took was a bullet.

[sharada-n]

Febuwhump day 22 - Burned

Fandom: The Musketeers

As requested by: @rogue205!

Becoming a musketeer had put Athos in the most unthinkable danger for years, each encountered scenario more absurd than the last. He'd say he had become accustomed to it over time, but then again if he truly had his current predicament might not have surprised him.

Yet somehow it did.

He pulled against the ropes tying his hands behind his back and around the wooden stake. While the people responsible for his capture might be peasants, they could tie a knot strong as any sailor and Athos could see no way of getting loose. His feet had been subjected to a similar treatment, tied to the pole to keep him upright, and probably also to keep him from kicking at the blocks of wood and hay piled beneath them. The strength required to keep his body from slouching painfully was an effort, and by his own estimation, things were about to get a whole lot worse.

The crowd gathered around him was getting more volatile by the minute, cries rose up from their midst and Athos didn't even need to be able to discern them to know they were calling for his death. A man with a lit torch stepped forward, swinging it around dangerously.

"We pray this offering may be accepted to grant us purpose," he called to the heavens, the inky black night sky answering only with silence. But Athos knew that whatever wicked deities these people were putting their faith upon would not answer in any meaningful ways to him.

If his comrades were planning to show up tonight, right then would be the perfect moment for them to do so.

Then the man bent forward and with purposeful intent set the blaze to the burnable material they had used to build their pyre.

The kindle took to flame in a second, a small trail of smoke which swiftly transformed into a dark black cloud that smothered everything. Athos coughed, trying to hold his breath and keep from inhaling the toxic air. It burnt inside his lungs, scorching along his veins.

Which on its own would be an unfortunate circumstance, if it weren't for what would happen in a couple of minutes if he couldn't make his way out of there being many times worse.

The villagers were chanting, their voices distant and low-pitched through the haze of the smoke both physical and mental. Despite his best intentions, Athos had already inhaled a lungful and the shaking rasps ripping through his body were making it hard for him to concentrate. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think through the ensuing headache.

The flames were growing at an alarming rate.

Within mere seconds Athos could feel their heat, the promise of a painful burn within their touch. As captain of a squadron he had faced situations that were daunting – some might even describe them as utterly hopeless – and he had assessed them with a cold gaze and steel resolve, pushing panic to the back of his mind.

But as he pulled harder on the ropes binding him to the improvised pyre, knowing the growing fire beneath his feet, Athos had sweat dripping down the back of his neck. There was no crueler way to curse a man than with a slow death, one they could anticipate and see coming. Where the blade fell on your neck unnoticed - slicing through in an instant - the fire would grant no such mercy.

Forced to breathe lest he passed out, Athos settled for shallow inhales through his nose, trying to ignore the scalding of the ash in his throat. The smoke stung his eyes and made them water, making it hard to see even through rapid blinking. Pain seared through his leg when one flame sprung high enough to brush his ankles, the fabric of his pantaloons pulled up high enough through his struggling that it touched the bare skin. Athos renewed his efforts of loosening the ropes. A coughing fit overcame him.

The villagers were chanting louder still, voices mingling into a cacophony of noise. Pain snuck up Athos' calf, the soles of his feet feeling as if they were put in the blaze directly. The only thing keeping Athos from screaming out was his already crumbling willpower not to buckle in the face of death.

He had closed his eyes to cut off the deafening ruckus, muttering a prayer under his breath until the pain and lack of oxygen made him unable to. Everything turned into one blur, his head swimming on the brink of passing out when the blow hit him. The entire pole pitched forward and with it Athos, who fell into the flames. They were put out seconds later though before they could do any more damage, and then somebody was cutting away at the rope, pulling his sore arms from under him.

Athos gasped, his heartbeat running rampant in his chest.

Porthos hauled him to his feet none too kindly, making Athos cry out when he put his weight on his injuries. Without needing to be told his arm was quickly lifted over Porthos' shoulder, helping himself upright. The crowd was gone and Athos wanted to ask what had scattered them so quickly but got distracted by his own wandering mind. He coughed again, feeling the tar stain his lips.

"Where are the others?" he managed to say. Porthos grunted in response.

"That's what I'd love to know, I found you first." Red streaked his face, a nasty wound on his head that had since dried over with congealed blood. Dark eyes settled on his face and Porthos gave him a valiant attempt at a grin. "Good thing I did though, you must have really pissed them off."

"We need to find them." As soon as Athos tried taking a step he felt the pain shoot its way up his legs, nearly resisting in his effort to breathe. Porthos supported him.

"We will," he said. "We'll find them."

Athos could only hope they were in less trouble than he had been.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

“Move. I dare you.” PROMPT YES YES YES YES YES YES PLS DO THAT ONE FIRST

Halloween Masterlist - DT special

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~           ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

𝓢𝓔𝓡𝓘𝓐𝓛    𝓚𝓘𝓛𝓛𝓔𝓡  ~  G𝓡𝓐𝓨𝓢𝓞𝓝 𝓓𝓞𝓛𝓐𝓝

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

This whole damn series is a WARNING so don’t read if you’re not good with anything serial killer related.

Part six - finale

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~           ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She could feel the icy cold tip of the blade slowly trailing up the side of her left thigh, sending chills up and down her spine as she held his merciless gaze. The wicked glint in his eyes matched the one in his smirk, forcing her heart to beat so fast he could hear it without a strain. And he loved it. He loved every minute of this sweet torture he had forced on her, but can you really say it was forced if she turned up on her own free will?

He thought her to be pure, an angel touched by the heavens, the good in darkness that surrounded the world, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. Good girls don’t meet their serial killer boyfriends on their own free will. Good girls don’t stand there and let their serial killer boyfriends do as they please with their body and their mind. Good girls would call the police. If she was a good girl, he’d have been arrested by now. Thus, the only conclusion he had was that his Y/N wasn’t the good girl he believed she is, meaning she had deceived him all along and he wanted retribution.

“Move.” He spoke lowly, tilting his head to the left, examining the way her lips part as he pierced the veil of silence. “I dare you.” He raised his eyebrow, his smirk growing into a grin, holding in a chuckle he wished to release with every beat of her very audible heart.

“No.” She stated calmly, knowing she’d meet her end that night. But she refused to let him snuff out her light before she got answers. So, she lifts her chin up defiantly, narrowing her eyes at him, ignoring the flames flickering in his.

“Not until you tell me why you’re doing this. Or why you haven’t killed me yet.” She knows it’s a gamble, too big of a chance to lose in this game he’s been playing with her, but she promised herself she won’t die until he tells her the truth. He had no reason to lie any longer and if he did, even a relative truth was better than the lie he sold her.

Grayson pressed the tip of his knife into her thigh, noticing her left eye twitch with the pain, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t even gasp as he drew blood. Sure, it’s a flesh wound, but most girls would scream by now, but this girl….his girl refused to give him the satisfaction, drawing a snarl to his lips.

“Because I like the feeling of a body growing limp and cold in my arms. I enjoy the way they scream and the way they stop, their hearts finishing its tune under the palm of my hand. But most of all, I love the control it gives me, the fear I strike into the cowards who can’t fucking move when they see a little blood - as if they don’t know how good it feels to have it flow across your skin - slowly turning colder the further is goes.” Grayson smiles. Perhaps ’smile’ wasn’t the right word for it - the top row of teeth was showing, and there was a faint curve to the lips and a slight dimple in the right corner, but there was no crease below the eyes, no movement of the cheeks. It felt like a grimace, not a grin.

Her breathing grew faster as he continued, swallowing thickly as she faced reality that her once prince charming is truly the angel of death and not the touch of heaven she believed him to be. That wing shaped earring he wore deceived her right from the start and the smile on his face right now ripped her apart.

“There’s more to it.” She demands, her voice oddly calm still, only pissing him off. Every word she says pushes him closer to the edge and it’s only a matter of time until he breaks. They both know it.

Grayson wanted this to be a game for the long run, but even he knew that was a lie. There was a bigger reason to it.

“I’ve always had the urges. And when I first saw you, I knew I wanted you to be my first…first victim. But then I realized it could be something else. A game.” Grayson stepped closer, using his body to push her into stepping back and closer to the bed.

“The girls I killed were all practice. Ethan had caught me on the second kill, only then joining me. But I was the instigator. And I wanted to see how far we could go, before and after revealing ourselves to you.” He stepped closer once more, making her move again.

“And you loved me either way. The pure, good girl next door loved me - a serial killer who planned to kill her from the very first time he laid eyes on her. And he enjoyed knowing that. I loved knowing you love me - giving me immense pleasure. And I planned to torture you this way until you stopped loving me, but you can’t, can you?” Grayson smirked, but in reality, the conversation made his heart jump as well. He knew he was mixing lies with the truth, trying to convince her without revealing his weakness…and his weakness is her.

She was the last shred of his humanity, the boy he used to be, who he clings to. She was the past, the present and the future. In her, he could see a life unfold - a life where the persona he wanted to uphold would remain - one where he’d be the charismatic, appreciated, manipulative humanitarian until he has all he wants in the world - like all sociopaths do. But his brother didn’t have that wish, for Ethan only wanted to kill until he’s killed and the restlessness would lead them off the deep end either way, so he gave up that wish of his - the one where he’d be the perfect man in the eyes of the world - the one with Y/N.

And yes, she loves him and it gives him a perverse sense of pleasure and while he wanted to wait to kill her, he couldn’t do that anymore. With her, he was just a boy. With her, there was hope of being who he wanted to be which would betray his twin. With her alive, he’d gravitate toward her until it all ends. And he couldn’t do it anymore. With her, he’s a boy, but he needed to be a man. So he had to kill the boy and let the man be born - he had to kill her.

“You never loved me, did you?” She whispered, going against all sane reason once she cupped his cheeks in a moment of weakness, pressing herself closer to him, her trembling lips brushing his.

“I don’t know if I know what love is.” He admitted, lifting the knife up, setting the tip of his blade on a forty-five degree angle under her left-side rib cage, preparing to break his pattern of killing, unable to cut her throat as he did with the others. He loved that neck of hers far too much - his beautiful swan.

So he would push the blade in as fast as possible and end this torture, just as Henry did with Trish. It would be a quick death and he’d hold her in his arms until she took her very last breath, letting go of all she represented for him. He’d look into her eyes and see the shock, betrayal and the love fade until her pupils are wide and fixed, no longer swimming in a galaxy of her own as death claimed her.

And just as he’s about to do it, he pressed his lips onto hers one last time, saying goodbye without uttering the words, unaware of the world around him.

Which is exactly why he nearly jumped out of his skin as the door busted down from behind them and the room quickly filled with a SWAT team. Y/N was taken from his arms with great force, pulling her away from his embrace as they pushed him down on his knees.

“I’m compliant!” He shouted, stopping them from shooting him. They’ve pushed him all the way to the ground, his cheek laying on one of the rose petals left on the carpet, searching for Y/N desperately.

“Grayson Dolan, you are under arrest for murder. Anything you say…” The officers started with their usual blabber, but he couldn’t pay attention. He knew if he was caught, so was his brother who remained in front of the door of this apartment as he was the lookout. He also knew that if he was caught, it meant Y/N didn’t listen to his request of coming alone. He knew that if she had done that, it mean that she wasn’t just a girl who agreed to meet her serial killer boyfriend willingly. It meant she was the good girl he believed her to be.

She was still his good girl and despite her being why he’s in handcuffs right now, he knew she was still on his hook. And the thought made him smile - widely, especially when he finally caught her eye as they forced him to stand and walk out, winking at her.

“We’ll see each other again, babe.”

A/N - The Trish and Henry reference is from Harper’s Island, a mini series I highly suggest you watch if you like this fic.

Tags: @dolanstwintuesday @peacedolantwins @xalayx @godlydolans @heyits-claire @dolandolll @ethanhes

[supertweetycherry]

THE DECK PRINCESS - [i. The Card]

🔹Pairings: EXO x BTS X OC

🔹Genre: Fluff, Cardau, Adventure, Powers, Reverseharem, Love, Mates

🔹Ratings: General

🔹Warnings: Very Light swearing

🔹Word Count: 2.7k

Navigation-->| Masterlist --<<FOREWORD | NEXT>>

—————————————————————————-

Sneaking out was one of the best thing that a person could ever do in their life. The fun in lying to your parents and then the thrill of jumping out of your bedroom window only to be chased out by your own dog because he couldn’t recognise your scent and then nearly getting lost in the dark streets of the city was really a fun experience. Everyone should try it.

No, I’m kidding! Never ever try to sneak out unless you have a very good reason too. Why? The answer is simple.

Karma is a BITCH!

“How could he bite me like this?!” I exclaimed, wincing at the pain. “My own fucking dog bit me!”

Yup, you got it right. My own dog just bit the shit out of me. So much for getting him a new dog house.

“Ya! Stop moving. It’s just a small scratch.” A voice whined.

I looked at the tall chick beside me with my famous death glare. How could she call the two large holes on my leg a scratch? Doesn’t she see the amount of blood pouring out of it?

“Stop giving me that look, Yoonmi.” She scoffed, pressing a small cotton ball onto my wound. “You are being dramatic again.”

I pouted. She’s right. I’m being dramatic. I love being dramatic. She knows me so well. After all shes my best friend. My honey sunny bunny.

“Your being mean, Sunny” I squeaked out in fake hurt. Yes, it’s true. The wound on my leg was just a small scratch. But hey, a girl can dream right?

“You are such a baby, Yoonmi.” She scoffed again before placing a small bunny bux bandaid on my precious wound. “Will you ever grow up?”

I smiled.

“Never.”

Apparently that seemed to set her off and next thing I know, I’m being abandoned. I frowned as she threw me an irritated look over her shoulders before leaving me alone to serve her boyfriend of the week.

“Ya! Sunny! Why are you leaving me?!” I called out in protest but the words were lost in the loud music.

I looked longingly at her retreating figure and stared at my covered up wound. Did I say something wrong? I feel so lonely now.

Sunny has always been my only friend. We met when we were in diapers. We stayed together ever since. But now it felt weird around her. I used to have other friends but they all abandoned me when bullying started. Being a teacher’s pet and a top achiever of the school doesn’t really get you a free pass from the bullies. Only being popular does. And I’m not popular. I may have a slim, athletic body with all the curves and long dark brown hair that framed my face perfectly, it still wasn’t enough for me to earn loyal friends. Sunny was the only one who stuck around. But now, things have been a little strained between us. I wonder why?

I looked around the party hall quietly. Everyone was either dancing or getting their ass drunk.

Tonight’s celebration was dedicated to being a successful high school graduate. The ceremony happened in the morning while a secret party was thrown in the night to celebrate the new faze. Considering the party was held at one of the top clubs in the city of Seoul. It was enough for my lovely parents to ban me from going.

Honestly I don’t blame them. I’m still a year shy from 18 while all my peers have already reached the legal age. I’m still a baby.

“Here. Have this.” I looked up to see the handsome bartender that has been giving me free drinks throughout the night. He held two tequila shots for me to grab. I smiled taking the offered drinks. So what if I’m still underaged. The rules are meant to be broken after all.

“Thanks”. I said sweetly, looking up at his handsome face. Its weird how he just kept giving me free drinks tonight. I came out here tonight with the only intention to let loose some of the build up tension over the last few weeks of high school. Exams are harder to deal with when they have the capability of deciding your future.

“Having guy problems?” I heard his husky voice again, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I looked at him up and down. Seizing his body frame from top to bottom. Black pants, open white shirt and flashy toned abs. Yup, he’s a total eye candy.

“Nope.” He was pretty and handsome. But something tells me to stir clear away from his path. “More like friendship problems.” I continued, gulping the shot in one go. Damn, that burned. I took another Shot of the bitter drink and slammed the glass on the counter.

Why does tequila has to burn so much?

“Let me guess, best friend leaving you alone to mingle with other boys?”

“Someone’s been spying on me.” I teased. It’s not really a secret. The boy was literally standing behind me when Sunny decided to ditch me.

“I guess I’m just too observant.”

“No, you’re a spy.” I said, pointing my finger at his face playfully. “Let me guess, CIA?”

“No. That’s American, sweetheart. We’re in Seoul, South Korea.” He chuckled.

“Ah. It’s NIS then. I knew there was something suspicious about you.”

“You’re funny and... weird.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” I shrugged. People call me many things. I guess being Funny and weird is just a couple of those things.

“You seemed tensed.” I stared at him in confusion. I’m not tensed.

“Maybe I can help you... ” He whispered, sliding a card towards me with a small wink. I looked at the number on the card and gulped. “Yeah I’m pretty fast.”

Oh boy, please tell me he’s not offering himself.

“Think about it. I’ll be here for the rest of the night.” I coughed lightly as his fingers slowly grazed my hand. I felt my cheeks get warm. No-one has ever touched me in that way before. I don’t even know what to say.

“I like funny girls.” He continued before placing a soft kiss on my hand. I shivered at his touch. Ugh, it was not a good feeling. So much for being handsome.

“Haha... thanks for the drinks.” I quickly said, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “Gotta go.” I laughed before making a bee line for the furthest couch away from the bar. Yup, I’m a total coward when it comes to boys.

“What’s the rush, little Lee?”

“Huh?” I said turning around to my right, only to jump back in surprise. There, right infront of me sat my biggest bully of them all. Song Mina.

She was chewing on a piece of gum while her fingers twirled around her bleached blonde hair. Her crystal blue eyes were trained right on me.

I shivered. They were so blue. Just like the bright blue water in a swimming pool.

“Mina.”

“It’s madam Song Mina to you, little Lee.” She retorted.

I scoffed. Madam Song Mina my foot. She may be my bully, but I never let her get an upper hand on me.

“It’s nice to see you’re still in your happy cloud, Mina.” I said, scooting away from her resting figure. Why did I have to choose the same seat as her?

“What a teacher’s pet like you is doing in such a party like this, sweetheart?” The girl sassed with a curve of her lips. I gritted my teeth in anger. True, it was a graduation party but it was filled with students from all over Seoul. Did I mention the party was actually organised by the Song Family? Meaning only the populars were invited. Too bad the Song family hasn’t seen the wealth and riches of the Lee family yet.

“It’s none of your business.” I said before looking away. I hated her for what she did to me during my high school years. And I will continue to hate her until she gives me a good reason to forgive her.

Just then a shorter boy ran up to our seats and looked at Mina in worry.

“Have you found it yet?” I frowned at her question. Found what?

“Yes.” The boy nodded. That’s when I felt Mina stand up in excitement.

“Where?”

The short boy, who looked a year younger than me, pointed towards the bar. I looked around and noticed a small crowd forming behind the counter.

“But Madam Mina, your friend is about to claim it.” Wait, what? Claim what?

“That bitch.” The moment I heard Mina say those words out loud, I knew something bad was gonna happen.

“Come with me!” Mina ordered before storming to the place of commotion. The boy looked at me before shrugging and following Mina like a small kicked puppy.

I was obviously confused. It’s not always that someone manages to piss off Song Mina. There are some selected individuals who can blow her anger off but they are all from lower class. Considering it’s a high profile party, I can only think of one person.

Smiling to myself, I also stood up and followed the fuming girl and the short boy to the Bar counter. My curiosity has reached its peak. There’s no stopping me now.

“Give it back to me. It’s mine!” A deep voice screamed just as I reached the site of commotion.

There were quite a lot of people here. All gathered around in a circle. I could see pointing of fingers and excitement on their faces.

Apparently, a very tall boy was shouting over his lungs at someone. That someone happens to be a very familiar looking girl. He was making moves to grab whatever the girl held in her hands. The only thing stopping him was the herd of boys who had launched themselves at the poor boy.

“Relax, Wo Bin. I just want to know if it’s worth my time or not.” The female spoke, smirking at the boy who tried to claw her face again.

“Krystal.” I quietly whispered to myself. That’s who the female was. The voice was too familiar for me not to recognise. She was one of those neutral peers who would watch a crime happen but wouldn't help to stop it. Why? Simple. Because it has nothing to do with them.

“I found it first. It appeared to me!” The boy shouted, not caring that he was drawing unwanted attention.

I was utterly confused by this scene. Where were the bouncers? With this much screaming going on, security should have been here by now to separate these two. I could only detect few of the students lining around to see the outcome. But everyone else just ignored it as if it was invisible to them. Even that handsome bartender who was looking the other way is oblivious to the small crowd beside him.

“I know. I just want to check.” My brows furrowed in confusion. Check what?

“This is my last warning to you, Krystal. Give that card back to me!”

Wait, a card?

They’re fighting over a card?

I looked at Krystal’s right hand to find a large playing card being twirled around her fingers. I couldn’t see properly but I can guarantee it was bigger than any normal playing card.

“Krystal”. That was Mina. The sudden warning in the tone and the familiar temperature drop was enough for everyone in the circle to shuffle back a bit, allowing Mina to get a front seat view of the whole fight.

I could see another boy beside Mina, who looked viciously at the two fighting duo. He was scaring everyone off. The way his fingers twitched, and his eyes glowing. There was something unnatural about that boy.

“Mina.” As if on instinct, suddenly two people appeared on Krystal’s either side. An older girl and a young boy. Both with the same identical black hair and twin features. Their posture was defensive. It was as if they were there to protect Krystal.

“Is it same card?” I heard Mina ask. A small wicked smile appeared on Krystal’s lips.

“Exactly the same.”

“No!” The tall boy from earlier looked at both of them in fear. His eyes had grown to the size of a saucer. “You can’t! This isn’t fair.”

“Shut up!” Someone else yelled.

“Take him away, please.” Mina sighed as she moved towards Krystal But was stopped by the two twin looking people. They were glaring at her.

“Sorry Mina. First come first serve.” Krystal smiled, rubbing her long nails over the card’s surface.

I tried to hide my smile. Mina was known to be the biggest bully around here. Her only rule was based on first come first serve basis. It’s funny how Krystal used the same tactics back at her.

I could literally see Mina’s face turning cold. I’m so glad I followed her. Seeing Mina rile up like this completed my night of celebration.

“You don’t want uncle to know about this do you?”

At the mention of Krystal’s father, the dark long-haired beauty stiffened. Mina and Krystal are second cousins from their mother’s side. Although, both are from the same family tree, they are nothing like each other. Except maybe the evilness in both of them. Mina was straight forward where as Krystal was more reserved.

I’m so glad I’m the only child in my family. Might have some cousins but they never kept in contact with me for some reason. Oh well, it’s not like I care.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh but I will. And then you can say bye bye to the academy.” Mina threatened.

Academy? Are they really threatening each other over a simple playing card?

I watched as Krystal’s face lost all the colour. Something is definitely up with these two.

In the midst of this, I noticed the tall boy, Wo Bin, had lunged for the card again, scratching Krystal’s hand in the process.

“Yes! I finally got it. I’m its master.” The boy said loudly in glee as he held up the card in his hands. This time I could see the card more clearly. Like any other playing card, it’s one side had a dark wispy black background to it with a shiny silver diamond placed right in the middle. The other side was blank white. But what shocked me was the multiple tears and creases on the card. It was bent from all sides and looked a bit dirty. As if someone has dragged it across a muddy road for days.

I felt a small stab of pain in my chest. Something about that card made my heart ache. It was in a very bad shape and if these people continued to play pull-pull with it, I’m afraid it might not last very long.

“Stop him!”

And just like that a fight started. Before the boy could lift the card up, someone has already snatched it out of his hands and then another pairs of hands grabbed it. I moved back in fear as the whole crowd jumped at the new owner of the card. Even Song Mina.

There was shouts here and there as everyone tried to get access to the card. I didn’t know what to do. The poor thing must have been shredded into pieces by now.

Seeing as there is nothing else interesting about this issue, I started to move away from the area. It was getting too violent for my taste anyway.

But suddenly I felt a gust of wind hit my face. Something large and pointy flew by my face. It landed somewhere near my feet.

I was shocked and startled all at the same time. What the heck was that?

Holding onto my obvious racing heart, I looked at the stupid object which had dared to take my eye out.

It was the card.

The very same card that those idiots are fighting over. I sighed in relief and picked up the offending object.

“Ya! What was that huh? You nearly blinded me.” I scolded the card, noticing how it was darker than before. Am I going crazy for talking to a card?

“The Card! It’s gone!” Someone yelled over the music. I winced at the loud voice.

“Search the place. Find it!” That was Mina. I’m sure of it.

I gulped. The card was in my hands. And there are about 15 or so of them. It was a loosing situation.

So taking a deep breadth, I did the only thing that most people do in situations like this.

I ran.

[sockablock]

beau/jester fae au? maybe beau is looking to trade for a way to escape, or just bored and wandering. or jester is looking for a trade, or there on the traveler's business? :o

my friend, I love this prompt, and I think...oh yes...it’s day 4 of @beaujester-week​.......

Day 4 | Fairy Tale AU

Beau awoke.

That, in and of itself, was unsurprising. Beau had certainlysurvived much wilder nights before in her short time on this earth. Nott’stwenty-first birthday, for example. Caleb’s thirty-second. Molly’s third. Now thathad been a strange event, not least of all because he was much older thanthree. But judging by the pounding sensation in Beau’s head, whatever they’dbeen up to yesterday must have been worse than any of those parties combined.

There had been...beer. And a lot of M&Ms. Then they’ddecided to drink by the lake. And then, at some point, Fjord had turned up,grinning and bearing a whole bottle of tequila…

Beau groaned again, then shifted around. This mattress was alot harder than she remembered. Maybe it was time—

This wasn't a mattress.

Headache forgotten, she was on her feet in seconds.

She looked around.

This was not her apartment. This wasn’t even the EastLake Park—which had been her next guess, just in case—but no, this wassomewhere else entirely. Her toes were buried in soft, shimmering moss, and aspring breeze, rather than autumn, brushed her hair. And her gaze, as ittrailed, up and up and up, saw nothing but massive, winding trees, trunks asthick as marble columns, stretching so high that they vanished into clouds.

The faint hum of insects, chirping birds filled thebranches. But there was...something else now, below the peace, somethingshaking, something pounding, something rattling the earth, growing louder andlouder and louder with every step; Beau just barely had time to whirl around,to raise her hands before her face and take a defensive stance and thensuddenly, inexplicably, bursting through the leaves, a shape dove forward,straight towards her, screamed—

“Oh, you came! Oh, thank goodness, you came!”

Beau flew backwards off her feet and went skidding into themoss. The shape above her threw its arms around her waist, and she was about tostart thrashing and whacking when, suddenly, the figure leaned back.

“Oh, I’m so happy you’re here!” it said. “Thank you,thank you, you’re saving my life!”

Beau stopped. The fight died on her tongue.

The shape perched atop her was a girl. Probably not anyolder than she, with a splash of freckles across her face. Dimples threatenedto burst from her smile, and above a button-nose, her eyes shone with cheer.

She was...well. Beau had to cough, but then she had to frownand cough harder, as she noticed a few more important details thatpricked danger at the back of the skull. 

Because along with a dazzling expression, this young girlalso had horns. Her teeth were sharp. And curling behind her, bright blue—aswas her skin—flicked a long, spaded, whip-like tail.

She blinked a couple times when Beau failed to speak.

“Um...hello?” She leaned in, even closer. “Is...isanybody home?” She waved her hand in front of Beau. “Hello? Are you...did I—oh,shoot, did I kill you?”

Beau couldn’t stop staring at her eyes. They were...purple.Her pupils were purple, and glimmered with a sort of otherworldly light.

She managed, after a strangled moment:

“I, uh...no, I...I’m still alive.”

The girl—was she a girl?—perked up immediately.

“Oh, great! Thank goodness. I was starting to getworried, you know.”

She sat back and crossed her arms, still pressed atop Beau’slegs.

“So, what’s the plan, new friend? How are we going to getout of here?”

“Out of...out...what?”

The girl sighed. “You are the human, aren’tyou? The one who answered my call last night?”

“Your...call?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“My ring. Those bluebells? By the lake?” 

She loomed over Beau once again, quite close. Beau had tofight the urge to duck away.

“What’s your name, anyway?” the girl asked. “I’m Jester.It’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s, uh...it’s nice to meet you too. I’m...I...”

Something in the girl’s intense gaze gave her pause. Italmost seemed like it was waiting to pounce. And in that beat of hesitation,Jester sighed. 

“Oh, you tricky, tricky humans,” she shrugged. “You neverwant to be polite. You never share your names! But it’s fine, I’m in a hurry,and you took my invitation anyway.” She leaned back and gaze a nod. “So comeon, come on, did you bring any weapons?” She started patting the sides ofBeau’s pockets. “I can smell the iron all over you.”

The human of the two finally pulled herself free andscrambled backwards in the moss. Her mind was swimming with headache andconfusion, and the sudden vague memory of ringing bluebells didn’t help. 

“You—w—oh my god, okay. Okay, okay…” Beau raised ahand. “...okay. Look. This is...what’s happening?”

Jester, freshly-thrown off her perch, gave a huff.

“I’m asking you to do what I called you for!” she cried. “Tohelp me fight the guy who’s after me. The lord of, uh, well...of my court.”

Beau didn’t think her eyebrows could go higher, and yet shestill managed another inch.

“The lord of your court? Are you royalty, orsomething?”

Jester rolled her eyes. “Come on, don’t you know anything?Why would you even take this job if you didn’t?”

Beau threw her arms into the air. She was getting tired ofplaying echo.

“But I didn’t do anything!” she yelled. “I have no ideawhat you’re talking about! The last thing I remember is that I was by thelake, spending time with my fucking friends! This...this whatever, it...it’sjust bullshit!” And then she paused, almost as an afterthought.

“...oh wait, shit, am I just tripping?” She gently tappedthe side of her head. “God did Molly spike our dr—”

“Ahem!” 

Beau glanced up. She produced a sardonic smile.

“Yeah? What?”

Jester huffed. “Look,” she said, and scootedforwards, “look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, now. AllI do know is that you stepped into my ring, after I sent out a cry forhelp. So here you are! You’re here to help! Humans are always good at thatstuff, your kind are always good at fighting my kind. Believe me, otherwise,I’d have nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, gee,” Beau said, nose wrinkling. “Great, well,I’m just so honored.”

Jester nodded curtly, completely missed her tone. 

“Good! You should be! It’s not every day you visit the fae.Of course, it seems like your first t—hey, where are you going?!”

Beau had risen to her feet, was flicking pieces of moss offher legs. She glowered as Jester met her gaze.

“I’m going home,” she snapped. “I don’t care aboutthis lord you pissed off, and I certainly don’t care about this deal! I didn’task to be transported here. And...and maybe there was something or anotherabout bluebells, honestly I was really fucked up last night. Allof this is just a misunderstanding!” 

“What?! Girl, you—”

“No!” she stomped her foot, “don’t you ‘girl’ me! I happento be an adult, thank you! And I seriously don’t appreciate you tacklingme like that!” She shook her fist, and behind her, the bushes rustled. “Imean jeez, I don’t have the best manners, but would it kill you to justbe nice for a b—”

Jester’s annoyed postured had faltered. She tilted her headinto the forest behind Beau, which only enraged the jilted human more.

“Hey! I wasn’t finished yet! Don’t interr—”

“But there—”

“No!” Beau growled, and something else did too. “No, fuckthis, I’ve had enough!”

“No, you stupid human—”

“You—you stupid w—”

“Oh, for fuck’s—girl, turn around!”

Beau spun just in time to see a massive, toothy maw miss herhead by inches. Jester had practically flown off the ground, grabbed her by thearms and hurled them both past the trees, skidding to a halt between twognarled roots. Above them, now, the woods had gone still, absolutely silent andeerie—save for a low, breathy sound, a labored, heavy, saliva-coated snarl.

Beau felt her rage retreated. She quickly glanced at Jester,pressed against her in the dirt.

Man, she really is kind of c—Christ, now is notthe time.

Jester, unfortunately, looked similarly panicked. Her eyesdarted back towards Beau.

“Well?” she whispered urgently. “Now’s your time! This isone of Sharp’s lackeys!”

“Sharp’s what?”

“Shhh! Don’t say his name! This is the feywild, nameshave power.”

“But—but you said it first!”

Jester ignored this. She once again stuck her hand intoBeau’s pockets.

“Well?” she hissed. “Where’s your weapon? I smelliron all over you! It’s honestly starting to make me feel sick.”

“Weapon? Iron?” Beau blinked. “You meanthese?”

She reached into her shorts and, with mild sheepishness,produced a handful of metal ball bearings.

And in the long pause that ensued, Jester just sat there andstared at her palm. The growling, snuffling, panting was getting closer.

And then the faerie closed her eyes. She dragged her fingersdrown her face.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “We’re doomed.”

[courtofsapphiresandshadows]

Chapter Twenty- Nesta

The Cauldron was dark and cold. Not like the winter nights her sisters and her struggled through in the Mortal Lands. Not like the nights in Velaris, where the air from the waterfront made her want to bury her face in her scarf. No, this was the kind of cold only the dead knew. 

She often had dreams like this- her tumbling through the dark, her screams muffled by water rushing into her lungs. 

Nesta wondered if Elain had these dreams- if she shared them with others but her. 

Laughter rang in her ears. Who did it belong to? Was it Hybern? The Inner Circle? They did consider her a laughing stock for months- always the end of jokes. She had been weak, let her mind swim in misery and alcohol.

But they weren’t thrown into a pit of hell, and were expected to remain sane.

That inky darkness swarmed around her body, but it couldn’t dim the burning rage that ignited her. That weak girl they remembered was burning to nothingness- what that nothingness would reveal was unknown to her. Hopefully something that would make her enemies step back in fear. 

She continued to plunge into the abyss, the water around her growing darker, and the fire engulfing her burning bright. 

.

.

.

A hand shook Nesta awake.

Darkness- not like the Cauldron, thank the Mother- still lingered in the room. It didn’t hide the Illyrian that hovered over her, a worried expression on her face. 

“Are you okay, Nesta?” Estelle whispered, a hand gingerly patting her shoulder. 

Estelle didn’t need to know what her dreams contained. No one did. So Nesta merely patted her cheek, a forced smile on her lips. 

“Yes, my darling. Now, go back to bed. You and I have a reading lesson early in the morning.” 

She didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t press. “Have you heard from Aegan?”

Nesta felt her smile waver. “No, Estelle. I’m sure Sasha will update us when she returns.” 

Estelle frowned. The young Illyrian pushed herself off of the bed, her feet silent against the wood beneath her. She bid her goodnight, before shutting the door. 

It was a blessing that Estelle didn’t stay any longer. That she didn’t look down, and see that the sheets her hands had been grasping had turned to ash.

.

.

.

It was the middle of the afternoon when someone banged on the door. 

Estelle and Nesta were sitting on the sofa, huddled over the same book. It had been a relatively peaceful morning- the Inner Circle were dispersed all over the city, and the two of them had the townhouse all to themselves. Save for Feyre, who lingered somewhere upstairs. Not that Nesta cared- she had gotten used to her little sister’s ever critical eye. 

“I’ll get it!” The young Illyrian sang, padding towards the front door. Nesta heard the door creak as it open, just as Estelle took in a sharp breath. 

Nesta was instantly on her feet, marching over to see who it was. At first, all she saw was an angry Sasha in the doorway, her face as red as her hair. A quiet sigh of relief tumbled over her lips as she scanned her for any injuries- none were to be found. But then her eyes drifted to the man leaning so heavily on her. 

“Mother above…” She mumbled as she took in Azriel’s bleeding form. His normally sharp eyes were entirely unfocused, his shadows missing. 

Sasha dragged him through the door. “Where is everyone?” She asked, gently setting the Spymaster down on the sofa. 

Estelle glanced back outside. “Still out in Velaris. Feyre’s upstairs-  maybe she can help him-”

That was all Sasha needed to hear. The redhead stormed to the staircase, and bellowed her sister’s name over and over again until an irritated Feyre winnowed in front of her. “Yes?” 

Sasha pointed to Azriel’s pale figure on the sofa. “Where is your mate?”

Feyre’s eyes landed on him. “What happened?” She demanded as she rushed to his side. 

“Hybern ambushed him when he was flying back here. Now answer me- where is Rhysand?” 

The High Lady fell silent for a while as her hands pressed against a large wound in his side. Obviously, it had been stitched up, only for it to reopen on the trip home. “He’s coming back, along with the rest of the Inner Circle. Why do you need him?” 

Sasha crossed her arms over her chest. “Your mate needs to reconsider his strategy on a certain war camp,” she seethed. “It’s about time we deal with Ironcrest properly.” 

Before Feyre could respond, Cassian burst through the door, a look of pure rage on his face. “What the hell happened Kore?” He yelled as he rushed towards Azriel. 

She narrowed her eyes. “You not doing your job, Cassian” she responded coldly. “Hybern Fae are mingling with Ironcrest now, which wouldn’t have happened if you dealt with them early on.” 

It didn’t take long for the two to get in an argument, throwing insults right and left at one another. The other Inner Circle members were too busy carrying Azriel out of the room to care, leaving Nesta and Estelle to watch. 

“Should we step out?” The young Illyrian asked, her face white with fear. 

Nesta placed a hand on her cheek. “I’ll try to separate those two before they tear the house down.” Stepping out wouldn’t change the fact that Nesta herself was about to explode with anger. Was Cassian too blind to see that they were running out of time? 

Steadying herself, she walked over to Sasha, and squeezed her shoulder. “How about we go sparring? I’d like to show you my progress with my ‘gift’ as you like to put it.” 

Sasha’s dark eyes instantly lost all of its rage. “Good idea. I need-” she paused to shoot a withering glare in Cassian’s direction, “-to rid myself that these cowards anyways.” 

Nesta lead her out before the general could retort in anyway. It was astonishing that no blood was shed- that look of murder in Sasha’s eyes was enough to scare the people out of their path as they walked through the streets. 

“Will Estelle be okay on her own?” She asked, obviously trying to force the anger out of her voice. 

“Yes, if Cassian knows what’s good for him.” Of course, the general wouldn’t dare harm her- if the redhead and the commander had anything in common, it was the devotion to protecting the young. Not that Estelle needed protecting in the first place. 

The colder air only seemed to agitate Sasha more as they made their way through the forest. Clearly, something was on her mind- sometimes, Nesta wished the cauldron had granted her daemati abilities. It would’ve been helpful now. 

Once they reached their clearing, and Sasha found a log to sit on, Nesta began her demonstration. It was a little hard to do in a dress, but her progress with her power was clear. If Sasha had been paying attention, she might’ve seen bands of lightning intertwined with fire. 

“Sasha?” She called out softly, only to be met with silence. 

Nesta sighed, before focusing on the fire before her. She had been practicing during her free time, when everyone was either asleep or gone from the house. No one knew of it except for Sasha- she planned on keeping it that way. She didn’t need to give Feyre a reason to monitor her more closely. 

Sasha’s absentmindedness allowed for Nesta to get lost in her own thoughts. Her many, many, thoughts. 

It began with Azriel’s crippled body strewn across the bed. Then to Aegan being alone in the mountains, Ironcrest growing larger and larger by the day. 

She didn’t know that the flames had started to grow. That the lightning that had been dancing across her palms had crept up her arms. 

Sasha finally glanced up. Her dark eyes grew wide, and she shouted something at her, but Nesta was too lost in her own thoughts to hear what she said. 

Hybern. Ironcrest. Aegan. Azriel. They swamped her mind, overran her senses. 

The fire was at the trees now. If Sasha didn’t move, she too would be ablaze. 

Nesta tried to rein the fire in, to soothe the lightning that struck out like a ill-tempered viper. However, it didn’t listen. Wouldn’t listen to her desperate pleas to come down. 

Her frustration and panic fueled the flames. The only thing she could see was the mayhem she had caused- burning wood, animals racing to avoid inevitable death. 

She closed her tear-filled eyes, and prayed to whoever bothered to listen that it would end soon.

Cassian’s POV

Insufferable. That was what Sasha was. Ms. Kore had the nerve to critique his job, and then blame him for getting his closest friend injured. He could only do so much, after all. 

After Sasha had been led away, he had gone to check up on Azriel, where he remained. The shadowsinger didn’t even register that he was there- that anyone was there. Still, Cassian sat next to him, holding his hand to let him know he wasn’t alone. 

Rhysand had just left the townhouse when the Spymaster stirred. The healer, Madja, had been hard at work, trying to repair the tissue that had been ripped apart- no easy work, according to her. So when Azriel finally gained conscious, and felt that power tugging and repairing his flesh, he let out the most horrid scream, one that make Cassian’s skin crawl. Madja thankfully paused, and stepped out of the room to leave the pair alone. 

He pushed his friend’s shoulder back against the bed. “Don’t move, you dumbass. Madja will be pissed if you ruined any of her hard work.” 

Azriel looked around the room, his gaze more focused- and frantic- than before. 

“Where is she?” He called out, his voice rough. “Where’s Aegan?” 

Cassian felt his brows furrow. “What do you mean?” 

The shadowsinger gripped his arm. “Hybern’s in the mountains, Cassian. Aegan’s completely surrounded-” 

His face went pale, before his entire body went slack, Azriel’s head thudding against the pillow. 

Madja didn’t need to be called in to know she was needed. The nurse was instantly at his side, hands pressing against his side. “You need to go,” she told him sternly, her brown eyes sharp. “The Spymaster needs time to heal.” 

Cassian dipped his head, getting up from the bed. He didn’t want to leave Azriel by himself, especially when he was injured, but Madja knew what she was doing. He would be safe in her hands. 

Despite what had happened, it was fairly quiet in the townhouse. Nesta and Sasha were nowhere to be seen- a blessing, perhaps. Estelle, surprisingly, wasn’t with them. Instead, the younger Illyrian sat on the sofa, reading a book. Rather, she was staring at one word on the page, as if she was trying to decipher what it said. 

“Need help?” Cassian asked, leaning against the wall next to her. 

She swallowed loudly. “Nope,” she stammered, looking up to send him a forced smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He arched a brow. “Whatever you say, Estelle.” Unsheathing a dagger from his belt, he begun to dig the dirt out of his nails. He could feel her eyes glance to him occasionally, as if wondering why he still stood. Honestly, Cassian wasn’t entirely sure why he remained. Today was the only day he had off- he should be drinking, dancing, and having a merry time. Not linger in a house where his best friend was passed out in pain.

Estelle sighed sharply, causing him to flinch and dig a little too deep in his nail bed. Blood began to dribble down his finger- at least he knew the blade was sharp. 

“You okay?” She asked, placing the book down. 

He held up his throbbing finger. “Just me being stupid, like usual,” he joked. “What about you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just wondering if you’re going to ask where Nesta was,” she retorted, much more relaxed than before. 

“Clearly Nesta had rubbed some of her wittiness off on you.” 

Estelle smiled brightly. “Naturally. I think it suits me, don’t you think?” She then crossed her arms over her chest, sending him a pointed look. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me?” 

Cassian pursed his lips. “What gives you that idea?” 

“The fact that you’re oh so smitten with her. It’s getting obvious, you know.” Estelle was barely containing her laughter now. 

He inhaled deeply, to try to calm his nerves. It wasn’t as simple to ignore Nesta as he thought it would be, even if he didn’t see her every day. Some days, he practically forgot about the girl. But for most days, the only thing he could think about was her. It drove him mad just thinking about it. 

Estelle sent him a knowing grin. “I can show you where she is, if you want,” she offered, standing up from the sofa. “I know where those two probably stalked off to.” 

Cassian tugged on one of his locks. “If you insist,” he told her, shooting her a grin. “I don’t think Nesta’s going to be too pleased to see me, but is she ever?” 

The sofa creaked as Estelle pushed herself up onto her feet. Her wings twitched in anticipation as she made her way to the door. “Well, you coming?” 

“So impatient,” he scolded playfully, following her outside. “I’m assuming we’re flying?” 

The girl arched an eyebrow. “Can you winnow?” She asked, before launching herself into the air, leaving him to scowl and trail her in the sky, 

A harsh wind blasted against the two as they flew over the city. From here, they could see the people of Velaris- the size of ants from where they were- drift through the streets, occasionally darting. The Market was today- he’d have to grab some muffins later.

A tilt of her wings, and Cassian fond himself veering left after Estelle, heading away from town and towards the woods. He didn’t know Nesta was the outdoorsy type.  

“Sasha, Nesta and I have been coming here for a while,” Estelle yelled to him over the wind. “You and I will have to land soon- it’s almost impossible to fly through those trees.” Her face soured. “Trust me.”

Cassian shot her a grin. “Did you hit a tree?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “More than one. I was pulling leaves out of my hair for days afterwards.” 

The faint smell of smoke stopped them dead in their tracks. 

“Were you burning something recently?”

Estelle shook her head, her dark eyes scanning the horizon before landing on a column of smoke. “Is that natural?” She asked, flying a little closer to Cassian. 

His siphons flared. “No.” 

The two landed just outside the treeline, the forest already thick with smoke. If Nesta was trapped in there, then she was in very serious trouble.

‘Or dead,’ his mind chided at him. ‘She could already be dead.’

He scowled to himself. As much as that was true, Cassian didn’t want to think about finding Nesta’s charred body on the forest floor. Perhaps Sasha was with her, protecting her from the flames. 

“I’m going in. You stay out here and wait for my return,” he threw over his shoulder, only to be greeted by silence. “Estelle?” 

She was absent from his side. The young Illyrian had snuck away from him, and was running straight into the smoke. 

“Wait!” He yelled after her, sprinting into the smoke himself. Even if Estelle knew her way around the forest, it wasn’t a good idea for her to go by herself. If she got hurt… the wrath he would suffer from Aegan would make death blush. 

Estelle didn’t wait. She was like any other illyrian- stubborn as hell. If he was this stubborn, it was no wonder he was a pain in the ass to his friends. 

The smoke stung his eyes as he dodged trees and flames, his ability to breath getting worse and worse. He knew Estelle was nearby- he could hear her labored breathing. Unless he was starting to hallucinate, which wouldn’t be ideal. 

He reached out a hand, a sigh of relief escaping him as his fingers brushed against flesh.

It wasn’t Estelle who came out of the smoke. 

Sasha gripped his hand tightly. “Where is Estelle?”

“I followed her in here,” he growled back. “I lost her in the smoke.” 

She muttered something, but released him anyways. “Nesta lost control. I tried to rein her in, but that obviously didn’t work-”

He sidestepped just in time to avoid a falling branch. “What do you mean, ‘lost control?’”

“Come see for yourself.” She said, beckoning him to follow her. “Although you might not like what you see.” 

“Is she dead?” He choked out, coughing slightly. 

She didn’t answer. 

The fire grew hotter as they approached the clearing. According to Sasha, they’d been meeting up here for weeks to practice combat- Cassian was hurt that Nesta didn’t approach him on the matter, but was glad that at least she was learning how to defend herself. 

“Where is she?” He asked for the millionth time. All he could see was smoke, flames, and the occasional blazing tree. 

Sasha stood behind him, silent as the night. She raised her arm, and pointed at something floating high above the trees.

Cassian followed her finger, and nearly stumbled at the sight before him.

A hurricane of fire and lightning crackled and thrashed, destroying any living thing that got too close.

And in the middle of the destruction, her eyes wild with anger and fear, was Nesta.

[zeciex]

Cruel Is His Love

pairing; Seokjin/OC

genre; fantasy, love/hate, fae!Seokjin, smut, mild angst words; 6,870 rating; explicit

— synopsis; Seokjin is the crown prince of the winter court, a court known for its cruelty and stone cold grip on emotions. Every 50 years the winter court and summer court gathers to a celebration of the treaty and the night of the Starfall. And this time things go a little differently, when the crown princess of summer, Athea, decides to play a new sort of game with the crown prince.

contents; creampie, rough sex, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, 

The throne room of the winter court was unusually cold. It was carved into the mountain, towering above the world with an icy glare ordained with a crown of ice and snow. Icicles grew from the ceiling in deadly spikes, some clear, some crystal white and others various shades of blue. Columns shot from the stone floor and disappeared into the icy sky, only a faint hint of arches visible if you looked close enough.

The room was decorated with sculptures of ice, with pale flowy fabrics that moved in the wind, with flowers of cold and snow. And between all the colours that belonged to The Winter Court were the brightness of The Summer Court, with all their colourful fabrics.

The two courts would not usually intertwine, the feigned friendliness a byproduct of the truce between the two that was agreed upon thousands of years ago. The truce, however, never meant the two courts had to like one another or give up the disdain towards the other. What it did mean was the gathering at one of the courts once every 50 years upon the night of Starfall.

Seokjin sat on his throne beside his father's, his smaller but no less beautiful and no less frightening. It was made of iron and ice, it was cold and sharp and vicious just like the ones who sit upon them. All in all, Seokjin was his father's son, but where his father was sharp Seokjin was soft.

With boredom the crown prince glanced around the room, eyes ghosting over the arrival of nobles who were presented before the throne with bows and appraisals. Even though he had never experienced the war, the fragile and faux peace made him long for it. At least then something exciting would happen.

The room hushed, nobles of The Winter Court parting for the bright colours of The Summer Court, eyes following the king, his queen and the one Seokjin wanted to see the least - the one he wanted to see the most- the crown princess in all her glory. She was breathtakingly beautiful with hair of obsidian, skin of/like? ebony with the faintest warm glow beneath, eyes of deep emerald and a soft smile that was lethal. Princess Athea took the room as Seokjin took the room? She drew eyes towards her and kept them.

Seokjin remained cold as ice, just as The Winter Court was famous for. A restraint on emotions so tight other fae were unsure if they even felt. A mask of ice and stone.

The king of Summer bowed for the king of Winter as customary, followed by his queen who bowed even lower, and then the princess who’s golden crown caught the light of the candles and shone like the sun of summer. She smiled at the king.

“You grow evermore beautiful Princess Athea,” his father spoke with cold precision.

“Thank you Your Majesty,” Athea voiced warmly, a smile that could very well be a smirk upon her red lips. “And your lands grow evermore cold, I fear I shall need to wear fur the next time I will come.”

A soft tinge of laughter ran through the room, the nobels eating up her words as if they were sugared fruits. It was a lie or as close to a lie as fae could come. The Winter Court grew neither warmer or colder.

And then her eyes slit to him, and that strained clutching of his heart overcame him once more. Vines of thrones wrapped around it grew from his heart and out into his body. She knew, of course, she knew. Oh, how he hated her.

Athea followed her father to the side of the summer court, a clear divide spit down through it, with one side of winter in their cold colours of grey, blue, white and black, ordained with silver and iron, and the summer side with reds, greens, purples and yellow, ordained by gold and flowers.

The king of ice stood from his throne, demanding the attention of all fae and creatures in the room. “It has been two millennia since the war, since the signing of the treaty. Two millennia of peace.” He spoke with adamant. The king of ice was never one for speeches, never one for celebrations. He was a man like his title, a man of ice so cold it never melted. “Let the celebrations begin!”

Music poured into the room, filling every gap, travelling up the columns and settled between the spikes of ice. The two divided sides slowly began to mingle, colours and lack there off swirling together into a beautiful painting.

And there, in the middle of the dance floor, was the princess summer in a dress so crimson it stood out from all other colours. Athea danced with all that bid her to it, with her father the king, with the sons of generals, with lords and counts. But even though she danced with promising men, her eyes always flickered to him and his subconsciously always sought out hers, whether he meant to or not. Always content with sharing a contempt filled glare with her. It was madness.

Seokjin clenched his jaw. He could almost feel her warmth, her touch and it drove him mad. Every Starfall since the first time the both of them were allowed to attend, he felt his heart drum faster when he saw her, stronger, -no, not stronger, more fragile. And every time they’d play this game of chased glances, of clashes between eyes, of words that were never what they were said to be.

Namjoon arrived by Seokjin’s side with a glass of dark liquid that the prince took without question, letting the bitter liquid linger on his tongue in an attempt to rid it of the poisonous words that lingered there.

“You’d think they’d wear more clothe when coming to the lands of winter,” Namjoon remarked quietly enough for only Seokjin to hear. Fae was easy to piss off, on both sides.

“You say that every Starfall when they come here,” Seokjin noted to his friend and advisor. “We wear just as light clothing as they do.”

“ We are accustomed to the temperature, they are not.”

“Is that why you decided to swim in the lake of sapphire last Starfall?” Seokjin commented with cold amusement, which was the most emotion he’d allow himself to show. Namjoon took a swing of wine, scratching his neck in mild embarrassment. “You were sweating like a pig getting roasted.”

“It was warm and the mermaids were very persuasive,” Namjoon countered.

“And you were drunk.”

“And I was drunk,” Namjoon shamefully agreed. It had been a mess that took 12 years to overcome. For 12 years Namjoon had not been allowed to speak in court, which was by far the most damning punishment when he was Seokjin's advisor. Seokjin had not been pleased and the king even less.

His eyes fell to the twirl of red and glint of gold, where his Crown Princes’ eyes had never left. “She has a long line of suitors,” Namjoon noted. “The Jeon boy seemed the biggest competition, being the son of the general and advisor.”

“The princess would eat him alive,” Seokjin remarked bitterly, taking another mouthful of wine.

“Hmm… They seem like equals, perfect for each other,” Namjoon mused unknowing how much it made Seokjin want to throw the glass at him and let it shatter into bloody tears of his golden skin. Instead, Seokjin buried the feeling in ice, hiding it deep within the frozen solid lake hidden inside of him.

If they were perfect for each other, then Seokjin wouldn't feel as if his heart were held within a firm, burning clutch. If they were perfect for each other, Seokjin wouldn’t feel as if his veins were burning. He wished they were perfect for each other, then it wouldn’t mean him feeling as if the sun itself were lit within his being. He hated it. He longed for the days of emptiness. No, Seokjin thought, she’d eat him up alive.

“The king should propose she’d wed a child of the winter court,” Namjoon continued to muse. Seokjin's eyes shot to him with dangerous precision, sharp as a blade and ready to cut. He took a step back and bowed his head in submission. “Ah, I said that loudly. I apologize, my prince.”

“You know very well such a proposition could bring war, the peace is already fragile as it is if they think we’d try and meddle in their affairs…” Seokjin let the words hang in the air, twisting into shapes of death and destruction. The courts should be kept separate, never to interfere with the politics of the other courts, never to be entwined more than necessary. If they were to marry a child of winter into the summer court, to the future queen no less, it would be seen as interference, as an attempt to overtake the other court.

As much as he longed for war, peace was much better for his people.

“A moment of insanity, my prince,” Namjoon reassured.

“Make sure you keep that ‘insanity’ of yours in check,” Seokjin cut with his voice.

Then red and gold caught his attention, followed by a bright smile that was almost a smirk, almost cutting. Princess Athea strolled towards the prince, her dress dancing in the wind, golden shimmer around her eyes catching the light. She stood before him, inclining her head in greeting, before looking up with mischievous eyes. Always so mischievous. She was a fox and everyone else were hens.

“I believe you promised me a dance since our first Starfall,” She said, her voice a melody more beautiful than any other melody he had ever heard. He hated that voice. He hated those lips of delicious poison. Hated those eyes of sly cunning. “I fear if you reject me once more, I’ll have to take it as an insult.”

“We can’t have that,” Seokjin said sternly, face showing no emotion, nothing of the turmoil hiding beneath his skin. He stood and took her hand, leading her towards the middle of the dance floor, nobels parting for them.

Athea twirled around the dance floor, her dress blooming around her like a rose in spring, then ended the twirl in Seokjin’s arms, so unbelievably close. Now, for the first time, she smirked up at his mask of stone, lips sharp as any blade, poised and poisonous. She smelled of summer, of green grass and summer rains, of blossoming flowers and the very sun. It filled his nostrils until he wanted to wretch.

The music flowed through them in a pulsating rhythm, beckoning them to move with it’s luring sound, they were puppets to it. Athea’s eyes remained on Seokjin whose eyes were fixed out into the room with adamance, which in turn only sharpened Athea’s smirk.

Still, he saw her before him, her face edge into memory.

She knew exactly how to wield her blade, how to draw blood and where to hit to make it the most painful. Palm against palm, heat met cold, the touch travelling up his arms and into his chest. He could feel his heart thaw, the ice around it melting at her presence and he hated it. He hated her.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asked in a low hush, voice like velvet, more alluring and sensual than the music that commanded their movements.

Of course, he did.

The king of winter and his queen of ice had bowed in greeting to the king of summer and he had followed behind, a composure of ice and stone, perfectly sculpted with a beauty that commanded appraise as well as fear. He had bowed before the king and when he had looked up she stood beside the wooden throne of thorns and flowers.

It had hit him them, like lightning splitting the sky in two and cleaving into him. For the first time in centuries, his composure slipped, the ice cracking open to reveal a glimpse of what was beneath. He has stared at her, the world around him coming to a complete standstill.

And she had smiled at him in the softest of ways, fingers playing with a torned blossom of the throne. She had been beauty as he had never seen it.

“This is my daughter, the crown princess of summer, the future queen of this court, Athea of sun and sky,” The king introduced. The princess went forward, her aquamarine dress flowing with each step. She bowed, dipping her head, while her eyes of emerald never left his.

“Crown princess,” Seokjin greeted, catching his composure and modelling it into ice once more. His chest tightened as he swallowed his emotions, emotions that threatened to spill out into the court, demanding blood and war.

“Prince Seokjin,” She murmured back, his name on her lips sounding with a terrible absolution. “We are to be friends, are we not?”

“We are,” Seokjin drawled, unsure of what to make of it all. The court silently watched as the two future rulers met for the first time, expectant and uneasy.

“Then we should not get stuck on such things as titles.”

“Of course, Crown princess,” he said, nodding to her one last time before following his parents to the sidelines. He could feel her eyes on him, feel them burn into his skin and claw at his insides. It felt exhilarating and nauseating. He wanted to disappear into the night, seek isolation until he could get the fire under control.

He decided then that he hated her for making him feel this way and hated her even more for wishing she’d speak his name just once more.

“Yes,” Seokjin spoke crudely.

“Good, because I remember it clearly,” she began, voice a purr. “I remember the prince of ice and stone standing in front of the throne of thorns and blossoms, standing there with cold radiating off of his skin, his face so sharp and beautiful, eyes darker than the night skies. And I remember him disappearing into the night when no one was looking.”

Seokjin swallowed at her words, his heart straining in his chest, heat trickling up the skin of his neck uncomfortably. Even without words he knew what she meant, knew that she had seen him hidden in the shadows of the inner court garden, between huge trunks of trees, bushes and flowers.

She knew everything.

“You know what it means but you will not admit it,” she continued. “Not even to yourself.”

Seokjin remain silent, knowing that the words she wanted him to admit would mean the death of entier bloodlines. What she wanted was to dance with words until one of them would fall upon a sword, and Seokjin was the most likely to fall. But her voice grated at his resolution, tugged at his seams until his being was at risk of falling apart. He couldn’t have that, especially not in front of faerie court.

“Stop,” he warned, only to receive a sly innocent look from the princess, smile widening. He knew he had made a mistake. “Why, after all this time, did you decide to dance with me now?”

“Oh, my darling,” she spoke again with a purr. “Maybe because I simply couldn’t wait any longer.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.

The knife twisted in his heart. The prince twirled her around, the onlookers gasping at the sudden change in dance. The music fell to a low sensual hum, beckoning the movements to become slow and almost tangible. Her body moved closer to his, chest meeting chest, as the danced. And as suddenly it had begun, time had coiled in the sensual music, and it was over.

The princess bowed to him, turned and swayed away to the next fae in line for a dance. Jungkook took her in his arms and began swaying her, while Seokjin remained frozen to the spot, hands shaking at his side, as a painful fire clawed at his chest and throat, tying to will its way out of him.

It wasn’t until the world started to properly move around him again before he removed himself from the dance floor, stalking back towards the throne, while he wished for his room. With a bitter and sour taste in his mouth, he dumped down, leaning back into the throne while the air coiled around him in cold palpable anger. His eyes remained fixed on the red dress, on those emerald eyes that haunted his dreams, eyes he wished to banish out of his thoughts.

Seokjin sat there and watch her, watched her spin, watched her twirl and lift and dip. He watched her until the doors to the balconies were pushed open for fae to go out and see the stars shoot across the sky. Until there was nothing left in the world than him and her.

Then he got up and left.

Nobody stopped him, not that they’d be able to anyway. Like the times before he slipped into the shadows, each step from the throne room tightening the thorny vines that were clutching his heart. They tore at him. He was burning up inside, every muscle tight and strained, every breath laboured. Sweat trickled down his back. Sweat. Breathlessly he entered his room, leaning against the cool wooden door for a moment with his eyes closed, trying to control the heat that ravaged him.

For each Starfall that passed, the vines around his heart grew tighter, they tugged at him, whispering him to follow them. In the times between Starfall, he could almost forget the feeling, almost ignore it . The pain would lessen only for it to come on back with great enough force it could split the everlasting glacier in two.

Seokjin dragged himself to the foot of the bed, where he dumped down on the silk sheets with a heavy sigh, lying back and running his hands through his hair.

“Have you ever thought about me when you’re all alone?” Her voice was a whisper that travelled through the wind, slithering over his body with a cold touch. Seokjin froze in place, then sat up to watch Athea saunter in with that sway in her hips, moving swiftly like water. The red dress had been replaced with an ivory robe that dipped dangerously low, revealing the fine glow of her dark skin. His hands fisted in the sheets. “Like you did that night in the shadows?”

Athea crooked a brow at his silence, the bemusement never lessening in her eyes. “I’ve thought about you on nights like these.” Her fingers travelled the expanse of her collarbones sliding her robe over the edge and letting it fall to her feet. The cold light of the moon was cast in through wide-open windows. It gave her skin a haunting beauty. Seokjin tensed, eyes fixed on her face which only sharpened her smirk. Slowly she stalked towards him. “I’ve thought about your hands and wondered if your fingers were as agile as when you do swordplay. I’ve thought about that mouth of yours, those pretty pretty lips. And I’ve thought about the sounds you’d make breaking through those lips and past your mask of ice.”

Humans think the winter court to be the cruelest of them all, but it is the summer court that holds that feat, for they glace their weapons in poison, they whisper sweet nothings that’ll cut you far deeper than you’d ever imagine. Their cruelty were not one that showed outright, it was hidden behind sweet smiles and venomous words.

The fae was rotten folk, it was true, but she was the most rotten of all.

And he’d gladly take a bite of that rotten fruit.

Athea straddled his hips, fingers running over his broad shoulders, feeling the fabric and what it held beneath. Her hair curled around her shoulders, so dark it seemed impossible, while her eyes shined that green of emerald; of trees after a summer shower, of meadows and pine. And she smelled exactly the same. It was intoxicating. A scent he knew would forever be branded in his mind.

“Did you ever think about me?” She murmured a nail tickling over the delicate skin of his neck, threatening to bite into it with breaking and tearing force.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“You know why.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.

“Yes.”

Her smile broadened, teeth white pearls that could tear into flesh if she so desired. The snowflower was famed for its beauty and rarity, but it was deadly enough to kill with one single prick of its’ needle-like thrones, that was what she reminded him off. And he’d freely prick himself on her thorns.

For a daring moment, he couldn’t decide which taste he was more curious of—her lips or what lies between her thighs. He cursed himself silently for the indecent thought, chalking it up to the mental exhaustion of playing these mind games with her.

“Say it,” she beckoned, fingers slipping beneath his shirt to feel his cold, smooth skin. The thorns tore into his heart, he could feel it, and it left him entirely at her mercy. She was so close her heat wrapped around him, burned at his skin -no, not burned, kissed it.

Seokjin had always been armed with beauty and ice, and she was armed with the very thing that left him entirely defenceless.

“Mate,” he breathed, eyes fluttering at her touch. “You’re my mate.”

And just like that, he would have thrown it all away, the throne, the crown, the whole world, to be only that. If anyone found out war would break out. That was the very reason he adopted the mask of stone, the reason his heart had become frozen solid, the reason he had done so much to keep away.

It was all rendered useless.

They breathed each other in before letting their lips meet, her arms wrapped around his neck, her nails scraping over the fine, muscled skin of his back. Her lips were everything he imagined, and yet, nothing like it. It was a slow kiss, one that slowly consumed you until there was nothing left on your mind, nothing but the feeling. With great urgency her tongue moved into his mouth, her teeth nibbling at his plumb lower lips. She tasted of the forbidden fruit, the one that grew golden on the Milkwood trees, fruit that brought humans such euphoria they’d sell their souls for one single bite more.

With that kiss his soul was hers.

Filth filled Seokjin’s mind and swelled between his honourable legs as if he weren’t hard enough even before she entered his rooms. The way she kissed him was taunting, with a biting smirk forever plastered on her lips, while his sought hers in need. His heart thundered within the cage of his chest.

“So did you?” She mused, releasing her lips from his.

“Did I what?” Seokjin breathed, eyes burning into hers.

“Did you think of me?” She asked sweetly, cruelly. One hand wandered down his breeches to grip him firmly. Seokjin let out a sound, something caught in between a groan and a moan.

“By the crown, yes!”

Now his cool hands dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, nails turning into angry talons, puncturing into her skin with ferocity. She keened, biting back a laugh as she pumped up and down his shaft with a bewitching touch that brought as much pain as it did pleasure. She was lust and cruelty and all things rotten, -and he couldn’t get enough.

They were two beings wishing to tear each other apart for pleasure.

“ Tell me ,” She drawled. Seokjin went for her neck, lips and teeth lapping over the skin equally given. He bucked up into her hand, holding a moan hostage in the back of his throat.

“I thought about your hands and what they’re doing to me now,” the prince began, continuing his attack on her neck, while his nails scraped over dark skin to leave even darker marks. Athea twisted her hand as it rose to the tip sending a jolt of pleasure up through his body. “I thought about how, -uh, nimble and firm they’d work me, and how much better your mouth would be.”

Athea’s hand twisted into Seokjin’s silvery locks to force his head back with a stinging force that brought a hiss from his throat. His lips had become glossy with saliva and red with blood rushing to the surface, and his eyes, those onyx eyes with pupils so blown there were nothing left of the brush of silver in them. The veins on his neck protruded, adrenalin and fire and ice, coursing through them. He soaked in the sight of her cruel, green eyes and vicious, bloodcurdling smile.

She licked the expanse of his neck, a rumble travelling from deep within his chest and up his throat, ending in a growl, as she bit into it with brutal delight.

Ice shot out through his veins and bit into him. He flipped them over so that she was on her back, a wicked laugh settling into the room and making a home of the shadows. There, beneath him, bathed in moonlight and naked as the day she was brought into the world, she looked entirely otherworldly. “I wondered if you’d taste sweet as nectar or bitter as your wicked, merciless heart.”

For a moment a childish wonder passed over her features, eyes rolling in thought rather than pleasure, wondering what she herself tasted like. And at that moment, his heart fluttered, forgetting the ruthlessness Athea was made of. She lifted her hips to his, slithering beneath him like a snake, the childish wonder gone and replaced with mischief.

Without a word he dived down between her legs, deciding that he could be as ruthless as she. She smelled sweet and tasted sweeter. Golden apples, Moon berries, sugar grass and all other faerie foods couldn’t compare to the taste. His tongue passed over her warm folds, separating her them as he did so. He lapped at her cunt like a man starved.

Athea purred like a cat, lifting herself up on her elbows to enjoy the sight of the prince of winter caught between her thighs, tongue darting out to press itself against her clit in the most sinful manner, pouring fire and starlight into her veins. The sound of her breathy moans made him want more. He moved with feverish intent, forcing his tongue inside of her, before returning to her clit, twirling and sucking until her thighs were shaking until his name was stuck in her mouth to be said over and over, -sounding like a curse.

Seokjin squeezed her hips, circling her sensitive mount, sucking on it ruthlessly, revelling in her taste, her warmth, her sounds, everything her. By the crown he hated her and he was going to make her pay the most delicious of ways.

Two fingers slid into her with ease, sinking all the way in to the knuckle where he felt her tense around him, body begging for more. He bit her thigh until he was sure to leave a mark, curled his finger to find the spot that made her moans catch in her throat and eyes roll back in her head.

She was close he could feel it in how wet she had become, fingers tugging at his hair in demand for friction, her hips nearly lifted off of the mattress as he suddenly removed himself from her.

Athea exhaled in annoyance at his play, eyes burning with desire, wildfire spreading through them. Her sharp nails dug into his shirt and pulled his slick lips filled with her juices to her own with such force it tore at the fabric of it.

Seokjin was forced to his back, the princess taking the reins with violence, tearing the rest of his shirt off in one rough motion. Sunkissed skin was made pale in the moonlight, shadows cast over his collarbones, sculpting his body even further. The fine skin stood to ruin, the promise was clear in the way her nails raked down his body as she trapped his cock between her wet folds and his stomach.

“I see I’m not the only one who’s cruel,” she purred taunting. As she moved her hand came to clasp his jaw, sharpened nails digging into his skin. “Beneath that icy exterior, there’s that mercilessness. I see it.”

Seokjin could barely think straight when she sank onto him ever so slowly. She took him in as if she had been made solely for him. She had. She was his mate. A bond so deep it could tear the world apart. If she had been anyone else than the crown princess, -if he had been anyone else than the crown prince-, then nothing would have kept them from tearing each other apart in the venture of love.  

Athea panted, biting her plumb lip while her head rolled back revelling in the feeling of him filling her up so good. The stretch was mouthwatering.

“I-I’ve thought about this,” Seokjin continued meeting her rhythm with his own, the lewd sound of flesh hitting flesh filling his ears, the sound of him sinking into her warm centre. “Thought of how tight you’d be, how -ugh, fucking incredible you’d feel. Fuck. ”

His hands took their fill of her breasts, playing with her nipples and loving the way her face fell into a sense of pleasure.

Abruptly, he sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist and biting down on her shoulder, lips chasting the wounded area, following the column of her neck until they met her parted lips. The speed picked up, his arm that was wrapped around her, helping to steady her as he thrust up into her. The kiss was feverish, filled with lust and nothing else. Nails raked over his shoulders, drawing along long red marks that’d last a day at the very least, even with fae healing.

“Fuck,” he moaned, head filled with the image of her riding him, those green eyes half-lidded shining in the dark.  

“More,” she simply demanded, letting Seokjin roll her onto her back, bringing her legs around him so that her heels dug into his rear. This way he could dive deeper in, this way he could snap his hips to hers with brutal, bruising intent. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the headboard with one arm.

“You’re hateful, you know that?” His voice was raspy and strained. She smirked up at him. Curse that smirk, curse her influence, curse her. Those lips were a sirens call. Taunting and begging, all at the same time.

“More.” The growl that came from her reverberated down his spine and made him snap his hips to hers in a violent thrust that promised the beginning of a faster and rougher pace. Seokjin grabbed one of the pillows and forced it under her hips, propping her up on it to give him better access. Then he threw her one leg over his shoulder.

“You’re a hateful, cunning, cruel creature,” he grunted, thrusting with every title he gave her to drive the point across and each thrust drew a moan from her lips, made her eyes roll, her cunt grip him so hard he was unsure she’d ever let him go again. “You make poisoned words be a salvation. You taunt me -ugh, you haunt me, you mock and torment me with such wicked delight. I hate you.”

“You hate me?” She chuckled with ridicule. “We may not be able to lie but you’re still able to do so to yourself.”

“I hate you,” Seokjin hissed with indignation.

“Hmm,” Athea croon. “And you do it so well.”

Her cunt clenched around him, the feeling pulsating throughout her and into him. Air got caught in his lungs, hips snapping riggedly to hers as he brought the both of them over the edge, the world shifting around them, shrinking and somehow expanding at the same time. Bliss poured into them, hot and cold mixed together with sweat and seed.

The vines around his heart ripped it to pieces and then grew anew, this time beating warmly, pumping poison out into his body. Seokjin fell to the mattress beside her out of breath. Fingers drew circles over the skin of his stomach and up to the red claw marks that stood as proof of their transgressions, where they traced over the lines with soft caresses that almost let him delve into the sense of affection.

“You were pristine,” she murmured. “All that rage and hatred for me… So pent up and ready to explode.”

Seokjin remained silent in the face of her taunts. It had been a mistake, a glorious mistake that he’d make over and over again. They fucked on every surface of the room, up the walls, on his desk, on the floor and the small bench opposite his bed. The room had become a mess of scattered papers, books thrown to the floor in the heat of the moment, ink seeping into the rug of the finest silks.

Then they settled themselves into a warm pool of water. Each step into it was a caress of ease until their bodies were wrapped in its warm embrace. There they could scrub themselves clean of the nights' infractions. Seokjin observed the princess as she cleaned herself. Water beaded on her skin, shining like ice crystals in the soft glow of the frozen dawn. Behind her the sky turned bright pink, brushes of violet and gold painted across it. Only a few streaks of sunlight made it over the crowned top of the mountains.

“Would you love me if we were not bound by our responsibilities?” He asked, breaking the silence for the first time with a question rather than filthy words.

“You’re my mate, aren’t you?”

“That doesn't answer the question.” Being mates doesn’t change who you are as a being. Mating is a bond between souls and if one were to tear the other apart with that love, then there’d be nothing to do to stop them. Love was a myth, a fairytale. Love, like all things, could be ever so terrible.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Athea answered him, her eyes thoughtful as if she were truly wondering about it. “I can’t say if my love would change if we were not the faerie we are. Would taking away the powers of the crown change us or would we remain the same?”

The princess dropped the sponge in the water, letting the bubbles glide down her dark skin, gleaming like pearls caught in the golden light of dawn. Seokjin captured her in his mind, every sway of her body, every swell and curve, letting silence fall between them once again. He wasn’t sure what to say because she was not wrong, even without the crown he’d still be who he is, a fae of ice and stone, he’d still long for her.

“Love, hate, pain and pleasure, together they make the most delicious of drug, don’t you think?”

“Why now?” He couldn’t stop the question coming out.

Athea’s lips curled, looking up through her eyelashes with those eyes that bore into his being. “Because I wanted to play a new sort of game.” At his quiet expression, she warmed, gliding through the water with grace until she stood before him, warm hand cubing his cheek in a gentle caress that was all too affectionate. That was maybe the cruellest thing of all.

“You’d play with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I’d play your game as long as you want me to,” Seokjin admitted and knew how heavy the truth weighed on those words. If she wanted he’d give her everything.  She smiled at him, genuine and terrible all the same, and kissed him so sweetly it made him forget who she was.

“I love you, Seokjin, but I cannot love you,” she voiced, eyes seeking understanding.

Seokjin smiled at her softly, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing her body to his, letting her warmth envelop him. Now she smelled of lavender, of sunlight and saltwater. “I know.”

They kissed slow and tantalizing, lingered on each other's lips, breathing the other in. Then Athea pushed away, one hand on his firm chest. Their eyes never left the other while she stepped out of the water, swaying over the floor and wrapping herself in her robe. And like that, with the first frozen rays of the sun peaking over the crowned mountaintops, she winnowed away.

Seokjin disappeared under the surface of the water and only when he breached it once more, was he ready to exist and ready himself for the day to come, and only would he leave the room when he was dressed in a shirt as white as winter’s kiss, loose and airy. He had covered the marks on his neck and collarbones with fine powers, hiding the nights' venture in an attempt to avoid questions from one particular fae -Namjoon.

“You disappeared from the revel,” Namjoon commented, taking great strides to walk beside his prince. His remained in tossels but that was the only sign of his night of endeavours, the rest of him remained pristine and proper, he was a courtier of importance after all.

“Yes, I did,” Seokjin replied unfazed. “Like I usually do.”

“Too bad,” Namjoon responded. “You had a long line of girls waiting for a dance with their prince, hoping to capture his attention.”

“And I’m sure you were there to pick up the pieces.”

They entered the throne room to the bows of their people, most looking appropriate for court, while a few remained shrivelled from the night's festivities. Appearance was far too important to let daylight reveal anything but perfection, especially when it was just one night. They stepped up on the dais, Namjoon falling behind Seokjin as he approached the throne. It was only when the king entered everyone once more rose and bowed, and with the dismissive wave of his hand, the court fell into normalcy again.

And then they came in, with their bright colours and airy clothe, with their skin so many beautiful shades and hair ordained with flowers and gold. And there she was, with a dress of pure, winter white, embroidered with forbidden fruit and red mistletoe, between the embroidering red drops of rubies. He felt the vines of his heart twist, fluttering of wings basking against his chest.

“We thank you, King Jeong Hui, for the amazing festivities you’ve held for this years Starfall,” The king of summer court boomed with greatness. “I will take this moment as a chance to invite You and your court to a wedding of great promise.”

Seokjin felt his heart strain and fall, all warmth she had given him seeping out as if he had fallen through ice. His eyes went to her, seeking some sort of comfort where there were none to be given. Instead, he realised this was the new game she wanted and still, still he wouldn’t believe his fears.

“The crown princess of summer, my daughter, Athea,” The king of summer motioned towards Athea, her stepping forward to the world to see, a smile spreading on her lips to the uproar of applause, almost sharp, almost… “And the noble general, Jeon Jungkook.” The boy with a sweet smile and shining eyes stepped up beside the she-wolf, a white rabbit beside the predator who’d undoubtedly eat him right up. Or maybe, he was as vicious behind that smile as she was, almost as vicious. “He will take the title Prince Consort beside the future queen of summer.”

Ice poured into his veins, freezing them over instantly, the cold spreading from his limbs and rising painfully to his heart, where the throned vines froze with it so completely it was far more solid than stone. His heart had gone from ice to thawed to made of throned vines and now it had returned back to ice, just far colder. The spiked silver crown weighed down on his head, he was concerned he’d break his neck wearing it. He closed his eyes momentarily, when the Jungkook boy entwined his fingers with hers, kissing the back of her hand before rising them above his head in celebratory victory. He let the pain swallow him, let him drown in its waters.

And then he resurfaced, with a heart unable to love or care for anyone…. -anyone but her. Because he still loved her and he absolutely hated her for it.  He hated that it was her. Hated those enticing emerald eyes, hated that sharp smirk that cut right through him, hated her burning touch he longed after and most of all hated that he would let her break his heart over and over again until there was nothing left.

He was armed with beauty and ice, and she was armed with the very thing that left him defenceless. When she smiled at him in all the glory she held over him, he knew he’d forgive her all over again.

[palmettofoxesthings]

Original Story WIP

this is all a part of a larger story that I am currently not inclined to write but kinda works as a one off thing.

September, 2015

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Celeste hugged her knees to her chest and dug her toes into the sand. “We’re actually growing up.”

“Yep.” Elena dropped down beside her and handed over a bottle of cider. “Proper adults.” She laughed and took a swig from the bottle. “Living life and being independent. Making mistakes and getting the hell out of here.”

“You’re really not going to miss home at all?” 

“No.” Elena shrugged. “It’s like… It’s like when you take an exam or something. You don’t think you’re ready for it and then when you’ve done it you could never think about going back.” Celeste laughed and drank from her own bottle as she fixed a quizzical look on her friend.

“That has to be the worst metaphor you’ve ever come up with, El.”

“Whatever. You get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I do. Sadly. Spent too much time with a crazy person. It’s affecting my sanity.”

“Hey!” Elena pushed Celeste a little and laughed. Celeste pushed back and turned to stare off to the horizon. The sun was setting behind them and the sky above the sea was dark. Celeste could only imagine what was in the ocean. Something about it tugged at her chest and suddenly her light mood dropped. Elena turned at the sudden silence of her friend and frowned. 

“Oh, god.” Elena moaned. “Don’t get all sad on me now. This is meant to be a celebration. I mean, you’re going to Oxford for fucks sake. Oxford. As in one of the best universities in the world.”

“Yeah.” Celeste said with no enthusiasm. “It’ll be great.” She took another drink from her bottle in her hand and half buried it in the sand to keep it upright, just like she had been doing on this beach for years.

“All right, we are not doing this on your last day.” Elena stood up and held her hands out to Celeste.

“Doing what?” Celeste took Elena’s hands and let herself be pulled up.

“Being miserable.” Elena said it so matter-of-factly that Celeste couldn’t even protest that she was not, in fact, miserable, she was merely contemplative. “We are getting drunk, and dancing, and not getting home till 3am.”

“My parents will kill me. We’re leaving at 5.”

“All the more reason to do it.” Celeste rolled her eyes but let Elena drag her towards to sea.

“You’ll take any reason to piss my parents off.”

“Meh.” Elena shot Celeste a look over her shoulder that Celeste knew read as Elena really couldn’t care less. Celeste couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her cheeks. This was pure and unfiltered Elena, a born trouble maker with mischief built into her DNA. She had been the person who had gotten Celeste into trouble over the years, but she had also dragged her out of it more times than Celeste could count. 

Elena kicked her shoes off near the edge of the water and ran in. Celeste watched her go and shook her head. They were going to freeze, she knew they were going to freeze, she knew this was an utterly awful, terrible, idea. But when she looked back at their little fire, at the bottles of cider left on the beach, at the scene that had been her best and worst times, she couldn’t help but follow along. 

The instant her toes hit the water, Celeste felt a shiver that seemed to wrack up her whole body. Northern England was not a place to go swimming at any time other than, well, ever in Celeste’s opinion. A few metres away Elena was knee deep in the water and getting deeper. Celeste braced herself for a moment to collect her thoughts and question why it was that she was going to do this. Then she charged straight at Elena and knocked them both into the water, head, shoulders and all. 

When they broke the surface again Elena had mascara streaming down her face and Celeste assumed she looked mostly the same. They grinned at each other, neck deep in the water and freezing cold, and couldn’t have been happier. The still silence of the night hung around them both as they stared up to the moon, shining in its full glory and leaving a trail of white across the top of the water. They bobbed on the water in time with the gentle waves.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Celeste broke the silence with a sad smile. “Won’t be the same living without you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Elena pushed a piece of hair out of her face and went in to hug Celeste. At the last moment she whipped her arms out in front of her and splashed water into Celeste and swam away.

“Oh my god!” Celeste spluttered. “What the hell?”

“Too many emotions. It was gross.”

“I hate you!” Celeste swam after Elena. Elena’s eyes widened when she saw Celeste coming and started swimming for shore, both of the laughing the whole time. “Get back here and let me take my revenge!”

“Never!” Elena scrambled to get her feet under her and run along the sea bed back to the fire. Unfortunately, Celeste had always been the stronger swimmer and caught up from behind. She knocked them both down to the sand at the edge of the water. She pinned Elena beneath her and watched as the waves moved Elena’s hair around her.

Elena has always had fascinating eyes. Celeste had thought so since they first met in year 3. The two 7 year olds had spent five minutes staring at each other when the teacher sat them next to each other on the first day of the school year. Celeste had moved to the village over the summer so she has sat, chewing her lip, waiting for her first judgement. She remembered her parents telling her that she would be fine, she just needed to be herself. Elena had cocked her head to one side and then said ‘I like your hair’ and that had been that. Celeste smiled in relief and responded in kind about Elena’s eyes. Elena had given her a sharp nod and they hadn’t been separated since. 

Their noses were impossibly close. Elena wrapped her fingers around Celeste’s and closed the gap. The tips of their noses brushed against each other. They had been doing this dance for two years, getting close and pulling away at the last minute. Tonight, though, Celeste decided enough was enough. 

Their kiss was short. A tentative experiment between the two. When Celeste pulled away she saw Elena grinning. 

“You taste like salt.” Elena said. 

“Likewise.” Celeste huffed out a laugh. 

“Why have we never done that?” Celeste shrugged in response. She was too concerned with the ghost of Elena dancing on her lips. “Do it again.”

“Yeah.” Celeste ran a hand through Elena’s hair and brought it round to rest on her cheek. This kiss was longer, more confident. Elena brought them up so they sat with the water lapping around their legs. Elena braced then both with her hands buried in the sand behind her while Celeste moved her hands to Elena’s neck.

When they broke apart Elena’s heart was racing and Celeste was breathless. Celeste buried her forehead into Elena’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around Elena. 

Elena flicked her eyes towards their fire on the beach. The flames were dying and soon there would be no benefit to the flames. 

“We should go back to the fire.” Elena said. “Needs some more wood.” Celeste grumbled into Elena’s shoulder. “And you’re freezing.”

“Your fault.”

“Mm hm. Fire. Warmth. Dry.”

“Warmth sounds nice.”

“Then get up.” Elena laughed. Celeste stood up grumbling all the time. 

Sand clung to their feet as they walked across the beach to their fire. Celeste picked up her drink and finished the last half of the bottle as she watched Elena add some more wood to the fire. 

Elena grabbed her own bottle and took a seat next to Celeste. Celeste rested her head on Elena’s shoulder and smiled into the fire. For a while, at least, she could pretend that she wasn’t leaving in the morning. Elena wrapped an arm around Celeste’s shoulders and pulled her close.

Elena remembered the last time they had been on the beach this late at night. Celeste had just been dumped by her boyfriend so Elena had snatched her sister’s cider from under her bed. She had gone around to Celeste’s house as soon as she had eaten with her family and dragged Celeste away.

When the door had opened in front of Elena she had gotten her first look at Celeste since school the previous day. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks had been puffy with tear stains running down both of them. Celeste looked unsurprised that it was Elena at her door at 9 at night and she had given Elena a sad smile in greeting.

“We’re going to the beach.” Elena had announced and held up the pilfered alcohol that she had hidden inside of a reusable shopping bag. Celeste had blinked and looked confused as she processed the statement rather than question. Celeste had then looked over her shoulder towards the lounge where she could hear her parents watching TV.

“I can’t. My parents’ll kill me.”

“It’s a Saturday.” Elena shrugged. “They’ll be passed out in their in half an hour. They won’t even notice.” It had stung Celeste to know that what Elena was saying was true. Elena had seen Celeste’s face fall and knew she had said the wrong thing, not that her friend would ever have said it. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have come unannounced. I’ll come by tomorrow.” Elena had reached in to hug Celeste but Celeste pulled back. Elena had frozen and taken a minute to take in the sight of Celeste biting her lip. It was a quirk of hers, one that Elena had noticed when it started when they were in year 7 and Celeste wasn’t quite sure what to do. It was also a sign that Celeste was probably not going to do the ‘good girl’ thing.

They had ended up on the beach, without a fire since a heatwave had hit England and it was still over 20 degrees at night. Elena had pumped music through her phone and they had spent the night laughing and crying together and, eventually, sat wrapped in each others arms and staring out to the ocean.

Staring into the fire, though, Elena hoped that the heartache that Celeste felt that night was the furthest thing from her mind. She budged Celeste off her shoulder to free herself to stoke the fire and turn her back on it to dry off. Celeste followed suit and shifted so that she was looking out to the water. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on top of them. 

“Something’s on your mind.” Elena said.

“Yeah.” Celeste acknowledge but she did not move from her spot in the sand. Instead she curled into herself tighter and buried her face into her knees.

“Wanna talk about it?” Celeste mumbled something unintelligible and shook her head. “Ok.” Elena waited for Celeste to raise her head, like she had done so many times before when she had pulled into herself. Elena knew that she just had to wait for Celeste to gather the words and force them through her mouth. It had happened too many times for Elena to recall.

“I-” Celeste choked on the word. Too many thoughts were running through her head. Too many things that her parents had said to her over the years that were weighing down on her and felt like they were crushing anything that was Celeste and not a miniature version of them.

“You need to stop hanging around with Elena, she’s no good for you.” Her mother had said to her. Celeste had lost track of how many times they had had this very argument. Neither of them had ever gotten anywhere with the other. Celeste insisted that her mother refused to listen, that she refused to acknowledge her part in how Celeste felt, and nothing crushed Celeste more than being asked how her mother could fix things because what would that prove? That her mother could follow instructions, not that she was understood, or heard, or believed in.

“Just stop it!” Celeste said. “I’ve heard, I know what you think, but I love her so shut up.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, you don’t love her.”

“Yes, I do.” Celeste’s bottom lip had begun trembling. It was an admission that she had never made out loud before, and had barely made it to herself in her head.

“You’re too young and too naive to know anything. You’re not ‘in love’, it’s ridiculous.”

“If you think I’m too young it’s only because you won’t let me grow up.”

“Don’t say such rubbish.” Celeste’s mother scoffed and brushed her off with the same casual dismissal as she had for Celeste’s whole life.

“It’s not rubbish!” Frustration was clawing its way through Celeste. She could feel tears building in her eyes and an overwhelming desire to tug on her hair.

“It is rubbish. Of course I let you grow up. I’m supporting you aren’t I? With your university nonsense.”

“University nonsense.” Celeste’s voice wavered with disbelief threaded through every word. As much as she wished that she could, Celeste had not been able to stop the tears that started rolling down her cheeks. “Get out.” Celeste had tried to keep her voice steady, tried to keep calm, but when her mother didn’t budge she shouted. “Get out! Get out, get out!”

“Ungrateful brat!” Her mother had shouted from the other side of the door. Celeste had closed it and dropped all of her weight onto it, letting herself slide down the door and onto the floor.

“Sorry.” Celeste wiped the tears from her eyes. At some point during the memory Elena moved to her side and pulled Celeste into her arms.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Elena said because she knew exactly what Celeste had been thinking about just as she knew the days of the week or the ten times table. It was a kind of intrinsic knowledge but she could not pinpoint when or where she had learnt it. “You’re gonna kill it, you know. University, I mean. You’re amazing at anything you set your mind to.”

“Well we’ll see if Cicero agrees with you soon.”

“It still baffles me that you know Latin.”

“Honestly? Me too.” Celeste laughed. 

“We should head home.” Elena said, a few hours later. 

“Yeah.” Celeste nodded. She held out an unsteady hand to Elena once she was standing and together thy covered their fire, which had gone out about an hour previously.

“You know,” Celeste slurred a little as they left the beach, “we should do this before I go every time.”

“We should.” Elena smiled.

Celeste’s house was not far from the beach, but several bottles of cider each later it felt like a trek up Mount Everest. Both Celeste and Elena were leaning heavily on each other and were barely upright. Celeste giggled as they both stumbled into a wall and Elena shushed her with a finger on her lips.

“I’ll call you every day.” Celeste said.

“You better else I’ll assume something terrible has happened and mount a full scale manhunt.” Celeste started laughing but paused when Elena did not join in. Celeste frowned.

“Wait. You’re not serious, right?”

“You’re too easy, oh my gosh.” Elena ruffled Celeste’s hair and laughed. Celeste looked up the street to her house. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the walk until they stopped outside of Celeste’s front door.

“I like your hair.” Elena twirled a piece of Celeste’s hair around her finger. The fire had dried it off for the most part so it sat a frizzy mess around Celeste’s head. They stood just far enough from the door that they wouldn’t trigger the outdoor light to turn on. 

“I like your eyes.”

[rainythefox]

Broken Haven (CH.14)

Synoposis: As the world they knew burns to ash above their heads, Joseph Seed and the Deputy are at crossroads with each other. The Deputy tries to cope with the loss of her family and friends, the sins she has done, and must learn to live with her enemy. Joseph has a revelation of their purpose and what they must do before stepping out into the light in seven years. Because in this broken haven, they need each other to rebuild a new world and a new life.

Joseph Seed/Female Deputy OC Mary “Emmy” Samson (Bunker Fic)

AO3 Link

Chapter 14: Contact

A cool breeze brushed through the grassy field, swaying the parched blades. The clear, night sky seemed to stretch on forever, a billion radiant stars impossible to count in a lifetime. The huge oak tree casted a large, black shadow under their glow, and hidden under its outstretched, overlapping limbs was a yellow tent.

The tenants listened to the frogs, the cicadas, and the crickets. They watched the soft glow of fireflies dance across the tall blades of grass. All they had in their tent was a bunch of blankets, some pillows, and a couple of flashlights, and a radio. It’s all they needed.

The girls giggled, laying halfway outside the opening of the tent to stargaze. Tuffs of silver clouds slowly rolled across the sky but didn’t obscure their view.

“There’s the north star!” Mary exclaimed. “And there, not far away. The Big Dipper.”

“Actually, the Big Dipper is part of Ursa Major,” Sarah explained. “The handle is the head and neck of the bear, and the cup is his chest. Follow the bottom of the box down. There’s his legs.”

Mary squinted. “Doesn’t look like a bear to me.” She grinned and looked over at her baby sister. “You’re such a nerd.” And nudged her.

Sarah shrugged, but also smiled. “Yeah, so?”

She may have teased her sister about being smarter, but she treasured her for being the way that she was. Smart, curious, eager to discover and explore. They shared that drive for adventure and achievement. Sarah was smarter though, shier around people, more inclined to think things through and come up with better solutions.

There were times that Mary was envious of Sarah. Especially her big heart and willingness to forgive, the way she did her best to remain positive, no matter the situation. But more than anything, Mary was proud of her.

“The world’s gonna have to watch out for you, sis,” Mary said. “It’s not ready for all the greatness you have to offer.”

Sarah blushed. “Quit it, Emmy. You’re just saying that.”

“Course I’m not! Hey, you’re gonna help me through college, right? I’ll need my whiz sis around to be able to pass.”

They were still too young for college, thirteen and eleven. But they dreamed of the day it would come, to be able to say goodbye to their broken home and set sail for a new life, and all the wonders in store.

“Will we even get to go to college? Aren’t we too poor for that?”

“That’s what scholarships and grants are for. We got this, Sarah!” She winked at her sister and it earned her a wide grin. “So, what do you want to be anyway?”

“I don’t know…lots of things.”

“Well, name one. One that speaks to your heart, right now. In this moment. I wanna know.”

Sarah thought long and hard, chewing on her lip. The summer song of crickets, frogs, and cicadas continued around them, undisturbed. The moon and stars were so bright tonight they didn’t need lights, although most of the lights were still on in the nearby trailer park behind them.

“A doctor.”

“That’s awesome. You’d be so great at that!”

“Think so?”

“I know so! Duh!”

Sarah’s smile slowly fell and she pulled a blanket over her shoulders to shield herself from the cool night wind. “There’s one thing I want to be more than that though.”

Mary was curious, fishing her way under the blanket with her sister as they still sat at the tent’s opening to look at the stars. “What’s that?”

“A mom.”

“A mom?”

“Yeah. I want to be a better mom than…Mom. I want to love them and hold them and take them places and laugh. I want to do things with them, silly things, go on adventures. I want to watch them grow up and…be there.” Sarah sighed. “Like it used to be.”

Before Mary could say anything, a loud crash sounded behind them, loud, angry voices disrupting the night. They looked through the screen tent window behind them to the nearest trailer down the way, their trailer. A man and a woman fought and yelled and threw things at each other on the other side of dirty blinds inside the trailer.

 Sarah scooted closer to Mary and the two young girls tried to ignore the sounds. Mary reached over and turned on the small radio they brought with them, a staticky tune filtering out to distract them.

Mary wrapped an arm around Sarah’s shoulder and they squeezed in close under the blanket, eyes to the sky to promising stars.

“You’ll be great at it,” Mary told her.

A long pause and then her little sister spoke. “Thanks, Emmy. I think you’d be a great mom, too.”

A shooting star blazed across the sky and they gasped at the blue and white light, luminous and breathtaking.

“Make a wish, Emmy!”

And so, Mary made a wish on that shooting star. Soon she would find out that her wish would not come true. But she would never know that her sister’s did…

***

How long had it been? It already felt like years, but upon looking at her clock in the bedroom it had only been a few days. The Deputy was going insane from lack of interaction.

How the hell can he do this?! No wonder he’s nuts!

Mary needed to get out of this room. How Joseph was able to thrive in isolation was beyond her. She was an extrovert through and through and needed contact.

No…I refuse to give him anything after what he pulled!

Besides the agonizingly slow passage of time alone in her room, the Deputy was also going crazy over the possibility of conceiving. She had done all she could, scrubbed every nook and cranny that mattered with vigor, and now the only way to tell would be time. Mary kept telling herself there was no way that Joseph was able to knock her up on the first try. 

Not a chance in hell. Nobody has such a good aim! Especially when shooting from the hip. 

Mary cringed inwardly at the mental image. 

Anyway...just you wait, in a few weeks I will be shoving it in your face, you delusional dick!

...okay, pity points for alliteration, whatever. But he really was!

Cursing him out in her mind and denying any and all possibility of a pregnancy with all she had still didn’t help her nerves though.

When Mary could no longer take the hunger literally eating at her, she reluctantly left the confines and safety of her room. She paused halfway out the door, listening. The bunker was quiet, just the rustle of old pipes and a faint humming from the generators to be heard.

The Deputy tiptoed towards the den, as though the concrete floor was made of squeaky boards. She watched every step, like a secret agent on a reconnaissance mission where getting caught meant ultimate failure. Upon reaching the door to the den, the Deputy peeked inside, eyes darting around.

There was no one in there. The kitchen light was on and clashed with the blue light from the fish tank. The only movement was that of the fish swimming around in their aquarium, minding their own business.

“Looking for me?”

“AHH!”

The Deputy jumped out of her skin, whirling around to face the Father lurking behind her. With arms folded and one questioning eyebrow raised, he seemed to be waiting on her next move. Mary glared daggers at him, hoping to strike him down like the past five hundred times before. But...nothing. In fact, he seemed to be immune. Shame.

“Mary, we need to-”

She slapped her hands over her ears. “La la la laaaaa! Can’t hear you!”

“Real mature.”

“What?”

He glared at her. “Listen, you and I should-”

“Well, would you look at the time. It’s I don’t give a damn thirty. Time for dinner!”

Mary turned her back on him and went into the den. Joseph didn’t say anything but watched her the entire time she cooked. When she sat down at the table to finally eat, her stomach complaining loudly from going so long without eating, he sat down across from her. The Deputy bristled, but kept her face down on her food, eating in fuming silence.

“John once told me you could hold a grudge for even longer than him. He wasn’t wrong.”

“Your dearest baby brother was right about a lot of things. Maybe you should’ve listened to him more. You think I’m pissed? You haven’t seen anything yet,” Mary snapped.

“You shouldn’t let it consume you. Cast it aside, as I did. We only have each other now. The clean slate and forgiveness I gave you are still open and will remain.”

There he went trying to manipulate her again. Mary chewed her food extra harshly and swallowed, pointing a fork at him that she would’ve preferred to stab into a certain body part of his.

“Forgiveness? After what you did?”

Joseph sighed. “You misconstrue my actions, Mary. What happened between us was natural and intended, whether I knew of our future or not. I didn’t plan for it to happen, at least not then. My only intention was to truly and wholly forgive you. What came after was in our hearts.”

This man had a way with words. No, persuasion. Mary shook her head, not looking at him, eating more of her meal in tense silence.

After a long moment, she said, “You still took advantage of it…of me. You know, the problem is that sleeping together is like squeezing toothpaste out of the tub; you can try as hard as you might, but going back to the way things were before is as impossible as getting the toothpaste back inside the tub. You screwed this up.”

Mary scrunched up her face. 

“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best analogy to pick, but...you get what I mean.”

“‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone’. You knew just as well as I did of the risks involved in our union. And you still accepted me. And I didn’t take advantage of anything. I simply realized that this was where God’s next plan would begin.”

Mary pushed her plate away and laughed bitterly. “Do you hear yourself? You’re crazy…and a liar.”

“And what exactly have I lied about? Everything I predicted came to pass, did it not? Despite how unlikely you and your friends thought it would be. Even amidst the atrocities my brothers and I have done, we always stood with the truth He showed me, saving as many souls as possible. But all of the people that called me a liar...where are they now?”

Mary lowered her eyes.

“I preach only the truth, spoken directly from the Lord. Whether I want it to happen or not, I must obey Him. When He first showed me that I had to keep you alive after all you’ve done, I was angry. I laughed at the obscenity of it! But I obeyed. Even though I still wanted to kill you. And He continued showing me more and more of what you would become, because you were meant for something greater and He had forgiven you. You play a pivotal role in the new world, Mary. Not just by becoming my wife and mother of my children, but by your soul and all of the hardships you’ve endured. Only you. It was only ever you. And I realize that now.”

Mary looked up at him then, shocked. Her heart dropped like a dead weight in her belly and she almost had flashbacks to Jacob’s trials.

“You and I were chosen, Mary. It’s time to dig the log out of your eye before pointing out the speck in someone else’s.”

Matthew 7:5, she quickly thought and snorted. Although the Father was right to call her out that she needed to look at her own sins and faults before attacking others for theirs, he was wrong about having a speck in his eye. She may have had a log, but Joseph had a whole damn forest.

But his words of her being important in the new world in more ways than one...they sounded so certain. Joseph always seemed positive and confident in his preaching, but there was something different about this prediction, and it sprouted some kind of ember within her, yearning to grow.

He had been right on everything so far, yet she was adamant he had to be wrong about them…about her conceiving. The Father had to be wrong about something. Still, she understood what he was getting at and sighed.

“Fine, if that’s what you believe,” she muttered. “We’re both shitty people, somehow “chosen” by God to lead the new world. I still think you’re delusional. But…I’ll consider calling a truce. Once I’ve figured out what to think of this whole mess...might take a while, considering the size of it...” When she saw him smile, she quickly added, “This does not mean I’ve forgiven you for what you’ve done. This is simply for coexistence. And don’t get any ideas because it ain’t happening. Once we know for sure that I’m not pregnant, then we can start discussing how to move forward.”

“You’ll have to come to terms that you are.”

“You want me to toss that truce out the window?” she growled.

Joseph raised his hands in compliance. “I guess you will have to come to those terms on your own.”

“Just be grateful I’m willing to think about sharing the same space with you without attempted murder.”

A long bout of silence settled between them. Only the hum of the fish tank could be heard. Mary took a long drink of her water, avoiding eye contact with her bunker mate.

She hated this. It was worse than before her and Joseph started getting along. She had actually started to enjoy her new life when they were getting close. Now she felt nothing but bitterness at being used. Loneliness again. She didn’t know what to do with herself or how to pass the time. She worried…

The new year was just a couple of days away, but Mary wouldn’t be drinking or celebrating. The world was dead. Her friends and family were dead and she was trapped underground with a megalomaniac. Let’s not dwell on the fact that she had actually started warming up to him and feeling something bordering on affection for him before it all came tumbling down.

Quit worrying, her inner voice said. Nothing’s going to happen. You aren’t pregnant. Joseph is wrong. He’s gotta be wrong this time. You aren’t going to be his wife or have his children. He’ll realize he’s insane and the both of you will coexist until it’s time to part ways in an apocalyptic wasteland.

 And then, suddenly it dawned on her and the Deputy spat out some water. “Wait…children?! As in…more than one?!”

Joseph wiped his arm with a grimace, some of her water and spittle having sprayed across the table. Mary had been so worked up over her potentially conceiving, that she didn’t even realize what Joseph claimed to be written in their shared futures.

“Yes,” he stated simply. “Children, as in the plural form of child.”

“How many are we supposed to have?” she asked. “In your crazy, made-up delusions, I mean. Come on, let’s hear it, Nostradamus. I need a laugh.”

Joseph studied her for a quiet moment. “If you are adamant that I am wrong, then why stress about it?”

“Just…humor me.”

The Father leaned back in his chair, unconvinced. “Three. That I know of.”

Three?! He’s definitely insane.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“No. A girl and two boys. Exactly what you’ve taken from me.”

Right…totally insane. I’mma head out...

“Sure, that’s not creepy or coo-coo at all.”

Joseph’s lips barely curved upright. “If you are so certain of not conceiving, you shouldn’t have any worries. We’ll find out soon enough whether I’m crazy or not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure I know that you’re nuts now. Don’t need to wait any longer to know that. This is a pretty twisted way to get over your siblings, Joseph. By fantasizing something as far-fetched as that.”

His glare caught her off guard. “I’ve forgiven you for their deaths, but the pain is still there. I’m not over my siblings. Not even close. Just like you aren’t over Sarah.”

She snapped her eyes at him then, tensing, and they held each other’s gaze in strained silence in an invisible battle of wills. And he motioned at her with the rosary laced hand, knowing he had her full attention now.

“We do not “get over” the loss of loved ones, Mary. We heal through time and forgiveness and in seeking solace with the Lord. And we carry on, doing our best to keep them alive within ourselves, remembering what they taught us and how they made us grow.”

Tears bit at her eyes, but the Deputy refused to let them release, keeping her glare, despite the hurt in her heart over Sarah. Joseph’s face softened though, his pride breaking away for his sympathetic side, one of his few virtues.

“Our children will not be them. But it is God’s way of showing that you and I have truly forgiven one another and our pasts. It will be because of them that we will be able to grow and change into what the new world needs us to be. And we will never have to be alone again.”

She hated and yet strangely admired the way this man could form words; heartfelt, encouraging, and soothing. It was a haunting reminder on why so many people flocked to him and damn near worshipped him, impelled and bewitched and willing to die for him.

It sounded great. A promise of peace, enrichment, and freedom. Not just from the bunker, but from their pasts and tribulations. A future full of acceptance, fulfillment, and love. But it came from the best salesman on the planet, always twisting words to his advantage.

Mary couldn’t see anything good coming from them. They were both bad people and had done terrible things to each other and others. She had bought into his promise of a good life and forgiveness down here and in the “new world” before, but now only doubt filled her heart. Now it only seemed as though they survived the bombs together as punishment, destined to slowly waste away for their crimes.

Mary didn’t deserve any of the things Joseph promised. And neither did he. So why would God reward them?

***

After tossing and turning for over an hour, Joseph finally gave up and sat up in bed. He rubbed his face, feeling the familiar ache creeping into his skull. The prophet hadn’t got much sleep in the days following Christmas. It wasn’t his usual phase of insomnia. Stress mostly. Despite the Voice telling him everything would work out in the end, he still felt bad for the fallout between him and Mary.

He really had not intended it to happen the way that it did, but she wouldn’t believe him. And he didn’t blame her. He had done so many bad things in his life, all in the name of the Lord who had become angry and disappointed in His children. But he wholeheartedly believed that he had done all those transgressions for the greater good.

They sometimes upset him, but he never lost focus on what God needed him to do next. Mary was different though. He was hung on it, and he knew there was no righting it until she had no choice but to accept that their daughter was growing inside of her.

Wincing and grabbing the back of his head, the cult leader rose and left his room, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He walked through the silent bunker hallway into the infirmary to get some painkillers.

The infirmary, now cleaned up and organized after Mary’s meltdown, was lit by a small night-light on one wall, and it was enough for him to see without turning the ceiling light on. Joseph knew just where his pain pills were and got a couple before leaving for the den.

He looked at Mary’s bedroom door as he passed, closed and nothing but silence on the other side. Slipping into the den to wash down his pills with a drink of water, he stopped short in the doorway.

Mary was asleep on the sofa. The Father peered at her for a curious moment, wondering why she had let herself pass out here. He quietly strolled into the kitchen and got his glass of water. He watched her as he popped the pills and washed them down.

The blue light from the aquarium spilled across her slumbering form like an opening to a play, entrancing the audience like she was some kind of modern Sleeping Beauty.

Joseph approached the dozing Deputy, standing over her. He studied her, admiring her relaxed face that had been contorted lately from worry and anger. She was so beautiful. A heavenly creature trapped in both a concrete cage and a cage of her own making, desperate to get out, and only he would be able to free her. But first she had to let him.

He smiled tenderly down at her. He grabbed up the blanket laying over the nearby recliner and gently laid it out over her curled body, tucking her in.

He brushed his knuckles softly over her temple after making sure she wouldn’t catch a cold again.

“Sleep well, Mary. You needn’t worry...the Lord himself watches over you.”

Soon the Father left her be and went back to his room, for now ignoring the faint pounding in his head.

***

It was officially a few days into the first year of the end of the world, and Mary was about to rip her hair out. At this rate, she would absolutely lose it before they hit their seven year mark, or whenever they were supposed to get the hell out of here.

She had been too stressed to “celebrate” New Year’s, but it wasn’t as though there was much to celebrate for anyway. Things were civil between her and Joseph, having accepted a truce for now, and that was forcing it. She tolerated him at most, and barely talked to him, avoiding anything to do with what happened between them or the possibility that she may be pregnant. She also ignored his watchful eyes on her, as though he was gauging any sort of changes for his fallacy of her becoming pregnant with his child.

Mary felt the same as before their temporary “error of judgement” that had been Christmas night. It reassured her everything was going to be okay, although the little voice in the back of her head still warned her it was still too early for anything.

In the mix of doing chores, she unfortunately found herself wondering about the horrors of what would happen if she did in fact become pregnant. The Deputy refused to even think about the factors of childbirth and medical risks. Mary knew if Joseph was actually right (again), she would be tied to him forever and she just didn’t know what to think of that.

The Deputy had always wanted to eventually settle down, marry, and have a family - but not this way. Not hiding underground from the end of the world. Not with three children fathered by a Delphic cult leader who thought he was the next messiah. She had always pictured meeting another law officer with her beliefs and passion for justice, or maybe a handsome veterinarian, and they would have lots of pets. Definitely dogs and cats. Maybe horses and goats. And yes, even fish! But she had always only pictured herself having one or maybe two children.

But three? With the Father? Her children would be demons, if the Seeds were anything to go by. With her luck at least one of them would fancy filleting people like their uncle...

Her father did always say that God had a twisted sense of humor though. And with all that had happened since arriving in Hope County, well, the Deputy believed him now.

Best not think about it. Don’t jinx yourself…

Mary snorted. Yeah, as if.

Once she was finished cleaning the communications room, she turned off the record player. The old rock tunes died and the freshly cleaned room became quiet. Her boredom soon returned. There was only so much cleaning and chores she could do, after all.

Not yet ready to give in to talk to her bunker mate, she decided to sit down at the radio system. It had been over a week since she had tried reaching out. She noticed the radio was off and couldn’t remember if she had turned it off or not.

The Deputy turned it on and started running through the channels in boredom, not expecting anything as usual. She was met with the predicted silence or buzzing static, but not much else.

“If anyone is out there, please respond. This is Deputy Mary Samson of the Hope County Sheriff’s Department, currently taking refuge in Dutch Roosevelt’s bunker.”

She waited, having called out to all channels available, just like usual. And though she wasn’t expecting a response as always, it still hurt and depressed her knowing that she and Joseph could really be the only ones left in Hope County.

She sat for five solid minutes in bleak silence. Sighing in aggravation, the Deputy stood and was about to hit the off switch when a strange pulse of static came through the speaker. She paused.

That was a weird interference…

And then a beep. The green light was blinking. She gaped, frozen in disbelief. Someone was actually responding! There was another life out there besides them! She felt lightheaded, heart pounding from excitement. Her fingers twitched but she pushed the button to call up the channel that responded.

“H-Hello?” she stammered.

“EMMY! Holy shit, girl! Didn’t think we’d ever hear from you again!”

“SHARKY?!” Mary squealed disbelievingly. “Oh my God! You’re alive?!”

“Hell yeah, I’m alive, Shorty! Although, let me tell ya, it was not a good time gettin’ to this shelter with balls of fire rainin’ from the sky like some goddamn start to a blockbuster flick. And I burned my ass, no shit! I still can’t feel part of my left butt cheek. Oh, oh, oh, hold on! Let me wake the others.”

“Others?” Mary was nearly bouncing in front of the radio, ecstatic at the prospect of more survivors.

“Hurky, wake up, we got Dep! Alive and well!”

Hurk Jr.!!! Her two stupidest, most loyal friends had made it!

“Emmy? That really you?” that distinct redneck twang came through and she hopped and laughed.

“Yeah, it’s me, you fucking idiot! It’s so good to hear your voice! Where’re you guys at?”

“We’re in Daddy’s old bunker at the Drubman Fort. Plenty of food, booze, and room to party for the next decade down here. Where you at, girl?”

Before the Deputy could answer, Hurk’s voice hollered out so loud, it rattled the speaker and made her wince.

“MOMMA COM’ERE! EMMY GIRL’S STILL ALIVE!”

“Addie too?” Mary asked, rubbing one ear.

“Oh yeah,” Sharky said. “Us, Aunty Addie, Uncle Hurk Sr. and Xander man, are all down here.”

“How the hell have you guys not killed each other yet?” Mary laughed.

“Sharky stashed a shit ton of weed, and I ain’t gonna lie, I think it’s the only thing keepin’ us from turnin’ this place into the next Fight Club. Though that’d be kinda cool if you ask me.”

“Dude, Hurky, that would actually be wicked insane.”

They both yelped and there was a staticky crash. Mary frowned, worried she had lost them, until a third familiar voice met her ears and she couldn’t believe that the whole Drubman clan had actually made it.

“Emmy, sweetheart?!” Adelaide yelled. “You there?”

“I’m here, Addie! How are you doing?”

“About to lose my fucking mind with all these idiots! So good to hear your voice, sugar. We had trouble with our radio on this end for the longest time. Sharky finally fixed it.”

“Fixed it? I made a miracle happen, thank you!”

“So, where are you holing up at, Em?” Hurk Jr. asked.

“Dutch’s bunker.”

“Oh, how is he?” Addie asked. “Wake the old grouch up and get him over here!”

Mary frowned, swallowing hard. “He…uh…he didn’t make it.”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“But…he never left that bunker,” Sharky mumbled.

“Oh honey, we’re sorry to hear that,” Addie replied.

“Did your other Deputy amigos make it?” Hurk Jr. asked.

Mary was quiet. She was so excited to hear from her friends again, she didn’t realize what all she would have to tell them. Now she was terrified. What would they think of her situation?

“No…we got into a wreck before getting to the bunker. They didn’t make it either.”

“Do you have anyone? Are you all alone, Emmy?” Sharky asked, sounding concerned.

She released a shaky breath, weakly smiling even though they couldn’t see it. “No…I have one other survivor here with me.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s that tinfoil hat nerd who thinks aliens are listenin’ in on him because hoo doggie would I feel bad for you,” Hurk Jr. said.

“I can’t even imagine being stuck alone with someone that crazy. Like, yowzers, blow my fuckin’ brains out right now.”

“Oh, I’m stuck with crazy alright,” Mary said with a deep sigh.

“Goddam! MERLE, ARE YOU IN THERE?” Addie yelled.

Mary covered the speaker with a wince. “No…not Merle.”

“Then who?”

“The actual king of crazy…”

Thick silence was her response and the Deputy couldn’t be sure whether her dense friends weren’t keen on her hint or if they were stunned into silence. She gulped and waited.

Addie proved to be the quicker one as usual. “Joseph Seed?! You lucky bitch! Oh, how I envy you being alone with that fuckin’ dreamboat. He can port his ship in my harbor any time.”

Mary cringed at the thought.

“Ew. Momma. Seriously. I’m gonna hurl up my Pringles, quit it!”

“Damn, Shorty. Got the short ‘n ugly end of the stick, eh?” Sharky asked. “Bunkin’ down with Broseph! Didn’t think the bastard made it.”

“Well…technically he ain’t Broseph no more considerin’ Dep killed ‘em all. Now he’s…Nobroseph.”

The cousins broke out in a fit of snorting laughter from Hurk’s stupid joke.

“Seriously though, Em, how have you two not killed each other yet?” Sharky asked, still recovering from his snickering.

“He still tryin’ to get you to join his “end of the world” cult?” Hurk added. “Joke’s on him, the world already ended.”

Mary facepalmed. “Hurk…Joseph preached nonstop about it. I think he fucking knows the world ended.”

“Good point, amiga. And so he ended up being right all along. How crazy is that, man?”

“Don’t be an idiot, cuz. Nobroseph is now trying to get her to join his “after the end of the world” cult. Which, obviously, isn’t as gnarly and epic as Hurk’s Gate.”

“Damn straight. I mean, we’re kinda short on the monkeys at the moment, but once we get outta here, monkeys galore, man. And booze. Runnin’ around buck-naked in the new world. Like a giant goddamn step for mankind towards bein’ more in tune with nature and all that shit.”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Addie groaned.

Mary chuckled. God, had she missed these knuckleheads.

“Well, Shorty, is everything…alright? Are you doin’ okay? He ain’t like…conditioning you or some shit is he?”

Mary was touched. Sharky always looked after her. He may not have been the smartest tool in the shed, but she could always rely on him to have her back. He could never be taken at face value, there was so much underneath that was uniquely…Sharky.

“Nah,” she said with a forced smile. “We’re getting along alright. Moving on from the past and slowly finding common ground. After all, we have to rely on each other down here. There’s days we still want to kill each other, but we’re civil...for the most part.”

“Gotta hand it to him,” Hurk Jr. interjected. “Cult Daddy’s sure being easy-going with being roomies with his family’s killer…whether they deserved it or not. I’m quite surprised, man. And relieved of course. Emmy, I’m even surprised in you, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.”

“Of course he’s gonna bunk down with a hot young lady for the next several years!” Addie scoffed. “The man ain’t stupid! Emmy, sweetheart, you have to tell me how good of a ride he is. I gotta know...for research purposes...you know what I mean, hun!”

Her heart exploded into a frenzy and Mary panicked. “W-What?! Addie, what the hell?! I h-haven’t! I mean, no!”

Jeez, stop it, Emmy! Ever heard of ‘The lady doth protest too much’? You’re blabbing! Shut it.

There was no way she was going to tell them the truth! Never! Even though an honest answer for Adelaide would probably make the older woman squeal in delight.

“Oh, sure, honey. But it’ll happen eventually. A man and a woman locked underground alone together, for who knows how long? Yeah, it’s gonna happen. Laws of nature and all that. I’m sure Joseph’s already thought of it. Hell, probably planned it if I have a hunch of how he works.”

You have no idea, Addie…

“Who knows what’s going on in his head, Addie...”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. No one will judge you, given the circumstances. Some of us will be pretty damn jealous actually…”

“I won’t be jealous in the slightest,” Sharky drawled. “I mean, I will, but not of you fucking Joseph, but of you fucking Joseph. T-That is to say, I mean, what I’m tryin’ to say is-”

“Goddamn, cuz, spit it out, man. You’re a cringefest right now.”

Mary smiled. “Thanks, Sharky. I’m flattered.”

“I will march across the radioactive wasteland and grow an extra head, three nipples and some toes on my chin to shove his prayer beads up his back door if he even looks at you wrong...just sayin’.”

“Why would you go on foot when it’s the perfect time to go Mad Max up there, man? Grab some metal and spikes and go all out, ride or die in style.”

“That is actually a great idea, Hurky. I wonder if my truck made it through the bombs. Definitely strappin’ a flamethrower to the hood. And I always wanted, like, them crazy spikes on the wheels, but like, in gold and super shiny.”

“Homie, it’s the end of the world, you ain’t gonna be blingin’ man.”

Aaaand she lost them. Shaking her head, Mary cleared her throat. “It’s so good to hear from you guys, it really is. But I’m gonna sign off for bed. Talk tomorrow?”

“Sure, sugar. I’m happy to have someone else to talk to that isn’t a complete moron. You get some rest, hun. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, amiga! Talk to ya tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Shorty. Take care of yourself.”

Mary squeezed the mic, softly smiling. “Goodnight, my friends.”

The Deputy put the radio on standby, unable to wipe the triumphant grin off her face. Feeling overwhelmed by joy, she remained sitting for a few minutes, going over what happened. She couldn’t believe it: her friends were alive! And she wondered if more of them possibly could’ve made it...if the Drubmans survived, maybe others did, too! Kim, Nick, Carmina...I hope you’re okay...if you’re still there, I’ll find you!

It relieved her to know that she would have more people than just Joseph to talk to. She may not have been able to see or touch them, but hearing their voices, knowing they had her back was enough. Knowing they were alive and they could talk greatly boosted her sanity and her mood.

Joseph had been wrong about them being the only ones…which meant he had to be wrong about her getting pregnant. 

...right?

[theempressar]

Fire Starter - Whump fic!

This is for @brihana25 and her NEED for “We Didn’t Start the Fire…Eh…yeah we did!”  

This is for @outforawalkbitkah who wanted Johnny to be rescued from his dojo by Daniel.  I hope I did okies!!  

This is for @orangerebellion13 who pondered what it would have been like if Kreese’s cigar actually did more damage.

Thank you ladies…Once I started…I just couldn’t stop!!  Much like the FIYAH this caused in me!  

Disclaimer:  I don’t mean to hurt our poor boys.  But they did get Fire Whumpped!!

Word Count:  2000 even!  WOOT!!

Johnny lay in a daze on the mat of the Cobra Kai dojo.  He had just gotten the biggest shock of his life as his old Sensei, mentor and ghost from his past, John Kreese appeared in his darkened doorway, smoking a cigar and speaking in riddles. 

Johnny had just looked at him, numb and mute.  He thought he was dead.  Everyone thought he was dead.  He was talking about something…what?  Closing the book on us?  What the hell did that mean?  Why was he here now? 

“You gotta be kidding me…”  He said walking closer to the figure in dark shadows.  Flashes and replays of the night he came in second place…the night he almost died at this bastard’s hand and he was calmly smoking that fucking cigar, laughing at him.  

“I’m here to help you…” 

“I don’t need your help, old man!”  

“Eh…we’ll see…by the time this is over…” 

“By the time what is…”  Johnny barely got the final words out before Kreese threw his lit cigar butt into the trash can beside the door.  It started smoking in whatever paper and garbage was left behind from the kids earlier.

“What the hell are you doing?”  Johnny said going over to the trash can.  He was met with a leg to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. 

“Leave it.”  

“The hell I will!!”  Johnny wheezed and without warning leapt at Kreese grabbing the old man by the collar and tossing him aside.  

Kreese laughed as he hit the ground but quickly rolled and pinned Johnny’s legs as he once again went for the fire in the trash can that was quickly spreading outside of the can.  Black smoke was creeping its way up the wall.  

“You’re gonna burn this place down…asshole!”  Johnny said, pinned under Kreese’s surprisingly strong legs.  He struggled to sit up but Kreese was faster, rolling almost on top of him, putting a death grip on his neck.  Johnny looked up into the older man’s eyes and saw the same look he had as an impetuous teenage boy who lost his only real father figure in a matter of minutes.  He saw the same evil in his eyes.  

Johnny clawed at Kreese’s arm.  He was choking.  The dots were beginning to swim… “Why?” 

“Why not?”  Kreese growled back.  I want the legacy of MY dojo…not yours…even if it means I have to start new after I burn this place and YOU to the ground.  

“They’ll never.” 

“They will…once they learn that they need to keep the memory of their sensei and his honor alive.  I’m the only one that can bring them that!”  

Kreese redoubled his efforts.  Johnny was trying to kick out of the hold but he was choking and the smoke in the room was starting to affect his vision…and it was creeping into his nose.  Thankfully, Kreese was blocking his airway…if that was anything to be thankful for.  Kreese let up and Johnny gagged and gasped and choked.  His eyes were burning.  He could barely see or breathe.  He looked at Kreese who stood in a cloud of smoke almost like he was just the spectre he claimed to be.  He picked up Johnny’s cellphone.  

“Perfect…how predictable you are…why you have the number of your “mortal enemy” programed into your phone…Just as I knew you would.  

The flames were licking the walls of the dojo now.  Bright orange.   Why hadn’t the sprinkler system gone off yet?  Johnny had thought in his clogged brain.  “Oh right…” He groaned.  The inspector warned him about getting it fixed.  He just kept putting it off.  

“You bastard!!  What does he have to do with this?” He was struggling to a sitting position, but in his weakened state, he didn’t have much strength to fend off the double kick to the solar plexus that Kreese simultaneously doled out as he hit the speed dial.  

“Speed dial even…have you two become…friends?” 

“Johnny?”

“No…’fraid not…Johnny’s unavailable right now…”  

“Wait a minute…who is this?” 

“Awwwwww….that hurt, Princess…you don’t remember the sound of my voice?  I figure it would be haunting your nightmares still to this day…especially the way I made you piss your pants when I jumped out from behind that stand-up handsome likeness of yours truly.”

“Kreese…”  

“The one and only…” 

“Why…where’s Johnny…why are you calling on his phone?”  Daniel heard the scuffling on the other end of the line.  “LARUSSO…GET HELP!!”  He heard choking and a loud yell and a cracking sound. 

“Johnny…where are you?”

Continued sounds of struggle and coughing and Kreese was back on the line, winded.  “I just knocked the pretty boy out…I figure you have about less than five minutes to get your ass over here and save him…or die trying…two birds with one stone and all that jazz.”  

“Kreese…you son of a bitch!!”  

“Again with the flattery…ta ta!”

Kreese hung up then promptly broke Johnny’s phone tossing it to the ground.  Johnny was groaning and losing consciousness on the ground in front of him.  Kreese had slammed him head first into his floor length mirror and he lay in a pile of shards of broken mirror pieces all around him.  He looked down at the wound in his leg.  Johnny had gotten one good shard of glass embedded in him before nearly passing out.  Kreese looked at him, shook his head and pulled it out of him without so much as a wince, tossing the bloody shard to the ground.  

“It has been a pleasure…but I think you have your hands full…”  Kreese said turning to leave.  Johnny saw him one last time through the flames as he walked to the door. 

“Don’t…you can’t…” 

“I’m afraid I just did.”  Kreese said exiting the building, and turning to lock the door behind him.  

———–

The fire had been blazing for a good five minutes when Daniel pulled up in his SUV.  Alarms and sirens were going off all around.  The mini mart beside the dojo’s fire alarms were sounding and people were starting to gather around the building.  

Daniel got out of his SUV and looked at the wall of flames.  Panic and terror on his face.  What if…no…he couldn’t be…he can’t be!!

“JOHNNY!!”  He screamed into the flames.  “Did anyone see the man who owns this place?  Did he come out??  Where is he?”  He rushed over to the homeless lady he knew that frequented the area when he had been here the handful of times before.  

“Where is he…where’s Johnny?!”  

“You mean blondie?”  

“Yes…Blondie!”  Daniel said exasperated.  

“I don’t know honey…but he sure is gonna be pissed about this!”  

“No shit…”  Daniel said turning away from her and running back to the building.  Suddenly, the glass door exploded from the bottom and black smoke came billowing out from the inside.   Daniel didn’t think.  He knew Johnny had to be in there.  He knew he was either hurt, or unconscious or….he didn’t want to think about that.  

He rushed to the door and assessed the situation.  He took off his shirt.  The cold evening breeze and the heat from the building contrasted against his skin.  He put his navy blue sweatshirt to his nose and didn’t hesitate another second.  He didn’t touch any of the door frame or surrounding glass.  He kicked in the rest of the door and ventured inside.  

It was dark.  Black.  Smoke in the room.  Flames out of control.  He knew that heat and smoke rose and that there was a small chance that Johnny may be lying on the ground somewhere.  

“Joh-Johnny”  He choked out…his lungs filling almost immediately.  

A groan from the floor in front of him.  Close.  Where.  ‘Where goddamn it…where are you?!’

Daniel kept his mouth closed and moved his feet across the ground…trying to find something to nudge.  He found it.  He felt the heat of the room singeing his skin.  He felt like he was burning from the inside.  ‘Come on, Johnny…help me…’   He said in his head.  

“JOHNNY!!”  He gave one final cry…falling to the ground in front of him.  Barely recognizable.  Soot and ashes covering his face.  The air was smoky but he realized it wasn’t as bad as low to the ground as he was.  There was still a chance.  He put his ear to Johnny’s mouth.  He was breathing…just barely.  

His lungs were starting to burn and he was only in there less than a minute.  He could only imagine what the man on the floor was going through.  

‘Come on…let’s get out of here…Goldilocks…I still have a lot of personal beefs to hash out with you.  You gotta stay alive long enough for me to do it!’  He tried to lift Johnny, but that was a no go.  Johnny had always been bigger.  “Damn it…” He said in desperation.  “Help me!”  

Johnny groaned and cracked open his eyes.  He saw Daniel in front of him, almost wringing his hands…trying to pull him by the foot out of the door.  He choked and sputtered.  “La…”  It burned his lungs and he cried out.  

Blue and red lights lit up the smoke like an eerie 80s dance club.  Daniel almost cried in relief.  The fire trucks were here and the firefighters were on their way in.  Daniel pulled Johnny to a sitting position.  He knew they would have a hard time finding them and they were running out of passable breathing air and time.  He communicated with Johnny with his eyes and grabbed his arm to sling it over his shoulder.  Johnny moaned but understood.  

With all of Daniel’s strength he hoisted his friend up. Johnny leaned heavily on him and he almost immediately fell back over to the ground.  The sweatshirt around his mouth slipped and he breathed in straight black smoke.  He coughed but managed to hold on before growing dizzy himself.  

One final push to the door and he stumbled with Johnny wrapped around him.  Johnny’s face was pressed close to his neck.  He was losing his battle quickly.  Daniel had to get outside.  He had to breathe in the fresh, clean smog-filled air.  He never wanted anything more than for he and his friend to be ok…safe and alive.  “Help us!!”  He weakly croaked out.  

The firefighters saw the pair coming towards the door and immediately went to grab them and haul them outside.  The rush of cool air hit them both and they fell to the ground…gasping and choking…Johnny had stopped breathing.  

“Johnny…”  Daniel looked over at him.  He was almost gone himself but not nearly as bad of shape as Johnny Lawrence.  His rival and his friend.  “JOHNNY!”   Daniel cried rolling over on top of him, shaking him.  “Breathe…Johnny…Breathe…don’t…DON’T DO THIS!!” 

Daniel frantically pulled on Johnny’s shirt, near singed to his body.  He was blistered.  It was bad.  “NO!”  He pounded on Johnny’s chest.  The medical team pushed past Daniel and got to work on Johnny.  Daniel refused to leave his side.  He grabbed a soot covered hand and held onto it for dear life.  “Don’t…you can’t leave me…” 

A gasp.  A gagging breath. A squeeze of Daniel’s hand.  Johnny’s blackened face turned towards him and he opened his eyes again…slowly.  “Had you goin’ there for a minute…didn’t I, LaRusso.”  He coughed and sputtered and closed his eyes, not letting go of Daniel’s hand.  

“You’re a dick…you do realize that.”  Daniel said finally allowing himself a small smile.  

“How are you holding up?”  An EMT asked beside him.  

“I’m fine…just…just make sure you take care of him.”

“He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”  

Daniel didn’t say anything.  Just held on to Johnny’s hand as they were loaded up into the awaiting ambulance.