#no canon we ball like edge of cliff

[eponastory]

Oh look, it's another Anti making assumptions again about self-inserting and Zutarians disrespecting Katara again...

0

This person was apparently born at night, and it was last night, to be exact. So happy birthday, random anti!

Anyway, this shallow narrow minded view is very common amongst the antis because well, they have to have something to complain about at all times. Look, I get it, you don't want to seem like a hypocrite about self-inserting. We all know you do it just like the rest of us readers and writers. The only problem is they don't have the balls enough to admit it.

Yeah, that's right, we self-insert.

But it's not because we have this sexual fantasy we want to fulfill with Zuko through Katara. Look, I'm not here to judge because I also have sexual fantasies that I self-insert into characters to achieve (though mine is with Dante from Devil May Cry and I read a lot of reader x Dante fics for that). It's part of escapism.

But no, it's not because of sexual fantasies. It's about a lot of things other than that. Some of those things are emotional or physical trauma that the reader/writer is trying to get through. Especially if it's emotional trauma like emotional abuse and neglect. That's some serious shit that antis apparently don't understand because they are themselves guilty of dealing out that abuse to others (over a ship... like come on people, be serious). And no, shared trauma isn't a problem in a relationship, especially when that trauma has been dealt with from both parties. That's a horrible excuse to say that a relationship is going to be 'toxic'. If anything, moving forward through trauma can help a person grow. Zuko and Katar dealing with their trauma actually made them friends, so I don't see that being an argument against.

As far as Katara making her own choices...

Honey, sweetheart, darling...

She's a fictional character. Her choices were made for her by the people who created her. This is the same thing as using the fortune teller to have her self-fulfilling the fortune given to her. Most of us Zutara writers actually hate that Katara's choices were limited to that prophecy, so that's the one bit of Canon that can actually be detrimental to her character. But yeah, you just ignore that for the sake of your argument.

You'll find that Zutarians actually give Katara a lot more 'choices', considering how she is treated post-war, so yeah. But again, she is a fictional character. Her choices are pre-ordained by her creators. That's kinda how characters and storytelling work.

But we aren't anti Katara around here. If we were, then Zutara wouldn't exist. When it comes to self-inserting, we could easily create a character to ship Zuko with to fulfill that emotional need, but we love Katara.

Even though we can also easily self-insert into both characters.

So, yeah, I don't know where these obsurd arguments come from other than cowardice and the moral high ground that the antis claim to have.

News flash, your high horse is actually a very short pony perilously standing on the edge of a cliff.

Grow a pair and get over yourself before you fall.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 18: Who Are You?

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The ruins stippling the mountainous valley look ominous at night when the chalky light of the moon stumbles upon the toothed edges of broken walls and sharp-angled vestiges of what used to be a grand temple. The wilderness has reclaimed the land stolen, and the spindly trees forge stringy shadows that squirm when the wind tangles through the cliffs.   

Your legs dangle over the brink of a dizzyingly sheer precipice, and you’re laid flat on your back to stare at the celestial blanket, embroidered with flecks of stars. The party will leave this behind come dawn and enter the Shadowlands. You’ve never ventured there; not many have after the curse eclipsed the land in Shar’s dark silhouette, but from what you know, it’s entirely possible you will not make it out alive. If that is to be the case, you want to remember that there is light in the universe.   

The serene silence is fractured by the snapping of twigs and the rustling of dried leaves and underbrush. You sit up with orbs of fire already hovering above you in an arcing semicircle.   

Astarion stands with his hands up, but a haughty smirk quirks up the corners of his lips. “And here I thought we were friends,” he drawls.   

“You really should learn to announce yourself when you’re lurking around in the dark.” The balls of fire descend into your hand and fade out. “It’s not like you to be so careless with your feet.”   

“Careless? Hardly.” Astarion crosses his arms, jutting his hip out. “I was loud on purpose. I feared that if I popped out of the shadows, you might throw yourself off the damn cliff.”   

“You know what would have worked? Saying, “Kamena, it’s Astarion. Please don’t burn me to death.” You throttle the laughter that threatens to snap out.   

“Oh, please. You’re no fun. I think I was being very polite giving you any warning at all.” Astarion saunters over, lying beside you. “What are you doing out here anyway? Should you not be trying to get some rest?”   

“Probably, but I wanted to see the stars before we entered the land of monotonous darkness.”   

Astarion nods. “I’ll miss the sun.”   

“You’ll see it again,” you reassure, even though you know it’s entirely possible he won’t. The thought makes your lower lip quiver, but you’re swept up in a sudden surge of pure defiance. You will survive the Shadowlands, if only to get him back into the sun. “I’ll make sure of it.”   

“You’re sweet,” he quirks a brow at you, rolls onto his side, and props himself up on his forearm. “But I am no fool. I know well enough that the odds do not favour us. You don’t have to coddle me.”   

“Coddle? Gods forbid anyone tries to reassure you!” You roll your eyes at him. “The odds might not be particularly charitable, but neither were the odds of making it this far in the first place. We seem to make impossibilities into possibilities daily right now.”   

“True. The odds of a vampire spawn being infected with a tadpole that just so happens to break his master’s compulsion and most of the other rather pesky downsides of vampirism are infinitely minuscule, yet here I am.”   

“Wow, that sounded very close to optimism,” you quip. “I’m impressed!”   

He scoffs, deigning not to answer, and flops down onto his back.   

You bashfully whisper. “Can I ask you some questions about vampires?”   

“I suppose,” Astarion says hesitantly, sitting up to look at you with a furrowed brow. “I guess I am the only one here with a wealth of knowledge on the subject. What exactly would you like to know?”   

“Vampire Lords, how do you kill them?”   

He shrugs. “Like most vampires, a stake, beheading, dismembering, incinerating. The trick is not so much how to kill them; it’s actually getting them weak enough for it to even be plausible. They are incredibly powerful and resilient bastards.”   

You sit up, crossing your legs, and peer out into the valley. “But it can be done?”   

“Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t advise it.” Astarion looks at you skeptically, leaning back and away.  

“And what happens to the Vampire Lords spawn if they perish?” 

“They are free to do as they please.” Astarion’s forehead pinches, creating a line between his brows. “Why?”  

“Cazador is in Baldur's Gate, correct?”   

“Yes, but…” Astarion’s eyes bulge, and he starts shaking his head. “Kamena. No. Please tell me you’re not thinking about doing what I think you are?”   

You smile at him angelically. “I would, but it would be a lie, and I don’t relish the idea of bullshitting you.”  

“Cazador is not to be trifled with.” Astarion blurts out hastily. “He will kill you. I was not exaggerating when I said he could walk into our camp and kill us all before we even woke.”   

“Oh, Astarion, don’t worry. I don’t plan on trifling with him. I plan on killing him outright.”   

“You’re actually serious?” Astarion exclaims.  

“Dead serious.”   

“I…” Astarion looks around. “Why would you do that for me?”  

Because I’m in love with you. 

It nearly leaps off your tongue like a startled frog off a lily pad, but you manage to snare it before it can be ejected from your lips. You feel the heat rush to your face as if your skin is trying to mimic the scarlet of his dissecting gaze. You glance away, clearing your throat and regaining the poise that was misplaced when your judgment nearly lapsed.   

“You’re my friend, and you deserve to be free. I will do everything in my power to make that possible.”   

Astarion looks down, picking up a rock and idly running his fingers over the surface. “I do not believe the others will share your sentiments.”   

“You leave the others to me. You have not yet witnessed exactly how persuasive I can be.” You smirk with a foxlike guise. “Plus, I think they all rather like you even if you do annoy the shit out of them.”   

Astarion chuckles. “Perhaps with the exception of Gale.”  

You quirk a brow at him, not quite understanding. Gale seems no more annoyed than the rest of the group at Astarion’s antics. “Why do you think Gale has anything against you?”   

Astarion’s eyes snap to you, and a handsome, crooked grin coils one side of his lips upward. “I have become rather close friends with a charming sorceress he fancies, I presume. Intimately close, one might say.”   

You flush red again and flop onto your back with a groan, hoping it might hide the rosy hue of your skin. Unfortunately, your traitorous heart lurches into a rapid pace you know he can hear, and he giggles spritely and genuine. You close your eyes and smile at the lightness and mirth that remind you of softly tinging windchimes. It’s not a sound you are granted too often, but you would do anything to hear it.   

“You’re so easy to fluster. It’s utterly adorable,” he purrs. Astarion lays back down beside you, looking up at the sky.   

The light of dawn is breaching the horizon, and the stars are starting to appear faint. The coolness of Astarion’s hand butting up against yours surprises you, and you tentatively lock your pinkie with his. Gradually, your hands seem to move of their own volition until his hand covers yours. You splay your fingers, his curl, and fit themselves perfectly in the spaces between, like your hand was made to hold his.   

“I envy you,” he murmurs. “Even when a literal God appears and threatens your very existence, you are fearless.”   

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you say, shaking your head. You crane your neck to the side to look at him. “I’m terrified.”   

He seems surprised by your candidness. His jaw clenches, making the muscles in his neck strain and pop out. You want to reach out and soothe that tension away, but instead you twist your hand into the earth to keep it from roaming where it shouldn’t.   

“How do you do it, then?” He finally asks, looking deeply into your eyes. There’s an openness there that makes you feel as though you’re truly seeing him, perhaps for the first time. “How do you keep going?”   

“I place one foot in front of the other, and then I do it again, and again, and again.”   

“You make it sound easy,” he breathes with a frown that’s weighted in the heaviness of sorrow.   

You know, at some point, he’s let fear paralyze him. Does he have any memories of true happiness? Are his memories all pain, torture and slavery at the hands of a barbaric master?  

“It’s not easy.” You conclude tightly. “Every step is hard, and sometimes you have to take a break between steps, but eventually, you take another step.”  

“Hmm.” A silence stretches out, and you just gaze at each other as the first rays of sun begin to plod over the land. “Take another step… May I kiss you?”   

The young beams of sunlight appear to infuse his eyes, lighting up the desperation in them. His stare is intense, like that of a coiled viper that’s ready to strike. You sit up, letting your hand drift toward him like it’s been yearning to do, but you hover just shy of his cheek. If he wants to be touched, he will close the gap. He glances at your hand, smiles sweetly, and pushes into your touch, closing his eyes when your thumb sweeps across his cheek.

"Of course.” 

Before the consent can even finish sighing from your lips, Astarion’s hand winds into your hair, and his lips catch yours with a greedy fervour that makes you groan into his mouth. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring, tentatively stroking yours in a slow erotic dance that’s all sensation and passion.  

His arm wraps around your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed tightly against the muscles of his chest. Your fingers twist into his shirt. You’ve never been kissed quite like this. It feels like he steals the air straight from your lungs and replaces it with him until you’re drowning in him.   

You can’t say you mind that much.

Astarion breaks the kiss only when your heart is racing like you’ve been running up a mountain. He smirks, placing one more chaste kiss on your still parted, swollen lips as you try to iron out this disequilibrium making your head swoon.

“Do you kiss all your friends like that?” Astarion quips playfully.  

“No!” You squeak too high and a little too hastily.   

“Good,” he surmises plainly with a curt nod.  

“Good?”   

“Good. I think I would rather like to keep it that way.” Astarion stands, offering you his hands. “Come on, darling. We best get back to camp before Gale’s brain starts to conjure up images of the sinful delights we’ve snuck away to partake in. I fear he might explode and kill us all out of sheer jealousy.”   

You slip your hands into Astarion’s, and he helps you to your feet. Your eyes drop to your embraced hands with a million questions revolving in your head, but you don’t dare ask any of them as you let him lead you back to camp hand-in-hand.

The courtyard door clicks closed behind you, and you lean on it with a resigned sigh. The woman you used to be, who now only lives in memories, would never have entertained such a proposition, but she had nothing to lose. Now, you have your soulmate, friends, and yourself, who all stand to lose their lives if you decide to pursue this fight to its inconclusive end. 

Does a ring with the power Aldous described even exist, or is this just a very clever rouse to pique your interest? It would be smart to prey on your greatest desires, and it’s something a Vampire Lord would certainly take advantage of. 

But ... a little voice whispers, But what if it’s true? What if the answer to Astarion’s sun intolerance is sitting somewhere in Waterdeep, and all you have to do is make a deal and walk away? 

Astarion likely won’t agree, let alone let them sketch his scars, but you’ve been trailing your fingers over those scars every night. You might not be much of an artist, but you could replicate them closely enough. 

Your back slides down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, shivering, with your fingers twisted in your drenched hair. You can’t seriously be considering this, can you? Who are you anymore? Are you too far gone? You used to be so fucking unshakable, and now you’re shaking on the floor, stuck between what you are and what you think you should be. 

It feels like the vultures are circling, the walls are closing, and the devil is knocking. 

But you will always do whatever it takes to keep those you love safe, and they will never be safe if you allow another Vampire Lord to ascend. There is always the risk that, as soon as your usefulness has been depleted, they will kill you, Astarion, and your friends. 

It’s not a risk you’re willing to take. 

“Sorceress?” Tara’s eyes gleam in the low light as she trots in from the corridor with her tail held high. “You are soaked! Did no one ever teach you how to dry yourself?” 

You let your chin rest on your knees and hold your hand out. At the invitation, Tara comes trotting over, and you scratch behind her ears while she gives you a rumbly purr and butts her head against your palm. 

“You are burdened this night.” Tara states, sitting and wrapping her tail around herself. Her words make tears prick your eyes, but you force them away. You are so tired of crying. “I see how the others look to you for answers you do not have. You carry much responsibility on your shoulders. Yet, I do not believe this is what bothers you this night.” 

“Astute, as always, Tara.” You push yourself up to your feet, grab the milk, and pour some into a bowl, letting your palms heat until the milk steams slightly. 

Tara’s tail sticks straight up in the air and vibrates happily as you put the bowl down for her and return to your spot on the floor. She waits for you to speak while she laps up her milk.  

“I feel like I’m constantly falling apart. I’ve changed. When I look in the mirror, I don’t always recognize the woman who is reflected back.” 

“And this is a bad thing?” Tara asks, taking a break from lapping at her milk and licking her lips and chin. “Change is inevitable, sorceress. Seasons change. Time changes. People change. Even the stars change given enough time.” 

“It’s not the change itself; it’s what I’ve changed into,” you sigh, letting your head rest on your knees. “The me in my memories was dependable, sure, and bold. Even when I was afraid, I was at least steadfast and reliable. I cannot say that’s the case any longer. Now, sometimes, I fear the dark or storms — things I would not have batted an eyelash at before.” 

There’s no stopping the tears now. Despite your restraint, the rivulets inch from the corners of your eyes. “I’m just so fucking sick of crying, of being afraid, of running, of being this version of me.” 

“Yes, you have struggled with fear since you came to stay.” Tara looks at her feet, almost as if she’s contemplating what you need to hear, but more likely, she’s trying to decide if she needs to clean her face. “Fear is a serpent whispering uncertainties and breeding unease about moving forward into the unknown. It convinces you to remain rooted in your misery simply because misery is known and safe. Sometimes it helps us avoid legitimate danger, but other times it keeps us stuck in a self-perpetuating cycle.” 

“I don’t know how to break the cycle.” You wipe the wetness from your cheeks and eyes. “But I know I will never be who I was again.” 

“Nor should you be.” Tara scoffs. Her lips curl, pulling back her snout, clearly dissatisfied. “Stop glancing backward and look forward toward growth and change. Let go of this foolish notion that you should be who you were.” 

“I liked myself better that way.” Your voice is harsh and bitter, but Tara does not so much as flick an ear or twitch her skin. 

“Stop being so stubborn, Kamena.” Tara scolds you with a hiss, arching her back. “It is okay to be afraid, to be hurt, and to feel broken, but you needn’t wallow in it. You have two options. You can either let your fears chase you and run, or you can chase your fears and make them run from you.” 

“What if I make the wrong choice and get us all killed?” 

“Well, then you’ll be dead, and you won’t have the capacity to dwell on it.” Tara concludes brashly. 

She’s not wrong.   

“I would hug you if I wasn’t worried you would scratch my eyes out.” You hiccup out a laugh. 

“You are positively sodden!” Tara scampers back, far out of reach, and crouches low to the ground, ready to flee. “You would wet my fur! I would have to leave a dead mouse in your bed for such an egregious trespass!” 

“Hmm,” you hum, patting your lips with your index finger. “Worth it, I think.” 

When you sneak down the quiet halls back to your room, you’re surprised to see soft light radiating out under the doorway. Depending on how long he’s been awake, he likely heard the entire conversation with Tara and probably Aldous as well. 

Stupid vampiric hearing.   

You let yourself in and suck in a sharp breath at the incredulous scowl on Astarion’s face. A small fire is popping and crackling in the fireplace, eating away at the timber and suffusing the room with a light pine scent. 

Astarion sits in bed, leaning against the headboard with one knee up and the sheets pooled around his waist. Even though you know you’re likely in for an earful, your eyes still devour the sight of him — chiselled, toned muscles, pristine ivory skin, and those scarlet eyes that are seemingly burning as bright as the fire, bleeding into you. 

“Well?” Astarion asks. 

“Well what?” 

“Come now,” Astarion drawls, but his intonation is bordering on cruel, rougher than any stone. “I heard the little deal that worm offered you. Please tell me you’re not truly thinking about this. I do not have to remind you that Vampire Lords are not trustworthy.” 

You slip out of your wet clothes, grab a towel, and dry your hair. “I’ll admit, it’s tempting.” 

“Have you lost your godsdamned mind?” Astarion balks, eyes narrow, with a scowl so menacing that if you didn’t know him, it might scare you. 

“Probably,” you say solemnly, staring at your feet. “I was going to discuss it with you first.” 

“Oh,” Astarion’s scowl eases, and he looks askance. “I… Why?” 

“Because it’s your life, your siblings, your body, and your scars,” you state, sitting on the bed cross-legged and staring at him. “If what he said is true, and I’m not saying it is, there’s also the matter of that ring. You could walk in the sun without worrying again. I want that for you more than anything, but I won’t make these kinds of decisions without you. We are a team.” 

Astarion racks his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “If it were me a couple years ago, I’d likely have taken the deal and ran, but... I’m not that selfish a man any longer. Even if the ring does exist, it’s not worth all the lives that will be lost should we turn a blind eye.” 

“I suppose not,” you murmur, looking down at your lap. Your damp, wavy hair creates a wavy curtain between you and him, and you’re thankful for the coverage. 

“You would turn a blind eye to it?” Astarion asks, brushing your hair back. “All the lives the Rite would cost, and all the deaths that would come after?” 

“To ensure your safety and gain the ring to let you enjoy the sun again?” You breathe heavily. “Yes, I think I would. I would take the deal, run, and never look back.” 

Astarion cradles your cheek, bringing your gaze back up. “Tell me where this truly comes from, because it does not sound like you.” 

“Maybe this is the new me,” you growl. The fire sparks angrily as your emotions become manic. 

You want to yell. You want to cry. You want to turn back time and forget all of the last years. 

You want peace. 

But peace has shunned you. 

You dig your fingernails into your palms, jerking away from his fingers poised under your chin, and lower your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am; maybe I never was. Maybe all that’s left of me is broken pieces and ragged edges.” 

One of your legs jiggles erratically, shaking the bed. The old urge to run or hide is overwhelming, and you cannot keep your body still. Poisonous resentment and spiteful thoughts cross your mind. It’s his fault you’re this shattered shard of the person you once were; your soul a broken mirror that reflects some recognizable pieces of you, but some - most - of the splinters are too small to retain anything. You gave him your heart, and he absconded with it, like he had done to so many naive people before you. 

Now, he thinks he can return and tell you that you don’t sound like yourself without any consequences? Of course, you are not yourself! How could you be? But if you are not you, then who the fuck are you? 

Will whatever remains be enough? Are you enough? It would be so easy to blame him, so splendidly simple to lay the burden of pain at his feet, and he would shoulder it, likely without complaint. You don’t truly believe any of these thoughts. They are misguided animosities searching for anyone or anything to blame other than yourself, because at the crux of it all, you loathe what you’ve become. 

“Darling, tell me what’s going through your head,” Astarion urges, and his voice breaks you from your spiral and makes your head jerk up. 

“No.” 

You know your response and tone are clipped. Pulling away from him seems like the easiest way to keep yourself from hurting him needlessly in moments like this when your pain and anger coalesce into venom. Though it seems you’ve failed as you watch the hurt skip across his features and settle in his imploring eyes. 

“You talk to the cat more openly than you talk to me.” Astarion shakes his head, clearly frustrated. 

“Tara’s never abandoned me in the middle of the night,” you hiss through a clenched jaw. 

The memories of waking up to a tomblike silence, the creaks and groans of the wooden walls well up in your mind, his voice whispering to you that everything was going to be okay, which was a blatant lie. He had known he was going to leave. He had premeditated the breaking of your heart, and it stings. 

“I did,” he snaps, his shoulder tense. “I left you in the middle of the night. I abandoned you, and I knew what I was doing. I knew it would hurt,” he goads. 

His intention to provoke you into lashing out is obvious, but you seethe nonetheless. The guilt of having such toxic thoughts is gnawing at you, making your stomach unsettled. How could you even consider hurting him for a moment? He is your heart. Your soul. Your world. Your everything. 

He could kill you, by accident or purposefully, and somehow you would still find a way to crawl out of your grave and back to him, to love him so completely that you wonder if there’s even enough room left in your heart to love yourself. 

Astarion examines you for a moment, searching and trying to read you. Most days, you like being seen, but right now, it’s only intensifying your pique. 

“Stop it,” you sneer as the hurt simmering in you only grows. 

“Do you remember asking me if something was wrong that night?” He continues with a forced calm. His pain is carefully hidden behind a stone-cold expression, but you see it because, try as he might, he cannot keep it from his eyes. “Do you remember telling me you were scared, and I lied to you, didn’t I? I told you everything was fine when it was anything but.” 

Nothing will ever be able to erase that night from your memories. No amount of alcohol, tears, or running will ever be enough. You need him to shut up, lest you lose your tongue with unreasonable cruelty. White-hot rage clouds your mind, and there is a creeping sense of wanting to hurt him, wanting to let the corrosive words rise from your tongue and burn him. There is a sick part of you that wants to see just how far you can push him to see if he will leave. 

This conversation has become too much, and you do the worst possible thing you can in your desperation to hide. You lunge at him, slamming your lips into his in a bruising kiss and twisting your fingers into his hair hard enough to be painful. Astarion is not the only one who can use sex as a weapon, as a means of avoidance, or as a way to distract. 

His surprise is barely registered in the half-yelp he was able to get out before your lips mould to his despairingly, but his discomfort is abundantly obvious. There is a rigidity to his body; all his muscles are tense and flexing under you like someone who is waiting to be struck. Though he returns the kiss, it is mechanical. You know that this is wrong, but you press ahead heedlessly. 

“Stop,” he gasps against your lips. 

You throw yourself off the side of the bed as soon as the tight plea skitters across your lips. You clutch at your heaving chest, staring at him wide-eyed and wild with the horror of your actions. You stand awkwardly, half-lurched over, and unable to think straight. 

The same question keeps plaguing your mind: Who are you? 

“Astarion, I—“ 

He doesn’t let you finish. “No, don’t be sorry. I know better than most what that was. I see you. I understand you. You do not need to use sex to hide from me.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

He smiles kindly when he looks up at you. It only makes you feel worse. His arms spread, offering you sanctuary. As much as your first impulse is to dive into the safety promised, you take small, careful steps, keeping a close eye on him. Astarion waits patiently, and you see no signs of discomfort or the blankness that echos in his eyes when he withdraws. 

Climbing up the bed, you slide into his embrace. He pulls the duvet up, tucking you both in, and you settle into the comfort of being tangled up with one another. Your head rests on his shoulder, your forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, and your legs hooked over his lap. Astarion wipes away the wetness from your cheeks that you didn't even realize was there. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just—“ 

“Can’t get enough of me,” Astarion says, keeping his tone lighthearted. You can feel the smug smirk slink across his lips. “I’m not surprised.” 

But you know what you’ve done is a serious offence, so you try again. “Astarion, I’m serious. I feel terrible and sick over it.” 

“If kissing me makes you feel sick, I think we have bigger problems than you throwing yourself at me to get me to shut up, my love,” he quips, but his arms hug you tighter, pulling your flush against him. 

You’re flooded with warmth and gratitude, and you wordlessly press a small peck to his throat. It’s not nearly enough to express your appreciation or make amends for the boundary you just crossed, though. 

“We will get through this, Kamena,” he assures in a low baritone. “But we will have to talk about it at some point. You cannot keep running and hiding from this conversation. It must be had. I’m trying to be patient, and I can wait. Gods know I have a literal eternity, but I do not like to see you suffer so. I do not know what you need from me to feel safe.” 

“Was it easy to leave me?” You blurt out before you can rethink. 

Astarion jolts as if you’ve slapped him, easing back just enough to see your face but not enough to break the amount of contact between your bodies. “Leaving you that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Two centuries of torture, and nothing has ever hurt me that much. Nothing.” 

This information sickens and stirs a revolting sense of gratification in equal measure. It is comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has suffered at the hands of his desertion. It should not console you, though, should it? You should not be relieved that he hurt just as you did. The knowledge of just how far you’ve fallen disgusts you to your core, and you have to smother the urge to retch as if you might be able to purge this darkness your soul harbours. 

Maybe that is why you’re so afraid to move forward, one step at a time, into the future and away from the miseries that cast their grim shadows across your past. You are afraid that you will not like what you find there and that you will not like the iteration of you that awaits. 

All you can think about is how you wish for him to spread you open and fill you with him, with pleasure, with his love, as a reminder that you are still capable of feelings beyond fear, loathing, and disgust. You can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, afraid he will see the delight reflected in your eyes. 

“I know I’ve said it before, but I will keep saying it until the end of time; I’m sorry,” Astarion starts. “I—“ 

You clutch at the blankets and pull them up to your chest in a foolish attempt to shield your heart with something, anything. You cut him off. “We’ve discussed this. You don’t have to say anything. It’s in—“ 

“Stop,” he barks, and you can feel his glare, the heat of his eyes boring into the crown of your head. “Enough, love. Stop granting me avenues of excuses and room to distance myself from what I’ve done at your expense. You need to hear this, and I need to say it. Listen to me — I’m begging you.” 

You freeze, your fingers curling into his chest with enough force to leave red welts on his skin. Astarion doesn’t so much as flinch. If it hurts him, he does not show an iota of it. He cups your cheek, trying to get you to look at him, but you refuse, squeezing your eyes shut. 

He continues anyway, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth across your cheek. “What I did was cowardly. I was terrified to lose this, the love we share, due to my difficulties. You deserve so much more than I can ever hope to give you. By leaving, I thought I was protecting you from a lifetime of pain.” 

You mean to tell him to stop before your heart bursts, but words do not form, and it comes out as a pleading whine as you press further into him. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your breaths come quicker and quicker, progressively getting shallower until you’re dizzy. His arms tighten, and the hand on your cheek gently presses your face against his chest. He kisses the top of your head, burying his nose in your hair. 

Astarion inhales deeply. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “Breathe, my love,” he coos. “With me now.” 

It is a difficult task to sync your panicked breathing to his calm, and it takes minutes before you’re able to do so. He waits patiently, humming in a deep dulcet like he used to. 

When you begin to relax, he picks up where he left off. “I knew I should have spoken to you about my worries and told you my doubts and fears, but I didn’t. It has always been my way; for centuries, I suffered in silence. I lost the fight between what I knew to be right and two hundred years of programmed behaviour. I am sorry for the pain I’ve inflicted upon you, for making you doubt how much I care for you, for making you afraid — all of it. I cannot undo what I've done. Gods, I wish I could go back and change it, but I cannot.” Astarion strokes your hair. 

His voice is becoming strained with emotion as he forces himself to bare his heart to you. “I hope we can rebuild what we’ve lost, and maybe it’s different than before; maybe we are both different than before, but that’s okay. It’s okay to be different. Whether you are light or dark, fire or ice, good or evil, you are still you, Kamena. You remain the same wild, goddess-like woman I met on the beach and referred to as a shrew." 

A raspy giggle sighs from your throat, and you finally tilt your head up to look at him. A small smile breaks through onto his perfect lips, and you trace them in the perfect bow as they curve upwards slightly. 

“You would still love me if I were evil?” You ask a little shyly, with your thumb still brushing over his bottom lip. 

If he can love you, even in darkness, maybe you can face whatever lurks in the future you’ve been avoiding by digging in your heels and sitting in your misery. 

If the only thing you have left is him at the end of this, you can live with whatever life throws at you. 

“Oh,” he smiles fiendishly, grabbing your hand and kissing each finger with his attention completely rapt on you. “Most certainly. If you want to burn the whole of Faerûn to the ground and dance in its ashes, I will hand you the match and help you start the fires.” He smirks momentarily. “Not that you would need matches, of course. You are fire incarnate, but you understand my point.” 

He pauses, placing a kiss on your wrist against your veins. His eyes comb over your face, studying you and reading the hidden language of your soul as if it were etched upon your skin. 

Pain and anxiety are largely writ on Astarion’s face. “I love you. I wish you would tell me every dark thought you’re having, even if they are about me — every wicked inclination, every doubt, and every fear. I would have you tell me every thought that goes through your head, so I can show you that I will always love you anyway and that I am not going anywhere.” 

The fact of the matter is that you resent yourself for being stubborn and unable to fully trust him when he is so evidently trying to show you in any way he can think of. It’s not that you don’t see it; it’s that you purposefully ignore it, but there is no ignoring it tonight. 

You must do better than this. You steel yourself. Take the step. 

“I’m scared, Astarion. I’m scared that if I take the steps to move forward, you will not like the person I’ve become. Underneath all these broken pieces, there is a darkness there that wasn’t there before. I can lose everything, but I cannot lose you.” 

It may not be healthy, but you would rather spend your lifetime in his broken state, battling with yourself all the while, if it means that you will rest, wake, and do everything in between with him by your side. 

“Come here, my heart.” Astarion shifts you so that you’re straddling him, arms wrapped around his neck, and your head resting on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss on your shoulder, rubbing your back. “You could never be unloved by me, Kamena.” 

You are better than this ; your shame whispers in your ear. Try harder. Be better. The way forward is clear, and you can walk into it at any time. Why do you languish here?   

What rises tends to fall, you answer solemnly. 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter XXXI

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 7.3K

19 Kelona

A wave crashed against the rocks, a fracas of white froth leaping for the cliff before collapsing back into the ocean below. 

From where Kazi sat—her feet dangling over the rocky outcrop, the sheer cliff a ten-meter drop—the ocean pressed against the horizon, an inimitable expanse of power. Foam and water droplets soddened her boots; the thundering waves dampened her socks. But she didn’t feel the cold water. She didn’t feel the mushiness of her socks and the chill settling in her toes.

Running a finger along the dragon carving’s wings, Kazi stared at the sea-glass creature. It was reared back, wings splayed wide, its maw open in a mighty roar.

Sea. The dragon who had embraced a helpless people, shielded them from an oceanic storm, sacrificed his life for humans. So they could live another day. 

All these years and Kazi never made the connection. Never wondered which myth determined Daria’s carving. Never asked about her little sister’s experience with the Carver. 

Now, it would forever remain a story untold. 

An intentional crunch sounded behind her. Her shoulders stiffened; her hands flexed around the dragon carving. She continued to watch the horizon as her companion neared. A military haircut past its monthly cut; cheeks and jaw bearing a shadow of bristles. Cody took a seat beside her. His legs hung over the edge. He didn’t seem to mind the water splashing his black boots, either.

They sat in silence. For a long time.

They hadn’t spoken since Kazi and Neyti met the men at the Naboo spaceport. 

The flight from Eluca to Naboo took 23 hours. Kazi didn’t sleep; she hardly ate. At one point, she was convinced it was all a nightmare. She would awake to Wolffe kissing her, Daria and Cody cooking breakfast in the kitchen, Neyti sparring with Fox and Nova outside while Fluffy prowled the perimeter of the yard. They would eat, they would laugh, they would leave for Ceaia. She and Daria would return home, together, and they would go sailing in two months.   

But the nightmare persisted until she was forced to reckon with reality: Daria was gone. 

Kazi and Neyti arrived to a bustling spaceport crowded with numerous species and a cacophony of unrecognizable languages. Kazi clutched Neyti’s hand as they deboarded. They didn’t wander long before an imposing figure found them, a mask belonging to an unfamiliar species hiding his face. Wolffe scooped Neyti into his arms; the little girl laughed her glee, clinging to his neck, but she quickly sobered.

“We have to go back,” Neyti said to Wolffe. A serious look unbefitting a youngling her age solemnized her countenance. “We left Daria. She’s waiting for us.”

Kazi grew rigid, wilting; the bustling spaceport faded beyond her unseeing stare. Grief, a shadow haunting, threatened to drag her into its dark, bottomless pit. Distantly, she was aware of Wolffe’s hand on her arm, his quiet “What happened?”  

There was an incessant ticking in the back of her skull. Each human that walked past reminded her of the magistrate; they were here to kill her, like they killed her sister—

She forced herself to blink, to breathe. She balled her fists so tightly the skin of her palms broke beneath her fingernails. 

“Daria’s not coming back,” Kazi said thickly. Neyti frowned her confusion. “We’re not…” Her voice turned brittle. “We’re not going to see her again.”

“Oh.” Neyti dropped her gaze to the floor. “Okay.”

The fingers around Kazi’s arm flexed. Wolffe lowered his masked face. “Ennari…”

“We need to go,” she said. “Please.”

Wolffe gave a short nod, adjusted Neyti in his arm, and then shifted his hand to her spine. They were boarding the men’s ship a few minutes later. 

All of it—the reunion, the eight-hour flight to Ceaia—passed in a tenebrific haze. Easy smiles turned grave; an inflectionless, objective recount of last night; a little girl sleeping soundly; a tail-wagging anooba nudging her hand when she dug her fingernails into her palms; Wolffe applying bacta spray to her twinging ankle, cleaning her hands of caked blood; an arm fortressing her as he guided her head to his shoulder. She managed to sleep the remaining two hours of the flight.

When they landed on Ceaia, Kazi resolved herself to their work: transferring boxes to the sylvan house, removing protectant sheets from furniture, establishing rooms. She even took Neyti grocery shopping. They wandered for some time. 

Outlook Harbor looked the same. Colorful buildings lining the docks, fishermen unloading their hauls, dragon statues guarding the shops. And yet Kazi hardly recognized it—the people, the ocean, the western mountains in the distance. 

It took her far too long to realize the difference: her sister. Without Daria, the colorful exteriors were pedestrian; the docks’ mazelike routes underwhelmed; the dragon statues were bereft of prowess, the snow dusting them in a doleful repose.

Kazi could feel her control slipping, a ball of yarn unspooling too fast. Too much.

The urge to cry constricted her throat. Her eyes burned from the combination of sleep deprivation and grief. She wanted to hide from the damning glares of the dragons. She wanted to flee these familiar streets and the memories they brought forth. She wanted to go back in time and convince Daria to take Neyti. To leave her behind, instead. 

Her breaths grew loud and shallow; her hands shook at her sides. The grief swarmed within, thick and suffocating. It started in her chest, a swollen mass pressing against her ribcage and lungs, spreading throughout, numbing fingers and toes, pounding in her mind—

“Who’s that?” 

The question yanked Kazi into the physical: the chilly street, the bright yellow storefront, the ocean’s waves churning. She frowned at Neyti. The youngling was observing a dragon statue outside the closest shop—a dragon sitting primly, its head raised alertly, its spine curved with regal disposition.

“That’s”—Kazi cleared her throat—“Erud. She guarded the Library of Xand where all of our historical accounts are preserved.” She managed a faint smile. “Some of the oldest scrolls in the galaxy are stored there.” 

Neyti considered Erud for several seconds and then blinked at Kazi. “Can we get shaved ice?”

A laugh broke free. The noise was a little sore, a little rusty, but it was a laugh, nonetheless. 

“Of course,” Kazi said. Taking Neyti’s hand in her own, she started down the snow-covered path. Muscle memory—developed over the years exploring these streets with Daria—guided her forward. “I know the perfect place.”

Another wave slammed against the rocky outcrop where Kazi and Cody sat. Seaweed-scented spray doused their boots and the cuffs of their trousers. The water was cold, bone-wearying.

“Daria would have loved today,” Kazi said. Her thumb plucked the spires of Sea’s spine, as a musician would the strings of her instrument. “She always preferred these quieter storms.”

“I know.” Cody scanned the horizon. “She…was excited to show me this view.”

“There’s nothing like it,” Kazi murmured. Breaths as white as unblemished snow condensed the air; the skin of her legs wept at the chill burrowing deep. She swallowed and whispered, “I’m sorry.” 

A low sigh fell from the man beside her. He rubbed a hand across his bristled jaw. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m the one who killed him—”

“Stop,” Cody ordered. The sharp command made her wince. Sorrow dulled the usual warmth of his gaze. “Reliving that moment won’t bring her back.”

Kazi pressed her lips together; her eyes roved across his face. He looked older, somehow. A deep line was scored between his brows, and his creased mouth was downturned. Exhaustion cricked his posture. “Did you love her?” she asked.   

Cody mustered a thin smile. “We didn’t have what you and Wolffe have. I wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship. After the War…after the things I did…” He rolled his shoulders back. “I had my objectives. And she wasn’t one of them. But…”

“She wasn’t someone you could ignore,” Kazi suggested. 

His nod was pensive. “We got along well. I tried to hold back but I liked spending time with her. We agreed we could help each other. Give one another…comfort. We knew it wouldn’t go far—not with her disease and my focus elsewhere. But I did care for her. I know she cared for me, too.”

She studied his side profile. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

He angled his head back, breathing in the salty air. “In a different lifetime…different circumstances…I would have.”

“For what it’s worth,” Kazi said, “she loved you.”

“Daria only loved one person,” Cody said with a small chuckle. He pushed himself to his feet; he nudged her with the toe of his boot. “That person wasn’t me.”

The morning sun peeked through the opaque clouds, a curious pup nosing its way out of the safety of its birthing den. Snow flurries pearled her loose hair; the wind nipped at her cheeks and nose. Far away, storm clouds brewed. They escaped her notice, however, her attention drawn to the shoreline, to the rocks in the distance where a single lighthouse stood.

Since Kazi had last seen the lighthouse, its permanently dimmed light and weathered appearance hadn’t changed. But it still beckoned to her, as it had when she was a girl. Luring, a siren’s song of formative memories, ancient myths, blessings bestowed by a long-extinct species. 

The booted crunch of fresh snow interrupted her reverie, and Kazi peered over her shoulder. The woods beyond—white-barked sequoia trees interspersed among dark evergreens—created a contrasting backdrop to the black of Wolffe’s appearance: black overcoat, black boots, black hair, one eye nearly black beneath the feeble sunlight. He surveyed their surroundings, rubbed his gloved hands together, and then settled beside her.

“Here.” He passed her a citrus-star from the bunch she and Neyti purchased yesterday. “Breakfast is waiting but I thought you’d like this for now.”

Kazi hummed her thanks, setting aside Daria’s dragon. The fuzz of the citrus-star tickled her thumb. “Neyti?”

“We made breakfast,” Wolffe said with a small smile. “She spilled the eggs so we concentrated our efforts on fruit carving. She wanted to make butterflies out of the melon.”

She lifted a brow. “How did they turn out?”

“Fucking awful.” 

Wolffe broke into a grin at her laugh, his shoulder knocking against hers. 

But their rapport soon faded beneath his assessment. His blatant search of her face: a disgruntled frown at the citrus-star she refused to peel; a flexed jaw at the snow she hadn’t bothered to brush away. He considered her for several seconds; she knew what he saw, for she had seen it in the mirror, too—the haunted gauntness she couldn’t entirely hide. Not from him at least. But she didn’t shy from his calculated silence, expecting this conversation—

“That the lighthouse Neyti painted?”

The question caught Kazi off guard but she hastily recovered. 

“That was so long ago,” she said, surprised. “I can’t believe you remember it.”

Wolffe shrugged. “It was one of the first paintings Neyti showed us. She was proud of it.”

“She was.” Kazi breathed a chuckle, studying the lighthouse’s gashed paint. “Daria and I…that was our favorite place.” 

Wolffe pressed his thigh against hers. “You wanna visit it?”

“No.” Her fingernails pierced the citrus-star’s peel; orange juice stickied her palm. “I can’t. Not…” 

With a blasé shrug, Kazi pushed herself to her feet. The citrus-star and dragon carving found temporary homes within her gray coat’s pockets, her citrus-bloodied hands forced to brave the cold temperature for a few more minutes. 

Slowly, Wolffe followed. He brushed snow from his thighs—a casual gesture that belied his tension—and then, in a serious, calm tone, he said, “How are you?” 

The gentle probing of his question, the slight hunch in his posture as he regarded her—Wolffe’s care splintered the last thread of her control. The spool of yarn unraveled completely.

“I’m trying—” Her face crumpled. Her voice cracked, broke, shattered as she whispered, “I’m—I’m trying to keep it together. But it’s hard. It’s so hard, Wolffe.”

“Hey.” He gripped her shoulders. “Ennari—”

“I left her. I fucking left her.” Dizzily, she stared at the top button of his coat. Her eyes were burning; her chest was clenched tightly. “It was supposed to be me. It should’ve been me—” 

“Kazi.” Large hands held her face, forcing her head back to stare Wolffe in the eye. “Don’t fucking say that.”

She met his gaze with a vacant look. “Daria gave herself up because of what I  did. And now she’s dead, and I miss her—” She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to steady her breath. “Fuck, I miss her so much. I thought we had more time—I should’ve given her more time—”

“Don’t fucking say that.” Wolffe shook her slightly. “Daria made her decision. And you owe it to her to live your life. Do you understand?” 

He stared at her, harsh breaths angry, desperate eyes wide. She stared back, a tear heating her skin, wetting her lips. 

Exhaustion sunk into the very marrow of her bones; she hardly noticed the pale sunlight embracing her body or the snowflakes twinkling like stars. She could only stare at Wolffe. The flurries curling his hair. The glint of his scar against the snow-laden landscape. The strain in his expression at her emptiness. 

It was his concern—the slight fear he was trying so hard to hide—that convinced her to close her eyes. To lean into him. 

Then, he was holding her, running his hand down her spine, guiding her face to his chest.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” Wolffe pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I know.”

22 Kelona

“It’s a sand dollar,” Kazi explained. 

The sand, wet with a bone-gnawing chill, squished beneath her burrowing as she carefully uncovered the sea urchin. Bristly spines protruded from the purple exoskeleton; the five pores undulated. She shared a grin with Neyti. 

“You know, sand dollars are rare.” She paused. “Daria and I used to spend hours out here trying to find one.”

Neyti studied the creature with her usual shrewdness and then whispered, “I miss her.” Dejectedly, she curled inwards on herself, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “I wish she was here.”

“I…” Kazi stared at Neyti, motionless. Anguish flared behind her ribcage. A cruel, burning fist constricting her heart and lungs; its roaring flames dulled the mellow waves—

“I miss her, too,” she whispered. “But she did something brave.” She smoothed a stray strand of hair from Neyti’s face; the little girl closed her eyes and turned her cheek into Kazi’s palm. “Just like your mom.” 

While the waves splashed and the thud of paws against wet sand surrounded them, Kazi squeezed Neyti’s hand. The little girl squeezed back. A poked nose, a shy grin in response, and Kazi motioned to their small friend.

“Long ago, sand dollars were once used as Ceaian currency,” she said. “Their rarity made them equivalent to thousands of modern-day credits.”

Gingerly, Neyti poked the creature’s rounded exterior. “But they’re living things.”

“They are.” Kazi leaned back on her haunches. Ocean water soaked her trousers; her knees shifted with the sand. “That’s why the currency was outlawed. The sand dollars were going extinct, and we Ceaians believe in protecting the earth and its inhabitants. Today, you’re not allowed to collect sand dollars.”

Neyti approved this news with a satisfied nod and straightening, she scanned the dark brown shore with its receding waves. Bunches of seaweed—as dark as the evergreens secluding their house—sparsely forested the beach. An abundance of seashells embellished the sand, as a jeweler would adorn a necklace with diamonds, rare yet eye-catching. Neyti skipped toward the next creature that caught her attention—a crab’s shell. 

With a small smile, Kazi started to push herself to her feet when a gloved hand entered her periphery. She accepted its assistance.

“Don’t understand how you’re not cold,” Wolffe said gruffly. The flaps of his long coat’s collar were raised, shielding his neck and jaw from the wind. He cast her damp trousers a reproving scowl. “You’re gonna get pneumonia, Ennari.”

Kazi scoffed, interlacing their arms. “I used to swim in this every morning. I’m immune.”

“I’m immune to most human diseases.” Wolffe hunched his shoulders against a biting breeze. “Not you.”

“Then it’s a good thing you like to take care of me.” 

His wry scoff confirmed her remark.

“Should she be that close to the water?”

Kazi glanced over her shoulder to see Fox approaching, hands tucked into his coat’s pockets. Behind him, the impluvious sand bore the scars of his presence: booted prints leading from the cliff’s path. Similar to Wolffe, he wore a heavy coat, though he’d opted to don the hood.

“Neyti’s fine,” Kazi said. 

An eager yip from Fluffy preceded the delighted squeal of the little girl. The three adults watched as Neyti crouched low, dusted sand from a bubbling hole, and then lifted an opulently blushing seashell. Fluffy nosed the shell with self-importance; the flick of his ears displayed his approval. Together, youngling and anooba continued their wandering. 

Fox cracked his neck. “A rogue wave can—”

“Do you see any rogue waves?” A disdainful sniff was his only response, and Kazi threw him a pointed look. “Let her have her fun. She’s been through enough.”

He winced but fell into step beside her and Wolffe. After an awkward moment of silence, he said, “I have news.”

Wolffe tensed. “What?”

“I looked into Neyti’s family.”

Kazi froze mid-step and cast her gaze toward Neyti. “What did you learn?” 

“Neyti’s grandmother was a senator in your capital,” Fox said. He spoke with a grim tone neatly folded into his otherwise characteristic apathy. “She was one of the proponents of the Security Bill.”

Kazi’s fingers spasmed on Wolffe’s arm; he frowned at her reaction. 

“That was the bill that provided funding to the National Bureau of Security and Intelligence,” she explained to him. “It gave us funding and legal approval to spy on the Empire. Obviously, the bill didn’t outright declare the government’s intent. The language was murky. But, if you know what you’re looking for…Ceaia’s declaration of rebellion was right there.”

“And Neyti’s grandmother advocated for it,” Wolffe muttered in understanding. “That’s why her family was targeted.”

“Both grandparents were killed in the Purge,” Fox said. “Along with Neyti’s mother. Official records claim that Neyti was also killed.”

Farther along the shore, Neyti experimentally toed a bunch of seaweed. She waited. The seaweed did not react. Still, a toothy grin brightened the girl’s face. She leapt over the bunch, tucked the pink seashell into a pocket, and continued along her way. Fluffy pranced after her. 

“I should’ve realized it,” Kazi murmured. “Her accent is so similar to—"

A low growl cut her off. Teeth bared, hackles raised, Fluffy scrutinized the steep cliffs behind the gathered adults. At his warning bark, Kazi whirled around. Two figures were approaching.

Instinctively, she staggered backwards, reaching for Wolffe, fear pulsing through her. But Wolffe and Fox were already reacting. They closed ranks, armed with their blasters which they kept lowered and hidden, and ordered Fluffy to take point. 

“Neyti,” Kazi said urgently, gesturing to the little girl. “Come here.”

Neyti hurried over. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were wide with alarm. The alarm quickly subsided, however, replaced with shock and then elation. 

“Steiner!” 

Glee sang in the shout as Neyti pushed herself between Wolffe and Fox and darted forward. Kazi lunged for the back of her coat but the youngling escaped.

“Neyti!” Kazi reprimanded.

Intrepid, the little girl kept running. Wet sand splattered beneath her shoes. Her twin braids streamed through the wind. She was laughing and smiling and pumping her arms harder, and only then did Kazi see what she’d previously overlooked: a third, smaller figure. This small figure was sprinting, too, and met Neyti halfway. 

Both girls skidded to a halt. They regarded one another for a pent breath and then they were hugging, beaming, regaling. Their hands danced with zealous gesticulations. Their grins shone with dimpled merriness. 

“That’s Heracli,” Kazi informed Wolffe and Fox, her attention focused on the girl’s reunion. A smile tugged on her mouth at their jubilance; her amusement didn’t last long, though, interrupted by the nearing adults. “And the man is her husband, Quin.” 

Heracli and Quin Obisany halted several meters away. Kazi hardly blamed them for their wariness. The minacious demeanor displayed by Wolffe and Fox—expressed in harsh calculation and apathetic belligerence—created an unfriendly atmosphere. Their palmed blasters did little to defuse the situation, either. 

“Fehr told me that you left Eluca,” Heracli said. Shivering in her long coat, she offered a half-hearted smile. “Steiner has been pestering us to see Neyti.”

Kazi eyed the dark-haired couple. “What are you doing here?”

“We didn’t have much of a choice.” Heracli shifted between her feet, weariness dimming her usually perceptive gaze. “We were tracking the doonium shipments from Quin’s mine but the Empire learned of this and, to protect Steiner, we had to flee.”

“But why here?” Kazi motioned to the tumbling ocean and the rain-sodden cliffs. “Why Ceaia?”

Heracli pursed her lips. “The Empire abandoned this planet two months ago, and the network, too. We’re safe from possible repercussions from both sides.”

Kazi exchanged a glance with Wolffe and Fox. “Why would the network go after you?”

“We know too much,” Heracli said simply. Her eyes wandered from Kazi to the two little girls and, hoarsely, she said, “We all know too much.”

A stilted silence settled across the beach; only the lapping waves disrupted it. Neyti and Steiner set off along the shore, heads bent together, breaths puffed, coats bundled. Fluffy followed at a cautious pace. 

“Do you know”— Kazi scrutinized Heracli and Quin—“what the network was planning to do on Ceaia?” 

“They wanted to build a base,” Quin answered. Black eyes, as dark as his skin, pierced her with astute cunning. “To fight the Empire, the Rebellion needs a base to host troops and ships. Command thought that Ceaia could be a potential host once the Empire left.”

A swift, silent look passed between Wolffe and Fox. The look of two commanders assessing military information. 

“They decided against it,” Kazi said. 

The report she’d read so long ago replayed in her mind: complaints of Ceaia’s unideal location and its underdeveloped technology. Like the Imps, the rebel network had abandoned Ceaia. They were…gone. 

Dazedly, she surveyed her environment—the gray mountains spired among the thick clouds, the indomitable expanse of the dark blue ocean, the lightless lighthouse still standing after decades of neglect. She was home, and she was safe.

After everything they had endured, it didn’t seem possible. Real.

“Neyti’s missed Steiner,” Kazi said. 

The statement—a tentative gesture of reconciliation—earned her acknowledging nods from Heracli and Quin. She didn’t trust them. Based on Wolffe and Fox’s persistent silences, they retained their mistrust, too. But, for Neyti, she would try.   

So Kazi reached for Wolffe; he holstered his blaster, bringing her hand to his mouth as they observed the scene before them. Neyti was showing Steiner the pink seashell; both girls regarded it with awe. 

Quietly, Kazi added, “She’ll be happy to have her friend back.”

26 Kelona

The warm light of the crescent moon fractured among bare skin and tangled sheets. It shadowed strained muscles; highlighted scars, tattoos, bruises. 

Kazi stared at the pool of stars above as she fisted the sheets. Her moans were breathy; her eyelashes fluttered at another slow lick to her labia.

Between her legs, dappled in streams of amber, Wolffe was a sculpture carved by a god: the breadth of his shoulders distinct; the curls of his hair defined; the long fingers on the flesh of her thighs firm, possessive. 

Tonight, he took his time. He’d undressed her with patient kisses to her neck and breasts. He’d skimmed a hand along her back, tracing each knob of her spine, sucking on her breasts; she’d clung to his shoulders to steady herself, wetness pooling between her legs. Only the trembling of his hands betrayed his anticipation. 

Soon, he was kneeling before her and removing her underwear. Warm lips scattered kisses along her calves, her inner thighs. Large hands palmed her ass, pressed her into their bed. 

Wolffe pleasured her with an experience developed from months of learning her body. From months of eager practice and single-minded determination to know her. All of her. 

Each swipe of his tongue was unhurried, teasing enough to have her cunt throbbing with need, but casual enough to prevent her orgasm. Each pause was intentional; he watched her through hooded eyes, dipping two fingers inside of her, grinning lazily at the arch of her hips and the shudders in her legs. Each rasped praise renewed the flush in her cheeks; he smiled against her cunt, sucking on her clit as he stretched his fingers inside of her. 

Eventually he lost himself to her pleasure, the restraints on his patience snapped. 

The teasing licks turned into relentless sucking, and the smug grins gave way to guttural moans as he massaged the inside of her cunt harder, deeper. She was writhing, her head thrown back and sweaty hands clutching the sheets. Then, her legs were stiffening, her cunt clamping down hard, and she was coming. 

Aftershocks of pleasure shivered through her body, and while her erratic breaths evened, she was reaching for the lube. 

From where he knelt on the bed, Wolffe trembled as she smoothed lube onto his cock, as she stroked his inner thighs, skimmed a knuckle along his balls, traced the tip of his cock with her finger. 

“Kazi.” 

The strain in his voice brought a lazy smile to her mouth. A smile he sought with his lips, kissing her while he flattened her back into the mattress. 

Forearms bracketing her head, he ground himself against her, lifted one of her legs as he pushed the tip of his cock into her. She squeezed her eyes shut at the stretch of him; she exhaled a shallow breath as he sank into her deeper; she bit his shoulder, gasping, once he was settled fully inside of her.

As always, he waited. Low breaths panted against her neck, and once she brought his mouth to hers, he started to thrust. Deep, slow thrusts that made her feel each centimeter of him.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said roughly. He nuzzled his nose to her throat, murmured, “You’re mine to take care of.”

She was kissing him, and he was hitting a spot deep inside of her—a spot that had her clinging to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. She gasped. Everything grew tight. Her cunt clenched around his cock, and with a strangled cry, she came. He lasted only a few more thrusts and then he was coming, biting her shoulder, shuddering through his pleasure. 

Afterwards, they laid together, his body atop hers, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Gentle fingers circled the lines of her ribcage, the muscles of her inner arms, the planes of her hips. Her own fingers smoothed the scars on his back and painted the tattoos of his left arm. 

Half-asleep, she heard him whispering, hushed words breathed against her skin, barely audible. For a moment, she listened intently—

“I love you,” he whispered thickly. Something small and warm tickled her shoulder; it sank into her skin. “I love you.”

Gingerly, she lifted his face to hers. He didn’t resist, though he did angle his face into the nightly shadows; the moonlight caressed his wet eyelashes. 

“I knew there was something more that day you checked on me at the lake,” she said with a sad smile. 

Silently, he regarded her with an intensity unwavering: intrigued, hungry. 

“You made me feel seen, and that terrified me. The thought of trusting you—relying on you…” She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t know when it truly started, maybe it was that day, or maybe it was when you stood up for Neyti and me at the Marketplace, I don’t know but”—she cupped his jaw—“I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” 

He swallowed. The fingers brushing her jawline, her ear, were trembling. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For waiting for me.”

A tear splashed onto her chest. Hoarsely, he said, “Thank you. For loving me.”

3 Selona

A ragged blanket, its dark blue wan and edges frayed, beckoned to Kazi. Similar to how an elderly dog would wag its tail upon seeing its owner after years apart. 

Neatly folded atop a wood carton—the handiwork of Daria, she assumed—the blanket seemed to deflate with each cautious step she took toward it. As if it knew its time was nearing and, after so long protecting its charges, it could finally rest. She knelt before it. The soggy floor of the lighthouse’s lantern room drooped beneath her weight. With trembling fingers, she removed the blanket, its threadbare material exhaling its final breath.

Old, faded drawings greeted her: fragile, and with a somber disposition born from years of neglect. 

Carefully, Kazi lifted the flimsisheets from the carton. The drawings—expressions of dragons, once adoring parents, dancing sisters—were distorted and water-stained. Still, she could distinguish the difference between hers and Daria’s. 

Her sister’s drawings displayed the practiced elegance and focused approach Daria had exuded even as a young girl. Kazi, on the other hand, had lacked artistic inclinations. Her drawings were crude, blobby rather than refined, disarrayed blending rather than composed shading.

Kazi held up two pieces. A mutual attempt by both sisters—when they were seven and five, if she were to hazard a guess—to draw Goch, the first dragon to befriend the Ceaian people. The comparison was unfair. Even at such a young age, Daria outmatched her in every artistic distinction. She couldn’t help but laugh. 

She laughed at the ridiculous state of her drawing, and she laughed as she remembered how jealous she used to be of Daria’s talents, and she laughed as she shuffled through more mediocre drawings. 

She laughed until she started to cry. 

And she cried until her cheeks were caked with tears, and her eyes were puffy, and her chest hurt from the hollowness carving it open. 

The dead blanket wiped her tears; the faded drawings held her hands.

Smiling wetly, Kazi brushed a finger along Daria’s imagination of their family, caressed the pale-skinned depiction of her sister, and then tucked the flimsisheets back into their carton. She folded the blanket; she nestled it atop its former charges. As she pushed herself to her feet, her knees aching from however long she had cried, she looked outside the broken window. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her. The man below. Most likely, he’d returned from his run, noticed her absence, and then tracked her footsteps through last night’s downy snow. She braced her forearms on the windowsill and poked her head out.

Leaning against the lighthouse sat Wolffe. The early morning breeze ruffled his curls; his gaze was drawn to the clear, gray horizon. 

“You can come up,” Kazi called to him. Wolffe tipped his chin back. He arched a brow in question. She grinned. “I think the stairs will hold your weight.”

His huff of exasperation preceded the amused shake of his head. Regaining his feet, he started for the door, and moments later, they stood together in the lantern room. He appraised their surroundings with his usual calculation: a finger skimming the wobbly railing, a bent study of the floor’s gaping holes, a boot nudging broken glass.

With its decayed walls, haphazard stairs, and smashed windows, the lighthouse didn’t seem like much. A relic of a bygone era. 

But there was something in the air. It lingered. A strange mixture of rotting wood, old seawater, and crisp snowfall mixed and homogenized into the unmistakable scent of childhood. Of birdsong early on a summer morn, of frolicking among fields of waving wildflowers, of roasted nuts over a winter’s fire. 

“I want to rebuild it,” Kazi said. Wolffe turned toward her, and she tucked her hands into her coat’s pockets. “No one owns it. The locals don’t bother to visit. And thanks to modern technology, lighthouses aren’t even necessary. But…” She thought about the dream she and Daria once shared. A dream to rebuild the lighthouse and open the most lauded inn across all of Ceaia. She offered Wolffe a hesitant shrug. “I want to rebuild it.”

His eyes narrowed as he assessed the room. “The foundation is solid. So is the structure. I checked them. But we’ll have to gut—” 

“Wait.” Kazi frowned. “Why did you check the foundation?”

“I knew this was coming,” Wolffe said bluntly. He searched her face with characteristic patience. “Daria…told me a lot of things the last few months.”

Her frown deepened. “Like what?”

“That you don’t belong anywhere but Ceaia.” Wolffe took a step toward her. “That you would return. One day. And that I’d have to decide if I wanted to follow you.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “She told me about this place”—he motioned toward the stairs—“and she asked me to help you rebuild it. Hell, she made me promise, Ennari.” He tapped the underside of her chin, murmured, “And I did.”

Kazi swallowed. “She told you?”

A small nod was Wolffe’s sole response. He extended his hand, his half-smile affectionate; her palm slid into his. A callused, scarred warmth embraced her. At his gentle squeeze, she traced the rounded edge of his jawline, wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, brought his forehead to hers. 

They remained like that for a long time.   

As winter reached the culmination of its peregrination, softened soil welcomed citrus-star seedlings, and faint pink blossoms graced the white-barked sequoia trees of their haven, they whiled away long hours at the lighthouse.   

It started with gutting the interior. 

Early mornings Kazi spent with Cody. Other than the radio sharing news updates from across the galaxy, they worked in silence. Sweat dampening their shirts, faces flushed, equally dedicated to their task. 

After their conversation on the cliff, they never talked about Daria again. Kazi suspected they never would. The relationship they developed the last year—hours spent in the kitchen teaching and learning unique recipes, borrowed books about painting techniques and subsequent conversations—had cracked. It was irreparable. They both knew it. And they both knew his days on Ceaia were numbered.

So those moments in the lighthouse, when it was just them, the morning tide, and the chilly breeze, provided them a reprieve. A reprieve from the grief, the longing, the blame. 

Small smiles, hoarse chuckles, reassuring pats ensued. Kazi made her request for a painting and, during their breaks, Cody questioned her on descriptions, encouraged critique of his most recent sketches, explained the techniques he thought worked best. 

The day Cody finished the portrait of Neyti’s mother was the last day he and Kazi spent time alone.

Gutting the lighthouse and rebuilding its interior took more than a month. Floor plans, sanctioned by the local construction company, provided clear instructions for the reconstruction of the staircase and the four floors; weekly site checks by a project manager approved the lighthouse’s structural additions and confirmed its compliance with safety measures.

Soon, the reconstruction concluded and the interior design process began. Neyti’s favorite part: painting. 

An abundance of paint brushes, rollers, cans, and trays littered the various floors of the lighthouse. Throughout the painting weeks, the newly replaced windows remained open, the scent of springtime blossoms and salty ocean purifying the air of malodorous fumes. The floors’ ceilings and the lantern room’s domed roof required ladders; sore arms and shoulder muscles persisted. 

One afternoon, wiping sweat from her forehead, Kazi stepped away from her section of the third floor’s wall. The warm sunlight dappled the light blue paint—a blue as pale as a melting glacier. 

Downstairs, Fox, Nova, and Neyti were snacking on a basket of freshly baked bread, slices of cheese, and clusters of grapes. Kazi joined them. A grape popped into her mouth, a swig of the cool water. She took the time to stretch her aching fingers. 

When they finished the reconstruction two weeks ago, she returned to her nightly quilting sessions with Nova. Last night, with a yellow thread reminiscent of autumnal leaves, he tied the last stitch. They unfolded the completed quilt, admired its threaded story, and then carried it downstairs to his bedroom, hanging it on a rod. A plethora of yellow and gray panels softened by stitches of greens and purples cascaded to the floor; the white border spanned the entirety of the wall. 

Kazi smoothed a wrinkle. “Why didn’t you hang the other quilt in here?” 

The first quilt Nova had completed—the quilt displaying the war memorial on Coruscant—blanketed the couch on the main level. Neyti used it often when she watched a holofilm.

“The memorial’s for my brothers. Not just me,” Nova said. He studied the quilt with a small smile. “This…is a reminder. That my vode are still with me. And that I can still do some good.”

“I like that,” she murmured.

For some time, while she perused the quilt’s intricate stitching, Nova studied her. 

“Daria’s dragon,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You should consider moving it to your bedroom. It could be a good thing.”

She thought about Sea currently guarding the blue-stemmed, purple-blossomed plant in a window of the kitchen. “You might be right,” she said hoarsely.   

A giggle interrupted last night’s memory and Kazi watched as Neyti tossed Nova another grape. He caught it midair, swallowed, and delivered a humble bow. Chuckling at their theatrics, Kazi grabbed a slice of bread and made the trek back to the quiet third floor. 

Fingers dusted free of crumbs, a paint roller dunked into the tray of blue paint, she eyed her progress—

“I think you should hit me.”

Kazi stiffened, and she shot an unimpressed look over her shoulder. “I’m not hitting you.”

“You’re still angry with me,” Fox said with a casual taunt. He strolled into the room. A streak of blue paint bruised his cheek. “Releasing your anger can be a good thing. I know it. Wolffe knows it. Let’s get it over with and then we can move on.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not angry—” 

“I was an asshole, Kazi.” He took the paint roller from her hand and tossed it onto the plastic-sheeted floor. A cocky grin failed to hide the guilt rounding his eyes. “It would make me feel better if you hit me. 

“Hitting you doesn’t bring Daria back,” she said quietly.

“No.” His face slackened in resignation. “It doesn’t.”

The spring breeze rustled the canvas on the floor; its airy warmth fluttered through Fox’s curls and caressed Kazi’s face. 

“You were an asshole, Fox,” she said, sighing. A muscle clenched in his jaw. “I hated you in that moment. I still hate what you said. But…” She hugged her arms around her stomach. “I’ve already lost Daria. I’m not interested in losing someone else.”

“I cared for a lot of men,” Fox said after a moment of contemplative silence. “And they all ended up dead. Pushing others away…it was easier than dealing with their deaths.” He swallowed. “But…I don’t want to live the rest of my life like that.”

Kazi retrieved her paint roller and placed it in his hand. A clean roller dipped into the paint tray greeted her own. They worked in silence. 

An hour later, returned from the harbor with groceries, Wolffe joined their painting endeavors. The questioning tilt of his head earned a reassuring pat from her in response. He hefted his roller with a contented smirk. 

Renovations to the lighthouse concluded on the 33rd of Telona—what would have been Daria’s 25th life day—with the hanging of a painting in the lantern room. 

Perched on Wolffe’s shoulders, her tiny arms trembling beneath the weight of the frame, Neyti hung her artwork. At Wolffe’s suggestion, she repositioned it. Humming her satisfaction, she shimmied down his back and retreated. An admiration of her work commenced. 

The charcoal sketch from so long ago had developed into a colorful painting. Two little girls, hands clasped together, stomped through rain puddles. The pinks of their dresses contrasted the blues of the puddles and the grays of the ocean. Behind them, the lighthouse blazed brightly. The sole detail unique to the painting. 

(The reference photo—one of the many taken from Kazi’s adventure book—now decorated a wall in her and Wolffe’s bedroom. It was his request: to personalize their room with photos and artwork. Often, she caught him staring at the wall, his observation silently pensive. Once, she saw him touching a photo of his men, a tear sliding down his cheek.)

“Mum?” Neyti bounced on her tiptoes. “Do you like it?” 

Kazi studied the painting, its meticulous strokes, its sedulous color choices.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. A genuine smile bolstered the sincerity of her words, and Neyti ducked her head with a bashful grin. “But”—she frowned at the frame—“it’s crooked.”

Wolffe scoffed. “It’s not crooked.”

“The right side is higher than the left.”

He scrutinized the painting through narrowed eyes. Another scoff, equally arrogant as his first, succeeded. “It’s not.”

Neyti looked from one adult to the next. Her perceptive gaze returned to the frame, a critique elapsed, and then, clapping her hands, she declared, “That’s okay. I like it as it is.”

“It’s perfect,” Kazi agreed. She took in the entire room: vines of green ivy vivified the railing, the windows provided a clear view of the stelliferous night, a low couch offered comfort for visitors. “All of it—it’s perfect.”

Eventually, Neyti returned to the house with Fox, and Kazi and Wolffe found themselves alone. 

Staring out a window with his arms wrapped around her front, Wolffe rested his chin atop her head and asked about an unfamiliar constellation. Kazi told him the story of the dragon Pandora and the medicinal practices she taught the Ceaians; as she spoke, she mapped the constellation in the sky. He followed her finger’s path. Curious, studious.

A contented silence fell between them once she finished the story. The cool temperature of early night bathed them in fresh air; the high-pitched whistle of an unseen whale pierced the quiet. With an amused chuckle, Wolffe brought a finger to her chin and tilted her face back. 

“You think Daria would like it?” he asked quietly. His eyes were bright with mirth yet also hesitant. “What we did here?”

“Yes,” Kazi said with a wistful laugh. “I think she’d love it.”

“Good.” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone. His smile was soft. “She’d be proud of you, Ennari. For returning. For building this. For living. She’d be real fucking proud of you.” 

Kazi twisted her face into his palm. “And she would be so grateful for you. For everything you’ve done for us. For me.”

Wolffe swallowed. The starlight glowed within the darkness of his regular eye; it twinkled among his cybernetic. Both were watery with affection. She smiled softly. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he murmured roughly. Warm lips sought her forehead. “Take your time.”

Kazi waited for his footsteps to retreat before she reached into her trousers’ pocket. Seating herself on the couch, she placed the locket with her family’s photo on the window’s sill and then unfolded her letter to Daria. 

The black ink twinkled beneath the light of the Dancing Dragons, the brightest star in their embrace gleaming. Beneath her perch, waves rolled against the cliffs. Calm and encouraging, like they were listening. A cool breeze tickled her face. Scents of sea salt and honeysuckle invigorated the lantern room.  

With a deep breath, Kazi started to read: “Hi, Dee.”

Masterlist | A Muse | Epilogue

A/N: Kazi would never again visit the lighthouse with her sister. – Line I, Chapter I

[greenerteacups]

have a few questions for u! i loved your latest chapter, i believe it’s my favourite one to date together with the yule ball special :)

01. since u’re writing a (very intense) re-write of book 1 to 7 canon, how happy/sad were you about draco’s arc in the books and films? it always bugged me that him and the slytherins didn’t get to shine that much in both aspects, and that’s why we never really got to appreciate them a lot when the books and films came out. would love to hear your take on this!

02. not sure if this has been asked before, but what thing/s inspired you to write lionheart? i recall reading it was because of your love for to all the young dudes, but i’d love to hear you talk about this more

03. if j* r****** weren’t as awful a person as she was (and so terribly closed minded too) do you think there would have been a way for draco and hermione to be together in canon, or at least be some level of friends, if not together romantically?

04. i’m a narcissa black-malfoy apologist and stan, and can i just say, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for writing her in such a beautiful and heartbreaking way. i cannot wait to see how you write her arc in books 5-7.

05. an absolute, absolute shot in the dark - but since friday’s last update was sort of a cliff hanger - would you be open to a double update or an earlier than usual update this week? we aren’t entitled to anything but i swear to you, i was biting my nails and at the edge of my seat fr the minute i ran to the friday update. draco and sirius’s conversation was too real and too beautiful i sobbed so much.

i love you!!! may the universe bless you with all the good karma (is my boyfriend, is a god, is the breeze in my hair on the weekend)!!!

hello! thank you for all the questions, wow!! will probably answer some in separate posts because tumblr usually censors my craft glitches out when i write long asks BUT

how happy/sad were you about draco’s arc in the books and films?

[looks at 400,000 words of AU fic about draco's arc] oh yeah i feel normal and care a regular amount about it

Man, it makes me sad. It makes me sad that almost all the Death Eaters are also children of Death Eaters, establishing this as a familial cycle of violence and hatred, and that's just... left to sit there in the narrative, implicating.

Draco’s arc in particular is a flat downward descent from schoolyard bully into a fascist death cult, and it’s bleak as fuck. like, if these books are written from Draco’s POV, it is some gruesome and deeply cynical stuff, guaranteed. which is a shame, because I think “reluctant and begrudging reformed villain” is an amazing character type that he could have fulfilled perfectly. doesn’t even have to go on tour with the Golden Trio, either; because I lost hope for Redemption Arc after the end of book 6, my ideal world going into book 7 was just having Draco stuck in Grimmauld Place, being bitchy and ill-tempered about the Order’s witness-protection equivalent, while the others treat him like a house-elf. “oh, yeah, that’s Draco, he used to bully us but now he has to ask us to buy the tea he likes at the grocer’s,” etc. I mean, full redemption would have been great, and by far the most rewarding for him/me personally as a reader, but I kind of figured by the end of HBP that it wasn’t in the cards. JKR writes characters in a particular way when she’s interested in them as people, and Draco was just never written with that level of attention or care. 

he’s not even given a particularly rewarding antagonist arc. he doesn’t follow through and kill Dumbledore, thus giving him something irrevocable and life-scarring to repent for; but neither does he join the Order (e.g., Disappearance), meaning his ultimate contribution to the war effort is just this listless, choiceless trend of enabling. he’s forced into the plot with the Vanishing Cabinet, but can't kill Dumbledore; he tries to hide Harry’s identity from Bellatrix in Book 7, but it doesn’t work; he tries to catch Harry in the Room of Requirement and fails, then has to be saved by Harry from fiendfyre his own incompetent sidekick conjured. cringe failson. it’s also hilarious put in contrast with this fanon we have of hypercompetent draco — it’s like we all saw him and were like god bless can we please get this man a skillset. jesus christ he is getting killed out here.

but anyway tbh I think the most character development we see from him in all 7 novels is when Hermione slaps the shit out of him in POA (call that spell of Shutting the Fuck Up the way he doesn't even try to retaliate). The bathroom scene in book 6 is huge, because it’s the first time we get a modicum of sympathy for him, but that’s not followed up on — we just sort of leave him with “yeah, that’s tough.” we don’t even know why the Malfoys go back to Voldemort, because by all accounts, they seem miserable. Lucius seems miserable even before he hits his Flop Era in book 6-7, but he’s also broadly miserable all the time when we see him (likely bc we only see him when he’s plotting/scheming/exploding in rage when Harry manages to yet again Scooby Doo one of his plots, but who knows). I think the seventh book subtly implies the Malfoys are so close with Voldemort because of Bellatrix, and [spoilers incoming] I myself lean heavily on that thread in later sequences in Lionheart, but in the books it’s up to the reader as to how much the Malfoys really believe in the Dark Lord versus just comply with his orders from fear.

[spellboundcities]

Between pride ending and artfight starting I wasn't able to finish this like I wanted to. Have a silly little thumbnail comic about breaking, entering, and being trans

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Ravenous (Part 3)

Pairing: Steven Grant x Avatar!Reader, slight Marc Spector x Avatar!Reader

Word Count: 4420

Warnings: Violence, language, canon divergence, angst, fluff

Summary: He mostly resided in Marc’s mind, hiding in reflections or fading into obscurity during missions. He was a risk, a liability to both you and Marc, and he had no desire to get in the way and cause more harm.

Hey! I'm new to the Moon Knight fandom :) Hope you all like this thing I wrote.

This is the final part! Thank you to those who came along for the ride, I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart :)

And (again) special thank you to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for making the gorgeous moodboard and beta reading this monstrosity. ILY <3 Check out her work, you won't be disappointed!

Part 1, Part 2

When Steven saw you again, it was through the eyes of Marc.

It always felt strange being on the other side. He hadn't gotten used to it as Marc had after so many years. It was like being wrapped in tin foil, tightly pressed, and compacted until he was nothing more than a tiny ball of mass. 

It felt awful. Suffocating.

Steven noted his surroundings. He wasn’t sure where you both were.

It was hot, blazing even, the sun unforgiving as it beat down over them. Steven was unfamiliar with the landscape. It looked like something out of a National Geographic magazine or one of those nature documentaries he’d sometimes watch. They were obviously quite far from London.

It was a dry climate, the ground below cracked and powdery, bits of dust flying about with the arid breeze. 

You were both kneeling behind a massive dead bush at a cliff edge, peering down at something Steven couldn’t make out.

You weren’t in your suit, he noticed, and neither was Marc, which made him think you weren’t on a mission. 

That was odd. 

Were you both having…a moment? And in a foreign country? Steven didn't know the extent of your interactions with Marc other than Khonshu and Sekhmet's missions. He was blacked out for most of them, lost in darkness while you both did whatever it was you had to do.

It unsettled him, just as it did the night you weren't healing. And why should it? He had his Tarzan moment with you, hands briefly touching—and what? Was something supposed to come from that? Steven didn't think so.

Marc was better suited for you, he always thought so. He understood the moral ramifications of being an avatar. He understood the pain and guilt of it. He understood the exhaustion. 

"Steven," Marc suddenly spoke, his American accent cutting hard through the silence, "I can feel you brooding, man, calm down. You're making my stomach hurt."

Oh, sorry! Didn't mean to do that. Where are we, anyway?

"Kenya."

In bloody Africa? 

"Your geography skills are outstanding, buddy."

Wanker. What are we doing here?

"We're on a mission for lion lady." 

Oh, so it was a mission, then. Steven thought you did those alone. After all, you made most of your moves during the early morning hours while Marc and Steven moved exclusively at night. 

What about your suits?

“Not yet,” Marc grumbled, “now keep quiet.”

Oi, don't do that. What’s the sodding mission? 

Steven could hear Marc sigh in annoyance and if there were any reflections nearby he could use, he knew he would’ve seen Marc rolling his eyes by now. It was a trait they, unfortunately, both shared.

“Would ya stop askin’ so many questions?”

“A pair of imbeciles.” You muttered to yourself, your hawk eyes trained on whoever it was you had to kill.

“You mean a trio? You’re giving yourself way too much credit there, sweetheart.” Marc countered back, smirking when you stuck your tongue out at him.

Was that you being charming? Marc, you absolute prick.

“Can’t be helped, it’s in the genes.”

“What, being an asshole?” You jokingly asked before adding, “You do ask a ton of questions, though, Steven.”

Is she taking the piss? Unbelievable.

You were amused, Steven could tell even through the slight haziness of his vision. He’d learned to read you better, and although he wasn’t fluent in your language, he viewed it as progress. 

He could make out your profile, the tip of your nose, the upward curve of your lips. 

You were squinting, eyes fighting against the brightness of the sun. You had a pair of binoculars that hung around your neck through which you looked periodically. 

The sight of you made Steven want to take over, wanting to push Marc into the darkness of their dusty mind if it meant he could spend a couple of quiet moments with you. 

He was like a lovesick schoolboy. As if you’d ever have him in that way. 

You were tough, a fighter, and one hell of a woman, and he was just...Steven. He liked books and Egypt. And he liked you. A lot.

It felt strange admitting that to himself but there it was.

“Poachers, Steven,” you finally answered, as if you heard him ask the question in your own mind, “we’re hunting lion poachers.”

Seriously? 

“Their pelts are being sold in the black market.” Marc continued. 

“And naturally, Sekhmet isn’t too happy about it," you added, peeking through the binoculars, "They're moving camp, that's our queue."

Why are we even here?

"Khonshu's orders. The stupid bird can't say no to the love of his life."

You snorted at Marc's statement, tossing the binoculars aside and letting your suit engulf you in a blur of red. "It's time," you looked over at Marc with glowing eyes, "you ready or what?”

“Yeah,” Marc grunted in response, letting the white wrappings of his suit slither over his limbs like snakes, “but you’re helping us with that damn scarab later.”

“Not like I have much of a choice, Spector,” you pointed out, “I’m gonna get a head start. Oh, and Steven?” you regarded Marc carefully, hoping Steven was listening, “don’t fight Marc on this, you fucking hear me? Let him deal with it or Sekhmet won’t be happy.” There was an edge in your tone, a sharpness that didn't go unnoticed. With that, you hopped off the cliff edge, a fall that would’ve easily killed anyone else but was nothing short of elegant when you landed on your feet.

What does she mean by that? Steven panicked, watching you slowly descend on the hunting party, just as a lion would, with a lack of fear and an unnatural grace in every one of your movements. 

Marc sighed.

“The reason Sekhmet didn’t heal her the night we fought Ammit and her disciples was that she got hurt trying to save us, Steven, trying to save you.”

Steven remained silent, processing the information.

He remembered. 

He remembered his anxiety, his overwhelming fear that struck him like lightning during the fight. And he remembered your face, the panic as rare as gemstones that was etched over your features.

So it was his fault, really. 

You were growing “soft” because of him. You were punished by an immortal being because of him.

“I know you care for her,” Marc cut into his thoughts, hopping off the ledge of the cliff once he saw you attack, never breaking a sweat or losing his breath, “Christ, she’s pricklier than a fucking cactus, but I care about her, too. And that’s why I’m better suited for these missions. You got a lot to learn. Khonshu is a bastard, but lion lady is worse. Remember that.”

Screams erupted from the campsite, and Marc joined you in the massacre.

»»————-　☾　————-««

Steven rarely took the body after that.

He mostly resided in Marc’s mind, hiding in reflections or fading into obscurity during missions. He was a risk, a liability to both you and Marc, and he had no desire to get in the way and cause more harm.

He felt useless, utterly inadequate.

He lost his job at the museum, no thanks to Harrow and his disciples. Marc handled the situation but Steven had to deal with the consequences, sitting in an office full of his superiors insinuating he was going fucking bonkers. 

It was humiliating, to say the least.

The little business card his boss had given him to seek help was in the trash bin later that day, ripped up by Marc almost immediately after taking control for another mission. “Nothing’s wrong with us,” Marc had snapped, “don’t let these people fill your head with bullshit.”

As if their mind could handle any more bullshit.

With no job, Steven kept to himself, only taking full control in his flat where he felt most comfortable, surrounded by his favorite books and a good cup of coffee in his hands.

But his absence didn’t go unnoticed. 

“So, Steven’s ignoring me, huh?” You asked one night after a mission, leaning against your kitchen counter, watching Marc devour his takeout. Thankfully, you both made it back in time before the last Chinese restaurant in your neighborhood closed for the night. “What’s wrong with him? I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

You’d drop by Steven’s flat occasionally, either after a mission or just because you were bored, mostly lonely, but he never made much of an appearance. You saw him less and less and fought alongside Marc a lot more, anger and viciousness clouding your every waking moment.

“I wouldn’t call it ignorin’,” Marc answered with a mouth full of steaming rice, “you know how…sensitive he is.”

I am not bloody sensitive! 

Marc ignored him, devouring the rest of his veggie stir fry eagerly. 

You looked irritated, arms crossed over your chest, eyes as sharp as knives, and lips set in a tight line. It had been a while since Steven had seen that look on your face, such a while in fact that you seemed like an entirely different person already. He watched you grow snappish and irritable again. 

Sekhmet must have reveled in it, purring like a house cat in your mind after every kill, feeding off you like a parasite.

"Sensitive about what? Not fighting? Because—"

"It's not that. Not exactly."

Marc, you better not.

"Then what is it?" You insisted, your gaze steady on Marc, hoping to catch just one glimpse of Steven in those dark eyes.

"Jesus, am I not enough for you, sweetheart?" Marc joked, something he'd been doing more of lately, and usually, you gave in to the flirty banter and the bickering, but this time you weren't amused.

You liked Marc, and that was saying a lot. You were similar in more ways than you could count and it was nice to be in the company of someone who understood you. It was like looking into a mirror sometimes, the reflection familiar and comfortable. 

But you liked Steven, too, and that was saying even more. His absence was loud, and you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it to them, but you had missed him way more than you probably should have.

"I will snap you in half." You threatened Marc, grabbing the closest object on the counter, a wooden chopstick, thankfully, and sent it flying across the kitchen toward Marc. He caught it with ease, using the one stick to stab into a piece of broccoli before shoving it in his mouth.

"You gotta understand, Steven isn't like us. He actually has…feelings, ya know?" Your brows furrowed at the comment.

Way to go, Marc, that was brilliant. Exactly what she wants to hear, you twat.

"Probably why she likes you a lot more, huh?" Marc muttered quietly, taking a swig of his canned beer before continuing in a louder tone, "Steven just doesn't want to see you hurt because of him." You snorted.

"I'll be fine—"

"No, you don't fucking get it," Marc's tone changed suddenly, the timbre of his voice shifting into something much lower, "he doesn't want to be the reason lion lady punishes you any further. He blames himself. You may not think much of it, or even care, but Steven does. We both do." 

Can you just kill me? Is that possible, Marc? Ask Khonshu.

“Shut up, Steven,” Marc growled, and Steven hyper-focused on your eyes as they narrowed, probably even more irked knowing he was conscious and listening.

“Doesn’t mean he has to hide all the time.” You snapped, annoyed with your own reaction. You were revealing way too much of yourself.

“You can take that up with him, sweetheart.”

“How?” You barked, your shoulders sagging down in defeat. You were quiet after that, the plastic Tupperware in your hands sweating from the heat of your forgotten food.

I’ve gone and made things worse, haven't I?

“He’s not doing it to hurt you, you know.” Marc ran a hand through his dark curls. He wanted a way to pacify you both, but his need to protect Steven was strong.

“I’m not hurt.” You argued.

“Mhm.” Marc wasn’t convinced.

“It’s fine,” you said with a shrug, tossing your uneaten food into your empty fridge, rubbing your tired eyes, “I'm going to bed. you can stay if you want, or not, doesn't really matter."  

Before heading to your bedroom you looked over your shoulder, a look in your eyes they've never seen before.

“I have feelings too, you know,” you said, directing it to both Marc and Steven, “may not seem that way because I’m always, ya know,” you aimlessly waved a hand around to help with your point, “angry.” You shrugged, your vulnerability cracking through.

"Tell Steven not to beat himself up. I can handle Sekhmet. I would risk her wrath anytime if it meant keeping him safe. Both of you,” You paused for just a second to collect your thoughts, “he’s not alone. He should know that by now.” Your face hardened again as if you didn't say a heartfelt thing at all. And then you retreated into your room, the door immediately closing. 

“Since when did I become the messenger and the fucking therapist?” Marc rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter. 

I dunno but you’re quite shit at it, mate. 

“I know. But I think that was the nicest thing I’ve ever heard her say.”

Should I go talk to her? I feel like a twit. Steven answered with a sigh.

"Give her some time." Marc tossed out his Tupperware, padding over to your old sofa and taking a seat with a deep sigh.

Shouldn’t we go?

"Wanna make sure she's okay.”

What happened to ‘she’s a grown woman, she can handle herself’?

“Shut up, Steven,” Marc muttered, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

☾☾☾

In the morning, it was Steven who woke up.

He was still in the same position Marc had fallen asleep in except there was a blanket draped over him.

He looked around your empty flat with heavy eyes, stretching his legs and flexing his toes.

Running his hands through his hair he felt something stuck to his forehead. It was a yellow sticky note with red ink scrawled over it in what he assumed was your chicken scratch handwriting. Leave it to you to have nothing in your flat but vodka, sticky notes, and a red pen.

Out on a mission.

Fishermen off the coast of Scotland.

There are keys on the coffee table if you want them.

Shifting his eyes toward the coffee table there were two keys held by a metal keyring neatly placed over the false wood. Steven reached forward and grabbed them, feeling the weight of them in his palm before jamming them into the pocket of Marc’s sweats.

He looked over at the window. It was still early in the morning. 

He might as well stay around until you come back if only to talk.

☾☾☾

Steven was in your small kitchen, shuffling around making lunch when he heard a loud bang from your bedroom before you emerged, your red suit still on.

He was startled at first only remembering a second later that you had a ceiling window and that you probably slithered in that way. 

You stared at him, confusion clouding your features.

“Hey, Grouch.” He greeted you, his hands immediately moving forward over his front to twiddle his fingers together in his anxiousness. His accent wasn’t so obvious in his greeting but the separating factor between him and Marc were the nicknames they had for you.

“Steven Grant? Could it really be you?” The sarcasm radiated off you as you slowly shuffled forward, exhaustion clear in the way you carried yourself, “What are you doing here?” Your suit disappeared, revealing your usual cargo pants, t-shirt, and Steven’s denim jacket.

“Oh, you know, just makin’ some lunch,” he shrugged as if it were a usual occurrence, cooking in your kitchen, "you hungry?"

He had prepared veggie burgers with sweet potato chips in the one pan you owned, presenting them on paper plates he had to grab from the store since you didn't even have that in your kitchen cupboard. Steven offered you the plate when you finally approached him, holding the burger between the two of you like a peace offering.

You look between Steven and the plate as if there were danger lurking behind his intentions. You were still in adrenaline mode from your mission, your chest heaving a bit from the climb into the ceiling window. 

He watched as you grasped the plate tightly in your hand, tight enough to disintegrate the paper if you really wanted to.

You scanned the burger and chips, your stomach growling at the smell.

"I'm mad at you." You finally muttered, picking at a chip and shoving it into your mouth.

“Uh, I know,” Steven said, twiddling his fingers again, willing his heart to stop hammering in his chest, “I just wanted to make lunch and talk about it, I s’pose.” He beamed as soon as you bit into the veggie burger, pleased with himself when you closed your eyes for a moment in approval of the taste.

“So talk.” You urged with your mouth full, leaning against your counter as you always did when eating.

“Uh, well…” shit. He didn’t plan this far ahead. 

A huff escaped you as you set your paper plate down on the counter beside Steven’s. 

He could swear an amused glint flashed in your eyes, but it quickly disappeared.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Or am I gonna have to force it out of you?” You asked, picking up a chip and using it to point at him before pressing it past your lips. 

Steven watched your movements for a moment before sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I dunno, guess I’ve been feelin’ like a burden lately. A proper twit. I lost my job, ya know.” He couldn’t meet your gaze, keeping his sight on his barely touched food. 

“Fuck 'em, they didn’t deserve you. Too smart for them anyway.” You popped another chip in your mouth, savoring the subtle sweetness before noting Steven’s sad eyes. “You’re worried.” You concluded.

“Why didn’t you tell me what lion lady was doing to you was because of me?” 

“Because I didn’t want to worry you, Steven,” you sighed, “‘sides, there are too many factors involved. And I’m just…tired. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Of course, I’m going to bloody worry!” He didn’t realize how close you both have gotten to each other, eyes now locked completely, “I care about you, Grouch!” There was silence after his declaration, something as simple as those words rang loud and heavy between them. “Worry is all I do if you haven’t noticed.” He added quietly.

You blinked up at him, a smirk stretching across your lips as you watched him squirm under your intense gaze. 

“You care about me?” You snorted with a shake of your head, “I’m a nightmare to deal with, you know this.”

“Oh no, love,” Steven defended, grasping your hand in his, “you’re not so bad once your shell cracks a bit.” You looked down at both his hands clasped over your own, feeling the warmth that radiated off him. You were cold, Steven realized, but he let go of your hand, suddenly extremely self-conscious.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” you said, just as quietly, “I care about you, too. More than you know.”  

The admission had Steven shuffle back as if he received a punch to the gut. His lips parted in an attempt to say something, anything, but words failed him. 

“I guess it’s true, I’m getting soft, huh?” You joked as your eyes fluttered down to his lips, watching how his tongue darted out to moisten them before you surged forward to kiss him. 

It was short and sweet, so unlike you in the face of a fight. Just a light tap that promised so much more. You licked his lower lip, tugging on it gently with your teeth before pulling away. 

You didn’t get far as Steven curled his hand over the back of your neck, pulling you close again to steal another kiss from you.

It was a clash of teeth in the beginning before he found his rhythm, his lips learning to move in sync with your own. The tip of his tongue poked out every so often to clumsily offer you little kitten licks. 

You hummed, bringing your body flush against his, sighing once you felt his warm hand grip your waist, hesitantly at first, his thumb drawing tiny circles over the skin under your t-shirt.

Steven was on fucking cloud nine. 

You tasted a bit sweet from the chips and a bit savory from the veggie burger, but the tiniest taste of iron lingered and settled on his tongue. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of you ravenous and wild just before this.

He felt your fingers dance over his arms, gripping his bicep so tight that a whimper escaped him, and you took the opportunity to plunge your tongue into his mouth to explore, your hands moving to run your fingers through his messy curls. You tugged the dark strands, gently at first and then a bit rougher, exposing his neck to you. You dragged your nose over his exposed skin, breathing in his scent before licking a stripe up the delicate skin.

“You’re killing me, love,” Steven whined as you smiled against his skin, his eyes closing as he savored your touch. He pulled away from you for only a moment to drag his lips over your brow in a fleeting kiss, pulling you back in for a tight hug and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t want you to get hurt ‘cause of me.” He mumbled into your skin, his nose catching the scent of the Scottish sea in your hair. You shifted in his arms so that you could look him in the eyes. 

“I need you to trust me when I say I can handle Sehkmet,” you run your thumb over the concerned lines that wrinkled his brow, your touch so gentle despite the damage you could truly cause, “I’ve been her avatar long enough to appease her. What you’re not gonna do,” You continued, jabbing your finger into his chest with force to make your point clear, “is run into a fight you’re not ready for, like a proper twit.”

Steven would’ve smiled at your use of one of his terms if he weren’t so embarrassed. His cheeks were blazing. How could he be with someone who he couldn’t protect? He couldn’t even protect himself.

That’s why you have me, idiot.

Steven turned to look at the glass of your cupboard, the reflection revealing Marc's stern eyes looking back at him. But there was something else swimming in his eyes, something dark and sad and just a bit lonely, but Steven couldn’t focus on it for too long, not when you were pressed against him like a cat begging for attention.

“I don’t mean to say it in a hurtful way,” you clarified, turning his cheek back so that his eyes met yours again, “Marc is better suited for the missions. For now. That’s not to say you can’t fight, I’ve seen you in action. You pack a mean punch,” Steven felt his chest puff out in pride, deflating a tad when you continued, “but I’d rather not see you hurt either, got it?” The sternness in your tone suddenly crept up and had Steven squirming again for entirely different reasons.

“Got it, boss,” Steven said, a goofy smile forming over his lips that was as blinding as the sun, though it disappeared as quickly as it came when it was swapped for one of his more serious looks. “Just one thing.”

“Mm?”

“You can talk to me, ya know. That whole bottling-up emotions thing you and Marc do? That’s not healthy. You can talk to me. Please.” His eyes were so sincere, so full of love that you could’ve melted right then and there. Since when did Steven have that kind of power over you?

You pursed your lips in thought and Steven had to suppress the urge to rush forward to capture your lips again, choosing instead to patiently await your answer. 

“Got it, boss,” you ultimately decided, repeating his own words, “I’ll try my best.” 

“Promise?”

“Mhm.”

“Brilliant.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you shoved your hand in your pocket, presenting Steven with a crinkled piece of paper, “I got you a postcard.” 

Steven took it delicately in his hands, smoothing out the postcard gently over the counter. It was an illustrated image of the Loch Ness monster, with the words ‘Greetings from Scotland’ written in white cursive over the top. He laughed, holding the postcard gingerly in his hands before turning to you with bright round eyes. 

“It’s going right up with the rest of ‘em. Gus’ll be happy. Thank you, it's brilliant.” 

You did what you always did and shrugged off his appreciation, taking another bite of your now-cold veggie burger. “It’s nothing,” you insisted, watching how Steven shuffled from foot to foot, his eyes still trained on his new postcard. “What’s wrong?” 

“We’re gonna get out of this, yeah? Somehow. All three of us. We’re getting out of this.”

“Steven, what are you talking about?” 

“This whole avatar mess,” he elaborated, “we’ll find a way out. There has to be another way.” 

“You know that’s not possible. Sekhmet and Khonshu are too hungry for chaos and revenge. They need us.” 

“But it’s good to hope, innit?” He said, his eyes catching yours now, laced with a child-like yearning. 

“Yeah, it's good to hope,” you put your paper plate down, “especially when you’re not alone.” You grabbed the front of his hoodie, Marc’s hoodie, in a tight fist, pulling him in for another bruising kiss. “We have each other, right?”

Steven only hummed into the kiss, his lips hungry, searching for the different parts of you he wanted to explore. His hands grasped the collar of his denim jacket tightly dragging you closer, all his fear and anxiousness disappearing for this one moment.

“I should probably give your jacket back now, huh?” You muttered over his lips, laughing when impatient noises bubbled out of him.

“It’s already yours, love, now shut up and kiss me.”

»»————-　☾　————-««

Part 1, Part 2

...

Taglist:

@local-mr-frog @yumeillu @parkeepingparker @woofgocows @ladythomsen @sansaorgana @rosecentaur1916

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

i love your metas! I just discovered them today and have spent all afternoon reading them. I have two part ask, if that's okay. Firstly, do you think a sensible version of bella could survive if she recognised early on that keeping on Edward's good side was her only survival option? and secondly, on the flip side, just how unhinged do you think bella could be before edward rejected her?

Ooh, both interesting questions, anon. Let's do this.

Sane Bella and the Yandere Simulator

Last time, on The Carnivorous Muffin's ridiculous blog, we covered what would happen to a sensible Bella who realizes the Cullens are not fluffy bunnies she should take home.

The long and short, Edward eats her.

Edward's romantic interest in Bella, the thing that has him fighting his own baser nature to keep her alive, is dependent on a few things.

One of those is Bella's interest in turn.

In time, if Bella truly was not interested in him, he would eat her. Alice tells us there's only two paths for Bella: death or vampire. Leaving her and walking away is never a true option for Edward.

So, Sane Bella loses Yandere Simulator because she doesn't realize the key aspect of Yandere Simulator: You Never Say No to Yandere.

However, you point out something interesting here, that this is a sensible Bella.

Sensible people do not immediately think they're playing Yandere Simulator. You don't run across people like Edward often, there aren't many of him, and while there are red flags early in Twilight Edward did a pretty good job of making them not particularly visible.

By the time we hit Eclipse he's pretty much thrown pretending to be nice and sane out the window. Luckily for Bella, that doesn't appear to bother her as much as it should.

Bella thinking "if I don't play along with this inhuman whack job he'll eat me", is paranoid lunacy. It is not the first conclusion a reasonable person would jump to.

That it happens to be the right conclusion is irrelevant.

But alright, I'll play ball.

Paranoid Bella and the Yandere Simulator

Bella is utterly paranoid and wearing her tin foil hat when she enters Forks. She remembers Biology very well and when Edward comes back and pretends to be nice she gives him a strained smile and thinks, "This motherfucker will eat me the moment my back is turned."

Bella considers travelling back to Florida, but that would be leading Edward to her mother, more it would be very easy to find Bella if he truly wished to.

Florida isn't an option.

Bella tries to keep her distance from Edward, hard when he sits next to her in Biology, but he seems willing to ignore her. Bella calms down a little, maybe this will work out.

Bella is nearly crushed by a van, desperately pretends she definitely did not see Edward fold that van like a pretzel. Nope, no siree Bob, Bella is concussed! She then stays awake all night in terror and OH GOD HE'S CLIMBING THROUGH HER WINDOW! HE'S GOING TO EAT HER IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT! HE KNOWS THAT SHE KNOWS!

Bella pretends to sleep, horrified, and Edward stays there all night. Staring.

(Edward, meanwhile, is realizing he's in love.)

Bella enters school a nervous wreck, waiting for that fateful Biology class and... Edward is studiously ignoring her. He doesn't even say hello.

Bella would be relieved, except he keeps sneaking into her bedroom at night, staring. Bella gets no sleep for weeks.

Then the blood testing happens and suddenly Edward is talking to her. He tells her they shouldn't be friends and he doesn't want to be friends, GREAT, EDWARD, THAT'S GREAT. But then it's very clear that he's after something, and Bella's spidey senses are tingling.

Edward doesn't want to be friends.

Oh, oh shit.

Suddenly, Edward sneaking into her room at night takes on a whole, new, sinister twist. First he'll rape her, then he'll eat her (or who knows, maybe vice versa, Bella certainly doesn't want to find out).

Bella is driven home by Edward (he insists) and enters the house to wheeze into a paper bag.

She thinks over her options.

Edward can crush cars, Bella trips over asphalt. Even if she wasn't Bella, there's no way she could outfight him even if she wanted to.

Edward was very concerned when he suspected that she knew, he likely still suspects and Bella's not a very good liar. Bella doesn't want to find out what happens to her if Edward realizes she really does know.

Edward appears to have a romantic interest in her. Does Bella really have the option of saying no?

Bella, still wheezing in her bag, comes to what seems like an inevitable decision. She must humor Edward at all costs. For the sake of her family, of her own life, she must play into his romantic overtures. Bella can't act but now, her life depends on it.

Well, Bella still can't act, but luckily for her Edward doesn't care.

Edward just thinks Bella's very jumpy, a little nervous and shy, and just plain weird (given he thinks Bella's just plain weird in canon this is not too far from normal events).

So Bella gets to live in terror for things like the meadow, where Edward talks about how easy it would be to eat her, how he contemplated murdering Biology in cold blood to eat her in the most efficient manner, how he loathed her for daring to smell delicious, how Alice warned him there was a good chance of him eating Bella in the meadow today, all while pressing his cheek against her hammering heartbeat.

"AH HA HA HA HA, EDWARD, YOU'RE SO CHARMING."

Edward invites Bella to the house. These creepy, man eating, people all meet her with smiles. Edward has composed her a lullaby. One of them, Alice, tells Bella they're going to be best friends.

"AH HA HA HA HA, EDWARD YOUR FAMILY IS SO NICE."

In other words, somehow, all of Twilight still happens because Bella is terrified of saying no.

At least, until Volterra. Given Bella's being hunted by Victoria, even had Bella not gone cliff diving eventually Alice would see her eaten and then black out as the wolves chased off Victoria instead.

Bella spends New Moon having a great time. Mostly. The Cullens are finally gone, she's free, she spends weeks on edge thinking they might come back.

Just when she starts to relax, fucking Laurent shows up and learns Victoria's trying to kill her. Because of Edward, because of course, it's always about Edward. WHY ARE VAMPIRES ALWAYS TRYING TO KILL HER?!

Regardless, Alice shows up and goes, "Bella, my god, you're alive!" And Bella dies inside. Alice Cullen is back. Oh no.

Bella pretends she's thrilled to see her. Alice, her best friend, her favorite demon. Hurray. Alice fills Bella in on the New Moon scoop, Bella pretends to be very invested. Then Alice gets the vision.

Edward has decided to commit suicide via the Volturi.

Bella has no problem with this, unfortunately, she realizes that Alice clearly has a problem with this. Alice fully expects Bella to run off to Italy to save Fucking Edward.

Once again, Bella isn't sure she's allowed to say no.

Bella runs to Italy, finds herself saving Edward's life, and then she's brought before the Volturi where she might very well be executed because Edward Cullen happened to involve her in this mess.

BELLA NEVER WANTED TO BE HERE.

Bella snaps. She's crying, she just can't take it anymore, and she finally loses her shit at Edward. SHE NEVER LOVED HIM! HE IS SCARY AND WON'T LEAVE HER ALONE! IF THEY'RE GOING TO KILL HER JUST DO IT NOW BECAUSE SHE CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE.

Aro watches Bella's mental breakdown in utter amazement. Naturally, while Marcus suspected something was funky with those two, Aro did not see this coming from Edward's perspective.

Aro offers Bella her out, it is unfortunately death or vampire, but vampire is very much an option and Aro will offer Bella sanctuary in the Volturi.

Bella takes that offer and runs with it.

Edward is devastated and blindsided.

Somehow, neither he nor Alice saw this one coming.

But to answer your question: Paranoid Bella survives Yandere Simulator By Defecting to the Volturi

How Unhinged Does Bella Have to Be For Edward to Dump Her?

He won't.

Remember, Edward in canon thinks there's something legitimately wrong with Bella. She doesn't think like normal people, she always makes the least rational choice, and he can't hear her thoughts.

Edward doesn't think Bella's gifted just that she's... different. (Bella, hilariously, immediately picks up that Edward's calling her a freak. Edward backtracks hard on that one.)

Bella's decisions also become increasingly ridiculous as the series goes on.

She stabs herself in the middle of a battle, she insists on having sex with him while human, she consorts with shapeshifters (to Edward this is lunacy), she picked up motorcycle riding, she threw herself off a cliff, she ran from his sweet protection to the reservation, she believes he doesn't love her, and she doesn't want to get married.

I imagine Edward thinks there isn't anywhere left for Bella to go. She's left the planet, unhinged is her middle name.

But none of that matters.

I already linked the Edward/Bella post I always link near the top so I'll just recap. For Edward, it's all about the blood, the silence, and the projection.

An unhinged Bella is still a delicious and silent Bella. He can still pretend she's Carlisle.

Even if Bella became addicted to cocaine, and ruined that sweet scent, it wouldn't tarnish her memory. He'd nurse her back to health, then eat her so she never relapses.

That's the trouble with Edward/Bella, it's not about Bella, not at all. You could replace her with sweet smelling cardboard and Edward would not notice a difference.

[mothnem]

Jedi Jigen AU

Jigen was a Jedi Padawan, about 12 years old, when Order 66 hit. He was thrown out a window by his Master, a Jedi Shadow (they are more like Jedi Special Operations, in a strike on a Slavery Ring, they would be the ones to get the information for that to happen). Well Jigen, through a series of Rube Goldberg like events, ends up on Earth, a Planet beyond the Outer Rim in Wild Space. Jigen has a sneaky trick. And a lot of Trauma. He knows how to erase Memories. So he erases his own. From there it pretty much goes as canon.... until Lupin finds a Shiny Thing that is said to Reveal the Lost Memories of Star Children. Well they end up seeing Jigen's erased memories and the fact that he erased them. Jigen tries to erase his memories AGAIN. But fails since he hasn't used the Force in so long.... that leads to "Lupin's Training For Jigen So He Can Use The Force Again!" Step one is tying Jigen to a chair and throwing those plastic balls you can find at ball pits at him until he stops one using the Force. Step two is continuing that until Jigen can do it every time and with multiple balls. Lupin is working on the Step Three part. Lupin even has a reward system set up. For every ball Jigen stops, Lupin gives him a candy.

Goemon has decided to make Jigen return to the swordsman he once was. Even if Jigen hadn't been the best one.

So this happens.

Goemon: This is the closest thing I can find to your lightsaber.

Jigen: Thanks but No.... AH! (Barely blocks Goemon's strike.)

Goemon: YOU WILL REMEMBER THE WAYS OF YOUR BLADE!

Lupin: And you can practice deflecting! (Starts tossing the balls at Jigen while he is fighting Goemon)

The Team also teases Jigen.

Fujiko: Okay! And for Team Bonding Jeopardy... Goemon! Erasing Your Own Memories.

Goemon: What is not a healthy coping mechanism!

Jigen:.... I hate you all.

Lupin: Nuhuh! Fear leads to Anger, Anger leads to Hate, Hate leads to the Darkside, and the Darkside leads to Suffering!

Jigen: Then I must have already fallen become I'm suffering right now.

They even make Zenigata help them.

Lupin: Hey Pops? Since you aren't going to let us go, can you please have Yata help you and toss those plastic balls in the trunk of the fiat at Jigen? He needs to train.

Goemon: He does.

Yata: We are not going to free him just so...

Lupin: No! He has to be restrained so he can't use his hands or feet to stop the balls!

Zenigata: Then How is he....?

Lupin: You will see!

Pops is most surprised to find out Jigen can now move things with his mind.

And of course, that moment when Jigen watches the Fiat with his friends go over the edge of a cliff and he just.... catches them. Slowly, as if he is scared that moving too fast would make Gravity remember they are there, he lifts the car back up and gently places it on the ground, and then collapses because of the strain and stress and worry. It is both terrifying for all watching, and amazing and awe inspiring. Like a hurricane or tornado.

Now you might be wondering, why wouldn't Jigen just use the Dark Side? Easily. He remembers. Remembers who stormed the Temple at the head of an army they once trusted. How there were those that had considered themselves friends of Anakin Skywalker. How Skywalker had Darkness pouring off of him as he destroyed people that thought him family. Jigen doesn't want to risk turning on the people he cares about like that.

Fujiko is actually the one that helps him rebuild his lightsaber. She finds a Kyber Crystal in a Space Rock Exhibit. Although she can't feel it in the Force like Jigen can, it looked a lot like the ones she saw in Jigen's memory. So she steals it to give to him.

And that is the Jedi Jigen AU!

@doctorbluesmanreturns

[i-did]

Ok ok this may be a dumb question but we'll see, what are your thoughts on bdsm + andreil? The vast vast majority of these types of fics have Andrew as the dom (and I get why) BUT theres 1 dom Neil fic and I'm like 99% sure I think I saw u comment on it so I'm assuming ur reading it and enjoying it too. And tbh, I find it much better than pretty much all the dom Andrew stuff, I hadnt realised the potential dom Neil could have until I read it. But anyway, I wanted ur thoughts? 🤲 (this is so badly phrased I apologise)

Lmfaooo being perceived is so weird. I hope I didn't say anything because I remember commenting on that fic and thinking about commenting something about my personal sex life, but I don't remember if I did lmfaooo. Omg okay, all that aside–time to now respond to this seriously.

Okay regarding that specific fic, yeah I read a lot of AFTG fics of all types, I haven't read something NSFW in a while, but when I saw the ‘Dom!Neil’ tag I decided to give it a shot. It’s interesting seeing how other authors go about their ideas and just enjoying their story. It doesn’t align with my personal ideas of everything obviously, but those are my personal HC and that fic is that authors personal HC. I like that they’re exploring something that this fandom doesn’t see explored a lot and is just a fun read, lol. Honestly I give up on most BDSM fandom fics because the depiction of Neil makes me uncomfortable ...almost always. I agree a lot more with this fics concept of how they would explore power vs control in a BDSM sexual sense, than most Dom!Andrew Sub!Neil fics– which I have long ago stopped trying to read.

Okay here are my personal ideas about Andrew and Neil, and how they would explore sex.

Many NSFW HC below the cut:

I personally don’t think canon Andrew and Neil would go into BDSM culture or ascribe to either roll strictly. I feel they wouldn’t like established dynamics like that and would get turned off by that aspect, especially since Andrew both craves control of situations but fears ‘being like them’ and a lot of Dom play is about power dynamics that he wouldn't be comfortable with. Andrew sees power in sex as different as control during sex. He needs a controlled environment, and be in control of the other by having them listen to his boundaries, but he can’t feel he’s overpowering the other person. I don’t think he could do a lot of strictly Sub things either for similar reasons, he would feel like he's giving up control of the situation in a way that could make him very uncomfortable.

Neil on the other hand is also often portrayed as a very textbook sub, but I don't think he is. I see him written as a brat a lot, but personally I don’t see him doing that since a lot of what playing with a brat is, is giving them what they want and denying them what they want and them ‘defying you’ and stuff. It's like a form of playful miscommunication I don't see Andrew or Neil ever actually doing. Obviously all healthy and proper play is outlined and discussed beforehand, but I see Andrew and Neil as needing the actions themselves to be clear and cut and dry.

Neil also gets off on Andrews pleasure, Andrew is the same about Neil, they're almost like a feedback loop of “the other enjoying themselves is inherently hot.” to me, Neil getting off on other people (Andrew) getting off is a very Dom like quality. In turn, Andrew is very turned on by pleasuring Neil, but from the point of his knees, which is almost sub like, he is turned on by sucking someone else off and seeing how into it they are. Either way, I think they both wouldn’t be into hardcore BDSM or BDSM culture but also aren’t vanilla. I don’t see either of them going to leather clubs instead of Edens and going to Folsom Fair and joining BDSM social groups and stuff.

I also don’t think either would ever use titles for the other, I think they don’t call each other by their names often on a day-to-day basis, since usually the people were talking to already know their name, and we don’t need to use it for clarification. I do think–just like in canon with emotionally charged moments–names will be used with more emphasis, especially Abram which is not used frequently.

Side note about my Jewish Neil HC: Judaism rocks because sex isn’t shamed, but rather considered a blessing and a holy act. In fact, it’s a good thing to have sex on Shabbat, G-d is actively like ‘fuck yeah you little humans, enjoy life’s pleasures and each other's company’ sex was designed to feel good and a way to connect. Shabbat is all about human connection with those important to us, and a day of rest away from work, so sex on Shabbat is actually actively a good thing. I don’t think Neil is ever religiously Jewish, but Andrew making a joke about this once would be peak to me. Which also fits Abram, a very Jewish name I HC to be not just Neil’s middle name but his Jewish name, and is used in said holy context of sex.

I think like a lot of healthy adults who are sexually active, they will explore and will be more adventurous to try new and other things, especially when dealing with issues like waning to get off but having touch aversion and issues like that. I have a lot of sex life HC about them actually, ways they navigate erectile dysfunction, mental health, and what they like in a safe environment. They trust each other, and I like imagining different ways aspects of their relationship would change or evolve in my head in all different types of ways, including sexual. I also enjoy giving them kinks and inclinations I specifically don’t have, because it’s like me exploring the concept of why someone else might like something even though I personally don’t. I’m not imagining things that make me uncomfortable necessarily, just things I'm neutral on or don’t see the appeal of, but know why they appeal to others and try to imagine what these characters might think.

I feel canon Andrew and Neil explore sex and dynamics that make them comfortable, I have HC about Andrew possibly exploring pup play and wearing a collar for Neil partially as a “joke” in the beginning, but discovering they really like it. I also HC Neil is really into athletic stuff sexually, he thinks Andrew half dressed with his padding still on and a jock strap is just peak sex appeal. I also think Neil is very sensory, and makes associations with smells and senses easily, so he develops a sweat kink, which leads into his armpit kink. Neil isn't turned on by ‘the bad smell of sweat’ but rather the fact that when Andrew is sweaty he smells like Andrew a lot, rather than after a shower he smells more like soap, and he can’t smell Andrew as much. Andrew on the other hand prefers cleaner sex. He’s not triggered by dirty sex though– he used to suck guys off at an alt dance club and is used to the smell of sweaty balls, it's just not an active turn on. Neil has ‘nothing is hotter than Andrew wearing running shoes and socks, and only running shoes and socks’ energy to me too. I think Andrew feels good about himself in leather, but isn't going to be a leather daddy and wear the leather assless chaps and the cap, he will wear the leather harness that every gay wears to pride, but he wears it just for Neil. Also, Neil loves Andrews pecs, Neil’s kinda a boob guy, but for Andrew’s pecs specifically.

I personally think Andrew and Neil typically don’t have penetrative sex. They do it sometimes–and when Andrew is ready he will bottom more as a way to prove something to himself than anything–but it’s not their preferred way or their ‘go to’. When they finally do, they don’t see it as ‘finally having sex for the first time’, since all the sex they've been having is real sex, even if its oral, hand jobs, etc. I don’t think Neil is naturally inclined to bottoming, and since even the visual of topping can make Andrew uncomfortable, they enjoy sex in any other ways, thigh fucking, docking, Andrew fucking Neil’s ass cheeks, sucking each other off, mutual masturbation, frottage, etc. and it leads to stronger orgasms when they don’t have to hope ever second will be a cliff edge and turn into a panic attack. Safer waters are simply more comfortable for them to swim in, and they deem all sex as equal in ‘value.’ that being said, Andrew likes his ass being ate, as long as its just Neil’s tongue, while Neil is neutral on his ass being ate, but loves doing it to Andrew.

I also think they would explore toys, but not in the way they're often explored in fics, which is very vibrator and dildo centric. I think they would use jacking off toys, the disposable egg kind or some more long term ones, maybe even something they could use at the same time. I don’t see them ever actually using handcuffs or restraints really either. Andrew would see Neil tied up as an equivalent statement of ‘I don't trust you not to touch me’ when he wants to actively progress past that, and shows he trusts Neil by not holding his arms back or letting him touch him. Andrew had to hold down previous partners, but Neil is different, Neil listens. This isn’t my personal opinion about restraint, but it is what I think Andrew would think.

I have no idea if this is what you meant by ‘my thoughts’ but here they are. *puts something in your open palms,* idk what emoji that would be

[writings-of-a-british-fangirl]

A Heart Of Change (Zuko X Reader) [Everything Has Changed Part 4]

Title: A Heart Of Change Summary: Azula returns to exact her revenge, but that's not the only thing that returns with her. New events and old feelings come to light. Warnings: Angst ? And canon violence. Requested: By a few lovely followers of mine who wanted a part 4!!

A/N: I glossed over Boiling Rock Part 1 + 2 because I couldn't think of a good way to incorporate the reader in those events so I'll be referring to them instead of completely retelling them.

A/N 2: Sorry for the month long hiatus! Work has been crazy! Anyway, enjoy part 4 x

CATCH UP ON THE OTHER PARTS FIRST-

PART 1: EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED PART 2: CHANGE IS GOOD PART 3: CHANGING SPIRITS PART 4: A HEART OF CHANGE

Zuko~A Heart Of Change

A lot had happened in the past few days- and it was almost enough to distract you from the bigger picture. With Zuko and Aang learning the true source of fire bending, and Sokka to rescuing Suki and his dad (with Zuko's help), you'd almost forgotten what was inevitably coming for you. Your previous actions had consequences. And, where consequences and revenge were involved, Azula wasn't far behind. (If you were being honest, you were surprised she didn't find you earlier.)

     What didn't surprise you, however, was how ready she was. She came prepared: a taunting expression on her face, and a fleet of air ships behind her, she launched her attack on the Western Air Temple. You couldn't fight them all at once, not even with Avatar right now. Fleeing safely was your main priority. If you had any hope of defeating the Fire Lord before that comet, Aang needed to master fire bending- and you needed to make it out of here alive.

    You look over at Zuko and recognise a look in his eyes. Zuko had never backed down from a fight- especially with his sister. And, now you were worried what he would do next.

    "We have to go now, Zuko," you plead, "It's not worth fighting her if it means we don't get out of here alive."

    Zuko glanced at you and then back at his sister. He had to do something: letting his sister get the best of him again didn't sit right with him. He hated feeling helpless. Besides, a distraction was needed to get out of here. Zuko was happy to provide that.

     "You go with the others," Zuko insisted, "I'm going to distract her, she'll be too busy fighting me to attack you guys."

      You weren't sure about this, but decided to help round up the others anyway.

     Haru began to make a tunnel out of the air bending temple, trying to help the others escape. Aang was doing his best to persuade Appa to follow them through the tunnel, but it wasn't working. Appa was scared of being under ground, especially after he got trapped in the mountain in the Earth Kingdom. You could see that it wasn't working. He would have to fly, even if it wasn't the safer option.

     "This isn't working," Aang says, frustrated, "I'll take Appa and fly."

     "It's too dangerous!" Katara insisted.

     "It's even more dangerous staying here like sitting ducks!" you yell back, over the noise of the airships and the crumbling temple.

      "She's right," Toph says.

      "Haru, take the others to safety through the tunnel," Aang said, "We'll fly to safety on Appa."

      Haru nodded and began to earth bend his way, with the others, through the air bending temple- he closed the tunnel behind him so that they couldn't be followed. Aang watched them go, and then turned back to the gang. They all began to climb onto Appa. Sokka looked behind him, when he realised you and Zuko weren't with the others on Appa. His eyes widened as he watched Zuko jump from the cliff towards the airships and towards his sister- also towards the huge fire balls!

     "What are you doing?" Sokka yelled to you.

     "I have to help him! Zuko needs my help! You lot go ahead- we'll catch up!" you reply, looking away from Sokka towards Zuko, "Besides you guys need a distraction!"

     Aang hesitated looking down at you, but you nodded. He nodded back then told Appa 'yip yip' and the bison began to fly through the collapsing rubble. You watched them fly upwards in an effort to avoid the blasts of fire Azula and her soldier were firing their way. You looked to the edge of the cliff and then to the airships, before taking a running start. Using blasts of fire from your hands, you launch yourself further into the air. Zuko's head turned when he heard the sound of your footsteps running along the crumbling ground. His eyes widened.

     He told you to stay behind!

     This wasn't part of his plan!

     What if you got hurt?

     His mind was racing a million miles an hour, but he tried to stay focused on Azula. He knew she'd use you against him; she was always very aware of his soft spot for you. Even as a child, he'd try and shield you from Azula. She quickly caught on, and from then on enjoyed teasing him about his precious Y/N, and then she'd go onto describe what she'd do to you if she ever caught you alone and unawares. From then on, his effort to keep you away from Azula (even as you grew older and more capable) became even more conscious. That hadn't changed. Even now. Even as you were risking your life for him and the gang. He still feared losing you- especially to his sister.

      "What are you doing here?!" Zuko yelled across the air ships.

      "What does it look like?!" you reply back, "I'm helping you dumbass! This is dangerous- I'm not letting you do it on your own!"

      Zuko tries not to freak out too much, but his attention is immediately drawn away by a large ball of fire heading his way. He dodges it narrowly and jumps to the next air ship. He quickly looks back to you- and luckily you're safe. You acknowledge him with a smile and then slide down the side of the air ship with a blade-like-flame, cutting down the side of the ship. The hull of the ship rips with a severe noise, and you can feel the ship start to spiral down. You use the side of the ship to boost yourself onto the next one.

      Between the two of you, you made quick work of the air ships. It was made ever more difficult, though, with the interference of Azula. She was a powerful bender, even at such a young age. And, with the top tier training she'd received in the heart of the fire nation, with the nation's greatest fire benders, it was no surprise that she was putting up quite a fight.

     "I don't think we can last much longer," you shouted over to Zuko, "We need to get out of here!"

     "Where's Aang?" Zuko agreed.

     "Up there," you pointed.

     "We're going to have to j-"

     Before Zuko could finish the word 'jump', you were both forced off the side of the air ship by another powerful ball of fire sent from Azula. In the process she was forced backwards. Luckily, when you were launched off of the ship, Aang was ready with Appa to catch you both. You landed with a thud on Appa's saddle, and looked back.

     "She's not going to make it," Zuko said quietly.

      Azula pulled out her hair pin, and dug it deep into the side of the cliff. Eventually she came to a halt, making eye contact with Zuko as she did.

     "Of course she did."

---

Things between you and Zuko had been different ever since you escape Azula. In fact, you suspected it started before that. Ever since he'd gone to the Boiling Rock with Sokka, something seemed different. Seemed off. You hadn't even had the chance to talk to him alone, yet. For you, it was only making the situation worse.

     You found yourself sitting alone on the beach. You'd eaten dinner with the others, and then excused yourself. Talk at dinner was lively, but you felt yourself shrink away from it. You hadn't seen Azula since you fled the fire nation; seeing her again was resurfacing old memories. Ones of her and you. Ones of you and Zuko. And, being at this house didn't help. Zuko and Azula used to come here all the time as kids. Sometimes Zuko would invite you. You had good memories here. However, now it felt so empty. You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

     Maybe that's why Zuko was being so strange; maybe he was going through what you were going through. Surely he wasn't having second thoughts about coming here? Or maybe it was just second thoughts about you?

     You were so wrapped up in your thoughts, you barely heard footsteps approaching you.

     "You didn't stay long at dinner," Zuko commented, sitting down beside you.

     You brought your knees up to your chest and sighed.

     "I didn't mean to leave you out there," you murmur, "I just didn't feel like I had much to say, that's all."

     "And, I thought being the moody one was my job," Zuko teases.

     You have a faint smile on your face.

     "You're not moody, you're angsty," you correct, "There's a difference."

     "There's a difference?"

     "Yeah, you're so much more dramatic than moody," you reply.

     Zuko shakes his head. You smile towards him, and he rolls his eyes playfully in response.

     "I'm just teasing," you promise.

    "I know," Zuko says calmly, and then he hesitates before speaking again, "Are you sure you're okay? We haven't talked just us-"

    "-I'm fine, Zuko. It's not... It's not anything serious. I'm just over reacting. I promise."

    Zuko is silent, and in that moment, you take it as a sign for you to continue. You've held it in for so long that you almost can't help to let all your emotions out.

    "It's just I... I feel like we haven't talked in a while. And seeing Azula today, it just brought up old memories. And, this place... I feel like it should be comforting, but its not. It just reminded me of what I don't have any more," you sigh, "I feel like something happened on the Boiling Rock. Something you're not telling me. Not that you have to tell me anything... I didn't want... I'm not trying... I... I don't know I feel like something has changed. Between us. You know what- just ignore me. Forgot what I said."

      You go to get up from where you're sitting, but Zuko puts his hand on yours and you stop.

      "I didn't mean to hide anything from you," Zuko sighed, "I didn't mean to make you feel like this."

      You looked down towards the waves lapping the sand.

      "I saw Mai. I saw Mai on Boiling Rock," Zuko confessed, "And... She saved me-us. She saved us by going against Azula. I've been feeling... Conflicted about it. I'm worried about her- and what Azula has done to her-"

      "-Oh."

       That's all you could say. Part of you felt heart broken because you had pressed so much- Zuko rarely talked about his feelings like this even to you. Part of you felt selfish for thinking the reason he was so distant was because of you. It was Mai. It had always been Mai and it was always be Mai.

     "I'm sure she's alright, Zuko. Her family's high standing will protect her," you say, placing a hand on his shoulder.

      You squeeze it lightly before standing up and walking back towards the house.

     "Wait," Zuko says, running up behind you.

     "I'm going to bed, Zuko," you murmur trying to walk quicker.

     "Y/N, wait, please, I'm not good with words... I don't-"

     "-Don't worry, Zuko. Mai is special. She's special to you," you smile up at him, "I'm happy you've found that."

     "No, that's not what I meant. Y/N, please. Mai is special, but so are you. She's not my special- you're... Ugh, I'm not good with words... I..." Zuko huffs, frustrated.

      You look up at him, confused, "I'm special?"

       "Yes," he nods, "You've always been special to me. More than anyone else. You always have been. I- When I was banished, you came with me; you've always been by my side. Even when I didn't deserve. Even when I didn't deserve you..."

       "Zuko... I..."

       "You don't have to feel the same, but I just want you to-"

       You lean up and press your hand against his cheek. He stops speaking but his lips part before he gently gulps. You look up at him for permission, and he nods. In this moment, he might just agree to anything you asked of him. But, for now, all you ask of him is a kiss. He gladly accepts. You gently place your lips on his, and he kisses back.

      "How long have you felt like this?" you ask him.

     "A life time."

      You smile: so dramatic you think. But, then again, you always did like a bit of dramatic flare in your life.

[ratonnhhaketon]

See The Fire In Your Eyes (Chapter 4)

Read on Ao3 | Previous | Next

Summary: Catherine Hays grew up in a picture-perfect, high society family in Virginia. She had her whole life planned out for her and was about to get married to a man she could not stand. When her brother uncovers a murder plot and has to pay with his own life, Catherine decides she can’t continue playing along. She takes control of her own destiny and goes south to a pretty little town called Blackwater.

Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical violence, Kidnapping

Chapter 4 - Misadventures In Mail Delivery

It had been about two weeks or so since the incident with the stagecoach, and Catherine had definitely been keeping busy around camp. Mrs. Grimshaw quickly put her to work with the laundry, dishes, and assisting Pearson with the stew preparation. Adjusting to the life of an outlaw was a slow and strange process, especially after never having to do regular chores prior her entire life, but it was starting to feel normal. She even picked up new skills and hobbies that she enjoyed, like sewing, despite how many times she pricked herself while Tilly taught her the basics.

Catherine awoke to a particularly chilly morning and quickly got dressed in an effort to block out the cold air. A simple long-sleeved maroon shirt and a pair of black jeans, that she actually preferred over skirts after wearing them so often, accompanied her riding boots. She ran a brush through her tangled hair, taking time to pay special attention to a stubborn knot in the back, before putting it in a simple plait.

As she exited her small tent she raised her arms up and stretched, groaning a bit when her lower back popped a bit. Like every morning, she made a beeline to the fire and grabbed a cup of coffee.

Hosea called her over to the table he was currently sat at. “Would you mind taking a ride into town to pick up the mail?”

She gave a quick nod at him before downing the rest of her coffee. “Of course! What do we need?”

“Mrs. Grimshaw ordered some clothes and there are probably some letters for Dutch and myself.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get a move on now.” They shared a smile before Hosea returned his attention to the book in his lap and Catherine headed back to her tent. She grabbed the dark blue jacket that was slung on top of her clothing trunk before walking over to where Arthur, John, and Lenny were standing and enjoying their coffee. “Morning fellas,” she said with a warm smile as she pulled the jacket on.

The group replied with their own nods and small ‘morning’s of acknowledgement before she spoke up again. “Well I’m heading into town to grab the mail, any of you need me to pick up somethin’ from the store?”

Arthur spoke up first. “A pack of cigarettes would be nice.”

~~~~~

She looked between the other two as they just shook their heads. “Can do, Mr. Morgan. I should be back in an hour or so.”

The ride into town went smoothly as always. Catherine passed only a few people on the road, as the sun was still just over the horizon, and stopped at the post office first. She collected everything they needed, a stack of letters addressed to the ringleaders of the gang and a package for Miss Grimshaw. She securely strapped the package to the back of her horse before slipping the letters into the saddlebags and walking to the general store.

Catherine made a quick lap around the store, picking up Arthur’s request as well as a can of peaches for herself and some candies for Jack. As she stood at the counter to pay she felt someone staring at her and quickly looked around the store before taking note of the man paying a little too much attention to the box of biscuits in his hand. She passed the clerk a few bills before gathering her things and returning to her horse.

As she was putting the things into the saddlebags, that same looming presence of someone watching made itself known once again. Catherine quickly slipped the cigarettes and chocolate bar into the inner pocket of her jacket before she mounted and spurred her horse into a gallop to get out of town as fast as possible. When she was barely half a mile out of town the sound of steady hooves following her seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. She spared them a quick glance over her shoulder before turning off of the road and into the thick forest of Tall Trees.

Her mare protested every time she was spurred on to keep up her pace, but the stead never once slowed down. Catherine ducked and weaved through low hanging branches, keeping a hand held out in front of her face to avoid any collisions.

The sound of hooves only faded for a moment as she ducked into the forest before reappearing almost twice as loud. A small “shit!” escaped her lips as the sound of hooves and the edge of Tall Trees grew closer.

Catherine failed to realize that she was nearing a small cliff and, before she could slow down, her horse slid down the slope uncontrollably. Her mare began to freak out, frantically trying to regain its footing on the loose dirt and rocks, and bucked her off in the process. She fell to the ground with a hard thud, pain in her chest and the air fully gone from her lungs.

Between ragged breaths as she lay on the ground, trying to regain her breathing, she noticed the sounds of hooves had stopped and steady footsteps crunching leaves began to approach her. She tried to reach for her pistol but one of the men shot a bullet next to her head, obviously missing on purpose.

“The boss is gonna be very happy about this,” the other man chucked. The last thing she saw was her mare sprinting off in the direction of camp before the butt of a rifle knocked her out cold.

~~~~~

“Hey, Lenny!” Arthur called to the man on guard duty as he walked towards his horse. “Has Miss Hays gotten back yet?”

He adjusted the rifle in his hand as he turned to look back at the man behind him. “No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Damn, I could use that pack of cigarettes she promised.” No sooner than the words left his mouth did the steady gallop of hooves start to approach the camp. The two men looked towards the sound expecting to see the woman they were just discussing, but were met with her dark brown mare barreling down the path. Arthur, wasting no time at all, instinctively put his hands up to slow the horse and grab the reins. He calmed her down enough that she stopped moving, though she was still shaking her head and huffing from the unfamiliar contact.

The two men shared a glance before Lenny spoke up. “Well,” he exhaled. “This ain’t good.”

~~~~~

The world was a haze around Catherine as she started to come to her senses. The room she was in was mostly dark, with a small stream of light peeking in from the torn curtain. She blinked a few times to get her eyes adjusted to the space around her. It was a small room, with a mattress pushed against the opposite corner of the room and a table covered in playing cards and empty cigarette cartons next to her.

Her mouth was dry and tasted like metal. Her vision was still blurry from the darkness, but she could still tell her eyes were very swollen. Despite her whole body screaming and protesting against her, she tried to move. Her muscles ached against the rope tied around her hands and legs.

She stopped struggling when a male voice spoke up outside. “How much longer do we have to be in this shithole?”

Another man replied, “Another day or two, probably. Just waiting on Calvin to send word for us to send her back.”

She felt her stomach churn. Of course he was behind this.

The door to the cabin swung open and she could vaguely make out the shape of a man walking towards her. “Look who’s awake, boys!” As he walked closer she recognized the figure to be the man that shot at her earlier.

“I’d rather die than go back to that rat,” she spat, struggling against the ropes.

The man laughed and crouched down next to her. “As much as I would love to make that happen,” he said with a smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Foster specifically requested you be returned alive so he could decide exactly what to do with you.” He lifted up a hand to her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. God , she wanted to throw up. Or punch him in the face. “Pity though, that he gets to have all the fun with you. I bet you’d make a very-”

Before he could continue she moved her face to the right towards his hand and bit down hand, directly at the base of his thumb. He yanked his hand back and grabbed it, making sure that he wasn’t bleeding. Catherine looked at him with fire in her eyes and he returned the gaze with pure anger. “You bitch!!” he yelled, using his opposite hand to slap her across the face. Her head went back and hit off the hardwood of the wall behind her, a yelp of pain escaping her lips. The world started to spin around her and her vision started to get hazy. She vaguely heard the man spew some string of curse words at her before she blacked out.

~~~~~

The second time she woke was to gunfire outside of the small cabin. The men that captured her were not only yelling a lot between each other, but she had a feeling that they were losing the fight as well.

“Check inside, we’ll keep watch out here,” a distant voice said. It sounded hazy and muffled as it broke through the ringing of her ears.

The door to the house opened and she tightly shut her eyes from the heavy moonlight. After a moment she opened them to see a figure approaching her, to which she instinctively curled her bruised body further into a ball. Her figure shook violently from fear and the cold air surrounding her.

“Hey, s’okay. I ain’t gon’ hurt ya.” the figure spoke up in a soft tone. The voice was deep and gravelly but also gentle. One that felt familiar and safe.

She looked up with tears in her half-lidded eyes and said, “Arthur?” Her voice was weak and sounded almost like a wheeze.

“Shhh, it’s alright. We’re gon’ getcha outta here.” He carefully cut the ropes on her arms and hands. “Can ya walk?” When Catherine slowly shook her head Arthur bent down to slide his arms under her legs and behind her back. He hoisted her body up- to which she let out a loud cry of pain- and walked back out of the small cabin, careful to not hit her against the doorframe. She rested her head against his chest as they walked to try and stop the world from spinning around her.

For the first time in what was probably days she felt safe.

“Take her back to camp,” another voice spoke up. “We’ll stay back for a bit and make sure no one is left.” Arthur sat her on the front of his horse’s saddle and carefully got in behind her to assure she wouldn’t fall during the ride.

As they rode off back towards camp Catherine kept her head propped up against Arthur’s chest with her eyes closed, desperately trying to ignore the aching pain her body felt as the horse galloped. Her right hand clutched the front of his shirt, her legs dangling over the side of the horse, and a few stray tears leaked out of her eyes.

“Well be back soon, just stay with me.” She felt his chest rumble against her head as he spoke and groaned out in pain, to which he instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I know it hurts but we’ll be back soon.”

She started to feel lightheaded and groggy. Using the last of her strength, Catherine opened her puffy eyes and looked up at Arthur. “Wasn’t.. O’Driscolls,” she murmured, voice nearly giving out at the end.

The last thing she heard was Arthur’s confused “What?” before her field of view was swallowed into blackness and she slipped out of consciousness again.

~~~~~

Catherine didn’t remember much of what happened after that. She remembered a lot of yelling, people rushing around, and what she thinks was Arthur and Lenny talking. When she was finally fully conscious she woke up to a very dry mouth and almost every part of her body in pain. She looked at her surroundings and realized she was back at camp, in her tent, with Hosea reading a book beside her cot. Upon noticing her awake he smiled and shut the book, and reaching for a cup of water he had resting on the crate next to her.

“Good to see you awake, Catherine.” He helped her lean up and drink, reminding her to go slow and breathe so she didn’t choke. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

Before she could reply the flap to her tent was opened and Arthur’s familiar hat peaked in. “Glad to see you’re up.”

She felt the corner of her mouth turn up in a light smile at his voice. Hosea waved Arthur in and stood before saying, “I’ll let you catch her up on everything, but make sure she eats something and gets a lot of rest.” He gave Arthur a pat on the arm before leaving and closing the tent’s canvas.

“How..” she started, struggling to speak as her throat was still sore and voice was almost gone. “How long was I out?”

Arthur sat down in the chair next to her and leaned back. “A few days. You’ve been in and out a couple times, but never as aware as ya’ are now. Hell, Reverend was considerin’ reading you yer last rights last time you were conscious.” They shared a chuckle at the thought before Arthur continued. “Took a hell of a beating back there but at least Miss Grimshaw will go easy on you for a while.”

Arthur looked at her for a second and took in her features. “Do you have any idea who those men were? ‘Cause you said they ain’t O’Driscolls when we were coming back to camp.”

She let out a sigh. “Yeah, I do.” Her gaze shifted from him to the canvas covering the top of the tent. “Calvin sent them. The man I was supposed to marry.”

He looked down at his feet and nodded, before looking back up at her a moment later. “I’m guessing he’s not too happy you left your old life?”

Catherine’s eyes returned to the man next to her. “Not at all.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at her hands, her thumbs fidgeting together in her lap. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I didn’t want to get you all wrapped into more problems than you already have.”

Arthur leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Catherine,” he said with a sincere tone, “You’re a part of this gang now, which makes you family. And as a family one person’s problems become a concern for all of us. If this son of a bitch shows his face again we’ll take care of it.”

She smiled at the sincerity of his words, tears threatening her eyes. The two sat in silence for a moment, enjoying each other’s company before a thought popped into her head. “Oh!” she said suddenly. “Is my horse alright?”

Arthur chuckled at her concern. “She’s perfectly fine. An hour or two after you left she showed back up at camp without you, so me and Lenny figured you were in trouble. Real smart girl you got there, seeing as she was able to bring herself all the way back to camp on her own.”

Catherine smiled at the good news. “Thank god she’s alright.” Her eyes drifted to the trunk on the floor next to Arthur’s chair and she spotted her jacket laying on top of it. “Arthur, could you grab my jacket for me?” She gestured with her right hand to where it lay and he picked it up before gently laying it on the bed next to her. “Before I forget,” she said with a smirk as she reached into the pocket on the inner lining. “You might be wanting these.” She handed over the, now slightly squashed, pack of cigarettes to him.

He laughed as he accepted the gift, having nearly forgotten that he even asked for them. “Thank you very much, Miss Hays.”

“Consider it payment for rescuing me from my captors.”

[celtics534]

Power (Covert Love Chapter 10)

Here we go! Hope y’all ready for some drama 😉. This chapter’s title comes from the song Power by Bastille 

Also Read on: FF.net or AO3

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“Fuck, Potter, you weren’t messing around!” Holt cheered as the team walked back into the locker room after their victory flight. 

 Harry shrugged, his cheeks turning pink. Ginny knew better than most how awkward compliments made Harry. She herself loved to be the one who caused that cute blush. “It was luck.”

 “Luck?!” Joy snorted at Harry’s claim. “I’ve never heard of luck that involved a fifteen-meter dive and nearly knocking the opposing seeker off their broom. No, that was all skill.”

 “Not to mention it was in the first fifteen minutes of the match.” Ariel nodded approvingly at Harry. “Incredible.”

 “And let’s not forget about the queen herself.” Joy winked Ginny. “Seventy points in fifteen minutes. Should we start bowing now or wait until later?”

 Ginny laughed. It wasn’t the first time Dan had called her queen. At first, it had been his way of flirting with her, but after denying his advances enough times the context had become nothing more than friendly. “A curtsy whenever I enter a room will suffice.”

 The energy in the room was higher than Ginny had ever experienced. It seemed winning in two hundred and fifty to ten really energized a group. 

 “So we’re still down for that fire tonight, right, Canon?” Joy asked as he pulled off his jersey, throwing it into the team laundry collection.

 Prue clapped her hands together. “Oui! I have everything all set.”

 “All we really need is a high fire and some decent spirits,” Holt came about to slap Harry on the back. “You down for a little drink game, Potter?”

“Errrr…” Harry glanced over at Ginny. She could see the worry in his eyes. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going through his head. If he got drunk, then he wouldn’t be at top form, which would be a real problem for his protection duty. 

 Protection duty. Ginny still couldn’t believe that Harry had been assigned to guard her. All because her brother had gone to his old buddy, who happened to currently head the Irish Auror department. Not to mention that they suspected that her crazed stalker could be someone within the Bat’s organization. Ginny just couldn’t imagine any of her teammates or staff being that… deranged.  

 That night everything had been… revealed, she and Harry’d had a long discussion. Now that Ginny knew about Harry’s assignment, he was able to bring her up to date with all the intel he had. Well, technically he wasn’t supposed to, which he’d informed her after his recap. If Harry had gone by the books, he should have called an Obliviation squad to alter her memory so she’d have no idea about his actual profession. By not calling the squad he was going rogue, which in turn meant he’d face drastic disciplinary action if his superiors found out about his disregard for the basic undercover rule.  

 She’d had to ask if he was okay with risking the career he’d worked for his entire adult life. It was easier than asking what she was truly wondering: if he'd grow to resent her if something happened. Ginny knew no relationship should hold resentment, and rancor of that caliber would crush both of them in the end. 

 But he’d simply smiled and reached across the small gap between them. He’d pulled her into his side, holding her as if nothing else in the world mattered. The kiss he placed on top of her head seemed to spread down her entire body. “It would one hundred percent be worth it.” 

 Now four days later, just the memory of the affection in his tone expanded a ball of warmth throughout her gut. Well, that and flashback to his demonstration of how he'd spend his days if he didn't have to work anymore.  

 "So, Weasley," Ariel's voice drew Ginny out of her lovely reminiscence. She could feel the heat on her cheeks but hoped it wasn't bad enough for McKidd to notice. "You up for a little drinking competition tonight?”

 “What kind of competition?” Ginny asked warily. McKidd was infamous for contests that would result in everyone involved waking with no recollection of the night before. Typically Ginny was game for such activities, but tonight she’s planned a personal celebration for herself and Harry that she wanted to remember. 

 “Oh, nothing too extreme.” The smile curling Ariel’s lips told Ginny that it was going to be extreme. “Just a gauntlet.”

 Joy and Holt whooped as Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?” The last time they’d done a gauntlet… well, Ginny hadn’t been able to smell Gillyweed since without feeling sick. “Why?!”

 “Why not!” McKidd laughed like a child opening a present at Christmas. “Last time was fun.”

 “We ended up in muggle prison!”

 Ariel waved off Ginny’s rebuttal “Only for a few hours. Besides, we made friends, didn’t we.”

 Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, good Ol’ Mad Dog and Karl.” 

 “Exactly! I still sometimes visit Mad Dog. For a muggle, he’s a wizard at chess.” Ariel winked.

 Ginny was afraid she was rolling her eyes so much that they might get stuck. “Yes because being good at chess makes up for him stealing that, what was it, a kool bus.”

 It was Ariel's turn to roll her eyes. “He said he’d return it but they didn’t let him. But that’s not what we’re talking about here.” She pointed a challenging finger at Ginny “Are you changing the subject because you’re scared, Weasley?”

 Ginny knew she had been caught. She couldn’t turn down a direct challenge like that, not just because every eye in the locker room was on her, but because her Weasley pride wouldn’t allow it. Taking a deep breath, Ginny forced a confident smile. "Not for me. I was simply trying to save you, but if you want to take on the reigning champ I won't stop you." 

 "Damn, Weasley." Joy let out a long, slow whistle. "Them be fightin' words." 

 "And you never fight with an Irish woman and expect to win." McKidd grinned at her as she grabbed a fresh towel from the stand. "Start drinking water now, you're gonna need it." She walked out of the room, her towel swung over her shoulder. 

 Prue smiled at Ginny. "As long as no one vomits in my lilies -" 

 "Hey!" Ginny interrupted. "That was one time!"

 "We will have a good night.” Prue was a few inches taller than Ginny, so she had to lean down to kiss both cheeks. “See you tonight.” Then she was gone from the room. 

 Ginny looked around, most of the team had left too (to most likely shower or grab something to eat). The only remaining people were Joy, herself, and Harry. She walked over to where Harry and Joy talked animatedly.   

 "How do you know so much about the law, Potter?" Joy was asking. 

 Harry's lips curled into an amused smirk. "I just like to know my rights.” 

 “Don’t we all,” Joy laughed. He turned to Ginny once she reached them. “So, Weasley, completing in another gauntlet, huh? You sure you’re up for it? I haven’t seen you at any celebrations recently.” His smirk became too knowing for Ginny’s liking. “It’s like you’ve had something, or maybe someone, better to do.” The way his eyes flickered back and forth between Harry and Ginny. It was as if her heart dropped into her stomach.

 “How did you find out?” she asked, impressed with her ability to keep her voice level while the rest of her felt like she was hanging off the edge of a cliff. Had they been too obvious? Did the others know? What about her stalker? Was Harry now in danger --

 Joy’s laugh cut off her rapid thoughts. “I saw you two snogging outside of the showers after practice a while back.” 

 Ginny’s imagination instantly took her back to that day. Harry had just gotten out from under the spray, a towel loosely tied at his hips. Water had still glistened off him and he had just looked so… good. She hadn’t been able to resist running her hands up into his still-damp hair and kissing him. She’d thought her quick observation of the room had been enough to notice anyone, but apparently her eyes really had only been for Harry if Joy had been able to see them. 

 She looked over at Harry. He was biting his lower lip and she knew his mind was playing out the numerous complications this presented. If Joy said something to the wrong person… 

 Ginny turned back to Dan, hoping she’d twisted her lips into a convincing sheepish smile. “Dan, I mean what do you expect me to say?”

 Joy shrugged, his grin still wide. “I mean I wouldn’t object to some details.” He winked. 

 Preventing her eyes from rolling took more resolve than Ginny thought she had at the moment, but somehow she managed. “How about no.”

 “Can’t blame a bloke for trying.” Joy laughed. “So, how long has it been going on? I mean, I always sensed something between you two, but you seemed rather comfortable from where I had been standing.”

 “A few months now,” Harry spoke for the first time since Joy’s obvious implication. He was paler than usual, but his gaze was focused and alert, as he stared at his friend. The way Harry seemed to be evaluating every part of Joy with just his eyes was intense… and hot. Did they teach him that at the academy? “Joy, would you mind keeping this between us? Ginny and I are - we don’t want any hassle from the rest of the team.”

 Dan blinked once, twice, a third time before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 That was one thing Ginny had always loved about Joy. Though he could be a bit of a sadist when it came to his jokes, he always seemed to know when to pull back and be serious. Apparently the look in Harry’s eyes showed the severity of his request.  

 “Thank you, Dan.” Harry’s shoulders sagging relief. “We really appreciate that. I know it sounds weird --”

 Joy waved a hand, his usual bright smile in place. “Nah, I get it. If everyone knew… well, the teasing would be relentless.”

 “Yeah, exactly.” Ginny gratefully agreed with the half-truth. There was so much more to their secrecy than just a bit of pestering, but Dan didn’t need to know that. She pulled Joy into a hug. “You’re the best.”

 “And here I thought I was the only one you said that too.” 

 Ginny flinched as she recognized the new voice. She pulled away from Joy, holding back a growl. “Dr. Hogan.” 

 Finn was beaming as he approached them. He seemed to be taking in the group, his eyes flicking between the three of them “No need for such formalities, I mean we all know each other on a personal level.” When his attention landed on Ginny, his scrutiny became more like a leer. “Some better than others.”

 Ginny’s fists clenched. She had to remind herself that hitting a member of staff was completely frowned upon, no matter how much of a prat they were. However, there was no rule about sounding happy to see them. Making sure to keep her expression neutral, Ginny let her disdain out in her tone. “What can we help you with?”

 Finn's smile never wavered, but Ginny noticed the flash of annoyance in his eyes. Good! “I was coming over to congratulate you all on a superb win. And I wanted to check over your shoulder, Ginny. I noticed you were holding it rather stiffly after that fifth goal. It won’t take more than a minute.” 

 Oh, he was good! It was such a legitimate excuse to talk to her… hell, it even was a reason for the two of them to be alone, which Ginny had been trying to avoid as much as possible. If she refused it would make her out to be a problem. 

 To be fair she had felt a little stiff, but she had just intended on taking a hot shower and asking Harry for one of his splendid massages, which tended to help her entire body relax. Gritting her teeth, Ginny took in a deep breath before giving Finn a fake smile. “Sure, I can spare a minute.”

 Joy clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m not needed here anymore.” He took a step towards the door before pausing. “Oh, hey, Doc?”

 Finn tore his eyes off Ginny for the first time since they landed on her. “Yeah?”

 Ginny ignored Dan and Finn’s conversation to focus on Harry. His expression was blank, but Ginny knew that he was feeling more than he could share. Harry wasn’t the kind of bloke who wore his heart on his sleeve for anyone to see. He left very few people in, and Ginny was grateful every day that she was one of the selected. Because she had been granted an insider’s view, Ginny had learned that when looked uncaring and detached (like now), there was so much happening in his head. 

 But right at that moment, Ginny could sense his… ire more than see it. She had to assume it was all directed at Finn. She’d shared her history with Harry before they’d even started dating. He had been outraged on her behalf, claiming he would have held the guy’s arms while she hit him. At the time, he had made Ginny smile. Harry somehow always found a way to make her smile.

 It took a few moments, but eventually Harry seemed to feel her stare. When he finally looked at her, she raised a brow, silently asking what he planned on doing. Harry wrinkled his nose, clearly knowing there wasn’t anything he could do and not liking it one bit. 

 “Ginny?” Finn’s voice pulled her attention away from Harry. 

 “Hmm? Oh, yeah.” She gave a curt nod. “A quick check-up isn’t a bad idea.” 

 “Great!” That bright, lewd smile fell back into place as Finn gestured towards the staff rooms. “My office awaits.” 

 As Ginny started to head in the direction Finn had pointed, an idea struck her. She stopped and turned to look at Harry, who was glaring daggers into Finn’s back. “Hey, Harry. Would you mind grabbing my bag out of my locker and bringing it to the exam room? I have an appointment I can’t be late for and it would be so much easier if I just leave from there.”

 “I don’t know --” Finn started, a frown forming on his face, but Harry cut him off. 

 “It will be my pleasure. I’ll be there in five minutes.” Harry grinned crookedly at Finn, clearly gloating at the other man’s irritation. “Always ready to help.”

 “Perfect.” Ginny beamed at Harry. “See you then.” She turned and started down the corridor, not bothering to check and see if Finn was following. When she reached the exam room, which was combined with Finn’s office, Ginny stopped. 

 Finn had apparently been hot on her heels, seeing as how he was instantly at the door, tapping his wand and opening it wide. He held the door, stepping aside so Ginny could enter. 

 Ginny hadn’t been in the medical room since Atlas had left. In Finn’s short time of being the team’s primary, he’d made the room his own. Gone were Atlas’ posters of calming meadows and streams. Finn had hung portraits of, what Ginny had to assume were, medical professionals.

 “Have a seat.” Finn pointed towards the bed that sat in the corner of the room.

 Ginny shook her head. “I think I’ll stand, thanks. My legs feel fine.” 

 “Why are you --” Finn cut himself off. His chest rose and fell with the deep breaths he took. After a few seconds, he held up his hands in surrender. “All right then. Well, will you at least take off your robe and shirt so I can see at your shoulder?”

 The day Finn had come back into her life, she and Harry had gone back to her place. Harry had instantly pulled her into his arms. He’d run a hand up and down her back, reminding her of his offer. That had pulled her out of her melancholy mood. She’d kissed him for his valiant offer but told him it wasn’t necessary. Harry had kissed the top of her head. They’d stayed like that for a few seconds before Harry told her he was going to do a background check on Finn. She’d pulled back to give him a knowing look, figuring Harry was dealing with a little green-eyed monster, but he had shot that thought down. “It’s weird that he just shows up after you’ve received threats. Who knows, maybe he doesn’t want you but doesn’t think anyone else should have you.”

 For some reason, that moment replayed in her mind as she took off her robe. Harry had told her his dig into Finn’s file hadn’t wielded any devious inclinations, but she still had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she slowly removed the long-sleeved jersey she wore. 

 Finn smiled at her, which she was sure was supposed to be comforting, but all it did was make her want to leave even sooner. She could remember him giving her that smile as they’d walked down the coast, watching the sunset over the English Channel. That had been the day she’d told him she loved him. The day he’d said it back. The day she’d agreed to give herself to him in every way possible. Then two weeks later he dumped her. She hated that smile… that damn smile.

 He moved around her body so he stood behind her. “Can you roll your shoulder for me?”

 Ginny took a deep breath before following his commands. After rolling, she needed to stretch out her arms wide. She could feel his warm fingers sliding along her skin, brushing the strap of the vest she’d worn under her kit. 

 “Now can you reach up high?” Finn asked. “Good.” Again his fingers pushed into her shoulder. “So, Ginny, I’ve been wanting to talk.” 

 “There isn’t anything --” Ginny tried to cut him off, but Finn overrode her.

 “Yes, there is. I need to apologize and you wouldn’t let me do it before.” She looked over her shoulder at his face. He had a self-deprecating look in his eyes. “I treated you like shit.”

 Ginny turned around so she could see all of him. His hand had gone to rub the back of his neck. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I was a scared seventeen-year-old who didn’t know what I really wanted in life. When you started getting --” He waved his hands in an uncommitted gesture. “I panicked and said things that weren’t true. Then even worse, I ran. I know I hurt you and I just wanted - no needed -- for you to know I’m sorry.”

 She hadn’t thought she would ever hear this come out of Finn’s mouth, and Ginny had reached peace with that. But now… It took a few moments to close her mouth, which had gone wide during his explanation. “I --” Now it was her turn to clear her throat. “Thank you for saying all that.” 

 “I mean it.” Finn pressed, his expression imploring. “I hate that I hurt you.” 

 And Ginny believed him. When she looked into his eyes, she saw only the truth staring back at her. She nodded, not knowing what to say. 

 They remained silent for a few seconds before Finn let out a long breath. “Thank you, Ginny.” He pointed at her shoulder. “Should be fine, but you should ice it tonight.”

 “Okay.” Ginny still had no idea what she should say. Instead of speaking, she grabbed her robe and pulled it back on, forgoing the dirty jersey that lay beside it.

 “Now that we’ve got that settled, I know you have plans tonight, but I was wondering if you were free for dinner sometime this week.” Finn’s smile became suggestive. 

 And just like that Ginny’s warm feeling toward this man left. “Really?” 

 He shrugged that smile widening. “I’m older and wiser than I was all those years ago. And wiser me knows I couldn’t do better than you. I was hoping after I admitted my faults that you might give me a second chance.” 

 Was it appropriate for her to tell him she’d rather date a one-eyed troll?  

 “I don’t think so, Finn.” 

 “Why not?” Finn moved in closer. Ginny could now smell his cologne (a simple fresh fragrance that was nothing compared to Harry’s natural scent). “We had some good times, back before everything happened.”  

 Ginny’s hands clenched into fists, ready to hit him if he tried anything. “Because I don’t have a self-loathing kink to try and satisfy.” 

 Finn leered down at her. “It’s not a bad thing to get back with someone who made a mistake. I can make you happy, Ginny.”

 Ginny took a step back, trying to get some space between them. “I’m not interested, Finn. Actually, I’m seeing someone.”

 The snort Finn let out held no laughter. “So dump him.” He moved to close the gap between them again, but Ginny placed a hand out to stop him. “There is no way he can make you feel the way I used to make you feel. We used to be so free.”

 That was enough! She was about to tell Finn off, calling him every name in the book, when a knock on the door echoed around the room before Finn could respond. Harry came in without being granted access, her pack slung over his shoulder. He looked between the two of them, his body tensing. “Everything okay here?”

 Finn stepped back quickly, that leering look being replaced by a friendly smile. “We’re perfect. Just discussing some possibilities.”

 Ginny scooped her jersey from the floor and left the room, grabbing Harry’s hand as she left. She was going to go report Finn Hogan to Coach Kennedy and then got the fuck out of here. As she walked through the doorway Finn shouted words that wouldn’t connect to her mind until much later that night. “I look forward to seeing you at the party tonight.”

 Harry stopped her when they were a good distance from the exam room. He grabbed her shoulders lightly, looking her in the eye. “What happened?”

 “I learned Finn’s still a prick, that’s what happened.” Ginny took a deep breath as Harry just continued to stare at her. She started to explain everything. When she finished Harry's expression was so murderous Ginny thought he might be able to kill with just one look.  

 “I’m going to go --” Harry started, his voice low, but Ginny cut him off.

 “You are going to go with me and complain to Coach Kennedy and then we are going back to your place.”

 Harry blinked at her in confusion “Back to my place?”

 “Yeah, back to yours where we are going to work off this anger in a carnal fashion.” She knew she must sound mental, but she knew what she needed at that moment was him. She needed Harry. “Any problem with that, Potter?”

 “I --” Harry opened and closed his mouth twice in rapid succession before shaking his head. “Whatever you need.”

 Ginny went up on his toes and kissed him hard. “Good answer.” She murmured against his mouth. Then she lowered herself back onto her heels and started walking at a fast pace. “Now let’s move, because I have many plans for you before we have to go to that party tonight.”

[rwby-grimm-guardians]

RWBY Grimm Guardians Arc 4: Re-Bonding In Mistral Special I

Welcome back to Re-Bonding In Mistral! So, while we wait for chapter 5, here’s a special (first of a few) that will explain what Ruby and Yang are dealing with currently. This takes place during chapter 4 in the middle of the night.

Yes, it’s another nightmare segment. Featuring a NEW form of Cinder attacking Ruby. Yang will also explain her PTSD with the fight with Adam, so because of that, you are free to skip this chapter entirely.

This will also delve into what Ruby and Yang think about the events that happened in the canon Vol 3.

Note that the canon here will be treated as their nightmares or them having visions. It can be seen as EITHER.

As usual, please give constructive criticism and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still own nothing. Though I do own Cinder’s unique design used here.

Link to that right here: https://roosterteeth.com/g/post/35478f52-5a58-4ee7-ac67-68267f79697e

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HORROR SECTION AGAIN. YOU KNOW THE RULES.

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-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-

(???)

Ruby opened her eyes and looked around. Wherever she was, it was dark in all directions, the only light coming from her cloak. All she knew was that she was on an unfamiliar cliff-edge with a forest behind her. All under a moonless, starless sky.

Much to her relief, she also had her scythe on her... She slowly stood up, clutching her cloak around her as a cold wind wiped past her. The frigid temperatures made the teenager’s teeth chatter and her whole body shake as she put up her hood.

“Where...am I…?” The red cloaked teenager asked, before noticing...embers. She then felt heat in front of her from beyond the cliff, before a thunderous quake shook the earth beneath her and a volcanic explosion erupted from the abyss. Flames rose forth violently, some reaching a height that rivaled that of the Beacon Tower. Ruby sat down in shock, eyes wide as she witnessed the destruction in front of her.

She then turned and noticed the forest behind her was ENGULFED in flames.

Though that wasn’t the worst of it.

The red cloaked teenager then noticed a feminine figure, with a Grimm-like left eye, arm, and wing, along with a Grimm-like right leg, donning a red and gold dress. She swore the eye was radiating with FIRE. The teenager then saw an all familiar twisted and sadistic grin on the figure’s face, immediately realizing who the figure was. Someone she thought was either killed at Beacon...or arrested.

“CINDER!?” Ruby shouted, her jaw dropping in shock. “HOW!?”

The Fall Maiden grinned, letting out a sinister chuckle, “I think you saw her before...in a nightmare.” The red cloaked teenager raised an eyebrow, before her eyes went wide again, “Salem…” “Bingo….” Cinder smirked. “So you ARE not just some weapon crazed brat who got LUCKY.” The woman then fired a ball of flame from her mouth at the teenager, who only managed to dodge it thanks to her semblance.

“Quit running, runt…” The dressed woman chuckled, stopping the teenager in her tracks as the Maiden fired a beam of heat from her eye in front of Ruby. The teenager screeched to a halt, before deciding she’d have to fight her way out. She pulled out her scythe, before charging at the woman, only for the scythe to be caught by Cinder bare-handedly. Ruby’s eyes widened as she froze, both in shock and horror.

She was then kicked back, letting her weapon go from being caught off guard. After skidding to a halt on her back, the teenager slowly sat up as pain throbbed through her ribs. She then watched as Cinder tightened her hold on the scythe’s blade, crushing and shattering it entirely. “To think I actually FEARED you after Beacon…” The woman said, before grinning. “I must thank Salem for helping me CRUSH that fear!”

The teenager attempted to stand, only to be instantly lifted by her shirt’s collar by Cinder. Ruby could feel the heat radiating from the Fall Maiden. The woman’s hands, mouth, eyes, nose, torso, legs. It was as if Cinder had become a being of pure fire and volcanic energy. The teenager could also feel her heartbeat speeding up in panic. Fear began to take over as the teenager struggled weakly in Cinder’s grasp.

She then looked behind the Fall Maiden, before her eyes widened in horror, causing her struggling to cease.

Behind Cinder were the LIFELESS, BLOODIED, and BURNED bodies...of Yang, Weiss, Blake, Jaune, Pyrrha, Nora, Ren, Oscar, Taiyang, Qrow, Raven, Zwei…

And even Summer.

All hope DRAINED from the teenager, before slowly facing her captor. The Fall Maiden grinned wickedly, “You actually THINK you can SAVE them…” The woman chuckled as tears ran down Ruby’s face. Cinder sighed, “Don’t look so sad. You’ll be joining them soon.” “Think of it as me doing you favor.” The woman sadistically smiled, before summoning a burning scimitar from her magic.

“Relax.” She grinned. “It’ll be over in an INSTANT.” Cinder then shoved the absurdly hot blade into Ruby’s abdomen, causing the teenager to scream in pain...

-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-

(2:54 AM)

(In the Xiao-Long-Rose Family Home…)

Ruby bolted up with a scream, cold sweat dripping down her face, before she tried to catch her breath. She slowly noticed it was just a freakishly lucid nightmare. She was safe...and in her shared bedroom with Yang. Her roommate’s eyes fluttered open, before groaning. “Ruby? You alright?” Yang asked tiredly. It took a few moments, but the silver eyed teenager nodded slowly, “Y-Yeah… I thi-” She froze as she felt bile in the back of her throat, before bolting to the bathroom.

The blonde teenager immediately went after her in concern, entering the bathroom and holding her younger sister’s hair back as the younger of the two retched into the toilet. After emptying her stomach’s contents, Ruby continued to take deep breaths as Yang helped her wash her face and mouth out. “Sorry…” The silver eyed teenager whispered, her throat and neck sore. Yang gave a reassuring smile, “It’s okay… Do you want to talk about it somewhere privately?”

Ruby stayed silent for a few moments, before suggesting, “Backyard patio?” Her sister nodded, helping the young leader to her feet and quietly heading to the back of the house and outside. The two then sat on the steps, listening to the sounds of nature and looking up at the cloudless sky and the sea of stars. The younger of the two leaned against her big sister and sighed, “So, you remember Cinder?” The blonde raised an eyebrow, “You mean that bitch that tried to get us all killed at Beacon?”

The younger teenager nodded, “Yeah. The same one that tried to kill Pyrrha too.” “She...appeared in the nightmare…” She explained. “She...looked different. Like she wasn’t human anymore.” “Like that Vampier chick?” Yang asked.

Ruby nodded, before shrugging, “Maybe…? Cinder had...a Grimm arm and leg, as well as a wing. She...” The young leader paused, taking deep breaths again, before saying, “She looked like she came out of the pits of Hell.”

“Gods…” The older of the sisters whispered. Ruby nodded, “Yeah…”

The two of them sat in silence, taking in what Ruby had just said. Yang then sighed, “The...one who did this to Blake and I...has been appearing in my nightmares…” The silver eyed teenager grabbed the blonde’s left hand tightly as the blonde continued, “He...would goot me into attacking him… Either by….” “Killing Blake, you, and Weiss…” She explained with hesitation, her own grip on Ruby’s hand tightening. “Or simply threatening you all…”

The younger of the two tightly hugged her sister, before saying, “We need to tell Mom… Maybe…” “Maybe there’s a way we can stop or control our nightmares...or better, stop the ones who attacked us…” She explained. The blonde gave a small nod, returning the hug, “I can work with that…” The two sat like that for almost a minute, before Ruby pulled away and sighed, “I’ve been feeling...so angry with myself lately.”

“Same.” Yang nodded. “Been having dreams of...what could’ve happened differently.” The silver eyed teenager nodded in agreement, before asking, “You wanna go first?” The blonde nodded, before sighing, “So, you know my depression is still lingering, right?” Ruby nodded, raising an eyebrow, “Was it...worse in the dream?” “Oh yeah…” The blonde nodded, giving a halfhearted chuckle.

“It was...bad enough to the point where I...didn’t care about where Blake went…” She said. “I...don’t think she told us where she was going… I even pushed you away instead of asking you for help...” The young leader looked shocked, but for a completely different reason as she said, “Then we’ve...experienced a dream that had us do something that we’d...never do…”

When the blonde raised an eyebrow, Ruby explained, “You know how I left for Mistral with Mom and Uncle Qrow?” “Well, instead of telling any of you, I….left a half-assed note and left in secret.” She said. “I sent letters, but…” The younger teenager sighed, rubbing her eyes, “I...can’t believe that I...would NEVER tell any of you what I was doing…”

“I can’t believe I wouldn’t let any of you help me…” Yang said. “Or what Stepmom said about Mom was true.” The younger teenager raised an eyebrow, “You had a dream about that too?” The blonde nodded with a groan, “Yeah… And it was...pretty bad…” “The conversation went...as terrible as one would assume.” She explained. “Probably ruined whatever chance I had at reconnecting with Mom…”

The two sat in silence, not daring to bring up where Summer was in their dreams. They could only assume that in the dreams, the former STRQ leader...STAYED dead.

“Do you think we should get back to sleep?” Ruby asked, yawning. Yang shrugged, “Only if you think you’ll be able to.” A few more moments of silence passed, before the younger of the two sighed, “Not sure if I can… But I’ll try.” The blonde nodded, helping her sister up to her feet and back inside. Ruby quickly got a drink of water, while Yang got out a note for their dad.

After putting the note in their shared bedroom, the blonde got out a two-person sleeping bag, before placing it on the patio by the door. The younger teenager returned, yawning once more as she and her older sister got in the bag. “Thanks, Yang.” Ruby whispered with a tired smile. Yang chuckled and kissed her sister’s forehead, “You too, little sister. Wake me if you need anything.”

The silver eyed teenager nodded, huddling up next to the blonde, “Same with you. Good night, sis.” “Night, Ruby.” The older of the two smiled, before the two sisters fell asleep. This time, peacefully.

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

And that’s it for the first special! I hope you liked the new form I gave Cinder here, as well as her powers.

You can be certain that the form will be made real in the AU in the future.

So, yeah. The nightmare in Arc 3 Side Red III WAS done by Salem. I should’ve mentioned that before, but I’m doing it now.

Now, we TRULY move on to chapter 5 and the second half of Vol 5.

[starker-stories]

Icarus

Created for @mcukinkbingo​​ Also on AO3 Square Filled: Shibari Ship: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker Rating: E Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 1521 Additional Tags: Shibari, Bondage, Rope Bondage, Japanese Rope Bondage, College Age Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, They're in the Malibu house because I like it  Summary: Beyond the quiet music, there was nothing but their breaths, the soft pad of Tony’s feet as he circled Peter’s body, and the sound of the ropes. ——————————————————

It was hypnotic, the repeated soft sound that the ropes made sliding against each other.

It was engrossing, the way Tony’s fingers twisted and wrapped the cords around him.

There was soft music playing in the background. Nothing distinctively a song or even recognizable as a purposeful composition. Tony told him that it actually was a purposeful composition. “As ignorable as it is interesting,” he said, as the composer had intended it. It was ambient, soothing, melodic tones.

Beyond the quiet music, there was nothing but their breaths, the soft pad of Tony’s feet as he circled Peter’s body, and the sound of the ropes.

Tony doesn’t tell Peter how to move. The silence is maintained. He guides him into his next position. His hands hold there, long enough for Peter to know that he’s supposed to stay that way. He does and the ropes begin wrapping around his left leg, pulling his knee bent, his heel pressing against the back of his thigh. His foot points his toes toward the rise of his ass. The knots form on the outside of the crease of his leg’s fold. Red, red, gold, red, gold, red red.

There’s a pattern there, but Peter can’t see it. He won’t see unless Tony shows him what he looks like in a mirror. Even then, he won’t see the entirety of the pattern until he sees the recording. Even then… he’ll never see what Tony sees, the image of him that he has in his eye. He’ll never know what Tony finds that’s beautiful in him. There’s a pattern there, but Peter can’t see it.

Soft breaths, soft ropes, soft music. Calloused fingers deftly weaving threads of actual gold around the rope Tony pulled Peter’s ankle up with. Tying the length to the hook from the ceiling that already holds his opposite arm into the position Tony’s tied it. Opposite leg and arm are free, but that won’t be for long.

Tony guides Peter’s left arm down in front of his body in a delicate curve, an almost ballet-like position. The first rope, a thin five-strand flat braid — red red gold red red — wraps around his ball sac, distending them, then sliding between them, separating. Just below his cock, he brings the braid up to Peter’s wrist and leaves it draped there for the moment. A broader, flatter braid of nine strands — gold red gold gold red gold gold red gold — wraps around his cock, now erect.

He splits the braid just underneath the head and joins it to the braid from his balls. Unlike the work on his left leg and right arm, this is delicate, tedious work. Tony’s fingers move expertly, the way they do when he’s working a wiring harness into his armor. The final, joined braid, he turns into an intricate patterned bracelet that pulls his erection up the length of his body, the tip of his cock touching the edge of his wrist, his balls pulled up at the base. Peter would need to see it from an angle other than looking straight down, but there seems to be something classic about the position.

The bracelet braid is split again and worked over his hand, between his fingers. Tony weaves it into the end of one of the thicker red ropes. Meeting the ones from his left leg, he knots them around his waist. Then they wrap flat around his stomach in a diamond pattern, making a waist cinching corset. Tony looks up into Peter’s face for the first time since he started, and he smiles just before bending and pressing a light kiss to the exposed head of Peter’s cock. The silence is broken by a breathy moan.

More of the thicker ropes are gathered and knotted into a flying harness designed to comfortably support Peter’s weight when the final work on his right leg is completed. Ropes are left hanging, not yet worked into their final design. Strong threads of gold are tangled into Peter’s curly chestnut hair. The harness provides the red as the golden metal thread coming from Peter’s hair is wrapped around it. Tony gives a gentle tug to make sure that the pressure is evenly distributed and no one area will pull.

Peter’s right leg is wrapped in a pattern that leaves large areas of skin exposed, yet along the back of his leg. The knots are tightly together in a straight line from Peter’s ass to his ankle. The thickest rope is woven through the splint of knots and brought to join the harness.

When Peter is raised off the ground, there is no discomfort. His weight is evenly carried throughout the entire pattern. One leg bent, the other extended. One arm angled sharply behind his back, the other curved gently across his front. His head is held up so he looks forward instead of down. He flies like an angel without wings.

Tony runs his hands over Peter’s body. Caressing every inch from extended pointed toes to cup his cheek. He kisses Peter deeply, passionately. Pulling on the thick rope, the kiss is broken by Peter rising away from him, far above the workshop, almost to the ceiling. With a remote, he directs pinpoints of sharp bright light, creating shadows and highlights.

Peter can’t see below him. He can’t see down the length of his body. Only straight forward out the high clerestory windows that look out on the ocean. He has no idea what he looks like until Tony tells him.

“So beautiful, baby,” Tony says, his voice low and reverent. Peter can hear a low murmur after, as Tony directs JARVIS’ camera angles.

“Are you doing okay?” he asks.

Peter’s tightly held and his body thrums with the rush of endorphins. His eyes are unfocused, his lips parted, his breaths heavy and carry soft moans of pleasure.

“Yes, Tony,” he answers in a dreamy, distant tone.

“Baby, focus, beautiful. Listen to my voice. Come down from heaven and hear me.” He pauses. He can’t see Peter’s face, the one drawback to the pose, but he can see the way his body responds. Instead of lying there, stretched out and supported by the ropes, his body carrying none of its own weight, floating too lightly, Peter returns and, while not tense, he is holding himself as he was tied. “Are you okay, Peter?” Tony asks again.

“A little bit longer?” Peter asks. He can see the ocean. And he flies above it.

Tony smiles. “Just a little.” He gives Peter another three minutes in the air. “Time to return to earth, baby.” Slowly, he starts to lower the thick rope. “Time to come back to me.”

On the ground again, balanced on his right leg, Tony holds Peter up as he pulls carefully placed ropes that were woven in, designed to untie. He supports Peter’s body with his arm around his chest as his left leg is untied and joins his right, standing on the ground. As he’s untied, Peter whimpers sadly.

“I know baby,” Tony croons softly. “I have you.” He finishes untying his work. When all that is left are the beautiful golden threads, woven loosely now, in Peter’s hair, he lifts the boy in his arms. He carries Peter over to the sofa and sits, pulling him into his lap, holding him close, gently caressing his body. His fingers work over the formerly bound muscles, massaging.

Peter nestles into the crook of Tony’s neck for a long time, feeling his warmth, breathing in his scent. Shudders work through him and he clings tighter to the solidness of Tony’s body. He flew so high above the ocean. Wrapped in the ropes that held him to Tony, no matter how far away he went. Tony surrounded him.

Kissing Peter lightly, Tony brings him back. He starts to undo the last threads that held his beautiful boy.

“Can I wear them a little longer?” Peter asks. “I want to see the sun still in my hair.”

Tony nuzzled his face against the side of Peter’s head. “Of course, baby. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” A long stretch of just holding Peter slips by. “Was that okay this time?”

“Oh god Tony. It was perfect,” Peter sighed.

“Mmm. I’m glad.” He smiled and put a kiss on Peter’s temple. “I built a frame. I want to take you down to the beach below the cliff.”

“Oh!” The thought sends another shudder through Peter. “We can do that?” He lifts his face out of Tony’s neck and looks at the man, excitement in his eyes.

“Yes, now that I know the pattern will support you, I can actually fly you out over the ocean next time.” He carefully runs his fingers through Peter’s hair and the gold threads in it. “You can watch the sunset and I can see its fire in your hair.” Tony was still overwhelmed by how beautiful Peter had looked. “You can be my Icarus.”

“Will you build me wings? Work them into the design?”

“Anything you want baby,” Tony said tenderly. “You just have to always fly home to me.”

——————————————————

[ma-sulevin]

oh my god we’re almost done.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy Rating: E Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but nothing particularly explicit I don’t think Word Count: 5974, chapter fourteen of sixteen.

Read it on AO3 instead and say nice things.

—

“ ‘I’ll show you a world you never thought possible,’ she says. ‘Now you see what we can do,’ she says. Fucking bullshit bliss fucking cunt.”

At least she’s in control of her own body this time. If she’s going to have to wade through clouds of bliss hallucination, trying to figure out where she really is as she marches down a hill toward a clearing, she should at least be able to swear the whole time she does it.

She hopes Faith can hear her. It would serve her goddamn right.

She squares her shoulders and keeps her eyes peeled for Faith, pistol already clutched in her hands because if there’s any chance she can get the first shot, she’s going to take it.

Faith deserves it for all the times she’s pulled her ass into the bliss.

At least she can walk around all on her own this time. 

Being paralyzed by the bliss is just too goddamn much.

This is… well, it’s not fine, but it’s better at least.

Mattie stops walking when she hears Faith singing “Amazing Grace,” torn between her immediate rejection of Faith’s voice and the beauty of the song. She heaves a deep breath of bliss-scented air and turns to where the song is coming, fully prepared to have to chase her down or suddenly come face-to-face with some sort of ridiculous wild animal.

She’s not prepared to see Whitehorse walking hand-in-hand with Faith.

She’s not prepared to see them stop and kneel down so he can pick a flower.

She’s not prepared for him to ignore her and start singing along with Faith as they walk by almost close enough for Mattie to touch.

She tries to grab for him, tries to pull him out of Faith’s grasp, but Faith slaps her hand away. The impact resonates through Mattie, stinging all the way up her arm, and there’s nothing Mattie would rather do than choke the life out of Faith with her bare fucking hands.

“Your sheriff kept you from walking the Path, but now he understands his purpose! He’ll join our family in Eden.” Faith keeps a death grip on Mattie’s arms as she speaks, holding her in place even as she tries to rip away to chase after Whitehorse. “And if you try to stop him…”

Faith trails off and starts to giggle, spinning around and disappearing into a cloud of bliss and sparks.

“Earl! Earl?” Whitehorse is nowhere to be seen, and he doesn’t respond to her calls, so she stops and stomps her foot in a moment of impotent rage. It reminds her of being a little kid, with the things she wanted dangled in front of her face before being snatched away, and she’s too furious to know what to do about it for just a few seconds before she pulls herself back together.

She has a clear purpose.

Maybe it’s her only purpose.

She walks on, following the obvious path, hoping it takes her to Whitehorse or Faith or somewhere helpful and not over the edge of a cliff and to her death -- not that it matters all that much, not in the scheme of things, but falling to her death is not her prefered way to go these days -- and waits for Faith to show back up.

She does it in a very Faith-like way, playing with Mattie’s senses by blinking in and out of existence, taunting her.

“Your sheriff was a wall,” she says, appearing only long enough to say the words before disappearing again, stopping the bullet that leaves Mattie’s gun from making contact. “A wall between you and the Father. A wall that kept you from seeing his truth.”

The path turns into a clearing, and Faith appears floating in the center of it, a good four feet above the boulder.

This is so goddamn dramatic.

She’s back to acting like John.

Who is she really?

Mattie’s so annoyed at Faith saying “I will knock down that wall” that she barely notices the angels that pop up around her. One grabs her by the loose material at the back of her flannel and tugs, and she falls back even as her arms start to flail. 

She fucking hates these things, these people that Faith’s turned into goddamn zombies. The one holding her can’t even remember how to fight her properly; it just bites at the air and tries to dig its nails into her shirt like it can hurt her that way.

It falls fast with a bullet through its head, and Mattie’s able to turn her attention to the other before it gets close enough to bite her. She slams the grip of her gun into its forehead instead, over and over, until hard bone gives way to something wet and soft, and she has to pull herself away and look for Faith before she begins to gag.

Something about this feels too real, much more real than every other time she’s been in Faith’s clutches. Despite the bliss, the angels are real under her hands, and even as they fall, they don’t change. They don’t turn into Cougars, or to the other deputies, or to Whitetails, or to anyone Mattie wouldn’t want to hurt. 

They stay as they are, lost to Faith’s poison and Joseph’s beliefs.

Faith keeps talking even as more and more angels throw themselves in front of Mattie’s Wrath. She tries to tune her out, but… it’s hard.

Your sheriff is so close now, so close to accepting the word of the Father into his heart. 

Another angel falls in front of Mattie, a bullet in its shoulder, then it climbs back to its feet with blood dripping down its chin.

And when he does… there’s no coming back from that.

She shoots it again, and this time it stays down, but there are more, there are always more, pouring out of the fog surrounding her and screaming with every ounce of strength left in their empty bodies. 

Don’t fear death. I’ll make it quick.

If Mattie had enough breath left in her lungs to laugh, she would. Faith has no fucking idea. The only people in this world who know are Sharky and Hurk -- Jacob knew before he died, just for the last few seconds lived with the knowledge that she couldn’t be stopped, but Faith? Joseph?

They’re both living under the assumption they’ll win this.

They won’t.

You could’ve joined us. 

She empties her last clip into an angel’s chest, and ends up throwing her pistol at the next one. She doesn’t have time to switch to another weapon before it’s on her, and she has to fight back with fists and nails to keep it from tearing out her throat.

That’s one way she never wants to experience.

Why do you keep fighting us? You know what’s coming, the Father showed you! The world is crashing to an end; it is diseased and corrupt. The Father is offering you a chance to let go, to stop worrying, to be free!

There are a half dozen angels running around and about the same number of Faiths floating in the air and Mattie’s fucking had it.

Sinner…

She takes a rake off one angel before it’s able to put the pointed end in her face and starts swinging it around like a bat. The metal end makes solid contact with the next two angels, knocking them down long enough for Mattie to stomp on their throats.

She’s going to have nightmares about this for the rest of her life.

Traitor…

The handle snaps, and she picks it up again, swinging from closer this time. 

She won’t stop. 

She can’t.

Apparently Faith’s had it too. The copies of Faith disappear and only one is left, screaming as Mattie finally kills the last angel summoned to stop her.

“You’ll never know what I know!” Faith screams, voice sounding more solid now that it’s coming from one place. She’s still floating, and Mattie grips the broken rake in both hands like she can make Faith come back to earth through sheer force of will.

“You don’t know what he’ll do! Live by the sword and you will die by the sword.”

Is that directed at Mattie, or at Faith? They’ve both been living by the sword, and Faith proves it by sending a concentrated ball of bliss at Mattie’s chest. It explodes in a shower of sparks that takes away her breath for a second, but doesn’t do much more than make her even more furious.

She throws the rake.

“You throw away my offer?” Faith dodges the rake. Bitch. “He is more powerful than you know!”

Mattie dodges another ball of bliss, picks up a rock and throws it back. “Would you come down here and fight me like a human fucking person?”

Faith bares her teeth to Mattie, floating higher if anything at all. “It’s not my fault! None of this was my fault! You think I wanted this? He plied me with drugs, he threatened me! I was seventeen, I was just a child.”

Mattie hesitates.

If that’s true…

Faith lies and manipulates and plays with the truth until Mattie literally can’t tell up from down, but something about this admission strikes too close to home.

Another bliss ball strikes her chest, and she falls onto her ass.

“You strike, but you cannot destroy what he created.”

Maybe it’s true, but maybe it doesn’t fucking matter at this point.

“The Father sees what you do, and he will remember!”

Well. Mattie’s going to kill him next.

Now that she’s sitting, even woozy and exhausted and breathless, she has the opportunity to grab for her AR-C, still on her back. She pulls it forward and switches off the safety, pointing it up at Faith.

“Please be real,” she murmurs, and then she pulls the trigger. 

The bullets hit their mark and Faith explodes into the familiar shower of sparks, and for half a second Mattie’s afraid she’s just been duped again and she’s going to have to do this again and that she’ll never truly be able to kill Faith. She stands up, vibrating with fury… 

But then…

But then…

“You still don’t understand.” Faith is in front of her, white dress stained bright with blood. It drips from a cut on her forehead and from her lips, and she wobbles, hands pressed to wounds Mattie can’t see but she knows are her fault. “You don’t know what it is you’re doing, do you? Joseph believes he’s our savior, but you’ll be the one who decides what happens. You were the start… you’ll be the end.”

Faith reaches for Mattie, and Mattie steps back, steps away from her grasping hand, dripping with damning blood. The stain on the front of Faith’s dress grows, and her breath hitches on a sob.

She nods anyway. “It was always going to happen this way. You’ll walk the path, you’ll rescue your sheriff, you will be… a hero.” She falls, landing hard on her knees in the bloody grass. Mattie kneels too, leaning forward like she can help, like she wants to help. That habit is hard to break, and Mattie’s gut twists as Faith looks up with glass eyes. “And then? You’ll choose. And if you don’t listen to him, he’ll be right.”

She falls then, forward into Mattie’s arms, and she stains the front of her clothes with blood to match the stains from Sharky and Virgil. She doesn’t take another breath. She doesn’t say another word for Joseph or against Mattie.

She’s just… she’s gone.

The haze of bliss falls, and Mattie recognizes where she is, back where this day started, near the Misery. She can still smell the bliss in the air, but it’s not hiding anything anymore. She can see Faith’s body, she can see the open gates leading into another bunker, and she can see the dead bodies of countless angels around her.

She’s finally here. She’s finally done it.

But Whitehorse? Whitehorse is still gone.

She doesn’t bother to radio anyone to let them know where she is, she doesn’t want to alert Joseph or the rest of the peggies to what she’s about to do. 

This is the kind of job it’s better to work alone, and so she does, taking half a second to lay Faith on her back and rest her arms on her stomach before shouldering her rifle and heading inside.

She can do this. She can do this.

She can do it.

---

She can’t do this.

The inside of Faith’s bunker is choked with bliss, more than she’s ever seen in any one place, even at the water treatment plant. Each and every breath she takes makes bile rise in her throat just as surely as it makes the sparks shine around her and in front of her. If she turns a corner too fast, she can see the inside of the Grandview again, she can hear Jacob’s voice in her ear like he never left, she can hear the screams of Whitetails falling under her hands.

She presses herself into a corner and closes her eyes, squeezing them tight and holding her breath until the lightheadedness has nothing to do with the bliss surrounding her. 

When she opens them again, she can still see the plants that fill the lowest level of Faith’s bunker, but they’re less wobbly, less like the inside of the Grandview and more like someone pulled in a bunch of potted plants to make sure she’d hallucinate what she was supposed to hallucinate.

Okay.

Okay.

She moves deeper into the bunker, moving as quietly as she can, barely trusting anything she sees. Is it full of people, or empty? Is grass growing out of the floor, or is it covered in green carpet? 

How is she going to get out of here when she can’t even trust the ground under her feet?

It takes her far too long to find Earl, trapped in one of Faith’s cells, eyes already starting to turn angel-white but in enough control of himself to know he’d rather die now than fall into her clutches.

He tells her to hurry, so she does. He tells her to stop the bliss production, to stop it from polluting both his cell and the county in general, so… she does.

She will.

She fights her way up and up and up, killing angels that aren’t there and rescuing an imaginary Tracey before finally finding clearer air to breathe. It still stinks like bliss and sweat and too many human bodies packed into a room with poor ventilation, but the sparks recede and her nausea is more a product of lingering pain and exhaustion than the anxiety of memories.

She dies trying to close the valves to the bliss tanks. She dies with a peggie’s hands around her throat and his blood in her mouth. She dies with her head pushed into the liquid underneath the platforms. She dies with a ricocheted bullet in her throat, and she dies with the concussion of an explosion ringing in her ears.

She dies, and she dies, and she dies again, until she’s so desperate to continue that she would do literally anything the black white black asked her to do, and then…

The last peggie falls under her hands, the last vent is shut off, and she sits down hard on the metal steps and gasps back her tears as Whitehorse calls in over her radio to tell her he’s out of his cell and heading outside, with just one last order:

“Blow this place into oblivion.”

He’s out. He’s safe.

She saved him.

Her next stop inside Faith’s bunker is the central pumps, the heart of the bliss operation, and she heads in what she hopes is the right direction with the sort of single-minded determination that led her out of Idaho in the first place.

She dodges leaking bliss pipes and bullets and baseball bats alike, moving forward with the confidence of someone who knows their fuck-ups will be erased by an absolutely hellish twist of fate.

(She dies again, twice, and she doesn’t bother quieting her screams when the explosion from the pump burns straight through her flannel and into the skin of her shoulder. It fucking hurts, and if she can erase this pain by starting over she will, and then at least she won’t have another scar to live with.)

(It’s the one time no peggies come at the noise she makes.)

(She moves on.)

She can barely hear Whitehorse telling her to meet him and the other survivors outside over the blasting evacuation warning, like the smoke and leaking bliss fumes on the upper level aren’t enough to warn any remaining peggies that this bunker is too far gone to be saved, but Whitehorse is right. It does feel like the whole place is about to blow, and she picks up the pace as much as she can.

She’s not totally certain what will happen to her if she literally explodes.

She supports her injured arm with her good one and runs and climbs and runs and climbs, and she keeps going even as more peggies come at her instead of running too.

She’s not a monster, no matter what they think.

She would have let them go if they weren’t shooting first.

She skids out into the open air and nearly topples over a railing in her surprise. Night fell at some point while she was struggling inside, even though she’d walked in the bottommost level in the middle of the afternoon, and she doesn’t know how to get done from here.

She picks a direction and runs, spinning to her left and hoping against hope to feel solid ground under her feet again before the explosion knocks her down sixty feet to the valley floor.

There are too few feet between her and the top of the silo when it finally gives in to the internal pressures and explodes, sending out a shockwave that knocks her forward off her feet so that she lands face-down in the dirt with her ears ringing.

Enough adrenaline is flowing through her that she pushes herself up onto her elbows before she remembers her burn, and then she just presses her forehead into the cold grass and screams and screams and screams. 

This fucking hurts. It hurts her arm and it hurts her head and it hurts her heart, and she just wants to be fucking done. 

As soon as she needs to take a breath, she pushes herself upright. She sucks in bliss-free oxygen for what feels like the first time in weeks and sits back on her heels and stares up at the moon as she waits for her hearing to start coming back. 

She wipes the dirt off her face while she waits, then climbs to her feet, and heads around the long way to the bottom of the bunker.

Whitehorse is waiting for her when she finally makes it down. He’s leaning against a low wall, his eyes clear, and he frowns when he sees her limping on a sore ankle that somehow developed as she made her way down the hill.

“Everyone else go back to the jail?”

His mustache twitches as he smiles. “They were ready to get the celebration started. You okay?”

She shrugs her good shoulder. “I’ve been worse.”

He nods and studies her for a moment. His eyes are clear, the shadows under them deep. “You know,” he finally says, speaking carefully. “There was a moment, just before you arrived…” He draws in a deep breath and lets it out again. “I’d just lost all hope. Couldn’t see a way out. You led the way. A lot of good people died, but everyone here, all of us are alive because of you. And I’m damn proud of you.”

Mattie ducks her head to hide the tears that spring to her eyes at his words, but she doesn’t fool him for a second, not after everything he’s seen. He reaches out and pulls her against his chest in a hug too tight for her injuries, but she clutches him back with all the strength she has.

This? This makes it all worth it.

She pulls away and wipes her cheeks again, and this time they come away muddy so she knows she looks absolutely ridiculous, but Whitehorse only gives her a fond little smile before his expression starts to harden into one she recognizes from work.

“And now I want you to find that goddamn Joseph Seed and bring him to justice, or, or put him in the ground.” Mattie lifts her eyes when Whitehorse stammers over his words not out of uncertainty but out of apparent anger. “And that’s an order.”

She chokes back a hysterical laugh and tries to nod at him with the same sense of solemnity he’s offering her. “Yes, sir.”

He studies her for another second, then nods back at her. “You coming back with me, or heading up to see that Boshaw boy?”

She does laugh this time, but it’s not hysterical. He just sounds so disapproving. “I’ll head up to see him. I need to rest before I can do anything else.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, then turns a little to face where the paved road is hiding around the curved dirt path. “C’mon, Deputy. They’ve left us a couple cars by the road. You’ve earned a break.”

She’s not going to argue with that.

---

Sharky’s waiting for her when she pulls up to his trailer, sitting on his front porch with a beer in his hand and a grim expression on his face that almost completely disappears when he sees Mattie climb out of the borrowed car. 

He puts the can on the floor and stands up when she makes it up next to him, silent for once, and he cups her face in his big hands. She lets him, watching his expression change as he takes in the new cuts and bruises and things she knows he’s blaming himself for.

When he’s finally finished his inspection, he leans down and brushes his lips against hers with so much tenderness she can’t help the little sob that catches in her chest and makes her breath hitch. He kisses her again when he hears it, thumbs tracing over her cheeks as he does.

“You dislocate your shoulder again?”

She shakes her head and then presses a quick kiss to his palm before she answers. “Burned. Help me?”

“You don’t even have to ask. C’mon.” He takes her hand and pulls her inside, making sure the door doesn’t bounce back and hit her on their way in. 

She sits where he tells her, settling on the counter and waiting as he fishes a surprisingly clean first aid kit from one of the cabinets.

Well, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Burns are his area of expertise, after all.

“How many times did you die this time?” He doesn’t look at her as he speaks, keeping all his focus on her arm as he unbuttons her flannel. She wants to answer his question, but it fucking hurts as he pulls the material away from her burn, hurts like it did when her arm was on fire, and she whines through gritted teeth instead. “Talk to me, shorty. Keep your mind off it.”

She squeezes her eyes closed so she can’t see and tries to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach. “A lot. The bliss was… it was a lot.”

Sharky’s hands disappear and she opens one eye to see where he’s going. He turns back to her with a pair of scissors, and for half a second she’s terrified he’s going to use them on her burn. Instead, he cuts the material of her tank top so she won’t have to pull it up over her head.

“So like… seven times?” 

The rest of her tank top falls.

“Dunno. Lost count. Probably like…” she tries to remember, but the bliss makes everything run together. “Nine?”

Sharky kisses her forehead as he reaches around her to unhook her bra. 

“Are you up to like… fifty now? Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

He eases the strap over the burn and down, and she opens her eyes to stare at him as she sits naked from the waist up. He’s not even looking at her chest, eyes firmly on her boots he’s now trying to untie. 

“Yeah. I’ll have to update the tally.”

He’s silent until her boots hit the linoleum, then still as her socks follow.

When he finally looks up at her, his forehead is pinched and his eyes dark, but he smiles all the same. “It’s easier to clean up in the shower.”

He pulls her off the counter and helps her step out of her jeans, then tugs her behind him to the tiny bathroom. It’s not the cleanest she’s ever seen, but the water comes on when he twists the handle, and she waits as he adjusts the temperature just right before she steps in.

It’s cold.

“Sorry,” he says again, voice low as he apologizes and starts shucking off his own clothes. “Hot water will just make it worse.”

She stands under the stream and shivers, not answering, and just waits as he crams into the stall behind her.

He washes her with gentle hands and products that smell like him, and he makes soft shushing noises when she starts to cry from some combination of pain and exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of being home.

For the first time in her life, she’s home.

She keeps crying, just soft gasping breaths and slow tears she can’t control, as he dries her off and wrings out her hair with a towel. She keeps crying as he dries the burn with gauze and then bandages it with his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. She keeps crying as he ushers her into his bed and then curls up around her so he can hold her without hurting her shoulder even once more.

He keeps pressing feather-light kisses against her cheek and jaw and forehead, smoothing her hair and squeezing her fingers and unable to keep still or stop from touching her. She loves it, leans into it and lets it soothe her until the tears finally dry and her breath finally evens out and she can just… be.

“I love you,” she says, and she means it, means I love you and thank you and I don’t know what I would do without you and a hundred other things she doesn’t know how to say.

He squeezes her waist and presses himself as close as he can. “I love you,” he says, and she thinks she can hear his unspokens too. “You’re amazing.”

She doesn’t have the energy to laugh, so she just lets out a tired chuckle. “I’m not special.”

He squeezes her again, and she doesn’t let him know it hurts her ribs when he does. “You’re fuckin’ amazing, Mat. You’re badass, you kick ass, and you’re the coolest chick, uhh, girl — no, woman, shit, sorry — that I know.” She giggles, unable to help it, and when he starts talking again she can hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t know anybody else who could do what you’ve been doin’.”

She’s going to cry again. Instead, she turns her head and captures his lips with hers. She can taste the compliments still on his tongue, and they warm her from the inside out. It lingers, soft and slow, and then he pulls away just enough to rest his head back on the pillow.

“We match now.”

“Hmm?” Sharky’s response is little more than a grumble, but he opens one eye and peers back at her.

She grins. “We’ll have matching burn scars.”

He smiles back, soft and beautiful in the lamplight. “Now I just need me one of them sin tattoos and we’d be identical.” His smile grows as she giggles. “Too bad someone murdered the only artist in the county.”

She snickers. “Too bad. Hope the police do somethin’ about it.”

“Their best deputy seems pretty distracted these days. Not sure they’ll be able to catch ‘em.”

She leans in and kisses him again, a little harder this time, laughter still bubbling just under the surface. She ignores her shoulder and nips at his bottom lip to hear him growl at her. He does, the props himself up on one elbow so he can lean over her and kiss her properly,

She clutches at his back with her good arm and moans. She can’t help it. She missed him, and she needs him, and that feeling of home and safety only grows as he moves closer and settles between her thighs.

They kiss for a long time, taking advantage of the quiet and the peace that comes from having almost all the Seeds dead and out of the way. Sharky’s gentle, careful not to cause her more pain than she’s asking for, leaving kisses over her face and throat and hickeys across her chest. She gives almost as good as she gets, content for the most part to let Sharky take control for once, lying under him until she just can’t take it anymore.

“Sharky, baby, please.” She hitches one of her legs up higher around his waist, pulling him against her. He moans against her throat, open-mouthed and desperate, and she can feel him so, so hard against her hip. “Stop making me wait.”

He kisses her lips once more, lingering, and then rests his forehead against hers as she tangles the fingers of her good arm in his hair. “You sure? I don’t wanna hurt—”

“Yes.” She cuts him off, pulls his hair just a little because she knows he likes it, and she’s rewarded with a full-body shiver. “Put on a condom and quit teasing me.”

He kisses her again, faster this time, and mutters a half-teasing yes ma’am against her lips. He sits up, careful not to jostle her, and she watches with parted lips and sharp eyes as he pulls a condom from somewhere under his bed, opens it, and rolls it on.

He’s so, so careful as he moves back over her, propping himself up with one elbow as he guides himself against her and then inside of her in one smooth, slow glide. He kisses her as he hilts himself, and she moans his name against his lips.

It’s beautiful and it’s slow and it’s inexorable, the feeling of Sharky loving her with the entirety of his being. It consumes her and fills her, and she can’t stop the slow leak of tears that Sharky kisses away with so much tenderness.

She loves him. She feels it with each press of his lips to her heated skin and with each thrust of his hips against hers. She feels it with each beat of her heart and with each breath she takes. 

It’s selfish, and she knows it, but it feels like everything that’s happened was worth it, because she’s here. She’s with him.

“You’re so wet.” Sharky speaks directly into her ear, lips tickling her, and she shivers and clenches around him at the feeling. He moans again and starts thrusting into her a little harder as he begins talking again, unable to help himself. “Oh, my god.” Another thrust, another uncontrollable moan. “Fuckin’... amazing. I love you.”

Her delighted laugh turns into a moan as he hits her just right, the pain in her shoulder receding as the pleasure grows. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, it’s never — oh, god — never felt like this before. Never.”

His response is lost in a moan pressed against the side of her neck, but she knows he’s getting closer because his hips stutter in their rhythm and he forgets to be so gentle. 

She sneaks her good arm between them and presses her fingers to her clit, matching Sharky’s thrusts as best she can. Sharky adjusts his weight and tangles the fingers of one hand into her still-wet hair, holding her still as he kisses her hard. His rhythm stutters again as she slides her tongue along his, then again when she clenches around him as she grows closer to her end.

“Mattie, Mat, please. Please, I can’t—oh, fuck.”

She comes with his voice in her ear, filled and surrounded by him, pure delight making her laugh as she does. Sharky follows not half a second later, biting at her collarbone and shivering all over as he comes.

“Fuck, that was good.” Mattie’s still laughing, unable to stop herself, relaxed and loose and happy in a way she hasn’t been since their last morning in Fall’s End together.

Sharky carefully pulls away, breath still coming heavy, to tie off the condom and drop it in what she hopes is a trash can but thinks is really just a pile of homeless garbage. As soon as he does, he flops back down on the mattress next to her and lets out a breathless laugh of his own before curling back against her side.

“Feel better?”

She closes her eyes and stretches out her still-shaking legs, flexing her toes before relaxing again. “You always know how to make me feel better, Sharky.”

He makes a happy grumbling noise under his breath, but anything he’s going to say is drowned out by the sound of her radio squawking to life in the kitchen. 

She bats his hands away and slips free of the bed, wobbling her way to the kitchen with her bad arm tucked against her side. 

She recognizes Joseph’s voice before she understands what he’s saying, and she brings the radio back to the room where Sharky’s stretched out across the bed on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms.

“You took my family from me so that I could have yours.”

Sharky wrinkles his nose but doesn’t move otherwise, and Mattie admires the muscles of his back as she listens to Joseph’s watery voice.

“We will welcome them with open arms... just as we will welcome you. We will be waiting for you where it all began.”

The radio clicks off as he ends his transmission, and silence fills the room.

“The fuck does that mean?” Mattie wonders, but Sharky doesn’t have time to say anything before Dutch is coming over the radio.

“Listen up, Deputy. I’m thinkin’ we’ve reached the end of the line. Time to cowboy up and deal with Joseph Seed once and for all. He’s waiting for you at his church.”

The radio clicks as Dutch signs off, and Mattie clicks it all the way off as Sharky opens his eyes to look up at her. He’s quiet, but the question is clear.

She shakes her head at him. “Joseph can wait. I’m not doing one more goddamn thing today.”

His face breaks out in a wide smile at her words, then he jumps and starts to laugh as she gives his ass a gentle swat on her way back down onto the mattress.

“Cuddle me. I’m going to sleep.”

He’s still laughing as he pulls the blanket up over them and cuddles against her side just like he had before she pulled him over into her space. 

“Yes ma’am.”

She closes her eyes and tries to memorize everything about the moment. How it feels to have Sharky holding her, how warm he is, the way he smells like soap and sweat, how safe it feels to have him curled around her.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, shorty.”

It feels like the last time she’ll get to say it.

[txladyj-blog]

Chapter 3 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 15/?

On her way down to the water, Jess blinked the sun from her eyes and slapped her baseball cap on. They still had many more weeks left of the relentless sun and heat, the only let up being the late afternoons and early evenings when there was a little respite from the heat. Only then, when night crept in did the temperature change drastically, becoming colder but not enough for Jess to wear a jacket or sweater. She never really seemed to feel the cold all that much, she put it down to having lived in so many different places with such differing weather. Sarah had quite loudly blamed the fact that she had more layers of fat than most. Jess grit her teeth and shoved the comment away, hoping that not too many people from the group had heard her.

Her sneakers flapped against the dusty surface of the slope as she neared the bottom. Carol was in the corner by the shore, Ed watching her closely as she washed his shirt. Sophia sat on a rock nearby playing with her doll. Her soft chatter like a delightful tune to Jess’s ears. On the opposite side, was Daryl, knee deep in the water and holding up a sopping wet shirt with a huge bloodstain right in the middle. She scuffed towards him and stopped by the waters edge.

“How you doing, Stinky?” She chirped.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder at her. He was wearing a simple, off-white vest that was turning transparent from the water.

“Fine.” He called back.

She tilted her head to one side as she observed him trying to remove the stubborn stain from the garment. Her knowledge of history and attendance at many, authentic renaissance fairs had led to a vast knowledge of life without washer dryers and laundromats. She kicked off her sneakers, rolled her jeans up and waded into the water.

“Give it here, you’re making a pigs ear of that.” She chuckled.

“Been washin’ my stuff in rivers all my life, you can’t teach me shit, girl” he shot back, although he didn’t sound angry, more intrigued than anything else. She stopped beside him, the water lapping at her thighs. In the blistering heat, it was a welcome respite. Her body temperate cooled and she really wanted to just dive in and submerge herself in the tantalizing freshness of the water.

“You’re so stubborn. Just humor me, c’mon.” She said, reaching out for the shirt.

He reluctantly dragged it up from the water. Once again, she couldn’t help but notice his strong arms and dragged her lower lip under her front teeth. When her eyes lifted to his face, she was alarmed to find him staring right at her.

“Jess?” He asked with one eyebrow raised.

“Um. Sorry. I wasn’t looking- I mean...” She pointed a finger at him “…give me the damn shirt” and snatched it from his grasp. “Uh…” She shook the image from her head and waded a couple of steps to her left, meeting a large rock protruding from the water. “You need to use a rock. Like this.”

Swirling the shirt around in the water, she kept her eyes firmly on what she was doing, knowing that if she risked a peek, he would be able to see straight through her and her inability to ignore his two best features. Gathering the shirt up, she began massaging it into the smooth rock. He silently looked on from behind her, craning his neck to see what she was doing. Then, she took hold of one end of the shirt and beat it against the surface with a loud slap that echoed across the quarry each time. Daryl thought it looked like she was taking some serious anger out on his one and only shirt and hoped it would still be in one piece when she was done. When she stepped back, dipped it in the water and held it up, the stain had visibly diminished

“That was a lot of blood.” She remarked with a small pant. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how out of breath she was from battering a rock with a large piece of fabric.

“Yeah” He agreed. “Aint mine.”

“I know.” She said quickly, meaning he was now staring at her again. “That’s what I-I was looking for” She stammered, motioning to his arm. “Injuries.”

He nodded, feigning agreement. “Yeah, sure.”

“Damn right. That’s me. Always checking folks for injuries.” She babbled as she wrung the shirt out and attempted to slosh past him.

“No ya aint.” He argued with a small smile.

She sighed and turned to him “Alright. No, I don’t. But I really was with you. Honestly.”

“Right” He grinned.  

“Here.” She said, tossing the twisted ball of fabric at him “I’m going before I embarrass myself even more.”

“Sure” He grunted. “Oh, don’t forget to check Merle for injuries.”

She stopped and slowly looked over her shoulder, her lips pushed into a thin line before she released a bashful laugh and flapped her hands at her sides, tilting her head back and sighing at the sky.

“That’s for callin’ me Stinky.” He confirmed while wading back to the shore and passing her.

“OK. We’re even. I’ll leave checking Merle over to twisted sister number 2” she mentioned, her hands coming up and dramatically shielding her mouth as she gasped and giggled loudly, the sound bouncing from the cliffs around the water. Daryl let himself go and laughed along with her as they both paddled through the water and back to dry land.

Gives as good as she gets, this girl.

Carol looked up when she heard Daryl and Jess laughing with one another as she walked out of the water, her lips curled into a smile when she saw Daryl beaming from ear to ear, a sight she had never seen since she’d met him for the first time. She’d assumed he never displayed such an expression, but it was now clear that he just didn’t have anything to smile about before.

“I say you could stop?” Ed snapped from behind her. “I need that damn shirt.”

She resumed her task without argument, the happy scene she’d witnessed making it all a little easier.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

That night, Jess was taken off guard when she passed the RV. She held an empty, metal bowl after eating alone in her tent and was distracted by a whistle from the top of the vehicle. She looked up to see Daryl reclined in his seat, in his usual spot but a lot earlier than usual. He nudged his head up, beckoning for her to join him. It had been weeks since they’d first met and she felt a sense of pride when she thought of how far they’d come and how they'd managed to at least partially break down each others barriers. She wasn’t yet sure about saying they were friends, but she was certain they enjoyed each other’s company.

Returning her plastic cutlery and her camping bowl to the bucket in the food prep area, she passed Sarah and Jodie who were immersed in hushed whispers as usual. Also, around the campfire, was Glenn, Andrea, her sister Amy, Merle, Dale and T-dog. She offered them all a polite smile, receiving the same back. Carol and Rick retreated into their tents with their families and Shane was out checking the fences. Having never really seen Daryl and Jess on their regular perch, everyone exchanged glances when she climbed the ladder to the RV, their nightly routine now revealed to the group.

Appearing beside him, she sat down and caught his eye. Saying nothing, they sat side by side for a while until the chatter resumed below and both of them were certain the topic of conversation was not directed at them. Jess slumped down in her seat, rested her head on the backrest and closed her eyes while Daryl lit a cigarette. After a while, Jess found she’d drifted off into a light sleep and woke only when she heard Sarah wish Daryl a good night in her typical, flirtatious high school cheerleader voice. Daryl ignored her.

Jess sat up and rubbed at her face, clearing her throat and raising her eyebrows at the distance Daryl was able to flick his cigarette end out into the distance.

“What were you doing when the word ended?” She wanted to know. The sound of her voice seemed to slice through the atmosphere like a knife and she smarted at the sound. “Wow, never thought I’d say that sentence.” She added more quietly.

He flicked his lighter on and off over and over again as he struggled to decide if he should tell her the truth or not. Concluding that he had previously snapped at her and offended her and she was still sat with him, he guessed she would be able to handle it.

“Was workin’ my way through four lines of coke when I looked up and saw the TV had that national guard alert thing on it.” He disclosed.

“Yeah, we saw that on our phones. My friend and I. We were at a renaissance fair.” She said casually.

He briefly wondered why she didn’t seem bothered that he confessed so openly to being a cocaine user when it occurred to him that she simply took people as they were, flaws or not.

“A what?” He questioned.  

“A Renaissance fair. It’s a recreation of a historical setting with costumes and role play and stuff, for a whole weekend.”

His expression was one of pure bafflement as he stared at her.  

“So, you like… get all dressed up and run around in a field pretending to’ to fight or some shit?”

“Well, that’s the battle reenactment part. But it happens, Yeah.” She affirmed.

His brow furrowed. “You’re kinda weird, y’know that?”

“I think that’s what you like about me.” She grinned as she leaned towards him and nudged his elbow with hers. It was the first time she’d actually physically touched him aside from letting him help her up from the ground in the woods. He didn’t react which she could only take as a good sign.

“I don’t like nobody.” He scoffed.  

Jess huffed and rolled her eyes, a bright smile on her face that he could see clearly enough due to light from a lantern between them.

“Yes, you do. Just accept that you’re as weird as me and that’s why we get along.” She grinned.

Part of him hated that she was able to draw smiles out of him like no one else he had ever known, but the other part of him liked the fact that when he was with her, things seemed that little bit easier.

“Whatever.” He dismissed.

She laughed to herself and got up, reaching her arms high above her head and stretching her muscles.  

“Where ya goin?” He questioned.  

“Back to my tent.” She yawned. “Tired”

“Ya ain’t got no more weird hobbies to tell me about?” He continued.

Jess was mildly shocked by the question, he wanted her to tell him about her hobbies? He wanted to talk to her at all? It no longer felt like she was forcing him to converse with her, he’d taken the lead this time and she was more than happy to let him have it.  

“Wasn’t aware you were that interested.” She admitted.

“I ain’t. Just nothin better to do.” He shrugged.

Jess plonked herself back in the rickety chair again and shifted her body to face him, throwing one leg over the other.

“OK, so if my hobbies are weird, what are yours?” She challenged.

At the prospect of being asked more about himself and his life, his desire to talk lessened considerably in seconds.

“Ain’t talkin’ ‘bout me” He mumbled.

“I am.” She glared at him with a bold and entertained look.  

Accepting that he wasn’t going to get out of answering her probing and he was partly to blame for encouraging her to stay, he nibbled his bottom lip and answered her question.

“Fine. Huntin’, drinkin’, gettin’ high”

"And spittin' chaw in a bucket?" She joked.

"Asshole" He grumbled as she covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a giggle.

Birds flew overhead, a now rare sight that meant there were still some species out there somewhere, flourishing away from all the decay. Jess swayed back and forth in her seat with her arms wrapped around herself.

“Maybe you can teach me how to hunt, drink and get high one day.” She suggested breezily.

“Nah, I ain’t wastin’ time with no lightweight.” He declined.

“Just makes me a cheap date.” She realized instantly that she’d just come out with something unintentionally flirtatious and panicked. “I mean, yeah…uh… probably a lightweight.” She laughed awkwardly as she played with the hem of her T-shirt.

“Ya ever been huntin’?” He wanted to know, ignoring her outward discomfort and wondering what it was that made her so fidgety sometimes.

“No. I’d like to.” She said.

He nodded, leaning forward and picking up a leaf from the roof of the RV. He fiddled with it, folded it in half and then in half again.

“Too dangerous to be out there without knowin’ whatcha doin’.” He expressed.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right. And I wouldn’t.” She agreed.

Believing she’d murdered the conversation with her careless chit chat, she stopped talking and resigned herself to sitting quietly and tapping her sneaker on the edge of the roof again. More time passed and Jess couldn’t think of a way to get up and leave without seeming embarrassed or strange. She knew she was overthinking everything but being in the presence of someone she was actually starting to find highly attractive was unsettling and she wasn’t used to it.

“So, what’s the difference?” She heard him utter out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Said ya ain’t shy, ya introverted. What’s the difference?”

Two enquiries into her personality and interests in one night meant that she may have been all over the place and afraid to do something wrong, but the night had still been a small triumph in itself.

“Shy means you’re anxious about talking to people. Nervous and timid. Introverts aren’t always like that; we just need to re-charge sometimes. We’re confident with people we’re comfortable around. I’ll talk to people but I usually find most folks just drain me. I guess I’m just quiet by nature, but I’m not shy.” She explained.

“Hm.” He grunted. “Some kind of head shrinker tell you that?”

“No. It’s kind of common knowledge. Or at least I thought it was.” She disclosed “I think maybe your introverted too, it’s something we have in common.”

“Nah. I just think most folks are assholes.” He countered quickly

Jess giggled at his stubborn streak and for the second time Daryl realized that he liked the fact that she thought him funny. His mouth quirked up into a half smile.

“I’ll leave you alone to recharge your introvert batteries.” She winked at him. “Goodnight.”

She didn’t hear him protest or call her back as she descended the ladder so when her feet hit the ground, she made straight for her tent, longing for her sleeping bag and wishing she had a pen so she could record the events of her time spent sat with someone she really would have liked to have called her friend.

“Hey.” A voice called out. She turned back and saw him smoking yet another cigarette and leaning forward in his seat. “Ya wanna learn how to track animals?” A thin line of smoke rose from where he sat, high up into the air before it vanished.

A rush of excitement thundered through her and she wrestled with the urge not to grin too widely.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She squeaked, her voice emerging in higher pitch than she’d expected.

“Sunrise. Meet me at the tree line over there” he lifted his arm, pointing across the camp. “Make sure ya have somethin to eat first. Ya pass out on me i’ma leave ya ass out there.”

Jess knew it was a playful dig at her making him eat a bowl of berries before going hunting and liked the fact that he’d remembered and used it on her. Turning the tables and proving that their jibing at one another was enjoyed as much by him as it was by her.

“OK. I will.” She beamed. “See you at sunrise”

“One more thing” He rasped, standing up and driving a hand into his jeans pocket. Her eyes grew larger when she saw the plastic box clasped in his fingers as he tugged them out of his pocket. He threw it down to her, the box clattering in the dust at her feet. She looked down at it and wanted nothing more than to run back to the ladder and hug him. Five precious, black, ballpoint pens.

“Yours stopped workin’, right?” He checked.

“Yeah.” She responded as she gingerly bent down to pick them up.

“Saw ‘em when I was out on a run with Rick the other day.”

He thought of me when he was out on a run?

She opened her mouth to speak, but what was a simple gesture from Daryl was a huge deal to Jess. He had just given her back the ability to express her emotions and keep her sanity in check. Now, she would need no more dangerous walks in the woods alone and she could write until she fell asleep.

“This is um…you don’t know how grateful I am for this. Thank you, Daryl.” She said, swallowing hard and looking right at him.

“No problem.” He grunted, raising a hand at her in a small wave “Night.”

Before she succumbed to sleep, Jess sat cross legged on her sleeping bag with her torch in her mouth, shining down on the page and began to write.

It’s funny, I never thought someone throwing a box of pens at me would mean so much. Daryl knew I couldn’t write because my one and only pen stopped working, so he brought me back a box from a supply run. I must have looked at him like he had grown an extra head. I just couldn’t believe he thought of me while he was out there. I can write again, my mind feels clearer already and I’m happier. All because he got me some stupid pens.

OK, maybe it isn’t just the pens. He seems to be coming around to the idea of us being friends. Tonight, he didn’t actually say it but he wanted me to go sit with him on the RV and then tried to act as though he wasn’t interested in me at all while asking me questions about myself. He’s actually got a sense of humor and a personality that he’s slowly but surely letting me see and it’s awesome. He’s pretty awesome.  

But he caught me looking at him today. It was mortifying and I’m so angry at myself. Yeah, the guy is hot. But I thought I was stronger than to get caught practically drooling at him. He knew too. He knew exactly what was going on and I feel like my life is officially over.

Hopefully, I’ll get eaten by a walker or he’ll get a bout of amnesia.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Her T-shirt was sticking to her back with sweat. She really wanted to know how Daryl did this every day in such heat and sometimes even with his leather vest on. She was sure she’d pass out and had consumed most of the water she brought with her before they’d even been out for an hour. Daryl crept along in front of her, examining the ground and snapped branches of foliage In the woods. Try as she might, she kept falling behind and her legs felt like they were made of cement.

I really should have used that gym membership.

“C’mon, keep up. Stay close to me.” Daryl instructed from in front of her. She could see that the back of his shirt was also dampened with sweat, but unlike her, he showed little to no signs of fatigue.

“It’s so damn hot out here” she complained “am I in hell?!”

“Purgatory at best.” He mumbled

She dragged the back of her hand through the perspiration on her top lip.

Great. A sweat moustache. Sexy.

“Looooord. I’m MEEELTING!” She cried.

“Shh!” He whirled around, bundling her against a tree with his fingers wrapped around the top of one of her arms. The movement was so quick and unexpected and her flesh stung but she didn’t flinch, his temper too short for her to react. She couldn’t deny that fear tickled her veins and she was rooted to the spot. “You stupid or somethin?! Ain’t just animals out here. Place is full of Walkers and ya gonna get us both bit if ya don’t keep ya god damn voice down.” He hissed at her through gritted teeth.

“OK. I’m sorry.” She whispered. “You’re hurting me”

In a split second, he was full of guilt for losing his temper at her as he examined her alarmed expression. He looked down at his hand clamped tightly around her arm. He quickly let go as if her skin was made from lava, seeing the red mark he’d left behind. An angry handprint. He shrank back and she noticed his eyes kept dropping and coming back to the burning patch around her bicep.

“I-I didn’t mean to-“ he mumbled.

“-It’s OK.” She interrupted “really, it’s OK.”

He dragged a hand over his face, his crossbow rattling against his legs as he held it loosely in his grasp with his other hand.

“Come on, let’s keep going.” She suggested, stepping away from the tree and motioning with her hand for him to pass her.

“Wait” he grunted. She stopped and stood still, witnessing what she could only describe as pure, genuine regret in the angry, aggressive redneck.

“I wouldn’t hurt ya. Not on purpose.” He told her

“Daryl, I know” Jess tried

“Naw, Naw” He dismissed, waving a hand at her. “I saw it. in your eyes. Ya scared of me.”

Jess exhaled slowly and tried to ground herself. This was a conversation she had definitely not anticipated and one with which she knew she needed to exercise extreme caution with.

“You just surprised me. I’m not scared of you. I wouldn’t spend half as much time with you if I was. I understand why you got mad at me, I’m kind of annoying and I don’t know how to handle this new world like you do.”

He paced about in the small space between the trees in front of her. Back to front, side to side, before he finally stopped and began to bite his thumbnail.

“Sorry.” He muttered from behind his hand.

Jess smiled at him. In that moment, she knew that Daryl was not good at apologies and had very likely, hardly ever, genuinely apologized for anything in his life.

“I told you. It’s OK”

He nodded once, raised his crossbow again and charged past her.

“Ya gotta keep up so I can keep an eye on ya.” He grumbled

She took a quick swig of water from the bottle that was fastened to a plastic strap on her belt and carried on after him, wishing that it was raining, or snowing, or that she was standing in the water of the quarry washing clothes. But the view made up for it and she couldn’t lie to herself, watching Daryl stalk about between the trees, concentration etched on his face, his crossbow at the ready and his strong physique shining in the light of the sun as he moved was almost enough to make her forget what she was doing there altogether.  But while she thought Daryl nice to look at, she remained platonically interested in him and what he had to teach her there and then, knowing that someday, she might need to use the information presented to her.

“See this right here.” He stopped and pointed with his boot to a nibbled patch of grass “deer.”

Jess finally caught up, standing next to him and regarding the slightly disturbed area on the ground.

“How do you know that?!” She asked with surprise.

“They’re messy eaters. They press it against their top palette and yank it right outta the ground.”

Her face changed and she thought for a moment as her lips rose into a smile.

“Like a really cute lawn mower.” She commented.

He just looked at her as if she was crazy.

“What about Walkers? Can you track them?” She wanted to know as she peered down at the missing grass, noting the disturbed earth under it.

“Walkers and live humans are easiest to track. We leave footprints, stamped down grass, broken twigs and messed up foliage. That kinda shit.” He explained.

She began to back away with a glint in her eye that he didn’t like the look of.

“So if I ran off, you’d be able to track me?” She asked.

He followed her, walking with her as she stepped backwards. She was challenging him and he didn’t like it one bit. Not out there in the open. Not where she could get killed.

“I could, but runnin’ off would be a real dumb thing to do.” He warned.

“Look at me, it’s not like I’m going to get far.” She gestured to her torso with her hands.

“Stop.” He ordered firmly

“Maybe I should try, could use the exercise” she shrugged lightheartedly, aware she was once again prodding at his temper but caring very little. Angry Daryl wasn’t all that bad to look at either.

He was glaring at her, his blue eyes intense. For such a mysterious, introverted and antisocial person, she couldn’t figure out why it was that he seemed to manage and maintain eye contact with her on a number of occasions. Not that she was complaining.

“Ya stay with me, so I can keep ya safe.” He affirmed.

His switch in tone from relaxed to stern and protective stirred something in Jess. She liked the way his eyes locked with hers as he talked about keeping her safe. She hadn’t expected this level of care from him and could only hazard a guess that it was because he actually did like her enough to want her around. She nodded and gestured with her hand for him to continue leading the way.

“How did you learn this?” She queried.

“My ol’ man used to take me out into the woods. Blindfold me and bail. Had to track him.”

“Well, it worked.”

“Yeah. He’d tan my hide every time I got it wrong.”

Jess smiled at the ground as she walked but it soon dawned on her that he could be serious and that there was the possibility that Daryl didn’t have the best upbringing in the world.

“You taught anyone else how to do this?” She continued in her quest to find out more about him.

“Naw.”

“Don’t you and Merle usually hunt together?”

“Not no more. We split up. He’s more interested in getting’ laid. Stop askin’ questions, every animal in Georgia can hear ya.” He scolded.

“Sorry.” She muttered as she scanned the area around them. A darkened, bumpy patch around a tree stump caught her eye and she skirted away from Daryl, approaching it with some hesitation.

“Are those edible?” She questioned while leaning forwards over the gathering of mushrooms.

“Again with the damn questions” he complained as he stomped over to where she stood and followed her gaze.

“I have to ask questions to learn” she corrected, straightening up and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, can eat those” He answered, ignoring her last statement.. “But don’t eat nothin’ like that without askin’ me or Merle or someone that knows what the hell they’re talkin’ ‘bout. The wrong ones could kill ya.”

“Or get me real high.” She suggested with a wink.

“You ever done shrooms?” His face was unimpressed, not taken in by her playful line of questioning.

She placed both hands on her hips and let out a small laugh “Do I look like I’ve done shrooms?”

“Right. No. Don’t touch any unless ya desperate.” He told her before resuming her lesson about different types of tracks. He explained how animals have certain ways of moving which leave footprints that signal what they are. Along with how to identify bird tracks and how to cover her own path if she ever need to escape Into the woods.

“Why would I run away from another live human?” She asked.

“Can’t trust people no more. Some of ‘em are worse than the Walkers.” He replied. “Ya see another person, keep ya distance and ya weapon ready. They could steal your shit or wanna eat ya with the way things are goin’.”

That’s food for thought.

“I’m a catch. I’d keep them fed for at least a fortnight.” She chirped.

He suddenly stopped and glared back at her. She couldn’t read his expression, somewhere between irritation and confusion. He said nothing and carried on walking.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The majority of the day was highly educational for Jess and she took a vested interest in being able to hunt her own food and escape without trace into the trees. She’d even been able to practice a few things. Daryl let her use his crossbow to shoot a squirrel and she shocked herself when she celebrated the animals demise instead of crying about it. That was her squirrel, he had told her. She was going to skin it and eat it because it was her first ever successful hunt. She felt a swelling sense of pride in her chest when he handed it to her and made sure she carried it back to camp.

As they neared the tree line that separated them from the clearing in which the fire was being started for the evening, Jess and Daryl slowly wandered along, neither of them really wanting to go back and sit among the others. Their time alone in the woods had been mutually enjoyable and peaceful and Daryl considered asking her if she wanted to do the same again the next day. Before he could speak, she beat him to it.

“I enjoyed today.” She confessed. “It was very educational.”

“Me too.” He replied quietly, keeping his vision on his path and hoisting the string of squirrels and various other small, dead animals further up his shoulder.

“Where’s your vest?” She enquired, using it as an excuse to catch a glimpse of his arms.

Screw it. I’ve earned this.

He looked up at her briefly, catching her eyes sweeping his upper arm and chose to ignore it as as he prepared for her reaction to what he was about to tell her.

“Washed it this mornin’. Was dryin’ when I left.” She began to giggle to herself and felt him shove her in the arm in jest. “Shut up.”  He grunted.

“He actually listened to me. Oh my god.” She said to herself with a wide grin.

“It’s a one off. Don’t act so smug.” He grumbled as they both stepped out of the trees into the open area of the camp. Activity was at a minimum. Shane and Lori were talking in the corner, Carol sat with Sophia by the fire as Glenn fanned the initial flames. Andrea was atop of the RV while Dale was at the food station. Jess turned to Daryl with her squirrel gripped in her hand by its tail.

“Thank you. For taking me out.” She said sincerely.

“You’re welcome.” He said with a nod.

It was a clear and sincere acceptance and strangely polite for him. But she appreciated it all the same. He intended to follow it up with an invitation to do the same the next day, but something shattered his plan.

“Thank you for taking me out Daryl I love youuuuu!” A high-pitched voice mocked from behind them.

Daryl whirled around and locked his sights on Sarah.

“What’s up? You jealous or somethin?! Huh?” He raged as he stormed towards them. Jess managed to grab one of his arms to stop him but she shrugged her off and told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to let him say his piece.

”I should ram this squirrel down her throat” Jess said under her breath.

Daryl’s rage was evidently scaring Sarah into submission to an extent. When he stopped in front of her and loomed over as she perched on a tree stump, his eyes narrowed and Jodie, who was sat beside Sarah, instinctively moved away and stood nearby like the true coward she was.

“You deaf as well as stupid?” He seethed.

“N-no.” She said with an air of fake confidence..

“You wouldn’t wanna go out there anyways, I’d feed ya skinny ass to the Walkers before the heat melts that plastic shit in ya face.” He hissed. “You got a thing for Rednecks? That why ya jealous?”

“No”

“Funny. Ain’t what I’ve seen.”

“Don’t you dare.” Sarah warned

“C’mere. I gotta tell ya somethin.” He leaned closer, curling his index finger at her and gesturing for her to move forwards. She refused, so he defiantly positioned his face by her ear. “Threatenin’ me ain’t wise, bitch. Not with what I saw ya doin with my brother in the woods.”

“You didn’t see anything. I wasn’t doing anything.” She protested through gritted teeth.

He moved back slightly, looking right at her. His lip curling in disgust. He hated girls like Sarah and Jodie as much as Jess seemed to. He too had endured their persecution at high school.

“Harder, Merle. Harder.” He mocked quietly adapting his voice and making it higher-pitched.

Sarah’s face twisted into pure panic.

“Oh my god. Shut your mouth. You some kind of pervert?” She fumed, quickly looking over her shoulder at a petrified Jodie, stood hugging herself and biting her nails.

“Nah, that’s Merle. But ya know that already, don’t ya?” He leaned close to her again, hearing her draw in a jagged breath. “Maybe next time he’s balls deep in ya, you should keep it down. Just a suggestion.”

Jess was impressed at his ability to render them both silent and reasonably terrified in seconds and she only wished she could do the same. His comment regarding Sarah’s badly executed lip fillers had almost made her bellow with laughter. But she exercised some restraint and watched on with dignity. Then came his graphic ridicule of her sexual activity with Merle in the woods. She hadn’t seen this side to him. Spiteful and savage and she had felt a twinge of discomfort at his brash and crude references. However, she struggled to find a reason why it wasn’t justified and decided that it all boiled down to the fact that Sarah shouldn’t be dishing it out if she couldn't take it.

It was some time before Daryl finally backed down after an intense stare off between then, but when he did, Sarah sat motionless and humiliated in her spot, her hands clasped in her lap and her jaw pulled tight.

“C’mon” Daryl said to Jess as he passed “let’s cook this shit up.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I think I have a crush on him. I’m so pissed at myself. Why do I always like guys that wouldn’t look at me twice?! Who am I trying to kid? No one looks at me twice anyway. Suppose I’ll just have to window shop, as usual. The world ended. Only a few survived and my brain thinks it’s an appropriate time to develop a crush on someone. It seems it’s been noticed by the twisted sisters too. No doubt I’ll have to endure more mockery at their hands. Or maybe What Daryl said to Sarah will make her think twice in the future. I don’t know. It was kind of…hot. Watching him shut her up like that. I can only hope it’s stays with her and she leaves us alone. Us. That’s strange. Me. Leave me alone.

Sometimes, I feel like they’re how I’m supposed to be. Maybe if I were more like them, things would be easier. Are they roses and I’m just a Dandelion? Roses may have thorns but if you breathe in instead of out at a Dandelion, it’ll choke you.

Choosing to sit with Rick and Carl after everyone had eaten, Jess jotted down words in her journal, tilting it to avoid Carl’s curious gaze. After weeks at the camp, Jess concluded that the cop next to her and his young son were actually quite nice company and decent conversation in the late evening hours when the sun would set and she’d start to look forward to retreating to the top of the RV with someone who had become her favorite individual to be around. Daryl.

Glenn and T-dog sat on the other side of Jess, with Andrea beside them, Dale on the RV and Merle next to Daryl, who was positioned square in her sightline when she looked up. He carved bolts and sharpened his hunting knife while Carl, Rick and Jess conversed quietly between themselves.

Merle nudged his brothers arm and Daryl’s hands stilled, his knife poised and still over a rock in case he sliced his hand off as a result of Merle’s careless action.

“Hey, Darlina. What ya say we head into the city at some point? Pick us up a little whiskey for these cold nights.”

“City’s full of walkers. Ain’t worth it.” Daryl replied with a shake of his head.

“Ahh, don’t be no sissy! Be in and out faster’n a bat outta hell.” Merle reasoned.

It was the worst idea Daryl had heard in a long time. In fact, the last bad idea he’d heard had also come from Merle and all the bad ideas before that. A pattern had formed and Daryl was no longer interested in being involved in any of his big brothers hairbrained and dangerous schemes.

“Yeah, maybe.” He mumbled in an attempt to quieten him.

Rick, who had overheard what was said, lifted his head from watching his son sitting on the floor next to Jess.

“It’s wise to keep a clear head right now. you both know Walkers are working their way up the mountains” He offered.

Merle stood up. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, the ash from the end flittering down from the orange end like confetti.

“Yo, Sherriff good boy? This don’t concern you” Merle snapped with a point of his finger. In a second, he was gone, vanished into the approaching darkness and not a single soul sat around the fire cared where.  

Rick sighed and looked sideways at Jess, who was offering him a sympathetic smile as she turned a page in her journal and carried on scribbling.

“What are you writing?” He asked.

“Nothing exciting. Haikus.” She muttered. Making a mistake on the page, she scribbled it out, her tongue emerging from the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“Haikus” Rick repeated.

“Dad, a Haiku is a short, Japanese poem that has a 5-7-5 syllable rule.” Carl interrupted. Rick was more than aware of what a Haiku was, but decided to humor his son anyway and presented his best, faked surprised look.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Jess grinned at Carl.

“I see. Can we hear one?” Rick asked.

Jess never shared any of the fruits of her labor when she was writing, always finding it too personal and revealing to read out to anyone, let alone people she hadn’t known all that long. She was no Haiku expert, nor was she all that into them, but the short, direct nature of them was both an appealing hurdle for her to overcome and something that keep her mind sharp.

“Oh, I don’t know…” She mused.

“Yeah! Please?” Carl begged, shifting around so he could peer at her with inquisitive eyes.

Daryl looked up from across the fire and paused his task. He slid his knife back into its holster and leaned against the wooden box behind him, bending one leg and draping an arm over it.  

“Uh… OK. sure.” Jess reluctantly agreed. She cleared her throat and tried to speak without her voice shaking. Suddenly feeling like she was stood up at the front of class at high school with a room full of judgement staring right back at her. But she wasn’t at high school, this was different and the young boy on tenterhooks in front of her was so enthusiastic, she felt too bad to decline.

“I stand taller to

Overcome the shadows

Of those who doubt me.”

Her cheeks reddened and she stared at her handwriting on the page, noticing one letter ‘a’ that wasn’t quite joined up enough. The silence around her was deafening.

“That’s… personal.” Rick remarked “but good. I mean, I don’t know what I’m talking about but-”

“-it is good. I think it’s good.” Carl affirms. “You should write more of those.”

His encouragement was endearing and she could only hope that his happy demeanor would continue, despite their dire situation.

“Thanks.” She muttered bashfully as she drew a star in the corner of the page.

“Should write a Haiku for everyone.” Glenn suggested from her other side. “Merle’s would be interesting, that’s for sure”

He was right. What could she say about Merle? With an out of the blue surge of confidence, she wrote down what was in her head, smirking at the words on the page and giving Glenn a quick wink. Before sharing her Haiku, she checked that Merle was well out of earshot or she would have some serious explaining to do.

“Bug zapper becomes

Merle’s entertainment after

TV repossessed.”

Nervous giggles filtered through the group around the fire as most of them also checked over their shoulders to make sure Merle wasn’t present. Jess scanned the laughing faces to see Daryl dip his head and smile into his lap. A rush of pride and self-satisfaction surged through her at the thought that she’d managed to make at least five people laugh, including the brother of the man she was making fun of and the person she had developed a crush on.

As the chuckling subsided, Daryl tilted his head back and rested a cigarette between his lips. Lighting it, his eyes never left hers and she began to wonder what he was doing and how strange it must have looked to everyone else. Luckily, no one was paying them any mind. Crickets chirped in the surrounding long grass in the tree line and the chilled, nightly breeze arrived, Andrea pulled her jacket closer around her and shivered.

“Bout me?” Daryl rasped.

The group fell silent, all exchanging intrigued glances. Jess stifled a huge grin, knowing it was quite something for him to pipe up in a social situation like this and put himself in the spotlight.

“OK.” She giggled “Daryl…. Lets see.” She began to write on the page again as the others grinned and waited for the most anticipated Haiku of what had become the nights entertainment. When Jess was ready, she flashed him a wide, perfectly white smile and the brightness and life in her eyes seemed to hit him like a lightning bolt.

“Daryl. Person who

Lacks class but enjoys a life

Without rich folks rules”

Rick couldn’t help but snort with laughter along with Carl. Jess joined them and had to build up the bravery to look back at Daryl. When she did, she saw him pick up a smell pebble and throw it at her. It bounced off her sneaker and skittered across the dirt. But his smile was missed with a blink, wanting to hide how amused he really was from those around him.

“Dunno whatcha talkin’ ‘bout. I got class”, He muttered.

“I have more class in my little finger” Andrea commented.

Instead of acknowledging Andrea, he continued to focus on the Haiku writing girl in the vintage Batgirl T-shirt that was able to make him feel more like himself than he ever did before. She was self-aware, able to make fun of herself, different and smart and she was as much of a mystery to him as he was to her. Neither one of them had experienced such an unconventional friendship with a person that under normal circumstances, they never would have crossed paths with anyway. But as she watched him with her unassuming, innocent and dark features, it dawned on him. Something he never thought about anyone. Ever. She was pretty.

For the first time in as far back as he could remember, he’d had a decent and enjoyable day. Not only was he able to do what he loved most and did most days, he was able to share it with someone that genuinely wanted to learn something from him and respected his ways of doing things. She wasn’t Merle, inpatient and arrogant. She was receptive, fascinated and soaked up information quicker than he’d expected. He was looking forward to sitting with her on the RV after dark.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5