#people are afraid of speaking their truth and I’m willing to make a space for people to be as toxic as they want

[phatcatphergus]

If I made an alt account where I don’t tag anything (other then content warnings) and people can gossip or be toxic or talk about things theyre too scared to on main as much as they want would anyone want that

[imx-n]

In this time I’m learning how to navigate pain. Being in a space of having to allow myself to be taken care of & taking care of self I learned how I felt I was deserving of love. I feel in my life I am to be so broken down that I forget that I could be genuinely loved. Yes we know that there’s ppl in the world who’s has phobia towards those in the community, but we also have to deal with a lot of jealousy. The jealousy of when people love us they actually can say they love us because we’re living in our truth and they know who we are. Literal walking expressions of authenticity embodiments of god, but my authenticity and my will to not conform to a world who tells me that in order to make it I have to sell myself. In which I fell victim to at one point, feeling like I had to conform. I have to deal with the pain that comes with the hardships of being trans, being black, being an empress and being beautiful. I have to deal with the pain and the suffering of choosing to be authentic. People love to hate and hate to love someone who can be themselves without identifying the projections of the environment around them. Everyday I have to deal with someone trying to break my spirit bc of their lack thereof….spirit. It’s not easy. To live without. To be starved. To be forced to live in poverty. To be humiliated in front of ppl on a daily basis and the most someone is willing to give me is sex. No love, no support, no genuine care, no respect. Being confident in an insecure world the world begins to put you down to humble you bc who tf do you think you are. Loosing toxic relationships and people all around you. And I think of the pain I have to deal with knowing all I’ve been through or all I continue to go through and the only thing ppl can say to me is I look beautiful which is great but physical beauty is limiting and it entraps you. I literally cannot tell you the last time I’ve been nurtured before my trip to pure sweat sauna bar but I can tell you when’s the last time someone came to me for sex. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had a relationship where I had no betrayal or didn’t end up beefing with a bitch after I literally prayed for them and thanked god for them. So then I ask myself do I be alone or do I use this attention to my advantage? Who do I trust?

My heart has been hurting so heavy and to be honest not even just for myself. Just been hurting bc I know so many people who go through the same things I go through. Who don’t have the strength or capacity to see it through and I get on knees and cry out to god. I hold my heart and I hurt bc when will things change whose gonna fight for them and I cry bc god could I do it? Can I be the change that’s needed for our kids, for our marriages, family, peers, our community. Who’s gonna shut this shit down. The outwardly oppressive nature of people and their need to abuse their power and because they’re the ones in power you get scared to speak. We need more good apples in the bunch fuck the superficiality fuck this reality tv shit. We need more practitioners, more doctors, more politicians, better ppl in the homeless shelters, more creative opportunities for the natives. We need a fresh start. You convince yourself it’s not that bad and in turn instead of ppl rallying behind you to stand on business it’s so much bigger than me. I think of this young kid who went through what I did being abused for being gay and for being trans by those who was supposed to raise me and protect they didn’t. Instead they rally and laugh and the mess they create and so many ppl die at the negligences of other ppl. My mother’s death for example. She was so neglected, so afraid to allow herself to be vulnerable, taken care of just loved to the point she lost her life. It hurt to see the same ppl saying r.i.p. was the same ppl who watched her demise and they could’ve did something then go to sleep at night like not my problem. When she was here where were you to show her the love and support she needed while she was sick? Where was y’all after the funeral? Where was y’all after taking her stuff? And for me I’m no longer fighting for relationships that don’t want to be had. Especially ones that are superficial and I guess that’s why I’ve been hurting because the death of my mother really showed me how alone I really am and how much she had to fight. I literally feel her pain sometimes nd it took a while for me to get to this place of feeling like myself. Feeling like I don’t need these vices or need these people who do nothing but add to my suffering instead of relieving it. A lot of “adults” really should be ashamed of themselves to be honest and if you can look at yourself as an adult in the mirror and love yourself after abusing a child or watching a child suffer you are sick and consider getting some help. Especially the ones within my family. Y’all spend your lives hating and tearing down the lives(not all, but if this triggers you. You need to ask yourself…why?) of the younger generation because you’re still a little kid in need of healing. That pain of having to walk away from those I’ve known, those I once loved, those who I realized gave no fucks about me lingers in my heart and soul and I don’t know if that will ever leave me. But the more I get to walk this life in my authenticity the more I heal, the more I grow and the more love I’m loving giving to those who deserve it. Life is not easy for nobody, but the least we can do is make it easier for each other by showing one another that it is indeed safe to live within love. Safe to be yourself. Safe to love yourself and safe to love others.

The more I feel pain. The more it reminds me that although I’m an intergalactic ex terrestrial being im still a human being on this earth. I can cry, I can laugh, I can be angry, I can literally do stupid shit and it’s okay. The more I feel pain the more I feel alive, but I’m in a space of switching that narrative to the more I feel love the more I feel alive. My self love pumps the blood out of my heart to another and that’s the beauty of being here. I know now without pain there’s no bliss, just like there’s no breath without air or no oceans without water. They have to coexist, but we do not have to stay stuck in cycles that aren’t good for us. It’s okay to be…healthy and we’re learning that umm…healthy is cool. That’s the true abundance and anything that just is not working is just unhealthy and we don’t want that. We don’t want to continue to constantly hurt ourselves bc of the lack of love we feel which is a lack of self love. I love myself so much that if I never get married, never get that dream house, never get that luxurious lifestyle I’m manifesting for myself, if I never have a family of my own wouldn’t say I’ll be happy, but I’ll be okay. Bc the love of myself which is also a love/connection to my 1st husband which is god is enough and I have enough to give to those who need it. I hope you felt it and I hope you don’t feel bad for not giving it back or if you didn’t feel the same bc it was genuine and you deserved that. Never settle for less bc you’re beautiful and I hope you begin to see that and treat yourself as such. Male or female. You’re beautiful so act like it and I need to start acting like it myself. Y’all I be forgetting who tf I am sometimes and I get so much hate I forget about the genuine love I get that have me in tears and remind me to keep going. And I get that love just by being myself so be yourself.

So I made a vow to take better care of myself as well as taking responsibility for my own life. discipline. Is step one for me. I found this sauna place which may be my new sanctuary if they’ll allow and I recommend y’all go. It’s such a beautiful place owned by a beautiful woman(she’s so knowledgeable stay tuned for the video. It felt so nice to be taught and so nice to sweat out everything as well as immerse myself closer to spirit) ran by women and it just felt like home. These next six months I promise they’ll be seeing me more. Something I wish we did more is take care and uplift our healers fr. So guys support, uplift and show love to them bc they showing it to us by providing spaces like these as you should be grateful. Savannah is such a trauma filled space including for myself and it needs healing. Sometimes I feel I need to leave bc the ptsd of being in these streets and the things I seen, the lovely connections and ppl I lost, and the things we did just to survive. As I navigate that pain I dive further into my healing and further into a deeper understanding of what it means to love & love yourself. 🙏🏾

If you know me I love a good sweat. One of my secrets to staying snatched mentally, physically, spiritually and emotionally fr. Sometimes going to the gym is draining, but if you eat well, move your body a bit and sit in the sauna boy that weight & extra baggage will start falling off. Here’s some extra benefits as well for internal and external health.

1. Helps you relax

2. Improves heart health

3. Decrease chronic pain

4. Detoxification

5. Burns calories

6. Assists in workout recovery

7. Great for brain health

8. Induces better sleep

9.Weight management/loss

10. Boosts immune system & fights illness

11. Cleanses your skin

12. Respiratory system

13. Helps fight addiction providing recreational benefits

14. Improves flexibility

15. Great for prayer/meditation time.

I hope y’all enjoyed this message and very vulnerable post. Love y’all. I love myself. I love god. Thank you god and I pray you all can find that peace with god and yourself as I found in my short 25yrs of living and it’s only growing.

Cashapp: $222sun.

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And if you visit pure sweat sauna bar lemme know and let them know that Zeya sent you. Love yous.

[alyjojo]

Love Reading 💒 - December 2022 - Sagittarius

Singles:

Overall energy: Knight of Swords

How you will meet: 7 Pentacles

How they will treat you: Ace of Wands

Long-term Potential: Death

You could have a one night stand type of situation, or it’s possible you’re still involved in an unreliable connection and are trying to back out of it. This person is a fk boy/girl and you’re aware of this, it may have been something that was agreed upon even. Initially. You seem to have been hurt by them, with 9 Wands, your own energy, and you also seem to be the one that’s telling them to fk off 🥳 You’ve possibly bitten their head off in a confrontational way, speaking your truth & how you’ve been hurt. They’re just kinda waiting around for you to get over it so they can do more of the same. They are passionately motivated, they entice you with sex and tell you whatever you want to hear in order to get that from you, even if they’re lying, which this shows they are. Long term, you’re ending the connection for good and happily working on yourself, your money & stability - which is very important to you, and telling this person to kick rocks. Nicely. Probably.

Messages -

Their side:

- I’ve never met anyone like you.

- Mind Games 🤯

Your side:

- Booty Call 🍑

- My money is my LIFE.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Sagittarius 💯 either another one, or you’re your own priority, and if so good for you

Couples:

Overall energy: Queen of Pentacles

Current: Knight of Cups

Challenge: The Hermit rev

Potential: 6 Pentacles

The two of you seem to be going through something, I’m not sure if it’s due to problems in the relationship, because I’m not really seeing any. Distance, that’s about it, and it’s coming from you. You come up as King & Queen of Pentacles, and very independent from each other. Career demands may be keeping you apart for now, or you just live separately and you’re not exactly close to each other. Knight of Cups shows there is romance between you, you’re doing sweet things for each other, going out on dates and spending time together. When you can. They seem to be waiting on you for anything more, and you don’t seem to be in the headspace for that this month, per your messages. The challenge is getting you to come around, maybe traveling to see them or spend time with them, probably because work has your hands tied. Or if you’re having issues, you just need some space right now, and don’t have any motivation to actively work on the relationship. There is communication, and there is the potential for travel, or a visit. Your person seems to be willing to work with you in whatever you need, and if anything they come on VERY strong…maybe too much so. Could be why you need space. “Giving” is what creates the opportunity for travel or communication, so you may not even really spend much time together until the actual holidays.

Messages -

Their side:

- I don’t know how to tell you how I feel.

- Don’t underestimate my potential.

- I will never leave you alone.

Your side:

- BOSS 😎

- I just want to be alone.

Oracles -

Their side: You can only honor your mother and father - or anyone else - if these people are honorable.

Your side: Don’t be afraid to take a stand against injustice; complacency makes you weak.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Virgo, Taurus & Capricorn

[hobidreams]

february 1872.

you cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader words: 3.3k a/n: a million thank yous to @idkijustlovebts​​ for reading an early draft of this for me and just being the most helpful, the most kind and sweet 💜 

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 44. start from the beginning?

“I want an audience with jungjeon-mama.” Though your legs are trembling, you stare down the guards posted at the door of the queen’s chambers. The sun has only been in the sky for a few hours, but you could not wait to come here any longer, lest the anticipation consume you whole.

The two guards exchange looks, obviously recognizing you but unsure whether to let you in. Unsure if they want to be responsible for any possible altercations, you think. You cannot fault them for it. But before they can decide, the door opens from the inside to reveal one of the queen’s maids.

“Su-uinyeo-nim,” she says. “Please, come in.”

You follow the maid down long corridors, the dream from last night repeating over and over in your mind. You hadn’t been ready to accept Queen Jeonghui’s words then, too afraid of the consequences of wanting. But now. Now, the reality of living without him is too much to bear without putting voice to your truth at least once.

In front of the sitting room, the maid comes to a stop. “Jungjeon-mama is in here.” Another set of doors are eased apart.

The queen, beautiful and composed, sits on a bench before a low table, with another maid brushing her hair. She slides her cool eyes towards the noise.

You can see no surprise in her expression as she realizes who has come to her. What does that mean? You tense your muscles and walk in, until you are standing directly in front of her.

Perhaps the queen senses your determination, for she says to the maids, “Leave us.” Then, when you are alone, she gestures to a bench. “Uinyeo-nim. Take a seat.”

A direct order from the queen, but you shake your head. “No, thank you.” Afraid you’ll lose your nerve if you do.

“Hm.” The queen doesn’t mention it. Instead, she opens her jewelry box, casually lifting a pair of earrings as if you aren’t present. “So, what brings you here at this early hour to pay me a visit?”

You’ve gone over this conversation so many times in your head, again and again, but none of those careful, diplomatic words feel right in this moment.

For once, you want to cut right down to the core of it. Past the politics. Past the veiled subtleties that make up the royal court.

“Jeonha,” you start, your voice raspy but you continue. “Jeonha and I have an intimate relationship. Though he is the king and I a mere—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. No more of that word. “And I am an uinyeo, not a palace woman, we have been lovers. We are lovers.”

The queen’s eyebrows raise. But before she can speak, you plow on. It’s your turn now, damn it.

“If that makes you uncomfortable asking me for medical advice, I can arrange for one of my disciples to act in my place if you wish. If not, I assure you I will do my best to aid you in all matters, including conception and delivery. But I…” You scrunch your hand into a fist, forcing yourself to breathe, willing yourself stand up straight. “I’ll no longer pretend as if he and I have no relationship.”

The words are coming on their own, your voice building in shaky volume with each syllable. Everything you’ve wanted to say for so long, tumbling free. “I will not step aside. I won’t acquiesce and let him go. Not even to you, jungjeon-mama. Even if I’m not an official concubine and can never be one, I will stay by his side. I will stand. I will—I will demand my space in this palace, regardless of what you or any of this country’s people may think…!”

Instantly, a thick, pensive silence falls in the room.

It’s a silence that begs you to say more to break it, but the words die on your tongue. You can only wait. Wait for the explosion you’ve just lit to blow. But then—

Jungjeon-mama is laughing.

Laughing.

The sound rings out across the empty hall, filling the blankness with your confusion and her mirth. It takes her a full minute to calm, to distill the sound down to quiet chuckling. You are too frozen to ask what the hell that just was. Instead, you just watch as she, still smiling, sets the earrings down and drapes a hand over her lap.

“I wondered how long it would take you to tell me the truth. I’m impressed, uinyeo-nim.”

Your trimmed nails bite into your palm as your heart thuds louder in your ears.

“You… You already knew?”

“But of course! How could I not?” She presses fingertips to her flawlessly smooth cheek. “It was one of the first things I learned when I set foot on palace grounds. And even if one of the ladies had not told me, it would have been plain to see on jeonha’s face that he is absolutely enamored with you.”

Thoughts collide against each other in your mind. It takes all your strength to gather them, to pick out one coherent question. “Then why?” You ask. “Why did you come to me all those weeks ago as if you had no inkling of such things?!”

Jungjeon-mama shifts, her elaborate chima spilling over the bench. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness. You must understand I had to test you. To see the strength of your relationship for myself, so I could know whether or not it could ever be broken.”

Broken. Your heart pangs with the mere thought.

“You see,” she continues, “I have no interest in a man who cannot return my affections. Life is far too brief for such wastes of time.” She moves her hand to her arm as she leans forward towards you. “I want to live happily. I am already queen. It was a decision made for me by my parents, but one that will ensure my survival in this world. Having the king’s attention means very little to me after that.”

Wait.

You feel your eyes widen. If she has no interest—Could that mean? Could it be?

“How much of it was a lie?” You ask bluntly, already steeling yourself for whatever answer comes. But you now know the truth is far better than endless wondering in your own head.

The queen smiles as if she was expecting that question. “Jeonha and I have never been physically together. You will have to ask him for the details of our wedding night, but nothing of consequence happened. Of course, the people believe otherwise, because they must.”

“Never?” You repeat, numbly.

You could weep from relief. It washes over you, filling, mending every cut on your heart from these past, vicious months. You were prepared to accept anything she said. You understand the importance of conceiving an heir. But this… This truth is beyond anything you’ve ever dared to dream of. Yet, that was for good reason.

“What about an heir? Who will rule the throne if not your son?” You ask.

The queen is chuckling again, as if she finds your simple reasoning extremely amusing. “You may have seen the official lineage records, uinyeo-nim, but I have heard the stories. The older servants in the palace know the rumors from several generations back. Do you think our king the first to fall for someone he shouldn’t have?”

“I… I suppose not,” you reply. She’s right. There must have been others trapped by royal responsibility. Others who have let themselves be happy.

“By now, the royal bloodline has likely been muddied so many times that I’d be surprised if there were continuity at all between any three generations.” Now, you meet jungjeon-mama’s eyes. You find in them an unexpected warmth as she declares, “I certainly don’t plan on being alone for the rest of my life. And there are plenty of eligible men in this palace.”

She speaks with such authority that you can’t help but feel envious. It seems to come so inherently to her, while it has taken all of your courage to even be here. To speak. But still—You are here, standing your ground. You are fighting for yourself.

The queen pushes to her feet and begins to cross the floor to you, but you are no longer scared of such actions. “All I care about is being comfortable. And that my children will be taken care of,” she says. “A royal name will more than secure that, regardless of whether or not they are truly of jeonha’s blood.”

But that’s not enough. You have one last question. Perhaps the most crucial one of all. “And if I become pregnant?”

Yoongi’s story about his father’s former concubine and the assassins haunts your thoughts. You will not allow that to happen again.

“Then all the better.”

She stands right in front of you, her hands held regally in front of her as her silk sleeves drape down. “The court will not bother your children as long as I have my own. And if it comes to it, your sons will be eligible for the throne. Better any heir than none in desperate times.”

“But you. You will not hurt them?” You press, needing confirmation.

“Never.”

Elegantly, Seong-min reaches out her hand, beckoning you to do the same. Though you are bewildered, you offer yours before you can think better of it. She links your fingers together in an uncharacteristically delicate hold.

“Uinyeo-nim.” Her voice remains strong, but for the first time, you think it might be kind. “I want to be happy. And now I know what you have decided happiness is for you. It would all be easier if we cooperated.”

You nod, immediately, still incredulous at what the truth has brought. “I agree.”

She gives your hand a fond squeeze.

As you look at her so closely like this… How very similar to the former queen she is, you think. A comparison that is no longer a dagger through your heart, but a welcome embrace for what is to come. All that is to come, if your king will forgive you for being so utterly foolish for so long.

You want to see him. You need to see him, to tell him all you have uncovered. To share everything that has been lost these past few months.

“Jungjeon-mama… I must go,” you say.

She smiles widely as she releases your hand. “I know. Go. Quickly!”

You are panting when you reach the imposing doors of jeonha’s residence, your legs aching with how quickly you ran here but each second that passes without seeing him feels like a waste.

Jeonghun stands guard today, and he gives you a friendly smile as you approach. “Su-uinyeo-nim, good morning! Thank you again for your medicine.” Then he pauses, noticing your expression. “Ah… Uhh, are you alright?”

Hands on your knees, you nod as you suck in deep breaths. “I-Is jeonha… Is he inside…?”

“Yes, I believe he should be in the middle of his morning readings.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” Somewhat properly breathing now, you straighten. Push back the hair that has come undone from your bun. You must look like an absolute mess, but you don’t care.

To his credit, Jeonghun doesn’t give you the chance to ask for entry. He simply opens the door for you, his grin warm and encouraging.

“Thank you,” you say one last time before you hurry inside.

The residence is enormous, but you know the way as well as the paths of your own hall. None of the servants hurrying about stop you, as if they too believe you belong there as you speed through the corridors towards the study. Towards your heart.

When you open that final door with a shaking hand, you find Yoongi sitting behind his royal desk, papers scattered everywhere on the wide surface. He looks slightly better than when you saw him last night, but fatigue still has its claws in him, drawing wrinkles and shadows on his brow.

“Eunuch Kim,” He starts, without looking up. “I told y—”

“Jeonha.”

Yoongi’s eyes flash up with an almost inhuman speed. There is surprise, then a joy that takes over his entire face. A relief so undeniable that it almost overwhelms you to see it.

“You’re here,” he says, his voice dropping down to a whisper.

There is so much you want to say. You should first explain everything the queen has revealed. You should apologize for the cruel things you’ve said to him, telling him to be with her again and again. But the thing that spills out of your mouth is, “I’m a fool.”

He looks bewildered at this confession. It’s one of the few honest things you have said to him since your argument and it clearly confounds him.

“Jeonha, I have been a coward,” you say.

He seems like he is about to refute your words but just like with the queen, you won’t let him. You’ll say your share, even if your hands are clammy with nerves and sweat.

“All this time, I have waited. Sat there hoping for you to come to me. I’ve answered your summons. But I’ve… never had the courage to reach out for you in turn. Never asked for more because I always thought this had to end someday.” You’d been searching for ways to protect yourself, to pull away before he abandoned you without a thought to how that would hurt him in turn. Foolish.

You take a step towards him but no more. Wanting to be in his arms, but afraid you’ll lose your conviction if he touches you. “I should’ve told you my fears. I shouldn’t have tried to take every burden onto myself.”

He murmurs your name now, not to interrupt, but because he cannot stop the sound. His eyes are so tender, so full of affection and sorrow.

You exhale, letting your fears flow from you to leave only sincerity behind. “Jeonha, I know the truth. You’ve never taken another woman. But even if you had… Despite everything, you’ve thought of me. You’ve made me a priority. And I—I had thought myself powerless all this time.”

He pushes up from his seat. Slides out from behind his desk. You watch him descend from the platform until he stands on the same hard ground as you.

“Powerless, when you have all this power over me?” He asks, almost amused at the absurdity of the thought.

You nod. “I should’ve known that. Should’ve held my head up high no matter what the other palace women or former concubines said about me because… I have no reason to be ashamed in front of them, regardless of my class. Because I’m the one you chose. Out of all of them. Me.”

“And I will always choose you.” He is closer now. A few more steps and he’d be close enough to touch, but instead your hands stay knotted together before you, his at his sides. “But it was not my choosing that gave you strength. You are more accomplished in your own right than any of those women. You have improved the lives of everyone in this palace, whether they will admit it or not.”

Yoongi has the tiniest smile on his lips, but it carries sadness, fear. “I’ve never wanted to force you to stay. Or to pressure you into any decision,” he murmurs, and you know this to be true. It was true when he asked you to the Chuseok festival back when you were both so young, and it was true when you told him to leave all those months ago. “What my mother had to experience was far too cruel. I didn’t want—”

“Jeonha.” You make him pause with one hand on his arm. “I-I know it is impossible for me to officially be your concubine, but… I don’t care about titles. I will determine what worth my life has. And I choose to remain here in this palace as an uinyeo. As… your lover.”

“Is that truly what you want?” He asks, softly, his dark eyes searching your face as if he is still uncertain. “Even though being involved with me has only hurt you, again and again?”

“Don’t you see?” You exhale, moving your hands until you are pressing both palms against his chest. Through his silk, his heartbeat is quick, but so utterly steady. “You are not your father. You will learn from his mistakes, not repeat them. And there is nowhere else I want to go. Not when you are here.”

His hands are trembling when he brings them to your arms, holding you gently. Like this, you can see yourself reflected in his dark eyes. Eyes that are no longer unfathomable, but warm as they focus only on you.

Your voice is a whisper when you confess, “I want to have a family with you.” The secret lifts from your chest, blooming in that precious space between your bodies.

“I do too,” he says, “So much.”

He leans forward until your foreheads touch, his breath brushing against your nose. You inhale his scent, scrunching your fingers in his robes as if you could have him like this for a lifetime. But then, the corners of his lips turn down.

“But I have to tell you… this might be the one thing I cannot give.”

You raise your head. “What? Why?”

“My father… had difficulty conceiving an heir. It is why I have no siblings when a royal family would typically have many. When I asked my father’s physician after his death… The doctor told me he suspected a hereditary condition.” Yoongi eases back, covering your hands with his own. “One that would pass onto me. And make it unlikely that I will father children.”

You shake your head. “Jeonha, unlikely does not mean impossible. You are alive, are you not?” His heartbeat pounds steadily under your grasp. “If we never try, there is never the possibility we might succeed.”

Yoongi gives a surprised bark of laughter, the sound waterlogged with emotion thick in his throat. “My mother. She used to say that.”

“I know. And it’s only now that I understand exactly what she meant.”

Leaning down, Yoongi presses his lips to yours. The first kiss you have shared in months, and it isn’t until his softness is tangible against you that you realize how much you have missed him. How all your reasoning and logic could never compare to the simple touch of the man you love. You let your lips part, wanting more as you feel him smile into your kiss.

No more words. You don’t need them to know how he treasures you. Not when it is evident in the way he cups your cheek with a warm hand, the pad of his thumb brushing your skin. The way he bumps the tip of his nose into you because he needs to be closer.

When you finally pull apart, his lips a little wet, yours still needy, you’re both smiling like it’s your first time. And in a sense, it is. The first time in this new era of your lives. One that promises to last as long as you are both willing to fight for it.

“Eunuch Kim!” Yoongi suddenly yells towards the door. As you stare at him, puzzled, the door slides open. When the man in question appears, looking harried, Yoongi commands: “Cancel the afternoon meeting.”

“But jeonha—”

“Cancel it. And leave us alone.”

Eunuch Kim’s eyes flicker from you to his king, then back to you. His sigh of surrender is far too exaggerated to be anything but ‘finally’ in disguise. “As you wish, jeonha. Su-uinyeo-nim.” He bows as he shuffles out of the room, nearly bumping into the door frame with how he refuses to raise his head again.

“The man is absolutely delighted,” Yoongi mutters when you are alone again, his voice as sarcastic as it is fond.

“I know exactly how he feels,” you say, grinning as you pull your king, your love in for another kiss.

a/n: didn’t i tell you to trust me? 🌸

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[darthzero22]

Hello. I was wondering if you could write Hunter x reader / bad batch x reader. But mostly Hunter. I have an idea where the reader becomes a prisoner of the Empire at the end of episode 14 of season 1 instead of Hunter. Hunter himself feels guilty that he could not protect her and that he had to leave her behind at her own request to leave the planet Daro. But Omega and his brothers tell him that they will come back for her. Because she would have done the same for them.

Oh, that's a beautiful and sad idea 💕😭 @athenaowl585

Hunter x F!Reader 

In order for your squad to get out alive, you sacrificed yourself. You let the Empire's soldiers catch you and take you prisoner, and at all times you disobeyed Hunter's orders.

Warning: Angst 

"We are not going to do that!" Hunter's voice sounded desperate. “We're coming for you, no matter what!”

"You heard Tech! The ship won't hold much longer. Leave me!" you sounded so determined, through the comm.

"Negative! We won't leave you... I won't leave you!"

"Hunter, we have to drop into hyperspace now!" Tech said.

“Turn around! We have to go back for her!” Omega said, also desperate.

"We're not leaving her, Tech! Come back, that's an order!”

"I'm sorry, Hunter, buy you have to do it..." you said.

"No, Y/N! I won't..."

"Please, go! I will find a way to get back to you!"

You were afraid of what would happen to you, but you were determined to stay behind as long as they managed to escape.

“Y/N, no!”

“I promised to protect you, Hunter, and that's what I will do... Go!” 

Hunter never listened to your orders when your life was at risk, but when he heard you so determined to sacrifice yourself so that they would come out alive, it broke his heart and he decided to listen to you this time. He closes his eyes tightly and only gestures to Tech with his hand, giving him permission to activate hyperspace. In less than two seconds, the Marauder was gone from Daro's atmosphere.

The Marauder was on its way to Ord Mantell for repairs. No one was talking, no doubt what had happened affected everyone, especially Hunter. Even Gregor, who once tried to speak, did not dare. He assumed you were very important to them. They were all quiet for at least five minutes, maybe more. Omega was obviously affected, but also worried about Hunter. He had gone to the back of the ship and did not want to talk to anyone.

The ship didn't feel the same without you.

"But he needs..."

"You have to give him space, Omega" Echo sighs. "He needs to be alone”

"Why? We are all affected! We leave Y/N behind!" she had a few tears in her eyes. "And we never leave our people behind... We have to go get her!"

"Technically it is the second time that...”

Echo looks at Tech with a raised eyebrow and a frown.

“Sorry... It's not the right time, I know" Tech said.

"Omega, you need to focus. The ship is in no condition right now to go anywhere else. It needs repairs"

"Echo, the kid is right! We have to go for Y/N!" Wrecker said.

"Wrecker"

"Don't you see it? Y/N sacrificed herself for us!”

“I know!”

“We didn't help her! We abandoned her! We have..."

"And you think I don't care!?" Echo's shout surprised those in the cockpit. "I care and I'm mad at myself for not doing anything to stop Y/N from making that decision! She allowed us to save ourselves and we left her behind... Of course I feel more than terrible, Wrecker!”

That shut Wrecker up. No doubt everyone was affected by the decision you made, but the most affected was Hunter. He was in the back of the ship sitting on a box with his head down, and in his hand was his communicator, which he clenched. To his mind came the countless times he promised you that he would protect you, something he couldn't do a few minutes ago. He abandoned you, he left you behind and it devastated him. In a moment he covers his eyes with one hand.

Without you, he felt lost.

Hunter never needed someone so badly. He needed you and he had lost you because of his plan. He remembered the last thing you told him, that you were going to keep your promise to protect him, but he couldn't protect you. Tears begin to flow from his eyes. 

His chest ached badly, his heart ached badly, and his senses betrayed him. He had never felt so broken.  

“I’m so sorry, Y/N...” 

The truth is that the last thing he needed was to be alone. Omega knew that.

“I have to talk to him" Omega said. 

“I don't recommend you do that. Hunter practically doesn't want to talk to anyone” Tech said. 

“I don't care. Hunter shouldn't be alone. He needs company"

That was more than true. Suffering the loss of a loved one was horrible, that’s why Omega goes with Hunter. He knew she was getting close, but doesn't raise his head. He kept looking at the floor.

“Hunter"

Hunter didn’t respond either. Omega didn't know what to say, she had never seen him like this.

“We will bring her back, Hunter”

Now Hunter wrinkles his nose and closes his eyes tightly for a moment. What if the Empire did something to you? You were a traitor to them and he saw what the Empire did to traitors. Those thoughts were going through his mind. 

“Please, Hunter, talk to me... I am sad too"

Hearing that was enough to make Hunter look at Omega. The poor girl had tears on her cheeks, so he carefully brushes them away. When he finishes wiping away her tears, he sighs and looks back down at the floor. 

“I left her behind, Omega...”

“But it wasn't your fault!"

“Yes it was! I leave one of us behind again...”

“You would never leave Y/N!”

“You don't understand... I have always promised Y/N that I would protect her, that nothing bad would happen to her. I failed her as a sergeant, I failed her as a partner... I failed her!”

“You didn’t fail her" she rests a hand on his shoulder. “We all feel guilty about leaving Y/N behind, but we are willing to go for her”

“How?”

“I don’t know...” 

"Me neither, kid...” he covers his eyes with his hand. 

“But what I do know is that we will look for a way. We always find a way! And Y/N would do the same for us... She would do the same for you" 

Hunter does not respond. To say he felt terrible was really an understatement. Omega could see it, could feel it. 

“Hunter...” she hugs his arm. 

It was more than obvious what Hunter was doing now, the fact that he covered his eyes with one hand indicated it.

“Just let me, kid. I need to... think" his voice was slightly cracked. 

“I will not leave you...”

“Omega...”

“No! Believe me when I tell you that we are going to bring her back”

Hunter removes his hand from his eyes and looks at Omega. He had slightly red eyes.

“Hunter, Y/N will be back with us. She is one of us" 

She was determined, he had never seen her like this. He sigh and brings his hand now to her head. Obviously they were going to come after you, he didn't doubt it at any moment, but he doubted how.

“Omega is right. We are not going to leave Y/N. We will go after her, no matter what " Echo appears with the others.

“Yeah! Let's bring her back with us!” Wrecker said.  

“We just need to repair the ship for it. Ord Mantell is the only place we can go" Tech was always with his datapad. 

“See? We're all ready to go after Y/N, sergeant” Omega said, with a smile. 

Hunter didn’t smile, but nods and stands up. He wasn't going to give up, he was going to bring you back to them no matter what, he was going to bring you back to his side.

[girlwiththereapertattoo]

begin again - part three

Jax Teller x female!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Jax grow closer... I don't know what else to say without revealing spoilers haha

Word count: 4k words

Warnings: very bad language, mentions of blood, physical & verbal abuse, angsty & some fluff

Author's note: I appreciate all the positive feedback I've received this far! It's much appreciated :) also, I'm bad at writing these summaries

If you’re in an abusive relationship or you suspect that someone you know is being abused, speak up and reach out to the correct people!

Beta read by @crucifixedbitch

PART ONE | PART TWO

💀💀💀💀💀

He’s late. The thought brings about a familiar uneasiness and your mind conjures images of a bloodied Jax lying unconscious in some dingy ditch. Jesus Christ.

“Mommy, why did you stop reading?”

S/N’s soft voice draws you back to reality. You look over to his bed where he’s laying beside Abel. “Did I stop reading?”

He giggles, “Yep.”

Oh. You look down at the book in your hand then back up at the boys. “I’m sorry, ace. I guess Mommy’s a bit tired.” And apparently, she’s distracted. You look back down at the book, willing yourself to remember your place.

“Cooper the Cat was stuck in the tree,” he reminds you.

“Right, Cooper the Cat!” your eyes hastily skim through the short paragraphs until you land at the right sentence. “Got it. ‘Help!’ cried Cooper from the tree…”

And just like that, all thoughts of Jax and his safety are shoved to the back of your mind to deal with at a later time. It’s your lucky day today, the boys have had a long day and they’re out before you reach the end of the book.

“I love you, ace,” you whisper to your son after you’ve kissed him goodnight.

It’s because of your love for S/N that you left Jax and the endless bullshit that comes with him. Anxiety-filled nights like this one are a thing of your past and you know you can’t allow yourself to be consumed by thoughts of him. Once you start, there’s no stopping you. You know this, very well, so why is there a sick feeling twisting in your gut? Because a small part of you is still in love with your ex.

Hope blooms when your phone vibrates in your pocket but it’s only B/N. It’s not that you’re not happy to see your boyfriend’s name on your phone screen, but the anxiety’s gnawing at your mind, and you’re desperate for it to be put to sleep. Fortunately for you, B/N’s in high spirits. He’s been frustrated with you lately, and wants you back in Charlotte — his insecurities about Jax are beginning to show.

It’s for that reason that you don’t tell him about S/N’s friendship with Abel.

“This time next week, you and S/N will be back home,” he muses.

“Yeah, we both can’t wait.” You feel disappointed at the realization, “It feels like forever, doesn’t it?”

And S/N has been asking about B/N more and more these days but you don’t tell that to him, afraid that he’ll catch the earliest flight to California. Truthfully, you’re not exactly ready to let Jax out of your life which you’ll be forced to do if B/N’s in Charming. You see, he’s… protective and doesn’t like the idea of you hanging around men. Especially Jax. Hell, he almost stopped you from attending your own mother’s funeral.

Of course, it was under the guise of being the protective boyfriend. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to be in the same town as your violent biker ex?” He said all the right things and did everything in his power to talk you out of the decision but in the end, he failed to convince you to stay away.

“Goodnight, I love you.”

You hang up just in time to hear Jax’s motorcycle pull up out front. The relief is quickly overshadowed by concern when you open the door and are greeted by a bloody-faced Jax.

“I’m late.”

“I’m more concerned about that gash on your brow. Come in.” You open the door wider, “If you’re here to get Abel, he’s asleep. You can fetch him in the morning.”

“Shit.” You step aside to allow him access into the house, “I’m sorry, Y/N, I got caught up in Oakland.”

“It’s fine. S/N was happy to have Abel stay the night.”

He smiles, “Thank you.”

You return his smile, “We should clean that before it gets infected.” Before you can process your actions, you’re leaning closer to take a better look at the cut. “I can’t see much, you should rinse it with water. I’ll go grab the first aid kit.”

“It’s late, I’ll have Chibs take care of the cut.”

“Meet me in the kitchen,” you start for the bathroom, “rinse the cut.”

You grab the first aid kit from the bathroom and find Jax sitting at the breakfast table, pensively staring into space, a half-drunk bottle of water sitting in front of him.

“Here.”

Your voice pulls him from his reverie. His eyes drop to the pill container in your hand and he arches a brow.

“It’s for the pain.”

“Thanks.” He accepts the pills and pops the cap open, “I should’ve called.”

“It’s fine.” You do your best to keep a casualness in your voice when you ask, “What was happening in Oakland? Is everyone okay?”

He gazes at you for a long while before he responds, gauging where your head is at. “Yeah, we’re all fine.”

“Should I be worried?”

He slowly shakes his head, “No.”

You watch him take the pain medication, there are so many questions to ask, questions only Jax has answers to.

“Is it safe for you to be here?”

He swallows the pills and smiles, “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t safe. Don’t worry, you and S/N are safe.”

Hesitantly, you nod as you pull a chair from the table. In a bid to lighten the mood, you tell him, “No offense, Jackie, but you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” he chuckles.

You take your seat in front of him and suppress the urge to smile, “Who punched your handsome mug?”

“I was pistol-whipped.”

“Ouch.” Scooting forward in your chair, you lean towards Jax to get a better look at the rinsed cut, and for a very brief moment, your eyes lock with his before they dart up to his cut. “It’s like the good ol’ days, isn’t it?”

“You playin’ nurse?”

“Yeah.”

Back in the day, nights like these were common. Jax would sit at this very table, at the very chair he’s sat on, whilst you tended to his cuts and bruises. Mother would be sitting in the living room, hurling insults at both you and Jax. She would take any chance to remind you that you were making a mistake you would regret for the rest of your life.

“Your mom hated me.”

Your eyes lock with his, “In her defense, you would always be finding ways to antagonize her.”

And in return, your mother would call Jax all kinds of names but even that wouldn’t keep him away. Nothing ever could keep him from you. Memories of Jax sneaking into your room late at night come to mind. “I had to come kiss my girl goodnight,” he’d tell you.

“We were pretty wild back then,” you reminisce.

And you were madly in love with each other, however, you keep that part to yourself. The situation’s complicated enough without the added layer. You’ve barely mustered the courage to mention B/N’s existence to Jax because, in all honesty, you’re not quite sure how he might react to another man raising his son. The thought of his reaction fills you with dread. Heaven knows he’ll give you a hard time about leaving next week.

Gah, it’s all too much! With a shake of your head, you dismiss all thoughts and grab the ointment from the kit. “Shall we?”

He nods and shuts his eye for you to apply it on the cut. A silence descends upon the kitchen and neither of you makes an effort to fill it.

“You’re good to go,” you announce once you’re done.

“Thanks.”

“I couldn’t risk it getting infected.”

More than anything, you don’t want S/N to see Mommy’s friend sporting cuts on his face. He’ll ask questions, probably mention it to B/N, and you’re not looking to have that drama in your life.

“Are you hungry? I’m assuming you haven’t had your dinner…”

“Nah, but I should get going.”

Your mood deflates at his announcement. The truth is you don’t want him to leave but how do you stop him without giving him the wrong idea? Why are you even stopping him from leaving?

“Stay,” you blurt out.

“Stay?”

“Yeah, there’s the guest bedroom. It’s late and you’re medicated and you shouldn’t be driving and–”

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Sure you do.” You take a breath to compose yourself, “I was cleaning out the closets the other day and I found some of your old stuff. They’re clean, I uh, washed them. Everything is oversized, they should still fit you.”

You had intended to take them to Goodwill and you will but right now, Jax needs them.

“Look, I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

It isn’t a lie but it isn’t the full truth. Honestly? You just want him near you. It’s wrong, and you understand the implications and know that B/N won’t be happy should he find out, but one night wouldn’t be harmful to anyone, right? Besides, he’ll be sleeping in the guest bedroom.

He thoughtfully considers your proposition. After a stretched silence, he reluctantly accepts your offer.

“Great,” you perk up, “I’ll warm up your dinner.”

You make some conversation over dinner, none of the heavy shit, mostly catching up on all you’ve missed in the four years you’ve been away. He tells you about the club, and that Opie met someone and they’re now married.

“And how about you? Is there anyone special in your life?”

He doesn’t answer your question, not that you expect him to. You just can’t help but be curious. After dinner, he heads over to the bathroom to take his shower whilst you load the dishwasher and dig through the laundry to look for Jax’s old t-shirts and sweats. The guilt sets in and you fight the urge to call B/N to tell him about Jax.

You’re dialing his number when you stop yourself. “Geez, Y/N!” you toss your phone into the laundry basket and step back to create distance between you and the device. Think about this. The last thing you need is B/N bulldozing into Charming and starting shit with Jax and the M.C. — that could be fatal. No, Jax staying the night is you helping out an old friend, there’s nothing more to it.

Grabbing the folded pile of clothing, you make your way down the hall to the guest bedroom and find Jax waiting patiently on the bed for you. Nothing but a towel tied around his waist.

“I should’ve knocked, I’m sorry.”

He rises off the bed and that’s when you get a clear view of his torso, and the tattoo inscribed on his ribcage.

“You’ve proved your point, Jax, now let’s go.” “No, why?” You look over your shoulder to the big, tattooed man standing over by the counter, laughing at whatever joke he’s just been told. You’re at some grimy tattoo parlor, somewhere in Reno, and Jax’s about to get your name tattooed on his body. His ribcage to be exact. The sentiment is sweet, you admit, but it’s a permanent decision, and you’re only 17. You look back at Jax who’s now laying shirtless on the tattoo chair, “Do you realize how insane this is?” He smiles brightly as he shakes his head. “Do you have a death wish? Gemma’ll kill us both when she sees this.” Part of her rage will be due to the fact that it’s your name on his ribcage instead of hers. “And what if they find out we’ve lied about our age?” “Babe, will you relax? They won’t, this place is a dump.” Which is exactly why he shouldn’t get his first-ever tattoo done here. “There’s no talking you out of this, huh?” “No.” He laces his fingers with yours and raises your hand to press a kiss to its back, “This is what I want to do. I don’t care what my mom thinks.” “And the pain? You don’t care about that either?” He shakes his head, “No.” You glance at the stencil transfer on his ribcage and sigh. “I know you don’t have to do this–” “I want to do this.” “And there’s clearly no talking you out of this.” “Yeah.” You squeeze his hand and flash him a reassuring smile, “Do you want me to hold your hand?” His smile returns, brighter than ever, “I’d appreciate it, darlin’.” “You’re insane, you know that, right?” He nods. “Only because I love you.” You lean over to lock your lips in a kiss — you don’t doubt it for a second.

You pry your eyes from his torso, forcing yourself to face the now smirking Jax. Right, his clothes!

You hold out the pile to him, “Did you put your clothes in the hamper?”

He accepts them and murmurs ‘thanks’ before he responds to your question. “Yeah, just like you said.”

“Okay,” you fight off the urge to look down at his ribcage. He kept it. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight Jax.”

Spinning on your heels, you scurry out the room before you do something you’ll regret later.

💀💀💀💀💀

“Mommy! Come see!”

S/N and Abel’s laughter sounds from the living room. Saturday mornings have always been your favorite. Sleeping in is always a winner in your books, a vital part of any Saturday routine, and once you’re up, B/N takes S/N out of the house whilst you prepare breakfast. Last weekend was S/N’s first Saturday away from B/N and he was miserable. This Saturday is different.

“Mommy?” More laughter sounds, “You will miss it!”

Lowering the heat, you abandon your cooking and make your way over to the living room. A slouched Jax is taking up most of the three-seater with S/N and Abel on either side of him, all three pairs of eyes fixed on the television screen.

“What’s got you laughing so much, ace?” You take a seat on the armrest and press a kiss to the top of your son’s head. “Beaky Buzzard?”

“Yeah.” He looks up at you, “Are you coming to sit with us?”

“No, Mommy’s got to make breakfast.”

You’d like nothing more than to stick around and watch cartoons with them but there’s breakfast to prepare. When you walk back into the kitchen, you discover your phone vibrating on the counter and you just know it’s B/N. It’s his fifth attempt in the last half-hour, probably looking to speak to S/N, but that just isn’t a good idea. Not when Jax is in the house. You’re being deceitful to both parties, but the timing just isn’t right.

B/N would lose it if he found out about Jax’s regular visits, and you don’t know how Jax would react to B/N’s existence in your life and the role he plays in your son’s life. It would ruin a perfectly good morning. The day got off to a good start with the news of the sale of your childhood home, and your son’s mood is the best it’s been all week. Why would you even think to ruin it by starting trouble with B/N?

It’s not worth it. You’ll just have to come up with a story to tell him later.

“Breakfast is served!”

The boys come barreling in and take their places at the breakfast table. You assist the two youngest boys to plate up their food before you plate up for yourself. Everyone digs into the food, and the compliments you receive are a definite boost for the ego. You listen intently as S/N and Abel excitedly recount the Looney Tune episode they’d watched earlier and S/N’s beside himself with laughter.

The happy moment is disrupted by the unwelcomed vibration of your phone on the counter.

“Is that Daddy calling?”

Shit! You wince at the name ‘Daddy’. It’s what S/N always calls B/N but somehow, it doesn’t feel right when Jax’s sitting across the table from him.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, ace?” you look over to him, very aware of Jax’s eyes burning into the back of your head.

“Is that Daddy calling?”

“No, it’s probably the estate agent.” It’s not a convincing lie, but you’re caught off guard and can’t come up with something better. “She’s calling about the house.”

“When is Daddy calling?”

“Probably later.” You hate that you’re being so dismissive. “We’ll call him after Abel and Jax leave, okay?”

He looks like he might ask another question, maybe press for a better answer, but he resumes eating his food. You avoid Jax’s eyes for the remainder of breakfast. He helps you clear the table and load the dishwasher in painful silence. Once Jax has helped you load the dishes, he leaves you alone in the kitchen. Can the morning get any worse? Apparently, it can. You unlock your phone to find multiple texts from an irate B/N.

He didn’t take kindly to you ignoring all ten of his calls. Shit. You’re on the verge of tears when Jax saunters into the kitchen.

“Abel and I are leaving.”

You nod, unsure of how to respond. “You’ll ride on your bike with Abel?”

“No. Ratboy’s waiting out front with the van.”

“Ratboy?”

“The new prospect.”

“And will we see Abel tomorrow?”

His impassive expression says it all. Your gut twists with anxiety at the thought of not seeing Jax again before you leave Charming. How do you make this right?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He slowly shakes his head. Just then S/N and Abel sprint into the kitchen, bustling with energy. Abel hugs you goodbye before the boys run back out of the kitchen and out of the house onto the front yard.

“I’m leaving my bike here. I’ll come by to get it later.”

“Cool. Yeah, that’s fine.”

You walk Jax out, and just like he’d said, Ratboy is waiting out front in a black van. Together with S/N, you watch Jax and Abel climb into the van and drive off.

“Can we call Daddy now?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” you lift him up and carry him towards the house. “Did you have a good time with Abel?”

He nods his little human head, a bright grin plastered on his perfect face. Once inside the house, you dial B/N’s number but he doesn’t pick up, in fact, it seems his phone’s off. Strange.

“I think his phone’s off, ace.”

His face falls. In an effort to brighten his mood, you suggest driving over to the playground.

“When is Abel coming back to play?”

You inwardly sigh. It looks like today’ll be one long ass day.

💀💀💀💀💀

The last person you expect to find standing on the other side of your front door is B/N and yet here he is, and he looks anything but pleased with you. Oh, shit. Your heart sinks at the sight of him, the chill of fear coursing through your body, and your mouth dries.

“B/N?”

His unsettling smile causes the hairs on the back of your neck to raise. “Hi, Toots. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Your movement’s robot-like as you step away from the door to make way for him. He walks past you, and once inside, his eyes search around the small space.

“Are you home alone?”

You seem to have forgotten how to speak.

“Toots?”

“S/N… He’s, uh… He’s asleep.”

He murmurs a soft ‘good’ before he turns around to pull you into an embrace. For a moment, you stand frozen, your brain seized up and you feel like a foreigner in your own body.

“What’s the matter, Toots? You don’t look too happy to see me. Were you expecting someone else?”

Yes. “No.” Moving one arm at a time, you return B/N’s embrace and do your best to calm your nerves. You’ve done nothing wrong, he’s not going to hurt you, you repeat over and over until he releases you from his hold. “I just wasn’t expecting you to come all this way.”

“It’s only a five-hour flight.”

Why the fuck are you here?

As if he read your mind, he tells you. “I missed you guys so much, I thought I’d surprise you,” with a tight smile, he adds, “You’re not very good at answering my calls.”

“I’m sorry.”

B/N hauls his luggage from the porch and dumps it onto the floor before he makes his way over to the living room. You follow slowly behind him, watching as he settles onto the couch and searches for the television remote.

“C-can I get you anything?”

“Join me,” it’s an order.

You drag your feet over to the couch and take your place next to him. Casually, he slings an arm over your shoulder and forcefully pulls you into his side.

“There. Now you’re close.”

You can’t bring yourself to fake a smile. Too petrified. He presses a kiss to the side of your head and whispers into your ear to relax.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’s told you that lie far too many times in the past.

“Are you enjoying being back in Charming?”

You nod, the words caught in your throat.

“What are you? Mute? Use your fucking words, Toots.”

“It’s good to be back.” Your voice is shaky, barely recognizable. “I missed it here”

His fingers start stroking up and down your upper arm. “Good.”

Your eyes fix on the blank television screen in front of you.

“Is he here? Is he hiding in one of the rooms?”

“Who?”

“Your white trash biker ex!”

You jump up, surprised by him raising his voice so suddenly. “Jax? No! Why would he be here?”

“You lying piece of shit,” he spits out, shoving you away from him, the force sending you to the ground. “I saw his bike parked out front. I’ll ask you again, is he here?”

“No, B/N,” tears fill your eyes, you know exactly what’s to follow but still, you plead, “Don’t do this here. Not now, please, baby.”

“Shut up!” He raises to his feet, towering over you, and kicks at your trembling frame. “No one’s touched you, why the fuck are you crying?”

“I’m sorry.” You swipe the tears from your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t… I don’t know whose bike that is.”

“Are you cheating on me, you whore?”

Frantically, you shake your head.

“I said use your fucking words.”

You bring a trembling hand to your mouth to muffle your sobs.

“I asked you a question, you dumb bitch!”

“No. No. No.” You crawl over to him, closing the distance between you. “I’d never, baby. Never ever.”

“That doesn’t explain why a bike’s parked outside your house.”

“B/N, please,” you plead softly. “S/N’s asleep, we can do this another–”

The words are lost when he harshly grabs your face and shoves you onto your back. Both hands cover your mouth to muffle your pained cries. He’s vicious, and tonight, he’s out for blood.

“Get up, you–”

Knock, knock, knock! You’ve never been more relieved in your life. B/N shoots you a warning glare, daring you to make a move. A few moments later, the knocks sound again, a little louder this time around.

“Y/N?”

It’s Jax. You are faced with two decisions: do you call for Jax to help you or do you take your deserved punishment?

“Y/N?” he knocks louder. “Are you in there?”

You’re sobbing so much, your body’s trembling. B/N kneels beside you, placing two additional hands over the ones already covering your mouth. His additional weight pushes your head further into the hard ground, causing your head to hurt. It’s sure to leave a bruise. With a final knock, Jax gives up and some moments later, you hear his motorcycle ride off. Once he’s certain Jax’s left, B/N removes his hands.

“Why is he here at this hour?”

“I don’t know.” You gasp when he wraps his hand around your neck and applies pressure, making it difficult for you to breathe. “B/N, please…”

“You’ll regret cheating on me,” he murmurs softly before his hand connects with your cheek in a hard slap.

💀💀💀💀💀

PART FOUR

tag list:

@princesssterek @derangedcupcake @furiouscopshepherduniversity @crucifixedbitch @holl2712 @sweet--catrastrophe @marvelsmylife @brittjulianne97

[heart-stomper]

Unspoken Trust, Unspoken Fears

Gathering my thoughts on Sasha and Marcy’s dynamic before S3 proves me wrong shows us what’s going on with these two.

It’s time to look at The Dinner and Battle of the Bands, and then use it as a guide to read the room in True Colors.

No worries! You just gotta speak their language. - Sasha, Reunion

Or in this case, know when to stay quiet. 

Sasha gets really really frustrated this episode. Like, so bad, that if that Volcakeno didn’t erupt, she might have been the one to end the friendship. Even Marcy and Grime couldn’t calm her down. But that’s the thing, before this point, they were the only ones to get through to Sasha without provoking her.

Grime keeps Sasha in line; she rolls her eyes and is clearly annoyed every time she has to hold herself back, but her willingness to keep it cool shows she ultimately agrees with Grime’s plan and sees it as the best path to success.  When Marcy chimes in, it’s with a helpful answer to Sasha’s question. She reminds Sasha of why they stopped Doing Thing by explaining how their plan failed. She avoids judging Sasha for it, and frames it as the repercussions of their actions, as a group. Marcy is on Sasha’s side, so Sasha doesn’t put up any defenses. When Sasha decides to avoid arguing with Anne however, it isn’t for Anne. It’s for the plan, for her and Grime.

Marcy has enough faith in Sasha to believe she’d never want to purposefully hurt Anne, but is careful about broaching the subject. Sasha feels attacked very easily, and will quickly trivialize or downplay things if she feels the other person is being unreasonable or doesn’t ‘get’ her.

And that is the only time Marcy speaks up besides The Big Argument. She only jumps into actual conflicts if things get too heated. Otherwise, she just lets Sasha do her thing, and lets Anne argue with Sasha... sort of.

This isn’t collaboration. It’s a hostile takeover. Why do things always have to be your way?

Now, for the bait and switch. Let’s talk about Marcy’s behavior in Day at the Aquarium and New Wartwood, and Sasha’s in Toadcatcher and Barrel’s Warhammer… while tying it all back to Battle of Bands!

You didn’t tell me you were writing a song! Let’s do it! I mean, if that’s okay with you, Sasha.

In A Day at the Aquarium, Marcy’s first instinct to Anne saying she’s going back with the Plantars is to make a plan. To show that it isn’t actually what will benefit Anne’s Goals. She doesn’t even consider opening up as an option, and avoids saying anything that could cause conflict. New Wartwood, Marcy tries to chat with the citizens of Wartwood and get to know them. But when that doesn’t work, she decides that impressing them with her knowledge and usefulness is bound to make them like her. It has to.

It does seem simpler.

Trying to win people over by claiming a plan is of mutual interest and necessary, carefully choosing which words to use, viewing relationships as a puzzle to be solved… this isn’t the sort of thing Marcy needs to do to get along with someone like Anne. It’s how Marcy copes with Sasha. Sasha lashes out and belittles bad ideas. Sasha has to be convinced the plan benefits her, suits her. Vulnerability and love aren’t enough to make her care, so Marcy does what she can to prove she’s worth being around. She might even sometimes wonder if Sasha actually likes her, or just likes what she can do for her. She rather not find out.

Whenever she’s afraid of people not liking her, or is worried that she’ll lose them, she dives right into those bad habits. She can give her opinions, but they aren’t supposed to get in the way of what Sasha wants. She’s supposed to say “That’s amazing! What do you think Sash’?” not “Let’s do it!”

Listen. There’s another reason why I’ve been training so hard. To protect the one person I know I can count on right now. You. You’re right, I already lost one friend. I’m not about to lose another. - Sasha, Toadcatcher

In Toadcatcher, there’s that scene, where Sasha looks at the BFF picture and the wind cuts off Anne for a second so it’s just her and Marcy. This is where Sasha is at. Anne might have rebelled, but when Sasha reunites with Marcy? Oh, she’ll show Anne, one way or another. They’ll get her back (like, joining the team or revenge wise, depending on Sasha’s mood.)

Listen here you buffoon! What’s it gonna take to prove that you should follow us? - Barrel’s Warhammer

Aaaand Sasha freaks out royally when she learns the two are alone together and doing just fine. On some level, she fears Anne and Marcy “getting along without her” because it means they might decide they don’t actually need her to make plans; that she isn’t necessary to have fun. In the The Sleepover to End All Sleepovers, we see that isn’t as big a catastrophe as Sasha seems to think it’d be. As time goes on, the girls do gain a healthier relationship to their feelings about Sasha, but that doesn’t mean they’d want her gone even if they don’t need her there. But Sasha doesn’t know that, she doesn’t even consider it till reuniting in The Third Temple. All she knows for now, is that she can be a bit... much... so if she isn’t in control, if her way isn’t “the best”, why would Marcy put up with her either? 

Listen. If things get too wild out here, just give me a signal and I’ll call the whole thing off. 

 For sure, teach it to us Anne. 

Every Sasha plan starts with an empty reassurance. So much of Sasha’s dialogue follows a pattern where she says stuff like “we’ll call it off” (she did not call it off) and “for sure, I don’t mind” (she did mind) that it could be it’s own game. Sasha talks the talk, until it gets in the way of what she wants.

Sorry guys, but we’re way to close to bail. I am not going back empty-handed.

It’s good. I just have a few tiny notes that I think could make it even better. ... Boom! Fiixed it! 

If they just follow her lead and let her fix it, everything will work out. They should believe in her and trust her. After all...

That’s not true! Besides, we did it. ... You’re not actually gonna throw this all away are you?

I just wanted all of us to succeed. I was just being a good friend. Why couldn’t they see that?

It all worked out, right? Percy and Braddock made it out okay even if she didn’t follow through on her promise. They won, she’s reliable. But of course, Sasha lost something more important than their belief in her abilities, she lost their trust. In Battle of the Bands however, Sasha recognizes that Anne and Marcy don’t want to follow her ambitions and will be pushed away by them just like Percy and Braddock were. So she takes it upon herself to end things, accepting that she’s lost.

Sorry it took so long.

Except this time, she manages to realize that maybe “what she wants” is to be there for her friends. Sasha’s finally had the space to relax and really think about what she wants, at least a little. This isn’t a real battle after all. Doing things her way all the time isn’t as important as she thought. Maybe she should trust in her friends more. A change of pace isn’t “wrong”, just different. It’s fun.

Sorry we lost, Sash’.

Just like Percy and Braddock, Marcy knows Sasha is capable. She understands that Sasha just wants the team to succeed. That’s why she apologizes when Grime beats them in the competition. She wants Sasha to know she appreciates what she did, but keeps it a bit indirect. She gets Sasha probably didn’t want to push them away. Marcy tried to catch herself and back Sasha up, but when Sasha had her argument with Anne, she stayed quiet. She couldn’t bring herself to go against Anne. 

That was ultimately for the best, as Sasha learned a valuable lesson. Except... She’s in too deep with the rebellion to back out now. This is the episode she’d spill the truth and give up on the whole thing, except... Grime. A part of her knows leaving would make Grime her enemy. She can’t risk that. So, she keeps going with the plan. She decides she’ll somehow win it all back. Because the thing she’s actually most afraid of, is losing another friend. 

Sorry things got a little crazy back there. You guys good? ... Sheesh, don’t be a sore loser. Look, I’m gonna stay here and get this toad regime off the ground, but I can totally send you two home if you want. Or, you can stick around and give me a hand! So what’d’ya say?

Sasha’s final offer; the last chance she’s giving the girls to stop acting weird and go back to being her obedient friends who do what she wants. Sasha lost at Toad Tower, but now she’s won. So Anne should go back to normal, she’s supposed to, like some unspoken “rule”.

And Marcy is supposed fall back in line too. The offer and apology are just as much a plea directed at her. Sasha’s trying to be generous, in her own awkward way. She has bit her tongue so far. She’s thrown a temper tantrum or two, but she hasn’t been this forward in asking Marcy for help till now. She wants Marcy to say that everything’s okay. Make it clear she doesn’t think she’s the bad guy, and that she forgives her and wants to be there for her. That they’re on the same page again. She wants Marcy to help make Anne look overly dramatic and silly for making such a big deal of all this. Sure, if Anne figures that out by herself, that’d be great, but if Marcy could just speak up.

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

Marcy’s too busy worrying about Anne’s reaction. Knowing that she’ll be upset about this. She doesn’t dare side with Sasha, and is disappointed and betrayed that she actually did something like this. Marcy already has her own secret plans, so when she finally tries to calm things down, all she can give is a non-descript “we can still fix this”. And then, she’s once again shocked when she sees Sasha threaten Anne and the Plantars. Seeing Sasha act so willing to actually hurt people rather than just push them around... it finally hits her just how serious “tried to kill them” was. And of course, losing Anne or being sent home with her would completely mess up her own plans.

Sasha’s isn’t a vulnerable person. She’ll go on about loving her friends if it makes her look good, but she actively avoids doing anything that could be seen as “weak”. She wouldn’t dare ask Marcy to drop Anne and choose her. If Marcy isn’t speaking up, she can take the hint. She still isn’t on her side, and so she gets sent to the dungeon along with the rest of them.

Marcy accepts that Sasha has become an obstacle, but a part of her still hopes the three of them can work through all this. If they do things her way, nobody has to get hurt. She'll figure out a way hold everything together, fix everything, like always.

And then Andrias betrays her.

Yeah, what plan?

Sasha stops talking once she realizes what’s going on. Quietly fuming as Marcy explains herself. The music box, the suggestion to take it back to Andrias... that wasn’t Marcy being the sweet, supportive friend who Sasha thought she could always rely on, who believed in her... that was Marcy using her. It was never going to become their plan; Marcy never trusted her and was actively working against her. Sasha lost Anne, and she never had a chance at getting Marcy back, either. 

Sasha smacks Marcy away when she desperately tries to justify herself. She doesn’t want to hear it anymore. She’s furious that Marcy thinks they could be friends after something like this, after she’s manipulated them and claimed it was for their sakes. This whole time, her goal had been avoiding the move with her parents. And coming here has only torn them apart even worse.

Marcy reaches out to both girls. And when Sasha rejects her, she clings to Anne, hoping at least she’ll find it in her to forgive her. That she’ll understand she cares about them even if she messed up. Marcy knows they’d probably never pick her over their families or ambitions, so she told herself this place offered those things too. Made them all better people. But as she says her excuses out loud, she can’t find a single one that feels right. She was just afraid of losing them, and now, she’s managed to hurt them on top of that. 

But the thing is. After all that. Despite how betrayed and hurt and angry Sasha was, she looks like this:

Sasha realizes this must be exactly how Anne felt about her betrayal. It isn’t just an abstract “hurt” or “bad thing” anymore. She can also sympathize with how Marcy feels and why she did it, at least a little. She can’t imagine being able to forgive this, and yet... when she looks to Anne with that apologetic look, she isn’t just hoping Anne will forgive her. She’s also asking for permission to forgive Marcy. Pleading that they all still have a chance to move past this together.

[samwisethewitch]

Choosing the right pagan path for you

Finding a religion is kind of like dating — you need to really know yourself before you can know what you need from a religion (or a romantic partner). And, like with dating, there’s a lot of weird stigmas and social expectations around religion. A lot of people want to settle down with the first one they kind of vibe with instead of taking the time to see what’s really out there. But if you really want to be happy in the long term, you’ll need to have a little patience and be willing to do some exploration.

Getting to know yourself is crucial to a healthy spiritual life, no matter what your religious or spiritual beliefs are. Get comfortable with who you are and what your spiritual needs are, then start looking for a system that meets those needs.

Need a place to start? Try interviewing yourself! Here are some questions you may want to include in your self-interview (make sure to write them down!):

What, if anything, do you absolutely know, beyond a shadow of doubt, is true? What, if anything, do you absolutely know, beyond a shadow of doubt, is not true? Do you believe in absolute good and evil? Do you believe in, or are you open to believing in, reincarnation? What about the existence of the soul? What about an afterlife? Do you believe in fate? What about karma or a similar concept? Do you believe that everyone and everything is connected, or are you more of an individualist?

It’s also helpful to go ahead and figure out where you stand on certain religious concepts that are common in paganism. For example, are you a monist, a soft polytheist, a hard polytheist, or a pantheist? Do you feel you’d do better with a neopagan system, a reconstructionist system, or a revivalist system?

Answering these questions will help you start to identify what your core beliefs are and what you need from a religious system. Keep your answers handy. As we explore different pagan religions in future posts, compare their theology and philosophy to your answers. This will help you determine whether any given system is a good fit for you and your existing beliefs.

Remember, most pagan faiths are not exclusionist — they acknowledge the value and truth of other religions. Choosing a pagan path isn’t about finding the One True Religion. It’s about finding the best religion for you. You’re unlikely to find a system that you agree with 100% right off the bat, but you should agree with enough core theology that you aren’t uncomfortable. I firmly believe that religion should challenge us and help us to grow, but it definitely shouldn’t be triggering or upsetting. You want to find that sweet spot where you’re comfortable but still have room for growth.

They say that when choosing a romantic partner, you should look for someone you agree with 90-95% of the time. This similarity in belief and opinion gives you a solid foundation to build on, but the 5-10% disagreement keeps your relationship from becoming an echo chamber. I think this is also an excellent rule to follow when choosing a religion.

Once you’ve taken stock of your own beliefs, it’s time to consider your interests. Is there a certain system you feel drawn to? If so, that would be an excellent place to start your research!

For example, maybe you were obsessed with Greek mythology as a kid — if so, you may want to start by investigating Hellenismos, the worship of the ancient Greek gods. Maybe you grew up Catholic and always felt a close connection to Mother Mary — you may want to investigate Goddess worship. Or maybe you’ve always resonated deeply with the figure of the witch in fiction and folklore — you may want to investigate Wicca. Starting with a system you already have an interest in will keep your research fun and exciting. You may or may not choose to consider your cultural heritage when choosing a starting point for your study of paganism. If you feel closely tied to the culture of your ancestors, you might start by learning about the gods they originally worshiped.

Let me make one thing clear: the gods do not care about genetics. If you feel drawn to the Norse gods, for example, it does not matter if you have Scandinavian heritage or even European heritage. What matters is whether you’re willing to uphold the values and practices of Norse paganism. Don’t let a lack of an ancestral link keep you from pursuing a religion that interests you!

(Of course, ethnic religions do exist, and some of these systems are closed to outsiders. Judaism and Voodoo are good examples of this. However, all of the systems I’ve mentioned in this post, and all of the ones I’ll be covering in this series, are open to anyone regardless of their ethnicity.)

You may not feel connected to your cultural heritage at all, and you may not even consider it as you explore paganism. That’s fine! Just know that it does offer another possible entry point into the big, wide, diverse world of pagan religion.

You should also consider whether any pagan religions are more readily accessible to you than others. Do you have a friend who is already a practicing pagan and would be willing to take you under their wing? Do you live in a country where certain deities used to be worshiped and have access to historic sacred sites? Are there local pagan groups in your community? Consider these resources when deciding where to start your research. The good news is that, with the Internet, you’ll have access to any system you feel attracted to, at least online.

One of the most common accessibility issues pagans run into is a language barrier. This is especially true for reconstructionists and revivalists. Unless you speak fluent Irish, you’ll probably have to rely on English translations for your research of Irish mythology, for example.

Finding quality translations is essential. A translation error can sometimes change the entire meaning of a poem or myth! The best way to find good translations is to ask other pagans. Don’t be afraid to ask someone more experienced for book recommendations!

Once you’ve chosen a starting point for your research, the next step is to start reading! (Still not sure where to start? Don’t worry! In the next several posts in this series, I’ll introduce you to some of the most popular pagan paths and provide resources for more in-depth study.)

Choose your sources carefully. I try to read an even mix of academic sources (which tend to be less biased) and sources from pagan authors — this helps me get a more nuanced understanding of the system I’m studying. Be wary of any resource that denies science, revises history, or contradicts other authorities on the subject. Also be wary of any pagan author who fills their work with opinion and personal experience, without any research to back it up. Basing your practice on good sources will help you start off on the right foot with your worship of the gods.

It’s important not to rush this research process. While it’s true that you can’t truly learn a spiritual system from books, it’s also true that things tend to go more smoothly if you know what you’re doing. Once you’ve got a solid grasp of the basics of your chosen religion, you’re ready to begin practicing! Start using what you’ve learned from your research to create a religious practice. This may include creating an altar or other sacred space, making offerings to deities, or performing some other daily ritual. My advice is to start small — don’t feel like you have to become a high priest(ess) overnight.

Your practice may change as you become more experienced, and that’s a good thing. People change, and it only makes sense for our spirituality to change with us. Never be afraid to experiment in your pagan practice. This should be a fun and exciting journey!

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part II

First | Next | Masterpost

He went straight to Vizima to find Triss, once he’d made his way out of Kaedwen. It wasn’t directly on the way to Oxenfurt, but it was close enough that he didn’t feel he was making an unreasonable digression. Though he was nervous about locating his bard, he needed to know what this Ida person could tell him.

Triss was as welcoming as always, greeting him with a brief press of cheeks and a light embrace. Yennefer had told her of Geralt’s mission, but she was unable to assist him on the first day, busy with treating several commoners who had come down with a sickness. Nothing of a magical nature, but it did detain her for much of the day after Geralt’s arrival. He busied himself in the city, restocking on potion ingredients that he’d run low on over the long winter, dropping his armor off to be reinforced, and picking up a slim cloth bracelet for Jaskier. It was a soft blue color, with silver beads spaced evenly over the surface, and Geralt thought it would please him.

Gods. He was in trouble.

That evening he dined with Triss in her quarters, despite the fact that it was wildly inappropriate. Geralt asked after it, and Triss laughed dismissively.

“That is a delightful sentiment, but no one is questioning my dalliances,” she said with a grin. “They’re too afraid I’ll turn them into toads if they irritate me. And besides, half the Continent believes that you’re courting Yennefer because of the bard’s silly songs, and the other half thinks you’re courting the bard.”

Ah. “Well,” Geralt said, articulately.

Triss smirked at him over her wine. It was exceptionally good, a vintage from Toussaint that was nearly as old as Geralt. Triss’ quarters were fairly large, befitting a court mage, but decorated in a way that made them seem almost cozy. She favored muted colors that turned rich in the light of the candles scattered around the room. There were dozens of tables and shelves crowded with books, herbs and knick knacks that made the space feel distinctly lived in. It was a stark contrast to Yennefer’s lodgings, which were always immaculate and finely organized. The clutter was a refreshing change of pace. “Yennefer told me that you’re trying to make the bard immortal,” Triss said. One of her eyebrows rose, and Geralt wasn’t sure if the look she gave him was impressed or judgemental.

“Not necessarily,” Geralt said defensively. “Just not so, uh.”

“Excessively mortal?”

He hummed. Triss sighed.

“I don’t know of anything to lengthen a human lifespan to that of a witcher’s,” she said. “But the elves have been dealing in things relating to life force for longer than there have been human mages on the Continent. If anyone has any knowledge of what you’re after, it will be the Aen Saevherne.”

Geralt nodded. “Yennefer told me to ask after a woman named Ida. A sage?”

Triss set her goblet down, looking grave. “Ida Emean. An old acquaintance of mine. Perhaps one of the last elven sages alive, though they’re so secretive it’s difficult to tell. She works occasionally with the Brotherhood, when their goals align. But you need to know, Geralt, even if she has an answer for you, this kind of magic comes with a price. Always.”

“I’m willing to pay it,” Geralt said. “Jaskier, he’s—”

Triss interrupted him with a gentle smile, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand on the table. “I know what he is to you. I want to help. I just want you to be careful.” Geralt wondered when he’d become this transparent to, apparently, half the Continent and every one of his close friends. The sorceresses were probably gossiping behind his back.

“How will you contact her?” Geralt asked, pushing through his embarrassment. He wished saving Jaskier’s fragile human life didn’t involve so many conversations about his unrequited love.

“Megascope,” Triss said, rising. “We’ll need to do it soon, when the moon rises. It will make the connection stronger; I’m not sure where she is.”

Geralt followed her into a room off of the main sitting area, a small space that was almost entirely dominated by Triss’ megascope. He’d seen its like numerous times at Kaer Morhen, where Yennefer had set her own up in the highest tower still standing. The large crystal disks swam with a cool blue light as Triss waved her hand through the air. Three brass arms rose up to hold them at shoulder level, facing inwards to form a triangle. The soft light filled the dark space, throwing Triss’ face into sharp relief before Geralt snapped a finger to light the candles in the room.

Triss stepped up in front of the negative space between the stands, uttering a few words in Elder that Geralt wasn’t familiar with. After a moment the light began to shimmer and twist around itself, slowly solidifying into a human form.

The figure was indistinct, as they usually were in megascope projections, but Geralt could tell that the woman was beautiful. Used to dealing with elves in the south, whose genes had been diluted with human blood over so many centuries, Geralt was taken aback by the sharpness of her features. Her neck was long and elegant, and her hair fell in sheets around her alien features. He was reminded suddenly of his encounter with the elves of the Blue Mountains so many years ago, the inhuman angle of Filavandrel’s cheekbones.

The smoky figure turned towards Triss first, her head dropping in a brief nod. “Triss Merigold. Keidmil.” Ida said in greeting.

Triss nodded in return, her curls bouncing with the motion. “Keidmil, Ida. I apologize for summoning you with so little warning. I have done so as a favor to a friend.” At this Ida’s eyes, empty orbs of swirling blue light in the megascope, fell on Geralt.

“Vatgern,” she said, with the tone of someone who has just discovered something fascinating but slightly repulsive on the bottom of their shoe. “You have friends in high places, wed. What business does a witcher have with me?” Her accent made the words almost musical.

Geralt’s nod of acknowledgement was more of a bow. He wasn’t normally one to show deference to those with power, but this time his heart was pounding in his ears as he leaned forward. If Ida wouldn’t help him, he would be back to square one before he’d even really begun. “Keidmil, Aen Saevherne,” he said as demurely as he could, which probably still came out sounding like gravel. “I was told by Yennefer of Vengerberg that you might have some knowledge on extending human lifespans.”

Ida’s head tilted a tic to the side, clearly intrigued. “Witchers already live near as long as any half-elf on the Continent,” she replied. “There is no spell that could give you the lifespan of a true Aen Seidhe.”

“It isn’t for myself,” Geralt said quickly. “It’s for a human. Someone I… care deeply about.” He ignored the way his face flamed at this admission, no matter how clear it was that Triss obviously knew about his infatuation. He’d barely admitted it aloud to himself, let alone anyone else.

Ida hummed, the sound vibrating through the megascope. “This has precedent. But the spell you seek does not come without cost.”

“Tell me,” Geralt said firmly.

“There has always been conflict between humankind and the Aes Seidhe. Our peoples have crossed gweld an gleidyf many times over the millennia. But there were always times when there was peace, coexistence. In the early days, before the blood of men diluted our own, the Aes Seidhe could live through half a dozen human lifetimes or more. It was taboo to form relationships with humans, and many did not bother. But there were, of course, exceptions.

“It is unclear where the ritual comes from, but the tales say that one of the Aen Saevherne fell in love with a human woman, who then fell gravely ill as she entered her twilight years. The sage, terrified of losing her, bound her lifeforce to his own, effectively extending her life at the cost of some of his own longevity. Over the years the ritual was refined by others. It has fallen out of practice, in this age; many of the Aes Seidhe’s bloodlines are so diluted that they live for no longer than twice a human lifetime. But the ritual remains.”

Geralt swallowed. “Can you explain it to me?”

“I can,” Ida said, her chin raising slightly. “But I do not need to tell you, vatgern, that all such magic comes with consequences. You cannot create those years from nothing; they must be drawn from somewhere. And you will be binding yourself to this human. I cannot say how this ritual will impact someone who is not of elvish blood.”

He could feel Triss turning worried eyes on him. She too knew the price that magic could demand. “Will Ja—the human, could he be harmed?” Geralt asked.

Ida’s head shook back and forth, her hair swaying. “You assume the responsibility of the ritual,” she said. “Is this human worth so much to you?”

“Yes,” Geralt said instantly, surprised by his own lack of hesitation. “Anything.”

Ida looked at him for a moment, as if judging his truthfulness. “Very well,” she finally said. “I will give you the words, but the ritual requires additional pieces. Gaes carraigh, an oathstone, for the vow; ghealachlíon, night’s linseed, for the binding; and ionad, a place of great power or great personal meaning. Once these elements are combined, you bind your hands with the moonflax over the oathstone and speak the incantation. It is straightforward, but your pronunciation and your intent must be exact. Me lámh le do lámh, me cáerme le do cáerme.”

“Me lámh le do lámh, me cáerme le do cáerme,” Geralt repeated. The words were easy, close enough to their modern counterparts that he was certain it would be nearly identical in southern Elder. It was almost too easy, romantic in its simplicity. Ida nodded, satisfied. “And that’s all?” Geralt asked, breathless.

“That is all. There need be no officiant, no further ceremony. You will be bound by Chaos herself.”

“Officiant?” Geralt blinked, confused. “Why would we need an officiant?”

“I have been told that human marriages tend to involve quite a few witnesses,” Ida said, sounding amused. “Ours are a bit more personal.”

“Wait. This is a marriage ritual?” Geralt felt his heart starting to sink down into his stomach.

“I thought that much was obvious,” Ida replied. “Now, if that is all you require, I have my own business to attend to.”

“Me grasha, Ida, for taking the time,” Triss piped up again. “If you ever need a favor in return…”

“I will keep that in mind,” Ida said. “Va feil.”

“Va feil,” Triss replied, and the megascoped dimmed and cast the room back into darkness.

Geralt stood in utter stillness for a moment, blinking into the dark. “Fuck,” he burst out. “I have to marry him?”

Triss just laughed.

*

Triss, luckily, knew the locations of most of the components Ida had mentioned, though the last location would be up to Geralt to determine. The first of these, the oathstone, was used frequently enough in larger elven settlements before their people were displaced. She had recommended the ruins of Ban Aine as a likely findspot, and it was situated not too far from Oxenfurt. That was to be his first real stop, to collect Jaskier and convince him of Geralt’s plan.

Hopefully without revealing too much about the exact nature of the ritual, which still made Geralt sweat when he thought about it for too long.

He couldn’t help but think of it with a strange mix of giddiness and dread, churning together in a nauseating concoction. Marriage wasn’t something that witchers got to do, ever. Their lives were transient and drawn out, and often ended in violence. Even if any of them had the time to court lovers, it wasn’t the type of life that one would wish on someone they cared for. It could only end one of two ways: the witcher outlived their paramour, or their love was left to grieve them after they were gutted by some beast or strung up by an angry mob.

Even when Geralt had been infatuated with Yennefer he hadn’t truly considered anything like marriage. He had imagined a kind of loose commitment, maybe, but he had always known somewhere deep in his own mind that Yennefer would never stand to be tied down to anyone for long. He had been desperate enough for her love that he’d been willing to settle for anything she could give him.

He had never dared to hope for more, no matter how he might want it. Still, once he had come to understand his own feelings towards Jaskier, he had been unable to stop himself from thinking about it at times. He wondered what things might change between them, if they tied themselves together. Things might stay much the same; Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen most years, and journey with Geralt when he could throughout the rest of the year. He would bring trinkets and books and stories for Ciri, and teach her how to be human, and trade quips with Yennefer and the other wolves when they all gathered. He would still help Geralt clean up after a hunt, help him stitch his skin back together and wash away the grime and curl up at his side when night came. But maybe he would also let Geralt wake him by pressing his lips to Jaskier’s eyelids like he had so often yearned to do. Maybe he would reach out and hold Geralt’s hand as they walked through a new town; maybe he would close the distance kept between them when they lay in tiny rented beds.

Maybe he could be Geralt’s, and no one else’s.

He was successful, most of the time, in keeping these kinds of thoughts at bay. It did a witcher no good to dwell on what could not be.

Now it would be, if only technically, and only if Geralt could convince Jaskier to perform the ritual without giving away its origins. He considered telling Jaskier the full truth of it, of course. It was probable that Jaskier wouldn’t even care. In his mind, they were only friends; it would be easy enough to set aside the implications of the ritual in favor of practicality. It would be ridiculous to turn down the chance at potentially doubling his own lifespan just because hundreds of years ago an ancient ritual was used for romantic unions.

But every time Geralt thought of telling Jaskier, and of hearing him dismiss Geralt’s concerns, he felt something black and dreadful crawl up his throat. Jaskier would think it was silly, the idea that he could ever be married to a witcher. He would laugh, with that sly grin he always got when they were sharing a joke between them—isn’t that funny, the look would say, the idea of you and me.

No. If he said nothing, Jaskier would never have to know, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Geralt would never hold him to any sort of bond that the ritual created between them; he would be happy knowing that Jaskier wouldn’t be taken from him by time and old age, at least not yet.

And at least he would have something of Jaskier for himself, even if he’d had to steal it.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part III

Part I

Part II

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

After that night, it became increasingly hard for (Y/N) to leave, and for Eren to let her do so.

Something between them had changed. There were moments— when Eren would press feather-light kisses against her forehead, when he would casually leave a cup of her favorite tea where she would find it— where (Y/N) felt as though her heart might burst. It was all the little things that baffled her, all the ways in which he seemed to understand exactly how she felt; it was as though he knew her more than she knew herself. On the mornings that she would wake in his bed, sleepy and sticky and wholly content, (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to have this life forever.

Other days— on days like today— she was reminded exactly why that could never be, and it broke her heart.

Today, they had planned a romantic dinner in the park, an evening under the stars. It was supposed to be something special, a little getaway just for the two of them; they had wanted to leave as soon as (Y/N) was relieved from her patrol, so Eren had moved her things to his place, hoping that they could leave together from there for their evening alone.

In and of itself, that was fine… but when (Y/N) came in, covered head-to-toe in viscous Creature blood, Eren was furious.

“And you call me a monster,” he growled, looking her up and down with hate in his eyes. “I can’t believe you.”

He stood from his seat on the sofa, and (Y/N) began to back away, still wary from the fight she had narrowly escaped from unscathed. Her every instinct told her that she should run, fire a round of silver bullets into his chest, but she steeled herself, doing neither.

“It’s not my fault— they were attacking a civilian,” she told him as he stalked towards her, his face twisted into a horrific scowl. “I tried to stop them— tried to find out what was going on— but then they came at me with their claws, and I was left with no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he snarled, and it was then that anger filled (Y/N) from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. "They were probably terrified of you— how could you possibly blame them for lashing out?"

(Y/N) grit her teeth.

“This, from the man who thought genocide was his only option to the same problem?”

Eren made a low, warning sound in the back of his throat, but (Y/N) pressed on.

“You would rather me have died?” she demanded, stepping into his space. “Would it have pleased you more for my body to bleed out on the pavement, ripped to shreds by an aggressive werewolf? Would you even care, or would you just find the next blood bag and move on with your life?”

“Maybe so,” he shot back, “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your insufferable mouth.”

That stung— but if there was one thing (Y/N) knew how to do, it was to strike back twice as hard as she had been struck.

“Fine then,” she said, turning on her heel. “I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll go out and find someone who actually wants my company, someone who’ll fuck me good and proper over the counter at some hole-in-the-wall bar over on Easy Street, someone younger, with a nicer cock and less fucking baggage— ”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence, or even walk a single step further— Eren grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him, his fist painfully tight against her scalp.

“Wanna say that again, to my face?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I’ll go find someone else to fuck me,” she spat, struggling in vain against him. “I’ll spread my legs for the next available schmuck in the closest bar I can find, so you can hear me scream his name and not yours.”

It was a low blow, to threaten a vampire’s claim on something they had previously assumed had belonged to them, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She had almost died today, and she’d be damned if she was going to take shit from anyone about what she had to do to survive. If Eren wanted a fight, she would damn sure give him one.

“Like hell you will,” he told her, pulling her head back so that she had to strain to remain standing. “You’re mine. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood— you are my Companion.”

"I belong to no one!"

Those words ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the empty house, and it was then that Eren stopped, looking at her with calculation in his gaze.

"You're right," he said, releasing her hair. "No mortal can serve two masters, lest they love one and despise the other; an archaic religious concept, but an accurate one nonetheless. You've made it abundantly clear where your loyalty lies. I was a fool for thinking otherwise."

(Y/N) began to tremble. "Eren, what are you saying?"

"I release you from our pact," he replied coldly, his eyes so dull and lifeless that it sent a chill down her spine. "No longer are you bound to be my wine-press— I free you from me."

"Eren—"

"Go," he commanded, and (Y/N) felt terribly, horribly empty.

Once, he would have told her to come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness she brought him; now, he gave her a cold dismissal, and it frightened her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she went, feeling hollow and used, and she didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she turned to walk home, weary from the day and sick from fighting.

***

Armin had lived for a very long time, but even so, he had yet to meet anyone so foul of temper as Eren when the Hunger was on him.

"Eren, you have to feed."

The vampire, as ill in health as in temper, glared weakly at him. "I'm not hungry."

"But you are Hungry, and don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, if this is about that girl—"

"I told you not to speak of her!"

Ah, so it was about her. By the looks of him, it had been two weeks since Eren had fed; Armin would bet that he hadn't seen her in the same amount of time.

"If I need to, I'll drag her here to make up with you myself," said Armin testily, "I refuse to watch my best friend starve himself because he refuses to feed on anyone else."

"You will not touch her."

Armin rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. He just patted Eren's arm in farewell and set about finding the little lady who was the root cause of his current consternation.

It took longer than Armin had anticipated to find the young woman who had, for all intents and purposes, completely unraveled Eren's composure; her scent, while thick and memorable in Eren's apartment, was hard to track otherwise. Armin spent two hours just wandering the city while trying to catch a breath of it here or there, and when he finally did manage to catch a whiff of her scent and follow it to her, he understood exactly why it had been so hard to track her down.

The girl was a Hunter, of all things.

When Armin found her, she was knee-deep in sewage, her knife embedded to the hilt in the skull of what appeared to be some species of winged reptile. Armin, having been a tad desperate and not actually having been expecting to find anything when he lifted the lid to the man-hole on 32nd and Main, was surprised to say the least— and when (Y/N) ripped her knife free and readjusted her stance into a defensive one directed at him, his surprise turned to intrigue.

“Er, hello there,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it that I just want to chat, will you?”

Curiously, the words gave the woman pause. She relaxed her stance ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Armin Arlert?” she queried, craning her neck up to see him. “Is that you?”

This one grows curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but responded affirmatively.

“Can you give me a bit, then?” she asked, kicking the corpse of the Creature she’d just killed. “I’m not exactly fit for company. Perhaps we could meet later for a discussion over tea?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” he said as she knelt to decapitate her prey— likely for proof of victory. “I think you know why I’m here, so you understand that time is of the essence.”

She didn’t look up at him as she replied.

“If this is about Eren, then I don’t have time to talk.”

Her tone was hard, bitter, and matter-of-fact, and it reminded Armin so much of Jean that it hurt… but just like Jean, Armin would bet that she could be won over by appealing to her inherent sense of human decency

“He’s suffering (Y/N),” he said, awkwardly crouching above the manhole so that she could better see the truth written in his eyes. “He won’t feed.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

And oh, how well Armin knew that state of mind. If there was one thing Eren Jaeger knew how to do, it was push away the people who loved him most. Armin had dealt with that particularly lovely quirk of his for centuries, and it never got easier to deal with no matter how much time passed. If anything, it got more difficult the older they both got.

“When you’re the solution to a problem, you become a part of it whether you like it or not,” Armin replied, patient and understanding. “He cares for you.”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, fury in her eyes.

“He hurt me.”

Armin shrugged. “He hurts everyone he cares about. It’s just who he is. Nothing comes for free— least of all the love and loyalty of someone as old and as powerful as Eren.”

“Your heart may be toughened to his meanness,” she told him, the head of the creature she’d slain in her hands, “But mine is not, and I don’t like him well enough to willfully remain for him to use as an emotional punching bag.”

At that, Armin couldn’t help but let loose a wry grin.

“No,” he said, “I should think not; but I do think you love him well enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death because he can’t have you.”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, then she crossed her arms.

“I won’t come crawling to him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Armin grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Is that at all negotiable?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Well, there was nothing for it.

“And you will let him feed if he comes to you?”

(Y/N) thought, then nodded. “If he proves himself deserving.”

Armin couldn't help himself; he laughed. Eren might have met his match in this one.

"Very well. I'll work my magic, and you work yours."

She nodded and bade him farewell, but before Armin left, he paused.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

With that, he left her, ready to take Eren by the ear and throw him at her if he had to.

***

(Y/N)'s heart was racing as she opened the door, knowing good and well who would be behind it.

After her little talk with Armin— and the near heart attack he had given her in the process— she had called in to Zeke and told him she needed to go home to deal with an emergency. A replacement for her patrols had been sent, and she had come home to wash the grim from her skin, making herself as presentable as possible with the time she had. (Y/N) was worried, so worried, that the filth she had been wading in earlier would have left a lingering stench, or even that it had affected the taste of her; she had scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw, hoping to erase every last remnant of her day from her skin…but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered.

Two, three, four hours later, and Eren hadn't shown— it was only now, right at the six hour mark, that he had decided to come to her.

Needless to say, (Y/N) was… less than pleased, but when she opened the door to find Eren pale and drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes, her heart softened ever-so-slightly. It seemed that Armin was right; he had been suffering.

"You look like shit," she told him quietly, opening her door widely to let him in.

"I assure you, I feel worse," Eren grumbled, but stepped in as she closed the door behind him.

For a long, awkward moment, they just looked at each other, silent and unsure. It was unsettling how unlike himself Eren seemed; he was almost soft when he looked at her, and (Y/N) didn't know how to feel about it. Eventually, though, like two opposite ends of a magnet, they were drawn together, and Eren brushed a piece of hair back from her face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and rough. (Y/N) caught his hand in hers before it could fall from her hair, and she pressed it against her chest, keeping it trapped there, touching the skin above her beating heart.

"Hey."

They watched each other a moment more before the dam broke between them, and they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

A shared grin, a shy laugh— and then (Y/N) said what they both were thinking.

"You need to feed first, and talk later," she told him, her hand still clasped in his. "You're not off the hook, but I doubt we can have any real conversation with you like this."

Eren nodded gratefully, tugging at her wrist— his usual biting spot— but (Y/N) shook her head, indicating her neck. The thickest, richest blood, she knew, would come from there; and if there was ever a time to be generous with the placement of Eren's bite, she figured that it would be now.

The worst of it was over quickly. There was a brief sting at the intrusion of razor-sharp fangs, and then the vaguely uncomfortable feeling of having something poking down into places that decidedly should not be poked at all, but then (Y/N) quickly eased into the rhythm of the act, focusing wholly on the way Eren's lips felt against her skin. In a few moments, she would become pleasantly light-headed, and then Eren would pull away and look at her like she'd hung the stars. Oh, how she'd missed that look! (Y/N) found herself longing for it even before she quite realized it.

And then, without warning, a vision came, and (Y/N) was swept into another world entirely.

The evening sky rolled endlessly out towards the horizon; it seemed to go on forever, sparkling with more stars than (Y/N) had ever seen before. The full moon was so bright that it cast the whole world in what seemed like silver sunlight, and (Y/N) wondered how anyone could sleep on a night such as this. It was far too beautiful an experience to miss.

Alongside her— alongside Eren, through whose eyes she saw the world— strode Armin and two older-looking cadets who she recognized from previous memories as Reiner and Berthold. Eren was feeling anxious over something, and Reiner and Berthold were… well, they were kind. Reiner especially seemed to be like an older brother, and Eren admired him.

"You'll do just fine tomorrow," said Reiner, placing a large, warm hand on Eren's shoulder. "I'm certain of it."

The memory ended, and (Y/N) came back to herself as Eren's tongue laved over the wounds his fangs had left in her neck, sealing them.

"See anything?" he asked, his breath warm against her skin, and (Y/N) nodded.

"You loved them, too," she said softly, remembering the fondness Eren had felt as though it had been her own. "You loved the Hunters that tried to take everything from you, and— and I think they loved you, too."

Eren pulled away from her, and it was then that she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, his voice broken. "We were children. How could we not love each other as God intended? Hate was never in our nature; it was an inheritance that we couldn't escape."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I lost my temper. I forget— I forget that you're not them."

And (Y/N) understood. She understood that no matter how many centuries passed, there would be wounds that just wouldn't heal for Eren. He would lash out at things that wouldn't make sense to anyone who hadn't experienced the horrors of war as he had. Suddenly, she felt petty for having lashed out as she had, and guilt threatened to rise up and choke her.

"You're forgiven," she replied, leaning into his touch. "It takes two to tango— I shouldn't have baited you like I did. I knew how badly that would hurt you, and that's exactly why I said it."

At that, Eren cracked a grin.

"I expect nothing less from a Kirschtein. Your grandfather would have punched me square in the jaw— and as big as that bastard got when we were older, he probably would have put me on my ass."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh, and Eren joined her, their combined joy swelling until there was nothing else in the world but their happiness.

How they started kissing, neither one of them would be able to say afterwards, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. Their love was too large to contain, too much to hold back— and it was love, (Y/N) realized, though she hadn't quite put words to it yet. She loved Eren Jaeger, a Creature, a monster, as much as her grandfather before her had and more. She loved him with a desperation that felt like being knocked over by an ocean wave and plunged into depths where her feet no longer touched the sand. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone before.

And, as he placed her gently on her bed that was barely big enough for two, divesting himself of his shirt above her, (Y/N) thought that maybe she didn't mind it so much as long as he loved her in return.

"I missed you," said Eren, dropping kisses by her ear as he unhooked her bra. "I missed this."

"Me too," she gasped as his mouth wandered to her nipple, her hands fisting in his hair. "Oh, God, I missed you too."

The time for words was soon gone, however; Eren's sinful, sinful mouth traveled lower and lower until he was kissing at the insides of her thighs, parting them to access what lay between, and (Y/N) threw her head back as he spread her open with his hands and sucked brazenly at her clit.

How long he spent there, worshipping her sex, (Y/N) had no idea; all she knew was that she came once from his mouth on her and a second time from his fingers inside her, and when he finally, mercifully withdrew, she was broken down to the simplest parts of herself; there was nothing left but an affection so deep that it threatened to overtake her if she didn't let it out, and she did the only thing she knew to do to release the overwhelming pressure that was building in her chest as Eren pushed his big, veiny cock into her.

She told him what she should have said a long time ago.

"Oh, Eren," she gasped as his cockhead shoved deep inside her. "I love you."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Eren went unnaturally still. He looked at her with pupils blown wide inside emerald eyes, and his fangs slightly distended; in any other situation, (Y/N) might have laughed at how surprised he seemed, but it seemed as though she were frozen in time, unable to do anything but stare earnestly up at them, hoping he understood how much she cared for him.

"You… what?"

"I love you," she repeated, her body moving without her permission to roll her hips up into him, moving his cock even further inside her. "Please, Eren, I need—"

He cut her off with a forceful, bruising kiss, and his hips started making slow, deep thrusts inside her, her legs hiked up over his shoulders.

"Again," he said against her lips."Say it again."

"I love you."

Another thrust or two, a hand circling her wounded throat.

"Again."

"I love you, Eren."

"Again."

This time, it was only a whisper.

"I love you," she said, and Eren began fucking her in earnest.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her as he thrust hard and deep inside her. "You're every man's dream, a nirvana the damned such as myself were never meant to reach. (Y/N), you are everything, and I—"

He seemed to choke on the words, and (Y/N) kissed him as he tried to regain his composure.

"I don't deserve you," he said, shaking with the force of their passion. "I don't deserve your love."

It's not about deserving, she wanted to say, It never was, but then she was coming again, her climax contracting her walls around her lover, and it was all she could do to remain conscious as Eren fucked her relentlessly through it all, chasing his own high.

It was only later, after a shower and something to eat that they finally spoke again. They were back in bed, and Eren's arm was wrapped around her, as though he were afraid to let her go for even a moment; truthfully, (Y/N) thought he was asleep, but then his breath tickled her ear as he said,

"I love you, angel."

And that, (Y/N) thought, had been worth it all, in the end.

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 5

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

-- Chapter 5: Confrontation < | Previous Chapter Technoblade Focal Point The two of them had sat in the library for a while after that, talking about only a few topics in between long spaces of silence. Techno had used that time to observe the princess. He noted the way her hair fell, the nervous shifting of her weight in the chair. She even would chew her lip in thought. Whatever she was thinking about was horribly hard to discern, though it was easy enough to see she was worried. Not that she could be entirely blamed.

She had looked worried and stressed this entire time. From the moment he had walked into the throne room and made eye contact with her. She was intimidated. He imagined he wasn't exactly the norm to what she often saw here. Her kingdom was known for its softness. Its inclination to avoid conflict. It was a point of confusion for why he was being made to marry her. His father had said that there were powerful allies in peace just as there often was in war. It was true, yet it was boring, in a way.

He was pulled from his reverie as she stood, glancing to the window. "It's nearing dinner time," A wistful sigh escaped her after the statement, "Do you want to take your books up to your room first? You didn't touch them, I assume you'd want to read them eventually." She had turned back towards him, gesturing to the few books he had picked out. That was his initial plan, in truth. Yet she was sitting there with that worried look on her face. It would have seemed wrong to not at least speak to her.

Slowly, Techno rose to his feet as well, pausing to get his books. "Yeah, I'll bring them back come morning." He turned, waiting for her as she came to his side. Once she had, he started walking, occasionally glancing at her from his peripheral.

"Great! I mean, ah, obviously you can keep them longer if needed. I don't expect you to read them all tonight." She stammered over her words again, looking away. Techno laughed quietly in response. Seemed like the brief comfort didn't last. It was definitely amusing to watch, though. She had a habit of stumbling over her words.

"Depends how well I'm able to sleep. Either way I won't hold onto them for long." Reassuring her seemed to ease her some, her shoulders relaxing. She was certainly a character. She simply walked with him then, staring ahead of them. She stood and waited outside his room, letting him take the few moments he needed to set the books down. He set them down atop the trunk sitting at the foot of his bed, pausing for a few seconds. Hopefully their parents had worked out their problems. He warned his father long ahead of time that this arrangement wouldn’t be received well.

His fingers brushed the book and he sighed, head shaking. If they hadn’t, he just wouldn’t deal with it. It wasn’t worth it. He had little to gain from this. He had his doubts the marriage would be jeopardized under any circumstance. There would be too much worry about upsetting his kingdom. They also had the food that was desperately needed here. Even if they were unsettled about his presence as opposed to Wilbur’s, they would deal with it.

He blew out a small puff of air, leaving the room once more. He glanced at the princess again, and she offered up a smile. Did she know of the unrest among her parents? Perhaps she did, but she didn’t show it. That, or she didn’t know enough to give her reason to be afraid of him. Ignorance of some form, then. That or a good actress, but she didn’t exactly give off that vibe.

“You’ll have to forgive our dinner. As you know we’ve been rather tight of food lately. Of course, you’re helping with that and it means… a lot. To both me and my citizens, I imagine.” Moments like this, it shone that she was a princess raised with diplomacy and respect. When she had to be this way, she would be. Even though she seemed to be so bumbling and awkward outside of diplomacy.

“It was in our best interest. We aren’t exactly hurting for food ourselves,” He explained. They had quite a surplus, in truth. Their lands had been generous for a few years. It made sense to give extra to a neighboring kingdom. It wouldn’t do if someone took advantage of their weakened state for an invasion.

“All the same, you have our eternal thanks.” She smiled softly, wandering along towards the dining hall with him. The silence wasn’t entirely awkward like the past ones. This one was a touch more comfortable, even as they walked into the dining hall, which was filled with soft chatter. Almost immediately, he felt a gaze on him. His head turned, seeking out the holder.

At the same time he spotted the blonde-headed man, the girl beside him bounded forward with a shout of, “Dream!” She settled into the spot beside him, having left Techno as if he wasn’t there in the first place. Dream, as she had called him, offered her a smile. His green eye never left him, though. It bore into him almost resentfully. In a way, it was unnerving. In the same way it was familiar in a way he couldn’t name. His other eye was hidden beneath an eyepatch of gold fabric, the gold filigree lace covering some of the scar that tried to peak out from the bottom.

Other than that he was almost plain. His clothes were dark green and simple, fairly understated for someone sitting beside a princess. Techno pursed his lips, but moved into the seat across from his fiancee. She seemed fairly content with the set up, though the other did not.

“Right! Dream, this is Prince Technoblade. Techno, this is Dream. My best friend,” She introduced with a grin, reaching for a cup nearby to sip from. The two looked at each other for a long moment. Waiting for the other to say something first.

“Your reputation precedes you, Technoblade.” Dream spoke in a calculated tone, causing Techno to narrow his eyes. The princess nudged him, shooting him a look. Like she could tell he was not happy.

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of me. Everyone seems surprised by my arrival,” He mused. Prodding, almost. He could already tell Dream did not like him. He didn’t even care that much.

“We weren’t expecting you. I trust you’ll take care of her all the same.” An embarrassed expression crossed the princess’s face, nose scrunching a little. Like she looked dissatisfied with the implication she needed taking care of.

“I think I’m capable of taking care of her. I don’t let harm befall my family,” He fired back. A smug smirk curled his lips as Dream huffed. The girl across from him looked to the side with her own little huff, though they seemed to mean different things.

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

“You can’t even hold a sword.” Dream was quick to retort, causing an almost frustrated pout to cover her face.

“I can very well teach her, even if she doesn’t know. It’s good knowledge to have, regardless of status and who she’s with.” The look Dream sent Techno at this was dirty, clearly unhappy with the words. The princess, however, looked a little more interested. A light sparkled in her eyes, and Techno had a feeling she just hadn’t been allowed to learn. As expected from a soft kingdom like this.

Dinner proceeded a little more calmly, with the princess and Dream firing back and forth to each other multiple times. Techno only chimed in when he saw fit, otherwise resigning himself to his meal. As the meal closed, both he and Dream stood. He leveled Dream with a stare, resisting the urge to grab onto one of his swords.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” He finally broke the silence. Mainly just to irritate the man, and see the look on his face. She, however, smiled up at Techno, and gently patted Dream’s arm. This barely seemed to placate him as he huffed, turning to leave the dining hall.

“Thank you, Techno,” She hummed, waiting for him near the door. He nodded, walking with her outside of the hall. Habitually he put a hand on the pommel of one of his swords, well aware of the dangers that came with it being night. She led him towards the other side of the castle, seeming rather content with the silence for a few moments.

“Did you mean it?” She finally asked, looking up at him. He turned his head just slightly, looking at her curiously.

“Mean what?”

“That you’d teach me to hold a sword. Or fight with it,” She explained quietly, looking away. Like she was unsure about the whole idea.

“I’m willing to teach you to fight with something. It doesn’t make sense for you to not be able to defend yourself should you need to.” They rounded a corner, and she seemed extremely content with the answer.

“My parents wouldn’t teach me, and neither would Dream.” She hardly seemed happy at that, but the contentment she expressed at being able to learn at some point was rather nice. An eager student was a good one, truthfully.

“We’ll have to figure out what will fit you best when we get to my kingdom. Maybe after the wedding.” He tried to ignore how awkward it felt to say that, and she seemed equally flustered. She hesitated outside her door, as if contemplating if there were anything else she needed to say.

“That sounds good to me. Thank you, Techno. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” She smiled up at him, and he nodded. Once she was safe inside her room, he turned to head towards his room. Silence fell around him, beyond the soft tapping of his boots. That, and a second, quieter pair trailing him. He wasn’t an idiot.

“You can quit trailing me and just talk to me,” He finally called out after a few seconds. He came to a stop in the hall, turning towards the sound. He didn’t technically need to look, either. He knew who it was. Dream slipped from the shadows, eye narrowed at him suspiciously. He eyes the hand Techno was resting on his pommel, almost warily. Like he would draw it at any second. Not that he planned to, unless provoked into doing such.

“Why get engaged to her?” He said bitterly, causing Techno to quirk his lips. Was that jealousy? Of course, he should have seen that coming. How cliche.

“What’s it matter to you? You clearly weren’t going to do it.” It was a cruel taunt, but deserved in a way. He wasn’t fond of Dream already, and he wasn’t sure if it was the possessiveness he expressed over his now fiancee.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Dream practically bristled defensively. He looked ready to attack, and in truth it was amusing.

“I have no reason to answer. Besides, you won’t even teach her to defend herself. You want her dependent on you, don’t you?” His head tilted, a grin on his face. It was too easy to read him from an outside view.

“No. She’s just clumsy. If you so much as hurt her, I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Kill me. Good luck. I told you I wouldn’t harm her and I have no intention to. She is my fiancee, not yours, Dream. Let me worry about her.” He spun on his heel, the movement almost militaristic. He didn’t care to listen to Dream’s possessive and jealous ramblings. Whatever chances he had had at one point, he had very clearly lost somewhere before Techno came along. Next Chapter | >

[voiceless-terror]

Something to Talk About (TMA Fic)

Written for @jontim-week Day One: Rumors/Protect, warnings in tags

Rating: T

Words: 3,049

Summary: Jon and Tim deal with workplace rumors.

He’s only at the institute for six months when the rumors start.

Tim understands them, to a degree. He knows he’s liberal with his smiles and quick to charm, naturally affectionate and thinks nothing of an arm around the shoulder or a nudge to the side. Winking comes as easily as breathing. So yeah, he’s aware of how he comes off. People make assumptions, particularly in his case, as he’s been known to swing either way. It’s shitty and stereotypical, but sad to say he’s used to it.

What he doesn’t like, however, is when it involves his friends.

Tim’s friendly with most everyone, but he’s fallen into a group. When he first started, Sasha was assigned to train him and Tim’s not blind. She’s gorgeous, rivaling him in height and an even deadlier smile. She’s smart as a whip, willing to trade (occasionally hurtful) barbs and unafraid to give the bluntest of criticisms. And she’s a little strange too- she can wax poetic on the most esoteric of subjects, and wields her keyboard like a lethal weapon. Tim doesn’t want to know what she’s dug up on him. Sasha James is exactly his type...and very much not interested, despite the one night they spent together. She made it clear it wouldn’t be going any further and though it took time to get over that, he’s lucky to now count her as a friend. 

And Sasha and Jon are a package deal.

They’re an odd pair- Sasha, tall and imposing, Jon, scrawny and anything but. Jon kept to himself, barely spoke a word to Tim apart from a curt introduction, but with Sasha he shared an easy rapport. The two could spend hours debating the finer points of research methods- and if Tim was shocked by Sasha’s blatant disregard for privacy, he was even more so by Jon’s disregard for the law. Tim could spend hours listening to them snark back and forth, not getting a word in edgewise. At first glance he assumed they were dating, but when he tentatively broached the subject with Sasha, he got an almost mocking laugh. “Romance? Not my thing. And it’s very much Jon’s. We would not work out.”  

At first, Jon doesn’t seem interested in anything but work. He nods briskly at Tim as he sits across from him at his desk, occasionally answers a question or includes him on his tea run, but that’s about the extent of it. He stumbles through small talk, showing none of the easy grace and elegance of discussions with Sasha. After a few weeks, though, he opens up a bit more, allowing that deadpan humor to slip into conversations. He smiles (it’s crooked, a tiny thing but so endearing) and he lets out an occasional snort of laughter. He’s an encyclopedia of supernatural knowledge, able to practically recite his favorite passages and always eager to seek out new information. There’s nothing he enjoys more than thoroughly researching and debunking a case, and Tim can respect that. If he’s got a question on an article or a scholar, Jon’s the first one he approaches. He never asks questions, never pries. Tim appreciates that.

The two of them can make Tim genuinely laugh. Something he hasn’t done in the longest time.

They’re seen together more often than not. They’re a trio: if one’s on a case, it means the other two are as well. They’re a great team. So it’s natural that people would start to talk, make assumptions. The rumor mill is out of control; as it turns out, scholars need more than spooks to get them through the day. It starts with a few offhand comments about him and Sasha, ones that Sasha’s quick to shut down, even if there’s some truth to them. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind or come off as rude. It’s a trait Tim finds very admirable. 

But then it turns to him and Jon. 

He’s heard the snickers in the breakroom when they come in together, the arm around Jon’s shoulder mistaken for something beyond platonic familiarity. It’s not that he wouldn’t date Jon- he sees beyond Tim’s veneer, appreciates his intelligence as much as his wit, and isn’t bad looking himself. He’d consider asking him out if Jon weren’t so clearly uninterested in that sort of thing. People must mistake his blushes and stammer for a crush instead of his naturally shy and flustered demeanor. He puts up a good front for the others, scowling and snapping at most who cross his path, but he’s definitely a softie, Tim feels it in the way he leans into his side like a plant starved of sunlight. Jon needs someone in his corner that sees him too. 

So when Tim hears the mocking words in the break room, he loses it.

“Another notch on the bedpost, eh Stoker?” Marcus, the irritant from accounting with a perpetual sneer and permanently wrinkled shirt, says from his seat at the room’s sole table. “Didn’t think Sims was one to put out, but-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tim snarls, almost dropping his mug as he whirled around and stalked over to him. He’s almost surprised at the venom in the words, but the man took it a step too far. He knows those comments would be incredibly uncomfortable for Jon. And to be honest, he’s a bit pissed on his own behalf- can he not have a friend without someone assuming they’re sleeping together? 

Marcus immediately scoots back the two inches he can in his chair, attempting to hide his fear with a snide smile. It doesn’t work. “Whoa, calm down- didn’t think this was such a touchy subject for the likes of you-” 

“The fucks that supposed to mean?” He takes a step forward, reveling in Marcus’s flinch. Not such a tough guy now, eh? Tim’s not going to hurt him, no matter how much he wants to. But it’s an old wound reopened- he doesn’t need this reputation, and he doesn’t want Jon to go down with him.

“I-I-”

“I hope to god you haven’t said that around him,” he snarls, jabbing a finger in Marcus’s chest. “And you’re going to stop it with this shit before it gets round to him. We aren’t dating, we aren’t fucking. Me and Jon? Not a thing, never have been, never will be. Do you understand me?” Marcus stutters, swallowing nervously. Tim takes a step closer, leans as close as he can and narrows his eyes. “I said-”

“Yes, yes! Christ, I get it!” He puts his hands up in a placating gesture, as if trying to calm a wild animal. He’s scared. Good. “I’ll shut it, alright? Just- back the fuck up.”

Tim stares for a moment, relishing in the man’s fear, before giving Marcus a cheery grin. “Well! As long as we’re understood. See ya around!”

He turns on his heel and walks out, attempting to calm his racing pulse. Tim’s not one for confrontation, he prefers calm discussion over impulsive anger.

Sometimes, however, it gets the job done.

________

And now Jon’s avoiding him.

Well, not really. He still sits at the same desk, gives him his usual morning greeting and answers any work-related questions. But he doesn’t join in on any of their conversations, he dodges any attempt at familiarity that he used to lean into. He skips their lunches with the excuse of being too busy, and barely smiles in Tim’s direction. He didn’t realize how much he relied on that affection until it stopped. It stings.

Maybe someone said something to him, maybe the rumor got around? He’s going to kill Marcus if that’s the case, but when confronted, the man insists he shut up, and Tim’s inclined to believe him, if the ‘I’m going to shit my pants’ look he gave him was any cue. He wants to ask Jon about it, but that could make him more uncomfortable than he already is. If Jon needs space, Tim’s going to give it to him. No matter how much it hurts.

So he goes along with it, starts talking to him less and less, stamps down the urge to crack a joke or throw an arm around his shoulder. Doesn’t ask him to after work drinks. 

That doesn’t stop him from checking in on Jon every so often, leaving a protein bar on the days he works past lunch, bringing him coffee before he gets in and saying it’s from Sasha. They’re at a strange impasse, but Tim’s starting to accept the new routine.

Sasha isn’t.

“Can you two just talk?” She asks one day over shitty sandwiches in the canteen. “I can’t stand this tense atmosphere you’ve got going. What happened?”

Tim sighs, pushes away his plate and runs a hand through his hair. “There were all those rumors going about, remember? I told Marcus to fuck off, but I think Jon caught wind of something, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable-”

“Are you serious?” Sasha interrupts with a groan and a roll of her eyes. “Make him uncomfortable? Tim, I’ve never seen him happier than when he’s around you. He’s relaxed, he smiles. You don’t know how rare that is. We’ve known each other for two years, and he’s around you for six months and suddenly he can talk about something other than work.”

Tim tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach at the words. He couldn’t have made that much of a difference, Jon would do that with anyone, given the chance to open up. It’s not Tim’s doing. “Well, he’s the one avoiding me! I’m trying to give him space, really-”

“Space? Communicate!” Sasha slaps her hand down on the table with every syllable, startling the few others in the room. “You’re grown men, not children.”

“Communicate?” Tim snorts. “That’s rich, coming from the ice queen herself. You didn’t talk to me for a week after I made fun of that stupid show you love-”

“Time Team was an excellent programme, and I won’t be hearing any more slander.” She stood up, her chair squeaking back with the force of it, and picked up her tray to glare down at him. God, was she good at that. “Either talk to Jon, or I’ll go back to the silent treatment. And I’m great at it.”

Sasha follows through with her threat. She doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the day, studiously ignoring his questions and jokes, at one point propping a book up like a shield. It’s childish. And very effective. 

Looks like he’s going to have to talk to Jon.

______

“Did I do something wrong?” 

Jon jumps at the words, almost dropping the book in his hands. Tim’s managed to corner him in one of the more secluded areas of the library that Jon’s taken a recent liking to. Wonder why, Tim thinks with not a small amount of sarcasm.

Jon takes a step back, blinking innocently. “What?”

“You’ve been avoiding me these past couple of weeks.” Tim leans against a bookshelf, trying to seem nonchalant despite his clear nerves. He doesn’t want to seem threatening or accusatory, and Jon could very easily bolt.  “You never come to lunch, or talk with me and Sash. I just want to know if something’s wrong.”

Jon dodges his gaze as he hugs the book to his chest like a shield. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” Tim heaves a sigh; he’s going to have to be more blunt. Jon clearly wants to avoid the conversation, but he’s always responded better to clear phrasing and direct questions.

“Look, I don’t know what rumors you’ve been hearing,” Tim runs a hand through his hair nervously, carefully choosing his words. “But if I’m doing anything that makes you uncomfortable-”

“Me?” Jon lets out an incredulous laugh that gives Tim pause. “No- I - I thought I was making you uncomfortable.”

Tim stares. This was not a possibility he prepared for when practicing in front of the mirror. How could Jon think that? Was it something he said? Did? Now he’s running through their interactions, trying to pinpoint a time where he might have seemed cold or distant.

“B-Being clingy, I don’t know.” If Jon hugs that book any harder, it’s liable to break. “Getting too close, getting the wrong idea. I know you don’t like me in that way, and I didn’t want you to have to deal with those rumors. That’s not fair.”

“What?” Clingy? Now that’s a word he never thought he would hear applied to Jon.

“I heard you. W-With Marcus. In the break room.” Jon bit his lip, a habit Tim always chided him on. He controls the urge to do it now. “You seemed so mad. And I didn’t want to be the cause of any more rumors for you, so I thought it best to...well, avoid you.”

Tim squints at him in confusion. Jon thinks he’s protecting Tim. The thought is both amusing and heartwarming, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I mean- yes, I was mad about that, but I...I didn’t want you to have to hear that. I know how uncomfortable that shit makes you, and Marcus is an ass- he won’t let up until you put him in his place. Besides, I don’t care about that dick and whatever he thinks. I care about you.”

“O-Oh,” Jon mumbles, looking to the ground and shuffling his feet. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if trying to find the courage to voice his thoughts. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible. “It’s j-just...you made it sound so awful.”

Tim’s face softens. “Made what sound awful?”

“...Dating me.” Oh.

“Oh, Jon.” The mumbled words tug at his heartstrings. he really didn’t think Jon cared about all of that, but the man does have feelings. Tim could see how the words would hurt, and the vehemence he said them with probably didn’t help. He takes a tentative step forward, like he’s approaching a spooked animal, but Jon accepts the hand reaches for his shoulder, still not meeting his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. Anyone would be lucky to have you-”

“But not you.” 

Tim freezes and Jon shuts his eyes tightly, as if waiting for a blow that won’t ever come. He shrugs off Tim’s hand and starts to back away. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything-”

“Hang on,” Tim starts, gazing at the trembling man in front of him as a thought suddenly occurs. He doesn’t- he couldn’t- “What was that?”

“I-I-”

Tim takes a step closer. Jon doesn’t move. “Do you- did you like me?”

“Yes! No! I-I don’t know!” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, wincing as it gets stuck in his messy bun. Tim would’ve laughed if he weren’t also spiraling. “But you clearly don’t like me, and that’s fine-”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jon liked him. And Tim- Tim could’ve done something about it. “We could’ve-”

“I did!” Jon cries out, waving his book emphatically. “I asked you out and you said no! Months ago.”

Tim pauses. Huh? He runs back through as many conversations as he can remember, trying to think of any occasion where Jon might have asked him out, and comes up blank. Tim’s not that oblivious. “Okay, you’re going to have to help me out here. When exactly did this happen?”

“Back in December,” Jon says, as if talking to a child. “I told you about that new bookstore that opened near my flat.”

“..Okay.” He vaguely remembers Jon enthusing about this, but not very clearly. 

“They have a cat there, too.” Ah, now he remembers. Jon’s face always lights up when he talks about felines, and he’s seen more than a few pictures of a fat tabby on his phone. It’s adorable.

“I’m following.”

“And how they had a fairly comprehensive history section.” Another beat. Jon’s looking at Tim like he’s supposed to be getting the picture. He is not. “And the café next door. That sold the chai lattes you like.”

“I do like a latte.”

“And then you said, and I quote! “Sounds like your scene.” and turned back to your desk.” Jon crosses his arms, triumphantly. Apparently, he’s proven a point. Tim does not see this, and he’s pretty sure Jonathan Sims is the most infuriating man he’s ever met in his life. 

“Jon, there wasn’t a single question in that statement. You just monologued about a bookstore-”

“The question was implied!”

“Oh my god-” 

“And you turned around, and it seemed like you weren’t interested and I-I didn’t think I could handle if you said that to my face so I just- I dropped it, okay? It’s fine.” At this Jon loses all momentum, hunching his shoulders as if trying to disappear. He most certainly doesn’t look fine. 

And Tim’s going to change that.

“All this time,” he begins dramatically. Jon deserves a bit of theater. “All this time, we could’ve been going to bookstores, and having lattes, and-”

Jon’s head shoots up, his eyes going comically wide. “What?”

“What I’m trying to say,” Tim puts a hand on his hip, gives him the Stoker Smirk. Jon gulps. “Is the offer still on the table? Bookstore cat and all?” He watches as Jon gapes at him, suddenly fumbling with his book, as if suppressing a little stim of the hands.

“R-Really?”

“Course. Unlike some of us, I can ask a man a question.” Jon blushes even as he scowls. Tim’s looking forward to seeing more of that. “Whaddya say?”

“I-I’d like that.” He watches as Jon tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, suddenly demure. He hazards a glance up at Tim and lets out a little laugh. “I’m a bit of an idiot, aren’t I?”

“No more than I am,” Tim replies, throwing an arm around his shoulder and remembering just how right it feels to have Jon nestled against his side. He missed that. “Now, what’s the cat's name?”

“Spoons!” Jon perks up, his smile widening. “I think you’ll really like him.”

The rumor mill is gonna have a field day with this one. And for once, Tim doesn’t mind.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061116

[tsarisfanfiction]

A Little Fall Of Rain

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, John

Here is my contribution to @tagminibang!  My artist was the absolutely fantastic @chenria and you can find her accompanying art over here.  Something nice and family friendly from us here (please don’t mind the title, it has nothing to do with a certain musical song), and of course some good old Scott&John because who doesn’t love that?

John’s pulled one of his disappearing acts again, and Scott can’t relax until he knows where he’s gone.

People.  There were people everywhere, all dressed to the nines and peacocking around.  Nothing particularly unusual for an event hosted by Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, where no-one in attendance was worth less than at least ten million dollars apiece and appearing to be the poorest in the room would make you a target for the vampires of the elite.

It was a gauntlet Scott would have gladly accepted, not particularly bothered by how others perceived him and his wealth, except the problem with being a Tracy was that his status of multi-billionaireness was well known, and he was actually richer than most of the aristocracy in attendance, even if there were a few Old Money families that looked down their noses at the Tracys for being New Money.

Still, the buffer of their wealth was, at least, sparing his brother from being preyed upon as the poor, charity case invited to look good.  Scott wasn’t sure who the actual poorest person in the room was, but anything to keep at least some of the pressure of the occasion off of John was always worth it.

It was a well known fact that John despised this sort of event.  Too many people, too much noise and gravity, too many expected conversations and a lot of interest in the elusive Tracy.  Scott still wasn’t sure why Lady Penelope insisted he attend these things, and knew that John was going to hide himself up on Thunderbird Five for at least a month and come down for absolutely nothing or no-one as soon as he escaped the party.  She called it good for him, and a breath of fresh air, and Scott only let it slide because John never actually said no.

Speaking of his brother, he’d once again lost sight of the distinctive ginger hair amongst the vibrant colours of the event.  Hopefully, that meant that John was just in hiding, rather than the chance he’d been dragged into a conversation out of Scott’s current sight.  He glanced around the room again, just to be sure, and when no flash of ginger caught his eye, set his shoulders and beelined for their host.

Resplendent in a stunning light pink ballgown, elegant hands covered with equally elegant white gloves and hair coiffed into something gravity-defying yet somehow not at all outrageous, Lady Penelope was entertaining an elderly woman who Scott had been briefly introduced to earlier in the event, some hours ago, as the Duchess of Royston.  As far as the British aristocrats seemed to go, she seemed quite amicable, so Scott had no qualms about stepping in as their conversation paused.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but have you seen John recently?”

“Have you lost him?” Lady Penelope asked, sounding the faintest bit amused.  If it was anyone else, Scott would have been annoyed at that, but a longstanding friendship with the Lady told him there was no malice or judgement behind it.  It was the amusement of someone who knew how much John hated crowds, and how much Scott could, according to his brothers, hover.  “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him recently.”

The answer wasn’t surprising, but it was a little disappointing.

“The redheaded young man?” the Duchess asked, and Scott turned to her.  “I do believe I saw him heading for the doors earlier.”  She gestured to the small side door that led out of the ballroom and, if Scott’s memory served, towards the gardens.

John was likely hiding, then.

Scott smiled at both women.  “Thank you,” he said, inclining his head a little towards the older of the two.  “I’ll leave you to your conversation.  Sorry again for the interruption.”

“What a charming young man,” he heard as he walked away.  “Penelope, I know it’s not my place to say, but you could do far worse than a man like that.”

Scott picked up the pace a little, determined to get out of earshot of whatever reply to that Lady Penelope would make, and making a note to never let Gordon know.

The rich like to talk to the rich, and although Scott was on a mission to find and check on his brother, he was waylaid by at least three other people all wanting to discuss all manner of things from International Rescue to, disconcertingly, his ongoing bachelorship before he was able to slip through the door and head down the corridor.

Soundproofing cut off the hubbub of conversation the moment the door clicked shut behind him, proving an excellent argument for why John would come this way, and Scott followed the hallway until he found a bay window that overlooked one of the many gardens in the Creighton-Ward estate.

John was perched on the window sill, although window seat was probably a more accurate term, looking out at the gentle rain falling from the sky.  Raindrops raced each other down the panes of glass, and Scott silently settled next to him, waiting to be acknowledged.

It didn’t take long.  “I’m fine,” his brother said quietly, still looking out the window rather than turning to face him.  Scott hadn’t expected him to.  “You can go back.”

Scott let out a wry chuckle.  “The hot topic right now seems to be how eligible a bachelor I am,” he said, leaning forwards on his knees and watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.  “If you don’t mind, I think I’d quite like to stay here until they move on to other things.”

His brother let out a hmm, sounding thoroughly amused at that, and Scott rolled his eyes.  He knew full well that John was more than happy for him to be the target of that particular type of conversation, because it meant most of them would forget to ask him the same questions.  Sibling solidarity only went so far, and perhaps even more so than the rest of his brothers, John was all too willing to throw him under the bus to evade the limelight himself.

“If they follow you here, I am leaving,” John threatened mildly.  “And then you will not be welcome to follow me.”  It wasn’t an empty threat, but that didn’t matter because Scott would always use himself as bait if it meant a brother could escape a bad situation.  Besides, John knew Lady Penelope’s manor far better than he did, and Scott knew if John really wanted to hide, even he wouldn’t be able to find him until the ginger was ready to be found.

It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.  John had never been a fan of social situations and had mastered the art of disappearing young.  Scott had many memories of running around frantically, trying in vain to find where his brother had got to after taking his eye off of him for two seconds.  For someone with such vibrant natural colouring, John was unfairly good at the vanishing act.

He sighed and settled back against the window pane more comfortably.  At least John was old enough now to look after himself if he did vanish, and would always come home eventually - even if it was only a necessary stop on his way back to Thunderbird Five and the stars while he recuperated from socialising.  It was a marked improvement from when he’d vanish as a child and leave everyone in a panic until he reappeared hours later.

Scott had never quite shaken the instinct to panic when he vanished, no matter how old and self-sufficient his brother was now.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” John said suddenly, and Scott glanced up at him again.  He was still watching the rain out the window, seemingly disinterested in paying any attention to his older brother - aside from the comment, which made it perfectly clear that John was, in fact, keeping track of him with at least part of that big brain of his.  “I told you I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he assured him, feeling the cool of the glass seep towards his scalp from where he was resting his head against the window.

John gave a considering hum.  “In that case, I’ll assume you’re working yourself into a panic unnecessarily.”

Scott huffed, unwilling to concede the point.  “I am not working myself into a panic,” he retorted, a little defensively.

His brother finally turned his head away from the window slightly, enough for one turquoise eye to come into view.  The accompanying ginger eyebrow rose in challenging disbelief and Scott scowled in response.

“I was just thinking about all the vanishing acts you tend to pull at things like this,” he admitted after a moment.  The visible turquoise eye rolled at him before John turned back to face the window.  He didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t need to; his body language broadcasted perfectly well that he thought Scott was being an idiot.

Scott was used to that attitude - none of his brothers ever seemed to fully appreciate what it was like to be their big brother, after all.  Gordon might proudly claim that his grey hairs were all down to his fish of a brother, but the truth of the matter was that they’d all contributed.

Still, Scott wouldn’t change any of them for the world.

Raindrops raced down the large window, merging and lingering and swallowing smaller ones before darting several inches further down in a blink of an eye.  It was a mesmerising sight; no wonder John was so captivated by the weather.

Then again, he didn’t get rain in space.

Scott was on his feet before his mind caught up.  His movement caught John’s attention, judging by the way the single, turquoise eye reappeared to regard him once more.

“Going back already?” his brother asked.  “I thought you were hiding from the discussions about your eligible bachelorship.”  There was no sympathy at all in John’s voice, just an undercurrent of amusement.  Scott suspected he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for a while.

“No,” he said truthfully, which was apparently unexpected enough for John to look away from the window completely.

“Then where are you going?” his brother asked.  John was normally far too perceptive for Scott’s liking, and he probably shouldn’t be relishing catching him out as much as he was.

“Come on,” Scott invited in answer, tilting his head towards the window.  “Let’s go.”

John glanced back towards the window, raising an eyebrow at the rain still falling.  “You want to go outside?”

“Why not?” Scott shrugged.  “No-one’s going to chase us out there.”

“Because their clothes would get ruined,” John pointed out.  “Like ours will.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  He wasn’t so attached to the suit he was currently wearing that he’d mourn the loss, and he knew John felt similarly about his own formal clothes.

“They’re replaceable,” he pointed out.  “So, are you coming?”

John’s arguments didn’t fool him one bit - one thing his brother truly missed when he was amongst the stars was the cool sensation of rain on his skin, and Scott suspected that the only reason he’d been sat in the bay window instead of somewhere in the Creighton-Ward’s impressive grounds was because he’d known Scott would come looking for him sooner or later, and would have panicked if he couldn’t find him.

Sure enough, with one last sigh that was entirely put-upon, John extended his long legs and made his way to his feet.  “Lead the way.”

Scott wasn’t as familiar with the manor as his brother, but he had a pretty good idea where most of the external doors were.  John stayed at his shoulder as they passed through the hallways, bereft of any of the other guests, who were all no doubt still gossiping in the ballroom, and found a door that led outside.

The rain wasn’t a monsoon, but it was steady, leaving the sky heavy and grey, and misting out the trees on the far edge of the lawn.  Scott lingered in the threshold of the door for a moment, watching the weather, but his brother had no such hesitation.

A little brother he might be, but John had never needed Scott to lead the way.  With the assurance that Scott now knew where he was, and wouldn’t be hunting him down frantically, he strode out past him, the fabric covering his shoulder just brushing Scott’s, and out into the rain.

Scott lingered a moment longer, watching the way John tilted his face up slightly to greet the rain, the ginger curl of his bangs losing some of its volume as it dampened.  John didn’t beam like their brothers when he was happy, but there was a relaxation in his face and a draining of tension in his body that told Scott that he’d got it right.  John really had wanted to go out in the rain.

When his brother’s vibrant eyes slid closed, he took the final step outside himself, feeling the cool raindrops caressing his own skin and seeping into his hair.  His hair gel was going to wash out if he stayed out here for too long, but that was a small price to pay to see John enjoying himself down on Earth.

So was the suit.  The already black fabric of his jacket darkened even further with water almost immediately, and he knew that by the time John was ready to go inside again, it would be completely ruined.  As he’d said to his brother, though, the suits were replaceable.

John’s happiness was not.  Scott would ruin a hundred jackets if it meant seeing John so relaxed and content.

Jacketless, his brother’s shirt was quickly becoming soaked through, the white material clinging to his body - the same way his vibrant hair was starting to plaster to his scalp - gaining hints of translucency, and the thought crossed Scott’s mind that he’d have to make sure John didn’t get sick later.  The astronaut didn’t seem to care about that, though, standing stock still for several minutes with his hands loosely hanging by his side and his face tilted upwards.

Scott hung back, several paces away but still outside in the rain himself.  Cool droplets trickled down the back of his neck, originating somewhere around his hairline, and he could tell even without raising a hand to check that his own hair was plastering itself to his scalp in much the same way as John’s.  One droplet ran down from his forehead and caught the corner of his eye, tangled up in eyelashes, and Scott blinked twice to clear it.  Reluctantly it got the message and carried on down his face, running over his cheek and trailing down towards his chin.

They didn’t get rain like this at home.  English rain was strange, and definitely nothing like the tropical rains Tracy Island witnessed.  Even Kansas weather had been different to this.  The water was cool and refreshing on his skin, and after several moments Scott took another couple of steps forwards, towards his brother.

He didn’t enter his personal space, though.  If John wanted him there, he would make it clear - most likely by moving himself until he was within arm’s reach of Scott.  As they’d come out here to escape the crowds, however, Scott deemed that unlikely.  Instead, he wandered past him, away from the manor and large ballroom windows.  If the wrong person looked out and saw them, their little rainy peace would be broken by someone else who cared less for their clothes than chasing Tracys.

Scott made sure to keep John in view, not prepared to hunt his brother down if the ginger pulled another disappearing act, even as he found a lone tree standing proud in the middle of the manicured lawn and slipped around it, allowing the trunk to conceal him from anyone glancing outside.

Exactly what type of tree it was, he didn’t know, but it was large and broad, boughs extending out above his head and providing a meagre shelter from the rain.  It was the same as the trees that made up the woodland at the far edge of the lawn - also large and proud, but with enough space between some of them to hide a Thunderbird.  His own ‘bird lurked inside, concealed from view and waiting to carry the two of them back home the next morning.

Tonight, Lady Penelope had insisted, they would stay with her, and Scott had no reason to decline.  He did, however, hope that it was an invitation that hadn’t been extended to any of the other guests.  Evading their apparent fixation with his marriage status - or lack thereof - was not something he wanted to have to spend all night and breakfast doing as well.

No matter how amused John might be at the whole affair.

Speaking of John, his brother appeared to have noticed that he’d moved, because he’d opened his eyes and started moving forwards himself.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one hiding from the party,” the ginger commented, his voice dry and at odds with the wet shirt he was wearing.  The white had gone well and truly translucent now, clinging to his body in a way that Scott knew from experience would get John hounded by half the party the next time they saw him.

He made a mental note to sacrifice his jacket in John’s direction before they went back in.  It wouldn’t be a perfect fit, but it would at least keep the attention off of him long enough for John to scrounge up a change of clothes.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, shrugging.  “It wouldn’t matter which of us was hiding if they spotted the other, would it?”

John let out a small chuckle in response, rounding the tree in its entirety and therefore putting himself out of sight as well.  “Are you sure it’s not just because you don’t want them badgering you about being single?”

He huffed in response, crossing his arms and leaning back against the trunk.  The bark rubbed against the back of his jacket, but he ignored it.  The rain had already done enough damage - what was a little more?

“My relationship status is none of their business,” he grumbled, shooting his younger brother a considering look.  “Wait until they start on you.”

The smirk he got in return didn’t make him feel any better.

“They won’t give me a second glance while you’re around, big brother,” John pointed out with the air of someone who knew exactly what was up, and was quietly smug about it.  “No-one’s interested in the spare Tracy.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  “You know, technically you’re my heir,” he reminded him.  It did nothing to douse the smug smirk his brother was sending his way.

“They don’t think like that,” John shrugged confidently.  He was still out from underneath the protection of the boughs, rain falling on his skin and leaving trails of water across it.  Scott watched a raindrop run right to the tip of his nose and hang there; the astronaut didn’t even seem to notice, even though it made Scott’s own nose twitch empathetically.  “The only heirs they’re interested in are the unborn ones you don’t have because you’re still an eligible bachelor.”

Urgh.  Scott pulled a face.  “Did you have to put it like that?”

John’s ongoing smirk confirmed that yes, he did have to phrase it like that.  Little brothers - who wanted them?

Scott refused to give John any satisfaction by saying that out loud, although he suspected that didn’t actually matter.  If there was anyone who had mastered the art of mind-reading, Scott would put John right at the top of the suspect list.

“Well,” John said after a moment, shifting his weight.  “I’m going to go for a walk.  Are you coming, or would you rather hide under the tree?”

“I’m sheltering,” Scott corrected.  John made an uh huh noise in the back of his throat which he purposefully ignored.  Still, if John was offering company, instead of retreating into his own personal space, then Scott wasn’t going to turn that down.  The problem with John living in space was that he just didn’t get to see this particular little brother in person as much as he’d like.

He pushed off from the tree, straightening up and shoving his hands in his pockets as he took the couple of short steps back out into the rain.  John hadn’t bothered to wait for him, and he had to jog a couple more paces before he was at his brother’s side.

It felt like the rain had got heavier, but the droplets were still cool and refreshing on his face, even if he could feel his hair wilting under the weight.  Beside him, John’s hair had all but lost its usual curl, vibrant strands of ginger instead plastered to his forehead.  His brother didn’t seem to care at all.

Despite inviting him along, John didn’t seem particularly inclined towards conversation as he picked his way across the expansive grounds of the Creighton-Ward manor.  It was clear that this was far from his brother’s first time doing so; while Scott started getting a little turned around by all the identically pruned bushes and perfect flowerbeds, John continued unerringly as though it was his ridiculously large garden.

Not that Scott could really comment on the size of the Creighton-Ward estate when his own home consisted of an entire volcano.  Both the ranch and the Kansas farm spanned equally large acreage; the Tracys had never been a stranger to calling huge swathes of land home.

John had easily spent enough time in this manor during his Oxford days to have the entire estate mapped out in that impressive brain of his.  Scott resolved to never play hide and seek with him here.

The silence that hung between them was a comfortable one.  On some levels, it was more touching and heartfelt than if John had wanted to talk - John was a huge fan of personal space, and being invited to share it, trusted to share it, when he had so clearly hit his socialising quota already was akin to an honour.

Rain continued to fall, Scott’s jacket feeling more and more sodden by the minute, but John never headed for anything remotely resembling shelter.  The weather wasn’t particularly warm, either.  By English standards it might have been passable, but being used to the tropics meant that Scott found it decidedly on the cool side.

John seemed unaffected, but then again John spent most of his time in a rigidly controlled environment and hated the heat.  Scott still hoped he’d be able to persuade Parker to get them both a hot drink when they re-entered the manor building.  Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the older man to bundle them straight to their rooms with layers of blankets and disapproving mumbles.  The former crook liked to pretend he was as tough as nails - and in some respects he was - but he was also quick to fuss over the few friends he had.

Being counted amongst that number was almost as high an honour as being invited to share John’s personal bubble.

Sunbeams poked out from behind the grey clouds as they were strolling through one of several rose gardens - or maybe it was the same one and John had led them around in circles a few times.  In answer, the rain faded away into nothing and the world hung, heavy and still.  John stopped walking, and Scott followed suit.

Above them, the clouds were dispersing.  It seemed that the rain was over, at least for now, although the world around them shimmered a little like crystal as sun caught beads of water clinging to the flowers, the grass, the trees.  John glistened as well, his hair transformed into a burning halo as the sun caught the water plastering it to his scalp.

Hands in his pockets and face once again tilted to the sky, Scott’s little brother appeared to be considering something.  What, there was no point asking.  If John wanted him to be part of the decision making process, he’d say so.  Scott suspected he was debating if he wanted to stay outside or duck inside the manor to escape the reappearing sun.

John missed the rain on Thunderbird Five.  He did not miss the sunburn.

Sure enough, after a moment his brother turned to face him.

“I’m heading back inside,” John said.  “Are you done hiding from your eligible bachelorness yet or are you going to stay out here?”

Scott huffed at him, narrowing his eyes in displeasure at the jab.  John really wasn’t going to be letting that go any time soon.

“They’ll have moved topics by now,” he replied, a lot more confidently than he felt.  In all honesty, he had no idea how long it would be the hot topic for, but if he stayed out later than John he’d never live it down.

“That topic won’t be dropped until you’re married with kids,” his brother pointed out.  Scott scowled.  “But if you’re sure you’re ready to go back in…”  He trailed off meaningfully and, without waiting for Scott, started striding back towards the manor.

Not wanting to let his brother out of his sight, and maybe a little unsure of the paths back, Scott lengthened his stride to catch up with him again.  Turquoise eyes glanced sideways at him, and John’s face settled into subtle amusement.

Scott decided it was best for his pride if he didn’t ask what was funny.

He glanced up at the sky as they walked.  The shimmer of moisture in the air was fading as the sun grew stronger and the clouds continued on their merry way to deposit rain on some other part of the English countryside.  It wouldn’t be raining again just yet.

His foot caught something hard and he stumbled.  Instantly a vice-like grip appeared on his arm, yanking him back upright and steadying him.

“And you call me the clumsy one,” John commented lightly.  “Watch where you’re walking.”

Scott glared down at the flowerbed border he’d apparently walked into before switching targets to his brother.  John, as always, seemed completely unperturbed at the look.  Turquoise eyes looked him up and down, clearly making sure he hadn’t somehow hurt himself with his stumble, before the grip on his arm vanished and John continued down the path.

Sending another glare at the border, Scott followed.

Being behind John quickly brought back the reason why he’d been checking the sky.  While the rain had stopped, the white shirt his brother was wearing was still very soaked through, with the consequences of that on full display.  Scott shrugged out of his own, soaking wet, jacket.

“John,” he called, lengthening his strides to catch up.  His brother paused and turned back to look at him quizzically, jumping as Scott draped the waterlogged jacket over his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” the astronaut asked, making to shrug the fabric off.  “Carry your own jacket, Scott.”

Scott caught the fabric before it could fall to the ground.  “John, you’re wearing a white shirt.”

A single eyebrow raised.  “Your observational skills are unparalleled.”

Little brothers.  Scott huffed.  “And yours are lacking,” he retorted.  “You wore a white shirt in the rain.”

John looked at him, puzzled, for a moment, before comprehension dawned across his face.  A quick glance down had his pale skin reddening slightly.

“Oh.”

Scott shook his head fondly and draped the jacket around his brother’s shoulders again.  This time it was gratefully accepted.  They weren’t quite the same size, but Scott’s shoulders were the broader of the two, so while the fabric bunched a little oddly when John threaded his arms through the sleeves and fumbled the buttons until it was concealing as much of the wet white shirt as possible, it did at least fit.  Scott was grateful it wasn’t Virgil.

“You might want to go and get changed into something dry,” he suggested.  “Get out of those clothes.”

“I didn’t bring a spare suit,” John reminded him.  “I don’t have anything else with me suitable for Lady P’s party.”

Scott rolled his eyes and started walking again.  “Then just don’t come back to the party,” he said bluntly.  “That’s not exactly a tragedy for you.  You can see Lady Penelope again once it’s over - she won’t care what you’re wearing.”

“She will care,” John corrected, catching up to him.  “She’ll judge my outfit and everything.”  Despite the words being ones of apparent complaint, he didn’t actually seem that bothered about it.  Then again, he had survived going to university with the woman.  Their friendship was on a completely different level compared to the one the rest of the Tracys shared with her.

“Just go and get yourself out of those wet clothes and make yourself comfortable for the rest of the evening,” Scott sighed.  “I’ll make your excuses.”

“If I need to get changed, why don’t you?” John challenged.  Scott grinned at him and tapped his own shirt.

“Not white,” he pointed out.  Well, admittedly, he would call it white, but according to Virgil it was cream, and according to the weather that combined with the covering jacket meant that it hadn’t gone the same way as John’s white shirt.  “Ergo, still appropriate for polite company.”

John scrutinised him for several moments as they walked, as though he was trying to find an excuse why Scott’s outfit wasn’t appropriate any more.

“You’ll get sick if you stay in wet clothes too long,” he said eventually.  “Make sure you come up and get changed soon.”

“I don’t have a spare suit, either,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll be fine.”  It couldn’t be that many more hours before the end of the party, surely…

“If you’re not up in half an hour I’m sending Parker to extract you,” John said firmly.  “Virgil will have both our hides if you go home sick.”

“Half an hour?” Scott repeated.  “I’ll be lucky to talk to Lady Penelope by then.  You’ll have to give me longer than that.”  There was no point telling John not to enlist Parker at all - his brother would hum non-committedly then do it anyway the instant he was out of earshot.

John scoffed.  “You’ll find a way,” he said confidently.  “Just flirt your way through the crowds like you normally do.  Half an hour, then Parker will get involved.”

They’d arrived back at the manor itself, and John sent him one last smug grin before vanishing up what had to be a servant’s staircase before Scott could try another attempt to bargain for more time.  With a quiet groan, Scott adjusted his damp tie and headed back towards the ballroom.

His wet - and likely bedraggled - appearance caused a stir when he re-entered the room.  Conversations stopped, eyes stared, and then the whispering started.  Well, he’d take them talking about him over attempts to restart the conversations about his relationship status.

He scanned the room for the tell-tale flash of pink, locating Lady Penelope just before she came to a stop in front of him.

“I was under the impression you were looking for John, not trying to impersonate a drowned rat,” the Lady commented lightly.  “You also appear to have misplaced your jacket, Scott.”

He shrugged lazily.  “John wanted to go outside.”

“I see.”  From the fond look that flickered in her eyes, she probably did get it.  The British aristocrat was the closest thing John had to a best friend, after all.  “And where is John now?”

“Retiring for the evening,” Scott explained.  “Or at least until the party’s over and the stars are out.”

Lady Penelope laughed a little at that.  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she agreed.  “And what about you?  I notice today’s main topic of discussion isn’t to your liking.”  There was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes that was entirely too similar to John’s reaction.

Scott decided the best thing to do was ignore it.

“I should get changed,” he admitted.  “I’ll see you after the party’s over?”

“I dare say you should,” Lady Penelope agreed, “before you turn my ballroom into a swimming pool.  Very well, I’ll see you boys later.”  She turned away, and immediately got caught in another conversation with a guest.

Scott took the opportunity to duck back out of the room, evading anyone who might want to corner him for further conversations that he really didn’t care for.

Parker was standing just outside the door.

“Ah, there you h’are,” the butler said as Scott narrowly avoided walking into him.  “h’I h’understand you’re done for the h’evening?”

Scott checked his watch.  “There’s no way it’s been half an hour already,” he said suspiciously.

“‘alf h’an hour since when?” Parker asked innocently.  “Master John said nothing h’about h’a time limit.”  No, of course John didn’t.  Pesky little brother.  “Well, h’as you h’appear to be trying to turn h’into a drowned rat, h’I’d say you need a nice warm drink h’and a change h’of clothes.”

“That’s the plan,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll see you later, Parker.”

“That you will,” the older man agreed, and Scott paused with his foot on the bottom step of the staircase.  “h’I’ll be bringing h’up some ‘ot chocolate for the pair h’of you in a few minutes.  ‘Onestly, what were you thinking, going h’out h’in the rain like that?”

Scott shrugged.  “John wanted to,” he said, before resuming his ascent of the staircase, knowing that Parker would make good on his promise and be up soon with the drinks.

The Creighton-Ward manor was huge, and the guest suites were equally so.  There was no sharing of bedrooms when they stayed overnight, but as Scott entered the room designated as his, he discovered a brother lounging on his bed, tablet in hand.  Ginger hair was ruffled and sticking up all over the place - a clear victim of a towel drying - and the soaked suit had been replaced by a much less formal shirt and jeans.

“Don’t you have your own room?” he asked, not breaking his stride as he headed for his overnight bag and pulled out a change of clothes.

“Parker’s bringing the drinks here,” John replied, not looking up from whatever it was he was reading.  “It makes more sense for me to be here.”  Scott huffed and worked his tie loose from around his neck.

“You just wanted to make sure I didn’t stay in the party,” he accused.

John didn’t deny it, and Scott rolled his eyes before heading into the ensuite to dry off and get changed into his more casual clothes.  No more formal suit and tie for him tonight.

When he re-emerged several minutes later, his own hair rivalling John’s for towel-dried mess and begging for another round of brushing and hair gel, Parker had arrived with the promised steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

“Drink up, the both of you,” the man demanded.  “Going h’out in the rain like that, I h’ask you.”  He shook his head despairingly.  “What will your Gran say h’if you go and get yourself sick?”

“We won’t get sick, Parker,” Scott said confidently, accepting his mug and letting the warmth seep from the ceramic into his fingers.  “We didn’t get that wet.”

“Don’t h’underestimate the English weather,” Parker warned.  “Drink that h’up and wrap h’up warm.”

John appeared silently at his elbow and claimed his own mug before retreating back to the bed.  Scott watched him burrow his bare feet under the covers and huffed.

“That’s my bed, you know,” he complained.  John lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“So?”

“So, leave some room for me.”  Mug in hand, Scott settled himself next to his brother, nudging him over gently.  John obliged, and after a few moments of shifting around, the pair of them were sat shoulder to shoulder with their feet under the covers.

Parker eyed them approvingly, and then tossed a blanket over their laps as well.

“h’I’ll be back once the party’s h’over,” he told them.  “Keep warm.”

“We’ll be fine,” Scott assured him.  “You don’t need to worry about us.”

Blue eyes surveyed him suspiciously.  “h’I know some people that’d disagree with that h’assessment, Mr Scott.  But duty calls, h’I suppose.”

Parker was clearly reluctant to leave them for some reason, but he did begrudgingly go out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two brothers to their drinks.

The hot chocolate was, unsurprisingly, good, and Scott found himself draining the mug in record time.  Beside him, John was almost as fast, and they set the mugs down on the bedside tables almost in unison.

“Parker makes the best hot chocolate,” John commented, and Scott couldn’t help but agree.

“He does,” he agreed.  “I could go for another.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I finished mine before you got it into your head to steal it,” John said dryly.  “You can ask him for another one later.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.  “I might do that.  This might all be overkill-” he gestured at the warm mugs and the blanket, subtly tucking them in the bed “-but even if we’re not going to get sick, that chocolate is worth it.”

The sneeze came out of nowhere.  As did the second, and the third.

The fourth sneeze came from his brother, and Scott glanced over at him with a sinking feeling.  Bright turquoise met his eyes, and John gave a wane smile before sneezing again.

“I think,” his brother said, before being interrupted by another sneeze, “that maybe this wasn’t so overkill after all.”

Scott buried his face in his hands.  It did nothing to stop the next sneeze, and he groaned.

“You might be right,” he admitted.  “Dammit.  Virgil’s going to- achoo -kill us.”

John groaned.

[monicashipslokius]

Soulmates, Actually - Pt 2

(Read part one)

Despite their desire to buy Mobius more appropriate clothing as the soulmate of a god, Loki knows they’re not welcome back in Asgard. Not without facing some serious repercussions anyway - none of which they’re willing to subject Mobius to, by association.

So while they temporarily ‘magicked’ themself and Mobius away from the dark streets of that German city to a sunny, hot desert, they aren’t totally sure where to go next. They need a safe harbor, but few would give refuge to the notorious god of mischief. And therefore, again, to Mobius by association.

Some soulmate Loki is turning out to be.

Their displeasure must show on their face, because Mobius clutches their forearm and rubs his thumb back and forth in gentle strokes near the dip of their elbow. Loki closes their eyes a moment, and they take a breath. How such a simple gesture from their soulmate could bring such peace... Truly Loki is the most fortunate being in the universe. Even... even after everything else they’ve been through.

“We cannot stay here,” Loki says, eyes still closed, humiliated by their own incompetence.

“It’s not so bad,” Mobius says, chipper as ever. “I’m a bit overdressed, but...”

Loki opens their eyes again to see Mobius tug at the lapel of his suit. He is already sweating through the shirt underneath.

Humans are such fragile things, in need of such diligent care-taking. Something unpleasant claws at Loki’s ribcage from the inside. A voice whispers in their ear, You are not enough.

“Hey, I got an idea,” Mobius says, squeezing Loki’s arm in excitement. A smile slides easily across his lips. “We could go back to my place. Sure. Yeah. It’s not exactly built for royalty, but... There’s running water and some shade and a fridge with lots of soda pop.”

Loki frowns, confused, though they’re sure they understood most of those words. “...Soda pop?”

“Only the best brands. Yeah, this is great! Okay. Dubuque isn’t going to know what hit them.”

Loki tilts their head. “...Dubuque?”

Mobius nods, cheerful smile never dimming. “Iowa. I was only in Germany for a data analysis conference. Speaking of, I should probably text my coworker and let her know I’m not dead. I don’t want them to start a job search for my replacement yet. I told you how important my job is?”

Loki frowns harder, even as Mobius steps closer. He holds onto their shoulders.

“Dubuque, Iowa, get ready. Here comes the god of mischief and their soulmate!”

*

Loki isn’t sure what they expected Dubuque, Iowa to be like, but the lodgings they teleport into, presumably Mobius’s lodgings, are hopefully not a fair representation of the city as a whole.

“Home sweet home,” Mobius says.

“Is this a closet?” Loki asks, peering around the large single room. A bed is wedged against the far wall under a pair of small windows. To their immediate left, is the semblance of a minuscule kitchen - a sink, a few cabinets, and the promised refrigerator.

“Now, I know it doesn’t seem like much, but this place has everything you could ever need.”

Mobius walks into the living quarters. Three strides and he’s already halfway across the room. He goes to the windows and draws back the sheer curtains. The slightly improved lighting does nothing for Loki’s opinion. The walls, the bedspread, the carpeting - all shades of a light brown that Loki cannot tell is intentionally pale or faded over time.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Mobius says, pointing to a doorway off the corner that doubles as a bedroom.

Loki checks, and finds it lacking. There is not even a bath!

“Are all Midgardian accommodations like this?” Loki asks. They try to keep the disdain from their voice, for Mobius’s sake - but it is precisely for Mobius’s sake that they are so outraged!

“Oh. Well? Nah.” Mobius rubs the back of his neck. “I guess a lot of places are bigger, though it’s important, I think, to be happy with what you have.” He lifts his shoulders, then lets them drop. “Some people don’t have anything.”

Mobius shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over the bedspread. The sweat down his back speaks of his fragility once more, and Loki turns away. Mobius said he was valued by his company, but if that were true...

“Do all top data analysts have similar accommodations?” Loki asks. They’re still holding the scepter. Looking around, they see another door - a cloak closet? Loki draws open the door, and yes! Coats and shirts stuff the narrow space. Shoes are lined neatly across the floor. Loki tucks the scepter into the back, behind the clothes.

“The company pays me pretty well, actually,” Mobius says. “It’s just that... uh. How do I put this?”

Loki closes the door and turns toward Mobius, who has unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, and is rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

Mobius looks up to the ceiling, then at the bathroom door. “I had a bigger place for a long while, but a few years ago, I downsized. Lots of people buy big in anticipation of... well. But when they reach a certain age, they start to assume that... I guess I’d given up.”  He waves an arm out. “This place? It's been enough for just me.”

Loki takes a only small step forward, wanting to be at his side but suddenly afraid to, with Mobius’s sudden vulnerability. Loki doesn’t have the best reputation for healing things. Most of their life, they’ve only been good at breaking.

They fight to keep their voice steady as they say, “You didn’t think you would find your soulmate.”

Mobius shakes his head a little, but when he looks up at Loki, the smile that dimmed sparks back to life. “If I’d known I was waiting for a god, I would have kept the mortgage.” He tucks his head down. “This was probably a bad idea, wasn’t it? This can’t be anything like you’re used to.”

“It’s...not. But.” Loki forces themself to take another step, drawn in by the hopeful gleam in Mobius’s eye.

“But?”

Loki thinks back to when they were young, when they spent hours cultivating dreams that didn’t involve domination of the nine realms. Well, not only that. When they laid awake and thought of all the sweet nothings they would say to their soulmate and all the promises they would make. Back when they thought the universe still held some kindness for them.

They take the final step that brings them to Mobius and tells him, “I would like to stay where you are.”

“Even if it’s this closet?”

“It is... cozy.” Loki glances around. “Though I insist we redecorate.”

Mobius’s smile lights up his eyes, and Loki’s breath catches. They cannot remember the last time they made someone smile like that. Genuine. Bright. Happy. 

“So much beige,” Loki says, grinning. “Do you not see the value in a bit more excitement?”

“Trust me,” Mobius says, “I’m starting to.” He glances, ever so slightly, at Loki’s mouth, and Loki has never wanted to kiss anyone as much as they want to kiss this man in this drab apartment.

Loki starts to lean, and for a moment, Mobius does too.

But then Mobius worries his bottom lip between his teeth and steps away instead.

A familiar pang of rejection echos in Loki's chest. Even their own soulmate finds him lacking. They drop their gaze.

"Hey." Mobius touches their face, a finger under their chin, drawing their gaze right back up. "We should go slow, right?" He swallows hard. "I haven't... It's been a long time for me, and with you, I don't want to mess this up."

Loki wants to tell him that he couldn't ruin this, no matter what he did, but that would be a lie. The truth is much more complicated. Their souls are bound together by the cosmos, yes, but unfortunately the cosmos does not provide any training or instruction on how to sustain a lasting relationship.

Loki, themself, hasn't much experience in that matter. They've had their fun, but that was all.

"Is that okay?" Mobius asks, blue eyes like that of a baby fawn. Loki doubts they would deny him anything, ever. But especially not something they also want.

"Yes," Loki says, much softer than intended. They clear their throat and say, stronger, "Of course."

"Great!" That smile returns full-blast, brighter and more scalding than the desert sun. He bounces back a step. "I'm going to go grab a quick shower." He plucks at his shirt. "So sweaty. You okay for a minute?"

Loki shrugs and nods at the same time, as Mobius disappears into the bath-less bathroom. When the door closes behind him, Loki flops backwards onto the beige bed and stares up at the ceiling, flecked with plaster. The mattress sinks pleasantly beneath their weight. Loki thanks the realms that Mobius at least owns a decent bed.

The water turns on in the bathroom, muffled by the door. Mobius begins to sing. Loki hasn't heard the song before but doesn't need to, to know Mobius is singing off-tune and off-rhythm. A particularly bad note draws a startled laugh from Loki.

Loki glances at the door, wishing they could see Mobius's face, knowing he's wearing that infallible smile. A dresser beside the bed blocks their view, and their attention immediately shifts to a series of framed photos atop it. An older photo of a couple - Mobius's parents, presumably, is most prominent on the left. Their severe expressions do not match the tender way they hold the baby in their arms.

Beside that photo, one of a younger Mobius with longer blonde hair and no mustache sitting on a water vehicle, giving a thumbs-up. Loki smiles softly at him, at his beauty, though easily admits to themself that they prefer the Mobius of now - more gray than blonde, and the mustache. Dignified. Handsome. Loki thinks of kissing him again, and exhales. Going slow will be a test of their willpower, but Loki will overcome. For Mobius. For them, together.

The third photo is of a three-story brown building. Mobius's office? Loki rises from the bed to look closer, but - yes. Only a building, with no people in sight. A quick glance around the room proves no more photos. Why would Mobius dedicate one of his few photos to his workplace?

I guess I'd given up.

In the drab monochromatic room, the photo of Mobius on the ocean holds the only splash of color.

In the bathroom, the water turns off, but the singing continues. Loki listens closer, hears now how the chipper tones drop pitch at the end, and in that sound, so near a sigh, they recognize their own sadness.

Loki meets the stern gazes of Mobius's parents in their photo and vows to them, "I will make your son happy again."

The door opens, and Mobius appears, shirtless, a towel around his shoulders, and a pair of gray sweatpants high on his hips.

Loki's usually thunderous brain goes very, very quiet.

Mobius is not chiseled muscle. His shoulders are not particularly wide. He's not tall. But he needn't be any of those things. He is soft, sturdy lines, and stability, and courage, and the most attractive being Loki has ever had the blessing of putting their eyes upon.

Mobius dabs at his wet hair with the end of the towel. "Hey, you found my photos?"

The reminder of the photo of the building is enough to cool Loki's desire, though it still lingers, simmering, in the base of their being.

"Yes." Loki gestures to the offending photo. Mobius sees and drops the towel back to his shoulder.

"That's the office," he says, confirming Loki's suspicions. "It's a nice building, yeah?"

Loki tries not to let their distaste show on their face. Tries, not particularly hard. "Wouldn't you rather have more of your family? Your friends?"

"Oh. Mom and Pop didn't really care much for photos, and they're gone now." He doesn't mention extended family, or any friends - not even the protective work friend who tried to convince him away from Loki on their first meeting. Instead, he gives Loki a sad sort of smile, as big as the others before but so, so different. It doesn't reach his eyes at all.

Sometimes soulmates are very different from each other, practicing a running theory that opposites attract. But more often than not, soulmates share at least one or two very similar traits. Through these traits, they find common ground. Equal footing. A keystone that holds up all the parts of them that are different until they make a bridge.

In Mobius, Loki sees their own loneliness.

"Would you..." Loki pauses, unsure, but the kind curiosity in Mobius's eyes urges them on. "Perhaps we could have a likeness taken of us. To add to your collection."

The light returns to Mobius smile. Loki will fill this entire apartment with photos of them together if it keeps.

"I'd like that, Loki. A lot."

"Good."

Mobius goes to the dresser and pulls open a drawer. He withdraws a gray short-sleeved shirt and pulls it over his head. Then he glances over his shoulder. "You need to borrow something?"

Loki waves their hand and alters their clothing from their princely armor to a silk green sleep-shirt and pants.

"Woah." Mobius looks them up from head to toe and back again. "That's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Loki laughs again, and this time, they aren't so startled. With Mobius, they are starting to expect it.

Mobius glances at the bed. Loki does too. Then at each other.

"I know, technically here in Iowa, it's maybe too early to go to bed, but I've gotta tell you, after this kinda day, I really need a nap." Mobius rubs the back of his neck. His cheeks tint pink. "But, uh there's only one bed. I don't even have a couch. Oh! I know! I'll sleep on the floor." The man reaches for one of the pillows like he actually intends to remove it.

Loki snatches his wrist. "You will do no such thing."

"Well, I'm not going to have a prince sleep on the floor."

"Mobius," Loki says gently. They bring Mobius's imprisoned hand to their mouth and place a soft kiss to his fingers. This fragile, precious human. "No one is sleeping on the floor."

"Oh." The pink in Mobius's cheeks reddens - a beautiful shade. "What... uh, what about going slow?"

Loki rolls their eyes. "I do not intend on impugning your virtue. I merely wish..." Their nonchalance slips rather suddenly, and their voice fails them. Saying their innermost desires aloud has only ever been used against them. That they nearly did so, so casually, shocks Loki to their core. Careless.

Mobius folds his hand over where Loki is clutching his other one, until Mobius holds Loki's in both of his own. He brings Loki's hand to his own mouth and places a soft kiss to each of their knuckles, one after the next, mustache tickling the back of their palm.

"What do you wish, Loki?" Mobius asks.

With Mobius, Loki wants to be careless. But to do so would be to give him power. And with that power, mortal or not, Mobius could crush them, heart and soul.

"I can tell you what I want?" Mobius says. "And you can tell me if you'd like that too."

"Very well," Loki says, breathless.

Mobius kisses the dip between Loki's fingers and thumb, and says, "I want to hold you. Fall asleep with you in my arms."

Loki's throat goes very dry. Their heart hammers wildly in his chest. They wants that. So much. But... no, surely Mobius will realize that is a terrible idea. He will change his mind at any moment. So Loki forces themself to say, voice hoarse, "I could kill you."

Mobius shrugs. He doesn't deny it, but he also doesn't let go of Loki's hand. "I figure you would have done it by now."

"I could be plotting."

Mobius meets their eyes, but they hold only fondness, no suspicion. "Are you?"

"Maybe."

"Mmhmm." He pulls Loki's hand to his chest. "Are you saying you aren't interested in the cuddling? It's okay to say no."

Loki opens their mouth but they still can't say what they want.

"No worries." Mobius kisses Loki's hand and releases it. "I can still sleep on the floor -"

"You will not sleep on the floor," Loki says, the annoyance at such a thing finally giving them their voice back.

"Okay, okay." Mobius holds their hands up. He laughs as he draws back the covers. He slides into the bed and then moves to the other side, pressing up against where the mattress meets the wall, so that Loki can have the open side, without being boxed in. Loki could run. Mobius would let them.

Loki crawls under the covers.

They lie in bed, side by side, both on their backs but not touching. Loki doesn't know how long they stay there, staring at the ceiling, before Mobius rolls onto their side, away from Loki. It feels wrong - too wrong, and in the quiet, Loki tries again to find the courage to have their wishes exposed.

"Mobius," they whisper. If Mobius is already asleep, then they won't -

"Yeah, Loki?"

Loki swallows down their nerves. Mobius has only proven himself trustworthy. They are soulmates. Soulmates trust. "Mobius, I..."

Mobius rolls onto his back. He turns his head toward Loki and waits. He waits, and waits, and waits. Loki wonders if he would wait forever.

His patience is what finally cracks through the walls Loki built.

"Will you hold me?" Loki asks, and braces for rejection. For mockery. For any offer to be rescinded with a joke.

Instead, Mobius turns toward them and holds open his arms. "Come on."

Loki slides into the open spot against Mobius's chest, and Mobius folds his arms around them.

Loki's whole body relaxes at once, all the tension evaporating. Mobius is warm and sturdy against their back. His breaths are hot on the shell of Loki's ear.

"This okay?" Mobius asks.

Loki nods.

"I got you," Mobius says, holding tighter.

Loki waits a long moment, then two. They half want Mobius to fall asleep so they won't hear when they say, "Don't let go."

"I won't," comes Mobius's quick reply, slurred slightly with sleep. "I won't let you go, Loki."

Loki knows they shouldn't, but... they start to believe. And with that knowledge, that safety, sleep follows.

*

A thunderous knock sounds heavy against the front door, jolting Loki awake.

"Loki?" Mobius asks, rubbing his eye.

“Are you expecting company?” Loki pushes themself upright on the bed, heart racing.

Mobius frowns. “I’m supposed to be in Germany.”

The knocking comes again, louder. So hard the door cracks. Someone on the other side lightly curses, and Loki goes cold. They knows that voice.

Thor.

Here. Now.

“Loki?” Mobius sits upright too, and grips Loki’s shoulders. He’s so fragile, and yet so grounding. His hands are steady. His grip firm. He's as fully awake now as Loki is, and Loki can the concern in his eyes, even in the dark of the room. “Whoever it is, I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Only a fool would make that promise,” Loki says. “It’s my brother on the other side of that door.”

They expect the words to scare Mobius into rescinding his promise of protection, and they steel their heart against the inevitable hurt. You are never enough.

But Mobius does not look afraid. His jaw sets. His brow lowers. If anything, he seems even more determined.

A fool, for sure. Enough to make Loki’s heart swell. And their nerves prickle.

Loki stands, stepping away from the bed. Mobius quickly follows.

Mobius stood against Captain America and Tony Stark, but they were fellow Midgardians. Thor? Thor is of Asgard. Mobius must know he holds no chance against a god.

But he does not seem to care.

“Hide in the bathroom,” Mobius says. “I’ll get rid of him.”

Loki blinks. “Pardon?”

“It will be fine.” Mobius places a hand on the small of Loki's back and gently shoves them towards the tiny bathroom.

“But, Mobius -”

“Listen, Loki. You are my soulmate. Soulmates protect each other.”

“But -” Loki steps into the bathroom, at Mobius’s behest.

Mobius grabs the handle of the door. “He wants to throw you in some Asgardian prison or something, right? That’s not happening.”

“Mobius -”

“I’ll be right back.” Mobius winks, then closes the door, taking Loki’s heart with him.

[pocket-luv101]

Sky Blue Eyes

Fandom: Servamp Ship: KuroMahi Chapters: Kuro, Mahiru

Summary: Due to his father’s reputation, the town would avoid Kuro. Mahiru sees him sitting alone and he decides to talk to him. (KuroMahi, Pre-canon AU)

Lonely Eyes Series: (KuroMahi) // LawLicht // Tetsono // MahiSloth // Jekuni // Gluttony Pair

Lonely eyes, she had those lonely eyes. I only know cause I have them too. Lonely eyes, no you don’t have to hide the things you feel inside I feel too cause I’m lonely just like you.

Kuro would spend most of his day within the castle’s library. He wasn’t an avid reader but the long corridors of bookcases was the only place he could find privacy. Everywhere he went in the castle, he could feel people’s stares on his back. Yet, whenever he would turn to face them, they would look away with fear. He understood their feelings though.

His father was a Count who performed experiments in secret. No one was allowed to enter his father’s laboratory but the staff would speculate about his research. They never voiced their distrust of the family due to how powerful the Count was. However, their silence only made their animosity louder to Kuro. Kuro could only imagine how the castle would react if they knew the truth about his father.

He slept at a desk in the back of the library with a book over his head to keep others from recognizing him immediately. Kuro had read through most of the novels in the library and he thought of what else he could do to pass the time. Each day had the same routine where he would eat and then study to take over his father’s title. The rest of the day, he hid in the library with no one to talk to and nothing to do.

Kuro closed his eyes and he willed himself to drift to sleep. He was jolted awake when he felt a light weight landed on his back. He groaned as the weight walked up his back and then it jumped onto the desk. The book fell from his face and he found a brown cat staring back at him. He picked up his book and he was glad that the cat’s claws didn’t leave marks on the cover.

“You’re a troublesome cat, aren’t you? I can already tell.” He assumed the cat was a stray who wandered into the castle. He held the cat gently as he placed it on the ground. The cat pawed at his leg a few times and he reached down to pet it. He couldn’t adopt a pet so he lightly nudged the cat away after he gave it a few pats. He wondered if the cat could understand the gesture because it nodded and then left.

Kuro doubted he would be able to go back to sleep after the cat woke him so he stood to find another book to read. His eyes fell onto the novel he was reading earlier. He couldn’t remember where he found the book and he was too lazy to go to the front desk to return it. He walked to the nearest bookshelf and he slipped the novel into a random space.

“So, you’re the culprit!” The accusation took Kuro by surprise and he turned towards the voice. He hadn’t heard a person approach him yet a brunette man stood only a few feet behind. Since the staff were afraid of his father, they wouldn’t approach him— let alone speak with him in a stern voice. The man continued to surprise him by how he stood in front of him and reached over his shoulder. His fingers briefly brushed over Kuro’s cheek before he grabbed a book.

In the corner of his eyes, Kuro could see that it was the book he placed on the shelf. The man waved the book in front of him and said, “I’m a librarian here and it makes my job more difficult when you don’t put the books back in their place. For the past week, I had to stay late and check the shelves for any book that was out of order. I don’t know who your parents are but your rank doesn’t allow you to be so careless.”

Kuro realized that he didn’t know that he was the son of a Count. The man tapped his shoulder and then he nodded towards a bookcase a few feet from him. “This book goes in the fantasy section. Most of the books that I’ve found out of place are fantasy and supernatural novels. Do you like the genre? Wait, I should introduce myself. My name is Mahiru Shirota.”

He paused and Kuro knew that he was waiting for him to answer. He hesitated to tell him his name because he knew he would become wary of him. Kuro wondered if he could read his thoughts after Mahiru gave him an understanding smile. “You don’t have to tell me but it’ll be easier for us to talk if I had something to call you. How about a nickname like… Blue Eyes?”

“My eyes? That’s not a very creative nickname.” Kuro said but Mahiru had to note that he didn’t reject the nickname. He followed him down the aisle of bookcases until he returned the book to its proper shelf. Mahiru took down the book next to it and he held it out to Kuro.

“If you liked the tales of King Arthur and Merlin, you should also try reading this book too. It’s about a lonely prince who lives in a floating castle. No one can reach the castle but then he meets an angel who takes him out of the castle. They go on adventures together.” Mahiru appeared nostalgic as he looked down at the cover. “The castle has an impressive collection of books.”

“The Count prides himself as a scholar and a researcher. He would send the servants across the country to collect these books.” The books were the only glimpse Kuro had of the world outside of his castle. He had considered fleeing the castle and escaping to a city where no one knew his father and he could be a simple man. Yet, he knew the risk of leaving could be worse than staying with his father. “I’ve read the book already. They got into troublesome situations like a war and a wizard chasing them.”

“But they were able to overcome it as a team. That concept is what drew me to the book series.” Mahiru’s eyes scanned the tall wall of books and the image of Kuro sitting alone with a book came to him. He thought of something else he could offer him. “How about we go outside and search for adventure? You don’t look like you leave the castle much with how pale you are. I can show you around the village.”

Kuro started to nod but his father’s words cut through his excitement. It would be dangerous for someone of his rank to leave the castle without his guards. Mahiru would immediately realize who he truly was the moment he saw him surrounded by the royal knights. On the other hand, the outing could be his chance to make a friend. “Can we go to a bakery in the village? I see the servants come into work with a muffin from the bakery and it looks delicious.”

“Wherever you want, Blue Eyes. My shift ends in half an hour so I’ll meet you in front of the gate then. Of course, we’ll return before the sun sets. That’s when the werewolves and fairies come out.” With the warning, he tapped his finger against the fantasy book and Kuro thought his words were merely a joke. Mahiru glanced around them before he placed his finger against his lips. “Don’t tell anyone that we talked or else the head librarian will yell at me for not doing my job.”

Kuro had hidden a cloak in the far corner of the library where people rarely visited. He opened the desk and he slipped out the white cloak. After glancing around him to be certain that no one would see him, he wrapped the cloak around himself. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him as he walked through the gate and stopped him. His father would be angry with him and Mahiru would discover the truth.

With the hood shadowing his face, he left the library and he did his best to not draw attention to himself. Kuro knew the best path to take through the castle and avoid people. He stepped into the garden but he couldn’t see Mahiru waiting in front of the gate. He assumed that he was late and he would have to wait for him. With that thought, Kuro walked along the rose bushes lining the wall.

He sensed someone watching him and he placed his hand on the knife tied to his belt. A hand shot out of the bushes and pulled him into hidden space between the roses and the wall. Kuro thought the person could be an assassin and he instinctively pulled his knife from his sheath. A warm hand on his cheek stopped him and Kuro realized that Mahiru was standing before him.

“I hope you weren’t scratched by the thorns when I pulled you behind the rose bush.” Mahiru said and plucked a red petal from his hood. The colour was similar to his lips and Kuro wondered if they would be as soft as well. The thought surprised Kuro and he stepped back from him. Mahiru tilted his head at his reaction but then he added: “You looked like you were trying to sneak around so I decided to help you. Will you get in trouble if you go into town with me?”

“My brother would ask to join our little adventure if he saw us leave. He’s young so it’ll be troublesome to take him with us.” Kuro lied. He didn’t know if Mahiru believed him but his brown eyes softened into a smile. Mahiru took his hand and pulled him towards the drawbridge.

He waited until a large wagon approached them before he jumped out of their hiding place. He walked closely beside the wagon so they wouldn’t be seen easily. The way he casually slipped out of the gate without the guards noticing drew Kuro’s attention. His movements were fluid as if he had sneaked through the gate before. He started to voice the question but then he felt Mahiru squeeze his hand gently.

Mahiru looked back to him with a smile and he pointed to the village. “You said that you wanted to visit the bakery. Around noon, Miss. Shinohara makes a fresh batch of baked goods for the lunch rush. This is the best time to get muffins so we should hurry. Let’s go, Blue Eyes.”

“When you invited me to go into town, I didn’t think we would be running so much. We should’ve jumped into the back of the wagon and saved ourselves the trouble of running. Can’t deal.” Kuro groaned. He was surprised when Mahiru laughed at his complaint and his voice rang something in his heart. He had never heard something so open and freeing before.

“That’s what Shiro did in the book you were reading. I can’t promise our little trip will be as eventful but it’ll be fun.”

“I love homemade muffins like this.” Mahiru breathed in the scent of cinnamon and savoured the simple luxury. After they bought muffins from the bakery, they walked to a hill where they could eat the treat and enjoy the weather. Kuro didn’t take off his hood despite how the sun beamed above their heads. He was glad that there was a cool breeze at least.

Mahiru took a large bite and the taste made him hum pleasantly. He ripped off a piece of the muffin he hadn’t bitten yet. “I want to try a bite of your blueberry muffin. I’ll trade you a piece of mine. I haven't had homemade muffins in a long time. When I was a kid, I would bake these with my mother but I’m constantly travelling now. It’s impossible to find an oven.”

“You work in the library but you can ask the head butler to borrow the kitchen. I don’t talk to him much but he might let you.” Kuro took a blueberry and placed it on Mahiru’s muffin. He almost offered to speak with the chef for him but he bit his tongue to stop himself. He wanted to be cautious not to tell Mahiru that he was a lord. The atmosphere around them was soothing and he found himself being more open with him.

“I was hired to be a librarian a few days ago. I don’t think I can ask him to let me use the kitchen for something as small as baking.” Mahiru finished his muffin and he brushed the crumbs from his fingers. He took out his napkin but he didn’t wipe his mouth like Kuro had expected him to. Instead, he held it out to Kuro. “You have blueberries on your mouth.”

“I can lick it off. It’ll be a waste if I don’t eat it.” Kuro joked. “Where did you work before you came to the castle?”

“I travelled. There’s something I need to apologize to you about. That day we met, you actually put the book back in the right place. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” The confession surprised Kuro. He didn’t know why he would use an excuse to speak with him. A part of him couldn’t help but worry that he knew his title.

“I always see you sitting alone in the library alone. At first, I thought you liked reading but you weren’t like the other visitors I’ve seen. You had the same expression whether you were reading a fantasy adventure or a gothic romance. Yesterday was the first time I saw your face closely and you had this lonely look. I know how that feels”

“You don’t seem like the type of person who would be lonely.” He said without thinking. Sadness shadows Mahiru’s expression and Kuro regretted his words. He hadn’t meant to hurt him and he quickly added, “Sorry. You have this cheerful aura around you and I didn’t think… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“We all have our troubles and you can’t know what a person is going through. That’s why I try to reach out to people who looks like they need a friend. Even if they hate me in the end. That’s how all my friendships end because…” Mahiru lifted his muffin to his lips but he didn’t take a bite. His appetite had disappeared and he leaned back until he was laying on the grass. He searched the clouds for anything he could say to lighten the tension around them but he could say, “I’m sorry if saying that ruined the mood.”

Kuro couldn’t think of a reason someone would have to dislike someone as kind and openhearted as Mahiru. He leaned over him and he looked into his brown eyes. While Mahiru didn’t tell him why he was lonely, he could hear the longing in his voice. He reached out to him and he cupped his warm cheek in his hand. “Do you want to have muffins again tomorrow?”

“I want to try the plain muffin next time.” Mahiru nodded. With Kuro leaning over him, he could see the details of his blue eyes. He had lonely eyes that he recognized all too well because he would see them in the mirror.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you’re a cat, Blue Eyes. I find you sleeping in the strangest places.” Mahiru stood beneath a tree where Kuro was laying on a branch with a book. He positioned himself under him so he could catch him if he accidentally slipped out of the tree. Since they shared the muffins on the hill, they became friends. Mahiru would invite Kuro to read outside of the library.

“I was waiting for you and I fell asleep.” Kuro’s voice was muffled because he didn’t take the book off his face. The tree rocked beneath him and he turned his head to see Mahiru in the branch next to him. At first, he was scared that the staff would tell Mahiru who he truly was but he continued to call him by his nickname so he didn’t know yet. He knew it was impossible to keep his identity a secret forever but he would enjoy his time with him while they could still be friends.

“I don’t know how you’re able to sleep when the book was so exciting. I stayed up all night reading it and I couldn’t wait to talk to you about this theory I have about who the first werewolf is.” Mahiru’s excitement was easy to hear in his voice. While Kuro had already read the book and he knew the reveal, he enjoyed discussing the possibilities with him.

He sat up and he moved onto Mahiru’s branch to sit next to him. He barely settled himself before he heard a loud clash in the distance. Kuro instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of his knife. The sound could merely be caused by a servant but there was a possibility it was an assassin who intended to kill him. He didn’t want Mahiru to be hurt because of his title.

“We should go see what caused that noise. Someone could be hurt.” Mahiru closed his book and he placed it in his bag. He placed his hand on his arm and he gently nudged him to climb down as well. Kuro thought he should tell him that he should go without him because the servant would be anxious if they saw him. Mahiru’s hand froze in the air and his eyes widened. He didn’t know what could’ve caused his expression to change.

Mahiru gripped Kuro’s hood and he pulled it over his head. In the same movement, he drew him closer to him and Kuro felt something pass dangerously close to his ear. His heart stopped the moment he recognized the sound of a gunshot. His first thought was that someone was after him and he needed to protect Mahiru.

“I thought I had more time before they found me.” Mahiru muttered. He hugged Kuro and their bodies pitched forward and they fell out of the tree. He tried to turn his body in the air so he could stop their fall before either of them was hurt. Kuro saw the ground rapidly approaching them but then fur blocked his vision. The fall came to an abrupt stop but the ground was warm and soft.

Kuro groaned to himself and he lifted his head from the fur. His voice became caught in his voice with shock after he saw that he was now on a golden lion. He couldn’t process the sight before him. The lion leapt forward and he gripped the lion’s mane so he wouldn’t fall off. He looked over his shoulder to search for Mahiru on the ground but he couldn’t see him.

The lion skidded to a stop in front of the rose bushes and lowered its head such that Kuro fell into the flowers. Kuro started to stand but the lion stopped him by placing its head against his chest. “Please hide here, Kuro. I’ll keep those men from finding you?”

“Mahiru?” Kuro whispered his name but he didn’t answer him. He didn’t need him to respond to know that the lion was Mahiru. He only had to look into its brown eyes to understand who he was. That was the only thing he was certain of in the swarm of questions he now had. Mahiru shook his head before he turned away and ran.

Kuro couldn’t sleep and he walked throughout the castle to search for Mahiru. He didn’t understand the events he witnessed earlier and he had a million questions for him. The loneliness and fear in Mahiru’s brown eyes wouldn’t leave his mind and he wanted to hold him. He wandered aimlessly until he reached the empty corner of the library where he first met him.

On the desk was a brown cat and Kuro felt hope rise in his chest. He ran through the lines of bookcases and he stopped in front of the cat. Kuro remembered how Mahiru had transformed into a lion but he didn’t know if the cat could be him as well. He hesitantly placed his hand on its head and it looked up at him with brown eyes. “Mahiru?”

The cat nestled against his hand before it jumped off the table. He watched the cat walk behind a bookcase and then Mahiru stepped out. Mahiru didn’t look at Kuro and he stared at the ground. “I wanted to see you one last time but I was afraid you would be afraid of me after you saw… That’s how all my friendships ended.”

Mahiru echoed the same words he told him the day they went into the village and Kuro realized why he was lonely. He didn’t know what he could say to comfort. He walked forward and he closed the space between them. Kuro wrapped his arms around him and pulled him against his chest. He was able to feel a silent sob rock through Mahiru’s body.

He looked down at Mahiru but he couldn’t see his expression when he had his face buried in his chest. “You’re not scared of me?”

“You saved me.” Kuro whispered back to him. He wasn’t only referring to how he stopped the men from finding him but also his smile.

“I wish I could stay. I’m a shapeshifter and those men were after me for my powers. They’ll endanger you as well.” Mahiru said but he continued to hold Kuro tightly. He didn’t want to let go of the first person he found who accepted him. He finally looked up at him and he looked into his eyes. “Blue Eyes, can you finally tell me your name. If fate allows us to meet again, I want to be able to call you by your name.”

“Kuro.”

“Goodbye, Kuro.” Mahiru lifted his face from his chest and looked up at him. He wanted to be hopeful that they would meet again and said, “I look forward to the day we can say each other’s names.”

Despite the voice in his heart telling him to stay with Kuro, Mahiru forced himself to let him go. He didn’t want to see Kuro’s expression as he left so he pulled his hood over his head and shifted into a cat. Mahiru disappeared into the night sky.

Kuro couldn’t remember the last time he ate and he only had enough energy to purr softly. Since he refused to have an Eve, he would use his cat form to beg people for scraps. Strangers occasionally gave him food but his body cried for blood. He tried to drown out the craving and he counted the feet that passed him. A pair of shoes stopped in front of him and he thought the person would merely give him food.

A familiar warmth surrounded Kuro as he was lifted from the ground. Kind hands brushed the dirt from his fur but the action kept him from seeing the person’s face. He could never forget the person’s warmth and hope caused his heart to quicken. Then, he moved his hand and the person smiled down at him. “Are you a stray? You look starving. I’ll take you home and feed you.”

Mahiru called his name for the first time after a thousand years. “Kuro. I’ll name you, Kuro.”

[multimilfs]

Zelda Spellman x Fem!Reader x Madam Satan: Little Witch

Summary: You’ll stop at nothing to ensure the safety of your loves. Not even Hell can drag them away. 

A/N: So this was originally in response to a request, before I realized they hadn’t watched caos s4 yet. So, merry inauguration day, you get another fic! I hope you all like it! Also... damn Y/N... how come you get two milfs?? 

Warning(s): CAOS S4 Spoilers, Minor Violence

“Hilda, where is Y/N?”

Zelda walked into her office, intent on seeing you working on Academy business. Instead, her sister was in your chair. Head buried in documents she didn’t understand. She had tried though, for your sake.

“Oh, Zelds! She just popped out for a bit. Needed some fresh air.” Hilda said, giving an overly large smile. Zelda just raised an eyebrow.

“Hilda.” Zelda said in warning.

The younger of the two let out a sigh. In truth, you were supposed to be back over an hour ago. You’d just meant to pop out and check on Lilith and Adam. Apparently the two of you had different opinions on what ‘popping out’ meant.

“She said she was going to check on Lilith and little Adam… again.”

There was a beat of silence, before it was filled with a loud, annoyed sigh. Since Adam had been born, you’d been neglecting your duties to spend time with the baby. You said you were doing it to give Lilith a break, but both Lilith and Zelda knew that the boy had you wrapped around his finger.

She took a long drag of the cigarette in her hand. Of course she wouldn’t fault you, she loved to see you happy. But the Academy relied on you. She relied on you.

“I’ll be back.” Zelda said.

She turned on her heel and marched from the room. Destination: Lilith’s room. Each step, each click of her heels, punctuated by a drag of her cigarette. The nicotine alleviated some of the agitation.

She barged in the room. No knocking, no announcement, nothing. Her gaze leveled on you.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” Zelda snapped.

You jumped slightly, careful to hold onto Adam tightly. Though he whined.

“Hi, Zelda,” You smiled, “Did you come to see Adam too?”

No traces of guilt lingered around you. Only complete love and bliss, having your two lovers and the baby in one space. Your heart was full.

“Well, no. I came here because you’re meant to be handling Academy paperwork and instead, you’ve snuck off to play happy family. We don’t have the time for distractions.”

Zelda’s tone was severe, but not as severe as it could have been. She purposefully softened it. While she needed to stress the importance of the matter, she didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You were practically glowing.

“And you,” Zelda began again, rounding on Lilith, who’d been silent, “It never crossed your mind to remind her of her duties? You know the stress we’re under here.”

“No, it was never a thought.” Lilith said lightly.

“Funny. It didn’t take the millenia you’ve been alive to rot your brain, it took a baby and a witch.” Zelda snapped.

“My brain is in tip-top condition, Zelda. Maybe I just like watching our darling Y/N play mommy.”

Zelda glared daggers at Lilith, while Lilith smirked. It was too easy to get under her skin. Meanwhile, you were blushing like a tomato, dividing your attention between the infant in your arms and your lovers.

“Be careful, witch. You live under the roof of my academy, lest you forget.” Zelda warned. Lilith’s smirk dropped.

“You know what happens if I leave this building.” Lilith said, fear creeping into her voice.

“Mm. How horrible.” Zelda’s tone was dry, her glare unwavering.

“Zelda!” You gasped, making both of them look at you. You looked heartbroken at the horrible way they were speaking to one another, “That was cruel!”

Zelda had the decency to look ashamed. She had been falling back onto the habit of throwing harsh words when she was stressed. Of course she’d been making an active effort to change that habit, but it was second nature when emotions ran high.

You and Lilith both knew she didn’t mean what she said when she was upset, but it was still hurtful. Especially with Lilith in such a vulnerable position.

“Now I want both of you to apologize to one another.” You declared.

Both witches spluttered, looking outraged at such a suggestion. Too prideful were they, to admit when they’d done wrong.

“Why should I apologize? She is the one throwing threats around!” Lilith protested.

“Zelda is right. You shouldn’t have kept me distracted from my duties.”

Against her pride, she knew that you were right. You did have important duties that needed attending to. Though, she considered herself one of the most important things in your life. She’d just been enjoying the company and hadn’t wanted you to leave.

“I… apologize for my words, Lilith. They were unfairly severe.” Zelda apologized, voice strained.

“And I apologize for distracting Y/N further.” Lilith conceded.

Your face lit up at the apologies. They were awkward, but they were detailed and somewhat honest. It was progress.

“Thank you for being civil.” You smiled, walking to place a kiss on each witch’s cheek.

Both leaned into the affection openly. Though they’d deny it, they were both big softies when it came to you. You broke through the walls of false bravado. Something in your smile, in your heart, made you irreplaceable.

You placed a gentle kiss on Adam’s forehead, handing him back to Lilith carefully. She gave you a questioning look.

“I should get back to my duties. Zelds, why don’t you stay and relax?” You suggested brightly.

“I couldn’t-“ She argued.

“You absolutely can. You do more for this Academy than anyone. Now take a break.”

You pushed her into one of the many chairs in the room and pecked her lips. Lilith glared enviously. Though you didn’t notice, as you took your leave from the room. You weren’t looking forward to the paperwork. If it gave Zelda a break, then that was enough motivation for you.

Hilda was still in the office and you gave her an apologetic smile. She just waved it off and the two of you got back to work, until she decided to brew the both of you some tea, setting it down in front of you.

“You are a goddess-send, Hilda.”

“Oh, well thank you.” Hilda said, smiling happily, “Just happy to help out where I can.”

“You’ve been more than enough help. Please, go rest. I can manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. Rest well and tell Doctor Cee I said hello.”

Hilda collected her things before taking her leave. It left you with an empty office, silent save for the scratching of your pen. Sometimes you enjoyed the lack of noise like this. However, in moments when you wanted to spend time with the people you loved, it felt lonely.

Your mind drifted, filling with daydreams and memories. The afternoon you’d spent cooing over little Adam as Lilith watched on fondly. His eyes looked back at you with mischief, much like his mother.

Zelda had yet to build much of a relationship with the infant. She seemed to hesitate, like she was afraid of getting too attached. You didn’t understand the fear. Lilith wasn’t going anywhere if you could help it. But you knew she would take it at her own pace.

You raced through about half of the papers on the desk when the doors burst open, a haggard looking Prudence standing there.

“Prudence? Is something the matter?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Asmodeus has returned,” She said, in between heavy breaths, “He’s demanding access to Lilith or he'll destroy the Academy completely.”

Your gaze hardened. Slowly and quietly, you stood from your seat, looking at the girl. She looked concerned. Even frightened. Few had ever seen you truly angry.

“Take me to him.” You requested softly.

“With all due respect, Miss Y/N, he’s a king of hell… Are you sure you want to deal with him alone?” Prudence asked.

“The kings of Hell are nothing but overconfident fools. They best me in nothing but age. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t have the confidence to argue with you. This attitude coming from you was something foreign, something unknown. She knew to tread lightly and did as you asked.

Walking through the halls, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. You knew the kings of Hell weren’t as powerful as they said. Would you be enough to best them? They couldn’t take Lilith or Adam from you. You’d sooner die.

Asmodeus was waiting outside the door at the bottom of the steps. His hands were laced in front of him and he offered a lecherous smirk, looking you up and down. You resisted the urge to shudder.

“And who might you be?” He asked, tone condescending.

“I speak for the Order of Hecate. Now state your business.” You said coldly.

His face twisted up unpleasantly. Like he’d been hit with something you couldn’t see, though you knew that wasn’t the case. His pride had been hit. Not his physical form.

“You’ll be careful how you address a King.” Asmodeus warned.

“I worship no king, and certainly not you - if you were one. Now state your business or leave this place.” You spat viciously.

There was a reason you’d stayed away from Hell as much as possible. When Lilith had been in Hell for so long, you’d seen her anywhere but the infernal realm. It made your skin crawl to deal with such men. They were leeches. Scum of the lowest, most vile degree.

Upon your words, you watched as the king’s face lit up with recognition. A twinkle of something cruel in his eyes.

“I remember you,” He said with a slow, sickening smile, “You’re the one fucking Lucifer’s whore.”

You wanted to flay him where he stood. To decimate him in the most painful manner in all the realms. Instead, you bit your tongue. If you did so, he would win. Unfortunately though, he took that as an invitation to continue.

“Or is it the traitorous Spellman you bed each night?” Asmodeus asked, though it was clear he knew the answer, “Oh! That’s right. Both. I would say it comes as a surprise, but they were both quite willing to get on their knees for Luci-“

“Enough.” You demanded, voice shaking.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve, little witch?”

With a flick of your wrist, the demon was forced to his knees and bound with chains of Damascus steel. You used your other hand to slowly restrict his airflow. The way he gasped and writhed, searching for any breath of air, filled you with satisfaction.

Prudence gasped behind you. Your merciless actions took her by surprise, though she was intrigued as well. She was stunned above all things.

“You, Asmodeus, are nothing but a thorn in my side. And so is your Lord Lucifer. Neither of you are to step foot on the Academy grounds, or I will destroy you both myself.”

If it had been anyone else, Asmodeus might have called it a threat. But the hard anger in your eyes told him that it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

You finally released your block on his airways and body, making him pitch forward and gasp heavily. He was trying to breathe in more air than his lungs would hold.

“Y-You will r-rot, witch.” He choked out.

“So will you. Now go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In a flaming ring of fire, he was gone, back to the infernal realm he’d come from. There was a heavy silence for a few moments as you and Prudence let the weight of the situation settle. She looked at you curiously.

“What will you do if they come back?” She asked.

“I’ll do exactly as I promised.” You answered.

With that, you turned on your heel, making your way back into the Academy. And back to that dreaded pile of papers.

———

“Excuse me, you did what?” Zelda snapped over the dinner table the next night. You winced.

“I told Asmodeus in no uncertain terms that I’d kill him before he touched Lilith.” You said slowly.

“Y/N, he is a millennia old, infernal king,” Lilith said, sharing a concerned glance with Zelda, “He will come for you.”

“Then let him. I had him on his knees once, I can do it again just as easily.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lilith asked.

“She had him bound and was suffocating him.” Prudence said as she walked in the room, handing a folder to Zelda.

The folder was the least of her concern though. Her eyes widened, mouth open in shock as she stared at you. Lilith had a similar expression of surprise. Though she was better at toning her emotions down.

“You… You had complete control over Asmodeus? One of hell’s three kings?” Lilith said.

“What, like it was hard?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, “I should have just killed him. Unfortunately, he needed to deliver the message for me.”

Zelda and Lilith looked at you, then at each other, then back at you. Words escaped them completely. You had no idea what you’d done and how few had the power to do such a thing.

They thought about telling you. Trying to make you understand. But they decided to push it off, for now.

“Thank you, for protecting me so fiercely.” Lilith murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips. You smiled brightly.

Zelda pressed a kiss to your cheek, before going back to work. Leaving you and Lilith to care for Adam until she came to bed. Later you could talk of serious matters. For now, you were spending time with your family.