#so they sink up every now and then before spiraling out of control then link back up again skfhdjkdn

[0xochitlsketches0]

As the poets say, You spin me right 'round, baby, right 'round~ ✨

[moiraineswife]

The Lies Our Broken Selves Tell Our Better Halves - A Siuaraine Fic

Title: The Lies Our Broken Selves Tell Our Better Halves

Warnings: Spoilers up to episode 3 of season 2. Safe for non-book readers. Trigger warnings: Mo's general mental state atm which is, as we know: Not Ideal. Mentions of rape/threatened rape in the context of forcing a bond.

Summary: Set/written after the first trio of episodes of season 2 to deal with Lan and Moiraine's dramatic bond-divorce via the power of Siuan Sanche, currently in possession of the only known braincell in Randland. AKA: Moiraine is making bad decisions, spiralling out of control, and smashing every 'self-destruct' button she comes across and she very badly needs Siuan to slam on the brakes before she yeets herself off a cliff. AKA: Moiraine needs a 'come to Jesus' talk so badly and who better to give it to her than the wizard pope/her wife?

Teaser:

'“Then Moiraine crumpled before her eyes. Her shoulders slumped, her mask fell away, revealing the agony and the empty exhaustion that lingered beneath. She covered her face with a shaking hand and moved blindly towards the bed, sinking down onto it as though she no longer had the strength left in her body to remain standing.

Siuan’s heart clenched painfully and the love in it for this woman caused a pang of regret to pulse through her. But she steeled herself and refused to give Moiraine an easy way out of this. It would be painful, but she needed it. Light but she needed it.'

Link: AO3 or Read Below:

“Where’s Lan?”

This simple, casual question instantly changed the atmosphere in the room the way a storm changed the feeling of the wind on the sea and instinctively made Siuan shiver.

Moiraine turned away, putting her back to Siuan, making a casual show of looking out of the window, the gesture effortlessly woven into the absent circles she was walking around the room anyway. But Siuan knew her too well for her to get away with that shit, and a flicker of anxiety immediately tightened in her stomach. She was far too calm for him to be ill or grievously injured, and if he was dead Siuan doubted she would even be upright, let alone coherent, but– 

“At the Tower, I expect,” Moiraine replied lightly, absently tracing the delicate petals of a rose in the vase on the window ledge.

“At the Tower?” Siuan repeated, bewildered, “Why in the name of the Light is he there?”

“I sent him there,” Moiraine said, moving away from the window to continue her lazy, seemingly mindless circle around the room. "He should have arrived by now. No doubt he's enjoying reuniting with Nynaeve. Likely as we speak,” with the suggestion of a little smirk on her lips and a faint laugh. It was as flat and empty as  her eyes, which remained cold and distant and sad throughout her little performance.

Enjoying reuniting with– Siuan opened her mouth to demand an answer to just such a question, but no. That was deliberate misdirection. Moiraine’s too casual air, that forced smile. She wanted her to focus on something, anything, other than what she should be focusing on. And that was an answer to the question of: what in the name of all that was bright had happened at Verin’s quaint little cottage? Clearly it’d grown more interesting since Siuan had last visited.

“What do you mean you ‘sent’ him?” Siuan asked, very quietly, and very intently, so Moiraine could not avoid the question unless she very obviously side-stepped it, thereby revealing it as a sore point.

Instead of further attempts at deflection, Moiraine returned with that false little smile that Siuan loathed. The one that held no humour at all and that she only used when she was trying to make light of a situation that could not have been darker if it was taking place within the Dark One’s own arsehole.

“I’m not really sure what’s causing you confusion,” Moiraine said with that mildly patronising inflection in her voice. “I sent him, that is to say I arranged for him to go from one place and to arrive in another of my choosing.” 

Siuan might have throttled her, but she needed her hands to massage her temples to try and stave off the headache she felt coming on. Light and she’d thought this would be a simple question. She had forgotten that, when talking to Moiraine bloody Sedai, there was no such thing as ‘simple’.

Moiriane, the Light blind her, had the gall to add blithely, “couriers do that sort of thing, you know. I was sure you’d be familiar with the concept.”

Siuan snapped her eyes up to meet Moiraine’s as she cut in sharply, with no trace of amusement or indulgence of the little farce she’d just been forced to witness, “your Warder is not a package.” 

The coldness in her voice brought Moiraine up short. Her false little smile faded as her expression hardened. Then she set her jaw in that way she’d picked up from Lan years ago, without either of them realising it and stared icily down at Siuan. As if that was going to put her off. 

“That man cannot just be ‘sent’ anywhere,” Siuan continued, utterly unphased by Moiraine’s glare, “anymore than you can send a hurricane to ‘a place of your choosing’,” she repeated sardonically, each word snapping out harsher and faster than the last, until she was practically spitting the last ones. “He has been more devoted to you than a sailor who hasn’t seen a tavern in a year is devoted to his first mug of ale." Her eyes bored into Moiraine’s, and she met the stare defiant and unflinching as ever, so Siuan pressed harder, "I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d died and his corpse just got right back up and refused to stop following your fool self around," she said bluntly.

Then she paused for a moment, letting the implications of that sink in properly, watching the subtle nuances of Moiraine’s expression shift. It was like reading the currents of an ocean, something anyone unfamiliar would miss entirely, but were as obvious as words on parchment to those that knew. Siuan caught the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, the flickering blink, there for half a heartbeat then gone, the slight tightening of the skin around her eyes, and felt as wary as she would spotting a cleverly hidden riptide beneath the waves. 

“What happened, Moiraine?” she asked quietly, in the same stone voice, unbroken and unweathered by time or tide, every inch the one she used when she made a demand as the Amyrlin Seat. One that would be obeyed.

With a swirl of deep blue Cairhien skirts, Moiraine turned on her like a summer storm. Siuan held her ground, unmoved, even at the sight of the flare of anger that flashed in her partner's eyes. For a long, charged beat of tension they stared at each other, gazes locked, jaws clenched, heels dug in, both ready to go ‘til the last breath if needed.

Then Moiraine crumpled before her eyes. Her shoulders slumped, her mask fell away, revealing the agony and the empty exhaustion that lingered beneath. She covered her face with a shaking hand and moved blindly towards the bed, sinking down onto it as though she no longer had the strength left in her body to remain standing.

Siuan’s heart clenched painfully and the love in it for this woman caused a pang of regret to pulse through her. But she steeled herself and refused to give Moiraine an easy way out of this. It would be painful, but she needed it. Light but she needed it. 

Instead, Siuan crossed the room and knelt down on the floor at her side, staying close, while still giving her the space she needed. Reaching out and gently twining their fingers, stopping Moiraine from agitating the already red and ragged skin around her nails that she’d been worrying at in her agitation. Siuan waited, patient, thumb stroking over the back of her hand, giving Moiraine time to gather her thoughts.

Finally, without warning, like a horse suddenly bolting for no flaming reason at all, as they did, Moiraine launched abruptly into speech.

“I tried for months to make him leave me,” she began, with an obvious frustration in her voice, punctuated by her little huff, “to make him see reason.” She sighed heavily, shaking her head and looking exasperated and hopeless at once. “Nothing I did worked,” she muttered impatiently, “no matter what I said, or what I did, aloof, or indifferent, or even cruel I was to him: it never made any difference. He can be damned stubborn when he wants to be,” she grimaced.

Siuan decided it was not wise to interrupt Moiraine now she’d finally started talking, and clearly had a lot to get off her chest, to point out the frankly hysterical level of irony and lack of self-awareness in her calling any other person in any turning of the Wheel ‘damned stubborn’, but she had to bite her tongue to manage it.

“The more I tried to push him away the more insistent he seemed to become on staying,” she frowned, as though unable to even fathom a suggestion of why he’d acted that way.

Siuan bit her tongue harder still to save bursting out a deeply sarcastic suggestion of why it might be that the man who had been the other half of her bloody soul for decades, and who loved her more than all the stars loved their sky, became more reluctant to abandon her the more clearly unwell and irrational she acted.

Something shifted in Moiraine and Siuan snapped her focus sharply back to her. The atmosphere around her became suddenly very cold and still. As though a funeral shroud had slipped down behind her eyes, they darkened, and she had to swallow to clear her throat before she could continue. Siuan reached up and placed her other hand gently on Moiraine’s side, feeling a need to anchor her against whatever memory threatened to pull her away in its current.

“What?” Siuan prompted as gently as she could, but she still felt the bite to the word that snapped out before she could stop it as concern flared in the pit of her stomach.

“That night, after I found out about the breaking of Lanfear's seal," she clarified quickly, clearly struggling to wrangle her thoughts into some semblance of order, "I left to set out for Cairhien and I–" she paused, mouth tightening and Siuan frowned, sensing her change her mind about what she'd been about to say. Before she could comment, Moiraine blurted out abruptly, "we were attacked by three Fades.” 

Siuan swore she felt her soul attempt to leave her body for a moment at the horror of those words, but she wrestled it back down like a troublesome line. Though she knew that, clearly, they had both survived the ordeal, she couldn’t help herself gripping Moiraine’s hand with the fear that had gripped her.

“It was my fault.” Moiraine whispered unsteadily, that familiar shadow of self-loathing turning her sea blue eyes to chips of black ice, “entirely my fault.” 

The hand Siuan was not holding curled into a too-tight fist she knew would make the nails bite painfully into her palm. 

Mouth trembling, Moiraine went on with difficulty, “ “Lan was fighting, protecting me, but there were too many. It was too much,” she wiped away the tears that threatened in her eyes with a careless, impatient hand. “I was injured, just lying there on the ground like a discarded doll–” she choked on the word as disgust and frustration mingled and silenced her momentarily. “Pointless,” she spat out, words returning, along with her anger at herself. “I was useless, Siuan,” she breathed, shaking her head, “I was so useless. Like a frightened child in the middle of a warzone,” she shook her head again. Her voice was shaking so badly now that Siuan had to concentrate to make out her words. “They were going to kill him and I did nothing to save him, to help him, I– I couldn’t–” 

She was crying now, tears streaming from her eyes, her anguish ignoring the hand she used to try and brush them away. Siuan squeezed her hand as her heart tightened in sympathy with her. Moiraine tried to speak several times, her efforts largely incoherent, though Siuan thought she heard the words ‘I tried to channel’, but in the end Moiraine gave up. Swallowing hard she finally just shook her head to indicate that the power had not come when she had needed it. 

“I failed him,” she choked out bluntly, “utterly,” she added, ignoring Siuan shaking her head and opening her mouth to chastise her for that. She was still speaking, firm and matter-of-fact now, “I knew then that I had to get him away from me,” she whispered firmly, a new resolve giving her the strength to continue, though it shattered something within Siuan to hear her phrase it like that, as if she were a blight, infectious, corrupting, “whatever it took, I could no longer stand to keep him at my side, shackled to my danger, and my weakness.”

Siuan was quiet for a long moment, letting those words fade from ringing declarations of pain, to fading echoes, until they were mere memories of the agony they once held. Abruptly, Moiraine got to her feet, and moved away. Siuan made no move to stop her. She stayed quiet, watching Moiraine tremble herself to stillness again, the agitation slowly working its way out of her body as she hugged herself, pacing, before finally coming to a halt at the window again. One hand resting on the sil, she stared out of it with a posture and smoothness to her face that said she’d done this many times before, and took several slow, deep breaths, gradually regaining control. Her shoulders hunched slightly and her eyes seemed distant and exhausted again, as though this brief flicker of true emotion had drained her of what little strength she’d managed to cling to.

Finally, when she felt Moiraine was ready to hear it, Siuan broke the silence.

“Do you remember all those years ago,” she intoned softly, “when we agreed that you would search the world for the Dragon, and I would remain at the Tower to maintain our informant networks, and try and politic the bickering Ajahs into something that vaguely resembled a useful faction against the Dark One for when the time came?” 

Moiraine nodded, looking too exhausted to speak, but she turned her head over a shoulder, watching, waiting for more. 

“I told you that you needed a Warder,” Siuan went on calmly.

Moiraine nodded tiredly again, but with a slightly more impatient air, as though she felt an ‘I told you so’ twenty years after the fact was a little pointless. Siuan agreed, which was why that wasn’t at all what she was headed towards.

Unruffled, Siuan reminded, “you didn’t want one,” and heard a barely perceptible little sigh in response. “You told me that you didn’t want a Warder, didn’t want someone in your head, able to feel all of your fears, and your flaws, and your insecurities,” she went on doggedly, apparently oblivious to the disparaging little frown pinching Moiraine’s face. “You thought it would be invasive and unbearable, and that it wasn’t worth all that. But I insisted.”

‘Insisted’ was actually a very polite way of describing what she’d done. If memory served the conversation had been a lot closer to beating her over the head with a broom and demanding it than anything as polite or civilised as ‘insistence’. Moiraine looked too worn out to point this out, however. Siuan pushed through the worry she felt coiling in her stomach, determined to see this point through.

“So we observed, and we gathered information, and we made notes, and conducted thorough investigations into all of the Warders currently in training at the Tower to find someone who was suitable and competent,” she said, remembering their girlish excitement, their first spy mission undertaken together as budding Blues, “and, more to the point, someone that you might actually manage to stand without driving one or both of you to murder or suicide within a week,” she added wryly, a fondness now tugging at her heartstrings at the memory.

The corners of Moiraine’s mouth even dared to lift into something like a true smile, warm and real, her eyes softening, meeting Siuan’s gaze with such love at the recollection. Without seeming to consciously make a choice to do so, she crossed the room back towards Siuan and reached down twining their fingers together.

Siuan burst the romantic bubble blossoming between with customary brutality before Moiraine became concerned that such uncharacteristic behaviour meant her wife had been replaced by a Forsaken.

“Then you thoughtlessly toppled weeks of our hard work into a fire pit on your way out on that hairbrained scheme you had in mind when you left without so much as a ‘by your leave’,” Siuan grumbled, not missing the way Moiraine rolled her eyes. Undeterred, Siuan forged resolutely ahead. “One week later you waltzed back to the Tower with a man neither of us had ever met before in our lives and announced that you’d bloody gone and taken him as your Warder!” she concluded.

Siuan made sure that her words appropriately conveyed how distinctly incredulous, not to mean miffed, she’d felt at little Lady ‘no Warder is good enough for me’ Damodred pulling a stunt like that after rejecting every one of her carefully selected candidates.

Siuan shook her head in mock-disbelief, but couldn’t stop the smile that was starting to blossom on her lips, “I thought you were insane,” she said bluntly. “Couldn’t even have told me his favourite colour if I’d held a knife to your neck,” she snorted with derision, “but you’d gone and bonded the great stoic stone lump, eyes colder than a dead shark’s and all,” she muttered, fully smirking now.

In spite of the lightness of her tone, and the fact that Moiraine was well aware Siuan loved Lan in his own right after all these years, she did not miss the slight tension that flared for a moment at the insult to him, affectionate or otherwise. 

Stroking her thumb soothingly over the back of Moiraine’s hand to stop her spikes making an appearance, Siuan continued, “I was wrong,” she said softly, “and I’ve never been as happy to be so, either,” she added for good measure. Moiraine looked down, as she looked up, their eyes meeting. A faint glint of tears reflected in Moiraine’s again as Siuan murmured, “that man is the best thing that’s happened to you since, well, since I did,” she teased, and was rewarded by a feeble, wobbly little attempt at a smile from Moiraine for her efforts. “And he is, without a doubt, the only reason you didn’t starve to death two months in because you forgot to eat for three weeks straight,” she added mildly.

Moiraine’s weak little smile had the audacity to shift at once into a much stronger little scowl, as though Siuan had claimed something utterly unreasonable or false when they both knew it was true. 

“The day I met him, he didn’t know you from the next haughty little Aes Sedai,” Siuan continued, remembering this more clearly than what she’d eaten for breakfast that very morning, “but I knew that he would follow you wherever you led. I knew,” she insisted firmly, “that every step you took, he would be right there at your side, taking each one as you did.” A single tear slid down Moiraine’s cheek at those words, and she gave a tiny nod of affirmation. “I was right,” Siuan agreed, nodding herself, “that’s what he’s done every day for the last twenty years, Moiraine,” she reminded her pointedly, as though she had forgotten that she had lived them, or, perhaps, as though she had simply forgotten that she’d ever lived at all.

“Exactly,” Moiraine murmured and for a brief moment, if she hadn’t known her better, Siuan might have entertained the idea that the stubborn pain in her arse might have seen reason. Unfortunately, she knew her very well, and sensed this was too easy long before Moiraine proved it to her by insisting in a hollow, self-loathing little voice that didn’t suit her, “he has wasted enough of his life on me already.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way,” Siuan argued back, preparing herself for a long, agonising night of attempting to beat some sense into this woman.

Carefully worded logic rarely worked on her when she was like this. Typically she needed a good solid reality check with the approximate subtlety of a brick to the face. This sort of clobbering generally fell to Siuan since her Warder, for all his admirable qualities, was far too gentle with Moiraine for her own good sometimes.

“You can’t just ask someone like Lan, someone who lives and breathes for one single thing, one single goal, one single purpose,” she said, laying a steady emphasis on that final word, not missing the tightening around Moiraine’s eyes that said she knew very well what she was getting at, "to give all of that up and abandon you. He needs you, Moiraine,” she murmured quietly, “as surely as the stars need the sky.”

"He does not,” Moiraine half-growled and half- groaned back. She drew her hands from Siuan’s and took a few steps away from her, gazing unseeingly out of her window again at the night sky and the stars it held beyond. “He has never needed me,” she muttered, arms wrapping around herself, “except perhaps in needing me to stay away from him,” she added darkly.

"He would be dead without you,” Siuan countered bluntly. “If he'd never met you, and you'd never convinced him to trust you and become your Warder he would have died twenty years ago.” 

She saw the flash of pain in Moiraine’s eyes at whatever memory of Lan, broken and hopeless as he’d been, and knew she felt the truth of her words. So she kept going, the moment before a catch broke the surface of the water at last was no point to slacken your grip on the line.

“Without you there would be no Lan,” she stated, clear and precise, with all the conviction of a simple truth. “Even if, by some miracle, he survived that suicide mission he set out on, he wouldn’t be the man he is today without you.” She gave that a moment, a brief handful of heartbeats, for Moiraine to come to terms with, then pressed on relentlessly. “And I know you love and trust and respect the man that he’s become at your side more than almost anyone in this world,” she all but growled, “And you know that he has more earned the right to choose to stay with you until the end."

"Enough, Siuan,” Moiraine snapped finally, rubbing the spot between her eyes that marked where the sharpest pain of the migraines that had plagued her since they were novices tended to gather when she was stressed. “I have listened to him argue with me about this every day for the last five months,” she muttered wearily, “I am not going to endure the same from you,” she said with an irritated little jerk of her head, obvious frustration in her.

Well if she was finally frustrating her that meant at least they were starting to get somewhere.

"You listened, did you?” Siuan retorted sceptically, eyebrows raised. “Did you actually listen to him and what he said to you?" she demanded knowingly, “or did you just pretend to hear him the way you do when you know someone is making a reasonable point that you don’t want to acknowledge?” she pressed relentlessly. 

Moiraine turned and managed a scowl that looked positively like her old self as she said coldly, "I know what you're doing and it won't work. My mind is made up,” she bit out firmly, seeing Siuan open her mouth to reply. 

Then she turned away, her eyes again on the window, and the world beyond, as though she could see through the buildings, and the trees, and the hills as if they too were glass, to the man that she had not been parted from this way in twenty years. 

Lowering her head she added in an undertone, “even if you did it's too late now. It is done. It is broken. That is the end,” she concluded very softly, swallowing hard and looking down at her fingers, away from the window, cutting off the invisible thread Siuan had imagined joining her and Lan for a moment.

Siuan paused, pretending to actually deliberate and consider this idea, then she said evenly, “it could still be undone.” Moiraine took a very deep, very slow breath, lifting her chin very slightly towards the ceiling, as though silently begging the Light for patience. “It could be fixed, if you tried,” Siuan said, completely ignoring Moiraine’s reaction.

"Not everything that is broken can be fixed, Siuan," Moiraine replied, a new darkness gathering at the edges of her words, like night steadily swallowing the evening sun and all its warmth.

"No,” Siuan agreed, and she could not maintain her previous toneless, matter-of-fact even cadence now, not when she knew that Moiraine did not only mean to imply her fractured relationship with Lan, but also her fractured self. “Not perfectly or completely,” Siuan went on, made herself go on, made herself say those words, with the full force of the belief that lived behind them. “Maybe it can never be exactly as it once was. But it can always be better than it is now,” she said, and she felt her father’s voice echo in an unheard harmony alongside her own, his lessons, his wisdom, still a core of who she was and, more importantly, who she strived each day to be.

There's no such thing as perfection, so there's no excuse to ever stop trying to improve.

Her head and her heart were still full of his sayings. If they’d been rich, she’d often thought, he could have become one of the greatest philosophers of their age, quoted from Tear to the Two Rivers.

Usually Moiraine knew the feel and form of Berden’s little pearls of wisdom. Usually she would tease her and tell her that her accent became stronger, more Tairen, when she said them, as though her father truly was sharing his words with his daughter’s voice. Usually they coaxed a smile from her, and a pause to the ceaseless spinning of her mind. Usually they connected to her in the same place that she connected to Siuan, a tether to a welcome shore that promised a safe harbour.

This time nothing. No response. No acknowledgement at all. To the point that Siuan was sure she had barely even heard her speak, let alone what she’d said. She opened her mouth to say something more but Moiraine beat her to the catch,

“Not this,” she whispered, and she was staring at the window again, but this time she clearly didn’t see it, or anything at all for that matter, save whatever memory had gotten its hands about her throat and started to crush the breath from her. “Not after what I–” she began in a tremulous whisper.

Abruptly she broke off, as though remembering herself. Siuan watched as she reflexively corrected her posture, straightening her spine, standing tall and confident, the very image of a perfect Cairhien noblewoman. But though her face, as she turned back in Siuan’s direction, was perfectly calm and smooth, she would not meet her eyes.

Something went very cold and dark inside Siuan as she realised that she had made a damned rookie blunder and allowed Moiraine to distract her from the one key detail she clearly hadn’t wanted to discuss.

“How did you get him to agree to go to the Tower without you?” Siuan asked slowly, fear rising in her throat and choking the word near to silence. “You never answered me.”

She’d thought Moiraine had given Lan some false instruction asking him to fetch something for her that she could not, due to her exile. But no, Lan knew her far too well to fall for something like that. Especially after what Moiraine had done to him the night before she’d gone to the Eye of the World. And from the look in her eyes,, the hunch in her shoulders that all to clearly gave away her bone-deep guilt–

“Moiraine–” she began, unable to keep the warning from her voice.

Quiet engulfed them for a long, heavy moment, that seemed to press down with a greater weight than the world they’d carried between them all these years.

“I wrote to Alanna and asked her to meet me at the crossroads so that she might escort Lan to the Tower while I carried on alone to Cairhien” Moiraine answered at last, trying to speak stoutly and confidently, but Siuan could hear the tremors of the fracture lines she was close to breaking along, no matter how well she tried to hide them.

Narrowing her eyes, Siuan bit out, the words sharpened by the tension that was winding ever tighter in her, “it’s a good thing she has Ivhon and Maksim. I imagine that would make it much easier to bind and gag Lan and throw him over the back of his horse, which is the only bloody way I see him going to the Tower with Alanna while you ended up here.”

It could not have been clearer that Moiraine could not meet her eyes. She stared down at her clenched fingers, the skin of which was red raw from how she had agitated it during their conversation. All at once, it was as though she could not even stand to be in her own body, to be herself at all. So great was the guilt and pain and shame that seemed to physically press upon her as Siuan watched, that Siuan thought she might collapse between it. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, as they darted wildly about the room seeking another anchor point, and for that single beat of time, Siuan felt as though she glimpsed Moiraine’s true self, trapped and smothered within the cage of her bones, huddled and broken, given up on trying to break free.

“What the fuck did you do, Moiraine?” Siuan whispered, terrified, genuinely terrified, for the first time in years.

“I told him–” Moiraine began, then broke off, as if gagged by her oath, though Siuan knew there was a far simpler, far more human barrier between her and the words she struggled to speak this time. “I told him that if he refused to go willingly–” 

Again she stopped, this time needing to take down a gasp of air as her whole body shook. Even then she seemed to be struggling to breathe, as though something constricted her throat, each word needing to be forced out past an ever-tightening noose, and Siuan suddenly felt dread grip the very heart of her. All at once she did not want to cross this line. She did not want to know into what darkness this woman she loved had fallen.

“I told him that I would have Alanna take his bond by force if I had to,” she whispered in a strangled little voice.

Siuan recoiled. The movement was instinctive, and she couldn’t have stopped it if she’d wanted to. Nor was she sure that she did. Light– That was– Light. Forcing a bond with someone against their will was one of the most invasive and horrific things it was possible to do with their power. It was not only a violation of the body, but of the mind, the very soul itself. For Moiraine to have even threatened that– Threatened Lan with it–

“I thought that you loved him,” Siuan said, horror and disgust rising in her words as well as the back of her throat. “I thought that he was family to you,” she breathed, revulsion forcing her, for the first time that she could remember, to step away from this woman that she had spent most of her life waiting to run to. “How could you do that to him?”

“I didn’t!” Moiraine cried, stricken, a burst of emotion rising in her, stronger than anything else she’d been able to muster as she stared at Siuan with desperate urgency. “Of course I would never have allowed it to get that far, but–”

“You threatened him with it!” Siuan interrupted, a snap in her voice, words rising to a shout in her disbelief and her anger and her horror.

That she had done this in what Siuan assumed, what she begged the very Wheel itself, was in a wild moment of utter desperation was one thing. But to stand here now in the cold aftermath and defend the choice? 

Siuan felt as though she were looking into the eyes of a stranger, a nameless, unknown creature wearing her face. Because this could not be her Moiraine. The Eye of the World had taken that woman she had loved for decades, that woman she would have ripped the world apart seam by seam to protect, and spat out something else, something that looked like Moiraine, sounded like her, but could not be her in truth.

Still in disbelief, bile burning the back of her throat she went on, hoarse with shock and ever mounting rage, making her voice waver, “the fact that you actually managed to get those words out past the First Oath to spit in his face?” Her lip curled and she spared no effort at all to hide her disgust as she growled, “I think that’s far enough.”

“Why don’t you understand?” Moiraine whispered, staring at Siuan as though she barely recognised her either. As though they were two strangers seeing each other for the first time. "I was so sure that you would,” she murmured, her eyes going unfocused as she looked inward, seeing something that Siuan could neither see nor even fathom. “I was so sure that you–”

Flinching back with a sudden twist of contempt at that very suggestion, anger rose in her. “How could you ever think I would understand something like this?” she demanded, furious, “let alone accept it!”

“Because you know me!” Moiraine shouted a little wildly, her voice rising and wavering out of her control, like a loose sail stolen by a strong gust rippling and writhing as the rage of the ocean claimed it. “You know me, Siuan,” Moiraine whispered, thumping her palm flat against her chest, just over her heart in a broken display of utter desperation, “you know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did,” Siuan breathed, her face still hard and cold as her heart had become, petrified and crumbling in the face of this unprecedented darkness in the woman she adored. “Before tonight I never would have believed you capable of this. Not for all the light in this world.”

Moiraine looked utterly broken for a moment, her face falling into lines of clear agony, her eyes closing against it. For a moment Siuan was sure that reason and sanity had returned, and it had hit her just how awful what she’d been suggesting was. 

“I swear to you,” she breathed softly, “I swear to you on my father’s name that I did this for the right reasons,” she all but begged, her eyes wide and shining with tears, “I didn’t do it to hurt him, Siuan–” she began.

But Siuan’s anger flared once more and she cut in, “then I’m sure it wouldn’t have,” she snapped with a furious spite twisting each word, “I’m sure he wouldn’t have felt any pain, or violation, or betrayal at all,” she spat, the words firing from her mouth like crashing hailstones, “not as long as you made sure you had him raped with good intentions–”

Moiraine flinched violently at that word as though it was a physical lash Siuan had branded her with. But Siuan couldn’t find any pity for her. She had blinded herself with willful ignorance and justified this to herself somehow, but Siuan would be burned to ashes before she let her ignore the harsh reality of what she had held over the head of a man who had trusted her enough to dedicate his life to hers for two decades.

“I would never allow Alanna, or anyone else, to hurt him like that,” Moiraine snarled, anger deepening her voice so that it almost seemed to echo up to her from the depths of the ocean itself. “If I could not channel I would put a blade through their heart before they even tried to do such a thing to him,” she went on, emotion burning so palpably from her now that for a moment Siuan felt as though she stood beside a raging sun, “And if I had no blade then I would tear them apart with my bare hands before they even thought of harming him.”

There she was. Yes. That was Moiraine, her Moiraine. Without question. There was no mistaking the blazing intensity in her eyes, the strength of will that seemed to rise from every taut muscle and sinew of her body like a heat haze as she set out her goal and swore every fibre of her soul to see it done, as no one Siuan had ever met could do.

But again, Siuan saw her in the slight tremble of her mouth, the brightness of her eyes, the frightened woman who lived beneath that raging force that at times felt as if she could halt the Wheel itself by virtue of the strength and stubbornness of her command alone. The woman you could almost forget was there, fragile and afraid as any other mortal creature made of flesh and blood and foolish, foolish love.

“But I will not apologise for trying to save a good man from an unjust fate,” Moiraine whispered, the near overwhelming fire of her earlier words suddenly ash, and though there was a crack to her voice there was no less conviction or intent because of that, as she now met and held Siuan’s gaze. 

Even now, after she had been emotionally beaten and branded for her choice, she maintained that, if it could not be called good, it could also never be called wrong. 

Siuan wanted to shake her. She wanted to shake her and ask how she could have endured what she had at the Eye, how she could have felt someone use their Power to strip away her own. How she could know as keenly as it was possible to know what it was to be left behind, vulnerable, and violated, and helpless– how she could feel that pain, and then threaten someone she loved with the same in the name of protecting them.

But she had spoken one truth, amidst the rest of this shadowspawned blight: Siuan did know her. She had known her, and loved her, since they’d been little more than children in the Tower together. So she had to believe, if she believed that there was any light left at all in this forsaken world, that Moiraine had meant well, and could still be made to see some bloody reason.

“Explain,” she murmured tautly, with every flaming bit of restraint that she was still just clinging to.

“There is no chance that either of us will live to see the world we hope to save,” Moiraine said with an honesty that was as casually brutal as it was familiar; and it was as familiar to both of them as cold beds and lonely hearts. “Not until the Wheel turns us out together again in another life. You know that,” she said very quietly, her eyes never leaving Siuan’s, never dropping, never even blinking as they confronted this truth, and this tragedy, of their life, and their love again. “We both made our peace with that years ago when we started all of this. We knew what the price would be if we were to take this path. And we both agreed to pay it."

Siuan nodded, but her brow creased in a slight frown as she said slowly, "Lan would give his life for this, for you, just as willingly, without even thinking about it."

"Of course he would!” Moiraine snapped, sounding almost insulted on her Warder’s behalf, as though Siuan had implied the opposite. 

Slamming her palm down against her thigh, frustration rankling through her, she lifted the same hand to press against her head, as though trying to help it resist some unendurable pain. Then she looked up at Siuan, her expression softening, the lines of tension and stress smoothed away, so she appeared half a child again, innocent, and naive, still able to find the hope they had begun this all with years ago. 

“But he doesn't have to,” she whispered, the words near a plea, to her, or the Wheel itself, Siuan didn’t know. But it was as honest and as raw a prayer as she had ever heard pass this woman’s lips. “He is not bound to that fate as we are. He would give his life for it, without hesitation, I know he would, I do not question that. But he does not have to die for this unless I drag him into the grave that has already been dug for me.” 

Light but there was still good in her, Siuan thought with gentle despair, her heart aching with it. Perhaps too much. 

“He can still have this life, a good life,” Moiraine insisted, the words apparently sounding reasonable and fair to her, when to Siuan they just sounded like the nonsensical plea of a loved one to save a fallen friend who’s heart had long since stopped beating, “a life that he deserves at last. That is all I wanted for him, and everything I have done has been for that. For him,” she implored.

Siuan believed her. Light but she believed her.

“You hurt him,” Siuan said quietly, still adamant that she would get an acknowledgement on this point, before they went any further. “No matter why you did it, or what you hoped to achieve, you still hurt him, Moiraine. More than anyone else ever could, and more than you ever should,” she added firmly, because she understood now, but that did not mean she accepted.

“I know,” Moiraine said, something darkening in her eyes. Shame, Siuan realised, shame for what she had done. 

All at once she seemed to fade before her, the ghost of the woman that had once stood in her place. She moved as though in a daze and sank down onto the edge of her bed again, head in her hands. Cautiously, Siuan moved to her side once more and sat down next to her.

Her presence seemed to give Moiraine the strength she needed to speak. Raising her head, she said softly, “I knew I was hurting him every day that I spoke to him so callously. Or looked at him as though he were a stranger I did not trust. I could see that pain in him, as clearly as I see you standing here before me. And it destroyed me, Siuan. You have to know that. But– He is no longer caught up within the threads of my Pattern, so he need not be hanged by them as I will be,” she said, her eyes wide, the words caught somewhere between a statement and a question; wanting it to be true, but needing Siuan to make it so.

“Moiraine,” Siuan said, achingly tender, the way she would have wrapped her last breath around her name before she rammed the dagger of mercy between her ribs to spare her a fate worse than death. 

Moiraine trembled to hear that, and all the gentle agony it promised.

“Nothing in our Oaths keeps us safe from lying to ourselves,” Siuan murmured, combing her fingers through Moiraine’s hair, smoothing it back from her face. “It’s time,” she said softly, “you can’t hide from yourself anymore, love. You know, you’ve always known, in your heart, that you can’t do this alone.” 

Moiraine’s face crumpled at those words, and she buried it against Siuan’s chest as she turned her face against her shoulder. Siuan cradled her, comforting her from the pain that she herself was inflicting with each word she spoke. Yet she spoke them still, feeling the weight of irony in each one, but knowing they were needed. 

“You and Lan are bound together with something far more powerful and lasting than any Warder bond,” Siuan told her, sharing a truth she had seen the moment she had met Lan, standing at Moiraine’s side, and feeling, for the first time since they’d heard the prophecy, and chosen their paths, that Moiraine might be safe on hers, with him beside her. “Your Patterns are intertwined, absolutely and inextricably, and always have been,” she murmured, achingly gentle. “Your fate is his; and his yours.” 

Moiraine’s whole body shook with the weight of the breaths that heaved through her chest as she struggled to bear yet another burden Siuan laid upon her back. 

“I told you that there would be no Lan without you,” Siuan said, still cradling Moiraine in close to her body, “but equally there is no you without Lan,” she murmured.

As she spoke she rubbed Moiraine’s back in broad, soothing circles, trying to convey without words that it was nearly over. A few more words, and Moiraine would have survived the harshest torture that any person could know. That of having the deepest fears that gave your soul its shadow to contrast its light laid bare before you with simple, merciless truth. 

“You need him, Moiraine,” she said, then again, one last time, to be sure, “you need him.”

Moiraine’s shoulders slumped, and she laid her head completely in Siuan’s lap, then shocked her by actually saying, very quietly, “I know.” 

A pause while she trembled, and wiped furiously at her eyes and mouth with the back of her hand, obviously trying to regain a grip on herself. For a moment, it seemed that she might succeed. Then she wavered, taking several breaths that palpably shuddered through her whole body as she tried to contain the heavy sobs that Siuan could almost feel weighing her down before she managed to get out, “I miss him. I miss him so much.”

The shock of that hit Siuan like a brick to the face. She had expected her to talk about the Pattern, about the future, about the impossibility of the task that had been demanded of them, of the cruelty of the world, and the indifference of the Wheel. She realised now that this had been the last bit of strain needed to snap the entire line, and that everything Moiraine had been holding in since Lan had left, likely since she’d started pushing him away at all, had finally become too much for even her to bear.

“Oh Moiraine–” Siuan breathed sadly.

“I look to my left to catch his eye and seek out his approval before I remember that he’s not there,” she said, the words flowing from her as thick and fast and uncontrollable as her tears. “I hear his voice each morning telling me that I need to eat something before I start my day,” she said, as Siuan stroked her hair and let her weep, “I find it strange when my plate doesn’t have a little more potato or an extra bit of bacon on it than it did a moment before, because he’s slipped me some of his without my noticing.” Siuan smiled at that, at how simple, and ridiculous, and utterly Lan such a gesture was, how it was always the smallest, stupidest things that said ‘I love you’ without ever needing to use the words. “I pour out two cups of tea without even thinking about it. When it all feels too much, and the weight of the world is crushing me, and I do not know what is right or if I can even trust myself to tie my own shoes, I wait for his reassurance, for his hand on my shoulder, or his steadfastness through the bond but– but I–”

Siuan sensed that there was more, so much more, a lifetime’s worth of tiny moments and instinctive acts that had become as thoughtless as breathing, not noticed until they were gone, and then their absence was an agony worse than dying. But there were no more words left to her to speak them. The mask she’d clutched to her face and hidden behind all these months was little more than ash snatched at by the wind. She was bare, and barren, with no more shields to crouch behind, and no more barriers to break her fall. All she could do now was feel, feel every ounce of grief and pain she’d been pushing aside and struggling to ignore for months.

Moiraine broke, utterly and completely, and Siuan held her as she did. She rocked her gently in her arms as she sobbed and screamed until her throat was raw. She stroked her hair as she gasped and heaved and struggled for each breath she sucked in past her grief. She rubbed her back as she convulsed and trembled until at last her exhausted body could give no more, and it lay still and silent in Siuan’s arms. 

Afterwards, Siuan remained quiet. Like the first breath the world took after the passing of a great storm, this was not for her to do, this was not her silence to break, only to keep watch over, until the time came. She knew that it would. Some things were inevitable that way, and she had learned patience as a babe strapped to her father’s back on his little fishing boat, waiting for the tides to carry them home. She had kept that patience for twenty long years, spending each day waiting for Moiraine’s return. She had patience now for this.

Wiping her eyes with that frustrated little gesture, sniffing repeatedly, Moiraine pushed herself tiredly into a sitting position, still leaning against Siuan’s shoulder to help keep her upright.

“I must sound so foolish,” she muttered, voice dulled by fatigue and exertion. Catching Siuan’s expression out of the corner of her eye, she seemed to realise that had not been entirely clear, for she clarified, “crying over cups of tea and potatoes when the Forsaken are stirring and the Dark One’s shadow spreads further each day across the entire world which may be lost if we cannot save it,” she said, with a truly admirable amount of dignity maintained between her hiccups.

Siuan smiled fondly, smoothing out Moiraine’s hair, “a bit,” she admitted, though she made it clear from her tone that it was meant to tease. Kissing the top of Moiraine’s head she sighed out a long resigned breath and said, “I think you need your cups of tea and potatoes and… whatever else,” she said, struggling to remember the precise details of Moiraine’s long, only mostly coherent list. Fortunately this lapse made Moiraine snort with suppressed laughter, knowing her far too well to feel aggrieved, so Siuan continued, “and that’s okay,” she murmured, giving Moiraine a bracing little squeeze. “It’s the same reason I still practise my nets and lures by hand every day,” she said, seeing the soft, fond smile and distant bob of Moiraine’s head in acknowledgement of this, “we need something to keep us sane while everything else goes mad around us.”

Moiraine considered that and then she said very quietly, “So many times, Lan has been the only thing protecting me from death, ever snapping at my heels. But he has also been my net,” she said with a watery smile, catching Siuan’s eyes, “keeping me from the insanity always clawing at the edges of my mind.” 

Siuan nodded as Moiraine’s mouth trembled with the burden of the realisation Siuan had just watched settle heavy upon her soul. She stroked her cheek, anchoring her, but did not interrupt or say the words for her. She needed this, needed to purge herself of this truth as surely as if it were trolloc poison.

“I was selfish,” Moiraine managed to whisper at last. Siuan closed her eyes, a tension she had carried since she had asked Moiraine where Lan was at last allowed to leave her. “I convinced myself that the pain I caused him was worth it, if it kept him safe but… nothing in our Oaths keeps us safe from lying to ourselves, does it?” she murmured, repeating the wisdom Siuan had given her earlier. She closed her eyes, her face a mask of pain, and Siuan felt such pride, and such love, swell within her as she found the strength to confront the person she had been, and hold her accountable for what she had done. “I sought to break him, to break the love, and the loyalty I did not feel I deserved because I knew that it would break me to lose him as well.” Silent tears escaped her, sliding down her cheeks as she whispered, “I was so selfish.”

“I know,” Siuan said, the harsh simplicity of that truth balanced by the soothing tone in which it was spoken.

“He must hate me,” she said, unable to entirely smother the small sob that choked from her as she spoke those words.

“Maybe he should, for what you did to him,” Siuan said, as softly and gently as she had spoken her last truth. 

She saw the reflexive flash of shock and betrayal in Moiraine’s eyes, before she blinked it away, along with the tears that had shone there, and nodded heavily.

"But I’d still stake my life on the bet that he doesn’t,” Siuan continued very quietly. Whether that made him a fool or a hero, she didn’t know, and perhaps it wasn’t her place to decide either way. “You know that’s not him. He will forgive you. Even for this. As long as you give him a reason to."

Moiraine looked up at her for a long moment then, finally, blessedly, she nodded. She looked utterly exhausted as she did so, but she did so, and that was enough for now. Siuan kissed her head. There was still more to say, on this, as well as the other events of the last six months, but Moiraine clearly wasn’t up to hearing so much as the day’s catch right now, let alone anything like that. So Siuan scooped her up and drew her down onto the bed beside her, stroking her hair and wiping away her latest tears.

“Rest now,” she told her softly. Moiraine started to open her mouth to protest, but Siuan just pressed a finger to her lips, “I will stay and shield your dreams,” she said quietly. It was a risk, she knew, not to return to the Palace, but Leane would make her excuses if that became necessary. Siuan judged that the hour-long grilling she would get from her Keeper about where she’d been and why was worth it to allow Moiraine to get a chance to actually recover some of her strength. “You need to sleep,” she insisted, in a tone that warned there would be no arguing of that point.

“You know so well what I need,” Moiraine growled huffily, the words barely distinguishable through the blanket Siuan was already pulling around her.

“I do,” Siuan agreed, as though Moiraine had spoken the words as a mere statement of fact, and not an obviously petulant complaint.

More grumpy sounds issued at this, though none were coherent enough to be made sense of, and were thus very easy to ignore, as Siuan bundled Moiraine up in the densest, heaviest blankets she could find, then wrapped her arms around her and held her close. She was asleep almost before Siuan had finished weaving the shield around her mind to protect her from Lanfear’s influence, at last safe enough to allow the sleep she so desperately needed to claim her.

There was still a ways to go, she knew, the shore was only just visible as a faint line upon the distant horizon, and their little boat still had a vast ocean to cross to reach it. But if things had not yet been fixed, they had been improved. Tomorrow they would improve again, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Until the sand of the shore turned to earth, then to stone, and they reached a place where the turbulent sea was little more than myth, and the oar they carried was mistaken for a staff.

****

I'm friendly! In spite of the endless angsty content I produce! Please come talk to me!

[ghostchems]

the sads

you've fallen behind on your classes at the ministry because of an episode of the sads.

notes: some hurt/comfort with our favorite popia. gn! reader. references to depression. 1k words. tbh i wrote this for myself bc i needed it, haha. ao3 link.

You are curled up in your bed underneath a mountain of covers and pillows. You hadn’t left your room for about a week and a half except to sneak to the cafeteria to grab some food and to get some fresh air in the garden every so often. It was a hard time of year for you, the cold seeping into your bones and your brain, leaving you without any motivation to do much of anything.

You had reached out to your teachers multiple times to apologize for your absence and to submit some half-assed assignments. During the good times, the times where you felt like you were in control made classes a piece of cake. The class topics were interesting (rituals, summoning, potions, etc.) and you had a deep interest in becoming a key member of the ministry.

During the good times. When you had the case of the sads, nothing mattered. All that progress was out the door, all that inspiration gone. You felt crippling fear that you were screwing up your time at the ministry but you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it. You stay under your covers, drifting in and out of sleep, scrolling endlessly on your phone.

There’s a knock at your door and you freeze, then peek out from underneath your cocoon. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you were hearing things. There’s another knock and you recoil. Nope. Someone was here. 

You climb out of bed and adjust your oversized sweatshirt to cover yourself (you are wearing nothing underneath). You kick some of the dirty clothes on your floor out of the way as you mosey on over to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it. 

A quickly hands you a note and immediately leaves. You are in a daze, clutching the note in your hand as you watch them leave. You unfold the note and you feel a pang of fear jolt through you.

Papa’s office. Fifteen minutes.

You scramble, throwing on a pair of underwear and pants. The fear is only growing stronger within you. You know you’ve fucked up now and you were about to face the consequences of your actions. Mental preparations were running through your mind and you uncrumpled yourself, smoothing out your appearance so you can look semi-presentable for Papa.

The walk to his office felt like an eternity as your mind continued to spiral. You are expecting the absolute worst: being expelled from the ministry – get your shit and get out. It was a good run. You could say your goodbyes to your friends, or just pack up and go. Move back home and be miserable.

Your hand is shaking as you knock lightly on Papa’s door.

“Vieni, per favore.”

You open the door and walk in, fidgeting with your hands as your eyes settle on him.

He’s scribbling something down, glasses on his nose, brows furrowed in thought. Once he’s done, he looks up at you brightly, removing his glasses with a smile. Papa is dressed in his black poet shirt and his tattered, tight black pants. His paint is immaculate; he looks fresh-faced and completely put together - the complete opposite of how you were looking and feeling.

“Ah!” He claps his hands together. “I am very glad you are here, tesoro. Please, have a seat.” Papa gestures to the seat across this desk. You immediately do as you’re told, sinking as far into the chair as you can. 

“I am sure you know why you are here.” Copia is still smiling and you can see the kindness in his eyes. It doesn’t make you feel any better, though.

“First, I want you to know that you are not in trouble, tesoro.” Papa looks at some of his notes on your desk as your eyebrows quirk. “Your teachers reached out to me because they’re a bit concerned about you. You are usually one of their top performers and they greatly enjoy your work.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, your mouth hanging open. But, there is a sense of calmness that falls over you. It is a relief that no one is upset with you and that you haven’t disappointed anyone. 

“Do you want to tell Papa what’s going on?” His voice is soft and he looks at you with such care. “If you are comfortable with that?”

“I-it’s just hard right now” You croak, a bit surprised by how your voice sounds after hardly using it for the last few days. 

“Is it the sads?” He leans forward in his chair and reaches a hand out for yours.

“The big sads.” You take his hand and he squeezes you, his eyes crinkling as he gives you a sad look.

“I understand, tesoro.” 

You can see in his eyes that he truly understands how you feel, perhaps more than you could know. Copia had been through a lot in his time in the ministry, having worked tirelessly to climb the ranks in order to become Papa. But with all that time spent, with all that sacrifice, there were moments where the exhaustion peeked through. 

There were times when he felt nothing he did mattered; that he was just controlled by the leaders, that he was just destined to follow their orders. He disappeared at times to be alone, to turn himself off. It could be suffocating. 

“You take all the time you need.” His voice is a mere whisper. Papa squeezes your hand again, with a smile. “I am here if you need support or, ehm, just someone to talk to about the sads. I was also thinking, perhaps coming up with a special curriculum for you when you’re, eh, ready for it.” 

You notice he’s less confident than he had been moments ago, as if something you said struck a chord with him. It makes you even more comfortable with him because you feel like you can see the vulnerability that not very many get a glimpse of.

“Papa, that would be amazing.” Your lips pull into a miniscule smile, the first time you had smiled since feeling this way. “T-this means a lot.” As your voice cracks, you start to get the feeling you’re about to cry. Somehow, you manage to hold the tears in but barely.

“Of course, tesoro. We take care of our own here.” He smiles again and the vulnerability is gone. “Ehm, would you like to circle back here in a few days for a check-in?” Papa lets go of your hand and shifts his eyes to his calendar. You nod slowly, shifting in your seat. He pencils something in.

“I won’t keep you any longer.” Copia leans back in his seat as you stand, your legs feeling a bit shaky from the whole interaction. Still, you felt lighter as you walked to the door, the weight of royally screwing things up off of your shoulders.

“Tesoro?” He calls for you just before you leave his office. You turn to look at him and he looks so soft, so gentle.

“It will get better. Prometto.”

[setsugekka]

Oh Melty, Atarashi is so gripping but also so sad to see play out. Without wanting to give up any of the dramatic twists and turns of the story, reading still makes me wish this reader dealt with her neglectful husband a different way. Therapy for one thing probably has far better outcomes than becoming sexually involved with a student of the place she works. And to sink so low as getting her best friend to lie for her, and likely ruining her reputation wanting to give an academic recommendation for the guy she is sleeping with. It is just sad. You are so good at eliciting feelings from me.

Since you have mentioned cheating is not a popular fanfic topic, at least in K-pop fic, I was wondering if you have any insight to why that is. Your themes exploring they whys and aftermath of infidelity would be quite at home in a popular movie or television storyline.

hello darling!!

// atarashii spoilers obviously but also discussion about kink, including infidelity and rape/ravishment.

reading still makes me wish this reader dealt with her neglectful husband a different way.

yeah, 100%. big reason why i really wanted to drive home the fact that none of these main characters are particularly likeable, they all have their flaws, the reader character in particular, not handling this whole thing very well, at all.

And to sink so low as getting her best friend to lie for her, and likely ruining her reputation wanting to give an academic recommendation for the guy she is sleeping with. It is just sad. You are so good at eliciting feelings from me.

it really is a slippery slope, isn't it? we're now entering territory where her feelings for hongjoong are kind of spiraling out of control because a physical affair is one thing but now she is exhibiting signs of jealousy and a grasping at straws and willingness to seemingly do anything, even things she's already denied him of, in order to keep his attention and affections on her.

definitely not a good place to be 😬 like, even worse than the foundationally ~bad place she got herself into before.

FEELINGS GOOD THOUGH, i love your commentary on this fic, i look forward to it every time because you have such a nuanced and mature view onto the situations.

Since you have mentioned cheating is not a popular fanfic topic, at least in K-pop fic, I was wondering if you have any insight to why that is.

hmm, probably a handful of reasons, the most topical and obvious one being trauma. i've seen some people talk about being unable to read a story with it due to their own experiences either being cheated on, or maybe their family was broken up as a result of it.

i find it fascinating though, that this trauma doesn't seem to be explored as commonly or in the same vein as rape trauma in fiction would appear to be. ravishment/rape is one of the most common kinks among cishet women (or women who have sex with men), and a large part of that is that it isn't uncommon for women to be the victims of violent sex crimes at the hand of men and thus, exploring it fictionally becomes a kind of catharsis.

i've also seen people just not want to read about the idols they like doing bad things, which is completely fair play!

and there is, of course, the subset of people who believe that if you engage in fiction or kink regarding topics that are ~bad, then it means that you are endorsing those behaviors and that you actually think they're good and right. this is, of course, not at all true, and a link between fiction and inciting real world violence or other behaviors hasn't actually been found in science.

Your themes exploring they whys and aftermath of infidelity would be quite at home in a popular movie or television storyline.

which is funny because a handful of the scenes plopped into this fic are from a movie called Unfaithful. just some stuff to spice it up and some scenes i thought were really fitting to be used similarly but i appreciate that a lot!

we'll see where this aftermath leads the mc...but so far...not looking so good LMAO.

[airplanned]

Soft Science 4

Haha! Just kidding!  Here’s some Soft Science with some awkwardness and some make outs.

Chapter 3

---

She hops onto the bed with a bit of a bounce and sits facing him, her legs tucked under her as if she could possibly flash less skin than what seems like a requirement of her nightgown. "You're not touching me when we kiss."

Yes.  That...that is true.

"It's awkward. So we're going to put a stop to it.  Lesson 2: give me your arm." 

Obediently, he holds out his arm, and she gingerly turns it over.  A shiver dives into the space between the bones in his arms and vibrates there as she traces a feather-light touch up his arm to his elbow. 

"Some areas are sensitive," she says, her voice so close to matter-of-fact, and yet his arm tingling so hard that it resonates with the slight lowering of her voice, with the smallest way she's slowed her words.  "Places where the skin is thin.  See, this is much nicer than this." She moves her tracing to the outside of his forearm.  "And especially nicer than this," circling his elbow.  "What's another place on your arm that would feel this way?"

Dutifully, he points at his wrist, and her skating fingers move to brush his fingers aside and circle his pulse point, as strings pulled taut from his wrist to his chest wind tighter with each circle.

"What do these places have in common?" she asks.

He swallows.  "If you stabbed me there, it'd hurt."

She breathes a laugh, her ever-moving fingers diverting back up his arm.  "That's true.  There's something vulnerable and trusting about letting someone touch you where they might hurt you.  Isn't there?" 

Grief sinks heavy into his stomach when she pulls away, as if now that she's seen him vulnerable, she'd rather not.  But the grief melts when she presents him with her arm.  "Your turn."

He takes her wrist as if it's delicate, skating his fingers over her skin, up and back, flaring his thumb and forefinger apart before drawing them back together.

"It almost tickles," she says.  "Isn't it funny how when the situation changes, the same inputs inspire different reactions?"

Meaning she's feeling that resonance down her arm.

He traces his fingers over the back of her hand, and she hums in approval, before she twists her hand, snags his writs, and draws his arm back towards her.

"This is all very teasing.  Playful.  It creates a sense of anticipation.  It's all very good in the beginning, but later it will just be frustrating.  It'll feel too careful.  Too controlled."  Her fingers slide up his forearm to his bicep, where they dig into the skin.  Like a claim.  

She lifts her eyes to his.  "Understand?"

Unable to form words, he nods.

A smile flickers over her face, and then she leans back and lifts her foot until her heel presses into his shoulder.  It's almost as if she's taunting him, holding him back.  With a challenging look, she says, “Your turn.”

It triggers something in his chest every time she gives him that look.  Daring him. Challenging him. And he has to pointedly not look at how she reclines back on her elbows, how his eyes are drawn up her leg.

There's a heat in his face that doesn't feel like embarrassment.  He swallows and circles her ankle between his fingers, rubbing a spiral into the soft divot just under and behind the bone of her ankle. 

 “Vulnerable spots,” he repeats.  "Changing reactions from the same input."  And she nods in approval. 

His thumb skims along the inside of her calf, until he can rest his palm over her knee.  She makes a soft noise, because clearly this is not what he's supposed to be doing.  A knee is not a soft spot. But Link knows hidden vulnerable places, and he finds the divots on either side of her knee with ease.  

She shrieks, and the reflexive kick to his jaw is as swift as the pointed squeeze he'd given her.

As the stars clear from his vision, it's to the princess covering her mouth with a hand, her knees hugged close as if protecting them from more goosing.

“I’m so sorry!" she gasps.  "Are you alright?  Why would you do that?!”

He shakes his head, then rubs at his stinging face.  “That didn’t work the way I thought.”

“You’re supposed to arouse me, not test my reflexes.”

“You said ticklish places were good.”

“There is a difference between ticklish places and spots directly connected to deep tendons.  You might as well have prodded my funny bone.”

He frowns.  Then reaches for her elbow, pressing a firm thumb straight beneath it.

She jerks.  

And reflexively smacks him with a flail of her hand.

He sits for a moment with his head turned, then says, “Okay, so that would also happen if I--"  

He reaches for the small of her back, but she swats him away.  "Yes!  Those are spots not to touch.  Excellent work."

They stare at each other a moment.

"I've failed this lesson, haven't I?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Slowly she uncoils, her suspicions that he'll tickle her again warring with her courage.  She tips forward to cup his face in her hands and inspect him for bruising that he knows won't be there.  Her touch is gentle like her stroking on the inside of his arm, and the bone of his jaw reverberates with her nearness.  She tisks, her voice is laced with sympathy when she says, "It doesn't look that bad.  Does it hurt terribly?"

"No."

"I'm sorry I kicked you." With an edge of irritation, she adds, "Not that I could control it."

"Yeah, I thought I should...try something."

Maybe if he can make it sound scientific, she'll forgive him.

She considers him a moment as he tries to think up what to say next.  But before he comes up with anything, she crawls forward, into his lap and drapes her arms over his shoulders.  When he holds instinctively still, she sighs and takes his hands, placing them on her hips, smoothing over them, giving him permission until he's actually holding her.  He has to close his eyes and rest his forehead against hers.

"Did you want to squeeze my knee?" she asks.

It's hard to hold a conversation like this.  "Not really."

"Where do you want to touch me?"

His fingers twitch, because that sounds like a trap.  "Where would you like me to touch you?"

"That is not an answer.  Do you want to touch me?"

"Yes."  His answer is too quick.

"Because it seems like you're not interested."

"I am!"

"Where then?"

"...Here is good."

"Goddess, Link.  You're infuriating."

"Sorry."

She sighs. "I honestly thought the leg idea would work! I did not account for--"

"You kicking me in the face?"

"I can't believe I kicked you in the face!"

He snorts, and she smiles, and then she tilts her head to consider him, amused and confused, and he can't blame her.  She leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, and it sizzles the way her knee must sizzle.  She moves then to the corner of his mouth, and it's so tempting that he turns his head to meet her lips.

She hums her approval and lets her hands wander.  Into his hair and down his neck.  She brushes over his collarbone, and now he understands about it feeling teasing.  His hands sick deeper around her hips and she gets the idea, running her hands more firmly over his arms and down his back. Her fingers dig into the muscles on the sides of his spine as if giving a deep tissue massage, and it draws him up with a deep breath, his hands twitching on her hips.

She whispers, "You can touch me. It's okay."

Untrusting the truth of that, he drags his hands down her thighs, and her hum of approval comes from just below his ear before she kisses just below his jaw.  It's as if every muscle in his body tightens, and he squeezes more deeply into her thighs as she kisses him harder, pressing her tongue against his pulse point.  

His hands run back up to her hips, and then, with a leap of faith, keep going to take hold of her rear.  Instead of slapping him again, her hips rock, her tongue presses deeper against his skin, and a choked noise hiccups in his chest. Holding her, she takes on a distinct form, real and alive, curves and breaths in a way she wasn't when he was trying not to look at her. With every soft kneed of his hands, she rocks against him, and he's dizzy and floating and has lost control of himself as he just holds her and gasps, his head lolled back as she winds him into an unholy mess.

He doesn't know when they tip backwards on the bed.  Or how long he lies there wrapped up in her and trembling, his hands roaming up to the small of her back to feel how her spine arches, down her thighs to drag his thumbs against her flesh the way he should have done when she first offered him her leg.  When she pulls back to look down at him, he rakes a shaking hand through her hair and pulls her down into a fierce kiss that's probably messy and not very good, but it's unrestrained, and he thinks that was her goal.  Her smile against his lips is victorious.

***

Chapter 5

[missymurphy1985]

The Medic (part 9 - final part)

Warning - smut, going out with a bang. Literally.

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

The night of the wrap party had finally come round. You'd been called back to work the night after the filming had ended, and your commitments had meant you and Cillian hadn't seen each other in person for nearly three weeks. Three weeks of video calls wasn't what you'd planned, but it was your only option. He had been busy helping with the editing, and had flown back to Dublin to attend a few press conferences and interviews. You'd organised time off to attend the party though, and you couldn't wait to see him.

The party had gone well - Anna had even apologised to you for her behaviour. She could see how smitten Cillian was with you, and after he'd talked to her she'd soon warmed to you too. You'd put all the troubles behind you - dancing and laughing with the cast and crew and of course, stealing time alone with Cillian at any opportunity.

"You realise I'm fully healed now, don't you? Saw my doctor back home, clean bill of health..." He whispered in your ear as the night drew to a close. Your core clenched as he snaked his arms around you from behind, pushing his groin against your lower back.

"Oh really? See, now, I'd like to offer a second opinion if it's alright with you?" You bit your lip and turned around to face him, your arms around his neck as his lips met yours.

"Get a room, the pair of you!" Anna laughed, shoving you both.

"Sounds like a plan to me, come on." You both bid goodnight to everyone - most of them smirking at you both as you left. You didn't care. You needed to be alone in his hotel room and NOW.

You were in the lift when he made his first attack. Pushing you up against the mirrored wall and sneaking a hand underneath your black trousers finding your already damp core easily and sliding his fingers through it, making you gasp. His room was on the top floor of the hotel, and his fingers worked quickly. He glanced at the dial above the lift door.

"You have 13 floors to cum, y/n..." You shuddered as his hand worked, his fingers pressing against your clit hard and fast. You lost all control very quickly, but all too soon the lift pinged. Floor seven... He quickly removed his hand and leaned against the mirror, you turned quickly and pretended to reapply your lipstick in the mirror as someone got in the lift with you. Neither of you recognised the person who pressed the button for the 11th floor, but he recognised Cillian and immediately started a conversation with him. You cringed when the elevator pinged and the man got out, shaking Cillian's hand as he did.

You both looked at each other after he'd left and the elevator moved again and burst out laughing. A few moments later the door opened again and you both hurried to your hotel room.

He closed the hotel room door behind you both and was on you in seconds - his hands roaming over your body as you both groaned and panted into each others mouths, your lips barely leaving each other.

"As hot as you look in these clothes baby, they need to come off. Now." He pulled back and quickly stripped you of everything, before leading you to the bed and pushing you gently down onto it. He removed his own clothes, before parting your legs as wide as they'd go - his eyes roaming over you, spread open and visibly aching for him.

"You look delicious..." He groaned, before sinking his mouth quickly over your folds, making your back arch, your hands reaching down to grip his hair - growing out nicely now from his harsh peaky cut and just long enough to pull as his tongue drove inside you. Flicking it over your clit, you began to buck your hips to meet it - desperate for the release you'd been waiting for since the elevator interruption.

His tongue was relentless, you were writhing beneath him in minutes.

"Don't... Fucking... Stop..." You panted. He chuckled against you, groaning deep so you could feel the vibrations, which sent you soaring over the edge. Your body convulsed as your orgasm flooded you. His fingers quickly entered you, rubbing that sweet spot inside.

Your scream of pure ecstacy could have woken the dead, a second climax flowing out of you and over his hand.

"Fuck that's sexy..." His body was soon on yours, you could feel his cock pressing against your folds. In one swift movement, your legs were under his elbows and he pushed inside you with a deep grunt.

"Oh god.... Cillian..." His movements steady at first, just enjoying the feeling of being inside you and taking control for the first time. He positioned himself perfectly, your pelvis tilted upwards as he began to thrust down and deep, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"You like it like that?" He leaned down to capture your lips again. All you could do was nod, the sensations running through you had taken all your other senses away. He grinned and gave you three powerful, deep thrusts sending you spiralling underneath him. He winced as your nails pierced his skin, but the look of pure heaven in his eyes told you he was far from annoyed. If anything it only spurred him on, he was pounding into you relentlessly. You reached up to pull his hair, his neck tilting back sharply, a deep moan leaving his mouth. His eyes met yours, a look of pure, primal lust in them now as he pulled out of you.

"On your knees," he ordered, and you happily complied. His hands spread your cheeks apart, again admiring his handiwork - your juices leaking down your thighs. One hand squeezed the warm flesh of one cheek, before bringing it down hard against it making you flinch. Before you could react, he was inside you again, his chest leaning on your back, his voice in your ear.

"You can tell me all you want that you didn't like that, but I saw how wet you got when I did it... I can feel how much you liked that..." His voice was primal, a side of him you hadn't fully seen yet but you were definitely hoping to see more of.

"Second... Opinion.. needed.." you panted between his thrusts and you felt him lean off your back, his hips still pistoning into you. Another hard smack quickly followed, then another. Each one accompanied by a groan from him and his cock pounding you faster.

"Fuck yes! Oh god Cill I'm close..."

"I want to see your face when you cum, turn around..." He pulled out and you were on your back again, legs over his shoulders as he entered you again, his fingers playing with your clit as the pounding immediately resumed.

"Fuck... Fuck..." You covered your mouth with your arm to suppress the noises but he soon pulled it away.

"Let the whole floor know how good you feel, and don't hide your face from me - I want to see your eyes when you cum on my cock.."

"I'm gonna..."

"I know baby - I've got you..." His hand linked with yours, you gripped his fingers so hard your knuckles were white - your eyes rolling back in your head as you came, a white hot release that surged through you like a lightening bolt. His followed immediately after yours, his other hand now gripping your hip like a vice as he filled you - a warm feeling flooding your core as he shot several streams into you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Holy shit..." You said in unison, before he eased out of you slowly. Your core throbbed - the most exquisite combination of pain and pleasure you'd ever felt. He watched his cum leaking out of you with a smile, brushing his fingers gently over your sensitive folds.

He lay down next to you, and you moved your body into his. Your legs entwined, your head resting on his shoulder, his fingers toying with your hair as he kissed your forehead.

"I'm not flying back to Dublin tomorrow," he whispered. You looked up at him confused.

"Why not?"

"Cleared my diary for the foreseeable future. Nailed all my obligations in the last 3 weeks, that's why I've been so busy. I was kinda hoping we could spend some real time together? I can get a hotel near where you live?"

"You're not staying in a hotel Cillian - I have my own house."

"Kinda hoped you'd say that - I hadn't booked one."

"You know I work stupid shifts, right?"

"Yep. So having someone who understands long days on your feet waiting for you at home seems like a good plan to me. Home cooked meal waiting for you, I'm a pretty decent cook."

"How did I end up bagging you, huh?"

"Well it's not every day you fall for a woman who stabs you in the ribs, y/n."

"You pronounced 'saved your life' wrong..." He chuckled and brought you close again. Sleep came easily - and you had a feeling it always would from now on.

[ghirahimbo]

beginnings

a non-specific take on how the Link and Ghirahim master/sword AU might come about. I probably won't post this one to ao3 yet in case I decide to use it in a story someday, but I liked it enough to put it here, at least :)

--

In the Sealed Grounds where the demon hordes had trampled the earth so recently in their violent rampage, the transition to silence was complete. The whistling chirp of birds, the buzz of insects… even the wind through the trees had gone deathly still, all caught up in breathless waiting. Only the pool of inky darkness at the center of Demise's broken prison seemed to breathe, pulsing slowly in and out with uneasy life. Small though it was compared to the spiraling pit containing it, the darkness pulled at the cloud-covered twilight as if its strength alone might dim it. Consume it.

At last, the dark pool recoiled in agitation, and from its churning depths emerged a boy in a green knight’s tunic that had certainly known more pristine days. Bloodied and bruised, yet swaying triumphantly as if standing itself was a triumph, Link stumbled out of the pit’s embrace, adjusting his wet hat to fit more firmly over the mess of hair still dripping from his watery battlefield. The sky above seemed to captivate him, and he craned his head back to stare at the darkened clouds, half in wonder, half in disbelief. Then the hilt of his sword flashed, and a shimmering blue woman emerged to float in front of him.

“Master,” she said, catching his attention. “With the defeat of the demon king Demise, there is a 95% chance that your friend Zelda has already regained consciousness.” Her voice softened almost imperceptibly. “I believe I can say with 100% certainty that she would like to know you are well.”

Link stared at her for another moment, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Of course,” he murmured, and for the first time, he grinned. “Let’s go.”

Strengthened by his anticipation, Link broke into a limping run, eager to put the forsaken pit behind him—but before he could take more than a few steps, a new voice froze him in his tracks.

“Wait.”

Heart sinking like a rock, Link whirled around, one hand hovering warily over the hilt of his sword as a new figure emerged from the retreating darkness. Ghirahim’s skin glimmered like polished obsidian in the fading light, smooth and unmarred except for where fiery cracks split his chest, and a glowing diamond at its center pulsed an erratic, angry red. Cradled against his shattered core was an enormous black sword, its sharp edge not even scratching the skin where it rested against Ghirahim’s hardened arms.

Milky white eyes met tired blue in a silent clash, as if neither had the strength necessary to put words to their feud. Then, without warning, Ghirahim hefted his sword, driving it point first into the softened earth and falling to one knee before it.

“Take it.”

Link blinked, and took a wary step back.

“…What?”

“Take it.” Despite his clear exhaustion, Ghirahim’s voice had that same teasing bite to it as always, coupled now with impatience as he gestured towards the sword. “You defeated my old master Demise, which means his sword is yours to claim. Take it.”

Link stared at him, dumbfounded, and a slow smile curved across Ghirahim’s thin dark lips.

“Let me put it this way,” he said pleasantly. “This sword belongs to you whether you wish it so or not, but things will go much more… smoothly… if you take it now.”

Link shook his head as if to dismiss the notion, fixing Ghirahim with a glare.

“I already have a sword,” he said coldly, starting to turn aside, but this time a light chime from Fi made him stop.

“Master Link,” she said, her cool voice strangely gentle. “I’m afraid that I was not created to remain by your side forever. The demon king’s remaining essence is now sealed within my sword, to be carefully guarded until it is eradicated. The time of our parting will be soon.” She hesitated, and added, “Very soon.”

The first drops of rain began to fall, scattered and sparse. Link stared at Fi incredulously.

“You’re not saying I should trust him,” he said, not really a question, and Fi shook her head.

“Such judgments are not mine to make. I can only report that I sense no immediate intent to do harm from Lord Ghirahim, though whether he hopes to deceive you is less clear. Any further statements would be mere conjecture on my part.”

“Would you mind conjecting then?” Link asked, pursing his lips. After a moment, Fi nodded.

“Master Link…” Her words came with slow reluctance now. “Despite the foreordination of our partnership, I was still given the privilege of choosing you as my master. If what Ghirahim says is true and his sword has passed ownership from the demon king to you, I must surmise that he was not granted that same privilege of choosing Demise.”

“If what he says is true,” Link repeated, sparing another glare for the still-kneeling demon lord. Ghirahim had so far watched their exchange in enigmatic silence, not quite smiling, though he half raised an eyebrow at Link’s scowl. The steadily increasing rain slithered unnoticed in rivulets down his face, striking against his arms with short, metallic plinks.

“I stated that I could not discern whether he hopes to deceive you in some way, and this is true. However…” She paused in consideration. “I do sense a newfound connection between you and that sword, as well as between you and Lord Ghirahim himself. My opinion is that he is telling the truth, in this regard, at least.”

Link stared at her in dismay, and Ghirahim laughed softly.

“Your robotic guide is right, I’m afraid," he murmured. "I’ll have you know that you were not my first choice either, but I think we both know better than most how little control we have over the whims of destiny. Never in this sword’s history has it passed to a human, but it appears our thread of fate has some twists that even I could not predict.”

“There is no thread—“ Link started to say hotly, but let it go with a sigh. Even he could see how pointless finishing that sentence would be. “I suppose you come with the sword, then?”

“I am the sword,” Ghirahim said, his pale eyes glittering. Link paused only a second before nodding. After bearing Fi for so long, he understood how that worked, at least.

“If…” Link took a deep breath, glancing again at Fi. “If I take you with me… what’s to stop you from trying to kill me still?”

“I am physically incapable now of even harming you,” he said, and Link’s eyebrows shot up. A possibility much easier to disprove than prove, but…

“What about Zelda?” he demanded, and Ghirahim’s grin widened.

“On your orders, I would go so far as to guard her from harm, and catch her each time she stumbles,” he said smoothly. Link’s face darkened.

“What about—“

“Master, must we really go through every order that I will or will not obey?” Ghirahim cut him off irritably. “I will obey them all, insofar as I am able. Was it not the same with…?”

He gestured vaguely towards Fi, who looked at him.

“Fi is the designation I was given,” she said, prompting a tight grin.

“Wonderful! I didn’t need or desire to know that.”

“Wait,” Link interjected, his mind spinning slightly. “...You called me master.”

“Is he this slow all the time?” Ghirahim asked Fi incredulously. “How do you put up with it?”

Link let the insult slide, still reeling as he tried to gather his thoughts. Would Ghirahim really debase himself so far just for a chance at revenge? There were other, easier ways to go about it if that was his aim, ways involving less personal humiliation. Fi thought he was telling the truth—about some things, at least—which maybe meant…

“What am I supposed to do with that sword, anyway?” Link said abruptly. “It’s too big for me to even…”

The protest died in Link’s throat as for the first time he really looked at the sword, and licked his lips. Without his noticing, the sword had shrunk in size, though it managed to appear no less menacing despite that. If Link were to hold up his Master Sword in comparison, he doubted that there would be a hair’s difference in length.

“I told you,” Ghirahim said, and Link had to fight down a shiver that he told himself was from the rain. “My sword belongs to you now, Link. Take it.”

Once more he looked at Fi, silently questioning, but if she had an opinion on the matter her blank face gave no voice to it.

“Zelda is waiting for you,” was all she said… and somehow, that was enough.

“Fine,” Link sighed reluctantly. He didn't want to find out at that moment how Ghirahim might try to force him if he refused, and Fi was right. It was time to go. “I accept your sword.”

Trudging forward, Link grabbed it by the hilt, thinking that if worse came to worst, he could still throw it off a cliff somewhere—and felt a terribly familiar warmth surge through his palms as he pulled it free, traveling up his arms to settle somewhere in his chest. A tightness fell from Ghirahim’s face that Link hadn’t noticed until that moment, and he bowed his head forward, pressing a hand delicately against his mangled chest.

“The bonding process is now complete, master,” he said, and despite the formality of his words he had a mocking twist to his lips. “Link… my master.”

Thunder boomed overhead as lightning forked viciously across the sky, the rain falling down in sheets. Link, staring at his own black sword, noticed none of it.

[amelinksanatomy]

Hi! I know you already did a birth fic but do you think you could do something along the lines of amelink can’t make it to the hospital while Amelia is in labor so link has to help Amelia?

Not The Plan

A/N: This might be my longest fic! I hope this is what you were after! Enjoy!

“No, I’m not going yet!” Amelia said through clenched teeth as she was sat, bouncing through a contraction on the birthing ball she’d stolen from the hospital.

“You’re in labor, Amelia! We’re supposed to go to the hospital!” Link laughed, standing behind her and rubbing her back “No! Not until my water breaks! I don’t want to have to sit in that bed for hours in pain while Carina repeatedly tries to offer me an epidural which I can’t take”.

Link knew Amelia was stubborn, he was used to it by now, but in this situation, he can understand why she doesn’t want to head in before she needs to. Of course, Link was a little concerned and would much rather be in the hospital where Amelia and the baby could be monitored but he’d sworn to himself that he would go along with whatever made Amelia comfortable while she was giving birth to his baby.

“Okay, but the second it breaks, we’re going” Link makes the plan clear “Fine but can you shut up now! I’m trying to concentrate on making getting your baby out of a very small hole, less painful”.

Amelia’s contractions had started 4 hours earlier. At first, they thought it was just braxton hicks again but as they had started getting closer together and more painful, they had quickly realised this was the day they’d be meeting their baby. Link’s apartment had been quite a relaxing environment so far, there were no kids or sisters running around or shouting and Amelia had free roaming of the place to labor however she wanted without anyone telling her what to do. So far, they’d tried walking around, a warm bath and now, bouncing on the birthing ball.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Son of a bitch. Ow.” Amelia dropped her head, breathing heavily and rolling her hips in circles “God, this hurts way more than I remember”

Link pouts, continuing to rub her back “What can I do? Do you need anything?”

“No, just stay there please” her voice soft as she runs her hand in circles around her bump in an attempt to relax her tightening muscles

“You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” Link asks, hearing her sigh “Not yet”

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

“Arghhhhhh” Amelia’s cries fill the room, an hour had passed, and she was now stood in the kitchen, bent over at the waist wearing only Link’s shirt over her underwear and leaning against a chair using her forearms to hold her up as she sways her hips, contractions almost continuous.

“Link” her shaky voice pulling Link’s attention away from his task of getting her a glass of water “It broke”. He places the glass back in the sink, turning around to make contact with her wide eyes,

“My water broke”.

Amelia pushes herself up to stand straight, looking down at the floor to see her thoughts confirmed. Link immediately comes to her side, placing a hand on the small of her back reassuringly “Okay, okay, it’s okay!”.

Link moves away, beginning to rush around the apartment to gather everything they needed. Amelia slowly begins making her way over to the couch, hoping she’ll be able to pull her shoes on before she stopped in her tracks, doubling over and crying out as a strong contraction hits her as Link walks back into the room

“Oh god!” She snaps her head to look at Link, whose heart drops immediately as he notices the look on her face “Amelia? What’s wrong?”

“The baby’s coming” Link walks over and pushes her hair out of her face, smiling “I know, not long now and we’ll get to meet our son!”

“No, the baby’s really coming” she lifts her head to look at Link, realising he’s not quite understanding what she’s trying to say from his furrowed brows and confused expression,

“I need to push”.

No one says anything or moves for a minute until Amelia breaks the silence as she’s hit with another contraction “Link… Link… Link…” she reaches her arm out in panic, trying to find his to grab onto “I need t- Arghhhhhh”

Link snaps out of his panicked daze as he feels Amelia squeeze his arm “No- No- What do you mean you need to push? Your water just broke, we should have time to get to-“

“Link!” Amelia yells, interrupting his spinning out “I have to push! I can’t control it!”

“We need to get to the hospital! I’ll go put these in the car an-“ “We’re not going to make it! Not pushing hurts too much, I have to!” Amelia cries, the pain becoming overwhelming.

Link moves so he’s standing in front of her, holding his arms out ready to help her, “I don’t want you to have to give birth on the floor, do you think you could make it to the bedroom?” Amelia takes hold of his arms “Maybe”.

Amelia tries to walk a few steps with the help of Link holding her up, “Nope, nope, I can’t- I need to- It feels like his head is right there” the couples eyes meet, worry and terror evident. Amelia begins lowering herself down, the pain and pressure making it impossible to stay standing.

Link helps Amelia to lay down on the rug, placing a pillow behind her head, “I need to grab a towel, I’ll be right back”

Less than a minute later, Link was coming back into the room with a pile of towels and talking to someone on the phone “No, her water just broke but she’s in so much pain and say’s she needs to push right now”. He kneels down, placing the towels down beside Amelia, placing a hand on her leg reassuringly as she scrunches her face in pain, trying to hold in the need to push.

“I don’t know, I haven’t checked” Link says to the person on the end of the phone before turning it to speaker mode and placing it on top of the towels.

“You’re going to need to check how dilated she is” Amelia recognises Carina’s voice as she begins to instruct Link “If she feels like she needs to push, you may be able to feel the baby’s head”. Link tries to hide his panic as he pulls her underwear off, not wanting to stress Amelia out any more than she already is.

“How you doing, Amelia?” Carina’s voice chimes through the phone “Oh, doing great, about to give birth on my boyfriend’s floor because I was too stubborn to go to the hospital but arghhhhhhhh- I have to push, can I push?”

Just as Amelia asks the question, the phone line goes quiet.

Link’s phone died.

They were alone in this.

“Oh god, oh god, this is not good” Amelia starts spiralling “Melia, hey, it’s okay” Link rubs her leg gently “We’re going to be alright; you’re doing great”

“When was the last time you delivered a baby?” Amelia snaps at him, breathing heavily “Babe, I promise I’ve got this”

Link places a towel underneath Amelia’s legs, looking back up at her with wide eyes “Are you pushing?” he asks, moving closer to her “No” she groans, the pressure becoming increasingly more uncomfortable with every passing minute, “Well, I can see his head so I think you should-“ Amelia lets out a sigh of relief, immediately pushing her head into her chest and screwing her eyes shut.

Suddenly, all of Link’s panic left his body as he became completely focused on not screwing anything up. Never did he think when Amelia told him that she was pregnant, that he would be the one delivering their baby. All he wanted in this moment was for everything to go well, for Amelia to get through this and their baby to be okay.

Amelia’s screams pull him from his thoughts, her painful cries making him wince. It only takes two pushes for his head to come out but by that time Amelia was crying from the pain, “I can’t do this” she whimpers, heavy breaths between each word “You can, you’re doing so good babe and I’m right here, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise”

Amelia takes another deep breath, preparing herself for the contraction she knew was coming “Babe, his head is out, I just need a couple of big pushes and he’ll be here”

“What the hell do we do once he’s out” Amelia panics “Why didn’t I just go to the hospital” she cries, Link looks up at her with a reassuring smile “Ames, the paramedics are on their way, everything is okay I promise but I really need you to push”

Amelia nods, bracing herself before giving it all she has, screaming again in the process. A few big pushes later, Link assists in helping the baby’s shoulders out, being as gentle as he can knowing this was the worst part.

Before they knew it, the room was filled with the sound of the baby’s cries.

“He’s here! You did it, babe!” Link’s eyes started to tear up as he looked down at the brand-new baby in his arms and then up at Amelia who had thrown her head back on the pillow and was crying through heavy breaths.

“Is he okay?” her voice shaky and exhausted “Link! Is he okay?”

“He’s perfect Amelia!” Link smiles, carefully beginning to lift their son up to show Amelia knowing the cord is still attached and not wanting to pull too hard. Amelia’s sobs get harder as she lays eyes on her baby for the first time “Oh my god, he’s beautiful!”

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

A short few minutes later, the paramedics had arrived, the cord was cut, and Amelia was on a gurney with her perfect baby boy in her arms. Link was stood by her side, running his fingers through her hair, other hand on over Amelia’s where it holds their baby.

“I’m so proud of you” Link places a kiss on her head “You did so good and this little guy couldn’t be more perfect”

“Couldn’t have done it without you” Amelia weakly smiles at him, pulling her gaze away from their son for a split second before putting it back

“I love you, both of you, you’re both perfect” Link kisses her head again “I love you too”

“Alright,” the new parents are pulled from their moment by a paramedic “We’re ready to get moving”

Link nods, turning around to pick up the un-used hospital bag before feeling a hand grab his arm, turning him back around to face Amelia who was looking at him with her serious face,

“Please forget everything you just saw down there”

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 17

Another chapter! Woo! And yes, I’m still going on with @biodad-bruce-month event despite being two months since it ended :D

Chapter 17: Villain (2)

WARNING: BLOOD MENTION AND DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER

-

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan @vixen-uchiha @nathleigh

Tag: @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek @galla02006 @maleive07 

-

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

Something wasn’t right and no, it didn’t take Wally having to see fog outside Amira’s bedroom to know that. 

He had been on the phone with Dick, telling him of Amira’s stress baking when the chilly afternoon became a dark, foggy evening. 

Rolls of mist covered the Parisian roads, people yelling out to each other as they stumbled to find each other. 

“Dick. I have to call you back.” Wally said as he scrambled around the room in search of his suitcase. 

To think he would need Barry’s gift so soon. 

“Back? Wally what is-“ Wally hung up when he found the comms, his eyes darting around the room until he found a box tucked under the desk labeled ‘utilities.’

Rummaging around it, he grabbed some flashlights, batteries and some goggles before heading into the Parisian street. 

He thought the fog was bad from behind the window, but now standing in...it was a nightmare. 

Amira, please...be safe...

Fishing for his phone, Wally quickly scrolled through his contacts until he found Amira’s and began to call it. 

The longer the call rang, the more Wally began to worry. 

When his call didn’t get through, he tried again, turning on the goggles, taken aback at how high tech they were. 

The perks of being rich he guessed. 

When he noticed that the night vision wouldn’t work in this situation, Wally switched over to thermal, running into the school across the street and up the stairs.

“Marinette!” Wally yelled, holding back the urge to yell out her real name. But he knew better than that. 

He knew better than to yell out Amira’s real identity.

“Marinette! Where are you?” Wally yelled out again, looking to see if anyone reacted to the name. That’s when he noticed a heat carefully walked towards the doorway of a classroom on the second floor.

“Hello?” A Parisian asked him, Wally biting his tongue. Damn it!

“Listen, do you speak English?” 

“A little.” The person said back.

“That’s fine. Do you know where Marinette is? Do you know what happened to-”

“She was akumatized!” The person bellowed back, Wally feeling his heart stop.

Amira...Amira is the akuma? She...she got akumatized...by Hawkmoth?

How? This wasn’t part of the plan she told him last night!

Snapping from his spiraling thoughts, Wally cupped his hands around his mouth.

“What caused it?” Wally asked, wondering what the hell happened to Amira that caused her to lose control of her emotions.

What caused her to snap?

“She had a little argument over a boy with her classmate. About a boy named...Jason.”

Holy shit.

“No, no, no, no.” Wally muttered to himself, digging his hands into his hair, hating the answer to his questions.

“Are you-” The person asked, Wally seeing them almost hit with the balcony in front of them.

“Stop! Don’t leave the classroom! Stay in there and wait for La-Chat Noir and the team to arrive.” Wally managed to say, his brain running through every possible situation to help him cope with the idea that Amira was somewhere out there, distorted by her emotions…

Alone..dealing with emotions she never liked lingering in for too long...walking with her baggage of pain...and guilt…

Wait...the person said she was arguing with someone who knew Jason...but how was that possible?

“-can do for you?” Wally managed to register, running up the stairs and walked into the classroom, shutting the door behind him.

“I need you to tell me what exactly happened before Marinette got akumatized and don’t you dare try to cover up any details. If you do…” Wally closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t jinx the situation. “This akuma may become your livelihood for a very long time and not only that...this maybe be the Miraculous Team’s last fight and be Hawkmoth’s victory.”

---

Adrien held Chloe close as she continued to grip at his shirt, her body shaking violently as she muttered incoherent words. Tears ruined her makeup, her eyes bloodshot red as Chloe remained curled against Adrien’s shirt.

“Adrikins...you’re still there...right?”

“I’m still here.” Adrien assured, hugging Chloe closer to him.

“Maman and Daddy… I saw them die before my eyes. And I saw Sabrina and Mari...they..they also-”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Adrien hushed, turning to where Plagg was despite not being able to see anything but his glowing green eyes.

After Mari-Banshee caused Chloe to collapse and then disappeared from his sight, Adrien ordered Nino and Sabrina to head back to the class while he took care of Chloe.

Carefully dragging her to the locker room, Adrien began to softly talk to her, holding her hands as he tried to think of a way to lessen the effect of Banshee’s power on Chloe so that he could-

“-help her.” Cloe muttered out, Adrien feeling her hesitantly push herself away from him. “Go help her, Adrien.”

“Chloe, you aren’t-”

“But she needs more help than me Adrien.” Chloe echoed. “I know this will go away once the akuma is found, but right now...we need to do something about the akuma. Who knows how long Ladybird will get here and get rid of the akuma, but we’re here. You’re here.”

Adrien felt as Chloe untangled her hand from his. “I can’t do anything, but you can. You can help de escalate the situation and you even know who she is after. So please...help her Adrien...she’s our friend...who knows how long she can endure it…”

Adrien bit his lip, feeling Plagg settle back into Adrien’s pocket inside his jacket.

“I’ll try Chloe. I’ll try.”

Giving Chloe’s hand a squeeze, Adrien slowly makes his way back to where he last saw Marinette, holding back a scream that nestled in his throat.

“Kid. We need to hurry.” Plagg reminded him. “Because Chloe was right. We don’t know how long it will take Ladybird to find Marinette so we need all hands on-”

“I know Plagg.” Adrien cut off, digging his nails into his palms. “Plagg, claws out!”

---

Dick paced around his apartment, putting his phone to his ear as he attempted to call both Wally and Amira, only to get sent to voicemail. 

Huffing, Dick was about to call again when Tim called first. 

“Tim, can this-“

“This is urgent.”

“Tim, I’m trying to-“

“Something wrong is happening in Paris right now. Just open the link I sent you right now.”

With Tim hanging up, Dick got a message and opened it, watching a Parisian news station play on his screen. 

“Nadja Chamack. Don’t bemused, it’s just the news. As you can see, it’s currently XX:XX and yet-“ Then the camera pans to show the conditions outside. “Our once sunny December day became a foggy night, our reporters are trying to- what? An akuma?” 

The station then transitioned into a live feed of what seemed to be a figure walking within the fog. 

“This just in! Turns out that this is the result of Hawkmoths most recent akuma! So everyone who is watching, under no circumstance, do not leave the premises you are-“

Nadja went on to talk about akuma protocol when Dick notices something oddly familiar about the figure that walked within the live video. 

That bracelet on her hand…

Dick felt his heart sink to his stomach. 

Grabbing some keys and his bike, Dick began making phone calls again, hating that no one was picking up... 

Or so he thought. 

“Selina? Yes... I need a favor.”

—-

Wally slammed his fist against the teacher’s desk, hearing a few gasps escape from the students in the class. 

Damn that Lila. Can’t even face the consequences of her own actions. 

“Did you idiots seriously not think something was wrong when someone you knew was acting unusual? Even if they weren’t your friend, when someone isn’t acting like themselves, that means you should be concerned.” Silence filled the room. Wally recomposed himself. 

This was no time to lecture these idiots. Right now I have to track down both Marinette and Lila Rossi. “Does anyone know where Lila would have run off to?”

When he got nothing but silence for an answer, Wally held his composure. “Okay so no one actually knows this girl. Fine. I’ll look for her my-“

“Shouldn’t you leave this to Ladybird and her team?” The teacher spoke, Wally really wondering how dependent Parisians have become on their ‘heroes’ taking action first. 

“My best friend has been akumatized and we haven’t heard a single update about the situation from the Parisian vigilantes. My thoughts? The Miraculous Team is having trouble finding either person and if I can at least help to locate Marinette, then so be it. 

I’m not going to stand here and just depend on the vigilantes when I know I can actually do something to help.”

Walking towards the door, he stopped. “I suggest you guys find a way to deal with the mist inside this classroom. Perhaps turn the ventilation system on or something. You rather be able to see each other can keep each other company rather than not knowing what’s going on in the very room you think you’re safe in.”

With that, Wally dashed out the room, not noticing two other people walk behind him. 

—-

Lila stumbled as she ran away from the thing that was supposed to be Marinette.

That creature dressed in an ombre dress that transitioned from white to black and whose eyes haunted her was no Marinette!

That was a creature straight from tales she used to hear from the nanny that took care of long ago.

A banshee.

Lila held in a whimper as tears filled her eyes as she heard the akumatized Marinette’s hums, hums that fluctuated between her name being shrieked and soft wails. 

“Lila.” She would whisper in a hoarse voice, causing Lila to run even more. “Where are you?”

Lila turned a corner and scrambled to hide behind a dumpster, collapsing her hands over her mouth as she heard Marinette slowly make her way towards her.

Lila shut her eyes tight as she heard the hum grow louder, Lila hating that the hum kept getting louder by the second.

The hum was now right at the corner Lila had finished turning when it came to a halt.

With the foggy streets and the humming coming to a stop, Lila could hear her footsteps nice and clear, listening as her heels clicked and clacked as Marinette walked on the cobblestone street. 

Lila didn’t dare to move, she didn’t dare breath as she kept hearing those dreading footsteps. She did, however, wish she had another set of hands as a piercing shriek, in the form of her name, rang throughout the Parisian streets.

Lila didn’t know what happened next as the shriek caused her ears and head ring, her vision becoming muddled as Lila attempted to open her eyes.

She wishes she had not.

As she fluttered her eyes open, bloodshot red eyes looked back at her, a thin smile directed at her.

“Here you are.” Marinette sang in her raspy voice.

Lila felt herself begin to violently shake as Marinette helped her get up by grabbing her wrists. “You know, you didn’t have to make up all those lies to get the class to like you. They just love to throw themselves to anyone if it meant gaining a new friend. They’re just so open hearted like that.

Of course, those types of people are the type whom I’m not fond of, so I steered away from them.

Sadly, you thought lying to them was the best course of action instead of checking to see if you had to lie or not to get their adoration. I could only assume you thought this was the best course of action as it's been your main way of getting attention.

Sadly, you have to pay for your actions this time ‘round. 

Didn’t your mother teach you that every action has a consequence?”

Lila watched as Marinette let go of her hands.

“While they might forgive you for lying to them, I will not. You disparage my brother’s name and for that, you shall pay, Lila Rossi.”

She grabbed hold of Lila’s hand, Lila letting out a deathly scream as her hand went ablaze, watching as Marinette’s veil turned pitch black in color.

“Pay for your lies, for your manipulations and schemes.”

Lila felt her other hand go ablaze and soon her heart began to burn, screaming her lungs out as she watched her get swallowed by the ground.

She screamed and cried as she clawed to bring herself back up to the surface, only to feel cold hands pull her down.

“This is your punishment, Lila Rossi. Suffer like I have at the loss of my dear brother.”

The last thing Lila saw before being pulled underground was Marinette’s veil and dress turn pitch black, a vivid black she had never seen before.

Black just like the void that swallowed her, a black that was the only thing Lila could see for miles around her.

She didn’t know for how long she kept screaming, how long she was crying but she knew for quite some time as her throat grew dry. It became itchy, her eyes stinging and she started to grow cold. 

She began to walk through the darkness, not daring to stretch out her arms in fear that she may attack her once again. 

That’s when she saw him. 

Standing there, in the darkness, was a man with olive green eyes and chestnut hair staring back at her.

A man she knew...

“Papà?” She said hoarsely. 

She watched as the man looked at her with a smile, opening up his arms, welcoming her. 

With a warbling smile, Lila ran to her father, only for him to disintegrate upon her touch. 

“Papà!” Lila screeches, running after the dust. Why? Why?!

“Lila.” She heard her mother say monotonously, causing Lila to promptly shut up and stop pathetically trying to get her father back. 

She slowly turned to her side, having to look up to see her mother’s pale face. 

Was she always this tall? 

Looking at herself, Lila realized she was holding her mother's hand and standing before her father’s grave. 

She was 9 again. 

9...“You can’t keep crying mia stella. We have to keep moving, no matter what. It’s what he would have wanted us to do.”

“Yes, Mamma.” Lila complied, watching as the two walked from the grave, watching how the grave quickly got invaded by thorn covered vines with each step she took. “Bye, Papà.”

.

“Bastarda! Bastarda!” The boys chanted as they circled her, Lila covering her ears, shutting her eyes as she crouched towards the floor. 

“Smettila! [Quit it!]” Lila yelled, holding in tears as she heard the girls in her class whisper and snicker about her. 

It wasn’t her fault that her mother couldn’t afford the latest clothing, the latest car or anything new for that matter. 

If only her mother were more than just a secretary. If only her mother were someone important. 

How she hated that they were able to see through her lies. 

She could hear the laughter ringing around her, the chants of her being a bastard and bugiarda [poor] echoing in her mind. 

She watched as smeared faces of her past circled around her, laughing at her and began to sing. 

“Delilah! Delilah! Delilah the liar!”

“Shut up!” Lila screamed, but it went ignored. 

The faces continued to sing and ridicule her, Lila screaming until she couldn’t anymore. 

---

Chat looked out to the city below him, clicking his tongue when he wasn’t able to see anything below despite being at the very top of the Eiffel Tower.

Taking out his staff, Chat called Queen Bee, only to be sent directly to voicemail. He tried again, this time using their other mode of communication.

When he heard a click, Chat was about to talk when Bee beat him to it.

“I’m down Chat.’

“What?”

“I was in the area when the akuma struck. I tried to apprehend the Victim, but she got to me first. I don’t think I can...I don’t think I can fight in my condition Chat.”

Chat huffed, picking up a shriek in the distance. Narrowing his eyes, Chat started to sprint to the direction of which the shriek came from. 

“Have you heard anything from Ladybird?” Chat asked, almost crashing into someone when he got to the ground. “I tried calling her, but-”

“I didn't get anything from her…” Chat heard a shuddering of breath from the other side. “Do you think...do you think the Victim got to her?”

“Let’s hope she didn’t.” Chat said, realizing where he was. Extending his staff, he went straight to their usual training grounds, glad to be up high again. “After all, she’s the only one who can reverse all of this.

Without her, we’re screwed.”

“I know Chat...I know. But what are you going to do without me? Without her? You need allies now more than ever Chat! Without them, who knows how long it will take to defeat this Victim!”

“I’ll find a way Bee, don’t you worry. For now, rest up. We’ll win this fight, you’ll see. We won’t let Hawkmoth win, not on our watch.”

With that, Chat hung up and mumbled a ‘claws in.’

“Did we-hey! Isn’t the reason why I give you my power to-”

“Plagg, you mentioned a Master Fu before.” Adrien cut off, handing some camembert towards Plagg. “You need to take me to him. I need to-”

“I know.” Plagg said, swallowing the cheese whole. “Something tells me you might need his help for this fight.”

“Thank you, Plagg.” Adrien said, eyeing a bag of utilities nearby. He rummaged through it before finding what he needed. 

Plagg eyed the grappling hook in Adrien’s hands, wondering if he should tell him or not.

Should he? Should he tell him that Ladybird wasn’t going to come? That she was the Victim this time ‘round?

“Alright then, follow me!” Plagg said with a smile.

No, he shouldn’t tell him. Who knows what might happen if the kid would be at risk of also getting akumatized and that he couldn’t risk.

Not his kitten...not on his watch.

---

Black.

That is what Amira first saw when she barely came to her senses.

Amira felt herself walking, watching as something else took over her body.

Is this what every Victim felt like when they got akumatized by Hawkmoth?

Amira tried to move her arms, or attempted to stop herself from walking, but to no avail.

She kept walking to who knows where, hearing herself hum as she did, humming as she was looking for someone…but who?

The humming continued, Amira wondering why it resonated so much with her. 

Amira listened to the hum, closing her eyes and soaking in the melodies as the hum continued, 

---

Wally stood still as he barely made out the figures of the neatly aligned parked cars on either side of the road. Not a single person was in the street, not a single piece of paper dared to flutter within the dense fog.

Only the dim lights of the streetlights and of a few store lights allowed Wally to know where he was.

“Marinette!” He screamed, holding his breath as he strained his ears for any type of noise. When he heard nothing, he walked a few meters before standing still again and calling out for Marinette.

He kept doing his for what seemed an hour until Wally found himself right by the Seine. 

The moment he stepped onto the Pont des Arts, he heard the faintest of hums, Wally feeling the edge of his lips begin to turn upward.

“Marinette!” He yelled out, but got nothing in return.

Sprinting to the other side of the bridge, Wally was glad to hear the humming grow louder, but hated that he had yet to see Amira.

“His chirps brightened my days

Talks that would last for hours

My jay, my jay.”

“Amira!” Wally yelled, his head swinging from side to side in hopes of seeing her, but nothing. 

The quiet Parisian street taunted him, the rolling fog egging him to follow the only clue he had of tracking Amira. 

“One day after you left

For you I did wait

Another gentle night like no other.”

Wally quickly began to follow the song, hating that no type of heat was registering through the goggles.  

“I awaited for your arrival

But a visit I did not get

As I approached the window

I saw you there...

There you were.”

Wally felt like he was running towards nowhere, seeing as he had been running in the same direction for a while. 

“On the ground

Your blue feathers now dyed red

Your flight towards me

Was a flight towards another place.”

Just where the hell was he?!

“Goodbye my Jay...goodbye.” 

As those last words were said, the fog started to lift up a bit, Wally turning to see Amira staring back at him through her black veil. 

Her eyes were a dull emerald, her hair long and straight just like it was when they were younger. She wore a black lace dress that seemed to sparkle under the dim Parisian streetlights. 

“Wally. You’re alright.” Amira said, walking up to him, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. He felt his breath hitch. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

I’m more worried about you.

“I’m fine.” Wally tried to hold her hand when she pulled it away.

“That’s good.” Her hand returning to her side, averting her gaze from him and biting her lip. “What about Chloe? Is she doing alright? I didn’t mean to hurt her like that.”

Wally gulped. She had used her power on Chloe? 

Were those tear trails running down her face?

“She’s doing alright. She’s still under your power, but she isn’t as in much pain as she was before.” Wally lied, holding her wrists in his hands, ignoring the pain her got from placing pressure over her bracelet.  

So it’s her hands he has to be wary of…more specifically, her palms.

“What about the rest of my team? Do they know where I am?” Amira asked him, Wally biting the side of his cheek.

“I think one of them might know where you are. As for the rest, I do not know.”

“I see.” Amira said, looking back at Wally, turning away from him.

“Where are you going?” Wally asked her, watching as her veil flared out a bit. He watched as a grin emerged from her once stoic face.

“I’m going to go check on Lila. You should’ve seen the look on her face as she succumbed to my punishment.”

“Amira, what have you done?” Wally almost growled out, noticing the small rips on her dress, how it seemed to merge with the shadows.

“She got the punishment she deserved. Right about now, she should be screeching her heart out.”

“How...how could you do something like that Amira?” Wally yelled, tightening his grasp on her wrists. “Vengeance isn’t the way to-”

“This was the only way to make her pay for trying to use Jason’s name for her own personal gain! Every action has a consequence, whether it be a good one or a bad one.”

“Amira, can’t you see-”

“If you are here to stop me, then don’t. I already made up my mind.” Amira tried to jerk her hands from Wally’s grasp, but couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her escape, not when she was right in front of him.

“Amira, please! Think-”

“I have. And this,” she lifted her arm ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth curving upwards as her palms hovered over Wally’s wrists. “This is my answer.”

WARNING: BLOOD AND DEATH AHEAD

Placing her palms on Wally, Wally screamed in agony as he collapsed to the floor, his hands grasping on his shirt, his knuckles turning white as his head and chest began to ring in pain.

Wally watched as his vision flickered between seeing Amira walking away from him in her black dress and her yelling out his name as she was being pulled away from him.

Wally watches as she tries to crawl back at him, as she claws at the ground as she’s being pulled away by purple miasma. 

Her nails are scratched, her skin peeling off her fingers as she tries to hold onto loose cobblestones on the ground.

She screams for him, her tears merging with the blood that trailed from her head, mixing with the dirt on her face.

Cuts, both new and old were scattered, dried blood seeping from her mouth.

She manages to get up before she’s thrown back to the floor, a scream escaping from her.

“Amira!” Wally yells, trying to reach for her as he feels tears slip from his eyes. He watches as Amira stares at him one last time before her head limps forward, her hair draping over her face.

Wally feels himself stop breathing, raising his head as he sees Joker above her. 

Why? Why were they back at Gotham?

His eyes register the crowbar in his hand, covered in blood...Amira’s blood...

Blood that dripped from the same hands that killed his friend, the same feral clown that looked down at him with his feral smile and crooked yellow teeth.

Wally let out a scream as he watched Joker walk away, leaving Amira’s corpse on the floor.

Managing to find the strength to get up, Wally ran next to Amira’s limp body, only for it to turn into mist upon lifting it.

Wally watched as the illusion merged with the mist around him, the mist slipping through his fingers as he watched his surroundings return him to the present...to Paris..

“Illusions…” Wally said, finding himself laughing as he ran one hand through his hair while the other pulled at it, feeling himself still shaking...

This is exactly why he wasn’t very fond of magic...

END

---

Nino jumped when he felt a hand on him, feeling his racing heart relax upon seeing Master Fu.

After having left the classroom when the mystery guy had run out, Nino tried to look for Ladybird, hoping to once again help his friend. But he had been running for hours, not seeing a single person at all as he searched for the Miraculous Team or Banshee.

“Master Fu, what are you-”

“You know clearly why I am here.” Fu said, slipping off the Turtle from his hand, Nino stretching out his hand towards him. “Ladybird and Queen Bee are down for this match, leaving Chat on his own.”

Nino couldn’t believe that. Chat...was on his own? Ladybird and Queen Bee...were out of commission? How?

Placing the bracelet into Nino’s hand, Master Fu closed it and looked at Nino. “Now go.”

“But Master Fu! How are-”

“The two of you are not alone.” Master Fu clarified. “Gris is to join you alongside a new ally. With you four, you must do what it takes to defeat this akuma. If not,” Master Fu lowered his gaze. “Hawkmoth might just get his hands on several miraculous tonight.”

Nino gulped, feeling unspeakable pressure pushing down on him. 

Looking down at the bracelet, Nino furrowed his brows, slipping it on. Wayzz appeared before him, smiling at him.

“Don’t worry Master Fu. I will do what it takes to protect my team, the miraculous and the people of Paris! I will not let Hawkmoth win! Wayzz, shell on!”

---

Chat’s ears twitched when he heard a thud from behind him, turning to see Carapace walking towards him.

“About time you came.” Chat said, greeting Carapace. Gris waved at the turtle hero who returned the gesture.

“Master Fu mentioned having a new member. So, where are they?”

“A new user?” Gris asked, wondering why she didn’t get the memo.

“I would like to introduce you two to our newest member.” 

The three turned to where Chat gestured, watching as a person with golden horns emerged from the doorway that led to their training grounds on the Montparnasse Tower. 

“Hello everyone. My name is Ryuuko, wielder of the Dragon miraculous. I hope to be of some help.”

“Woah, she has a whole katana by her side! Is that allowed?” Carapace asked, stretching to see the black sheath that held the katana.

“Carapace. Focus.” Chat stern said. “It’s our job to deal with this akuma as soon as possible. As you know, Queen Bee is down and Ladybird might be due to her absence. 

For this to be a success, Ryuuko, you are in charge of finding a way to lift up this fog to help with the search. Gris, multiply and scatter yourself around the city for any hints of where the akuma might be.” 

“Got it.” “Roger that!” Ryuuko and Gris said, jumping off to complete their tasks.

“What about us?” Carapace asked.

“I want you to look for Lila Rossi. She’s who the akuma is after.”

“Right. But what about you?”

“I’ll keep searching around this area. Something tells me to stay put.” Chat said. 

He watched as Carapace nodded, leaving him by himself.

Chat looked out towards the city, wondering if he was up to the job, if he was able to shine a candle to Ladybird, now that she was nowhere to be found. Would he be able to save Chloe? Marinette?

Sighing, Chat looked up to the sky, shutting his eyes firmly.

“What should I do, what should I do...Mom?”

NEXT

[tipsydipsydo]

Goddess of the Sun [M]

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 1.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut!

Warnings: Sexual Language + a bit Dirty Talk; Dom-/Sub-Themes; Femdom (Sub! Jungkook x Dom! Reader); Bondage; Teasing + Edging; Begging; Praising; Grinding; Orgasm Denial/Control; light Nipple Play; light Mastubation; Scratching; unprotected vaginal Sex (please stay safe!); Mentions of Sex Toys and oral Sex

Synopsis: Jungkook is the best servant for his Queen and Goddess.

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「© tipsydipsydo」

The following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

Do not repost, plagiarize, translate or use any of my work in general! 

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Please respect that. I’ll fight any illegal use of my work!

Thank you.

A trembling moan leaves Jungkook's lips as he writhes under you. He looks up to you with pleading eyes, his flushed cheeks makes you smile. It's so cute when he is so aroused, but cannot put his wishes into words. Well, or even isn't allowed to do it.

A few strands of his black hair sticks to his forehead, a thin layer of sweat covers his skin and right now, a single drop is just running down his tendinous neck.

His Adam's apple bobs out of exitement, the setting sun, which comes through the panoramic window behind you let his skin sparkle.

It looks like his honey golden skin is adorned with thousands of tiny diamond spatulas. Giving him the appearance of a seductive brilliant.

A sigh comes over your lips and you look at Jungkook in detail. You sit on his hips and the tip of your index finger draw delicate patterns on his abdominal muscles, making them flinch excitedly under your touch.

You take all your the time to admire and caress these muscular inquiries extensively. Your right index finger teasingly draws an ever smaller going spiral around his left nipple until you finally took it between your fingers and begin to gently roll his bud. You just know way too good how sensitive they are.

He throws his head back, whimpers and archs his back, pushing himself even more into your tender caresses. Your throat escapes an enjoying moan when you watch this exhilarating scenery. Sexual desire shoots through your body, making the blood rush in your ears.

Your wet pussy lips glides provocatively over his hard length, which is already soaked in your overflowing juices. The cuffs rattles, Jungkook tugs again on the chains that holds him mercilessly to the headboard of your bed. 

He wanted it that way. He wanted to submit to you. He wanted that you’re in charge and in control.

Your eyes captures his whole body for the last time. He's sweaty, his breathing is fast and he swallows hard before a choked moan comes out of his mouth. Trembling lips and fluttering eyelids, his nostrils flares and then this lust-veiled expression in his dark, lustblown pupils. Longingly lifting his pelvis towards you, offering himself to you for your own satisfaction.

His wrist are chained with leather cuffs to the metal cross braces of the bed. He's at your mercy and you've been playing your obscene games with him for a over hour now.

But instead of getting impatient, frustrated or angry as a consequence of your cruel teasing, he just conquers himself even more to you. He'd do everything to please you and concede this special favor, to bring his queen satisfaction.

Nothing could be more worse for him than you'd prefer a vibrator over him. He couldn't stand it when you would satisfy your lust with a sextoy infront of his eyes.

To drive him a little bit more crazy, you gently rock your hips back and forth, let his thick shaft slide through your wet folds until his tip graze over your clitoris, let you moan out loudly.

A desperate lusty whimper emerges from Jungkook's throat and searchs submissively for your gaze.

"M-My queen... may... may I am allowed to give you fulfillment? May I be the one, who fills you up and gives you satisfaction?", he asks shyly with a trembling voice. 

He is almost begging you and his tormented expression shows that he can no longer stand it. It tingles on your skin, a smug smile plays around the corners of your lips and you throw your hair back elegantly before you appraise him with the look of a lioness and scratch with your fingernails over his chest. Red streaks adorn now his soft skin.

"Well, because you were such a good boy until now... I think... Your Queen allow you to give her the fullfilment with your cock to relieve her desires at least a little bit. One rule, don't cum in me. Otherwise I'll punish you all over again. Maybe I wouldn't let you cum at all for the rest of this week if you disobey me, my sweet little babyboy~", you coo in his ear while your nails dig into his skin.

He whimpers in lust, he loves to be scratched by you. The smell of his perfume is rising into your nose and idulge your senses with his earthy and musky scent. Having an aphrodisiac-like effect in you, making your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing.

Sweat drips down your spine and you sigh in pleasure as you finally sink down on him. His thick cock glides deep into you, filling you up completely and stretching you open so good. Slowly you start to rock your hips, you start to ride him.

The setting sun shines full and round through the enormous windows behind you. Let you shine brightly like a goddess.

Every fiber in your body is seized with lust, pure sexual desire jerks through your body in waves, giving you goosebumps. Closing your eyes to be able to enjoy the pleasure to the fullest.

You know that Jungkook is watching you. Speechless and completely absorbed in how you dedicate yourself to your own sexual fulfillment. How you begin to blossom like a rose, to light up and shine like a greek goddess while pleasuring yourself.

You bite your lower lip and enjoy the feeling how the ball of pure ectasy and desire built up in your abdomen. Your breasts bounce gently with every thrust, this sight of his mistress is so erotic for Jungkook, it makes it so hard for him to behave and not to get carried away by the pleasure.

When you open your eyes again, you're greeted by Jungkook's needy but also awestrucked look.

With a smile you let your right hand wanders down your body to play with your sensitive pearl, moaning completely shameless. In the corner of your eye you can see how your little boy dissolves under his desire for you.

His dick begins to twitch in you but you continue to torture him. He knows the rules.

You ride him faster and faster, moaning and panting your lust into his face, touching yourself in front of his eyes. Using him to satisfy your needs. Only your needs.

The waves of the climax hits and engulf you. It's difficult at first to find your way back into reality. You're surprised to determine that Jungkook actually controlled himself, giving him an appreciative smile.

"You're such a good boy for me, baby. Pleasuring me so good and following the rules as well. Now, let me give you the salvation you deserve, my precious angel...", you whisper as you go down on him. Giving his length a gentle kiss before your lips closes around his oversensitive tip.

[ohdearhiddles]

SUMMARY: You find yourself in the midst of overwhelming emotion, and Tom wants to care for you.

TITLE: I’m In Here (based off the song)

WORD COUNT: 2630

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: Angsty and fluffy; depression, anxiety. I tried to make this as non-conforming to any genders as possible, so hopefully this can be relatable to a person of any gender. I wrote this at 3am when I couldn't fall asleep and so... yeah. It's unedited, but I hope you enjoy it x (AO3 LINK)

You laid in your bed, eyes trained on the ceiling above you. Every bone in your body ached with a tiredness you understood far too well. It was as if there was a weight, a pressure, pushing at your body from all angles and directions, tying you to the bed below. Your body felt impeccably heavy, too heavy to even think about moving from your spot.

The curtains covering your window allowed for the darkness to consume you. It clawed at your skin, your mind, and your soul. Sometimes it felt as if the darkness was impenetrable, like no matter what you tried, it wouldn’t go away. This, of course, you knew was not entirely true. You could easily get up and pull back the curtains to probably reveal a bright and sunny day, but at the same time, you couldn’t. There was not a single ounce of energy in your body, no motivation within you that would allow for you to just stand up and walk over there.

Not today. 

Moments like this lasted for hours, sometimes days. It was a single moment that spanned lifetimes. One second was equal to a torturous decade. Slowly, you felt yourself growing tired to the point where you weren’t quite sure if the feeling would ever end. This was a downward spiral - a beginning to an end.

You closed your eyes, wishing for sleep to take you away from the mentally draining process of just getting up. Your eyes remained shut for mere seconds, maybe hours, before you opened them again. The phone you had placed under your pillow the night before was buzzing erratically, waking you from whatever trance you had been put under the minute your eyelids had fluttered shut. As the screen lit up, the weight in your chest only grew heavier.

It was afternoon already. You could have sworn it was just 9am two minutes ago; yet here you were, waking in the early hours of the afternoon, missing breakfast as well as lunch time. I’ve practically wasted a day already, you thought. This thought alone was enough to make you sink even further into the bed, a familiar feeling of dread and uselessness taking control of your body. By now the buzzing had subsided and you were met with the ‘Missed Call from Tom’ banner across your lock screen. You knew that if you didn’t call the man back, he would only grow worried, but you couldn’t find the energy to care.

Sighing, you pushed the phone back under the bed, turning on your side before burying your face into the adjacent pillow. You curled into a fetal position, clinging to the blankets like a child filled with fear after a nightmare. Every second that passed only added to the dread filling your body; you felt repulsed by yourself that you had even managed to stay in bed for so long. There was so much to do and yet here you were. Doing nothing.

Your phone vibrated again. This time it was short, indicating a text had just come through. You didn’t move for a few moments, waiting for a small wave of energy to hit you before you grabbed the phone for the second time in the past few minutes.

‘Are you busy, darling?’

You heaved a sigh before your fingers nimbly typed away.

‘Not really.’

‘I finished early, would you like to grab dinner?’

You glanced at the time again: 3:04. Would you be able to get up in time for dinner? Would you even be fun to talk to across from a dinner table? The answer was a hard no in your opinion. So, you quickly told him that you already had plans. Of course, he then asked what your plans were and you didn’t have a good enough answer right on the spot. So you figured you would just ignore the text and pretend you were busy.

Hours seemed to pass by as you laid in bed, thinking of all the things you had to get done. It was an endless list that would only continue to grow the more that you thought about it. Anything from buying new house plants to doing laundry to getting some work done was on the ever-growing infinite list of things you needed to do. The more tasks you added to the list only made you want to disappear, not wanting to take part in such responsibilities. It was too much.

‘Are you alright?’ Tom asked at 3:56. Apparently the minutes really did feel like decades.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ You responded.

The small bubble indicating that your boyfriend was typing appeared. You waited anxiously for him to say something, but he was taking far too long to answer. Part of you wondered if he had given up, but you wanted him to ask again. However, you didn’t want the gentleman to know this part of you. If he saw you like this, would he still be okay with having you on his arm at events? Knowing how easily you could turn around and be clouded with darkness, would he still want you?

Your phone screen lit up as an incoming call came through. Tom’s name was displayed at the top of the screen, a cute selfie of him smiling showing as his contact photo. Reluctantly, you chose to pick up the phone this time.

“Hello?” You asked, attempting to sound as if you had been up and talking all day long. Your voice betrayed you, though, as it got caught in your throat, causing you to cough for a couple seconds before speaking. “Tom?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” His voice graced your ears like a smooth melody.

You simply hummed in reply, closing your eyes as you tried to let his voice calm your mind. Tom was silent for a moment before speaking again.

“Would you rather watch some films and order pizza?” He asked, and for a brief moment, you found the strength to smile. Perhaps he had just thought you weren’t in the mood to go out tonight, but no matter the reason for him asking, you felt glad that he was taking you into consideration. The smile vanished as you realized that this meant you would need to get up and clean, get dressed, and properly greet him at the door.

“Maybe not tonight,” you replied quietly.

The line was quiet again as Tom processed your answer. You never said no to food or getting cozy under blankets with him, so maybe he was really catching on to what was happening.

“And you’re sure you’re feeling alright?” He prodded.

“Of course,” your voice was weak as you answered. The fragile state of your mind was causing tears to build up in your eyes. You desperately wanted to say that you were anything but fine right now, but for some reason, the words would not leave your lips.

“Y/N,” Tom sighed. “Just tell me what’s wrong, please. I can tell you aren’t okay.”

“It’s nothing,” you said, mentally hitting yourself for sounding like a high schooler that couldn’t admit when they just weren’t feeling good. The sound of you sniffling was a dead giveaway to the fact that it most certainly was not nothing, but you couldn’t say it was something either.

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.” Your boyfriend breathed into the speaker, “But at least let me come over with some food and check on you. Have you eaten today?”

“Yes, of course,” you lied. The lie didn’t settle well in your stomach as you felt it churn from either disgust or the mention of food. If you were being honest, you weren’t hungry. If anything, you might throw up at the sight of anything edible.

“Have you eaten recently?” Tom spoke, investigating your answer further.

“Not exactly, but-” you were cut off by the sound of his voice.

“Alright, then I’m bringing pizza with me, okay? I’ll be there soon, love.”

After Tom hung up, you sat up in bed, glancing around the room to see if there were any messes needed to be picked up before your boyfriend arrived at the scene. The last thing you wanted was for him to think that you were incapable of taking care of yourself on a day off. Seeing only a small clutter on top of your desk in the corner, you decided that it was fine the way it was. If he was going to get upset about a few papers scattered upon a wooden desk top, then that was an entirely different issue to deal with. 

You urged yourself to get out of bed in order to do the supposedly simple task of looking somewhat decent. Opting for just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, you took your time to pull the clothing over your weary body. The more time it took, the more of an excuse you had not to get back in your bed. If you allowed yourself to go back to bed before Tom arrived, chances were you would not get up to let the poor man in.

Your eyes were fixated on the hands of the clock that hung on the wall. The ticking sounds from the clock allowed for your thoughts to be drowned out temporarily. It was peaceful even if it was only that way for a few mere seconds. It was like a small breath of fresh air, one you desperately needed. 

However, the fresh air soon turned to a poisonous gas; it was suffocating you. With every tick of the clock, a newfound worry made itself present and you felt your knees go weak as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. The pressure weighing down on your chest made your lungs burn and your chest ignite with familiar pain. You felt sick. 

For a moment, you almost went to call Tom back, letting him know not to come over anymore. This thought was quickly pushed aside as a knock pounded on the door. How long had it been? How long had you been sitting there? You clawed at your clothing, nails raking down your covered thighs, itching to tear away the skin your mind had been held captive in for the entire day. Silence engulfed you as all your worries crashed into you full force like a tsunami of insecurity. Your eyes were screwed shut, hot tears burning your cheeks, as you attempted to silence your raging mind.

You were so deep in whatever panic had overcome you that you hadn’t noticed the hands that had snuck under your arms, hauling you to your feet. Your breath was ragged as you opened your eyes, watching as two aqua-colored irises stared back at your shaking form. 

Tom’s eyes were filled with worry as he pulled you towards your bed. He sat back against the pillows, pulling your body to sit between his thighs as he held you. His large hands rotated between lovingly caressing your hair to pulling your hands up to his lips for a gentle kiss. Honestly, you weren’t sure how long this lasted. All you knew was that Tom had probably used the spare key you kept hidden outside in order to enter and that the poor man had found you at one of your darkest points.

An eternity passed before you calmed down, your arms growing limp with fatigue as Tom continued to sway your body along with his. His lips were pressed to your forehead by then, seemingly hushing your thoughts while whispering sweet nothings to you. When you finally took in the man holding you, you felt embarrassed while he appeared to think nothing of it.

“Darling,” the term of endearment allowed for the tiniest bit of relief to settle within you. Tom pulled you flush against him, your head resting on his chest. “What happened?”

You shook your head feebly against the exposed skin below his neck.

“Have you been like this all day?” His voice was soft as he asked, hoping not to trigger any negative reaction from you. All he wanted was to make sure you were okay.

You nodded this time, pulling away to look at Tom’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed together in concern, and he still had some makeup on his face from the set he had just filmed on hours before.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, lifting a hand to brush his fingers against the skin of your cheek.

“I didn’t want you to see me this way,” you responded, eyes cast downwards to the sheets below the two of you. “You shouldn’t have to see this part of me.”

Tom heaved a sigh as he pushed himself further up, his back straighter than it was a second ago. He loomed over you even when you were sitting, and to be frank, it was usually quite intimidating. However, the position was far from the intimidating stance he showed on screen. In fact, his taller figure felt protective if anything.

“I would rather you show me these parts of yourself than you hide them away,” he spoke. His voice wasn’t as quiet this time around. He seemed to be trying to get a point across, “If I don’t see you at your worst, I certainly don’t deserve to see you at your best.”

You pondered over his words, wondering if he meant them. You wondered if the man before you could be trusted in the ways that he needed to be in order to handle you at these low points, and you wondered if he would ever grow tired of seeing you like this. Although this part of you was not something you could push away or hide for another day to later emerge, it was still something you had wanted to keep secret for at least a little while longer. Then you thought of how Tom had reacted and how he was quick to get you on your feet and pull you into a position where you couldn’t accidentally harm yourself. There was nothing left to think about after that. Of course he was trustworthy to handle you, but were you worthy of such affection?

“What are you thinking about?” His words broke through your thought process, and part of you was glad he had done so. He had just spent quite a long while calming you down from an episode that had stemmed from overthinking. The last thing either of you needed was for you to overthink this situation and get pulled under again.

“Just about,” you paused, contemplating your words, “stuff.”

“Stuff?”

You hummed in response, a barely noticeable childish smile playing on your lips. Tom leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss to the corner of your lips where your smile had upturned.

“What kind of stuff?” He questioned, his voice like velvet as his breath fanned over your cheek.

“How I couldn’t possibly deserve you,” you whispered into the air, allowing the both of you to soak in the words. Tom smiled softly before brushing his lips against your forehead.

“No, Y/N,” he breathed, “it is I who couldn’t possibly deserve someone as amazing as you.”

The evening carried on with you in Tom’s arms. Silence surrounded the two of you for hours, his presence washing away the insecurities and worries you held in your heart. Whatever worries you carried of him rejecting you for not being as carefree as he probably thought you to be seemed to vanish. Surely, this wouldn’t be the first time they would show up and taunt you, daring you to mess up your chances at happiness.

For now, though, it was just you and Tom, and that was all you needed.

[maddiewritesstucky]

Kinktober 4: Choking

A ficlet from the SugarVerse

It’s been heartbreak city over here the past few weeks, so this is really just a whole lotta softness funneled into my favourite pair to project onto.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Daddy Steve / Bucky

Tags: First time breathplay, sappy intimate bathtub hand job, intense feelings of trust and security, the softest choking of all time

...

Bucky doesn’t actually notice it to begin with, the first time it happens; all the points of contact between his and Steve’s body singing a warm, slow melody that pulls at his senses like taffy. Nestled into the cradle of Steve’s body, his back against Steve’s chest and Steve’s lips pressing soft against his cheekbone, Bucky lets his thoughts drift and swim with the water lapping at them in the tub.

Bucky thinks this might be his favorite thing, being cocooned like this. Bracketed by so much strength, Steve’s thighs and arms twined around him but completely void of tension, just holding, just being with Bucky here in the quiet. The warmth of the bath water sinks bone deep, all the more comforting for the rain pelting at the windows and the frigid wind howling outside, and Steve’s hands stroke love letters across Bucky’s heat-flushed skin.

I’m here, I’m with you in the dance of fingertips down Bucky’s ribcage, I will provide for you in the slow sweep over the softness of Bucky’s belly, I will keep you safe in the palm that lingers just a little over Bucky’s heart.

Smooth soul music rolls down the hallway from the record player in the living room, and Bucky’s attention sways back and forth between the low timbre of Steve’s quiet humming, and the pass of Steve’s hands over his body, drifting slowly lower.

He knows where it’s heading, this lazy unraveling that somehow winds them tighter together, and he smiles into his sigh of contentment when Steve’s hand finally finds a home between his legs. It’s a saturating kind of intimacy, the slow cupping and stroking of his soft flesh; the gentle touch of Steve’s lips at his temple. The warm embers of want are aglow in his belly and Bucky sinks down into it, letting his head fall back heavy against Steve’s shoulder, his eyes drifting closed as he fills and hardens in Steve’s hand.

It’s everywhere, that touch. It’s Steve’s hand on his cock, yet he feels it all over; feels surrounded by it, by Steve’s skin against his and Steve’s breath on his cheek, it all blends into one. That’s why it takes a moment for it to sink in, when it happens; when Steve’s other hand skims up Bucky’s body, and settles gently on his throat.

It’s such a tender, careful grip, void of the pressure and insistence that could so easily accompany the gesture, but it steals Bucky’s breath all the same. Steve’s hand is so big, so easily spans the column of his throat, yet there’s not the vaguest shadow of dominance or control in the way Steve’s thumb strokes slow from the hinge of Bucky’s jaw down the line of his neck; the way his fingers flex just enough that Bucky feels truly held.

They’ve talked about this before, the same way they talk about all the things they want with each other, all the ways they want to touch and be touched. But for all the times Bucky had said yes, said that he wants this, he’d never imagined that it could be so steeped in gentleness.

It’s as worshipful as every other touch Steve has laid on him tonight, and Bucky’s body cries surrender all the more for it. He tips his head back a little further, melts a little deeper into Steve; a soft moan catching in his throat as he gives himself over to it.

He knows the moment Steve feels it, that intentional letting go; can tell by the way Steve’s arms wrap around him just a little tighter, like he’s responsible now for holding Bucky together. The hand at Bucky’s throat becomes a comforting tether, a careful grounding weight that draws Bucky’s awareness to his breath with the measured tensing of Steve’s grip, only ever enough to glance at restriction before easing off again.

The hand buried between Bucky’s thighs moves just as intentional, just as unhurried; moves for the sake of drawing out pleasure. Languid strokes up the length of Bucky’s cock, cupping and rolling Bucky’s balls in his hand, dipping his fingertips down to rub deep, slow circles against Bucky’s perineum...it’s all so much, every touch molten around the edges with the heat of the water, every point of contact amplified by the pulsing of Steve’s hand around his throat.

He can feel the hard line of Steve’s erection against his lower back, and he circles his hips a little to rub back against it, but Steve makes no move to chase the friction. He exhales long and slow, breath shivering a little as it dances over Bucky’s skin, and curls his grip a little tighter, holds it a little longer.

This is about you, that grip says, let me give this to you.

And he can, Bucky realizes, his pulse kicking hard against Steve’s hand. He can let this happen, let this be about him, because nothing is ever truly one-sided between them. Bucky is turning over his trust, turning over his body, just as much as Steve is offering up his focus and the touch of his hands.

Steve lets him breathe freely until he doesn’t, holds gentle until he holds firm, and it’s all one and the same in the upward spiral of pleasure building between them.

Bucky doesn’t want to disrupt the stillness wrapped around them, but when Steve starts to whisper soft promises of safety close against his ear, Bucky can’t help but allow the pleasured sounds waiting behind his teeth to spill over.

It should be jarring, those desperate whimpers echoing off the tile when everything else around them seems to exist only in soft focus - the distant music, the storm outside, the candles barely holding their flames in the dense humidity. But it’s just another note in the song, no more out of place than the rolling thunder or the drip of the faucet.

It’s not as though Steve didn’t know it would happen, either. Steve doesn’t do anything by accident, not when it comes to Bucky. He knows the way Bucky will shiver, how his hips will twitch and back will bow, knows the sounds he’ll make when he’s touched just right, talked to just right. They might not have explored this particular touch before, but Steve knows Bucky down to his marrow.

Wanted, surrounded, safe...at the heart of it, it’s all Bucky ever really wants to feel.

At the heart of it, all Steve ever really wants is to find ways to give that to him.

When Bucky comes, it’s with Steve’s name on his lips, Steve’s lips on his cheek. The hand at his throat gives up its squeeze in favor of gentle strokes; the hand between Bucky’s legs instead curling protectively around Bucky’s middle to hold him close through the trembling comedown.

They’ll talk about it, later, wrapped around each other in the comfort of their bed. Or maybe tomorrow, when Steve will wake before him and bring him coffee just the way he likes it.

Steve will run gentle fingertips down Bucky’s neck, asking how he feels, if he’s okay. His face will be open and his voice will be soft, and Bucky will know with absolute certainty that he can give Steve his truth, because Steve genuinely wants it and will honor it no matter what.

And Bucky will smile, not just with his mouth but with his eyes and with his voice and with all of himself, because just like every other time...the truth will be that he’s never felt better.

(ao3 link)

[loth-creatures]

Archivist Troubles

It was up to Martin to do most of the shopping. While Jon was still learning to control his power and his...appetite, they’d decided it was best that he avoid people more often than not. Jon didn’t mind, at least not after the first few days, during which he refused to leave Martin’s side. Once he was confident enough that Martin wasn’t going to slip back into the Lonely though, he realized that the bustle of the market was indeed both tempting to the Eye, and overwhelming to him. Jon might not have been on Martin’s level of Alone, but he also hadn’t interacted with more than one or two people at a time in quite a while. And few of those interactions had actually been amiable.

 At any rate, Jon was content to record statements and even read some novels while Martin went out for tea, or paper towels, or whatever else they’d run out of. He would get his sunshine and fresh air whether he wanted it or not when Martin returned, insisting they take another walk through the countryside. As lovely as these were, Jon was only fit for so many. They’d discovered early on that his preferred romantic pastime was snuggling on the couch.

The last week, however, had been relentlessly clouded and raining. This was initially no problem to a pair of Londoners. If anything, Jon was happier to have more time to do ‘work’ which would soon melt into yet more hearth-side napping in Martin’s arms. 

But then the fog had rolled in. As the landscape grew muted and chilled, Martin grew quiet. Distant. Whether it really was the Lonely calling to him, or just the memory pulled from ordinary mist, it was having an effect. And Jon was worried into not letting Martin out of his sight again. Martin didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t hesitate when Jon insisted on accompanying him into town. It was clear that the fog wasn’t going to recede anytime soon, and they’d already put off getting real dinner for three days. The last of the preservables worth making a full meal out of had been this morning’s breakfast.

Jon immediately regretted his comment that apple-sauce and stale pretzels weren’t fit for dinner when they stepped outside. Since the fog had rolled in, neither of them had set foot outdoors at all, and Jon had forgotten just how cold the outside world could be. He must have gasped because Martin turned with a small spark of amusement in his lately expressionless eyes.

“Jon, maybe you should grab a coat?”

“Oh. Ah, yes.” Jon had gotten very used to sweaters and sweatpants being the only acceptable forms of clothing. How his past-self had insisted on pants or skirts that required belts and shirts that required ties was beyond him now. He grabbed his coat as well as one of Martin’s knitted scarves and they set out down the road hand in hand. The air was damp as well as chill, and it wasn’t long before Jon began to shiver. He tried to hide it. He was pretty sure it really wasn’t all that cold out, and he’d just grown spoiled. Martin definitely wasn’t shivering. In fact, as Jon looked at him, it seemed he was very still, despite the fact that he was walking. His steps seemed to lag, his pace was slower than usual. Being considerably shorter, Jon was usually taking two steps to Martin’s one to keep up. But now it was as if Martin was moving in slow motion. 

“Martin? Are you still with me?” Jon squeezed his hand urgently. 

“Oh! J-Jon?” All at once he seemed to jolt back onto the normal pace of reality, solidifying. 

“I’m here,” Jon said.

“Oh, I, heh, sort of forgot you were there.” 

They picked up the pace, linking arms for more solid contact. Jon wedged himself into Martin’s side as best he could without impeding his gate. The chill seemed to seep right through his clothing and cling to his skin. He was beyond relieved when they made it to the little market, and to see that it wasn't very crowded. The Beholding peeked through his eyes, but he’d recorded a statement before leaving so it was bearable. What was not bearable was the fact that his nose was starting to run. 

////

Martin hurried to grab everything they could possibly need for the next couple weeks. He had absolutely no intention of running out of supplies again while the Lonely had plans to camp on their doorstep. He stamped down the little worm of fear that danced in his gut. If Jon hadn’t been there...He shuddered. There was another reason to hurry, though. He hadn’t failed to notice that Jon was not enjoying the cold. It was impossible not to notice, as Jon was hovering so closely that Martin kept bumping into him with the slightest movement. It was really rather adorable, or at least it would have been if Martin hadn’t started to feel concerned. They’d been outside for maybe twenty minutes and Jon was already sniffling. And if it had only been slightly chilly before, the temperature was rapidly dropping as evening fell. Martin decided to grab some extra tissues and cold medicine. Just in case.

Though laden with baggage, they made an effort to get back as quickly as possible. As soon as the groceries were organized and dinner started, Jon stoked the fire and burrowed into the couch covers. Martin checked over the food again and went to settle beside him, digging in the blankets to find his hands. 

“Geez, Jon, remind me to knit you some gloves.” He started to rub and kiss some warmth back into them. 

“Remind me, to never ever go outside again, especially once it starts snowing.”

Martin chuckled. “But it’ll be beautiful in the snow.”

“Hmm. Write me a poem about it then.” 

“Oh alright, Mr. Jonathan Who-Needs-Fresh-Air Sims,” Martin laughed. “I’m going to check on dinner.”

////

Jon felt better after being warmed from the inside out with a bowl of hot chowder. Martin had dozed off beside him on the couch, and though Jon was loath to disturb him, he was about to drop his empty bowl. Reluctantly Jon stood to take the dishes to the sink, ignoring the dull ache in his head. He was suddenly so very tired, and he must have thumped a little too heavily into Martin upon returning, for he opened his eyes and yawned. 

“Ready to turn in, Love?” Martin asked gently.

“I just got c-comfortable,” Jon mumbled, suddenly aware of the slight scratching in his throat. Martin didn’t miss the catch in his voice.

“Are you alright?”

“Perfectly.” 

Martin gave him a dubious look, but stood and said matter-of-factly, “Well you can’t spend all night on the couch, Jon, you’ll ruin your back.”

Jon didn’t move. “As if it isn’t already ruined.”

Martin huffed in exasperation. Even though Jon had turned out to be wonderfully sweet when allowed to unwind in a safe environment...He still managed to be stubborn as all hell. In an effortless motion, Martin scooped Jon into his arms.

“Wha--Mahtin!”

“Oh hush, Jon. We’re going to bed, and you’re getting a proper rest, so I don’t have to listen to you complain in the morning.”

“When have I ever complained?!”

“Not with words, love, but you are twice as grumpy when your back’s acting up.”

“Hmph.”

His temper evaporated the moment Martin curled around him in bed, and after hushed ‘I love yous,’ they immediately fell asleep. 

////

Jon was always the first one awake. Years of being the first arrival at the Institute every single morning meant that Martin usually woke to a still steaming mug of tea on the nightstand and the sounds of Jon making breakfast drifting under the door. Once Martin had trained him out of microwave shortcuts, he made perfectly drinkable tea. And though it took him a few tries to get the hang of it again after years of rushed ‘cooking’ and take-out, Jon revealed that he did indeed retain the cooking skills he’d learned from helping his grandmother as a child. 

Because of this, Martin was surprised to wake up to a silent cabin and a warm mass still pressed against him, though rolled into a separate layer of covers. 

“Jon?”

Martin nudged him. He scrunched away, making a noise of protest that turned into a sniffle. 

“Oh, bother. Jon? Jon, please get up and let me look at you?” 

When he could tell that Jon was making an effort to get himself up, he began helping to dig him out of the covers. 

“There you are.”

“M--ahem--Martin? What time is it?”

“Long past when you usually wake up. How do you feel? And don’t say ‘fine.’”

Jon glared at him half-heartedly with one dark eye while rubbing the other with his palm. 

“Well. Not great. Throat hurts, head hurts. Oh, pass me a tissue please.”

When he was done blowing his nose, Martin gently cupped his face, sweeping the greying hair aside and feeling for fever. 

“Jon, you’re burning.”

“Hmm.”

“Dammit, that was fast! I thought you’d picked up a cold yesterday, but didn’t think it’d spiral out of control so fast.”

“It’s probably because I’ve left the Institute. Heh, probably only going to get worse from here then.”

Jon slowly slumped back onto his side, letting out a shuddering breath. He did not look good. 

“Will a statement help?”

“Maybe. There aren’t any left though. Have--ahem-- to wait for Basira’s next delivery.”

“O-okay. Well, we’ve got some medicine in the cabinet. I’ll make you some tea--always helps--and some soup, a cold cloth, if you think that might make your head feel better?”

“Mmm.”

“Jon?”

“Y-yes, thank you, Martin. Just come back to bed when you’ve got all that?”

“Of course. You know I‘ll take care of you, right, Jon?” Martin leaned down to kiss his scarred cheek.

“I know, Martin. You always have.”

@themagnuswriters

[izaswritings]

Title: saving atlas

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: (Post-Volume 7 fic). In the aftermath of the Atlas disaster, Oscar and Oz figure out where they stand. But first: shelter. 

Or: in which Oscar is Upset, Oz is the voice of reason, and Atlas winters prove to be the most immediate foe, incoming invasion non-withstanding. When the weight of the world is bearing on your shoulders, what are you supposed to do?

AO3 Link is here.

.

“Stop,” Oscar says.

The air is so cold it burns against his face, every inhale like a knife right to his lungs. The icy breeze saps what little warmth his coat might have given him, and right now even his aura is no help. He’s used it all up—aura and magic and whatever else besides—and now he’s left standing in the snow, with less than nothing. Oscar is cold and tired, and he wasn’t prepared for this, didn’t leave thinking he’d end up here—

He stops the thought in its tracks, mercilessly. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He just can’t. Already the memory coils in his gut, tight and angry, beating like a hollow ache. It rises up and he has to swallow it down before he does—something. Scream, maybe. Or worse—  cry.

Ironwood is going to leave Mantle to die.

Even just the thought, Oscar thinks, chills him worse than the wind.

“All I want to know,” he says, at last, “is how we save Atlas next.”

He can feel Oz’s hesitation like a lump in his throat. Fear of a different sort, preemptive defeat. That may be—a harder task than we can handle.

“It’s not about handling it!” He means to sound calm; instead, his voice snaps. Oscar closes his eyes, and grits his teeth against a scream. “He’s going to—to—”

Pain flares up his side like a spark, right where the bullet had hit. Oscar presses a hand against the bruise and exhales hard. “Please. I—” The words are bitter, but the feeling behind them is complicated. He is so tired. And Oz has been gone for a long time, when they really could have used him back sooner. But at the same time, Oscar understands. And he is also just so, so grateful, that at least in this moment, he is not out here in the cold alone. “I don’t know what to do.”

…To start, perhaps shelter.

“Oz—”

We are no help to anyone like this. Oz sounds as reluctant as Oscar feels; this mollifies him little. Your aura is broken. You… we need to rest.

“But Salem—!” He can’t finish. Just the name makes his head spin, pounds through his skull with all the gravitas and fear of hundreds of lives. If he heard Ruby’s transmission right, then Salem is planning to come to Atlas. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe now. In the back of his mind, the memories that aren’t his own whisper: Bad things happen when Salem comes calling.

Oz, too, in his head, takes a long moment to answer. …I know. It’s funny, that for all the memories Jinn showed them, there is nothing in Oz’s voice that speaks of once loving this woman. All Oscar can feel from him is dread, and a dull hatred borne from years of endless loss. Every good thing Oz ever tried to do, Salem has always destroyed. But that doesn’t change the facts. You are already freezing. And, I imagine, in a great deal of pain. The bullet didn’t break through your aura, but that doesn’t mean it won’t leave a mark.

He wants to argue it, but fresh pain flares and Oscar can’t. Oz is more right than he probably realizes. He shakes his head. “But…”

Oscar, please. I hate this as much as you do, but if we do not recover, then we will be less than useless. And that will be so much worse.

Oscar breathes in. The air burns. It’s so cold it takes everything he is just to keep from shivering, and Oscar exhales slowly through his teeth. Damn it. Damn it. He’s not going to cry. “…Fine.”

There is a feeling from Oz like relief, wordless and grateful, and Oscar ignores him, rubbing at his arms for warmth and finally taking in his surroundings. Shelter. He needs shelter, and a place to hide, until he can face the cold with aura in place. But his surroundings are cold and gray, barren. A great downward spiral of a pit, with roughshod buildings and unpaved roads. The houses are sparse and decaying, little more than hollow shells. He can’t even see any heating grates.

This is what lies under Atlas? This is the pit beneath the city? It looks… it is… worse off than even Mantle. He’d call it abandoned, except it’s clearly not—just neglected to a degree that makes something in Oscar go small and furious.

The sting of disappointment rises up in his throat, stronger this time, strangling. He’d really thought… they’d been so close! So close to saving Mantle, to choosing trust. But maybe they were never as close to peace as Oscar had hoped. Maybe this was always going to fall apart. He gets the sudden and looming sense that Ironwood never really saw Mantle, or this place, as worth saving at all.

You couldn’t have known. Oz sounds tired. It’s not your fault.

Oscar starts walking. His feet sink in the snow. “You weren’t there.” There’s no accusation in his voice—just fact.

…No. But I—saw what happened. In a way. And it wasn’t your fault, Oscar. You did—everything right. Another pause, longer this time, and Oz concludes, very quiet: You did better than I ever could.

Oscar hesitates mid-step, staring at the ground. He wants to protest, but he can feel the sincerity. Oz means it. It makes something go funny in his chest, to hear that. Oscar blinks down at the ground, watching his shoes, and doesn’t answer. Just remembers, suddenly and clearly, the first thing Oz had said to him. Actually, you saved us. Now he wonders, quietly, if maybe Oz had meant something other than just surviving the fall.

Oscar doesn’t ask, though. He puts a bracing hand against his side, still sore, and looks up into the sky. Atlas is a looming shadow, and the storm clouds are dark and forbidding… but still. The pale light of the coming dawn is beautiful against the ice.

“I’m glad you’re back, Oz,” he says, finally.

You don’t need to lie to me, Oscar.

“I’m not.” He starts walking again. “I got used to hearing you, I guess. And you weren’t so bad, really. And then, when you just… weren’t there…” He’s not sure how to explain it—the emptiness, the hollow pit, the silence worst of all—so he doesn’t try. He takes another step, hand pressing harder at his side. The pain is blinding. Oscar takes a shaky breath. “I never hated you. Not really. I just—I wanted the truth. I think we all did.”

…I know.

“Mm.” He takes another step, and his knee almost buckles. “Ah—”

May I?

“What?” Oscar blinks, fast. His first instinct is to say no—he’s never liked losing control—but already he can already feel Oz pulling away, and Oscar swallows down the instinctual denial. Oz only means to help. And honestly, Oscar could use a break. But on the other hand… “It’s not gonna be fun, feeling this.”

I assure you, I have gone through far worse. Oz’s tone is almost dry. You’ve seen a few.

For a moment Oscar has no idea what he’s talking about, but then the memories click. Ohhh, right, the constant death via godly bickering, and not to mention that whole bit with dragging himself across the ground while suffering from a terrible stomach wound… Yeah, no, Oscar remembers. “Still—”

Please. If you won’t let me apologize… at least let me shoulder some of the burden.

Oscar considers this and sighs. He closes his eyes, drifting back—and then his limbs are not his own, and he is there and yet he is not, and the pain is suddenly and wonderfully far away, barely an echo.

Oz, in control now, takes a sharp breath and almost stumbles. “Oh.”

Told you.

“You did, but I confess, I didn’t expect…” He presses a hand to their side. “You’ve had a hard battle.”

Bullet didn’t help.

“No.” Oz’s voice goes briefly hard. “No, I suppose not.” He straightens, turning around to look, flexing their fingers. For a moment their mouth pulls in a grimace.

Are you okay?

“Just—unused to this. I’ve never… done—well, that, before. Locking myself away. Now… It feels like going out of practice.” He rolls their wrist, flicks out the cane. “I’ll adjust.”

You old man.

Oz exhales hard, almost a laugh. His surprise flickers bright and warm, the barest hint of a smile. “Well, I suppose that is true…”

The conversation tapers off, and Oz takes them higher up the pit, closer to Mantle’s edge. Beyond that momentary stumble, the pain doesn’t seem to touch him at all; with the cane as a crutch, he walks as if they are perfectly fine, rather than on the verge of collapse. Which is good, Oscar supposes. People tend to remember injured children, and tend to ignore weird ones walking with fancy canes. Good for staying undercover.

On one of the ledges of the pit, they find a small house with the door already swung open. Oz takes them inside, and shoves the door shut behind them. The heating is still off—if it even exists down here, a thought that makes Oscar flinch and Oz tight-lipped—but there’s some moth-eaten blankets in one corner and an empty bed elsewhere, and Oz curls them up in the corner of the abandoned home, with some food and a small water bottle he’d swiped from the cupboard.

Oscar takes in the place, the tiny kitchen and barren bedroom, and sighs. Who do you think lived here?

“Hopefully someone who managed to evacuate.” Oz sips at the water. “We’ll take an hour to recover here. Then, we need to discuss our next move.”

I don’t know where the others are. I told them to go ahead…

“With luck, they have. If they’ve been detained, that may pose a… difficulty.” Oz pats down their side. “Where did you put your scroll?”

Left pocket. Wait, wouldn’t you know?

“When I say I was watching, it was really only the barest minimum of awareness. That is, when you were stressed, or felt you were in danger. So no.” Oz tugs out the scroll, pulling it open. “Hmm.”

Surprised it isn’t broken.

“They are remarkably sturdy things.” He taps their finger against the screen, frowning faintly. “Oh, joy.”

There is a bright blue alert flashing across the screen—updated orders for the whole of Atlas Military. Oz taps at it, and the banner expands, taking up the screen. A row of faces stares up at them. The main group—RWBY and JNPR—are listed under a banner labeled Arrest on Sight. Qrow is now under Detained. And Oscar—

There’s an X through his photo, and a small note beneath his name. Deceased.

For a moment neither of them says anything. The silence weighs down like a physical thing. Oz shifts on the bed and exhales hard, and then lifts a hand, tentative, to their cheek. Their fingers come away damp with tears. “Oscar.”

Are you—?

“…No.”

Oh. Which means… the tears are Oscar’s.

With that understanding, all at once, everything crashes down on him. Neapolitan. Losing the relic. Facing Ironwood, hoping against hope something could still be salvaged, and then—

Oscar is suddenly glad to not be in control anymore. If he was, he thinks he might crumple, or worse, hyperventilate. Everything goes shaky. Their vision blurs. I…

Oz carefully wipes the tears away with one edge of the blanket, their sleeves too dirtied and torn for use. “It’s okay.”

I don’t even know why…

“I do.” Oz lifts a hand to their chest. “I feel it too. We trusted him. We thought he would make the ri—” He stumbles, briefly. “…a good choice. We thought things would be okay. That Atlas and Mantle could stand together, that Remnant could be reunited. And even then.” Oz sounds bitter. “In that final moment. My presence would have only angered him, I think, but—I’d truly hoped that you would be able to change Ja… General Ironwood’s mind. I never thought…”

He shot me. The words are dull, empty, devoid. The shock hasn’t hit him yet. Not really. He tried to kill me. He thinks he did kill me. And I don’t think he even cares.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Why are you apologizing?

“I—”

Oh.

“Never mind.”

No. No, you’re right. I think—I always thought so too. The bitterness settles down on both them, a shroud. Always trying to wake you up… and even then, he asked which one of us it was, when I walked down there. I wonder if he ever saw me for me.

“The others did. Do. Miss Rose, Mister Arc, Miss Valkyrie… I have seen that, too. They care deeply for you.”

And now they’re going to think I’m dead, too.

“…Ah. A fair point.” Oz frowns down at the scroll. “This is, perhaps, a problem.”

Can we get in contact with them?

“Hmm.” He brings a hand to their ear, to the comm piece, and waits. Nothing. “We are still too far out of range, I think. Too far below. If we got back to the sky…”

Oscar considers something else. It says… Qrow got detained.

“…so it does.”

What prison do you think they’d throw him in?

“I have a few ideas.” But Oz sounds hesitant. He swallows. “Oscar—”

Hm?

“I—that is, I am not sure…” He trails off, as if unable to finish. Their lips pull in a grimace.

He’ll be mad. Oscar is frank, certain. I mean, probably. The others too. But it’s not the same as before. We’ve all had time. Atlas has… we’ve grown a lot. All of us. You said you were watching some of it—you saw that too, right?

“I did.” There is a quiet warmth there. A muted pride.

Then, you know. They’ll be angry, I think. But Qrow—and the others, they’ll listen. We’ll listen. You came back. And whatever you say about me saving us, well, you kept me from blacking out, which is its own help, so.

“Oscar—”

You’re not—it’s not like with Ironwood. You’re not an enemy. I’m pretty sure no one ever saw you as one. They just wanted the truth, and now we have it… and if I’ve learned anything from today, then its only too late if you make it that way. You can always still choose trust. You can still choose to build trust.

Oz goes quiet, distant. He stares off at nothing, and then slowly shakes his head. His smile is a faint, disbelieving thing—but genuine, too. “I said before that I had reasons for the things I do. For the lies, especially.” He closes his eyes. “But I admit, Oscar. These past few weeks have… swayed me to your side, so to speak.”

The truth didn’t break them, Oz.

“No. It didn’t.” He straightens. “All right. We’ll do it your way. Trust others, as you like to say. Starting with…” He taps the scroll. “You’re quite right. Qrow would despise prison.”

So…

“We need to find a way to Atlas.” Oz downs the last of the water and food, and stands, stretching out their arms. Their aura flickers up, weak but slowly strengthening. “Evacuations have stopped in Mantle, but if I can find us a ship…”

You can fly an airship? Wait, what am I saying…

“Beyond crash-landing expertise, I was also there when they were first being built, you know.”

Wow, you really are ancient. But Oscar almost feels like laughing, the earlier grief beaten back. He hasn’t realized until now how much he’d missed Oz. And he thinks... he did miss Oz. He hasn’t missed all of it—the fighting, the lies, the body-snatching—but he’d missed this. The echo of a voice in his head. The warmth of not being alone. Of having someone there to turn to, whether Oscar needed it or not.

And strangely, for all the time he’s been gone, Oz being back is… easier, somehow, than it was before. Less like being haunted, and more like living in tandem. Maybe it’s the merge, or the shared memories… or maybe it's something else. Relief, perhaps. There are no more lies or fears to stand between them. All of Oz’s secrets are now brought to light, no more pretending necessary—and Oscar, at ease with his fate, has grown stronger and surer of his place here, all on his own.

It feels… equal, now. As if, for the first time, Oscar and Oz are finally on the same page.

Thank you for coming back.

Oz hesitates. “I should have—”

It doesn’t matter. He can’t smile, but he hopes the feeling comes across. Just… thanks.

“…Of course.” Oz ducks their head. Then he takes a breath. “Well, then! To Atlas.”

Oscar almost laughs at him, but that would be rude. Instead, he settles back with a sigh. So, what now… find a ship, save Qrow, connect with the others, help Mantle, stop Salem’s probable invasion…

“One thing at a time,” Oz says, smiling faintly, and pries open the front door, stepping back into the sun. The air burns with winter fury; the wind howls a storm. But the cold is lessened, beaten by their aura, and the oncoming darkness of the storm still pales, for now, to the sun-lit horizon. In this moment, the worst has not yet come. In this moment, there is still a chance. The determination rises in them twofold, a feeling like setting your feet and lifting your head, and the grief of the long night fades away, if only for now.  

Let’s go save Atlas.

Oz’s smile grows, a little wider, a little stronger. He lifts their head, tilting their face back to the sun. In the glint of sunlight, their eyes burn bright and gold.

“Agreed,” Oz says, and heads toward the city proper, cane in hand and gait steady, taking the first step of many on the long trek back.

[sortasirius]

5 or 19 for Destiel. :)

Hello my friend because I have been so bad at writing prompts or one shots you get BOTH

Link to post

Prompt me up!

5. “WHO LEFT THE TURKEY IN THE OVEN?!”

Words: 1053

A Christmas fic???  I guess my brain just wants the year to be over lmao

Three hours, thirty two minutes, and twenty seven seconds. Sixteen minutes and twenty five seconds until his next check.  Dean is not anal-retentive, thank you very much for asking, he just knows that turkeys have about a five minute window from being raw to being like eating sand. It is an exact science that he has perfected over the years.  And that is not going to be messed up tonight.

The bunker’s halls are filled with cheesy Christmas music, the smell of the meal that Dean has literally been working on since dawn wafting into every room.  It’s their first Christmas as a real family, with Jack back and, well, whole.  With Eileen, with Cas.  Dean hasn’t had a Christmas since before he went to hell, and even though he clutched that night to his heart like a precious scrap of paper, he’s excited to have a holiday where they don’t have to worry about the next big bad thing coming to get them, or to have tragedy hanging over their heads. To, you know, be normal.  Well, as normal as you can get when they had all died multiple times and two of their guests were angelic in nature, the other one recently resurrected from the great beyond.

“You need to talk to Cas,” Sam’s voice comes from the doorway, and Dean barely spares a glance in his direction, too focused on his goal to think about much else.  Eileen is with Sam, looking concerned.  Concerned enough that Dean stops chopping onions and wipes his hands on his apron (aprons fucking rock).

“What d’you mean?  What’s wrong?”

“He says he caught wind of a case,” Sam’s eyebrows are knitted in concern, “He wants to leave.”

Dean feels the color drain out of his face, which is a little embarrassing.

“He wants to leave?  Like now?”

“Yeah, he’s grabbing some stuff and getting ready to go.”

Dean stares at them, and then at the oven, where his masterpiece is roasting.  He checks his watch.  Okay. He has about twenty minutes until he needs to take it out.  Well, seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds to be exact.  Dean sways on the spot, torn between his carefully prepared and polished bird and having an empty place at the table he had carefully laid out the day before, with the place next to him being empty.

Neither sound appealing, but one makes his gut twist. He decides to handle that one.

He washes his hands methodically, trying to get them as clean and onion-free as he possibly can.  Approaching Sam and Eileen, he pokes Sam in the chest.

“Watch that turkey.  It’s gotta come out in,” he checks his watch again, “Fifteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds.”

“Okay Dean.”

Dean narrows his eyes and stands his ground, looking between both of their amused faces.

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell you are,” Eileen grins at him, “Please just go get Cas.”

Dean sways again, taking one last sweeping look at the kitchen before stomping towards Cas’ room.  Empty.  Fuck.

He checks the garage, the basement, checks in with Jack in his room, before finally hearing clanking in the armory.  Fucker, gonna take his guns on Christmas Day before he can have his turkey?  Dean doesn’t think so.

Cas is methodical in his movements, checking which weapons he was taking and diligently marking them on a list.

“You headed somewhere?”

Cas’ eyes meet his, and Dean’s hostility immediately melts.

“I caught wind of something, but don’t let me put a damper on the festivities, I’ll be back shortly.”

“And this can’t wait?  You know, until I could go with you?”

Cas’ shoulders sink a fraction of an inch.

“What’s going on, Cas?”

“I’m just not feeling very festive, human holidays always feel strange to me.  So I don’t want to put a damper on anything.”

“So you’re just gonna go?  What about-” he cuts himself off, not wanting to sound like he was begging him to stay or anything.

“Dean-”

“Come on Cas, I,” he takes a deep breath, steeling himself to say the next words, “I didn’t get a lot of, uh, happy holidays growing up. It was just me and Sam and I, I was just excited to have a Christmas with everyone, with a real kitchen and have everyone, I don’t know, have someone.  Sam has Eileen, Jack has all of us, he’s the kid, and then…you and me…”

The words sound closer to the truth than he meant them to.  But Cas’ eyes soften by degrees, Dean could always tell that because they seemed to turn a lighter shade of blue.

“You and me.”

Dean opens his mouth, trying to make his thoughts into words, thoughts that had been buried in the back of his mind for years, literal years.

“You know, we could, be something.”

Cas smiles this bright and blinding smile, something so brilliant that it takes Dean’s breath away, but he doesn’t have time to get it back before Cas closes the space between them and pulls Dean forward by his flannel until they crash together, and Dean searches for Cas lips so quickly it’s a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t really care.  Cas’ lips are soft and chapped and warm and Dean sighs into his mouth, relaxing as the tension between them, pulled taught like a string, finally eased.

Cas is the one to break the kiss, but it’s so gentle that Dean knows it isn’t a rebuke, just a wait til later.  Dean could live with that.

“So no hunt?”

Cas smiles at him.

“I suppose it can wait.  After all, it’s only a spontaneous combustion or two, nothing we can’t handle.”

Dean reaches for his hand instinctively, and it isn’t until he smells a too done smell coming from the kitchen that he starts running, dragging Cas with him.

“WHO LEFT THE TURKEY IN THE OVEN?!”

Sam comes skidding into the room, only barely registering that Cas and Dean are, in fact, holding hands, but grins as he nearly drops Dean’s overdone turkey on the floor in his haste to stop it from burning.

Sam is sufficiently guilty for his transgression, but despite the dryness of Dean’s masterpiece, when he’s holding hands with Cas under the table, he doesn’t really care.  People always come for the potato casserole anyway.

19. I love you more than I love food.

Words: 722

Dean’s never been sure where his love of cooking comes from. Hell, it’s not like he ever had a real kitchen growing up, and he sure wasn’t slinging meals when he was five years old and hunting was just a thing he did for bugs in the backyard.  He had to work with what they had when they were growing up, even when they stayed with Pastor Jim and Bobby, it wasn’t exactly five star dining.  He had come up with foods to keep Sam entertained though, maybe that was where he got it from.  The best thing they had were Funyuns crunched up with hot dogs and ketchup.  Sounds gross, but when the gas mart down the block is the only place you can walk to to get food and you only have ten dollars to get through the week, that kinda shit rocked hard.

Now that he has a real kitchen, and access to a real grocery store or, even though he hates to admit he goes there, a farmer’s market, Dean cooks all the time.  He falls asleep watching food network or The Great British Baking Show, he writes down ideas for recipes on the notes in his phone, sometimes even when he’s half asleep, and then he has to try and remember why he thought garlic and strawberries would ever be good together.

The only thing Dean loves more than cooking?  Eating.  It’s always gratifying to have Sam or Jack or Cas compliment him on his meals, but if he loved his food it was just an extra bonus for his ego.  

Sam starts to notice something though, he notices before Dean does which, retrospectively, pisses Dean off.  Dean doesn’t eat when Cas does.  He always takes a bite in between Cas’ bites, and watches Cas closely for a reaction, good or bad, to whatever is on his plate.

Dean laughs at Sam the first time he tells him this.

“No I don’t,” he rolls his eyes, going back to prepping his bell peppers for the oven.

“Oh yeah you do,” Sam grins at him, “Pay attention when we eat tonight.  You like refuse to eat when Cas is there.  It’s funny.”

Dean tries really hard that night not to not eat when Cas does but…come on, he’s gotta see if he likes the peppers with goat cheese right?

Unfortunately, his inability to eat when Cas does becomes a running gag with Sam.  He mentions it constantly, even getting Jack in on it, but whenever he mentions it to Cas, Cas just cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes.  Him not saying anything makes Dean that much more self conscious, but he tries not to dwell on it.  It doesn’t work.

Dean tries to pretend he has everything under control, until he makes himself and Cas some pretty epic turkey and swiss sandwiches for lunch one day, and he realizes he’s doing it again.

“Sam is right,” Cas points out, looking up from his sandwich.

“He tends to be, more than I’d like to admit,” Dean grins, his eyes scanning the room, landing anywhere but on Cas.

“You won’t eat when I do.  Why?”

Dean is afraid to see accusations in Cas’ eyes, or worse, understanding.  Understanding of something that not even Dean really understands.  Well, he does if he really thinks about it, but he doesn’t want to think about it, sue him.

“I don’t know.”

“Dean.  Look at me.”

Dean does, and then he’s under the force of Cas’ eyes, and he has a really hard time lying when he’s looking at Cas.

“Why?”

“I guess…I don’t know.  I love you more than I love food.”

Cas seems momentarily stunned by his words, but Dean thinks it’s a pretty good comparison, even though he, you know, said the “l” word. That’s fine, he won’t think about that until he has a spiraling panic attack late at night tonight.  That’s a future Dean problem.

“Well I also love you more than I love food,” Cas side-eyes Dean with a playful smile on his face.  He thinks he might be being teased.  And he’s not mad about it.

“That’s not fair, you’ve never cared about food.”

“I care about yours.”

Dean grins, still staring at the table.

See this, this is why he loves cooking.

[broccolettuce]

Claustrophobic Nightmare

Warnings: Panic attack, claustrophobia, kind of graphic language. 

Words: 1154

Remus opened his eyes. Or, at least he thought he did. The room around him was completely dark. No big deal to Remus. He actually enjoyed the dark. Might as well explore!

He didn’t even take a full step forward before running into a wall. He ran his hands over the surface. It was smooth with some bumps here and there but was definitely a wall. 

“Oh...kay? Welp! Guess I’ll go this way!”

He turned, took a step, and ran into another wall. He couldn’t stop the chill of fear that ran down his spine. He automatically checked his sides. With just a bit of reaching he found two more walls. 

“No, no,no,no,nonononononononono-”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. There had to be a way out, right? Or was he stuck rotting away here for all of eternity? The space was way too small to be stuck for that long. There had to be an exit. Where was the door?! 

He felt panic rise within him. He nervously chuckled to himself. He couldn’t panic, that was Virgil’s job. Even with that thought, he felt himself begin to shake as terrible images of the room closing in more and more around him began to flood his mind. Well, that was his imagination right? The room wasn’t actually closing in around him. Wait, he is imagination! The room was closing in around him! He began desperately feeling around and ramming himself into the walls.

He had to get out! The space was too small! He was running out of air!! He was going to suffocate and die in here!!! The room was going to squeeze and squeeze until it pushed his guts out and swallowed him whole! He searched desperately for a door. He couldn’t find a way out! But, he had too! But, he couldn’t! He pushed his whole body against the wall trying to force his way out as his heart pounded.. 

He had to get out! He had to he had to he had to! He was going to die!! The walls were going to squeeze and squeeze until he popped open like a melon! He clutched his chest as the pounding of his heart became painful. He wiped away the tears. The walls were closing in slowly.

“Why can’t you do it already?! Why are you tormenting me?!” He sobbed at the walls. 

Was the room spinning? It was too dark to tell, but Remus definitely felt dizzy. He had to find a way out!! He sobbed feeling anguish well up inside him. He didn’t want to be here! He hugged his sides, gasping for breath. He was probably going to pass out before the walls could crush him at this rate. 

“Please..” He whimpered out. He couldn’t add much more; his mouth was too dry.

He hated this!! Why was he here?! Did someone- Someone put him here, didn’t they? They didn’t want him around anymore and this was the only way they could get rid of him!!

“Why?” He half sobbed half gasped.

Well, he knew why. All those “horrible” things he said and made Thomas and the others see. How he acted. They didn’t like him! Now he was going to DIE here because of it!!!..Because of him! It was all his fault!

Remus was snapped back to where he was as he felt the walls push in even closer. He couldn’t control them. Just like he couldn’t control his shaking or the stream of tears. He gasped out, pushing against a wall again. He didn’t want to die! Not here!! His heart pounded. He trembled. He felt so dizzy that he had to lean against the wall to stand. Yet, he still sunk to the floor. He dried gagged as his thoughts spiraled out of control. He brought his knees to his chest, eyes wide and bloodshot from crying. He listened to his loud, gasping breaths. 

He should’ve listened! He shouldn’t have said or done those things! Why couldn’t he be more like his brother?! Why was he so terrible?!!  Why couldn’t he just behave?! His self-deprecating thoughts hit him like a million trains as he turned and began pounding on the wall.

“I’LL BEHAVE! LET ME OUT!! I’LL BE GOOD!! LET ME OUT!! PLEASE!! I WON’T SPEAK AGAIN!! I WON’T THINK AGAIN!!! I WON’T DO ANYTHING AGAIN!!! PLEASE!!! JUST LET ME OUT!!!!” He begged.

He forced out more and more words. Begging as his voice grew hoarse and distorted. 

                                                         ~

Deceit was stalking down the hall. He couldn’t help but hear a sort of...thrashing sound coming from Remus’s room. Deceit was about to shrug it off. Remus, since he was intrusive thoughts and “bad” imagination, had a nightmare almost every time he slept. Sometimes he liked them and other times, they actually scared him. 

But, the thing that got Deceit to stop was the quiet sound of sobbing. Now, that was unusual. Deceit quickly judged his options and weighed out the pros and cons. Finally, he silently opened the door and stepped into Remus’s room.

Not to Deceit’s surprise, Remus was sleeping. (It was 6 a.m after all.) But, to Deceit’s surprise, he was crying. Against his better judgement, he walked to the side of the bed that the sleeping man was facing. 

Remus shifted in his sleep and let out a quiet and desperate, “Please...”

Deceit actually felt a bit sad. Remus looked pitiful. He leaned against the bed and nudged the creative side. Remus slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Deceit. He was surprised to see him there, but was too sleepy to show it.

“Remus?” Deceit started, “Are you alright? You were having a bad dream.”

The dream was already fading away, but Remus still held some memories of it. 

He nodded, “..I’m..sorry. Did I scare you?”

Deceit looked surprised for at least a fleeting second, “You’re apologizing? Why? And you don’t usually mind scaring someone in case you forgot.”

Remus smiled sadly at the slightly sarcastic remark and sat up, “ I just don’t want you to be too mad, Double D. I-I don’t want you to get rid of me or something.” He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. Just like he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into Deceit. He was pretty out of it.

Deceit wrapped his arms around the other and Remus decided that Deceit gave the best hugs. 

The dream would fade away soon and things would go back to normal. Remus would talk about his ideas to a much annoyed Deceit. Maybe they’ll talk to (torment) the others later. Later later, Remus would summon anything he pleased and run wild in the Imagination. But for now, he enjoyed the hug and the confidence that that nightmare would never happen.

Bonus:

The two dark sides didn’t notice as Roman stood in the doorway for just a couple moments before sinking down. 

//This fic is based off of this amazing artwork by aimasup. I love their artwork so much, so give them lots of love. (I hope the link works. It should if you click on “amazing artwork.”) 

Taglist: @stop-it-anxiety @prinxietyforlifefightmeiswear (you didn’t ask to be tagged but I thought you might be interested.) @antisocialkoala @lizluvscupcakes