#tears are temporary fear is temporary what matters is that the child is no longer annoying and it's for the greater good for everyone

[anaalnathrakhs]

one day i wish to understand exactly what was my parents' modus operandi for my childhood because i cannot for the life of me figure out the logic but also there HAS to be some kind of underlying belief to it because i turned out with mom-n-dad-shaped fundamental flaws to my character

[roanfusions]

Faolan took a deep breath. It had been.. a while. Since he'd seen the memorial room. Here where crushed crystals resided in the only graveyard theyd made. Crystals couldn't be left partially broken- once irreparable they had to be killed completely lest they turn into an Antirnity or into Corruption. Vermin was truly the best to show for what having a cracked crystal was like.

He walked down the hall where names and urns are placed in the room, each covered in the flowers and gifts of mourning. Finally, he finds what he was looking for. Vahlia..

He sighed, quietly as he sat down. There was talk of stopping the ship. Letting it dissipate. Faolan figured he'd stay in the damn thing until the last second - he'd already gone to war for never leaving. He pulled out the flask, swirling the liquid to get a sense of how much was in it. Nowadays he always operated with a slight buzz - it kept things down sensory-wise.

There were probably ways that he could keep em down that wasn't whatever weak shit humans call alcohol, but he preferred this. The self destruction... it called to him. He looked up at the words on the memorial and skimmed them. There was no urn.

Vahlia's corpse was in him. He felt it everyday. Like a second skin. He reached over to trace the words on the plaque with his finger. He'd read them a hundred times. They were to blurry right now to read - tears, he thinks. He hadn't had enough to drink for it to be that.

In fact, the buzz was starting to fade. There was the low hum of every mechanic in the ship and a dull ache as every code interlayed into the very universe started to drill into his skull. Sure, he was able to filter it out in battle - it was easier with a crystal in him and a sturdy fear of death. But now, in the peace of the end of a war, it buried holes into his mind.

He knew the price to editting himself was something like this. Its not like fundamentally rewriting yourself to fuse with a crystal. It made him more susceptible to the code, now, made him a little sponge. It was his greatest hatred that he can no longer live just being able to read it. No, now it flowed through him unnaturally and made its manipulation so much harder. Worse off, he still didn't know how to bring back dead crystals.

He doubted he'd ever know. Nevertheless, his buzz was fading. So he tips the flask back and drinks the rest of it. Feels a familiar burn down his throat.

Right. He came to talk to her. Even though her corpse was in him. A mirror would be more appropriate. But the grave would do.

"Hey Vahl," He says quietly, resting his head on the marble slab. "I really miss ya. Theyre talking about ending the ship. Makes sense. The wars over. I think if they do, though, I have to decide if I'm going back to Vhext."

There was a long silence. The truth was he knew from the beginning he would probably never return home, its what made the homesick so thick. He had always been othered. The odd child who could speak in sentences from way to early, whos mischeif was always a little to clever for his age. The way he learned every academic he could so quickly they ran out of education they could provide. How he would've been the "perfect" Alpha- to perfect. He was uncanny on Vhext. His father knew he was a freak. And though he never said it aloud, it was unspoken.

Faolan never fit in. His mama tried so hard to get him to, but the weird kid was always the weird kid, no matter how skilled. Thats all Faolan was at home. The other.

So he left. He told himself it was temporary. It was supposed to be temporary. To show that he could bring back something of worth from a different planet.

But he didn't go to a different planet.

And now, one war later, he is even more of a freak then before. Returning to Vhext was a far off dream; a fantasy where he could go back to familiar lands and smells and sights and family. And it was probably going to stay that way. He was to... not-Vhext now. To other.

"I don't know if I can go back. What'll they think of me, you know? Most of em have only known war in fairytales. Territory disputes were nothing like what we saw. Even when hunts go wrong theres.. theres an understanding to it. Death wasn't even... the worst. If you died on Vhext soil, you returned to Vhext. No ones seen war. I wake up screaming so often. I shake when something reminds me of it. How do I... how do I explain. I was already different before. Its so much worse now."

His eyes were fighting to stay open as he sipped the last few drops of alcohol. "I'll probably just stay on this ship. I don't think... I don't think I can go home anymore."

[burrowsofblood]

Burrows of Blood and Shadow

Hi! I'm sticking the first two chapters of my novel up here. Have fun! Chapter 1 The Dream Surfer The dreamers dreamt all the time, free to go anywhere, to be anything, to see worlds outside themselves, inside themselves, and beyond themselves. The Dream Surfer joined them on their journeys. While he visited people during their sleep, he didn’t care for surface dreams and their fragmented images of inner turmoil or outer annoyances, silly tales that held their own logic, or nightmares and their temporary fear.

He liked delving deeper, to share the memories of dreamers while they busied themselves with slumbering thoughts, to see their innermost joys and all the special truths they kept stored away in private corners of their hearts.

He was just a dark green silhouette with no life of his own, so he lived through these people, sharing the happiness he could never have himself: new love, old love, the birth of a child, the simple pleasure of a flower, the triumph of a job well done. He saw it all through their eyes and it almost filled the unending void in what he assumed to be his soul. Almost.

The Dream Surfer wasn’t even sure if all the people he visited were sleeping. Maybe none of them were sleeping. How could he even know? It wasn’t like he floated up to bedrooms like some unseen specter. The Dream Surfer never left his world. It was a large expanse of blackness with doorways crafted of items that hinted at what sort of experience he might have.

He wasn’t sure what his world or even he was comprised of, or why he seemed to float endlessly in a realm where his only escape was the temporary exit into the minds of others. After millennia, he really didn’t care. But while he didn’t care about the mechanics of his situation, he still cared about finding out who he had been and how to finally move beyond the confines of this realm.

He hadn’t even fully explored it. There was one area he didn’t dare touch, a place filled with things more bitter than the darkest nightmare. The dreams dreams and memories reeked with the scent of dangerous rot, and even a glimpse in its direction told him he really didn’t want to know what went through the heads housed within.

Still, the Dream Surfer was growing more and more tempted to plunge their depths, to see if maybe the parts of his world and beyond that he feared were what would finally give him what he had been searching for his whole time of being — the wholeness everyone else took for granted.

He wanted to be real, to feel his own feelings and share his own joys, not just taste the dreams and memories of others. Maybe, just maybe, the only reason he could never break free from this prison of nothingness was because he only ever experienced the pleasure of the world and not the pain. Sure, he experienced the occasional frustration of a bad day at work, or even the grief of a lost loved one, but he shied away from anything he found too unpleasant, too dark. But if those untried paths of depravity truly were the final piece of the puzzle, the final lock on his cage, he wanted them — no matter what the cost.

So he traveled past the laughter, the tears, and the wishes, and went straight for black pathways of crawling things, whispering insanity into crevices of filth. There were no doors here to go through, or gates or archways, only holes, burrows that varied in appearance but all had a deep sense of gelatinous dark.

Black smoke hovered over one burrow like dense fog made of shadow. He sat on the edge and slowly slipped inside. The darkness enveloped everything as he slid down into the mind of someone else. It was a familiar sensation, but…harsher, more viscous. His own thoughts stripped the further he went, peeling like layers of an onion, until perspectives merged and he no longer knew himself. Chapter 2 Night Night The shadows crept along the floor, casting shapes that only children ever feared. The young girl edged farther under her covers. The shadows laughed ‑ a wispy sound like ice that drew in the surrounding heat. The child’s eyes widened and she gripped the sheets. The laugh repeated. She dove for safety under a pile of stone-eyed stuffed toys sitting in the middle of the bed.

Sleep well, little babe. And dream of faraway. Where covers cannot save you, and night eats all the day.

The girl’s whimpers filled the air, and the shadows took a taste — much too bland. They slithered closer and drew in memories, random and shattered —

A doll.

A face.

A monster.

A doll with black coal eyes and a sparkling pink dress. It was dragged along the ground by the girl as she raced off to a new adventure.

The face, a woman’s face — a mother — always had a smile and brought warmth and comfort with a gentle embrace. The girl sat at a table as the smiling woman set down a tray of chocolate chip cookies.

The monster was a cartoonish wolf with large, too-blunt teeth. It was nothing more than a mild fairy tale, hardly worth half a mouthful of fear.

That would change.

With just a little twist, a bit of a turn, anything could become a meal. The shadows twisted into one another, forming a cruel parody of the girl’s mother. It stood tall in the room, sharp jagged teeth spilling from its mouth. Wolfish eyes peered down at where the girl hid, holding a writhing, living duplicate of the girl’s doll in a sparkly pink dress. The doll reached its cloth hands out, calling the child’s name in a soft, sweet voice.

Don’t hide away, my precious child. No harm will come to thee. Your little dolly’s calling you. Open your eyes and see.

The girl slowly pulled the animals away from her face. She opened her eyes, crying out at the twisted vision of her mother. The living doll screamed in the child’s voice, while the shadow mother brought it to her mouth and devoured it whole. The girl opened her mouth to scream, but the sound turned to icy mist and floated silently away.

There’s no one here to save you, or take you to their breast. The time of love is over, now comes eternal rest.

The child scrambled up, but shadows twisted again into a shapeless blob, blacker than night. Multiple arms formed and pushed her into the mattress, smothering her with a chill.

Tears ran down her immobile face and one drop rose into the air until it landed on a forefinger of the twisting shadow form. It placed the tear on its swirling lips and smiled. Delicious.

The shadows untangled themselves and seeped into her pores, bringing fresh new fears. These weren’t the nightmares of children, or even the matured terrors of those that called themselves adults. These were real — solid — the fears that fears were made of.

They gave her the awareness of what hid behind the edges of her dreams, behind the faces of her family, behind the faces of the world, and beyond. She saw the lurking, sucking, dying things that inspired hatred and fed off fear. She saw the string of lies they spun, choking the love that kept her warm, killing the light her parents showered her with. She saw the battle that was all but lost, how the hungry beasts of the world beyond had nearly broken through, and only a thin layer of wavering light kept them at bay.

The shadows showed her themselves and fed on the shattering of her innocence. Delete Created with Sketch.

The Dream Surfer emerged from the burrow, coughing up foreign thoughts until he regained himself. The Dream Surfer wasn’t sure what to think of the tale. It was too strange, too new. It was as if he had stepped into darkness and come out the other end unharmed. It was a fun-house mirror casting the memories he’d seen before in a crooked fresh light.

Childhood. He didn’t remember if he had one of his own, but he’d experienced many childhoods of others. Happy children running to their parents, crying over skinned knees and lost balloons. The slow-building grief of encroaching adulthood, mixed with the exciting promise of freedom. There were innocent memories in this tale as well, but the shadows had twisted them into something misshapen and threatening. How much more twisted could the world get? How much more could it bend?

The shadows themselves were something new. He’d never encountered anything beyond humans. The Dream Surfer always thought he was the only non-human entity that existed. Were there other beings out there? Creatures far more strange and interesting than a couple of shades? Maybe he’d find things out here that he thought were only fiction. Or…things far beyond even that.

This journey was already starting to show potential. There was so much to learn, so many chances to find a way to finally gain his freedom. The Dream Surfer couldn’t wait to see just how much the burrows had to show.

He scanned the other burrows. One burrow had moss and grass spilling from the top. Dotted along the earth were sharp metal teeth, as if it was a mouth waiting to slam shut. The Dream Surfer dove headfirst inside.

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain

A/n finally writing that Kaz Brekker x reader angsty-fluff where the reader is all sunshine-y and Kaz is dramatic as always lol 

Might make this a blurb series bc i like this dynamic so much lol

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y reader 

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Kaz has a conversation with the reader (who’s a runaway princess) about what happens to people who stay near him. 

-- 

He once said that he didn’t believe in Saints. A moment later he conceded that perhaps they existed in order to appease Inej, but he was quick to tact on that if Saints existed they didn’t care about him. Inej and I had exchanged a look, she pleaded with me in silence to let him be. I opened my mouth despite the look in her eyes, but he had walked away before I could get any words out. 

He believes that the Saints don’t care about him, but as soon as he was dragged in by Jesper, bleeding and more broken than usual, it had started to rain. The rain is a promise. The rain is a sign that he will wake up. 

I tap a finger against the forgotten book on my lap, ignoring the dried blood I’ve been too anxious to wash off. When Kaz wakes up he’ll either scold me or partially tease me for waiting here by his bedside. The rain continues, cascading down invisible hope. 

“Save your prayers, even for you the Saints won’t regard me.” Kaz. His voice is raspier than it should be and his slight condescension is blighted by the tired flatness of it. But it’s him. He’s speaking. 

I tear my gaze away from the window, almost forgetting to tamper down my relief before finally looking at him. I haven’t known him long enough to see him in any level of defeat, but I’ve heard enough stories. The fictional exaggeration of those that fear him have made him seem so immortal. Some part of me must have internalized that because to see him like this, to see him so human is too intimate. 

“Don’t be so narcissistic.” Something about Kaz always leaves me feeling challenged, like each comment is some kind of dare. I adjust my posture. “I wasn’t praying because I knew you’d be okay.” 

His expression is unchanging. “So much faith in me?” 

There’s a soft edge to his words, an attempt to twist some kind of awkward denial out of me. Some days I don’t think Kaz enjoys anything and then other days I think he enjoys any misstep in my words. 

I shrug, pushing down the flood of relief still attempting to crawl out of my chest. “You’re always okay.” I scratch the back of my wrist idly. “It seems the safe bet.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been taking gambling advice from Jesper.” 

I half roll my eyes. “No--Jesper and I don’t play together anymore.” I let out an easy sigh. “Last time I beat him he bordered on a hissy fit.” There’s the slightest hint of upturning at the corners of his lips. “I should go tell Jesper and Inej you’re awake.” 

“I think you should change out of that dress first.”

He was more likable when I thought he might die at any second. “Wow--Kaz Brekker the professional stylist.” He has no right to judge the formal gown I’m in. Yes, my outfit is ridiculous, but I’m only wearing it because the Crows needed someone they knew at a merchant’s party for a part of some scheme they wouldn’t share the details of with me. “Yes, I’m aware that this dress is more tulle than anything else, but I’m only wearing it because I was helping you.” 

I wait for some retort about how he could have managed without my assistance or some kind of comment about how I didn’t need such a large dress to flirt and distract the guards as the Crows snuck into the merchant’s private office. “You fit in there more than you said you would.” 

From anyone else, I’d consider this an insult. “I was making an effort for the sake of your plans.” 

“I saw you before I went into the office, you knew the dances, the man took your hand.” 

That’s the weirdest observation I’ve ever witnessed someone reflect on. “That’s how those dances tend to work.” I don’t hide the confusion in my expression. “How much blood did you lose?” 

Kaz’s piercing gaze drops to the blanket on his lap. “Not a concerning amount.”

“Why do I feel like we have different definitions of ‘concerning’?” 

His eyes flit upwards, a partial smirk playing at his lips. “We define a lot of things differently.” He pauses, “You defined the life you slipped into so easily tonight as something you could never do.” 

“I can’t.” What is his problem? “One dance is different than an eternity of planning teas and marrying some man who only keeps me so I can rear his children.” 

“You’d end up marrying someone who could give you things.”

He better not be implying I should be having children. I’m seriously starting to hope he did lose a significant amount of blood because that would be some kind of explanation. “I don’t want anyone to be giving me children right now, but I guess your concern is ni--”

“No, no,” he screws his eyes shut for a long second, “You know what I meant.” I stay silent. “You’re technically a princess, y/n, you could have more than the Barrel.” There’s an odd silence as he pauses. “Someone like you should have more than the Barrel.” 

He speaks like his word is law. That’s the one habit of his I can never seem to forgive. Is Kaz telling me to go home? To go back to a mother who dreams of marrying me off and a father with a temper that often leads to violence? He may be Dirtyhands, but he is no one to tell me who to go back to. Not after I risked my anonymity to get him into that merchant’s office. 

I shut my book and stand in one swift motion. “I’m going to tell Jesper and Inej that you’re awake.”

“Y/n.” I ignore him. “Y/n.” Again, I ignore him, approaching the doorway. The rustling of sheets leaves me frozen, hand on the doorknob. “Y/n.” 

Without thinking, I turn on my heels while glaring. There’s no way he’s proud enough to have climbed out of bed wi--and he’s standing. Standing almost directly behind me. 

“Kaz Brekker, I am going to say this one time and one time only.” I keep my words measured and my tone flat. No room for argument. “You just had nine stitches put in near your heart, get your ass back in bed before that is no longer your only injury.” 

He pauses, lips pressed together into a tight white line. And then his mouth opens, pried open by an oddly light sound. Did he just--Did Kaz Brekker just laugh? He doesn’t laugh. I didn’t think he was physically capable, and now he laughs while I’m threatening him? I should hit him on principle alone and damn the consequences. 

“Did you--” I’m gaping at him with a rage I am not accustomed to. “Did you just laugh?” 

Kaz is quick to shut his mouth. “You did swear you’d get me to laugh one day.” 

Saints--now he chooses to have some kind of sense of humor. “Not while I was threatening you for being an idiot after saying my lineage means that I’m meant to be trapped in the life I desire least.” 

“I didn’t say that.” I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t deserve more than this because of your family, you deserve more than this because--” He cuts himself off with a sharp sigh. “Do you remember what happened the day we met?” 

He had wanted to return me to my father for the money. I had managed to convince him I could be more useful working for him without profit. The first day had been tense, I had sworn to myself that I would hate him forever. 

“I remember really hating you.” I remember thinking him beautiful despite his darkness. “I remember it started raining on our way here.” 

“You had a hood, but you pushed it off your head to feel the rain.” I don’t remember that because indulging in the rain is instinctual to me. “You looked at the rain, and you smiled--and then you saw a woman with a child and you took off your hood and gave it to them.” 

“What does that have to d--” 

“Watching that felt like intruding on an intimate moment I had no business knowing about, but it wasn’t that to you. That moment was nothing to you because that moment was who you are.” 

I don’t understand what he sees in something I can barely remember. “Kaz, what does that have to do with anything?” 

“I’m the monster that children believe live under their beds, I’m the bastard of the Barrel, I’m someone who gets blood on everything near them.” His gaze is harsher than I’ve ever seen it as he focuses on the dried blood splotched across my hands and arms. “And then I can’t even help you wash it off.” 

Those last words are the closest to broken I’ve ever heard him sound. “Kaz--”

“And you’re the girl who looks at the rain like it’s a gift from the Saints.” 

Is he implying what I think he’s implying? Even if I believed him such a source of evil, even if I felt like touch mattered that much--why would he care? I keep the much more frightening implication at bay as I exhale. Clarity will only make this conversation worse. “That doesn’t matter.” The words leave me in a low whisper. 

I stare at the ground until his silence is something I can no longer bear. Looking up as cautiously as possible, I take in his expression. I’ve never seen him look so--so enraged. “It doesn’t matter?!” He doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s practically seething. “I’ve viewed your presence here as temporary since you first came and despite that, when I saw you there…” The breath he lets out is practically pained. “When I saw what your life is meant to be--I didn’t want you to go.” 

The admission breaks something hard in my chest. “I never wanted to go.” My eyeline drops to the ground. “I didn’t want to go when you were trying to make me, I didn’t want to go when it was only for that evening.” I swallow a lump of emotion restricting my throat. “When you were bleeding out and Jesper had to carry you back here I let myself imagine what it’d be like if you died. And it hurt. It hurt so badly I asked myself if I would rather never know you than feel that pain.” 

“Would you?” His voice has gone hollow. 

I finally look up again. “No.” That word leaves me more bare than any physical touch ever could. 

“I stain everything that stays with me,” his voice has seamlessly shifted back to a tone meant for business, “Me wanting you to stay is more than enough reason for you to leave.”

My chest aches as emotions I’ll never be able to place a name to pound against my chest. “I’m a princess that ran away from her family and tried to befriend her kidnapper--you can’t possibly be narcissistic enough to believe that you’re what’s corrupted me.” 

“Y/n,” his voice is gravely again, the way it was when he first woke up. 

“No. What could you possibly think I’d say to that?” He’s insane--I’m not even sure I understand what he’s implying. “You know I’ll never agree with what you’re saying, so I have no idea what kind of reaction you’re looking for.”

“Maybe a genuine one.” 

The comment is so frustrating I can’t help but roll my eyes. The irony of Kaz Brekker asking for a genuine reaction to an emotionally heavy comment is almost laughable. “My genuine reaction is that you’re acting like an idiot because I don’t agree with anything you’re saying, but calling someone an idiot after they’ve been stabbed in the chest is a little insensitive so I can’t give you my genuine reaction.”

Kaz half-scoffs, “You don’t agree? Y/n--are you hearing me!? I want--I want you to stay.” Even angry, the admission warms me. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “More than that I want--” 

“What?” 

He shakes his head once. “I want something that can never be because I can’t give what needs to be given to get it.” 

“Kaz, if it involves me staying you don’t need to give anything for that because I don’t want to go.” 

“I-want-you-to-stay-with-me.” The admission is pried from him by some invisible force. He speaks so fiercely the sentence comes out as one angry word. 

He speaks so quickly a part of me is convinced that I misheard him. I watch him as he moves back to the bed, sitting down in a way so resigned I wonder if I blurted something out on instinct. 

“Kaz,” this is embarrassing, “I wanted to stay with you even when I wanted to hate you.”

I take in his measured expression, the only thing implying any kind of reaction is the way his eyebrows draw together. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand what that means.” 

“Why? Because you’re convinced you’ll ruin me?” 

“Y/n, we’d be together with a wall between us, keeping us from ever touching.” 

“I will tolerate any amount of damage you’re so convinced staying with you will bring, I will stay with you and never touch you and think nothing of it--but I will not stay with you just to stand in front of a wall.” I let out a tired breath. “I will stay with you but my one condition will be that you have to let me know you.” 

Kaz’s intense gaze wavers. “The first thing you’ll know is that me allowing you to stay is a testament to my greed.” 

I give him a sharp look, “It’s not greed if I want to be here.” 

He half sighs, leaning against a pillow as he turns to look out the window. “It’s raining,” he muses, “The Saints must have done that for you.” 

The sentiment is so soft my heart feels like it’s constricting. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Saints.” 

“If they exist, they do so for people like you.” 

I push past the emotion in my chest as I move to sit in the same chair I was in earlier. “I was honest when I said I didn’t pray for you.” I scratch the back of my arm, a coldness passing over me. “I didn’t pray because I knew you would be okay because you had to be.” 

“They wouldn’t have saved me,” he mumbles, “Or maybe they would have for you.” 

I shake my head once, staring at the rain with more fascination than before. 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship

[delimeful]

failed bounties and fresh bonds

commission for @the-panmixxia! thank you so much for your support! :)

warnings: fear/panic, unintentional child endangerment, pretty bad injury, hypothetical gore/death mentions, remus being remus

-

Virgil pressed his palm over his mouth, struggling not to make any noise even as his lungs strained for air. There was someone in his forest, and he was sure they were here to kill him or worse.

He should have left before tonight, gotten as far away as possible, but... He’d lived here for longer than any of the other temporary homes he’d found. It was the safest place he’d found.

The trees in the forest were old and huge, enough that they sheltered him from view. The mountain was even more so, with old dragon caves that he could spend hours exploring. There was a little town to the south, but the forest was big enough that no travelers stumbled across the part where he lived.

He’d only snuck down to the town because he’d wanted to see the lights that had been strung up in the streets. He wasn’t sure what they were for, but they were bright and beautiful.

He hadn’t meant to get so close. He hadn’t meant to be caught.

But between one moment and the next, there had been a tiny gasp, and he’d turned his head to see one of the townsfolk, a young woman, staring up at him in frozen terror. The sight of the human had terrified him just as much, and he’d tipped back onto his butt, his hand knocking into a market stall with a crash of splintering wood.

The spell of silence broken, the woman screamed, the alarm spreading as windows began to light all down the street. Virgil had scrambled back like a crab, before turning and fleeing into the woods, leaving behind the distant noise of opening doors and raised voices.

It had all led to this. He’d been seen, and they’d set a bounty on his head, and now there was a strange human in his forest.

Virgil could hear the stranger humming, his tone nasal and low, occasionally straying painfully off key. He’d been using the sound as a guide, creeping away as quietly as he could whenever it came into range, but no matter how hard he tried to put distance between them, the wind would carry that hum back to him the moment he settled down to hide.

The stranger was a skilled tracker, maybe, or had extraordinarily good luck, or actually had seen Virgil that first time and had been following him from a distance ever since, tiring him out like a wolf stalking a deer. He didn’t sound like a knight, didn’t move with the crash of steel or ride a horse. Virgil hoped he wasn’t a knight, almost more than he wished he’d never gone down to that village at all.

He let himself breathe in, quiet and shaky, and then pushed away from the wall of his cave, listening for the stranger so he could try and sneak away once more.

Between the distant trees and night sky, there was silence.

Virgil leaned towards the cave’s opening, scanning the sharp silhouettes and straining for even the most muffled sound of twigs underfoot.

At the lip of the cave, a human-sized figure swung into view upside down, baring bone-white teeth in an unhinged grin. “Boo!”

Virgil couldn’t help the small scream that tore from him, the noise echoing against the cavern’s walls. His heart racing, he bolted back down those familiar tunnels without another thought, fleeing even as the human’s cackling cut off sharply.

“—Hey, wait, get back here! I didn’t spend all night wandering in the cold-ass woods just to have a monster blueball me out of a fight again!”

Shouted into a deep cave, the stranger’s words bounced and overlapped until they were just meaningless noise around Virgil, only propelling him forward faster. He took the corners sharply, scrambling up near sheer cliffs, barely noticing the way sharp protruding rocks scraped against his shoulders or pierced the soft bits of his feet.

He didn’t realize he was cornering himself until he turned into a dead end, the paths somehow warped and unfamiliar under the force of his panic. Quick, skipping steps were pursuing him in the distance, which meant that the human could still hear his footsteps, and so he shuffled into the furthest corner of the cavern and focused on making himself still and quiet, no matter how hard his body wanted to tremble and shake and sob.

There was no doubt about it; the stranger was a bounty hunter, and Virgil was the bounty.

That nasally voice continued to echo down to Virgil as he rambled on, complaining or singing or making jokes Virgil didn’t get, all while steadily pursuing his quarry.

Bit by bit, the noise drew closer and closer, accompanied by the crackle of a merrily burning torch. He seemed to be utterly undeterred by the twisting, unsettling nature of the mountain, and what little hope Virgil had began to fade. There was no way that the stranger would just happen to pass him by.

It would take a miracle to save him now.

A cavern away, a chunk of old stone gave way under an overconfident foot.

—-

“Oh, fuck—,” Remus shouted, his brain nearly shorting out as he tripped directly into freefall.

His divination provided him with a slurry of unhelpful images, each one matching a tiny movement he made while falling: him landing on his legs and shattering both of them so hard he blacks out, him landing on his head and doing a lot worse than blacking out, ragdolling all the way down the crevice below, twisting so that his foot catches on a crack in the wall and wrenches his ankle— That one!

He howled as his foot caught, and then the bitch that was gravity caught up with him and his back and skull slammed against the wall, knocking the air out of him and causing little white flashes to appear in his vision.

It took a long moment to come back to himself through the pain, but when he did, he found himself still dangling in place by a single ankle. He’d lost his torch somewhere in the process.

He glanced down, and knew immediately that the shadowy drop below was fatal, the cracks of potential future bone breaking settling into his brain.

Glancing up, he knew immediately that his ankle was boned, going by the interesting angle it was making with the rest of his leg.

He contemplated reaching up with his other foot and trying to wedge it in another crack. His brain offered him visions of the whole bit of cliff face snapping into brittle pieces, and then more falling to his death.

He crossed his arms, letting all the blood rush to his head in hopes of that generating a better idea. Instead, he got a headache.

“Well, shit,” he said, succinctly.

Something big shifted, just barely in earshot. Remus didn’t bother looking ahead; it was obvious that the giant he’d been hunting had just figured out how thoroughly the roles had been reversed.

Sure enough, the movements shuffled closer, surprisingly hesitant, and then two huge, glowing eyes peered down at him.

“Come to grind my bones into paste?” Remus asked, genuinely curious. “Or squish all my organs out through my ears?”

Those eyes scrunched up a bit in revulsion, which was hilarious coming from a monster about to kill him. He wiggled his limbs around a bit, ignoring the resulting pain and cracking of brittle rock in favor of hopefully enticing the creature to grab him already. Just hanging around was getting boring.

The breathing above him quickened a bit, and then there was a curved, warm surface under him, lifting slowly until his ankle was no longer carrying all of his weight. Remus considered yanking the injured foot free before the monster could do it for him, but before he could follow through, there was the silhouette of large fingers poking and prying at the rock until it really did crumble away.

The cupped thing he was splayed across had to be a hand too, he realized as he breathed through the sharp jabs of pain from his ankle being released. From the way the townspeople described it, he’d expected something less… human-shaped.

Between his ankle and his head rush, it was no surprise that he blacked out a little.

When he managed to wake back up, they’d returned to a tunnel that led outside, going by the fresh air he could feel against his face. It must have taken the creature a lot more time to make the trip while carrying him.

Whatever it wanted him for, he wasn’t sticking around to find out. He cast around for potential futures-- he rolls out of the grip and smacks his head on stone, he lands on his bad ankle and instantly blacks out again, he waits a little longer and is set on the ground outside by--

“You’re a kid?” he blurted, his vision of a distinctly human, distinctly child-shaped face fading away. The hand under him jolted, and the kid made a startled sniffle.

“You’re alive?” he asked in return, his voice deep and big but also rough with… tears? Jeez, had the kid really been that upset about some asshole bounty hunter biting the dust?

The hand curled in a little tighter around him, one fingertip coming to settle on his chest as though to check that he really was breathing. The motion was gentler than he thought possible for a giant, and he realized fairly abruptly that the ‘terrorized’ people in the town below were full of shit.

He’d hunted this kid for a whole night, and all he’d done in return was avoid him and then save his life. Some ‘monster’.

The kid seemed to remember himself, and flattened his hand back out before shuffling forwards more. There was a subtle shaking running through him, and Remus had the feeling that the kid was going to bolt the minute he set him down.

“Anyone else live up here with you?” he asked, flopping back onto the hand casually. He felt that giant gaze drop onto him and continued casually. “I came up here for a bounty but it turned out the townsfolk are dirty liars. I haven’t seen a single monster.”

There was a little surprised inhale from above him.

“In fact, this place is so nice I might camp here for a while,” he added, waving a hand at the forest ahead lazily. “Make sure to send off any other bounty hunters so they don’t waste their time up here.”

“R-Really?” the kid asked, his tone full of doubt and suspicion.

“Yup! I’ve been told I’m an absolutely detestable neighbor, disturber of the peace, totally unrecommended, zero out of ten,” Remus paused. “But I’m great at getting rid of uninvited guests!”

The kid took that last step out of the tunnel, the early light of dawn spilling over both of them. Remus sat up, waving his fingers in greeting as they both took each other in as more than silhouettes.

Apart from the fact that he was giant, the kid looked like... a kid. An long-limbed, underfed, lonely kid. One with distinct cuff-shaped scars around his wrists and ankles.

Remus shoved down his anger, tore his gaze away from the old wounds, and offered the kid a sharp-toothed grin. The kid tilted his head, wary. That was okay. Remus could handle wary.

“So, what do you say?”

“... Neighbors,” he replied, hesitant and hopeful. Remus cheered obnoxiously.

He was going to have fun making those people regret ever putting a bounty on this kid.

[betweenthepages]

The Cure: Chapter 1

Summary: You get outed to your parents and it doesn’t go so well. But at least you have Jess Mariano.

Word count: 2370

⚠️Warnings⚠️: homophobia, homophobic violence

“Mom? Dad?” You called out, stepping into the silence of your home. You entered the living room and was met with the sight of both your parents seated on the couch. Your father’s gaze fixated on the floor with his hands clasped in front of him, lips drawn in a thin line. Your mother lifted her head in acknowledgment. The TV was off, no conversation being exchanged. Idleness hung in the atmosphere. “What’s going on?” You frowned. “Sit down, (Y/N).” Nervousness bubbled in your chest as you sat across from them. “Did I do something?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

Your dad’s eyes locked with yours. “Are you gay?” The question was completely unexpected. Your eyes widened in confusion. Sweat moistened your palms. “Am I- what?”

“Are. You. Gay. With that Mariano boy?” He gritted his teeth, his voice low to the point of growling. Your muscles tensed and you quickly debated coming clean or denying it. They wouldn’t be too pleased with the knowledge that you liked other boys, especially Jess. Heck you weren’t even allowed to be friends with him. You knew you couldn’t hide it forever. You were planning to let them know once you moved out and were no longer reliant on them. Perhaps deception would work, for now.

“No?” you put on your best act of confusion, “Where are you getting this from?” Your mother whipped her head towards you, eyes filled with a darkness that was completely unfamiliar. Your dad’s face reddened, fists clenched and visibly shaking. Fear clouded your senses. “What are these, then?” Your mother placed some pictures on the coffee table. Pictures of you and Jess. Holding hands and kissing. Your heart sunk to your stomach. “W-Where did you get these...?” Your voice was shaky from restraining tears. “They were left in our mailbox this morning, no envelope or name. How can you explain this (Y/N)?” Your mom scowled. Your throat went dry. Who would do this to you? Who hated you this much? Well, it didn’t matter who had done it, because there was no way to cover it up.

“It’s true, okay? I’m gay, I’ve been seeing Jess for-” You were cut off by a stinging pain on your cheek and a sharp sound echoing the room. Your father loomed over you, nostrils flaring and looking at you with pure hatred. You cowered in his shadow. “I did not raise a gay son! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! All those years of giving you a good life and a roof over your head for nothing! Disgraceful.” You whimpered as he fisted your hair painfully and reared your head back to look up at him. “You are not my son.” He spat. In quick seconds your body painfully collided with the coffee table, pain shooting up your abdomen. You barely had time to catch a breath before you were yanked up and slammed against the wall. Rough, calloused hands, pressing against your windpipe. You squirmed in an useless attempt to flee. Your chest tightened painfully. Your head felt light. You wanted Jess. He would hold you and protect you and take you away from this pain. Black spots dotted your vision and you thought ‘this is it. I’m going to die.’ Seconds before you passed out, the hands removed themselves and you collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. You cherished the temporary relief of having oxygen in your lungs while it lasted. You were kicked down into a lying position, your father’s heel coming in contact with area that hit the table. Tears cascaded down your swollen cheeks as you curled into yourself. The blows kept coming. You just shut your eyes and took it, holding onto hope that it would end eventually. By the time your dad finally took his foot away, your body was at it’s breaking point. Every breath came with immense pain. Bruises, scrapes and cuts blemished your skin. “You’re going to get up,” your father spoke, “and get the fuck out of my house.” You briefly glanced to your mother standing in the corner, staring at you intently. Her expression was unreadable, but she voiced no protest. You were in no state to be able to pack your belongings. Hopefully you’d be able to return and collect them. Or maybe your parents would destroy them. Right now, it wasn’t your concern. Your dad left to the kitchen, probably to get a beer, and your mother followed suit. Mustering the last ounce of strength you had, you crawled to the front door. With every movement your muscles ached. Holding onto the wall for balance, you carefully rose to your feet. Only grabbing your phone and jacket, you exited onto the pitch black streets.

You limped in the direction of Luke’s Diner, but gave up after a block. You were physically incapable of covering the distance. You quickly dialled Jess’s number, tears blurring your vision. It rang once. Twice. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breathing grew heavy. You felt a panic attack oncoming and you needed to hear Jess’s voice. Please pick up, please pick up. “(Y/N)?” Jess said across the line, voice thick with sleep. “Jess...” you whimpered, words getting caught in your throat. “(Y/N) what’s up? It’s late.”

“I-I need you. I need help. It hurts, Jess.”

“What hurts? What happened?” He was awake now, and seemingly alarmed. “I need an ambulance,” you glanced at the street sign, “I’m on Peach Street. Call them and get here, p-please.” Staying conscious was becoming a struggle. “Okay, okay hold on I’ll make the call.” Jess quickly switched lines and you leaned against the wall, waiting. Watching the stars kept you occupied. You were about to close your eyes until the blaring of a siren approached. You could vaguely recognise a car following behind it. As it neared, you recognised it as Luke’s pick up truck. You couldn’t see Jess’s face, but knowing that he came provided some relief. Jess got to you before the paramedics did. Warm hands cupped your battered face and soft caresses ghosted your skin. . “(Y/N), god what happened?” You chuckled bitterly. “Mom and dad found out about us. I’ll explain later. It didn’t go so well though.” You clutched your side. Talking was painful. Jess was about to say something but the paramedics told him to back away so they could load you into a stretcher. “Sir? Sir try to stay awake please.” Said a female paramedic as your eyelids drooped. Jess was out of your vision, but you could make out his voice shouting over them, asking to come on the ambulance. Of course that privilege wouldn’t be extended to non-family. Luke told him to buckle up and he’ll drive them there. You were exhausted, and the pain in your body was unbearable. Your allowed your eyes to shut, darkness replacing the blinding ambulance lights.

Jess and Luke sat in the waiting room, anxiously awaiting news about your condition. Jess’s leg was shaking and he seemed distanced in his thoughts. He had told Luke on the way that this had something to do with your parents. He’s had his fair share of beatings from Liz’s boyfriends, but he was struck with disbelief knowing someone could cause this much damage to their own child. The doctor emerged. “How is he?” Luke asked. “He has 3 broken ribs, internal bleeding, several deep cuts, contusions and a dislocated jaw. But he’s no longer in critical condition. It’s good we got to him when we did, or it may have been too late.” Jess‘s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Luke thanked the doctor and bid him goodbye, then focused his attention on his distressed nephew. “T-They almost killed him...” Jess whispered, eyes widened and watery. Luke sighed, pulling the boy into a side hug. In truth, he was just as worried as your boyfriend was. He was accepting your relationship and cared for you. Ever since you’d come into Jess’s life, his immature ways and short temper had ceased. His school attendance went up as well as his grades. The sarcastic remarks and witty insults weren’t going away anytime soon, but Luke knew there was a mutual love between him and his nephew. And he knew you meant the absolute world to Jess. “You heard the doctors. He’ll be okay. He’s strong.” He rubbed the teen’s shoulder in consolation.

Patients and visitors entered and exited the hospital doors while Luke and Jess sat in silence. The clock was about to strike 1am yet they were more awake than ever. Jess hadn’t particularly liked your parents previously, but now his hatred for them ran deep. Upon his first arrival to Stars Hollow, they had advised you to keep your distance because word of his troublemaking antics spread fast. But you with your sweet, kind soul was willing to give him a chance.

A nurse approached them. “(Y/N) (L/N) is awake. You can see him now.” Jess bounded to his feet, swiftly stepping to your room without waiting for Luke to follow. He paused abruptly at your door and took a breath. Your head turned at the sound of the door slowly creaking open. Jess stepped in, and a feeling of warmth evaded your body despite the chill of the hospital room. You shifted to make room for him on the bed. Without a word, he embraced you. Careful not to hurt you, he rested his head on your shoulder, and the cloth of the gown dampened. “Jess.” You cooed, rubbing his back. “I almost lost you...” he mumbled. “I-It’s okay. I’m not okay, but I will be. The hospital staff are doing their best.” You attempted a smile but it hurt your face. Jess pulled away with a sigh, calloused hand cupping your cheek. “I want to know what happened. Not now, if you don’t feel like it. When you’re ready.”

“Well, I got home and my mom showed these pictures someone took of us kissing. She said they were left in the mailbox by an anonymous. I told them that I’m gay and that we’re dating, and... yeah.” You averted your gaze to you and Jess’s intertwined hands, playing with his fingers. Jess furrowed his brows. “Why would anybody-” You cut him off. “I don’t care about that now Jess. It’s all so much, I’m gonna see a social worker and the police, I don’t know where I’m going to live, people are gonna talk about what happened. Plus I’m tired and everything’s sore.” You felt like crying again before Jess shushed you, carding his hands through your hair and kissing your cheek. “Hey hey, (Y/N) I’m sorry. Calm down.” He readjusted to a laying position and carefully guided you into laying down on top of him, using his toned chest as a pillow. “I love you. So much. We can figure everything out later, just get some sleep. It’s almost midnight.”

“I want you to stay and be there when I wake up.” You said. “Okay.” Jess smiled. There was a cough, you both turned to see Luke in the doorway. “Well, I’ll leave you guys alone and uh, Jess I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” He nodded, “Goodnight (Y/N), call me if you need anything.” You smiled at him and bid your goodbyes, before it was back to just you and your boyfriend. Jess leaned over to turn off the light. “I love you, Jess.” You said into the darkness. He responded with a long kiss to your forehead.

Jess woke up first. The hospital staff hadn’t arrived yet, so he wouldn’t get in trouble. He pressed light kisses on your forehead until your eyes fluttered open. “Morning.” He smirked. “Morning,” you grumbled, nuzzling into him. “What’s going on today?” He asked. “I explained the cause of my injuries to the doctor and now I’ve got to talk to the authorities. Then I’m seeing a social worker and doing some paperwork.”

“Where you going to stay?” Jess asked softly.

“If my parents get arrested then I’ll probably get sent to a foster home.” You sighed. “Is that what you want?” Jess frowned. “No, not at all. I mean, no way I’m living with my parents again, but also idea the of going with strangers...” you trailed off, focusing on drawing shapes on his chest. “Move into the diner.” Jess said without no hesitation. “Jess you know I can’t-”

“Yes you can! Really (Y/N), we can talk to Luke about it.”

“Talk to me about what?” Luke stood in the doorway wearing a questioning expression. “Sorry, I was going to knock but I overheard my name.” He chuckled. “Can (Y/N) stay with us?” Jess asked. “Jess no-“

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” Luke shrugged. “I- what?” You turned to Luke in shock. “We can make that arrangement, if that’s what you want (Y/N). You’re at the diner most of the time anyways.” It was true. You always stayed over with Jess and had dates at the diner to keep your relationship discreet. “Well yes, but being a permanent occupant is completely different.” You frowned. “Hey kid, your parents are real shitty people. This is a hard time for you. I have a feeling you don’t want to end up in the foster care system, so this is one less problem to deal with.” He said.

Jess spoke up, “(Y/N), I’m okay with it, and Luke is okay with it. So why the hell not?” You felt like crying again. You practically pounced on Jess babbling a string of ‘thank you’s and peppering kisses on his face in between. He laughed heartily, rubbing your back. Luke observed with a tender smile. “Thank you Luke, really.”

“No problem kid.” He gently placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to seem as less threatening as possible. “Jess and I have to go, the staff are gonna be here any minute. But rest up okay?” You nodded. Jess really didn’t want to leave, you assured him visiting hours were long and regular. Eventually he pulled away and you shared one last kiss before he was out of sight.

[after-witch]

Take Flight [Yandere Nikolai Gogol x Reader]

Title: Take Flight [Yandere Nikolai Gogol x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re a fantastic actress when you’re on the stage. But your captor isn’t fooled when there’s no stage magic to hide your real feelings.

For request: request for anything with BSD!Gogol please!

Word Count: 1772

notes: Yandere, kidnapped, noncon implications, implied torture/physical abuse

You look so beautiful when you’re immobile. Especially when you don’t know what you’ve done to deserve it, when your eyes are widened in fear, your mouth whimpering behind the tight cloth gag; your mind no doubt racing, searching for what you’ve done and why this is happening.

You look especially beautiful when he opens his coat and pulls out a few tools. He deliberately lays the hammer on the far end of the table, next to your feet. Now that makes you beautiful, as you cry out as much as possible behind the gag, some drool making its way past the increasingly soaked cloth your chin. Your muffled “no” is music.

He hates to clip your wings like this. But it’s only temporary. And, really, you’ve brought it upon yourself. Not by acting up--oh, no, definitely not that. He smiles to himself as he thinks about what a good birdie you’ve been lately. How obedient. How submissive. How sweet.

It took a lot of effort. A lot of punishment. A lot of pain. But on the surface, you’ve transformed into the sweet swan that he’s dreamed about keeping in a gilded cage. Literally and otherwise. Of course, he’s not that easily fooled--he knows you still hate him, fear him, on the inside. No matter how much you embrace him or let him have his way with you, no matter how much you try to please him with words and kisses, you’re still fighting him in your heart. Beating against your cage with your wings when his back is turned, as it were.

And you know something? It’s just not good enough. His life is already a game of duality. And he wants only a singularity with you, a single reality where you are broken and his for however long he wants to keep you. What would be the point of throwing you away when you’re still fighting him?

And thus, it’s only fitting that you’re currently bound to the table where you’ve received your other punishments. He’s not much of a cleaner, and there’s still the odd blood stain lodged in the wood grains. A handy table with straps on each end that keep your wrists and ankle immobile. He’s even given you a pillow, because why not, why not?

It’s easier when you’re tied up to see the real you underneath, the desperate, terrified person that only wants to stay alive. That only wants to avoid pain. The remnants of blood stains underneath you are a testament to that.

You do put on a good show, otherwise. But not quite up to par, he admits, hence his critical review. If he was a theater critic, he might call your efforts “valiant, but not worthy of the highest acclaim.” Or perhaps “They clearly need a little more time to develop, but it’s a good effort.”

You can kiss him. You can perform for him. You can let him touch you and hurt you, when he wants, without complaint. But you can’t hide all of the little things that give you real state of mind away. The way your jaw trembles ever so slightly when you stand up on your toes (so precious) to give him a kiss. The quarter-second that your eyes drift away before you tell him you love him, you adore him, you never want to leave him. The slight hint of revulsion, always covered with a smile in an instant, when he enters your cage at night. 

Did you think you’re fooling him? He hopes you did. He loves the idea of snatching the rug from underneath your feet, nimble as they may be. You’re good at acting on the stage--he could wax poetry about how ethereal, how in-the-moment you look when you’re dancing; when you’re practically flying across the stage, your tulle skirts swishing and the thin soles of your shoes slapping against the hard floor.

But when you’re off the stage? The magic is lessened. There are no stage lights to cover up your occasional tired expression, no swelling music to add emphasis to your movements if they become too strained. No stage tricks to hide your face from the audience for a moment of reprieve. It is no good, after all, for Odile to seduce the prince with her arms, her legs, the fierceness of her fouettes--if her face gives away that she finds him repellent.

Without the trickery of the stage, you give yourself away. Which is one reason why he’s decided to be oh-so-cruel to you today. The other? He’ll never tell you. Maybe you’ll guess it someday, if you happen to glimpse the expression he holds as you pirouette across the stage, no limits, no boundaries, only the music and the motion and the buzz of the audience to lift you up high.

But, he muses, picking up the hammer--the noises you’re making, oh, how fun!--it’s time to get back to the task at hand.

“Or at foot,” he says, giggling. But you don’t get the joke. He approaches the head of the table and your muffled pleas grow louder. They’re so soft, so confused. What did you do? What did you do? Please, please, please. He’s heard it all before, but it’s still enjoyable to take in. Like a comforting book.

He trails a gloved finger along your cheek, spreading your tears around like a child tracing lines on a foggy car window.

“I know you want to fly away from me.” He keeps his tone light and teasing. You immediately shake your head in denial, and Christ in heaven is that fantastic, the way you want him to believe you no longer desire escape, no longer desire true freedom.

He tuts at you, wagging the tip of his gloved finger in front of your face before leaning in closer. “If I let you fly away, would you still be my pet? If you fly away on your own, would you be free?” It’s rhetorical, and your expression betrays your lack of understanding behind his words.

He does want to hear your voice behind the gag, so he swiftly undoes the tight knot and tosses the soaked fabric aside.

“Please, I love you,” you say immediately, voice weak and pleading. “Nik--Nikolai, I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?” You hesitate for a moment, but then you continue. “I’m so sorry, whatever it is. I must have… disappointed you.” You lower your eyes and the downcast expression, the defeat in your gaze, makes him wish he had a camera on hand.

You’re so submissive. It really is beautiful. But you’re submissive because you want to avoid being hurt. You’re submissive because he’s got a hammer resting next to your precious feet and you don’t want him to lift up that hammer and bash your bones until they break.

Where’s the fun in that?

He hums to himself as he begins a deliberately slow walk back to the end of the table. He trails his fingers down your body and enjoys the sight of little goosebumps rising on your flesh, enjoys the way you squirm, just a bit, when he pokes at your sensitive side.

When he picks up the hammer, you begin to babble. The words aren’t important--he’s listening to the tone, the way your voice is thick with sadness and fear. Please, no, don’t, I’ll do anything; all words that run from your mouth like water through a stream. He ignores them and instead holds one of your feet still with his hand. There’s a power in your feet, thanks to the years of dancing and even more years of training. He thinks about taking that power away. About what that would mean. About what it would do to you.

When he rubs the end of the hammer against the top of your foot, you groan, a guttural sound of pure horror. The sound of someone whose entire reason for living, whose heartbeat, rests on the ability to dance. 

Your breath is sharp and scratchy when he suddenly lifts the hammer up and brings it crashing down on your ankle--where it immediately compresses and squeaks, high and childish.

It’s rubber. It’s a rubber toy. Nothing more.

Your breath comes out in short, harsh puffs. He takes in your expression, which is at once horrified and confused and relieved and even a bit angry.

“What--”

His sharp, pleased laughter interrupts you. And when he laughs, you laugh, just a little. He’s surprised that he can’t tell if it’s a genuine laugh of pure relief, an attempt to mimic him to stay in his good graces, or a sign that you’re losing your mind. Maybe it’s a mixture of all three.

He wastes no time in undoing your straps, and he pulls you into a sitting position. Your entire body is trembling, an adrenaline crash turning your legs to rubber as he helps you to your feet and loops your arm around his shoulders for added support. 

You don’t even have time to process the fact that he didn’t hurt you before he starts leading you out of the room and back to your pretty little cage and your pretty little bed. He drops you on the bed with a flourish, and you bounce slightly on the mattress--face still in shock, still processing.

“That was fun, right?” he says, voice once again teasing. “Now let’s play a little more.” He begins undoing his belt buckle, and what would have been the normal flash of revulsion on your face is replaced by something new: relief. Relief that you can dance? Relief that you didn’t earn any new scars, any new injuries, any new pain? He’s not sure that the exact reason matters. It’s something new, and it’s a step closer.

He grins and begins making quick work of his clothes. You’re already on your knees in front of him.

Relief, after all, comes in many forms.

[apr1cots]

it’s good to be king

The mirror was cracked. Broken. Slashed from one corner to its opposite. From where Draco sat, it cut his face in two. The charm still worked, and he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t the sole reason for his visit. His solemn trek from the small garden shed that was supposed to be temporary, but had been his only lodging for much longer than he cared to admit, was always silent and pitiful. 

The magic of the Manor was broken: beyond repair, he feared. He couldn’t bring himself to attempt reparations.The shredded tapestries, cracked walls, and deserted portraits reminded him of that in which he’d taken part. Somewhere, deep inside, relief flared almost like hope at the attestation that he could still feel something, even if it was guilt that sizzled in his blood, and loneliness that pulled his bones apart. 

When he reached his childhood bedroom, the now dulled greens and silvers that had once been so comforting whispered their welcome and tempted him never to leave again. To Draco’s credit, the thought made him sick. 

He sat in front of the mirror. It had once been so full of joy. He remembered vividly the day it had cracked. He’d escaped to his room, panicked and desperate and scared. He’d stared in the mirror, seeing his reflection there as it always was. Pleasant, rich, royal, crowned. The mirror was charmed to show him as a Prince. As above the rest. No matter how he looked in reality, there in the mirror he was everything his selfish child-self had dreamed. Swathed in silks and velvets, perfectly rested and beautiful. Otherworldly in a way. 

That day, the day he’d been marked, he’d stared in the mirror and seen that perfect, unmarred Draco. Smooth skin, not a flaw. But the image had come to represent something he hated. He’d flung a curse at the perfect glass, surrounded in silver and crystal, desperate to see the truth. To see the dark shadows under his eyes and the death permanently branded on his arm. 

It hadn’t worked. Prince Draco had stared back, almost smiling. Broken Draco had cried, sobbed, but couldn’t see his own tears. 

Now, Draco sat in front of the mirror once again. Once again, relishing in his imaginary reign. Older now, his crown was larger, his robes more intricate. 

It was good to be king. 

Draco never knew how long he spent in front of the mirror, but was loath to admit that no matter how early he arrived, by the time he escaped the Manor, his cloak was the stars. 

He returned to his shed, ate his plain crackers and expiring cheese and laid in his simple bed, willing sleep to take him. He imagined his mirror image, retreating to a banquet of fine foods, courses of delicacies, surrounded by a fawning mass. 

When Draco woke, time eluded him. Dark clouds dampened the light filtering in and his bones ached. He yearned, but he didn’t know what for. It was exhausting to sleep and exhausting to be awake.

wip mondeeeee???? 

im trying to write again for the sake of my soul or perhaps the destruction of it and i thought what a fun place to start but in your own WIPs and then i read them all and idk where the h e double hockey sticks i was going w it but maybe if i post it ill be inspired to pick it up in some sort of direction, correct or not. i dont even remember how harry played into this all, but he’s there in this world somewhere waiting to whisper to me where he lives.

[blu-joons]

He Finds Out You’re Pregnant ~ Kim Seokjin

Your hands shook as you looked at the leaflet you gripped tightly, your eyes glancing over the title several times. The pounding of your heart was a feeling you’d never experienced before, the fear and the terror was overwhelming.

The sound of the front door opening made your body jolt, you quickly ran around to your side of the bed and slipped the leaflet into your bedside table, wiping underneath your eyes. You knew it would only be a matter of moments before Jin would come around the house and search for you.

You were soon proven right when the bedroom door opened and Jin peered in, the usual smile on his face. You tried hard to match his smile as he stepped in, but his eyes were drawn instantly to the redness in your cheeks.

“How was your day?” You quickly asked, spotting the question on the end of his lips before he could ask it.

“Yeah, it was really good, we’ve got a few routines perfected for performances after the break,” he told you, sitting down beside you on your side of the bed. “What’s been going on with you? Have you had a good day too?”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip before you felt yourself tear up again. You couldn’t tell Jin how your day had really gone, not yet anyway.

“It’ll be exciting for you to get back out on the road, get some time away from me,” you teased, desperately changing the subject once again.

“Why would I ever want to be away from you? I’ve loved being home for so long.”

He could tell you weren’t being entirely honest with him; he’d been with you long enough to recognise when something was wrong. The act was something he knew you could only keep up for so long before he ended up breaking it down.

“Being here with me though is just a temporary home for you though, you’re with the boys more than anything else,” you reminded him, looking away from his eyes.

You couldn’t have been more wrong as you spoke, only confirming Jin’s thoughts that something really was going on. These were things you’d never normally say to him, almost as if you were trying to push him away and create a distance between you both.

“Look, I can tell that something is on your mind, however well you try to disguise it. I’d rather you just tell me so that we can get through it together, I don’t want to ever see you go through anything on your own. Surely whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

Your body shivered at his words, “you have no idea how bad this could be, mainly for you. I don’t want you to hate me and feel like I’ve destroyed your career.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he assured you, “I could never hate you, I married you.”

You nodded, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulders, turning you inwards to face him. “So, if I told you that I was pregnant, you wouldn’t hate me?”

“You’re pregnant?” He asked, watching as a single tear rolled down your left cheek. “Why would I ever hate you for being pregnant? Is that really what all of this has been about?”

You shamefully nodded as the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile, using his free hand to push you face upwards to look at his. The delight in his expression steadied the beat of your heart as he struggled to figure why you had been crying.

“Are you not happy about it? Or is there something wrong with your pregnancy?” He asked as you continued to remain glum, refusing to smile.

“I didn’t know if you’d be ready for a baby at this point in your career. I was looking into all the options we had, I wasn’t sure if you’d want this when you’ve got so much ahead of you.”

“You wanted to look into abortion?” He snapped.

“Don’t say it like that Jin, I was scared. It’s the last thing I expected to happen, and I didn’t know how you’d react, I would have rather just been prepared,” you sighed.

You leant across and pulled out the leaflets you’d collected, handing them to him. Straight away he threw them to the floor, refusing to even look at what they were about. His grip on you was incredibly tight, struggling to keep himself together as he processed what was going on.

“Were you even going to tell me if this is what you were going to do? Have I made you feel that insecure that you thought I wouldn’t want a baby with you? I don’t understand why you’d ever think I don’t want a baby; this baby is what we need, it’s the final piece of the puzzle to our family Y/N.”

“I was frightened Jin, I didn’t know what to do. I had so many thoughts.”

Your tears became heavier as his heart became softer. He could never understand the thoughts and experiences you’d had, he just wished he could’ve been there to support you. “Do you still think that’s a route you want to take? Because I think I have a say in this too Y/N.”

Your head shook, feeling his hand intertwine with your own. He was reluctant to focus too much on your tummy, knowing that his son or daughter would be there, he was still so unsure for how much longer they’d be there if you were still doubtful.

“I was only going to do it if you didn’t want this baby.”

“Then please don’t do it,” he whimpered, “because I want this baby more than anything else in the world, we can figure all of this out together.”

“I thought you’d be disappointed,” you admitted as he pulled you into his chest, “I read all these things about how people react based on where you are in your life.”

“Then they must’ve been wrong, because I want this, right now, regardless of everything else.”

His lips rested against the top of your head for a few moments as he felt you begin to relax, the fears that had carried themselves with you for so long at least were beginning to subside.

“It’s going to be scary, and it already has been for you, but we’ll enjoy this from now on and give our child the best life ever,” he assured you.

“I know,” you smiled, watching on as his hand slipped out of yours and finally relaxed on your tummy. Your smile grew as you met Jin’s eyes, noticing his own starting to water. “You really want this, don’t you?”

His head nodded, “I wasn’t lying when I told you how great of an opportunity this would be for us, I’ve always felt that way about the two of us having a family.”

“Why does it sound like this has been something you’ve been thinking about for a while? Have you thought about kids for us?”

A light blush graced his cheeks, “I’ve thought about for quite a while if I’m being honest, I just didn’t want to say anything and frighten you off. It turns out we’ve both probably been thinking the same things for some time, but we were worried about scaring each other for no reason.”

“I’m so relieved that this is what you want Jin.”

“Does that mean you’ll also throw out all those leaflets?”

“Absolutely.”

---

Prompt: 63

---

Masterlist

[secret-engima]

Team Gremlin verse: The Reunion

(So this is ... a very rough draft so to speak of what I wanna do for the reunion scene with Oscar and Ozpin. I’m not dubbing it ‘canon’ yet because I’d have to wait for the actual fic to catch up and then tweak accordingly but so far- this is what is in my head and I figured I should let others enjoy the angst :D)

...

     Ozpin slipped away from the crowd exiting the tent with a pounding heart. He could feel his fingers shake on the hilt of Long Memory as he managed to duck into the shadows outside the large emerald and gold tent. He had found him. All this time searching, all this time praying and hoping and looking only to be too late and he had found him. He had sat in the stands and seen the boy in action, heard the music and seen the magic both fake and real, and felt the sheer energy and joy the little Ringmaster felt in his performance like lightning in Ozpin’s own bones. And then- the song. The final song. Because Oscar always rounded off with a song, ones not meant for spectacle, but instead for the heart. A sincere wish and message for those fortunate to sit beneath the ceiling of the Emerald City for the night.

     The song alone could have brought him to tears. But to hear it sung by the little boy in the ring, the impossible, wonderful, miracle child who had every right to lash out at the world in hate, yet instead chose to fill it with wonders … it had been all he could do to keep from crying with there in the stands. To not try to climb down the makeshift seating and into the ring because all he’d wanted was to hold him.

     His son. The son he had never seen outside of grainy photos and shaky recordings, who he had tried desperately to find the more he learned what the child had lived through. And now Ozpin had found him. Now Ozpin had a chance to meet him. He just had to get backstage.

     It wasn’t hard to escape the eyes of the crowd, and it wasn’t much more difficult to slip through the shadows to the little ring of emerald tents set up behind the big top, the tents where the various performers of the rare and popular Emerald City act stayed. He hesitated on the boundary, trying to pick out which one of the colorful, green-themed tents belonged to the Ringmaster —his son, his child that he had never gotten to meet, would never have known about save a series of accidents—. He heard laughter and activity behind him, the performers returning to their temporary homes, and he ducked forward into the shadows of a tent at random. They would run him off if they found him, he was certain of that. He was a stranger to them at best, or worse, a known player in the war that had created the boy he hoped to meet, that had no doubt hurt many of those who followed him —such as Hazel, and how the man had ever been swayed from Salem’s promise of revenge, Ozpin could not fathom but did not want to test—.

     He heard no activity from the tent he was hiding behind, and while the air whispered with hints of magic, it wasn’t coming from this tent, so he moved on to another. This time, he dared peak into the tent flap, but saw nothing but the vague shadows of personal belongings. No sign of the little Ringmaster —his son, his child—.

     Ozpin backed away from that tent, heart drumming anxiously in his chest. Then he turned and froze.

     The massive Grimm, the strange one that Qrow called Hound. The monster that for some reason Ozpin never wanted to contemplate —but had spent many hours doing just that— followed his son everywhere. Behaved like it was tame and natural rather than a creature of Darkness that longed only for destruction. It stood just a few feet away, so large it’s head was even with Ozpin’s chin as it watched him with flat, glowing red lights for eyes.

     His fingers tightened on the hilt of Long Memory, lifetimes of instinct screaming to raise his weapon and attack first before it could kill him or anyone else here. But he had seen recordings of this same Grimm, dressed up in ridiculous costumes to hide its true nature from unpracticed eyes, parading around in the circus ring like a big dog. He had seen his son ride on its back and balance on its head and Qrow had recounted more than one instance of Oscar and the other children escaping on its back. It hadn’t been present for this particular show, but he had seen multiple recordings of previous ones where it entered the ring and no one had been harmed. Of course, Ozpin’s son —Salem’s son, for all the second half of that coin tore at his guts— had been close by all those times, but here there was no one in sight but the two of them.

     The Grimm tilted its head slowly to one side, a ragged ear pricking like an actual dog’s. It wasn’t attacking. Even though Ozpin knew he must stink of so many different types of fear he could attract an entire pack of Beowolves all on his own. It just … studied him.

     Slowly, it’s jaws opened, and Ozpin prepared to dodge some attack. Instead, the large, blood red tongue slid out from between massive teeth and lolled there, a slow, thoughtful trio of pants before it licked its teeth and shut its jaws again. Without any further reaction, it lowered its head and turned away, walking slow and ponderously toward one of the tents that had light peaking through the bottom. Ozpin watched it leave with a blank, confused mind, then startled when it stopped and twisted around to look over its shoulder at him.

     It looked like it was waiting.

     It looked like it wanted him to follow.

     Inhaling raggedly —this was the stupidest thing he had done in lifetimes he was sure—, Ozpin started following in the Grimm’s footsteps.

     It led him to the tent farthest from the bigtop, nudged open the flap with something like practiced ease, and shouldered its way in. Ozpin lingered outside, suddenly too afraid to go a step further. There was a Grimm in there, but somehow, the realization that his son might be in there was even more terrifying than that. If he stood out here too long, he would be caught, he knew that, and yet…

     “Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child’s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

     If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

     Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

     His child.

     The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

     It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

     Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

     A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

     Had he really said-?

     A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

     “Dad.”

     The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

     Magic pressed against his skin, burrowed into his soul, needy and desperate and fearful in a way his daughters’ had never been until the very end —until the moment his shield broke and he could no longer protect them—. It begged him and Ozpin forgot about everything else, forgot every other concern or person in the world as he let his own magic unspool and twine with the younger, needy magic begging him for comfort. Behind his closed eyelids he could see it, the colors spinning and twisting in the space between their souls. His ever-dwindling green wrapping around a younger, deeper, stronger wellspring of emerald laced with snapping red, whispering black and dancing flickers of purple, gold, blue, and white.

     The younger magic coiled tightly in his, desperate and pained, crying in relief and fear just as loudly as the sobs that shook his son’s body. It was open to him, painfully open and raw, trusting despite how this boy had every reason to fear another’s magic. In the breath between crying and comforting and accepting, Ozpin’s magic brushed up against what could only be called a crack in his child’s soul. A jagged old wound that had never properly healed. Glass sharp and weeping and-.

     Pain-pain-pain-fear-fear-please-pleasedon’tleavedon’tleaveme-.

     Magic, green and old, bodiless and desperate and half-mad with agony sinking inside and locking in place in a message that screamed all the way down to bone marrow and soul fiber.

    Mine-my-child-I-love-you-I-loveyoumychildmy-

     “Oscar.” Ozpin choked out, struggling to shake off the remnants of memory hidden in soul shards and old wounds. Realization reeled, pulled at the fabric of reality beneath his feet. “Oscar,” he repeated, rolling the name of his son over his tongue and wondering at the sensation of right, of familiarity even though he had never met this child before. He had, of course, known his name. The boy made a little joke of it at the beginning of all his performances, but now the name had weight. Had an echo of knowledge to it that he couldn’t quite grasp.

     Even though, somehow, his son knew him. And perhaps that should terrify him. Because his son was a child still, yet somewhere in the spaces between incarnations, or in the moments between life and death and dreams, his child remembered him and clung to a message of love even though it had been tangled up in so much pain.

     “I tried,” Oscar sobbed into his chest, “I tried, I’m- I’m so sorry-.”

     Ozpin hushed him, ran shaking fingers through his son’s hair and ignored the way his glasses had completely blurred over from the tears they caught, “I know. It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re alive, Oscar.” He guided his son’s face to his scarf and pressed his cheek against the top of Oscar’s head, “You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.” He inhaled raggedly and set aside the spinning theories trying to take root, the odd mix of age-youth-age and time-turned-back in Oscar’s magic that made him wonder. He had long assumed that Oscar’s aging was … strange, a byproduct of being the child of two immortals. Yet feeling Oscar’s magic, the soft echo of bells and clockwork gears hidden inside it, he couldn’t help but remember that gravity and its magic was an aspect of space and space was a partner of time. There had been spells that toyed with time long ago that left impressions on the souls that used them, though never on such a large scale as what Ozpin was contemplating.

     But if anyone could reinvent a way to turn back the hands of the world’s clock, it would be the child of Ozma and Salem, surely —had his son known a previous incarnation, or had his son met Ozpin himself in the future, had he lived a prisoner of Salem until he was a teen or even an adult, only meeting his father to see him die in agony at his mother’s hands, had a single dying message of love amid a lifetime of darkness truly been enough to make him fight time itself to make things right—.

     But that didn’t matter right now.

     He was here. Oscar was here. They were both alive and safe and his little boy was tucked trustingly in his arms, and that was what mattered right now. It mattered more than anything else in the world.

     “I love you, Oscar,” he whispered into his son’s hair as he rocked them back and forth, uncaring of his jacket and scarf becoming soaked with tears, or the way Oscar’s magic coiled around his soul so tightly it was almost burning, “I love you. I’m here.”

     “I missed you,” Oscar choked out between sobs, another piece to Ozpin’s puzzle set aside for later times, “I love y-you t-too.” A hiccup, loud and ugly, a shiver in Ozpin’s arms, “Don’t go.”

     “I won’t,” Ozpin promised, hand cradling the back of Oscar’s head, trying to shield him from the nightmares he could sense lurking within, “I won’t go. I’m right here.” He exhaled wetly, “I’m right here.”

[wondernimbus]

home — george weasley

pairing: george weasley x female!reader

prompt: after the battle of hogwarts, reader comes across a familiar face in paris and finds that he, too, needs healing.

T/W: brief mentions of death & blood, trauma, recovery, angst w/ a happy ending

a/n: i have never been to paris n have no idea what it’s like and it SHOWS but anyways .. please be mindful of the trigger warnings before reading!

The battle of Hogwarts left many people wounded.

It left behind marks of fractured bones and countless bruises from all sorts of dark curses and nasty jinxes; injuries that took a while to heal, but did, in the end, as most do. But while there were wounds that were temporary—those that faded and healed eventually—there were also those that didn't. Some scars stayed; the kind that were brought about by the pain of loss. Of trauma. Of witnessing death and destruction and carnage in the very walls the students of Hogwarts had come to call home.

They were children. Teenagers. They were young and barely even knew the workings of the world, but that hardly mattered because the wizarding world was at stake—and everyone who knew how to hold a wand had to fight. Including them. And even though they were supposed to be at school worrying about homework and petty things like crushes or which tie went with which shirt, instead they had to worry about far greater things; they had to worry about their lives and that of their friends, of their families. They had to fight in the crumbling stone corridors of what was once the Hogwarts castle, watching people die both because of them and for them, trying to ignore the bodies strewn across the ground in fear of finding a familiar face.

No one walked out of the battle unchanged, and just like so many others, [Y/N]—twenty-year-old [Y/N], who once dreamed of becoming a Healer but could no longer look at blood without hyperventilating and recalling memories of battle—returned home not quite the person she once used to be. She walked through her front porch and greeted her five-year-old sister with a poor attempt at a smile that only lasted for a few seconds before she'd started crying again.

Because, like every other child who'd fought that battle, she'd returned home bearing the burden of having killed someone. Of having failed to save a friend. Of having watched walls crumble in on people her age and some even younger who had so much life ahead of them but had it torn away in the blink of an eye.

She could have been one of them. She really could have.

But there she was, alive but not quite feeling like it, crumpling to her knees in front of her little sister as she hugged her as close to her as she could.

I killed someone, she wanted to say. They could have been someone's sister, just like you.

"Did you miss me?" were the words that left her mouth instead. And it was worth it—keeping thoughts like that to herself—because when her little sister pulled away, smiling, eyes gleaming with youthful innocence, [Y/N] believed that maybe, maybe there was a little sanity in this world left that she could hang onto.

Because the scars those memories leave behind aren't permanent. Nothing is, really—they just take a much longer time to heal. Those kinds of scars need patience and gentleness and comfort. Need understanding. Space. But most importantly, they need time.

So that's what [Y/N] gives herself. Time and space away from everything around her that reminds her of things she'd rather leave in the past. She finds herself traveling, even though her parents were against it at first—"You can barely even make your own food, honey, are you sure about this?"—they'd understood, in the end, that [Y/N] couldn't bear waking up in a place where everything held memories of war. The owls would come in the morning bearing news of recovery and rebuilding and those bloody obituaries. She'd made the mistake of looking at them once, only for her eyes to quickly land on a face she'd fought alongside during the battle. Some young Gryffindor boy no older than seventeen who wrenched her out of the way when a column had collapsed.

Colin Creevey.

That was his name, apparently, according to the cursive underneath his picture right next to the words may you rest in peace.

It took her a while to calm down after that. But the panic attacks always came. Her little sister once made the mistake of trying to surprise her once, by hiding behind her bedroom door and jumping out when she walked through it. [Y/N] had screamed, fallen to the floor, and started crying, and it frustrated her because she wasn't sure why but there was that horribly familiar, inexplicable feeling inside her chest that squeezed the breath right out of her and the tears along with it.

Even looking outside of her room window reminded her of Hogwarts' own stained glass windows. Of the sound they'd made when they shattered once hit by a curse gone astray. Of the fear she'd felt when Acromantulas crawled their way in through the window frames and devoured anyone in reach. Of all the blood.

The death. The screams.

She couldn't take it, so she left. it would take a while for her to come back—to heal—but she would. She knew she would.

— 

Paris is beautiful at night.

[Y/N] sits on a ledge overlooking the cityscape and watches the sun dip below the buildings.

Sitting so far up above everything else and not weaving through the stone alleyways, it looks different from here. Like a toy city. Tiny buildings sturdily built and easily moved. Sometimes it feels like she's on top of the world, towering over everything else as she watches the scene unfold before her like a moment frozen in time with the sunset reflected in her eyes. And sometimes they'd be filled with tears, but today they aren't.

In a city where everything is constantly moving, it's easy to forget things. Easy to lose herself in the bustling streets and the friendly people and the music that seems to come from everywhere she goes, always hanging in the air, the source unknown.

But when it's quiet—when she has no one but her thoughts for company and she sits away from everything else with her heart lodged in her throat and memories trickling back in despite her efforts to keep them locked away—that's when she remembers.

The blood. The death. The screams.

All the lives lost. The lives she couldn't save. The lives she took.

But she is healing.

It hurts, still. Of course it does. She doesn't think the pain really ever will go away, but it should, to an extent. And it will happen.

It will. She knows it will.

— 

When she comes across him—the boy with the smile like the sunrise and eyes like the stars, like diamonds in the sky, [Y/N] doesn't know right away what he will come to mean to her in the future.

She sits in a pub hidden somewhere along the cobblestone streets away from the main city. The bartender knows her by now, and she him; an old Muggle with a toothless grin and a kind voice. The first time she'd walked through the wooden door a few weeks ago he'd tried to ask her about her life—what she was doing in Paris, how she was liking it so far—the same way he would do to any traveler, but [Y/N] hadn't had much to tell him aside from the same story she'd practiced so many times before; that she was on vacation.

The Muggles buy it all the time. It's at times like those that [Y/N] is grateful for their obliviousness, and in a way, she finds comfort in how little they know. How they don't know about You-Know-Who, about the war, about everything that had happened mere months ago. Because it makes it easier for her to forget.

Until the wooden door to the pub opens and a familiar face walks through it, and [Y/N] is hit by reality again.

He doesn't notice her, at first, and strides straight to the bar. [Y/N] wonders if she's hallucinating—if somehow her mind has had enough of her pushing old memories aside and started making things up as a reminder of the past. But he's standing there and he's smiling at the bartender, who slides a tall glass of beer over the counter-top towards him.

"Thank you," [Y/N] hears him say, and then he's turning around and before she knows it they've made eye contact from where she's sitting in the corner of the room. A flicker of surprise crosses his face, and for a moment all the two of them do is stare at each other, both seemingly in just as much disbelief as the other.

[Y/N] does what's appropriate: she raises her hand in a wave.

Still looking incredulous, George Weasley's mouth falls open a little in what is probably a dubious laugh if [Y/N] were close enough to hear it. And then he's striding towards her table, sliding into the seat opposite her still looking pleasantly surprised.

"[Y/F/N], was it?" George asks her, and his eyes are still alight with wonderment.

She smiles at him. Nods. Wonders if he's thinking—remembering—the same things she is. "I didn't think I'd come across anyone I knew here."

"Can't say I was expecting to, either." He doesn't look like he is; he's grinning. But then again [Y/N] is too, and for a brief second she realizes once more how easy it is to pretend like everything is okay.

And judging by the look in George's eyes, he hasn't forgotten either. But they are so far away from Hogwarts. From home. From the remnants of war. So she decides not to address it, and even though it is unsaid, George decides to do the same.

She went to school with George. Just like everyone else at Hogwarts, she'd known him and his twin brother for their troublemaking antics, but to call them friends would be a bit of an overstatement; [Y/N] was a Hufflepuff and George a Gryffindor, and apart from the few classes they had together, she rarely ever had a chance to speak to him. But in the rare times that she did, she could tell that George was sweet and kind and certainly very witty. He would have made a good friend, if [Y/N] had been given the chance.

But they don't ask each other why they're there, thousands of miles away from England, because in a way they already know. So instead the pair of them talk about anything and everything else. About Paris. has [Y/N] been to the Eiffel tower yet? Yes, duh—it's the first place she went to. How was it? It was breathtakingly beautiful. George tells her that he thought so too, and asks her if she's heard of the festival next week. She tells him he hasn't and George tells her that he'd love to accompany her there if she wants to go.

And admittedly, part of [Y/N] wonders whether it would be better to turn him down. She could walk out of this pub and leave George Weasley, who brings back memories that she'd rather forget at the moment, behind, but the courageous part—the part of her that still takes chances and waits to see where they take her—nods and says, with a soft smile on her face, "I'd love that."

Come midnight, the pub closes and [Y/N] and George are practically kicked out, a little intoxicated but not enough to be drunk, waving exaggeratedly enthusiastic goodbyes to the barkeep who grins toothily right back at them.

They find themselves standing outside of the pub, faces dimly illuminated with orange from the street lamps lining the streets. George, with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, asks her where she's staying.

She tells him the name of the hotel she's been living at, and the smile on George's face is downright joyful. "Lucky me. I'm staying at a hotel not far from there," he tells her, grinning, and she can't help but grin right back at him.

And it feels like the proper time to be saying their goodnights and apparating away, but before she does, she finds a tiny sliver of bravery in her to address what has been looming above the pair of them since the moment they spoke to each other tonight. In a quiet, almost hesitant voice, like she's treading on thin ice, she says, "I heard about your brother." Her eyes are downcast, staring down at the stone underneath her feet. "I'm sorry about what happened to him. I truly am."

George falls silent. When [Y/N] brings her eyes back up to look at him, she almost, almost cries, because there's a pain in his eyes that [Y/N] has seen far too many times in the mirror. But he's smiling, anyway, and that just makes it all the more worse because there is nothing that hurts more in the world than pretending like everything is just as it should be when it's not.

In a quiet voice, he says, "I'm here for the same reason you are. I'm here to heal. To move on." Even under the dim lighting, [Y/N] sees the way he swallows like there's a lump in his throat. "And when I have, I'll head back home and pick right back up where I left off. But right now I'm just a twenty-year-old English bloke in Paris who's just come across a beautiful woman and wants to know if she'd be interested in spending the night with him in the city."

So maybe it's not quite time to say their goodnights. Not just yet.

[Y/N] smiles at him, with his smile like the sunrise and his eyes like the stars, and says, "Lead the way."

— 

George Weasley, [Y/N] learns, is a man of many charms.

George knows how to crack jokes when needed, how to make her laugh. George knows how to make her feel comfortable but not so much that he oversteps his boundaries. George always seems to know what to say and when to say it. But perhaps most importantly, George knows how to help her do the one thing she finds the most difficulty in doing: forget.

So in turn she does the same for him, and not much later than their opportune meeting at the pub hidden away from the city, they become friends. Or something more than it. What they are, [Y/N] really isn't quite sure, but all she knows is that she's found something in him that she wouldn't have if she'd decided to turn him down a month ago—and good grief, is she happy she didn't.

Because if she had, then she would have never learned that George likes his coffee sweet, with three cubes of sugar and lots of milk. She would have never learned that he has a fascination with anything related to electricity and only just barely suppresses his excitement whenever the pair of them would come across some form of Muggle technology he hadn't been aware of before. [Y/N], who is Muggle-born and is far too used to the "ordinary" world, finds amusement in his enthusiasm. (He damn near faints with excitement in his seat the one time [Y/N] drags him off to the movie theater to see a film.) [Y/N] also learns that George finds joy in poetry—something that comes quite as a shock to her, as he doesn't seem like the kind of person who would. But on a night out by one of the canal bridges, he turns to her and starts reciting something by Hamlet—"Have you heard of him? Old Muggle bloke, apparently, I think he's dead but he was quite good with words"—and [Y/N] stares at him, incredulous, and bursts out laughing.

"Well, aren't you romantic?" she teases, grinning, eyes curving when she smiles. "Reciting poetry on a night out in Paris. Really very touching."

George puffs out his chest, all pompous and suddenly very snooty. [Y/N] is laughing again, because she's started to do it a lot ever since they'd met. "What can I say?" says George. Judging by the slight smile on his face as he stares at [Y/N], he's pleased with her reaction to his antics. "I'm quite a passionate man."

George has a smile like the sunrise and eyes like the stars and a laugh that reminds [Y/N] of sun rays and clear skies. And it's odd because when she'd first seen him at that pub, she was instantly reminded of the war, but the more time she spends with him the more he reminds her of quite the opposite. George reminds her of a time in her life when she was at peace—when she was a young girl who didn't have to worry about blood on her hands and guilt on her shoulders.

But George, she knows, has worries of his own. And just like her, he's good at hiding them, until he chooses not to anymore.

— 

Two people alone in Paris who have gone through so much and lost so many. Two people who have found something that feels like peace in one another after everything they have been through.

George and [Y/N], who look at one another when they think the other isn't looking to admire the way the light catches in their hair. The curve of their throat. The way their eyes crinkle when they smile.

And it's only a matter of time before they finally find it in themselves to venture further into what has formed between them over the past three months they've been together, and before they know it they are kissing, gentle and slow and a little hesitant in [Y/N]'s hotel room, standing out by the balcony with that tiny city below them and the stars hanging above them.

[Y/N] learns that George's lips are even softer than they look. She learns that he kisses with a closed mouth. She learns that he is slow and intimate when he pulls her into bed, and she learns that he has truly come to value her when he asks her tentatively if she is sure she wants this.

[Y/N] learns, that night, just how easy it is to fall in love, how little effort it takes. How, the moment she tells him that yes, George, I want you and makes that brave decision to surrender herself to that almost constricting feeling inside her chest and she lets herself fall, that is all she has to do—fall. And let her heart do the rest.

Touching George's skin feels like falling into oblivion, and [Y/N] lets herself spiral down into him.

Come midnight, the two of them are still awake but only barely. George has his arm tucked underneath his head and the other on her waist, and [Y/N] with her head on his chest, arm draped across his stomach as she stares up at him, eyes dancing over the planes of his face like she's trying to memorize them.

There is a necklace around George's neck. [Y/N] can recall catching glimpses of the chain, but never of the pendant. She acknowledges it now, when the adrenaline in her has died out and is replaced by a drowsy sort of calm, by reaching out a hand to run her thumb across what looks like the metal arrow.

"This mean anything?" she whispers, and in the dim moonlight streaming through the window she makes out a picture at the base of the arrow.

She feels George tense underneath her, and knows the moment the light catches on the picture—the face imprinted on it—what exactly it means to him.

"Fred," she whispers, and it's not a question.

It takes him a while, but she feels more than sees him nod. And his voice is tight, riddled with emotion, but he gets his words out anyway and [Y/N] appreciates it, because she knows that talking about it hasn't gotten any easier. But he still does, because he trusts her enough and he has grown braver over time, and some of his wounds have begun to stitch themselves back together, even by a little bit.

"We have a clock back at home," he tells her, and his words stick in his throat for a second as he takes in a deep breath. His grip on her waist grows firmer, like he needs something to hang onto, and [Y/N] lets herself be an anchor to him. "It's got all of my family's faces on each hand. No numbers—just whereabouts. Work. Home. School. Garden. When we came back home after the battle, we found Freddy's on the ground."

Something wet lands on [Y/N]'s cheek. George has started crying.

"It fell off the clock," he whispers. [Y/N]'s heart breaks. "When he died."

And then [Y/N] is sitting up, gathering him into her arms despite him being broad-shouldered and so much bigger than her. At the moment he doesn't seem like it. Right now he is a boy who grieves the loss of his twin brother, and [Y/N] aches for him.

She knows far too well that no words will ever be able to soothe the pain, no matter who they come from. So all she does is hold him as close to her as she can, pressing comforting little kisses to the top of his head, his forehead, his cheeks, which are wet with tears.

Eventually, George falls asleep—or at least she thinks so, until she hears him whisper, just when the moon is beginning to disappear below the horizon, "Thank you."

Holding George in her arms feels like holding a promise, and seeing him lit softly by the final traces of moonshine, she thinks she might be able to keep it.

— 

But even still, part of her can’t help but fear that she might not mean as much to George as he has begun to mean to her.

When she wakes in the morning and finds that the other side of the sheets is empty, panic seizes her lungs and she scrambles out of bed.

Only to find that he is in the bathroom, washing his face, cheeks flushed pink from having just woken up.

But all it took was that one brief moment to realize how terribly big her bed is, and how cold, and how horribly empty without George to fill it.

And even though she knows fully well that George isn't the kind to make love and leave, she is still scared. Still a little uncertain. So she seeks reassurance, and her eyes shining with hopefulness, asks him to stay.

George, with his smile like the sunrise and his eyes like the stars, says—no—promises, "Of course I will."

—

When the two of them find the courage to come back to England many months later, it seems they've found a new kind of home—the kind that isn't made of walls or doors or windows but the kind that's built on promises.

Promises of healing. Promises that the two of them will bear the pain of the past together, and move through it together in baby-steps that may seem tiny but take a lot of courage.

And when George slides his fingers through the gaps in between hers as they apparate away, and the two of them leave behind Paris and return to England with scars that have faded but still remain, [Y/N] thinks, for the first time in a long time, that things might turn out to be okay.

[theemptyskies]

Ok I'm posting this first chapter a little late haha. It was for @azulaweek for Day 2 Rare Pairs and Day 4 AU.

It's going to be a Buffy the Vampire Slayer and AtLA crossover.

Hope y'all enjoy! Shout out to @juniperhillpatient for motivating me to give this a shot. You're awesome 🙂

Any feedback is appreciated ❤

Displacement - A New Beginning

Content Warning: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood and Gore

Summary

The rise of Vaatu leads to unprecedented darkness falling upon the world. Unexpected events lead to Azula learning to live in an unknown world, preparing for an uncertain future.

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A spell to close the Hellmouth in "The Zeppo" has unexpected consequences. With no way of sending the newcomer home, Buffy, Faith and the Scoobies do their best to help the young girl adapt to her new home.

Or

While facing the possible end of the world, Azula finds herself transported through the newly created hellmouth, ending up in Sunnydale. Watch as she grows and adapts in this new world, learning to overcome the pain of losing loved ones, finding a family, and starting to see this as a new opportunity at life.

Anyone who thought the Fire Nation was evil was a fool. At least they should feel they are, given the darkness that has enveloped the world in the four years since the war has ended. It all began last year when Avatar Roku warned Avatar Aang that there was a risk of a dark spirit breaking free. He called it Vatu. It was the spirit of chaos and darkness, the antithesis to the Avatar spirit. 

The spirit had a sort of cult worshipping it. Avatar Aang tried to stop them himself, not wanting to involve their friends and risk our safety. That was his first mistake. It left Katara and myself woefully unprepared for the cult's ambush. We fought them off as best as we could, but there were far too many. In the end, our cottage was left in ruins, dead waterless foliage caked in our enemy's blood, I was nearly beaten unconscious, and Katara was taken. 

They times the kidnapping perfectly, just a day before their planned ritual to free Vaatu from his imprisonment. Avatar Aang, the foolish child that he is, refused to leave Katara's rescue to Sokka, Toph, and myself. His inability to let go of the infatuation he holds for Katara gave the cult enough time to break Vaatu's bindings. It was then the darkest days came.

Upon its release, Vaatu, with the help of its cult, performed a ritual. Black tendrils erupted from its body, tearing across the skies and burrowing into the earth, its physical dorm dissolving in the process. Agni's light was blocked by shadows stripping bending from Firebenders across the glow. From the five largest points, great beasts emerged. Enormous, otherworldly, monstrosities that the worst of nightmares couldn't compare to. Following their emergence, a diverse horde of smaller, equally horrid, creatures poured from the openings. 

There was no time to prepare. Within hours the largest cities were reduced to unrecognizable ruins. Formerly bustling streets were transformed into rivers of red. Body parts left strewn across the rubble. Images of beast feasting on children still haunt my mind. Even our own friends weren't able to escape the carnage. We managed to find Ty Lee the last of the living Kyoshi Warriors, just as she was impaled on the claws of a bald, gaunt humanoid-looking monster. It managed to rip an arm from her body by the time we closed the distance enough for Katara to decapitate it with a disk of ice. Her last words will forever be seared in my mind.

"I'm happy you're ok 'Zula."

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Over the two weeks, since The Emergence began, Aang was almost non-stop searching for and rescuing survivors. We established a temporary refugee camp at the unoccupied Southern Air Temple. Like an endlessly erupting volcano, the creature continued rising from the pits Vatu created. Isolated locations like the Air Temples and Water Tribes were the only places still safe, for now at least.

Knowing that allowing events to continue unimpeded, Aang turned to the spirits for guidance. The Air Temple's sacred grounds made the transition from the mortal world to the spiritual plane much easier. Sitting in the temple powerless as Katara held me, waiting for Aang to return from the spirit world, listening to the distant roars of monsters below the clouds, I don't think I ever felt so terrified. 

Almost like she could sense my fear, Katara held me tighter, softly kissed the top of my head while gently running her fingers through my now unkempt hair. It's strange how the moment I felt the most fear was followed by one where I felt incredibly safe. As her gentle caresses lulled me to sleep, I heard a whisper from my lover. A hope a clung to until the very end.

"Everything will be ok Zula. We'll make it through this."

Two days later, Aang returned from the spirit world. With the help of Avatar Roku, he had managed to make contact with Rava, the spirit of light and the source of the Avatar's power. With the information she gave us, we were able to come up with a plan. Vaatu's ritual tore open portals that were connected to another dimension. They were directly connected to the five largest beasts that first erupted from them. While the portals themselves couldn't be closed, the pits that housed them would be sealed, finally stopping the endless stream of monsters from pouring into our world. All they had to do was kill the five great beasts.

Admittedly, it wasn't much of a plan. As Sokka had put it "So all we have to do is take out monsters the size of small palaces? Great! You know, for once, why couldn't the world-saving plan be easy." I rolled my eyes at his remark at the time but didn't make a retort. The small smiles that our friends held were worth dealing with his rather poor sense of humor. Besides, he was family after all, and if he said something too stupid I'm sure Katara would've happily frozen him to the ceiling.

Rava's power, being the opposite of Vaatu's, would lure the massive beasts to Aang, acting as a sort of beacon. The general plan was that Aang would activate the Avatar State, he would kill the beasts near the pits, we would keep the army of smaller monsters away from Aang while he fights the bigger ones, don't die. Said like that, the plan sounded risky but simple. Unfortunately, it was anything but simple.

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

There were a few Earthbenders among the rescued survivors that volunteered to help. We knew we couldn't hold back a never-ending army. After talking with Sokka, rapidly formulating and dismissing plans, the best we came up with was having the Earthbenders create a dome over the pit. This would grab the attention of the surrounding creatures. While they focused on not letting the army break through the barrier, the rest of us would protect the Earthbenders until the beast was slain. 

Naturally, it wasn't that simple. Rava failed to mention that as each beast died, only some of Vaatu's energy returned to the pit, sealing it. The rest dispersed to the remaining beasts, making them stronger. The first there battles went relatively smoothly, the growing strength of the beasts was more and more apparent with each successive fight. We experienced a handful of losses but nothing unexpected. Merely some inexperienced volunteers. It was the fourth battle that hit our group the hardest. 

The battle started just like every other, sealing the pit and fighting the surrounding beasts. However, due to the strength of this beast, this fight lasted far longer than the last. With our growing exhaustion, it was only a matter of time before someone made a mistake. As Sokka slew one of them, another managed to catch him off guard from behind. Faster than anyone could react, the hairless humanoid snatched his wolf-tail, yanking him back, and sunk its fangs into the side of his neck. Within seconds his skin lost all color and he was left hanging limp in the thing's arms, his sword slipping from his hands and his vacant eyes forever left wide in horror.

That fight ended soon after, with the Avatar finally defeating the creature. I had to nearly rip Katara away from her fallen brother, the last of her biological family. I held her as she cried during the entire flight back to the Southern Air Temple. Upon our arrival, Aang approached us after climbing off of Appa.

"I'm sorry for what happened to Sokka, Katara." He began. At the sound of his voice, I felt Katara stiffen in my arms. 

"You're sorry..." It was a whisper I barely heard as she pulled away, her face displaying a hatred I didn't know she was capable of. He began to speak again but she cut him off.

"How dare you come to me and say that!" She growled at him. "Like I'm sorry will make it all better! You could've stopped all of this! You could have prevented Vaatu from breaking free and none of this would've happened! Now SOKKA IS DEAD!" A loud slap echoed across the now silent temple as she struck Aang across the face. 

Her voice lowered to a whisper as she continued, tears freely falling from her eyes. "S-s-sokka is d-dead and it's all your fault... Just stay away from me..." Finishing her quiet statement, Katara ran inside the temple, away from the sympathetic stares of the gathered survivors. 

Aang watched her go, holding his own tears back before turning to me. He unfastened the strap holding Sokka's blade across his back. With both hands, he held it out to me. "Will you please give this to her. He would want her to have it."

I accepted the blade and he turned, beginning to walk away. "She didn't mean that you know. Katara's hurt and angry."

I don't know why I felt the need to offer him that small comfort. Maybe it was because Aang had taken the time, despite his exhaustion, to do this for her fiance. Regardless of the reason, he paused, shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter Azula. Even if she apologizes, we both know she's right." With that statement, he walked away. Turning, I walked in the direction Katara had run. I knew I wasn't the best at providing comfort, but that's all I could do for her now. I don't remember ever seeing her so broken, and I don't think there's anything I could've said to help.

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

Katara squeezing my hand pulled me from my memories. "Are you ok?"

I turned to look at her, seeing the concern reflected in her eyes.  I looked over the edge of the Bison's saddle, noting that the sea was replaced by land below us, before responding "Ya, I'm fine. Was just thinking about everything that happened. What brought us here."

Katara stilled, appearing to look at something that wasn't there. She was probably lost within the same memories I was moments ago. I squeezed her hand softly, wondering for a moment how her hands remained so soft after the countless battles they've been through. She jerked slightly, her eyes regaining focus before giving me a small smile. It was a rare sight in recent months but still as beautiful as the day she proposed.

"Despite everything that's happened, I'm glad you've been here with me Zula."  Katara said softly before leaning in and giving me a soft kiss that left my heart stuttering. It's amazing that, after all this time, she still has the same effect on me. It faintly reminds me of how nervous I was when I admitted out loud to Ty Lee and Zuko that I wanted to marry her. Though the nervousness I felt that day grew to be far greater when she walked around the corner in the palace hallway, clearly having heard what I said. 

I couldn't stop the small smile from forming on my face as the memory washed over me. Leaning my forehead against hers, I recalled her walking up to me, her wide-eyed, surprised, expression shifting to one of pure happiness. 

"Ya know, I've been nervous all week about giving this to you, but suddenly I feel a lot more confident." She had said jokingly, a smirk plastered on her face as she pulled a small rectangle box from her robe. She opened the box, standing barely a foot away, revealing a blue necklace, simple in design. The pendant had the symbol of the Fire Nation in the center. Only, instead of black over a red background, it was ivory over a pale blue. It was simple but perfect. 

"In the Watertribes, we use necklaces to propose. I wasn't so sure before, but something tells me I can guess your answer. Will you marry me?" Her eyes twinkled in amusement as I nodded dumbly, too shocked over what had just happened. It certainly wasn't my most elegant moment. It had taken me a few moments to process what had happened before I launched myself at her, pulling her into a searing kiss which she smiled into. Pulling away from me, with eyes full of joy and a smile lighting up her face, Katara asked "Can I put it on you?"

I nodded again, not trusting my voice. Katara pulled the necklace from its case and walked around me as it looked over at Zuko and Ty Lee both wearing equally large smiles. As soon as it was fastened, Zuko pulled us both into a large hug, quickly followed by Ty Lee, who couldn't contain her excitement. "Oh my gosh Azula! Congratulations! You're getting married! There is so much planning we have to do! The decorations, oh you know there has to be music..."

I looked into Katara's eyes, not pulling away from her, returning the smile. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." I said softly so only she could hear, before closing the distance for another kiss.

We were pulled from our moment by Appa beginning his descent, and Aang jumping off, unfurling his glider and flying away, creating distance for his battle. Looking back towards the rapidly approaching ground of the western Earth Kingdom, I could see the sea of black dots below us start to become more defined, revealing the mass of creatures we'll soon be fighting. Appa landed with a massive gust of wind sending monsters flying, giving us a few moments to disembark and fall into formation.

As soon as Toph landed, she quickly entombed the pit in a think earthen dome, soon backed by two other Earthbenders, preventing the swarm of monsters from continuing to grow. Katara, myself and the other volunteer survivors formed a protective perimeter around them. I quickly unsheathed Sokka's black blade instead of using my dual tanto. Katara handed me the sword before we left the temple, saying Sokka would want to be here fighting with us. Looking at the gleaming dark metal, I knew she was right. 

The luminous light of the Avatar state in the distance, shortly followed by a deafening roar and rumbling earth signified the start of the battle. The monstrosities surrounding us, the same kind that butchered Ty lee, righted themselves before charging. There was a vindictive pleasure in cutting them down, watching their bodies crumble into dust as their heads rolled. The creatures were stronger and faster than normal people, that was unquestionable. However, for a veteran of the 100-year war, their attacks were laughably easy to read and counter.

As the battle drew on, the quakes from Aang's battle with the giant, snake-like beast continued, and exhaustion slowly began to seep in. There was a yell to my left followed by a sickening snap that drew my attention. The limp body of a survivor was held by one of our enemies, head twisted to an unnatural degree. It carelessly threw the body into another ally that was attempting to flank it before running towards the earthbenders.

"Katara!" I yelled, directing her to the monster. She quickly launched a disk of ice, decapitating the beast.

"Fall in!" I yelled, causing our allies to move closer to the earthbenders, closing the gap in our defense.

I risked a glance towards Aang's fight to see the serpent falling from a newly formed mountain, who's shadow covered our battlefield. The end of its tail was coiled around the light of the Avatar State. Not a moment later, a massive quake tore across the Earth, the impact echoing in its wake. Chaotic black and red energy tore through the air, washing over us, blasting through the cover of the pit, and, for the first time in ages, I felt my Firebending return as Agni's light shined once again.

Unlike before, when the energy entered the hole it pulsed. Before I could react, some of the energy solidified, wrapping around my waist, before it began to drag me with it. 

"Azula!" I heard Katara yelled as she raced towards me, skating across her ice. Using it, Katara launched herself off the ramp, rapidly closing the distance between us. Her left hand gripped mine as she used the last of her water to freeze her feet to the ground, stopping the energy from pulling me further.

I smirked at the display. "Very impressive Master Katara." I said causing her to roll her eyes.

"Only you could brush off nearly dying so easily." She said, her light tone trying to hide the strain of fighting the pulling tendril of energy. Her expression softened before she looked me in the eyes and said "I told you we would make it through this remember. I'm not gonna let you make a list out of..." Her words abruptly stopped as warm blood splattered across my face. "Zula... Your face..." Her voice was weak, words barely audible. My mind shut down, a sinking emptiness filled me as I started at the now crimson fist sticking through my fiance's chest. I couldn't help but look into her wide, horrified, blue eyes as the first extracted itself. Her grip on my hand didn't lessen as the bloodied hand gripped her hair, pulling her head to the side.

Gaunt, bald, fanged monsters peered at me from over her shoulder, giving me a sickening, malicious, grin before sinking its teeth into the side of Katara's neck. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, the grip on my hand weakening. The slick blood coating her front caused my hand to slide out of hers within a moment, my grip causing her ring to slide off with it. I watched, unable to speak, as the tendril of energy pulled me into to pit. The last thing I saw being the light leaving Katara's beautiful eyes as it tore its fangs from her throat.

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"For untold eons, demons walked the Earth. They made it their home, their, uh... their hell. But in time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals, for-for man. All that remains of the old ones are vestiges, certain magicks, certain creatures." -- Rupert Giles

[kyloren-theprince]

Feral

What makes Hux more feral than Ren? Lack of consent? Maybe, but Kylo isn’t one to always adhere to your every plea; sometimes what he needs is to fuck you hard and fast and without remorse and he never really asked to do that. But deep down, you and Ren both know what you want is each other.

Warnings: smut, edging, inappropriate use of the Force, swearing, brief mention of assault, blood

“Damnit, Ren!” He stands between you and the door, his body solid and taut with barely – just barely – contained rage. He could kill you no problem. But it's not about whether or not he could, the matter at hand was would he. You clench your fist, steeling yourself. “Move.”

He takes a jagged breath, bracing, everything about him so barely controlled. The air hums with an electricity that makes your hair stand on end, makes the lights buzz a little louder than before. Without his helmet, the dark tresses of his hair fall over his face, curling handsomely around the edges of his cheekbones.

“No,” he growls lowly. His left eye twitches. “You’re not leaving.”

“Like fucking Kriff I am!”

“Where are you even going to go?” He’s challenging, squaring off. You roll your eyes. “Are you running to the resistance? Go fuck off with whoever’s left?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t be a fucking child. I’ll stay right where I’m needed-“

“And yet you want to leave,” he interrupts.

“Yes!” You manage to sidestep him, closer to the door, but not yet there.

There’s pressure on your wrist, not warm enough to be his hand, but firm enough that it’s clear you’re not getting out of this quite yet.

“Why? Give me one good reason why.”

You turn on a credit, the hair that managed to free itself from it’s braids flying wild. “You are a lot of things, Kylo, but a man of reason is not one of them.”

“One!”

You watch the way his chest heaves, his fingers twitching. A pain taps the nerves in your arm. You must flinch because he releases only a hair, but it's enough that he’s not hurting you. You look at him, in his eyes, and your heart aches at the sight.

They’re red, glistening enough to know that he has tears in his eyes. You were the only one to ever see him cry (and live), but now you were the cause. Your voice softens.

“I need you to understand that I am not you little fuck toy. You don’t get to use me and then leave for days – weeks – and then get pissed off when I’ve left these quarters during that time.”

His lips press together tightly. You consider the idea of continuing to talk, but you just swallow, feeling the ghost of a hand trail across your palm, pulling on your fingers just enough to have a sense of longing. But then it’s gone, and Kylo lets you walk through those blast doors without another word.

––––

Two, almost three, weeks have passed since that night, and while the ache of Kylo’s absence weighed heavy on your spirit, other issues have arisen. These ones, however, you never realized the extent of before now. Most personnel on the Finalizer recognized your authority, and regarded you with the same respect as before, but there were few outliers.

Take General Artimage Hux for example: he’s a man of some power, and with the idea that he is irreplaceable in his head, he’s proven himself quite the pain in your ass.

He was always on your heels, offering you comfort you didn’t ask for, kind words you didn’t want to hear, gentle reassurances that made you want to pull your hair out, grab him by the ear and thunk him on the forehead, right between his eyes. Either that or kill him.

Right now, as he’s calling your name from the other end of the otherwise empty hall to your temporary quarters, you’ve decided on killing him.

“What is it, General?” You slow enough to glance over your shoulder, hating how close to you he always wants to be. “I’ve somewhere I need to be.”

“And where might that be, darling?” He teases, smoothing over his uniform.

His voice. It’s grating on your ears, makes your head hurt in the worst way. Stars, debriefings with him were awful but this was outright torture.

Maybe that’s how we should interrogate the prisoners, you think. Make him talk to them for a few hours. Melt their brains with his bantha shit.

“None of your concern,” you reply curtly. You don’t give him the courtesy to look at him, you don’t have to. “You’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Your door is in sight, but he’s still here. “Actually General,” you snap, turning sharply to face him, “you don’t. Report to your post immediately.”

The cocky motherfucker has the audacity to stop as well, flash his teeth in a smile, bend at the waist and ask, “Or what?”

A beast within you runs rampant, gnashing its teeth, scratching, writhing in his presence. You don’t move, only watch as he flinches, clutching his neck as he chokes.

“You seem to have forgotten your place,” you snarl. “Or you’ve forgotten mine. Which is it?”

He garbles around the pressure on his throat, usually so pale face having taken on a red tone, ripening into a purple. You release him, and he sucks in deep, lungful of air. He’s panting when he looks at you again, his eyes no longer teasing, but dark and dangerous. In a moment, your head throbs upon its impact against the wall, your arms pinned between your bodies. Hux’s breath on your face makes your skin itch.

“Your place has been Ren’s whore.” You thrash, and he takes hold of your chin, knocking your temple into the support pillar. Your vision goes spotty, but you still push against him. “But now he’s thrown you out like the cheap thing you are.”

So many emotions are screaming through you, your fight or flight going haywire. Was your brain even processing? Ren’s whore, you hear him say. His hands are moving, dragging, feeling across the planes of your torso.

Spiraling, your consciousness produces the image of walking into your quarters, the one you shared with Kylo, and burying yourself in his chest, running your hands through his hair. Even in the daydream, you’re crying, apologizing over and over. You imagine him saying your name.

Maybe he hates you for what you did, and that makes it worse, so much worse, because that’s the only place you want to be. You want to be in the arms of the person who hates you so fucking much. You’re slipping under, drowning in whatever nightmare this is, shutting down, but you don’t want to. No, no this is not going to be how this turns out. You’ll die before then.

“What was that?” It’s Hux again; grating, disrespectful, disgusting Hux. “I thought you said something, darling.”

You pry your eyes open. You bring your knee up, but he pins both legs with his own, amused by your struggle. He opens his mouth to say something, but you spit right there on his face, wishing it were poison or acid instead.

“You,” he says lowly, leaning close to your face, “are going to regret that.”

You bare your teeth. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Without further warning, you bite down on the bridge of his nose, forcing your teeth down tight around the bone until there’s a resounding crack, copper on your tongue. He shouts, smacking at your face until you let go. He prods at the break, flinching, staring at you with wide and pissed off eyes. He shifts his weight towards you, the very beginning of a step, but you throw him back with the Force. He crumples to the ground, rolling slowly to his hands and knees.

Ever on time, the patrol of the evening comes into view, and with one little flick of your wrist, Hux is sent flying to their feet. They stumble to a stop, looking to you for orders.

“Take him,” you instruct.

They move without hesitation, binding his wrists together, and escorting him to the brig eight levels down. You stand there, in the middle of the otherwise empty hallway, just breathing.

Kylo, you think, hoping – knowing – he can hear you, meet me at the throne.

––––

He’s come home from battle looking better than he does now; the bags beneath his eyes are prominent, shoulders slumped with their own weight. He doesn’t move when you enter the room, doesn’t say anything as you walk towards him. He just watches with those sad and tired eyes. You stand next to him, inches from the throne, studying its intricacies that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Do you understand why?” Your voice is soft, fragile even. He feels his heart twist in his chest, guilt sinking lowlowlow. There’s another moment of silence save for his breathing, and you pull him from his thoughts with the gentlest call of his name.

“I do,” he answers, fearing he’s spoken far too loud for the moment. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t defend himself in anyway, he just knows these last three weeks have been eating him alive. He was rotting in ways he hadn’t expected to. And maybe to say he understood was a lie, but he knew he’d at least try to accommodate, to listen to you a little more than just your moans.

You nod once, eyes somewhere else entirely. Gentle is not his forte. You knew this, you didn’t expect him to console you, you didn’t ask him to, but carefully – awkwardly, even – he reaches out, pulling you into his chest.

“Kylo,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt, feeling every thump thump thump of his heart. It felt good to say his name, feel it roll on your tongue.

His hands move from your back to your face, ducking down to kiss you deeply. “Say you won’t leave.” You run your hands through his hair, fingers spread wide over his scalp. “Tell me you wont leave again, ever. You can go wherever the fuck you want, but you’ll come back to me.”

Ren’s whore.

“If you promise me the same.” His brows are twisted, and you know with that one look that he’s heard Hux’s words. You shake your head. “I don’t know what I’m-“

He kisses you, short and fierce this time. “You’re Empress. You rule beside me.”

“Wha-“

“And you’ll stay by me.” His words are sharp, but he softens when he says, “Please.”

Though weak, you smile. “How could I ever refuse you?”

His sinks, smashing your lips together in a flurry, and you take it as an apology. Words he was terrible at, but he could show you, Kriff could he show you.

There more he kisses you, the more you dissolve into his touch, shaking, melting away at his fingers. His grip turns a little harsher, nose scrunching up.

He spins, sitting on the throne and pulling you with him, onto his lap. “You-“ he runs his hands up your thighs, thumbs drawing harsh circles “-fuck.”

You cup his face, kissing him, letting his hands roam, but keeping his lips firmly against yours. He’s jumpy, hips rocking, grinding his covered cock against your heat, growling when you don’t move more than your lips against his.

He wants control, needs it; can feel it scathing beneath his skin, but you’re not backing down this time. You need this just as much as he does, more maybe.

You tug at his belt, pulling away to tear off his pants, hands sliding up over his thighs, the thick muscles would tight and jumping at the press of your thumb. His eyes burn into yours, nose scrunched up.

“If you don’t sit on my cock—“

“You’ll what?” He doesn’t flinch at your sharp tone, but his face relaxes, lips parting so pretty, pupils blown wide. You push his arms down to the throne, pinning him by his inner elbow as you shift back onto his lap. His fingers flex. You gyrate your hips, barely dragging your heat over his aching erection, and he visibly shakes.

You’ve never felt this powerful in your life; not when you cut down enemies, had troopers obey your every command. No, having the mighty Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the galaxy, trembling beneath you was what made you feel fucking invincible.

Almost drunk on it, you lean forward, daring, “What will you do, Kylo?” He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Bend me over? Fuck me stupid?”

Poking at the beast is fun. He locks up, every muscle drawn tight, and he gives a clipped, “Yes.”

You reach out with the Force, seeing bind to his arms, and falling heavy with weight. You knock the snarl off his lips when you take a fistful of his hair and tug, pushing his head against the back of the throne, baring his pale throat. His lips part again, arms taut against the invisible pressure.

“Then you,” you taunt, leaning in close, “haven’t learned your lesson.”

All the ways you could bind him flit through your mind, and you know he sees them too, you make sure of it. His eyes grow darker. Every heavy breath makes his chest puff, flexed, bracing for something that might happen, might not. Nearly lost in it, you bring him back to reality, letting only the head of his dick slide into your wet hole.

“Is this what you wanted?” You sink, just enough to watch those pretty lashes flutter, before rising again. He growls through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna have to use your words.”

He hates this, hates you’ve turned the tables. Or maybe he likes it. Fuck if he really knows. He does know he likes seeing you like this, all commanding, rich with… stars, he’s not sure what this is. But you’re flushed, focused, articulate even as your cunt drools all over his lap. It’s a tug of war, whether or not he submits, so he gives back what you’re so good at: being a brat.

“Is this what you wanted?” He lets his tongue drag over his teeth, watching your head tilt as you follow his eyes. “You wanted to come prove something to your Supreme Leader?”

“No,” you hum and oh, he’s in for it now. He holds his breath when you lean forward, the pressure of hands working over his hips and pressing down at the tops of his thighs. “I wanted to break you.”

His back arches, breath coming in harshly, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack as he moans, wishing he could hold your hips down on his, your cunt sheathing him so suddenly he’s keening. He groans, the sound catching on the back of his throat, reverberating. You wigglegrindclench, and he gasps, willing you to move. Your grip on his hair loosens, running your hand through the dark tresses, stopping only at his jaw to tug his lower lip. Kylo’s eyes are glazed over when he looks at you again.

“Please,” he breathes, the plea surprising you both.

“Please what?”

“Fuck!” He snaps weakly, breath leaving in a big sigh. “I don’t know, just please move. Please.”

You roll your hips, biting your lip when he chokes on his own voice. “Will you be good?”

There’s a moment of mixed emotions, clarity returning to his eyes. He blinks, face scrunching up, shaking his head of whatever thought occupying it.

You click your tongue, “What a shame.”

Pressure at the base of his dick and he jerks his hips up, eyes wide, flitting between a plea and a threat as you tighten the grip, fucking yourself on his hot length. He swears, pants, leans forward to bite at your breasts, but you take hold of his chin, pushing his head back against the throne.

“Uh-uh,” you chide. “You didn’t want to be a good boy, so this is what you get.” Breathless but determined, you lean forward, still bouncing. “I’m gonna use you like some dumb fuck doll, and you’re not gonna do a thing. You’re not gonna touch me, taste me—“ you make a point of tightening the invisible cock ring, earning a low, gutteral moan “—and you’re not gonna cum in me either.”

The threat almost makes him scream. He tries to bite it back, but your walls are hugging him so tightly, making this obscene squelching noise everytime you move. Sweat drips down to the hollow of your throat and stars does he wish to drink it down. He breathes your name, husky and desperate for you, for release, both.

“Please,” he begs again. He closes his eyes, nearly melting when your lips ghost over the smooth skin of his neck, nose following the line of his scar. “P-please! I’ll be a good—“ his throat clicks “—good boy! Let me cum, fuck, let me cum please!”

Those words felt foreign on his tongue, but how his whole being sings when your fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s almost there, would be if not for your hinderance, but he can feel the way your walls flutter and clench, and he knows he’s not the only one.

“Do you think you deserve to?”

“No!” Spitting that out was easier than he expected. So was, “I don’t deserve you or your cunt!”

You hum, but don’t acknowledge it further, chin dropping to your collarbone as you pant shudder shake, heat coiling at the base of your spine, muscles flexing. Kylo’s back bows, chest and face angled towards the ceiling, a loud, low moan rumbling through him.

He tries not to think about it — how fucking badly he wants to cum, fill up your pretty cunt — tries breathing, counting, squeezing his eyes shut. He forces his mind away from his orgasm, and of course it goes to you; his conscious seeks out the thread intertwining the two of you, the shared bond through the Force.

A new sensation zips through him, flitting through his thoughts, makes his brain buzz on his own skull. You sigh, moan, and he feels it, feels it against the planes of his face, feels it hum through his head like a tidal wave. Everything is so bright and electric, but there’s something there.

It’s small, tucked away, felt by numb fingers. It’s young and fleeting and yielding and disappearing melting hiding gone behind the eruption of your orgasm, and Kylo feels all of it.

In every cell in his body, he feels you clamping down on his cock, gushing, cumming all over his lap, moaning loud loud loud for him. He feels your release through you and his mind is spinning because Kriff his cock is still so full and aching as you pull away. He whines, low and pitiful.

“Go on.” His whole being hums with your voice, the pressure of the cock ring relieving into a stroke over his shaft. “Cum, Kylo.”

And he does, he fucking cums; thick spurts that touch his chin and splatter on his chest, such a big load that lands all over him. His body sags against the throne, breathing deep through chapped lips.

Fuck, maybe he blacks out for a moment, dragging his eyes open when his cloak is tossed over his lap, the fabric making his over sensitive cock twitch. When the blast doors hiss open, and troopers march in escorting Hux, Ren doesn’t move.

You briefly admire Kylo; the sweat makes his hair curl into his eyes, everything about him draped so leisurely across the ancient seat, thighs spread. The flush of his usually pale skin, little marks across his neck, make him glow. His gaze meets yours, unchanging, but curious. Hux clears his throat.

“Supreme Leader,” he acknowledges almost reverently, falling to one knee.

That something is back, scathing and scratching behind the walls of your mind, and Kylo sees it, turning to Hux slowly. “Your business here is not with me.”

You turn, and it’s now that Hux swallows thickly. At the bottom of those steps, he looks so small and scared, as he damn well should be. His back straightens when you walk forward, the troopers moving back as you approach.

“Empress,” he says lowly, far less reverently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Something dark clouds your eyes, and Hux’s façade fades further. He reaches out, just the barest lift of his fingers, and that’s it.

Kylo’s saber flies easily from its hilt, landing in your palm, burning hot as it cuts through the air, through skin and bone, Hux’s hand falling to the floor in a sickening heap. He cries out, cradling his arm, wailing, face red. The smell of burnt flesh curls at your nose.

“If you touch another woman without her permission,” you promise, low, dark, and deadly. You put the tip of the saber beneath his trembling chin, forcing him to look at you. “I will take more than your hand.”

He nods as best he can, whispering hoarsely, “Yes, ma’am.”

What a sight to behold: an empress wielding a blade to a feral man’s throat, threatening his life with little effort and full understanding.

When Hux is half carried away on tremebling knees do you turn back to your husband. You kill the saber, slowly retuning to him, offering it for him to take. Your heart was hammering in your chest. Whether that’s from the exertion of fucking him or the adrenaline of Hux’s punishment, you weren’t sure.

Kylo’s lips remain parted, eyes wide as he pushes the saber away with the side of his pinky, his focus zeroed in on you.

“Is that what possessed you?” His voice is low, hoarse despite the way he tries to clear it. Your lip twitches and that’s all he needs to know.

He urges you forward, the Force gentle at your back, but buzzing with anticipation. You stand between his parted legs, letting his hands touch your waist, sliding up to your ribcage as he sits up. His thumbs move soothingly. He angles his head upwards, almost your height, but not quite given he’s still sitting.

He wants to say something, he should, but he’s replaying that moment in his head over and over and over until he’s dizzy with it. The power and radiance of you always left him so hard, and now was no different; with his shifting, his robe falls, revealing his cock, already flushing a deep red, precum falling from the slit.

“You are exquisite,” he breathes finally, loving the way your pupils blow wide at the sight of him. And while he doesn’t have words beyond that, your lips meet fiercely in a kiss that you both moan into, and stars he can show you just how much he needs you.

[fatefulfaerie]

Memory Loss

Febuwhump prompt #24/28

Franchise: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild 2

Word Count: 1,215

“Link.”

He felt a soft hand on his cheek, unfamiliar and yet warm and comforting, unrecognizable and yet soothing and relaxing.

Link opened his eyes to see a young woman, with glistening emerald eyes and short blonde hair that billowed in the breeze. With a braided crown atop her head, she resembled a princess.

“Who are you?” Link asked as his vision settled.

The young woman didn’t respond at first, staring with confusion. However it wasn’t long before she smiled.

“Very funny, Link,” she said with a giggle, Link not quite understanding the joke. “Now come on,” she said as she stood up, dusting herself off. “It’s about time we went home.”

Link stood up from the tree he was sitting against as the young woman started to depart the clearing, walking into the forest of trees.

“E-excuse me, um,” he said tentatively, not quite knowing how to catch the attention of this mysterious woman. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Zelda repeated simply without turning her head, making her way through the various brush. “You’re not fooling me, Link. Besides, it’s barely even funny. It would be a horrible thing for you to lose your memory again, especially considering Elyjah and Wendie.”

Link had followed her with very little of a figured reason why.

“Who?”

It seemed that was one too many questions for Zelda too simply write off as a joke. Besides, Link was never this good of an actor, nor of a liar.

She turned around and studied him, the pensive look in her eyes making Link stop in his tracks.

“They’re…” Zelda started, only beginning to fathom that perhaps it wasn’t a bit at all. “They’re our…children, don’t…” She breathed a heavy sigh, her voice starting to break. “Don’t you remember?” She said, her voice filled with pain.

And yet as much as he wanted to, Link had no idea how to remedy it but to fill the situation with all he had, a brutal and cutthroat honesty.

“I don’t,” Link said with shakes of his head.

Zelda closed her eyes with sharp exhale, panic settling within her chest and making itself comfortable, despite Zelda’s discomfort.

She fought tears as she looked up at sky, wishing she hadn’t taken their life together for granted, wishing they hadn’t decided to go hunting today, wishing that damn boar wouldn’t have rammed Link into that damn tree.

“I’m sorry,” she heard Link voice, but it was no use. She shook her head as she approached him. 

“The damage is done,” she said holding out her hand. “We may as well get a good night’s sleep no matter what the damage is.”

Link took her hand and somehow immediately felt secure, knowing that with her, he would be safe.

He looked down at the connection between them, the way she held his hand so tentatively and uncertain. He felt like he was in the body of a man she cared for a great deal, and yet even her name was gone from his mind. Zelda additionally kept silent, and her steps were steadily fast, as if she were attempting to walk away from her anger.

“Are we married?” Link asked, noticing the silver bands they both donned. Although as soon as the question left his lips, he regretting asking it.

“Yes,” Zelda said. “You proposed after the caves, and we were married within the week.”

“The…caves?”

Zelda sighed.

“It’s a long story.”

Link wondered at why she didn’t proceed to tell it as they made their way out of the forest and into a small town, full of villagers with genuine smiles and happy eyes.

They crossed a wooden bridge no sooner than a small little girl bursted out of the house they faced, running towards her parents. Because she expected Link to pick her up and spin her around, she bumped full-force into his legs.

“Daddy?” she said, looking up with big blue eyes at Link, who had no idea how to interact with children, much less believe that he had fathered one.

Not to mention two as a little boy exited the house with the baby sitter.

“Your dad just isn’t feeling well,” Zelda said to her daughter as she picked her up and carried her into house.

Link stood awkwardly outside it as he caught a bit of the conversation with Zelda and the babysitter.

“I’m going to have to ask you to watch the children at bit longer. Link has…”

Their words faded off and Link soon realized there was another child at his feet, this time the boy.

“Elyjah,” he guessed. “What is it?”

“You promised you would take me hunting the next time you went!” The boy said with hands on his hips. Link supposed it was time to improvise. He crouched down to meet the boy’s eyeline.

“It’s a dangerous place out there,” Link said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until you’re older.”

Link could help but stare at the boy, the way his eyes matched that of the woman with glimmering green eyes and yet the color of Elyjah’s hair matched his own. Link ran his fingers through it in amazement.

“How could I dare to forget this?” He whispered, the young boy not quite understanding his dad’s odd behavior.

“Link?” Link heard the woman prompt, his head popping up to see Zelda, although Link still didn’t know her name. She gestured with her head to follow him to the side of the house, and she didn’t wait before she walked.

“Run along,” Link said to the boy as he stood back up, it being strange that the child actually listened to what he said and did it.

Link followed Zelda with fear, knowing that every word out of his mouth broke her heart more. And yet, he didn’t even know how to lie, to tell her what she wanted to hear.

“What do you remember?” She asked, facing him with her hands hugging her chest.

“Not much,” Link replied. “Basically just how to talk and what to say and what things are, simple things like that.”

“What about your life?”

Link shrugged.

“A few flashes,” he said. “All you, but...it’s nothing coherent.”

Zelda walked forward and took his hands, refusing to meet his eyes and instead looking at the grass below them.

“The first time you lost your memory it was a byproduct of the restorative qualities of the Shrine of Resurrection. You could think of it as a…a, um…a price…that had to be paid, in simplest terms of course, but…this was a minor head bump. If it’s temporary, things should start coming back in at least twenty four hours.”

“And if they don’t?” Link asked.

Zelda smiled.

“Then I promise to tell you everything.” She said, meeting her forehead to his.

“Do you mind if we just sit here and think?” Link asked. “I want to at least try and remember your name.”

Zelda nodded.

“Of course,” she said softly, before detaching her forehead and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Link worried as they sat staring at the distant horizon that he wouldn’t remember this wonderful life that was apparently his.

And yet, an hour later, Zelda knew Link’s condition was only temporary when he uttered as sincerely as ever the name,

“Zelda.”

[gyucore]

run to the shadows

pairing: soobin x reader

genre: angst (?), supernatural au

word count: 5.1k

warnings: swearing, blood and wounds, character death

synopsis: the city is on a lockdown. people with uncontrollable elemental powers are springing up left and right. the government is trying to capture every single elemental in the guise of protecting the citizens. much to your dismay, your fiancé, soobin, just had to be one of them.

The rays of the sunset left a warm sensation on your skin. The gentle breeze passing by gives you a moment of coolness that vanished as fast as it came. Children's laughter could be heard close by, their parents watching over them from afar. Sometimes, someone would pass by and greet you with a smile before continuing their way beside the calm waters of the lake. You look on to the horizon and gaze upon the direction where the sun had set, holding on to this scenic view one last time.

The blanket of the night sky soon came, a reminder that you had to quickly return home. You leave the lakeside with a heavy feeling on your chest— one that you can't seem to shake off. But there were more important matters to be dealt with.

"Hurry inside, sweetie, before the raiders come." You hear a mother say, ushering her child inside their car, her tone laced with worry as she made sure the doors were closed shut. "We don't want to be around when they capture the bad people."

Capturing bad people, huh. Even hearing the phrase was distasteful. One wouldn't expect for a government that's supposed to protect its citizens to go around doing something as inhumane as capturing someone and imprisoning them despite having done nothing wrong, and branding these victims as bad people just because they were forced into their situation.

Your thoughts fill with worry and the heavy feeling in your chest worsens. You're not sure whether this was the usual looming threat of having your life endangered, or the effect of having left your fiance's side after a huge argument. Part of you knows it's the latter.

"Soobin.." You sigh, your chest not feeling any lighter as you did. Scenes from earlier replay in your mind and you silently wish things had gone differently.

The walk home was quiet. Not a lot of people were wandering around at night anymore, even the questionable individuals that once littered the darker streets and alleys. Whether this was a good thing or not was up to how much the whole situation affected an individual.

In the more populated neighborhoods, the lights would be dimmed, the curtains drawn, the gates closed, and the windows locked shut. The clean asphalt beneath your feet soon met with bits and pieces of rubbish as you reach the farthest back of the neighborhood. The place was dark with most of the streetlight broken. You'd think that after a year, at least most of them would've been fixed but the government had a more important investment to focus on than providing their citizens the bare minimum security they at least deserve.

A creaking sound from the dark alerts your senses. Your hands come up in front as balled fists as you take a defensive stance, reminding yourself that if ever worse comes to worst, you had a dagger hidden in your pocket.

You make a quick scan of your surroundings, taking notice of every minute movement and sound your senses could pick up. No one. You'd like to think you were just being paranoid but you never know what might happen. Your heart beats faster in your chest as you go through ever possible scenario that might happen to you, or worse— to Soobin.

"Come out and face me!" You scream. Even if no one was there, no other person was living in this neighborhood that would bother to report a screaming maniac marching around their streets.

A few minutes pass and after checking each and every nearby nook and cranny, you slowly let your guard down. Perhaps you truly were just being paranoid. But who could blame you? The past few months hadn't exactly been the best. You've been in a lot of awful situations from having to hide for a week inside an abandoned theme park cave to nearly beating someone to death over food rations if Soobin hadn't stopped you.

It all started when one day, a phenomenon struck the city. Hundreds of people were turning up, reporting that they've been experiencing strange things with their body and surroundings. Eventually, it was discovered that they had somehow acquired the ability to manipulate the elements. The whole situation looked like it came straight out of a fantasy novel. But this wasn't your average story where the gifted ones get to go on crazy adventures to fulfill or prevent some messed up destiny. Quite the opposite actually.

The citizens with newfound abilities were tracked down to the ends of the city and captured. The government released a statement on how these citizens are no longer human. They were branded as monsters with uncontrollable powers that were planted in the city to harm the citizens, and eventually, the world.

They proposed a solution to lockdown the city in order to prevent the escape of these monstrous individuals and that they'd clear the streets at night from any and every individual who is suspected of possessing such abilities. Soon after, people were disappearing left and right. No one had been spared. They'd captured adults, teenagers, the elderly, and even children as young as a year old, and brought them into the holding facilities. Reports state that they were simply being held captive to enforce the necessary safety measures, but you knew all too well that they didn't stop there.

Experiments. They'd never admit to it but those that were heavily affected by these regulations knew that behind closed doors were vicious experiments being held in order to find a way to utilize these abilities for the government's advantage. One way to avoid this fate was to keep out of the prying eyes of the raiders, the ones in charge of finding and capturing the ability users.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes widen and you snap back to your senses, whirling around to see a familiar pair of eyes staring back at you.

"Y/N.." In an instant, you were engulfed in a tight hug. You feel his warmth slowly being passed down to you and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to melt in his arms. "You're safe.. I was so worried.."

You look up at none other than your fiancé, Soobin. Now that he was closer, you could see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. It was clear that he'd been worried sick, and you were the same. A feeling of regret washes over you for ever leaving his side and causing him this much worry.

"Soobin, I—" You pause, forcing yourself out of his arms to look at the surroundings. "Let's talk inside. It's not safe out here."

Soobin nods, adjusting his hoodie as the two of you walk back inside your temporary base. The two of you had escaped into the lesser populated areas of the city to avoid public eye. You couldn't risk being seen by anyone at this state. Despite the government's unprecedented tactics, you hated to admit that they were right about one thing— most of the ability users couldn't control their powers, and unfortunately, Soobin was one of them.

Soobin paces back and forth in the living room, his mind racing with thoughts of worry. What if you had gotten mixed up into something dangerous while you were out? What if they had falsely accused you as an ability user? He wanted to scream the frustration out of his system, but he knew it wouldn't do him any good.

He regretted it. He regretted ever arguing with you in the first place. It wasn't even worth the risk of endangering both of you.

Soobin hated his newfound powers, hated how he had to hide in the slums of the city to stay alive, hated how he could never go out to see the world without putting his life at risk, and hated how you could only do so much to console him. How would you, an ordinary person, be able to relate to his worries? Eventually, he grew envious of how you could leave the house even if it was only to purchase groceries at a nearby store, and how you could bask in the warmth of the sun without having to worry about your abilities going berserk. All that pent-up emotion ended up with a huge fight. And eventually, you stormed out of the house.

Soobin had only come to terms with himself after watching you yell out in frustration before slamming the door behind and leaving.

It was you who had been by his side throughout everything. You didn't have a reason to hide, but you moved into the back of the city with him and catered to his every need. You held his hand at night when he feared he might go crazy in his sleep, and had been patient and understanding with him whenever his powers went haywire. You had protected him even when he insisted on being able to protect himself, and went to vast lengths to help him make it through until the end. Not once did you waver in front of him, and he felt so ashamed. How could he have let all those negative thoughts cloud his judgement?

Even now that he had risked his life and went outside to find you, he felt the regret deep inside his chest. Even now that he held you safely in his arms in the middle of the street, he couldn't let it go.

"Let's talk inside. It's not safe here."

Inside. It was for the best. "Okay."

It felt safer inside the house. The dim light coming from the living room lamp, thick walls, and drawn curtains brought on a familiar sense of comfort. Soobin had taken off his hoodie and tossed it aside, leaving him in his favorite loose white shirt. One thing you've come to notice even before your engagement was that he wore that specific shirt whenever he wanted some room to breathe. You hoped that he's had a good amount of that when you'd left him alone earlier.

Soobin makes himself comfortable on the couch next to the window, patting the spot next to him. You refrain from taking his offer. "Soobin, about earlier.."

“I'm sorry.” / “I'm sorry.”

Soobin looks up at you, blinking, and the two of you burst into laughter. After a while, he clears his throat and speaks up. You lean against the counter to hear him out. "You know, it's funny. Earlier I had this whole apology planned out in my head explaining everything— why I said all that stuff, and how I regret every single word. I wanted you to maybe understand where I'm coming from and how sorry I am but.." His eyes once again meet yours and as if a silent message had been conveyed, Soobin smiles. "Somehow, I feel like you already know."

You smile back, finally taking up his offer and plopping down right next to him on the couch. You rest your head on Soobin's shoulder, and he does the same. The warmth of his hand spreads throughout yours as he interlocks your fingers, bringing them close to your faces. The edge of your engagement rings glisten against the dim light, a promise of eternity with each other that would soon be sealed. An eternity in each other's embrace.

Before all of this had started, you had spent countless nights like this with Soobin, balled up together on the sofa or bed, and enjoying the warmth in each other's arms. Now, you'd barely spent the nights together. Rules had been established to keep you two safe from the prying eyes of the government, and naturally, there were also rules you'd agreed on to keep each other safe. One of those rules was that you couldn't sleep on the same bed. Soobin had no control of his powers and feared that he might hurt you in his sleep. You had tried it out once during the first week, ignoring the possibility. It didn't end well.

A knock on the front door breaks the silence in the room.

Soobin pulls you closer in his arms, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. A frown creeps up his lips as he leaned in closer to your face. “I know what you're thinking but please listen to me—”

“Soobin..” You look him in the eyes, holding his hand tighter. “I heard a noise on the way back. I think I might have been followed.”

Another knock sounds from the door, sounding more impatient than before

“In that case, I want you to stay behind.” Soobin says, letting go of your hand as he gets up from the couch.

“What? Why?” You follow right after, blocking Soobin's path to the door.

“You said you were being followed. If it's a raider then it couldn't have followed you to get to me when I haven't been outside in a long time.” Soobin sighs, walking around you. It wasn't news that raiders would falsely accuse random citizens as ability users for some short-term glory of having allegedly protected the city from these monsters. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N. I don't want you getting hurt.”

“And I don't want them to capture you.”

“They won't.”

“Soobin, please listen to me. You can't control your abilities yet. What if—” You were about to run after him when you notice you couldn't move. You look down and see that your feet had been bound to the ground by chains of ice. Since when had Soobin gained this much control over his powers? was the first thought that came to mind. He'd been training for a while but the results have been rather unhelpful. But not this time.

Soobin wasn't sure when he'd started feeling confident about his abilities, but he's sure of one thing. He'd use his abilities to protect what matters to him the most: you.

“Is someone there?” He asks before opening the door, heart thumping in his chest as he waited for an answer.

“Raid officer. I'm here to have a word, if I may.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Justice sleeps for no one, sir.”

Justice. Soobin holds his breath as he opens the door, preparing himself for the worst. He comes face to face with a young man around his age— blond hair, clean and kempt raider uniform— he didn't look like the type to be fooled easily.

“What brings you here this late at night, officer?”

The officer smiles, straightening himself up. “Sorry for the disturbance. I'm Officer Kang Taehyun, and that's my partner, Choi Yeonjun.” He points at a pink haired officer with unkempt uniform, leaning against their motorbikes. “We'd like to ask you a few questions.”

Soobin agrees to their request, fully stepping out of the house.

“Full name?”

"That's.." Soobin hesitates, pondering whether he should tell him his real name or not. He notices the folder Taehyun was holding, and figured that the Officer might have already known his identity. He was testing him. “Choi Soobin.”

“A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Choi Soobin. You live alone?”

“Yes.”

The officer raises a brow. “I see. Any visitors over? A relative, or perhaps a lover?”

Soobin's heart races. He could spot the officer's partner at the back, preparing hid gear. He didn't like where this was going. “No.”

"Is that so?" The officer, Taehyun, breaks into a smile— cold, unsettling. He wonders if this smile was the last others have seen before getting sent straight to the facilities.

"This side of the neighborhood is pretty quiet, don't you think? No one else is living here except you."

"This place certainly has its charms." Soobin shrugs, trying his best to drive away suspicion. "I don't mind living alone and the groceries aren't that far from here anyway."

Officer Yeonjun steps in, gear in place and face unreadable. He nudges Taehyun to the side and takes over the conversation. "Listen, we'll make this quick for you. My partner and I spotted a suspicious woman walking around this area. No one else is living here except you. Do you know anything about her?"

There it was. Soobin supposes he couldn't have avoided the question any longer. "No, I don't. I haven't seen anyone nearby either. I was here at home the entire night, making dinner."

"I see." Yeonjun nods, his hand slowly reaching for something in his pocket. "You seem like a pretty agreeable guy. I'm sure you wouldn't mind if we checked inside to see if you're telling the truth."

"Not at all." Soobin grins, opening the door wider. It's not like he could refuse them in the first place. Raiders had been given the authority to search any premises without a warrant. He just hopes you had half a mind to hide yourself by now.

And you did. Both of you had prepared the house for circumstances like this. There was a trap door in the living room where you could hide in the case of an emergency. Soobin had melted the ice once Officer Yeonjun stepped in, and that was enough of a signal for you to hide. You couldn't afford to put Soobin in any more risk than he was already in.

Heavy footsteps liter the living room. Two, no, three pairs? That meant the two officers had gone inside with Soobin.

"Mr. Choi, would you mind showing my partner upstairs?"

"Of course."

You feel your pulse start to race. Soobin being alone with a raider was putting them in a stickier situation. If he loses control at any moment, this could mean the end of their lives. You couldn't help but peek through the hole on the floorboard. Only the pink haired officer was left behind to search the living room. You try to breathe quieter, hoping he wouldn't notice your presence.

The officer brings his hand to his ear, head shifting around as if making sure there weren't any witnesses.

"What is he doing?" You think to yourself, bracing for the worst.

"Taehyun's got him cornered upstairs. The girl isn't here. We'll proceed as planned."

You hold back a gasp and stumble back. A loud thump sounds upstairs followed by a glass shattering. Soobin!

The officer hears the noise and sighs, smashing his communicator onto the ground. He crouches down onto the floorboard and knocks twice. "Hey, I know you're there. Listen to me."

You don't respond, shock and fear stopping you from even breathing.

"This may be too much to ask, but please trust me. I'm part of the anti-faction unit that's here to support the ability users. My partner will capture your boyfriend and bring him to the facilities and I don't have a choice but to help him. I'll report you as a missing case so run away after my partner and I leave. There's no saving your boyfriend now so you could at least save yourself."

"Why are you doing this? Why can't you just save him?" You choke on your words, anger slowly rising. If he was here as an undercover agent then he could've at least saved Soobin.

"It's loo late. The facility's had an eye on him for months. If I do anything now, my cover would be blown. I can't have that." The officer frowns. You could see his fallen expression through the hole but that wasn't enough to calm you down.

"And I can't have Soobin getting killed." You snarl, hands balling into fists.

"He won't." The officer says before standing up. "They'll be down soon. Just do as I say and save yourself."

You feel your blood boiling. They knew Soobin was an ability user from the start and had used you as an excuse to lure him in a tight spot. Abandon Soobin? Not a chance. You didn't abandon him back then and you were sure as hell you wouldn't be abandoning him now when he needed you most.

"Move."

"Hm?"

The trap door had enough space to hide in, but that also meant you had enough space to make a running start. "I said move." You ram against the floorboard, knocking Yeonjun off and bursting the door open.

You were free.

"Soobin! Get out of there!" You scream the moment you got out, running as fast as your legs could carry you towards the stairs.

"Are you crazy?!" Yeonjun runs after you, breath hitching as he manages to grab your leg. "You could get killed!"

You kick Yeonjun's hand, causing him to stumble behind. "Soobin!" You scream, dashing upstairs. You make a sharp turn towards his bedroom and find him down on the floor, blood dripping from his hands.

Soobin looks at you, tears threatening to prick his eyes. "Y/N, get away from here!"

"Soobin.." Your gaze shifts from his worried eyes to Officer Taehyun's cold ones, looking at you like you were as significant as a tiny insect. It was only then that you realized what a mess the place was. The book case had been knocked over, sending the books scattering around the room. A huge spear of ice had bursted from the ground and crashed onto the glass window, coming in between Soobin and the officer.

"So, you were here all along?" Officer Taehyun scoffs, his tone as cold as his expression.

"Y/N, stand back. I'll handle this." Soobin tells you, wincing as he holds a hand towards the officer.

"You can't do anything to me." Taehyun smirks, crossing his arms. "You used up all your energy making this freak ice appear and for what? To buy time? You're the type who loses energy while using your abilities, so why not stop now?" You see him glance your way before snickering. "Is it the girl? Do monsters even have time for love?"

"Might want to check in the mirror." You slowly inch towards Soobin's side. "Who's the monster here? A guy who's just trying to live his life quietly, or the one who's had innocent blood spilled in his hands for countless nights?"

Taehyun's amused expression falls. "Last time I checked, none of them were innocent. And I'm not the one who conjured ice from the ground to harm an officer. Normal humans don't do that shit. Monsters do. Isn't that right, Yeonjun?"

Before you knew it, you were pinned to the ground. Yeonjun had crept up on you from behind while you were distracted.

"Y/N!" Soobin rushes after you but stops as Yeonjun takes out a knife and puts it to your neck.

"Move and I'll cut her." Yeonjun spits out his empty threats. You knew he wouldn't harm you. He just wanted to get out of this mess as fast as possible.

Soobin clicks his tongue, lowering his hands in defeat. Taehyun finds himself smiling at the entire situation. "There you go. And just when I thought you'd lost your common sense."

He walks over to Soobin, carefully maneuvering through the ice and shards of glass. "Come with us quietly, and we'll set her free. No scratches, no anything. Do we have a deal?" He takes out specialized handcuffs used to detain ability users and twirls it around his fingers.

"Don't! Soobin, please! There must be another way!" You scream, trying to break free from Yeonjun's hold but that only made him pin you down harder.

Soobin looks back at you and then at Taehyun, shedding a tear as he holds his hands out in front. "Keep your end of the deal. I surrender."

"No!"

"Quiet." Yeonjun puts the blade back into his pockets and puts his hand over your mouth. "Mmf!"

You felt powerless as you watch Soobin get handcuffed, his eyes never leaving yours— taking in your face one last time. "I'm sorry." He whispers.

"Oh, and for safety measure." Taehyun hums as he takes out a tranquilizer needle, stabbing Soobin on the neck. Soobin's falls on the ground, unconscious. "You can't be too careful with these monsters." Taehyun chuckles, bending down and hoisting Soobin up in his shoulders. He walks over to you and Yeonjun, leaving behind a few instructions for his partner. "Release her when I give the signal."

"My communicator's broken."

Taehyun raises a brow.

"It fell and got stepped on when this chick came out of nowhere and ambushed me."

Taehyun sighs. "I suppose we don't have a choice. Use my communicator." He uses his free hand to hand Yeonjun his communicator.

Yeonjun holds it in his hand and nods. You try to look over the door towards Soobin, but they were long gone. Yeonjun notices this and bends down, whispering.

"Listen. The plans have changed." He holds out Taehyun's communicator in front of you and smashes it to the ground. "Taehyun has no means of contacting the others for backup, and they can't hear us from where they're parked. We might be able to save Soobin." He loosens his grip and lets you go.

"What made you change your mind?"

Yeonjun sighs, helping you up. "We actually have a fighting chance now if we work together."

"What do you mean?"

"It's gonna take Taehyun a while to sort through the mess blocking the door."

"Mess? What mess?" And then it hit you. "You missed it up on purpose." That's why it took him so long to catch up.

Yeonjun takes out a gun from his holster and cocks it. "Listen carefully. We don't have a lot of time. Taehyun's has his guard down right now. I'm gonna sneak up to him and shoot hid arm that's holding Soobin. As soon as he drops him, I want you to grab Soobin and take him to the back. I'll meet you there."

You didn't exactly trust the guy but you weren't in a situation to be picky. "Fine."

"On my signal." Yeonjun whispers, taking a step forward from your hiding spot.

The plan sets in motion. The two of you sneak downstairs, peeking at Taehyun who's trying to sift through the broken furniture with one hand.

"Wow, looks like the girl got away. My bad."

"What are you—"

Yeonjun pulls the trigger before Taehyun could turn around, hitting the heel on his right leg.

"Shit!" Taehyun winces in pain. He reaches for his gun but Yeonjun was faster, shooting two other bullets through his other leg and his shoulder that's holding Soobin. He drops Soobin to the ground with a thud.

Yeonjun turns to you. "Now!"

You sprint towards Soobin's body, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Hold it right there." Taehyun pulls out a knife and holds it towards Soobin's throat. "One step closer and I'll kill him. Even if that traitor shoots me, I'll just use the last of my energy to slash his throat. You don't want that now, do you?" The look in Taehyun's eyes infuriated you. He looked so confident that you wouldn't dare take another step further, none of you would. And he was right.

Your eyes fall upon Soobin, your heart squeezing in your chest at the thought of losing him. All you could hope for was a miracle. To hell, it didn't even need to be a miracle. It could be a tragedy, a curse, whatever. Just let Soobin return safely in your arms.

You feel your hands heating up despite the cool air rushing inside from the open windows. A warm sensation fills your chest and you gasp for air. Taehyun and Yeonjun observe as you grip your stomach. You feel like throwing up. It felt like you've lost all control in your body. You were sweating from the heat, and the world looked like it was spinning out of control. Your vision clouds until a bright light flashes, stunning you for a brief moment.

"What's wrong with you?"

Your attention shifts towards Taehyun who'd spoken and all you could see was red. "Let him go."

Taehyun tightens his grip on the handle. "I didn't know this monster's life meant so little to you."

"Sorry to break it to you, but his worth is immeasurable in my eyes. I'd do anything for him." You narrow your eyes at his face. "Even if it meant I'd have to spill blood in my hands."

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Yeonjun asks, his tone laced with worry.

"Committing a murder." You answer, not bothering to look at him. "But not a crime."

In a split-second, the door behind Taehyun explodes, the flaming debris piercing Taehyun straight in the chest, miraculously missing Soobin. Taehyun's lifeless body falls onto the ground and Yeonjun takes cover from the explosion. You stay plotted at the same spot, scratches littering your sides as you nearly miss the flying debris. The fire slowly spreads throughout the living room and your legs give in as you drop to the floor.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, your arms instinctively reaching towards Soobin. Drained seemed like an understatement. You could barely move. It was as if all the energy you had earlier had been sucked out of your body.

"Y/N, get a hold of yourself!" Yeonjun rushes towards your side as soon as the coast was clear. "We have to get out of here!"

The world around you darkens and your mind turns blank. You couldn't even think at this point. Soobin was right in front of you yet nothing of what has happened has processed in your head. In the end, all you could do was stare at his face as hot tears spilled from your eyes.

"Snap out of it!"

You feel a stinging sensation coming from your cheek and you look up at Yeonjun. The air rushes back up your lungs and you gasp.

"Listen to me. We need to get out of here right now. If the fire spreads throughout the house, we're done for. We either die in flames or be killed once the backup finds us. Can you walk?"

"Yeah.. I think I can." You try your best to answer. He helps you on your feet before rushing towards Soobin.

Yeonjun stumbles as he hoists Soobin onto his back. He looks at you, eyes determined. "We managed to escape now, but who knows what'll happen next. What do we do now?"

In the end, it all came down to this. Wherever you went, it was all the same. You and Soobin have suffered too much, and it was time to put an end to it. Strangely enough, the flames that had swallowed your living room didn't make you afraid. It made you feel powerful— powerful enough to make a change.

"I don't want to cower in fear anymore." You lock eyes with Yeonjun who earnestly gangs on to your every word. "We've hidden ourselves in the darkness in fear of being captured but I think it's time we use the what we're familiar with to fight them off— use the darkness to turn against our oppressors."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Yeonjun settles right next to you.

You face your resolve, reaching your hand to caress Soobin's sleeping face. "For now.."

"We run to the shadows."

[fadedtemporarytattoos]

Divinity: A Savior Among Sinners

Warning: This oneshot contains obsessive behavior as well as mentions of physical, mental, and sexual abuse. There is also an instance with self harm. Viewer discretion is advised. 

Word count: 3.5k 

     She never expected that her only form of salvation would be in a spider-like stripper, but sometimes blessings come in the strangest of ways. She learned that he went by the name of Angeldust. He was impurity in its purest form, lust if it amalgamated itself into a humanoid shape. He was wild with desire, a creature with an insatiable appetite and insatiable habits. Well, at least, that’s what she thought at first.

     She saw him for the first time right before going on stage, he was twirling around the pole like his life depended on it, which probably wasn’t far off from the truth. A wicked smile adorned his face, but there was something off about his eyes. They held a certain amount of emptiness, a lack of hope that she recognized within herself. He was the epitome of sex appeal, and the sinners before him squirmed in their seats as he held eye contact. He ran his hands up and down his body, ghosting his fingertips across his inner thighs and trailing them up over the slope of his chest. All the while, his vacant eyes leered at her.  

      Shortly after, he gave her one last look before strutting off stage, directly past her. His heels clicked as he walked, and his footsteps resonated in her ears even after they were gone. She didn’t have much time to reflect before heading onstage herself. She gave one last over her shoulder before taking a deep breath and marching towards the pole in the center of the stage. 

     They got to know each other in dressing rooms and quiet restaurants. Their friendship blossomed within cups of questionable substances and the tying of corset strings. From complimentary smalltalk between strangers to something much realer, something more tangible. They sat together for late night conversations, sharing fears, hopes, and dreams. Secrets fell from soft lips like petals off a flower at the coming of autumn. All fronts were dropped when they were with one another. Hesitant words dripped from lips like honey out of a hive of understanding. They lived within shared glances, capturing moments and holding them hostage in the confines of their irises. They both experienced the wrath of Valentino firsthand, but the love they held for each other was much greater than their fear of him. 

      She found Angeldust after a particularly rough night. Apparently the show had not gone as great as Valentino wanted, and disciplinary action had to be taken. Y/n had agreed to hang out with Angeldust previously that week and was waiting at his apartment for him to arrive after his last show. He stumbled in three hours late with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a cigarette in the other. This, of course, sparked worry within Y/n. She immediately rushed forward and ripped the bottle out of his hand. He laughed at her, blinking owlishly while taking another drag. 

     “What did he do to you,” she asked quietly. 

     “Nothing that he hasn’t done before, Sugar,” he replied hollowly. 

      He then laughed a mighty laugh, one twinged with a soft contempt simmering beneath the surface. Y/n stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, placating him like a mother to a petulant child. He shrugged her off harshly. 

     “C’mon, darling,” he sneered. “Do we really need to do this? Do we really need to go around in circles? We both know what happened. We both know what he does to people like us. We both know his hands and their tendency to wander. His selective hearing. The way he blocks out the words, “No,” and, “Stop,” from his vocabulary at the most convenient times. He wouldn’t stop, Y/n, he never stops.” 

     He started mumbling harshly under his breath, sucking in air between his teeth before letting the words lingering on his tongue dwindle into nothingness. He ran a hand down his face, and he was no longer the same Angeldust she once knew. He was a young child, afraid of everything and nothing all at the same time. He suddenly looked microscopic in the finite vastness of his living room. He curled in on himself. The red hot anger that fueled him moments prior had dissipated as soon as it had appeared. Now, he was only left with flashbacks of fingertips ghosting over his collarbones and arms twisting around his torso like tree limbs. 

     He collapsed onto the floor, sobs ricocheting off of the paper doll walls. His body shuddered as he tried to gulp fresh air into his polluted lungs. Y/n rushed forward, cradling his head within her hands. 

     “Let it out,” she murmured, “let it all out.” 

     His sobs got increasingly louder, and she held him tightly, pulling him closer than before. She stroked the back of his head softly, making soft shushing noises. 

     “He’s never going to stop,” he muttered, “he’s gonna keep hurting me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. I don’t want this; I never wanted this. I can’t get him out of my head. He’s always there, even when I close my eyes. I can still feel his hands crawling all over me. I can still taste his breath on my lips. He wouldn’t let go. I told him to let go. I told him to stop. I said no. This isn’t okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.” 

     He grew quiet after that. The room swelled with the sound of their breathing and all of the words he left out in the open, all of the words he never had the guts to say before, the words he didn’t want to utter out loud. He feared that speaking them would make them much realer and, in a way, he was right. Now they were out in the open, and he had no way of taking them back. He could only sit and wait for the silence around him to swallow him up. Y/n shifted slightly, turning to look up at him. 

     “Things will be okay someday, even if that day is nowhere near,” she murmured. “Everything is temporary.”

     “That doesn’t change how I feel right now.” 

      “I know.” 

     They sat on the floor for hours, holding each other and listening to each other’s heartbeat. Y/n slowly shifted and began to stand up, dragging Angeldust with her. Neither of them spoke, they simply shuffled toward his bedroom door. Y/n softly turned the doorknob before ushering Angel into bed. The bright red numbers on his alarm clock read 3:00am. Angel sat on his bed, staring into space. He slowly fell back into the ocean of sheets, and felt himself drown once more. Y/n approached him cautiously, as if coming to the aid of an untamed animal. She gently grabbed his blanket and laid it out over his body. She kissed him softly on the forehead and smiled a delicate smile. 

     “I love you, Angel,” she said tenderly, “you are my best friend.” 

     She paused for a moment, as if she were unsure of how to continue. Her lips twitched before parting slightly. 

     “You’re scared, I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in the way he makes you flinch when he enters the room. You’re stronger than you think, I know you are. You are more than what he calls you. Don’t let him define you, you are so much more than anything he could ever dream to be. You are beautiful, Angel, and you are loved. You are so loved. Cry if you need to, and don’t feel bad about it. Never feel bad for feeling. Cry all you want, just know that I will always be here to pick up the pieces and put you back together. You will never be alone when I’m here. No matter what, we’re in this together. I will love you even when you can’t love yourself” 

     He looked up at her to see tears welled up in her eyes. She gave him a watery smile filled with so much affection and kindness, that it almost made him break down again. She turned to face the door and began taking small steps towards it, as they agreed that she’d sleep on the couch previously. She placed her dainty fingers on the doorknob and began twisting it when she heard a soft voice echoing behind her. 

     “Stay,” his voice cracked. “Please, just stay.” 

     “Of course I’ll stay,” she whispered, “I’ll stay as long as you need.” 

     She crawled into bed beside him, curling into him. He visibly relaxed and contorted closer to her. She grabbed his hand and pulled it up to her face. She kissed his knuckles before bringing his hand close and gripping it like a teddy bear. It wasn’t long before Angel’s breathing evened out and his body was still. Y/n fell asleep hours later after listening to the lullaby of his breath and feeling the blanketing warmth of his body. 

     They woke up with intertwined legs and morning breath. He woke up a few minutes before her, and really took in how beautiful she was. Her lips were pastel pink and her eyelashes tickled her rosy red cheeks. A small, faded bruise decorated her jawline but not even that could diminish her beauty. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing her kind eyes. They sat for a while just basking in each other's presence. Y/n sat up abruptly and darted her eyes towards the alarm clock. 

    “I’m late,” she screeched. 

      She flung herself out of bed before rushing to the bedroom door and slamming it open. She sprinted around the apartment, grabbing her stuff as she saw it. Angeldust groggily sat up and watched her spring around like a jackrabbit. Once she had grabbed all of her belongings, she plopped down on the floor to put on her platform boots. Angel made his way towards her before sitting across from her. 

     “Can you come over tonight?” He said this softly, desperately. 

      “Of course I will, Angel,” she replied. 

      “Promise?” 

     “Promise.” 

     She left after that, briskly walking through the halls of his apartment building before sprinting down the bustling city streets. By the time she got to the club, her feet were sore and she was out of breath. 

     “Where were you?” Valentino said it conversationally, but she heard the sinister undertones that lurked under the surface. 

     “I was busy with something,” she said smoothly, “it won’t happen again.” 

     “That didn’t answer my question.” 

     He strode towards her before grabbing her jaw tightly and pulling her face close to his own. 

     “You know how I feel about you lying to me,” he hissed. 

     “I didn’t lie to you,” she spat. 

     “I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll give you one more chance,” he sneered. “Where were you?”

     “I was just at Angel’s house,” she admitted. “We were just hanging out, and I lost track of time.” 

     “Oh,” he muttered, “I see.” 

     His eyes narrowed behind his pink sunglasses. He began cackling softly before shoving her backwards by the jaw. She stumbled back into the wall behind her. 

     “You’re spending time with the likes of him now,” he commented, “you must be pretty desperate.” 

     “There’s nothing wrong with hanging out around Angel,” she muttered angrily. 

     “Now, that’s where you’re wrong sweetheart,” he growled, “everything about that is wrong.” 

     He loomed over her form. She was so small compared to him, or rather, he made her feel small. He trained his eyes on her, waiting to see if she’d move. 

     “He’s my friend,” she argued. 

     “I don’t care,” he responded, “I don’t want you to be around him anymore. I expect you to cut him off today.” 

     “No,” she spluttered, “I won’t, and you can’t make me.”

     “You’d be surprised at what I can make you do,” he snarled. “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. I have been very lenient with you. Do not get on my bad side.” 

     “I’m not gonna cut him off or get rid of him,” she announced. “ I love him, he’s my best friend. You will not get your way this time because, no matter what you do, my love for him is stronger than my fear of you.” 

     “You’re gonna regret that,” he screeched. 

     He lunged towards her, hands outstretched like broken tree branches. She quickly cowered down, throwing her hands up to protect herself. He pushed her against the wall harshly, and her head collided with the drywall. A loud thump echoed throughout the room and it felt as if all of the air in her lungs had been sucked out. He reached forward and took a fistfull of hair from the base of her head. He began dragging her by her hair out of the room. She began to kick and cry, begging him to stop. He ignored her and yanked harder, causing her cries to crescendo. At that moment, everything heightened. It was almost as if she could feel each individual strand of hair as they were ripped from her scalp. 

     She could feel the carpet drag against her face and back. The carpet burn forming across her body felt so infinitesimal compared to the agony bubbling across the surface of her head. She tried her best to move forward with him in hopes of easing the pain. Whenever she managed to get into a standing position, he’d kick her back down into submission. It was almost as if he thought her standing was a feeble attempt at insubordination. Eventually she gave up and let him drag her through the winding, cherry-red halls. 

     It took them about ten minutes to get to the brass door. Ten minutes of pure agony, but ten minutes nonetheless. He flung the door open with a loud bang and shoved her inside. The floor was cold, and she wondered what it was made out of. It was dark in the room and all she could hear was a distant clanging from whatever Valentino was doing. 

     It wasn’t long before he grabbed her by the arm tightly and dragged her through the dark room. He thrusted her forward after reaching a certain point. She stumbled before catching herself on something frigid. She jolted backwards in fear and all she heard was the sound of Valentino laughing. 

     The lights in the room suddenly turned on, flooding the space with light. She took a look around her before feeling her heart sink.  

     “It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” he asked. “I didn’t think I’d have to use it this soon, but it’s oddly fitting for this occasion.” 

     She was trapped in a large birdcage. It was a silver color. The front of it mimicked a regular birdcage with prison-like bars, but the back of it looked like a perfect recreation of the garden of Eden with the forbidden tree smack dab in the middle. The tree was adorned with golden apples, the only part of the cage that was a different color than the rest. The metal around her was cold, and she knew that it would only get worse if she sat down or leaned against it. 

     “It was expensive,” he cut through her train of thought, “but nothing is too expensive for my angel.” 

     “Let me out,” she roared. 

     “Tsk tsk tsk, that behavior simply won’t do,” he muttered. “No no no, this won’t do at all. In order to get out you have to show improvement. You have to learn from your mistakes.” 

     She began banging on the wall of the cage. 

     “Let me out, you psychopath!”

     “Well, I definitely won’t do that when you have that attitude,” he snickered. “I’m gonna give you time to reflect on your actions. Hopefully you’ll figure out where your loyalties lie.”

     “You can’t do this to me,” she howled. 

     “Watch me,” he stated calmly, opening the brass door behind him. 

     “No!” 

     He flicked the switch and closed the door behind him, plunging her into darkness once more. Y/n screamed at the top of her lungs, punching the metal around her until her knuckles bleed and her arms ached. She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and shivering. She swore that she heard Valentino’s laughter from behind the door, but this just made her weep louder. 

     Meanwhile, Angeldust had been sitting in his living room for an hour, listening to water drip down from the leak in his ceiling. She was supposed to be here an hour ago. Where was she? Time passed quickly, and one hour turned into a day and a day turned into a week. He didn’t know where she was or what happened. She hadn’t responded to any of his calls or read any of his texts. He decided that calling again wouldn’t hurt, and he dialed her number. 

     “Hello?” Valentino’s voice bursted through his phone speaker. 

     “Is Y/n there,” Angel asked softly. 

     “Yes,” Valentino responded, “but she doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

     “Why do you have her phone?” 

     “She knew you’d call again, and she didn’t want to deal with it,” Valentino stated simply. 

     “Don’t lie to me,” Angel spat, “What did you do to her?” 

     “Why do you assume it was something I did and not what you did?” 

     “I didn’t do anything,” Angel whispered. 

     “She doesn’t want all of your emotional baggage,” Valentino barked, “You were too weak, and now she never wants to see you again.” 

     “That’s not true, it can’t be true,” he murmured, “You’re lying to me.” 

     “I guess you’ll just have to hear it from her directly,” he sighed. 

     Angel heard a soft crackling through the speaker as the phone was passed to someone else. 

     “Leave me alone, Angel.” 

     Her voice was soft, much like the night before, but it didn’t hold the same warmth. It was tense now, and held a coldness that he’s never heard before. 

     “Y/n, what are you talking about?” He said this calmly, but she heard the pain in every syllable. 

     “I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Angel,” she replied harshly. 

     “I don’t understand, last week you told me-” 

     “I lied.” 

     “That’s not true, did he do something to you?” His voice shook. 

     “He didn’t do anything to me, I just don’t want to talk to you,” she replied. 

     “I’m not going to give up on you, Y/n, you didn’t give up on me.” 

     “There isn’t anything to give up on, there was never anything between us,” she said thickly. 

     “You said you loved me,” Angel croaked out. 

     “Don’t be ridiculous,” she growled, “why would I ever love someone like you” 

     “Y/n,” his voice cracked. 

     “Don’t call me again, and don’t come near me.” 

     “Why are you doing this,” he pleaded, “what changed?” 

     “Nothing changed,” she said numbly, “you just weren’t strong enough.” 

     She hung up abruptly and left him alone with his thoughts. He slid down the wall behind him and screamed. He screamed so loud that the knick knacks on his shelfs shook and fell, showing his anguish in a much more tangible way. He fell apart, throwing empty alcohol bottles at the walls around him and punching holes in the wall. He wept for what was and what would never be again. For the friend he lost and the savior that never was.  

     She began wailing as soon as she hung up. In exchange for her freedom, she had to cut ties with the one person who gave a damn about her. A sob erupted from her throat. She raked her nails over her arms and across her face, leaving angry red lines across her body. She dug deeper and deeper until blood bubbled to the surface, red ink that spelled out the story of her betrayal. 

     “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” 

      Her legs gave out from under her, and she fell to the floor in a heap. She began to screech and scream. She screamed for what could have been and would never be. The tears in her eyes blinded her as she grappled around on the floor, looking for a lifeline. She was never his savior, he was hers. And now, all of her mistakes had been made painstakingly clear. She dragged herself up off of the floor and made her way to her dressing room mirror. She looked in and saw gaunt features and purple bruises, but, above all, she saw a monster cloaked in devine skin. 

     “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You aren’t weak, Angel, you never were. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m so sorry I left. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t strong enough.”