#thanks laine for reminding me of this :sob:

[purple-the-turtle]

TW// Major Character Death, Non- Graphic Descriptions of Blood and Death

Something is terribly wrong.

Donnie feels it in their very bones, as they struggle to open their sleep-riddled eyes. Since when did they get enough sleep for their eyes to be melded shut? Nice, They think, managing to blink themselves awake.

Only to double-take at the sight of their brothers lying on a railroad track not so far away.

They lurch forward, but is held firmly in place by some kind of magic. They glance around, spotting writing engraved on a stone in between the two tracks. A promise. They pale.

The sound of a trolley rings in the distance, uncomfortably close.

Donnie starts screaming, all ration replaced by pure fear and helplessness. “Raph! Mikey!” they screech, their voice breaking. They don’t know if they can be brave for them. But Mikey and Raph don’t move. Donnie squints, seeing Mikey’s slow breath– he’s asleep. They turn to Raph, who’s as stiff as a board. Awake. Thank god.

“Raph,” Donnie cries, pure relief filling their voice. “There’s a trolley coming. I need you to get Mikey and go, okay? I’ll be right behind you.” The lie comes surprisingly easy to them. Raph doesn’t move. Donnie grinds their teeth together.

“Raph.” They say, with all the firmness they can muster. “Get. Up.” The trolley rings again. Panic pools in their stomach. Their tail thwacks anxiously against the tracks. Someone sighs. Donnie’s head whips toward the sound, eyes wide.

A hand rests against the lever, one that would change the direction of the trolley. The being the hand belongs to has an infinite amount of faces, each of them flickering from one to another every second, each mouth pulled into an indecisive frown.

Pick Donnie, or their brothers.

Their brothers, who won’t leave. Who… can’t. Donnie wrenches their gaze away from the figure, their eyes throbbing. They try calling out to their brothers again, and Raph turns to them, his face… annoyed?

“Don’t worry, Don.” He grumbles, expression nonchalant, rolling his eyes like he does at Leo when she goes into Mamanardo mode. Donnie’s mouth is agape, words lost. Raph scoffs. “I wanna see what will happen. This is the ultimate test of my strengths!” Donnie inhales.

“By getting hit by a bus?!” They screech, their voice high with fear, anxiety, and slight anger. Raph turns away, his shoulder hiked up to his mask tails. This isn’t their brother. He’s bullheaded and proud, but he wouldn’t put Mikey in danger. He wouldn’t cause another heartbreak for their family on purpose. And Donnie. Donne panics, throwing themselves at the force shield as if they’ll be able to break it.

The trolley is practically upon them now.

Donnie sobs, begging Raph, screaming for Mikey so he’ll just wake up–

None of it works. Mikey snoozes away. Raph remains rigid. It reminds them, in a morbid and extremely inappropriate way considering the situation- reminds them of The Great Mouse Detective, when Sherlock Holmes as a Rat had lain there, waiting for Professor Rattigan's trap to go off. They laugh hysterically, the tears falling from their eyes in droves now.

The figure at the lever pales, chewing the inside of their cheek. Like their trying to pick what to have for dinner. Donnie snarls. “Don’t fucking touch that goddamn lever.” They hiss, tensed, and ready to lunge. The figure only looks at them with fondness, as if they were seeing a scared cat, who only needed to be cleaned and fed. Donnie bristles.

The trolley roars into view, chugging chipperly toward them. Donne pales, their hisses turning into pleas.

“Hit me,” They gasp, tears starting all anew. Their not even sure that they ever stopped. Suddenly, the figure’s face shutters, becoming solid and indifferent.

The trolley reaches the divide. The figure leaves the lever untouched.

The blood splatters at their feet.

They scream.

Donnie lies there, shaking with indescribable grief coursing through their veins, sloshing around in the newly formed pit in their chest for who knows how long.

Something brushes against their fingers. They lift their heavy head, blinking through the tears. It’s a pink flower, brushing innocently against Donnie’s fingers. They thumb the delicate petals with careful fingers.

The flower born of blood seems to wash away all the bad. When had Donnies ever felt this light? They smile, infatuated by the simple plant. The strange red liquid has no meaning now, as Donnie stands on surprisingly – why surprisingly?-- steady legs, stepping off the tracks, leaving the broken bodies of people they used to know behind.

Why were they ever crying?

Something’s happened.

Leo feels it in every fiber of her being, as she struggles against the rope she had found herself in. Her siblings were gone, and her instincts were pinging around her body like a chaotic game of ping pong.

She struggles for a bit longer, digging her teeth into her cheek before she starts hyperventilating. And then, without warning–

She feels something drop from her chest.

Mikey. Raph. Donnie. Gone. Stolen.

She pitches forward, sobbing, held fast by the rope wrapped around her, burning her skin. Her tears lap at the feet of faceless beings, the ones, she knows instinctually, who did this to her family. She’s burning now, her skin flaking off and twirling into dust. The rope turns into greedy unknown hands, grasping at her mask tails.

Blood oozes from their hands, staining her shell, and clogging up her mouth and nose.

She knows it’s not theirs.

She’ll make it, one day.

She hopes they never untie her, for their sake.

Hahaha! Oh my God! First things first, how was it? I know its certainly not my best work, I wrote this in an hour- but it's my first official wholly completed fanfiction! This is for @probably-not-a-rutabaga 's Trolley Problem Poll they had with their Tmnt Aberration Au! Go check them out, they make super cool stuff.

Anyway, I hope I did you justice! This was so fun to write :))

[thebigsl33p]

You're Holding Me Like Water In Your Hands.

Haha Angst. Straight up angst, dead lover shit, reader is Chaos. Don't be sane, tortured artist yourself into writing a good piece of fanfiction.

The first time Dream meets Chaos is during a riot.

There's smoke everywhere, fire, shouting, crying. Crowds upon crowds of people flood the streets, smash shop windows, stomp their feet and clap their hands, raise their fists to the air and scream. The world is terribly wrong, but Dream is simply passing through.

He's out of place amongst all the violence, hunched figure, hands in his pockets, that big silly black coat. He doesn't pay much mind as he passes, it's not the first riot he's seen and it certainly won't be the last.

But something is different and it makes him stop and watch the protesters. There's a feeling...an electric crackle in the air, a pressure on his shoulders and the tension before your ears pop.

Suddenly his eyes focus on a woman. She's wearing white, her feet are shoeless but despite the broken glass littered ground they don't bleed. Her dress is barely dirtied, apart from the vivid splash of red across it. It's not her blood, he can tell that much. The lady is pushing through the crowd of people, against the current, forcing people out of her way with a push of their shoulders. Morpheus would've considered it rude were it not for two things:

Her energy, her being, all that he could feel and comprehend of her was wrong. It was something akin to his, she was no mortal.

And the look of horror on her face. Mascara dripped down her cheeks with tears, her chest was heaving as she ran, obviously sobbing violently.

A choice was lain out in front of The King of Dreams and he made it.

He reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of sand and threw it high into the air, above the crowd. And then he was behind her, grabbing her shoulder and turning her towards him. He saw the momentary hope in her eyes, he felt her understanding of what he was, and he knew the questions each of them wanted to ask.

But now and here wasn't the right time, so he simply grabbed her hand and said, "Come with me."

Where he was taking her he wasn't sure. It was too soon to take her to The Dreaming, he didn't know that she could be trusted, so with the cover of the evening he took her to a park. A place where, should she turn out to be something malevolent he would be able to deal with her swiftly.

The moment their feet touched the grass she pulled away from him, before saying, "Thank You." The words were quiet and unsure.

Dream simply nodded before asking what had been on his mind the entire time, "Who are you?"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked down at herself, that white dress stained in blood, before looking back up at him, "I am Chaos. And you?"

"Dream." He answers, and he watches her mouth the name, "What were you running from, Chaos?" He asks, though deep down he knows.

"Sometimes you see too much." She looks down and runs her hands over her sullied dress, the blood slowly disappearing, "Just because Chaos is my purpose doesn't mean I enjoy it. I witnessed an unjust murder and...I had to get away." Her words are slightly bitter and it reminds him of Death, his sister.

Dream nods, thoughts running through his head at such a fast past she can practically hear the gears turning, before he extends a hand, "Let me show you a different way to live."

"How do I know I can trust you, Dream?" She asks with a turn of her head and doubtful eyes.

And with something close to a smile he responds, "You don't."

***

At first it's awkward. Chaos is so self-doubting and unsure, but gradually she warms up to his realm and realises that she can do no damage in The Dreaming.

And so she finds herself spending days upon days in the peaceful fields, with trees that bare fruit all year round, with grass that forever stays green and the beaches with perfect sand and crystalline seas. She thinks to herself, she could stay here forever.

But what really makes it all so amazing is having the King of the realm by her side. They've spent centuries together and they plan for centuries more.

Chaos never believed she would feel love, or be loved in return. But then along came Dream and she felt like apart of her had been torn away and patchworked with pieces of him and vice versa.

It's all such a lovely existence, two lovers in a field that never dies and beaches that never get cold.

That is until Chaos begins to feel a pull in her chest, like an anchor. She hears whispers in her ears and feels lightning in her fingertips and she tells Dream that something big is coming, something bad.

And then one day the feeling gets so overwhelming she has to leave for the mortal realm...her time has come. Dream insists on going with her, and they travel there hand in hand. Their feet touch the the cold wet pavements of London and Chaos' brow furrows as she finds herself back in that plain white dress.

She looks up at her lover, and he looks at her and deep down they both know what it means: The end is here.

They walk through the streets of London, following the noise of sirens and shouting and chanting.

And then they lay their eyes upon something devastating, one of the biggest riots they have ever seen, people shouting and screaming and holding each other up, yelling at police who try to hold them back and unprovoked violence. When this all started there must've been a cause and a reason...but it's changed now.

Without realising it, Chaos has walked right into the middle of the crowds, her hand slipping out of Dream's who stands by the side and watches. He watches as his lover takes in all she has created, all she represents and all she will be. Mess, love, despair, justice, fear and so much more. She is people united for the greater good, and fun teenagers and dysfunctional households and family gatherings and messy bedrooms and dirty streets and festivals and the stars and she makes him believe in so much more than he thought he ever would.

There's the sound of wings, loud and righteous, and he sees Chaos double over before rushing to her, shoving people out of the way and nearly tripping over his boots and coat. He catches her on her wobbly feet and gently lowers her to the ground, and watches as blood stains that white dress once again, the only difference being that this time it's hers and he can tell.

And for the first time in something just off eternity, Dream cries.

"Oh-" is all Chaos can say as she feels herself, the dress sticking to her stomach and sees the red on her fingers, "Oh...so soon." She laughs a little bit and it's choked up.

Dream is holding her, head in his arms and tucked under his as he threads his fingers into her hair and clutches her arms, "I know, I know. To soon." He feels hatred for his sister but is dulled as he knows, it's not her fault.

"Oh don't cry, Dream." Weakly, she reaches up and wipes his tears, "I had to go eventually. People can't riot forever." She smiles sadly.

"I would. For you, I would riot until the end of time." He shakes his head.

"I know." And then she is gone, her eyes dull, her mouth still in that sad smile but slightly softer, her arms and head limp. Dream buries himself in her and cries with the anger and love and despair of an Endless, one who has seen so much and knows so much, and still cannot comprehend how to handle this loss.

But he's torn out by a hand on his shoulder and he knows it's his sister. Despite it being her doing, her voice is a comfort, "I am sorry Brother. Come, let's go home."

He looks up and she is standing there, those beautiful wings on full display. There is screaming and fires dying down in the background, and still he clutches onto his dead lover. He stands, Chaos still in his arms and nods at his sister. He will carry her back to The Dreaming where she will be honoured and buried as if she was The Queen of The Realm.

And that night, the mortals dreamt of a woman, so beautiful and relaxing, so tranquil that there was no other name for her but Peace. After all, who valued Peace more than Chaos.

Everything I write now is sorta bad, I'm on a massive writer's block but I've never been reading more books than I am atm???

[jerseynumber05]

Jaeyun's Victory Vault

Message for myself.

Keep it up, buddy! You're doing great so far and you always will. Thank you for always trying to be nice person. May the happiness lingers longer in you. I got your back, OK?

I know it so well that another week is rough enough but hey, you can manage it well, let's just say it's our daily routine (to conquer another day) and we win in the end.

Message for Investors.

Hi, Investors my best best mates! You guys are rock! Thank you for accompanying me in this warm home. I'm grateful that I met you guys and had so much fun in here. Love you all a lot!

Terima kasih ya sudah jadi kawan baik Jaeyun yang selalu mau nemenin Jaeyun ngobrol, main gim bareng, satu tim di event, dan ngerjain misi bareng. Kalian udah membawa satu alasan lain buat bahagia! Super seneng bisa di satu atap yang sama dengan kalian. Semangat terus ya sob!

Message for Directors.

Hi.. it's Jaeyun or Beben speaking, Gege and Jiejie! Di sini Jaeyun mau ucapin banyak banyak terima kasih Directors sudah kasih banyak waktu dan ruang buat Investors seru seruan bareng. It means a lot for us!

Ben Gege, thank you for everything ya! You've done so well and always will be. Semua yang Gege usahakan selama ini berbuah manis. Otsukare, Gege! Reminder kecil buat Gege, selalu jaga kesehatan dan istirahat yang cukup yaa. Jangan lupa buat makan enak, refresing tiap ngerasa capek, terus juga jangan lupa bahagia okay. Way to go, Gege. Please be happy as always even when I'm not around. Last but not least, I cherish you a lot!

Kak Shyl, our princess, thank you for all the things you do to us! Kakak keren sekali sudah beri banyak hal-hal cantik di WestField dan beri banyak energi positif buat Investors. It's the best gift ever. Otsukare, Kakak! Jaeyun punya reminder juga buat kakak, jangan lupa buat senyum dan istirahat tiap ngerasa capek.. you deserves it! You've done great jadi Kak Shyl harus banyak take care of yourself too. Sehat terus yaa Kak, and I wish you nothing but happiness! Xoxo!

Abang Matt, hi ini Jaeyun! Otsukare, Abang Matt! Thanks a lot for being our moodbooster dan jadi temen seru-seruan Investors. You're such a happy virus to us and it brings a lot of happiness. You did well, really is! Abang Matt sehat terus yaa, jangan lupa istirahat dan makan yang enak. Jangan tidur kelamaan Abang nanti pusing.. enggak bosen Jaeyun berdoa atas kebahagiaan Abang! You mean a lot to me!

Kak Moya, our little fairy! Terima kasih banyak sudah bawa banyak energi positif dan bawa kesan imut lucu gemes di WestField. Otsukare, Jiejie! You're doing great and we're so grateful for having you here. Jiejie jangan lupa makan yang enak dan istirahat yang cukup. Happy selalu yaa. Jangan lupain Jaeyun, deal? I wish you happiness for a long long time Jiejie!

Memorable event.

The most memorable event is the first one! Pertama kali event di WestField dan masuk divisi FF which we work with food! Memorable banget karena itu rasanya kayak masa orientasi buat mengenal satu sama lain. Everything feels new to me and exciting! Apalagi di situ Jaeyun jadi editor.

Banyak hal yang Jaeyun dapet di situ, kenal temen-temen baru, belajar edit lebih banyak, belajar diskusi di forum yang cukup besar, dan belajar handling sesuatu tepat waktu. Thanks to Directors who made me found new faces to befriend with! Terima kasih banyak ya, Directors <3

[springtideluv]

Act I of Infinity: ℒ𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦.

  ︵ 🎀   ⋆˙ Made with love, Annette. ☽ ⊹❀

PART I : NOT SO CALLED LOVE LETTER.

“𝙼͟𝚊͟𝚛͟𝚌͟𝚑͟ 𝚊͟𝚗͟𝚍͟ 𝚃͟𝚑͟𝚎͟ 𝚂͟𝚙͟𝚛͟𝚒͟𝚗͟𝚐; where two people met and formed a stinging bond called love, are engraved in my heart like everything you do is effortlessly mesmerizing. How could you win me over? When amidst the utmost stars upon a cloudless sky appeal its light, a deeply felt feeling I shall equate, the only heart to be placed is yours. When over those various spring's drop-dead views in meadows and the beautiful blue sky above, you are the one I desire to relinquish my bouquet of admiration. Even when plenteous of roads I shall go, it always leads to you. Why? Right, because it's Aiden.

Even though our hearts are seemingly faster than flower blooms and spring winds, our love represents spring's vibrant color, which is not only passionate red but also the harsh situation of the problems that still stick together. I believe you have described a representative of a perfect spring, amidst any circumstances against which you strive charmingly. Therefore, I thank you for staying charming and sitting through my ups and downs and for being yourself, despite any flaws you may have. To the endearing person who ever enlivens and involves herself in my life: 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗒, 𝖠𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇. 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 ��𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒. ♥︎

PART II : ANNETTE’S SHIT TALKING.

Hehehe, halo sayang. {Lovingly staring at your picture}

Aku minta maaf karena kamu harus baca omong kosong ku dulu di atas. But well, walaupun menurut kamu itu cuman omong kosong karena bahasa nya yang ribet, tapi apa yang aku omongin di atas itu bener, sayang. Aku sayang kamu. Segimana indah nya bintang sama langit biru di siang hari gak bakalan bikin aku goyah, yang paling indah dan yang paling aku mau itu cuman kamu.

Gak tau ya, obrolan kita di awal itu gak ada romantisnya sama sekali. Ngomongin sambit keranjang {But thanks to my dude Chef Juna, gara-gara sambit keranjang nya beliau obrolan kita jadi lanjut dan berujung kamu nembak aku di keesokan harinya} Bener-bener cepet banget dan aku amaze sama kamu yang dalam semalem aja udah bisa nyaman ke aku. Jauh di lubuk hati ku, walaupun aku kadang bingung dan gak ngerti kenapa kamu bisa tiba-tiba suka sama aku—aku seneng bisa ketemu kamu. Seneng bisa ketemu orang yang baik dan bisa sayang ke aku.

Well, if you ever wondering, kenapa aku mau sama kamu dan mau nerima kamu walaupun kita baru kenal semalem—jawaban nya ya karena kamu baik, kayak apa yang aku bilang di paragraf sebelumnya. Aku suka ke orang yang baik, apalagi aku ngerasa nyaman juga ngobrol sama kamu. Gak ada alasan buat aku untuk nolak kamu, bahkan kayaknya gak ada alasan buat orang lain untuk nolak kamu. Dan kamu tau sendiri dari awal pacaran itu aku sering banget kesel gak jelas ke kamu. Aku kesel kayak gitu karena aku sayang ke kamu, panggil aja aku egois gapapa tapi aku cuman pengen atensi kamu itu buat aku semuanya. Aku cuman pengen kamu buat aku, gak mau buat orang lain dan gak mau kamu di bagi-bagi!

Sebelum aku kasi kamu omongan yang manis lagi, khusus di paragraf ini aku mau minta maaf ke kamu. Minta maaf atas beberapa kesalahan yang sudah aku lakuin tempo hari lalu. Aku minta maaf kalau semisal aku gak mikirin perasaan kamu, aku minta maaf kalau aku ngelakuin hal yang bikin kamu bingung dan marah, aku minta maaf for my flaws, aku minta maaf untuk segala hal yang aku lakuin ke kamu yang hampir bikin kita putus, aku minta maaf. We both know hubungan ini bakalan susah di jalani karena kita berbeda, tapi aku mau perbedaan itu yang bikin kita saling sayang. Pokoknya aku sayang kamu. Sayang kamu banget {Sobbing} 😢🤍

PART III : SONGS THAT REMINDS OF YOU & US.

“𝗠͟𝗮͟𝘆͟𝗯͟𝗲͟ 𝗷͟𝘂͟𝘀͟𝘁͟ 𝗹͟𝗲͟𝘁͟ 𝘁͟𝗵͟𝗲͟ 𝗰͟𝗵͟𝗲͟𝗺͟𝗶͟𝗰͟𝗮͟𝗹͟𝘀͟ 𝘁͟𝗮͟𝗹͟𝗸͟ 𝗳͟𝗼͟𝗿͟ 𝘂͟𝘀͟,” Dengan kondisi kita yang pdkt-an nya cuman semalem, aku biarin semua nya berjalan seperti gimaa semaunya universe. Tapi kalau boleh request sih, aku pengen terus sama kamu.

“𝗜͟𝗳͟ 𝗹͟𝗶͟𝗳͟𝗲͟ 𝗶͟𝘀͟ 𝗮͟ 𝗺͟𝗼͟𝘃͟𝗶͟𝗲͟, 𝘁͟𝗵͟𝗲͟𝗻͟ 𝘆͟𝗼͟𝘂͟’𝗿͟𝗲͟ 𝘁͟𝗵͟𝗲͟ 𝗯͟𝗲͟𝘀͟𝘁͟ 𝗽͟𝗮͟𝗿͟𝘁͟,” Klise dan basic banget ya, lagunya? Tapi gak bohong, kalau memang hidup ku ini adalah sebuah film; kamu adalah part terbaik yang ada di film ku. Might not be the one and only best part, but one of the best part.

“𝗜͟ 𝘄͟𝗮͟𝗻͟𝗻͟𝗮͟ 𝗹͟𝗼͟𝘃͟𝗲͟ 𝗺͟𝗲͟, 𝘁͟𝗵͟𝗲͟ 𝘄͟𝗮͟𝘆͟ 𝘁͟𝗵͟𝗮͟𝘁͟ 𝘆͟𝗼͟𝘂͟ 𝗹͟𝗼͟𝘃͟𝗲͟ 𝗺͟𝗲͟,” Aku ngerasa di sayang sama kamu, bener-bener jadi pengen mencintai diri ku sendiri dengan cara nya kamu hehe.

PART IV : AN ESSAY FOR YOU!

Answer these questions down below and send your answer through Annette’s Kakao Talk.

Your first impression about Annette?

What do you think of our first day being a boyfriend-girlfriend?

Things that you did like and didn’t like about Annette?

What do you enjoy most about being in a relationship with Annette?

What are some things that you would like to try together as a couple with Annette?

Pro and cons dating Annette? (This is a bonus question)

Send your answer no later than 1 hour after you found this page.

PART V : THE END OF CHAPTER 1.

Well, hehe. Sebelum semuanya berakhir, aku mau kasi tau kamu kalau aku itu adalah orang yang akan selalu jadi support system kamu. Orang yang akan selalu ada buat kamu kalau kamu ada masalah. Kamu gak perlu ngerasa gak enak ke aku akan setiap hal, aku lebih baik kesel ke kamu ketimbang kamu gak omongin hal apa yang pengen kamu omongin. Aku juga gak pengen kamu diem aja kalau kamu ada masalah. Aku ada disini buat kamu, walaupun aku gak akan bisa bantu banyak, tapi I promise you I will always be there for my lovely boyfriend. Aku akan ada sama kamu dalam ups and downs nya kehidupan pacaran kita dan kehidupan masing-masing.

Masih banyak sebenernya yang pengen aku omongin ke kamu disini, tapi aku gak mau terlalu panjang hehe. Once again—happy 1st monthsarry, sayangku Aiden. Aku sayang kamu banyak banget sampai gak tau gimana cara ngasi tau nya. Sampai ketemu lagi di bulan depan! I love you so much and I hope you like this shitty thing I made for you hehe, muah muah. 🤍

P.S : Dengerin lagu yang aku kasi ke kamu yah, much love, Annette.

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 14

Masterlist

Warning: language, spanking (nonconsensual, nonsexual) Yandere behavior (of course)

Hello darlings! This is the first chapter I’ve felt the need to put a warning on. It’s really nothing graphic, but I’m still a baby writer, and it was a little out of my normal comfort zone to write. Just a reminder that we do not condone yandere behavior in real life! But I hope you all enjoy the chapter!-- chaotic puff

“Fuck!” She screamed tugging on the restraints that kept her pinned down to the bed, but they wouldn’t budge. Namjoon had fastened the leather cuffs tightly, and the only thing tugging on them did was cause bruising on her wrists and the chains to rattle unsettlingly. Eventually she gave up, flopping back against the mattress to stare up at the ceiling until Namjoon deigned to return.

Part of her wanted to claw his eyes out, but the greater part of her wanted to disappear into the mattress before he could arrive. She’d fucked up. He hadn’t even been this angry when she had tried to jump from the window, but that could have been because she’d not only broken several of his rules, oh no, she’d also ran from him. And then there was Jackson.

Her blood ran cold just thinking of it. She had to warn Jackson. She had to get him out of Korea before Namjoon got to him. She could survive in this hell, but she wouldn’t let Jackson lose his life on her behalf. There was nothing she could do when she was quite literally chained to the bed though.

She could only assume that this was Namjoon’s room. Where else would could it be? It certainly wasn’t her room. But in her current predicament she couldn’t really see much of the room itself, and she didn’t get a good look at it when she was hung over Namjoon’s shoulder. If only she’d been able to make it out further into the garden. Maybe she could have hidden from them. It wouldn’t have been a long term solution, but it would have kept her away from Namjoon and his wrath for a little while longer at least.

She didn’t know how long she’d lain there waiting for his return, but it felt like eons. There was nothing to do but lie there and wait. The restraints made it impossible for her to even take a good look around the room. The worst part of it was that it left her alone with the anticipation of his return, that horrid sinking feeling that came with the knowledge that with his return Namjoon would bring some sort of punishment with him. He wasn’t going to let this pass, not when she’d thrown his ring, the symbol of his attachment to her, in his face.

“Hello, jagiya.” He cooed. She couldn’t see him yet, but her entire body went rigid with the knowledge that he was back. She lifted her head to see him standing at the foot of the bed with a man she had never seen before. “This is Taehyung.” Namjoon introduced a sly smirk on his face as he moved around the side of the bed to come sit next to her. “You see, jagi, Taehyung has a certain… aptitude for technology, and he’s prepared something especially for you, jagi.”

She really didn’t like the sound of that, nor did she like the look of the black case Taehyung held in his hands.

“Namjoon?” She warbled out looking at him with wide panicked eyes, but he only shushed her and beckoned Taehyung forward.

“I had hoped we wouldn’t need such measures, jagi. You’d been doing so well, but it seems I overestimated you. That’s my fault, jagi, but don’t worry.” She was definitely very, very worried. “This should help immensely.”

She watched with trepidation as Taehyung opened the case and pulled out a black band with a little box attached to it. The effect was immediate. Y/N started kicking out her legs and thrashing against the bindings in an attempt to keep both men at bay. She didn’t have much choice, but she’d be damned if she let them put that on her without a fight.

“Hyung?” Taehyung asked looking at the older man a little unsure of what to do, if he was allowed to restrain her.

“Do it.” He confirmed as he moved to hold her legs down.

“No!” She shrieked fighting against the firm hold he had on her legs, but Namjoon was by no means a small man, and she had the greater part of his body weight pressed down on her legs. “Please, don’t!” She begged as tears began to gather in her eyes.

“It’s for your own good, jagi.” Namjoon cooed as Taehyung attached the device to her ankle.

“No!” She wailed as the device was locked in place.

Namjoon moved back up to rest near her head, stroking her hair and cooing soft assurances at her as Taehyung fiddled with the settings of the anklet. “It’s all set, hyung!” Taehyung chirped giving the two of them a boxy smile. “Her boundaries are set for the house and part of the garden. Your phone will get an alert if she strays too far from the house.” He was far too cheerful about her new torture, and Y/N hated him in this particular moment, but not as much as she hated Namjoon.

“Thank you, Tae.” Namjoon nodded dismissing the younger man as he continued to stroke her hair as she silently cried keeping her head turned away from him. It was all she could really do. The cuffs prevented her from moving away from him.

“Jagi.” He cooed once Taehyung had left the room. “Don’t pout. This was for your own good. I can’t have you running out like that and getting yourself hurt.”

“It’s a fucking tracking anklet. Where exactly do you expect me to go? I’m already locked in this fucking hell hole.”

“It’s for your own good. Actions have consequences.”

“Fuck you.” She hissed pouring every ounce of venom she was feeling into those two little words.

“Language.” He barked turning her head so that she was looking up at him and his extremely displeased expression. “You’ve broken enough rules today, don’t you think?”

“I hate you.” She hissed wrenching her head away.

He chuckled smiling coldly down at her. “Oh, jagi. The line between love and hate is very thin. You’ll get over this little temper tantrum soon enough, and everything will fall into place.” He cooed. “It will be better once that pesky police officer is out of the way.”

Her blood ran cold. “You can’t!” She cried tears running freely as she looked at him.

“Of course I can. He’s in my way.”

“If you touch him, I’ll never forgive you.” She hissed glaring at him through her tears.

He was still smiling, but his eyes were sharp and cold, displeased with her. “You’ll forget all about him in due time. I’ll keep you so satisfied that you’ll never need to look at another man.”

“I will never let you touch me.”

“I won’t take you by force, Y/N. You’re my wife, not some common whore, but you will come to me, one way or another. I’m a patient man. I can wait.” She looked at him, eyes just as cold as his. “And we have all the time in the world.”

“I’m not your fucking wife.” She spat glaring up at him.

He hummed noncommittally taking her ring out of his pocket and slipping it back on her finger. There was nothing she could do about it with her hands restrained, but she had the urge to take that ring and shove it down his throat.

“You’re right, jagi. You’re not my wife, not legally, but that’s a situation we can easily rectify.”

She froze, turning to him look at him, trying to see if he was serious, and unfortunately, he was. “No.” She growled. “I won’t marry you, not in this lifetime.”

“It’s sweet, jagi.” He mused lovingly caressing her face. “You think you have a choice in this.”

“You fucking maniac!” She snarled pulling on her restraints in a futile effort to get away from him.

“Language!” He barked glaring down at her. “That’s you last warning, jagi. You’ve been testing my patience all evening, and I’ve been lenient with you. Don’t test me.”

She looked up at him, cocking her head to one side innocently before gracing him with a near angelic smile. “Go fuck yourself.”

He froze, a cold smile fixed to his features. “Wrong move, jagi.”

He unhooked the chained from her cuffs, and she was flipped over, her skirt flipped up followed by an indignant shriek from her. “I warned you, jagi.” He growled as the first strike fell across her ass followed swiftly by another and another.  The hits fell one after the other each one as harsh as the last until she was almost numb from the pain and begging him to stop.

When it was finally over she was a sniveling trembling mess on the pillows. Gently, Namjoon undid the cuffs placing them on the side table before pulling her into his arms so that she was lying across his chest as she trembled. He moved her skirt back down so that she was covered as he ran a hand up and down her back.

“I know, jagi. I know, but you never seem to learn.” He cooed. “It’s over now.”

“I hate you.” She sobbed though she clung to his chest hating herself for finding comfort in the embrace of the same man who had been the cause of her pain.  

“I know, jagi. I know.” He shushed reveling in the feel of her clinging to him. “I’ll call, Miss In to run you a bath, and bring up some tea. Okay.”

Soon enough she had been shuttled off into a warm bath with Miss In overseeing her as Namjoon waited in the bedroom. The older woman cooed and fussed over her like a child, and in that moment, Y/N truly did feel like one. He had spanked her. The pain was bad enough, but it was the indignation that was the worst, the humiliation.

“Here, bu-in. Drink some tea.” Miss In said handing her a cup as her charge sat shocked and numb in the bathtub. “It will help.”

“I want to go home.” She whispered staring at the bubbled that filled the tub as she took a sip of her tea.

“You are home, bu-in.”

And after that she stayed silent choosing instead to play with the bubbles. Eventually Miss In pulled her out of the bath and dried her off sticking her in a nightgown she had brought from the other room. The silky pink fabric fell a little bellow her mid-thigh, and the soft material was gentle against her sore behind, a fact she was very grateful for.

She left the bathroom with Miss In, ready to go back to her own room and sleep for the next century. She was exhausted.

“Where are you going, jagi?” Namjoon called from his position lounging on the bed with a book, glasses perched on his nose.

“Back to my room?”

He smiled softly putting the book aside. “You’ll be staying here from now on, jagi.”

Y/N looked to Miss In as if to beg for help, but the housekeeper had already left the room. “I think I’d prefer to go back to my own room.” She murmured eyes fixed on her feet and the cursed tracking anklet.

“It’s not up for debate, jagi. Now come to bed.” He held out a hand beckoning her to him. Made no effort to move. “I’m waiting, jagi.”

Reluctantly she moved to join him choosing to stay on the opposite end of the large bed. She was so far to the side, she was almost falling over the side as he turned out the lights. She heard a sigh and the rustle of blankets before an arm snaked across her waist pulling her into his chest. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead before settling down behind her.

“Goodnight, jagi.”

She was thankful for the dark, he couldn’t see the tears as they silently fell down her face.

part 15

[league-of-thots]

The Summoning

Pairing: dabi x reader x hawks

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: NONCON/DUBCON, blood play, dp, sacrificial summoning, mind manipulation, angels/demons/magic, gore, branding

A/N: So this was supposed to be a short little fic.... but thats not how it turned out, but im happy that it came out this way. I think its much better than what I originally had. Uh, please read the warnings because this has some things which could definitely be triggering.

thanks to @lady-bakuhoe, @ikinabi, and @marilla-eldriana for listening to me talk my ass off about it LMAO

other tags: @yaoyorozuwrites, @dee-madwriter

               You were beyond upset, tonight wasn’t supposed to be a night where you were heading into a bar on your own, dressed up for a date cut early, and freshly out of a relationship. As you sat down at the end of a rowdy bar, you can’t help the tears flowing out of your eyes. You’ve been holding them in for a while, trying not to break down in public, but sitting here with nothing else to do, you can’t stop the small sobs that break out.

               The bartender makes her way towards you, her lips turned down sadly as she starts cleaning up some glasses at the sink near you methodically. Your sobs die down as she starts speaking to you.

               “Rough night, sis?”

               “Yeah, you could say that again.”

               “Need something to drown it out?” you nod as she goes to grab some heavy liquid you can’t recognize. Whatever it is, it smells rank, you think as you lift the shot glass up towards your nose to sniff it.  You shoot it back, and shudder at the brief taste you get before you swallow it down, throat burning a bit as you let out a slight cough. She offers another with a gesture and you nod in response, quickly downing the second, and you nurse the third.

               Suddenly, a man in a raggedy black overcoat sits down beside you, raising a finger as he asks for some type of sake, and says “One for the crying mess, too.” In a raspy voice. You don’t even feel offended, it’s true, but he didn’t need to say it so harshly right in front of you. Although you wouldn’t say no to the free drink, as you quickly drained the one that you’d bought.

               “Thanks,” you mumble to him, the alcohol not really hitting you yet. You wipe the tears from your face. “What’s your name?”

               “Dabi.” He answers shortly, grabbing the sake and tipping it back, watching as you do the same. “You’re new here, but drinking like you’re about to be enlisted. What’s up?”

               Now normally, you wouldn’t be giving your life story to a random stranger who- quite frankly- looked like he belonged in a prison cell. However, normally you didn’t have four generous shots of heavy liquor coursing through your veins after having just broken up with your last boyfriend of just over a year.

               “Stupid asshat of a guy dumps me after over a year of being together for some stupid reason.” You sigh, head in your hands. “I don’t even get why? Like I was so blindsided and I feel like such a fucking idiot.”

               “Sounds like a real idiot,” Dabi replies, sliding you another drink which you eagerly accept, drinking it in a rage.

               “Like, fuck, I’m just not ready yet! Like, yeah if he was hard, I’d help him deal with it. But I just didn’t feel ready for sex, and he kept trying to force me, and when I get mad at that I’m the bad guy.” You’re starting to get a little dizzy, but at the moment, you’re so upset that you can’t really be bothered by it. You just want to be angry and heartbroken and drunk for a little while. So you don’t really have to face moving out of your shared apartment until later, tomorrow at the earliest.

                 “Was it a one-off thing? ‘Cause that’s a bit of an overreaction if that’s the case.” You’re so happy to have someone to vent too that you don’t notice the intent expression Dabi has on his face, you miss the way his body leans towards you eagerly waiting for an answer.

               “Well, no.” you shift a bit uncomfortable in your seat. “But he said he was fine with it! That he was alright with waiting.”

               “Well obviously he was lying. You must’ve been really stingy with sex.” You shouldn’t feel that hurt by a stranger’s words, especially when he has no idea about who you are and what your story was.

               “I just didn’t want my first time to be forced onto me.” You mumble, looking into your glass. You were starting to feel the dizziness from the rapidly consumed drinks. “I wasn’t ready for it.” You could feel the tears welling up again, not even bothering to try and stop them.

               “Makes sense. So, you’re a virgin then? And your boyfriend wanted to have sex and you didn’t so he broke up with you?” The odd phrasing of the questions didn’t even stand out to you.

               “Yes! Except he said it was fine and I believed him!” you wail out, you’re crying hard now into your arms that are lain on the bar top. You feel a hesitant hand patting your shoulder rather awkwardly, but his hand is really warm and you feel a bit better at the soft contact.

               “Sounds like a real idiot to me. You want another drink, doll?” he says softly into your ear. His breath tickles your neck a bit and you giggle a bit as you sway on your stool.

               “I don’t have the money! Ahaha… I’ve gotta save it now because I have to move out of the stupid apartment.”

               “Don’t worry, I have some money to spend. What better way to spend it than on a pretty girl, hmm?” You blush a little at the attention. His blue eyes are intense and you can’t keep eye contact for long with him.

               “I mean, if you’d like too, I won’t stop you.” You hum.

               “Alright then.” He gestures to the bartender, a dangerous grin on his face. You thought that you’d be spending the night alone, but you’re glad to have been proven wrong.

               The two of you nurse some drinks as you talk a bit, most of the talking done by you, the alcohol loosening your mouth as you tell him a lot of your time with your ex, and whatever random thought pops into your head. He doesn’t talk much, but it’s not really off-putting as he usually interjects with sarcastic one liners and small questions, nodding as you continue your stories.

               It’s getting later in the night and you’re blissfully drunk, unable to process the shitty feelings and how terrible you feel. Dabi seems to notice this and gets one of those grins he gets when you say how bad you want to fucking deck your ex in the face. It makes your heart beat in excitement.

               “You’ll do shots with me, right?” You nod, excited. Dabi orders six drinks, and you feel yourself tense in sudden apprehension. That’s a lot considering that you’d already drank a few… how many was it now? It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. He seems to notice your hesitance though.

               “What? Can’t handle a few shots?” his smile is teasing, but his words are daring you to agree with him, and you bristle in response.

               “Of course I can!” part of you is screaming at you, telling you how bad of an idea this is, but its easy to drown out in the haze of your mind.

               “Good, you can try to keep up with me then.” He shoots down the first without even warning and you scramble to catch up with him, grabbing the glass sitting in front of you, and tossing the drink back. You’re coughing a bit, the harshness of the shot winning against your already weakened and sensitive throat. Boldly you grab the next and shoot it down as well.

               That might’ve been a mistake, because you splutter more, you can barely think, and you feel like you’re choking on the air you’re breathing in. Dabi’s face looks concerned as he asks you if you’re alright. You can only shake your head in response, knowing that you can’t possibly try to talk like this. He sees you swaying and clutching your now stomach as it rolls nauseatingly.

               “Don’t worry, this is on me, I thought she was alright with them.” He’s speaking to the bartender, who looks worried and a little suspicious given his appearance, but his voice sounds like its in the end of a long tunnel to you. You accept being pulled into his arms as he leads you outside for some fresh air, he’s produced a bottle of water, and opens it one handed before handing it to you.

               You try to thank him but that goes terribly, as you start dry heaving when you open your mouth. He has a sad, but un-surprised look on his face as he takes in your motions. If you were focused enough you probably would’ve said he looked satisfied, but that doesn’t make sense because he has no idea who you are.

               Suddenly, everything starts spinning and you vaguely feel Dabi place your arm over his shoulder. You close your eyes, desperate to try and stop yourself from vomiting all over the man who was trying to help you. It’s your main focus as you lean almost all of your weight onto him and drag your feet across the pavement. You don’t know where he’s taking you but you can barely think much less stop him and you continue to keep your eyes closed, not worried at all.

                  Dabi couldn’t believe his luck meeting you. He’d just finished the final touches on the circle, he was practically all set up except for the link, the sacrifice. Of course, he’d been planning to go into bars to find the perfect person for his ritual, but he didn’t think it would’ve happened so quickly! He’d expected it to take months, and what a relief it was that it hadn’t! He can barely contain his excitement as he keeps your form tight to his body.

               You were so naïve, so trusting, latching onto the first person that offered you kindness. Getting drunk on your own in a rather sketchy bar on a Saturday night, what had you been thinking? He knew you’d had a shitty day, but getting drunk at home surely would’ve been the superior option, anyone could see that.

               It’s a decent walk to his place unfortunately, he knows that the usual 20-minute walk will likely double with you barely able to stand, much less walk quickly. So, he sighs and reminds himself exactly why this is so important. Why he’s even bothering to ‘save’ your pathetic form.

               The runs and sigils are going to look fucking gorgeous carved into your body, he thinks, still dragging you along. You’re almost to the point of unconsciousness, he notices, and it might be easier for him if you were unconscious. At least then he wouldn’t have to be concerned for how he drags you. The pitiful whimpering noises are so annoying to listen to, so he moved slow enough that you could sort of drag yourself and not make those noises.

               Dabi keeps running through the steps in his head, the rituals, the incantations, and the carvings…. He knew he was a powerful castor. He could only hope that the practice he’d put in, the training he’d put in and the beautiful and pure sacrifice he’d found would be enough to actually summon Satan.

               He knows with the power boost he could finally rid the world of his wretched father. Could finally get rid of him and his stupid fucking followers and coven.

               He’d take them all. And he’d win, he knew it.

               He’s finally dragged you to his apartment, and at this point you’re barely conscious in his arms. Good, it would make the carvings so much easier with you unable to struggle. Plus, with the fact that the alcohol would cloud your senses so you’d feel less pain and make less noise. He wonders if you’re even going to understand what’s happening to you, if you’re going to cry out in fear and confusion. He can’t even lie, the idea of that makes him feel a warmth down in his core, makes him start to feel hard, god, he bets your screams will sound as pretty as you are.

               He has one of the only basement rooms in the apartment, the other two abandoned because of how cold and dirty it is down there, plus there was only cold water that ran down in the basement. However, it was secluded and quiet there, and that’s exactly what Dabi needed in a place. Somewhere where he could lay low while he bides his time, planning and training and waiting. He wasn’t originally a patient person, but he’d learned to be, and it was something that he was proud of.

               Luckily, he doesn’t have to explain to any of his upstairs neighbours why he’s dragging you across the lobby to the back set of stairs that only lead down to the concrete hall downstairs. He’s gotten a pretty large space in his basement room, especially with the way he’s completely emptied his living room. The couch is pushed against the wall, table and tv also against the wall leaving a large rug on the floor. The lucky part was that he didn’t ever have a ton of possessions, so it was rather easy for him to make the circle on the floor and cover it with a large goat-skin rug.

               He doesn’t have many chairs, only the ones at the small bar behind which his kitchen is located, so he tosses you onto the leather couch on your side in case you were to vomit. He can’t have you dying before he sacrifices you after all. He checks to make sure that you’re really out of it before he goes into his washroom to start cleaning himself and preparing his mind for the layers of spell he’s about to cast.

               He’s started clearing his mind as he walks into his room, crystals glistening even in the non-natural light, as he starts to slow his breathing in a rather deep and slow pattern. He feels himself start to go into a state he can only get into when he’s concentrating on magic. All his troubles seem to slip away as he steps into the warm running water. He keeps the sigils he’s going to be needing soon in mind as he washes away all the dirt and grime from the bar, washing away all the petty crime to get prepared for something far, far worse.

               When he’s towelled off, he puts on some cotton boxers, and soft grey pants, leaving himself shirtless in the chilling air. He feels the goosebumps start to creep up his arms as he grabs the old iron lighter, the only gift from his mother that he’d manage to take with him when he had to get out with his life after his father had found out what he’d done.

               You’re pretty much asleep on the couch when he comes out, and he looks over you, your innocent form, so fucking pleased at the sacrifice he’d managed to snatch. Turning away, he starts to take out some candles that he has stashed in the wooden chest beside his couch, the colours he uses going to be black, purple and red.

               After moving the carpet off, he places the candles in groups of three at the points and nodes of the circled star. Afterwards, he grabs the red chalk he has and starts to write the various Latin incantations around the circle. He ignores your soft snores, you seem to be mumbling something in your sleep, as he continues his work. It’s taking a lot more time than he’d like it to.

               But soon enough, he thinks, it’ll all be worth it.

          ��      You feel yourself lifted into the air, your head spinning even before you even open your eyes. Where are you? What’s happening? You try to open your eyes, but it’s so nauseating and disorienting seeing the dark room spinning around, you’re sure you’ve never been in before. You feel yourself lowered onto the ground, rather roughly. You keep your eyes closed trying to wait out the dizzy spell as you hear the click of a lighter, and you shudder, expecting to feel a sting of burning flames.

               But you don’t, and you hear the clicking a few more times. You start to feel a little more stable and you squint, trying to see what’s happening. You try and sit up, but you can’t with your dexterity hindered by the alcohol, and your wrists and ankles bound in ropes. You start to panic slightly, the last thing you can remember is accepting a few drinks from a man, Dabi wasn’t it?

               “Oh, you’re up. That’s good, you need to be conscious for this part.” Speak of the devil and there he shall appear. You feel a surge of fear as you turn your head towards the man.

               “What did you do? Why am I here?” you stumble, trying to cut through the fog in your head.

               “More like what did you do? Who goes out on their own in a sketchy part of town late at night? You were practically begging for something bad to happen to you.” You notice that he’s half naked and you shudder, remembering what you’d told him before and you get a terrible feeling in your gut.

               “No I wasn’t! I just wanted the night to not be complete shit!” You desperately search for anything in your reach that you could use to get yourself out of this situation. You can’t even roll away, you notice that there are iron pegs nailed into the ground and you are tied to those. You want to cry, you don’t know what you did to deserve this.

               “Well, you should’ve just stayed at home,” you hear a knife being pulled out of a holder, and in the corner of your eye you can see Dabi heating the blade against a large gas flame. It’s a twisted knife, the three sides a blue and black metal with a small skull on the end of the hilt. The metal is glowing red hot at the parts where it had been heated though.

               You squirm away from him as much as you can in your restraints when he kneels in front of you with the knife in his hand. “Stop fucking wiggling, It’ll hurt you more because I will nail you to the fucking floor if there’s a chance of me messing these up because of you.” You stop your motions, not wanting whatever’s coming to be made worse. So instead, you start screaming as loud as you can for help, the desperation in your tone evident.

               He just throws his head back in mad laughter at that. “Keep on screaming! I haven’t even started the fun bit yet baby! Nobody can hear you down here you know? It’s utterly fucking pointless for you to cry for help. But please go on, it makes me feel soooo good.”

               You feel your eyes widen in horror looking at the man’s face. He’s still oddly attractive, the flames giving his face sharper shadows, making him look almost inhuman. You’ve never wanted to disappear from someone’s gaze so badly before.

               You shudder as you feel his cold hand push you over and down on your stomach. How are you supposed to get out of there when you’re lying on your stomach with him pressing his weight into you.

               You are mid thought when the first lick of iron hot metal is brought onto your back. You cry out in surprise and pain, the knife tugging at your muscles and you can feel the ridges it has. Tears spring to your eyes, but it doesn’t seem to hurt as much as you would’ve thought, it must be all the alcohol still coursing its way through your system.

               You can’t focus on the words he’s murmuring as he continues to slice designs with purpose into your back. He laughs whenever you let out a vicious scream and you can’t see his face but you can tell he’s enjoying the process immensely.

               “Shirt’s getting in the way of the rest of it sweetheart, guess it’s time to take it off now.” He’s so smug which makes you feel humiliated as you press your head into the ground trying to put yourself together. You whimper as you feel your shirt lifted and hear the fabric tearing.

               You’re now shivering half naked on the cold concrete floor and starting to lose your grip on reality as the pain sends you drifting in and out of consciousness. You feel sharp pain as he starts designing up your spine, humming a bit as he goes. Why’d you have to meet a psychopath tonight? Wasn’t your luck just so shitty lately.

               You lose track of time as he works, you’re pretty sure that you lose consciousness for most of it, but luckily Dabi doesn’t wake you up for it. However, when you do come to, you notice how badly your throat hurts, you must’ve been screaming a lot for that to happen.

               “You ready for the front now? Then we can finally get the real thing started.”

               “Please, isn’t there enough? I don’t want anymore stop please! Just let me go.” You try pleading with him, knowing it’s probably not going to work. He doesn’t even deign you with response to your pathetic attempt. Instead he flips you over, your hands now positioned up above your head.

               Your limbs feel like lead, and you feel as if all your energy has been draining out of you along with the blood that’s come oozing out of your wounds. You can’t move, you’re stuck and all you can do is look at the man doing this to you and seethe in anger and hatred. His eyes seem to be burning with bright blue flames, but surely that must be you hallucinating? People’s eyes don’t glow.

               “Finally,” he breathes out as he leans back and admires his handiwork. He’s looking at you with blown open eyes, erection prominent and you can see the outline through his sweatpants. “Now it’s just to call him while I carve my name into your chest. You’re gonna spell it out for me, got that doll? Or else I can start working on the other bits of skin.”

               You just want it over with at this point, you’ll go along with his idea just so you can finally get out. “Fine.” You whisper, resigned to it at this point.

               “D.” He must’ve heated up the knife again, because it burns more than it did before and you scream your throat raw as he carves this much deeper that the other markings.

               “A!” you screech, hoping it ends soon, at least he has a short name.

               “B!” your voice cracks in your agony and your chest is aching.

               “I!” you sob, tears streaming down your face again as feel your body go completely limp as you succumb to darkness once again.

                 Dabi tries to get his breathing in control, looking at your broken and bleeding form. He’s never felt this aroused by someone, and he was right, your screams were like an orchestra playing the most beautiful music he’s ever heard.

               But that was a bonus. It was time for the summoning, and so it was time to focus and go through it. He slices his left palm, your blood mixing with his before he lets it spill over, mesmerized by how it drip, drip, drips onto the stained concrete. One last incantation that he has to say, and he hasn’t been this excited since he’d first found out he was a castor, and that he was a pretty powerful one at that.

               He waits anxiously in silence, eyes on you as more blood oozes from all the markings, there’s thin linking of red all around the cuts. He wishes that the sacrifice didn’t require a virgin because he desperately wanted to take it from you himself.

               Lost in his thoughts, the sudden burst of wind that erupts from the centre of the circle, from under your form blows out all the candles.

               “Well, aren’t you an ambitious one. Trying to summon Satan all on your own.” Dabi jerks around at the lilting voice from behind him, somehow, it’s both amused and condescending at the same time, and Dabi bristles at it.

               “You aren’t powerful enough to be him, I didn’t summon you.” His teeth are grinding in frustration.

               “So rude, and we’ve only just met! Look kid, you don’t have the power or the numbers to summon Satan right now, but I’m the highest-level under-creature you could get.” His eyes seem to glow gold in the darkness, they light up his sharp features.

               Dabi lets out a growl with a few curses. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter, I knew it was a long shot. You said you were the highest I could get. How high is that?” His grin is devious as he hears the question.

               “I’m Hawks, fallen angel at your service. As for how high I am? I’m in the 5th level range.” Dabi whistles at that. “So, does that mean you’re going to strike a deal with me? I haven’t gotten a serious one in a while. It’s getting seriously boring down there.”

               “You should be able to lend me the amount of firepower I’d need for it. What are your terms, and how does the transfer work in your deals?” he grins showing off his fangs a bit as he cages Dabi in a bit despite being shorter, wings making him seem much larger though.

               “Here’s the fun part, because I’m a fallen angel, it works a little differently! My powers got corrupted so that sacrifice you have there – oh she’s an actual virgin! – is going to be your ticket to my powers.”

               “So, I have to keep her safe?”

               He shrugs, “You asked, I’m just telling you friend. Obviously, the price is the same as any other deal.”

               “Obviously.”

               “So, you’re prepared for that? Hell isn’t as nice as you’d think.”

               “No shit Sherlock, but don’t worry, I’ve thought it through a fair bit.” Hawks laughs at that.

               “Alright! Since my fall was lust based, the power transfer is too, if you catch my drift.” Hawks says with a raised eyebrow.

               “….sort of?”

               “Oh my god, are you an idiot?”

               “I don’t want to hear that from you, chicken man.” Dabi just wants this over with, he’s getting a little antsy. “Can we get started already?”

               “Alright then, time to wake up sleeping beauty over there.”

                 You feel yourself being blearily shaken awake, and you’re shocked to see a different face than Dabi’s in front of you. He’s gorgeous, and his wings, despite being an eerie dark red, are full and look so soft. Blearily, you try to reach up to try and feel them, forgetting that your hands are tied to the peg on the floor. The man looks at you with pity and amusement.

               “Hey there, I’m Hawks, are you ready to become a human magic battery?” he says cheerily, words much at odds with his words and expression.

               “What, no, what’s going on? Please there’s a man here – Dabi – and he’s kidnapped me! You have to help me out, call the police, why are you smiling?” You feel the tiny bit of hope that had grown up come crashing down as you observed the – man? Angel? – who called himself Hawks.

               “Yeah, my friend Dabi and I have a little arrangement here. You know what I am right? You should know that struggling is useless. Just lay back and enjoy the ride, baby.” His eyes pierce your soul and you find yourself unable to even think of a response to that.

               You don’t even completely realize what that means until he starts nuzzling your neck as his hands go towards your tits, starting to play with your pebbled nipples, his hands surprisingly warm.

               “No please, I don’t want that…” you say weakly, completely spent already from the ordeal that Dabi had put you through. “I just want to go home!” you’re so delirious from pain and the small bits of pleasure you’re trying to pretend aren’t happening at Hawks’ toying with you.

               “Too bad little bird, you don’t really have a say in the matter at the moment.” He bites down on your neck hard, drawing blood which he then licks up. “So, fucking good! Haven’t been able to do this in so long.” He’s grinding into you, the layers of fabric bringing you stimulation and pleasure as you moan, immediately tensing up in embarrassment and shame.

               “Don’t be like that, I always make people feel good like this, so just relax.” His eyes are glowing and as you look into them, you feel yourself relaxing a bit. Maybe you should relax, he definitely knows what he’s doing, you can feel the heat building in your core and your hazy mind start to lose focus. His eyes, are just so fucking beautiful, and the way his fingers are moving feel amazing.

               He turns his head down, lapping lightly at your breast. His tongue is warm, but the metal stud on his tongue makes you moan out in delight.

               “Oh so you do like it!” he exclaims brightly. “Let’s get this started now baby.” Your mind is still screaming at you that this is wrong, that you don’t want this, that you need to struggle and get free. With all the distractions in your mind, its so deliciously easy to fall into a hazy daydream like trance as he licks up the blood from your wounds. His tongue makes it feel so, so good. He switches breasts, tugging on your nipples as you mewl in delight. Once you let go, everything was so much better!

               He sucks bruises onto your hips, nipping at them with his sharpened fangs. “Oi, don’t enjoy yourself too much there Dabi, you gotta go a round too after.” You turn to see Dabi stretched out like a cat on his couch, his cock out of his pants as he languidly strokes it. It’s pierced and you find yourself imagining how it would feel scraping your walls.

               There was only one thing bothering you, and it was that everywhere Hawks touched grew hotter and hotter, not in an unpleasant way, more in an antsy, wanting to move and run mood. You felt like you were vibrating and you didn’t understand it. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care as your jaw dropped when the angel ripped off your bottoms harshly.

               “Let’s see if you taste as good as the other humans I’ve devoured.” He rips the ankle restraints as he tosses your knees over his shoulders and licks a stripe up your pussy. You shudder at the new sensation, biting on your lip to stifle your moan.

               He sees that as a challenge and spends his time tasting your juices along his tongue, his eyes seemingly brighter as he works at your pussy, teasing your clit with his tongue stud. He keeps working at you with single minded determination, teasing your hole with his sharp nail and you let out a squeak, which quickly turns into a groan as he slides his finger in. He adds a second as soon as he can, loving hearing the sounds your pussy makes as he scissors you open.

               You’ve never felt this good in your life, you can barely tell what’s happening, but you feel waves of pleasure as you feel his tightening in your lower belly.

               “You’re getting close, huh?” Hawks brings his face up, eyes lidded as he licks the juices around his mouth. “Do you want to cum?”

               “Yes!”

               “Well, I don’t know, you were pretty awful to my business partner over there… maybe I shouldn’t let you cum.” He brings his second hand up to his face, lightly scratching at his scruff, and you begin to panic. You have this insatiable need, you don’t know where it came from, but it’s not letting you think at all. There’s this voice yelling at you that it’s Hawks’ fault, but he’s literally an angel. How could he be doing something so disgusting to you?

               So you open your mouth, “Please let me cum, I’ll be so good for you sir! I didn’t mean to be awful to him, I just didn’t understand what he was trying to do!”

               “That’s fucking right.” There’s a sudden intensity in his eyes that makes you feel like your heart’s stopped. “You didn’t know what you were doing. I’m your guardian angel after all, and I came here because you were going to make a mistake that would put you in danger.”

               “Oh my god…” the horror you feel chokes your throat, yet it doesn’t rid you of the incessant need that’s been plaguing you.

               “Would your guardian angel ever steer you wrong, Y/N?” he grabs your chin, nails cutting shallowly when he presses.

               “No, you wouldn’t!” you shake your head, trying to convey exactly how much you were repenting.

               “So, listen carefully little lady. This is important.” He waits for your assent before he continues. “You’re in a very dangerous spot, so I needed a friend here to help you out, he’s going to keep you nice and safe. All you have to do in return is let yourself have some fun, some pleasure in your life. I mean, you’re begging for that exact pleasure right now.”

               There’s a little niggling at the back of your head, it’s telling you how good you’ll be treated, you’ll be loved and accepted. You start to shake it off, but you can’t when it tells you that nobody will ever make you feel good like this, who would want too? Here you have two beings ready to make you feel good like you’ve never felt before and you’re denying them?

               “Of course, that sounds like a great idea Mr. Hawks.”

               “Alright, what a good girl, see Dabi? Isn’t she great?”

               “I knew I’d gotten lucky, but I didn’t realize how lucky until now.” The grin on his face is satisfied, but as you look longer, the more you see the pleasure and happiness he feels too.

               “Do I get to cum now? You keep saying how good I am…” you don’t remember thinking about saying that, but the words seem to come out on their own accord.

               In response Hawks goes back to your neglected pussy and starts thrusting his fingers into a spot inside you that makes you gasp in surprise. With all the swirling emotions and pain and alcohol you feel yourself tighten and let loose quickly, hitting your high in ecstasy. Your back arches, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you notice that your shoulders have definitely been scratched up badly.

               But why care when you feel so good now?

               Your eyes are closed as you lie there, battered and cut and so blissed out as Hawks removes his pants and looks around.

               “You didn’t bring lube?” he directs the question to Dabi.

               “You need that? I thought you had like, magic and shit.”

               Hawks swallows his annoyance, “I’m in a mortal form dipshit. Channeling divine or corrupt energy is hard to do without fucking blowing myself up.”

               Dabi just shrugs. “I mean to be fair; I didn’t know I was getting some angel that got kicked out of heaven for being horny. Or else I definitely would’ve bought some.”

               “Whatever,” he mutters. “I like this way better.” You hear the conversation, but can’t be bothered to really understand what they’re saying. All you know is that you feel someone leaning above you.

               Hawks takes a feather from his wings, carefully turning it in his hands. “Now, I’m not going to lie, this is going to hurt a bit. But I’ll make you feel so good you won’t even remember it, alright?” You nod along blearily, barely hearing him.

               He grins and slices a long line right above your hip, and you barely feel it being so numb. You do feel his fingers pressing into the cut though, and you try to squirm away, but that just makes him slam you down with his other hand in a surprising show of force for his physique. It feels so wrong when you feel him wiggle his fingers a bit inside your skin, and you shut your eyes so you don’t have to see it. Apparently, that amuses Dabi, who starts guffawing off to the side somewhere. The pain brings up all off the fear you’ve been feeling the whole night, and it shocks you. You start screaming, begging to be let go hysterically while you see Hawks, his hand covered in your blood, fisting his length, mixing some of the precum with it.

               “I thought you said you were going to behave.” He growls and you feel an intense pressure on your mind for a second before your fear starts to fade away easily. “Much better.” He says to your relaxing form.

               “You gotta teach me how to do that,” Dabi comments, which just has Hawks rolling his eyes.

               “Shut up and let me enjoy this, I haven’t had sex in so long, warlock.” That elicits a snort from Dabi as he settles back down.

               He lines up his cock with your slick entrance, teasing a bit as the blood and your juices mix together and it lets him start to work his way inside of you. You’re panting, fingers scrabbling at everything they can reach as he pushes through. You feel a mix of pain and pleasure as he pushes all the way into you. He surprisingly lets you adjust, breathing heavily as your walls squeeze intensely around the intrusion.

               It feels so, so good though and Hawks can tell that’s how you feel as he grins and moves your legs up and around his hips. You whine as he stretches you out more with the new position, and he grunts a bit as he starts thrusting his hips, dragging his sharpened nails down your side without breaking the skin. He puts his head to your neck, pressing open mouth kisses there that make you relax around him, and as soon as he feels that change, he starts pounding into you harder. You hear lewd noises and realize that most of them, are in fact, coming from you. Which is a little jarring of a realization but in your state, you can’t really say it surprised you. It was more of a ‘huh, that’s me then’ moment.

               The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room along with grunts of exertion and moans of pleasure from the pair of you. You can feel yourself building up to that point once again, and you don’t realize it until you’re clamping down on his cock with a shout of pleasure. Hawks groans at the sound, and feels your tight walls somehow clamp down on him harder and starts bucking into you, nails digging into your hips as he chases his own release.

               Had you been in any normal state of mind, you might’ve found it disturbing that Hawks seemed to be murmuring a bunch of Latin as he pounded into you. You might’ve noticed the hand he placed on your heart left a searing imprint that turned dark red. You might’ve noticed his pupils contract into slits and his eyes turn a deep red for a few seconds.

               But you didn’t.

               You felt like you were floating, and figured if this could be compared to anything, it would be a more painful version of a wet, fever dream.

               Suddenly, Hawks comes inside you and you feel the warm liquid fill you up as he thrusts a couple more times, working himself through it. He stays inside, but that’s not what takes your focus. The feeling that you were vibrating without moving was back with a vengeance, but you also felt this numbness that started from your core that moved outwards until your entire body was feeling that way. As Hawks pulled out, you felt so empty, you felt like you didn’t know what to do. So, you let your eyes drift shut while you heard some talk about ‘a transfer’ and ‘both it her.’

               Suddenly, your wrist bindings were also stripped off and you look up in surprise to see Hawks with that same feather setting you free, while Dabi moved to the bedroom.

               “You still going to be good for us, little lady? We’re almost done for tonight.” He coos at you, lightly stroking your chin with his finger.  You give him a small nod, and with that, he picks you up as if you were a stuffed toy and you lean into his shoulder as he brings you to the bedroom.

               “Right, at least you’re prepared already so we can get into this quickly.” Hawks says brusquely, bringing himself to the bed and setting you down before he sits as well.

               “You were enjoying yourself a minute ago, what’s with the sudden rush?” Dabi’s eyebrow is quirked as he puts his hand in your hair and starts scratching your head. You shamelessly sigh in appreciation.

               “My times running out, gotta get this transfer done soon or else we’re going to have to start over another day.” Hawks grouches. “Damn I don’t miss all the rules, but having unlimited mortal form time? That’s something I miss about upstairs.”

               Turning his attention to you Dabi says, “Here, you enjoyed that guy, so you’ll love sitting on my cock.”

               Right now, nothing sounded better, so using the last of your strength, you crawled up to his lap and he guided you right above his dick. He brought you down slowly, ever so slowly, and you felt every inch of his dick inside you, especially those piercings that gave you an amazing sensation.

               “There’s a good girl, much better than before,” he gets out.

               “Now you’re going to need to relax, alright Y/N? It’s going to feel really tight at first but you’ll feel great afterwards.” Hawks is mumbling this into your neck, playing with your hair a little bit while he does.

               “I can do that,” you say, unaware of what he was going to do, but ready to please him.

               “Good, Dabi you might have to distract her a little bit, she’s pretty tight for one person, let alone two.” Dabi smirks but leans back, starting to play with your nipples a bit. You never thought you’d like the sensation of someone swirling around them, tugging them at some points, but here you were, enjoying every second of it.

               You get so into it, that at first you don’t notice Hawks lining up with your entrance and starting to work his way back into you. Dabi actually does first, shuddering at the contact of Hawks’ dick against his own and gasping a bit.

               “Oh Dabi, you were so cocky a minute ago, what’s wrong now?” You hear the teasing from behind as you desperately grip onto Dabi’s shoulders, trying to stay relaxed so it doesn’t hurt as much.

               “Fuck off, chicken.” Is his only response which Hawks cackles at as he starts to push further in. You gasp at the painful stretch, tears welling out of your eyes, as Hawks reaches around you to play with your clit to distract you.

               “Doing so good, sweetheart, just a little bit more, can you do that for me?” he nips at your ear.

               “Yes,” you gasp, the pleasure from his rough finger movements distracting you a bit from all the pain as your breathing gets shallow. “Slow down, please?”

               “That’ll just make it worse,” he says. “I’m just going to get it over quickly, alright?” you don’t even have time to agree before he shoves the rest of his way in, screaming out as it happens. You feel so fucking stuffed, and they haven’t even started moving or anything.

               Dabi’s losing some of that composure he’d had before, cussing as he tries to steady his breathing, but you feel his cock twitching inside you. You’re losing the strength you have in your arms as you lean forwards onto Dabi’s chest, and you moan as the shift in movement gives you friction on your clit and in your pussy.

               Without really knowing what you’re doing, you press kisses onto the side of his neck as you lie there, trying to get used to being this stretched out. It wasn’t going to happen tonight that’s for sure, because you’d barely had anything up there until today.

               You feel a grip tighten on your hips as one of them, at this point you have no idea who, starts moving in and out. The other goes the opposite rhythm so that you always feel so completely full you feel like you’re going to burst. The thought comes unbidden into your mind that these two sadists might actually enjoy that. It makes you shiver in fear.

               You can’t really remember what happened, but you have specific feelings and recollections of the two fucking into you,

               …Dabi hitting your G-Spot over and over again as you see white and cum hard on his cock…

               …Hawks leaning over you to grab Dabi into a rather passionate kiss as he got you to play with the raven-haired man’s pierced nipples…

               …Your ass getting spanked so you clench down on them and Dabi comes, but stays inside until he gets hard again…

               …getting toyed with in every possible way, bites and bruises marking your skin so much that you feel light headed from blood-loss…

               …you remember clawing at Dabi’s back which has him screaming in pleasure…

               …Dabi’s eyes glowing blue, as if he’d had flames trapped inside them and they were ready to come out…

               …pleased laughter and an uptick in pace…

               …then nothing…

                 Dabi lays back, breathing heavily as your form is slumped on his chest. He wasn’t surprised you’d completely passed out a little way into your second round. If anything, he was surprised you’d managed to last that long. He was wiped after one, but that was mainly because he was trying to keep up with Hawks, who had the fucking endurance of something otherworldly.

               Which made sense given he was a magical being.

               Still it peeved Dabi to no end as Hawks slid out of you looking completely untouched as he did so. The only thing that was out of place was his hair, messed from Dabi grabbing it, which he hadn’t remembered starting but it was sometime when he was making out with Hawks… which he hadn’t expected… but he wasn’t complaining.

               Although no matter how drained Dabi felt physically, magically? He felt so fucking ready to take on anything that could happen in the future. He could feel it pulsing around his body, in his fingertips and temples, and it felt amazing. He understood why so many people went with summoning darker entities for power transfers now, much easier and much more potent.

               “So, I have to be here in person to do my whole mind-manipulation thing, so you should think about how to keep her safe for now. She’s tied to you because of the transfer so like, if she were to die for example…. You’d definitely die too.” Hawks says with a cheery smile.

               “You didn’t think to mention that before?” he gets a shrug in response.

               “You didn’t ask. Oh and, for every time you need a power boost, just take care of her and let her enjoy the sex, it’ll ah – flow easier if you catch my drift.”

               “Thanks oh angel of a good dickening… what would I ever do without you?”

               “No seriously, the more your conduit enjoys the sex, the more you get out of it.” he looks unamused.

               “Oh. Ah, well that’s good to know.” Dabi has to start planning out his next moves then, keeping you healthy and happy was going to be a tough job.

               “I did make the suggestion to her that I was her guardian angel and you were helping her out, try to play up that angle, it’ll call up some of the residual magic in her mind and make her… more pliant.” Hawks starts putting on his clothes once again.

               “Uh, thanks. Is she just a constant source of your power then?” That’s the only part Dabi was still confused about.

               “No, I’ll be back when I feel the energy start to dwindle. I need you to do all the terrible things I know you have planned. Your soul will be fucking delicious then. Any who, see you later Dabi! It was an absolute pleasure doing business with you.”

               He vanishes like he came, suddenly disappearing with a gust of air hitting Dabi in the face. Dabi looks down on you, still on his cock as he desperately tries to think about what he was going to do to keep you in here and how he’d keep you safe trying to hunt down another coven.

[serpentinesarang]

Tender Loving Care

pairing: wonho (lee hoseok) x female reader [could be gender-neutral though if you ignore the cleavage mention], relationship!AU

genre: mega fluff, first-person POV, reader speaks Konglish (translations provided!)

word count: 844

content warnings: swearing, physical pain, mention of nausea, crying

summary: you have a particularly terrible migraine, so sweet boy hoseok makes it his mission to take care of you

I can barely feel the tears streaming down my cheeks because my head is pounding so hard, and my throbbing eyeballs are probably going to explode out of their sockets like fried eggs any moment now. And the nausea—fuck, the nausea... This is one of those migraines that can render even the healthiest of people bedridden.

And that’s where I am, staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to do that 7-5 breathing technique my therapist told me about: in for seven seconds, out for five. But dear fucking God, the pain is unlike anything I’ve felt before.

I wipe away the tears sliding down my neck and let out a long-held sigh. What did I do to deserve this?

As if he’d read my racing mind, Hoseok pads into the bedroom and flicks on the overhead light, eliciting a pitiful groan from me.

His eyes widen dramatically when he notices my glistening face and pained expression, then he strides to my side of the bed, his tone panicked when he says, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

His fingers fly to my cheeks, quickly swiping at the tears. I can’t help but break into a soft sob. “머리가 아프다 [moriga apeuda / my head hurts]… It hurts… so bad, Hoseok. Help me, 제발 [jebal / please],” I whisper in a strained voice.

With tears already brimming in his own chocolate eyes, Hoseok nods, delicately sliding his hands and arms between me and the mattress to pick me up.

“Slowly,” I murmur against his chest when I feel a particularly stronger throbbing in my temples.

Hoseok obeys, gingerly taking light steps toward the master bath on the other side of our room. He flicks on the light, and again, I moan at the exacerbated pain, digging my forehead into his burly pecs. He kisses the top of my head before gently sitting me on the closed toilet seat, and my instinctual reaction is to bring my heels up and hug my shins with my head cradled between my knees.

I feel so guilty for letting him see me in such unfiltered agony, and I certainly don’t like that my pain has caused him pain as well.

After what feels like an hour but is probably just five minutes, the tub has been filled with hot water, eucalyptus bubble bath has been added, according to my sensitive nose, and Hoseok has come back in the bathroom.

“자기야 [jagiya / babe],” he says while tapping my shoulder. I lift my head just enough to see him holding a small lavender-scented candle. “Good idea buying this.”

He shoots me a sweet smile and leans down to kiss my forehead before lighting the candle and carefully placing it in the far corner of the tub.

I love this man. So so motherfucking much, I think as he pulls me to the cold tile. From the bottom up, he tugs my oversized t-shirt off my trembling body, letting it fall somewhere, and placing open-mouth kisses on my shoulder that trail down my cleavage and belly until he removes my fleece shorts and underwear together. I step out of them and kick them aside while he continues his heavenly kissing up my thighs this time, leaving one last harder kiss on my pubic bone. Leave it to my boyfriend to alleviate my pain as sensually as possible.

I’ve stopped crying by now, and I wrap myself around him tightly. “정말 감사합니다 [jeongmal kamsahamnida / thank you so much].”

Caressing him, I feel his toned obliques and plentiful latissimus muscles, and at long last, I sense the clearing of my mind. The smell of the lavender candle has also begun to relax me. In response, Hoseok brings his hands up to my lower neck and languidly kneads my muscles in random, circular motions. I’ve never taught him this, and I don’t know how he’s this damn good at being my personal masseur.

Resting the side of his head against the top of mine, he says in a faint yet solemn voice, “언제나 [eonjena / always].”

We stay there for another minute, hugging, caressing, and massaging each other, before we pull apart.

“The water is still hot,” he reminds me with a smile. I grasp his warm hands as I finally lower myself into the bubbly, minty water at a maddeningly slow pace. If he’s annoyed at all, he does not make it evident.

I’ve lain back against the curve of the tub and sunken down a little when Hoseok says, “지금 [jigeum / now],I can turn off the light.”

He does so and returns to the tub to sit cross-legged at the very edge and press his body as closely as he can get, leaning in even further with his veiny neck to gaze at me. “Want medicine?”

I let out a heavy breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “어,내사랑 [eo, naesarang / (informal) yes, my love].”

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Sixteen

Here it is, my beautiful readers, the last part of this ongoing saga! This was something that I originally thought I’d complete around mid-October, so that I could continue with a couple of other Halloween-themed pieces I had in mind. Oh well... Christmas is traditionally a time for ghost stories, not that this is really a ghost story... anyway...

Thank you very much to those who have followed along with the story. If you’d like to get yourself caught up on what this is, you can find all the previous chapters linked in the Master List. But whenever you’re ready to find out how it ends, you can just click to “keep reading”.

(As always, what gets published here is first-draft, unedited, unchecked rawness. There are going to be spelling mistakes, grammatical mistakes, hell, you’re lucky if I don’t start calling characters by different names halfway through. I apologize for all that.)

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 3,115

Content warning: Honestly, if you’ve made it through the rest of the story, there’s nothing here that’s going to bother you. And saying more than that would probably mean spoiling the story. 

“Imagine my surprise when we got home and found out you’d run off on some servant’s errand,” he whispered. “What on Earth would have possessed you to do that?”

“I just wanted to get outside and do something to feel useful.”

“And then when you finally get home, you’re in another man’s arms.”

“That’s not true. He was helping me up the walkway and-”

He held my face in his hands and kissed me, hard. 

“Tell me, where else did he have his hands today?”

“Feargal, you’re being ridiculous,” I chided, but then cried out a little as he trailed his hand down my body, finding my nipple through my clothes and pinching it hard. 

“What else did you let him do to you?” He gripped my face in his hand and pushed me down on the bed before climbing on top of me. “What was it that left you so sore and weak that you couldn’t walk without his help?”

“You know perfectly well that-”

He kissed me, roughly pulling my skirt up and running his hands over my legs. 

“I haven’t been allowed to touch you in so long.”

I was stunned as I realized what he wanted, as I felt him tearing away at my undergarments. 

“You can’t be serious. The door is open. Susan could walk in! The children could walk in!”

He merely grunted and loosened his own clothing enough to free his erect member, the weight of it even more impressive than I remembered against my thigh. He kissed and bit at my neck, snarling softly like a beast, like a beast I knew all too well. He thrust inside me hard and immediately I knew something was wrong. The pain was sharp and overwhelming, and I almost cried out loud but for the fact that he placed his hand over my mouth just in time. 

“Please,” I sobbed into his hand, shaking my head. “No.”

As suddenly as they had started, his movements stilled. He stared at me wide-eyed and in shock. 

“My love,” he gasped. “I forgot that… I am so sorry.”

He withdrew from me and tucked himself away, stroking my hair with one hand. He continued to apologize even as I assured him that everything was alright.  He straightened his clothing and rose unsteadily from the bed, carrying himself out of the room and downstairs with an almost drunken gait even though I called after him. 

It took me a few minutes to recover myself enough to sit up and smooth my clothing into a more presentable state. I looked into the crib next to the bed and saw my son lying quietly, his eyes blinking and staring off towards the window. I hesitated to touch him in case he started crying but I could not resist the urge to place my hand on the blanket next to him, so that I could feel the heat of his body against mine. 

I moved to leave, meaning to head downstairs when it caught my eye: three scratches on the wooden frame of the crib, three parallel lines the like of which I had seen before. 

*

Once I had seen the Demon’s calling card and after Feargal’s sudden outburst, I knew that I had to do something. I had looked in the eyes of both my husband and the demon and now I truly believed that they were one and the same. I knew that the scratches I had seen on the crib were fresh because I had kept my eyes peeled for any sign that Balor might come to carry out his threat to take Michael away. No one could have snuck into the house and up to our room in the light of day. It was Feargal I had seen holding him. And I had experienced his bizarre behavior immediately afterward. 

I knew I couldn’t say these things to anyone else. Even saying them in my own head, they seemed insane. But my baby’s life was at risk and, by extension, the lives of William and Sophia, who I had sworn to protect. Although I had no confirmation, my instinct remained that getting Michael baptized would put him out of the Demon’s reach. Whether or not that would solve our problems, I did not know. 

My plan was to wait until everyone was asleep and then to leave with Michael. In order to avoid involving anyone else in the town, I resolved to walk the distance to the next village and to present myself to a pastor there as a young mother afraid for her baby’s health and insistent that he be baptized. There was no chance I would make it back before everyone awoke the next day, which meant that I would need an excuse to tell my family, something I had not yet worked out. I told myself that something would come to me because it had to. 

Every day I stared at the scratches on the crib and worked out the path I would take, what I would wear to keep us both warm, all of the details that I needed to know to accomplish my goal. I had not chosen a specific date but one night I felt a chill over my skin as I watched Michael sleeping and I knew that the time was at hand. 

I had lain awake every night making sure I knew every angle, every board, every nuance of the room so that I could get up quickly and access the clothing I had stashed for easy access. Feargal slept peacefully next to me and as I looked at the soft curve of his lips, my resolve faltered. He was still so beautiful, so much more than I ever could have imagined I would have as a husband. Surely I was mad to even think he could be a monster? 

Then I closed my eyes and forced myself to think of the ferocious look in his eyes when he was jealous, so pale and cold, just like those of Finn Balor. I thought of his touch, and how his hands and arms felt exactly the same against my skin. And I reminded myself that, as impossible as it might seem, this might also explain what had happened to his first wife. It pained me but I had to move forward. 

I slipped from the bed an inch at a time, freezing in place any time I thought Feargal showed a sign of stirring, and dressed myself in the clothes I’d prepared for the journey. Then came the most difficult part. Michael was asleep in his crib and I knew that picking him up would wake him. Ever so gingerly, I held a scarf against his face, so that at least the sounds he made would be muted. 

When I lifted him, however, it was like he understood that he should remain quiet. His blue eyes opened and looked around but he immediately curled against my breast and settled as if he was about to fall asleep again. I wrapped a blanket and my cloak around us both so that he would be warm and made my way to the stairs, walking to the rhythm of my own heartbeat. 

I had spent weeks memorizing where to walk on each stair to avoid making the floorboards creak under my weight and when I reached the bottom, I congratulated myself, for I had executed the descent perfectly. I hurried to the street door, confident that the rug would disguise any sound, and slowly turned the key to unlock it. It hadn’t been easy, but I had practiced moving the key so that it made hardly any noise, even when the deadbolt slipped back. What is most important to understand is that my plan had unfolded flawlessly to that point and that I had made so little noise that even the infant in my arms remained at peace. 

“Where are you going?” came the sharp voice behind me. 

I spun, biting down on my tongue to avoid crying out, and found myself facing William and Sophia, both in their nightclothes but looking almost unnaturally alert. I closed my arms tight around Michael and struggled to think of an adequate answer. After all, I had assumed that I would have the time to think of some cover story while I walked. I had nothing prepared to explain myself, even to children. 

“Where are you going?” William repeated, his voice rising. 

I held my finger to my lips in the hopes that no one else would overhear us. 

“What are you doing up? Go back to bed!” I whispered. 

“We heard you moving around,” he answered. 

I knew that that was not true. I knew how deeply they slept and I had not heard a sound behind me until he spoke. It was impossible that they had heard me and I had not heard them. It was more like they had already been awake and downstairs, lying in wait for me. But I couldn’t say that to them, so I tried to make an excuse. 

“Your brother is sick. I’m taking him to see a doctor.”

Sophia arched her brow at me. “Why not just send for the doctor to come here?”

I swallowed and once again motioned for them to stay as quiet as possible. “I don’t care for the doctors here. I want him seen to by someone else.”

“But that’s silly,” she responded sharply, although at least quietly. “It’s dangerous taking him outside, especially if he’s already sick. You should tell Father and have him go.”

“I don’t have time to explain right now,” I insisted, “but please, just go back to bed. We’ll have lots of time to discuss this when I come back.”

“No,” William pouted, “she’s right. You need to leave him here. As long as he’s here, we’re all safe.”

Sophia pinched him hard on the arm and he cried out, fortunately not very loudly. 

I struggled to understand what he meant, why he thought that having a sick baby remain in the house somehow meant that we would be safe. It was possible, of course, that he simply didn’t understand how sickness worked, but then it would make no sense that his sister had upbraided him for saying it. Was she embarrassed that he might look foolish? No, I thought, it was something else. He’d said something that she specifically didn’t want him to say. 

“Why do you think you’d be safer with him here, William?” I asked, focusing my eyes solely on him. 

He looked at his sister, who shook her head quickly. He continued to stare at her for what seemed like a long time. Finally, it was she who responded. 

“You promised you’d protect us. You can’t protect us if you’re not around.”

“I’ll be gone less than a day. You aren’t in any danger.”

She shook her head again. “We’re not safe from him until he gets what he wants. Michael needs to stay here and so do you.”

I blinked, not quite believing what I’d heard. They weren’t safe until “he” gets what he wants? Who did she mean? Was it at all possible that she knew of the demon and his determination to take the baby? And would her words not indicate that she wanted to help him? 

I stared into her dark eyes and felt a shiver go from my skin down to my very core at how cold they looked in the low light. William’s expression was impetuous but hers was more frightening because of its utter lack of human emotion. There was no hint of anything childlike or innocent about her. 

Somehow, I could feel that she knew that the demon Finn Balor was lurking and that he was determined to take this child, my child, the third child of the house, away to be with him. And she believed that letting him do so would protect the family from him in the future. Did she know that he had also threatened to take me? Did she care? 

Unable to come up with another word to say, I grabbed the door handle and opened it, motioning to the children one last, desperate time, to keep silent. 

It was no use. 

“Papa, papa, come quick, please!” William cried at the top of his voice as I stepped through the threshold. 

I scurried down the path to the gate and was shocked that as I reached to lift the bolt that Feargal came storming out of the house. He was still in his pajamas, but had managed to pull on his great-coat and boots in the mere seconds that had elapsed. I was so struck by his sudden appearance that I stood frozen in place for a moment until I realized that he was nearly upon me. 

I darted onto the road and turned to head towards the town and the main road there, only to be blocked by him as he ran through the gate and stood in my path. 

“Helen, what are you doing? Get back in the house this instant!” he exclaimed. 

I shook my head and retreated, back down the street, although there was only the beach and the ocean in that direction. 

“What’s gotten into you?” he persisted, following my every step but allowing me to maintain a distance between us. 

“He needs to be baptized,” I stammered, clutching tightly at the bundle in my arms as he started to stir. 

“Of course he does. I told you, I’m arranging it with Reverend Devlin.”

“No,” I snarled, “he needs to be baptized tonight. He can’t wait any longer.”

“Ok, I haven’t spoken to the Reverend yet,” he admitted, moving towards me as I continued to back away. “I’m sorry that I haven’t kept my word. But I’ll speak to him first thing in the morning, I promise. Just come back inside and come to bed.”

He extended an arm to me and I felt my heart breaking. How could I have thought such horrible things of him? But just as I was about to take his hand, a cloud crossed the moon and as it did, I saw the face of the demon, the shadowy skin and white eyes, the voraciousness and danger and I could no longer convince myself that this man was merely the gentle country pastor I had believed him to be. 

“You cannot have him,” I spat. And I turned and ran as fast as I could- not terribly fast, I will admit- even though I knew I was running towards a dead end. 

The thudding of footsteps behind me was my greatest impetus to keep moving and so when I reached the rickety stairs that lead down to the beach, I did not hesitate. I nearly fell and crushed Michael against my chest to try to protect him from the roughness of the descent. Once on the sand, I continued to scramble along as best I could, until I felt my arm grabbed roughly from behind. I spun away, tightening my grip on the baby and screamed in anger and fear. 

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at me, struggling to be heard over the fierce wind off the sea. 

“I know you mean to take him, to harm him. I know what you are,” I cried triumphantly. “You think that I’ll let you steal him away and condemn him to hell with you?”

“For God’s sake, Helen, this is insanity! He’s my son!”

As he spoke, I once again saw the light of the moon obscured by a cloud and the hungry face of the Demon Balor was revealed to me. He reached forward repeating that Michael was his son and I started to run again, almost falling as I did.

“He’s my child and you will never take him,” I screamed, stumbling and barely regaining my footing. 

He advanced on me, and as he did his face shifted from the distraught, desperate Feargal Devitt to the hungry, demanding Finn Balor. I wanted to believe that only one of them was real. I wanted to believe that I could separate them. But why would God have favoured me with a perfect husband and happy life? Who was I to deserve to be Mrs. Devitt, wife of the country pastor? 

I backed away as fast as I could, careful to watch him for any sudden moves. 

“Is this what happened with Sarah?” I taunted. “It is, isn’t it? She knew what you’d do if she had a third child, knew that you’d claim it and take it away.”

“Helen, please…”

“But she tricked you, didn’t she?” I continued, trying to be mindful of the stones in my path. “When she found out she was going to have a third child, she went to see the woman in the village, Susan’s aunt. She wanted to get rid of it, didn’t she?”

“Stop it now, you need to come home.”

“And you must have been furious when you found out.” I found myself piecing the story together as I spoke, more upset with every syllable but unable to stop myself from continuing. “Did you attack her? Is that why she ran from your house in the middle of the night? Did she die trying to escape your wrath or did you smash her skull against the rocks of that cave?”

At that, he lunged at me, knocking me down as he tried to wrest the precious bundle from my arms. I landed hard but the sand was at least a little forgiving and despite being winded by the fall, I continued to struggle with him, to keep him from claiming my innocent child. 

I sat up, clawing at his face, which did force him back a little. I clutched my baby in one arm as I tried desperately to scratch and slap at Feargal, at Balor, at both of them together, until he fell back on his haunches, panting for breath. 

“He’s not moving, Helen,” he shouted at me. “Why isn’t he moving?”

I didn’t want to allow him to distract me, but I knew that the bundle in my arms had stayed unnaturally still. Looking down, I tapped at his face to revive him, my breath quickening when I could not get a response. A heavy hand landed painfully on my shoulder as I struggled to wake Michael from his slumber. 

“What’s wrong?” he shrieked. 

“I don’t know,” I sobbed, rubbing at his tiny chest with my hand. 

“What have you done, Helen?” he roared, shaking me by the shoulder. “What have you done?”

[bowieandqueen11]

Reunion / 2019 Richie Tozier Headcanons

Request: Hi!! I was wondering if I could request 2019!Richie Tozier headcanons?? Maybe for him and the reader going to back to Derry w/ the other losers to defeat pennywise ? Xx 

Ahh I’m so excited for more Richie catch me crying <3

You would be in Richie’s dressing room when the two of you first get the call. You would be sitting in his lap, his head nestled into your neck, his outfit still on and tickling your skin with its itchy frills as he relaxes, riding out the after show high. Producers and runners would still be buzzing about, congratulating the two of you, and you would smile and nod and say polite thank you’s as you run your hand through Richie’s hair, him smiling against your neck, knowing how shy he really is.

When his hand reaches out to grasp the ringing phone, answering it with a cheery hello and terrible, terrible joke as he winks at you, your heart drops as his face falls, his hand trembling by his head as he drops the receiver.

You were there to help him with the panic attack. You would start to ask him if Mike was on the other end, knowing in your heart that it was time, but Richie just shakes his head, trying his best to shoot you a smile but only making you frown more with the wince that covers his face. You reach out your hand gingerly, letting it land on his broad shoulder as you begin to rub them against his muscles, allowing both your hands to fall onto his back. Your fingers begin to dance over their expanse, swirling nonsense but tender patterns over his shaking form, and taking slight relief in that his breathing seemed to be evening out slightly. What you don’t expect, however, is two large hands wrapping themselves around your waist without warning and tugging you tightly forward, as the two of you just sit there for a while, slight disbelief the summer of 1988 was about to repeat itself.

On the car ride over, the two of you would bring a collection of old records you had spent that summer listening to, your voices high and pitchy and giggly as you allowed your thumb to rub tenderly over his own. With the windows rolled down, and Richie’s sunglasses slightly askew on his face, it reminded you of the boy who had lain at the quarry all those years ago, afraid to move in case you would run away from him, scared that he meant nothing to you as he threw heated little side glances your way whenever he thought you were looking down at the emerald water, the shy little smile on your face making his heart starts performing back flips and raising his mouth in a dopey grin. The boy who would sit up, a soft look lining his blank face as he raises a finger  to push his glasses back up the brow of his nose before saying, ‘hey, y/n, um, can I talk to you for a second?’, only to push himself forward onto the palms of his hand and press a short and tender kiss against your lips, pulling away after a few seconds to fiddle with his hands as a rising blush covered his cheeks.

As the ripples of the gong fill the otherwise silent private room with a dull thudding beat, it’s final shrill crescendo making Bill wince back a little into Eddie’s maroon jacketed arm, you’re hand is firmly within Richie’s, stashed safely away, intertwined, in his jacket pocket. You two stand there, hips bumping naturally and familiarly against each others as the Losers look at the two of you with the same knowing smile on their faces. Finally, Richie breaks the tense silence by saying, ‘I guess this meeting of the Loser’s Club has officially begun, hey y/n?’

The next day, Richie rubs at his eyes, his large hands fumbling to take his glasses as he feels as if someone is jamming hot pins right into his eyeballs, pain flaring in his skull as he sits down at the park bench, not daring to believe the grass around his feet has been turfed up, the dirt sprayed over the field as worms wriggle free like tiny maggots. Daring to look up again, his eyes bloodshot and his face flushed from the effort of trying to take in straggling breaths, Richie warbles out a soft sigh of relief to see the Bunyan statue firmly in place, its red chequered shirt glowing like splattered blood in the unforgiving Derry rays, and its piercing, unmoving eyes and dead smile gazing down at Richie, making him shiver. However, the axe stuck to his shoulder doesn’t move, and Richie dares to relax a little against the park bench, shrugging off his jacket with white, trembling hands, not feeling the splinter snag against his fingertips until the fat red droplets plop freely onto the ground.

Catching your breathe from where you sit next to him, you pull him up, Richie surprising you by collapsing into you, nearly knocking the two of you onto your bottoms as his giant weight looms over you, his arms heavy as they wrap tightly around your shoulders, his fingers digging desperately into your muscles. He walks the two of you backwards quickly, away from the statue as he nestles his head into your neck, whispering light ‘oh god, y/n, it was horrible, it was just like before’ into your neck like a mantra. You reach up to lightly brush the stray chocolate curls that fall into his pained, lost eyes away from his face, your touch hesitant and tender so as not to scare him. You smirk as he looks down at you like a lost child, reminding you of that scared little boy who constantly used to crack jokes and gush terrible voices all those years ago. The scared little boy who only wanted to be loved, and so showed affection the only way he knew how. 

That night, the night before you finally return to the sewers the two of you had spent years trying to get over the nightmares that plagued your dreams concerning them, you squirmed your way up to the top of the bed, kicking against Richie’s hairy leg before your head lands plop onto his forehead, tucking yourself into his open arm and nestling yourself against his chest. His heart thumps painfully against your cheek as his arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you tighter against him. Feeling how cold you are, his long legs kick out from under the blanket and come to entangle with yours, itching against your skin familiarly as his stubble tickles the top of your head, pretending you don’t feel the faint tears that trickle down his chin as he pulls you just that little bit closer.

Little did you know that tomorrow Richie would be pinning your arms back, trying to swipe the small flickers of Eddie’s blood of your shirt as your sobs rang in his head, holding you tight against his chest as the light dimmed from Eddie’s eyes. Tomorrow, there would still be no words left to say, only guilt swirling in your eyes as you stared out from between Richie’s arms, the two of you thankful to still be alive, but wondering if it was worth the cost.

[hey-hamlet]

sick as a dog and ready to bite

Izuku is sick and nothing goes right. 

(ao3 link, fic under read more) 

Izuku was a hairbreadth away from crying. He was tired and so sick he’d rather break an arm than keep feeling like this. Not that he had a choice.

It was 1 am and he hadn’t slept a moment, hours spent hunched over his bin feeling like he was about to throw up but never quite managing it. He’d felt so totally wretched he’d stumbled down the stairs to get a cup of tea like his mum would make him when he was sick. He felt dizzy, vision fuzzy around the edges and way rudely reminded of the fact he’d had nothing to eat that day. He’d felt off all day, unwilling to eat lest it makes his nausea worse.

At this point he wasn’t sure there was a worse.

He tried to lift the boiling kettle from its place on the counter, but his weak arms and stiff hands made it slip from his grasp. Boiling water splashed across his left arm, leg and hip. Fuck it hurt.

The kettle fell into the sick with a clatter but Izuku didn’t care, curling to the ground around his burning skin. He bit his lip to stifle a sob but couldn’t stop the tears or the pained whimpers. He was sick and he hurt so bad.

“What are- problem child?” A low voice rang out over the kitchen, but Izuku couldn’t tell who it was through the pain. A warm hand brushed over his burnt arm. Izuku bit clean through his lip to stifle the scream. It only half worked. The person in front of him inhaled sharply, backing up. The pain in his lip was almost a welcome relief from the pain the rest of him was feeling, but the familiar taste of iron welling up in his mouth only made the nausea worse.

He was sure the voice was saying something, low and soothing, but the brush of a cold cloth over his arm made him cry out again, the sickness and the pain turning his world into a buzzing blur. The cloth was laid gently over his arm. Eventually, the feeling of the cool water replaced that of the discomfort of fabric on his burn. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure when he'd closed them.

“Midoriya?”

“Aizawa-sensei?” Blood dripped steadily down his chin.

“Thank god. Can you tell me what happened here?” He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes again, the gentle voice of his teacher making him ache.

“I just wanted a drink – it dropped – Sensei I just feel so bad.” He left his head slump forward, knocking gently against the plush fabric of Aizawa’s shirt. “I just want it to stop.”

His teacher’s arms wrapped around him, avoiding his burns as best he could. He could feel his teacher flinch at every pained noise he made but he was far too exhausted to keep them quiet. He felt himself being lain gently on the common room couch, a hand carding softly through his hair. The light of a phone shone through his closed eyelids, but when he turned to look Aizawa gently held him still.

“Recovery Girl in on her way.”

He wanted to protest, to apologise for waking her up at this time of night, for annoying his teacher, but Aizawa just sighed, still running a gentle hand through his hair.

“It’s ok. Just get some rest now.”

As much pain as he was in, the comforting feeling of a hand running through his hair and the knowledge that he was safe in his teacher's care was enough to pull him under.

He awoke burn free, rested, with a still steaming cup of tea on the table beside him.

[eirian-houpe]

Lightly, Tender... My Dream

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Smut, First Time, A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time), One Shot

Summary: Between realms, beyond curses, and through the passage of many lost years, Belle and Rumplestiltskin find one another again, and finally act upon their love.

Read on AO3

Notes: Came in right under the wire with this one. Written for the January A Monthly Rumbelling prompt 'Press Lightly' (Song)

Lightly, Tender… My Dream.

Rumplestiltskin wept…

He railed, fists gripping and shaking the bars, feeling the weakness that the magical nature of the cell induced in him, allowing himself the moment of frustration to wash over him; allowing himself a moment to indulge the madness - embrace it.

When was the last time he’d felt the ghost of a touch, her touch. His Belle - lost?

He stood at the window.  He hadn’t been up here in many years; many many years.  The room had been closed and gathering dust, not that he’d know it, not now.  His maid had left it spotless and a part of him was angered at that; frustrated. The reflection of all of his feelings had lain in that dust, and now, with it gone, he worried he’d forget, forget himself; the feelings of those small fingers slipping through his in the howling, mocking fury of the portal’s whorl. Its blue light was predominant and reminded him of the one behind it.

The door behind him opened and he watched the reflection of Belle pull up short - startled.

“Rumplestiltskin!  I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here,” she apologised hurriedly, but sincere. “I was just bringing up fresh linen.”

That he didn’t answer her seemed to spark concern, and she set down the linens from her arms, and came to him at the window.  Her hand brushed his as though to get his attention as she looked up at him. She called his name, her voice downy soft, and as distant as the reflection in the darkened window, distant, like the memory as he struggled to remember how to feel.

Her hand slipped, hesitantly, into his, her hand small - like Bae’s - and for a moment, just a precious moment, he squeezed tightly and he knew, no matter how clean the room, she would not allow him to forget.

Later, he remembered, he would look up at her as she perched on the table, asking to know him, asking about his son, touching him with the feeling again.

The memory faded into the darkness of his solitary cell, and he fell away from the bars; from their biting metal - Iron over hidden, running water, but mostly it was the iron… She was lost to him now, taken from him by her own hand after inhuman tortures at the hands of those that should care for her, should have loved her. Lost to death.  And Bae, still lost; lost to a world without magic, and after his Dark Curse was cast, he would be alone… again… with no one to share as he could have shared with Belle.

For a moment he embraced that pain of only having them to hold in his heart, and wondered aloud, “Who will hold me ?”

Then, with an insane chuckle, he permitted the Darkness to take hold again, loving it; loving himself as the Dark One, for all the power he’d had, and would have again,  He was patient. He would play the long game.

His fall, away from the bars, seemed endless, nothing to catch him, even when he hit the hard dirt floor. He snatched up the parchment from its hiding place, and the quill beside it, guarded by the rats and scurrying insects and reached for the precious, precious ink. His practiced hand writing a word, a name, over and over. Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma….

Belle turned away from the mirror, sobbing, feeling his pain.  She yearned to wrap her arms around him, hold him, comfort him, but locked in a cell of her own, with only the mirror for her own cold comfort, how could she reach him? But what would she have done had she made it back to the Dark Castle? Innocent in spite of her desires, reticent to touch… In spite of her desires, a stranger to touch.

Her breath caught, and her heart and stomach switched places as Rumplestiltskin squeezed her fingers as she hesitantly slipped her hand into his beside the window.  They have always been so ‘apart’ before, despite her yearning… despite the number of times she’d caught him watching her when he didn’t know she saw.

What would it be like, she wondered, to reach up with her free hand and try to soothe his obviously troubled brow; run her fingers through his hair and comb the tangles from the wildness of it?

In their reflection in the darkened window pane her gaze drifted to his mouth, his lips, and she felt the heat of a blush rise to color her cheeks.

“Isn’t there work you should be doing?” he snarked, though without the usual heat, and with an almost teasing spark in his eyes.  She murmured a hurried, apologetic response and began to move to leave; to turn away and head for the kitchen, but he did not release her hand, and she turned back, a worried query on her face, until he murmured softly, “Thank you, Belle.”

Later, she remembered, when she returned from town with the un-needed straw, she would come to know, at least a little, the answer to her question… almost at least… as she dared to kiss him and for the briefest of moments he returned her kiss.

The pang of hurt caught her hard, and low.  She would never know him now. He couldn’t come to rescue her, caught as he was in the cell that stole his magic; the Dark Curse that Queen Regina so often boasted of as she came to torment Belle almost upon them.

In sudden frustration she turned and beat her fists against the mirror, spreading spider-web cracks over it, and again, and again until it shattered, its magic throwing out the silvered glass toward her.  She raised her hands to protect her face, closing her eyes as a darkness, out of nowhere, swept over her.

Cold… Silence… She woke with a start from a dream that had been anything but.  There was a warmth, there was a man; a strange man with green and golden scaled skin and she knew she loved him from the way she cried out at his touch… nothing real.  All imagined, so the doctors said as they pressed needles into her arms to speed her to oblivion.

She opened her eyes again. How long had passed?  She didn’t know, but she remembered a mirror; breaking the mirror.  It felt like more than just seven years bad luck.

The door opened and expecting it would be the nurse, come to either medicate or feed her - the only time she ever saw anyone in this place, otherwise left alone, forgotten… lost and not found. She curled up into a ball in the corner of the cell.

“Come with me.”

The voice was male, and strong with promise, and she looked up - did she know this man? Did it matter, when he offered her freedom… hope?

“Sweetheart… I promise.”

He never thought he’d ever speak that word to her; thought her lost to him, long since dust beneath the soil of Avonlea, so many miles away he couldn’t even mourn her, yet here she was, in his arms.  He would give her the world, a simple promise not to kill Regina for all the hurt and heartache she had brought them both was nothing - a simple breath.

Their lips met, and she melted against him. Decades of separation and loss building in the kiss.  He wanted more, needed more… needed her. She said she loved him, and the gods knew he loved her, and he wanted, so much, to show her. Her lips parted to his kiss, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, their tongues tangling together like the threads of their lives.

Then together, though it would have been barely a thought, a moment to apport them both back to the shop, they walked hand in hand through the woods, and back to town.  She looked so frail to him, not the vibrant, light filled wonder that she’d been back at the Dark Castle, before he’d foolishly given in to his rage and fear and sent her away.

Couldn’t he have trusted her, even then?  What would she have done if she had understood why he couldn’t allow her to break his curse and made of him an ordinary man? Should he tell her? Could he tell her now?

Long hours of walking, of trying to make sense of her heart had led her to one single place, every thought, every objection, every aching beat of her heart had brought her back to Rumple.  She loved him… and gods help her she wanted him - all of him - even the parts that belonged to the darkness. She wanted to surrender her love and to her love; to give him everything she was.  No more separation, never again.

So she went back, and when he tried to send her away - far more gently than the last time - she refused.

“You must leave because, despite what you hope, I’m still a monster,” he said, his face a sorrowing, serious mask.

She smiled, and gently gripped his shoulders as she said, “Don’t you see? That’s exactly the reason I have to stay.”

She kissed him then, tightening her arms around his shoulders, afraid to let him go.  There was a moment - just a moment - when she feared he’d put her away again, but it passed as his resolve seemed to melt away with the kiss.

“Take me home,” she murmured against his lips as she pulled away from the kiss for breath, only to begin another, moaning softly with a need she hoped he’d understand. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer yet, to press lightly to the whole of her, breaking the kiss to whisper against her cheek.

“I could never deny you, my Belle.” His breath was hot against the sudden cold in the swirl of his magic. “Not any more.”

The haze of purple faded and she found herself in a dimly lit bedroom, the only light from the street lamps outside, and even that disappeared as he moved to close the heavy gold and deep red curtains. The drapes matched the bed, she noted, as he flicked on the lamps, then returned to her arms, to draw her to him as she shivered involuntarily.

“Are you…?” he asked softly, nuzzling her softly before pressing his forehead to hers. “Are you certain, Belle?”

“You said it was forever,” she whispered, and felt him pull back, pull away, though his hands tenderly cupped her cheeks to bring her eyes to him.

“Sweetheart, I have long since released you from our deal,” he murmured. His voice kindness, but a hint of sorrow and regret still remained.

“Don’t you…?” she swallowed, interrupting herself, “Don’t you want me?”

“Oh, Belle,” pressed his nose to hers as the breath escaped him, as if she had just sucker punched him with the question.  Then she felt his lips begin to feather over her, over her lips and her neck as he tipped her head back still further, between the light press of his mouth against her suddenly oversensitive skin he murmured, “I have never wanted anything more than to show you how much you mean to me… how much I want you.”

She moaned softly, beginning to run her hands over his back, exploring his form through the thin silk of his shirt.  She felt him shiver at her touch as he took a deep breath between kisses, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was in his mind, in his thoughts.  

“I won’t rush you, Belle,” he told her softly.

“But I want you, Rumple,” she answered. “We have already been apart for far too long.”

He whispered, “My fault,” before capturing her mouth with his in a long, deep kiss that turned from the slow, sweet kiss of reunion to one of deep passion and desire as their need for each other increased.  His fingers trailed down her back as he lowered the zipper of her dress, and she fumbled with the knot of his tie, the buttons of his shirt as they began, between kisses, to divest themselves and each other of the clothing that frustrated her need to feel his skin against hers.

As though completely attuned, they moved together, each now clothed only in their underwear, to curl around each other on the bed, breathing together, Thoughts and memories washing over them, like a tide, washing away the many years of separation, cleansing them of the lies.

She trembled against him as his fingers explored her sensitive skin, in part from anticipation, and the unfamiliar, and in part with growing need. Her own fingers began a sweet but lazy journey over his shoulders, over his chest, feeling him harden against her hip, and a growing, swollen, tingling ache flared with each touch and each kiss that fell over her body, bathing her in his love for her.

“Rumple!” she gasped, pressing her head back against the pillows, her legs parting to admit his touch against her hot, wet heat, then moaned softly as his touch teased, circling in her wetness, never quite against the place she most needed his touch. “Please…”

“My Belle…” he murmured, rising over her, only to begin kissing downward, over the curves of her breasts, lingering there to to share a maddening feast of sensation and pleasure as his lips, and teeth and tongue worshiped there, tugging her nipples one by one into the hot cave of his mouth until she gave a soft cry and clasped his shoulders, repeating her needful pleas.

Rumple felt as though he had a fever, his need to be one with Belle almost overwhelming; a sweet kind of madness that he welcomed, and desired to share with his love - a madness of pleasure.

Her fingers clutched at his shoulders as he pleasured her breasts, his fingers teasing where his lips could not.  He looked up at her flushed face, his expression softening with love around the hard edges of his desire for her.

She was so beautiful, shining with her inner light again, warming him, reminding him of life, of a time without the darkness; that he was so undeserved.

“Rumple,” she whispered his name as though she could tell, just by his expression, what he was thinking. “...Love me…”

Her voice was soft, deep and husky with his need, and it shot right to his loins, strengthening the ache, making him pulse for her, his risen length twitching against the covers. He kissed lower, down from her breasts, over the flatness of her belly, the bottom of her ribs far too visible as she arched her back. He kissed still further, nuzzling at her with his chin before pressing his mouth to her, his tongue parting her, teasing as his fingers had, her answering cry like music to him.

Her taste was salt and sweet, both together… like the finest honeyed wine, and he moaned against her center, lapping at her wetness, as he slipped one long finger carefully inside her, moaning again as her soft and trembling heat clenched around his touch, pressing only as far as her body would allow before withdrawing again, stroking in and out with first one, and then a second finger until she began to move with him, chase the touch; soft cries escaping her lips as he drew her closer and closer, feeling her already tight walls tighten still further around his fingers.

He closed his lips around the risen nub between her soft folds and suckled between the swirling pass of his tongue, more fervently the closer he sensed she became, until a last her breathless moans became a keening cry and he felt her body clenching, a frantic flutter around his fingers.

He continued to stroke her gently, drinking her down and moaning his own pleasure at the sweetness of her, riding easing her down, until her languid body in the wake of her climax began to coil again in perceptible tension under his touch, and her breathing became ragged, her voice a moan again.

“I want… I need…” she gasped, and he raised his head, releasing her from the touch of his mouth but not from the ever moving glide of his fingers.

“What, sweetheart?” he rumbled softly, “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” she gasped. “...inside me… not holding back.”

He moaned again at her words, moving at her request to cover her and take her in his arms, and he felt her legs fall, then rise to either side of him as she encouraged… invited him on, and he took a moment to adjust himself against her; to coat himself in the juices soaking her, before pressing the blunt head of his risen desire at her entrance.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed, barely moving, barely entering her, the head of him surrounded by her heat, her walls tight around him, still trembling, slightly, in the aftermath of her peak.  For all his words he wanted just to sink inside of her, deep inside; needed for her to take him, all of him and make him hers. To be separate any more was a pain deeper than the darkest of curses.

“Take me, Rumple,” she echoed his needs.  “Make me yours.”

They moved as one.  As he rolled his hips against her, she lifted to meet him, and they came together, one at last, both home.  She gasped, a sharp, almost shrill cry as he claimed her innocence, and his kissed away the wetness of the tear that rolled onto her cheek, spilling his own in its place, but she reached up to wipe away his shame, then wrapped him in her arms and held him tightly to her, murmuring and whispering of her love. His name sounded like a prayer on her lips.

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed as they began to move again, like the ocean, rising and falling to each other… tides of love, their desire the moon, its light winding them together, binding them, blinding them as they drew closer and closer to that point of brightness, their bodies now only sensation, only desire, only pleasure.

He moved faster, plunging into her even as she lifted her hips to meet the descent of each possession; possessing him until he felt her trembling again, her inner wall squeezing him so tightly it was almost pain, a pleasurable pain.

She cried his name as she burst around him, trembling and squeezing him over and over as her climax pulled him with her into that bright space and he emptied himself inside of her, pulsing to fill her with the heat of his life; to the beat of his heart.  They fell back to each other, back to awareness. Spent. Home…

...and Rumple wept.

[laythornmuse]

Captor, Chapter 8, Part 2

Claire felt her face flush several degrees of red as he pulled her closer until her breasts were pushed against his chest and her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders.

“But it was your brazen courage that made me fall for ye, Claire. Surrounded by six men twice the size of you, you would not surrender your charge until you saw her pass safely. Your eyes glowed like coal embers, and I swore to myself then to be worthy of you, so you’d turn that gaze on me.”

Claire’s mouth fell open in her surprise as she considered Jamie’s words. She paused to collect herself before she spoke.

“Mary was so young and so frightened,” she whispered. “I didn’t know her for very long, but I made a promise to stay with her, and I would not abandon it.” She swept her eyes up to him. “In that moment, I saw nothing but my death, and my promise. I’m not sure that counts as bravery.”

“I disagree, Sorcha,” Jamie asked. His hand swept over her cheek as he dipped his head to hers. “It takes fortitude and guile to stand by your word instead of fleeing. As it is, I’ve scared ye senseless since we’ve met and yet here you stand.”

“Just that first night,” Claire answered, with a grin. She let her eyes drop to their interlaced fingers. She felt like a contradiction in this man’s arms: a part of her felt hurried and impatient while also feeling like she could sustain herself forever by merely touching him. Her fingers tugged at his coat, pulling him closer so she could tuck her head beneath his chin. “I’ve grown rather fond of you, Jamie.”

“Och,” Jamie muttered into her curls. “Ye grow fond of hounds, lass. I hope to be more to ye.”

“More?” Claire whispered into his neck, letting her breath tease a path to her ear.

“Mmhmm,” he murmured against her mouth. “Come now. It’s nearly time.”

Jamie led her back to their boulder and tucked her between limbs and plaid. Together they watched the last of dusk fall into the deep darkness of night before the sky glowed with brilliant shades of green and silver, purple and gold.

“Oh Jamie,” Claire whispered. “It’s beautiful…”

The Northern Lights, a phenomenon her uncle had spoken of in passing, was beautiful to witness in the northern Scottish sky. Jamie’s arms held her close to his chest as her head fell back against his shoulder.

“Aye, tis. You can see it most clearly in the early winter months. I was hoping we’d have a clear night for ye…” His words trailed off as her eyes met his. She entwined her fingers with the hands around her and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his lips. Jamie kissed her in answer and felt his blood quickened from her heat. Pressed close, their kiss deepened and Jamie’s hands took up their earlier work of loosening her stays. He felt her hands tangle in his curls as his tongue grew needy and slipped to her neck. Soft mews reached his ears and he groaned his approval as she straddled his lap and move her hips against his.

”You’re testing my restraint, Claire.”

“Then be rid of it,” Claire answered. “I want you, Jamie.”

She rucked up his kilt and slid closer, but felt his hand intervene.

”Nay, we can’t. Not here,” he murmured against her lips. She began to protest but he silenced her with a kiss. “I won’t be taking your virginity on the cold ground. Let’s head home, aye?”

Claire felt her heart swell as he pressed his forehead to hers. She nodded quickly and pressed her lips to his shoulder, feeling overwhelmed by his tenderness. Yes, he was the closest thing to home she’d felt in years.

They dismounted a short distance from camp, expecting to find most bedded down for the evening. Instead, a small crowd had gathered around the chief’s tent, with raised words being thrown between the parties involved. Jamie saw Alex in the fray and immediately started for the crowd, with Claire a step behind him.

“You’ve traded her to me enough times that I thought you’d be agreeable, Alex,” said a large brown haired Scot. Claire recalled his name was Will. “She’s happier with me, and you can go about finding another-”

“I’ll no have it!” Alex roared. “She is mine to do with as I wish, and if I use her to pay my debts then it is my choice to do so.”

“That was your right until I got her with child,” Will said evenly. “She’s been given a choice to come to me, and she’s agreed.”

Jamie stepped into the circle and transformed in the firepit’s light, his gentle features turning to steel as he took in the men’s words.

“Alex you knew the risk you took in sharing her,” Jamie said evenly. “Will is within his right, and no one else has touched her.”

“And what if it’s mine then?” Alex sneered, turning his venom toward his cousin. “The child could be mine after all.”

“He hasn’t lain with me in months—” Helen said, but quickly shrunk behind Will as Alex moved to strike her. James stepped forward, neatly intercepting Alex and turning him towards his tent before motioning to Will.

Claire startled when Helen appeared at her side, slipping her hand into her own. She’d been staring at the spot the men stood while arguing, and Alex’s tone had frozen her in place. His words reminded her of men she’d overheard in her past, those who would drop women off by the Nuns prayer house as if they were debris. She’d hold their hands while the nuns worked to comfort them, heal their ailing bodies if possible, or offer prayers if it wasn’t.

Helen’s hand felt like Mary’s and at that moment Claire realized that Alex’s hatred was not reserved for the English.

***

Jamie didn’t return to their tent for several hours, and though Claire told herself to sleep, her mind spun with questions for him. When he finally slumped through their tent flap, his expression was dark and irritable.

Claire didn’t say a word as she watched him from the bed, her eyes following him as he undressed with less care than he usually took. Finally, he approached the bed, his eyes widening upon seeing her awake.

“You should be asleep,” he whispered, sliding in beside her. “Come now, let’s…”

“Why did he share her, Jamie?”

The words burst from her mouth against her will. She knew he was exhausted but the last few hours had proved a living nightmare for her. She needed answers.

Jamie let out a breath, and she could tell he was searching for words and was coming up short.

“I canna explain why,” Jamie whispered. “Maybe they weren’t well suited, or…”

“But he…he whored her out to pay debts? What kind of debts?”

Jamie was still beside her as he listened. He bit his lip and shook his head. “Nothing of consequence. The men gamble from time to time, playing cards. But some don’t know when to back from a game.”

Claire felt tears prick at her eyes as she wiped furiously at them, a rage building within her that left her hands shaking.

“Would you—”

“No. Claire, look at me.”

Claire choked on a sob, but slowly brought her eyes up to his. His hand cupped her chin and his gaze visibly softened.

“Alex is young and carries demons of his own, but it’s a frowned upon and rare practice for the reason you saw tonight.” Jamie bowed his head to meet her eyes. “You dinna need to fear that of me. Not ever, do you understand?”

Claire nodded as she let Jamie pull her close. He murmured softly to her in Gaelic as he ran his fingers through her hair and looped his free arm around her waist. Claire buried her face into his shoulder and neck, and let herself cry out her frustration, anger, and sadness for Helen, and for the other women’s bedsides, she’d sat beside. Jamie didn’t question her tears just as he didn’t question her anger. He accepted them and held her through it until she quieted and calmed. Only then did his fingers begin to poke at her side.

“I thought I explicitly told ye to sleep naked…” he said with an exaggerated sigh. Claire felt his smirk against her brow and couldn’t help the one that pulled at her lips.

“The bed was too cold without you. I had to wear clothes,” Claire answered, her eyes blinking coquettishly at him.

“Mmhmm. Weel, I suppose I can’t argue with you dressing for bed when You’re alone. Dinna forget my preference though.” His hands tugged at her sleeves and a moment later he had her shift off her and thrown on the floor.

His lips pressed to her softly, weighing that perhaps she’d changed her mind given the events of the evening, or was now too tired to let him love her body…

“Will you have me, Claire?” He asked.

Claire pulled him down on top of her and bit his bottom lip. “Only if you stop making me wait.”

[crackmadhi]

Day 30 - Accepted

Saturday, 5 May 2012 – Age 13 Aura opened the apartment door and threw her keys on the drawer next to the door. On it was a mess out of various clothing pieces neither of the siblings had put away. She grumbled to herself already feeling that it would be on her to take on that task.

Lazily she slandered into the kitchen where Simon leaned onto the counter watching her as she entered. His hands were hidden in the black hoody, he was wearing and his long bangs hid part of his eyes and the weariness in them.

Worried Aura frowned and got closer to him watching him taking a deep a breath and a small shiver going through his body.

“What is it? Did you knock up a girl or what?” she half-heartedly joked but swallowed any more comments instantly, as she saw him flinch strongly.

“I have something to tell you.”

He swallowed nervously with his voice even and smooth. Aura nodded and crossed her arms in front of her chest. This was unlike him.

“You told me to think outside the norms and let myself live outside of these buckets and… I- I looked stuff up because you know so much of it and I wanted to know more and… I read about something and I felt like it described me quite well, but I wasn’t sure if this was just a moment thing so I waited, because it could change quickly, because I’m a teenager and hormones and stuff but- But it’s been almost three months. And it doesn’t change. And so, I guess it might stay like this for a while, so…”

He stopped and looked to his sister like a fearful deer.

“It’s fine. I’m not gonna shout. I won’t be mad”, she said and stepped towards him uncrossing her arms.

He bit his lips, fear glistering in his eyes yet he opened his mouth and finished: “I think I’m asexual and aromantic.”

Confused Aura looked at him. He started hyperventilating and she softly laid her hand on his chest, slowly breathing in and out with him. Slowly he recovered and she tilted her head and let out a laugh.

“And I thought you were going to tell me something dramatic and world-changing.”

Simon’s well broke down and he started to sob: “You’re not disappointed?”

“What for?” she asked him and took him in her arms.

“For- for not being able to fall in love?” he stammered looked up to her. “For maybe never bringing home someone? For just… being like this?”

“Oh lord”, she said and cupped his wet cheeks, “what would I care about the people you bring home or do not bring home? You never question the women I bring along, so why do you think I would do that with you? I don’t care if you’re are ace or aro, or both. I don’t care if it’s forever or a phase. It’s you and you’re just fine as long as you’re happy with yourself! And if you say you are aromantic and asexual and you felt like this for several months already, then that is awesome! You’re awesome!”

And beyond the tears there finally came his smile back.

Trembling he put his arms around her and cried in her chest. He was relieved. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t police him. She just…

“Hey do you think you might be agender as well? Then you’d be a triple A!” Aura teased and he snorted in her chest.

Tears, now from laughing, in his eyes he looked up and said with a smirk: “You’re horrible.”

Saturday, 30 June 2046 – Age 47 Simon put the salad on the table and walked back into the kitchen to see if Nahyuta needed help. As he entered, they walked towards him with the soup in their hands and nodded towards the bread on the counter. Simon understood and went to grab the bread before he followed his partner.

Once in the living room Penda immediately called for her brother.

“Tuma! Lunch! Now!”

Simon glanced over to Nahyuta and they exchanged an amused grin. The boy promptly came in and stretched his arms. He might have lain in bed until now, reading a manga or two and maybe also flick through some psychology books. Maybe a little strange for a soon twelve-year-old, but then again not so strange considering the people he lived with.

“What are we having?” he asked with a wide smile directed to Nahyuta and hopped on his chair.

They didn’t even bother answering, as Tumaini did it himself and commented on the soup with contentment. Enthusiastically he held out his plate and asked Nahyuta to give him some soup. The followed order and went on with Simon’s plate next.

“Thank you”, he said low-key and watched them giving themselves a ladle.

“I can take it myself, thank you!” Penda said and motioned for the ladle.

Nahyuta handed it to her and she served herself and then they all could finally dive in. Simon was eating the slowest, waiting for the soup to cool down a bit and watching his two children happily. Penda was rushing a bit more than usually. She wanted to go to meet up in the library with her learn group in an hour and she hated it to be late.

“It’s the 30th of June”, Tuma mentioned at once and eyed up to both grown-ups.

Nahyuta eyed Simon and then turned to their son: “Yes, that is correct. Are you reminding us of your birthday on the 3rd? We didn’t forget that, don’t worry.”

Tuma shook his head and glanced up at Penda with an eye roll, which she answered with a shrug.

“I know you won’t forget my birthday! You never did! I mean because it’s the end of Pride month. I just remembered and we haven’t done a lot besides visiting the parade. Are you sad because of that? – He looked to Simon – You always seem to enjoy it so much and I feel like we didn’t celebrate it that much this year…”

Simon grinned. The second year Tumaini and Penda had been around, the little boy had cross knotted him and Nahyuta bracelets in their respective flags’ colours for pride month. It had come absolutely unexpected for them and Simon wore them everyday until one tore apart and Tumaini made him a new one.

That was four years ago and every year after that he had thought of something small to do for them during this time. And quite honestly? That gesture from a little boy, who had grown up around two homophobic and transphobic parents, meant a lot to Simon. It was even nicer since Penda had started to properly help him with it two years ago, when she had bought the food dye and made cookies in the colours in the non-binary and aromantic colours.

In these moments, Simon felt warm. He felt at peace and at home. There had been a lot of hardship in his life. Naturally, not everything was tied to his identity and it didn’t have to be quite frankly.

It usually just made things harder to not quite fit in a sex- and amanormative society as an aroace dude.

And yet, by now…

He was fine with it. He was fine because he didn’t have to fight everyday to get acceptance and kindness for himself. He was fine because he had support and could give support to the lovely person next to him, who used they/them pronouns for almost 16 years now. He was fine because he had his people around him and a family he had never expected to have.

He was fine not celebrating Pride excessively this year because he didn’t need celebrating his identity. No, he could live his identity every day of the year and that was a privilege he knew to cherish more than anything else.

It was why he still loved pride month a lot. It was for the people, who needed to celebrate their identity at least during this time, because they couldn’t live their identities. Because they were rejected by their families, laughed and stared at and couldn’t be vocal about themselves. Or didn’t want to be open about it, which was fine too.

Pride month was for the people who he used to be like. And of course also still for him but he didn’t need this focus anymore and in a way he had his own Pride at home every single day when he came home and was accepted by his qpp, daughter and son.

  “I’m happy as it is. But if you want, we could make a pan cake for uncle Klav. He might be moved to tears like last year, yeah?”

 Heeeey! This is the end! I didn't manage to reach my goal and post a chapter everyday, but I'll add the missing ones in the next days^^ It was just too damn hot and I've prewritten this chapter a while ago, because it is meant to end a circle. We started with Denied and end with Accepted and I hope that's a journey all of us can go through one day^^

Anyway. Thank you for sticking around, please leave a comment if you got the time, take care and have a wonderful day.

Link

[lj-todd]

Challenge: Catelyn Stark survives the red wedding and makes her way to the wall because she had nowhere else to go and finds herself under the protection of the bastard she hated. She also lives long enough to see Jon crowned king and learn the truth of his parentage. May she drown in guilt. Does her survival somehow help convince her uncle to bring the Tully army to help retake Winterfell? Will she and Jon reconcile? I dont know.

It had been luck, and a bold, self-sacrificing knight of the Riverlands that had gotten Catelyn out of the Twins, that had saved her from being slaughtered alongside her son and those loyal to him. It had been further luck, or the will of the gods, that a man of the Night’s Watch, one of their wandering crows, had found her and make the choice to take her to the Wall.There she had been left in what served as the great hall, wrapped in a warm blanket with a bowl of stew, while a young man, Samwell Tarly he’d introduced himself as, went to fetch the Lord Commander. She sat there, broken, unable to push away the memory of the sight of Robb’s lifeless body, suddenly startled from her thoughts when something bumped her arm.Looking, she was shocked to find the white direwolf, bigger now than even Robb’s Grey Wind, standing beside her, watching her with that odd red gaze. Jon’s wolf, Ghost, the boy had called him. She reached out with a shaky hand, running her fingers through thick white fur and Ghost nudged her hand with his nose before turning, laying so he was facing the door. As though he understood she had no other protection.“Lady Stark?”

The voice, familiar yet sounding so uncertain, drew her gaze from the quiet wolf.Standing in the doorway the young Tarly boy had disappeared through was the last person she had ever expected to see again. Dressed all in black, face marked by scars, looking almost the very image of her Ned, stood Jon Snow.She did not know what possessed her to do it. Her grief, perhaps, the loss of all she had loved, all she had held dear, or if it was because the boy looked so much like Ned or if it was the memory of how much her husband and children had loved this boy, but she suddenly found herself standing and crossing to him. When she wrapped her arms around him she broke. Sobbing as she clung to him. Her words, spoken to her son’s wife, rang through her head.“All this horror has come to my family because I couldn’t keep my promise. Because I couldn’t love a motherless child.”Jon held her, his embrace warm and strong, letting her cry, letting her grieve, until she was finally able to compose herself. Or at least as much as she could given the situation. He listened when she told him what had happened, what had been done to Robb and, for the first time, she saw a rage in his eyes, fierce as a winter storm but burning like wildfire.“I want to avenge him,” he had admitted to her, quietly, as though afraid to speak the words too loudly. “I want to avenge my father. I…I should have ridden south…should have joined Robb in his war…but my vows…” His hands clenched tightly and he looked at her with those grey Stark eyes. Ned’s eyes. “I will let no further harm come to you, Lady Stark. I swear, to the Old Gods and your Seven, that so long as I draw breath nothing will stop me from protecting you.”And he kept that vow. Had a room prepared for her, ordered that her presence was to be kept secret. It was safer, he reasoned, with the support of the Tarly boy and Maester Aemon, if the world believed she had perished at the Red Wedding.Months passed. Things changing in the blink of an eye. Stannis came, answering a call for support from Jon against Mance’s Wildling army, and left again with plans to retake Winterfell from the Boltons. A mission that failed they were told by Stannis’ red witch. Jon went beyond the Wall with the Wildlings, returning with horrifying tales of White Walkers and the Night’s King. And then, perhaps most disturbing, was the betrayal of men sworn to Jon as Lord Commander. Seeing the boy, seeing Ned’s son lain on that table, pale and still in death, had nearly broken her and she’d raged and screamed, begging for the gods to give him back. To not take the another piece of her husband and son from her. For Ned and Robb had loved Jon. They had love him as he had loved them. She could not stand the loss of him.Whether it was her prayers or the red witch’s magic, Jon did return, haunted by his own death for a time but, in the end, he showed Stark honor by passing sentence on those who had murdered him. And, as Ned had taught him, he swung the sword to cut them down. And then came the day Lady Brienne arrived with Sansa. The reunion with her daughter, who had thought her dead, was more than Catelyn had ever hoped for and seeing how Sansa clung to Jon, how her daughter begged him to help take back Winterfell, their home, spurred her into action.She wrote a letter to her uncle at Riverrun. She wrote to Lords of the Vale, beseeching them as the sister of their late Lady, and she wrote to Lords of the North and the Neck as the Lady of Winterfell. She had seen Jon command, had seen the loyalty he inspired in men, those of the Watch and the Wildlings, and she would do all she could to raise an army for him. To aid him as he fought to take back their home.And it was their home. He might not be her son but he was Ned’s. And he should have hated her for how she had treated how, for how she had constantly reminded him that he did not belong, he should have cast her to the wolves when she first was brought to him, and he would have been justified. But he had sheltered her. Had protected her.She, like Jon and Sansa, had been surprised at the numbers that rallied to them. The people who rallied to restore House Stark to its rightful place. To see justice done to the Boltons for their part in the betrayal of House Stark. She was even more surprised when, with the battle won, with Winterfell reclaimed and the Stark banners once more flying, when Jon was, as Robb had been, declared King in the North by the people of the North.He was a hesitant King, at first, uncertain if he should be ruler, more so because he was bastard born, but he came into his own as King.Catelyn was wary when Jon went to meet with the Targaryen girl calling herself Queen. Wary when he took only a handful of men, though he wisely took the loyal Ser Davos, but had had no choice but to watch him go. Remembering how, nearly twenty years ago now, she had watched Ned ride off, not certain if he would ever come back.She busied herself with helping Sansa rule Winterfell in Jon’s absence. Helped tend to the people, both Northerner and Wildling alike, and, when Arya suddenly returned to her, when Bran returned, both thought lost forever, she went into the Sept Ned had had built for her and prayed. Thanking the Seven for sparing her children. Thanking them for reuniting her with them. And then she prayed for Jon. She prayed for his safety. For his return. She prayed that the death to the far North was defeated and that her family would be spared more suffering.She was with Bran when the Tarly boy, who had gone to Oldtown to study to be a Maester for the Watch, arrived with news that Bran, who had grown strange in his time away, his time beyond the Wall, was not surprised by. News that bore the name of Jon’s mother.Catelyn, after listening to the two young men, seeing the evidence the Tarly boy had, had gone to the crypts and stood before her husband’s. She understood, perhaps, why he had hidden the truth. Even from her. His sense of honor likely telling him that, if she did not know, then she would be safe if the truth was ever learned. It was a stupid decision. When she left his crypt she moved down the corridor to a crypt she had never visited.Lyanna Stark’s statue was, Ned had once claimed, a poor likeness of her and Catelyn could scarcely remember the girl she had met once, during her betrothal to Brandon, to be certain if it was or wasn’t. But standing there, looking at the stone face of a girl that a war had been waged over, she suddenly found herself dropping to her knees, fresh tears spilling down her face.“Forgive me,” she sobbed softly, voice shaking, staring up at the statue’s face. “Forgive me. I…I did not know…Ned…he never told me. It is no excuse, not truly, for…for all I did…what I prayed to happen to…to your son…” She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing how things might have been different if Ned had told her the truth. If she had been able to love Jon because loving him, claiming him as her own, would have served as protection. Had she known his true parentage she could have, would have, shielded him from the world by declaring him to be her child. Her son. She could have accepted him before her family was ripped apart. She could have loved him sooner.Opening her eyes, Catelyn drew a deep, shaky breath, still staring up at Lyanna’s stone face.“I will do all I can…in Ned’s stead…to protect your son.” She reached up, hands touching the cool stone of the statue. “I swear…by the gods, Old and New, I will…I will do all I can to…to right my wrongs…I will…I will help him be a good king because…because he is already a good man. A man you would be proud to…to call son, Lyanna. Ned raised him well. I…I wish I had known…I wish I had been a better woman…but I still have time…time to do better. To make certain your son…our children…our House…survives whatever else is still to come.”Catelyn slowly rose, standing there before her sister-by-law’s crypt a moment longer, silently repeating her vow to protect and help Jon. To continue to try and mend the damage she had done before. She would never be completely absolved of her guilt, and she did not feel she should be, for she had been deeply unkind to an innocent child, but she could do right by the man that child had grown to be.

[winterheart17]

How To Break A Writer’s Heart

TITLE OF STORY: How To Break A Writer’s Heart

CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: A series of one-shots

AUTHOR: winterheart17

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki

STORY GENRE: Romance, Drama, Erotica

STORY SUMMARY: I think we can all just agree this has turned into a proper series even though it started off as a compilation of one shots for my story ‘How To Love A Writer’! What happens when a struggling virginal historical romance writer and the God of Mischief are thrown together, locked in a mansion and agree to a game of love and seduction?

STORY RATING: M

STORY WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: The confrontation that was bound to happen once they got to his chambers ;) And we’re back to the feelsy business!

FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Thank you for always being so kind with comments! Feedback would be amazing and appreciated to the moon and back <3 Tagging @devikafernando​ @ureyesonly21​ @nuggsmum​ @queen-sands​ @ihatespoilers​ @say-my-name-assbut​ @hsvbabe​ @jrubalcaba​ @ilhadabruxa​ @dandelionlady96​  @ashleyloveslots​ @kiera-auroraborealis @alexakeyloveloki

Masterpost of How To Love A Writer

Wow.

There was no doubt about it – his chambers reflected his personality to a tee. Dripping in shades of burnished gold and luxurious green accents in the form of silk cushions and drapes, it screamed of sleek, chic hedonism.

And in the centre of it all – the crowning jewel: a magnificent polished gold-framed four poster bed.

I winced.

Was it in this very bed he had made love to her over and over again?

Didn’t this room echo with all the memories of their laughter and pleasure.

I knew it wasn’t his intent – so swept away by his own reverie upon his return – but pain seemed to grab at my throat, chipping away at whatever little courage I had left in me.

“Should there be further requests, I shall be your lady in attendant throughout your time in Asgard,” the handmaiden who had shown us the way politely addressed me.

I managed a weak smile as I nodded my head.

With that, she bowed ever so slightly, acknowledging the both of us as she made her retreat.

I think I managed a whole five seconds of reminding myself to rein in my temper from the moment the door clicked shut, before I gave in – whipping around to face Loki.

But it was all lost on him as he turned around, slowly, his eyes drinking in every nook and cranny of his familiar surroundings – as if they were washed anew. The corners of his lips turned up slightly in a smug grin I wanted to wipe the floor with.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I snapped.

He paused.

And I saw it. I saw his expression turn in front of my very own eyes. What little caught off guard sympathy that had lingered on his face was swiftly replaced by glazed over indifference.

“I might ask the same of you,” he replied, coolly.

I stared at him – really, really stared at him as my fingers twitched.

“The last I checked, I was returning you to your home,” I said through gritted teeth.

“… when I had made it specifically clear that it wasn’t the right time,” he shot back, indignantly.

And just like that – whatever softness I had thought he had once held for me, vanished under the glittering gleam of Asgard.

Pain knifed through me.

He held my gaze, jaw raised, as if daring me to defy him on his own territory.

I felt the first tremor of anger take hold of me – take root deep inside a place that had lain dormant for far too long, masked by the feelings he had awakened in me.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” I echoed, my voice straddling the shrill line between laughing in disbelief and shaking in rage.

Was he so blinded by his power and ego that he couldn't even begin to comprehend how screwed up the entire situation as right now?

Did he think of nobody but himself?

Did it not strike him what I had gone through – willing myself to give him up only to end up being transported far, far from anything I had ever known as he put me on a path that would end in nothing but heartache?

He raised a brow.

Nonchalantly.

And that was it.

I snapped.

Rage took over the driver’s seat as whatever modicum of rational thought I had been clawing to keep fled.

I lunched forward, a guttural cry escaping from my lips as my hands balled into fists and battered at his chest.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you?” I screeched.

He swayed, taken aback by surprise at the sudden display od hysterics.

“Stop it,” he bit out, grappling at my wrists.

But I was far beyond gone.

“How fucking long did you ask me to send your sorry ass back to Agard? What lengths did you go to while we were on Earth for you to regain your powers?” I screamed, not caring that I looked like a harried woman.

Finally getting hold of my fists, he held them fiercely against his chest.

“Urgh,” I let out a cry of frustration as I struggle to break free, feeling my skin crawl wherever he touched me.

But he held on fast, refusing to budge.

I glared up at him, eyes bright with anger as emotions bubbled up in my chest, threatening to spill over.

“You took me away, locked me up God knows where to threaten me to do precisely what I’d just done for you and you… you… dare accuse me of not following some sort of twisted timeline you have?” I spat.

His eyes held mine and I felt that stupid familiar pinch at the back of my throat.

“Stop it,” he repeated, but the hard edges of his voice seemed to soften.

“You… you… standing there as you look at me as if I were nothing more than something you’d like to flick off your sleeve,” I hissed, tried as I might, there was no stopping the words that seemed to gush out of the wound he had left deep in my chest.

“And just…just when I had finally decided to let every… every---“ I sputtered, but my throat seemed to close up as the corners of my eyes started to burn.

All it took was one look into those eyes… those green eyes that now softened with everything I thought I had lost.

And I burst into tears.

I hung my head in shame, refusing to let him see the tears roll down my cheeks even as sobs racked my body.

“Pet…” he breathed.

He closed the gap between us, allowing me to rest the crown of my head against his chest as incoherent words slipped from my lips.

“I begged you…” I whispered, words coming in broken chunks.

I couldn’t help it – everything came flooding in at once. Unwanted images of them kissing, of him taking her as he murmured sweet nothings into her ear.

Did he kiss her shoulder like he did mine each time he had finished making love to her?

Did he wrap his fingers around her throat as he took her mouth, crushing her against the wall?

Had he held her close and made her feel special?

“I begged you not to let me watch you love her,” I sobbed, squeezing my eyes shut as I envisioned the both of them lost in the rapture of pleasures.

When was it when he realised he was first falling in love with her?

He let out a weary sigh.

“Pet, you were there in that very hall. I hold no love towards tha—“ he cooed, but his denial only twisted that knife in my chest further.

I wrenched myself from his grasp, stumbling backwards as I looked at him – his silhouette blurry and unfocused as my eyes swam in tears.

“You are hurt, it doesn’t mean you don’t love her,” I said, my voice cracking.

Another sob bubbled at the back of my throat.

How cruel it was of him.

He clenched his jaw, turning away from me – almost as if he found it impossible in him to tell me another lie.

To refute my claims.

To reject what it truly was my words sought – reassurance.

I looked at him with tired eyes, shoulders worn down by all the hurt it had been carrying about.

“You loved her once, you’ll love her again,” I whispered.

I felt hollow.

Empty.

But my words must have touched a nerve in him as he whipped around, eyes spitting fiery rage and in that moment, I found my answer.

“No,” he snarled.

A little too quickly.

A little too vehemently.

It made me sad.

I looked at him, forlornly.

His body tensed.

“Do you even realise how you speak of her?” I asked, quietly.

It was a strange thing, heartbreak.

Strange that a heart could shatter inside of you – so quietly, so tenderly.

There was no thunder.

No fanfare.

No putting up of a fight.

Just the gentle flooding of pain.

Seeping into all the cracks he had left behind.

“Then why? Why did you even bring me here?” I cried out, the words ripped from my throat as tears welled up in my eyes again.

My hand went to my chest, as if it could seemingly stop all the hurt that was flowing out.

He took a step forward but I held up my hand, shaking my head.

The very thought of him touching me made me sick to my stomach.

Not here.

Not in this bed.

Not in this room.

I wanted to go back – go back to the space that had belonged only to the both of us. Far away from madness and this reality that threatened to swallow me whole.

“Don't,” I breathed, my chest hurt.

He paused.

His hand that had been reaching out for me, fell to his side as he looked on at me, wordless.

Not quite knowing what to do.  

The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly even as my sobs grew silent and the air grew stiller.

When the tears became nothing else but the taste of salt on my lips.

He sighed, wearily.

“Little writer, come to bed,” he said, softly, finally breaking the silence.

I sniffed, wrapping my arms around my body.

“It’s been a long day and we can revisit this conversation come morning,” he said, gently.

I eyed him warily as he neared his bed.

“No,” the single syllable slipped out effortlessly.

He tensed once more, turning around, slowly.

As if preparing for another breakdown.

Another fight.

But I was tired.

Exhausted.

And it didn’t matter if I tore my heart out on the floor for him to see.

He wouldn’t understand.

Why would he?

He didn’t want it.

I moved towards something that resembled a dark green chaise longue a little to the bed’s right.

I bent down to move the cushion, my back turned towards him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, tersely.

I closed my eyes, praying for whatever little ounce of strength I had left in me to get me through the night.

Just tonight.

Heartbreak seemed easier to manage in the warmth of daylight.

Seemed easier to swallow and pretend it wasn’t there.

“I’m too tired to fight, Loki,” I sighed.

He immediately moved for an answer but I ignored it.

“And since you’ve made it clear that I must share your chambers, I will,” I pressed on.

I could almost see it – the way his shoulders relaxed when he realised I wasn’t spoiling for a fight.

I heard his quiet exhale of relief.

“But I would rather freeze to death than share that bed with you,” I bit out, acid filling my voice, bitterly.

“I—“ he started to protest, but it was too late.

I was already lying down on the chaise longue, bending my knees just a little so that I could fit perfectly.

I winced, pulling the cushion under my head.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing everything away.

Willing myself to fall into exhaustion.

Where everything was pitch black.

And nothing else existed.

I waited.

I waited for him to put up a fight.

I waited for him the empty threats and promises.

But they didn’t come.

Nothing.

There was only the gentle weight of a blanket pulled across my body.

Warmth that embraced my skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and curled my knees up higher.

The tenderness hurt.

Everything hurt.

Except the soft, hesitant, feathering pressing of lips to the top of my head.

So soft I could have imagined it.

“Sleep well, little writer.”

[dotshiiki]

more angst fic

I am not done reacting. 

Spoilers, naturally. 

A Demigod’s Life | another thousand + words of angst and percabeth

(This is actually a pared down version of the initial percabeth reaction fic I wrote in the last two days, which is on Ao3 but I’m not comfortable putting adult content on places without an age filter, so, clean version here.)

Annabeth's hands shook as she hung up the phone. The cheer she'd tried to inject for her cousin's sake slid away like oil on water. As soon as she looked back at Percy's red-rimmed eyes and scrunched up face, she lost even the faint flicker of optimism Magnus's good news had brought. It was great that the world wasn't going to go up in Norse flames, but …

Maybe Magnus had saved the world, but it still felt like theirs had come grinding to a halt.

She went to Percy and put her head against his shoulder. His arms came around her automatically.

'He says your advice helped. He said to tell you he kept his …' Her voice died on the words butt clenched all the way.The joke fell flat as the memory of their first flight to New Rome on the Argo II crept up on her. Jason had been trying to explain legion formations to them, and Leo, ever the joker, had asked if they all had to walk like they had sticks up their butts, too.

'I do not walk like I have a stick up my butt,' Jason had protested.

Piper had laughed and kissed his cheek. 'Well, you do sort of clench when you're being all proper and stuff …'

Annabeth choked down a sob. Percy pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair. He might have been trying to comfort her, but from the way his arms trembled, she knew she was as much his lifeline as he was hers. When something like this happened, when the grief and guilt threatened to swallow you whole …

'It's my fault.' Percy's voice cracked on the last word.

'No,' she whispered. 'You know it isn't.'

'I—' He gave a harsh, humourless laugh. 'I'm supposed to be the one whose fatal flaw is loyalty. And I wasn't there. I didn't go.'

It wasn't so much loyalty, she thought, as it was his need to save everyone. His inability to step away had always been a struggle for him. And now that he'd finally started to conquer it, Jason had made the ultimate sacrifice … and Percy couldn't forgive himself for falling short.

'You can't always be the hero, Percy.'

'Too many times,' he said in a ragged voice. 'Too many times, someone else's taken the fall. First there was Bob and Damasen … and then we let Leo … and now …' He took a deep breath. 'Apollo came to me, Annabeth. He asked for myhelp. And I told him no quests. No saving the world.'

'You took him to camp. You did what you could.'

'I said no. But Jason didn't. And now he's …' He closed his eyes. 'I should have gone. I should have been the one to—if anyone had to die …'

'Don't say that!' Shards of ice pierced her skin, spilling cold fear into her veins. 'Don't ever say that.'

It was a fear that had always lain dormant in her mind. That this would be exactly how she would lose Percy one day—one heroic sacrifice. After all, he'd come so close so many times. In the Labyrinth. In Tartarus.

Annabeth had wanted so badly to move past that fear. In her hubris, she'd believed they'd done their part. They could go off to college in New Rome and be safe, normal. How could she have forgotten, even for a second, that a demigod's life was cursed a thousand times over by the Fates?

'Maybe if I'd been there …'

She cupped his face. 'I know you, Percy. If you had been there, it wouldn't be Jason in that coffin. It'd be you, and I couldn't … I can't even …' Her voice cracked. 'Maybe I'm selfish, and awful, because I can't help being so damn grateful that it wasn't you.'

She was shaking uncontrollably now, a tsunami of guilt and terror threatening to sweep her away. She couldn't deny that as devastating as it had been when Apollo had told them the story, a small part of her had thanked every god in the pantheon that of all the tragedies that could have happened … it wasn't Grover. It wasn't Piper.

It wasn't Percy.

What sort of person did that make her?

'You're not awful.' Percy pressed his nose to hers. His tears were falling fast again, mingling with hers on their cheeks. 'I couldn't lose you either.'

She wasn't sure if his mouth found hers, or if it was the other way round. Whichever it was, she breathed him in hungrily, needing absolution, needing succour, needing him. Their kiss was rough and desperate, almost violent as they searched for relief—a relief that wouldn't come, but they would try and extort from each other anyway. It was a shared outpouring of guilt and fear and grief, a maelstrom of emotions that would have eaten her alive if she tried to endure them alone.

Being with Percy was a single stitch holding together the ragged fabric of her heart.

And she could not forget that but for a twist of Fates' needles, she could be in Piper's position: broken and alone, holding the pieces of a shattered heart that would never fit back together.

They were demigods, after all. Life was fragile and temporary and you could not plan for it. You could not plan for loss. You could not plan for heartbreak.

You can't control every contingency, Piper had once told her. You have to accept that. Let it scare you. Trust that it'll be okay anyway.

Annabeth wondered if Piper still believed that after this.

Afterwards, as they held each other close, Percy traced a series of tally marks across her shoulder blades. She knew without asking that they were a running count of the friends they had lost over the years. Deaths they had moved on from, but which came back to haunt her now that another friend had joined the list, as if to remind her that there was no statue of limitations on grief.

'He saved my life, you know,' Percy said softly. 'At the bottom of the ocean, no less.'

'The thing with Kymopoleia?'

Percy's laugh was brittle, but less broken now. 'And I told him to keep the details to himself. Wish I'd let him make as much fun of me as he wanted.'

'He wouldn't have.' She sniffled. 'He was always so honourable.'

'So serious,' Percy agreed.

Her mind gave a crystal clear image of Jason with his glasses on, earnestly trying to explain Roman history to the Argo crew. He taught so much better than she did, with infinite patience and none of her exasperation.

'Professor Grace.' Her lips formed a trembling smile.

'The blond Superman.'

'Pontifex Maximus.' She thought of the rough sketches Meg McCaffrey had pressed into her hands. Jason's final legacy, entrusted to her.

Her eyes met Percy's and a terrifying but inescapable truth passed between them. 'We have to finish it. Everything he—everything he died for.'

Percy's jaw clenched. 'The emperors.'

It was time they joined the fight.

They weren't done saving the world. Maybe they never would be. But that was what being a demigod meant. Monsters—human or otherwise—never went away. All they could do was keep the evil at bay, the way Jason had, and Bob and Damasen, and Luke, and Beckendorf, and Silena, and so many others who had gone before them. Until their time was up, and they had no choice but to hand the sword over to someone else to carry on the fight.

All she could do was live with the fear and the pain and the heartbreak, and keep fighting anyway. Trust that it'll be okay.

And if it wasn't …

Then Annabeth just prayed to every god there was out there—Greek, Norse, Egyptian, she didn't care which—that if the time ever came for Percy to be the hero, she would fall with him.

As long as they were together.

A/N: Jason's death in The Burning Maze raised quite a bit of guilt in that I actually felt relief about it before sadness that we'd lost this good, heroic character. I needed to express this somehow, and I guess my girl Annabeth gets to be the one helping me give voice to those feelings. And it ended up being this fic. So that being what it is, I don't know if this is all that great a piece of writing. But perhaps some of you can relate.