#the inevitables gather to push you around and every other voice makes such a punishing sound

[ofpaintedflowers]

the profane and the sacred

[datura-tea]

🎵 moz moz moz pls 👀

in the moonlight they're more thrilling, those things that he knows as he leads you through the grinning bubble blowers in the snow watching his exit was like falling off the ferry in the night the inevitables gather to push you around any other voice makes such a punishing sound he became laughter's assassin shortly after he showed you what it was

during lonesome road, moz hated every minute of her stay. the deathclaws, the marked men, the absolute slog of going through the divide in all its brokenness and despair. what kept her going? her curiosity. about what she did and what damage she wrought, about the man telling her everything about it. he has a lesson to teach her; sure, she's listening, ready to learn. and what she learned shook her, enough for her to buckle down and make a decision about what flag to wave at the battle for hoover dam.

also, this song just fits the ~vibes~ of moz during lonesome road, dark and heavy and relentless in her search for truth, for some point of connection with ulysses, so that she can help him down from the ledge that she recognizes he's standing on. they both have lessons for each other, it seems.

[savagesbonergarage]

Are you looking for prompts? 👀 Can I offer you predator/prey kink with Maul (or Savage?) I’ll just... leave this here...

Oh?

I know that @fallenrepublick has already written an excellent Maul one here, but Savage...I can't say I've seen one with the big boye anywhere yet (though correct me if I'm wrong)...

Guess that's my duty now...oh no...😏

A/N: Smuuuuuuuut, it's kinda long, wilderness survival, taking a leak (like just peeing outdoors in general, if that makes you uncomfortable you can skip it), maybe a pee kink though?? Is it a pee kink if there's no real indication of it being one? Someone will have to let me know lol, general roughness, rough sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, aftercare

Savage

"Instinct"

The wind rustled softly through the trees, the scent of fresh mountain air and the the temporary security of your height advantage almost offering you a moment of respite. You had stationed yourself near the top of an adequately concealed tree, it's sturdy branches sufficient enough to keep you up and away from immanent danger for the time being.

You were feeling quite pleased with yourself, if you were being honest. It had been a few days that you had managed to avoid his pursuit, a milestone you weren't quite sure you'd ever be able to achieve, and yet here you were. The few wilderness survival tips that you had learned in your youth inevitably seemed to pay off, as you remained cognizant of as much as you could regarding yourself and your environment that could potentially alert a predator. Rarely did you ever touch the ground of the forest floor, opting to remain high up in the forgiving trees that allowed for your nimbleness to be used as an advantage. You moved slowly, always making sure that your sounds blended together alongside the other calls of nature that wouldn't give way to your position, and you always shifted with the winds to ensure that the breeze never dispersed your scent around.

Savage was certainly the epitome of a predator, and an enhanced one at that - however, you'd studied him enough to understand the drawbacks that came with his awesome power. By his very nature, stealth wasn't his defining trait. At all. Were he to get anywhere within your field of vision, you would know about it without a doubt by the flocks of birds that scrambled to the skies in the distance or the cracking of branches coupled with his screams of frustration that filled the open air. You had to admit, you almost found it cute how you were finally getting the upper hand on him for once.

Although, this only meant that when or if he did catch you, you'd be shown no mercy.

It seemed your tactics this time around were working rather well though, and you considered that perhaps after one more day of survival that you'd approach him and declare yourself the victor in this dangerous game. Oh, the humiliation he would feel from his failure...the mighty Savage Opress, unable to hunt down the creature he craved for the first time. It probably irked him terribly that you were remaining relatively stagnant within the treetops as opposed to frantically running about like a frightened animal, which was likely a large factor in the enjoyment of it for him - the thrill of the chase.

Normally, you might have indulged him a bit more and better acted the part that he desired you to play, but this time, oh, this time, you were determined. Back home, he'd jokingly let slip that if you were ever to evade him long enough, he'd don a fluffy tunic and ears and call himself an ewok. That right there was all the motivation you'd ever need - nothing was going to come between you and getting to see what would inarguably be the most hilarious sight in the galaxy.

Dusk was fast approaching, and although there was still no sign of the beast that was hunting you, it was detrimental that you carefully selected a sturdy tree with tall, wide branches that you could conceal with the surrounding foliage nearby while you slept leaning against it. It was hardly comfortable and you could only rest for maybe a few hours at a time, but it was certainly safer than sleeping on the ground. You gathered your necessities and carefully arranged yourself against a wide branch and drifted off.

It wasn't long before the chill of the night air roused you from sleep. You had to admit, the worst part out of all of this was how damn cold it was being exposed to the wind in inadequate layers for these temperatures. You quietly shuffled around in an attempt to get comfortable, but in doing so you realized an uncomfortable truth.

Damn. I have to pee.

This was gonna be tricky. Finding a place to do so safely was half the battle, since you'd be making yourself completely vulnerable for a short while and if Savage happened to be somewhere nearby, no matter how quiet you were, he'd likely be able to smell you. A slightly gross fact, but an important one. He was a predator, after all. You'd managed to get by this far, and you had been avoiding drinking water for this very reason - also, because he would likely wait near the water for you to show up to inevitably drink.

Being tired, dehydrated, cold and full of pee wasn't ideal, and you couldn't wait for the morning to get here so this game could finally end. You were even starting to wonder if this was really going to be worth it once it was over. Sure, watching Savage embarrass himself was always an entertaining prospect, but right now, you just wanted to be held against him and his warmth even more. You sighed. Only a few more hours, and then you could gloat in his face for a second before snuggling up to his blissfully comfortable frame.

But for now, you still had to pee. You debated over whether or not you could potentially hold it until morning, but the answer to that was a resounding negative. It would be fine. You'd survived every other time, and you'd survive this time. Tentatively, you carefully and quietly lowered yourself to the ground, cursing the night for being so dark. Ideally, you'd want to find a place far enough away from here to go so that you wouldn't be literally marking your territory - but you didn't have any light, or Savage's reflective night sight, and you didn't have his other senses that absolutely trumped your own.

For the first time, the fear was finally starting to creep over you. It was times like this that you got so deep in your own head that you started to forget that this was really all just a game, and not an actual quest for survival; but that's how Savage liked it. You scoffed under your breath when you realized this, resolving to unbuckle your pants and simply relieve yourself right where you were. If Savage did happen to come through here, it was likely that he would assume you followed your usual thought process of maintaining distance from where you actually were rather than look up that very tree. That's how you had been operating so far; besides, there were only a few hours left. What were the chances of-

You heard a faint rustle of leaves somewhere behind you, and the panic started to settle in. That could have been anything, you told yourself as you attempted to calm down your anxiety. You couldn't really do much about it right now, since, well, you were already going. If you tried to push it faster that would only make it louder, and if you tried to scurry back up the tree in the middle of it, it would get everywhere and act as a billboard to your location. You sighed quietly, counting down the seconds until it was done in an attempt to quiet your racing heart.

You had that sinking feeling that you weren't alone. Your eyes darted around only to find that you truly couldn't see a thing, and you determined that the best course of action now was to just calmly finish up and quietly scale back up the tree.

You had just gotten your pants back over your hips when an animalistic growl erupted from behind you, and just like that, it was over. Savage had you pinned between his muscular, gargantuan form and the trunk of the tree, your arms bound to your sides in the grip of his massive hands. There was no way in hell you'd be able to wriggle free, and the adrenaline coursing through you in being captured was making you tremble. You could feel the heavy beating of his twin hearts against your back and his hot breath against your neck, and with a growl he pressed his hips against you until you could clearly feel the outline of his massive, throbbing cock against the small of your back.

"I got you. You're mine."

There was a frightening agitation in his bellowing voice that shook you, and the feeling was only worsened when you heard the scrape of one of his long horns against the bark of the tree as he brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You think you can get away with hiding from me...? Keeping me hunting you for so long, and then teasing me like that..."

You were breathless, unable to utter a reply even if you'd had one ready before one of his powerful hands yanked your pants back down to your ankles. His claws left mild scrapes against your thigh, a concern that he was usually more cautious of, but not this time. It was clear that he was going to punish you for making him wait so long. You could barely squeak out his name when you felt his teeth rip into the layers of fabric covering your torso. With the aid of his claws he tore the garments from your body, spitting the cloth from his mouth as he revelled in the satisfaction of "skinning" you. You shivered, the heat from the zabrak's body the only thing keeping you warm now.

He flipped you so that you were facing him, the harshness of the tree bark against your bare skin making you wince as you watched him pull his monster dick out from the prison of his pants. No matter how many times you witnessed that reveal, your reaction was always the same. You looked into his glowing golden eyes, a predatory hunger there that sent both fear and heat straight through to your core. You swallowed drily, gazing into his face with a submissive look of defeat as he continued pinning you by your shoulders.

"You got me," you breathed, "I'm yours."

That did it for him. Without another word, he palmed the meat of your thighs and hoisted your legs up to hold you in place as your back rested against the rough tree, causing you to hitch your breath as Savage hungrily lined himself up with your entrance, the sheer amount of precum he leaked serving as lube before he pushed his hips forward. It was a little more forced than usual, and on top of that it had been a while since the last time you'd taken him, with your walls struggling to adjust to the stretch in order to accommodate his size. Your jaw was hanging open and your head immediately rolled back as you felt more and more full with each thrust, Savage gripping your thighs harder and exhaling a groan when he finally bottomed out.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, a pause for a reality-check as Savage lightly tapped his fingers against you. It was a subtle way of asking for permission, acknowledging that although this was your "punishment" and his reward, he still needed to know that you really wanted it like this, and that you were okay. Your response was an affirmation in the form of a squeeze on his forearm and a slight roll of your hips, with the look in your eyes pleading for him to take what he desired.

So, he did. With one strong, massive arm supporting you under your ass and the other pulling you closer to him, he backed away from the tree entirely and moved your arms to wrap around his neck so you could leverage yourself while he fucked the absolute life out of you. The noises that were escaping your lips were just as perverse as the sound of skin-on-skin echoing with vulgar, wet slaps throughout the forest, your mind already turning to mush. He was hitting everything, even when he wasn't really trying, so it took hardly any time at all before your eyes were rolling back and you felt that knot building up in your core. He didn't let up, his pace almost quickening with every desperate whine that escaped your throat.

"Savage, I-"

"Not yet," he commanded, pressing your chest firmly against his as he continued, "not until I say so."

You whined even louder, your hands moving up to hold onto his horns as he continued fucking you without mercy, that ache in your stomach growing more and more unbearable the longer you tried to push it back. Your breaths were desperate and rapid, with your face and chest flushing as red as a Dathomirian sunset with every passing second. You didn't know how much longer you could last, but you wanted to try your best for him.

"Please, I can't...!"

"Just a little more," Savage replied, relishing in the way your body was trying so hard not to break as he resumed his deliciously aggressive thrusts. Your hands moved from his horns to dig your fingers into his broad shoulders, your desperation reaching near-unfathomable limits.

"Savage, I can't-I can't-I can't-I'm-!"

You screamed as he finally allowed you to tip over the edge, having timed his release with yours so that you could ride out your highs in tandem. It was almost too much, the ecstacy of your edged climax intensifying with every twitch of Savage's pulsing cock so deep inside painting your gripping walls with heat. Even minutes later you were still quivering, barely coherent as your whines eventually began to die down and your lover held you tightly in his arms, before gently pulling his softening dick out of you once you had stopped clenching around his length.

He pressed a firm kiss against your temple as he waited for you to catch your breath, also ensuring that the majority of the unbelievable mess the two of you had made spilled out onto the grassy ground. Once he was satisfied, he moved one arm beneath both of your knees used the other to support your shoulders, keeping you close to him in this more comfortable position as he planted another long kiss to your forehead. He always thought it was cute when you were entirely spent like this, limp in his arms like a bag of grain as you relaxed in the afterglow.

"Are you alright?" He whispered against your forehead, lovingly stroking your arm as he did so. You responded with a soft smile and an affirmative hum, resting your hands against his broad tattooed chest as you curled in closer to him.

"I'm ready to go home," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Agreed. Let's get you some water and a hot bath."

Your heart fluttered, filling your chest with silent praises for him and rhetorical questions of what you did to deserve being here in the arms of this gentle, fearsome predator. He began the trek home, smiling to himself as a thought crossed his mind.

"You know," he began conversationally, "if you wanted to see me dressed as an ewok so badly, you could have just asked. I would have done it for you, anyway."

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch4)

AO3

When he woke the next morning in Amsterdam, his feeling of utter contentment quickly gave way to dread as his hand eagerly searched the space in the bed beside him only to find it empty. Immediately, his eyes snapped opened and he looked around the room for her, for his Claire.

His heart sank at the sight.

The twin bed that she had slept in for the night prior to the one they shared was made, her suitcase gone from its spot by the door. He stumbled as he got out of bed, his limbs not quite awake yet as he burst through the bathroom door and he noticed that her things were gone. It was as if she’d never been there.

If not for the taste of her still on his lips, he’d have wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing.

He spun around the room in a flurry, unsure of what he was looking for or what he planned on doing once he found it.

Then his eyes fell on the slip of paper that sat on the windowsill, the sun casting its rays down on her pen strokes.

I can’t bring myself to wake you. I have to catch my flight. I’ll let you know when I land in Boston.

Jamie’s heart clenched in his chest and he used the palm of his hand to rub at his sternum without thought. He knew that she was gone. He cursed himself for being such a deep sleeper, wished that he’d had the awareness to know that she had been moving around the room silently, packing her things to leave. But in the afterglow of their love making, having released tension and anticipation that had been building inside of him for years, sleep had taken him down and down until he was oblivious to the world. The last thing he remembered was the ghost of her fingertips on his cheekbone and his jaw as he whispered to her once in his mother tongue, the language of his heart that he knew she didn’t understand but hoped that she could feel the meaning of, before falling into a deep sleep.

“Mo ghaol ort, mo Sorcha.”

He had to find her, had to make her understand that he loved her and had loved her since the moment he saw her. Scrambling into the same clothes from the day before, he tore out of the hotel, not caring that they’d charge him for another night when he would inevitably miss check-out. He rushed to the train station and bought a direct ticket to Schiphol, his shaking fingers calling her repeatedly and his heart falling every time it went to her voicemail.

He left his third message, laying his heart out for her to hear, “Claire, please just answer the phone. Talk to me. I winna ask ye to do anything ye dinna want to do but I have to say it, Claire. And I refuse to say it on your bloody voicemail so answer yer phone, tell me where ye are. I’m on my way to the airport. I’m coming to find you.”

Once he arrived, he pushed his way past the crowds of holiday goers, businessmen in their suits and parents trying to corral their children into order. Suddenly thankful for the view that his height gifted him, he searched frantically for any sign of her. He’d found her flight on the departures board and raced to the terminal, praying to God that something had delayed her and she hadn’t had time to make it through security yet. The panic bubbled in his chest as he began to breathe heavily, black dots appearing in his vision. It took everything in him not to simply start shouting her name in the hope that it would bring her to him.

A furious hysteria was beginning to claw its way into his nervous system, controlling the frantic jerks of his long limbs that felt too heavy for him to carry. He dialled her number again and was astonished when she answered.

“Jamie,” she whispered and he felt his heart shatter at the pain in her voice. “Oh, my Jamie.”

“Claire, where are ye? What were ye thinking running off without saying goodbye?” His voice sounded desperate and angry as he spun on the spot, knowing that the compass in his heart that always navigated him to her side would point him in the right direction. Still, his eyes weren’t able to land on her. “Damn it, Claire, tell me where ye are!”

He heard her let out a sob.

“I’m at my gate. You won’t be able to get through.”

Unable to remain upright at her confession, he slumped against the wall beside him and let his head hang, releasing tears that he had been keeping at bay from the moment he had realised that she had left. He cried with her, not caring if people saw.

“Why did ye do this?”

“I couldn’t stand to say goodbye.”

“Claire, I lo-“

“Don’t,” she cried softly, only speaking when he went to say it again. “I’m begging you, don’t say it. If you care for me at all, don’t make this harder.”

He restrained himself from driving his fist into the cement and pushed his forehead against it as his fingers gripped his phone tighter in his hand.

“I canna believe ye weren’t going to say goodbye,” he whispered with a voice full of hurt and not devoid of anger. “Do ye regret it? Last night?”

Her answer came out in a burst, “No. No, I don’t regret it. But you’re my friend. My best friend and with everything changing… I’m going to need my best friend.”

“Yer being selfish, Claire. To give me hope last night and then to pull it out from underneath me, to leave me wi’out breath,” the words were spilling out of him, not caring if he hurt her. She had hurt him well enough.

“Jamie, I thought-“

“No, ye didna think at all. Only of yerself getting to have a wee bit of fun before running off and settling down a whole fuckin’ ocean away.”

With a man who’s not me, he thought.

The line went quiet apart from the gentle sound of her crying and the odd ragged breath that he drew into his lungs to try and settle his racing mind. He screwed his eyes shut and banged his head lightly against the wall.

“Claire, forgive me, I- fuck, I just dinna ken what tae do.”

“They’re calling my gate, I have to go,” she whispered.

“Please, I didna mean it, I was sore and said more than I meant,” he desperately tried to explain himself.

“I’ll let you know when I land. Goodbye Jamie.”

“Claire—”

When she hung up the phone, he sat on the floor and went to pieces. An hour passed before he was able to bring himself together enough to make his way back to the hotel, gather his things and get his own flight back home. With one look at him, standing on the steps of Lallybroch with the spirit of a broken man, Jenny set her mouth in a straight line. In a feat that would’ve astounded Jamie had he the energy to care, she kept her words to herself and brought him a bottle of whisky as he sat in front of the fireplace, somehow managing to keep her children from pestering their uncle. He spent days moping around the estate, barely speaking a word but she made sure that he knew that when he did want to talk, Jenny Murray would be there to listen.

It was two weeks after Claire had left that Jamie heard from her. It was early evening and he had just punished himself with a 10km run around Lallybroch’s grounds, thinking that if his muscles were screaming in pain then he might get some distraction from the dull ache that had set up shop in his chest. The minute he stepped into the hot stream of the shower, his phone pinged with a message. How he would kick himself afterwards that he hadn’t given it a cursory glance because when he exited the bathroom ten minutes later, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw it.

Sassenach: Message

He opened it greedily, desperate to receive any sort of contact since the painful last phone call that would play on a loop in his mind every night as he lay in bed, sleep evading him.

It was a picture of a bouquet of flowers, a huge arrangement made of foliage and sea holly, thistles and white calla lilies that he knew were her favourite. He’d spent more time than he’d like to admit picking out the perfect flowers for her and knew exactly which bottle of whisky to put in with it (the one that they’d drank together the night that he’d teased her that she had no friends before she replied with a blinding smile and said the words ‘I have you’). She had photographed them prettily displayed on a windowsill that was drenched in sunlight. Underneath she had simply written the words ’Thank you!’ and he realised that he had forgotten that he’d even arranged for the gift to be sent. It was meant be a moving in present, a little reminder of home and the people that she’d left. Now it seemed sad and it made Jamie and his bruised ego feel a bit pathetic.

But it was a start, a small plaster on the gaping hole that was their friendship but one that he was determined to improve on. Anything to keep her in his life, in whatever capacity. He replied to her message with hopes of her having had an easy move, asking whether she was settled in yet. Claire replied almost instantly and so begun the back and forth, both of them trying to be painfully normal as Jamie paced in his bedroom, naked as the day he was born and dripping water all over the floorboards.

When he slipped on a puddle of his own making, he chucked his phone back onto the bed and set to rummaging amongst the old clothing in his drawers in an attempt to find something clean. He really needed to help out around the house more, he thought. Jenny had been rushing around after a husband, two children and now her brother and she deserved better. He had started to deal with the pile of unwashed material that had accumulated on the floor by his bed when he heard his phone ring.

Without even looking, he accepted the call.

“Aye?”

“Hi! It’s Claire!”

As if she needed to tell him that. The minute that he heard her voice he felt like he could breathe that little bit easier for the first time since being in that fucking airport, the gentle lilt of her English accent making him picture the shapes that her lips made. The memory of it stabbed him in the gut and he took a calming breath, turning from his discomfort into the humour that they both teased each other with.

“Sorry whoever ye are, I dinna ken anyone with a Boston accent, ye must hae the wrong number.”

“Asshole,” she snorted. “I sound exactly the same as I always have. It’s… it’s good to hear your voice.”

He smiled into the phone, letting his voice soften and convey the sincerity of his words, “Aye, Sassenach, it’s good to hear yours too.”

An hour or so later, when Jenny Murray went up to her brother’s room to let him know that dinner was on the table, the sound of her brother laughing halted her hand just before she knocked. For the past fortnight, Jamie had been dour, sullen and more prone to tantrums than Wee Jamie and Maggie put together. Getting the two of them fed tonight had been a battle, Ian trying his best to wrangle a teething Maggie as Jenny had an entire bowl of mince and tatties spilled down her front by her son. It had been a tiring night but now, the two wee ones were in bed and her brother was laughing again. Her heart lifted at the thought and she sent a prayer of thanks up to her parents for giving him a bit of a reprieve from his heartbreak.

“Sassenach, ye ken fine well…”

As soon as she heard him say it, she spun herself from Jamie’s door, cursing under her breath about her eejit brother who didn’t know what was good for him and definitely not what was bad for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Claire, in fact she had been glad knowing that there was someone to look out for Jamie when he’s was away at university. Jenny always knew that her younger brother was more green behind the ears than he was willing to admit. When he had nonchalantly mentioned that he’d be bringing home a friend for the summer of his first year at university, Jenny had pulled Claire into a hug on the steps of Lallybroch, welcoming her with literal open arms and finding Claire to be a quick witted, intelligent woman but with a softness behind her eyes that Jenny hoped would lend her to being a good friend to her brother. The problem, Jenny quickly realised the first night they’d all sat down to dinner together, was that Jamie had fallen head over heels in love with her.

She tried her hardest to lighten her step as she made her way back into the kitchen, knowing that she would not react kindly to any teasing about her ‘stomping’ around the house. Instead Jenny took out her frustration on the chicken curry that was bubbling on the stove, whirling the wooden spoon around with a little more force than was needed.

“Did I miss saying goodnight tae the bairns?” Jamie’s voice rumbled against the stone walls of the kitchen, pulling her attention away from the storm cloud that was brewing in her stomach as she plated up for herself, his large frame appearing over her shoulder. “Smells fine.”

As the full plate slammed down on the countertop, Jamie frowned in confusion as Jenny turned, her hands set at her hips in a way that still put the fear of God in him.

He took a step backwards (out of her reach if she decided to brandish the spoon at him), his eyebrows raised along with a single hand. Jamie knew from experience that it was better to pip her to the post before she got into the swing of an argument, “Before ye say anything, I want tae apologise first.”

“And just what will ye be apologisin’ for this time, mo bhràthair?”

“For treatin’ this place as a hotel, havin’ ye run after me like I’m one of yer bairns,” he had the foresight to look genuinely penitent and it softened her a bit. “I promise ye I’ll start pullin’ my weight.”

“Well, I canna say that I disagree wi’ ye. And I’ll be thankful of the help, Ian was just sayin’ the west gate needs mending. About time ye bucked up and started helpin’ wi’ the jobs around here,” she said firmly. Jamie’s eyes narrowed in at her face, confused. He’d apologised before she even asked but there was clearly something still there that he hadn’t addressed, that she was expecting him to bring up.

“Is there somethin’ else?” He asked carefully, fighting the urge to pull up the door to the priest hole that he was standing on in an attempt to hide from her wrath.

Instead, she sighed and handed a second plate to him. Her hands went from her hips to the table in front of her as she manoeuvred herself to sit. He followed her lead and sat down across from her, watching closely as she began to eat after expelling another pregnant sigh.

“Will ye give me a hint as to what I’ve done tae piss ye off?” He grumbled as he began to eat himself, trying his hardest not to cower as she sent him a death glare from across the table. Suddenly, the space between her brows furrowed and she let the weight of her head slump into an upturned palm.

“I’m worried about ye, Jamie. I’m always worried about ye but still,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I ken I’ve no’ been out of my room much and I’ve been a right miserable sod. But I’m starting to feel better… I think.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes at him, trying hard not to let the judgement seep in as she quickly placed her hand over the top of his, rolling her eyes when he jumped at the sudden contact.

“I think ye should stay away for a while. She’s in Boston wi’ Frank and havin’ tae adjust to her new life, ye should give her the space to do it.”

Realising that she’d overheard their phone call, Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fighting the urge to pull his hand from underneath hers as she tightened her grip.

“She was just phonin’ to say thanks for the flowers,” he mumbled, spooning a large helping of his dinner with his free hand into his mouth to try and shut down any need for a further explanation. Sadly, his big sister wasn’t buying it.

“I ken that yer finding it difficult, mo bhràthair, but maybe this is the opportunity tae find someone. Someone who’ll have ye. Ye’ve pined for Claire for so long but she’s never—“

“We slept together. In Amsterdam.”

The words hung in the space between the two siblings, heavy as lead. Jamie had felt the twist of his stomach at saying the words out loud and shot a glance to his sister’s dumbfounded face as the information permeated her thoughts.

“Ye glaikit bastard,” she finally exhaled softly, earning herself a sad smirk from her brother. “Why would ye dae that tae yerself?”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, “It seemed… it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. And then I woke up the next morning and she was already gone. Chased her to the airport an’ aw but I was too late.”

Jenny huffed again, leaning back in her chair.

“I just thought if I could tell her that I loved her, that I’m in love wi’ her, maybe she’d have stayed. But she didn’t let me say it.”

“Aye, sounds like Claire,” Jenny scoffed, quickly composing herself at the glare she received. “Suppose it makes mare sense for all the mopin’ ye’ve been doing.”

Jamie humphed and rubbed a hand roughly over his face, sinking his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s done and I canna change it, wouldn’t change it anyway. It was a very special night for me.”

“I ken but, Jamie, she is gone. She has made her choice. And it’s coorse of her to dangle herself in front of ye when she’s away living her life and yer here, where she left ye.”

His bright blue eyes bore into her, a warning, “Careful, Janet. Claire is my friend and I wilna let her navigate this on her own—“

“She’s nae on her own, she’s wi’ Frank!”

“Aye, she is. And there’s fuck all I can dae about it so this is where I find myself. I wilna let my feelings get the better of me. I will be her friend, as I have been these past years.”

Jenny knew that there was no point in pushing. It was a Fraser family trait, digging your heels in, more often than not to your own detriment. And if there was one topic that Jamie wouldn’t budge on, it was Claire. She got to her feet and grabbed her plate, moving around the table to press a single kiss into the mop of his red hair before leaving the room.

“Ca canny, mo bhràthair.”

[softinkshadows]

Hot spring tales (Hisoka x female reader)

A Hisoka x female reader one-shot, with a sprinkle of Chrollo.

Situated in the HxH universe with canon timeline.

Disclaimer: nsfw, contains smut and explicit sex (but we know you're here for that)

Word count: 5000++ (wow did i just write 5000 words of smutty smut)

----

Pale, slender fingers tap against the phone screen. He finds the contact he is looking for and dials the number, raising the phone to his ear. Around him, dusk settles over the ragged terrain of the Gordeau desert. The wind gains in strength, almost pushing his combed black hair free.  The phone rings for a few seconds before the person on the other end picks up.

“Did you figure it out already?”

“Probably,” he says, his grey eyes catching the last wisps of fading light to the west. “The nen exorcist may very well be on Greed Island, which is East of York New. It seems you will need to enter the game as well.”

“Shall I procure one of Battera’s? He did buy all of the ones auctioned this time round.”

“No, that risks complicating things. What we need is a game privately owned by someone who is easily contactable, allows us to stay untraceable, preferably one who we wouldn’t have to kill and is reasonable towards helping…” he trails off, realizing that there is indeed someone who matches the conditions, someone who he would very much like to avoid for the time being… The irony of fate, he thinks, grimacing in irritation.

“It seems we will need to pay a visit to her.”

“Her?”

“I will send the address over to you. It’ll take me at least a day to get there, so you should start moving first. It would be better if you were the one handling negotiations this time round. And avoid mentioning my name, or the troupe’s.”

“Oh?” the voice on the other end piques with curiosity.

“We have… history. I’ll trust that you can strike a deal by the time I’m there?”

“Of course. After all, the chance to fight you is on the line.” He can almost hear the other man smirking gleefully through the phone.

“It’ll be dangerous, so try your best to be good, or our deal is off. Consider this a warning, Hisoka.”

----

You find yourself back at your quarters after dinner, alone in the large dressing room. Looking in the mirror, you arrange your hair neatly around your bun, making sure to tidy it for the next wave of customers tonight.

The underground auction has recently ended, and more people are flocking to your establishment. Kurohasu Onsen (Black Lotus Onsen) is renowned as the gathering-place for anybody who is somebody: a bathhouse that functions as neutral ground for politicians, powerful members of the mafia and hunters who have ties to the underworld to carry out business negotiations. A safe haven for murderers and thieves. All are welcome, although at a hefty price. The exorbitant entry fee is itself a gatekeeper of accessibility, and many have brought treasures and precious artefacts in the hope of gaining your favour. As weapons are allowed for protection, fights inevitably break out, but rarely do they erupt into something serious. All staff at the onsen are strong nen-users who pay close watch to customer behaviour. They have nen-restrainers on hand to subdue feisty ability users, and if not, there’s you, whose mysterious yet formidable presence is enough to elicit compliance. It is not uncommon to see off customers with missing limbs and near-fatal injuries, a warning punishment for breaking the establishment’s regulations. Furthermore, it is the iron-clad rule that the onsen is the one place where truce is enforced, upheld, respected. And you, the infamous proprietor, the black lotus of Kurohasu Onsen, are not someone to be crossed. Your customers are well aware of this.

You get up, ready to leave, when you turn to look at the mirror again. Your black onyx hairpin fits in and across your bun, easily reachable within seconds. Your eyes travel down to look at the black shimmering contours of your silk robe with its ornate floral embroidery, opening at two slits that end above the knee, the garment tied fittingly at the waist with a scarlet obi sash. Presentable, you hum in approval, before walking out the door.

Your secretary Esa is already waiting. “Give me updates,” You demand.

She follows you briskly down the corridor as you make your rounds to greet notable clients. Esa does this every three hours, reciting the list of new guests checked in since the last report, the rooms they booked, the meetings they have arrived for, and the fees paid. You remember everything, noting the ones who offer presents not entirely up to standard, or troublesome ones with a sketchy behavioural record.

“A while ago, a Hisoka Morow checked into the deluxe room. 50,000 Jenny a night for 2 nights, with a possible extension.”

The name catches you slightly off guard. You have never met the man, but from your intel he’s one of the most sought-after fighters at Heaven’s Arena. And a dangerous murderer too. But as far as you know, the man works alone and doesn’t get involved with politics. Why would someone like him be here?

“He has a meeting?” you turn to Esa.

“If he had, he did not say. Most likely for leisure, though. The onsen is famous for its baths too,” replied your attendant matter-of-factly.

You pause for a while to think, before calling over a male security staff with a wave of a finger. “Keep tabs on Hisoka. Let me know if he’s up to anything.” The staff bows and immediately embarks on fulfilling your order. You return to your duties for now, but the seed of suspicion and uneasiness does not go away.

---

“Ahh… now this is not bad,” Hisoka smiles to himself as he climbs into the water. He rests his head against the smooth stone edge of the outdoor bath, watching the steam lift gently from the softly rippling surface. When Chrollo told him about this place, he expected it to be dim and grimy, trawling with underworld scum. Instead, what greeted him was the pure luxury of mineral-rich baths, large clean rooms and 1000 thread-count sheets. He could get used to this. Not to mention…

His eyes wander over the bath, taking stock of the situation. Being quite late at night, most guests have retired to respective meeting rooms for drinks and negotiations, with only a smattering of visitors, mostly individuals or pairs, left lounging in the outdoor section. The only other people are the ever-present security staff, including one particularly persistent male staff standing at the private viewing balcony above. At least the nen users here are stronger than usual. A slight tremor of pleasure runs through his body, and he runs his fingers through his wet hair to shake the feeling before it builds into bloodlust. It’s been a while since he killed. He is still riled up from two days ago, thanks to the blond runt. And Chrollo, that damn bastard.

He observes the nen-users with half-closed eyes. 75… 80… 85… He evaluates. Not too shabby. Then he senses it. 97!! He feels the sudden presence, an impeccable zetsu with a tinge of icy smoothness and fiery calm toiling beneath its surface. It is enough for him to widen his eyes and sit up straight, a hot tingling sensation travelling down his spine, pleasure surging into his body for a split second, almost goading him into a fight right there and then. Well, what do we have here? He looks to the source of this pressure, golden eyes flashing and meeting yours, as you look down at him from the balcony above.

One look and you know he clearly lives up to his reputation. He is suppressing his power by default, but his presence leaves a slight prickling static in the air which only stronger nen users can detect. He also seems to have noticed you, judging by the slight shift his posture, the electrifying gaze beneath his damp red hair and the sudden tension in the air with his nen flaring, almost breaking its zetsu. Despite the distance, both of you lock eyes for a moment, each one feeling out the other, gauging abilities, locating motives. What the hell is his aim? You face the sheer intensity of his gaze with your own cold, calculating glare, both of you guarding your intentions yet attempting to penetrate through the other’s guise, staring each other down as if in a challenge. No one relents. But you can’t help but feel a rising irritation, that the man sitting naked in the outdoor bath three floors beneath you is getting under your skin, and a distracting kind of warmth creeps in... You look away. You nod to the staff to continue strict monitoring and return to your room.

Hisoka watches you leave, and instinctively his fingers run through his hair again, this time harder than the last. Oh, Chrollo… Don’t tell me that’s her? A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Oh, you were right. This is going to be dangerous.

---

You don’t hear any more concerning updates on Hisoka until later the next day. Besides using the baths for extended periods of time, and mild complaints from other guests of his lengthy and uncomfortable stares, he hasn’t caused any trouble. He hasn’t physically contacted anyone either.

“Come again?” you stop abruptly, mid-way through scanning the paper records of this month’s taxes and bills, glancing up at your secretary.

Esa clears her throat and speaks again. “Madam, Hisoka Morow has requested for a meeting with you today.”

Hmph. You scoff a little, your eyes narrowing to ponder the next course of action. You had expected something like this. There is no way someone like him would travel all the way here just to use the baths, let alone without engaging anyone. If his aim is to negotiate matters with you, it must be something quite serious, given that neither of you have gone out of your way to meet with each other previously.

“Shall I cancel?” Esa asks, ready to deliver the order and reject the fool that had the nerve to request a meeting with you on such short notice.

“No. Make it tonight at eleven, after I complete my usual rounds.”

“Understood.”

---

It is night, and the onsen quietens for the day. Only the soft rushes of spring water from the outdoor baths and the muffled sounds of late-night negotiations drift by. You find yourself finally seated across from him in one of your private meeting rooms, both of you silent but never once taking your eyes off each other, quietly assessing one another.

Now up close and clothed in a blue yukata, accentuating the red hair that falls close to his shoulders, you can’t help but find him just a little more attractive than you imagined. His golden eyes are calm, steady, even confident, a rarity for anyone for finds them in a room alone with you. Most people would have bowed their head in submission long ago. You keep your own icy composure. But the force of his nen suppressed under zetsu, his incredibly toned body beneath his yukata and that arrogant way he looks at you make your body feel warmer than usual.

When he sees you for the first time that night, seated on the far end of the room, he feels it again. That powerful presence that keeps goading him, that sends electrifying jolts through his body. You’re seated comfortably on the floor, almost reclining, yet the hard, murderous edge of your gaze shows you are constantly on guard. Simply exquisite. He almost licks his lips but controls himself. A fine opponent… to kill? No, no, much too soon… that would be a waste. Chrollo comes first.

The meeting hall is much too large for two people, spanning over 24 tatami in size. On both sides, paper screen doors open out into an elegant view of the autumn trees in the estate, shedding its red delicately in the wind. A long, low black lacquer table in the center of the room separates you and him, each of you seated on either end. Silence continues to hang in the air. A staff gracefully pours a luxurious blend of sencha into the cups, before she places the tea pot and tray on the floor, bows, and takes her leave quickly. You notice Esa hovering by the doorway to the room.

“Esa, you may go.”

“But Madam-” your secretary protests but stops as you give her a glare. She of all people would understand you’re probably the last person in the establishment who needs any form of protection. As her footsteps recede down the hallway outside, you turn back to the man in front of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you today?”

“It has come to my knowledge,” Hisoka finally speaks, and the slow, sly curl of his tone lights another fire in you, “that you are in possession of one of the most sought-after items in the world of late. I have a pressing need for it and would like to negotiate a deal.”

“I’m a collector of the rarest treasures, so you’re going to have to be more specific,” you scoff, taking a sip of your tea.

“I’m talking about a certain game.”

“Ah, Greed Island,” you retort indifferently, although inwardly puzzled. Why would he go to such lengths just for a game? Didn’t seem like the type. “What makes you think I’ll agree to your request? What is in it for me?”

Hisoka pauses, contemplating something before pushing onwards with a slight smirk. “I’m not sure if you know of a certain man by the name of… Chrollo Lucilfer?”

He waits for the intended effect and sure enough, you react. Immediately, at the mention of the name you’re hit with an unpleasant sensation that makes you grit your teeth, and your eyes blaze with a hint of fury. Without realizing, a cracking sound fills the room as the cast iron tea pot on the floor dents with the force of your nen.

Hisoka looks at the pot quietly before he smiles, lifting the tea cup to his lips, his eyes only growing darker as he trains his gaze on you. Interesting. “May I know, if it’s not too much to ask, the reason for your disdain of the man?”

“I’ve known him for a long time. He tried to kill me twice, once on purpose and the second time by accident. Clearly, he did not succeed,” you say, finishing your tea.

Beautifully exquisite. Another thrill runs through his spine, almost making him tremble with excitement. Perhaps it would be safe to suggest…

“I’m looking for Chrollo. He’s been running from me for a while now, and last I heard he has been spotted hiding out in the game. I would very much like to settle our score soon. Of course, perhaps to your advantage I fully intend on killing him, with pleasure,” Hisoka continues, waving his hand in the air with dismissive complacency.

“If only it were so simple,” you retort, knowing the full potential of Chrollo’s abilities. “And how can I take you for your word?”

“You can’t.”

You look up in mild distaste at Hisoka. What a bastard. You could slit his throat right now, with that cocky expression of his. And yet, your body feels a little hot when he’s looking at you, his gaze ruthlessly penetrating and his nen just on the edge of flaring.

“Name your offer, Hisoka.” You say his name for the first time, aware of how his gaze hardens when you do so, and your body burns with a strange desire which you suppress under the guise of irritation.

“I’m not offering.”

“What?”

“Allow me to use the game, or I will go on to kill everyone in this establishment, including your precious secretary and all your guests. It’s been a while since I had fun and I won’t stop when I do.”

The audacity. You slam your cup on the table and glare at him, your nen bristling beneath the surface. It was a mistake to let him into the bathhouse. And the worst part is that he is right. He could take out everyone except you here with ease, and you’d lose your manpower, your reputation, your business. Everything you worked hard for since leaving meteor city years ago. Perhaps it’ll be wise to dispose of him right here, right now.

In a split second, you draw the long onyx pin from your hair, leaping across the length of the table with such grace and speed that the tea in Hisoka’s cup barely ripples, as you aim for this throat, slicing the air in front of you. He dodges at the last moment, his eyes wild with a feral look as you nick of a few strands of his hair and the sharp edge of your hairpin draws a faint red line along his throat. He grins. He’s clearly enjoying this. He moves to land a counter-attack but you jump away. You’ve put distance between the two of you again; you grip your hair pin, calm and poised for another strike, while he similarly crouches, one hand reaching to stroke the mark you made on his throat.

“Now you’re just getting me excited,” his voice drops to a low purr.

Here you are, seconds after nearly killing him, and you feel your body reacting to his voice and his unapologetic desire. You know you have the power to end him, yet a tingling sensation creeps over the lower half of your body. You can feel sweat starting to gather around your stomach, while another warm wetness pools further below, between your legs. It’s been so long since anyone made you feel this way. Not since… Your thoughts are interrupted as he appears behind you, aiming for your head.

“Pay attention, darling.”

There’s barely any sound in the meeting room as you and Hisoka continue to spar in near complete zetsu, restraining nen to avoid alerting the attention of other guests and the security staff. His eyes gleam more with your every strike, his moves maintain its strength but do not get more forceful, and neither do yours. You feel the exhilaration of the near-misses, of your bodies brushing against one another before pulling away, the light friction of fabric against fabric, as if locked in a graceful dance that neither of you want to end. Moonlight cascades through the open balcony, and there’s a glint in Hisoka’s eyes.

“Let’s stop pretending we’re serious about killing each other, shall we?” he quips with a smirk.

His words register, and you halt. You weren’t noticing it before, but he is right. You weren't trying. You falter for a moment too long. Then he rushes you, pinning your body down onto the floor with his own weight, brute force mixed with excitement to the point that his nails dig into the straw of the tatami below, ripping it slightly. He raises a hand, about to spill your blood, when your control slips. Before, your brief exchanges saw your body feeling hotter, winding tighter as it did more cautious. But now, with him pressing down onto you from above, not pulling away, gripping with a strength that few possess and with a wicked look in his eyes, you can’t keep it down anymore. You let out a throaty moan as his holds you hard, feeling your underwear getting more soaked with every passing second. His eyes widen in surprise, and he pauses. You and him remain quiet like this for a while, the wind from outside gently caressing both your bodies, teasing out an answer.

Then, as if on instinct, both your mouths crash together. Neither of you are ashamed at the pure lust that erupts between the two of you, bloodlust still not completely abating which spurs you and him on even more. His tongue slips into you mouth, determined on stealing your breath, your hand clasped around your hair pin still trapped within his, his ferocious strength barely just surpassing your own as you do not back down, struggling against the restraint. It is still a fight, after all. Yet his other free hand trails down your silk robe, slithering between the open slits to your thighs before raising one of your legs to wrap around his torso. You moan into his kiss and move against his clothed body, desperate for friction.

"Patience, my dear." He pauses, giving you a sadistic grin.

You’re not going to let him keep staying in control. In a surge of strength you topple and roll over him in a flash, slamming him to the floor and stabbing the pin right into the tatami next to his head, at which Hisoka lets out a loud groan. You press and rub yourself against him, leaving small bites along his neck, your hair starting to come loose and fall to the side of your face from the exertion. The warmth between your legs grows, and it’s not just you. Hisoka is only wearing underwear beneath the yukata, and you feel his erection, hot and hard beneath your rolling hips. You feel your own slick starting to run down your inner thigh, and you ache to be filled.

You pull away and gaze down at Hisoka, who’s just starting to get a little breathless with desire, his eyes clouded with lust. You pull the hairpin from the floor and aim it at his throat. You command, your voice cold and edged with arrogance.

“Stop wasting my time and just fuck me already.”

At this, Hisoka lets out a low growl, flipping you on your back, almost tearing the obi around your waist to shreds with his hands. His mouth latches onto your neck and you cry out, as his hands reach under your bra to free your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, alternating between gentle strokes and forceful pinches. Your body shakes with pleasure and you grind against him, your hands fumbling to move his yukata out of the way. You cover your palm over his bulge, which is already straining hard against his underwear. He bites a little harder on your skin as you do, goading you on. You reach beneath the fabric, stroking his most sensitive spot, and you feel him shudder against you. Oh, to have such a powerful man like him at your mercy.

Before you have time to think, your pleasure increases ten-fold, white-hot and surging through your body as his fingers find their way to your slit, obscenely slick with your honey.

“Oh? This wet for me already?” he murmurs into your ear, sending shivers down your arms and making you moan.

He sits back a little, his piercing gaze boring into you as he lifts his fingers to his lips, licking it clean. “So sweet,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving you, almost taunting your state of helplessness before him, and you twitch with pleasure.

“Shut u-” you demand, stopping short with a intake of breath as his tongue circles your nipple and he thrusts two fingers into your aching slit, expertly thrusting, stroking, caressing, hitting all the right spots as you can’t help but moan and fist his soft, red locks. His thumb finds your bud and rubs, with increasing pressure, matching the circling motions of his tongue. Hisoka pulls away and looks down at you, panting and wriggling beneath his touch, your words incoherent but eyes still fierce with power and control, and he finds himself growing harder, unbearably hungry. You feel his desire through his nen, bristling with lust, fingers coaxing you to bliss and eyes ravishing you unabashedly for everything you are and you feel yourself pushed nearer to the edge.

“I’m close,” you gasp, and you see Hisoka smirk dangerously as he pulls his fingers out of you. The pleasure that builds now cuts short, tapering off.

“Kisama,” you mutter in annoyance as you ram his body against the side of the lacquer dining table, pushing him into an upright, sitting position. He chuckles at your urgency and vexation yet remains turned on as you clutch your hairpin over his throat as a warning. His golden eyes are glazed over and quivering, a sign he is properly riled up, his hair now a mess, and his breathing is slightly heavier than before. You pull his large erection free from his underwear.

“You bastard. I’m not going to give you any time.” You growl, and his eyes grow more piercing.

You lower your soaking, aching pussy onto him. The stretch makes both of you groan in unison, and you almost come immediately from his entrance. He is huge in both girth and length, and it takes a while before you’re accustomed to his size. It was so long since you had proper sex with anyone. After he is buried in you to the hilt, you pause, glaring at him with a look aggressive with lust and a need for control. He moans in pleasure and you feel his grip on you tighten considerably. Then you move, slowly first, then quickening your pace, rolling and rubbing against him so his cock enters you at the best angles. His hands reach up to grab your hips, steadying you while he snaps up into you, pounding with such speed it makes your mind go blank with pleasure.

“Ahh-h—h!” you moan, louder this time, shaking with the mounting pleasure as he enters you fast, viciously, more than you can keep up with. You get wetter with each of his thrusts, squelching and slapping sounds filling empty room as he pulls out and fills you completely again with each punishing stroke. You feel yourself nearing your climax, your body swaying and jiggling with the rhythm as your bounce on Hisoka's cock, pressing your fingers harder around his body.

He senses it too, and growls, refusing to take his eyes from yours. You feel his nails rake your hips, grabbing your ass, pain and pleasure intermingling as your near your end. Waves of white-hot pleasure wash over you as you moan into your orgasm, your eyes closed in bliss as you tremble violently, clenching tightly around Hisoka, muttering curses as you come completely undone.

Before you have time to come down from your high, Hisoka pulls out, his rock-hard cock dripping with your honey, before grabbing you and laying you down on the table, towering over you once more. Then he fully sheaths himself inside you in one go, making you cry out at the jolt of oversensitivity as he pushes towards his own end. Using the slick from your orgasm, he goes even faster now, relentless, his hands holding your legs wide apart so he can have unfettered access to you while he slams into you without restraint.

"You like this, don't you? You like being punished like this?" He purrs with forcefulness, a sign he is close, lustful gaze boring into yours while he pummels into you.

You can't help but shudder at his words, but you spit out through gritted teeth. "Don't get cocky. And don't you dare finish inside, or I'll kill you before you are even done."

His control snaps. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. Then he pulls out and comes, moaning with deep satisfaction in your ear, his warm load spilling onto your stomach. After he finishes, you both gaze as each other for a while, barely out of breath, sweat glistening against skin. Your clothes are both in a mess and disarray, his hands are still spreading you wide and bare torso pressed against you as you both bask in the afterglow, sharing a moment to take in the surreal pleasure of what was an extremely unplanned but steaming hot round of sex.

"So with this, do we have a deal?" He breaks the silence with a devious smile.

"I'm not that cheap if you think once is enough." You retort as you clean up, pulling your clothes back on. "At least three more times, with an additional fee of 300,000 Jenny."

"Aren't you a greedy one," Hisoka smirks, tying his yukata back in place. "Alright. It's a deal, not like I'm complaining. I might deliver more than you ask for." His golden eyes travel across your body once more before meeting yours, and you can still see a faint glimmer of lust, ready to be reignited.

"Enjoying yourself?" An icy voice comes from the darkened doorway.

You don't even need to look to know who it is, recognizing the voice immediately. Cold grey eyes gaze at you from a figure leaning against the entryway.

"Chrollo," you almost spit out.

"Ah," says Hisoka naturally, "you're finally here."

You turn to scowl at Hisoka, realizing his blatant lie from earlier. You wonder for a moment how Chrollo even got in to the onsen without your notice, given that him and the troupe remain high up on your guest blacklist. Then you sense his nen, or rather his lack of it, a blur void except for the vague tinge of someone else’s foreign nen around his chest. A contract, then. He's harmless now.

Chrollo steps into the room, dressed elegantly in a black yukata, his hair let down comfortably. "Seems like you taste in men hasn't changed. I took a gamble on that." His steely grey gaze, piercing, calculating and formidable in confidence, still make you tremble a little, despite knowing him for years.

You take a while to understand and chuckle, looking from Chrollo to Hisoka. "Seems like we both got played."

The latter narrows his eyes at Chrollo before running his hand through his hair, sighing. "Well, as expected of him. Again, not like I'm complaining."

"Hisoka, leave us for a moment," you order.

"As you wish." You feel him step out but loiter along the corridor, waiting to pick up on the following conversation. Now it's just you and Chrollo left in the room. He doesn't move closer to you.

"It's been long. Too... long." Chrollo speaks, his voice calm but you detect a tinge of nostalgia, affection, regret and caution all entangled in one.

You know what he means. You can even see it now, the times he drove you wild, nearly killing you with nen. You can see all the times his lips met yours, growing a steady fire with a kiss, his fingers grazing your skin and making you moan and whimper while you grasp his hair tight in your hands, your mind blanking and feeling the universe come apart and stitch right back together...

"You won't be able to handle me now, in your current state. I would break you. It wont be pleasurable for any of us," you reply coolly. You catch the sound of a stifled laugh from the hallway outside. "Once you get your nen back, I just might reconsider."

You stand up, letting your silk robes fall gracefully past your knees once more. You arrange your bun and slip the onyx pin back into your hair.

"You can use the game tomorrow. I'll have it prepared. Tonight, I'll be busy receiving my payment. In full." You pause a little next to him, giving him one last, long look, before walking out the room and towards your quarters, Hisoka trailing behind.

Alone, Chrollo's eyes are deep and unreadable. Unconsciously, his hands are balled into tight fists by his sides. Then he breathes deeply, chuckling to himself.

What a woman. "Hisoka, you'd better get the job done. Fast."

---

Notes: omg this took way longer than i expected to!!! I’m quite proud of this one ;) I got inspired by a mobage card of hisoka, chrollo and the phantom troupe at an onsen and decided to do this imagine piece! Hope you enjoyed my fellow hisoka simps, it was so fun to write ;)

[prongsies]

Me & You Together ● George Weasley

PAIRING: George Weasley x Reader SUMMARY: George has been in love with her for ages, but he’s only saying it now WARNINGS: Mild language, slightly suggestive A/N: I got inspired by The 1975′s Me & You Together Song and fkrjdnfkrjnf there are a LOT more song-inspired fics lined up

The ballroom was beautiful, with colorful flowers adorning nearly every inch available in the large expanse of the area. Gold lined the ceilings, accenting the furniture which showed off just how much wealth the (y/l/n) family possessed. Not just that, but the visitors invited to this glorious occasion screamed rich - and George was painfully aware of just how under-dressed he was, with everyone around him adorning dress robes he was sure could pay off a year’s worth of rent.

But that doesn’t matter now, not when he’s standing in front of his best friend, who was grinning happily at him she watched him clutch the microphone tightly in his hand until his knuckles have turned white.

With his speech in his shaky hand and a slight waver in his voice, he started reading, “I remember the first time that we met, how enthralled I was by you and the fact that you didn’t care about how, in the short time we’ve been acquainted, I’ve already seen you with your top off”

Audible gasps echoed in the room from the rest of the visitors, but George’s gaze remained on (y/n), watching as she giggled, tears brimming her eyes even though he has barely started, but he continued…

—

“You’re crazy, (y/n)!” Angelina’s laughter echoed in the empty Hogwarts Grounds as she watched the Slytherin peel her clothes off one by one, happily facing her punishment for losing their last round of poker. It had been her idea after all, that instead of strip poker, the loser skinny dips in the Black Lake.

Of course, she didn’t know she would be the one to face the consequences, but she didn’t mind considering it was a one-of-a-kind experience. Everyone trailed behind her, laughing as they watched her in amusement, in disbelief that a Pureblood Slytherin would be this carefree.

Among those people was George, who, until just about an hour ago, had been adamant about letting her in the Gryffindor common room in the middle of the night. I mean, why would he when her Prefect badge glimmered proudly on her chest? He thought she was there to rat them out. It was only when Lee and Angelina called her in that George stepped aside, interested in the strange relationship the girl shared with his friends.

Now, here she was, standing over the docks fully naked, grinning at all of them shamelessly. George tried, he really did, to keep his eyes focused anywhere else. But her personality really drew him towards her that his eyes keep darting back.

A wink sent his way caused his blood to rush up his cheeks, and he had to physically pat them down to cool them as he watched her dive into the lake without hesitation, squealing slightly at the cold when she resurfaced.

It was all fun and games at first until a flicker of light in the distance stole George’s attention at the same time that it did the others’.

“Shit, it’s Filch” Lee whispered towards their small group, his eyes holding panic as the light - which George had now realized was a lamp - neared. “What do we do?”

Before George could even propose a solution, he was pushed into the cold depths of the lake, bringing his teeth to chatter at the unexpected drop in temperature. He turned to glare at the culprit - his brother - watching him motion for George to hide, “keep her company, we’ll be back”

“Fred-!”

“Oh, just shut it, George” He was pulled under the wooden docks by his forearm, (y/n)’s hand atop his head as she guided him under. They watched as Filch’s figure came nearer through the slits in between the hardwood, their breaths caught in their throat as they tried their hardest not to make even the smallest of sound.

It took minutes for Filch to finish surveying the area - and George was more than happy Angelina was quick enough to gather (y/n)’s belongings, leaving no trace they were even there. They waited until the caretaker decided he’s had enough, which George didn’t mind until he came to the realization that (y/n)’s body - her bare chest - remained pressed to his back, keeping it away from view in the event the old man does catch them (and George was sure he was frozen on the spot).

It wasn’t until Filch’s disappearance and (y/n) peeling her body away from him that his breathing returned to normal. He was so sure the girl hadn’t noticed the change in his demeanor, but when she swam to face him, smirking up at him as she looked at him with a glint in her eyes, that he realized she had.

“What’s so funny?” George asked as she let out a breathy laugh, covering her mouth with her hand in an attempt to stifle her adorable snort, “Oh, so you find our situation amusing?”

“Very” she replied, hands making their way onto George’s shoulders to keep her steady and afloat (she was too short that her feet didn’t even touch the bottom, even when George stood shoulder-deep). She continued, “I just never imagined you’d see me naked on our first encounter - it’s definitely a story worth telling”

“Not to my family, I hope”

“Especially to your family!” (Y/n) threw her head back in laughter. “I’d want to see their reaction if I tell them you’ve already seen me naked - without context”

“Mum’ll be furious” George laughed.

“Alright, lovebirds! Time to get out!” Angelina interjected their little moment, her head peeking out from above the docks as she presented them with two fresh robes, “C’mon! We don’t want anyone sick”

“But I’m having too much fun!” (Y/n) replied sarcastically, turning to wink at George briefly before swimming up to Angelina, “besides, I reckon the water woke George up! Saw him yawning far too many times before we got here”

“Oh, trust me! (Y/n)” Fred joined in, glancing at his brother with a teasing smirk, “It’s not the water that woke him up”

“Fred!”

—

“Who would’ve thought we’d make it here?” George snuck a look towards (y/n), watching her grin as they reminisce their old memories together.

He continued, “I certainly didn’t. When the war was starting to rise and days got a bit darker, I was afraid where our relationship would go - especially since we were in different houses. Yet you continue to surprise me, even until now…”

—

(Y/n) stood out among the students in the small group, being the only one in green among those in blue, yellow, and red. She prided herself in it, how willing she was to learn magic that would defend her from fellow-purebloods in her house.

She knew far too much, from whispers in the common room, so she knows a war is inevitable - that he’s really back and he’s here to kill.

George knows there are a million different things running through her mind right now, being a witness to her rare distracted state just as the DA meeting started. So, when she moved to stare at the pictures on the mirror in the Room of Requirement when the lesson concluded, George waved his brother off ahead of him.

He approached (y/n) cautiously, watching the way her eyes darted towards him in their reflection as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, slotting their bodies together like puzzle pieces. His chin rested on top of her head, her hands placing themselves over his she continued studying the picture of the first Order of the Phoenix.

“They were so young,” she spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?” George asked, too distracted by their reflections on the mirror to know what she was pertaining to.

“Lily and James Potter,” she continued, nodding at the photo, “I- I don’t think I’d know what to do if I were in their position”

“Well, knowing you,” George watched as (y/n) twisted in his arms to face him, feeling his heart bear faster when her palm rested over his chest as she stared up at him, giving him her full attention. He gulped, “knowing you, you’d fight bravely and selflessly - just as they had”

“You think too highly of me, Georgey” she giggled, resting her cheek onto her chest, humming in delight.

“As everyone should”

They were enveloped in silence again, relishing the embrace they were in before they’d have to leave the Room of Requirement and face reality all over again.

“…let’s run away”

“What?” George didn’t know if he heard her right, his eyes widening as they met (y/n)’s again.

“I said let’s run away”

George chuckled, pulling her closer to his chest in amusement, “soon love… soon”

—

“And you’ve always been there for me and Freddie,” George’s voice shook, his eyes running over the few remaining words that concluded his speech.

—

A grin made its way onto George’s face when the front door swung open, revealing (y/n) who looked far too exhausted to be visiting her friends. He knows she’s been having a rough time at work, needing to handle mountain-loads of paperwork on a daily basis as the Head Auror, and with Ron and Harry recently finishing their training, he was sure they’ve caused quite some trouble the former-Slytherin had to handle.

She flashed him a small smile when their eyes met, darting straight to the dining room to place a paper bag onto the table. “I’ve got us dinner”

“Sometimes I wonder if you actually live with us, love” Commented Fred as he emerged from the bathroom, a grin onto his face as well, at the sight of her, “you’re here everyday, might as well move in, right?”

“You know you two make me feel less lonely” she pushed Fred’s face away when he tried to plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek with a giggle, “besides, I’ve heard from a little birdie that you’re gotten a date with Angelina, Freddie”

“I’m guessing that little birdie’s our ickle Ronnikins?” Fred chuckled, eyes darting towards George in a glare for a brief moment before turning his attention back to (y/n), slinging an arm over her shoulder, “well you’ve heard wrong, darling, because it’s actually George here who’s gotten a date with her”

“Oh,” her voice held surprise as her head snapped towards George, eyes holding a look he’s never really seen from her before. George noticed Fred’s subtle movement, shaking her a bit which seemed to bring her back to reality as she flashed him a tight-lipped smile, “well, I’m happy for you - truly”

“I’m feeling quite famished,” Fred broke the tension, finally stealing that kiss on the cheek from (y/n) who shoved him away with a laugh, “We’re so lucky we have you bringing us dinner almost everyday, love. Pretty sure we’ll end up burning the entire kitchen down if we attempt cooking anything other than instant noodles”

—

“…even when there are times I can’t be there for you…”

—

“You alright, Freddie?” George’s voice rang through the quiet flat, seeing Fred sitting at their dining table with his head in his hands, a sheet of parchment laid out in front of him, “What’s that?”

“It’s nothing” Fred murmured, shaking his head as he attempted to compose himself, tucking the sheet into his journal in a haste, tossing it onto the counter as he stood up to leave, “I’m off for a bit - don’t wait up”

With that, he grabbed his coat from the rack, rushing to put it on as he made a beeline towards the door, leaving George in silence. Unconsciously, his eyes darted towards the journal, intimidated by the corner of the parchment still sticking out as he neared it.

He knows he shouldn’t do it, that he should respect his twin brother’s privacy - but with the war that happened not so long ago he has this need to know, this need to inform himself before anyone can get the upper hand at him. What if the letter was a death threat? Merlin knows they’ve received too much of them the time they released products like You-Know-Poo. He’s almost lost his brother once, he doesn’t want to go through it again.

So, with a deep inhale, George snatched the letter from between the pages, opening it hurriedly, afraid he’ll get caught.

His breathing came out in heavy pants as he read through the familiar handwriting:

Fred —

I remember telling you how stupid it was for you to think I’d regret rejecting your wedding proposal just so we could get mother off my back. I mean, I thought she’d finally let go of the arranged marriage idea when she blasted me off the family tree. I guess I was wrong.

I found out today that she had arranged for me to marry Rodolfo Avery in a month, and I think it’s for the best that I agree. You see, I’m not really getting younger, am I? Even if you’ve told me years ago to wait for George to get his shit together it seems it’s a lost cause - he’s deeply in love with Angelina, I don’t want to get in the way. Besides, Rodolfo can be quite a gentleman if he wanted to - husband material? Guess I’ll have to wait for the wedding to know.

I’d appreciate it if you two attend the engagement party as my Men of Honor (if there’s such a thing), I’d really want to see some familiar faces there considering most of the attendees are of Rodolfo’s choosing. I hope you can keep this letter between us, I don’t want to drag your brother in this mess. The invitations are sent out tomorrow so watch out for my owl!

With love and probably too much alcohol in my system, (y/n).

—

“George?” Fred’s voice brought him back to reality.

George blinked a few times, eyes focusing slowly towards the girl sat in the middle of the room, watching in confusion as George remained silent, ceasing his speech abruptly. He looked down at the parchment again, reading the last sentence, ‘There is nothing more I’d want in the world than to see you happy’, before looking back up.

Is she really happy?

The letter she wrote said otherwise. She was waiting for him, even after all these years. She was the one who decided it was all over for them, decided to push through this marriage even though she knows she wouldn’t be happy.

She decided to settle for someone else just because he’s been too chicken to admit he’s always loved her.

“George, come back here!” Fred snapped in a hushed whisper, tugging the hem of George’s robes. But George wasn’t moving consciously right now. No, his feet felt like they have a mind of their own as they moved towards the center of the room, bringing him in front of (y/n) who looked just as surprised as he was.

“Hi, George” She grinned up at him, eyes holding the same glint it did when they had first met, “you alright?”

“More than” he replied breathlessly, “(y/n)…”

“George”

“I’ve been in love with you for ages” he blurted out, glancing at the soon-to-be-groom nervous, only to see him nodding his head encouragingly. He knows. “And as I look at you right now, I know only one thing: that I want to be the one calling you my wife in the future”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… I’m saying let’s run away together”

(Y/n) smiled, her memories of that time she said those exact same words to him in the Room of Requirement replaying in her head. She looked down at George’s outstretched hand, then back up at him, smiling at the way his hands shook in nervousness, uncertain if she would give him the time to make it up to her.

It’s all up to her now. The decision is hers.

With a wink at her -now- ex-fiancee, she grabbed George’s hand, allowing him to pull her up from her seat, out the front door, and into the night.

[bakustark]

10/12 drunken sex

warning(s): nsfw, drunk sex, pre-canon, drunk kissing, creampie, light angst, pining, Pirate Reader, Pirates of the Caribbean references, stealth crossover, uhhh more plot than porn tbh, etc.

Trevor quickly lowered his tankard, as to not choke on his drink, his shoulders shaking with laughter. She shot him a grin over her own tankard, eyes crinkled at the corners, and continued with her tales of fantastical creatures and half mad sailors. Listening closely, he gave up on thinking of the warmth on his cheeks as an effect of the countless drinks they’d shared. His eyes trailed over her body, taking in the short curls falling over her forehead and framing her face, peeking out from under the leather tricorn on her head, and the coat hiding the womanly curves of her body. 

She reached up to wipe away the tears of laughter from the corner of her eye and his gaze landed on a pink scar peeking out from under her sleeve. His grin faltered and he put his tankard down. She followed his eyes, “Ah, that.” She pushed the sleeve of her coat up to her elbow to reveal the P burned into the skin of her inner forearm, just above her wrist. “I got this one in Africa, off the coast of Ethiopia. They don’t appreciate pirates that much, but they let us go because we got rid of their sea serpent problem.”

He reached out to run the pad of his thumb over the fresh scar, something pinching in his chest at the thought of the rest of the scars hidden under her clothes. The life at sea was dangerous, more so for a woman under the guise of a sailor looking for adventures in uncharted waters. If anything were to go wrong, a mutiny or an attack, they could execute her right on the ship and toss her body overboard— women anger the sea, pirates would say.

“When’s the next voyage?” Trevor found himself asking, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He didn’t actually want to know, but anything was better than imagining her public execution. 

She cleared her throat and pulled away from his touch to curl her fingers around the tankard of rum. “We part at morn.” She replied, eyes glancing briefly at the men gathered at the other side of the pub, laughing amongst themselves and singing drunkenly. She leaned forwards, lowering her voice, “There are rumors about Calypso taking a human form somewhere beyond the Atlantic.” 

Trevor’s brow furrowed, a sceptical look taking over his face, “The sea goddess Calypso. From the stories you lot sing about when you’re drunk?” 

“Aye.” She took another gulp of ale. “You don’t believe me? I thought you were a Belmont. Didn’t Belmonts know about these things?” She continued, raising an eyebrow at him.

He frowned at her, “We kept tabs on things we could actually see and hunt, not a sailor’s twisted mythology.” Trevor shot back and gave his empty tankard a disgruntled look.

She huffed and slid her drink over to him, which he gladly took with an enthusiastic sound coming from the back of his throat. “I stopped wondering what was a myth and what was not after I was dragged off the ship by a siren.” She pointed out, absentmindedly rubbing her neck with a small grimace. Their conversation continued, talking about his own misadventures on land involving more than a few bar fights and the occasional run-ins with Night Creatures. 

Nothing as grand as defeating a sea serpent the size of a ship and fighting cannibalistic natives, but entertaining nonetheless. 

By the time he’d finished his third — fourth, fifth maybe? — tankard of rum, Trevor had an idea. One of those really shitty ones that seemed brilliant in his head, but were actually very fucking bad. The type that kept him up at night, groaning in misery as he tried to drown the cringe worthy memories in cheap beer. And despite knowing that, guess what? Trevor, the ever masochistic bastard, did it anyway. 

Trevor leaned forwards, tilting his head to press his lips against hers. She went still, gasping softly, and he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet her shocked gaze. Her lips were soft and plush and tasted like the sweet, high quality rum they were sharing, which she’d brought from one of her trips (he’s forgotten where, more distracted with looking at her mouth than listening to her description of the making of said stolen rum). 

After a moment of savoring what was most probably the first and only time they would share such an intimate contact, Trevor pulled away. He opened his eyes, his heart in his throat, and looked at her hesitantly. She was staring back at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted in surprise, “Trevor…”

“I’m sorry,” Trevor croaked, voice thick with emotion. There was the distinct burn of tears in the back of his eyes, the rum making him more sensitive than beer ever could. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

He was cut off by the pirate leaning over to catch his lips, cupping his face with a warm hand. A shudder racked his spine and the sound he uttered against her mouth was something like a sob of relief, his own hands coming up to touch her face. There was a sharp whistle soon followed by hollering coming from the other side of the bar, and Trevor was distinctly relieved that the arrival of the crew had make every person in the vicinity fuck right off while the owner cowered in a corner or else any outsider would be wailing and screeching in horror at the sight of him kissing another “man.”

It was a blur after that, they stumbled up some stairs — tripping more than once — before he was pushed down on a soft surface, tilting his head up to keep their mouths together. Bed, it was a bed, when did they move to the bedroom? Trevor groaned in dismay when she pulled away from him, his hands going to her hips to drag her closer. She put her hands on his shoulders to stop him, her lips glossy and kiss swollen. Inside his trousers, his cock twitched. 

“Hold on,” She breathed, half sprawled on his lap, putting a finger up— which looked a tad blurry to him. “Are you sure, Trev? We’re,” She swallowed thickly, blinking hard. “We’re drunk, more you than I, but drunk nonetheless.” 

Was he sure? What kind of question was that? He’s waited years for this moment and he was not gonna pussy out just because he was a little drunk. (It was nice of her to ask first though.)

Trevor rolled his hips, pulling her down against him and the delicious drag of his clothed cock against her crotch made him groan. “Please don’t make me wait another bloody two years for an opportunity like this— I’ll fucking die.” 

She let out a small, breathless laugh, pressing their foreheads together with a crooked grin. “Alright then,” She murmured and kissed him again, deft fingers unbuckling his belts and discarding his weapons to the side of the bed. He was clumsier, hands shaky with need and fumbling with her own belts. Trevor let out a victorious little grunt when he let her own weapons fall to the ground. 

He latched onto her throat, kissing and biting until her skin turned red and started to bruise. Her hat was thrown somewhere behind her along with her coat and his cloak. She snuck her hand under his shirt, her appreciative moan vibrating against his lips as her hand slid up the hard muscles of his abdomen. Trevor let go of her flesh with a wet pop and leaned back to help her take off his shirt, eagerly lifting her white billowy shirt over her head after unbuttoning her vest. 

His hands immediately went to her breasts when they were out of their bindings, fondling the soft flesh as he prepped kisses on her collarbone. She sighed softly in pleasure, arching into his hands and rocking her hips against his. Trevor groaned into the valley of her breasts, “We need to lose these pants.” 

“Aye aye, cap’n,” She uttered, stumbling a bit as she got to her feet and kicked off her boots to shimmy out of her pants. Trevor had to tear his eyes away to follow her example instead of gaping at her body like an imbecile. She threaded her fingers into his hair and slanted her mouth over his, brushing her tongue over the seam of his lips.

Trevor gladly parted his lips, grabbing a hold of her hips and turning them around to cage her against her bed. She slid her hands down his back and dug her fingers into the firm globes of his ass, tugging him closer to grind her wet slit against his flushed erection. He cursed against her mouth, hooking an arm under her knee to position himself against her entrance. He pressed his forehead against his, staring into her eyes as he slowly slid inside her. 

They groaned simultaneously when Trevor finally buried himself to the root, her walls hugging his length. “Holy shit, Trevor,” She gasped, her eyelids fluttering at the intense feeling. 

“You feel so good,” Trevor groaned, slowly pulling out and rocking back in. 

“Trevor, go faster, luv.” Her accent slipped in, thick with arousal as she squeezed his ass with her hands. Trevor hunched over her, letting go of her leg in favor of wrapping his arms around her and burying his face into her neck to muffle his moans as his hips took a punishing pace. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back, and one of her hands left his arse to grasp onto his hair. 

The wet, sinful sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her cunt reverberated around the room, along with the constant smack of meeting flesh. That, and the wonderful sounds of pleasure slipping past her lips, made him grow even harder inside of her, a steady string of precum drooling from his tip. The telltale tightening of his abdomen informed him of his approaching orgasm, much too soon for his liking, but he was too worked up to even attempt to delay the inevitable.

He snuck a hand between their bodies to rub quick circles on her clit with his fingers, grinding his hips harder against hers. She cursed, her fingers tightening their hold on his hair and her legs trembling around him. “Come on, sweetheart, come with me,” Trevor panted against her skin, driving his hips harder against hers. 

“Oh god, Trevor—” She whined, throwing her head back into the pillows and shuddering violently.

Trevor’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he groaned loudly as her walls clamped down on him. “Fuck, fuck, I love you,” He babbled, ducking his head to bite down on her shoulder to muffle his loud moan when his orgasm ripped into him. Trevor held her close as they shook from the intensity of their climax, his release painting her fluttering walls. 

Exhausted, he rolled onto his back and hugged her to his chest, breathing hard. The pirate pressed soft kisses over the scars littering his pectorals and gently caressed his abdomen, uttering quiet praises against his skin. Trevor pressed his cheek against the crown of her head, his eyes growing heavy from exhaustion. His tongue already felt heavy in his mouth and it was growing harder to stay awake.

“Stay,” He muttered in a tired slur. She stopped, but he continued, “Don’t leave me again.” 

She sighed deeply and raised her head to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Go to sleep, beautiful, it’s late.” He heard as his eyes fluttered shut.

Waking up alone wasn’t much of a surprise, but the ache in his chest was still present as he got dressed and left the inn. Did he really think that she was going to abandon everything she knew for him? The drunkard son of a dead excommunicated family? What a joke. Trevor ran a hand down his face and stepped out of the building. He paused at the sound of quick footsteps and turned to see the object of his affections jogging in his direction, holding something in her right hand. Her leather hat was gone, replaced by a faded red bandana. 

“Morning, luv!” She greeted quickly, making a b-line for the black horse tethered to a tree. “I was just going to wake you.” 

Trevor gaped at her as the pirate got on the horse after checking the pockets tied to the saddle. “You— you’re still here?" He breathed in shock, his heart racing in his chest.

“You asked me to stay didn’t you?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and a crooked grin, taking the reigns in her hands and glancing in the direction she came from again. “Well, luv, we should get going before they notice I stole a horse, most of their coins and this,” She gestured to the little box hanging from a string, which she put around her neck.

A grin of his own took over his lips and he got on the horse, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin in her shoulder. “And that is?”

She opened the little box to reveal that it was a compass, the red needle spinning in a circle. “It points in the direction of your heart’s desires— it could’ve helped the lads find Calypso quicker, but I’m sure they’ll find a way.” She said with a chuckle and Trevor watched, intrigued, as the compass pointed South. The pirate hummed and turned her head, pressing a quick kiss against his mouth. 

He’s not embarrassed to admit he melted right into it.

She pulled back with a content hum and the needle spun again before pointing West. She grinned at him, “We have our heading.” 

“Hey! My fucking horse!” 

“Go, go, go, go—” She snapped the reigns and the horse took off in a sprint. Trevor tightened his arms around her waist and threw his head back with a loud laugh as the owner started running after them.

“You damned pirate!” 

[theoriginalladya]

Slán leat  (Goodbye)

So this morning, Caleb Shepard’s muse grabbed a two-by-four and belted me upside the head out of nowhere with this piece.  I’ve half thought about writing one since posting this drabble a while back and mentioning the idea of a memorial post-war, but until today, I had no idea how it would play out.  This, apparently, is how it plays out.

On AO3 here

Summary:  Two years after the end of the Reaper War, Caleb Shepard finally faces what he can no longer avoid ...

Setting: Alliance HQ, Vancouver; two years after the war

Characters: Caleb Shepard, Abby Williams, Kaidan Alenko, Major Coats (David Anderson, Ashley Williams, other NPCs)

Tags:  grief, hurt, comfort, angst, character death, mourning, memorials

~~~

Dark grey clouds hang low over the Vancouver skyline weeping slow, steady tears.  Appropriate, Caleb Shepard thinks, otherwise ignoring it while huddling deeper into his jacket and leaning heavily upon the cane Kaidan wouldn’t allow him out of the apartment without.  As if you know…

He pauses, tilting his head, almost hearing the voice on the occasional gust of wind.  It’s one he’s never forgotten, no matter the years that have passed or the fact that death claimed him once.  Just a hint of a whisper, drifting droplet to droplet before splattering at his feet as they tease and taunt.  

Sentiment?  For me, Skipper?  I’m touched …

Days like this push him to his very limit anymore; pain of all sorts dogging at his heels, physical, mental, emotional. Almost as bad as those days right after London, when it wasn’t a sure thing that he would survive.  Without Miranda around to lend her expertise this time, he nearly didn’t.

Slowly, carefully, he continues to make his way across the grounds toward his destination.  In all honesty, he doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to face the inevitable he has successfully ignored; but time is no longer on his side, and avoidance is impossible now that he is here.  It’s been two years since the end of the war, and though loathe to admit it, he knows he can no longer hide from his duty.  Two years.  It seems like forever ago, the last time he was here, yet this time he has freedom to search for old friends and faces rather than face punishment for fulfilling his duty.

As he draws near, he discovers the memorial is far larger than last time; instead of taking up the central courtyard outside of Alliance HQ, Vancouver, newer panels branch out to form a maze, circling around, folding back upon itself while creating space enough to hold its weighty burden. Caleb’s chest aches to think how many names are now inscribed here.  

Still, he knows exactly where to locate the first, and makes his way through the pattern.  It takes several minutes, perhaps twice or three times what it normally would without injury.  Still, he finds it easily enough – his memory is as strong as ever was, thankfully – and eases down on one knee while using the cane to hold himself steady.  His hair is plastered to his face, covering his eyes, but his is still able to peek through without much difficulty.  He scrolls down the list of names until he finds it, stretches out his left hand, and lets the tips glide lightly over the engraved marble surface.

Gunnery Chief, Ashley Williams – Virmire

A hint of a curve pokes at the corner of his lips, sad yet hopeful, as he whispers, “We did it, Ash.”

He doesn’t expect an answer – the dead don’t talk after all, not unless he’s joined them – so he is a bit startled when a voice so similar to the one he remembers replies, “That we did, Skipper.”

Peering over his shoulder up into the falling rain, he finds her; solemn dark brown eyes staring back at him, dark hair twisted into a regulation knot at the nape of her neck, dress blues soaked through, N7 designation shining brightly despite it all.  Caleb pushes awkwardly to his feet, relying on the cane for leverage, and opens his arms to her.  “That we did, major,” he agrees as Abigail Williams walks into the embrace and holds tight.

When she steps back after the greeting, Abby smiles and leans up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.  “I was hoping Hackett would talk you into coming this year,” she murmurs as she glances around the area.  They are alone for now, though others will likely show later, especially if the rain diminishes.  “Where’s Kaidan?”

Pushing his hair out of his eyes and taking some of the excess moisture with it, Caleb replies, “I came on ahead.  He’ll be along in a bit.”

Sharp eyes narrow on him, searching.  “Ghosts calling you?”

He sighs as he avoids her knowing gaze, nodding. “Aye, something like that.”

Without additional comment, she loops her arm through his and they start down the path to his next destination.  “Haven’t you learned, sealgaire, visiting ghosts should never be done alone?”

The chuckle that escapes has an edge of pain to it, but he eventually finds his voice.  “Haven’t you learned all Irishmen are stubborn to a fault?”

They take their time walking the trail, finding each and every person on Caleb’s list.  Most are clumped together by date or location, but a few are found on their own or with others he does not know.  When they find the rest of the crew of the SR1, he is startled to find his own name among them, the N7 designation setting him apart from the rest of the crew.  His breath stutters and Abby’s arm tightens in support until he waves her off with a nod. They move on only after Caleb takes a step backward, straightens to attention, and salutes.  Abby follows suit.

The rain still streams down from the skies above as he searches for the last two names.  With a knowing smile, Abby finds the way unerringly.  The wall for these individuals is filled with Ns of varying levels, but the ones he needs are near the end.

Captain, Rosa Morales-Minton, Elysium

It is impossible to differentiate tears from rain drops as they slide down his cheeks, as fingers tender and aching from the cold trace the letters of her name.  To his left, Abby says quietly, “Did I ever tell you, I met her once?”

His voice is a rough whispering rasp as he replies. “No.”

“They had a memorial – a quiet one, only a few people allowed in – for the crew of the Normandy after she went down. I was here finishing OCS when I saw the gathering, recognized some of your surviving crew, so I snuck over.”

Caleb huffs softly, managing a lopsided grin.  “You’ve definitely earned that infiltrator badge. As for the rest?”  Sighing, he shakes his head.  “The Alliance followed the Council and kept the Reapers quiet.” His eyes roam beyond her, down the path, at the walls upon walls upon walls of names.  “They too afraid of what they did not understand.  How many more could have been saved if they’d listened?”

Abby tightens her hand around his arm.  “She was here, that day, too.  So much pain and sorrow in her eyes, but she was here for you.  We spoke briefly afterward.”  She smiles up at him, sadness in her eyes, but a brightness in the smile and memory. “She loved you like a brother, Caleb. Did you know?”

Caleb’s eyes close, his fingers twitching over her name yet again even as he nods.  “She was one of the best.”

A heavier weight settles over his right shoulder. Caleb isn’t startled, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to recognize who stands there in support.  As a result, his grief eases just a bit as the burden is shared.

“Not your fault, mo shearc,” Kaidan reminds him gently.

Caleb pulls his hand back from the wall and rests it atop his husband’s on his shoulder, squeezing gently in response.  “I know, mo ghrá.  I know.”

Another set of booted steps nears, stopping as they come within range.  “Ceremony is starting soon,” Coats announces, his hand settling around Abby’s shoulders. When Caleb glances over, he nods. “We should probably head over.”

“Just a moment.”  Caleb shifts his position so he can reach the last name on his list, two rows over, a few lines higher.  

Rear Admiral, David Edward Anderson, London

“Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.”**

As before, Caleb takes a few steps back, straightens, and offers a final salute to the man who helped change his life.  Kaidan, Coats, and Abby join in.

They turn away moments later, Kaidan sliding a hand into Caleb’s free one, and Caleb gives the wall one last, long look.  “Slán leat,** old friend,” he murmurs, his steps already moving away.  “One day, perhaps, we’ll meet again….”

~~~~ 

** Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam = May his soul be seated on God’s right hand. (God rest his soul)

** Slán leat = good-bye

[xaphrin]

A Dragon’s Hoard

I just really wanted to have more of Raven’s perspective. This chapter isn’t quite finished yet, but it’s halfway there. So it’s also kind of a sneak-peek.

- - -

Raven woke up to the sound of a pencil scratching on heavy paper, barely interrupting the gentle breeze that rocked the silver leaves of the birch tree she was lying under.The mid-morning air felt surprisingly cool for the season, but they had already climbed so far this morning, so the altitude was likely playing a part. They would return to her den before nightfall, which was better than she hoped. Staying human for this long allowed her many advantages, but speed and efficient travel was certainly not one of them. 

She lifted her arms above her head and stretched, feeling the wound along her back tug sharply with the movement. Wincing, Raven set her arms back down and assessed the pain she was feeling. It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first night she dragged Damian into her den. In fact, it was healing far faster than she had anticipated, and it wouldn’t be much longer before she was completely healed.

Which only meant one more thing - their inevitable rematch.

Her heart sank at that thought. All those weeks ago, she had been so sure of herself and her decision to keep him. Damian was simply a curiosity, a passing fancy that she could easily destroy once she was well enough to transform again. She thought she could keep her hands to herself, and keep her eyes from wandering - he was only human, after all. Not a powerful sorcerer, or sharp-witted fae, or a strong changeling, like the others who had tried to court her. But… she was wrong. So very, very wrong. 

Raven tried to ignore the subtle burn of their mating that simmered just under her skin. The mark she would bear until her dying breath. Which, given the circumstances, would be very soon. 

With a soft sigh, she finally opened her eyes, looking up at the lace patterns of the leaves above her, sunlight filtering down onto her naked skin. She glanced around at the weather-worn, moss-covered stones of the ruins around her - a testament to the old gods that this world had forgotten. She imagined her mother walking these stone floors, singing her prayers, innocent and unaware of the horrors Arellla would be subjected to. And, for once in all of Raven’s life, the ruins of the temple felt… peaceful. Before, when she had visited, they seemed haunting, like whispers of ghosts meant to pin her to her past. But now…

She couldn’t stop a small smile from tugging at her lips as she thought about the pleasures Damian had given her here. His mouth was a gift, and one she fully intended on enjoying at every possible moment. He banished those ghosts from her past, and drowned her in the rich headiness of the present. Raven moved to sit up, pushing at her hair. 

“Lay back down, I’m not finished yet.”  

Her eyes fluttered, and Raven turned to see Damian watching her from under his too-thick lashes. He was perched on the edge of what would have been an altar three hundred years ago, a leather bound book in one hand, and an old, charcoal pencil in another. Well. He was full of surprises and mysteries, wasn’t he? She watched him for just a moment before laying back down on the wool blanket, looking up at the sky. A soft flush worked its way down her neck, and she swallowed. 

It was one thing to be seen like this by Damian and trapped in his memories, but it felt different to have it be recorded on paper. She shifted her hips, feeling warmth flood just below her navel. There was something exciting about it - about being viewed as something worthy of art. It excited her. She clenched her thighs without thinking, and Damian clicked his tongue at the movement. 

“I’m not done yet.” He paused and glanced up at her for a moment before returning to the sketch in his hand. “Don’t even think about touching yourself.”

It was a command, and one she desperately wanted to defy, but she also knew if she played along, he’d reward her later. Raven felt a smirk pull at her lips, trying to decide what was more intriguing to her - his punishment or reward?

She wet her lips and sighed. “How long was I asleep?”

“Barely half an hour.” The sound of his charcoal on the paper filled the space between them. “I didn’t know your constitution was so weak, dragon.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, but Raven didn’t dare look at him, or he might view it as a weakness. Damian hummed and returned to the sketch. “Passing out after I devoured you seems like something an innocent virgin would do, not a wanton dragon who reads filthy pastoral poetry. I was simply enjoying something sweet after our lunch.” 

She snorted, her mind suddenly filled with the memories of his mouth buried between her thighs. He hadn’t stopped when she came, his tongue and fingers relentless, and brought her to the highest heavens at least two more times. Her body had been weak with pleasure, her energy drained, of course she was going to fall asleep. She needed time to gather her wits after what he’d done to her. What she wanted him to do again. 

Raven’s legs clenched again and she rubbed her ankles together. “Your tastes seem insatiable.”

“And yet you continue to give into them.” He chuckled and glanced at her, the shadows in his verdant eyes darkening with something akin to a warning. “I would be careful, dragon. If you give too much, I might mistake it as though you are falling in love with me.”

“Never.” Lies. She knew where her heart stood already, and she had accepted her fate. 

“You are my possession, knight.” 

Hardly. She was clearly possessed by him, and she would give him the world if he asked her. 

“I intend on using you until I see fit.”

She could give herself to him freely until there was nothing left. 

“Mm…” He rubbed his thumb along the paper, creating a soft shadow somewhere on her form. He glanced at her before turning the page to a fresh one. “Spread your legs, dragon.” 

Carefully, she did, knowing he could see every inch of her from where he sat. 

“Touch yourself.”

Raven barely contained the soft, needy sigh that danced on her lips. She never looked away from him as her hands slid between her legs. She was wet, and willing, and eager. Her hips shifted and she took time to explore herself, sliding her fingers up and down her, barely dipping inside, before circling her clit. With a soft gasp, she closed her eyes and rubbed her clit with slow, hard circles, feeling electricity snap up and down her spine. She heard Damian move off the edge of the altar, the heavy sound of his boots coming closer. 

He knelt down next to her and hummed in her ear, the vibration alone nearly making her orgasm. His teeth caught her earlobe for just a moment before he released her, sitting back to watch. “I want to draw that look of pleasure when you come.” 

Which, given the current state of her, would be very soon. Raven’s teeth sunk into her lower lip and she let go of a strained cry as her hips shifted restlessly. She brought her other hand down and speared two fingers inside herself, the added friction making it feel like she was losing her mind. Next to her she could hear Damian’s heavy breathing and frantic sketching, as if he was afraid he might lose her in the moment. She could hear his heavy breathing and smell the scent of his own lust in the air. Her back arched and she thrust her fingers deep inside herself, hearing his pencil pause for just a moment before he continued to try and finish the picture. 

She groaned and shifted again. “My knight.”

“I’m recording the moment.” His voice was low, strained, as if this was his own brand of delicious torture. His charcoal was a blur, and his eyes flicked between her and the page in front of him. “If you fall - so be it, dragon.”

Raven didn’t need another command, and her head tipped back as she felt her body start to soar. She let go of a cry that echoed the thunder of the night before, and felt her muscles clench on her fingers, pulling her deeper. Everything felt heavy and still, and she let herself lose her breath and her mind for a few blissful seconds before falling back down to the rough, wool blanket beneath her. 

“Put it away.”

He lifted an eyebrow, as if surprised that she dared to give him an order. 

Raven reached over and plucked the sketch book from his hand, smirking. She slid her hand up the front of his breeches, finding his erection heavy and thick. It would feel wonderful was he was buried inside her. Her lashes fluttered and she let go of a low sigh, stroking him through the thick fabric. She had just come, but she was ready again - ready for him to drown her in something hotter than dragonfire. “Put it away and put your cock inside me, Jewel of my Hoard.”

He groaned and Raven knew she won this battle. Her hand pressed harder against his erection, her pace increasing as her other hand flicked open the catches on his belt. Damian growled and pushed her back onto the blanket, crawling over her, but not removing a single item of clothing. The scabbard of his sword slid up the outside of her leg, and the sensation of metal and leather over her skin seemed to drive her wild. Her fingers moved to the catch on his cloak, desperate to remove it.

Damian pulled her hands off him, trailing his fingertips over her shoulders, over her chest, between her breasts, and ended circling her navel. His smile turned malicious, and he dipped his thumb in between her thighs, simply pressing it against her clit. It was torture when Raven wanted friction between them.

He leaned back and stood up, adjusting his clothes and ignoring the blatant erection ragin between his thighs. “Maybe I’ll let you suffer a little longer.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving Raven smoldering as she lay on the moss-covered stone of the temple ruins. A small smirk pulled at her lips and she closed her eyes, letting the burn of need fuel her seemingly endless desire for later. Although she was going to die by his hand in the next few months, there was no doubting that he would make their time together… interesting. 

[thefanficmonster]

Darkest Of Nights

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How to Get Away With Murder)

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Vomiting, Swearing, Spoilers for Season 1 of How To Get Away With Murder

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: On the night of Sam’s murder, it’s safe to say everyone is traumatized, looking for comfort and solace. However, one of them gets the complete opposite: Michaela is only offered more pain and trauma, bringing her to the brink of insanity.

Requested by 🐢 Anon, but also meant as a birthday present for an Anon who recently reached out to me. Happy birthday dear Anon! Hope you have the best one yet! Here’s the fic you requested - I hope it lives up to your expectations! It’s been such an honor to be the person to write you a birthday present and I can only hope I’ve done my job well! Love, Vy ❤

She’s still in utter shock and disbelief. She’s shaking like a leaf as she navigates the roads back to her apartment. It pains her that she’ll have to pass by the Keating house again tonight, knowing what happened there just hours ago. She squeezes the jacket tighter around herself, glad to not see any familiar - or rather any faces at all. The bonfire has gathered every college student, graduate and fan of the sport around itself, giving the streets an emptiness Michaela hasn’t seen before.

Michaela Pratt has always liked planning out her life, having her future laid out in front of her always at her disposal for changing and modifying. She’s always seen herself a successful, envied lawyer in the future, someone other lawyers fear and all wrong-doers want. Because who doesn’t want freedom? She’d pride herself on being the one to bring them that freedom. She’d pride herself on owning a title like Annalise’s - a bitch, a beast and a boss in the courtroom.

However, just like she had everything laid out in front of her eyes, she’s watching it all fall apart. Fall into that very bonfire her and her classmates went to take pictures at to own their alibis. To save themselves from possible suspicion. To paint the picture that they aren’t murderers.

That realization will never soften its blow to her chest and stomach. Every time she repeats the word ‘murderer’ in her mind, her heart skips a bit and her stomach turns, threatening to make her release everything in it onto the pavement she’s walking on. She feels disgusting and dirty, not only because of the ash and mud she has all over herself following the venture into the woods where they dismembered Sam’s body, but because she took part in it. She may have stood aside, crippled by shock, disbelief and disgust, but she’s now a part of it nonetheless.

With her heart and mind racing faster than she’s able to comprehend, she finds herself unable to turn that corner and get onto the street which the Keating house is on. She feels that if she sees that place she might just faint right there on the street and if that doesn’t raise a few questions, nothing will. Instinctively, she continues ahead, heading down the street that will inevitably lead her to where the mob of drunk or half-drunk people are surrounding a huge fire, celebrating something Michaela is less than disinterested in. She feels it’d make for an extra alibi in case the pictures they posted aren’t enough proof of their faux innocence. 

Michaela squints her eyes at the brightness of the fire nearby, sensing both a cough and a sickening feeling climbing up her throat. There are reporter trucks everywhere, ones she sees as the perfect hiding barriers to prevent her from being seen by anyone in case that sickening feeling morphs into an urge to throw up. She quickens her pace, eager to find herself in the safe space between two of the reporter trucks and attempt to calm her heart that’s threatening to beat out of her chest. She’s still visible to anyone walking along the street, but as it was established earlier, the street’s vacant and it seems it’ll remain that way for a little longer so she feels almost invisible and tiny in comparison to the two truck that serve the purpose of her protectors in this very moment.

Placing a hand on the wall of the truck, she doubles over, preparing for the inevitable when she hears a whistle from somewhere close by. Or, more specifically, directly behind her.

“What a view baby!“ A drunken slur of a male voice follows that whistle, causing her to straighten up and turn on her heel as fast as possible. “Is that how women ask to get some nowadays?”

Her stomach’s now in knots and she can’t find her voice to say anything. She’s frozen with fear of the man’s silhouette that’s now approaching her. His features aren’t visible in the dark so even if she did know him - which she’s sure she doesn’t - she wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Not that it matters, recognizing him or not, this man’s intentions are more than clear and more than threatening.

“Silence means yes in my book, babe. So...why don’t we have some fun?“ Before she can even register his proximity, he’s grabbed her wrists and pushed her against one of the trucks. The disgusting fucker holds her wrists at either side of her head, firmly holding them there, ridding her of any chance of escape.

The events she’s had to go through have already weakened her enough but even with that put to the side she’s no match for this guy - he’s a lot stronger and bigger in size. He’s basically towering over her like a predator looming over its prey, toying with it before going in for the kill. And when he does, when she feels his lips on her neck, that’s the final straw.

The need to relieve her insides finally takes over and she starts gagging, causing the son of a bitch to pull away and let go of her. And then she throws up, all over him, earning her the perfect distraction that will buy her enough time to get the fuck out of there. Despite the shaking of her legs and her still-turning stomach, Michaela takes off running, feeling sweat drops forming and running down her forehead. She can hear the cursing of that gross fucker behind her, but luckily she doesn’t take notice of another pair of running footsteps, suggesting she isn’t being followed. Even with this knowledge, she doesn’t stop running. Her brain understands she’s somewhat safe but her heart is racing, her heartbeat echoing in her ears warning her that there’s danger all around. So, she keeps running until she’s less then two blocks away from her apartment complex. 

Her adrenaline levels refuse to lower but her legs have basically turned into jelly and she can’t find it in her to even keep walking, let alone running.  She collapses, a mess of tears, sobbing and fear on the sidewalk. It’s too much. All too much and all too soon and all out of nowhere. She feels violated, vulnerable, unsafe. She feels both fragile and like she’s already been broken into shards. She feels alone and worst part is, she feels like she deserves it. She sees what happened between those two truck as a punishment for having participated in a murder and the gruesome disposal of a dead body.

Michaela Pratt always knew karma would catch up to her, she just never expected it’d be this cruel. 

She got taught the hard way that in the darkest of nights, the most evil of demons attack.

                                                                *  *  *

Connor Walsh is known to be laid back and nonchalant to the point of irritative. However, right now, he’s anything but.

He’s anxious, he’s nervous, he’s still under shock and in mild panic mode. He’s restless, pacing the living room of the Keating home while running his hands through his hair, desperately trying to ignore and push away the memories of the events that took place in this very room less than twenty four hours ago. 

“Where the hell is she?!!“ He takes a portion of his anger out on the wooden coffee table with a punch that will for sure bruise his knuckles. His eyes skim over the two other accomplices who have never looked so out of it: dead, bloodshot eyes carrying a thousand yard stare, neither of them reacting to his rage nor sharing it with him. “How the fuck are you so calm?! How can you just sit there and-!“

“Cause there’s nothing we can do!“ Wes suddenly snaps, “You heard Annalise - she called in, saying she wouldn’t be able to make it. So what, you want us to exhibit even more suspicious behavior by thrashing and yelling all over the place?“

“No, no, no. She had said she couldn’t make it because she had something to take care of. That ‘something’ could be reporting us, how do you not understand that?!“ Connor lashes out again, his fists only tightening this time, not finding a victim to take their hits.

“Michaela wouldn’t do that, she’s not stupid. It’ll immediately tie her to it too. She’ll go to jail like the rest of us.“ Laurel says, much calmer than the two men in the room though it probably has to do with the lack of energy due to the lack of sleep.

“You never know what’s going on in the brain of that selfish woman!“ He mutters, suddenly getting up and grabbing his phone. He storms out into the hallway, already dialing Michaela’s number.

With the device pressed tightly against his ear, the dial tone piercing his head like a screech straight from hell, he runs a frustrated hand over his pale as a sheet face, squeezing his eyes shut. The call eventually goes to voicemail, but that doesn’t stop Connor Walsh. He keeps trying, each attempt falling through, each call getting sent to voicemail after about five rings. Each time his anger boiling hotter.

“The hell do you want?! Can’t you catch a hint?!“ His seventh attempt is proven successful when a familiar female voices answers from the other line.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess. Am I bothering you? My most sincere apologies! I just wanted to know if you feel like ratting us out to the police, but if I’m calling at an inconvenient time, please forgive me.“ He sneers, his sanity restraints breaking one by one under the pressure of frustration, fear and the anxiety attack that’s been building in his chest all day today.

“Listen here, Walsh.“ Michaela hisses threateningly, though Conner doesn’t fail to pick up on the fact that there’s something off about her voice. He doesn’t dwell on that, too over-occupied with his worries of future jail time to care. “I’m not in the mood for your selfishness or for dealing with any of what happened last night so save your shit-talking for a more decent time. And as for the ratting part, I ain’t that kind of scum, though karma will catch up to each and every one of you. Just like...“ her voice suddenly cracks, the words sounding more like a sob than a threat, “Just like it caught up to me last night.“ That sentence is spoken through a cry, which is the last thing Connor was expecting to hear from the woman he deemed so high and mighty and so full of herself she can’t see the world around her nor how she’s affecting it with her selfish decisions.

That last sentence of hers is what the call ends on and what anchors itself in his head. Connor’s left standing in the hallway with a sickening feeling in his stomach that wasn’t there before and a little voice telling him that something is very wrong with Michaela. Her words were all her trademark, expected and explainable phrases but her tone, and that final statement were odd and far too out of place for him to just brush off. That last line she spoke felt like the most sincere and vulnerable thing she’s ever said to him. To anyone, really. There was no show, no tough act in those words. It was nothing but the confession of a broken girl who’s never felt like her life isn’t her own until now.

With that alarm ringing throughout his head and no good explanation, instead of turning and heading into the living room like he originally intended to, Connor storms out the front door of the home with fast and determined steps, heading for the destination he never thought he’d go to.

                                                              *  *  *

Having ordered food twenty minutes prior, Michaela doesn’t find the doorbell sounding throughout her apartment to be weird or unwelcome despite the fact it made her jump and shudder in her seat. With the comfort of the tiny pepper spray bottle in the back pocket of her jeans, she makes her way to the front door, resting one hand on the handle before pushing up on her toes to check through the peephole that the person she’s expecting is indeed the one who’s on the other side.

Her stomach drops and frustration rises through the roof when the peephole reveals the familiar, somewhat distressed face of Connor Walsh.

“GO AWAY!“ She yells turning and placing her back against the door, now not at all willing to open it.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on with you!“ She hears his voice coming from beyond the door, sounding strangely honest and deeply concerned.

“Why do you care anyway?! I already told you I won’t rat you out, you’ve got nothing to worry about!“ The lack of hostility in her voice seems to encourage Connor to speak a bit more freely.

“Come on, Shooting Star. Students who kill and dispose of bodies together share problems together.“ He says sarcastically but with true gentility behind his words.

That hint of honesty and a bit of harmless humor is what makes her slowly inch her hand toward the doorknob once again. After briefly hesitating, she pulls the door open, not at all bothered by the fact her rival is seeing her the most unpresentable she ever remembers being: hair a mess, homey clothes she can’t even recall the age of, no make-up, eye bags - the whole pack.

“Don’t like a Princess or a Shooting Star, do I?“ She attempts the same amount of humor he used but coming from her it sounds rather dead and flat, not that it’s not to be expected after everything she went through.

“You look like someone who has seen and been through some shit.“ He says truthfully, still standing in the hallway, unwilling to go inside until she gives him the green light for fear she might suddenly snap at him. “And I’m not only talking about what happened with Sam.“

Michaela’s eyes gloss over with tears immediately, mentally cursing herself for being so obvious. In order to avoid eye-contact, she steps aside to allow him inside.

“Thank you.“ He mutters as he makes his way past her and down the hall, arrogantly comfortable in the new surroundings.

By the time Michaela has started regretting her decision of letting him in, she realizes it’s already too late so she shuts and relocks the door before following after him in the living room where she finds him already situated in the armchair like it’s his 100th time visiting. Hell, like he owns the place.

She takes the seat on the couch closest to him, not bothering to offer him any hospitality in the form of drinks and snacks. Such offer feels ridiculous under these circumstances.  Speaking of ridiculous, the circumstances themselves are ridiculous - her biggest rival, and now one of her partners in crime is chilling in her living room with a smug look on his face.

“Karma’s gonna catch up to me, huh?“ He suddenly speaks up, reminding her yet again of how bad of an idea inviting him in was. “Yours caught up to you, you say. Though to me it seems like it beat and battered you too.“

Michaela’s never been a crier. In fact, she’s guilty of silently judging people she’s witnessed crying, thinking of them as weak and spineless. But here she is, fighting back tears at the memories she’d much rather forget.

“It did, but it had the opposite effect. I’m glad we ridded this world of a piece of scum like him. One less man who feels entitled to everything. Who feel free to take anything he wants anytime.“ Her throat feels dry as her eyes fill with tears despite her best attempts at holding them back, “Take a girl’s virginity, take her dignity, her safety, her life, take everything away from her. And all that when she’s most vulnerable and scared and helpless and...“

Her words come to an abrupt halt when she finds Connor has repositioned himself and is now sitting next to her on the couch, has turned to face her and has placed a reluctant hand on her shoulder, “Michaela, what happened to you?”

That’s when she breaks down for the fifth time today. Since that breakdown on the sidewalk on her way home, she’s found it infinitely harder to hold her tears back, keep her emotions at bay. So, instead of easting her energy holding back, she’s been wasting it sobbing into the comforter she had wrapped around herself like a safety cocoon until Connor rang the doorbell.

Instinctively more than intentionally, Connor wraps his arm around her shoulders as she tries to get a few words out in-between sobs, “This guy....h-he t-tried to....” she can’t even finish the sentence without the entire scene playing out in front of her eyes, causing her stomach to tighten and her sobs to grow louder. “But, I-I got away in time. But Connor, what if I d-didn’t? Oh God, what would’ve happened to me if I didn’t?”

“It’s ok, you’re ok now. You’re safe.“ He murmurs, pulling her closer until her head’s resting on his shoulder, “You’re ok. And don’t you ever think of it as karma, you hear me? You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. That was in no way your fault or your punishment. That guy’s gonna meet his punishment if I ever lay my eyes on him though, that’s for sure.“

“I-I didn’t see his face, i-it was too dark.“ She manages to say through the subsided sobbing that has now reduced to crying with the occasional sniffle. “I just heard his voice.” Despite having calmed down, she surprisingly doesn’t feel the need to pull away from Connor, create some distance between them. She doesn’t even dwell on how out of character this is for the both of them, nor does she dwell on the slightly off-putting thought that she’s actually glad to have him by her side. To have someone comforting and reassuring her that what happened is not a result of her own bad actions. That thought haunted her all night, preventing her from even thinking about falling asleep.

“Well, if you ever recognize his voice anywhere, you know you have three experienced killers and dismemberers you can contact to, you know, do the job.“ He says comfortingly, his tone light but still serious.

She can’t help but scoff, “One kill and you’re suddenly hitmen?”

Connor chuckles, “When someone messes with one of our own, we sure as hell are.”

That sentence feels like a bandage on one of Michaela’s many invisible wounds. That one of our own line fills that hole her loneliness drilled into her last night on that sidewalk when she felt so lost and alone and broken. When she felt she had no one to turn to and no one to seek comfort in. 

Among the many things she saw, heard and learned, the most valuable lesson these past twenty four hours have taught Michaela is that after the darkest of nights still comes morning. A bright morning, a new beginning and a helping hand with it. A helping hand, a safe embrace and comforting words. Bonus lesson is that one can never guess where, or rather from who those three elements will be given. These two are a crystal clear example: never did Michaela think she’d find a helping hand, safe embrace and comforting words coming from Connor Walsh. But here they are.

It may be odd and it may be temporary, but she’s not complaining, he doesn’t appear to be doing so either.

[captainseaweedbrains]

Promises

Katniss made a promise she couldn’t keep.

1930s Everlark in an orphanage. Angst

Trigger: Abuse

Ao3: x

The sun is beating down on my sunburned face when I spot the familiar black Cadillac sitting in the driveway. I stand there for a moment, my basket of gardening tools clutched in my hands, as I stare at the car. I know this car. It’s the same one Prim and I rode in coming to this horrid place.

 “Mr. Heavensbee?” I question aloud, walking toward the driveway in a daze. What is he doing here? Is it for business?

“Katniss!” Sister Effie shrills, breaking my trance. My head snaps in the nun’s direction and she points to the rose garden where I’m supposed to be helping with pruning. I sigh, looking back at the car once more, before trudging back to the garden where the rest of my group works diligently. We were promised a special treat if Father Snow approves of our work and it wasn’t often we were rewarded, so we all took our tasks more seriously today.

My knees groan in protest as I sink to the ground to inspect the lower branches for anything dead. Days like today were my least favorite to work in, where the sun is merciless and the heat doesn’t let up for a second. Gardening the extensive gardens at St. Thomas’ makes me feel forty times older than my thirteen-year-old self ought to feel.

I’m cutting away dead branches when a hand caresses my back. I jump, squeaking at the touch, and turn to see a grinning Peeta standing next to me with the basket of branches we’ve been collecting for burning. My eyes squint as I look up at him and smile back.

 “Care to help the needy?” he jokes in a creaky ol’ beggar’s voice, shaking the basket with a hunched back. “You, miss,” he acknowledges me, “please help the needy, or rot in Hell for all your sins!”

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter, glancing over to see if Sister Effie had heard, but she sits, unfazed, under an umbrella she’d set up earlier this morning to supervise us, fanning herself, and I hand him my branches.

“That’s quite the punishment,” I play along. “Going to Hell for not giving you my branches.”

“Oh, God watches all, wretched child,” he continues in the voice, and we both duck behind the rose bushes to cover up our laughter before someone sees.

“You’re so lucky you get to go inside,” I whisper once we’ve calmed down. “I’m going to have a burnt head for weeks.”

“Hardly,” Peeta scoffs, popping his head up and deciding to take a break while I continue pruning. “Coin is there each time I go into the shed, inspecting everything I dump into the pile. It’s annoying.”

I nod, imagining the coolly composed woman standing watch as Peeta and the other select boys brought in their baskets of branches and dead leaves, closely inspecting each branch with the same critical cruelty she holds when inspecting our daily chores. “She’s like God, only worse!”

“Don’t ever compare that woman to God, Katniss. It’s insulting.”

I continue pruning the dead roses, their snow white petals wilting as I work while Peeta fans himself with his hand, complaining how it’s not fair that the boys are forced to wear pants in the humid summers while the girls got to wear dresses. I point out how I’m always cold in the winter time, but that doesn’t stop him from complaining over how unfair it is. We get into a tiny spat before Sister Effie starts to voice how our piles are gathering up. “Peeta? Has anyone seen Peeta?”

“Duty calls. I’ll see you in the kitchens,” he hisses before grabbing his basket and running to the next row over.    

Carefully, so he won’t see me, I pop my head out and watch him run over to Annie Cresta’s pile. Peeta could complain all he wanted about the boys’ uniform, but I, well I kind of liked them. I liked how snug his shirt was against his broadening shoulders and the way the short sleeves seemed to bring out the small muscles he was gaining from working in the kitchens for so many years. His animated smile that I see in every dream he stars in is on his face, laughing at a joke Annie must have told him, and the small butterflies I’ve been feeling for weeks now flutter again. I know it’s a sin to be looking at him when I’m supposed to be working on my chores, but God won’t mind my looking for another second, right?

A blood curdling scream howls from the house, breaking my focus, and we all pop our heads up in its direction, wondering who Coin’s latest victim is this time. Screaming only worsens your punishment, so I have to give the victim credit for taking a chance, especially if the car does belong to Mr. Heavensbee, and that’s when it hits me.

The last time I heard that scream I was seven years old at the Hawthornes’, trying to help my mother drag a screaming Prim to the car, screaming how she didn’t want to leave Rory, the second-oldest Hawthorne son who was the same age as her. Prim didn’t have many friends at home since we lived with my dad’s parents in an older neighborhood than the Hawthornes, and Rory and Prim had clicked instantaneously. She begged and begged for Mama to leave her there, screaming when she was told no, and I remember pinching my ears closed, trying to block out the piercing sound. Wishing she would stop.

Before registering why she could be screaming, I bolt from the rose garden, ignoring Sister Effie's threats, and run through the back door, trying to target where the screaming is coming from.

What did Prim do to get Coin’s attention? Didn’t I always tell her to blend in? That standing out was a bad thing here?

The screaming sounds like it’s coming from the foyer, an area we are forbidden from entering unless scrubbing the floors and dusting furniture. Prim must have been curious about something and gone in there. I run toward the sound, sweat burning my eyes, and there at the bottom of the stairs, holding onto the door frame for dear life, is my sister. Mr. Heavensbee is pulling at her to follow him, insisting they’re going to be late for their train. Prim continues to scream, telling him she doesn’t want to leave.

“I want to stay! Please let me stay!”

“Now, now,” Mr. Heavensbee consoles impatiently, “Child, we’re going to be late, and your new family is waiting. Remember how much you liked them?”

Her screaming continues and I have to shout over it, hoping she hears me.

“Prim?” my voice cracks. “Prim!” I race down the stairs, almost tripping on my own feet. Did he say she’s leaving? A new family? But what about me; didn’t he promise we’d stay together? 

She looks up, her eyes puffy with tears, and yanks free of Mr. Heavensbee, running into my open arms. I run my hand down her sweaty hair, shh-ing and telling her everything is going to be alright.

“I don’t want to leave,” she cries into my dress, clinging onto me so tightly I fear she may break a rib.

“Who says anything about leaving?” Looking up at the large man, I ask what’s the meaning of this.

He opens his mouth, stuttering out a response, when a cold voice sharply replies: “That is not how a child speaks to an adult.”

My arms stiffen around Prim’s body as I look over my shoulder at Madame Coin standing on the bottom step, her bony hand clutching a small bag I recognize as Prim’s belongings.

No... No! She can’t!

“You’re sending Prim away?” I pray this isn’t true, that God is playing a cruel prank on me.

“Primrose has the opportunity for a better life,” Coin sniffs.

“She’s my sister!” I turn to Mr. Heavensbee. “You promised we’d stay together! You promised!” Tears of betrayal start to fall as I cling to my little sister. “You told me you’d make sure we’d stay together!”

He nervously traced the bushy mustache and glanced at his watch again. “Things change,” he tells me. “You can never tell in this profession.”

“But you promised!”

A sharp tug of my braids breaks my grip on Prim; Coin’s arm holding me in her clutches as Heavensbee captures Prim. I fight with all my might, knowing the consequences of acting out like this will be severe, but he promised! I promised! We would stay together after Mama and Papa passed.

“It’s been a pleasure having you under God’s house,” Madame Coin states with false sincerity. “May you find grace under your new roof, Primrose Williamson.”

I can barely see I’m crying so hard as the realization that my sister is leaving forever hits me. I’ll probably never see her again. “Prim! Prim!” I break out of the witch’s grasp and run outside to the car, begging Mr. Heavensbee to take me, too. “I’ll cook, clean,” I beg. “I’ll do anything to stay with Prim, Mr. Heavensbee. Just—please, let me go with you.”

He peels my hands off his suit, pushing me into the grass, and gets into his car. I watch in a teary blur as my sweet little sister drives farther and farther away until finally, the car is completely out of sight. My heart cracks to pieces. My body numb. The world spins and breaks all at once.

My eyes break away from the driveway and target the group of children peeping out by the side of the house, even a few curious nuns joining them. I try to compose myself, to brace myself for the inevitable punishment that is waiting for me inside, but all I can do is gasp for air, curling my arms around my legs. My little Prim is gone. She’s going to a new family. Without me. I truly am alone now.

“What do you think you children are doing?” Madame Coin snaps at the audience, shooing them with her cane. “Be gone and finish your chores, or God will punish you for meddling in others' business!”

I see Peeta in the crowd, his recent growth spurt making him a few inches taller than the other children, and my stomach sinks so low I’m sure the Devil can see it. This is my punishment for looking at a boy. Madame Coin, and even Father Snow, always insisted that we do not look. It is a sin to look when we were put on this earth to serve. I looked and lost my sister. I’m sure He’s laughing from above at my foolishness.

My eyes avert to my too small shoes, hoping everyone would just leave me be so that I can be punished and sent back to work.

“That was quite a scene you exhibited, child.” I know I should look up—children must look up to their superiors—but the thought of that woman’s cruel smirk at the sight of my tears made my blood boil.

“I apologize, Madame,” I hiccup, running my hand across my snotty nose. “She’s my sister.”

“Was,” Coin corrects and I do look up now, rapidly blinking as my eyes adjust to the bright sun hitting her light blonde hair. “She’s no relation to you now and I suggest you remember that. You lost all relations the moment your parents dropped dead.”

She was trying to get to me, wanting me to say something that would cause a bigger punishment than I could ever imagine, and I should keep my mouth shut and falsely accept her statement, but a little voice inside my head reminds me that lying is worse than a beating. 

“Pardon me, Madame Coin, but aren’t we all God’s children? Doesn’t that mean we’re all related?” I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. A lie would have been better.

“You insolent little girl!” she growls, reeling back her cane. I instinctually cover my face, praying to God for how sorry I am and for Him to please make the beating bearable. I don’t want to limp like Peeta, or flinch at every sound like Clove Anderson.

Please, I beg. Make it fast.

The wooden cane never strikes and I peek out from under my arm in surprise and see Coin standing there, a calculated look written on her face.

“Stand,” she commands and I oblige, too curious and confused at what was happening. “I should give you thirty lashes for that scene alone,” and the ball in my throat gets stuck at that. I’ve never received thirty lashes before. “But I’m going to be merciful today. Follow me.”

We walk past the gardens, my chin high in the air as heads cautiously pop up to watch us pass. I don’t know where we’re going, but soon we are close to the woods, about a mile I’d guess from the house. Questions fill my head as I wonder if she’s actually going to kill me out here in the wild, where no one can hear me scream. It’s numbing knowing I wouldn’t put up much of a fight if she did decide to kill me. There’s no point trying, now.

Coin stops in front of a small hut that’s no bigger than our gardening shed and pulls out a ring of keys. She unlocks the door and steps to the side, motioning for me to step in. I peer inside, cringing at the smell, and I know this is my punishment for acting out in front of Mr. Heavensbee and for talking back when I wasn’t supposed to. She’s going to lock me in here.

“Well get in!” And she grabs my collar, shoving me into the dank, dark room. From the smell alone I can tell no one’s been in here for years and I feel around for anything, the tiny hole near the floor supplying no light.  The room is empty. “You will spend 40 hours in here. One hour for every lashing you would have received had I not been in such a good mood. You will repent to the only person out here: God. And when I return, I expect you to recite an explanation on your sins and what you have learned from your time out here. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Madame Coin.”

She closes and locks the door and I am shrouded in darkness. Alone, I can finally cry without worrying about eyes watching, and I cry until God takes mercy on me and I fall asleep.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, or how late it is, but a tiny knock on the door alerts me awake.“Who is it?” I demand. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Peeta hisses, knocking again.

I stand up and feel my way to the door. “Peeta? What are you doing here? Did you sneak out?” I accuse, wondering why he always put himself into harm’s way for me.

“What? No! No, Katniss.” I hear him sigh and I lean my head against the wooden door, imagining the way his chest rises, his hands in his hair because he’s agitated. “I brought you some bread and water.” A tray slides through the tiny hole by the ground and I stumble to it, my stomach growling at the knowledge of food. It’s hard to keep myself at bay while eating the single slice of bread, but I manage and take a tiny sip of water, savoring the refreshment I’ve been denied all day.

“Does she know you’re out here?” I ask at last, hoping he won’t get into trouble because of me again.

“She told Annie to bring it, but she’s afraid of the dark and I offered to take the tray instead.”

“Does Coin know you’re out here, Peeta?” I clarify.

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time and I know his answer before he even says it. “She knows you’re being fed, but no, she doesn’t know that I’m the one who’s bringing it to you.”

I sigh and roll onto my back, looking up at darkness. “God’s punishing me.”

“What? No! You can’t believe that, Katniss. Madame Coin is insane. Possessed, I’m sure.”

“I sinned, Peeta, and He took my sister away,” I simply tell him, my voice emotionless. I must have cried longer than I thought. “Prim’s gone because of me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe in all that.” His hand finds my arm through the hole and I scoot up so that our hands are holding onto each other. I wonder if this is another sin we’re creating, but holding hands doesn’t seem terrible. I’m sure Jesus held his best friend’s hand and Peeta is the only person I can depend on in this place now.

“I don’t know what to believe.” And that’s all I say until he tells me he has to get back before they lock the doors, squeezing my hand in parting.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he promises, but I’m beginning to lose hope in promises.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow - Part 2

After being told you’re holding Taehyung back, you lie to him, saying that you don’t love him so that he’ll let you break up with him... 

Part 1 of Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

General Masterlist

Taehyung hadn’t slept. He spent half the night crying, and then the other half simply thinking. It didn’t make sense. Why would you break up with him, and especially like that? It wasn’t like you. His subconscious told him he was grasping at straws but he brushed away that doubt impatiently. There was no time for doubt, he had to go and get the love of his life back.

Obviously, someone must have coerced you into breaking up with him. That was the only answer. You were always so submissive and willing to compromise, and if someone suggested anything to you, you’d inevitably fold and do it. He had always loved that about you. You were also insecure, so if someone told you to do something, you would definitely believe their judgement was stronger than yours. Taehyung was planning to work on that with you once you had stopped this ridiculous tantrum.

He went through his head, cataloguing your day and identifying when you would’ve had contact with other people, one of whom who must have influenced you to make this decision against your will. But it didn’t add up. You would’ve stayed indoors all day, as per your daily schedule Taehyung had set up. You wouldn’t have even interacted with a mailman. For a second, Taehyung doubted himself. Then he remembered. 

Your phone! Of course! Someone must have got a hold of your phone number and manipulated you. He whipped out his laptop and logged into your iCloud. All he had to look for was a call from an unknown number, or even just a text. That was all the proof he needed to justify himself. 

You had no new calls, but Taehyung noticed you had an unread text message. 

As soon as he saw that text, from the number of his detested secretary, he felt understanding, as well as a lot of rage, start to build in him. Of course you had been coerced. He knew it. Suddenly, a text appears from you. You must be texting her right now, Taehyung realised with a jolt. 

Taehyung had never felt so angry in his life. The stupid bitch of a secretary was lying, he had never called her, and he would never refer to you so disrespectfully. He knew that you deserved the best of everything, which was why this cruel treatment of you could not go ignored.

Taehyung knew he was too angry to talk to you right now. He didn’t want to scare you, after all. So instead, he got in his car and drove to his office where he knew his secretary would be, imagining the perfect way to end her life as punishment for what she’d done. 

~~~~

After crying for what felt like an eternity, you sat up. Your back hurt from lying on the floor all night, and your head felt muddled from all the crying and lack of sleep. Too tired to tell yourself that you shouldn’t, you took out Taehyung’s shirt and his boxers which he had left at your place and put them on. He had always loved to see you wearing his clothes, and it made you feel so safe and comforted. You were sure if you were physically capable of doing so, you would start crying again. The thought of not seeing his smile again, not being held in his arms as he gently rocked you to sleep, was truly devastating. 

You intended to spend the rest of the day moping in bed, but the doorbell rang, disrupting your hypothetical plans. You trudged over to the door, not even bothering to check who it was before opening it. You just couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything anymore.

But it was Taehyung. 

He stood there in the doorway, eyes wild and hair ruffled and, even though it seemed he hadn’t slept at all, he still managed to look like a Greek God. You were sure you looked the opposite, oversized clothes and a runny nose and red eyes. It was uncomfortably obvious that you had spent the entire night in tears. 

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, trapped in each others’ gaze.

“Taehyung?” You croaked, your voice breaking slightly, and he melted.

“Baby,” he muttered quietly, gathering you in his arms and holding you so tight as if he were afraid you would slip right through his fingers. So used to his comforting presence, you couldn’t help but relax in his arms, letting out a happy sigh. He held you even closer, his large hands spanning the small of your back. He pulled away slightly so he could look you in the eyes, and he finally looked happy. But then you remembered.

“L-let go of me.” You whimpered, far less forcefully than you intended. Taehyung merely cocked an eyebrow at you as if amused, and you winced. You extricated yourself from his arms and took several steps back, not trusting yourself in close quarters with the man you still so fervently loved. However, Taehyung used your conceded steps to follow you into your apartment, shutting the door behind him. 

“Y/n…” Taehyung started slowly, and you shook your head. You knew you had to get him away from you as fast as possible before you broke down.

“Taehyung, I thought I told you. We’re done.” Your voice, by some miracle, managed to remain steady, and you saw him flinch at your harsh words before his face smoothed out again.

“You don’t mean that.” He stated. You let out a fake scoff. Honestly, he was exactly correct but you couldn’t let him know that for his own sake.

“I do. I mean it.”

“Well,” Taehyung replied, starting to take leisurely steps around you, circling you like a shark with its prey. “You don’t sound very convinced. You sound like you’re pretending to be emotionless to drive me away. But you’re wrong.” To punctuate this last statement he stopped in front of you, his circle having turned into an inwards spiral bringing him closer and closer to you. “I’m not going anywhere, Princess. No matter what you say.” 

“You- I- I don’t like you.” You stuttered, sounding as dishonest as you felt. You had never been able to lie. Not to him. Taehyung snorted.

“Baby, don’t you think I can tell when you’re repeating someone else’s words? I know about my secretary texting you, and all she said were lies.”

Your stomach dropped. 

“You- you… what? How did- what?” You could barely believe it. The things you had heard, the words that had shattered your heart… were lies? It was too good to be true. You wouldn’t believe it.

“Baby,” Taehyung pouted comically, as if he was enjoying himself now that he knew he had the upper hand. “Just give in. I know. My secretary has had a crush on me since I hired her. I let it fester, because as a result of her pathetic infatuation, she would work twice as hard for no reward. But, it seems she decided to get it into her head that if she drove you away, she would have a chance of seducing me. See? Even she, in her delusional state, knew that no one else even had a chance with me while you were around. That’s how crazy I am about you, baby. Everyone can see it. Just like how I can see how much you love me, even if you try and hide it.” 

“B-but I… I’m holding you back?” You stuttered, so unsure of yourself that it came out as a question, and Taehyung chuckled.

“How could love ever hold me back? Baby, when I found you I found myself. I was never whole before I met you, and in those brief, torturous hours where I thought you had left me… I was torn apart. My heart had wrenched itself outside of my body and was blindly reaching for you. You complete me. How could I ever not want you?” 

During his speech, Taehyung had moved gradually closer, step by step, until his chest was brushing against yours. By his final word, there was nothing else you could do but sob, and fall into his waiting arms. He scooped you up and carried you into the bed, caressing your back comfortingly through the material of your- his shirt.

He set you down on the bed, bracing himself on his forearms, suspending himself above you. Taehyung looked down at your face — a sleep-crusted mess of snot and tears — and somehow he still wore the most besotted expression you had ever seen. 

Except, you had seen that expression. You had seen it on Taehyung’s face every time he looked at you, from the first day you had met. Your sobbing started again, renewed, and you weren’t sure what you were sobbing for exactly, but Taehyung held you so tightly in his arms that you felt that it might just be okay anyway. 

“I- I don’t deserve you.” You bawled into his neck, and Taehyung stiffened slightly.

“Don’t ever say that.” He said, the quiet volume in no way diminishing the intensity of his tone. “You deserve everything.”

“…I’m still breaking with you.” You protested weakly, and his intensity was shattered with a quiet chuckle.

“Oh really? Why?”

“…I don’t know. I’m too tired to think. I didn’t sleep all night.”

“And why was that, baby?” Taehyung asked, worried.

“I was crying.”

“Because you had broken up with me.” Taehyung surmised, and you nodded against his chest. “And yet, you still want to break up?”

“…Uh huh.”

“Alright then, baby.” Taehyung patted your head, his tone indulgent. “If you want to, you can throw a fit in the morning, but you know it’s no use. Even if you actually wanted to break up with me, I still wouldn’t let you.”

“Really?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you go, baby. Ever.”

You pushed yourself up to look him in the eye, difficult given how secure his embrace was.

“You promise?”

He smiled, and you briefly recalled the desolation of thinking that you would never see that smile again. You felt so thankful that you would never have to feel that way again.

“I promise.”

[chick-from-nz]

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 9)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually) 

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk,  spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC. awkwardly written moments. Sexual tension. some NSFW content. Mentions of death,  child endangerment, TW: car crash. 

AUTHORS NOTE: ok so this chapter went a little darkish at the start and then very different at the end. not gonna lie a little bit giddy and proud of this chapter, hope you all enjoy, sorry for the wait between the chapters. would also love to hear any predictions about where the fic may go.

WORD COUNT: 5.5K  

CHAPTER:  9 OF ?

TAG LIST (OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

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                                                  ~15 years ago~

“Ashlyn honey, come on, we don’t want to be late ”  her mother, Teressa, yelled out from the bottom of the stairs, laughing softly to herself when she heard the mad rush of footsteps on the wooden floors before seeing her eight year old daughter running towards her with all her might, only to halt army style and stare up at her with wide eyes.  There was not a single soul that could deny the resemblance between the two of them, they shared the striking green eyes and red-brown hair of the Sayer family, both had a boisterous take no shit attitude and the same little quirks and tells when they were upset. Which Teressa could tell was the case with her daughter right this minute.  She reached down and pulled her young daughter into her embrace, balancing her on her hip as she made haste towards their car, “what's wrong baby? What’s got you thinking, hmm?” 

Ash looked up at her mum, teary eyed and mumbled, “I don’t want daddy to get mad at me, I didn’t mean to hit that boy, he just said some mean things about daddy and I got really angry”. Little sniffles were becoming more and more prevalent as she continued talking, try as she might the little girl couldn’t fathom why people would speak bad about her family, they were all so nice!. She clumsily climbed down from her mum's arms and hopped up into her car seat, clipping her belt before pulling on it dramatically to prove that she was actually clipped in. Ash then let out a small gleeful laugh when her mum bopped her on the nose before walking around the car to get into the driver's seat to start on their journey to the principal's office to find out the punishment for the young girls justified behaviour. 

The journey to the school would take longer than necessary, unexpected road closures with no concrete explanations from the officers monitoring the road blocks had forced Teressa to take the back roads and add an extra forty minutes to their already long commute for a Saturday morning. Travelling along generally unused and quiet roads was somewhat of an unusual experience for Ash, having been used to seeing cars passing by every other minute and looking at houses rather than vast open fields. As they passed round a corner, entering a tree lined road with dense forest on either side of them, an unsettling feeling overcame the young mother, there was a strange darkness that clung to the air, setting off alarm bells within. She remained calm as possible as to not alert Ashlynn that something was wrong, as the young girl was far too perceptive for her age, a trait that she had inherited from her fathers side of the family. She glanced back at her daughter, noticing that she was rather quiet, but let out a small sigh of relief when she noted that she had dozed off, head slumped against the panel of the door and her hair covering her face, snoring away softly to herself. It was in this brief moment of distraction that Teressa failed to notice the truck approaching rapidly from behind, when she did she increased her speed well beyond the speed limit, keeping an eye on a sleeping Ash to make sure she didn’t wake up and begin to start asking questions like the curious little thing always did.

As her speed increased the blacked out vehicle behind them only got faster until it was a mere meter behind their car, seeing no other option she pushed the car to its limits, approaching the upcoming intersection at speeds that should terrify her beyond means, but in this moment she was focusing on only one thing, protecting her innocent daughter in the back seat. As she passed through the intersection a scream forced its way from her throat, just through the intersection sat a parked truck blocking the road. Teressa knew she wouldn’t be able to stop in time so she swerved sharply to the right, hearing the screaming of the tires as they went from smooth asphalt to the gravely uneven surface that bordered the edge of the road. The steering of the car locked up, Teressa tried with all her might to get it moving again but was forced to endure the inevitable pain from the collision that was about to happen, with what may be her final words to her daughter she turned to look at Ash, tears filling her eyes when she took in the terrified expression on the young girls’ face, and whispered “I love you baby girl”

When Ash woke up she was sprawled on the grass a few feet from the car, rain was pouring down putting a darker spin on the event occurring. There were people standing around her, albeit a few feet away and semi-huddled together, and something warm was running into her left eye. Reaching up and feeling a thick, sticky substance she pulled her hand down to get a better look, a terrified scream leaving her small body when she noticed her hand washed red with blood. Her scream drew the attention of the people huddled together but they dismissed her without some much as a disgruntled look, they weren’t there for her. Ash glanced around, frightened and searching for her mum, who she found in a heap a meter or so to the left of her. With great difficulty she managed to crawl over to her mum, gathering her head and shaking her when she wouldn’t wake up.

“Mummy please! I’m sorry, no mummy please! Please wake up mummy, I need you” Tears poured from the eyes of the young bruised girl, mixing in with the blood as she desperately tried to wake her mum up. Her little body was exhausted from the effort, shivering from the cold seeping into her bones from the rain, and the toll of the crash began to take effect, she was becoming drowsy, a sure sign of a concussion. Ash felt a small wave of relief was over her when the eyes of her mothers’ met her own, the tears never halted, dripping off her face and landing on the face of her mother, mixing in with the blood that was covering the once beautiful face of her mum, now marred by sliced and bruised flesh.  Her mum pulled her head towards herself, pressing a short but meaningful kiss to her forehead before her body began to go limp.  “Ashy, darling, hold Mumma close for a little while”  the broken voice of her mother rang clear in her ears.

Ash pulled her mums’ head as close to her little chest as possible, crying out and trying with all her might to keep her mum with her till help could arrive. With one last shuddering breath her mother passed, she was gone, no matter how tightly Ash held her. Looking down and seeing the closed eyes of her mother, she panicked, screaming out for the group of people to try and get their attention or at least their help.  “Please help me, my mummy won’t wake up! I need my mummy, please help me!” 

One of the men started towards her, dressed in clothes very similar to that of her father, before coming to a stop before her. He looked over the child thoughtfully, knowing the orders he was given deemed only that the woman be killed and the girl to be delivered to the hospital in a recoverable state, sighing to himself he reached down and hoisted the girl up and made haste towards one of the trucks. 

“Put me down! I want my mummy. Don't take me away from her! MUMMY!!!!”  the girl cried and screamed and beat at the man that was carrying her. She didn't understand. Why was the man taking her away from the one good thing in her life.  Ash watched as the other men made their way towards her mum, before picking her up and beginning to chain her to the tree. One of the men pulled out a large knife which had the young girl screaming at the top of her lungs, “Leave my mummy alone! Just leave her alone you bully! Dont touch her!”  the men just laughed at her, mocking her pitiful cries. She was unceremoniously thrown into the backseat of one of the vehicles, effectively cutting off her view of the men outside.

The young man climbed into the driver's seat, this was his first assignment within the force and he was disgusted by the behaviour of the team. His gaze travelled out the side window just in time to watch the team commander behead the young woman they had just killed, his stomach turned even further when the men began taking turns carving something into the body as they chained her up to the tree and left her there for someone to find. With the signal from his commander he started the car and made haste towards the nearest hospital to get the young, tortured girl seen too as fast as possible, her eyes were drooping and she was beyond pale which scared him. He felt for the young girl, having to go through so much at a young age because of the wrongdoings of her father. 

                                                      ~present~

Ash would never forget the sounds of the crash, the shattering of the glass or the painful scream that left her mothers’ lips the moment before both their worlds went dark that day. The final words of her mother were painfully etched into her memory, a grim reminder of that fateful day, and in tribute to her fallen parent the words “A little weakness goes a long way” were tattooed above her heart, words she stuck to as much as possible. 

**

**

She sucked in a deep breath of air in an attempt to re-center herself with her surroundings and shake off the ghostly shivers of her broken past. She rubbed her hand across her face, wiping away the tears before scoffing out a vacant laugh. “Every damn year, without fail, I get these... these dreams about it ya know?. It’s like I can’t escape my past. I’m constantly thinking ‘what could I have done better, why couldn’t I have been a more grounded child’. If I had just controlled my anger my mum might still be here today” 

The broken sob that left the young soldier had the Colonels’ heart clenching in his chest and his hands tightening on the steering wheel, almost uncomfortably so. He knew all too well the effects blaming oneself had on the mind. There were many things he took the blame for or blamed himself for as an inexperienced officer in his younger days, he would not allow the girl beside him to fall into that trap any longer given there was likely a deeply buried explanation to the event, one he would commit to finding. While keeping a close eye on the road ahead he reached over to wrap Ash’s hand tightly beneath one of his own effectively hoping to silence her racing thoughts and give her something more tangible to focus on. She was one of his own now, a team member that needed to be looked after as thoroughly as possible, but also someone that, dare he say it, was slowly becoming more than that. 

Ash’s head shot up in surprise when she felt the large warm hand grasp her own, it brought a wave of unexpected comfort to her being, warming her to her core. Turning her attention from the hand over her own to the face of the man beside her she gulped. His shoulders were drawn up tight, hand gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, his jaw was clenched to the point she could have sworn she heard his teeth grinding. His brow has drawn now and his mouth was drawn into a tight line, he was clearly displeased, no, angered by her past she just confessed, the anger that had settled in his deep brown eyes had a chill racing down her spine, it was a look of cold calculation, one she was sure many of has enemies had seen moments before their death. Gathering a small amount of courage she covered his hand with her other and began rubbing small unconscious circles into the side of his thumb, letting a small relieved breath when she saw some of the tension leave his body.

**

**

A short time had passed and they had reached the hospital; the tension had now left Ash’s body, with the weight of telling Carrillo about some of her destructive past now off her shoulders she felt like the awkwardness of the previous week had been all but forgotten. Her now unwavering trust in the man beside her somewhat frightened her, coupled in with the ever growing feelings she knew she was in far too deep. There was a silent agreement between the two of them that Ash would go to the medics while Carrillo would head to the archives to try and find files that would be useful to the team, they would reconvene at the car within the next two hours. 

Upon entering the hospital and being directed to the outpatient clinic Ash was greeted by a very familiar face, “Captain Lisa Ortiz, my god it has been too long”. The smile that graced her face was pure and genuine, seeing a long lost family friend after so long was a relief and a huge shock to the system, but a good one at that. Ash wasn’t even aware that the Captain had returned from deployment, the last time she’d seen the woman was at her graduation parade when Ash had not long turned eighteen. She had grown up down the road from the amazing woman and as it turned out the Captain was now dating her favourite Lieutenant, Lt. Henry O’Connor. 

“My god, little Ashy is that you, come over here girl” Captain Ortiz beckoned her over before wrapping her in a bear hug, she used to babysit the kid when she was a young tot, and furthermore after her mother had passed. Ash’s father, more often than not, would drop her on the Ortiz family doorstep and disappear for weeks on end, she had all but raised this girl and was proud that she had followed her dreams and joined the force. “Right, you, we have some catching up to do, head down to the third room on the right and I’ll be there after I’ve found your files”  she had pointed down the corridor signaling the direction she wanted the 2nd Lieutenant to go, a pleased smile gracing her face when she watched the young thing wander off with a new found bounce in her step. 

Ash was startled from her thoughts when the Captain entered the room before plonking herself down rather ungracefully into the chair beside her. “I read the report Greys, what the fuck! Have they found who did that to you? That's some messed up shit girl, glad you’re ok though kiddo” She reached over and ruffled Ash’s hair not giving her a moment to answer the questions thrown at her before standing up to grab some gloves and some tools to begin removing the younger officers’ stitches.  “Right up on the bed, shirt off, I’m sure by now you’ll be wanting those stitches out”

Ash only nodded, shaking her head with a brief laugh before pulling her shirt over her head and climbing onto the bed like she was asked, she was far to content to do as she was told given how much she trusted the woman before her, she’d admired her since she was a small child and inspired to be like her even now. Lisa began carefully removing the stitches from her side, poking and prodding here and there to make sure she was most definitely healed like she should be, when one particularly hard poke had Ash wincing, she knew the Captain had found the slightly marred skin from where she had pulled those stitches. 

“So...” the Captain began, “I heard a dit Greys. About you, a certain LT. Colonel and then a certain international guest. Care to share?”. 

The shiteating grin that was currently taking up Lisa’s face told Ash all she needed to know. The Captain already knew everything about the whole ‘Sinclair situation’ so there really wasn’t much to tell there, but from what she remembered about the slightly older woman, she always got the answers she wanted, Ash really couldn’t hide anything from her if she tried. “Damn it Lisa, just spit it out, what do you wanna know” she said with a jeering tone, she knew forgoing rank with the Captain wouldn’t drop her in the shit, the benefits of knowing someone since you were five years old. It was funny watching Lisa try and find the right words to say, the furrowing of her brow and the opening and closing of her mouth like a fish out of water nearly had Ash in tears, it was quite the sight.

**

**

“From what I’ve heard the LT. Colonel was a bit of an asshole to you, kid. But I also remember a certain eighteen year old having it bad for him when she attended my graduation parade. I wonder who that could be...” Lisa trailed off with a chuckle. She was sure that by now Ash had all but forgotten about her nagging antics involving the man she no doubt despised nowadays, but it was still a moment of great amusement for the Captain. “Little eighteen year old you just wouldn’t shut up about him. Sinclair this, Sinclair that, honestly kid I'm surprised you never tried to jump that dick near the end of training”  Ortiz paused for a moment, considering something before having a light bulb moment, “Unless it's because of a certain Columbian hunk I’ve heard so much about from some of the medics in your intake...”  She knew she’d hit the jackpot when Ash blushed beet-red from her hairline to her neck. “Awww, does little Ashy have a crush on the big bad Colonel?”

Ash didn’t know what to say, she had honestly forgotten about how she had crushed on the LT. Colonel before she really even knew him, embarrassingly enough her reactions towards him kind of made sense now. She was going to attempt to deny her ever mounting crush on the Colonel she now lived and worked with but given the reaction Lisa had given, she knew she’d been caught out.  “Even after all these years you’re still a gossiping teen” Ash choked out with a laugh, shaking her head with a big smile on her face, “And pffft no, I do not have a crush on anyone. Thank you very much”. Even to her own ears the lie was so evident in her voice, there was definitely no denying she did have a crush on the aforementioned man, but that was despite the point. 

“OH yeah, for sure. Definitely. You sound so sure about that Greys. Come on now, between friends, what's it like living with that god of a man? I’ve only seen some pictures but holy damn girl, if you don’t ride that dick that I’m going to get you sent to the block, because denying that man that would be a crime!” The pure childlike glee that passed through the Captains body at witnessing the utter shock of her words became clear to Ash and had her curling over in laughter. Never in her life has she seen someone look so offended yet also curious at the idea.

“Hey put it this way, if that man is cuffing me. I’ll happily go right to horny jail” Ash huffed out between laughs, god it was good to be around someone who thought like her and wasn’t afraid of talking shit at work, it was gold. It felt good to genuinely laugh with someone she knew and cherished, it had been far too long. 

“Anyway Greys, better get you all wrapped up and sent on your way back to your mans before he gets grumpy and you get told off. Although secretly I’m sure you’d just love that” She walked over to the desk and gathered up some papers that she needed Ash to give to her new Commanding Officer before writing out some prescriptions for more painkillers and nausea meds that she knew would come in handy in the future.  “I need you to give these papers to the Colonel for me” she pointed to the stack tucked into an envelope, “And these ones are for you little lady. Please do keep me posted about that handsome hunk you live with. And don’t let Henry annoy you too much when he gets to the house, I’m sure you’ll have your hands full though. Good luck Greys!”  and with one final tight hug she let the young officer go. Watching her plod down the hallway with a dopey smile on her face. Before she could forget she flicked her partner a text:

To: Future Hubbster

~ baby it seems you’ll have the perfect opportunity to have some fun in your new posting. Our little Ashy-bear has a crush on the Colonel, you HAVE to get them together somehow, we need our girl to be happy.

It was barely a minute later that her phone chimed, reading the message she had to shake her head with a laugh.

From: Future Hubbster

~ God I love you. Permission to make a certain Colonel jealous by any means necessary?

She quickly typed out a reply before hitting send and making her way back to the nurses desk to grab the papers for her next patient. She was sure that whatever her partner would do that it would for sure stir up some shit in the team, one of the many reasons she loved that troublemaker.

To: Future Hubbster

~permission granted, boy scout. Just don’t weird out our little Ashy or get kicked off the team. See you tonight baby xx

                                                  ----------

From that day onwards the energy in the house was no longer awkward. Carrillo and Ash had fallen back into a rhythm of eating meals together and just genuinely enjoying each other's company in the moments when they could relax.  Every Night at around twenty hundred hours they’d both find their way into the living room, generally Ash with a book and Carrillo with some kind of file that could potentially be helpful for their missions, reading quietly in comfortable silence had brought a sense of peace to the both of them. With the events from earlier in the week pushed to the side, but definitely not forgotten by either of them, they were back to being a well gelled team, a small team nonetheless but it worked well for them. 

Ash had not so subtly started doting on the man. She’d bring him coffee’s to the office during the day because he barely left the room when he got stuck in a rut reading paper after paper, her heart always warmed that extra little bit when he’d happily accept the cup and give her a small grateful smile, she always left the room with a blush on her cheeks and an added skip in her step. Sunday rolled round and Carrillo had seemingly disappeared from the house, and with him nowhere to be found Ash took it upon herself to finally go for a run. 

The property definitely seemed larger now she was running around the outside of it, she was becoming exhausted much faster than she would have liked and her side was rather sore from the effort. It was on her third lap of the property, the lap she had named ‘struggle street’ that she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Gapping it towards the house in an attempt to act like she hadn’t just been breaking the rules she made it just in time, rushing round her room and heading to the shower as fast as possible. The both of them had obviously learnt one thing from their moment in the living room nearly a week ago, always take your clothes into the bathroom and come out fully dressed, definitely a less awkward situation. Upon leaving the bathroom, fully clothed, she noticed a fresh set of groceries on the bench, it now made sense as to where the Colonel had disappeared to. 

Ash started out putting everything away neatly and into the designated spots, putting her favourite foods into easy to reach spots because while she was average height, some of the cupboards were just that little bit too tall for her to reach up into.  Once everything was put away she beelined for the couch and flicked on a random movie on tv, not intending to do much more than nap due to being beyond tired from her run, the dull ache of her muscles was a welcome feeling. Ash skipped dinner that night, still feeling far too tired from her exercise and instead chose to retire to bed early, but not before delivering a fresh cup of coffee to a very busy Carrillo.

Ash was starving when she woke up the next morning, stomach was growling and her body ached more than it had in a very long while, the good kind of overworked ache. Climbing rather ungracefully from her bed and into the kitchen, forgetting to put shorts on under the t-shirt she wore while in a tired state. Growing bored while waiting for the pot of coffee to finish she dug into the cupboard to grab a bowl and spoon in preparation for breakfast, wandering over to the fridge to get the milk before returning to her previous place, just in time for the coffee to be ready. Pouring the cup and taking a quick sip she felt herself begin to wake up, she definitely functioned better after the first cup of coffee in the morning, placing the cup down she reached up to the cupboard she usually kept her cereal in to make herself a bowl, only to find it wasn’t where she had put it yesterday upon unpacking the groceries. Huffing to herself in frustration she began checking the other cupboards, each one she opened came up empty, the frustration growing more and more when all the ones in her line of sight and reach didn’t contain her beloved Creamy Oats. It was then that it occurred to her there was one cupboard left to check, the highest up one that Carrillo usually kept any of his favourite stuff in, reaching up on tippy toes and flicking one of the doors open and she struck gold. From her placement she could see the logo of her cereal staring back at her, now she just had to reach it. Somehow. 

Caught up in trying to reach her cereal she failed to notice the Colonel leaning against his bedroom door watching silently from afar. He’d woken to the sound of the kitchen being ransacked only to laugh at what he was seeing. His plan it seemed, had worked, from his vantage point he was granted with quite the sight, long muscled legs, and a well toned ass were revealed as Ash tried to stretch as much as she could onto her tiptoes to reach the box of cereal he had deliberately placed at the back of ‘his’ cupboard. Smirking away to himself he slowly padded over to the kitchen, taking special care to dare not make a sound to alert her of his presence. 

Ash jumped when she felt a hand land softly on her side, her body tensed before relaxing all too quickly when she felt the penetrating heat of the man behind her. He reached up over her head, muscles bunching and pressed tightly against her effectively caging her in, grasped the box of cereal she was desperately trying to reach and reached down and placed it in front of her. She expected him to move away instantly but instead he stood there trapping her between the hard wood of the bench and the increasingly harder wood poking her in the lower back. One arm was still gripping her side, the other wrapped around her front with his hand played out on the bench, desperately close to where she needed it most. 

Testing the resolve of the officer behind her might not have been her brightest idea but she craved any kind of interaction or touch she could gain from this man. Ash pushed back on him, letting out a small pliant sound of need when she felt him twitch against the curve of her ass, the resulting groan she received from him had her buckling at the knees. His head moved down, mouth hovering against the shell of her ear, she could feel the harsh uneven breaths and when she ground down on him again, harder this time, she was rewarded with yet another deep  moan, one that sent a delighted shiver down her spine. She made a move to repeat the action but the hand on her side clamped down impossibly tight, efficiently halting her movements, the last thing she expected was for him to speak.

“Do that again, and you’ll find out how little control I really have” His voice was a mere whisper but it had the desired effect. 

Ash froze, processing the words. The sleepy lust filled drawl sent a punch of arousal straight to her core and a moan escaping her throat. She was almost tempted to see how far she could push him, but settled for subtly maneuvering herself to grab for her coffee and bring it closer, her throat was impossibly dry now and he was not helping the situation. 

The subtle movement brushed so lightly against him that in any other state it may have been  imperceptible but in this highly aroused state it made him want to return the favour. He leaned down slowly, gauging her reaction, before gently and fleetingly brushing his lips behind her ear, smirking softly against her skin when she tilted her head slightly to accommodate him, mouth agape. Never one to turn down an advantage he slowly moved his right hand towards her coffee cup, distracting her further by trailing his lips along the edge of her jaw towards her own lips. He continued his journey towards her lips, stopping only when his hand found purchase on the hot cup of coffee before her, before he retraced his previous path, this time stopping every few centimeters to mouth at underside of her jaw, when he reached his intended target he sealed the deal. He nibbled at the soft skin beneath her ear, sucking lightly to leave the barest of marks but one the both of them would know was there, he blew softly on the skin, lips once again pulling into a smirk when she threw her head back against his bare shoulder. He leant his head against the side of her own, gently nuzzling against her before he growled out lowly, “Thanks for the Coffee Ash” and then as if he wasn’t affected by the current situation, he stepped back, groaning at the loss of pressure against his painfully hard cock. 

To say Ash was an undignified mess wouldn’t be far from the truth, but even in her current state of dizzying arousal she wouldn’t let him have the last word. She spun on her heel, briefly stunned while watching the muscles on his back bunch and twist as he made his way back to his room, before she remembered her mission. “Sir..” she tempted in a voice dripping with sin, smirking proudly when she saw his shoulders tense and his head shoot up in a hurry, obviously not expecting her to speak back, “When you start something next time, I expect you to finish it” and with those as her final words she turned around, leaning heavily against the bench for support, barely resisting the urge to get herself off where she stood, Colonel be damned. 

Carrillo only just had his door closed and the coffee cup discard before he was desperately pulling himself from his shorts. In less than a dozen strokes and with a barely concealed yell he had spilled into his own hand, moving across the floor he reached down to pick up a discarded t-shirt to clean up his mess. Sitting down on his bed to catch his breath he had to laugh at the situation, he had underestimated the young woman, severely so, and now he’d crossed a line he never had before. He was in deep, far too deep to continue to deny his true feelings for the junior officer. He flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling before growling out a string of curse words in his native tongue. That girl really knew how to get under his skin.

[ofdragonsdeep]

13: Oneirophrenia

Internal wounds leave the deepest scars.

(MAJOR CW for implied rape, m!WoLxThancred, m!WoLxHaurchefant)

The still quiet of the night hung in the air like a held breath. In the Rising Stones, the air was free of the sickly purple gloom that suffused the air of Mor Dhona, the only disturbances the noises coming from the common room and its tiny yet perpetual bar.

In his room, simple as it was, Ar’telan struggled to sleep. He lay on his side, covers pulled up around him to ward off the cold, tail coiled in a miserable pile at his legs. Each time he closed his eyes, the thoughts came back, wending their way through his sleeping mind as though aware that his defences would be down.

Most of the nightmares he could cope with. He would wake and then sleep again, a huff on his lips at the foolishness of dwelling on them. People he had seen die, the massacre at the Waking Sands, the trail of blood that their campaign had led through Castrum Meridianum, all of this was par for the course. One of the Scions he spoke to on occasion, a young elezen called Alianne who had been an adventurer once, had been learning from the Eorzean Alliance’s trained therapists, what few of them were left in the wake of the calamity. The trauma was expected - normal, even, in people who had witnessed horrific events like the ones he had seen. But there was one nightmare that he did not speak of, the reason he was sleeping alone, if he was sleeping at all. The feeling of ‘Thancred’ catching his hands to silence his words, Lahabrea hearing his every protest with the Echo, the cruel things he had said, the things he had done, to try and crack Ar’telan’s faith in the Scions. Always, inevitably, it went back to that, as if living it once had not been punishment enough.

With a groan of frustration, he rolled over in the bed, pulling the covers over his head as if to block out the night. How easy it would be if he did not need sleep, or if he simply drank himself into a stupor every night like Thancred did, to cope with the aftermath.

Maybe Thancred had the right of it.

---

“You look like the dodo the cook forgot about in the back of the pantry,” Yda said, Ar’telan wincing at the specifics of her description.

“I am fine,” he said, stifling a yawn as he said it. “Just a little tired.” Yda squinted at him - at least, he thought she did, the way she tilted her head towards him, but it was hard to tell through the mask.

“When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?” she demanded. Ar’telan groaned.

“I don’t know. But I will be fine. Thank you for your concern,” he said. This did not seem to convince Yda, if the way she looked back towards Papalymo was any judge, but she at least left him alone for the time being.

It was Y’shtola who disturbed him, more gently than he was used to from the acerbic conjurer. A poke of her wooden wand into his arm, and he raised his head from where it lay on the table to look at her.

“Am I needed?” he asked, and Y’shtola let out a sharp sigh.

“Yes. Come with me,” she instructed, and Ar’telan pushed himself out of the chair and followed her.

She did not take him to the Solar, like he was inspecting. Instead, she led him into one of the many little side rooms in the Rising Stones, which were normally reserved for all sorts of things that Ar’telan was not involved in.

“Sit,” she demanded, pointing at a chair. Confused, Ar’telan did as he was told. Y’shtola mirrored the motion in the chair opposite him, folding her arms across her chest. “Yda tells me you have not been sleeping enough,” she said, and Ar’telan wilted.

“I am fine,” he said, and Y’shtola let out a harrumph of disagreement.

“I am sure you are. That may have swayed me during our eventful stay at Costa del Sol, but it will not work here,” she snapped. Ar’telan would very much have liked to go back to the busywork of doing inane tasks for the Company of Heroes, in truth. At least when he was busy he did not think, and when he wore himself out his sleep was long and blissfully dreamless. “What troubles you? I would hope that after all this time we are friends enough for you to share it.” Ar’telan grimaced.

“It… it’s nothing much. Nightmares. Alianne has been helping,” he said, trying to evade the brunt of the question. “I will improve when I am busy again. I’m sorry for the fuss.” Y’shtola shook her head again, taking out her wand to bonk him lightly on the head with it.

“Do not apologise for struggling. We none of us are perfect,” she chastised, and Ar’telan shrunk back away from her in shame.

“No. But… No,” he said, changing his mind. Too late, though, for Y’shtola was after the half-formed thought like a starveling wolf on a hunk of fresh meat.

“This is about Thancred, isn’t it?” she surmised, and Ar’telan cringed at the accuracy of her statement. Not that it was exactly difficult to piece together that the two of them were coping poorly in the aftermath of the Praetorium, Thancred through drink and Ar’telan through anything he could get that would not cloud his mind. After Castrum Centri, some part of him had hoped that it would all make sense - that he would be able to parcel it away, file the memories into neat little boxes, half labelled ‘Thancred’ and the rest ‘Lahabrea’, but reality was cold and unfeeling in its truth.

“It is fine. We have reached an understanding,” Ar’telan said, which made Y’shtola scoff.

“They could hear your arguments all the way in Gridania. Well, Thancred’s half of them, at any rate,” she said. “It does not have to be easy, Ar’telan. You have not failed for struggling with it. The Twelve know you are at least coping better than Thancred is.” Ar’telan was not so sure of that, but he held his tongue on it regardless.

“It is fine. He is right-”

“He most certainly is not,” Y’shtola cut in. “Not if it is hurting you this much. Talk to me, Ar’telan. Your words will not reach his ears, if that is what concerns you.” Ar’telan hesitated. He had kept his counsel before the Garleans had raided the Waking Sands, and what had that got him? He had been convinced that his words were meaningless, his opinion irrelevant, his worth nothing more than his usefulness to the cause. To keep his silence was what Lahabrea had wanted from him, wasn’t it?

“It is… it is difficult,” he admitted, and the words were hard to shape, as though he had been avoiding the revelation even to himself. “I can’t… I couldn’t… It comes back. What Laha- what Lahabrea did.” He hesitated over the words, his fingers shaking as he made the sign for the ascian’s name. “I can’t be near him without remembering it. Can’t be close to him. I tried to- tried to ease the fear.” He had touched his fingers to Thancred’s throat, content that if the tiny crystal on its choker was not there, that it was really Thancred this time, that the spectre of Lahabrea would be banished, but Thancred could only see that without it, Ar’telan thought him capable of all the things that Lahabrea had done. Of course it hurt him. Why wouldn’t it hurt him? It was a terrible thing to accuse a person of, even in implicit gestures and terrified catastrophizing. But what was he supposed to do? “Thancred - we - it doesn’t work. And he is angry, and I am s-scared, and when I try to sleep it all comes back.” Y’shtola’s face softened at the revelation. She was the only one who knew, aside from Thancred himself, at least as far as Ar’telan knew. He hadn’t dared tell anyone else, not even Minfilia, given how stressed she was with everything that had happened to her during her time in captivity, and her closeness to Thancred. Part of him had feared that she would think him a monster to believe Thancred capable of what Lahabrea had done, even if that had been the point. It was not supposed to be easy. The ascian would not have bothered otherwise.

“It’s ok,” Y’shtola told him, gently taking one of his hands in hers, leaving him the room to pull it back if he needed to speak. “Such terrors do not fade quickly. Maybe they never will. But we cannot help if you do not tell us.” Ar’telan nodded, knowing that she was right. She usually was. At least she was not as insufferable about it as Alphinaud. “I am not a master of the culinary arts, but I shall speak with some friends, and find you some herbs to help you sleep. I will not tell them why.” He nodded, swallowing down the rising panic at her suggestion, the thought that anyone else would know, would judge him for what had happened, for his weakness in being unable to confront it. It seemed little different to Thancred’s self-medication, still rendering him useless until the herbs wore off, but he would bear it if it meant that he could sleep.

“Thank you,” he said, using only his free hand to do it. It was hard to whisper when you had no voice, but perhaps that counted. “I… I am sorry. For not… not trusting you.” Y’shtola shook her head, naught on her face but concern.

“‘Twas the point of it, was it not? To make you doubt,” she said. “It will take time, and if need be, I shall drag you off to speak with you a dozen more times ere you feel comfortable coming to me yourself. The villain is ousted, and even if he will reconstitute, you have time left to breathe and gather yourself. If there is aught you need, simply say.”

“I will try,” Ar’telan said, the best he could offer in the circumstances. Y’shtola nodded.

“Good. I shall hold you to that,” she decided.

---

Dawn filtered through the cracks in the window like the caress of a lover, rousing Ar’telan from his sleep. The bed was no less simple, and no less empty, but it did not yawn before him like a chasm that seemed impossible to cross, and perhaps that would mean something.

It was not easy. Each night he drank the bitter herbs that he had been so discreetly given felt like a stay of execution more than a panacea, and the tensions between him and Thancred showed no signs of abating. The troubles in Ishgard offered a tantalising opportunity to bury himself in the work of others, to keep his own counsel and pray that an untended wound would somehow heal, but it was not that easy. It was never that easy, not when the knife had cut so deep with edges so sharp and cruel.

He would hold his own. He had no choice but to persevere.

(And when Haurchefant’s hands touched his, though he woke still alone for all their wishes, the elezen let him run his fingers over his throat - unmarked by ascian aether, reassuring in its warmth - it felt like, one day, he might heal.)

[talesmaniac89]

A Second too Late

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: As with everything else in his life, Dean realises just a little too late that he loves you, just when you’re lost to him.

Triggers: Heartbreak, angst, unrequited love

Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour | Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour

---

Dean Winchester was always just a split second too late. 

It was the broken, scratched and beaten record of his life. Always one step behind whatever hellish creative torture the world decided to drop on his shoulders next. 

Too late to stop Sammy from getting hurt. Too late to stop his friends from dying. Too late to save the next victim of whatever monster they’d rushed out to kill… Too late to love you.

Sitting numbly in the chair next to yours, Dean could barely hear your words through the white noise in his head. Lost in thought of years spent pretending you were just his best friend. Years spend tricking himself into believing his heart didn’t beat faster whenever you walked into the room. He’d been stifling his feelings for you, until he himself didn’t even know about them, for fucking years, and he still managed to be that damned split second too late. 

Next to him, you were talking about your new boyfriend, though he couldn’t make himself listen to your words. Charles something-or-other had dropped in from nowhere; tearing Dean’s heart out of his chest and grinding it to dust just as he realised how he actually felt about you. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t have realised, if it wasn’t for your plans with a man that wasn’t him. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

You were his best friend, you were the reason he kept fighting, the straight and narrow path that kept him good, you were everything to Dean Winchester. Yet, to you he was only a hunting buddy and occasional confidante on dark nights when you couldn’t shake off the shadows of the latest hunt... Or, like it was that night, someone he could share good news with. Though to Dean it sounded more like you were reading his obituary.

“So, I’ll be out of the bunker… Hey, Dean?” 

His name on your lips was the wakeup call he needed to push himself out of the white noise in his own mind. Damn it, he’d never noticed how much he liked the way you said his name. Another example of how he’d always be just that second too late. 

All these missing seconds were adding up; stealing years of his life that could have been spent being more, better. Lost years that could have been spent saving people, hunting things… Loving you.

“What’s up?” 

His fist curled by his side as he watched the small furrow in your brow that followed the question. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and smooth it down. If nothing else, just to touch you, feel that you were still there. With him. Though he’d already lost you to another man. Instead he busied the hand that wanted to trace your features with the glass in front of him.

Chuckling wryly to himself, he drowned the slightly harsh laugh in his tumbler glass when he realised he couldn't honestly tell you what had been on his mind. He loved you. And, even before he realised that simple little fact, you were still his best friend; he always wanted to share every little thing with you. 

Yet, there was no way he could tell you, straight-faced, that he had been lost in thought. Overwhelmed by how much you meant to him. How much he loved you. How it’d struck him, out of the blue, like a lightning bolt. Only to keep striking every time you as much as looked at him, keep burning through his body like he was a goddamn lightning rod. 

Not when he’d loved you for an eternity, yet lost you in a second.

“It’s nothing,” Was all Dean managed to say, not wanting to be the one that brought back up the topic that was currently breaking his heart. Damn it, looking over at you, (Y/E/C) eyes filled to the brim with questions, it was so obvious. He had to be blind not to notice. 

He could feel it with every nerve in his body. How his lips looked for any excuse to say your name, just to taste it. By the way his heart soared with one smile from you, sending him tumbling into a dizzy vertigo that left him gasping for breath. It had always been you.

Dean finally understood why people called it falling in love. 

There was nothing gentle about the feelings raging through the hunter. He wasn’t gently and carefully floating into it or getting wrapped in cotton comfort. He wasn’t able to control it; to stop it, change the direction his heart had taken, or pull himself up and out.

No, Dean was falling. 

Head first. Fast and hard. Without a lifeline. 

Doomed to keep plummeting until he crashed and burned at the bottom of a bottle. Bruised and battered at the edge of his bed with only the cold shadows as his company. Bandaging a broken heart in cold, false indifference by turning to the old reliable art of denial. A hunter’s favourite weapon. Pushing the pieces of his broken heart into a box under lock and key. Burying ‘em 6 feet deep and under enough bodies and dark humour to make the world forget he ever even had a heart. 

Still. He couldn’t stop falling, not until the inevitable collision with reality shattered him into a million tiny pieces of heartbreak at your feet. Not when his mind was screaming the words at him. Not when his whole body was suddenly so painfully aware of you next to him. He figured it out just a second too late, but there was a lifetime lost in everything he felt for you. 

Everything.

That was the only word that mattered to Dean now. If he could, he would give you everything. He wanted you to have everything. You were everything. He wanted your everything. 

Your (Y/E/C) eyes, your laugh, your soft hair, your voice, your hands, your funny faces, your jokes, your stupidly adorable taste in movies. The way you said his name. Hell, the way you said anything really. The way your mind worked. The way you hummed out of tune to his songs in the car. Dean loved everything about you.

It was the only word that made any sense anymore. You were everything to him.

Taking another generous sip of the whiskey to wash away the bitter realisation that by losing you, he’d lost everything, Dean finally lifted his head to meet your eyes. Unable to keep himself away now that his heart had caught up to his stubborn mind. 

Somehow, even though you were right by his side, he was still missing you unless his eyes focused on you. 

Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, Dean marvelled at the fact that he ever managed to look straight at you. You were blindingly bright, breath-taking… Looking at you directly would leave him tongue-tied and breathless. You were… 

Hell, Dean had never been good at finding the right words. And either way you were too beautiful for a few measly letters strung together.

Of course some other man, a better man, had seen you and fallen for you. If it was you, then even heaven itself would fall to its knees in worship. Yet, where he was left in the endless fall, your new boyfriend was floating, together with you. Weightless and far above the darkness that surrounded one Dean Winchester. 

No. He needed to stop the slow-motion car crash that was his mind. Focus back on you. If nothing else, as your best friend. And to hear your voice, let it soothe him. Even if the topic was one he’d rather not touch.

“So, what time…” He couldn’t force the words out, as they burned like acid in his throat. Leaving the question unfinished and letting you deal with how you wanted to answer him. 

“Tomorrow? At around 6pm I think,” You said with a noncommittal shrug. Unaware how every one of your words were a sentencing and execution all at once. With Dean at the gallows; a soldier sentenced to death by heartbreak for being just that little bit too late.

He shouldn’t have asked. But if there was one thing Dean had learned about himself over the years it was that he was, apparently, a sucker for punishment. 

Finishing his whiskey in one go, he put the empty tumbler glass back on the table with a soft thud. Yet he was unable to remove his hand from it to reach for the bottle straight away. Afraid that if he did he’d either reach out to push your (Y/H/C) hair behind your ear or run away from it all unless he anchored himself to the table. No, Dean never ran away; not from the burdens he was forced to carry, not from the monsters he had to fight to protect the world, and definitely not from you. 

“Do you want another…” Dean started, unable to continue talking about your… About tomorrow. Yet still not wanting the night to end. Wishing for at least another few seconds to bask in something that was already lost to him. 

“I shouldn’t, it’s late… And I have a long day tomorrow,” You sighed, casting a joking gaze of longing towards the whiskey bottle before getting up with a stretch. A long day getting ready for him. Dean’s shaky hand reached out for the whiskey bottle you’d just rewarded with a look he’d kill for. Serving himself up a double; a necessary sacrifice from the amber liquid to his breaking heart.

Your eyes were lost to him as you stood by his side for a second, emptying the last drops of golden whiskey out of your own glass. A glass Dean envied more and more with every broken beat of his heart.

He wished you’d just reach out. Place a hand on his shoulder. A soft pat of informal friendship to say goodnight. Even if it was just for a second. Just so he could feel that there was a bond between you. That there was a single moment, a small gesture, that was only his. Just so he could feel your warmth, without it burning his fingertips with a touch he could never give you himself. Afraid that if he did, you’d know. That his feelings would transfer, from his fingers to your heart, and you’d never look at him the same way again.

“Ah alright,” Dean said, more to the glass than you as you slowly gathered up your things from the library table. A small smile on your lips, already shaping happy dreams around your plans for tomorrow. Though to Dean, it felt like the sun would never rise again. 

His stomach lurched with dirty, possessive feelings at the thought of you laughing and smiling with another man. Because he wanted to be the reason for your smile. Just like you were his reason for everything. 

‘Don’t go’, he thought as he drowned the acrid possessive thoughts in a sip of whiskey. Though he knew he could never say the words out loud. Loving Dean Winchester was a burden he could never force you to carry. Instead the words stuck in his throat, caught on the broken shards of his heart.

‘Stay with me’, he pleaded silently, more to the bottle than you. Biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood to keep the many words in. Damn it, it was so loud inside his head with all the things he wanted to confess to you; to his best friend. 

“Good night,” Dean whispered instead. 

Camouflaging his belated confession of love behind wishes of sweet dreams. Because if he let the words slip he would fall even further, and though heights never scared him, the thought of falling for you did.

---

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Dean Winchester Stories: @ria132love​​ @woodworthti666​​ @defenderrosetyler​​

All Stories: @deanwanddamons​

[evolutionsvoid]

When the ash has settled and the Saint is appeased, the time will come for the next Emissary to show. With the plagues in full swing, the bearer must wait for the next arrival and steel themselves for what lies ahead. The effect of this cataclysm has become even more destructive and horrific. Blights of blood and frogs now pale in comparison to the misery that has been, and will be, unleashed. This will not be any clearer then when the bearer is faced with the next Emissary and the destruction they will bring. Look to the skies once the Saint has departed, seek out black clouds and rumbling thunder. These are the signs that the Chancellor of Storm has come.   The arrival of the Chancellor will be heralded by the gathering of storm clouds. Upon the horizon, the sky will darken and the heavens will churn. Despite the swirling tempest above, there will be no rain or wind to be found. These clouds merely serve as a sign to the bearer, showing them where the Chancellor waits. Follow this silent storm and seek out its eye, for that serves as his throne. It is advised that the bearer make this journey quickly, as the Chancellor grows angry when his time is wasted by bumbling fools. Travel to the eye and look heavenward to find him swimming amongst the chaos. Those who find themselves in his presence will find that he is not as pleasant as the other Emissaries that came before him. The Chancellor of Storm is a furious and demanding creature, viewing himself as a god amongst simple mortals. His voice is like thunder, shaking the very earth with every bellow and roar. His temper is like a cyclone, building in strength before unleashing it all in one destructive tantrum. To him, all creatures down below are mere specks of dust, destined only to be brushed aside by his awesome power. This view is extended even to the bearer, whose presence is seen as an annoyance to this raging behemoth. From up high, he shall demand the bearer to speak their purpose, and to explain why they had the gall to bother him. Any answer will seem to infuriate him, but this conversation is not meant to placate him. What is spoken at this time will determine who or what he will direct his inevitable fury at. There is no way to stop his wrath, so it is important to make sure it is directed at one's foes. Speak of the injustice that plagues your people, tell of the cruelties you wish to end, so that he may despise the enemy. Do not beg him for help, as he is disgusted by the cowardly and desperate. Instead, weave a tale of how his awesome strength is the only way to punish the wicked. That these horrible wretches deserve the judgment only he can offer. If the tirade is enough to ignite his temper, then he may unleash the seventh plague. If one fails to deflect his ire towards the enemy, then his fury shall fall upon the bearer. Those who have annoyed him with their useless mewling, or have failed to give him the proper respect a god demands will be struck down. There will be just a single bolt of lightning, and the bearer will be nothing but a smoldering pile of ash. Such a pathetic creature doesn't deserve his full strength, so they are simply deleted.     If the Chancellor of Storm is convinced of the enemies' sin, then he will bring forth the seventh plague. If he has truly grown to despise these sinners, he will not give any relic to the bearer. Rather, he will unleash this destruction himself, as his fury has become uncontrollable. All the bearer can do at this point is warn their followers and seek shelter, as this savage storm will be greater than any ever seen. Swimming through the heavens, the clouds around him will become black and swollen. The wind from his flapping fins will turn into screaming gales, and his bellows will rattle the earth to its core. From his obsidian spikes will lance great bolts of lightning, each capable of reducing buildings to rubble and beasts to ash. From his enormous maw will rain down a torrent of burning ice that will shatter rock and scorch flesh. Those caught outside in this fury stand no chance to survive, though safety is not guaranteed within shelter. His wrath will last for hours, leveling towns and leaving a ravaged wasteland in his wake. When the last of his anger is spent, he will vanish in the storm and the tempest will be over. The clouds shall dissipate, the sun shall return and an unnatural calm will remain. There will be no evidence of this impossible storm left, save for the scant pieces of rubble that were not blown away. Though the Chancellor is capable of brining forth this plague with his own power, there are times when he does grant his relic to a bearer. While this blessing may be seen as a victory when dealing with other Emissaries, this gift is not so generous. This offer only occurs when the bearer has succeeded in deflecting his wrath but has not fully turned the Chancellor against their enemy. He will not be furious enough to personally destroy these infidels, but is also not angry enough at the bearer to bother with a smiting. In this annoyed state, he simply wants to end this bothersome meeting and return home, which is why he pushes the responsibility off onto the bearer. He will grant them a single cerulean bead from his Rosary of Tempest and leave them in a huff. Within this glassy orb lies the heart of a violent thunderstorm, a powerful force just waiting to be released. When this bead is broken, it will unleash a devastating storm just like the one the Chancellor himself would create. Its contents will leap into the sky and infect the heavens with lightning, ice and chaos, all before bringing it down upon the people below. While this relic creates the same destruction as the Chancellor would, it unfortunately has to be released by the bearer. This means that the bearer will be at the heart of the storm the moment it is freed, which is not a good place to be. They will have to escape their own plague if they wish to survive to see the next...     -------------------------------------------------- Chugging along with our Emissaries, making good progress! This was another hard one for me to make, mainly because I was certain I wanted to make this one a sky whale despite the numerous failed designs that came from it. Why not make it something else if I couldn't pull off a sky whale? Because it HAS to be a whale (for some reason)!