#the tears glistening on her snarling face oh LORD

[esmes]

i'd be twice the wife she was 🎥 @theriddletrades

[tamlinsbedroom]

Chaper 9: Awaited Rutting

When I awoke, Rhysand was on the other side of the bedroom packing a suitcase for us. I silently observed him until he finally felt my heavy eyes on his back. His shirtless back, I should say. I watched the muscles ripple as he moved.

“Like what you see?” He purred. I blushed and much to my dismay got out of bed, wobbling up to him. He pulled me into him and I breathed in his scent that both lulled me to sleep and made me wake up.

“We’ll winnow to the Spring Court after breakfast.” He smoothed down my hair as he spoke. “Did you sleep well?” I nodded, but not before my stomach growled. He chuckled, zipping the suitcase shut.

“Let’s get you some breakfast, Alanna darling.” He grabbed my hand and walked downstairs with me carefully, gesturing for me to sit at the loaded table. I wasn’t shy as I gathered waffles, bacon, and eggs onto my plate. Even though we were winnowing, something told me that I was going to be in desperate need of strength for what I felt was going to happen later…

I saw Rhys smirk at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes, it truly is astonishing how neither of us have ravished you yet.” My eyes widened and I was thankful that we were the only ones there.

“Are you nervous?” He asked me. I wasn’t about to lie when he had a direct pathway to my mind.

“Yes…” I admitted. He smiled softly and set his hand on mine.

“We will go at your pace. You don’t have to worry when it comes to us. We’d never do anything you didn’t want to do…even Tamlin. Though his past actions do make me have my doubts.” I didn’t ask what actions those were. We finished up breakfast quickly and Rhysand gathered up the suit cases.

“Ready?” He held out his arm to me. I nodded and took it.

In a whirl, we were suddenly in the Spring Court again, right outside the front doors of the manor. Not half a second later, the doors flew open. Tamlin greeted Rhys with a hard look, his jaw clenched. He looked at me and that look subsided, checking over me as if to see if I was okay.

“Come in.” He held the door open for me, but when Rhys came up behind me it “magically” shut on him.

“Rude rude rude.” Rhys mused. Tamlin snarled at him, pointing a finger.

“You are never to take her against her will again. I mean it.”

“Of course. It had to be done this once, and you know it. You should be thankful because right now I have half a mind to—“

“Hey.” I butted in. “Can you two relax? I’m safe and here. You,” I gestured to Rhys, “keep telling me alllll about how this mating bond is supposed to make you act like rutting stag and yet you’re both bickering like a married couple!” They looked equally as shocked at my little outburst, before chuckling.

“You’re right, darling.” Said Rhys with a grin. “Allow us to show you what you so desperately want to see.”

Tamlin was in front of me in a heartbeat, slamming his lips against mine with fury and passion. I kissed back, the fire being fed gasoline as the blood in my veins heated.

Rhysand was behind me, pressing kisses on my exposed shoulder before I heard a loud rip. My dress, well, what was left of it, was on the floor in pieces. I was now stark naked between the two men. Rhys grabbed Tamlin and I as we winnowed to the lord of spring’s chamber.

“You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for you.” Said Rhys, his lips now attacking my chest, tweaking my hardened nipples between his fingers as Tamlin made his way in-between my legs. He spread them harshly, hungry for the feast that awaited him.

“Go on, Tamlin. Feast on our mate.” Tamlin growled in answer, his tongue delving inside of me as Rhys continued to fondle my breasts.

“F-fuck!” I moaned out in a high pitched wail, never have felt this sort of pleasure. Tamlin’s tongue now was licking my clit in stripes, spitting on it and kissing it, quite literally making out with my pussy.

“How does she taste?” Rhys asked, peering down between my legs. Tamlin came up with his chin glistening.

“Like raspberries and cream.” He grunted, delving back down to suck my bundle of nerves in his mouth, ever so slightly clamping his teeth down on it. Just enough so that I felt the intense pressure. Rhysand turned to me and kissed my lips, his tongue sliding into my cavern and quickly dominating my own. He tasted like melons and strawberries from breakfast still, and—

“Oh my gods!” I yelped at Tamlin inserting not one, but two of his large fingers inside of me.

“Easy.” Rhysand said to him. Tamlin began curling them into my g-spot and my eyes rolled back into my head.

He kept fingering me for what felt like hours before taking them out and shoving them into my own mouth. I sucked around them, my tongue dipping between the digits.

“She’s ready.” The high lord said to the other.

“Who do you want first?” Rhys asked. That decision felt impossible to make, and Tamlin glared at him sideways.

“I don’t know…” I couldn’t choose without disappointing one of them. To my absolute surprise, Tamlin spoke.

“I’ll take her mouth.” He said to Rhys, looking equally as shocked. He nodded, and the males—my males, started stripping in front of me. Their chiseled abs and muscles shined in the light, and when they dropped their pants at the same time…mother above.

Their cocks were equally as large…and as beautiful. Tamlin’s was curved ever so slightly upward, a vein running through it. It was just as sun kissed as the rest of his skin, the tip a pretty pink. His balls were round and oh so heavy. Full of cum. Rhysands, on the other hand, was straight, with more veins on it. The head was a reddish pink, and his balls were just as big and full. I was about to be bred by these two—

“Are you ready?” I hadn’t even noticed Rhys between my legs, Tamlin in front of me, cock heavy on my lips.

“I want you both to breed me.” I didn’t know where those words came from, but I meant them with every cell in my body. They looked at each other, nodding. Tamlin waited to put it in my mouth, instead opting to kiss my temple and rub my arms comfortably.

“I need you to tell me if it’s too much, alright?” Rhysand told me, concerned at how fragile I was.

I felt the tip sting as it stretched me, Rhys looked into my eyes deeply.

“Are you okay, darling?” He asked reassuringly.

“Mhmm…just slow…” I held onto Tamlin’s hand, my grip tight as he slowly pushed into me.

“Such a good girl.” The blonde whispered into my ear, kissing my neck over and over again.

When Rhy’s was fully sheathed inside of me, I thought that I was going to explode. I had never felt so utterly full…his cock touching every inch my walls.

“You feel so. Fucking. Good.” He paused his words on each thrust. “Dammit I can’t hold back…”

Tamlin opened my mouth with his fingers, gagging me as a sort of test before he put his dick down my throat. I nodded at him…I needed him. The males were quenching a thirst I’d never known I had. His cock hit the back of my throat as I hollowed my cheeks around it.

“I wonder if your pussy feels as good as this pretty little mouth.” Tamlin mused, now fucking my throat at the same pace as Rhys fucked my pussy.

“Tamlin…you have no idea.” Rhysand was now pounding me, his balls clapping against my ass. He grabbed my ankles and put me into a mating press, his cock going even deeper. Tamlin pulled out to give me a breather, tears streaming down my face along with spit. Rhys frowned.

“Don’t rough her up like that.” Tamlin snarled and made a comeback.

“Then come fuck her throat and see how hard it is not to.” Rhys laughed, and I felt it surge deep within me. That familiar feeling of being right on the edge, about to jump off. Rhys pounded faster, and harder, and deeper.

“I’m going to cum inside of you. Mark you as mine. My one and only mate. Get ready Alanna darling…I’m cumming!” He did just that, his hot seed shooting against my cervix as he grunted deeply. He was about to collapse on top of me when he pulled away. Tamlin, now out of my mouth stood between my legs.

“My turn.” He smirked. Rhysand was now next to me, his hand in-between my legs. Rubbing his cum into my clit as Tamlin thrusted in. I almost came then and there, the sheer pleasure overwhelming.

“Gods you were right, Rhysand. Her mouth is heaven but this—“ He thrusted particularly hard “—is beyond compare.”

My clit continued to be fondled and rubbed by my other mate, all while my blonde one drilled me. Rhys fucked me with passion, with force. But Tamlin…he fucked like an animal. Both of the males made me feel so good in equally as addicting ways. I was lucky—so incredibly lucky.

“P-please Tamlin, Rhys. Make me cum…I can’t take it anymore!” I yelled out, right on the edge when a few more rubs and thrusts tipped me over.

It came crashing down not like a wave, but a tsunami. Rhys held me as I must have dug my nails into his arms.

“Dammit she’s clenching so fucking hard! I’m cumming—“ Tamlin released inside me lastly, his load just as big and hot as Rhysand’s.

I nearly passed out when Tamlin pulled out, laying down on the other side of me.

The evidence magic bond was leaking out of me onto the sheets, all three of our essences. Rhys went to go grab a warm wash cloth as I caught my breath next to Tamlin. When he was back, Tamlin held one of my legs open so Rhys could wipe the sweat and cum off of me. I flinched when it made contact with my overstimulated clit. Rhysand apologized, pressing a simple kiss to it. He discarded of the towel and went to lay next to me.

Both of the males at either of my sides made me feel the most protected I’d ever felt in my entire life. Rhys must have heard me as he squeezed my arm.

“Thank you. Both of you.” I spoke alas.

“What for?” They both said in unison, making me giggle and them glare at each other.

“Everything.”

They both kissed my cheeks, Rhysand to my right and Tamlin to my left.

“Sleep, Alanna.” Said Tamlin. Draping an arm over my midsection.

“She’ll need it for the amount of fucking we’re all going to do tomorrow.” Rhys mumbled with a smirk, snuggling up to my side and kissing my forehead. This wasn’t so bad after all.

[mandoalorian]

Seduction with Maxwell Lord (SMUT)

DAY FOUR: Seduction with Maxwell Lord [Requested by @luvzoria]

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added!)

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal

December Writing Challenge: @mandos-blaster @silent-and-resigned @valentinasubmarina

December Writing Challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Warnings: Dom!Max/Sub!Reader, exhibitionism, major degradation, unprotected p in v, very rough, f!ngering.

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: 18

People warned you. They said, if Maxwell Lord IV wanted something, Maxwell Lord got it. It didn't matter what it was. He had the charm, he had the power, the fame, the wealth and the fortune. He had everything. And what he needed tonight at this charity gala, was you and your investment in his company.

You were levelheaded though. You were strong, and as you fastened your diamond earrings, you promised yourself with certainty that you would not let Maxwell Lord use you like he used everyone else in the business sector. You weren't going to be one of his playthings. His toys. If he wanted your investment, he was going to have to earn it.

You had climbed the business ladder from the bottom to the top and you had done it all by yourself. You were well respected in the industry, liked and loved by many, something Maxwell Lord couldn't exactly relate to. He had everything handed to him on a silver plate. His father was a CEO, and his grandfather, and his great grandfather… and no doubt, if the universe was cursed with the prospect of future Maxwell Lord V, he would lead in his father's footsteps. The Lord's had a legacy to uphold.

"I've seen you watching me all night," Maxwell leaned in and whispered in your ear, a shiver racing down your spine as his large hand rested on the small of your back. "Caught you red handed." he muttered, licking his lower lip as he drank in your appearance.

"Is that so?" you responded, trying to shimmy up any remaining confidence you might have.

"Mm," Maxwell folded his arms over his chest. "Let's talk business. I assume you'll be making a donation to Black Gold Cooperative tonight?"

"I considered it but… see, the oil industry isn't something I can really support. You're practically stealing land that doesn't belong to you. It's immoral. Your whole company feeds off lies, and the suffering of others."

"You don't know shit about my company," Maxwell snarled and you raised an eyebrow, liking the reaction you were swindling out of him. "You come to my charity gala and choose not to make a donation? How impolite."

"Impolite is stealing the land belonging to innocents," You bit back.

"I change lives." Maxwell hissed angrily and you rolled your eyes.

"Okay, sure, Mr Lord. You change lives." you imitated him, and you tried to hold back stifled laughter as a scowl crossed his face. Even still, he looked devishly handsome.

"You know I'm not leaving until I get what I want." Maxwell persisted and you sighed, reading the time on your wristwatch.

"Well then, looks like you're going to be here all night," you shrugged casually. "You can't seduce me, Mr Lord."

You were still, subconsciously holding your breath as his hand dipped further down your body, landing on the curve of your ass and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I must admit, you do look exquisite in that dress. Fits you perfectly." You swallowed the lump in your throat and composed yourself. "What is it baby, you shy?" Maxwell pouted, turning to face you. His dark brown eyes held a mischievous glint and they were completely lust-blown… you could already feel the arousal gather between your legs.

"N-no, I'm not shy." you replied, your voice barely above a timid whisper as you fluttered your eyelashes. Maxwell smiled, giving you a small spank causing you to let out a surprised yelp.

"Hm," Maxwell nodded, raising an eyebrow and glancing down the empty corridor behind you. "I'd like to put that to the test." 

You hated him. You hated the slimy, smarmy, snakey, sexy businessman. You were strong, you were a ruthless businesswoman yourself but you knew once Maxwell turned on his charm, you were putty in his hands. He had that effect on everyone and he knew it.

"What do you mean, Mr Lord?" you beckoned, your voice laced with honey and innocence. If you were going to play along with his game, you weren't going to make it easy for him. Your tone only spurred Maxwell on as he felt his hardening cock beginning to throb in his tailored dress pants.

You looked around the ballroom— it was bustling. There must have been hundreds of people surrounding you both, and yet, all you could focus on was Maxwell Lord in his dumb expensive suit and his perfect hair.

"Follow me." he demanded, leading you out of the ballroom and along the empty corridor. As you walked further down, the music began to quieten down and the chattering became distanced and muffled. When he had decided you were far enough away, he pushed you into the wall. "Turn around, hands pressed against the wall and bend over. Show me your pretty ass." Maxwell growled. You nodded obediently, following his instruction. You heard Maxwell's footsteps as he paced around, examining your body and the way you were spread out for him. "Such a good girl." he praised, peeling your dress up your ass revealing your lace panties. "Open your legs for me," he said, leaning into you. "Now." he reprimanded sternly after your brief moment of hesitation.

You obliged, slowly opening your shaky legs. You bunched your hand into a fist as he glided his index finger over your dripping cunt, feeling your dampness through the thin material that was between your skin and his. "Mm, Max," you mewled, closing your eyes as he rubbed over your clit. "Someone could see."

"That would be embarrassing for you, wouldn't it?" he chuckled and you felt your cheeks heat up. "Or would you like it? Would you like someone to walk in on you like this, spread against the wall with your ass in the air? Oh baby, you're already so wet."

Wasting no time, he pulled down your panties and smacked your bare ass— the noise echoing through the empty hallway. You whimpered as the coolness of his rings hit your warm skin and you knew his actions would do no less than leave a mark on you. But that's exactly what he wanted. He reattached his fingers as he rubbed in between your glistening folds and you shuddered under his touch. He was good. 

"You want my cock?" he purred in your ear. "Of course you do, you little brat. But first I need to prep you."

Maxwell teased the tip of his index finger at your entrance before pushing it straight in. After only two or three thrusts, he inserted his middle finger, stretching you out completely.

"Such a needy little thing," Maxwell groaned in your neck as you quivered beneath him. He thrusted his fingers deeper into you, knuckle deep, so the ridges of his rings grazed your walls, and the tips of his digits pushing against your sweet spot. You were a mess, your knees weak. You were thankful for his strong steady arm wrapped around your stomach, holding you up. As he pumped his hand inside of you, the obscene wet noises filled the hallway and you screamed, feeling your cunt clench around his hand.

"I'm gonna cum," you gasped and he chuckled, increasing his speed. You yelled his name and his free hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your noises.

"Shut up," he spat. "Do you want people to hear? You dirty fucking girl." Maxwell grunted. He pushed in a third finger and you bit down on his hand as the intensity flushed over you. "Fuck...look at you," he cooed as you squeezed your eyes shut. "You're so greedy, aren't you? All this just from my fingers." he laughed, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck and nibbling the skin. "You want to cum sweetheart?" he asked gently, his thumb raising to swirl at your clit as he thrusted his thick fingers into you.

"Y-yes please," you nodded, tears pricking your eyes, but your voice was muffled, his hand still covering your mouth.

"Can't hear you," he sung teasingly and you could practically feel his smirk just from his tone of voice. "Do you think you deserve to cum?"

"I- I do," you whimpered, the tears now streaming down your face. "Please Mr Lord, pl-please."

He couldn't even reply, you were already coming undone beneath him, drenching his hands in your juices. He gasped, removing his hand and grabbing your waist, twisting you around so your back was against the wall and you were now facing him. "Did you just fucking cum on my hand?" he growled. "Did I tell you you could cum?" 

"N-no, I mean, yes, I mean, I-" you were a shivering mess as he brought his hand to your lips.

"Clean yourself up you slut," he said, pushing his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste your own arousal as you licked your juices from him. He watched you intently as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, looking up at him through your eyelashes and still looking as innocent as ever. Once he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers from your lips and slapped your face. "See what happens when you misbehave?" Just then, you heard voices. Footsteps. Maxwell grabbed your panties and shoved them in his pocket and pulled your dress down. "Compose yourself." he hissed.

"Ah, Mr Lord, we were looking for you," Mr Lodge, one of the gala's investors beamed. "Didn't expect to see you here with Miss Y/L/N, that's for sure." You offered Mr Lodge a polite smile, conscious that your lipstick was probably smeared and your eyeshadow tear stained.

"Is everything alright, Mr Lodge?" Maxwell asked, tilting his head with concern and looking down the corridor back into the party.

"I could ask her the same thing," Mr Lodge turned back at you and frowned. "Have you been crying?"

"She's fine," Maxwell snapped. "Home sick. I took her away from the crowds so she could calm down." Maxwell lied. You nodded slowly, agreeing with his story.

"Oh, well Maxwell, you are such a gentleman. No wonder the ladies throw themselves at you," Mr Lodge grinned, his pearly white teeth sparkling. "Has Mr Lord been taking care of you?"

"Oh yes," you replied, nodding your head eagerly.

"I hope you consider investing into his company then, he truly is such a generous man." Mr Lodge concluded before turning back to Maxwell. "I am excited to hear your speech. Do hurry back."

Maxwell nodded with a charming smile as Mr Lodge padded down the corridor. When he was out of sight, Maxwell grabbed your hand and pulled you into the elevator. "Wh- where are we going?" you asked him. As the doors closed, he pressed his body onto yours, sliding his tongue over your lower lip, begging for entry. His kiss was long, passionate and you could taste the liqueur on his lips. You let your hands get tangled into his hair as grinded over the bulge in his pants.

"My office." he replied, pulling away for breath when the elevator pinged and the door slid open. "We'll finish in my office." Within minutes you were naked, standing in the middle of his outlandishly big office. Maxwell pulled off his how tie and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his tan forearms and gold Cartier watch. "Still wet for me?" He whispered, pulling out his hard cock and rubbing it over your folds. "Fuck you're dripping." he gasped. He had you bent over his desk, your elbows pressing into the oakwood as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Ngh-, stop teasing," you whimpered. He wrapped his arms around your chest, squeezing your breasts like they were stress balls and bit down on your shoulder.

"I think you'll find I call the shots," Maxwell grunted. You expected more teasing from him, but just then, in one swift motion, he pushed his long thick length inside of you and nestled himself into your cunt. You screamed wantonly, throwing your head back as he held himself inside of you. "Shit," he cursed, whispering your name under his breath. "So tight."

"M-move," you begged as he steadied himself. He pulled you into his chest and began to massage your clit as your walls clenched around him.

"Beg for it." he whispered harshly.

"M-Mr Lord," you groaned, your eyes rolling back as his girth filled you.

"Call me Max," he commanded, his hands leaving your pussy and steadying on your hips.

"Max please," you cried.

"Please what? What do you want, baby?" 

"I want you to fuck me hard, I want to feel you fill me up with your cum," you wailed and he smiled ruthlessly.

"If I do that, will you sign the check to Black Gold Cooperative? Will you invest in us?" he snarled.

"Y-yes I will, I promise," you moaned. "Please Max. Fuck, please-"

And with that, he moved. You found yourself screaming, writhing in front of him as he pushed into you in one rough motion. You clutched onto the sides of his desk so hard you were sure your knuckles might have turned white as he relentlessly pounded into you.

Maxwell's hand found your throat as his thrusts became sloppy, his hips snapping deeper and deeper. "Oh yeah baby, you take me so well." he grunted, giving your neck a small squeeze, the gold signet ring on his thumb grazing your skin. "Your cunt feels so good. So- ah, you're so fucking pretty princess."

Your heart was racing. "Don't stop," you cried. "Max I'm close, don't stop. Please."

"I'm close, fuck," his vision became hazy and his words became jumbled as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear about how beautiful you looked wrapped around him. He grabbed your ass and increased his speed significantly. "Tell me you love me," he whispered.

"Wh-what?" you asked, tears spilling from your glazed eyes.

"Fucking tell me you love me!" Maxwell yelled.

"I- I love you!" you gasped. Maxwell whined, his short fingernails digging into your skin as he spilled his seed inside of you without warning.

The feeling of his cum splaying against your walls pushed you over the edge and your pussy clamped down on his cock, milking him entirely. He softened inside of you, eventually pulling out and tucking himself back into his tailored pants. You were left, a shaking mess, bent over on his desk as he slid into his office chair with a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair, regaining his breath before opening his drawer and throwing you one of his gold company pens.

"Write the check." he ordered, a wicked smile gracing his lips.

What they said was true. Whatever Maxwell Lord wanted, Maxwell Lord got.

[accioromione]

Angst Request

“Let’s make one thing clear Evans,” said Ron, “I can stay here all night.”

Baldwin Evans stared coldly into Ron’s eyes. He was tied up in a chair, only him and Ron stood in the auror interrogation room. The sun had set, it was pitch black outside.

“Trying to be as heroic as your friend?” Evans sneered at Ron.

Ron was not bothered by his comment, maybe it would have bothered him another time before. But this Ron was a more confident Ron, and he had one goal for today. To get this death eater to give out names, if he didn’t, there would be consequences.

“I’ve read about you Weasley,” Evans said, looking coldly into his eyes.

“Enough small talk,” snarled Ron. “Give me names or its a life long sentence in Azkaban.”

Evans laughed, “Names for what? You want names Weasley? I can give you names. Darwal, Tether, Rookwood, Dolohov. Take your names. You think we fought for Voldemort? You think that’s what this is all about? If that’s what you think, you and Potter are more stupid than you look.”

“You did fight for him,” Ron spat. “And you’re continuing what he started, even though your precious dark lord is rotting in the ground”

“What he started? Voldemort didn’t care about anything but living. He, like precious Potter was a half blood himself, any pureblood knows a pureblood name, Riddle is not one. Of course the stupid followers didn’t know, but the ones with half a brain did. Even the Lestrange’s knew, but they were so infatuated by his power they blindly followed. No Weasley, this was never about him. This has been before Voldemort’s time- back to the days of Salazar Slytherin. Weasley.... of course I know you’re a pureblood. It’s disgusting.... how you shame your blood, your people.” Said Evans.

“You’re standing on the wrong side Weasley, you are the issue. Welcoming half blood mutts and mud-bloods into our world.” Evans snarled, Ron hit him right across the face.

“Oh yes,” Evans sneered, smiling. “I’ve stuck a nerve- you’ve married that Granger mudblood, disgusting... breeding with those kind.... tarnishing our blood purity.”

Ron punched him, making Evans fall to the floor, still tied to the chair.

“If her name comes out of your mouth again I’ll...” Ron spat at him.

Evans spit out blood and smiled. “You’ll what? Kill me Weasley? Go ahead. There’s bigger things you need to worry about than me I can assure you that. Keep an eye on your muggle wife.”

Ron brought his chair up and punched him again.

“Are you threatening me” Ron snarled.

“Not a threat if it’s happening Weasley. Her disgusting blood will spill, rotten to its core. One less mudblood, a purer world. Good timing too, seeing as how she’s about to deliver a mutt.”

Ron punched him in the stomach making him heave. He punched him once, twice, three times across the face. Evans chair fell to the floor with him on it once again, Ron kicked his fallen body. One, two, three times across the face. Evans whole face was bloody, his nose out of place, his eye now black. Ron drew out his wand, shaking.

“What are you planning,” Ron snarled, shaking and pointing his wand at him. Evans couldn’t breathe.

“WHAT ARE YOU PLANNIG!” Ron yelled again and Evans still was heaving from the pain.

“Should.....” Evans breathed.... “be......” he tried to get out “happening.......now” and with that he let out one last breath and fell unconscious from the pain.

Ron ran out of the interrogation room and went upstairs, running up the stairs and not bothering for the elevator. At an immensable speed he ran to hermiones floor. Adrenaline running though his veins. He ran to hermiones office and pounded on it.

“Hermione!!!!!!” He called desperately, he kicked the door open and saw the office was empty.

“Mr. Weasley?” A woman’s voice asked.

“SAMANTHA WHERE IS HERMIONE!?” Ron desperately asked Hermione’s assistant.

She looked at him wide eyed, “well she went home sir.... It’s 7 p.m... I was on my way too.... I just forgot my ...” she began but Ron did not wait for her to finish her sentence, he dissaparated home on the spot immediately.

“HERMIONE!!!!!!!!” Ron called running everywhere in the house. He was welcomed with silence. Ron was shaking. He had tears in his eyes. He struggled to find a happy memory, he desperately thought of his and Hermione’s wedding and yelled, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

A silver Terrier shot out, “FIND HERMIONE,” Ron beggged, “TELL HER TO TELL ME WHERE SHE IS ASAP!” The terrier ran off and Ron ran desperately to his room.

“Accio deluminator!” The deluminator shot into his hands. Ron put it to his ear desperately, tears now rolling down his face.

“Hermione please,” he cried, kneeling on the floor desperately listening to the deluminator.

Ron looked up at the ceiling, “please,” he cried desperately.

As if someone was listening to his plea, a silver otter cams floating towards him. Ron’s heart leaped.

“Ron? I’m in the muggle shopping centre. I wanted to get more things for the baby. I thought you’d be gone all night,” the otter said with Hermione’s voice.

Ron drew out his wand and dissaparated. Knowing the store Hermione was taking about. They had been there last week.

He ran, past every clothing rack. The store wasn’t too busy, it looked like it was closing soon. He went to the baby section, and his eyes spotted Hermione. He felt as if he had drank three bottles of firewhiskey as soon as he had spotted her. He ran to her, and she gave him a confused look. 

“Ron what are you doing...” but Ron kept his eyes open at every angle. And he spotted a man whip around. Ron was quicker drawing out his wand.

“Avada-” the man began, but he stood no chance. Ron didn't even say a verbal spell, non-verbally he stunned him. Shaking, he ran to the man’s unconscious body. Kicking him and punching him. 

“Ron!” Hermione cried desperately running to him. “Ron please...he’s unconscious it’s okay,” she desperately tried to stop Ron. But Ron only saw red as he kicked and punched the man, his face now bloody. 

“Sir sir! Lydia call security” a shop keeper screamed. 

Ron lifted up his Auror badge, which was disguised to look like an officer’s one for muggles. 

She hurriedly rushed away, looking at the scene dangerously. 

“Ron please, please...” Hermione begged. The man now laid in a pool of blood. 

Ron took a deep breath, shaking.

“I-I’ll c-call K-kingsley” Hermione cried, embracing Ron so that he did not do more. She sent out a patronus, and the otter ran off. Within minutes Kingsley, Harry and two other Aurors arrived. 

“What happened-” Kingsley said calmly. 

Ron looked at the body with pure loathing, still shaking “he tried to kill....” he couldn’t finish the sentence. Hermione, still embracing him said, 

“He-he tried to use the killing curse on me....” Hermione whispered, tears in her eyes. R-Ron came and stunned him...” 

Kingsley nodded, “are you okay?” he asked Hermione, Hermione nodded her head crying. 

“How did you know Ron?” Harry asked, as the two other Aurors lifted up the man’s body and cleared off the blood.  

“Evans....he let it out in interrogation..” Ron said, looking darkly at the man, looking as if he wanted to kill him. 

Harry nodded. “Jameson, obliviate the muggles, go to the interrogation room...put Evans back in Azkaban...Levy, put this man in a cell as well. Kingsley sir, thank you for coming. I think we’ve got it.” 

Harry turned to Ron, “Ron- just go home tonight, with Hermione...we can talk about this after. We’ll take care of it.” 

“I’m putting his body to rot there,” Ron spat. 

“Ron, you’ve done more than enough - we’ve got it.... Hermione, please...” Hermione looked at her husband and put his cheeks in her hand. 

“Ron let’s go... please love...” Ron seemed to come out of his fury at her touch. She reached for him gently and they dissaparated home together. Ron immediately started putting enchantment spells on the house. 

“R-Ron” Hermione whispered as her furiously waved his wand. “W-we already have,” 

but Ron was not listening. He determinedly put every spell that came to mind and then he went to Hermione, embracing her tightly. He started shaking as he sobbed desperately against her. Pulling away he grabbed Hermione’s face in his hands and pulled her face in for a passionate kiss. Tears glistening down his face as he pulled away. 

“I-I don’t know what I w-would do without you Hermione,” he told her, eyes blazing. Hermione was crying. 

“You’re my everything” he whispered desperately. 

Hermione looked at him, “Ron-” she whispered, as he went on his knees to kiss her pregnant stomach, sobbing. 

“Promise me” Ron said furiously grabbing her hands in his and squeezing them, “You will always tell me where you are... Please Hermione...If I lost you.....I- I would die.....Y-You’re my life.” Hermione squeezed his hands back, crying, “I promise,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“I- I love you,” she told him, getting him up on his feet. 

Ron pulled her in for a passionate desperate kiss. Cupping her cheeks in his hands. It was a kiss that was filled with desperation, to make sure she was there, beside him. 

“You can’t go out like this anymore” he said seriously. 

“But Ron-” she said, Ron threw her a furious stare. She went silent at his stare. She figured that now was not the time to tell him how she was capable of protecting herself. Not when someone had just tried to kill her. 

He pulled her in for another passionate kiss, and tears glistened both of their faces. That night, Ron did not let Hermione from his embrace. He held her tightly, whispering how much she meant to him the whole night. Hermione felt safe in his arms, she wasn’t able to sleep, and neither was Ron. She saw how his devastation reflected, how his worst fear was her in danger. 

He held her the way he had held her the first nights after the war, she knew he would not be able to sleep the whole week. He would be worrying about her, but they would survive this, they always survived together. 

[skaryskylar]

CAMELOT

Pairing: BakuDeku, DekuBaku Switch

Type: One-Shot

Prompt: Twin Stars Week/Day 2-Pro Heroes

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentioned smut,  ANGST , Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Post-Canon

Read on AO3

"Don't let it be forgot, that for one brief, shining moment there was a Camelot." - Jackie

           The morning dew has yet to clear. Kyoka finds her gaze drawn to the gleaming drops against the lush green expanse of the lot. It goes out for as far as her eye could see, trickling even into the thicket of oak trees beyond the yard. A wisteria looms over the black gate in the distance, lavender falls obscuring an entire section of it. The fog of the night has begun to lift, but only just. The world remains in a sleepy gray.

Fitting, she supposes, for a day like this.

She turns back to the great white house that stood high above her, taking in the roman pillars on either side of the porch, the double wooden doors, wrap-around porch, and just the sheer majesty of it overwhelms her.

She looks down. 'Trespass and you die.' said the welcome mat. If anything, at least she knows she has the right house. Kyoka steels herself.

The dark cherry wood of the door opens just as she lifts her hand to knock again. A face stares out at her, and it takes a moment for her to recognize her old friend. Age had done him a favor. Grief threatens to take it away. He's blessed with smooth skin, few wrinkles courtesy of his quirk, only a hint of crow's feet.

But his eyes are dull. She remembers them as gleaming rubies-keen, cut sharp enough to kill-always staring at their target with a startling intensity.

This is the color of muddied blood, sickly with dark rims beneath the gaze. Still, she smiles, opening her arms to tug him into a tight embrace.  He doesn't resist. There was a time when such a show of affection would've meant small explosions and screaming, but the morning's silence goes uninterrupted till she dares to murmur,

"Hello Kats. It's good to see you."

He pats her shoulder, still silent as he inclines his head to tuck his chin over her head. His grip tightens once, twice, then he releases her, wordlessly drawing back inside to clear the entryway. She follows. Behind her the door shuts with a creak as she looks about the foyer, quick eyes darting from the marble staircase by the wall, to the glistening chandelier above their heads, then out to the halls. She follows the sound of his fading footsteps, taking her time as she prowls looking from photo to photo of bright smiling faces, a happier golden time.

All the while ignoring the oppressive knells of tragedy that ring out in every corner, rattling her ears till she has to cover the jacks with her hands to reduce the pressure.

"This is a nice place Kats." she calls out, to distract herself. Minutes pass. She doesn't think he's going to answer when a low, raspy voice sounds out,

"...That's right. You missed the housewarming. You were-,"

"In America, covering the war."

She finishes her snooping. Tucking into the dining room where he waited, she looks at how he looms over the bar cart at the other end of the room. The gray cast through the window bathes him in a gaunt light, placing shadows where there should've been none, dimming his usual glow till he himself was a shade. Kyoka makes her way to him slowly, but with each step, the vision steadily gets worse.

Katsuki is by no means an unattractive man, but there's something off. An...unstableness to him. The rumors swirl in the back of her mind but she pushes them away. Time may have made them grow distant, but she still thinks she knows him. Knows what he's capable of. At least, when it comes to her.

"Sorry about that again. Oh, um, just water please," She nods as the man gestures to the drinks on the rolling bar cart.

He puts her drink at the right hand seat of the head of the tables. She take her place with grace, placing her tape recorder and notebook down primly. Gazing out the window, she patiently waits for him to settle with his whiskey.

There are no words of judgement spoken aloud as he takes a hearty swig.

She can feel his eyes on her, and hear the flicker when he turns away, following her gaze out the window to the rolling lush grass, down at the brown bunny who sniffed around in the dew.

"Are you ready?" She asks after a lengthy silence. The clink of ice in his cup is booming.

"As I'll ever be."

Licking her lips, she turns to him, hand already settled on the tape recorder. He doesn't shift his gaze from the hare in the lawn. There's something indiscernible moving around in his eyes.

Clicking the record button, she begins,

"July 25th. 8: 12 AM. I'm sitting with Katsuki Bakugou hero alias Ground Zero, the Symbol of Victory, here at the number one hero's dining room table. It is a gray day, with a fog settling between the trees surrounding his grand estate and dew still lingering on the blades of grass,"

She stops, considers, concedes.

"There is a rabbit in the yard. He stares out at it instead of me as we begin this interview...Mr. Bakugou how are you feeling today?"

"... It's 'the Wonder Duo's' dining room table, and 'their' grand estate. My name isn't the only one on the deed. And if you're gonna call me that the whole time, we're ending this shit now."

Scarlet eyes flicker to her and there it is. There's the man she knows. The vicious one who would bite and snarl and rip things apart so long as he would win.

"What's going on with you Kats?" She feels emboldened to ask now. "Are you ready to talk about this today? Because if you need to shift this interview slot, I can talk to my boss and have him send someone else-."

"I'm only doing this because it’s you Phones," he says. A hand goes up as if to brush through his hair, hesitates, then drops back down to handle the glass of whiskey. "The others, I-," He looks outside once more. "I can't talk to them.They don't know me. They didn't know him. You've seen us at our worst, and I..."

He falls silent and says no more. There's a vein working in his neck. She could hear it. The quick thump thump thumpof blood flow. She wants to give her quirk to him so he could hear it too: the reminder that he is alive to sit there and say what he needs to say.

Instead, she presses the urge into her grip on the recorder, starting anew.

"July 25th. 8:16 AM. I sit here with Katsuki Bakugou, hero alias Ground Zero, at the Wonder Duo's dining room table. It's a gray day but," She glances out to the clouds overhead. "The sky shows signs of clearing....Kats,"

She waits until the man looks at her, twin rubies dull in the light. Kyoka tries to put the ball in his court.

"Tell me about your husband."

"You know the story of how we met. Childhood friends. We didn't get along around puberty, but we were stuck together throughout UA whether I liked it or not. You were there. You've seen the worst of it."

"I never understood it though. Kirishima and Mina were childhood friends and they-,"  

"Were different from us. Or rather Izuku and I were different from the rest....We were always different. Complex. Simple and easy would've bored us I think."

Ice clinking. Fabric rustling as he rolls back the sleeves of his thermal. She takes a deep breath.

"....When did it change?"

If he could, he would gouge out his eyes and swallow them whole so he wouldn't have to see this crap.

"I didn't know they were dating." Mina mumbled into her cup of tea. He doesn't look up from where Deku has an arm slung around Round-Face's shoulder, plush pink lips pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Katsuki sneered.

"They deserve each other," He took a vicious bite from his apple, enjoying the crunch between his teeth as something raw and ugly reared its head within his gut. He felt sick and angry all at once. He wanted to retch. He wanted to fight. He wanted to take Izuku and....and...and...

He didn't know, and that was the worst of it.

"Kacchan! Let me go!" Deku's wrist was rough beneath his grip. The kid had scars, more than Katsuki could even count, all over his arms. He was beginning to suspect that he got them on purpose to look stronger than he really was. If that was the case, he had no qualms about laying down a few marks of his own. Lord knows he was good enough to do it.

"We're sparring nerd! Or are you trying to slack off now that you've got your little fancy ass quirk? You can't take up All Might's mantle if you're not willing to work."

That shut him up the rest of the way to the training room.

"I was supposed to have a date with Ochako tonight," The third-year muttered as he stripped off his shirt. Katsuki looked over the muscles in his back, how they flexed beneath the expanse of tan skin, shoulders covered in dark little constellations.

(And he burned.)

There was a thrill of satisfaction at the words. He swallowed it down lest he say something stupid.

But the feeling was so addictive he couldn't help but do the same thing all over again the next 'date night'. If Round Face wanted to distract the future #2 hero, she'd have to fight Katsuki for Deku's time.

It would have to come to a head eventually. He didn't expect it to take a whole fucking year, but he was nothing if not diligent. When Katsuki opened the door of his apartment one night to find Deku, bulked up from his time as Miruko's side-kick, lingering in his entryway, rain sticking his dark curls to his forehead as his eyes ran red with tears, he knew his work had finally paid off.

It was all he could do to hold back his victorious laughter as he pulled Deku in, peeled the wet clothes off his back, and pressed his advantage.

A hand pauses the recording.

"You broke them up?"

"I didn't break anything. Those two were doomed from the start. Two blatantly gay kids playing 'Heterosexual High School'. I did her a favor. Isn't she with that girl from Class B?"  

"I...You're a homewrecker Kats. What an asshole. No wonder she still shit talks about you."  

"She still hasn't gotten over it?"

She wants to laugh, but as soon as the impulse rises, the situation bears down on her once more, sobering her amusement into something bittersweet.  

"She didn't when I last saw her...But...I mean things are different now aren't they? I don't know how she feels."  

His tiny stutter of breath almost gets lost in the 'click' of the recorder. Scarlet eyes return to following the hare.

          The first couple months were a disaster. They were either called in for work, rained out, or something. Katsuki wasn't one for religion, but he couldn't help but feel as though karma had a gun to his head and was shaking him down for all he had.

Impromptu dates were the only option. They could never plan anything out, so they went on instinct, feeling their way through the darkness of the unknown, sprinting through each new thrill. It suited them. They weren't boring people, so the typical dating process wasn't up to their speed. Their dates had to be thrilling and unusual.

Katsuki loved each and every one.

But he had a favorite. This one stuck out cause it was the least expected, jarring in how its sheer inconvenience contradicted how much laughter bubbled out of his throat.

After all, not many people could say their boyfriend snuck into their hospital room, escaping from his own by the skin of his teeth, to take them on a date. But there Izuku was, a bouquet of 'Get Well Soon' flowers in his hand still dripping water onto the floor, bandages wrapped all over his chest disappearing below loose sweats. His house slippers scritched against the floor as he approached Katsuki's bed, green eyes alight with a certain glint that Katsuki knew meant trouble.

He was smiling before the shitty nerd could even speak.

"Hey hot stuff," That saucy wink only confirmed his suspicions. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Fuck yes."

His leg was broken in three different places, but that didn't matter. Deku hooked his arms under Katsuki's body bridal style, mindful of his own broken ribs, then leapt out the open window, curtains a flutter behind them as they went through the sky. He'd remember the way the wind whipped at his face, how his leg throbbed as the painkillers that made him drowsy began to wear off, but it was the hands clutching him tight that imprinted on his mind.

It didn't matter how much time passed. He'd be able to sketch those hands from memory. He knew their touch like he knew his own. Every mottled scar and each crook in his fingers, he could see them even if he went blind. There was no touch he knew to be gentler.

Even as they landed, and the ground quaked beneath the force of Deku's feet, he was brought down so softly, as if he were a thing to be treasured.

There was a picnic already set up. He could see the large tartan blanket from the sky. (Later he would find out Shitty Hair and Pinky helped out, but for that moment, his eyes were on the tall figure of his man with his broad back to him as he faced the world, spine strong and straight as the tree trunks that surrounded them.) The little details like the picnic basket, his old Victrola and a box of his vinyl were the ones his eyes had missed. He could smell spicy takeout from the Indian joint he and Kiri always went to, and a steadily burning teakwood candle that was definitely Mina's special touch.

A sudden fondness for his friends rose quick, but he tamped it down, fighting back the smile on his face.

He lost when Deku turned.

His grin was cheeky as he held up a bottle of jack, and Katsuki knew that was definitely the other man's idea. No one else paid attention to what he preferred to drink, just taking a single sniff, scrunching their nose and running away before he could convince them to try it.

"For the pain!" Deku said excitedly, knowing damn well their nurses would have their heads if they found out.

Ice clinks in the glass. Kyoka looks at the dregs of dark liquor at the bottom.

           He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the realization came.  They ate in relative comfort, drank more than they were supposed to well into night, watching the stars flicker into existence as the moon made its arc through the dark sky.

It might've been when they set their favorite record to play and Izuku lifted him up. Strength was always effortless when it came to him. It made Katsuki feel safe. He didn't need the protection but it didn't hurt to indulge for once, laying his cheek against a firm, barrel chest and enjoying the warmth of an embrace as they swayed. His feet dangled in the air, alcohol dulling the pain of the broken one into a mild thrum that was lost to the tingling sensation of something going right for once.

Yes, that was the night Katsuki realized this was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

           He stops talking. The tattoo around his finger is as bright as any ring, a simple neon green circlet, neon green lightning bolt where a diamond would've been. Kyoka licks her lips. The recorder is held tight in her hand, knuckles turning white till she realizes and loosens her grip. The two are silent. She searches for something, anything to say, but is interrupted by the thundering of little feet on the stairs, shoes slipping on the marble floors as wild shrieks rang through the hallway.

"Dad! Dad!"

And then comes the deluge. There are six of them, tumbling through the door still in their nightgowns, bedheads wild atop their heads and sleep still in the nooks of their eyes. They clamber around them, only a few sparing a curious glance at her before turning to their apparent father.

(When did this happen? Where was she for this part of their lives? All these tiny faces were unfamiliar to her.)

Katsuki holds the glass far from their reach, despite the only contents being ice, and smiles for the first time that day, shoving back all the grief and fatigue to quirk his lips.

"What's going on brats?"

"It's Aurore," The oldest, she presumes, starts with a confident bang. "Her quirk won't shut off! She broke the sink!"

As if hearing her name, the girl, the true oldest, question comes in.

Floats in, rather. Kyoka watches in mounting horror as the teen, no older than fifteen, comes over with terrible wails, black tendrils bursting from her hands like whips. But even this couldn't keep her attention.

No, it's the pink lightning all over her body that sets off alarms in her mind. She'd seen this before, in a different color.

"Her...Her quirk...it looks a lot like De-,"

Katsuki's hand slams down on the recorder, resounding slap making them all jump. He doesn't look at her as he gets up, one long lean line of power and authority.

"I've gotta take care of the kids. Come back tomorrow."

Then without another glance back, he takes the crying girl by her wrist, tugging her out to another part of the house. The other children follow, casting glances at her with wide bulbous eyes. Confused, and a little hurt, Kyoka collects her things and leaves.

           The hare is back. She thinks its warren is nearby. It's resting in the grass, uncaring of the exposure as she stares. The fog hasn't lifted. The sun stubbornly refuses to come out. Katsuki answers the door even before she walks all the way up to the great white porch. They go back to the dining room from yesterday. He has a pitcher of water set out for them both. She doesn't even think of the eerie silence until he explains,

"The kids have gone to their Grandma Inko's for the weekend."

"Oh, I didn't mind! You didn't have to-,"

"I think," he says softly. "That she needs them more than I do right now."

There are no words that she can say to that. Slipping into the easy folds of professionalism, she sets her recorder on the table. He looks out to watch the hare.

She begins.

"July 26th. 8:01 AM. Same place as yesterday, with the same fog. The house is empty-,"

"You can't write about them. The kids." He says abruptly. She sends him a look, forcibly erasing the last couple seconds from the tape. "Sorry, but I wanted to make that clear. The kids are...They need to stay safe."

"You have my word," She murmurs. He nods. She restarts.

"July 26th. 8:02 AM. Same place as yesterday, with the same fog. Katsuki sits at the head of the table, staring out the window at the same rabbit." She slides her gaze around the room, settling on a photo propped on a side table. She was there the day that photo was taken. She could hear the fireworks, the applause, the sweet, sweet music they danced to that night.

Twin smiles look back at her, imploring her to ask.

"Kats, tell me about him. If you could tell the world what you want them to remember about your husband, what would it be?"

It's a strange question. He turns at the sound of it, then follows her gaze to the portrait.

At once, he reaches for the whiskey on the rolling cart.

           The day of his wedding, he was nervous. It would turn out to be a fine affair; there wasn't a doubt in his mind about that, but that was only if Izuku didn't come to his senses and realize Katsuki was a selfish, rude prick with a temper and a mouth to match. He panicked. He fumbled over something as simple as his tie. His hands were shaking.

And he started to cry. It was only his Dad in the room, and Masaru was a complete bumbling mess when it came to tears, so the man left and, out of all the people he could've found to help, he found his wife.

Like he said. Complete bumbling mess.

Katsuki held back a scream when the old hag appeared. He nearly didn't invite her. She was the bridezilla of a wedding with no brides, paying strict detail to every fucking thing under the moon. But as soon as he saw her, the tears stopped short. He seethed instead, recoiling angrily as she fretted over him, tying his tie as she did back when he was a child.

"Kats'ki,"

He blinked. He hadn't heard his name pronounced like that since he was child. It turned his insides into mush, soft and malleable, quieting his curses till he was looking down at her with wide, blinking eyes.

(And wasn't that a wonder? She was a giant in his eyes once upon a time, but now she craned her neck to fix her gaze upon his face, weathered hands pressing against his cheeks as they did when he was a boy.)

"You're more like me than you're father. I suppose I need to be the one to tell you how not to screw this up-,"

He wanted to protest, but she pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him before smoothing out the lapels of his jacket.

"There's no marriage advice that applies to all couples. What worked for me and your father may not work for you and my darling Izuku, but nevertheless," Fingers paused, hesitated, then squeezed his shoulders. She pressed a firm kiss to his forehead."It must be said. Your passion is your greatest asset, but your temper is your worst. Never spend an entire day angry. Talk out your problems.

"Let yourself love him. Let that love consume you whole till it feels like there's nothing left but that warm, sticky feeling. And let him love you in return."

           Everything was golden that day. Ivory and gold. He remembered how the champagne flowed freely. It went down his mouth in waves, sweetness sticking under his tongue, traces of it on the curve of Izuku's lips when he kissed him.

Katsuki wasn't a dancer but he danced that night. There was never a moment when there wasn't a hand at his waist, or his own wrapped around a firm shoulder. But, no matter where his steps strayed, he always found himself back in the same embrace, held tight against a firm chest, nose brushing against the smooth curve of a neck smelling of pine and sandalwood.

"I love you," And if he could, he would tattoo the words onto his heart, to have and to hold until he took his last breath.

That day, in that glorious, reception hall of gold and ivory and pale white roses, they had their peace. For one brief, shining moment, there was a Camelot: a fairy tale in which greatness was golden, and they had the King Midas touch.

There would be none like it ever again.

"I was at your wedding," Kyoka says wistfully. "The press was in a frenzy for any pictures. TIME said it was bigger than the royal wedding. You two single-handedly brought a small city in Japan under the scrutiny of the world..." She sighs, recalling the breathlessness of it all, of sitting in the pew and feeling the tides of history wash over her skin. "It was a gorgeous ceremony."

"...Yes," he replies, eyes flickering away from the photo. "It was."

           The honeymoon was in Nice, France. It was strange. They weren't bombarded for photos. Either nobody knew them or nobody cared. They spent their days rolling around in the cool sheets of their hotel room, or laid out on the hot pebbles of the beach, toes in the rolling water of the tide. They would whisper secrets the other already knew in the dark, nibbling on cold pizza out by the shore, staring out at the vastness of the ocean as night brought them into its cool embrace. Izuku was a light even in that darkness. He was warm when the winds were cool, and still as the earth when the tide threatened to plunge them into the depths of the sea.

He could never turn it off, that thing that made him so bright. His moral arc was unshakeable, bending ever towards his idea of justice and peace. A symbol of strength in times when others were weak.

When Katsuki was weak.

Izuku said once that Katsuki was his image of victory. But age and experience taught him that the top spot wasn't everything. There was something greater than victory to strive for. It tasted just as sweet, but it was deeper, more profound.

He couldn't put a name to it but that...that thing was what he saw in Izuku. It was an innate glow. Every smile, twinkle of his eyes and even the smallest twitch of his crooked fingers bled with it.

He thought he could taste it on Izuku's skin. He certainly tried. When they lay in bed at night, he traced the map of the heavens with his lips, following each mottled scar that formed a road, memorizing each speckled freckle that formed a constellation against a tanned sky. With each kiss, each swipe of his tongue, he would taste the salt of his sweat but there would be something sweeter looming just beyond. He could spend hours searching for it, but Izuku, in all his niceties, was an impatient man.

The taste would barely brush his palette before the man would push him back into the soft mattress, set upon him with a vigor, and thrust into his heat till he saw fireworks.

Kyoka takes a long, heavy sip of water, resisting the urge to hide her cheeks behind her hands.

           He thought he could see it sometimes. There was a little girl going around Nice, the local thief. They saw her pickpocket an elderly couple and immediately sprang into action. But she was fast. In a blink, she could cross the distance Katsuki made with ten steps.

She couldn't control her quirk though. So when they started nearing the beach, and she looked back at them with fear, there was only one deadly end that could be made. He tried to yell at her to stop, but that only made her jump. Before he could reach her, she was drowning. He was in the waves in an explosion of red and gold, but Deku came from nowhere, black whips surrounding her little body till they lifted her out of the teeming waters.

He carried her to shore, back against the halo of the sun. Katsuki could see it then, in that moment. It wasn't the electric green glow of One for All, but something more. Colorless and without a name.

(Did that sound insane? Maybe he was insane.)

He rescued that little girl, listened to her tragic backstory of abandonment as Katsuki sat fuming off to the side, eyes watching for any sleight of her tiny hand that could lead to Deku being hurt.

(It never came. Not even in the years after. Even accidentally, Deku was the one person Aurore could never harm.)

Their time in Nice, though enlivened by the incident, slowed back down after that. Deku had made a name for himself, helping out in minor incidents because of course he did. Le lapin vert, or Lap-V according to the hipster kids that skated around. He was a hero, even on their honeymoon, simply because he knew no other way to be.

Katsuki didn't fight it. He didn't mind so long as there was a familiar arm slung over his waist in the night, steady breath on the back of his neck and that deep, profound feeling of safety.

They were golden. They were good.

Then they returned to work, spent years dedicating themselves to the tireless cause of justice, picking up orphaned children and taking them in as their own, picking up falling buildings, picking up society as a whole and carrying it on their backs until....

Unti Izuku died, and all things golden and good died with him.

He takes a moment. She allows it, watching with weary, burning eyes as he slips a worn pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He at least has the decency to get up and open the window, smoke filtering out into cool morning air, blending into the drab gray.

"Thought you gave up smoking."

"...It comes and goes."

 He watches the rabbit in the yard. The rabbit watches him back.

     He had the day off. He could still remember how warm the bed was that morning. The sun's light had cast their bedroom in a blissful glow, one in which he lounged in like a cat, stretching out his limbs with a great, silent yawn.

He had kissed Izuku's forehead, soft and tender with affection he wouldn't dare display if the other man were awake, then went to put on a pot of coffee. The children were still asleep, as they were wont to do those early summer mornings. Half-days at school meant they didn't have to go in until a little later, leaving the house in a comfortable silence punctured only by the scritch of his slippers and faint chimes of the Corinthian bells hanging outside the window over the sink. It was soon joined by the rumble of the coffee maker, and a tired sigh as a strong arm wrapped about his waist.

Izuku mumbled his 'good morn'ng' in the same tone he used every day.

(He didn't realize how much he would miss it till he struggled to recall the string of syllables in his mind, searching for the exact lilt on the vowels, that low tired thrum that sent shivers down his spine, as he stood alone in the silence of the following mornings.)

They had coffee and toast, talking about nothing of importance. Class A gossip. Hero Politics. The kids.

Izuku took his shower. Katsuki washed the dishes.

Izuku left. Katsuki kissed him goodbye.

"I love you," Izuku said. His eyes used to search Katsuki's own whenever he said it. He wasn't sure what the man was looking for. Confirmation? Reciprocation? Whatever it was, he had stopped looking after the fifth year of their marriage. That morning, as many others before it, there was nothing but a warm, steady gaze that made his lips curl and heat climb up the back of his neck.

That morning, as many others before it, all he said back was, "Later, nerd."

(He'd regret not saying 'I love you' more, but especially in that last moment. He'd replay it over and over again in his mind, just thinking about 'what if's. Other words he could've said to encompass the vast wealth of his emotions, ones that could properly define the black hole created in his chest when Izuku left him behind.)

     The call came in the afternoon. The kids had left for school an hour before. He waved them off as they boarded the bus, then entered the study to try and get a handle on his paperwork. His coffee had gone cold when his phone rang.

That was the first red flag. It wasn't his cell. It was his work phone. They didn't usually call him in if they had Deku and Shoto on the job. There was an unsettling feeling in his gut but he pushed it away, thinking it may have been a call about a promo opportunity.

He slid his finger against the cool glass.

Then Kota's panicked voice rang through the speaker and he felt the world slowly tick to a deafening halt.

"-Kugo! It's All for One! He's alive! He's here! Shoto and Creati are fighting him now but Deku is-! Deku is-!"

He had never thrown on his uniform faster. He was about to rocket out the door when his phone rang. His private cell. Something compelled him to glance at the screen, instinct warring  for a say with his mind already calculating the route he would take. Seeing his old teacher's name flash only cemented the dread building in his gut.

Aizawa wasn't the type to call him unless it was something serious. He picked up the phone, flying one-handed as he did so, adjusting his balance so that he didn't crash out of the sky.

"He's at Musutafu General. He's asking for you. I know they're calling you into the field, but he says it's urgent. He says....He says 'All Might would want you to have it.' That it.."  

A shuddered breath. "That it can't die with him."

He was on a course for the hospital before the line clicked. He didn't bother with the door, heart racing as he burst through a random window in a showering of glass. He was screaming; he knew it by how hot his throat was, the frightened eyes they sent his way as he marched through the building, boots scratching up the white linoleum floors, threatening to start a fight until Present Mic found him, clasped him by his old, wrinkled hand and led him into a private room.

His Izuku was there, lying in a bed, with no one around but Aizawa. No doctors. No nurses. No one who could help him. Katsuki was set to turn the entire place into a bonfire when green eyes turned to him and his sparks spluttered to a slow freeze.

"Get out," He ordered the extras. He couldn't even hear them when they complied, blood roaring in his ears like the sea.

(The sea. They used to go out and stare at it. Watch the sun drop below the gentle tide. What he would give for just onemore sunset.)

Izuku drew him close with nothing but his steady gaze. He was beautiful, even like this. Even as blood spattered his cheeks, leaking through his heavy bandages, as his eyes looked beyond him to see a greater, brighter horizon.

(Oh, how lucky he was to get to know God's favorite star.)

"Kiss me goodbye," It was a quiet rasp, easy as their mornings. He knew that tone, that series of syllables, mottled with something deeper than sleep.

He couldn't deny him when he was like this.

Katsuki pressed their lips together as he had countless times before, pushing every word left unsaid into this kiss, seeking a brief refuge in the dying warmth of his mouth.

'I love you...i've loved you...i will always love you'

Katsuki watched it go dim, that colorless, nameless thing. It slipped from Izuku's lifeless body to travel with his soul, off to a place he couldn't reach.

"What did he look like?"

"...Excuse me?"

"You said," She clears her throat, tar and oil in her mouth even as tears burn in her eyes. "You said Izuku was there, but what...what, um,...Can you describe to me what you saw?"

A silence yawns into the morning, stretching between them like the years passed. Katsuki looks at her evenly. When she turns away she still feels the scrutiny of his gaze. His voice is grinding gravel.

"You want me to talk about the body." He says it slowly, as if that would lessen the blow. "How the bandages couldn't hold him together? The way his legs were snapped, the hole in his gut that let you see clean through him? Do you want to hear about how his arms were slipping away from the bone? Do you want to hear about that Jirou? Do you really want me to describe what I saw? Or do the sick fucks of the world want to know what it looks like when a hero falls? What the Symbol of Strength looked like when he finally couldn't carry...couldn't..."

He sniffs. Wipes at his eyes. The tar in her mouth turns to ash, bitter and dry. She's never hated herself more than she does now.

"What happened after the hospital?"

He looks to the window. That rabbit hasn't left.

One for All pulsed in his veins as his sorrow joined his rage in a vicious cacophony.

They told him after, what he did. They told him of how the city burned in a blaze of terrifying glory. How he destroyed entire skyscrapers in his chase till he finally caught up to the man that took the sun from his skies. They told him how the newscasters were forced to stop broadcasting. The Hero Commission thought the imagery of the Symbol of Victory doing what he did best was too graphic for the public.

That was the worst part of it. The greatest triumph of his career and there was nothing to show for it but the shadow of a dead, lesser man.

He didn't remember any of it. He woke up to the blood on his hands, to the burned, ripped up pieces of a man once so feared lying at his feet, features unrecognizable from the dark, scarlet mess of blood, guts, and brain matter.

He didn't remember anything other than the face Izuku wore when he died. The fine curl of his lashes against the paling cheeks, how his freckles stood stark against his skin, lips blue but turned up into one final smile as he took his last breath.

He was golden, even in death. He was good.

"Are you crying?"

     She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes as a sense of shame comes over her. She was meant to be comforting him, and here she was, falling into his reluctant embrace, pressing her nose against the sweet scent of his skin and acrid smell of smoke.

"I'm sorry...I just...I-,' She throws professionalism to the wind and breaks down in sobs, tumultuous racking things that make her chest hot and her eyes ache.

For a moment, she wonders what made her think she could do this.

But it wasn't her choice at all was it? Her supervisor demanded it of her, thrusting the assignment her way thinking that since she was 'close to the man's husband; she'd be able to get the job done'. With no regard for her feelings, or how she felt about the situation.

At the end of the day, she isn't even the one that mattered. This broken man before her-this dying fire-, is a scoop really worth putting him through all of this? Whatever she's feeling, he must feel ten-fold.  He sits alone in this huge empty white house, drowning in memories of a golden time long gone, etched into every hall, haunting him at every corner, and here she is rubbing salt into the wounds.

Oh, she's a horrible person. A terrible friend. She has half a mind to throw the recorder out the window, but Katsuki slips it towards himself before she can even try. Crossing over to the window, he pulls out another cigarette.

"Go home Phones. Get some rest. We'll be back at it tomorrow."

She sniffs once more, collects the rest of her things, and finds her way out. From the driver's seat of her car, she can see him, a slim thing in one of the many grand windows, arms crossed as he leans out on the railing, a trail of smoke rising from his lips

Digging out her camera, she snaps a photo of the widow in the white house. She has to fight off the urge to retch the entire ride home.

"I don't smoke."

She glances up from her glass of water, warily eying the way he turned the recorder in his hands.

"31 minutes and 46 seconds in, you can yourself saying 'Thought you gave up on smoking.' Delete that part of the tape. I'm a pro-hero. The second half of the Wonder Duo. Kids look up to me. I don't smoke."

With that said, he slides the recorder back to her, takes a pack of cigs from his pocket, and lights up, reclining in his seat with shut eyes as the steady waft of nicotine fills the air.

Kyoka presses the starting button, and begins,

"July 27th. 8:30 AM. The dining room table again, with the grand old windows overlooking the yard. The fog doesn't seem to want to lift."

Twirling one of her ears with a finger, she looks at her notes, eying one question in particular her supervisor had underlined three times. There's no way she's going to be able to walk into his office without asking, but she's not sure if their friendship would survive the question.

"Did you regret it? Killing that villain?"

Scarlet eyes blink open but they are unseeing, glued to a spot just above her shoulder.

"Depends on who's asking. You, or the Tokyo Times?"

"...The Tokyo Times," she answers. There was nothing Kats hated more than a liar. She expected him to watch her with disappointment, to turn away and treat her coldly for the rest of the interview, but he simply shut his eyes once more.

"My actions were considered a necessary precaution to ensure the safety of the citizens of Japan," His voice is dull, clinical. She knows a practiced statement when she hears it. They were bland. The thump-thump-thump of his heart was at neutral pace, no emotion spurring it into action. "In order to preserve the peace of this new era, the greatest evil of the old had to be destroyed. I thank my fellow pros, the Hero Public Safety Commission, and all first responders for what they did that day. If he were alive,"

Katsuki pauses. The ice in his cup melts slowly beneath the heat of his grip, diluting the liquor it floats in.

His voice goes low, but does not shake.

"If he were here today, I am confident my late husband, Midoriya Izuku hero alias Deku, would be proud of what we accomplished as a city."

She does her duty in writing down what she could, scribbling a note to get a statement on other involved parties as soon as she could.

"Tell me how you felt about the funeral." She says as her pencils scratches.

"It was a ceremony worthy of a hero of Deku's statu-,"

"No." She lays a hand on top of his. "Tell me how you felt about the funeral."

A vein in his neck jumps. She can hear his heartbeat quicken with the rising fury.

"I hated it," He spat.

          When a hero died, they received what was called an 'Akira Service' named after the first shining man made of light  that decided to take up the mantle of 'hero'. It was a nationwide affair, drawing in colleagues, elites and politicians all intending to pay their respects with speeches, prayer, and moments of silence.

It had turned into an opportunity for influencers to rub elbows long before Katsuki was even a thought in his parents mind. The first he had ever been to was during  high school for Best Jeanist. He was still young then, unsure of what was going on.

The second he had gone to was for All Might. Deku was with him for that one, as they were not only the man's protégées but had recently burst through the top ten ranking. They stood in a crowd of thousands, surrounded by vultures and wolves, with nothing but the other and a few scattered friends for respite.

"Do not let my funeral be like this," Deku had whispered to him, after the third fancy insurance company head came around to cozy up to them.  "This is hell on earth. Hi! How are you?"

Katsuki couldn't reply then, when one of the Commission's higher ups approached with a false, wide grin, but he made that promise in his heart. He was sure that Izuku would do the same if Katsuki met his end first.

  But if All Might's funeral as the retired Symbol of Peace was huge, then Izuku's death as a young, active hero-the Symbol of Strength made into a martyr- was beyond measure. People flew in from all over the globe to 'pay their respects'. It seemed like everyone Izuku had ever met had come out of the woodwork.

(It was strange, because when one of them traveled, the other wasn't too far behind. Izuku had hardly met anyone that Katsuki didn't eventually meet himself, and there were a lot of unfamiliar faces in the crowd that day.)

He intended a quiet service for those close to them. For it to be done quickly and efficiently as possible, that his husband's body would be cremated and the ashes buried in the grounds of their home, beneath the wisteria tree, where Katsuki could go every morning and pay his private tributes.

They stole that right from under him. They locked him up for 'his own safety' for days on end and by the time he was released his private cell, stumbling into the arms of his parents, he was politely informed that 'due to the nature of the situation, preparations were already underway for the burial of his partner Midoriya Izuku hero alias Deku, if we would like to be a part he would be expected to show up at the following address in the morning dressed appropriately for the followings series of events-'

     Sorrow didn't taste bitter. He wasn't sure where that idea came from, but he knew it was wrong. It tasted like nothing. It tasted like his taste buds shutting down before the rest of his body, like a muggy fog he was constantly stumbling through, blind to the path, reaching out to find his way.

Sorrow tasted like what it meant to lose, and to be lost all at once.

His only grace was that he wasn't alone through this. He had his parents behind him, Inko at his side weeping into his shoulder, the kids with bowed heads and red eyes. All gathered around the oakwood casket that was still and quiet, muted in the wake of the winter sun.

He had his friends. Eijirou would maintain his quirk for as long as he needed to, beating back paparazzi with his gentle sternness as they made their procession through the streets. Sero blocked off a 'safe' area for family and friends during the service, tape strong with Kaminari's electricity latched onto it, crackling when anyone got too close without Eijirou's go-ahead.

Mina had organized what she could. Whatever control she, Inko and Mitsuki could wrestle from the Hero Public Safety commission, they did. She was the one that stressed over the tiny details, of white roses vs calla lillies and the order of speeches, that made sure the family was the first to be notified of everything that went on, that argued on their behalf when they couldn't keep up and halted the entire process until they agreed to release Katsuki, that they acknowledged that he needed to be there.

She, and the rest of the squad had-.

"Are you crying again Phones?"

"I am so, so sorry Kats. You needed me and I...I didn't show up. I missed it," She heaves through a sob, ears filled with a static that made her head hurt with something other than a deep-rooted resentment. He doesn't look her in the eyes. His heartbeat increases. She feels his toes tapping against the floor as he struggles to find the words to say.

(And here she was again, acting selfishly when Kats was the one who needed the help. When had she become this person?)

"It's not your fault. You had work-."

"That's no excuse. You went to him when he needed you. Mina dropped a modeling gig in the middle of Rome to come home."

"What you do is a little more important than-,"

"No." She brings her hands to the table, eyes willing him to look at her, to see how serious she was. It's not until dim scarlet flicker to her watery gaze that she continues, "I want to fix this. Please tell me how to fix it."

"...You can't bring him back."

"I would if I could."

"I know, but you can't." His cigarette is snuffed out against the marble floors, ash ground out under his heel. He pulls out a pack of tissues from his pocket and an envelope along with it.

"If you really want to help me out, publish this letter along with the article." he says. The white glides along the table, easy as a leaf on the wind. Curious, she unfolds it, wiping away the lingering blur of tears. Voice clear in the silence, she begins to read,

"...And it is with great pride and sense of accomplishment that I announce my retirement from the hero profession for good. It is evident now, more than ever, that the world is ready for a new era of peace, and I look forward to seizing my final great victory by raising those heroes. Yours, in service....Bakugou Katsuki hero alias Ground Zero....What the hellis this?"

"A resignation letter," Kyoka says to her supervisor, wincing. She hates it when he yells; the decibel levels are horrible on her ears. She gets the shakes, tucking herself in tighter.

"There's no way the Hero Commission is going to let their new #1 retire! Has his agency even approved this? We're not publishing this shit! They'll have my head! I asked you to go out there and get me a story Jirou! Not whatever this is!"

The letter is thrown into the air as his hand slams onto his desk.

"I can't believe this! You were chosen because I thought you'd be able to play on his weaknesses! I thought you could make him spill his secrets! A hero gone insane! The Widow: A Murderer! That was the angle I wanted then you come back here with this piece that makes him seem so-! ...So human! That savage Bakugou Katsuki! Our Symbol of Victory! No, you go back to that bastard's house and-"

She watches him rant. How his cheeks turn red with his rage. How fast his heart beats as he begins to fully get into the swing of it.

And she thinks back. She remembers how excited she was when she first got this job, how the squad had thrown her such a huge party. She remembers how proud of her Denki was and how he kissed her that night.

She remembers how the first date she had to blow off turned into twenty. The loneliness she felt when he finally broke up with her, swearing to always be friends. But she wasn't seeing much of her friends either. Then she started travelling abroad.

People started getting married (she's still alone.)

People started having kids (does she still have a chance now at 42?)

Then people started dying, and she was filled with nothing more than regret. The man is still screaming at her but, for the first time in her life, the world goes quiet.

"I quit." Kyoka says.

Collecting her things, she snatches the article out of the man's hands and walks out. The sound of the door slamming on his spluttering gives her a little thrill. She can't help but grin, kicking her feet into a little skip as she goes through the doors, and breathes in the fresh air of freedom.

As for her article , she publishes it anonymously with Put Your Hands Up News.

Her alias? Phones. It fits her she thinks.

The Priest: There comes a time in man's search for meaning when one realizes that there are no answers. And when you come to that, horrible unavoidable realization, you accept it or you kill yourself. Or you simply stop searching...I have lived a blessed life. And yet every night, when I climb into bed, turn off the lights, and stare into the dark, I wonder...'Is this all there is?'

Jackie Kennedy:...You wonder?

The Priest: Every soul on this planet does. But then, when morning comes, we all wake up and make a pot of coffee.  

-Jackie

     Miles away from the rush of the city, Katsuki sits on his porch, water and a cigarette in hand. That damn rabbit is back again. Doing nothing. Looking at him.

He stares right back.

Inside, the children are playing. Their shouts and laughter ring high in the air, over the bluster of the early autumn winds. He thinks the noise will scare the rabbit away but it perks up, craning its ears to listen. It looks at him once more, nose twitching and black eyes curious. He nods at it, then, for a brief ludicrous moment, thinks he sees it smile.

"Later nerd," he says. (Because, even after all the 'what ifs', it turns out that there are no words more fitting than those two.)

Katsuki watches it as it hops back to the cover of the forest, disappearing under the lavender falls of the wisteria tree. There was a certain lightness in his heart with each step the thing took.  Snuffing out his cigarette, he lingers on the steps of the porch as the children wander out to join him. They run barefoot in the wet grass.

He waits. He watches.

They scream. They laugh. They look to him with great expectations.

Katsuki slips off his shoes and goes to join his children in the cool, morning dew. The fog lifts within the hour. The sun is out by noon.

The day is golden.

[jaspers-levis]

Your People

Reader request by @isitmine

Sorry this is so late! I promise I did not forget; real life just butts in sometimes.

You sighed, taking in the vista before you and adjusting your pack. At first the views had been breathtaking, awe inspiring, totally worth the chilly nights and damp socks. Now they were just a reminder that you had yet another hill to climb, another mountaintop to summit, another arduous stretch of trail to battle through before you could stop for the night. A month ago you had thought this was the best course of action you could have taken given the circumstances. Now you weren’t so sure.

You took another deep breath, feeling the thinner mountain air whistle through your airways and began the descent into the forest again. Your keen hearing tracked every creature within a mile radius; you could scent a deer about a quarter mile away grazing with her fawn. The wolf in you licked her chops, stomach rumbling, and you made a face. In wolf form, raw meat was delicious. In human form, not so much. Rummaging in your pack, you pulled out a granola bar and continued on your way trying to make each meager mouthful last. According to your map, the next town wasn’t terribly far away. You could probably make it by nightfall. Hopefully.

Really becoming homeless and wandering through the forests of the PNW was not your original plan, but when you first shifted your father panicked and aimed his shotgun at you, triggering your own violent reflex. You hadn’t intended to put him in the hospital but it was either that or be shot to death in your own backyard. You left that same night; packing your bags and taking off before your family could condemn you to a zoo or asylum. Their beliefs were incredibly rigid and definitely could not explain what happened to you, let alone accept what you were now. So you left.

One thing you hadn’t quite expected was how lonely it was out here. You’d had a rather large group of friends back home that you’d cut off to prevent your parents from finding you, and the radio silence was killing you. You just wanted to be able to tell one person about what was going on, relieve the stress, have a partner in understanding what was happening to you. Someone who could talk to you before bed each night. Someone you could look at and shake your head over the weird growth spurts, the dizzying switch between a wolf brain and a human brain, the twigs and leaves you often found in your hair after shifting back. It would be so nice…

A snapped branch several hundred yards away brought you out of your thoughts long enough to realize that whatever it was was HUGE, a predator, and smelled… familiar? Hastily you dropped your pack and shifted, regretting not taking off your clothes before you did so. Damn it, you’d really liked that shirt!

Wolves melted out of the shadows like the first rays of sunlight through the clouds; one minute there were none, the next you were surrounded. You bared your teeth, hackles rising, your tail high and wagging ever so slightly at the tip. Your eyes darted from wolf to wolf, trying to keep track of them all before they tore you to pieces. 

Hello, the largest black wolf greeted you. His size and scent indicated he was the leader of the pack. We do not mean you any harm. We did not know there were any other wolves like us in the area

Confused, you backed up, tail brushing against another wolf who snarled at you in warning. 

Jake , stop it, the black wolf admonished. What is your name, and how did you get here? What brings you to our territory?

Uh, Y/N… you replied haltingly, your mental voice not as strong as his. I’m just passing through.

Why don’t you come with us? You can get something to eat and we can talk more easily, the black wolf said, not unkindly though his tone implied that refusing the offer was not a choice. My name is Sam and this is Jake, Quil, Jared and Seth.

Reluctantly you picked up your backpack in your mouth and followed the wolves, your keen nose noting the now-obvious scents of a rather large wolfpack layered over the other forest smells. You detected at least several more wolves’ scents; good lord, you’d never thought there would be even one other wolf person in the world, let alone a huge pack! 

The five of you ran for about twenty minutes, emerging from the trees at the edge of a clearing housing a cozy little cabin. As a human, the hike would have taken the rest of the day and you were grateful in some small way that you had skipped that. Dropping your bag at the edge of the trees, you ducked behind the trees for a quick moment of privacy, shifting into your normal form and pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a ratty hoodie from your bag. You winced; they could use a wash but they were some of your last clothes left. It would have to do.

Sam and the rest of the boys were waiting for you to change, their copper skin glistening with rainwater and their dark hair damp. Somewhere they’d all found sweatpants or cut off jeans to pull on, though most of them remained shirtless. Sam reached out to touch your shoulder gently, his eyes the same kind, dark brown as they’d been in his wolf form. “Come along, let’s get you inside. I’m sure you’d love a hot meal,” he guided you forward, his warm fingers burning right through the thin material of your sweatshirt. The rest of the boys closed ranks around you, escorting you like a captive. Your nerves jangled as you entered the house, uncertain of what they wanted from you.

“Hey honey! You’re back early,” a sweet voice called out from the kitchen, and a second later a gorgeous woman poked her head around the wall, her silky dark hair a curtain around her perfect face. “Oh! Who’s this?” she asked, leaning her cheek into Sam’s kiss as he wrapped her in his embrace. It was clear the two held a deep affection for one another, a connection you’d chased all your life. 

“Emily, this is Y/N; we scented a wolf along the northern border and found her. Another female wolf… I wish Leah was here,” Sam sighed, resting his cheek against her hair. Emily turned her face towards his with a smile, revealing a jagged violent scar. You gulped and averted your eyes quickly to avoid staring. How in the hell did she get that?? You sniffed quickly, but you only smelled the men and your own wolfishness. Emily was completely human. 

“Well, come on in Y/N, let’s get some food into you and we can talk. I just put dinner on!” Emily reached out her hand and took yours, pulling you further into the house with a warm smile. “We need more girls around here,” she confessed, whispering into your ear conspiratorially. “Too many men!”

You gave her a weak smile, still nervous of the hulking escorts behind you. “Thank you,” you whispered as Emily sat you down in between her and Sam, beginning to heap a generous amount of food on your plate. The rest of the pack settled in at the table, pretending to ignore you while tracking your every move from the corner of their eyes. You didn’t detect any malice in their demeanor, only curiosity and a vague suspicion regarding your presence in their midst. Understandable, given you were a strange wolf on their land.

The men finished their first helpings in a matter of minutes, reloading their plates almost in the same breath. You took your time, savoring each bite despite the hunger that had gnawed at your stomach all day. After your first helping, Sam leaned back and looked at you expectantly. “Y/N, let’s get down to business. Let’s start with how you can turn into a wolf, and where you come from.”

You swallowed the last bite of food as if it was a lump of charcoal, staring hard at your plate. Emily chafed your hand gently under the table and gave you an encouraging smile. You gave her the tiniest slip of a smile as you took a deep breath and began your story. “I am from just north of Vancouver; I hitchhiked my way south these past couple of weeks and then headed west. My plan was to hike along the coast,” you began, dodging the main question. “I left home three weeks ago to get away from my family; they don’t quite… understand the wolf thing. They wouldn’t, even if I explained it to them,” you sighed sadly, and Emily threw a protective arm around you.

“You shifted in front of them,” one of the younger boys guessed with a sympathetic face. You thought his name was Seth? “My sister did the same, by accident of course. Our dad had a heart attack, literally.”

You winced. “Yeah… only I attacked my dad,” you confessed and Sam put his hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing. “To be fair, he was holding a shotgun and threatening to shoot me. I was an abomination in his eyes.” You smiled without humor, tears streaming down your face silently. 

Emily wrapped both arms around you then, with Sam holding you both close. “Sh, it’s okay honey. You’re not an abomination, it’s not your fault,” Emily kissed your hair gently as you cried into her blouse. She smelled of tangerines and soap, an incredibly homey scent that calmed you the longer she held you. 

“Y/N, you are not an abomination. You’re a shapeshifter,” Sam told you, stroking your back soothingly. “Of all people, you are extremely lucky that we found you. You’re one of us somehow, and you’ve just come home to us.”

Curious, you looked up at him through your tears. “A shapeshifter?” 

Sam nodded. “There is a legend that the Quileute people were descended from wolves,” he began, relating the history of shapeshifters in their tribe and how they usually spring forth due to the presence of vampires. “Recently there was a coven of vampires in the area for several years, hence the transformation of our current pack. I suspect that there may have been a vampire nearby when you shifted, and that you perhaps have Quileute blood.”

You sat back, stunned. Your father had not shared much about your mother after she’d passed, but you remembered her long dark hair like a curtain of silk, her glowing russet cheeks, her careful traditions she held despite them being so different from what the other families in the neighborhood. The Quileute name was familiar; you were sure you’d heard her mention it when you asked about her history with a child’s curiosity. The people that sat around you now reminded you so much of her… 

“I know you are one of us,” Sam reassured you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek gently. “I can smell it, and when you were in your wolf form your mind sounded familiar. You are one of us,” he repeated, the warmth in his dark eyes heating your cheeks with a blush.

“Please say you’ll stay,” Emily begged hopefully as you broke your gaze from Sam’s before your blush could give you away. “Even if it’s just for a little while. Learn how to be a wolf. Stay with us. We can’t completely undo what happened with your father, but at least you’ll be safe here with us.”

“Are you sure…?” You asked, looking around the table with a nervous hope beginning to take root in your chest. The rest of the pack nodded enthusiastically, each talking over  the other to welcome you, to plan wolf lessons, to invite you to pack events, explaining pack rules…

“Please stay with us, Y/N,” Sam asked seriously, his voice low. “You belong here, with the pack. We want you to stay. Emily and I want you to stay.” Emily nodded enthusiastically at his words, her gorgeous face earnest. 

“Please stay with us. We need another girl around here to even things out, and clearly you were meant to find us someday,” Emily clasped your hands in hers.

You only hesitated a moment. “I’ll stay,” you confirmed, grinning broadly for the first time in a month. Your spirits suddenly lifted, your heart light with the knowledge that you had found your pack. A family that would understand you better than your actual family ever would. Your mother’s people. Your home.

Sam and Emily were at the heart of it, tucking you in their feverish embrace, the first tendrils of affection wrapping themselves around the three of you. You had never expected to feel this way about practical strangers, but your heart knew theirs on some base, instinctive level. These were your people, and nothing could shake that conviction.

[frizz22]

Not Yours to Give

Summary: As a mother, she’d thought she’d imagined and prepared for every conceivable scenario in which her little girl was stolen away… apparently Zelda hadn’t been creative enough. Because there was no way she could have anticipated this. Read on a03

Zelda slammed the front door behind her in disgust, causing Hilda to jump where she was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Everything alright, Zelds?” She asked tentatively, playing with her pen.

Storming into the kitchen, Zelda snatched her scarf from her neck and threw it onto one of the chairs. “The warlocks in this coven are deplorable.” She snarled, divesting her coat in the same violent manner.

Hilda pursed her lips and turned in her seat to keep her sister in view as she moved around the kitchen making a cup of tea. “What—?” 

“Yet another male intimidated by my power, insisting that if we married he’d take care of the more ‘difficult’ and ‘powerful’ spells for me. So, I wouldn’t have to worry my pretty, little head .” Zelda ground out the last four words with such hate that Hilda was surprised nothing burst into flame in response to Zelda’s magic filtering into the air. “I swear to Satan, Hilda, I will kill all of them someday.” She continued to open and close drawers a little more forcefully than necessary.

She smiled sympathetically, knowing Zelda was looking to marry and that the prospects so far had been rather grim…. Though, Hilda was sure that the desire for a spouse, specifically a husband, originated more from her sister’s desire to be a mother then from the want of a partner. “Another coven, perhaps?” She suggested hopefully, biting her lip.

Zelda shook her head, “No. I’ve decided I’m done with men. I’ve met all of the ones in Greendale and the surrounding areas and I have no intention of reproducing with any of them. And, from my recent experiences, I can easily assume that men elsewhere are no better.”

Unable to disagree, Hilda just hummed. So many warlocks were either cowed by her sister’s fiery personality and immense power or they saw those traits as things to be tamed—neither perception ended well for the potential suitor.

But where did that leave Zelda then? Adoption? Fostering? Too curious to remain silent, Hilda prodded for more details. “What will you—”

“I don’t need a man to have a child. I tried the ‘traditional’ way, but now I will take the Dark Lord’s way.” Zelda answered, much more calmly than a moment before, stirring her tea.

Hilda’s eyes widened, “a magic, a magic baby? Zelds, those, those are…”

Lifting her chin a notch in defiance, already prepared to argue her point, Zelda looked at her. “Are what?” She demanded, a hard edge to her voice.

“Those are just extremely rare, is all. Almost unheard of.” Hilda replied carefully, well aware that once Zelda set her mind to something very little could sway her.

Her sister scoffed, “that’s because the spell required is ancient, some of the oldest magic to exist, and it requires a tremendous amount of power. Witches have grown cowardly and lazy as our time has passed. There was a time when this spell was used often, magically produced children the norm. But we’ve grown lazy, why practice intricate and glorious spells when we can rely on the mortal means of reproduction. As if Satan had not granted us the divine power to be superior to them.”

At this Hilda rolled her eyes, knowing Zelda’s true reason for selecting this route wasn’t so that she could distinguish herself from mortals.

“And… well,” Zelda softened, and Hilda leaned forward, recognizing one of the rare moments in which Zelda allowed herself to be vulnerable when it happened. “It’s more than that, much more. It’s because I want to be a mother, Hil. More than anything and I’ve been ready for two decades. I am tired of waiting, I’m already 175.”

Standing, Hilda approached her sister. “Which is still young by witching standards, as you well know.” Hilda reminded her. “I will support you in this,” she smiled encouragingly, taking the cup and spoon from Zelda’s hands and setting them aside. “I know this is an endeavor you will want to take alone. But,” and she gripped Zelda’s hands and squeezed them. “I am here if you need me.”

A brilliant smile broke across Zelda’s face and she squeezed Hilda’s hands back just as tightly. “Thank you, sister, that means more to me than I can say.” She murmured, eyes glistening. “Don’t tell Edward yet. I, I—”

“I understand, Zelda.” Hilda interrupted softly, knowing Zelda wouldn’t want her efforts to be common knowledge should she fail; the fewer people who knew would make it less devastating should she have to explain why she was not pregnant.

Nodding, Zelda pulled her into a rare hug. Hilda smiled and her chin trembled when she felt Zelda’s hands fist her cardigan. Oh, her dear older sister had so much love to give yet so much trouble expressing it… but Hilda knew when, not if, but when Zelda had a child, that he or she would be the most loved baby in all the realms.

Before she could say anything to this effect, before she could get in a tiny boost to her sister’s confidence while her walls were down, Edward walked in.

“What’s all this?” He gestured between the two of them with his newspaper, eyebrow raised in amusement.

Zelda released her and jumped back as if scalded. “Hilda needed some comfort. She was upset about finding a dead rabbit in her garden,” she lied smoothly, clear-eyed and composed. “I did warn you that using those repellant charms might hurt the creatures destroying your plants.” Zelda continued, turning her gaze back to Hilda as she picked up her tea once more.

Gaping, Hilda just stared at her sister, stunned by her quick lie. “I, yes. Dead rabbit.” She repeated stiltedly, eyes flicking between her older siblings. “I going to go deal with, with the rabbit. Yes,” she pointed over her shoulder and scurried out of the kitchen before Edward could probe the subject.

For a moment, Edward stared after Hilda, an odd expression on his face and Zelda worried that her lie wouldn’t hold. But eventually, he just shook his head and made for the fridge.

“How we got such a tender-hearted sister, Zelds, I will never know.” Edward chuckled, sticking the newspaper under his arm and rummaging for food.

She hummed in acknowledgement and then a hasty retreat to the library. If she was going to have a baby on her own, she needed to find that spell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken some time, and visits to several libraries to acquire the book she needed, but Zelda had found the spell. It was ancient, and rare, and she could feel the power of it radiating just from holding the tome in her hands.

This was going to work. She could sense it.

But she still had to be smart about this, the spell was long and complicated, rightly so—couldn’t just have anyone going around making magical babies. There were two ways to perform the spell. One would allow her to urge the babe into existence fully formed as if it had spent the last 13 months in a womb. The second would allow her to carry the babe and birth it herself once the gestation period was over.

The first, though much faster, also held a higher degree of danger—there were many more ways it could go wrong. And, well, she rather liked the idea of being able to carry and nurture her child, being able to bond with the babe while it was in utero. So, no, she wasn’t going to risk her child just because she was impatient and wanted a child now. Zelda would practice, ensure that she could get the spell right over and over again; only then would she perform the spell to impregnate herself.

So, she started running trials on small, quickly reproducing mammals. It took a few tries but eventually both animal mom and baby were healthy every single time she practiced the spell. She did it 50 more times after that just to be sure.

When Zelda finally performed the spell on herself, she almost asked Hilda to be in the room with her… terrified that she would mess something up this time around and wanting her sister there for support. She decided against it, though, for if she failed then no one would know she’d even tried. Well, Hilda knew she was practicing, why else would there suddenly be a spike in the number of mice and rabbits around the Spellman home? But that didn’t mean that Hilda needed to know when she finally mustered the courage to take that final step.

A small bonus of conceiving in this way was that you could perform a pregnancy test spell immediately. There was no waiting period as with more traditional pregnancies… Zelda had performed the spell and then turned the paper over, not looking at it for almost an hour; unable to bring herself to see if all of her hard work had resulted in what she wanted.

Vinegar Tom eventually snagged the paper from the table and placed it in her lap, resting his head on her knee as he waited for her to open her eyes. He nuzzled his wet nose into her hand and when she finally looked, Zelda burst into tears.

She was pregnant.

She waited three months to tell anyone, wanting to be sure the pregnancy stuck. Hilda suspected, she was sure, Zelda had stopped drinking and smoking, after all. But her sister was kind enough to let Zelda make the announcement when she was ready. Though she did put a ‘special’ tea in front of her each morning, claiming some excuse or another for not letting Edward have any. Zelda knew the cup was full of herbs for the baby,

It was dinner, they were all sitting at the table, when Zelda just blurted it out—unsure how to make the announcement otherwise. Hilda had squealed and stood up to hug her hard, babbling on about the gender and had she thought of names?

Ambrose sat in stunned silence, brow furrowed as if working something out. Then he smiled, “that’s a tricky piece of magic, Auntie Zee. Well done, that’s incredible. Can’t wait for the little bean to join us.”

She’d turned to Edward then, who still hadn’t said anything, and was astonished to see him beaming at her.

“This is splendid! No one was good enough for you anyway, Zelds. This is perfect! Congratulations.” He took her hand and squeezed it hard. She rolled her eyes, of course he approved of this method, Edward was ridiculously overprotective of her and Hilda, had been ever since their parents and brother died. Overprotective to the point of trying to keep her from dating anyone, male or female. So, it wasn't surprising he was thrilled that she'd decided she didn't need a partner of any kind.

Still, their support meant everything, and she couldn’t help but smile widely as they asked question after question about the spell and her plans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is, is she healthy? All of the tests and signs said she was, but with the spell—” Zelda was babbling she knew, but having just finished giving birth she couldn’t fight this fresh wave of worry crashing over her.

Hilda smiled and turned back to her from where she’d been running diagnostic spells on the babe, “Zelds, she’s perfect and perfectly healthy.” She carefully handed the little girl over and Zelda automatically cradled her against her chest. “You did it, Zee, you’re a mum.”

Tears leaked down Zelda’s cheeks as she gazed upon the baby her in arms, her daughter. “I’m, I’m a mom.” She repeated, with a disbelieving watery chuckle, pressing a kiss to the girl’s head.

Nodding, Hilda began to clean up her tools. “Are you finally going to tell us what you picked for the name? Kept it all to yourself this whole time.” She arched a brow at her sister. While Zelda had told them the gender, she’d refused to tell them the name she had chosen for her daughter.

“Morgan,” Zelda whispered, eyes still glued to the babe. “Morgan after one of the most powerful witches in history, Morgan le Fey.” She finally lifted her eyes and looked at Hilda. “Thank you. Thank you for your help, for being my midwife.”

Placing a hand on Zelda’s forearm, Hilda nodded, eyes wet with tears. “Of course.”

“I do, I do have one more thing to ask of you, sister.” Zelda murmured, fingers gently tracing along Morgan’s cheek. Hilda hummed and tilted her head. “Will, will you be Morgan’s unholy Night Mother?”

A small gasp escaped the blonde, “truly?” Zelda nodded, and smiled once more. “Oh, Zelds, yes! Yes of course I will be her Night Mother, I’m honored.” Hilda grinned widely, pressed a quick kiss to her sister’s head and moved back, wiping her eyes. “You ready for visitors?”

Sitting up a little straighter, Zelda nodded.

The boys burst into the room, a chorus of congratulations, coos and general noises of excitement filled the air as they surrounded her bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following years passed in a blur. It seemed like only seconds had passed between when Zelda was cradling Morgan in her arms, her girl no bigger than a loaf of bread and then Morgan was rolling over, sitting up, and crawling.

One day, Morgan had looked up at her from where she’d been playing on the ground and simply stated, “Mama,” and grinned.

Zelda nearly cried, but she laid down on the floor next to her girl and smiled widely. “Yes, darling, that’s me. Mama.”

Morgan giggled and crawled partially on top of Zelda, “mama, mama.”

And then it was walking and more baby babble then anyone could keep up with besides her. It was visits to the park, reading books, playing out in the garden, snuggles before bed and just bliss.

She’d always known she wanted to be a mother, but Zelda would never have been able to even dream that motherhood would fit her so well.

So their days continued until suddenly Morgan was four and Edward came home, practically floating on air. When they interrogated him about his mood, he’d grinned.

“I’m in love.” He claimed, joining them in the parlor where they’d been doing puzzles. “With a mortal woman named Diana. I’ve invited her over for lunch and tea tomorrow.”

And just like that, the blissful bubble they’d all been living in popped.

[ventrue-rosary]

Kingdom of Decay - Chapter 5

Also available on A03! Like my work? Support me on Ko-Fi!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Oh Uncle, My Uncle

In the months following, Amaranthe grows to be quite the adept swordswoman. Addenus started her off with simple blocking exercises, announcing where he intended to strike her but sometimes swinging in a different direction. The first few times he caught her off guard, but she slowly learned to watch the blade with her eyes and react accordingly. 

Despite this, she would return to her quarters with bruises. The general weapon training is interspersed with focusing on strengthening the intensity and longevity of her rite. Though she had succeeded in summoning forth the flames, she has yet to master maintaining it with any degree of destructive force. 

‘You’re doing well, lass,’ Addenus says one day as they break from training.

Amara spawls on the floor, exhaustion weighing down her limbs. ‘Not so sure about that.’ Her words are a fatigued wheeze.

‘You shouldn't sell yourself short. Besides, there is one thing we have yet to cover in your training.'

Amaranthe forces herself upright to look at her weapons master.

‘The one thing only members of your family sworn to the order can do.’ ‘Which is?’

‘Magic.’ Amaranthe tries to measure Addenus’s expression for any signs of mockery. But his face is set and serious. ‘My family aren’t sorcerers.’

‘No, they’re not. Not as you understand them. Their magic is not inborn, nor acquired through extensive studying. It is bought.’

‘What just like my flaming sword?’ she mutters as she drops prone again. 

Addenus strides over to her and kicks her in the ribs. Not hard enough to seriously wound but it knocks the wind from her sails and makes her sit upright.

‘Hey!’ ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to show some deference. Get up. If you have enough energy to flap your gums you have enough to go another round.’ 

Amaranthe huffs but rolls to her side to retrieve her  weapon and turns to face Addenus. He doesn’t announce he is about to strike, but charges forth with a powerful downwards swing. Amara barely raises to blade in time to meet it. The loud reverberating clang painfully pierces her eardrums. 

‘Wait, you didn’t say--’

‘You think your opponents are going to announce when they are going to attack, hmm? Or where?’ He strikes again. She failed to block it, and the solid, blunt edge strokes her left arm painfully, adding a bruise adjacent to the cut. 

He strikes her again as she stands stunned. Addenus retreats, spreading his arms. 

‘Don’t make this too easy.’ 

She charges forth with a cry, blade held over her head. She swings down. The blade cuts through air and strikes the floor as Addenus side steps around the blow. He hooks his foot over her ankle and trips her onto the ground. Her chin connects painfully with the hard stone, setting her teeth chattering. Blood drifts down from her broken skin as she stands. 

‘Gods girl, I didn’t think you would still be making such rookie mistakes. Come now, you can do better.’

His words sting as they have the bite of truth to them. She steels herself, eyes fixating on his blade but also his feet, which would indicate his movements. To the right. 

Amara ducks low, tucks and rolls and pokes him in the back, hard enough to make his stumble. She smiles a little as the grown man nearly twice her height nearly topples over. She hears him rasp out a chortle. 

‘Very good. Glad to see you can be quick on your feet.’

Amara wipes away the blood on her chin and prepares herself. Their next sparring session has only just started.

A distant rumbling rouses Amaranthe from her deep, dreamless sleep. She barely stirs, rolling over and chalking it up to her imagination. That is until a second sounds out, this time closer. She thinks she hears distant voice calling out. Then follows the alarm, a ringing toll. She absconds her bed, stumbling into her boots and grabbing her weapon. 

Three hunters nearly bowl her over as she exits the room. They skid to a stop in front of her. One, a man with dark hair and a salt and pepper beard, grabs her arm. ‘With us, Princess. We need to get you to safety.'

'What is happening?’ she mumbles, her voice still raspy and thick from sleep. ‘Your Uncle. But he is not alone.’

Amara allows herself to be dragged along the corridor. She hears distant yelling and fighting from the off-shooting passageways and sees their struggling  shadows thrown against the wall by the torchlight. But they don’t stop to help anyone. They keep pushing forward towards the entrance. 

Her Uncle steps around the corner, blocking their way. Amaranthe goes to stop but she is dragged along, towards him.

‘What--’

‘Here she is, my Lord.’ The throw her down onto the ground at his feet. ‘Managed to snatch her before she left her room.’

The tip of Sanguine is level with her eye, held fast in his grip. He pushes the point under her chin, an inch away from her throat. He pushes the blade up, forcing her to angle her face skyward to look her Uncle in the eye as he cruelly sneers down upon her. 

‘I still haven’t forgotten that you broke my nose, bastard. I really should return the favour.’

He drives the heel of his boot right onto the tip of her nose. Cartilage gives way to the bones snapping inwards with an explosion of blood and an overwhelming ache that summons water to her eyes. Her scream is muffled by the hands that rise up to clamp over the injury continually gushing crimson.

‘Get her up,’ he orders. ‘I’d like to be away before we’re discovered.’

Hands seize her by the arm, and Amara is heaved over someone’s shoulder. She sees the handle of an axe before her. By the time she has withdrew it from the clasp securing it to his back, they only just think to drop her and draw their weapons. She buries the axehead into the crown of the man that lifted her. It shudders as it passes through brittle bone to the gelatinous brain held within. Crimson blood and pink jelly gruesomely weep out from beneath the axehead. Amaranthe steps back and a fell silence swoops down upon the group. 

‘Don’t just stand there!’ Theodrin barks. 

Amara is spurred into action, wrenching the axe from the man's head. She performs an about-face, a fraction too late and off-kilter, but it saves her life as the blade nicks the side of her throat rather than slicing it completely open. The momentum of the axe nearly spins her completely on the heel, and it cuts right through the shirt and the skin of the second mans stomach. Intestines wriggle out from the opening of his clothes, glistening sickeningly in the light. He doesn’t die immediately, instead falls to his backside and tries in vain to shove his guts back in with a strangled scream of pain and fear. 

Amara faces away, coughing and retching as she clumsily dodges backwards from two blades. But she evades one to fall into another that skewers her in her shoulder joint. The axe falls from her grasp as the lance of sharp pain pries open her tense fingers. She tumbles back, right over the man she disemboweled. She screams in horror as her hand plunges into the wet and slimy interior of his torso. He hollers and cries in pain which diminish into sobs when she extracts her hand now slick with blood and little bits of viscera. 

Theodrin thrusts aside the last hunter, who is silently watching the spectacle in horror. ‘I’ll take care of this my damn self.’ 

She makes a break for the axe, but a hand seizes a fistful of her hair and wrenches her back. Theodrin smashes her head against the wall. Her vision whites out for one second before colour slowly returns in speckles. She barely has time to recover when her back hits the solid ground, forcing the air from her lungs. 

The tip of Sanguine presses against her chest, stopping her from getting to her feet. Though she glares up at him, she can’t stop the trembling of her lips as she sees the desire for her death in his eyes.

‘Stay right where you are,’ he snarls. ‘It’s where you belong.’

Theodrin directs his attention at the last surviving man. ‘Bind her hands.’ He scrambles forward, retrieving a length of rope from his pack. Voice draw nearer. Theodrin and his lacky both pause.

Two dozen hunters suddenly storm down the halls, Addenus at the head of them. Some look worse for wear, bearing bleeding injuries and bruises. Addenus himself speaks through a busted lip as he stares Theodrin down.

‘It’s over. Relinquish Sanguine to us, and get the fuck out of our order.’

Theodrin remain silent. Amaranthe can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he weighed the situation. He is a proud man, one not fond of admitting defeat. But he knows when he has lost. 

Theodrin grabs the other man and hurls him at the hunters then making a break for it down the corridor. Addenus throws the man aside and gives chase. Scores of feet rush around Amara as they chase the renegade hunter through the hallways. A few Amara scarcely recognises tie up Theodrin’s ally. 

A young elven man around 5 years Amara’s senior kneels next to her to examine her shoulder wound. She winces as his fingers tear open the fabric of her shirt to unveil it.

‘Alright, let’s get you to the infirmary,’ he says, helping pull her to her feet.

‘What about--’

‘The others will catch him. He won’t leave here alive.’

[multifandomhaven]

The Warden’s Duty

Okay, guys, one-shots from here on out with this story. It's going to still be in order, but it's not going to detail everything that happens between each one. I hope you liked this chapter! It's pure fluff and it was so, so much fun to write. There's Laien/Jon, Laien/Sam and Laien/Sansa - I loved writing Sam's scenes - he's such a sweetheart.

*Keira means dark haired, just a heads up!

Anyway, enough rambling! On to the story, let me know what you think!

Chapter Five

Mid year, about six moons into their marriage, the letters from Dorne stopped arriving as frequently as they had been, and the spring thaw had began and the last remnants of Winter melted away with the sun's bright rays. Laien had grown used to her new home in the North, she still missed Dorne from time to time, and she knew that if it weren't for her new sisters and husband she'd have already lost her mind.

Laien quickly found fondness in her heart for her lord husband - he was a very passionate, kind, strong, honorable man, just as the rumors she'd heard before she arrived had promised. He was attentive man, going out of his way to give her the attention she needed to feel as comfortable as he could.

Late one night when Laien had grown sick for the third time in a row Jon had roused from his sleep and went out into the night's air to find Maester Sam himself. Sam came with a smile, as always, but with sleep still in his eyes. He checked her over under Jon's watchful eye.

"Well, my lady, from your symptoms it seems that you're not actually ill at all." Sam smiled happily, his full cheeks glowing puffing out even further.

Laien's brow raised high on her sweaty forehead - she'd retched all night and into the morning light, she knew something was wrong. "Well then, Maester Sam, tell me why I've emptied my stomach of anything I've eaten in the last five nights!"

Sam's smile grew wider and he turned his head to grin at his friend in the corner, looking as brooding as ever, before turning his eyes back to Laien. He was unfazed at her words, he'd grown used to the mood changes of women since his Gilly had only birthed his second son only weeks before. "When did you last bleed, my lady?"

Laien's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, but she had no time to respond.

Jon stepped carefully into the center of the room, his eyes boring into Sam's. "Are you certain?"

Sam nodded and Jon knelt beside the bed, not trusting his knees, like he had done so many times that night. Jon's his face as pale as snow, and Laien scarcely thought he might vomit as she had.

Jon nodded quickly, then looked up at his lady wife. His eyes were full of some kind of emotion Laien couldn't describe. "Laien? Your last moonblood?"

Laien shook her head, her mouth opening and closing without words. "I-I don't know...," she thought hard, her hand resting on her stomach - it seemed to help stop it from turning. She sat quietly for a moment before her large, brown eyes widened and she gasped. "Just after we were married! Gods! How could I not have noticed?"

Sam shook his head gently. "You were under a lot of stress, my lady. You were in a new place with new people..."

"Am I with child?" Laien asked, her voice so small she didn't know if either man could hear it.

Sam nodded softly. "It seems so, my lady."

Jon let out a shaky breath and Laien covered her eyes with the palms of her hands. Sobs left her lips as she breathed in. Jon excused Sam and raised himself onto the bed, his hand rubbing her back.

"Shh," Jon whispered. "S'alright."

Laien shook her head, her eyes still covered with her hands. Jon firmly grasped her wrists, careful not to hurt her, and pulled them away from her face.

He stared at her with a small smile. "Laien, you're bringing our child into the world."

"I don't know anything about children," Laien sobbed. "I'm the youngest child, I never had to care for younger siblings..."

Jon shushed her again, and buried his hand in her thick hair. He brought her forward with a small tug and pressed his lips to her forehead before speaking. "I helped with my siblings. And I've heard stories - it'll come natural to ya."

"What if I hurt it? I don't know how to hold a baby!" Laien whimpered. "I don't know how to calm a child from crying!"

"Gilly will let you hold Julien if only you ask." Jon said quietly. "She'll help prepare you for motherhood as best she can."

Laien nodded her head and sniffed. "Thank you."

"There's nothing to be thanked, Laien. You're my wife," Jon smiled and slid his hand down her neck, over her breast, and ended it's path on her lower abdomen. "And you are carrying my child. It is me who should be thanking you."

Jon watched as Laien smile briefly before her eyes widened and she covered her mouth for the hundredth time that night. "Fetch the bucket!"

Laien groaned as she was helped from her place in the throne room by Sansa, her sister smiling and placing her slender hand on the woman's ever growing stomach.

"Laien, if you grow much more you're bound to pop open!" Sansa laughed, her eyes full of wonder at the woman beside her. "How've you been feeling?"

Laien almost glared at the girl. "Like my ankles are cracking apart. Jon's had to place two extra chamber pots in our room because of how many times I must go nightly. I am bloated. I am hungry, but there's nothing I want to eat. I'm tired but I can't go to sleep..."

A thin, red brow raised on Sansa's forehead. "Fret not, sister. Maester Sam says only a few more weeks until the baby comes."

Laien's lips curled at the thought of her little baby. Unconsciously she moved her hand atop Sansa's own. "I can hardly wait to see it's little face."

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Sansa asked quietly, her hand moving from Laien's stomach to her arm, helping her out of the room.

Laien's shoulders shrugged and she felt her mood darken. "For Jon's sake? A boy."

"Laien, you know Jon doesn't care about that." Sansa scolded lightly. She led Laien into the Great Hall. Sansa had called the servants to prepare Laien some buttered bread and blood orange jam. "He and you are going to love this child even if it were born a great, snarling direwolf."

The expectant mother nodded, a soft sigh leaving her. "I know Jon doesn't care. But the council - they will look down on the foreigner that can't even give their leader what's expected of him. I will be thought useless, a waste of a political marriage."

Sansa stopped in her tracks, her arm pulling Laien back a step. In her eyes was a blue fire. "You are not just a political alliance anymore, Laien. You are my sister. You are Lady of Winterfell. You are a part of the North now. If someone says anything of you or your child I will pluck their eyes from their sockets myself."

Laien nodded, touched by the girl's sweet, but slightly barbaric, words. "I know you would, sister, and I truly thank you for it, but you know how things like these come to pass."

"And they will pass, Laien. Just worry about the baby in your belly and let Jon and me handle the rest."

Sansa helped her sit, watching as Laien winced. Her hands shot to her stomach. "Oh!"

"Are you alright?" Sansa asked quickly. "Should I fetch Sam?"

Laien shook her head. "No, it's just - Oh! - the baby is moving around."

Sansa's eyes lit up. "May I feel?"

"Of course!" Laien took her hand and once again placed it on her stomach. Laien winced as, once again, the child seemed to stretch it's entire body inside her. Sansa smiled so wide Laien feared the girl's face might split in two. "Can you feel it?"

Sansa nodded. "Oh my! It's really moving, isn't it?"

"Is that blood orange jam?" Laien asked quickly, eyeing the tray in the servant's hands. "Oh, I do believe I've died and gone to the Heavens."

Misery.

It was the only word that defined how Laien felt as she lay in her bed, birthing her first born child. It felt like she was being ripped apart! Another scream passed through her lips and she gripped the hand that was by her head, ever thankful that her sweet sister had been by her side.

"Sansa, I can't do this! I can't!" Laien cried.

Sansa gripped her hand back, just as hard. "Laien, you must! This is your child, and to bring this child into the world you're going to have to push harder!"

Laien shook her head, her sweaty hair stuck to her forehead. Her voice was so raw it had began to sound like someone else. "I don't think I can."

"You can." Sansa said finally. "Jon is outside that door waiting for his child. Give him his child, Laien."

Laien nodded, tears streaming down her face. She clenched her teeth together and pushed with all her might. She felt the burning of a thousand fires, and gave one final scream as her child entered the world.

The child bawled and screamed, and Laien didn't think she'd ever heard such a beautiful sound. Sam wrapped it in a cloth and wiped it's face and cleaned it's little eyes, then handed it to Laien for her to see.

"It's a girl," Sam said happily. "Congratulations, my lady."

Laien sobbed and held the little girl to her chest. Sansa ran to the door and swung it open, announcing happily that she was the aunt to a beautiful little girl.

Jon pushed past the crowd and ran to Laien's side, his hand shooting out to touch her face. "Are you well?"

Laien laughed, the tears still pouring from her eyes. "Yes. Yes, I'm perfect."

He placed a tender kiss to her head before turning his eyes down to the babe against her chest. "She's as gorgeous as you, my love."

Laien's heart stuttered for the second time that day, and for the first time since she'd come to Winterfell she truly felt loved. Jon had never called her anything but her name, and the affection in his tone brought a new wave of tears to her eyes. "She favors you."

Jon met her eyes and she saw that his, too, were glistening happily. A single tear left his eye and dropped onto their child nestled between their chests. The babe opened her eyes and looked up at her parents. Her little mouth twitched and Laien could have sworn that her baby girl smiled at them.

"She's so tiny," Laien whispered, staring in awe at the bundle. "So beautiful."

Jon nodded and leaned down to kiss the baby's tuft of black hair. "What will we call her?"

Laien smiled down at the baby in her arms. "What about Keira?"

"Keira," Jon repeated with a smile. "It's a good name."

Laien leaned up and kissed Jon, her heart full to bursting, and in that moment, she finally felt like she belonged.

[imperiousasdawn-blog]

Aurora Borealis ☆ Chapter One

A/N: so my masochistic heart wanted some broken cassian and ruthless, mean nesta action and this is what happened

Nesta Archeron is, without a doubt, the most infuriating female Cassian has met in all 600 years of his existence.

She’s cold. She’s cruel. Her words cut sharper than the daggers that she no doubt keeps hidden  beneath the voluminous fabric of her skirts.

She is, to put it delicately, a bitch.

And Gods, Cassian wants her more than he’s ever wanted anything before.

He wonders if this is his punishment. For deflowering Mor, for killing on the battlefield, for some catastrophic sin that he hasn’t even realized that he’s committed. Because really, there’s no other explanation for why the Cauldron has damned him to chase after a mortal who would rather die than touch him.

It’s lust, yes. Cassian can admit that to himself, at least.

He doesn’t want to think about the other feelings that hit his gut like a sucker punch whenever the mortal female so much as glances in his direction. Doesn’t want to think about the feeling of her skin under his tongue, his finger as he brushes away her tears. The feeling of her body against his and her hands on his chest haunt him, no matter the swift knee to the balls that follow in his memories. She could tear him apart without blinking an eye, he knows. It would be so easy to let those feelings consume him.

And then he loses his wings, rendered helpless as she is forced into the Cauldron, and he doesn’t feel much of anything, anymore.

“Cass.” Mor’s voice is pleading, raw in a way he hasn’t heard in centuries. She sounds like she did when she asked him to take her virginity, and the thought hits him in the chest like a knife wound. “Cassian, I know you’re awake, please.”

They have him set up in his bedroom, his aching wings wrapped in stiff gauze. The smell in the room is medical, sterile, with no hint of the smokey wood scent from the crackling fire he usually keeps going in the corner of his room. His family has been in and out for the past few days, begging him to say something, to say anything, but Cassian doesn’t quite know how to speak anymore. He has nothing to say; words won’t heal the torn and tattered flesh that sit like an albatross on his spine.

“Cass, we’re worried.” Cassian can hear the tears hidden behind Morrigan’s voice, threatening to spill through her words. He hopes she isn’t going to cry. He thinks he might be disgusted if she does. “We need you, Cassian, Rhys and Az, and- I- we all need you, Cass. The healers say that it’s fine for you to move about, that a little bit of walking could do you good, just, please, Cass.” He doesn’t open his eyes, not when Mor takes his hand in both of hers, not when she presses her forehead to his knuckles.

When he feels a tear drip onto his calloused skin, he exhales sharply. Pulls his hand out of hers, and ignores the gasping sob she releases as she runs out of the room.

He shifts in his bed, and let’s the silence consume him once more.

“Cassian.” His High Lord is standing in the doorway, Cassian knows that much without having to look. There’s a reason that he commands the armies, that he’s in charge of strategy. He knows where his enemies will be without even needing spies.

Rhys isn’t his enemy, he has to remind himself. Rhys is his brother. His High Lord. But Gods, right now, he feels more like an opponent than anything.

“Cassian, enough.” He can hear Rhys walk towards him, hears the scrape of the wooden chair stationed next to the bed as Rhys sits down. “I- I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through right now. But the Night Court needs its commander, now more than ever.” Nothing. “Cassian, Hybern isn’t going to stop his attack just because your wings are-“

Cassian almost snorts. Fights the urge to push Rhys to finish his sentence. My wings are what, Rhysand?

“Cassian-” and there’s that vulnerability that Rhys tries so hard to hide “-Cassian, they have Feyre. They have my mate in the Spring Court, and we can’t get her back without you.”

Cassian’s tongue is lead in his mouth. He won’t reply. Won’t let himself think about Feyre, his High Lady, his friend trapped in the prison that almost broke her once and for all.

Rhys sits for an hour before he leaves, lingering at the door long enough to say, “If you don’t do it for me, at least do it for her.”

Azriel says nothing when he enters, and nothing when he leaves. He lets the shadows do the talking, lets them pulse around them, lets them scrape up Cassian’s spine and soothe his traitorous back. He and Az have never needed words, and he almost resents the way that his brother can understand him so well without asking a single question. When the Shadowsinger leaves, the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.

Amren sits outside of his room every night for a week. She brings her books, and a fresh jug of blood, and works until the sun lights up the sky. She leaves without any evidence that she was there in the first place, save for an errant drop of blood or the lingering scent of floral perfume wafting through the hallway.

“I don’t understand why you’re making me do this.” Her words is muffled by the door in between them, but Gods, Cassian would recognize that cold, clear voice anywhere. His eyes snap open for the first time in days.

“Because, Nesta,” he can hear Rhysand say, the frustration and annoyance with the oldest Archeron evident in his tone. “Nothing else is working, and you two have…an understanding.”

“An understanding?” Nesta’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and something else a little bit more dangerous. “What, so he pledges to fight for the mortals in front of those bitch queens, and now he and I have an understanding?”

He strains to hear Rhys’s response, but his High Lord’s voice has gone too low for Cassian to make out any words. Whatever his brother said must have hit home with Nesta, though, because he can make out a feminine growl before the door to his room swings open and slams shut.

She says nothing for what feels like years. When she finally acknowledges him, Cassian doesn’t know what she will do, but he doesn’t expect the incredulous, cold laugh that the female emits. It rings through the silent room like the clash of metal on metal, sword on armor.

She laughs, and it enrages Cassian so much that he forgets that he isn’t supposed to speak.

“Is something funny?” His voice is rusty after a week of not using it, but the raw, unrefined darkness behind his words cuts like steel.

“Forgive me,” Nesta says breathlessly, in a tone that makes it very clear that she couldn’t give two shits about his forgiveness. “I just didn’t think that the commander of the Night Court’s armies could be so…pathetic.” When Cassian whips his head around to face Nesta, she is wearing an impersonal, sharklike smile, but that’s not the first thing he notices.

She’s…fae. And yes, Cassian knew that already, knew it from when Azriel came into his room the first day after Hybern and explained everything to him in that cool, measured voice of his while the commander pretended to be asleep. Cassian knew, but nothing could have prepared him for what she looks like, now.

Her slim body, once so fragile, looked as though it had been forged into iron. She wore the billowing, provocative clothing of the Night Court, clad in an icy gray top cut to display inches of her pale belly and flowing pants cuffed at her hips and ankles. Her hair that shined even as a mortal now seems to be spun of pure bronze and gold, and her eyes- her eyes glint like a mirror beneath her dark lashes. Her unbound hair does a poor job of hiding the most damning evidence of her transformation: the pointed ears peeking out from beneath those glistening strands.

He’s shocked enough that he doesn’t bother responding to the insult that he knows is meant to provoke some kind of reaction out of him. “Nesta, what did they do to you?”

Nesta flinches. Pulls her hair over her ears unconsciously, like it’s become instinct. “If this were about me,” she says haughtily, “I can assure you, I wouldn’t be here right now. Playing nurse over some bastard male crying over his poor, broken wings is the last thing I want to be doing.” Her words are aimed to hurt him, but Cassian can’t get over her new Fae features that she’s trying to desperately to hide.

“I’m going to kill him,” Cassian says, his eyes fixed on those ears that he knows she would claw off if she could. “I’m going to kill-“

“You’re going to kill him?” Nesta mocks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to kill Hybern? Look at yourself.” She moves closer to the bed, waving an elongated hand over Cassian’s prostrate form. “From what my sister’s… mate told me, you haven’t even spoken in a week and a half. He said you wouldn’t open your eyes.” Her steely eyes find his, hold his gaze for a second before flicking away in dismissal. “Please. You couldn’t kill a fly. You’re too busy acting like a petulant child because of a minor injury.”

Cassian’s blood turns to ice. “A minor injury?” he repeats with a snarl, pulling himself as upright as he can in the bed. “Little girl, you have no idea what I’ve lost. No idea what I’m going through.” He leans in closer to the female, daring her to blink, but her expression is as calm as ever. “I,” he begins, and they’re sharing the same air now, “am nothing without my wings. Do you understand that, child? I am nothing without them.”

She holds his stare, stony face unmoving as she leans in closer, and oh, this is how she’s going to play it, is it? She pauses, her mouth an inch away from his, and tilts her head, her eyes hard. “Get over yourself, fairy bastard.”

With that, she pulls away, exiting the room as swiftly as she came without pulling the door closed behind her. Cassian roars, a broken, angry sound that echoes through the entire house and threatens to shatter the glass windows lining his room. He roars for Nesta and the body she wants to shed like a snake. He roars for Feyre, taken a man that would rather see her empty than see her free. He roars for Rhys, who was finally given the happiness he deserved only to watch it be taken away from him. He roars for himself, for his wings.

“What have you done?” he hears Rhys yell down the hall, magic crackling behind each word.

“He’s awake,” Nesta replies coldly, and a door slams shut.

For the first time since Hybern, Cassian allows himself to cry.

He shows up at breakfast the next morning. He tells himself that it has nothing to do with her, nothing to do with the female that haunts both his dreams and his nightmares, but he knows that’s not true. The first few steps are harder than he’d ever imagined. With his shattered wings wrapped up in those damned bandages that the healer replaces twice a day, his balance is off, and he loses his footing more than once trying to get out of bed. It takes longer than he wants to admit to make his way to the dining room, but slowly, shakily, he gets there. He can hear his friends talking in low voices, no doubt strategizing how to get Feyre home and take down Hybern, but the room falls silent when he walks through the door. Mor’s eyes widen as she claps a hand to her mouth. Rhys nods once, relief in his eyes, and Amren bows her head.

“Brother,” Azriel says quietly. The shadows hum with gratitude.

Cassian’s gaze turns to Nesta, sitting at the corner of the table picking at a scone with a scowl. Her eyes flick up, glancing across him before returning to her scone. Completely ignoring him.

Some things never change.

“Hi!” The sweet voice comes from beside Nesta. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Well. If anyone were kind (or foolish) enough to ask the broken Commander if he wanted a cup of tea, it would be Elain Archeron.

Cassian is still as his friends stare at him, waiting for a reaction, and Gods, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but he won’t let himself break, not now, not in front of her. “Uh. Sure. Yeah. Tea would be…great.”

Rhys smiles like he’s remembering how to, and Nesta looks up at him with something that might be gratitude in her eyes, and Cassian knows he made the right decision.

[christinaprofessional]

Warden’s Depression [Fanfiction for DragonAge]

           Piper’s mind finally quieted after she started her fortieth set of practice whip kicks. She had been up all night, going over soldier counts, training schedules, kitchen lists… when Ares finally let out a low sigh at her pacing back and forth, she left her office and put on her training clothes. The war hound escorted her down to the yard, where she began stretching. No one would be out for hours—the dawn wasn’t even peaking over the horizon yet. So, she started her training exercises…and just kept going until her brain’s train of endless thoughts was overrun by counts and repetition.

           Her breathing was rhythmic and settled when she felt a small breeze tussle the hairs on the back of her neck. Instinctively, she whipped around, her left arm ducking and her right arm hooking around to grab the sneak’s arm. Her right leg shot out and flipped the person on their back, but they were prepared for that. They flipped back up and lashed out with a swift kick aimed at Piper’s head. Piper swerved, a slight movement, and gave a quick fist-palm jab to their abdomen while feinting an elbow to their face. Her opponent dodged the elbow and rolled with the jab, making the hit land lighter than Piper intended. A flash of orange hair made Piper smirk—and then drop to the ground, swipe her left leg under the legs of her opponent, forcing them to jump. As they jumped, she flipped herself up with lightning speed and clotheslined them with her forearm in their gut as they descended, knocking the wind from them. Her opponent gasped for air and collapsed on the ground.

           “You’re always so ready for the jump.” Piper chided, as she reached out to help Marta out of the yard’s dust. The seventeen-year-old redhead coughed a couple times, getting her wind back, as she took Piper’s hand and pulled herself up. Marta then bent over and braced her hands on her knees as she coughed again. A few moments later, she wiped away a trickle of blood from her nose and straightened up.

           “Well, it’s sort of breed into me. Shopkeepers go for a thieves’ knees to slow them down. Instinct!” she retorted and spat into the dust. “Why are you out here so early? Or late? Or is it early?” she asked, and Piper sighed and started a practice routine called Striking Phoenix.

           “Couldn't sleep, so I was doing paperwork. Couldn’t stop doing paperwork, so I came out here.” she snapped, and Marta raised her eyebrows, and then noticed Ares watching silently by the sidelines. The war hound normally would come say hi to Marta, but he was strictly forbidden in the training yard unless it was war hound training. However, he wasn’t doing his normal pouting. He was watching Piper, and then kept looking at Marta as if he was hoping she would get something…

           “When is Alistair due back?” she suddenly asked, and Piper’s kick in her routine snapped out a little sharper than it was supposed to. Her concentrated stare turned into a glower.  “Piper,” Marta said sternly, and Piper huffed.

           “Don’t worry about it, Marta.” Piper snapped and finished the routine quickly. “I’m going inside. I’m done,” she muttered, and hopped the low fence keeping the training yard quartered off. Marta’s eyebrows snapped together, and then she turned to Ares. The hound seemed to shrug at her as if to say “I told you” and hurried after Piper.  

            Piper stormed back up to Soldier’s Peak’s highest tower and slammed the door behind her. The door had taken many slams, but this one sent a few splinters from the frame. She snarled, pacing the room like a caged drascolisk. She was powered up from her repetitions, but she was also so worn out. She felt pulled in every direction— the lords who begged her for her help, even though when the world was ending during the Blight, they couldn’t be bothered to help her; the peasants of the valley counting on her to keep trade going with a capital that was struggling to find it themselves; and Alistair getting called off to go on “secret missions” for the Orleasian Wardens. It made her…so many things—angry, sad, frustrated, devastated, numb, scared, worried—all at once. But mostly, it made her feel like her blood was boiling.

           “AUGH!” She screamed into the night and slammed her fists onto the windowsill. Maybe her blood actually was boiling. Boiling from Darkspawn blood being twisted into it, the Joining magic that coursed through it, the threat of death looming any coming year. She thought about the Calling as she stared out into the starry mountain night. Alistair and she were only a year apart in age, and a year apart in Joining the Wardens. It was very likely they would get their Calling around the same time too. What would she do? She wasn’t ready to go: she was rebuilding the organization that had saved her life- she was building a new life with Alistair and Marta. Submitting was not an option. It wasn’t an option when the Archdemon threatened her and Alistair’s lives and it wasn’t now either. Not ever she growled to herself.

           She hadn’t bothered to light a lantern or candle in her room, but elves could see pretty well in the dark. She saw Marta walking slowly back from the training yard, after continuing to practice for a while. Piper felt a pang in her chest- she never yelled at Marta; not actually. She felt bad for losing her temper.

           And suddenly, Piper was sobbing. She was sobbing so hard her shoulders shook. She slid down the wall and curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around herself. Tears flooded out of her, and she screamed silently into the darkness. The pain her chest seemed to grow until it was going to consume her, and there would be nothing left--nothing… no Piper, no Hero of Ferelden, no Warden Commander… no one…

           She wasn’t aware of how long she had been sobbing and spiraling down when Ares burst in, barking like a mad dog. Marta was right behind him, her face white as a sheet. She took in Piper, curled into the fetal position, crying tears of black blood, and her eyebrows snapped together with worry. She gathered her up—the woman who had taken her off the streets—and ran. She raced down the stairs, Ares at her heels, and yelled for a healer. The mage rushed up to see a limp Piper, whose eyes were blank with black tear tracks down her face and her skin pale with a sickly blue hue. The mage instantly pulled a necklace out of his robes and barked that High Enchantress Wynn was needed at Soldier’s Peak at once.

           Piper drifted in and out of what felt like an endless sea of darkness. She didn’t know much- she knew her name was Piper, and she knew people kept telling her to hold on. Hold on to what? or for what? They weren’t specific. She tried to ask them to clarify, but they wouldn’t. The sea was cold- it numbed her to her core until she couldn’t feel anything. Yet, bubbles seemed to rise up in her, like a boiling pot. Every once in awhile, when she truly felt like she was going to drift out, a warm feeling would pull her back—a lick. A lick from a dog. Who had a dog….?

            Oh…she had drifted again. She felt a little more sure of things now. Like, she was pretty sure that was her dog that kept licking her. And she was sure that she was being told to hold on for something. But when would that come? She felt a little pain her chest, but her body felt very far away. Suddenly, something very warm slid into her hand. It was round… with a chain…

 ROUND…CHAIN…NECKLACE…LOCKET…SPECIAL…ALISTAIR

            “al-al-ALISTAIR!” she sputtered, trying to jolt up, but her strength failed her. Alistair was indeed there, holding her right hand with his locket, tears in his storm-blue eyes. At her waking, his eyes widened and he shouted out in alarm. He dropped her hand and grabbed her, almost in a chokehold, and she hugged him back, just as furiously. Alistair’s shout had drawn the healer’s and Marta’s attention, and they rushed into the room. Marta almost knocked the healer out as she shoved him aside to get to Piper first. She jumped on top of the couple and wiggled into their hug. Ares jumped around the doorway, barking happily. The healer eventually forced his way in, insisting to see Piper. He ran his magic over her, and ho’d and hum’d over her. He poked her joints and asked her to open her mouth.

           “Where where you?” the healer asked, and Piper looked at him quizzically.

           “How did you know I was somewhere?” she replied, and the healer huffed.

           “I tried to pull you out via the Fade. You were sort of in an induced coma? Like, you had put yourself there. I asked High Enchantress Wynn to look too, but we could not find you. Where were you?” he asked again, and Piper just shook her head.

           “I felt.. like was drowning in a vast ocean of darkness…there was no one there but me…” she said slowly, and the healer narrowed his eyes, then suddenly wrote it down in his notebook with furious dedication. He nodded and rushed out. Alistair and Marta returned to hugging her. “How long was I out?” she whispered, and Alistair answered, his voice very tight.

           “A week and a half. I hope you feel very well rested.” he quipped, and Piper raised an eyebrow. Alistair just buried his head into the nape of her neck, breathing in her scent, and she felt him sob silently. She felt her own throat get tight, and she looked at Marta.

           “I’m so sorry I yelled at you.” she whispered, and Marta nearly laughed out loud.

           “That?! Oh my gods—-Oh my gods Piper. Piper!” Marta snorted and returned to hugging her. “I forgive you. Oh gods, I forgive you. Please don’t scare me like that ever, ever again… Don’t leave me.” she almost whispered the last part, and both Alistair and Piper looked to Marta with tears glistening in their eyes.

           “Never.” they said in unison, and the small family snuggled into the Warden’s king size bed.

            A couple days later, Piper was able to walk around without Marta sneaking behind to see if she would collapse again (although, she was probably just being less conspicuous about it. Piper chose to ignore her). Ares still stuck to her like a tick, but he didn’t chit-chat, so that was fine with her. Alistair ignored all letters from Orleis, even the ones marked URGENT, WARDEN, OPEN. He refused to leave her side too, which she loved. She held his hand tightly as they walked around the keep, and the staff whispered that their Warden had both her puppies back at her side. Piper felt fine—she had her strength back and had returned to the training yard the day after waking up. Alistair insisted on training with her to further keep watch over her, which she found hilarious, because she was much faster than him, and this caused him to lose a lot of their bouts. However, he was much faster than other warriors due to training with his wife, the rouge, and this leads to skirmishes with other Wardens in the yard being won by the Warden Captain.

            Wynn had come to the Peak to study how Piper had sunk into a comatose state all on her own. Avernus, the Blood Mage from Commander Dryden's time in the Peak, had decided his work was complete, since Piper wouldn’t let him use human subjects anymore, and had succumbed to his old age. It wasn’t until this very morning that Wynn made a break through.

            Piper was in the training yard, drilling recruits when Wynn came tearing out of Avernus’ Tower that housed the secrets to Tainted-Blood magic. Piper tackled an unsuspecting recruit who seemed to think that Alistair must have been the Hero of Ferelden, not some little she-elf, and flipped him with one of her fancy maneuvers. His friends laughed at him heartedly, teasing that he just got trounced by a woman, and an elf no less. Piper’s eyes began to twinkle with mischief as she turned to the rest, ready to make some more examples when Wynn ran up to her. She was still pretty spry for an old lady [that was technically dead].

           “Piper! I need to speak with you! Now!” she gasped, and Piper frowned. Then, a wicked idea popped into her head, and she grinned nastily.

           “Marta, would you mind taking over for me?” she asked sweetly. Marta was her mole in the recruits, always pretending to be a new, green little she-elf who was conscripted. The secret was well kept by the older soldiers and recruits as well because everyone loved to see Marta at her wickedest—which was when she was trouncing unsuspecting (and misogynistic) male recruits. This had earned her some respect with the older Wardens and soldiers, so they never mentioned to the greenies that she was actually a fully ranked soldier. Little “sweet” Marta blinked, surprised, and then blushed like she was so unsure of what to do next.

           “M-me?” she squeaked, and Piper nodded, the hard drill commander. Marta started to “shake” and then squeaked out instructions to the boys. There were two other girls in the group, but Marta had already shown them a few tricks—enough to keep them safe from the boys. She would then go on to “accidentally” bring every single student down.

           It truly made Piper’s day.

            Piper strolled over to Wynn and crossed her arms. “What’s up?” she asked, and Wynn looked around.

           “I’ve been studying the books in the Blood Mage tower. Now, you know I’m not a huge fan of blood magic, but the Darkspawn Taint you have… and the potion you drank up there… from Avernus… I think that it may have affected you differently than Avernus thought. You said that your blood felt like it was boiling? Maybe it was! It may have shut you down since you were in an extreme emotional state. To protect you? Or simply to shut you down.” she whispered, and Piper cocked her head, mulling the information over. She had been all over the board, and not in control of her emotions like she usually was.

           “I was having a very difficult time controlling my emotions. Which is unusual for me, as you know,” she said, and Wynn nodded.

           “You’re always a calm one unless the situation calls for otherwise. But with what you told me about the stresses you were under, the current feelings with the Veil, and Alistair…there is innate magic in you now, Piper, and it may have been trying to protect you.” Wynn explained, and Piper nodded.

           “So, to make sure it doesn’t happen again…?” Piper trailed off, hoping Wynn would fill in, but the old woman merely smiled.

           “Tread carefully, and maybe control those emotions.” she suggested, and Piper dropped her arms and rolled her eyes.

           “Thank you, Wynn. Oh gods, I would have never thought!” she said sarcastically, but the woman simply chuckled. Piper groaned and rubbed her head. After a moment or two, Piper simply sighed and looked back at her recruits. Marta was sitting on the rude one, all innocence, and the rest were all groaning on the ground. Piper chuckled to herself and turned back to Wynn.

           “For real, thank you. I appreciate your help and your quick aid. I know Marta and Alistair do too. Thank you, and Gods bless.” she held out her hand, and drew Wynn in for a hug. Wynn nodded and kissed Piper on the forehead.

           “Be careful, my little Grey Warden. You’re not as invincible as you once were. That took at least one dark ritual and an Archdemon to make you so.” she joked, and Piper rolled her eyes. She sighed and returned to her recruits while saying “Thank you, Marta… I appreciate how well you lead the class….”