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carewyncromwell · 4 years

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At last, my friends, we’ve come to the end! This is the final part of my POTC AU. *cue the confetti and noisemakers*

I’ll be creating a masterpost for this AU in the next few days, so that it’s easier to start at the beginning, but before we jump right in, I want to thank those people who contributed to the POTC AU during its development by creating content for their own characters -- @hphm-brooke, @danceworshipper, @rosievixen, @smarti-at-smogwarts, @theguythatdraws, @dat-silvers-girl, @that-ravenpuff-witch, @hogwarts9, @drinkyoursoupbitch and @samshogwarts -- as well as my dear friend @cursebreakerfarrier, whose character Jules I roped into this thing at the very start before having any concept of how big this thing could get and I feel so blessed to have been able to write for. I also just want to thank you all for the overwhelming flood of support you guys have sent my way for this project -- I truly have loved every minute of it, and I hope to finish some of my other unfinished projects as well as create other fresh new material for you guys in the near future! I love you all! xoxo

One last time -- previous part is here, and full tag is here!

x~x~x~x

Even with McNully’s brilliant ploy giving her an extra smattering of glory to cement her position, Carewyn had still initially feared the crew who had been on the HMS Lion would take her to task for her insubordination of Cutler Beckett. It turned out she really needn’t have worried.

“Lord Beckett may have been chosen by the King to take charge of the Empire’s anti-piracy campaign,” said Carewyn’s old lieutenant when she questioned him about it, “but he selected you as the Admiral of the fleet. Therefore it’s only right that we, as your subordinates, follow your orders -- whether they contradict Lord Beckett’s or not.”

“Even though I’m the sort of person to threaten the King’s chosen representative with my pistol?” asked Carewyn, her eyebrows raised.

“Even if you did far worse than that,” said the lieutenant, his eyes blazing with resolve. “Your orders saved a lot of our men’s lives out there, when Beckett’s no doubt would’ve led to their deaths. It’s only right that we protect you -- that the Navy protects you -- just like you protected us.”

His boyish face broke out into a broad smile. “We won’t betray you, Admiral. None of us will.”

With the Navy’s defeat at the hands of the Pirate Lords, Carewyn charted a course straight for London. The fleet had just started the month-long journey when about three days in, the Flying Dutchman emerged out of a gigantic wave and pulled up right alongside the HMS Royal. The Navy’s sailors immediately prepared for a fight, as they knew that the Dutchman was no longer under their control, but Carewyn held the order to attack, instead allowing the ship to approach.

The sailors on board the Dutchman were unrecognizable to Carewyn’s eyes -- gone were the barnacle-encrusted, shark-or-fish-headed crew members she’d seen before: all she saw were a band of very human, though admittedly very dirty and ragged-looking pirates. Sticking out amongst them was a handsome, clean-shaved man with a stylishly-embroidered coat, a brown ponytail, and discerning brown eyes, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a shorter, stockier man with very long curly dark hair tied back in a ponytail that swished around behind him like an oddly sentient tail. It was these two men that came aboard, when Carewyn invoked the right to parley with the Dutchman’s Captain in her office.

Percy shut the door to Carewyn’s cabin’s door behind the two men, taking off his tricorn hat just as the pirates, Ben, and Carewyn already had now that he was indoors. It was only once Carewyn, Percy, Ben, Jacob, and Ashe were alone that the two Navy officers and ex-Navy veteran dropped their professional masks and the two pirates dropped their intimidating glares, and Jacob and Carewyn ran forward, throwing their arms around each other and squeezing tight.

“Jacob!” Carewyn breathed against his shoulder as she clung to her brother.

Jacob cradled his younger sister close, absently trailing his hand through her hair in repetitive strokes. “Oh Wyn -- my brave Wyn...”

Carewyn pulled away just enough to look at Jacob. Her eyes trailed over his face, down to the long scar on his chest exposed by his slightly open shirt, and over his curly ponytail, which was currently squiggling like a ribbon in mid-air behind him.

Jacob smiled a bit sheepishly.

“Seems all sailors on the Flying Dutchman become a bit more ‘sea-like’ upon tying themselves to the ship. Rakepick’s hair kind of went all ‘jellyfish’ when she was captain -- probably because of her talent for shocking betrayals,” he added with a rather nasty smile. “Ashe thinks that my hair’s been evoking an eel. Fortunately I reckon I won’t start sprouting gills or turning green unless I actively shed my humanity and ignore my role as ferryman like Jones did...”

The severe look on Carewyn’s face made the smile slowly slide off of Jacob’s face.

“Jacob...when Jones was captain of the Dutchman, he wasn’t allowed to visit dry land but once every ten years,” said Carewyn, her voice betraying the anxiety she felt despite her best effort.

Jacob’s eyes grew a little more solemn. “...I know.”

Seeing the pain in his sister’s eyes, he immediately swooped in and trailed a hand through the hair near the front of her face.

“Wyn, I already planned for this. The whole reason I left you on Isle de Muerta is that I wanted to get Jones’s heart and force him, any way I had to, to release you from the contract.” He swallowed. “...I knew I’d have to be prepared to follow through, if I was going to threaten Jones’s life -- that I’d have to be prepared to become captain of the Dutchman myself, if it came to it.”

Carewyn looked if possible even more upset. “...You mean you planned this? You were really going to kill Jones, to stop him from impressing me into service?”

“I was not going to condemn you, Wyn,” Jacob said in a very forceful, pained voice. “I couldn’t let you suffer because of my mistake -- ”

“Two wrongs do not make a right, Jacob,” Carewyn shot back very harshly. “Jones may have been heartless, but he was still a person!”

“If you disregard the tentacles and claw, anyway,” Ashe said rather coolly. When Carewyn whirled on him with a very reproachful look, he spoke again before she did, “Carewyn, your brother had his fair share of conflict about the whole thing. He hated the thought of killing Jones and joining the crew of the Dutchman. He hated the thought of not being free to go where he wanted, to lose so much time with you...with me.”

Ashe’s eyes were very stony, but they still flickered over to Jacob, narrowing slightly with something oddly resigned. Carewyn’s gaze softened significantly.

“...I hated it for him too,” the merman said lowly. “I still do. But I hate the thought of Jack having died there on that deck more. I hate the thought that Rakepick would’ve actually managed to kill him this time, and there would’ve been nothing I could’ve done to stop it. Your friend the Pirate King couldn’t save your brother’s life, but she did prevent him from dying...all because she, like me, couldn’t bear the thought of you two never seeing each other again.”

His lips actually turned up in something of a weak, wry smile upon Carewyn.

“I understand your frustration -- your brother can be amazingly thick -- ”

“Oi!” said Jacob, a bit offended, but Ashe ignored him.

“ -- but I’ve been very fortunate to know the same intense, selfless love from Jack that he feels for you. I’m not going to act like it’ll be easy -- I mean, even if I’d be able to stay on-board on the Dutchman with Jack while he’s here in the land of the living...whenever he goes to the next world as ferryman, I won’t be able to follow. But I can always meet up with him at sea, in my regular form -- I can always catch up, given the proper time...just like I did while Jack was serving under Howell Davis. Until then, I’ll just find someplace to wait.”

Carewyn considered Ashe for a long moment, her blue eyes rippling with a rather indiscernible expression. Then, looking a bit more determined, she strode right up to Ashe and took hold of his shoulders.

“You won’t have to find a place,” she said. “You’ll have one with me.”

Both Jacob and Ashe looked taken aback.

“You’re family, Duncan,” said Carewyn with a smile. “And everything I’ve ever done -- everything I’m doing now -- is for my family...my blood one and my found one.”

She glanced at Percy, who beamed, before turning her gaze back to Ashe.

“You’ll always have a home with me, when you don’t have one with my brother,” she said very firmly. “Always.”

Ashe looked faintly stunned. His eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, analyzing every inch as if he’d never seen anyone quite like her. His gaze flitted back over to Jacob, whose face had broken into a very warm, tear-choked smile.

Seeing the intense emotion in his partner’s face, Ashe couldn’t help but bow his head and clear his throat as he struggled to keep his composure.

“Ahem...well...that’s...nice.”

He glanced at Carewyn out the side of his eye almost hesitantly. The Admiral’s smile softened that bit more, becoming more sympathetic, and finally Ashe’s face slowly broke out into a very small, soft smile too. He brought up a hand and rested it on the crown of her head, lightly messing up her bangs.

“Guess I’ll just stick with you in the interim, then,” he said airily, “considering the Brethren Court’s instructions.”

Percy blinked in surprise. “The Brethren Court?”

Jacob nodded. “We took a vote and our Pirate King decided that a ‘representative’ should deliver the Court’s demands to the Admiral and the British Crown. Originally the plan was to have Ashe and me rendez-vous with you, and for Ashe to stay with you until ‘the terms were met.’”

“Jack would’ve done it himself if he could, but of course, he sort of needs to stick to the sea, unless he wants to waste his ‘one day every ten years,’” added Ashe.

“What terms did the Court decide on?” asked Ben, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “I assume they want pardons for themselves and their crews...but just pardoning a mob of pirates isn’t going to fix things on its own.”

Jacob nodded. “Aye. The Court requested a ‘path toward reintegration’ -- one that includes pardons, as well as a job that suits our sailing and, er... ‘financially-inclined’ talents and can be used to build a future for ourselves and any families we may want to support. Amari’s First Mate said there would only be a 58% chance that the King would accept those terms, but he hoped that you ‘being put under duress’ by a pirate while submitting those terms in writing might improve the odds slightly -- ”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Carewyn very primly.

This startled both Jacob and Ashe. Carewyn exchanged a wry smile with Ben.

“We’re already heading to London right now,” said Ben, his smirk noticeably broader than Carewyn’s. “The Admiral plans on requesting an audience with the King himself.”

“With Beckett gone, I’m in the best position I’ll ever be in, to make my move,” Carewyn said, her blue eyes flashing with determined fire. “I’m done with staying silent -- I intend to convince the King to give every pirate the chance to start their lives over.”

And so Carewyn sailed for London with Ashe, Ben, and Percy as her entourage. Meeting King George I would be a formidable proposition for anyone, but Carewyn fortunately was able to prepare a little ahead of time. The Weasley family had grown up near London, so Percy was able to give Carewyn some advice of how to approach the King --

“His Majesty was born and raised in the Holy Roman Empire, so English is not his first language. There are some rumors that he really doesn’t even speak English at all, but I think that’s highly exaggerated -- anti-German sentiment more than anything, you know. One thing that’s for sure, though, is that what he says goes. He’s even ostracized his own son and heir, so I’ve heard, since he was more popular with the British people. But he also can’t stand the Tories -- they never quite accepted his claim to the throne, over the Stuarts...honestly, there are a lot of people who’ve never really warmed up to the man...”

“And financially?” asked Carewyn.

Percy considered this. “...Well, the King’s very wealthy, certainly -- everyone knows that. But I suppose profit would always be advantageous, for the sake of the Empire...”

Carewyn smiled wryly and shook her head. “The Navy has been commanded by the East India Trading Company more than the King himself, as of late. Beckett once equated money with power, and I think there was a reason. If the King’s been leaning so heavily on the Company, that tells me that it had financial resources the Crown is in desperate need of, so the Crown’s own coffers currently depend on the Company’s success.”

Ben got an delighted, devious glint in his eye.

“Bet he’ll be absolutely thrilled to hear what happened to his fleet, then,” he said sarcastically.

Ashe and Carewyn exchanged a smirk too.

“I reckon you could play to that desperation,” said Ashe dryly. “A lack of or loss of wealth is a very common fear among men, I’ve found.”

Carewyn nodded in agreement.

Within twenty days, the HMS Royal docked in London, a few days ahead of schedule thanks to the almost miraculously clear weather and friendly winds. Carewyn then traveled with Percy, Ashe, and Ben to Kensington Palace. It was only one of many castles owned by the King, but according to Percy, it was the one King George I had renovated the most, so Carewyn sussed out that it was likely his favorite of his residences and so, in her opinion, the best place to seek him out first. Her intuition turned out to be spot-on -- as it turned out, both King George I and his son the Prince were there, and although the King was occupied with his Ministers and couldn’t meet with them until that evening, Prince George Augustus was eager to meet the famous Admiral Weasley and requested an audience in one of the royal drawing rooms.

The Crown Prince of England was an amiable and warm, but not a very clever or intellectual man of about forty years. He expressed a lot of interest in Carewyn’s experience as a Navy hero, sounding rather like a child as he questioned her about facing off against the likes of Orion Amari and the crew of the dreaded ship Revenge. Carewyn did have to tailor her stories somewhat, but after a while, she was able to get Prince George comfortable enough that they ended up talking casually over a game of Cribbage, where Carewyn gleaned a few other helpful insights. For one, Carewyn learned that both the King and Prince knew several languages, the first being French, which was the preferred language at court as well as among royals abroad. She also found out that the royal family had never visited the colonies themselves, and that King George I’s leading advisor on matters of business -- the First Lord of the Treasury, Sir Robert Walpole -- had been personally putting more stock in the East India Trading Company than on investing any additional money into the colonies. From the sound of things, he believed as Cutler Beckett did in the power of money over noble ancestry, and yet the Prince conceded that his wife and father both thought well of him and that he was relatively amiable.

When Carewyn finally got her audience with King George I, she sure enough encountered Sir Robert Walpole. He was a broad middle-aged man with a powdered white wig curled into ringlets who stood beside the gray-wigged, tiny-eyed elderly King -- and the news of Cutler Beckett’s fate and the outcome of the confrontation at Shipwreck Cove visibly troubled him. As Carewyn had thought, the Crown had been counting on the East India Trading Company’s profits to flow back toward England to offset the national debt brought on by the War of Spanish Succession and Britain’s other conflicts...and so, when she made her proposal to the King, she felt rather confident.

“Votre Majesté...the scourge of piracy is indeed a threat, not just to the lives of our citizens, but to the Empire’s prosperity. But the East India Trading Company is a business -- they’re not trained in military matters, nor do they know how best to use the resources of the British Crown to combat this problem. They’re not equipped to deal with sensitive matters of state, which truthfully, I believe this to be. We don’t need to get England tied up in another military conflict...particularly when there’s a much more cost-effective alternative.”

King George I raised his graying eyebrows with some interest, but did not speak.

“And what alternative would you suggest, Admiral?” asked Walpole, looking rather curious himself.

“Investing in the colonies,” said Carewyn very firmly. “There’s still a lot of undeveloped land out there -- a lot of trading potential in beaver skins, lumber, and tobacco -- the possibility of wealth that’s been left untapped by the East India Trading Company, with their intense focus on Asia. These men who have become pirates, many of them, were privateers under us during our War against the Spanish. They know shipping and are in need of honest work. They’ve asked for it explicitly. I say that we offer pardons to those pirates who would be willing to work for a new trading company in New England -- one that can be for the colonies what the Company in India already is.”

Walpole frowned deeply in thought, considering the proposal. King George straightened up slightly in his throne so he could peer down at Carewyn with a beady eye.

“You believe, truly, that these criminals would want honest employment?” the old man asked.

His voice was very quiet and laced with a husky German accent. Apparently Percy was right to think the rumors that he couldn’t speak English weren’t true, but he seemed a bit uncomfortable with the language, all the same.

Carewyn smiled at the King. “Oui, mon roi. Beasts can survive on human flesh alone, but humans need a home and money in order to live well. Et les pirates...pardon, I hope that word is correct...sont juste les humains.”

King George’s tiny eyes softened noticeably.

“Your French is very poor, Admiral,” he said in rather smug amusement, “but your word choice is correct.”

He looked at Walpole. “What say you, Earl?”

Walpole considered his answer. “...It could be an interesting proposition -- were we able to locate someone who’d be willing to put his name, reputation, and estate on the line, to fund such a company...”

“I volunteer.”

Ben took a step forward and gave a low, but clipped bow to the King.

“Lord Earl, Your Majesty, this is Captain Gordon Cooper, of the HMS Royal,” Carewyn introduced him. “He was instrumental in helping me lead our men during the battle at Shipwreck Cove.”

“I already have a small sum of money saved up, your Majesty -- enough to purchase one or two ships of my own, to start with,” said Ben. “I truly believe that the profits I could make with those two ships just from offering safe passage to the colonies would be enough to fund the purchase of another. All I’d need would be some collateral to pay a crew for each ship in advance.”

"A standard ship would only need about ten well-bodied men to sail it and transport its cargo efficiently,” Carewyn said quickly, seeing the slight hesitation in the King’s expression. "I’m no expert in finance -- ” she inclined her head respectfully in Walpole’s direction, “ -- but in order to settle more land in the colonies, trees would have to be cut down...which means more lumber to transport back to England. If the people Captain Cooper’s ships are transporting are settlers who are incentivized to build homes there -- possibly with the promise of land ownership -- then their arrival alone would spark a boom of lumber sales. That could then pay back the investment several times over.”

Walpole’s lips spread into a smile, one wryer than the King’s. He was clearly a much more discerning man than either of the two Georges, but he seemed pleased by the proposition, nonetheless.

“...Indeed it could,” he granted. He glanced at the King. “I daresay old Townsend would be pleased to have some financial leverage for his talks with the Spanish and French...”

“Mm...”

King George I gave a short, pompous nod before turning back to face Carewyn and the others.

“Very well. I grant my favor.”

Walpole inclined his head to Ben. “Captain Cooper, the Crown grants you and your Company permission to sail. We shall provide you a loan of 10,000 pounds sterling for your first twenty sailors and any necessary ship repairs, to be paid back with interest within a year. If your sailors complete a successful -- namely, profitable -- round-trip expedition to London on board those ships, then they will receive a full pardon from the British Crown for their past crimes and be permitted to continue working as part of your Company.”

Carewyn’s companions’ eyes all lit up.

“Understood,” said Ben, his face consumed by a huge grin.

“Admiral Weasley will deliver the terms to the pirates -- quietly,” said the King with a stern eye. “I expect written reports and good results.”

Carewyn’s face burst into a brilliant smile too, which she tried to obscure when she brought an arm up to her chest and gave a low bow.

“Mais oui. Merci, votre Grace -- we’ll work hard pour England, et pour vous aussi.”

The King’s eyes sparkled with the trace of a wry smile. “Vous etes un garçon très divertissant, Amiral. J'espère que votre français se sera amélioré lors de notre prochaine rencontre.”

With the King’s blessing, Ben purchased the ships needed in London and, with Percy’s help, prepared them for their first expedition. Carewyn returned to the HMS Lion with Ashe, taking it out to sea just far enough that the Flying Dutchman could emerge from the water and pull up alongside the Navy ship. Carewyn relayed King George I’s decision to Jacob in her cabin, and the Captain of the Flying Dutchman was so overwhelmed with pride that he threw his arms around his little sister and squeezed her with all of his strength. Carewyn, however, found herself unable to celebrate.

“What’s wrong, Wyn?” said Jacob. He tilted his head to look at her, his eel-like ponytail twitching almost curiously behind him. “You did it -- you convinced the King. The Lords at Shipwreck Cove, all the people who live there, will be able to live normal lives again, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“I know,” said Carewyn lowly.

Despite herself, she just couldn’t meet her brother’s gaze. Her eyes lingered on his shoulder.

“...I just wish I could’ve given you that kind of normal life too,” she admitted.

Jacob’s blue eyes darkened. Bringing up both of his arms, he encircled Carewyn and held her tightly against his chest as he rested his head on top of hers. Carewyn bit her lip, trying to hold in her emotions as best she could.

“I wanted to bring you home,” she murmured. “The whole reason I wanted to fight for a world where pirates could be forgiven was because I wanted you to be able to come home...you and Bill and Charlie and Jules and Orion...”

Jacob squeezed Carewyn that bit tighter. Both Cromwells were crying now, even though they both stubbornly fought to keep themselves from breaking down into full sobs.

Ashe shared a grim look with Jacob over Carewyn’s head. Then he came up beside both of them, resting a hand on the crown of Carewyn’s head and leaning his forehead against his lover’s, and hummed something low under his breath. The resonant bass tone seemed to slowly calm Carewyn’s heart and breathing and help the tears ebb.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked up at Ashe with muted gratitude, before she turned back to her brother.

“...Now that I’ve done my duty and made sure the Crown’s terms were delivered, I intend to send in my resignation to the Navy. I can’t support Ben’s new Company while I’m still Admiral without worrying about a conflict of interest, after all.”

She offered a weak wry smile, which then slowly morphed into a much more gentle one.

“Besides...I think I’m ready to finally stop fighting.”

Jacob’s teary eyes softened fondly. “Then live, my sweet Wyn. Live in peace and happiness...”

With a heavy breath, he picked up the Dead Man’s Chest he’d brought with him back off Carewyn’s desk and faced Ashe.

“I’ll need to head to the next world soon,” said Jacob. “Would you...?”

Ashe inclined his head in a solemn nod. “Give it to me, Jack.”

Very carefully, Jacob placed the Chest into Ashe’s open hands, trailing his own much dirtier, faintly trembling hands over his lover’s once he’d taken it. His eyes darted from Ashe to Carewyn, looking heartbroken and almost starved -- like he longed so much to never look away from them again.

“Be safe,” Jacob mumbled, “and...please, keep a weather eye on the horizon for me?”

“How dare you ask me that.”

Ashe trailed his lips along the side of Jacob’s face in lingering, messy kisses, only pausing briefly to look him in the eye, blazing brown on blue.

“I will always wait, Jack. I will always find you again.”

Carewyn’s eyes were just as soft as she reached up into the inside pocket of her jacket and slowly withdrew a familiar star-like, sapphire-and-diamond pendant for Jacob to see.

It was the one he himself had given her on Isle de Muerta.

Jacob’s eyes flooded with more tears as Carewyn wrapped both of her arms around her brother’s neck, hugging him tightly just as she had then.

“We’ll be there, Jacob,” she murmured. Two streaks of tears slid from her closed eyes. “I promise.”

Jacob delivered the British Crown’s terms to the Brethren Court at Shipwreck Cove within two days, after he’d returned from ferrying the proper souls to the next life. Within a month, a ship full of twenty sailors had arrived in London, ready to man the red-and-blue-painted ships Ben Copper had purchased. The two ships set sail for the colonies, the first up to New England and the second down to the Caribbean, which allowed Percy to return home to Port Royal and go about his duties as Commodore and Ben to finally be reunited with his love Wendy Gordon and propose marriage as a free and prosperous man.

Once the two ships returned to London another month later, the first wave of pardons was signed. From there, Ben’s enterprise -- the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company -- grew, taking on more ships that then proceeded to employ the once-most-wanted criminals in the world and give them a chance at a new life. And Carewyn -- retiring with full honors from the Navy and settling in New York City with Ashe under her real name for the first time since she was a child -- visited the dock every morning to see every ship that came in.

The first ship to New York brought Ellie Hopper. The once-Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea ended up colliding with the soft-spoken third son of the well-respected horse breeder Johan Schaefer in upstate New York, and the two were married within a few years.

The second ship brought Merula Snyde and the stylish Frenchman Andre Egwu. The captain of the so-called “most powerful ship on the seven seas” continued as a merchant, breaking off from the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company to buy her own ship and engage in the tobacco and sugar trade between New England and the southern colonies. Andre opened up his own clothing shop in Philadelphia and soon became one of the most sought-after tailors in Pennsylvania.

The third ship brought Bill and Jules.

When Bill caught sight of Carewyn at the dock, he practically barreled his way down the ship’s gangplank and shoved a good ten people aside to reach his best friend. The two gingers and Jules then clung to each other for what felt like hours, tears of joy streaming down their faces as Bill trailed a hand through Carewyn’s now-loose-flowing hair and Jules fawned over Carewyn’s pretty new dress.

Bill and Jules also brought a letter from Charlie with them --

My twin, Carey,

I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you this news in person -- but I won’t be accepting my pardon for a while yet.

At Shipwreck Cove, I met a woman named Sarahi (I don’t believe you know her, but she knows you, and Orion spoke very well of her), who grew up in the area of the Pacific Ocean. According to what she’s said, it’s been left largely in chaos since the death of Bartholomew Sharp -- sea serpents, carnivorous sirens, giant squids, the whole lot...and as Pirate Lord of the Pacific, it’s my responsibility to manage things there. But hey, you know I’ve never been afraid of a little adventure! Particularly when I’ve got a good crew on my side. My First Mate Barnaby’s injuries have completely healed, so we, Sarahi, and Samantha O’Connell will be heading out within the next three days on the new and improved Revolution. Sam and Sarahi helped me paint some red dragon wings on the sides, just as a flourish!

I miss you so much, and I miss Bill already, just writing this -- but I know that we won’t ever be truly apart, even when I can only see you in my mind’s eye. I know you’ll probably be worried about me, Carey, but please don’t be. I’d trust my crew with my life -- I already have, honestly, and they sure haven’t let me down yet! I can’t wait for you to meet them. I reckon you’d probably “mother” the hell out of Barnaby, and Sarahi was really happy when I told her how good of a singer you are, so she’s very excited about the prospect of singing with you. And Sam...I reckon you and she will get on famously.

Remember, Carey...we’re family, now and forever! You’ll be in my mind and heart always, until I sail up into New York Harbor and see you again! If Bill hasn’t given you the biggest hug ever for my sake, then give him a good kick to the shin and remind him. Take good care of him, Jules, and Percy for me. Love you so much.

Your brother,

Charlie

Bill and Jules Weasley ended up settling down and starting a family of their own in New York City, just twelve blocks away from where Carewyn and Ashe lived. It was not uncommon over the years for both Carewyn and Ashe to pick up babysitting duties, though Ashe most frequently would just use his particular talent for singing to put any fussy children right to sleep and then drop them off in either Carewyn’s or Jules’s lap.

Over the next six months, more and more red-and-blue ships passed through New York Harbor, dropping off more pardoned ex-pirates so they could start new lives in the colonies. Then one day, toward the end of spring, Carewyn left the brick house she shared with Ashe as if to head for the dock as usual, only to stop mid-step at the sound of someone shouting her name.

“Carewyn!”

She turned around, her ginger hair flourishing behind her as if in slow motion.

A man had just leapt off the back of a carriage he’d been hanging off of without the driver’s knowledge and was now running toward her. Carewyn squinted, taking in his unfamiliar dark ponytail and sailor’s clothes -- then, within seconds, she recognized the handsomely smiling, bearded face and his shining, galaxy-like eyes.

“Orion?” she breathed.

Her heart seemed to seize up, as if it were being squeezed in someone’s hand and yet being given wings at the exact same time. Then she threw herself into a run, and it slammed against her rib cage, as she ran to him, flat-out ignoring how her knees kept getting caught in her hoops and her heeled shoes pinched her feet.

“Orion -- ORION!”

She just about tripped into his arms. Orion caught her and swooped down on her, burying his face in her hair.

“Carewyn...” he murmured against her neck.

“Orion,” said Carewyn.

Her voice was strained with the effort of trying to contain her joy. It felt like she was being stretched at the seams and probably could’ve exploded from all the intense emotions beating at the edges of her heart. She secured her arms around his neck and clung to him -- she brought her lips up to the side of his temple and kissed it, resting her forehead against his briefly before finally pulling away enough to look him in the face.

Orion was beaming from ear to ear as he brought up a hand to trail his thumb gently along her cheek.

“...Carewyn Cromwell...I don’t think you’ve ever looked more fair.”

Carewyn smiled. “Does that mean you like my new look?”

“Yes,” said Orion, his eyes grazing her black-and-white-striped dress and the diamond-and-sapphire pendant tied with a black ribbon around her neck briefly, “but that’s not why you look so fair. You’ve been my moon goddess, previously...but now you are Libertas, personified.”

Carewyn laughed, her face contorted with confusion. “What?”

“Libertas, Carewyn,” repeated Orion, his huge smile never faltering. “The goddess of freedom! Freedom is the most beautiful thing, Carewyn. I’ve longed for it all my life, but never could truly have it, whether because I lacked the means of survival or because I was a pirate who could only live on the run. And when we first met again, on the Artemis...the thing that hurt me the most, seeing you again...was knowing that you were trapped by your position -- enslaved to the duty that made you hide who you were and march lock-step with the likes of Cutler Beckett. But now you...in this moment, here...you are free. It shines in your eyes, on your face -- it radiates off of you like a star, Carewyn. Better still -- because of you, I am free. For the first time in my life...I’m completely free to chase my heart’s desire...”

Orion’s smile seemed to shrink slightly, not out of lack of happiness but out of something almost like nerves, as he reached into his lone remaining belt and slipped out a familiar black-lidded compass.

"McNully, Skye and I have been offered salaried positions with the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company,” he said a bit more seriously, “so I may have to return to sea in the future, but...”

When he opened the compass, its scarlet arrow was pointed right at Carewyn.

“...My heart’s desire has not changed. I would always return, if you...”

He trailed off, his tone oddly shy for how calm his face appeared. The once-Admiral’s red-painted lips spread into a bigger, fuller smile too as she rested her hands on top of his.

“I wouldn’t have married you in the middle of a storm if I didn’t want to build a life with you, Orion Amari,” she said gently. “Or is it Cromwell now? We may want to make a decision about that...”

She smoothed some dark hair out of his eyes.

“I already told you that I want you to have a home. If you need to fly like a bird...then I’ll be your nest.”

Carewyn placed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. His black eyes softening, Orion brought up a hand to hold the back of her head, holding it in place. He kissed her chastely in return once, twice, and then deepened the kiss on the third go. After he released her, he lingered, his lips brushing up against hers as he smiled down at her.

“...My dear Bedlam maid...I will always follow your song home.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes sparkled affectionately. “Then I’ll never stop singing.”

“See that you don’t,” said Orion, his black eyes glittering with some wry amusement. “I do believe I said I’d envisioned a life for you where you married a man that you could sing for.”

Carewyn laughed quietly, but after a moment, she brought her forehead beside her husband’s, her arms secure around his neck as she held him close and sang for him.

“So now these two are married, and happy may they be, Like turtle doves together, in love and unity.

All pretty maids, with patience wait, that have got loves at sea – I love my love because I know...my love…loves…me.”

#THE END!#*collapses*#holy friggin' s***#wow #I'm overwhelmed #but happy!#very happy!#83 #interestingly george i died about a year after the end of the golden age of piracy #so really it's a good thing that carewyn was able to make nice with both him and his son who of course became george ii #george ii also retained walpole as an advisor so the piracy pardons would've been able to continue into george ii's reign :)#ashe naturally would spend half his time at carey's place and half on the sea with jacob when he was in the world of the living <3 #and yes charlie would pop into new york harbor now and again with his crew #I just see him living happily ever after on the high seas rather than on land #I'm sure there were other pirates who followed charlie's path too #hphm #hogwarts mystery #carewyn cromwell #potc au #orion amari #jacob cromwell #duncan ashe #percy weasley #ben copper #gwendolyn gordon #samantha o'connell #sarahi silvers #barnaby lee #my art #my writing

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years

Text

An Unexpected Turn Of Events

(Paladin Danse x Preg! F!SoSu)

(Very tempted to still do a Maxson version of this.)

Everything has gone so badly. Danse was accustomed to it though. So many times had he felt like he had the whole thing planned out, just for him to wind up returning to the prydwen short a couple good men and women. It was this fact that often kept him up at night, his self-loathing keeping him from a restful sleep. However, as accustomed to death and injuries as his position had rendered him to being, he couldn’t have prepared for this.

It was just you, him and a whole lot of fusion cells. The mission was to clean out some old building, only expected to have a couple of ferals inside.

That certainly wasn’t the truth.

What was supposed to be an easy fight brought you, his love, to your knees and no longer able to fight. There had been so many of them, much more than your ammunition could keep up with. Grenades seemed like a good idea but in reality if you were to throw one within this range, you’d just end up blowing your limbs off.

Why didn’t you just wear your power armor?

As though things couldn’t get any worse, one of those putrid “glowing ones” emerged from some random post within the crumbling wall. The second the creature made its presence known, raising its recently fallen brethren..Danse thought this would be the end. Judging from your now motionless, laying form..he didn’t really want to continue on anyways. Had it been any other time, a time where adrenaline and sheer terror wasn’t fueling him, he would’ve been screaming his heart out of his chest at the realization you may have just died. He wouldn’t be able to just “soldier through” this one. Not this time.

Just as he was going to give in, let the horde overtake him, the familiar sound of heavy steel boots heralded in a renewed feeling of hope. Bullets like whistles flying through the area as the ever so rare “backup” knights came through guns blazing.

Once the ringing in his ears died down to a somewhat bearable level his first move was to sprint where he knew you had fallen. If you were actually dead..oh god he didn’t want to know at this point. No, he wouldn’t even check for a pulse or breath, he’d just rush his numb being into the nearest vertibird, vaguely recalling his hoarse voice barking orders at the pilots as he cradled you against his cold armored body.

His grasp on you wouldn’t falter for even a second, cradling you to him as though you were his baby. He didn’t care what anyone else on the prydwen thought at the time, even as they cast their worried gazes upon the two of you as he practically dashed for the bay clinic.

From there it was all a huge blur for Danse. Captain Cade had pried you away from the nearly iron like grip he had, allowing the unbelieving Paladin to helplessly watch as your crimson blood pooled and dripped from the several lacerations that littered your motionless body. Watch as Cade jammed rad-x into your arm before hastily beginning to dress your wounds. Watch until finally some scribes forcefully pulled him away from the undeniably terrible sight he bore witness to.

He didn’t go far though.

Luckily he didn’t have to wait too long, hours later being personally approached by one the same scribes that had torn him away.

“Knight Captain-Cade needs to speak with you immediately, sir! The younger man spoke with a rigid solute, only taking his leave whenever danse gave a shaky nod in acknowledgment.

The short walk from his quarters to the clinic hadn’t ever seemed so long before. He supposed the impending doom of whatever news was to befall him would do that though. Each step felt like his feet were made of lead, an unpleasant unrest settling deep within his gut and a strange tightening sensation took place in his calf muscles. By the time he was in the doorway of Cade’s clinic, the amber eyes man found himself blearily blinking away the glassy haze of unshed tears. He couldn’t help but wonder at what step on his way here did he begin to tear up?

Regardless he carefully cleared his throat, grabbing the attention of the grey haired man standing adjacent to him in the small room.

There you were..laying peacefully. Some manner of relief befell him at the sight, a clear heart rate detected on the electrocardiogram you were connected to.

He wasn’t a religious man but boy, was he going to pray thanks to whatever had prevented you from dying. Prevented you from being taken away from him.

“Ah, glad you came so quickly Paladin..there’s a certain hm.” Cade had stopped, already beginning to approach the taller man while still looking down at his clipboard. “Actually, I think you should sit down for this one.” He resumed, a small smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.

If thy didn’t perplex danse, he didn’t quite know what would. On one hand, you looked like you were in stable condition..plus Cade wouldn’t have been smiling if something was gravely wrong. On the other hand....why was Cade smiling?

Complying to the medic’s orders, Danse sat his shaking form down into the torn leather of one of the seats closest to your bedside. “Is..is she going to be okay?” Danse found his voice coming out far more strained that he assumed it would. The nerves and held back tears had eaten up the integrity of his already gruff tone.

To this Cade fully looked Danse in the eye, that mysteriously genuine smile only growing with the contact. Before the Paladin knew what was happening, Cade had tossed his clipboard down onto the seat next to him and clasped his shoulder.

Chuckling, the Captain nodded his head. “That’s the least of your worries now, Paladin. Our knight is going to be just fine, she just needs to rest for a while.” Danse felt the weight of the earth itself be lifted from his shoulders, his amber eyes now inquisitively narrowing as he tried to decipher just why it was that Cade wasn’t just cutting straight to the point as he usually did. “However...you might want to think twice before you take her out. Look, she’s one of the best we have, true..but..well, let’s just say fighting ghouls probably isn’t the best thing for her in this state.”

“What? What do you me-“ “I mean the two of you are about to be held up with something else more pressing. I was running some routine wellness tests and I found something unusual, considering your intimate involvement with the Knight you should be the first to know. Congratulations Danse, you’re going to be a father.”

And just like that, Danse felt like he was going to stroke out. Did he hear Cade right? What? Of course he did!

Blinking a few times to hopefully help himself process, Danse stared in disbelief. Within moments though, a rare huge smile enveloped the Paladin usual scowling face. Shooting up from his seated position, he was at your side in no time.

“How far long?” He asked after a moment or two, his happy eyes scanning you up and down mirthfully. “Can’t be too far hm?” Amber eyes stopped right at your midsection to further his question.

“No..not at all, I’d say maybe eight weeks at the very most.”

Danse was completely in awe..but even that sweet, uncharacteristic joy came to an abrupt crash when he realized one key detail.

You almost got killed today..which meant in this state..he wouldn’t have only lost the one person that made him whole, he would’ve also lost his unborn baby and wouldn’t have even known the difference.

The thought brought a new wave of tears to his eyes, he wouldn’t dare let them spill, at least not where the doctor could see. Instead he’d lean down and bury his face into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss below your ear and gingerly bringing his large hand to press into the area he imagined your little baby was growing. Soon it took everything he had to not openly sob.

What if things wouldn’t have gone as well as they did?

He wouldn’t dare let that be a possibility anytime soon. No. So instead he’d eagerly await your awakening at your side, ready to be there as Cade breaks the news to you as well and be there for whatever reaction you may have. He’ll also be there for you every step of the way, be it reassurance or anything you need of him- he’ll be there for you and for your new little baby.

He’ll be there for his family, he promises.

#i did not proof read this #let me know if there are errors i bet theyre silly #paladin danse #fallout 4 #fallout #danse #paladin danse x sole

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randomingoftherandomness · 4 years

Note

So I just realized we share another fandom!! Anyway, I have a rather angsts Booker prompt that I think only you can do justice and it’s long, so I’m so sorry: (1) so the team are still on the splits, maybe a couple years into Booker’s exile, and Nike asks Copley to keep an eye on Booker. Being ex-CIA, he has a camera out in Booker’s apartment but Booker only glances at it, salutes with his bottle, proceeds to get drunk. Then he lays out an envelope then spends the night in the bathroom.

Hello! First up, are you OK? 👀 Coz like. If you wanna talk it out, my messages are always open to friends, yeah?

Also, a big super thank you for the prompt and for your belief that I can do it justice. Am very touched and very grateful. Gonna keep the other parts and the fill under the cut coz there’s four parts to this prompt and I am living for the specificity 😍 Hope you like this!

Please do note that I am not of the medical profession. If you have feelings of harming yourself or of suicidal thoughts, please reach out and talk to someone. I know it gets repeated a lot, but, You are not alone. You are so loved. You are precious. And I send you nothing but love. If anyone ever needs an ear, please know that you can always drop me a line x

[[ TW: Suicide ]]

(2) This continues for a while until Copley tells Nike about it, and she mentions it and the gang watch the footage. Every night, Booker gets drunk, lays out a large envelope on the kitchen table then spends the night in the bathroom. He looks like absolute hell when he comes out every morning. After a couple watches joe suddenly starts cursing and rushes out the door, Nicky right behind him. Much travel later, they get to Booker’s apartment and Joe immediately goes to the bath.

(3) He barges in and there’s Booker in the tub, in his underwear, some kind of metal tube gauged in his arm as he bleeds out over and over every night, but the worst part is how *organized* he is: all the blood is is carefully in the tub, his clothes folded neatly, the apartment is spotless, money for a cremation and a will to have him buried at the family plot on the table and letters to be mailed to Copley to get to the others. He does this Every. Night. As Penance.

(4, long prompt is long, sorry) but the worst part is how *organized* he is: all the blood is is carefully in the tub, his clothes folded neatly, the apartment is spotless, money for a cremation and a will to have him buried at the family plot on the table and letters to be mailed to Copley to get to the others. Just, all the broken and depressed Booker and Joe still being angry as hell but mourning for his friend and what he’s going thru? Do your worst, you beautiful, wondrous person, you.

---

There was a too smooth hesitation in the way Copley asks for her attention and it immediately sparks suspicion in Nile when he casually directs her to the console on the far end of the office.

Far enough from the rest of her family that they would not be able to overhear, or at least will have to work to listen in, on whatever he was about to tell her.

She waits him out. Calmly holding her ground as he casts her a calculating gaze, unfolding the tablet and powering it on. “You know that thing you asked me to do? The one about Paris?” He looks down onto the screen before turning it to her. “I think you should see this.”

Suspicion bleeds into curiosity now because the last update Copley had given her about Booker was that the man was doing his best to drink himself to death. Was he successful? Wouldn’t his liver just heal itself if it was damaged?

The video plays without any audio. Booker crosses the screen, pausing at the kitchen sink for a moment, hands braced and head bowed like a man broken. He stays like that for a good minute before he pushes off, rummaging through the topmost drawer and pulls out an unmarked envelope. Placing it on the dining table, he picks up a fresh bottle of whiskey from its crate, looking up directly into the camera, saluting with two fingers before moving into the bathroom and closing the door.

“He has been doing this for months now and it seems like it’s something he has been doing even before we started our surveillance,” Copley says. Nile checks through the folder of recordings. “Every night it’s the same thing. He places that envelope on the table and goes into the bathroom until morning comes. He comes out, gets drunk and repeats. I’ve put in inquiries to the landlord if there are any disturbances and so far nothing. We don’t have a camera in the bathroom so we don’t know what he’s doing in there every night.”

Nile taps on a random one and watches the practised way Booker braces himself as if trying to gather courage for something big that he has to do.

“I’ll talk to the rest about it.”

She waits until they’re all settled with debriefing to broach the subject. Andy reacts with a tinge of worry in her brow that Nile has learnt to pick up on. “I’m sorry. I know you guys said he can’t contact us. But I just kept thinking about it and...”

“And you thought you wanted to check in on our brother,” Nicky finishes for her. Reaching out to pat her hand, she smiles weakly when he nods sagely. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Nile. You care.”

Andy picks up the tablet, watching the recording before passing it off to Joe. “Booker’s been doing this for months?”

“Longer, if Copley’s right about it.”

“Shit!” Joe curses in a rapid stream of languages that Nile could barely keep up with. Nicky, however, can.

“Are you sure?” He stands, the chair scraping on the floor as it is pushed back, eyes gone a pale steely grey. “Yusuf-”

“I’m sure,” Joe says, meeting their eyes in turn. “I hope I’m wrong.”

“What? What are you hoping to be wrong about?” Nile asks, dread slowly creeping up her spine. Andy stands too still next to her when Joe’s eyes flicker back onto where the video footage of Booker is saluting the camera.

“I hope I’m wrong,” Joe says slowly. “But I think he’s dying every night in his bathroom.”

They catch the next flight out to Charles de Gaulle, wasting no time in between the horrible realisation and packing up their most bare essentials. Copley seems to know their intentions because he arranges for a car to be ready for them with preprogrammed directions to Booker’s flat. The drive into Paris in the summer twilight is quiet. No one daring to speak more than the necessary need to point out exits, turnings and road signs.

God, she prays they’re all wrong. Nile keeps praying even as they steal past the front door under the shadows of night. Keeps on clinging to that hope of divine intervention even when they prepare to pick the lock of Booker’s flat, only to find it open.

Andy leads them in, cutting through the space with strong strides until she pushes through into the bathroom and something stops her in her tracks.

Joe and Nicky sweep past her, causing her to stumble back a little. Nile catches her, still not processing what she is seeing. Booker’s clothes were placed in a neatly folded pile on the stool by the door. The man himself is out cold. Looking for all the world to be content to spend the night naked in an unheated bathroom. A metal tube sticks out amongst the blood in the tub and it takes a second for her to realise that the tube is protruding from Booker’s limp arm.

“Oh,” She says.

Andy moves then, going to help pull Booker out of the tub and lay him out on the floor. He stirs, eyes blinking up at the ceiling before rolling back. Nicky has pulled out the tube, letting it clatter on the tiles, placing his hand over the gaping hole. “It’s not closing.”

“Find out if he has any clean towels. Something,” Joe instructs, keeping his fingers on Booker’s pulse point. Ever since Andy’s newly regained mortality, they’ve all been brushing up on the latest first aid measures to the point that Nicky has been talking about going to medical school.

Spilling back into the kitchen, she digs through the drawers for fresh tea towels when her eyes spy the unmarked envelope sitting innocently amongst the worn wood of the tabletop. Unable to resist, Nile tears it open. Instructions first greet her written in French. She has enough time to learn now that she can understand that Booker was instructing whoever found him to take the money enclosed and use it for a simple funeral and that the letters inside must be mailed to Copley. He ends it with an apology for inconveniences caused.

Inconveniences caused. As if this were a simple grievance. As if to whoever found his self-exsanguinated corpse, the trauma could be dealt with by an apology for inconveniences caused.

“He planned this,” Nile says in sick horror when she walks back into the bathroom. In the dim yellow light from the lone bulb, the blood in the tub and all over the tiles look almost black. “He has been doing this every night for God knows how long.”

Joe meets her gaze. “I had hoped I was wrong.”

They wait until the gaping hole begins to heal. All of them breathing a sigh of relief they did not know they were holding. Only then does Andy come close to cradle his head on her lap. Between the three of them, they get Booker cleaned up as best as they could, dressed and into his own bed.

“I’ll stay here with him,” Andy says, already undoing the laces of her boots. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

“We’re all staying here with him,” Nicky chimes in before she can say anything else. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The bed was far too small for three full grown men and two women to pile onto, but they make it work with Booker safely ensconced in the middle. Andy covers his right, the lovers take either side of his hips, leaving Nile to tuck herself on a shared pillow with Booker's head. There is an unspoken need to anchor themselves on their wayward brethren. Joe and Nicky murmur to each other in soft streams of reassurance, but she catches Andy's gaze and there is a deep sadness that was heavy with regret. How they all fall asleep, she does not know, but when she opens her eyes, it's in the liminal silvery-blue of night turning into day.

"It's not a century." She hears.

"I know," Andy answers in barely a whisper. "I know."

"It was meant to be penance," Booker's tired voice fills the small space between them. "I--"

"Are a coward," Joe interrupts. Nile gives up feigning sleep. Instantly moving to be at the ready if there would be an altercation. Joe's eyes are a firebrand of heated emotions. Crawling up until he cradles Booker's cheeks between his hands. "A coward and a selfish fool."

"I know," Booker whispers, breath hitching around a sob. "I know."

Joe presses their brows together, blinking rapidly at the tears that stream down his face. "But you're my brother and I love you. This is not a world I want to be in without you. Not like this."

Booker whimpers, hand not holding on to Andy's goes to touch Joe by the nape. Nile leans in then, pressing her cheek against strong arms that move to wrap her in a hug. She feels the bed move and the shifting of the air when Andy and Nicky come to join in on their embrace. There is still so much healing to be done and Booker obviously needs more than just their forgiveness now. She doesn't know how they'll come out of this or what shape their family will take. But she has faith that whatever that will be, they'll face it together.

#the old guard #the old guard fic #sebastian le livre #booker #nile freeman #andromache the scythian #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #nicolò di genova #tw: suicide #immortal husbands #gab writes stuff #fluerallinmylis

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littlegoldenbirdie · 3 years

Text

A Second Chance: Part 12

This is the last one, and I'm actually kinda sad about that...

It's also going to be a long one.

Whimpering quietly as the pain began to fade away, Nicol nuzzled into his brother's arms. His throat was sore again, but he'd take a sore throat over the nightmare that had been dealing with his leg. It had taken a lot of time to properly clean the wound, and Ajani had found that the young dragon wasn't quite strong enough to handle any real healing spells quite yet. The leonin could take the pain away, but Nicol would have to wear a bandage around his gashed thigh for a day or two, at least long enough to build up a bit of strength. He'd also need to take it easy during that time, but he saw no problem with that. Why would he want to run around and play in such a strange, frightening place? Then again, this whole thing had been frightening. Ajani had made it clear he would be scarred forever, and he would be lucky if he didn't end up with a limp, even in adulthood.

The rest of the Gatewatch barely had a moment to step backward before Nicol wriggled up into Ugin's arms, seeking comfort from his brother, who immediately cradled him against his chest. On Zendikar the day was ending, so Nissa suggested they all withdraw into the cavern called the Eye, so no nocturnal wildlife would hear or smell them and be drawn in to seek easy prey. "I'd like to spend a little while sitting outside by the cave entrance, just me and my brother," Ugin said. "We both need to relax for a while after all this." He didn't say that the two of them needed some time to just be together, nor did he need to. Their smiles said it all as they entered the cave and he carefully moved to sit against the rock wall, leaning back to watch the stars come out. His cargo shifted in his arms to look up at him with a loving smile. "Brother? Can you... tell me a story?" Looking down, Ugin smiled back. "Yes, little brother, I'll tell you a story."

"Long, long ago, so long ago that Dominaria itself has forgotten, two little dragon brothers were born from the same egg. My brother, Bolas, and myself. We were born smaller and weaker than any of our brethren from the same clutch, and Bolas's first experience was finding himself pinned beneath a tree, unable to escape. I was there to help, and I did, but before that we saw a clutchmate... and what became of her."

"Her name was Merrevia Sal, and her birth, life and death spanned not even half an hour. Her first act was to attack a human hunting party for their kill, and they killed her for it. Bolas wanted to help her, and then to avenge her, but I talked him out of it. Even to this day, I sometimes wonder if what he became was my fault, reinforcing the powerlessness of his situation as we both watched our sister die... I didn't see at the time, but Bolas closed his heart then. It took this little nightmare escapade to help me understand, but... I think he was afraid. Of being hurt, of dying, of losing what he had. He chose to love no one, to care for no one but himself lest he be hurt in that way as well. Not even me." Even now, after eons upon eons, the memory felt like a spear in Ugin's heart.

"I knew nothing of this as we grew together, he and I, teaming up to hunt and taking on the world, for our clutch-brothers deemed both of us worthless for our smallness. The world was against us and Bolas learned to scheme, to plot, to turn enemies against each other. In the end, he sought to avenge our fallen sister... and I was a pawn in his scheme. A tool, not a brother. The realization of that woke within me what woke within you when you saw the illusion of what was once my tomb... the ability to walk between worlds."

"I spent a lot of time doing that, because it took quite a few tries to figure out the way home. But I found the way and I came home... to find Bolas the undisputed master of half of Dominaria, waging a war for the other half! I showed myself, begged him to stop, told him all I had learned... And he raged at me for keeping such knowledge from him! As if I had known how to do so all along and lied to him about it! I would later learn that sheer rage triggered the same awakening within him, and thus our private little war began."

"Bolas never loved anyone, and the fact that we were bound together from birth meant I would never have the chance to. I made friends, and Bolas hunted them. Every deed I did, he found a way to undo. I created a plane of my own, Tarkir, and he nearly killed me because I'd stayed there long enough for him to find me. But I wasn't the focus of his energy, much as it would have seemed to be so in the eyes of others. He wove schemes that encompassed worlds, twisted the lives of whole civilizations, in a bid for even more power. He would have razed every world in existence to ashes, and enjoyed doing so."

"Everything ended on a city-world called Ravnica, in a manner even I could never have foreseen. When he fell in that great battle, I was ready to save him and use my life to lock the two of us away for all eternity... But I didn't need to." He found himself smiling.

"You see, Bolas always carried with him a little artifact called the Gem of Becoming. He believed it would be the key to becoming what he desired most. And you know something, little brother? I think he was right. After centuries of lies, shape-changing, name-changing, of being so many, many things, there was one thing Bolas never was, never had the chance to be. A child."

Looking down at the little dragon nestled in his arms, he saw that Nicol had drifted off at some point during the story. A slight smile graced his lips as he snored ever so softly. A pleased sigh escaped Ugin as he smiled back. "Good night, little brother," he whispered.

----------

Okay, that's it, folks! That's the story. And here's some snapshots of little Nicol's future, which I won't write because I have no time, really.

*- Nicol (possibly) receiving an indignant slap from a visiting Tamiyo for calling her 'bunny lady'.

*- Him trying to get into her scrolls CONSTANTLY, and not even bothering to be sneaky about it. Subtlety, thy name is NOT Nicol.

*- He will bear a scar on his thigh all his life, in the form of a streak of drab, discolored brown scales instead of shining gold. He will also begin to limp if sufficiently tired out, being weaker in that leg.

*- When he's fully grown, he'll get a new set of armor, but different from what Bolas wore. He doesn't need any more reminders of his old self than he already has, thanks.

*- Also, when he's grown, he and Ugin will travel the multiverse to repair the damage Bolas did. Even Tarkir.

#nicol bolas #ugin #ugin the spirit dragon #mtg #magic the gathering #war of the spark #mtg tumblr #mtg fan fiction #mtg fanfic #nissa revane

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ladynightshade30 · 4 years

Text

With the Dark Autumn Moon

Author’s Notes: Because surely I CAN’T be the only one who wondered about what would happen if a Satanic/Demonic cult/anyone who intends to make a pact with the devil decides to sacrifice the Demon’s lover in exchange for power or something. Also, I know The Ghost and Mrs. Muir was actually released in June of 1947 but I decided to have it released in this universe in October of 1947. Plus it's a cute film and I love the chemistry between the titular characters. I highly recommend watching it, when you get the chance. I had hoped to have this up sooner but life happens. Also, I have gotten into VIkings... So as @smut-goblin would say, I can’t keep the fridge closed. Anyways, hopefully I will go back to this and clean it up later. But for now I want to work on one of my Viking’s fanfics as well as get a banner ready for announcing the preorder of my book An Icy Road to a Warm Heart tomorrow. Not to mention start working on the 2nd edition for my paranormal Romantic retelling of Red Ridding Hood, Red, for next fall.

********

Steve “Captain America” Rogers, he earned the nickname because he had become the poster boy for war propaganda and morale during the war, maneuvered his brand new Ford convertible through the trees along the dark, back roads to an overlook that gave a good view of the city below. The surrounding forest also provided some privacy to parked cars. His way lit only by the large, bright full moon overhead as well as the car’s headlights. His girlfriend, Lillian Sieniawska, sat beside him; tucked up against his side as he reached his destination and put the car in park.

“Are you having a good time tonight so far?” he asked as he shifted in the seat so that his back was pressed against the corner of the door and back of the seat pulling her against his chest resting one leg on the seat.

“I am, thank you.” She said, her Polish accent ran over his skin like silk as she spread the flannel blanket over his legs so they could share it. “I really enjoyed the movie.”

“Good. I’m glad. I figured you would enjoy The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. How’s work going?”

“It’s going well,” she answered softly after a moment of silence.

“Really? Because I know you’ve been having issues there.”

“I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve said as he pulled her into his lap and tilted her face so that she was looking at him. “I do wish you would let me get you a job at SHIELD. So, that I can take care of you. Watch over you. Spend a lot more time with you. Besides, I need an assistant in the office and who better to do that than my best girl?”

“I’ll consider it.” She said softly while staring into his beautiful blue eyes, that seemed to be practically glowing in the light of the moon, before leaning up to kiss him .

“Good.” He purred. “I just want to take care of you and it will be easier to make sure you are okay if you are near me.”

She laughed as she kissed him again. “You just want to be able to kiss me whenever you want.”

“You caught me.” Steve grinned as he pulled her closer and slipped one of his hands down her thigh beneath the blanket. “That’s all I wanna do, is kiss you in my office all the time. Take you home every night. Make sure you eat enough.”

“I knew it.”

Steve chuckled against her mouth as he slipped his hand back up, bringing her skirt up with it so that he could stroke her thighs. She giggled into his mouth as he continued kissing her while he slowly started to pull her cotton underwear down her legs to her calves. When they finally pulled away for air Steve’s eyes were blown wide; the irises thin slivers of glowing dark blues while his pupils almost looked like a deep, dark wine.

“Fuck you’re beautiful.” He breathed. “I wish you would let me buy you some silk underthings.”

“Are you saying you don’t like the feel of what I am wearing?”

He chuckled. “I like the feel of everything on you, my beauty. I just want to buy you nice things.” He said, as he started stroking her clit with his thumb while two of his fingers slid up and down between her folds. “You deserve nice things.”

“So do you!” she gasped as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her while stroking her clit.

“And you are the nicest thing I’ve seen.” He purred as he pressed a kiss right beneath her ear. “Your heart’s racing and you’re just positively dripping Dollface. Is this for me?”

“Yes. All for you. Everything I do is for you.”

“And I do everything for you.”

Steve urged her to turn around and face him so that she straddled his legs while his hand kept its place between her own. She moaned and bit her lip as she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his neck as she ground herself against his fingers. His other hand slid up her side to cup one of her breasts. His thumb running back and forth over the tip of her bra. He grinned as the sounds from Lillian’s mouth started to get louder and closer together. When her orgasm crested over her she collapsed against him, panting against his neck as he brought his drenched fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean. Before he wrapped both arms around her and stroked her back.

“You alright Doll?” he asked softly as her tremors started slowing down.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling away and pressing their foreheads together. “I’m great. How are you? Can I do anything to help you out?”

Steve moaned as she rolled her hips against his erection before smirking as he brought her in for a kiss, “I’m sure I can think of something.”

Lillian giggled before kissing him again with a pleased hum as his hands slid along her thighs beneath her skirt.

###

Steve moaned as he stretched himself on top of Lillian’s body in the front seat of the car. The flashlights that were resting on the car’s dash provided them with some light in the pitch black car.

“Wouldn’t this be more comfortable in the backseat?” Lillian laughed as he buried his face in between her shoulder and neck.

“Yes,” he mused as he ground his hips against her while her legs cradled him. “But I don’t much feel like breaking away in order to move back there. Do you?”

“Definitely not.” She whispered as she pulled him back down to her.

Her enjoyment of the night was cut short by the abrupt sound of a gun going off behind Steve. The sudden feeling of warm blood splattering across her face made her freeze as her eyes snapped open in shock. The door behind her was yanked open suddenly and she screamed as a pair of hands reached in to grab her under the arms pulling her out from under Steve’s dead body. The hands immediately wrapped around her and carted her away from the car, despite her struggling to get away. Suddenly she was slammed onto the ground with such force she felt the air leave her lungs. The man who had been dragging her flailing body around straddled her hips and grabbed hold of her jaw forcing it open while someone else grabbed her wrists in order to hold them over her head. She kicked out her legs as the man sitting on her started to pour some thick, bitter liquid into her mouth, holding her lips and nose closed forcing her to swallow the acerbic brew down.

The spots that had been forming in the corner of her eyes began to spread out over her entire vision as the sounds around her died down as if her ears had been stuffed by cotton.

The man who had been straddling her stood up and gathered her into his arms before turning to his companion as the other man started messing around in the car.

“You got this?”

“Yeah. Take her to the others. I will take care of Captain America here. This time it’s gotta take.”

“Right. Don’t be late this time.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Grumbled the man who was trying to pull the so-called Captain America into an upright position behind the wheel.

The first man crouched down and gathered Lillian’s limp form into his arms. “See you soon.”

The man handling the car made a non committal noise as he buckled the corpse in his seat while his friend disappeared into the foliage. The man remaining pressed the other man’s leg down on the gas, started the car, and changed the car’s gear to drive before stepping back as it rolled toward the edge of the cliff. He released a satisfied smile when he heard the automobile roll down the side of the mountain; crashing into the side of the cliff as he started in the direction his friend had gone. The sounds of the forest around him suddenly silenced as the hairs on the back of his neck shot up causing him to pause.

Eyes.

There were eyes on him watching from the shadows of the trees. The sound of something walking on the fallen leaves and sticks surrounded him almost as if whoever or whatever was watching him was doing it deliberately. He sighed and calmed his racing heart as the answer hit him. It was a prank from his brethren, the usual hazing they did for newcomers to test if they were worthy of joining their ranks. Most weren’t but their urine was useful for their rights.

At least that was what he told himself. But the silence of the woods that surrounded him and something in his gut told him he was wrong. Someone or something else was out there in the woods. Because things were never completely silent whenever they played this initiation on so-called pledges.

Still...

“Alright, you assholes come out and stop fucking around.” He shouted looking around while trying to calm his rising panic.

There was no response scurrying to become even more deliberate. He rolled his eyes and kept walking. If his brethren were going to commit to the role he wasn’t going to do anything to stop them from having some fun before they had to get serious. A low, rumbling growl however made him pause and look around as doubt began to fill his mind, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise again. That did not sound like any animal or human for that matter that he had ever heard.

It almost sounded pertenatural.

He shuddered as he kept telling himself over and over again as he sped up until he was almost running to the ritual site. “It’s just a prank. It’s just a prank. It’s just a prank.”

The same noise echoed through the trees all around him; this time sounding like warped laughter. The smell of animal feces filled the air and blood filled the air, making him gag as he covered his mouth and nose.

“What the hell?” he choked as he looked around.

He froze at the growl that sounded against skin, nearly wetting his pants as he whimpered like a wounded animal, when he felt a burning breath on the back of his neck. He swallowed against his dry throat and slowly turned around to face whatever it was that lurked behind him.

Lillian came to consciousness slowly due to a light tapping on her forehead along with the scent of brimstone, blood, burning wood and what could only be described as an animal from the zoo. The sound of soft muffled voices and a crackling fire caught her attention. The closer she got to consciousness the more she remembered the events leading up to now.

Steve.

She inhaled shakily as she remembered the sound of a gunshot, followed by the metallic scent of warm blood that sprayed against her face before Steve collapsed on top of her body, seconds before being yanked out of the car. And now here she was flat on her back on the ground with her ankles tied together and her wrists secured above her head while the blood of a dead goat dripped onto her face from above, painting a morbid mask onto her skin. She tried to scream and thrash only to realize she couldn’t move, it was as if she was frozen in place.

Her breath came in quick, uneven pants as her eyes darted around trying to catch a better glimpse of her surroundings. She could vaguely see flickering candles along her sides and based on the warmth coming from her feet and head they were probably all around her. Somewhere in the distance she could see faint shadows in shrouds around a large bonfire chanting softly.

She could feel her heart speed up and she stared back up into the night sky above her and closed her eyes, focusing on trying to get her limbs to move before they noticed she was awake. She was just getting one of her fingers to move a little when the sound of feet on the leaves caught her attention. From the corner of her eyes she could see them coming towards her chanting as the leader swung a smoking metal object from a chain that filled the air with more brimstone. A few of them were carrying large black candles to help light the way. Lillian felt her heart race and her breath came in quick, desperate pants as she struggled harder to get her body moving as they slowly formed a loose circle around her.

“Stiovael, Great Son of Balor. Prince of War and Chaos. Bringer of death. Sovereign of the Twisted Arts. Heir to the Great Throne of His Father. We summon thee. Accept our gift of a virgin sacrifice in return for Your blessings on our wish.”

When the final words were said one of the figures held their candle beneath the dead animal hanging above Lillian, setting it ablaze. As the flame climbed higher on the dead animal the wind picked up and swept through the clearing, dimming the flames of the candles and bonfire. The ashes started falling on Lillian’s face as she felt her heart squeeze in her chest and time seemed to slow down around her. Then the air was filled with a loud popping sound from the fire that seemed to shake the ground beneath them as the flames shot up into the sky before settling.

The air around her became stifling as she felt sweat drip from her body as the earth beneath her seemed to burn through her clothes, searing her skin. There was the sound of something whistling through the air and a thud followed by startling yells. The sound of wood splintering filled the air as the ground started to tremble as if something large was walking on it. There were whispers before one of them, probably the leader spoke.

“My Lord. Do you find your gift agreeable?”

The man was answered by a low growl, before a voice hissed. “You dare to violate my mate? And offer her up to me!”

“My Lord?”

“You will pay for your impudence!”

The screams of the people around her were cut off abruptly one by one as blood splattered all around her. Silence filled the air and she sobbed against her against her motionless mouth. Suddenly her limbs regained their movement and scrambled to her feet, only to freeze when she stumbled into what felt like a stone wall that seared her flesh when large fingers grasped her to keep her from falling over.

She glanced up at the large creature, that towered over a foot above her. The sweltering stone of his skin was broken up into thin cracks of flowing rivers of lava. Massive leather wings extended from his back, blocking out her view of everything else but him. His features were sharp and despite the rage that had come from him moments earlier he was staring at her gently. Large horns curled from his brow and wrapped around his brow before curling upwards to keep his long hair back from his face. Eyes that looked like burning flames flickered and faded to a deep, familiar blue.

"My sweet, sweet Lil."

Lillian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Steve?”

That said she felt her entire world tilting as her legs gave out beneath her.

Lillian awoke to the sun shining on her face in her own bedroom. The smell of coffee, bacon, and scrambled eggs filled her nose and had her sitting up in bed looking around in confusion.

Had last night been a bad dream?

She flipped the comforter off her legs and swung them onto the floor. She stared down at the green silk pajama set.

“Good morning Lillian.” came a familiar voice.

“Steve? You’re not dead.” she sobbed as she ran to his side. “It was a dream.”

She was so overjoyed by the fact that he wasn’t dead and the events of last night had all been a dream she didn’t stop to think about where the pajamas came from or why he was still in her apartment.

“Did something happen last night? Why did you stay over?”

Steve ran his hand through her hair as he kissed first her forehead followed by her lips. “Dollface, why don’t you take a shower while I finish up making breakfast? Because you and I have some things we need to discuss.”

“What do you mean? What do we need to… It wasn’t a dream was it?” The last part was whispered.

“No. That’s why I want you to take a shower.” He said kissing her gently again. “I promise that I’ll explain everything over breakfast when you get out. Okay? Now I will be here if you need anything.”

Lillian nodded shakily and with a shuddering breath she turned to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. The moment it clicked shut she collapsed against the door, curling up into a ball as her body was racked with barely contained sobs. She heard a soft thud against the door above her.

“Lil?”

“I’m, I’m fine.” She sobbed. “Just please.”

“Okay.” He whispered.

She stayed on the floor until she felt her breathing and crying subdue enough that she could get out of her clothes and into the shower. She lost track of how long she stayed in there, letting the water wash over her as the previous night’s events played out in her mind causing her to start crying all over again as she scrubbed her skin raw, despite there being no trace of blood on her when she woke up.

Finally she left the bathroom and opened her door to find Steve waiting for her, leaning against the opposite wall.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Lillian is silent for a moment before smiling slightly as he gets up to face her. “I’m not okay. Obviously. But thank you.”

“Okay. I will meet you in the kitchen when you are ready.”

“Okay.”

Thirty minutes later they were sitting in her kitchen eating their breakfast quietly. Lillian took the time to gather her thoughts before she started asking questions.

“So.” She began after a moment. “You’re a demon?”

“I am a cambion actually. I have a human mother and a demon father. Well, actually my father is Balor, one of the major Lords of Hell.”

“What was their relationship like?”

For a moment he doesn’t speak before sighing in leaning forward. “My mother was named Sara and she was a peasant woman in Ireland during the Middle Ages when she met the demon, Balor, who would father me. He took on a human form and name, Seosamh. He courted her or rather he attempted to anyways but she was cautious about him because she felt the darkness within him. So, one night she was walking home from Christmas mass and she was grabbed, dragged into a field and raped her. The town’s folk shamed her for not fighting him off and drove her away. When she reached a new village she told everyone my father had died and the moment I was born she begged the midwife to baptize me because of how frail I was. But mainly because she didn’t want my father to be able to claim my soul. I was given the name Stiofán, which I changed to Stephen or Steve when I moved to America.”

“Were you actually frail enough to warrant that?”

“Yes, I was born about a month early and had health issues.”

“How did you go from being frail with health issues to this?”

“When Balor claimed me as his son, he dragged me to hell and did his own baptism of blood and fire. Which cured me of all my health issues but also awakened my demonic abilities.”

“Is that how you got, got your demonic form?”

“Well, yes and no, I have always had a demonic form but it wasn’t fully unleashed until that moment. And it allowed me to fully control my transformation.”

“So your demonic form went through a transformation like from a caterpillar to a butterfly?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“What happened to your mother? Did he keep you there or were you able to return to her?”

“She wound up trading her soul to Bolar in order to be near me.”

“Eventually I came to New York and lived among humans again for longer than a few days. And here we are.”

“What about Bucky and the others? Are they demons too?”

“Bucky is. He has more demon blood than I do. He is actually my bodyguard.”

“Do you still see your mother?”

“Sometimes yes. But not enough as I would like.”

“Why did you choose me? Are you with me for my soul or something else?”

“No, while some demons do devour the souls of unwilling victims a lot of us only take from the willing ones because there is more power in that. And I choose you because I saw you and I saw how passionate you were about bringing down the Nazis and protecting your people. How could I not love someone with so much spirit?”

“What happened to the men from last night?”

“You really don’t want to know what I did to them. But they won’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

“What’s going to happen when I die? Am I going to be dragged into hell for being with you?”

“Not unless you want to. You are still in possession of your soul.”

“What happens now?”

“That is up to you. If you want to break up, I’ll understand. If you want to think it over, I will give you all the time you need. But I would like for us to stay together because I adore you so much, my Brave Lily.”

Lillian thought for a moment before she got up and took a seat in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Will you show me?”

“Show you?”

“Show me your demon form.”

Steve smiled and allowed the change to take over him. “Well?”

“I guess we could give it a shot.”

“I would love that.” He purred carefully pressing his forehead against hers.

Lillian smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Me too.”

#With the Dark Autumn Moon #Steve Rogers #Steve/Lillian #demon!Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers/Lillian Sieniawska #Lillian Sieniawska

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jacklyn-flynn · 4 years

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It’s finally here! The new chapter of Space Trash! You can find the full chapter here on AO3!

It’s a little on the long side, but hopefully worth it. Also, smut next chapter 😉

Jules and the crew heads to Redcliffe to finalize the alliance with the rebel mages but things go, per usual, spectacularly wrong.

Jules couldn’t help but notice the occasional, curious gaze from the elf behind the bar in the Officer’s Club. It wasn’t necessarily intrusive but since they were the only ones in the room, it was hard not to notice. Jasoom was lounging lazily across her shoulders, his tail occasionally flicking across her cheek. His very presence was soothing and helped her not feel anxious about being the center of someone’s attention.

The woman busied herself behind the bar and then walked, or rather sauntered, over to Jules with a drink in her hand. She was rather unlike any of the other elves that Jules had met. Her hourglass figure was a sharp contrast to her usually tall, lithe brethren. Black pants molded to her legs, rising high on her wide hips and accenting her slim waist. Jules wondered if she knew that she had a wide rip across her right knee. She wore a navy blue flannel shirt with thick black lines that was mostly unbuttoned, showing a black shirt beneath with a lacy neckline.

Her hair was dark green and perfectly straight, falling to the small of her back. It swung from side to side slightly when she walked. Silver rings adorned the tips of her ears, which was common, but the decorations in her lobes were completely foreign to Jules. There were wide circles through the lobes that she could see through, beyond the light mandala pattern that capped the front.

She had a cute button nose under upturned eyes that were framed in dark liner with flicks at the corners. If it wasn’t for the friendly smile on her black-painted lips, she would have looked suspicious of Jules.

“Can I sit?” Her voice was low for a woman but in a melodic way that harmonized well with her attire’s inclination toward black.

“Please, help yourself.” Jules couldn’t help but smile back at the elf.

“My name is Elbereth. Or El.” She slid gracefully into the seat and set the drink she’d prepared in front of Jules. “On the house for the lost Trevelyan.”

“Oh, thank you. I appreciate it but I don’t drink.” Jules said with a gentle smile.

“I know. You can’t get drunk. That’s what makes you a bartender’s best friend. I can get you to try all of my best experiments and get an unbiased opinion, “ Elbereth said cheerfully.

Jules’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I suppose that would make me quite the useful asset.”

El’s laugh was low and musical. “You aren’t a tool, dear. First of all, you can say no. Second of all, I’d like to give you companionship in return. Ya know, be friends.”

Feeling a blush on her cheeks, Jules covered it by lifting the glass to examine the drink. It was in a small, square glass with very distinct layers. The bottom was a rich reddish-brown color. The next layer was more of a warm amber while the third was more of a bright gold. On the top was a very thin layer of something creamy. The entire thing smelled of hazelnuts and was vaguely woody and spicy.

“All at once?” Jules asked, looking through her lashes at the elf who nodded, her smile broadening. With more hesitation then El was used to seeing when people drank shots, Jules brought the glass to her lips and drank it slowly. She was pleased to see Jules take some time to evaluate the flavor before swallowing the concoction.

“That’s-that’s actually really good,” Jules said after a moment of contemplation. Her smile widened slightly. “I don’t get them often, but I’m quite fond of hazelnuts.”

“I have some chocolate that you’ll love then.” El laughed, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll bring it with me on my next shift so that you can try some.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be back for a while. We’ll be arriving at Redcliffe soon to meet with the leader of the rebel mages. She wants to talk more before she agrees to ally herself with the Inquisition.” Jules’s eyebrows furrowed. “Everyone just wants to talk. It’s exhausting, saying the same thing a dozen different ways. They make it so difficult and I don’t understand why. It should be easy.”

El nodded sympathetically. “Politics require a unique form of communication. It’s one that not even the people who speak it fully understand. Honestly, I don’t know if you’ll ever get the hang of it.”

Jules frowned and looked up at the elf again. “You don’t think so?” She sounded disappointed.

“No, but that isn’t a bad thing.” Elbereth sat up again, leaning toward Jules. “Sometimes they get so lost in the talking they forget what they’re supposed to be working toward. A new voice is a disruption and sometimes disruption is what you need to break the cycle and get results. You aren’t a politician or diplomat, but that’s a good thing, Jules.”

“I don’t even understand why they want me there. I’m just a Flea.” Jules reached up to scratch Jasoom’s head when he pushed it against her cheek.

“You aren’t ‘just’ anything.” El gave her a smile. “You are a marvel, and we’ve only begun to see what you’re capable of.”

()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()

Jules adjusted the belt of the holster that carried Zevran’s, or rather her, blades. The harness wrapped around her waist and then around each thigh, keeping the short blades tight against her legs, moving as she did. She smiled at her teacher as he disappeared into the transport with Cassandra. Cullen's smile was the one that caught her attention though. He reached out to her and she grasped his hand, letting him pull her closer to him.

“I’ve seen how far you’ve come. You’re fast and lethal. But-” he hesitated, brows furrowed, “-I feel like I should tell you that it will be completely different when you’re in a real battle. It’s loud and it’s bloody and it’s scary.” Squeezing her hand, he brushed his fingers down her cheek. “Don’t lose your head. Breathe, stay calm, and stay close to everyone else. Most of all, be careful. I want you-I need you-to come back.”

“I’ll be surrounded by very dangerous people. I promise I’ll be careful and that I’ll come back. Besides, we’re just going to talk.” She pointed out.

“I hope so.” He didn’t want to scare her any more than he probably already had. She was right. Jules would be in very good company. “Could I kiss you goodbye?”

Immediately, Jules felt a flush spread on her cheeks. They had talked about their spontaneous kiss in the hallway. She’d been so relieved that she hadn’t driven him away. Jules had surprised herself with her impulsive gesture. They’d both agreed to take it slowly. Her to adjust to the feeling of attraction she’d never felt before, and him to ensure he didn’t take advantage of that. Other than that talk, it hadn’t been brought up again. Until now.

“I would like that.” Her admission came with a hesitant smile. The confidence in his smile, however, made her shiver though she didn’t exactly know why. He bent his head, closing his eyes as he drew near. Her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her lips to his. He was so warm and so inviting. She could do this all day long. She let out a hum of disappointment when he pulled away, her lips chasing his for a moment. “Will I get another one when I come back?”

He laughed, sending warmth through her. Maker, he was gorgeous when he laughed. “Absolutely.” He walked her to the shuttle door, squeezing her hand before he released her. “Be safe.”

With a nod, she turned away and mounted the ramp. Heading to the front, she rested her hand on the back of the pilot’s chair. “Cassandra, I-” With a start, she took a step back. “You aren’t Cassandra.”

“Nope!” A pale silver-skinned Qunari woman grinned up at her. “Sure aren’t!” Small spiral horns peaked out of her mauve hair, their color a blend of her hair and skin. She wore black and grey leather pants and jacket, the Inquisition logo stitched on the breast. “Catch!”

Jules’s hand shot up to catch the object that was thrown at her face. “Nice reflexes!” The woman complimented as Jules opened her hand to see what it was. It was a small dracolisk figure. The protruding horns and spikes were replaced with shiny little jewels. Even bejeweled, they were truly ugly creatures. When she handed it back, the Qunari set it on the console in front of her, affectionately turning it just so. “Thanks. My name is Sonja Trygvassen. Most people just call me Tryg.”

Cassandra moved past Jules to take the co-pilot’s seat. “Ms. Trygvassen is a pilot that I’ve worked with extensively in the past. She’s quite good.” The Seeker was reserved with her compliments so Jules knew she meant it. “Since I am needed elsewhere, I thought she would be an adequate replacement.”

“Adequate? I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me, Cassie.” Tryg grinned. Jules saw Cassandra’s jaw clench at the nickname. She got the distinct impression that no one else was allowed to call her “Cassie.” Perhaps not even Tryg.

“Did you need something from me?” Cassandra asked, clearly hoping she wouldn’t ask about the nickname.

“I-um-I don’t remember,” Jules admitted. “I’ll just go take my seat. It was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Tryg gave her a nod and then turned back to her console.

Shaken by the odd encounter, she returned to the back of the shuttle, taking a seat between Morgan and Zevran. Varric sat across from them, his precious Bianca cradled in his lap. His head was resting against the back of the seat and his eyes were closed. “Are you okay, Varric?”

He didn’t even open his eyes when he responded. “Oh yeah, Precious. I’m just peachy. Nothing like hurtling through space into an atmosphere that sets you on fire in a tin can propelled by highly flammable fuel. What could possibly go wrong?”

Jules frowned and looked at Morgan, unsure by Varric’s reply if he was okay or not. “He’s being sarcastic. He’s scared of flying.” Morgan translated with a chuckle.

“I’m not scared of flying,” Varric said indignantly, “I’m afraid of crashing.”

The hydraulics of the shuttle door whirred as it closed. The solid thunk of the locks engaging was reassuring. To Jules at least. Varric looked like he was walking to the gallows. When the shuttle left the Herald’s dock, she noticed his knuckles turn white as he gripped Bianca. Jules couldn’t imagine being afraid of flying. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked quietly.

“Only if we do not die.” Zevran's laugh always made her smile.

“In other words, yes, he’ll be okay.” Morgan joined in the laughter. Varric made a mocking face, silently mimicking them and making it clear what he thought of their ribbing. “Let me know if you need someone to hold your hair for you.”

“Stow it, Beefcake.” The dwarf grumbled.

#Space Trash #jules trevelyan #cassandra pentaghast #varric tethras #zevran arainai #morgan trevelyan #dorian pavus #that bitch alexius #redcliffe runaround #beefcake #precious #zexy #seeker #meeting elbereth and tryg

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aleteia-ff · 5 years

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A Decade To Find You - 1

Also read on: AO3 | FF.net

I proudly present the first part of my Modern AU Hiccstrid New Year’s Eve Story! I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: Astrid didn't think much of the guy she bumped into just after midnight on January 1, 2010. It was just a hasty apology, a quip and a lop-sided grin from his side. It wasn't supposed to be special.

Hiccup felt the same way. That was, until he locked eyes with her again one year later. And the year after that. And the next.

But somehow, their destinies only seemed to intertwine that one night a year... On New Year's Eve.

Chapter 1: New Year’s Eve 2009-2012

January 1st, 2010

Astrid didn't really party the way some of her peers did. She didn't sneak out or come up with poor excuses to get wasted with other teens after managing to get her hands on booze through older siblings. That wasn't like her. But that didn't mean she didn't seize opportunities, nor didn't know how to have a good time. So when her friends from kickboxing had asked her to join them in the inner city, she'd shot every piece of ammunition she had at her parents to convince them that at sixteen, she was responsible enough to stay out past midnight. She was basically an adult, after all. And after she'd promised that she wouldn't do anything stupid, let alone illegal, they'd let her go.

Luckily, you didn't have to break the law to have a good time on New Year's Eve in Berk. The large annual winter market in the town's central square stayed around until after New Year's, serving all kinds of food and beverages at its stalls. She'd spent most of that night at the ice rink, but had gathered with her friends at the riverside just before midnight, joining in on the countdown and watching the fireworks when the clock hit midnight, announcing the arrival of the new decade.

Now, she was hopping from one feet onto the other, waiting at one of the stalls and trying to stay warm in the trademark Berkian cold. The line had been killing and she cursed herself for not going further into the city and trying her luck there. But her worries were forgotten when she accepted the two mugs of hot chocolate into her freezing hands.

She turned around, looking through the crowd in an attempt to figure out where Heather was. Her friend had run into her brother and there was no telling what Dagur might be up to... But his red hair and tattooed face did stand out from the crowd.

She squeezed herself through the masses, cradling the mugs to her chest, alternating between craning her neck and standing up on her toes. Finally, after starting to wonder whether she was even going the right way at all and looking behind her, she saw a familiar arm wave at her. She instantly turned around, heading the other way.

Her foot landed on something hard, making her stumble and bump into someone, all after only taking one step.

"Sorry!" a nasal voice yelped.

She was too stunned to reply as hot chocolate spilt over her chest, dripping down and soaking her coat, the heat making her instinctively jump backwards. "Fuck!"

"Oh Gods, I'm so sorry!"

She looked up - no, down - at the culprit. A skinny boy, about her age. His green - really green, Holy Thor - eyes were blown wide with shock and he was fidgeting with his hands, seemingly unsure of whether he should put them to use or whether that would bring about the impending apocalyptic events of 2012 two years too early. It was endearing, and while she normally would have had to suppress the urge to punch her assailant straight in the jaw, she found she simply couldn't. Because there was something in his look, so innocent, so sincere, that simply calmed her down.

"It's okay," she told him, looking down at the brown stain on her coat. Luckily, it didn't feel like it had reached her sweater underneath.

"No, it's totally my fault, I should have looked, I -" he mumbled, looking helpless as he rubbed the back of his head, messing up his auburn hair. "I was distracted, and I'm just so, so stupid, I don't know how -"

"It's okay, really," she repeated, slightly patting herself. "It's a way to stay warm, I suppose."

"It's not, I completely ruined your coat." He reached out towards her, but then retracted his hands, gesturing himself up and down. "Do you want mine, or?"

"No, it's fine, really," she insisted, following his gaze downward and finally realising what had made her trip. "I stepped on your foot, after all."

The guy looked down again, his two eyebrows shooting up. "You did?"

"I mean it was strangely hard, but..." she mumbled.

"Oh..." he grinned awkwardly. "That must be me." He leaned forward and grabbed his left foot, lifting it up and pulling up his pant leg... To reveal a piece of metal.

His lips curled into a lopsided smile. "Fake foot."

"Oh my Thor," she gasped. "How...?" She didn't know why she was asking - he was a complete stranger. But a part of her wanted to know.

"Accident," he shrugged. "Happened this year, so I'm still getting used to it. Or I suppose it's last year now, since it's after midnight. Hurray!"

She wanted to laugh, to shake her head at him, felt the corners of her lips twitching upwards, but realised in time that it would be hugely inappropriate.

"I'm so sorry," was all she could come up with instead.

"Eh," he casually said, his shoulders moving more than any normal person's ever would. "It happens. And I thought I was the one doing the apologising here."

"My jacket's not expensive, don't worry," she reassured him. She preferred practicality above anything else and this coat was exactly that. "I'm sure it'll come right out. And I'm not nearly insecure enough to let it ruin my night." She gave him a cocky smile. "I'll punch anyone who dares to try."

"So I simply got lucky?" the guy tried.

"So far, yes," she teased.

The guy pretended to gulp and look panicked before his expression relaxed into a smile. "At least let me pay for the dry cleaner." He fumbled with his own jacket, seemingly looking for something. "If I can find my wallet, that is."

"It's fine, my mom probably knows how to wash it out herself," she tried again, but he kept patting himself down. "You didn't get robbed, right?"

"Oh, no, the odds of that are rather low. My dad's a cop," he explained, laughing awkwardly. "He makes sure I'm one hundred percent pickpocket-proof before even thinking of leaving the house. Which has this -" He gestured at himself. "As the very charming result."

"Then perhaps you should leave it that way," she suggested.

"Yeah, that's probably..." He mulled for a moment, biting his lip and reaching into the back pocket of his jeans but coming up with nothing. "Yeah - I think you're right. Sorry, again."

"Let it go," she told him, finding herself smiling again. She gestured with the two mugs in her hand. "It's just hot chocolate."

"Is there even anything left?"

She peered into the mugs and shrugged. "Enough for one, at least."

"Then let me pay for new ones."

She pulled up an eyebrow. "And watch you go through your whole wallet-searching routine again? Charming offer, but no, thank you." He looked slightly offended, to which she decided to press the other mug into his hands. "Here, take it."

He took it from her only because she forced him to, sputtering. "I can't -"

"I'll just give this one to my friend." She gestured at the brown stain on her clothes. "I think I've had enough for tonight."

"Again, I'm sorry -"

"Again, it's okay."

"Are you really sure?" the guy tried again, looking pensive.

"I am," she nodded. "Sounds like you had a shitty 2009, with your leg and all. A shitty decade, for all I know. I just want to make sure this one starts out better."

He looked like he wanted to speak up again, but she held up her hand. "I'm not letting you give it back!"

She backed away after properly looking over her shoulder this time. "Enjoy your night!"

He just stood there, flabbergasted. "You too..."

With that, she disappeared back into the crowd, finally making her way back to Heather, a smile on her face she hadn't even realised was there until her best friend asked what had made her so cheery.

But she waved it off.

It was something she didn't really think she could explain.

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

December 31st, 2010

Hiccup was oddly reminded of a donkey on this year's New Year's Eve. Most importantly, the saying that even donkeys didn't hit their toe on the same stone twice in a row. Yet somehow, he had managed to let Snotlout convince him to go with him to the inner city of Berk again.

He didn't really know what kind of animal that made him, but he figured it didn't speak in his favour. Perhaps something without a brain. A jellyfish, maybe, just waiting to be inevitably washed up on a beach, then stepped on by a tourist, which would prompt the tourist's friends to pee on their leg. After a heated debate on whether urine did or did not actually help against jellyfish stings, a question no one really knew the answer too.

Or he could, for once, make life easy for the rest of the world and simply settle for being a sea cucumber. Those seemed rather cool. And he could, in Hiccup fashion, enlighten other sea creatures on how he was, in fact, not a green-tinted, edible vegetable, unlike his land-born brethren.

But his father worked on New Year's Eve anyways and he didn't really have anything better to do. So instead of chilling on the ocean floor, he was semi-freezing and sensing his impending demise as he stepped onto the white, slippery field of doom that was known as Berk's Winter Wonderland ice skating rink.

He didn't get what people thought was so fun about literally venturing onto thin ice. He never had. And that hadn't really changed now that he had only one properly functioning foot.

It would be fine, Snotlout had said. He had had the prosthetic for over a year by now, and, as his cousin put it so delicately, 'he already tripped over his own feet way less often than when he still had two of them'. So certainly, he could do this.

Hiccup had told Snot, Fishlegs and the twins to go ahead so he wouldn't embarrass himself too heavily. Fishlegs hovered nevertheless, but did bring up the courtesy to look away.

He carefully put his good foot on the ice, only slipping slightly, and held himself up on the wooden banister. Slowly, he let his second skate join the first, putting the iron down and trying to adjust to the weird sensation of his prosthetic sliding underneath him. But he didn't fall. That was something.

"Are you okay, Hiccup?" he heard Fishlegs ask.

He didn't dare to look up, keeping his eyes firmly fixated on his skates. "Okay would be a big word... But it could be worse."

"Just take it slow," Fishlegs told him, almost sounding more nervous than Hiccup himself felt.

Only for Fish's tender words to be immediately diminished by Snotlout skating by at high speed. "Come on, cuz, move!"

Hiccup shook his head and scowled, but forced himself to move anyways, pushing his right skate off the ice and letting the other glide along, while still holding on to the banister as if it was the only thing between him and utter humiliation.

It probably was. He could already hear Non Je Ne Regrette Rien play in the back of his head, announcing the inevitable fall of this story's tragic but not quite Leonardo DiCaprio-like protagonist the way it had in Inception.

He bet Leo knew how to ice-skate. Not that that would have helped him in Titanic, like a bigger floating door would have. But then again, Leo could do it all with two legs. And stuntmen.

Fuck, he'd love to have a stuntman right now.

And he wouldn't say no to having sex in a car with 1997 Kate Winslet either.

He slowly shuffled forward, letting his left skate slide calmly while his right did all the work. Surprisingly, it didn't go as badly as he'd expected it to. He dared to go further, letting go of the banister, daring to put some pressure on his left leg and start the motion from there.

The Gods struck him down for his hubris as soon as he tried, leaving him scrambling for his wooden saviour as he nearly fell face first onto the ice.

He pulled himself back up, leaning on the banister and looking out, pretending not to hear Fishlegs call out to him in concern. It was already dark, Berk's square lit by Christmas lights along with all the stalls and shops that feasted on holiday tourists. It was busy, this day belonging to the Berkians themselves above all, but he didn't pick out any familiar faces in the crowd.

Until he saw her.

He had mostly repressed the memory of the first person he'd met in the new decade, given that he'd immediately embarrassed himself by causing her to spill hot chocolate all over her coat. Just some Hiccup Haddock smoothness, right there.

But there she was, in the crowd. Her blond hair braided over her shoulder, a smile on her face as she talked to her friends. She was wearing a different jacket this year, a dark blue one that somehow suited her even better. He hoped that hadn't been his fault, that he hadn't completely ruined the red coat she'd worn the year before. But he was too self-conscious to go up to her and ask. Especially because moving at all on the death traps bound to his fake and real foot could only lead to disaster.

She probably didn't want to talk to him anyways. From the way she looked, the way she acted, the way she smiled he could make out that he was way below her on the notorious teen social ladder. She was undoubtedly popular. He was all too happy in his nerd corner. It'd never work.

Not that he believed in the strict segregation the way High School Musical portrayed it, but some people simply didn't match. It was better to, as the Wildcats put it so pointedly, 'stick to the status quo'.

And then her eyes met his.

She looked surprised to see him - Berk was at least a middle-sized town, after all, what were the odds? They hadn't seen each other since his clumsiness had miraculously resulted into a free mug of hot chocolate.

But once she seemed to have recovered from that shock - he hadn't, he was gaping, desperately willing his brain to update to Windows 7 instead of clinging to Vista and claiming that particular piece of garbage wasn't Microsoft's biggest mistake of the last decade - her lips relaxed into a soft smile that made his heart jump.

He glanced down at his skates, hoping she'd understand why he looked even more helpless than the last and only time they'd met. He hauled himself up further, trying to stand up straight - his growth spurt was finally setting in - and retain some of his dignity.

Her smile widened, like she'd understood, and she gave him two genuine thumbs up before turning back to her friends and disappearing into the crowd.

She'd gone as soon as she'd came. But he found himself grinning nevertheless, feeling more encouraged than he had all evening.

Perhaps ice skating wasn't that bad after all.

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

January 1st, 2012

This was the year. Or so Astrid had been told. Supposedly "the most amazing New Year's yet!".

She didn't think holding Heather's hair back as she threw up quite qualified as that, but at least her best friend had seemed to be having a good time. Right up until the moment she'd turned green and had rushed to the club's bathroom with Astrid running after her.

Astrid hadn't seen the appeal of turning eighteen and being allowed to drink herself. She had enough going on, tournaments to attend in January, a brain to spare for the university she was trying to get into. But she was nothing if not supportive, and she loved her friends more than herself. At least, that was the mantra she silently repeated in her head as Heather hurled into the toilet yet again.

She got her phone from her pocket, sliding the screen up to reveal the keyboard - it was simply quicker and way more convenient than typing on a touchscreen - and searched for Dagur's number. He would undoubtedly go berserk in his own way - he'd given them the 'big brother talk' before they'd headed into the city - but she'd rather deal with him than with Heather's parents. Especially Mr. Oswaldsson wouldn't be too... agreeable.

"Hello!?" Dagur shouted from the other side of the line, hardly audible above the beat of Party Rock Anthem in the background.

"Hey, Dagur, it's me!" she yelled back before realising there was no need to, cringing when her voice echoed through the stalls. Heather simply groaned.

"’Sup, Hofferson?"

"I need to get Heather home," she told him. "We got here by bike, but that could take ages, so I figured that, perhaps, you could take her on your scooter..."

"She's wasted, isn't she?" Dagur's obvious disappointment was ironically punctuated by LMFAO insisting that party rock was in the house tonight, and that everybody should just have a good time.

Heather shook her head at her, part of her black braid unceremoniously sticking to her face, but Astrid didn't think her capable of making any decisions right now. "Yep."

"On my way. Where are you?"

"Not So Silent Sven's Party Hut."

Dagur hung up immediately, leaving Astrid to haul Heather up onto her shoulder while her friend insisted she was fine and could walk by herself, only to immediately demonstrate the opposite. They struggled until they reached the door, somehow managing to get their coats before escaping onto the streets, the Berkian winter air pleasant after the suffocating heat of the club.

They hung outside for a bit, waiting for Heather to sober up, but eventually stumbled further towards the main road, hoping to catch Dagur on his way. They had to dodge a lot of party goers who could hold their liquor better, along with teens who had fallen into the same pitfall Heather had. She felt a particular amount of sympathy for the dark-haired guy they passed, who was patting his skinny brunette friend on his back while he hurled the contents of his stomach into the snow, the sound alone enough to make Heather gulp again.

When they passed them, the sick fellow looked up at her, their eyes meeting.

Astrid had only seen that combination of awkwardness and Oh my Thor what am I doing twice before.

She waved at Fake Foot Guy, shooting him the kindest smile she could muster up without bursting into giggles.

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

January 1st, 2013

2012 had been a good year for Hiccup. Somehow, he hadn't brought about the end of the world the Mayas had prophesied would come to pass. Even though he, the twins, Snotlout and Fishlegs had been convinced that if anyone would be able to cause an accident of global scale, it was Hiccup. Yet he had managed to enter university, where, as his father put it, his destructive tendencies were finally channelled into a proper education to become an engineer.

Living away from home wasn't abysmal either. If he was being honest, the train connection from Berk to university wasn't so bad that he had necessarily had to move out, but he figured it'd be good for him. It had certainly taught him a lot of things. How to open a can of pineapple slices without a can opener. How to separate white and coloured laundry. How to avoid salmonella. How to handle suddenly being six feet tall. How to cover up shaving cuts. And how to say no to more alcohol than he could handle.

It was the reason he wasn't in the same condition he was last year and that it felt good to be back in Berk to celebrate New Year's. Because he knew he wouldn't embarrass himself. Or at least, not by vomiting into the snow.

Of course Hot Chocolate Girl had walked by on his lowest point of the night.

Part of him wondered if she was perhaps some kind of spirit, there to feed on his awkwardness and the chaos he left in his wake. Then again, he'd only seen her three times, and his disaster-track record was much better than that. Three was a rookie number.

By the time it was 2 AM and Tuffnut dragged them into a club that he swore was even more awesome than the previous one, Hiccup had started to believe he might not see her on New Year's Eve for the first time this decade. He didn't know why he wanted to see her - he had no idea who she was, after all, didn't even have a clue about her name. But he remembered her smile, her bright blue eyes, the way her blond hair framed her face perfectly...

The exact same features as those of the girl he suddenly spotted on the dance floor, grinding up against a tall, handsome dark-haired stranger he didn't recognise. She was wearing a dress that remained blue in the club's lighting and fit her figure beautifully. It was the first time he properly saw her without a coat on, and he was struck by just how gorgeous she was. He'd had an idea, but it clearly hadn't been completely accurate.

She might be the most stunning woman he'd ever seen. Even in her current state, her hair messed up, her eyes glazed over, muddled by alcohol as they miraculously met his. He didn't know if she recognised him. She didn't seem to. But he couldn't look away.

Not even when she turned around to the stranger behind her, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him down into a kiss, the two of them making out as if no one was watching them. And he probably shouldn't be. He wanted to simply think 'good for her', to be happy that she was having a good time. But instead, he found his heart stinging with something unfamiliar. A kind of hurt he couldn't quite place.

He didn't mind when Ruffnut hooked her arm into his and pulled him back outside, remarking that Tuffnut had horrible taste and that they were going somewhere else. And even though he didn't do anything particularly stupid the rest of the night, he couldn't help but feel like somewhere, deep down, he was a bit of a fool.

He just couldn't pinpoint why.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I hope the second one will come soon. I plan for there to be 3, all the way up until we reach New Year's Eve 2019...

#hiccstrid #hiccup #astrid #httyd #httyd fanfiction #fanfiction #aleteia-writes #a decade to find you #there are so many references in here from my childhood #gods

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prince-toffee · 4 years

Text

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clone presence in WatchPoint Bay Q6 detected.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a hopeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that would just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. ‘Small talk’ wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes of life left... any last words?” Modulok asked shimmying on his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber, below a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which framed a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the outer metal casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to save that world, even if it was without him in it. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fidget with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through countless wars. We hauled-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our Brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” That was true, after the Horde Hordak knew no clone would have an easy time on that planet. Those people hated him, his face. He chose to believe that the common people of the world were as good as the Princesses that protected them. That all his fellow clone brethren could find a safe and fruitful life among the native Etherians.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think they’re all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t theirs to sacrifice.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. They would add some life to the ghost town, so that she wouldn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah well, whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right arm around. No wonder either, it was bent backward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a funny way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses? Totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet our brothers are all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pastel losers yapped about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm very soon. Even though there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he had said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bring the universe to bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speeches, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the known universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe without a second thought. The note said everything it had to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Des was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the war trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of hers, about how she hurt people close to her. About how she was sorry. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak wasn’t there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be. Perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always ‘she’ deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of them. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side, the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the ‘splicing initiative’. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal galactic sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the stolen dropship, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it was cut up with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he was nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. They were truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Yes. All a lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Holy Peak? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there... or down there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Through pure chance the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s defection was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compared to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Des’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the frontlines of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day when Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all that baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response was more of a cryptid puzzle than an actual answer

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

It was clear that Hordak, was on a long journey, one he had to trek himself. Search and find the meaning of it all on his own, in his mind. He needed to find his own meaning and purpose. And what that meant to him.

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just shrugged in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Des combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Des admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, ‘mere shadows of his greatness’. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he in turn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could we have done something, could we have ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could we have been good? Would it have made any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good...

But that would’ve been nice...”

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.

#hordak #entrapta #entrapdak #spop

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skyward-floored · 10 months

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OMG!!!! Yay! “Warriors is Hyrule’s [redacted] fic!”

it’s hard to not also ask for more “Brethren in a Cradle”, but I must know more! I love progress snippets.

Hehe, the premise of this one isn’t too hard to figure out, but it’s fun being mysterious lol. Warriors and Hyrule are such a favorite duo of mine, I love them sm <3

Hyrule stood in a bit of a daze, and only snapped out of it when Warriors dropped to a knee, breathing heavily. The traveler stumbled to his side, lowering himself as well and looking over him for any severe injury.

“I-I’m all right,” Warriors panted, voice shaky as he wiped a hand across his forehead. “Just takes... takes a lot out of me.”

Hyrule nodded, his own exhaustion making itself known again as he slumped against the captain.

“That was amazing,” he said breathlessly, sounding awed. Warriors shot him a tired grin, his breath starting to slow as the adrenaline faded.

“Liked that did you? Little... trick I figured out during the war. Nothing like a magical fire dragon to cut down on numbers.”

Hyrule shook his head in amazement.

“That’s fantastic. Do you know how it works? Like, is it all the rod, or are you powering it?” he asked, curiosity overpowering his exhaustion.

“I’m powering it,” Warriors said after thinking it over a moment. “The rod is like an enhancer for magic, I channel what I’ve got through it and it comes out stronger. Helps focus it as well, not all of us can just use our hands,” he said with a grin at Hyrule. “But the rod’d be useless if I had zero magical ability.“

#answers from the floor #needfantasticstories #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu Hyrule #request a wip #wip #also someone else asked for cradle so you’ll get to see some!

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tawakkull · 4 years

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Spirituality in islam: The horizons of tranquility

People have always dreamed of attaining peace of mind since the day the first foot was set on the Earth; people have longed for peace of mind, pursuing and struggling in a multitude of ways to obtain it. Sometimes people have connected tranquility to working hard and earning financial wealth; sometimes they have tied it to living to their heart’s content and to boundless freedom; at other times, peace of mind has been seen as being in the possession of advanced technological means and the achievement of physical comfort; or at times it has been connected to eating and drinking and the satisfaction of carnal desires. People have bound their lives up in the attainment and possession of these means. On this misty, dusty road people have sometimes lived in hope, have sometimes experienced disappointment and writhed in despair, but never have they reached the longed for expectation; it is impossible via these routes, as the peace of mind that they are in pursuit of is the fruit of virtue within faith and can only be attained through perfect faith. This has also been the essence of the call of the prophets.

The essence of this call for peace and peace of mind can be instituted when individuals turn toward God and submit themselves to Him with all of their being: it is impossible for a person of faith who has achieved submission to this degree to continuously be a slave to bodily desires, nor is it possible such a person to fear anything but God or feel any anxiety. For now, just as these people have found the One that they have been searching for and as they find the beloved toward whom they have directed their love, they also find themselves at peace, for they have been sheltered in the refuge of Eternal Omnipotence in front of whose majesty they will always feel awe and respect. They are at peace, for they know that the Endless Omnipotence and Grace never abandons those who have turned their faces toward Him, whoever they may be, and He never lets them wallow in misery.

For this reason, people of faith are always at peace and always feel secure. They know that they will reach the desired destination if they continue walking, associating everything with Him. They will be safe all along the way and will, in the distance, experience “the wedding night” of being in close proximity; they will walk toward the purpose of existence with the guidance of the Qur'an, with the trust that the faith in their hearts promises, with breezes of submission wafting through their emotions and conscience and with the supervision of the Divine Master. With all of these they can overcome all the hellish pits of corporeal attachments and the insatiable appetites of their desires and fancies. Indeed, those who enter the atmosphere of the Qur'an and who take refuge in His guidance always feel a deep contentment and an unshakable trust in their hearts when they breathe of safety. As they listen to their conscience, as they gaze upon objects, as they contemplate the tomorrows of both the near and far future, i.e. the future stretching until eternity, as they take into consideration the Barzah (the place where the souls will wait till Judgment Day), Mahshar (the place where all the dead and living will meet on Judgment Day), Sirat (the very narrow bridge which leads to Heaven), Hell, and Heaven, they carry a remarkable awareness of their duty and a feeling of responsibility, and they are also filled with a deep feeling of hope. This feeling of hope is directly proportional to the depth of the faith in their breasts. They gaze upon objects through such a specific window of benevolence, given unto them as befits the breadth of their faith, that should the curtain of physical existence be completely drawn back, they will find the things that they see and the experiences beyond that window akin to the things that they feel and experience here. Due to the nature of earthly confinement, they will come face to face with what they have felt briefly on the Earth beyond this window in fine detail, and they will smile at their good fortune.

Indeed, faith is the magical key to happiness in this world and the Hereafter and promises a virtuous end to those who pass their lives under its banner. Faith promises a bright time of Barzah, giving glad tidings of a gentle and warm resurrection, whispering an octave of the Divine Scale that is pleasant to our souls, making our hearts feel our approaching adventure on the Sirat Bridge with its depths of hope and poise. Heaven opens its doors with content and comprehension, with surprises that exceed all expectations and presents us with blessings from the Tree of Heaven, blessings that make us forget even the most troubleladen and painful moments of this life!

In fact, when people of faith turn toward God with all their being, everything else disappears from sight. All false powers and desires deflate like pricked balloons. All physical lights which have occasionally dazzled their eyes with their false glitter are attenuated in the face of His divine light that shines into our hearts; all around we hear, resounding: “Today all wealth and possessions belong to God, the Absolute Victor.” A heart which has attained this level is free from the deceptive promises of all seductive powers, forces, kindness, and grace and turns only toward God and awaits help only from Him. When such people are in trouble or shaken by difficulties, they trust in and lean on Him. They seek protection against all threats, taking refuge in the sanctuary of His grace, benevolence and help.

When such people weaken, they enter the advice of His transcending power. When they are tainted by sin, they run to His basin of forgiveness to cleanse themselves, dispersing the fog and smoke that has occasionally enveloped their horizon by putting faith in Him and submitting themselves to Him. Thus, they walk toward the future without submitting to any phenomena that may appear in their way. They solve all their individual, familial, and social problems by connecting with Him and they never fear, or feel a loneliness that cannot be overcome in their souls. At times they may be subjected to temporary loneliness in public, but thanks to their faith and submission, they always feel the breeze of “divine companionship.” Whatever befalls them, they take it as a warning sign from fate, and welcome such transactions with assent and patience.

Their faith in God and the characteristics of their faith open up the possibility of acquainting themselves with everything, and thus they see all existence—living or not—as a family. They make contact with the rest of creation, taking an active part in the life of things and in their conscience they feel the vastness of the of vicegerent which has been bequeathed to them. They perceive that all things have been created for their benefit, and they bow in gratitude, realizing that they are hand in hand with the perception of angels and the souls of the universe. They find the ground that they walk upon, the lowland and the heath, as warm as ancestral residences, and they feel as at home there as if they were in their mother’s cradle. They evaluate existence in a way that in no way resembles materialist and naturalist depictions, but with the eye of a person of faith who associates everything with God, and in response, they receive recognition from all that is around them. They receive messages of confidence from all the things with which they come into contact and respond with an attitude expressing the same confidence. They are not afraid of anyone and do not cause anyone to fear; they embrace all as their brethren. They shower smiles upon all things; they sip water, breath air and accept all manners of presents as blessings from God. They inhale the scent of the Earth and those that it gives birth to as if it were the sweetest of aromas. They salute the orchards and gardens, the mountains and valleys, the grasses and trees, the roses and the flowers with the language of their heart, as if these things too had senses. They caress all creatures that they encounter as if they were friends assigned to keep them company in this guesthouse. With every action they demonstrate that they have been sent to the Earth as a sign for agreement and reconciliation.

Thus, people of faith who, with this vast faith of theirs, see everyone and everything through this framework, feel themselves to be in an expansive atmosphere of peace, so much so that it would make all other people jealous if they were but aware. These people are overjoyed with the inexpressible pleasures of living with faith. Indeed, there are no fights, no disputes; they expend all their energy on making other people feel what they feel and enjoy, on sharing these sincere feelings with everyone; they strive to lead everyone to this song of joy by uncovering the horizons of others to whatever degree they can. They are always a few steps behind ordinary living because of their efforts to cause other people to experience these joys. In all of their acts, they have eternal trust in God; they take care never to posit themselves deliberately against other people. Indeed, on the one hand, they feed their own, relative, power with the omnipotence of God; on the other, they also try to attain the support of other people of faith who are like them. They transform all powers that may stand against them into a new depth of their capabilities, thus walking toward their goal as if they were flying. They walk toward the goal of reaching peace with faith, the goal of making other people believe, and toward the achievement of God’s pleasure.

If truth be told, a society where individuals have reached such a state of satisfaction, where they love and respect one another and where they are connected with a bond of the heart is a society that is the perfect candidate for peace. It is the perfect candidate, because the factors that may lead its members to unease and the creation of factions have totally disappeared. Among these people, there are no considerations or privileges of nobility, ancestry, region, or status. These people, who see all people and all things as stemming from the same root, are brethren in the fullest meaning of the word. The Qur'an calls attention to this deep truth when it says, the people of faith are only brethren to one another (AlHujraat 49:10). This is not just a physical kinship; in the words of the Prophet, they are strongly bound to each other by love, affection, and sincerity, like organs of the same body, and they always feel the pain of other’s in their hearts, and suffer the agony, share their joys, and experience the same happiness together.

Indeed, they are like each other’s eyes and ears, tongue and lips, hands and feet. In this society, every individual has devoted themselves to facilitate another’s life, to do all that they can for the happiness of others. Consequently, there is no abandonment or wallowing in despair among such people. When one is hurt, all the others feel this pain in their hearts. All join in the feast of happiness when one partakes of it. Again, in this society, parents are respected like saints, children are raised with diligent care, as if they were flowers. Spouses, even when they have grown gray together, treat each other with the joy of their first day, with contemplation of the eternal togetherness in the Hereafter. They try to live their lives following a route of the heart and mind, beyond the limits of emotional relationships. They are true to each other to the degree that no stranger’s shadow is ever reflected in their eyes. This harmony in the family is also true for the nation, which is considered to be a larger family; in a nation composed of such families, all will love and respect one another, all will regard each other with affection, all will wish well for others and all will try to extinguish evil to the best of their ability. No one thinks bad thoughts about anyone, and no one holds another in suspicion. No one uses people as spies against one another. One section of society does not devote its existence to the destruction of another. No one, no one at all, engages in acts like complicity, mendacity, deceit, and slander; these are the habits of the lowest sort of people. In this society of peace, each individual is at battle with all that is negative; it is as if they have sworn to protect human values. As a result, this society becomes a society of conscience and peace.

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eightlittletalons · 4 years

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Death and Faith

Hey so we’re still calling smutty fics lemons, right? While this definitely isn’t the raunchiest fic I’ve written, the beginning does have some. Also deals with discussions of death. Lavellan/Dorian, as most of my old fics were.

Dorian drifted somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when he faintly heard the door to the Inquisitor’s personal chambers creak open. He sluggishly registered the sound of bare feet padding up the stone staircase and across the room, followed by the soft rustling of clothing being discarded. A moment later, he felt the mattress dip under a familiar weight. Forcing his eyes open, he reached out to pull Revas against his chest. “Abelas, ma lath,” Revas whispered apologetically. “I didn’t intend to wake you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Dorian responded, voice still rough from sleep. “I planned on waiting up for you, but it appears your meeting with the advisors ran later than expected, yes?” Revas hummed an affirmative and leaned in to brush their lips together in a light caress.

One kiss became two, two became many more until Dorian found himself panting and pressing his hips up against Revas’ as the elf sat perched atop him, lavishing open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. A small voice reminded him that this wasn’t the reason he had wanted to see his lover before bed, even as his hands grasped the elf’s slender hips for better control over the delicious friction.

“Revas,” he gasped, breath hitching as the Inquisitor paused to suck a love bite into the juncture of Dorian’s neck and shoulder. Pulling back to admire his handiwork, Revas flashed his teeth in a devious smile before continuing to kiss a trail down the human’s chest. Well, perhaps Dorian could afford to allow the elf his way for a moment longer. Maker knew he would much rather put that clever tongue to a much more pleasurable task than talking.

A sharp nip at his hip brought Dorian’s attention back to Revas, who was now kneeling between his spread thighs. The elf locked eyes with him, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he leaned back down to press a chaste kiss to the tip of Dorian’s cock. Exhaling harshly, Dorian threaded his fingers through Revas’ hair, uncertain whether he wanted to encourage the elf further or push him away. “Revas, there’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you.” Dorian felt more than he heard Revas’ sigh, a puff of hot air against his flesh that made his toes curl. “Now?” the Inquisitor asked incredulously. It would be all too easy to give in to the temptation his lover so willingly offered. He could always breach this subject another time. Although with how busy Revas was with his duties, running to and fro, who knew when the next opportunity would arise?

When Dorian hesitated to respond, Revas ran the bridge of his nose teasingly along the human’s rigid length, tongue darting out to tease at the skin there. Groaning, Dorian tried and failed to resist the urge to buck his hips upwards and fisted his hand still in the elf’s silken hair. He yanked, desperate to get some room to think clearly and immediately regretted it as he heard Revas moan lustfully at the abuse. Dorian’s mouth went dry at the heated look the elf pinned him with. Fasta vass.

He released Revas’ hair as though scalded and cleared his throat as he tried to find his voice. “Yes, I would like to speak of this now,” he managed to croak out. He cleared his throat for a second time, not missing the Dalish mage’s grumble of displeasure. Regardless, the elf decided to humor him, propping his head up on Dorian’s thigh and watching him expectantly. “You often joke about death as though it is a trivial thing. Your own death, specifically.”

“Is that what all this is about? Fear not, vhenan, I have no immediate plans for my very likely untimely demise,” Revas assured, patting Dorian’s leg in a comforting gesture. It might have worked were it not for the thinly veiled patronizing tone or the fact that the Inquisitor’s other hand was slowly inching towards his cock again.

Feeling his temper flare, Dorian roughly grabbed the elf’s wrist, halting his progress. “Be serious for once, Inquisitor,” he snapped irritably. He watched as Revas’ eyes went hard as steel and worried that the Dalish would try to fight him on this. “Please.”

That soft plea caused Revas to deflate, his eyes softening to a molten silver. He sighed again, casting one last longing look between Dorian’s legs. Then he crawled up beside the man on the bed, making sure to keep a small distance between them. “Very well, let’s talk.” Dorian could have sworn that his lover was pouting, but at least he was seemingly willing to cooperate.

“What are you doing all the way over there, amatus? Come here,” he urged, wrapping his arm around Revas’ hips.

“No. One of us might become distracted,” Revas responded waspishly. Ah. Yes, he was definitely sulking.

“Come here,” Dorian insisted, hauling the elf closer. He enveloped his arms loosely around the elf and was pleased when he leaned into the embrace immediately instead of trying to wriggle away.

Eventually, the Inquisitor took a fortifying breath and drew back far enough to look Dorian in the eye. “So. You wish to talk about...my death?” he asked hesitantly.

“About the fact that you have such a cavalier attitude regarding it, preferably,” Dorian kept his voice soft to hide the slight tremor it held.

“And this troubles you?” Revas asked, frowning. Dorian nodded. “Why? I can remember more than a few occasions of you yourself mentioning becoming martyrs.”

Dorian reached up to cradle Revas’ face in his hand, his thumb slowly tracing the vallaslin that curved along the elf’s cheek. “I apologize for being flippant,” he breathes, whispering the words so softly that Revas’ ears had to twitch forward to catch them. “The thought of you ceasing to be...I can’t bear it. I would give anything to be able to stay with you like this forever.”

Revas shook his head rapidly. “Do not fear death, vhenan. It’s the natural balance to life. All that lives must eventually fade so that another life may thrive in its place,” he said quietly, taking Dorian’s hand in one of his own. He pressed a kiss to the human’s palm before lacing their fingers together.

“Is that a common belief among your people?”

Revas shrugged, giving a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose it is. Falon’Din, my chosen god, used to guide us on our journeys into the Beyond upon our deaths, but...that was before he and his brethren were locked away by Fen’Harel. Nowadays, the specifics on what happens are a bit vague,” Revas explained, laughing humorlessly.

Dorian was quiet for a long moment, bowing his head as he thought. “Is that what you believe?” he finally asked, meeting the elf’s gaze once more. For all the time he’d spent in Revas’ company, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d encountered the Dalish praying to his gods. Either his amatus was incredibly private about his faith or he wasn’t terribly pious. Considering how open he was about information regarding his people, Dorian suspected it was the latter.

“I believe it’s as plausible as your people believing that your souls join with Andraste and your Maker once you expire,” Revas remarked, shrugging a second time. The elf took ahold of Dorian’s other hand, clasping them tightly between his own with an oddly shy look settling across his features. “Since we’re already on the subject, I was wondering if there is something I could request of you.”

“Anything.”

The Inquisitor grinned lopsidedly at the immediate response, the kind of smile that made Dorian’s heart ache. “Anything? You might want to wait to hear what exactly it is I want from you before agreeing. What if I were to ask you to swap clothes with Solas for a week?” he teased. Dorian wrinkled his nose in disgust, causing Revas to laugh before he sobered again. “Dor, you know how most of those here view me as a...holy icon because of this mark on my hand, yes?”

Dorian’s eyes darted unbidden to their intertwined hands. “Yes. I also know how much you despise it.”

The elf shifted uncomfortably, drawing Dorian’s eyes back up in time to see Revas glance away with an unreadable look. “If...if something does happen to me, I want a Dalish ceremony. Would you be willing to see to that?”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully, freeing one hand to rub at the stubble on his jaw. The Chantry would no doubt desire to give the Inquisitor a traditional Andrastian pyre. He wasn’t sure how easy it would be to ensure that Revas’ wish was fulfilled. “What exactly would that entail? I know that you don’t burn your dead and there were the trees in the Dales, but…” he trailed off helplessly.

“It might be easier if you were able to pass me off to a clan, but they wouldn’t likely allow - I mean, if you would even want to…” Revas began, the words coming fast in his nervous state. Dorian caressed the elf’s hand that he still held, hoping the contact would calm him. “I would like for you to be there, Dorian. If you have no objections - I could teach you the proper way to prepare...and the songs and prayers, and-”

Dorian gripped Revas by the back of his neck and pulled him until their foreheads rested against each other, cutting off the elf’s rambling. “I would be honored,” he vowed, firmly. Revas relaxed immediately, sagging against Dorian in relief. They sat there together in the dimness of the room, Dorian petting the elf’s hair in long soothing strokes until both drifted off into sleep.

#dragon age #dorian pavus #pavellan #dragon age inquisition #lavellan #revas lavellan #liv writes #lemon #smut #gotta try to cover all my bases

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jedipadawan4589 · 5 years

Text

A Falling World

Eleventh Sister’s lungs were about to burst, and she’d been running for what felt like hours. The normally bustling city centre was barren, save for the veritable swarms of little monsters, with most of the civilians evacuating... the surviving citizens, anyway. Not even the other Inquisitors were safe, with Eleven getting pulled by the arm into an empty building, likely a deserted storefront. She didn’t even sense a threat, but all she could see was tempered glass in front of her.

The stranger quickly dropped her arm, and spoke with relief. “I found you, Eleven!”

“T-Twel... twelfth Brother!” Eleven panted, sinking to the floor once she locked eyes with the boy’s familiar helmet. “Y, you’re okay...”

Her newest ‘brother’ quickly locked the door, glaring outside as he did. “Yeah... sorry I pulled so hard. I didn’t think it was safe to call out.” His voice was curt as usual, but... he also apologized. Eleven worked on getting her breath back, slowly lifting up her covered face while Twelve uncovered his and cradled the helmet under one arm. “... I think, Fifth Brother is dead.” He spoke up again, expression unreadable in the dim light. “The monsters swallowed him... I just hid in here.”

“... Seventh Sister too,” Eleven softly added, frowning behind her visor. There wasn’t much love to be found in the Inquisitor ‘family’... according to Twelve, more than once, there was none at all. But even, she didn’t want them all dead... “And we both saw Ninth Sister get swallowed. And Eighth Brother, and the others... we are, all that’s left now.”

After securing the door, Twelve sank down to sit beside her, just breathing hard. Neither ‘sibling’ reached for the other, but Eleven was glad to not be alone... at least for the moment.

“I... don’t know, what happens now.” she admitted, hugging her lightsaber close. They still had no idea where the monsters even came from! Her elders captured one of those small gremlins when they first appeared in the hope to study it... next thing she knew, they multiplied. Exponentially. It seemed like they’d quickly overrun the entire world, and every being on it would be swallowed up...!

“...me neither.” Twelve sighed, halting seconds later when their brief shelter went unusually dark. “KARK!” He loudly swore, shoving his helmet back on. Puddles of inky black began to flow on the floor, along with the power that attacked the Inquisitor’s senses and screamed of danger. Without thinking twice, Twelve jumped to his feet and pulled Eleven up with him. “I have an idea now, RUN!” They burst out the door again, only making it a few steps forward before screeching to a halt.

Instead of a swarm, a single monster in that same inky black shade waited for them. This one had the same glowing yellow eyes as their brethren, but it’s foot alone was big enough for each Inquisitor to lie down on like a bed! It towered above them, a mess of tangled hair on its head with a gaping heart-shaped hole in its chest... there was no sneaking past this beast. Both Inquisitors stood frozen, just taking in the monster when it hefted a giant hand in the air and began to bear down. Eleven dived out of range, and her ‘brother’ was grabbed in a flash. The fist squeezed tight, and Twelve suddenly cried out as inky fluid began to cover him.

“NO!” Eleven went for her lightsaber and hurled its spinning blades at the beast, slicing cleanly through the arm that held her brother captive... The arm and hand puffed into smoke, and Twelve fell back to earth with a thud. He was completely covered now, and Eleven ran to his side after calling back her weapon. “Hey! Twelve, are you all right? Say something!” She reached to shake him, but, it was like her hands passed through liquid rather than his armor. Already he was getting swallowed up...! “No, no no, Twelve! Ezra...!” Eleven clung to the ground, only able to watch as her ‘brother’s’ body sank into the ground with a bright red flash from his chest. “Don’t leave me here...”

She stared at the spot where he used to be, slumped over while the beast enjoyed the latest snack. And Eleven had no drive left to move and avoid becoming its next one.

@soraofdestinyislands

#soraofdestinyislands #rp starter #closed starter #Runaway Inquisitor #Crossover verse

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sevenincubistolemyheart · 5 years

Note

How would the incubus react if y/n was nearly raped when she was out getting some errands ( or something ) and was attacked by three horny teenagers? The incubus will of course be super angry, but will they go as far as maybe killing??

Warning A/N: This contains triggering content, including rape, violence, and very serious discussions about murder. Do NOT read if you are sensitive to these topics.

A/N: I know someone very close to me who has experienced rape, and it is a disgusting vile action that no woman or man should ever have to go through. Therefore, I put a lot of thought into this ask and it’s quite lengthy. It’s more a fic than a typical character ask.

Sorry if the reactions are jumbled a bit! When there’s a line. that’s a time skip, so you may need to jump around!

Thank you for asking this anon, it was a fascinating topic to look at from the eyes of my characters, and I’m honored you trusted me to write such a serious topic.

Seokjin:

Seokjin had told you not to go out late at night without one of them. He’d been terrified something like this would happen to you. And now it had. He’d overheard you fighting with Taehyung earlier so he let you go alone, knowing you needed some time to yourself.

That was a mistake.

The bowl he’d been planning to use to bake cookies crashed to the floor with a loud bang as it no doubt dented. That didn’t concern Seokjin at the moment. What concerned him was the way you were absolutely petrified and in physical pain.

His typically kind eyes narrowed to slits and he dialed an old friends number.

He had to find you. Now. By any means necessary.

When Hoseok came in with you in his arms and he first took in your trembling, shock-ridden form the first thing Jin wanted to do was murder the degenerates that dared to put you in this state…but he knew the other boys had that covered, and right now, you needed him more.

Hoseok gently set you down on your feet and Jin takes over, guiding you through the process of getting you into a shower and leaving once he saw you could stand and move properly. He kept one ear on the bathroom as he retreated to the kitchen to make you soup, knowing your stomach probably couldn’t handle anything else.

He makes quiet conversation with Hoseok about what the others are planning to do and they both wince whenever you let out a particularly pained cry.

Jin’s hand tightens on the wooden spoon he’s stirring with, but he forces himself to calm with difficulty, knowing that in the end, the 3 boys would pay.

Namjoon:

Namjoon hated humanity. He hated it. Hated the way they turned on the closest of friends for sex, money, or power. When he went out to feed, he relished in finding Mortals who hated his kind and tried to hurt them without reason and giving them a reason to hate them.

It made him feel happy, to get revenge for his unjustly tortured brethren, and he’d always found fear particularly appetizing to his palate.

That’s all he wanted to do tonight, and since he refused to do it to you and didn’t want you to see that side of him fully, he ducked out, and began following the immense disgusting desires of a trio of men, intent on making them his meal for tonight, whether they wanted it or not.

The last thing he expected was to find you there, shivering and shaking as you begged the boys to let you go and not to do what they were about to as they bent your arm painfully behind your back.

Namjoon saw red.

He only came back to himself when he registered you screaming his name and tugging on his arm, voice desperate.

“Namjoon! Namjoon please you’re scaring me!!!”

He blinked a few times, and looked down at you, realizing he’d slammed the 3 mongrels against the alley walls with a mere flick of his wrist.

He ignored you, pushing you behind him wordlessly before he approached one of the men pinned, now looking down at Namjoon in terror.

“…You wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinking about doing to this innocent girl?”

The ringleader spoke up from behind him. “Innocent? She’s a filthy monster fucker, she’s anything but innocent. She’s a who-” He cut himself off with a strangled scream before his voice was taken from him as his finger suddenly bent at an unnatural angle causing you to whimper before you were pulled into a warm chest.

“Don’t look.”

Hoseok:

Hoseok was proud as Hell about his marks on you but the sudden sharp pain in his wrist made him remember they also had a very important purpose. When Jin dialed him and Yoongi seconds later, telling him your location, he didn’t even question how he knew. Being the eldest out of all of them Jin has more connections with others of their kind then they do, after all. Plus, he was too worried about you to care currently.

When he found you in the alley, along with Namjoon and 3 men he presumed to be your attackers he pulled you into his arms, and he held you tighter to him as Yoongi arrived seconds after, not wanting you to see the unnatural angle the man’s broken finger was now at.

“Don’t look.”

Even as the others showed up, you kept drifting back to him and his comfort. He was nothing but kind to you, and he seemed the calmest out of all of them but that was only because he was bottling his emotions so well for you.

He made sure to not leave your side, even when you left his arms to confront Jimin and Jungkook. He could’ve killed the maknae when he frightened you even more. What was that idiot thinking using his voice when you were already on the edge of breaking down as it was!? He glared him down but sighed and relaxed when he apologized, still miffed, but he understood the youngest’s anger.

Hoseok carried you home and for once you didn’t even protest too spent mentally, emotionally and physically. He noticed the wind was getting colder but before he could do anything Taehyung took his hoodie off and laid it over you like a blanket.

Once you were safe in the shower, he and Seokjin made quiet conversation over what they planned to do.

Yoongi:

Yoongi chuckled as he came out of the darkness, eyes black and draining whatever light remained in the dingy alley.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He ordered the teen coldy. Taking the choice from him as he instead did it for him. He smirked as he took in the boys silent mouthing for mercy, to not hurt him anymore though he didn’t bother to respond, instead turning to Namjoon when the younger glared at him.

“Oh c'mon Namjoon, no need to hold back. It’s not like they deserve mercy after what they just tried to do.”

Namjoon’s gaze darkened with all he wanted to do but he still shook his head. “…I agree with you. But I don’t want her to be scarred more than she already is.”

Yoongi turned to where you were cradled in Hoseok’s arms, eyes softening as they returned to their normal state momentarily before flickering back to black.

“…I want you to take her home Hoseok. She doesn’t need to see this.”

This caught your attention and you struggled against Hoseok even as he held you back with ease. “No! What are you gonna do?! You can’t hurt them!” You flinched back into Hoseok as Jimin seemed to appear in front of you out of nowhere, eyes also an inky black, but his anger seemed to be directed at you as well, unlike the others.

Jimin:

Jimin was just hanging out at home, playing video games with Jungkook and Taehyung when he felt such an intense rush of fear and panic all at once that it made him gasp and clutch his chest as he dropped his controller. Jungkook and Taehyung looked over at him in worry before they both winced as well.

They shared a look, and one second they were all in the living room, the next they were gone.

Jimin was furious, whoever had made you this frightened would soon be feeling the exact same way if he had anything to say about it.

When he heard you all but beg Yoongi and Namjoon not to hurt them as he arrived with Jungkook and Taehhyung, he immediately lashed out.

“Can’t hurt them? They were going to hurt you are you fucking kidding me?! I’m gonna do a lot worse than hurt them!”

He shouted, his voice booming in the silent alley.

Your eyes teared up at the reminder but you stood up for yourself nonetheless, leaving Hoseok’s embrace as you stepped forward to poke at Jimin’s chest in anger.

“It’s not them I’m fucking worried about you idiot! Did you ever stop to think about what’ll happen to you guys if this ever got out!? I would never forgive myself if any of you were hurt, or arrested because you were protecting me.”

Jimin softened at that, black fading from his eyes as reached out to caress your cheek, and it was only then that he fully took in your form, your messy hair and destroyed clothes clearly showed the men behind him weren’t just planning to hurt you as he’d assumed…they were planning to rape you. His eyes were black again in milliseconds.

He reached this conclusion at the same time as Jungkook and none of the others were fast enough to stop them both from reacting.

Jimin lunged for the other lackey opposite Jungkook but he went in to kill, and would’ve, if Yoongi didn’t manage to grab him and force him to meet his gaze.

“No, you don’t. I’m pissed too..but death would be too quick for these animals. Don’t show them such a kindness.”

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise but he mulled it over before nodding. He could tell Yoongi meant what he’d said. He had a plan, and Jimin trusted him, so he reluctantly backed down.

Taehyung:

It was a stupid fight, really. In hindsight, he never should’ve let it escalate to the point it did but he couldn’t help teasing you. You just looked so cute when you were angry, he never thought you’d be genuinely upset at him for not taking you seriously. Still, he played the part and got angry himself since he really didn’t mean anything bad by it.

When you stormed out, he promised himself he’d give you 5 minutes before taking off after you. If you shooed him away, then he’d comply but just follow at a distance, so he could make sure nothing happened.

But then Jungkook and Jimin needed a third player for their video game tournament and he thought you’d be fine…only to realize just how wrong he was when he felt his heart stop. He’d fucked up and when he saw you in that disheveled state, scraps of clothing barely clinging to your body, his eyes widened in horror.

He seemed oddly calm despite the situation but that was only because he was so shocked and guilt was eating him alive. When Jungkook’s true voice came out and you hid your face in his chest in fear Taehyung instinctively circles his arms around you and began to mumble consoling words, feeling you quickly breaking down.

You were going to start hyperventilating at this rate and that wouldn’t be good for any of them but he somehow managed to calm you down enough to just quietly cry into him.

You left shortly after and he let Hoseok carry you back, too absorbed in his own thoughts as he tried to fully process all that had occurred.

He ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed through his nose in frustration. This was all his fault. If he’d just went after you like he intended this never would’ve happened.

Jungkook:

Jungkook would be absolutely livid. He has had to hear these disgusting thoughts from much of the Mortal species, but especially the male populace. It makes him sick, and he’s saved many a woman from being assaulted by picking them up himself.

He doesn’t consider himself a knight in shining armor by any means. He does still have sex with them and feeds, but it’s all he can do. And you can bet the male who dared to have such thoughts about his companion gets threatened if he can find them afterward.

But this time? This time it was personal. They targeted you and he couldn’t have that.

Once he put it together, he dragged the remaining of the two lackeys towards him before the others could react and had his hands wrapped around his neck, sharp teeth bared dangerously as he grinned down at his captive as he tried futilely to fight against his supernatural strength.

Jungkook cooed at the male as he begged him to stop with the little breath he had remaining as Jungkook restored his voice just to hear him beg.

“Aww am I doing something to your body that you don’t want?”

His voice went from sweet to so twisted and genuinely demonic you took a step back in genuine fear. You didn’t even know their voices could become so demented and altogether inhuman.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you attacked an innocent woman just to fulfill your sick perversions. Oh, the fun I am going to have with the three of you…”

“Enough.”

Jungkook’s head whipped around and he bared his teeth without thinking at Namjoon who merely hardened his glare.

“I said enough Jungkook. Or do you want to scare her more than you already have?” His voice was cold and stoic and he merely sighed as the man tried to run once Jungkook let him go to look at you, letting Yoongi pin him with his own hand movement.

You were hidden in Taehyung’s chest, trembling violently as Hoseok stood protectively in front of you, staring at Jungkook with clear disapproval in his gaze.

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t lose their black appearance but he did force his voice to return to normal, knowing Namjoon was right. He shouldn’t do this with you here.

The last thing he wanted was for you to be scared of him.

“I’m sorry angel, I just got angry. I won’t do it again.” He apologized, voice gentle even as his fists were clenched. You needed to leave so he could fully take out his quickly rising hatred without fear of scaring you any further.

“Take her Hoseok. You too, Taehyung. We’ve got these 3.”

Yoongi spoke up then as you peeked out from Taehyung’s grip, clearly about to protest.

“You have our word we won’t kill them. No matter how badly we want to.”

You relaxed a bit at that, and looked up in surprise as Namjoon walked over and kissed your forehead, a surprisingly gentle action you never would’ve expected from him.

He merely smiled at your bewildered expression.

“…We’ll be home soon babygirl. I promise.”

With that, you were off.

You don’t know how long you scrubbed at your body for, but when you stopped the skin was red and raw and your eyes burned from how hard you’d cried. If Namjoon hadn’t found you…

You shook your head as you felt the shakes starting up again, clenching your fists as you exited the shower after turning off the water. It didn’t take you long to slip into the big shirt Jin had left for you, and he’d left you a pair of new underwear as well, somehow knowing that you’d never even be able to look at the ones from earlier ever again.

In fact, your entire outfit was gone, or what was left of it anyway.

You’d never been more thankful for your close bond thanks to the mark than in that moment.

You exited the bathroom slowly, sitting numbly at the kitchen table as Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung’s heads all snapped up to watch your movements.

Jin placed a bowl in front of you and you looked down at it with hesitance shining in your eyes. You’d already thrown up in the shower during your breakdown you really didn’t want to eat anything.

“Sweetheart, please.” Jin’s voice was gentle and pleading and once you met his gaze you knew he’d got you.

You sighed, but reluctantly picked up the spoon and began to eat. The boys continued to stare, but you had a feeling that would become something you’d grow used to after what had happened. You made it halfway through the soup before pushing it away and Jin smiled at you gratefully.

“Thank you. Now then, I think it’s important for you to know that we’re not gonna touch you like we usually do unless you ask for it.”

Hoseok nodded and slid into the seat besides Jin’s, Taehyung doing the same on his other side.

“You’ve just gone through something horrible, and the last thing we want is for you to think we’re ever going to violate you like those…” His teeth clenched, fists clenching hard enough to draw blood underneath the table where you couldn’t see. “Heathens who tried to defile you.”

Taehyung picked up where he left off after a moment of hesitance.

“We…We care about you, you’re not just food to us anymore. You’re so important to us, and we’re never going to let anything even have a chance of that happening again okay? I’m so sorry that I didn’t follow you, I never should’ve let you leave alone.”

Taehyung’s voice cracked and you panicked, shaking your head. “No, don’t you dare fucking blame yourself Taehyung! We had a spat and I was the one who chose to leave. I could’ve just as easily gone to my room but I chose to leave. This isn’t on you.”

“And it’s not on you either.”

You flinched violently at the words that came from the gentle voice, glaring before you could stop yourself at Jimin in the doorway, leaning casually as he observed you with knowing eyes,

Your heart lurched in pain and you forced a scoff even as your eyes burned again.

“Shut the Hell up, don’t you fucking patronize me.”

Your voice was filled with defensive venom now, too scared of being weak and vulnerable in front of them.

“Who’s patronizing? We’re just telling the truth. It was those monsters that assaulted you out of nowhere.”

Yoongi’s voice cut through the tense silence that followed, walking in and casually sitting beside you.

“Do you actually believe it’s your fault for leaving the house? Don’t be stupid, you know better than that.”

You scoffed at that, turning your glare to him, though it died a little as he merely watched you quietly, clearly ready to take any anger you had without complaint.

“That’s not why. It’s my fault because I left looking the way I did.”

There was a sudden rush and you jumped at the feeling of being pulled out of your seat none too gently, forced to meet Jungkook’s intense gaze as he snarled at you.

“Don’t you ever believe a word those mongrels said. I don’t care if you go out in your bra and panties it doesn’t give anyone the right to lay a hand on you unless you give explicit consent.”

You swallowed and looked over his shoulder as Namjoon spoke up next, the sardonic smirk on his face unnerving you, despite knowing it wasn’t really directed at you.

“Even we know that much. And we’re fucking demons, and demons that specialize on feeding off sexual encounters no less.”

He scoffed.

“This only reaffirmed for me how downright deplorable humanity is. I would’ve ripped them limb from limb if it hadn’t been for my promise to you.”

That made you abruptly remember. Your face was neutral but you couldn’t help but ask.

“What…Do I want to know what you 4 did?”

Jimin approached you then and patted your head with a soft smile.

“No. No, you don’t. Just know that you will never see them again, and we didn’t kill them, just as you asked.”

You hesitated but you could feel from your bond that he was being truthful. You nodded and stifled a yawn making the boys immediately perk up.

“Bedtime. Do you want to cuddle, or would that make it worse?” Jimin went to move away but you shook your head quickly. “No! I want to, Please. I…I’ll feel safer if you guys are with me.”

They nodded then, and smiled and though you couldn’t manage a smile of your own just yet, you knew they’d be there to support you until you could.

A/N: If you ask anonnie, I’ll elaborate on what the boys did later(you can ask them specifically and I’ll answer in character), but this got entirely too long and I feel bad keeping the other character asks waiting lol. It ended up being 3.3k. Oops. This was a very important topic to me personally and I sincerely hope I did it justice. Please, do let me know your thoughts.

Thank you all for reading!

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