#they have dark skin n reverse freckles

[tinygayproductions]

making an oc for hades to be a silly disaster lesbian?

yes actually

[slytherizz]

Playing God - Auror!Sebastian x Dark!MC

Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Non-Con | explicit sexual content | Dark!MC | Polyjuice Sex

All tags can be found on Ao3

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Decorated Auror, Sebastian Sallow had not anticipated how his life would diverge so sharply from the woman he once loved, the most wanted and notorious witch in Britain. Or how their paths would continue to cross - their fates still bound together.

A/N This fic has been living in my WIPs for about 6 months...I wanted to reverse the dynamic of my longer fic with Sebastian being the Auror this time and in doing such explore some darker themes. Short multi-chapter that will probably end up being three chapters at most.

She was pretty enough he supposed in a homely sort of way. 

Petite, with neat shoulder-length hair that brushed against narrow shoulders and, a soft bow to her overly thin top lip. But her dress was old-fashioned, a severe high-neck buttoned almost to her chin, ruffled layers of her underskirts impractical and lumpy. Layers upon layers, of an unflattering shade of yellow washed out her otherwise pleasant features. 

Compared to the other witches that would frequent such a seedy establishment with their low necklines and light skirts, she would be considered dowdy. 

If it wasn't for her eyes. Keen and alert as if beneath the sheep-like exterior lurked something dangerous. He most likely would have overlooked her too.

To even the keenest observer it wouldn't look like Sebastian had any particular tastes when it came to women or men. Much to his displeasure, the qualities that drew him in were rarely mere aesthetic. 

Barked laughter like an ill-tempered hound. The smell of mallowsweet. Aromatic and earthy. Teeth pressed lightly into a bottom lip like they held all the cards in a game no one else knew they were playing. Until they spread the winning hand. Smile so wide it unnerved, bore too many teeth.

Tonight, it was keen and dangerous eyes that reminded him of her. 

They shared no other similarities and from what Sebastian could discern from her well-manicured nails, and unblemished skin, bar a pale line around her finger where he supposed an engagement ring would usually sit - this was no fighter. 

This was a proper young lady - who had wandered onto the wrong side of town looking for a sensible amount of trouble as her wedding day, most likely to some equally wellbred suitor, loomed over her like a dark cloud.

As if Sebastian were screaming his thoughts at her across the crowded tavern, those sharp eyes flicked their attention to him. Raked over the thinning patches of his civilian cloak, the shadow across his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes he'd given up glamouring. After years they were as much a staple of his face as the freckles on his nose. 

The marks of a man who hadn't enough time to shave let alone visit a tailor, a man who would scarcely have enough time to ask her too many intrusive questions. 

She smiled. Jarring was the only way Sebastian could describe how her face seemed to split horizontally across its centre. Neither half quite belonged to the other. The demure and polite curl of her lips was offset by the razor-edged scrutiny of her darkened gaze. Predatory. Hungry. In a way that made his mouth go dry and cool sweat beads on the back of his neck.

Ice clinked against the side of his glass as Sebastian knocked back the remaining dregs of whiskey. Disguising the way his lip twitched at the corners under the weight of her eyes. Amber liquid burned his throat was nothing compared to the heat prickling across his skin.

Sebastian held up two fingers to indicate to the Barmaid over the raucous patrons of the pub. She placed a second glass on the bar filling them both with a more than generous pour. 

"Cheers," Sebastian said, placing the coins into her hand, a little extra for her trouble as he always did. The barmaid smiled brightly, flushed and preening, over a few extra sickles as if he'd declared some great love for her. Though he supposed generosity was not a trait of many that frequented the Ogre's Arms. She leaned a little further over the bar than was strictly necessary, her fingers linger too long against his palm as he hands over his sickles. 

Sebastian did not miss the way that the strangers' eyes tracked the interaction. As swift and deliberately as he had been trained to be with every motion, he slipped his hand from the barmaid's grasp deftly hooking his fingers into the rim of the grotesquely full tumblers as he spun on his heels.

Whatever the poor girl had been about to say faltered in her throat. Crackling out of life like a dying gramophone. He really should have felt some sympathy for the poor girl. 

She'd made her fondness for him quite obvious over the years. Despite how Sebastian would sidle out the door with what must seem like any witch but her. Too worried about any kind of arrangement that would ask for more than he was willing, or able, to give. Nor did he wish to find a new hole to drown himself in. 

And regretfully - her gentle honeyed voice and hopeful doe eyes that delivered longing glances had never stirred anything inside of Sebastian. As much as on some nights he wished they would. 

Sebastian weaved through the sparse gathering around the bar of the more rambunctious patrons. Turning a blind eye, to the corner booth and the two witches poorly disguising their face under their dramatic hoods, exchanging money, a rather suspicious-looking sack at their feet which gave a periodic shudder and what looked like spines protruding from the burlap. It may be his job to investigate suspicious behaviour such as this but- he'd rather not have to explain to his sergeant exactly what he was doing in this pub in the first place.

Approaching her solitary table nestled in the corner, she inclined her chin up towards him. Smug. Sloped oak beams cast a thick shadow, and candlelight flickering against her cheekbones made her features waxy like an oil painting against a grimy canvas. 

"May I?"

She tilted her head, as though she expected nothing else but was amused by his gesture nonetheless."Only because you brought a bribe." 

Sebastian hooked the heel of his boot around the chair leg pulling out further. Placed the two glasses on the table as he sat, careful not to spill any against the oak surface. Not that it would be such a shame if it did. Cheap whiskey from a smudged glass was hardly a waste. 

Sebastian tipped his glass to her in toast, she did not feign even the slightest interest in her glass or his hollow act of chivalry. 

"I haven't seen you here before," Sebastian said. 

Flexing her fingers, she admired those well-polished nails. "No. I don't suppose you would have."

West Country. Quaint. As out of place amongst the sea of London accents as her dress was from this decade. Confirming a very important fact for Sebastian she was certainly not from around here. For the best. 

"This doesn't seem like the place for such a nice young lady such as yourself."

Chin resting on the back of her delicate hand. A feline grin spread across her face, as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Nor the place for well respected Ministry men." 

Tension seized Sebastian's shoulders. Unnerved by her perception, his eyes darted across the sea of faces. He'd left the scarlet cloak with the gold badge adorning his lapels in his flat long before he'd made apparated to the bottom of Knockturn Alley. Places like these didn't take too kindly to rozzers scrambling their clientele. Nor would he want it to become common knowledge at the Ministry that he frequented grimy drinking holes on his off hours. He was certain she'd been alone but that prickle of unease had his hand reaching towards his wand.  

She caught his arm swiftly, delicate fingers folded up the cuff of his cloak. Ministry insignia branded into the tan leather strap that secured his wand to his forearm. 

Chuckling breathily to himself, Sebastian felt the tension ebb as, just as swiftly, she turned down the sleeve. "Half the people here carry their wand tucked up their sleeve. You have a keen eye, to have spotted that mark from halfway across the room, lass. Do you make it a habit of checking if every man who approaches you is an Auror?"

Sharp eyes glinted with mischief. "Only the ones that interest me."

"Must be my lucky day." He leaned in closer, bitter whiskey breath disturbed a loose curl around her ear as he whispered. "Unless there's a reason you have to be on such high alert for authority I should know about?"

"Do I look like the kind of woman who would have much trouble with the law?"

He cast his eyes down, at her unblemished hands. Free of callouses and scar tissue, the tight restrictiveness of her bodice ill-suited for battle, her polite disarming smile - even those eyes, so reminiscent but not quite right. Despising the remorseful pang in his chest. Nothing like her. 

"Well if that's the case this," he gestured around the damp crooked hole masquerading as a tavern. "Certainly isn't the place for you." 

"Nor you. Unless the requirements for holding such an esteemed post has gone severely downhill and they let swindlers and murderers into their ranks." He almost winced at the sting of the insult she unwittingly delivered. 

"Perhaps lurking around in dingey bars with terrible whiskey isn't suited to either of us. Perhaps, upstanding members of society that we are, should go somewhere we can feel more…relaxed."

"And where exactly is there such a place for me?" Most women would have covered that glaring tan line on her finger, under gloved hands or glamour, but she seemed to flaunt it as she ghosted it across his knuckles;  an invitation.

Sebastian's grin widened. "I have a few ideas."

"I don't have much time. So you better make every minute count."

***

Sebastian unlocked his front door with a snap of his fingers. Gestured her inside, his hand pressed into the small of her back. She inclined her head towards him, a smirk playing on her lips at the hollow politeness of his gesture. Knowing full well his intention of inviting her back to his flat was far from gentlemanly. 

Exaggerated skirts shifted as she stepped inside. Soft lamp lights scattered around his living room sparked to life in welcome illuminating the small living area. Her formal attire looked out of place; more suited for high tea than the sparsely filled space Sebastian inhabited. 

Files strewn across the long velvet settee, scattered teacups and candles burned down to the wick littered every available surface. He knew the larder would be just as barren save for some tea bags and a half-empty bottle of gin the department had cobbled together to purchase for his promotion. He didn't even like gin. The presence of female company always seemed to highlight just how every inch of his flat screamed bachelor.  

Sebastian shrugged off his cloak, hooking it on the back of the door. Never once taking his eyes off her. Odd little creature that she was. Against the faint moonlight that trickled in from the arched window on the far wall, her face cloaked in darkness, she cast a dramatic silhouette. 

Not quite her. No. But her dress despite its bulk could not disguise the dip of her waist, an alluring swell to her chest. With her face masked from view, he felt his drink-fogged mind teeter dangerously on an edge he would not let it wander past. 

She'd bent down, and pinched the corner of a piece of parchment he'd discarded the previous night between her thumb and forefinger. Sebastian slipped his wand from the holster. With a flick, the paper pried itself free to rejoin the rest which were shuffling themselves back into their file before shooting across the room into the waiting drawer of his bureau. The gold lock clicked shut, locking them securely away with an audible snap. 

Her head whipped around, her chin jutted out in irritation, and her eyes narrowed slightly into a glare. Sebastian shrugged, as he unbuckled the holster on his arm, placing it on the narrow kitchen island. "Classified information. I'm sure you understand."  

Sebastian couldn't have nosy witches trawling through his case files. He'd seen plenty of Aurors sacked for lesser sins. And reporters from the Prophet certainly weren't above seduction tactics to get their stories. That knowledge did nothing however to stop the tingle that spread down his spine that the defiant look in her eye ignited in him. 

"I suppose." She shrugged, a forced display of indifference. Before proceeding to further inspect his residence. Striding about like she owned the place and Sebastian was merely some troublesome tenant. 

The cramped flat he'd started renting in London straight out of Hogwarts could hardly be considered a home. Sebastian never planned to make it one. Or stay for as long as he did. Merely a stepping stone, at the start of his career. Close to the Ministry, so he could collapse after a long day. 

Eat. Sleep. Breath. Work. 

That desperate desire to prove himself more than what he'd been. Never satisfied with his lot in life. By the grace of Merlin, he'd been given a second chance to make himself a man - his parents, his sister, that he could be proud of. 

He had planned to settle down eventually. Fix the decaying bones of his parents' old house on the hill with her by his side. Both were now a faded, hopeless dream. Sebastian's life had rarely gone to plan.

Tracing a finger across the well-worn spines on his overstuffed bookshelf she pondered each title with interest. "Quite the collection you have. Some rather questionable titles you have here for a man of your profession."

"Special Ministry approval. They're charmed to be bound to my place of residence - before you get any ideas. Can never be too prepared in my line of work. Knowledge of magic of a more…delicate nature can be the difference between life and death."

Strictly speaking, this was not a lie. Any Auror worth his salt would have at least half the books in Sebastian's collection on curse-breaking, dark magic and deadly creatures. Admittedly, his robust library wasn't necessary for his career nor was all of it purely academic interest. 

Eyewitness accounts of skinwalkers he'd picked up on a short trip to America, liaising with the MACUSA on their rising troll problem. Journals, written in the maddening scrawl of a witch who'd fancied herself a revolutionary scholar. Wanted to test the corruption dark magic had on the soul. Daft bugger used herself to test her theories. Now all that was left of her was crammed into a bachelor's bookcase.

Smallest in number and size, a thin collection of children's stories and a letter correspondence from crackpot conspiracists. He'd been too late to salvage anything that remained of Miriam Fig's research and this pitiful array was all that he'd discovered over the years with any reference to Ancient Magic. A small house fire could destroy what Sebastian could only assume was the largest collated materials on the subject.

It had been foolish to try to love her, but perhaps more still to hunt the vengeful wraith. 

"Well read. Good career. Seems you are a rather eligible bachelor-"

Sebastian smiled moving closer towards her. "I'm not bad to look at either."

"Despite your proclivity for skulking around dingey bars. It's unusual to find a man such as yourself…unattached."

"What can I say - I'm married to my work. Not much time for anything else; not many witches would put up with the lifestyle long-term. Never been interested in marriage." 

Liar. 

She looked up at him through dark lashes, from how those sharp eyes stripped him back until he was raw and exposed - she scented his dishonesty. "Sounds like a lonely life." 

"Depends on who you ask."

Sebastian leaned heavily on the shelf above her head, elbow brushing against well-loved spines. His calloused palm slipped around her waist, running up her side. Felt the curved bones of her corset under his thumb. Leaning in closer still, enough that his breath disturbed the loose curls around her temples. Her lips parted, tongue dancing along her bottom lip as she tilted her chin up towards him like a cat basking in a warm breeze. 

She didn't waiver. Not a single flicker of hesitation in those sharp, piercing eyes. For a moment, Sebastian pitied the man who intended to marry her. But not enough to stop him from capturing her lips. 

Tasting the tang of cheap whiskey in their mingled breath. Not a slither of remorse as her delicate hands found the nape of Sebastian's neck. Used chestnut curls to pull him closer to kiss him more deeply. Their breath was little more than stolen gasps for air and an opportunity for her tongue to seize and slip past parted lips. 

Sebastian crowded her further against the bookshelf. Held tighter to the bunched fabric of her skirts, hands fumbling desperately to feel the shape it disguised. Frustrated by the garment, his lips left her mouth. Travelled down to her jaw, her breathing hitched, head tipped back to thunk against the shelf as Sebastian nipped and sucked at the column of her throat. A little too sharply. But she only pressed into him further. Blood and bruises bloomed wild across her skin as his teeth grazed along her heightened pulse. 

He knew what it was like to try to ensnare creatures such as this. How they bit when cornered. Fool that he was, he desired to tame them, change their nature; almost as much as he craved to be bitten.

Maybe that was why he held her so firmly in his grasp. Petticoats balled in his fists, as he pressed himself awkwardly against her. Her dainty form didn't quite fit the stocky mould of his own. 

Not that anyone witch or woman had since. 

Not that she seemed to care. She pulled Sebastian in like he alone was hers to drink from. Like he belonged to her and she would bend and break him to fit her. Some part of him prayed she succeeded. He'd snap every bone in his body, boil down his sinew in the hope that when at last he healed - he would fit another. 

Sebastian pressed his mouth into the crook of her shoulder and burrowed his face, inhaling deeply, as he mouthed at her skin. Soft and supple as an over-ripe peach. Desperately, pathetically trying and failing to make himself fit. But the bridge of his nose bumped harshly against her clavicle and his back ached from stooping. 

He'd never melted into anyone since her. No matter how many times he tried with countless trysts with all the ways they reminded him of her in their laughs, smiles, and eyes - they were not her.

Pained groan against her shoulder. Cloth ripped as he tore past her outdated petticoats and the silk of her undergarments. Desperate hands kneaded at her bare flesh. Thigh. Hip. The curve of her arse. Every inch of her skin grew hot, flushed under his touch. If Sebastian had been in his right mind not addled, by drink and frustration he would have handed it to her; for such a wellbred lady, she did not startle easily or cringe from his working hands. With a strung-out whine, she simply displaced the torn fabric so Sebastian's knee pressed between her thighs could provide her with more friction.

Sebastian sank to his knees, hooking her thigh around his broad shoulder. Balanced precariously, her back pressed against the stacks and her leg suspended quivering. Heel dug between his shoulder blades as she sought stability. Her limbs were lean…soft. Delicate like a lamb. No coiled muscle battle worn and firm disguised under her skirts.  

That did not stop Sebastian from groaning against the sparse hair as he nestled himself between her thighs. Her muscles clenched tighter. Not with apprehension. No. With blinding unhindered desire. Whining breathlessly, as she urged him to fulfil his role, drop any pretence to do what they came here for. This was no budding romance. And there was no time to pretend otherwise. 

Sebastian's tongue darted out teasing the tip through her folds. Eagerly seeking out her bundle of nerves to curl his tongue under her hood. Satisfied, a mewl passed her lips to at last have Sebastian where she desired him most. Hips bucked and writhed with every broad stroke and teasing lick against her soaking entrance. Brown tresses tangled harshly in her grip, those neatly filed nails scratching encouragingly against his scalp. 

Her taste was unfamiliar on Sebastian's tongue, but he only lapped at her more fervently. Desperate. As if he savoured enough of her desire for him - he could burn away the memories of sweeter nectars.

Bunching her skirt closer to her stomach, Sebastian's view of her was unobstructed. The collar pulled open where she'd made swift work of the buttons of her high neckline; they hung like loosely strung pearls cascading down her chest which heaved with every breath. Breasts dimpled against the restrictive tightly laced corset.

Sebastian's eyes flicked up to meet hers. Not the right shape or hue but that intensity to them. Storm raging across a riptide, Sebastian, vulnerable in their depth. He could drown in them and would do so gladly.

Blood rushed south, and Sebastian groaned low, pained. He sucked on her clit, coaxing more slick to coat his lips and chin. Hoping beyond hope that her eyes locked on his would flutter closed in pleasure. Her mouth was ajar, each drawn-out moan growing louder as she approached her peak. Clever calculating gaze fixed on Sebastian. He knew he was exactly where she wanted him. Prey to her predator. His cock strained and achingly hard because of it.

Her back arched against the stacks, toes curling against the centre of his back, legs shook with the strain to hold herself upright. Sebastian was relentless. He devoured the quivering nub, tongue teasing as he sucked. Her passionate cry was unrestrained, legs threatening to buckle bringing her down like a house of cards as she collapsed over the edge. Aftershock of pleasure rolled over her, he kept a firm grip on her hip as she rested more heavily against him. His desire for her is confusing and just as precarious. 

Sebastian unhooked her leg from his shoulder, palms running along the backs of her calves. She was still propped up feebly holding herself against the bookcase. Pads of her fingers clutching pathetically at the shelves with the ball of her heel holding purchase on the floor. 

Orgasm ebbing, softening her predatory edge. A smirk played at Sebastian's lips as he looked up at her once polished appearance now dishevelled. Rattling, with a lust-drunk gaze that defiant chin hanging slightly ajar as she greedily gulped down air. 

She narrowed her eyes at his smug expression and gathered her composure before slipping her ruined dress from her shoulders letting it puddle at her feet. Nail digging under his chin as she beckoned Sebastian upwards, pulling him in. 

It made Sebastian's heart beat wildly against his chest. A caged canary faced with a falcon. 

Teeth grazed his bottom lip, tongue seeking his own. Sebastian's clothes fell away easily from his broad frame. His shirt was discarded, followed by breeches which tangled around his ankles as they fumbled towards the settee. Muffled grunts into her mouth every time her palm grazed his cock, hard and throbbing, through his undergarments. Sebastian moved to lie her swiftly across the settee. One hand pressed into the small of her back the other tangled in amongst the pins now falling loose from her hair.

 

Inexplicably, she moved faster than Sebastian thought she was capable of. Leg hooked around his ankle like a snake pulling him off balance. Backs of his knees connected with the settee as his legs buckled and Sebastian collapsed bodily onto cushions. Rarely with his extensive training did anyone get the jump on him. 

Her lips curled as she observed the way his enlarged head twitched against his belly more eagerly. "Now, I think it's my turn." Laces from her corset pulled loose, she let the camisole shift to the floor with it. "-And you looked far too pretty beneath me."

As she straddled his lap, Sebastian spluttered on his groan and the intoxicating sensation of her wet centre against his shaft. Her palms were flat, braced against his chest, nails scratching at the coarse hairs that grew there. Every inch of her soft, naked flesh pressed against him. His hands settled on the curve of her hips, sliding along her flushed skin with hands that seemed too large. 

She really was quite pretty. Sebastian just wished the parts that didn't remind him of her made his heart race as much as the ones that did. 

She caught his lips, fingers cupped against his jaw, her mouth moving against his. Teeth and tongue. Hot breath came out in short dulcet pants as she greedily tasted the remnants of her arousal on his lips.

Her hand snaked down between them, taking Sebastian's throbbing length in her hand. He hissed, as her thumb smoothed over the leaking slit, aligning him with her entrance. Eyelashes fluttered a satisfied sigh, as she sank down, taking him inside of her. Dainty as she may appear, she appeared to relish the stretch to accommodate his size, almost as much as he did. So tight she gripped his cock, it almost sent him hurtling over the edge. 

Barely giving herself time to adjust before she canted her hips. Weight shifting so she could slide up his shaft until only the head of his cock remained before sinking back down onto Sebastian's girth more demandingly. Needy grunts reverberated in Sebastian's chest as he matched her frantic desperate pace. Forehead braced on her chest as he bucked his hips into her tight core. Pebbled nipple caught between his lips, her head thrown back in a wanton moan as Sebastian ever so gently grazed the peak with his teeth. 

Sebastian closed his eyes. Whiskey fog coupled with the godly feel of her clenched around him, he relaxed into her eager pace. Inhibitions lowered, his mind straying to the well-worn path he rarely let himself tread. 

Face striking contorted in ecstasy; a savage beauty like lightning striking the ocean. Mallowsweet scent; that soothed like a botanist's herbal balm. How perfectly her body wrapped around his own as if by design. Sebastian's teeth pressed hard against his tongue as her name danced upon it. With his eyes closed, hands held back - that shameful part of him could pretend it was her. 

"Sebastian," the witch moaned. He didn't remember giving her his name. Nor asking hers. The voice he heard was not that polite West Country lilt but one conjured from Hades - his divine pleasure and punishment. 

Can't let it be her. 

Sebastian forced his eyes open, to look at the woman from the bar. Her neat hair, narrow shoulders and thin top lip. Only to find the lines separating fantasy from reality blurred and contorted. His stomach lurched. 

Maybe he'd had more to drink than he thought. 

Whiskey had crowded and garbled his senses as well as his inhibitions. Sebastian's vision was merely blurred. She looked like her. Not just in her eyes but the sloping curve of her neck, the arch of her nose, her hair longer and tangling against the neat pins that had once held it back. 

It's all the whiskey. 

If he could bring himself to look away from her face for even one moment he would see the room spinning. But he couldn't look away. 

Those keen eyes bore into him, locked with his own and he swore they changed colour. The fire that had been smouldering within sparked, roaring, melting her irises into that familiar hue. 

He didn't just have to squeeze his eyes shut to see her and pretend it was her impossibly tight walls clenching around him with every thrust. 

There she was. 

"You," Sebastian spluttered, disbelief tight in his chest. "No. No- It can't be you. This can't be happening." Who cares if he sounded mad? His mind was spiralled and scrambled, desperate to bring back the visage of the woman from the bar and right himself. This face; her face didn't waver. She rolled her hips once more, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she cast her gaze down. Over her breasts and the faded scar that curled under the left from the crucio, he'd administered. Firm muscles of her legs earned from years of battle. Calloused hands of someone who knew little of comfort. All were once again her own. 

Sebastian's world was spiralling, tipping on its axis. Tension in every muscle in his body. Still as beautiful as she was in his nightmares, even the ones where she tore out his heart. She clicked her tongue, amused then smiled. So wide, it bore too many teeth.

Fucking exquisite. Sebastian despised the way his heart faltered in his chest. 

"Pity. I guess the kneazle's out of the bag," she purred, teeth raking sharp across his earlobe. So sharp it shocked his spiral back into sickening clarity like ice in his veins. 

Like a shot, Sebastian wrapped his hand hard around her throat forcing her face away from him. Thumb pressed harshly into the corner of her jaw with his iron grip on her windpipe. Any sane woman would tremble to have his large hand like a vice around her throat in anger. Cower, under the venom in his eyes.

But she was far from sane; perhaps never had been. She gasped involuntarily choking around where his fingers so deeply pressed into her flesh, but the smile on her lips never faltered despite how he could feel the hammer of her blood against his fingertips.

"You should know I don't share," she wheezed. It wasn't the polite West Country drawl she'd adopted at the bar - but that feminine purr he knew far too well. Velvety, like a caress that sent shivers down his spine; and if it were possible simultaneously made his blood run cold and his cock impossibly stiffer where it was sheathed deep within her. She whimpered approvingly, hot breath ghosting his freckled cheeks.

"Fuck- how did you-" Choking on his groan as she expertly rolled her hips, grinding on his cock. Evil, manipulative witch. She knew exactly how to turn practically every rational thought in Sebastian's brain to smoke. 

"Polyjuice. She was pretty don't you think? You seemed to like fucking her while it lasted. Maybe not as much as that curvy redhead from a few months ago...I had bruises on my thighs for weeks."

Somewhere deep in his psyche, Sebastian knew he should push her off. Bind her. Gag her. Put as much distance between himself and her and the mixed-up way she made him feel. Preferably in a cell in the deepest part of Azkaban the Ministry had long ago allocated for her when they signed the warrant for her arrest. At that moment, over the cacophony screaming through his head the only coherent thought was how to keep her desperately bouncing on his cock. 

"I thought it was my turn to have some unsanctioned fun." 

No - rose, bubbled and died in his throat. Caught somewhere amongst the shameful rasping groan as she began to rhythmically rock her hips. Never quite releasing her entirely, but Sebastian's grip on her throat loosened as his muscles slackened in shameful pleasure. 

Using every bit of her newfound leash, she leaned forward to kiss him. Sin, like ambrosia on his tongue. Lips slotted against him, they moved in perfect harmony to a melody he wished had never been composed on his bones. 

She wrapped around him as if the wild thing that she had always been had sprouted from the earth, and curled her tendrils around him. Or rather, like a constant wave beating against him she'd worn his surface. It was a marvel he hadn't crumbled into her sooner. 

"You're mine you know," she cooed, her breath hot against his ear.

"I am not," Sebastian spat. But try as he might to deny it, curse her until his final breath - his words rang hollow. And he loathes himself all the more for it. She was not his any longer, but something else. Twisted by cruelty and power that simply wore the face of the woman he once loved. 

Shame stirred in his gut; desire coursed through his blood. 

"Denying it doesn't make it any less true. You know me blind. When my face is not my own. Fate has bound us, Sebastian. Just as I would know you in any life."

Sebastian gritted his teeth, cheek pressed against her sternum. Fingers digging into her shoulder blades, as he pounded his cock up into her harder, faster. If he was stronger, he would not be prey to her illicit designs for him - but he was not. She keened, greedy to take all he could give her. Consume him entirely if she could. Sebastian closed his eyes and cursed himself for being weak.

Vision narrowing, Sebastian groaned, low and pitiful into the curve of her neck. Ashamed of what he knew was coming. "I hate you," he cursed. Repeated it like a mantra, his lips against her sweat-salted skin as if he could transcribe the words onto her flesh.

Deep plunges into her warmth growing erratic as Sebastian's coil tightens. Her body clenched, tightening around him, with every thrust teased against her sweet spot coaxing more slick onto his cock. His punishing words merely rolled off her curves like water off a duck's back. 

"S-Sebastian," her hoarse cry pierced through his resolve. Sebastian bit into her neck trying and failing to hold back from the precipice of the inevitable. Unwilling to surrender any more of himself to her. It only served to send her hurtling over the cliff. His cock buried deep inside of her, her head thrown back, cunt quivering as her climax broke. Orgasm, wracked through her in waves. Engulfing Sebastian's every sense. 

Fire and Brimstone. Gentle breezes and mallowsweet. 

Beauty. Terror. 

Rhythm faltering, Sebastian's hips spluttered as that mounting coil finally snapped. Her name on his lips, her scent on his skin. Everything that remained of Sebastian Sallow was consumed entirely by her. He came hard - with a broken pathetic whine that forced itself from his body as he spilt inside of her.

It was no little death - it was all-consuming. A part of him would never come back from. Another piece of his soul surrendered along with what was left of his dignity. 

Sebastian fought for breath. Unforgiving waters filled his chest, ice seized his joints, heart thundered as dark edges clouded his vision, threatening to drown out the light and sound. Choking on his saliva he wheezed, shoulders heaved forward violently. Fresh tears pricked in his eyes. 

She shushed his soothingly, thumb tracing idle patterns on his skin with a sickening gentleness that curdled his stomach. He whined pathetically against her chest but she only gripped him harder. Fingers carded through his hair as she hummed a sweet tune peppering kisses to the crown of his chestnut hair. 

Perhaps, in another life, he had the strength to overcome the guilt and sickness now seizing his bones. In another, perhaps there was no deception to be ashamed of. 

He wasn't sure how long they sat entwined, soft cock still inside her, his spend leaking onto his thighs matting in the hair. When at last Sebastian's violent sobbing eased he felt the enchantment stretch across his body, taunt ropes strapped his arms to his sides, and bound his ankles. A chaste kiss against his temple as she slid from his lap.

Sebastian watched her and tried to pretend for a second, that he was not bound, she was not mad and hips swaying hypnotically as she pranced naked around their flat as she did every Sunday evening. Not his. Theirs. Another life, unstained by dark magic where she was still his. 

Fussing with her dress, eyebrows pinched together, frowning as she examined the shredded yellow gown. She sighed, holding the unlaced corset over her breasts, gathering up the remnants to haul them to the kitchen island. She found his wand, with its emerald and onyx handle, the one that had belonged to his paternal great-grandfather. Back and forth she toyed with it in her hands. 

"Put that down." A feeble attempt at a threat from a man bound, naked, cheeks streaked with stale tears. Tight from salt they felt stretched like a drum. 

"You ruined my dress," she pouted. "The least you can do is help me fix it."

Traitorously, Sebastian's wand didn't so much as shudder in retaliation. It obeyed her easily, stitching up the splintered seams, her corset tightened, cinching at her waist. Her hairpins reorganised themselves. She looked almost like her old self, the girl she'd been at school, with a spark of fire in her eyes that mirrored his own. 

"Before you go running off to the next little witch who bats her eyelashes at you, Bash. Try to remember - I don't share." She placed his wand back on the counter and slipped a canteen from her purse. She drank deeply. Gagging, hand smacking into her chest to keep down whatever foul liquid it contained.

If Sebastian had still been drunk the way her face bubbled like stew on a boil would have turned his stomach. Her lips thinned, her hair shrunk back into her scalp, her scars paled and her muscles softened. The woman from the Pub returned, exactly as he'd met her. It did nothing to quell the sickness churning in his gut. 

"Au revoir mon amour." She was gone as quickly as she came, but her presence lingered like a gaping, festering wound. 

Sebastian sat in the dark. Hatred for her that he cultivated in public and the private yearning he tended to as it grew like persistent weeds in his garden he tended had given way to emptiness. A void that for a time he was content to let swallow him whole as he stared at the cracks in his floor. Mourning the woman he'd loved. But most he mourned for himself, for all she took from him. 

Shadows inched across the floor as dawn eventually broke. Long after the bindings had dissolved. Sebastian hadn't slept or moved for hours and his joints stiff, groaned as he got to his feet. He trudged to his bathroom and ran the water until it was scalding. Intent on scrubbing his skin raw. As if she could un-touch him. 

[vermillionsappho]

MISS AMERICANA | ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

MISS AMERICANA | CHAPTER THREE

"Leave with my head hung, you are the only one Who seems to care"

-Still reeling from meeting Ellie at the party, and seeing her again, Y/n now is dealing with complicated feelings and thoughts of Ellie, all while getting closer and forging a friendship with her.

2.0k Words | sfw

Content Warning: Cursing, drug use, anxiety, slight homophobia, lmk if I left anything out!

Tags: @pillowprincessleia @milahnoz (reply to post to be added <3)

Semi-proofread

“You want me to stay with you, hon? I can stay for like an hour or two.” Oliva offers with a small smile, and you shake your head before smiling wryly.

“It’s okay, Liv, I’m okay. I’ll see you around.” You say softly, turning around to walk up the steps of your house. Olivia watches you go up steps, your feet heavy and your head hung and she frowns, but still begins to reverse out of your driveway, waiting for you to get inside before pulling off.

The house is dark when you get inside, and the air is still, which is expected; but it always throws you off anyways no matter how used to it you are.

You lie out on the couch, thoughts racing.

Is Ellie a lesbian?

Is Ellie a lesbian that’s interested in me?

Does Ellie want to have sex with me?

You’ve heard things about Ellie before, but they’ve never stuck in your head, and you never been one to truly engage in gossip and drama; not to mention you had your own shit going on.

You heard your friends whisper about her, you heard neighbors and parents talk about her and condemn her.

The things they say about her are awful; and it’s all because she’s a lesbian.

And now she’s a lesbian that’s possibly interested in you, which could make sense actually. No one’s done anything nice for you out of the goodness of their heart since freshman year. Everyone’s always trying to work an angle with you, play the long game, figure you out and use you. It would make a lot of sense if Ellie defended you, and was so nice to you to get into your pants.

But you’re not a lesbian, though.

You’ve been dating Grayson since you were both thirteen (courtesy of your mom and his); but even then, you’ve never even thought about another girl in a romantic way. You know who you are- and some random girl you just met can’t uproot that and  “turn you out”.

But still, you can’t stop thinking about it, or her in particular. Ellie is pretty, to say the least. Truth is, she’s gorgeous, even with the mullet; and the tattoos, scarred pink lips and slit brows only add to her charm. Ellie’s not like any girl you’ve ever met…she’s not like any person you've ever met either. If there’s a slither of a possibility that Ellie defended you because she’s a good person and is being friendly to you because she wants to be your friend, a part of you wants to believe that.

For another hour, you drive yourself insane thinking of Ellie before you turn the tv on to drown out your thoughts of her.

Until you flick the tv onto another channel, and your once favorite show is on.

And you start to think of her, your mother.

All of sudden, the television isn’t interesting anymore, and you quickly turn the tv off, before stalking off to your room; burrowing in your bed and forcing the heavy duvet over your head as you will yourself to take a nap.

You dream of Ellie while you sleep.

You dream of her freckles, the dots on her creamy skin, and her skin against yours. Her scarred lips on your lips, and her tattooed arms and hands, holding yours. Ellie laughs in your dream, a soft laugh, and it brings a smile to your face.

But somehow, it sends a chill down your spine, and you’re shooting up from the bed like it’s on fire, covers splayed across the floor and a sheen of sweat on your forehead and chest.

You’re panting, and panicking, sitting down on the floor as you swipe your hand through your messy hair, gripping at the strands as you try to think clearly but to no avail.

You dreamt of her.

You dreamt of her kissing you, holding you, smiling at you and it sent the butterflies in your stomach in a tizzy.

“Fuck no, fuck no. That was a nightmare, right?” You whisper to no one, trying to gather yourself, but the panic isn’t subsiding. You sit up on your knees, trying to lean and reach your phone, feeling for it and pulling it off the cord when it’s finally in your hand.

You unlock your phone with shaky hands, and you’re incessantly tapping on contacts as you search for Ellie’s.

You call her, without any hesitation, and when she picks up, you switch to speakerphone, your breathing heavy and audible.

You think of what to say for a moment, but it doesn’t matter, because nothing can stop the words from flying out of your mouth when you finally speak.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You ask heavily, the words said quickly and the moving on the other side of the phone pauses.

“Pretty girl? What the hell are you talking about?” Her raspy voice finally fills the space in your room, and you can’t ignore the flash of weirdness you feel at the sound of her voice.

“Why do you call me that, Ellie?” You ask, exasperated and she chuckles.

“I don’t know, ‘cause you’re a pretty girl. You don’t like it?” She asks and you close your eyes for a second before sighing.

“No, I- I didn’t say that.” You say softly and you can hear slight crackles from her end of the phone before her voice becomes clearer.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Ellie asks, her voice softer now, a tint of concern in it and you lean your head against the wall.

“I don’t know, really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t have called, I’m sorry, I’ll go now.” You say, about to hang up the phone but she interrupts you.

“No, stop. Don’t do that, I told you to call. I’ve got a joint, I can come over and we can smoke if you’re comfortable with that?” She suggests and you smile a little, taking a deep breath before responding.

“I thought you told Grayson you don’t let just anybody smoke your stuff?” You ask and she chuckles.

“You’re not just anybody, Y/n.”

You open the door for Ellie, and she steps in smoothly. She’s wearing a wife beater, and a pair of shorts, her muscles on display, and you get that feeling in your chest that you had the first time you saw her, all over again.

“Make yourself at home.” You say quietly and she nods and sits down on the couch, before reclining, propping her feet up.

You hover, not really sure what to do or how to move, your body rigid and she looks at you and laughs, before patting the empty space next to her.

“I’m not gonna bite you, I promise.” She says with a grin and you nod before plopping down next to her, glancing at her for a quick second before averting your eyes to a random wood spot on the coffee table.

“So, what was all of that about on the phone? Are you okay?” She asks and you groan, moving your hands over your face.

“That was so stupid, I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I called, but I definitely don’t know why I asked you that. I let my friends and Grayson get in my head, or whatever.” You say, panicked, and she leans forward before turning to face you.

“What did your friends and Grayson say?” She inquires and you finally meet her eyes.

“Grayson said that I shouldn’t hang around you…I guess because you’re a lesbian or whatever; and my friend said that you probably want to have sex with me or something, I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You say quickly, shaking your head and Ellie laughs before scoffing.

“Y/n, I’m not blind, you’re a pretty girl, why do you think I call you that? But I’m not some creep trying to get into your pants. I want to be your friend, if I wanted to fuck you, I’d literally just ask if you wanted to fuck.” She says, shrugging and you nod slowly, her words seeping into your brain.

“I swear, people in this town are so bored. Still talking about me being a lesbian like it hasn't been years since I came out.” She says and you put a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t care…if you like girls or anything. You’re a nice girl, Ellie, what you like doesn’t change anything for me.” You say softly, and a blush blooms beneath her freckles and you smile at the sight.

“I appreciate that, pretty girl. Now, ready for this?” She asks, pulling a baggie out of her pocket and a lighter.

Ellie helps you like she did the first time, placing the joint between your lips and lighting it for you, while she coaches you through the process so you don’t hurt yourself. When you finally get the hang of it, she takes it back to take a hit herself, and you finally get comfortable on the couch, spreading out.

“How’d you get this scar?” You ask, lazily moving your hand up to touch at the scar, hands moving on the soft skin of her lips, sending shivers down Ellie’s spine.

“I-I got into a fight. He got me good, but I kicked his ass.” She says softly and you hum at her response.

“Are you always fighting people?” You ask, scanning her face with lidded eyes and she gazes at you before blinking.

“Only people who deserve it.” She says, taking another hit of the joint before giggling absentmindedly.

“Why are you so nosy?” She teases and you giggle yourself before cocking your head to the side.

“Just curious about you, that’s all.” You say softly and she nods slowly, eyebrows furrowed like she’s deep in thought.

“Everyone already seems to know everything about me.” She says quietly, and you shake your head before moving closer to her, closing the space on the couch.

“Fuck everyone, Ellie. Everyone’s full of shit, they don’t even try to get to know you.” You say wholeheartedly and she leans her head back against the cushion of the couch, her eyes closed.

“You’re my friend now, Ellie. You were the first person I called, and I know I called for a stupid reason, but it means something to me.” You say softly and she opens her eyes again, turning her head towards you.

“That means you have to beat people up for me, now. Like I was going to do for you at the party.” She jokes, a small smile on her face, and you nod your head profusely.

“I am so ready; I will beat everyone up for you if I have to!” You say, giggling and she passes the joint back to you, to which you accept, taking a hit.

“Nah, but I’m just joking. I don’t want you getting in trouble and shit for me; only one of us can be a fuck up.” She says, smiling softly and you blow the smoke out.

“You’re not a fuck up. Ellie, trust me when I say this, you can go and leave all of this shit behind. It’s never too late.” You say earnestly, before passing the now short joint back to her. Ellie doesn’t respond, only getting up to dispose of the joint, and you sigh.

“This was fun, but I should head home; but I really did have fun, seriously.” She says, hovering by the door and you smile, biting your lip softly as a swell of affection grows in you.

“I’m glad you had fun, but should you be driving right now? Aren’t you high?” You ask, concerned and she shakes her head.

“No, my tolerance is pretty high, and you’re not a smoker so I didn’t bring anything strong. I’m fine, I promise.” She says and you lean over the couch, putting your hand out.

“Pinkie promise? Don’t make me worry about you, Ellie.” You say, sticking your pinky out and she chuckles, smiling warmly as she approaches you.

“Pinkie promise. I’ll text you when I’m home, okay pretty girl?” She says, locking your pinkie with her and you nod. She grins at you, waves, and walks out the door, leaving you more confused than ever.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

WHOOO CHAPTER THREE YAYY! I'm actually excited because things are finally picking up and going in a good direction. I'm so excited to expand more on Y/n and Ellie's personal lives and add more to their friendship!

lmk if you enjoyed this chapter, and like always, like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this chapter <3

#Ellie Williams x reader##Ellie Williams smut#lesbian#the last of us fanfiction#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie x reader#ellie x you#ellie williams #wlw fiction#ellie x fem!reader #bisexual #vermillionsappho #vermillionsapphoworks

[jedinerd27]

The Moon and the Stars 7/?

Masterlist

Summary: Your dead, you realize that when you are face to Face with a god who guides souls to the after life... yet to get ready for your trial, you need to go through your childhood, and sort out your guilt.  You meet up with Steven and Marc, who help you through it.

A/n: Okay so there’s references to Catholicism, kept it to a minimum, I’m kinda projecting my catholic guilt.

Also: refrences to child abuse, next Chapter is the boy’s memories, so there’s that.

“I can’t believe it. How much guilt can be put into one measly mortal?” A man you have never seen says as you sit in a chair.

The man in front of you, locked around your age, mid 20’s. His light brown hair, a bit way, matched his peanut butter-colored eyes. A twinkle of mischievousness glinted off his eyes. Freckles scarred over his face, as if a paint brush was flicked in front of him. His ears were pierced, with two on his right lobe with an industrial bar piercing, and 3 lobe piercings on the left. Mix of Gold, silver, and copper.

The room you were in was clean, and bright white marble lined with gold on the edges. The wall was made up of the same marble and was a bookshelf. As you raised your head, you realized, the white marble turned into granite, and then into stone. The ceiling, it was not bright like the light that surrounded the room. It was dark and abyssal. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, the tips remind you of a spear, ready to pierce not just through skin, but also the body.

“Wh.. where am I?” You groaned, you felt a heavy weight on you,a throbbing in your chest. Looking down to the source, you saw it.

Blood bubbling out of your chest.

“Now enough of that '' The young man chuckles, reaching over the glass table, swiping his hand through the air, and the blood flowing out of your chest, it retreated. IT slowly returned to the chest cavity, which.. It filled back in. It healed in a matter of seconds. As if you were watching a video in reverse. ”Seriously, I thought Hercules, hell even Orpheus, had so much guilt, but you triumph over them. .”

“Yeah, I guess,” You said softly, as if you were half asleep and didn't register what he said.

Examining the man in front of you was dressed professionally was unusual. Dressed in slack pants, a dress shirt, and tie. Drachma coins as cufflinks. A vest over the dress shirt, a lapel pin on the breast pocket. A copper caduceus. Golden Drachma, Caduceus pin, younger side of life… You eyes immediately glace down to his shoes, not seeing a pair of oxford like you thought you would. Not even a loafer. It was a pair of Vans High tops, colored gray, with copper eyelets, and on the white laces, where wings sat tied into the eyelets.

“Hermes” You realize, glancing over at him. His face reminds you of the statues. His recognition washed over him, as he sat back with a shit-eating grin, shrugging his shoulders and twirling a pen.. His wide-brimmed petasos sat on the desk. The old farmer's cap, something from classical Greece, just sat there and was not collecting dust. Wears it regularly

“That obvious huh? Or is it because of your wit? Ah, my sister always chose the smart ones. Even my own great-grandson.” Hermes chuckles, referring to Odysseus, and then pulls a drawer out of the desk, “So, I guess this is not necessary” HE motions to the room around you…an office with a cave ceiling above you. Is this hell?

“What? No, this.. This is an office… ” You groan, sitting forward. Even if the wound was healed, you still felt like hell… you were not there yet. As if Atlas lost his balance and dropped the sky onto you. “I just thought of an office help… Ahem, your legal matters? Now, your final matters are almost finished.” He reaches down into a filing campsite and to your amazement, half his body goes into the space, watches just as his legs hold him up, then, he sets a large pile of files onto the desk.

THUMP echoed through the room. Echoing off the wooden panel walls. The rustic office, decorated with a play house in a corner, a lounge sofa, and a chair sat behind you. You sat in front of the desk, the glass desk with the messenger god looking through a foot-tall pile of manila folders.

“Geez, you’ve got a lot of shit in your life” Hermes wolf-whistled looking through it. AS you peer around you gulp.

“I… got shot”

“Yeah, babes you are, well you're at a crossroads. Not yet dead, but barely alive.” he gives a cheeky smile, as he flips through more documents, “You really blame yourself for the Car accident? Arthur, excuse me wrong name-- I mean Ardere’s condition?”

“What?”

“It says here in your moral conscience you blame yourself for Ardere’s condition. Because of metal shrapnel going through his spine, putting him in a wheelchair for a few years until he started to use crutches.”

“How? Wait… wait no no no, I’m not dead I’m just… shit but you're a psychopomp, you're here to guide me aren't you? You are the god of boundaries. Between life and death of course you would be here” Your fingers threaten through your hair, as you try to think. Pushing yourself off the chair, you began to pace in front of the desk. Hermes just continues to skim the documents, glancing up at you as you figure things out.

“Wow, sweet cheeks. This is good” HE holds out a notebook, your notebook of sketches. HE flips to a picture, a drawing of Steven… of him dressed in a Roman tunic, making him look like a senator.

“No, no that's not for your eyes” You choke out, trying to reach over the desk, only for Hermes to hang it over his head.

“Sorry Cutie, I have a job to do.” His free hand suddenly tilts your chin up, making you stare into his eyes. “And you need to sit down.”

“No, don’t call me any of those pet names,” You started.

“Aw, does the pretty girl feel offended? Are you taken?” His lips tremble in a mocking sense. He leans his chin onto his arm, and his eyes track over your body. You feel vulnerable in front of him as if the armor Athena had given you was never a thing. As if you were a little kid again who could not throw a proper punch. The flashes of benign pushed down in the sand pit come back.

He's a trickster, he’s trying to get to you.

“It’s complicated. Besides, I'm dead. '' you forcefully took his hand off you. “Wait.. no I don't t have a Drachma on me” You start looking for your pockets, hoping to find your boat fare across the river Styx, only to look down.

YOu weren't your previous clothes in the tomb of Alexander. No, you were in a long floor-length chiton, a white greek dress with a weaved shawl. The shawl was golden with owls had the face on medusa on it staring you back… Another interpretation of the Aegis.

“Yeah, your brother might reach you in a few minutes… hours for us, minutes of the mortal plane. He’s got some to shove down your throat. But while we wait for that, We have to get '' He motions to the pile, “Paperwork done '’ HE sounded frustrated at it. Like a teenager having to put in more effort than required.

“... are you going to represent me to the judges?” You ask.

Judges appointed by Hades, the lord of the underworld, decide where souls shall go based on what the soul did in life. . Elysium eternal paradise, The asphodel meadows, better than purgatory but not quite paradise, then the fields of punishment, almost hell, and finally Tartarus…. It made hell look like a child's playground.

“Maybe, Athena has already put in a good word for you, but she is not chthonic. So… she put in a favor for me or Zaggy to do so. Neither of us has law designations… but we’ll help if we can” He huffed

“Zaggy? Zagreus? Son of Hades?” The confused look on your face made the trickster god laugh, not like a hardy laugh, but something childish and… no understanding of consequences.

“Yes. but first, trauma. Or at least therapy, which for some reason gave me the okay to do so. Not even a god of medicine.” The smile caused by laughter fades into an annoyed look.

“Must piss you off that your symbol’ You point to the lapel pin, “is with modern medicine. Not Apollo”

“Oh, gods yes it does. Also, if your wondering, teh shawl is to help you convince the judges you should go to Elysium. Anyway, sweet cheeks, I like that one, sweetcheeks, GO through that door, you're going to go through your traumatic memories, maybe run into the boyfriends of yours, I mean it connects to another underworld, and then we get to the trial and-”

“Steven?” YOu ask, then hastily “Marc?”

“Yes, anyways through that door” He points, and you bolt through it. Not even letting the trickster god finish. “But wait-”

Quick as a rabbit that saw a hawk diving, you take off. A fumbling gathering of your skirt above your calves, and you're out the door. Somehow beating the God who was known for his speed. there's a flash of white light and something catches your foot, and you stumble forward. Yet you keep your balance and stand tall to see…

A psych ward?

Staring up at the ceiling, you notice the orange light fixtures begin to shift to one side of the hallway, and you with it. AS you ran down the hall, you turned behind you: Is Hermes following me? Please don’t- And then you ran into something. The impact made you think at first you hit a wall, but then:

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL” A voice screamed, as you fell down to the ground.

"Steven?” You ask, seeing him … and Marc.

You had crashed into Steven, with Marc behind him, both of them laying flat on their asses. Marc stared at you for a moment, his dark eyes wide, and his jaw seemed to drop, as his eyes scanned over you.

I'm still in the chiton

“Love?” Steven asks, his hand immediately going to your cheek, you lean into the touch, and your hand goes to hold it there on your cheek, caressing it.

"Steven… no-no” You realize, letting go as you scramble back. “This has to be fake, I died… Harrow go the binding rope on me, I got shot-”

“After us” Marc said, getting to his feet, and pulling Steven up by his arm.

“Wait, why are you two separated?” Your question. “I wouldn't have imagined-”

“Um… we’re kinda dead too,” Steven says, taking a step toward you. “I mean, we just met Taweret.”

“WAit.. you met her in the hospital…”

“THis is the Duat , and yes. It’s funny, it was just like that book you lent me, we meet Taweret, just like in The Kane chronicles” Steven’s face gets even more bright than it did before as he excitedly explains the situation.

“WAit no, this can’t be the duat… I just saw Hermes. He’s going to represent me to the judges. But I have to revisit my trauma and… well now that I think about it he did say the doorway connected to other underworlds and I would see my boyfriends… but wait is he coming to get me? I don’t really know-” YOu ramble, only to look behind Steven, and see Marrc. HE softly smiles at You, this was a genuine smile from grumpy Marc Spector. “Marc? Are you okay? You’re- Marc you're smiling”.

You must have sounded more astonished than you wanted because Steven’s head swiveled between the two of you.

“Y-yeah. I am actually, what i mean to say that it’s good to see you, sunshine” Marc nods at you. “We, steven and I need to balance our scales or-”

“You’ll be rejected from the Field of reeds?”

“Yeah,” Marc murmurs .

“___, love, I am so sorry you got dragged into this mess”

“Steven, I have no regrets about this. I would do it again, all because of us.” You say, grasping a handful of his shirt, and pull him close, inches from your face, "Can I kiss you?” was uttered softly, like the wisps of a cloud.

“Bloody hell yes” he answers, just as softly, leaning toward and kisses your lips as if engulfing your mouth with his.

“Uh guys, I’m right here.” Marc says, as you raise the bird to him. “Real mature...Wait, if you're here, can she visit our memories?” You and Steven pull apart, and you look to Marc.

‘"Hermes, he mentioned I’m going to have to go through mine and yours. Something about my trial… gets me over my guilt"

“Did you listen to the full thing?”

“Uh… well you see he… he was benign weirdly flirty, a door opened, and I bolted through it at the mention of you guys.”

“Oh so you didn’t fully listen” , Marc exacerbated, tossing a hand into the air, running it through his dark curls, and turning away.

"I got the bullet point asshat.”

“Wait love, your trial, why is Hermes going to represent you? It’s just the judges that tell you where to go.”

“Athena put in a good word for me, but I’ve got to get my evidence I think…but well… I have to come to terms with my guilt or something? It’s not so clear”

“Your guilt?” both men say in unison. Marc seemed annoyed, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. While Steven, stared at you with wide eyes. “What do you mean your guilt?” Steven asks, grasping your hand a bit tighter, “Luv, what do you have to be guilty of?” “From what I’m hearing, the underworlds are connected?” Marc asks as he paces back and forth between the hallway, and mutters something: “Off the hippo... Escape… but, how can we get back?”

“Well between you three. They are connected, yes” A chuckle ran out, and with cat-like reflexes, you turned around and raised your fists.

“Hermes, what do you mean?” YOu glowered, and slowly brought down your fists. I’m not against fighting this God. The trickster god leaned against the wall, a half-cocked smile directed at you three.

“Avatars that are… connected through either dying near each other or their… relationship, their underworlds will be connected for them to figure out where to go. You all have shit from your childhoods, so sort it out, and you’ll reach paradise” he walks over, bops your nose, and looks to those behind you. His caramel-like eyes twinkled at the two men. “So do you boys, so much trauma.” and in a flash and gust of wind, he’s gone, his laughter fades after him.

“Marc… what did he mean?” Steven asks, as he let go of your hand.

“Ah fuck,” YOu said, as you started ad a door. An incoming headache racks through your brain, and as you rub your temples, you moan out: “Not this, anything but this”

The door inside was that of a dark road through a forest.

“What's wrong?” Marc said, staring at the entrance..

“Want to know what started the rift in my family? Why I don’t talk to them. Here” You hesitantly reached for the knob and looked up. An older man with white hair stood at the door. A menacing glare on his face.

Gramps

“Love, are you sure?” Steven reached for your other hand, gently interlocking your fingers with his.

“It’s here, and I’m not running…. I experienced it once before, I think I can do that again” You lie as your stomach drops and you turn the knob walking onto the forest road.

Suddenly, you're in the back of a minivan, Steven and Marc on either side of you, with an older couple in the front, and two kids in the middle row. Your heart drops seeing how young you were, the age of 12, and Ardere, oh Ardere, was just 8, and still so tiny. He always was though, as he was a preemie baby- the flashes back to the hospital when he was only a few months old… all those tubes hooked up to him. The dark circles under your mother’s eyes, the numb eyes staring at the hospital as she started as the incubator that stored your brother. Not even your father’s consoling could make her happy at that time. Not the Jokes he would crack, not the flowers, not the long deep conversations you could hear them have when you listened to them.

Your grandparents, who sat in the front, seemed uninterested As your gramps focused on the road, his eyes scanning the dark pathway in front. YOur grandmother constantly checked her appearance in a mirror, making a hmpff each time she saw a wrinkle.

“Luv, why are we in the car?” Steven asks, as his fingers ghost over your hand.

“This is where it started.” You mutter, looking on.

“Give it back-” Little you screams, as Ardere takes a book from your hands. A green cover, with yellow pages. The cover was faded, but there were still flicks of gold.. THE ILIAD the cover read. Ardere’s goldfish-covered hands grabbed onto the pages, crumpling one page.

YOung you wailed out in horror, as the print of a once white, now yellow pegasus turns orange… all because of his grubby fingers.

“Picture, Picha” HE rambled. He was only 8, his flaming hair looked brown in the darkness. His eyes, the same as your but lighter, seemed to be filled with excitement and joy, happiness.

“No, give it back you idiot!” YOu struggled in your seatbelt, reaching over the small row to try and grab it from your brother, who just put it behind him using one arm.

“Now___, your brother wants to share.” Your grandma chastises, as she replies with some red lipstick in a mirror.

“No, he didn’t ask, he just took it!! ADDY GIVE IT BACK” YOus screamed out, once you saw him licking his free hand.

“Feisty kid,” Marc muttered, bumping his shoulder to yours.

“I wish I wasn't” Your voice was dull, and you could be dry as Egyptian dessert.

“Bad sister!” Ardere says, pulling a nerf gun out, the small blue pistol that just held one plastic-tipped dart, and fired. Hitting you square in the eye.

"GAHHH!” YOu screamed, the pain searing through your eye. As you had your tantrum, arms punching the air, you unbuckled yourself, then grabbed hold of your brother’s shirt and started to shake him. Your grandpa turned his head for a quick second, seeing your brother throttle your brother.

“Get her under control, I can’t focus on the-” And the car swerved, before tumbling over.

In a second, you watched a window shatter as it hit the ground, as the car tuned upwards, you were tossed out of it. The book that once was grasped tightly in Ardere’s hand follows soon after. The cat came back onto all fours, but not without damage.

Currently, you stood outside of the car with the men you had died alongside.

“She found me here,” You muttered, watching a Little owl come down. Landing a few feet away, You watched it and picked up the book you had. The wing circling the book, and feathers acting like fingers, as it flipped through yellowing pages. Then it was the goddess, her golden armor gleaming in the moonlight. The gold bounced off with silver light, as is a lighthouse visible to a lonely ship on the ocean..

“Child, this should not be where you die. Let me save you.” She pleaded, her gray eyes scanning over your wound racked body.

“A… athena?” your young voice called out, as an arm reached forward, slowly touching her hand. Eyes widened as realization hit. A Greek Goddess was standing over you as you were about to die.

“This is where you made the deal?” Marc wistfully said behind you. His voice was disoriented, the scene before you three, Was near impossible.

“Swear to me, swear to be my voice and you shall live. All I ask is acts of service, you love these stories?” She motions to the book, as he hand swipes over the page of pegasus. The one wrinkled and gold fished stained page, disappearing in an instant. The page looked better than it was before, a bit brighter and whiter. She smiled at the result before she extended it out, and your wobbling hand took hold of it.

“Y-yes, i do” trembled out.

“Then help me keep them alive. Become my aegis, my defender”

“Yes…”

“I became her avatar. But that's not what made my life hell.” the pitch of your voice cracks, as the words tremble out, and you don’t realize, your whole body is shaking. YOu know what’s going to happen next, and the anxiety racks through your body, a deep bottomless abyss inside you, gets larger and larger.

A wheeze exits you, so you notice the moonlight shift, the dust that was visible through the moon rays.. Materialize into a different door.

The same style of the mental hospital door that had dragged you into this memory, and inside the widow, was a hospital room your remembered vividly Reaching out and grasping the knob, you take a look back, as Athena waves a hand over you, and smiles softly. Steven stares with wide eyes, and then turns to you, his mouth Agape. Marc on the other hand, his jaw was clenched tight, and narrowed eyes, observing everything silently.

“Boys-” YOu call out, your voice wavering, “I need- just please- next-”

WHy can’t I get a single thought out? WHy? WHy? WHy did I argue with him? I should have just let him keep the book.

“Luv-”Steven starts, taking a couple strides over to you, and extends a hand, but you don’t take it, you just turn the doorknob and enter.

Your mother kneeled with a rosary over you. Next to you, was Ardere in another cot, a breathing mask over his mouth with a ventilator humming. Both of you had a heart monitor checking your vitals. A soft Beep Beep… BEep… beep rang out though the room, mixed with your mother;s whispers. Repeating Hail Mary over and over:

“Because Athena found me, I healed rather quickly. My grandparents were left unharmed… But the glass- and shrapnel.. it got Ardere…” Shudders out as you stare at your brother’s sleeping form.

A white cast intrepid his right leg, and it was elevated into the air. He was bandaged up all over, similar to a mummy, similar to Marc’s suit, yet it did not make him look powerful, menacing, or vengeful. No this was a child. Cuts littered his cheeks, not deep, but a couple stitches here and thinner. His back was in a brace, as it hugged his body. Suddenly, the door the three of you entered, opens once again, and a doctor with a clipboard enters.

“Mrs. Your son, he’s sustained a lot of injuries. The initial crash, the jostling of the car, caused your son’s spinal discs to be dislocated... he- the boy can not walk at the moment, maybe not for many years. He’s paralyzed from the waist down. There is a possibility in the future for him to walk, but he will need crutches, and then maybe a cane.” The room turned still and stiff, a grave feeling washed over the room, as tears came down your mother’s face, as she looked over to your brother, then to you.

“Please, leave me.” She sobbed, The doctor nods, leaving the room.

“Where is she?” You all turn towards the doorway to the sound of an angry voice. A pissed furious voice. It stormed your grandfather. Shattering the stiff aura, making it violate as a volcano.

“IF SHE DID NOT ARGUE WITH HER BROTHER! SHE WOULD NOT HAVE CAUSED THE ACCIDENT” He roared, as your mother stood up and fiddled with the beads of the necklace.

“No don’t, she’s just a child” YOur mother cut off his way towards you. Your father suddenly rushes in, as he reaches out and grabs the back of his own father’s shirt. “SHe’s just a kid, don’t dad!'' He is a little better shorter than your grandfather, but he's got more muscle. your grandfather had lost muscle at his age, so while he was extremely tall, he was not a mountain. You remember the timing with your father, this was shortly after he left the military, about 20 years of service from college to this scene. Starting 8 years before you were born, and another 12 as you lived.

“IF you had brought up your daughter with more discipline, she would not have caused this mess.” Our grandfather growled, as your dad had pushed him against a wall.

“No, I'm not raising my kids like how you raised me”

“She’s a menace, each time I have tried to teach her some useful skill, she ruins it. DO you remember when I gave her a sewing machine? All she wanted to do was make armor for a doll” YOur grandmother seethes from the entrance.

“SHe’s expressing herself mom”

“Oh next thing, you know she's going to be a doctor” She shrieks, throwing her arms up in the air.

“___, Luv?” Steven reaches out to your shoulder.

“Sunshine, you don’t need to see this. '' Marc calls out softly, stepping in front of you, cutting off your view of the scene.

“I’m awake the whole time. I closed my eyes trying to think this was all a dream. But I heard everything. YOu know… donates a lot to charity, ran food drives, yet hypocrite, does it to keep face, think he’ll go to heaven, after this accident, if i went over at his house and expressed any dislike,call him out… his belt-”

"Hey, you don’t have to continue, just focus on me,” Marc says, and then he does something so strange, so different in front of the gruff MErcenary you knew him as. AS the tears start to stream off your face, as they drip off your chin, his hands come up and cup your cheeks. His thumbs gently wipe away your tears. The pads of his thumbs are rough, and calloused, yet not gritty like sand paper. Yes they were weathered, but he was holding you like a fragile piece of glass. YOu continued, staring him in those brown eyes, but you still tremble and shake:

“Mom kept the faith, dad not so much. They weren't going to impose it on us… . My grandparents hated that after all that, we never went to church. Called me a heathen for how much I read different mythologies, and wanted to get a classics degree. They hated how I would speak out against their homophobia, cuz I would bring up so so many examples through history… and would use examples of the bible. They hated how much I read, if I didn’t constantly wear dresses… if I did it had to be a certain cut and length or I was WHore. Hell that’s part of the reason I never dated anyone, too much of what they would say. What made it worse is they lived in the same town as us, my dad never thought of moving us. That’s why I’m in graduate school abroad, so I don't run into them. I’m as far away from them as possible. ”.

“Love” Steven interrupts, but you continue.

“Hell, i feel really stupid being in love with Steven, when Marc is married. Layla is an amazing person and I don’t want to be the reason the marriage breaks apart… I’m the reason my brother has a crutch, I’m the reason he never got to play any sports that he wanted. But he was so good at-”

“Good at what?” YOu run out the door, into the duat hospital. “___” you hear both men cry out as you stand in front of another memory door.

“HEre.. this is it” Yo figure, running side, it just felt right it had your lucky number on it.

“C’mon, the wiring isn’t that bad '' Ardere chuckled, as Din and you hid behind a toppled table. AS your small heads peeked out, ardrere rolled his eyes as he sat himself down at his work table in the attic. Ardere was surrounded by a table full of bits and bobs of wires and gadgets. “It’s not going to explode. Now, IF we connect it here and here, AHA!” he exclaimed Music filled the air, it was tin music of a music box, playing the force theme from Star Wars. The melody was haunting, with it being the creaking of metal, and off tune, but at the same time, it was beautiful. Because your brother had made it.

“Yes yes!! I got it right!!” Ardere said, shooting himself out of the chair. One leg was twisted, the angle of it was not tight, the knee had thrown the bottom part off-center, and his ankle was like an uneven, bloated baseball. The leg shifted slightly, before being stuck forever at that off-center. Because of this, Ardere fell to the ground in a second. Younger you’d face changes from slight joy to utter horror in a second

 Your fault, your fault… this is my fault

Then the scene changes. As if a photo was pulled through the air and you only saw the streaks of color.

“___!'' you heard an Ardere call out. You’re rushing down the driveway in front of the house, two suitcases pulled behind you as you load them into your beaten-up car. The old blue mini cooper you had bought for a great deal, that order had worked on to understand car parts. You sling your backpack off, throwing it behind the cases you had just loaded.

“Ardy, you can’t stop me.” You sighed as you slammed the trunk door down. It made a heavy clunk as it locked into the latch. The car jostled a bit from the impact.

“No, come one. Just talk with him.” Ardere limped over. He had a cane and a leg brace on the right side of him. The polished wood was mounted with a donkey’s head on the very top. “What can I say? Dad--he’s already made the deal with Ares. I can’t get him to break it off. Athena already- she doesn’t want me to continue confronting Ares, more than I already have. It’s only going to cause more harm. Ares… if you knew even half of the myths I know of him, you’d realize it.”

“Come on, just talk with dad then. Not Ares” Ardere pleads, reaching for your hand, but you pull it away, taking a few steps away. As you grasp the wrist he had grabbed, Your face is filled with fear and wide eyes. “No, no, you aren’t listening. Dad is too far gone in the ordeal” your eyes wanted to the car as you don't stare directly at your brother. “It’s been 3 months, he can-“

“You don’t remember how much dad was in with the marines, always on a mission mindset. He only left cuz of you” you blurt out. Your face contorted to shock as soon as it slipped out, as you covered your face with your hands. Rubbing your eyes and face, you continue:'' I'm sorry, I didn’t mean it”

It’s a lie, he left before the accident, not you not you

“Yeah you did” Ardere mutters, sending a glare over to you, as he signs, comes over, and hugs you. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Then he limps back into the house.

“Sunshine?” Marc asks behind you.

“I haven’t seen or called him since this moment. “ you mutter, wiping away tears. “He’s a baby brother, and I left him with my father. Then of course dad is now broken, and it’s din. War starts with the father, breaks him, and then takes the son. Continuing the cycle” you feel yourself choke up and you start wheezing, tears streaming down your face. “I’m the reason he walks with a crutch, I’m the reason my grandparents hate us. I’m the reason-“

“Stop that. Luv, you were a kid. You couldn’t stop your father from making that deal, you couldn’t stop your grandparent’s hatred, you couldn’t possibly stop a car crash. YEs, you fought with your brother, but it was over something kids fought over. YOu were a kid, don’t blame your actions because of the power you now have. You were a kid just trying to get out of a bad situation.” Steven walks over and slowly touches your shoulder before he motions you around to face him. You lean towards him, as his arms encircle around you, pulling you in for a tight hug. Marc took a step forward, before awkwardly patting you on the back.

“So, this was your guilt? Marc says, as you all observe the changing scene, as the outside of your house swirls around you, until it's nothing by the walls of the psychiatric hospital of the Duat.

“I think so… I mean they were the major events… and I’ll be forgetting them soon enough and you guys too.” You snuffled, as you wiped away some tears, still leaning into Steven.

“No, no you aren’t going to drink from the Lethe. I.. I won’t let you, I won’t let Hermes make you drink it. '' Steven exclaims, pulling you tighter to him

“Wait, the Lethe?” Marc asks.

“One of the rivers that border the Greek underworlds. Souls drink it, and forget their living life. Luv, please, we’ll get out of this. You won't forget yourself.. Please don't forget me.”Steven pleads.

“Honey, we still have some time… I have to help you and Marc. You’ve guys helped me, It’s time I help you get eternal paradise. If that's the last thing I do to make a difference, I’m content with that."

“Why the hell does an afterlife make a person forget their life on earth?That makes no sense.” Marc raised his voice , and agitation fell over the hallway.

“It’s often used for the fields of asphodel, or the fields of punishment. asphodel is if you left a meaningless life, not too good, not too bad. Purgatory. YOu wander around for eternity, like how you would wander around life… Now the fields of Punishment… well you’re basically running through barbed wire or being chased by cannibals.. Or really any punishment you can come up with… the Chthonic gods can get really creative."

________________________________________________________________

AS Din trudged through the hallways of a tomb, cutting down any cultist, Heka priest, or… other that came his way, passing through a mummy room he wonders:

why there were so many…. Is SHe Here? I see my sister’s auroa but… Pallas Athena

I… I don’t sense my sister, WHY CAN’T I FEEL HER PRESENCE?!?

Ares can’t feel Athena? That’s weird… But Din can see the path before him and the golden wisps of his sister's path.He pockets some drachma in a bowl.

HE also saw the neon purple wisps of where Harrow had trudged through the tomb.

That really pissed off Din, making him instantly be surrounded by his armor, the balk dust collecting around him, and the sword emerging from his tattooed arms.

After a few minutes, nothing came out of the shadows, no scuttering of a rat, no anticipation of a jumpscare, nothing attacked the Avatar of a war god. IT was silence… uncomfortable chilling silence.

Then, he heard the water first, the drip…. Dripp… dripp and the small waves that would crash against a bathtub. Din stood outside the doorway into a tomb. Reading King Alexander in Macedonian (thanks to Ares he could read it), he stopped. His sister had so many books on Alexander the Great… his tomb was never found. Guess I can say I found it first. He chuckles, walking over to the sarcophagus… he sees a red cloud in the water start to move, and then he spots the bodies.

The first he recognized as Marc, the white billowing coat, laid upon the first step into the water, his back exposed to the air.. The half laid in the water, as his face side, he wasn’t floating because of it. Then there was the golden scarab, the compass, laid on his chest.

The next was his sister, you. Floating in the water, one arm hugged over your chest, the other layer loosely to the side, swaying in the water as you slowly floated across the water.

“No.. no no” HE cried out, immediately, rushing into the water. Reaching out to you, he pulled her closer to him as he waded in the water. Grabbing her by the waist, another under your armpits, he looks down upon you, and he sees the bullet wounds, and the blood spilling out. As he carries your body over to the level Marc laid upon, he reaches over, checking for the pulse point on your neck. Nothing

“No, no please don;t be dead please HE could feel the tears welled up, as his nose began to sniffle. “SIs, please, no please don’t”

I’m sorry…

“She;s dead…fuck”

I can’t sense the ushabti

“He… oh god harrow that fucker has it”

Then you know what to do. Ares' harsh voice rings out. Liek metal against metal, the screams of those who don't want to die.

Din’s eyes lock onto the purple dust that swirls in the air, a track to follow… a man that needed to be stop, a man who needed to die.

________________________________________________________________

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[biisexualemma]

pretend pt.3. oscar diaz

word count: 1583

warnings: not really, a little sad and angsty, a bit of language but happy ending dw!

requested: 'Pretend pt.3?'

plot: oscar loves you, but you’re not convinced it can work

a/n: um thank u to those few who have waited literal months for this last part! i am struggling to write oscar atm but it’s here! and i hope you like it! oop ‘cause i kinda hate this and it took me months to figure out how to end this— anyway it’s here lol read and lmk what you think even if ye hate it

pt.1. / pt.2.

masterlist

"i think i'm falling in love with you."

you blinked, the rest of your body seemed frozen for a moment afterwards. that had been the last thing you'd ever expected from him. you could feel your head throbbing, whether it'd been from the aftermath of the party, or just your mind trying to keep up with what was happening. you furrowed your brows, your hand retracting from his palm, pushing yourself back against the seat of his car.

you couldn't process his words fast enough to respond straight away. instead you shifted your gaze out through the windshield, your mouth opening and closing every couple of seconds. you didn't know how to answer him.

oscar was watching your every move, his stomach twisting when you pulled away from him. your expression was changing ever so slightly every second, he could see you processing the information. he gulped, suddenly thinking the worst, shifting his eyes down to the space between you two. he should have kept his mouth shut and sat on his feelings. he should have let you out of the arrangement and left it at that. he hadn't thought any of this through. you had given no inclination over the past few weeks that you'd felt the same way. you were just helping out a friend.

you cleared your throat after a long silence. "you think?" your voice was still pretty quiet, like your mind was still working through what he'd said. "you don't know if you love me or not?" you were trying to make sense of it in your head, not able to meet his eyes yet.

"y/n—"

"i just think that's something you should be sure about before saying it out loud," you gulped. you were kind of annoyed with him for telling you this. a little part of you inside wanted to revel in his words, the part of you that had been in love with him for years when you were younger. but you'd moved on. you would have never had agreed to do his fake dating scheme if you'd thought you'd fall back into those feelings, you knew you wouldn't be able to put yourself through that again.

you had loved oscar for a long time, and you watched him for years treat women like they were nothing. delusional, you thought you were different and that oscar would never treat you this way, you clung to him. it took a long time for you to accept the reality, to fall out of love with him and realise he would only ever see you as a friend.

so oscar's confession now, wasn't as simple as you feeling the same way or not, it was far more complicated.

"the past few weeks weren't real oscar," you reminded him, you felt like he needed it. "you don't love me— you just love how i've been treating you. if you loved me, it wouldn't've taken you this long to realise."

he shook his head. "i was an idiot," you shifted so you were facing him again, watching how his eyes darted between yours desperately. "i was really fucking stupid— i didn't— i don't want to go back to how it was. i can't."

you shook your head barely, your eyes closing for a split second. oscar had been your best friend for years and he'd never lie to you like this. you just didn't want it to be true.

"i've seen firsthand how you are with girls, oscar. and i don't wanna pretend that you see me any differently—"

"no— this isn't— it's not the same," he was pleading at this point, desperately, feeling you slip away. "y/n, you know me," his eyebrows furrowed but his voice was soft, you didn't often hear him talk like this. it was hard to not get wrapped up in his words. "this ain't like those other girls."

you held his stare, breaking it only for a second when you felt your throat tighten. you couldn't bring yourself to fall into it, something was holding you back. it was too much to have him sat in front of you, begging you to believe him when it was too late.

"oscar, i loved you for a long time," your voice was quiet, all those years your feelings went unrequited. "and you fucked girl after girl, and i watched thinking one day you'd pick me and it'd be different but you never did, and it never was."

his lips were pursed, his hand gripping the seat of his car, knuckles white. he could hear the waver in your voice and it was hitting him like a brick. he ignored you for years, oblivious to anything you felt for him. he didn't realise, until now, how awful you must have felt.

"so, i'm sorry, if i'm not ready and willing," you tried to play off your confession, feeling the lump in your throat grow larger the longer this was strung out. "but i have been telling myself for years to move on— so it feels a bit late for you to be having this realisation when i've loved you my whole life."

he nodded. he understood, of course he did. he couldn't ask you to reverse years of heartbreak because he realised too late that you were the only thing that really mattered. he would just have to live with his mistake.

his eyebrows had knitted tighter together after sitting and listening. "if i could take back some of the shit i've done— mami— i'm sorry."

"yeah, well, me too," you shrugged, your lips tightening. you gulped when he shifted his hand over to yours, letting your palm set on top of his. he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. you were quiet for a while, enjoying the warmth of his hand against yours, finding comfort in his touch for just a little while longer.

"what made you realise?" you were almost whispering when you spoke again, everything was so quiet now.

oscar had to force himself to look at you. it was dark but the light from the streetlamp illuminated just half of your face, your eyes glossy. he clenched his jaw before speaking. "i talked to my ex."

"you did?" surprised he'd waited this long to bring it up. that had been the end goal all this time.

he nodded gently, his grip loosened on your hand, his thumb grazing the back of your hand now. his eyes were drawn to your hands, while your eyes remained on him. "yeah— made me realise she just wasn't you," he refused to shift his gaze. as did you. you felt your chest tighten. his sincerity made everything feel wrong about your decision.

"'cause you— you have these freckles on your nose that only come out in the sun," you watched the corner of his lips tug into a small smile as the image of you, sitting in front of him, sun in your eyes and wind blowing through your hair flashed through his mind. "and you make the same face every time you tell me off— your nose scrunches and you get a crease on your forehead," your eyes drooped listening to him talk as openly and honestly as you'd ever heard him talk about anything. it wasn't a side you saw often, but you could feel yourself soften, and your defence weaken. "and cesar— you love him like he's your own brother— i love that— that kid is everything to me— and he is to you too."

he huffed, the smile slipping from his face when he drew himself out of his head. he pulled away from you finally to run a hand over his face. he was angry with himself for messing this up. "and you're never gonna' forgive me," his heart was beating harder with the thought of losing you. "and i'm on' lose my mind without you."

you were quiet for a while, soaking in his words.

you hesitated, but moved your hand to his shoulder, your fingers grazing his skin, moving to the nape of his neck, urging him to look at you again. edging closer, you rid of the space between you two. oscar's eyes moved between yours, his eyebrows furrowed together softly. you moved both hands to his neck, carefully edging his face closer, your breath fanning against his lips before you kissed him.

oscar reacted, his body shifting closer to yours, his hand grazing your thigh to pull you nearer. your mind was racing, your hands curling around his neck and cupping his face as you leaned into the kiss. you were breathless when you pulled back, finally. his hand gripping your thigh now, scared you might retreat to the passenger seat again.

"you keep talking like that and i might love you forever," you mumbled, almost incoherent. your mind was foggy from this kiss and all you could feel was his thumb was now grazing softly over your thigh. his free had lifted, his forefinger and thumb touching your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes stayed locked with his.

"i swear, i'm in this until you don't want me anymore."

you shook your head, you bit your lip remembering the kiss. your eyes trailing to his lips again as you remembered the feeling. "never gonna happen."

oscar cracked a soft smile, his fingers moving to trace your jawline gently. "it's settled then."

you revelled in his touch, letting him trace over your skin, slowly feeling yourself lean further into his embrace. he pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a minute before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. you tilted your chin up, kissing him for a second before pulling back again.

oscar's hand slipped from your jawline to the back of your neck, pulling you back and kissing you again. his lips moved softly against yours, for a few seconds until you reacted and kissed back. when he pulled away for air you felt yourself longing for more.

[goldnsyren]

idk if you take requests, but if you want to.. could you write a scene of tommy taking care of a tipsy rose and she's being really flirty? i understand if u dont haha, i just love your writing :)

Dangerous Game

➻ Summary: Rose lets slips what she really thinks; Thomas Shelby’s too beautiful to be ignored ...

➻ Rating/Warnings: T; 1920s impropriety, Innuendo, Open-ending... (Throwbacks to chapter 7 of AWoNI)

➻ A/N: This was actually so fun to write because I get to write the angst and touch starved couple I want without having to worry about overall story pacing so like god-bless you nony, hope this is what you wanted...

The two whiskeys in his stomach did nothing to dull his ever observant eyes.

Her hair was down, was the first thing he truly noticed as she entered the snug. The usual braid having become messy during one of the many dances of the night, it wasn’t long before she’d abandoned it all together to let the collar length curls hang loose. 

Rose Pryor, as of tonight  27 years old, seemed the only one brave enough to enter the self imposed solitude of the clearly agitated man. “Mind some company?” She’d brazenly asked as she already began closing the door behind her. 

Yes.

“No.” Thomas shook his head, lifting his hand from where it had been pinching the bridge of his nose to gesture flippantly at the chair across from him. He released a breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders as the ruckus of the party died down once more.

Rose took a seat, bracing her elbow on the smooth wood of the table between them to hold up her chin. Her shoulders dropped in an uncharacteristic slouch, a lock of curl dropping from her temple to rest beside her glassy eye. 

“Having fun?” He couldn’t help but comment on her bowed state, lingering somewhere between relaxation and exhaustion. A small shine of sweat gently licked her skin, the past few hours of drinking and dancing certainly taking it’s own toll on her. He hadn’t missed the way she laughed as one of the regulars clumsily swept her around the pub in some bastardization of the Charleston when he’d first come in.

“More than appropriate.” She hummed, looking suspiciously at the glass that seemed to be nearing empty for the first time all night. Strange how she seemed to take sip after sip without making any progress just earlier. The fuzziness in her head could no longer be attributed to the dancing. Her green eyes cut to him sharply, eyeing his own glass with curiosity. “What have you been up to - in here - all alone?” 

Thomas’s fingers traced the rim of his own half filled glass as he slouched on the bench. He thoughtlessly tapped the glass, deciding just how much of the evening to censor for her.

“Long day.” He settled on. He glanced at the frosted windows of the private room, the shadowy figures still clearly enjoying the party despite their absence. His brothers maybe more than anyone as he heard John and Arthur croak a chanting cheer of verse to accompany the piano playing. “Seems to be longer still.” He mumbled under his breath. He quickly turned his attention back to the birthday girl in question, silently surprised to see the intensity of her gaze directed at him. “I take it you’re hiding from another dance.” 

The pub in question would be lively and busy any payday night, but it was with her coinciding birthday that they had an extra reason to drop a few more coins and have a bit more fun. At some point when they had finally wrestled her away from the bar the piano had been opened and a few tables cleared. For the first time in a long time, it was as loud and merry as it’d been before the war. Unluckily, Rose was just one of a few women who had the misfortune of being in the bar when the sudden urge to dance had taken over the drunken crowd. It seemed even she had had her fill.

At least that’s what Thomas had assumed. His eyes once more strayed to the loose hair that hung so alluring in her face. 

“No, just wanted to… see you.” She admitted, green eyes flickering over him quickly. 

He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Pondering just what would make her leave her own party to speak to him.

He expected to be chided for the lackluster ‘Happy Birthday’ he’d given before retreating to the quiet seclusion of the snug. Even more likely, to be scolded for the newly opened wounds on his knuckles and the bruise freshly formed under his jaw in the late hour. What he didn’t expect was for her eyes to soften in wonder, staring into him like he imagined one would all the riches of the world.

Open and inviting, her lips twitched in silent amusement as she settled on a thought that perhaps he wasn’t meant to hear.

“You have the most extraordinary eyes.”

Her tone awed and breathy as she shamelessly stared back with her own hooded gaze. The faint flush of her drunken cheeks paired well with the small, almost coy, smile that stretched over her lips. 

It wasn’t just relaxed.

It was down right debauched. 

Thomas cleared his throat in an attempt to rid the heavy weight in his chest, chin tipping to his chest as he attempted to ground himself. Such simple words having no right to be so syruped in desire. He pulled out a cigarette, suddenly in desperate need to avert his gaze from hers. 

“You’re drunk.” He mumbled around the roll. There was no other explanation for it. 

Shamelessly, Rose nodded vigorously. “Oh very much so,” she giggled lowly. Her voice surprisingly husky as she hummed her agreement. 

Thomas’ cheek twitched as he bit back a smile. His dark mood had quickly lifted, the ache in his jaw completely gone as it tightened. “Sure that’s a good idea?” He challenged. He braced his own elbow on the tabletop to match her posture, all pretense of propriety lifted in their little room. 

The smile on her lips blossomed, all teeth and cheeks as her head tilted to the side. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

Thomas lifted his glass of whiskey taking a small sip as his brows jumped in subtle surprise. Touche. She must have been the only woman in the city besides Ada and Polly to feel so untouchable as to leave herself so vulnerable in the late hour.

They both knew why.

But that wasn’t something either of them talked about. 

Thomas gave a sigh of understanding, briefly wondering if he’d grow to rue this new confidence of hers.

A beat of comfortable silence passed between them, Thomas watching the smoke lift from his cigarette as he listened to the sound of the drunken men outside. 

It was as he placed the cigarette back in his mouth that she caught him off guard once more.

A delicate hum vibrated her throat, drawing his eyes back to hers. “You must have driven Polly up a wall. Those baby blue eyes, those freckles -” Her eyes rabidly darted around his face as if trying to count every faint speck. “-those lips.” she finished with a whisper, eyes settling on the cigarette in his mouth.

Thomas inhaled a sharp drag of the cigarette, plucking it from his mouth as he slowly exhaled. A heat was building in his cheeks, his fingers twitching in the need to… to do something…

Longing pooled quickly in his gut and the room that usually brought him such solace now unsettled him. “Alright, Rosie.” came the familiar drawl. “I think that’s enough from you tonight.”

For you. Enough for you, he meant.

The flustered Shelby cleared his throat, trying to regain control as he stood. He’d blame the lack of sleep and possible concussion later.  He buttoned his coat, hopping the nimble movement would help ease the sudden tension in his fingertips as they itched for action. The crawling itch to brush the stray locked from her face. The need to hook them into her blond curls and pull her closer. The idea, that if he gave her his full attention that she’d stop looking at him with those almost hungry eyes. 

When had the roles reversed?

He dare not look at her, studying the nearly empty glass of scotch she’d been cradling so carefully through the night. His hand offered to her, she seemed to hesitate only a moment before sliding the full palm of her hand into his. Thomas spared her an almost chastising look, simultaneously charmed and annoyed by that tipsy smile carved on her face. The firm, lingering caress yet another embolden move to rile him.

He pulled her up, unsurprised by the pliant way she leaned into him before steadying herself. He gestured to the door, pulling her along in hopes of getting her home and tucked away before she continued this dangerous game. Just how many glasses had she had before he arrived?

In two short strides his hand was on the door handle, their small bubble of privacy about to open wide once more. Far too embolden by the four glasses of whiskey, she was unable to help herself from getting once more teasing quip in before he put on his mask of indifference. 

She ignored the lull of the comfortable silence thickening with rising tension as she leaned against him. “Are you taking me to bed, Mr. Shelby?” She sleepily whispered against his neck.

The innuendo dripped sinfully from the simple question. Thomas felt a shiver run up his spine, instinctual turning to bring her closer. He tightened his grip on the door handle, unable to bring himself to open it. He’d suddenly found himself in the middle of a dangerous game, and being the bastard he was, he couldn’t help but imagine all the ways to quickly change it to his favor.

His eyes grew dark with desire at such simple words and the lovely, lecherous picture it placed in his head. The hand that clutched hers tightening dare he pull her flush to him like he so very much wanted to. The lips she so admired came closer, brushing her ear as he forced his body to pull back from all the things he suddenly wanted to do. By god he could almost taste the salt of sweat that lingered on her neck. The familiar scent of lavender still faintly clinging beneath it.

A sharp inhale as he tried to regain focus. “Don’t tempt me.” was nearly growled in her ear.

The shiver that shook her may have been subtle, but her gasp was audible. Pulling away he looked down at her with equal surprise, heart pounding as he wondered briefly if he had finally crossed that line they seemed precariously tip toe. 

Green met blue and an equal measure of shock lit both their faces. Rose’s own grip seemed to tighten back, the drunk flush of her cheeks darkening with something far more sinful. 

Well, fuck...

“Alright, Rosie.”

Tag list: @chlobenet @john-silver @omg-soufflegirl @michellekstr @maddiethefashionista (let me know if you want to be added/removed from Rose/Tommy content).

[grapenamjams]

Myrrh

Genre: Angst, maybe some fluff? 

Characters: Muriel from the arcana and my apprentice Eliza

A/N:  This is my attempt at a reversed ending for Muriel's route, at the time of writing this his endings have not been posted so I made one of my own and i was sad for the whole day :(  

a little bit about my MC

Her name is Eliza (she/her. Female.) She is 5′2 has brown wavy hair, brown eyes (with specks of green) she also has adorable freckles across her nose. lastly she has a artic fox, named Nell as a familiar who is enchanted to keep cold during the summer and whenever Nell walks she leaves behind snow prints on the ground (think of what Olaf from frozen has lol)

- The Arcana is a Mobile story game where you get to choose your path and get a ending according to the choices you made. created by nixhyrdra, can be found on the app store-

They had fought with everything they had but it wasn’t enough. How could it had not been enough?, Eliza was so sure that they could beat the devil, but as the chains tighten around her she begins to curse herself for being so naïve, so stupid- No! She couldn’t let those thoughts enter her mind now, there has to be a way out, there...there has to be, she just needs to focus, if she could just muster more energy she could-

 “Still trying to fight even when you know you’re beaten? How...pathetically amusing” the devils cold voice washes over her. “You both look like wounded animals that know they are on the brink of death but still fight against their predator, how sad you two look. I thought you both would have the decency to know when to give up.” The devil laughs “but I also thought you two wouldn’t be dumb enough to try to fight me in my own realm! Especially you.” He turns to Eliza who’s on her knees with chains covering her whole body up to her neck. “You knew i would be most powerful here and yet you still came, risking his life in the process” the devil points to Muriel who’s a few feet away from her also wrapped in chains, the devil was right she had known. and yet she brought him here, knowing what the consequences would be. She had done this, it was her fault. anything that happens to him would be her fault.

 “You done talking? Your voice Is annoying.” Muriel’s voice comes out as a dark growl making Eliza’s head snap up to him. His teeth are clenched and his eyes set on the devil with a murderous glare. The devil laughs. “So impatient. trust me, I want to get rid of you both as soon as possible. As you know I’m a busy man with a grand plan. But I am also a generous man.” The devil pauses and opens his arms “I’m prepared to offer you a deal my dear Eliza”

“You are crazy if you think I’ll do any sort of deal with you!” Eliza bites out but quickly lets out a gasp as she feels the chains tighten around her. The devil pinches between his eyes “please refrain from interrupting me, I truly do hate it. As I was saying, your magic would be beneficial to me. adds to my power, would make the merging of the realms become reality much sooner than expected.” The devil waves his hand forth lifting Eliza from the ground bringing her to him. So close that Eliza could smell his rotten breath she holds back a gag. “So how about it dear Eliza? Help me make a better world And You and your warrior lover here will be greatly compensated.” Eliza stares at his red eyes. His offer was insane, how could he think that she would ever accept his offer? Unless.. he did know. “NO! TAKE ME.” Eliza’s heart Drops. ‘No.’ She looks at the devil, a sneer growing on his goat face. His eyes flicker to Muriel who’s voice echo's in her head.

 Muriel strains against the chains. iron digging into his skin, his stomach churning at the sight of the devil before him holding Eliza beside him. “Ah so the gladiator speaks again. And what’s this? Sacrificing himself to save his magicians life? How pitiful you humans are really, throwing your lives on the line for someone else”

“LET HER GO!” He tries to stand but the chains drag him down again. The devil puts a finger to his chin. “Hmmm now that I think about it I can use this pitiful human action of yours. you could be a very good asset for me.” “NO!” He hears Eliza scream “Mur- ahhhh!” Eliza shuts her eyes in pain as the chains begin to glow and fade just as quickly. “ELIZA!” Muriel yells his heart pounding, fury coursing through him. “Really, do you not listen? I told you no interruptions!” The devil sighs “Again as I was saying, you could be a asset to me. As you already know my companion lucio was taken down by your pesky friends. So I am now in need of another to replace him and continue on with the plan. of course lucio was strong in some ways but he was weak, as are those who do things for greed and fortune. But you, my fellow gladiator you don’t want those things do you? All you want is to save your beloved Eliza, isn’t that right?” The chains around Eliza begin to glow again and she lets out a scream, tears start to flow from behind her shut eyes. “STOP! PLEASE STOP!” Muriel yells the chains restraining him. panic rises within his body at seeing her in pain, his mind is scattered He needs to stop this, there’s no other way. he needs to stop this, he needs to save her. Another scream comes from Eliza’s body “just say the words and all of this will be over. I’ll return her safe and sound to your world, I promise”

“When you return her you promise to never touch her again. You promise you will not harm her in anyway” Muriel breaths out, tears forming in his eyes. The devil nodes “agreed, no harm will come her way”

 “No! Muriel you can’t!” Eliza is shaking her breath uneven. He looks into her eyes, fear and saddens fills them, those emotions should haven never reside there he had promised himself that they would only be filled with happiness, but look, he couldn’t even manage that. He had failed, but he could make it right, when he said he would protect her he meant it. he would do anything for her, even make a deal with the devil. “I’m sorry Eliza. You have to be safe.” Her eyes widen in horror changing into desperation. “No! You said we were a team! You promised!” Tears flow down her face “We’ll figure things out together like we always have! Muriel please, listen to me! Please don’t do this!” Muriel’s own tears fall as he looks away from Eliza’s face and glares at the devil speaking the words that would save the women he loves and bind himself to a new master. “I accept your deal.” The gladiator says, the devil lets out a dark chuckle “good doing business with you.” There was a deafening crack in the throne room red lighting appears around them. But all he could her was Eliza yell his name “MURIEL!” As the chains around her body began to engulf her. “ELIZA!” He didn’t register that his own chains slackened as he ran towards her. He reaches a hand to her outstretched one but before he could grab her a flash of red appears before him blinding him. When he came too and opened his eyes everything is silent say only for the dark rumble of the grey clouds above. Muriel looks at the spot were he last saw her only to find the chains that wrapped around her on the floor and Eliza no where in sight. The gladiator drops to his knees in front of them. replaying the image of her being engulfed by the chains in his head “Where.... is she?” His voice takes a dark tone as he addresses his new master.

“Safe and sound in your world as agreed.” Muriel lowers his head and notices there’s a familiar weight to his body, he feels his neck and finds his old metal collar resting there, looks at his wrists and isn't surprised to find grey cuffs on his wrists, they are the same metals Eliza had freed him from when they had kissed for the the first time. Saddens was replaced by well known anger, the same anger he had carried for so many years before meeting her was taking place in his heart again. “What now?” He growls

“For now I have no use for you. we will have to wait till things have calmed down to try the ritual again. So I will send you back and call on you when I need you.” The devil sits on his throne and moves a hand. Chains slowly wrap around Muriel who’s still kneeling to tired to do anything. “Oh I had almost forgotten to tell you. This is a secret between you and I meaning we can’t have any witnesses.” Muriel looks up his skin rubbing against the metal. “What do you mean.”

“You called it a gift when I first gave it to you, isn’t that right? I wonder how you will feel about it now. It’s quite useful, makes it easier to clean up this whole mess” Muriel’s brain is foggy he can’t quite grasp what the devil means, before he can ask again  chains wrap around him completely and then everything goes dark.

 Muriel wakes up gasping for air, his eyes fly open being met with the darkness of his hut. It all comes back to him in a flash, the devil, the deal, Eliza. His hand shoots out to his right were she usually sleeps, but his hand comes in contact with nothing only the cold among the furs. He sits up to see emptiness, the fire has gone out, Inanna isn't in her bed. Muriel tries not to panic, ‘she's probably outside.’ He stands up, moving quickly to the door opening it wide. It was the afternoon, he raises a hand to block out the sun as his eyes get used to the light while he searches for any sign of Eliza. He reaches the chicken pen and there is still no sign of her, he feels his breath quicken but feels Inanna’s presence and turns to see her running towards him, he lets his shoulders relax a bit at the sight of her, he kneels down before her and pets her. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Inanna nuzzles her head against his hand. “Do you know where Eliza is?” He asks the wolf. Inanna steps back ‘shop.’ Her voice states in his mind. ‘Of course she’s at the shop, she’s probably working.’ He thinks, Inanna lets out a small whine. he needs to go see her, he needs to make sure that she’s okay. Without a second thought he starts running. running as fast as he could ‘Please be safe, please be safe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry’ repeating through his head as his feet take him onward.

 He goes through the back trail that Asra had made for him so he could come and go from the shop without going Into the Main Street. When he reaches the back door he pounds on the door twice “ELIZA! Are you in there?” Silence greets him, he pounds on the door again calling out for, her, Asra, anyone. But all he gets is again a still silence. tears brim his eyes as he tries to calm down his breathing. ‘Did he not keep his end of the deal? Did he lie to him? How stupid was he to believe the devil? Is she....gone?’

 “Alright! hurry back” Asra’s voice reaches his ears. Muriel snaps back to the world around him, his heart filling with hope. He runs to the front of the shop were Asra is undoing the protective spell on the door. “Asra.” Muriel says looking over his friend for any signs of injury and is glad to not find any, however there is something on his face, wariness. Asra looks at the Gladiator up and down stepping down into the street away from the shop door. “Can I help you?” Muriel is taken back at the defensive tone in his Friends voice. something starts slowly churning in his stomach. “It’s me” Muriel pushes back the hood of his cloak but the expression on Asra’s face doesn't change. “I’m sorry but the shops closed, I’m going to have to ask you to leave” Muriel freezes. not wanting to accept what his brain is telling him. He shakes his head “Asra please don’t. Tell me where-“ he gets caught off as another voice is heard a little ways ahead. “Got it! It was under the seat. I don’t know what I would do if I lost it!” Eliza comes running towards them her blue bandana in hand. Muriel’s heart leaps as he sees her stop before them. She’s alive, she’s okay. Muriel starts to take a step toward her to touch her and confirm that she really is here and okay but his blood runs cold when he sees her go behind Asra

“who is that?” She asks in a small voice

“I don’t know, but get inside Eliza.” Asra answers her.

 Muriel steadies himself  feeling like he got the wind knocked out of him as realization strucks him. “Eliza, it’s me. It’s me Muriel” he steps forward, she takes a step back from him and he tries to ignore the clench in his chest when he sees her do it. “You have to remember.” Eliza shakes her head “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you, truly” her eyes waver with something and to his horror he sees that she's scared. Scared of him, she’s never looked at him that way before hitting him with another blow to the chest. A idea  passes through his head, Frantically Muriel goes through his pockets “this- this will help!” he finds a small leather bag of myrrh and goes to Eliza opening the bag for her to smell. This will do it, once she smells the herbs all of this will be forgotten and she will remember him once again, all of their memories that they had shared won’t be lost, she’ll come back to him, his light will come back.

 suddenly his thoughts were cut off by a  dark chuckle echoing in his head. “Oh you foolish human, if only it was so simple? Didn’t I say no one could know our little secret? Those herbs won’t do anything” he laughs again “This is still a gift, isn’t it?” The devils presence leaves him taking his torn heart with him because as he looks at Eliza’s face that has no smile, no recognition of him in her eyes after smelling the herbs, his heart completely shattered around him. if the pieces weren’t going to be picked up by her, he didn’t want it. Muriel hadn’t realize that he was crying, hadn’t realized that he was grasping Eliza’s wrist until he heard Asra speak “I suggest that you let go of her right now and leave” Muriel Winces slightly but with all the power he had left with all the energy he had, he lets her go. Eliza held her hand to her chest holding the small leather bag and placing a hand over her wrist that he held, she looked over him once more, “I’m sorry” she said softly for him alone to hear and began walking up the steps to the shop disappearing inside with Asra. Muriel looks at the hand that had touched her last he could still feel the warmth of her, it still hadn’t fully settled within him that the nightmare that lived only in his head at night had just became reality.

* * *

His world was dark once more. Days, weeks, had passed or has it been years? Muriel didn’t care for all he knew it could’ve been the same day still when Eliza looked at him as a stranger, as the true monster he had always been. Everything reminded him of her inside his hut and outside. he tried to sleep to escape but quickly stopped when even in his dreams were filled with memories of her. He only let himself rest before her face would appear in his mind. Yet He couldn’t stop himself from going to the shop and watching her from afar, knowing that she was alive and happy was enough to distract him, but slowly the pain in his chest would return again, he didn’t entirely hated it, it reminded him of what he had done for her, giving her a chance at a life of freedom and he would do it again in a heartbeat.

* * * 

Eliza had been collecting wild herbs in the forest when she realized that Nell wasn’t beside her. She closes her satchel and looks around for her fox calling her name when suddenly she sees her bounding towards her, kneeling Eliza catches her in her arms. “Nell you had me worried! Where did you go off too? Hmm?” she pets her white fur. Nell barks and jumps out of her arms running again, Eliza laughs and follows her familiar’s snow prints. she reaches a clearing with a hut in the middle that’s being engulfed by the roots of a huge tree. Eliza hears Nell bark again and turns to see a very large figure come around the hut. it was a man wearing a cloak around his shoulders, underneath she could see a heavy metal collar around his neck, his large green eyes meet hers and she sees them widen in surprise. 

“What are you doing here?” Eliza swallows slowly the way he watched her makes her heart quicken. She clutches her bag strap “um, I’m sorry. I was following Nell and she lead me here” the man looks at her fox as Nell goes to him and puts her front paws on his leg asking for a pet ‘big man Friend!’ ‘Friend?!’ Eliza eyes widen, she searches the face of the man in front of her, but she can’t remember ever meeting him. So how does Nell know him? She’s pretty sure she would remember a face like his, meaning! The face of a man that lived in the woods... of course his face is handsome and attractive... although his face clearly showed how tired he was, dark bags sat under his eyes and his features had a heavy weight to them. The green eyed man pets Nell once and that was enough for the fox to stick her tongue out and smile up at him, her tail going crazy. “She-she remembers you” the man looks at her. “I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Eliza asks earnestly. He lets out a sigh “Yeah, Something like that.” he states plainly but she catches saddens behind his words. Eliza feels guilty that she doesn’t remember him at all, but with her condition it was to be expected.

“Oh, I’m sorry I probably met you a few years ago. I had a memory loss incident a few years back. But, maybe if you tell me how we met I might remember!” She smiles at him swaying on the balls of her feet. The dark haired man looks her over something flickers in his eyes before disappearing quickly, longing? Saddens?. “It’s not that...” he averts his eyes. "You don't need to know. You should go, it’s getting late.” He begins to move away but she calls for him to wait still keeping her eyes on him. “Can I know your name?” Still looking away he answers her “why?” She moves closer “so I know what to call you?” She has a small smile on her face. “Then don't call me” he grumbles Eliza can’t help but let out small laugh making the man turn to her confused at her reaction. “Well man that won’t tell me his name. Am Eliza! But I think you already knew that... anyway, I want to give you something. I can sense you haven't been able to sleep and I know that feeling perfectly well so here.” Eliza looks down at her satchel and opens it “you don’t-!” She hears the man say as she pulls out a vile and looks up at him blinking in confusion at his panicked expression. Eliza smiles “it’s alright, here” she grabs his hand gently and she feels him tense up she turns his hand over placing the vile into his large hand. She looks up to see the man staring at her in shock, his eyes looking at her like she had grown a second head. “Um. The vile is liquidized myrrh, its known to help calm and relax the mind if smelled. But one drop of this in any drink will help your body relax her eyes widen realizing how weird she sounds offering someone a vile that could help relax their bodies. “I-I’m a magician I work at the magic shop in the city with my master Asra! I promise it’s safe!” the man ignores her rambles only looking down at his hand with the vile. “myrhh...”

“Yeah! I always have some on me” she grabs a small leather bag from her satchel “I don’t know why, but it’s a familiar scent to me, i use it when I’m feeling Anxious about something and when I can’t sleep” she puts the bag away. “Muriel.” Her head goes back to the man “pardon?” His gaze softens “my name is muriel” he repeats himself. Eliza smiles at him “Muriel” she tries it out. it feels...familiar somehow, like it belongs to be said by her. “I like it” she says and she sees Muriel get a tint of pink on his cheeks. He coughs and averts his eyes “you should go.” Eliza looks at the sky and sees it darkening she pouts not wanting to leave him. “I guess I should” she steps back and calls Nell to her side. “It was really nice meeting you Muriel, i hope to see you again and I do hope the myrrh helps!” She waves at him before turning to leave. She didn’t know it then how could she? But when Muriel was watching her leave, an old forgotten feeling lit inside of him, the feeling of hope began to bloom.

[pynches]

the five stages of grief

a/n this is a very personal story to me. ive dealt with a lot of grief, way more than i should have, in a short period of time so i figured it would help to write about it. this is a friendship-centric fic so no relationships happening. i hope you still like it.

tw: mention of child abuse but it’s only a sentence mention, loss of a parent

word count: 1927

ao3 link

The biggest misconception about grief is that you feel it right away. That the moment you hear someone  you once loved died, you break down, sobbing on the floor from the pain you cannot hold in. We’ve seen the movies, read the books, watched the tv shows and how grief was portrayed in them.

It’s a lie.

This is how it goes.

The police calls Adam at 5:37 pm, something about an accident his mom got into and his father who cannot be reached. Adam stopped listening after the first words, “I’m sorry to tell you but”. The resignation in the police officer’s voice  was enough.

Dead on impact.

No revival possible.

And that was it.

There were no tears when he told the police that he would be there soon. No tears when he had to identify his mother’s body not even an hour later so he could sign the papers.

“It’s hers,” he told them.

And that was it.

Adam still went to school despite the school counsellor telling him that it wasn’t required. He lost a parent after all. He was tired of the concern thrown around though. The pity in the counsellors eyes, the pity in Gansey’s. Ronan was the only one who treated him semi-normally and even he was more careful with Adam than usual. Adam couldn’t blame him, though, he lost a parent too after all. But Adam did blame him, for not treating him like nothing happened even though something did, for making him feel like there was something different even though there was.

Truth was, Adam didn’t feel like something happened, didn’t feel like his mother was well and truly gone. He pictured himself opening the door of the trailer and seeing her bent  over the stove like she often was, or cleaning up after his father which happened even more often. He felt like he could pick up the phone to call her and hear her familiar voice on the other end.

There is bliss in denial, it makes everything hurt less.

The funeral was his job to organise. His friends had tried to help with sad half-smiles and pats on his arm. Adam didn’t feel anything. No sadness, no anger, but no happiness either. The emptiness inside him was all-consuming and nothing was left behind.

He picked the music and used his mom’s hidden savings to pay for the costs so that his father couldn’t drink it away. His throat tightened when they lowered her casket into the ground and filled the hole with dirt, his eyes full of unshed tears.

Adam swallowed.

And that was it.

Denial was out of the question now. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother’s body, one that held so much life before, too much for the small trailer in which it had been contained.

Now it was anger’s turn to rear its ugly head.

This particular emotion was one Adam had tried to avoid his entire life. It just reminded him of bruises and wounds that never truly healed. His father instilled fear upon him when he got lost in his own anger and Adam tried to ensure he would not do the same to anyone else.

Until he did.

Until he saw a woman cross the road from his booth inside Nino’s, her hair the same dirty blonde his mother had passed down to him.

Until he rushed outside because it was his mom and she was there and despite every phone call she didn’t make to the police and despite every time she turned her head when he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Adam wanted to rush into her arms and feel them wrap around him like she had done when he was younger and the world was less cruel.

Until the woman picked up her phone, her voice high and sweet unlike his mom’s, rough from years of chain smoking and yelling at him.

Until Adam stopped in his tracks, watching as the woman walked away, unknowing that she snapped something inside him that had been coiled up since the first ring of his phone.

Until he punched a wall.

Until Blue came rushing out of Nino’s. She kept a safe distance from Adam’s balled fists, probably on Gansey’s orders.

Adam walked away with his knuckles scratched and bruised, disappearing into the evening.

The only thing he left behind was his blood smearing the now stained wall, an almost literal red flag that warned people to stay away from him.

He didn’t stay to wipe the hopelessness from his friends’ faces. He walked away before he did worse.

And that was it.

Adam never visited the church he lived above. He wasn’t religious but sometimes, when people feel the defeat clawing at their throats, they search for miracles everywhere. They look for signs that would indicate their loved ones were still alive, even if it was just the wind that had slammed the door closed. They search for meaning in death, finding solace in the thought that it wasn’t for nothing, even though it was and always will be. They pray to gods they didn’t believe in so that they could fool themselves into thinking someone was listening.

Adam had his hands clasped in front of him awkwardly, not used to the position. He wasn’t sure how to begin a prayer and he wished he had googled it but that somehow seemed insincere. So, he closed his eyes, clenched his hands tighter, and begged.

“I will live at home again if it means you will bring her back.”

He sat on the same pew, every night before he went to bed, when the church was dark and empty, praying to God, to someone that her death could be reversed.

It never happened.

And that was it.

We’ve seen the movies, read the books, watched the tv shows and the way guilt was portrayed in them. Guilt as an instant reaction, guilt as a way of making up for years of neglect, guilt as an excuse for the police. Guilt as something you can live with.

It’s not true.

This is how it feels.

It sneaks up on you quietly. One minute you’re making canned soup on your shitty stove and the next you’re on the floor. Not quite crying. You can’t yet. But you feel the burn in your throat that has now become a constant, the shaking of your hands, the rapid pounding of your heart.

“If you had still lived in that trailer,” the voice in your head tells you. “You could have prevented this.”

That’s how it starts and it never really ends.

Adam puts his books in his locker and exchanges them for the ones he needs for the next two periods.

“It’s your fault she’s dead.”

He drops the book on the floor, not looking at Ronan when he hands them back without a word.

He fist-bumps Gansey when he takes his usual seat next to him but he can’t focus on Gansey’s nervous rambling. It feels like the entire classroom is staring at him, mumbling the thing he had told himself over and over last night before sleep took him.

“It should have been you.”

And that was it.

The emptiness feels deeper this time.

There was no way of explaining this feeling, the world didn’t have the words to describe it and they really shouldn’t.

The days feel longer, seemingly going on forever. Adam feels like he is in a haze, sadness clouding his rational mind.

Adam is independent. Always has been. He learned not to seek comfort from other people because it would just result in disappointment. Instead, he taught himself to hold it in, every emotion that he didn’t want, he would just let go.

It doesn’t work like that.

When he was a kid and his father started to drink more, he would seek the comfort of his mom and she would give it to him. She would hold him close and brush through his hair with her hand. Back then, she always faintly smelled of fresh grass. He cannot even remember what she smells like now and he hates himself for it. But he does remember her gentle touch, her lightly freckled arms closing around him, his face in her neck.

Adam is independent. Learned to be that way. But right now, he needed his mom.

One person cannot bear the constant weight of grief on their shoulders. One day they will succumb under the weight and it will either crush them or they will have people who stop it from happening.

Once the intense sadness hits, people don’t go to a bar and drink until they forget their own name. It’s not like the movies, books, or tv shows.

It’s wrong.

It happens like this.

Gansey persuaded him into coming to Monmouth and help the group with their research. And it’s fine, it’s good. Until it’s not.

Because the word “dead” seems highlighted on every page even though Adam knows it’s not. Because death is his only focus, not Gansey’s voice or Ronan’s grumbles or Noah’s quiet snickers or Blue sighing. Because suddenly his knees buckle and he’s dry heaving on the floor, the pressure in his chest growing, his heart pounding in his ears. He can’t hear Ronan calling his name, he can’t feel Gansey holding him up. The tears are flowing down his cheeks and it will not stop no matter how hard Adam is pressing on his eyes. He can’t breathe and everything feels off and he wants to claw his skin of just so it doesn’t fucking hurt anymore. He can feel himself hiccup, can hear himself gasp but he cannot do anything but curl in on himself and try to stop the sobs from overtaking his body.

And then Ronan cradles his head against his neck like his mom used to.

And Gansey slings an arm over his shoulders, holding him tightly.

And Blue rakes her fingers through his hair in soft motions.

And Noah wipes his tears away.

And he cries.

He lets himself fall apart in the arms of his friends. For the first time since it happened, he feels like it’s okay that he’s not okay. That he can let himself go and feel this in the safety of his friends’ embrace. They take in his heaving sobs and return whispers of encouragement. They make him eat something because he had forgotten and make him drink water when his head is pounding. They stay with him when he eventually falls asleep, in the middle of a pile of his friends, not knowing where his body began and theirs ended.

And that was not it.

Because grief doesn’t go away, ever. Not even with the help of kind friends. There will always be a hole inside of you that the person left behind. Sometimes the anger will return, at them for leaving you, at yourself for letting them go, at the world for being so unfair. And sometimes the guilt will return because there will be moments when you won’t be thinking about them and smiling and laughing instead only to come home and fall apart because you feel guilty for feeling good. And sometimes, during the rare moments that become less rare over time, you will just smile at the memories and accept that even though you will never get over the fact that they are truly gone, this is your life now, and you shouldn’t stop living it.

[kyberphilosopher]

Heya! Would you like to write some Keres x Reader headcanons where the reader is a Jedi and survived Order 66 and is trying to rebuild the order? How would Keres react? Especially if she falls in love with them? Do you even write headcanons, I'm so sorry😳

Hello I love you. This will sound super lame, but my original characters are my babies and I’m so happy you like one enough to request this. It really makes my day. I hope you’re well and hydrated for real. 

Please request more things for Keres. She’s da love of my life. I’m so proud of her. 

I’ve never written headcanons before, but here we go. [Hope I did it right]

Also, there’s two versions here because the first one got kind of long and it felt more like an actual fic. Got a little nervous about doing it wrong so I split it up- one section is shorter and more of a rundown, while the second is the original and more detailed. Choose whatever works for you. 

-Spoilers below

Short Version

Meeting on Endor

Her not liking you at all in the beginning

Respecting you for your calm demeanor and not asking about her past

Slowly warming up to you

Not knowing how to show her appreciation, so bringing you little things. 

Bringing you berries you like and you not knowing how long it takes her to find them

Hugging Keres after being worried about her and her not knowing how to respond

Keres.exe stopped working

Not agreeing with the Jedi Order, but respecting what you’re doing when you mention reform. 

Would 100% help you with reform if you would ever succeed. 

Would’ve even joined had you said the word. 

Breaking Keres’s heart when you ask her to come with you

Keres saying no and acting like it’s not a big deal to make you feel better. 

Keres wondering about you often

Seeing you in dreams

Wanting to tell you how she feels and her past

Thinking about you during Operation Ilum. 

Writing you a letter about how you had changed how she saw the Order. 

Mentioning that she hopes you’re proud

Finding out she knew Cal Kestis later. 

Asking what Keres was like and finding out that she worked on Bracca.

Smiling softly and hoping that she’s alright. 

[Keres has been dead for about 2 years at this point]

Long Version [lol]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.  The Meeting 

I imagine you meeting on Endor. Keres stayed there for about a month after her encounter with the Haxion Brood, and you planned to stay until you were ready to get back on the galaxies equivalent of a road. 

You were dedicated to the order, and you understood what it stood for. Even if you knew it wasn’t perfect, you think it’s important to have around and bring back peacekeepers. 

You wandered about the forest, hiking and climbing as you scouted out the area around you. You were hoping to find any resources or civilizations of any kind, but instead you found something far more valuable...

A girl was laying down a net in a river. You’d never seen her before, and you hadn’t sensed her presence. Your first thought was that she was a native of some kind- probably just lived here. She had brown hair in a braid that fell over her shoulder, long eyelashes and wore a dark colored outfit. She didn’t look like a native- didn’t dress like one at least. Then you saw the lightsabers on either side of her hips. 

Your first reaction was “!!!!!!!” because this was another Jedi! She definitely would’ve helped you right?! Wrong. 

Before you could reveal yourself, the girl detached one of the weapons. You were immediately concerned when you saw a red colored blade ignite in the world. She must’ve been a Sith, but at the moment, she was just calmly slicing part of the net away. 

You knew better than to engage a Sith lord in direct combat. So, you waited. Instead, you attempted to cleverly follow the girl back to her camp and capture and question her-pounce while she slept. 

The plan did not go well.

Keres isn’t stupid. She knew you were following her, for multiple reasons, and ended up placing a trap of her own. 

You stepped right into a rope in the shape of a loop. Immediately, it snagged around your ankle and you twisted up into the air until you were hanging upside down. Dizzy and feeling the oncoming headache, you had to squint your eyes to see her walking towards you.

“Hello there,” the girl said. Keres held up a hand, and your lightsaber came off your belt and zipped into her hand smoothly. She observed it, rolling it over, pressing the nail of her thumb against it.

You were about to speak, but the blood rushing to your head was making it difficult. Your mouth opened and closed with a strain, prompting her eyebrows to furrow. “Hey,” she said with a snap from her free hand. “I’m talking to you.”

“Sith... Lord...” you managed to get out like an observation. Your fingers barely put themselves into the pointing position.

“So what if I am?” she questioned. “Aren’t the Jedi the ones who are traitors?”

You didn’t have an answer. Your head was getting too cloudy, lips were becoming too parched. Maker, you were about to pass out. 

The girl rolled her eyes. She pressed the switch of your lightsaber, and the blade popped out quickly. She cut the top of the rope swiftly, and then her hand reached out to freeze you in the air and stop you from falling. 

Tiredly, you lay back, trying to recover from your thrumming mind. 

Meanwhile, the girl tossed your saber up in the air and caught it. “Jedi, huh?”

You sighed, closing your eyes and finally regaining your breath. “Yeah,” you said in defeat. The cackling of the fire combined with the girl standing over you was a weird feeling. Relaxing, but intense and threatening. 

Keres thought for a moment. She decided to take a calculated risk. 

Your lightsaber landed in the dirt beside your face. “Don’t ever follow me again,” she warned. 

You sit up immediately, meeting her eyes. They’re hazel, with golden flecks from the light of the fire in the back. Freckles across her olive skin, powerful demeanor. 

She turns away and leaves. You don’t go after her. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.  The Second Encounter

You just had to know about this girl. She had let you go, but somehow had a red lightsaber? It didn’t quite add up. If by any chance she wasn’t a Sith, she was still a force user. She could help rebuild the order!

She was in a different spot this night. She had clearly moved and set up camp somewhere else because she didn’t want you specifically to find her again, but you had managed to track her down again. 

As she sat on a fallen tree, staring at the orange streaks of heat lapping the air in the dead of night, you sprung on her. Your saber was drawn and pointing at her, and you pushed yourself from behind the tree you stood at. 

Keres was calm. “Didn’t I tell you not to do this?” she asked simply, looking up at you. 

Her eyes are so pretty. Hazel... emerald green and gold... you swallow. 

“I think I need your help,” you say urgently. 

“Help?” Keres questions with one eyebrow raised. “It’s funny. I can’t remember the Jedi ever needing help before.”

You feel your head become clearer. Somehow, you figure out what kind of person you’re dealing with here. If you want to convince this one, you’re going to have to work for it. You’re going to have to play your cards right.

You turn your saber off. [this takes Keres by surprise, but she didn’t show it.] 

“We were peacekeepers,” you say, sincerely. “We were betrayed.”

“In the Purge?” Keres wonders aloud, genuine and without considering how this gave you an opening.

“Yeah,” you replied. You look down at the ground at the memory, feeling the muted sadness wash over you. Then you look up and into her eyes again. “Were you there?”

Keres doesn’t answer immediately. She looks between your right and left eye, almost like she’s searching for something. “No,” she says finally. And you think she’s lying. 

You end up sitting beside Keres, on the dirt next to the tree she sits on. 

“I’m Y/N by the way,” you say after a string of silence. “Yours?”

Keres just looks at you. She’s the most distrustful she’s ever been to another person, and she doesn’t like you very much. She just remembers what the Jedi did to her, how they left her out of selfishness. How much better would her life have been if they had helped her?

“Keres,” she says finally. “My name is Keres.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.  The Relationship Development

Gathering together, and her keeping a close eye on you to make sure you’re not a threat. 

You never drawing your weapon in order to stay on her good side. 

Telling Keres you’re on a quest to save the Jedi Order, and her not liking it. 

“So you’re pretty stupid, huh?”

Asking Keres a few times what her problem with the Jedi is. 

Keres refusing to tell you, and starting to feel guilty about asking because you know it was probably making her sad. 

Keres getting closed off and becoming more quiet after you ask. [this makes you feel even worse]

Watching her practice her lightsaber technique. 

She does it almost every day, at around the same time. She uses the same tree to practice against, twirling around and slicing it [without full power as to not bring the whole thing down]

Being in awe of her combat form. It’s not like anything you’ve ever scene or been taught about, and it’s relentless and graceful. 

Finally giving her a tip. [you know better than to question how she does this in case it has to do with her past]

“You should try using your knees more,” you say, leaning against a neighboring tree. 

She looks over at you. You’re almost afraid she’s going to quip something sarcastic and borderline rude to you, but she’s quiet. Finally, she says, “you should try using the reverse grip.”

Being secretly overjoyed that she actually said something sincere to you. 

Asking where she got the sabers from.

“Green came first, and the red came second.”

“Where’d you get a red lightsaber at this time?”

“Stole it.”

Not taking the conversation any further. 

Being shocked when she offers you food one night. 

Accepting after a second of staring at her in awe. 

Her warming up to you over the course of two weeks. 

She likes how calm and unflappable you are. She likes that you know better than to push your luck and respect her boundaries. It’s almost comforting.

Something changing in the relationship.

Waiting for her to return to camp after a day of her hunting and gathering. She was taking much longer than she should’ve, and you were beginning to get anxious and worried. 

Rocking back and forth lightly while your feet tap on the ground. 

Seeing her figure in the light of the fire, and running towards her. 

Pulling her into a tight hug. 

Keres almost drops the net of fish and berries you like. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open. 

Nuzzling your head into her hair as your chest heaves. 

“I was starting to get worried,” you explained. 

Keres not knowing what to do, but slowly wrapping her arms around you in return. 

Looking into her eyes for a few seconds after pulling away. 

You can make out a cluster of freckles that look like a constellation you really like.

“I... um... I brought those berries you like.”

Keres looking at you a little longer after that, and sometimes catching her staring. 

Making it a thing to watch her while she trained. 

Keres wanting to ask if you like the view, but being too much of a [soft cinnamon roll] to do so and getting nervous.

Keres sometimes bringing you rare berries you like. 

She doesn’t even like it herself. They’re purely for you.

Sometimes taking a while to find but her never mentioning it. 

Keres starting to wonder if maybe all Jedi aren’t bad. 

Keres wanting to brush her fingers against your face as you look at the campfire at night, but being to anxious and nervous to do so. 

Keres feeling bad about her past and feeling like she’s not good enough to be with you. [or even your friend]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.  The Finale

Almost completely forgetting about the Jedi Order and staying under the protection with Keres. 

Becoming a bit of a team in living around each other. 

Realizing you’ve already been on Endor way longer than you should have, and knowing you have to move again.  

Asking Keres to come with you. 

“You’re a good person, Keres. I could use someone like you with me.”

Keres tensing up when you call her a ‘good person’. 

“Help me rebuild the Order, Keres. Come with me.”

Keres wanting to go with you. 

Keres knowing she can’t. 

Remembering what the Jedi did, and everything bad she’s ever done. 

Her feeling very guilty and pained. 

“I’m alright here,” she said slowly, trying to keep calm. 

“Are you?” you question. 

“Yeah,” she says, even though she feels very, very upset. 

Picking up on the way her voice almost breaks. 

Spending the night in her camp more quiet. 

You’re leaving the next day, and she’s trying to ignore the fact that she’s come to really like your presence.

Keres stays up thinking about it, looking at you sleep and thinking about how stupid she is. 

Asking her to come with you again. 

“Keres,” you say, looking down at your feet. Then you look back up into her eyes. “I know you have some weird thing against the Jedi, and I get it.” [you don’t get it.] “But you’re smart and you’re strong. Come with me. Help rebuild the Order.”

Keres still wanting to go with you. 

Looking down, feeling so sad and disappointed and devastated in the pit of her stomach. 

I... I can’t.”

Not knowing what else to say to her. 

“Take care of yourself, Keres.”

Keres wanting to tell you everything that happened to her. 

Keres wanting to ask you to stay, but knowing that this is too important to just shun. 

Watching you leave. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. Bonus

Keres thinking about you at random times. 

Looking for you around the Harbinger, trying to see if you somehow joined the rebels. 

Returning to Ilum and looking over the side of the mountain, thinking you’d like the view. 

Keres’s view of the Jedi changing.

Although she doesn’t agree with what you’re doing, and she doesn’t like the Order at all, she knows why they’re needed. She respects what you’re trying to do, and she respects your mission. She won’t intervene. 

If you would ever succeed and ask her to join the Order, asked her what she would reform, or need her to defend it, she would’ve done it. 

Wondering if you’re still alive. 

Wondering if you’re doing okay. 

Always using her knees more in combat to remember you. 

You holding your lightsaber in the reverse grip to remember her. 

Respecting people who don’t like the Jedi a little more, because they remind you of Keres and knowing you must have empathy. 

Keres thinking about you before she dies. 

Hoping you’d be proud of her. 

Stumbling across Cal Kestis, Greez Dritus, and Cere Junda years later when they were also trying to rebuild the Order. 

Finding out Cal and Keres were roommates on Bracca and suddenly remembering her. 

Hoping she’s still alive, not realizing she had died a few years prior. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Sorry if you don’t care about my oc’s and I tagged you. It’s star wars related and i panicked. 

@omg-we-really-doo @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @kit-jpg

[ravens-rambling]

True Loves Kiss

A/N: This one is also a bit of a stretch but ehhhh. It’s suppose to be ‘Dragon Witch’ prompt XD 

@sanderssidescelebrations

WC: 1,373

ships: Romantic Logince 

warnings: Cursing, Mentions of homophobia, Haunted Toys, uuuhh I think that’s it

Tag List: @punsterterry @stormcrawler75@frostedlover@mycatshuman @mutechild@panicattheeverywhere15@overlord-winter @analogical-mess@saddestlittlebabe

Roman didn’t mean to get cursed. Guess it wasn't a smart move to piss off a witch… Who would’ve thunk it?

For centuries now he’s been trapped inside this knights toy, unable to talk or do much of anything. Well, at first.

His first owner was a young boy who stumbled across him when he was exploring the neighborhood. And he picked him up and brought him home. For years he played with him until he got bored in his later years then kept him in an attic. Until he gave him to his son.

Now, the spell was that only true loves kiss could break the spell. The reason why she did this? Oh, she was jealous cause he found him with another guy and apparently didn’t like that. And that’s how he found out that she is a witch. A dragon witch to be precise, or at least that’s what she called herself.

However, as the years went by her spell slowly weakened. Now he’s able to move at small times of the day. It was gradual movements at first, and now he's able to move his hand and foot. Even blink and open his mouth.

And of course, nobody liked a toy being able to move by itself.

At first, nobody really noticed. But as more time passed by he guessed people grew as well. They developed this thing called…cameras? He wasn’t sure he heard that right, he thinks he did though. And apparently they spied on him while he was moving around. How does he know this? Cause the next day he gets tossed out to the next owner. Now he can’t keep an owner for months without being sold to another owner.

And as time passed by his hopes of ever finding his true love got dimmer and dimmer. His hopes of ever getting out of this prison get lower with each passing day. And by now he doesn’t think he’ll ever be free. This will probably be his life until somebody burns him. Or dismantle him…

That was until one owner. One fateful day.

After being auctioned off in a huge room with lots of people he was going home with his new owner. He was a businessman by the looks of it. Wore a black suit with a dark blue tie. Had black square glasses and blue eyes… Yep, he means business for sure.

He wants to blink at him but for some reason, he couldn’t in this glass case. It restricted every movement he could make… So he had to sit there and watch him while he drove to his new home.

And he soon came to know that he really means business. As in the witch kind of business.

Apparently this Logan Berry is from a family line of witches. Which he found interesting. And he had bought him cause he had a hunch that there was something wrong. And a good thing for that too.

When he unhooked the box Roman instantly could move again and he blinked at him while he was being held. But Logan didn't scream like all the previous owners before him did. Instead, he simply stared and hummed in thought.

“You’ve had a spell placed on you, haven't you? Feels like a powerful one… Whatever witch did this was extremely powerful. And must’ve been angry at you… Whatever you did. Well, no matter, I’ll save you. Don’t you worry.”

And he was telling the truth. For months he experimented and failed in bringing him back. However, he did weaken the spell enough so as he could start talking. And he told Logan what happened and how to break it.

“True love? Oh… Hm… Interesting… That must be some dark magic cause I've never heard that. I’ve read on voodoo and I thought that's what this was. But if it’s to deal with true love then that's not the case…”

“I don’t know…anything about magic…or spells… Guess I angered the wrong…witch, didn’t I?” He had to talk slowly since whatever Logan did didn’t work completely. If he talked too fast his mouth will freeze up.

“That you did. I wonder how this ‘true love’ of yours is supposed to break the spell?”

Roman gasped, his eyes lighting up, “Like Princess And The Frog maybe?! I liked that movie and maybe it’s like that and-” He was cut off by his mouth freezing up again, his voice dying out.

“I told you not to talk fast.” Logan sighed and mumbled a spell that unfroze him. “I don’t know if that’ll work? It seems too straightforward…”

“Logan.” Roman looked up at the witch determinedly. “Kiss me.”

“What?! Why would I do that?”

“It worked in the movie! It’ll work here, right? And maybe you’re my true love! I haven’t had anybody so determined to change me back and-” The spell wore off again.

With bright red cheeks, Logan sighed and cast the spell again. Before Roman could say anything he rubbed his eyes. “Roman, that was a fictional movie. And it's highly illogical that it would even work. It has to be some counterspell to fix it or-”

“Please, Logan? Can we try?”

Logan looked down to see the toy solder giving him the biggest puppy eyes he’s ever seen. And that’s impressive, considering he’s a toy and everything. Logan’s cheeks grew redder and he sighed.

“Alright. Fine. One kiss.”

“Yay!! Thank you, Logan!” Roman beamed and danced around on the table. But when Logan leaned down to pick him up he stood still so it’ll be easier.

“Mhm… Sure. Don’t speak of this to anyone, especially my son. Alright?”

“My lips are sealed, Mr. Berry!” Roman huffed and nodded, making a point to zipper his lips shut. Logan couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at that.

“Alright… 1… 2… 3.” He counted then leaned forward and kissed the lips of the toy. As soon as his lips touched the toys hard wooden one wind came out from the walls. It blew around them faster and faster. Electricity crackled around them, causing Logan's papers to blow around even more. And he felt the hairs on his arms raised.

Logan’s eyes widened and he looked in front of him to see the dolls features changing. It was growing in size and becoming more human-like. One by one his features come back, his eyes, his nose.

Until finally, they both landed on the floor once the wind came to a stop and the electricity dimmed down. And he could finally move his lips from the other.

The man before him was stunning. He was darker in the skin, mirroring the darker wood that the toy was seemingly was made from. But he also had freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. His dark hair was wavy, flowing upwards in a stylish manner. And his eyes were of a milk chocolate brown color. His clothes were old fashioned if Logan had to guess off the bat it was from the 1700s.

They both stared at each other for several minutes, both of them coming to terms with what just happened.

Until Roman just broke that moment of silence. He jumped in the air and beamed, his eyes lighting up and he squealed. “I knew it would work! I just had to meet the right guy! Disney, you didn’t fail me! Thank you!” Then he hugged him.

And Logan felt his face grow even brighter. His heart skipped a beat for a moment, then he felt it speed up. He…didn’t think he was this hot in his real body… Holy shit…

“You okay, spec’s?” Roman asked, now pulling him away and beaming still.

Quickly he shook his head and readjusted his tie, clearing his throat a bit. “Yes, I am. I’m glad that the spell reversed. Now, I have work to attend to. I still have to figure out how exactly that worked and so i-”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Lo! It worked! Which means your my soulmate! We’re destined together! Don't you feel it? I’m so glad you're my new owner!” He kissed Logan again.

Yeah… Logan was never a believer in destiny or soulmates but maybe… Just this one time…

He is.

[jjthebunbun]

Canis’ Route

I’ve gotten a few asks and been tagged in a few prompts that has to do with Canis’ route, so I decided to spend a TOOOOON of time on making one. 😂

BASICS:

Name: Canis De Mila

Age: 24 (Birthday: July 18th)

Height: 5′ 9″ (67 in.)

Familiar: N/A (Though he takes on Mercedes and Melchior as familiars later on in life.)

Favorite Food: Curried Goat

Favorite Drink: Blackberry Merlot

Favorite Flower: Golden Calla Lillies

Star Sign: ♋ Cancer

Appearance: Thin build, Pale Skin covered in Freckles, Curly dark brown hair that falls in front of bright gold eyes. Dresses in bright colors such as Pastel pink, sky blue, cloud white, and antique gold. Canis has bells sewn to his belts, hair ribbons, and on certain articles of clothing he wears when training animals. Canis wears sparse makeup. Golden eyeshadow, if he bothers to wear any at all-- golden nail polish, and very shiny lip gloss. In depth description here.

Personality: Adventurous, curious, compassionate, and a bit reckless. Canis rises to meet every challenge with courage and self-assurance. Regardless of what presents itself, Canis is rarely intimidated, and knows he can do anything he sets his mind to. He has a very bubbly and fun-loving demeanor, as well as a curious nature that often becomes reckless abandon if left unchecked. Canis is very self-aware and knows exactly who he is as a person--- a refreshing yet dangerous trait indeed.

If not The Fool my apprentice would be: The Moon

Keep Reading to see the entire route’s storyline!

Players be warned: Canis’ route will be polyamorous.

BACKSTORY:

Canis has lived in Vesuvia all his life. Though his family is from Nopal, he has never managed to leave the city in order to see them, as his parents worked tirelessly in the Vesuvian palace as animal trainers and behaviorists for the Count’s ever expanding menagerie. Though he has never traveled, Canis is still very knowledgeable and worldly thanks to his studies and unbridled curiosity.  When he turned 18 he, too, became a trainer for the menagerie, which is where he officially met Lucio and over the course of his service to the count, fell in love with him. Canis still works in the palace’s menagerie, caring for the animals that would have been all but abandoned since the count’s murder. Canis stays quietly separated from most people day-to-day, for fear that they may discover the secrets he’s tending.

ROUTE:

You meet Canis upon touring the grounds of the palace with Nadia when you first arrive. Canis tells you what his job is, and allows you to sit in on a training session he has with Mercedes and Melchior. Canis attempts to talk to you alone for a moment about the murder you’ve been sent to investigate, but Nadia urges you on. Before you part ways Canis offers you a dog whistle that specifically calls Mercedes and Melchior. Canis explains that he and the dogs are the only one who can hear it. If you should ever encounter any trouble, simply blow it and Canis, the dogs--- or all three will come running.

After choosing to pursue Canis, you get chased through the garden by Lucio’s ghost, and you think to use the whistle Canis provided you a few days earlier. Upon hearing the whistle the dogs are at your side in seconds. Growling at the ghost at first, before recognizing the spector and softening with happy barks and tail wags. Canis arrives soon after, and catches just a glimpse of Lucio’s ghost before it vanishes entirely. Canis offers to help you investigate the grounds, as he still remembers enough magic from when Asra taught him that he can protect you. You make your way to Lucio’s wing where Canis reveals that he and Lucio were romantically involved for some time before Lucio got sick. After Lucio died, nothing was quite the same. Canis feared that his relationship with Lucio would be looked down upon and that he would be unfairly treated now that Lucio was dead... Canis also explains that he knows Julian couldn’t have murdered Lucio, because he was with Julian when they discovered the count’s room was on fire.

You and Canis continue investigating the claims and evidence that would find Julian guilty in order to prove his innocence. At which point you end up in the Red Market where Canis delves into a gambling ring in hopes that the diverse crowd will have different angles and tips about what happened the night of the murder. You and Canis manage to pry vital information from one gambler in particular who claims he heard the courtiers planning to pin the murder on Julian. On your way out from the red market Canis is arrested by palace guards who had overheard Canis stating in the red market that he was with Julian on the night of the murder, thus making Canis an accomplice to murder. It is revealed that Julian has also been captured and they will now be tried and hanged together. You explain what you heard in the market to Nadia who agrees that Julian and Canis must be innocent, but needs a confession straight from the courtiers if that’s the case.

You visit Canis and Julian in the dungeon the morning of the trial. Canis nervously stares at the floor while Julian holds his hand and comforts him. Upon seeing you, Canis is visibly relieved that you’re alright. He explains that Julian doesn’t remember what happened on the night of the murder either, but he does remember that Julian died that night and thus learned about the count’s tie to the plague. It is then you discover the red plague was CAUSED by Lucio, like most every other tragedy in the city. Despite you and Canis warning Julian not to hang in order to rediscover the truth, he explains that Justice must come first this time, to the which Canis averts his eyes and looks forlorn. During the trial you prove Canis’ innocence due to the fact that none of the courtiers recalled that Canis was with Julian during the murder. You also call to the stand all of the courtiers at which point you fool Volta and Vlastomil into negating each others stories and proving that they’re not being truthful. It is at this point that YOU are held in contempt of court, and dismissed with Canis while preparations for Julian’s hanging are made.

You console Canis who finally confesses that he had been seeing Julian while Lucio was sick with the plague. It pains Canis to know that Julian had been convicted of murder simply because he and Canis met at the wrong place at the wrong time. Canis is also devastated that all the misery and pain caused by the plague was entirely Lucio’s fault. Canis begs you to help him exercise Lucio in order to ask him about what happened that night.

You and Canis sneak into Lucio’s wing in the dead of night and successfully exercise his ghost and trap him within a circle so he can’t flee or refuse to answer. Lucio is furious that he’s been tricked, but visibly relaxes upon seeing Canis. Canis seeks comfort in you while you inquire about Lucio’s murder, to the which Lucio explains that the plague was not his choice, that it was a nasty side effect of his ultimate goal, which was to become the devil himself. Canis furiously asks if Lucio regrets anything he’s put anyone through, and upon Lucio’s answer of “what is there to regret��, Canis closes the circle with a blaze of fire, which chases Lucio out entirely. After you manage to calm Canis down, he states that he fears whatever Lucio and the devil tried to do at the last masquerade they’ll attempt to do again at this masquerade.

You and Canis warn Nadia and Asra, who says Julian’s keeping a low profile at his sister Portia’s house until the masquerade is underway, to be sure he survives to help wrangle whatever nasty plan Lucio has for the evening.

Once the masquerade has begun you, Asra, and Canis hatch a plan to place you and Canis in the magician’s realm where you can inquire about the arcana and about the devil himself. However, on your way to the magician’s realm, something drags the both of you away from the magician’s realm and you are instead cast into the hanged man’s realm.

It is the hanged man instead of the magician who explains that the devil, unlike most arcana, seeks to hold control of the mortal realm. Lucio’s death had been the final stage in a ritual that was supposed to make Lucio the Devil, but since most of the Arcana was not at the ritual that was taking place, the spell failed and Lucio instead became a ghost. Interestingly enough, had Canis been at the ritual, it would have been just enough that the spell would have been successful. While exiting the hanged man’s realm in search of the magician’s, you ask Canis why he didn’t attend the ritual. Canis says he doesn’t remember. He only remembers being invited to a private party with Lucio, and running to find Julian with Muriel after hearing word that Julian was imprisoned in the dungeon.

Once more you try desperately to reach the Magician’s Realm, but the Devil himself stops you. The Devil calls into question your faith in Canis, and asks if Canis would abandon the people he had loved for years, why would he bother to be loyal and trustworthy to you. Canis all but clings to you and is clearly shaken to the core now that he believes his negligence is what has caused all of this chaos. The Devil splits the two of you apart and casts Canis asunder. He offers you a deal. Remain in the arcana realms until the masquerade’s end, and no harm shall come to Canis, Asra, Nadia-- everyone that you hold dear. Regardless of how you answer, the Devil strips your physical form from you and you watch through a scrying pool in horror as it enters reality in the form of Lucio, back from the dead, and in the flesh.

REVERSED:

Supposing you received the reversed ending, The Devil ultimately releases you, and the darkness around you shatters to reveal The Moon’s realm. You see Canis speaking with The Moon, and though you can’t hear what they’re saying, Canis’ voice sounds furious and desperate, and after a tense silence the Moon disappears in a shimmering light that encompasses Canis only briefly before vanishing entirely. Canis turns to see you and excitedly embraces you, crying and smiling, and thankful that you’re safe. You ask what happened and Canis feigns confusion and says that he doesn’t remember how he ended up in The Moon’s realm, but he was worried sick that the devil had captured or even hurt you.

You and Canis finally make it to the Magician’s realm where Asra and Julian await you. You recount your interaction with the Devil while Canis presses close to Julian and remains silent. It is in the Magician’s realm that you concoct a plan to pull the Devil back to his realm so that he once again cannot perform the ritual required for him to take control of reality.

Canis remains his chipper, usual self, though he stays close to you, and does his best to keep hold of you at all times. Upon asking Canis about it, he simply says that he’s worried that at any moment you could slip through his fingers again.

Once you, Canis, Asra, and Julian make it to the Devil’s realm, Lucio sits upon the dais of the Devil’s cathedral, having waited “patiently” for you to come stop his plan to merge with the devil. The four of you manage to subdue Lucio after minimal resistance, at which point Lucio desperately attempts to cover his tracks. You ultimately leave his judgement up to Canis. Canis, in turn, praises you for your decision to allow him to take control, and allows Lucio to apologize, grovel, and beg for forgiveness. Canis promises to offer Lucio forgiveness once the Devil has been stopped, and tethers Lucio to a pillar of the cathedral where he can’t interfere.

With Canis and Asra’s help, you manage to summon the devil back to his realm with a ritual similar to the one you and Canis used to summon Lucio’s Ghost. Once the Devil has been retrieved, he attempts to combat you and the others, but Canis silences the fighting by aloud offering the Devil two Arcana: The Moon and The Fool. The Devil hungrily sizes up the offer and when asked to present the Arcana, Canis pulls you forward into the ritual circle, and upon entering, the aura of the Fool can be seen within you, and the Aura of The Moon is now within Canis. As the Devil reaches forward to agree to the deal, Canis takes hold of his face instead of his hand, and explains that thanks to the moon’s sacrifice, Canis now knew how to take control of any Arcana. You realize now that the flash of light that encompassed Canis in The Moon’s realm was, in fact, The Moon being forced to merge entirely with Canis. The exact same thing happens to The Devil, but instead of a flash of bright light, there is an explosion of fire and Canis emerges, having taken control as the new Devil.

Lucio angrily fumes and barks that Canis would force him to apologize before doing exactly what Lucio wanted to do in the first place. Canis kisses Lucio once, and offers a hollow apology and the excuse that he could never bear to lose Lucio-- or anyone else ever again. Canis then turns Lucio to stone with the caress of a single claw before turning to face you. You, Asra, and Julian all shy away from him, which he answers with crocodile tears and frustration, explaining that he thought this would be for the best. No longer did he have to worry about losing the people he cared for most in the world, because now they could no longer be parted and Canis could no longer be blamed for the horrible things that happened because of his lovers. Asra attempts to help all three of you escape, but Canis has since chained all three of you to him, thus tethering you to his realm with him for all eternity.

This route ends with Asra simply being grateful that reality will no longer be lost to the Devil while Canis lavishes splendor and love on both you and Julian and promises to do so until the end of time.

UPRIGHT:

Supposing you received the upright ending, The Devil ultimately releases you, and the darkness around you shatters to reveal The Moon’s realm. You see Canis speaking with The Moon, and as you venture closer, you can hear their conversation. The Moon gives Canis back his memories of that night, at which point Canis exclaims that he remembers why he refused Lucio’s invitation to the ritual. Lucio had confided in Canis that he wanted to become the Devil and live forever. Canis was heartbroken that after all the time they spent together Canis’ only apparent use to Lucio would be to bring The Moon to the ritual so that he could become immortal. Canis wanted to be with Lucio more than anything... But he also didn’t want Lucio to become the devil and slowly become a monster. Instead Canis had fled the ritual, found Asra and Muriel and aided Muriel in rescuing Julian from the dungeons.

When Canis realizes you’re in The Moon’s realm, he excitedly rushes to you and holds onto you tightly, glad that the Devil didn’t attempt to hurt you. Canis also apologizes for refusing to look his problems in the eye and for being a bystander to the mess Lucio had created, simply because he was in love with him. Canis assures you that he knows he can’t hope to keep you, Julian, and even Lucio safe in all this, but he trusts that you know how to protect yourself.

You and Canis finally make it to the Magician’s realm with The Moon’s help. Asra and Julian await you and are excited to see that the both of you have made it out safe. You recount your interaction with the Devil while Canis apologizes to Julian and later apologizes to Asra for remaining so distant since the last masquerade. Both accept the apologies, and state that they’re just glad that Canis has you and is willing to rely on all of you instead of shouldering everything himself. It is in the Magician’s realm that you concoct a plan to pull the Devil back to his realm so that he once again cannot perform the ritual required for him to take control of reality.

Canis walks with purpose at your side, and frequently looks at you and smiles. When you ask him about it, he simply states that he can’t believe how lucky he is to have someone so amazingly courageous and kind as you.

Once you, Canis, Asra, and Julian make it to the Devil’s realm, Lucio sits upon the dais of the Devil’s cathedral, having waited “patiently” for you to come stop his plan to merge with the devil. The four of you manage to subdue Lucio after minimal resistance, at which point Lucio desperately attempts to cover his tracks. Canis begins to retort, but you stop him and remind him that Lucio wasn’t acting of his own accord by the time the plague hit Vesuvia, and that he may not deserve mercy, but he does deserve justice. You can choose to ask canis to forget or forgive Lucio: forgetting him means that you break Lucio’s chains, but Canis forces Lucio to abandon Vesuvia and live in exile. Forgiving him means you break his chains and Canis vows to bring Lucio to justice, but ultimately he is willing to make amends with lucio in due time.

With Canis and Asra’s help, you manage to summon the devil back to his realm with a ritual similar to the one you and Canis used to summon Lucio’s Ghost. Once the Devil has been retrieved, he attempts to combat you and the others. At one point the Devil calls Canis’ faith in himself into question for the second time, but instead of answering with doubt and tears, this time Canis smiles and replies that he simply trusts his loved ones, and that’s good enough for him. With Canis and Asra’s help, you hold the Devil in place in the ritual circle and turn The Devil to stone.

After the events of the masquerade, Canis and Asra have become good friends once more, Lucio was serving time for his actions, though was showing progress in becoming a better person having been freed from his chains, and Julian is arranging for an extended trip out of Vesuvia, since Canis hasn’t ever left the city, and you all could use a vacation after what happened at the masquerade.

This route ends with you, Canis, and Julian mounting horses and excitedly jetting off to the first destination on your journey into the future together.

SO. Would you play my Apprentice’s Route?

[flourchildwrites]

Witch, Please!  Fictober 2019  (9/31)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation.  Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for.  You just might get it.

Prompt:  “Shipwrecked” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List

Fandom:  Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)

Relationship/Pairing:  Team Mustang starring Riza Hawkeye, Implied Royai

Genre:  Alternate Universe - Pirate

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count:  1,507 words

Read on AO3

Riza Hawkeye's first memories were of the sea.

She remembered her mother pulling her up to peer over the bow of their ship, the Lady Elizabeth. The salt air had stung the young girl’s round face and caught the wispy ends of her dirty blonde hair. But even from the tender age of five, Riza saw freedom hanging just beyond the horizon, and she never once yearned for life on dry land. It was fair to say that Hawkeye earned her sea legs before she even learned to walk, born below deck and raised in the captain's quarters alongside a cabin boy who would one day become king of her floating castle.

At first, Riza resented her father’s deathbed decision to name Roy Mustang the captain and she the sailing master. By rights, the Lady Elizabeth was her property, but with time, she began to understand Berthold’s twisted, if accurate, logic. Captain Mustang had a dashing persona and an innate understanding of the way the world worked both at port and sea. He wielded his charism like a weapon, narrowly escaping one close call after another while Hawkeye tended to reply on the pistol tucked into her sash and the dagger hidden in her boot.

On nights like this one, Riza marveled at the way the crew responded to Captain Mustang’s confidence, even as she knew their ship was all but lost.

Lightning cracked the sky overhead as its tendrils cut the darkness to pieces. The weather had turned quickly, leaving precious little time to secure the sails and batten down the hatches, much less head further out to the open sea. Tempest winds rocked the ship back and forth, and the ship's sturdy planks groaned with the effort of resisting the melee.

“Tether yourselves to the ship,” Captain Mustang called out, “and get Furey down from the rafters.”

Disregarding his own well being, Quartermaster Havoc wrapped a length of rope around Hawkeye’s waist as she gripped the ship’s wheel and heaved it back into position. Overhead, Kain Fuery flew like a sparrow amongst the sails, as lithe as a dancer with the hardened edge of a seasoned boatswain. Only the young Elric brothers could hope to match his agility.

“Should we drop anchors, Captain?” Edward yelled. His pitchy voice strained against the wind and rain.

“Aye, do it now!”

No sooner than the word was given than Riza heard the telltale sound of metal scratching the deck and chains plummeting into the depths. For a split second, Hawkeye glanced in her captain’s direction and graced him with a stern but approving nod. They were going to make it. The storm would not…

No sooner had Roy’s onyx eyes met’s Riza’s copper gaze than the boat lurched, side-swept by the changeable tide. Wind battered the Lady Elizabeth’s starboard side, and the chain securing the anchors strained under the pressure, working against the vessel's integrity. It was then that both the captain and his sailing master remembered the damaged mainsail as well as the purpose of their journey to Tortuga — much-needed repairs. Another gust struck the ship sideways, and the Lady Elizabeth began to falter, her rafters snapped and the craft started to fall to ruin. In a split second, Hawkeye made a decision, communicated to her captain with little more than a look as the crew’s bodies were thrown about the tipping ship heading sidelong toward the craggy coastline.

“Abandon ship!”

Experienced sailors readied the rowboats, tossing supplies and helping injured crewmates into the smaller crafts. Riza’s hands tightened on the wheel even as she untied the tether at her waist. Hawkeye braced herself for as long as she could against the pull of the tide.

A flash of green caught Hawkeye’s sharp eye, and she glanced sideways to spy the ship’s quartermaster wedged beneath a pile of fallen debris. The bright green sash given to him by his sweetheart fluttered in the gale-force winds. Jean Havoc struggled to free his legs. His panic-stricken face paled as fresh blood painted the deck.

Hawkeye moved without the memory of deciding to do so. Her boots pounded against the worn planks as her spirit raged against the storm. All the while, she thought to herself that it was bad enough to lose her mother's ship. She refused to lose Jean as well, a crewmate and her friend.

“Havoc,” Riza cried as she reached him and pushed the wreckage from his legs. "We've got to go!"

Grabbing the muscled man under his arms and hoisting him upward, Riza helped him to the port side of the ship, closest to the shore. Both seafarers gripped the banister and looked down at the last remaining rowboat as a sickening crack sounded from above and the mainsail finally gave way.

“JUMP!”

For a moment, Riza felt her body suspended in midair alongside the injured quartermaster, and during those precious seconds, she traveled back in time. Gone was the wind whipping her loose shirt and pull of trousers skimming the contours of her legs. The pistol at the young woman’s waist fell away, and it was replaced by a child’s coin purse stuffed full of spending money for the market at Riza's favorite seaside town.

When Riza looked down, she did not see Captain Mustang. Instead, her mind's eye conjured images of 16-year-old Roy, dirty-faced but strong and freshly promoted to a full-fledged crewmate. The mischievous dark-haired boy laughed as he waited with open arms to catch her, and Riza trusted that he would let her fall. She knew they would find their way again, however hard they had to work to resurrect the Lady Elizabeth from Poseidon's grasp.

...

“Roy!”

Riza awoke with a start and sat up suddenly, clutching a bandaged area around her chest. She gasped for breath as her mind reeled, pulled unceremoniously from the unpredictable waters of the Carribean to a soft bed in a small room adorned with lace curtains that fluttered in the gentle breeze.

In the corner of the room, a familiar figure dozed in a moth-eaten armchair. Roy’s head lolled against the wall. His clothes seemed fresh-pressed and dry though his arm was bandaged and hung in a sling.

“Easy does it, girl,” a gravely female voice sounded from Riza’s bedside, accompanied by heavy footsteps against the house’s wooden floor. “You took quite a knock on the head and broke a few ribs in your fall, I suspect. Roy-boy brought you and the rest of the crew here last night. You’ve all been lucky to wreck so close to Tortuga. All except for that blond boy. Shame that, with a body like his.”

“You mean Havoc,” Riza interjected. “Did he… Is he…”

The older lady sighed and placed a basin of water on Riza’s bedside table. Even under the pressure of Riza’s unspoken inquiries, she took her time. The woman straightened up and tucked a lock of dark hair behind her bejeweled ear. The deep lines of her aged face betrayed no emotion.

“He’s alive if that’s what you asking,” she clarified, “but I can’t say he’ll walk again. Now, clean yourself up. I’ll send Madeline in to check your wounds and redress them if necessary. Unless, of course, you’d like Roy-boy to do it. He was very insistent that no one see your back.”

At the mention of her tattoo, Riza laid back. She pressed her neck against the pillows and swallowed hard. Briefly, she searched the older woman’s face for a sign of recognition and marveled that Roy would expose the map to anyone outside their small circle of trusted equals. It was said that Van Hohenheim’s treasure was without compare, containing treasure greater than gold that could reverse death itself. Roy sought it for his departed best friend and Riza for her mother.

In response, the women merely chuckled. “Smart girl. I wouldn't trust me either,” she said, turning her back to Riza and walking toward the door, “but in this case, I think we’d both be proven wrong. They call me Madame Christmas around these parts, but you can call me Chris Mustang.”

She thrust the door of the room open, ushering in sights and sounds from the tavern below. From her perch on the bed, Riza spied a few familiar figures moving with ease around the barroom. Riza breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the comforting sound of Heymans Breda’s fiddle, Alex Armstrong’s boisterous laugh and the Elrics squabbling over the merry ruckus. The smell of beer and freshly baked bread soothed her senses as effectively as the gentle lapping of calm waves against the shore.

“Welcome to The Prodigal Son Tavern and Inn, Miss Hawkeye,” Chris announced. She threw a softer glance in Roy’s direction as he snoozed peacefully through the hubbub. “It’s nice to have its namesake back again.”

And though Riza missed the sound of seagulls and feel of the sun on her freckled skin, she was content that the Lady Elizabeth’s grand misadventure had somehow lead her to a place that felt like home.

A/N:  When I saw the shipwrecked prompt, I had to do this even though I know nothing about sailing. This chapter is heavily inspired by @tomochingus' ridiculously amazing Pirate AU art. No, I did not ask permission to write this. Yes, I do feel a little bad about that, and if anyone if upset at me, I am sorry. I just really wanted to share this! As always, please send me pairing requests for particular Fictober prompts through my tumblr. I've got one prompt (YAY), and I'll be working on it soon. Otherwise, if you read something you like, let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs mean so much to me.

[thedistantstorm]

Day 15: “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: Amanda Holliday/Sloane

Warnings: None (Clumsy Shipwrights & Amused Deputy-Commanders, Amanda’s drawlin’ and ridiculous names for things/people)

-/

"There's gotta be somethin' useful in here," The Shipwright says to herself, rubbing the back of her hand over her brow. The sound of scrap clanking against the damp deckplates and the tinkling of bits and bolts at the bottom of the supply crate drown out the sound of rain for once.

Sloane enters the long-abandoned storeroom to a comical sight: Amanda, rear in the air, on her tiptoes, bent over a railing, digging through a crate, things being tossed over her shoulder haphazardly. There were apparently piles based on… something, the Deputy Commander was sure, because one hunk of metal went left, and then something that looked like a beacon went straight back, rolling across the metallic floor to collide harmlessly with her boot.

She crosses her arms. Amanda carries on grumbling and grouching about Golden Age garbage, using her arms and completely abandoning her feet to lean over to the next crate in the stack. 

When it goes on for another few minutes, Sloane intervenes, not having the Commander's infinite patience.

"Holliday?" She ventures.

Clearly the other woman didn't know she was there, because something falls in what is not the direction of one of the Shipwright's messy piles, and Amanda goes flailing over the railing and into the crate, unleashing a plume of dust, bolts, and assorted circuitry flying out around the edges of the now overfilled container.

Amanda sighs. It's muffled, considering she did land on her head, but her exasperation is evident. Considering she'd taken off her jacket, and she could feel the sting of copper wires poking her arm, she'll probably be asking for a tetanus shot from triage later.

Some very displeased rustling later, Amanda hollers sharply, "Deputy Commander, ain't nobody ever tell you not to sneak up on a girl when she's tinkerin'?"

More articles go bouncing out of the crate as Amanda tries to swing herself out of it. What manages to happen is that she tips it - and herself - backwards onto the floor with a great clattering thud.

Rushing to vault over the railing, a very concerned Sloane is looming over her in seconds. "Are you-"

Green eyes look up at her, irritated, a pink flush stretched across the freckled expanse of her nose and cheeks. "Yeah," She grumbles. "Help me up, wouldya?"

Sloane offers her a hand, and Amanda extends hers. There's a cord wrapped around it that's somehow also tangled in her hair, little bits of wire sticking up and tangled in blonde. She closes her mouth and purses her lips, but a sputtering sound comes out.

"Aww, c'mon, it can't be that bad-"

Amanda reaches for her head to remove the offending wire and three bolts find their way out of the bandana tied around her arm, one of which bounces off her cheek before rolling off into the abyss.

Sloane giggles, not girlishly, but just as unbidden, unburdened for just a moment of their current state. It's like something sweet, like milk chocolate or hot fudge. Something thick and beautiful. Amanda watches her mouth, for what feels like just a moment.

Apparently it isn't, because Sloane's concerned look is back, and the bulkier woman crouches in front of her, untangling some of the materials clinging to the rest of her. "Did you hit your head?"

"Nah," Amanda says. She did, but not hard enough to do damage. Too many wires and what not in the way. "Jus' thinkin' about your laugh," She admits, unashamedly honest.

Sloane's eyebrows furrow, pulling together, but her gaze is bright, crisp and sparkling, "Oh?" She asks, not sure how to feel.

Amanda nods twice. "Yeah," And then tilts her head to the side. She'd like to get her ailing tuchus off these cold deckplates before they have what is a heart-to-heart they're not going to be able to finish. Zavala hasn't heard from them in at least thirty. He'll be clomping through halls in a tizzy if both of them don't check in soon. "It's cute," She finishes, with a cheeky smile.

Sensing the shift to something safer, Sloane shakes her head ruefully. Flirtation is safe. It doesn't scream 'confession time because this might be the end of us,' like a heartfelt conversation would. There'll be time for that. They have to believe it. They have to hope.

"That's not something you hear everyday."

"What?"

"Cute." The Deputy Commander gestures down to herself. "What part of this screams cute?"

Amanda reaches up and Sloane's hand shoots out, larger palm swallowing Amanda's and yet thick, strong fingers still wrap around her wrist. She barely comes up to the Titan's nose, her eyes level with Sloane's lips. Even so, she lifts a hand up to the other woman's cheek, patting the wind-weathered skin there and letting her thumb graze the corner of her mouth.

“Your laugh.” She smirks. “Makes me think of flyin’ and sundaes an’-”

“Flyin’?” Sloane slurs back, confused.

“Bein’ happy.” Amanda shrugs, lessening it (but not really, considering how pensive Sloane’s become) by dusting off her shoulders and letting more bits and baubles of ages past bounce away. “But it’s cute. Y’look cute doin’ it.”

“That’s not a word…” She trails off, looking strangely conflicted. “People don’t use that word to describe me.”

“I’m not ‘people,’” Amanda reminds her, with a curl of dexterous fingers. “I’m just… I dunno, me?”

“Yeah.” There’s something breathless to the way Sloane says it, like as if she’s trying to see herself in reverse, however Amanda sees her and it’s just struck her harder than a thundering fist ever could. She recovers from her stupor quickly. “Damn straight you are,” She says, every bit the in-control second-in-command she’s supposed to be. Amanda grins back. 

Their moment’s broken just in time, when both their radios go off in a tinny, synced echo. “Sloane. Holliday. Report.”

“All clear, Sir,” Amanda drawls in that way of hers. The way that’s all child telling their parent to calm down, not to make a mountain of a molehill, everything is just fine. At this point, Zavala would burst if she said as much, but the tone seems to soothe. There’s comfort in old and familiar, in these trying times. Sloane busies herself with something, looking down at the pile of junk just out of Amanda’s reach and picking up things she doesn’t understand before setting them aside. It’s a focus tactic of her own. Zavala will likely want to talk to her next. “Jus’ lost track of time looking for the- hey, wait.”

There’s a sharp inhale from Zavala, cross-comms, but Amanda bowls right over whatever he’s about to bark about a suspected threat. He thinks everything is a threat these days - and it is, but Amanda’s got bigger fish to fry at this very second.

“Sloane, you magnificent monolith, gimme that thing in your hand.” There’s a pause as she hands it over. “Been lookin’ for this thing for hours. Those dang Golden Age techies are as bad as maintainin’ inventory as we are. That was not the right bin according to their records, by a long shot.”

“You got into their encryption?” Zavala asks, impressed.

“A’course, I did, Zavala,” Amanda rolls her eyes, and she’s certain he can see it, in his mind’s eye for her tone. “Deputy Commander, gimme my jacket.”

Zavala clears his throat.

“Don’t gimme that, Sir, I ain’t one’a your military folk, an’ you ain’t gonna get me talkin’ like one now.” Sloane hands her the beaten bomber, hands gentle on the well-worn canvas.

The Shipwright pulls out a software chip of some kind from a breast pocket, drops onto a crate, and begins to fiddle with it. The sound of errant clicking and murmurs - Amanda has a knack for talking to her work, as if encouragement will coax it into functionality - and suddenly there’s a little beep, and a resounding echo down the hall.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” She whoops, hopping to her feet. “Zavala, me ‘n yer Deputy will see you in five.” Rambling as much to herself as to the rest of them, she continues, “This baby’s gonna help me get at least some’a these systems back online.”

“What is it?” Zavala queries through static. 

Sloane leans over Amanda’s shoulder, her hand warm on the Shipwright’s arm. Amanda looks up into that dark gaze and grins. “It’s an inventory scanner. Guessin’ most of ‘em dropped into the sea during the collapse. But this baby seems to know where everything is, an’ I bet there’s some mapping software I can get from it. At least we’ll know where to try for supplies rather than runnin’ all over through baddies.”

“Excellent work, Holliday,” The Commander intones, sounding a bit happier than when they’d left on this impromptu equipment expedition. “Make your way back.”

“Roger that,” Sloane chirps, looking down at Amanda all sorts of impressed. “You’re gonna win this thing for us, Holliday.”

“Damn sure gonna try,” She quips back, lifting up on her tiptoes-

“Amanda-”

-to peck Sloane on the lips. “Good find, cutie.”

The eyeroll Amanda gets in response is extraordinary. “Alright, that’s where I draw the line,” Sloane says evenly, even though she’s licking her lips like she’s savoring the taste. “I liked ‘magnificent monolith.’”

“Thought you might,” Amanda supposes, eyes sparking, playfully. “Got one better for ya: How about ‘kiss me again?’”

Sloane wraps her arms around her. “I think that’s the best one yet.”

[a-tired-birds-ramblings]

·.¸¸.·♩♪♫ Character Sheet Meme ♫♪♩·.¸¸.·

Tagged By: @talesofives

Tagging: @talesofives (Uno reverse bih, Alice)  @fantasmalforce (Xi Tau)

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME. Juniper Casales

NICKNAME. June

GENDER. Female

HEIGHT. 5’10”

AGE. 20

ZODIAC. Idk

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR. Dark purple

EYE COLOR. Brown

SKIN TONE. Tanned, with some freckles on her nose and cheeks

BODY TYPE. Lithe and slightly built.

VOICE. Beach Bunny (the musician)

DOMINANT HAND. Right-Handed

POSTURE. She tends to slouch forwards whenever she’s writing or on a terminal, but in battle her posture is perfect. Training for the NCR does that to ya-

SCARS. Oh god, where to begin. She has a lot of little scars around her torso and arms, from getting in fights pretty frequently, but those arent visible usually. There are, however, also two easily visible scars on her face: one on the left side of her face, from her cheekbone to jawbone, and just left of the middle of her forehead, from a gunshot. Where she was stitched back together is still slightly visible.

TATTOOS. None.

BIRTHMARKS. None.

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Her hair colour and the scars.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Somewhere towards the west coast. Not quite California but not too Midwest either.

HOMETOWN NEIGHBORHOOD. —

SIBLINGS. None.

PARENTS. Nick Casales and Mary Casales. She hasn’t spoken to them in years.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION. Courier with the Crimson Caravan.

CURRENT RESIDENCE. A hotel she booked in Novac. She doesn’t need to pay rent, what with the owner of the hotel dead and all.

CLOSE FRIENDS. Boone, ED-E, Arcade(closer to aquaintances, really)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single.

FINANCIAL STATUS. Lower middle class

DRIVER’S LICENSE. N/A

CRIMINAL RECORD. None

VICES. None

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual

PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch

LIBIDO. Slightly subdued, it’s difficult to get in the mood when concerned with survival all the time.

TURN ONS. Being held closely, any gentle touches, having her hands held tightly

TURN OFFS. Bruising or bleeding, excessive dirty talk, roleplaying(she can’t take it seriously)

LOVE LANGUAGE. Acts. Of. Service. She will organize your whole house, take care of you when you’re sick, and fix your broken radio in the same day.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  She will stop to ask her partner’s opinion before any decision. Even if it’s not super important, she’ll glance over to them to make sure that they’re on board with her idea too.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG(S). Runaway by half•alive, and Broken World by The Interrupters

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. If she’s really bored, she will obsessively maintain her gear. Sometimes, she’ll read, but decent literature is hard to come by in the Mojave.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Sort of even, but more right-brained. She looks to morals and ethics before the logical effects of an action.

PHOBIAS. The giant insects that infest the Mojave generally creep her out, but something about Giant Mantises just terrify her.

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. As far as she is concerned, if you don’t at least seem confident in the Mojave, someone is gonna rob you blind. She pretends to be completely sure of herself, but in fact she’s constantly second-guessing her own decisions.

VULNERABILITIES. She can freeze up when a situation is too tense, overthinking everything that could possibly go wrong. These moments are usually accompanied by panic attacks and intense headaches, which aren’t made better by her tendency to care for others more than herself. If the two of you are traveling together, and it turns out she has clean water and you don’t, she won’t have that water for long.

[almostafantasia]

weren’t we supposed to be watching a movie?

A/N: belated because i’m not very well at the moment and it hurts to look at a screen (tardiness is probably going to be a recurring theme for the other fics i have planned for this week if i don’t get better soon) but here is my contribution for day 1 of clexa halloween week

Summary: When Clarke suggests that they watch a horror movie, Lexa doesn’t want to admit that she’s scared of them. Thankfully she’s got a couple of tricks up her sleeve to distract Clarke before she can press play.

aka an excuse for me to write smut with a very tenuous link to halloween

Read on AO3.

“We’re supposed to be watching a movie.”

Lexa hums incoherently in response, and then moves her lips to the exposed pillar of Clarke’s neck. The skin is hot beneath her touch, flushed a pretty pink from their making out, and Lexa drags her tongue across the flesh, tracing a path between two freckles that decorate the creamy skin. Clarke lets out a soft hiss as Lexa’s mouth finds the flutter of Clarke’s pulse in her neck, and Lexa closes her teeth around Clarke’s skin, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough for Clarke to feel it and elicit a low whimper.

“Lexa,” Clarke gasps. “Movie.”

Clarke’s voice is significantly huskier than the last time she spoke. That was Lexa, that’s something that she did, and the sense of pride that surges through Lexa’s body with that knowledge only brings with it a thirst for more, a need to slowly dismantle each one of Clarke’s inhibitions until the blonde is nothing more than a writhing mess, a soft putty for Lexa’s hands to mould at her own whim.

Dropping her palms to Clarke’s denim-clad butt, Lexa gives the cheeks a squeeze and encourages Clarke to rock her pelvis over Lexa’s own hips, then smiles suggestively at the girl in her lap as she says, “Or we could just…”

For a moment, Lexa thinks that she’s triumphed. Clarke’s eyes are hazy, her pupils dark with want, and her chest heaves with each lurching breath.

But somehow, Clarke has within her the willpower to say no to what Lexa is offering her.

“We can do that later,” Clarke says, reluctantly extracting herself from Lexa’s arms. “Come on, let’s watch.”

Clarke reaches for the television remote that fell to the floor somewhere between Clarke climbing into Lexa’s lap and Lexa tugging Clarke’s shirt up and over her head, then points it towards the screen in the corner as she scrolls through the selection to find the right movie.

“What if I don’t like horror movies?”

Looking across at Lexa, Clarke arches an eyebrow, then sniggers under her breath as she says, “Good one.”

“I’m serious.”

Clarke pauses, the television remote still held in her outstretched hand. She stares at Lexa in disbelief, waiting for the moment where Lexa cracks and tells her that it’s just a joke, but when that moment doesn’t come, Clarke’s expression morphs from one of confusion to one of wide-eyed surprise.

“You … you don’t like horror movies?”

Lexa shrugs indifferently, then answers, “Not really.”

“But you’re … you’re …” Clarke stammers, searching for the right words.

“I’m what?” Lexa asks in amusement, interested to see what Clarke’s reaction will be to this new piece of information that Lexa has decided to share with her.

“You always seem so unaffected by everything,” Clarke explains. “And now you’re telling me that Miss “love is weakness” is scared of watching a horror movie.”

“I’m not scared,” says Lexa. “I just don’t like them.”

“Yeah right.”

“They’re full of gimmicky jump scares, the plots are non-existent, and the characters are predictable and under-developed,” elaborates Lexa.

“Nerd,” says Clarke, poking Lexa’s shoulder with one of her fingers. “It’s just a movie.”

Lexa gently extracts the television remote from Clarke’s fingers, placing it on the coffee table out of Clarke’s reach, and then dips her other hand down to palm at Clarke’s butt through her jeans as she lowers her voice and says, “Then why waste our time watching ‘just a movie’ when there are so many better things we could be doing?”

Clarke’s breath catches in her throat and her eyes darken. Much to Lexa’s delight, Clarke seems to have forgotten about the movie in favour of other activities.

With one of her hands on the arm of the couch beside Lexa’s head to support her weight, Clarke leans down until her face almost meets Lexa’s, Clarke replies throatily, “You make a compelling argument.”

Lexa tangles one hand in Clarke’s hair, cupping the back of her head as she draws Clarke’s lips down to touch her own. Their mouths meet in an urgent kiss, tongues swiping messily against each other. Feeling bold, Lexa’s hand traces a burning path up Clarke’s spine, ghosting over the claps of her bra in a silent promise of things to come.

Pulling away just enough to speak, Clarke mumbles, “I know that you’re only trying to distract me so that we don’t have to watch the movie.”

“Are you complaining?” Lexa asks, unsnapping Clarke’s bra and flinging it off to the side as her other hand dips down and cups Clarke’s centre through the denim of her jeans.

“God, no,” Clarke gasps breathily, rocking her hips into Lexa’s fingers, seeking more pressure than the teasing touches Lexa is willing to give her. “I want you so much.”

Lexa moves both hands to Clarke’s hips and pretends to push Clarke off her as she looks around the room with a frown on her face and says, “Weren’t we about to watch a movie?”

Clarke slaps Lexa’s arm lightly, rolling her eyes in her impatience.

“Don’t be an ass.”

Lexa thinks about teasing Clarke for a little while longer, but as appealing as that might be, so is having Clarke riding her fingers, and hearing the sounds that Clarke makes when she’s approaching an orgasm, and watching Clarke fall apart in her lap, and Lexa just can’t find within her the patience to wait for any of those things when the power to have them right now is in her hands.

Literally.

Lexa squeezes Clarke’s hips once, then drops her hands to the front of Clarke’s jeans, where she flicks open the button with expert fingers and then makes to push the obstructive material down Clarke’s legs. They have to adjust their positions a little bit to make it work, but Clarke is more than eager enough to help Lexa remove the garment, tossing it aside with as little care as Lexa proffered Clarke’s bra when she removed that barely a minute ago.

With Clarke’s jeans now gone, Lexa’s hands rest on Clarke’s upper thighs, where the skin is satiny smooth and ablaze with the heat of the moment, not daring to dip inwards yet as she asks, “Can I touch you?”

Clarke rolls her eyes so hard that it probably changes the direction of the wind, then reaches for one of Lexa’s hands, clasping her fingers around Lexa’s slim wrist and guiding towards her lace-clad centre.

“You don’t have to ask.”

Lexa applies the barest amount of pressure through the material of Clarke’s underwear, ignoring the fingers wrapped around her wrist that try to coax a more definite kind of movement out of her. Lexa is content to keep the touch light, reminding Clarke that she is there without applying the regularity or the definition of movement that will start to give Clarke what she desperately needs.

“Lexa,” whines Clarke.

Lexa doesn’t comply immediately. Instead, she sends one hand up to the back of Clarke’s neck and pulls her mouth down for a kiss. It’s open-mouthed and a little sloppy, but it’s still perfect for the moment. Perfect, because it distracts Clarke enough for Lexa to be able to reposition her hand and for it to elicit a gasp of surprise when her fingers dip beneath lace and into the wetness that awaits beneath.

“Wow.”

Lexa is very rarely a talker in bed. Even her own orgasms are usually silent in their intensity, and she often finds herself far too embarrassed to attempt any kind of dirty talk when getting Clarke off, particularly because she feels inadequate compared to Clarke, who is so good at being vocal when the roles are reversed. But there comes around the odd occasion, once in a blue moon, where Lexa’s confidence spikes and she finds the words to reduce Clarke to even more of a mess.

The rarity of such an occasion just makes the effect on Clarke even more devastating.

“Such a good girl,” she tells Clarke, as her fingers push through folds that are dizzyingly wet. “You’re soaked, and all for me.”

Clarke’s reaction is predictable and instant. Lexa barely even has to touch Clarke because her words are enough to wickedly tease. Clarke’s breath is laboured, her eyelids heavy with lust, and the buck of her hips, seeking contact that Lexa doesn’t want to give her just yet, is messy and desperate.

It creates a wonderful circle – the more Lexa teases, the more desperate Clarke gets for Lexa to touch her properly, and the more desperate Clarke gets, the more Lexa wants to just keep teasing.

“Lexa, please.”

Lexa can’t resist, not when Clarke looks so beautiful when she’s this needy. Moving her free hand to cup a flushed breast, where the stiff peak of a nipple brushes against the soft skin of Lexa’s palm in a way that has Clarke gasping, Lexa uses her other hand to start giving Clarke a bit more pressure. Her fingers are soaked and she rubs slippery circles around Clarke’s clit, dipping lower every few rotations to tease between Clarke’s folds nearer to her opening.

“Do you want…?” Lexa starts to ask.

“Yes,” Clarke answers, before Lexa can even finish getting the question out. “Give me everything.”

It’s so hard for Lexa to deny Clarke anything, not when she’s inviting her over for an evening of watching movies from Lexa’s least favourite genre, but especially not when she looks like this – mostly naked, eyes closed, hair ruffled, and her sticky arousal dripping all over Lexa’s fingers. So Lexa doesn’t deny her, she slides her fingers lower and slips one inside her girlfriend.

This position, Clarke sitting in Lexa’s lap, makes it very easy for Clarke to take exactly what she needs, and Lexa is grateful for it because her own brain has gone into overdrive. She’s not even the one being touched, not yet, but she may as well be because she gets lost in her surroundings, overwhelmed by how good Clarke feels above, by how much she is aching between her own legs, and she can do very little more than keep her fingers where Clarke needs them and let her do the work.

Clarke moves her hips, rocking up and down on Lexa’s fingers rhythmically. Lexa can only try to hold on, squeezing Clarke’s breast with her other hand and curling her fingers every time they plunge deep inside Clarke’s dripping centre.

Fucking Clarke is like riding a rollercoaster without any seat restraints. It’s the single most exhilarating thing in the world, terrifying in its dizziness, but it gets Lexa’s blood pumping, gets her adrenaline surging through her body like nothing else.

There’s something surging through Clarke’s body too. Lexa can feel the first ripples of it around her fingers. Clarke’s breath gets shallower, her body becomes more rigid, her movements become more frantic, and all Lexa can do is try to remain present for it all. She keeps the movements of her fingers consistent, thrusting when Clarke can’t anymore, curling them so that the pads of her fingertips reach that spot deep inside Clarke that drives her wild, pushing past the ache that starts in her wrist because this is about more than Lexa’s pain. It’s about making this feel good for Clarke.

And then, with a beautiful cry that echoes through the dark living room, Clarke crumbles.

Lexa holds Clarke tight through it, keeping her fingers steady and pressing her lips to the warm skin of Clarke’s shoulder. And, because Lexa is weak and sappy and terribly gay, she whispers words of comfort into Clarke’s ear, telling her how beautiful she is and how much she loves her and other such sweet words of adoration.

Clarke is beautiful when she comes. Well, she’s always beautiful, in Lexa’s slightly biased opinion, but especially in times like this one. Her mouth is open, her eyes squeezed shut, and she lets out these soft little mewls of pleasure as the tremors ripple through her body. She shakes in Lexa’s arms, clenching around the two fingers that are still buried inside her, letting the pleasure take over her body.

All too soon, Clarke’s orgasm ends.

She collapses on top of Lexa, sweaty but sated, and nuzzles her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck, her leg draped over Lexa’s hip and her hand tangled in Lexa’s hair.

“You’re in so much trouble when I get my breath back,” Clarke mumbles into Lexa’s jaw.

Lexa knows that it’s supposed to be a threat, but with promises like that, she can’t really do anything but clench her thighs together and grin into Clarke’s shoulder at the prospect of what is to come.

[webcricket]

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 1936 (Epilogue)

A/N: The epilogue to a Soulmate AU mini-series. I live and breathe for fluffy happy endings.

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. Happily, the universe and Dean Winchester are as fond of second chances as they are of a long-suffering blue-eyed seraph.

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

Sam blinked strained eyes over the screen of his laptop to fire a consternate gaze at his brother seated opposite. Dean wasn’t doing anything annoying per say. In the past hour, he’d uttered no weird observations, embarked on no pointless tirades, lobbed no undeserved fraternal insults, and engaged in no repetitive irritating clicking, tapping, or drumming noises. He hadn’t even mentioned being hungry, and Sam was fairly certain he heard the distinct rumble of an empty stomach once or twice in the eerie silence. This unusual well-mannered behavior on Dean’s part, was, in and of itself, exquisitely maddening and Sam had reached the breaking point of brotherly tolerance. “Stop it!” he breathily commanded.

“What?” Dean abruptly ceased his pursuit of doing nothing at all to respond, startled, to Sam’s unprovoked demand.

“That!” Sam answered. “Thinking. Stop it.”

“It’s just, I can’t believe we let Crowley walk after what he did to Cas,” Dean freed the persistently nagging thought from the confines of his skull.

“I know, but it was Cas’ call. And he made a valid point. The devil you know…”

“Yeah, yeah, is worth two in the bush,” Dean blustered.

“That’s not how the saying goes,” Sam’s lip twisted in amusement. “A bird in the hand…”

“Enough with the damn birds already!” Dean groused. His green eyes glazed somberly, “You really think Cas doesn’t remember anything? I mean, when he called he didn’t ask about the missing chunk of time when he was with her. It’s like he doesn’t know it’s gone.”

“I guess that’s how the reversal of the spell works,” Sam murmured, “clean slate.”

“She was good for him, you know,” Dean stated.

Sam nodded agreement.

“I can’t believe a connection like that just ends,” Dean continued, reflecting on the dull anguish that dogged in his own heart any time something reminded him of his stint at normal with Lisa. Letting Lisa go, that had been Dean’s choice to protect her and Ben. But you and Cas, you were given no real choice – you were fatefully thrust into each other’s lives by a demon’s spell and cruelly torn asunder to protect the world from an unspeakable struggle for power like some unfeeling puppeteer’s playthings.

“It’s not fair,” Sam observed with a frown, the memory of Jess misting his vision, “but then nothing about this life we lead is.”

The metallic clang of the bunker door lock disengaging heralded their friend’s homecoming.

“Speak of the angel,” Dean cleared his throat roughly, cautioning a return to silence on the matter.

“Hey Cas!” Sam wore a welcoming smile.

Cas disregarded Sam’s warm greeting, plodding heavily down the stairs.

“What’s up buddy?” Dean tried.

The ceiling, the sky, sea levels, neighborhood crime rates, the S&P 500 – Dean would have preferred any of these answers over the solemn shrug of the seraph’s shoulders he received.

As he trudged through the library, Cas delivered a plastic grocery bag into Sam’s lap. Shunning the available chairs at the table where the brothers sat, the angel sank heavily into the leather lounge nestled out of the way in the alcove of shelves.

Sam reached into the rustling bag, confusion distorting his features as he pulled out a single roll of Charmin brand extra soft toilet paper. “Uh, thanks?” he slurred, lifting a bewildered brow at Dean.

Waving a dismissive hand, Dean aped complete ignorance. “How was New Jersey?” he flashed an affable grin at the angel.

“The solid waste incineration facility there was delightfully efficient,” Cas replied in a sarcastic disinterested monotone. “The operations manager in particular was very kind in permitting me a so-called one-time pass for stealing a ride on his transport barge. According to him, people have been arrested over far less serious crimes against humanity’s rubbish and I should consider myself extremely lucky.” The stern set of his jaw hinted at his preference not to be harassed further by the mundanity of small talk.

An awkward hush descended on the room.

Sam returned to his research.

Cas morosely folded inward on himself, haunted by that hollow unidentifiable aching void afflicting his celestial heart.

And Dean, Dean decided he had had enough. Clapping his hands sharply upon the table for emphasis and to signify the degree of his doneness, he rose, announcing, “Enough! That’s it! I’m done!”

Sam flinched at the sudden reversal of conduct, lanky legs kicking out in all directions under the table to slide his chair backward several squealing inches. He reflexively slammed the cover of the laptop shut.

Cas glanced up indifferently, met Sam’s stunned gaping mien and squinted one eye in a manner inaudibly inquiring as to whether or not he should be alarmed by Dean’s outburst.

Sam’s lips flared over his clenched teeth suggesting, in answer, that he had absolutely no idea but the odds hovered around 50/50.

“Do you hear me?” Dean boomed, shaking a fist at the ceiling.

“Kind of hard not to when you’re yelling and we’re sitting right here,” Sam griped.

“I’m done! Done with the universe dicking us around. Dammit all, and damn Crowley to Hell!” Dean sucked in a deep breath and pointed a cautioning finger at Sam, “And I know that’s a totally redundant statement, so shut your pie-hole smarty pants.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam held up an outstretched palm endeavoring to reason with his brother, “just sit down and relax and we’ll talk it out.”

“That’s just it, I’m done relaxing. Done talking. Done accepting the crap shoveled our way. Why shouldn’t Cas get the chance to screw up his happy ending all on his own like the rest of us? After all the sacrifice, one of us deserves a fighting chance. And maybe it’s the angel.”

Cas’ sad blue eyes settled attentively on the universe railing Winchester.

“Come on,” Dean rounded the table to grab the brooding angel by the coat sleeve and haul him to his feet, “you’re going on vacation. And don’t give me some snarky line about how angels don’t take vacations.”

Cas shook free of Dean’s boorish grip, smoothed his rumpled sleeve, and unassumingly asked, “Where?”

“To get back something very important you lost.”

Cas exhaled the shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in since the moment you banished him.

The hammock, peacefully slung in the dappled shade between two cottonwoods by the lakeshore, rocked subtly as you dozed in the late afternoon heat lulled by the cheery twittering song of goldfinches as they flitted about in a nearby mass of coneflowers picking the delicious seeds from the drying flower heads. It was the strident flap of their wings in fearful flight which alerted you to the presence of the stranger abiding calmly beside the hammock. Shielding your eyes with your upturned hand, you made out the form of a dark-haired, trench coat wearing, handsome, strikingly blue-eyed man staring apologetically down at you with the halo of the sun behind his head.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he hadn’t meant to wake you – coming upon your peacefully drowsing figure he felt like he saw an apparition – something shimmering golden and bright just out of his grasp. He lingered too long in his reverie, captivated by the sun-freckled glow of your skin, and unintentionally roused you. He swept a hand towards the cottage, “No one answered at the door.”

“You don’t say?” you mocked shock, a half-grin betraying you as you swung out of the hammock and landed squarely on your feet. “That’s probably because whomever lives there is lazily sleeping away the afternoon somewhere comfy. Guess it’s a good thing you dropped in out of nowhere to save what’s left of the day.”

“I drove.”

“What?”

“I didn’t drop in, I drove,” he insisted earnestly.

You failed to stifle a bubbling laugh, “Oh, my mistake.”

He cocked his head curiously, an unexpected surge of pleasant heat rising in his chest to flush his cheeks at the heartwarming quality of your laughter. He continued, “I’m renting the Holmes’ place. Well, my friend Dean actually rented it for me. He insisted I needed to do some soul-searching and that this was the very place to do it in.” He didn’t mention the fact that he was an angel and didn’t actually have a soul to search. And anyway, when he confronted Dean with this very same point, Dean had accused him of being too literal for his own damn good.

“Dean? As in Sam and Dean Winchester?” you asked.

“You know them?” he did not disguise the surprise in his husky tone.

“You could say that,” you held up a bandaged hand for him to see. “Strangest thing happened last week. I guess I cut myself pretty badly with pruning shears and fainted. I don’t really remember it happening, but luckily Sam and Dean were hiking the shore trail, heard me cry out, and came running to the rescue. Anyway,” you brushed off the odd experience that never sat comfortably in your memory whenever you thought about it, “I must be boring you. You probably just want to pick up the keys to get on with your vacation. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. What did you do, drive all night?”

He bobbed his head affirmatively, replying, “I don’t sleep.” Adding sincerely because, for some fleeting reason he couldn’t quite pin down, he truly didn’t, “I don’t find you boring at all.”

You laughed again, starting up toward the cottage by way of the gardens.

He closely followed.

“Can I interest you in a cup of tea?” you proposed, glancing hopefully over your shoulder. Something about his endearingly awkward demeanor thrummed your heartstrings.

“I would like that very much,” his tongue accepted the offer before his mind processed the question. As it turned out, he happened to agree wholeheartedly with his tongue.

“By the way, I’m Y/N,” you wondered how you’d gotten this far into a conversation without the practical subject of names arising.

“Castiel. Or Cas, if you prefer.”

“Castiel,” you repeated, “it’s a beautiful name.”

He thought it sounded more beautiful to him when spoken by you. “Thank you,” he bashfully dropped his regard to the stony ground between his feet.

“I’ll be right back,” you smiled at his shyness, “going to put the water on for tea.” You left him to wander the cobblestone paths through the garden alone.

Meandering up the winding path, a patch of blue in the shade of the porch keenly drew his notice. Walking nearer, he bent to graze his fingertips lightly over the delicate perfumed sea of cerulean petals.

“Periwinkle,” you whispered. Coming up beside him, you crouched, touching his shoulder for balance, to pick a tiny bouquet.

He straightened, angelic heart bounding at the memory of the fragile burned flower mysteriously in his possession on the barge and how it and he came to be there.

You twisted the plucked bloom between two fingers, a kindling spark of recognition illuminating in your expression. “You know, they’re almost a perfect match for your eyes,” you noted with a wistful smile. Tracing quivering fingers along the inside of his coat lapel, tears and recollection glinting in your eyes, you threaded the stem through a button hole, and patted the fabric to lay flat.

Castiel thought of the solitary star he saw in the sky that terrible night, gleaming and consumed by the gathering storm. No, he realized now, not a light consumed by the dark – a beacon  shining bright and forever beyond the clouds. He would spend eternity always making his way back to that light – to you. Clasping your hands tenderly within his trembling fingers, he pressed them to his heart.