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beigehearts · 3 years

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Part I, The Awakening

so im in love with Ran Haitani i might not even get to any requests with the way im feeling so please bear with me. ill be writing fics to make myself feel better and that is all thank you for your understanding

TW / CW // unedited, violence, intense descriptions of gore Word Count: 2.7k

You find yourself in an alley. It's dark and dingy and smells something like rotten food and dead rats. It's a full moon tonight, and it shines brightly through the faded clouds. Snow is trickling down, so lightly that you would miss it if you weren't looking for it. You're laying in the snow of this revolting alley, laid out as if you're trying to make a snow angel.

How did you get here?

It's so cold that your fingers and toes have practically frozen off of your body. So numb, so cold, so alone. You sit up and look around; you can hear your bones creaking as you move around. Now that you're thinking about it... Who are you?

You stand up, ignoring the pain and aches of your body. You can't remember how you got here. You can't remember why you're hear. You can't remember even a week ago. Your mind is a blank slate and it makes you want to scream. Nothing. You remember absolutely nothing.

But you can't stay here. You're already one foot in the grave but you refuse to lay in it. You rub your arms and shiver. You're wearing nothing but a sports bra and some pajama shorts.

buzz buzz

Ah, a phone. You begin walking out of the alley and pull the phone from your pocket.

Addy

where are you??

are you okay???

I'm about to call the police

please answer

I'm worried about you.

sent at 2:04 am

That's not the only missed message. There are two others from who you can assume are friends. And a bunch of missed calls from those same friends.

It's 2:05 am on December 31st, 2007.

For some reason the date just feels wrong. Something about it just feels off.

There's an empty street with shops lining it, all of them with lights off and doors locked. You amble down it and are glad that you can't feel your toes. All you can feel in your bare feet is the crunch of the almost frozen over snow.

Maybe you'll be able to find something on your phone. Your cracked and slow smart phone opens up and you scroll to the maps app. The most recently searched address is 682 白桃通り. Alright, so that's where you'll go. Hopefully you can get out of this cold and warm up some.

You follow the directions, bearing with the 35 minute walk it directs. All of your limbs are starting to go numb, all of them feel like they'll fall off at any moment.

It's an apartment complex. You walk through the empty lobby and take the elevator to the sixth floor. 682... 682... Ah, here it is. The door has a large crack straight down the middle, and the doorknob is barely hanging on.

Hesitantly you push the door open and peek inside. You find the light switch and close the door behind you. The place is completely destroyed. The couch is flipped over and television is laying flat on the ground. Most definitely it will not be able to work. The walls have small holes in them... Bullet holes. There's blood splattered across the walls and the furniture.

But it's warm. So warm. You find the bedroom and hurry inside where it's even warmer. You rush to the bathroom and gape at your reflection.

Your nose is blue, there are icicles hanging from your eyelashes... The rest of your face is beat red and as you warm up it begins to burn. But that's not the extent of it. Your left eye is swollen, it's practically pulsating with it's black, purple and blue color. Your lip is cut down the side, you can see the flesh clearly as the skin splits.

You look down at your hands aimlessly and wonder, just where have you been? Your hands are the same color as your swollen eye and your knuckles are, blood smeared all over them.

As you examine your body, you begin to feel the pain setting in. Stinging hands, aching face, burning toes… It looks like you put up a fight with whatever happened. That thought alone seldom brings you comfort.

You look through the drawers of the bedroom, finding a sweatshirt and some sweatpants along with fuzzy socks. You waste no time in rushing to the shower, basking in the burn of the water and the aching of your sore muscles. The water runs brown and red, staining the shower tiles with it’s hideous color.

Once out of the shower you tend to your wounds. The cuts on your torso and face… But this bruise on your eye is only going to get bigger and swell until the point that you can’t see. You stand over your bathroom sink and grab a knife from the kitchen. Ah yes, here comes the worst part. You bring the knife up to your eye and try to stop the shaking of your hands.

This is necessary you remind yourself. You press the end of the knife into the wound, creating a decent sized slit in it. Immediately blood begins pouring out of it, blinding you as it stains your bathroom counters. Once it stops gushing by itself, you squeeze the rest of the blood out and put a bandage over it after disinfecting it.

After cleaning up the mess that looks like a murder (for the most part), you put on your clothing and jump right into bed. You definitely deserve a nice rest in this comfortable bed. After having done some sleuthing around the apartment, you realized that it’s yours based on the pictures hung of you and your friends. Not to mention the mug with your name on it.

Having the front door busted open and unable to be locked is a bit worrying but it couldn’t possibly get worse than it is right now. You wake up in the morning to the sound of pounding on your front door. Though it doesn’t really mean much because they burst into your house. What is up with people breaking into your house?

You sit up and squint at the suspects who enter your bedroom. There are two intimidating men who make their way over to you. One is an incredibly tall man, Wearing a black kimono of sorts that has something written on it that you can’t quite place. He has dark brown hair that’s pulled back into a single braid. On the side of his head is a dragon tattoo that you think must have been very painful to get.

The other man is much shorter than him, he has cropped black hair that covers his eyes and wears a tank top with a loose zip up sweatshirt.

“Looks like you’ve been busy.” Says the taller one with a chuckle. Though despite his words you can see worry in his eyes.

You look towards the shorter man and squint. He looks so tired, and so rundown. He cocks his head to the side and sucks on the lollipop hanging from his lips. “What the hell happened?”

They must be your friends, that’s the only way this makes sense. You stare at your hand and feel your mind go blank, because you’re asking yourself the same question.

The shorter one looks up at the taller, “Draken…”

He nods at his friend, knowing what he’s asking. The black haired one leaves the room and goes to investigate the torn up living room and kitchen.

So his name is Draken. He sits next to you and places a gentle hand on your knee. He furrows his brows and looks at your face, hoping for answers in just your expression.

“What’s going on?” He asks quietly.

You barely missed being shot… That you can remember but it’s more of an intuition than it is memory. You can hear the whizzing of the bullet by your ear and the loud blow of the gun, deafening you.

You look up at him and shake your head, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“What do you remember?” He coos.

You shake your head more vigorously this time, “I don’t know! I don’t remember it! I don’t remember anything!”

His eyes go wide, “What do you not remember? How much?”

You shrug his hand off of your leg and find yourself yelling, “Nothing! Fucking! Nothing! I don’t even know my own fucking name!”

Draken stands up and holds his hand out to you, “We call you Bruiser…”

After that they swept you from your home and plopped you on the back of 'Mikey's' bike. You were taken to Draken's house, he lives in an apartment above his bike shop. Draken leads you through the building with his hand resting on your back.

You sit down on his futon and they settle down as well. They called some people and instructed them to come over. Now you're wondering if you're with friends or enemies. You assume they're friends but how could you ever be sure when you don't have any memories?

You down on some convenience store onigiri, realizing just how hungry you are. The hunger is painful, and your body feels weak.

Someone enters the room and you look up from your food. He's tall as well, with long black hair and narrow eyes. He storms through the room until he's directly in front of you, looking down at you with his sharp gaze. When he opens his mouth you see that his teeth are just as sharp as his look.

"Bruiser what is going on?" He growls out, seeming angry. But he's purely concerned.

Instead of answering you take a bite of your rice snack. He smacks the triangular rice from your hand and grips your jaw. "What happened?"

You grab his wrist to pull his hand away but you're just not strong enough. "Fuck if I know! Who do you think you are?!"

He grits his teeth and how he answers you sends you into silence.

His lips press against yours roughly and your eyes shoot wide open. His kiss is rough and so are his lips, and something about it is familiar. He steps back and examines you for a moment.

You open your mouth to speak but close it. But then you open it again, “Are you a fucking idiot?”

Laughter echoes throughout the room, everyone but you finding this funny. Mikey wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head, “We we’re going to wait before getting to that point, Baji.”

Huh? What?

You stand up from the bed and shoot a cold look at Baji. How dare he kiss you without asking or waiting for your consent! You raise your hand and bring it down fast, leaving a red and stinging mark on his face.

That laughter trickles out, and turns into an uncomfortable silence. But you don’t have to deal with this… You’re not sure what kind of life you were living but it doesn’t matter, your dignity is more important.

You gather up your belongings, (a jacket, phone, some onigiri, wallet, keys) and storm out of the bike shop. You can tell that something in that room changed when you slapped Baji, a light and fun atmosphere turned dark and heavy.

You don’t bother with looking at your phone or asking for directions, you’ll end up wherever your feet take you. Where they lead you to is another shop… well actually it’s not a shop at all, it’s a bar. You check your phone, 5:45 pm. That’s plenty late enough for a drink.

But before you enter you gaze up at the neon sign. It’s a lit up pint of beer that’s being tipped to the side. The white of the foam is begging to tell you something…

An image flashes in your head, a man being held up against it. He’s held up by nails in his hands and feet, plastered up there for everyone to see, like a tourist attraction. Blood drips from above, dripping onto the sidewalk and leaving a thick puddle.

But it’s only a fleeting image.

You enter the bar and look around hesitantly. It’s some rich type of bar where the booths are surrounded by tinted glass and the tables have complimentary shot glasses. You’ve definitely been here before. But the layout of the place is bugging you. Somethings off.

You earn yourself some looks as you find an empty booth in the very back of the building. It’s smaller than the others, the others can fit six to eight people but this booth can only seat two to four.

It's not exactly as bumping as a bar/club usually is. Sweet oldies play quietly while rich groups of people sit together, sipping of martinis and laughing in 'rich'.

It really is beginning to bother you, immensely. Everything seems so familiar but so foreign at the same time. It's as if the décor has been changed around a bit but holds the same aesthetic as what you can remember. What is it? What feels so wrong about this?

You're too lost in your own thought to realize that someone has entered the building and taken a seat not far from you. He's surrounded by other men who take quickly to drinking. They seem out of place but their demeanor is very comfortable.

After a few drinks (maybe a few too many) You set down the stack of money that resides in your pocket. Who are you to have so much cash stashed away in your pocket? Maybe a prostitute? That would explain why that man kissed you before. Baji.

Time to go home, you're pretty sure you remember how to get home even in this drunken state. Apparently you're a woman who can handle her alcohol, good to know. You find yourself skipping down the empty street of the usually bustling town. Everything seems to shut down at night, leaving it as a ghost town.

There's something so freeing in being a reborn human. While it's frustrating, it feels like you can be anyone or anything. No regrets to weigh on you, no trauma to destroy you, and no memory of the people who have most certainly used you. It's so freeing.

Snowflakes begin descending from the sky, brushing over your clothes and leaving the tiniest of wet spots. It's just like that night. Yesterday night. It seems like so long ago. But this time you aren't half naked and freshly beaten. The moon is shining so brightly that it's almost blinding even through the clouds heavy with snow. You've realized you need to learn to appreciate the small things... In just one day of your new blank slate life, you've had a lot of realizations.

Appreciate the small things. Your past doesn't define you. Perseverance is key. Life is fragile and short... all cheesy realizations you would hear a villain from a kids movie say. But those realizations are a lot for a person with no memories. Right?

Behind you there's the crunching of feet on the cold snow, following not too far behind. Once again your thoughts have consumed you and your senses, leaving you oblivious and defenseless.

The perpetrator begins gaining on you, until he's only steps away. Something else that you didn't know is just how fast your reflexes are. A hand reaches out to you and you duck, swinging your leg to knock the person off of their feet. But they easily evade your attack by jumping over your leg like a skip-it.

You jump back and hold your fists up, ready to fight whoever it is.

In front of you stands a tall man with fair skin. His hair is parted into two sections, black braids that hang over his shoulders. He's wearing a black outfit that makes it hard to see his physique but you can assume it's muscular and lean. But it's his eyes. Yes.

Cold, lifeless eyes that peer down at you as if you are no more than a pathetic bug. Yes. That's what it is. That's exactly what it is.

A long stick, cracking into the back of your knee and you fold. You're hit over the head with it but barely remain consciousness. That baton... Why are you remembering a cold and heavy baton assaulting you when you look at this man?

He puts a hand on his hip and cocks his head to the side, "Why are you alive Bruiser?"

#ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #haitani x reader #baji #baji x reader #mikey #draken #tokyo revengers #part 1 #the awakening #tokyo manji gang #bonten

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recallingrealities · 3 years

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Aligned - Chapter 8 (Zelda x Reader - NSFW)

For Chapter 1, click (here)

Chapter 8: Singe

When you and Zelda had enjoyed that moonlit night together - the memory felt full and quiet, spilling with magnetic attraction - it resonated between your bodies. Vibrant and vibrating; what magic had originally felt like to you, in the way you had sensed limitless as a child.

It felt so much thicker, more vast. Beyond possible comprehension without entering it completely. This awareness arose, that you yourself: searching, identifying the electricity building between young minds as their thoughts connected across your classroom, in minutes during introductory lecture. Their identification of concepts known yet unknown, in that indescribable sensation of the everchanging present that you so adored finding recognition in.

You had not expected most of your nights to follow in this way. After the rendezvous in your office, you would have expected nearly the opposite from Zelda. Perhaps you were assuming she'd be one to hold her distance in winsome glances towards you. That the two of you would stare, amongst the witnessing presence of your Coven. Aloof, as so many things were, entranced in their community of magic. Yet, she and you, had grown in intimacy. Across the halls, past shoulders and nods, beckoned in silence for more from her. Things were shifting. You had adjusted to read her, with the way she held her stoic composure, experiencing her words, and her thoughts unspoken.

You were sculpting in new habits of your nights proceeding dinner - in spending your evenings together. Consumed by the time that would pass, you would make your way back towards your study, and she towards her own. Moving like your life depended on the coolness of your collected composure, the stillness you felt it setting, cooling and settling between your muscles and with each and every aching step. You had to allow the excitement to shiver in bliss within your muscles fibers, awakening you rush of happiness. Otherwise you were sure you’d tremble in anticipation, unable to get much of anywhere with an aching center and a driven, heating need. It felt like the inevitable was drawing closed like the heavy velvet curtains drawn at every window when the sun held betwixt the air and Earth. This anticipated, simple action, came swift and known in its proper unspoken timing.

The woman would wait exactly thirty three minutes before teleporting to your door. Rather than appearing inside. She found profound pleasure in the formality of knocking - as if it was merely an excuse to cease your breath with her entrance - as it never failed to do so.

You never spoke directly about your night of passion, but the two of you would play with it, in quiet fleeting references. In toying words or the craning shapes of her body language, she would play upon it. Even in the way she would eye over your face, then hands; when sending hot embers scoring the brim of the ashtray - your skin, with her heated and wildfiring, passionate bond. It was as if she knew it erupted you in goosebumps, the ashes reflecting visions of her hot kisses charring your flesh. She would send you a smirk or a knowing look, as her hand brushed against your leg - your trembles, as if she knew it would blur you between a vision and the presently jarring reality. It made you feel… drunk. It was as if the hunt was what pleased her especially. Knowing full well you were practically hers, wading in silent bated breaths - to be caught in grip of her jaws once more.

Tonight, that specific thought felt prolific, like foresight, but you never took stock in assuming. Assumption would be the bane of anyone's true knowing.

You had taken up in advising the Directrix in her personal journey towards the Goddess. It felt humbling. What an honor, and to some, a bafflement that a young woman and such new member such as Y/N being illicitly chosen to advising the High Priestess, at her personal request, for guided practice.

There were ways in sculpting her that you knew would be more useful. To help her build the relationship on her own. It felt like you had done this a thousand times with yourself. In the beginning, constantly feeling yourself waver in and out of connection with the Goddess. It had only been when you realized you were the one that had lost touch, disconnected from such an eternal internally expanded force, that you felt you could reach her in an instant, as if nothing had ever happened. Nothing has been disconnected or out of reach or place at all. This was when you had felt, what you could now detect as, unconditional love, for the very first time. A love that had never left you, or stung with resentment. In a force far greater than the collection of everything, and everything in between it.

When Zelda had asked you, she had no idea where to start. She had confided in you the vulnerable expectancy of her role, but that it was not that which had urged her to ask you. It was her own sense of yearning for Lilith, for Hecate - Astarte, Inanna, Ceridwen, and the rest of the Goddess in wholeness. She was raised to expect Lucifer to present himself to her. To wait and become whatever he wanted for task or pleasure. To know her and be known in return felt ineffable. She would have never thought in her lifetime that she would move humbly towards an entity, in hopes to understand an ancient force such as the Goddess, or source of life, and existence, a boundless Source. In magic. Let alone the option; to know her personally, as a friend and confidant and living love. Zelda was beginning to see in your lessons that the Goddess, Source, was a hidden face in every tiding. A piece in everything no matter her form. The pieces in shatters always fit, the web weaved in perfect collection of all of it.

The coven was in fact, indebted to Hecate - but Zelda's yearning to thank her entirety, beckoned, and called to her very core.

There had been none other that came to mind, to be better in guiding her than you. You felt blessed, remembering the Goddess's words that all was as in alignment. All was as it should be - in your choosing to embrace it.

A silent shiver courses through your shifting body. You had instructed Zelda to begin writing, whatever so moved her or felt intuitively natural. You urged her to write whether it made sense in the moment, or not - wherever the inclination came from. That her intuition was a tie, and if she came to trust it, she would come to realize that her ability to commune to the Goddess was just that, listening. In choosing to embrace it.

The redhead was already capable of prayer. It was the learning to listen that was the ticket for anyone's mastery. Of course, it can feel strange praying or writing to someone, something you do not feel you know. You suggested she write anything, even words in random that arose in her intuition - and that by writing them, she could dedicate whatever the product, to Hecate, despite satisfaction, for this was doubt. That an offering in genuineness, there could be none greater. You had explained that this was the intended act of honoring your experience: that in releasing control to the Goddess, whatever would come of it would be Aligned. Not only that, it was another form of offering - something much less conventional than the blood of a virgin or soul of the unborn. If there was anything Zelda had known about Lilith, it was her keenness for the unconventional. Something personal to this version of her, that she connected, she could resonate as personal. An attribute Zelda had become pleasantly familiar with, in her time knowing her.

She confessed, sacrifice hadn't been like that in Satanic witchcraft. This didn't require blood, or pain, or sacred items. It felt unsettling. It only required the intention that it was for her.

"A Goddess who believes that all we desire on our own, is truly what she desires for us".

This was a level of worthiness Y/N had mentioned recurrently, without the confession of your breathtaking awakening in the forest a few steps away - before sharing with the woman. You explained that you felt no human or witch knew how to handle such a concept, until now.

"How do you even begin to talk to someone like that..?"

Zelda confessed one evening, bewildered that such a Deity or concept, in selflessness could exist.

"I’ve learned that it's as much about talking - as it is about listening.

It is perfectly valid to begin with ‘I’m not sure what to say…’ and to let your thoughts flow in honesty from there. If you are ever unsure, take the time to listen. Take the point in pen hitting paper to release even the blotting smear of ink from the pen. It is the concept that you are consciously there in her presence”.

The silence seemed to stir those embers like before, except rather than in you, in herself.

"It is within all of us"

You comforted her, before returning her to the task of writing, the warm glow of your heat embering with the soft confident brush of your index against her forearm.

It was now, like many nights, that you read through the entries of her journal alongside her. You had insisted the first time, that you need not read it in order for it to be a valid sacrifice to the Goddess - but she had insisted in sharing the strangeness of the exploration with you. You found her words to be beautiful. Her handwriting, as smooth and sweeping, and divine as the way she entered each room and stole each gaze. Her words were unexpected, beautifully honest, and vulnerable. Shaken like the trembles responding to her voice and will. It was in reading her dedications, that you felt for the first time, your heart pang in adoring admiration, for anyone aside from Source herself.

Tonight as you were reading, as you had forsought - her lips met your heartbeats in the nape of your craning neck. You had grown so lost in her words that the impact of her warm flesh had startled you - like a snapping twig in the silent wood outside the Academy's grounds. Your body trembles like layered leaves, interrupted by her gust of wind, lifting up and guiding your movement towards her figure. You feel yourself sway and mark the page with your index as her fingers now clasped your cheek, leaning into it as the tides lean towards the moon. Natural. Surrender. You feel it deep within you and remember that by embracing your experience, as the Goddess had prompted you before, was a way you could honor both her and yourself, in utter pleasure… and desire.

"Z- elda…" you swallow breathlessly, not wanting her to stop as your heart flutters helplessly in your throat. You witness your tangled muscles relaxing at her touch, as your voice returns faltering at the preface of your lips "these entries are stunning"

The redhead lifts her mouth towards your ear, and the tenderness of your flesh shivers beneath it with careful urgency.

"As are you, little seer"

You feel your hands lift the book towards your desk, before releasing it on its surface to turn yourself quickly towards her. Your heart patters in racing tandem to the sudden burst of rain tapping rhythmically at your windows pane.

You turn yourself to face her before meeting your hands to hers, resting on your cheeks before pulling her into a swelling kiss. The way her hips press against you, brings you to sudden awareness of the natural rhythm in the way you moved together. The braiding together of instances in harmony, the progression of the prior lessons collecting towards this very moment, in apex - like the building of each rain cloud, erupting in release over Greendale.

You turn, she moves. You press, she shifts. It was as if every movement was as synchronized as the pendulum on the grandfather clock, well tuned and cadenced in its natural precession. The goosebumps you had felt before were now spread across your entire form as your body shivered against her touch. The collecting swells of the raindrops met as the touch of her palm. One of her hands immediately shifts to support the small of your back, which trembles and softens against it. The base of her palm meets your flesh, gentle, yet firm, warm and reassuring as she slips effortlessly beneath your blouse. Taking you in another breathless kiss. Her lips part, to allow her tongue to request meeting your craven taste on her pallet. It was clear to you more than ever, that she had wanted you. This every moment she spent with you beneath her gaze had been that of undeniable desire, and building pressure. 'Of…. course', you think to yourself, but in just the manners of her movement, you now know for certain.

"I think that's enough lessons for tonight"

Zelda's voice mulls softly, as her words feed into the vibration building at your teeth. You can't help but moan as your lips meet her shoulder in nipping, mewing desperation. Your hands pull needingly to have her closer to you, your whimpers in guiding gasps before your palms meet her breasts, clasping with a secured certainty that the trembling had seemed to release. Beckoning, your lips whisper a few words against her skin before she suddenly falls deep into your bed. The mix of desire between you both teleports you without notice to the safety of your quarters. The weight of your push and the sudden shift in location knocking her off her feet into the pillowing plush of crushed velvet. You climb it's preface, drifting to straddle on top of her, far more forward than encounters before. You press your lips to the seam of her blouse, aching her to remove it in the swiftness of her own enthralled passion. Seeing her sprawled across your bed, shifts a knowing in you. Your heartbeats together panged in your ears, your jaw guided in hungry kisses to meet her accented collar bones. Their beauty is like porcelain sweeping to meet her sculpted breasts. Her breaths rising and falling erratically, draw you closer into the nest of her arms. Pulling your weight towards her, you feel your legs tangle, aligned with the meeting and sharp pressure of your clits connecting.

The shock.

The connection is prevalent, like lighting's fire - tangible in the release of her harmonious moans linking with your own. Your desire so tangible, Zelda can hardly feel embarrassed with the rouge rising in her face. Her hands pull you close towards her hips, urging you to grind against her and provide little relief towards your building passion. Your kisses begin to grow as they travel across, and down each breast. Your hungering wetness, dampening her skin. With your breathless moans tracing her - Zelda is caught completely off guard and vulnerable the moment your soft lips draw, to bite her. Her pale breast purpling beneath your sucking lips, she gasped, in delicious ecstasy. The gorgeous yearning that devours her, tearing at the peak of her need for you. Zelda's skin rippled in goosebumps as her exposed abdomen tightens, a smirk attending to your hunger's liking. You find yourself growing far more exposed and domineering with her than ever before - and you can tell how completely off guard she has become, finding herself whimpering against your confident smirk.

What a shift.

You had never imagined you'd hear her whimper. The woman who seduced you with growing need, using just her eyes to send electricity through you, was beginning to tremble. Her fingers gripping your back, your teeth assist in removing and unclasping her lace bralette. Nothing with her was as you'd expected, you find yourself even more satisfied with the result unfurling before your eyes, her breasts spilling over, gaze hungering and desperate for your thighs movements up to grind against her precious heat.

Abridged and supported by her crying, frustrated moans, you remove her bra with a keenness, causing it to flutter against the dresser's surface, across the room from the two of you. The mirror reflecting your candlit bodies, she unzips the back of your dress, your swift, defiant movements pulling her delicate fingers away from the zipper as your lips take her breast in peaking proposal. Your tongue flits her nipple, the warm dampness of your tongue beckoning her to arch against it, as you take her sweet flesh into the hold of your mouth. Suckling in pleasurable hunger, your thigh draws down her covered core with gruesome, fracturing friction. You find the lace of her panties fits in perfect contrast to the soft ageless touch of your skin against her. The firm pressure in contrast to the delicate flesh that scathed her form, drawing her breaths inward - her energy enveloping you in gorgeous enthrall to pull you as close to her as your bodies can bare. You shift your mouth in time with her breaths, drawing inward towards the honest wetness of her fabric, closing in on her.

It is only then, that you pause for a brief moment to touch her thigh, your breath warm and tangible against her, your l fingertips, tweaking her nipple, sucking deeper to pull her breasts fullness towards your mouth. Her gasping moans echo your chambers as if they had longed to reverberate her sound.

The pleasure you feel in unbelievable, your own heat gasping in needing waves as you grind just as needily against the mattress in return to the response of her bucking mound.

It is then, that she flips you, your lips a moment away from capturing her craving heat. You are shocked, by the power burning within her. Her eyes are sharp and daggering, your dress splitting open as she lifts your hips to plunge her fingers into your dripping cunt. Dazed, your mouth trembles - unable to utter the "FUCK" sitting gutteral in your throat, her firm graising thumb streaking from your entrance to your clitoris. Her fingers spread then curl inside you, before her free hand grounds firmly next to your ear. You can feel your waves of panting met only by the slapping wetness of her palm at your core, her curling fingers pushing you quickly towards a blistering climax. 'So… soon…' you think, contracting her cunt against the pressure of her relentless fingers. It is now that your eyes meet hers, her needing eyes connecting to a depth within you never searched. The moans spilling from your lips in tongues unfamiliar. Your desperate hands grip the sheets and wrist at your crown, grinding back in restless tides. Your jaw tightens with baited breath, using everything in you not to come immediately. It is then that gloss covers your sweet dark eyes, erupting you in waves of pleasure as you spill out uncontrollably across her fingers.

Zelda licks her lips, pleased, and surprised at your body's response, slowing her thrusts to meet her upper lip to your bud, sliding her tongue between her digits inside, to taste you.

Her moan is earth shattering. The way it echoes up inside you enough to make you burn with intensity, in sensuous waves as your hips meet her to ride out your orgasm.

#zelda spellman x reader #caos fanfiction #zelda spellman #zelda spellman fanfiction #the chilling adventures of sabrina #chilling adventures of sabrina #self insert #reader insert #miranda otto #Aligned fic #mine #fem reader #chapter 8

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willow-salix · 3 years

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Ok, so, here's the next chapter.

It's a wee bit weird, so feel free to skip most of it, it won't affect the story at all. It's just there, doing it's thing.

Here's the first part, you can follow the link to read the rest of dip out here if you don't want to read a full ritual.

---

“What do you mean Lin is in the hospital?” Selene gasped, unable to believe her ears. “I just saw him no more than...” she glanced at her phone, “four hours ago.”

“Yeah, well, that was before the arrow hit him,” Vera snorted, tugging at Selene’s dress as she unzipped it and yanked it down.

“Arrow? What arrow?” Selene asked, her voice muffled as a new dress was slung over her head.

“The one that hit him in the leg,” Alegra answered as she bustled past with an armful of candles, clearly heading outside to the circle clearing.

“What the hell was he doing to get shot in the leg?”

“Teaching an archery class, it appears someone had very bad aim. One legged Linden strikes again,” Alegra replied.

“That name is because he is the master of Tree pose, not because he only has one working leg!" Selene argued, starting to feel more than a little stressed. “Who the hell is going to be my Priest if Linden is out of action? There’s no one else I’ve worked with enough to even have a connection with let alone one enough to raise the power needed for the circle.”

“Don’t you worry your head about it,” Vera snapped, tugging violently on Selene’s arm, yanking her down in a chair where she sat as still as a statue, allowing the old lady to attack her hair. “Tanzi said she had a plan, so give her some time to see what she can pull out of her arse before you start your panic flapping.”

“But there isn’t anyone here,” Selene argued. “Why don’t we let Tanzi take my place, she’s worked with far more people than I have, she'd know how to work their energy better than me.”

“Because it’s your role, that’s why.”

“But I- OW!”

Vera pulled the brush back like she might donk Selene on the head again.

“We’ll have none of that negativity, my girl, I taught you better than that. You know negativity before a circle is a no no. Just trust the Gods, trust they have a plan and a reason.”

“Linden won’t like that he was part of whatever plan they supposedly had,” Selene grumbled but stayed still as Vera slapped a flower crown on her head and set to work curling her hair around it.

"Well, it's not like he has a say in it now, is it?"

-x-

“I feel ridiculous,” John complained as Tanzi straightened his tunic, giving him the once over.

“Oh hush, you look gorgeous, she’s gonna shit a brick when she sees you.”

“I swear, if anyone even dares to take a picture I’ll make sure that they never get an internet connection again for the rest of their lives,” John threatened, wincing as Tanzi grabbed a comb and a pair of scissors to start attacking his hair. "Are you sure this is completely necessary?"

"Oh yes, very necessary, you have to dress the part, besides, it'll be worth it, you'll thank me later," Tanzi grinned admiring her handiwork. "That bitch is gonna send me a gift basket for making you look so good."

"And there's really no one else to do it?"

"No, I already told you. Linden is out of action and it's been years since she's worked with anyone close enough to lead a ritual with them. You're bonded to her, you're basically her familiar, you're the perfect solution. Don't worry, it'll be fine, believe it or not she does know what she's doing, she won't let you mess up."

"I never thought for a moment that she wouldn't be completely capable and in control, she always is. She may seem flighty but-"

"You don't have to tell me," Tanzi interrupted, patting his shoulder. "I've known her since she entered the craft, in fact I think tonight will be quite eye opening for you. You've never seen her in a ritual before, have you?"

John shook his head.

"Then you're in for a treat, she's a natural performer as well as a talented witch."

"My wife with a penchant for dramatic performance? Never."

Tanzi sniggered under her breath but declined to comment, focusing her attention on the back of his head as she worked.

"Are you sure this is all I have to do?" John asked, unfolding the instructions he'd been given and reading them through again. They seemed simple enough, follow Selene, stand where he was told, do as she directed and only speak when she spoke to him first or asked him a question, it sounded like a standard social event to him.

"Yep. You've got your part of the performance there too, just make sure you give Sel her part."

"Tell me again why we aren't warning her about this?"

"Because I want to see the look on her face," Tanzi shrugged. "I'm old, I have to get my kicks somewhere."

John snorted out a laugh. "Don't let my Grandma hear you complaining about being old, she gets very defensive when anyone under sixty even dares to mention they have a wrinkle."

"Good job I'm over 60 then," Tanzi answered distractedly, tugging at the side of his head as she tried to wrestle his hair into submission. He resisted the urge to flinch and instead focused on her words.

"Sure you are, and I'm planning a career change to become a game show host." The woman didn't look any older than he did, let alone old enough to appease his Grandma.

Tanzi grinned evilly. "Look me up if you don't believe me, but sit still while you do it."

For want of anything better to do John pulled out his phone and did as he was told. It took him less than two minutes and a tiny bit of government file delving to find the truth.

"There's only one Tanzanite Summerland, who is apparently seventy-eight years old."

Tanzi hummed a little sound of acknowledgement as she worked on his parting, trying to force his hair to lay in a way that didn't come naturally to it. "Why won't your bloody hair stay where I put it?"

"Selene asks the same thing, I gave up trying to change it years ago and just work with it, but don't think I don't know you're trying to change the subject," he retorted, on to her game.

She huffed, giving up on the parting, deciding to work with what she had, smoothing it back into place instead. "I'm mated to a full bloodied Shifter, Nikos is 297."

"He's what?" John spluttered, turning to look at her. "That's impossible."

"Dude, you turn into a cat, nothing should be impossible to you," she drawled, her tone implying she thought he was being particularly dense as she grabbed his head and turned it to face forward. "Avery is 413."

"Avery too? What does he turn into?"

"Nothing, though I'm sure he'd love to embrace the bat cliché if he could."

"Bat? Why would h-"

Tanzi raised her curved fingers to her mouth in a crude depiction of fangs and hissed.

John's eyes widened.

Tanzi nodded. "Yeah, and he's still not matured into a fully functioning adult, he'd be lost without my sister, I swear. Now, you've got your words, I've done the best I can with your hair, I think you're good to go."

"What? No! I've got questions, you can't just dump this kind of information on me and expect me to just accept it. I need answers."

"No time my friend, chop chop, it's getting dark, move your arse, your wife's waiting."

-x-

"Seriously?"

Selene couldn't have been more shocked if Tanzi had produced a monkey from her pocket to slap her around the face.

"You think John is the solution to our problem? How? Why? He hates people!"

"Oh hush," Tanzi soothed, brushing away her concerns. "He'll be fine, it's only a little ritual-"

"Little? There's a hundred and fifty people out there joining in!"

"In at the deep end," Tanzi shrugged, "he married a witch, he's gotta learn sometime. He said he'd do it."

"But why him? Is there really no one else?" Selene fretted, more worried about her husband's social anxiety than the ritual itself. "Can't you do it?"

"Nope, you're our poster child, you're the one they came to see, we can't let them down. He's the only person here with a connection to you that won't dull your energy. You know a Priest is supposed to enhance it, not drain it."

Selene wanted to argue, but her friend did make a good point, not that she wanted to admit it. She had worked with John in little ways before, working on his intuition and raising his personal power quicker and easier before each shift he attempted; it really wouldn’t be that much different for him, you know, apart from all the people staring at him.

“Fuck it, we’ll make it work,” Selene huffed. “Did you at least prepare him, even a little? Gods, he’s never going to leave my side again after this. I walked away for an hour and he was drafted.”

“Of course I prepared him, I gave him a script and everything,” Tanzi promised her, crossing her heart.

“Which script?” Selene asked suspiciously.

“This one,” Tanzi grinned, handing Selene a book of Shadows already opened on a page.

Selene quickly scanned through the pages, recognising the revised ritual instantly.

“I’m going to make a few adjustments,” she stated in a tone that allowed no arguments.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Tanzi assured her, knowing that she had won that round.

“Fine,” Selene sighed, checking the time. “Then I guess I'm ready.”

“Good, let’s go,” Tanzi said, draping a cloak around Selene’s shoulders.

“Hang on, where’s my chapstick?”

“Do you really need it?” Tanzi asked, desperate to get the other woman moving.

“Yes, I do, especially as I have a lot of foreheads to kiss out there,” Selene answered, already scrabbling through her bag looking for the elusive little tube.

“Where the hell is the bloody...Oh, thanks, babe,” she said in response to the chapstick that appeared in her line of sight, recognising the ring on the hand that held it. She took the stick and slicked on a generous amount, making fish out of water noises at her reflection in the mirror before turning around. She stumbled, reaching blindly behind her for something to hold on to, because praise be to every single deity for the God that was her husband.

“Holy shitballs Batman!”

“See, I look stupid!” John huffed, his cheeks burning. He should never have let himself be talked into it.

“Rubbish,” Tanzi scoffed.

“Wow,” Selene breathed, seemingly unable to form any full sentences.

“Told you she’d like it,” Tanzi grinned.

“What...I mean...how the...my Gods,” she breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the pure gorgeousness she was seeing. Her eyes kept darting to a new part of him, there was simply too much beauty to take in in one go. “Wow.”

“Yes, I am a miracle worker, I know this,” Tanzi preened, brushing a non-existent speck of dirt off his shoulder.

“Is that a wig?”

“Clip in extensions.”

“My Gods,” Selene whispered again. John’s hair was now brushing his shoulders, falling in shimmering red waves that perfectly matched his own colour. His usual side parting had been maintained, the extensions having obviously been trimmed to blend in with his forelock, which somehow made it look less alien on him. Her fingers itched to run through all that silky looking hair and she actually reached out a hand but Tanzi slapped it down.

He was dressed in a black shirt with loose fitted sleeves that laced up across his chest under a dark forest green tunic. His legs were encased in black leggings and dark brown lace up boots that came up to just below his knees. He had a black cloak over one arm and a metal headpiece that encircled his head looking rather like a crown. But it was the pointed ears that peeked out from his hair that really pulled the whole look together.

“Fuck...me,” Selene was absolutely stunned, taking a few steps towards him, wanting to be close, to touch, to kiss...

“Later,” Tanzi ordered. “You two have to get moving, I can hear the drums already.”

Snapping out of her dazzling husband induced daze, Selene grabbed a sword that had been laying on a table in one hand and reached for his hand with the other.

If John felt nervous dressed in his ridiculous costume, it was nothing compared to how Selene seemed to be feeling. He could feel her hand shaking in his and hear the way she kept sucking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

He wanted to say something to make it better, but knew that in times like these words made very little difference to her. Instead he repositioned her hand in his, linking their fingers and giving it a comforting squeeze. She looked different tonight, he’d seen her in ritual robes before, but this time she had replaced the dramatic makeup she had been wearing earlier with something much more subtle. She looked younger, less sure of herself, with pale golden eyeshadow, pink blushed cheeks and no lipstick, maybe that was part of the reason that she looked a little less confident than normal.

They waited just outside the perimeter that had been marked out for the circle, around which a ring of people stood, others seated in little huddles on blankets, obviously not part of the actual ritual but wishing to observe. The whole clearing was lit up by the crackling flames of a large bonfire, which warmed the chill air to a more pleasant temperature now that the sun had gone down, taking its heat with it.

The drumming that had been growing louder with each passing moment reached its crescendo and abruptly stopped. He felt her stiffen and heard her inhale deeply once more, holding it for the count of five before letting it out slowly.

“Show time,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Just follow my lead, babe, I won’t let you down.”

“I know,” he assured her, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Link to Ao3

#john tracy #selene tempest #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #witch #thunderbirds fanfiction #paranormalromance #thunderbirdsarego

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free-pool-trash · 4 years

Text

folklore - isaac lahey {7/?}

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait I’ve been ridiculously busy the past few weeks 😓BUT!!! As compensation I made this part super long and fluffy with sooooooo much Isaac/reader content (enjoy it while you can because shits gonna be messy from here on out 🤭🙈)

Having said that, I don’t have my laptop right now as I moved houses and my stuff got put into storage so I’m working with the mobile version 😓 sorry in advance if formatting is weird I tried to make it better 😓 also there’s no continue reading button so sorry if this comes up on your dash 😭

Let me know what you think tho I’d really appreciate it 💕

Word count: 5.5k 🙈

Warnings: Fluff 😳, mentions of blood, Derek being a PAIN IN THE ASS, Isaac being the cutest 😌✨, ✨kissing✨, swearing

Masterlist

Tag list (open as always): @makeusfreefromthisfandom om, @cece-lives-here here, @chocolate-raspberries , @belsandthings , @dancing-tacos-23 , @truly-dionysus , @britty443 , @tanyaherondale , @furiouspockettoad , @yunsh-17 17, @random-thoughts-003 , @gloomybrieyxb , @futuristicslimemongerbanana , @linkpk88 , @big-galaxy-chaos , @im-a-stranger-thing , @riaisnotcool (I think u had a username change but idk let me know and I can fix it), @its-evita-here , @pad-foots , @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy , @bookswillfindyouaway , @what-the-hap-is-fuckening , @awkwardnesshabitat , @pieces-by-me me, @wreny24 , @kerosene-angel (if this is the wrong username I’m sorry it wasn’t working the way I had written it down so I’m assuming I just took it down wrong 😳 it it’s not you let me know and I’ll remove you), @marveloucnco o, @babypink224221 let me know if you’d like to be added <3 (strike through means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

The days you’d spent in Mystic Falls bled into weeks and soon enough you were being beckoned back to Beacon Hills with a head full of things you hadn’t had a clue about two weeks prior.

There, of course, was the matter of Peter- who was now dead, well technically, he was murdered.

Derek’s first course of action as Beacon Hills’ new alpha was to break the news to you. He’d killed him but due to Scott and Stiles’ constant text updates, you knew it would’ve had to be done sooner or later. But still, you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last of him. That small intuitive feeling in the back of your mind told you that you’d see him again soon. You just hoped your next meeting wouldn’t be happening because you ended up buried next to him.

Over the course of your stay with Alaric, who had left you in the care of the Salvatore brothers- Stefan and Damon, you’d honed several new vampiric powers. As it turned out, some of the powers you possessed were completely unfamiliar to the vampires of over a hundred years.

You had super speed, it wasn’t just enhanced as you’d previously thought. As well as that, you’d discovered that you could run circles around both Stefan and Damon Salvatore, who were obviously a lot older and therefore should’ve been a lot faster.

And for that matter, they should’ve been stronger than you, they should’ve been able to snap you like a twig. They should’ve been able to. But they weren’t. Because not only were you faster, you were stronger too.

While having super speed and super strength was nice, mind compulsion, your most recent discovery, now that was incredible. All you had to do was look into someone’s eyes and they would become completely entranced to do whatever you told them.

Despite being over a hundred years old, neither Stefan nor Damon had ever seen a vampire quite like you.

They’d never seen a vampire who was also an empath, that, apparently, was usually more of a witch thing. Neither of them had ever come across a vampire bite which had a euphoric effect either. But having said all of that… they’d never heard of someone being turned from a wolf bite. Or a vampire who still had a beating heart, for that matter.

Your only real downfalls were that, for one, your blood’s healing capacity didn’t operate at the same speed for you as it did when being used to heal others. You’d put this down to the possibility that maybe your system had just grown too used to it. To be perfectly honest, though, you had no idea.

Secondly, your empathic tendencies were beginning to bring you down, but it wasn’t just that… it was the way in which you’d been instructed, by Damon Salvatore himself, on how to make them stop.

The plane ride home to California dragged on longer than you would’ve liked, the flight was delayed and you were absolutely starving by the time Derek picked you up from the airport. Your parents were still away, they’d travelled to Romania in search of answers to your predicament and they wouldn’t be home until at least next week, so that left Derek on chauffeur and babysitting duty.

“How are you?” He’d only spoken up thirty minutes into the car ride, you let out a sigh from the passenger seat and gave him a tired smile, you could feel the nerves radiating from him. He was afraid you’d be mad at him for killing Peter, and maybe you should’ve been, but again, you had a feeling he’d be back, and besides, spending time with Damon had helped you realise that everything wasn’t so black and white. It finally registered with you that people like Derek and Damon, the dark mysterious bad boys with secret hearts of gold- they sometimes did bad things but with good intentions.

Once you discovered this, you decided amongst yourself that you’d ease up on your not-really-big-brother in the future. Even if it meant you got hurt a little in the process. If hurting you was what he needed to do to learn his lesson then you’d be willing to make that sacrifice.

So you gave him a soft smile and answered, “Hungry.”

Derek let out a chuckle at that, nodding his head towards the backseat, drawing your attention to the three full blood bags laying on the leather seats.

A delighted gasp left your mouth as you snatched the plastic bags into your hands, wasting no time you stuck the attached tube into your mouth and began gulping the first bag down- it was definitely Stiles’ blood you were drinking, you’d gotten so used to the taste of it you were sure you could recognise it anywhere.

Letting out a happy groan you threw your head back against the headrest, “Stiles Stilinski you are a doll.”

Derek chuckled again, glancing at you fondly before his steely eyes returned to the road ahead.

It was only another 30 minutes before you were back in your driveway. “So are you staying here until my parents get back?” You questioned from the porch as Derek got your bags from the trunk of his car, the wolf shook his head with a smile, “Nah, I’ve got some stuff to do at home.”

“Derek, that home isn’t even structurally sound.” You chastised softly. Surely he’d be happier spending time with the family he still had breathing rather than living in the remnants of what used to be his.

Walking up to the porch, Derek placed your case down gently by your feet and moved himself to stand in front of you. A genuine smile painted his lips as he gazed at you, “New rule.” He stated, placing both of his hands on either of your forearms before going on, eyes staring affectionately into your own, “From now on, I will be doing all the worrying about you, alright? Not the other way around.”

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head. “I’ll try my best.” That had been a lie. Unable to blind you with his unusually sweet sentiment, through the physical contact you could tell he was scheming.

“Good. Now, go get some rest I’ll come check up on you in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and then made his way back to his car, speeding out of your driveway and out of sight before you’d even unlocked the door.

The house was cold and empty when you’d re-entered. A shiver ran up your spine the second your feet stepped past the threshold. Something was very wrong, and unfortunately, you couldn’t tell what exactly it was that was so wrong. The feeling was unnerving, it was dark and it was agonisingly heavy. Like anxiety on steroids, lots of steroids.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped -more like clawed- at your chest. Nails scraping your skin as you attempted to catch a single breath, though it seemed that oxygen was determined to outrun you as you glanced around helplessly.

Almost twenty minutes has passed as you heaved and gasped frantically, overwhelming dread flooded your chest while simultaneously tears flooded your eyes, and still you didn’t have even the slightest idea of what it all meant.

And then it hit you. That panic- it didn’t belong to you.

Within a second you’d risen to your feet, breathing still staggered while you rushed out the front door, your vampire speed being put to good use as within seconds you were where your panic had led you. Night had fallen by now and it was completely dark, not to mention absolutely freezing, the hoodie you had on doing nothing to protect you from the biting cold in the air. The trail of feelings you’d been chasing had led you to Beacon Hills cemetery and before your eyes, there it was, the something that was very wrong.

Derek and Isaac. More specifically, Derek’s teeth buried in Isaac’s arm. You hadn’t even registered what you were doing when you ripped Derek from Isaac and violently threw him across the cemetery, the impact in which the Hale hit the tree all the way at the edge of the graveyard was a testimony to your strength. You hadn’t even used half it.

Without hesitation, you inspected Isaac’s body frantically, eyes lingering on the bloody bite across his right arm. Slowly and mournfully, your eyes met his, which were wide with shock. His heart was beating out of his chest to the point where you couldn’t ignore it.

“What did he do to you?” The question slipped out as a whisper, your anger melted away only to be replaced by dread as Isaac began to speak, “He offered me the bite and I- I said yes.”

“Isaac…” Your gaze drifted to the bite and you weren’t surprised to see it already healed. “I’m sorry.” You heard him mutter from above you, his anxiety pooling in your chest and mixing with his guilt.

Shaking your head softly you pulled him into you, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders while his own arms held you tightly against him as you kissed his temple to release him of the intense anxiety plaguing him. “Don’t be sorry. I understand.”

He relaxed against you upon hearing your words, the two weeks you’d been gone made him realise something, he was utterly useless without you, or so he thought. He felt weak. He felt as though if he didn’t have you as emotional support he was defective. Derek had honed in on that and manipulated it to his advantage, convinced Isaac that the bite was what he needed in order to be strong by himself. To keep you safe instead of you protecting him all of the time.

“Was that really necessary?” Derek’s voice broke the moment and you found anger was surging through you once again. You separated from Isaac to face Derek.

At this point, you didn’t care what his intentions had been, you weren’t going to let him away with this.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to explain why you did this.” As Derek moved to speak you ruthlessly cut him off. “Too slow.” And with that the back of your hand met his cheek, again sending him flying, only not as far this time.

His fangs were barred now, as were yours. Both of your eyes glowing, his red ones threatening as he attempted to demonstrate his power. And yet again, you had a revelation.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from your lips, a synacal and sarcastic lilt to it as you towered over Derek’s form on the floor.

“Oh I get it!” You exclaimed, lip held between your teeth in mock disbelief you pressed your palm to your forehead as you spoke, “You thought you’d go around and stalk some kids so you could add to your big bad pack. Right?” He growled at you and attempted to pick himself up, only for you to give a swift, hard kick to his chest, returning his back to the dirt.

“I guess you told him it’d make him stronger? That it’d make all of his problems go away? And what about the Argent’s, huh? Did you tell him that you were manipulating him?” It was then, again in panic, Isaac spoke up to your surprise, in Derek’s defence.

“(Y/n), I promise it isn’t like that! He told me everything, it was my choice I said yes!” You spared him a glance before crouching down to Derek.

“Well did you tell him how you usually treat your pack?” The words were dripping in venom and the guilt that radiated from the man didn’t deter you from moving forward with you verbal attack, your head turning to Isaac, your eyes sparkling with sadness as you locked eyes with him, speaking hoarsely you wondered out loud, “Did he tell you that he’s a liar? That he doesn’t know how to run a pack? That if he doesn’t understand you he’ll leave you in the dust?”

The look on his face spoke volumes as he recalled the state Derek had put you in the weeks previous.

With a final sneer in Derek’s direction you delivered your parting words, “You better treat him better than you continue to treat me or so help me Derek Hale I will tear you to shreds.”

As you angrily stormed away, Isaac stood in confusion for a second before he began to chase after you, leaving Derek on the dirt floor to help himself.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n) please wait!” He shouted as he was just starting to catch up to you. When you felt that you were at a good enough distance away from Derek you finally slowed your pace.

When Isaac finally made it to your side, he was panting slightly, swallowing the lump in his throat he nervously grabbed your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, his eyes resembling those of a puppy and you could already feel your composure slipping away from you as you looked at him.

It’d been almost three weeks since you’d seen him, three weeks since you’d made out in the school basement and this definitely wasn’t how you were expecting the reunion to go.

“Isaac it isn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you, ok? I get it. I’m just worried, this town isn’t exactly kind on the supernatural.” You reassured him gently, squeezing his hand and giving him a sad smile.

“Don’t worry about me.” Isaac told you and you had to laugh, “Sorry, babe but I will not be taking my eyes off you until this town becomes normal.”

Isaac’s face was then taken over by, what could only be described as, a Cheshire Cat smile, “Did you just call me babe?” His voice was teasing and you felt your face heating up despite your freezing temperature.

Sucking on the inside of your cheek you tried your best to conceal your growing smile, you shrugged innocently, “Yeah. What about it?” The playful lilt in your voice had his smile widening even more as he began to lean down to you, his face getting closer to yours by the second.

His breath fanned across your lips when he spoke next, “I liked it.” With that, his lips pressed to yours cautiously, as if he was still unsure of whether or not it was okay to do so.

His uncertainty melted away when he felt your lips begin to reciprocate his actions and your hands moved to cup his cheeks.

The both of you could agree that this kiss was different than the last one you’d shared a few weeks ago. “Why is it that we only ever kiss when one of us is coming out as a supernatural creature?” Isaac laughed against your lips as you pulled away with a sigh.

“It would be us wouldn’t it.”

After a few minutes of nagging at Isaac you managed to put all the pieces of Derek’s plan together. Isaac himself didn’t actually know all that much, just that he was the first to be turned, but that alone told you everything that you needed to know.

Derek was now an alpha with no pack, so logically, a pack was what he was building and that would have been perfectly understandable- if he hadn’t started with your best friend.

“There’s a full moon coming up, did he tell you what would happen?” You questioned gently, ready to throttle Derek when the boy in front of you shook his head.

Heaving a deep breath you squeezed his hand reassuringly, the initial excitement of being turned had worn off and Isaac was beginning to radiate anxiety once again.

“Don’t worry okay? I’m gonna call Scott, he’ll be able to help you.” Isaac’s eyebrows came together in confusion, “Scott McCall?”

You nodded your head, “He’ll know how to help.” You tried to convince Isaac without spilling Scott’s secret. Not that it was going to stay a secret for too long, but it wasn’t your secret to tell.

Isaac shook his head rapidly, his hands moving to hold your forearms, his panic at your suggestion hitting you like a freight train as he stared into your eyes, a wild look in his own.

“No no no no. You can’t tell anyone. (Y/n) promise me you won’t tell anyone okay? If my dad finds out I’m a werewolf he’ll-“ The words came out almost as fast as you could run and his panic only intensified when his father entered his mind.

Quickly catching on to his looming panic attack as his eyes began to glow yellow you cut him off, “Isaac.”

He didn’t hear you as he kept rambling, claws growing past his nails and digging into your arm, “No he’ll kill me. Oh my god he’s gonna kill me. (Y/n) he’s go-“

Yes, it would’ve been easy to rip your arms from his grasp that was causing you quite a lot of pain as his nails sunk into your skin as his hands held onto you desperately. However, you had a feeling that his hold on your now bloody forearms was the only thing keeping him from spiralling completely out of control.

“Isaac! Look at me!” Your voice was strict but served to make his amber eyes finally settle on yours.

Gently, you finally slipped your arms out of Isaac’s clawed grip, although you were sure it would’ve been less painful to just leave them, his claws dragged down your arms while you lifted them slowly and cautiously until you replaced them with your hands, using your new grasp of the boy to provide him with some peace of mind.

You focused your energy on shifting a sense of relaxation from your own palms to Isaac’s sweaty ones as you spoke, voice soft again, “I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s just you and me, alright? Focus on me, yeah?” Isaac nodded his head, still slightly frantic but calmer than before as he did as you told and simply focused on you, “Take a deep breath.” You instructed, breathing steadily along with him until his eyes returned to their natural blue colour and his claws retracted.

A moment of silence passed with Isaac slumped against you, hands held tightly in his while he steadied his breathing. You placed your lips to his cheek and then again to the bruise forming beneath his right eye, you hadn’t noticed it earlier. You’d almost forgotten it’d been nearly three weeks since you’d been together, he’d probably been though it with his demon of a sperm doner over the time you were away.

“I’ve missed you.” It was Isaac that broke the silence when your lips disconnected from his injured face.

“I missed you too.” You replied simply, there was so much you’d planned on saying to him while you were in Mystic Falls but at the moment, you felt there were more pressing matters to discuss and again, it was Isaac who spoke.

He pulled away slightly to look at you properly, hands still clasping yours, he gave them a squeeze before he started speaking, “This pack that Derek’s building… I’m guessing you’re not in it?”

“I was never asked. But I’ve kind of already got a pack, which you are more than welcome to join.” You responded hopefully, wishing he’d agree but you knew he wouldn’t. As such a fresh beta he’d stay loyal to his alpha, but, you had to ask.

Isaac nodded his head sadly, “Scott McCall?” You let out a small laugh, at how quickly he’d caught on, “Yeah. He’s not exactly an alpha but he’s helped me out a lot, more than Derek has.”

“Derek told me that wolves are stronger as a pack, he didn’t say anything about vampires though.” Isaac went on, a confused lilt in his voice.

“I found out in Mystic Falls that vampires rarely belong to packs and by vampire nature I don’t need one, but Ric figures that it’s in my nature to want one since it’s all I’ve ever known.” You relayed the information to Isaac.

“Then why not, you know, join mine?” His lip was pulled between his teeth and he was looking at you with a hopeful expression.

“Isaac I just told you…” You said pleadingly, you didn’t want to upset him any further but you also couldn’t throw away the pack bond you’d built with Scott and Stiles when you’d first turned. If it was a matter of Isaac’s pack being made up of just Isaac there would’ve been no problems, it was the fact that it wasn’t Isaac’s pack but Derek’s.

Scratching what you’d decided about Derek earlier, you came to a new agreement with yourself: all of hell would freeze over before you even thought of easing up on Derek Hale.

Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “Come on, (N/n)! We are not going to let our love play out like Romeo and Juliet!” The way he spoke was humorous but it was obvious that he wasn’t really joking.

With a sigh you moved your shaking hands, that were now covered in scabbed over cuts as opposed to their previous status of raw and bleeding, to Isaac’s face. Your thumbs moved gently along his cheek bones as you took him in with an encouraging smile on your face as you told him confidently, “I refuse to let us become a modern day Romeo and Juliet, that’s not happening.”

You pulled him closer to you, slipping your arms around his shoulders and doing your best to ignore the butterflies rioting in your stomach when his arms wrapped tentatively around your waist.

You brought your lips to meet his briefly before fixing him with another determined look, “But listen to me, we might be loyal to different packs but I’m on your side, no matter what.”

Isaac nodded his head in understanding, “If it comes down to it, I’m always gonna choose you.” He responded honestly, arms tightening around you to hold you against his chest, his height causing his chin to be tilted downwards so that he could meet your eyes.

“I meant what I said to Derek, by the way.” You informed, Isaac’s eyebrows rose in confusion again, “If he mistreats you I’ll tear him apart.”

“Should I give Scott the same warning?” Isaac asked humorously and you had to shake your head in order to hold back a laugh.

It wasn’t until you’d separated from your embrace with Isaac that you took into account the fact that your body was now shaking with the cold.

“Come on, I’ve gotta call my dad and probably the sheriff and you’re freezing.” Isaac stated, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you back to the cemetery where you noticed his overturned excavator and the dug up grave plot.

You listened with curiosity while Isaac spoke to his father on the phone, trying to explain exactly what had transpired in the last couple of hours since his shift started.

“How the hell does an excavator just flip over, Isaac?” You could hear his fathers anger through the line and Isaac fumbled for a response, “Someone, or something- I don’t know it could’ve been an animal, but it got pushed from the side and tipped over. I fell into the plot I was digging and that was it, I didn’t see the rest.” He explained weakly.

“You still stuck in hole, you idiot?” You watched as Isaac clenched his jaw and motioned to yourself when he was finally looking at you, “No. No, um, (Y/n) just got back from Virgina, she came looking for me and helped me out.”

“She still there?” His father questioned, seemingly cooling off at the mention of your name. You hated how much that man seemed to like you when he should’ve held that affection for his actual son.

“Yeah, she’s with me now.” Isaac confirmed and you offered up a fake cheerful, “Hi, Mr Lahey!”

“Invite her over while I call the sheriff and see about getting this mess cleaned up.” With that, he hung up the phone and Isaac sighed, “You’re starting to look like Mr. Freeze, let’s get you warmed up.” His arm stayed comfortably wrapped around your shoulder and as you reached up to hold his hand that was hanging over your shoulder you stopped dead in your tracks, “Isaac, I can’t go and greet your father looking like this.”

You motioned to your torn and bloodstained hoodie, immediately regretting it when his eyes widened in shock, “Did I… oh god (Y/n) did I do that?”

Not missing a beat you grabbed his hands and made sure you soothed his panic before you got a rerun of earlier.

“It’s not your fault. You’re new to this, okay? Mistakes happen and that’s fine it’s all part of the process. And look!-” You pulled off the hoodie to reveal your now completely healed arms and hands, nothing but dried blood to show that the claw marks were even there in the first place. “‘M all healed up! No harm done.” You reassured him, bringing his lips to yours to further convince him that you were okay and distract him from the guilt you could feel building within him.

Your arms, although no longer cut, were covered in goosebumps as Isaac ran his hands affectionately down the length of them. “It won’t happen again.” He promised and you gave him a shaky smile, teeth beginning to chatter, “Let’s go home?” Isaac nodded his head, nothing short of ripping his own hoodie off before pulling your arms through the sleeves and moving himself in front of you to zip it up.

You watched completely content as he fumbled with the zipper. His curls were falling in front of his eyes and his eyes were squinted in concentration. The quiet, but triumphant, “got it” he let out when he finally finessed the zipper had you grinning like a fool.

When he moved his focus from the zip and back to your face, he smiled bashfully, “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

The sleeves of his hoodie, that was miles too big for you, hung far past your wrists and brushed against the nape of his neck, your fingers finding a place tangled in his hair while you stared at him, grin ever present.

Your other hand was otherwise occupied being placed firmly against Isaac’s chest, enjoying the feeling of his rapidly beating heart, and you didn’t know it entirely. But in that moment it was beating for you and you alone.

Isaac’s hand made itself comfortable holding your waist, the other holding your own against his chest, keeping it in place.

Neither of you needed to say it. You could both feel it. But still, you found yourself uttering the words, “I love you.”

Not half a second had passed before Isaac echoed your declaration, “I love you.”

“I feel like if I kiss you right now I won’t be able to stop but I’m still freezing my ass off so… your place?”

Isaac nodded his head in agreement, “My place.”

Upon arrival at the Lahey residence, Mr. Lahey had greeted you with a wide smile and ushered you into the kitchen where he instructed Isaac to make you some tea, to which Isaac had to restrain a grumble as he’d been planning on doing it anyway.

Mr. Lahey was happily chatting away to you when Isaac set down two cups of tea, one in front of his father and one in front of you, his eyes lingering on you with a certain kind of glint before he turned back to the counter to grab his own cup and returning to sit beside you at the table.

Isaac was, in all honesty, losing it. He didn’t even know why. You were just sitting there, wrapped up in his hoodie, nose ever so slightly pink from the cold, talking politely to his father. It was nothing out of the ordinary but he was finding it hard to think about anything other than how his hoodie would look splayed on the floor of his bedroom.

He wasn’t very good at hiding it either, you could feel it as clear as day. Teenage boy hormones mixing with teenage werewolf hormones were causing havoc and it’d be a lie to say it wasn’t having an affect on you.

Trying to return your attention to whatever Mr.Lahey was babbling about you clearing your throat and took a sip of your tea, keeping your expression neutral as Isaac’s hand slipped to your knee under the table. His attempt to pull you into his mess of hormones was obviously successful as you found yourself ready to yell out in frustration when his hand stayed put on your knee for a solid twenty minutes before his father finally rose from the table.

“I’m going to check out the situation at the cemetery, you’re welcome to stay tonight, it’s pretty dangerous out there these days.” Mr. Lahey offered and you smiled innocently at him as he stood in the doorway, “I think I’ll take you up on that. Thank you.” The older man gave you a nod but said no more before walking out the front door.

“What the hell are you doing?” You finally burst when the front door clicked shut, whipping around to face Isaac.

“What?” He asked as if his hand didn’t start sliding further up your leg the second his father left the room.

You groaned, “Don’t ‘what?’ me when you’re about four centimetres from having your hand between my thighs!”

“Sorry.” He immediately retracted his hand, eyes wide as he realised how close his hand was to reaching the top of your thigh, “I, um, I didn’t mean to- I mean, I did mean to but i won’t do it again if you don’t want me to-“

“Isaac.” You cut him off, lip pulled between your teeth, “I want you to.” You declared and he let out a heavy sigh full of relief, “Thank God.” He muttered before he was pulling you up off the chair and right against his chest.

His lips immediately found yours and his hands were gripping your waist like there was no tomorrow.

At this point, the butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely bat shit feral when his lips began to trail past your lips, to your chin, then to the curve of your jaw. It was when his hand slipped deftly up your side to settle against your jaw that you realised just how much you’d been wanting this.

Isaac’s lips fell further to your neck and you couldn’t stop the hum of approval that escaped your mouth at the sensation of his soft lips sucking and licking at your pulse. “It this okay?” He asked in a mutter, the dainty and nervous nature of his voice contrasting greatly with the confidence and ferocity of his actions.

Your hands tugged gently at his hair to get him to meet you clouded eyes, when he looked at you you were sure that his eyes had flashed yellow, his breathing was getting heavy and you had an inkling that his lips on your neck was the most exciting thing that was going to happen between you tonight.

“It’s more than okay.” You told him with a dopey smile, letting out a laugh when he dived back into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin through a smile.

Despite your words your hands moved to his chest to push him away slightly, “But…” you started as Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “I think we should stop, and maybe revisit this after the full moon passes.”

After taking in a steadying breath Isaac nodded in agreement, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” His hand slipped into yours and he intertwined his fingers with yours, he spent a moment just looking at your linked hands with a fond smile and the look of achievement on his face. It was easy to tell, with the help of your empathic powers, that Isaac was proud of himself.

You yourself couldn’t quite pinpoint why he was feeling so prideful in the moment, but he knew. To be truthful he wasn’t just proud of himself, he was downright ecstatic. He’d been nothing more than your best friend since you were both eleven, and now, six years later he finally crossed the threshold from being your best friend to being your- well actually now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he is to you now.

A few hours passed before Isaac worked up the courage to ask the question that had formed in his mind after his make out session with you earlier.

The pair of you had since gotten comfortable in his bed, which was nothing particularly new. You laid on your side with your back to the bedroom door, Isaac was behind you, his chin tucked in between your shoulder and your neck with his arms around your torso holding you close to him.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice broke through the silence and you responded with a tired hum, adjusting his arm so you could snuggle closer and tried your best to stop yourself from falling asleep while he murmured softly in your ear.

“What are we?” He kept his eyes trained on the dark room ahead of him, his hand grabbing yours as you readjusted his arm and he absentmindedly began playing with your fingers, the action being successful in calming his nerves.

“What do you want us to be?” You asked sleepily in response, a small smile forming on your face as you heard his heartbeat speeding up.

Isaac let out a nervous breath against your neck and you held back a shudder at the feeling, “I was kind of thinking that all the kissing would make us a couple.” Letting out another sleepy hum, if it was even physically possible, you snuggled deeper into his hold. You sluggishly turned your head to place a light kiss against his cheek, “Then we’re a couple.”

#isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey #teen wolf x reader #folklore i.l #derek hale x reader

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notsolong-pause · 3 years

Text

ship requests

“Hey 👋 . Can I get a male HP ship (from both eras if possible) pls . Thank u so much ! . So I m a Gryffindor (with a bit of Slytherin ) . In my free time , I would love to read fantasy or sci-fic novels or facts maybe , listen to music , research about anything I want to , do something my parents denied me off maybe . If my friends are available , I'll also go downstairs with them and play . I m not as such interested in sport but I love to play cricket and badminton . My hobbies are dancing , horseriding , reading , researching , cyber and swordfighting (I haven't done it yet tho). I love the trope of fake relationship or enemies to lovers

Next is my personality . Well , I can be shy if I m not comfortable with the person , but if I am then I am very talkative . I don't trust ppl at the beginning until they prove themselves . I m very reliable and trustworthy but I tend to hide my emotions . I like my privacy, I don't even share that with my bestie sometimes . I come off as a rebel and I can get annoyed very easily . I love to organise a room . Everyone comes to me for advice . I also have a very good sense of humour which comes out in front of ppl I'm comfortable (they say I never used to fail to surprise them with my hidden qualities) . I m also quite modest . I m a risk-taker and I always stand up to my friends , I also have their back sometimes . I can also be a bully to my enemies or my friend's enemies but only if they start it first . Idk what is it , but ppl tell me I carry a powerful aura and many boys get attracted to me . Also , the popular ones used to attract to me a lot because I could be seen as a quiet nerdy girl . I come off as very unique at first meeting . I m practical with my decisions but as said , I hide my emotions or else the emotions would have led me. I m also a human lie detector , or that's what my family tells me . The thing that stands out in me isy dressing style . I am very curious. I m also very much mysterious . I m loyal to a fault . Now my flaws are that sometimes I don't believe my friends at all and it hurts them since they ask me to be honest and I tell them the truth . I can be blunt and cold without realising it but I don't mean to . I am an extrovert so keeping me from doing something can make me insecure . I m sensitive to criticism . I can be super suspicious, like a looott . I hate when ppl try to control me, even my parents so I end up going against them or I follow their instructions half-heartedly . I can be very very stubborn . I also get many intuitions but I ignore them . I hate when ppl are unreliable , everyone's lazy but atleast they should do their work after some rest . I also hate arrogant boastful PPL . I hate when someone disrespects me and I immediately cut them off from my life . I hate lame excuses given by the ppl whom I expect something to do and they didn't. I am very patient but once they cross their lines , they wish they hadn't . I guess this is too much ? (Lol sorry but excited ) Thank u so much for ur time dear 💗”

a/n: Hi! Thank you for so many details!! It’s lovely. You also asked for TMR ship, so I’ve decided to do a HP form one era and one for TMR. Hopefully, you are okay with that:)

p.s.: sorry for being a Draco slaughter. i’m also doing all the other requests, thank you for them!! they are going to be trade in a day or two. sending love <3

Harry Potter:

I ship you with Fred Weasley

(so badly, you’re a perfect match)

First of all... being stubborn and taking risks is something that you probable have in common, which is going to create a perfect enemies to lovers dynamic. Maybe academic/prancing rivalry?

You constantly mocking each other, but not meaning any harm or anything, even though others might think that you hate one another

Him always helping you to break the rules if needed, but still making sure that everything is alright, and everyone is safe. And you would keep an eye on him back, supporting him when he doesn’t know what to do

He would be surprised when you started to open up, and crack jokes, but would love them so badly. And he definitely is very grateful whenever (and if) you chose to tell him something private, and wouldn’t tell anyone else even if he was tortured

You would always give amazing ideas for the shop products. And he would be like: “Where do you know that from?” “Don’t know, just thought it was interesting and decided to investigate”

You were walking in the dull lights of a corridor from the late detention in the Snape’s dungeons. You got this one for arguing with a certain Weasley. This was entirely his fault, though, but he didn’t get caught, and you could still see the stupid smirk on his stupid face when you were assigned to come down here after classes. The Slytherin do was just nearby, and you heard a couple of voices around the corner. You were hopping these were some of your friends from Slytherin, but as you listen closely you herald none other than Malfoy. “These Weaslebeeys are ignorant trash just like their father. Who’s would willingly study what muggles’ life’s are like? That’s just dumb”you didn’t know whether he was just showing off in front of his friends or if he was being serious, but you were furious at the moment.

“Malfoy!” - you energetically approached the group.

“Another gryffindor”, - he smirked. “Why don’t you spend an evening at your dorm or some other lame place?”

“Cut it. Take it back” - you face was almost stone cold. Eyes glimmering dangerously in the flickering light.

“Are you defending the Weaslebees?” - he grimaced, being so proud of himself for no reason.

“It’s not their name, and they don’t need any defense. You’re being an arrogant prick towards my friends, and I’m not going to tolerate that.” - you were stiff, your fists clenched in order to hold back the anger. How dared he speak in such diminishing manner about people 100 times better than him!

“What are you going to about it?” He replied cheekily, stepping forward.

“Well... I don’t know, how about TheLocomotor Wibbly!” - you were gripping tightly onto your wand, and Draco suddenly fell to the floor. His legs turned to jelly.

“You little...” one of his friends pointed your wand towards you, opening his mouth to jinx you back. Suddenly there was a loud bang, everything was covered with the thick smoke, and you were pulled to the corner. You instinctively pointed a wand on the person in front of you, still unable to see anything.

“Easy, lady” you recognized the voice. “Fred? What are doing here?” you were genuinely surprised, and started wondering how much has he heard. “Came to rescue you from the Snape’s claws” he smirked. “Why?” you didn’t understand a thing. “No fun being brilliant if you can’t see that and get jealous” - he cocked his eyebrows. You huffed back. “Well, thank you, I suppose.” “Oh good, I thought I’d never hear that”. You surprised a smile. “Let’s move already”.

“By the way”, he stopped you, “did I hear you calling me a friend?” You nudged his shoulder. “Don’t think too much of it, Weasley”.

The maze runner:

I ship you with Gally

He’s the one to understand you not opening up fully and immediately and keeping things to yourself for 110%. He’s mysterious himself, and he can give you every time in the world (sorry, i’m love him sm)

Again... the enemies to lovers dynamic, ESPECIALLY considering the whole thing with him killing Chuck (still hurts, though).

He can be very protective from time to time, so you can have “Because I care for you!!” arguments when you’re being reckless and decide to risk in order to save him.

He's honestly the sassy king of the show. Taking your sense of humour in account, I belive that he would really appreciate that you have it and can back him up. So you would exchange jokes back and forth

He's also absolutely giving you every freedom in the world not even attempting to control you or tell you what to do, he would only give out advices. And as far as he realises you're sensitive to crticizm, he starts to control himself in order not to hurt you.

"Please, never do that again". You and Gally were walking around the Last City, back to the shelter.

"Do what?" You asked, raising your head to the boy slightly ahead of you.

"You know what I'm talikng about". He turned his head to you, and stopped in the shaddow of the narrow street between the houses. His gaze was pretty serious, and both of you were extremely tired after yet another mission in attempt to undermine the existing regime.

"I don't think I do". You looked up at him with the confusion in your eyes.

"What you did back there was very risky, and you could have not make it. Don't risk like that ever again".

"But the cranks would've gotten you then". You protested. In your opinion, what you did was the only option.

"I appreciate the concern, but I could I handle it". He was starting to get stubborn, while you were getting angry.

"That's not true. One of them was hanging on your throat. That's not something people cal 'I handle it'". You threw your arms in the air, gesturing.

"I'm not letting them take me instead of you!" Gally was almost shouting at this point.

"Well, I'm not letting them take you either!"

"Great!"

You both went silent and were walking angrily towards your shelter, turning, sneaking, and hiding.

"Gally". You called in a few minutes. "It's just that I really care about you".

"I know". He told you, looking back again. "Just promise me, you're going to be careful".

"You know I really can't promise, but at least I'll try".

#ship requests #reader #reader insert #x reader #y/n #the maze runner #tmr #gally #gally x reader #the death cure #hp #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #fread weasley #weasley twins #fred and goerge weasley #golden era #hp x reader #submission

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wuxian-vs-wangji · 4 years

Note

So like you said, in the show they say flat out that Wei Wuxian didn't die, he was injured by the fall instead and the sacrificing curse used Mo Xuanyu's life force to heal him completely (even his scars other than the four slashes). Why do you think Nie Huaisang kept Wuxian in a coma for so long without trying to heal him?

Hum...

First off, highlighting this ask is about the S-H-O-W (that means *not* the novel)

So just to state it a little more clearly:: In Episode 42(?) when Wuxian unsheathes Suibian in the Jin treasure room, Jin Guangyao says he remembers an old scroll written by Wei Wuxian himself showing a spell in which “a severely injured person can be healed” by someone else’s sacrifice.

Making this change has a cascading effect on the story, since Wei Wuxian does not resurrect into a different body but back into his own (thank god, because we got to keep staring at Xiao Zhan an extra 19 episodes). In general what I think happened is that Huaisang was either instructed by Mingjue to stand in wait or that he just was watching from afar when the Battle of Nightless happened. If anyone understands the dangers of out-of-control resentful energy it is a Nie.

The writing was on the wall, they couldn’t stop Wei Wuxian’s death even if they wanted to. He was going to die sooner or later- by execution, suicide, his own magic destroying him, etc.

So the Nie- probably unknown to anyone else- were prepared to contain his soul and the resentful energy therein as they do their ancestors. No other sect deals with explosive resentful energy, it was always going to be on the Nie to handle that one (but not in a way the other sects know about because that would risk exposing the Saber Tombs).

Now, in the NOVEL- putting little clues together- it looks like Wei Wuxian was contained in a Spirit Trapping Pouch, like what Xiao Xingchen’s soul is contained in. He’s bound in some way- no one, not even Wangji, could reach him with any form of spirit inquiry.

So since his body wasn’t destroyed in the SHOW, context clues here say that Huaisang found Wuxian around the same time Jiang Cheng came down the side of the cliff to look for the body. Jiang Cheng has Chenqing at the showdown in Guanyin Temple- so he found the flute. Again, a Nie knows how dangerous resentment is, and they’re EXPERTS at containing spiritual weapons. That Huaisang took Wuxian but didn’t/couldn’t search thoroughly enough to find Chenqing suggests he was rushed.

Wei Wuxian was presumably on death’s door. He burned away the arrow wound to his heart, but I’ll dip to the novel to say that it clarifies that the Stygian Tiger Seal drains Wuxian’s spiritual power VERY quickly. Between that and just how long his attack on Nightless ran, the boy’s batteries were on empty and he probably couldn’t heal a granite belly-flop.

================================

So, Huaisang leaves with Wuxian’s body (probably with Mingjue’s knowledge because Huaisang couldn’t do this all on his own), then what happened? I straddle the line between two schools of thought on this one.

#1 :: Keeping him in a coma was the safest way to contain him

If Huaisang somehow froze Wei Wuxian so that his injuries neither healed nor bled out, it would be like entombing him in his own body. Generations of Nie went insane at the end of their lives and turned into violent rage monsters. Huaisang- and probably Mingjue because, again, you’d need the Clan Leader on board for this- wouldn’t look on Wuxian in the same light as the others because of Nightless. They don’t consider their father/grandfathers/etc. any less because of how their lives ended, they’d understand Wei Wuxian wasn’t the problem, the Yiling Patriarch was.

Wuxian was so lost and so powerful, he was going to be HARD to contain when he died. If that was possible at all. So while they looked for a solution or delayed the inevitable, it is safer to prevent Wei Wuxian’s death at all. If there is a way to freeze someone (that time stop spell Wuxian uses but on a long-term scale), they could pin him at his last breath to buy time.

Then Mingjue disappears, Huaisang keeps Wuxian sealed away, and eventually Mo Xuanyu brings up the sacrificing curse and Huaisang realizes that unleashing Wei Wuxian might be the way forward against Jin Guangyao.

******* Click HERE for my post arguing that Mo Xuanyu might be the original mastermind (Though “Fatal Journey” rendered some of it moot, the overall logic is still sound) *******

I also want to note just somewhere in this whole answer that Nie Huaisang seemed supremely confident that Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to go full Yiling Patriarch when he emerged, either because Wangji was nearby with baby Lan or he trusted that Wuxian wasn’t the monster he was painted to be. Either via a friend’s intuition (Huaisang never seemed to really fear him) or perhaps he had someone playing something like Cleansing over his body to make sure he was calming down. IDK, but the boy doesn’t seem worried in the least. He’s even right next door throughout the resurrection and Saber Spirit Attack, not worried about getting away from the crater in case Wuxian goes nuclear again.

OK, back to my answer---

#2 :: Sometimes they just don’t wake up

Xiao Xingchen had no will to live, even trapped in the soul pouch. Wei Wuxian was very much in the same state mentally.

Physically though, it might not have mattered WHAT his mental state was, he was simply too injured to ever regain consciousness on his own. Even if Huaisang tried from Day 1 to heal him, helped re-set bones and stitch his wounds closed, Wei Wuxian’s body was too shattered.

It is possible for someone to simply sustain too many injuries or suffer too great a trauma to wake up from a coma. It happens IRL too. People will even wake up after YEARS in a coma. So Huaisang might not have intentionally kept Wuxian out of it, he may simply have been unable to wake without massive healing work to re-set the body to where it was when it was first injured (like if Wuxian was brain dead).

I will say this theory has a flaw, IDK how fatal it is though:: Jin Ling isn’t dead yet, but Wangji still reaches his soul via Inquiry in the Saber Tombs. So if Huaisang healed Wuxian and just let him lay in a coma undisturbed for 16 years, Lan Wangji should have been able to reach him. I mean, even if it’s hard and the odds of success are terrible, he played Inquiry every single night for 16 years. Even a blind squirrel finds nuts sometimes (unless distance played a factor, or any other protections the Nie had up, which is why I say this may not be a fatal flaw).

===============================

**I do want to make a note about the Sacrificing Curse as a healing tool that wipes out ALL of Wei Wuxian’s injuries. Watch the Doctor Who two-part episode set “The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances” (from Season 1 of the reboot). Sorry, but to make my point I need to spoil the big twist:: The “monster” wreaking havoc on London during the 1940s Blitz is actually a crashed medical ship with healing drones who find a dead child but aren’t programmed to human DNA, so they create terrifying creatures with gas-mask faces because that’s how they think humans are (they save the child, don’t worry).

At the end of the 2nd part, the Doctor reprograms them with human DNA so they burn themselves out healing the individual people and turning them back to normal. There is a line where a physician is approached by a patient who shockingly says her long-missing leg has even grown back.

It is wrong to say the Sacrificing Curse healing all of Wuxian’s injuries- even his scar- is “convenient” (as some people did on a previous post of mine). I think it’s like the drones in the Doctor Who episode- you tell them to heal, they’ll heal abso-fucking-lutely everything that is imperfect or incorrect. Think about it- Wei Wuxian even got a Golden Core out of the deal. The curse used whatever it needed from Mo Xuanyu to heal Wei Wuxian. No exceptions. If he had a PAPERCUT it would treat it as an imperfection no different from a crushed skull.

A powerful healing spell like that is powerful precisely because it works on a massive scale. Mo Xuanyu was dying to save Wei Wuxian, so he was going to get his money’s worth. Yeah, Wuxian’s burn scar disappears. IDK why that’s so hard for some people to process when they can easily accept that he’s no longer puddle-shaped.

TL;DR:: IDK, but I’ve put a ton of thought into it.

#ask #long answer #Anonymous #mine #nie huaisang #mo xuanyu #wei wuxian #i've actually put very very little thought into this #most of this was off-the-cuff #my brain fills in and spirals out while I type which is useful when I'm writing but not great when I'm trying to answer an ask #in less than 150;000 words

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colonel-insomniac · 3 years

Note

Patbob I should’ve been better :3 HOHO

@pawsomelybuggy here ye go :3 I hope you likeeeeee. Also realizing how long its been since i wrote for patbob

Bobby couldn’t move. He was so numb he was frozen to his spot. He wished he had never opened his mouth and said those words to Patrick, because he knew how sensitive his buddy was, and how Bobby was the only one in his life who had been there no matter what. And Bobby had an argument with arguably the one person he loves the most in his life, sending him away to a group of newfound friends as opposed to opening his arms and reassuring Patrick that Bobby would always be there for him.

He couldn’t open his mouth, it was like it was glued shut by the cosmos or something, but he desperately wanted to call Patrick back. Bobby wanted so badly to say “I’m sorry, I should never have said any of that, because I love you so much more than any argument we could ever have.”

But words left unsaid were soon wilted on his tongue, washed away with the wave of crushing sorrow roaring its way through his bloodstream. And so he wordlessly watched his best friend walk away without even a glance back at Bobby, who had fallen to his knees, legs unable to carry him anymore. Into the future, Patrick went, without Bobby. And that thought kept creeping its way around his brain, his awareness of his breathing being the only thing keeping the tears from flowing freely.

Sandy placed her hand on his shoulder, gently helping him stand again, sending him home to rest before their trek up the volcano. His home was dark, shadows from the moon casting their dancing shapes through his living room as the door swung open. Gary padded his way to Bobby, a seemingly chiding “meow” ringing throughout the house. Bobby offered his furry friend the best smile he could before heading up to his room. He couldn’t muster the energy to pretend he was just fine anymore. He was the opposite of fine.

And he didn’t know if it was Patrick’s betrayal of Bobby, or Bobby’s betrayal of Patrick. Was there any way it could be both, because if Bobby couldn’t answer that question, he’d just wind up blaming himself, and only himself. Maybe that was actually the case.

He crawled onto his bed, allowing his mind to roam free, reliving days in the sun with Pat, swimming in the ocean as children, ice cream cones melting and making small hands sticky. And the place he once was so proud to live in was now a projected hologram, stilted in its image as it tried to hold itself together. He saw people he once thought to be accepting now openly discriminate against Sandy for not being native. People interrupted Edward more than they normally did, and tore down any shred of confidence Bobby thought he had. And his boss lost himself to his unending hunger for money, even in a time when it might not even matter anymore. Not that Bobby ever thought it did, because he was always raised to believe that you could struggle to pay bills and put food on the table, but you could still be happier than people who were careless with their own earnings. All it took was surrounding yourself with the right people.

And so he was disappointed, any sparkling image of his town dulled with the reality of the world. Sure, it was sad, but there was ultimately nothing he could actually do about that. He had tried and people will only work on themselves if they want to get better.

Gary leapt onto the bed quietly, and laid himself ontop of Bobby, purring. Bobby thought maybe his furry faced friend was trying to heal him in his own way, and Bobby rubbed the top of Gary’s head, fighting back the strong urge to cry.

But the tears came anyway, sliding down the sides of his face, because he just missed his buddy so bad. And yeah, Patrick was only two houses away, but nothing said he was wanted there, and what if he wasn’t there anyway? Patrick had new friends, new bonds and better light in his life.

And for all his kindness and sociability with his fellow peers, Bobby really only had a few people he would actually consider his friends. And even fewer he’d consider his best friends. Gary gently hopped off Bobby and onto the bed, seemingly sensing that Bobby was thinking of getting up. His cat’s intuition scared him sometimes, but he scratched behind Gary’s ears, before walking to his closet.

Even in the heat of the summer, he was still inexplicably cold, so he dug out a hoodie— unsurprisingly, one of Pat’s— and slid it on. He left the hoodie sitting on his head, because if he didn’t think about it too much, it kinda felt like someone was holding him in an embrace.

Leaving his room, he climbed up the stairs and onto his roof. The wind blew, gently moving the small curls of hair off his forehead. And two houses down, the lights were on. Soft music was carried to Bobby, but it was also possible for that to have come from Edwards house, not Patrick’s.

Bobby turned, knowing if he continued to stare, he might see something that would hurt. He remembered a day he was here with Patrick. The whole town had been avoiding Bobby, and he couldn’t figure out why they were. Patrick had been the only one to not avoid him, and when he came to the conclusion that it was because Bobby was unattractive, he had encouraged the smaller boy to be proud.

Pat had dragged him up to the roof, and instructed him to yell he was ugly and proud for the whole world, so there would never be a person who could use that to demean him. With shaking hands and alone this time, Bobby tilted his head to the sky “I should have been better.” He shouted it for the whole world to hear, but more importantly, hoped that Patrick had heard it too, and that he would know that Bobby meant it for him.

He dropped to his knees again, and lied down on the top of his roof. All the anger and frustration was definitely gone by now, and he was left with the crushing feeling of numbing sorrow. Bobby was just barely able to register the music coming to a stop, crickets chirping their way to break the silence before it could get too quiet.

Unlike earlier, he had no encouragement to sit up anymore, no reason to. And in all honesty, he could very well just sleep here, under the stars. But after a while, he picked himself off the ground anyways, and to the shower, because if the world was to end tomorrow, the least he could do was start off his day right.

And when the sun shone the next morning, Bobby was severely underprepared. If he just closed his eyes, would time stop for him? He supposed it didn’t really matter, Sandy was probably already waiting, or fighting her way through racist people anyways, the least he could do is try to meet her.

Climbing a volcano was harder than he had originally thought. The higher they went, the hotter it got, and the more frequently they had to take a break. The air was thin, and he had to force himself to not look down, because if he did, he’d freak out, and that just was not something they could afford right now. Not with the day going from afternoon to late afternoon. They didn’t have time to waste.

So when his foot caught in between some rocks, Bobby considered telling Sandy to just keep pushing forwards without him. Tumbling rocks separated them, but thankfully they missed him. He could just barely hear Sandy calling his name, and hoped she could hear him shout for her.

Bobby was unfortunately aware of the large boulder running down the volcano, speeding towards him. Heart beating in his chest, he shut his eyes, wishing he could at least have apologized to Pat.

When he opened his eyes, it was only in confusion, because he didn’t feel a thing, so either it was a quick death, or…

He gasped. “Patrick!” Bobby made the mistake of looking down, and clung closer to Pat after realizing he was floating through the air. “And you have Sandy’s jetpack!”

Pat set him down next to Sandy and fidgeted, nervous for some reason unbeknownst to Bobby. “Can we talk, privately for just a minute?” Pat asked, and Sandy waved over in some other direction, quickly asking for this to be a genuinely small talk. “I heard what you said last night.” Bobby’s blood turned to ice, because he thought that maybe Pat was here to tell Bobby he was ready to just put everything behind them because it wasn’t worth it. He just wanted to move on.

“Oh, uhm, about that…” Bobby wasn’t really sure what to say, or how to say it. “I believe it. I should have been better and I shouldn’t have said anything to begin with.” He looked away, taking a small, heartbroken step back.

Patrick moved forward to match Bobby’s step back, and shook his head with a sad smile on his face. “No, you don’t get it,” He began, “I should have been better, too. We both said things that weren’t true just to hurt the other.”

“I never wanted to lose you,” Bobby whispered, tears in his eyes. “And when you started walking off, I guess I panicked. But that doesn’t excuse what I said. And I wish I had never even said any of it because none of it is true.”

“It’s alright. I got caught up in the idea of being a hero in my own right, and I let myself be distracted by false promises.” Patrick shrugged, and pulled Bobby into a hug.

Bobby’s heart pounded in his chest, partially from relief and happiness, and partly due to the overwhelming urge to just say the words rocketing their way through his head. “I love you so much.” It came out muffled against Patrick, but he wasn’t willing to let go of Patrick. His companion held him tighter, whispering the sentiment right back to Bobby.

#spongebob #patrick #spongebob the musical #the spongebob musical

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

Leech Lord AU

Tyreen Calypso / Tyreen DeLeon / God Queen Calypso / Holy Mother Tyreen (differences from canon)

List of character traits and world-building facets for this character within my AU that differ from / are of more importance than in canon.

One of these coming for Seifa shortly. Same AU as all other twins content I’ve written. TW: drug use.

Troy’s is HERE

Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:

✓x Confidence is not a façade.

Unlike her twin, Tyreen's self confidence is rock solid to an unquestionable level. Her God Queen persona is not an act, it's her natural disposition ramped into overdrive.

✓ Highly Empathic.

Ty is very emotionally charged as a person, and is notably in-tune in general to the energies of people she is in proximity with. She has always used this to her advantage, capable of reading a room very cleanly and modifying her behavior and approach to play on the emotional state of others.

✓ Excellent Actor.

Her enjoyment of positive attention since childhood nurtured her into a very convincing natural performer. She can switch her emotion worryingly easily from sorrow to mirth, and it can be difficult to tell at times which is the actual genuine state she is feeling.

✓ Extremely Adaptable.

Tyreen is almost impossible to deter as she automatically approaches any situation with complete belief she will overcome it. She is not easily stopped by plans going awry or not panning out, and rarely breaks momentum. Ty is so naturally assured of achieving whatever goal she is aiming for, that she see's barriers others would see as impassable, as mere setbacks.

✓ Highly Charismatic.

Her ability to draw the billions of worshippers that now compose the COV is no fluke. Between her natural charisma and intuition, and the excellently researched scripts and persona Troy writes for her, Tyreen is extremely magnetic to others.

✓ Natural Leader.

Her rock solid self confidence and personal strength makes Tyreen highly attractive to those looking for guidance and a personality they can lean on. Her royalty is unquestionable, she was born to be a God Queen, and is very, very aware of it.

x Incapable of admitting fault.

Ty's extreme self confidence and regard for her own opinion means she cannot face failure. She will aggressively, to at times a physically violent level, defend her actions and beliefs regardless of whatever evidence is presented to her that shows she is incorrect or made a mistake.

x Easily loses control of herself in high pressure situations.

Her highly emotionally charged and empathic personality can leave her unable to control her reactions when under stress or pressure. While Troy's response to conflict or risk is to become exceptionally calm and dangerously in control, his twin's is the opposite. Tyreen can easily descend into screeching, violent tantrums, or lash out physically and verbally at people she sees as the source of the emotion she is currently experiencing, regardless of if they are at fault. She is often a danger to herself and others, and cannot be trusted to stay in control when stressed.

x Self centered.

Tyreen's galaxy revolves around Tyreen. Tyreen is Tyreen's universe. She's aware that there are people she should value, she should value Troy, she should value Seifa, she should value the other Saints like Mouthpiece, but she does not feel that value. This can lead to her questioning herself at times, there is concern eating her internally that maybe she actually doesn't feel anything for anyone else, but she knows that's wrong. She knows that's weird, and Tyreen isn't a freak, so she avoids dwelling on it.

x Manipulative.

Tyreen learned at an early age that getting what she wanted was easier if she played on what the other person wanted too. She's woven this so tightly into who she is over time, that she is no longer really aware of when she's actually manipulating someone, Troy being the most common victim. If you asked her, she'd convince you she was being completely genuine and had the other person's needs at heart. It's a lie.

x Illogical.

Her firm belief that she is automatically correct and infallible is a huge threat to her, and despite having endured injury and hardships over the years due to not listening to advice or ignoring facts in favor of her own opinion, she is not open to changing.

x Greedy.

While The Leech has amplified this negative trait 100 fold, it's still one of Tyreen's natural characteristics. Her greed by mid COV is insatiable, her hunger impossible to extinguish. Nothing will ever be enough. Any satisfaction she finally feels at achieving or gaining something she has lusted for is short lived, The Leech consuming the sensation and leaving her chasing it desperately again. She is endlessly spiraling downwards, she can never be content. She is cursed.

x Values her life over anyone else.

Tyreen has built her throne on the bones of family. She has opened her arms to billions, given lost souls the belonging they craved, become a mother to the heaving masses of damaged minds across the Galaxy, but it does not contain a single person she would die for. There is no one she wouldn't kill to survive. Leda knew. Typhon knows. Troy... Troy would snap your neck before you managed to finish asking if he does.

Backstory:

Bl3 canonical backstory till landing on Pandora where the AU begins, with additional points of:

Completely incapable of physical contact with any living organism bar Troy. Her power is wildly uncontrollable, and absorbs through any barrier within seconds. Its been this ravenous since the day it first revealed itself when the twins were 8 years old, and has never given her a moment of relief from its constant hunger since.

Did not receive as much attention as she deserved as a young child due to her parents needing to provide constant care to her deathly ill twin. Tyreen suffered in silence for a long time during this period, too immature to be able to explain to her mother and father how she felt.

The Leech negatively warps her over time as it feeds within. Tyreen would have blossomed into an extroverted, empathic, loudly spoken center of attention without its influence as she grew. A positive, if slightly needy woman, with an irresistible charisma and penchant for theatrics. Her feelings for Troy would not have decayed into something so grotesque, and she could have been happy. Her insatiable, yearning, demanding half of The Leech has doomed her to inescapable misery.

Personal:

Likes:

Positive attention and recognition.

Care or concern towards her emotional state, or mental/physical wellbeing.

Very few foods, but has a great love for citrus fruits and cured meats.

Textured fabrics, her inability to touch others has over time left her quite sensitive to tactile sensations, and she is a huge fan of expensive, high end fabrics and clothing created from them

Smoking. While she has little appetite for food or drink, joints and clove cigarettes are her go to relaxants. She enjoys the physical sensation of holding and smoking one, as well as the mental relief provided by the herbs Troy grows and dries for her.

Horrendously bad romance movies. The more cringe, the better. She's seen everything, and forced her brother to watch at least half. She knows in a way she's living vicariously through them, but it feels like an innocent pleasure.

Interacting with her fans and worshippers. Tyreen is very loving and open towards the COV cultists, and genuinely sees them as the family she was able to choose to have. This doesn't change that she values them less than insects however, and she's as likely to pause for a selfie with one as she is to husk them seconds later.

Dislikes:

x Her natural hair colour.

The dark brown was Leda's. Her eye shape is Leda's. Her mouth is Leda's. She doesn't want to see her mother in the mirror, so she's focused on those parts of her that remind her the most for changes in her aesthetic. Bleach, heavy eye makeup, liner to try and alter her lip shape. Tyreen is happy with her appearance, but it's her appearance she wants to see. Not the memory of her greatest fault.

x Being challenged.

While Ty is aware there are people who's opinion's she needs to heed, like Troy and Seifa in the earlier years of the COV, she doesn't like following their instructions. It's a personal insult to her deepest core when she has to choose to not follow her own volition. Over time, it breeds contempt inside her that she doesn't care enough to quell. A trusted advisor will become someone to eventually mock, a valued sibling or mentor will become the enemy, a burden, someone she knows better than. Tyreen hates so easily, it's like breathing.

x Being looked down on.

Tyreen is a God. There is no question, no space for disbelief. She is a deity, she is not human, she transcends that term. Ten billion people across the galaxy praise her hallowed name nightly, so the idea of some corporate scum fucking bastard acting like he's above her in a meeting room, sitting in a suit he thinks is showing off his wealth when she could literally buy the company that made it, is an insult she cannot bare. Troy has to accompany Tyreen in any face to face interaction with a sponsor. He has to do the talking, he has to control the situation. Without her twin to maintain her calm, Tyreen would tear these people to chunks of viscera. She cannot abide mockery.

x Her Father.

While Typhon genuinely believes he did his best for the twins and was trying to protect them from the horrors of the Galaxy, he has ended up becoming the focal point of every single thing Tyreen loathes. The indignity of being controlled by this tiny, weak little man. The insult of being caged on a planet he decided to enslave her on. The shame towards the overbearing control and fear he showed her as she grew up on Nekrotafeyo. She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

x Her Brother.

Troy took everything she could have been away from her. It's that simple. He did. There is no way to defend what happened. Regardless of her consuming him in the womb, regardless of what he wanted or not, he crippled her for life. He destroyed her Siren power, he stole her future, he tore any happiness she could ever have felt away from her, and left her with nothing but hunger, and hatred, and need. He's also the only person in the universe who knows her. He's the only person who cares for her. She despise him so much, she despises him so much that it almost feels like love.

x. Herself.

Not human. Not divine. Just a Leech. Just a fucking monster.

Physical differences to canon:

- Scarring is more noticeable:

Ty was glassed in the face in their first week on Pandora. Their first week. One of their earliest attempts to approach a bandit camp, and she'd had a broken bottle swung at her before she could even open her mouth to start Troy's rehearsed speech. It was also the first time she'd husked after landing, and was in self defense while the blood blinded her. The scars across her nose are jagged, and a little more set into her cheeks in depth.

- Left hand has long term damage:

Her hand sustained severe damage in a childhood incident. The white glove she wears is more to hide what she perceives as a weakness than to protect others from her powers. Cloth does practically nothing to prevent The Leech consuming what she touches, a lesson she learned the hard way in the trauma that lead to her fingers being crushed.

- Troy was attached to her stomach:

Tyreen began to absorb Troy early in the pregnancy before her Siren power flowed into him when they had merged enough for it to consider them the same being. He was attached shoulder to her sternum, and was born with her wrapped around his smaller body. Separating them did no long term damage to Tyreen, unlike her twin, but she has a massive puckered scar running from below her sternum to her navel. This is very cool if you ask her, and the sole reason she doesn't display it is to keep their origins secretive, not due to any form of shame.

Asks are open! Any regarding AU will prob get priority for now as I work to flesh it as we go

#tyreen calypso #troy calypso #calypso twins #borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #leech lord #my hcs #my writing

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insfiringyou · 4 years

Text

BTS - Family Ties (Jin x Min-seo)

Contains: (Overdue) Pregnancy. Fluff. Slight angst. Family talk. Mentions of Suga x Jeong-sun

Set very late on in her pregnancy, a few months following the events of ‘Expecting’ and referencing incidents mentioned in ‘Trouble in Paradise’.

We wanted to show some moments between the members and their girlfriends that may not seem grand or important in the long run, but that highlight some of the conversations they might have in private. We also don’t want to shy away from some of the arguments, disagreements or bickering that might take place. More couples to follow soon.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fics and art can be found here

Content below the cut

The rustling sound of bedsheets drew Jin’s attention to Min-seo as she shuffled against the mattress, pulling the duvet away from the considerable bump which protruded from under her nightshirt. She let out a sigh, tugging at the edge of the cover to tuck around the side of her body. The room was dark, but he could just make out her pale face which shined with perspiration.

“Can’t you sleep?” He turned to her and placed his hand instinctively on her stomach which seemed to radiate with heat.

She shook her head, blowing out a thin stream of air to dislodge the strand of dark hair which lay damply across her lips. “No.” She murmured weakly, clearly frustrated and tired. “I’m just too clammy.”

“Do you want me to turn on the fan?” He offered gently, already pulling back the sheets from his side of the bed to get to his feet.

“Do you mind?” She asked, a little cautiously. “Won’t you be too cold?”

“It’s more important you stay cool…” Pulling away, he slid off the mattress.

The sound of his feet plodding across the rug was strangely reassuring and the cool burst which hit her body made her breathe a sigh of relief; her arms slowly goosepimping in the breeze as she felt the solid weight of Jin’s body return beside her.

“Is that better?” He touched her hand, wrapping himself tightly in the cocoon of sheets to keep warm as the room began to cool.

“Much.” She smiled, stroking his fingertips with hers. They felt strange and empty without her wedding band but the swelling over the past few months had been too much and reluctantly she had placed it back in the box. It was now buried deep in the confines of her bedside table beneath the array of vitamins and bundle of postpartum pads Jeong-sun had brought over on her last visit where she had ushered the younger woman aside to discreetly show her how they worked while her boyfriend sat on the floor of the nursery, screwdriver in hand as he attentively assembled the crib. Jin had wanted to help, but one quick look at the instructions which lacked any text to accompany the black and white images soon told him the job was much safer in Yoongi’s hands.

Min-seo mourned the loss of her ring, and just hoped she would be able to wear it again soon. With a sigh, she turned to her husband. “I never thought I’d say this, but I just want this part to be over.”

“It’s only been two days…” He said reassuringly. “The midwife will call you in if she thinks there’s anything wrong.”

“I know…” She agreed, smoothing her spare hand along her stomach slowly. “They said it was normal to be overdue, but it’s just the wait...and I feel so damn uncomfortable…” She shifted again to prove her point and Jin felt her frustration; the uncharacteristic cursing a sign she was truly suffering.

He stroked her forehead gently, her sweat cool to the touch when he pressed his lips to her hairline. “I’m sorry you feel this way.” He whispered. “It won’t be long, I promise.”

She murmured in agreement and he moved back to his previous position as they both fell silent. Eventually, her voice cut through the air as he was about to drift off, making him jump.

“I should tell you something.” She said sombrely.

Although it had no reason to, his heart automatically sank as he opened his eyes. “What is it?” He questioned.

“Don’t be mad at me.” She warned, her voice wavering before she continued. “I got in touch with my sister, while you were out today.”

“Oh…” He thought for a moment, unable to help the sense of relief which filled his chest as he realised he was subconsciously expecting something to have been wrong with her or the baby. Despite this, he was a little wary, knowing if things were to not go well between the two women, it couldn’t come at a worse time.

“I know it might have been a bad idea, after all that’s happened...” She admitted quietly, as though speaking to herself as well as him. “I just didn’t want to do this alone.”

He frowned, reaching for her now-cool arm which twitched in response to his warmth. “You’re not alone…” He whispered. The softness in his tone made her turn towards him intuitively.

“I know…” She replied. “I just meant...having another woman there with you…another mother…” Taking a deep breath, she hoped he would understand what she was trying to say. “I know Nana and Jeong-sun have been so good to me recently and I’m really thankful for that, but it’s not the same.” She felt Jin’s loving touch across her shoulder and leaned into it. “My sister and I were so close when we were young...I can’t stand the thought of our baby not knowing their aunt, or not seeing my nephew grow up.”

He let out a breath of air, rolling the sheets down to his bare belly button. He too was starting to feel hot under the duvet, despite the fan. “I’m not mad at you.” He assured, looping his arm around the back of her neck to pull her face against his chest. “She’s your family. I’d never want you to feel you can’t talk to them…” Cautiously, he pressed on. “I’m just worried she might upset you again...that it might make things worse.”

“I know…” She admitted, knowing his suspicions were not unwarranted but unable to help the longing in her chest. “She apologised on the phone. She wants us to meet.”

“Do you want me to be there?” He looked down at her, lips inches away from her brow as she shook her head against him.

“I want to give her a fair chance.” She explained. “If she doesn’t want to be reasonable, I’ll ask her to leave.”

“Okay.” He agreed softly, trusting his wife’s judgement. The urge to protect her, and their unborn child, was unbearably overwhelming, but he let it drop, knowing that while Min-seo always seemed to try and find the best in people, she was more than capable of handling difficult situations herself. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?” His voice was tender, hopeful and she smiled against him.

“I know I’m being a pain, but do you think you could switch the fan off now?”

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook

& Our full masterlist can be found here

You can support us by buying admins a coffee here (if you wish). :)

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

Unmasked ~ Finale

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations; minor character death.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery.

Please enjoy the thirty-first, and final, full chapter of this adventure. In the name of tying up storylines, it ran a little long. Please forgive me for that. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 31 ~~

With those words, any hope I had been holding onto that Madge felt she could trust me with her heart’s secrets dies. I had been waiting for a confession and instead she announces her engagement.

“Marry…Mr. Hawthorne?” I choke out and Madge’s smile slips from her face.

“I… I thought you had warmed to him some.”

“A little, but…marriage?” I shout and Madge sighs.

“Yes, marriage. Can you not be happy for me, as I was for you?”

“But… why?” I ask and attempt to order my thoughts. “You hardly know him. He is an ass!”

“No worse than many a man of this world and certainly not near as bad as the Earl.”

“That is not exactly a glowing recommendation.”

“Katniss, please. He is a gentleman of fine family and good fortune. Perhaps a bit rough in manner but nothing that cannot be polished. I thought you two had developed a sort of intellectual banter that might lead to friendship. And… and I cannot continue to be a burden to you.”

“But you are no burden!” I protest.

“Not yet, perhaps, but it is inevitable. The longer I stay here, the more likely it becomes that I will cause you problems.”

“You do not love him!” I sputter and she gives me a wry look.

“And you did not love Peeta when you married him. Look at how well that turned out. It all depends on what the parties expect going into the marriage, and there are many advantages to our union. There’s no reason why I can’t be happily married to Gale.”

“Gale? Now he’s Gale?” My heart clenches in my breast and I know I squeeze her hands too rough as she tries to remove them from my grasp.

“Well I am to marry him.”

“What about Johanna? You would discard her so easily?” I ask, and Madge jumps back from me.

“What has Johanna to do with this?” She hisses the words, her eyes narrowing. “Why would a stable hand have any bearing on my marriage prospects?”

“Because you love that stable hand!”

“Even if I did, it would be impossible to do anything about it.”

“We can find a way—“ Madge’s bitter laugh stops me and she finally manages to free her hands from my grasp.

“Oh Katniss, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Stick to farming and not judging my choices again. Some of us haven’t the luxury of a picturesque happy ever after, so forgive me for grasping at the closest I can get!”

She spins about and leaves me gaping in confusion and heartache.

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

“He is a canting knave! A scoundrel of the worst sort!” I rant as I pace the floor and Peeta makes futile attempts at calming me enough to sit. Now that I have unleashed a few of my grievances, they all come tumbling out. “How dare he! Presuming to know anything about me or my home or my family, instructing me on how things should be as though I were a wayward school girl and not a woman grown. Acting as though he already owns Everdeen. I have poured my blood, my sweat, my tears, my very soul into this earth! And here this jackanape strolls in, telling me that all my problems might be solved if I had married him, all while he is maneuvering my dearest friend into a marriage she does not want! How can she? And now… now he’ll have both Willow Park and Everdeen, the bastard!”

“And who are you to give him that name when it belongs to me?” Peeta asks and I scowl at him.

“You are my husband, my love. I am endeavoring to not insult you anymore by not calling you that name.”

“Mmmm, but on your lips, that word has become almost an endearment to me.” He manages to grasp hold of me then, and wraps me in his arms, entangles me so that I’ve no choice but to sink onto his lap. No choice and yet I do not want one. There is nowhere else I would rather be, as a sense of calm and clarity washes over me as we settle together in the intimate posture.

“Are you jealous, husband? At my calling Mr. Hawthorne that term?”

“Not yet,” he whispers and rubs the tips of our noses together. “Should you still be thinking of him, even if it is to curse him, later this evening when my mouth is between your thighs…then I might be jealous. Until then…”

He trails off and kisses me, and I am powerless and without motivation to stop it. I nearly laugh at the thought of how much I love kissing my husband. Should it be so? This happiness and harmony of mind and body and heart with another being? I am lost in it before I can so much as take a breath.

Until I remember that Madge will once again find herself in a marriage without such joy as this.

“You are distracting me from my worries,” I manage to say when he shifts to kiss along my cheeks.

“Is it effective?”

“Not yet,” I tease. “Perhaps you should skip straight to your mouth between my thighs.”

His smile is beautiful as he stops and brushes back my hair. I sigh and shift beneath his scrutiny, unable yet to allow myself to be completely distracted from my quarrel with Madge.

“You did not see her face. She looked as though she might be sick. She cannot be happy with this.”

“It cannot all be a disaster. I cannot imagine Madge entering a union without good reason. She’s not desperate. Perhaps it was your anger she feared, more than her nuptials. She knows how much reason you have to dislike him, to distrust him. She knows he is to inherit Everdeen, and how would it look, her marrying him so quickly and gaining her closest friend’s home in the bargain.”

“She would not. I cannot believe Madge capable of such greed. She already has Willow Park.”

“Neither can I believe it of her, but Katniss, there must be a reason for this. You know it. I think Madge may be more aware of what she is doing than you are giving her credit.”

“How?”

“I do not know. It is only an intuition right now. I’ve no proof. We will simply need to be patient.”

He is right. I can feel that he is. I’ve only let my fears and my anger run away with me, but Peeta, as always, provides the steadiness I need to aim my thoughts and feelings in the right direction. There is, in my memory, the tickling of a conversation. Madge’s desire to see Willow Park restored, as a home of her own perhaps. This I can understand, and Mr. Hawthorne is wealthy enough to see the deed done. Is it possible, then, that Madge simply conducted her own fortune hunting expedition? If so, she was much more expedient about it than I was. And how can I judge her for doing the same as me, for attempting to secure a future and a home for her and Maysilee? I cannot. I rest my head on Peeta’s shoulder, heavy with my own thoughts.

“You think I was too harsh with Madge.” I state it because I think I was too harsh with her, and so Peeta should think it as well.

“I think you should ask her what her reasons are. Without shouting at her.”

“I did not…” I start to protest and then stop, guilt threatening to choke the words right from my throat. “Alright, perhaps I did shout a little.”

He hums in agreement, his lips distracting me as he kisses my neck.

“I will speak with her again. Calmly this time.” There is still hope to sway her. She and Mr. Hawthorne did not announce their engagement today. Until it is officially announced, I am not certain I can believe she will go through with it. There is nothing that I can do about it tonight. “Oh very well…distract me if you must.”

Peeta laughs then helps me stand and together, we hurry to our bed.

After, as I lay across his naked form, wrapped in his arms with the heat of his chest warming my back, his hands caressing idly over my form, a divine sort of content making my limbs heavy and sleepy, he kisses my temple and speaks once more.

“He is right about one thing, you know.”

“Who?” I ask, watching Peeta’s fingers follow the swell of our growing child.

“Gale Hawthorne.” I stiffen in his embrace and yet Peeta continues. “Had you married him instead, Everdeen would be yours without question.”

“Would you rather I had? Married him instead of you?”

“Are you fishing for compliments, wife?” he asks and I turn to scowl at him.

“No, I think that you are.”

His smile is still bright but something wavers in his eyes before he swallows and whispers to me. “You know I would not wish that for the world. Katniss, my love. I never dreamt I could be so happy with anyone as I am with you.”

I feel myself melt towards him and he lifts one hand to turn my chin towards him.

“I love you. Beyond life and reason.” A kiss and a soft sigh. “But he is right.”

“No. He is wrong. Everdeen would be mine, but…It is as you said the other night. It is pleasant to think you and I would have found our way here anyways, no matter the circumstances, but the odds of that happening differently… Such a thing is not a certainty. No, I do not wish I had met him before you, nor certainly not that I married him. For then, I would have missed out on something far more precious to me than even Everdeen.”

Peeta’s eyes widen at that and I turn to kiss him more fully, that he might taste the certainty in my lips as well as hear it in my words.

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

Madge remains resolute. Even as I make attempts to speak with her, she withdraws from me. An announcement is made and congratulations are offered. Plans are made.

The clergyman’s cottage remains mostly intact on Willow Park. A few repairs should bring the dwelling up to a standard suitable for a couple to live in comfortably while the repairs are being conducted on the manor itself. Mr. Hawthorne does not intend to stay in the area between now and their nuptials.

“I have pressing business to attend in other parts of Panem. It would be unseemly to travel with my fiancée unchaperoned.”

Mother extends the invitation to Madge to stay with us, but she declines. Within days of the announcement, Madge has hired a housekeeper and a groundsman, a married couple, to live on the premises with her and Maysilee. Shortly after Mr. Hawthorne and his party departs, Madge and Maysilee move out of Everdeen.

Perhaps one good thing to come out of their engagement is that with the family resuming residence at Willow Park, Madge will be able to hire a new cleric, offering a second option and saving the village from the necessity of attending Father Crane’s sermons. Hopefully Madge can find someone with a more open mind and less slimy arrogance.

Peeta departs for Capitol, although he is reluctant to do so. I insist that he go as planned, to sit his exams. When he leaves, he once again urges me to speak with Madge, to visit her in her new home. I know that I should. I should not let such a vital and long friendship die soundlessly. And yet I cannot bring myself to order the cart. Madge has made it clear that for whatever reason, I am not welcome. I cannot fathom how it is that I managed to fail her so abominably.

With him and Madge both gone, I bury myself in work. A field destroyed by what appears to have been a herd of rabbits provides a timely distraction. Miranda’s education often takes a decent amount of my time and we read voraciously through one book after another. She begins to read to me, in a slow halting voice that follows my finger beneath the words on the page. I walk long hours across the hills of Everdeen. I prepare for the arrival of our child. The plants continue to grow. The rains continue to fall and the sun shines in its turn. I often find myself contemplating the moon and wondering if Madge and Peeta are doing the same.

Johanna is no more talkative on the matter than me. The one time I attempt to speak with her about it, she insists she has no desire to stick her nose into the business of the Quality. I have a hard time believing that, but she will not be moved to speak.

One morning, I lift my hand to knock on Miranda’s door, to ask her if she would like to help me in the gardens. The sounds of quiet cries startle me. I gently push the door open and peer through the crack. There are books spread across the floor and a rag doll with cornsilk hair sitting in a chair at the table, a cup of tea and a biscuit in front of it. Miranda is splayed across the bed, crying into Odysseus’ fur.

I shut the door and finally allow a few tears of my own to fall. Then I order the cart prepared.

“Miranda…would you like to go and see Maysilee for tea?” I ask through the door when I return, the cart waiting for us. My words are met with a great crashing of noise. She flings open the door, her eyes puffy and red and hopeful.

“Today?”

“Right this instant,” I tell her.

I feel more wretched with every step the horses take towards Willow Park. With every excited, breathless word that leaves Miranda’s mouth, I find myself drowning in a veritable flood of verbiage, after so many months of her silence. It is more damning than Madge’s distance and more painful than Peeta’s gentle encouragement. The proof that I have neglected my daughter, the way my mother once did to me, as my father lay ill and unresponsive. Oh the things that silence and neglect drove me to do last year.

Work is progressing on the rebuilding of the manor, the area has been cleared, cellars dug and the foundations begin to take shape. Miranda points out the changes as I drive us to the cottage.

“Miranda! Aunt Katniss!” Maysilee shouts as she runs full tilt from the gardens surrounding the cottage. Dirt stains her pinafore and she clings to Mud the cat. When did she begin referring to me as an aunt? I’ve no idea and it splits my broken heart further open.

Our daughters embrace at the gate as I carefully climb down from the cart. It is a trick with no mounting stone and no one to assist me. I stumble and manage to grasp hold of something solid to keep from planting my face in the dirt. Madge exits the cottage just in time to witness my near disgrace.

“Katniss,” she says, holding a hand over her eyes to shield her face from the sun as she wears no bonnet.

“I hope we are not intruding. Miranda has been missing Maysilee.”

“Oh,” Madge says with a nod. “Will you…stay for tea then?”

The invitation is issued and tea is served in a sunny front room where we can watch our girls play through the window. The woman Madge hired bustles about, setting out the tray and then leaves us in silence. Only the ticking of the clock and the sounds of girls at play break the strain. I do not even know how to begin, for I do not even know how I failed her.

“Peeta is in Capitol as I understand? For his exams?”

“Yes,” I say, unable to hide the confusion on my face.

“Primrose writes to me, and visits on occasion.”

“Oh.” More guilt. My sister has been a better friend to Madge than I have.

“I think she is hoping for bits of news of Rory and hope from me that she cannot glean from his letters,” Madge says simply and I smile, the feeling forced. “How is it going then…for Peeta?”

“Very well,” I say. The words feel like ash on my tongue and I cannot reconcile the sudden sorrow I feel with the happiness of the news I impart.

No, I know the reason. We speak now as two strangers, rather than the best of friends. What happened to us? Gale Hawthorne happened to us. Anger and resentment unfurls in my breast at how deeply he impacts my life, even when not present.

“I am glad to hear it. Hopefully he will return to you soon. I know how you must miss him.”

“Madge,” I say and she turns her head to look out the window.

“And your parents? How do they fare?”

“Well enough. Madge… are we to avoid speaking of it?”

“I do not know what more I can say on the matter. I am marrying Gale Hawthorne in less than a month. I hope my dear friend will be there to congratulate me.”

“How am I to congratulate you when I am not convinced of your happiness?”

She snaps her eyes shut and breathes out through her teeth. “Katniss…there is more to happiness than love. We cannot all afford to have your romantic sentimentalities.”

“But–”

“Please trust me on this. I cannot…I cannot be open yet. There is more than my secrets at stake here.”

I stare at her, and while her answer tells me nothing, I do feel something. Some measure of relief in knowing that Peeta somehow understood it before I did. That Madge does indeed have some reason for her hasty engagement to Mr. Hawthorne, for marrying him at all.

She sighs and reaches for me, withdrawing her hand before she touches me and instead fiddling with her hair.

“You took me in after years of silence, with no questions asked, and you’ve no idea how much that means to me. I am asking you now to let me go with no questions and trusting that I know what I am doing.”

Her request hurts, but how could I possibly refuse. I manage only a nod of agreement.

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

Peeta returns home, tired but successful. The professors of the medical college are pleased with his progress and excited to continue his training. They claim that his inclusion in such an early class of students will be a boon to the science of medicine as he brings a unique perspective.

“I am proud of you,” I murmur that night as we lay in our bed, my cumbersome form a nuisance and a barrier keeping me from kissing him the way that I want to, keeping Peeta from loving me the way that I want him to.

Although I can tell he is aroused, he rebuffs my advances. “We do not want to risk sending you into early labor,” he insists as he restrains my wandering hands.

“The sooner this child is born, the better,” I complain and he laughs, kisses each of my cheeks and then my nose.

“There’s a recovery period after, my love. Somewhere between one and two months, depending on the difficulty of the birth.”

“Two months!” I shout and he laughs. “You will love me for a week straight after the two months, husband.”

“I wouldn’t dare, wife,” he says and kisses me soundly on the mouth before extinguishing the light. “You would exhaust me.”

“You would enjoy it,” I quip and he chuckles softly against my neck.

But despite the levity that I sometimes feel, there is a constant shadow. My friend. My sister in my heart. Day by day, despite the fact that we seem to have reached some sort of truce where we visit and bring our daughters together as often as possible, I feel her growing away from me. We do not speak of her wedding at all. Our conversations barely qualify as more than chatter.

The manor at Willow Park slowly rises out of the ashes. The construction brings new work to the district and wandering souls begin to make their way here seeking employment in such a fertile region. Johanna announces one day that the stables at Willow Park have been built and that she has been hired on as their stablemaster.

“Is that wise?” I ask Peeta as we stand in the doors of Everdeen and watch Johanna ride away on her nag, only a small sack of belongings to her name. She is under no contract with us and so is free to leave, but that is not my concern. I fear the potential for strife in a house where her lady love is married to another.

“I think I begin to understand,” Peeta says and then does not have time to elaborate with Miranda careening across the yard, chasing a flock of clucking chickens.

“I was thinking…” I begin and wait for his touch on my back, an encouraging rub in a space that has ached for over a day now. “I was thinking of giving Diablo to Madge. As a wedding gift. Father is in agreement. What do you think?”

“I think it perfect,” Peeta says. He watches Miranda for a moment then kisses me and leaves me to attend to his patients for the day.

“You’ll never catch them like that!” I shout after Miranda and then follow to show her. I cannot move as quickly as usual, my steps laborious and my wide frame only an advantage in blocking the occasional escape.

One squawks loudly and flutters her wings. Miranda jumps back in fear, colliding with me, and we both fall to the ground.

“Oh!” I cry out as a sharp pain screams up my spine.

“Mrs. Mellark!” Sae shouts and hurries out to help me up.

“I am fine, only my pride bruised. Bested by a hen,” I mutter.

“All the same, your mother or Mr. Mellark should have a look at you.”

Mother declares me to be fine, but at dinner that evening, a sharp pain lances across my belly. I am able to hide it, although when it happens again as I sit in the drawing room after, I think perhaps I should mention it to Peeta. I decide that if it happens again, I will tell him. We are now only a few days out from my expected time. The babe could arrive any day now.

Tomorrow is Madge’s wedding. The invitation sits on the table in the hall, the answer already sent. I wonder now if we should have declined, but I couldn’t bear to do it, not after I was unable to attend her first wedding, and not with our friendship still on such unsteady grounds. She asked me to trust her and so I shall have to find it in me to do so.

When no more pains plague me that evening, I relax and tell no one. It must not be time yet.

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

“Oh!” I gasp out as I awaken from a disturbing dream. A dreadful fog blotting out the moon and the stars until all was black. There was more. Something about Madge, but I lose it in the pain. I drift between dreams and pain, writhing in the bed until I wake Peeta.

“What is it, Katniss? A nightmare?”

“No!” I gasp and grit my teeth, grasping tight to his arm. “The baby.”

He is moving in an instant, up and checking on me, assuring me that nothing is wrong, only that I have gone into childbirth. In the space between several pains, he dresses, pausing only to see me through each pain as dawn creeps over the horizon. He sends for Mary, and for Mother. The house awakens and Peeta helps me walk across our room then back as Mother and Prim prepare supplies.

The room grows stifling and I beg for fresh air. The window is thrown open for me. I refuse food, unable to fathom eating through this pain.

“You will need sustenance,” Peeta urges, but all I take is tea.

The sun marches across the sky as Peeta murmurs to me. Prim leaves then returns at one point, dressed in a lovely blue dress with a green bonnet on her head. The wedding.

“Give my love to Madge,” I beg her. “Tell her I would have been there, and take my gift for her.”

“I will,” Prim says and kisses me on the cheek before she and Father depart. There is no need for them to stay when this could take all day. Someone from Everdeen should be present at the wedding, and so it falls to them.

Time plods forward. The sun begins to sink, and still no sign of the babe. The pain dulls to the background and then roars back to life, so harsh that I cannot even speak. I can barely catch my breath.

“It is time, Katniss,” my mother reassures me as she and Peeta position me on the bed, my legs spread wide. “You must bear down with each pain.”

I nod and scream with the first one. As soon as it passes, I meet Peeta’s worried eyes, down between my bent upwards knees. Were I in less pain, perhaps I would care that he now sees me like this, but I have more pressing worries.

“Don’t,” I say and he shakes his head. “Don’t do that, husband. I am not so fragile as that.”

We agreed that when my time came, Doctor Aurelius would be notified but only called if the situation grew dire. I may feel as though I am dying, but there is still life pulsing vibrant through my veins. I do not feel myself fading at all. Peeta must see it too. Were he more detached from this particular birth, were this merely a professional call, he might be able to see it more objectively.

Peeta takes a deep breath and nods, his hand skimming reassuringly over my leg.

A commotion of horse hooves and shouting reaches me through the open window and another pain strikes. I do not even attempt to hold in the scream as I feel as though I am being torn asunder.

As the scream dies, the door to our room flies open and a storm of white silk swirls into the room, flinging aside a lace veil and perching on the bed beside me. The scent of summer roses fills my nose.

“Madge.”

“Katniss,” she says, tears in her eyes.

“I am sorry I missed your wedding.” She lets out a soft sob and then wipes a damp cloth across my brow. “You should be dancing with your groom. He will be so cross with me for this.”

“He will hardly notice my absence. More importantly, I promised I would be here,” she says instead and takes my hand in hers as I am once more consumed with pain. “With you.”

Three voices now murmur encouragement and lend me strength. Madge and my mother somehow hold my hands and legs so I cannot escape. I fixate on Peeta’s eyes. His face as the room goes dark and Mary lights candles. I collapse as the pain ebbs, and breathe like a fish out of water.

“Almost, my love,” Peeta whispers, his touch gentle on my knee. I laugh, the sound crazed as I lift my head to scowl at him.

“Soon you will have your child to hold,” Madge murmurs.

“Why would anyone do this twice?” I ask.

“You will soon see,” my mother says.

“You make it sound so simple. Would you care to take my place?” I ask Peeta.

“Would that I could,” he answers, and I can see in his eyes that he means it. He would take this pain away and into himself if he could. “As a wise woman once told me, it is far easier to cause death than to bring forth life.”

“Those were not my exact words, husband,” I remind him and he smiles.

“Close enough, wife.”

And then I am no longer able to speak, the pain is too great. And yet… a strange thing happens then, as I stare into his blue, tired eyes. The pain grips me and it is terrible terrible terrible…and then it is not. The voices fade and the pain is not so unbearable. There is almost… a relief in it.

“There you are!” My mother soothes. “We have the head. Now for the shoulders, Katniss. You are almost done.”

A few more minutes and Madge is kissing my temple, her tears mingling with my sweat, her words unintelligible but the tone of love clear. I am fading fast into exhaustion, and Peeta is focused on something I cannot see between my legs.

“Peeta,” I whine and he looks up at me as the squall of a baby fills the room. His smile is impossibly happy and I nearly burst with it.

“A daughter, Katniss. We have a daughter.”

Peeta slides one hand around my still exposed thigh, his palm warm and soothing on my skin. And then his lips against the tender skin of my inner thigh. A look of awe and love in his eyes. Soft tears seep from the corners and onto my skin. It is unbearably intimate and undoubtedly shocking, unseemly.

I do not care. His kisses like that as he cradles our child in his arm mean everything to me.

There are tears and washing. Soothing. Peeta and Mother take our daughter to be cleaned and tended, swaddled in warm blankets. I am carried to a tub brought up especially for this and scrubbed with gentle hands, redressed in a fresh gown. Food is brought. Joyous announcements shouted through the halls and then she is finally placed in my arms. I lean back into Peeta’s chest as I hold our daughter while she feeds and he holds us both. He cannot seem to stop touching her brow and her cheeks. I inhale her sweet baby scent and then his warm, manly scent.

Madge still sits on the bed with us, her wedding gown spread across the edge of the fresh counterpane, I think a few spots on her dress are stained. The hem looks almost ripped. Her posy of roses sits on the bedside table, already beginning to wilt.

“Madge,” I begin and she shakes her head.

“There is no need.” But there is a need. I know that now. I’ve a need to listen and she’s a need to be heard. She should have been able to tell me, and my own stubbornness and focus on Everdeen made it impossible. The words may wait, but I will say them.

“May I?” she asks when my daughter has finished suckling, and holds her arms out to me. I gently place my daughter in her arms and she rises from the bed, cooing softly.

“Will you be her godmother?” I ask and the tightening of Peeta’s arms about me tells me that he supports my request.

“Of course I will.” Madge smiles at me and nods. My heart lightens with the expression on her face as I know, all hope is not lost. Madge is still my true friend and while I still yearn for answers, I find that I can be patient. She then peers down at the wrinkled pink face of my baby girl.

“As soon as Prim told me, I had Diablo saddled and rode over here. Thank you for him.”

“He was already yours,” I say and she bites her lip as though holding back tears.

“I did not have a chance to dance at my wedding. Since you and Peeta did not dance at your wedding, I am taking it as a good omen. But I cannot resist such a lovely cherub.”

She sweeps into a delicate step, humming a tune as she dances with my daughter in her arms. And then I am crying uncontrollably.

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

Peeta insists that I sleep. I manage it, somehow, after demanding that he kiss me properly, despite the many people still lingering in the room. There is a rotation of loved ones to assist me in ways I’d never thought to need them. To hold my girl when my arms grow weak. Standing on my own is a trial. I’ve no desire to wear anything other than my shift and the bedsheets yet. Bathing and changing is a difficulty, as is relieving myself.

Our daughter is still new when family descends to meet her. My father is ridiculously soft with her, my mother showers her face with kisses once the duties of midwife are complete. Prim is delighted and already making plans for spoiling both of her nieces.

“I expect a nephew next,” she tells me with a sly smile. “I doubt that you will make me wait overlong.”

“Come and meet your sister,” I whisper to Miranda, and watch her melt out of the shadows and clamber up onto the bed. Her fingers shake as she peels back the blanket and stares down at her face.

“Hello…sister,” she whispers and I lean over to kiss her fiery curls.

“Will you tell her stories?” Peeta asks, placing a hand on Miranda’s back and smiling down at us three.

“May I?” Miranda asks and I nod.

“I think she would like that.”

“So would I,” Miranda breathes. “But…what is her name?”

My eyes meet Peeta’s over Miranda’s head and he smiles. “We were hoping you might help us with that.”

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

There are days when I think motherhood to be the worst sort of bargain. When I am tired and sore or when the entire world frightens me. Disease, injury, deception, heartbreak, and so much more. How am I to protect my daughters, my Beatrice and my Miranda from all of this. There are days when the joy of holding her in my arms drowns out all else, when watching her and Miranda together or separately convinces me that I was never happy before I had them. My children.

The weather warms and the vivid flowers of spring and early summer fade to make room for the pale blue skies, the fading greens, and the heat that sings with insects only found in the midst of summer. I am eager for my recovery to be done with and count the days. Then… then I cherish the night. Nights with the windows wide open and Peeta hushing my sultry moans. We are unable to love in the physical sense as often as we did before. The presence of our babe sleeping in our room, the demands of raising two children, often curtail passion. Yet every time we come together, there is a joy in it that brings tears to my eyes.

I tease him that I long for another child, and yet he insists that we wait. He has some medical notion that repeated childbirth is too harsh on a body, and in the name of protecting me from such an ordeal, he prescribes the teas of my mother to suppress fertility. He uses the French methods of preventing pregnancy as well, despite my complaints that I despise having a barrier between his skin and mine. At times…when I am the most desperate for him, Peeta refuses to join fully with me at all and employs other methods of giving me pleasure. I cannot complain too much, as those are most effective at satisfying me and delightfully intimate as well.

Miranda, my dove. Her speech becomes a constant hum in our house. A thousand and one questions every day, a thousand and one stories. We discover that she has a knack for fancy sewing and while this means her drawing begins to wane, her stitchery blooms. She weaves them both, stories and embroidered scenes from colorful bits of thread into something strange and fantastical and wonderful. Mother sees her work framed and hung about the house. Father begins to request scenes or specific stories. He listens to her for hours and it brightens my heart to see her so loved and welcomed by my family.

As for our neighbors… Madge and Maysilee visit often until I am recovered and am able to return the visits. The work on Willow Park continues. Half a dozen brood mares arrive and Johanna is in her element with so much equine flesh to tend to. Gale strikes a bargain with Peeta to use Cicero as one of his studs. It turns out that Cicero is something of a rake, and I tease Peeta mercilessly about the number of bastards his mount sires within a matter of months. He usually shuts me up by kissing me mercilessly.

I have few complaints about this arrangement.

Indeed, the only one I have is that Mr. Hawthorne appears to be a somewhat neglectful husband. He is rarely in the district, despite the realisation of his dream of owning a horse farm. His other ventures often take him about Panem or even abroad with Mr. Fremont, leaving Madge and Johanna to deal with the day to day operations of Willow Park. Although, Madge assures me that she and Mr. Hawthorne are always in touch via letters.

I keep waiting to see some sign of melancholy in my friend, some sort of distraught unhappiness, and yet it never arrives. In fact, if anything, her marriage appears to have only enhanced her beauty and happiness. I have the strangest sensation that her removal to Willow Park along with Johanna, and Mr. Hawthorne’s frequent absence is the source of such happiness. What mischief does she get up to when her husband is away, and what sort of husband seems so indifferent to his wife’s many charms?

“Why did you not tell me?” I finally ask her over tea one afternoon. When both her hired help are out running messages and errands in town. “Did you think I would…react badly?”

“I could not be certain,” Madge admits. “You’ve no idea how lonely it can be, feeling this way. When we were girls, I never quite understood my own feelings nor the reason why I felt so at odds with them. Then I left and married the earl and…”

She trails off and something occurs to me. “Your affaire, after his death…it was with a woman,” I whisper the words, even though we are alone save for Beatrice on my knee and Madge laughs, but she is crying. I set aside my tea and shift to hold her as well.

“You will think me horrid but I am so tired of carrying this. Yes! It was with Katharine, my… oh she was married to the earl’s son and we are the same age. She was my friend and the only one who was ever truly kind to me in that wretched house. But her husband came home early from his club and found us together one night and…”

Her tears keep her from continuing, but I can make a good guess at the rest.

“Cry no more tears over him, my dear. He was cruel, but he was likely also jealous that you were a far better lover to his wife than he.” Madge laughs hysterically at this and lifts her head to smile at me.

“And you are not at all disgusted with me?”

“Mmm, no. Still a little curious about some things, but not disgusted. What happened to Katharine?”

“I am afraid to even find out,” Madge admits.

I take her hands in mine then and wait for her sniffles to abate. “I love you, my friend, and I only ever want your complete happiness.”

“I am as close to it as I think I will be able to come, Katniss.” I nod at this. Then, I shall have to make my own peace with it, and I set about doing so.

Mr. Fremont is perhaps the most surprising addition to our lives. He writes to the Mellark family at Everdeen quite often, sharing riddles with Miranda that she delights in solving, presents for Beatrice, bits of news for Peeta and I. I am at a loss for how his is the hand that seeks friendship and yet it is so. He, of course, sends similar letters and gifts to Maysilee.

So little of it makes sense to me yet that perhaps it is my curiosity which leads me to a most unexpected place late in the summer… hunting in the woods of Everdeen with Mr. Hawthorne. Madge suggested it, as we apparently share a common interest in the sport. I suppose she is hoping we will somehow bond over it. Thankfully for me, Madge is unaware that hunting is best done in silence.

While this means that I’ve no opportunity to further my acquaintance with her husband, it also means that I am granted opportunity to observe him while not subjected to his tirades.

It is pleasant enough at first. Peeta was quite adamant I go when I attempted to cajole a refusal out of him instead. He insisted that the fresh air and exercise would do me good, to say nothing of the return to something that I have always felt comfort in doing. I pause a moment and tilt my head back to absorb the rays of the sun. He was right, my husband. Despite the questionable nature of the company, I needed this. Even if I catch nothing, I needed this journey into the woods, this breath of who I am and perhaps will always be.

“Fascinating,” Mr. Hawthorne murmurs and I sigh. The silence was of course too good to continue. I am simply grateful at this point that Mr. Hawthorne eschews the aristocratic hunting methods and does not favor hunting with hounds. I glance over at where he examines a snare. Not one of mine. I’ve never had much luck with snares. Perhaps one of my tenants, seeking a rabbit or squirrel for a meal.

“A snare,” I explain and he nods.

“Yes I know. A rather ingenious one. I wonder if…” he retrieves a stick and makes to spring the trap.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” I say and he glances back at me. “You would deprive a man of meat to fulfill your curiosity? Or do you know how to reset it?”

He thinks for a moment and stands. “You are quite right, Mrs. Mellark. I don’t suppose you happen to know the creator of this snare?”

“I’ve a few guesses. Some discreet inquiries might bring me the answer, although I warn you, they may not be willing to speak with an aristocratic stranger.”

“I have no title. I am not–”

“Not wealthy?” I ask and he glances down at his waistcoat.

“Perhaps I should adopt your habits of dress.” I snort at this but tug on my rough coat that I wear today. It is longer than one I would normally wear with breeches, as something about traipsing through the woods with a man who is not my husband whilst wearing breeches set off alarming thoughts in my head.

“You are not what you seem…are you, Mrs. Mellark?”

“I am exactly what I seem, if you are paying attention. You, however, are something of a puzzle. And our speaking will scare away the game,” I say as a scent reaches me. I attempt to place it, some long ago warning from my father taunting me just beyond the reaches of my memories.

Mr. Hawthorne huffs and then flings aside his stick.

“Don’t!” I shout as it crashes through the underbrush, arousing a terrible squealing noise. A boar thrashes the bushes and crashes out towards us. Mr. Hawthorne turns and shoves me against a tree. I cry out with pain at the impact as the wild pig careens past, snuffling and huffing, snorting in indignation as he turns again and prepares to charge.

I grab the nearest branch and haul myself into the tree. “Climb!”

Mr. Hawthorne makes to follow me, but the pig is too fast. I settle on a branch and swing my gun about and take aim. The blast surprises even me, but the pig falls. The hairy body slides across the foliage and thumps against the tree. Right below Mr. Hawthorne’s dangling boots. With a final snort, the beast dies.

I release a great puff of air and Mr. Hawthorne drops to the ground next to it, stares at it then up at me in my perch.

“You’ve wild boar in these woods.”

“Do you always state the obvious?” I ask and he shakes his head, almost laughing as he tilts his head to examine my kill.

“An impressive shot, Mrs. Mellark. Right in the eye.”

“Luck,” I say and place a hand over my heart, attempting to quell the thundering of it in my chest. I’ve no reason to fear. I was perfectly safe.

“You saved my life.” He crouches to further examine the dead beast, to trace the gnarled tusks.

“Please, there is no need for dramatics.”

“I believe there is. You could have easily let the beast kill me and claimed it as an accident. No one would have doubted you.”

“Those who know my skill would have.”

“Please, Mrs. Mellark. You are barely recovered from childbirth. None would have blamed you for diminished skill in the face of a charging wild boar.” I snort and he grins up at me. “The fact is…you saved my life.”

“My friend is not even a full year out of mourning. I would not wish to constrain her again in such a state so soon.” He did also protect me from the initial charge, although that fact rather irritates me so I refrain from mentioning it.

“Not even if it meant she would be wealthy beyond reason and you would gain Everdeen for your children all the sooner?” he murmurs and my eyes snap to his in shock. “Ah. I see my wife has not seen fit to tell you all the details of our arrangement. Perhaps she wished me to tell you myself. Trust me when I say that we are in complete agreement on many things, and she is as satisfied with all aspects of our marriage as I am. Half of it was her idea.”

“You make no sense.”

“And you are in a tree. Come down and claim your kill. Your house and your tenants will feast well this week.” He stands, extending a hand up to me. And there is that smile, the one that transforms his face to one that is kind and almost flirtatious. Loyal to those he cares about yet with a fierceness still in his eyes. The sort of face ladies would swoon over and friends such as Darius rush to protect…

My mouth drops open as I stare at him, his hand hanging in the air between us as a suspicion begins to form in my head. And I decide that perhaps trusting Mr. Gale Hawthorne would not be so bad.

I snap my mouth shut and carefully place my hand in his. His grip as he helps me from the tree is solid and firm, yet I feel no thrill the way that I do when Peeta touches me so. I tilt my head now to examine him, the way Mr. Hawthorne did to examine the snare, then the dead pig.

“Shall we?” he asks, motioning to the dead animal with a smile. I nod and we set to work. Preparing the carcass to move and then creating a litter of sorts to carry it.

When we return to Everdeen, there is much fanfare and clapping. My father praises us for our catch. It is a joyous scene. Crowded and too busy for me to have a chance to ask Mr. Hawthorne what he meant in the woods, about gaining Everdeen for myself. Or about my growing suspicions.

“Should I be jealous now?” Peeta whispers to me after dinner. He has caught me staring at Mr. Hawthorne again.

“No,” I answer and smile at him. I begin to wonder if perhaps Peeta has no reason at all to be jealous in regards to Mr. Hawthorne, but I do instead. “I was merely attempting to sort through a puzzle.

“It will come to you,” he whispers and kisses my hand. I am still sorting through the threads of conversations as we sit in the drawing room after dinner that night. Darius is flushed and perhaps a little drunk, having toasted to Gale and Mrs. Mellark, the founders of the feast, a few times more than is necessary. It was indeed a delicious meal, but his cheer seems to evaporate when Gale demands a rematch at chess. He and Peeta move towards the table. Mr. Fremont collapses in a chair beside me, swaying a bit and seeming to almost brood.

“You’ve still had no time to learn?” I ask him and he nods, rather morose for being left out of a game. I set my book on my lap, uninterested in reading if I might learn something from him or confirm my growing suspicions. Besides, I selected my book at random, more as a screen to provide me with privacy in a crowded room, or to observe unnoticed those around me.

Then something strange happens. Perhaps I would not even notice, it happens so quickly, except that my senses and mind have been so focused on my quarry all day that it stands out in sharp relief.

A piece knocked from the board, Peeta’s king, as they reset the pieces from a game left unfinished by other players. Peeta bends to retrieve it. My eyes follow the motion, half admiring his shape, and yet somehow I catch it from the corner of my eye… Mr. Hawthorne leaning to the side, eyes closely following Peeta’s motions. At first, I excuse it as Mr. Hawthorne ensuring that Peeta does not somehow cheat, but how could he with such a move? It is chess, not cards.

As my husband takes his seat, glances are exchanged. The heat of a blush and the grinding of teeth beside me. An embarrassed look away. Madge happily running her hands over the piano keys and chatting with Prim, unaware of her husband’s wandering eyes, of the almost jealous and contrite exchange happening between her husband and the man beside me…

Or perhaps, she is completely aware of them. Something falls into place in my head as Mr. Hawthorne clears his throat in a rather undignified manner. Then he focuses on the game. Sensing a new sort of hunt, I turn to Mr. Fremont with a smile.

“I must confess that I’ve made attempts to learn chess, but I’ve still no patience for it. The swift hunt is much better for me.”

“You were quite swift today, or so Gale tells me.”

“Fortunate,” I say, waving it off. “With instincts honed by a desire to protect that which matters to me. As I think many of us in this room are.”

Darius makes a strange noise as Mr. Hawthorne laughs across the room and I lift my book to hide my own blush. How extraordinary. Well…if he wishes my husband’s attentions, he will have to come armed with more than a handsome face and a ready laugh. I smile slyly at Mr. Fremont and he lifts one eyebrow at me.

“You wish to protect Gale? I was not under the impression his life would be important to you.”

“Not at the moment. How could I possibly wish to protect someone with designs on all that is…mine.” He barely responds to the pause, but it is there. Not that I can blame Mr. Hawthorne, if I am correct about his preferences. I feel the thrill of the pending kill, a much less violent and far more satisfying one than what happened in the woods today. “Although, I feel as though we’ve built a sort of tentative trust today. No, it is Madge whose welfare I am concerned with.”

“She has everything that she could want in her life, and in her marriage.”

“Does she?” I ask and lean closer. Almost too close as I whisper. “Do you, Mr. Fremont?”

He swallows and searches my face. A-ha! I think. Peeta would be quite proud of me, managing to glean such information and reassurances without shouting or dramatics. I lean back in my seat and lift my book to read and no intentions of doing so.

“Sometimes patience is indeed the key to the hunt, and other times, one must act. Swiftly, without mercy. The trick, I think, is to know which is the more appropriate action, and to have the right sort of allies,” I say.

“Mrs. Mellark…” Mr. Fremont says as he leans towards me, the flush on his cheeks shifting from an angry red to an almost boyish pink.

“Katniss,” I correct. “If we are to be friends and neighbours and allies with common interests, then you must call me Katniss.”

“Common interests?” he ponders and I let my eyes slide over to the chess board.

“Harmless flirtations are one thing, so long as one returns to their home untarnished at night, but… I would do anything to protect two of the people who mean the most in the world to me. My husband, and my dearest friend. There is no patience where keeping them safe is concerned. I sense that you are a kindred spirit in this regard, Mr. Fremont.”

“Darius,” he says and I let my book lower slightly. He smiles at me, but his eyes are still on Mr. Hawthorne. “A name for a name, Katniss. I believe it to be a fair trade. And a good foundation for an alliance.”

I cannot help but smile as I nod in agreement. His grin is quite infectious. There are things that Mr. Hawthorne and I may never agree on, and some that we do. As long as he continues to care for Madge, and not harm anyone else that I love, then I believe I might be able to forgive his arrogance, tho perhaps not his shameless ogling of my husband.

“Now tell me…are you interested in The Ancient Craft of the Sarcophagus out of a morbid sort of curiosity, or should I be concerned for any members of our party?” Darius’ eyes drop to the cover of my book and I glance at the title printed at the top of each page, nearly laughing at the humor of it.

“A true lady, as my Aunt Effie would say, can keep the darkest of secrets into her grave and on into the afterlife, Darius.”

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

It is strange, sometimes, how the truth can mean a lightening of hearts. Life continues in a happy manner as the harvest approaches. There is always work to keep us busy, amusements to keep us fulfilled. Peeta and I resume our daily rides, and I laugh with joy as Sagittaria carries me away on swift feet. I am unable to resist temptation the day of that first ride, and when we stop for a picnic in a wide meadow, I find myself arched beneath my husband, his hands buried in my hair and the blanket beneath me, the sun on his back, my hands scraping down his spine. The smaller flowers of late autumn and the tall grasses sway about us, concealing us from the world, and the clouds above us provide a tableau of beauty to reflect the beauty in my heart.

My daughters continue to grow and to thrive. My friendship with Madge is repaired and a source of comfort and happiness now. I miss her presence at Everdeen. Her and Maysilee brought a sort of brightness to the halls, but Miranda and Beatrice bring their own sort of brightness, and we never go too long without seeing one another.

Unfortunately, the happy circumstances of Willow Park and Jo’s employment with the new horse farm has left Everdeen stables in a quandary. Giles needs to retire and Charles is learning quickly but still too young to assume such responsibilities.

“Before Jo left us, I thought to hire her to the post,” my father explained when he put out word that Everdeen was seeking a stablemaster. “But now that she is gone, I will have to hire someone else.”

“Father…” I stated warily and he’d shaken his head. “How long have you known?”

“Not long. I’ve no anger over the matter, Katniss. I wish you had trusted me, and I am embarrassed to admit that I did not figure it out on my own. Your mother had to tell me. The only thing that matters to me now is that we find someone young and skilled enough to replace both her and Giles.”

Which leads me to the events of today. I fuss over Beatrice as she crawls about the nursery, until I’ve no choice but to go downstairs and meet my father. We are to interview a potential candidate for stablemaster today.

An odd sort of humming exists in my skull, and I find I am rather disappointed at the prospect of a new stablemaster. It was around this time last year when Peeta and I first consummated our marriage, when I discovered the boundless joys and pleasures to be found in his arms, and also when I discovered the depth of my love for him. The presence of a new stable master will curtail a repeat of our tryst in the hay and I am rather upset about that, so that I am near to scowling as the man stands from his seat in the kitchens to greet me and my father.

“Mr. Henderson, I presume?” my father asks and the man gives a slight bow of respect.

“Aye, Mr. Everdeen.” His voice is somehow soft and lilting. Soothing. His accent is unfamiliar to me, but he has the sort of calming voice that horses respond to.

“Shall we walk and talk?” The man nods and glances at me. “This is my daughter. She and her husband will one day run the farm in trust for their children, and she oversees much of the operations already. You will address her as Mrs. Mellark.”

The man drops his hat. My scowl deepens at this as he bends to retrieve it. “Of course, sir.”

Other than that slight at the beginning, the interview goes well. He seems kind enough, and the horses take to him immediately. Even Sagittaria preens for him.

“And this is Peeta’s horse…my husband’s,” I say as we come to the final stall. I quickly explain Cicero’s deafness and that Peeta will have to teach him the hand communications. Mr. Henderson nods and mentions that he’s heard of such techniques, but never seen them in action.

After that, it seems fairly straightforward. Mr. Handerson comes to us from an estate in Northwest Panem, bringing excellent references.

“If you do not mind my asking, why did you leave your prior employment?”

“Nothing to do with the job or the family, you see. My wife passed away last year.” He glances at me and I manage to look sympathetic, I believe. Either way, he continues to look into my eyes as he speaks. “She had a wasting disease, took her too young, but not ‘afore she had a second chance at life. Still…it were hard staying there without her. She were my second chance too. My second wife and well, it didn’t seem right to push my luck for a third chance with the same family, although they were good to us. Memories just got the better of me.”

“My condolences for your loss,” my father says and at this, some sort of spell seems to be broken. They manage an awkward transition to discussing the terms of employment and we make our way behind the stable to show him his new living quarters. He seems pleased enough, and once the deal is done, he sets to work.

Miranda races into the stables as Mr. Henderson sees Sagittaria saddled for our daily ride. Charles tends to Cicero and laughs as Miranda careens to a halt, grasping onto my skirts.

“Mother! I am going with you today!”

“Then it will be all the more fun.” I smile down at her then up at Peeta as he enters the stable. He’s favoring his leg again and I make an exasperated motion towards his laboured movements.

“I will rest when we return, my love, but I will not miss this time with my family,” he says and kisses me softly on the forehead before turning to Cicero.

I feel eyes on us the entire time, and as I watch Miranda handed up to sit with Peeta, I discover the culprit. Mr. Henderson seems to have a deep interest in my love or my daughter, or both… I take Sagittaria’s reins and make a note to investigate further after our ride.

It is a lovely day, and we picnic by the lake, visit with a few tenants, and then return home. I dismount quickly, take Miranda into my arms to allow Peeta to dismount. I feel the need to see to Beatrice, but a cough behind me as Miranda scampers off catches my attentions.

I turn to find Mr. Henderson twisting his hat in his hands, a nervous look about his brown eyes. “Your pardon, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark. If you’ve a moment, I am afraid I’ve a confession to make.”

“We are no clerics, Mr. Henderson,” I manage to say politely, although I am beginning to think hiring him was a mistake.

“What I’ve to say is not for the Lord, Mrs. Mellark, but for him,” Mr. Henderson motions towards Peeta and I can see the surprise in my husband’s face.

“Should we perhaps talk elsewhere?”

“No, no,” Mr. Handerson says. “If you find what I’ve to tell you distasteful and it costs me this post, I’d rather be done with it now.” I am about to suggest we fetch my father first if his confession has bearing on his employment, but Mr. Henderson dives into his explanation.

“I wasn’t sure at first, see. I answered the listing by a Mr. Kent Everdeen. I’d no idea you would be here, too. Then I still weren’t sure when Mr. Everdeen introduced Mrs. Mellark. Mrs. Mellark…well with four acknowledged sons there had to be at least a few Mrs. Mellarks about, maybe it wasn’t you…but no. Then she calls her husband Peeta, your pardon for my familiarity sir, and then I knew.”

“Knew what?” Peeta asks, and there is a strain in his voice that frightens me.

“Who you are. Yer mother. Gertrude. Well, she went by Gertrude when we were married, but I suppose you wouldn’t know that. You’d know her as Nancy Thackeray, right?” The man only grows more nervous and agitated as his confession spills out. Peeta’s body only grows more rigid beside me. “She was sick, see? Found her on the back doorstep in Capitol nigh on eight years ago, naught but skin and bones, knocking on death’s door, hair dyed black and the dye fading already. I weren’t there. It was my sister who found her. She was the cook and another sister the housekeeper. Well they couldn’t bear to leave her dying so they took her in, nursed her back. The Odairs…well they’re kindly folk you know? Would never turn away a body in need if they could help it. Do you know the Odairs?”

“Not personally,” Peeta says. “Only by reputation. They’re a seafaring family.”

“They are. They were in Capitol at the time, beastly cold winter, but they went to see family and then had to stay when their son took ill. Well with the doctor already calling to see to young Sebastian, he didn’t mind seeing to Gertrude as well. Eventually she got well enough to work and…she worked. Ladie’s maid to Mistress Annie’s sister, Miss Patricia, who lived with the family at the time. Then when Miss Patricia were married, Gertrude worked as companion to Captain Odair’s grandmother. And I were stable master. When the family came home to their estate in Northwest Panem after that winter…well it were a second chance for us both, you see?”

“You were married,” I offer the encouragement, because I am not certain Peeta has not fallen into shock right now.

“Aye. And we were happy. I… I loved her dearly, I did. We were a comfort to one another. I’d lost my first wife and a son. Eventually, she told me all about you, and her first husband William. How she always wanted to see how you were doing but was scared.”

“Scared? Of what?” Peeta asks, perhaps more harshly than necessary, but to hear all of this now… He turns away from me and I place a hand on his back.

“Please understand, Mr. Henderson. We’ve been looking for Nancy for a year, Peeta has been looking even longer. Any news you have is welcome, but also a shock.” The man nods and swallows, looking directly at Peeta’s back as he speaks again, softly this time.

“She was afraid you would not recognise her. Or worse, that you would hate her for what she done. But she did it so you wouldn’t starve. She always told me you were brave and strong enough to be the best of men, even with the worst of fathers. And you were always in her heart. She drew your face most of all.” At this, Peeta turns slowly and Mr. Henderson produces a small book from his jacket. “Been carrying this since she died. Didn’t know what to do with it. Think now maybe providence wanted me to keep it for you. She said you used to draw with her.”

“Yes,” Peeta chokes out the word and takes the book. He does not open it but lifts watery eyes to Mr. Hendrson. “And Miranda? Was Miranda in her heart?”

“Miranda?” Mr. Henderson asks in true confusion and then understanding dawns. “You mean the babe? The one she left at the orphanage? That were right before my sisters found her. She never gave the babe a name. Had no…connection with the child. By then she were so lost and desperate…I cannot blame her for it. How do you know of the child?”

“We adopted her,” I explain. “We found her while we were looking for Nancy…for Gertrude. Now she is our daughter.”

“So you brought her home to be yours to love,” Mr. Henderson says and a bright smile spreads across his face. He shakes his head but there are tears in her eyes. “I’ll be. She were right then.” He tilts his head back to look heavenward and I bow my head, to allow him this moment.

I feel terrible, but a strange joy fills me at this. Every last doubt flutters off on the crisp autumn breeze. Miranda is well and truly our daughter. No disputes over the matter.

“She woulda been proud of you. A doctor, a husband, and a father beside.”

“She would have hated my face,” Peeta says and then rakes a hand through his hair. Mr. Henderson seems confused by this. “Never mind. Thank you, Mr. Henderson, for having the courage to tell me. Where is she now?” Peeta whispers, and I take his hand in mine, already knowing the answer and understanding now the import Mr. Henderson was trying to give me in his interview.

“She passed last autumn, about this time of year. I saw her buried in the church yard, next to my first wife and a child we lost. Made sure she had a nice marker, if you want to visit her some day.”

“Thank you,” Peeta murmurs one last time and then threads my arm through his. Before he can lead me away, I say one more thing to Mr. Henderson.

“See Mrs. Chilton if you’ve questions about meal times. Sae can answer any concerns about other household matters,” I tell him. His eyes widen and he nods.

“Then I’m not…”

“We are in need of a capable stable master,” I tell him and Peeta squeezes my fingers. “Welcome to Everdeen, Mr. Henderson.”

We move to leave and he steps after us, halting our retreat.

“She wouldn’t hate your face, Mr. Mellark. Mayhap your name, but…what’s in a name? She had about a dozen in her life, but that don’t change her heart, nor who she was.”

For some reason, Peeta smiles now, and manages one soft nod before we walk out of the stable and into the fading autumn light.

When we reach the house, there is a minor uproar. Several of Prim’s gowns have arrived from town, only enough to start her for the season. The rest will be waiting for her at Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Effie’s. Peeta and I will stay here to see to Everdeen while my parents take a much needed break, if overseeing the launching of a girl into society can be seen as a break.

Prim whispers to me that she not only has weeks worth of engagements already lined up, but she’s already received her first invite to a ball. The curiosity about the younger Miss Everdeen, as the eldest had such an exciting albeit brief season in town, has already made Primrose something of a novelty. Aunt Effie will be in her element, no doubt.

I usher Peeta into the library and order him off his feet, and even to remove his leg for some rest. When the chaos of the evening finally settles, I find him in our room, sitting before a cheering fire and dressed in his robe, his cane near at hand and his head bent as he peruses a small book.

“He said it was painless. In her sleep. She’d been sick for some time and it was slowly killing her anyways.” I sit beside him and twist my fingers through his curls, glance down at the sketches he now stares at. I recognise some of the faces, having seen portraits of Peeta and his brothers as a boy, having seen Peeta’s own sketches of William Thackeray. Mr. Henderson’s face is now familiar. There are several others who are strangers to me as well, some with names at the bottom.

“Curious,” I say. “Isn’t the name of this town the one Rory mentioned when he was speaking of the mines Gale has settled on him as a future wedding gift?”

“I believe so,” Peeta says. He turns to me then, his face void of emotion. “I have written to Haymitch and both our solicitors with the new information, asked them to confirm Mr. Hendrson’s story.”

“You do not trust him?”

“No, I do, only…I suppose I am holding out foolish hope, although for what I do not know.”

“Perhaps you only seek definitive closure.”

“Perhaps,” he says quietly. “Or perhaps it is fear. He said she passed this time last year and we…you and I…”

“Beatrice was conceived this time last year,” I say and he nods.

“Difficult to not wonder if there is some sort of connection. She never even knew you, or her grandchildren–” I silence his words with a kiss and when I lift my head, he does not speak again.

“She knew you, and if love can be felt in the afterlife, then she knows all the rest,” I say. Then I smile and press his body back to lay on the sofa. “Now husband…will you at last give me what I want?”

“Don’t I always?” I yelp as he flips us over and we tumble to the floor, tangled together and lips melded together. I sigh as his lips leave mine and he smiles at me. “But in the name of continued marital bliss and certainty, tell me exactly what you want, my pearl.”

“You, Peeta. I want you,” I say and he grins before kissing along my neck. I gasp out the rest before taking advantage and rolling us so that I straddle him. “And I want another child. Are you going to be stubborn again or are you going to let me have my way?”

“Please, my love. By all means, have your wicked way with me.”

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

~Fin~

All that remains now is an epilogue, a taste of the future, and the final reveal.

You’ve found the words (perhaps) and now have a jumbled mess. My name is one letter, or is it? Take the first of each and unwind their path to find out who M is.

Thank you dear readers, and one final thanks to @everlarkficexchange for allowing me to write from behind a mask. Unmasked in its entirety, to include the epilogue, will post to Archive of Our Own within twenty-four hours and then there will be no hiding behind a mask for me. I wish you all happy writing and reading for this next exchange. Regards, ~M~

#submission #M #prompt 88 #springtime edition 2019

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oh-theatre · 5 years

Text

Objection!: Chapter 18

Chapter title: Two Ways Home

A/n: WE ARE BACK IN THE COURTROOM BBY!!! I lovE IT. And them I did it btw! I did the kiss ™ t-the one in the snow?? Yes, that one because it melts my heart ahahah the irony. Anyway, they are baby and I love them and would die for them. Ughhh I hope you enjoy I know how bad this is but I love writing so hopefully idk?? leave me some comments!! I'm a mess sorry

oh god they're moving too fast arent they..sihiawdhiw i always do this

First | Previous | Next

words: 4034

summary: The gang returns to court!

pairings: Eventual logicality, prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, hospital, crime scene, murder, gun mention, guns, swearing, abuse, graphic descriptions, tickling mention

Ao3 Link

“You're late” Virgil huffs opening the door, Roman presses forward, an apologetic smile falls upon his face. “Come on princey” He says, taking the judges hand leading him into the house. “Go help Dee pick a movie, I need to finish up a few things and then ill make some snacks,” Virgil says trying to go, leaving Roman but the judge isn't that easily shooed.

“Woah slow down...Virge, is everything ok?” He takes his hand gently, Virgil turns to him matching the steady beat of Roman's heart, he nods. “Ok, I'll go help with the movie and you?” He squeezes the detective's hand “Take a breather” Virgil does just that simultaneously resisting the urge to lean forward and connect their lips. What is wrong with me?

“He's waiting” Virgil cocks his head towards the coach, Roman nods smirking, his nose scrunching quickly. He scans Virgil once more before feeling it safe to retreat to the couch, a small figure already enveloped in a mountain of blankets lays. Damian quickly scrambles to a more conscious state as his small eyes fall upon Roman.

“RoRo!” He squeals jumping into the judge's arms. Ignoring the slight pain that seizes his body he hugs back, embracing the child he holds so dearly. “I missed you!” He pulls away still clinging to Roman's neck. Roman smiles at him, unable to allow his shiny pearls to gleam. He's just so happy. The little boy wriggles impatiently in his arms, playing with Romans more than fluffy hair, it bounces under Damian's touch.

“I missed you too niño!” Roman assures, ruffling the younger boy's hair. He laughs falling back onto the couch, he grabs the remote handing it happily to Roman, he wriggles comfortable in his blanket cuddling up to Roman. “What's the mood for tonight?” He wonders opening up Netflix on TV, Damian shrugs, his eyes entranced.

“Christmas!” He exclaims throwing his hands in the air, missing Romans face by an inch “It's snowing!” He marvels looking towards the window, indeed it was. It fell slowly but it seemed the November air had cooled away as the light breeze of winter took its place, ready to cover the world in a soft layer of possibility. He could see it, he hadn't meant to but his mind was not his own. The image of squealing laughter as he raced down a snowy hill, Damian in front of him holding on for dear life.

“It is Dee!” Virgil affirms, he stands over the couch his hand ruffling Damian's hair. The little boy crawls up on his father, Virgil situating him on his shoulder taking him to the window. Damian places his hand across the frosted glass, astonished laughter as it chills him. Roman stands to join them, Damian waves to the unknown hoping a shimmer of something might greet him back. Someone, something out there will grant his ever so silent hopes.

“Bye-bye snow,” He says, his fists closing quickly as he waves goodbye. Roman chuckles allowing Virgil to swift past him, landing on the couch. Damian snuggles once more under his mountain of blankets allowing the warm pressure to calm him. Roman sits next to them handing the remote to Virgil, giving him full control. He takes it his hands tracing the buttons carefully, the bumpy exterior awakening him.

“Thanks,” He says, he looks to Damian who watches the blank screen with intent “What are we watching buddy?” Damian shrugs fully morphing into his father, clearly seeking an adoring hold from the man. Virgil allows him now checking on Roman. “Any requests?”

“How about ‘Elf’?” Roman suggests, Virgil watches him hesitant “Its a classic! You just gotta...believe” He teases, Damian cheers clapping his hands together. Virgil shakes his head knowing that what the child wished the child gets.

“Elf! Elf!” He chants, Roman points towards him looking at Virgil. He groans finding the movie quickly. It starts slowly and Roman has trouble focusing, the soft hum of the radiator, the awfully quick noises from Damian as he reacts to everything. It feels more natural as they get into it, clearly, Virgil had a long day. On multiple occasions, his head would fall slightly onto Roman's shoulder before jerking awake. Roman didn't mind, he even encouraged it once when it was maybe too much.

“Virge, rest, I've got Dee” Roman whispers, Virgil blinks at the reflection of the movie playing. He sniffled nodding, Roman pushes his head carefully onto his shoulder letting him warm up to the judge. Virgil was asleep in minute, steady breathing as his chest would rise. The movie finished quickly and it seemed the Tormine family was fast asleep. Damian had clearly been consumed by his mountain of blankets and snored sweetly. Virgil had clutched to Roman his presence soft on the judge. Oh, woe is Roman as he stirs the detective awake, his soft face bubbling as his eyes adjust to the outside world. “Sorry just...the movies over and..” He pushes Virgil's ruffled hair away from his eyes. “Thought you might want to sleep in your own bed” Virgil yawns nodding, he struggles to get up but soon enough is waddling away, Roman laughs watching him go. He wraps Damian up his arms watching as Virgil returns.

“I forgot my son” He mumbles, Roman stifles a wheeze placing Damian gently in Virgil's arms. “Thanks,” He says, Roman nods their eyes meet. The tired storm behind Virgil's eyes intriguing the fading flame in Romans. “Thanks for…” He starts slowly, getting closer to Roman's mouth. “Tonight” He whispers meeting Roman's lips, their eyes closing in unison. A little groan from Damian pulling them apart. “See you tomorrow Ro” Virgil says disappearing into his room

“See you...tomorrow,” He says, the tickling sensation upon his lips leaving a satisfactory mark. “Virgil” He muses, he collects his things making as little noise as possible. Closing the door behind him, the silent night falls on him only increasing the volume of his thoughts.

This has to be a dream

~~~

“We are back in the courtroom” Patton taps his desk excitedly, the echo ringing through the room. He shuffles through his papers a familiar buzz in his heart as the door opens behind him, the urge to turn his head watch who enters overwhelming him. Hoping, almost praying its a certain lawyer. His urges win however as he watches Logan diligently speaking to Reeve as he makes his way down the aisle, the young intern frantically taking notes. He blushes as if a teenager once more focusing back towards the empty witness stand, feeling a light brush of air while Logan walks by, taking his place on the opposite end of the courtroom.

“Your client” Patton smiles at George as Virgil and Remy lead him in, tight hold on his constraints of a prison. They take him to his end of the desk, handcuffing him to the table. He's silent as he moves, little to do about anything as the world moves on without him. It almost makes Patton sad to watch, and harder to read.

“Thanks, guys,” He says, a light squeeze to Virgil's arm as he passes, receiving a lingering feeling as the detective walks away. Virgil watches him for a moment but retreats to his chair.

“Mr.Hart?” Patton looks up smiling at a young intern watching him expectantly. “Mr.Tolentino wanted me to let you-

“You can just call him Logan,” Patton says, his smile remains placated. Reeve fidgets uncomfortably but nods as he continues on.

“Um...Logan just wanted to let you know that he is going forward with calling Annie to the stand.” Patton bites his cheek but nods, his smile fades staying resolved. “He has also decided to call Brandon to the stand, and he was wondering whether you were calling Carlton” Reeve finishes feeling as if the words were not his own. Patton shakes his head softly, he looks to Logan who seems to be buried in mountains of work, he hides a disappointed pout.

“Yes...I'm sorry Brandon? Brandon Hoff?” Patton checks, looking back to where two children sit where their mother, all sadly eyeing George. Reeve nods, Patton takes a deep breath but stretches a pursed smile. “Great thanks Reeve,” He says, the intern scurries away, himself betrayed by his words. He doesn't agree with Logan's methods but he is a good lawyer...but Patton is too. He re-focuses taking a seat next to Logan. Soon the trial begins and Patton is instructed to call his first witness.

“The defense call detective Carlton to the stand” Patton calls, feeling as discouraged as before. He avoids looking to Logan, knowing the usual hopeful glance the pair shares wouldn't be returned today. Once he's sworn in Patton begins, knowing his intuition could fail him he simply prays. Prays that Carlton, that everything he's built this case on...won't fall apart. Please, don't let this man be guilty. “Detective Carlton, you were recently discovered at a hostage scene correct?”

“Objection! Leading the witness” Logan declares, he barely grazes Patton with his eyes, the man's stomach sinks. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but...had he done something wrong? Had he shattered everything he had ever built up, his friendship? His trust? Was all of it...the kiss, out of pity?

“Patton?” Roman whispers, Patton jerks back realizing his own condition.

“Detective” He starts, he looks to an unfazed Logan, right there deciding he knows his path. “Do you know this man?” He points to George, a moment of hesitation before the witness sucks in a sharp breath.

“I've never seen that man before” He admits, Patton smirks “In my entire life” He adds, Patton nods satisfied as a tiny groan, ever so slightly escapes Logan's mouth. Check and mate, mister Tolentino. His next move may be deemed risky, and Roman certainly won't enjoy it and yet…

“I want to submit that detective Carlton be admitted as an expert witness” He requests, the room falls silent. Logan, surprisingly, is the first to move. He stands abrupt from his chair and points towards Patton.

“Absolutely not your honor! The man is convicted felon!” He claims, Patton cocks his head, his smirk returning.

“Exactly the reason I propose this, not only is he a convicted felon but one who has admittedly worked with the so-called ‘Alphabet Murderer’. Which means that unless he perjures himself, he knows more than most. More than say...Brandon or Annie Hoff” Patton explains, Roman cant find a rebuttal.

“That's ridiculous” Logan huffs looking to Roman for confirmation “Your honor?”

“Let it be known to the court and jury, detective Carlton is now an expert witness” Roman bangs his gavel, a rush of excitement as it passes through him. Logan glares, his nostrils flaring as he resits himself. Patton wears a triumphant smirk turning back to Carlton. “Watch yourself, detective, one wrong move…” Roman threatens, as his job. Virgil can't help but feel a sense of pride. The judge doesn't get enough credit.

“Thank you, your honor” Patton sighs “Carlton, has mister Hoff ever contacted you or attempted to?” The detective laughs shaking his head, he scans Geroge.

“Him? Please...if he was the murderer, you would know” Carlton scoffs, instantly clutching his throat. Almost surprised by his own words.

“Do you know who the alphabet murderer is?” Patton inquires, the entire room leans forward allowing themselves to dangle at his anticipation

“Absolutely” Carlton grins, Patton digs his nails deep into his palms, stopping just before the skin breaks blood. “Haley Bloomington” He seethes, Virgil and Remy share a look, both with the same idea.

“As in the precinct captain?” So much more happens in Patton's mind, everything falls into place, he feels lightheaded. He looks to Logan, a helpful plea is administered, a stab to the heart as Logan...ignores him.

“That's the one” The one? The one who Patton took all his complaints about Liam to? The one who Patton pleaded, begged for help? All these years-

No, focus.

“Thank you, no further questions,” Patton says “I also suggest that we hold on cross-examination until further notice,” He says before retreating to his seat. Roman watches but nods.

“Court adjourned,” He says in a practical whisper. The jury clears out in whispered murmurs, each giving a look towards Patton as they move through. Patton says a quick goodbye to George as the detectives lead him away, shuffling his papers. He feels the room around him gain quiet until two quick feet make their way out and its just him and Logan. He refuses to look towards him, a mixing bowl of emotions, not sure which recipe to follow.

“Patton” Logan stands at the desk now, across from Patton. The lawyer turns, his brows in a knitted furrow, he tries to scowl but instead places a worried pout.

“Oh, now you-”

“Would you like to go on a date with me on Friday?” Logan wonders, his hands fidgeting carefully behind his back. Patton softens, oh…

“Yes, absolutely” He whispers, Logan purses his lips bouncing on his heel. He nods before carefully leaving the room, the door closing behind him. Patton presses his file against his chest, trying very hard not to swoon. “Yes...absolutely” He repeats, just for himself.

~~~

“And why is that?” Logan wonders straightening his bowtie, he tilts his head as the mirror reflects his image.

“Because this is Patton's first date in almost a million years,” Virgil says from the couch, his position quite extravagant. Roman chuckles from the ground as he plays with Virgil's hanging hair. “This night is for him, I mean seriously...the last person he went out with was-

“Liam” Logan breathes, his strict posture falls as he watches the sky fade. The outer world becomes less prominent as he loses himself in his own mind. Virgil hops from the couch and takes his stance in front of the lawyer, he slaps his hands away instead taking Logan's lopsided bowtie into his own hands, fixing it. The Friday night of the neighborhood dim.

“Exactly” Virgil pats his chest once he's done, Logan moves onto his hair suddenly feeling his confidence drain with him. He wasn't sure what he was doing, Patton assured him everything was fine but that couldn't be true could it? And that's not what he deserves, if Logan could he would summon a plane to Europe right now. Seat himself first class with Patton by his side, his eyes marveling-

“But isn't a date about two people? About both of us?” Logan genuinely requests. Coming down from dream.

“Not this one dude. This is for Pat” Roman says drumming his fingers in the air. “Sorry, but it just isn't about you tonight.” Roman shrugs, Logan dusts himself off choosing to heed their words, he shows off his outfit carefully. “Two thumbs up from me. Love the vest” Roman compliments

“It looks great” Virgil nods, he fixes one strand of hair before squeezing Logan's shoulders gently. “It'll be great, just...make it great ok? For him?” That's all I wanted to do

“Mmhm” he hums going towards his watch, placing it slinked on his wrist. One more check in the mirror before gathering his coat and things. He wishes he had a bag to carry with him, his phone rings out. “Don't want to be late” he mumbles to himself, he turns to his friends. “Good?” He checks

“Perfect,” They say in unison.

“Perfect!” Patton says in his home, feeling as though time just wasn't enough. “It has to be perfect Em!” He says gathering his keys. “Logan probably thinks me a fool, this is simply to amuse his own ideas” he sighs sadly, knowing how deep this fear runs.

“Surely you don't believe that Pat!” Emile exclaims sitting in front of the couch watching as the twins play in front of him. “You've been friends forever! And Logan asked you, and seemed more than excited to go with you”

“Ugh, I don't know anymore. I mean Em...what am I doing?”

“Going on a date...doi” Remy reminds returning from the bathroom. Patton rolls his eyes playfully.

“Thank you captain obvious!” Patton jokes, Remy blows him a kiss, receiving a swat from Emile. ‘No I mean...what am I doing? I don't have time for this, I have kids...a full-time job. I don't have time or space for heartbreak” He sighs resigned, leaning over the couch.

“Now who says it's going to be heartbreak, Patton?” Emile says as Valerie presents her latest creation. She makes her way to Patton showing him all the same, he picks her up smiling brightly.

“Beautiful Val” He commends, kissing her softly on the forehead as he releases her back to play. She joins her brother Remus in his quest to save the world in lego form. “Ugh, maybe I shouldn't go...so I got caught up with the children or something,” Patton says wistfully, the twin gleam at the idea. The bounce up rushing to their father, enveloping his legs in their tiny arms.

“Papa! You have to go! Mister Logan loves you!” Valerie squeals, Patton blushes picking her up, he boops her nose to which she recoils giggling. Remus jumps around him, poking him gently.

“You have to! Then! Then! Mister Logan can teach me new words!” He claims, Patton laughs picking up Remus next. Emile watches happily, Remy takes his place next to his partner. Remus points to them “Look! Look! Rem and Em will take care of us!” He claims, Patton nods.

“You heard thing two,” Remy says, Patton smirks “We got them Pat” The lawyer smiles gratefully as he hands one of the twins to each of them. He moves to his room finishing up the cleaning as he moves around, wanting the room to be clean for when he returns, to drown himself in his embarrassments. He turns to find the mirror showing him his reflection, had he always looked so tired?

“Hey you,” He says, maybe only slightly joking. “You're going on a date!” He points his fingers wagging. “Oh god, what am I doing?” Patton sighs rubbing his forehead. “You can do this” He laughs, an actual laugh, it's bright. He might be losing his mind, but he plants himself. “Ok Patton, look at you. You've got this, you...deserve this. Well no...you definitely don't-” He groans turning away “Just cancel Pat,” He says his hands shaking over the phone, he just wants it to go well. To see Logan smile, just as he deserves, he wants him happy should that be too much?

“Patton! There's a car in your driveway!” Remy calls from the living room. Well, now or never. He takes his coat and gloves from the stand, walking out. He gives the children two quick kisses on the head before a deep breath reigns him in. His hand circles the cold knob, twisting as he steps into the timid air. Logan steps out of the car, double-taking as he sees Patton in his doorway.

“Oh! I was coming to-” He stops, his eyes trace Patton. “You look...wow” He smiles, Pattons night is made. Just that small twitch of the lip as it moves upwards.

“Well, you look-” Don't make it weird, don't make it weird “Amazing”

Crap

“Thank you” He nods extending his hand, Patton steps into the snow taking it.

Well, here we go.

~~~

“Oh my!” Patton laughs, his hand meeting Logans across the table. “Did he actually?” He checks allowing Logan to comfortably fiddle with his hand. Logan nods affirming his story, the room lights with the candles that float.

“I kid you not, he fell asleep” Logan recalls, Pattons smile only grows. “The case was just that boring I suppose, it really is a Roman thing to do” Logan guesses, Patton takes a sip of his water. Logan does the same with his wine, trying subtlety to get it down.

“Only Roman” Patton smiles, the waiter stops by delivering their desserts to mark a night of love-filled happiness. A successful dinner thus far. “Mmm tiramisu” Patton digs in, his eating gracefully as the sweet dessert tickles his upper mouth.

“I do enjoy a simple chocolate cake,” Logan says himself as he takes a delectable bite of his food. He pushes the plate slightly towards Patton. “Would you care for a bite?” He offers, Patton pulls the fork from his mouth, a lopsided smile.

“Of course” He tries, a sweet but bitter taste befalls his mouth. “Care for a bite of mine” Logan takes it, trying not to cringe inwards. It's not bad, just incredibly sweet, made to Italian perfection but not his style. “Too sweet?”

“Just like you” He retorts, a coy smile spreads as Patton blushes his eyes darting quickly to suddenly very interesting candle. “Sorry” He shakes his head, Patton giggles.

“Don't be, thank you,” He says finishing his dessert. Logan quickly does the same, and somehow once the check has been paid the pair make their way outside. The chilly air only growing in cold, Pattons not sure why but he interlaces his arms with Logan, the lawyer blushing excited when Patton does so.

“Are you having a good time?” Logan checks for what seems like the fifth time tonight, Patton stops him taking his shoulders.

“Ok, you've asked that a lot tonight. Is everything ok?” Patton wonders, the taller man adjusts his glasses. “Lo…” Patton moans softly, wishing to return the fun that logan has gifted him that night.

“I just want this to go well for you” Logan replies, his throat growing hoarse. Patton chuckles his breath visible in the air.

“Logan” He starts so carefully, in a way that Logan wishes his name should only be uttered by Patton. “This isn't just about me. You know that right? We should both be enjoying this night, god I hope you are” He jokes, his voice shaky. “I want you to have a good time, and if you aren't that's ok-”

“I am” Logan confirms, his interruption causing a sweet smile upon Patton.

“Well good, I am too” He bounces taking Logan's hand “Where to next?” He asks looking up to Logan. The lawyer looks back at him. He turns Patton towards him studying his face, under the snow Patton practically glistens. The snow begins to fall softly, coating the brim of their glasses, they laugh looking up. “Snow reason to end the night now” Patton teases.

“Really?” Logan groans, an amused smile failing him. Patton giggles falling into Logan's chest softly. The warmth that spreads around him is something that overtakes him. Patton recoils a bit holding to Logan's scarf, twirling it gently. Logan places his hand under Patton's chin as he leans in meeting their lips. Patton returns the soft gesture still clutching to his scarf, his gloves wrapping further around it. A careful click as they pull apart, Patton's undeniable smile as he meets Logan's eyes. He laughs as the snow falls directly onto the lawyer's nose taking his glove to wipe it away. Logan fails to resist the urge to giggle as the wool tickles him.

“Oho…” Patton smirks “Logan Tolentino...are you ticklish?” Patton checks, Logan laughs away, turning his face away. “Oh my! You are!” Patton claims

“Please don't tell Roman” Logan begs “I don't want to know what he would do with that information” Patton giggles delighted imagining the judge locked into battle with a very flustered Logan.

“That's alright, I can find other ways to get you flustered” Patton leans in kissing Logan once more, not sure how long he's waited to that so casually. As if second nature.

“Ways...that I don't mind” Logan nods, Patton rolls his eyes playfully as they continue their trek through the snow, closing the door on a night that can only be described as perfect. Because it truly was, the evening had been something of a new experience for both of them. Patton had never felt so safe in someone elses arms as they played with his fingers, Logan had never felt so invested, so truly passionate.

They were…

In the most professional sense...

In love

100 notes · View notes

unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Compassion

Sesshomaru was capable of many things: relieving enemies of their lives, silencing an army of humans single-handedly, and instructing those under his command. Though, what most would expect him incapable of is compassion.

For her? He could make an exception.

From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog.

Sesshomaru had grown accustomed to the idea of change. It was an inevitable, unpredictable, and untethered force constantly inspiring. In lieu of Naraku’s threat, life ebbed on as it had before, with obligations and concerns he had no prior interest in rearing their head. His mother was far more talkative than she’d been centuries past.

Though not wholly to him. While their relationship wasn’t hostile or that of strangers, she’d taken more to communicating with Rin than she did him or Jaken. Granted, he could understand why she neglected to speak with the latter. She seemed to derive some amusement out of Jaken’s plight. A terrible thing for the small imp. The Lady of the West did not tire easily and his anguish might keep her for the next millennia or so.

However, the West was one of his issues. An achievement of which he had no interest in until his mother divulged information to Rin and curiosity beset her to ask. Perhaps showing immediate interest in Rin’s revival whilst in his mother’s presence wasn’t the best idea. Unknowingly, he’d handed her quite a bit of ammunition to use against him in the form of someone he couldn’t rid himself of easily.

Or at all, if he were honest.

The years he’d spent apart from Rin gave perspective. Time to understand his place in the world, seek out stronger opponents, and wander his father’s lands. In his absence, his mother took the helm as the Lady of the Western Lands and her opposition was quickly dealt with. She would not allow his father’s hard work to be undone by unruly demons or upstarts of humans believing the aftermath of Naraku’s defeat was cause for rebellion.

“I will hold until you are ready,” she said. Her voice carrying from the mouth of Bokuseno, eyes unseeing and wooden lips shifting without the demon’s will. Sesshomaru had half a mind to turn on his heel and leave but spindly branches blocked his path as the forest reacted to Bokuseno’s will.

It both pained and amused him that the tree demon could be possessed by his mother. A pain reflected in his stoic countenance as he listened to her words.

“Once you are prepared to take the helm as your father’s successor, heed these words. You will have need of the dragon, imp, and seeress. Though we may be inu yōkai and many remain in our court, we are surrounded by vipers, waiting for the faintest showing of skin to strike. Remember compassion as it has been taught to you, my son. Blade and claw will not serve you well in an arena of words and promises. I’ve protected you as long as I could and I will continue to do so, but change is coming, Sesshomaru.“

Sesshomaru clenched his jaw but said nothing as sight returned to Bokuseno’s eyes, his boughs trembling with a shudder as best as a tree could muster.

“What did I say, Lord Sesshomaru?” Bokuseno asked to Sesshomaru’s back.

Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes as he cleared the path of branches before him with a flourish of his hand, whip cutting through the rattling wood, sending it raining down as he passed. “Nothing I don’t already know,” he said, his mother’s warning and thinly veiled assurance receding to the back of his mind as he heard Jaken and Rin’s laughter.

In the glistening waters of a stream teeming with fish, sunlight dancing upon its rippling surface, Rin and Jaken splashed about in hops of catching another fish to add to their ever-growing pile guarded by A-Un. While the imp who’d sworn himself to Sesshomaru’s service hadn’t changed a bit from they met, Rin had grown into a woman in the blink of an eye. Truthfully, he knew it had been longer than that. Years spent apart with letters and fleeting visits, her life detailed to him with words on scrolls written by her own hand and enthusiastic retellings from her own lips. Gone was the starry-eyed way she’d regard him, replaced with a sharpness and wit, along with an accuracy for interpreting his actions and words ( few, though there may have been ).

Brown eyes compelled Sesshomaru to speak earnestly, even if his words were sparse. Rin’s intuition had grown as much as she had. Deduction and sneakiness allowing her past his defenses. And try as he might, he couldn’t reconcile who she was now with the girl she’d been. The Rin that followed at his side, barely standing taller than his knee, was and wasn’t the Rin praising Jaken for a successful capture after he’d toppled into the water and nearly gotten swept away with the current. Her hands supporting him under his arms as he recounted the feat.

She lacked his former ward’s innocence.

She no longer viewed humans with contempt but remained wary of their intentions.

Kindness came to her easier but so did decisions, and her hand was swift in carrying them out.

He no longer had to shield her from a fight. Her tricks and skill made her an even greater asset.

Sesshomaru decided to concede his mother’s point. Change was coming as before. It had already come for Rin, taking his former ward and instead granting him a trusted friend and companion. Who learned throughout the years how to hide things even from his eyes.

Dusk fell over them gently. Jaken and Rin, exchanging blunted barbed words and smiles until they tired, the tall grass swaying in the breeze while the fire crackled between them. A-Un settled comfortably at Rin’s back. Since her return to their group, the dragon was rarely if ever not by her side. While Rin no longer required their constant protection, A-Un’s electricity crackled brightly in their open maw and smoke plumed through their nostrils when a threat to her was posed.

Thankfully, as Rin slept at A-Un’s side with Jaken curled beneath the dragon’s tail, there were no physical threats to harm her. Mental, however, was another tale.

Nightmares lingered in the reaches of Rin’s psyche. They were not an enemy Sesshomaru could destroy or a plot to thwart. An ill-given punishment for the actions of others marred upon her mind in scars no remedy or spell could heal. He’d been patient with her in her youth. Waking her when she was in tears and calming her when she screamed herself hoarse. It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself, and the agitation he felt waned. Worries lingering in the back of his mind during their time apart.

If others would be cruel to her when she wailed and cried.

Would they steal her voice away with callous words?

Render her unable to even muster a smile?

Gratefully, none of his concern came to fruition. To his relief, Rin no longer screamed in her sleep or woke with inconsolable hiccuping sobs.

Instead, she rose in a solemn silence. Muted shadows swallow her as she wandered from A-Un’s side and over the mumbling lump that was Jaken, disappearing into misty thickets with only the curl of her hair on the wind as if bidding farewell. Sesshomaru wasn’t a heavy sleeper. Years of battle making it nigh impossible for movement to go unnoticed. And he’d seen her the moment she rose to leave. Briefly considering letting her be until salt — sharp, heady and bitter — spurred him into movement. Rin’s footsteps were noiseless.

A faltering pride swelled in Sesshomaru’s chest as she ducked beneath low branches and side-stepped gnarled roots, likely having memorized the path after venturing it earlier in the day. Though at that time, the sun shone brightly, pinpricks of sunlight visible between the leaves haloing her in a soft golden glow. She’d been smiling and humming, skipping through the foliage freely.

Not walking quietly, back straight and head raised high, hands lingering at her side with fingers twitching. Alert and prepared, but no less weary of something and upset.

Sesshomaru’s nose twitched at the potent scent of flowering blooms, sweet and strong, overpowering the salty bitterness tinging the air. Slivers of moonlight colored the mist lingering over a decadent array of blooms swaying amidst the tall grass. Rin’s steps, careful and calculated, avoided clusters of flowers deftly as she stepped in a rhythm almost as if she were dancing. Sesshomaru lingered beneath the boughs of a withering tree, watching her quietly as she moved, only to crumple to her knees after a misstep.

Her shoulders trembled but he heard no sound. Sharp and bitter saltiness drowned by the flowers’ sweet scent, crisp snapping of flower stems joining the chirping crickets and buzzing insects. A quiet wind rustling the leaves on the trees and carrying her hair eastward. Rin’s hand snapping at another flower’s stem and tucking it in her lap before pulling a single dusky black plait from behind her ear, her thumb caressing the orange tie at the ends before falling to her lap, resuming weaving together the flower stems.

Sesshomaru refused to look elsewhere. His nose hadn’t failed him in years and he doubted it would now. But he couldn’t intrude. Autonomy had given Rin a need for privacy. However, it also hardened her stubbornness. At heart — Rin was a free spirit and akin to providing comfort to others whilst bearing her own burdens, yet she faltered when allowing others to assist her. In years prior, Sesshomaru would have never thought it was a trait they shared. Rin had always been cheerful as a child. Akin to speaking her mind, no matter how crass the thought.

But there was much he didn’t know of her. And while this was one of the lessons he disliked, he would pay attention nonetheless — finding himself at her side almost in an instant when a silvery tear rolled down her cheek.

“Rin?”

Her hands stilled. The flowers stems tremble in between her fingers and in the dim of the night, he cans the myriad of flickering emotions painting anguish across her features. Sesshomaru knelt in the blooms, careful not to crush them, but lingering close enough to her side that he could make out the dried tear streaks amidst the rivulets of newer tearfalls.

Lowering her hands to her lap, Rin muttered in a voice barely above a whisper. “… I thought the flowers would hide the smell…”

Sesshomaru’s lips twitched at the corners, threatening to dip into a frown. He told himself once more that he wouldn’t fault her for this. Her memories, while old and in the past, were just as meaningful to her in the present. Lifting his hand achingly slow, Sesshomaru carefully wiped away the streaks of tears with his thumb, wrinkling his nose as the sharp salty tinge grew stronger.

“Why would you try to hide them?”

“Have you seen A-Un try to tiptoe through flowers..?”

She tried to laugh. A tired giggle, mirthless and utterly hollow, crude compared to her usual infectious guffawing laughter. Sesshomaru could imagine what would happen if A-Un were to wake and see Rin like this. The dragon would have stopped at nothing to find the source of her pain. Curled around her as if she were their own and held her close til morning. But A-Un remained in the clearing and Sesshomaru knelt beside Rin, wiping away the tears as they fell.

“Is it the nightmares?”

Rin’s smile fell almost immediately and her eyes shuttered. Sesshomaru did frown at the look on her face. Devoid of cheer, almost completely blank, save for the tears wetting her eyelashes and the pad of his thumb with every swipe. She sighed, a wispy rattling laugh parting her lips. “… It’s funny..” She said, though the humor was both lost on him and nowhere to be found in her words. “I thought I didn’t have any tears left to cry. But… here they are…”

Sesshomaru wasn’t sure what to say. Words oft escaped him in matters such as this and he doubted they were what Rin wanted entirely. So where words failed, action prevailed. There was only a small space where the flowers wouldn’t be easily crushed and it wasn’t enough for both of them to sit comfortably side by side. With his hand leaving her face, Rin’s eyes widened fractionally and he heard her breath catch as he shifted to sit behind her. His armor carefully removed and set aside, allowing him to wrap his arms around her.

She stiffened in his hold. Every muscle tensed and quivering, the tension gradually melting as she sagged against him, her head thumping against his chest. There was little else Sesshomaru could do but rub his hand up and down the length of her arm, squeezing gently when she shifted. Content to listen to Rin’s shuddering breaths and the wilds around them until she was ready to speak, leave, or do anything at all..

After a lingering pause, a long pause broke the silence. “I lied to Master Jaken,” she admitted, sucking her teeth and brushing the back of her hands beneath her eyes. “Just a bit..”

“Mm?”

“Well, it was a harmless lie. If I told him the truth, he would’ve just panicked.. And he sleeps like a log anyway.”

“What did you say?”

Rin snickered, likely amused by the memory, and Sesshomaru was pleased that her laugh had regained some of its enthusiasm. “I had something I needed to do. Girl things. You should’ve seen how quickly he turned tail, it was a little funny.”

Sesshomaru almost wanted to smile as she laughed, but every time her hands pulled away from her eyes, the brackish scent assaulted his senses. Squeezing her upper arm, her laughter stuttered and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You don’t have to hide from me.”

Rin paused and inhaled deeply, laying her hand against his sleeve, her fingers curling into the fabric and pulling it taut. “… I know,” she managed to say and the weariness combined with the fragility of her voice tensed something in his chest. He held her tighter in response and if Rin noticed, she was gracious enough not to point it out. Continuing with a rough tear-filled sigh, her hold on his arm so tight that she was shaking. “I’m just a little ashamed, I think. It’s been so long. I should be better now.”

Sesshomaru could hear the admonishment. Her frustration, fear, and anxiousness. Perhaps at one point in his life he had felt similar to her. Though his qualms were of a different sort, and he’d had centuries to come to terms with them for better or worse. Rin was forced to confront her worst fears, death, and understanding of a species that she both feared and abhorred. Sesshomaru wouldn’t fault her for her feelings but he wouldn’t uphold the way she spoke of herself either.

Where others might have broken, Rin hadn’t.

Her pain could take centuries to heal and he would hold her throughout it all.

“You are allowed to feel what you do,” Sesshomaru insisted.

Rin said nothing and briefly, Sesshomaru wondered if that was the end of their talk. Then, the world seemed to slow as she turned in his embrace to face him. Brown eyes, glazed over and brimming with tears, met his own. Her lips trembling as he drew her into his lap and cradled her against his chest, allowing her to pull her knees in close. The soles of her feet, dirtied with damp soil and grass, brushed against the leg of his hakama and he could care less for the stain. Flowers fell from her lap as she moved and he reached out to cup them in the palm of his hand, lifting them back to her view and allowing her to pluck them from his hands.

Her fingers caressed his own for a bit longer as she gathered the last of the flowers, tracing the lines of his palm.

“Thank you,” Rin murmured, her lips soft and warm as they brushed against his cheek as he leant his head down.

“… Mm.”

He knew she didn’t mean about the flowers but chose not to touch on the subject. Allowing her to shift in his lap, spreading the flowers out in her own. The pungent scent dissipating as she brushed her fingers along the flower petals. Peace reigned as Rin gathered herself, examining each of the flowers with interest. Her fingers occasionally falling to the exposed skin of his wrist, tracing the length of his marks with interest.

“One day, I’ll grow taller than you…”

With how lazy her touches were becoming and the dreamy tone of voice, along with such a ludicrous idea, sleep must have been creeping upon her again. Rin had grown considerably but in comparison to his half-brother’s wife and the slayer woman, she was quite small. Still, he would humor her.

Burying a smile in her hair, Sesshomaru muttered low. “Will you?”

“Absolutely,” Rin protested, wiggling her toes as she laughed heartily. He drank in the sound, reveling in its return as she added. “And then we’ll see who hugs who.”

“…I look forward it,” Sesshomaru said, wiping away a few stray tears as he pulled away to see her face. Her eyes flicked up to meet his own, unspoken apologies and hopefulness glimmering beneath the fog of discontent.

“Can you stay with me for a bit longer?”

He could have told her that he had no intention of going elsewhere. That he would stay with her until she felt at ease. Carry her back to sleep at A-Un’s side or his own. But he said neither thing, simply pulling back to rest his chin against her head. “…Continue what you were doing.”

Her breath hitches but he could practically hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. “Are you sure, m’lord?” There was a slight shuffle, and he could hear the telltale sounds of her muttering as she weaved the flower stems together. “If I finish this, I will try to make you wear it.”

“Will it make you smile?”

After a short pause, Rin nodded.

Like this, Sesshomaru cared little for appearance and decorum. What he desired was the smile he adored and if he had to endure wearing one of her flower crowns, then so be it.

“I will wear it then.”

#inuyasha fandom #sesshomaru #rin #sessrin #fanfiction #my fanfiction #affections touching across time

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codevassie · 4 years

Text

a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 4

CV: Thanks for your patience! I've been caught up in schoolwork, my other publishing fic, and my big bang lately. I work on this fic oftentimes when I need a break, so it might be slower, but it's fun. And thank you everyone, as always, for your comments and likes! You make me so happy to be writing this.

CW: Referenced Abuse

@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast @prox-xima

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tracking magic had never been Virgil's forte–in fact, he was more the opposite; great at hiding magic–but finding who'd entered the forest was simple enough.

They'd wanted Virgil to find them, after all.

"You shouldn't be here," were Virgil's first words to him.

Patton stepped forward. "You were missing, Vee," he said, eyebrows furrowed but voice soft. "What was I supposed to do?"

"It's barely been a day. How'd you know I was even gone?"

"You underestimate a father's intuition." Patton stepped even closer, taking Virgil's hands in his. Virgil let him–the only person he'd probably ever allow to touch him so easily. "What happened?"

Virgil looked away, ashamed for some reason. Ashamed he couldn't fight her off? That he hadn't even tried? The witch still frightened him to hell, and now he was bound to her.

"She found me," he whispered. That was obvious enough. He was in the witch's forest, after all. Patton had known to look for him there–known only one thing could pull him away without a goodbye.

"But you got away?" Patton asked, voice hopeful. He was referring to Virgil's presence outside the caves. He shook his head.

Reluctantly, he retracted one of his arms and pulled up the sleeve. Patton gasped.

"I can't leave," he said, hiding the sigil once more. "Not this time, Pat."

Not this time.

-/-

"Another intruder," Dee sighed, entering the room. "It's like they're not afraid of the witch anymore."

But Virgil had already jumped up, grabbing his cloak. "I'll get it!" he exclaimed. Dee and Remus both looked at him, shocked. Virgil recognized his mistake. "Um…"

"You always wanna get out of the caves, don't you?" Remus said, flicking a rune stone at his head. Virgil ducked. "Wish I could go out."

Virgil felt guilty suddenly, remembering the sigil on Remus' arm. While Virgil ran through the forest, Remus was stuck in here. The furthest out he could go was the lip of the caves, where he often joined Virgil in stargazing.

While Virgil dreamed of getting away, Remus was stuck in the knowledge he never would.

Suddenly, Virgil didn't feel all that great about going.

"Well, you already called it, Virgil," Dee drawled. He no doubt wanted to see how his aging potion was doing.

And Virgil did still want to go out.

He looked towards Remus, who had lounged back onto his bed, throwing more stones at the ceiling. He glanced Virgil's way.

"Tell me if you find anything cool when you get back," he suggested. Virgil was so grateful.

"You mean something gross."

"Same thing."

Still, Virgil's guilt didn't dissipate. Especially when he thought about what waited for him out there.

Or who.

"Patton," he greeted, once he'd tracked the intruder. The boy turned around, smiling a wide, tooth-gapped grin his way. The forest was always so dark, but it felt like Patton brought the light.

"Anxiety!" Patton greeted. Virgil's smile tugged awkwardly, remembering he still hadn't given the boy his real name.

It wasn't like he could hurt him at all if he knew it, but Virgil had never trusted anyone outside his family before. It had taken a long time to trust Remus after he'd joined their bunch, and Patton was an intruder. Someone there to steal, or hurt, or bargain their soul with the witch.

Virgil knew now that wasn't Patton at all. Patton was like him, like everyone in his family. But he wasn't trapped in some forest. He lived among other people, had a job and friends.

Even with his magic.

"How are you doing?" Patton asked.

Virgil shrugged. "Alright. Same as ever, I guess."

Patton's lips stretched a bit to make up for the dip in his smile. As subtle as it was, Virgil noticed it. Over the past couple months, Virgil had really come to know Patton well.

"Have things-" Patton said disjointedly, like trying the words out in his mouth, "Been… alright?"

"Yeah, I guess," Virgil said, nibbling at his lip. "You might be coming around too often, though. Dee commented on the increase in people coming in."

"Oh," Patton said, sounding disappointed. He perked right back up though, like he was allergic to negative emotions. "I had a question I wanted to ask, though."

"Really?" Virgil said, trying not to be too anxious about that. No casual question ever came after declaring the intent to question first. "Shoot," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

Patton toyed with the strings of his cloak, only a beat to contemplate before he blurted it out.

"Do you want to leave the witch's caves?"

-/-

Patton was quiet. Virgil was afraid to look up, see the crush of hope on his face. Nothing could be done. Patton hated feeling helpless, especially when it was others who needed help.

"Maybe I could spell it off?" he said, but there was no confidence in that answer. Virgil shook his head.

"Only she can remove it."

"We don't know until we try," Patton tried again, voice growing stronger. "Maybe I could. Maybe with just a little determination, strength- maybe if we both-"

"Pat," Virgil said, finally looking up. Patton looked on the verge of tears. His words died on his tongue. All Virgil could do was shake his head.

"We got you out," Patton choked out.

Virgil reached to him, unable to stand it anymore. Patton jumped into his arms, and Virgil held him tight. "I know," he whispered, eyes blinking rapidly, trained on some trees behind them. "But maybe I was never supposed to."

Patton pulled away, an angry look on his face. Virgil gawked at the expression, remembering only a few times before he'd ever seen it.

"There isn't supposed to. There is what you want. She has no right to trap you! She has no right to control your life!" Patton knelt down, picking a basket off the forest floor that Virgil hadn't noticed before. "And I'm going to show her that."

"What?" Virgil said, moving into Patton's way as he tried to go past. "What do you mean? You can't think you can actually go against her."

"Well, I'm not going to just leave you."

Virgil shook his head. Vigorously. "No. No. Your magic is strong, but, Pat, hers is so much stronger. She's a witch. She's trained for this all her life, under people who study it religiously."

"Then what do I do?" Patton exclaimed. "I can't do nothing."

"Yes. Yes, you can," Virgil said. "You have to."

Patton's eyes were misting up again. He shook his head, either to get rid of the tears or disagree. Maybe both. "No- No-"

"Patton, please," Virgil said, struggling to maintain eye contact. Because he had to get this through Patton's head. He had to know Patton wouldn't go after him.

This was the end of the road for them.

"I'll be fine," he said.

Patton looked at him, devastated. "I don't believe you."

"Thank you for everything," Virgil said. If Patton wasn't going to believe him, he might as well tell him some truths now. Something he could believe in. "I'd never had a friend before you, but I don’t think I could have had one better."

His brothers were his friends, sometimes. But never before had he had anyone who stuck around because they wanted to, that seemed happy to see him and told him stories and helped him out all because they liked him–not from obligation or family trust.

Once upon a time, he'd had that kind of bond with Dee and Remus. Not friends, but family–strong in a different way. Once upon a time, he would have done anything for them.

If put to the test, he still just might.

"You're the best friend I've ever had, kiddo," Patton said. "But don't you dare think this is goodbye."

Oh, Patton. Always so optimistic.

"Okay," was all he said.

"I'm serious," Patton said. "I'll figure out a different way to get you out."

Virgil turned, facing away from his friend now. Whatever his expression was, it'd be bad news for Patton to see. "You need to get out of her forest."

Don't come back, was the unspoken message behind it.

Patton came up next to him. Virgil refused to look, but he spoke anyway.

"Don't give up hope."

Then, with a snap of his fingers, Patton was gone in a cloud of blue smoke.

-/-

Virgil couldn’t do tricks like that. He’d always wanted to, since being able to disappear at a moment’s notice was perfect for escapes, but Virgil had never gotten the hang of it. Most of his magic came from panic, fear. Wanting to get away from a place was only half the battle with that kind of magic.

To transport, one had to envision where they’re going in their mind. You’d have to remember tiny details, like the smell of the air or the number of trees around. Patton, being naturally gifted as he was, had told Virgil once that he was able to match his emotions with certain places, focusing on that as a tether to bring him from place to place. Virgil had tried that too, but it was difficult to distinguish between his emotions in his head. He had a lot of them–he was sure of that. But he couldn’t sort them, couldn’t put names, much less places, to them.

That’s why protection charms and invisibility magic were his strong suit. They relied on intuition. Not understanding the feel of magic inside you or how it works around you. Virgil reached for it when he needed it, no thought or talent necessary. Just a pull and reaction.

Virgil had never really been good at magic–a great source of frustration for the dragon witch and an even greater source of fear for him when he’d been under her instruction. She’d tried to teach him out of books, but he just didn’t get it. She’d had him attempt all sorts of magicks–potions and charms and curses–explosion, impersonation, augury, sigils, herbs, poisons. She threw him out into the forest, locked him into dark tunnels of the caves, set him after intruders, all with the intent that he would learn something, be the student she had wanted.

He could pick up tricks, and he’d learned more than his fair share of spells, but Virgil was never great. Dee had always been the one who worked hard, did well. Maybe he wasn’t a natural like Patton, though Virgil had never met anyone as naturally akin to magic as the man, but Dee worked harder than any other. Compound it all into years and Virgil was sure Dee must have surpassed him by leaps and bounds.

That was all to say, Virgil had to go back on foot, and, despite having roamed these forests for all of his adolescent life, he was having some trouble finding his way.

“I blame repression,’ he mumbled to himself as he came across another of the witch’s sigils. It was etched in a starkly different pattern to the one on his arm, but it still made his lungs knot in all sorts of funny ways. Virgil hovered his hand over one, purple hue glowing complimentary to the light of dusk, and his mind was thrown into the right direction.

He stumbled throughout the forest all morning, trying to find his way back. He wouldn’t be surprised to see Dee looking for him soon, probably at the instruction of the witch who might have thought he’d escaped. Dee would know Virgil had gotten lost. That’s probably something he didn’t miss–being Virgil’s constant babysitter.

As the sun poked through the trees, barely breaching the thick foliage above, Virgil ran up to another sigil, getting impatient at the time this was all taking. The witch would use this as an excuse to make his first lessons horrible–or more horrible as they would have been. She had to have been looking forward to punishing Virgil for his escape.

Escape. Virgil sighed thinking of it. He had told Patton no–a definite no, no buts about it. It was impossible with this sigil. Virgil had ran away before, knowing she wouldn’t let him go, knowing she would find him again one day, and he’d pay the price. Virgil had known this was all that was coming for him.

Someone like him. Virgil was bound to this, of course. How could he have thought he could have anything more?

Magic was illegal, and he belonged to the dragon witch. Was there anywhere else Virgil could have ended up?

Still, he thought of it–thought of escaping once more–of going faraway, further away, so she wouldn’t find him this time. Maybe somewhere magic didn’t exist–or curses that led her right to him.

Could Virgil really give up this easily?

He was holding his hand to the new tree when he heard it. A gasp from behind him. He whipped around, cloak billowing slightly behind his back and smacking against the tree. Virgil brought his hands around, still glowing, to face the stranger.

“Who’s there?” he dared to ask, voice coming out gruff and defensive. There should have been no one else in the woods. The witch had only mentioned one intruder, and that had been Patton. Who else would have been stupid enough to enter the witch’s land on an early morning like this?

There was another gasp from one of the trees, a sliver of motion poked out from behind it. Virgil lifted his hands a fraction higher, nerves crawling into his throat. His magic might not have been the best, but he could still cause a bit of damage. Whoever this was wouldn’t get away with anything there.

But the figure spoke one word, taking him aback.

“Virgil?”

It was Virgil’s turn to gasp. His hands glowed brighter against his will, feeding on his adrenaline, as he once more called, “Who’s. There.” His voice sounded a bit strangled, but it was strong and demanding too. Virgil was never one to go down without a fight.

Until recently. Until a witch had grasped his wrist and transported him back to the caves, and he’d gone, without a kick or a punch.

Slowly, the person stepped out from behind the trees, a tall, straight-shouldered figure with their hands up, cloak hiding the rest of their features and face. While they remained in the shadows, standing confident, relaxed, Virgil had been caught in the light, shoulders scrunched and eyes peering fiercely from behind his hair.

Silence stretched between them as they remained facing one another, neither moving, neither speaking. Virgil held onto his magic, drawing from it the sick comfort he had learned to wield throughout his life. The other stayed undefended–a clear display of where the power between them laid–before stepping forward. Virgil’s breath went in just slightly, but he didn’t move.

And, as they moved into the light, it was his eyes Virgil recognized first.

It would have been impossible to tell in the midmorning fog, but Virgil knew them already–mossy green, both confident and self conscious, alive and unconfined. They’d always been so warm in his library’s light, despite his teasing attitude. The only time Virgil had ever technically seen him elsewhere had been at the construction site, and in the midday sun, they’d glowed–not with magic, as Patton’s often did, but with life and excitement, danger and adventure.

Virgil had never longed for danger like that. All his life he’d dreamed of freedom and life outside the caves, but it wasn’t until he’d met Roman that stepping out of Patton’s protection, the safety of his library’s walls, the known feelings and experiences he could clutch in the bindings of a book–not until Roman had any of it felt… attainable.

Virgil had taken risks in his life. Escape was his greatest risk. But there was the risk of having magic in the kingdom, the risk of leaving everything he had ever known for a stranger in the woods, the risk of saying goodbye to old family and making new friends.

The day he had met Patton, his risks had begun.

The day he had met Roman, they didn’t feel like risks anymore.

And, no, it wasn’t love at first sight. No, the risks were still there, and Virgil was very afraid of them. He was afraid of everything–the dark, change, his own magic, talking to people, facing his past. But the day he had met Roman…

Roman was an idiot. He’d been prince a shorter time than Virgil had lived there–so new to it all and inexperienced. He was clueless, truly.

But he was idealistic. He was ambitious. He was brave and strong, and he had a heart of gold.

He had all the power he could have in that little kingdom, and yet he wanted to protect his citizens.

That had confused Virgil.

The witch had never wanted to protect. She claimed to, but it wasn’t right. Every day she’d say she was keeping them from jail, from execution, all because of who they were. Then she hurt them, screamed at them, sent them into the forest alone, locked them into small spaces, burned sigils into their arms to ensure they would never leave.

Power meant corruption. It meant taking what you want, and it meant people listening to you, or else. But Roman didn’t do that.

Roman actually… wanted to protect.

Protection. It was one of his strong suits, but only in the moment. Only, really, for himself.

Virgil had always wanted to be better at protection magicks. What would it have been like, if he were ever strong enough to protect the ones he loves?

He’d never helped Dee or Remus. Never helped Patton. Definitely never Roman.

They’d protected him. All his life.

Virgil sighed, lifting his head a fraction to get a better look. He didn’t push back his hair, letting it maintain a barrier–protection. Always protecting himself.

“I should have guessed you’d come looking,” Virgil said, trying to sound aloof. He couldn’t believe he would have overlooked this. Roman was always one to dash off into danger headfirst, no thoughts about it. Even if it hadn’t been Roman’s fault, even if Roman didn’t… didn’t love Virgil or whatever, he still would have come looking to help anyone in need of it.

Roman gave him a little smile, one that Virgil found himself latching onto like a lifeline. He didn’t quite know why. Maybe it was because that smile reminded him of the kingdom, of their town and his library. Virgil had been gone for a day, but he missed it all so much.

It felt much longer. Perhaps because he had accepted it.

It was easier when it all felt faraway, like a life he had never known. Less painful to give it all up.

But maybe it was something else. Virgil couldn’t imagine what, but it felt like he was missing something. The reassurance in Roman’s smile–it felt like something beyond home and safety.

Perhaps noticing Virgil had relaxed, Roman reached up to pull down his hood, his face illuminated in the dim light. He stepped forward as Virgil lowered his arms. In that motion, Virgil noticed something all too familiar about the man’s form.

“That’s-” he cut himself off, unsure if he was seeing things right. But there was really no denying it. He raised a hand again, this time not glowing purple but pointing. “That’s my cloak.”

“What?” Roman asked, face alighting in surprise as he looked down to where Virgil gestured. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Virgil asked. “How the heck did you get that? It should have been in my rooms above the library.”

“Patton gave me it,” Roman said. “I guess I know why it didn’t really fit him.”

“Patton had it?” he asked, but it made a lot of sense. A lot more sense than Roman randomly taking it. “Of course he did. He would have needed it for the forest.”

“Yeah, he was really insistent that I take it. I traded my cloak with him, though, so he won’t be cold,” Roman reassured and… okay, Virgil tried really hard not to be charmed by it. They were in the middle of the witch’s forest, he said Patton acted weird enough trying to get him to take the cloak, but he was worried about Patton catching a cold?

“Of course Patton would want you to take it.” Virgil nodded, focusing on what he could handle at the moment. “The cloak has magic. All those patches on it? They’re woven with protection charms under one purpose: hide the wearer from the dragon witch. It’s the reason I could hide from her for so long. Any time I left the library–which is also covered with a shit ton of protection magic, mind you–I wore it.”

“That’s why it’s familiar,” Roman said, looking down at the fabric. “You were wearing it that day at the construction site.”

“Yep,” Virgil said, popping the p. “It’s good you have it. You need to stay hidden from her at least until you get out of here. It was smart Patton gave it to you. At least he had a better way out.”

“A way out?” Roman asked, tilting his head. “Wait, he was here?”

“He was,” Virgil agreed. “I sent him back. Just like I’m about to do with you, unless you want to end up in a witch’s stew.”

“What? I’m not leaving you here!” Roman rejected, sounding indignant at the very notion. Virgil sighed, an uncomfortable heat spreading throughout his body. This had been expected but, still…

“So now you’re concerned about me?” he asked.

Roman’s eyes went wide, and his mouth flapped a bit like a fish. Virgil scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“You made a deal with my life, Princey,” Virgil said, spitting the nickname out harsher than he’d ever before. He didn’t know why he was doing this. Roman was only saving his brother, saving himself when he’d made that deal. The witch would have killed them both for Roman’s intrusion. Those who entered the forest may make it out alive, but not those who found the cave.

“I- I didn’t-” Roman stuttered. Virgil could hear how flimsy an excuse it was bound to be. Roman was a good man. He knew he couldn’t defend a thing like this. He would have already thought this was his fault.

Virgil didn’t like the feeling in his chest. It wanted to forgive Roman, wanted to stand by him even if they were watching the world burn under them. He knew Roman would never let a thing like that happen under his watch, but it was the sentiment of it.

Virgil would. That’s all that would matter.

“What? You didn’t know it’d be me?” Virgil asked. “You thought you wouldn’t care about the person you, what, fell in love with? You thought you could just give them up and not care, just as long as you had your kingdom and your brother and your life.”

“Virgil-”

God, would Roman stop calling him that? He was used to the nicknames, the light jabs–not this. Not a Roman who was scared. Not a Roman who came back for him. Not a Roman who was in love with him.

“The witch probably didn’t even cast love magic on you. You know that, right?” Virgil carried on, turning his head away. He couldn’t stand to keep looking at Roman. “Just because she says you are, doesn’t mean you are, okay? So you don’t have to come rescue me or whatever. You don’t have to go out of your way because I’m suddenly some damsel or something. The witch rigged it and now-”

“Virgil.”

Virgil stopped and found himself listening. Because, damn it, something in him wouldn’t obey his own head–something suddenly wanted to hear Roman. That same frightening something that wanted to stand by him, that wanted him out of there so bad that he was willing to say anything.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in love with you or not,” Roman said, and his voice carried over the words easily, like loving was easy, like loving Virgil was easy. “It doesn’t matter. I know it’s my fault you’re in this mess, and I’m going to get you out of it. On my honor.”

Virgil shook his head, mouth scrunching in his bitterness. His eyes were uncomfortably hot. “This isn’t your battle anymore. I don’t need your help. It’s not your responsibility either. You got Remus out. If any of us could, then it had to have been him. That place wasn’t good for him.”

“It doesn’t change that it wasn’t my choice to make,” Roman said. “I shouldn’t have traded your life. It’s wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“You can’t change it,” Virgil insisted.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” Roman said back, arguing and heated, before he took a deep breath and calmed again. “So come with me.” He held out a hand. Virgil looked at it.

“I can’t,” he said, voice coming out too soft, too… defeated. “I belong to her now.”

Roman took a step closer, drawing further out of the shadows. It was funny seeing him in the darkness, when he was so full of light. Virgil, against his own better judgement, found his own feet moving forward as well and they stood where the darkness met the light.

“You’re shaking,” Roman noted. Virgil already knew he was right. He had never been great at hiding his nerves.

“She’s going to catch you here,” Virgil said by way of explanation. He couldn’t protect Roman–not when he belonged to her. There wasn’t much Virgil could do anymore.

“I’m going to get you out,” Roman said again. Insistent, like Patton. Virgil had trouble believing either of them. He found himself winding his hand through Roman’s anyway. Roman looked down at it, then back to Virgil’s eyes, searching.

Searching… for what?

“Please go,” Virgil whispered, pleading with his eyes. If Roman was searching for something, Virgil would give him something to find.

Holding eyes for a moment longer, something passed over Roman, and he looked down.

“Then I will,” he breathed.

Virgil felt himself breathe too–far more relieved than Roman’s. That was, until Roman’s hand slipped from his.

He watched it go, like a leaf in the wind, slipping through his fingers like water. It made something in Virgil stop.

Virgil took a staggering step back, and, when he looked up, Roman was watching him go. He wasn’t stopping him.

Virgil turned to leave, heart hurting something deep and new, something he didn’t understand. He stepped forward now, walking past Roman and into the shade of the trees behind him. Before he could go, however, Roman spoke up one last time.

“This doesn’t mean I’m giving up, Virgil.”

Virgil stopped, but he didn’t look back. He closed his eyes for a moment. Evened his breath.

Then, he walked into the trees, determined that this was goodbye.

It wasn’t until Virgil was lost again, searching for another of the witch’s sigils, that he understood what hurt most about it.

That thing that had stopped in him when Roman had let go–like Virgil was holding his breath, and he couldn’t release it until he saw him again–like the world was on standby.

Virgil didn’t need a curse to understand.

But that’s okay. He didn’t want it anyway.

-/-

Dee had been sitting at his desk for an exceedingly long time. The afternoon previous, the witch had gone out, instructing him to take his studies into his own hands for the day. Over the years since they'd lost both Virgil and Remus, she had been placing a lot of trust in him with his education.

And less trust with him and the outside world.

Dee had no interest in the world outside of those caves, so it didn't bother him when she barred travels into the towns and eventually even outside her own forest. She still used him to root out intruders, to collect herbs and stones from the boulder garden, but outside of necessity, the caves were all he knew.

So studying magic was what he did. Day in. Day out. Where before spells were under her supervision, Dee was free to learn. Where books were held in fear, Dee had stacks upon stacks of them. As long as it was for magic.

When Virgil had arrived, Dee had been sitting in place for hours already, head buried in an old tome and hands wrapped around a small flask. It was an attentive recipe–focus crucial to its success. Dee had to continuously swish the mixture when he added in something new or risk the magic going flat and fizzling out.

It had been ruined, of course, when Virgil stumbled his way in. And even when he went to bed soon after their little argument, it was impossible for Dee to focus.

He sat up all night, trying to fix the concoction, only for his eyes to continuously dart to the huddled figure on the other side of the room.

Dee still hadn't slept when Virgil got back from patrol. His back was killing him, and his eyes were strained to hell. He couldn't muster an ounce of focus.

This potion was a dud.

"You haven't moved, have you?" Virgil asked. Dee didn't remove his eyes from the flask. "You won't be able to do it until you've gotten some rest, you know."

He still didn't answer back. Dee wasn't sure what it was–pride, anger, fear–but the silent treatment still seemed like an excellent way to deal with the matter.

Virgil had left. He didn't really care. And he didn't get a say in what Dee may or may not do.

He wasn't stupid. Of course he wouldn't be able to focus–not without sleep, not with Virgil looking over his shoulder, not now that he could think of nothing else but Virgil's betrayal and sudden reappearance.

Self care didn't always mean relaxing. Sometimes self care was giving your ex-almost-brother the cold shoulder until you gleaned some sick satisfaction off of his hurt.

And then subsequently felt guilty that he was hurt. Because, damn it, he still cared for Virgil, as inconvenient as that was.

So, yes, silent treatment. Virgil wasn't off the hook so easily, and Dee didn't like admitting he was hurting. He'd just take lashing out as his own little therapy and deal with his pesky abandonment issues at another date.

Or maybe he would realize Virgil wasn't still trying to talk to him.

Dee's eyes bore holes into his desk, waiting for Virgil to ask him something more, to complain about his obvious silent treatment, to get frustrated with him. Virgil didn't give up that easily. He didn't get hurt at the get-go, and, even if he did, he'd hide it with his normal grouchiness.

But he stayed silent right back.

Something sunk into Dee's gut, and he suddenly found himself reeling, clutching the table in front of him for support, despite already being sat down. Because Virgil wasn't acting the same. He wasn't doing as Dee had predicted.

Because it had been years and maybe… Virgil had changed.

Dee could usually keep his cool. He was level-headed in situations like Virgil and Remus never had. He was an observer and a denier. A data-collector and ill will ignorer. Dee could avoid a shrewd gaze with the ease of an oblivious man and the eyes of a scrutinizing one.

He could not dismiss his urge to look now. Dee couldn't feel the narrowed gaze that should have been there or the thick tension at ignoring Virgil's advice. In fact, the room seemed to lack any presence at all.

So he looked. Just to make sure Virgil hadn't left. He could have gone to the lip of the cave like he'd always done, and the witch hated that. Dee had never been above dragging his ass back.

He looked, expecting to find an empty room.

He didn't foresee Virgil once more curled up on his bed.

There he was: huddled under his cloak, which he hadn't bothered to put away. His face was hidden. His shoulders were in. Dee had seen Virgil in various stages of fear, in different shades of happiness and sadness and anger. But there was something new there, and it left Virgil vulnerable.

Vulnerability was dangerous around the witch. Virgil knew that, and it was probably the reason Dee had never seen him quite like this.

It reminded him of Remus–there in the next bed over once upon a time. On days where his eyes were empty and he would forget things. It wasn't the same, but there was something hauntingly similar between the two.

Virgil didn't give up on arguments. He didn't leave Dee to fry himself out after an all-nighter studying. Virgil didn't look like this–tired and empty and hopeless.

Dee turned himself back around to his desk and stared blankly at the book propped up in front of him.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the Virgil that would sneak off to the lip of the cave to look at the stars. It was the Remus trapped here, unable to see the sun most days, mind growing further from them, from the memory of a brother that would one day come to rescue him–a brother who hadn’t given up like Dee had thought.

Had Virgil changed so much in the outside world?

Or was it the caves’ doing all along?

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil sanders #ts anxiety #roman sanders #ts creativity #ts #writing updates #ahhcc #tw referenced abuse

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