#we had a tradition of burning answer sheets once they were given back to us . if u get a bad score that is

[boyfhee]

you know the best feeling is when you infiltrate your boyfriend's friend group and become a part of it

[where-dreamers-go]

Merlin x fem!Reader (Soulmate AU Part 2) (Text reupload)

(A/N: Hey, reuploaded this so that it’s not an external link.  Part One here.

Warnings: angst, fluff, romance.

Word Count: 4,709 words )

Camelot was in a time of peace. Soulmates were encouraged to be together and see one another without issue from stature. In Camelot’s past and in other kingdoms there was a sensitivity when it came to soulmates. Drama and angst were a given. Heartbreak and rendezvous were kept secret. It was still common, even back then, to keep one’s soulmate mark hidden for fear of talk and hidden agendas. Though times were changing the tradition was still held by most families.

Your family was no different aside from most family members knowing almost exactly what one another’s soulmate mark looked like. Most of the information you held about soulmates and what happened after they met one another was heard from those closest to you. Little bits of information here and there. Yet it was always stressed how it would be one of if not the strongest connection one could ever experience. A connection so strong that most could not fathom the entirety of it all.

You would gladly face that challenge.

On a cool afternoon, you and Merlin were to find out that apparently being separated for a long period of time wasn’t always an option.

At first it was the tugging, the usual but so much more of an intense pull towards one’s soulmate. Yet if one spent too much time away from their soulmate and it nagged into one’s mind long enough, it felt as if one was being pulled by their inner chest. It was almost to the point of having trouble breathing.

No one had cared to mention those details. Then again you had only met your soulmate a handful of days ago.

So there you sat on your legs, three days after meeting your soulmate and bent over a barrel full of soapy water with half-washed bedsheets.

Having been entrusted with knowing that he had magic there was an added weight upon your shoulders. Not to mention a lingering worry in your heart. Your soulmate was always with King Arthur and the knights of the round table. Not to forget that he never wore armor nor chainmail to protect himself while going out on hunts. Or worse. You only knew of a small amount of stories Merlin had told you recently. Those stories kept getting riskier and more dangerous in their descriptions of what had to be done. You started understanding Gaius’ behavior towards the young man. You just dearly hoped he didn’t have to do anything of that again or soon.

Everything was per usual, collecting used bedsheets from the rooms of the castle and going downstairs to clean them. Not what you’d call fun, but it was fine. You had not run into trouble in the tasks before, however your life had changed a lot recently. Regardless, you had been left to your own devices in the vast room with your mind wandering. It hadn’t taken long until you were hoping that Merlin wasn’t too busy and that the King was taking time off from teasing him.

Once you thought about it, you dearly hoped that Merlin was alright.

Images of Merlin running through a dark, moldy, and soldier-filled castle wasn’t the best to be filling your mind’s eye. No armor and unfamiliar halls added to the picture. Worry, fear, and anxiety rolled through your being in moments.

An uncharacteristic pull in your center drew you back to the present.

“Ah!” You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping for the pulling to pass. Even the burning of your mark when you were about to meet Merlin wasn’t nearly this intrusive.

There was work to be done.

Hitting your fist against the barrel was a fruitless attempt to get your mind off of the pull. Your teeth ground together uncomfortably as you avoided biting your tongue. Even then, breathing through your nose was difficult still.

Another pull drew out a painful gasp from you.

The rapid sounds of boots hitting the floors outside gained the attention of your ears at the last second. They only became clearer and louder as you focused on your breathing.

“(Y/N)!”

Merlin rushed into the room. Nothing had a chance to become an obstacle as he made his way straight to you. In a moment he was pulling you away from the barrel and into his embrace for much needed contact.

Relief hit you like a gust of wind. Your chest felt lighter and your airways clear.

“Are you alright?” Merlin huffed, blowing some strands of your hair out of place.

“Yes. Now I am,” you allowed yourself to lean into him. “Thank you.”

It was much easier to breath for the both of you.

Merlin silently thanked the Universe that he had made it to you before anything serious happened. One of his hands cradled your head to his neck. Warmth and safety shared.

“Are you alright?” Your fingers meandered across the back of his shirt.

He swallowed, “I’m fine. You had me worried. What happened?”

“I-I...I don’t know. Thinking about you as I was washing those sheets. I was just worrying. Perhaps more than I thought I was.”

To Merlin, he knew you were having those feelings and he detected your fear. He felt the tug to be near you. It was very apparent. Something that he could not ignore. One that he didn’t.

“Do you think it was because we were apart?” You murmured.

One of his hands stroked your side as your breathing gradually started evening out. All the while your hands rubbed the texture of Merlin’s blue shirt between your fingers for added reassurance.

“We should ask Gaius.” Merlin piped up. “He might know more about what happened.”

“Should we go now?”

“Yes, now.” He pulled back to look at you. “The chores can wait.”

Walking into what was turning into your new home, the pair of you found Gaius standing behind one of his work tables.

“Gaius.” Merlin quickly made his way over to his mentor, his hand still clasped with yours.

“What’s the matter?”

Eyebrows knitted together as he visibly braced himself for whatever Merlin had to relay to him.

“I felt an growing sense of worry and fear that wasn’t my own and then there was this very persistent pull. My first thought was to find her and she was in a worse state than I was, but we were fine once we were together.”

Letting out a breath of air, the older man looked relieved.

That made you wonder again what he could imagine Merlin getting into. You decided against imagining anything else at the moment.

Merlin waited patiently despite the questioning look in his eyes.

“You perceived her feelings, correct?”

“Yes,” Merlin nodded.

“Alright. (Y/N), you felt distressed?”

“Yes.” You answered with slight growing suspicion.

“The pair of you are still fresh in meeting one another, however there could be other factors to what just happened.”

“Like what?” You questioned.

“The time allowed....or rather the time you can both stand being physically apart may depend on how one of you is feeling. Some days you might need the other more than the day before.”

“So if Merlin was in trouble....I would know?”

“Why do I have to be in trouble?”

“I’ve taken the privilege of telling (Y/N) about some of your shenanigans.” Gaius raised his eyebrows at the young man. “But, yes, I think either one of you would know when to find the other.”

“Sounds handy,” you mused. “But I could do without the intensity of it all if one of us was not in any real trouble.”

Merlin rubbed a hand over your back in circular motions.

“So it all varies depending on us? That’s all?” You pressed further.

“That is the general idea,” Gaius answered. “Which was why I recommend that you both....sleep near one another. For the time being.”

Both your eyebrows and Merlin’s shot up in response.

“We’ll move the cot into Merlin’s room for now. Then we will see if that will help until you two are more accustomed to being soulmates.”

. . .

On the first day you had met Merlin, you had learned more than a handful of knowledge about Camelot than you had your entire first week of living there, especially when it was just you and Merlin in his room. You couldn’t help but to ask Merlin what happened to between Arthur and Guinevere that Gaius was referring to when they found out. Evidently, they had gone through a lot. Especially being they didn’t know what the burning and such of their marks meant when neither mentioned it to the other. Your soulmate didn’t spare on details that he had of the pairs ups and downs, many of which he was a part of. Then again he had plenty of stories to tell you later.

By the time dinner had long ended, you were about to return home when you were told otherwise. You stayed the night. It was much to your surprise and Merlin’s when Gaius highly advised it. The older man did not hide the fact that staying in your home for the night wouldn’t be wise when you hadn’t spent much time with Merlin, your soulmate. Something about it being healthier for you and giving you peace of mind in the long run. The Court Physician promised to let you both know when you would be able to sleep in your own home without worry.

Close proximity was in mind. However, you had never heard of such recommendation even from your family. Perhaps you were missing something.

You figured the older man knew much more than he let others have knowledge of. Also being that it was a rather strange and personal request to have you and Merlin stay together. Even Merlin found it a bit odd. It raised more questions for the pair of you.

Then again, Gaius did have restrictions set up. Meaning they had set up a cot for you in their small physician’s home. One that they hid with a folded room divider. Although Merlin had offered you to take his bed, you declined much to his many counter arguments.

That night your mind whirled with memories and feelings stuck with you. It was still freshly thrilling to have met your soulmate. That and to feel such unconditional love and acceptance. The two of you had barely met yet it was as if you had known him forever.

By morning it felt completely normal. Felt as it should be. Neither of you wanted to go to work at all.

It was only through motivation and Gaius’ warnings that the pair of you went to work.

. . .

The armory of Camelot. The ever present scent of metal and the slight lingering smell of perspiration. Putting away training equipment was of course left up to Merlin.

He spent most of time thinking about his soulmate rather than his next chore. That was neither a surprise nor a problem for the sorcerer. Merlin had spent numerous moments alone wondering what it would be like to meet his soulmate. Being as he had past such an achievement in one’s life, he happily indulged himself in thoughts of you.

Even in the short time he knew you there were flutters and warmth inside of him when simply gazed over at you. Every morning he awoke, you were the first to cross his mind. When he’d see Arthur and Gwen walking together, he’d remember the softness of your hands. Each step on a stairway caused him to smile as he was reminded of how he finally met you. The one he cherished and would cherish every day of his life.

Merlin could not wait to learn more about you and in turn could not wait to fall further into his relationship with you. Every sunrise and each sunset was another day to share and experience life.

He paused in his actions at the feeling or perhaps sensing that you were nearby. Merlin peered over at the doorway, waiting for any movement.

An infectious grin appeared on his face once he saw you enter the space.

You both greeted each other with wide grins and a welcoming hug of warmth.

“What are you doing here? I mean of all places, (Y/N).”

“I just wanted to see you.”

Fingers lightly traced patterns on the other’s hands. Grins turned to smiles and the armory was the last thing on Merlin’s mind.

He kissed your forehead.

“Merlin, why do you have dirt on your face?” You reached a hand up and attempted to rub it off. “You didn’t take a nap outside while Arthur was training did you?” You teased.

“No.”

Like clockwork, Merlin let out a yawn. He mentally cursed.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have stayed up talking so long,” you pursed your lips.

“Maybe, but I enjoyed it.”

“Even the part where I woke you up by poking your leg?”

“That was my favorite part.”

“Was not,” you laughed.

You removed the rest of the smudge on Merlin’s face and poked his side.

Again, he kissed your head.

Merlin adored you and each second spent with you. He wondered how many more days Gaius would recommend you staying in his room. It wasn’t that he minded at all, however he felt as if there was something he wasn’t quite understanding from Gaius’ end.

. . .

Prior to your little scare while washing dirty laundry, you had other types of startling moments, but the good kinds. Thank goodness. For your soulmate Merlin had always seemed to slip in out of nowhere to greet you with a hug and a kiss on the temple. Sounded cute enough, however he could literally be silent upon approach.

Less than scary, but a little unsure was during the first morning of knowing you were soulmates. Merlin had formally introduced you to the knights which was practically an event in itself. Those who were closest to him either hugged you or took your hand in a short ‘hello’. The support and happiness was enough to ease your mind in knowing that you weren’t able to tell your family in person. The knights beaming at the sight of you and Merlin hand in hand could brighten any day.

Even though you had been in Camelot for some time already, realizing you were soulmates with Merlin opened up a whole new world of friendships. One of those being Gaius who had welcomed you in with a smile and open arms. Not to forget his advice that you didn’t mind receiving, he was the Court Physician after all. In time you’d grow to have even more people to rely upon.

. . .

Perhaps two hours since you last saw Merlin and you had eaten a noon meal, you were returning to your chores with a large empty basket in hand. Working inside of a castle seemed to be just as much work as up-keeping the farms and such back home.

As you passed by another castle servant you smiled. Some had already found out that you and Merlin were soulmates. The kitchen cook gave her condolences.

Even with Merlin’s friends quite excited about him finding his soulmate, you and Merlin still had to keep their soulmate marks secret. A flying golden dragon was a common mark. Too dangerous and risky to let anyone know. Added that it wasn’t proper to be walking around and showing off your soulmate mark. Even if there were those bold and curious enough to ask what it was.

Glad that you weren’t lugging around another hefty load was an added perk to your already fine day. That was until you were spooked.

You were walking down a long stretch of hall in the castle when your wrist was abruptly grasped and you were pulled between a wall’s indent, hidden from view.

“Merlin.” Your tone was stuck between a scolding and relief.

“Hello (Y/N),” your soulmate tucked you into his embrace.

“You startled me.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin ducked his head to be hidden in the crook of your neck.

Humming a little, you dropped the empty basket at your feet in exchange for clasping your hands behind his back and keeping him close.

It was such instances that made you realize how much you enjoyed affection.

When Merlin held you, you felt both grounded and weightless in your presence. It was something you shared mutually. A closeness you both craved no matter the distance.

The whole world seemed to quiet and light up all at once while in the little hideaway you both had created.

To be frank, you were a little surprised how Merlin was able to get away for a moment. Even in the short time knowing each other, you had come to realize just how much work Merlin had for himself each day. Between keeping his true nature and self a secret while protecting Arthur, Camelot, all the people he cared for; chores for Gaius, and chores from Arthur; it was a wonder he didn’t pass out from sleep exhaustion. Apparently, as you learned, Merlin was use to it. You came to understand exactly why he had literally flopped onto his bed on more than one occasion. You’d never laughed at the action since then.

Of course you had your own job as a servant in Camelot’s castle; something Queen Guinevere was happy to hear because that meant you’d be close enough to Merlin. It was something that the King and Queen of Camelot had discussed shortly after Arthur had found Merlin with you surrounded by a mess of laundry on the floor. The couple wanted to make certain that you wouldn’t be too far from Merlin. They cared <i>a lot</i> about their friend.

No matter what happened or what you did, at the end of the day you were with your soulmate, Merlin. Safe, warm, and happy together.

Interestingly enough, during one of your nights together, you had heard from Merlin that Arthur and Gwen had swirl marks behind their left ears. His story even lead to him telling you how Gwen had discovered Arthur’s mark first when the pair were having secret meetings together.

You quite enjoyed listening to Merlin’s stories late at night when he could tell you ones no one else knew about. Your favorites so far were how he met his friends and some really funny stunts he had witnessed. Most of which so far involved Gwaine and Merlin’s involvement one way or another.

It wasn’t every day that you could talk so openly with someone you truly connected with.

. . .

Almost two weeks had passed since you had met and a little less than a week since Gaius had deemed it safe for you to stay in your own home at night. A certain someone walked you home at night and left after a long embrace.

Merlin was missing your company. It didn’t take much for you to know. Despite both feeling the same Merlin knew that you did have your own home to upkeep. Added that you were both strong enough to spend some time away from one another even if neither of you actually wanted to. Merlin counted himself lucky that he didn’t have to find excuses to be with you longer those first few days. The other nights that followed seemed almost extra and not singularly necessary as foretold.

However, questions always arose in the sorcerer’s mind referring to Gaius’ decisions. It wasn’t until the first night you were sleeping back in your own home that through a stare down and a serious expression at the dining table that Merlin was able to get Gaius to tell him another reason why you were kept under their care for well over two nights.

“Because I wanted to make sure there weren’t any....side effects.”

“What kind exactly, Gaius?”

“The magical kind. You are powerful, Merlin and there is no one out there like you. I had to make sure that your--(Y/N) didn’t suffer any sudden side effects because of being away from you too soon. All soulmates are effected differently. I wasn’t about to have her out alone and frightened when she would be safe with you. It’s one thing to have soulmates separated just after meeting one another and showing an emotion uncontrollably. It’s a completely different story when one of the soulmate’s is a powerful sorcerer.”

“You were afraid that (Y/N) would unconsciously use magic.”

“I was. There’s no telling what your connection could lead to, Merlin.”

“I know that it will be something great. I believe that.”

It was afternoon, the sun shining bright high above and a light breeze in the air. Merlin had everything planned; giving Arthur and Guinevere their afternoon meals to carrying specific supplies out of the castle without you spotting him. He was a little too good at that.

The sorcerer had asked you earlier to meet him in a specific spot outside. He had even marked the location with a small scrap of dark blue fabric on a low tree branch. Just in case.

Arriving at the designated location, his heart was pumping faster the closer he was to your form. Sometimes he found it hard to breathe, to focus on something so simple. If he thought too deep about how all of it was real, tangible, you were in his life.

You turned around to face him before any words were able to leave his mouth.

“Merlin,” you beamed and he felt his heart contract.

His eyes taking in how the afternoon light fanned over your features nicely, distractingly. As you walked up to him, he felt more aware of life the closer you were.

“(Y/N),” Merlin finally found it in himself to speak.

You both hugged each other. Feelings of glee, excitement, and minimum anxiety were perceived between you both.

“So what are we doing out here exactly?” You inquired, eyes all alight.

“It’s a little surprise.”

“Little? I’ve found you’re not the kind to have ‘little surprises’ in your life.”

“That’s fair.” Merlin stated before taking a step back to bow and offer you his hand. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” you grinned as giddiness had overtaken you.

Happily, you accepted his hand and allowed him to lead you passed more trees basking in the daylight.

After a little bit of walking, you both came to a quiet spot where a blanket and a small basket was laid out. He lead you straight there.

“When did you have time to do this?” You asked.

“Oh, that part’s a secret.”

You laughed lightly as you both sat down atop of the fabric.

Merlin had really gone out of his way for this.

Would he always have surprises up his sleeve?

Surrounded by nature and positive energy the two of you ate snacks, talked, and more than enjoyed the other’s company. You took a couple of opportunities to steal glances at Merlin when he wasn’t looking. It was more of a challenge than it sounded. It wasn’t long until your curiosity about his magic reappeared. Given that you were both alone it seemed safe enough to ask him.

“So...I know that you can make flowers just appear in your hands, but can you move things or is it just elements? Plants?” You asked, gazing up at him from your lounging position.

“I can do a lot more than grow plants.”

“You can move rocks?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered, finding your phrasing amusing. “I can control parts of weather, stop something or someone from falling, lite fires, and help cure people. Some of which are from spells.”

Mouth agape, you stared at your soulmate.

“Stopping a bucket of water from spilling. Lightning once, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Lightning? That’s...that’s frightening, but...it is natural. The power of nature. I guess it isn’t so different than stopping water midair. Then again, I can’t really picture you using lightning or conjuring it? What I mean is that....how can it or you be actually frightening if you were using me to stay warm the other night when you were walking me home?”

“True,” Merlin ducked his head a bit.

“It isn’t scary at all. Just different.”

Blue eyes glanced back to you.

“It’s a good thing I really like different.”

Crinkles were visible by his eyes as he chuckled. Deep and airy all at once.

You adored every crease and every happy sound he emitted. Knowing that you had years to learn and love his quirks and charms filled your heart with an added zing. To have a life intertwined with someone such as Merlin was everything you needed and everything you hadn’t expected.

Birds chirped and communicated nearby as you and Merlin continued relaxing underneath the shade of trees. The soft hum of nature and her energies set the perfect balance for your picnic date.

A raise of your hand and you were poking a finger where you knew Merlin’s mark rested behind his shirt. A golden shape of a dragon hidden from view.

Your lips pressed together tightly as he gently took ahold of your hand and pressed your open palm over his chest. Internally, you sensed the mixtures of strong emotions he was experiencing. All centered around you. The joy, the compassion, and the ever expanding yearning.

You released a breath you had only became aware that you were withholding. In the back of your mind you knew that Merlin wanted to share more with you. Not knowing exactly what yet sensing you might any second caused your heart rate to rise. You were certain he noticed.

Merlin lowered himself further onto the blanket and held himself up on an elbow. The natural light appearing from between the leaves above added extra blue shades to his already cerulean eyes.

With a light touch, Merlin brushed back some of your hair away from your face, his eyes memorizing each small detail of your bright eyes. In a fraction of a moment his gaze slipped lower. Slowly, however steady without an ounce of hesitation his lips greeted yours with a gentle caress. Sensitive and aware, he pushed no further.

As you reciprocated you felt his lips morph into a small smile. It was then that you truly felt his heartbeat underneath your palm.

The kiss was a blissful moment seeming to suspend time. In midst of it all you encountered a weightless, bright, and inviting feeling. What it was exactly, you weren’t sure of its name. Whatever the feeling was you did not want to part from it.

“I love you, Merlin,” you murmured as his forehead rested on your own.

You could feel a golden heat radiating from him as he grinned, the skin crinkling beside his eyes dearly.

“I love you, (Y/N).” Merlin declared, pulling you closer and into his arms. “I love you so much.”

The sorcerer never wanted to let you go. Every touch, every word, and every breath of air felt right. He wanted to live in this moment of pure happiness forever. To see you smile and feel the warmth of your skin.

He adored you. He cared and cherished you. The sorcerer’s heart could burst with the sheer amount of love he had for you.

Love.

Merlin knew what it was, he knew what it meant. That golden feeling.

Love wasn’t new for him, but this love. This love that he had reserved for you was entirely different. It consumed him in the best way he could ever imagine. It was the kind of love that could build kingdoms, soar over mountains, and dive into the deepest trenches of the ocean. A type of love that could overcome and conquer anything while bringing light with each new day.

That was the love Merlin had for you.

[trekkele]

Pre-canon Azula assassinates Ozai and frames Iroh for it?

Wow y’all really have me entirely figured out today. This is also less about that and more about…idk even.

“In the beginning,” Ursa said, sweeping the flame from the candle into the palm of her hand, guiding it counterclockwise with her finger, “when the fire benders where only dragons and the people huddled cold at the base of their mountain, the first snow fell. The people could not understand the ice that fell from the heavens, grey clouds hiding Agni from them.”

The tiny flame burst into sparks, drifting slowly down to her palm. Azula wondered if her eyes were as wide as Zukos, as bright with the flames' reflection.

“But in this village there was a girl, whose eyes had long been turned to the top of the mountain, who’s heart held a coiling flame” her mother traced a heart with two fingers, and the flame followed. “She did not fear the snow, or the cold it brought, but rather the way her people had lost their fire in the face of Agnis Shrouds.”

“And so she began the trek up the mountain, passing by the frozen stream and the trees bowed under ice, until she could see her village, tucked into the whitened valley, spread below her feet. And she sat down to wait.”

“Wait?” Azula asked, lip curling. “I thought she wanted to find a dragon? What use is waiting.”

Ursa smiled, tiny flame dancing, running up and down her palm as her fingers guided it. “The dragon was not used to strangers on their mountain. The girl knew they would see her, and come. Knowing how and when to strike,” the flames seemed to burn deep in Ursa’s eyes as Azula watched it form a tiny dagger, “is just as important as knowing where.”

Zuko gasped as the dagger flame changed to a bow flinging arrows, two swords crossed, and finally a vial dripping flame.

“And when the dragon came, the girl was still warm, and rested, and had arranged herself as though they sat in the finest sitting room, silks and tea,” Azula pulled a face that made her mother’s shoulders shake, the flame between them flickering, “and mochi all before them.” Azula grinned even as Zuko snickered. Mochi was a much better diplomatic tool than tea, even if tea was traditional.

“The dragon landed softly in the snow, settling in with wings tucked behind them. “You do not belong here” they said, rumbling like an earthen flame* and breathing colored sparks to the air. “And yet I am here.” the girl said.

The dragon glared at her, fierce and foreign. It was odd to see anger in the face of a serpent. The girl did not shake, or apologize. “Why.” the dragon swept their tail over the ground, snow piling on either side of its path, “Why have you climbed this mountain”

The flame in Ursas palm grew wings, rising slowly between them, “My people grow weak with fear. Agni has been hidden to us for the weeks of this storm and they fear or spirit has grown angry, or distant.” The dragon huffed, disdain dripping like flames from their fangs. “Did not the Great Sun bless you with fire? Do not your veins flow like the blood from a Sparked Mountaintop?” the girl still not shake. “The turtle lions blessed us with Agni’s spark, but we do not know how to use it.” she said, hands folded in her lap. The fabric of her coat was warm with her anger, but the dragon could not see the heat of her palms. He could not hear the anger in her voice.

“What the spirits did or did not give you is none of my concern, now leave me. I must return to my hoard.” Ursa lowered her voice when she spoke for the dragon, rumbling with something below her tongue. Zuko shuffled closer to Azula, who leaned closer into him.

“Your hoard?” The girl asked “are gold and coloured stones so precious that you would deny the chance to become the first master to a new class of student?” the dragon laughed. “What foolish stories do you tell of us? My hoard are my children in their eggs, and my hoard is my family. I would deny the chance to become legend for them.”

“The girl was clever, and quick, and stood before their wings could unfold. “My hoard is dying.” the dragon paused. “My hoard is dying and I am here to teach how to live.”

The dragon shook out their wings, rising to their full height and glaring down. The snow had begun to fall again, and if the girl closed her eyes, she thought she could smell the smoke from her village, the panicked silent breaths of people who could not see the sun. “I cannot leave my hoard.”

“I can.” the girl said, standing in the snow, praying to a spirit buried in clouds. “For as long as I need to.”

“Why you, little spark-bender?” the dragon said finally, their student starting to shiver.

The girl did not rejoice in her success. There was never a place for failure in her plans. “Someone had to.” she shrugged, and followed the first dragon master up the mountain.”

Ursa let the flame in palm burn down, placing it gently back to the week when it was no more than a spark.

“What happened to the village?” Zuko demanded, hands around his knees.

“The girl came back and taught them how to fire bend, using what the master showed her. Once they could learn to manipulate their chi, the villagers always felt where Agni was, and always knew they were close to them.”

“What happened to the girl.” Azula did not demand an answer. She did expect one.

“Well, the legend says she traveled to other villages and taught them to fire bend as well. And once she settled down, her children became great and powerful benders, till Agni blessed on with the wisdom to unite our people. But now,” Ursa waved the candle shut, “it’s time for bed.”

—-—

Later, after Azula learns what burnt skin smells like, how the ashes taste on her tongue, Iroh stands next to her in the garden.

The guards are uneasy. They are unnecessary too, but Azula will make allowances for their skittishness.

No one trained them to fight dragons, after all.

“Why.” Iroh asks, and Azula is tempted. It would be so easy to crack, right here, and scream her grievances to the world. To the sun, its chosen heir lying burnt on white sheets, fists clenched around his loyalty and heart weeping.

Why. She thinks instead of a girl, and a mountain, and facing a monster that is suddenly an ally in the face of greater threats.

She thinks of a heart, filled with coiling flames.

“Someone had to.” She says, eyes turned towards the sun. It winks lower over the caldera cliffs, sky clear and blue.

—-—

She never tells him how it easy it actually was.

Her Uncle does not want to know.

—-—

Ursa does not ask Why. Her mothers return to the palace is a quiet thing, hastened by the servants who remembered her and the courtiers who eyed the royal children with pity and unease.

Zuko uses their pity. Azula uses the unease. They want neither, but they will not waste what is given.

Ursa does not ask. She sits in the garden, lets Azula huff and throw scrolls and braids little twists in her hair till it is piled like black silk on her head.

Once, she holds Azula's hands in her own, and lets a flame dance over their palms. “My only regret,” she says, eyes steady even as the wind sweeps between them, “is that you did what I did not.”

“Would you have?” Azula does not want the answer. She needs it, desperately, but she doesn't want it.

“If I had known half of what he would become, the sun would not have risen on him after your first breath.”

Ursa does not ask. She does not push. And she does not expect Azula to mourn her actions.

Azula is not surprised. No one ever expects a dragon in a woman’s skin.

But she's since learned to see the glint of fangs in her mothers smile. She sees it in the mirror, after all.

[send me an ask of ‘I wish you would write’ with a story idea and ill react. I’m very suggestible, clearly]

[bonny-kookoo]

Burn It (M.YG x Reader)🔞☁️💜🐾 1

Pairing: Dragon!Min Yoongi x Dragon!Reader

Genre: Angst, Hybrid AU, Romance, Fluff, eventual Smut

Warnings: (oh boy here we go) Blood, Fighting, Angst, Mentions of mistreatment, Slavery, injuries, killing of animals (they gotta hunt food boo) Separation anxiety, separation depression, Dom/Sub themes because that’s just me and y’all know me I can’t be normal for once lol, famine, war, graphic descriptions of violence, death, y’all gonna hate me after this lmao

Summary: To ensure their own survival, Dragons have made a pact with the Human Kingdom centuries before; letting them claim a Dragon every new generation to keep as whatever they may desire them to be. This has become a tradition, not only the fun and thrill of the hunt for the ruling human species, but also the loss and heartbreak for the Dragon-shifters, the burden never seeming to become easier to carry. The shifters accepted so many things, from the way they’d openly shame their kind, how they would simply do and take whatever they wanted; whenever they wanted, slowly becoming more and more greedy and uncaring for the rules set centuries ago. Min Yoongi however becomes more than determined to end this tradition when his mate is being captured- and if humans thought they could overcome anything in their way, Yoongi will gladly remind them who’s actually in charge. It’s time for things to change. Its time to burn their kingdom to ashes, and maybe even build a new one.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | ?

The sheets fell comfortably over your bodies, head near his shoulder. The world outside of your nest was already slowly waking up, soft and tired morning chatter increasing in volume with every minute it seemed. "Go back to sleep." He suddenly mumbled, to the regular ear just some random grumbling, yet yours were trained to listen carefully, nowadays able to make out even the faintest of words since he sometimes spoke to you even with his back turned. You giggled, slowly crawling closer to his body, his hands welcoming you instantly by grabbing the back of your upper thigh gently, laying your leg over his lower body, fondly running his hand over your skin, as if to caress you back to sleep.

"Hey, Yoongi?" You asked, own voice still laced with sleep. "What do you think our cubs may look like one day?" You randomly asked, mind still a bit fuzzy with the remnants of your most recent dream. Yoongi simply chuckled at that, shrugging his shoulders with eyes still closed.

"Don't know. We'll see I guess." He mumbled, placing a kiss to your neck. His hand began to wander, brushing over your soft skin further, as he opened one of his cat-like eyes to look at your now open ones. "But now that you talk about it-" He began, and moved to position himself above you, teeth grazing your bonding mark in between the crook of your neck with his pointed canines. "I guess we could use a bit of training, yeah?" He said, and you giggled again, feeling ticklish at his touch. You shoved him a little, and he smiled, playfully biting your skin to keep you immobile for him, as if he needed to- you would never run away from him in a million years and more.

"Yoongi, Seokjin and Namjoon are probably already up and preparing for your arrival." You reminded him, and he nodded with a bit or worry. The other clan, living a bit further into the mountains, away from the woods and deep forests you did had made an alliance decades ago after the first war of men against your kind. He'd made friends with some of them, including their current leading figure Seokjin- even though he'd never openly say that. "You also promised me to give Taehyung his present from me. His birthday is important." Taehyung was a bit older than you, yet he had a youthful charm to him that sometimes made you forget that small fact about him. You adored the dragon dearly, even if he came from a different clan. These days, every Clan stuck together it seemed, boundaries slowly getting blurry as more and more alliances were made, now even clans far away from the mountains agreeing on keeping a friendly bond to one another.

He laughed a bit, but whined his next words playfully dramatic. "I still don't get why you can't come along. You know this man-cub has way too much energy for me." You cooed at him, making him scoff at you. He always acted as if he didn't care much about others, and that he was a tough dragon, yet you and his friends knew that he had a soft heart deep inside him.

"Someone has to stay behind Yoongi. I'll be fine, and its just for today, tomorrow, and the day after." You reassured him, knowing how much he worried due to the current situation. Winter wasn't even hitting with full force yet, only slowly creeping up on the lands, yet the Kingdom of men already faced dire times. Your kind had warned them early on to not be too wasteful, yet they didn't seem to be wanting to listen to you. This were the consequences they would have to face, yet it didn't mean they wouldn't do something drastic. Humans were known to be very impulsive creatures. You had to stay behind to reassure your own clanmates; leaving with Yoongi could paint a wrongful picture of you abandoning them for your own benefit of safety. And you'd never do that in a million years.

You could faintly hear the flapping of wings somewhere in the distance, then a flock of doves skitting away as something heavy landed near your window. Shortly afterwards, a knock was heard, and Yoongi groaned annoyed. You slowly untangled your limbs from around Yoongi's, yawning with a smile while opening the door, greeting whoever was behind it, as Yoongi's body flopped back down on the bed with exaggerated defeat. "Good morning y/n! I guess Yoongi is still asleep?" The young dragon asked, his usual doe-eyes still a bit sleepy, yet face held a bit of worry behind it, which did make you a bit uneasy. You shook your head, when the man in question suddenly appeared behind you, in all his grumpy glory, having noticed your shift of emotions almost instantly.

"I'm awake now, and you're being a cocklock kid. What is it?" He bluntly said, making you slap his chest in embarrassment. The tips of the young dragon's ears turned a bit pink at that, yet he simply cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure. Yoongi had always joked about the fact that Jungkook had a small crush on you, yet you always assured him that that wasn't true- you both simply felt for each other in a way siblings felt, not lovers. That part was forever taken for you.

"The Kingdom has still to announce the date of the hunt." He said, voice a bit hesitant, knowing how fast this topic could rile his older brother up. "But there is a rumor going around that it will be tomorrow." He said, already shrinking a bit, as if to prepare for the older one's outburst.

Yoongis eyes grew angry. "They what?!" He said, only staying calm for your sake as you held onto his shoulder.

The young dragon nodded sadly. "I've personally checked the situation after everyone began to talk about it. They're already preparing, but I've been told not to worry too much by their spokespeople. Me and the other messengers have been given the task to just warn everyone." He said. "I- Namjoon said you should decide yourself if you want to still-" He attempted, yet Yoongi beat him to it.

"I'm not going." He said, already trying to close the door, yet you held it open, trying to diffuse the angry aura.

"Now hold on, we're told not to worry- Yoongi, this is really important, you need to go." You said calmly, shushing him as he attempted to speak again, probably to disagree. "No, if you don't go, it'll just unsettle everyone. We can't have that, not now." You argued, and he sighed after a moment, nodding towards Jungkook to get the message out that he's going to meed the Kim Clan today anyways- even though he had his worries. The younger dragon nodded, flying off after saying his farewells to you, to which you nodded, and closed the door.

Yoongi fell onto the bed next to you as you had sat down to stretch your limbs, arms reaching out for your body, trying to get you back to bed. You giggled, yet playfully shoved him away from you, scolding him gently. "No Yoongi, you need to get up. If you lay down now, you'll just fall asleep again." You said, tapping his chin which made him scoff.

"You act as if you have to mother me." He said, feline eyes looking at you with a mildly impish glint in them. You giggled as he opened his arms, now sitting on the side of your bed, beckoning you to sit on his lap for a moment, simply to hold you. "I'm worried." He finally said, and your arms placed themselves around his middle, trying to calm his nerves.

"I know." You answered, before you squeezed him a bit tighter, just for a second, making him run his hand over your back. "But if you don't leave, you know the kingdom will grow uneasy." You said, worry now on your tongue as well. "They're too easy to rile up these days. Lets not take chances."

He finally nodded, getting up to dress himself, movements lazy as you continued to watch him for a moment, before getting up yourself. It was probably a good idea to start your day as well.

"I'll fly back immediately if something is wrong. Just send me a sign, I'll be right back, I promis-" You cut his rambling off with a kiss, smiling at him as he looked at you seriously, ready to scold you.

"Yoongi, I'll be fine. Winter is coming, but we'll survive just like last year." You promised, and touched his bonding mark on his neck, making him close his eyes. You knew he hated being away from you, but he was also a very independent and free roaming soul- needing his own time and freedom as much as the air you both breathed every day and night. You loved him for this; his heart still untamed yet he'd bound himself to you despite his need to be on his own. It made you feel as special just like he always said you were.

He nodded, kissing your forehead before jumping off of the cliff, his black dragon form expanding its wings powerfully, his scales reflecting the sunlight in dark rainbow patterns like black opal, making your eyes glow with fondness. He truly was a prince, wasn't he? He always played it off whenever you brought it up, but his royal blood was clearly visible in visual and character- the way he carried himself confident in a way only kings and blue blooded Ancestors did. Maybe that was why the people of his clan had chosen him and you as the leading couple; trust was always placed in the people who seemed the most honest and capable, after all. And he was bluntly honest, never sugarcoating any form of bad news, well known for his loose tongue and ways to negotiate. You adored him for this.

Because even if he didn't want to hold that title, he would always be a king in your eyes.

It had been only a day after his departure, and you already missed him dearly. The youngest of the clan asked about him with excitement, unbeknownst to your sorrow as it reminded you that two days were still a long time. Yet you smiled brightly as you told them stories about their leader, tales of how he had fought in the last war, bravely defending their unborn lives from any harm and saving their parents. The kids always saw him as a grumpy man, yet you could also spot their respect and awe whenever he joined your tales. He truly was a hero, wasn't he?

As Jungkook landed skillfully, making the kids jump up and run towards him as he looked at you with overwhelmed eyes, you knew that something was up. "Kids, don't hog him like that please." You said, and they seemed to groan at that, already sensing that today he wouldn't play with them. "Go inside and continue your drawings. I'll be with you in a minute, alright?" You said, trying not to make them worry. They thankfully didn't seem to notice.

"They're readying horses and spears." Jungkook said in a hushed tone, and you felt your heart drop a little. "Please, Y/N, you have to let me get Yoongi back. It's obvious what they're doing!" He said, and you bit your lip, looking at the children for a moment, before you opened your mouth for an answer which never came.

Because a flaming arrow buzzed past both of you, missing you both only by a hairs lenght- lodging into a tree behind you, Jungkook immediately moving you behind him as his eyes stared at the flames slowly eating away at the tree's bark.

'And with the flames overtaking a tree growing on stone beneath, the hunt will start for the day of season.'

They really did break their promise.

The day had started so beautifully as well, with the soft breeze of the beginning winter, a time of shared flames and cozy caves where you’d lay with your loved ones and watch nature drown the earth in its white frost to sleep, or in your case, covered under blankets craving the company of your mate. But the Kingdom of Men had been experiencing a famine worse than anything they’ve did before, and desperate as ever they’d decided to hunt whatever they would see fit. Your Clan had tried to convince them to stop their greedy hands, to help them realize that this needed to happen to help the environment recover and heal, yet the only thing it did was fuel their anger. Humans were easily blinded by their own needs, seeing nothing but their own benefit worth fighting for. But what they saw as honorable your kind saw as plain stupid and heartless. But the only thing they seemed to be able to do was take.

And take they did.

The clapping of horseshoes increased in the distance as you locked eyes with another mother, silently giving her the order to evacuate the children to safety- fear in her eyes as she tried to keep the youngest of the clan calm enough to move without much resistance.

You flew over the mountains, trying to keep an eye on the various mothers ushering their children into the deeper caves, others closing them with the largest rocks they could find to keep the men armed to the teeth from entering and stealing their young. You wanted to weep at the sight of spears being thrown and arrows being shot- yet you had to get a grip of yourself. This was not about you; this was about the bigger picture.

"Jungkook!" You roared, claws the color of white moonstone grabbing onto the edge of a cliff to hold onto it as the only slightly older dragon turned his head towards you, desperate eyes finding yours. "Help secure the lower territory! Don't let them get to the safety tunnels!" You yelled, nodding as he did the same, trying to ask you for Yoongi, yet you didn't give him enough time already climbing up to get a better view on the situation. Jungkook himself growled frustrated, as he turned around, letting himself fall down for a moment to aim an attack on a group of soldiers dangerously close to one of the closed caves. You had to save everyone. You had to.

Yoongi had always mocked you for your overly motherly instincts for the clan, even though you were even younger than Jungkook- the so called cub of everyone, with his youthful charm and playful character. You were a gentle dragon, too good as Yoongi always said. And it was true- you were horrible at fighting, scared of even attempting difficult flying maneuvers like others did, glad that you could hold yourself up in the skies. Your scales were never meant to protect you, your claws never given to you for war.

You didn't get to think much about that though, the sign you tried sending to your lover promptly interrupted.

It stung, no, it burned, it felt like the act of ripping your own wing off of your back would’ve hurt less than what you were feeling. One, two, three, four- the way you felt every arrow bury itself into your flesh made you cringe and yell in pain as the flight became too heavy to handle, making you fall down like a rotten apple, tumbling over the rocky ground like moldy fruit. The fall hadn’t been high enough to cause any critical damage, yet you had felt the way the force of gravity pushed and pulled on your body on its way down, sticks and stones ripping on your flesh.

This was it. This was the beginning of your fate. And you had seen it in those cold eyes of the metal-clothed men holding their spears straight at you in a way that reminded you of mockery; they were celebrating already, when your blood hasn’t even stopped running out of your wounds.

You got up, scales tainted red as you swung your claws left and right, trying to escape the ropes being tossed over your body, pulling on your skin underneath the layer of protective scales, as you heard Jungkook roaring in the background, trying to reach you before it was too late. "Don't!" You roared, a language only you and him understood, and he knew better than to question you. It pained him dearly however, as he had to watch them break you down, the poison arrows finally weakening you enough to let go of your dragon form, now barely distinguishable from the humankind hurriedly binding your hands behind your back, immobilizing you for transport. You hope for your last call to be received by your mate, as your eyes slowly close, the hunt ending with the shouts and cries of the soldiers, the first snowflakes slowly falling onto your bruised skin.

What you can’t see as they’re throwing you on the wagon that’s being pulled by two anxious horses is, how Yoongis eyes widen miles over miles away on his hunting trip with the Kim Clan; how he suddenly drops to his knees, and clenches his heart at the pain your bond is sharing with him. He knows. He does not want to accept it, but he knows, he knows that when he suddenly can’t feel you anymore that they really had done it, that their hunt was over. And his soul screams out to you as you’re being taken further and further away from him.

But soon enough this pain turns into fiery anger, as he realizes what exactly had happened. The kingdom had officially broken their Promise.

So how about he breaks his as well?

Down in the cold chambers, you couldn't feel anything at all. The shackles around your limbs weighted you down embarrassingly, yet you couldn't get up even if you wanted to.

They've dressed you in a simple cotton dress, uncaring of your modesty or pride. You did not care if it got dirty- your entire being already burned and bruised, it wouldn't even make a difference. The doors opened slowly, creaking as someone entered, closing the door behind them. You did not look down as you were being taken out of your cell, gaze always straight ahead. It's something that Yoongi has taught you during your relationship; it didn't matter if they broke your body. As long as your soul and mind was intact, they couldn't break you.

So even as you were slowly led through the colorfully celebrating streets, citizens and children happily throwing flowers at the soldiers and staring at you like a rare gem never seen before, you kept your chin high. It didn't matter to you. You could be strong.

"I'm going to burn everything down until nothing is left, I swear-" He fumed, eyes glowing dangerously as Jungkook wept in the corner of the now opened cave, guilt still heavy in his bones. Taehyung, who'd followed Yoongi together with his clanmates crouched down next to him, trying to console his friend- yet without luck. He understood the feelings of the younger dragon, sharing the pain almost, since his bond with you was a special one as well.

He loved you dearly like a sister- from the moment you had introduced him to Jungkook, who back then had only been a stray as you called orphaned dragons- raising him as if he was a sibling of yours to be protected. But now that his turn had seemed to be, he couldn't do anything to save you. And it burned in his veins like poison injected.

"Stop fucking blaming yourself." Yoongi growled, clearly hearing the younger ones thoughts. He couldn't control it at the moment, as everyones emotions were scrambled up and shattered like glass.

"Yoongi, I know you don't want to hear it-" Seokjin, the older dragon from Namjoon's and Taehyungs clan said, as Yoongi snapped at him.

"You're right, I dont." He said, eyes piercing and sharp.

"If you start a war right now, we will ultimately loose. You know this; don't do something irrational now." He said, trying to talk to his younger friend.

"How is saving my mate, my love, irrational? Are you fucking listening to yourself right now?!" He yelled, making the youngest of the group hiccup on his tears, Taehyungs hand ever so present on his back, desperately trying to calm him down.

Seokjin sighed. "I know how you feel, please. They will use her against us- she won't survive a fight." He said, and yoongi, for once, stayed silent. Because this was the ultimate truth- every war he'd start now would end with him having to kill you one way or another. And he knew that he could never do that. So he stayed quiet.

Until he lashed out, a harsh growl escaping him as he ran off, his dragonform flying off, thankfully however, not in the direction of the kingdom.

"Jungkook." Seokjin said, gaining the attention of the youngest dragon, red rimmed eyes tearfully gazing at him from his spot in the corner. "Follow him. Keep an eye on him- even if he tells you to leave. He can't be alone right now." He said, and the youngest nodded, sniffling before taking off as well.

"Eat" the guard barked, staring at you. You simply sat criss crossed on the ground, shackled hands on your lap, the carcass of a rabbit in front of you- untouched. If he thought you would behave like an animal he would be mistaken. You could go without food for a couple of days. You were stubborn. "Propably can't even understand a fucking word." The guard barked, chuckling under his breath.

He clicked his tongue after a moment, simply walking to the other cage, holding someone else apparently. He threw a stale looking small loaf of bread between the bars, laughing as it bounced a bit out of reach for whoever was inside. "Have a good meal, witch." He said, walking off with a snicker.

"I prefer the term 'Alchemist', but I guess witch is fair enough." He mumbled after the door closed, voice higher in pitch than Yoongis and Jungkooks. He looked older than you as he moved forwards a bit, form illuminated by the warm glow that shone from a candle close by, but not as old as your mate was- probably Taehyungs age. His silvery hair hung a bit over his piercing eyes, neck painted in the same letters used on his arms. "Jimin." He said, tossing a broken off piece your way, that you took after nodding gratefully.

Witches, or alchemists as they called themselves nowadays were rookies when it came to magic and spells, yet they had a talent for learning quickly. They despised the pure human way, craving a future of equality instead of power. "Y/N." You answered, chewing on the bread, scared to get caught. Jimin nodded, sending a smile your way. Names were always the same in every language.

"I'm to be hung on the next full moon." He said with little remorse or sadness, taking your nod as a form of telling him that you understood his words. "Until then, I can keep you company if you want." You looked at him, suddenly feeling for him, even though he was of the same species who threw you into this rotting cage in the first place. He was deceived by his own race, making him an outcast. If you could, you would love to help him, save him, yet you could hear Yoongis words echoing in your head.

'you can't save everyone.'

"leave me alone, brat." He scoffed, claws heavy on the crunching snow underneath him. The younger one didn't leave, merely falling back a few steps to give him space. "I said leave me the fuck alone Jungkook-" He growled, as he turned around, watching and cutting himself off in his words as he saw the younger cower. He was submitting. Apologizing.

"No. She told me to leave too, and look where that lead us!" He whined, voice still distorted after his long crying session back at the cave. "I can't leave you too, I can't be alone again, I can't loose you too." He said, large head almost burying itself into the snow, frozen water slowly melting around where his hot breath escaped his lungs. Yoongis gaze softened.

He remembered the way Jungkook had been brought to his clan years ago, orphaned just mere days ago, life suddenly turned around as he had tried to live on his own. He failed, to be fair, but he had never been prepared for the harsh reality that is a wanderers life- which his parents were. And as Yoongi had looked at you, already throwing your own coat over the freezing form of the boy older than you, the fabric of your clothing barely enough to cover his back, he couldn't let him leave like that.

"It's alright kid." He said, sitting down, wings simply laying flat on the ground, looking as defeated as he felt. "You did well." He murmured, and Jungkook began to cry again, feeling unworthy of his older brother's praise as the snowflakes fell onto his scales, some melting, and some of them building up.

Yoongi looked towards the kingdom as the sun slowly disappeared with its fiery glow, wondering if you were alright.

"I've been here before." Jimin said, as you looked into his direction, his snicker not making you feel uncomfortable anymore. "Several times." He admitted, and watched the flame of a single candle standing on a small wooden chair close to the main door flickering. "I got bailed out by my mentor." He said, and you looked at him questioningly. Would this person come for him again? "One day, after I got out, he was arrested." His eyes slowly turned melancholic as he told his tale, now looking at his hands.

"He exchanged my life for his."

You saw how he traced the dark lines on his wrist, and you tapped the thick metal bars in front of you, asking him to hold them up. It was in your own tongue, writings of spells and runes, most of them a bit crooked, but well made for someone who didn't speak it natively. "So? Did I do a good job?" He asked impishly, and you smiled, nodding. You pointed towards yourself, than to him, trying to ask him if he understood the words as well. He nodded. "I haven't heard anyone pronounce it properly though, so I can't promise you that I can keep up with what you say." He spoke.

"That's fine." You said gently, voice a bit raspy from lack of use. He smiled, eyes opening wide in wonder, as if you had just showed him a miracle. You held your bound hands through the bars, as best as you could, trying to reach his. He did the same, fingers touching yours, as your eyes glowed gently, his vision now changing.

He suddenly found himself in the midst of your homeland- not the place you currently lived with Yoongi. Your homeland was far away, an island with delicate nature and a view of the raging seas. Jimin could just stare in awe as he watched other dragons of your kind pass by, dipping into the ocean skillfully before emerging again, chirping unheard melodies of a language he barely understood. He could see seagulls eagerly fetching after the large creatures, as if they were playing a game of hide and seek, living in the same world, coexisting without any form of battle between them. He could spot other dragons residing on the island, human forms of them building away on shacks and shelters, kids running around, chasing each other in playful eagerness.

His eyes watered as you let the story unfold in front of his eyes, boats arriving at the calm and serene scene, expensively clothes men walking over plants and insects without much care, holding maps and plans, excitedly chatting away as nature started to rot behind them, their steps seemingly poisonous as they tried to build and build, killing trees and dragons alike, suddenly wearing their scales as if stolen goods were the new trend in fashion, chaining down others for fun. He could hear their cries, feel their pain, as the scene suddenly shifted to a mother, holding her young cub out to a dark dragon unlike her. Its eyes the color of the nightsky as he took the small body from her, flying off, and taking the vision with him.

"I.." He started, as you simply took back your hands, now looking at his tear stained cheeks. He wanted to apologize, but he refused to let himself be acquainted with these people. No, if they said he wasn't human, that was taken as a compliment for him. He would rather have himself hung with his own beliefs, than accepting that this was what his kind was only capable of. He watched as you turned around, closing your eyes as you tried to fall asleep.

He had to do something.

"Where's Y/N?" a young girl said, running after Yoongi. He turned around, crouching down to her level as he tried to come up with something.

"She's.. uhm..-" He said, before the girl cut him off.

"They say she died, but she didn't right?" She said, tear filled eyes staring at him. He had to swallow.

"Whoever said that is a liar kid. She didn't die.. she just.." The girl nodded seemingly understanding.

"But you're gonna save her, right?" Her face suddenly growing excited. "Cause you're the King, you gotta save the Queen!" She said, jumping up and down, and Yoongi suddenly looked over her head at Jungkook talking to Taehyung.

"You're right." He simply said, ruffling the girls head, before he walked towards the two rookies, determination in his eyes.

This plan was absolutely stupid, he knew that. But maybe he needed a bit of that this time.

[wide-eyedscottishlass]

Scarlett and the Professor - a startling revelation

[continued from]    [contains brief NSFW material]

The way that Scarlett had kissed him when they parted lingered in Hennessy’s mind far longer than was fit for his intentions towards her. As he fell asleep in the nights that followed; when he woke up in the dark, needing to use the loo. Making him wonder if she was sleeping soundly, warm and soft, and far from his bed. Making him hope that he was the stuff of her dreams. 

But this was ludicrous! Untenable and undisciplined. And even as he watched her, innocently sitting two rows back from his desk—modestly attired in a knee length dress of pale peach, silk chiffon, the flawless skin of her throat and decolletage  beckoning to him nonetheless—he sure as hellfire intended to do something about it. 

Thus far, she had made no obvious attempt to garner his attention. Throughout Monday’s class and today’s—which was quickly winding down—Scarlett had played the part of a model student. Seated demurely while studiously taking notes, alert and attentive, and even raising her hand in bids to answer questions. True, when he allowed himself to call upon her, the slight flush that colored her cheeks was surely on his account, but she answered so confidently that it almost felt like she was daring him to correct her. 

She’d worn her hair loose today and on Monday too, instead of her customary chignon. Distracting him with thoughts of how it felt pooled in his hands, spread across the skin of his chest, and—for Christ’s sake!–brushing against his thighs when she worshipped him with her mouth. Goddammit! How the hell had she insinuated herself into his forebrain this way, and after such relatively little time? It boggled the mind. 

Hennessy was particularly aware of her scent; the combination of her shampoo, the natural aroma of her skin, combined with her light, delicate perfume. He knew that couldn’t be helped, of course, as he’d worn her scent on his skin during their many hours of sin, and it had lingered on his sheets until his cleaning woman had changed them out. Whenever Hennessy walked the aisle where Scarlett sat, it assaulted his senses, made his mouth water, and caused him just the slightest hesitation in delivery of his lecture. 

Even now, as he backed up the aisle on his way to his desk, she didn’t even react when his fingertips just grazed her arm where it rested on her desk. Scarlett before the series of sensual lessons he had granted her would have given a quiet gasp and wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes from him. This Scarlett was gazing at the blackboard while she absentmindedly nibbled on the end of her pencil, seemingly unaware of how that action made him lick his own lips as he considered the taste and texture of her pretty, precious mouth. Hennessy realized he must do something soon to change the trajectory he was on. 

He was so immersed in his thoughts that the noon bell took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered and muttered his dismissal. Scarlett was up and out of his classroom with the rest of the students, not even granting him a moment’s acknowledgement of their wicked secret. How was this to be borne! No lover had turned the tables on him so effortlessly before, and without even trying. But what could he do about Scarlett? 

Hennessy took to his chair, mulling over his options, and each seemed less satisfactory than the previous one. His mobile buzzed with a text alert, and he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his jacket, which was draped across the back of his chair. “Well...I’ll...be...damned...” he grinned, his dexterous fingers skating across the keypad in reply. This is practically a deus ex machina, he chuckled, with timing that couldn’t be more perfect. 

                    _______________________________________

Hennessy was nursing his second scotch on the rocks, taking his drink slowly as he figured he’d be hitting the road not long after his awaited guest arrived. This wasn’t so much a bar, as a seedy, roadside dive, but considering the nature of their meetup, it suited the mood perfectly. His belly felt tight with anticipation, further piqued by the burn of the liquor as he scanned the room, satisfied to see that the other few, isolated patrons were involved in minding their own business. 

She was late, of course, a perpetual habit which he’d grown accustomed to years ago, but he expected her arrival at any moment now. And sure enough, as though he had summoned her by thought alone, his favorite tall and leggy redhead strolled through the door.

Sylvie Martin, Professor of Biology, specializing in Humans and Primates. Sylvie Caldwell nee Martin, he reminded himself as she approached and he caught the flash of her huge and rather gaudy diamond engagement ring. Interestingly, she was wearing it on her right-hand ring finger rather then her left. A portent of good things to come, as far as Hennessy was concerned. 

She wore a snug, silk dress with a Mandarin collar and a slit up one side, with a dark green, Oriental print embossed on it’s emerald green background, along with her trademark spiked heels, in matching green. Sylvie knew that color flattered her best, and she certainly was a sight for sore eyes. Once she spotted him, she moved with unflappable focus towards his booth. “Darling...Henns!” she greeted him as he rose to embrace her, allowing him the familiarity of lingering his palm against her back. No bra...all the better, he thought, breathing in Dior’s J’adore, which had always been her favorite perfume, and wondering if she had arrived sans thong as well. He’d likely discover the answer for himself soon enough. 

“Sylvie, you dazzle me as always,” he proclaimed, kissing her cheek, “And honestly, the island hasn’t been the same since you decamped.” Hennessy motioned to the cocktail waitress to bring the round of drinks he’d preordered for them; a dirty martini for Sylvie and another tumbler of scotch for himself. He waited for his guest to slide into the booth and then joined her, not at all hesitant to press his thigh against hers. “So tell me, darling- what brings you back to us now? Business...or pleasure? 

“Hennzy,” she smirked, tracing the rim of her glass before eyeing him sideways, “A little bit of business, as I finally found a buyer for my old place.” Sylvie turned to him and ran the same finger along his cheekbone. “And as for pleasure, well...” she sighed and batted her eyes, “...I was counting on you for that.” 

“Moi,” he exclaimed, feigning shock, “I thought those days were done! I mean, what would Gerald say?” 

“That he married an insatiable tart,” she huffed, then took a deep swallow of her martini, “And that a leopard can’t change her spots, no matter how much luxury you lavish upon her...” 

“Ahhhhh, my poor, dear Sylvie,” he tutted, biting his lip against a smirk of his own. Hennessy had been certain when she’d left the University without giving even a week’s notice, and had barely bid farewell to even her closest friends as she pursued the 50-something tech mogul that had feted her through a whirlwind courtship---following him to his home base in the States---that she would be back one day. In the finest gold digger tradition, they had married within a month. Hennessy hoped now, as he had when he first read her text announcing the news, that she’d been smart enough to get a generous prenup. “I’ll be only too glad to help, of course,” he patted her hand in mock consolation, knowing that her heart had never truly been invested in that relationship, “Just tell me what you need, darling.” 

Sylvie laughed slyly, confirming what he had expected from the moment he had gotten her text this afternoon, “Well, we could start with a night full of shameless shagging.” Leaning into him, she murmured in his ear, “You know that you were always my favorite fuck buddy for that, Henns.” She tugged his earlobe between her teeth as she pulled away, and his prick twitched with the need she had awoken. “Please don’t say no, darling,” she pouted as she eyed him hungrily, “It’s been ages since I’ve been properly railed.” 

Why the hell not, he thought, astounded that the universe had hand delivered the perfect answer to his dilemma. She’s the most delectable, effortless and no-strings-attached distraction that I ever could have asked for. Hennessy grabbed his glass and downed the remaining liquid in a single, hearty swallow. “What the fuck are we waiting for,” he growled, “Which will it be, darling- your place or mine?”

                    ___________________________________ 

As Sylvie had arrived by Uber, they took took the Spitfire back to her hotel. Never one to stand on ceremony, she didn’t even wait two minutes before she snaked her hand across his thigh. “Mmmmm...good old Hennessy,” she purred, “And your...mmmmm...incomparable...dedicated...always delicious cock...” 

He shifted slightly, instinctively thrusting his pelvis up to maximize her access, even while warning her, “Christ, woman---let me get us there in one piece first...”

“I can’t help it, baby,” she whined, “I’ve missed this...missed you...sooooo verrrrry much.” 

Hennessy turned her way just enough to note the naked lust in every line of her gorgeous features. There’s never been anything subtle about her, he recalled, as a moue of distaste whispered at the back of his mind; but sometimes a man wants subtlety. Sometimes he wants a woman who’s soft and pliable, and...aching to follow his lead.

He gave a rough shake of his head, banishing that very uncharacteristic course of thought, and pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal. Sylvie threw back her head at the sudden acceleration, laughing hard and taking that as a sign of his eagerness. “Oh, Henns, you know I’ve always adored when you go fast!” She gave the bulge in his trousers a hearty squeeze. 

He grunted back, then plucked her questing hand from his crotch and raised it enough to give it a half-hearted kiss. “Not in everything, Sylvie,” he reminded her, his eyes remaining squarely on the road ahead, “And never when it’s crucial to go slow.” 

“Hmmmmm...right. I’d forgotten that sometimes a devil like you can show the patience of a saint,” she trilled, taking back her hand and laying it next to the gear shift, “So I suppose I’d better follow your example---for the time being.” 

“You best believe it, Syl...” Much to his chagrin, Hennessy was beginning to remember the slew of things about his friend-with-benefits that used to get on his nerves, and always ended with them going their separate ways for months at a time. Until one or the other of them had an itch for the kind of raw, filthy sex that had been their perpetual default setting. Of course, that was exactly what he was in need of now. At least once we begin, he reckoned, she’ll just shut up and put her mouth to better use than stating the obvious. 

She stayed fairly silent for the rest of the trip, likely having picked up the vibe that he wasn’t in the mood for trifling. Sylvie did grab his hand when they exited the car---pulling him along from the parking lot and through the airy lobby, and then into the elevator up to her suite. As soon as the doors slid shut, she had draped her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his as tightly as she could, and captured his mouth with a relentless, probing kiss. Hennessy had answered her advance by cupping her bottom in both hands---finding that ‘yes’ was the answer to his earlier speculation that she might be completely bare under her dress. 

He was thinking what a cliche this was, and that he wished she was making their liaison at least a bit challenging. Worse still, Hennessy was finding himself more than a little sorry for Sylvie, wondering just how miserable she must have been since the fresh bloom of her hasty marriage had faded away. That she’d fooled herself into thinking she could endure a union that had no true spark, and that Caldwell’s money would be enough to make her happy with a man who clearly didn’t understand or appreciate her true nature. 

But as she swiped her keycard to grant them entry to her rooms, Hennessy reminded himself that he wasn’t here to be her therapist or confessor. He wasn’t going to ask about what problems she was having---be they marital or otherwise---and he hoped that Sylvie wouldn’t try to tell. They each had pressing needs to fulfill, and as far as he was concerned, this was simply a palate cleanser. A chance to put some distance between himself and the threat that he was developing an obsession for the most unlikely of candidates. 

Once across the threshold, Sylvie headed towards the bar cart, where sat a sealed bottle of Glenlivit  12-Year, alongside a covered ice bucket. The sight immediately sobered him, as though the universe wanted to remind him of the very memories he was trying to blot out. It’s just coincidence, he tried to convince himself; besides which, Sylvie knows what I like. Of course she’d have that waiting for us, on the presumption that we’d end up here tonight. Hennessy didn’t say a word as she poured out for the both of them---moving to her side instead, to take the tumbler she offered him and set it back down on the bar.

Perplexed, she started to ask why, but he shook his head and then took her face in his hands, to land a needy kiss upon her willing mouth. All that he wanted now was to be in the moment; to spare no thoughts for the past several days, nor any for the future beyond what would happen in the confines of these rooms. 

Ensnared in hungry, almost violent kisses to begin with, their hands plucking at one another’s clothing, they ended up on the sofa with Sylvie straddling his hips, bending low to slather his skin, his nipples, the contours of his ribs, with further hot, impatient kisses. Hennessy was well aware where she was leading, and he thrust both hands into her flame-red tresses, gradually guiding her down to her inevitable destination. She slid her body further down so that she could undo his trousers and nuzzle his erection through his briefs. 

He groaned at the scrumptious sensation, watching her intently, and she looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Bet I still give the best head on the island, Hennzy,” she proclaimed, then wet her lips and smacked them hard. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Syl,” he countered, laying his head back while tightening his fingers in her hair, “Talk is cheap. Just fucking show me. Right fucking now...” 

She tugged his clothing far enough down to give herself full access to his works. And good god, yes, she hadn’t lost a trick; her tongue was as silky and as talented as he remembered. Her fingers knew just what he liked. Her mouth welcomed him greedily, and it all felt bloody fantastic. 

Yet something was missing. Something elementary, but vital enough that despite how great it was, he felt a sort of cool detachment. That he was experiencing a purely mechanical act, carried out by rote, devoid of...joy. Stripped of warmth and any connection beyond the physical. Sylvie was dedicated alright, relentlessly sucking and taking him deep, caressing his bollocks and teasing them with her manicured nails, groaning as she worked him---and yet, Hennessy didn’t feel any nearer to his climax. And shockingly, he didn’t care if he came or not. 

Without intending to, his fingers went slack in her hair, although Sylvia didn’t seem to notice. He squeezed his eyes tighter, aghast at the sudden notion of losing his erection before she was finished with him. Desperately, he searched his mind for images to help him stave off a humiliation he had never experienced before. His heart jumping ahead, supplying the answer which he couldn’t deny.

Scarlett. 

His soft, compliant, delectable Scarlett. 

Hennessy drew a sudden gasp---Sylvie would take it for a gasp of pleasure---as the images flooded his mind. Scarlett kneeling before him in the sand, woefully inexperienced and skittish, but bravely following his first demand of her. In his study, sliding onto the floor from his lap, eager to please him, to taste him, but turning shy in the aftermath, at the relish she had taken in their shared sin. His Scarlett. The pure dedication in her eyes as she looked up at him before she began, and the small, sweet sounds she gave over as she generously loved him---which always felt like proof of her devotion. The astonishing beauty of her head and hands adoring him, reflected in the mirror above his bed. And then how she clung to him afterwards, leaving trails of soft, loving kisses on his thighs. 

“Yes...yes...mmmmm...that’s my girl,” he murmured, beginning to thrust himself into Sylvie’s mouth. “My darling, little lamb,” he panted, repeatedly hitting the back of Sylvie’s throat, as he imagined it was Scarlett doing the deed, with her pretty, pouty mouth. Her tender, loving tongue. “Fuck...oh fuck, that’s good baby,” he groaned, the need to explode into his orgasm building and building all through his pelvis and his loins, as it hit him that when Scarlett did him, each moment of bliss she gave him arose from her generous and loving heart. “Mine...mine...” he cried out, arching his body off the sofa cushions, grunting with each hard pump of his hips and tugging hard on Sylvie’s hair. “...mine...my jo...” he sighed as he finished, the euphoria and warmth spreading through his veins, mercifully allowing him to forget for a little while that he’d been forced to fantasize in order to reach his to satisfaction.

Sylvie propped herself above him, her lipstick smeared, her mouth and chin slick with her saliva and his semen, and looking very pleased with herself. “God, how I’ve missed that, Henns! Just like old times,” she laughed, “But what’s with this little lamb shit? Where the hell did that come from?”

Hennessy had no problem fibbing his way through that faux pas. His mouth dropped open as though he was shocked and he huffed cynically, “Honestly, Syl? I have no fucking clue...” 

She narrowed her eyes and frowned slightly as she looked for the lie on his face. “Alright then- but don’t do it again. If you’re going to call me by a pet name, I’d rather it weren’t a farm animal.” 

“Got it,” he winked, “Let’s forget it ever happened.” 

“Forgotten already,” she told him, then brushed a quick kiss on his mouth, before clambering off of him. The top of Sylvie’s dress was bunched around her waist, but she didn’t seem to care as she headed to refill her glass and fetch his. This time, when she offered him the scotch, he took it and immediately swallowed half ot it---for he knew he couldn’t avoid what was coming next. 

“So, Henns...”Her voice had taken on a pouty, singsong quality, “Not to be gauche, but you owe me one now...” 

Christ! Was she always like this, he wondered; and was I just blinded by the sex? 

”...well, at least one,” she added, “Although I know you’re good for...many more.” She tossed back the rest of her scotch, gave a shake of her head as the burn went down, then wagged her head in the direction of the bedroom. “How about we crack on, as you Brits like to say?” 

“Righto.” Hennessy finished his drink and stood up, resigned to the unsavory outcome he’d wrought for himself. Knowing that he was obliged to a small degree---the wheels in his head busy spinning as he searched for a way to extricate himself with his dignity intact, before he was quite literally in too deep.

tagging:  @strangelock221b​  @thelostsmiles​  @letterstosherlock​ @splunge4me2art​ @tsukuyomi011​  @emilyinnj4real​  @aeterna-auroral-avenger​ @frowerssx2​  @groovyfluxie​ @humanbornarchangel​  @elizaaugust  @ravencatart  @doctor-stephenstrange​  @ben-c-group-therapy​   @cumbercougars​

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Toasting

(Hayffie 💕. Loving when we’re afraid is deeply authentic courage. In dystopian reality, loving with arms holding one another close is a fundamental act of civil disobedience and essential for trauma integration.)

His fingers were clumsy as he wrapped a pale blue ribbon around Effie’s hair. She’d pulled it back loosely into a bun with tendrils coiling down the back of her neck. Working with the satin ribbon felt alien compared to the knots Haymitch had tied throughout his life.

In childhood, as soon as he was tall enough to reach the clotheslines, his mother had given him the job of pulling the lines tight and tying them with no slack. Those needed to be ready each week for the task of holding the family’s clean laundry up to the sun. He and his brother were scolded sometimes for playing underneath the damp sheets, which held the fragrance of springtime no matter the season. It must have been the dried flowers his mother put into the soap. Later on and still, each time he passed those flowers in the Meadow, their smell cut straight into his heart. It’s one of the reasons he’d steered clear of that place even before it became a mass grave.

Unlike the pungent flowers, his mother’s voice calling as they played was a faint memory. “If you boys tug those lines down, YOU will be the ones washing that laundry all over again!”

“Those are MY knots. They ain’t gonna be comin’ loose.”

“Your knots WILL NOT be cominG loose, you mean. Don’t allow your speech to conceal your intelligence.”

“Okay, Ma.” He said as he and his brother lay on the grass, sticking their tongues out to catch drips from the sheets like drops of rain at the end of a sunshower.

The clotheslines were made of twine. Haymitch learned to work with thicker rope during training before the Quell. It never took him long to learn something, and once he did, it was committed to memory. In time, having a mind too sharp to forget things had become more of a curse than a gift.

Suddenly here he was with delicate ribbon between his calloused fingertips, and the fine muscles there were forgetting everything they’d ever learned about tying.

“I’m kind of fucking this up, sweetheart. I’m usually UNtying your ribbons, not the other way around.”

“I trust you.” She kept her body still as she knelt on a rug in front of the fireplace. 

When the ribbon was tied, he adjusted the bow until the loops were even. Then he ran his fingers through her wispy curls.

“Your ‘something blue,’” he murmured, sliding his hand down her arm and lacing their fingers together.

She stared at the polished band on her left hand. “Something old...” Haymitch’s father had made the ring 50 years prior from a small metal disk and some tinkering tools.

Effie brought their entwined hands to rest on her stomach. “...And something new.”

A chill ran through him. “Maybe you should have a backup just in case—“

“Do NOT say that! Don’t even THINK it. I’m further along this time. No arguments... our baby is my something new.”

He held her tighter and kissed her neck in apology. “All right. The baby it is.”

She changed the subject before the unspoken word had a chance to start spinning in her mind. “The tongs from the bakery are ‘something borrowed.’”

“Did Peeta ask what you planned to do with them?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I said we’ll be using them to toast the loaf of bread that I was there to buy.”

“Shit, Effie. What’d he say?”

“He hugged me, and told me how very happy he was to give us the bread and lend us the tongs.”

“Let me guess... His eyes were all teary.”

“That dear boy.”

“And your eyes were all teary too.”

“Whenever the children cry, I can’t stop myself.”

“He knows now, of course. I thought we we’re keeping this a surprise!”

“I confirmed nothing.”

“The boy knows anyway. You two are thick as thieves.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure he will ACT surprised when we tell them.”

“So the kids already know. It’s fine. ...Are you ready to do this?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded.

“...With ME,” he teased.

“Come here.” He’d been curled against her back, and she tugged him to kneel beside her. “We’ve done this before, you know.”

“Have we?” He chuckled, “I doubt any amount of liquor would make me forget doing this with you.”

“I was 8, with an big imagination and—“

“That kid on those screens is long gone, honey. You know that better than anybody.”

She pressed her palm to his chest. “This heart is the same. They broke it a thousand times, but they didn’t destroy it. ...I draped a shawl over my head as a veil, and I swore on every doll I owned that nobody would take this heart from me. I’ve kept swearing it... no matter how many pairs of my shoes you vomited on.”

He brushed his thumb along her cheek. “I married you sometimes in my dreams.”

“Does that explain any of the occasions you woke up screaming?” She smirked then caressed his forearm because nightmares were never a light topic regardless of the context.

“No. But it explains the times I woke up with my dick so hard that all I did was move and I was coming.”

She flushed from her chest to her cheeks, wanting him like that right then. “When was the first time?”

“The night after the picnic. Remember? In my dream you were wearing those silky lace gloves, buttering warm chunks of bread with one hand and getting me off with the other.”

“We only spent a few hours together that day, and you dreamed you were marrying me? You hardly knew me.”

“I knew enough to feel you slipping inside me. I tried to fight it a long time, but I couldn’t stop it.”

“So... now it’s full surrender.”

“Being married won’t make this any easier,” he said, “The last thing you and I could ever be is easy.”

“When is anything worth doing easy to do?”

He traced the neckline of her dress with the tip of his finger. The pretty thing dipped so low that he could have slipped his hands inside and filled his palms with her breasts. But he waited. The dress was pale blue like the ribbon, and overlaid with a weaving of tiny pearls.

“Sex,” he answered belatedly, “It’s one thing worth doing that’s always been easy for us.”

She toyed with a button on the shirt she’d picked out for him. “That’s true. Let’s make a fire and toast that bread so we can do that other thing worth doing.”

Haymitch had said no Justice Building, no party, and no singing. So Effie softly hummed the tune she remembered from Katniss and Peeta’s marriage ceremony. She hummed it straight through as Haymitch laid tinder on the andiron and she stacked kindling around it in the shape of a teepee. Then he built a small cabin over that with dry wood. She struck a match and used it to light the one he held. They both lit the tinder and watched as each piece of wood caught fire.

Over the years, she’d started many fires in that fireplace. The first time she tried, Haymitch had passed out in a snowbank on his way home from the Hob. A neighbor saw him lying there and helped him home.

After a warm bath, he was still shaking, so Effie covered him with blankets in front of the fireplace, and she managed to get some flames going as he slept. Her fire died out quickly, so she called the kids to show her the way. Katniss came. “I’m glad you’re here,” the girl told her, “He needs you. He fights it, but it’s a fierce thing to fight against.”

“What is?” Effie asked.

“That kind of hunger. That hollowness that only one thing can fill...” Katniss tapped Haymitch’s foot with the toe of her boot. He was out cold. “Alcohol just covers it up for a moment as it’s passing through.”

“What fills it?”

“When he realizes he’s worth loving, and when he loves himself the way that you love him.”

Effie shuddered at the thought of everything her girl had been through that instilled that kind of knowing in someone so young. “Katniss, I haven’t said anything about love.”

“Good. Hearing you say it would only scare him more.”

Effie said it now as chunks of wood burned down to coals, and flames danced orange and blue. He saw the dance in her eyes. “I love you,” was still difficult for him to reckon with.

“Loving you is the only thing I’ve been sure about in a long time,” he responded as the truth rose up over fear.

“Show me.”

He picked up the loaf of bread with the bakery tongs. “Let’s do this together.”

She put her hands atop his as they toasted the bread over the fire. When the crust was golden brown, they turned the loaf out onto a cutting board.

Effie slipped an oven mitt onto her hand and held the bread with it as she cut a thick slice from the middle. Then she spread it generously with butter, like in Haymitch’s dream. He picked up the slice and broke it in half, holding onto both pieces.

She eyed him warily. “Are you going to smear that on my face?”

“This isn’t the Capitol, sweetheart. No marriage tradition here wastes even a speck of food. ...But I’ll smear butter anywhere you want as long as I get to suck it off you after.”

“Let’s save that for later when I’m not wearing my Nana’s dress.”

He handed her half of the slice and they fed each other, licking the butter from one another’s fingers.

“My heart is yours,” she said, “It always has been, and I swear that’s never changing.”

“Keep swearing, honey, because nobody and nothing’s going to take mine from you either.”

Their kiss was slow, starting at the corners of their mouths, tasting the salty seams of each other’s lips, and opening to the sweetness that only comes with deep familiarity.

“Oh—“ She startled without breaking away. “Butterfly wings! The baby woke up. It must like the bread.”

Haymitch wiped his hands on a towel near the cutting board, then he cradled the bump on Effie’s belly. She cleaned her hands too so she could guide him to the rapid flutter.

He soaked up the movement. With the one they buried, he didn’t get to feel this. They never got to feel her alive. “This one’s strong already.”

Effie simply nodded because she knew if she said anything, then joy would spill from her eyes, and she wanted to keep it all.

“...Strong like my wife,” he said.

Joy spilled regardless, even in silence. Her tears were saltier than the butter, and he kissed every drop. The sunshower was beginning.

[ric0cheted]

distraction tactics (fic)

In which Geralt needs to sleep, Jaskier has no chill, and Yennefer is perfectly happy to take one for the team. 

(aka time for messy, shoddily-written witcher porn(ish)! all hedonism, zero redeeming qualities. all sorts of permutations of geraskefer. they’re all fucking in my world, lads.)

Upon returning to the manor house, Geralt managed exactly three things: getting undressed, bathing, and crawling into bed.

He wouldn't call the residence at which Yennefer had--temporarily--allowed himself and Jaskier to stay home, exactly. But it certainly beat out the ratty, shit-smelling inns that the nearest town boasted. 

Especially since Geralt's most recent hunt had lasted two days longer than it should've, the monsters had numbered threefold more than they should've, and the coin he'd been paid hadn't reflected either of those developments. Thank the gods he'd managed to, for once, convince Jaskier to stay back. 

All told, Geralt was looking forward to nothing more than sinking into the mattress and letting sleep take hold.

Which meant, of course, that barely three minutes of blessed silence passed before Geralt heard someone kneel beside the bed. He cracked an eye open, right in time to see Jaskier swoop in for a kiss. Geralt rolled his eyes and indulged it, winding his hand in Jaskier’s hair and moaning despite himself when Jaskier's tongue curled around his.

Jaskier pulled away, grinning. "Bring us back anything good?" Jaskier was feeling particularly agreeable, then, if he was referring to himself and Yennefer together like that. "Absolutely fine if the answer happens to simply be your lovely Witcher self. Because we missed you quite a bit." Without further ado, Jaskier slipped under the covers and plastered himself to Geralt, the distinct aroma of arousal wafting from him. 

Geralt had a tendency of forgetting how solid Jaskier was under his clothing, tailored as they were to lend a deceptive waifishness to his frame. Geralt was still taller, still broader, but Jaskier could drape himself across Geralt and cover a good stretch of his body. Much like he currently was. Geralt usually appreciated it, but this time his muscles ached in protest.

Geralt snorted. "Jaskier, I'm fucking tired. I don't even know if I could."

"I'll be good for you," Jaskier promised, kissing Geralt's throat. "Or be good to you. Whichever you'd like." His voice broke into a purr towards the end of his sentence.

"Jaskier," Geralt groaned. He wrapped his fingers around Jaskier's waist, the slimmest part of him, regretfully. He was a hair's breadth away from dislodging the bard himself when Jaskier yelped and jerked out of his grasp, nearly tumbling off the bed.

"You're insufferable," Yennefer told the bard from where she stood in the doorway. Jaskier sat up and rubbed the side of his head, which Geralt could only assume she'd magically slapped. "Now, come with me. I require assistance, and it seems as though yours will have to do.”

Jaskier sighed, deeply put-upon. "You never need my help, so I'm going to assume that you've finally decided to murder me." Jaskier gazed at Geralt with woeful eyes. "Geralt. Geralt. I expect at least a full year of mourning out of you. Also, I'd like my lute donated to a museum, possibly one devoted to the paraphernalia and personal effects of the continent's greatest artists."

Geralt didn't even stay awake long enough to roll his eyes, much less wryly ask why Jaskier would go with her if he was so convinced of his imminent demise.

***

Geralt awoke an hour later. He would've desperately liked more, but it seemed as though sleep would elude him for the moment.

It was all Yennefer and Jaskier’s fault, Geralt thought, grouchily, dragging himself out of bed to bitch at them. He hadn't seen where they'd vanished to earlier, but he didn’t need to guess at their whereabouts, given the overwhelming scent of lust and sex drifting from the library. He'd smelled it in his fucking sleep. It had woken him up. 

In retrospect, Geralt really, truly wished there was something that could've prepared him for what he was walking into.

Dressed in a soft, lace-trimmed robe that ended at her thighs, Yennefer lounged in an armchair, using one hand to page through a thick tome and the other to feed blackberries to Jaskier, handsome and unclothed at her feet. Jaskier was reclining against the chair, one knee pulled to his chest, tilting his head back to take the fruit from her with shocking obedience. His mouth closed around it and Geralt could see his tongue licking at her fingers. Jaskier's soft lips were berry-dark, but his chin and cheeks glistened with something else. His cock was hard, leaking, and untouched.

Geralt choked on his own saliva. Jaskier's eyes, half-closed with bliss, flew open. Their gazes met. Geralt blushed, and then, to his utter bewilderment, Jaskier blushed, scrambling to arrange his limbs in some semblance of modesty and opening his mouth to blurt something out. 

"Geralt." Yennefer said, calmly, twisting her fingers in Jaskier's hair to cut him off. "How was your rest?" Her hold was tight and kept Jaskier from looking away from Geralt. Geralt had no such excuse for failing to tear his own gaze away.

"Fine," Geralt wheezed. It was a terrible lie, but the blood that should've been making its way to his head was traveling decidedly southwards. 

"Good," Yennefer hummed, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. She relaxed her grip and petted Jaskier's hair instead. "Now, it took quite a while to get him like this, and I'd hate to see all of that time and effort undone. Do you intend to stay?" 

Jaskier tilted his head into her touch. There was a still touch of embarrassment about him, burning hotly in his eyes and cheeks, but a dizzy lust was starting to bleed into it. He relaxed his legs, just slightly, letting Geralt catch a glimpse of his cock. It was still very, very hard.

Geralt's mouth watered, his own cock making a valiant effort. But he'd been telling Jaskier the truth, about the degree to which he felt as though he was about to unravel at the seams and fall apart.

Besides, there were things that Geralt hadn't quite worked out about Yennefer and Jaskier, together, certain intricacies to their relationship that Geralt didn't feel equipped to navigate when exhaustion was making him feel the weight of each individual bone in his body. This seemed like one of those occasions.

"I'm going back to sleep." Geralt forced out, voice strangled. "Don't fuck each other to death before I wake up." Taking the coward's route, he turned and fled, Yennefer's peal of laughter following him out.

Geralt made it back to the bedroom and immediately started rifling through the chest of drawers. After a moment of searching, he found a vial of the sleep potion Yennefer had once specially brewed for him. He paused in consideration. It did work, but it was difficult to make, expensive, and usually only granted him a few extra hours, given how quickly his Witcher metabolism burned through it.

Distantly, he could just barely make out Yennefer's purred oh, good boy, followed by Jaskier's low moan. Without hesitation, Geralt downed the entire bottle and welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep. 

***

Geralt slept for three or four more hours before the potion wore off. It took the edge off, at least, bringing him firmly into tired from his previous death walking.

He was stretching, trying to ease the tightness in his muscles, when Jaskier slipped into the bedroom, freshly-bathed and smelling of Yennefer's various soaps and oils. He met Geralt's eyes and blushed. 

"Ah! So. About that." Jaskier rubbed the back of his head and flashed Geralt a charming, sheepish grin. The bruised look to his mouth spoke more of thorough use than of berries. "I--"

Rolling his eyes, Geralt looped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him down into the sheets, savoring his surprised yelp. After all, his cock was now very, very capable of participating. 

***

Geralt left Jaskier passed out and drooling on the bed to seek Yennefer out. It took a little longer without the ludicrous trail of arousal to follow, but he eventually found her in the alchemical workshop.

She'd traded the shimmering cream of her robe for one of her traditional black dresses. Jaskier probably could've waxed poetic about the finer points of this particular garment compared to the others. Geralt couldn't tell the difference between them like that; he just knew that she looked beautiful in all of them.

Geralt made his way to her and nuzzled at the hollow of her throat before tugging her in for a kiss. Yennefer wound her hands through his hair and deepened it, tilting his head for a better angle.

After a moment, Geralt pulled away. He'd come here to see her, but he figured he might as well ask. "So, about that." 

"Oh, that," Yennefer replied. There was a vaguely smug twist to her lips. "I've found that he occasionally benefits from a firm hand and something to keep him...occupied. For everyone's good, really." 

"For everyone's good," Geralt repeated, dryly, as though her comment didn't have his cock perking up.

"Yes, for everyone's good. It isn't my fault that you both woke up and turned us down." Her lavender eyes glinted. "Consider joining us next time. It'll likely be impossible to keep him behaved with you around, but there's fun to be had, regardless." 

"Next time," Geralt growled, sliding his hands down her body. He couldn't stop picturing it. "How about you wait until I'm awake."

"No promises," Yennefer purred, allowing Geralt to lift her up onto the nearest unoccupied table. "But maybe. If you're lucky."

[adverb-slut]

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips (Fanfiction)

I just *clutches chest* really love the boys at Purgatory Hall and felt they needed more spotlight so here they are being big dummies on the road.  Oh, I also posted this on AO3 here. 

Title:

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips

Summary:

On a R.A.D-sanctioned road trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy, the Purgatory Hall boys prove that they have just as many brain cells as the demon brothers (read: none).

Genre:

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

T

Word Count:

6870

-

Hour 0

Our story begins just outside the gates of Purgatory Hall, where two of its three non-native Devildom residents stood near a rather expensive-looking, immaculately-maintained vehicle. 

The short, prone-to-fits-of-righteous-anger one yanked behind him a wagon, which was piled high with duffel and overnight bags, all made of a stiff white and gold fabric straight from the Celestial Realm.  

The other, older man, who never left home without a mysterious smile and his magic wand, too, tugged the handle of his own luggage—although his was a wheeled backpack which sagged due to the weight of the approximately seven-hundred souvenir keychains from around the Human World that he had clipped onto it.

The pair were waiting for their third friend—who, in every sense of the word, was an angel—as together they were planning to embark upon a new R.A.D tradition, which the Demon Prince Diavolo had appropriately christened—Our Annual Road Trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy (A.R.T C.D for short).  The Caverns of Degeneracy were on the far outskirts of the Devildom, over six-hundred-and-sixty-six miles away from the R.A.D campus, and yet, for some asinine reason, Diavolo had decided that they were the perfect spot for hosting the academy’s yearly Bleeding Hearts Festival.  

(Many of the Student Council Officers and faculty had wagered that the Demon Prince had just wanted an excuse to take a road trip—a phenomenon he had recently been introduced to through one of Leviathan’s video games.)

Diavolo himself planned for his personal driver to ferry him and his butler, Barbatos, up to the Caverns a day early so he could begin preparations for the festival and encouraged all students to find their own means of transportation in order to get to the event on time.

The R.A.D Student Council Officers—all of whom resided in the House of Lamentation—had decided to pile themselves into Asmodeus’ tour bus (he had bought it specifically because once he became a famous DevilTuber, he would need it to do meet-and-greets with his fans and also because it had a “bear-y adorable design”) and drive down together.  

As the Purgatory Hall boys had no modes of transportation to call their own, Lucifer had graciously allowed them to borrow Mammon’s Demonio 666 Lexura (fits had ensued à la the secondborn but were ignored), which both Luke and Solomon now hovered around.

However, as Solomon poked and prodded the vehicle, commenting admiringly under his breath at the paint job, the young angel peered nervously at the sorcerer’s backpack.  

He cleared his throat, bent on sounding as polite as possible—but failing miserably—and said, “Solomon, er—are you the one who’s bringing our road trip snacks?”  He followed this with a silent please say no, please say no, Father please let him say no.

Solomon raised an eyebrow.  “I thought you were bringing them.”

Luke dropped the handle of his wagon.  “No!  I would’ve made some snacks if I had the time but I was helping those,” he gagged, “wretched demon brothers pack using some low-level Celestial Realm magic.”  

“Oh, that’s right,” Solomon said, snapping his fingers.  “I just remembered that I volunteered to make the snacks, but Simeon heard and immediately offered to do it for me.  Then he sent me on a bunch of errands to buy groceries, but it felt more like he was trying to get me out of the kitchen.”  He laughed at the last part and shook his head because there was no way that such a criminally calm angel like Simeon would be that underhanded.  

“No!” wailed Luke, yanking his hat off and clutching it to his chest in despair.  “Don’t you know what this means?”    

“It means you don’t like Simeon’s cooking as much as you let on,” decided the sorcerer with a smile at Luke’s theatrical display.

Luke shook his head so vigorously that Solomon had to hold in a laugh based on how much the angel looked like a chihuahua shaking itself dry.  “For trips, Simeon only makes the most nutritious, most energizing food.”  He screwed up his face in disgust as he seethed, “The most disgusting food.”

“The stuff Simeon cooks for dinner isn’t particularly unhealthy and you seem to like that just fine,” pointed out Solomon.

Luke frowned.  “Yes, b—but I’m talking about real healthy stuff here, so we’ll all have lots of energy throughout the trip!  L—like entire salads squished between two pieces of bread and ‘yummy morsels’ of banana slices dipped in cashew butter and drizzled with mung bean and coconut water paste!”  He gestured toward himself.  “Look at me, Solomon!  I was made for jam-filled pastries and perfectly-iced cakes!  No—not,” he shuddered, “health foods.”

“You’re serious?  He’s really going to bring that kind of stuff?” Solomon’s eyes widened.  “I guess I should’ve given in to my gut intuition and made some pork pies as backup snacks.  ‘Snackups,’ if you will.”

Luke could feel bile rising up his throat at the thought of Solomon’s cooking.  “Er—no, I don’t think that would’ve been necessary!”  He spotted a figure exiting Purgatory Hall.  “Oh, look, there’s Simeon, now; we can just ask him what snacks he brought.”

“And then burn them,” finished Solomon.

The younger angel gave a scandalized gasp at the comment as Solomon nodded at Simeon, who walked closer to the pair.  

A lone celestial blue suitcase trailed behind the elder angel as he beamed at his traveling companions.  “Is everyone ready?”  Before waiting for an answer, he turned toward Luke with a gaze that was almost motherly in nature.  “And has everyone gone to the bathroom?  We only have a day to drive to the Caverns of Degeneracy and I want to see some of the Devildom sights along the way.  I even brought an instant camera to take pictures.”  

He pulled out from his cape pocket said camera and an enormous stack of printed DevilmapQuest directions and began to rifle through them, trying to decide which of the landmarks and tourist destinations he wanted to visit most.  

“S—Simeon!  Why did you have to stare at me when you asked if we all went to the bathroom?  I may be young, but I at least know that I should go to the bathroom before long car rides!”  He then blushed and handed Solomon his wagon handle.  “A—and that being said, I—I have to go to the bathroom.”

As he ran inside, Solomon peered over Simeon’s shoulder at the map sheets and laughed.  “You know, most of these directions are online.”

“I know, I know,” admitted the older angel.  “But reading the directions off of a D.D.D requires knowing how to operate one, and you know I’m not too good at that.”  

Solomon smiled and said, “That’s fine, then.  We three will take turns driving and meanwhile, one of the two who aren’t behind the wheel will navigate.”  

“Haha, you’re aware Luke can’t drive, right?” asked Simeon, turning to give Solomon a look that cautiously strode the line between tolerant and what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you.  

“Well, I guess he’ll be the one giving directions, then,” replied Solomon, without missing a beat.  He couldn’t help but silently add he’ll be doing that, either way.  

As Simeon continued to sort through the DevilmapQuest papers and double-check all the items packed in the messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Solomon began to load everyone’s luggage into Mammon’s car.  He couldn’t help but envision himself playing Tetris as he carefully arranged in the trunk the seven blocky bags that the group had among them—six of which belonged to Luke, who packed as if he were planning to change his clothes at least twelve times a day.    

His own backpack—and Simeon’s messenger bag—would be staying with the trio in the cabin space of the car.  He hadn’t felt the need to pack nearly as many outfits as Luke and most of his bag consisted of medical supplies, while Simeon’s was supposed to be filled to the brim with road trip snacks.

Speaking of snacks, Solomon felt his mouth turn dry as he mulled over the healthy monstrosities that Luke believed the older angel had created in place of actually palatable food.  He turned to Simeon.  “Er, Simeon—what’s on the menu in terms of snackage?”

“‘Snackage?’” Simeon laughed.  He pat his messenger bag and said, “Let’s see, well, whenever I go on long trips, I try to make foods that provide a lot of energy, since we’re going to need it—especially you and I, as we’ll be driving.  Here, I made dried, salted edamame and roasted chickpea trail mix, almond-butter-and-white-bean-stuffed dried dates, and oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls with dried pineapple, coconut, and avocado.”   

Solomon did not like how many times Simeon had mentioned “beans,” for as far as he was concerned, road trip food was junk food exclusively.  He took a deep breath and carefully twisted his mouth into a smile.  “That sounds well … delicious. Ten out of ten.”

“Excellent.  Now, where is Luke?”  Simeon peered behind them toward Purgatory Hall, where a munchkin of a silhouette now appeared.  “Ah, there he is.”  He tossed Solomon the keyring Mammon had tearfully given him the day before.  “Mind starting the car?”

Solomon nodded and after examining the gaudy charms that adorned Mammon’s keys, he clicked open the car and stepped toward the driver’s seat door.  “I’ll take the first shift.  It’ll take us fifteen hours of sheer driving to get to the Caverns of Degeneracy, so we’ll take three-hour turns.”  

As Solomon yanked the car door open, something tumbled out of the front seat.  He jumped back, and Simeon and Luke rushed toward the commotion.  

“M—Mammon?  What are you doing here?” exclaimed Luke.  

Simeon laughed, his brows furrowing in confusion.  “Hoping to hitch a ride?”

Solomon had to swallow his smile when he saw the almost-comical tears that ran down Mammon’s face.  “Did your brothers leave you behind?”

“N— no!  They’d never leave without me, The Great Mammon!”  Mammon hastily wiped his nose before sprawling his hands over his Demonio 666 Lexura.  “I just couldn’t fathom leavin’ my beloved baby for so long!  I had to say goodbye!”

“Speaking of saying goodbye, you do know that Asmo’s bus already left a few minutes ago, right?” asked Simeon.  “I caught a glimpse of them before I came out here and they were already on the road.”

Mammon’s face paled.  “Wh—what?  They wouldn’t! Wait—of course, they would!  Those bastards!”  He immediately turned into his demon form, planted a kiss on his car’s hood, and sped off into the horizon.

“I suddenly understand what the term ‘speed demon’ means,” commented Luke as he watched Mammon’s quickly disappearing form.

“I sure hope he manages to catch up to them,” Solomon said, rubbing his chin.  “Anyway, everyone, pile in.  It’s time to get this show on the road.”

Hour 1

After they had driven well out of the bounds of R.A.D’s campus, Solomon announced, “All right—first item on the agenda—”

Luke raised his hand from the back passenger seat as he strained against his seatbelt.  “—What’s an ‘agenda?’”

“Oh.  An agenda is basically a list of things we have to do,” explained Solomon.

Simeon’s eyes widened in concern.  “I didn’t know we had an agenda.”

Solomon nodded gravely.  “Oh, yes—an unwritten road trip one.  And the first thing on it is picking some tunes.”

Again, Luke raised his hand.  “I have a suggestion!  I have a suggestion!”  From the pocket of his shorts, he drew out a CD case labeled 1001 Hymns to Praise Him.  “This album is my personal favorite.”

Solomon began coughing violently in attempts to cover his laughter, while Simeon smiled and took the CD from him.  “That’s a great idea, Luke, but how about we play this when I drive, and when Solomon drives, he’ll pick the music.”

The sorcerer handed Simeon his D.D.D, keeping his eyes on the road as he instructed, “Here, go to my Akutify account and play my Travel playlist.  Hope you guys don’t mind that I managed to export my entire Spotify account onto Akutify, so we’re going to be listening to Human World songs for now.”

It took Simeon seven tries to carry out Solomon’s orders, but before long, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys blared through the state-of-the-art stereo system of the Demonio 666 Lexura.  

Luke was silent for a few moments before he innocently asked, “I don’t understand, Solomon.  What do they want ‘that way?’”

Solomon shook his head.  “I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”

Hour 2

It didn’t take very long for Simeon to discover the first location on his list of places to visit along their trip.  

“The Maw of Beelzebub,” Simeon breathed, taking in their dark, ashy surroundings from the passenger seat.  “I’ve seen it in pictures when I researched for TSL, but I never fathomed I’d get to see it in person.”

Luke pouted as Simeon exited the vehicle.  “Don’t tell me we’re going to see those dumb demon brothers.”

“Nope,” Solomon said, unbuckling Luke from his seat, despite the vehement protests from the little angel.  “The Maw of Beelzebub is a chain of three volcanoes, actually.  The two smaller ones that form the ‘eyes of Beelzebub’ are active, but the huge, massive one that we’re going to walk across by way of that bridge,” he pointed to a shaky overpass that was suspended over a volcano crater a thousand miles wide, “is dormant.  However, you can still see the enormous pool of lava bubbling inside.  Tourists like to drop things down into it—and of course, it disappears into the molten lava—which is why it’s named after Beel because no matter what you feed him, he’s still hungry as if he’s never eaten.”

“Remind me again, then, why we’re walking across it?”  Luke asked as the trio wandered over to the entrance of the precarious bridge.  

Simeon looked at him curiously.  “Don’t you think it’s exhilarating, Luke?  To be so close to something so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than yourself?”   

The younger angel pondered that for a moment before deciding, “Father is so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than me.  I think that’s enough.”   

Simeon laughed.  “So it is.”  He wiggled his fingers under Luke’s hat to rumple his hair.  “But let’s go see it, anyway.”

 Hour 3

“Psst,” Luke hissed, “Simeon.” The elder angel seemed to be too enthralled by the latest song in Solomon’s playlist, “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, to hear him, so Luke reached out to poke his shoulder.

If he wasn’t strapped to his seat by his seatbelt, Simeon would’ve jumped about fifty feet in surprise.  “Ah, you startled me, Luke.  Did you need something?”

Luke adamantly refused to meet Simeon’s eyes as he flushed and muttered, “I have to go.”

“Don’t worry, Luke—there’s no shame in needing to go to the bathroom,” assured Simeon.

“There is when you just went ten minutes ago,” mumbled Solomon under his breath, but he swerved into a gas station, nonetheless.  “I guess we’re due for a tank refill, anyway.”

Simeon put up his hand.  “You paid for the gas last time—let me do it, especially since Mammon left explicit instructions that his car is supposed to be ‘fed’ premium gas only.” 

Solomon grinned cheekily.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  He followed Luke, who had already gone into the gas station convenience store.  “I guess I’ll just have a look around, then.”

However, before he got more than a few feet into the store, he heard someone whisper-screaming his name.

“Psst!  Solomon!  Over here!  Behind the candy stand!” 

He followed the voice, only to find that it belonged to Luke, who was very much not in the bathroom and rather ripping open a packet of fruit snacks.

“Whoa, I didn’t know you had it in you to employ the much-loved five-finger-discount,” Solomon said, nodding appreciatively.  “Considering you’re an angel and all.”

Luke stared at him with blank eyes.  “I don’t know what that means, but these were in my pocket from earlier!”  He motioned for Solomon to come closer and poured a few of the gummies into his hand.  “This is my last pouch—eat them fast.  They might be our last bit of yummy food before we have to eat Simeon’s nightmares.”

Solomon bobbed his head, before dumping the fruit snacks into his mouth all at once, savoring their sweet taste.  He gestured toward Luke.  “Do you always keep those on you?”

The angel’s offended gasp could be heard by all the demons in the convenience store.  “I’m a ten-year-old, Solomon!  Of course, I keep fruit snacks in my pocket!”

Hour 4

It wasn’t that Simeon was a bad driver.  It was just that driving in the Devildom (and the Human World) was very different from driving in the Celestial Realm.

Here, in uncontrolled intersections, it wasn’t customary to say “hello” to the drivers rolling to a stop in all directions.  Even stranger, the traffic lights weren’t celestial blue, gold, and white, but rather red, green, and yellow! 

Luke, who had discovered a “2020 Devildom Rules of the Road” manual crumpled inside one of the cupholders, was forced to bark instructions at the eldest angel, all while offering condescending commentary on how imbecilic the rules of driving in the Devildom were.

“Simeon!  Listen to this!  In the Devildom, you have to obey the posted speed limits, or else you’ll get in trouble!” realized Luke.

“Wait—you don’t have speed limits in the Celestial Realm?” Solomon asked.

Luke replied smugly, “No, because angels have the sense to know how fast they should or shouldn’t be driving.”

“Wow, that’s honestly impressive.”  Solomon grimaced as Simeon ran through another red light.  “Remember, if the light is red, then you have to stop.”

Simeon offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m so used to remembering that blue means ‘stop.’”

Solomon slunk low in his seat, knowing better than to rile up the angel, who was rumored to have a feisty side when he got angry.  “I just hope the police or whatever they have here don’t catch us for breaking so many traffic laws.”

“What’s a ‘police?’” asked Luke.

“Oh, you know … people who are supposed to make people follow the laws and stuff,” replied Solomon.  His eyes widened.  “Do you not have a police force in the Celestial Realm?”

“The Celestial Realm is a perfect world, Solomon,” answered Simeon.  “We don’t need police.”

Hour 6

Solomon didn’t know that he could get sick of songs.  Sure, he got tired of the “Despacito” remix after the first dozen times it was played on the radio—but he meant real music.  

“Amazing Grace” in particular.

Luke’s favorite album, 1001 Hymns to Praise Him, really should’ve been called 1001 Ways An Angelic Choir Can Sing “Amazing Grace” because Solomon swore about ninety percent of the songs on the album were just renditions of the classic hymn sung by different groups of angels.

And this seemed to bother neither of his driving companions, who crooned along to the choir in heavenly tones—it seemed to be a prerequisite for angels to be divine singers—without missing a beat.  

He hadn’t even known all the words to “Amazing Grace,” but now he could recite all six verses on demand.  He fought the urge to smash the “eject” button on the CD player, but he worried that Luke would throw a fit or Simeon would look at him with a stare so full of disappointment that Solomon would be willing to throw himself off a bridge just to rid himself of its gaze.

But one could only hear the line “amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” so many times.

He had to do something.

“Hey!  I have an idea!” Solomon chirped.  “Let’s make up our own song!”

He had to fight the urge to smack himself upside the head.  Why did he say that?  He had no ideas for potential song lyrics!

“I like that!” Luke pursed his lips, deep in thought.  “Here, let’s have the first lines go like this: ‘Father, You are all that I need!’”

Simeon used one hand to snap out the beat, and continued, “‘Father, listen to my creed!’”

Solomon sighed.

He did not know if this was any better.

Hour 8

“Luke, wake up.  We’re here.”  Solomon couldn’t help but layer on the desperation thick as he shook the younger angel awake, despite the fact that they were in no danger whatsoever.

Luke shot up, trying very hard to hide the fact that he had been drooling all over his shoulder.  He rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. “What?  Did we beat all the other demons here?  Are the Caverns of Degeneracy as hideous as I imagined?”

Solomon unbuckled Luke’s seatbelt and dragged him out of the car.  He snickered, saying, “We’re not at the Caverns, yet.”  He gestured toward their surroundings, which now consisted of precarious cliffs and rocky crags instead of the open road of the Devildom. 

Simeon stood a few feet ahead of them and turned around, spreading his arms wide in wonder.  “Welcome to Sinner Falls!”

Luke stared at the dark stone formations.  “I don’t see any waterfalls.”

“That’s because Sinner Falls isn’t a waterfall,” Solomon explained.  “You probably better know it as ‘the Abyss—’”

“‘The Abyss? ’  Why didn’t you say so?”  Luke exclaimed, his eyes glittering excitedly.  “The place where demons are tortured for a thousand years during the Millenium has always been one of my dream places to visit!”

Simeon smiled, a little taken aback by the younger angel’s enthusiasm.  “If we’re lucky, we might get to see Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss. He’s supposed to be guarding the canyon up ahead.”

“If we see him, do you think he’ll let me call him ‘Abba?’” teased Solomon, even though the remark earned him a kick in the shin and a “He most certainly will not!  How dare you even say such a thing about one of the most high-ranking angels!” from Luke.

“Careful now, Solomon,” Simeon warned, as the trio walked toward the deep canyon amongst the cliffs.  As far as anyone could tell, there was no end to the inky, suffocating blackness that was visible when looking down into it.  He pointed into the canyon.  “This is the Abyss—er, Sinner Falls.  Us angels cannot pass this invisible barrier—” he pressed his hand out to the ledge of the canyon, only for it to smash against some kind of unseen wall, “—but any human or demon who falls down into it falls for eternity, never to come back to the surface.”

Luke beamed. “That must be why it’s called ‘Sinner Falls!’  Because most humans and all demons are sinners!”  Despite this, he grabbed Solomon’s hand to prevent him from wandering too close to Sinner Falls’ ledge (as he was wont to do), because, despite their bickering and mutual pestering, Luke had a soft spot for the sorcerer.

Simeon followed in suit and intertwined his fingers with Solomon as the trio looked down into the great Abyss, wondering if any of their demon friends would be among the many thrown into it one day.

Hour 9

Simeon rifled through his messenger bag, intent on looking for something to eat.  He had made sure to pack plenty of goodies and was pleased as to how nutritious the snacks he’d made had turned out.  He scooped a handful of edamame and chickpea trail mix into his hand and turned to Luke, who was hunched over a map in the back passenger seat. 

“You haven’t eaten anything in over eight hours; aren’t you hungry?”  Simeon offered him the bag of trail mix.

Luke gulped, as he beamed and shook his head.  “N—no, no!  I’m okay!”

Simeon shrugged and held out the bag toward Solomon, who was driving.  “Do you want some?  I can pour it into your mouth if you want, so you don’t have to take your eyes off the road.”

“As titillating as that sounds,” said the sorcerer, “I’m afraid I’m not hungry at the moment.”

“I guess that’s more for me, then.”  Simeon poured more of the trail mix into his palm, but before he could eat any of it, he heard a strange sound.

It was a low rumble, but very, very loud.

It almost sounded like … stomachs growling?

He whirled to face Luke and Solomon and scratched his head in confusion.  “Are you two sure you’re not hungry?”

When the pair shook their heads furiously, Simeon raised an eyebrow.  He yanked out from his bag the stuffed dried dates and the oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls.  “So … you two wouldn’t mind if I ate all of the snacks?”

“Yeah, sure, go nuts, Simeon,” Solomon assured.  He winced as his and Luke’s stomaches rumbled in unison.  “You wouldn’t actually have any nuts in that bag o’ treats, would you?  Preferably of the chocolate-covered variety?” 

“The dates have almond butter stuffed inside them,” pointed out Luke helpfully, although his expression was less-than-enthused.

Simeon raised his other eyebrow.  Clearly the pair were hungry but refusing food.  What kind of rebellious spirit had gotten into them?  Didn’t they know that food was essential to oh, survival?   His left eye twitched as he felt a black miasma of rage cover him. “If you two don’t eat, I’m turning this car around.  That’s a promise.��

Solomon exchanged nervous glances with Luke at the normally calm angel’s outburst. “Angry Simeon is scary,” he whimpered.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll see just how scary I can be,” promised Simeon with a smile that bordered downright terrifying.  He plopped an oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean ball into Solomon’s mouth and handed a stuffed date to Luke.  “Now, eat your snacks.”

He definitely didn’t miss Luke’s grumpy, “Yes, mother.”

Hour 11

“Solomon, I hate to complain—” which earned a snort from the sorcerer, as Luke continued, “but do you really have to play that now?”  He gestured toward the sound system, which, now that it was Simeon’s turn to drive, blared 1001 Hymns to Praise Him.  “Seven Lyres is my favorite orchestra and their take on ‘Amazing Grace’ is simply the best!”

Solomon, who had purposely pulled out a reed pipe from his backpack in an effort to drown out the nine thousandth chorus of “Amazing Grace,” sighed and put it down.  He knew he wasn’t an expert in playing the reed pipe—in fact, this was the first time he’d ever seen the instrument, but the racket was so soothing.

“Where did you even get that from, anyway?” asked Simeon.

“Found it in my backpack.  I didn’t pack it, but considering there was a note attached to it that said ‘Blow,’ I think Asmo put it there as some kind of visual innuendo.”  Solomon shrugged.  “Now seemed like as good a time as any to play it.”

 Luke tapped his chin thoughtfully.  “What’s an ‘innuendo?’”

“Something you’re not allowed to make until you’re much older,” replied Simeon sternly. 

Luke seemed satisfied with the answer and held out his palm toward Solomon.  “May I try?”

Solomon handed the reed pipe over and cocked his head.  “You know how to play?”

He received his answer when Luke gestured for him to lower the stereo volume (which Solomon did with immense pleasure) and began to carefully place his fingers over the openings and gently blow into the instrument.

The young angel played masterfully and Solomon would’ve given him a standing ovation if it weren’t for one tiny thing.

“Why don’t you play a different song besides ‘Amazing Grace?’”  he suggested.

Luke furrowed his brows.  “It’s the only thing I know how to play!”

Hour 12

“I don’t like this place, Simeon,” Luke mumbled, yanking his hat over his eyes.  “It looks like something straight from the End Times.”

He, of course, was referring to the town at which’s city limits they stood in front of.  It was one of the last tourist spots that Simeon had wanted to visit, and it was renowned for being one of the Devildom’s most haunted ghost towns.

Solomon nodded.  “I’m with the Chihuahua.  I’m super excited for the end of the world, and even I’m not getting a good feeling from whatever-this-place-is-called.”

“Deathblow Beggar’s Pass,” answered Simeon, ogling the city entrance sign gleefully.  “They say it’s the most haunted district in all of the Devildom.”  He took a step onto the creaky wooden path that led into the town.  “It’s been evacuated for centuries and now, even most demons are petrified to go inside.”

Luke gripped Simeon’s cape so tight, his knuckles turned white.  “Then why do you want to visit this place?”

“Don’t worry, Luke,” the older angel said (avoiding the question, which the young angel noticed), laughing, as he tousled Luke’s hair under his hat.  “I’ll make sure none of the scary ghosts come near you.”

Luke’s eyes widened.  “Sc—scary ghosts?”  He cleared his throat when he realized how incredibly uncourageous he sounded.  “I—I mean I’m not scared of any g—g—ghosts!”

Solomon and Simeon shared a secret smile at the angel’s feigned bravery, and instead of teasing him, Solomon turned to Luke very seriously.  “I strictly deal with demons, not ghosts.  How about you do me a favor and sit on my shoulders to be my lookout in case any of those ghosts try to pull anything?”

“W—well if you need my help, I’m definitely willing to offer it!” Luke blushed as he climbed onto Solomon’s shoulders.  “It’s my duty as an angel to help humans, after all!”

“That’s the ‘spirit,’” Solomon said.  He laughed when he saw the angels’ unamused faces.  “Get it?  ‘Cause we’re walking into a ghost town?”

Simeon laughed stiffly as to not hurt the sorcerer’s feelings before straightening his posture and looking ahead.  He channeled his inner fantasy writer as he declared, “Get ready, everyone!  We must put aside our doubts and fears as we charge forward into Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, where no creature has exited without releasing screams that could curdle the blood of the Demon Lord!  We might not be of this world, but we certainly can brave its most terrifying sites!”

It would have been a very heroic speech if it weren’t for the fact that not five minutes after the trio entered the city limits, Solomon and Simeon sprinted out, with Luke wailing loudly.

“That was the worst ever!” the little angel blubbered, yanking Solomon’s hair.

The sorcerer didn’t even have enough energy to flinch as he panted, “What in the name of all things unholy was that?”

There was nothing but fear in Simeon’s eyes as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath.  “We should’ve known the saloon bathroom stalls wouldn’t be empty.”  He gagged.  “I never want to see millennia-old demon penis again.”

Hour 15

“Simeon, are we there yet ?” asked Luke for the twenty-first time in the hour.

The other angel sighed.  “Almost, Luke.  Just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t you have the map?” Solomon pointed out as he honked the horn in irritation at a slow driver ahead of him.  “Shouldn’t you know where we are?”

Luke fussed with the multitude of papers that were stacked on his lap.  “I only have the stuff for Simeon’s places.”  His eyes opened wide in realization.  “Wait—how do you guys know where to drive if my maps don’t lead to the Caverns of Degeneracy?” 

“Diavolo said as long as we travel along Route 666 until we see the sign markers, we should have no problem getting there,” explained Simeon.  He peered ahead and squinted at one of the upcoming signs.  “And look—that sign says that the Caverns of Degeneracy are ten miles up ahead.”

“I hope we’re the first ones there,” said Luke.  “It’ll be nice to see all the looks on those dumb demons’ faces when we get there before them.”

Solomon pursed his lips.  “Speaking of those ‘dumb demons,’ I wonder if they’re all right.  We haven’t heard from them since we left Purgatory Hall.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Simeon assured.  He let out a laugh as he continued, “Assuming they haven’t killed each other already.  It must be hard having all seven of them cooped up in one small space.”

“We can only hope,” said Luke solemnly.  He paused for a moment as he shimmied as far as his seatbelt would allow him and peered over Solomon’s shoulder to look at what was going on in the front seats.  He pointed at the gear shift. “What does ‘D’ mean?”

“I’m not supposed to say that word in front of you,” answered Solomon as Simeon simultaneously replied, “Drive.”

“Oh.  What does ‘R’ mean, then?”

Simeon replied, “Reverse,” before Solomon could say anything.

At the elder angel’s preemptive glare, Solomon widened his eyes and innocently said, “I was going to say ‘reverse,’ as in ‘Uno Reverse Card.’’”

Luke turned toward the dashboard.  “What’s ‘E?’”

“I feel if I say ‘Evanescence,’ Simeon is going to yell at me, so I’ll just go with ‘empty,’” pouted Solomon.  

“Empty what?”

“Gas.”

“So … since that line-thingy is almost at ‘E,’ that means we’re nearly out of gas?”  

“Yep.”

Simeon turned around to cover Luke’s ears at Solomon’s next sentence: “Holy shit—we’re almost out of gas!”

The older angel’s eyes promised murder as he stared at the sorcerer, before directing his stare to the fuel gauge.  “We’re running on fumes.”

“We need to refuel, stat.  Simeon, grab my D.D.D and look up the nearest gas station,” directed Solomon.  “I always forget that Mammon’s car is a gas-guzzler.” 

“What should I do, Solomon?” asked Luke, eagerly awaiting orders like a baby soldier.

The sorcerer nodded, deadly serious.  “Sit there and be cute.”

Luke pouted as Simeon—with surprising speed—brought up a log of the nearest gas stations on Solomon’s D.D.D.  “There should be a station three miles ahead.”

Solomon frowned as he analyzed their fuel gauge.  “I’m not sure we’ll make it.”

“We have to!” cried Luke.  “How will we ever beat those demons if we don’t even make it to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”  

“We’ll have to trust that Mammon’s baby is strong enough to get us to the gas station, then.”  Solomon stroked the dashboard as if trying to offer the vehicle some kind of encouragement.  

And as the car’s fuel began to peter out, Simeon and Luke began to cheer in chorus, “You can do it, Mammon’s car!” while Solomon exclaimed, “You’re a fierce, strong woman who doesn’t need any man to tell you that your fuel gauge is empty!”  

After an eternity (okay, it was more like five minutes), the Demonio 666 Lexura finally eked it’s way to the first pump at a Demobil gas station. 

As the engine sputtered out, the trio let out a cheer, and Solomon and Simeon shared a hug in the front seat.

“Thank Father we made it!” exclaimed Luke as he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car.  He pat Mammon’s car.  “Also, thank you for getting us here, even if you belong to the scummiest demon in the Devildom.”

Solomon grinned and turned to Simeon.  “You spotted the gas bill last time, so I’ll do it now.”

“Are you sure?” asked Simeon.  “My TSL royalties are huge, even after I’ve tithed my ten percent.  I’ve got no problem paying.”

“Nah, it’s fine—you can go stretch your legs.” With that, Solomon exited the car and began to work the gas pump.

Simeon nodded and together with Luke, walked toward the attached Demobil convenience store.  By the entrance stood a higher-level demon, who appeared to be selling bouquets of fresh flowers.

The vendor, who had noticed the pair exit Mammon’s car and had seen Solomon get up to pump the gas, called to Simeon, “Flower for your Mister?”  He gestured toward the white-haired sorcerer. 

Luke gasped, absolutely scandalized, and huffed, “Simeon would never settle for a human!” while Simeon chuckled, replying, “I’m sorry, he’s not my ‘Mister,’ but I’ll take a bouquet, anyway.”

After exchanging Grimm for the flowers, Simeon and Luke strolled back to the Demonio 666 Lexura, where Solomon was just closing the fuel tank. 

“Simeon bought you flowers!” announced Luke.

The angel nodded as he handed the sunny bouquet to Solomon.  “It matches your wand.”

“How did you know gerberas are my favorite?” laughed Solomon.  “These are great—thank you.”  As they all piled back into the car, he carefully arranged the flowers in one of the cupholders and beamed, because God,  sometimes the angel was so nice. 

The group drove in silence for a few moments before Luke commented, “I didn’t know gerberas smelled like … salt?”

Simeon sniffed the air.  “I think that’s the sea.  After all, the Caverns of Degeneracy are right along the beach.”

Just as the angel spoke the words, Solomon pulled right into a parking lot that was situated right next to miles and miles of black sand.  

Luke cheered, kicking his feet at Solomon’s seat excitedly.  “Yay!  We’re here!”

Their road trip had finally come to an end.

Destination

After wandering the beach for a few moments, the trio eventually found themselves at the mouth of the Caverns of Degeneracy, which turned out to be several huge caves filled with glowing pastel stalactites and stalagmites.  Hellfireflies twinkled in the air, while friendly gentlemanbugs strolled about the cavern floor.  Some kind of glittering pink moss had been used to adorn the walls with the words, “R.A.D Bleeding Hearts Festival 2020.”

In the middle of it all stood Diavolo, who was discussing the festival decorations with Barbatos.

As soon as he saw the Demon Prince, Luke raced up and, bobbing uncontrollably, asked, “Are we first?  Are we first?” 

Diavolo let out a hearty laugh.  “Welcome you three!  And first for what, Luke?”

Solomon sauntered up and answered, “To arrive.”

“Luke’s been very anxious to know if we’re the first ones here at the festival,” elaborated Simeon, placing his hand on the younger angel’s shoulder.

“You make it seem like it was a competition to get here first—which, yes, you three are,” said Diavolo.  His eyes lit up.  “That’s an excellent idea, though!  Next year, we’ll make the R.A.D C.D a contest to see can make it to the Caverns the fastest!  First place will get a coupon for teatime with me!”

Luke wrinkled his nose.  “Teatime with you?  That sounds—”

“Incredibly fun,” cut in Simeon smoothly.  He turned to Diavolo.  “Have you gotten any word from those seven demon brothers?”

Diavolo grimaced.  “It seems that they’ll be late.  Beelzebub ate all their road trip snacks immediately as he entered Asmodeus’ tour bus, so they had to stop for food at every fast food restaurant they could find because he still wasn’t satisfied, Belphegor kept falling asleep at the wheel, and Mammon got so many speeding violations and every time the police showed up, Asmodeus tried to seduce his way out of their ticket, which only earned them more fines and lectures from Lucifer.  It’s comic-con season, so of course, Leviathan had to stop at every convention center along the way, and unsurprisingly, Satan’s road rage forced him to get into out-of-car fights with every driver he encountered when he was at the wheel.”  He sighed.  “They managed to turn a fifteen-hour trip into a twenty-two hour one.”

Solomon smiled as he said, “I guess we should’ve expected that.”  His grin grew even wider as he gestured toward his traveling companions.  “Meanwhile, we did all fifteen-hours of driving—courtesy of me bending the speeding rules quite a bit when there was no traffic— and saw some of the sights of the Devildom along the way.”

“Oooh, did you manage to get any pictures?” asked Diavolo with an excited gleam in his eye.  “I always want to travel around the Devildom but never get the chance.”

Simeon nodded as he pulled out from his messenger bag some of the pictures he had asked fellow tourists to snap with his instant camera.  He handed them one by one to Diavolo and beamed at the goofy scenes.

The first one was from when they stopped at the Maw of Beelzebub: Solomon teasingly dangled Luke’s hat over the bridge’s railing while the young angel cried and stomped on the sorcerer’s foot in retaliation.  Simeon, meanwhile, tried to rescue Luke’s hat.

The second photo showcased Solomon sitting at the ledge of Sinner Falls with his feet swinging over the bottomless canyon.  Luke and Simeon posed obnoxiously as if they were going to fall into the Abyss, even though as angels, they were unable to.  

The final picture was the only one he had from Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, and it was of the trio crouched in front of the sign that spelled “Enjoy your stay at Deathblow Beggar’s Pass!”

Diavolo examined the images wistfully.  He sighed as he handed the photos back to Simeon.  “You three looked as if you made some fun memories.”

The angels and the sorcerer exchanged contented glances and chorused, “We most certainly did.”

[something-tofightfor]

Too Late

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader (Ink AU)

Word Count: 7403

Rating: R (language, aftermath of physical abuse of a female, talk of drug use)

Author’s Note: This is meant to be read after both Ink and Ransom. It’s kind of a filler piece, but it was necessary to getting to what I really wanted to get to: William getting put into his place. 

Summary: It’s been a little over two weeks since you were rescued from William. How’s you body healing? How’s your mind? ... How’s Logan handling it? 

He watched you as you slept in his bed, the golden rays of sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the blinds and illuminating your skin. She looks so much better. Your arm was out of the sling, but the other was still in a brace - less bulky than the first one, but designed to keep you from bending your elbow too far, too soon. You were on your back, head turned to the side so that your cheek was pressed against the pillow, and one hand was resting on your stomach over the sheets, fingers splayed. Logan knew that it was shielding the area that had been stapled and bandaged, though that wound, too was well on its way to being healed. So much better. 

 The sunburn had faded within a week, the gel that had been applied in the Mesa continually being used on your back, shoulders, arms and face in the days following your return to California. Sometimes you put it on yourself, but Logan was always quick to take over for the places you couldn’t reach, long fingers gently caressing the inked skin of your back and shoulders as you stood or sat in front of him, allowing him to touch you in the only way that was possible. He’d kissed you - plenty of times - but was always careful to keep both of you from getting carried away, holding your hands tightly in his so that he wasn’t more tempted than usual to touch you, always pulling away from you when he felt you leaning in or angling your head to kiss him more deeply or trying to pull your hands free. The disappointment in your eyes would have been mirrored in his own, but Logan was careful to hide that, too, not wanting you to feel worse about your situation than you already did. Soon. 

 He understood it - the guilt you were feeling for needing someone to rescue you, for everyone believing your story when no one had taken his seriously, for feeling like a burden to him, needing Logan to help you in the shower for the first week, and then continuing to need his help when it came time to do things like wash or brush your hair. But Logan never let you feel guilty for long, because he knew the impact of the emotion all too well, and knew how quickly it could consume you. He didn’t think that you’d follow his path down, and if you’d even hinted that that’s the way you were going, he would have intervened immediately. But Logan could see how hard you were fighting, how focused you were on getting through the pain and recovery with nothing stronger than the prescription Tylenol they’d given you, hiding the amount of pain that he knew you were really in. She’s not like me. 

 He also understood why you were fighting so hard to heal, and knew that that reason was why you were so willing to let him help you, to stay with him, even though it was embarrassing to need someone’s help as much as you needed his. But  I’d do anything for her, she has to know that. William had been flown home and was awaiting trial though it wouldn’t be a traditional courtroom case, but things couldn’t progress until you were strong enough to sit in on it and contribute your side of the story, which motivated you to focus on your recovery. 

 Logan had been with you when you deplaned in California, a car taking you to the Delos facility where you’d spoken to officials there, answering questions that hadn’t been answered at the Mesa, but since then, there’d been nothing, aside from a few meetings with your legal team to see how you were doing and to update you on their case status. You hadn’t left his house since you’d been back, and despite the circumstances, Logan was enjoying having you all to himself. Not for much longer. It’s almost time to…  He stood from the chair he was sitting in, stepping around the small desk and next to the bed, lowering himself and saying your name softly, one hand reaching out to cover yours. I don’t want to wake you, but I have to. “Hey.” 

 Your eyes opened, chest rising as you took a deep breath, and Logan felt himself smiling as you reached out for him, your fingers closing around his forearm, your own lips quirking up into a sleepy smile. “How long was I out for?” You swallowed, stretching and letting out a quiet hiss as the fingers beneath his tightened against your stomach. “Ribs still…shit.” You pushed yourself into a sitting position, hiding your wince with a yawn. “I didn’t mean to-”

 “You slept all day, pretty much.” He smiled at you, eyes moving over your face. “Must’ve needed it.” He heard you laugh, head moving up and down as you nodded. “You can go back to bed if you want, I just wanted to see if you wanted to…” He paused before squeezing your hand. “Juliet’s stopping over, and I didn’t know if you -”

 “Maybe, Logan.” He saw your eyes flash, heard you sigh. “I haven’t seen her in a couple days, it’s a lot to deal with. She…” You met his gaze, an apologetic look in your eyes. “I know why she’s acting the way she is, but I’ve already got one Delos taking care of me, I don’t need another one to hover.” No, you don’t. You yawned again, eyes closing, and Logan stayed quiet as you rolled your neck, a quiet ‘pop’ audible before you looked back at him. “I’m still so tired, Logan, I don’t want to -”

 “So.” He leaned in, one hand reaching up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re tired because your immune system is shit right now.” He pressed his lips to your cheek, feeling you smile again before he pulled away. “The dehydration and sunburn did a lot of damage, and it’s going to take a while for you to feel better, even though the burn’s faded and other things are healing.” Logan waited, thinking. “But that’s where I come in. I’m makin’ sure that you’re eating and drinking what you need to, and that you’re not just sittin’ here without…” He felt his shoulders slump, remembering how quickly he’d lost weight, how weak he’d become, even after all of his visible injuries had faded. “Without a plan. You’ll feel much better soon, and I’m sure the doctor will tell you the same thing next time you see him.” 

 “I know, but I feel lazy, Logan, like I’m not doing anything but sleeping in your bed and laying on your couch and eating your food.” You turned your head to look out the window, lower lip drawn into your mouth. “It’s been two weeks, and I don’t… I should be…”

 “There’s no timeline for this.” He said your name again, one hand running through his hair, the other uselessly back on his lap. “You’ll get better when you get better, and if it takes a month, it takes a month. If it takes two, that’s what… that’s what’s going to happen. We - Delos can only do so much, the rest has to happen on its own. You’re doing everything you need to, and I promise you that once you get that brace off and can take a deep breath without feeling like someone’s punching you in the side, you’ll feel better.” You met his eyes again and he saw that you looked exhausted, the fatigue on your face unable to be concealed, even though he could tell you were trying. 

 “This isn’t me, Logan, I shouldn’t feel like this.” Don’t do this to yourself. 

 “I know. Believe me, I know, but you -”

 “I wish you didn’t.” You reached up with the arm in the brace, thumb stroking over his cheek. “I wish you hadn’t had to…”

 “No.” He leaned into your touch, feeling his lip curl as he spoke. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this. I wish you didn’t know what it felt like to be…” He thought of the desert, the blinding sun, the burning sand beneath his feet. I should have taken him down before he did this to her. “But I need you to believe me when I tell you that I know what I’m talking about, and you will feel better soon.” Not soon enough. “I’m gonna make sure of it.” He kissed you then, leaning in to take your lower lip between his teeth briefly and applying a little more pressure than he had been, catching you by surprise. You reached out with both hands, one of them pressed against his chest, the other hand on his upper arm as he kissed you, his fingers tangling in your hair. You pulled back first, and Logan was relieved to feel you nodding as you laid your head against his shoulder, the weight of your body comforting against his. I’ve missed that. Missed her.

 “I know you will, Logan.” You sat up with him for a few minutes, the room silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, and then you spoke again, clearing your throat. “I think… I think I’m going to skip out on seeing Juliet tonight if that’s alright.” You pulled away from him, settling back against the headboard, one hand playing with the blankets on your lap. “I don’t… I don’t feel like trying to -”

 “That’s fine. I’ll just tell her you’re sleeping, I’m sure she won’t be here for long anyway, she’s gotta go home to Em, and… shes been trying to spend as much time with her as possible since …” He stopped speaking before he finished the sentence, not wanting to say William’s name in front of you. “Since she’s basically a single parent now.” 

 “It’s better that way,” you muttered before you widened your eyes and met Logan’s again, head moving back and forth quickly. “I didn’t mean that, I…” 

 “No, it’s true. Em’s better off without him and so’s Juliet. The whole world will be, actually, and when he’s …” Logan trailed off. Stop. She doesn’t need to hear this right now. “Doesn’t matter now. You don’t have to come down, it’s fine.” You relaxed against the wood behind you and Logan stood, looking back over his shoulder at you. “Think about what you want for dinner, and we’ll eat after she leaves.” Logan glanced down at his watch as you told him you would, feeling himself smile at the sound of your voice agreeing with him. She’s still got an appetite… that’s definitely different than me. 

 --- 

 They were sitting out on the back deck, Juliet’s long legs curled up under her body in the rapidly fading light, Logan’s stretched out in front of him as his eyes scanned the horizon. Juliet had been understanding of your absence though Logan also saw a look of disappointment cross her features, and after he’d poured two drinks, they’d made their way outside, sitting and talking about Emily for a few minutes before falling into a less than comfortable silence. What does she want to say? He studied his sister’s profile - curly brown hair loose around her face and blowing in the wind off of the ocean, one finger of the hand not holding her glass tracing the rim of it slowly, eyes downcast. “Juliet, what’s going on?” Logan couldn’t handle the silence anymore, and though his sister didn’t answer right away, Logan could tell by the way she reacted that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. 

 “I just…” Juliet took a long drink, ice clinking against the side of the glass before she continued. “I can’t believe that this is…” She set the empty drink down, turning her upper body toward Logan. “It’s been two weeks, Logan, why isn’t she better… I need this to…” He felt himself stiffen, jaw clenching. What? “He’s just sitting in a cell, and she’s… are her burns all better? How’s her arm? Can… has she talked to…” 

 “What are you asking me, Juliet?” Logan sipped his drink, trying to collect himself without overreacting. “William is exactly where he should be for now, and she’s doing what she can to get into a position where she can testify, but it’s going to take some time, her arm’s still…” He paused, thinking. “You’re not saying you want him home, right? With you and Em, and -”

 “No, of course not, but he’d never… he’s never… he wouldn’t.” Logan laughed, eyes closing. He would. He did. Twice. “They won’t let me see the tape, or the Host files, or… they won’t let me talk to him, Logan. I just want to -”

 “Why? What could he possibly say that you’d want to hear, Juliet?” Logan felt the anger growing in his chest, filling it in a way that was similar to the feeling of hopelessness that he’d felt back after coming home from the hospital himself. Is that why you’ve tried to spend so much time with her? Why you’re so interested? “None of it would be true, it would all be more of the same, more of William trying to convince you that he couldn’t hurt anyone, that he… that it was just a narrative gone wrong.”

 “We’ve been married for years, Logan. He’s never hurt me, never hurt Emily, never even hinted that he could do anything like what he did to her.” Are you kidding me? Juliet shook her head, and Logan leaned in, seeing that she was holding back tears. “I know that he did this to her, but I don’t understand why, and I just want to understand, Logan. I need to know what made him -” Logan stood, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at Juliet, the look in his eyes hard. 

 “You know why he did this, Juliet. I tried to tell you when I… when he did the same goddamn thing to me, but you didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to believe me. You or Dad.” He laughed, the sound bitter. “You saw what he did to me, Juliet. Saw me when I came back from the park, when I was in the hospital, when I got home. You saw what he was capable of then, but it was easier for you to blow it off and take his word over mine. Why? What made it so easy for you to believe him, Juliet?” His voice was even but firm, and Logan began to pace, scratching the side of his head and then gesturing with two fingers, his eyes wide. “He fucking tried to kill me, left me to die in the desert because I killed a fucking Host, and you couldn’t -”

 “He was my fiance, Logan. I loved him, I wanted to b-” He felt something inside of him break, Logan whirling around and stopping in front of Juliet, both hands at his sides. 

 “I’m your brother. Your goddamn brother, and you would have rather believed him than me? Dad, I understand, but you?” He felt prickling in his eyes and rubbed at them with the back of one hand, willing himself not to cry. “I never understood it, you know that? Why William was there when I woke up, sitting next to my bed instead of you.” He watched Juliet straighten up, lips set in a thin line. “Why, after I lost my shit seeing him that day and the doctors had to sedate me again, you still didn’t believe me.” Logan swallowed hard, wrinkling his nose. “It’s been years, Juliet, since you watched me almost fucking die for the second and third and fourth times because I was so goddamn alone, and couldn’t handle living with myself because of what he did.” 

 “Logan, I didn’t… I don’t…” She gripped the arm of the chair she sat on, her eyes on his face. “You never…”

 “You didn’t think anything was off when I started using? When every single time you saw me I was out of my mind and on something? When I didn’t give a shit about Delos or what happened to me? You didn’t stop to think that maybe I was telling the truth - even just about one thing?” His voice rose, the words pouring out of him in a way that he didn’t understand - but didn’t try to stop. “When was I ever like that before, Juliet? Not even when Mom died, or, or when I lost that deal with the startup before Argos. None of it got to me, but one fucking trip into the desert with Billy was enough to -”

 “Logan, you sat in the sun for days.” She spoke quietly, her posture relaxing slightly. “We didn’t know what it had done to you, and when you came home, you were… different.” Juliet licked her lips, rubbing at her forehead with her fingertips. “I thought that keeping things as normal as possible would help you, that it would be what you wanted.” She stopped, letting out a small sigh, and it took Logan only half a second to respond, the tears finally falling. 

 “What I wanted? I wanted my sister. I wanted my father - wanted them to believe me when I …” He rubbed a hand over his face, his palm coming away wet. Fuck. “I wanted you away from William and William away from Delos, but you married him, Jules. You got pregnant, and everything changed. You didn’t believe me before, and then? God, there was no chance. I had no one.” 

 “You had me, Logan, you -” No. No, you don’t get to do this. 

 “He flaunted you, Jules. He’d… fuck, he made sure I saw the two of you together all the time, that when I was there he was all over you, but in his way, so that you didn’t suspect.” Logan sniffled, looking out over the yard and pausing. “I didn’t have you, because he had you, and he had you right where he wanted you. Especially after you got pregnant, and then… then after you had Em? I was down, Juliet. All the way. I saw what was left for me and Dad didn’t care and you didn’t care, and… and then I didn’t care anymore. What did it matter? No one believed me, all they saw was Logan the junkie, Logan the failure. William… William was… the solution to everything, even though he was really the cause of everything.” He took a breath, feeling his hands clench into fists at his sides. “When I woke up in that hospital the last time, and no one was there? It would have been easy to give up, and that’s what he wanted. Both of them, probably.” Logan paused. Should I say it? “Maybe even you, too. It would have been so much easier if I just… was gone, hmm? You wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore, wouldn’t have to wait for that next call, wouldn’t -”

 “How could you think that, Logan?” Her voice trembled and Juliet leaned forward, staring up at him. “You’re my -”

 “Don’t even give me that “you’re my brother” bullshit. That didn’t make you believe me before, what would have changed?” Logan laughed, rubbing both hands over his face, fingers dragging through his beard. “But I didn’t give up. I decided I needed to find proof.” He sat back down, elbows against his thigh as he leaned in. “Proof of what he did to me and how he hid it, proof of what he was capable of.” She gasped, but Logan was on a roll, continuing after pausing to take a breath. “And I finally found it, Juliet, and he must have known somehow, must have… figured out that he hadn’t hidden everything as well as he thought, because that’s why he did this to her. He thought she was helping me, thought she was -”

 “There’s no way that’s that’s the reason, Logan. He wouldn’t hurt -” 

 “It is the reason, Juliet.” What? 

 --- 

 Logan whipped his head toward the doorway, where you were standing, and you met his eyes briefly, taking the few steps across the patio to sit down next to the man before reaching out to take his hand. He’s right here. “That’s all he said to me - over and over, while we were in the desert. He wanted to know what I knew, what Logan had told me, what I was doing to help him.” You looked down at your joined hands, watching as Logan’s thumb moved over yours. “Why do you believe that he did this to me, Juliet, when you didn’t believe Logan? Because there’s two of us telling you that it’s what happened?” Your heart was pounding, but you knew that you needed to ask. You’d heard more of the conversation than you’d admit; their words carrying up and in through the open bedroom window, and after it became apparent that Juliet wasn’t going to budge, you’d climbed out of bed, painstakingly pulling on a t-shirt over your tank top and twisting your hair over one shoulder before heading downstairs. She needs to see me, she needs to hear this. 

 “I see you now, I saw you in the hospital, I heard it in Logan’s voice when he called and told me…” Juliet wiped beneath both eyes, staring at you without blinking. “I have no reason to doubt you.” 

 “You had no reason to doubt me either, Juliet.” Logan spoke quietly and in a tone that you’d never heard him use before. “I never lied - not to you, not to anyone, and when all I needed was someone to believe me? No one did.” 

 “Logan, I… you…” She stumbled over the words, sounding more and more unsure with each syllable. “How could I just…”

“Is that why you were so quick to take my side?” You reached up to touch the front of your shoulder through your shirt, fingers rubbing over the area that Logan had tattooed. I  trusted him. I still do. “Were you trying to make up for not believing Logan? You still didn’t want to think that your husband could do something like this, but…” Logan pulled his hand from yours, putting it against your back, up between your shoulders. “But the second time, there was no way to ignore it?” Logan said your name quietly, a warning in his tone, but you couldn’t stop yourself from saying one more thing, the words leaving your lips with a bite that you didn’t think you were capable of. “There’s no ignoring this. He did this to me just like he did this to Logan, and both times, he thought we’d die before anyone got to us to stop him... And he was OK with that.” 

 “He’s been under a lot of pressure at work lately, he must have just snap…” Juliet trailed off, looking down at her hands, where you saw that she was still wearing her wedding band, though the engagement ring was missing. Are you kidding me? “It could have been anyone, any one of Logan’s… you weren’t a target, it doesn’t make sense, he just…”

 “Jesus, Juliet, come on.” Logan’s hand slid down your back and then his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers settling at your hip and tightening. “He told her - told me why he kidnapped her, just like he told me what he fucking wanted when he sent me off on that horse. There’s no question about it, he did this as a warning to me.” Anyone? She thinks it… “After I tried to tell you and Dad about what he did to me and neither of you gave a shit, I decided not to say anything until I knew I could prove it, and then… then she came along, and I couldn’t…” You thought back to the moments when Logan had been open with you, telling you in halting speech at first about what William had done and then opening up to you fully the night you’d both gotten tattooed, spilling the whole story. “She believed me, Juliet, believed that he did that to me, that there was a reason for how I acted, that  I wasn’t crazy, that… I had a reason to make the choices I did, and that every right to be focused on exposing him.” I did. 

 “Juliet, how many … people did Logan go to the park with between that first trip with W… with him and this last time with me?” Her eyes widened as she thought. “A lot, right? I don’t know how many, but it’s been a lot. I know that Logan likes to travel with someone, so…” You shrugged, wincing as you thought of Logan in the park with someone else, in the Mesa with someone else. They’re not important. Not anymore. “This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t random. This was planned. He helped two men steal horses months ago. He knew what he was doing, and he was just waiting until I’d be there without Logan.” Saying it out loud made you feel sick to your stomach, but it was the truth and she needed to hear it. I’m done with this. “I understand wanting to believe in the man you love. I understand being in disbelief that he could do something like this to your brother, and I also get that Logan’s behavior following that trip made it even harder for you to understand.” 

 “It did. It does. But I… why you?” Juliet shook her head. “Even if you were helping Logan, what’s the motivation for my brother to spend days trying to find you? He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you because you’re close, but why not just call the recovery team and tell them to go to the location of the Hosts William was with? It would have gotten to you sooner, and…”

 “It was personal.” Logan pulled you closer, leaning over to kiss the side of your head briefly. “He was trying to scare me into stopping, wanted me to see what he’d done, what he could do, to know that I hadn’t been able to save her, to watch someone… someone that I love beg for their life.” Juliet’s eyes widened as Logan spoke, moving between both of you before they finally settled on your face, disbelief filling them. “Before it was about the company, about my reputation, because that’s what I cared about, but now? This time?” 

 “Someone you… Logan, are you…?” Her brow furrowed. “You love her? But she’s….” You stiffened, feeling Logan do the same next to you. I’m what? “I thought this was just fun for you, that she was a distraction, that…” Juliet covered her face with her hand, taking a deep breath. “You’ve never been serious about anyone before, Logan, and I saw you guys on the yacht over the summer, you wanted me to tell you what I… but I didn’t think…” Your opinion of Juliet was shifting by the moment, and though you understood that part of her reaction was grief, it still hurt that she was talking about you as if you weren’t in front of her - and like it was impossible for Logan to feel anything more than physical attraction for you. 

 “I do. And William is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid, Juliet. He watched me - watched us, and he… he saw it, and he knew I’d do anything to find her, because I know when it’s not a game in there, Juliet. The Hosts can’t hurt people in there, but people?” Logan stood abruptly, reaching his hand out to you, which you took without hesitation. “It’s a different story, and William knew exactly what he was capable of and what he wanted to happen.” 

 “But that doesn’t make sense, how would he… even if you hadn’t gotten her out in time, Logan, what would William have… a body is…” Juliet’s resolve was dwindling by the second, and though you tried, you didn’t feel sorry for her. I don’t feel anything. “He wouldn’t have killed her, he couldn’t have -” Logan moved before you spoke, using the hand that wasn’t holding yours to lift the hem of your shirt, your arms hanging at your sides without moving. You need to see. 

 “Yeah, Juliet? This doesn’t look like “couldn’t” or “wouldn’t” to me.” The woman gasped at the sight of your still healing abdomen, the scar tissue red and raised, tender to the touch. “Just wait til you hear the audio from this, wait until you hear your husband taking all his shit out on her, someone who only made the mistake of trusting me.” Logan let go of your shirt, stepping toward his sister. “You feel guilty that you didn’t see it? I get that. You feel ashamed that you married him and had a kid with him? I get that, too. But it’s nothing, Juliet, to the way I feel knowing that I left her alone with him knowing what the fuck he was capable of.” You sucked in a breath, head moving back and forth. Oh, Logan, no. Stop. “I know you, Juliet, or at least I thought I did, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt so fucking bad about not believing me that you’re trying to make up for it now by believing that this happened, but it’s not going to work. It’s too late for me to just pretend that I’m alright with the way you acted, the fact that you didn’t even consider that I could be telling you the truth when I needed you to.” Logan whipped his head back and forth, breath leaving him in a huff. “You supporting her means a hell of a lot, but you’re still… you still don’t get it.” 

 “Logan.” You finally spoke again, reaching for his arm, your fingers closing around it. “Stop. She doesn’t… it’s not a big deal.” It is, but this isn’t helping anyone. You understood where he was coming from, how hurt he had to feel at the way Juliet was trying so hard to understand what had happened to you and why while still making excuses for William. She’s got to be in shock, that has to… 

 “It does matter.” Logan turned to face you, his back to Juliet and one hand rising to your face, the tips of his fingers tracing over the skin of your cheek. “Because you matter, and your life matters and not a single goddamn thing about this is fair, but -” He licked his lips, nose wrinkling. “Her tryin’ to say she’s concerned and then turning it around and sayng there’s things we don’t know when it’s pretty fuckin’ clear that we do? They don’t get to do this again. They did it to me, and they won’t do it to you.” Logan, I don’t… it’s going to … he isn’t going to get away with this. “You’ll see, Juliet.” Logan’s eyes closed before he turned back to his sister, taking two steps away from you and toward the other woman, the fingers of his right hand running through his hair again before his arm went back to his side. “You’ll know, and then maybe you’ll finally believe that everything he ever told you and did for you and promised you and Dad was a goddamn lie.” 

 Juliet held her ground, her eyes on her brother and the expression he wore. It was determined, but it was also filled with sadness, and you thought that the two had never looked more similar. “Logan, I …” She closed her eyes. “I didn’t know that you felt…” Her eyes moved to you briefly and you watched as they filled with regret. “I’ve been… it’s…” 

 “You should go, Juliet.” He spoke quietly, voice firm. “I appreciate you comin’ to check on her, but I think it’s time for you to leave.” Wordlessly, Juliet nodded and grabbed her purse, turning away without even saying goodbye and stepping toward the patio door. You heard it slide open, but neither you or Logan moved, the only sounds coming from the faint crashing of the waves against the shore until you heard Juliet take a deep breath. Here it comes. But there were no words, and a few seconds later, you heard the soft click of the door latching shut as she closed it, and then you and Logan were alone again, the man still a few feet in front of you. 

 You stayed still, unsure of what your next move would be, but when you saw Logan’s shoulders slump, the man turning and lowering himself back onto the couch he’d been sitting on previously, you followed him, leaving space between you. “Logan, are you -”

 “Just give me a minute.” Startled at the way he spoke to you, you went quiet, lowering your eyes to your hands, which were resting on your lap, fingers interlaced. I… he’s never… “Please.” The followup question lacked the strength of his initial request, but you nodded anyway, confused, thoughts returning to Juliet’s surprise at the way Logan had declared that he loved you and her unwillingness to believe that it was true. Why would he lie about it? What would he have to gain? You frowned, closing your eyes. Why is is so unbelievable that he could… “She still doesn’t believe me.” He sounded defeated and your attention was immediately drawn back to Logan’s face, though the man wasn’t looking at you. “He did the same goddamn thing, and this time there’s no doubt, and she …”

 “She loved him, Logan. She probably still does, at least partly.” You shrugged, reaching over and putting your hand on Logan’s back. “You can’t just turn something like that off, even when the other person does something like… like he did to me.” You winced at the words. And what he did to you, too. “And I’m pretty sure she believes you, especially now with my…” He turned his head to look at you, eyes locked with yours. “But that doesn’t mean that she… that she can understand how he can be so different than the man she married.”

 “You’re defendin’ her?” He narrowed his eyes at you, tongue moving over his lips. “After she -”

 “Logan, she understands that he’s dangerous, that she can’t try to bail him out so that he can come home. She’s… in denial.” You dropped your hand, letting it hit the cushions. “But she’s not stupid, she understands what this means.” You took a breath. “She’ll have to divorce him, and that’s going to look horrible, but she’s also going to have to explain to Emily that her dad’s not going to be around.” Logan’s eyes widened. “She has a lot to think about, Logan, and it goes way beyond what he did to me - and even what he did to you, because she’s… she’s thinking about herself, about how she didn’t see it, about how she ignored it, about… about how everything in her life is about to change.” He shifted on the seat next to you, never looking away from your face. 

 “I’ve never talked to her like that, not in… fuck, not ever.” Logan paused. “And I’ve never wanted to, not even when I was usin’, when she was takin Jim’s and William’s sides, when… but now she’s questioning you, and your injuries and the way I feel about you and -”

 “Logan, we’ve only been together for a few months, and it’s gotta be a shock for her - on top of everything else - to hear that her brother’s changed his mind about being with one person and one person only.” He finally smiled at that - it was barely a smirk but still there, and you took it as a sign. “Sometimes I st-”

 “You questionin’ me too?” He leaned in closer, hands moving from where they’d been to rest on your thighs, grip tightening as he spoke. “Why’s it so hard to believe that I…” You cut him off by leaning in to kiss him, fingers curling around the bottom edge of his t-shirt. Pulling away reluctantly to take a breath, you opened your eyes to look at him, speaking carefully. 

 “No. I’m not questioning you, especially not after the way you’ve been with me since we’ve been back in California.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting. “You wouldn’t be doing all of this for me and to help me if you didn’t care.” Chewing on your lower lip for a few seconds, you continued. “Guilt makes people do a lot of things, but Logan, this is way more than that, and I think… I think she knows that as well as I do, and it scares her.” 

 “I do feel guilty, though, because he shouldn’t have…. It shouldn’t have taken this to be able to …” He looked lost - just for a few seconds - and then recovered. “But you’re right, this isn’t about guilt, it’s about needing to make sure that you’re doin’ alright and that you recover from this without doing what I did.” He lifted one hand from your leg and let his fingers trail up your bare arm, resting his palm on your shoulder. “Because I love you, and don’t want you to think that I don’t.”  He sounded vulnerable, but you didn’t let him pause for long before you leaned in again, resting your head against his shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. 

 “She isn’t going to handle hearing what he said or seeing those videos well, Logan. She’s going to… it’ll kill her.” He stayed quiet, shifting next to you and putting his arm around you as he turned to kiss the top of your head. “But as soon as she does, there won’t be any doubt, especially since him telling Tanner who I was and what to look for and when to ride in is all on there.” Logan agreed with you, humming quietly. “That’s why it’s so hard to be around her, because every time it’s like she’s waiting for me to tell her this is all a misunderstanding, that by some miracle he isn’t a… a monster, and I can’t do that. Even if he didn’t…” You ran your fingers over your abdomen, feeling the wound through your shirt. “Do this to us, it’d always be there, and he can’t… he doesn’t get Delos. He doesn’t get your sister, and he doesn’t get to pretend like he’s not doing anything wrong.” Logan’s body went rigid next to you as you said your next words. “Even if you and I weren’t together or you hadn’t told me how you felt? I’d still see this through.” 

 You knew that if those things hadn’t been true, the likelihood of William choosing you would have been slim to none, but the man hadn’t had confirmation that Logan loved you; he’d only seen you and Logan together a few times, only had an idea of what you meant to the man sitting next to you - so there was still a chance. “But we are together.” Logan tugged on your shoulder, pulling you upward into a sitting position and forcing you to meet his gaze. “And I… you know how I feel, so…” He glanced down. “So there’s no reason to think about anything else.” You’re right. “I’m sorry that you had to hear that conversation,” he continued, saying your name quietly. “It shoulda been between me an’ her, because you’ve gotta focus on what comes next.” 

 “Stop.” You stood, putting your hand on your hip and rolling your eyes. “I can do two things at once, and her seeing - and hearing - me say these things now might make what she hears later a little less difficult to listen to.” 

 “It won’t.” Logan stood too, smoothly moving to walk behind you, heading for the door. “Nothing’s gonna make that easier for her, but that’s not your problem.” He too paused in front of the glass door, looking back at you. “You don’t owe anyone a goddamn thing.” Deciding to lighten the mood, you followed the man back into his house, taking a seat at the bar that separated his kitchen and living room and watching as Logan stood in front of the fridge, looking through the contents. 

 “You’re wrong, Logan.” Waiting for him to turn, you leaned forward, bending your good elbow and resting your chin atop it. Head cocked to the side, he watched you, amused. “I owe you a couple things as soon as my ribs and arms feel better.” He laughed at that, and you watched as the look in his eyes shifted back into one that you hadn’t seen in weeks. He’s been so careful, but it’s… he still wants me. “I wish it could be right now.” Logan stepped away from the refrigerator, keeping the counter between you as he leaned in, reaching over to grip the side of your neck, thumb settling behind your ear. 

 “You have no idea,” he whispered, leaning in as far as he could to kiss you, lips lingering. “No idea how much I want that, too.” He traced his tongue along your lips without warning, causing you to part them, and before you could react, Logan was kissing you deeply, his long fingers holding onto the edge of the counter the only thing you saw before your eyes shut. When he finally pulled back, the groan leaving his lips identical to the one that escaped yours, you watched Logan swallow as he straightened up, running his fingers through his hair and eyeing you. “But we’re gonna wait til you’re better, because…” He pressed his lips together, resting his elbows back on the countertop and eyeing you from a safe distance. “Because I won’t hurt you… or even risk it just to get off. It’s not worth it.” He’s talking about himself, about when he…  

 Anyone that looked at Logan would be able to make a lot of assumptions about him - about his character and personality, about what he expected from life - and many of them would be right, you knew. But as the two of you eyed each other across the gleaming granite, you knew that even more of them would have been wrong. No, you won’t. No matter how much I’d beg, you wouldn’t. Not with me. “I know.” It was only two words, but you caught the relief in his eyes, realizing that he’d expected you to fight with him. “Because the sooner I’m better, Logan? The sooner we can put that piece of shit where he belongs for the rest of his life… and go back to living ours.” You weren’t sure exactly what that meant - at least in terms of being with Logan, but you knew that it meant no more careful touches, no more barriers between your bodies when you kissed - and no more hesitation. “As long as that’s what you want.” Adding in the final sentence made you wince inwardly, but Logan’s smile was reply enough, the man quickly making his way to your side of the counter and moving behind you. “Logan, wh-”

 “Shh.” He wrapped his arms around you - carefully - crossing them over your chest and pulling you back against him, his head dropping down so that his lips made contact with the side of your neck. “It is.” You brought a hand up, fingers squeezing his forearm tightly and then raised it more, curling your fingers around the back of his head and dragging them through his hair. He didn’t need to say anything else because the way he was holding you said it all, and so you relaxed into his body, letting go of the conversation that you’d had with Juliet and focusing on Logan. 

 “Good.” He hummed a reply, kissing his way slowly across your skin, and you took as deep a breath as you could, eyes flying open at the realization that there was very little pain associated with the action. Logan mumbled an inquiry at your sharp inhale, his beard scratching against your skin, but he didn’t pull away and you shook your head slowly, fingers still moving lazily against his scalp. “Nothin’ Logan. Just starting to feel better, that’s all.” I’m going to be fine, and William’s finally going to get what he deserves. 

---

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[tranquil-warrior]

FFXIV Write 2020

Nonagenarian - adjective

of the age of 90 years, or between 90 and 100 years old.

He was tired. 

To even say such a thing could almost be humorous. Demons did not sleep, and he could not...but he was tired nonetheless. 

It was a bone-deep, type of exhaustion that crept into his joints and frayed his very nerves. He was being forgotten. A death of the worst kind, if one could call it to that. He would not die in the traditional sense - he would simply cease to be. There, and then not there. Perhaps he could have been worried, but he did not. It was not the samurai’s way, to fear death. 

He recognized what it was though, and deeper still, why. 

The house was small. Too small to be called a house. It was more like a cottage with thin walls, and a roof made of straw and thatch. Held together by spit, and mud. What had once been a tiny rice garden had not been tended in some few days, and seemed to be going dry. Withering. Beyond the window curtains, a small fire seemed to cast dancing shadows along the walls and the faint smell of soup drifted out into the night.

He removed his shoes before entering the humble abode, and the door seemed to open without him touching it. Behind him, the moonlight filtered in to bath the singular room  in stretching shadow. He brings with him the stench of summer spices and cinnamon. There’s a remarkable...bareness, to the place. In one corner of the room was a tiny hingan fireplace built up from the ground with a small pot of broth hanging over it. Nearby, a kotatsu was partially set, but looked to have gone unused for some time. Same with the partially rolled mat set before a shrine of melted candles, rice cakes, cherry blossoms and a decorate tanto kife. The futon set beside it however, was occupied. 

Beneath its sheets was a frame so tiny, so frail it was a wonder the thinning blankets she huddled in did not crush her. The woman was shivering, and her skin seemed to hang from her skeleton. Hovering over her was her husband, hunch-backed and liver-spotted, a tiny wooden bowl of broth held in one shaking hand while he struggled to spoon feed his wife. The shadow hardly phases the old man and he does not look up, placing the ladle to the lips of his wife. 

“Leave your weapons by  the door.” 

It was respectful command, but a firm one nonetheless. It held more strength than  one could expect out of a body so old but this man had been a warrior once. Out of equal respect, the kami sets both his wakizashi and katana aside before joining the other man upon his knees. He did not introduce himself, but the old man had known him the moment he had entered the door. The scent had given it away. He even begins to laugh, but its bitter and without humor. 

“She insisted on praying to you. Even when she could no longer walk. I told her I did not believe in her fairy tales, yet here you are. As she said you would be.”

The spirit is silent. There’s no question here. The man is simply coming to terms. 

“You are here, yet you can not, or will not heal my wife.” 

“No.” It’s not an unkind answer. It simply is. The old man nods. 

“We have lived a long life together. We had lived a long life together and I have watched her ceaseless, unanswered prayers. With or without me, she has served you. Through sickness, through death, through war, through famine. We have experienced all through life together, and you have never been there. Yet now, you show upon our doorstep, to take her from me. What right do you have, to have ignored us so heavily? What even did she pray for?” 

The old warrior was angry, so he did not interrupt. He was looking for answers, even if the questions came as insults. The spirit’s  reply was simple enough, at first. 

“She prayed for you. She prayed for your endless health. When you went to war, she prayed for every battle that you might return home. When you became deathly ill she prayed that you might recover, stronger than before. And when you were hungry, she prayed that there would be enough to keep you healthy. She prayed that you two would live a long life together.” 

It brought the old man to tears, his wrinkled, stoic features twisting suddenly with great sadness.he brought a hand up to the frail woman’s near skeletal hand. “My wife is dying, and so am I.” He did not wish to die alone. It was a silent sentiment but Niten understood.

“She prayed that you would not.”

The old man finally turned to the demon, his gaze milky. Still, there was a keenness with which he assessed the ancient spirit and in that brief silence, the two understood one another. Finally, he nods after prolonged silence.

“Then I will not die with our house in disorder.” 

There’s decisiveness that fluctuates when he looks to his wife. She still shivered, even with the fire. As her condition had deteriorated, the stalwart soldier has not left his love’s side and so the state of the home had deteriorated as well. It had been a clean, and proud place despite the meager acquirements. Niten brought his own crimson palm to the tan and wrinkled hide of the woman, and her shivering ceased. “She will be warm.” He says, and then: “She is waiting for you.”

They began to clean the home. The old man knew his surroundings despite his blindness. He dusted and swept while the guardian spirit returned things to shelves and ordered. When the interior of the home was spotless again, they moved outside to tend the fields. Eventually, the old man could continue no more and Niten pickes him up, and him back into the home to lay him down beside his wife. He returned to cleaning on his own, and the cottage and it’s yard are both spotless when he’s done. 

There was little time left when he was done, and the old man knew it. “I want to bathe my wife.” He declared, hunchedbacked and sitting beside the woman. Stroking the thin, wispy bangs that clung to the shiny surface of her brow. Niten nodded, and as the old man gathered the woman, barely skin and bones in his arms, the kami did not help. This man had been a warrior and his independence was clear. The strength and humility of his youth had grown stronger with age.

He washed his wife, and carried her back to bed, dressing her in a fresh set of robes. Returning once more to that pose of a back curled by time. Niten placed a strong hand to the old swordsman’s shoulder, and he nodded once more. They returned to the baths where the old man began to disrobe. At nearly a century, his back was still broad even if twisted, and across its surface of leathery skin was a coiling dragon, it’s face bearing an Oni’s mask. He was dignified, and still carried the discipline of a notable, proud swordsman. He was honorable, and Niten bathed the ancient warrior then. The old man had grown weaker with every passing second though, and once more the spirit carried him.

It was as he was carrying the old man back that both were taken by surprise. His wife was sitting upright and staring. Her eyes, a warm brown were bright and alert. She had a certain youthfulness of expression, an almost childlike excitement seeing both her husband and Niten. “I knew it. I could smell you.” She beamed brightly and spoke with wonder, her smile illuminating the whole room.

“My wife!” The older man’s deep voice held in it tears that shook his cavernous voice to fragility. Niten set him down by the faithful devout, and watched the two embrace in a tight hug. They were late into their nineties, and they were ready. The old woman continued to smile, but looked to the spirit curiously. “You are not a figment?” She didn’t really seem to need to ask. Niten shakes his head anyways and she pointed to a small, gift wrapped package in front of the shrine. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he collected it anyways.

She seemed happy then, content, and closed her eyes, resting her head against her husband’s shoulder. She did not open them again. The old warrior sighed deeply, giving the odd spirit an even odder look. There was no bitterness though, and he said simply, thankfully, “I am ready now.” Niten nodded.

The scent of cinnamon grows stronger. The old man closes his eyes. And then he and his wife depart together...

...There is no one in the home, when neighbors finally come to check a few days later. Yet, the rice fields outside are overgrown and the fire burned warmly despite no evidence of having being tended.

[clericbyers]

Dungeons and Dragons, Will the Wise, Paladins, Wizards, and Clerics

I’ve been sitting on this idea for an analysis for a hot moment so, let’s dig in, yeah?

D&D is a large part of the Stranger Things storyline for a good number of reasons.

The campaign echoes the plot line of the seasons (as we see in ST1 and in ST3)

D&D is how the Party bonds and it’s a marker of their unity and friendship

Will and Mike specifically use D&D to escape from the issues they face in the real world: bullying for them both, Will specifically with sexual identity issues and not being “normal,” and Mike with insecurities and well, not having a girlfriend.

Because of 3, D&D is also a marker of Will and Mike’s unique bond and intense friendship. In the concept bible, Mike is specifically addressed to be Will’s best friend and to be the one friend most particularly troubled by Will’s disappearance (which we see make it in the show).

[ screenshots from the st concept bible ]

Now, Stranger Things has both official comics and a D&D starter kit. The comics is what I want to focus on the most in this first part. (FYI, All pictures used from here on out are my own/my own screenshots.)

Stranger Things Volume One: The Other Side

These are panels from the official Stranger Things comic with Dark Horse Comics. This in particular is from issue #4 which is set in S1. The series as a whole follows Will’s time in the Upside Down that we don’t get to see in the show. He flows a lot between remembering the campaign he and the Party were in the middle of before he was captured, and his hands on experience in the Upside Down. When El greets him in Castle Byers, Will is depicted as having mentally escaped into his Will the Wise persona to protect himself. He even sees El as an elf (check out her pointy ears!)

Now I want to bring in the Stranger Things D&D starter kit for a moment. It comes with 5 character sheets: paladin, cleric, bard, ranger, and wizard.

The wizard is a half-elf.

On the official D&D site, it’s stated that, “To humans, half-elves look like elves, and to elves, they look human.” Will the Wise is depicted as human in this comic, but El switches between looking elven and human when she finds him in Castle Byers. Much like Will fades in and out of his Will the Wise persona and himself, the cleric (who, according to the D&D starter kit, is a wood elf). 

Mike called El a mage in ST2 but he’s also constantly calling Will a cleric, his true self, even though the character Will the Wise is a wizard. (You can find more about what it means that Mike calls Will a cleric in this amazing theory from kaypeace21). I want to focus on the wizard class for just a moment here since that is what Will considers himself and that’s what El is (even if Mike sees her as a mage).

The Wizard(s)

Wizards are one of the base classes in D&D and as we all know, they are magic users. Spells and knowledge is why wizards keep up their studies, always learning new spells and new ways to harness arcane power. Wizards can study magic from one of these arcane traditions: Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, Necromancy, or Transmutation. Thinking about El’s powers, she’s part of the Transmutation tradition: telekinesis, levitation, and Blink, which I wanna talk about more.

This is the description of the Blink spell, where “you vanish from your current plane of existence and appear in the Ethereal Plane.” Sounds like something El has done before, right? “While on the Ethereal Plane, you can see and hear the plane you originated from, which is cast in shades of gray, and you can't see anything there more than 60 feet away. You can only affect and be affected by other creatures on the Ethereal Plane. Creatures that aren't there can't perceive you or interact with you, unless they have the ability to do so.”

The Ethereal Plane can be considered the Void or the Upside Down. Only the monsters from the Upside Down can attack El when she’s there. Only Will was able to see her when she was there visiting him in Castle Byers.

Will the Wise though, given the fact he was going to cast fireball during the campaign, comes from Evocation. Evocation is basically elemental spells, so things like fire, earth, air, water, lightning, acid, and also communication. Let’s focus on “Sending”, a level 3 wizard evocation spell. “You send a short message of twenty-five words or less to a creature with which you are familiar. The creature hears the message in its mind, recognizes you as the sender if it knows you, and can answer in a like manner immediately.” Nice, but what about if you’re on a different plane like Will is? “You can send the message across any distance and even to other planes of existence, but if the target is on a different plane than you, there is a 5 percent chance that the message doesn't arrive.” While in the Upside Down, Will has the ability to contact through the lights and the radio, but we also know some of his messages don’t get through to his mom. 25 words or less according to the spell rules.

So, El and Will the Wise are wizards, but Mike the Dungeon Master believes they are mage and cleric respectively. El is truly a wizard, but Mike fantasizes about her being an all powerful and knowing mage. There’s not much different between the two but wizards are generally stereotyped to be those who gain magic through study while mages are more innate with their powers. This is a fair analysis given El “studied” her magic/powers (through abuse and torture) but Mike sees it as an innate gift, which it still is even if she was abused into using them.

So, mage vs wizard aside, we still have the idea that Will the Wise is a wizard but Will is a cleric. Let’s go back to the comics. 

When El leaves, Will is captured by the demogorgon. These two pages here are a flashback (these are interspersed throughout the series) of Mike and Will in the library reading books together right after he’s captured. It’s a cute moment for Will to think about despite being snatched up by the demogorgon and possibly about to die.

I want to focus on Will’s words in the last panel.

He said, “I’m just looking out for Will the Wise.” Okay, pause. Will is captured by a monster and he thinks about Mike, and not just any memory of Mike but one connected to them hanging out and reading books, one of which Mike is using for their next D&D campaign. As mentioned earlier, their personal connection is through D&D, the ST story comes alive in a manner similar to the Party’s D&D campaign and adventurers, so it’s important to keep in mind how both characters go about it throughout the seasons and even here in these comics. Moving on to the next page, Will says, “I want him to live forever.”

Okay, another pause. What else did Will expect to last forever? Him and Mike, hanging out in the basement playing games (in particular, D&D) for the rest of their lives. Basically, Will the Wise lives forever because they wouldn’t stop playing. The thing is, Will the Wise isn’t Will according to Mike. In Mike’s mind, Will is a cleric, which is a completely different class.

Mike prides himself on knowing his loved ones deeply, especially Will and El, so we’ll side with Mike for a second on Will truly being a cleric. Clerics and paladins are similar enough, though unlike paladins who follow an oath, clerics have a god they worship and their spells’ powers come from that godly worship’s domain. In the cleric class description for the Stranger Things D&D starter kit, clerics are “intermediaries between the mortal world and the distant planes of the gods.” Will is one who can go between the mortal world and the Upside Down / Mind Flayer. El can travel there as a wizard yes, but Will draws his magic from that domain. If we look at Will’s powers from a cleric POV,  he obtains his power from the Life Domain, as the character sheet also claims. Life includes healing powers and the ability to harness light and choose between two magical effects: Turn Undead or Preserve Life.

Now, Turn Undead means undead creatures will spend a turn getting away from you if it fails a Wisdom saving throw (a saving throw is a check the DM will make for the creature to see if it is able to complete an attack or take action). Preserve Life on the other hand heals creatures nearby.

Cleric instead of Wizard

Let’s look at Will’s abilities in the Upside Down / possessed by the Mind Flayer as him being a cleric instead of a wizard. Will was able to communicate with his mom and Mike through the lights and the radio. This is a level 1 evocation cleric spell called Thaumaturgy. Here, a cleric manifests a sign of supernatural power for a minute at a time. Flickering lights, diming or changing the color of lights is included in this. Clerics can also cast the Sending spell, which again allows for contact across planes and given the Cleric is labeled to be level 3, this is another possible spell for Will to cast as a Cleric rather than as Will the Wise.

In the Upside Down, Will can hear previously dead creatures talking to him. This could be part of Revify or Speak with Dead, which are Cleric spells that both deal with talking to previously dead creatures.

Back to that harnessing light point. The Mind Flayer was banished with light/heat (fireball in ST2 with the fire in the labs / getting burned and then ST3 with the fireworks). Will banishes darkness in ST2 with happy, healing (light) memories, his love for his family and the people most devastated by his disappearance: Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike. Will is a healer; once he starts healing thanks to the love his mom, his brother, and Mike (his crush) impart on him, he starts to resist the Mind Flayer more. ST3 shows us still that the Mind Flayer is very vulnerable to happy memories and healing through them.

The Dungeon Master

Mike is usually the DM and has a large hand in what happens to Will the Wise during campaigns; this is again pointing to how Mike has kinda always had the ball in his court when it comes to the relationship between himself and Will. In ST3, Will the Wise, the wizard not the cleric, is DM and trying to get a grasp on keeping the game alive. As DM, you don’t play your character, so the wizard with his fireball and ability to go between planes of existence and the cleric with his healing abilities and harnessing light / happy memories aren’t active. Will the Wise is so obviously a characterture in this scene. There’s heavy exaggeration, Will is trying to play a part but the adventurers are not really participating (which is also showing how these three got on the issue with the Mind Flayer’s return a little later than possible, as many ‘villagers’ ended up dying).

This campaign is being played with a paladin who has lost his way (Mike) and a ranger who kinda did the same--though rangers don’t have oaths like paladins do so it’s not the same; plus Mike’s paladin losing his way would be a more egregious offense than Lucas’ ranger and Mike is the one who really offends Will the most in this situation. Mike and Lucas try to shut the campaign down, try to kill Will the Wise controlling the situation. That’s when Will loses it. He’s trying to keep Will the Wise alive all the past couple days, trying to keep him and Mike together, and Mike just shut him down and didn’t care. Will’s reaction, which is odd for someone like a healer, brings Mike back to his oath.

According to the ST D&D kit, Mike’s paladin has sworn an Oath of Devotion. This means Mike is bound to justice, virtue, and order, something like a knight. “They hold themselves to the highest standards of conduct, and some, for better or worse, hold the rest of the world to the same standards.” Breaking that Oath, as Mike has done in ST3, is damaging and requires a cleric who shares their faith to bring them back on the path.

(This is something unique to 5th edition, but a paladin who broke their oath and doesn’t seek absolution becomes an Oathbreaker. They keep their base powers, but becomes darker and more attuned to evil creatures. When Mike lied and broke his oath with El, he didn’t seek absolution and instead, became darker and ruder and even less oath driven. When he upset Will, he immediately rushed after Will to apologize and seek forgiveness. By the end of the night, Mike started fresh just in time for the battle of Starcourt, where he was far more a paladin and faithful leader of the Party.)

The Paladin

Now, let’s discuss some more of Mike’s paladin powers outside of the D&D campaigns. Paladins have a holy symbol and can speak a prayer that turns other creatures so they won’t fight. They also have a spell called Zone of Truth, where basically any creature that comes into that zone cannot lie. Friends don’t lie. We also know Mike in particular is able to touch Will and bring him back from the Upside Down throughout ST2. Mike’s paladin though according to the D&D kit, draws on divine magic through prayer just like a cleric. He is also tied to Life Domain just like Will and can be a healing presence through his touch (Lay on Hands spell) and prayer (Turn the Unholy as seen in the shed scene in ST2 where Mike’s confession could be seen as a healing prayer).

Mike the paladin and Will the cleric are extremely similar and bound to each other in interesting ways. Mike the DM and Will the Wise on the other hand...Mike creates the campaign, he builds the story, he creates the universe, and takes on a persona and Will does the same. These two D&D masks are what they both escape into as professed in the concept bible. Will in particular is more uninhibited when being Will the Wise. He’s able to be braver (as shown in the comics when he slips into his Will the Wise persona to stay alive). When they aren’t playing D&D though, Mike and Will are the paladin and cleric respectively and are so in the real adventure they ‘play’ with the Upside Down.

Saying Goodbye

Now we get to the end of ST3 where Will is donating his D&D manuals. I’ve already done a very Byler centric look at this scene, but pulling away from that ship-heavy lense, I want to point out that this is also a symbol of Will growing out of Will the Wise. Will destroying Castle Byers is also another symbol of this. Castle Byers is Will the Wise’s fort. It’s where he goes in the Upside Down to feel safe, where he meets El, where he takes on the Will the Wise persona when he thinks he’s about to die. By destroying the fort, he’s ending the Will the Wise persona as well. So, that Castle Byers scene is a combination of Will accepting growing up through 1) acknowledging his feelings for Mike, 2) trying to destroy the feelings because he knows it’s not appropriate / part of growing up according to Mike, and 3) recognizing that Will the Wise won’t live forever.

When Will donates the manuals, he’s accepting his cleric role while telling Mike that it’s not possible to want to play another party. Implied in that is the fact that Will only wants this party where Mike is DM, where Mike is the paladin to his cleric, where Mike is devoted and loyal and trustworthy to not just the Party, but to Will as well. And Mike as DM has the power to build a new campaign, a new story, for Will now as the cleric he is.

Hopefully, ST4 will gives us the next step in both how Mike and Will face their changed friendship through their D&D adventurers as paladin and cleric and in real life between each other as Mike and Will. Also, looking forward to further insight into the fact that the Mind Flayer took away El’s powers but exists in the same domain that gave Will his (hopefully permanent but as for now, temporary) powers.

[ If you made it to the end, honestly thank you a bunch for reading this! I have heavy focus on Will, El, and Mike here, but if you want details on Dustin and Lucas’ bard and ranger, let me know! I’m so down to post about those characters, too. ]

[antichristsxbox]

Knight in Shining Armor - Part Two

Read part one here!

Summary: Princess!Reader wakes up in Sir Langdon’s palace post-rescue. 

From the writer: Hey guys, I’m so excited for this fic! I really enjoyed writing Michael like this— very sweet and caring. If you enjoyed this, all likes and reblogs are appreciated + check out my masterlist for more things like this! Thank you so much to @jocelynscloset​ for proofreading this for me. :) Update— here’s part one, here’s part three, and here’s part four + here’s my masterlist with more fics!

Word count: 2,665

A red room with a black ceiling and black crown molding— a cast-iron chandelier with no gems dangling, but nine black, lacy lamp shades. A black canopy above your black four-poster bed, with ornate fabric and ribbons hanging from the sides. Silky sheets run past your fingers as you pull the fabric from your body. The same silky material clings to your body as you stand, and you’re wearing a black nightgown that hits mid-thigh with red lace detailing. A strict, but visually pleasing theme, you think. 

You cannot exactly recall how you ended up here, but you are assuming this is Michael’s palace. Opening the armoire, you search for something more appropriate to wear. Many dresses, exclusively black or red, and many more tiaras, all cast-iron with rubies. Plenty of options are available but you settle for a simple black linen dress— the temperature seems unusually high. Perhaps it’s the many candles burning, or the two fireplaces in your room. One across from your bed, and the other near the back of your room, connecting to what seemed to be an en suite bathroom. A simple tiara with one peak and a large ruby in the center is your accessory for today.

Exiting through the large, carved wood doors leads you to a long, arched hallway. Doors are shut until the hall reaches a dead end, and a wooden door is left ajar with a faint light fanning from the crack. Hesitant at first, but eager now as you push the door to reveal a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and a focused Sir Langdon writing a letter, quill in hand and scroll on desk.

“You’re awake!” he says, standing up to greet you. A warm hug is graciously accepted and a soft smile is flashed— you hold Michael in your grasp before breaking the hug to look back up at him. 

“Where are we?” you ask, looking around his grand office. A window gives a glimpse of what lies beyond the castle walls, but it’s a dark setting with a faint orange glow in the background and a reddish sky. 

Michael motions for you to sit at a chair across from him, then makes his way to his seat across from you. He folds his hands and crosses his legs.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight? I must explain something to you,” he says. 

His offer comes as a surprise, but you instantly accept. Curiosity begins to boil as he continues on, but his words are lost as your mind races with things that could be what he means to reveal later. It’s difficult when somebody says they would like to share something but leave it on a cliffhanger to reveal at a later date. Fortunately, Michael arranges dinner for tonight— your curiosity will soon be extinct. 

As you open the doors to your room, a blonde woman is sitting near your fireplace flipping through a book and smoking a cigarette. She stands and outstretches her arm for you to shake her hand. Her name is Madison she introduces herself as your guide for anything you might need around the castle. Where the library is, kitchen, dining room, garden, you name it. There is another young woman, Zoe, who is busy right now but should soon be available. 

Searching for something to wear seems harder than it actually is, given so many options in your seemingly endless wardrobe. Madison insists that a dark red, lacy gown would suit you for tonight as a darker look is more traditional for dinner. She leaves you to dress and get ready, but returns when accessories are needed to be chosen. A small, black evening bag and dark tiara highlight this as a true nighttime look. Realizing it’s almost time to meet Michael, Madison guides you towards the dining room and leads you to the door. She wishes you good luck, then leaves you at the threshold alone. 

A nervous jitters type feeling stirs inside of you, but as that passes, you push the door handle down and enter the room. Sitting across an elongated table, Michael sits against a tall chair, parallel across the table to yours of equal height. In the middle of the table, a large feast awaits of ham and various other side dishes, vegetables, and salads. He stands and greets you, pulling out your chair for you to sit and lays a napkin across your lap. Retreating back to his chair, he stops to pour himself a glass of red wine, asking if you would like one as well. As much as you would like to partake, you realize you may want a clear head for what he would like to tell you, if it’s important. 

“What is it?” you ask, looking across the long table, barely able to make out Michael’s expression, save for his light eyes being accentuated by the fire. He stands and approaches your side of the table.

“I would prefer to show you, if that’s alright,” he says, placing a hand next to yours. A small nod gives him permission to show you what he has in store. Without warning, the candles on the table burn out, then reignite with no match. Michael raises his hand, and an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table makes its way to his palm. He must have the gift of the Light as well. How fun, you think. Not a better match could be made if your parents tried. Raising your hand up, the apple flies from his hand to yours. Candles go dark again at your will.  The steamed broccoli sitting near your plate begins turning green and growing more stalks. Michael turns towards you as you take a bite from the apple you stole from him.

“I was never planning on telling you, but I’m glad we share the same abilities,” you say, waving to relight the candles on the table.

“You’re a warlock?” you ask, telekinetically pouring yourself a glass of wine from the other side of the table, then sending it over towards you.

“Much worse, Dear,” he says, swallowing hard enough it’s visible in his throat. 

“I had to lure you to that Hellmouth, that well, if you can remember,” he goes on, recounting how he had led you into the woods. Those memories seemed distant and faded until he now brings then up. 

“Because we’re in Hell, Dear,” he says bluntly. Peeking behind you to glimpse out the window, the same darkness is outside that was present when you woke up. It was easy to brush it off as a cloudy day then, but now it seems ominous and mysterious. For some reason, you never imagined Hell to be like this. 

“You’re the Devil?” you ask, looking up at Michael after turning from the window.

“Close— I’m his son,” he replies. 

Dinner is nice; the food is delicious. Being the Devil’s son obviously has its perks, especially in Hell. Now that you’re here, you may as well get comfortable and get used to this life with Michael. Truly, you are grateful he was the one that rescued you. Ending up with somebody that would never know about or understand your abilities seems boring. But, Michael’s analogous abilities to yours, drawn from the darkness, are more intriguing than anybody else’s powers ever seemed. A different route to the same result of having supernatural abilities. 

After dessert is over, Michael stands to hug you, then holds the door for you that leads out to the hallway. To your surprise, he hasn’t tried to make a move yet. Sure, you’ve been locked in a tower for a few years prior to Michael, but boredom from living at your previous castle lead you to quite a few bedrooms over time. There have been a couple of knights and cute messenger boys. Even this beautiful palace of Hell would begin to seem dull without a refreshing touch once in a while. 

“Would you join me for a cup of tea?” you ask as Michael begins walking the opposite direction, towards his room. He turns as he hears you speak, then comes closer towards you again. He insists to go back in the dining room and sit for tea there, the servants could prepare any kind you would like instantly. 

“Michael, I have it in my room,” you say, looking up at him and smiling, then extending a hand for him to take. You wait for a moment but become disappointed when he lightly pushes your wrist down and does not take your hand. 

“I will come talk with you, answer any questions you may have, nothing more,” he says, walking in the direction of your chamber. 

The door flies open with no hands, and Michael walks in after you. After he quietly closes the door, you turn to him and grab the front of his dinner coat, pulling him towards you in a needy kiss. He reciprocates but breaks the kiss after a few seconds. You were hoping another tug on his dinner jacket would bring him closer again, but he walks away to sit on the couch near the fireplace. Quickly, you follow and sit next to him, placing a hand on his strong thigh. He crosses his legs, now out of reach for you.

“Why? You rescued me just so we could talk and eat dinner together?” you say, annoyed. Meeting his gaze, you could tell he now has a stern expression on his face. There is a serious and somber element to his presence now. It is surprising, however, that the son of Satan wouldn’t care to indulge in his own sinful nature. 

“I will not do anything to compromise your honor, we will have plenty of time to do whatever you like after we are wed,” he says, conjuring a glass of red wine for himself and one for you, resting on the coffee table in front of you. 

“That ‘honor’ you speak of— it’s gone, Michael, we’re fine,” you say, crossing your arms and sighing. If he’s upset, it’s his fault for rescuing you. You never know what you’re going to get when you decide to snatch random people from random towers. 

“I never intended for it to come out like that; whatever has happened is fine by me, but I do not plan on compromising my own values,” he says, taking a long sip from his drink and setting the glass down. Interesting, you think. His values must be pretty uptight, but you’re charmed by his determination to meet his own high standards. 

“May I ask what you value?” you say, picking up your glass from the table and steadying it on your bottom lip. Michael looks towards the front of the room and takes a moment to think. Dry, red wine flows past your lips. Candlelight reflects off of his shiny shoes and golden hair. 

“Being the son of the Devil, people expect me to be evil, wild, indulgent, sinful, carnal, whatever you would call that. My father can control many aspects of my life, my purpose, what he intends for me to do. But, he can’t control all of me. I can be a good Antichrist and a good man.”

Michael is determined. He realizes his own destiny, yet still recognizes the aspects of where he can have free choice. You had very little doubts about him before, but the entirety of your worries wash away as you realize that Michael only seeks to honor you, and himself, in the best way he knows how. It seems he would like to prove that even being brought into the world by evil, there is pureness and redemption in the supposed worst people. This is an admirable statement and a job well done, for his example at least. He is responsible and recognizes the consequences of ‘behaving badly,’ as your parents put it. Michael is a very noble man considering his demonic lineage. 

You would like to ask him more, but you wouldn’t like to pry into anything too personal to share. But, you think if you share about yourself, a good conversation should ensue. Half the battle of a good marriage is having good communication with your partner, right?

“I think people would expect a princess to be virtuous, but that’s boring,” you say, raising your glass to your lips again. It’s bittersweet, knowing that you have ended up with somebody who waited with the right intent in mind, but you wasted all your firsts when you were bored and tipsy, looking for entertainment around the castle. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but how many? Please don’t answer if you’re not comfortable, I’m only curious,” he says, looking towards you as long, blonde hair falls to frame his face. 

A small chuckle escapes your mouth as you sit up, leveling your eyes with his. It’s actually not such a high number or bad at all, considering how spaced-out over time your encounters have been. 

“You would make it five,” you say, breaking eye contact and looking down towards the floor. The expression on Michael’s face does not change, even when you look back up towards him. 

“Have you ever, you know?” you ask, a small smile making its way across your face. Michael’s smile perks up and matches yours before he answers. 

“No, Princess. I’m boring, I know.”

It amuses you how back home, Above, this conversation would likely be happening in the opposite direction— a prince or king who’s been around town paired with a naïve princess. Only this time, Michael is not naïve, not one bit. He recognizes what he is doing and the reasoning behind it. You hate to be thinking of this now, but the idea of him sticking to his resolutions and following through is very intriguing— captivating, even. His first time would be with you. Would he be a delicate lover, or a touch-starved man, ready to claim what he has rescued for himself? He must be big, he’s a very tall man. Your eyes wander down to his shoes, glancing down. His feet are almost double the size of yours. And, in your experience, the whole ‘men with big feet’ saying has been surprisingly accurate. 

Again, you take Michael’s dinner jacket and draw him closer to you. A soft kiss is shared between the two of you, and the lingering taste of red wine is present on his lips. Oh, you wish you could throw him down on your bed and show him what he’s missed out on. But, you’re not going to be the one that deters him from his promise to himself. Breaking the kiss, you keep your eyes closed and lean in towards his shoulder. Your noble knight is not going to be deterred by your own bad intentions. 

“When are we to be married?” you ask, voice muffled against Michael’s shoulder. 

“We could begin to make the plans tomorrow if you’d like,” he says, resting an arm on your upper back. Planning seems like the boring part, but it’s one step closer to making Michael your husband. 

“Could you stay? To cuddle?” you say, sitting up and giving your best puppy dog eyes towards Michael. 

“One thing leads to another, Princess,” he says, standing up and gently removing his hand from your back. Now that it’s gone, the feeling of his pressure on your body is more present than if it were there. Before heading out, he takes your delicate hand in his palm and brings it to his lips, leaving you with a soft kiss and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your belly. He walks towards the door and quietly opens it, wishes you a good night, and heads back towards his room. You already miss him next to you, even if you were just chatting. Excited for tomorrow, you get changed quickly and go to bed early, eager to wake up and see Michael again.

///

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes​ @ms-mead​ @daydreamingofcody​ @psychobitchtess​ @swampwitchh13​ @ahstmblrupdates​ @forgivemelucifer​

[briyourmotherdown]

Put On A Show, Darling - Chapter 1

Pairing: Brian May/Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 4137

Warnings: Language, some angst

Description: You and Brian have been best friends for over five years now, and you’ve loved him during most of that time. While you’ve been agonising over your hidden feelings, Brian’s gone and got himself a girlfriend. A serious one. 

A/N: This is my first ever (published) fic, and I’m a little nervous about posting it, but I really hope you enjoy the first chapter with more to come soon. (Give me feedback ! I need to improve !!)

Enjoy :)

Everyone always told me that when I grow up, I’ll fall in love for the first time.

They told me that I would give my all for them, that they would be my everything. 

That I’d fight to the ends of the earth for them, I’d brave the seven seas for them. 

They told me to be careful, that I’d lose myself in them. That how easily they could lift me up, they could let me down. Break my heart, destroy my soul.

And now I’ve learned how it feels, to fall in love. 

And I’ve learned the sting, the fervid burn that rages in your bones. But in my great affliction, he continues on. For they also told me the worst pain of all, when all of your affection, all of your pain, every single tidal wave of infatuation is all simply unrequited love.

 The bright lights reflect against his skin, glowing from the blinding heat and the vigour of his performance. His eyes flitter up from his guitar a few times to scan over the crowd, the room overflowing with energy. Excitement, felicity, admiration.

  You let yourself melt into the audience, heat crawling up your spine, hands shaking in exhilaration. you let yourself pretend for a moment that you’re just another fan. Just another fan staring up at him in adoration as he performs his art. Just another fan who hopes that just maybe he would glance in their direction. Just another fan who after tonight, can go home and rest, holding onto the sweet memories of seeing their favourite band in concert.

  But you’re not.

  You’ve been there from the start. When it was just two men trying to make it. You knew from the start he captivated you. Every fleeting glance had your heart racing and palms sweating. Every small touch had you reeling, internally begging for more. Just the smallest bit more.

  It felt as if you were watching him from behind a double sided mirror, heart in your hand, but all he could see was his own reflection.

  He was the movie, you were the viewer.

  You should’ve made it clearer, you know that. Maybe you shouldn’t have given up so easily.

   But you hid away those feelings, placing them gently in the back of your heart where you prayed he would never find them. You knew he would never find them.

  It’s better that way.

  For you are best friends, inseparable, shoulders to cry on.

  But you could not cry on his shoulder for one thing, as you feared your confession would tumble from your lips before you had time to catch them.

  I love you.

  “You guys were incredible!” You greet the four men backstage, taking in their dishevelled appearances with a wide grin. You hope that no one notices your eyes flit to Brian one too many times, but you can’t help yourself.

  “You think so?” He speaks up first, greeting his best friend with a hug. You close your eyes momentarily, gripping onto the moment before he pulls away all too soon, “Sorry, I’m all sweaty.”

  You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve seen you much worse.”

  He grins at you, and you both share a beat of silence until he speaks once again, “We’re going to the pub after we get changed, you should come along.”

  Your eyes light up, always loving the nights of drunken singing with the band, especially Brian, “I would love-“

  “Brian!” You’re interrupted before you can answer, the all too sweet voice of the girl Brian is currently seeing.

  “Go get changed so we can go, silly. Oh, hi Y/N!” Dani turns to you with a polite wave, and you can barely muster a smile, but of course you do, you have to.

  “Hi Dani, how’ve you been?” You reply, turning your attention away from Brian and praying that both of them don’t notice your voice drop half an octave. Dani is a sweet girl, and as devastatingly heartbroken as you are, you can’t bring yourself to dislike her. She’s a lovely woman, who illustrates childrens’ books for a living, for god’s sake. You wish that you had a reason for the prickling feeling in your stomach whenever you see Dani with Brian. A reason more justifiable than your unspoken love for someone else’s lover.

  “I’ve been great, thanks! Has Bri asked you to come out with us tonight? You should totally join us.”

  “I just asked her, I have yet to get a reply.” He smiles, his sharp canines poking against his bottom lip and causing your stomach to flip.

  “I would love to, you guys, but I have work in the morning and I’d rather be in the land of the living.” 

   You joke, hoping that it’ll hide the fact that you’re lying through your teeth. You do have work, that wasn’t a lie, but you’d much rather stay home with a cheesy romance novel and a hot chocolate than have to suffer through the couples stolen kisses and hushed giggles.  

  “Aw, that’s a shame. Another time, yeah?” Dani finds Brians hand, and your heart pulls.

  “Of course.”

 You smile at the pair, mostly focusing on Dani so you don’t have to look at Brian’s confused face. You always goes to post-concert pubs with the band, it’s almost tradition.

 “I’ll uh, I’ll see you tomorrow morning then?” Brian touches your shoulder, and you try not to flinch as you nod.

  “If you’re coherent by then, yes.” You giggle, “You have a tendency to be a bit of a lightweight.”

 “I do not!” He stammers, cheeks flushing pink.

 “Anyway, I should really get going, sleep awaits.” Lies. “Stay safe, bye you two.”

 And without another word, you turn around, clutching onto the unspoken feelings in your chest as you exit the venue, eyes welling with tears of frustration when you hear  the loud laughter of the couple behind you.  

  You sink to the floor the moment the front door is shut behind you, a heavy sigh exiting your lungs as you cradle your head in your hands.

 Five years.

 Five years you’ve loved him.

 No matter how hard you try, you just can’t free your heart from his grasp. He’s got a hold on you, his grip so tight that it’s almost suffocating, but he doesn’t even realise.

  No matter how many dates you go on with another man, there is never a second meeting. No matter how many drinks you down, his image always stays so clear. It’s like you’re being haunted by him, like the shadows you see in the corner of your eye at two am when no one else is home.

   You’ve had so many chances to tell him, you just never could. You couldn’t ruin the friendship you both share. You couldn’t bear to have him walking on eggshells around you, to have him view you differently because he couldn’t reciprocate the same feelings.

   Picking yourself off of the wooden floors, you trudge to your bedroom to peel off the concert-ridden clothing. You wore it for him. The pale yellow dress that he said complemented your eyes. He didn’t notice, he never does.

   Moments later you’re sat on the shared sofa of your flat, cheesy romance novel in hand and hot chocolate long gone. You thought you’d enjoy the escapism, but you find yourself huffing at the too-easy fantasies. Love isn’t easy. Love can be torture. You close the book and set it in your lap.

   You pick up your black notebook, the cover is slightly scraped and the pages are ripped in places from the frustration of a blocked mind. You pour your thoughts out in a river of smudged ink, scribbling down the hope that maybe one day he’d finally open his eyes to see that you’re right there, and always have been. The pages are full, handwriting barely legible as your eyes begin to droop, notebook still open in your lap as you drift off.

  Your slumber is interrupted by a harsh scraping sound, and you recognise the sound as the front door that’s been broken for months, always scraping against the floor with a horrific screech. The landlord is yet to repair it. The sound is followed by two sets of giggles, followed by the sounds of shushing each other but soon returning to giggles. You sit up, closing your notebook and holding it in your lap as you rub at your sleepy eyes.

   “Y/N? You’re still awake?” Brian slurs slightly, obviously just as drunk as the woman hanging off of him. He’s got lipstick smudges over his mouth and across his neck.

  “I uh-“ You clear your throat, voice scratchy and hoarse from sleep, “I must’ve fallen asleep here.”

  Dani playfully runs her hand down Brian’s chest and you swallow thickly.  

  “Don’t mind me, I’m off to bed anyway.” Rising to your feet, you offer a small wave to the couple. You can barely handle their affection towards each other in the day time when you’re wide awake, but it’s all too much when it’s late at night and you’re exhausted. 

  “We’ll try not to be too loud.” He laughs, finding his own drunken comment comical, Dani erupting into a fit of giggles along with him.

  Your stomach drops, the familiar ache in your chest returning as you force a smile.

  “Goodnight.”

  The soft sheets of your bed welcome you with open arms as you approach it, falling into it with a huff.

  Well, that fucking hurt.

  And he doesn’t keep to his word either, as the muffled sounds of drunken passion reverberate through the two bedroom flat. The noise is still heard through the pillow pressed over your ears and the rain pelting on the window. A tear streams down your face as you finally shut your eyes, falling into a restless sleep once again.

   The shrill, loud ringing of your alarm clock wakes you from your sleep, and you reach your arm out blindly to shut it off. Your hand lingers over it, letting it ring a bit longer simply to annoy the couple in the next room. They kept you up, they should suffer too.

  But with a sigh, you decide not to let your feelings get the best of you, shutting off the alarm.

  Hot shower steam soothes your aching muscles, the scent of vanilla and jasmine helping you to come around from sleep. Your wet hair is blow dried and pinned back into a low bun, a small amount of makeup smudged around your eyes and on your lips in order to liven yourself up. Taking a minute to look fixedly at your reflection, you notice the darkness under your eyes, similar to the dullness in your once glistening irises. You’ve never really enjoyed the way you look, always finding an imperfection some place or another. The feeling only worsened throughout the years of feeling unwanted.

  With a sigh, you slip into your work uniform, grinning fakely at yourself in the mirror, an attempt to lighten your mood.

  It’s seven o’clock in the morning when you arrive, just on time for you to scurry to the back room and put your bag and coat in your locker. The scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries is already wafting through the air as the chefs in the back prepare for the usually very busy Saturday mornings.

  You wave a polite hello to your boss and begin wiping down the counters until customers begin coming in for the day. Your shift today is 7am to 7pm, a long one. This is how you spend your Saturdays—earning money to contribute to your rent. You work on weekdays as well, but not for as long as you do on Saturdays since you also attend university.

   You’re a couple of years younger than Brian anyway, but he dropped out of university to pursue his dream while you continued to study. He’s immensely intelligent, showing you up in conversations at times, but you admire that about him. You’re no idiot, but Brian’s brain moves at a pace that is hard to keep up with at times. You notice the way he slows his diction when around other people, but speeds back up whenever he speaks to you. You remember the pride you felt when you first notice him do this, flattered that he thought you were able to keep up with him.

  A ring pulls you from your reverie, the bell on the door jingling loudly as someone enters. “Y/N, darling!”

  A grin overtakes your features as Freddie waltzes in, his stage persona barely noticeable in his casual attire. You love that he could be someone so flamboyant, so brazen whilst on stage, yet so gentle and unpretentious when the spotlights were off. He was so Freddie, and that’s what made him such an incredible friend.

  Behind him stood John, a friendly smile just brushing his lips. Freddie tugs you into a tight hug the moment you walk around the counter, before pulling away and allowing you to quickly hug John.

  “I’m happy you lot are here, but...why are you here?” You grab some menus from the cart near the door as you speak, motioning with your hand for them to follow you to a booth.

  ‘We missed you last night… and quite frankly we were a bit worried. You always celebrate with us after a gig.” Freddie scoots into the booth, followed by John.

  With a quick glance around the corner to make sure no customers have come in, you sit down across from them. “I didn’t feel too well after the show, I think there was something off with my food.”

  Freddie and John share a pointed look, “I thought you needed to sleep because of work in the morning?” Freddie holds up his fingers in air quotes.

  “Brian told you?” You sigh at being caught in a lie, resting your head in your hands.

 “Dani. We knew from the moment she told us that something wasn’t right. Care to explain why our darling friend couldn’t celebrate with us?”

  “I just wasn’t feeling it last night, guys.” The bell on the door rings and you stand quickly to greet and seat the elderly couple, offering them a tea or coffee.

  “Bullshit.” John shakes his head, and you shush him when the elderly man turns around.

  “It’s not, it’s just that, that-“

  “You didn’t want to be there when Brian and Dani practically shagged on the dance floor?” Freddie pipes up.

  The elderly woman audibly gasps now.

  “Freddie!” You cringe at the image put into your head.

  “Well?” He continues.

  “I...I...you know? About my feelings?” Your shoulders slump when he nods, John joining in.

  “Darling, everyone knows except Brian. Even Roger bloody knows.” John snorts at Freddie’s remark.

  “Does…?”

  “Does Dani know? I think so, yes.”

  You groan and turn around to fetch the couples order, also taking a moment to regain your composure before turning back to the two men.

  ‘Does she hate me?” You pour some coffee into two cups for them, and brew a tea for yourself.

  “The short answer is no, but I’m almost certain that she feels threatened by you.”

   “Me? Why?”

   “Because you’re the only one that really understands that guitarist. He only ever really opens up to you, not even us!”

  Your heart skips a beat at the slightest sliver of hope that something may be there, before you quickly swallow it down. You are best friends, nothing more.

  “We’re just best friends, she has nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh darling, I’m not worried about her, I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?”

  “How much do you…”

  “Love him?”

  “I was going to say like him, darling,” He raises a brow, “but I seem to have gotten my answer.”

  You place your head in your hands once again, shaking it slightly with a strangled groan.

  “Oh dear.” John speaks, glancing at you with pity in his eyes.

  “I can’t help it.” You wince.

  “For how long?”

 “Five years.”

 “Good god!”

 “Freddie!” You shush him, glancing around the cafe, “could you be any louder?”

 “Oh, much, but that’s not the point here. Five bloody years? And you haven’t told him how you feel?”

  “I’ve got close a few times, but I just don’t want to ruin our friendship. He means everything to me and if hiding the way I feel about him means that he stays in my life, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “But what if he feels the same way?”

  “He doesn’t, but either way, that's not a risk I’m willing to take.” Standing up again, you walk behind the counter to wait for more customers, bringing your empty cup with you.

  “Y/N, you can’t just run from your feelings. It’ll break you.” You hear john from behind you as you turn to put the cup in the sink.

   “It’s broken me for a long time, Deaky. I can handle it.”

...

   The wind whips at your hair, pulling and misplacing the strands, but you welcome it, breathing in the crisp air in attempt to clear out the heavy feeling in your lungs.

  Work is long over, but you simply couldn’t face Brian. You didn’t want to see his shoes by the door accompanied by a smaller pair that weren’t yours. After Freddie and John bid you goodbye, work passed by agonisingly slow. Your mind was occupied by thoughts of what could’ve been, it even dared to imagine a time where Brian loved you back.

   The city looks much too large from where you’re standing, the rooftop of a small bar you and Brian both came to know. You’d both sit in their tattered leather chairs, chatting over drinks for hours and hours until he became a bit too tipsy to walk home, and you’d practically carry him to a taxi.

  You’re standing in the exact place you once almost told him you loved him.

    “Wow.” He breathed as you both climbed the last step, revealing the twinkling lights that seemed to stretch forever.

  Your heart beat with adrenaline, from both sneaking into the restricted access of the roof and from how good he looked in the low light. You couldn’t even speak.

   “Why didn’t we find this sooner?” He slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side.

   “No clue.” You melt into him the same way you’ve done many times before. The same way you do when you both pass out watching movies on his tiny television. The same way you do when work and uni becomes too much and he holds you close to him, whispering softly that everything will be alright.

You both stumble slightly as you lean your weight on him, laughing together as you steady yourselves.

  “Careful love, I’m afraid I’m a bit drunk.”

You both laugh, your eyes lifting up to look at his profile as he continues to stare at the city ahead. Your breath hitches, your laughter ceasing. The silence causes him to turn to you, glancing down to be met with your eyes.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I uh…”

  He cocks his head to the side, the glow shadowing over one half of his face. The sheer intensity of his gaze and the sound of cars whooshing past below has your knees weakening, tightening your grip on his arm just slightly.

This is it, this is your chance.

Tell him!

“Y/N?”  He furrows his eyebrows.

“I...you...you have a crumb on your face.”

   Damn it, you idiot!

 “Oh?” He reaches up to wipe his face with his hand, “Did I get it?”

 “Yeah, you got it.” You’re happy that he doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks as you finish your sentence, tears of frustration threatening to spill over.

  Brian smiles once more, squeezing your shoulder before he turns his head away from you once again.

  He doesn’t see the tear glide down your cheek.

 You frown in disappointment at the memory.

 Squinting in the dim light to read the time on your watch, you sigh at the realisation that Brian is probably worried as to why you’re not home yet. You usually get home around 7:30, it now being 10:00.

  So you begin your walk back home, feet dragging against the ground. With each passing step, the more you don’t want to go home. What if Dani is still there?

  The feeling of dread only grows bigger in the pit of your stomach, stopping in your tracks outside of your front door. The deep purple paint is cracked and peeling.

  Suddenly the door swings open, the breeze from the speed fanning over your face.

 “Oh, hi-“

 “Where the bloody hell have you been?” Brian doesn’t let you finish, pulling you inside by your sleeve and closing the door behind the two of you.

 Dani’s shoes aren’t by the door.

 “I got caught up at work, it’s no big dea-“

 “Don’t lie to me, I called your work and they said you clocked out on time.” He cuts you off again, arms crossed over his chest.

  ‘I-“

  “You’re always back at 7:30! Where were you?”

  “Listen-“

  “Explain!”

  “I’m trying to, shut up!” You yell back at him, throwing your arms up in frustration.

  He closes his mouth and presses his lips into a firm line, narrowing his eyes as he awaits an explanation.

  “As I was saying,” you put emphasis on the word, “I just went to Jones’s for a bit, the roof. Needed some air and just lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

  He sighs, uncrossing his arms and sitting on the stool next to the island. “I was worried, I thought something happened to you.”

  “I’m fine. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “That’s hardly the point and you know it.”

  You sigh, shifting on your feet. Your work clothes are feeling exceedingly uncomfortable as Brian stares at you like a child who’s just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He exhales through his nose, standing up from the stool to embrace you in a hug. You hesitate, but wrap your arms around his tall frame and sink into him.

  “Don’t do that again, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

   You close your eyes, taking a breath,

  “I promise.”

   He pulls away from the hug first, walking into the kitchen to fill the kettle with some water, “How was Jones’s anyway?”

  “The actual bar, or the roof?”

  “Both.” He turns on the gas cooktop and sets the pot on top.

   You jump onto the countertop, legs swinging over the edge, “The bar, although cute, still smells like cheese.”

  He scrunches his face up, leaning back onto the counter across from you.

  “The roof? Still beautiful. It was different tonight though, foggy.”

  “Couldn’t see Big Ben?”

  “Afraid he just wasn’t big enough.”

  “Shame.” He hums, nodding his head as a curl falls in front of his eyes.

  “This damn hair.” He huffs, trying to blow the strand out of his vision.

  “Hey, be nice to the mane. I rather adore it.” You lean forward, almost falling off of the counter to push the strand behind his ear.

  To stop you from falling, he moves forwards so that he’s stood in between your legs, hands pressed onto the counter on either side of your thighs. Your hand brushes against the side of his face as you push his hair out of his eyes, it falling back in place a few times before finally staying put. You don’t realise how close your faces are until your gaze shifts from his hair, noticing his hazel eyes right in front of yours.

  The air feels thick as your eyes meet, and you can swear that you can hear his heart beat just as fast as yours. Your hand drifts from his hair to cup his cheek, his eyes glancing down at your lips.

  No, he’s got Dani.  You’re imagining it.

 The kettle begins to whistle, breaking you both apart as he scurries to turn off the heat. You sit with red cheeks, his equally so as he brews the pair of you two cups of tea. You thank him quietly as he hands you your cup.

  Taking a small sip, you push yourself off of the countertop, “I’m going to head to bed. I...goodnight, Brian.” You want to say something, anything about what just happened but you just can’t find the words.

  He glances at you with a shy smile, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

  And with that, you scurry away, placing your cup on the side table before flopping face down onto your mattress. You want to scream, yell, groan, do anything, but you’re aware of Brian in the next room. So containing yourself, you get ready for bed and shut your eyes, tea becoming cold as you drift to sleep.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Love and Happiness Come in Colourful Hands

I did it! Writing prompt from celsiahawthorn about the question how Regis would react to Noctis having a wife and children in Dreams of Our Past.

It got quite long (I seem unable to give short answers). I hope you like it!

Cor burst into the middle of an audience. That in itself wasn’t that strange since his duties as the General of the Lucian army often made him late, seeing as they were fighting a losing war against Niflheim.

Cor being late normally meant there was an emergency, some great thing that had gone wrong yet again. From property damage to people nearly dying during training to surprise attacks of Niflheim, everything had happened at least once during his tenure as king.

Before Regis’ heart could do more than skip a beat in trepidation because the surprise attacks had been happening more and more often as of late, the look on Cor’s face made him feel nervousness of a different kind. It wasn’t that mix of anger, determination and growing resignation he wore every time he brought news of yet another attack, another battle lost, another retreat, more lives to weight on his conscience.

For everybody that didn’t know him very well he looked just as stoic and stern as ever – the unflappable Immortal – but Regis knew better. Something had upset his old friend a great deal. The King saw it in the way he flexed his fingers, how he didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Cor stopped just long enough to follow the protocol in bowing to the King, as was proper. He didn’t wait for an invitation to step up towards the throne, he just did it, causing the other occupants of the throne room to whisper and bristle in indignation. They were soundly ignored.

Under the sharp eyes of the assembled court Cor Leonis bent down towards him and whispered something he had nearly given up hope to ever hearing within his remaining lifetime: “Your Majesty, we have found a trace of Prince Noctis.”

At once Regis’ mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and had to concentrate upon keeping a neutral face, mindful of the witnesses that were watching like a thunderoc stalking its pray. Hope bloomed like a flower deep within his chest, its petals warm like the sun. Maybe this time whoever had tipped them off would prove to be more than a person out for a quick profit. He had seen the records of all the false tipoffs Cor was trying to hide from him.

“My thanks, Lords and Ladies, gentlemen and madams ministers, regretfully we will have to continue this most enlightening discussion another time.”

He lifted his hand as if an afterthought and the court was adjourned. He had already forgotten what they had been talking about not even a minute ago. Some looked like they dearly wanted to protest, but they didn’t dare to – yet. Regis still retained enough of his power added to the not inconsiderable respect to his bloodline, but he knew it wouldn’t last for much longer. Not with him not getting any younger and ignoring their requests to marry again and try for another heir.

After the great double doors had closed, Clarus turned towards them. Next to the three of them only two guards remained with them in the throne room.

“What has happened?” he asked, his face an expressionless mask that was supposed to hide the worry he felt.

Clarus had aged as poorly as him, the lines on his face growing deeper and more numerous by the year. His frame was still strong and solid, but he carried a shroud of tiredness with him that was nearly as palpable as his own, his son a perceived disappointment and his daughter deathly sick. It was a heavy burden to carry.

“Not even half an hour ago I received a concrete lead to Prince Noctis’ whereabouts,” answered Cor, barely holding on to his usual no-nonsense tone when giving a report.

Clarus’ mouth fell open in shock. It would have been funny to see his friend so openly flabbergasted for once, had Regis not needed all his willpower to hold himself together. He had been falling apart at the seams since his son had vanished and now it was like someone had pulled at the wrong threat and he started to unravel.

“Tell me everything and leave nothing out.”

Cor tilted his head in acceptance and pulled a carefully folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. No, realized Regis, that was no ordinary piece of paper, but a thick parchment, like it had been used until maybe two hundred years ago, for official documents. But the sheet in Cor’s hand looked very new. The King hadn’t known that these were still being made. Animal Welfare would have kittens over this.

“At around 10:27am Mrs. Colloquia from the reception called my office. She said there was a woman who claimed to know where the prince was hiding,” Cor started.

“Where is that woman now?” Regis demanded.

His heart was racing a steady staccato in his chest and the rising tension was turning his innards into tight knots. At last he hadn’t eaten breakfast otherwise it would have come back up now.

“She’s waiting in front of the throne room, your Majesty. Ignis has an eye on her. But before you call her in you should know a few things. Firstly, she has a letter with her she’s adamant to give to you in person. She says it’s from Noctis and I believe her.”

“Did you demand proof for her claims?” Clarus wanted to know.

Cor stared at his Shield with that kind of expressionless face he got when he thought the people he was talking to were idiots, until Clarus looked away with a huff.

“She showed me the letter when I asked. It carries the personal sign of the royal crown prince.”

The petals of hope within his chest grew into burning coals. His feelings were a jumbled mess he couldn’t even begin to untangle as he sat in the throne he had wasted the last five years away on and heard the best news he’s been told since he heard of Aulea’s pregnancy.

Noctis’ personal sign was only known to a handful of people and all of them lived and/or worked at the citadel. His son knew to never share it with people he didn’t trust with his life. It was also a precaution against forgery.

“Secondly, she claims to be his wife.”

“What?” yelped Regis and Clarus at the same time, causing the guards remaining to startle.

The King prayed that he’d heard wrong. Noctis was barely twenty. Marriages at so young an age were seldom good. Mors was proof enough for that. Cor gestured towards the folded sheet of parchment in his hand.

“The marriage license,” he said and held it out for Regis to take.

His fingers felt numb as he grabbed the thick sheet with trembling hands. It felt like good quality parchment to him, even if he barely knew anything about parchment at all. Unfolding it proved the sheet to be unusually large and beneath the signatures was a big red wax seal showing an engraved flame under a sun with six rays.

Ifrit’s seal.

That was very unusual.

Regis’ gaze raveled towards the signatures. There were five in total. Bride, groom, two witnesses and the priest. The priest’s signature was an unintelligible series of loops and wavy lines and the ones of the witnesses were only better insofar, that the first letter was actually readable. Noctis’ didn’t look like he remembered it being, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He himself had only developed a consistent one at seventeen after all. The last signature was harder to read than his son’s clear, if squiggly looking cursive, but after a few seconds he had managed to decipher it.

Hiemi Lucis Caelum.

It was a traditional Insmonian name and also a very old one.

The King needed a few seconds to tear his eyes away from his son’s name and looked at the actual text. Even the most traditional marriage license today wasn’t as long as this one. It was clear at once why that was the case. The vows had been written down in triplicate. Once in something that looked like a close approximation of modern Lucian, then ancient Lucian and lastly a language he did not know. The elaborate cursive was also very unusual. His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“That was also my reaction,” said Cor with a hint of amusement, “but it fulfils all the requirements to be a legally binding document.”

Clarus made a face but it didn’t really register to Regis. He read the text again. Even the part in quasi modern Lucian was very formal and took great care to use full titles. Damsel Hiemi Vigilant would enter into the holy bond of matrimony with Patrone Noctis Lucis Caelum, Crown Prince of Lucis, and would gain the title Dame of House Lucis Cealum. It was a chore to read, even for him. The spelling was all wrong and some words he couldn’t make heads or tails of. Not only were ‘v’ and ‘u’ the same, but the ‘s’ seemed determined to be as close to an ‘f’ as possible.

“Is that really wise, Majesty?” asked Clarus who had read over his shoulder.

“Wise or not, this is the first viable clue we have about what happened to my son. Send her in, Cor.”

Both his friends bowed in acceptance, if only grudgingly on Clarus’ part. Curiously leaning forward Regis wondered what kind of person his maybe daughter-in-law was.

 His first thought when he saw her was what a beautiful woman she was, his second that he had never seen the kind of clothing she wore in his life.

She wore a curious thing that looked like a hybrid of a tunic and a dress that was bound around her ribcage in the way of the Ladies during the Founder’s time. The bright orange shawl she wore in her curly black hair clashed horrendously with the sky blue and sunny yellow of her tunic that stopped just shy of her knees.

She was nervous, but she held her head high in stubborn determination and her steps didn’t falter, like so many people’s did when they entered the throne room for the first time. Her hands clutched the strap of the messenger bag that hung from her shoulder. It was obviously handmade with a frame made of bronze coloured rods and worn canvas. Long silvery grey feathers hung from one clasp.

Every step she took echoed loudly from the walls of the throne room. Regis needed a bit to realize that her sandals that wound up her calves in elaborate geometrical patterns were entirely made of metal. That couldn’t be comfortable.

The woman – Hiemi he reminded himself – and Cor who guided her came to a stop before the first set of stairs. “Your Majesty, as ordered, the Lady Hiemi.”

She threw Cor a look like she wanted to stab him as he used the word Lady, but she just dipped into an elegant clearly practiced curtsy in the way ancient Lucian princesses had done towards their King. It had fallen out of use a long time ago when the dresses at court had gained wider and heavier skirts.

“Your Royal Majesty,” she said in an accent Regis had never heard before.

It had a lilting quality to it that was accompanied by rolling r’s and dark sounding vowels. Where did she come from? Her facial features were classical Insomnian, but everything else screamed foreign. Unbidden the corner of his mouth twitched behind his beard. No one called him Royal Majesty outside of official ceremonies.

“Be welcome, Dame Hiemi. General Leonis told me you have news about my son Prince Noctis.”

Regis deliberately used the title he had read in the marriage license. She looked very pleased at that.

“Yes, Royal Majesty,” she said in her lilting accent and rose from her curtsy. “I promised His Royal Highness to deliver his letter in person.”

Anxiously Regis waved her to come to him and with every echoing step she took his heart seemed to miss a beat. He had to suppress the urge to simply stand up and meet her halfway to pry his son’s letter out of her bag. When she came to a stop in front of him, Cor close behind her and his eyes never leaving her slight form, she curtsied again and then slowly pulled a letter out of her bag.

She curtsied yet again, deeper this time, and only stood back up after he had taken the envelope. Whoever had taught her courtly etiquette had been throughout, if two thousand years out of date. Clarus watched the happenings from his left side with watchful eyes.

For a moment Hiemi looked like she didn’t quite know what to do next, but then she stepped back towards landing where the stairs parted towards the gallery. She looked amused by the way Cor kept close to her which was not a reaction people usually had when the Immortal stared at them with a dark face just daring them to give him a reason to draw his blade.

Regis turned the thick envelope between his hands. It had the brownish colour and rough graining of poor quality paper, a crass difference to the high quality parchment of the marriage license. He would have to get it looked over by a lawyer. For a bit longer he simply held the letter, Noctis’ personal sign carefully drawn on the back of the envelope. His fingers traced every line of it. Now that he was so close to an answer he didn’t know if he would be able to bear the words.

Clarus, Cor and Hiemi waited patiently until he had centred himself enough to actually open the letter and read it. The paper was of as bad a quality as the envelope. The handwriting had changed from a scrawled Lucian standard script to a loopy cursive that was worthy of centuries past, but the words were all Noctis. He had to fight with the tears burning in his eyes.

 Father, stood there in solid black ink,

 I will never be able to make right what I have wrought with running away. Know however that it was done to spare you and myself and everybody we hold dear even more pain. It is no excuse and I fear I may never be able to convincingly deliver one.

My actions have let me to get to know wonderful people I wouldn’t have been able to meet if I had stayed. One of them is the woman who has delivered this letter to you, my wife, Hiemi. We married little over a year ago and as far as I am aware she took our marriage license as proof with her.

As for the reason why I had to vanish – and believe me, father, if in nothing else, that I would never have left, if there wasn’t a very legitimate one – I would like to tell you in person. It is not something you should have to read about in a letter, written by me or not.

Just a warning:

Do not, under any circumstances, let the Lucii or Bahamut get a hold on this information. It is a matter of life and death.

Hiemi will be able to answer any immediate questions and, if you want, will guide you to where we are living in Insomnia. Do not worry, father. I love her deeply. She is a wonderful person with a temper like the stories of my mother you always told me when I was young. She will do you no harm.

 Your son,

Noctis

 P.S. Hiemi will keep calling you Royal Majesty until you say different. Correct titles are very important to her people during official happenings and only relaxed at the invitation of the other.

 A wet laugh escaped Regis. Next to him Clarus was beginning to get impatient.

“Majesty,” his Shield said in concern.

He looked like he was close to throwing the only woman in the throne room out of the window. Regis brushed away the tears – when had he started to cry? – and took a deep shuddering breath. Luckily there were only two guards to see him loose his composure. They knew how to keep their mouths shut; otherwise the consequences wouldn’t be pretty for them.

“It is alright, my friend,” he said.

And it really was, Regis realized in surprise. He would have to have a long talk with Noctis, no several very long talks, but this letter alone made him feel better than he had in years. Hiemi still stood on the landing, her fingers tightly linked with each other, and her gaze directed towards him in worry and understanding. Cor looked torn between wanting to hit something and wanting to drag Regis towards a more private part of the citadel.

Carefully he folded the letter back up and tucked it back into its envelope. At once it vanished in a soft clinking sound and the glow of blue magical particles, as he sent it into his armiger for safekeeping.

His daughter-in-law – by the Gods, he had a daughter-in-law – watched with keen and interested eyes as he did so. With a great deal of effort he stood up from the throne, had the strange wave of energy after the earthquake given him a brief respite, his condition was rapidly worsening now. Time was running through his fingers and he could do nothing about it.

“Come, my dear. And you may call me Regis,” he said with a smile and stepped down towards the gallery on his left side.

The young woman lifted a striking black eyebrow but followed his request without a word.

He took a closer look at her, like she did with him. She would see nothing but a tired old man, a tired old man who had been given back a reason to live. Her own face upon first glance was classical Insomnian, like the kind one saw in old paintings. Behind that, however, was something he couldn’t quite define. Long curls tumbled down around her shoulders and towards her waist in a thick curtain.

Cor pulled one of the chairs closer for him to sit down and motioned for Hiemi to do the same. She sat there, shoulders and back straight and even now in her strange clothing had the aura of a royal princess. The silence between them grew uncomfortably long as they simply stared at each other.

“How is he?” he asked at last.

She tilted her head in thought. “He misses you.” That sentence sent a bittersweet pain through his heart. “He tells the children stories about you and how you always try to do right by your people. Astra loves these stories. I think Healer – I’m sorry, Noctis – made half of them up just to entertain him.”

The blooming smile on her face showed her dimples and gave her something girlish. “He works hard, sometimes to exhaustion, but he always makes time for his family. He cannot stand to see people being hurt and does what he can to help them. Sometimes he makes me livid when he wants everything to happen at once. When I first met him and he asked me how he could repay me for my help, I joked that I could use a new house. I didn’t want anything from him but he just wouldn’t let it go. After I said that he didn’t ask again and I thought that was the end of it. Half a year later he told me that my house was finished.”

Regis couldn’t help himself and started to laugh. That was the famed Lucis Cealum Dramatics in action. Cor, who stood beside Hiemi’s chair like Clarus stood next to his, rolled his eyes, his lips twitching dangerously. His Shield dragged his hand down his face in resignation.

It wasn’t the most out there thing a Lucis Caelum had done to impress a love interest and potential partner in marriage, but it was definitely creative. Hiemi’s unusual dark green eyes glittered. Regis could practically touch the love and affection this woman held for his son. He was glad for it.

Then something registered she had said and he abruptly straightened.

“Children?”

She blinked in honest surprise. “Yes. Didn’t He-Noctis write about them in his letter?”

Regis shook his head without a word, a sudden burst of nervous and giddy energy traveling through him. Hiemi sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. She muttered something, her accent thickening until he couldn’t understand a single word she said.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked in surprise.

He didn’t speak all languages that existed on Eos, but he liked to think that he could at least place all of them. This one he had never heard before. It made him feel unsettled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought he would remember to mention his own children in his letter to you,” she answered clearly annoyed that her husband hadn’t done so.

“Children,” he said again.

Next to him Clarus choked and muttered something under his breath he didn’t bother to understand, too busy with trying to understand how his son had managed to have children.

Children.

As in more than one.

How had that happened?

It had been generations since the royal family had been able to produce more than one child per generation. The royal family was now bigger than it had been for near three hundred years. There was him, Noctis, his wife and –

“How many children are there?”

“Two,” Hiemi answered as if she didn’t understand the enormity of that statement. “A girl and a boy. Solaris – the girl – is the older one. She’s eight years old and Noctis found her beaten half to death in an alleyway. She clearly is a Lucis Caelum,” she hurried to add when she must have seen something on his or Clarus’ or Cor’s face, “Noctis said his magic recognized her as one. Astra is the boy and three years old. Noctis is his birth father and I adopted him as my own when his birth mother didn’t want him. He needing help to take care of the little star is how we met each other.”

A fond smile curled at her lips and made her face gain a maternal softness he had often seen in Aulea before she had died, when she had talked about their child. Something in him relaxed at that knowledge.

But by Bahamut’s bladed wings. He was a grandfather.

He had never dared to hope after the crystal had chosen his Noctis as the Chosen King, but now giddy warmth that sang of lovelovelove traveled through his very being and he couldn’t stop the wide smile even if he had cared to try.

Hiemi answered his smile with one of her own and reached into her bag. The canvas was covered in colourful patches someone with a careful hand had sewed on. He couldn’t say what the bag’s original colour had been. His daughter-in-law pulled out more papers that had been carefully folded, even if most of the sheets were full of crinkles. It was a whole stack of them.

“The children did these for you,” she said and held them out towards him.

He took them as if they were one of the most precious things he had ever held within his hands. And it was true, he may have not seen them yet, but his grandchildren had made them for him, they had never met him, knew only stories and still they had made him a present, and that was enough for him to treasure these until his dying day. He could see at first glance that they were all pictures of some kind.

Tears were threatening to fall again.

“Thank you,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat.

Hiemi just smiled in understanding. “Neither Solaris nor Astra could decide which ones I should take with me, so they gave me all of them.”

Regis took the first sheet and unfolded it, mindful of the poor quality of the paper. On it were five handprints in different sized and colours. In childish letters there was written something under each of them. The smallest one was midnight blue and under it was the Name Astra, next was Solaris’ handprint in vibrant red, followed by three handprints that clearly were from adults, in green, gold and purple. Under each was a word that he did not know. Lastly there was a word or name that lacked a handprint. Hiemi seemed to notice it because she leaned forward a bit and motioned at each one.

“The green one is me and ‘mati’ stands for mother, ‘tata’ under the golden hand means father, ‘avunculus’ is uncle and ‘natata’ is grandfather.”

Oh, this was… he lacked the words to express how he felt at that moment. This was a family portrait without faces and they had included him in it.

“It was Solaris who came up with it and before we knew it Ardyn had gotten the paints from somewhere.”

“Ardyn?” he asked because he didn’t know what else to say.

Hiemi motioned towards the purple handprint that at the same time was the biggest one.

Huh.

Ardyn.

Why did that name haunt him everywhere he went?

[metiterasu]

Inktober/OCtober week 2

Oh boy here we go again

Day 8 - Storm

Her magic wasn’t traditional. Wasn’t by the book, wasn’t taught in classrooms where it could be controlled and channelled. No, the storm that burned and raged inside of her was constantly growing, threatening to burst out and the slightest loss of control.

To keep it contained was a daily struggle, even accepting her feelings, accepting her situation and accepting the things she had done, the storm raged on.

It scared her, made her second guess every spell. Would this one be wrong? Would this one misfire? Would this be the one that killed another friend?

No. Not anymore.

Her magic wasn’t traditional, but it was hers and that’s all she cared about.

Day 9 - Study

“Shouldn’t you take a break Llyra?”

Her quill taps against the sheet of paper, creating a small pool of ink under the tip. “Can’t.” she mumbles out, “Too important.”

Prim sighs and sets down another cup of coffee on the small desk in their shared study. The movement makes Llyra look up from her paper briefly, nodding in thanks.

“Sleep is also important. You won’t be able to take the test if you can’t stay awake for it!”

“I’ll just take it and crash after.”

“We have a lecture right after!” Prim taps Llyra lightly on the head with a loose piece of paper.

“I’ll just skip it.”

“Honestly, if you attended the lectures you wouldn’t have to spend all night studying!” Prim sets the paper neatly on a very messy stack to Llyra’s left. “Just go to sleep soon, alright?”

Llyra gives a vague sound of confirmation, “Sure sure…”

Day 10 - Memes

"You and Pokke are kind of close, huh?"

"Hm? I suppose so" Llyra looks up at Anya, "Why this suddenly?"

"Oh, I was just thinking out loud. Do you think she'd do anything for you?"

Llyra narrows her eyes in suspicion, "What are you up to Anya…"

"Nothing! Nothing, I just want to test your relationship a little!"

The elf sighs and closes her book, "Alright, you want to see how close we are?"

"Yeah! Do a… what's it called..." Anya taps one finger on the side of her head, "Oh! A trust fall! Or… something."

"I can do better." Llyra stands up, placing her hands on her hips.

She looks around and spots Pokke in the distance, holding a mug and staring off into the trees.

Llyra grins as a plan forms in her head. "Well." She turns back to Anya, "If I run and leap at Dara, she will absolutely catch me in her arms."

"...Absolutely?"

"Absolutely." Llyra takes a small step back and then sets off into a run.

Pokke, alerted by the footfalls suddenly sounding across the stones, turns to look at Llyra curiously, then realisation dawns on her face.

"I'm coming in!"

"No! I'm holding coffee!" Pokke looks around for somewhere to put her cup but it was too late.

Llyra takes a running leap at her friend and, as promised, is caught in Dara's arms, at the sacrifice of her coffee. She turns her head to Anya in the distance, giving a peace sign, "See? Told you!"

Pokke lets go and unceremoniously dumps Llyra on the floor. "Warn me next time."

Day 11 - City

Tall spires and bustling streets marked her arrival to the next city. Wagons rattled past and people of every race rushed around her on their daily business.

Llyra gazed up at the change of scenery, feeling lost in this new place. She scanned the horizon, looking for anywhere that would count as an inn or a tavern. Pulling her coin purse out of her bag and wondering if she would even be able to stay her for very long before being forced to move on.

The sprawling buildings seemed to stretch on forever into the distance, making her suddenly feel very small among the crowd.

“Wonder how long until everything catches up to me…”

She pauses outside of a building, swinging sign above the door reading “The Vagabond” telling her she had reached her destination.

With a sigh she pushes the door open, clinging tightly to her cape as she made her way through the crowd of patrons inside.

Day 12 - Obsess

“No, no, no!” Llyra grabs her hair in frustration, tugging on the thick locks while she angrily turned the page of the book in her lap. “There’s nothing in here!”

Pokke looks up from her own book where she was also trying to research. “Maybe you should take a break? You’ve been at this for a long time…”

Llyra tosses one book aside and picks up another from the pile behind her, “I can’t. Unless you want to be stuck in this stupid place for the rest of your life.”

“Not particularly, but it’s been days Llyra. You’ve barely left this room.”

A sigh tumbles from her lips as she loudly closes another book and moves onto the next one, “I’ll leave when I find out something – anything useful. Then I’ll let myself rest.”

Pokke gets up from her spot across the room and sits on the floor opposite Llyra, putting a hand on the book the elf was attempting to read, forcing her to stop. “Have you eaten today?”

Silence provides her with the only answer she needed.

“Llyra. We need to get out of here sure, but not at the cost of your own health.”

“… I’ll take a break soon I swear.”

Pokke sighs, removing her hand from the book and placing it on Llyra’s shoulder instead. “You will, or I’ll force you to stop by dragging you out of this room.”

A slight smile tugs at Llyra’s lips at that, “I will, I will. I need to grab more paper anyway.”

Satisfied that her friend will actually take a break, Pokke stands up and heads for the door, “I’ll be back soon, alright?”

Llyra nods with a smile and returns to her book, wondering what to do with her break later.

Day 13 - Waiting

Llyra propped herself up on the windowsill, looking out into the garden below. The path leading up to the house was clearly in view from the library, so she spent most of her time here. The light had begun to fade, and the sun cast dark shadows into the gloomy room.

She was waiting. Waiting for her parents to walk up the garden path. They had said they would be back tonight after all!

She settled down on the windowsill with a short book and waited for the first sign of anyone in the garden.

Hours passed by, book after book piling up on the table beside her, the long shadows long having given way to darkness, the room slowly becoming shades of grey in her darkvision.

She vaguely remembered the maid coming into the library and asking if she would be here all night, she had nodded at the time, she couldn’t miss mama or papa appearing after all. But doubts were starting to creep in as she looked out the window once more and was only greeted by the empty, still garden. Immaculate and untouched, no one had passed through it for days.

She lets out a long sigh and slides off the windowsill, taking one last peek through the window before making her way to her own room in the lonely darkness of the house.

Day 14 - Play

“There she is!”

A high-pitched voice sounded out over the shared courtyard of the school. Llyra turns to face it and sees three small figures approaching her.

“Oh?” she says curiously as they all catch up to her, “What could- ah!”

The ‘leader’ of the free grabbed Llyra’s wrist, “I told you I would find her!”

“Miss Orana! Can you show us that trick you were doing with the big kids?” One of the girls said, her tail swishing from side to side.

“T-Trick?” She thought back to earlier in the day and- ah, “That wasn’t a trick, it was very dangerous magic.”

A chorus of ‘wooaaaaah!’ sounds out from below her and she sighs, “Look, I can show you some other stuff but this isn’t playing okay? It’s very dangerous!”

The taller boy nods vigorously, “I won’t tell anyone! I swear it on my life!”

“Alright, alright!” Llyra crouches down with a soft smile on her face and produces a small flame in her hand and immediately raises it up as the human girl reaches for the fire. “I said it was dangerous!”

The young girl shrinks back with a nod, making Llyra feel bad for yelling.

“Are any of you interested in magic?” Llyra asks, looking at each of their faces.

“Not me! I’m gonna be Neverwinter’s best swordsman!” The boy grins.

“I-I like magic!” says the tiefling girl, holding her hands in front of her chest.

“Well,” Llyra extinguishes the flame in her hand, then pats the boy on the head, ruffling his hair gently, “People need to move a lot to use magic you know? So, they’ll need people like you to protect them. Do you swear to protect your friend from anything?”

The boy looks at his friend, then turns back to Llyra with a grin, holding his toy sword in one hand, “Of course!”

Llyra smiles, “Good.” She raises from her crouch, “Now run along, train a lot and I can teach you more someday!”

The three children call out “Thank you!” as Llyra walks away from the group, laughing softly.

[inazumashiko-archived]

Everything

because all of this is only possible thanks to @idonthaveabackstory, it is a gift for his wonderful author, the lovely Kara.

Shiko had been several hours well into dull paperwork, drowsing trade agreements from the provinces she had to go over before the meeting at the end of the week, and just the usual onceover of the palace advisors on the things that needed revising, when the door to her office opened. She didn’t look up from the sheet of paper currently between her fingers, though, expecting Niko or any of the advisors to interrupt her if it was something urgent, or wait if it wasn’t.

Silence filled the room as she finished the reading. A hand moved on it’s own towards her cup, taking a sip only to find the coffee much too cold. She heated it up automatically, as her other hand marked just a few changes that needed to get done, and placed the paper on a neat pile to her side. When she looked up, her lips stretched into a smile over the brim of the now steaming porcelain. One like only her children managed to pull from her.

Everything on her desk was instantly pushed from her mind, as she took in the look of her youngest, Hikori. Hands neatly folded on his lap, the boy was perfectly sitting on one of the chairs across from hers; all the way on the backrest, his feet were on the air, their movement the only note of his impatience. Her chest warmed at her baby’s calm demeanour, so much like his father, like her brother even.

Her children knew they could come to the office whenever they needed of her, and were nothing if not polite with not abusing of it, or waiting for Shiko to finish her work before addressing their concerns, but there were varying levels for it of course. Had it been Raeden on the chair, well- there had been sparks flying around the room in the past.

Shiko made her way around the desk, kneeling in front of his chair, hands taking Hikori’s little ones in hers. He was always so cool, she took a hand to his chubby cheek, thumb caressing over the messy brow that was clearly from his dad’s side. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“We’re having a tea party, and I’m bait.” He announced, proudly, and so very innocently, Shiko laughed. Gold splattered, green eyes, tightened with his grin, when he joined her.

“Is that so?” She shook her head, standing and picking him up to fix at her hip. “I’m not sure you were meant to say that part, sweety, but I’m glad you did. Come, let’s go find that party.” Hikori leaned his head on her shoulder, a hand finding a lock of hair behind her neck, keeping it safely between his fingers.

It would seem his siblings thought he’d get the job done, get her out of the office to play, and they weren’t wrong, work was definitely forgotten for the day. Being the little one, he often got away with a lot more than the other two rascals, that had already found ways to try and exploit their prince and princess condition.

Shiko found Niko waiting out the door, and asked her to put the office in order, giving word not to be disturbed on what remained of the day, unless it was urgent.

It didn’t take long for Shiko to find the spot, if it wasn’t for the lovely blend scent of the tea, for the poorly hushed voices of her kids. Hikori squirmed in her grasp, and she let him down on the floor to run the rest of the way out to the little decked garden. A surprise it was then, good thing she needn’t feign happiness with anything that involved her babies. And yet, she found herself genuinely gasping, a soft, happy sound, when she got to the door.

“Mako.” Shiko’s heart flipped in her chest at the sight of her husband, which was silly, considering she’d seen him less than twelve hours ago. But he had that effect on her still, even after all these years, a wedding, three kids, and waking up to him every single day.

But for one, she thought he’d be out until dinner time, and then- how could she not lose her breath when he was like this; red all around him in the form of his stunning regalia, and their three kids, clinging to him with nothing but love and adoration in their eyes. She’d never tire of this sight.

“Fire Lord, so nice of you to join us.” He greeted her. The kids scrambling to their feet to hug at her middle, Shiko locked eyes with her husband; hers, warm with emotion, his, a dangerous mix of love and fire, and she had to shake her head to clear it from the thoughts that incited. Terrible, terrible man. She’d deal with him later.

“Hello, my darlings.” Shiko stooped to greet each of the kids, a shower of kisses and tickles, until they surrendered, before moving to brush a soft kiss on Mako’s lips, kneeling on the other side of the squat table.

Tea was a lovely and fun affair, as it usually was. Mako served it, the kids filled the air with stories and anecdotes, and their mouths with pastries, and Shiko watched everything unfold around her in a blissful state.

Raeden, already in her last year of primary school, sat cross legged to Shiko’s right, between Mako and her. She was the spark; fire, and lightning, free and confident, and so charming already. Her tutors said she’d get everything she wanted in life, now if she could only manage to sit still for the whole of a lesson… She talked about her training, the last letter she’d received from her uncles, and added a couple of well placed comments and eye rolls at her brother’s stories, so reminiscent of Azula, Shiko could hardly scold her for it.

To her left, Tatsuya sat properly on his knees, his back straight, and his words much more hand picked than his sister’s, albeit less elaborate, given the five years she had on him. He was the equanimity; focus and thought, poise and traditions, and had his father’s quality to enchant a room full of the most venomous ministers. He was excited about school, about learning more, and having homework, and he was actually excited about his royal lessons.

On her lap, Hikori made active use of his toddler’s half tongue, talking about all and everything, and trying out the words he heard that caught his attention. Every once in a while, he’d get stuck on one of them, repeating it until it lost all meaning, and got them all laughing at his excitement. He was calmness; balance and breathing, freshness and strength. He was their little earth baby, already showing signs of his element being that of his uncle, having little pebbles react to his tantrums.

Soon enough, the tea turned into dinner, and then it was time to go to bed. Mako dismissed the governess for the night, and they prepared the kids for bed themselves, Tatsuya’s room the place to take the party to next.

Raeden and Tatsuya tucked in the middle of the massive bed, little Hikori snuggled to Mako’s chest on one side, and Shiko started to read the story for the night on the other. It was one of spirits and adventures, and every so often Raeden made fire figures in the air to represent the characters. Hikori would squeal each time, Tatsuya scoff something along the lines of ‘show off’, and Shiko would catch Mako’s warm eyes over the cover of the book. Their family, her smile told him, this was their wonderful family.

Somewhere along the way, the day caught up with her, and she fell asleep. She was woken up by her husband’s rich voice, reading the end of the story to her two eldest, Hikori snoring softly between Mako’s arms.

A kiss on each forehead, Shiko stood, Mako doing the same, putting the book back into its place on the shelf. She stayed by the end of the bed, warm arms wrapping around her middle, she smiled and leaned back into Mako’s chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Can you believe we made them?” She often asked that question, especially when the three were together, and calm. Their faces relaxed, chests rising and falling slowly, a mess of hair, and little limbs all over the bed.

“It is pretty amazing.” Mako’s answer was soft, almost reverential, as if to say he really couldn’t. Soon they’d be too big for this, Raeden would be at least, and yet, it seemed only yesterday, when each had been put in her arms for the first time. It was ridiculous, the amount of love she could fit within herself for her babies.

With a soft kiss to her cheek, Mako laced their hands together, and led her out of the room, to their own, on the other end of the wing. Shiko leaned into his shoulder, her free hand toying with the golden trim at the hem of his robe.

“Wait, don’t-” She stopped his motions when they reached the suite, Mako’s fingers halting midwork of unfastening his robe. The way the right corner of his lips curled up told on her.

“Yes, my Lord?” He teased, a thumb brushing over her cheek, that burned all the way to the depths of her belly. And suddenly Shiko was not the Fire Lord anymore, but a much too shy princess again. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and her skin was aflame, blushed all over most likely than not. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Just- don’t take it off just yet.” Shiko liked to believe her voice sounded confident, even when it’d been but a whisper. He just rendered useless.

Her eyes took him in, the fine silks hugging his body perfectly, the darkened tangerine of his eyes, and the tiny lines at the sides of his eyes. Her fingers moved to trace them, and then up, to tangle in his hair, where some graying strands where slowly showing. He let her examine him, smiling with a confidence she had out to the public, but not in a private setting, not with him. Not when a single press of his hand on the small of her back had her gasping.

“Found anything you like, Shiko?” Mako asked, but didn’t let her answer, fingers closing around her chin, pulling her up for a kiss that left her breathless, and alight.

When she gathered her thoughts again, she was in bed with him, warm and contented between his arms, tracing lazy patterns on his abdomen.

“Everything, Mako.” She breathed softly to the skin of his chest, and slowly drifted to sleep.