#when scar spoke earnestly how much he always knew he was meant to be an imagineer since he was a child I teared up..

[linktoo-doodles]

Didn't you hear? He's the elf imagineer!

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark Part 29 (Appendix J.P.1)

Well, I hope you haven’t forgotten all about James and Baby. Because it just might be that they have a history worth exploring a bit further...

Please keep in mind that this goes back to when you and James were younger, so you haven’t gone through that maturity that you do together (in the A/U universe) yet. 

“Lying back on top of your bed, your legs naturally wrapped around James’ waist. As the two of you kissed, pressing your soft tongues against each other and breathing out in time with each other, you both started to move slightly against the other, gently pushing your hips against each other’s warmth. You moaned softly and wrapped your arms around him. You wished he’d kept his shirt on, if only to give you something to clutch tightly, but then again, you’d trade the warmth of his body on yours for anything, even if meant having to hold back and little and be more careful so you wouldn’t leave nail marks all down his broad back.

As strong as James was physically, he was a bit of a whiner when it came to any lasting pain. Usually, the very thought of remembering how badly James had whined the first time you’d accidentally marked him up made you giggle. He’d been so very pouty with you all day, asking you to gently rub his back while he curled up next to you, his large, muscular body all hunched over to try to melt against your much smaller figure. He also chased your kisses all day, telling you he definitely deserved long, soft kisses from your lips. That was how you’d found out you liked those drawn-out, gentle, and breathy kisses with James.” 

- Light and Dark, Part 10 

[Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Nonconsent.] [Warning: Reference to Scratching/Blood/Scars.] [Warning: Reference to Rough Sex.] [Warning: Emotional Dependency/Possessiveness.] [Warning: Hard to Explain, But Concepts of ‘Hurt’ and ‘Possession’ Mixed-up with ‘Love.’ In Short, Confused and Immature Notions of Love.] [Warning: Fluff Overload.] Basically, if you do not enjoy stories that touch on neediness and are rather fluffy, please do not read this one. I also want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. And of course, in reality, loving someone should not translate into taking unpleasurable/unwanted pain or degradation from that person, or anyone else. 

*Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

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“Baby,” James moaned. He sidled his head between the book you were holding and your lap. Behind his nerdy glasses, he gave you a wide-eyed, innocent gaze – but you knew better than to fall for it.

“What is it?” you sighed. James had been groaning all morning, and it had been about the same thing –

“You hurt me.” As he spoke so earnestly - too earnestly, James looked up at you with what could only be described as doleful puppy eyes.

The accusation made your pride bristle. “I did not,” you protested, and you made to push his head off your lap.

But James clung to you, deftly turning so that he could wrap his arms around your waist and bury his face in the softness of your sweater and your tummy.

“James, what are you doing?”

“Mm,” James breathed out softly. “I can see why you like to cuddle now.”

You didn’t respond, trying in vain to continue reading your textbook, which you were now having to hold up in the air. You felt that this bordered on the ridiculous, to have this rather clumsy-looking and broad-shouldered boy trying his best to fit himself into your far smaller silhouette.

“It’s nice being the little spoon, isn’t it?” James remarked conversationally, his voice lilting gently as it always did when he was gearing up to tease you.

Without giving yourself away, you subtly glanced down. With James’ head bowed down, you could see down the back of his collared shirt just a little, and you could make out the tips of the red scratches you’d left on him when the two of you had had a rather frantic, messy, and desperate rendezvous last night.

“Maybe I should’ve cuddled you from behind last night,” James murmured thoughtfully, while still hugging you. “Missionary was a bad decision, now that I think about it.”

“Well, if I knew you were going to be such a crybaby about it, I wouldn’t have done it,” you replied wryly.

James merely buried his head against your tummy even more. Even without his saying it, you knew what he meant. He was asking you, You really aren’t going to show me any sympathy here? 

“Does it actually hurt?” you asked him, relenting.

Eagerly and quickly, James replied in his best ‘pitiful’ voice, “Loads. Loads, I tell you. Worlds of hurt, some might even say.”

You rolled your eyes at his incredibly overdramatic answer. However, you finally soothed James a little by running your hand lightly down his back. Still, after only a moment of silence, you couldn’t help except to chide him, “All right, so I gave you a few scratches on your back. You’re a Quidditch Captain, for Merlin’s sake. My scratching you can’t have been any worse than being hit by a Bludger.”

“It is worse,” James insisted, his voice rather muffled by your sweater. “Scratches are worse than bruises.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. They itch.”

“You’re being perfectly ridiculous,” you told him bluntly. “How long are you going to keep moaning about this?” Your hand came to a stop on his back, and you gave him a light slap instead.

James finally lifted his head, though he kept his strong arms resolutely around your waist. “I’m ridiculous?” he asked you, lifting his eyebrow at you. “You left a giant red X on my back, as if you’ve been somehow hiding the claws of a demon in those little hands of yours, and I’m the ridiculous one?”

You should have noticed how James’ eyes flashed behind his glasses, indicating a sudden switch in his persona, but you didn’t notice, as you purposefully picked up your book again and made a point out of continuing to ‘read’ it. Without sparing him even the meanest glance, you replied, simply and shortly, “Yes.”

James’ gaze narrowed ever so slightly. He deserved your attention, goddamn it. You’d spent a good portion of yesterday night marking him up as yours, didn’t you? “So ridiculous you won’t even look at me?” he pushed.

“I just answered you: ye – Mm…”

James suddenly kissed you. I’m yours, he thought fervently, pressing himself to you. Don’t you - Doesn’t that mean anything to you?

“J-James! What are you -?” Your hands came up and met his chest. 

“I’m stopping you from being mean to me, baby. Once you get on a roll, you don’t let up,” James mumbled, no longer pushing himself any harder against you and instead letting you hold him back with your hands pressed to his chest, but still ducking his head a little and chasing after your lips. “Swear you’re even worse than Sirius, and that man lives to hear himself think.”

“Huh?” you fumbled, not following.

“He thinks he’s a god whenever he shows a simple sign of life, y’know.”

“Wait, you’re saying I’m worse than Siri - ?” you started to say, infuriated. But James had caught your lips in his again, and he was kissing you so, so well. You found yourself melting into the kiss. “Mmm, James…” you moaned out, without meaning to. You hesitated. As you realized that you’d just let slip such obvious signs of pleasure, you blushed slightly. 

Seeing that blush and hearing your voice sweeten like that, James sat up. His arms slid from your waist up around your torso, pushing your own arms up, so that it was only natural for you to hug him back. Only natural… to love him back…

“Ah…” you breathed out softly. But you gathered your wits long enough to mumble, “‘M not worse than - than Sirius.”

“‘Course not,” James agreed lovingly. “I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart.”

You paused. Your brain was a bit foggy. Breaking away from him for a moment, you blinked awake again before replying with certainty, “I think you did mean it that way.”

“‘S old news. Nonsense and the like. I’m sorry. Just, come here, come back, baby, please,” James murmured to you, hardly aware of the excuses spilling out of his mouth as he reached for you again. He couldn’t bear to have you so close to him, and not be in his lap. That seemed a punishment that no amount of teasing could possibly deserve.

You let James loop you right back in to him, appreciating the way he pulled you in tight against his warm, sturdy chest. But then, James paused, and the sudden stop in his movement in was rather awkward. You cocked your head up at him, a bit puzzled by how he was acting today. “James?”

“Give me your mouth today” he whispered. “I want your kisses, sweetheart. Want them all for myself.” Then, without waiting for an answer, James pushed his mouth warmly against yours. God, he loved the taste of you. If only you knew, he thought. But he couldn’t explain how much he loved to taste you - all of you, and to have your warm, soft little mouth captured in his. It made him sad, that he couldn’t quite tell you, and all James felt that he could do was to keep pushing his mouth against yours and pray that it would somehow spell out love for you, too - like some strange, secret message spelled out in the stars. James could only hope that your eyes would catch his light, somehow, and recognize it as the color of his soul, the very soul that he would like to offer up to you.

Your head slowly tipped back against the wall behind you, until you really were gazing up at the very sky and stars that James had made for you. Your poor textbook had already tumbled to the floor ages ago and the language of such words had already become completely lost to you. Instead, the only symbols that spelled out any meaning for you were the bright lights that guided you home - back to James, of course, for James had been the one to put the stars in the sky for you because he loved you and because he missed you whenever you were away. 

Now, your hands, no longer preoccupied by a heavy book, fell lightly on top of James’ shoulders. You steadied yourself a little as he kissed you – Well no, actually, that was a lie. James was holding you so tightly to him that that couldn’t be true. Well then maybe,you thought fuzzily, maybe I just want to – to touch him. To lose myself in his warmth. Yes, something about James is so wonderfully… comforting… I want to be with him, always. You sighed out in pleasure, and James felt your soft mouth breathe out, and he marveled at how affectionate and giving you were now.

“See?” James whispered to you, his lips still hovering just above yours. “You know how to play nice, love.”

“Yeah,” you murmured back, before you kissed him again – “Remember, baby?” - kiss - “Between us two,” – kiss – “we decided that - ah -” - kiss - “I’m the one with” –  kiss - “good manners.”

“I do remember that. But then, why’d you have to go and scratch my back up like a little hellcat last night, huh?” James asked you. He kissed you again, and his words were barely coherent as he confessed against your lips, “It hurt to put on my shirt this morning, you know.”

You grimaced slightly. Your hands now snuck up into his hair – his awfully messy, totally boyish hair. You gave his locks a little tug, letting James know that you were still rather annoyed with this strange line of affection he seemed to insist on today. 

James unabashedly shook his head at you, as if to say, And what have you got to be mad about, hm?

Everything, even the mere fact that I like you so much, you wanted to say, but – oh gods, you just wanted to kiss him again, you wanted his lips pressed fervently against yours so very badly. You could never, never have enough kisses and hugs from James Potter. The sheer desire to press yourself against him even more – your lips, your body, your everything - made you shiver with want in James’ arms.

James, mistaking your light shivers as your being cold, took the opportunity to tease you, “Well, if only someone hadn’t ripped up my back last night, I might have worn my jumper and been able to give it to a certain someone else.”

Your pride flared up inside of your chest. You had been about to lean in towards James yet again, for another sweet kiss, but you caught yourself. Instead, you sat up straight, keeping your head back and shoulders tall, trying to look dignified and regal even while you were fully contained in James’ arms, for he was still holding you and pinning you up gently against the wall behind you.

James gazed at you, taking in the sharpness of your expression and the defensiveness in your eyes. But he waited patiently for his baby to come back to him, to realize that underneath all of his playfulness, he just loved you.

And there you were, sat in his lap, thinking, if only James would come to me and kiss me first… Because you were too prideful to just let him get away with such teasing comments. Finally, you came to the conclusion that one shoddy way to save your pride was to let your own grievances be known.

“Well, I couldn’t walk this morning, so…” you mumbled. “Figured we’re even... at least...” Your voice slowly faded away into nothing, and you stared hungrily at James’ lips instead. All he has to do was lean in a little. Surely, he wouldn’t mind doing that? Surely…

James’ lips curved up knowingly. There’s my baby. She knows. She knows, all right.

“What?” you blurted out, out of the blue.

“I didn’t say anything,” James told you. His eyes crinkled warmly at you as he realized, “But I don’t need to, do I?”

“’Cause you just can’t keep your eyes off me, can you, kitty?” James drawled, evidently very pleased with himself for his own ability to draw you in.

Scoffing, you started to look away, but James quickly caught your chin with between his finger and his thumb. Don’t run away, baby. Can’t you see I want you? I want you so bad I’ll say all kinds of stupid things just to get your attention, sweetheart. You’ve got to forgive me; more than that, you’ve got to love me, even if I am a bit of a fool on days like these, - well, maybe especially when I’m a bit of a fool on days like these, when I can hardly contain myself because of how much I want to be with you. James gently pushed your face back so that he could nuzzle your nose with his. He whispered lowly, “When I made love to you yesterday, baby - ”

Your breath hitched at the mere mention of yesterday night, for James’ words called forth the wonderful, intense memory of his strong, muscled thighs and hips pushing forward as he took you, took your little cunt roughly and claimed it as his own - as his sweet, lovely baby’s. Yes, James had been beyond determined to fill up your tight cunt, so he could fuck you full of his cum. You could still recall the dull thudding that kept ringing out in the room as James’ headboard met the dormitory wall over and over again, until your back arched beautifully off the sheets. You had grasped the sheets on either side of you, ruining James’ sheets and not caring in the least. Crying out with pure, reckless abandon, you had cum – oh, fuck, you came so hard, drenching your thighs and James’ cock with your sweet, glistening cum all over. That, you supposed, was most likely when James had fervently wrapped his arms around your waist and rather impatiently yanked you up. Growling, he’d kissed you, stealing your breath away right when you needed it most – So what choice did you have but to sink your nails into his back and scrabble away until he finally let you part from him just far enough that you could finally breathe…?

“… And you’re gone,” James recognized. His smirk growing ever bolder, his voice fell even lower and became deceivingly gentle as he whispered softly, “Am I that good?” For the thought that you might want him too made his heart flutter.

But even before the anticipation of being loved back could fully form in his heart, James saw that in a flash, your irritation came back in full force. You jerked your head back, away from him, as you muttered, “Sod off,James.”

“But I don’t want to,” James told you, still speaking quite softly. Now, finally, he was speaking the truth. “I don’t want to leave my baby all alone. I hate not being with her. I miss my little hellcat when she’s away.”

That’s the point of all this, you silly baby, James thought to himself, almost somberly. That’s the whole point of me whining to you all day. 

“S-Shut up, you’re always speaking nonsense,” you muttered. Yet, to James’ utter delight, you couldn’t hide the soft blush spreading across your cheeks. Damn it, he always pulls out the most ridiculous lines – and I know it, too – but… but it works, you thought to yourself, frustrated and yet too charmed to be frustrated. I can’t help it. I want to be his. I want to run to him and be in his arms, always. You wondered vaguely when the roles had become switched, when James had become the one to soothe you. Well, you thought, the truth is that he’s always so generous with his love. I never have to question that he’s there for me, waiting with his arms wide open to hug me. I realize that I’m not as open about my feelings. I s’pse I could do a better job of being there for him, after all... 

Your hands, which had remained, almost helplessly, on James’ shoulders (because even when you were annoyed by him, you didn’t want to part from him, not even for one second) now slowly curled up into tight fists. You held onto the shoulders of his shirt, clutching at him, to tell James through your actions that you, too, hated not being with him.

James smiled, and that smile spread into an outright beam, as James saw proof that he’d won your heart again, the way he hoped to every single day.

“James,” you whispered feelingly. Your voice was so little and so tight. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, you seemed to be saying. I’m here for you, too.  Yes, you were waving your little pink flag of surrender, and James knew that. He drew one arm around you even tighter, pulling you onto his lap. You slid right into his lap, so easily that no one could doubt that you belonged there.

With his other hand, James tenderly pushed your hair out of your face. “Are you sorry for scratching my back up?” he asked you.

“Yes,” you finally whispered, nodding a little.

“Yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Then, you’ll agree I deserve some kisses from you.”

“Just for today,” you said softly. 

Cupping your cheek, James started to lean in to kiss you. “Well,” he whispered back, his voice slightly raspy with want, “maybe tomorrow, too. ...And the day after that.” 

James paused. He glanced down at your mouth, with your pretty lips slightly puffy from so many kisses, and the barest hint of teeth marks just at the side of your lower lip, where James had bit down softly on your lower lip and tugged gently at it, just seconds ago. “Your mouth might as well be mine now, love. It has my marks written all over it,” he told you. “That’s what it means to mark something up, you know - you’re supposed to claim it from then on.” 

“Oh... Wait.” James nearly blushed when that last sentence slipped out, for he’d given too much away.

It was too late. The pieces clunked together in your mind: 

“You hurt me.”

“Loads. Loads, I tell you. Worlds of hurt, some might even say.”

“But then, why’d you have to go and scratch my back up like a little hellcat last night, huh?”

“Your mouth might as well be mine now, love. It has my marks written all over it.”

And then, at long last, that unintended whisper, “That’s what it means to mark something up, you know - you’re supposed to claim it from then on.” 

Finally, you caught on. Here was the explanation for everything that was going on today - James hurriedly tried to distract you by trying to tug you back to him, to pull you into another kiss, but you resisted. 

“Well, wait just a moment, James Potter, ” you insisted, pulling back the tiniest bit from him. The flag came down, the gun came up. You took an impressive stance, shoulders strong and feet apart, and you pointed your pistol expertly at James. Sirius Black would have been proud of you, you knew.

James paused, opening his eyes wide, as he heard your halting words stop his dreams in a single instant. He held his breath, waiting for the shot. 

However, you smirked at him and remarked cheekily, “I’ll give you all the kisses you want. But if you must know, I rather enjoyed drawing an atlas all over your back. As you said, I traced out entire worlds on you.”

“S-So?” James barely managed to speak aloud.

You lifted an eyebrow at James. “You know what that means?” you whispered enticingly. “That means you’re mine, Jamie. So, how’s this for a trade? You can take my mouth as yours and kiss me whenever you want, but your back is mine to mark up whenever I want. Is that fair?”

“Sure, sounds like a fair trade to me,” James said, trying to play it off as nonchalance. But he could barely hide the smile of utter relief and happiness forming on his face.

“Yes?” you asked, checking with him. “You sure it’s not a losing trade?”

“Well...” James pretended to think about it. Then, he whispered lovingly, “Maybe I’ll hedge a little. Maybe this soft little mouth of yours will be good for more than just kissing, if you get my drift.” 

You did, and to show him, you turned your head a little until James’ fingers slipped onto your mouth, and opening your mouth, you sucked lightly at his fingertips. “Like that?”

“Mm, yes, just like that.” James smiled at you. So cute, Baby...  

“Anything else?” you whispered, now nuzzling your face sweetly against his palm.

“No...” James shook his head gently. Then, he breathed out and he finally admitted, “...S’long as I have you, baby. And as long as you think of me as yours. That’s all I want. I reckon - I reckon you know that by now. Don’t you?”

James forced himself to shut up, and he held his breath, feeling horribly embarrassed.

But you answered him so easily, almost carelessly, as you replied knowingly “Course you’re mine, you numpty. X marks the spot.”

James couldn’t help except to laugh, which was, of course, his own form of graceful surrender. Fine, he conceded in his head with warm humor and nothing but fondness for you, Baby can outwit me all the time. So, what? That’s part of her charm. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when she’s come to me, all perfect just as she is – right into my lap, right into my hand, right into my heart.  

And James understood - just as you understood him - he understood that what you were saying was that those scratches down his back were signs of love, and if they ever really hurt or bothered him, you would be there for him, doing absolutely everything in your power to heal him. 

Grasping your face in his warm palm again, James tugged your lovely face to him as he leaned forward. Meeting right in the middle, James’ lips met yours once more. But now, neither of you held back; rather, the two of you kissed each other you deeply and adoringly. It slowly but surely became a kiss that was somehow full of both teasing and patience; immaturity and promises…

Feeling your very heart expand so warmly inside of your chest, you instinctively opened your mouth just a little wider to love James just that bit more - and James paused. He was suddenly extremely sensitive to your every movement. James inhaled sharply, feeling the incredible tension that had abruptly sprung up between you two with this seemingly simple kiss. The two of you stopped, feeling rather shy and uncertain about this intensity humming between you, but neither of you moved away from each other. Neither of you wanted to move away from each other. If this was love for the two of you, then you’d do whatever it took to accept it. That was what you were both thinking.

That was how it came to be that for the first time ever in your young, blossoming relationship, the two of you shared a kiss that lingered so very intensely, that made your very atoms sing in a hitherto unknown frequency of existence. This kiss left you both so vulnerable that you were bleeding love and hurt all over your souls, without even knowing it. Suddenly, everything felt so unbearably tender and sweet that you both had to close your eyes to continue living, to be able to experience the sheer intensity of being with each other this way.

Yes, this way of being: Of soft mouth hovering over soft mouth to share the warmth and breath of love; of shy glances between two pairs of bright eyes that already knew everything about each other; and of the enduring rhythm of two heartbeats passing life back and forth between each other, in time to the syllabic rhythm of whispering, “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll always keep you safe.”  

James let out a soft breath, and you sighed just the slightest bit, too - before your lips met with his again, locking into the surefire shape of a loving, rosy, sun-sweet and water-color, hold-my-hand-forever bond of companionship.  

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

more thoughts about the homecoming au, the au where maedhros and maglor get brought back to tirion after the war of wrath to be prettied-up trinkets on finarfin’s shelf, with painted-over scars and muffled screams. it is dark, it’s full of all kinds of emotional and caretaker abuse, and the brothers weren’t exactly in a good state of mind before any of this happened. @sunflowersupremes wrote the initial au that wasn’t even meant as horror, @outofangband - this au is as much theirs as mine, several of the concepts here were originally theirs, and a lot of this originally came out in dms with them. part 1 is here. this part contains gaslighting, loss of autonomy right at the end, more suicide mentions (thanks mae) and just general abuse from people who care more about their own comfort than the people they’re supposed to be caring for. it’s worse than the first part, honestly

most of the stuff the fëanorians had on them when they surrendered got taken away pretty fast. which is honestly understandable; some of it was cursed, a lot of it was weaponry, all of it stank to the high vault of the stars

but they both managed to hold onto some personal effects, or get them back before they went in the incinerator. a broken locket, a torn-up book, nothing fancy, nothing large, but things that still mean a lot to them

the valinoreans aren’t entirely comfortable with this. they find a lot of the brothers’ comfort items mildly disturbing, stained with darkness and (occasionally literal) blood as they are. maedhros had this dessicated finger he refuses to explain anything about that got disposed of very quickly

maglor has a few strands of brightly coloured thread, spun around each other somewhat inexpertly. he tends to pull it out when he’s feeling depressed, working it between his fingers until he feels like he can face the world again

one day, one of his minders who gets along better with him asks where he got it. from the twins, maglor admits. it’s part of some embroidery elrond abandoned when they left -

and it’s snatched out of his hands. his minder looks down at him compassionately. ‘i know you miss them, but you caused those boys a lot of pain, you know? you shouldn’t romanticise your relationship with them’

which - maglor’s relationship with the twins was complicated, and while it wasn’t nearly as hellish as elwing fears, it wasn’t entirely healthy. maglor was dependent emotionally on the kids a lot more than any adult should be to children, and vice versa

because the twins were the last people he had left. when maedhros executed celegorm’s servants with no warning at all, this rift began to grow between the sons of fëanor and their followers. they’d always been terrifying, but they’d also been comradely and inspiring, the white-hot stars around which their people orbited. but when they turned their fangs on their own host, all that started to fall away, leaving only the fear behind

it got worse after sirion. by the time vingilot rose in the sky, maglor’s only real remaining relationships were with maedhros, who he hated as much as he loved, and the twins. watching over them, talking to them, not hurting them - it kept him grounded in reality, kept him sane

he knows, he knows, he knows, they’re better off without him. but his time with them is the only happiness in his memories that still feels real

but the valinoreans can’t accept that. the exile was an awful time with nothing in it worth keeping, and the sooner he can recognise that the faster he’ll be back to his old self

besides. their caretakers don’t like being reminded of their more... unpleasant deeds

(elwing sidebar: elwing and eärendil are having an easier time, because the teleri have experience dealing with trauma and are also just more accepting of the right to have your own take on your own experiences. still, though, elwing occasionally hears that a proper telerin mother would have stayed with her children, even if she had to give up the treasure her people died for to the monsters of her childhood nightmares)

(elwing was a young adult in a horrendous situation with no obvious way out, elwing is dealing with her own damage as best she can, elwing is valid, we stan elwing. she’s also one of the few direct-ish sources the noldor have for beleriand and what the fëanorians did there, and her (perfectly reasonable!) perspective colours a lot of their treatment)

in general the valinorean noldor are quite sure they know what beleriand was like and how it felt to be there, and aren’t particularly interested in being proven wrong

it was miserable, it was harrowing, it was nothing anyone should want to think about. it was a long nightmare maedhros and maglor are so fortunate to have finally woken up from

and you can kind of see why they think like that? the ones who have seen the hither shores saw them when ash rained from a void-black sky and almost everything was dead, and the survivors told stories of a long hopeless defeat and cruelties beyond imagining

but that deep black image blots out the genuine joy they felt in those five hundred years, the chance to prove their own greatness, the knowledge they were doing something good, nights when music echoed across the gap, warm hands in a cold fortress. there were things in beleriand worth remembering, aspects of the people they became there legitimately worth keeping

and even if there wasn’t - five hundred years. the scars on their bodies make it plain to see, every little piece of who they are was shaped by beleriand, for worse and for better. they just can’t leave it behind

their valinorean caretakers find this horrifying

maedhros likes to exercise. it keeps him calm, gives him something to do. it’s not something nelyafinwë was super into - he was more the peripatetic type - but it’s a feasible hobby for a noldorin prince to have, so he’s allowed to do it

sometimes, though, he’ll unconsciously shift into the old combat forms, precisely timed drills ingrained into his bodies. the first few times he does this, his minders are bemused more than anything, but then one day he happens to have a stick in hand to use as a mock-sword

then every time he starts to slip away into that meditative trance, hands reach out to stop him and hold him in place. ‘there’s no need to fight here, maitimo,’ an elf he knew before the unchaining tells him ever so gently. ‘you’re safe now’

... they say that, but maedhros’ nightmares keep getting worse

it’s like that with everything that makes the valinoreans uncomfortable. whenever they try to speak of their time in beleriand, no matter what they say, they’re told that oh, they know it was hard, but it’s all over now and they don’t have to dwell on it

but even after they’ve spent years in paradise, maedhros and maglor still won’t let go and allow themselves to heal

they just can’t come to terms with the truth of their ordeal

the narrative the valinoreans have constructed erases all of the bright spots, but it also bleaches out the true darkness

certainly they did horrible things, but did they really have a choice? in such a harsh world, they always had to be on guard, lest they themselves be killed. these poor boys never meant to harm anyone, but their father’s cruel madness and the painful chains of their oath and the vileness of beleriand forced them into atrocities they never wanted to commit

(surely the monsters the sindar spoke of wouldn’t cry. they wouldn’t lose themselves in waking nightmares or curl up shivering in well-hidden closets, they wouldn’t jump away from a casual touch or watch every new person like they might be a threat. they wouldn’t convince themselves the children they stole were happy, or talk to the shade of a dead kinsman they abandoned. surely they wouldn’t. surely)

(because if they are, and they’ve let a couple of orcs loose into the royal palace...)

(maglor and maedhros’ movements are pretty restricted. this is mostly for their own protection, but it’s partially - well, just in case. just in case)

this rankles at maedhros, though he tries not to show it. terrible they might have been, but his choices were his own

he was a warlord, he was a king. he expected to be hated for the things he had done. he didn’t expect to be pitied. he didn’t expect to be dismissed

sometimes, when he’s surrounded by people earnestly telling him that he’s not a bad person, he never was, it was all pressure from his father and the oath, he wants to scream that he chose to attack sirion because he was so, so tired of diplomatically dancing around problems he knew he could solve with his blade

but he stops himself, always. he knows how much what little freedom they do have is based on them not being a threat

and he will not wash this peaceful, innocent land in blood. he’ll kill himself first

maglor has lost all such scruples

it’s not often, but when they’re behaving themselves and no one who’s likely to take offense is in town, the brothers get taken out to court events

they paint makeup over their scars (which still won’t heal, everyone is concerned by the implications of this) dress them up in finery, string them with jewels, and show off how well they’re doing

(even if maedhros rarely says anything, and they never leave each other’s side)

tonight, it’s a feast. a minor celebration, nothing too crowded, nothing too loud. there’s revels and merrymaking and all kinds of fun

and after the food has been cleared away, there’s music

would his nephew like to play something, finarfin asks. it’s hard to tell if it’s a request or a politely phrased order

maglor decides he doesn’t have the patience to be taken aside and tell how much everyone wanted to hear his music, and accepts

finarfin smiles kindly. he’s thinking about how maglor’s minders have been talking about how he’s finally stopped trying to sing depressing or horrifying songs and how his voice grows more melodious by the day

maglor is thinking about how they won’t even let him sing about his wife. he wrote no odes to her beauty or her skill in the forge, but he sang ballads about the swiftness of her spear and her laughter after a battle

none of which the valinoreans want to hear. they want to pretend that love never existed, that there could be any joy found in darkness, that she’s at all worth remembering -

he gets up to play, and launches into the most vicious, most hopeless, most painful part of the noldolantë

they try to stop him, but he’s the greatest warsinger the world has ever seen, he’s sung with blood in his lungs over the roaring of dragons, there’s little they can do to block out everything they’re trying to ignore. he wails defeat and death and grief and death and despair and death

when they finally manage to knock him out, their whole petty festival in tatters, shock on their faces, tears streaming from their eyes, all he can think is that if they understand now, even a little, it’ll have been worth it

for the first time, but not the last, he wakes up in a cell

finarfin comes to visit, and starts giving a very disappointed lecture maglor is in no mood to hear. instead he just snarls that nothing they’ve been doing is helping him at all, and he’s so sick of false sympathy and no one listening to what his actual problems are

finarfin shuts his eyes, says ‘i’m sorry to hear you feel that way’ and leaves

a few days later he wakes up with a collar around his neck

it’s demeaning, but he gets released that morning, so he rolls with it. he gets told to never do that ever again, first by his minders and then by maedhros

his minders he nods at until they leave him alone. maedhros he snarks back at that it’s not like he’s doing anything to improve their condition

only he can’t

the words don’t just freeze in his throat, they can’t even form in his mind. what’s happening, he can’t say. what did you do to me, he can’t say. he can’t even scream

as maglor is clutching at his neck (he can’t get it off he can’t get it off) and all the colour is draining out of maedhros’ face, the minder in the room smiles

‘see? this way you’ll stop making yourself and everyone around you miserable. you can still talk about happy things -’

‘they did this in angband!’ maedhros roars, a statement that provokes his first actual fight with their minders. he’s harder to pin down than maglor. bigger

but their caretakers are becoming annoyed with the brothers’ obstinate refusal to let themselves get better. they may be content to wallow in the misery of their past, but inflicting it on others is a step too far

they clearly aren’t going to move any further down the road to recovery on their own volition, so it’s become clear they need a gentle push. is it a little distasteful? yes, but such things are sometimes necessary in medicine

the bright cheerful princes they will be again will thank them for it

oh god how did this end up so long. the last one should be shorter, it’s mostly clearing up some loose ends. why did i write this

[lyallblacklupin]

The regretful Moony.

This full moon something had happened, and Remus knows that it is only his fault. He hasn’t been to the Hospital Wing, not only because that he is perfectly fine (no maimed or broken bone, just few scratches) but for the fact he will have to come face to face with an unconscious Sirius Black, severely injured by the wolf.

“Moony, please don’t stress over this. Sirius will be okay.”

Peter had ushered towards Remus, sitting on the floor beside his knees dangling from his four poster bed.

“How can you even say that!? He is dying because of me!” Remus had bellowed at Peter for the first time in the morning after the horrible full moon, and then regretted at once as he saw him going white in the face. However, Remus had remained quiet while hollowness welling up inside him.

Remus had hurt his bestfriend during his time being a werewolf, he hadn’t just attacked a person, neither just a friend but he had wounded Sirius Black, for whom he wouldn’t trade anything in the world, someone he had been in love since Merlin knows how long.

Without having to realize, Remus had severely hurt himself, despite of his physical injuries he was weighing a lot of compunction that was wrenching his own heart into tiny pieces. How were they supposed to heal? Remus wouldn’t forgive himself for what he had done.

Astonishing was that Remus hadn’t rolled a single tear yet because he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, he wasn’t the victim, Sirius was!

The dormitory had become blue and gloomy, no scarlet walls could bring the warmth back since the night that had led Sirius Black to the Hospital Wing and now that two days had passed away, people’s murmurings had started haunting Remus like a worse nightmare in his already traumatic life.

They are talking about shifting Black to St. Mungo’s!

Oh! Is it so? Why?

Yes! Everyone says that he was attacked by an animal!

Oh poor Black! He is stupid but he is very handsome.

Remus was completely daunted in the face, shuffling his feet around the castle while his mind drowning into the oceans of guilt and pain.

“Say the password, Scarred person?” said the Fat Lady. Remus didn’t realize that he had been sauntering from the Astronomy Tower and now had come to a halt at the Gryffindor Tower.

“Caput Leonis.” said a familiar voice which had become very despaired now. James Potter was standing behind Remus with a weak smile on his face. His face had no light of forever optimism, as though as part of him had been burned into ashes. As a matter of fact, it did, Remus thought. James’ other half had always been Sirius Black who had gone into a deep sleep and didn’t even tell when his bedtime will be over. Remus can tell that James had been stressing for his best friend, who meant the whole world to him. How could any one not hate him for this? Remus said mentally to himself, and it was certainly not a question.

However, James grasped his shoulder that had suddenly caught him by surprise.

“Moony, its going to be alright. I promise.” James spoke his polite tone that leapt Remus’ heart. He felt a lump forming in his throat and his eyes felt certain prickling, and before he knew it, his vision was obscured by tears which suddenly were streaming down his face. He began to bawl like a baby and for the first time he was not crying on Sirius’ shoulder, which was something that made him wept even more awfully.James cradled his arms around him. They were still standing in front of the Fat Lady who was silently sniffling to see them sunk in their sorrows.

James patted Remus’ back but he wouldn’t break apart. Why would he? He had been aggrieved the most of all! It was just like a needle had accidently touched the water balloon and now the pain had to gush out. James might had understood him since he was still rubbing his back without saying a word against his behavior. Remus had a hunch that James had known the certain special bond of him and Sirius which was none like brotherly bond as James and Sirius. It was so much more than that.

Sirius was Remus Lupin’s emotional support ever since he could remember. He was mischievous with James, he would tease Peter but when it came to Remus, he would help him to recognize his emotions and express them since Remus was never good with expressing his sentiments. Sirius would always suggest to sit calmly so that he could listen to him for hours.

He missed him. So much!

“Why don’t you go to the Hospital Wing to see him?” James broke apart to face him, sniffing, while his eyes were blood flecked.

“No...I-How...?” Remus murmured, wiping his already flooded face.

“Go and sit with him, talk to him, tell him that he will be alright-“

“HOW CAN I TELL HIM THAT HE WILL BE ALRIGHT WHEN HE CAN’T!? HUH?” Remus bellowed.

“Because he will be!” James eyes were tensed, “And stop blaming yourself for what happened!” He had become suddenly so serious that reminded Remus of McGonagall’ face when a student is late in her class.

Amidst the silence hanging between them, James escorted Remus into the Gryffindor Tower. They were soon sinking in their armchairs of the common room which was almost empty. Almost. Lily Evans was sitting on her chair. Her rare emerald eyes caught the presence of James and Remus and she abruptly stood up, wearing a a distressed look on her beautiful face.

“Remus!” She exclaimed and approached him. Lily was now talking to him. However to him only, not looking at James. “How’s Sirius?”

Before, Remus could gather his tiny ounce of strength to answer her, James intervened.

“Oh wow! Evans is concerned to Remus while Padfoot is my brother!”

Remus couldn’t process what had just happened before James stomped flat-footed from the common room to his dormitory. Remus could not be more remorseful, or else the option of dying or running far away sounded appealing in his head.

Lily stood quietly, her eyes narrowing in embarrassment.

“Lily, I’m sorry, James is just-“

“Don’t mention it, I know he must be going through hell.” She said.

If that was so, then Remus had been going through something worse than hell.

“Then why didn’t you ask him? He’s right. Sirius is just like his very own brother. Hell, he’s everything to him!” Remus spoke defensively.

“I’m just- you know what, forget it. How are you?” She was guilty which Remus could detect in her emerald eyes.

Lily sat with Remus for an hour and he realized that she had been a great diversion from this hell. The hell in which his mind was all about ‘Sirius might not make it.’. Nevertheless, she wasn’t an exception soon herself.

“So, why aren’t you visiting Sirius in the Hospital Wing?”

Remus’ heart dropped in his stomach.

“He must hate me, of course.”

“Why?”

“Because this was all my fault, Lily! He’s in there because of me, he’s wounded because of me, HE IS DYING BECAUSE OF ME!” Remus was practically yelling but Lily was staring him with her mesmerizing green eyes so serenely. He lowered his face, staring the carpeted floor dejectedly and letting few tears to escape from his eyes. Soft and fragile hands caressed his shoulders and Lily Evans had embraced him earnestly.

“You’re a very pure person, Remus. And I know that no one can understand you better than Sirius. He knows how genuine you are. He will never hate you. I haven’t known Sirius a lot but the one thing I’ve seen by the eye that cannot deceive me, is that none can value friendships as much as Sirius Black does. He is very loyal.”

Lily’s head was resting on his shoulder as he felt her breath in his ear.

Remus didn’t say anything but he knew that she was saying nothing but truth. They broke apart from their hug and Lily’s eyes were promising that urged him to thank her in a way that could make her happiest, but there was no courage after how James had stormed off. James was way more important to him than Lily Evans. 

She walked back to her dormitory, leaving him in loneliness. It brought guilt and tormenting memories of the night when the werewolf lunged at Sirius and jabbed his chest, maimed his limbs and almost bit him... it was all a blur but a part of him remembered attacking.

I could have bit him! Remus said under his breath so not a single soul could hear, and a sudden surge of pain ran through his leg from his spine, shuddering at the memory.

Remus had sunken into the armchair, cozying himself by the fireplace and he fell asleep.

“Moony! Moony! Wake up!”

Remus’ body ached as he managed to open his heavy lids and saw Peter and James hovering up on him. He abruptly sit up, rubbing his eyes.

“Sirius!”

His heart sank at the mention of the name.

“They’re taking him to St.Mungo’s!”

And his heart stopped, as though he was spinning in a realm where suddenly the floor had disappeared and the limbs had became paralyzed. The worst had come.

The next thing, Remus Lupin saw was the stretcher being taken by healers that had the body of Sirius Black, his skin was pale and ice cold.

“SIRIUS!”

Remus Lupin was still sitting on his armchair and the fire had died away. It was just a dream. A terrible dream. His eyes were heavy and so was his heart.

The night had befallen as the common room became darker and Remus didn't move from his chair. Going to the dormitory was an invitation to a fight with James while roaming in the castle was no less than a hell where people eyed him and whispered about Sirius Black. He sighed in defeat. He was tired of being tired, hopeless and so pathetic. He was running away from this new fear which was being hated and disgusted by his best friend who was also someone he’d been falling for. I have to face this or else I am a coward, Remus thought. His inner spirit woke up as he sprang to his feet and without thinking, he ran down to the castle. He was running faster than when he was a werewolf. 

"Madam Pomfrey!" Remus came to a halt at the door of Hospital Wing, his heart hammering in his chest. Madam Pomfrey came with a glare on her face.

"Do you realize that this is a Hospital where the patients are supposed to be sleeping at this hour, Mr. Lupin?" She frowned.

"I am sorry." He pulled himself together. "I was-I want to see Sirius Black."

His heart did a weird thing, and his throat felt dry. Madam Pomfrey gawked at him, the creases on her forehead were gradually vanishing. Remus thought he saw a little smile on her mouth.

"I am glad, then." He was right as she was smiling at him, while he was bemused at her happiness.

"Really?" He asked.

"Of course! Mr. Black had always been in here at your times, now you could pay him back."

Remus' stomach lurched and blood was racing in him rapidly that he thought that he was going to lose his balance. He gathered his scattered impulses and insecurities into one giant courage, and he walked into the Hospital Wing.

His heart suddenly sank as his amber eyes found the person he had come to meet. He approached to the bed, holding back his fear and tears at once.

Sirius Black was sleeping a three day long and deep slumber. His skin was nowhere to be seen since it was plastered almost everywhere.  Fortunately his iconic black hair were revealing, probably that's how Remus had recognized him, which also made him smile. He reached out to stroke those hair affectionately, staring at his peaceful face that had always been so stunning. His skin was snow white with a touch of pink, as though numerous microscopic roses were planted on the snow capped field.

Remus recalled what James had said, Go and sit with him, talk to him, tell him that he will be alright.

“Sirius?” Remus leaned closer to the sleeping beauty and cooed in his ear so lovingly, just like a mother summoning her child to wake up for school so that he wouldn’t start bawling.  “Can you hear me? My heart says you can.” He was now inches away from his face, his eyes might had been fixed at the serene face but his heart had overtaken his thoughts.

“Stop pretending, I know why you’re doing this. You want me to feel what hell is like.” A drop of tear splattered on Sirius’ cheek and then he realized that he was crying.

Well, you win! It’s killing me to see you like this! You promised me that you will always be there for me. Well now I need you! I need you, Padfoot.” His voice had become unrecognizable, which was somewhere between a whimper and a howl. “Wake up! Please! For my sake!”

Remus shook him but there was response. He buried his forehead on the pillow, his right ear brushed with Sirius’ while his hands grasping Sirius’ left arm which was the only part which had left uninjured. After a lingering moment, Remus realized that Sirius was not going to wake up. I will not give up on you, Remus said in his head. He was suddenly startled by a sound. Sniffing. He turned around and found no one and he stood there, dumfounded. He haven’t yet ignored completely when the voice echoed the Hospital Wing again.

“Whoever it is, I’m not scared of you!” Remus sounded valiant, expecting that no one could dare to reply.

But someone was not really a no-one because to Remus’ horror,  a reply came in a familiar voice, “A hidden person does not always mean to scare people, Remus.”

Remus whipped his head around but not a single figure was spotted. And then suddenly, he stumbled back to see a figure standing before him. The figure’s silver hair was enough for Remus to recollect his memory that he had been looking at Albus Dumbledore.

However, he was not alone. Someone was accompanying him, behind his grey cloak. The untidy hair and rectangular-shaped spectacles. That was none other than James Potter.

“James?” Remus’ voice was a faint whisper.

“Mister Potter was wandering in the castle to look for his friend, worrying where he had gone.” said Dumbledore. “He thought that his friend might never pave his way to Hospital Wing so he kept straining his limbs to the library, then to the Boys’ lavatory and finally passing by my residence.”

“But I was wearing-“ James innocently began to argue.

“The Invisibility Cloak, Certainly. A very rare cloak, indeed. Hmm.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes travelled to the bed of Sirius. He walked to his side, brushing his long fingers on the bandaged forehead.

“Such a mischievous soul.” He said under his breath but Remus had heard him, gawking his face which was smiling so warmly at Sirius and then he looked directly at Remus, as though he had known that he was being watched.

“Remus, Looks like your friend really needed you.” Dumbledore had his hand rested on Sirius’ forehead. “He is healing now.”

Remus felt as if a grain of hope had just been bowed into him, but it was desperate to grow.

“Professor,” Remus spoke, “He is not going to St. Mungo’s, is he?”

“He is never leaving without letting his friends know. Mister Black never does anything quietly. You and James ought to know that, huh?”

Dumbledore’s eyes— as Remus feared—landed on Remus. His eyes tried to communicate the language of silence. Remus bored his naïve gaze into his, hoping to understand, but he was never successful. Suddenly, a deafening crash startled James and Remus that came from across the hallway. However, Dumbledore couldn’t be more calm.

“James, why don’t you tell Peeves that Bloody Baron is very angry today?”

“Yes, Headmaster.” James scurried away from the Hospital Wing.

The magnificent doors of the Hospital swayed to shut together and a wisp of silver light had landed on the door handles, locking them away. Remus turned to look at Dumbledore who had his wand in his hand.

“Remus, do you recall the night I came to your house and told you that you were invited to Hogwarts as a student? Can you reminisce that day?” He asked while conjuring up two chairs beside Sirius.

Remus cringed at the memory but replied, “Vividly.”

“Remarkable!”

“How is that so remarkable, Professor?”

“You see, As I can recall, you told me that you were a monster-“

“And I am!” Remus interrupted but Dumbledore ignored him.

“-But do you remember what I told you instead?"

Remus opened his mouth and then shut it quickly, reminiscing the words of the angel that came to his house to change his course of life.

In this moment, right in front of me, all i can see Remus Lupin. A clever and young wizard, who cannot wait to prove his worth. So, Remus, I will ask you again. Would you like to come to Hogwarts?

The voice saying those words sounded so vivid that his gaze was fixed at the person who had said them. Albus Dumbledore was that angel.

“Yes.” Remus’ voice barely audible but the Headmaster had heard him.

“My dear, it is not our abilities or misfortune that proves us what we are, it is our choices. And becoming a werewolf is not your choice, Remus.”

Dumbledore had rested his both hands on the shoulders of Remus, staring down at with a smile that seemed like a medication that had started to heal him.

“What happened that night, doesn’t define your friendship. But...“ Dumbledore faltered and squinted to look directly in those guilty eyes of Remus Lupin and said, “...staying away from the Hospital, does.”

Remus felt as if he had been jabbed right in the chest and now his guilt was brand new. He was a pathetic friend who was hiding in the places where Sirius wouldn’t expect him to be.

Dumbledore gave Remus a warm smile and then walked away, leaving Remus alone with Sirius.

                                                        ----------

The birds were chirping which had always been annoying for Sirius when the walls of their dormitory used to be as warm as their color. When James would start groaning and Peter would join him too. This was how Remus’ morning had always been before the werewolf had attacked Sirius.

Remus could feel his body aching from sleeping in a chair. The sun rays were hitting at his face as he could feel their warmth against his skin. Remus didn’t open his eyes yet, and the birds weren’t stopping their singing. Remus wished if his mornings were still the same as before. He longed for Sirius’ ranting over birds, hoping he could hear it again when——

“Stop that horrible singing!”

Remus jumped in his chair, his eyes wide opened as he had recognized that same voice he had not heard since three days.

Sirius Black was sitting up on his bed who wore his usual bossy expressions. His eyes hadn’t yet found Remus as he kept his face to his constant left. Remus could see him cursing under his breath. He was at loss of words, his heart was swelling up with so many emotions hitting in him possibly everywhere in his body. He stood behind Sirius’ bed, as quiet as a cat.

“Nasty birds! And-I AM PERFECTLY FINE!” He bellowed to the walls of the Hospital Wing, as he stretched his arms, inspecting his injuries. “Just a little scratch-ouch!” He sprang up as he had touched the crimson wound on his palm. “Okay maybe I’m not completely perfect...” He was naively talking to himself while Remus hadn’t yet gathered the strength to express his relief that was surging in him so richly at the sight of his nightmare befalling, fucking finally.

“Si-“ he couldn’t began when he was cut off by Madam Pomfrey.

“Out of my way! Out of my way!” She came racing to Sirius’ bed, wrestling away from the flood of first year students outside the doors of Hospital Wing. “Mr. Black! You are not supposed to scratch your wounds!”

“But I am fine! I wanna get off this coffin!” He kicked his sheet and-

“OWWWW!” A current of sharp spasm must have passed through his leg as his face had turned pale and he wore a surrendered look on his already annoyed face.

“I told you! You cannot leave this bed for the next two days.” She glared at him. “Also, we’ll need to send your family a letter about your conditions.”

“Ah! They’ll be most aggrieved to hear that I’m still not dead.” He sighed and Madam Pomfrey gasped at him as she began to unwrap his bandages. Some of his wounds had turned brown and purplish blue. Remus gawked at them noiselessly from his behind, also surprised to himself for not been noticed by Sirius yet.

“Why would you say such thing?” Madam Pomfrey continued to make conversation with him, however Sirius seemed mundane.

“Believe me, You don’t wanna be in my place. Besides- I already have a family here so I never felt deprived.” He said and She smiled at him, and Remus saw her glancing at him for few moments. She didn’t give Sirius any hints of Remus’ presence, as if on purpose. “I miss James. I even miss Peter...”

Remus suddenly felt a pang on his chest, as though he had been hit by a whip. Why didn’t Sirius mention him? Was he still angry with him? Did he really started hating him?

“But someone I miss the most, should not see me like this or else... he will kill me before these wounds does.” He said under his breath, smirking to himself.

Remus was frozen still like a sculpture. Whereas, Madam Pomfrey had dabbed a green, slimy potion on one of Sirius’ last lesions. She had swaddled the white gauze-like cloth on his treated injuries, before she walked out of the hospital.

Remus composed himself and walked before Sirius’ bed. Sirius’ gaze suddenly caught the man standing before, his grey eyes filled with utter bewilderment, while his body went rigid like a knight. Remus couldn’t tell if he was shocked or surprise...or just scared?

Remus wasn’t sure if he could smile at him. So the both of them just stared each other, unable to utter a word as though their mouths couldn’t suffice to comprehend what their hearts were feeling.

After a pregnant moment of being lost in each other’s gaze, Remus gave up the game and finally spoke, “How are you, Pads?”

“Uh-I- Umm...” Sirius coughed as he had surely dried up his throat by his mouth being parted for so long. “I’m fine. How you’ve been?”

Remus didn’t feel good. This was not how he had imagined meeting Sirius after he had awaken from his almost death. This didn’t lessened his love for him though, and yet there had come a layer of discomfort between them.

Remus was never a liar. And surely he couldn’t be a liar to Sirius Black. If there was one thing Sirius had always loved about him, was his bluntness because he was Sirius Black, who had never failed to compliment the eccentric and uncommon choices. Remus glanced at his anxious face, and then looked away.

“Hell.” Remus murmured.

Out of nowhere, something surged through both of them at the accurate time. It all happened very unforeseeably fast when Remus and Sirius collapsed in each others’ arms. Sirius didn’t seem to care about his injuries because he was holding Remus very tightly. They were both soaked into each other’s warmth and Remus felt liberated as his body, against his will, shook as he let himself weep in Sirius’ shoulder. He was never going to let go of him. He would hold him for an eternity if he had to. Remus had clutched his infirmary shirt and he continued to sob.

“Hey hey hey, its okay. I’m more than fine, Moony.” Sirius had his arms gripped around the trembling Remus as he spoke into his ear. “Please don’t cry.”

“This-was-all my-my fault!”

“What? No! That was mine! And this is why I was afraid to face you that you’ll yell it my irresponsible action.” Sirius said.

“What are you talking about?” Remus sniffed as he released himself from Sirius’ embrace to sit up before him.

“I insisted on staying the night at the Shack and James and Peter told me not to because we haven’t yet become habitual to our Animagi form. And then turns out they were right. I couldn’t change myself into a dog and then the wolf caught me.”

Remus stared at him, mouth was wide open.

“Oh yeah and by the way, We are becoming Animagi. I-I mean, for you. You know to help you so so so...."

Sirius voice trailed off as Remus was not quite blinking, his mouth was parted, an unreadable expression etched to his face. Animagi? He was not able to decide whether he should cry out of gratitude for his friends to care about his transformation or to be angry for being so recklessly immature for risking their lives for the a werewolf. He heard Sirius murmur something under his breath which broke him out of his trance of dazedness. His face was already sticky from the old tears.

"What?" He asked in a whisper. His throat felt like it had grown thorns.

"Nothing, its just that James' gonna kill me that I reveal the surprise in his absence."

"Surprise? You think its a surprise?" Remus asked coldly, as he narrowed his eyes at his direction.

"Yes?" Sirius was right, Remus thought, to be scared of him since Remus was not having this bullshit of his friends going through something so extremely complex, and not to mention for becoming illegal to the wizarding world at the age of 15, for throwing themselves in death in full awareness. No! bloody hell no!

"Are you guys out of your fucking mind!?" He snapped so harshly that made Sirius flinch "You want to make a pack by becoming freaking Animagi! Didn't you people think before putting fucking leaves in your mouth that you'll be accompanying a dangerous creature which could kill you in a heartbeat?"

"Remus, werewolves don't act the way they do in front of human. You wont hurt us—"

"And what if I do? huh? What if I do hurt you one of you, I will become a murderer who let his best friends to follow him into a death trap. And do you think I will be able to live with myself if I kill you guys?"

"Remus..."

"I won't be able to live without you guys...none of you will be able understand my pain when you won't be here because of me..."

His voice fainted as he pushed passed the lump that had formed in his throat, which resulted in hot tears to drop on the sheet of Sirius' bed. He let his head fall, his hunched shoulders supporting his dangling head as he gripped the sheets. He sobbed and sobbed, over his fate, internally wishing for a second life in which he didn't have to be a werewolf.

"Look at me." Sirius said rather plainly but Remus shook his head. He didn't want to meet Sirius' fierce look. He was too ashamed to meet the gaze. He knew that all his friends wanted was the best for him because they genuinely cared for him, especially Sirius. He trusted Sirius with his life.

A cold hand softly grasped his wrist which finally made Remus to look up, and he saw Sirius staring with those burning silver eyes, concern swimming in them.

"Life is not fair. It is not, Moony. Everyone is going through something very unfair in their lives. And we cannot measure their miseries with ours, because if we do that we will just make our lives even more miserable." Remus dared to intertwined his fingers with Sirius' which laced back just as tight. "All we can do is to live this unfair life instead of surviving it. Sure, you go through the most terrible thing every month, Moony, and you can't do anything to undo it. But you can make it a little less terrible, be a little more forgiving on yourself. Don't put unnecessary debts on yourself, you are too fragile for that." The last part made Remus to let out a watery chuckle, grip of his hand in Sirius' tightened.

"Besides, Moony, this isn't a favor we are doing to you. We are favoring ourselves because it pains us to see you suffer. We can lessen that pain by being there for you."

Remus saw Sirius' expression go tensed, his frown deepening, his wide eyes fixed on their intertwined, and biting down his bottom lip. Remus realized that he was struggling to not to cry. He'd never seen Sirius cry. Remus shook their laced hands for the other to look up. When silver met amber, the world seemed secure around Remus. He knew that he couldn't thank far enough for this blessing that sat before him. If his lycanthropy was a curse, then a blessing was far too great.

“You make my pain easier.” Remus whispered.

“I do?” Sirius asked in a singing voice. Remus nodded. 

“Then promise me that you’ll never leave me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

It was okay because Sirius was in life and that was enough. He will always love him. His love will grow each day more.

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 3

A/N: Finally we get to see Azula’s true nature! Also, the first time we get to see Zuko!! To be clear, Azula is in this fic a lot, but this is far from a redemption fic. 

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Zuko caught Y/N’s eyes like he wanted to ask her a million questions. But she was too embarrassed about everything to hold his gaze. She looked away hoping she didn’t look too guilty or shameful. She joined Azula in staring out the window. The cherry blossom trees were in bloom. They covered every square inch of sky as she looked out. It filled the room with a sweet scent that Y/N knew was going to permeate their clothes when they left. If she let her eyes go unfocused it looked like there was a raging fire in front of her. 

Y/N found herself outside in the palace gardens. She was running from something, but it wasn’t scary. She was laughing and she heard other girls laughing around her. She began to climb a tree, stifling her giggles the entire time. For some reason, she had to be quiet.

“You’re going to get in trouble for being up there,” Someone said from below. 

Y/N looked down between the branches to see a boy her age. He was wearing a high ponytail held with a small fire pin. 

“Why?” she asked. She jumped down to the lowest branch and sat there hanging her legs over the side. She didn’t want to get down just yet. 

He arched one eyebrow. “Just ‘cause. If the palace gardener sees you climbing the trees, he’ll yell at you.”

“Well I’ll just tell him that my new friend is Princess Azula and that’ll shut him up.” Y/N laughed again and made a start to go back up the tree.

“Well, I’m her older brother Prince Zuko and I’m telling you, you’re gonna get in trouble.” He looked like he wanted to emphasize his sentence by sticking his tongue out at her. 

“Why aren’t you playing hide-and-explode with us?” Y/N asked. She jumped down and landed lightly in front of Zuko. They were the same height, which made her feel oddly proud. 

“I don’t like playing games with Azula,” Zuko said. “I’m ten–”

“–well I’m nine and a half and I can still have fun,” Y/N interrupted. 

“You’re almost my age and you’re friends with Azula? What happened? Did you get held back?” Zuko taunted.

“No!” Y/N made a face. Suddenly she felt very self conscious. She didn’t know what ‘held back’ meant but it didn’t sound good, not when he was laughing at her. “This is the first time I’ve ever gone to real school. I just got put in her grade.” 

Suddenly a fireball landed at Y/N’s feet; sparks flew up and singed her pants and burnt her legs. She squealed, a mix between surprise and pain. 

“Azula!” Zuko snarled. He half stepped in front of Y/N, all hints of the earlier teasing gone. Zuko produced a similar fireball and threw it at Azula’s feet but she kicked it away, making it land in a nearby bush. 

“You’re it, Y/N,” Azula ordered. 

“It’s not fair, Azula. She’s not a bender,” Zuko argued. 

“Neither are Mai and Ty Lee. And they don’t whine like babies.” The last part she directed at Y/N with a sneer. 

“I’m not whining!” Y/N protested. She pushed Zuko out of the way and covered her eyes, beginning to count to twenty. She peeked at Zuko at fifteen. All the girls had already scattered but he just stood there watching her. “I’m faster than Azula anyways. I can catch her.” 

She paused and looked at Zuko who stood there awkwardly. “Are you going to hide or what?” She asked. When she covered her eyes again she heard him run away, looking for a hiding place. She waited a beat before counting again, “–SIXTEEN, SEVENTEEN..”

Y/N woke to darkness. But it was always dark below deck. The only light came from candles and lanterns hung in the hallways. Her own candle was only an inch high and fading fast from the accumulation of wax. She could feel the familiar rock of the ship lulling her back to sleep… Y/N sat up quickly. She could tell that it was morning, possibly very early but she couldn’t risk going back to sleep. She tucked the covers under her neck and over her shoulders to snuggle down to ask the important questions. Why was she dreaming of Zuko? 

The day they met was probably one of their most innocent and least notable moments. At least that’s what she thought. Or it was possible her brain was trying to make her feel guilty about what she and Azula were going to do today. That day wasn’t the last that Zuko had tried to protect her from his sister, it actually set the stage for years of him standing up to Azula in her place. Not that she needed it, she could hold her own plenty, but it felt nice to be protected. 

Sometimes she wondered if they had more time together, if they’d have become better friends than her and Azula. Even though he was a fire-bender too, he spent a lot of training with his dual swords. Time that was spent with her on the training grounds. They sparred daily until his banishment; spirits, Y/N was sure they’d even sparred the day of the war meeting that started everything. Now she was going to find him, and lie to him, knowing that what awaited him at home was not a crown but a prison cell. Y/N shook her head to clear it and slid out of the bed and into her clothes. No use in thinking of the past when her future was all that was necessary. Honor and glory and all. 

Y/N could hear Iroh and Zuko arguing a mile away. Azula and her had gotten there an hour before and broke inside the little cabin they were living in. They’d not so inconspicuously gone through all their stuff and upon not finding anything worth while, sat around just waiting. 

“We don’t need any more useless things. You forget we have to carry everything for ourselves now!” Zuko lamented as Iroh dumped a bag of seashells on the table by the door, that looked suspiciously like the same seashells next to Azula on their dining table. Neither one had looked up to see them inside. 

“Hello, brother,” Azula said. “Uncle.” Both of the men jumped. 

“What are you doing here?” Zuko asked as he stepped his body in front of Iroh’s. He looked from Azula to where Y/N was sitting in the window sill behind Azula. Her stomach dropped. This was the first time she’d seen his scarred face. Pink and red scars circled his left eye and wrapped far back enough to cover his ear. His hair was no longer long, but shaved around his ponytail. He looked so much older even though it had only been three years. Y/N wasn’t sure what made him look so different, whether it was a scar that marred his face or the anger that seeped deep beneath his pores. 

“In my country we exchange a pleasant hello before asking questions.” Azula picked up a seashell and inspected it. She glided across the room to stand in front of him. She was so much shorter than Zuko and Y/N but she carried so much power. “Have you become uncivilized so soon, Zuzu?”

“Don’t call me that!”

“To what do we owe this honor?” Iroh spoke up, breaking up the fight between the siblings before it started. Y/N moved to stand behind Azula. 

“Hmm, must be a family trait. Both of you are so quick to get to the point.” Azula was still playing with the men like they were rabbit-mice. She snapped the shell she was holding in her hands. “I’ve come with a message from home. Father has changed his mind. Family is suddenly very important to him. He’s heard rumors of plans to overthrow him–treacherous plots.” Y/N looked to Zuko to gauge his reaction. His face had softened at hearing the news from his Father.

“Family are the only ones you can really trust,” Azula told him earnestly. “Father regrets your banishment. He wants you home.” Azula paused to look out the window. 

Zuko caught Y/N’s eyes like he wanted to ask her a million questions. But she was too embarrassed about everything to hold his gaze. She looked away hoping she didn’t look too guilty or shameful. She joined Azula in staring out the window. The cherry blossom trees were in bloom. They covered every square inch of sky as she looked out. It filled the room with a sweet scent that Y/N knew was going to permeate their clothes when they left. If she let her eyes go unfocused it looked like there was a raging fire in front of her. 

When no one said anything, Azula whipped her head back around to stare at her brother. “Did you hear me? You should be happy, excited, grateful. I just gave you great news.”

“I’m sure your brother simply needs a moment–”

“Don’t interrupt, Uncle!” Her voice changed from sickeningly sweet as she plied Zuko with the words he wanted to hear to savage as she screamed at Iroh. Azula had never learned to be patient, and she wanted them on the ship now. “I still haven’t heard my thank you,” She growled at Zuko. “I’m not a messenger. I didn’t have to come all this way. I could have sent Y/N for this.”

Y/N tensed at her words. She bit her tongue so hard that she tasted blood. How dare Azula think she was her messenger hawk?

“Father regrets? He wants me back?” Zuko muttered. Y/N felt like this was a conversation with himself that they were all intruding on. Y/N had to admit that the words that Azula used to trick them were sweet as honey, but also not very believable. 

Y/N touched the back of Azula’s arm. “I think that he needs time to take this in. It’s all very sudden for him.” She sent a smile in Zuko’s direction that he did not return. 

“I’ll send Y/N to call on you tomorrow.” Azula concluded and she and Y/N took their leave. 

“Why are you sending me tomorrow?” Y/N asked once they were out of range of the house. 

“Zuko trusts you more than he does me,” Azula admitted. “I figure even if he decided he doesn’t want to come, you’ll be able to sweet talk him down the hill to our little ship.”

“Zuko and I were–” 

“Oh shut up, Y/N. You two always had an eye for one another.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. “I–”

“Besides that’s the reason my Father wanted you to come anyways.” They had reached the wooden dock that the ramp to their ship rested on. 

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. “What?” 

Azula cocked her head. “Well, I figured you’d caught on to that already the way you were making moony eyes at my brother up there.”

“I wasn’t–How was I supposed to know I was only brought here to flirt Zuko’s ass all the way back to the Fire Nation?!” 

“Just back to the ship. Once he gets here we’ll put him in a jail cell.”

“AZULA!”

“Look,” she snarled. “You’re good with a sword but what the hell is that going to do against a fire bender? It’s a fact that you being a non bender means you’re a liability in a fight.” Azula turned and marched up the ramp. That was the end of the discussion even if Y/N had more to say. 

She looked down at her toes at the blue-green water between the slats. She could feel her eyes burning with unshed tears. She blinked them away and followed Azula onto the ship. 

Y/N fisted her hands in her tunic and stalked to her room. Control your anger, control your anger she repeated over and over in her head. She wasn’t like Azula or Zuko, she couldn’t make something with the anger that grew and festered in her chest. She couldn’t throw a fireball at the nearest wall and hope that her anger dissipated like the sparks that fell to the floor. She shut her door and immediately balled up her fist and let it slam home against the wall. The thin metal crumpled easily under her hand. It stung, but that was good. Y/N let out a breath she thought she’d been holding since the dock. She collapsed onto her bed and pulled her knees to her chest. 

It wasn’t a secret that she was a non-bender. But it’s not like it didn’t hurt to be reminded that she wasn’t as worthy because she was one. 

Please like/reblog!!

[goth-surana]

Scars of the Past

Anders/M!Hawke, read on AO3

Written for the prompt “kiss on a scar” from @pinkfadespirit 

(Also pssst if anyone wants to give me some hurt/comfort handers prompts from this angst list I’m all ears)

Garrett Hawke was a humorous man, a man many accused of being irreverent and unable to take anything seriously. He was always ready with a joke, some witty comment to alleviate the situation. 

The one man who stopped Hawke in his tracks, however, was Anders. Anders was passionate, took things perhaps too seriously. He spoke with fire in his eyes and fury in his heart, and that set Hawke’s own heart ablaze. 

The two men had been dancing around each other for years now, and finally Hawke was waiting anxiously in his estate. He had left the door open, set the fire in his room, even groomed his beard somewhat and washed up. He had no idea how far Anders might want to go tonight, but Hawke would be ready for anything. Really, he just wanted the other man desperately. 

Anders did arrive, nervously confessed to some kind of “obsession” with him, which made Hawke grin and definitely stroked his ego a bit. 

Anders smiled back nervously, adorably. Hawke was giddy, had been waiting for this moment for so long. Had flirted badly for so long, and finally convinced Anders that he was serious. 

Anders kissed as passionately as he spoke, driven by some deep hunger inside. Hawke grasped the other man as he returned the kiss, wrapping his large arms around the man’s small frame. 

As the kissing grew more intense, as heat pooled inside Hawke’s body, as his own hunger grew, Hawke began to push Anders’ feathered coat from his shoulders. Anders let him, and the coat and all its ridiculous buckles eventually fell to the ground. Hawke sneaked a hand up Anders’ side, untucked the hem on his shirt and slid a hand alongside warm skin. 

Anders shivered under Hawke’s touch, and Hawke somehow wanted him even more. Even if all they did was fumble around tonight, Hawke just wanted to touch him. To feel the man he had admired for so long and to see him laid bare without the layers he kept around himself. Those layers were needed, Hawke knew the world was cruel to Anders and he had to protect himself, but Hawke wanted to create a place where Anders did not need protective walls. 

Or clothes, ideally. 

Hawke put another arm inside Anders’ shirt, began to lift, but then felt Anders go stiff under him. And not the kind of stiff he had been hoping for. 

“Anders?” Hawke asked, pulling back slightly. He still held on, but kept his touch light so that Anders knew he could get away if he wanted. Maker, Hawke hoped he didn’t want to.

Anders stayed, but looked worried. “Uh, I’m not…I’m not much to look at.”

“I beg to differ,” Hawke grinned, trying to boost Anders’ self esteem. 

“I mean I’m not...I don’t want to disappoint you,” Anders said, not meeting Hawke’s eyes. “I haven’t been with anyone for a while, and not since...uh...since Justice.”

“Is he not okay with this?” Hawke asked, heart sinking.

“He’s fine with me being with you, although it took some arguing. I’m just not as pretty under my clothes, that’s all.”

“Anders, I assure you I very much want to see what’s under your clothes,” Hawke said, again trying for levity. 

“I know,” Anders said quietly. “I want to be with you too. I just...you’re so handsome, and I’m...Well, you’ll see.”

“If you don’t want to do anything else tonight, that’s fine,” Hawke said earnestly. Sure, he would be disappointed, but Hawke would respect Anders’ boundaries. Anders shook his head, steeling himself. 

“No, I want to do this. I just...I’m just nervous.”

“It’s okay,” whispered Hawke.

Anders took a breath, then began to remove his shirt. Hawke watched inches of skin revealed slowly, and then understood. 

First off, Anders was skinny, too skinny. But that wasn’t as noticeable as the multiple scars that were scattered across the man’s chest. Most prominent was a large patch of scar tissue stretched over his heart. The wound must have been gaping, Hawke realized with a sinking feeling. 

The other scars were small things, no doubt scrapes from his time in the Wardens. Battle marks that were low priority on a battlefield when he needed his mana for other uses.

After casting his shirt aside, Anders looked around the room nervously. Hawke tried not to openly stare at the chest wound, but he probably failed. 

“What…” Hawke couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What did that?”

Anders let out a low chuckle. “See, it ruined the mood. That was from Rolan, one of the Wardens. Former Templar.”

Hawke placed a broad hand over the mark, marveling at it. “How did you...survive this?,” he whispered into the room. Hawke knew Anders led a dangerous life, but it was another thing to know something had almost taken the man from him before they even met. 

Anders took a moment to reply. “Justice,” he said. “It was after we merged. Rolan tried to kill us, but Justice saved me. The sword...it went through us.”

“Maker…” Hawke breathed out, running a thumb along the edge of the scar. 

“Ugly, isn’t it?” Anders asked, smiling sardonically. 

“No,” Hawke answered, stronger than he meant to. “It means you survived. You’re beautiful, all of you.” 

Anders looked like he didn’t know how to respond, only looking into Hawke’s eyes. Hawke placed a hand on his elbow and gently led him to the bed, guiding him to lie down. Anders settled back against the pillows, still looking at Hawke in awe and confusion. Hawke lay on his side, peering over Anders. Again, he touched the gnarled flesh, stroking it. 

Anders took a sharp breath. He covered Hawke’s hand with his, still unsure. 

Hawke leaned down, slowly, questioning. Anders let him kiss him again, this time more gentle and less frenzied. More of a slow press of lips. Hawke liked kissing Anders this way just as much. As the two men kissed, Hawke ran his hand over Anders’ chest some more, feeling for all the small scars along the way. He caressed them, almost, wanting no doubt in Anders’ mind that they were just as beautiful as the rest of him. 

Anders tensed under him again when Hawke ran a hand over his shoulder, slightly behind him, and Hawke felt why immediately. There were scars there too. Hawke pulled back, and looked at Anders. 

“May I see?” Hawke asked. If Anders still wanted some part of him hidden, Hawke was fine with that. After all, Hawke had felt from the shape what kinds of marks these were. What had caused them. Hawke’s heart ached for the man in his bed, but he didn’t want to get emotional. Anders might view that as his own fault. 

Anders nodded, then sat up and turned around, baring his back to Hawke. All across his back were the unmistakable marks of a whip, slow and methodical. Hawke thought he could handle seeing what he knew was there, but the image of Anders being brutalized sent a fury through his veins. He took a deep breath. 

“From my fourth escape,” Anders said, somewhat distantly. “The Templars that caught me weren’t too happy. The circle didn’t, uh...sanction this, but it happened all the same.”

Hawke touched these scars too, soothing his hand up and down. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say. He also didn’t want to think about how something must have stopped Anders from healing the damage, how it would have been deliberate. A disgusting act of violence and vitriol. 

Boldly, unthinkingly, Hawke leaned down to kiss the place between Anders’ shoulder blades. The man shivered under him, let out a small breath. 

Hawke couldn’t quite form the words, but he wanted Anders to know that these were beautiful too. They too meant he had survived. Every mark on his body was a testament to how Anders had looked a cruel world in the face and said no. Said he would live, despite it all. 

Hawke moved up, kissing a scar that ran across his shoulder, hoping his actions could convey the words that were caught in his throat. 

“You’re being very serious right now,” Anders commented. “No jokes this time?”

“Nothing here to joke about,” Hawke said, his voice thick. “Just...turn around, okay?” 

Anders complied, facing Hawke. Hawke guided him back down, and situated himself over the other man. He leaned down and placed a kiss over the scar on Anders’ heart. 

“You’re beautiful,” Hawke said. 

“That’s sometimes hard to believe,” Anders admitted. 

“Well,” Hawke replied, smiling somewhat. “I have all night to convince you, if you’ll let me.”

Anders also smiled, a smile that lit a fire in Hawke’s heart. A smile that could rival a sunset. 

“I would like that very much.” 

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Req: Shōto moves from the big city to a small town where he meets & befriended by a local boy, Izuku. Together they experience memorable summer filled with beach outings, bike ridings, festivals & fireworks. But a dark secret about Shōto's past & true identity threatens to destroy their friendship.

Thank you for the prompt! 😊

When Shoto first moved to Izumo, he didn’t expect his life to change forever…

Well, that was a slight lie - after all, the entire reason he had moved away from his home in Tokyo was to get away from the stifling environment and constant pressure his father put on him. He had even tried to mask his identity, going by Shoto unless it was for important documents, in which case he'd use his mother's maiden name; he had also dyed his hair a rose pink to get rid of the red and white that stood out like a sore thumb. When he moved to his new home though, he had expected to live out his life quietly and alone, knowing that it was better than the alternative.

He changed his mind.

When Shoto moved to Izumo, he didn’t expect his life to change for the better. He didn’t expect to meet a local boy with fluffy green curls, constellations of freckles dusting his cheeks and a shining smile that instantly made him feel weak at the knees.

Midoriya Izuku.

Their meeting had been an accident - one that shouldn’t have happened - but Shoto was so glad that it did. He had been returning from the shops, both hands full of groceries, when he had spotted him running towards him.

His green hair bounced with each step and a bright smile was plastered to his face that was filled with mischief. As he ran past Shoto, he winked. Before he could spontaneously combust in response though, someone suddenly shouted and Shoto turned his attention to another boy, who seemed to be chasing after the first. His face was covered in mud.

'Damn, Deku! I'll kill you!' He roared. 'Get back here!'

At that moment, Shoto made a decision. He shouldn't meddle, he knew that - he didn't know the context behind this - but something told him to just go for it. Was it because the first boy had winked at him and was actually quite cute? Maybe… But he wasn't about to admit that.

As the angry blonde ran past him, Shoto timed it just right; he stuck his foot out to the side for the boy to trip over.

The instant he went flying, feet completely leaving the ground, Shoto sidestepped into a narrow alleyway to avoid being caught. He never saw the aftermath of his… Intervention, deciding to remain in his hiding spot for at least five minutes before venturing back out onto the sidewalk.

By the time Shoto made it back home to his small cottage, the ice cream he had bought had half melted, but he had no regrets. 

He had just finished putting the shopping away when there was a knock on the door, which turned out to be none other than the boy who had winked at him earlier. His hair was slightly damp with sweat and his face was flushed.

'Hi!' The boy began. 'I'm Midoriya Izuku! You might not remember but before-'

'No, no. I remember quite vividly.' Shoto interrupted, leaning against the door frame. 'I'm Shoto.'

'Shoto…' Midoriya spoke softly, before a grin made its way onto his face. 'It's nice to meet you! I just wanted to say thank you for earlier. Kacchan can be a dick sometimes. He said something about my mum's weight so I put a spider down the back of his shirt and shoved some mud in his face so I could get a head start. That's why he was chasing me. I don't know what would've happened if he had caught up to me so yeah… Thank you.'

Shoto blinked a few times as he processed all of that - Midoriya could speak rather quickly.

'It's no problem.' He eventually shrugged. 'It was quite entertaining.'

'I know right?!' Midoriya exclaimed with a laugh. 'I looked over my shoulder just as he flew like 3 metres. I only knew it was you because you mysteriously disappeared before he could spot you.'

Shoto allowed himself a small smile as he watched Midoriya wipe away a stray tear.

'Well, from what you've told me, it sounds like he deserved it.'

Midoriya nodded slightly, before going silent. Shoto watched as he seemed to consider his next words, rubbing the back of his neck and shuffling on his feet.

'I haven't seen you around before. Are you new to Izumo?' When Shoto nodded, he continued. 'Well, if you want, I could give you a tour? I know we don't know each other that well and you're probably busy, but… Yeah, it's up to you though! I'd totally understand if-'

'I'd love to.' Shoto smiled earnestly. 'Give me five minutes and I'll be good to go.'

'Awesome!'

The more they got to know each other, the more he came to realise just how kind and brave Izuku was, with his own fair share of scars and the inability to leave Shoto alone even if he tried. Every day held an adventure and Shoto found himself enjoying every moment of it.

Ever since that day, the two of them had been joined at the hip. Initially, Shoto had been reluctant to allow a stranger into his life, never having much luck with friends due to who his father was. It was different now though. Not only had he forsaken his old life and now lived in a place where no one knew him, but the friend in question was Midoriya Izuku, who seemed to slot himself into Shoto's life so easily, it was like he had always been there.

His once empty house was now filled with memories. Photos of him and Izuku were scattered across the walls, commemorating their various hiking conquests, cycle marathons and charity runs that Izuku had convinced Shoto to take part in. That wasn't all though, some pictures were more casual, like the time they went to that bubble tea shop that also sold bubble slush that Shoto had quickly become addicted to, or the time they were chilling at Izuku's house and his mum, Inko, had wrapped him in a tight hug that ended up with Shoto crying, or even when they went to that summer festival wearing matching kimonos and danced together.

Life was impossibly good and Shoto loved it. When he was with Izuku, he was truly happy. He couldn't picture living without him.

As the months came and went though, Shoto knew it wouldn't last. He knew eventually he'd have to tell Izuku the truth about who he was and potentially face losing him forever.

It was a terrifying thought, but his friend deserved to know. He just hoped Izuku could one day forgive him.

☀️🌙

'It's so hoooot!' Izuku moaned, collapsing onto their shared beach towel and spreading himself out along the material. The two of them had decided to spend their Sunday at the beach, before Izuku started his new job the next day.

When Shoto said nothing as he calmly sat down next to him, Izuku poked an eye open to look at him expectantly. 'I said, it's hot, Sho-chan!'

'Is it really?' He deadpanned. 'I couldn't tell.'

'I hate you.' Izuku pouted.

'You love me and you know it.' Shoto replied easily, albeit he chewed on the inside of his cheek as he waited for his best friend's response.

'Hmmm.' Izuku huffed, before both of his eyes shot open and he smiled brightly at him. 'I guess I do.'

Shoto felt his face flush terribly at that, but before he could overthink it, Izuku suddenly jumped up and removed his top. He tried not to stare as his friend's surprisingly muscular torso was exposed, and instead focused on an interesting shell next to him.

'Sho-chaaaaaan!' He looked up to find Izuku staring at him, a bottle of sun cream in his hand. 'Can you rub my back, pretty please?'

'So needy.' He quipped, holding out his hand. Their fingers brushed as Izuku passed him the lotion, then his friend moved to sit with his back to him.

Shoto's hands shook slightly as he popped open the cap and squirted some onto his palm, before reaching out to rub it onto a freckled back. Izuku's skin was surprisingly soft, even with the scars that were scattered across his body. The warmth his friend radiated was also quite overwhelming, but Shoto wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not - after all, he was feeling rather flustered himself.

When he eventually finished, he tapped his shoulder and Izuku shuffled around to look at him.

'Your turn!' He announced, taking the sun cream from Shoto.

'You haven't done your face and chest yet though.'

'You're hopeless, Sho-chan.' Izuku sighed, before patting him on the head affectionately. 'But it's okay. I forgive you.'

Shoto didn't know what he meant by that, so he just shrugged and removed his top.

☀️🌙

'Izuku.' Shoto finally muttered, clutching his towel close to his chest. They had just been for a swim in the sea, hoping it would cool them down slightly. When he had initially suggested the idea, Izuku had dived into the water straight away, and when he eventually resurfaced, he had called out to Shoto, a bright smile on his face, before splashing him playfully. The salt water had stung his eyes a little, but Shoto had still smiled back and matched Izuku's laughter.

Now though, smiling was the last thing he wanted to do. After all, he had decided to finally tell the truth. He couldn't keep going on like this, enjoying Izuku's friendship whilst hiding who he was. It wasn't fair on his friend.

'Yeah?' Izuku finished drying his hair and looked at him curiously. When he noticed Shoto's worried expression, he stepped forwards and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'You wanna sit down?'

Shoto swallowed heavily and nodded. He allowed himself to be guided to the beach towel by his friend and they sat down facing each other.

'Okay…' Shoto whispered, more to himself, before exhaling heavily. 'Izuku, I want to start by saying that you mean so much to me and that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

'Nawww, Shoto-kun!'

'That being said,' He continued before he could get distracted. 'I haven't been completely honest with you.'

When Izuku tilted his head to the side in question, Shoto sighed. No point beating around the bush. 'My real name is Todoroki Shoto. My dad is Todoroki Enji, you might know of him, he's that dickhead politician that-'

'Yeah, I know about him' Izuku laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. 'My dad used to be a supporter of his policies, not that he's ever been around to realise that his son is part of one of the communities he actively hates on.'

'Sorry about that.' Shoto muttered. 'For what it's worth, I don't agree with him. When he found out I was…' Bite the bullet, Izuku won’t care. 'When he found out I was gay, he wasn't too pleased.'

'Shoto-'

'It's fine, Izuku. I've always hated him.' He shook his head. 'My old man is the reason I moved here. I had to escape while I could. I've been using my mother's maiden name and I dyed my hair so no one would catch on. I wanted to get as far away as possible and make a life here, before eventually bringing my mother here to live with me. The bastard put her in a hospital, but me and my siblings have been working to get her discharged, and we reckon she'd be happier in a place like this.'

He paused for a moment, considering his next words as he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. 'I couldn't keep lying to you, Izuku. You're my best friend and I just… I'm sorry, I hope you can one day forgive me.'

Silence fell over them then, but Shoto didn't dare open his eyes. He didn't want to see the look of betrayal in Izuku's eyes, as selfish as it may be. He couldn't bear the idea of looking up to find his best friend gone.

Suddenly, a warm hand came to rest over Shoto's own trembling ones, soft to the touch and grounding him enough that he could look up to meet shining eyes.

'There's nothing to forgive.' Izuku almost whispered, sincerity in his voice that was so undeniably Izuku that Shoto wondered how he could ever doubt him. A reassuring smile graced his face. 'You're not your father, Shoto-kun. He's a cruel man, while you're nothing but kind. I understand why you kept your name a secret, I just hope that the Shoto I had the pleasure of getting to know was the real Shoto.'

'It was.' He let out a bashful smile when Izuku's own only grew. 'With you, I am myself entirely.'

'Then I'm glad.' A calloused hand squeezed Shoto's own affectionately. 'Because you also mean the world to me and to lose you would be… I couldn't-’ He sighed. ‘It would be heartbreaking.'

'I don't deserve you.' Shoto shook his head with disbelief. Before he could stop himself, he continued. 'I have something else to admit.'

'Your sister's not the prime minister, is she?' Izuku giggled.

'No… She's a teacher?' Shoto tilted his head to the side, confused.

'I'm just kidding, babes. Go on.' His friend playfully shoved him, and Shoto tried not to think too hard about being called "babes", even if it was a jibe.

'Okay, so remember how I said you're the best thing that could ever happen to me?' He began, focusing on Izuku's hand still covering his own. 'Well, it's more than that. I've never felt this way about anyone before, but when I'm with you, I never want it to end. You've made me smile more than I have in years, and every time you smile, life seems a little brighter by it. You're beautiful, both inside and out, and I can't imagine a life without you.'

He looked up to find Izuku staring at him, tears streaming down his face as he rubbed circles into Shoto's hand. A few months ago, he would've been worried at having made his friend cry, but now he knew better. Crying was a good thing with Izuku.

He exhaled shakily. 'I- I like you, Izuku. So, so much.'

Before he could comprehend what was happening, his friend suddenly leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Shoto's shoulders and tackling him to the ground. His back hit the sand with a muffled thud, but he hardly cared, returning the hug as Izuku nuzzled into his neck.

'I like you too!' He mumbled, tears dampening Shoto's skin. 'We'll be okay, promise. Todoroki won't be able to touch you here. I won't let him.'

'Izuku…' Shoto's throat felt tight as he rested his head back, not caring about the grains of sand burrowing into his hair. 'This can't be real.'

'Why not?'

'Because you're perfect.' His vision blurred and Shoto shut his eyes to prevent any tears from falling. 'This can't be real.'

'Is it real if I do this?' Izuku lifted his head up to look at him, before bringing his hand forwards and pressing his fingertip to Shoto's nose. 'Boop.'

Shoto crossed his eyes to follow the digit, eliciting an amused giggle from Izuku that was surprisingly contagious.

'That helps thank you.' Shoto laughed, his nose feeling strange as it was squished.

'Hmmm, I'm glad.' Izuku whispered, finally removing his finger to cup Shoto's cheek instead. The two stared at each other and Shoto tried to commit every feature to memory, from the spots of emerald in his verdant irises to the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth.

He watched as a tongue darted out of Izuku's mouth to lick the bottom of his plump albeit slightly chapped lips. 'What about if I do this?'

Izuku leaned forward then and captured Shoto's lips in a quick kiss. He gasped upon the contact, and when Izuku pulled away he found himself chasing the feeling needily.

Izuku's cheeks were dusted pink and he sat up. 'Sorry, I should've asked first- Umph!'

Shoto sat up enough to link his arms back around Izuku's waist and pulled him down for another kiss. It was awkward - Shoto had no idea what he was doing and he assumed his friend didn't either. It was okay though, they could learn together.

'Izuku.' Shoto murmured against his mouth. 'I really am glad I met you, and I'm sorry for lying.'

Izuku rubbed their noses together before pressing a quick peck to his lips.

'It's okay really.' He whispered. 'I trust you.'

They spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on that beach towel together, and when they arrived at the Midoriya household for dinner that evening, holding hands, Inko was nothing but delighted.

Yes, Shoto had moved to Izumo to escape, but he hadn’t expected to love life quite as much as he did right now.

[yangyeet]

Is This Heaven (Final)

Pairing: Jaemin x Reader (ft. friends!Jisung & Donghyuck)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Status: Finished! Preview Here; Part 1 Here; Part 2 Here!

Prompt: In a world where people have their soulmate's name on their body somewhere, you find yourself caught in a dilemma that would result in a whirlwind of events. Are you ready to face this challenge in a world known to be cruel? Will you find your heaven in a place where people refuse to follow their hearts? Or will you fall as a victim to the legend?

Warnings: character death im sorry in advance

Word Count: 6.6K

Jaemin. Na Jaemin. That was the name of the person who had entered your life like a hurricane and left you on the edge of your seat, eager for more. He certainly was a whirlwind of a person. In under 24 hours of learning about his existence, he had managed to charm you through snapchat, meet you with a mysterious bullet wound, and was now about to tell you another grappling secret that you were sure would impact you significantly.

“Do you…do you perhaps know what The Dragon is?”

 His eyes were uncertain, flickering from side to side. You could see that in the way that he started fiddling with his hands and bouncing his leg nervously. 

“No,” you whispered, afraid that you’d break the boy if you spoke any louder. Jaemin peered into your eyes and then took one of your hands, lifting it to the scar on his shoulder that you had noticed earlier. 

“As you know, a dragon traditionally can be very symbolic.” 

You nodded your head. You recalled that Jisung would often talk about dragons, alluding them to his interest in mythology and their relevance in the modern world. 

“Well, dragons can symbolize chaos. That’s the meaning we’re going for.” 

“So let me guess, you’re a part of a gang that’s called The Dragon and that tattoo is a symbol for your gang, and it was supposed to be on your shoulder which is like one of those gang tattoo things. But there’s more to it.” You tried putting together every stereotypical piece of information that you could remember from the various dramas that you’d watched. 

It seemed that you hit the bullseye when Jaemin patted you on the shoulder. 

“Oh ho ho. You’re a lot smarter than I took you for.” He didn’t say that condescendingly. Rather, he was looking at you quite proudly as if he were saying that’s my girl. 

“Thanks,” you responded, shying away from his gaze. “But what else is there?”

“Actually...everyone in the gang...we don’t have soulmates. We’re outcasts.” He was looking into your eyes, gauging your reaction to see if you’d be disgusted from his reveal. 

You weren’t. 

In fact, you were more concerned about one specific fact. 

“Um...who’s in your gang again?”

“You know Haechan and Jisung are. And my friends Renjun, Jeno, and Chenle. One of our members, Mark, just went on hiatus for a bit to go to a university abroad.”

“So...you all don’t have a soulmate?”

He shook his head. “That’s why we had all tattooed a dragon on ourselves to show we’re the hidden chaos amidst the fake peace. Mine just got removed for a mission a while back.” 

“What about Park Jisung?”

“No..he doesn’t have a soulmate. Why?” Jaemin was starting to look a bit perplexed. He looked honest and you completely believed him. Of course, that didn’t have anything to do with the nagging crush in the back of your mind. But you were convinced that he was correct. 

“He told me he had a soulmate. I met her too...” 

“She’s probably a fake.” Ah. You finally understood a bit of what was going on. If the girl was a fake you could completely understand where he was coming from. A lot of the wealthier families chose to fake a soulmate for their child if they didn’t show signs of a soulmate mark. As long as the person didn’t fall in love, they were free to act however they wanted to; usually, families just bought a fake for inheritance purposes. Nothing more and nothing less. 

However, even if that was the case,  Jisung would have known that he did not have a real soulmate. He looked so in love whenever he talked about her though.  If so…

No, you didn’t want to think about it. That would be playing with fate. And that wasn’t okay...right? It’s not like you were doing the same thing at the moment.

Jaemin was ignorant of your inner conflict and chose to push the topic of the younger aside. “So...I just wanted to say that things haven’t gone as properly as I would’ve liked. Would you like to go on a date with me when I recover? A proper one?” He looked into your eyes earnestly and who were you to deny the handsome boy?

“Of course! Gotta give you time to heal. Also...I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” He quirked his head to the side like a curious puppy and you would have laughed if you didn’t feel like you were about to reveal the most intimate secret about yourself. 

You chose to whisper the secret, afraid of the ears on the walls. “I don’t have a soulmate either.” 

He didn’t look shocked. In fact, he looked kind of relieved. “Two people without soulmates meet each other. What a story, huh.” 

You nodded your head. “Well, I’m glad we got that much off our shoulders. Introduce me to the rest of the gang later?” 

“They’re not the best people, but we’ll see. The sun’s rising right now, but let’s sleep in. You don’t have any obligations in the morning, right?”

“Nah. Let’s sleep.”

                                ______________________  

The week passed by just like that and you went on the date as promised. He took you to a bowling alley and then a high-end restaurant, showing off his earnings with a reserved table for the two of you. In a way, it was very much like him to shower you in his affection and love by giving you the best possible experiences he could provide. He even gifted you a metal ring that he claimed would protect you from harm’s way, even though you had no idea what he meant by that. Later, you learned that it could be part-blade and part-GPS with a small chip. You were overwhelmed at his gestures, but happy that he had considered you lovely enough to shower you with his love.

Even after the date, Jaemin stayed at your apartment to avoid going out and getting caught by the mysterious enemy. He didn’t explain what his mission was, but he did tell you enough for you to conclude that it was dangerous. 

To be honest, living with Jaemin wasn’t too bad. Sure, he was overly affectionate and clingy and slightly dependent on you due to his injury, but it wasn’t overbearing. He had his own quirky way of drawing you in. 

You noticed that he really wasn’t a man of too many words. The explaining he had done in the first two nights seemed to be the most he had ever said to you. He chose to show you his feelings through his actions. Some mornings, you would wake up to the wonderful aroma of breakfast wafting to the bedroom. Before you could take a step beyond the blankets, Jaemin would burst into the room with a smile on his face and a bounce in his steps. In his hands would be a tray of warm food, along with some juice, water, and any utensils you’d require for the meal.

Since his shirt was ruined, you had let him borrow the clothes that Jisung had left on the occasional sleepovers and they were adorably a bit too large on him. Jaemin would always joke about how the baby was the one who’d grown the most over the past few years. You’d laugh and agree, remembering how the younger was the chubbiest, most adorable child you’d ever seen. 

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to exchange childhood stories and banters from crazy experiences in the past either.

He’d talk about his best friends who would always be bound by his side: Jeno, Renjun, and Haechannie. Jeno was the strong figure in his life who had gone through the most terrible storms, but would fight through each and every one of them. The two would have their on and off fights, but they’d try to get along for the peace of the group. Renjun’s art could even make the Mona Lisa smile, according to Jaemin. And Haechannie was the happy virus with a knack for bringing the mood up. Jisung had joined the group after his hacking abilities had caused Jeno a headache. They took the younger in due to his talent and they became a happy family. And of course, he never forgot to bring up Mark, the Canadian kid who nearly threatened to quit the gang due to “Donghyuck’s persistent skinship.”

You laughed at his tales and would respond back with some stories of your own. You’d talk about the time that Jisung had scraped his knees and instead of telling anyone about it, he came up to you and told you that he was an immortal superhero with the strangest powers. Or the time you chased the younger around with a worm in your hand. 

Jaemin’s eyes sparkled as you told him various stories of the past. He responded by saying that you looked like you had hearts popping out of yours whenever he’d speak. You’d like to disagree with that, but you knew it was true.

And when it came time to change the bandages, Jaemin would come up to you with the biggest puppy eyes he could muster and pout until you got up. You wouldn’t ever keep him waiting and always had the first-aid supplies ready for whenever he needed them. 

Whenever it was time for you to cook dinner, he’d sit on the dining table and just gaze at your figure, absentmindedly admiring you. Most of the time, you’d catch him in his hazy state and point out how the hand leaning against his head caused his cheeks to mush up and turn red. He’d deny that and start arguing how you were just distracting and he really didn’t care about what happened as long as he could keep looking at you forever.

 And sometimes, it’d just be you and Jaemin cuddling on your sofa with some Lo-Fi music playing in the background. It was safe to say that you had grown used to having another individual in the house. You were living a much livelier life with him around. 

It wouldn’t always be the two of you in the apartment alone. Haechan would sometimes pop by to make sure that everything was alright. The first time he came around, he brought the tattered shirt and threw it at Jaemin’s face, telling him that it was beyond his ability to repair. The second time he came, he caught the two of you snuggling and nearly launched himself at Jaemin for taking advantage of his friend. You put yourself in the middle and gave him a cheeky smirk that he easily turned away from. 

In the chaos that was now your life, you surprisingly noticed that Jisung hadn’t bothered to contact you this whole time. He knew you were in a rough spot, so why didn’t he contact you? Maybe he found out you met Jaemin and was mad at you? That still didn’t excuse his absence. 

So as you sat across from Jaemin, you dialed his number in hopes of finding out the reason. One ring passed...then another. He strangely still didn’t pick up. Jisung would always pick up your call, even if he was in the middle of class. You tried again, hoping that it was a mishap and you made a mistake, but you still ended with the same result. 

“Um, Jaem?” The boy hummed. 

“Jisung isn’t picking up.” 

“Wait what? He always picks up, though.” Jaemin pulled out his own phone and dialed the number, waiting until the call went to voicemail before looking at you. 

You got up from your spot. “I’m going to go to his house.” 

He shook his head. “That’s dangerous. I’ll go.” 

“You’re still injured,” you reminded him as you grabbed your bag and the pepper spray that was laying on the table beside it. “His house is here, and there’s still light outside. Don’t worry too much.” 

Jaemin didn’t look too sold on the idea of you going outside when you were practically harboring an outcast in your home, but he respected your decision and finally resigned. “Okay, but stay on Facetime with me the entire time. I want to see you safe, baby.”  

You almost cooed at the pet name and walked up to him, giving him a chaste kiss on his forehead. He wrapped his arms around your waist and gave you his infamous puppy eyes. “Call. Now.” Rolling your eyes, you video called him and watched him pick it up,  

After he was satisfied, you walked out and closed the door securely, making sure that no intruder could break in from the outside. It wasn’t a typical occurrence in your neighborhood, but you were never too sure about that. 

The walk to Jisung’s house didn’t take too long and Jaemin stayed on the call as promised, telling you the most obscure facts so you wouldn’t get bored. When you arrived at his place, you could hear voices from inside the house. You gave a signal for Jaemin to quiet down and placed your ear against the door. You knew eavesdropping was rude, but hey, if you got any information from it…

You could hear three male voices, one of which belonged to your friend. The other voice that was currently talking was deep, not as much as Jisung’s but still comparable. He seemed to be talking in a soft manner, not raising his voice. 

“...it’s...don’t worry....bomb….detonated and...got her and I’m....Jaemin…” The ending fizzled out and you could only make out a few words. 

Another hushed voice spoke up, sounding like pure honey. “...he’s right. Also, I think we’ve got a visitor.” The voice sounded much closer and you didn’t have time to back up before the door swung open. You were met with a tall male with bleached hair, his dark roots showing prominently. He looked at you with piercing eyes, looking as if he were ready to eliminate you without hesitation. 

Another male walked up behind him, taller and much more intimidating than the first despite his calming aura. His dark hair was a sharp contrast to his milky skin, and his fingers were adorned with rings. However, the next thing you noticed was a dragon tattoo on his biceps, peeking out under the loose t-shirt he was wearing. 

“Are you looking for someone?” He asked briskly, clearly wanting to get this conversation over with quickly

The other boy looked offended that he had the audacity to ask you the question. “Jeno, what if she’s a spy?”

“Well, Renjun, let’s give her a chance. She already knows our names thanks to you.”   

Renjun just huffed and looked at you. “So, spill.” 

“Wow, rude,” you commented, rolling your eyes for a dramatic effect. “Also, I’m looking for Park Jisung. This is his house, after all.” 

You heard a sniffle from the background. “Let her in. It’s just (Y/n).” Giving a smirk directed to the boy at the door, you let yourself in and took your shoes off before running to the boy. 

“Jisungie, I’m here for you.” You heard a muffled audio vibrate in your pocket and realized that you had left Jaemin hanging. “Jaemin is here too. What happened?”

Jisung looked absolutely heartbroken. He was struggling to contain his tears and you pulled him into a tight hug. “It’s okay. Let it out.” You stayed there in that position, hugging as the two boys behind you awkwardly shuffled around and grabbed some water. 

The taller, Jeno, tapped you on the shoulder and held up two bottles of water. “It’s a sorry...for how I acted before. Also Jisung might get dehydrated from all this crying.” You accepted the beverage gratefully and rubbed the sobbing boy’s shoulders before prying him off of you. 

“Drink,” you commanded. 

Renjun moved to squat beside you and handed the younger a tissue box. He turned to you. “Sorry I was harsh to you too. How do you know Jisung?” 

Ah, he was straight to the point. Well, as long as he acknowledged you weren’t dangerous, it’d suffice. 

“They’ve known each other since they were kids,” Jaemin shouted through your phone speaker. 

“I keep forgetting you’re here,” you snorted.

“How rude.” You could practically hear him pout as he said that. 

Renjun, on the other hand, was pretty interested. “Jaemin, Jeno told me you got shot?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “It was a fake.” You heard Jisung cough in the background. 

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay. Stay on the down low for a bit,” Jeno spoke firmly. You could hear a leader like vibe radiating from him. It was scary. 

“Yes, sir,” Jaemin quipped. “Ight, (Y/n), imma head out.” With that meme worthy exit, he hung up on you. 

Jisung seemed to finally calm down and was breathing normally, almost a look of determination in his eyes. “(Y/n)-” 

“Uh... does she know?” Renjun interrupted. 

“The Dragon?” You responded, wanting to show him that you did have some knowledge. “Yeah, I do.”

Jeno quirked his eyebrows and plopped down beside you. “So you know I’m the temporary leader while Mark is out?” Well, no you didn’t. But that made sense. 

“I assumed that.” He seemed to like your reply and then gave you a little smile. 

“Our maknae...baby Jisung, he received terrible news from an incident that occurred not too long ago.” You leaned in to hear him closer, as if the distance would clear up your curiosity. “His soulmate received a bugged package that exploded. It was on impact…”

You heard a whimper and saw Renjun patting the younger on the shoulder. 

“When did it happen?” You asked. “Specifically?”

“Last week. Um, about six days ago? At night, around eight?” You gasped. That timing seemed familiar to you. A bit too familiar. 

“Who did it?”

“We don’t know. Our intelligence can’t determine how it got to her hands.” This time, it was Renjun who responded. 

“Jisung, can’t you use a tracker or hack a camera to figure that out?”

He shook his head, puffy eyes meeting yours for the first time that day. “I sent that package. I didn’t know she’d get it. I-I fell in love with her too.” He quickly gasped before covering his mouth. 

“I know,” you said. “I know you don’t have a soulmate.”

“You’re a smart girl,” Jeno commented. “We can use you.” You didn’t know whether to respond to that as a compliment or to fight him, so you did the next best thing: ignore him. 

“Well, I guess I signed up for this in a way,” he responded, downcast. 

You sighed. This wasn’t good. You were finding yourself in a similar predicament as him and you were afraid to find out what would happen if you treaded the same path. 

The rest of the day dwindled just like that: Jisung mourning with the three of you trying to console and comfort him. You learned more about Jeno and Renjun and obtained all their socials as well. 

When you arrived back home, Jaemin welcomed you with open arms and a wet smooch to your cheeks. Haechan, who probably arrived a bit after you left the call, was sitting adjacent to you guys in the living room looking grim. You were surprised to see him so serious, not even breaking out of character to strangle Jaemin for his affection.

“How’s Jisung doing?�� 

“Fine. It’ll take a while to get over it.” 

Jaemin nodded understandingly and brought you down to sit next to the other boy, handing you some pizza bites and mozzarella sticks. You thanked him and ate properly for the first time that day. 

Haechan observed you grabbing the cheesy snack before swooping in and taking a big bite from the piece in your hand. You glared at him. 

“(Y/n), I found out some information that you wouldn’t like to hear.”

“What?” You asked. 

“Jisung’s girlfriend received the package. But that was one of my packages. And I can guarantee you that it did not have any explosives when I sent it out.”

You must’ve looked really perplexed because both boys broke out in light hearted laughter. 

“Don’t make that face,” Jaemin finally spoke. “You’re so cute, I might eat you up instead.” You nearly threw up at his cheesiness and threw a stick at him. Lucky for him, he caught it in his mouth and scrunched his nose at you. “Nice try, baby.”

Haechan gagged. “You two are disgusting.” 

The two of you chuckled in response before you decided to talk about the elephant in the room. “So you’re saying that the package was bugged?”

“By who?” Jaemin inquired. The other boy shook his head. You all decided to leave the matter hanging in the air and ate to your heart’s content before retiring for the night. Haechan waved you two goodbye and left as you got ready for bed. 

By now, you were more than comfortable to sleep with Jaemin and his injury was healing quite well. He was the little spoon today, seemingly more sensitive than before. You combed your hand through his hair. “What’s wrong?”

“That...what if that package was the one I sent?” 

Oof. You had speculated that he’d arrive at this conclusion. So had you. 

“It could be.” 

“But who spiked it?”

“Dunno.”

Those were the only words exchanged before sleep lulled you both into the realm of sleep. This time, the dream you had was even more frightening. You were in a room that was dark and cold. You couldn’t see a single thing beyond the stone walls and that terrified you. It seemed so realistic. The musty basement smell that permeated the air was giving you nausea in your dream. 

A brown dragon swirled around, moving in before attempting to wrap around you. You tried so hard to free yourself, but it was becoming harder to breathe with each passing minute. Feeling a spark of hope, you yelled into the void and woke yourself up to the morning light. Except, it wasn’t morning light. It was the bright light from a bulb above that flickered tic, tok, tic, tok, until it too went out. 

That was how you found yourself stuck in your current predicament. You had a vague recollection of getting thrown out of a car and walking into a warehouse, the general directions fuzzy to you. There wasn’t much more that you could recall, detail-wise. 

After a few minutes, you heard shuffling and a resounding thud against the door. The person let out curses as they struggled opening the knob and resorted to kicking the door down. It went silent for a couple of seconds and you were afraid that the guards had woken up and decided to fight back. You moved your feet in an attempt to move a bit farther from the door, in case there was an enemy who would barge in. 

Feeling all hope of your rescuer disappearing, you let out a sob. “Please, please hurry.” 

Although your hands were free, your feet were still bound to the chains and you couldn’t go far without making a ruckus. It was futile but you tried to bang the shackles against the floor of the mini prison. There wasn’t much point in doing that, but you wanted to somehow reassure the person on the other side (if they were alive) that you were still kicking and alert of their presence. 

You heard a click and a creak of the door, signaling the person had gotten through. Blinding light filled your vision and you squeezed your eyes shut. You heard a figure run towards you and fall to their knees, hugging you tightly.

“You’re safe now. I won’t let them hurt you. Not ever. I got you.”

“J-Jaemin?” You’d recognize that voice anywhere. He spilled apologies, putting his head on top of yours and rubbing his hand on your back to comfort you. Jaemin held onto you as if you were the last thing he’d ever hold and that was bringing tears to your eyes.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you admitted, sniffling and slowly opening your eyes to adjust to the scenery around you. The two of you were in the damp cell, with the only source of light coming from the open door in front of you. Miraculously, the guards who had initially brought here (assumingly) were lying unconscious on the ground, mouths hanging open as if they had been taken by surprise. 

“I thought I lost you,” he confessed. “I can’t believe I hurt you. It’s my fault, but I have to make this right.” He pulled out a tool from his pant pocket and swiftly waved it, revealing a lock-picking point. You understood his intention and turned around, putting your bound feet onto his lap. He made quick work on the bindings, easily twisting and shifting through the locks until they fell apart. 

You sighed in relief at the feeling of blood rushing through your legs and massaged them. He raised his eyebrows at you and let out a laugh in the ironic moment. 

“You freed your hands by yourself? That’s my girl,” he complimented, pressing a kiss to your cheek before standing up and giving you a hand. “We don’t have time. Jisung’s waiting with the car.” Time was of the essence. This wasn’t a time to become sentimental, so you wiped your tears as you stood up, accepting his hand. 

The two of you cautiously took a step outside the room and looked both ways as you headed down the hall. Your getaway route was easy. Just a left, then a sharp turn to the right, and the door would be straight to the right. A couple of stairs would lead to the entrance of the warehouse and you could escape from the abandoned building. You had memorized the route when you were brought into the warehouse and Jaemin followed your instructions, trusting your memory. When you asked him how he entered, he replied that he simply popped down from the roof and that the helicopter had flown away already.

Learning enough about him to know that it wouldn’t do you any good to bother asking question about his methods, you squeezed his hand and moved forward.  He reciprocated the action and pulled you closer to him as you neared the edge. Jaemin peered past the opening and signaled that it was clear. Honestly, you were surprised. You hadn’t expected it to seem this easy.

It seemed that your anxiety agreed. Adrenaline was pumping through your body and you could hear sharp noises of what seemed like a rat scurrying through the pipes. Your nerves were practically on fire at each movement you took through the hallways, but it seemed that you had nothing to worry about as you arrived at the door. 

“Not bad, huh?” Jaemin whispered with a grin. 

You rolled your eyes. “Have you never watched dramas? No protagonist says that.”

“Shh, nerd,” he replied. But as he pushed the door that says pull, you let out a snort.

“Yeah, I’m the nerd here. At least I know how to open doors,” you retorted, pushing his aside to open the door. 

The rickety metal stairs were slightly rusty, but they looked in good enough shape to walk in. You placed all your bets on a line as you inched forward onto the platform, hoping that there’d be no noise. Jaemin walked behind you, one hand hovering over your waist as he looked below in search for any enemy. 

Going down the stairs was tricky. The shadow of the warehouse masked the two of you well enough that you wouldn’t be in direct sunlight. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot of noise from the steps and you finally made your way down to the last step.

Jaemin suddenly paused in his step, sniffing the air. You turned to look at him. 

“What?”

“Shit, we’ve been bamboozled. Can’t you smell it?”

You looked up and smelled the air, sensing the musty smell of an old moldy basement. However, you could faintly smell something else like rotten eggs. Was that something that should strike you as odd? “Smell what?” 

“We’re gonna have to try to run for it, but it’s dangerous.” You looked at him, stunned, but nodded your head nonetheless. 

“Now?” He mumbled a yeah and the two of you took off to the opening of the warehouse. As soon as you were halfway to the exit, there was a thud and the giant cover slammed down. You were completely engulfed in darkness.

Jaemin was still holding your hand, but you could feel him shaking. 

As bright lights turned on, you found yourself surrounded by a group of thugs. A familiar face walked out of the crowd and stood in the center, holding a gun cockily and giving you two a smirk. 

“Well, well, well. Look who we caught.” His voice sounded as if he had calculated the end result of a simple game of chess - only that game of chess was in his favor and he was about to declare a checkmate anytime soon.

You almost felt your jaw drop. “Is that...no way?”

Jaemin, on the other hand, didn’t look too surprised. Rather, he looked angry. This was not the outcome he wanted and he felt betrayed. There was no way either of you could have stopped this in the end. “Jisungie-” 

“Don’t call me that,” the younger snapped. The heels of his boots echoed through the warehouse as he approached you and lifted your chin with the butt of his gun. 

“Who do you think sent you the wrong information the other night?” 

You heard an audible gasp beside you and saw Jaemin’s eyes widening in realization. “That’s why the deal busted. Even though I made sure it was safe.” He lowered his hands down to his abdomen as if he were still feeling the aftermath of the phantom pain resonating in his body. 

Jisung chuckled and waved his hands around. “No, no, no, you have it all wrong, You didn’t make sure it was safe. I made sure it wasn’t safe.” He put his hands in his pocket and pulled out two pairs of earplugs. One had the signature engraving that Renjun usually drew on his raw material. The other was a counterfeit, quite similar to the other, but missing the symbol. 

“You gave me a fake? That cost your girlfriend her life!” Jaemin was raising his voice and you could sense him visibly losing his cool. The other men who were standing guard immediately pointed their weapons at him to warn him from acting foolishly. You were at a disadvantage and if you didn’t get out soon, this would go downhill very quickly. 

There was a sliver of hope in your mind that the ring on your finger was still working well enough in the abandoned region to gain satellite positioning and alert your other friends where you guys were. However, you knew that Jisung also had access to the technology and he probably would’ve found a way to shut it down. 

At this point, Jaemin looked like he was about to lunge at Jisung, weapon or no weapon, and he probably would have done it if you didn’t put an arm on his shoulder. “Not now,” you said rationally. With his head practically being a red target for the enemy, you knew that any rash actions would lead to your demise. 

His gaze pierced into yours before he relaxed, stepping back and taking a deep breath. The tension in the room was high and Jisung seemed to enjoy this turn of events. 

“(Y/n), I’m so glad to see you making the right decision,” he praised you. 

You were gritting your teeth at his comment. “That doesn’t mean I’m letting you off the hook. Why are you doing all of this?” 

He rolled his eyes before mocking you in a high pitched voice. “Have you ever been in my shoes?” 

Jaemin huffed. “Here we go with the dramatic villain monologue…”

Jisung ignored him and continued his rant, posing with one hand on his hips and the other waving his gun in the air. You’d have to admit that he looked a little cute when he was mad, only if you ignored the situation that you were in and pretended that you were all shooting a film instead. His pout only made him look like a child who was throwing a tantrum to his parents.

“I’ve always been the underdog. What do I do? Sit around with a bunch of monitors and track people or things while breaking into firewalls all day. Do you know how boring and tedious that is?”

“Uh yeah, that’s what a hacker does,” Jaemin mumbled. 

“And you know what the saddest part is? I wasn’t there for the love of my life when she died. Because I have more ‘important’ things to do. And you know who killed her?” He was starting to pace back and forth. 

You were getting nervous at his actions. Forget about his big motive reveal, you had never heard the usually docile boy talk this much and felt sad that you weren’t there to comfort him at his most vulnerable time. “Who?” You asked, even though you had a feeling you knew the answer. 

“Our gang. Jaemin...you were assigned to kill her.” 

This time, it was Jaemin’s turn to be shocked. “W-what? I didn’t kill her. I didn’t know,” he denied the accusation. 

“Jaems...” You looked at him. 

He shook his head. “Honest to god, I did not. Why would I do that to my baby? If only I’d known-”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t have the right to call me that anymore.” Jisung was practically shaking from anger and a sadness that was bubbling slowly to the surface. “They told you to deliver a package-“

“Oh my-no way. Jisung, is it possible that the hidden explosive was made from someone in the group?” 

The boy nodded. “Yes. It was. She didn’t see it coming and neither did I when I sent you the location and told you to leave. I didn’t...I didn’t know she’d be the receiver and people would stop you from checking the contents before delivering it.” 

You knew that this conversation wasn’t about you, but you did know you’d have to do something quick. Not quite thinking straight, you stepped in the middle. 

“Ji-she’d never want you to do this. How were either of you supposed to know?” 

“He should’ve known!” Jisung yelled back. You flinched at his outburst. “Whenever we send packages, it’s always-“ His sentence faded with a choked sob. He was broken. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. 

Beside you, Jaemin looked helpless and absolutely gutted. He had caused his best friend pain without even realizing what he was doing and now he was stepping on a minefield with every passing second. He looked so conflicted as if he wanted to help him, but he couldn’t. Jisung was so broken. 

You took a deep breath and walked up to the younger boy. All signs of hostility had left his body and he was hunched over in pain. Even though you had suffered a bit at his hands, he was still the one who’d hold you close and console you whenever you were down. You figured that unlike Jaemin, you had a chance to get closer and disarm the boy in his moment of weakness. 

Your assumption was correct as Jisung immediately crumpled into your hold and let out all of the pain he’d been holding back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled over and over as you tried to hush him. A soft thump resounded against the concrete ground as he let go of his weapon. 

“Why’re you sorry?” Jaemin cautiously approached you two and hovered his arms around you both, checking to make sure he wouldn’t get attacked by anyone before he engulfed you two in a tighter hug. 

Jisung only sobbed louder and mumbled something under his breath that you strained to hear. “Huh?” You asked. 

“Issa trap. I’m so sorry” Although his voice was muffled against your shirt, you could understand his speech. Jaemin also seemed to understand what he was saying this time and he looked at you, his eyes widened. 

Before you could adjust to this new information, you heard the sound of a magazine being inserted and a couple of bullets ringing out, eliminating all the guards. 

The Dragon, or should you say the leader of the gang. Lee Jeno, stared coldly at your little circle. His gun was pointing at Jaemin, the red pointer clearly indicating a small mark at your boyfriend's left shoulder. 

“Good job, Jisung. You’re the perfect little agent.” Jisung whimpered in your hold and held you tighter, if possible. He was afraid. It was safe to say that you were too. 

Jeno had this crazed look in his eyes as he glanced at Jaemin. “You’ve ran for long enough. It’s time for you to go. Any last words?” 

The boy stared defiantly back in response. “I’m not dying. My girl, best friend, and I will make it out of here.” He didn’t seem too sure of those words as his voice wavered. 

Jeno huffed at the retort. “You sound unsure of yourself.” He was taking small steps and walking over with his gun never leaving the mark.

“Don’t kill him,” you spoke up. “You need to let go of this delusioned idea you have of people. Not everyone is like you.”

“So? I couldn’t get my love. Why should he? You know what happens to those who defy fate. I was meant to be your obstacle,” he reasoned, almost trying to convince himself why he was doing this.

You found a weak spot in his hesitance and decided to strike. “If this is about soulmates, you can learn to love again. Love comes in all shapes and forms. If you weren’t destined for a lover, then love your friends. Love the people around you. If you can’t do that much, how could you live knowing that you hurt so many of your own gang member’s chances at love?”  

“It’s all jealousy,” he shouted back. Jeno was less than a meter away from you by now. Pure adrenaline was pumping through your blood and you were ready to fight-or-flight. The fear from earlier was dissipating into a feeling far more rushing. 

Jaemin stood up from his spot beside you as he and Jeno were now finally face to face. “We were like brothers. I’m sad to see you’ve chosen this path.” He sounded disappointed as if he were scolding a child rather than facing death in the eyes. 

Jeno just chuckled and thumbed at the activator. “Do you know why they say you shouldn’t defy fate?” You squeezed your eyes shut just before you could see Haechan, Renjun, and Chenle burst through the opening and reach out to stop the boy. 

But it was far too late. 

He shot.

You finally realized why they always told you to never break the soulmate rule. The one who you loved would always die.

You had averted your eyes to avoid watching Jaemin fall to the ground, clutching his shoulder - or should you say, his Achilles heel. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t painless either. 

The boys had reached you guys way too late. It was kind of ironic. They said heroes would always be there in time to save you, but they never did. You couldn’t be the one to divert fate.  

It was almost as if a crescendo background music had ceased. The blood rushing through your body from pure adrenaline was almost deafening at this point but there was no way you could miss his body dropping to the floor. 

But there was no way you missed how Jaemin crawled to hold your hand and tell you he loved you and he would continue to love you in every life. He said he’d go meet you every time, even if he didn’t have a soulmate mark, because he knew you’d be the only one for him. 

Haechan had later seized Jeno’s weapon and wrestled him to the ground. Nothing, however, could change the fact of the events that transpired. The gang decided to eliminate their current leader and reinstate Mark, who’d been angry at the news. It wasn’t a very happy ending, but you were satisfied that the boys stayed by your side. 

Later, much much later, Jisung held you in his arms as Jaemin’s passing finally hit you. Oh, how the roles were reversed. It just wasn’t fair. Not at all. Such a beautiful life had been taken from Jaemin before he could truly experience life all because he dared to fall in love. 

Now you were determined to hold on to the sliver of life just to keep living for him out of spite. Even if you weren’t meant to fall in love, you had met an angel who dared to show you what heaven was like. Sure it wasn’t ideal and it burned fast, but you had enjoyed the ride. You wouldn’t cry anymore. No, you were over it. It was time to pick yourself up and be strong, for yourself and for Jaemin.

Tag list (i’ll try to do this for my next series): @markleeswifeee​

[platonicone]

Devotion - Story of the Oracle and her Shield

Chapter 29 - Friendship

Why do we confide in others? I wonder…

After braving the snow, they finally came to the haven by a thawed lake. The mountain arch with a deep opening created a nice shelter from the arctic wilderness. The depth of the arch prevented any wind or snow from entering the enclosed space.

“Looks very cozy,” Aranea stated, looking at the haven.

“At this point, even a coffin would look cozy,” commented Squall callously.

“Let’s go get some dry branches before it gets any darker,” she suggested. Squall nodded, and they both got busy gathering wood to burn.

They collected branches and various pieces of wood and dumped them at the fireplace. They huddled around it and tried to start the fire by rubbing stones.

“Oh fire, discovered by cavemen, useful even now,” she commented as a spark from her stone ignited the fire.

They sat as close to the fire as possible without getting burned. She warmed her hands and place it on her face to spread the warmth. Squall leaned in closer to the fire to bask in its warmth.

Once the sun set, the darkness took over. Without any city lights nearby, everything was covered in the thick blanket of darkness.

“I am glad we made it before the demons came out,” she said, rubbing her hands.

“Ya,” he sounded uninterested.

She gazed out into the darkness and her eyes could barely identify any shapes.

“Is this how the world will be if darkness takes over?” She wondered.

“Probably.”

“Is everything okay? You seem distracted,” she noted.

“Just, lots of things going on, that’s all.”

“Wanna talk about it?” She offered.

“No,” both of them said simultaneously. Aranea laughed his predictability.

“You can tell me anything. I am your friend,” she said, leaning closer.

“I know. I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” he replied, averting her gaze.

“Seeing a friend in trouble and not being able to help them is also a burden,” she stated calmly.

“You remind me so much of her,” he commented.

“Her?”

“In my world, I had a friend who stood by my side through thick and thin. She would go out of her way to help me at my slightest discomfort. Even though I never did anything for her, she never left my side.”

“She sounds awesome.”

“Ya, she was. It’s a shame that I don’t even remember her name or her face. But I think she was very intelligent, compassionate and very beautiful too. She even had her own fan club if I recall it correctly.”

“Makes me wonder why was she friends with someone like you?” she said, poking fun at Squall.

“I don’t know. She had no reason to,” he replied, adjusting the wood to keep the fire burning. “Once she wanted to talk about her problem and I told her to go talk to the wall.”

“Wow, you are such an ass. Did you at least apologize to her?”

“I don’t think so. It’s one thing I regret the most. I never treated her right or ever told her how much she meant to me,” he revealed, staring into the darkness.

“Squall, we humans are very resilient when it comes to our survival. However, our hearts are very fragile, it needs to be constantly reassured of love and hope. That is why is so important to tell someone how much you appreciate them or how much they mean to you,” She advised.

“You are right. I should do it more often,” he admitted.

“Everyone wants to be needed by someone. If you can make someone feel needed, you have done a good job,” she added.

“I know, but I have a hard time expressing myself. I’d rather show that I care about them through my actions than say it.”

“Even if you show it by actions, it is still important to say it sometimes,” she countered.

“Why?”

“Because it feels good to hear it,” she replied.

“I guess.”

“Aranea, thank you.”

“For which one? There are too many things you owe me for,” she said jokingly.

“You are one person who does not hesitate to tell me when I am wrong and I appreciate it. Sometimes you need an outside perspective to realize your mistake,” he confessed.

“I will always be at your service if you ever want to be insulted, scar-face,” she stated with a smile. “You are welcome. That’s what friends are for, to cover each other’s weaknesses and improve each other. If as a friend, I don’t help you identify and correct your mistake, then what’s the point of such friendship?”

“Friends like you are rare to find, so thank you for being my friend,” he said earnestly.

“Someone is taking my advice to heart. I like it,” she smiled.

Silence took over again as neither of them said anything.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Luna?” Aranea initiated the conversation.

“Nothing is going on,” he deflected her inquiry.

“That’s not what Luna said,” she stated, shaking her head.

“What did she say?” Squall asked with a glint in his eyes.

“Everything. From the day you meet till now,” she recalled.

“If she already told you everything, then there is nothing more I could add to it.”

“She told me about your journey from her perspective. But I am more interested in hearing your side of the story,” she stated her curiosity.

“Why?”

“Because I am curious. Because we have a lot of time to kill. Because I want to know why you risked your life like that. Because I want to help Luna. Do you need more reasons?” she listed.

“I guess not,” he shrugged.

“So, spill it.”

Squall took a deep breath and began.

“I gotta admit, after hearing all that, I am #TeamLeon. I think you two make a cute couple,” she giggled.

“Stop it,” he said, getting annoyed.

“Oh, come on now, just admit it,” she urged.

“Whatever.”

“You should tell her how you feel,” she suggested.

“Nothing will ever happen between us. She loves Noctis and will marry him someday. I will go back to my world once I take her to Altissia. That is how our story ends,” he remarked in a grievous tone.

After some solemn silence Squall spoke again, “Aranea, can you do me a favor?”

“Ask away.”

“Please help Noctis the best you can,” he stated, humbly.

“Wait! What?” she was taken aback. “You want me to help Noctis? Why?”

“Because Luna loves him. To see him fulfill his duty is her dream. Even though I might not be around to see it, I still want her dream fulfilled.”

“You do know that I don’t like Noctis, right?” She checked.

“Yes, I do. But I also know that you won’t let me down,” he stated.

“Urgh. I have so much pent-up frustration with him. Can I fight with him once and let it all out? Obviously, I won’t break his bones or anything,” she complained.

“Fine, but will you help him after that?” he asked.

“Yes, I promise.”

“Thanks.”

“You are so weird,” she said, shaking her head.

“You would have to be more specific than that,” he advised.

“It’s like you are going out of business because of a competitor, but you still want to make sure that they get all your customers once you are gone. Why?” she wondered.

“I am not doing it for him. I am doing it for Luna. I want her to be happy, even if it's not with me. Her happiness lies with Noctis.”

“What about your happiness?” she inquired.

“My happiness is in seeing her happy,” he replied sincerely.

“Why do you love her?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

“For someone so pragmatic, I thought you would know why.”

“Love is irrational by nature. You can have reasons to like someone, but you don’t need a reason to love someone. You just do.”

“Never thought you to be a hopeless romantic,” she said with a chuckle.

“I would like to think that I am pragmatic romantic.”

“There is no such thing as that. Now you are just making things up,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Isn’t that how the language was invented? Someone came up with some words and gave meaning to it,” he defended.

She just gave a facepalm in response.

“Your turn to speak.”

Aranea narrated her childhood, growing up in Niflheim, joining the military, and her rise to being a Commodore. One thing Squall could notice was that she was fiercely loyal to Niflheim.

After hearing her story, Squall asked, “Who was that little girl on the train? I saw you playing with her in Tenebrae as well.”

That question caught her off-guard.

“Oh, she is, um…” Aranea seemed to struggle to come up with a coherent sentence. “She is a friend’s daughter.”

Squall scrutinized her. She knew he was on to her.

“I thought you are were not allowed to keep secrets from a friend,” he stated, calmly.

Aranea sighed before speaking. “As a soldier, we sacrifice our body for our nation. Let’s just say that there is more than one way to sacrifice your body.”

“Oh…” it suddenly dawned on Squall on what she meant. “She is your—”

“Yes, she is my monster,” she interjected before he could complete. “Her name is Solara Aldercapt Antiquum.”

“Aldercapt?” his eyes widened.

“She is the granddaughter of Emperor Aldercapt. After the prince’s untimely death, the Emperor was left without an heir. However, they had preserved the DNA of the prince. I volunteered for the sake of my country. Only Emperor Aldercapt and I know of this secret. Now you know it as well.”

“I promise to take this secret to my grave,” he responded earnestly.

Aranea nodded in appreciation.

“She is my world. I want to keep fighting for a better future for her sake,” she said, as fire danced in her iris.

“You are lucky, Aranea,” Squall spoke softly.

“Why?” She asked, taken aback.

“Many people find a reason to die for, but only a few find a reason to live for. I am happy you found that reason to live for.”

“It was unexpected at first, but I finally found my reason to live. Even if the world goes dark, I’ll keep fighting for a better future.”

They chatted at great length about Aranea’s past. Talking with each other kept their mind away from hunger and cold. They continued to chat till dawn.

They heard engine noise coming in their direction. “They are here.”

A sense of relief washed over them when they heard that voice.

Within seconds Biggs and Wedge came into view, riding their snowmobile. Biggs waved at them and Aranea waved back.

They rode back to the ship on their snowmobiles. A medic on-board checked on them as soon as they entered the ship.

As the ship descended toward Tenebrae Aranea approached Squall. “Here, you should keep this,” she said, handing him something.

He looked at it and was shocked to see it, “Frozen tear! Why are you giving it to me?”

“Think of it as a token of our friendship. Keep it safe until I ask for it.”

“Yes, I’ll keep it with me so I can return it to you someday.”

“Good.”

The airship lowered and the hangar door opened. They said their goodbyes and made their way to their respective home.

Next Day

Leon did not see Aranea the next day at all. He assumed that she must be busy with her duties and taking care of her monster. He went for a stroll with Gentiana as usual. The healing camp was over the number of pilgrims was significantly less now. They could finally walk without bumping into each other. He had hoped to see Luna, but she had requested her meals in her room.

Next Day

A loud banging on the door woke up Squall. He stumbled his way to the door, “Biggs?”

“Sir Squall, Lady A has been captured by the Empire and she has been branded as a traitor," said frantic Biggs.

Hearing that, Squall was wide awake now. “What? How?”

“We don’t know much detail, but I got an SOS from her on our secure channel. We traced her signal, and her last location was in Zegnautus Keep, Gralea. The Empire will execute her if we don’t rescue her soon,” he pleaded.

Author's notes:

So, what do you think about this chapter? Are you #TeamLeon or #TeamNoctis? Let me know in your comments below. If you don't have much to say then at least say 'Hi' so I know someone is reading this. It would really brighten my day. Thanks :)

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Strife's Younger Years Part 2

Strife was determined to understand more of what happened that day. He'd find out somehow, and he couldn't really sleep now anyway. Picking up a nearby crystal, he used a smidge of magic to call his elder brother. The crystal began to quietly pulse with light and a quiet rhythm of sound. He didn't expect much, beyond Death being slightly pissed off at how late it was for both of them. Strife lived in a hunter style shack in the Fae Realm, whilst Death still lived in his humble abode within that dead world. Both places always seemed to be close when it came to time zones and stuff. Didn't make Death's home any less depressing. Strife mused on Death's choice of home for a time before hearing his crystal emit a louder beep of sorts, a sign Death had finally answered.

Death had finally, truly fallen asleep. Sleeping was never easy for him, due to nightmares and the occasional night terrors. So naturally him being woken up now was annoying to say the least. He growled as he tried to ignore it for a moment, but the pulsing light and sounds from his crystal persisted. Finally he sat up slowly and reached clumsily for the crystal. Now that he was paying attention, the way the sounds...well...sounded and the frequency they emitted from the crystal, indicated who was contacting him. Sighing he answered at last,

"Strife....it's late."

"I know dude I know. But I really need to talk to you man." Strife told him earnestly. He heard a sigh before Death spoke again,

"Is it an emergency? Or important...to some extent?"

"First off....maybe? Secondly it's kind of important." Strife said a bit unsure himself.

"Can it wait til morning perhaps....I just got to sleep." Death inquired.

"I know sleeping is hard as fuck for you. But I really need to get this out. Can we please just talk bro? Please?" Strife asked desperately, and immediately regretting sounding like that. He furrowed his brow in annoyance at yet another sigh from Death, this time deeper.

"Alright....do you want to talk over crystal? Or shall we speak in person?" Death asked him at last after a pause.

"I'd prefer to talk in person, if ya don't mind." Strife stated simply, hiding a bit concern in his tone.

Death picked up on it regardless and felt a twinge of guilt for being annoyed. Or at least showing that he was annoyed. Regardless he told Strife to come by his home and began to prepare for what he figured might be a lengthy discussion. He tried as quietly as he could to prepare two cups of tea. Mostly for himself to stay awake through the chat, but he figured Strife might appreciate the gesture at least. He heard a little puppy like yawn from nearby and looked down to see a small pet bed with Fuzzball stretching in it before looking up at Death a bit annoyed himself. Then he heard Dust's wings flapping, and could swear the bird looked grumpy.

"Sorry you two. It's going to be a late one. But I won't force you to pay attention. Feel free to go back to bed." Death told them simply.

Dust preened a little bit before placing his head back under his wing again. Fuzzball in the meantime went in a few circles in his bed, stamped his little paws on it, then laid back down to sleep. Death finished the tea before too long and just as he'd set up the table, he heard a knock. As expected, Strife was at the door. He came in quickly and rubbed his neck,

"Hey big bro....hehe..."

"Hi. So then, let's talk shall we?" Death stated before leading him to the table.

Strife noticed the tea and decided he may as well at least try one cup. He wasn't that fond of tea usually, but since Death was being 'nice' enough to host him, he may was be polite and try it. It was refreshing at least, with a faint hint of a caffeine taste in there. He didn't comment on it though, instead telling Death,

"So about why I'm here..."

"Yes we've established that, but go on." Death said sarcastically.

Strife glared at him briefly before saying, "I'm just worried you'll brush me off again. Like you do everytime I ask about this."

"What are you talking about?"

"Bitch don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about." Strife insisted.

Death simply shrugged, leading to Strife saying with an annoyed tone, "The dreams about me being a little kid, like itty bitty? Where I see you and Absalom beating the shit out of each other?"

Death stopped midsip and placed his cup down, "Ah yes....that again."

"I want answers Death, legit answers. I don't want you to brush me off again, or to give some bullshit answer that doesn't make sense." Strife insisted.

"What do you want me to say? Beyond that it was a memory?" Death asked him.

"Dumbass I just told you. Quit playin' and just tell me what the hell went down that day! I want to know that much, and I wanna know why it happened too!" Strife demanded, even slamming his fist on the table.

Death remained collected however, and thought for a moment. Then finally asked Strife cautiously, "Why do you want to know? And are you SURE you want to know?"

"I'm pretty fucking sure at this point Death. And I wanna know because I want to be able to understand it. Maybe then I'll stop dreaming about this shit. You stopped having dreams about when Ale witnessed your creation after you met up with her again. You didn't settle for the bullshit answers Absalom gave you, you sought them yourself and kept pushing for the truth. And you GOT IT. So why SHOULD I SETTLE then huh? Why should I not keep trying to get you to finally tell me the truth damn it?" Strife stated in earnest.

Death thought for longer this time. Realizing that, yes, he had been doing what Absalom did to him originally. Only he'd done it to Strife for a lot longer than Absalom did it towards him. After a long moment of silent contemplation, he sighed softly and finally looked up at Strife. Noting his younger brother's rising anger, he softened his tone as he answered him,

"You're right. I should've known you'd not settle, because I influenced you to not do so. You deserve to know the truth, just as much as I once did. So to start with..."

Strife waited patiently as Death unraveled part of the bindings on his arms. He normally would've taken them off before bed, but simply forgot to this time. Death then spoke a few silent syllables before a ball of light appeared between them both. Strife leaned forward, and found himself shocked at seeing the faint scars along his wrists. Mouthing a what the fuck as he sat back again in shock. Death nodded and began wrapping his arm back up again,

"These are the result of Absalom's constant pressures on me. Absalom had no heirs to speak of, so that meant I was to step up. I'm sure you remember that much clearly."

Strife nodded, "Yeah. And now that I think about it, you and Absalom had similar fights to the one in my memory. You got physical with each other a lot when you trying to get him to tell you the truth about Ale. And later on as we started to slowly become tired of everything, the fist fights started again."

"Yes. But bare in mind, these fights were VERY one sided back then. I never put my all into them, which led to me losing more often than not. I also made a habit of trying not to fight in front of you three when I had a mind to remember that. And the fights weren't all that went down. I never spoke of this, as I didn't want to worry either of you. And I don't need you to worry now, I broke that habit a long time ago. Thanks to Ale's help mostly, bless her soul."

"Ok so what didn't we see?" Strife asked concerned.

"Absalom often pushed me to beyond my limits when grooming me for leadership of our race, should he ever die. The pressure was often high to the point of anxiety. I learned to hide it when in front of others, because Absalom made damn sure of it. It started with him being the one to inflict the cuts. Overtime, he'd force me to do it while practically brainwashing me into believing it was....'for my own good'. I knew this habit was a bad one deep down, that it wasn't helping me. That it only made everything worse. But before long, I didn't know what else to do."

Strife, noting his brother's shameful tone, asked gently, "Is that why you went to Ale?"

Death only nodded at the question.

"But..what does this have to do with my memories again? Just wondering?" Strife inquired a bit confused.

"Because the first time Absalom and I ever got physical, was that day. I came across him abusing you in an attempt to..'toughen you up' as he put it. I couldn't let it continue, not on my watch. But after forcing him out of the tent, I saw he wasn't finished. To prevent you from being involved, I told you to wait in the tent. I never realized you'd left the tent at all. That you were watching at Absalom wiped the dirt with me in that ring. I was just about unable to keep it up much longer, my body was on fire and close to giving out on me. That's when you rushed between us and demanded Absalom stop, in the only way you knew how. Being a toddler and all." Death stated quietly.

"Yeah I remember that much. But what happened after that? I just remember suddenly waking up in your tent again."

"Absalom took your little gesture as a challenge, laughing before backhanding you. It was enough to knock you clean out. I scooped you up briefly, and in a mix of panic and rage, I went for Absalom again. That was the only physical altercation I ever won against him. I was exhausted afterwards, but still made an effort to carry you back to my tent for your safety. I didn't let myself rest and forced myself not to pass out, wanting to make sure you were ok before I finally let go."

"I do remember that seemingly after that point, you made sure Absalom never touched me again. Not that he didn't try." Strife said a bit amazed.

"Yeah. I also did my best to make sure he backed off with abusing you in other ways. Be it through overdoing it with training, purposely trying to get you killed through bullshit 'missions', etc." Death said simply, rubbing his temple slightly.

"Maybe we can continue this later on or something? You're tired as fuck, and I don't wanna keep you up much longer." Strife said getting up to leave.

Death simply chuckled, "Right. Well goodnight and see you later Strife."

"Night bro, see ya around." Strife said leaving the house.

Death remained at the table for time, staring into the half empty cup of tea in front of him. He then suddenly jolted in realization before rushing to the door. He called to Strife upon opening it, and Strife turned around from where he was. He was only a few feet away from Mayhem.

"What was spoken about in this house, stays in here! Got it?! The others don't need to know what I've told you tonight!" Death shouted to him.

"Don't worry bro, you know I'll keep your secrets any day! I still have mine after all!" Strife shouted back contently.

Death accepted the answer before going back inside, locking the door behind him. He then laid back down in his bed at last, taking a while to pass out again as he thought of their discussion. Even looking down at his binded arms again. He said one final thing to himself,

"Why did I EVER idolize you, I'll never understand it Absalom. Nor will I understand why I keep grieving for you."

With that he finally fell back into a deep sleep. Strife did much the same, he couldn't help but wonder however,

"Just how much pain do you live with everyday? Seriously Death."

[for-peace-war]

art by @idrawbuffgirls

This is the final part to the Great Winged One series I did.  Last night the heroes entered the mountain and after defeating the sleipnir Vanjir and the valkyrie Aesera, may have allowed an ancient evil back into the world, but... also prevented an apocalyptic joining of worlds.  It was a lot!  So again, I want to thank: @lordcaliginous, @i-am-guinevere, @scowlet, @perfectperfidy, @diermina and @that-green-nut for sticking through my attempt at pathfinder/conaning a story out of thin air.

Also thanks @mcsars for introducing me to the setting and giving such a good place to start with an AU.  So again, thanks to everyone and when I start my next series up I’ll get back to these hour writes! Cheers.

OH and @idrawbuffgirls FOR THIS ART. YOU ROCK!

THE GREAT WINGED ONE.

Follows Part I.

Follows Part II.

Follows Part III

Follows Part IV.

Follows Part V.

Follows Part VI.

Finale.

CHLORIS THE CORINTHIAN quietly collected the clothing of those convalescing within the chilled cabin.  A gentle fire warded what cold it dared from the interior, but from the shivers that ran along the men about her there was little doubt in it—the wintry frost had found its way into them, and only the strongest of those gathered would survive. That sentiment, one of strength and those that possessed it in its zenith, followed her as she moved sightlessly from one of her convalescents to the next.  How had she come to safeguard so many, she wondered, when only days before she had not been able to protect even herself?

Mindful as she was of her condition, it was the lack of her hand rather than the absence of her sight that dogged her in those waking moments.  She could still feel the phantasmal pain of the arrow piercing the white raven she had imbued with her sight—still feel that arrow lance through her eyes and cast to the ground crimson tears that she would never see. The magicks she had been expected to use were old and dark, and though her better judgment would have warned her against them, there were few things that could motivate a decision more rapidly than the ire of a Ymirish lord.  Even more so, the ire of the Jarl Grimtor, whose barbarity was second only to the delight he drew from the cries of his victims.  Sightless or not, she would never be able to forget what she had seen within captivity—she would never forget what it meant, truly, to be without power.

But sight—sight was something taken for granted.  She could hear those she tended to and through that, knew where they were. The smell of their wounds had not yet soured and so she could see those as well; she knew the number of them, had patched and bandaged them to the best of her ability.  In the absence of sight her senses had gained a preternatural edge, compensating in ways that no human would have been capable of were they not blessed by The Great Mother and the secrets that the woods whispered when frosts melted and spring’s breath was fresh within the air.  It was within the northern climes of the Pictish Wildlands, not the decaying fyli of the Karpasha Mountains, that she had learned the most important lessons of magic—true, terrifying magic.

The Pictish Wildlands were a savage wasteland to some, yet the very ground that had been seeded in the blood of generations spoke with such fervent admonishment of mankind and expectation for that which would follow, that she knew far better than to consider any part of it a waste.  The very skies above hungered there, and that hunger bred within its bowels such true and raw power that even a woman blinded such as she, could yet see the beauty manifested within the awakening might that was come of its mounting urges.  Yet for all of this, she had not been captured for her knowledge of those untamed wilds—and she had not been named for them, either.

She was but Chloris the Corinthian. And she wasn’t even from Corinthia.

Had she ever truly seen, though?  The eyes were deceptive and the faces that she had known did little to tell her of what she saw when a person was before her.  It was not until they were freed to show what was beneath the mask of their existence that the truth was known and by then, was it not always too late?  She had scars to remind her of that—upon her back, and forever straining against her heart where her trust should have been. Even before she was without sight, she realized, she was sightless. Had she ever seen anyone?  Could anyone?

A cough came from the man to her left, whose body she had found curled up beneath a tree and nearing a death that would take him from the lands of his ancestors, into the frozen hell that swirled about them.  Even had she not, with the white raven, seen their lot emerge from the snow then she still would have known he was a Zingaran: she could smell the salt of the sea in their blood and hear the crashing of waves when they breathed.  The man’s cough was stronger than it had been the day before, and promised to discharge some of that which coated his lungs and forced his ragged breathing to hasten.

“Where am I?” The man asked.  She had not expected him to awaken so suddenly.  His voice was weak, yet there was the virile lust for life within it that the swarthy men of the Zingaran coast braced life with. “You—”

“You are safe,” Chloris answered.  She felt her way from where she stood, to the table nearest them, and from there moved with a warmed cup of broth to offer him something to drink.  His breathing resounded throughout the air for her; his motions became faint lines that were traced in her mind a thousand times.  No, she could not see the dusky Zingarana, but she could feel him—she knew where he was, even if he did not.

From the opposite corner in the room, another voice rose. “Marioso, yer aliv-ed. Gods be damned, I tho’ I were due fer’a promotin’.”

“Darmino, you live?”

“Yer damn’t right I is.”

“Ah, what good news. The captain—”

“The witch’rn’t sayin’ nothin’a the cap’n.”

“The witch? Madam—”

She began to speak. “My name is—”

“It dern’t matter what she am say ‘a her name, Marioso.  She be a witch’r frost’n fell magicks, cullin’ yer ‘fore ya’ spake ill’r her dark gods.”

The man, whose name must have been Marioso, took in a quiet breath.  Chloris could feel his patience returning to him, like a hound that had been long without its master.  Once he had wrestled it into submission, she supposed, he might be free to speak more earnestly.  Until then, she remained quiet—and the other spoke in her place.

“Have you offended our hostess in some way, Darmino?”

“Gods damn’t truth ain’ done a thing t’er!” His protest caused her to wince, though she tried her best to conceal it.  Loud voices—anger, were things she had learned to avoid or endure.  Perhaps her attempt to conceal that had not been as successful as she wished though, for the man that had been harassing her—Darmino—found a somewhat softer tone.  “When I wok-ed up and she’s there with’r crow teats all in me face, I tol’t her true—‘I’ma man’a fair haired asternations, I din want any a wha’ yer offerin’,’ and she said—”

“I am shocked she said anything to you after that, you cantankerous scab. Where are your manners, Mr. Marachino?”

“Ain’ never held ‘rm.”

“Mitra be praised,” Marioso said.  At long last he seemed to remember that she was standing there, for he reached for the broth and drank of it steadily with a shaking hand. “Forgive my companion his indelicacies, madam. We are indebted to you—and men of the Cavallo repay their debts, on our captain’s honor.”

“Maybe if yer the cap’n there’s honor,” Darmino said. “If Valensi’s dead, anyroad.”

“If he has died in pursuit of—”

Chloris interjected. “ He hasn’t.”

“Hasn’t?”

“He hasn’t died.”  She drew her arm back and set the emptied cup down, then felt her way to the wall and removed the poker from it.  The fire had to be tended once more, for of the three men she had retrieved only two had awakened—and the third trembled now more than ever.  The smell of death was upon him, but she had seen it turned back before.  She had seen it turned back, many, many times before.

From both men, sounds of joined relief flooded the erstwhile tense cabin.  “Oh, what joyous news,” Marioso said. “It was a damnably bold plan he had, and when our trap failed! Oh, but we have prevailed. I—ah, my ribs.”

“You are much wounded,” Chloris said. “Please, do not move.”  She wished she had her other hand then, so that she might move her hair from her face as she tended the fire, but the stub wiped at ineffectively, and her hold on the poker felt suddenly hollowed for that reminder. Was she not much wounded?  And yet, she could not stop moving—if she did, then they were all ended that evening when the cold came and the darkness with it.

“What of the battle, then?” Marioso asked her.  She could imagine his eyes, seafoam green and sweltering with delight, cast upon a body that had been broken and beaten more times than there were days to the year.  She felt flustered by that attention, and continued to stir the fire for whatever traces of warmth it might have provided. “How did we come to be here—how did any of it come to pass?”

At that, she spoke a single word. “Treachery.”

“Madam?”

“The girl—of the Wolflands,” Chloris went on to say.  She had seen Caethe through the eyes of the white raven, and done all she might to alert her that she had.  Jarl Grimtor was no great thinker and by saying she used the snow to alert him to where she was, she also gave the girl a chance to flee—which she had. The Zingarans had done their good service, certainly, but the girl and her wolves had been considerable in setting into motion the events that followed.  Even as she thought of them, they seemed too fantastic—it all seemed too unreal.

“Caethe,” Marioso said.  “We occasioned upon her on the way up.  As I recall, the captain had a desire to see her informed of our plan to aid her, but the Stygian—Tsekani, was it? She said it would be a better ploy if she did not know. That a cornered wolf fought thrice as hard as one that knew it could escape.”

Chloris believed she concealed her revulsion at the mention of the Stygian’s tactics.  It was true, a cornered animal did fight to the end, but the Pict was a member of a pack—and the presence of her friends, she had seen, was what pressed her beyond the point others would have endured alone.  As Marioso made no mention of her response, she assumed her deception had prevailed.

Or else, the Zingaran was merely too nice to show otherwise.

Outside of the cabin, stalking about it protectively, the dire wolf that had shattered her arm so that she might slip free Jarl Grimtor’s chain, howled but once.  He had found something. Chloris had taken to calling him Vigo, and he responded kindly to it—never so much as to seem tamed but answer her if she needed him at any moment. Had the Child of Wolves known that she had not meant to harm her? Was Vigo’s presence a reminder that their shared blood mattered more than the sides they had been on in the battle?  She did not know.  But she knew that she could vividly imagine what he must have been feeling then, rushing about the snowy battlefield and consuming whatever had not yet been taken by the elements or the wild.

She could feel in her blood—the blood that had dripped down her cheeks after the white raven fell—that she was as free as he.

Marioso politely clearing his throat called her back to the present.

“You spoke of treachery, madam?”

“After the Wolfchild—Caethe—was rescued by her companions upon the winged wyvern and Vigo had pulled me to safety—”

“I’m sorry, madam.  Vigo?”

“It be thar devil wolf she is nightly fuck’t by in the shade of—”

“Mr. Marachino!”

“Well, I ain’t tellin’ a fib!”

“I am certain that whatever relationship our hostess has with this creature is a consensual endeavor in husbandry.”  As he worked through that sentence, Marioso seemed to stumble more than his companion had when he tried to stand.

Despite herself, Chloris could not but bashfully smile and blush.

“I do not couple with the wolf,” she said.

Marioso’s relief was audible. “Oh, well.  If you had—and I do not mean to imply that you had—but had that been the case, no gentleman of the sea ought inquire or conspire against you on that account, madam. I assure you—”

“Oi! ‘m well glad yer nay be our cap’n, Mariosi! Y’r talkin’ more’n a preddy har what know’t I wan’r somethin’ bad.”

“I’ll never understand your turns of phrase, Mr. Marachino.”

“Aye, well, anyroad—go back to talkin’ wi’ yer lady.”

Marioso, as if given leave to actually speak, went on. “My lady, please do continue.”

“You do not need to call me that,” Chloris said, but went on. “After we were safe, the others realized that Jarl Grimtor was injured.  Ymirish lords are not loyal—they respect strength because they fear pain. Two of them—Joratun the Mighty and Thoramun Blooddrinker, broke away from the offensive and pressed in upon Jarl Grimtor.  I believe they felt that in his weakened state they could fell him.”

Joratun, Son of Brator, had been as close to a right hand as Jarl Grimtor may have known, excepting his son—who he had, in a stroke of genius motivated by her entrapment—seen sent to the interior of Glacimar itself.  With Grimthor Jarlblood no longer at his father’s side, Joratun and Thoramun made their move—and discovered why the jarl stood where he did.

“Scurrilous dogs,” Marioso breathed under his breath.  “Have these creatures no honor?”

“Not them,” she concluded. “But another.”  At that, she was reminded of what had been lost to that point and spoke more directly.  “Jarl Grimtor struck both down, but his injuries forced him from the field.  They say that the Nordheimers were able to defeat the lone Ymirish lord, Morfund the Breaker, and that—well, the mountains now call for a new thane. They say this woman, Aesileif the Aesir, will conquer the mountain and that her brother, Torman the Vanir, who was slain in felling the Great Winged One Aesera will be the hero to ordain her ascent.”

She understood very little of how Nordheimer culture operated, though the title seemed to imply that one person would bestride both Vanaheim and Asgard, joining them together and uniting a legacy of hatred under one fist.  A hero would be needed to preside over the joining of the mountains, and if they had indeed slain a Valkyrie then a great deed had been accomplished to merit their challenge to the heavens.  It seemed that a new thane may come of the savages of the north, as dangerous a thought as that may have been.

But she also knew that so long as Jarl Grimtor lived, that title would be a meaningless one.

“I cannot believe we prevailed,” Marioso said. “I mean—I knew we would, but what luck.  What honor—oh, how can we repay you, indeed?”

He may have meant it as a general courtesy, but she took him at it.  “There is a man among the captured, Grimthor Jarlblood. He and I were as one for a time, and I would see him granted the freedom he was promised.”

She did not mean to seem desperate, but she knew her words left her with more alacrity than civility mandated.  These were not the words of Chloris of Corinthia, she knew.  They were of the woman that had bandaged that poor half-giant, and seen him back to strength countless times.  They were the words of a woman that knew what love meant, and knew that the only reason he had not died was because of it.  Not carnal love and its brutality, but something more resplendent—something that did not take, but only gave and surrendered willingly to the strength of the moment.

“I do not know what it will take to see such done, but I will give my all for that endeavor.”

“An’ me,” Darmino said. “Since yer hair too dark fer a proper thank-fuck, least I can’der is see this Grimthorn soaks’s sword back in yer. If ol’ Garibaldi don’ go dyin’ on us, I’m speakin’ fer’m too.”  The sickly man’s cough could have been an assent—or his soul leaving him.

Chloris thought to speak more of the matter, but the howl that she had heard before was joined by a sudden growling.  Outside, Vigo had found something indeed—and that something had found them. “Stay here,” she told them, and without considering how defenseless she was against the world without, she ventured into it.

The snow as cold under her bare feet and yet it did not stop her stride as she moved in the direction of Vigo’s growling.  Under it she could hear a voice calmly speaking, and for the time being preventing him from advancing from his place.  What was she doing? Why?  Even if she were to summon any spells in the cold, what chance did she have of defeating someone that she couldn’t see? And to what end?  To protect Zingaran sailors that surely were as false as everyone else? Logic, reason—sheer self-preservation told her to trust for once in something other than the good of the world, and to take back to her own path as she had denied herself for so long.

But she was not a solitary creature, she knew.

A crow would always need its murder.

She allowed her feet to see for her—to guide her, until finally she felt Vigo’s back, bristling with raised fur, against her hand.  The chilled air was heavy upon her, but she knew that she had within her enough strength to forge from the prevailing winds a blade to severe the limbs of any monster daring to challenge her friend—or those she protected under her wing.  Yet when she looked to the one that had so agitated Vigo and threatened her home, she was dumbfounded.

She could not see him—and yet she could.

For the briefest moment, a golden light illuminated the darkness that had become her world.  This man was wounded—injured in a battle she could not comprehend, and yet the force of his existence fluctuated with a radiance that faded with each palpitation.

“I do not wish to kill your companion,” the man said. “But I must go to Jokullgard.”

“He will not harm you,” she said. “If you do not harm him.”

The man was quiet. The light upon him faded further until it was but a whisper—though no longer did Vigo growl.

“I am Keleos the Kothian,” he said. “You have my word that no harm will come to you.”

For but a moment, Chloris thought of saying what she had always had—that she was Chloris the Corinthian, a scholar of ancient texts that had been abducted by Jarl Grimtor and forced into service.  There was truth in that lie—more truth, in fact, than lie.  But that which had bound her to it; that which had for so long shackled her into place, was no longer there.  She was free—as free as the savage lands from which she had come.

“I am Qali the Crow,” she said. “It is good to see you.”

[trvelyans-archive]

when city elves have opportunity to celebrate, they take it. whether amidst death and destruction or war and sickness, if they have one reason - just one - to take an evening off from the worries and the fighting and the struggling... they take it.

this was truer when soris and shianni’s cousin returned to them. despite having been thought dead at ostagar, despite having been hunted down by loghain’s men day in and day out, elsie tabris was home, and in one piece (if a little worse for wear), and they were going to celebrate.

they were surprised she agreed, however. she had the entire country weighing down on her slender shoulders, and yet she met shianni’s eye and told her yes, cousin, please get me a drink.

soris hurried to set the table while elsie stripped off her armor, tossing it onto her old bed in her old home. it seemed odd, to return after so long, only to see her sheets still in a crumpled mess as though it was still the same day she had left. zevran eyed her, leaning against the wall, an eyebrow raised.

“you don’t wish to be left alone with your... family?” he asked quietly, watching as she tugged her hair out from the knot at the back of her head. “i have no qualms about returning to the palace with the rest of our... em, friends. i’ve been dreaming about eating one of those little fancy sandwiches since i saw them in the kitchens this morning...”

alistair and wynne elected to return to arl eamon, to leave elsie with time to catch up with her cousins and her father. when zevran moved to follow them the first time, she tugged at his sleeve and asked him not to leave. and he complied then, but wasn’t sure if he should continue to do so.

elsie glanced at him, running a hand through her hair. she could tell that he was not asking out of disgust or offense; there was something uncertain in his eyes, growing stronger when his gaze fell upon her family members running about the house. with a smile, she reached down and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“i want you to stay,” she murmured, her honeyed gaze meeting his. “if that’s what you want, of course. i do not... want to put any pressure on you.”

“your wish is my command,” he said, his shoulders relaxing somewhat, his lips instinctively moving to press a kiss to her jaw. it was quick, however, as shianni motioned them towards the table and the rest of the family sat down.

“oh, zevran?” she whispered in his ear as they made their way to the table, “try to keep the talking of love-making down to a minimum, okay?”

heaving an exasperated sigh, he rolled his eyes. “if i must,” he responded with great faked reluctance, and she elbowed him in the side to squeeze one last smile out of him before they sat down.

the assassin had seen feasts with course after course and table after table, laden with meats and cheeses and breads. he had seen golden fountains dripping with coloured sauces and bowls full of juices dyed hues brighter than any of the most expensive clothes available in the fereldan capital.

and yet all of those meals paled in comparison to the meager feast set out before him on this table - a piece of meat, shredded into five pieces. a single loaf of bread cut into five slices. a silver, rusting jug of browning water. and, most importantly, woman beside him, her hair loose around her shoulders, her battle-scarred hands reaching for the food with a practiced and polite patience that did not give away her hunger.

the things he wanted to do to her...

“i’m sorry to hear about what’s been happening since i left, soris,” elsie said, breaking the silence, jolting zevran out of his thoughts. “i... i wish there was something i could’ve done.”

“unless you thought your threats would work all the way from ostagar, cousin, i’m not sure there’s anything you could’ve done,” the boy with red hair and wide eyes, named soris, responded. “besides, that’s not the only reason to stay inside the house. everything that’s been going on...”

shianni placed a hand on his shoulder. soris ducked his head, embarrassed. “though now that you’ve come to save us all, i’m certain that the harassment will stop.”

“if not, tell whoever it is that the grey warden who stopped loghain will come for them,” elsie replied, biting off a piece of bread with her teeth and chewing it.

“huh. that’s... a good idea, actually.”

they ate what little food they had in an easy silence. zevran could feel cyrion’s eyes on him from the head of the table, but he ignored it, lest he mess something up in front of his grey warden. underneath the table, he slid one of his hands onto her thigh - she rested her own on top of it, slipping her fingers into the gaps between his.

“so... who is this, child?”

elsie glanced at her father. “this is zevran, father,” she told him. zevran stiffened as she said his name aloud. “he’s a friend of mine.”

“is he a... grey warden?” cyrion questioned, an eyebrow raised. elsie tore off another piece of bread and stuck it in her mouth.

“he isn’t,” she answered. “but he is as good a fighter as one, and he is loyal to the cause.”

“can he not answer for himself?”

“father...”

cyrion sighed, clasping his hands together. “i get it, i get it. i’m just trying to watch out for you. you’ve been a long time...”

elsie eyed him for a moment before nodding. “i know, father,” she responded, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. moments later, however, elsie elbowed zevran in the side, giving him a questioning look. it was then he noticed how tight his grip on her leg was and he loosened it, not sure why he felt so... anxious.

the rest of what they seemed to call a meal passed with idle small talk and occasional bursts of outrage from the grey warden herself, who seemed enraged about all of the happenings in alienage since she left for ostagar. zevran offered up a comforting squeeze occasionally. each time she would squeeze back.

it was funny, to see her in her home like this. she seemed so otherworldly sometimes, but here she was just... someone’s child. someone’s rebellious daughter.

as her cousins cleaned up the dishes and her father readied for bed, elsie stood up and stretched her arms high above her head, revealing a strip of skin underneath her shirt. zevran reached out and placed his hands on her hips, thumbs massaging the bare flesh. she smiled at him, pressed a kiss to his mouth, and was about to say something when her father spoke.

“i suppose you should be returning to the estate,” cyrion said. “well, it was -”

“father, what kind of daughter do you take me for?” elsie asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “i will be spending the night here.”

“but...”

“oh, there’s little work to be done at night, anyway,” she interrupted. zevran squeezed her hips playfully. she smacked his hand. “i doubt arl eamon is even awake, and even loghain needs his sleep.”

“if you think that’s wise, then you’re welcome to your old bed,” cyrion replied.

elsie smiled at him, her eyes warm. “however, i do intend to take zevran on a tour of the alienage, first,” she said. “i want to show him what it’s like when no one is out screaming on the streets. it sounds rather peaceful out right now... all things considered.”

“then go, but return soon,” her father replied. “or at least... be quiet when you do.”

elsie nodded before grabbing zevran’s hand and dragging him out of the house.

the moment the front door was closed, zevran spun her around and pinned her to the wall of her house. “i see what you’re doing,” he murmured, sinking his teeth into the soft skin of her shoulder. elsie relaxed under his touch for a moment before, surprisingly, pushing him away.

“i meant what i said,” she told him earnestly. her amber eyes were big, staring at him with a masked hopefulness only an assassin of his caliber could detect. “i.. i wanted to show you places from my childhood. only if... if you’re interested, that is.”

zevran hesitated a moment, relishing in the feeling of the small of her back underneath his palms, and then nodded. “i am very interested,” he answered, pulling his arms out from behind her. “i always wondered what life would be like outside of a whorehouse.”

elsie winced as she always did when he said the word whorehouse, but grasped his hand in hers nonetheless. “so you’ve seen my home...”

“ah, yes,” he responded. “very lovely. very quaint. there’s a strong smell of mold in one corner, but it’s better than sleeping in a tent beside oghren’s, i suspect.”

she laughed. “this is the vhenadahl,” she told him as they wandered into the alienage’s square. a grand tree stood before them, the gnarled branches reaching up like skeletal fingers towards the night sky. “it means ‘tree of the people’.”

“the people?” zevran asked. “the alienage elves?”

“all elves,” elsie answered. “we decorate it, sometimes. the children climb up in in the hot months and get chased down by the older elves. i used to do that.”

“oh, did you now?” zevran said, rubbing her hand with the pad of his thumb.

“i did,” she responded with a smile.

“ah, i guessed as much,” he teased. “a rulebreaker such as yourself is a rulebreaker from birth, no?”

elsie ascended a short set of stairs to a stage, tugging him along behind her. “this is where the formal alienage events begin,” she said next. without warning, her hand fell from his, and she moved her feet slowly across the wooden platform until she was standing near the far edge. “this... is where my wedding was to be held.”

she stared at her feet, losing herself in her thoughts. zevran allowed her a moment. to distract himself, he glanced up towards the sky, where he could see one of thedas’s moons through the leaves of the tree. the rocky ground was dappled with silvery-white moonlight and zevran watched as the gentle glow danced on the well-worn streets.

he felt a hand on his arm once more and he turned to her.

“what is the next stop on our tour, my grey warden?” he asked.

“this way,” she answered, pulling him along behind her.

he knew the alley she walked him down. they had gone through it mere hours before when they were rescuing the kidnapped elves. except she did not turn towards the apartment buildings - instead she turned towards a small fenced area behind a house. overgrown tussocks of grass waved in the midnight breeze, almost motioning for the two to pass through the gate. elsie pushed it open, wincing when she heard the gate squeak. zevran followed close behind her.

“i hope you can see it in the dim light...” she squinted at a group of stones, close to the dirt. “if not, i can show you tomorrow...”

her voice dropped when she remembered they would be back in the estate by tomorrow, preparing their final push against loghain. zevran crouched down beside her, placing a hand between her shoulder blades, looking at the stones.

and then, at once, he could see it through some yellowing strands of grass. three small carvings in the gray slab. pushing the plants aside, he noticed that it read ‘e s s’. the ‘e’ was backwards. so was the first ‘s’.

he pointed to it. elsie’s face lit up when she saw it.

“soris, shianni and i wanted the future children of the alienage to see it one day and think about who lived around here before them,” she said. “we wanted to leave it as our lasting legacy.”

“i’m sure you’re going to leave a legacy much greater than that, my grey warden,” zevran whispered. he brushed a strand of hair away from her face and drank in the sight of her features, half of her face hidden in the shadow that the roof overhead offered. before he could even think he pressed his lips against hers, his mouth hungry and restless. she smiled against him, her hands weaving into his hair. he lowered her onto the ground beneath them.

it wasn’t comfortable, but she was distracted enough that she didn’t notice. zevran worked at the ties of her shirt, occasionally dipping his thumb under the waistband of her trousers. he thought he could feel her heart beating when he moved his attention to her collarbone. he sucked and nipped at her skin.

“zevran...” she whispered, grabbing a fistful of his hair in her hand. “zevran, i...”

“you want me to stop?” zevran asked hesitantly, his teeth grazing her collarbone.

“for now,” she murmured. “we’ve had a long day.”

“mmhmm...”

he trailed gentle kisses up her neck, her jaw, and her cheek. she tasted like sweat but he didn’t mind. in fact, he was beginning to enjoy the taste of it because of her in particular. he pressed one last firm, wet kiss to her lips before straightening up and offering her his hand. “i hope your father won’t mind if i sleep in the nude,” he teased. she smacked his hand away before actually taking it, allowing him to pull her up.

“he would mind,” she said. “he might have enough of a mind to make you sleep on the street.”

“ah, but i am a friend of the famous grey warden, and his beloved daughter!” zevran protested.

“is that why you were so nervous earlier?” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “because you are my... friend?”

though he knew what she was asking, he did not feel like he had to give her that answer. she already knew, and she wanted to lure him into saying it. but she wasn’t sneaky enough, and he spotted her attempt from a mile away. “yes, isn’t that what i just told you a few days ago?” he answered. “you are my friend.”

elsie laughed, shaking her head as they walked the short path back to her home, saying nothing else after that.

she was tired.

they entered the house, which was completely black, save for a lantern burning on a short table in the corner. elsie led him over to her bed. the blanket rustled as they laid down, and the wood creaked - but no one else in the home stirred.

zevran was behind her, his back against the wall. he watched as she tucked herself under the covers, his head propped up on his elbow. he didn’t move to sleep under the blankets - these clothes were far too warm for him already, and he didn’t want to add to the beads of sweat threatening to drip down his forehead. elsie’s eyes met his.

“goodnight, zevran,” she whispered.

he lowered his head on to the pillow next to her, closing his eyes and smiling as she curled against him. “goodnight, my grey warden,” he replied, snaking an arm around her waist and intertwining their fingers as they both, at once, drifted off to sleep.

[daihell]

Home Chapter 9

It’s been a long time since Elden has been to Ostwick. It may have been his home, but he has very few fond memories of the place. He never really wanted to go back there, but it looks like he’ll have to one last time. At least Dorian will be at his side. He'll need the support when he is forced to face his family.

Content Warning: discussions of childhood physical and verbal abuse

Feeling Elden, curled so small in his lap like he was trying to disappear, slightly trembling, was becoming an unsettlingly common event. The world had been requiring so much from Elden, taking him apart piece by piece until he finally collapsed with nothing left of himself to give. And yet everyone still demanded more. Before he’d had a chance to recover, something else was breaking him down and Dorian didn’t know what to do.

 Really, all he could do was hold him tightly, help him stand when he fell, and get him away from all of these damnable people, these leeches who had fed off of this man who would willingly give everything if he thought it might help just one person. Dorian would never forgive any of them for what they had done to Elden and as much as he wanted to unleash that fury, Elden needed him more. So he stayed.

 Dorian would have stayed in that storage room for days if necessary, blasting magic at anyone foolish enough to disturb them. Luckily that didn’t become necessary. It wasn’t long until Elden sat up, looked over at him, his tear streaked face and red eyes causing a tightness in Dorian’s chest, and asked him to get him out of here.

 Elden had his head bowed as they walked and Dorian kept his arm around his shoulders, holding him close, offering whatever silent support he could. Conversation, banter, was usually Dorian’s method of coping, both for himself as well as an attempt to distract Elden from his pain and draw him out of his mind, stop his own thoughts from eat him alive. Not now, though. Dorian knew him better than anyone, knew when silence was what he needed, so he just focused on maneuvering them through the crowds towards the stables, wishing he could properly take Elden home, but settling for the inn for now.

 “Hey, you guys again,” came a voice behind them as they reached the exit to the grounds, and Dorian felt Elden shudder against him.

 Something in Dorian snapped. He wasn’t even really thinking as he pulled away from Elden, feeling fingers grasp desperately at his robes but he was out of reach too quickly. His expression must have been blank because Matheus continued to speak cheerily as Dorian advanced on him.

 “Here I thought you’d be long gone by n--”

 Dorian punched him so hard, he knocked Matheus to the ground. He sat there, stunned and confused, staring up at him. Dorian didn’t stop to see how he would respond once he’d recovered. Instead, he turned away and returned to Elden, wrapping his arm around him again and hurrying them away, trying to ignore the throb in his knuckles. Elden looked startled, but didn’t say anything, just held too tightly onto Dorian like he was afraid he might slip away. They retrieved their horse and this time Elden sat behind, clinging tightly to Dorian with his face pressed into his back. They didn’t speak the entire way back to the inn.

 Once they had returned, Elden barely took the time to pull his boots and shirt off before curling in on himself on the bed. Dorian followed and wrapped himself around him, stroking his back and running his fingers through his hair, placing gentle kisses on his forehead and wishing this was a tangible thing, something he could punch like Elden’s brother. It had been a selfish thing to do, a way to relieve some of his own helplessness at the situation, but hopefully it provided some manner of satisfaction for Elden, seeing someone who had caused him so much pain laid out in the dirt like that. He doubted it, though. This was Elden after all.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Elden said eventually, sounding so broken it tore at Dorian’s heart. “It’s all just too much, I can’t--”

His voice was barely a whisper as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it aloud. Dorian understood what he meant. The Inquisition, their greatest triumph, had been twisted into, to Elden, his greatest failure. Despite all the good Elden had done as Inquisitor, as Herald, he felt all that good had been undone. Between Solas’ and the Qunari spies, so many more lives had nearly been lost through the manipulation of their Inquisition. And how many times had they inadvertently assisted Solas in his quest to destroy the world? If only Dorian could reassure him, convince Elden of all of the wonderful things he had accomplished that Solas couldn’t rob him of, that his awful family couldn’t take away.

“I thought I'd gotten better after my time at the chantry, but it feels like I'm back at the beginning and it all meant nothing.”

Dorian couldn’t help but trail his fingers along a scar on Elden’s side, pale against his light brown skin. He had so many from years fighting, and these were just the ones Dorian could see. Not just his past, but this war had left so many marks on him, the nightmares haunting him were testament to that, but no poultice could treat these wounds. They hadn’t been given time enough to heal and now, being here, was ripping open old wounds, smothering him and making them all so much worse. Years before, or perhaps even years later, Elden might have been fine facing his past, but right now it was all just too much. But that didn’t make him weak hear and now. He was good and kind and strong and hurting wouldn’t take that away.

“You’re not back at the beginning. You just need time to heal. You've done this before, you can do it again,” Dorian said, stroking his back in a way he hoped was comforting. He would do anything and everything for Elden if only he knew what. “You're so strong. Besides, this time you have me.”

Elden gave a weak chuckle, but it was trembling at the edges. They stayed like that for a long time, Dorian holding him as closely as he could and Elden simply clinging to him. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder when this terrible place would release it’s hold on Elden. He didn’t deserve any of this. Dorian would at the very least make sure nothing like what he experienced here would ever happen to him again.

“I owe you an apology,” Elden said, breaking the silence.

“No,” Dorian said automatically. He didn’t care what this was about, Elden shouldn’t have to apologize to anyone, least of all him.

“I just-- I never meant to hide all this from you. I guess I thought I’d have more time to tell you everything, but I’ve wasted so much time already. I’m so sorry.”

“I know, I understand, shush,” Dorian said, kissing him again. “A lot has been going on in our lives after all. We’ve been kind of occupied saving the world. Several times.”

“I just want you to know, you can ask me anything. I want you to know everything about me.” Elden spoke so earnestly Dorian couldn’t help but smile at him.

“It occurs to me I haven’t exactly shared much of my own past with you either,” Dorian said, stroking Elden’s cheek fondly. “Tell you what, later we can exchange stories. But right now you should rest.”

“No, there’s-- there’s one story I should really share with you.”

“Oh?”

“Matheus,” Elden began with a heavy sigh and Dorian didn’t even realize at first that he was holding his own breath apprehensively for whatever he was going to say next. “He was the one who broke my nose. He got carried away one day and just left me bleeding out back.”

“Amatus,” Dorian whispered as he felt him trembling again. Maker, but he wished he’d done more than simply punch that awful man. He deserved so much more pain for everything he had done.

“No doubt he expected me to go to mother for a healer,” Elden continued, taking a deep breath to steady himself, holding onto Dorian more tightly as well. “I was so angry, though. When Dez found me, we just left for the training camp where I let it heal on it’s own, crooked. I think it was the first time I really stood against my parents, as small and pathetic a gesture as it was. But I I’ve always been kind of proud of it, to be honest. A reminder that I was strong enough to do something, no matter how little.”

“So you should be,” Dorian said, kissing his forehead, wishing he could shoulder some of that pain, wishing they had known each other back then so he could have done-- something, anything.

“When mother found out she was furious. She tried to have it fixed, but the healer never could get it completely straight.”

“Fixed. Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Rebreaking it?”

“Maker, Elden, I’m so sorry,” Dorian said, pressing Elden closer to him. It was a long moment before Elden spoke again.

“I’m terrified. Matheus could get so angry. I never want to be like that.”

“I promise you,” Dorian said, running his fingers through Elden’s hair, holding the back of his neck. “You never have to worry about that. The very idea of you being anything like him is absurd.”

“I know what it’s like, seeing someone lose control of their temper and being afraid of what they might do with it. I never could fight back against my brother, a part of me thought I must deserve it. That was what my mother believed, at least. But I’ve been on the receiving end of that fury and I never want anyone to fear it from me. I remember when I came home one day and Matheus realized I’d gotten taller than him over the summer. Well, bigger too I guess. He looked afraid, probably thought I would want to get revenge. He left me alone after that, but I never forgot that look. I never want anyone to look at me like that again, even him.”

Dorian could recall times when Elden, even just slightly irritable, would bury it immediately. And he seemed to go out of his way to appear as non-threatening as possible to offset his impressive height and strength. It said more than Dorian could ever truly put into words that this was what Elden took away from this experience.

“Everyone can see how kind you are,” Dorian said. “Just looking at you, no one is afraid. I love you and you will get through this. I love you.”

“Love you,” Elden mumbled in response and Dorian guessed he must be either unconvinced or simply uninterested in continuing the conversation.

“Come with me back to Tevinter,” Dorian said suddenly.

“What?” Elden said, surprised.

Dorian had said on many occasions that it was too dangerous. True, Elden had visited him a few times regardless, but more often than not Dorian came to Kirkwall instead. Still, Dorian was unwilling to leave him alone, to travel all the way to Kirkwall only to drop him off and head back to Tevinter.

“I’ll have Maevaris set something up, make sure the place is well guarded. Let’s get out of here and I’ll show you all the luxuries Tevinter has to offer.”

“You say that every time I visit,” Elden said, unable to suppress a quiet chuckle.

“That’s because there’s still plenty to see. I’ll only have a few days of my vacation left, but you can stay on as long as you wish. You’ve been having to set me up every time I come to visit, I think it’s time I thoroughly spoiled you. What do you say?

“Sure,” Elden said, eyes closed but the ghost of a smile was there on his lips. “That sounds nice.”

[am-flying-solo]

Where did you get those big eyes? My mother. And where did you get those lips? My mother. And the loneliness? My mother. And that broken heart? My mother. And the absence, where did you get that? My father.

— Warsan Shire, Inheritance

I.

When he was six, he went up to his mother, with trembling hands and a quivering lip asking,

Did he hurt you?

He watched her writhing under Gregory Flint, white knuckles holding onto the desk as if he were a hurricane, and she was holding on to the boat like a lifeline. Solomon heard her whimper and moan and sob - a wretched sound, desperate for relief, and between her trembling knees, his father moved like a force of nature. He watched them, transfixed, heart pounding in his chest, too young to understand and too old to ignore, swelling with righteous anger and confused by thousands of years weighing down his genes, an instinct as old as man himself compelling him closer. Words died on his lips, pouring down hers instead, a litany of promises as she embraced Gregory, mouth curling around the word love like it was a knife, and she couldn't have enough of pain.

No, sweetheart, he didn't hurt me, she'd say.

But her eyes told a different story. She had bruises for every one of Gregory's digits under her servant's uniform, blossoming like flowers on the pale canvas of her skin, but those faded with time. Her scars went deeper, and she touched the finger where a ring should have been, softly, almost like a reminder of her own place. He didn't understand then why she bowed to an invisible weight, narrow shoulders arched under bloodline chains. Her mother had been a servant before her, and so had her grandmother - generations upon generations of unhappy women, walking hemorrhages, bodies like burnt houses and legs like creaking doors, welcoming ghosts in. And every one of them had vowed not to be like their mothers, but here was Allegra Renfield, and her eyes spoke of pains he couldn't yet comprehend. Her mouth was the shape of his quiet name in the dark, whispering Greg like a prayer that could get her through the night.

"I am so happy," she murmured, "that you were born a man," and touched his face softly. Years later, he wouldn't remember her face or her voice anymore, but he would remember that touch, the soft warmth of her fingers lingering on his cheek, the quiet safety that meant home.

He didn't understand then, but in a few years he’d watch Gregory search for her in the shape of his lips before turning his face away, and Solomon would be floored by a new kind of shame.

II.

When he was fourteen, he sat in front of the mirror and looked for her too, beyond the distinctive Flint cheekbones and the faint suggestion of hair on his chin. He had inherited her nose, her lips; and if he parted his hair just so, it would almost look like hers. But Allegra was still a memory, still a blood stain on the carpet, still a few belongings packed in a small box, hidden in the dark of his closet. So he brought her out - all that was left of her, the few things he'd managed to save, telling himself they still held her smell. A time machine that fit between his trembling hands.

And like a soldier gears up for war, Solomon put on her armour for the first time.

The long coat she used to wear the few times they visited Knockturn Alley on her rare days off and the pantyhose, soft against his skin. The perfume she used, almost completely gone, her favorite earrings and the one pearl necklace she cherished like a treasure - a lover's present she'd once said, and he immediately knew from whom it had been. Not sure of what to do with most of her make-up, he made his lips dark red, and painted his eyes smoky black, too heavily, staring at the mirror like he could find her there somewhere, just inches away from his earnest hands.

"Greg," he whispered, heart pounding against his chest like a war drum. There he sat, the last in a long line of dead women. Allegra, who took a dive down the stairs; Audrina, who fell asleep in the river; Calpurnia, who swung from a tree. There he sat, juvenile enough to look just like her under his Flint cheekbones, feeling the same invisible chains tugging him down. Allegra, who had cried of relief as she held her baby boy, had only ever wanted him to follow a different path - but Solomon had inherited the mischievous arch of her mouth and her heavy heart, seeking the sharp edges, the abrasion. He loved men with nervous fists, men who held you down, face in the mattress, men who left you bloody and sore. "My love," he said, watching as the words curled around his tongue, squeezed between red lips like a death sentence.

It brought him a strange sense of peace, to wear her like a second skin.

III.

When he was sixteen, strutting down the corridors of the Flint Manor, bruises still fresh on his neck from this bloke he met in London, Gregory grabbed him by the arm and pushed him against the wall hard enough to rattle his bones. "You should be ashamed of yourself," he said, voice low like a threat, and Solomon, who always held his head high, felt himself tremble under an iron grip. "Look at you. Look at the things you do. You're not even a real man." It was the closest he'd ever gotten to acknowledgement from his father - his fingers traced the marks left on his arm long after Gregory was gone, and just like his mother before him, Solomon took it quietly.

If love was a dagger, he'd cut himself open just to bleed out.

Weeks later, in a room that wasn't his, he laid beside a girl - blue eyed and soft, with lips made for kissing and hands made for holding. He studied her sleeping form, naked chest rising and falling slowly, hair cascading over a pillow in jet black waves, and remembered his mother. "Stay,” she pleaded as he got up and grabbed his jacket. "I'm sorry, love," he said, closing the door, "I'll call." Behind him, like a procession of ghosts, were the shadows of generations of scorned women, who'd left him shame as a family heirloom, etched deeply in the stars they shared. Like the wolf in a child's story his mother used to tell, they'd sewn him shut with stones inside. Breathing in smoke to fill his lungs, he, too, felt relieved for being born a man - sometimes he looked too much like his father, with the sharp cheekbones and the lips full of lies.

"I am a man," he said one day, looking into Gregory's eyes just like Allegra used to, a silent plea behind the fire. But Gregory looked away. He always did, like Solomon was somehow haunted, the spirit of his mother inhabiting the soft arch of his mouth, the warm tips of his fingers. "Look at me," he roared, "look at me!" But Gregory didn't look. He never did, as if trying to escape accusing eyes. "Greg--" came as a whisper, that same hushed tone Allegra would breathe out in the dark of his father’s study, with legs spread over his mahogany desk. "That how you like it?"

Not even the slap that knocked him backwards wiped the grin off his lips.

IV.

He’s seventeen when he walks the streets of Knockturn Alley with a purpose.

It burns at the tip of his spine, spreading down his legs like liquid fire; it blazes behind his eyelids like he’s got a fever, some sick sort of restlessness settling down his bones. His mother walked these streets one day - this very same cobblestone streets. She knew its steep turns and its dark corners, and she’s lost herself behind bar counters and under cheap sheets here, there, and everywhere - that shop and this pub, under those streetlights and into the darkness, losing herself among the shadows of brick walls and dirty alleys; letting lovers paint her body with blooming bruises, marks made of teeth and tongues. Tales of her wild years sometimes get lost among the desperate figments of his imagination; she is a blurry figure at the corner of his eyes, walking these same familiar streets like a sailor that comes home after a year at the sea, smelling of wild lilies and disappointment.

She used to pick lilies at the garden; white lilies.  

They were her favorite, she’d say, fingers running down delicate petals with a longing beyond Solomon’s years: “Look at them, love. Ain’t they beautiful?” He understands that longing now:

Solomon hates flowers with a childish passion.

They are too beautiful, too fragile, like Allegra in her dark servant dress, standing at the top of the stairs - a crumbling monolith of beauty and hopelessness, a blooming lily picked in its prime. He can never hold things that delicate in his hands without ruining them, as if his fingers aren’t made for crystals and porcelain; for flowers and brocade; for pretty girls and pretty hearts, that love too earnestly, that forgive too soon. Like his father before him, and his grandfather before them, he’s a bull in a china shop: he loves like waging war. Solomon got cruel hands from his father, but he has legs that creak open easily like his mother’s and her same weighty heart - he’s an amalgam of pain, the open wound at the end of two long lines of agony.

But he smiles, like she smiled whenever she lied: I’m alright, love. Don’t you worry.

It never quite reaches his eyes.

“I need the money,” he says, as he takes off his shirt. He thinks of August and his trembling hands, his quivering lips, his bloodshot eyes and the threat of an early grave boiling just under the surface of his crippling addiction. The man’s fingers run across the broken arrow tattooed at his chest, and his face looks like old leather, deep creases marked by the years as if he’s been sculpted carelessly in bark. Solo never asks his age; the man doesn’t ask his either. The numbers get lost sometime around midnight, when there are clothes crumpled on the floor and sweat running down the small of Solomon’s back, where the man’s fingernails dig deep into the skin.

He tastes like cigarettes and cheap, bitter beer.

Solomon’s had worse.

He’s done this before, he tells himself, scraping his knees on the floor. He’s done this before: for a place to spend the night during those cold winters away from the Flint Manor’s oppressive walls; for a friendly discount at a muggle party once; for this and that - a million reasons locked away at the back of his mind like an afterthought. But this is the first time he says it, words heavy on his tongue: for the money.

He counts the cracks on the ceiling, and then he counts the galleons.

“What did you say your name was again?” the man asks, offering him a cigarette after they’re done. Solo takes the cigarette, but doesn’t taste it. He looks down at his thighs, littered with small round scars of past fags like minefields, and he feels the burning compulsion of adding to it, dropping yet another bomb among the ruins of his flesh. He hesitates, and the shame is worse than the vague, familiar pain running up his body: he’s never let shame lock up his tongue before, but here he is, fading into the background, looking away as if he can disappear into himself. It takes seven years to build up a man, but only one night to unmake him.

“Solo,” he blurts out before it burns through him completely. “Solomon Renfield,” and shame is not the worst thing he swallowed that night.

The man lets out a booming laughter, smoke and truth spilling out his mouth: “Like mother, like son, eh?” and Solomon freezes, cigarette burning away between his fingers. There’s a place for it in the tender skin between old scars on his thighs; a marked grave.

I’m so happy that you were born a man, Allegra says, somewhere in his memories.

Solomon wears his mother’s smile, forces himself to take a long drag: I’m alright.

He gets up to leave, and the man throws an extra coin his way - the first time anyone has ever paid him for being a Renfield. It sits in his pocket, heavy like lead. He bites into the cigarette, tasting ashes.

And, for just a moment, Solomon thinks he can smell lilies under the acrid smoke.

[not-just-any-fangirl]

Implexium Vitae PT 4

A/N; Would you look at that I have two fics updated at the same time!

Been a while, I know, but this too, is alive! And if the M was an indicator it is going to be (eventually) porn with minor plot. But oh, what a plot it will be.

It is said that some people have old souls, reborn every couple centuries to find their loved ones again and continue on their never ending journey. But what happens to these intersecting lives when one is immortal and the other is ripped from them?

Vampire AU.

Pairing: Nalu, Fairy Tail

Words: 2321

Rating: M

Part: One, Two, Three, Four,  Five, Six, Seven

Lucy took in a deep breath, curling further into the warm over-blanket she had nestled into in her sleep. Odd memories filtered from her dreams, wild pink hair and captivating emerald eyes. A light smile crossed her expression as she thought back to the dream kiss, hot and desperate... Lucy really should expand her reading beyond the fantasy romance novels, lest she dream of werewolves or spirits next. She squeezed the pillow gathered in her arms, wishing for a few more moments to stay in her rest.

That is, until she heard her pillow grunt and caught the scent of cinnamon and hickory. Lucy raised her head, peeking at the slack face of a man with gorgeously tanned skin and full lips, cheek lolling on her pillow. Natsu.

Not a dream.

Last night had been... real. Lucy reached out a hand, tracing his cheekbone to assure herself he was truly there. Her Natsu. She blushed at the unbidden thought, but couldn't deny the rightness it settled into her with.

Her eyes trailed his face, noticing a lighter colour peeking out from under Natsu's scarf. She shifted more over his chest, curiosity outweighing her shyness to touch. She was gentle as she pushed the soft fabric lower down his throat. A pale scar tip stood out against his rich skin, Lucy furrowing her brow as she crawled even further over Natsu to look at the scar. She didn't remember it, but there was also many things she had yet to remember from her previous life.

“You're here.” Lucy looked up at Natsu's rough drawl, blushing fiercely at being caught. Natsu don't seem to mind, bare fingertips trailing through her hair before tucking a strand behind her ear. Lucy melted into his touch, lips relaxing into a smile.

“So are you.” Lucy hummed back, smile widening at his low chuckle.

“Aye, I am. Never thought I'd be again.”

“But you are. And you're with me,” Lucy whispered earnestly, wanting to banish away the sadness that crept back into his gaze as he spoke. She focused on his lips, continuing shyly. “Where you're supposed to be.”

Lucy was guided back to looking at Natsu by a gentle touch of his fingers to her chin. A motion he continued as he brought her mouth to his. The kiss was soft, slow and simple as they basked in the others warmth. Lucy pulled away first, fluttering her lips along his jaw before nuzzling the top of his ear. Her arms tightened around him, weight pushing him onto his back so Lucy could lay across his chest and curl her body into his. She felt warm fingers card through her hair, and Lucy hummed in pleasure, almost allowing the soothing motion to lull her back to sleep.

Instead though, she forced herself awake at the crackling noise beside her ear. She shifted, groaning slightly as her limbs were reawakened. Her blinked blearily as she looked out the window, sky still dark past her aged curtains.

“How long did I rest?” Lucy murmured.  

“Only an hour or two, you can go back to sleep if you want Luce.”

Lucy sighed before pushing herself into a raised position. Natsu’s arm still weighed heavy and comfortable on her hip. “No, if we are to make the morning train I should finish gathering the essentials.” Lucy smiled down at Natsu, an unfamiliar scent making her brows furrow. She fingered at her neckline, sighing heavily as she examined the torn and dirty fabric that hung from her shoulder. Natsu's hand stilled her worrying at the dress she hadn’t found the chance to change out of.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Natsu pressed his forehead into the crook of her neck, pulling her back down to the mattress.

“I'm sure I'll be able to make another one,” Lucy soothed half heartedly. If she were to be honest, she was upset that the dress she had worked on for moons had been torn by one rough hand. Although, if the cost of bringing Natsu back into her life was simply some wasted hours and torn fabric she would gladly pay the fine.

Pensive silence wrapped around Lucy, Natsu’s brow ruching along Lucy’s neck. She patted a hand on his head, rose hair soft under her light touch. Distracted, she ran her hand through it more firmly, consolation forgotten on her tongue.

Natsu’s purr vibrated through her chest, low and steady as she shifted to gain use of both hands in her playing. Lucy spoke as Natsu nuzzled deeper into her neck, his thick eyelashes tickling her skin. “You’re not allowed to drift back off, we have to get going if we are to catch the first train.”

Natsu’s whine was high and soft, his disapprovement for her plans shown through a tight hug and burrowing into the mattress. Lucy sighed, pushing from his warm embrace and busying herself with removing all the things she had placed in her used travel bag. She looked over her shoulder to see Natsu nestled fully in her blankets, a baleful look directed at her from the cocoon of cotton Natsu had enveloped himself in.

“Why can’t I just carry you there. It’ll only take a few weeks.” Natsu said, petulant whine muffled by the fabric covering his lower face and nose. Lucy took a moment to stare at him incredulously before placing six of the twelve books on her nightstand into the bag, debating if there were room for another two or three. She did have to leave room for her writings after all, and Michelle, and then of course her mother’s ornament box... No, she would have to hope Natsu had kept up at least a few of her libraries through the centuries.

“Because that is absurd. The train is fine and you don’t have to run yourself sick.” Lucy retorted soundly, ending the discussion.

“The dammed train will make me sick, never mind running a bit.” Natsu grumbled. Lucy ignored his pouting as she looked through the few dresses in her cupboard. The rich green one was sturdier and more suited to travel, but the periwinkle blue had been a gift from the old wife at the bookshop. Maybe Lucy would be able to fit one or two dresses in, one never knew how long a train ride might take. Well, they might if they knew where they were meant to be going, but Lucy found that she trusted Natsu.

She could always ask at a later time.

She folded the blue dress neatly, placing it alongside a thin, white summer dress and several pairs of stockings. The green dress was gathered in her arms as she walked to the wash station tucked in the corner of the room. She cleared her throat, embarrassment rosing Lucy's face as she gave Natsu a pointed look.

“I need to change,” she hinted, shifting from side to side in front of the small basin filled with cool and clean water.

“I don't mind.” Natsu yawned, content in his bundle of over blankets. His sharp eyes traced her shoulder and the outline of her dress lazily. She sputtered under his wandering gaze, ears burning hotly. He was so forward.

“Well I do!” Lucy squeaked. She pouted at Natsu's low chuckle, his shoulders shaking under the sleep warmed fabric as he turned to face the other wall.

“Happy, Weirdo?” He teased, and Lucy took the opportunity to stick her tongue at his back like a youngling. Easy silence filled the small room as Lucy stripped and pushed her dressings to the side. The air was chilling against her bare skin, only further reminding her of her undressing in the presence of another. Of Natsu.

Her cheeks warmed again as that thought settled in her mind, anticipation racing along her spine for a reason she wasn't quite sure of. She quickly cleaned her shoulder and face with a cloth and the cold water, Natsu's deep intake of breath and a heavy noise in his throat sending coils of heat through her abdomen.

“Finished.” Lucy said, soft voice beckoning Natsu to look back at her. She bit her lip, fingertips twisting in the skirt of her dress. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself to ask him to tighten her dress for her. The question was lost, however, when Lucy met Natsu's gaze. Hungry and predatory eyes pinned her in place, Lucy reminded of how dangerous Natsu was by the power he held her still with. Unlike their first meeting, Lucy found herself drawn in by his wild nature, the whisper in the back of her mind reminding her that Natsu was something less -or more- than human.

“Can, ah,” Lucy started, voice raspy. She cleared her throat, shy at the change in her voice. “May you help me dress?”

Lucy held her breath as seconds ticked by, Natsu frozen on the bed. The stillness was shattered when Natsu roughly threw off the covers, stalking towards her with long strides. She blinked up at him, Natsu's face hovering over hers.

She turned slowly, offering her back to Natsu. She was fully dressed, and the act of tightening a dresses ribbons was much more innocent that loosening them, yet the way Natsu's fingers trailed along her sides before deftly tightening the corset was intimate in a way that flustered her.

Familiar heat bled through to her skin as Natsu rested his hands in her hips, remaining close to her. “May I?” Natsu breathed, his words caressing the revealed skin of her neck. Lucy nodded weakly, unsure of what he was asking but agreeing to it fully.

Lucy's eyes fluttered closed when dry lips ghosted along her skin. She leaned back into Natsu, humming in pleasure as he kissed her more firmly. Her hands settled over Natsu's, feeling his fingers tightening through her dress. A gasp escaped from parted lips when Natsu drew his tongue along the side of her neck, the lewd motion weakening Lucy's knees. A finger tilted her chin, Lucy allowing the soft motion to guide her face towards Natsu's.

Lucy kissed him softly. The two stayed like that for several moments, trading gentle kisses, bodies slowly becoming tightly pressed against the other. Natsu deepened the kiss, tongue rubbing along hers at her small whimper. His hand settled on the side of her neck, heavy weight keeping her as he wanted. Lucy whimpered a second time as he stroked the column of her throat with the calloused pad of his thumb. Natsu nipped at her lower lip with a dark chuckle, movements confident as he licked at her tongue with his own, playfully guiding her into his own mouth.

Lucy was shy as she felt a sharpened canine, tasting Natsu.

Desire spiked in Lucy, commanding and strong. She needed him, in ways she had only read about in her novels. Natsu’s hand tightened where he held her, as if he too could sense the change in Lucy. His kisses demanded everything from her; her breath, her focus, her mind. All things Lucy gladly gave over, in return for the fire he was stocking inside her. A low, animalistic sound resonated from his chest to her back, the possessive growl coaxing yet another moan from her. She needed to finish packing, but the train had another three hours before it was due, and the bed was so close...

“Natsu,” Lucy moaned into his mouth, the rest of her thought thrown aside when Natsu turned her in his arms, rushing her to the wall. He caged her with one hand still firmly on the side of her neck, fingertips tangling in the sensitive hairs at the base of her scalp, his other reaching between Lucy and the wall.

Lucy drew in a quick breath in surprise, eyes flying open as Natsu squeezed her behind sharply. Natsu made the possessive sound again, body crowding hers as he slipped a thigh between her legs, hand massaging the full curve he groped at lewdly.

Panting heavily, Lucy drew back from the kiss, hands fisted in his cape. Natsu trailed wet kisses along her jaw instead, finally pausing as he hovered over where he had bit her last night. She waited for his teeth to sink into her, releasing a shaky breath she had not been aware of holding when he instead pulled back.

“Sorry.” Natsu mumbled, voice thick and raspy like he had inhaled smoke.

“There is nothing to apologize for.” Lucy whispered back, gently brushing his lips with her kiss swollen ones before looking up at him.

His hand dragged along her back, settling cautiously on the bow of her spine. “I don't want to rush you, Luce. I know this is all, all new to you again.”

Lucy held his face in her hands, thumbs stroking his warm skin. “I know Natsu. My memories will come back, now that are souls are together again, and I trust you to help me along.”

Natsu was silent as he looked over her face, pain echoing behind the vibrant green in his eyes. “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again.”

Lucy smiled softly at his hushed words, a sad and heavy feeling in her chest telling her that he had not meant to speak aloud. She leaned into his hand as he tucked a stray wisp of golden hair behind her ear.

She pushed away from the wall and Natsu, clapping her hands together softly as she tried to refocus her thoughts. “Now, I have to finish packing if we are to make the train!”

Natsu groaned loudly, and Lucy allowed a full smile to pull at her lips as she tucked the ruined dress alongside the blue one in her bag. She couldn’t wait to write to her mother, sitting on a train and traveling to unknown destinations with the man she loved so dearly.

“I don’t wanna~”

Even if he sulked and complained like a child.