#whether he's keeping plants alive or being there for his friends and family or simply just existing to exist

[quiveringdeer]

alright now that's out the way, tending to my unfortunately scale afflicted monstera deliciosa had me thinking back to that first camera roll challenge I posted with Reiner.

The idea of him getting a little plant after a suggestion from his therapist. Something to livin up his apartment a bit and also that will require him to take care of but isn't as demanding in care as an animal. Which he just couldn't fathom being a caretaker for in his current mental state.

And so he gets that first little plant. Probably a pothos cause they're pretty forgiving no matter if you overwater, underwater, and have minimal sunlight.

And the plant is doin pretty good after he follows googled instructions on the proper size pot to start it off in considering how big the nursery pot was.

A couple weeks have gone by and he comes home to see two of the lower leaves turned yellow! Did this happen while he was gone? Has he not been paying enough attention? What does yellow leaves mean? Has he killed it already? He's spiraling and immediately texting Bert and Pieck in their group chat. The one without Porco and Annie cause sometimes you just need to surround yourself with nice, generally positive folks ok.

Pieck is reassuring him that she's sure his plant will be ok. As soon as Bert gets the texts he's googling the meaning of yellowing leaves. Something Reiner would've done if he wasn't currently spiraling in worry and fret after not even being able to keep one little plant alive more than a month. Is he really so awful? Why do these bad things keep happening to him? Obviously he probably deserves it but now he's feeling guilty that this innocent plant got caught in the crossfire of his shitty life!

Bert:

Bert: Looks like too much water, maybe. Is the soil soggy?

Reiner goes to check and well, soggy would be a strong word to use...but yeah it's soggy.

Rei: I killed my plant with water. I thought that was impossible? Aren't they supposed to be immune? 😣

Bert: I think that's just in Pokémon. And not necessarily immune, more like, resistant.

Rei: 😞😞😞😞

Rei: can't even keep track of what's real or fake anymore

Pieck: what is really "real" anyway?

Rei: 🙁😟😓

Bert: If the soil is extremely saturated, it says best course of action is to repot it.

Pieck: i can bring you a new pot and some soil reiner!

Rei: I'd appreciate that Pieck. But what if I just keep fucking up? Maybe you should just take the plant back to your place.

Pieck: you've got this reiner! lots of new plant parents tend to overlove their new plants with watering its all about balance

Pieck: pock's gonna bring me over soon!

Pieck: he won't be staying but he says hi!

To which Reiner is grateful cause that's the last thing he needed right now. And he doubted Porco actually told Pieck to tell him hi. But before he could figure out how to respond to that Bert responds.

Bert: I can come over after work too.

Rei: Thanks. Both of you. 💙

--------

Alright that turned into not what I had planned but anywho,

Eventually Rei ends up finding that balance of nurturing and letting it be, focusing on other things instead, like his own personal health. And once he gets the hang of that, he adds a few more plants to his home and becomes an active member on one of those fb plant groups (Pieck invites him to some) and finds a really supportive group of friends in that community!

[rae-writes]

sunflowers that bleed black

Dazai x reader

wc : 0.9k

warnings : hurt/comfort

synopsis : in which you notice that Dazai embodies many traits of the things he hates

Dazai plays off his feelings worryingly well. Whether it be theatrically, or dismissively, or maybe jokingly, he always buries down any other emotion besides joy (and even then, there are times when you can’t tell if it’s real happiness or not). 

But there are days he doesn’t— can’t. It’s when those feelings have been left unattended on high for too long and are beginning to boil straight over the edge; when he loses the mentality to hide himself away.

It’s those days that he sticks to you like glue. His hand is always touching you in some way, your voice always in earshot, his eyes always locked onto you. 

Osamu faces you, vulnerability at its highest, like sunflowers face each other when there’s no sun in sight. 

It was painfully ironic, as he’d always turned his nose up at the yellow flowers. ‘They take far too much care’, ‘they require companionship’, and especially ‘what kind of dumb plant always seeks the light of the sun, even when it’s dark?’

Ironic because Dazai himself was a lot to care for. He had mood swings and communication troubles, trust issues and problems opening up. Sometimes he joked around too much and it ended up hurting your feelings, and sometimes he’d unknowingly do it on purpose to avoid getting his own feelings hurt. 

He was a handful, but he was your handful. You loved him and you made sure you took proper care of him— learned how to care for him so that even if it seemed like a lot, it wasn’t to you. 

Ironic even more so because even though he’d never admit it, rarely even to you, Dazai craved companionship. He could be alone, sure. But he didn’t want to be, didn’t like to be. Even when he’s mentally exhausted, he craves to be around those he calls friends and family because he’s just so tired of being and feeling alone. 

So you make sure he never has to be. There are times when everyone needs their space for a breathing moment, but whenever he calls, you’re there. You drag him outside when he can’t manage to do it himself and help him never feel like he has to beg for someone to not leave him. 

And maybe the most ironic thing was ‘chasing the light even when it’s dark.’ Dazai lived in the never ending abyss for years— all he knew was the darkness, until he caught a glimpse of that soft light. It made his heart feel warm, made that shine return to his eyes, made him want to stay alive. 

So now, even when he spirals so far down to where the light can’t breach the darkness, he wades through the pools of black to search for that light. Even when he can’t see a centimeter in front of his face, he searches. He calls out, begging for the light to come back. And it does. 

You shatter the constricting barriers and reach for him, even when the shards of gloom are cutting at you, making you bleed and wince, you stretch your hand out and grab him. Because he belongs in the light, even when parts of him are still corrupted and twisted— you keep him in the light. And he searches for you every time he falls right back into the shadows. 

Dazai Osamu despises sunflowers. Yet, sometimes…he acts just like one. 

And you don’t even think he knows. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

There’s a certain look in Dazai’s eyes that you discovered before you even began dating. It was a dark look— twisted, in a way. It was a look that lacked any kind of morality or compassion, only a void soul who’d been chained down and drowned in darkness. 

The look was rare. An…abnormality in him that only saw the light of day in the worst of situations, and even then it was brief; a single, unraveling, second before he found himself again. 

For the longest time, you thought it was simply a small crack. A murmur in his patchworked heart, a slip of his troubled mind. You thought it was an echo that followed from his past that, to even you, was still shrouded in an unknown haze. 

But then you’d met him. Mori Ogai. Boss of the Port Mafia. It was a complete accident- a random, perhaps unfortunate, turnout of the universe. 

The entirety of the Ada had been out in the streets of Yokohama for a ‘bonding’ exercise as Kenji affectionately called it. You’d only been messing around with Osamu, playfully pushing and poking one another, when you tripped. It was dumb- right over your own two feet- but you weren’t hurt. You were caught in the arms of Mori, passing by with Elise at his side, who just smiled and lifted you upright, telling you to be careful or ‘you’ll hurt your pretty little head.’ 

Dazai was as stiff as a board at that moment. Unnoticeable at just a glance, but to the people who knew him, they could pick out the tenseness of his body. The minor panic in his eyes that was overlapped by scathing detestment— loathing.

When you arrived at your shared apartment that night, he’d practically broken apart and told you everything, all while scrubbing at the parts Mori laid his filthy hands on you with a wet cloth as gently as he could manage in his frazzled state. 

You understood, then, where that dark look came from. The ‘mafia black look,’ you’d taken to calling it. It came straight from the man who’d molded and played with Dazai like he was a marionette on frayed strings.

Dazai Osamu hates Mori Ogai with his entire soul. Yet, sometimes…he looks just like him. 

And you don’t even think he knows.

[slickchickchocolatier]

man tell me about heelel being down bad im up for that 🤒😫😩

Broooo… let me begin by saying that heelel…he’s like the most dangerous heelead (because of who he is…you know… 😈) but the dude has spent his entire life (aside from the time he served under God as the first arch angel) he had become the master of torture and gruesome death. (Remember what he did to that succubus?) just think of an immortal being so hateful and disgruntled, just releasing all sorts of demons onto the universe and wanting to destroy humanity in the most horrific manner…and then he sees you. YOU.

Heelel is the type to….

- never beg. You will always be the one to beg, and he loves it. Whether you’re begging him to stop or keep going, it’s all the same to him. Because he is so obsessed with ever ounce of emotion and expression you give out, he wants to see all sides and angles of you (like all the heeleads) but heelel is a bit more brutal about it since he’s so dang powerful.

- dress you in whatever he wants to see you in (which is anything sheer or barely covering you bc he loves to see you as bare as possible. (Remember the later chapters of Se7en?)

- loves to see you cry and laugh. He’ll gladly be the cause of your tears and the cure for them. But lord help the one who becomes the cause….thats a huge death penalty (and not a good one) for whomever hurts you or makes you upset in any way. Even if it’s the tiniest bit. If someone stepped on your foot and you simply say “ouch” man’s eyes would grow sinisterly wide, mouth would split in the corners (like a joker smile) and he’d develop a very eerie smile while he does something terrible to that person. Even if it was an accident, he’d be so merciless. And it could be anywhere from burning that person from the inside out, slowly splitting them open (starting with the feet) or skinning them alive…the possibilities of torture is endless. The only thing that could save that person, is you…only you. And even then (depending on the degree of the offense) he might honor your request. He might…it will be hard to contain him bc anyone who hurts you is a dead man or woman.

-will get you whatever you want. I made the reader kind of vague because every reader is different, but whether youre the type that loves material things or simple values that nature can provide like flowers, he will get it for you. No matter what it is. If you want a garden, he’ll create a planet just covered in all types of beautiful lush plants and flowers, and will take you there every day and night so you can enjoy it to your hearts content. The only thing he won’t give to you is if you want to see friends or family, bc he wants to keep you all to himself and in his mind, you shouldn’t need to see anyone since you have him. Insisting on this would lead to a punishment that you do not want. Man is selfish and is going to keep you all to himself. Whether you want it that way or not. He’s unapologetic about it to.

- even though he won’t share you with anyone, he likes to show you of. You’re his queen, his goddess, his Aphrodite. He is going to flare you off like a diamond ring.

-will be so rough with you if you’re resisting or not making him happy. Just behave and do what he says, which is to sit, look pretty for him, and let him love you…eventually you will love him back no matter what

-when he isn’t rough and teaching you a lesson, man is as smooth as the finest silk. I usually pictured him normally doing the nasty with reader and being kind of a menacing and taunting bastard. For instance, I didn’t end up including this in the actual series, but thought about it (maybe I’ll make a short piece of it?) but I had imagined a scenario when after he took reader back to Hell with him, he was having a ‘session’ with reader (bc he loves you too much to not keep his hands off you) so while being on top and restraining your wrists with one hand, I had imagined reader looking away and sobbing. He calmly says “look at me.” And when reader looks up, he had a creepy face moment (kind of similar to the one that I attached in the story…but worse) like his iris shrink and become like small beads and the sclera is expanded, and he forms a very scary smirk. If I could draw it out, I would. It is fucking creepy and the most horrific thing you’ll ever see as it scares you so bad, you almost feel your heart stop beating. Reader turns her face away and screams and squirms, and he’ll just laugh it off and continue (heelel is sadistic and since he has the ability to alter his face like that….lets just say he likes to scare you and make you feel uncomfortable). But as time goes on he kind of tames down a bit and doesn’t do it as much, or not at all. By now (since Se7en is over a year old now…I believe) he’s at the stage where he likes to see you smile and happy more than ever. Once in a while he still wants to see you cry or fearful, but that’s become a reservation. For when you misbehave. Now, all he can focus on is how beautiful you are when you smile, how lovely your laugh sounds, and how much he just wants to hold on to you and talk to you about the moon and the stars, and create constellations for you while you both lay in bed recovering from an intense orgasm.

-heelel loves your long hair. I pictured him being into long hair. When you’re sitting by his feet and resting your face against his thigh while he’s sitting f on his throne, he’ll having a piece of your hair and play with it delicately. His fingers will rub the strands together so he can feel how silky and smooth it is. One of the things he loves seeing is your nipple piercings poking through your hair as it lays against your breasts. Makes him go feral.

-he loves your eyes. Despite you becoming immortal, heelel will never allow you to gain abilities to shapeshifter or alter your appearance like he can. He won’t allow it. He loves the way you are and will never permit for you to gain the magical ability to change the color of your eyes, hair, or the natural style/state it is in. He loves the way you are, and you are going to stay that way for him. Even if you have insecurities, don’t matter. Whatever body issues you have, he loves them and if you haven’t learn to embrace them, he will force the issue in a way. He won’t let you change, he wants you to be the very same way he saw you the first time, forever.

-all it takes is a look. A single look. If you look at him the wrong way (or the right) intentionally or not, he’ll get ready really quick and is going to want you so bad…to the point where it hurts.

- heelel just loves the hell out of you. Would sever his own limbs for you. If it made you happy to stab him repeatedly, he’d just stand there and let you while laughing. He obviously cannot die, and while he continues to bleed and rejuvenate, he’ll wait until you’re so tired and you slowly fall to your knees as you stab him one last time. He’ll brush off his shoulders and leans down to pick you up and stand you straight again, and say something like “feel better?” At that point, you’re doomed. Bc whether you answer or not, he’ll be like “good. My turn.” And he’s going to do a lot of stabbing…but not with a knife. 😏

- everything you do turns him on. So expect to be f*cked (both brutally and softly…like vanilla smex) and filled up (he’s not wasteful. You’re either going to swallow it with your vagina or your mouth, either way, you’re going to be a cream filled doughnut by the time he gets down with you.) and he will do this multiple times a day, won’t really care if you’re sore. If you e been good, he’ll give you a break and take you out and about.

-he loves your wings and will play with the small black portion in the undercarriage of your wing. That is a small part of him that reflects from within you, and he loves that.

- his favorite past time hobby is to have you both naked, you straddled on his lap (sometimes stuffed with his d*ck, sometimes just having it rested against your tummy) and his arms are wrapped around your waist as he’s sucking and kissing your tits. He loves that. He’ll squeeze your buttcheeks and massage them from time to time, while his mouth never breaks free from your areolas. Like…they’ll become super tender and sore with how long he’ll make you sit there and let him caress each one with his tongue. Even if you ask him a question, he’ll talk with his mouth full of your breast and his eyes will be peacefully closed while he does it. Like he’s just relishing in the moment.

- he also loves slow dancing with you. As you both are dancing under the large moon, he’ll constantly rub his hand on the side of your neck, gently pushing your hair aside and will lick, kiss, bite, and smell it. He’ll press his lips against the skin and will say “I love you…more than I could ever love anything else. You’re all that I never knew I needed in life. The only one that can heal me, but also be the death of me.”

-he’s very tormenting. Don’t let the last chapters of the series fool you, he has his tender moments (and when he’s tender…he is just…perfection) but when he is being ‘playful’ and just has that “you haven’t cried in a while…kind of want to see it again.” And will do whatever it is to make you cry, usually it’s to scare you (then comfort you afterwards) or to give you some pain that’s all in the line of pleasure. Something like biting you hard on your inner thigh or pounding you to the point where he’s poking your brain. Stuff like that.

But yeah, those are some examples off the top of my head lol. Heelel is amenace. But you’ll always be safe and loved by him.

[nakachuchu]

Boredom | Ryomen Sukuna

SYNOPSIS: You're never happy.

READER: gender neutral

WORDS: 1006

WRITTEN: 03/20/2021

NOTES: I got inspired to write this after reading @sukirichi Home From War Also, happy birthday to yuuji <3

You were born from sadness. It was all you had ever known. Whenever you closed your eyes in the middle of the night, you could hear the cries of the children and families who helped create you.

Even the pretty flowers in the garden created a dry feeling in your mouth. You found joy in nothing. You didn't like taking walks, but you didn't like participating in war either.

You only did it because he told you to. You supposed you could call him a friend—though he was more of your master.

He took you in and you became his subordinate, but you slowly turned into his right-hand person because of how efficient you were in war.

You sighed.

You had heard nature was supposed to be calming and nice, but all you felt was emptiness.

Was there ever going to be something that brought you happiness or perhaps even joy?

Despite his cold and mighty aura, he kept his temple pretty and pristine, but it was mainly due to the servants who worked on it.

No one came near you except for him and Uraume. All the servants were put off by you, but you didn't blame them.

You knew of the effect you had on people, whether it be curses or humans. Everywhere you went, people wilted and turned into mush. They only thought of the bad in life and their will to live was down to the grain.

You stood by the edge of the lake where a cherry blossom tree was planted. The air was cold, but that was irrelevant because the cold wasn't supposed to bother you.

It did, but only a bit. The cherry blossoms smelled nice, you thought. Oh, but they would die soon anyway so that didn't matter.

You knelt, wrapping your arms around your knees. You stared at your reflection in the lake.

You cringed are how awful you looked, but it didn't matter. Looks had nothing to do with your way of life.

Nothing mattered in your life. There wasn't a point in you being created, and while you didn't mind the thought of dying, Sukuna had demanded you to live.

You didn't understand why. Maybe he had known you didn't care about being alive and he needed you to win wars. Yes, that was what you chalked it up to because it had to be that.

But because he raised you once you were born, you listened to him. If you were a human, it would have been called blind loyalty.

You weren't sure what it was. It wasn't as if he was forcing you to listen to him or stay by his side. You simply did.

You were a curious little thing. Having just been born into the world, you didn't experience many things aside from killing people and rolling around your bed out of boredom.

Your curiosity now peeked, you stood up and walked to Sukuna's quarters. He knew it was you before you even knocked.

"Come in."

You slid the door open and quickly bowed to him before walking inside and closing the door behind you.

He was sitting on the floor with his arm propped up on his knee as he drank sake.

He knew that look on your face. Your curiosity was the only emotion that showed aside from sadness.

He liked it when you were curious. Your eyes twinkled and you talked more because you wanted to know answers to what you were curious about.

"Why do I listen to you?" you asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Respect."

"Hmm. Really?"

He gave you an unimpressed look. You were lucky he tolerated you enough to allow your rambles and soft insults.

"What if I left you?" you asked.

He sat up straight. "I'd kill you."

"But if I don't care that I die, then what's the point? I could still try to leave you and see what would happen," you said. "So why do I listen to you? What's keeping me here?"

"Is your only wish to die?" he asked.

"I don't know what I want," you answered.

"And that's why you listen to me," he said.

You blinked at him. "Oh. Okay."

Your curiosity now satiated, you stood up and silently left his quarters. You were bored again.

Sukuna downed the cup of sake before placing it on the table in front of him. You had the brain of a child at times, and even he couldn't quite understand why he kept you around.

Aside from the fact that you were the strongest curse he'd ever encountered, you were always so bored and unfulfilled.

He hated that. What more could you want? What more could you want when you had him? Why were you so greedy for absolutely nothing?

He was hung up on you for no reason. You didn't want him. You didn't care about him. You only stayed because he was the first person to reach out to you and he settled your curiosity.

But what would he do if you meant that you would leave him? Was he supposed to kill you like he said?

You were the only person who never looked at him like you wanted him. Your eyes were so dull and lifeless and it felt like you were bored of him.

Would dying make you happy? If he did, he'd gladly do it even if it hurt him. He just wanted to see you happy.

He got his wish three days later when he brought you with him to battle sorcerers who were getting on his nerves.

You were strong, so he wasn't even sure how it happened. You were next to him, protecting him as usual, and then you weren't.

He dealt with the sorcerers as quickly as possible when he realized you were no longer by his side.

When he found you, his face contorted painfully. Despite your mangled body, there was a smile on your face.

You were happy because he dragged you to battle, but at what cost?

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑆/𝑂 𝐼𝑠 𝐴𝑛 𝑈𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑝𝑦 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝐴 𝑅𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙 𝐺𝑎𝑛𝑔

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warning: Certain violent and sexual scenes are contained in here. Read at your own discretion.

❀𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰❀

You started at the very bottom, dedicated to fulfilling your mission. You made sure to do everything your superiors told you to do, passed every test and threat they threw at you, all while keeping it a secret that you were trying to go up in ranks to get close to the man himself, Kim Hongjoong, so you could find out what he was planning.

Hongjoong ended up getting good reports about you and his curiosity was peaked. He made sure to keep a close eye on you. He saw something very special in you, something in your skills that he could use to his advantage. He made you his personal assistant, you became the second most powerful person in his organization, and soon enough, you became the number 1 person in his heart.

He fell in love with you, and though you originally didn't plan for it, you took advantage of the situation. You were surprised yourself by what a wonderful lover Hongjoong was, nothing like what your boss told you about him. You found yourself getting more and more attached to Hongjoong, even if deep down you felt guilty that you were lying to him and that you felt conflicted about completing your mission.

"Baby. I need you to prepare. We're going on a mission." Hongjoong told you one day.

"Who's the target?" You asked him.

Hongjoong smirked before tossing a folder to you. You picked it up and opened it, shock going through your body when you saw your gang's logo on the paper.

"Hongjoong I...I." You struggled to find your words.

"What is it love? You don't think it's a good idea? I thought you'd be ecstatic to know we'd be wiping them down...."

He got up and walked over to you, gently caressing your cheek.

"Of course.....it must be hard when they want you to do the same to us."

Your heart stopped and you looked at him with fear in your face, but he kept his smile.

"What? You really didn't think I knew what your game was from the beginning? Oh honey, I knew. There was no way a rookie could be that good without a background. Not that I mind actually, your skills were really useful..."

He pressed a kiss to your lips before clutching your jaw tightly, his eyes burning right through you.

"Now you're going to help me take your gang down, whether you like it or not."

❀𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪❀

You were terrified when you first infiltrated Seonghwa's empire. He was the legendary mafia Prince, the city lived in terror and in fear from him and his organization. So when you were tasked with getting close to him, at least enough to assassinate him, you were scared. You knew it meant risking your own life, even if you were successful, there was still a chance you wouldn't make it out alive. But it was a risk you were willing to take. If it meant people wouldn't have to live under his reign, you'd happily sacrifice your life to make sure he was dead.

What you weren't prepared for though, was for you to actually fall for him. The more you spent time with him, the more you felt sympathy for him. He was extremely handsome too, and that didn't help at all. And eventually, he fell for you too. He loved you a lot and changed a lot for you. Before, he was strict with you, now he doted on you. He was smiling a lot more thanks to you, you made him feel like a happier person and he didn't feel like such a bad guy when he was by your side.

Now more than ever, you had almost every perfect opportunity to kill him, especially since you slept next to him every night, and more than once you watched him sleep, peaceful and unsuspecting, you could just plunge a dagger in his heart and be done with it. But you couldn't, you loved him too much.

Your boss was getting impatient though, so he decided to put an end to it. While you were out in a date with Seonghwa, you two were suddenly cornered by members of your gang. They surrounded you two, your boss right in front of you.

"Y/N, I really commend you for your service. Without you, we would have never had this opportunity." Venom was spread through all his words.

You looked over at Seonghwa, who just looked at you with hurt in his eyes, guilt was forming in your stomach.

"No-no Seonghwa, I swear, I'm not-"

"Save it Y/N. I knew from the beginning what your plan was....." He cut you off.

Tears formed in your eyes. But Seonghwa simply smiled sadly.

"I trusted that you had changed feelings and you had really meant when you said you loved me, cause I know I did." He confessed.

"But I did! I do love you!" You insisted.

"Really? Then why are they here? How did they know where to find us? This would have been the perfect opportunity for them to strike..."

He looked at all the people surrounding him before chuckling.

"Doesn't matter. I prepared as well."

At his words, all his men appeared from all corners, with guns in their hands, ready to open fire at the enemies. You stood in shock, knowing a war was about to break out.

"You decide which side you're on...." He said as he held out a gun to you, his own gun in his other hand.

"Let's end it right now..."

❀𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸❀

You were the new barista at the coffee shop he frequented. You were still new and didn't know he was very particular about his coffee. He got mad when it wasn't made the usual way he liked it, demanding to know who made it. Everyone stared in horror at you, who was shaking in fear. You apologized profusely, making yourself seem smaller than you already were, trying to look as pitiful as you could so he'd have mercy on you.

It definitely worked, you knew it would. You knew his weakness for innocent and pure people, so you played that to your advantage, trapping him so he'd be wrapped around your finger. And he was. He'd come in almost every day just to see you, and whenever your schedule was changed, he'd leave the shop all sad that he couldn't see you. Your other co-workers were all jealous of the attention you were getting, but you simply smirked behind their backs. If only they knew you weren't the innocent and sweet barista you were pretending to be.

You of course accepted all of Yunho's advances, it's what you were supposed to do. You became like his little doll, and he adored you. He had fallen seriously deep in your spell, not suspecting one thing about you. Especially now when he found out you were pregnant. He was ecstatic.

His friends however, were suspicious of you. And they were right to be suspicious of you because they found out everything about you. Arming themselves with evidence, they threw it in Yunho's face. He refused to believe it at first, until he saw pictures of you with your boss, who was also your fiance. He was crushed by your lies and deceit, he was broken at the thought that you played him like that. He was so emotional that he couldn't think straight and went to you to demand an explanation. You of course were shocked that he ended up finding out.

"Is the baby you're carrying even mine you dirty little whore?" He asked you.

You stiffened when he said that, but kept your composure.

"I think you already know the answer to that. Why would I want to have a child with you?"

Your words were piercing through Yunho's heart, making him go insane.

"I never loved you. I only love-"

You were cut off when Yunho gripped your neck tightly, choking you and making it impossible for you to breathe.

"Don't you dare to even say his name. I don't care what you say, this baby is mine. Got it? Just like you."

He released you and you fell to the floor, desperately gasping for air.

"You're mine, only mine and I won't let you go back to that pathetic piece of shit you call your fiance. Get used to the idea Y/N, we're going to be a family now.....

I mean, what were you expecting? It was game over when you accepted to get involved with me."

❀𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰❀

You could never fool him. Yeosang knew from the beginning that his enemies were planning to infiltrate into his gang. Question was who was it? It didn't take him long to figure out that it was you. You who tried to desperately to get close to him, you who never backed down from any mission he threw at you. He definitely admired your dedication for sure.

That's why he decided to play along to your scheme. He was a master of hiding his true intentions and he was very good at keeping a poker face. So you truly believed he fell for you, you really thought you made him fall into your trap. You were seriously wrong.

You never noticed how he planted a tracker in your phone, in your car and eventually, he found out where you kept all your secret files. He had his men snuck in your house while you two were out on a date. They gathered everything you had, took copies of everything and made it seem like they were never there.

Yeosang had all the information he wanted, now he just had to wait for the right moment. The moment when you'd go to your gang's main headquarters for a meeting and decide when you'd strike his gang, decide what card you'd play.

Well Yeosang was a better card player and before you knew it, shots were being fired, getting closer and closer until Yeosang himself stood in front of you and your other top colleagues.

Smirking, he looked over at you.

"Thank you so much darling. This would have never been possible without you."

Those were his last words before he aimed straight at your boss, putting a bullet in his head that killed him instantly. It was chaos and madness in that room, and by the end of it, bodies were laying around, the smell of blood heavy in the air.

You groaned as you clutched your side, a bullet had struck, not enough to be fatal, but it definitely rendered you weak. You turned upwards and saw Yeosang's deadly eyes staring you down, blood dripping down his face. He forcefully pulled you up and began carrying you out.

"If you thought it was over, you're wrong. This is only the beginning...."

❀𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷❀

San was more than impressed by your knowledge of martial arts and the way you knew how to handle weapons. He actually found it sort of arousing how someone who seemed so inexperienced was actually pretty deadly. He could definitely use you in his missions and that's exactly how he planned it.

He spent more time with you, personally training you so you could better your skills, become the assassin he wanted you to become. You excelled at all his challenges, even to the point of surprising yourself. He was very proud of you, his star pupil.

Needless to say, more than once those training sessions ended up with your two bodies entangled together, leaving you breathless, sweating and panting by the end of it. And definitely making you come back for more. San was just so addictive. You had heard the rumors of how girls fell for him after one night and you scoffed, believing you'd never be a victim. But just like all the others, you weren't immune.

That's how you ended up bent over his desk, in the darkness of his private office, his hips rolling against yours as his cock rammed inside you with no mercy. Your hands grasped the ends of the desk, your moans filling the room.

San grabbed your hair and pulled it so you were facing forward.

"That's right baby, say my name. Show this worthless bastard who you really belong to."

You were confused by what he meant, until he pressed a button that lit up the room. Right there in front of you, all tied up in a chair, bruises and cuts all over his face, was none other than your gang boss....who also happened to be your boyfriend. His eyes widened when he saw you getting fucked by none other than the man you promised to take down.

San only chuckled evilly.

"See? I told you she doesn't want you anymore. Why would she? When she has me?"

You tried to say something, but a certain roll of San's hips had you crying out his name. San let out a satisfied groan of accomplishment. You were his and he made sure to make that very clear, even if it was a rather sadistic and messed up way.

But it's Choi San, he's the devil himself. What else were you expecting?

❀𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲❀

How you were able to climb up the ranks in very little time was beyond Mingi. He admits, you had talent and potential, but still he was not about to trust you just like that. He wanted you to prove yourself to him, prove to him that he could trust you and that you were more than willing to serve him and only him.

Now more than ever you were determined to get him to trust you, even if it meant getting your hands soaked in blood, even if it meant having to stain your conscious....even if it meant getting down on your knees and pleasuring the fearsome leader. You weren't necessarily complaining about that last part and neither was he, and he always returned the favor. It was definitely a nice way to escape from the pressure of doing what your gang wanted you to do, a break from all the incessant challenges Mingi made you do.

One day, you went all out and you just let him ruin you completely, you wanted to forget for just one moment that this was all a job, that it was all an act. For just one night, you wanted to feel loved and you wanted to love him. You wanted him to fully trust you and realize you were willing to submit to him completely.

And yet that still wasn't enough for him. You felt hurt when you found out he still didn't trust you. What more could he possibly want? Your question was answered when he lead you to an abandoned warehouse. Turning to face you, he spoke up:

"Here's your final mission Y/N. This is the test that will really make me believe that you're willing to serve me."

He motioned to a few guards hiding in the corner, who proceeded to drag out someone who had their hands tied behind their back. They placed the individual in front of you, on their knees before removing the mask that covered their face. Your heart dropped when you were met with none other than the face of your lifelong partner in your gang, your accomplice and best friend, the one who always went on missions with you.

Mingi held out a gun to you. "You know what to do."

You realized now he knew, Mingi knew all along, that's why this was your test. You hesitantly took the gun, your hands trembling as you pointed it to your friend, who was now looking at you in disbelief.

"Y/N? No..." They pleaded with you.

"I'm sorry. "

That was all you said before you pulled the trigger. Your friend's lifeless body layed in front of you, forever living in your mind and becoming the cross you'd have to carry all your life. But you didn't care anymore. You made your choice....

And there was no turning back now.....

❀𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰❀

Wooyoung paced around the room, unsure of what to do. He had just found out who was the one transferring information from his database to an unknown computer. The culprit had gone through very great lengths to hide their tracks, but Yeosang was the best hacker and tech boy and was quick to figure out who was the spy. Wooyoung was determined to make the spy pay, he wanted to personally take care of them himself.

That resolution faltered when he found out that it was none other than you, the person he loved the most in the whole world.

"No....it can't be." Wooyoung whispered.

"But it can be and it is Woo. Y/N was a spy this whole time." Yeosang told him.

Wooyoung looked away from all the evidence. He banged his fist on the wall, cursing himself for not being able to see past your little façade, for being so stupid to fall into your trap, for falling for you when in reality he meant nothing to you all this time. Yeosang comforted him briefly before reminding him about how they take care of spies.

That night when he came home, he didn't greet you with a hug or kiss like he usually did. He simply stood in front of you in the living room.

"Is it true you're the one who's been giving out information about us?"

Your face gave you away immediately. You looked down at your hands in guilt.

"Why Y/N?" His voice was cracking at this point.

"You wouldn't understand...." Your voice was barely audible.

Wooyoung scoffed. "Wouldn't understand? Damn right I don't! I get you being a spy but why go the extra mile to get me to love you?! Why did you have to play with my feelings?! Making me believe you actually cared about me!?"

You couldn't stop the tears at this point.

"You're not the only one here who's hurting Wooyoung! Yes! I did start this because it was my job, and yes, I was playing with you..... at first."

Wooyoung stared at you when you said those last words.

"But I really did fell in love with you, I seriously did. And it was that particular point that my gang used to threaten me. I didn't care about their threats to end me if I refused to complete my mission, but when they brought you into the equation, I couldn't refuse. You would have never believed me if you had found out......you probably don't believe me now and I don't blame you..."

You weren't lying at all, Wooyoung knew that. It was very clear to him. He slowly walked over to you, who was shaking in fear and crying your eyes out. He reached out for you and held you tightly, trying to calm you down.

"Love, don't you trust me enough to believe I'd always protect you and won't let anyone come near you?"

❀𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸❀

You watched in horror as each and everyone of your gang members was slaughtered right in front of you. The ropes around you rendering you useless. You couldn't help them. You felt Jongho walk up behind you and place a hand on your shoulder, you knew he was smiling that cocky smile he always had when he got what he wanted.

"You know I guess I really should thank you. If you didn't go to all lengths you went to try and take me down, I would have never found out your guy's location."

You wished he would just stop taunting you and end you as well. You wouldn't put it past him, after all, he is the notorious Choi Jongho. If anyone tries to mess with him or worse, hurts his pride, they're as good as dead. And you seriously wounded his pride when he found out he fell for you in vain, that it was all an act to get close to him and kill him off.

The tears stopped dripping down your face at this point. You were too numb now, finally broken. You were like all the dead bodies surrounding you, soulless, lifeless. You watched Jongho walk in front of you. He stared at you with hurt in his eyes as he lifted up his gun and pointed it at you. For the first time, you saw his hand tremble as he took aim.

"Just do it. Kill me. I know you want to." You told him, all emotion void in your sentence.

"Oh trust me, I really do....but I can't."

He surprised you when he put his gun away.

"You hurt me really bad Y/N. I gave you my heart unconditionally and you tore it to shreds.... you destroyed everything I cared about...now I'm simply returning the favor."

He stepped up to you and cut off the ropes that had you tied up, but you made no move to escape.

"Now you'll have to live with the guilt of knowing your entire gang, and their families-"

You widened your eyes at that part. He couldn't be serious, could he?

"Are all dead because of you. All because you chose to cross me. And I'll make sure you never forget it. Because I'm taking you back to my home, you'll have to see my face everyday for the rest of your life..... so you'll always remember."

He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder while smirking.

"You really should have killed me when you had the chance. "

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

[weelittleweasley]

Amnesia (p2) | Draco x Reader

If you have not read part one, you can find it here!!

Prompt: After proper diagnosis and treatment, your Healer informs you that your amnesia has effected your most recent memories. These memories include your life as a upperclassman at Hogwarts, your knowledge and skills, and arguable the most important thing to you: your relationship with Draco. When Draco hears of your condition, he is overwhelmed and scared to say the least. You two are now strangers. What happens in Part Two of this multipart series?

Warnings: memory loss, nightmares, PTSD, anxiety, mentions of death

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: This part is a slow burn, but just trust me. Shit will hit the fan soon.

This story is not about romanticizing mental health issues. These are serious conditions and this story is not meant to romanticize or fantasize these topics. It’s used as a vessel to convey a different story. That being said, please take care of yourself and sending everyone lots of love. Thank you for coming back for part two :) 

Flashbacks told in italics!

Draco watched you from the window that saw into your hospital room, his nerves and terror eating away inside of him. How was he supposed to keep calm when the love of his life almost died days ago and now does not remember a single detail of their relationship? He ran his hands through his matted platinum blonde hair before covering his face and letting out a sigh that was full of mixed emotions. He was going to fall apart in seconds if it were for your Healer passing by, so he could ask him questions about your recovery.

“So her memory is gone?” he frantically asks, pleading that the answer is no. That would just mean so much time and love and energy that you both had put into this relationship was being washed down the drain. 

The Healer places a firm, yet reassuring hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Not gone,” he speaks as Draco lets out a breath he was holding. “Temporarily lost you can say. Her memories can come back to her in random spurts or all at once. The brain is very complicated and everyone reacts differently. It could take anywhere from two days to two weeks for her to remember. There are rare cases, but it is possible, that it could be a few months for her to recover,” the Healer tells Draco as Draco swallows hard.

If it was going to take you months to remember your relationship with Draco, the boy would go mad. He needed you to remember who he was and what your relationship was like so you could both move on and live the life you had planned when you were students at Hogwarts weeks before. Draco dreamt of what it would be like when you two finally got away from the chaos. He pictured you two settling down somewhere remote, in a cottage somewhere in the countryside, maybe out of England. He pictured you having a lot of land, somewhere you could both enjoy nature and its scenic views. He imagined you with your beaming smile in one of your favorite sundresses, laying in the grass, reading a book whilst you laid your head in his lap. He would stroke your hair and watching you crinkle your nose as you laughed at something he said, him relishing in the regality of your beauty. He felt unworthy to look at something so rare and so beautifully genuine. 

Draco snaps back into reality from his daydream and speaks, “Are you sure there isn’t a charm or spell of some sort that you could use to jog her memory? Do muggles have something that you could possibly use?” Draco was desperate for an answer, a sign, a solution, something.

The Healer just smiles lightly and shakes his head. “If there was, my boy, we would have used it,” he tells him. “I’m sorry you two are going through this. I can imagine it is hard for you, but just imagine how difficult it is for her. The best thing you can do for her right now is be there for her. When she remembers, I have no doubt that your relationship will be stronger than ever.”

-------

And so Draco was there for you. Even though visitor’s hours were over, Draco stayed in the waiting room in case anything happened. Not even your parents did this. Your parents went home and told you they would be back in the morning, confident that you were in good hands with the Healers. Draco could never be too sure. You could remember him overnight and desperately need him. You could remember something about Hogwarts and need answers, to which he would be right at your side. So in the waiting room he stayed, waiting in case you needed anything. 

The ex-Slytherin prince was exhausted to say the least. He hadn’t slept since the battle, too afraid to close his eyes and see what his mind conjured. He feared he would see the eyes of his father, burning into him full of anger and disgust; his only child, his only son, betraying the family to run off with some girl. Draco feared he would see the eyes of the Dark Lord although he was dead, he feared he would find his way into Draco’s mind and into his dreams. Draco didn’t even want to think about if he saw his mother in his dreams. How he abandoned her, leaving her alone to her own devices. Worst of all, Draco knew that in his nightmares he would see you, getting hurt, pulled away from him as he clawed at his father to let him go. Draco knew he would see your limp body, bloody and frail as they carried you away to a medic. He couldn’t face his dreams; they were far too scarier than his reality.

Exhaustion pulsated throughout your body before your heavy eyelids fell, you immediately falling asleep with the help of the pain potion given to you. Today was overwhelming for you; too much has happened for your brain to process adequately. You were relieved to see your parents and Ron and Hermione, but now your diagnosis and this whole Draco situation just made things worse than you had expected. How could you just forget a whole relationship with someone that had lasted almost two years? It just didn’t seem or feel real.

You were peacefully asleep, but that’s when your dreams started for the night. Although your body was at peace, your mind raced. In your dreams, you saw flashes of fire, the screams of people echoing in the halls. Stones and rubble were all around you, bodies, dead and alive, all around. Panic entered your veins as you felt your heart sink. You’re running as fast as your legs can allow you. The taste of iron is in your mouth as you scream, your lungs burning and hot tears running down your face. You’re screaming for someone, but the words don’t come out. It’s just a scream. Chaos is growing around you as see people who you once knew die before you in the matter of seconds. Somehow you cannot control yourself in your dream as you try to run over to your friends in need, but your legs are planted. You have become stone. You see Ron from across the hall and you want to run to him, knowing that he’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from whatever was happening. 

But before you can run to Ron, your body pulls you in the opposite direction. You want to call out for Ron, but his name doesn’t come out. Instead, your screaming something else, but you can’t make out what. Before you can even register where you are going, you look above you and see a large boulder, making its way down to crash down on you. 

And that’s when you scream. The sound is rippling through your body as you sit up straight in your bed, eyes darting open. You stop screaming when you realize it was all a dream, a nightmare rather. Why did it all feel real? The pain in your head is creeping back up as your brain throbs as you catch your breath. Your heart is beating through your chest as sweat slowly drips down your temples. Hot and cold flashes ripple through your body as you clinch onto the white hospital sheets for dear life. Frantically, you look around the room to see if anyone was around you to come to your rescue. Were your parents still here? Ron? Anyone?

In that instant, the door flings open and there was the boy you were supposed to be in love with, his blonde hair pushed in front of his face, a panicked look in his eyes.

When Draco heard the scream, he knew it was you in an instant. He could recognize your voice easily, whether it was in joy or in pain. Draco knew you better than he knew himself. His heart sunk to his stomach at your cry and he leaped to his feet. The worst thoughts came to his mind, thinking that something awful had happened to you. Did someone come into your room and try to attack you? Was he not dead? Was it his father? 

Before he could answer any of these questions, he had practically knocked the door down just to see you sitting up straight in bed, your face covered in panic, horror, and sadness. The sight was gut wrenching. Draco wanted to run to your side, pepper your face in kisses, stroke your hair with his fingers, and tell you that he was right beside you and going nowhere; he would be there to protect you. But instead of doing so, in fear of frightening you more in your vulnerable moment, he just makes his presence known.

“Are you alright?” he asks, gently and slowly, still half standing in the doorway, half in the room in case you asked him to leave.

You take a look at the boy in front of you and wondered why he was still here in the first place. It was the middle of the night; not even your parents were here. Why did a boy you barely knew decide to stay here overnight? You don’t entertain the thought any further. “Bad dream,” you simply tell him, rubbing your eyes. 

Draco understood, there was no need to ask you any further questions. He knew that you needed time and space. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm you further.

Out of curiosity, you ask him, “What are you still doing here? It’s late.”

Draco sighs, “Uh, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. That if you needed anything someone would be here for you. Besides, I don’t have anywhere to go...” he trails off the last sentence sadly. He ran away from his mother, there was no home for Draco right now. He was alone. And without you? He was more alone than ever before.

You both look at each other for a few moments, breathing the moment in through your nose and out of your mouths. You took the time to really take a good look at Draco. He looked exhausted; heavy bags under his eyes that pulled all the way down to the tops of his cheekbones. His hair flopped lazily in front of his face. As sad as he looked, there was something almost angelic about him in this moment. The medic lights that flickered over his head dully almost made a halo above his head as he stared upon you with the most loving, sad expression you have ever seen. You could see how a previous version of yourself fell in love. He was undeniably handsome and there was something that was absolutely magnetic about him. You wanted to be around him for some reason. 

Draco interrupts your thoughts, “I’ll be just outside if you need me.” 

He tries to slither out of the door before you stop him, not even register what you are saying until the words fall out of your mouth.

“Stay with me,” you call to him, rather than asking him like you would have preferred. 

He stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, a confused expression on his face. Did you remember him? Was this your way of telling him? 

You inhale, “I just don’t want to be alone.” It was true, you didn’t want to be alone again with you and your nightmares in fear it would attack again when you closed your eyes. “My dreams are scary,” you confess. “They seem real.”

In that moment Draco knew that the dreams you were having weren’t really dreams; they were flashbacks. He had them too when he closed his eyes. Draco knew exactly what you saw and there was no need to explain. He was just happy that you asked him to stay with you. “Of course,” he gives you a small smile, preventing a larger one from appearing on his tired face.

Draco slowly closes the door behind him before making his way to the chair near your bedside. He sits in the chair slowly and offers you a small smile. You return one to him with a small sigh. You wanted to go to sleep, but also were afraid of what you would see again. Would you dream of the same thing again? Or something worse? Would this happen all the time? 

You watch the ceiling for a few moments before speaking to Draco, “I’m afraid of closing my eyes.” You turn to him to watch his reaction and he gives you a sympathetic look.

“I am, too,” he confesses. “I see old memories that replay in my head. Horrible things. Things I did, things I bore witness to, things I tried to stop...” he looks at you sadly. It was like you both understood where the other came from. There was an unspeakable understanding that just reassured the other that they were not alone. Although you don’t remember much of Malfoy besides the limited encounters with him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. He had obviously been fighting something and you wished that it would leave him alone. “Did you want to talk about what you saw?” he asked you. You shook your head and he gave you a smile. “That’s alright. You should try and fall asleep at least. You are in recovery from a nasty injury, let’s not forget that,” he teases as you smile. He loved your smile. 

You lay back a little further in your bed relaxing. “Malfoy?” you ask as Draco’s ears perk up to his name being dropped from your lips. “Were we in love?” you ask, surprising him and yourself. But if you were going to remember the boy, you had to know if you loved him. 

Draco thought to himself, Were we in love? As much as I breathe. But he doesn’t say that. “We were,” he smiles lightly at the memory when you would look at him with love glistening in your eyes, brushing his hair with your fingers as he would pull you in close by your hips, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. The boy loved you with every fiber in his being. “Madly,” he adds with a laugh. 

As he says that, your curiosity peaks. You two must have had a beautiful relationship if he claimed you were madly in love. That was not a light statement. Without further consideration, you ask him, “Can you tell me the story? Of how we fell in love?” Draco’s eyes widen when he looks at you. “It’ll help jog my memory...I also just want to know,” you tease, making him laugh. His laugh made goosebumps appear on your forearms.

Where to start, Draco thinks. He could tell you about the story of the moment he knew that he wanted to make you his, your first date, when he asked you to be his girlfriend, the moment he told you that he loved you for the first time. There were so many good memories that he had of the two of you, it was hard to choose just one. “How about this,” he proposes, “I’ll start wherever you don’t remember. With each day, I’ll tell you a new story.”

His proposition made you smile. It seemed promising. “How do I know I’ll see you every day for a new story?” you ask, raising your brows.

Your expression made Draco smile. That teasing little smile that played on your lips was one he was so fond of. “I’ll make sure of it. That’s a promise,” he tells you. “Pinky promise.” He sticks out his left pinky finger as you loop yours with his, squeezing it. Instinctively, you kiss your thumb and Draco does the same. Your eyes widen, shocked that he did the same thing as you. You would kiss your thumb after a pinky promise ever since you were a child with your mum. As if he read your thoughts, Draco said, “I remember a lot of things, (Y/N). We also used to do that a lot.”

His words bring a smile to your face as you let go and giggle at the boy in the chair. “Alright, let me think,” you state. You scan your memory for what you remember of Draco. You remember meeting him that first night you arrived to Hogwarts when he made fun of you of being friends with Ron, you remember him teasing you in your charms class because you came to class with bedhead, running late, you remember sitting next to him at the Triwizard Tournament and stomping on his foot when he said he wished the dragon got Harry, you remember when Umbridge busted you and your friends for learning defensive magic and Draco being the first person you saw when you exited the room of requirement. “The last thing I remember was when Umbridge busted Harry and all of us for learning defensive magic behind her back. You were there and you made a comment at me. I remember being mad about it and you stood a smirked at me,” you push his arm.

Draco laughs, “Sounds about right.” You roll your eyes, turning your body gently to face Draco before he began the story. Draco had to stop himself from getting distracted at the way you looked at him, excitement in your eyes as he started his story. Your wispy pieces of hair floated over your head like a fuzzy halo, his heart fluttered at the sight. Merlin, I love you, he thought to himself. “Alright, let’s see,” he starts.

After being busted by Umbridge, you were under high surveillance. Not much to do for fun around Hogwarts anymore. No more gatherings after a certain time, no common room study sessions, the library closed after a particular hour, and not to mention boys and girls had to be separated by 8 feet. How was anyone supposed to have fun outside of academia anymore? Even Hermione belly ached about how bored she was. 

You should have expected your secret meetings to have been busted. When you heard that Umbridge had rodeoed a select few students to be on a watch patrol, you knew that their leader, Draco Malfoy, would go to the ends of the Earth if it meant busting Harry Potter. You wondered if the boy really found joy in being a dickhead to people. Although the conversations you had with Draco were limited, you could tell that some of it was a show that he put on for his other Slytherin friends. It’s like they expected him to be an arse before they even met him. Regardless, the point was that Draco was always blunt and rude around you and his company was not your preferred company.

In the library, there you were, sat at a small table during your off period, scribbling some answers down to some last minute Potions homework that you knew if you didn’t get done, Snape would have your head on a silver plate. As you scribble down your answers in a frantic fury, you don’t even notice Malfoy enter the library, his sightline going straight to you. He smiled when he saw you sitting at the table, immersed in your work, hands pulling at your own hair gently. You were a sight for sore eyes. Draco always took notice of you at Hogwarts, he just never made a move because you never left the damned Gryffindor common room. 

You didn’t even notice Draco in front of you until he hovered above you, startling you. “Merlin, Malfoy,” you jump. “What do you want? And stay eight feet away, you git. I don’t need to get into more trouble with Umbridge. You have already done enough damage,” you sneer at him.

Draco thought it was adorable when you were cross. “I came to ask you out,” he simply states. He doesn’t explain himself further. He just sits beside you at the table in the library, a smug grin on his face like you said yes to his proposition.

“What makes you think that I would want to go out with someone like you,” venom drips from your cherry flavored lips as Draco smirks. Your words did nothing to him. Oh, how that would change very quickly. “You’ve been nothing but cruel to me and my friends and now, all of a sudden you want to ask me on a date? You’re out of your bloody mind.” You continue to finish your Potions homework before Draco plucks the textbook from underneath you.

Before you can protest to his actions, he speaks, “Someone like me? And what would that be? Handsome, charming, intelligent, and funny? Sounds like a real bore,” he jokes. Merlin, he had a big head. “Not to mention, this hasn’t come all of a sudden. I’ve had my eyes on you for a while, (Y/L/N). I just haven’t mustered up the courage to ask you out properly. So here I am,” he leans on his elbow on the table, a shit eating grin on his face that you would love to smack off. “I need an answer, darling. Or else Professor Snape’s homework will just have to wait...”

You roll your eyes, “The answer you’re looking for is not the one you desire. Besides, even if I said yes, what would we even do? It’s not like we have any freedom here. We’re under constant watch.”

Draco laughs at your naiveté. “I thought you were brighter than this, (Y/L/N). I have my tricks. You can get away with a lot when you’re a Malfoy,” he pushes a strand of hair out of your face as he said this, you slapping it away as he does so. “Play nice,” he teases. “Your homework is on the line.”

Anger bubbled in your stomach, but for some reason his argument seemed to be compelling. What did he have planned? “What exactly are you thinking of doing, Malfoy?” you lean in, teasing him further as he smiles, thinking he’s won. Instead, you just pluck your textbook back from his hands, smiling as you do so. You beat him at his own game. This just made the boy more enthralled with you. 

“Ah, that’s for me to know and you to find out, darling,” he speaks. “So, I take it you’re interested?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

You really hated to admit that you were interested in his offer, curiosity getting the best of you, as it usually did. You huff, brush your hair to one side. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you admit, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. This was so unlike you.

Draco let a chuckle escape from his lips. “Brilliant. 7pm. Stay in the Gryffindor common room. I’ll come to you. I’ll see you then, kitten,” he purrs, leaving just as quickly as he came.

As Draco wraps up the story, you stare in disbelief. “There was no way I fell for that line,” you tell him, sitting up from your position in your hospital bed. “I really said yes to that cheese ball line?”

“How could you not?” he retorts. “I’m suave,” he jokes, making you laugh as you threw your head back. The sight of you laughing was enough to melt every single one of Draco’s fears. The way your nose crinkled as you laugh, your eyes squeezed shut, melodious laughter falling from your parted lips. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he tells you, unable to hold back his thoughts. That was Draco’s weakness. He could never lie to you. He always told you what he was thinking. It was his best quality and yet his downfall. 

His compliment makes you blush and look away from him. You weren’t uncomfortable from the comment, but you were just taken aback. Draco was someone who you barely remembered, yet you had such visceral reactions when you were with him. He brought you confusion and comfort that was oddly satisfying. You decide to change the subject. “So tell me about our first date. What did you end up doing that was so spectacular that make me stay?” you ask through a large yawn.

Draco smiles as you cover your mouth, you were obviously exhausted. “I said one story a day, you sneak,” he smiles at you. “Besides, I don’t think you would be awake for the most of it. You look exhausted. I think you should get some rest,” he rises from the chair. He was right. You were even more exhausted than you were before. You pull the covers back over your body, cuddling into the thin sheets. Draco watches as you get settled in your bed, gently smiling at how you pulled the sheet all the way up to your chin like you always did before bed. He remembers how you would always sneak into his bed at Hogwarts; you always preferred his silk sheets to your cotton ones. “Sweet dreams, (Y/N).”

The platinum blonde boy walks to the door before a thought intrudes your mind. What was the harm in speaking it? “Draco?” you call his name cautiously. He turns around to face you, eyebrows raised. You slowly pull the sheets open. “Do you wanna sleep next to me?” you ask slowly, treading lightly. You gave him the offer mostly because you felt bad about him having to sleep in a hospital waiting room until morning. Those chairs were wildly uncomfortable and no one should be forced to sleep there by themselves. But there was part of you that wanted Draco with you. There was an aura about him that reminded you of home. The way he could make you smile with just a dumb sentence was comforting. He felt familiar; like you could remember some pieces of him. Maybe if he stayed with you tonight, all the memories would come back. Maybe his touch would awaken something in you.

At the offer, Draco wanted to scream yes and climb into bed with you, snuggled next to your side, breathing in your all too familiar scent. But he didn’t want to overwhelm you. He had to tread lightly, make sure that you were comfortable. “Are you sure?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know if that was alright. “I can just stay in the waiting room, it really is no problem.”

You shake your head. “I’m positive...I want you to stay with me,” you tell him. “I could be rushing it or I could be crazy, but I think that maybe you staying with me might be helpful...for my memory.”

How could Draco argue with that logic? He smiled and closed the door, trying to hide his excitement. He took off his patent leather shoes and peeling off his blazer, getting himself comfortable before climbing next to you in bed. The hospital bed was arguable just as uncomfortable as the waiting room chairs in Draco’s opinion, but you in bed with him made it all better. Draco slid one arm carefully around your shoulder as to not disturb any painful areas. Although the gesture should have been romantic or comforting, it just felt awkward. 

You both just laid there for a moment, awkwardly laying before you give in to his touch, resting your head on his chest. Within an instant, the two of you let out a breath that you were holding in, melting into each other’s touch. This position of you resting on his chest, hearing his heartbeat made something inside you click. It did feel familiar. Something about it was familiar. 

The two of you don’t speak any words to each other. You both lay there, waiting for the other to say something. But no one says anything. What is there to be said? You allow yourself to slowly fall asleep to the slow drum of Draco’s heartbeat in your ear through his chest as Draco follows only after you are sound asleep. He knew that he could sleep once you were.

-----

As you drift back off into sleep, another dream kicks back in. This one not nearly as horrifying as the last. In fact, it was quite endearing. You aren’t at Hogwarts. You’re somewhere else. Someone’s home. It’s not yours, that’s for sure. The house was smaller, but had a large winding staircase. It isn’t until you hear multiple voices in your head that you instantly recognize where you are. It was undeniably the Burrow. Weasley’s. A smile forms on your face when you recognize your surroundings. 

In this dream of a memory, it’s Christmas time. Molly Weasley in the kitchen, cooking, something delicious smelling of sage and rosemary. Fred and George are in the backyard, building what looks like a fort of some kind, their efforts failing miserably when Ginny runs into the fort, causing it to fall down. A giggle escapes your lips.

You walk further around the house and recognize it more and more with every step. The Weasley home felt like a second home to you. So much so that Molly knew how to cook your eggs and knew the difference between yours and Ginny’s uniforms and Arthur had put a coat hanger in the side hall for you when you were over. You were here almost as often as your own childhood home. Your parents travelled a lot for work and you spent Christmas at Burrow maybe two or three times. This year was undeniably when you were in year four with Ron. You know it to be so because of Ron’s horrid haircut that you teased him about that whole year. 

As if one cue, Ron appears and pulls you to the other room and suddenly you are on the couch, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Ron is telling you about a prank that George had planted in Percy’s room for when he came home. You have the feeling of undeniable joy in your chest and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Have you ever had this feeling before? The two of you were laughing at the other and expressing your joy and excitement for the holiday, focusing on the company of the other. You loved spending Christmas with the Weasleys because you knew that you would have more time to bond with Ron. Ron was your first friend at Hogwarts and he was the one who introduced you to Hermione and Harry. Ron was the one to push you to go after what you wanted. Ron was your best friend and other half. Undeniably. 

In this dream, Ron looks at you in your eyes with a cheeky grin on his face and says, “I am so glad you’re here for Christmas. It makes things so much better.” He pulls you into a tight hug and kisses your forehead. “I love you.”

Before you can process the words, you speak out, “I love you more, Weasley.”

Your eyes shoot open and you slowly sit up. You were all kinds of confused. Ron Weasley? He was your best friend, sure, but the feeling you got during the dream was not one that a best friend should have. Your face was flushed, cheeks a bright shade of red. Were you blushing? Your heart beat was racing and your mouth was dry. The image of Ron smiling at you, his arm around your shoulder sticks out in your mind. Him saying I love you plays on repeat like a broken record. What was happening? This went against everything you knew and what people told you you were supposed to feel? Ron wasn’t your boyfriend; Draco was. 

Draco.

You look next to you to see Draco still peacefully asleep, lips parting that allowed light snores to escape. His arm was still draped around your figure which you once found comforting, but now you found alarming. Careful not to wake him up, you peel his arm from around you and onto his lap. His touch now was now foreign. How did this all take a 360 within a few hours?

Casting the thoughts out of your brain, you turn over to the other side of the small bed, back to Draco, trying to fall back asleep, hoping that Draco didn’t notice the change of position. You let your heavy eyelids bring you to sleep, but unbeknownst to you, Draco does notice that you are no longer peacefully asleep on his chest. But he doesn’t say anything. Disappointed, he just takes note of it and closes his eyes, but he can’t fall asleep.

-------

The morning light streams in just as quickly as it left and gently wakes you up. The light hurts your head and makes you wince in pain, softly clutching your head. You sit up slowly and rub your eyes with the heel of your free hand, trying to rid the sleep from your eyes. As you let your eyes focus again, you see Draco is sitting in the chair beside your bed like he was like night, trying his shoes. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he smiles at you. You let out a groggy morning. “The Healer left you another pain potion for this morning. He said to take it as soon as you wake up and then you are good to be discharged and go home,” Draco reports.

The thought of going home made you excited, but nervous. Home was always nice and being your parents at a time like this was definitely something you needed. However, your childhood home didn’t feel like much of a home after your time at Hogwarts, especially since your parents were always traveling and were rarely home even on holidays. If anything, home meant going back to Hogwarts or alternatively going back to the Burrow with the Weasleys...

Shaking your head, you return yourself to the current conversation. “Sounds great,” you smile and take the pain potion from off the nightstand, drinking from the small vile, contorting your face in disgust after, the fowl taste lingering on your tongue. Draco laughs as you do so. “I hate the taste,” you blush, wiping your mouth. “Are my parents here to pick me up?” you ask Draco.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I can check with the Healer and see if your parents called or not. If not, I can always take you home. I have no problem seeing that you get back safely,” he offers with a gentle smile as you nod. “Great,” he breathes out. “Let me check for you.”

Draco moves to the door and opens it up only to reveal Ron Weasley standing there, fresh eyed and with a small smile on his face that fades when his eyes land on Draco’s. “Weasley,” Draco greets. “I was just going to grab the Healer. (Y/N)’s been discharged.”

Ron shakes his head, “I know. I’m here to pick her up.” Ron glances to you and smiles before sending you a wink. Your heart stops in your chest and your eyes widen. Something that was a friendly gesture between you and Ron now has new meaning after last night’s dream/memory. What was going on?

Interrupting your thoughts, Draco looks to Ron and says, “You’re picking up, (Y/N)? Where are her parents?”

“Is there a problem with me picking (Y/N) up? I’m her best mate after all. Plus, her parents asked me if I could whilst they dealt with preparing her room and treatments for her arrival home,” Ron pushes past Draco and straight to you. “Morning, darling. I have fresh clothes for you and your mum is making breakfast for you back at your house. Ready?”

You look back and forth between Ron and Draco and the tension between the two is palpable. You thought that Draco and Harry had problems? This was another level. “Um, yeah, I guess so,” you reply to Ron while looking at Draco who shakes his head, understanding completely. Your parents had sent Ron for you. You didn’t need Draco. Draco just gives you a small smile before walking to the door. “Wait, Draco,” you call for him like you did last night. “I’ll see you again, right? You owe me a story,” you gently smile.

Draco lets a pink hue reach his cheeks. “You’ll see me again, darling. I promise,” he tells you. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, this directed toward Ron this time. “Until then, love,” he winks at you before walking out of the room and down the hospital corridor.

Of course, Draco wished he could be the one taking you home from the hospital. He wanted to be with you every step of the way on your recovery. Draco wanted to hold your hand and guide you through every bump in the road. But if this is what you wanted, he had to respect that. He would have his time. He was sure of it. You would come around.

Meanwhile, you changed in the bathroom into the fresh clothes Ron had brought with him. The soft cotton of your clothes made you sigh in relief, it was so much better than that itchy hospital gown. You emerge from the bathroom, straightening out your hoodie before breathing out, “Let’s go home.”

“Brilliant,” Ron beams, guiding you out of the room, his hand on the small of your back. The action makes you gasp a little bit, but you eventually relax and calm yourself down. It’s a friendly thing, (Y/N). Merlin.

The two of you exit in the hospital, leaving behind all of your fears and worries, ready to face whatever obstacle with a newfound confidence. As you climb into the car, Ron starts it and drives away from the hospital, the radio playing whatever muggle music the channel had to offer. The car ride is mostly quiet except for a few exchanges, but that’s when you notice Ron isn’t taking you back to your childhood home. Rather, you are going somewhere else.

“Ronald Weasley,” you furrow your brows. “This isn’t the way home to my parent’s house...where are you taking me?”

Ron doesn’t hide the cheeky grin from his face. “We’re going home alright,” he laughs. “Just my house.”

The Burrow. Merlin, help you.

[misterewrites]

Secret Agent Bard (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here with a new chapter of the underground! Woo! I hope you are all doing good and staying safe.

So I actually have more to say today! That's a trip. I’ll have an author’s note under the line. 

So that's it for now. Stay safe, take care of you and your loved ones, stay out of trouble, wash your hands, wear your mask, get vaccinated if you can and push to release the vaccine world wide cuz we're all in this together. Have a great week and thanks for reading. I appreciate it and feel free to tell your friends, reblog, drop likes and feedback i love it all. Bye for now and enjoy!

If you want an easier place to read the story cuz tumblr sucks sometimes here’s a link to the chapter https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79541746

The First Chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

and since you made it this far here’s a link to all my stories!

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Byeeeeee!

Author’s note:  Today’s work will be a little different as there will be singing. The chapter with the bard is gonna have singing? Go figure haha So if you see a sentence in Italics, that means someone is singing. Bold and italics represents various people singing as a group. The song in question is called twiddles. There's different versions of it but the one I chose is from the misbehavin maidens. Great group but all their work ranges from innuendos to straight up not safe for work so listen at your peril. I have now completed my responsible adult duties haha. here’s a link to the chosen song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS1-_fKF5ug

Summary: Oliver has quite the task ahead of him as the group splits to achieve their goals. Leading Sel and Flora, the young bard will have to think quick on his feet to ensure this mission is a success. Luckily he's an old hand at this. Ironically the one person who could distract him may make a surprise appearance tonight.

-----

Oliver stood quietly, arms crossed and his mind thoughtful as the group prepared to go their separate ways. While ideally nothing would go wrong, that was a childish belief: Every person and robotic being here knew safety was not guaranteed in their line of work.

Even the old man knew the risks.

Oliver hated doing nothing. He thrived when he was busy, focused on whatever task required his attention whether it be being a better bard or upholding the Choir’s values. Too many ghosts and regrets lingered on the edges of his mind and he found the best solution was to simply keep occupied.

But that was his coping mechanism, not everyone else. He knew better than to rush his team: The party would last at least another few hours and beside the goal of getting Sel to the third floor, there was nothing else to do. No information to gather, nothing to review. Let them have their moment, it was good for morale.

Terri and Flora were sickeningly adorable: Hands clasped tightly with Terri tearfully asking her girlfriend to not poison everyone. Flora gave a halfhearted promise while as they shared a tender kiss. Terri noticed her less than enthused tone but refused to press the matter further.

Tyrell stood awkwardly to the side, his face twisted in a strange mixture of sick and excited. He fidgeted with something in his pocket, seeking comfort from whatever lay within. Given the shape of the bulge and size, Oliver guessed it was a knife.

Sel stood nearby, motionless in the shadows of the alley. They hadn’t moved in some time though he suspected the automaton was simply waiting for the next phase of the plan.

“Alright” Oliver spoke up, his voice firm yet gentle “Times up. You have your assignments?”

Uneven murmuring responded.

“Let’s go.”

Oliver, Sel and Flora went down one end of the alley, Terri and Tyrell disappearing in the opposite direction.

-----

It didn’t take long for the trio to find the main streets of the Merchant Ward and make their way towards the Brambleoak banking office. The crowds weren’t as thick as they had been during the day but Oliver knew everyone out and about did so with a purpose.

“Bard.” Flora asked without warning, breaking the awkward silence “Question.”

“Answer.” Oliver cheekily replied.

Flora glared.

Oliver coughed “Yes?”

“You are a First Chair Soprano correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yet you are so young. How did you manage that? I thought First Chair ranks were only reserved for experienced or particularly skilled members. You don’t seem to be very magically powerful.”

Oliver paused for a moment, trying to best answer the question.

In a way Flora was correct in her assessment: He wasn’t particularly powerful as a spellcasting bard. Unlike Flora who clearly committed herself fully to nature and thus druidic magic, Oliver had only recently thrown himself into the magical arts.

Unless you were a wizard who studied the secrets of the universe with a very intimate and well versed knowledge of magic, most spellcasters drew their power from sources of existence: Clerics from their gods, Druids from nature, Warlocks from something beyond mortal existence yet not quite a deity, sorcerers because a family member fucked around with pure incomprehensible concepts. Magic was the fabric of the universe and the more you threw yourself into a source of power, the more the source threw itself into you, guiding your hand and your spells.

Of course each, wizards exempt, were limited in their spellcasting options. Clerics were powerful holy/unholy practitioners but couldn’t command plant life to save their lives. Druids were in tune with nature and the weather and all the lovely flora and fauna but ask them to superimpose an image onto something and they’d give you a dumbfounded look. Warlocks kinda just do whatever their sugar patrons felt like lending.

Magic bards drew their power from the arts: Drawing, singing, poetry, even witty and funny satire. Bards were in tune with life, with existence. Art could heal, could hurt, could make you feel happy and sad. It could make you feel like a whole new person or perhaps take you to a time and place you’d forgotten. Bards sung the song of life and Oliver was no exception.

However, Oliver still wasn’t sure what he could do exactly. His magical muscle was average on a good day and he could only cast a few spells before needing a good night’s rest. The basic healing spells and comprehension language he cast earlier today had taken a good chunk of his energy but he relied more on his wit than raw magical strength. He discovered creative and useful ways to cast his spells like amplifying dissonance noises to distract and disorient foes or temporarily place another person’s image over himself. Magic was as much about creativity as it was skill, pushing the limits of what you can do with your particular brand of spells.

“I’m clever.” Oliver answered honestly “The whole magic of the arts is new to me but I’ve been in the Choir for a long time now. I used to be Tenor like Sel here but more fast talking than breaking and entering. I guess they carried over my old position into my new one.”

Flora nodded, satisfied “That answers much. How long have you been a bard?”

“Few years now.” Oliver checked the street sign to ensure they were on the right path “The magic part is going on 3 years.”

“I see.” Flora scratched her chin “I’ve been a druid my whole life so it is a strange concept to be so new to the spellcasting arts yet hold such a high rank.”

Oliver gave a casual shrug “Not sure what you want me to say. We’re here by the way.”

The bank looked as unkempt as Oliver had remembered: Faded, peeling green paint with gaudy gray stone pillars. Two guards in green uniforms stood in front of the massive reddish brown doors that led into the bank.

“Lea’s mercenaries.” Sel pointed out “They are not letting anyone in.”

“Correction.” Oliver brushed off nonexistent dirt from his washed-out outfit “They’re not letting nobodies in. Luckily tonight we’re somebodies. Follow my lead.”

Oliver let out a tense breathe before strolling forward, his mannerism cocky yet unsteady. He reached the top of the steps when two sharp looking blades reached out to stop him.

“Halt” The elvish woman spoke with a hint of irritation “You lost?”

“Not at all!” Oliver beamed with a smile that was too wide to be natural “I’m here for the party. There is a party inside no?”

“No” The human man spat out.

Oliver gave a forgetful grin “Oh? I could’ve sworn Brambleoak was having some sort of charity event tonight. I’d show you my invite but I think I misplaced it.”

The elvish woman sneered “Right. How convenient for you having lost your special one of a kind invite.”

“Pfft.” Oliver scoffed “Special one of a kind invite? Reiner hands them out like candy. Probably find one in a gutter nearby.”

The guards shared an unspoken understanding with one another.

“Well.” The human began “Let’s pretend that is true.”

“It is but go on.”

The human’s eyes narrowed “Why should we let you in? You dress rather poorly for someone claiming to be in Reiner’s usual circles.”

Oliver let out an exaggerated gasp as he puffed out his chest “Do you know who I am?”

“Umm no.”

Oliver growled unhappily, his fist clenched tightly within his pocket “I am rich! I AM POWERFUL! AND I DEMAND ACCESS!”

As quick as lightning, Oliver flung a handful of gold coins towards the pair. The two reeled back in surprised as the money clanked onto the smooth marble floor. A moment hardly passed before the guards were shoving the loose coins into their tunic pockets like hungry dogs. They straightened up, eyes alive with greed.

“Of course sir” The elvish woman bowed her head in apologize “Deeply sorry for that.”

“Please go ahead.”

Oliver gave a self satisfied nod before moving past the pair only to stop as he heard the sounds of swords scraping each other. He turned backwards to see the guards barring access to Flora and Sel.

Flora looked back and forth between the guards, her eyes calculating and cold. Sel stood still but clearly at the ready for any sort of trouble.

“They’re with me.”

The Elvish woman shook her head “We said we’d let you in. These two? Definitely not Reiner’s usual prey.”

“They aren’t” Oliver admitted “But I need them.”

The human turned to him, suspicion in his eyes “Why?”

“She…” Oliver pointed lazily towards Flora “Is my street doctor.”

“Street doctor? As in….?”

Oliver gave a cheery wink “The fun kind.” And for give measure, he added a weak shiver to his act “Ugggggh I feel cold, are you cold? It’s cold.”

Before anyone could say anything, Oliver began shaking. He rubbed his hands for ‘warmth’ while swaying back and forth.

“Uh oh.” Flora spoke dully, pushing past the guards and holding Oliver steady “He’s crashing. I need to give him his umm medicine.”

“Medicine?” Oliver repeated, his voice soft yet manic “Yes medicine. I need it. I NEED IT!”

Folks began to turn their way, the guards shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention they were receiving.

“And this one?” The Elvish woman gestured to Sel.

Oliver began to rock back and forth, his voice a harsh whisper. “Guard. Guard. Guard guard guard guard.”

The human threw up his hands in defeat “Bah! Get him in there and fixed! Any trouble and I’ll personally come over to beat your asses.”

“Thank you sir.” Flora murmured through gritted teeth. She guided Oliver and Sel through the doors and into the party within.

Flora sighed as Sel cracked the tension out of their fingers. Oliver straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow.

True to his expectations, the bank had been altered to be suitable for a charity event: Torches lined the walls, casting the building into a bright light. The desks normally found on the floor were gone as to allow a more spacious setting. Oliver counted a handful of guards scattered about, wandering about for any sign of trouble. All except for the lone guard beyond the empty elevated platform who stood in front of the stairway to the upper floors.

“What now?” Flora asked

“Split up. Sel stay close to the door, Flora and I will figure out a distraction.”

“Sounds good.”

And without another word, Oliver was swallowed whole into the crowd.

-----

It had taken an hour for Oliver to figure out what kind of distraction he would need.

The patrols themselves hadn’t been very difficult to plan for: They would move randomly about, keeping an eye on the party and each other. He counted about 6 of them total and each one of them was easily starstruck. At the sign of any disagreement, they would swarm in groups of three and quickly threaten any troublemakers into compliance. However, upon meeting anyone with even the smallest bit of fame, they would subtly motion to each other and make their way as one to the person in question, hoping for a glance or the chance for an autograph.

So the floor guards were no problem but the one standing watch over the door was much more difficult. Evidently Lea was smart enough to give the most important job to the most responsible of his idiots. The stairway guard or Stairy as Oliver labeled him, would not budge at the sign of any trouble. Loud arguments, agitated party goers, a waiter being tripped (sorry it was for science buddy). None of these would pull him from his post. Celebrities wouldn’t either. Any time his buddies motioned to a famous person, he would shrug his shoulders and stay put.

Oliver was beginning to wonder if Flora needed to poison Stairy until he noticed something about half way into his observations: Stairy was a music lover. Specifically a cute girl music lover.

His gaze would wander every time he caught sight of a pretty girl who happened to be too close to him. Oliver wasn’t sure at first so he decided to test his theory. With his pocket change lessened, Oliver noticed how often a girl would catch Stairy’s eye. His attention didn’t shift when they fell in front of him, obviously in distress, or walked slower allowing him to enjoy the view longer but Oliver caught him smiling and tapping his foot when the odd girl would sing. He even staggered away from his door a few steps at a time before catching himself and returning to his post.

So the best distraction would be a girl who could sing and have some level of fame attached to her name.

Oddly specific and Oliver hadn’t the slightest idea how he was going to mange that. He was attempting to solve this puzzle when something caught his ear.

“Get off me you mulched dirt licker!”

That rather unique set of cursing could only mean one thing: Flora.

Oliver turned to where he last spotted her and found the young druid being hassled by a tall man in an elegant uniform.

Oliver noticed the guards were looking about, not yet spotting the commutation but aware something was going on. He needed to act first if he wanted to stop Flora deciding to kill everyone in the room.

The bard quickly slipped into the crowd, darting and weaving between any and everyone he could. He saw Flora slip a small vial into her hand as the man towered over her.

“I jus wanna dance.” the man’s words slurred out of his mouth “A pretty thing like yo shou wanna dance”

Flora’s eyes narrowed angrily “For the last time you dried poop stain, LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Flora pulled back her hand, prepared to throw the mysterious vial at the drunk’s face.

“Whoa!” Oliver cried out, tightly grasping onto Flora’s wrist “What seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing I can’t solve on my own.” Flora coldly glanced towards the drunken man.

“One sec.”

Oliver eyed the man carefully, absorbing every little detail he could.

He could see the muscles strain against the fabric of his light green tunic so this man worked in something physically laborious. The sheathed sword on his belt weight seemed to throw him off balance with every step. His gaze was unsteady and Oliver could see his pupils dilating wildly.

So this man was physically fit, armed with a sword in a charity event for the rich people and wearing light green tunic while currently drunk.

“You should leave her alone” Oliver said, sarcasm dipping from each word “You are so not her type.”

“So?” The man hiccupped “What’s the big deal?”

“So she’s got a girlfriend you idiot.” Oliver gestured with his hand “Besides you should go before your boss Lea gets here. I’m betting he won’t be happy one of his undercover mercs is currently drunk on the job. Of course I could always tell your captain what’s going on. That’s him over there right?”

Oliver gestured to the closest guard making his way towards the trio. He didn’t look any different than any guards but Oliver noticed his green was a shade darker than the rest. Lea probably used different hues to signify rank in his mercenaries.

The drunk’s face paled as he fidgeted nervously. He rose his hands in surrender, eyes darting between the two “Sorry.”

“Any trouble?” The captain approached, his hand tightly held around the hilt of his blade.

Oliver beaned cheerfully, trying his best to pull attention away from the fuming Flora “Not at all my good sir. This man simply mistook us for someone else, correct?”

The drunk nodded slowly “My bad. Forgive my intrusion.”

The captain gave a cold smirk “Apologizes. Mikey?”

The drunk flinched “Yes sir?”

“A word in private. Now.”

Oliver let out a sigh of relief as the captain dragged Mikey away..

“You should’ve let me poison them.” Flora muttered darkly.

Oliver scratched the back of his neck tiredly “Night’s still young. Still might get your chance if I can’t figure a way past Stairy.”

Flora tilted her head quizzically “Stairy?”

“The asshole at the base of the stairs.” Oliver answered absentmindedly as he spotted a familiar streak of platinum blonde hair among the crowd of strangers “And I just figured it out. Can I trust you not to poison everyone here?”

“You have an hour. I get bored easily” Flora swirled the sickly purple liquid in the vial threateningly.

“You and me both.” Oliver patted her shoulder before chasing down his perfect distraction.

-----

Oliver’s heart began to thunder loudly in his ears, a nervous and uncontrollable energy overtaking his resolve. The mission was important but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see Maria today.

Maria Thoreau was the daughter of a powerful, influential family. The Thoreau’s were more concerned with their standing in high society than any virtuous endeavors and thus each one of their children was trained from birth to excel in their chosen field. Maria’s older brothers were an aspiring politician and merchant respectively.

Maria’s path was to be a well famous singer and patron of the arts. She wanted nothing more than to sing for the people. Unfortunately, her father only saw a chance to further the family’s good name and tied his desire for power with her passion and dream. It was bittersweet really but nothing much could be done about it.

Yet.

Maria knew Oliver as a musical rival who thwarted her group’s attempts at winning local competitions which in turned derailed her father’s plans. So needless to say she was less than thrilled when she caught him making his way over.

“Ollie” she forced a smile while her hazel eyes narrowed, peeved “I’m surprised to see they let you into this exclusive event.”

Oliver gave a cocky shrug “Well your beauty caught my attention and I couldn’t resist trying to figure out a way in.”

Maria’s cheeks burned a pinkish hue.

Maria was the same age as Oliver with short, tastefully cut dark brown hair. A single streak of platinum blonde hair hung off the side of her face, giving her such a cute look. Her clothes were practical tonight since she wasn’t performing: A simple white blouse with a long flowing dark blue skirt that went all the way down to her feet. Her shoes were sensible dark blue flats designed for comfort over style.

Maria coughed into her hand, willing her blush away.

“So.” She cleared her throat “Is this your sad attempt to throw me off my game? You won’t win the next competition. We’ll be dealing with professional judges this time.”

Oliver’s eyes widen in false surprise “There’s a competition here? Fancy that. I hadn’t been made aware of that but since we’re both in town, why not have a round two?”

“Oliver….”

“I mean” Oliver went on, pretending not have heard “You are a much better singer solo than with those harpies you’re forced to keep around.”

Maria glanced to the side timidly “Don’t be absurd, the Melodic Maidens are a perfect, well oiled machine.”

Oliver scoffed dismissively “I suppose they’re nearby, listening in. Hardly leave you alone, don’t they?”

Maria opened her mouth to respond when a shrilly voice cut in.

“What do you know you two bit hack? How much did you bribe the judges last time?!”

Oliver gave a strained smile as the rest of the ladies forced their way into view.

“Lilly, Filly, Sally. You suck.”

The triplets snarled in unison, openly glaring at the bard.

Lilly, Filly and Sally were Maria’s chains: They were as much there to further her career as they were to report back to daddy to ensure the errant daughter stayed on course.

As triplets, they all shared the same features: Three pairs of dull green eyes and long messy black hair. Even their clothing were the same with each wearing a strapless dress that showed way too much skin and skirts that were way too short. The only reason Oliver could tell them apart was due to their preferred colors: Lilly in a shade of pink that was bright for her skin tone, Filly with a pale ugly yellow and Sally in seas of dark red.

The trio surrounded Maria, their arms embracing her in an uncomfortable hug. Maria bit her lip, trying to hide her uneasy.

“Still wearing that tacky outfit huh Ollie?” Lilly eyed his faded clothing distastefully.

Sally let out an unfriendly laugh “Ollie always looks like trash. Not even prize money could buy an ounce of class.”

“Actually” Oliver brushed his shoulder dismissively “Class is cheap. No amount of money could buy an ounce of character. You can blow hot air at me all you want but nothing in this world could ever change the fact that the three of you are bitches.”

The trio clicked their tongues disappointingly, their normally plain faces twisted into unflattering visages of rage while they screamed as one.

“HOW DARE YOU INSULT US?!”

“YOU ARE SUCH A POOR TACTLESS MAN!”

“YOU FUCKER!”

Oliver casually waved his hand “All bark and no bite. I’m supposed believe you’ve gotten any better in two months? Last time I checked I won the last competition.”

“OH YEAH?!” The triplets yelled, furious.

Maria threw a suspicious glance Oliver’s way “Girls, I don’t think…”

“Come on Maria, we don’t want to have to tell daddy you backed down from a challenge.”

A shiver ran down her spine, the fight draining out of her face. Oliver felt a tinge of guilt but said nothing as the girls took their positions.

Maria paused for a moment, her breathing slow and calm. The murmur of the crowds grew louder and louder upon the recognition that the ladies nearby were the Melodic Maidens.

Maria pivoted on her heels, a bright warm smile gracing her lips. Oliver could feel his heart skip a beat at the sound of her soft, airy voice beginning to sing

“Oh you hear a lot of stories about the sailors and their sport” Maria gave a playful wink his way. His cheeks burned brightly at her playful banter.

“About how every sailor has a girl in every port”

Maria twirled, her steps mischievous and alluring as her dark blue dress chased after her. She gracefully held two fingers aloft for everything to see, her smirk cocky and assured.

“but if you added two and two you’d figure out right quick”

Maria backed up as the triplets step forward to join her, the group made whole and ready for the chorus.

“It’s just because the girls all have a lad on every ship”

Maria turned to throw a sultry look towards her rival bard but instead of finding a dumbstruck Oliver, she found a smiling one. His gaze was gentle and loving as if he was seeing utterly beautiful. A small smile was tugging at his cheeks. Maria could feel her heart thunder in her ears as, without warning, Oliver gave a thumbs up and mouthed an appreciative “Thanks” before ducking into the growing crowd.

“And it’s twiddley idle idle idle, twiddley idle aye.”

What was once a spattering of folks formed into a massive gathering. Most of the party goers and guards had come over to catch the free show the girls inadvertently given and thus all focus shifted onto them. What was an attempt to show up Oliver ended up being a very unnecessary showcase.

“It’s often times a man will leave you broken with dismay”

Boy was Maria feeling that dismay right now.

-----

Oliver’s plan worked: Stairy hadn’t been to resist the siren call of a beautiful woman and her singing. Luckily the harpies hadn’t ruined it with their imperfect pitches. Stairy hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Sel slipped in behind and began working at the door. It took a moment but one blink later and the automaton vanished out of sight.

Oliver let out a sigh when a hand gripped his shoulder tightly.

“Hello sir.” A guff, low voice in a less than friendly voice “Might I have a word? You’ve been acting rather strange all party long.”

Well fuck.

[oneofyatosfollowers]

Yatori Week 2021- Day 6

@yatoriweek2021

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32090953/chapters/79500055

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13905660/1/Yatori-Week-2021

There were many reasons Hiyori and Yukine had been upset with Yato keeping his secrets. 

For one, they were dangerous to both him and the rest. Another was trust. That was something that bothered Yukine more than Hiyori; after all, she understood the many reasons why Yato didn’t tell them and she couldn’t blame him for it. But the reason that most upset Hiyori, was one that she had to face after he first disappeared.

Hiyori didn’t know Yato at all.

She knew nothing about him, couldn’t even take a guess as to where he would go. No favorite restaurant or bar, no other friends, no relaxing hobbies. And while there was once a time that wouldn’t have bothered Hiyori, that was no longer the case. Especially now, when they risked their lives for each other over and over.

Of course now, she knew more about him than anyone did. Yukine knew a lot but there were still aspects of Yato he didn’t understand yet. Yato had told them most of the important stuff, confirming or denying any questions or theories they had. But even so, Hiyori was just a speck. Just a sudden, minuscule existence in the grand scheme of the centuries of a god's life. Whether or not Yukine liked to think otherwise, there was no possible way for Yato to tell them about all his experiences in the one year he knew them. Considering they had trusted each other for less than that.

Unfortunately that didn’t change the fact that all those pieces, big and small, were a part of him. Parts that they-she- didn’t know. Yato was full of surprises and even though that was usually fun to experience, the distance between them didn’t become more apparent until right now. With Father being locked away in heaven, stuck in an immortal existence to keep Yato alive, the heavens ultimately proclaimed him dead in every other sense of the word. As such, his children were left in an odd sort of limbo between mourning and dealing with the aftermath of his punishment.

Since Nora was rightfully struggling with the adjustment, even though she had been living at Kofukus for the past couple months, most of the actual work had been left to Yato. He attended meetings in heaven, completed any paperwork, rounded up all the masks that escaped. He also located all of The Crafter’s storage houses, living spaces, and any other place he kept things for him or the masks. Heaven took care of most of it, preferring to keep his children away and out of suspicion; but Ameterasu left the fate of the main house to Yato. Out of either pity or consideration.

Originally, Yato and Nora were content to simply burn the estate house to the ground with all the contents and beasts inside. But Hiyori and the rest convinced them to at least look through it, saying it was okay to take the time instead of just cutting it off. In hindsight maybe the two didn’t want to go back to such a traumatic place (and maybe the others were just curious) but Hiyori could tell Yato had some longing to go there, safely. He and Nora had argued against anyone else going, even her and Yukine, but that opinion was ultimately swayed too. It was easier to do that nowadays, Yato wasn’t as stubborn as he used to be. Still bogged down by guilt of all kinds. But everyone promised the both of them they wouldn’t do or touch anything without permission and Yukine insisted on staying by Yato’s side.

That didn’t stop their jaws from dropping as they followed The Crafter’s children south along the coast and far up into the mountains. Yato and Nora decided to walk there, out of habit, and the rest had no choice but to do the same. An old stone staircase led from a small back road up into the trees. After about another mile, they met a driveway and a large bamboo fence. It was old, but clearly still used and well maintained. The height wasn’t anything extravagant- Hiyori knew she was the only one that couldn’t leap over it- but the large chains that crossed over the entrance warded others to stay away.

They waited patiently for Nora to unlock it before the doors swung open and they were met with a beautiful front yard and house. It wasn’t extravagant by any means but the yard was well kept with hydrangea bushes lining the fence and white pebbles accenting most of the plants and house. The house itself was rather grand. Far too nice for someone like Yato but everyone had the sense not to comment on it. The estate was very old fashioned, a traditional Japanese style with two floors and probably an attic. The white building had long hallways sticking off either side and thin wooden slats covering all the windows. They were the same dark wood as the naked support beams around the outside of the house and matched nicely with the dark pointed roof.

In fact the only “crafter” thing about the house was the handful of masks that slept in the front yard. Three of them looked like large deer, that raised their heads at the intruders but did nothing more. Some smaller ones skittered under the porch while two wolves dashed out to see the new guests, happy to finally see members of the family. With one nod from Yato and Nora, Bishamon dispelled these rather peaceful creatures. Hiyori didn’t try to think about it too much.

Nora unlocked the front door, sliding the wooden door open and letting the group into the mud room. For a moment everyone stood, unsure if they were supposed to take off their shoes, but when neither of The Crafter’s children did, they didn’t either. Down the hall to the left was the living room, straight ahead was the hallway and kitchen, and to the right were stairs to go up. Wordlessly, everyone separated and got to work. Since Yukine stayed with Yato, following him to the back of the house and down the right hallway to The Crafter’s workspace, Hiyori stayed with Nora in the kitchen. It was just as old as the rest of the house, mostly running on fire and various stone appliances.

“If you want to go with him, you can,” Nora said suddenly.

“Huh?” Hiyori jolted and dropped the tied trash bag, trying and failing to hide the fact that her thoughts were now upstairs. Nora didn’t say anything more, just leveled Hiyori with a polite but challenging look. Hiyori swallowed and looked down, attempting to hide her blush. There was no point in denying it, everyone in this house knew- and saw- that there was something between them.

“Hey Nora?” Kofuku peaked her head in the kitchen with Daikoku, Bishamon, and Kazuma over her shoulder, “we finished with the left side of the house. Except for Tenjin and Mayu who are still in the library. What else should we do?”

“If you walk straight out the back for a little less than a mile there is a holy spring. In the stream leading to it is a fruit net and laundry. There is also a garage in the back with Father’s sport’s car and Yato’s motorcycle. You can probably get rid of all the tools or something,” Nora said. There was another moment of stunned silence, something that has happened a lot since coming here, but everyone quickly delegated the work and left. Hiyori took a moment to drag the trash bags to the pile set neatly outfront on the porch before coming back. Before Yato agreed to let them come in, even with the promise they would not question or disobey his orders, he laid down several ground rules. One of which was that gods must always travel with their shinki, even from room to room. Apparently there were still masks that hid in the walls as security and Yato wasn’t sure how’d they act without their master. This was also the reason no one was to make any loud noises, or a ton of sudden movements. It was no wonder Yato and Nora were such naturally quiet people.

“I just- I don’t,” Hiyori started. She was cut off by Nora’s sigh as she worked to tape a box of glassware shut.

“Hiyori, I’m fine,” Nora stated, “this is my home. I’m not like Yato where I view this as a scary place, this is where I would go to feel safe and comfortable. It’s sad to see it go but this is hardly the first time we’ve moved. They’re just things.” The girl spoke as simply as ever, lifting the box and setting it atop the others for someone stronger to put in the mover’s truck one of Bishamon’s shinki drove. Ebisu offered to have a yard sale of The Crafter’s belongings after thoroughly cleansing them. He was planning on giving the money to Yato, who offered it to Kofuku, who decided to put it in a savings account for family emergencies.

“I know and that’s great. I just don’t want you to be alone, you know?”

“Then I’ll join Tenjin in Father’s study. We’re just about done here anyway,” Nora stood and wiped her hands on her hips. The cabinets in the kitchen were empty, the oven was cleaned out of wood and charcoal, and the floors were swept clean. Without another word, Hiyori opening and shutting her mouth, Nora left the room like a ghost. A shiver immediately ran up her spine and Hiyori’s fists squeezed. She couldn’t run, afterall she just got her tail fixed but still wasn’t able to leave her body, so there was no reason for her to go antagonizing phantoms. Down the hall and up the stairs Hiyori was stuck between two bedrooms. Fearing the thought of walking into the wrong one, Hiyori waited and listened.

“Isn’t this room bigger than ours?” Yukine said.

“Not quite but almost. I usually shared it with Nora.” Came Yato’s reply.

“All I’m saying is that this isn’t what I expected someone like you to have.” Despite the bratty tone, Hiyori could tell Yukine wasn’t angry. Nor was he blaming his dad. It sounded more like he was trying to have a normal conversation.

“That’s because I don’t. This isn’t my house,” Yato muttered, “and I never wanted any of my shinki to come anywhere near this place. Especially you.” His voice was muffled from behind the door that Hiyori awkwardly faced. She didn’t want to walk in on one of their moments, they needed that, but she wanted to make sure Yato wasn’t pouting.

“I know.” Yukine finally mumbled, dropping the facade he tried to wear. It was more Yato’s thing than his, Yukine could only ever wear his heart on his sleeve. She could sense the tension on the other side of the door and Hiyori knew she had to step in. Besides, she didn’t like having her back to the bedroom of that wretched man. The door slid open and Hiyori readied herself to settle messy emotions only to see Yukine giving Yato an awkward side hug, both of them crouching on the floor. Their heads were pressed together as Yukine rubbed Yato’s back up and down. Suddenly the blonde’s head popped up and looked at her.

“Hiyori,” Yukine said. It took a moment for Yato to raise his head and look over his shoulder. He wasn’t crying, he hardly even looked upset, but he did have that look in his eye. The one where he blamed himself for bringing some sort of misfortune on them.

“Hey ‘yori,” Yato gave her a smile, “Yukine’s being a good kiddo and guide. Makin’ sure I’m doin’ alright.” The two separated as she walked in. She smiled at Yukine’s blush.

“That’s wonderful. I just came up here to see if you needed help. We just finished the kitchen.” Hiyori said as she knelt down. On the far wall were two large closets, the right one Yatos, the left one Noras, above was more storage that they seemed to make little use of save for some awards. In between the two closets was a mirror and vanity with hairbrushes and hair accessories. In front of Yato was a box of kimonos, the closet was open to reveal he had about four left to fold. They were all plain, just various colors of white, black, and blue. There was one green but it seemed barely worn.

“What about Nora?” Yukine asked.

“She went to help Tenjin in the library. Bishamon and Kazuma finished with the music room and basement while Kofuku and Daikoku cleaned out the garage and all the bathrooms. Like you asked, none of us went into his room.” Hiyori relayed.

“Yeah, I think Nora wanted to do that. Leave it for last and all. Of course she’ll need Bishamon or Tenjin with her just to make sure she doesn’t try anything.” Yato muttered as he folded the last of his clothes.

“There’s still the, uh, attic. But other than that everything is done.” Hiyori felt bad reminding the two of Yato’s deeds as a God of Calamity. The ceiling was filled with nothing but boxes of newspaper clippings and requests of those who’ve died by Yato’s sword. Hiyori didn’t want to go in there, yet another forgien aspect of Yato she didn’t want to know. Yukine paused his cleaning as Yato sighed.

“Forget it. There’s definitely nothing in there the heavens or anybody wants. We can just burn it as it is tomorrow,” Yato deadpanned, “unless you want to go look. It’s okay.”

“No,” Yukine said immediately without anger.

“No,” Hiyori said after, “it’s fine.” The room fell into a strange but comfortable silence as Hiyori put all the vanity stuff into a box and sealed it. She looked for something else to clean, knowing there was not much more to be done.

“Are you really going to get rid of all this stuff?” Hiyori asked as she scanned the room. Yato placed his box of clothes in a pile by the widow, stacked atop about five others, two of which had Nora’s name on them. All in all, this room, this house, was rather empty. It seemed Father was the only one with sentimental objects but even then it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be replaced. Save for a couple cringey family photos and mask research, there was nothing worth saving.

“Mm-Hmm,” Yato hummed. He took a moment to gather two boxes in his arms and jump out of the window then back. He fixed her with a smile that stalled her heart for a moment, it was soft but genuine, like the more they cleaned out of this house the clearer his mind became. On the opposite wall, on either side of the door, were swords of all sizes and some certificates. Hiyori got to work there, grabbing one of the flatter boxes.

“Like I said to Yukine, this isn’t my room, not really. There’s nothing here I need,” Yato walked up to her, “besides, I already have everything I want at Kofuku’s.” His smile was telling and Hiyori focused on his lips for longer than she was comfortable with admitting. Yes, her soul was fixed, with the help of a sun god and some magic peaches. But not before receiving a desperate kiss from a close friend who gave her a piece of himself to hold her together until they could get help. Red faced, Hiyori looked away as Yato got to work on the rest of Nora’s white, red, and pink patterned kimonos.

“Are you sure? I mean some of this stuff seems like you should keep it. They're your things.” Hiyori said, almost like a sad plea. In her hands were two very prestigious college degrees, one for art and one for math. Below them was a certificate for japanese calligraphy, an acceptance letter to a professional baseball team, and an invitation to the winter olympic qualifiers. What Hiyori said was true, they were unequivocally Yato’s possessions, things that were so painfully him and no one else's. Yet they were so forgien. Yato the vagrant didn’t keep things. Especially so neat and preserved like this. Nor did he try to do things the right way that involved paperwork.

“Yeah, I mean. They’re just pieces of paper, it’s not like getting rid of them will take away my talents. I hardly look at them anyway.” Yato waved her off. Before she could say anything more, Yato had finished the closets and leaped out the window. With a sigh Hiyori went to the other side of the room and picked up two traditional old swords and a violin, ready to move them towards the window.

“Ah! Ah! Wait!” Yukine scrambled from atop a step stool, “not those!”

“But Yato just said?”

“I know but those, uh, he said I could have those.” Embarrassed, Yukine took the objects from her arms and scuttled them back to the corner. Hiyori crept behind him and scanned the growing pile: two swords, three daggers, a couple of boxes, and a book that looked like a large photo album.

“What’s in those boxes?”

“Stuff from the wars,” Yato suddenly popped up behind her.

“Which ones?” Hiyori blinked.

“They’re kinda mixed,” he shrugged, “mostly metals and grimy uniforms, but the kid really wanted them so. You can take things too if you want. Though I still don’t understand why.” It was a sweet sentiment of Yukine but the concept was still strange. Yato didn’t offer things. Well, he did, but he never actually had the material things he tried to offer and would usually offer services or lip service. Hiyori wasn’t sure he liked this version of Yato. She didn’t hate it- this was part of him after all- but Hiyori couldn’t fit these images in with her picture of him. She worked to process it as the group cleaned out the rest of The Crafter’s house, the building not seeming any less empty.

Bishamon’s shinki started the journey to Ebisu’s shrine while she and Tenjin took the mask materials up to heaven, as ordered by Ameterasu. Nora offered to cook dinner, planning on spending a final night saying goodbye to the house, but Kofuku and Daikoku decided to head into town for food. That left just them, Yato’s immediate family and her. Hiyori didn’t want to spend any more time here than she needed to but she still refused Kofuku’s offer to take her. With Yukine and Nora silently prepping food in the kitchen, Hiyori made her way through the back door where Yato had just finished chopping food. He didn’t look at her as she closed the sliding door and took a seat next to him.

“How are you feeling?” She coaxed, arm already around his shoulders.

“Good,” Yato huffed a sigh, “I mean I’m not happy. Not upset either. Just here,” he shrugged. Then he turned those blue eyes on her.

“How about you? Are you okay?” He asked. That was more like him, to ask how others were feeling when he was the one with the problem.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She said. His arm wrapped around her waist but before she could turn her blush on him, he buried his nose in her neck.

“It just doesn’t feel real, you know? I know he’s not dead, so it’s not over, but it just feels like it is?” Yato lowered his voice so the kids inside didn’t hear him worry over nothing. Those were reserved for Hiyori, just like her monologues were only for his ears.  

“A new beginning,” Hiyori offered. She felt him smile against her neck and Hiyori’s blush reached it. Out of habit, she held out her hand and let him intertwine their fingers.

“I have a new life now,” Yato mused, “hopefully one without him in it.”

“But with you still here,” Hiyori squeezed her hand for emphasis.

“Haha, yeah. Of course. Me and you and Yukine, with a little less baggage.”

“Yato,” Hiyori sighed with a smile. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that simply cleaning out his father’s house was enough to make the emotional problems go away.

“I know,” Yato murmured. He nuzzled a little bit more, Hiyori waiting to rest her cheeks on his head. She stared at their hands with a soft smile, the feeling just as familiar as it was forgien. Hiyori came to the conclusion that she might not ever truly, fully, know Yato but that it wouldn’t stop her from loving him all the same.

“It’s a little bit of a shame though,” Hiyori said.

“Hmm?”

“Your stuff. This house. It’s almost like a waste.”

“Not a waste,” Yato said, “a new start. One with you in it.” The smile was evident in his voice and Hiyori could feel the steam rise off her face. She would never get used to such blatant flirting, especially when he grinned so charmingly at her from so close.

“But you’re welcome to take something. Something to remember me by.” Yato’s eyes drifted to her lips and back to her drooping eyes.

“You?” Hiyori said without thinking. Just as she leaned in for another precious kiss, Yato bursted out laughing, tips of his ears a bright red.

“As you wish!” Yato exulted. Hiyori was too lost in her embarrassment to look at him, not even when Yukine threw the kitchen door open to yell at his teasing master. There was still something there, something that overshadowed them with forbidding, but with Yato’s comforting laughter ringing throughout her bones, Hiyori knew they would be alright.

[wallwriterstuff]

They Want Us To Burn || Alec Volturi ||

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, mild horror, mentions of blood and death. 

Words: 6263 

Summary: So this turned out to be a little longer than expected but I found once I started writing I couldn’t stop so...

From Alec’s point of view, this is what happened the day the Witch Twins burned. 

He took a deep breath, pressed a palm into the soft dirt beneath his knees, closed his eyes, and thrust his head under the surface of the water. The springtime meant warmer weather, but the rivers were still filled with water left over from the winter snow melt. The perfect place to bathe after a frankly awful day. He’d tended to the allotment in the early morning, his back to the sun as it rose since he had no time to admire the beauty of spring if he wanted to plant enough crop to harvest over the summer and autumn months. The late morning to early afternoon gave him time to hunt and check the snares he’d set in the woodland surrounding their home, and after a quick lunch that Mother had prepared, he was off to the fields to earn a pittance for his labour that would help pay the taxes due to the maddeningly fat bastard of a Lord who owned the land their small village was settled on.

The fields were not a nice place to be for Alec, but he’d been turned away from every other job he’d tried to get to earn some coin. He wanted to provide for his family the way he saw other men doing, and as the only man in his household it was his duty to do so, but he could only earn so much if he acquired no skill. His father was not someone Mother spoke about often but he knew he was a foreign born soldier. Whether he was dead or alive, Alec couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t want to be anything like a man who had abandoned his family without a second thought, but he could admit that perhaps their lives would be far easier if the man had stayed and taught him some sort of craft. The butcher’s son was already working at their store as was the cobbler’s boy, and the blacksmith’s son? Well, he was being apprenticed to a man in London of all places, sure to make quite a fortune.

His free hand ruffled and ran through his hair, once, twice, three times over, and then he resurfaced with a quiet gasp. Alec liked to swim when he could. There was a lake deep in the forest, perhaps more of a pond, but it was crystal clear and large enough for him to get a few laps in. He’d learnt by accident. One of the few friends he’d had before they had been driven away had pushed him into the river while they playful fought one day, and jumped in to save him when he realised he couldn’t swim. Underneath the water everything was silent. There was nothing and everything all at once, and obscured kingdom of quiet he liked to visit when the real world got to loud. Most of the time now he was too busy working to provide for his Mother and sister to visit his pond anymore. 

Wiping his wet hand over his face and across the back of his neck, Alec blinked the water from his eyes and refocused his eyes on the surrounding greenery, letting sound drift back to him as birds twittered and sung their sweet songs in his ear. Fledglings would be preparing to fly the nest soon enough and Jane would want him to come with her through the forest to help any who had fallen back into their nests again he was sure.

Alec shivered, feeling the water dribble down his spine as he ran his hand over his torso, under his pits. He was awfully sticky after working in the sun all day to till the land, ready to plant the potato crop that would sell at market and go to the Lord’s household. He had never seen the nobles house up close, but he’d heard the rumours from servants who came to market to restock the kitchens. The place was supposed to have high ceilings, long tables feasts that could feed the entire village could be held at and multiple rooms.

 Once he deemed himself clean enough, he sat back in the grass, resting his forearms on his knees and letting the sun dry the water droplets still clinging to his hair and skin, the damp strands now sticking down around his face. His hair had grown considerably and was just starting to creep past his shoulders now. He’d have to cut it again soon to keep it out of his eyes when he was working. The pay wasn’t great and nor was the company, but it provided enough for him to pay taxes mixed in with the income from the milk and cheese they sold from the goats.

The men he worked with varied in age, but Alec was by far one of the youngest. He was in his fourteenth summer now and notably smaller than those he worked with, yet still they gave him a wide berth as though he were the biggest and roughest of the lot. Jane was treated the same when she went to market to sell the cheese she worked so hard to make. Nobody dared come near the witch twins. The very name repulsed him, made bile rise in the back of his throat and his face scrunch in disgust, but there was no way they could rid themselves of the moniker now. Alec grabbed a fistful of grass, tearing it from the dirt and scrunching it in his hand with a huff. 

There’d been more name calling today, more taunts and jabs from the villagers trying to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t Jane. His sister rose to the bait almost every time, years of torment turning her bitter and hot-headed when they were forced to go into the village square now. Jane enjoyed snapping back, her words equally as barbed and making some of the toughest men recoil in shock at how wicked her words could be.

Alec didn’t like to give them the time of day, but that didn’t mean their words simply bounced off of him. Sometimes, like today, when he was already hot and bothered and just wanted to feed his family, their words lingered longer they should.

Not using your devil powers little witch boy?

Maybe he can’t without that freak of a sister near him. Ha! Imagine! All that power and he’s impotent unless there’s a little girl telling him what to do!

Better not rile the witch up, he’ll make your crop fail you know.

How do we know you aren’t tampering with this harvest devil spawn?

He tossed the scrunched up grass into the river, watching the babbling stream carry it away from him. Sometimes he wished he could do that. He wished he could just drift downstream and find someplace new, someplace nobody knew him or his reputation so he could start a fresh. Alec couldn’t honestly say he fully blamed the villagers for being suspicious of him or Jane (things did have a tendency to happen around them after all) but they never meant any harm. In fact, if anything bad happened it was because bad things had been done to them first and foremost. Still, it did scare him just how bold the villagers were becoming, and how out of control it all seemed to be. Just the other day the farmers youngest, no older than six, had hurled insult after insult at him, and Alec really had no idea how it had happened but he was certain it was an accident when the boy had turned and trod on that hoe. He hadn’t physically put it there, but…well it definitely hadn’t been there before either.

It had always been chalked up to coincidence by Mother – it was her favourite word nowadays. When the boys who had cornered Jane at market had complained they couldn’t breathe Mother had reminded them the day was hot, and the air thick. When the girl who had given Alec hope that perhaps he might have won her favour humiliated him in front of her friends, Mother had said it was a coincidence that she awoke the next day with horrendous boils on her face, sore and bursting and leaving ugly scars behind. Alec could safely say he never decided to do any of those things, but he had felt…different, when they happened. He could remember being angry, being scared, and feeling his fingertips tingle, his mind strangely warm, and then it was all over and something good had happened to those who had been good to him, while misfortune followed all those who had done him or his family wrong.

“Alec! Alec!” Jane’s voice was frantic, breaking him from his thoughts so suddenly it was jarring. He blinked owlishly, head swivelling to the right as he tried to gather his bearings. Jane was running towards him, the beautiful braid Mother had spent so long doing for her this morning now flying everywhere and her dress was tattered, stained with mud. The closer she got, the more he realised her head was soaking wet, her lip split and chin stained pink, like she’d had to wash blood off of her face. He shot to his feet, grabbing at his shirt and throwing it on haphazardly.

“Jane what happened to you!” he demanded, shock and anger fighting a violent war inside of him. His wide eyes took in every battered inch of his sister, his fingers curling into her upper arms as he hauled her into him. Jane never cried, so why were her eyes so wet? She shook, holding tightly to him as he tenderly stroked her hair. It was soaking, sopping wet compared to the rest of her. Her dress was hanging off of one shoulder now. Clearly whatever had happened had been violent, and the thought anyone might have harmed his sister drove him to near madness.

“Th-th village b-boys, they tried to – they were – they tried to-“ she stuttered, gulping for air and unable to get the words out. Alec tried to be patient, cupping her face in his hands and pressing fleeting kisses to her cheeks and forehead.

“Shhh sister, hush now, you’re safe.” He promised, brushing some wet strands of hair from her face. Jane sniffled, closing her eyes as she took some deep breaths, her slender fingers wrapped around his wrists. Given the way she’d run to him he didn’t think she was too badly hurt. There were no bruises on her skin he could see, just her split lip that looked to be quite sore.

“They tried to make me confess to witchcraft.” Jane whispered, sky blue eyes peering up at him and swimming with anxiety. She smelt something awful, like urine and barn animals.

“Make you confess?” Alec repeated, his tone growing darker as his eyes narrowed. Jane nodded, sniffling again and swiping her hands nervously down her dress. Jane was unflappable. She had a comeback for every occasion, a tongue sharper than any sword and a temper that was all consuming and violent as fire. It didn’t suit her to seem so afraid and meek before him now.

“The son of Godwin cornered me at market with his friends, and they dragged me to that boy Edgar’s house, you know the place that owns all the sheep? They kept – kept dunking my head under water in the sheep’s trough.” She told him, her voice starting to shake as her eyes went big, “I swear to you Alec I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know how the Smith’s boy began to choke.” Jane began to cry again, looking alarmed and pale as she fell into his chest. Alec wrapped her tightly in his arms, somewhat frozen in shock himself. It wasn’t the first time those around Jane had suddenly found it difficult to breathe, but someone choking was far more sinister. He doubted it would be forgiven or explained away as easily as their other coincidences had been.

“Jane we must go.” Alec said firmly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and marching with her back through the grass towards the dirt path that led to home. His mind raced, his concern growing as Jane didn’t bother to argue with him as she usually would. He took a sharp inhale as his sister stumbled beside him, falling to her knees and trembling head to foot.

“I killed him Alec. I think I killed Harold the Smith.” She whimpered, eyes shining with tears. He stilled, a shiver running down his spine. Dead? She had killed the blacksmith’s boy? He was due to go to London! He was his family’s pride and joy! This would not be taken lightly.

“Sister…how did you escape?” Alec asked quietly. Had the other boys just let her go once they had seen what she’d done to her friend? How many had witnessed the Smith boy’s demise? Was it gruesome? Alec found a morbid fascination with that last question, part of him hoping it was for all the torment they’d endured at his hands but knowing that the very desire to so much as hit him was a sin in itself. To wish a gruesome death upon someone…maybe he was the devil’s boy after all?

“They all just fell.” Jane whispered back, staring up at him from the floor.

“Fell?” he questioned. She nodded slowly, wiping furiously at her eyes before shooting to her feet. Suddenly, Jane was tugging him by the hand, the skirt of her dress kicking up clouds of dirt as he hurried to fall into step beside her. “Jane what do you mean they fell?” he repeated his question, voice slightly more panicked now.

“I don’t know brother! They began to bleed and then they fell! I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t mean to do it, you have to believe me!” she insisted. Alec nodded placatingly.

“Of course I believe you sister, but what you’ve done is…the village will not forget this.” He fretted, mind quickly turning to Mother. She would be waiting for them to return home, perhaps cooking supper as they hurried along. They had to get home fast, pack what meagre belongings they owned and flee. If Jane had truly killed the boy…the penalty for murder was death by hanging. Depending on the state that she had left the other boys in after her “trial” they might just torture her all over again before giving her the rope.

“Brother do you…hear that?” she asked, stopping suddenly. Alec paused, straining his ears until he caught it. It was a cacophony of loud, clambering voices, muffled by distance but slowly growing clearer. It was like listening to the raucous shouts of the villagers when they gathered to celebrate the Shrove Tuesday feast, but as the words of their chant became discernible Alec felt his blood run cold.

“Burn the witches!”

“Alec…”

“Run.” He whispered, staring with wide eyes at his sister. Jane’s jaw clenched shut, her eyes shining with tears. “Run Jane! Run now!” he bellowed, tugging on her hand to force her to keep pace with him.

Find Mother and get into the forest.

Find Mother and get into the forest.

He repeated the instruction to himself like a mantra. Protecting his family was all that mattered now. Their fate was certain, their place in the village now painfully clear. They were nothing more than scapegoats for all the rotten luck that befell others. Jane panted beside him as he focused his eyes on their house, forcing his legs to move faster. He didn’t dare look back, barreling in through the door and shocking Mother so badly she screamed, dropping the ladle into the pot she was busy cooking supper in.

“Alec what on earth-“

“Mother we must leave, the villagers have come for us!” he snapped, pivoting on his heel to reach for his bow. He wasn’t the best shot, but he would have to make do. His family needed him to rise to the occasion, to be the man of the house, to protect them.  

“But Alec why would they-“

“Mother there is not time! We must flee to the forest now! We can survive out there, I know we can, please!” he implored. Mother was too shocked to move for a long moment until she heard the shouting, Jane’s shrill cry to warn them of their impending visitors startling her into grabbing the skirt of her dress and hurrying towards the door.

“Hurry, hurry! Jane, come quickly!” she held out an arm and Jane immediately took her hand, Mother ushering her on ahead of them as Alec darted out of the door, nocking an arrow as he went and drawing back the bowstring. He let the arrow fly towards the crowd, a few angry shouts and screams as it landed near their feet ripping through the air. Alec could see the shining ends of pitchforks, the sharp curves of axes, the butcher holding his butchers knife up so the metal glinted dangerously in the sunlight. How could such a cloudless, bright day herald such a terrible fate for them?

Turning swiftly, he pelted towards the treeline, seeing his mother and Jane close to reaching the first few trees up ahead. His hand gripped his bow tight, heart racing as the blood in his body began to roar in his ears. Was this really it? What if they couldn’t get away? No, no he couldn’t think like that. He brushed quickly past his family, holding back the branches in their way and letting them fall back into place beside them. He moved much faster over the familiar hunting terrain, dismayed by just how slow his sister and Mother seemed to move. Tree roots tried to trip them, the patchy canopy sending beams of light to guide their way and leaving the forest unbearably humid. It hadn’t always been this warm had it? He could feel himself sweating again.

“Dammit!” Jane cried in frustration, yanking the skirt of her dress off of the sharp twig it had been snagged on, ripping the material. Mother crashed to the ground, hissing at the sting the impact left on her skin. Jane helped her back up as Alec reached back for another arrow. The villagers sounded close again, closer than he wanted them to be.

“We have to move faster, there’s a blind not far from here where we can hide till they pass.” He said, voice quiet but strained. Jane nodded determinedly, but Mother merely pushed her forward.

“Go there then.” She said, her eyes watering. Alec felt his own eyes widen. His chest refusing to take in air for a moment.

“No.” he whispered as Jane hurried to his side, gripping his arm tightly.

“I am only slowing you down.” Mother insisted, her hands bunching her dress into fists. She approached quickly, jerking like a puppet whose strings had been pulled tight. He couldn’t respond to her hug, her body warm against his and heart beating all too hard against his chest, body frozen. She cupped his cheeks and kissed the top of his head, a shaky smile crossing her lips before she repeated the motion to Jane.

“Mother no.” Jane begged, “Please come with us please!”

“We can make it Mother.” Alec said determinedly. He wouldn’t leave her behind. A real man would save all of his family, wouldn’t they? How could he leave the woman who had given him life? The woman who Jane looked so much like, with her golden hair and soft features. He shared her blue eyes. He still whispered her stories to Jane on nights nightmares kept her awake. He needed her still. He needed her always. Mother twisted her head sharply, the villagers sounding far too close as branches snapped under foot and animals scattered into the depths of the woods to avoid their wrath.

“No, we cannot, but you can. Go now my loves, look after one another. I love you always.” Her words broke on a soft sob and before either of them could react she darted back and to the right, moving diagonally away from them and beginning to bundle rocks in her arm. Jane tugged at his hand, but Alec could only watch as Mother, her blue eyes frantic when she realised they still hadn’t moved and she screamed for them to go once more. Her arm reared back, and a stone pelted the first villager through the break in the trees square in the chest. Coughing and spluttering, the cobbler clutched his chest and doubled over, heaving for air. Alec nocked his arrow and drew back the string, letting it loose without a second thought as his lips twisted into a snarl.

He didn’t recognise the man who went down, the arrow embedded into his shoulder. A swarm of people were advancing now as Jane shrieked at him to move, but Alec barely heard her. He could feel it again, that warmth in his mind, the way his fingertips tingled. His arm wheeled back and forth, nocking arrows and letting them fly. He wasn’t even aware of the obscenities he was screaming now at the villagers who were lunging for them, his ears buzzing as the adrenaline pounded through him at an alarming rate. His eyes were laser focused; tunnel vision pinpointed on Mother as she was shoved to the ground, landing hard on her elbows before she was pushed onto her back. The world seemed to move in slow motion after that, his throat feeling raw as he screamed and screamed, feeling the wind pick up around him as the stones Mother had once held as her only defence now rained down on her prone body.

Jane went down next having propelled herself forward to try and save Mother. She was tackled and pinned by the arms by two burly men that in the back of his mind, Alec recognised as some of the farm hands he worked with. He reached his arm back, furious now as they struck his twin across the face so hard the wound on her lip reopened, spilling bright red blood and making her eyes flutter. He grasped thin air, his blood running cold as he realised he was out of arrows. They were sticking out of various limbs, but it wasn’t enough to stop the mob coming for him, and he swung his bow up and around in a wide arc to catch the first attacker in the face. He was barely seeing faces anymore, each villager a blur as they rushed him. He was forced to the ground on his front, face smashed into the dirt once, twice. There was a sharp sting that ran through his nose, followed by a deep, fiery throb, something hot and wet running down into his mouth and making him choke and splutter.

“Jane!” he croaked her name desperately, vision blurring at the edges and staring to fade rapidly as an explosion of pain ricocheted through his ribs, his legs. He had failed. He hadn’t saved anyone. Mother was dead, Jane was…alive? Slung across the shoulder of the man before him, her hands bound and body limp, his sister’s chest rose and fell as she was carried like a sack of potatoes away from him. Alec couldn’t find his feet, feeling them drag over the sticks and stones littering the forest floor, his shoes sliding through something slick and wet. His blurry eyes could barely make out the discoloured, red splotch that was all that was left of Mother as he was dragged past her, two hands gripping his biceps too tightly and cutting off the blood flow in his arms as he was hauled along. Knowing he had failed made it a lot easier to accept the darkness creeping in on him.

He could almost pretend everything was normal when his eyes opened again. Jane was shouting profanities and curses at the top of her lungs, iron rattling as she shook her shackles and slammed the chain into the bars holding her in a cell. Every part of his body hurt. From head to toe Alec felt a deep-rooted ache, his very bones throbbing in protest of his every breath. The skin around his mouth felt tight, dried, congealed blood covering his skin. He closed his eyes with a wince as the image of his bloodied and beaten mother came to mind. She wasn’t Mother, not like that. She’d looked like one of those slabs of meat strung up outside of the butchers, battered and red with blood. He’d failed. Mother would never again sing as she cooked, which he had always claimed annoyed him but never confessed that they were songs he hummed to himself to pass time in the fields. She’d never patch up his clothes again, citing her favourite sewing rules to an unimpressed Jane, who simply didn’t have the patience for activities such as sewing. Never again would she sit with him when he couldn’t sleep, stroking his hair and reminding him of just how wrong they were, that her twins were her most precious gift and could never be a curse.

Alec felt the grief so acutely it stung in his chest like an open wound, a sharp, red hot knife plunged into his chest again and again and again. Jane’s shrill screaming was ringing in his ears, rattling around his brain, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than lie there, in too much pain to move. Internally though, he egged her on.

Curse them all, sister. Summon whatever power the devil has bestowed us with and bring nothing but chaos to this wretched place.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed sprawled on the floor, but the stone was uncomfortable and began to turn his limbs numb. Alec found himself grateful for it, the pins and needles making his pain worse only briefly before his sprawled figure was simply numb to every physical sensation, and it was marvellous. A quiet sigh of relief escaped him and he closed his eyes, willing his mind to do the same as his body, to shut down and let everything go. He could hear the hustle and bustle outside, an animated kind of buzzing. A strange kind of anticipation filled the air and he knew what it was for, though he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it. Everyone knew what happened to witches, and he had maimed many villagers with his arrows to only add fuel to the fire. Their ending would not be pleasant, their parting from this world all too soon and all too painful. He prayed the numbness in his body would last.

“Alec?” Jane’s voice was hoarse, her screaming having worn down her throat. He stared at the stone ahead of him, heart aching in his chest as his eyes burned with tears. She sounded so afraid, so uncertain and saddened. The cells stank of human waste, of old blood, the straw on the floor long since mangled and discoloured by various stains he didn’t want to think about. He managed to take block out the foul smell so it no longer made him nauseous at least. It wasn’t until Jane called his name again that he found the will to respond.

“Forgive me sister.” He murmured.

“Alec.”

“I have failed you. I failed Mother. I cannot save you.” His voice was oddly thick, the air unable to escape his crooked nose and making some syllables come out a little garbled, but Jane understood him nonetheless. She always had. Without a word, she curled herself onto her side and reached her hand through the bars of her cell, stretching her hand as far as it would go across the floor towards him. Alec swallowed, shakily reaching for her. There was no pain, his body far too numb to it now, he couldn’t even feel her skin against his, but he held fast and tight to her hand like it was a lifeline, his only anchor in a world that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore. Why them? Why did they have to suffer? Why couldn’t people have just been nice to them? They remained silent, the dark aura that emanated from Jane only growing worse as time wore on and the sun began to dip in the sky. It was like watching a storm cloud grow more violent, lightning crackling around and waiting to strike.

Alec on the other hand finally got his wish. Everything stopped. The grief that was held heavy in his heart disappeared, but so did everything else. They were building his pyre, time was marching towards his death but…it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He had been a good son, a good brother, given time he might have even been a good man, but fate had decided for him and who was he to argue with such powerful forces? When the door slammed open Jane’s grip on his hand tightened, but Alec could only stare blankly at the alderman pointing a gnarled finger at the pair of them. The farm hands he worked among came striding for his cell.

“Get up witch boy, meet your reckoning.” He knew Alfred well, had thought they were perhaps friends. Huh, what an odd situation, to be put to death by a boy you had worked with. He didn’t move, merely stared unblinkingly back at them until they forcibly dragged him to his feet. No pain, nothing. His brain had shut it off by now, and everything else had shut off to as he stumbled out between them, Jane thrashing and snapping at her own escorts behind him. He squinted against the bright light of the torches held aloft by so many of those who had shunned them. He did not feel fear or dread, when he saw the stake driven into the ground, a platform of wood surrounded by logs and branches from the very forest they’d tried to escape into. Perhaps the rope was rough, perhaps it wasn’t. He tested its strength, tugging lightly so the rope was forced to strain a bit against the wooden pole forcing him to stand straight. It didn’t give an inch.

Jane was forced to submit, Alec watching as they drove a fist into his sister’s gut to incapacitate her long enough to tie her down. She struggled viciously, her eyes murderous and flashing over each and every villager before them with her teeth bared. Alec traced the bruised and bloodied visage of his sister one last time, committing the image to memory before turning to face the crowd. Whole families had gathered, some looking excited while others looked morbidly fascinated, like they wanted to be somewhere else but couldn’t bring themselves to ignore the spectacle.

“Alec, Alec look at me.” Jane snapped. He turned his head, dead eyes finding hers for the last time. He had failed her.

“I love you, Jane.” He said, and even though his voice was devoid of emotion he knew she understood just how much weight the words carried.

“There is nothing to forgive Alec, I love you to.” She promised.

“The witch twins have plagued us for long enough! Sickness has befallen our children, our crops have failed, diseases have riddled our livestock, and now they have taken the lives of five young men!” the alderman cried. So Jane had taken down five of those boys had she? Good. The crowd was screaming, the families of the boys shouting curses and thrusting their torches high. Alec knew he should be afraid, but what he could now to stop this? Perhaps the afterlife would be kinder to them? Surely God would know they had never intentionally caused harm to another living being?

“Burn the witches!”

“Purge this village of the devil children once and for all!”

The alderman nodded placatingly, his hand rising and falling in a calming motion to settle the eager crowd. Beady green eyes met Alec’s very briefly, and Alec stared back, unblinking, unflinching.  

“For their crimes against our village, the crime of witchcraft, we sentence these two devils to burn at the stake! May God free their souls from the wretched evil that consumes them!” he spat, tossing his torch down onto the branches at Jane’s feet. She let out a blood curdling scream and Alec felt the first flicker of something ignite in him as more torches followed. It rained fire for a few short seconds, and then the acrid smell of smoke was filling his nose, choking his lungs. There it was, fear, anger, despair, disgust. It roiled in his gut like an angry serpent.

“You’ll all burn in hell! Each and every one of you will burn in hell for this!” Jane screeched, struggling viciously as the flames began to lick upwards. The dry kindling caught quickly, bringing his death closer and closer as Alec began to squirm, gritting his teeth. It was growing uncomfortably warm, his eyes burning and lungs spasming as he tried to breathe around the thick, foul smelling smoke invading his airways. He coughed, eyes narrowing on the flames nearing his feet. Jane’s screaming changed in pitch and tone, the anger and malice her voice had once conveyed replaced instead by agony and terror. His head snapped to the right, seeing the leather of her shoes melting into the wood as the flames reddened and charred her ankles, bright orange fire steadily crawling up her dress. His eyes watered, his own feet now hot, burning hotter and hotter as the flames grew higher. They licked at his skin like a thousand angry bee stings. Alec could feel his flesh bubbling and melting slowly as the fire penetrated layer after layer of skin until his very bones felt like they were starting to curdle in the heat.

He couldn’t contain his voice anymore, a strangled scream escaping his lips as he tossed his head back against the wood, trying to move his feet away from the flames encroaching on his skin. He had never felt pain like it and he silently begged for it to end, for something to douse the flames and cool him down. He felt sick, his mind growing fuzzy from lack of air, though he was painfully and shamefully aware of the way his bladder voided once the fire reached his thighs. The torment seemed eternal, stretching on and on as his flesh peeled away, his fuddled mind conjuring images of Mother peeling potatoes to go into their dinner, teaching him to do the same. He would do anything for her to wake him now from this nightmare. The flames leapt suddenly with a gust of wind, pushing through his shirt and onto his chest, but he couldn’t even scream anymore, not enough air in his lungs. His body sagged against the wooden pole, his brain struggling to process the sensations anymore as he finally, mercifully, went numb to it all once more. Vaguely he understood that this was the end, that he was close to passing from this world to the next.

Black shapes flitted in and out of his vision, dancing across his eyes. His ears were ringing with the screams of the villagers, and a deranged, choked laugh escaped his battered lips. Demons, it had to be demons. Maybe they were the devil’s children after all and he had sent a welcome committee to escort them all to hell? He prayed for it in that moment, as muddled as his thoughts were he thought of the demons and how their claws might rip into those who had done this to them, thanked his father for the blissful numbness that had overcome him now and stopped him feeling pain. The demons hovered over him now, pale as the moon and shrouded in darkness, vividly red eyes beaming down at him. His eyes fluttered shut, waiting for the inevitable. He had expected it to perhaps be quick, a slash of the creature’s claws through his throat maybe. It certainly started in his throat, liquid fire pouring into him and forcing his blurry eyes back open in shock. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, but his eyes wheeled desperately to find someone, anyone who could stop this.

The fire built and built, and then it overflowed, pouring through his veins and spilling down into his chest, encasing his heart and flooding down to the tips of his toes until his whole body was encased in a burning more vicious than anything he’d endured up until that point. His voice was too broken to make a sound, but his mind suddenly seemed to fire up, working faster and more efficiently than ever before to try and process the agony he was in. As his vision faded again, he felt his body tremble. He was trapped inside of his mind, unable to open his eyes anymore and encased in a shell of burning flesh, being torn apart and remade from the inside. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was this hell? Was this what the rest of eternity would be like? Where was Jane? Had death been kinder to her? He hoped it had. Whoever had done this to him, whatever awaited him at the end of this ordeal, he used his last coherent thought to make a solemn vow.

The world is going to pay for what it did to us sister, and our enemies will know no mercy from my wrath.

[izzyfandoms]

Roceit - Ash and Bones

(@themelodeeartz requested this! It’s a part of my Clouds and Moss AU!)

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phlying-squirrel @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgromlin

WARNINGS: Sympathetic Deceit, dead people, descriptions of corpses, burning, murder 

Masterpost

Clouds and Moss AU Masterpost

Janus had met the god of fire before. 

Of course, he had, they had existed for millennia, how could their paths not have crossed? And humans died by fire all the time, so he felt Roman’s heat like warm breath on his skin almost constantly. 

Humans were endlessly dying of many different things, though, so it wasn’t like Roman was special. 

But, in all his many years of knowing – though never really knowing – Roman, he hadn’t expected the other god to seem so… human. 

Janus swept through the bustling town, his cloak fluttering in the wind behind him. He had a job to do, and he would get it done as swiftly and efficiently as possible, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. This town was much too alive for his tastes: full of music and dancing and laughter. It was just his luck that his visit coincided with the festival celebrating the fire god, Roman.

The humans that moved through the shadows couldn’t see Janus – he stuck to the shadows and blended in like that was where he belonged – but they all instinctively dodged him nonetheless. His boots made no noise as they thumped against the ground. It was like he wasn’t even there, more a ghost than a god.

Janus didn’t really mind that, honestly.

He soon reached his destination, the town square. There were men with instruments at one end, and at least half of the people present were dancing, but none drew nearly as much attention as one man who danced in the centre.

His eyes were closed, and he was smiling, serene, but he never once tripped as he expertly weaved through the crowd. He moved like a flame that danced in the wind: gorgeous, mesmerising, hypnotic. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Janus could see right through his glamour – revealing too-perfect skin that glowed in the moonlight, and bright eyes identical to burning coals – he would have mistaken him for just another particularly talented human.

Janus watched Roman dance for an unknown period of time, his eyes following as Roman’s feet left glowing imprints on the ground behind him, that only they could see. Many tried to reach out and touch the god, to pluck him from the square and pull him right into their arms, but his skin burned their hands: the extent depending on their intentions.

The music sped up, and Roman twirled and twirled around and around across the square, so light on his feet that he almost looked to be floating, until he suddenly stopped, right in front of Janus , opening his eyes and looking up in surprise at the taller god.

“Oh, Janus, I didn’t see you there,” Roman said, bowing his head for a moment, respectful. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a soul to collect,” Janus responded simply.

Most human souls made their way to the underworld almost immediately after death, as if yanked from their bodies by an invisible string, but a rare few were a lot more… difficult, whether intentionally or not, and Janus had to come collect those by hand.

Roman’s face fell for a moment, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The longer he stood with the death god, the more the surrounding humans’ eyes seemed to slide over him, like he wasn’t even there. Something appeared to be bothering him, which Janus thought to be a little peculiar – most gods felt only joy on their festival days – though he didn’t comment on it. Then, after a second or two, Roman’s expression smoothed over, and he straightened up.

“A young woman named Elizabeth disappeared yesterday,” He said. “I’m- I’m assuming she’s the one you’re looking for.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “You must spend a lot of time here.”

Roman gave an awkward laugh, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, well… I like this place.”

The festivities continued around them: humans chattering and chuckling, ignorant to the solemn conversation happening right in front of their noses. Janus’s eyes scanned the crowd; nothing stood out to him.

“They worship you.”

Humans worshipped all the gods – of course, they did, it was just common sense – but they worshipped Janus out of fear and obligation (and, at best, respect), not out of gratitude and love.

Roman made a face. “That’s not why I like it here,” He said. “They think I’m human, just a wandering traveller. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Janus nodded as if he understood. “Of course,” He answered, and that was that.

The fire god gave Janus a small, grateful smile, before turning on his heel and melting back into the crowd. To the humans, he blended in, like a predator camouflaged in a forest – he wasn’t a threat to them, not really, but he could be, if he wanted to, and they’d never see him coming. To Janus, he couldn’t possibly stand out more; even when he retreated down the street, turning a corner and disappearing from sight, the death god could still feel his presence, like his skin was on fire, like there was magma in his veins.

Janus hesitated for a moment, before pulling his hood back, running his ice-cold fingers through his dark hair. In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly visible, and the movement around him screeched to a halt. The surrounding humans spotted him instantly, inhaling sharply in fear – as loudly as they dared – and freezing in place. The life had drained out of them, and they stared at him like he’d come to reap their souls, which was rather ridiculous. If he started killing the living, Patton would start complaining, and Janus just didn’t have the time for that.

He took a step forward, and the crowd parted in front of him. There were some benefits to being feared, he supposed.

The humans watched him fearfully. The longer their eyes remained on his face, the more his appearance shifted and changed, distorting under the weight of their stares. If they looked close enough, the skin on the left side of his face almost seemed to peel back, revealing a broken skull that wasn’t his. He was a god, he didn’t have bones, he was made up of something much older and scarier, something mortals couldn’t possibly comprehend. They saw only what they could understand, and, no matter how horrified they felt, they just couldn’t look away.

Just before he reached the centre of the square, a figure appeared in front of him, flickering in and out of existence like a broken illusion. It was a young woman dressed in rags, her skin as white as bone and splattered with shiny red blood. She looked lost and in pain, and when she turned to stare at Janus with dead, frozen eyes, there was no fear in her gaze, only quiet relief.

He held out his hand. “Come with me,” He spoke softly.

Elizabeth paused, glancing around at the numerous people surrounding them, all fearfully holding their breath, people she’d likely known all her life: friends, maybe even family. Her killer may have even been there, too. Janus didn’t know the specifics. It wasn’t his job to know.

She took his hand.

He closed his eyes. There was a second of stillness and silence, and then the ghost disappeared from sight, oozing through his skin and settling in his chest. The tension in his shoulders melted away, and he straightened up, opening his eyes.

Janus scanned the crowd; there was no trace of Roman remaining. It was cold.  

He waited from a moment, and then stomped his foot. The ground opened up and swallowed him whole, closing behind him, and dragging him back to where he belonged. He would have choked on the earth if he was human, it would have stuffed his lungs and stolen his life – humans died so easily, like the fallen twigs in a forest that snapped underfoot – but he was a god, so, instead, he felt only comfort.

***

The next time he saw Roman was less than half a year later, in the exact same town, which he internally remarked as an odd coincidence, but nothing too unusual.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Roman spoke plainly, his hands in his pockets as he drew shapes in the mud with the tip of his boot. “I thought most souls travelled to the underworld on their own.”

“They do,” Janus responded.

Roman’s hair shone in the midday sun – red and orange, amber and gold – practically glowing, and Janus had a difficult time tearing his eyes away. Fortunately, though, he succeeded, and when the fire god looked up at him, he had already turned to stare down the winding dirt path that led into town.

“Would you like to accompany me?” Janus asked eventually.

“Sure.”

Their walk through town was quiet. Roman’s glamour extended to Janus just enough that he appeared almost human, and Janus’ glamour extended to Roman just enough that the townspeople paid little attention to them. It was relaxing, really – birds chirped joyously overhead, children ran and played around them – and if Janus hadn’t been so focused on watching every little movement Roman made, he might have felt at peace. 

“John Wicker died last night,” Roman finally spoke. “I doubt the townsfolk have even noticed yet.”

Janus gave a quiet acknowledging hum. Humans were remarkably ignorant creatures; they tended to take a while to notice things.

They stopped in front of a small, cosy-looking cottage. If Janus had had an appreciation for architecture or horticulture, he might have admired the pretty little house, and the various plants that sprawled across the garden surrounding it. But he didn’t, so, instead, he found himself observing one fiery-coloured flower in particular, internally remarking it as similar in hue to Roman’s hair.  

To his surprise, after a moment or two, Roman knelt down and plucked that very same flower from the ground, before standing up and twirling around to face the death god. He then reached out and tucked it behind Janus’s ear. 

“There,” Roman smiled. “Your attire was looking rather drab. Why not add a splash of colour?”

Janus blinked back at him, perplexed, reaching up to brush the petals with his gloved fingertips. His touch was light as a feather to avoid damaging it.

“I’m already wearing colour,” He stated, gesturing vaguely at the yellow that outlined his shirt collar, barely visible under the hood of his cloak.

Roman wrinkled his nose, tilting his head to one side as he looked over Janus. “That’s not quite enough,” He decided eventually, waving his hand. Janus’s gloves turned from the dreary black to a much brighter yellow. “Much better,” Roman concluded.

He looked back up at Janus , his eyes shining triumphantly.

“Okay,” Janus responded, as he had no idea what else to say, looking over his new gloves in confusion. They matched his collar, and Roman seemed pleased, so he decided not to complain.

There was a beat, and then Roman inclined his head towards the front door of the cottage,

“Are we going inside?”

“Oh, yes.”

Janus turned and walked up the path, carefully avoiding stepping on any stray flowers, before pushing the door open as easily as if it was unlocked. He stopped before he stepped through the doorway, however, and when Roman peered around him to see what was going on, his face fell as his eyes landed on the body sprawled across the floor.

The corpse was laying on his back, limbs at uncomfortable angles, a large knife protruding from the centre of his chest. There was blood splattered across his clothes, the floorboards, and even the walls and ceiling; it had all already dried, but it still wasn’t pleasant.

The fire god looked a little sick at the sight, which did confuse Janus, though he didn’t comment on it.

“Would you like to leave?” He asked instead.

After a moment of consideration, Roman shook his head.

Janus turned back to the body, and it only took one more step forward for the ghost to appear, standing over his body and staring down at himself in abject horror. He was almost identical to his corpse, though greyscale apart from the blood, and lacking the knife. His shirt was torn, practically falling to pieces, but his skin was in far worse shape.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” He asked eventually, after an unknown period of time, his voice distorted and crackling.

“Yes.”

It was best not to say too much unless prompted, Janus found. The dead weren’t usually too talkative, and they tended to find the death god more… creepy, than comforting.

There were a few beats of silence.

“It didn’t hurt as much as I’d expected it to,” John continued. “The stabbing hurt, obviously, but then the pain just… stopped. It was like falling asleep, and then I woke up again.” He looked down at his hands, trying to clasp them together, but they just phased through each other. It can’t have been a very pleasant feeling.

After another second or two, he looked up at the two gods. “What’s the underworld like?” He asked.

Janus took a moment to mull it over, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes scanned the numerous plants that decorated the room, and he thought back to all the bushes and flowers in the front lawn.  

“It’s… like a garden – an infinite garden with no end in sight,” He answered finally. “You’ll stay there as long as you wish, and then, one day, when you’re ready, you’ll fade.”

John seemed surprised at that answer, but satisfied, humming thoughtfully under his breath. The sound was twisted and broken – like eerie music played from a broken instrument – but Janus found it soothing. He held out his hand, and John took it without hesitation, seeping through his gloves and his skin and then settling in where the death god’s ribcage would have been, if he’d had one.

“I’ve never been to the underworld,” Roman said once it was over, breaking the silence and reminding Janus of his presence. “Is it really like that?”

“Patton’s the only one who visits regularly,” Janus responded simply. “He likes to come see his children. And it’s whatever they want it to be, a dream they can dwell in for as long as they wish. Just a beautiful lie – nothing more, nothing less.”

Roman’s expression was unreadable.

“I’d still like to visit, someday,” He said eventually, and then he disappeared, leaving a charred mark on the floorboards where he’d once stood, and a waft of smoke that wouldn’t truly dissipate for a while, the smell permanently etched into Janus’s brain.

***

The third time it happened, only one month after the second, Janus realised it was no coincidence.

It was midnight. The townsfolk were all fast asleep; the streets were empty and silent. The moon shone brightly above them: the glowing crescent reminiscent of Remy’s smile, like the night god, himself, was grinning down at them. Perhaps he was, if he had nothing better to do, but it was much likelier that he was busy courting his human lover, ignoring his duties as much as possible.

Roman was sat on a small patch of grass outside town, staring up at the stars with an unreadable expression. His skin was glowing slightly, his bare chest giving off a faint fiery light. It was barely visible – humans would never even notice, but Janus did, and it was hard not to stare.

He shook his head, trying to get back on track.

“It’s you,” Janus said simply, pausing for a moment, before sitting down beside Roman in one swift motion. “You spend so much time here. You’re the reason their souls are strong enough to stick around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Roman apologised. His voice was quiet, bordering on emotionless, but sincere.

“It’s fine.”

And it was fine, really. Janus didn’t mind spending so much time with Roman.

There was a beat of silence.

Roman glanced at Janus, opening his mouth to say something, but shutting it again with a snap when he spotted the death god’s gloves. They were bright yellow, impossible to ignore, and identical to how they’d been when their paths had last crossed. He raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to one side.

“You kept the gloves?” Roman asked softly.

Janus stared down at his hands, looking almost startled, like he hadn’t noticed the colour.

“Yes, I did,” He said. “I like them.”

Roman smiled, and Janus’s heart did a funny little tremor in his chest, which he didn’t understand, but chose to ignore. His face warmed – likely from being in close proximity to the fire god – and he quickly cleared his throat in an attempt to regain composure.

“Do you know who died this time?”

The smile slipped from Roman’s face, and Janus instantly regretted the question.

“Yes,” Roman said, standing up and brushing the non-existent dirt off his trousers, before holding his hand out to Janus, helping him stand. “Follow me.”

The touch lasted moments at most, but burned with an intensity that would never fade, and the death god found himself wanting to keep holding that hand and never let go. However, Roman did let go, turning away quickly, his expression unreadable, and stepping off the grass.

Without another word, Janus followed Roman into town. The silence between them wasn’t quite cold, exactly – it could never be cold, not with Roman – but it certainly wasn’t comparable to the moment of warmth that had preceded it. The wind nipped at any patch of exposed skin, like ice-cold teeth that refused to be ignored. Janus wondered if Roman felt them, too, or if his burning skin shielded him from such things.

He didn’t know how long they’d been walking – it could’ve been seconds, minutes, maybe even hours, though probably not – but he knew when they’d reached their destination, as Roman stopped in his tracks, his hands stuffed in his pockets, right in the middle of the street. Janus was almost distracted enough (by his hair, his warmth, his skin) to bump into him. Almost.

The body was fresh, about an hour old, at most, probably even less. It was propped up against a front door, slumped over and covered in stab wounds, and Janus had half a mind to move it, to save the family that slumbered in the quaint, little house from having to deal with such a terrible start to their day. But blood had already slipped through the crack under the door – wet and still glistening in the moonlight – so their morning would likely be ruined either way.

“The killer’s still awake,” Roman said, barely above a whisper. “I can hear him cleaning up, just a few houses down.”

Janus listened: footsteps, breathing, an erratic heartbeat, the sounds of water sloshing and spilling over. Laughter – quiet and breathy, yet smug and self-satisfied.

The death god scowled, his nose wrinkling. Those were the worst kinds of humans.

“Where’s the ghost?” Roman asked eventually, glancing around. “I can’t see them.”

“Hiding.”

Janus looked up and down the empty street – once, twice, thrice. There was no sign of the spirit, only a general feeling that they were somewhere nearby, but as far away as possible: watching, listening, waiting. He sighed, pulling off his right glove, folding it carefully, and sliding it into his pocket, before kneeling down beside the corpse and pressing his thumb into the centre of its forehead, just above the nose. Roman watched him silently, peering over his shoulder, his previous disgust almost overtaken by a warm curiosity.

After a moment or two, Janus’s connection with the ghost strengthened, like there was an invisible string connecting them. It only took a few tugs, and then they were yanked from their hiding spot, reappearing beside their body with a gasp.

He stood up, taking a step back and pausing for a second to put his glove back on, before turning back to the ghost,

They were just as blood-stained as their corpse – wide-eyed and terrified – standing as far away from Janus as they could. Their hands were in fists as they clutched at their clothes, and they kept glancing at Roman with confused recognition.

That made sense – Roman spent a lot of time here, after all.

“You’re… not human, are you?” The ghost asked softly, not accusatory, just questioning, their voice crackling.

Roman smiled slightly, a little embarrassed. “Not, I’m not,” He admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m… also the reason why your soul stuck around longer than usual. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” They reassured him gently. “And your name isn’t Philip, is it?”

Roman shook his head.

“May I ask what it is?”

There was a beat, and then, instead of simply answering, the fire god let his glamour disappear, like a layer of wax melting away. His skin glowed – literally glowed – like a burning ember plucked straight from a fireplace. His hair seemed to move and sway in the wind, a living flame. It was impossible to take your eyes off of him; everything about him drew people in – both humans and gods alike – he was mesmerizingly gorgeous, like molten bronze and gold, and even Janus froze in place watching him.

The human’s eyes had widened, the whites more visible than anything else.

“Oh,” They whispered.

Roman smiled, still a little sheepish, but as bright as the sun. He bowed his head for a moment, before straightening up, glancing at Janus out of the corner of his eye.

Janus coughed, clearing his throat. He held out his hand to the ghost.

“Come with me.”

The spirit froze, their eyes darting between the two gods, half-terrified and half-questioning. Roman nodded, supportive, and they sighed.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” They asked weakly, half-joking and trying to smile, but looking like they wanted to cry.

Janus didn’t respond, he just waited.

After another moment or two of hesitation, they took his hand, quietly disappearing from sight and settling in Janus’s chest. For almost a minute afterwards, it was still, quiet, the silence only punctuated by the fire-like crackling that burst from the fire-god’s skin. 

And then the calm was broken by Roman reaching out and resting his hand on Janus’s shoulder, sending a spark of warmth through his shirt and across his whole body, like he was setting his skin ablaze, melting his heart. Janus turned immediately, and they made eye contact. Roman looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. 

No words were exchanged, they just… felt.

Felt what? They weren’t sure (or, at least, Janus wasn’t sure). But it was good, nice, and unlike any other experience Janus had ever had with any other god.

The moment was then suddenly interrupted by another front door swinging open with a deafening creak, and a human – a young woman in her early twenties – stepped out. Somehow, the first thing she spotted was the mangled corpse, and she inhaled sharply, not quite screaming (but only just), her bag slipping from her shoulder and landing on the ground with a thump. Then, her eyes landed on the two frozen gods, her attention immediately drawn to Roman, who winced almost imperceptibly.

“Oh,” She squeaked, before falling to her knees in a deep bow, rapidly apologising for interruption and begging for their forgiveness.  

It was awkward, to say the least.

Roman reacted more visibly to this, his face scrunching up uncomfortably, looking unsure of what to say, his hand falling from Janus’s shoulder. Janus was also at a loss for words, and gave the fire god a sympathetic look. He wanted to say something – to either Roman or the girl – but this wasn’t exactly his speciality. 

Then, the earth began to creep up his shoes, tugging at the hems of his trouser legs, reminding him of his duty to bring the hundreds of souls swimming in his chest back to the underworld (today had been a busy day, he was full). And he sighed, turning apologetically to Roman, who shot him a small, understanding smile, before sinking out and becoming one with the dirt, his vision going black.

***

Two weeks had passed since their last interaction, and when Janus realised that another soul had passed, awaiting him, and that he would be returning to that very same town, he’d felt not quite excited, exactly, but it was definitely positive, and definitely attributed to the fact that he’d get to see Roman again. He’d never admit that to himself, though, and certainly not to anyone else.

But when he’d appeared just outside town, he was immediately overwhelmed by a feeling of pure misery that didn’t belong to him – thick and suffocating, like the air was packed with pudding – and the sounds of sobs that rippled through the clearing, all centred around one figure who knelt in the middle, in front of the ashen remains of a bonfire.

As Janus approached Roman, he could tell that the fire god had noticed him, but he didn’t look up, staring straight ahead, smoke-coloured tear tracks running down his face, his hands in fists at his sides.

Janus sat down beside him, crossing his legs, not saying anything, waiting for Roman to speak up.

After a few minutes, he did.

“They slit his throat,” He said, barely above a murmur. “And then threw him into the bonfire. The burns finished him off. I fini-”

“No,” Janus interrupted him firmly. “You didn’t do anything.”

Roman was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t save him; I could have saved him. If only I’d noticed,” He sniffled, wiping the tears off his cheek and rubbing his eyes. “He was my friend, you know. One of the few people I really got along with in this town.”

“I’m sorry,” Janus apologised, sincere.

“You didn’t do anything. You’re just here to… collect him.”

That was true, but, right now, comforting Roman was more important to him. The ghost could wait another few minutes, at least.

“They thought he was the one killing everybody,” Roman continued, shaking his head and letting out a short, bitter laugh. “They were wrong, accusing him without evidence. The killer’s still out there, and he’ll kill again. They’re no better than he is.”

He glanced up at the death god, and, for a moment, looking at Roman’s tear-stained face and red eyes, Janus felt like there was a hand clamped around his heart, squeezing tight. For a moment, he considered killing – destroying – all those at fault for this, but he knew it wouldn’t help.

“They… the woman we saw last time, she told everyone about us,” Roman said, looking down at his lap, his hair flopping in front of his eyes. “They know that I’ve been visiting, and they thought… they thought that I’d want this. They… they think I’m going to reward them for sacrificing him in my name.”

His expression was still miserable, but, right now, he looked more… tired, than anything else.

“Are you?” Janus asked.

Roman gave him an incredulous look.

“Of course, not!” He exclaimed. “Why would I? I don’t- I didn’t want them to do this! They’re… they’re just as bad as the murderer, taking pleasure in such horrifying things.” He paused for a moment. “Why- why would they do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are the humans like this?” Roman continued, and Janus didn’t have the answer to that question, either. “They can be so good – so sweet, so selfless, so loving – but… but they can be so bad, too: so horrible and full of hate.”

“They aren’t like us,” Janus said, in an attempt to comfort him.

Roman looked back up at him, head tilted slightly to one side, his brow pinched together.

“Aren’t they?” He said softly, placing his hand on Janus’s knee and distracting the death god so much that he almost didn’t hear the next words. “They’re just like us, but powerless against the world around them, and so they take it out on one another. I don’t understand them, I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand them. I can’t… we can’t.”

Janus didn’t know what to say to that.

There was silence between them for some time afterwards – it could have spanned seconds, minutes, or even hours, neither could tell – and, while Roman’s sadness still hadn’t dissipated, there was something warm (almost comfortable) about it.

“May I take him, now?” Janus asked gently.

Roman gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Of course.”

Janus carefully removed his bright yellow gloves, folding them and placing them on the ground between them. He then leant forward, burying his hands in the ashen remains, coating them, feeling the bones beneath his fingertips. A second passed, maybe even two, and then the ghost appeared – a young man, his skin the colour of glistening silver, his hair as black as the night sky behind him. He looked confused, at first, and then a fleeting moment of terror crossed his face, before he noticed the gods beside him – in particular, Roman – and his expression melted into one of sympathy.

“Oh, Phil- Roman. Roman,” The ghost correct himself, kneeling down in front of them. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Roman asked incredulously. “You’re the one who just- who just-”

“I know,” The young man said softly. “But, are you okay?”

Roman hesitated.

He sighed. “Not really.”

The spirit gave a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry,” He apologised.

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry.”

There was a beat.

“You’re too kind to me, Jacob, you know that, right? One of the sweetest humans I’ve ever met. It’s more than I deserve; I’ve been deceiving you about my identity since our first encounter.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Jacob reassured him. He looked like he wanted to place his hand on Roman’s shoulder, to comfort him, but he couldn’t. “And, surely, that cannot be true. You’ve met many humans throughout your lifetime, numerous great heroes and saviours.”

“And few stood out as much as you.”

Jacob smiled. “Thank you.” He said, before turning to Janus, looking nervous, but not quite as fearful as most felt around the death god. “And I suppose you’re here to collect me?”

Janus nodded.

“Any final words?” He asked, surprising himself in the process. He didn’t usually ask that, but, right now, it felt right.

Jacob turned to Roman. “Thank you,” He repeated. “For being my friend.”

And then he took Janus’s hand.

His soul lingered for another moment or two, frozen in place, before it fell forward, colliding with Janus, slipping through his skin, and settling in his chest.

There was silence, and then Roman took a deep, shaky breath. Janus turned to him, instinctively opening his arms. Roman fell into them immediately, wrapping his arms around the death god’s neck and burying his face in his chest. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Janus place one hand on Roman’s wait, using the other to reassuringly rub circles on his back, feeling the fire god shake and sob against him.

It was impossible to tell how much time they spent like that – Janus would keep holding Roman forever, if he could, though the fact that he was crying wasn’t ideal – but, eventually, Roman pulled back.

He stared up at Janus, still oh-so close to him, their legs pressed together, his hands on Janus’s shoulders, Janus’s hands on Roman’s waist.

“Thank you,” He whispered.

And then, he leant forward, pressing a soft kiss to Janus’s cheek. It was warm, hot, scalding, and if Janus’s hadn’t known better, he’d have thought that Roman was burning a mark into his skin. It didn’t hurt, though, it couldn’t hurt – if he was human, perhaps it would have, but he was a god, and Roman would never hurt him. 

Then, Roman pulled back, staring into Janus’s eyes for another moment or two, before disappearing into thin air, leaving Janus feeling empty, yet significantly warmer than before, and wondering what, exactly, the kiss had meant.

[drunkdaisychains]

Aera the Fair

full story updated regularly  @

https://www.wattpad.com/story/258839356-aera-the-fair

Pairings: OCF/OCM, OC/Brynjolf

Warnings: Smut, killing, theft, fluff

Summery:Between the Butcher murders, lovers spats, and the war going one, it’s a wonder that there is any peace in Windhelm. Valun Stormcloak, son of  Ulfric, has taken an interest in a fair maiden adopted into clan Shattersheild. But she has an incriminating secret. Can she keep her man, avenge her family, and keep her secret or will she be cast out of the city, never able to see her family again.

An excerpt from Chapter 4

"Stop! Assassin!" The Markarth guards chased her towards the city gates. She had successfully planted the incriminating letter on her target but was caught sneaking out of his room in the keep. She dodged and swerved people as she sprinted from the scene. She just needed the shadows of the night to conceal her. As she stepped briskly down the steps and away from the city she tried not to concentrate on the burning building in her legs. Farther and farther they carried her as she dipped and dodged arrows flying from the guards bows. She finally saw it, the shadows along the side of the road that she'd slip into. As quick as she appeared she vanished, not even an invisibility spell needed tho she did have that power. As she controlled her breathing she heard the crunching of dirt as guards flew past her. 

"Damn. We lost her," one said after a moment of looking around. After another bit of sniffing the air they turned to return to their posts. She waited with a hand over her mouth until she couldn't hear them and her shoulders relaxed. She decided it was best to stick to the shadows the rest of her way back to the sanctuary. Forsworn had been attacking travellers for months and she knew they attacked in numbers. She was skilled but not against an army. Her journey was uneventful aside from the occasional wildlife, she made record time back to the sanctuary. Little did she know as she passed through the door, she would be met with aftermath. She was able to piece together the scene in moments and listened anxiously as the family discussed the moments that had just transpired. 

Oh Cicero. You should have waited until I got back. Thought to herself as Astrid had furiously turned to her. Her objective was simple, she wanted her husband home and alive… and avenged. 

"Take Shadowmere. You'll notice he's one of us," she suggested and Aera turned on her heel. She needed to get to her friend before that werewolf did and she needed to fix this. As she approached the black pond outside the sanctuary doors it began to boil. The sounds of galloping could be heard mixed with the bubbling and finally with a grand rear, Shadowmere appeared. 

"That's showy, even for you," she giggled at the horse. Shadowmere was more apart of the brotherhood than Astrid but Aera was not about to let on that she knew it. The Dark steed had been fabled in the Brotherhood as he was Lucien Lachance's ride. Shadowmere was family quite literally and had always wondered why she was not the one to inherit him. For her surname was LaChance, she was always destined to be an assassin like her ancestor. She dropped the last name,in favour of her nickname given to her in Bruma, when she crossed over the border. She didn't know that it was the same as the Jarl in Solitude but to change it after would have been suspicious.

She mounted Shadowmere and kicked him in the direction of Dawnstar. 

Upon arriving she was met with the scene of blood and a clearly injured Arnbjorn. She gave him a healing potion from her satchel and offered him Shadowmere. 

"Oh don't worry about me. I'll make it back, just make sure that bastard regrets it." He muttered before stalking off. 

"What is life's greatest illusion?" The ghostly voice belonging to the door asked. 

"Innocence, my brother," she answered. 

"Welcome home," as it opened toward her. The sanctuary was in rather nice shape for being abandoned. Desolate and home to only spiders but she could find comfort here if she had to. She summoned her ancestor to fight alongside her, greeting him as an old friend. 

"Ah Listener, the Night Mother has told me of your devotion," he growled. She was in awe but had no time to be struck as a spectral assassin materialized from the wall. Cicero's voice could be heard taunting her. She hoped he hadn't turned on her as well. She sliced through spectral assassin after spectral assassin, nearly being run through by traps set or set on fire. The cold ruins of whatever tunneled into the sanctuary made her breathe freeze. She could hear a weird growl before Lucien jumped past her and began fending off the troll. Once she shook off her shock she too joined in the quarrel. Finally after a gruelling tour through the snow and cobwebs, she burst into the door where Cicero's voice was clearest she had heard since she stepped through the door. She sheathed her swords and rushed to his side. Her friend was in a bad way and could use a potion. She dug through her satchel and uncorked the small red vial handing it to him to drink. 

"I won't kill you," she confirmed. Cicero had warned her that Astrid was a traitor and she had more reason to trust him than her. Lucien mumbled about a purification, much like the Cheydinhal she had begun at despite it being considered the Bravil chapter. 

"You must leave Cicero here so Astrid believes I am dead!" He exclaimed. 

"She'll have no choice but to believe me. I just hope she doesn't come check for herself," she said out loud. 

"Go now! Go tell the traitor you killed Cicero," he said scooting closer to the fire. She nodded and turned on her heel to make the journey back. 

While the journey back wasn't as bad now that she was on the best steed for an assassin to be paired with, she was worried about Cicero. When she wasn't worrying about his well being her mind wandered over to Valun. She would reminisce their tumble together and how he gave her what she couldn't find in Brynjolf or the sailors who would always propose to her. She had even considered Thrynn before he showed how belligerent he was on mead. They all had excitement and mystery. They would all be able to give her a fair life, but whether they wanted to or she wanted them to was up for debate. But with Valun she also received a comfort she had never had. It was easy to be with him and forget about her secrets with him. It was just when she would think of them again they would hit her like a ton of bricks and he would be right there kissing away her worries, trying to convince her to be his bride. 

Thankfully Astrid not only believed her, but sent her on the next step for the grand scheme they had planned. She had to find the author of the popular cookbook "uncommon taste" and steal his identity. First she needed to go to Markarth to locate him. She used her travel time on Shadowmere to prepare her alibi and to make her travel decisions. She would prepare for the possibility of an extended time away while they dealt with the final mark. Killing the emperor was no small task and she wanted to ensure there was no way she would be compromised if she had to stay away longer. The chef in Markarth was easy to get the information from, and simply having the kitchens closed off already while he slept made it perfect to stuff a cloth in his mouth when she took his life. This job was far too easy, the cook, innkeeper, and even the bard at the inn almost jumped at the opportunity to tell someone the orc was in their basement room. Foolish of them to not be more discrete. Lugging the large Orsimer into the hiding place was the hardest part. It made her arms burn to pull herself up the ladder after. It was finally time to make history. She rode up to the Solitude gates, Jarrin root in her pocket. She had changed into fine clothes and a chef's hat so to look the part she was playing. 

The writ worked to allow her access and soon she was in the kitchen with the regular castle dour cook stirring away at the base of a potage le magnifique. She took some creative liberties while cooking before placing the Jarrin root into the stew and watching it dissolve quickly. The cook picked up the pot and carried it painstakingly slowly into the dining room where the Emperor sat with nobles from all over Skyrim. She placed herself on the side of the table closest to the door for a quick escape. When his face landed in his bowl she was already turned around and sprinting to the door. Unfortunately that's where she would be stopped by Commander Maro, angry and vengeful. 

"As of right now your sanctuary is being put to the sword," he growled, the words were like fire in her ears. Her last home, destroyed by the Empire. She must have looked as crazy mad as Cicero did because there was an unsure look in Maro's eyes as she ran up to him with her swords drawn. Immediately she used both blades to slice his head off, as if he were softened butter. It rolled down off his neck and to his guards feet as she sheathed the bloody blades and sprinted down the tower steps. She dodged soldiers left and right knowing she had to get to the sanctuary as fast as she could. She used the city walls the same way she had when she killed the Vicci girl at her own wedding. The walls were able to limit her exposure to flying arrows and pursuing guards, her lungs burned as she pushed to keep going as fast as she could. 

She burst through the gate doors before they could lock them and took a running start at Shadowmere, who seemed to know exactly what to do as he began trotting in the other direction before launching into a sprint before she was properly seated. 

"We have to go home Shadowmere, they need us," she said to the steed as she fumbled with a stirrup to give relief from the bouncing. Her eyes watered both from the worry and from the wind. When she made it up to the sanctuary she could see the horses and soldiers waiting. Shadowmere charged them, rearing and attacking them as Aera hopped off. She spun with her blades out, cutting through the skin exposed from where the armour couldn't protect. She whirled around ensuring no one but her and Shadowmere would survive this fight. Finally as the soldiers lay in pools of their own blood she turned to the door and rushed in. 

Fire, oil that was used to cause the fire, and bodies were everywhere. She stabbed the two soldiers who advanced on her almost as if they were an afterthought and rushed deeper into the burning hall to find survivors. Veezara and Festus' bodies were burned and almost unrecognizable. Gabriella and her spider were nowhere to be found and Arnbjorn was a werewolf, attacking a group of soldiers at once before succumbing to his injuries too. She rushed to the dining hall to find Nazir fighting more of the assailants and she immediately joined in. 

"You're alive!" Nazir yelled over slashing and clashing.��

"Can't say the same for everyone else," she yelled back clearly distraught. The last soldier was run through with a final slash of her sword and she was able to turn to the blood splattered Alik'r. They both launched into a search for survivors until she heard the ghostly voice calling to her. She was in the night mother's room and she was requesting her to step into the coffin. Aera was hesitant but obliged as she is the chosen listener.  She closed her eyes trying to block out the heinous trauma that had just occurred. 

  "Sleep…" the voice soothed.

[sweetiepie08]

All I Ask of You (Chapter 5)

The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance fic

Deet x Rian

She walked into his life when all seemed lost. He accepted her when the other surface dwellers didn’t. She was gentle. He was brave. Their first impressions dwelt in their minds and their feelings grew as their journey wore on. They supported each other, comforted each other, and gave each other strength. Together, they were a light in the darkness.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. 

The plants around Rian withered and died.

Gone. She was gone. Not gone in the way Mira or his father were gone, but still lost to him.

He tried to follow her, but bramble and thorns stopped him at every turn. He would never make it through the forest, not like this. He needed to go back and resupply if he wanted even a chance of finding her.

He turned and trudged back to Stone-in-the-Wood. The jubilant sounds of celebrating gelfling only put a lump in his throat and a weight on his heart.

Though they won, the battle only brought him horror. Dueling the General and plunging his sword into flesh, the reemergence of the Hunter and nearly getting his head torn off, Deet taking the full power of the Emperor’s magic.. Terror ripped through him when he saw that beam hit her. She screamed out in shock, in pain, in fear, and he was once again helpless to stop it. Once again, he could do nothing but watch as someone he loved died.

But she did not die. She struck back, taking out one of the Skeksis, proving the Lords were mortal. And if they were mortal, they could be defeated.

After the Skeksis retreated, he was concerned only with ensuring his friends were unharmed. He hugged Gurjin, saw Brea embracing her sister, then watched Deet wonder off into the woods.

When he made it back to the village, he was acutely aware of the eyes on him. Strangers looked at him like he was some sort of hero, but he didn’t feel like one. While everyone around him was filled with elation, he felt lost in a haze.

“See, there he is,” Gurjin cried, bringing Rian back to the surface.

He looked up to see his friend and Mother Aughra resting on the steps of the Maudra’s Home Hearth and his feet carried him to them.

“What’d I tell you?” Gurjin went on. “Probably snuck off for a snog.”

“But Deet’s not with him,” Kylan whispered back.

“Rian?” Brea stood up to greet him. “Where’s Deet? When we couldn’t find you two after the battle, we thought you were together.”

“Deet…” he muttered, watching their faces slowly melt into dread. “Deet is…” He choked on his words and his friends exchanged fearful glances.

“Deet?” a new voice behind him spoke. He turned to find himself faced with Deet’s father. “Has something happened to my daughter?” Every fear imaginable flash through this father’s eyes.

“Deet is alive,” Rian stumbled out, unable to keep this poor gelfling in suspense any longer. “It’s the Darkening, I think. Her eyes were purple and I could see veins in her arms.”

A grave look passed on Aughra’s face. “Maudra Argot tells me the sanctuary tree gifted her with its powers,” she said, standing up and walking over to them. “If that is true, she may have taken its ability to absorb the Darkening without being completely destroyed.”

Hope grew in his heart. “So there’s a chance? We can save her?”

“As long as she still lives, there’s always a chance, but I haven’t a clue how to reverse it.”

Rian’s eyes turned back to the forest. The spot Deet disappeared through drew him to it like a magnet. He needed to find her. He simply needed to. “I’m going after her,” he declared. “Someone needs to bring her back. If the Skeksis get to her first…” That was a chilling thought. They saw how much power she wielded and, whether they wanted to take her out or harness it for themselves, that made her a target. It wouldn’t be the first time they made a gelfling their slave.

“But how will you find her?” Kylan asked.

“Her power’s leaving a trail,” Rian explained, recalling the path of dead plants that lay in her wake. “I should be able to catch up.”

“But the animals that were possessed by the darkening became aggressive,” Brea argued. “You saw what she can do. What if-”

“She wouldn’t hurt me!” Rian snapped. “She wouldn’t hurt any of us. She…” He looked around at his friends’ worried faces, all seeming to ask how he was so sure. But how could they forget? This was Deet they were talking about, kind, brave, gentle Deet. He couldn’t imagine a force in Thra that would compel her to harm an innocent creature, let alone one of her friends. “I just know she would never do such a thing.” And if they were in my place last night, they’d be sure too.

They knew nothing of the word they shared the previous night. He didn’t feel right telling them. It felt too intimate. They were words he might have kept secret even from her if he thought she wouldn’t reciprocate. But the drink and the dread of the coming battle possessed him and he asked her to pretend to love him, just to ease his grief and loneliness from a moment. It was a greater gift than he could imagine when she promised her love was real.

“Rian…” Mother Auhgra took him by the shoulder. “The road diverges here. If you choose the path that leads to Deet, take caution. It is true she is still there. Her light has not gone out. But that’s not all she is anymore.”

“Thank you, Mother Auhgra. I will head your advice. But as long as there is still a spark of Deet left in the world, I won’t lose hope.”

Mother Auhgra nodded and gave him a half-smile. There was a look of thoughtfulness on her face and her third seemed to see beyond the path before him. He knew from legend Mother Auhgra could all the paths gelfling could take and where they might lead. If this was true, and she didn’t try to stop him, which he took as a good sign.

“And you, sir,” he said, turning to Deet’s father. “I promise you, and your husband too, that I will return your daughter safely to you.

“Thank you,” her father said, tears forming in his eyes. “I can tell you’ve been a good friend to her. I trust you will do everything you can.”

Deet’s father then pulled Rian into an embrace. He couldn’t help but feel some sorrow in his heart. He’d hugged his own father for the last time the night he died. Rian already had his last chance, but Deet hadn’t, not yet, not for a long time. She would see her family again. He’d make sure of it.

The door to the Home Hearth opened and Seladon stepped out. “She’s ready,” she said, a grim look on her face. “You may tell the Stonewoods they can come in now if the wish to pay their respects.”

“Respects?” Rian asked, breaking away from the hug. “Respects to who? What’s going on?”

His friends all exchanged worried glances before Brea stepped forward to speak. “I’m afraid we have some grave news as well.”

[-]

Rian looked down at his Maudra lying motionless on a table in her throne room. Around him stood the remainder of the Stonewood warriors. Seladon let the Stonewoods in first to pay their respects before the other glelfing.

The mood hung like a shadow over their heads. Maudra Fara had been their leader since the end of the Arathim Wars. She took the crown before she even came of age. She was strong-willed, just, and brave. More than that, she loved her clan above all else. Sadly, while she led a great many into battle, she was left with a much smaller number of mourners.

To Rian, though, she held a special place in his heart. She was a good friend of his father and he had the privilege of knowing her as more than their clan’s leader. He got to peak behind the Maudra’s stern demeaner and saw Fara’s softer side. He watched her tease his father and have a laugh at the great warrior’s expense, one of the very few who could. When she visited the castle, she always made time to check in on him and ask how he was. Her love for her people showed in the time she gave to each one of them, even a childling growing up away from his clan.

Truly, they would never see another like her again.

Which left one question hanging over them all. “Had she chosen an heir?” Rian asked, looking down at his Maudra’s quiet face.

She died without children, and so, she would have chosen a successor to carry on if the worst should happen. Which it did.

The Stonewoods behind him were silent, save for some uncomfortable shuffling. He looked to Seladon, who shook her head. “We received no record of this in Ha’rar.”

“Where’s her lead advisor?” he asked, turning to the other Stonewoods.

“That would be Cohl,” one of the Stonewoods answered. “They evacuated with the other non-combatants.”

“And her guard Captain?”

The Stonewood shook his head. “One of the first drained, sir.”

His heart twisted. Of course. It made sense. Take out the clan’s leadership first, leave the maudra alive to keep the rest of the clan in line… Great Thra, he hated that he could think like them. “So who’s in charge here?”

They met his question with expectant stares. He looked them over. They were foot soldiers and a few lieutenants. They were used to taking orders or relaying decisions to their higher-ups. None were prepared for command. But the answer in their eyes was obvious.

After all, they answered his call. They followed his plan. They fought in his battle.

“It can’t be me, so who is it?!”

His outburst echoed off the walls. The Stonewoods shifted, exchanging glances. Their answer hadn’t changed, despite his protest, and he couldn’t blame them. No Maudra, not captain, and no advisors. Who else was there?

After some more non-committal shifting, Seladon spoke up. “Who is your fastest rider?”

One of the Stonewoods stepped forward. “I am, Maudra.” Finally, an answer.

“Go to the place where the non-combatants are hiding and bring them news of Maudra Fara’s death. The lead advisor should act as leader of the clan until a new Maudra is selected according to your clan’s customs.”

“More than one should go,” Rian added. “The Skeksis may have retreated for the day, but there’s no telling what they might have lurking in the forest.”

As the Stonewood warriors decided amongst themselves who should go, Rian turned to Seladon and tried to convey his thanks in his eyes. She nodded and smiled slightly in return.

Once a decision was made, the Stonewoods split into two groups, those who would escort the non-combatants back to Stone-in-the-wood, and those who would prepare Maudra Fara’s funeral ceremony. They left to carry out their duties, leaving Rian and Seladon alone in the throne room.

“She shouldn’t be buried until the rest of the clan returns,” Rian said, turning back to Maudra Fara. “She’ll want to say goodbye to all of her children.”

“Of course.” Seladon said, approaching Fara’s body. “She was a titan. A fighter to the end.”

“Yes…” Rian couldn’t stop staring at her still face.

“We must fight in her place,” she continued, placing a hand on his shoulder, “now that Thra has called her home.”

“Killed by the Skeksis, you mean,” he seethed. That little flare of anger was the first emotion to penetrate the numbness he felt since stepping in the room. He felt strangely sober, despite the circumstances. His Maudra lay dead before him and his eyes were shockingly dry. Perhaps he simply ran out of tears to shed. But a tiny flame of fury flickered in his heart like a candle in a fog. It could weaken and die or grown strong enough to burn down the whole world. Only time would tell which.

“Can I ask, why can’t you lead until a new Maudra is selected?” Seladon said. “You led the battle, after all. Your clan seems to respect you.”

Today they do. He shook his head to cast the thought away. “You weren’t out there when I explained.” He went on to tell her about Deet’s disappearance. “I made a promise that I would find her and bring her back safely. I can’t break that promise.”

Seladon listened quietly, no judgement on her face. When he finished, she nodded. “I understand. I’ll see to it that Fara is properly returned to Thra and a new Maudra is crowned.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your help,” he said, wishing there were words strong enough to convey his gratitude. She truly had no idea how much it helped him to know he was leaving Fara in capable hands. “I should say my goodbyes now. I won’t be able to stay for the ceremony.”

“I’ll leave you alone, then.” Her hand brushed his back one more time. “Take all the time you need.”

Seladon walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. The sound echoed off the walls. He looked down at Fara again. She still looked proud and strong, despite everything. He waited for words to come to him, but there were none. Strange how, now that he had time to say goodbye, he couldn’t think of what to say.

Say what’s in your heart, a sweet, familiar voice reminded him. A half smile tugged at his lips. He opened his mouth and started talking.

[-]

That night, Rian returned to his grandmother’s house to prepare supplies for his journey. He took a bow and quiver full of arrows from the armory, as well as an extra sword, just in case. While he knew the woods well enough to survive on the plants that grew there, he also took some warrior’s marching bread and an extra water skin.

As he was running a whetstone across one of the swords, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Rian called, expecting one of his friends. Instead, Deet’s father entered the room.

“Sir,” Rian said, setting his sword aside and jumping to attention. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was just hoping to talk to you,” the older gelfling said, joining Rian in the living room.

“Of course, sir.”

“Lath’N” Deet’s father answered. “You can call me Lath’N. There’s no need to be so formal.”

“Alright, Lath’N,” Rian said, inviting him to sit down. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to thank you for looking after my daughter,” he said sitting beside Rian on the sofa. “I’m glad she found such a good friend on the surface.”

“It’s Deet who’s been a great friend,” Rian said, feeling a warmth in his cheeks. “I’m only doing what she would have done for me.”

“That is good to hear,” Lath’N said, looking over the supplies on the table. “I see you’re preparing for your journey.”

“Yes, I plan to leave as soon as the first brother rises. Don’t’ worry, I’m a good tracker and I know these woods well. I won’t lose her.”

“I have faith in you.” The older gelfling’s eyes lingered on Rian’s face. “Forgive more saying this, but you look tired.”

“Well, I did fight in a battle today. And trained with some the fighters this morning… almost died a time or two…” he trailed off. So much had happened, it felt like weeks had passed. It was hard to believe that, just this morning, he woke up with Deet in his arms.

“And that was all just today,” Lath’N said, summing up Rian’s thoughts. “But I didn’t mean like that. You look a different kind of tired. It’s not fair, really. You’re too young to look this tired.”

“A lot’s happened in the last…” He stopped as he tried to count the days in his head. How long had it been? Everything was starting to blur together.

Lath’N reached to the table and picked up the sword Rian was sharpening. From the way he held it, Rian could tell it wasn’t his first time holding a blade. “Fine sword you’ve got here. What kind of steel is it?”

“I don’t really know. I lost my sword the first time I fought the Hunter. This is a spare Naia and Gurjin brought me from the castle… Or, is this the one I took from the Circle of the Suns? Or the armory? Been through a lot of swords lately. Do you know about smithing?”

“Just tangential stuff you pick up through training.”

“Training?” Rian asked. “But, Deet told me her fathers were nurloc farmers.”

“I am now,” Lath’N laughed. “But in my younger years, I was a castle guard.”

“You? Really?” Rian let out a small laugh as well. “Forgive me but, there have only been about a dozen Grotton guards in history.”

“That’s true.” Lath’N smiled and extended his hand. “Meet number twelve.”

“It is an honor, sir.” Rian shook his hand vigorously. “You must outrank me.”

“I doubt it. I left when I was still young.”

“Oh, may I ask why?”

“Well, when I joined, I was young, with dreams of adventure. It turned out to be quite different from what I expected.”

Rian nodded. “It might sound strange coming from me, but the castle could be very dull.” He’d heard similar things from guards who’d come and gone. He’d tell them, ‘if you want adventure, you should join the Sifa.’ Most coming in didn’t realize how boring the castle was. Gurjin, who joined because ‘they say nothing ever goes wrong at the castle’, was the only one who had a different answer.

Lath’N laughed. “Yes, but that’s not what I meant. There were things I liked about it, like meeting gelfling from all the different clans. But everyone was so on-edge all the time, and always so formal. It was very different from Grot. We’re a small clan, so it’s more like a big family. We’re more laid-back and friendly.”

“That sound’s nice,” Rian mused. Although ‘laid-back and friendly’ hardly described his family…

No that wasn’t entirely true. His grandmother, for example, was always kind and comforting. And she told him funny stories from when his father was a kid, which was a plus. Then there were the times when he was young and his mother was still alive, and they all lived in a little house on the edge of the village. He remembered how his parents would smile and laugh together. How his mother would teach him old gelfling songs. How he’d watch his father practicing drills in the yard and how his father would invite him over to try the moves. How sometimes, on a quiet night, his mother would read him a story, usually and old gelfling folktale, and he’d look up to see him father smiling at them, just content to watch them exist.

It would be nice to have that again, but, it seemed like an impossible dream.

“The thing I think I disliked the most,” Lath’N continued, “was that, when you were out on escort duty, you had to hold yourself above the other gelfling, like you weren’t just like one of them.”

“I know what you mean,” Rian said. Lath’N general assessment was right. Life as a guard was not only dull, but tense. You weren’t a gelfling when you were on duty, but the Skeksis’ hands. You were meant to do their bidding without question. But they made it seem like it was a privilege to be serving them, like you were a step above everyone else. And that’s exactly how they’ve been fooling us for a thousand trine.

“I grew up in the castle,” Rian went on. “There wasn’t a lot to do as a childling. I was always getting into trouble. But you’re right. I was always on edge. I always had to be out of the Skeksis’ way. If I was too much of a bother, they might have had me sent from the castle, away from my father.”

Lath’N’s face looked grave. “That’s a terrible burden for a child to bare.”

Rian almost didn’t know what to say. Lath’N’s sad, disappointed eyes bored into him. He wasn’t disappointed in Rian, but in the circumstances of Rian’s childhood. No child should be forced to grow up as lonely as you did, they seemed to say.

Rian’s heart tightened and he forced out a laugh. “It wasn’t all bad. The guards mostly treated me like a little brother or cousin. And, when I got old enough, my father gave me sword fighting lessons every morning. Plus, I got to spend my summers in Stone-in-the-Wood. It was a lot like how you described Grot. The villagers were usually friendly and welcoming. At least, I had other children to play with.”

“You know, you light up when you talk about Stone-in-the-Wood.”

A soft, genuine smile came to his face. “I’ve made a lot of fond memories here.” Even just last night, he thoughts as he remembered the feeling of Deet’s lips of his.

Lath’N gave him a curious look. “And yet, when you came of age, you stayed at the castle as a guard.”

“Of course.” The comment surprised him. No one ever questioned his decision to join the guard, not even Rian himself. It was what he was always supposed to do, what was expected from him. “My father was the captain for most of my life. I was to follow in his footsteps.”

“Seems to me you have. He was a great hero, was he not? And now, so are you.”

“That…hadn’t occurred to me…” It was true, come to think of it. Victory crumbled to ashes so quickly, he hadn’t had time to process what happened. But, all those gelfling who came up to him and congratulated him, they must think so. Although, he was not the one who dealt the final blow. “Deet’s the real hero. She’s the one who sent the Skeksis running. Even before that, I never would have made it this far without her.”

“Deet is something special,” Lath’N said with a wistful smile on his face.

“Yes,” Rian agreed, a smile growing on his face as well. “Very special.”

“As are you,” Lath’N said, putting his hand on Rian’s shoulder. “Not everyone could go through all you have and come out the other side still standing, let alone continuing to fight.”

“I must.” Once again, Lath’N surprised him. Of course he was still fighting. What else was there to do? “We’re at war now and it’s a war I started, so I better finish it.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“It’s true through. I’m the one-”

“Are you the one responsible for a thousand trine of Skeksis rule?” Lath’N asked in a surprisingly firm voice. “This war was a long time coming and the fight is bigger than any one gelfling. I believe there’s an old Stonewood saying. ‘There are times when the blade is necessary.’”

“Yes, and this is one of those times. But there’s more to that saying. ‘The hand that wields the blade cannot help the fallen to their feet.’”

“So, you put your blade side when the fighting is done.”

“That’s right,” Rian sighed, looking at the sword on the table. “What are you getting at?”

Lath’N looked at him with his gentle eyes. “I only wonder if this is the life you would have chosen for yourself, if you had the choice.”

Words lodged in his throat. What would he be if none of this had happened? If he was never a guard? If the Skeksis never came to Thra? His whole life was so tied up with the guard and Skeksis and now the rebellion, it was hard to imagine anything else. His life would be completely different. Thra would be completely different. But, was there any point in wondering? The war had begun. The Skeksis needed to be dislodged if the gelfling were ever to be free. “It hardly matters now.” He may not get to choose but, if they won, future generations might.

“Still, it’s something to consider,” Lath’N said, picking up the sword to inspect it again. “When you set your blade aside, Rian, what will you do?” He put the sword back on the table. He then said his goodbyes, wished Rian best of luck, and left him alone.

Rian went back to preparing for his journey, but his eyes kept lingering on his sword and Lath’N’s question stuck in his mind. Should they win, should the Skeksis be defeated for good, should the gelfling finally have peace, what would he do? Could he set his sword aside? Could he find something else to do with his life, something he truly wanted?

They needed to win first. The war had to be fought. They were being hunted and killed. The Skeksis would wipe out all gelfling if they could. They needed to save Thra, as well as all gelfling-kind.

But, after that, if they won, Rian may, finally, have a choice.

[-]

The first brother had just cracked the horizon when Rian began his journey. Pure exhaustion was the only thing that allowed him to sleep that night. His mind was too full of dread to give him pleasant dreams, but, luckily, there were no nightmares either. Just a night of blessed, dead-to-the-world slumber. It was the best he could hope for, but it didn’t compare to the night before, holding Deet close and warm, his face nestled in her soft hair… It was only one night but the bed still felt empty and cold without her.

He stepped outside. A thin layer of fog hung in the chilly early-morning air. A few remnants of battle lay scattered on the ground. The streets were empty, but not like they were when he and Deet first arrived. He could walk through the village, knowing the gelfling were sleeping safely in their beds, or at least under the roofs offered to them. He was leaving this place full of life, but only for now. I’ll be back, he promised himself. And I’ll be back with Deet.

As he made his way to the edge of town, a voice broke through the morning silence. “Thought you could give us the slip, eh?”

Rian’s heart lifted at the sound. He turned to see his friends gathered behind him. “What are you all doing up so early?” He hurried back to them with a smile on his face. “You’re not planning on coming with me, are you?”

He was of two minds about that. On the one hand, he appreciated the support and the company. Plus, traveling in a group would be safer, should they run into any trouble. But, he needed to travel light and move quick if he wanted to catch up to Deet. Besides, the other gelfling would need leadership if they were to defeat the Skeksis for good.

“No,” Seladon clarified. “There’s too much to do while the Skeksis still reign.”

“And someone needs to make sure the clans are still standing when you get back,” Naia added.

He nodded. Of course, Deet was only one mission in this great game. They each had their own paths to follow. He could only hope they’d all lead back together again.

“We wanted to see you off,” Kylan said. “And wish you good fortune on your journey.”

Gurjin smiled. “And you didn’t really think you could leave without saying goodbye, did you?”

“Thank you, all of you,” Rian said, his heart full. “I know we all have our parts to play. I wish you all good fortune as well and that, someday, we will all meet again in happier times.”

“I wanted to give you this.” Brea stepped forward and handed him a little leather-bound book.

“Your journal? Are you sure?”

“I’ve written a lot about Thra’s history in there. The Skeksis have tried to stamp out much of it, but I want to restore it to all gelfling. Knowledge can be a powerful tool against a cunning foe. I hope it will help you on your journey.”

“Thank you. I’ll make good use of it.”

“I know you will.” Tears welled up in Brea’s eyes and she pulled Rian into a hug. “Bring her back.”

“I will,” he vowed, his resolve hardening even more.

“You’d better,” Gurjin said, his smirk doing a poor job of hiding his fears. Rian transferred from Brea’s arms to Gurjin’s. “Watching you make a fool of yourself over a gelfling you fancy is one of life’s greatest joys.”

Rian let out a breathy laugh. “There’ll be plenty of time for that.” He’d wonder how Grujin knew, but they’d been best friends long enough to become familiar with each other’s subtleties. He was sure Gurjin could read him as easily as he could read Gurjin.

His best friend released him and Naia stepped up next. “Deet’s a sweet girl,” Naia said, hugging him. “If you let anything happen to her, I’ll have your head.”

“I’d deserve it,” Rian answered.

When Naia was finished, Kylan took his turn to embrace Rian. “I know you’ll do everything you can to keep her safe but remember to keep yourself safe as well.”

“I’ll try.”

He stepped away from Kylan and found himself faced with Seladon. She was their All Maudra now, but in that moment, she looked shy and nervous. He could understand why. Most of them barely knew her. She was summoned to the Crystal with them, but she refused its first call. Their little band of friends had been through so much together. Perhaps she felt like an outsider.

She stepped forward but made no move to embrace him like the others did. “When you find Deet, tell her…” she cast her eyes downward, “tell her I’m sorry for treating her so poorly when we first met.”

“You’ll be able to tell her yourself.” He strode forward and embraced her. “I swear it.” Whatever mistakes she made in the past, she fought alongside them in their battle again the Skeksis. She was his sister in arms now. If they were to ever win the war, they needed to stay together.

The hug ended and he stepped back to see the sad smiles on their faces. He was grateful for them all. Their seeing him off was not only a testament to when great friends they were, but to how much they all loved Deet. “Thank you, all of you. When we next meet, I’ll bring happier news. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Gurjin smirked. “Go on, now. Go be a hero.”

Rian took one more look at his friends, then turned to head out of town. They called out their final farewells to him. Each one filled his heart with hope as he disappeared into the Endless Forrest.

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 9

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

Author’s note: Real quick, I just wanna say thanks for all the kind messages/comments you guys have been sending me on tumblr and AO3. I really enjoy writing this fic, and it makes it all the better when I know you’re enjoying it too. So thanks again for the support. Means the world to me <3

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FORANGAL CASTLE

THE DINING HALL

“I’m afraid there’s no shortage of Danes in Wedenscire, Aegenwulf.” Raedan said as the two conversed across the table. “Over these past few weeks, I’ve been seeing more and more of them crawling all over the place. It’s almost as if they’re migrating like a bloody flock of birds. It makes you wonder whether these Danes are local, or if they come from somewhere else.”

Aegenwulf took a sip from his goblet. “No Dane is local to England, my friend. They are all invaders; all outsiders.”

Bishop Hundwerth raised his cup in agreement. “Very true, my lord.”

Raedan furrowed his brow. “Well, unfortunately, regardless of wherever they may hail from, it seems that the Northmen have planted their roots rather deeply in our lands. I doubt they’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“Any ideas on how to get them out?”

The thegn shrugged. “You know the vikings as well as I do. Those bastards are as fierce in political dialogue as they are in war. It won’t be easy to drive them out of this kingdom. The only language they understand is battle.”

“Then we would do well to keep our tongues as sharp as our blades.”

Lady Moira joined in. “Please, Raedan. Save the discussions of politics for the war room, and let us enjoy this meal that Aegenwulf’s people have been kind enough to prepare for us. We’ve all had a long journey, and I think we’d like a moment to rest.”

Her husband stepped down from his conversation, letting out a sigh. “Ah... forgive me, my love. My head is filled to the brim with warfare nowadays. I fear I have forgotten how to engage in casual chatter. But you’re right. We’ll have plenty of time to worry about all that later. For now, let us feast on this fine food that they’ve lain out for us before I become some bare-chinned ponce.”

The ealdorman chuckled. “Still the same Raedan, even after all these years.” He raised his goblet. “To your health, old friend.”

Raedan smiled warmly at that. “Thank you.” 

Clinking their cups together, the two Saxons engaged in a friendly toast and downed the rest of their drinks, merrily enjoying each other’s company.

Meanwhile, Edric and the twins sat at the other end of the table and talked with Moira and her children, sticking to their own conversation as the food slowly vanished from their plates. 

The gathering wasn’t quite as riveting as Edric would’ve liked, and Algar’s presence at the table admittedly worried him somewhat, but it was still more enjoyable than being stuck in the war room all day. He had grown tired of the constant debates and discussions of death, so it was a pleasant change of pace to take a break from all that.

He only wondered if Sigurd would decide to join them.

“So tell me,” Moira said, delicately cutting into a piece of meat, “how have things been in Forangal? Everything is going well, I hope?”

“As well as they can be, I suppose.” Edric replied. “Our people are strained due to the war, but we’re doing our best to push through it.”

“That’s good. And how have you been faring, Edric? I’ve spoken to your siblings quite a bit already, but you and I haven’t had the chance to catch up. Are things well for you? I imagine you’ve acquired an abundance of new responsibilities now that you’re older.”

The young man chuckled. “An understatement. These days, I spend most of my time joining my father’s side at the war table. If things keep going on like this, I may even join him on the battlefield soon.”

Edlynne cocked her head at him. “I certainly hope not. I’d feel much better knowing you were safe within Forangal’s walls.”

Henry gave a timid nod of agreement. “As would I. You’re dear to us all, Edric. I’d hate to see you thrown into the midst of all the chaos out there.”

A sour look spread across Moira’s face. “Well, it definitely doesn’t help when you have a Norseman wandering around the castle. Are you certain it’s wise to keep... oh, what’s his name -- Sigurd here? You’re sure you can trust him?”

Edric had a feeling this would come up sooner or later. “I know you didn’t get the best first impression of him, Lady Moira, but I assure you he means no harm. He is a good man.”

“I just think it’d be best if you found a man of Christ to protect you,” she countered, “rather than someone from such a questionable background. I mean, where did you even find him?”

Edlynne jumped in. “We didn’t find Sigurd. It was a fisherman in Agenbury who saved his life.”

“Saved his life?”

“Aye,” Edric said. “He was wounded when he washed up on the shore; barely breathing, in fact. A man named Wilfred rescued him, but his treatment wasn’t enough to keep Sigurd alive. So, we brought him back to the castle in order to let Linette take care of him. He’s been eager to repay us for our help ever since.”

Moira’s expression flattened with skepticism. “Hmm. Well, as long as he’s doing his job. Still, I’d advise you to be cautious. The vikings aren’t known for having a protective nature, after all.”

Edric decided to stifle his frustration for the moment. “...Of course, my lady. I--” he paused for a second, perking his head up in interest, “--well, speak of the Devil. Here he is.”

Turning around to face the door, everyone in the dining room brought their attention to the entrance upon hearing Edric’s remark, only to find Sigurd himself strolling through the archway. 

He wasn’t wearing any armor like he normally did on a day-to-day basis, and it appeared as if he actually made an effort to clean up. There didn’t seem to be a speck of dirt dotting his face, and a fine tunic had replaced the shell of metal that usually covered his body.

Edric beamed brightly at Sigurd, welcoming him with a smile.

“Sigurd! You decided to come.”

The viking took a hesitant step into the room, clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable. “I did.”

Edric gestured to the spot next to him. “Well, have a seat then. I’ll pour you a drink.”

Walking past the guards as he ventured further into the hall, Sigurd’s eyes briefly flicked to the opposite side when he noticed Gjuki slipping in through another pair of doors, sticking to the shadows. The room had gone completely quiet ever since their arrival, but it didn’t look like anyone had caught on to what they were doing just yet.

Odin willing, it would stay that way.

Sitting down beside Edric at the table, Sigurd quietly observed the people around him and shifted awkwardly in his seat, admittedly feeling incredibly out of place. Even though he was more familiar with Forangal’s occupants nowadays, he couldn’t deny that Raedan’s family put him on edge -- even with Edric at his side.

They were nothing more than a set of new faces to Sigurd, after all. Raedan’s name meant nothing to him in this war, and it was obvious that his wife wasn’t too fond of him either. 

He supposed he would just have to get used to it.

“You’re very tall.” Sibley suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Edric poured some wine into Sigurd’s cup, chuckling at the comment. “He is, isn’t he? A proper giant, this man. Still, you look nice this evening, Sigurd. You clean up better than I would’ve expected.”

The compliment allowed him to relax a bit. “You think? I guess there is hope for me, after all.”

“So it would seem.”

Moira’s beady gaze instantly locked onto the viking. “...Ah. Sigurd. You and I met briefly at the main gate yesterday. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here after our... introduction. What brings you here tonight?”

“Edric invited me.”

“Did he?”

The young man spoke up. “Yes. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

The woman’s lips pursed in annoyance, and she threw a side glance at Sigurd. “No, of course not. So long as he minds his manners.”

The viking returned the comment with a glare. “The same could be said for you, my lady.”

Edric froze at the retort, already regretting this situation he had created.

“Sigurd...!” He whispered in a cautionary tone.

The other man let out a quiet sigh, deciding to hold himself back for the moment.

“...Forgive me,” Sigurd apologized, his voice stiff with reluctance, “I fear I can be rather... hasty with my words sometimes.”

Moira’s stare only seemed to sharpen in response to the apology, but she decided to drop the conversation nonetheless. Despite her husband’s silence, she could see that Raedan was unhappy with her animosity towards Sigurd, and she did not wish to cause a scene in front of her children. 

Algar, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more amused by the display.

“Have no fear, Lady Moira,” the housecarl joked. “Sigurd may look intimidating, but in truth, he’s about as harmful as a newborn pup. You and your family will be just fine.”

Initially, Sigurd planned to ignore the taunt and simply carry on with his meal, but once he noticed Gjuki approaching Algar from the shadows, he knew he had to keep the man’s attention away from him, lest they both be killed.

“Is your life so devoid of purpose that you must resort to taunting me all day, Algar?” He asked, distracting him. “Or is this simply a new hobby of yours?”

Algar chuckled. “Struck a nerve, did I? I apologize. It’s unbecoming of me to attack a man who’s already down. After all, I know you can scarcely lift a sword these days.”

“Neither can you, it seems. It appears that your foes have a habit of... getting back up.”

Edric finally snapped.

“Enough, both of you.” He said firmly, setting his cup down on the table. “Is it so hard to look past your differences for one night? I invited Sigurd here because I trust him as a friend. He is here at my behest, and I would not see him disrespected. Now, please...” Edric let out a breath, “...no more bickering. We’ve got plenty of that outside of these walls already.”

Backing down from their heated altercation, both Sigurd and Algar decided to put the matter to rest for now and quietly returned to their meals, still eyeing each other from across the table.

Meanwhile, Gjuki gently snuck a hand into the pouch hanging from the housecarl’s belt and quickly patted around it, only to take out a peculiar-looking object once he found what he was searching for.

It didn’t resemble any key Sigurd had ever seen in his life, and the shape was undeniably rather odd, but the bard seemed to recognize it, so he assumed it must’ve been the same one mentioned in that mysterious note.

Gjuki gave the viking a subtle nod and began heading out the door, beckoning Sigurd to follow him once he had the chance.

“Sigurd?” Edric said privately, tearing the man’s gaze away from his hidden friend.

“I-- yes?” He replied, his tone now coated with a hint of urgency. “What is it?”

The nobleman examined him for a moment. “...Are you alright? You seem... distracted.”

Sigurd brought himself back to the current gathering and pushed his thoughts to the side, attempting to conceal his eagerness to see what Gjuki had discovered.

“I’m fine, Edric. Just... tired from the day is all.”

The Saxon didn’t seem to notice Gjuki. “Well, I don’t blame you. I know things have been tough for you lately. But put all that aside for now. Tonight, we feast. Let us cast aside our worries, and simply enjoy the evening.” He raised his goblet in the air. “To our loved ones, and the hope that we may see them again someday.”

Sigurd smiled at Edric, picking up his drink. “Skål.”

Tapping their cups together, the two of them emptied their goblets in a lively toast and carried on with the night, doing their best to stay in high spirits despite Algar’s presence. Even though Sigurd was mainly there to act as a distraction for the housecarl, he couldn’t deny that he genuinely found joy being in Edric’s company.

The man was just... everything he wanted. He made Sigurd feel like he mattered. He made him feel safe.

There were many things the viking found himself worrying about nowadays, but with Edric there to help guide him through it, Sigurd honestly wished he could’ve stayed in Forangal a little longer. And that frightened him.

These people were supposed to be his enemies; his targets. They were the ones responsible for the destruction of his clan, and yet... Sigurd couldn’t bring himself to hate them.

Of course, he wouldn’t object to seeing Algar’s head on a pike -- and he had his own grudges to hold when it came to Aegenwulf -- but everyone else in the castle struck him as no more than regular civilians. They were just other human beings trying to survive in this godforsaken war, and a part of Sigurd’s conscience shriveled up in remorse at the idea of harming them.

They didn’t deserve death, nor did they deserve Eivor’s wrath. But Sigurd knew that without the chance to witness their compassion face-to-face, his brother would be less inclined to show them mercy.

He would have to find some way to bring them to an understanding. He had no doubts that Eivor’s wounds remained fresh after everything that transpired in Ravensthorpe, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught in the middle.

There was good and bad on both sides of this battle, and he prayed he’d be able to make Gjuki see that. That man was the one thing keeping the brothers in touch, and in the end, Eivor’s impression of Forangal depended on him.

He was the only reason Eivor had any idea of what was happening in Wedenscire, and Sigurd could only hope that his messages weren’t being twisted with malice. 

Otherwise, he dreaded to imagine what awaited them in the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Stepping gently through the lengthy corridors, Sigurd followed the amber glow of the flicking torches as their flames danced softly against the walls, dimly lighting the floor so that he could see where he was going.

It had been a few minutes ever since the feast ended, and Gjuki all but vanished from the dining hall after stealing the key, but upon taking his leave, Sigurd found a note telling him to return to his chambers.

He didn’t know if something was wrong, or if the invitation was a trap, but regardless of what awaited him in the near future, Sigurd knew he’d have to face it eventually.

Everything he and Gjuki had worked for thus far was riding on this plan, and if something had gone awry, he wished to figure out what it was sooner than later. There was no telling what would happen if Algar learned of their schemes after all, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught with his hands tied.

“...Gjuki?” Sigurd said quietly as he walked into his quarters, opening the door as subtly as possible. 

There weren’t any guards patrolling in the vicinity at the moment, and most of Forangal’s people seemed to be asleep by now, but the viking still wanted to be cautious. Algar could’ve been lurking around somewhere in the shadows for all he knew, and he didn’t fancy the idea of bumping into him again.

“Ah, there you are, Lone Wolf,” the bard replied from Sigurd’s bed, free from the confines of his helm. “I thought those Saxons would never let you go.”

The other man shut the door behind closed him, keeping his voice low lest it seep out into the corridor.

“You found the key, yes? Did anyone notice you on the way out?”

Gjuki smirked, holding the key in the air for Sigurd to see. “Not a single soul. It’s as if I was never there. Honestly, the most difficult part of the theft was having to endure Lady Moira’s bleating. How anyone deals with that woman is beyond me.”

Sigurd sighed. “Well, I’d rather take her over Algar any day. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is you were able to find the key. Do you know where to use it?”

The bard stood up from the bed. “I have yet to find an exact location, but there is enough in Algar’s note that I should be able to track it down. Apparently, this crypt of his is somewhere near Forangal, but hidden well enough that most people simply stroll right past it. It’s difficult to find even when you know what to look for.”

The viking stepped next to Gjuki, observing the key in his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gjuki thought for a moment. “Hmm. Not much, I’m afraid. All I would ask is that you proceed with your life as compliantly as possible. Do what the Saxons say. Follow their commands. Keep your head down. I know it’s... an unfavorable approach, but if I’m going to rummage through Algar’s belongings and find out what he’s hiding, I’ll need you to make sure that his suspicion stays low.”

Sigurd nodded, admittedly somewhat annoyed at the thought of having to take Moira’s insults without fighting back. “...If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Sigurd. I promise, I’ll return to you as soon as I discover something. Just keep an eye on that pier I mentioned. When I’m ready to meet you again, I’ll light the brazier. I think it’s best if we go over Algar’s secrets in private.”

“Understood.”

Gjuki slipped the key back into his pocket, striding towards the door. “Good. Then I best be off. In the meantime, I’ll also prepare for Broder’s return.”

The viking raised a brow. “Broder? Who’s that?” 

“Oh, I never told you his name, did I? Forgive me. He’s a Dane aiding me in this investigation. He too comes from East Anglia. I sent him back to report to Eivor on the day I first met you, but I imagine he’ll be making his way back now. I’ll tell him of what you and I have accomplished here.”

A thought suddenly crossed Sigurd’s mind, causing him to stop Gjuki in his tracks.

“Wait, Gjuki. Before you leave...”

The bard glanced over his shoulder. “Hm? What is it, Lone Wolf?”

“Earlier, back in the courtyard, you told me Eivor was planning to attack Forangal Castle. That he wanted revenge.”

Gjuki nodded. “Yes, but it’s going to take some time. He’ll need more allies before he can muster the strength necessary to assault this fortress.”

A concerned look spread across Sigurd’s face. “Well, when you get the chance, let him know that there are good people here. Tell him that not all of them deserve to be killed, and that not everyone here is our enemy.”

The other man chuckled and crossed his arms. “...You truly believe that, don’t you?”

Sigurd shrugged, confused about Gjuki’s reaction. “And why shouldn’t I? Is there something you know that I don’t?”

The bard lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking in a manner similar to that of a snake.

“I see the way these Saxons look at you when your back is turned to them. I see the way they mock our gods, and twist your mind. They would lock you in a cage next to their dogs if they could, and yet, they chain you with an illusion of friendship because that’s the only thing that’ll keep you from retaliating.”

The viking shook his head. “You have the wrong idea, Gjuki. Even though there are some people here who would see me dead, there are also those who would defend me. Like Edric and his siblings.”

The bard laughed. “You don’t even realize that you’re being indoctrinated, do you? I know you care for Edric, but he is not your friend, Sigurd. I heard your conversation with him in the courtyard. You haven’t even been here for a month and he’s already asking you to convert to Christianity. Don’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to turn you into a thrall.”

Sigurd placed his hands on his hips, growing somewhat concerned about Gjuki’s paranoia. “No, he isn’t. Edric asked me to consider Christianity, yes, but he’s not forcing me into it.”

The other man wasn’t convinced. “...Not yet.”

Gjuki looked Sigurd directly in the eye, practically piercing through his gaze.

“Listen to me carefully, Lone Wolf. Even though I know my words will carry little meaning in a time like this, I still think you need to hear them. Before I met your brother, I was a slave to a Dane called Rued who used to reside in East Anglia. He was an argr rat, and spoke with a forked tongue. He did the same thing that these Saxons are doing to you. He displayed enough brutality so that we would stay in our place, but offered us the occasional ‘reward’ to keep us obedient. He was our friend from time to time, but mainly our oppressor.”

“This...” Gjuki continued, gesturing to the room around them, “...is your reward. And that...” he pointed to Sigurd’s suit of armor, “...is your leash. So take my advice. Break free from the binds that they have put on your hugr, and be ready to strike when the time comes. These Saxons are nothing more than vipers, and you’d do best to remember that. Trust me, I would know.”

Putting their conversation to an end, Gjuki decided he had said enough and began making his way out the door, leaving Sigurd with one last piece of advice.

“I know none of this is your fault, Sigurd, but do not forget where you come from, nor what started all this. You are only here because the gods were kind enough to spare you, not because these Saxons wanted you to live. So the next time Edric offers you his friendship, remember, his father would’ve killed you in a heartbeat if everything went according to plan. A hatred like that doesn’t disappear just because you raise a sword in his name.”

Gjuki pulled the door open, suddenly trapped in an uncommonly dour mood.

“Farewell for now, Sigurd. I pray that the gods will be merciful in the days to come, and I hope that you and Eivor will be able to reunite soon. It isn’t too late to recover from this mess yet, but time waits for no one. And it certainly won’t wait for you.”

[cdelphiki]

Tim didn’t like the think about that night. 

It was painful enough just having happened. 

When he landed on the roof, his jaw aching and his lip bleeding, he had looked up and looked around and realized something. 

He was absolutely alone. 

In his own family. He was alone. 

But, no. It was worse than alone. 

Alone was back when he was living with Jack and Janet. Alone was puttering around a mansion, shifting between boarding schools and nannies and a housekeeper who checked in on him during the day and left him to his own devices at night. 

Yeah, being alone sucked, but Tim knew how to be alone. He thrived there. He’d been alone his entire life. 

This was worse than alone. This was…. unappreciated. This was mistreated. This was disliked. This was despised.

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

If Bruce didn’t appreciate his love and devotion, then fine. Tim was done offering it. He put himself out there again and again, sacrificed himself for his family over and over, gave everything he had just to be pushed aside every single time. 

Every. Single. Time.

Tim was tired of always being the one pushed aside. Everyone was more important than him in this family. Damian was younger and cuter. Jason was bigger and stronger. Dick was older and wiser. Tim was… he was just there. He was a placeholder. Someone to sacrifice when needed. 

Toss aside. 

Ignore.

And now. Now, he was a punching bag, apparently. 

Because when he looked around, no one said anything. He saw a couple shocked faces, sure, but no one said a damn thing. 

It was just another night. Bruce was hurting. Bruce was broken. Everyone needed to move on and not press his buttons anymore. Be nice to Bruce and comfort Bruce.

What about Tim? 

Bruce didn’t even look sorry. 

That’s probably what set Tim off, most. 

Internally, of course, because externally all he did was wipe the blood off his face and stand, a little shakily. 

All this time. All these years. Everything. Tim had given Bruce everything. Even his name. He’d changed his name to Tim Wayne and given his all to help Bruce in his mission to save Gotham. 

But did any of it matter?

No.

Because Tim didn’t matter. All that mattered was Bruce and his hurts.

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

He didn’t have to take it, either. He wasn’t that little boy, all alone in a mansion, craving the attention of anyone who gave him the time of day. 

Tim was an adult now. Well… in the eyes of the law at least. Emancipated was an adult, even if he was still only 16. 

But he was an adult, and he had friends. 

Friends he knew loved him and cared about him. He didn’t need Bruce or anyone else in this stupid ‘family.’ He’d be just fine without them. 

When no one said anything for a solid minute after he stood, Tim decided he was done. He rolled his shoulders, took out his grapple, and made his way back to his apartment with a quickly swelling eye. 

The entire right side of his face felt both numb and on fire. It wasn’t a foreign feeling to him, but knowing Bruce had done it. On purpose. Out of anger. Just made it….

Tim didn’t want to think about it.

He was so tired of it all. So tired of giving so much of himself to just be hurt over and over. 

But he didn’t have to keep going this way. And when he arrived back at his apartment and changed out of uniform, he debated whether he’d ever work with the family again. Work under Batman. 

And looking at his puffy face in the mirror, he asked why he’d ever started in the first place.

Because was it honestly worth it?

- - - 

The first thing Tim did was change his name.

He’d always kind of hated himself, anyway, for changing it to Tim Wayne, back when Bruce adopted him. It had been the reason for one of his breakdowns, after all. Tim Wayne. 

No one had cared about that break of his, either, now had they?

Honestly, he just felt like an idiot for being strung along so long. But who was he kidding? No one had ever asked for Tim to be around. He just planted himself in the family. Pushed his way in and insisted he be included in everything. 

Like a fungus. 

It was no wonder he got back nothing but hurt. 

But that didn’t matter. He had his friends. They made him happy. They loved him and wanted him around. Why would he need anyone else?

His lawyer had looked more than mildly alarmed, though, when Tim met with him the following Monday.

The swelling in his face had disappeared by then, but the bruise had fully blossomed and looked rather painful. Deep purple right at the jawline, right where Bruce’s knuckle had hit, softening out to lighter purple and greens, the further away from the center one looked. 

It was clearly a fist print, too. 

And it took up a good fourth of his face. 

“Mr. Drake,” his lawyer, Esteban, had said, “if- if Mr. Wayne…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said. He had purposely not covered the bruise in anticipation of the meeting. He knew what image it would broadcast. And he didn’t care. It would help his case, make his lawyer more sympathetic, mean there was no argument over the decision. Removing ‘Wayne’ from their name in Gotham, after all, was not something anyone had ever done. 

Wayne was a powerful name. Even more powerful when Bruce Wayne himself had given it. 

But Tim was done with Bruce Wayne. He was ready to just be Tim Drake. 

Tim Drake. Robin. A member of Young Justice.

Maybe he should think about his superhero name, now. Disconnect himself completely from Batman. 

He had certainly already disconnected himself from all of Bruce’s assets. It was probably only a matter of time before Bruce himself cut Tim off, so he’d just taken the initiative. 

It’s not like he couldn’t support himself on his own. Yeah, Drake Industries had gone bankrupt when Jack was still alive, but Tim had been working on it. And, ever since he became the primary shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, he’d been squirreling away as much as he could without arousing suspicion. 

He had more than enough to live for the next twenty years without changing his spending habits. If he put himself on a budget, though? He could live indefinitely. There was no need to be attached to Bruce’s accounts.

Besides, he took some pleasure in cutting every one of Bruce’s credit cards in half and placing them all in an envelope to mail to Bruce. Just so he could be sure, himself, that Tim was done with him.

“We can press charges,” Esteban said, after taking a breath and putting his best ‘lawyer face’ on, “if that is why, we should press charges. He still has another kid at home.”

“You’ve signed a NDA,” Tim reminded him, “just get my name changed.”

“Which doesn’t apply to child abuse,” Esteban said, “Which you knew.”

Tim did know that. He also didn’t care if his lawyer reported it. Damian didn’t need to be living with Bruce, anyway. And Bruce deserved whatever scrutiny such a report would bring down on him. Tim almost didn’t even care if it exposed Batman.

That ‘almost’ was the only thing keeping him from reporting it himself, to get Damian out of there.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a child. And Bruce didn’t do this. So relax.”

Damian could take care of himself, Tim was sure. He lived with the Teen Titans half the time, anyway. Plus the Kents adored him. They’d watch out for him.

Besides, it’s not like Bruce didn’t want Damian around, right? He loved Damian. So Damian had nothing to worry about.

Except…

He hadn’t really chosen Damian. The boy had kind of just… appeared. And stuck himself to Bruce. Demanded to be made heir and everything else. 

So there was a chance he would end up in the same boat…

Maybe he should report it…

But if Tim told Kon, he was fairly certain Kon would tell Clark, who would deal with Bruce himself. Clark was Bruce’s best friend, but he knew Clark would protect Damian from Bruce if he felt it necessary. There was no way he’d stand for Bruce hitting any of his allies. Especially not one he claimed as a ‘son,’ no matter how superficial the paperwork was.

Yeah. That was the perfect plan. 

That’s what he’d do. 

“Then who did it, Tim?”Esteban asked, gently, as if he were going to get Tim to open up and talk by simply being kind. 

Smiling his ‘Tim Wayne’ smile, Tim just said, “Timothy Jackson Drake is what I want my legal name to be.” 

As soon as he was done cutting himself off completely, he’d call Kon and talk to him. Then he’d start his new life, working with Young Justice and maybe finding a profession. 

The more he thought about it, the more excited he got about his life on his own.

It would be nice to live for himself for once.

- - - 

Weeks passed. 

No one seemed to understand why Tim left.

Even though he told himself no one wanted him around in the first place, he’d still been expecting… something. Someone to react to him leaving. To miss him for him. Not for what he was ‘doing to Bruce.’ 

But Bruce acted like nothing happened. When the media went crazy over the revelation that Tim severed ties, sold his shares back to Bruce, and changed his name, Bruce refused to comment. And still hadn’t said anything about it.

That didn’t stop the various members of the batfamily from trying to convince him to stop ‘hurting the family’ and ‘making everything worse’ by ‘blowing everything out of proportion.’ 

Honestly, Tim was tired of them all. 

‘That’s just how Bruce is,’ Babs had said.

‘He was upset,’ Helena explained. 

‘Dude lost everything,’ Duke reasoned. 

‘Master Tim, you must understand-’ Alfred had started, but Tim hung up on him.

Tim didn’t bother to ask Damian his opinion. 

No one understood, and Tim was done trying to explain it to them.

If he could go the rest of his life without thinking about it or Bruce again, he’d live a happy life. 

He didn’t need any of them, anyway.

Jason, though?

Well. Tim had not been planning on Jason. He was fine alone. Because, again, he had his friends. 

But someone told Jason.

Tim wasn’t sure who, but someone did. It was obvious, by the mere fact that Jason Todd was in his apartment, in the dark, waiting for Tim to get home.

It had been almost a month. 

And while he and Jason might not have had a bad relationship, they hadn’t been much more than friendly acquaintances. Ever. At best.

Hostile enemies at worst.

“Welcome to the club, kid,” Jason said, not even looking up when Tim cut the light on to reveal Jason sitting sideways in the armchair, one leg slung up over the side, as he read something on his kindle. One of the ones that lit up.

Tim didn’t really like kindles. He wasn’t a huge fan of reading, in general, but he definitely didn’t like kindles. Tim would have never guessed that Jason, being a book nerd, used a kindle. He kind of seemed like the kind of dork who would prefer to smell the books, or something, while reading.

“Go away,” Tim said flatly, as he dropped his bag down on the ground and went to fix himself something to eat. He’d been away on a mission with his team for the last week. All he wanted to do was eat a bowl of something. Soup, probably. Lie on the couch and eat it while he watched something light and funny, then fall asleep. Possibly right there on the couch. 

Talking to Jason was not any of those things. 

“Heard you cut ties to Bat completely,” Jason said, “Gotta say. I’m impressed.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he looked through the various cans of soup he had in the cupboard, before he picked a hardy chicken and rice thing. “Don’t care. Go away.”

“Bat’s pissed, of course,” Jason said, as if Tim hadn’t said anything, “it’s kind of great.”

He watched his bowl spin in the microwave, while trying to blow Jason up with sheer willpower. Maybe if he thought hard enough, he’d discover latent super power abilities and make Jason disappear. 

It could happen. 

“But what I don’t get is: What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Tim echoed, spinning to stare at Jason, “What the fuck do you mean, what did I do?”

“To piss him off.” 

“Does it matter?” 

It’s not like it took much to piss Bruce off enough to be on the receiving end of a blow. The more Tim thought about it, the more surprised he was it’d taken as long as it did. Bruce had hit both Jason and Dick many times while angry. And Bruce actually chose both of them. Right from the beginning. 

“Well, sure. You always seemed like a goody-goody to me. Daddy’s perfect little solider. What could you possibly do to-”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim shouted, “Just like you didn’t do anything, and Dick didn’t do anything to deserve it. No one-”

“Let’s be fair here, Timbo. I tried to kill a dude.” 

“So?” Tim asked, shaking his head, “Why does that make it okay for Bruce, your literal Dad, to attack you?”

Jason opened his mouth, but then just blinked at Tim. 

He’d never really- They didn’t use that word. Tim wasn’t sure why he used that word. 

But, that’s what he was, wasn’t it? Even if he only adopted them out of convenience. Or obligation. That’s what he was. 

Bruce was the one who was there for parental guidance, right? He’d signed Tim’s report cards and everything. Gone to his school performances. Attended parent-teacher conferences. Taken him out for pizza and ice cream and to the movies. 

There had been good times. Several years of good times. Tim had felt… wanted. And loved. For years. Bruce even said he loved him. Loved them all. 

And yet, here they were. 

Dealing with the repercussions of living in a lie.

“He- He-” Tim said, absolutely flabbergasted by Jason’s apparent… acceptance? Of all this? Out of all the people in the world, Tim thought Jason would understand. 

Abuse was abuse. It was wrong. Regardless of what the victim did. Or who they were. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, as his hand started to shake. He stepped forward and gripped onto one of the bar stools at his island, and kept going, “And that’s what no one seems to get.”

And Bruce had… Bruce had abused him. 

That’s what this was. It wasn’t just an attack. It wasn’t just….and… he’d done it to Jason before him. And Dick before that. 

It didn’t matter how he came into Bruce’s life. What he’d ever done. Bruce had adopted him. Bruce had adopted them all. 

“Parents are supposed to- Dads are supposed to- supposed to love their kids,” Tim said, his voice quieting with each word, as his focus slipped from Jason, to off in the distance. 

Bruce was their dad. And he was abusive. 

“Tim.” 

“I was just telling him I cared,” Tim snapped, angry Jason was making him feel things when all he wanted was some soup and an episode of The Simpsons. Or, maybe something like Futurama would be better. “And he just- he just…”

“Tim.”

Bruce had attacked him. 

For trying to say he cared about him. 

All Tim had done was love his dad, and that was how Bruce reciprocated. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim whispered, letting go of the bar stool to wipe at his eyes.

Jason slowly got up and came to the counter, then sat down on the other side of the island. He placed his hands on the counter, then splayed out his fingers while he stared at them.

Tim never had a good example of a parent. His parents had loved him, he was sure, but they weren’t very good parents. He realized that, now. They cared more about their careers than they did about Tim. So when Bruce came around and actually talked to him. Spent time with him. Smiled at him, as if just his presence was enough to make Bruce happy, Tim had been absolutely overjoyed. Enamored with his new dad.

But Bruce had never been a good parent, either. Had he? 

Nothing like Jack and Janet, but still unfit in his own ways. 

Abusive in his own ways.

Eventually, long after the microwave had beeped, and Tim had ignored it in favor of staring at Jason’s hands, too, while he tried to keep his vision from blurring any further, Jason said, “Sorry, kid.” 

“It was wrong,” Tim said numbly, and Jason just nodded, “it was wrong when he did it to you, too.”

At that, Jason scrubbed at his own eye, just briefly, before he seemed to realize he was doing it and put his hand back down on the counter. “It’s whatever,” he said, so nonchalantly that Tim realized Jason was a much better actor than he’d ever realized. 

“He’s our dad,” Tim whispered.

“Yeah.”

Tim didn’t know much about good parents, but he did know one thing. “That’s not how Dads are supposed to be.” 

[megalony]

Second chances- Part 1

This is a Four/ Billy series from 6 Underground which I fell in love with as soon as I watched it. I hope you all will enjoy it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms 

Summary: (Y/n) believes being in the group is her second chance and Billy starts to believe it was his chance too as it brought (Y/n) into his life. But their newest mission is far from easy.

Note: (Y/n) is Two in this imagine.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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

"You can be such a piece of shit sometimes." The words passed through (Y/n)'s lips before her mind had a chance to filter what she was going to say or clamp her lips together to calm herself down.

She felt her skin heating up faster than the cool wisps of breeze could cool her prickling skin down from the flickering flames eating her up from the inside out. The tiny splashes of saltwater sprayed against her skin and the scent flooded her nostrils as she turned so her back was facing the other four people on the boat with her.

The dark leaf green bottle of beer started to sway in her left hand from the breeze and the way her fingers started to shake despite the tight grip which she had them clasped around the neck of the bottle. Moving her other hand, (Y/n) raked her fingers through her hair, scratching her nails against her scalp in a coping mechanism that she knew wasn't working, nor had it ever really worked. It had simply become one of her habits that she couldn't shake, less she wanted her anxiety to build up and take over.

"I'm sorry? What would you like me to say?" One quipped, planting his hands on his hips as he ticked his head to the side.

(Y/n) couldn't figure out how he could seem so calm and so sassy right now when they had literally just dumped Six's body over the side of the deck. He seemed to act like this was a game or that it didn't matter but no matter what One said, he couldn't believe the lies he had told himself and the rest of them.

None of them could truly go around thinking they were dead. Their identities had been buried but they were here, they were still standing and that was the truth. Six was dead, he was in a body bag slowly sinking down to the floor of the ocean. That was real death and One didn't comprehend the situation they found themselves in. He wasn't dealing with this like he should, they had just lost one of their own and whether he liked it or not, the rest of them felt like they were a family and that was how it should be.

"You spout all that shit about us being dead but you don't listen to yourself. Six is dead, you have just buried him, the actual him, not his identity. This is life, One or whatever your name is. We are all alive, we are here and we are living and no matter what identity we give or take, this is our lives. Don't talk about him like he's some disposable tissue you just dumped in the trash."

(Y/n) wasn't asking One to change his thoughts or give a eulogy for Six, she was simply asking that he acted like they did just lose one of their own rather than a tissue he had used and disposed of.

If this was the way things went around here, (Y/n) didn't know if she could cope with this. She didn't want to dump people and be frowned upon for crying over them, she didn't want to think of them simply leaving or throwing her body away when she eventually passed away. It wasn't okay to act like this and it wasn't human to try and act like they were actually ghosts roaming the world to try and do some good.

"He knew what he was walking into in this game, we all did. We are ghosts now Two and he already had his funeral. What do you want me to say? He lived a long life, he will be missed, he had a good job-"

"We are five people who decided to boycott the Government and scrap our identities. We are not dead, we are not ghosts, we have deleted our ties to the world so we will remain anonymous. We are still people, One, and I will miss him."

Without thinking, (Y/n) raised her hand before swinging her arm around and letting go of the neck of the bottle. Her eyes not wavering once as she watched the glass shatter into splinters and fragments across the white glimmering floor of the boat.

They had all faked their deaths so that society will delete their information and mark them as not important. They had gotten rid of their social ties and any other tie they had to the world and the people it contained. But they still had hearts that were beating and bones that could be broken. All of them still had the same thoughts and opinions and voices and brains that they did before they came into this game of ghosts and justice.

Six was still a person and even though (Y/n) didn't know anything about Six's personal life or his real name or his life, (Y/n) was going to miss him. She was going to miss his nervous but cheeky personality hanging around and the way he drove them around and did whatever he was asked. She would miss someone she hardly knew because he had become part of this messy, unconventional family that they had created.

No one else spoke.

One was the leader, he had formed this unconventional group of people wanting to change the way the world worked and bring justice and goodwill. He created the rules that they didn't say their real names or get involved or too close to anyone else to prevent any complications or grief or tangled wires. One told them that they couldn't have contact with anyone from their lives after joining this group. They couldn't see family or friends in order to keep them safe and make sure they all remained anonymous in the world.

It didn't matter that everyone else agreed with (Y/n), they weren't going to dispute when it wasn't going to do anything.

"Don't take his shit to heart, you know what he's like." Four leaned against the silver railing near the top of the boat where he found (Y/n). He arched his back and bent one of his knees, lowering his head to look at the waves crashing against the boat before he dared to look at the girl standing next to him.

He knew she didn't know Six very well but he could understand why she felt so angered by One and what he said. Not everyone could get along at the best of times but right now, losing Six couldn't have come at a worser time. They had another big mission coming up and they desperately needed six or more people to be on the job or else it made things a lot harder for all of them. Even with six people, they weren't likely to come out of this very well.

"It's not the send-off that annoys me, you know. I get that we can't bury him and that's fine, it's the way he acts. It makes me wonder if this was all worth it... like, if I get shot down next week, what would I of achieved? How would you get rid of me?"

(Y/n) tilted her head to the right, looking at the blond whose green eyes were rather enticing. She wasn't arguing because they didn't bury Six, she knew they couldn't and she didn't really see how burials were so special or such a big thing. It was the fact that they gave Six absolutely no dignity or respect and just dumped him without saying anything. And when Three shed a tear he was immediately called out for that as if it was so wrong to show any emotion, like they were actually supposed to act dead.

If someone shot (Y/n) tomorrow, she didn't dare think about what would happen. She hadn't achieved all that much in her life and she wondered if she, too would be thrown over the side of this boat in a bag to be lost at the bottom of the sea.

"Not everyone gets to achieve stuff in their lives, if you leave a mark on a place or a person, that's good enough, right? And you're not going to die next week so forget about that."

Four knew that there were millions of people in the world that would die without making an impression on the world or making a dint or doing one good thing that people would remember. Lots of people were born and died without anyone knowing and that was the way of the world. But he knew that there was some sort of comfort in knowing that if he personally had made an impact- a good one- on someone's life, then he could die happy.

(Y/n) had impacted on his life the moment he joined this fucked up group and if she did pass, he certainly wouldn't be able to forget her. She had left her mark on him and he was sure she had on many others and that meant part of her would still live when she died.

"Oh yeah, what makes you so sure?" (Y/n) teased as she rose her brow, looking at Four as he flashed his teeth in a shit-eating grin that sent shivers running down her spine.

"You're not dying on my watch." He simply responded before he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. Both of them knew the rule of not getting too close to anyone else in the group, but they couldn't seem to help it. Four made her feel better, he made her feel safe and relaxed and happy and giddy like she was a teenager again. He spoke his mind in a manner that simply made her laugh.

He was curious and plain and damn good at what he did, and for some reason, he was instantly drawn to her too. He liked how fierce she was and how she couldn't help but speak her mind and speak the truth. He loved how she could handle herself and everyone else at the same time, she took care of herself and still had the ability to look out for the team and cover them or help them out.

But mostly, Four loved the way she looked when she was holding a gun.

"I know One spouts that stuff about not talking about the past and whatever, but tell me why you have this." Four moved his free hand towards her top, his eyes locking with her own as he smirked like a shark when he dipped his hand beneath the fabric.

(Y/n) knew he wasn't copping a feel or trying to be too forward, she knew what he was asking about. Her thoughts were confirmed when his fingers latched around the silver chain hanging from her neck that he always saw her tuck into her bra to keep it hidden. Her eyes followed his hand as he pulled his hand from her cleavage to reveal the slightly rusty golden bullet hanging on the end of the chain.

Sharing stories about their old lives wasn't something One wanted them to do because they had given up those lives. In a sense, (Y/n) could understand his logic, the less they knew about one another, the safer they were so there were no slip-ups and so they didn't fall for anyone or get too close and an accident happen. But on the other hand, they were all on the same side and they were in this together. She didn't mind sharing a story or two with Four because they were close already, talking wasn't going to compromise them any more than they already were.

Late nights and frenzied touches and kisses had been swapped between them for the past few weeks as it was. That didn't compromise them on missions, they weren't overly worried about the other or asking them how they were doing or if they needed backup. They were as professional as everyone else and it worked fine.

"I worked in the CIA, we were on a mission but we got ambushed... that was the bullet that got me. One inch lower, and it would have pierced my heart. That's why I'm here, I got a second chance at life and I want to do something with that chance, that's kind of a good luck charm I guess."

That mission was the last one (Y/n) had ever worked on, after recovering from the surgery to remove the bullet, (Y/n) woke up with One standing in her room offering her a chance. He offered a chance to be someone else and do something really good with her life. It was as if he had known the internal struggles she had been battling when she was conflicted about if she was doing the right thing and if it was making a good impact on the world.

(Y/n) knew she had been extremely lucky with that bullet and she wanted to keep it as a memento. It was a token that she had to remind her during the bad times that she was here for a reason and she wasn't going to waste that.

"My name's Billy."

Four slowly rubbed the bullet between his index finger and thumb as he looked at the piece of metal that was meant to stop her heart from beating. That one piece of metal could have snatched (Y/n) from Four before he even had the chance to have her in his life. It gave her the opportunity to join the group and to meet Four.

He didn't really believe in second chances, and he didn't know if he believed that things happened for a reason or not so he couldn't comment on her story or respond with a touching anecdote of his own. But he could tell her his name which was kind of like a secret around here, and he hoped it would be enough.

"Hmm, it suits you." (Y/n) whispered the words quietly before she leaned up and pressed her lips delicately to his own. She felt him let go of the bullet that swung back against her top before hanging limply against her chest. His hand moved to caress the side of her neck as his other arm pulled her closer until her chest was smothered against his own.

He didn't care why they were both here or what brought them to this point, he was simply glad that she was here with him now.

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

"Magnets, that's your big idea?" Five questioned as she planted her hands on her hips with a raised brow. When she joined to be their doctor, she thought that everything would be different than this, she thought it would be other-worldly. That there would be some sort of essence to what they were doing or something that made it feel like she had died and gone to heaven or even hell.

But magnets, that seemed oddly basic. The guns and smoke bombs and the laughing gas they had planned was different. The car chase they had two months ago, that was out of this world and it made her feel more alive than she ever thought possible.

Magnets was a step-down.

"Not just any magnets, big ass magnets. Ones that can cause any piece of metal to fly to one side of the ship and then the other, all on my command." One held up his phone and gave it a little shake in front of them all to show them this wasn't as stupid as it sounded.

He had created this, it was what he did in his other life and it was what he was good at. He could make every single piece of metal on that ship tip to the right with just a swipe of his finger and he could make people stick to the walls if they had one scrap of metal on their body. He could give them passage into the lower decks of the boat and get them right to the president with this device that he could easily control from his phone. This was their golden ticket to get to the guarded president they were here to take down.

"What about our weapons?" Seven asked with a look in his eyes that showed he was intrigued rather than bored like he had looked moments earlier.

"Ever heard of plastic?"

Leaning over the table they were all crowding around, (Y/n) glanced her eyes over the plans and layouts that One had managed to scavenge and come up with. It showed all the levels of the boat, where he wanted the magnets to be placed and where they would need to go once they got to the boat- if they even managed to get this far in the plan.

(Y/n) could slowly feel her heartbeat increasing as she realised the magnitude of the magnets that he had created and what this would mean. They were all in on this mission, they were all needed because even with six of them, their chances at survival and pulling this off were slim. But if magnets of this scale were involved, (Y/n) was going to have a hard time.

"You can control what piece of metal the magnet attracts, though... right?" (Y/n) tried to play it off as if she was simply taking an interest, but the type of question she asked and the tone she used gave away something bigger hidden behind her words.

"Do you see this plan? There's gonna be hundreds of individual pieces of metal on this ship. What are you asking, do you want me to isolate a fork so it stays in place?" One narrowed his eyes as he shook his head in confusion. Why on earth would he need to control what metal went where? It didn't matter, everything would go to one side and they would have no metal on them so they would have the right of way. He could play about with everyone and do what he wanted and toy with them how he pleased.

There were going to be metal plates, forks, spoons, guns, bullets, armour, vests and jewellery on that ship. He couldn't stop a small piece of metal with how much more metal was going to be controlled. Isolating one thing would take too much time which they wouldn't have.

"Can you do it or not?" (Y/n) snapped back as she stared at the man standing across from her with a growing annoyance building up inside of her. She didn't see why he couldn't just drop the sarcasm and be serious for even one second.

"Essentially, but it'll waste too much time and it's relatively pointless. Why?"

"I've got a metal plate on my hip, I can't get through this maze if you're plastering me to the walls." (Y/n) tried to keep some sarcasm in her words but her tone simply came out worried. If One couldn't isolate her metal plate and stop the magnet from attracting her then she wouldn't be able to be on the boat, she would be stuck in the water or on the sidelines and they needed everyone on this mission. She couldn't get through the levels of the boat if she was being thrown about like a ragdoll.

Her heart jumped in her chest when she felt Billy slowly slipping his fingers between the groves of her own, his palm pressing against hers so he could press his fingers firmly against the back of her hand.

Their touch was concealed by the table blocking the action from sight but it still made her feel calmer to have his hand in her own and his side inconspicuously pressed against hers. Neither of them wanted the others to know of whatever was happening between them because they didn't need any torments or sarcastic comments or the others thinking this was going to affect their work.

"Oh, you drama queen... I'll adjust the modifier and isolate your hip, alas do not worry. We can't have you out of action, now can we?" The smallest trace of a smile appeared on One's face as he rolled his eyes. He knew that was going to make his job all that much harder but it didn't matter.

They were really going to do this.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Dreams that keep you up in the still of the night (Favored Ones, Part 25.)

Series description: Many things were surely fucked up in the year 2038, but no-one ever told anyone how all of it went down. What happened before a group of people left for Seattle to handle personal matters? Why did one girl refuse to leave all of it be? And why there were so many dead in the end?

Quote for the chapter: “All the promises at sundown... I meant them like the rest.” - Pearl Jam

Part summary: For a moment there, it almost seemed that everything is going to be alright again. But as you had the time to think about what you were doing, how many people had you srewed and how many lives you’ve destroyed, you finally understood that your mind won’t be put the rest until you finish what you came to do in Seattle.

A/N: Well, we are here. It almost feels like a dream when I realize we’re almost at the end of the Seattle timeline and I have to say... I enjoyed telling you this story so, so, so much! 

Warnings: Gore, blood, murder, infected, guns, shooting, angst, graphic depiction of manslaughter, animal abuse and death, mentions of rough smut. 

Word count: 6.7 K

Tagging:   @nemodoren @xxgoldenhour @missdictatorme​​ @davnwillcome​ @pickleriiick​ @jodiereedus22​ @gladiosamicitias​ @tamkashi​ @eternallyvenus​ @avengerssstuff​ @fangirl-inthe-us​ @avery-miller​ @mikah-writes​ @mad-hatter-98​ @sadiaafrin99​ @flavorishy

Series master list: H E R E

Joel Miller’s playlist for the bonfire occasions: H E R E

Youtube playlists: JACKSON DAYS | SEATTLE DAYS

Seattle, day two - evening / Seattle, day three - shortly after midnight:

It was the gut feeling you got when you held Ellie which unsettled you, so you let one of your palms travel down to the handle of your knife while your best friend still cried on your shoulder. The touch was almost unnoticeable at the first moment, but when you heard an inhale right behind your back, you turned around aggressively as you took the knife out, going straight for that person's neck. They were strong and quick to react, catching your wrist so tightly it hurt. Just after that, you let your eyes wander on the stranger's body.

You didn't even have to see his face to know it's him who's kneeling in front of you. His smell gave him away at the exact moment when you inhaled it. Slowly, you smiled at the man and looked deep into his dark eyes. He was looking like fucking hell, but didn't you all look like that? He was muddy, bloody, wet, he had a bruise on his cheek and a violet hematoma slowly forming under his right eye. Joel was looking rough. Weirdly rough.

All of you went through hell that day - whether it was a physical hell, just like when you were escaping a whole building of Scars on your own, or when Ellie smashed Nora's body with an iron pipe. It was expected of you to cry, but all you did was that you hugged the man, your palm gently tugging on his hair as you pulled him even closer than before. Slowly, you closed your eyes, thanking every god out there for getting you your man back into your arms, David Bowie especially. - "Oh my Lord." - You hummed into his ear, sighing.

"How did you got out of the building... I... I thought you've died there, Joel." - A whisper left you as the man palmed your jaws with a grateful smile back. - "I will tell you later, 'kay? You both doin' good, are you 'kay?" - Joel stood up from you and went to hug Ellie as well, checking on her as well. Ellie was so surprised she immediately stopped crying. Somehow, the man's presence calmed her down enough for you to set on your journey back to the theatre. The rain seemed to get worse and worse during the duration of your journey. - "Did you reach the hospital?" - Joel asked when you entered the area which was already familiar to you.

"Yea, Nora isn't too happy with how the things turned out." - This answer told Joel everything he needed to know. It didn't matter which one of us have done it - it was clear that the girl isn't walking the world of the living by the time you were speaking. Which was most likely to be the expected result of the operation you were undergoing in Seattle. And honestly, Joel was somehow sure that Nora isn't the last one to die.

To everyone's surprise, Dina wasn't the one to open up the door - it was Jesse. Your black-haired Jesse. The Jackson Jesse. That one Jesse who immediately got a big, familiar hug when you saw him. At the first moment, you almost brought him down to the ground before you realized he's hurt. Something happened to him during his way to you. - "Are you out of your fucking mind? What the hell are you doing here?" - You asked, still hugging him with your eyes closed. It almost all looked like a wicked family gathering of some sort and it didn't even feel right by any means.

"Nice to see you too, geez. You're all looking awful." - Jesse took one good look at Joel, who had his whole face bruised and you were worried about what you'll find under his clothes. Ellie was looking significantly better once she hugged Dina and kissed her temple, but it still could be felt that something isn't quite adding up.

"As always, you're late to the fucking party." - Ellie mumbled on your was to the radio room where you could sit for a while, talking about what went down that day. Jesse still kept his hand over your shoulder in a friendly manner, leaning into you as you led him up the stairs carefully. - "You've missed a lot of fun here."

"Hey, I've been keeping these guys busy up in Hillcrest, you're welcome." - Jesse put his hands above his head when you sat him down on the chair, walking back to lean your head into Joel's shoulder. The man simply put his nose to your hair, taking in your scent with his eyes closed before he planted a careful kiss on your forehead. - "Y'all better start talking, because I've never seen any of you so done." - Jesse grinned and leaned his elbows to his knees, looking mainly at you and Joel. Each of you gave the others their side of the story - Ellie described how she found Jesse and then joined you in the sewers, you talked about losing Joel on the unfinished bridge, Jesse talked about his last two days in the Hillcrest neighborhood and Joel... He didn't say much other than he almost died here and there.

As soon as you gave Dina a report of what happened, everyone started to do their stuff - Jesse and Dina stayed in the radio room while you decided to take the cold shower in a tiny bathroom Ellie and Dina earlier found back in the changing room. Joel was there just a few minutes before you and told you that he hadn't felt as good in a long time.

And after two days of piling blood, dirt, and bruises on your body, even the coldest shower was feeling fucking good. It also was a good tool to wash all the thoughts and bad states of mind you had off of you. There was a small bottle of some gel and shampoo one of your fellow survivors found in the city and brought along, so you could clean yourself at least a bit - or give yourself the feeling of being clean. And because it was time to sleep already, you told your goodnight to everyone before you joined Joel back in your improvised bedroom in the entrance hall.

He was laying down with his elbow over his eyes, resting until you came in. The man knew you, so he knew that you'll ask him about the whole sky bridge incident. - "Hey there, deadman. How are we feeling?" - You asked quietly and put your clothes on the heating of the small room to dry them up before fucking them up again the other day.

"Like a deadman, kiddo." - Joel mumbled back, feeling as your thighs slowly circled his lap as you sat down, running your fingers along his chest for a while before carefully sliding under his t-shirt. It was an obvious sign of care and attention, but you were also looking for another wound or hematoma under his clothes. Although Joel knew what you were doing, he let you do your business. - "I'm just glad I've found you both alive at the tunnel. I was just on my way to the hospital when I saw you in that small loophole beside the main road."

"You wouldn't find much in the hospital, trust me, we took good care of it." - A whisper came out of you as you checked on his upper chest, taking your time with every small move. - "What happened up there? I was running with you and all of a sudden, you left me there." - With that, you climbed down, leaning your back to the wall as you finished the check-up. Joel now put his palms on his chest, looking into the ceiling.

"These Scars ain't that dumb, you see? They knew we'd split up and they realized that I'd be tryin' to save you no matter what. So some went after you and some tried comin' for me. For a moment, I thought I won't get outta there. But they have pretty bad aim." - The man chuckled, turning his head at you. - "And there was another bridge, so I tried walkin' that one because I knew you'll be gone from the other building. I've run into a huge guy on my way, that's this." - Joel pointed the tip of his finger on the small, almost black circle under his eye. - "And ever since then, I was makin' my way to you. No matter what was happenin', I didn't want to stop." - Joel explained and put his palm around your ankle, gently smoothing it with his finger.

"Stop being so cavalierish so much." - A whisper sounded trough the room again as you stretched your leg out again, having his fingers now massaging your thigh. Joel wasn't sure if that was an invitation, but it was all answered when you picked yourself up on your knees and gripped his t-shirt, making him pull up as well. The kiss which you gave him was devastating and brutal in many points of view - but it was the first proper kiss he got since you got to Seattle, so he didn't even think about saying something back.

It was because of Abby and her friends. They were on the back of your head all the fucking time. And now, you were close to finding her. The aquarium. The Seattle aquarium was the place where she was hiding. Each of you was so close to the thing you've come to accomplish in the city. The excitement, the nervosity, and rage made you want only one thing from your man - to fuck it out of you. You didn't care how he's going to do it - if he fucks you on all like a whore, tugging your hair. You didn't care a shitty bit about him slamming you into the floor, choking you with his palm. If Joel would like you to ride him like a horse, you would.

You just wanted all of there things to go away fast and simply - sex was the only thing you saw as the solution. Maybe it would at least make Joel fall asleep while you'd sneak to set on your way again so you'd be sure he'll be safe. Abruptly, you started to undress, tugging on your shirt so violently that you heard at least one of the buttons fly away violently while you felt his palms already palming both your breasts, playing with both your nipples, playfully tugging on them and pulling them out. It looked as if you were on the same page already, which honestly made you go for the kiss even more hastily than before.

When Joel made you lay down onto the space bags, it almost knocked your breath out as you closed your eyes for a second, furrowing at the uneasy feeling in your chest. - "You 'kay?" - The man asked immediately, worried that he had hurt you. - "Just fuck me like a whore, Joel, do it, come on. Please." - And that was all he needed to hear from you. You got exactly what you begged for - no foreplay, harsh, almost bruising touches, hand on your throat, and his pelvis almost crushing yours with the strength of each move he made. There were moments when Joel had to cover your mouth because you forgot how loud could you be at times.

It didn't take too long until he finished, having you aching as he slipped out, putting his sweaty forehead on your chest to listen to your fastened heartbeat. You haven't hit the jackpot, which wasn't even your main intention, so you weren't even disappointed. There was a silence as both of you caught your breath while your fingers brushed his shoulders, dipping into his hair gently as you pulled him even closer. - "I was afraid I won't ever see you again." - You said honestly, so Joel could feel the fear in your voice. In an answer, he snickered, kissing the small spot between your breasts.

"I'm pretty tired, baby girl. Would you, eh..." - The man asked reluctantly, so you nudged his shoulder to make him continue. - "Would you sing me somethin'?" - He breathed out to the skin of your thigh when you pulled your shirt back on, covering him in his sleep bag, letting him snuggle back to you. - "Don't you also wanna make me go for the guitar down there? Do I look like a jukebox to you?" - You hummed back, seemingly denying his request.

It almost looked as if you weren't about to sing for him when you just played with the strands of his hair, putting them from place to place, but suddenly...

"Talking away, and I don't know what I'm to say, but I'll say it anyway," - You started quietly, just humming when there were no words to sing. Joel didn't like it when people didn't sing the right lyrics of the song, but for you, he was willing to make a compromise. Especially when you were singing this song. - "I'll be coming for your love, okay? Take on me, take me on. I'll be gone, in a day or two..." - You sighed and closed your eyes. Your mouth continued with singing the words, but your brain was concentrated on something different. The Seattle aquarium. Abby was in the Seattle aquarium at the very moment you were laying there with Joel against your chest.

You should be empty after your man singlehandedly fucking the living soul out of you - but instead of that, as his breath started to deepen, you were thinking about her. This was a chance you weren't sure that will happen twice in a lifetime. It was just two to three hours from the place of your stay on foot. If you'd catch at least an hour of sleep, you could surprise Abby in the night, maybe hitting her unprepared and vulnerable.

It was pure torture, knowing how close she was now. The more you thought of that, the closer she was. The closer were your hands around her neck, the redemption you came for. During your thinking of Abby, you've managed to fall asleep. And for the first time, you were having a dream that didn't look like a fucking nightmare from the very first moment of its begging. For which, you were very grateful.

Could you be in a place you haven't ever seen? It seemed so because there was the aquarium around you in all its glory. There were fish swimming in the tanks, beautiful underwater plants as far as you could see and the sunlight was shining through the place. Could there even be a place as vibrant as this was? It was serene, almost heavenly unreal.

And Abby was sitting there on a bench, looking into the tanks with a thoughtful look. It seemed that this dream won't even be violent - until the woman got on her feet. It was hard to make out what was she saying. Your brain couldnt recall what her voice sounded like, but it remembered her intonation and the parts when she deepened it. All you could make out was that she was talking about Nora and her other friends. The ones that died by your hand. Abby smashed you to one of the tanks, cracking it open. A small trail of water ran on the glass as you turned back and kicked her knee.

Now you knew that you're not strong enough to go one-on-one with her, but you were also smaller and more agile against this huge, tall woman. Which you had to utilize. It could quite literally save your goddamn life. There was this kind of a dance going on between you for a moment - you tugged her braid, she broke your nose again, you kicked her between her legs and she threw you on your back, almost getting ready to finish you for good. That was until she realized you stole her gun and that you were now pointing at her face.

The woman rose her palms above her hand, backing away from you, pleading you to spare her life. But you shot her nonetheless. Once, twice and then for the final, third time. When you were both laying on the ground, but only one of you was alive, you've expected something to hit you. Something. Anything. A feeling, a thought, a wish, something.

But instead of that, as you walked up to Abby to look at her, there was nothing. You weren't feeling a single thing. Sure, it wasn't a real situation you were in. You had to remember that you're only inside your head while seeing all of it. But no matter what you tried to see on Abby's corpse, no matter what you were digging from the very bottom of yourself, it simply wasn't there. Was this the big victory you've been waiting for? This sure as hell wasn't what you hoped for. This was all you've done for finding Abby coming to the final stop. Were you doing this just to feel empty, almost used, disgusted by everything? What was happening?

Surely, this was your mind trying to send you a message of some kind. But it didn't make any sense to you. The message was surrounded by a mystery that wasn't understandable for you - but it was enough to wake you up. Joel was still dead asleep, laying on your chest and breathing deeply in and out. It couldn't be more than two hours since you've fallen asleep, so it was a perfect time to sneak out of the theatre. But just when you tried to find your way of how to wiggle from under Joel, you realized he maybe wasn't as asleep as you thought he was.

"You can't let it go, can you? Is it so hard to leave it all behind?" - The known, raspy voice asked you and his hand smoothed your hip. Quickly, you gulped and closed your eyes painfully. Why did you have to wake him up? That was a mistake. Now, you had to explain yourself. But he was right, you couldn't let it go even if it most likely meant that Abby will kill you in the aquarium.

If that was to mean that this was your last journey before ending up in the depths of the hell, so be it. If you were about to be killed at the aquarium and if that was meant to be your destiny, so be it. You've deserved whatever was waiting for you inside of there. Death, emptiness, sadness, fear, or hatred, you deserved it for what had you done to the other people. And to ensure you'll get all of it, you made an amend. You were about to kill everyone who would stand in your way to Abby. Whether it was infected, the Scars, or WLF, you didn't care. In the end, the woman will be awaiting you, warned about your arrival long before she'll see you.

"You know the answer, do you have to ask?" - You answered and sat up, smoothing your face. - "I can't sleep at night, Joel. And when I do, she is there to haunt me again and again. Ellie can't put an end to this, neither can Tommy and sure as hell you can't end this. I have to be the one. It has to be me or I'll never find peace, Joel." - With a nod, you assured yourself, feeling cold sweat running down your body as you shifted at the uncomfortable emptiness the dream had brought you. - "No matter what, I'm going to the fucking aquarium. I don't care what you tell me. You can join me if you want, but I don't want you to see any of it. One of us will die inside that building," - You turned your head to Joel, looking him dead in his eyes. - "And whether it will be me or her, you'll just have to accept it."

With that, you picked yourself up to put your clothes on as you thought about your stuff when you saw Joel joining in. - "Are you sure," - "Stop fucking asking me if I'm sure. Stop it already. You cant change a single shit with it." - You hit the wall with your palm, turning your head at the man. - "Are you sure you wanna kill her?" - Joel finished the question no matter how irritated did make you.

"Death doesn't solve anythin', girl. You can kill as many people as you want, but you know who will suffer in the end?" - The man huffed into your face, but he wasn't angry with you. No. He was concerned. - "It will be you. Or her. Or me. Or Ellie. Do you think that if you'd kill her, you'd feel better than how you're feelin' now? Y/N, listen, this ain't how this works, you hear me?" - Joel shook his head as he pulled up his trousers. - "I know that mercy and justice don't live side by side, but you spoke about that cycle of yours. But you know what's this 'bout?" - He asked again, having you shake your head.

"You ain't breakin' the cycle by rushin' to the aquarium in the dark of the nite, listen to me. All this is good for it repeatin' the cycle again. And you know what comes after this? Someone else comes back for revenge. And this time, they won't be lookin' after me, no, they'll be comin' after you. What then? Would you wanna go here again, repeating the same mistake until it would get you killed for real?" - His palms took hold on your shoulders. This was making a lot of sense if you had to be honest. Every word Joel had told you was making sense. But the decision was already made. - "I know what I'm talkin' 'bout, baby girl, listen to me. Let's go back to sleep, wait for the mornin', look for Tommy, and leave home already. This ain't bringin' any good." - Joel begged you. He had a family to protect. You were his family just like Ellie was. And with the situation ruling over Seattle, it was time to just go home - he knew that Abby will get herself killed sooner or later. But when you looked down with that empty gaze and turned away, he had to sigh deeply. How many warning signs did you have to see before turning back?

You were almost done with everything, so you stepped into the hall - just to find Jesse and Ellie already there, both dressed up as well. And you were also the first one to speak. - "Where do you think you're going?" - Your finger pointed at both of them. - "This isn't happening. You're staying here."

"We heard you and Joel arguing..." - Jesse started. - "Again." - Ellie finished for him. - "And honestly, Y/N, he's right. I've had enough of this fuckery. I've seen and done enough bad here. My girlfriend is pregnant with this clown," - She snickered and bumped her elbow into Jesse's side. - "And I have to make sure she's safe. And she ain't safe here at the moment. I have a family to protect." - Ellie sighed and looked Joel into his eyes, finally, even if only partially, understanding what did he mean by that statement.

"It was different when we were on our way here. We didn't know about single thing what is waiting for us here and, look, were honestly lucky to be alive at this point." - "I'm not holding any of you in Seattle." - You answered with a snicker. - "Youre free to pack your things and go home. If you'd like to leave with now, please, go. But I have something to finish here."

"No, Y/N, you're not catching my drift. Let's just... Find Tommy, wrap it up and go home, please." - Your best friend stopped you from your march to the door, catching your elbow in her palm. - "This is going to kill you." - She said honestly, now slowly leaning her forehead to yours as she closed her eyes to take a deep breath in. Slowly, you nodded, putting her palms away. - "I know. But... If you want to find Tommy, you have to go after Abby, that's all I'm saying."

You were the first one to leave the building. It was breaking your heart to hear someone crying inside the theatre before you realized it's Dina. The girl was hugging Ellie, begging her to stay there with her, safe and sound. But Ellie was shaking her eyes, telling her that she can't stay. So Dina made Jesse promise that he'll keep her safe no matter what - even if he'd have to die in the process.

Yet, as soon as you set on your way, you realized there's another obstacle in your way - the entire downtown of Seattle was flooded from the rain which was going on for the last two days. This could complicate a lot, well, that was until you've all heard something, hiding out of the sight of the flashlight. It was a motorboat. Which was as smart as it was unreal - you hadn't seen anything working inside Seattle. No lights, no electricity, no working cars. And suddenly, there was a motorboat. Which could be... - "This is our ticket to the aquarium." - You realized out loud, looking at your friends hiding in the dark.

"And whatcha want to do now? We're going to... Just steal it from them?" - Jesse hissed back at you when you were looking down on the boat which was slowly parking just three floors under you.

"Why would I steal it from them? When they're dead, you can't count it as stealing anymore." - You answered more or less immediately, which had Jesse shook at the words you've said. - "You're about to do what?" - Jesse hissed back again, being horrified by the things that just left your lips. The Y/N he knew would never even joke about this topic of killing someone.

"Jesse, Seattle was hard on each of us." - Ellie answered when she heard your bickering, crawling between you to look down on the boat as well. - "What's the plan of the attack?" - "There isn't any plan of attack! What are you two even talking about? What we are about to do is to tiptoe around these guys and walk to the aquarium." - Jesse tried to intervene, but just when he finished the sentence, a bolt of lightning struck one of the super high skyscrapers and rain which could be described as hell was started, which made you raise your eyebrows.

"You were saying, son?" - You asked, licking your eyebrows when Jesse got out of the hiding, walking back to the shadows. - "This wrong in so many levels, Y/N, I don't wanna do that." - "Then sit here in the shadows and let me and Ellie work it out. We'll do just fine without you." - This wasn't the friend Jesse knew and loved. This person in front of him was someone strange he hadn't met yet.

"Seven-eight? It's three-oh-five, you hear me?" - Each of you shut up when a signal from a walkie talkie hit your ears. At that moment, not even the sharpest eye would spot trespassers at the WLF territory. - "Yeah, I hear you, wassup, Mike?" - A woman answered to the walkie talkie, walking around the small harbor.

"Another trespasser in the harbor... Fuck, I'm sick of this place already. He's shooting our people with a rifle like a maniac. You better move with the loading and head back." - The man answered via the transportable device. Each of you heard the woman's sigh as she tried to straighten the fact inside her head. - "Okay, we'll start loading now. What about the operation, you've heard something 'bout that?" - She asked. The operation was most likely referring to the attack the WLF planned on the Scars, most likely in the cultists' territory.

"It went south in my opinion, dude, I haven't heard from Isaac in hours. We're now stepping to the plan B." - Mike answered quickly and you heard the woman stopped because you could no longer hear her footsteps walking around. - "But, according to plan B, we are to leave Seattle." - The woman answered in a firm voice, not understanding what was going on. And according to the confused looks you gave each other, you didn't understand what was happening either.

"Listen to me. Load the damn crates, we have to regroup in the base - or there will be no more WLF. Over and out, kill." - Mike ended the whole call, leaving the woman in the dark again. But soon, she called out to her friends. - "We need to move it, guys! Isaac has gone MIA." - She clapped her hands and other WLFs, which you could see according to their flashbacks turning around the darkened place, still covered in the night shadows.

"It's Tommy." - Ellie assumed in a quick whisper. - "That Mike guy was talking about Tommy. A trespasser shooting them with a rifle? I mean, come on." - She mumbled. That was great - Tommy was alive, which made you sigh with a small grin. But this wasn't just enough to make you turn around, walking to the harbor. This made Jesse look at you without nothing to say - until he found his words again.

"No, stop. This isn't you. Let's just sneak around and find Tommy. Come on." - Jesse muttered out more like a plea, trying to lead you from the building. To his bad luck, your mind was already set on the boat. And now, after two whole days of your unstopping journey in Abby's steps, there was no way in hell that something like stealing a motorboat from a few guys would stop you. When you shook your head again, Jesse knew that this is a battle that will come in vain. - "You know what? Do what you will, I just don't wanna see this massacre. I'm going after Tommy. Someone going with me?" - Jesse walked from the three of you with his hands above his head. Ellie shook her head as well, getting on her knees to accompany Jesse. - "We'll see each other at the theatre, you hear me?" - Your best friend asked quietly, hugging you with force.

With that, Jesse and Ellie left the building again. Soon, both you and Joel started to do what you were so good at. But this time, it all went downhill - the woman with the walkie talkie noticed you as you were just putting a different body down. Joel walked from behind her, putting his elbow around her neck. - "Not a word, you hear me?" - The man mumbled to her ear, while you seemed to be more or less fascinated with the walkie talkie. Slowly, you came to the woman, who had a fearful expression as she watched every move you made. But the only thing you did was that you turned the walkie talkie on, looking the woman dead in her eyes.

"Three-oh-five? Seven-eight here, you copy?" - You asked, furrowing upon listening to the static. But Mike answered no matter what. - "Emma, I told you not to call me again. Just do what you're told, 'kay? It's already hard enough without you trying to discuss this." - Mike answered shortly after, seemingly starting to be already annoyed. To stop Emma from talking, you put your mouth over her mouth, feeling her wiggling under Joel's arms until she heard the revolver's fuse opening. At that, she stopped again.

"Emma isn't there, Mike. Tell Abby that were on our way." - You finished before tugging the walkie talkie out of her vest, throwing it into the water below. With that, Joel made sure she's unconscious by hitting her temple with the handle of the gun. - "You ready to go?" - A question made Joel come back to you from the trance as you were stepping into the boat. You basically made sure that the WLFs will show up in the building, you invited them over if you had to be honest. So the sooner you'd leave, the bigger chance there was that the won't know who showed up there.

Soon, you were on your way. Joel was driving the boat forward with an expressionless face, feeling the ice-cold rain running on both of you. You, in the meantime, were looking around the whole city center, trying to get your blood off your clothes with a furrow. These days, it was quite quick to have blood spilled all over you, destroying the clothes for good.

Since the sea was raging at the moment, Joel decided not to drive the boat there - instead, you stopped in a small bay just a few yards from the harbor when that aquarium was located. It was less than a ten-minute-lasting walk. Yet the closer you found yourself to the aquarium, the heavier your stomach was feeling. That fucking girl was inside the building, just yards from you. Your whole body felt very excited even if your brain knew how twisted the feeling is. Quickly, you shook your head as you and Joel started to find your way inside.

It didn't take you long to find a big hole in the fence which was delimiting the authorized personnel only area. From that moment, you quickly found a way inside. Soon, you were both kneeling in front of a broken window, from which you could perfectly see inside the empty fish tanks. It was there, right in front of you... So... Why couldn't you move forward? What was holding you back? - "You comin'?" - Joel said, already jumping down inside the building. So you jumped after him into the dark unknown.

Walking through the old, mostly destroyed aquarium was feeling weird. The tanks were emptied out completely without any residents - whether you expect fish, sharks, or lobsters, maybe even jellyfish, none of that was there. You even got a chance to walk through an empty exhibit that still had some water inside of it. There were dead corals on the rocks inside of it and the only thing you could do was to imagine what this aquarium was looking like when it was all good before the outbreak.

After a few minutes of mindless walking around the place, you found an airshaft, which was out of order for a long time. You crawled in first, but before doing that step, you grabbed a pipe laying on the ground. Which, again, reminded you of Abby. You had pipe when you bumped to Abby for the first time. And you were thinking of her every second of crawling through the airshaft full of moose and various other plants which usually grew in a humid environment. But before you could make something out of the thoughts, the construction fell under you. You did your best not to scream, but the mess it made was still loud enough. Slowly, you tried to pick yourself up from the ground when you stopped.

It wasn't even stopping - you just froze when you realized that you're hearing violent growling. Slowly, you rose up eyes, watching a German shepherd slowly walking towards you with its teeth stuck out as it growled at you, watching you with its eyes. Its tail was pulled between its legs. Even someone who had never seen an aggressive dog could tell that this animal was about to attack. When it charged against you, all you did was that you pressed your pipe into its chest, trying to keep the animal at least a bit away from your face.

It was strange - the dog was making all kinds of weird, crazy scary sounds, but it wasn't barking. Sure, you had far worse problems at the moment, but this was actually a good sign. Whether Abby or someone else was there, the dog wasn't about to alert them, because just when it spilled their saliva all over your face, Joel pushed a knife into its neck. His palm turned it around to make sure the animal won't attack you anymore. Then, he pulled the knife out and pushed the dead animal's body laying on the ground.

"Jesus..." - Joel kneeled to the animal, watching its twitching eyes and muscles while he slowly ran his palm in its fur. The man in front of you was an animal lover. Sure, he would choose you over any aggressive animal, but it wasn't making him easy killing one. - "I never knew I will sink so damn low to kill pets." - Joel sighed and pulled back on his legs, while you bowed to the corpse as well.

"This isn't a pet, Joel. WLFs are keeping these animals against trespassers and infected. If you wouldn't be here, this dog would definitely kill me. And this one was... Alice." - You mumbled upon reading the dog tag, kneeling down as well to at least close the dog's eyes. Sure, you and Ellie met some dogs before, but you've never killed any of them since you were too afraid to even get close to them. But it was apparent that Alice is more than a killing machine. This dog was domesticated as well as it was used for the hunt.

"You should see this, baby girl." - Joel told you quietly as soon as you walked into the next room. This was a surgeon room with the metal operating table, presumably used for the sigh and other animals before the outbreak. But the blooded pads and compressing bandages just like the alcohol smelling throughout the whole room told you that the room was used recently. There were needles and thin stitched laying around, but when you looked into the freezer, your stomach kicked so bad that you almost puked, immediately walking away from it.

Joel took one good look as well - and even his stomach had kicked upon seeing a human arm laying between the ice. It wasn't naturally toned - the skin, even if it was already starting to rot, was as red as a tomato. - "Do you think that... When there's the arm... They ate the rest of them?" - A mumble left you while you stilled tried not to throw up. Listen, you've murdered enough people to know that you're a bad person. But never ever would you consider eating a human being. No. That was a taboo.

Just when the man was about to answer, you heard two voices coming from a distance. A man and a woman were arguing in a different part of the building, which made you exchange a quick glance before walking to the sources. With a gulp, you walked through the maze - bumping into the room the people slept in, into their improvised kitchen, dressing room, and bathroom. You walked around the place until you heard the voices clearly even if the people were just talking. Slowly, you stopped Joel from going there first.

"Stay there, okay?" - You whispered and spoke out sooner than Joel answered back. - "We need the benefit of surprise. I'll go first and when they'll be suspecting the least, you will follow, yeah?" - Gently, you put your palm on the man's cheek, nodding at him. It was a smart plan, actually. So Joel watched as you turned on your heels and more or less sneaked towards the door. A beam of light was coming through the small gap and you could see two people talking inside a big hall with a whole model of a whale hanging from the ceiling.

It was so close now you could feel it on your fingerprints. You couldn't tell if the woman figure was Abby - you didn't saw her whole body, you could barely remember her voice, you didn't know if the woman was the one you were searching for. One last time, you made sure that you're holding the pipe tight before you pushed the door open, walking into the hall, having both the people looking at you.

And soon, thanks to Joel, two human lives were spared that night. But at the moment, you just watched the two people looking at you cluelessly.