#with blood seeping out from the corner of its mouth is important for the scene even more so painful somehow

[aria0fgold]

Feeling very Cain from Wolves Den coded right now. Gonna be designing an outfit for him to use for the drawing and so off to firefox I go to search up: "are leather jackets good for hunting" answer is No, so I went to search something else again: "what jacket is good for hunting with a license" (i added the with a license as an afterthought cuz i feel like google wont understand me if i just put hunting on that). Which finally led me to: "shooting jacket mens"

[askinkiskarma]

The Archer | Chapter II: Out of the Woods

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Summary: A fight with Neteyam makes you run to the forest with the rest of the Sully kids, right into the arms of the enemy. You come face to face with a man you never thought you'd ever get to see.

Pairings: Neteyam x Avatar!Reader

Word Count: 10,2k words

Warnings/notes: smut(18+, minors DNI!), angst, mentions of death, disease, blood, violence, cursing, SPOILERS for ATWOW

A/N: I am writing this at 2am, so my apologies for any grammar errors, I am exhausteddd!! I don't know if you can tell, but I am actually really struggling writing any of the scenes (particularly action scenes) from the movie, and describing what is happening on the screen is the bane of my life. Also, sometimes I can't understand what the dialogue is and I can't find the script or english subtitles and it makes me unnecessarily upset. Also my inspo for the dad is Oscar Isaac cause wow what a man. Can he be my daddy too? Hahahaha ok i'm so tired i'm gonna go to sleep enjoyyy x

Remember when I hit the brakes too soon? Twenty stitches in a hospital room

When you started crying, baby, I did too, but when the sun came up, I was looking at you

Remember when we couldn't take the heat? You walked out, you said "I'm setting you free"

But the monsters turned out to be just trees, when the sun came up you were looking at me

You watched Neteyam leave the comfort of your shared tent and you instantly knew he felt horrible about what he said. You knew he didn’t mean it, but in this moment, you didn’t care. He had to have meant it to a certain degree for it to come out so easily out of his mouth. 

As you were preparing to leave, unable to spend the night in this place, in this tent, where everything hurt, where every corner had photos and trinkets and memories that you couldn’t bear look at in this moment, you heard a squeaky voice you loved break through the unbearable silence. You were a mess, you knew, paint splattered all over your face, neck and torso, seeping into the woven fabric of your top, but you wouldn’t deny her - you couldn’t. 

“Come in, Tuk-tuk.” 

She gently opened the flap and walked in sheepishly, carrying your mother’s guitar that you gifted to her almost a year ago. 

“I’m sorry about Neteyam.” She looked so sad you almost started crying again, this pure soul who felt and cared for everything around her, listened to everyone and always made you feel important, always made you feel heard. 

You knelt and opened your arms in her direction, and you saw her place the guitar carefully on the ground and run into your open arms. 

“Oh, my dear girl, you have nothing to be sorry about. That is between me and him, it has nothing to do with you, alright, baby?”

“But it does have to do with me, because he is wrong. You have a family, you have always had a family. We’re your family. Sullys stick together.” 

The tears started as if completely independent from the rest of your body, and you couldn’t stop the cry that made its way out of your throat without your consent. This little girl you loved so much managed to undo so much of her brother’s mistakes in just a few words, and you felt so grateful to have her in your life, so grateful to have someone to call a sister. 

“Baby, I was going to go wash this whole day off, would you like to come with me? We can take Neyn, we can bring the guitar, you can sing to me the song I showed you?” 

“Yay, adventure time!”

You chuckled at this 9 year old who reminded you a lot of Lo’ak at her age, always up for new experiences, as long as it avoided the boredom of the mundane. You knew you were going to get in trouble with Jake and Neytiri for taking their youngest away at night, but right now you just needed to be away from here, and you couldn’t find it in your heart to turn away this precious soul who just made you less miserable in just a few minutes.

You sneaked out of your tent, feeling stupid for feeling like you had to sneak out in the first place, like you were an unruly teenager, not a full-grown adult who just got her heart broken by her mate. He should be sneaking out. As a matter of fact, he should be sneaking in, begging on his knees for your forgiveness, like he used to when he was young. I guess that’s just another thing that has changed in the year you have become mated. You signalled for Tuk to get on your ikran, who was dozed off next to the rest of your family’s, and you cursed yourself for waking her up after such a traumatic day. 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl.” You said with a kiss on her snout, and she cooed affectionately at you. You made the tsaheylu and you couldn’t feel any fear, anxiety or frustration in her thoughts, which put your mind at ease a little, and, with a hand on the neural whip and the other wrapped tightly around Tuk’s chest, you took flight. 

It was a short trip to the cave you and Neteyam come to all the time, the one that had a small subterranean lake that you would sometimes wash in. The water was absolutely freezing, never seeing the light of day, but it was peaceful and clean, and that sounded as good to you as heaven right now. You dove in without a second thought, the freezing water inundating all your senses, healing all the wounds that were scratching painfully at your heart. 

Why would he say that? 

I mean, you did attack him about saving his baby brother, who would have probably died if it wasn’t for him.

He should’t have to keep saving Lo’ak at his own expense. 

He shouldn’t have to, but he does. Lo’ak wants to prove himself, and Neteyam is a protector by nature. It’s like asking water to not be wet. 

I want to kill Lo’ak.

No, you don’t. Because you understand Lo’ak. You’re sad for Lo’ak, for always living in his brother’s shadow, for always getting the cold shoulder from his dad, who you also know is just being harsh because he has to be, because no one else can be. 

What if he dies? What do I do then?

 

Your mind didn’t have a quippy answer to that - or any answer at all. You were left alone, with no answers and enough terror to fill this whole floating cave and overflow around it. You emerged from the water and got on your back, just floating aimlessly, trying to get your heart to stop pounding in your chest and the tears stop pricking at your eyes. What if he dies?

“Can I swim with you?” 

Tuk’s question pulled you out of your frightened contemplation, and you realised you have probably been unnervingly quiet for too long. 

“It’s really cold, Tuk-tuk, I don’t want you to get sick. How about I take you to a warmer lake tomorrow and we can swim together, would you like that?” 

“YES!” 

“Can I come, too?” 

The deep voice stopped you in your tracks, and you almost drowned when your feet stopped paddling underwater to keep you upright. 

“NETEYAM!” Regardless how upset Tuk was at her older brother’s words, Neteyam would always be her favourite. Her favourite sibling, her favourite family member. Some people in the village loved asking Jake and Neytiri whether Tuk was more a mother’s or a father’s girl, but in reality, Tuk was her brother’s girl. 

“Hi, Tuk. What are you doing here? You want to give mother and father a heart attack?” The little girl’s face was nestled in Neteyam’s neck, hidden from sight behind his long braids that moved as she chuckled. 

“I wanted to keep my sister company.”

“You need to go to sleep, parultsyìp. How about I take you back home and then I can keep her company?” 

“Will you apologise?” 

Neteyam shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and looked to the ground - he was embarrassed. 

“Yes, I will apologise. Come, let’s go.” He let her down and patted her back affectionately to get her to go ahead before him.

“Please don’t leave? I’ll come as soon as I make sure she’s with my parents.” He looked at you pleadingly, begging you silently. A year ago you would have ran for the hills, took off to not be found by anyone, but just like so many other things, this has also changed. You weren’t a child anymore, careless and impulsive, controlled by your never-ending grief and anger; you had to be better. You were someone’s daughter now, someone’s mate, someone’s sister. You were a future Tsa’hik, you were one of the best warriors in the clan. People depended on you. Despite what Neteyam so cruelly told you, you did have a family. And he was part of it. So you would wait. 

You nodded without looking at him, and you heard him sigh in relief. He placed something on the ground before he turned on his heels with Tuk in his arms, and you noticed with a sudden burst of pain felt all within you that it was a flower bouquet. That’s why he took so long…

You washed yourself properly now that you were alone, and when you got out, you noticed the guitar that Tuk forgot to pick up with her still resting on a wall of the cave. You sat next to it, back resting on the same wall, and picked it up, your mind immediately wandering to your mum. With everything going on around you, you have not been able to visit the Tree of Souls after your consciousness transfer. It’s been a year since you saw your mum as you lay dying and you regretted every day not going back to visit, to see if you could see her again, see if Eywa would be able to bring her back to you, at least in this way. The guitar was tiny in your hands now, but you could still play the chord if you were really careful. You started strumming a song, and let yourself sing to let out the hurt and fright. 

Looking at it now, it all seemed so simple, we were lying on my couch, I remember 

You took a Polaroid of us, and then discovered the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming colour

Your bracelet hanging from my hand, the night we couldn’t quite forget, when we decided

To move the furniture so we could dance, baby, like we stood a chance, two paper airplanes flying

And I remember thinking, are we out of the woods yet? Are we in the clear yet?

Are we out of the woods yet? Are we in the clear yet? 

“Well… we are definitely out of the woods.” 

You saw Neteyam’s shadowy figure slowly walking towards you, deeper in the cave, the silhouette of his body and the braids swinging from of side to the other to only thing you can make out in the darkness. You glared in his direction and he winced, already regretting his words. 

He sat down in front of you, with his legs crossed so your knees were touching. He reached a hand to your knee and caressed it gently. 

“Thank you for waiting.” 

You refused to look at him, instead opting for the dimly illuminated lake to your left, that twinkled every time a drop of water would fall from the ceiling. You traced the stalactites and their curious shapes, fascinated with they clung to the wall, when you felt Neteyam’s hand on your cheek, softly turning your face to face him. 

“Atan, please, look at me. I can’t stand it when you refuse to look at me.”

Tears fell from your eyes like water from the roof of the cave, and eventually you looked at him, and saw his pained expression, and you knew how bad he felt. You could feel it in your soul, his misery, but it did very little to comfort you. It was easy to feel bad after the fact. 

“Atan… I am so sorry. I could never express into words how sorry I am, I will pay my whole life for what I said, what I spat at you in a moment of stupid anger. I just want you to know that it isn’t true. What I said, it isn’t true. You’ve always had a family. You’ve always had us, and Norm and Max. You’ve always had me. I have been your family my whole life, and I am so, so sorry. There’s no excuse for what I said.” 

“I forgive you.” You placed your hand on his chest when you noticed him trying to get close to you. ‘I’m not finished.” 

“I forgive you. But I need some time.” 

“What do you mean you need some time?” 

“I mean, I have to figure out how I will do this. How I could possibly do this. How I can watch the man I promised to spend the rest of my life with kill himself before the rest of my life can ever come, and learn to ever be ok with it. 

You were right. I never had a family. I had a mum who didn’t want to live past my tenth birthday, friends I cared for, but that lived in a completely different world to mine, people that tried to be there for me but I pushed them away, a dead dad and you. A guy I loved my whole life who left me without saying goodbye. I’ve never had a family. 

But I have one now. And you’re right. You’re right, it isn’t a choice. If I had to choose between my life any of yours, I would give mine up in an instant. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure you are safe. So I do get it. But that doesn’t mean that I can watch you do it. 

I know how hard this is on you… how much this enormous unspoken pressure weighs on you. Being Olo’eyktan, being the oldest son, the big brother, the protector. I know you won’t say it, and you won’t complain, but I know. You have nightmares, and you cry in your sleep. You cry for your dad, and for Lo’ak… for Tuk… for me. I hoped that you would talk to me about it, and I’ll be here to listen when you feel ready. I’m sorry you feel like you have to go through this alone. 

But I don’t know if I can’t stand and watch you kill yourself. Because it will kill me too. So until I figure it out, I need some time.”

Neteyam was shedding silent tears that refused to stay hidden, and he felt his heart break at all your words, each one harder to hear than the last. Time? He didn’t have time. Time was for a different period of your lives, before the humans came, when you were young and wild and free to run through the forest whenever you pleased. Time was for when you made him sit through an entire season of a show he couldn’t understand half the words to, but he was just happy to sit in silence next to you, hearing your laughter bless his ears, his mind, his soul. Time was for when he took his siblings through the forest to forage for rocks and beads because Kiri wanted to make them all something special to wear for his second birth. There was no more time, no more future, no more past. Just the now, waiting to see what the humans have planned next, what hell they’ll rain on this planet this time, and who will suffer as a consequence. 

“Atan…” 

“I don’t want to put you out, so I will go sleep with the rest of the Avatars for a while. I have work to do in the lab anyway, so it’ll probably work better this way anyway.” 

Neteyam saw you get up from where you sat, deep coldness settling where your knees weren’t touching him anymore and dispersing all throughout his body. He saw your back turn and you made your way out of the cave, stopping to pick up the flowers that he spent an hour collecting for you. You brought them closer to your face and smelled them, smiling sadly.

“Thank you for the flowers. It’s good to know at least some things haven’t changed. I love you, Neteyam. I’m sorry.” 

Neteyam couldn’t find it in him to get up from the floor, and he felt the hopelessness envelop him like a blanket that he was suffocating under. What was he supposed to do? What did this mean? Is this a human thing? Neteyam remembers when you were much younger and you had to explain to him the concept of a “break”, after making him sit through a whole Friends marathon. Is this what this was? You were asking him for a break? Were you breaking up with him? Today just feels like a never-ending nightmare, and he was hoping that you would wake him up, like you always did, comforting him and singing him back to sleep. He didn’t have it in him to go back to the camp, so he lay on the cold ground of the cave, and let himself fall into a restless slumber - even if real nightmares did invade his subconsciousness, how much worse could they get?

You spent the next few days mostly in the lab, trying to take care of everyone who was affected in the fateful mission that left more than physical scars behind. It was a full-time job, as there were a lot of victims that required surgical intervention, which you were more than happy to do yourself. You’d like to think that it was because it would bring you peace - helping others - but you knew deep down you were also happy to be able to avoid Neteyam. You felt bad for what you said, bad for distancing yourself from someone you loved more than life itself, but you were still hurt and angry, still terrified and paralysed at the thought of losing him. You don’t know what this distance would achieve, but you were hoping for some clarity and perspective. 

Norm and Max came in the little lab you turned into an intervention room as you were finishing checking in on the people you operated on a couple days ok, making sure their vitals were normal. 

“OK - spill. What happened?” You heard Norm speak over the machines beeping in the room.

“What do you mean?” You removed your gloves and quietly made your way out of the lab.

“You’re never here this much anymore. I’m sure there are better things to be doing, and you know very well me and Max, or hell, Claire and Tim can take care of people post-operatively. We all know how to stitch wounds, Ace.”

“Not as well as me.”

“True, but definitely better than we would be at scouting and hunting, which is what you should be doing. So something happened. Had a fight with Neteyam?”

“Of sorts.” 

You reached the dry labs and sat on one of the chairs that you barely fit in anymore; your elbow resting on your thighs, you put your head in your hands and sighed deeply.

“You’re gonna remove all the oxygen in the room if you sigh that hard.” 

“We fought about the mission a few days ago. Lo’ak disobeyed Jake and got himself in danger - as usual -, and Neteyam got hit by the explosion as a result. I yelled at him about it, he yelled at me, it got ugly. I told him I need space. So I’m taking space.” 

“So that’s why you’re sleeping in our tent. I knew it wasn’t just so you could check on people easier. Liar.” 

“It’s not a complete lie, but yeah.” 

“So what were you yelling to each other about?” 

“So I said -“ 

Loud commotion happened around you as the door to the outside opened and in came Lo’ak, Kiri and Spider.

“Yeah, haha, real hysterical, you guys. You know what really sucks, though? That you can breathe the air here for hours, and I can only breath your air for like ten seconds.”

“Yeah, monkey boy, that really sucks. For you.”

Spider and Kiri have always been close, but recently, you felt a shift in their dynamic. It was a lot more flirtatious than friendly, and you couldn’t help wonder if there is something going on beneath the surface. Their interactions reminded you a lot of you and Neteyam’s before he left, just intimate enough they didn’t feel platonic anymore. Having been in Spider’s shoes, if there was, you felt bad for him. It was a slow poison, loving someone you know you could never have - whose body is literally incompatible to your own. You have always felt bad that you got an Avatar and Spider didn’t. In reality, you felt like he deserved it more. He has always been so connected to the Na’vi, so inseparable from the Sullys, so desperate for a family and a sense of belonging. Nobody knew this, but you were working hard to try to see if it was possible to build him one too. It would take time, but with the new technology and supplies the humans brought with them, maybe it wasn’t a pipe dream anymore. 

Kiri finally acknowledged your presence. 

“Hey, everyone!” 

“Hey, kids!” Max chipped in enthusiastically. He loved when the Sullys came to visit. 

“Hey, what’s up, Max?” 

You didn’t look at Lo’ak, although he came really close to you and sat on a chair in front of yours. He moved on the chair until he was face to face with you, and put both of his hands on either side of you on the arm rests to force you to face him. 

“Angel, are you going to be upset with me forever?” 

You scowled at him and he smiled, and you melted a little. You could never stay mad at Lo’ak. 

“You are a public menace, do you understand this?” it was his turn to scowl now, and he turned his gaze away from you - he seemed upset. You took his face in both your hands and brought his gaze back to yours.

“Lo’ak, I need you to be more careful. Please. I can’t lose you. And I can’t lose Neteyam, who will die one day trying to protect you. I know it’s hard, I know there’s so much you want to do and so much you want to prove, but please. Try?” You were looking at him as seriously and warmly as you could, pleading him to hear you, pleading that he would listen. He looked at you intently for a long time, and eventually, he nodded softly, looking remorseful. You moved his head downward a little so you had better access to his forehead and you gave him a quick peck, and noticed the slight purplish tint of his cheeks. You could never stay mad at Lo’ak. 

“We’re going to go take a walk in the woods, come with us, please? I know you’re mad at Neteyam, but you can’t stay here forever. Even Norm and Max go out more than you.” 

“Lo’ak, you shouldn’t be walking through the woods, you know this.” 

“We’re not going to go far. We’re even taking Tuk, you know we would never put her in any danger.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “She blackmailed you to come, didn’t she?”

You saw Lo’ak rolls his eyes and huff in annoyance. “…yes.” 

“Fine, I’m literally only coming to make sure Tuk is safe.”

“I’ll take it. Let’s go, gang!!” 

You had to admit it felt really good to be out, to just run on the huge vines that connected the Hallelujah mountains to the ground and to each other. It felt like a blessing to be able to still enjoy these views, these moments with your siblings, even amidst the chaos that was erupting everywhere around you. You went like this for ages, and even though you knew you should have gone back, knew Lo’ak was again pushing his luck and the safety of everyone here, you couldn’t find it in you to stop him. You wanted this, you craved the warmth and safety the forest gave you, your forever home, your forever first love. Even the thought of returning back to camp in a couple hours made you sad. So you decided to focus on the now, and just enjoy the time you’ve got.

It was close to eclipse when you decided to make your way back. The kids were not allowed past curfew, and you didn’t want to risk it, especially with Tuk around. You were disappointed, but not surprised when Lo’ak stopped in his tracks and moved away from your path to inspect something he found on the ground.

“What is it?” Kiri said, in an exasperated tone, and you found yourself mirroring her sentiments. 

You saw Lo’ak and Spider hovering over a patch on the ground and you decided to go investigate.

“We’re always supposed to be home by eclipse.” You heard Tuk join in. 

Your mouth dropped at the sight in front of you. Shoe prints, made by boots that couldn’t be worn by any human. You recognised the pattern of the sole, as you have seen it before among clothes worn by the RDA soldiers. Military combat boots. Your heart was thumping in your chest at the only possible explanation. You started looking around you, and you felt the all-too-familiar dread building in your stomach, greeting you like an old friend. You barely registered the words that Spider and Lo’ak were exchanging.

“It’s way too big for a human.”

“Avatars?”

“Maybe, but for sure not ours.” 

You saw Lo’ak move towards where the footprints were headed, and you tried to will your legs to move, to stop them, tried to will yourself to speak, but you couldn’t find the words, just dread. Just pure fear at every possible scenario that could take place, your mind computing all your worst nightmares and displaying them to you like on an outdoor cinema screen. Eventually, you started moving your legs and made your way in front of Lo’ak, positioning your body, now just as strong and tall as his, in front of him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m tracking.” 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” You were trying so hard to keep your voice down,  but it was hard to do when you felt rage replacing the anxiety and spilling over all around you. 

“Angel, we have to see who it is. Whoever it is will never find us, this is our territory. We have to bring back the intel, and what are we going to say when dad asks us what did we see? We need to find out more.” 

“Lo’ak, we are not prepared for this. I don’t have my gun, or a radio, or my bow. I have a knife. I’m not putting Kiri and Tuk in danger. We can go back and we can track tomorrow and figure it out. We know they’re Avatars. What you don’t know is that they’re military.”

You saw his face drop. “Yeah, that’s right. Those boots? They were worn by the RDA soldiers that murdered so many of our people. They’re larger now, but the imprint on them is the same. They fucking brought Avatar soldiers here this time. This is fucking serious. We have to go.” 

He thought about it for a while. You hoped that he would listen, you hoped that he would abide by what you talked about only a few hours ago. 

“We will be careful. We will keep our distance. Let’s just see what they’re doing, at least.” 

You growled at him loudly, but said nothing, and the shock overtook your body when you realised that you were following him. You tried to tell your body to move, to take Kiri and Tuk and leave, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t leave him or Spider, couldn’t bear the thought of them getting hurt and you not being there to help. Fuck, you owed Neteyam an apology. 

You followed the tracks for a while, until you found them, and you kept your distance in the bushes and observed quietly. You could see six people in the clearing where 19 years ago, Jake and Neytiri defeated Quaritch, Spider’s dad. It was a forbidden place, cursed by dark, ominous energy that will plague this land for many years to come. The people were clearly Avatars, dressed in camo outfits, carrying so much weaponry it was making your knees shake. Every cell in your body was begging you to move, begging you to run, but you couldn’t, not until Lo’ak the rest of them were safely behind you. So you waited, trying to gather as much information as you could. The Avatars were searching the hub for any sign of recent life, and they took particular interest in exo-suit that you know belonged to Quaritch. In it, there were 2 arrows that you recognised as Neytiri’s, the emerald green feathers a dead giveaway. You never knew exactly how Spider’s dad died, and neither did he, so you wondered what feelings were plaguing him watching this unfold. 

“We are never supposed to be here.” Kiri says, in a forceful tone. “Dad is going to ground you…”

“Shh, Kiri.” Lo’ak said exasperatedly, talking over his sister. “…for life.” 

“Bro, we have got to check this out.” 

You put your arm in front of the two boys. “Absolutely not. This is as far as we go. Call this in, now. I don’t have my radio.” 

“No, bro, we’re gonna get in trouble.” You gave Spider a death stare, at his seemingly unending recklessness. 

“Call it in, now. I’m not going to repeat myself again.” 

“You sound like dad.”

Neteyam’s mood has been in a rapid decline over the last few days. He hasn’t seen you since that night, clear to him you were doing anything in your power to avoid him. Instead of thinking of the potential demise of your relationship and how that put his fucking heart through the meat grinder, he instead decided to bury himself in work and training, and try to spend some time with his parents that he very rarely seemed to talk to anymore outside of war-talk. His childhood was long gone, he realises - where he was just a kid, surrounded by so much love it was almost suffocating, full of laughter and joy, full of his dad’s Earth stories and his mum’s impressions, full of hope and light. His parents were now soldiers, generals, commanders, and he was just a subordinate, a corporal trying to help out in the best way he knew how. There were definitely perks to being an adult, and Neteyam could list just about all of them staring in between your legs, but there were times, such as now, that he wishes his parents would be his parents again, and he could just be a little kid again, spoiled, cherished and unencumbered by life’s tragedies.

The three of them were high in the Hallelujah mountains, returning from a full day of scouting and tracking, when Lo’ak’s voice through the radio interrupted his train of thought. 

“Devil Dog, Devil Dog, this is Eagle Eye, over.”

“Eagle Eye, send your traffic.”

“I got eyes on some guys. They look like Avatars, but they’re in full camo and carrying ARs. There’s six of them, over.”

“What’s your post?” 

“Um... We’re at the old shack.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me, Spider, Kiri…Quickscope…and Tuk.” 

Neteyam’s knees felt like they were buckling underneath him. He was dizzy, and he felt Seze’s flight becoming unsteady as his mind was collapsing into a puddle of mush. Lo’ak… Spider… Kiri… Tuk… and you. His whole world. He could lose everything in a second. What the fuck were all of you doing in the forest? Why the fuck were all of you in the one place that was strictly forbidden? If it was Lo’ak and Spider he could maybe understand the stupidity, but you? The thought that you went along with this, with Tuk next to you boiled his blood - it was easier to be angry than to admit how immeasurably scared he actually was.

“Son, you listen to me very carefully. Pull back right now, do not make a sound, and get the hell out of there. Move. Copy?”

“Yes, sir, moving out.” 

Neteyam’s entire body was lit up with pure adrenaline, coursing through his veins like ice water, sharpening his senses. He had to save you. All of you. He had to do something.

“Dad. I know a quick way.” He didn’t stop to see if his parents were following, but he heard his mother letting out a war cry behind him, so he assumed they were. He had to save you. He couldn’t lose you again.

“You’re gonna be in so much trouble.” You heard Kiri whispering to her brother.

“Kiri, stop. This is not the time.” You heard yourself say. You were gonna kill Lo’ak yourself, but right now, you just had to focus on getting out of here. Getting them out of here.

You saw Tuk run ahead and you wanted to tell her to slow down, but she spoke before you. “It’s almost eclipse, come on!!” 

Out from the bushes came Avatars, so many of them they outnumbered you at least 2 to 1. A woman grabbed Tuk, holding her tightly and you hissed aggressively and pulled out your knife from its sheath, but you knew immediately it would do very little against so many military people carrying fucking machine guns that were pointed at your face, and worse, at the faces of the people you loved. 

You heard the Avatars screaming at you, telling you all to put down your weapons, and you did, knowing there was no other choice. This wasn’t a battle you could win, this wasn’t even a battle you could start. You saw Lo’ak throw his bow on the ground, but Spider was unrelenting. 

“Drop it. Drop it.” Lo’ak warned Spider in Na’vi, and you thanked your lucky star that he was being at least a tiny bit reasonable. 

You were pulled forcefully by someone tugging you by your hair and pinning your arms together, holding them tightly, mirroring what was happening to your siblings around you. Tuk was crying, and your heart tugged at the sound, desperate to help her, a deep maternal instinct rising within you, and you felt rage and adrenaline fill your body. 

A few more Avatars made their way to the group. One of them looked a little older, and by the way all the others shifted towards him subconsciously, you reckoned he was the leader. Two men were following him closely, and a profound, unsettling feeling overcame you. They looked…familiar. The first one was bald. The second one had wavy hair and looked slightly different than all the others. He looked…dignified. Like he didn’t quite belong. Like his clothes were unbecoming on his body. You somehow felt you knew this man, and when you looked next to him at the first guy and his tattoo, at the girl holding Kiri… when you looked closely at all of them, your body jerked violently and your mouth fell agape. 

It couldn’t be… no…

Quaritch. Weinfleet. Pike. 

…Your dad… 

You didn’t understand what you were feeling at the moment, a mix that you have never experienced before, but at the forefront was gaping confusion and horror, shock and fear, and deep within you, maybe even a little bit of excitement. Could that actually be your dad? How is that possible? You buried his bones, you saw Weinfleet’s skeleton in the forest, you just saw Quaritch’s at the Shack. How could this be? 

You saw Weinfleet stalk towards you and he took a hold of your hand and forcefully brought it up. “Colonel, check it out. Four fingers. We’ve got a half-breed.” 

They thought you were Na’vi. Good. They realised you were born with Avatar blood, so you were most likely Jake’s. That made you valuable to them. Bad. The man behind you was pulling on your queue to lift your chin up so Quaritch can look at you properly. They were pulling on your arm and you felt pain all over, that was overshadowed by so many other emotions flooding your being. He inspected you shortly, and then moved on to Kiri and Lo’ak. 

“Show me your fingers.” Lo’ak brought both his hands up and flipped him off. You would laugh if your body could still produce any ounce of serotonin. 

You saw Quaritch smile crudely, eyeing Lo’ak up and down. “You’re his, aren’t you?” He continued smiling as Lo’ak hissed at him and took him by his hair, pulling him towards his eye level. 

“Where is he?” 

“Sorry, I don’t speak English…with assholes.” 

“Where is your father?” His accent was thick, and he butchered the words and pronunciation, but there was no mistaking what he wanted. Jake. So this is what it was all about. Even after 19 years, the RDA was willing to spend hundreds of millions of dollars in order to eliminate the Olo’eyktan. It was a good investment, you thought, considering there was only so much the humans can do with Jake in the picture. You wondered what they were willing to do to get to him. Would they kill you off, one by one? Would your dad kill you to get to Jake?

Lo’ak said nothing, only hissing in pain when the man kept tugging at his queue aggressively. You heard wails all around you coming from Kiri and Tuk, but you were focused on only one thing. Figuring out an escape route. You knew Neytiri and Jake were on their way, since Lo’ak alerted them to your location. It was only a matter of time before they arrived. Eclipse was also only about 10 more minutes away, so you would have the cover of darkness soon, which was an advantage to you, but not to them. Lucky for you, they tied your hands in front of you, which means you could still use them. You probed the strength of the hand ties, and realised quickly you weren’t getting out of them without a knife. The man holding you was keeping you close to his body. You recoiled in disgust, but tried to shimmy your body into him to feel for any possible things you could use. He was wearing an army vest. You felt grenades and ammo poking you in the back. You moved subtly a bit more, making it seem like the position was just uncomfortable, and felt a military knife holder in your lower back. Bingo. 

Quaritch took out a knife, and threatened Lo’ak with it, but soon moved along the line to Kiri. There was screaming coming from all the boys, but Spider’s voice broke through and Quaritch turned around to face him. It must be a weird sight to see, a human amongst the Na’vi, clearly young enough to have been raised here. You wondered if Spider connected the dots, if he figured out who the man standing if front of him was. You gave silent thanks to your mum and the scientists for the Avatar again. 

“What’s your name, kid?” 

“Spider… Socorro.”

Quaritch’s face changed, the sly smirk faltered and his expression was shocked, when it dawned on him the kid standing in front of him was his son. 

Neteyam and his parents landed as eclipse set in, enveloping the nature in bioluminescent glow. It would be beautiful if he wasn’t on the edge of losing his goddamn mind. He grabbed his bow and patted Seze before he made his way towards the shack. His dad turned around and put a hand in front of him. Neteyam’s nose flared at the words he knew were coming.

“No, no. You stay with the ikran.” 

“No.” 

“Neteyam…” his mother was trying to defuse the situation the best way she knew how. 

“I’m not going to say it again.” 

“You are not leaving me behind. I am older than mum was when the Sky People attacked the first time. My mate is out there. My brothers and sisters. I am coming.” 

Neteyam saw his dad looking at him intently, thinking about it for a while. Eventually, he relents and nods curtly. 

“You stay behind, do you read me, boy? Your mother and I will go first, so they think it’s just two of us. You stand and attack from behind when the opportunity arises.”

Neteyam agreed, although still disappointed. It was better than nothing.

“Let’s go.”

After splitting from his parents, Neteyam made his way quietly through the forest to a high point by which he could spot you and his siblings. He gasped silently and he could feel his heart in his throat, making him pant in shallow breaths, that were leaving him dizzy and disoriented. So many Avatars, all in military clothing, all carrying heavy guns, all holding at knifepoint the people he loved most in the world. He saw you and his breath stopped altogether, wet hair and a concerned, but focused expression on your face. Your eyes were scanning all of them, scanning the forest, it’s almost like you could tell they were here, that he was here. 

From far away, he heard his mum’s signature distress signal echoing through the forest. It was inconspicuous enough that to the undiscerning ears it probably sounded like a bird or a forest animal, but Neteyam saw all of your ears perk and your heads snapping in the direction it came from. Neteyam knew you were all trained for this, trained for emergency situations, and he felt a tug of gratitude for his father’s military ways that will most likely save their lives tonight.

The unmistakable sound of Neytiri’s call brought relief that washed over you like the raindrops falling from the sky. You knew then the kids will be alright. You looked at Lo’ak and you nodded almost imperceptibly in the direction of the guy at your 12 o’clock who was facing you both and had a smoke bomb clearly displayed on his vest. He looked at it and nodded back, and you knew he understood. You got this. 

With a loud thud that declared the beginning of the rescue mission, the man holding both Kiri and Spider was knocked to the ground, a green arrow sticking out of his forehead. The man holding you pushed you aside to get his gun, and without a second thought, you removed the knife from his holder and slit his throat. The blood went all over you, on your face and torso, but you didn’t care.

“LO’AK!” You screamed, and the boy released the pin from the smoke bomb, enveloping the whole area in green smoke. 

You stabbed another man in the neck at the same time Lo’ak and Tuk bit the people holding them, and ran for the woods. Good. 

You managed to run as well, trying to dodge the barrage of gunshots being released all around you, but you felt someone harshly pulling you backwards by your queue. You cried out, as pain dispersed from your spine all around you body, but the pull stopped when the woman who grabbed you got an arrow on the side of her head that came out the other side. The shot came from a different angle, and you knew that was Neteyam. You ran as soon as you were released, making sure to take the machine gun she was carrying in her hand before you sprinted to a tree that could provide cover. 

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself, and poked your head out so you could shoot whoever was still alive. You realised from the angle you were at, you had a perfect shot…that would kill your dad. Was this man even your dad? Would sparing his life for your own twisted desperation for answers and closure cost your new family theirs? Your finger went to the trigger, putting slight pressure on it. Just a little more pressure, and it would be over. Tears welled in your eyes and with a silent curse and gasped breaths, you lowered your gun and got back undercover.  

“Is that you, Mrs. Sully? I recognise your calling card.”

“Why don’t you come on out, Mrs. Sully? You and I, we’ve got some…unfinished business.” 

You saw the kids running in the distance, and you felt so much safer, so much gratitude in knowing they were going to be okay. That’s all that mattered in this moment, that Tuk, and Kiri, and Lo’ak and Spider make it back home in one piece. 

“DEMON! I will kill you as many times as I have to.” Neytiri’s voice sent shivers down your spine, so much hatred, so much intensity behind it.

“Guess you and the corporal got pretty busy, haven’t you? Got yourself a whole litter of half-breeds.” 

You saw the reflection of the gun in the corner of your eye before you had a chance to process it, and you heard a man scream “Na’vi!”, followed by the unmistakable sound of shots being fired where you stood. You saw the bullets like in slow motion, and you knew then you were done for. You were just happy everyone else was going to make it. You were happy Neteyam was going to make it. You closed your eyes in anticipation of the pain, but the pain you expected never came. Instead, you were pushed to the ground and another type of pain, the pain the came with scratches all over your body and the wind getting knocked out you, brought you back to reality and you registered Neteyam’s unmistakable pheromones flooding your entire being. 

“MOVE! GO, GO, GO!” He helped you to your feet and you both ran as fast as your feet could possibly carry you. You made it to a tree where you found Jake, and his presence calmed your thoughts and focused them - that was the effect he had on people, this great man and leader that you knew you would follow anywhere without question. 

He touched you arm and spoke to both of you. 

“Are you okay?” You and Neteyam nodded quickly.

“You ready? You ready?!” You saw him get out of cover and shoot, and you both sprinted for the hills, manoeuvring your way through thick shrubbery and tree roots, knowing that you wouldn’t have been able to do this even a few months ago, this level of athleticism and acrobatics that came naturally only to true Na’vi. 

You heard a big explosion behind you and you saw part of a big web of roots get destroyed as a result, and Spider falling a few meters beneath it. You and Neteyam were preparing to run back, but Jake stopped you, placing a firm hand in front of your bodies. You saw Neytiri picking Kiri up forcefully and running with her towards your direction, as the girl was looking back to where Spider was. 

Lo’ak and Tuk made it to your location as well, and you saw Jake kneel next to Tuk and hold her tightly in his arms as she cried, the weight of all you have all survived settling in all your bones. You hugged Neytiri like you never have before as you both cried, letting it all out, all the relief and fear and shock and happiness that you all made it out alive. 

“THANK YOU, GREAT MOTHER! THANK YOU!”

Lo’ak’s voice echoed through the forest. “Where’s Spider?” 

You looked at your sister, whose eyes looked like endless pools of sadness. “They took him! They took him!”

There were no words spoken as you all made your way back to camp. There were no words for what just happened. The adrenaline slowly depleted its resources in Neteyam’s body, leaving him in shambles, scrambling to figure out where to go from here. What were the next steps? Your back was flush against his chest, and the feeling of your skin on his, of your warmth emanating from your body, of your hand wrapped around his arm was the only thing that kept him from breaking down into a million pieces. You were here, his siblings were here. His thoughts flashed to Spider, and he knew he couldn’t think about it too much without tears welling in his eyes. He wasn’t close to Spider, definitely not nearly as close as the rest of his siblings, but he was family. Seze landed softly on the ground by the entrance to the camp. It was late, so most people were out for the night. You didn’t let go of him, not for one second, and he was so happy to see you again, so happy to feel you again, so sad it had to be under these circumstances. His family slowly made their way to the tent, but Neteyam felt you pull him back, urging him to let them go ahead without you. 

He saw you properly for the first time since the whole ordeal. You had mud all over you, but that was nothing compared to the blood covering your entire face and chest. Tears were falling down your cheeks and neck, and his hands immediately found your face, just as his lips found yours. It was soft in the beginning, tentative, like a flower blooming in the morning. But as you came to terms with everything that transpired, everything you went through, everything you could have lost, it shifted, it became desperate and needy, full of breathy moans and wandering hands. He almost lost you.. again. 

“Let’s go, please. I can’t be here.” Without any words, you got on Neyn and flew to your secret place. Neteyam’s hand was settled on your heart, that was thumping loudly, mirroring his own. You arrived quickly, the cave only a short distance away.

You ran, without looking at Neteyam and dove straight into the lake, not knowing for sure whether you wanted to reemerge, craving the numbness that came with drowning, craving it like the air that your was body was begging for. You felt the ripples in the water as Neteyam joined you, and when he touched you, your whole body lit ablaze, and the craving changed, as it always did when he was around. You missed him, so so much, and your fight and your need for space felt so silly now, so unnecessary in light of everything that you stood to lose at any moment. Any moment not spent in his presence, in his arms was wasted time, time you didn’t have. 

You came up for air, panting from your need for him settled deep within you, so that he could fill the gaping hole that just opened in your soul. He looked at your intensely, and you knew he felt the same, so you kissed him, pouring all your desires into it, feeling him do same to you. 

“I need you so badly, Atan. I have missed you so much.”

“Then take me, Neteyam. I’m yours.” 

You exited the water and lead him to the mossy grass outside of the cave, where the nature was shining brightly and the wind warmed your skin. You pushed him onto the ground, and straddled him, looking deep in his eyes as you took off your beaded top and unhooked his cummerbund from around his abdomen. He rose from where he was laying on the ground and started planting kisses down your neck and collarbone, making his way down. You moaned at the feeling, and threw your head back, giving him access to you, begging silently for him to never stop. HIs mouth found one of your breasts that he kissed, softly in the beginning before his tongue flickered over your nipple. You started grinding on him, cursing yourself for not removing both your loincloths before. His mouth moved to your other breast, whilst his hands went on to undo your loincloth, that he removed from you and threw to the side. He stopped to undo his own, and you thanked the great mother for whatever unspoken connection you two have always shared.

“I need to feel you, my love. All of you.” His hand went to his queue that he brought forth, and you were so grateful at the sight, aching for the union that will always bind you together, for life. 

You gasped loudly at the bond, overwhelmed with the outpouring of emotions emanating from Neteyam. So much pain, and fear and sadness, and so much love, and relief and gratitude all inundating your mind and soul, all making you breathless and dizzy. You both looked in each other’s eyes, both overcome with each other’s minds, both desperately in need of each other’s bodies. 

One of his hands resumed his slow torture on your breast while the other wrapped around your throat, until the asphyxiation lead to euphoria you felt deep between your legs, slick dripping all over Neteyam’s hard-on that you were grinding against. His hands let go and the rush of oxygen to your brain made you moan in pleasure, and increase the speed at which you were getting yourself off on his cock. His mouth was all over you, leaving marks that you knew would be seen by everyone in the village tomorrow, but you couldn’t care less. The whole world could burn around you at this point and you wouldn’t care, because there was nothing else. Nothing outside of this, of him, of this feeling. 

His hands went to your ass, pushing you deeper on him, urging you to go faster, helping you to your release. 

“Fuck, I love it when you fuck yourself on my cock.”

You moaned loudly at his words, feeling your orgasm building up in your core. “That’s right. Come for me, baby girl.” 

You threw your head back and rode out your orgasm with his hands on your ass still moving your now puffy and sensitive clit roughly on him. 

“You are so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”

Dazed, you felt yourself being picked up and placed on the ground, your back loving the feel of the wet grass touching your skin. His face was inches from yours, and he lowered it to kiss you, and it was so unlike everything else around you, so tender and soft, so needy and gentle. 

“I love you so much. I am so happy you are here.” You cried out and brought him back onto you, kissing him like your life depended on it, which to be honest, you think it did. You felt his dick twitching against your inner thigh and moaned, desperate to feel him deep in your, desperate to be filled. 

“Fuck, please.”

He smiles into the kiss, and reached down to line his cock to your folds, teasing your entrance mercilessly. 

“Neteyam…” you mewled, not in the mood to be teased, not tonight. 

He didn’t need to be told twice, as he pushed in slowly, letting you adjust to his girth, that always took you by surprise, that always stretched you out deliciously. He moaned as he filled you fully, and stopped to enjoy the way you squeezed him, the way you took him in like you wouldn’t ever let him go, your pussy the only prison he wouldn’t mind being held prisoner in forever. 

“Fuck, Atan. You’re taking me so well, baby. Always so well, I could get lost in this pussy.” 

You were so wet your slick was dripping all over him and down his balls, making it so easy for him to move in an out of you, at a slow, agonising pace. Your hands made their way to his back, hard and muscular, and you dug your nails in it roughly, scratching him as he increased his pace, fucking into you roughly and ruthlessly, making of you a whimpering mess. Your legs wrapped around him to grant him better access, to bring him in deeper, always deeper, until he was hitting a spot you could feel in your whole body, inundating your every cell, your every sense. 

“I can feel you squeezing my dick, Atan. I want to hear you coming on my cock, I want to feel you taking my cum like a good girl.” 

Your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike, overcharging your every nerve ending until you were so drained you could only see white, and you felt Neteyam’s load fill you to the brim, overflowing around you. Blissfully spent, his head fell on the crook of your neck, and you stood like that, listening to each other’s heartbeats and shallow breaths.

You laughed quietly thinking this was probably the most tame sex of your life, and how even when you were trying to be tempered and soft, you ended up like this, moaning and mewling like your life depended on it. This is what he did to you, what he’ll always be able to coax out of you. 

“It’s good to hear you laugh again. So I take it you forgive me?” He rolled from on top of you, and pulled you on from the ground so you can be face to face, as he intently listened to every sound that came out of your mouth. Your queues were still attached, so you could feel the anxiety building in his system. You hoped your lack thereof would put his mind to ease a little. 

“Mm, I don’t know if I forgive you, but I have realised something. Actually, I realised two things. First, today, walking through the forest with the kids, I realised that you were right. There’s no other choice, but to follow them to the ends of the world and hope you can at least help them not fall off the edge. And if you have to fall instead, that’s fine as long as they are safe. So I think I owe you an apology. 

Secondly, I realised I can’t change who you are, and I don’t want to. I love you. I love how kind and patient and compassionate you are. I love that you love your family, your baby brother so much that his safety comes first in your mind. You love fully, and give everything to the people you love, and that is what makes you a great brother and a great son…a great mate. It’s what will make you the best Olo’eyktan this clan has ever seen… it’s what will make you the best dad. So I can’t change that about you. 

But what I can do is make sure I will always be around. I’ll always be next to you, and behind you and in front of you, and I’ll always have your back. So if anything like that ever happens again, I will protect you. And if I can’t protect you, I will heal you. I will stitch your wounds, and mend your broken bones, because putting pieces back together is what I do best, anyway. I won’t have to be scared anymore, cause I’ll just always be there for you. Deal?” 

“Deal.” He said as he kissed you tenderly, and you felt the salty taste of his tears on your lips. 

You made your way back a couple of hours later, and were shocked to discover the Sullys were still awake. You silently stepped towards the tent where Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk were hiding, listening in to their parents’ shouted conversation.Kiri motioned for you to come and brought her hand to her lips, urging you to be quiet. 

“This thing, this Quaritch, whatever he is, is going to walk right into here, right under Eywa’s nose.”

“I cannot, you cannot ask this. I cannot leave my people. I will not.”

“He’s hunting us, he’s targeting out family.”

“You cannot ask this!” Neytiri was furious, her screams loud and forlorn.“The children, everything they’ve ever known, the forest! THIS IS OUR HOME!”

“He had our children. He had them under his knife.” Jake’s voice was hoarse and pleading, hushed tones hiding the deep hopelessness echoed in his words. 

“My father gave me this bow as he lay dying, and he said ‘Protect the people’. You’re Toruk Makto!” 

“This will protect the people!”Jake’s voice was raised now, no longer poised, no longer holding back. “Quaritch has Spider, and that kid knows EVERYTHING! He knows our whole operation. He could bring them right in here.” 

You felt annoyed at how quick Jake was to assume Spider would betray this family, the only family he’s ever known. Spider was a loud mouth, and he was just as reckless as Lo’ak, but he had a good heart. A strong heart. He is loyal and loves the Sullys and this clan more than he loves his own life, and you thought Jake knew that. 

“If the people harbour us, they will die. Do you understand?”

“Look, I’ve got nothing. I’ve got no plan. But I can protect this family. That I can do. And I do know one thing. Wherever we go, this family is our fortress.”

So many thoughts engulfed your mind, so many emotions flooded your being, one more extreme and agonising than the next, but almost like a joke brought about by the universe, the only thing that rang supreme was the realisation the Tiongli was going to get to be Tsa’hik after all.

Taglist (thank you ily x) @changing7 @erenjaegerwifee @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @winchestertitties @puffb4ll @rebeccao03 @ultimatebluff @cottoncandy23 @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @n3t3y4msm4t3 @loquatious-josephi-krakousky

[yourdeepestfathoms]

self-help

y'all liked my first fic, so here is another!

TW: Blood and injury; wound descriptions

------------------------

“Are you all alright?” Alcina asked, looking over each of the three creatures assembled in front of her. The blonde was slightly roughed up, but still stood up tall; the brunette bore a particularly nasty cut across her cheek, though it didn’t seem to bother her; and the redhead was slathered in man blood from getting to kill the intruder that had foolishly entered their castle and tried to murder them.

“Yes, Mother,” the blonde said, always quick to answer Alcina.

Alcina nodded. She looked at her other two daughters. “And you two?”

“I’m okay,” the redhead chirped. She seemed delighted to have killed something that day.

The brunette lightly touched the cut on her cheek, winced, then nodded, “I’m fine. It isn’t that bad.”

“We should still make sure any of that man-thing’s filth didn’t get into you,” Alcina said. She opened an arm and began guiding her middle child down one of the hallways. “Daniela, do what you will with the body. You’ve earned it.”

The redhead perked up, beaming, and bounded down a different hallway to where the corpse of the man had been left. Once she was gone, only the blonde was left behind in the foyer, and the girl instantly doubled over with a moan of pain, holding her stomach.

“Fuck,” Bela hissed. She was lucky for the dark material of her dress or else the blood seeping through the fabric would have easily been seen by her mother and sisters, and worrying them was the last thing she wanted. It was her own fault that she was shot. There were better things for them to focus on, anyway. Like Cassandra’s cut! Yes, that was definitely more important. She didn’t need any help.

Bela stepped forward and immediately crumpled to her knees when a spasm of pain rippled through her stomach. She bit down firmly to keep from crying out and tasted blood when her teeth pierced her tongue. Usually, the metallic tang would be rather appetizing, but something about it right now made her guts churn and twist up into knots, which definitely didn’t help her discomfort.

Kneeling, still holding her stomach, Bela rocked back and forth while taking several calming breaths. Breathing deeply furthered the strain in her stomach, while not breathing at all just made her chest hurt- she couldn’t win. All she could do was grit her teeth and bear with it like she did with everything. Don’t be a burden, don’t be a burden.

“Lady Bela?”

Bela looked up. A wiry, ash brown-haired maid was lingering at the opening of one of the cavernous hallways, shifting on her feet. Her dark amber eyes displayed nervousness, curiosity, and worry. The last emotion wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, at least towards Bela. Because of her general politeness to the castle workers, they tended to show more concern over her. The perks of not killing them for no reason, she supposed.

“Yes?” Bela said, forcing her voice to stay level and not quaver beneath the fiery edge of her own agony. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but she especially didn’t want to cause a scene in front of a maid. That was almost as bad as her sisters seeing her in such a state--though, for what it was worth, the maids wouldn’t tease her endlessly.

“Are you alright?” the maid asked, taking a small step forward. She was looking Bela up and down, most likely searching for any wounds, and Bela once again thanked Mother Miranda for black fabric.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Bela answered. At the same moment, however, a second wave of pain roared through her and her vision was suddenly spotted by black snow. Did someone open the window? And how long had snow been black? None of her books ever said anything about this…

“Lady Bela?”

Bela blinked harshly, and the storm disappeared. No windows were open. Snow was not black. The maid got closer.

“Ahh--” Bela swallowed hard. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The maid seemed to be trying to hold herself together. She was probably fearing for her own life if something happened to one of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters under her watch. Bela would prefer to not have this one die, as she was nice enough to actually check on her instead of ignoring the situation like other maids would, even if Bela denied her physical state when she asked how she was.

“Yes, yes,” Bela said, nodding. “I’m alright. Just…stomach cramps?”

The maid blinked. “Do you even go through a menstrual cycle?”

Bela splayed her fingers open with a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The maid actually laughed, which was a rare thing to happen. But the laughter was quickly cut off when her eyes focused on something, clouding over with concern, and Bela realized she was staring at her hands.

There was blood on her hands.

Her blood.

Bela balled her fists and cleared her throat. She looked up at the maid. “Go.”

The maid opened her mouth, but thought against whatever she was planning on saying, not wanting to test Bela’s civility--not that Bela would have hurt her if she had stuck around to speak whatever was on her mind. She dipped her head and scurried off, glancing over her shoulder as she went.

Bela sighed. She wiped her hands on a part of her dress that wasn’t damp. She needed to do something about her problem before her mother or one of her sisters found out.

Standing up was difficult, and Bela was sure Cassandra or Daniela, most likely both, would have teased her if they saw her like this. When she began to walk, she felt blood slither in slow trails down her legs, itching her skin. She fought the urge to scratch until she made it to the privacy of her bedroom, then instantly began shredding her dress with her claws, throwing the tatters of wet fabric to the floor to be picked up later. Once the gown was off, she turned to her mirror to inspect the damage.

Red. The entire front of her body was smeared in red. And beneath the red, there were holes, some as small as her pinky, some as big as a coin, each even darker than the blood and packed full of shrapnel.

Bela had been a fool to go after the man-thing on her own. As reckless and wild as Cassandra and Daniela were with their fighting, they were strong, much stronger than she was. She had seen them withstand vicious stabs and strikes and shots that would have killed any normal person and keep slashing their claws as if nothing had happened, but it took a blast from a shotgun to put her down. She was so blinded by the idea of killing the intruder to impress her mother that she didn’t even think to create an actual plan until she became well-acquainted with leaden bullet chunks against her midsection.

The buckshot was evenly spread out along her abdomen, and maybe it could have passed as paint splattered all over her body if it wasn’t for the malevolent grey peeking out from liquid red. There was a particularly large cluster of holes on her left side, where an entire chunk of meat had been blown free from her waist, but they reached all the way over to her navel and up to the underside of her chest. The bullet pieces were the seeds of her agony, and she desperately needed to reap them from her flesh.

Bela began rummaging through one of her drawers, straining the lead lodged in her skin, and pulled out an old cotton gown she hadn’t worn in years. She walked over to the rocking chair in the corner near the window and sat down. She loved this chair, and it was a shame that it was going to be bled all over, but wood was easier to clean than cloth. She didn’t want to risk staining her bed right now.

Biting down on the gown, Bela began going over the buckshot. There were eighteen holes in total, all of them full of lead. She nearly miscounted a few times because she thought some of them were empty, but then realized the bullets were just buried in her tissue. There was one in particular that she didn’t even see, but could feel shifting around beneath her flesh like a hungry maggot. It made her stomach roil in disgust.

This was not going to be fun.

Bela’s hands were shaking as she brought them down to her stomach. Simply brushing the skin sent waves of torture shivering through her nerves, and she didn’t even want to think about what it was going to feel like to actually remove the slugs, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t just leave them inside of her.

Taking a deep breath and biting down hard on the gown, Bela stuck her pointer finger and thumb into one of the holes. Instantly, her vision flashed black, then red, and then white, and she was sure she had passed out for a few eternal seconds. Even when she pried her eyes back open, all she saw was a messy mishmash of swirling colors, and she wondered if she had somehow gone blind. But then sight slowly oozed back to her, and she was able to see the grotesque image of her fingers stretching the edges of a bullet hole.

She swallowed down acidic bile and grasped the sides of the piece of lead.

For a moment, the stubborn little thing didn’t want to come out, and Bela began to fear that it was just a part of her now, forever fused with her flesh, burrowed within her like a leaden parasite, but then it popped out with a small spew of blood and she was able to catch her breath. She dropped the ball, which was no bigger than her pinky finger, and watched it bounce across the floor before rolling beneath her bed. She would get it later. Right now, she had its stupid siblings to deal with.

Breathing in deeply again, clamping down on the gown like before, Bela dug her fingers into a second hole that looked easy enough to scoop out. And it was, surprisingly. The blood proved to be a helpful lubricant and the bullet slid right out when she tugged, not bothering to put up a fight. She peered at it for a moment, squinting her watery eyes.

“You are an asshole,” she spat.

The bullet winked at her in response, the bright red blood coating its surface catching on the light inside the room and making it twinkle like a ruby. She flicked it away, and it left a line of crimson across her polished floors. She would clean that up later, too.

Third time’s a charm. Bela prepared herself again, breathing in and biting down, and dove into the next hole.

She didn’t know why she thought the process of pulling out bullets would suddenly be easier just because she succeeded with the first two. She was an idiot when she had gotten shot and she was an idiot now, trying to rid herself from the consequence of her actions.

Her claws slipped on the slickness of her blood and accidentally pushed the bullet in deeper.

Bela would have screamed if it weren’t for the blood that crawled up her throat, clogging her esophagus. She coughed, thinking that the bullet was going to come out of her mouth, and red splattered across her bare chest, staining her bra. Tears sprang to her eyes and poured down her cheeks. Her shaking hands hovered over the hole, but she couldn’t see the slug anywhere.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Bela muttered. Did she push it so deep it breached one of her organs? What would happen if it did? How was she going to get it out?

She tried to stretch the edges of the wound, but stopped when she nearly threw up from the pain. She sobbed. What was she going to do? Bela leaned back against the chair, causing it to rock slowly. Maybe she could just leave the bullets inside of her. They probably wouldn’t kill her. She and her sisters were able to endure more than normal creatures could, so it would probably just be very uncomfortable. For the rest of her life.

She swallowed blood and bile. Having to spend the rest of eternity like this didn’t sound very appealing. In fact, it sounded like the complete opposite of appealing. Unappealing.

A sound snapped Bela out of her muddled thoughts; the doorknob was wiggling. Someone was coming into her room.

Lunging forward, nearly slipping on a tiny puddle of her blood, Bela slammed the door shut before it could be opened completely and pressed her weight against it. From the other side, she heard a noise of surprise.

“Bela? What is the meaning of this?”

Her heart sank into her bullet-infested insides. It was her mother. She just slammed the door in her mother’s face. Oh, she was in for it now.

Bela nearly opened up right then and there and got down on her knees to apologize, but one glance down at her horribly-scathed body made her think better of it. She had told Alcina that she was fine, and now she needed to live up to it, even if she felt like she was being swarmed and eaten by her own insects. She had to swallow down her hopeless devotion to her mother to keep her from worrying over her.

“Sorry,” Bela said, hoping her voice wasn’t wavering as much as she thought it was. “I, uhh-- I thought you were Cassandra or Daniela. They always barge into my room without knocking. I don’t appreciate it very much.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she still didn’t feel good about making up an excuse.

From out in the hallway, Alcina was quiet for a moment, and Bela wondered if she was going to break down the door and let herself in. But then she chuckled and said, “I see. I remember the time you tried to set traps for them when they kept interrupting your reading time.”

Bela laughed, which morphed into a groan of pain when her stomach strained. SHe masked it with a cough, then replied, “They were good traps!”

“Darling, you set up a board full of nails for them to step on.”

“My point still stands.”

“And a tripwire that would trigger a pot to swing into their face and knock them out.”

“You got to admit that it was pretty impressive that I was able to make that.”

Alcina chuckled again. “Yes, you have always been my most resourceful little one.”

Bela’s chest warmed with pride. The praise momentarily made her forget about the pain she was in.

“Now, can you let me in? I need to talk to you.”

And like that, the pain was back, the soothing warmth chased off by icy cold dread. Did her mother know? Did that maid snitch on her? She swallowed thickly.

“Umm-- can’t we just talk like this? It’s just as effective.”

“I would prefer it if I was able to see you when I speak to you,” Alcina said. She paused for a moment. “Why can’t I come in?”

“I’m-- I’m naked.”

Also wasn’t a lie, technically.

Alcina was quiet for a moment.

“Bela, I watched you come out of a mass of insects as naked as a babe. I do not think there’s anything left to be seen that I don’t know about already.”

You’d be surprised, Bela thought, looking down at her marred form.

“It’s-- it’s just embarrassing for me!”

Alcina sighed. “Then why don’t you put some clothes on?”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get out of this conversation, Bela said, “Right! Okay!” And then began scrambling for something to wear. The exertion made the two empty bullet holes pucker like hungry mouths and drool out even more blood that drizzled down her legs like snakes. She didn’t have time to clean herself up, so she just threw on the first gown she could reach in one of her drawers--a dark blue one she had sewn herself--wiped her hands off, kicked the tattered black dress under the bed, and smeared the blood on the floor until it couldn’t be seen against the hardwood. Then, she put on the most believable, while also innocent expression of normalcy and opened her door.

“My lady,” she said with a wide sweeping motion of her arm, trying to be funny, trying to hide the fact that she was in immense pain and simply being on her feet made her lightheaded, trying not to worry her mother.

Alcina didn’t laugh at her joke. She seemed rather suspicious as she ducked into the room--not that Bela really blamed her. She was definitely being very suspicious.

“What did you want to talk about?” Bela asked, looking up at her mother.

Alcina looked around her room, but Bela had been smart enough to clean the floors. Not well, but they were clean. When she found nothing, she studied Bela, and Bela held herself as she usually did--maybe a bit too formally.

“I just wanted to check on you all after the attack,” Alcina finally answered, meeting her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mother,” Bela said, and she hated lying to Alcina, but she didn’t have a choice. She hated being a burden even more and that was all she was going to be if Alcina found out about her wounds.

“Are you sure?” Alcina narrowed her eyes at her.

“Yes, Mother,” Bela repeated. Then, trying to change the subject, she asked, “How is Cassandra?”

“She’s okay,” Alcina answered. “She will heal. The cut wasn’t very deep.”

“And Daniela?”

“Feasting. I wouldn’t go near her if I were you. She may just maim you and add you to her meal.” A smile came to Alcina’s lips, and Bela let herself laugh.

Unfortunately, that laughter quickly turned to coughing as her body seized with pain. She tasted blood as the bullets seemed to rattle within her, flesh clenching down around lead. She wiped her mouth before pulling her hand away.

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Alcina didn’t respond for a moment. Her entire face was knitted with great concern, and Bela already felt bad for worrying her.

“Bela, are you sure you are alright?”

For a fourth time that day: “Yes, Mother.”

Alcina wasn’t going to let it go that easily, it seemed, because she questioned further: “Have you caught a chill?” She walked over and pressed a hand to Bela’s forehead. Bela couldn’t help but lean into it, always eager to be touched by her mother. “You shouldn’t be coughing like that.”

“I just had a tickle in my throat.”

“I don’t like being lied to, Bela.”

Bela’s resolve nearly broke beneath her mother’s stern gaze, but she kept her facade from falling through sheer willpower alone. She said, “I’m not.”

Alcina’s eyes narrowed. She pulled her hand back and went to say something when she appeared to slip on something. Steadying herself, she looked down at the ground, and Bela’s breath caught in her throat when she realized what exactly her mother had staggered on.

Alcina bent over and picked up the buckshot.

Bela didn’t let her panic show on her face as Alcina examined the tiny lead ball. Its siblings, still lodged deep in her stomach, seemed to giggle at the predicament she was ensnared in when a fresh bout of pain quivered through her nerves. She stayed calm as flashing yellow eyes slid back over to her.

“Bela,” Alcina said slowly, and Bela already didn’t like the tone she was using. “What is this?”

Bela considered playing dumb, but then she remembered that she was the smart, bookish one. She could use her multitude of knowledge as an excuse.

“That’s buckshot, Mother. It comes from a shotgun. Did you know that they have enough firepower to blow a head off? It’s because it has several bullets in one shot instead of a singular one, which means more power behind each blast.”

Alcina held a hand up and Bela instantly shut her mouth.

“Why do you have it?” Alcina asked.

“I was studying it,” Bela answered. It was believable enough. It did sound like something she would do, but Alcina didn’t seem very convinced.

“Your blood is on this, Bela,” Alcina said. “Why is your blood on this bullet?”

“I-- I--” Bela’s act was beginning to crumble.

Alcina turned to her completely, clenching the buckshot in her fist. “Were you shot?”

“Mother, I--”

“Were you shot?”

“Yes,” Bela blurted, unable to hide it anymore. “But-- but it isn’t that--”

“Show me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Bela Dimitrescu, show me where you are hurt. Now.”

Flinching at her mother’s severe tone, Bela removed her dress and revealed the mess on her stomach and chest. When she heard Alcina gasp, she quickly said, “It isn’t that bad. You don’t have to worry about me, Mother. I can take care of it.”

“You fool!” Alcina exploded, and Bela flinched away. “What were you thinking?! Why would you hide this from me?!”

“I-- I thought I could--” Bela was having a hard time collecting her words. If there was one thing she really hated, it was when people raised their voices, even if it wasn’t directed towards her. When Cassandra and Daniela would get into fights, she always left the room and got as far away as possible so she wouldn’t have to hear them yelling. But, as bad as their shouting was, it was nothing compared to their mother when she was worked up.

“I--”

“I asked you if you were alright!” Alcina roared on. “If you were okay! You said you were! And then I come in here and find you with bullets in your flesh?!” She shook her head, nearly dislodging her hat from her head. “What do you have to say for yourself, Bela?”

Personally? Bela really wished they weren’t having this conversation when she didn’t have a shirt on.

Dipping her head shamefully, the only thing that Bela could manage was a pathetic, “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Why can’t you just let me help you for once?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Bela confessed. “Or worry you.”

Alcina sighed and rubbed her face slowly. “Bela, I am more worried and disappointed because you hid this from me.”

Bela could only squeak out a feeble, “Oh.”

Alcina knelt down in front of her and lifted her chin. “Honey, why would I be disappointed in you for coming to me for help?”

Bela couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. “Because-- because I got hurt. And I shouldn’t have. I’m a shitty fighter and got shot and I should have been stronger.”

“Your strength has nothing to do with this,” Alcina said. “Cassandra got hurt too, you know.”

“Cassandra probably didn’t care.”

“I beg to differ. You should have seen her while I was rubbing honey into her wound. She was wiggling around like a little worm!”

Bela laughed slightly, then whimpered immediately after. Alcina glanced at her bullet-filled body, then cupped her cheeks.

“Do you know what I would have done if you had died from these wounds?”

Bela tried not to look at her.

“I would have done everything in my power to get you back to me. I would tear down the sun and moon for you, my darling.” There was so much love in Alcina’s words, so much tenderness and care. Bela was drawn to it. “Please tell me you will come to me next time something happens. I cannot fathom the thought of you being in any more pain.”

Whether or not she actually would when the time came, Bela nodded. Alcina smiled at her warmly and placed a kiss against her forehead.

“That’s my good girl,” she said. “Now…” Her eyes slid down to the bullet wounds. “To handle this.”

“I tried to get them out myself,” Bela said. “I promise I tried. I got two out, but then-- but I couldn’t--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her hair. “You tried. That’s all that matters. But I am so proud of you, darling. It must not have been easy.”

Bela shook her head with a whimper.

“Alright,” Alcina stood up straight. “Come on. Lay on your bed. We need to get those little devils out of you.”

Bela didn’t disobey. She had already disobeyed enough for one day. She crawled onto her bed, whimpering each time her body bent in a way the bullets disagreed with. They felt like festering parasites inside her stomach. She was lightheaded.

“Mama,” she moaned. She was the last to stop calling Alcina such a thing. Cassandra was first, then Daniela, and when they both heard her still referring to their mother in that way, they teased her. While it had been done playfully, it was still enough to embarrass Bela and get her to stop to avoid risking further humiliation. But now she didn’t even care. She was far too uncomfortable to care about anything her sisters had to say.

“Mama…”

Alcina caressed the side of her face. “I’m right here, baby. Lay back for me.

Bela, as loyal as a hound, did as she was told. Her head rested against one of her fluffy pillows, but it did little to stop the room from spinning like a top. She looked over at Alcina anxiously, but her mother had an expression of focus and calm.

“Alright, my dove,” Alcina said, cupping one of her clammy, pallid cheeks. “I need you to lay as still as possible for me. Do you think you can do that?”

Bela nodded feebly.

“Very good. I’m going to start now, alright? Just stay still and breathe. I’ll work as quickly as I can.”

Another nod.

“Here I go.”

Even with the warning, Bela’s body still jolted when she felt the sharp stab of her mother’s claws against one of the bullet holes. Her eyes snapped open, but she was blind for several seconds before details bled back into awareness. To her own credit, she managed to keep from crying out, but only because she clenched her jaw so hard she chipped one of her fangs. Cassandra and Danieal were definitely going to tease her over that later, but it was the least of her problems at the moment.

The third bullet slid out with relative ease, lubricated by her blood, and, Mother Miranda, she was only just realizing she had fifteen more to go.

“One down,” Alcina said, flicking the buckshot to the floor. She lifted Bela’s chin to examine her broken tooth. “Hmm. It’ll grow back, don’t worry. It didn’t chip that much.”

“I was using a gown,” Bela said, her words coming out wheezy and weak. “To bite down on.” She pointed to the dress left on the rocking chair. “Can I use it again?”

Alcina followed her hand, spotting the bundle of fabric. “Oh, clever girl!” she praised, rubbing Bela’s head. She picked up the gown and gave it to Bela. “As I said before: you are my bright little daughter.”

Bela smiled shyly before biting down on the gown. She gave her mother an affirmative look to begin again.

The next three bullets went out smoothly--or as smoothly as little masses of lead wedged in sensitive tissue and muscle could be. But then Alcina got to one of the deeper slugs and it didn’t come out when tugged on, causing Bela to cry out and jerk away.

“Breathe, darling,” Alcina said, settling her back on her back when she tried to roll over. “Breathe. It’s alright. This one is a little deeper. A lot of them are going to be, but I need you to stay still and stay calm for me. Can you do that?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Bela said honestly.

Alcina frowned. She stroked her face, wiping away tears. “I know you can. You’re strong, Bela, regardless of what you think. And just know that I am so proud of you.”

Bela reached up to grab her mother’s hand. She pressed into the warm palm like a kitten seeking heat in the middle of a winter storm. Finally, she relented, “Okay.”

“Thank you, darling,” Alcina crooned. She went to return to her work, but Bela didn’t release her hand. “I need you to let me go, Bela.”

Bela was unwilling to part with the warmth, so Alcina did it herself, easily peeling her fingers away. She touched her cheek tenderly for a moment before saying, “Bite down and breathe, baby. I’m starting again.”

Bela did as she was told, grinding her teeth into the gown as claws returned to her sore stomach. She flinched, but didn’t try to squirm away again, grounding herself by grasping handfuls of the sheets beneath her.

Seven, eight, nine, ten… Alcina worked diligently, expertly removing the buckshot from Bela’s body. When she got to the eleventh one and it proved to be rather reluctant to leave its host, she stopped for a moment to give Bela time to breathe and prepare herself.

“You’re doing so good,” Alcina cooed, stroking Bela’s hair, which was wet with cold sweat. Bela had started to tremble at some point, though she didn’t exactly know when, but she hoped it wasn’t making the bullet removal harder than it already was.

“Mama,” Bela mewled. “It hurts…”

“I know,” Alcina hushed her. “I know. I’m almost done. Just eight more to go.”

“Hurry-- hurry--” Bela panted.

“Are you sure? You can wait a moment longer to catch your breath.”

Bela shook her head. “Please.”

Alcina pursed her lips, then nodded. “Alright. Here I go.”

Bela braced herself.

“Eleven…”

Bela breathed.

“Twelve…”

Bela bit down.

“Thirteen…”

Bela--

Bela screamed.

Bela screamed because the fourteenth bullet was buried deep within her flesh, burrowed in her warmth like a maggot in a corpse. She kicked out her legs and tried to yell for Alcina to stop, but blood mixed with bile lurched up the back of her throat and her mouth was clogged with fluids. Alcina ripped out the pellet with enough force to slit the edges of the hole with her claws, threw it to the floor, and then lifted Bela’s head so she wouldn’t inhale her own blood and choke. Bela coughed, staining her chest in a fresh layer of red.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her thumb with her cheek. “Nothing to apologize for, darling. You’re doing very well. We’re so close to finishing.”

Bela looked at her, breathing heavily, her throat thick with blood. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded weakly. Alcina set her head back down on the pillow.

“Here we go, my sweet. Just a little longer.”

But Bela wasn’t able to handle it when the fifteenth was removed. She grabbed her mother by the wrist when she reached for the sixteenth one, clinging tightly.

“No more, no more--” Bela begged.

Alcina frowned. “I have to get them out, baby. You’re so close.”

Bela shook her head. “No, no-- can’t we-- can’t we just leave them in?”

“Bela. You’re smarter than that. You know we can’t.”

“But-- but it hurts,” Bela wept. “I can’t-- I can’t take it anymore. Please, Mama. Please just stop .”

Above her, Alcina looked incredibly worried. She ran her bloody claws through Bela’s hair, soothing her.

“I have to,” Alcina said. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Bela sobbed, but didn’t stop her.

With a cruel yank, the sixteenth bullet dislodged with a spit of blood. Bela shredded the sheets beneath her.

The seventeenth took some digging, with her mother stretching the tender edges of the hole with one hand, picking out flesh with the other. She nearly threw up at the disgusting squelching sounds that filled the air, but managed to save herself from the humiliation by swallowing hard.

The eighteenth, the one she had accidentally pushed in deeper, was the worst. It was like having a hot knife thrust into her soft stomach over and over again. She shivered with pain and blood loss as she felt the bullet being tugged on in her ragged flesh. It was a sickening friction of skin sucking against the force of her mother’s claws. She didn’t even know if it came out fully because her eyes rolled to the back of her head and everything went black.

——— ——— ———

Wiping her claws of blood, Alcina frowned down at her eldest daughter. Bela was unconscious. It seemed the pain was finally too much for her little body. Though, she made it all the way to the end. Alcina was expecting her to pass out a lot sooner.

And she said she wasn’t strong.

Scooping her up into her arms, Alcina carried Bela to her bedroom, telling a maid to clean up the bloody mess left behind. Once inside her chambers, she ran Bela a hot bath, washing her of all the blood that stained her body. The warm water seemed to rouse her daughter because shiny amber eyes peeked out from under heavy eyelids as she was cleaning out her hair.

“Mama,” Bela breathed out.

Alcina smiled at her lovingly. “Hello, my sweet.”

Bela looked around sluggishly. She seemed dazed. “I’m… huh?”

“You passed out,” Alcina informed her.

“The buckshot…?”

“All out,” Alcina reached out to caress her cheek. “It’s over. You did it. I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”

Bela, always wanting affection, pressed into her hand. “Finally…”

Alcina chuckled. “I’m just going to finish washing all this blood off and then you can lay back down. You need lots of rest to heal.”

“Can you…?”

Alcina smiled again. Her heart swelled with adoration and love towards her daughter.

“Yes, I will lay with you.”

Bela had definitely earned it.

[koushou]

Can you please do zhongli/rex lapis x fem shy reader. The fem reader is extremely shy and doesn't have any friends cause of her quiet and timid nature and she lives in liyue with her parents and an only child. She loves to story of rex lapis and the history of liyue and accidentally meet zhongli and sometime later he revealed to be rex lapis to the reader. Also, the fem is a villager of liyue and doesn't have super powers to fight just a weak villager.

fateful meeting

pairing : zhongli x shy f!reader {fluff}

warnings : none

word count : 2.6k

a/n : thank you for this request! I apologize for the wait, I dont think i made the reader as shy as you requested jshdjd sorry, i hope you enjoy !

Even as a child you had been fascinated by the stories of Liyue, or rather, a specific figure in its history. Perhaps, the archons have heard your passionate nature regarding Liyue, for a fateful meeting one day will change your peaceful life forever. 

Life was everything you could’ve ever wished for.

Only the soft, consistent chopping of a knife against a wooden cutting board and an occasional quiet flip of a page in a book could be heard in one of the many homes in Qingce Village. 

Sunlight seeps through the cracks of the window you sat by, casting a bright glow on the words inside the book in your hands, seeming as if the story itself was coming to life.

Well, not that the story wasn’t coming to life, it had already come to life, for you were currently reading about the history of your beloved nation, Liyue.

The book you were so engrossed in was not an unfamiliar story, having already read it a couple times. You would never grow tired of this one.

A smile played on your lips as you approached one of your favorite parts of this specific chapter. 

Softly fiddling with the corner of the thin page, your eyes scanned over the familiar words slowly.

Wielding a spear so sharp no blade could even hope to compete against, he emerges from the shadows, illuminating a golden aura around his built figure. In one swift motion, the polearm-wielding fighter sends a rumble through the ground beneath him, ridding of any enemies around him in a flash. A sigh leaves his lips as he removes his hood, examining his surroundings. A long ponytail of golden-brown hair trails down to his waist, flowing softly in the wind. His eyes the same shade, if anything more golden, slowly fluttering shut, head turning upwards, immersing himself in the soft breeze.

You pause and gaze out the window, sighing at the scene of hundreds of miles of tall mountains spread out all around, all thanks to one person. One archon, to be more specific.

About to flip the page once more to continue, you were interrupted by your mother’s voice calling out from the kitchen. 

“Y/N, dear, could you fetch me some berries down the river if you aren’t busy?”

You tear your eyes away from the book begrudgingly, calling back, “Fine, anything else?”

“Some sweet flowers and fowl would be great, thanks honey!”

You shut the book, placing it down on your table as you stand up to stretch, bones cracking at the movement.

As much as you wanted nothing but to snuggle back into your chair and immerse yourself back into the story, your parents were the most important people in your life, and you knew it was mainly up to you to take care of them.

Being an only child isn’t as lonely as people make it out to be, you get peace and quiet in the home, and you wouldn’t change it for anything else.

Kicking on your shoes you wore when you ventured outside, you picked up the basket that was used to collect food, as well as your hunting bow for the fowl.

You didn’t know how to fight, having spent your whole life secluded in the village, but you had enough hunting experience, at least.

About to head out, your eyes landed on the book now laying on the table and pondered for a moment, before grabbing it and placing it into the basket.

Despite your mother’s scolding about dangers reading outside, you just wanted a change of scenery while you lose yourself in Liyue’s history.

“I’m heading out now, Ma!” You call out as you push open the wooden door to your home, earning a hum from her in response.

The heat in Liyue would be pretty unbearable to outsiders, however having lived in the same village for almost all your life, it wasn’t anything new.

You hummed, greeting your neighbors occasionally with a wave, walking down to your usual place to fetch ingredients.

Finally reaching your destination not too far from the village, you crouch by the river as you picked the sweet flowers and berries your mother had asked for.

“Mmm, what else did she ask for again?” You thought out loud, forgetting the last ingredient, eyes landing on your bow.

“Oh right, fowl!”

You scan your surroundings, looking for any signs of birds, when suddenly you hear a sharp rustle of a bush behind you. 

Not having time to even turn around and investigate, a heavy weight pounced on you from behind, causing you to tumble forward.

You let out a yelp, feeling a pain through your arm that you had landed on, turning around to see the attacker.

Your eyes widened, seeing it had been a hilichurl that was currently standing above you, however, it didn’t feel like a regular hilichurl.

It had black smoke emitting around it, as if some type of curse had been placed on it, enhancing its strength.

The hilichurl spurt out some unintelligible words, before raising its bat and lunging at you once again.

You grab your bow beside you quickly, aiming at its head before completely missing due to your shaking hands.

Cursing under your breath, you pick up a rock and throw it weakly at the creature, causing it to stop only briefly before charging towards you again, seemingly more angered this time. 

This was it, you thought. All the time spent not learning how to fight, this must’ve been your punishment. 

You shield your face with your arms, hoping to at least lessen the impact, before hearing the hilichurl shout followed by a thud behind you. 

Moving your hands away from your head, you turn to see the hilichurl now lying unconscious a few feet away from you.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” 

A deep, masculine voice brings you out of your shock, as you turn slowly to meet your savior, instead met by a hand held out in front of you, offering assistance. 

Your eyes trailed up to the mysterious man’s face, before your breath caught in your throat.

A long ponytail of golden-brown hair trails down to his waist, flowing softly in the wind.

The man looked back at you curiously, hand still reached out toward you.

His eyes the same shade, if anything more golden.

Why were you suddenly reminded of those words in the book?

Your mouth gapes at the sight of the man above you, his presence bringing a strange feeling you didn’t recognize.

Your eyes widened. Could it be..?

“...excuse me? Are you alright?”

His voice brings you out of your daze once again, a worried look cast upon his handsome features. Wait, what?

It was only then did you realize how good looking the man was before you, turning red as you took his hand and stood up, wobbling a tiny bit.

“Thank you for saving me,” you bow slightly, quickly picking up your forgotten belongings on the ground, still flustered from the incident.

You were about to say goodbye and leave as quick as you could, before your book fell out of your basket and landed on the ground next to the man’s feet.

“Ah—“

The man bent down and picked up the book, about to hand it back to you, when he suddenly stopped and examined the cover.

You swore you could’ve been seeing things, but a small smile grazes his lips as he faces you.

“Are you also interested in the stories of Liyue?”

You stop in your tracks, turning to the man who was now flipping through the pages of the book to the section you had bookmarked prior.

His golden orbs now held an unreadable expression behind them, almost...nostalgic.

You felt a small surge of confidence as your favorite topic was brought up.

“Ah--yes, I am quite informed of the history of Liyue myself,” you smile softly to yourself, causing him to look up and chuckle.

“Is that so?” He hums, tilting his head upwards to face the blue sky, closing his eyes slowly. 

...slowly fluttering shut, head turning upwards, immersing himself in the soft breeze.

Your eyes widened at the sight.

There was no way.

But, there was no other explanation for it.

“May I...ask your name?” You ask carefully, awaiting his answer.

He shuts the book with a soft thud, handing it back to you to which you take back happily.

“I go by Zhongli.”

He offers you a smile, making your heart skip a beat and blood to your cheeks, as you stutter back your name in response.

“Be careful around these parts, monsters have been affected by some sort of spell here, making them stronger than usual,” he explains while putting away his spear he had used earlier.

Wielding a spear so sharp no blade could even hope to compete against.

There was no mistaking it.

“Are you perhaps--” 

You start to ask, gaining a curious gaze from him, however stopping in your words after realizing how bizarre you’d sound if you’d ask him the question you had been aching to voice since your meeting.

“Nevermind, I should get going,” You shake your head, thanking him once more before starting to walk away.

“If you’d like me to answer your question, meet me back here tomorrow, at the same time.”

Zhongli spoke behind you, making you turn and meet his eyes, which gazed back into yours almost knowingly. 

“But you don’t know what my question is,” you question, confusion evident on your features.

He chuckles again, the sound making you melt on the spot.

“Do not underestimate the geo archon.” 

With that, he disappears into the other direction, leaving you frozen in your place.

Did he just…?

A million thoughts were coursing through your head at the moment. But one thing was for sure, you couldn’t wait until tomorrow. 

--

That night, sleep did not come to you like usual.

With your head filled with thoughts about Zhongli, and his last words before departing, you were basically shaking with excitement.

Had you really met him?

Nevermind, your questions would all be answered the next day.

--

“I see you’ve arrived.”

Zhongli smiles at you, to which you return the gesture, still mesmerized by his delicate features to speak.

You had practically jumped out of bed this morning, making some jumbled excuse about fetching more berries and fowl to your mother, who was left dumbfounded.

Zhongli pats the spot beside him on the grass, and you notice his spear laying next to him on the other side.

Carefully sitting down next to the tall man, both of your backs leaned against the tree with its leaves above you providing minimal cover from the sun. It was then that you noticed the close proximity of your bodies, making you flush.

“So, would you like to ask me your question from yesterday?”

You bit your bottom lip nervously for a moment, before shaking your head and reaching next to you into the bag that you had brought. 

“Ah-- before that, Mr. Zhongli, you mentioned you are also interested in Liyue’s stories?” You pulled out the book from yesterday. 

He nods, as you flip open the book to the chapter you had bookmarked. The same chapter describing Rex Lapis’s first appearance.

“Just Zhongli is fine. And yes, I am also well-informed of the stories of Liyue. Would you like me to tell you some?”

You nod, showing him the marked section. “That would be nice, but could you answer this one question of mine first?”

He takes the book from your hands, bright pupils scanning over the words. A small breeze blew by just that moment, causing his long hair to lift slightly. The sunlight shone softly on his pale skin, giving him an almost ethereal aura.

You never thought someone could appear so calm and peaceful while reading a book.

“Yes, ask away.” 

He lifts his head up to meet your eyes, making you clear your throat, embarrassed you had been admiring him so openly.

Although that chapter remains your favorite chapter of all times, there had been one question that had stayed in the corner of your mind each time you read it.

“In that section, when Rex Lapis lifts his head and immerses himself in the wind, what do you think he was feeling? Satisfaction from eliminating his enemies? Or perhaps, tired from all the fighting in the Archon War?”

Zhongli hums, smiling gently at nothing in particular as he closes his eyes, lifting his head up towards the sky.

A small breeze passes by again, and you smile at the sight. You no longer questioned his true identity. You knew.

“That all may be true, however, I’d say he was feeling quite…” He pauses, as if trying to search for the right word.

“...saddened, almost.”

You tilt your head curiously, “Saddened?”

He nods, facing you, “Perhaps mournful, even. Have you ever wondered if Rex Lapis wanted to kill at all? Although those evil should be eliminated, they are still living souls, and perhaps he wished for everything to return to normal.”

Zhongli’s voice trailed off, as he held a sad feeling behind his eyes, making you unconsciously reach for his hand laying on his lap.

He looked at you in surprise at the sudden contact, and your eyes widened at your own actions, making a move to quickly retrieve your own hand, when he stops you.

 He brings the both of your hands together, now laying on his lap as red spreads through your cheeks.

The both of you sit in silence as a few beats pass, when he breaks the silence once again.

“I’d like to share with you some of my favorite stories of Liyue, would you be interested?”

You smile, nodding as he starts speaking again.

And he shares stories you’ve never heard before, or even some that you have, but a different version of. The difference in stories that you had believed your whole life made you surprised, not sure what to believe.

No, scratch that, deep down, you knew what to believe. Or, who to believe.

Zhongli shares his stories until it starts to become dark, to which he finally stops and suggests you return home.

“I’ll walk you home, it’s quite dangerous at night.”

You thank him, and you two start to make your way back, continuing to talk about Liyue and its fascinating history.

“Ah, it’s just right down there. Thank you for today, Zhongli.” You smile at him once again, ready to return before he stops you.

“Are you not going to ask me the question you had yesterday?” It was quite dark, so it was a bit difficult to tell, but you swore there was a slight smirk on his lips.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve got my answer already.”

He raises his eyebrows, a teasing hint in his voice, “Are you sure, Y/N?”

Hearing your name roll off his tongue sent shivers through your body, smirking back at him.

“I’m quite sure, Rex Lapis.”

Zhongli opens his mouth to speak before closing, as deep chuckles ring through the night. Not long after, your own quiet giggles joining him. Finally, you both recover from your laughter.

“Goodnight then, Morax, you still have to share your stories with me tomorrow.”

He smiles at you, golden eyes shining even through the dark. “Same time?”

You grin back, before turning to return back to your home. “Same time.”

Maybe you’d ask him to teach you how to fight tomorrow.

On second thought, perhaps your lack of experience in fighting was a good thing. For because of it, you had met the man who only existed in books that you’d read everyday.

Your once peaceful life, although disrupted by the appearance of the one and only geo archon you admired so dearly, had now offered you something to look forward to each day.

[avrablake]

Triceratops - share a scene where one character is protecting or caring for another

Troodon - share a scene that is really important to a character’s development

@writingonesdreams

Thanks for asking! Here's the game if anyone wants to play.

So these were haaaard ones! I just want to share all the spoilers! Instead I'm going to combine these two by sharing a scene where Thea helps Kai treat Nix's injury. It's a pretty important part of her character development as it's the first time she really stops to question whether she was wrong and decides to try to see him differently.

CW: blood, injury

-

Gram cursed and crossed quickly to the cabinet Nix had been trying to open. He wrenched it open and began searching through its contents.

“Damn it, what did I tell him? This happens every damn time.” he grumbled to himself, his voice higher and tighter than usual. “And now of all times. Without Luc here. I’m going to need your help Kai.”

Kai was already kneeling at Nix’s side. He carefully began to peel away the strips of torn fabric tied around Nix’s torso. The skin around the wound was swollen and an angry red. Some fresh blood still seeped out through the dried blood that formed a crust around the edges. 

“He’s burning,” Thea told her brother.

“The wound looks infected,” he said, “And it looks like he lost quite a bit of blood. That’s probably why he collapsed.”

“Here, give him this.” Gram handed Kai a small bottle. “It’s not just an infection. If Kaori did this, then he’s almost surely been poisoned. That’d be her trademark.”

Kai nodded to Thea to hold up Nix’s head so Kai could pour the antidote into his mouth. Kai poured slowly, closing Nix’s mouth between drops to give him a chance to swallow.

“We should get him in the house so I can take care of this wound.” Kai told her once the liquid was gone. She channeled her energy and began to lift him from the ground. She winced as more blood oozed from the wound at the movement. The sight reminded her of the disturbing nightmare she’d had so many times—blood pouring from her side, dripping down the trees. Nausea twisted her stomach and she stumbled slightly. Kai put a steadying hand on her back.

“You okay?”

She nodded, and tried to push the dream from her mind.

“Take him to the room next to mine, Thea. Kai we can contact Luc from here.” Gram gestured toward the monitors on the long table in the back of the room. “He keeps extra medical supplies in the kitchen. You can ask him what would be best to use."

The room Gram had indicated was empty aside from the bed along one wall, a tall wardrobe, and a chair in the corner. Thea laid Nix as carefully as she could on the bed, trying not to focus on the sight of more blood. She pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, trying to keep the familiar sense of panic from overwhelming her as she waited for Kai. The Military was coming. She was in danger. They all were.

Her eyes were drawn to the dark tatoo on Nix's arm. She took a deep breath, trying not to remember the frightening dream she’d had the day he left. He was Syndicate. She didn't trust him. What did it mean that he'd come back like this to warn them.

She tore her eyes away from the tattoo and forced herself to focus on his face. Tentatively she reached out to brush the hair off his forehead and felt the burning skin beneath her fingers. Kai had tried to tell her that she’d been too hard on him. She bit her lip guiltily and wondered, for the first time, if Kai had been right. Maybe she had been unfair. Had she ever really seen Nix? Or had she only seen what she wanted to see, a convenient personification for all her fears. 

Did that make this her fault?

“You okay?”

She jumped at the sound of Kai’s voice suddenly by her ear. He was frowning at her, the familiar look of worry on his face. He held a small box in his hands, the glass bottles and jars rattling together. She shook her head to clear her worries away. She couldn’t focus on them right now. All of them were in danger. Kai and Gram needed her help.

She nodded to her brother. “What do you need me to do?”

"Can you bring a table or something? And another chair?"

Thea carried one of the small side tables from the living room an a chair from the kitchen and placed them near the bed.

"Here," Kai handed her a bottle of liquid as he began to pull the supplies from the box and set them on the table. "We need to bring his fever down. Get him to swallow some of that, just a little at a time. I'll tell you when it's enough."

With her free hand, Thea tipped Nix's head back slightly and opened his mouth. After carefully dripping in a small amount of the liquid, she closed his mouth to allow him to subconsciously swallow, as she'd seen Kai do with the antidote.

Kai soaked a cloth in a different liquid, which he used to carefully wipe the dirt and dried blood away from the wound. Fresh blood welled up and she turned away, her stomach twisting at the sight.

“That should be enough,” Kai told her after she’d dripped a bit more liquid into Nix’s mouth, “Here, hold this.”

Thea set down the bottle she was holding and moved closer to Kai so she could take another jar from him. He scooped a thick looking paste from the jar and spread it over the wound and surrounding skin. After taking the jar from her he handed her another bottle of liquid and a bandage.

“Soak that bandage with the liquid.”

After he placed the soaked bandage over the wound he took the bottle from her and instructed her to prop up Nix so he could wrap a long roll of bandage several times around his torso. When they finished, she noticed the light in the room was growing dim with the setting sun.

[obscureoperations]

ok feel free to delete this if you aren't into blood play cuz I know its not everyone's cup of tea

but.

I was thinking about a scenario where Martin agrees to be tormented when he's gotten really hungry. tie him up, make sure he knows the rules, establish a safe word. basically the scenario involves teasing Martin with your own blood and making it so he can't get to it to drink, but also pushing and teasing him about the fact you're bleeding and he's hungry and all he really has to do is safe word and he can drink. but he's a good boy, so he won't. and you know he won't.

(of course this involves a lot of trust and intermittent check ins to make sure he is truly okay in the moment which brings out the intimacy here (yes. intimate blood play. it makes sense leave me alone))

telling him to keep his eyes on the cut in your finger as it drips blood down onto his chest. not letting him look away. reminding him how hungry he must be and telling him to not struggle and keep his eyes on you.

by the end of the scene hes crying and in a real deep headspace. ignoring his most important need. for you. all because you told him to.

(of course afterwards he gets taken care of all sweet n stuff :) )

I'm actually not opposed.. not at all! I love the detail.. and I really tried to do this justice to no avail. This is one of the premises that I can see myself coming back to. Trying to turn it from word vomit into an actual story!

Stray tears continue to trickle past his hairline, seeping into the thousand thread count pillow..Cheeks burning with shame.. Martin’s eyes remain fixated on the ceiling--the thin jagged crack that starts at the fan all the way to the far corner of your room. He felt heavy, nearly saturated with guilt the moment you began to ‘take care of him’. Your fingers gripped his thighs with an almost otherworldly force, as you pin his slight hips to the bed. Questions of who he belonged to.. What was his name… why exactly should he be apologizing.

Martin was still at you kept him tethered to the edge of delirium. Lips moving over his flesh in a way that reminded him that you still cared-- Teeth gently nipping at his neck tongue laving over his racing pulse. His mouth was dry, the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach was almost unbearable. The coppery scent was unmistakable, it curled at his nostrils causing him to swoon. The smell was unique, almost spicy-- everything about it was decidedly you. He would catch glimpses of the heady aroma when you would accidentally nick yourself preparing dinner. Or that one time when you fell off your bike skinning your knee.

His hands were numb, wrists tied to the bedposts, he had no idea where you managed to acquire the rope. His legs were extended towards the edge of the bed, slightly parted ankles tethered to the bed. Luckily for him, you decided to spare him some dignity. He was completely bare save for his shorts. Mouth sized bruises adorn his collar, chest and ribs-- all ranging in various colors. Pools of blood began to dry and stick to his skin, he could feel them tighten under the breeze. He was shivering, eyes fixated on the laceration on your arm--he prayed you didn't press in too deep.

~

He could still taste the tears streaming down your cheeks the moment he crawled in through the window. You were shaking, struggling to contain your sobs.The look on your face practically broke his heart.

“Martin… where were you?”

He momentarily seemed to lose the ability to speak. His eyes remained glued to your angelic face. The tears flowed freely. He never knew you to display any emotion beyond very mild annoyance-- You were shivering, arms wrapped around yourself protectively-- this was something completely new. He messed up.

“Y/n… I’m so sorry..”

~

“Why not me?”

You had asked him that question every single time. You knew all about his sickness, his actual need for blood. You knew that he couldn’t go to a hospital...he would be locked up forever-- Then why not you?

He claimed that you were far too precious to him. If he ever hurt you “He would die”

This was far worse, he had been doing so well-- You were on the verge of full blown panic whenever you could hear police sirens in the distance.

Martin knew what he was doing, he was quick on his feet, there was very little reason you should fear for his safety. But still, what if he messed up and made a mistake. You would never forgive yourself if something happened to him.

So he agreed. If anything to regain your trust-- and hopefully make amends. The safe word was “silk” ; he could use it at any time when things became too much. He wasn’t allowed to drink from you until you explicitly tell him it’s okay.

He had no idea what he was getting into, he nearly used the word the moment you picked up the blade.You winced ever so slightly as the steel pierced your skin--the ropes were the only thing stopping him from wrapping you in his arms. You didn’t have to hurt yourself for him. The blood began to pool down your arm, he wanted to scream. You seem almost mesmerized for a moment yourself as the crimson rivulets begin to drip down your wrist. His eyes remain transfixed, his face grows hot--the stabbing pain in his stomach causing him to wince. “Yn..p-please be careful” he whispers. Was that a warning or a request?

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you poise your arm over his chest-- squeezing gently as a few droplets land against his skin. He hisses sharply, eyes immediately screw shut-- white hot electricity surged up his spine. Every nerve ending set on edge as the coppery scent hits his nostrils

~

You take your time, painting red washed lines across his chest as his fingers helplessly grasp at the bed posts. He was panting, clearly tenting in his shorts, but he still refused to look at you.

“Martin, open your eyes..”

He shakes his head, images swirling through his mind. He saw mobs chasing him through the city. Torches blazing as he scrambles down cobblestone stairs. He saw the woman on the train laying practically lifeless. He saw the image of you from one of his dreams.

~

The two of you had very nearly broken up--but that was towards the beginning of your relationship. You knew that Martin had nightmares--this was when you first began to discover the depth of his sickness. It started with him talking in his sleep, waking up in tears unaware of his surroundings. It only got worse till one day you woke up in the middle of the night to find him locked in the bathroom sobbing uncontrollably. You begged and pleaded for over an hour for him to just open the door. He refused, he was so scared that he might have hurt you. As it turns out he dreamed that he had actually killed you. It all started from accidentally tasting a stray droplet of your blood. In fact, it was a few days after he had patched up your thumb after your run in with the kitchen knife.

Better than he ever imagined, the taste alone sparked something inside of him. He was so worried that one day he might not be able to contain himself. He was so scared that he might hurt you. You noticed his somber demeanor, but the pieces didn’t click until you found him in the midst of a literal breakdown. You didn’t care, you wanted him with you for the rest of your life. You were certain you could show him how to be good.

~

“Martin.. It’s okay… please look at me darling”

After a moment, he opens his eyes. Damp lashes cling to porcelain cheeks-- you only wanted to hold him. His gaze gradually moves from your face to the tips of your bloodied fingers, still glistening in the light. His stomach turns, threatening to collapse in on itself as he resumes tugging at the restraints.

“Y/n.. p-please.. We--ah.. We shouldn’t do this…”

Do what… sweetheart?” You coo, painting a crimson line just beneath his lips. In that moment you could have sworn his eyes shone brighter, almost amber under the lamplight. The force of his thrashing causes the bed posts to creak.. Groaning heavily beneath the pressure.

No no no… this was not a good idea everything about you smelled so warm and inviting.

He tries his best to school his face into a pleading expression, tongue darting over cracked lips.

“You should-- just clean up, and untie me.. I feel so much better now. “

“Untie you?” you snort as you trace your fingers over his lips, as he fruitlessly attempts to tilt his head. You can feel him tense as a strange sort of shiver rolls through him.

“And then what are you going to do…”

Tears begin to freely flow down his cheeks as he shakes his head. “N-nothing.. I swear..”

“I know this Martin.. You’re not going to hurt me.. You never would.”

His chest heaves, you could have sworn you feel some of the tension leave his body.

“No.. never!”

“Are you hungry darling?”

“Y-yess” There was something about the raw unfiltered need in his voice that caused something inside to ignite. You were familiar with it sure-- it wasn’t rare that you had him nearly slipping off the bed.

But this was different.

You only wanted to cure him of his nightmares, but in that moment you feared you were making everything worse. You just wanted to show Martin that you trusted him completely. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you even if he tried.

With a shaky hand, he draws your fingers to his lips, keeping the blood stained digits poised directly over his mouth. His breath came out in heated puffs, reminding you of this old rottweiler that used to be chained up in your neighbor’s yard.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you weave your fingers through his hair--noting as he leans into your hand. Breath ghosting along your palm--the tip of his nose brushing over the hardened bits of blood. You can feel him inhale deeply, as another shiver shoots through his slight frame. His teeth digs into his bottom lip as he relishes in the brief bits of attention. You continue to whisper to him words of affirmation. Thanking him for behaving so sweetly.

There was always one small vein on his forehead that always seemed more pronounced whenever he was in pain. Martin had migraines, so you saw it alot. He refused to take medicine, in fear that it might “make him loopy” His cheeks were flushed, brows furrowed in agony-- you couldn’t help the sudden pang of guilt. You already knew that Martin would never hurt you… why on earth did you think this was a good idea?

In a haste you reach for the razor, digging it into the palm of your hand. You begin to squeeze at your wrist, urging the blood to flow. You lean in, pressing a kiss against his temple as drops of blood coats your fingertips. You press one of your stained fingers to his mouth

“Martin… drink..”

He shook his head almost violently, pressing his cheek against the pillow. The motion left a bloody streak across his face. He could feel the droplets hardening by the second, his teeth immediately sink into his bottom lip. You were perched atop of him, knees resting against each side of his hips-- you sink down just a bit further. He lets out an audible gasp as your hips rock against his clothed erection-- droplets of blood pool into the dips of his collarbone.

He wanted to die… he truly wanted to die. There was no way that this could possibly be okay. Why would you want him to drink from you? You were so much more than one of his victims, you were his entire life. He valued your livelihood so much more than his own.

He failed to realise he was staring off into space, until your fingertips began to ghost along his jawline

“Sweetheart, are you okay?

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?” you sink back further onto your knees. The sudden bout of friction causes him to shiver.

“Plea- No.. y/n. Don’t stop..”

After a moment, he slowly reaches for your hand, you press your palm directly against his lips. You can still feel the rumbles emanating from his ribs, arms tugging fruitlessly at the restraints. Stray droplets of blood adorn his chest, the crimson stream begins to drip past his cheeks. He was panting, even as you press your fingers through the crack of his lips. Breath seemed to still within his chest.

Tears continued to spill down his cheeks, seeping down into his hairline. Had you actually “broken” your boyfriend? What was wrong? Surely he wasn’t this repulsed by your blood alone.

“Martin.. I’m so sorry..” You whisper suddenly, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling, the crimson rivulets drip past his firmly closed lips.

You continue to weave your fingers through his hair, as his lips slowly part beneath your hand.

Tugging as you whisper against his ear. “ Darling.. Please drink..”

[lis-likes-fics]

Hey! Could you pls do fem reader x Lucille Sharpe, where y/n is a guest in her house and slowly their friendship grows to love? And maybe one day Lucille has a fight with Thomas and she kills him, y/n sees everything (also realizes that they used to sleep together) afterwards Lucille attacks her and they have a fight (just like with Edith), but they don't kill each other in the end. Happy end where they stay together

Lucille had taken you in quickly, she'd taken a liking to you and accepted you as her friend. Thomas was hesitant at first, he didn't know what to think of you, but he slowly grew fond of you as well.

Your father was very sick when you met them. A few months after, he died of his illnesses. You had nowhere to go. Your mother died when you were a child and you were left an orphan when your father bit the dust.

So Lucille took you in, inviting you into her home with Thomas as their guest. You were so grateful and life couldn’t have been better. Even if there were very strange...appearances in that house.

But life was good.

For a few months.

Then you found out about Thomas and Lucille.

You didn’t have feeling for him or her, but seeing them together gave you a weird feeling... Mostly when you thought of Lucille.

You weren’t into her. You would know if you were, right? So why did it hurt more that she was the one?

But you shouldn’t intrude. It was their life right? No matter how...disturbing.

You knew you shouldn’t intrude or spy or eavesdrop. Especially on your friends, that wasn’t right. You’d just stick to your own business, not bring up theirs. That’s right. You would worry about you, not them.

Or at least, you would have worried about you and not them.

But you couldn’t help yourself. You’d throw it in the bins of accidents along with finding out the siblings were in an intimate relationship that you would rather not think about.

They were just in the kitchen, they were just talking. You were first on your way for a cup of tea, but you stopped short outside of the kitchen when you heard them talking.

“Lucille, this is not wise,” Thomas tried.

“What isn’t wise?” She asked, tilting her head as she talked to him.

Thomas sighed, “If we let this continue, what would become of her, of you...of us?”

Lucille turned away, hesitant as she answered, “I’m not sure what you are talking about, Thomas.”

“Lucille, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Thomas tried again.

What were they talking about?

Lucille turned around to face him, “Enlighten me.”

“Her,” he simply said, looking at her sternly, “You feel something for her. I can tell, I can see it. You aren’t like you used to be...”

Lucille had stopped completely, like she was debating something in her head, or trying to push the idea out of her head completely. You continued to watch silently, unsure of what was going on or how to react to it. You couldn’t pry yourself away.

Lucille shook her head, “I’m...I’m not sure who you are referring to.”

Thomas sighed again, “I think you are.”

She turned to him, looking up as she spoke, her a tone a little more lethal than before, “And what else do you think, Thomas?”

His mouth opened very slightly as he realized his mistake, taking a small step back as he mumbled, “Lucille...”

“No, Thomas. I want to hear it. What is it you think is going on with me? You think I’m distracted? I’ve completely changed course? You think I’ve lost track of what’s important? Or that I’ve gone mad?”

Thomas shook his head, continuing to step back as she advanced. He didn’t mean to start an actual argument, “No, Lucille, that’s not what I meant.”

She spoke, “Really? Because it really seems like that’s exactly what you meant.”

“No, you’re twisting my words,” Thomas tried, holding his hands out to calm her. She unconsciously grabbed for something, anything to have in her hands. Unfortunately, she had been cooking before the argument and was now armed with a knife.

“So you think I have gone mad? Over Y/N? Are you serious? After all these years, you think one girl is going to change us, Thomas?” Lucille said, continuing to advance on Thomas.

You covered your mouth, your breath speeding as you tried to stay silent. Thomas was backed into the wall now, his only shot was to try and calm her, “Lucille, please, calm yourself.”

She was right in front of him now, only an inch away. She tapped his cheek lightly with the knife, “Are you sure I’m the one who’s gone mad?”

Thomas didn’t answer, it didn’t matter what he said to her. Lucille’s hand shook slightly, her breath coming in strained pants as her own emotions shot through her in a speed she couldn’t comprehend.

She didn’t mean to. It was as if her body had a mind of its own, as if she was not herself. She was thinking over the argument, the truth in his words too much too soon for her to bear as she began to consider it. Maybe he was right.

She didn’t like being wrong. She didn’t want to be wrong.

But she didn’t mean for it to happen...mostly...

With one quick slice, she slit Thomas’s throat, the blood spilling from the deep cut and some of the blood spattering on her face and clothes. She inhaled sharply at the same time as you.

You covered your mouth, pressing your back against the wall before sliding down. A tear ran down your cheek at the horrors you’d just witnessed. You took in a silent, shaky breath as you tried to compose yourself.

You slowly looked over, trying to see the other side into the kitchen. Lucille was standing there behind the wall, looking down at her on the floor. Out of sheer panic, running on the adrenaline that had pumped into her veins when she saw Thomas die, she stood and ran in the other direction.

Lucille began walking after, following like a predator would her prey. “Y/N. Y/N, dear, please come back.”

You kept running, wiping at your tears. You had to find a hiding spot, a spot safe from Lucille. But where was that? Lucille knew the entire house like the back of her hand and she was still holding the bloodied up knife.

So you ran as far as your legs would carry you. “Y/N, please come back here!” Lucille called. You crouched down and hid behind somewhere, your hands searching for anything you could use as a weapon.

You pried some of the loose wood from the floor, the board splintering and becoming a messy stake. You clenched the makeshift weapon in your hold, holding it tightly to your chest.

You breathed heavily, looking over to see if Lucille had caught up to you. When you saw her coming up, your eyes widened. She struck at you with her knife, it stabbed into the wood just above your head and stuck there for a moment.

You used that opportunity to run again. “Y/N!”

You busted through the front doors, stopping momentarily at the sight before you. Winter had just arrived and it was the first snow of the season. You truly knew why it was called ‘Crimson Peak’. The red clay seeped from the ground and stained the snow red, creating the scene of a bloody field in front of you.

You looked behind you and ran outside, hiding behind the giant machinery from Thomas’s work. Lucille came bolting outside.

It was ridiculous to say, especially at a time like this, but she was strangely endearing in the way she looked. There was a strange, unsettling beauty about her. The unsettling part came from the fact that she was still blood stained and out for more.

“Lucille, please. You don’t have to do this,” you tried. You didn’t want to have to do the worst if she tried to kill you. You didn’t want to have to kill her. She made you feel so strange over the course of your few months here. She was your friend, and such a close one.

But why did friend feel strange to say?

She followed the sound of your voice, no matter how disarming it was. “I don’t want to,” she began, “But I have to.”

“Why?” You asked her, confused and conflicted.

“It’s my job, it’s the game. I took an exception on you...and look where it got me. Thomas is now dead, I only have you now. I should have no one after that,” she confessed, turning the corner to find you.

She struck you with the knife, but you blocked with your stake, running the other way to avoid having to fight. She chased you, but she didn’t exactly know why anymore.

You told her, “It doesn’t have to be that way! You don’t have to kill me! Please, Lucille.”

She stopped when you did, looking at her with sorrowful eyes. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes as she said with a slight growl, “I have to. This is your fault!”

She raised the knife above her head and you moved out of the way, booking it to hide again. Safely in a hiding place, you called, “What do you mean?”

She spoke, “You’re the reason I killed Thomas... He was right. I was distracted, I’m not in my right mind, and it’s your fault. I’ve gone completely mad, and I have no idea why.”

You stopped as you asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you have taken over my mind. I can’t do anything with you constantly popping into my head like some kind of plague meant to ruin me! What have you done to me? And why do I have to be the one you choose to toy with?” She asked. She’d fallen to her knees, weeping on the floor as her pump of energy had given out.

You slowly came from your hiding spot, watching her from afar as you said, “I didn’t do anything, or I didn’t mean to. I tried to keep my distance, especially after I learned of you and Thomas. I tried to stay out of your way, I tried not to interfere. I didn’t want to meddle in things I don’t understand. But it’s so hard to stay away from you, Lucille.”

She looked up at you, her breath coming in heavy pants as she watched you slowly come from your distance, moving cautiously closer. “You...you plague my mind just as I plague yours. And...I don’t know what that means.”

Lucille didn’t speak, she just watched as you moved closer. You eventually got close enough to hug her, so that’s what you did. “I’m sorry, Lucille. About everything. You don’t have to be alone. Please...”

She breathed irregularly, trying to think, to clear her head. You hugged her tightly, hoping for her to hug you back.

But you didn’t expect for her to thrust her knife through your back. You inhaled sharply and she yanked the knife out. You fell to the ground, looking up at her with a pain expression. “Lucille?”

She watched, trying to keep a blank expression, but she couldn’t. Any moment now and you would be dead. She sat and she tried to keep sitting, but she couldn’t lose you.

“Y/N. Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, her sorrow and regret sneaking up on her as she looked over you. “I’m sorry. You’ll be okay.”

You looked up at her, your hand pressing against her cheek. You gave a weak smile, coming to terms that you were a goner. “I’m sorry, Lucille,” you told her.

She shook her head. Your eyes felt heavy as you closed them, your body going limp. She shook her head again, “No, Y/N!”

She shook you and you didn’t respond. She took in a breath and picked you up, carrying you into the house. “I can’t lose you, too. Please, Y/N.”

~

You felt weird, your eyes opening slowly, fluttering open. You looked around the room, confused. Your eyes landed on a resting Lucille and you panicked for a moment. That’s when you saw the bandage wrapped around your stomach and back.

You looked at her again and blinked, trying to remember what exactly happened, why you were still alive. Lucille killed you, didn’t she?

She stirred when she heard you rustling under the blankets laid over you. She saw you and turned quickly, “Y/N, are you alright?” She sounded relieved, so happy that you weren’t dead.

You were scared at first, but hearing her voice and seeing her face seemed to be rid of all of that. This woman almost killed you, she tried to. But you somehow couldn’t muster up the sense to be at least scared of or mad and her.

All you could do was hug her.

Or at least, you tried to. You were interrupted mid-action by the immense pain in your back from your stab wound. “Careful!” Lucille warned you, looking at the blood spot on your back.

You held your arms out, embarrassed now. She hugged you back, desperately in need of one. You smiled weakly and sighed into the hug. Lucille broke down in tears and you followed after, both of you muttering multiple ‘I’m sorry’s to one another.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m so sorry. This is my fault, I should never have touched you,” Lucille told you.

You shook your head, “You saved me, didn’t you? I’m not dead, so your officially forgiven.”

She pulled away slowly, staring at you as she gazed into your eyes. She missed looking in them. Her eyes darted to your lips and your followed. You couldn’t help yourself, and apparently she couldn’t either as her lips pressed against yours.

She held you carefully to her, pulling you tighter. You sighed, your hands tangling in her hair. After a moment, she pulled back, “I-”

“Don’t apologize. I loved it,” you told her quietly.

You did it again, kissing her softly. It was so perfect the first time, in a strange way, but it was even better the second. When you pulled away, you whispered, “I think I love you, Lucille.”

She sighed, hugging you closer, “I think I love you, too.”

~

Author’s Note: I really meant to get this done sooner...but procrastination’s a bitch, man. Thanks for reading!

[set-phasers-to-whump]

silence

prompt: hand gagging

whumpee: shawn spencer

fandom: psych

hi welcome to another psych fic! this is set before shawn takes a shot in the dark but like anytime before that. brief setup of the scene is shawn is exploring someplace (not important where) for a case, by himself. jules is out of town for something (which is only relevant for a sec but i wanna make sure it’s not confusing lol). anyway i hope you like this fic!

Shawn doesn’t stop running when the bullet hits him. In fact, he doesn’t even register the impact, too caught up in getting the hell away from this guy with the gun. 

He skids around a corner, nearly losing his balance, then turns down a hallway. He risks a glance over his shoulder and sees his pursuer come around the same corner, then pause for a second and look both ways. Shawn ducks out of sight as the man’s eyes come his way, but he hears more gunshots and approaching footsteps and realizes he hadn’t gotten out of the field of view quickly enough. 

He starts running again, and suddenly realizes that his left arm is wet. Which is weird. He spares a glance at it as his feet fly over the tile, and notices with alarm that it’s red. He thinks it has to be blood, but he doesn’t know from where. He reaches out a hand to touch it and - 

Yeah. That had been a mistake. He barely stops himself from screaming as his hand makes contact with what he is rapidly realizing is a bullet wound in his upper arm. 

He can’t deal with this right now - he’s running for his life and he’s been shot and he might get shot again and maybe even die, and he can’t die right now, but his arm really hurts and it’s making it kind of difficult to think about what he should do. 

Shawn turns another corner and there! - ahead of him, on the right, is a door with a sign on it. He doesn’t pause to read it, just wrenches it open with his good arm and shuts the door behind him, just as he hears the footsteps of the gunman turn the corner after him. 

Shawn stumbles around in the small, dark space, which he can infer is some kind of storage closet. He feels for a lock on the door handle and, disappointingly, finds none. He moves to feel for some kind of implement to defend himself with, instead - a broom, maybe - but his leg hits something on the floor and sends him stumbling forward and his left arm slams into something hard and metallic and he clamps his right hand firmly over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. His blood pounds in his ears from a combination of pain and fear that he’s about to be discovered, and his entire left arm from the elbow to the shoulder feels like it’s on fire or something. He breathes heavily and unevenly into his hand and forces himself to not make any other noise. 

Above the pounding in his ears, Shawn listens. His pursuer’s footsteps approach the closet, and he clamps his hand still harder over his mouth, trying desperately not to breathe at all. The footsteps pass his hiding spot and he feels suddenly, horribly dizzy with a lack of air and he wants to breathe and he wants to scream or maybe cry and he wants out of here and he really wants to not die and to not have a bullet wound in him. God, it hurts. 

The footsteps fade away. Shawn hears a door open and slam and then there’s a muffled curse, as of one who has lost their prey. He moves his hand away from his mouth at long last and breathes, ragged and pained and barely controlled. He’d scream, or maybe at least whimper, but he still can’t be completely sure that the guy is really, truly gone. Maybe he’s trying to trick Shawn, maybe he’s waiting for him to reveal his location and then he’s going to come back and shoot him in the head this time, and that’ll be it. So he can’t do anything more than breathe. He can’t leave this closet, not yet. 

He just has to let someone else know what’s happened. Then they can make sure that the guy really is gone, and then Shawn will be okay. Yeah. That sounds like a good plan.

He texts Lassie with his usable hand. The head detective’s response is quick and quite possibly a little angry.

You got shot?

not on purpose

We’ll be there in ten minutes. Keep pressure on the wound. And don’t try anything stupid. 

Oh. He hadn’t thought of putting pressure on his arm. His dad would be so disappointed...but there’s no time like the present, so Shawn sets down his phone and presses his right hand into his left arm. 

And suddenly really wishes that he had another hand, to muffle the sounds of agony that are absolutely begging to come out of his mouth. Pressing into the wound hurts about a million times more than the wound itself, and he really wants to let go, but he knows he’s supposed to do this and it’s only for a few minutes, but it hurts. He can’t quite stop himself from whimpering in pain, but the door doesn’t come smashing open, so he figures he’s not being too loud. He feels a hot tear run down his cheek and hot blood seeping into his fingertips and he hopes Lassie really had meant ten minutes. 

--

Almost exactly ten minutes later, Shawn becomes aware of voices in the hallway. He can’t quite place them, and for a second, he panics, and then he hears Lassie’s voice, shouting at someone to do something, and if Lassiter’s here then that means he’s safe. 

“I’m in here!” he shouts, and lets go of his arm to grab at the door handle and let himself out. His bloody fingers refuse to get a grip on the metal, though, and they slide off, but it doesn’t matter - a second later, the door’s opening and he has to step out of the way and then he’s face to face with Lassie and if he didn’t know better he’d say he almost looks worried, and then he remembers his arm but finds he doesn’t really have the energy to scream like he’d wanted to do so badly before. 

“It hurts,” he says, instead, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “Am I dying?” He doesn’t think so, but you can never be too sure.

“You’re fine,” Lassie is saying, but that’s easy for him to say, he’s not the one with a bullet in him. “Or, you’re not dying, anyway.”

That’s all I needed to hear, Shawn thinks, and then another wave of dizziness hits him and everything starts to spin, and then he’s falling and someone’s grabbing him and they hit his hurt arm and he does scream, now, finally, loud and raw and with the force of all the screams he’d forced down before behind it, and then everything fades into nothingness.

--

He wakes up slowly, uncomfortably, achingly. None of the good stuff, he thinks glumly. Thanks, Dad. He turns to look at his left arm, and is pleased to see that it’s no longer bloody. It’s wrapped in bandages and a sling and he wonders how long that’s going to be on, and how long until he can get out of here, because any amount of time spent in the hospital when he could be out there doing stuff is time wasted.

“You’re here for at least another day,” comes a voice from his right side, as though its owner has read his thoughts, and Shawn jolts in surprise, turning around. 

“Lassie! You scared me.”

Lassiter shrugs. “Sorry,” he says, and there’s hardly any sarcasm at all behind the words. 

Shawn doesn’t know what to focus on first - the fact that he’s apparently stuck here for at least 24 more hours, the fact that Lassie has just spoken to him almost completely nicely, or the fact that Lassie’s even here at all. 

He’s trying to decide what to say when Lassiter speaks again. “O’Hara’s on her way. She said there was some traffic, but that she should be here within the hour. I believe Guster said something about the cafeteria a few minutes ago, and Henry said he'd stop by after dinner. The Chief sends her regards and hopes you’ll be pleased to know that one of our officers apprehended your shooter.”

Now Shawn really doesn’t know what to say. What does Lassie have to go being all nice and…message-delivery-y for? He’s silent for a moment, trying to work out what exactly to say, but in the end figures simple is best. 

“Thanks.”

Lassie doesn’t say anything, but there’s something that you might call the barest hint of a smile on his face, and it’s more than reply enough.

thanks for reading this! i’m still p new to writing psych and i’ve never written lassie before so i am very sorry if anything seems ooc. i will learn! anyway i hope you liked this :) love u all <3

[flamencodiva]

Getting Back to You 11 - Hustling and Nightcaps

Description: Amaya Campos and Dean Winchester had a playful rivalry. what happens when Dean is no longer her Dean. Will this change make one of them realize what they really desire, or will they continue to keep secrets?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Amaya Campos (Original Female Character) , AU Dean Winchester x AU Amaya Campos

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Word Count For Series: 100K+ words

Beta: @superfanficnatural​ and @emoryhemsworth​​​ and @jensengirl83​​

Book Cover by @talesmaniac89​

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

A/N: Special thanks to - @crashdevlin​ @atc74​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @winchest09​ @waywardbeanie​ @deanwanddamons​ @malfoysqueen14​  @emoryhemsworth​ @janicho88​ @jensengirl83​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @katehuntington​ @anathewierdo​  and to all my friends who listen to me ramble about my writing. your words of encouragement mean the world to me! Without you I don’t think I could have found the courage to come back and share what I love most to do, WRITE.

Getting Back To You Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Amaya tossed and turned as the night went on. There was something nagging her in the back of her mind. By now, Dean would be groaning in his sleep, or at least snoring. But there was a deafening silence that just seemed out of place. Running a hand across her face she sat up and looked around the motel room. 

There sitting in the kitchenette, was Dean. A bottle of beer in his hand, a far away look on his face. It was a look Amaya rarely got to see in her Dean. Throwing the covers off, she got off the bed and walked over towards him. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she whispered. 

She chuckled when Dean jumped a bit. He was deep in thought when she had approached him. She could see his Adam's apple bob as he took in a soft swallow. 

He gave her a small smile before he cleared his throat, “I dunno… just felt kinda anxious, you know?” 

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Amaya sighed. “It’s weird not having to hear Dean toss and turn or snore sometimes.” 

“He snores?” Dean snorted. “I shouldn’t laugh… Amaya would pinch my nose from time to time if I snored. But I’m worried about her and her nightmares.” 

“She gets nightmares? About what?” Amaya asked. “If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” Dean assured her. “Being abandoned, or people not wanting her. Her dad left her at the academy back home. She always kept mostly to herself.” he took a sip of the beer he was drinking. “I kept trying to be her friend. I started out being this… cocky, know it all, until she knocked me on my ass a few hundred times.” he chuckled at the memory. 

“Sounds like Dean and me,” Amaya gave him  a thin line smile. “He was this tough, cocky dick. And I found ways to knock him down a peg or two.” she chuckled. “This one time, we were at a party in high school out in the woods.” she closed her eyes at the memory. “I was seeing this guy at the time. One of those, just passing by flings.” she shook her head. “Well, needles to say, Dean used a scar from when he had to save me from a ghost. Lady decided to use her cutlery as weapons and she was gunning for me.” 

“What did he do exactly?” Dean raised an eyebrow. 

“Mind you, I saw this from afar and I thought he was trying to show off how macho he was.” she shook her head. “So I go up to the guy and wrap my arms around him and he just gives me this look of disgust.” she sighed. “He starts calling me every name in the book and saying I’m insane for stabbing my ex when he did nothing and I was confused as hell.” 

Dean watched as she paused to take a gulp from the beer bottle. When she was done, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose before continuing. 

“I walked up to him and whatever slut he was flirting with, grabbed him by his neck, and said in his ear, ‘Since I’m your crazy ex, guess it’s okay for me to act like it!’ So I pulled him away from blondie and dragged him away from the party and just laid him out on the ground in an arm bar. Almost snapped his shoulder until Sam pulled me off.” 

“Why am I an ass in this world?” Dean ran a hand across his face. “Honestly, I mean, what is the point of doing that?” 

“Defense mechanism,” Amaya sighed. “I mean, I’m not going to deny it. I fell for him.” she let out a laugh. “It’s cruel that I would fall for him when he doesn’t love me back.” 

“You don’t--” 

“I do,” Amaya whispered sadly. “If he did. If he really did, he would say fuck it, grow some balls and be with me. But no matter how much I’m there for him in every way… even as just a warm body,” she chugged the last bit of her beer and hissed. “I have to face the facts. I need to move on. If I don’t, I’m only going to hurt myself.” 

Dean stayed silent as her words sunk in. He still couldn’t grasp the severity of what this version of himself went through. 

“I always tried to convince Amaya I wasn’t going anywhere.” Dean whispered. “She seemed to think that when I first asked her out that it was some prank orchestrated by the other huntresses.” Dean chuckled. “I would spar with her and she would just lay me flat time and time again and I would look up at her and say, ‘see, you keep knocking me off my feet. Would you just go out with me, already?’ And she would call me a jackass and just walk away.”  

“So what made her finally give in?” Amaya asked with a smile. 

She could tell that Dean loved his Amaya. The way his eyes shined at the mere mention of her. When he said her name, he would smile. 

“I killed the vamp that decided to take a bite of her.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair as he played with the label on the beer bottle. “She lost some blood, I took her back to our hotel and stitched her up. I stayed up all night just making sure she was okay.” He grabbed the beer and began to chug its contents. “Next morning, she woke me up from drooling on her arm. Called me an idiot, said thanks and kissed me out of nowhere.” 

Amaya watched as the corners of his lips curled up into a soft smile. But she knew he was feeling sad, feeling homesick. 

“After that kiss, I took her out on a real date and we dated for about five years before I popped the question.” He let out a laugh. “I should have married her after I almost died. But we have this tradition that--” he paused to take a drink. “It seems stupid, but it is practical. There is a ceremony that is supposed to ‘protect’ the newly weds.” he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I should have just married her and done the ceremony at a later time. I shouldn’t have listened to my mother at the time and now look… and… and…” 

“Dean?” Amaya sat up as she saw something she rarely saw Dean do, cry. 

The last time she saw Dean, her Dean, look as broken as he was before her was when he had been dragged out of hell. She watched as he clenched his jaw, her heart jumped slightly at the look. The clenched jaw, the way he tried to swallow the guilt.  

“What happened in your world?” Amaya whispered. 

“I was grading papers at the academy,” he took in a shaky breath. “There was a knock on the door and Lisa Braden walked in.” he let out a scoff and sneered. “She kept digging at how Amaya and I hadn’t gotten married. Wedding is set for next week,” he grabbed the beer and finished it off before standing up to open up another. “I was an idiot getting out from behind my desk. But I wanted to seem busy. I also needed to write some things on the board but… besides the point.” 

He opened the bottle and chugged as much as he could before clenching his fist. Walking back to the table, he knocked on it slightly before slumping onto the chair. 

 “Next thing I know she’s kissing me and I want to pull away but… something strange happens.” he closed his eyes trying to stop his eyes from crying but a single tear escapes. “But…” he grit his teeth and turned his head. “Something was wrong. My heart was screaming it’s not Amaya, but my head… in my head it was her. I could almost feel her and then… I opened my eyes and it was her… I swear for a moment, Amaya was in front of me and not Lisa.” 

“And that’s when the other version of me walked in. I’m guessing.” Amaya muttered and finished her second beer. 

“She called off the wedding, too,” He let out a frustrated laugh. “I need to get back. I need to marry her next week.” 

“Okay,” was all Amaya said. “Since we can’t sleep, might as well get dressed and entertain ourselves.” 

“By doing what?” Dean ran a hand across his face. “Salsa dancing?” 

“We hustle pool,” Amaya said matter of factly.  

Dean sighed as he slept on the hotel bed. 

He could feel her in his arms. The smell of her lavender shampoo filled his senses as he felt her fingers brush against his skin. 

“Maya,” He whispered as her lips brushed his. “You know we shouldn’t be doing this?” 

“You chicken, Winchester?” she said with a teasing smile. “You know there is no turning back from this.” 

“Hey, you’re the one that said yes,” He chuckled. “Just want to make sure you aren’t backing out now.” 

“We’re getting married in the morning and we’re breaking the number one rule,” Amaya giggled. 

“Since when do Winchester’s play by the rules?” he reminded her. “Besides,” he kissed along her neck and collar bone. “Need one last run as singles before the big day tomorrow.” 

“Perv,” She slapped at his arm but giggled anyway. 

The sound made him smile to the point his cheeks were hurting. Next thing he knew, he watched her walk down the aisle. She wore a corset style top with a fitted and flared skirt. She was glowing as she walked down the white carpet they had decided on. With Cas standing in as their officiant.  Dan smiled at Amaya as she smiled back. The scene moved quickly until Cas asked the important question. 

“Do you, Dean Winchester,” Cas breathed with a smile. “Finally take Amaya Campos as your wife? Mostly because this wedding is illegal since you are both technically considered dead.” 

Dean let out a laugh and smiled at Amaya, “I do.” 

“Do you, Amaya,” Cas sighed. “Do the same thing I asked but with Dean?” 

“I--” 

“Maya?” Dean whispered as blood began to seep out of the corner of Amaya’s mouth. “No.” 

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” 

The voice sent a shiver down Dean's spine as an arm wrapped around Amaya pulling her away from him as he felt something restraining him. All around his arms and legs were hooks sinking into his skin. 

“Alastair,” Dean growled as the Demon pulled Amaya towards him, her back to his chest as he held a knife over her belly. “Let her go!” 

“You didn’t really think you actually left my rack, did you?” Alastair ran his knife along Amaya’s cheek as she whimpered. “She whimpers so nice, Dean. I mean, that is very sweet. I love it when they squeal.” He plunged the blade into Amaya’s abdomen. 

“NO!” Dean screamed and cried when he pulled on the hooks that dug into him. “MAYA!” 

All he could do was watch as Alastair dragged the blade along her belly, slicing her open. Her white dress now stained red with her blood as it began to pool on the floor. Dean closed his eyes only to feel a slap on his face. 

“No, no, no, Dean,” Alastair said with a laugh. “Open your eyes and look at what you brought on her.” he pulled on his hair. “Look at what loving her did. This is why you can never love anyone.” Alastair hissed in his ear. “You’re poison. You bring nothing but death to the people you love. And she is only your latest casualty.” 

“Maya,” Dean whimpered as the tears rolled down his face. “MAYA!” he screamed as her cold dead eyes stared right back at him. 

Dean’s eyes flashed open as he sat up on the bed. Sweat dripped down his face as he took in deep breaths to try and calm down. He hated when he dreamed. That was the worst one yet. It wasn't the only one that had featured Alastair, but it was the goriest one. 

“Bad dream?” a voice called from across the room. 

“Not really,” Dean took a deep breath through his nose. “Bed isn’t all that comfortable for dreaming.” 

Amaya let out a snort as she held her glass to her lips, “Yeah, okay. “ 

“What about you?” Dean pointed out. “You get up to have a nightcap often?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” she grumbled. “Want some?” 

Dean smiled as he saw the whiskey bottle. Walking over towards the table, he pulled out the chair and sat down. Grabbing the bottle, he poured himself around two fingers full. The familiar burn in his throat gave him a small bit of satisfaction. 

“So…” Dean clicked his tongue. “Why are you running from love? See me, I know why I’m running. I’m poison. Anything I love, anything I touch, will die.” he admitted. “From what you told me about how you grew up here, I think you’re running from something.” 

“Am not,” Amaya snorted. 

From the look of the bottle, Dean surmised she was already slightly drunk. 

“He was just going to leave anyways,” she snorted. “It’s why my father abandoned me. Last-- las’ thin’ he said was that I am going to end up alone.” 

“What?” Dean raised an eyebrow at her. “Omar said you were destined to be alone? Come on!” 

“He did!” Amaya exclaimed. “He-- he never contacted me again. And I was always alone. I mean… the girls all hated me because I was good at everything and I caught Dean’s attention.” she let out another snort. “Me.. golden boy had his eyes on me. I always thought it was a cosmic joke.” 

“So,” Dean finished his whiskey and poured himself some more. “Let me get this straight. You are running from Dean because he is eventually going to leave you because you feel you’re cursed to be abandoned?” Dean let out a scoff. “Sweetheart, if he ever did that then he isn't anything like me.” 

“He isn’t. But he did. He kissed Lisa. I don't care if a spell was behind it. He kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and…” she sniffled a bit. “After everything I heard, what the other female hunters were saying… they said it served me right. That I was too cold for the Knight of Hunters.” 

“Is that what they call him?” Dean smirked. 

“More like what he was to me. He saved me in terms of being alone…” she admitted. “He never gave up on me, though.”  She said sadly. “He just kept pushing and pushing. I kept knocking him down and knocking him down. Until we were on assignment together. It was a vamps nest.” she seemed to smile at the memory. 

“What, did you save his ass?” Dean chuckled. 

It seemed to be the pattern with them. She would kick this version of himself in the ass, while he just tried to show her that she was not worthless. A part of him knew that if Amaya ever felt that way in his world, he always tried to make her feel wanted. At least until he felt he was getting too close. Then he cut it to the quick and distanced himself. 

“Actually,” she paused and finished her drink before reaching for the bottle to pour herself some more. “He saved me. I was too cocky for my own good and I didn’t realize I had missed one.” she recalled. “I had my back turned and it chomped on me from behind. Dean jumped in and killed it just in time.”  

“Funny,” Dean let out a small huff. “Opposite happened to me and Maya. I had my back turned and she saved my ass. Not the first time either.” he admitted. “I--” he slammed back the rest of his whiskey before grabbing more. “She’s my best friend. I’m sure she knows that, deep down. But… I always seemed to push her buttons and--” he took a sip and hissed as the amber liquid flowed down his throat. 

“You love her,” Amaya whispered. 

“What?” Dean let out a high pitched sound. “No. I mean I… She’s my friend so I care about her but I don’t love her like THAT.” 

“Your lips are lying, but your eyes,” she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ve seen that look. It’s the look Dean would give me. Or rather, still gives me. Even before this whole thing happened. When I was packing my things and he tried to stop me. I could tell. He--” she wiped the stray tear that had started to fall. “He was hurt that I would leave. But his eyes still showed love in them.” 

“Yeah? And how do you know that I feel the same way about my Maya? Huh?” he grumbled. “You don’t know--” 

“Because you look at me the same way,” her brown eyes met his green ones.

Dean could feel a small sense of familiarity at the way her eyes stared into him. He noticed the emotion, she was sad. She missed her Dean, even though she was pushing him away, running from him. She missed him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he missed his Amaya. 

 “When we first met,” she interrupted his thoughts and licked her lips. “You had this… look in them. You were guilty about something. But they flashed with a hint of longing, if that makes sense.” 

Dean stayed silent as her words washed over him. Damn her for being just as observant as he was. Fucking bitch had figured him out in just days of knowing him. Clenching his jaw, he gave her a hard glare before leaning towards her. 

“You know nothing about me, sweetheart,” he huffed. “IF I were to even think of Amaya like that, which I’m not saying I am, she’s as good as dead in my arms. Because that’s how they all end up.” He continued to hold her gaze as he spoke. “Every single relationship I had, everyone I ever cared about ended up hurt or dead. Hell, I had to have an angel erase the memory of a woman I spent a year with, helping her raise her son, after she got captured by demons. So let’s get this thing straightened out. I do NOT love Maya in that way. All we are is fuck buddies. Understand?” 

Amaya raised her hands in defeat, “Okay. I get it. But remember this. You’re running away just like I am. I don’t judge you, if you don’t judge me.” 

“Deal,” Dean huffed. “Know a good place to hustle pool?” 

Amaya gave him a devilish smirk, “You know how to hustle pool? You’re yanking my chain.” 

Dean let out a chuckle, “Sweetheart, I’ve been hustling pool since I was in diapers.” 

In the pool hall, Dean fidgeted nervously. The way Amaya walked around the pool table made him nervous. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to play pool, he did. He just wasn’t good at hustling. He watched as Amaya walked up to him carrying the pool cue in one hand and a glass of whiskey in another. 

"You need to relax," she whispered in his ear.

Her breath sent a shiver down his spine.

"I can't… this is… my Amaya was better at this than I was." He whispered back. "I was the one she would play against and lose." 

Amaya tilted her head to the side in thought, “Okay, let’s play one game and let me see what you’re all about.” 

Dean simply nodded as he moved to the side and let her rack up the balls. He watched as Amaya studied the table with a smirk. He recognized that look, it was a look of strategy. She was measuring all the angles she could use. Next thing he knew, she hit the cue ball and the game began. He was only able to sink in a few solid balls as she sunk stripe after stripe. The one thing he noticed was that, while she was measuring for trick shots, she never used any. In fact, she had missed a few on purpose with a smirk. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered to her. He made himself seem as though he was flirting with her. 

“Trying to catch a big one,” she breathed back, using her eyes to point at a few men that were watching. 

“You know,” Dean raised his voice as he gave her a wink. “You’re pretty good at this, mama.” 

“Yeah,” she let out a giggle. “What makes you say that?” 

“You wiped the floor with me.” Dean walked around the table as they finished their game. 

“Hey toots!” one of the men who was observing them called out. “Why don’t you play with a real man?” 

“Call me when you find one,” Amaya sassed with a smile. 

“You give me your number, and I’ll give you mine.” the man had walked up to the table and leaned over it shooting her a wink. 

With a small glance at Dean who nodded, she flashed the man a smirk. 

“Rack ‘em up,” she walked over towards him and ran her index finger along his cheek, trailing down his jaw, and towards his chest. “Big boy.” 

Amaya could smell him a mile away. This man thought she would be an easy target, so she decided to play it up. She was thankful for the off shoulder black tube top she was wearing. It squeezed her breasts just right, giving off a large amount of cleavage. As she leaned over the table, she made sure to give Mr. Cocky a good view of her own rack while pushing her ass out in her skin tight jeans. Her hair in a neat braid as she moved around the table, sinking in shot after shot. 

“Eight ball,” she called lazily. “Corner pocket.” 

Dean watched as she sunk it with ease while the gorilla who was watching her grabbed his cue so tight, his knuckles were turning white. 

“Beginners luck,” he grumbled as he set down the five hundred dollars they bet on the table. 

Amaya gave him a sweet purr as she let her fingers brush along his arm. 

“Want to double or nothing?” She whispered. “I mean, this was my first, real, game.” she brought her face dangerously close to gorilla’s. “What do you have to lose?” 

It wasn’t long before Amaya and Dean were walking out of the pool hall. Amaya hummed happily as she counted off the money they made. 

“Four thousand dollars!” she sighed contently as they climbed into the Impala. “Oh man, Dean would have flipped if we ever got this much in one night! This was a lucky night.” 

“I guess it was.” Dean chuckled. 

The smile on Amaya’s face made him both happy and sad. Sad that he wasn’t with his version of her, but happy that he could make any version of her smile. Without even thinking, he reached over and placed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek as he pulled his hand back. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I... um…” he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “We should try and go back and get some sleep. Got a long drive to make.” 

“Yeah,” Amaya whispered. 

There were days that she wished Dean would look at her the way this alternate version was looking at her. Weeks that she would dream about even the gentlest touches coming from him. Closing her eyes she shook away the feeling and swallowed the lump in her throat. 

“We should get back and try to sleep.” she echoed, refusing to look at him. 

The drive to the motel was filled with silence as they undressed and got comfortable before settling in and letting sleep over take them. 

Dean and Amaya were back on the road. To say that sleep did not come easy was an understatement. Despite the fact that Amaya insisted on them drinking whiskey to help, it did nothing but fill both of them with dreams of longing. Each of them dreamed of being with the right versions of the people they loved only to be disturbed when the light of the sun woke them.  

“You okay over there?” He asked as they barreled down the road. 

“Yeah, fine.” She brushed him off.  She had grabbed her phone and began dialling Sam. “Please tell me you have more information on what’s going on?” she sighed. 

Dean focused on the road as he heard her talking to Sam. In the middle of the ‘uh-huh’ and ‘yeah that sounds like it’, Dean had a thought. 

“Can you ask him if it has anything to do with Hecate?” 

The question left his lips and he could feel Amaya’s eyes on him. 

“Did you just say Hecate? As in Goddess of Magic and Witchcraft?” Amaya said. In that instance she let out a groan. “When the fuck were you going to tell me you guys were messing with Witches of Hecate, Winchester?” she yelled into the phone. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Sam! You are dealing with a Greek Goddess and not just any Greek Goddess I might add!” 

Dean sighed, he thought back to what Hecate said in his universe. He said that it was nothing against him, but at the same time maybe it was his fault. Back in his world, it didn’t matter if Witches were white or dark. A Witch was a Witch and they had to die. 

“I think that would be my world’s fault.” Dean rubbed at his eyes as he pulled the car over.  

“Hold on, Sam,” Amaya sighed as she turned to Dean. “What do you mean?” 

“In… In my world, a Witch is a Witch.” He explained. “So when someone is caught, we either imprison them or…” he trailed off. 

“So,” Amaya pinched the bridge of her nose. Pulling the phone away from her ear she pressed the speaker button. “Okay, let me get this straight. You guys felt that no matter what kind of magic was used, a Witch was always evil?” 

Sam let out an audible groan. “And now she’s trying to get revenge. But why target our Dean?” 

“He hates Witches Sam… He’s an easy target.” Amaya huffed. “Of course put him in a world where his ‘all witches are bad’ motto will make him happy.” 

Dean let out a groan and placed his forehead on the steering wheel. “This is all kinds of fucked up. I just want to go home!” he whined. 

“This isn’t a picnic for us either, pal,” Amaya grumbled. “I want grumpy back. I hate to admit it, but the faster we get him back the faster I can go off on my own.” 

“Maya,” Sam’s voice came in. “you know that he--” 

“Save it, Sam,” Amaya hissed. “He’s been pulling this shit since I can remember. So no, I won’t stick around when he comes home. Besides, Jason is meeting us in Salem.” 

“What?!” Sam and Dean both echoed. 

“Just... let’s keep driving. We’re wasting time! Not to mention we need to do some investigating when we get there, if Jason hasn’t started already.” 

Dean started the car back up and continued the drive, pushing the Impala as fast as he could.

Dean let out a laugh as Amaya finished wiping the floor with another sucker. They had decided to split up and make it a small competition to see who could win the most money. Only after Dean had proven it to her that he could play. He had a difficult shot to make, and with a smirk, made the cue ball jump over one of the balls in his way to sink the eight ball in. At the time, they were the only ones at the pool table. 

Amaya had found a small pool hall that was just empty enough to test his skill before the patrons filtered in. Drinks were flowing and laughter filtered through. The groans of disappointment echoed as both Dean and Amaya’s tables were filled with onlookers. 

“You know,” Dean heard one of the men say to Amaya as she bent over the table. “Why don’t you come back with me and I can sink some balls in some holes for you?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched as Amaya pulled the cue back quickly hitting the man in his solar plexus. 

“Oh,” she cooed. “I’m sorry, amor. I only let certain balls sink into particular holes.” with that she lined up her shot and sunk in the eight ball. “I believe the stakes were triple, right?” 

Before he knew it, between the two of them they made a good eight thousand dollars. Dean gave a low whistle as they counted up the money, Amaya giving him his four while she kept hers. 

“I call that the best night I’ve ever had,” he chuckled. “We need to play pool more. Could probably clean house.”   

“Yeah,” Amaya sighed as she leaned up against the Impala. “You are really good. You weren’t kidding when you said you’ve played since you were young.” 

“Told ya,” he shot her a cocky smile. “I take it we should get some sleep while we can.” he cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

By now, he and Amaya would have gone back to the motel, drank some whiskey, and ended up in bed together. Mostly with Dean giving her gentle touches as she slept. Mostly because he couldn’t do it while she was awake. He would never admit to having a few secrets of admitting he loved her to himself. But damn it if he didn’t miss her.  And damn it if thinking about her didn’t give him the biggest hard on in his life. And here in front of him was her doppelganger. Dressed in a crop top band tee, tight jeans, leather jacket, and biker boots. Her hair flowed around her with a smile that reminded him of what his heart wanted.  

“Yeah we should,” she agreed, clearing her throat. “I take it, you had to hustle to survive.” 

 Dean reached over and grazed his thumb along her lips before recoiling it back as if touching her burned him. 

“Sorry,” he rasped. “You had a smudge and I-- I just…” 

“It’s fine,” Amaya whispered. “How about we celebrate with some more whiskey?” 

“That sounds like a plan, sweetheart,” Dean said as he smiled. “I could get used to that.” 

The drive back to the hotel, with a pit stop at a liquor store, resulted in good music, crude jokes, and stumbling into the hotel room. 

“So… so, we barge into this coven that’s out in a cabin and… Dean and I have to turn away because they were--” she paused to take a drink from the bottle as they sat on the floor, before passing it back to Dean. “They were worshiping in skyclad. And we had walked in on their orgy. It was butts and tits, and penises everywhere!” 

“That must have been one messy massacre,” Dean grumbled. 

“Why do you say it like that?” Amaya frowned at him. 

“Were they Wiccan’s or witches?” Dean tried to clarify. 

“Witches are witches, nothing more and nothing less.” Amaya gave him a slight glare. “Magic is dangerous, no matter what it’s used for.” 

“And yet,” Dean took a gulp from the bottle hissing as the liquid gave him a slight burn. “The incantations we use to send demons back, the key of Solomon, incantations to beef up weapons, or puzzle boxes,” Dean listed off. “That’s all magic.” 

“Are you sympathetic to witches?” Amaya asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Fuck no,” Dean chuckled. “I hate hags as much as the next hunter. But… not all witches go darkside. There are white witches, and witches who work with gods. I mean probably not THE God, but Greek gods? Definitely.” 

“What is your point,” Amaya drawled. “Monsters are monsters, Dean. They are almost all under control here that we hardly have any cases to filter through.”  

“Just,” Dean ran a hand across his face. “Not all monsters are evil. Some of them, if not all of them, were human at some point or another in their lives. And they learn to live quietly.” 

 Amaya pressed her lips into a thin line. She had seen it before, monsters who had families and were living off the blood of livestock. Witches who never harmed anyone, but were still on the list because of a spike in magical energy that scared the council. 

“I guess Hecate lied about it not being our fault,” she hissed. 

“Hecate? You mean, long skinny, black eyes with silver specs in them Goddess of witches?” Dean asked. “THAT Hecate?” 

“Not as dumb as you look,” Amaya sighed. “Yes, that Hecate. We had captured her followers and one of them had invoked her. Nearly destroyed the bunker. That was the day Eileen told me I couldn’t have kids. I was almost crushed to death.” 

Dean stayed silent as her story sunk in. 

“Well then, guess whoever these witches are in Salem,” he groaned as he got up off the floor and held out his hand to her. “We’re going to have to ask them how we put things right.” 

As Amaya held onto his hand to get up, Dean pulled her a little too hard. She tumbled forward and almost fell, but Dean moved quickly to pull her toward his body. His arms wrapped around her as her hands pressed on his chest. They both froze as they stared into each other's eyes. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat looking at the woman in his arms. The familiar scent of Lavender mixed with gunpowder and... something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. 

“You uh,” Dean whispered and offered her a smile. “There’s something to your smell, I can smell gunpowder, Lavender, but there is something else. I can’t pinpoint it.”  

“Jasmine,” she answered. “It’s a lavender shampoo with a jasmine body wash. The gunpowder is obvious.”   

She dared to look into his green eyes. Eyes that were full of pain, and loss. Eyes that were of a stranger and yet, at the same time were familiar. His own scent hit her own senses. Gunpowder, leather, and whiskey. The leather was unfamiliar. She guessed, from the story he shared earlier, was from sleeping in the Impala for most of his life. 

The two of them stood in the center of the hotel room. Neither of them moved away. The deafening silence surrounded them as their hearts pounded in their chests. Dean was the first to break the trance as he cleared his throat and moved away. 

“We should…” he trailed off and pointed to the beds. 

“Right,” Amaya agreed. “We should get some rest. We have a bit of a drive.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said as he turned away and began stripping his clothes to get comfortable while Amaya did the same. 

“Night, roughneck.” she muttered once she was nestled between the sheets.

“Yeah, night, Ice Queen,” Dean huffed with a smile as he settled into the bed. 

Both of them layed in bed until sleep was able to consume them. The nightmares still played, but they didn’t dare to move as the night went on. By the next morning, the car ride was filled with the sounds of classic rock as they made their way to Salem. Being used to driving long distances on little sleep, Dean was able to convince Amaya to let it happen. It worked out in the end as they were able to make it just as the sun began to set. 

“Take this next exit and drive to The Merchant Hotel,” Amaya instructed. “Unfortunately I had to book us a king suit. The Lark.” 

Following Amaya’s directions, Dean found the hotel and parked the car as close as he could. Settling into their room, Dean pushed a few chairs together. 

Amaya bit her lip, “You know… we can share the bed.” she sighed. “It’s big enough for both of us and… I can ask for extra pillows.” 

Dean hated to admit it, but the bed did look inviting. And even though this Amaya wasn’t his, he couldn’t help but feel that pull towards her. 

“No, I’m good. I can sleep on that corner there where that bench seat is up against the wall. You can have the bed.” Dean cleared his throat. “Besides, I can’t stand cover hogs. And the way you hogged the covers at the last hotel makes me think I’m going to freeze to death in this room.” 

“Fine, jackass,” Amaya grumbled as she grabbed a few pillows and threw them at him. “I’m going to head down to the bar.” 

Before Dean could stop her she was already out the door. Running a hand across his face he let out a frustrated groan and continued to arrange the small couch so that he could sleep when he was ready. Once it was adjusted to how he wanted it, he made sure he had his wallet before following Amaya out of the room and down to find the bar. What he didn’t expect to find was Amaya hanging off the arm of a man dressed in a sharp suit, and perfectly combed hair. 

“Dean, ole chap! How have you been?” The man smiled as he walked up to Dean and shook his hand. 

“I’ve been great, uh…” Dean looked at Amaya for help. 

“Ketch,” Amaya interrupted. “Your drink is ready at the bar.” 

“We should catch up over a night cap and a cigar,” Ketch said as he made his way to the bar leaving Amaya and Dean alone for a moment. 

“That is Ketch,” Amaya sighed. “I guess British base sent him to make sure London is really what I want.” 

“He seems like a douche,” Dean snorted. “Is it what you really want?” Dean asked. 

“Ketch?” Amaya asked, confused. 

“No, London, is it what you really want? Or are you using it as an excuse to run away and never see Dean again?” Dean breathed. 

“It’s none of your business, roughneck,” she sneered. “Just don't get in the way of this hunt. Our research team worked very hard for this for some highschool drop-out to ruin it.” 

“And the Ice Queen makes her appearance,” Dean scoffed. 

“And the roughneck is just as surly as ever,” Amaya hissed. 

“Amaya, mi amor. ¿Cómo le ha ido?” Ketch smiled as he looked between Dean and Amaya. (Amaya, my love. How have you been?). 

Before Dean knew what was happening, the conversation between Ketch and Amaya turned into a rapid fire of Spanish. Nothing coming out of their mouths was slow enough for him to understand. Next thing he knew he caught the words, ‘estupido’ and Amaya glancing at him. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” Dean growled in her ear. 

 “Dean you look ragged, ole chap.” Ketch slapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that you and Amaya won't be tying the knot though.” 

“Still have a week left Ketchy boy,” Dean said through gritted teeth as he shrugged Ketch off. “But you had a long flight, from merry ole England, right?” 

“Not too bad,” Ketch picked at his nails. “But I was able to sleep on the flight.” he leaned in towards Dean. “Give it up ole boy. You took her from me once, I won’t let it happen again. You messed up and are paying the price. She’s mine.” 

“I love how you're an opportunist, Ketch,” Dean eyed him up and down. “But I won the girl. She has my ring on her finger. And if I have to drag her down that aisle, I will!”

Dean was shocked by the words that came out of his mouth. He was supposed to be going home. But here was this sleazy guy, eying Amaya like a steak dinner. He was the only guy, in any universe, allowed to do that.

Amaya sighed as she flopped down on her bed at the Clipper Ship Inn. In truth, it was probably a lot nicer than some of the motels they had ever stayed in, but it still had the motel feeling. Dean had gone off to grab some supplies as she began researching. She had tied up her hair in a messy bun as she always did when working. But there was something in the crime pictures that she had pulled up thanks to Sam’s hacking.

There, at one of the crime scenes, was the symbol of Hecate. The symbol was a five pointed star with a circle that had almost a maze-like pattern to it. Amaya tilted her head as she studied the crime scene photo. There was something else to the symbol, something that didn’t quite fit. Grabbing her phone she began to dial Sam’s number. 

“Hey Sam, I have a question for you,” She breathed just as Dean walked into the room with a bag of fast food. 

‘Uh, yeah, what’s your question?’ Sam tried to stifle his yawn. 

“Did you get any sleep?” Amaya asked softly. 

‘I’m fine, Cas says he’s going to do some digging up in heaven for something. Maybe there is a way to track Dean’s soul since it’s a part of our universe and not the other Dean’s.’  He let out a small huff. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Amaya sighed. “Look Sam, about what I said… before I left, I’m--”

‘I know, Maya. You don’t have to say it. You’re in a bad place, we all are and we just want our Dean back.’ 

“As grumpy as he is, yeah. He owes me a Macarena,” Maya tried to lighten the mood. 

‘Yeah he does,’ Sam let out a small chuckle. ‘Just, be careful out there, okay? Don’t lose your head.’  

“Unless I’m dealing with the Queen of Hearts, I don’t plan to. Should get back to strategizing. We’ll start with the police station tomorrow once we get all the info we can get out of what you hacked for us.” 

Amaya never noticed Dean looking at the screen from over her shoulder. He had begun eating his grilled chicken salad. As he took a forkful into his mouth he tilted his head and put his food down next to her. Reaching over her, he zoomed in on the symbols and tapped on Amaya’s shoulder. 

“Put him on speaker,” he commanded as he grabbed a paper and a pen and began writing down notes furiously. 

“Um… Sam, I’m going to put you on speaker.” Amaya said. Her tone was full of confusion on what Dean was doing. 

‘Okay, is there something wrong with the research?’ Sam asked as the sounds of computer keys clacking came from the speaker. 

“No, no. It’s good work. I just need some books from the archive.” Dean pushed the paper towards Amaya so she could look. “If you can find a way to send us digital copies of the pages I need that would actually help.” 

‘What do you need ?’ Sam asked. 

“Okay, going to need Scriptura Deorum. It should be on the third shelf, third bookshelf.” Dean recited. “Then from the fifth bookshelf I need, Signum Deos. Next, you are going to the opposite side, bookshelf number ten, top shelf, Runes Anam. Last book might need to get back to us. It’s in the dungeon room. The title is called Siombail Anamacha.” 

‘Okay, let me repeat the titles, you want, Scriptura Deorum. Bible of the Gods. Then you want Signum Deos, Symbols of Gods. Then Runes Anam, Soul Runes, and Siombail Anamacha, Symbols of Souls?’ Sam sounded surprised. 

“That’s what I said.” Dean chuckled. “Omnia facere volo ire in domum suam.” 

‘Yeah, Dean. We know you want to go home.’ Sam translated and sighed. ‘Fucking weird hearing perfect Latin from you.’ Sam muttered. 

“I think that’s everything, Sam. Just let me know if we have anything archived that I can look at digitally.” Amaya said as she rubbed her temples.  “Necesito un trago fuerte.” 

(I need a fucking drink.) 

“¿Qué tipo de bebida quieres, cariño?” Dean gave her a devilish smirk. (what kind of drink do you want, sweetheart? )

“Can you stop that, please!” Amaya looked away from him.

“ No, no voy a dejar de ser quien soy solo porque te incomoda!” Dean exclaimed as he looked at Amaya. “Puedo hablar español, latín, japonés, ruso. Puedo seguir y hacerte girar la cabeza. Entonces, no, no dejaré de hablar los muchos idiomas que conozco sólo porque su amigo emocionalmente carenciado con beneficios no puede.” ( No, I will not stop being who I am just because it bothers you! I can speak Spanish, Latin, Japanese, Russian. I can go on and turn your head. So, no, I won't stop speaking the many languages ​​I know just because your emotionally lacking friend with benefits can't.)

“Sabes que? Te puedes ir a casa carajo!” She got up from her seat and poked at his chest. “no tienes derecho a quedarte allí y juzgarme o lo que tuve con MI Dean.” she seethed, her eyes burning with anger. “Podemos ser amigos con beneficios, pero todo terminará de todos modos.” She reminded him. “Una vez que te devolvamos a donde perteneces, no tengo que pensar en cómo tú y tu Amaya tienen una relación perfecta o un matrimonio perfecto o --” 

(you don't have the right to stand there and judge me or what I had with MY Dean. we may be friends with benefits but it's all going to end anyways. once we put you back where you belong I don't have to think about how you and your Amaya have a perfect relationship or a perfect marriage or--)

Before she could keep going, a knock interrupted her. Raising her eyebrow at Dean who simply shrugged, she grabbed her Colt M11911A1 with a custom lavender handle that Dean had gifted her for her twenty first birthday. Walking to the door, she cocked the gun before opening it to see a smiling Jason with a bottle of Havana Club rum and a box of Hoyo de Monterrey cigars. 

“Hi Amaya,” He said with a smile. 

“Jason,” Amaya whispered. 

Chapter 12 

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[kingreywrites]

I’ll breathe again - Chapter 1

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2451

Summary: Rapunzel fell. She cried out and felt her wrist crack painfully under her weight. But it didn't matter - nothing did, not when the attacker collided roughly with Eugene right as she raised her head back up. Eugene didn't allow himself to fall, only taking a single step backwards, but Rapunzel saw how his face contorted excessively with pain.

Warning: Stabbing, blood, and general angst but with an happy ending.

Note: I’ll post the second chapter tomorrow :) This takes place post-series and yes, Eugene meets a dagger again!

Read on ao3

Rapunzel first noticed that something was wrong when she saw Eugene chatting with Stan at the edge of the ballroom. Well, what appeared to be chatting - but Rapunzel knew her husband and Captain of the Guard well enough to be sure that he wouldn't distract one of his men during an important event if something wasn't wrong. Even now, all dressed up in his beautiful royal suit, she could see his calculating gaze taking in the numerous guests, as he kept smiling while talking to Stan.

This was Captain Fitzherbert talking.

And if it was worrying enough that he would go to one of his men in the middle of a party in which he wasn't supposed to act as a Captain, it meant trouble. Eugene said one last thing to Stan, who nearly saluted before he thought better of it, and disappeared to go inform the others. Then, Eugene slowly made his way back to the centre of the ballroom, unnoticed by most - and, as the husband of the Queen, that was no easy feat.

"Is everything okay?" Rapunzel asked, her tone even as she went to his side, hoping to keep the casual facade.

"Ah, a little security problem," Eugene smirked, extending his arm to her, "it should be solved soon. Can I offer you a dance, your majesty?"

"If it is so nicely asked, how could I say no," Rapunzel laughed, revelling in the warmth of his arm around her waist. "By the way, Johanna is actually quite nice once you get to know her!"

"Jo- you mean ma'am the duchess of Bitterness land?" Eugene sputtered dramatically, ignoring her playful glare. "That woman managed to make eating cake sad, who does that?"

Rapunzel laughed again, and started explaining how she had found that the duchess had a secret passion for hourglasses, and that by catering to it, she had managed to secure a trade deal quite easily. The ballroom was packed with important guests, and she would soon have to try and mingle again, but having Eugene near her felt like a breath of fresh air. Though, she could see he was still worried. He smiled and nodded at the right times, but his mind was elsewhere, and his eyes strayed behind her once or twice.

"So?" she asked to get his attention back on her. "What's this little security problem?"

Eugene grimaced, looking behind her again. "One of the people here doesn't fit the guest list. I'd know, I've reviewed it enough to know it by heart. I told Stan to evacuate him, but I don't know, I've got a bad feeling," he finished, his eyes finding hers this time, worry evident in them.

"I'll be careful," she answered before he even asked it of her. She got on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth quickly, wishing for a moment they could be alone in their bedroom. "I promise."

His eyes softened, and he squeezed her hands in his for a moment, before smiling. Someone called her from behind him - a representative of a little principality, she remembered - and she was already missing Eugene, even though she hadn't left him yet.

"Duty calls," she said.

"Duty calls," he repeated softly.

She should have stayed a little more. At the time, she had wanted to - had wanted to gaze into those eyes she loved so much a moment more, had wanted to hold him a little longer, had wanted to kiss him deeply until all his worries dissipated and all he could think about was her. She had wanted all of that but, since she became Queen, she knew to put her responsibilities before her wishes. She wanted to stay, but she didn't indulge in her desires, sure that she would have the occasion later on.

She should have waited. But she didn't.

Rapunzel went around Eugene to greet the representative. Her back turned to his, she didn't see the sudden movement in the crowd. She heard it when someone cried out from being pushed, but she tensed a fraction of second after Eugene - just a fraction of second, nothing more, but it was enough to change everything.

Eugene was the first to see the shadow running through the crowd; he was the first to understand that the attacker was going straight toward Rapunzel; he was the first to react. Right as she was turning back toward the noise (too late, too slowly), he pushed her harshly to the ground with his shoulder.

Rapunzel fell. She cried out and felt her wrist crack painfully under her weight. But it didn't matter - nothing did, not when the attacker collided roughly with Eugene right as she raised her head back up. Eugene didn't allow himself to fall, only taking a single step backwards, but Rapunzel saw how his face contorted excessively with pain.

Time froze.

The attacker scrambled back, falling on his butt before getting back up to get away, but Rapunzel didn't see him. She didn't see anything, but the dagger in his hand, the dagger that had been extended in front of him, and that was now covered in blood - a splash of red into this man's hand. The blood could only have come from one person, she knew, but her heart refused to accept it, beating loudly in protest and drowning out every other sound. Eugene was still standing, his back to her, but she felt slowed down, nearly frozen on the spot. Time resumed its course.

Eugene crumbled.

He fell backwards, one of his hand on his stomach, and collided harshly with the ground, a breathless yell escaping his lips. The ballroom exploded into a flurry of activity, the noise nearly deafening, but Rapunzel didn't care. She crawled to Eugene in mere seconds, but it was too long, far too long, and his blood was already soaking the ground and her pretty dress.

She felt her heart beating in her throat and choking her as she took in his pale and pained expression, his eyes tightly closed as his muscles tensed against the pain. That was when she saw the wound on his stomach, Eugene's blood slowly seeping through his clenched fingers.

"Eugene," she gasped, terrified. Her memories of medical training kicked in and she immediately put pressure on the wound with both hands, drawing a shaky moan from him as he relaxed unnaturally, too limp now. Her own wrist was pulsating with pain, probably broken, but she didn't care. "I'm sorry," she whispered frantically, "I'm sorry, please Eugene, stay with me."

Her pleading made him open his eyes, and she could have sobbed right here and there at the familiar expression if she wasn't worried her tears would blur her vision too much. She had seen him like this once already - wasn't it enough? She could see the brown of his eyes shining through the tiny slits, unfocused and glossy, but always seeking her out.

Biting her lips, she pushed harder on the wound and one of his hands reflexively tried to knock her off him with a moan, but the movement was uncoordinated and weak. The hand landed on her sleeve, making the purple fabric darker, before it feebly fell to his side again.

"Ra-Rapunzel," he croaked out, breathless. "You… you 'k?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, swallowing harshly against her emotions, "I'm perfectly fine, I promise."

He coughed, pushing against her arm again without force, and she stopped his movement easily. Too easily. He wasn't supposed to be like this. Eugene was strong and- and confident, and the best Captain of the Guard there was and- he shouldn't be this limp, this weak, this pale, bleeding out under her hands without even being able to talk.

"Eugene," Rapunzel pleaded, her right hand going to cup his cheek gently, trying to get him to look at her. She ignored the blood she was herself smearing on his chalky skin, ignored  the way his eyes were dulling, ignored his shallow breathing or the slick warmth under her other hand. "Eugene, please, I know it hurts but you have to stop moving."

"Captain!" It was Stan who had yelled that, but Rapunzel realised with a start that she was surrounded by multiple nervous guards, all staring blankly at their fallen Captain. Stan slide to his knees on Eugene's other side, his hands joining her.

Eugene cried out again, a tear escaping him, and she had to bit back a sob again. She brushed the tear off, but left blood in its place, again. She thought she might be sick.

"Pete," she said harshly, making everyone jump at her unfamiliar tone, "go fetch the physician. Half of you, go take the guests to safety. The other half, go arrest the attacker that should never have been here in the first place!"

The end of the sentence was a yell, and she would have felt guilty if she wasn't feeling Eugene's irregular breathing under her hands.

"Your Captain needs you," Stan added, "don't just stand around!"

They were met by a chorus if ayes as each guard scrambled to his assigned position - though Pete had been gone as soon as she asked him for a doctor. The entire scene seemed surreal. Rapunzel felt like years, centuries even had went on since Eugene danced with her - how long had she been standing here, stained by his blood?

Not even two minutes, at most.

Eugene whimpered under her, his face grey as chalk and contrasting sharply with the blood she had left behind. She could feel her eyes burning, could feel the panic burning inside her, but she had to try to comfort him, had to be there for him. She would break down later - for now, he needed her.

"Rapunzel," he coughed again, her name always on his lips when he was worried for her safety. Even when he was the one he should be worried about.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered, leaning down toward him, feeling how her dress was clinging unnaturally to her because of the blood. "I am not letting you die again."

"Ah," Eugene laughed, but she could see how damp his eyes were. He was scared - and she was too. "Is- Is-"

"Everything is under control, Captain," Stan said when it was evident that Eugene wouldn't be able to finish his sentence. "No one was hurt beside... beside you."

"Good," Eugene croaked, seemingly more aware for a moment, his eyes focused on Rapunzel's.

For that moment, the chaos around them didn't matter anymore - his eyes held the universe inside of them, a tenderness that almost choked Rapunzel with emotion. She whispered his name again and he smiled, a soft, resigned smile, that tried to tell her that everything would be okay.

"Good," he said again, "because I- I think I'm gonna pass out."

"Cap-"

"Eugene!" Rapunzel exclaimed at the same time his eyes rolled back and his head lolled to the side. She shook him as gently as she could, vision blurred by the tears she couldn't keep at bay anymore. "Eugene, wake up!"

"Your majesty…" Stan tried, but she ignored him. She ignored everything, but Eugene's slack face and the terrifying realization that it was happening again, she had seen him like this before and she couldn't do anything-

She shook her head and pushed harder against the wound, wishing she could put the blood back where it belonged. Eugene twitched, nothing much, but it meant that he was still feeling something and Rapunzel would take it.

To her right, the physician finally arrived, Pete following him awkwardly as he carried alone a stretcher. Rapunzel dried out her tears with her shoulder, telling herself harshly that her husband wasn't dead yet, and that she would wallow later. She put her hand on his neck to feel his pulse, remembering these medical courses she had insisted in attending, and despite his clammy skin and too quick rhythm, the fact of the matter was that Eugene was still alive.

Eugene was alive. And she would do anything to keep it that way.

She had to get her hands off his wound to let the physician do his job, but she helped load Eugene onto the stretcher, finding a modicum of comfort in the warmth he was still emitting. Eugene was still alive, she repeated herself, and he'll get better and then they'll dance and kiss and be with each other again. She couldn't accept any other scenario.

"Your Majesty," a guard said hesitantly as others raised the stretcher, "we- uh, captured the attacker."

Rapunzel sucked a breath through her teeth, looking away from Eugene for the first time since he went down. She didn't want to leave him, but she still turned toward the man that did it all, heart beating fast as fury coursed through her veins. He wasn't as big and as shadowy as he had seemed before. He was even pretty banal, and was now vaguely resisting arrest, surrounded by two guards. When he saw that she was looking at him, he spat on the ground.

"Hope he dies painfully," he sneered, and the anger that flooded Rapunzel was searing hot, tearing through her self-control easily.

In one swift movement, and before anyone could even think to stop her, she stole a nearby guard's sword and went to point it directly at this guy's neck, pressing until she drew blood. Her breathing was heavy, her head buzzing by the sheer hatred she was feeling, but her hands were steady.

"You better hope he survives," she growled, pushing the sword harder, "or else, you won't like what I'll do to you, I promise you that."

He didn't even dare swallow, and the rush of satisfaction Rapunzel felt was exhilarating. She liked to see the fear in his eyes, liked to know that he felt what must not even be a tiny fraction of the terror that inhabited her. She tightened her grip and the pain that climbed up her arm was like a bucket of freezing water above her head - a reminder that Eugene was still… Rapunzel lowered her eyes, toward that hand that was pulsing painfully with her heart, bruised and bloodied, from her fall and from Eugene. Her dress was still darkened by the blood that was dripping from it and Rapunzel couldn't help but feel unbearably cold. She let the sword clatter to the ground and stepped back unsteadily, before straightening herself and ordering the guards to put him in a cell.

Her hands were shaking now. She hoped nobody saw them.

She took another step back, then raised her dress ungracefully and ran after her husband.

He was the one that needed her right now.

[queenangst]

Prompt: Aizawa faced with the possibility of losing one of his kids????

for my 30 min fic challenge / send a prompt, and i’ll write you a fic in 30 mins / ‘30 min fics’ tag

like light through a window [read on AO3]

The first time Shouta sees what Hagakure looks like, it’s because she’s covered in blood.

She’s gasping—he can see red smeared around her mouth like bright lipstick, and his mind can fill in the empty space in between. Dust has settled on the right side of her face. There, the line of her cheekbone; there, the curl of fluttering lashes; there, the shape of a nose.

“Hagakure,” he says, dropping to his knees. It’s not hard to pinpoint the source of the bleeding. She’s been— impaled, and the thought of it is sickening; the cold metal bar, the concrete. A villain attack, an unstable building. Everything had been going fine until it hadn’t.

The bleeding girl whimpers. He unloops his capture weapon and sets it aside, then lifts his shirt over his arms and folds it. Places it over the wound, pads the area as best he can. Hagakure makes a low, pained sound, and Shouta almost hates that he can see the way her mouth trembles.

“Hagakure, are you with me?”

“Se- sen,” she tries, and Shouta sees when she starts crying.

“It’s okay,” he says.

Shouta isn’t much of a liar, but this is no time for truths. How can he tell her how he sees her? Bleeding, severely injured—and both of them helpless. He cannot tell her…

“Sensei,” Hagakure finally says, and she tries to turn and gags. Shouta keeps one hand pressed down firmly, but moves so he can gently lift her head and turn it. Hagakure gasps, almost retching; a line of red dribbles from the side of her mouth. “Sensei… it hurts.”

“I know,” he says plainly, because she needs to hear that. “I know it hurts.”

“I’m scared.”

“It’s alright,” Shouta tells her. He slides his knee under her head, uses his free hand to brush her matted hair out of her face. “I’ve got you, Hagakure. Okay?”

He can’t see her eyes. Shouta thinks that’s the most terrifying part. He can see the other parts of her but not her eyes.

“I- I-”

And she starts crying again. Soft, stuttering noises.

Shouta takes his hand away for a second, and she whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, “I’m sorry, Hagakure, I’m going to try to reach someone again, okay?”

He tries. Static, and then a burst of technicolor noise—

“ —Eraserhead— is- you?”

“Midnight?” he snaps.

“—in contact! Eraserhead… building…”

“I need help as soon as you can send it,” he says, heart pounding. “Midnight, now. Hagakure is in bad condition.”

He wants to see Nemuri, so he can grab her by the shoulders and shake her and yell, where were you, where were any of you? So everyone can see the blood that’s crusting around his fingers, where were you?

He doesn’t say, she’s impaled, and he doesn’t say, if you don’t get here in the next few minutes she’ll—

Because he can’t say that, not to sweet Hagakure fighting to stay with him, not to himself.

“—rescue efforts already… minutes. Hang tight.”

“Make it quick, and bring medical help.”

The other side lapses into quiet. He can hear a few orders being carried out, and here, in the real corner of the building they’re hiding in, he can hear a distant rumbling as concrete and metal is moved aside.

“They’re…” Hagakure murmurs. Her head lolls. “They’re… coming?”

“Yes,” he says, and puts his hand back where it was, stroking her hair. “Yes, Hagakure. They’re coming.”

“‘t hurts.”

“I know.”

“I’m scared,” she says again, repeating it like a broken record—because it is terrifying, it must be, if she is feeling any fraction of the fear that has cracked his chest in two. “Sensei, I don’t… I don’t want…”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere, you understand me?”

Hagakure laughs a little. Shouta keeps pressing down, keeps holding. Her suit, newly designed, has caught the blood—he can see a deep red seeping across the invisible fabric and rendering it the color of wine.

“Always… so strict,” she says, and despite himself, Shouta smiles down at her.  

“Can’t let you off the hook.” She closes her eyes; he catches the movement. “Hagakure, I need you to stay awake for me.”

Opens them again, and the relief that echoes through him is dehabilitating.

“Okay,” she whispers.

And then, “Sensei, will you— can you hold… my hand?”

A gloved hand twitches, then lifts. He moves his own hand and catches it.

“If it’s too hard to talk, you don’t have to say anything,” Shouta tells her, “okay? You don’t have to tell me anything. I know. I’m here.”

She makes a wordless sound.

Shouta squeezes her hand; she squeezes back.

“I wanna… be a hero,” she says.

“You’re going to be a wonderful one.”

Her chest catches, and then goes back to its unsteady rhythm.

“I thought maybe…”

Shouta squeezes her hand again as she trails off, and Hagakure’s aware enough to squeeze back.

Distantly, the sound of help.

“Eraserhead!”

“We’re here,” he shouts, feeling his own voice echo. “Here!”

Lets go of Hagakure’s hand and feels the fingers shift. Lifts his hand to his mouth and whistles, three sharp, piercing whistles. Help.

Her body is so small. She’s so small, and so young, and the blood— andShouta can’t save her. He hadn’t been able to save Shirakumo, and he can’t save Hagakure either.

Shouta takes her hand again. By now Hagakure is whispering something; Shouta puts his head down, turns his ear and hovers over her mouth so he can still hear her.

“—hero… so people could see me,” she gasps. Then coughs, a rattling sound. “And so other people could… be seen.”

The first piece of rubble is finally moved aside, and Nemuri’s face appears in it. She turns and shouts back at her team, and the rubble is being cleared away.

Sunlight slips in, just a little shaft of it, but enough to light the scene. Blood on Hagakure, on her face, her side; on Shouta, on his hands.

The hand in his is cold and trembling, but he grasps it tighter. He squeezes. She squeezes back.

“Medic!” someone hollers, as the rest of the collapsed building is cleared. Shouta clutches Hagakure tight.

“It’s okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he tells her. “It’s going to be alright now. I’m not losing you.”

She can’t answer him. He squeezes her hand, and there is a long—breathless—moment where she doesn’t squeeze back. Her chest seizes, and then her fingers move faintly in his.

As help comes, as the sky is exposed around them, as the rescue efforts continue, Shouta keeps his eyes on Hagakure. He can’t see her eyes, but she can see his. That’s important.

“I’m always looking at you,” Shouta promises, and his voice cracks. “I see you, Hagakure. I promise. I’m looking at you.”

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Kim Namjoon 🎃

Halloween Series: Necromancer Kim Namjoon

You had thought that working for one of the world’s youngest, most successful businessmen would merit you nothing more than a few perks. However, it garners more than you ever bargained for-the absolute unwavering attention of said young man-and another dangerous chance at life, and maybe love. 

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Halloween, Spooky Season, Kim namjoon, Namjoon, RM, Namjoon x you, Namjoon x reader, Necromancer Namjoon

Warning: Mentions of death and a car accident

Genre: Angst, a bit of Fluff

Title: Chances

(Image Credit: https://twitter.com/kanux4)

The first thing you’re aware of is the cold.

The second? The darkness.

And then, it all comes together-the dark, icy water cradling your body-and the panic sets in.

You’re struggling, flailing, trying to reach the surface-your lungs on fire, your body feeling as if it’s shutting down-and just when you think you won’t make it, that you’ll sink beneath the waves once more, you break through the watery prison.

Coughing, choking, the water dripping icy rivulets down your face and the bare skin of your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake, you flounder once more, mouth gaping, chest heaving, as you try to catch your lost breath. Your fingers curl over an edge-chilly, steel, beneath your touch-and you grip whatever it is you have discovered with your life-eyes still blurry and vision still hazy from the residue of the liquid still surrounding you.

Cold. It’s so damn cold.

But then, suddenly, someone is grabbing you, pulling you to them, crushing you against their chest-and as hands reach up to push dripping hair from your brow and eyes-there is warmth.

Finally.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” A voice, low and serious, whispers in your ear, breath balmy and heated against your frigid skin, as the hands, large and warm, continue to stroke down the length of your wet hair.

And you realize, in that moment, that you know the voice.

You know him.

Confusion must sweep across your face as you pull back from him, because Kim Namjoon, hands still on your naked shoulders, suddenly seems worried-lips pulling into a thin line, brow furrowing as he stares at you. 

“What....What are you doing here?” You manage to get out between chattering teeth, your whole body convulsing from the cold that seems to be seeping into your bones. 

You look down at yourself-naked and wet and shivering in the middle of a large, steel tub, sloshing over with icy, frigid water-and then back up to the man before you, eyes wide with sudden fear, as your heart pounds against your ribs painfully. 

“Namjoon.” His name comes out strangled, and your mouth feels dry, as if you haven’t used your voice and it’s grown rusty with time. “What’s happening?” 

Instead of answering you, he reaches out, letting his fingers hover just barely above your mouth, and he remarks, with a tone bordering awe and curiosity, “Your lips are blue.” And then, as if just realizing that your body is racked with tremors, and the context of his discovery, he swears, eyes darkening, as he reaches for your hands beneath the water. “Shit. You’re freezing. Come on. Carefully.” 

He helps you stand, and your legs feel weak and shaky, as the water cascades into a puddle at your feet, as he guides you, delicately, and one step at a time, out of the chilly water of the tub. 

The ground feels unsure beneath your feet as he leads you from the room- bathroom?- and down the hall, pulling you behind him through an open doorway and to the the room beyond. 

“Here. Sit.” Namjoon pushes you gently down onto the large bed, and though you’re still shivering violently, the soft material of the comforter beneath your bare body is instantly more warming than the icy water you had come from. 

Namjoon returns, carrying a heavy looking, long veneer blanket in his arms, and crouching down in front of you, he wraps the fabric around your shoulders, tucking it down between your legs, as he cocoons you into the warmth. 

Pulling the blanket in tighter around you, fingers still numb and slightly useless, you glance around the room-a bedroom-the fire crackling loudly in the fireplace, the large four poster bed where you currently sit, and the man in front of you, crouched still, watching you carefully from behind guarded eyes. 

Your boss. Kim Namjoon. 

Why are you with Kim Namjoon? 

“Why...” You stumble over your words, and once more, your voice feels heavy, unused. You swallow hard, and avoid looking at the man who’s still watching you intently from his position on the floor. “What’s going on? Why am I here?” 

Namjoon sighs, a heavy sort of sound, and sinking down to sit on the floor, leaning back on his hands so he can still look up at you, he tilts his head slightly, one eyebrow raised, before he asks simply, “What do you remember?” 

“I......” You take in a shaky breath, reaching up to rub at one of your temples with your slightly warmer fingers. “I remember riding in your car.” 

Namjoon nods. “Yes. We were going to a meeting.” 

You nod slowly, computing his words. You remember that. You were asked to accompany Namjoon-your very hot and very rich boss-to an important meeting with a client. You had been surprised, not sure he even knew your name, having only been at his company for about a year. 

Surely your boss had never even noticed you-he had much bigger things to  be worrying about, and much prettier and more competent female employees to distract his time. 

But that hadn’t been the case. He had asked for you. 

“And then...” You stutter to a halt, biting your lip, as you finally dare to make eye contact with him once more, and you notice, for the briefest of moments, that Kim Namjoon has very kind and soft eyes when he’s not at work. “There was an accident.” 

Namjoon’s hands ball into fists behind him, digging into the carpet, and you wonder why he’s so upset at the memory. “Yes. A drunk driver ran a red light.” 

You are startled at his candid words, and the flash of a memory-of the sound of metal crunching and screaming and flashing sirens-flits painfully through your head. 

“Yes.” You nod in return, fingers gripping at the blanket surrounding you for some form of security as you continue. “And then I remember....” You hesitate again, closing your eyes momentarily as you try to picture the scene. “You had a gash. On your forehead. The blood was so red. And I....” You take in a deep breath and open your eyes to meet his gaze once more. “Everything hurt. And I couldn’t breathe. And you told me...” You stumble over the heavy feeling of your tongue in your suddenly cotton filled mouth. “You told me to hold on, because you’d get me to the hospital.” A sob threatens to choke its way from your throat, and the feel of salty, hot tears drip down your cheeks. “But then I looked down at myself, and, oh god, there was so much blood and I...” You take in a heaving breath. “I knew there wasn’t going to be time.” 

There is heavy silence in between the two of you for what feels like an eternity, and then Namjoon sighs once more, staring at the way his fingers dig into the carpet, before he says softly, “Yes. That’s right.” 

“I don’t understand.” You blurt out, before you can temper the words, and Namjoon looks up at you sharply, lips pulled into a thin serious line. 

“I didn’t take you to the hospital.” 

“So then.” You swallow hard, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. “Am I dead? Are we dead?” 

“No.” Namjoon shakes his head, and there is a slight bit of amusement that replaces the sadness on his features for just the briefest moment, before he kneels up, and reaching out, brushes his finger down your cheekbone, lighter than a feather. “No. You were dead. Now, you are very much alive, (Y/N).” 

You are caught off guard by his answer, and by the closeness of him, you can practically feel the warmth rolling off of him from beneath his crimson suit jacket, and it’s distracting, because right now, your body, like an animal, is seeking any source of warmth to get away from the cold in your bones that you can’t seem to shake. 

And then something else catches your eye. 

“Your head.” You breathe out, reaching up without thinking to finger the faint, pink scar that runs perpendicular to his eyebrow. “It’s better.” 

He tilts his head imperceptibly, but enough to press his cheek into your palm, and you swear, that his shoulders seem to relax slightly at your touch. “Yes. It’s better.” 

“And I’m,” You glance down into the folds of the blanket at your body, only to be met with perfect, flawless skin-not a blemish insight. Last time you had seen yourself, that skin was covered in red, sticky blood, oozing from torn skin, and garish clashes of white, gleaming bone. Now, there is not a hair out of place. “I’m fine.” You finish with amazement. 

What the hell is going on? 

You look up once more, and there is a slightly dangerous smile that pulls at the corner of Namjoon’s mouth, in such a way that gives you a shiver of fear and pleasant butterflies in your stomach all at the same time, a whirl of complicated emotions. 

“How did you do it?” You ask, voice subdued with the sheer weight of everything going on in your head at that moment. 

Namjoon arches a brow at you, and his fingers come up to take your chin in a firm grasp, as he slowly turns your head from side to side, inspecting his handiwork. “I gave you another chance.” He states calmly, eyes locking with yours-pupils blowing and darkening against swirling chocolate irises. His teeth flash in a smile that sends your heart racing in your chest. “I gave us another chance.” 

******

“Tell me the story again.” 

It is several days later, and you are lying in the big, four poster bed with Namjoon, curled up against his side, wearing only one of his overly large t-shirts, enjoying the way his bare chest warms your skin, even through the thin fabric. 

“Again?” Namjoon groans, rolling his eyes, but there is a slight tug of an amused smile at his lips, as you roll over to face him, resting your chin on his chest, as you send him a pleading look over your hands. “Fine.” He chuckles, reaching up to ruffle a hand through your hair, before he starts into the story you have heard a dozen times. “The first day I saw you at the company, I thought I was hallucinating.” 

You grin and settle against him, reveling in the cozy feeling of lying with him, skin to skin, beneath the heavy blankets. 

“You were wearing that outfit-you know, the one with the tight pencil skirt and the sweater-and I swore, I’d never seen someone look as pretty as you did with a pencil stuck behind her ear and a clipboard in her hands.” He laughs at the look you shoot him, the dimples in his cheeks-one of your favorite things about him-deepening with the action, and then continues, reaching up to twirl a finger into a lock of your hair as he talks. “I tried for months to get you to notice me. Like seriously, everything. When I heard you talking in the hall with Wheein about how I looked like a college frat boy with my multiple piercings, I showed up to work the next day without them. Still nothing.” He teases you, pinching your side, as you laugh and look up at said piercings, shining up the length of his left ear. 

“I still can’t believe you heard that.” You whine, covering your blush with your hands, as you bury your face back into his side in mortification. “I had no idea.” 

“And then.” Namjoon’s voice is a deep rumble in his chest, just beneath the sound of his heartbeat, and it makes you feel safe and comforted and at home. “They asked me to bring someone with me to my next client meeting. And I knew, it’d be the perfect time to spend some alone time with you, and maybe I could work up the nerve to tell you how I felt.” 

Sadness washes over Namjoon’s features as he halts the story, and you reach up, pushing thick silver hair back off his forehead, before you say quietly, “It’s okay.” 

He clears his throat, and forcing a small smile onto his lips, he dips his head to brush his mouth across yours, before he replies with wavering lightness, “Seriously though. You were the prettiest, most independent, driven, bossy woman I had ever laid eyes on.” He grins down at you, and this time, the expression reaches his eyes. “And I loved everything about you. Still do.” 

You sigh, turning over on your back, as you reach a hand up, splaying your fingers wide, so that you can see the canopy that stretches over the bed between the spaces, as you say heavily, thoughtfully, “I still don’t feel like myself. I don’t feel like me.” 

Namjoon reaches up, intertwining his fingers with yours above your heads, and you glance at him, as he lets out a heavy sigh of his own, before offering you a gentle smile, and a kiss to your forehead. “I know. But that will come. It will get better.” He reaches up to tap one long forefinger against the side of your temple. “I managed to save everything up here. You’re still you, baby.” 

“It will get better.” You repeat his words under your breath, and he nods, as you snuggling against him once more, shutting your eyes to the sound of his breathing and the incessant rhythm of his heart. 

*******

But as days pass, it does not get better. 

It gets worse. Much, much worse. 

It starts with the morning that you take a shower, and clumps of hair come out into your hands, washing and swirling down the drain around your feet like horrifying, damning tumbleweeds of terrible things to come. 

Then, it’s the aching of your bones, the pain so severe that you spend afternoons in bed while Namjoon is at work, just managing to paste on a smile and crawl from beneath the covers in time for him to walk through the door, worried that he will find out something is wrong. 

By the time patches of yellow and purple appear on your skin-covering your body like angry, unmistakable bruises-you feel as if even the slightest movement makes you exhausted, your tired body reacting to everything as if you have just run a marathon. 

But it is when the nightmares start, that you really feel as if death is inescapable this time. 

And tonight, when you wake up from sleep, gasping and panting for breath, your throat hoarse from screaming, your fingers bloody from clutching the sheets too tightly, you feel as if death might be the most merciful form of release. 

“Hey, hey, baby!” Namjoon is cradling your face between his hands, his features dark and pinched and worried in the light of the lamp that he has flipped on, fingertips digging into the sallow, sunken skin of your cheeks, and you know, as he looks at your face, and the dark circles under your eyes, and the cracked state of your parted, gasping lips, that he knows, just as you do. 

“Hey, baby.” Namjoon repeats, softer this time, as he crushes you to his chest, just as he had done the first day you saw him again, shivering and cold and afraid, just as you are now. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” 

Your fingers ball into the material of his shirt, and hot, salty tears drip across the cracked skin of your lips, as you begin to sob, because the nightmare had felt so real, and honestly, you’re just so tired. 

Every night-reliving the crash and the tearing of your body and the feeling of dying-over and over and over again, is more than you can take. 

“Please, Namjoon.” You whisper against him, and your voice is breathy and lacks strength, and sounds like it’s fading away with every word. You manage to tilt your head just enough to look at him, and you see, you see the look on his face. He knows what you’re about to say. 

“No.” He shakes his head violently, fingers digging into the skin of your back as if to keep you against him forever. “No.” 

“Namjoon.” You close your eyes, listening for a moment, to the comforting sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear. “Please. This isn’t living. This isn’t loving.” 

There is silence, and then you feel him shift beneath you, and without opening your eyes, you know he has given in. 

You sigh as his arms slide beneath your weak, frail body and he lifts you easily from the hold of the bed, cradling you carefully, gently, to his chest as he walks, as if he’s afraid you’ll fall to pieces in his arms. 

The trek to the tub lasts a lifetime, but when the cool, icy water envelops your limbs, you let out a sigh of relief. 

It is nice to be weightless once more. 

Finally, the pain is gone. 

Opening your eyes, you meet Namjoon’s gaze as he carefully holds you above the surface of the water, and lips pulling upward into the hint of a smile, all you can muster, you reach a hand from beneath the liquid, and cupping his cheek in your hand, you whisper hoarsely, “I love you, Kim Namjoon. Thank you for giving me a second chance.” 

A tear creeps to the corner of Namjoon’s eye, but he shakes his head, leaning his face into the palm of your hand, as he says fiercely, “I’ll bring you back. We’ll get another chance, and another, until there aren’t any left.” 

You close your eyes, the smile still on your lips. “I know you will, Joonie.” 

You feel him slip one hand, and then the other from behind your back, and then you are sinking into the water’s icy embrace, and all that’s left is silence and cold and darkness. 

*******

Breaking through the surface of the chilly water, your hands reach out blindly to grasp the side of the steel tub, as you open your eyes slowly, blinking several times to clear your vision, before you take in a deep breath of the air, and hold out a palm in front of you, glancing down and admiring the way the perfect skin shines in the moonlight. 

Someone steps forward into the light surrounding the tub where you float, and when your eyes meet Kim Namjoon’s, dark and warm and honeyed, his lips pull back into the faintest hint of a loving smile as he looks at you. 

“Welcome back, baby.” 

[bountybossier]

You’ll Not Feel the Drowning | PotW Chatzy

with: @phobiasarefood @damn-fine-cup-of-tea @boogaloomagoo

tw: gore, murder, death

It came to Nicodemus in flashes. Flashes of a stranger’s life but they were his hands driving his beaten truck. It was his hand that held the carach-coated knife. His keen precision that drove it into the back of August Trudeau, inches away from his spinal cord but close enough to so many branching nerves. The name meant something to him somewhere. Somewhere far gone. The intent wasn’t to cripple and as the paralytic agent worked its way through the man, the hunter watched. Waited as the thrashing stopped and the breathing slowed. Face perfectly impassive. He operated at the basest Bossier instinct: pure efficiency. August stared, limp and open-mouthed, as the hunter hefted his weight over his shoulder and moved through the dark of the woods that rimmed Dark Score Lake. When Nicodemus came through the treeline, puffs of cold breath slow and even, he didn’t know how he got there. Only that it was where he needed to be. The both of them. Time to get to work. With August’s blood seeping into his clothes, he drew closer to the lake.

There was no rhyme or reason when it came to the journey towards Dark Score Lake. Margot had gotten out of her bed, like so many times before, descended the stairs, out into the dark of night. Except this time, a pair of keys were clutched in her grasp; of course it would be this night that her father wasn’t home, though any thoughts of him were lost to her conscious mind. The inexplicably gripping force slid the key into place, turning the ignition, and her truck rattled to life, soon enough pulling onto the road. It hadn’t taken her long to arrive, leaving the car on as she dazedly stepped down and began making her way towards the body of water. Nothing but pure instinct leading her on, one she knew the origin nor the purpose of, but one she didn’t, and couldn’t ignore.

Lynn sat in her living room, watching a late night infomercial. She couldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to sleep. It was that eye. The one that had been haunting her for...how long had it been? It felt like forever but logically it was only since the town went dark. Wasn’t it? Or had it been there longer and it was only the darkness that revealed its presence to her? She closed her eyes in a blink - more out of habit at this point than necessity - and when they opened she found herself on a beach, standing at the edge of the water. How? How had she gotten there? Lynn wracked her brain and could remember nothing. What time was it now? She glanced down at her wrist only to remember that she’d taken her watch off this afternoon to charge it. Turning around, she tried to determine exactly where she was. Was she back at the ocean? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d woken up there with no recollection of the journey. That too had started recently. Along with the eye. Was the eye behind everything? The scent of the water proved that this was not the ocean, but the lake. Dark Score Lake. Well that was new. Movement in the surrounding woods caught her attention and Lynn turned around to face them. In that moment she realized she wasn’t wearing her contacts either, so her eyes would be glowing red. She braced herself mentally, preparing to turn invisible if needed, and called out, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Javier glanced at the corner of his office. The eye was there again, looking right at him. Much like the rest of the things he had been seeing since he arrived in White Crest, he chose to ignore it. Of course it worried him, those things he was seeing, but he could not report any of that to the Bureau, and so he kept his silence. The agent reached out to get his cup of tea, his eyes closed shut as he grimaced. Lukewarm. Cold. Water. He took a step back and shook his foot, in an attempt to get it to dry faster, if not at all. This was too quiet to be the ocean. He had woken up too many times by the ocean shore this week to mistake this for it. The still surface, partially covered with fog. He was standing by the lake this time, he realized, tea cup still in his hand. It was about then that he heard a voice calling out in the distance. Getting his flashlight from his jacket, the agent turned it on and responded. “Hello ?” It appeared that he was not the only person here. Maybe this woman would be able to tell him why he was here.

Nicodemus stood sentinel. Waiting. For what? He wasn’t sure. But it was important. It was also important for the four of them to be there, with their plus one of August Trudeau. It wasn’t important to him, personally, but rather something else. Something dormant in his nerves, bloodstream, that wanted him to act and move. Puppeted. The hunter picked his eyes up off of the lake’s surface and dropped August’s weight from his shoulder. A centimeter of give came and prevented the other man from crashing to the earth, but just like that, it was gone and the hunter set to dragging him across the wet grass and dirt to stand between the three. Eyes glowed red and he looked at them first, before his eyes skipped over to Margot. He knew her but his face didn’t say so. Then there was a flashlight and he looked at that, clocking every single movement that didn’t stem from the lake. Then, he spoke in a language old and inhuman. “Gather around him.”

Margot remained silent, bare feet sinking into the damp grass beneath her. Somewhere beneath this veil that had appeared over her conscious mind, the thought of calling out to one of them registered in her mind. She should be talking, asking something, piecing together what had happened and why they were there, and… Then her gaze lowered to the body Nicodemus was dragging behind him. Though she immediately recognized him, the compulsion to rush towards his restrained form was itself forced into submission, a hooded, vacant gaze meeting his glistening eyes that seemed to exude the utmost confusion and terror. Doing as she was instructed, the blonde began to step towards her bound father, stopping just an inch or two short of his side. This didn’t feel right. Something churned inside of her gut, a sickening swirl of anxiety that refused to be displaced. Still she stood, waiting for the others to join around her captive father.

As the others joined her, Lynn felt herself lose control of her body. Had she ever had any in the first place? The fog in her mind told her that she did not. She was not here for herself. She was here to serve. Him. Moving to join the others in the circle, she pulled the knife from her belt. When had she put it there? It must have been at some point in the blank period of time between watching TV and ending up here. Even more, it was a knife she did not recognize. A knife that was not one she owned. How? That was the most common question among all of this. How? Stepping toward the body on the ground, she took a closer look at who it was. Some man that she’d seen around town, but did not know. Surely he would not be missed. Surely that was why he had been the chosen sacrifice. Lynn knelt down next to him and used the knife to cut open his shirt. She placed a hand on his forehead, more to brace herself than to hold him down, and felt an instant rush of fear flood her body. He was terrified and it was oh so delicious. Lynn closed her eyes for a moment as He allowed her to feed from the dying man. Thank you, Lynn thought, knowing that He could hear her. With the knife, she carved the symbol into his chest. It was large and deep and would provide plenty of blood. She didn’t choose which symbol to carve. As with all of this, it was chosen for her. She turned back to the others, face impassive, and said in a language that only they could understand. “We must collect the blood. As much as we can.”

Approaching the rest of the people gathered by the shore, Javier looked at the man tied up on the ground. Javier himself looked as if he was wearing a mask, and looking at the scene through it, as if he was not there, not really. The feeling in his gut told him that none of this was right. And yet, right after the red eyed woman cut a symbol into the man’s chest, the first thing he did was get his knees on wet, muddy grass, empty his tea cup on the ground and approach it from the man’s wounds, his other hand pressed firmly against the bloody chest. The crimson red was staining the cuffs of his white shirt, but he did not stop and instead forced the poor man to sit up to keep the blood flowing smoothly. The cup nearly full, Javier let go of him like he was a used tissue, and looked up at the other three. “Is that enough?” The words were spoken in the same ancient, forgotten language. Setting the cup down on the floor, where everyone could reach it, he -something inside him- started drawing symbols onto the floor with August’s blood.

“Yes. It’s enough. Waste none of it.” The smell of blood didn’t alarm Nicodemus. It never did. Even then, his brow twitched as he peered down at August. A meaningless act of defiance as he gave way. As the woman cut curved lines and the man collected the blood. The hunter crouched down and pressed his hand into the deep lines that marred the man’s flesh. Even through the paralysis, the man was trembling. Terror. Nicodemus scrunched his nose and spat. The man had soiled himself. A surprisingly human response. He felt peacefully empty, his head full of seabreeze. It no longer seemed to ache and the call of silence was treacherous. He began to draw near the man’s head with purposeful, languid strokes of his own blood. “We give you His greatest gift,” he said, voice a flatline. It didn’t sound like his own, yet it was his tongue that moved. “The gift of dying first. The sea will drink of your blood, eat your eyes, and in the end…” He paused and tilted August’s head to meet his eyes. His were content half-moons that halved the wide, bloodshot eyes of a dying man. “It will be your bones that line the floor of His generosity.” He moved his eyes away from the man under his hands and looked to the other three. His eyes shut for a moment as his hand stopped moving. “In the midst of black waters, we wake the dreaming,” he began to intone. “Sea becomes land, land becomes sea. Water to blood, bones to mud. The sound of His waters becomes a siren's call. One by one, we become the drowned until the sea swallows all…”

Margot: Onto her knees, unfazed by the chilly, damp ground beneath her. Singularly focused on the task at hand - one she carried out, not of her own volition, but of His. A grander, higher purpose, one that maneuvered her hands to dip into the cup, to press into the earth and form lines and patterns she somehow knew intimately, as if peering through the haze of a long forgotten dream. Clarity in the act of smearing crimson into muck, fluidity in the words murmured under her breath, echoing those of another. Her voice, and yet so utterly foreign to her waking mind, but they flowed just as easily as August’s blood had; effortless. She would have flinched at the pain emanating from her right bicep, if it were unexpected. This was all a part of His plan for them. Crimson dyed into the grey of her sweater, collar slipping down as she shifted to complete the symbol - pale flesh giving way to an angry red, scorched into place by a power she did not need to know but understood all the same. The same symbol Lynn had carved into her father’s chest. Her focus flitted to him, unfeeling, cold; his tears seemed to shimmer in the depths of her crystalline gaze, pleading. Didn’t he know? This was happening for a reason. To be used for His purpose… He should be proud.

“In the midst of black waters, we wake the dreaming,” Lynn joined the chant after Nicodemus finished his first recitation. “Sea becomes land, land becomes sea. Water to blood, bones to mud.” Her tone was flat and although she’d never heard these words before this moment, she knew them perfectly. Knew them as though they’d been imprinted on her since birth. Dipping two fingers into the cup of blood, she helped draw the symbol around the body. It was the same one she’d carved into his chest, and it was repeated over and over again on the ground around the dying man. “The sound of His waters becomes a siren’s call.” With each stroke of her fingers, the same stroke burned into her forearm. Nevertheless she persisted. This was important and all she had to do was remember that all of this was for Him and the pain hurt a little less. “One by one, we become the drowned until the sea swallows all.” As quickly as the chant was over, Lynn started again, finishing the last of her symbol and standing to look down upon the body. She knew He would reward them. Praise them for being good disciples. All of the pain and confusion would be worth it in the end. All thanks to Him. The Great One.

The more Javier painted on the floor with August’s blood, the more pain he felt in his forearm. His shirt which was once stained with the poor man’s blood, was starting to get damp with his own, although he ignored it, too focused on the divine, extraordinary, important task that had been given to him by Him. The man on the floor did not seem to understand what it was that they were doing, he noticed, as he drew lines a few inches from the man’s head. Javier smiled at the man, a smile even reached his eyes. How lucky was August to have been chosen by Him ? Done with his task, the agent rolled up his sleeves. The thought of having something carved on his forearm, like a tattoo, should have triggered some kind of reaction, anger, panic, but he glanced away from it as if he had not even noticed, and instead joined the pair into their chant. “In the midst of black waters, we wake the dreaming,” he began, bending down to grab the man under his arms. It was unsure where this decision came from, but Javier was compelled to pull the man toward the water. Then, with the help of the others, August would be drowned and offered to Him. The chanting went on as he stepped himself into the lake, moving back toward the water. “Sea becomes land, land becomes sea. Water to blood, bones to mud. The sound of His waters becomes a siren's call. One by one, we become the drowned until the sea swallows all…”

Nicodemus looked upon their work and felt nothing. A great gift, the embrace of the deep. As they carved and painted the man, they too became painted. Red, angry curves cut through the skin at the back of his right hand. The one he had stabbed August with. A Judas imprint. He looked at the others, as the same gifts cut into their skin. A shared gift. A memory of being called to higher action. As the strange man across from him started to tug August toward the water, the hunter did the same, the man’s weight nothing to him. The water was cold on his legs, his back. He felt both very close and very far away. “Hold him down. It is normal to fight for now but time...” he called out as he gripped the man’s frigid shoulders and pushed him down. “Time is a teacher.” With paralysis in August’s blood, it wouldn’t be much of a fight. It was better that way. Better for the meat, better for His taste.

The chant from before was on Nicodemus’s lips again. All thoughts that should have had Nicodemus himself fighting but he did nothing of the sort. Through joint effort, he continued to push August further into the waters. Yet, the man’s body bobbed. His stomach kept breaking through the water, the place where the symbol had been carved stretching and shifting obscenely. His head still firmly underwater, the bubbles started to slim until only a few remained. Still alive. The lines where the red-eyed woman had carved a blessing into him started to tear and split, slowly yet audibly. Fingers crept through the openings until it became clear that there were no fingers. They were tentacles, slim and thin. Wiry and thrashing. Bloody and viscous. The skin continued to pulse and shift as something continued to press through it. As if it didn’t quite have the strength yet to break through. The hunter glanced at August’s face through the blood and dark water, wide eyes jumping back and forth between every warm body in the water. August’s muscles started to slack. The carved mess of the man’s stomach finally burst. A large, oblong head with skin the color of a drowned man’s rose from the mess that was once August’s chest. Large, jaundice-colored eyes with black oblong pupils stared at them from the crimson abyss before it pulled itself out of the man’s body and slumped into the water. A bloody trail led away from them as the creature swam further into the lake. August Trudeau went slack and as Nicodemus’s skin tingled, nerves alight, he sensed something coming towards them through the water. 

Margot had begun to chant along with the others, monotonous, droning, a calmness seeped into the tone - a release of tension and questions and fear from the previous weeks as everything finally came into fruition. All the searching had led up to this one, glorious moment of clarity. Pale fingers joined in dragging her father along into the murky waters of the lake, continuing the chant as she stared ahead, allowing herself to be led by their joined voices, and a pull that gave her instruction without a voice to be heard. She didn’t need one, none of them did - they knew all that was necessary through Him. She pressed deep atop one shoulder, watching as each contour of August’s features slipped beneath the surface, waiting. They would soon be rewarded. Her gaze was drawn to his pulsing stomach, the form contorting as though his intestines were slithering serpents beneath the red-stained flesh. When they eventually slipped through the tears carved within, the mass given birth - so beautiful, so stunning, and perfectly in His image - following it as it slithered into the dark. 

But it was far from over. Bubbles began floating up to the surface just a few feet away from them, sparse at first, then roaring, and soon enough twin pairs of slippery pale flesh emerged from the middle of the lake. They swerved in tandem, approaching the group and slithering over August’s now lifeless body, wrapping around legs, burst abdomen and neck, before pulling the weight further into the lake. But something was happening to the water where the tentacles had emerged; the flat surface began to sink, as if a whirlpool of sorts had appeared, and yet the rest of the water seemed to go undisturbed. The area caved in further as the limbs dragged their charge along, before finally slipping into the seemingly never-ending cavern of darkness. For a moment, there was nothing. Before Margot could even register that a second had ticked by, a beam of light emerged from the darkness, a beacon that seemed to shoot up into the very heavens. So blinding that she flinched away, her forearm brought up to shield herself from it’s brilliant light.

Lynn continued to chant as she followed the group into the water. She helped hold the dying man under, knowing this was what He had chosen. When the man’s stomach began to shift and writhe, she watched with rapt attention. Once again this was His will. How lucky was this man that he was being given such a gift moments before death? To be turned was a great Honor. One she hoped would be bestowed upon her one day. As the surface of the water began to bubble, Lynn took a step back and watched on. A smile graced her lips as the two larger than life tentacles reached out, almost as if He was reaching out to greet them, then grabbed the man’s body and dragged him into the water. And then it was over for a split second before a beacon of light shot out of the water and filled the entire area, blinding her and causing her to stagger back to the beach. Within moments she came back to herself and the full weight of everything that had just happened came rushing back to the forefront of her mind. She turned to look behind her toward the lake, still not able to actually see anything, and whispered, “What have we done?”

Emerging from the water were two tentacles that could not have belonged to anything known to man. There He was, Javier thought, with no trace, whatsoever of concern as to what He was. Javier trusted Him. As the tentacles wrapped themselves around the man -blessed be this man for being chosen by Him- and dragged him away, Javier turned to watch as the lake opened up. He could have sworn he saw a cavern in the dark. A deep, abyssal cavern. Before he could realize that this was all over, a bright light, beaming, pulsing, blinding shot out of the water. The man covered his eyes with both his forearms, turning his back on the light. As he glanced at the three other people, and saw his valued, cherished tea cup tipped over by the shore, still dripping of blood, Javier covered his mouth, looking as if he was going to be sick. After all these years of training and working, this was by far the most traumatizing shit he had ever lived through. What the fuck had he done. He remembered everything, and yet, he knew that he would have never done that. "What the fuck," if he avoided cursing most of the time, now might have been the moment to break that rule.

The two tentacles pulled August under and dragged him away, ripples left in their wake. He seemed pleased with the offering and Nicodemus stepped aside as it happened. All too eager to please. Looked on as his eyes attuned to the dark ahead of them. A hole opened in the lake and drank its fill. The hunter stepped backwards toward the shoreline. Then, it seemed the sky opened up or the lake met the sky. Whatever the fuck it was, it was bright and he stared right at it. He swore and fell back on his ass. And with the light, came clarity like a swift backhand. Clarity that his knife was one of the two left on the shore. That there was so much fucking blood in the dirt that his senses filled with the smell of copper earth. That the man they brutalized and ritualized was a father, then the sobering thought that he had likely killed fathers before. Nothing like this. He tried to blink his way back to sight, tried to find his footing. When he heaved, nothing came. Vague outlines and shapes of strangers came and went. “What the fuck just happened?” He echoed the other man’s sentiments as he eyed the back of his bloodied hand. “Oh hell. Oh fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped, the life back in his voice even as he suddenly felt more tired than he ever had before. His attention went to Margot Trudeau. “Shit. Margot?”

Whether it meant to act as a trigger or otherwise, Margot slowly regained her senses, arm lowering to reveal a ghostly pale face twisted in shock. It all came crashing down upon her, the first wave of many. Each one a realization of the deed she and the others had carried out. Her father… Her father. A gasp stole from her chest, tears that had budded from the brilliance of light giving way to an agonizing, all consuming grief - one that felt wholly misplaced and wrong. So, so wrong. Bleary gaze stared down at her hands, still trailing with water and faint streaks of crimson, bleeding into her sweater. She had done this. They all had a part, but she...“No,” She slowly edged herself back towards the lake, then quicker, wading faster and further out. “No -- Papa? Papa! Give him back!!” Ignored were the freezing temperature and stillness of the water, ignored when she couldn’t feel the bottom of the lake any longer. He had to be there, somewhere down in the dark. Maybe they had been wrong - he was drowning, maybe. He could still be saved, yes, yes, because if not… Oh dear God, what the fuck had she done…?

Lynn bent over at the waist, resting her hands on her knees and trying to wrap her head around everything that had just happened. There was a small part of her that just couldn’t believe they’d actually done those things, but the rest of her knew it was true. She’d lived those experiences as if in a trance of some kind. Was it the same for the others? Their words filtered through in bits and pieces, and Lynn mostly ignored them, but there was one that stuck and wouldn’t let go. Papa. She furrowed her brow as her mind tried to catch up. Papa? Why would some- Oh. Oh no. Glancing up, she watched as the other woman, Margot, moved back into the water, screaming for her father. “Shit.” She looked to the two men before heading into the lake herself. “Come on! We have to get her out of there.” Swimming out to where Margot was, Lynn rested a hand on her upper arm and tried to gently reason with her. “Margot, we have to go. Come on. You need to get out of the water before you get sick. We can figure all of this out together, but back on land.”

Kicking off his shoes, Javier went after Margot. The water seemed much colder than it was minutes ago when they all stood there. He was not sure yet of what it was that had just happened, but he understood this well : they had just murdered this girl’s father, and offered him to some sort of creature that lived in the lake. And now, she would end up in hypothermia if they did not get her out of the water soon enough. Arriving where the two women had stopped, he looked over at the red eyes lady, “He’s gone. We have to get out of here,” all he could hope for now, was to get her out of this state of denial and despair. They had bigger problems now : getting rid of evidence on the shore, getting rid of their bloody clothes, getting back home without being seen, and getting themselves a nice, good alibi. Javier could have sworn he had seen the other man in his neighborhood lately, and probably could use that, but those two women would have to come up with something, and he would not let the grieving daughter be their demise. “We are getting you of here, we cannot stay here any longer.”

The hunter wanted to leave. His head wanted to split right down the middle and spill itself over the dirt. It was a funny thing. A singular, strange moment where Nicodemus wasn’t himself that brought him some kind of peace. He didn’t want to think about what it was they had done, as shock and horror rippled through their small group. Numbness settled his bones. They had taken a life and given it to something else in the span of mere breaths. As Margot ran into the water and the other two followed, he didn’t move toward them. Even as they talked and mourned and panicked. Someone was dead and they weren’t. That’s all it was. That was all it needed to be. Goddamn it. He trudged toward the water, eerily silent, and started to pull the three of them out of the water with strength further empowered by the sheer will to get the fuck out of there. Walked them back to the lake’s edge with a grunt. “He’s gone,” he said with finality, as he echoed the other man yet again. Angry and bloodied, numb and restless, the hunter let them go. “He’s fuckin’ gone and we all need to leave. Fuck all else we can do.” He stepped away and without looking back, departed into the reawakened, near-blinding light.

[the-writing-pillar]

Hello! Can I request for Shinobu healing her injured s/o and deciding to teach him basic medicine fluff? Then maybe how it played an important role during their final battle with Doma? Thank you!

Hello!! Definitely!! I’m so sorry I got to this so late, but this prompt was so wonderful and I kinda took it and ran. It turned out to be really long, sorry again, but I hope you’ll like it!! I’ve never really written something this long before, but I hope I did it justice! Thank you for your patience !!!

Shinobu Healing Her Injured s/o and Teaching Them Basic Medicine (Plus Their Role in the Final Battle with Doma)

You get hurt more than you’d like to admit as a Demon Slayer and you find yourself in Shinobu’s hands more than once. During the time that you’ve spent with Shinobu, you find yourself learning more and more about her. Her interests, friends, family, history, dreams, sadness, and hardships. You’ve also learned to love her more than anything. When you returned yet again with more wounds than she could count she had enough. She tells you that she can’t always be the one to take care of you and that you must learn to be more self-aware. You’re saddened at the mere thought of her not being with you because the chance of that becoming a reality is very likely. She notices your distraught features and lifts your head up with her hand and kisses you softly.“I promise that I will be by your side for as long as I can,” she whispers to you. Your mind still in a haze from her kiss you nod your head with a goofy grin taking over your lips. Her face takes a more determined look as she tells you, “I’m going to teach you everything I know and more so be prepared.” You look at her with confusion written all over your face as she just smiles at you. Unease begins to take over your stomach due to the number of times she's given someone else that smile and then that person is dead in the next few seconds. Over the course of the next few years, you have trained under her in pharmaceuticals and a variety of healing methods. It was grueling work and you almost gave up quite a few times, but Shinobu kept you going. She would reward you with kisses every time you dispensed the correct antidote for a specific situation she had given you. When she returned from missions all banged up you would be the one to heal her for a change and you enjoyed being on the other side of the bandages for once. She would often hold your hand when you went shopping for more herbs and would smile as you pondered to yourself the healing properties of each medication, she knew you would be fine without her. She looked up towards the sky with a more somber expression and wondered how long it might be until she has to leave you. Sighing, she shook her head and turned to you seeing you walking over to her asking for advice on which herbs to buy. “You still need help with choosing which ones to buy after all this time?” she mused as a smug smile graced her face. You inevitably become flustered by her comment and start to stammer a snarky remark back to her, but before you can she breaks into a fit of giggles at your antics further embarrassing you more. You turn your nose at her and start walking back to the estate without her as she catches up to you she starts to apologize, though the effort was halfhearted. You both make it back to the estate smiles ever-present.

A few months pass and you and Shinobu were sent out for separate missions you said your goodbyes to each other and kissed before you two would be taken away to finish your jobs ,but a message that sent chills down both of your spines rang out before you two had the chance to take even a step away from each other. “EMERGENCY SUMMON! EMERGENCY SUMMON! ATTACK ON UBUYASHIKI ESTATE! ATTACK ON UBUYASHIKI ESTATE!” AN explosion went off where the Ubuyashiki Estate was and you both took off as panic filled your systems. When you arrive on the scene of the explosion, you find Himejima and a woman with her hand stuck in a demon who was regenerating at an extremely fast pace, the other demon slayers and pillars had also arrived. Himejima then screamed out the identity of the man, bloodlust filled the air and thickened it to where a normal person could no longer breathe, the demon slayers, however, found this to be the moment they breached water after drowning for an eternity. Attacks from all sides began to close in and just as you all were about to strike Muzan’s body, walls appeared to shield him and the woman. You and Shinobu were separated. As you analyze your surroundings you realize that it was an eternal maze that was filled to the brim with demons. Only one thought was on your mind, Shinobu’s safety. You ran through every room in the maze and finally reached a room where Shinobu stood. However, she quickly fell to the floor as blood was splattered all around her. “SHINOBU!” You yelled from the top of your lungs and began to run to grab her and take her away. Your body was hit with shards of ice that were scattered throughout the air, but it only fueled you more to get Shinobu out of here knowing it was hurting her far more. You grab her shoulders and turn her over to look at her and assess the damage done. Cuts to her collar bone and gashes to her ribs were evident those could be fixed, but the puncture wound to her lung could be detrimental to her. She was still breathing and you could still feel her pulse, she was still fighting even now. Her eyes are open and she looks at you bringing her hand up to touch your face. Her eyes wet with tears you can hear a gurgling in her lungs as she tries to speak, blood slowly leaking out of the corners of her mouth, but that ever-present smile still lingering on her face. You pick her up. “Shinobu can you stand?” She nods her head and takes a stance, although she isn’t facing in the direction from which you came but in the exact opposite. There stood a man with rainbow eyes and platinum gray hair, wearing red and white as well as holding what seems to be metal fans. You instantly knew from the description Shinobu had given you many moons ago, this was Douma. In the place of your heart, an overwhelming cauldron bubbling with anger makes itself known as its contents seep into your veins and you feel yourself come to a boiling point. You look to Shinobu as the same face of unadulterated hate finds its way to her face as well. “Well looks like another delicious meal has come walking through my doors but you don’t seem as strong as her. I pity you poor humans and your stupidity. I suppose I’ll give you and this weak girl another chance go ahead, I welcome you to try!” The demon says encouragingly as he puts his arms out as if you two were about to embrace him. You face only twists in anger further as you scream with Shinobu, “GO TO HELL YOU BASTARD!”

 Both of you slice at Douma as many times as possible poison dripping from both of your swords. Though Douma gets clean hits to your left knee and both your arms. Your breathing becomes ragged as the frost in the air rips your lungs. You look at Shinobu knowing she only has so much energy left before her body begins to shut down. You give her a signal with your hands indicating your plans and her nodding along. Both of you breaking the ground as you run, you slice at the demon’s stomach horizontally and Shinobu stabs through the demon’s esophagus, you take multiple vials of highly concentrated wisteria blossom poison and crush them as you shove them down the gaping holes Shinobu and you have created. One of your hands now bleeding with glass fragmented everywhere and one covered in stomach acid leftover from the demons internal organs. You can hear the sizzling of the demon's body as he shrieks out in pain. You take the other vials and crush them over his head scaring his face in the process. He writhes on the ground in pain as the poison eats through his body each one having a different and more complex composition than the last. Shinobu smiles and watches the demon die at her feet, she then collapses as well, but before she hits the ground you catch her. Her condition is much worse now due to the amount of blood she’s lost and the puncture wound to her chest cavity only sucking in more excess air. She most likely has a collapsed lung now. Kanao bursts through the door seeing Shinobu in your arms and you struggling to hold her with your wounded hands. Kanao then helps you carry Shinobu most of the way fighting many of the demons that lay in your path. You somehow make it out with her help. You look at Shinobu again and hold on tighter to her as you begin to run as fast as you can, as far as your legs will take you and then farther because you know you only have seconds to spare. You make it to the Butterfly Estate just barely before almost collapsing at the doorway. The Kakushi and Aoi help you two through the doors and move Shinobu. You feel a second rush of adrenaline rush through you realize your the only one prepared enough to do surgery on Shinobu as you start yelling orders about the things you need. You get the equipment set up and Aoi is by your side as well as several Kakushi. Them bandaging your injuries up as you start to work on Shinobu. You work fast and hard to make sure you do everything you can to save her, but doubt plagues your mind at every turn. The only thing that keeps you from passing out completely is the thought that Shinobu won’t be there the next time you wake up. You’re glad you spent all those hours on your own, aside from Shinobu’s teaching, learning everything you can and preparing for every possible situation that could happen because you know Shinobu would do the same for you because it helped immensely in this moment. You finish doing what you can to stabilize her and promptly collapse as you finish having only her on your mind you give her one last look before your consciousness lets go.

Months have passed as you open your eyes again feeling the sunlight hit your skin. Your eyes open and you feel another presence beside you holding your hand. Another bed is next to yours, you glace over as much as you could see a bandaged, breathing, living Shinobu. You begin to cry thanking every power known to man that your surgery worked and she’s alive. Your small hiccups and sobs wake her up and as she opens her eyes slowly and sees your tears she begins to smile once more, “What are you crying for you crybaby? I’m alive aren’t I?” More tears spring from your eyes and you begin to sob, moving as much as your body would let you get close to her and enveloping her in your arms overjoyed at the thought of her being at your side once more. She moves her head to lie on your shoulder and wraps her arms around you. You begin to choke through your sobs and fatigue, “You i-idiot! What w-were….. you th-thinking? The o-only place…. you'll d-die is…. b-by my side..., old, and-d... happy with e-everyone…. you l-love around you!” Her eyes water once more as you tell her this reminding her of someone who told her something similar and you both continue to sob into each other's arms, safe at last.

[shinsoukokuvalentine]

Heavenbound (3)

(3 is here! For those curious, yes I will be including the alligator scene in this fic. Just... Likely not in the way you think. I can’t wait ^^

Read the first chapter on Ao3!)

237/365: Soon You’ll Come Home

“How exactly do your powers work?” Ryuu asks. He sits across his tea table from Atsushi, who wolfs down the food that Chuuya made for him as if he hasn’t eaten in days.

Knowing Fitzgerald, that might be accurate.

“Mostly moonlight,” Atsushi says, his mouth full of rice, “but I have a little control over it too.”

Chuuya passes Ryuu his own bowl, sitting beside him, lazily eating.

“Didn’t look like it back there,” he says. Ryuu shoots him a small glare, but Atsushi nods solemnly.

“Moonlight transforms me without my choice. But even when it is my choice, the more I transform, the more chance there is of the tiger completely taking over,’’ he murmurs.

Ryuu hasn’t touched his food. He only sits, watching Atsushi.

“You talk like you’re two separate people,” Chuuya says. “Well, relatively speaking.”

Atsushi picks his head up, giving a gentle but sad smile. “It seems like that sometimes,” he says.

Ryuu sighs, standing from the table. He’s heard enough for one night. “Well, whenever you’re done,” he says, “you can sleep on the couch. I’ve set a spare set of pajamas there for you.”

Atsushi whips around to him, eyes wide and practically sparkling. “Really?” He asks, and Ryuu nods, turning his back to enter the hallway. “I hate to inconvenience you…” Atsushi murmurs, causing Ryuu to shrug.

“You’re not,” he says plainly, but behind him, he hears Atsushi sigh a little.

“I’ve never met anyone as kind as you.”

Ryuu pauses in the hall’s entrance. Him? Kind? With all the bullets he’s fired, all the blood on his hands, all the bodies he’s left in his wake?

He says nothing. He closes the bathroom door behind him, turning the shower on, letting steam fill the room like a cloud.

Leaning over the counter, he looks at himself in the mirror. He looks no different than before; same gray eyes, same black hair, same gaunt face. He doesn’t feel as if he’s died in the past twenty-four hours. It could have all been a drunken dream.

But the gold watch hits against his chest as he straightens his back, the ticks of its second hand matching the exact pace of Ryuu’s heartbeat. It wasn’t a dream.

And the only thing keeping him alive hangs around his neck like an albatross.

Gingerly, as if he were handling an egg, Ryuu takes the watch off and sets at aside before stepping into the shower. The water practically burns his skin as it hits him and runs down his body, but it feels cleansing. It washes away Fitzgerald’s Ryuu, the one who blindly trusted, blindly followed orders.

And a new Ryuu is left behind, one that will carve his way straight through everything Fitzgerald holds dear.

Ryuu closes his eyes. The water burns, but he feels it. The dead don’t feel. He’s alive.

But another image cuts into his thoughts, one not unlike the vision he saw when he first met Atsushi. In this picture, the weretiger smiles again, despite the blood splashed across his face. He stands over a familiar, blond corpse before he moves to Ryuu’s side, taking his hands, moving to meet his lips.

Ryuu feels his heart pounding as he breaks from his fantasy. He sighs a little, leaning his head back, letting the hot water splash onto his face. Atsushi is purely for business, he scolds himself. He’s a weapon to be used to solve Ryuu’s Fitzgerald problem.

“But what if he could solve all my problems?” Ryuu finds himself asking out loud, eyes open to the ceiling, water beating hard against his steadily calming chest. Unanswered, his words hang in the bathroom with the rest of the steam.

Silk pajamas on, watch chain around his neck, Ryuu yawns as he steps out of the bathroom. Casting a glance towards the living room, he sees Atsushi sprawled out on the couch.

“He’s fast asleep,” Chuuya mutters as he leans against the opposite wall. Ryuu nods, watching as Atsushi’s chest rises and falls with breath, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“I don’t get what you’re doing,” says Chuuya, eyeing Ryuu from under the rim of his hat. “I thought we were going to kill it.”

Ryuu hums a little as he closes the bedroom door. Plans change. Desires change. But Chuuya would never understand, could never hope to understand the aching, empty hole in Ryuu’s chest, the one perfectly sized for Atsushi.

“What better revenge is there,” he says, picking his words carefully, turning to watch Chuuya with eyes like steel, “than using Fitzgerald’s own monster against him?”

Chuuya’s eyes widen. “You don’t mean-!”

“The weretiger is our weapon now,” Ryuu says as he walks to his own room. “And tomorrow, we use him to start assembling a criminal ring rivaling Fitzgerald’s.”

Chuuya stares at him for a moment. Then, slowly, his grin returns, as if the possibilities that Ryuu saw in the warehouse were suddenly revealed to him; a vision carved with bullet holes and tiger claw marks. He pushes himself off the wall, slipping on his shoes as he nears the door.

“I don’t see why we can’t do one better,” he says. He waits in the doorway, watching Ryuu with sparks flickering in his eyes. “We could be-!”

“A mafia,” Ryuu finishes. He allows himself a small smirk of his own, and he fixes his gaze on some far-off, intangible point.

“And it starts with my monster.”

-

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Fitzgerald smiles politely, as if they had a choice in the matter. “You see, there’s a small problem I’d like us all to focus our energy on addressing.”

John frowns. He knows each and every one of Fitzgerald’s glossy smiles, and this one never means anything good. This one nearly assures that someone in the room is in danger of death.

That smile remains on Fitzgerald’s lips as he presses a button on his desk, which pulls down a screen from the ceiling.

“But first, a short video clip,” Fitzgerald says. “Very short.”

The room’s tension nearly turns tangible as everyone Fitzgerald called to his office sees the image on the screen. The outside of his warehouse is instantly recognizable, and if something happened to anything in that building, they might as well all have guns pointed at their heads.

“As you can tell from the sunlight, this was taken during the day,” Fitzgerald explains. “Earlier today, in fact. Even more interesting,” he says, pointing at the steadily ticking timestamp in the screen’s corner, “it was filmed before we returned the tiger to his spot there. Now, pay attention; this part is important.”

The room collectively holds its breath as the screen’s image remains still. And nearly simultaneously, the group jumps as the warehouse footage turns to static.

Wordlessly, Fitzgerald pulls something from beneath his desk. John stares at it as his heartbeat accelerates in dawning realization and fear.

The bullet is still embedded in the camera, which now sits on Fitzgerald’s desk, lopsided.

“From this footage, and from visiting the warehouse not an hour ago, I’ve come to a few conclusions,” Fitzgerald says. His smile has gone. “First, someone shot my camera. Whoever did it was in the warehouse with us when we deposited the tiger there.” His voice drops dangerously low, and he watches the group from under a furrowed brow. “And no one noticed.”

Nervous eyes in the group dart to each other, knowing that whoever is responsible likely won’t see the sunrise in the morning.

“I know this much because they took something of mine,” Fitzgerald goes on to say. “According to that timestamp, the camera was shot right before we arrived. The thieves would’ve been in the warehouse when we got there, having taken nothing, for their quarry had yet to arrive.”

Behind his back, John’s sweaty hands grasp each other. The pure anger in Fitzgerald’s eyes is something he’s only seen a handful of times before, and the implications of his words seep into his skin like venom.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Fitzgerald spits, an edge to his voice that slices through everyone in the room, “I want my tiger back.

“And I want it back now.”

-

Atsushi crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at Ryuu.

“I’m not going in.”

Ryuu rolls his eyes. “You came all the way here,” he snaps, “only to refuse to work with us?”

Atsushi scowls, turning his face away, eyes narrow. Ryuu’s fists shake at his sides. Chuuya twirls his lockpick on his finger, rolling his eyes as they wait beside a seemingly inconspicuous inn in an underdeveloped part of town.

“You don’t have to do anything hard,” Ryuu practically growls, struggling to keep his tone even through his gritted teeth, pointing at the inn’s back door. “Just go in there, show them who you are, and stick around while Nakahara-san and I do the talking.”

Atsushi scoffs, and he takes a small moment of his time to cast his indignant gaze back on Ryuu.

“You sound just like Fitzgerald,” he spits before turning away again. From behind him, Chuuya frowns and reaches for his gun.

“Listen here, you little-!” He starts, but Ryuu shoots a silencing glare his way. They won’t get anywhere with threats - and he won’t have anyone even suggest laying a hand on Atsushi. If the weretiger’s going to work with them, to work with Ryuu, he’s going to have to trust them.

“Listen, Jinko,” Ryuu mutters. “Do you want to kill Fitzgerald?” He asks as calmly as he can, and Atsushi looks back at him again, saying nothing. Ryuu takes his minimal response as a silent yes. “Then we have to start here.”

Though he doesn’t look away again, Atsushi still huffs. “He’ll be powerless without me anyway,” he mumbles. “There’s no point.”

Frustration boils in the pit of Ryuu’s stomach, and he does his best to keep it from rising to his face. Atsushi is nothing but a puzzle he needs to solve. Threatening him won’t work; not if he wants to keep him. In that case, the solution would obviously be bribery, but the weretiger wouldn’t willingly use his powers in this way, even if he was paid to do so. Maybe he could be bribed with something else.

For a moment, Ryuu tries to put himself in Atsushi’s place, trying to discover what he might want, and he doesn’t have to search long to find something familiar.

Some of the harshness falls from Ryuu’s face. Before him stands Fitzgerald’s new toy, a man suddenly thrust into a world he was unprepared for, a man given promises of something better.

Before Ryuu stands himself, ten years ago.

His mind falls backwards, back to the day he first held his own in a gunfight. The bullet wounds hurt, and he screamed as if the sun itself burnt his skin, but two bodies had fallen still at his feet. The other gang members had ran like the cowards they were.

“Well done.”

Ryuu whipped around, still holding his gun out, shaking. At the end of the alley, a blond man clapped and smiled.

“Where’d you get that gun?” He asked. Ryuu gritted his teeth as he glared at him.

“It was my dad’s,” he grunted.

The man tilted his head. “Is your father around?” He wondered. Ryuu shook his head; he had taken the gun from his father’s bleeding corpse. Still, the man smiled. “Do you have a mother, then?” Ryuu shook his head again. “A place to stay?” No.

“Then I’d like to make you an offer,” he said, stepping forward. He crouched in front of Ryuu, right in front of his gun, holding out his hand. “If you come with me, and use your gun for me,” he smiled, “I’ll give you a place to stay.”

Ryuu brings himself back to the present. Not a second of time has passed, and Atsushi, the man so much like Ryuu from ten years ago, still glares at him. Ryuu takes a deep breath.

“Atsushi,” he says calmly, slowly, “if you do this for us, I promise-”

Atsushi’s glare falters. His eyes widen slightly; Ryuu has his attention.

“-We’ll find you a place to stay.”

Atsushi turns his head completely to Ryuu, then his whole body. His scowl falls, but he doesn’t smile yet, as if he’s afraid to be optimistic.

“... My own home?” He asks.

Ryuu nods, folding his hands behind his back as Atsushi’s own arms unwind. “With your own bed. You won’t be sleeping on my couch for long.” As best as he can, he offers what’s supposed to be a kind smile, but Chuuya visibly winces. Atsushi doesn’t seem to notice. His shoulders relax, and his own smile gently forms on his lips.

“You won’t regret this,” he promises, pushing past Ryuu. Now behind him, Ryuu’s lip twitches.

“I certainly hope not,” he mutters to himself. Even so, he finds himself watching Atsushi closely for a small while, perhaps hoping that he can see that innocent smile again.

As soon as Chuuya’s picked the lock, the door swings open, and the first guard glares them down.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He snaps. His short red hair sticks out in all directions, and a bandage is spread over the bridge of his nose. He glares daggers at the trio, reaching for what must be a gun, but Ryuu holds up one hand.

“We’re simply here to talk,” he says. “We have a business proposition.”

The man narrows his eyes. “Leave your weapons,” he growls.

Coughing slightly into his hand, Ryuu nods, giving over his gun with his other hand, and Chuuya does the same. They don’t need them anyway. Not with Atsushi.

The guard shoves them in front of him, begrudgingly walking with them down the staircase behind the door, taking them to another door at its base. Atsushi stays close to Ryuu, eyes instinctively darting around, searching for possible escape routes. The anxiety on his face deepens when he finds none, but Ryuu sighs.

“There’s no need to be worried,” Ryuu murmurs into his ear. He catches the guard watching them, but he doesn’t care. He’s allowed his secrets for now. “Remember what you can do.”

Atsushi looks up at him again, and every small glimmer of light on that dark staircase seems to reflect in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, then offers a meager smile, and Ryuu turns away before he allows that smile to distract him.

Unlike the wooden one at the stair’s top, the bottom door is solid metal.

“Hirotsu-san!” The readhead calls. “You have visitors!”

The door clicks. Again, the first face they see watches them with hostile, suspicious eyes. This one, their black hair pulled back, hides the lower part of their face behind a mask.

“I took their weapons, Gin,” mutters the redhead, holding up their two guns. Gin nods, opening the door wider, revealing the room to them.

Weapon racks line the walls, filled with everything from machine guns to katanas. Dozens of pairs of eyes whip around to stare at them, all except the eyes of the man at the room’s end, who watches them warily, yet calmly.

“And why have they come to visit me?” The older man says, sitting atop the crude throne of an overturned shipping crate. Ryuu steps forward.

“I’d like to propose a merger,” he says upfront. The older man smirks.

“I don’t merge with unknown delinquents,” he says. “I can offer you a position in the Black Lizards, but everyone starts at the bottom.”

Ryuu allows his expression to harden slightly. “You don’t recognize me, Hirotsu-san?” He asks, “Even after your men fell like flies at my feet the last time you challenged us?”

There’s a moment’s pause as Hirotsu narrows his eyes, watching Ryuu with scrutiny. Then he stiffens, eyes widening for just a second before they turn harsher than before.

“Akutagawa,” he spits. He snaps his fingers and instantly, it’s as if every gun in the room clicks. “What does Fitzgerald want with me this time?”

Every barrel points at Ryuu, Chuuya, and Atsushi, but Ryuu doesn’t take his eyes - now nonchalant again - off of Hirotsu, even when he feels Atsushi step close enough to him that their wrists brush.

“He wants nothing to do with you,” Ryuu says. “I do.”

Hirotsu scoffs. “And that is?”

“Just as I said,” Ryuu states again, eerily calm, “a merger. The Black Lizards will join Chuuya and I as we build a strong enough mafia to destroy everything Fitzgerald has.”

In spite of the room’s tense atmosphere, Hirotsu gives a small huff of a laugh.

“A mafia?” He repeats. “Even if you did manage to build one, no one can face off against Fitzgerald’s ring and live. Besides, when did you become intent on destroying Fitzgerald instead of kissing his boots? Jealous, young man?”

Ryuu’s lip twitches. Keeping his voice as steady as he can, he answers at nearly a growl, “Fitzgerald grew jealous of me and attempted to have me killed.” The watch chain weighs his neck down, and if he pays close attention, he can feel every tick of its second hand against his chest, a constant reminder of how successful Fitzgerald’s attempt had been. He has half a mind to run, the fear of dying again turning his blood cold.

But the thought of revenge brings that blood back to its boiling point, and he’s reminded where he stands, in front of one of Yokohama’s most dangerous gang leaders, and there’s no turning back now. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke is not a coward.

“Was that when he replaced you?” Hirotsu asks haughtily, causing a small scowl to form on Ryuu’s lips. “Word spread quickly about his new pet.”

From behind Ryuu, Atsushi gives a short, disgruntled growl.

“Maybe,” Ryuu grunts, “but he no longer has that weapon.”

Hirotsu raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And how can you be sure?”

Ryuu looks behind him at Atsushi, watching as the irritation fades from the tiger’s eyes, only to be replaced by a small hint of fear. It doesn’t make it to the rest of his face, but Ryuu sees it. Wordlessy, he nods, hoping Atsushi understands.

You can do this, he thinks, frowning. You HAVE to do this.

As if he heard him, Atsushi closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath before gritting his teeth, and suddenly, his arms begin to glow blue.

Members of the Black Lizard gasp. That annoying redhead jumps. Atsushi squeezes his eyes shut in pain as his arms shift, growing inhuman muscles, fur, and claws at the end of his fingers.

“I’m sure,” Ryuu finally answers Hirotsu, who stares at Atsushi with his mouth slightly open, “because I have that weapon.”

Atsushi gasps, struggling to keep his transformation minimal, but Ryuu pats his shoulder.

“That will be all,” he says quietly. With a small sigh, Atsushi shrinks his arms back to their original size.

“Think of it this way, Hirotsu-san,” Ryuu says, folding his hands behind his back once more. “If I have Fitzgerald’s tiger, imagine what I can do to Fitzgerald. And if I have Fitzgerald’s tiger,” he lets that thought hang in the air for a moment, icicles forming in his eyes and in his next words.

“Imagine what I can do to you.”

Silence freezes the room. The only sounds are cautious whispers and Atsushi’s tired pants.

Finally, Hirotsu clears his throat.

“If we join your Mafia,” he begins, voice cautious, “we’ll be… Financially compensated, correct?”

Ryuu nods. “As soon as you get the money to come in, you’ll get your share,” he assures them.

Hirotsu frowns. He looks at the floor, then at his gang. No one says a word.

Finally, and with a sigh, Hirotsu stands. He takes a few steps forward, until he’s directly in front of Ryuu, before he bows.

“To destroy Fitzgerald, and to take back Yokohama,” he says, folding a hand over his chest, “the Black Lizard is in your service.” He frowns as he stands, watching Ryuu with narrow eyes. “You’d best make good on your promises, boy.”

Ryuu looks behind him, watching Atsushi fearlessly face every member of the Black Lizard that dares approach him, only to have them scuttle back.

“As long as I have that beast,” he says, “you have nothing to worry about.”

x

Pain feels as if it’s erupting through Ryuu’s entire body.

You can never come back.

Hands so cold they burn his skin grasp at him, clinging to him, dragging him down into scorching hot mire.

You can never come back.

Darkness surrounds him; thick, gooey darkness that can be felt, only interrupted by the frequent columns of flames bursting from the charred ground. Screams and horrid laughter fill his ears.

You can never come back.

Every time the words repeat, they come across more distorted than before. Soon it sounds as if Kouyou’s voice itself is melting, burning along with Ryuu and everything around him, drowning out his cries of pain.

He struggles to keep his head above the surface of the boiling, oozy dark, but soon it flows into his mouth. It fills his lungs, his head, his entire body, until he can’t struggle anymore. All he can do is scream.

You can never come back.

Gasping for air, Ryuu jolts awake. He sits straight up in bed for a moment, shaking, before he throws off every sweaty blanket and grabs for his watch on the bedside table.

He pops it open. It still ticks, its time always accurate, even though Ryuu has never set it. He sighs a bit, holding it tight against his chest so he can feel every movement of its second hand. He still lives.

Tucking the watch beneath his shirt, Ryuu slides out of bed. The electric clock on his bedside table says it’s one a.m., but Ryuu’s fresh nightmare keeps him from wanting to go back to sleep immediately. Instead, he rubs his eyes and yawns a bit as he flips on a lamp and makes his way to his bedroom door.

As soon as he opens it, he hears something scuffle in the living room. Pieces of his dream flash in front of eyes eyes, of horrible creatures writing in the dark, and sudden panic grabs his body, causing him to stiffen. Immediately - too uncharacteristically terrified to rationally consider what might actually wait for him in the dark - he flips on the light next to the door.

Atsushi freezes. He stands like a rabbit caught in headlights, blinking with wide eyes at Ryuu, fully dressed and holding a bundle of Ryuu’s clothes in his arms as he stands between the living room and the door. Ryuu instantly scowls.

“What are you doing?”

Atsushi’s eyes dart away from Ryuu’s. “Uh…” he says slowly, shuffling a bit on his feet. Ryuu can feel his rising anger cause his features to tighten.

“You’re running out on me,” he growls. Though he keeps anger on his face, fear runs through his veins. To lose the weretiger would be to lose everything.

Atsushi frowns, bunching his shoulders up, watching the floor. Though he could easily still run, his shame spreads to his face and ties his feet together.

“... I can’t stay here,” Atsushi mumbles, and something within Ryuu reluctantly crumples when he sees how hurt Atsushi looks.

“And why not?” he says, keeping under wraps whatever weakness Atsushi’s instilled in him. 

“... I don’t want to be used as a weapon,” Atsushi admits softly. He wraps his arms around himself, still not meeting Ryuu’s eyes, his own golden irises seemingly glowing in the dark room. Ryuu sighs.

“You won’t have to for much longer,” he assures him. “Word will get out, and by the time this whole city knows and fears you, you’ll be long gone, okay?”

The weretiger sighs, then he murmurs, his voice so soft and quiet that Ryuu can barely hear him.

“But I don’t want to be feared.”

Ryuu’s next words leave his mouth before he realizes they’ve gone.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Atsushi looks up at him suddenly. His slightly-open mouth closes, and they stare at each other there, the night’s darkness and the hall’s light wrapping around their bodies.

Ryuu pulls his lips tight. Unsure what prompted him to speak, he clears his throat.

“We’ll start looking for a home for you tomorrow, okay?” He says quickly, changing the subject. “I know someone. He fosters children, but maybe he knows someone that’ll take you in.” Besides, that man is on Ryuu’s list of potential allies. He wouldn’t be going too far out of his way to try to recruit him now.

Just a few moments ago, Atsushi refused to make eye contact with Ryuu. Now it seems as if he can’t look away, and he holds the clothes in his arms like a security blanket, pressed tight against his chest.

“... Okay,” he says after a moment. Ryuu holds back a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he says, nodding once. He turns around to return to his room, but as if he has eyes in the back of his head, he stops, an incomplete feeling buzzing in his chest.

Ryuu looks behind himself. Atsushi still stands there, looking away again, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Inwardly, Ryuu releases that sigh.

“Do you want to stay in my room?” He asks as if such a thing would be more inconvenient than stopping the sun, but Atsushi nods anyway, slowly, looking up at Ryuu with eyes like a begging stray dog’s.

Ryuu almost watches him with suspicion as he wordlessly opens his bedroom door, motioning with his head for Atsushi to come inside.

Under Fitzgerald’s leadership, Ryuu’s not unused to people with two faces. People will put on a show, smiling and saying sweet words until they can sneak a gun against your head, and then their mask falls. Ryuu knows he’s no exception, but he can typically tell when someone’s hiding their truths, as long as they’re not as experienced as someone like Fitzgerald or Steinbeck.

But Atsushi. Ryuu looks behind his shoulder at the weretiger, who watches him as he pulls his spare futon from the closet and sets it out. Atsushi seems to have two sides, but neither of them appear fake. The first is ferocious to the point of being feral, full of wrath and rage, with anger as sharp as his claws. The second is far more gentle and trusting, fragile and humble, as if he wouldn’t love to crush at least one man’s skull in his feline jaws. Both are genuine. Both are Atsushi.

Both draw Ryuu ever closer, ever deeper.

“Done,” Ryuu mutters, putting the final pillow and blanket on the futon. “You’ll be more comfortable here than on the couch, I’m sure.”

Atsushi nods. He utters a small “thank you” before settling in, his shoulders rising and falling with his relaxed sigh. Ryuu climbs back into his own bed, purposefully facing away from Atsushi after he turns off the lamp. The weretiger must not understand his body language.

“Hey, Akutagawa-san?”

Ryuu grunts once in response.

“Did you work for Fitzgerald?”

His question gives Ryuu pause, so he says nothing, brow furrowing.

“I thought you did,” Atsushi continues, his voice a sleepy murmur, “because of things you said. And things the Black Lizard leader said.”

It takes a minute, but Ryuu finally finds his voice. He clears his throat.

“Yes,” comes his simple answer. He feared that answer. He feared answering Atsushi, who might hate him, judging all the atrocities he’s done, pushing him away again.

Instead, Atsushi gives a small hum.

“Did he buy you, too?” He asks.

Ryuu’s worries quiet. He turns his head slightly so that he can see Atsushi’s face, but the weretiger stares at the ceiling, eyes still glowing.

“No,” Ryuu says slowly. “He… Practically took me in.”

Atsushi gives a sad smile and a humorless chuckle.

“If only,” he says. “He heard about me because gangs couldn’t keep their mouths shut, and he bought me. Before that I was a black market prize.”

Atsushi winces as if the memories themselves hurt. “I was a one-man freak show. They would keep me around until they grew tired of me, then they’d sell me to the highest bidder. Before I was bought the first time, the orphanage treated me like an animal, cage and everything.”

Ryuu turns back to staring at the wall, almost shaking a little. Emotions stir in his chest that he can only label as that ever-present loneliness, that fear of losing what he’s coveted for so long, so he channels them the only way he knows how.

“I’ll kill the next person who lays a hand on you like that,” he snaps. Atsushi sighs a little.

“A lot of them are probably already dead,” he murmurs. “They’re not worth it, either. Focus your energy on someone more important.”

The supernatural glow of Atsushi’s eyes intensifies as his eyebrows knit together.

“Like Fitzgerald.”

The pure hatred with which Atsushi says his name causes Ryuu to sit up in bed to look at him. Like a switch was flipped, every ounce of gentleness in Atsushi’s countenance has been erased, leaving nothing but malice and deep-rooted pain.

That passion ignites an entirely different shade of his beauty.

“I can’t stand what he does to innocent people,” Atsushi goes on to say, squeezing his eyes shut, dimming the room by taking away that small light. “He doesn’t care. He thinks their lives have no value at all, not even his subordinates’ lives. I hated doing what he told me.” He takes a shaky breath, in and out slowly.

“He’d make me kill those people for him, Akutagawa-san,” he murmurs, and just as quickly as it came, the rage is gone. The pain in his face overpowers it, and he crosses one arm over his eyes. “I’m a monster.”

The silence after his words almost feels heavier than the words themselves. Mouth dry, Ryuu’s thoughts jumble together until they’re tangled, thoughts of how Atsushi would hate him if he ever saw Ryuu’s body count, of exactly how little Ryuu cared for those “innocents” he would kill on a daily basis, of how twenty-four hours ago, Ryuu would’ve agreed with Atsushi: by definition, the weretiger is a monster.

But now. Now it’s different. Now he’s seen more jagged edges of Atsushi’s multi-faceted soul. Now he has begun to understand. Now he’s overwhelmed, overwhelmed by Atsushi and his beauty and his soul and the beauty of his soul, so says the first words he manages to form, nearly whispering into the dark room,

“No you’re not.”

He hears Atsushi make a soft noise in the back of his throat. The weretiger moves his arm from his face, and his eyes shine directly on Ryuu, who doesn’t move. A frown pulls his lips taught and forms worry lines around his eyes, but still, Atsushi smiles.

“You’re not afraid of me, and you don’t think I’m a monster,” Atsushi says, echoing Ryuu’s words from before. A hum on his lips, he then curls the blanket around his shoulders, yawning slightly. “You’re the first to say that, Akutagawa-san.”

Once again, Atsushi closes his eyes, leaving the room in darkness aside from the few remaining streetlights outside the window. Ryuu takes a deep breath, lying down as well.

“Oi, Jinko,” he mutters, trying to keep the edge to his voice as something within him softens. “You can call me Akutagawa.”

Atsushi gives a small huff of a laugh, as if he sees right through him, even in the dark with his eyes closed.

“Then goodnight, Akutagawa,” he says, sleep making his words slow and blurred together.

Stomach turning in knots, Ryuu grunts in response, closing his eyes and willing his nightmares to stay away. The only image he sees as he falls asleep is Atsushi.

[nekoabiwrites]

Of Princes and Potions - Chapter 6

This is a heavy one... It didn’t start out like that, but it ended up there... whoops :D

AU: Royal, Fantasy Pairing: Pining Logince Words: 2476 Warnings: Panic Attack, Hyperventilating, Blood, Swords, Knives, Stabbing, Being Cut, Extreme Anxiety, Blacking out. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: Logan is not having a good time with his sudden onset of emotions. He fears he upset Virgil and so runs to find him. Once there, things get worse and he spirals into panic.

In an instant, Logan was filled with a sense of regret and remorse as he remembered how he’d spoken to Virgil. It took no time for tears to begin pouring from his eyes. Logan removed his glasses but found that his vision was far blurrier than it had ever been, thanks to the streams running down his cheeks. He had no control over himself as he hunched over, the weight of his actions weighing heavily upon his back. At the same time, fear was seeping to his extremities as well and the wizard could no longer tell what was causing him to shake violently.

The rational side of his mind was seemingly trying to shout over the chaos that Virgil had taken it well, he’d just been a little confused, but that voice was drowned out by the overwhelming emotion Logan was feeling for the first time in a long time.

Logan flinched violently, his head snapping up and his eyes widening in concern as the thought passed his mind. For the first time in a long time? Had he felt this before?

Something managed to throw that from his mind, as he stumbled instinctively towards the door to his room. It didn’t matter at this moment, he could think about that later, now he really needed to find Virgil and ensure their relationship wasn’t damaged beyond repair.

Logan’s mind was focused entirely on his goal. He didn’t seem to notice where he was going or that he’d left the tower without the safety of his cloak. Logan just let his feet do the work in guiding him. He ran through the corridors as quickly as he could, paying no attention to any sound he was making. Thoughts ran wild, he wanted to find Virgil as fast as possible. If he were fast enough, perhaps he’d be able to catch his friend before he went back to his own room.

It was only once he was able to see the door to Virgil’s room coming towards him that Logan seemed to realise what was really going on. He’d been so lost in the sudden surge of emotions that he just wasn’t paying that much attention. He didn’t slow as he approached, instead Logan repeated Virgil’s own actions by slamming his door open.

“VIRGIL!” Logan practically yelled at the extremely startled knight captain. The wizard threw himself towards Virgil without a single thought, holding the man tightly in his arms as a new flood of tears came. He hiccupped out a long stream of unintelligible apologies on instinct.

If Logan had been of a sounder mind, he would have been able to notice that Virgil was all together confused, scared and uncomfortable. The knight captain was stiff and unmoving under his friend’s embrace, his eyes were locked towards the now-open door and were as wide as possible. Virgil was clearly trying to catch himself up with his current situation.

It took almost a full minute before Virgil was awkwardly reaching around his friend to try and console him, “It’s… okay, Lo. You… didn’t do… anything wrong?” Virgil was still utterly lost as to why his usually stoic friend was now clutching him tightly and weeping directly into his shoulder. Sure, something had been up with the wizard when he’d visited earlier, but it was nothing that really concerned the knight too much. Logan was known to have bad days sometimes and Virgil usually just left him to it. But this… this was something entirely new.

Eventually, Virgil managed to get Logan to release him. He had the wizard sit on the edge of his bed and headed out to grab a cup of water, with several promises that he would be back in just a few minutes and that he definitely wasn’t leaving Logan alone. Virgil had a fearful thought that this must be what he is like when he gets into one of his anxious states. He mentally had to push that down; Virgil had to focus on Logan right now, his own problems could wait.

“Okay, so… why the hell were you crying?” Virgil asked outright after handing the wizard the cup. He was seated in his chair, which he’d turned around and brought closer. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to be touched any more than he already had been, so Virgil kept his distance.

Logan uncharacteristically sniffled like a young child, the tears having finally slowed to something manageable, “I… I am unsure, to be honest with you, Virgil. I, I was frustrated and angry, to such an extreme that I yelled out and caused myself to pause. Then I… I seemed to suddenly remember what I said to you… and it hurt me that I might have possibly caused hurt to you.” Logan kept his eyes down at the cup in his hand. He periodically sipped in between his thoughts, as it gave him a moment to really think about what had happened and how he wanted to phrase things. “The next thing I truly remember is walking down the corridor outside your room and… the scene that just… occurred.” The wizard scrunched up his face as his cheeks flushed dark with embarrassment.

Virgil stayed silent after Logan had finished his fairly brief explanation as he tried to think of how to respond. This was all completely unlike Logan, the man always kept his emotions well under control to the point where several of the servants and many townspeople gossiped about his lack of them, almost treating it as a legend. Slowly, Virgil opened his mouth, “Well, I can say I definitely wasn’t hurt by what you said, Logan. I was more… confused, I guess?”

Logan’s head tilted a little in confusion as he raised his gaze to look at the knight, “Confused? Why?”

“Well, y’know…” Virgil gestured vaguely with his hands during his pause, as if it were helping him conjure the words, “Just, like… It’s not normal, for you, alright? You’re just always so calm and everything. It was just weird that you seemed so pissed off.” Virgil leant back in his chair, finally looking as though he was relaxing a little. “If it’s about that potion thing, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were doing that, or that it was so important or whatever; Dee just really fucked with me and I just… God, I hate him so much!” Virgil grimaced hard as the name of the animal handler fell from his lips.

The mage fiddled with the cup in his hand. He could feel his heartbeat starting to race and his cheeks heating as the embarrassment rose once more. Of course, the potion. In the whole mess of events, he’d forgotten that was reason for all of this and now he’d have to confess to Virgil about its effects. That would inevitably lead to Virgil asking why Logan would even want such a potion and why he would even really be mad about something like that, which then would lead to Logan having to tell the knight all about his odd reactions to the prince, which he really didn’t want to do because Virgil didn’t need yet another thing to hold over him.

“Woah, woah. Lo, calm down. Just breathe. Try and breathe slow for me, alright?”

Virgil’s voice sounded like it was far away, almost as if he were across the other side of the room. Logan’s vision was swimming more and more, he could barely register that his muscles had tightened to almost an unbearable point let alone the fact his breathing was insanely fast and quick, causing him light-headedness. All Logan could focus on were his spiralling worries.

If he mentioned to Virgil about the odd feelings, that could easily get out. It wasn’t that Logan didn’t trust the other man, he really did, more than most. He just knew that with more people knowing, the more likely it can be to spill out. Someone might overhear a small jab Virgil might make, or someone could even overhear this initial conversation he was trying to convince himself to go through with. Even then, if it did get out, it could spread through not only the whole castle but the whole kingdom. Many informants and notorious gossips lived in the capital city and they just loved to spread the latest news with everyone they could, especially on their trips out of the city itself. If it spread to everyone outside, Logan would likely find himself a laughing stock. That strange man who practices and searched for magic at the top of the tower in the castle was having such odd sensations around the prince, all of which were likely to be understood by the common masses, would make him a piece of public art for all to gawk at whenever he’d head into town. Logan would have to hole himself up forever, making little to no contact with anyone but those he specifically allowed himself to converse with. But, the worst part would be when the word got to the prince himself. Surely, Roman would be utterly appalled at the simple thought that such a thing could even happen. Logan was just another servant to him, another toy to play around with and practice his technique on, things he would be putting to use fairly soon by Logan’s understanding of the upcoming event.

Oh.

The ball.

Logan, unconsciously, began to rock back and forth a little as he continued to spiral into panic. Virgil was now a distant murmur, despite his continuous, louder attempts to call Logan back to the world. His breathing was faster, shorter, shallower, and was showing no signs of improvement. Virgil was still trying his best but was beginning to give up hope.

The ball was something that all castle residents were being forced to attend. Everyone who was even remotely important or of a high status would be there, and Logan was going to have to be present for it all. All the local nobles would know of him and his feelings, they’d laugh and snicker, tease him mercilessly from the corners and shadows of the ballroom. He’d hear whispers from behind him, see eyes flicking towards him, feel the gazes of many despicable humans watching his every move. He’d be utterly powerless to do anything about it as well, as not only would they be the brats that spawned from the disgusting nobles who would love to accuse the royals of doing something to their children in an attempt to gain more power, but all of the guard would be there to ensure nothing happened to any of the guests. There was no way Logan could get out of it either. It was an order from the King himself. He’d end up so utterly alone, as even his most trusted allies wouldn’t want to risk their reputation in order to check up on him.

Virgil had now given up on being respectful. He wanted to be delicate with this situation, but that was not working. His hands gripped Logan’s shoulders and he tried everything he could to calm Logan down, but Virgil could easily see that his words were not reaching the wizard. The knight shook Logan, pure desperation coursing through his voice as he tried with earnest once more to reach him. The wizard was still wheezing, but it was clear he was feeling the effects of hyperventilation. Virgil saw his vision beginning to blur with his own tears.

Back in his mind, the image of the crowded ballroom was darkening as the thoughts kept piling up and up, pulling Logan further into the dark void that threatened to swallow his mental image of himself. All the attendees were dark and faceless themselves, seeming as though they were wearing simple black masks with wide, unnerving, knowing grins. The knights and other staff were similarly faceless, all ignoring his pure existence. One of the attendees made a loud, snide comment as they glided past, causing the group they were with to laugh harshly. The lighting dimmed further, the furthest wall was not visible to Logan anymore. He couldn’t move his legs or arms, he couldn’t speak. He was stuck there and had to endure this torture. Another faceless figure floated past, this one purposefully pouring a glass of something upon the wizard. They turned and apologised in a fake sincere tone before chuckling as they walked off. The black void seemed to be crawling across the floor now, taking more and more from Logan’s sight. A sudden glint of silver crossed his vision as someone – clearly a suitor – wielded a knife and slashed across the wizard’s face. There was no pain, but his vision was clouded by the red stain of blood that was pouring from the gash. The suitor taunted him with meaningless words, saying things that implied Logan was entirely unworthy of his feelings and that not one of the guards was going to do a thing about the attack. It was true, none of the featureless guards had moved a muscle or even acknowledged what was happening in his corner. Suddenly, the wound on his face began to ache and itch. The shadows now encompassed half of the ballroom, taking all of that from his sight – the floor, the ceiling, the attendees, the decorations. The suitor glided off into the dark with a harsh, echoing laugh. There was then a jolt of movement behind him, another blade protruded into his vision along with more aching and itching from his back. A whisper of a voice came to his ear, telling him he was worthless, disgusting, a waste of life and he was finally going to see someone who had been very dear to him. They told him he should have stayed in that place back then, shouldn’t have even survived. He felt his world dimming further, not only due to the dark void closing in even more, but also from the sudden blood loss he was experiencing. The blade cutting through his body was twisted, causing him to attempt to shout out even though he seemed to feel no pain from it. A new voice spoke to him.

“Disgusting, vile creature.”

The harsh tone that was clear in the prince’s voice seemed to hurt Logan more than the blade currently pushed through his body. The blade was constantly being turned, slowly and torturously, as if the man behind him was attempting to cause him the most discomfort possible as he was getting close to drawing his final breath. The shadows were close to his feet now, still swallowing everything in front of him. Without hesitation, the vine-like tendrils of shadows rushed towards his body, almost like a wild animal going in for the attack. His vision finally seemed to fail him.

Everything went black.

Everything fell silent.

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