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parkersbliss · 3 years

Text

Tough | K. Brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x reader

warnings: blood, cursing, kaz being a simp

wc; 2K

synopsis: mission gone wrong… gone right?

prompts: 028: “hey, hey, hey, I’m right here.” 030: “you could’ve died!”

a/n: I don’t know how I always end up so off track

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

“This is ridiculous,” Jesper hisses, looking between you and Inej. “Someone tell him that!”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Tell Kaz to back out of a job? No way.”

“I prefer to keep my head,” Inej said.

Jesper rolls his eyes. “You’ll lose it either way at this point!”

“Jesper, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not! Do you realize how-”

“Shut up, Jesper,” Kaz scowled through the earpiece.

Jesper mumbles something under his breath, but you don’t catch it.

“How’s everything looking, Kaz?” Inej asked.

“One last round of guards, and then you two can come in.”

You nod, securing your gun in place as you stand up.

“If you two don’t come back, I told you so!” Jesper said.

“If we don’t come back, we probably ditched you,” You quip back.

Jesper scoffs, standing up. “At least I still have Wylan.”

“No, you don’t,” Wylan responded through the earpiece.

Jesper throws his hands in the air, “No one appreciates the voice of wisdom around here.”

“(Y/N), Inej, go.”

Inej takes the lead, climbing the gate and dropping safely on the other side. You follow after and make a run for the main entrance. You hide behind a column, holding your breath as two guards walk back to their posts. A hand sticks out from the opposite column on you, and Inej makes a hand signal that means go.

With what you hope are quiet footsteps, you emerge from behind the column and follow Inej to the hallway to the left. You patiently wait as two Grisha emerge from the bedrooms, and in the span of a few seconds, it takes the door to close; you both rush in.

Inej opens the closet, throwing you a kefta, and you gasp at the softness of the fabric.

“Do you think we can keep these?” You jokingly ask.

“Unless you want to be an even bigger target in Ketterdam: I’d advise not.”

“They’re bulletproof and warm,” You said, slipping on the blue kefta with red and yellow detailing.

Inej only hums as she slips hers on, which has green swirls embellished on it.

“Tidemaker,” You said.

“Inferni,” Inej replied. “Suits you.”

You both walk out of the bedroom, the kefta’s making it easier to walk through the palace undetected. The Grisha all automatically assumed you belonged there. They didn’t bother to take a good look at your face.

“Status?” Kaz asked.

“On track,” You said softly, passing by two Grisha’s.

Kaz nods on his side, dressed as a guard inside of the palace. He waits patiently by the door for the two of you. He can just barely spot Wylan in the distance, acting as a servant to the Queen.

She was too stuck up to ever notice or acknowledge any of the servant's names. Similar to the Mercher’s back in Ketterdam.

What snobs they are.

Kaz watches as you and Inej round the corner. The Kefta’s fit both of you surprisingly well. He nods at you two, giving Wylan one last glance before going to unlock the Queen’s room. His fingers and quick, and the lock cracks open in a few seconds.

In those few seconds, someone screams. You can hear Wylan laughing nervously before being pinned down by a guard.

Kaz instantly stops what he’s doing as you all watch the scene unfold. They disarm him, grabbing a remote and throwing it across the floor.

“Get back!” Kaz shouts as the button lands first onto the ground. There’s a moment of silence, utter stillness as you and Inej look toward the Queen’s room, and then it explodes. The blast echoes through the castle and shatters everything. Pieces of rumble rain down as the building begins to shake.

You slam against the adjacent wall, coughing at the dust and groaning. Blood trickles down from your forehead, and your entire body aches.

A low moan catches your attention, and you look up to see a crystal chandelier, cracks surrounding the ceiling it was attached to.

“(Y/N)!” You can hear Kaz scream as it gives way.

You don’t have enough time to get away, you know that. Your vision was still blurry, a loud ringing in your ears. You were too disoriented to even comprehend the idea of being pierced with the decorative piece.

But Kaz isn’t.

He lunges forward, tackling you to the opposite end and shielding you with his body. He’s holding his breath the entire time, counting in his head and reminding himself that it’s just you. If he lets go, then you’ll be dead.

Don’t let go. He repeats it like a mantra inside his head, focusing on the sound of glass shattering as you both skid across the floor.

Sharp glass shards pierce his jacket and skin, but he’s barely fazed by it. It gives him something else to focus on other than the feeling of you.

“Don’t move,” You said quietly, and you can see his eyes widen because by saints he needs to, or he’s going to pass out. “Kaz, if you move, you’re going to push a piece of glass further into yourself.”

He starts shaking his head because the feeling of you breathing under him is overwhelming. Your voice had snapped him out of his daze, and now he was fully aware and fully scared. He doesn't know why. It's you and you were the one person he wishes he could be able to touch, but right now, he can't.

“I can’t,” He whispers.

“Kaz, don’t.”

“Please.”

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m right here,” You assure. “I’m alive, okay? Just breathe slowly until I can get out.”

Kaz closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Every nerve in his body is screaming. It’s worse than the shard of glass sticking out of him. He can’t do it.

“Kaz!” You scream as he rolls off of you and onto the floor.

Almost instantly, the glass pierces through him, and he groans. There’s a huge shard sticking out of his stomach, and you can feel panic surging through you.

Your instincts overwhelm the pain, and your senses come rushing back to you. There’s no way you can grab the glass without cutting yourself in the process, and Kaz would bleed out before you can do anything.

“Kaz Brekker, don’t you dare die on me.”

“I’m not trying to,” He hisses back.

“Inej!” You shout, searching for the Suli girl through the rubble.

“A healer,” Kaz coughs out. “You look Grisha, call for a healer.”

You blink, still amazed how Kaz’s mind is still working, before standing up. “Healer!”

On cue, a girl with a red kefta and silver detailing runs over from the area where Wylan was. You don’t want to imagine how many others are hurt. Behind her is Inej, who nods at you, and you thank the saints for her.

“I need to get the glass out," The healer said.

You look at her, then back to Kaz. “Okay. I can do that. Trust me."

“What you did was stupid,” You said to Kaz, kneeling down by his side once more.

“You were going to die,” he protests weakly.

You slowly grip the glass tightly, trying to ignore the sharp sting of it as the jagged sides cut through your skin.

“You could’ve died!” You scowl, but Kaz could hear the fear in your voice. “You still could.”

“It’s better me than you.”

“No, it isn’t,” You reply, “Kaz, how can you not see it?”

“See what?”

“That I'm in love with you!”

His eyes widen, and at that moment, you grab the glass and yank it out. Kaz screams out in pain, shutting his eyes. “Fuck!”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him curse.

The healer jumps into action. She leans over Kaz, and with a single motion of her hand, stitches him up.

She looks at you, and before you can say anything, she heals the cut on your forehead and the gashes on your hands.

“Thank you,” You said.

She nods, and Inej thanks her as well before turning her attention back to you and Kaz. “We need to go, like now. Wylan’s already running out the door as we speak.”

You nod, looking to Kaz. “Okay, can you walk?”

Inej hands him his cane, and he uses it to steady himself. “I can.”

“Okay… can you run?”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Inej said, tugging on your kefta and gesturing to the guards eyeing you down.

“We’re running!” You announce, taking off with Inej and Kaz on your heels. The guards immediately start pursuing you, and you try to lose them in the many hallways.

“Where the hell is Jesper when you need him?”

“Right here!”

“I’m here as well!” Nina shouts, coming to a stop behind him. “The Kefta’s suit you two.”

“Thanks.”

Jesper winks before beginning to fire as Nina drops their heart rate.

“I take it the mission was unsuccessful?” Nina asked, turning to run when the guards become too many.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jesper said.

“I would,” Kaz seethed.

“Yes, well, you happen to be the most pessimistic person here,” Jesper replied, firing a shot at an approaching guard.

“(Y/N) confessed her love for Kaz,” Inej said through labored breaths, finally reaching the exit.

Nina whirls to face you, “What?”

“About damn time,” Jesper grumbled, ignoring the look Kaz gives him.

You roll your eyes at him, grateful to see your getaway carriage on time.

“And then she pulled a piece of glass out of him,” Inej added, opening the door and hopping into the carriage.

“Oh wow, that’s really the cherry on top of it, isn’t it?” Jesper asked sarcastically.

“You guys are the only people that gossip while being chased down with guns,” Your driver, Matthias, chuckled.

“When else are we supposed to be doing it?” Nina asked, getting into the seat next to him and grabbing the reins.

“Oh sorry, didn’t realize there’s a time and place for it. I’ll stop being a criminal and getting chased now,” You sassily replied, climbing in behind Kaz.

“Just go!”

Nina and Matthias don’t have to be told twice, and you all take off, leaving empty-handed, or so you thought.

Jesper and Wylan sit across from Inej, you, and Kaz. The curly-haired boy holds a bag tightly to his chest, and you’re not oblivious to it.

“What’s in the bag?” Inej asked.

Jesper grins. “Why thank you for asking. Care to share, Wylan?”

The boy rolls his eyes and opens the bag, revealing a crown.

“Oh my god,” You gasp.

“I told you we weren’t leaving empty-handed,” Jesper smirks, leaning back and ruffling his boyfriend's hair.

“How?” Kaz asked.

“Stole it from the queen after the explosion and quite literally ran for my life.”

“We taught him well.”

The ride back to Os Kervo is long, and most of the Dregs fall asleep, except for Nina and Matthias, of course.

Inej rests her head against the window, using her hoodie and scarf as a pillow. Jesper does the same, with Wylan resting on his shoulder.

However, you’re wide awake, not finding a comfortable position to sleep in.

“Did you mean it?” Kaz whispered, turning to face you.

His features stick out more in the moonlight, casting sharp shadows across his face. His blue eyes feel like they're piercing you in a single gaze.

“Mean what?”

“What you said before you yanked the glass out of me, or was it just a distraction?”

“Oh,” You said softly. “I meant it.”

“I mean it too.”

You raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

Kaz realizes he has to say it back. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but he felt like a child once again. There were butterflies in his stomach as he speaks. “I love you too.”

“Is that so?” You ask, a slightly teasing tone to your voice, and he knows it.

“I don’t risk my life for just anyone.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“I also don’t offer my shoulder to sleep on to anyone.”

Your eyes brighten. “Kaz?”

He gives you a small smile, “I can take it.”

“Are you sure?”

“If it means both of us get some shut-eye, yes.”

A slow smile spread across your face as you pull up your own hoodie, having shed the Kefta long ago. It was too bulky for you.

You slowly let your head fall onto his shoulder, and his breathing stutters for a brief moment before relaxing again when he can feel your heartbeat. It should freak him out, and it does, but he stays strong. That’s what you do for the people you love.

You tough it out.

That, and Kaz falls asleep a few moments later with his own head resting on yours.

— END —

🏷 Kaz Brekker Taglist: @ms-awkward @kykymyeon @alcottsangel @kaqua

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#you definitely awoke to them all screaming bc of how cute you guys are #kaz threatens to bleach their eyes #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker one shot #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #soc #sab

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pterodactylterrace · 3 years

Text

Guys Like You ~ENDING~

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 20

Chapter Summary: My ill fated attempt to tie everything up nice and pretty and end on a positive note. In my head, this went a different way, but I decided to go the happy route for everyone

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of blood and childbirth

“I feel like a blimp.” Faye groaned, giving up on trying to fasten her sandals herself and plopping down on the bed instead.

“I think you’re gorgeous.” Henry soothed, straightening out his tie in the mirror and crouching down to help her with her shoes.

“I can’t see my feet.”

“They’re still here.” Henry chuckled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her swollen belly.

“What about my vagina?” Faye grouched, smoothing a hand along her bump.

“I plan on thoroughly investigating that later.” Henry purred, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Why not now?”

“Because we’ll be late if we do. Now come along, darling. We both know everyone is dying to see the bump.” Henry encouraged, standing and gently helping her to her feet. They had posted earlier that week to his Instagram about their newest addition. Just a picture of a Superman onesie, captioned “Baby Boy Cavill, coming early next spring.” To say it had blown up would be an understatement. This was going to be their first public outing since they had announced the pregnancy. Faye had gone back and forth several times on whether or not she had wanted to actually accompany him, ultimately deciding to spend the evening out with her fiancé.

“Carry me?” Faye whined, giving him a pouty look.

“I’ll carry you around all you like after the premiere. If we show up in wrinkled clothing, people may get the wrong idea.”

“Henry, I’m pretty sure they know we’ve been having sex.” Faye pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward her belly. “Plus, you’ve done a wonderful job of making sure I’m satisfied at all times.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Henry chuckled, placing a hand on her lower back to urge her to the door and quickly readjusting himself in his suddenly too tight trousers. This woman was going to be the death of him. All she had to do was allude to sex, and all the blood would rush straight to his groin. He was fairly certain she had trained his dick to get hard with just a look, not that he was complaining. He’d heard several men grumbling about how their partners didn’t want anything when they were expecting. He seemed to get lucky with the opposite. She’d been much friskier during her first trimester, but after she hit the halfway point, she was damn near insatiable.

“Now make sure you behave. Hands to yourself.” Henry murmured in her ear, the couple stopping just long enough to remind the babysitter that Briar had to be in bed by eight and to tell the little girl goodbye.

“You were joking about the hands to myself thing, right?” Faye questioned almost as soon as the driver had rolled up the partition.

“It’s been less than two hours.” Henry half laughed, tangling his fingers with her wandering digits.

“So? Are you really going to turn down getting busy?”

“Darling, we’ll make a mess right before we end up in front of a ton of cameras.” Henry pointed out, kissing the back of her hand lovingly. “Just try to contain yourself for a few more hours, then I’ll be yours all night.”

“All night?”

“All night.” Henry confirmed, kissing her temple adoringly and gently placing a hand on her swollen stomach. “You look beautiful.” Henry whispered, shamelessly staring at her cleavage.

“Don’t be a tease.” Faye pouted.

“My apologies, darling.” Henry chuckled, resting his cheek against her head.

~*~

“I’m not leaving this house again until this baby is born.” Faye declared dramatically as she flopped down on the couch.

“Does that mean you’ve decided on a home birth?” Henry asked, glancing up from the puzzle Briar was trying to put together.

“Yes.” Faye growled, glaring down at her extended belly. “Tell me, Mr. Cavill. Is there a particular reason you decided to put a gigantic baby in me? Hmm? Is this some sort of payback for something?”

“Darling, the doctor said he’s only slightly larger than average.”

“Baby brother is BIG!” Briar giggled.

“Yes, he is.” Faye agreed, pushing herself up from her slouched position. “He also likes to kick Mommy in the ribs.”

“I’m sorry, darling.” Henry cooed, pushing himself up from the floor to sit next to her on the couch.

“You should totally carry the next kid.” Faye grumbled, leaning against him.

“I would if I could, darling.” Henry assured, wrapping his arm around her and kissing the top of her head.

“My feet are swollen, my belly is huge, I’m pretty sure I just peed a little and all I can think about is oranges.” Faye grumpily listed off, wiggling her way to the edge of the couch and rocking herself to her feet.

“Oh…” Henry mumbled, his eyebrows pulling together as he watched the wet darkness rapidly spread across the back of her sweats and down her legs.

“Oh shit.” Faye gasped, staring in horror at the wetness soaking into her pants. “Oh fuck… Henry!” She yelled, trying to peer over her stomach to see her legs.

“Yes?” Henry asked unsurely as he stood himself up, intent on cleaning the mess before it soaked in anymore.

“I don’t think that was pee.”

“What?”

“That. Wasn’t. Piss.” Faye ground out, snapping her head around to look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get me to understand, darling.” Henry admitted, his brows pulling together as he studied her face. “Wait… you don’t mean?” Henry whispered, realization washing over his face. “But he’s not due for another couple of weeks!”

“Well, it looks like he was just as tired of waiting as I was!” Faye grumbled.

“Mommy, you had an accident.” Briar pointed out as she put the last piece in her puzzle, hopping to her feet and scampering off down the hall, assuring her mother she would find her something else to wear as she ran off.

“Ok… I’m not going to panic.” Henry promised, more to himself rather than to his fiancé. “I’m going to call the doula and the nanny. Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?”

“I’m not contracting, I can walk.” Faye pointed out.

“Just in case it starts, then.” Henry suggested, resting one hand on her lower back and taking her hand with the other, keeping pace beside his fiancé as she did an odd combination of a shuffle and a waddle to the bathroom.

“FUCK!” Henry shouted as soon as the door was closed, his heavy footsteps falling down the hallway as he ran back to the living room, frantically trying to locate his phone. “KAL!” Henry called, his wild eyes darting around the room. “Kal where’s my phone?!”

“KITCHEN!” Faye yelled from the bathroom, rolling her eyes to herself. “So much for not panicking.”

“Thank you, Kal!” Henry called back, his rapid steps sounding again as he crossed the house, snatching his phone from where it was peacefully charging on the counter, hitting the contact number for the doula and impatiently listening to it ring.

“He does know the dog can’t talk; I promise.” Faye sighed, shoving her wet clothes down and sitting on the toilet to kick herself free. “Papa’s just a little excited right now. He’s going crazy waiting to meet you.” She assured her swollen stomach.

“Faye?” Henry called softly from the other side of the door, slowly cracking it open and giving her an apologetic smile. “She’s asking questions I don’t know the answer to.”

“What does she want to know?” Faye asked, watching as he slowly slid his giant frame into the bathroom with her.

~*~

“You’re doing so good, darling.” Henry whispered, gently running his hands up and down his fiancé’s back. “Another one’s coming up, deep breath.” He instructed, his eyes flicking to his watch back to Faye. He gripped her hips firmly and dug his thumbs in right where she’d shown him so many contractions ago, rubbing in slow small circles to ease the pain in her back.

“I wanna get in the tub.” Faye groaned as the tightness in her belly began to ease.

“Alright, darling. I’m going to need you to stand up with me.” Strong arms wrapped around her and slowly helped to her feet; an adoring kiss being planted to the crown of her head. “Now I need you to walk with me, can you do that?”

“Yeah. It’s not bad between the contractions.”

“I’ll be right here if you need me.” Henry assured, taking her small delicate hand into his calloused paw, slowly leading her to the bathroom. He let her rest against the sink as he fiddled with the taps, plugging the drain once the water had warmed.

“Fuck… Hen…” Faye hissed, her jaw clenching along with her distended abdomen.

“I’m right here, I’m right here.” Henry quickly took her back in his arms, letting her lean against him as he tried to find the spot on her back from the new angle.

“For fucks’ sake, how long has it been?” Faye groaned, helping Henry pull her shirt off and toss it onto the growing pile of laundry she was creating during her labor.

“Just over three hours.” Henry informed, biting his lip at his fiancé’s hopeless groan.

“That’s it?!”

“You’re doing so good.” Henry repeated, expertly unclasping her bra with one hand and casting it aside to help her step into the warm waiting water. He settled in next to the tub, holding his phone up where she could see it and pulling up one of her favorite shows, hoping to distract her.

~*~

“I wanna push.” Faye gasped, her knuckles going white as she squeezed the side of the tub, her entire body tense with a contraction.

“That’s great, that’s your body telling you you’re ready to have your baby.” The midwife assured, gently wiping her face with a wash rag. “You’re in charge here, how do you want to do this? Do you want to stay in the tub, or do you want to move somewhere else?”

“I’m staying.” Faye groaned, maneuvering herself to her knees with Henry’s help.

“You’re so close, darling.” Henry whispered, kissing her forehead adoringly, wincing slightly when her next contraction came, and her nails dug into his arm. “You’re doing so good.”

“Henry, I need you.” Faye hissed, desperate hands attempting to drag him into the tub with her. “Come here, please.” She pleaded, throwing her arms around his shoulders when he carefully lowered himself into the tub with her.

“I’m right here, darling. I’m right here.” Henry assured, rubbing her back softly, letting her lean into him as much as she wished. He paid no attention to the blood tinging the water or her nails digging into his shoulders. Instinct took over when Faye said she could feel the head coming. He reached between himself and his fiancé, gently cradling his son as he was pushed into the world.

“He’s here. He’s here.” Henry gasped after a final push, bringing the baby to his chest, quickly wrapping an arm around Faye’s shoulders to ease her back against the side of the tub.

“He’s here.” Faye breathed, a tired smile spreading across her face as Henry gently laid their son on her chest, peppering her forehead with adoring kisses and pushing her wet hair from her face.

“You did it, Faye.” Henry whispered, smiling down at the baby in her arms, his heart swelling with pride. She did that. His fiancé just brought a new life into the world. In that moment, he was simply blown away at just how strong she could be. It took almost all the mental focus he had remaining not to propose to her again, still crouching in the blood and goo filled water with her.

Reluctantly, Henry removed himself from the tub, taking a second to appreciate Faye’s demand of the oversized bathtub when they had renovated the bathroom. He was quick to rinse himself off in the other shower, throwing on dry sweats and returning to the bathroom where Faye was still gushing over their newest addition. The baby was handed to him while the midwife attended to his fiancé, draining the tub and gently rinsing away the sweat and mess clinging to her skin with a cool stream.

“He’s so tiny.” Henry whispered in awe, staring down at his minutes-old son.

“The hell he is!” Faye groaned, shooting him a look fit to kill.

“I think he agrees with you.” Henry grunted, his son’s chubby fist finding his chest hair and gripping it tightly, squirming his newly freed limbs the best he could in his tight swaddle.

“He’s only small compared to you.” The midwife compromised, Henry helping Faye step out of the tub with one arm, the other tightly cradling their son to his chest, hovering close as the midwife helped her to redress. “You have another child already, right? So, you know the bleeding is going to continue for a few weeks. Make sure you rest as much as you can. Now isn’t the time to be a hero. You’ve just gone through a lot; you need time to heal.”

“Can I have our son back now?” Faye asked, raising an amused brow at her already doting fiancé, who reluctantly handed the infant back to his mother.

“Rest, darling.” Henry reminded her, securing one arm around her rapidly deflated waist and holding her tight to his side, walking her back to their waiting bed, their son’s bassinet already pulled up close to her side.

“I wanna hold him a little more.” Faye pouted when Henry took the baby back, holding her hand to help her into bed the best he could.

“Lay down first. You’re getting shaky.”

“Then can I hold him?”

“I suppose, since you did just birth him an all.” Henry playfully sighed, handing off their son again and seating himself on the edge of the bed, content to just watch mother and child for the time being.

~*~

“Papa?” Briar yawned, shuffling into their room with her stuffed bunny in tow.

“Yes, princess?” Henry mumbled, already half asleep after changing his son and passing him back to his mother for a midnight feeding.

“He too noisy. Can you tell baby brother to be quiet? I can’t sleep.”

“You heard her, Liam. No more screaming in the middle of the night. You need to use your inside crying after 9pm.” Henry informed his young son, the only reply being his son’s usual cooing grunt as he continued to nurse.

“Sorry, Briar. He’s still little, he needs a lot of attention right now.”

“I like attention too.” Briar pouted, stubbornly climbing into their bed and perching herself on Henry’s stomach as she watched her mother.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” Faye sighed, fighting the tears welling in her eyes.

“How about Mummy takes you to the park for a little bit tomorrow?” Henry suggested

“Liam is too little to be bringing out to a playground, Hen.” Faye pointed out, relatching the child when he stopped to stare at her nursing bra in confusion.

“So feed him right before you go, and again when you get home. You need a break from baby duty, babe.” Henry suggested, shifting Briar off his stomach to sit next to him instead.

“I wanna go, Mommy!” Briar whined, looking up at her mother hopefully.

“What if he gets hungry while I’m gone?”

“I know damn well you have extra in the fridge. It’s a bit of a surprise when you add some of that into your coffee in the morning by mistake, by the way.”

“So that’s why I was missing some.”

“I thought it was that ‘fancy’ cream you get from the farmer’s market. I was wrong.”

“It was in the same bottle, though.”

“You little…” Henry grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows to glare at her properly. “Why would you refill a container with milk that looks startlingly similar to what was in it in the first place? You set me up for failure!”

“Mommy, I sleep with you tonight?” Briar asked hopefully, blissfully ignorant to her parent’s playful discussion.

“No, baby. You’re not going to get any sleep in here with us. Baby brother wakes up too much at night.” Faye explained, glancing hopefully at Henry. Understanding what she was trying to tell him, Henry snatched the little girl up and rolled out of bed, smiling at her excited squealing as he carried her down the hall under his arm surfboard style.

“Do you want me to turn on your Baby Shark music?” Henry asked once she had been replaced in bed, Kal lazily licking at her ear when she rejoined him. He didn’t bother even waiting for an answer before flipping through her tablet, pulling up the hour long loop they usually played for her at bedtime.

“Kal wants ice cream.” Briar informed him, batting her lashes up at her father figure hopefully.

“Kal knows he can’t have ice cream. It’s too hard on his stomach.” Henry yawned, looking suspiciously at the canine.

“No, he wants it for me, silly.” Briar giggled.

“You know the rules, princess.” Henry sighed, brushing her hair from her face softly. “Now get some rest. We all love you.”

~*~

“Did we wait long enough? Do I still look like a slob?” Faye fretted, turning this way and that, her eyes fixed on her lower stomach, trying to see if it still protruded further than she wanted.

“Faye, relax. You look amazing.” Her sister assured, turning her away from the mirror. Briar was happily running in circles with her little flower basket, all too excited to be involved in the affair. Her twin sister was in a beautiful, blue floor length bridesmaid dress, her younger sister in a matching shorter dress and her brother struggling with the matching tie.

“Are you ready to marry?” Her mother asked her giddily, squeezing her daughter’s hand softly.

“I am. I really hope he is too.” Faye replied, stealing a glance at the closed door.

“Oh please, he was ready to marry you the first time he saw you.” Her brother scoffed, finally taming his tie into something passable. “You’ve been killing the poor guy making him wait this long.”

“I didn’t want to get married while I was pregnant.”

“I really don’t think he would have cared.” Her youngest sister pointed out. “He seems pretty convinced the sun shines out of your ass.”

“Hear that, Delilah?” Her brother jumped in, setting his teasing eyes on his sister. “Get you a man that looks at you the way Henry looks at her.”

“It’s the same way you look at pizza.” Their sister added.

“I’ll find someone when I want to.” Delilah grumbled, shooting her younger siblings a glare out of the corner of her eye.

It took the effort of three people to hold Briar back once the music started, all desperately explaining that she was going to be almost last to go. Once the time came, she threw all her flower petals on the ground at the start of the runner and then sprinted down to the other end while laughing wildly. It was deemed that was close enough and it was finally Faye’s turn to walk the aisle.

Her father’s arm was a steady, comforting constant, something she desperately needed in that moment. She could swear she saw a small tear forming in the corner of her husband-to-be’s eye, but mostly his face was one of proud surprise.

Niki was elected to hold the ‘ring bearer’ the baby happily drooling all over the ring box he was allegedly in charge of. The photographer went nuts with pictures when Henry gently pried the box from his son’s chubby fist, removing the ring from inside and handing him the box back to chew on.

The couple stared into each other’s eyes, everything else melting away in that moment as they both closed a chapter in their lives, only to begin a brand new one they hoped would be filled with adventure with two simple words.

“I do.”

Tags: @weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay @packerfan43

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #guys like you #guys like you fic

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chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (8) || atz

“Shit.”

It takes you a few seconds to register the words leaving Seonghwa’s mouth, but before you can even think about what you should do, the pair spring into action.

Yeosang downs his captain’s noodles in a single gulp, tosses the bowl aside and grabs you by the forearm, hauling you up the stairs the main deck, Seonghwa’s footsteps thundering behind you.

The god awful sound of the bell is still ringing in your ears, but it’s nothing compared to the chaos of the main deck. Pirates sprint back and forth, powder monkeys dashing to and fro carrying bags of gunpowder. You watch as the pirates at the gunwales move like the cogs of a well oiled machine, cleaning the long barrels of the cannons with a dry rammer, before charging them with bags of gunpowder. Other pirates start arming themselves with weapons and donning armour, putting out the torches on the main deck and plunging the entire ship into darkness.

But you already see it.

It must have slipped here, under the cover of night, a massive three masted frigate that almost towers above the Treasure. With snowy white sails and the royal emblem of the Crown, a single red rose, painted on its main sail, there is no doubt to you what this is.

A Royal Navy ship.

You turn to Seonghwa in horror, but you can barely make out his face in the pitch darkness, the only light coming from the half moon in the sky. Yeosang’s hand is still gripping yours tight, but otherwise from that, he is merely a dark shape silhouetted against the night.

Terror almost consumes you whole.

“Hyung, what do I-” You try to ask Yeosang, but the navigator shushes you urgently, pressing his lips against your ear. You can feel his heart pounding against your arm as he whispers to you in sharp, calm tone.

“Don’t make a sound. When it starts, I want you to run for the sickbay. San won’t be there, but don’t worry about him, he’s just getting to the wounded. Bolt the door and don’t open it till San comes back for you. If the enemy breaks down the door, don’t fight back. You don’t have the experience yet.”

You nod, your breaths coming out in near hysterical pants. The Royal Navy is here. They’re armed with cannons. They’re going to kill you, and probably destroy the whole ship too. They’ve already hit the ship. By now, water must be pouring into the bilge and in a matter of minutes the ship is going to sink-

Seonghwa envelops you in a tight hug.

“Don’t worry.” His voice is comforting, soft and gentle in contrast to the way your mind is screaming at you to escape somehow, to bolt before the Navy can fire the next cannon. You want to ask him how on earth he wants you to not worry, but then he strokes you on the head like he does after your cooking lessons for a job well done and the screaming in your mind fades to white noise. “We have Hongjoong’s blessing on our side. Trust us.”

You try to say something, but it comes out as a choked whimper. Your hands are trembling, but Yeosang squeezes them gently. You clear your throat and try again.

“What about the two of you?” You manage against the dry sobs. “What are you going to-”

“Fire!” Mingi’s voice rings out across the silence of the night.

This time, you almost forget to clap your hands over your ears again and all at once, a series of cracks threaten to split your eardrums and from the right the sound of wood splintering like twigs rings across the sea, acrid smoke filling your lungs. Coughing furiously, you barely hear Yeosang shouting for you to run over the screams of agony from the enemy ship which you realize is already a looming shape in front of you, his hand ripping apart from yours.

You try to reach for him, but he’s gone.

You’re completely alone.

“Starboard battery, fire!”

The entire ship rocks to one side as the iron projectiles smash into the side of the Treasure. There’s the sound of wood smashing, the cries of the wounded filling the air, and the smell of gunpowder forcing violent coughs from your lungs and your eyes to water. You stumble forward almost blindly with your hands in front of you, feeling the deck of the ship pitching and rolling violently beneath your feet as you rush to the sickbay.

You’re almost there when disaster strikes.

All of a sudden, the ship heels to the left and your fingers slip from the latch, you’re thrown violently across the deck only to smash into the barrels kept at the port side of the ship.

Something whistles above your head and by some form of sheer dumb luck you dive to the ground, rolling to the side as the barrels you have been crouching behind burst into splinters. Your hands instinctively fly up to protect your face, but the flying wood chips tear into the material of your shirt and graze your skin.

You can’t help yourself from looking back at the wreckage. There are two iron balls, connected by a thick chain lying amidst destroyed barrels and some shredded rope. Your heart pounds like you’ve just run thousands of miles. You can only gulp at what would have happened if you had been a fraction too slow.

“Hold tight, they’re about to hit us!” You hear Mingi scream over the chaos and you turn to stare at the rapidly approaching ship in horror. Then the quartermaster’s words finally register in your head and you’re diving for one of ropes of the mizzen mast’s rigging before you can even think about what you’re doing.

And not a second too late, because the moment your hands clamp around the rope in a vice grip, there is a grating sound of wood against wood that makes your very bones shudder, the entire ship groaning as the Royal Navy ship pulls up along the starboard. You’re thrown literally head over heels by the insane force, rolling over the ground of the main deck. For a moment, you’re straining against the rope as your fingers desperately try to hold on.

There’s screaming all around you, and then the ship tilts back the same way it came from, back towards the starboard, and you’re sent tumbling back across the deck once more like a limp rag doll. Every inch of your body shrieks in protest at the repeated battering and bruising, but then the rope lengthens and you find yourself very nearly thrown over the gunwales of the ship.

Then you scream. Very loudly. Because the upper half of your body is dangling over the bulwarks and your grip on the rope is slipping.

Beneath you is the inky black, bottomless expanse of the ocean. Once you fall in, it will consume you like it has so many others, slowly depriving you of the air you breathe until you finally give up, sinking to the bottom of the seabed where crabs climb over your dead and bloated corpse and pick at your lifeless eyes.

Then you see the crew of the Royal Navy ship on small skiffs and boats, armed to the teeth with muskets and sabers and grappling hooks.

One of them spots you and raises his gun.

Your heart drops in your chest as he prepares to fire.

Someone’s hand grabs you by the back of your collar and roughly yanks you back onto the deck as the wooden railing in front of you splinters from the musket ball, right where your head had been.

You turn to stare at your savior in wide eyed horror, your breaths coming out in ragged pants as you desperately try to recover from your near death experience. To your shock, it’s the younger battlemaster from earlier this day, Jongho, primed musket in hand. He gives you a questioning look and raises the firearm to point right in your face.

“Wait-” You panic but then he shoots to the left of your head, and you whip around to see a Navy officer who had been climbing over the bulwarks fall backwards with a bullet in his head. The maknae curses and draws his cutlass, shearing through the grappling hook and you hear the scream of another officer who had been climbing the rope as he plunges into the sea, never to be seen again.

“What are you doing here?” He snaps at you, as he primes his musket again, eyes locked on the enemy ship looming behind you. There’s another round of booming cannon fire and you almost shriek in alarm once more, getting ready to dive to the ground, but then you hear the screams of agony from the crew on the deck of the enemy ship.

“Grapeshot.” Jongho mutters under his breath as he holsters his musket in his belt, eyes scanning the complete mayhem around you. You don’t know what the word means. “Good job, Wooyoung-ssi.” Then he turns back to you, a hard glare on his face.

“Shouldn’t you be in the sickbay or something? How did you end up at the main mast?”

Main mast?

You glance around in shock. In the confusion and pandemonium, you’ve somehow ended up further from the sickbay than where you started. You open your mouth to reply, but your words are cut off by screaming from the stern area.

“They’ve boarded us!”

Jongho spits out another curse, grabbing a knife from his belt and sending it flying at an officer that had been aiming his rifle at you in one smooth motion. Your hands fly to your mouth and you watch with wide eyes as blood spurts from his neck, his knees buckling beneath him and his body falling to the ground with a soft thump.

You force the bile in your throat down at the sight.

The young battlemaster glances between you and the stern, where the fighting is taking place. More and more Navy soldiers have started to board and they’ve organised themselves into a wedge formation, defending the grappling hooks so more of their fellows can join them.

Grinding his teeth, he turns to the bow, only to watch the fabric of the top mainsail get shredded by a bar shot and the resulting splinters fly everywhere, showering the deck in a deadly hail. Nowhere is safe, especially not for a tiny slip of a thing like you.

Then he makes up his mind and shoves a musket into your hands. “Here.” Drawing the dagger that Yunho had given you that morning from your belt and thrusting it at you, he grabs you by the hand and yanks you forward by the wrist towards the stern. “Stay behind me and don’t get in the way.”

You open your mouth to question what exactly he intends for you to do with the musket, since you have no idea how to use it, but then the two of you are in the thick of fighting and you don’t have the brain capacity to form words anymore.

Jongho keeps one hand around your wrist as he pulls you forward through pandemonium of the main deck. Swords flash from every direction and the air is sour with smoke from the gunpowder. For a moment, you wonder if you’re going deaf from the repeated pounding of cannon shot.

Suddenly, a Navy soldier looms out of the darkness in front of you, blade drawn. You barely have time to scream and duck before Jongho jerks you to the side by the arm, his own cutlass curving down in a deadly arc, splitting the man from shoulder to hip. Your eyes and mouth close on reflex as still warm blood splatters across your face and front, but you have no time to panic as Jongho continues moving aft once more. The coppery tang of blood fills your mouth and you wipe the blood from your face, only to nearly gouge your own eyes out with the dagger you’re holding as the Treasure suddenly heels, the bow turning away from the enemy ship.

You spit the blood from your mouth.

“What’s going on-”

“Hongjoong-hyung’s trying to move away from the enemy ship so we can fire explosives instead of resorting to hand to hand combat.” Jongho grunts, flicking the blood from his sword. “I need to get you to the sickbay before I help the crew out, so get moving.”

The threatening tone in his voice kind of terrifies you.

The two of you continue your mad dash, ducking beneath swinging axes and gunfire. It reminds you of your run from the harbor, except this time the ground is rocking back and forth under your feet. And if you thought Jongho was talented, you had obviously never seen talent before, because the young battlemaster fights like an actual demon.

Somehow, with one arm on you, he still mows through the soldiers like a battering ram, scattering enemy left and right. His cutlass dances a deadly tango, flickering like a snake’s tongue, darting in and striking through his opponent’s guard. You’re left in awe of his skill, but he doesn’t really give you much time to appreciate it

.After what seems like an eternity later, you finally reach the stern. Huffing from the exertion, your fingers fumble with doorknob and to your immense relief, the door swings open. For a moment, you panic when you see that San isn’t there, but then the ship suddenly lurches to the side once more and you’re thrown against the door frame violently.

Your fingers slip over the trigger and the deafening sound of a musket shot echoes in your ears.

Your head whips backwards in horror, only to find the lead shot embedded in the chest of a Navy soldier who’d been engaged in a fight with Jongho. The man crumples to the ground, a pool of red spreading beneath his body, but then you see the blood seeping from Jongho’s shoulder where your bullet has grazed him.

The maknae turns to give you a deadly stare.

“I’m so sorry.” You gulp, honestly starting to fear for your life.

“You troublesome-” Jongho begins, but you never get to hear what he was saying as Mingi’s shout tears through the bedlam on board. “We’re pulling away! Clear the deck! Starboard battery, switch to explosives!”

When you glance back at the starboard, the Royal Navy ship has indeed gotten further, much to the relief sagging in your chest. Captain must have managed to outrun the enemy.

You see Yunho rally a team of pirates and they bear down on the soldiers in a pincer formation, forcing them overboard. Other officers, seeing their advantage rapidly being lost, throw themselves over the side rather than face the tall warrior in a berserker’s rage.

“Starboard battery, fire!”

The deck of the Royal Navy ship is bombarded with shot that burst into flames the moment they make contact with the wood. But a single cannon ball slams into the hull right above the waterline, punching a hole in the side of the ship.

Your mouth falls open. That’s where the storage hold of the ship is, where the stocks of gunpowder are kept.

Then the ship is engulfed in flame, a mass of burning wreckage in the distance as the Treasure pulls away, leaving the sinking ship and its dying crew in its wake.

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when-will-they-interact · 3 years

Text

Day 4: Alternate Universe

Virgil wasn’t cut out to be a prince. The playing nice with dignitaries, the speeches, the political maneuvering, the entertaining of rich suitors, none of it suited him. His dad was great at the politicking, his pa great with PR, his uncle with the drama and war, and his brother was a natural with people, so he had no idea why he was so bad at this. He was supposed to be meeting some powerful family’s brightest son today, and he still hadn’t cracked open the file on the guy. His mind on the impending disaster of a first meeting, Virgil spent the morning distracted and anxious.

“…and so your Pa and I are getting a divorce, I’m going to try breeding a sheep and a horse, we’re going to war with your uncle, and you’re expected to perform an opera at the next council meeting.”

“Sounds great, Dad.” The crown prince worried the hem of his shirt, clearly not having heard a word the king had just said.

“Virge? Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, Dad, I’m fine.”

“Really?” King Janus quirked an eyebrow at his eldest, slightly amused. “Because you didn’t hear a word I said.”

“Sure I did!” He was quick to defend himself, despite having been caught.

“You said it ‘sounds great’ that I’m going to divorce your Pa, breed a sheep and a horse, declare war on your uncle, and make you perform an opera at the next council meeting. You can lie better than that.”

“…oh.”

“So what is it that’s bothering you?”

“It’s just… the guy arriving today? The Berry’s pride and joy? I haven’t read his file yet, and I’ve got to give him the tour, and I just know I’m gonna screw it up, and I don’t think I’m cut out to be crown prince, and you and Pa are gonna have to disown me, and-“ the king’s hand on his arm cut him off.

“Hey, hey. Virgil, your Pa and I have no plans to disown you, I promise. You’re an amazing crown prince, and you’re going to do wonderfully with the tour.” Janus’ voice was soft and forceful all at once, brokering no argument. Still, Virgil couldn’t help but shrink under his gaze, thinking he was undeserving of the praise. Janus, sensing the hesitancy, decided to lighten it up a bit. “Besides, would I lie?”

Virgil snorted. “Dad, you’re famous for lying.”

“True. But would I lie about this?”

“….no.”

“That’s right. I’d never. Now I have to go listen to your uncle’s report, and you have to go give a tour. I’ll see you at dinner. I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it. Actually, can you wish me luck? You know how your uncle gets.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay Dad. Good luck with Uncle Roman.” With that, the two royals parted ways to attend to their various duties.

Virgil headed through the halls towards the massive entrance hall, confidence bolstered somewhat by his dad’s encouragement. Still, that bundle of nerves didn’t quite dissipate.

The entrance hall was crowded with bored courtiers who wanted a glimpse of the arrivals, leaving Virgil to (politely) shove his way through to the front. When he finally got there, however, he was so thrown he forgot about the people and the nerves. Instead, his gaze fixated on a familiar face, one that seemed both out of place and far too well suited for the castle.

“Lo?” His voice was incredulous, ringing out across the hall.

The nobleman’s eyes snapped to Virgil, widening infinitesimally. “Anx?”

Virgil moved towards him, unaware of the crowd parting before him. It was only the appearance of a guard behind Lo that snapped him back to reality. The guard was clad in Berry colors, and Virgil realized that the Berry noble and Lo were one and the same. He processed this information, then tilted his chin up and projected his voice.

“Guards, clear the hall.” The guards posted around the hall sprang into action, moving to funnel the court out of the hall as fast as possible. The smart ones were already heading out, the court gossips trying their level best to hang back. Virgil noted this, but never took his eyes off the Berry noble. He watched as Lo realized just who Virgil had to be in order to command the royal guards, and his mouth drop as he put it together. He watched the guards behind him realize that they’d moved to shield their lord from the crown prince, and watched as their faces drained of color. He watched one of his own guards push back an overly eager courtier. He didn’t move. He stood there, in a stance trained from years of learning to project “I’m the crown prince, don’t touch me”, and never looked away.

By the time the hall cleared, Lo had composed himself and clasped his hands behind him, clearly planning to face this head on. A guard leaned forward to tell him the hall was cleared. Virgil noted this with a slight nod, then turned his head a bit towards the commander of his personal guard.

“Leave us.”

“But your highness, we aren’t supp-“

“Leave us. I’ll handle my uncle. You lot, too.” The last bit was directed to the Berry guards, who rushed to comply.

There were a few more seconds of silent staring, then the last door to the entrance hall banged shut.

“So,” Virgil started, “You’re the Berry nobleman.”

“I am.”

“Hm.”

“You’re the crown prince.”

“I am.”

“Hm.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Virgil cracked a grin. Lo, tentatively, grinned back.

“It’s good to see you, Lo.”

“And you as well, highness.”

Virgil’s grin dampened a bit. “No highness, please. Just, just call me Virgil. Or Virge.”

“Virgil. I’m Logan.”

“Lo-gan,” Virgil tested the name out, and found it pleasant. “Suits you.”

“Virgil suits you. Far better than Anxiety, if I may be so bold.”

“Nothing ever stopped you before, Logic.”

“Yes, well, I also didn’t know just how wildly outranked I was before.”

And just like that, the brevity left the room. Not that there was much before, but the weight of the countless lies both must have told was suffocating now.

“I apologize, that was out of line.” Logan attempted to roll back the jab, a move that was both too late and contrary to his nature.

“No, no. You’re right. There’s a lot to talk about, isn’t there.” Virgil fidgeted, unsure of where to begin.

“In that case, why don’t we walk and talk.” Logan took the wheel of the situation, like he always did when Virgil was lost. It was one of the many reasons Virgil lo- no. That was clearly over.

“Yeah, okay. C’mon, I’ll show you the library.”

Logan lit up at the mention of the library, just as Virgil thought he would. Skies, he’d missed Logan. Virgil turned and headed out the hall, Logan keeping pace, neither one quite willing to begin the conversation. Five minutes of silent walking later, Virgil cracked.

“So, uh, I should probably start explaining. Uh, that was the year I was supposed to be, uh, questing. Y’know how the heir to the throne does that thing where we get assigned a magic quest by a musty box? Mine was to fetch a vial of water from the underworld. They gave me a whole year, but I, uh, I have a friend from the underworld, so truth was I got in and out of the place in two days. And then I just, I really wanted a break from being a prince for a year, so I just, well, took off. I ended up in Copper Forest, and you know the rest. So, uh, why were you in that cabin?”

“My story is actually fairly similar to the one I told. I was researching the community of nymphs in Copper Forest, but not for a book like I said. It was for a preservation project my family was trying to push in court. It passed, by the way.”

“I remember that one! I campaigned for that one because it reminded me of you.”

“Thank you.”

By now they had reached the library. Virgil smiled at Logan before throwing open the double doors as dramatically as possible. He watched as wonder took over the other man, lighting up his face entirely.

“Go on.” Virgil prompted, knowing Logan was barely restraining himself in the name of courtesy.

Logan rushed into the library, heading straight for the shelves. Virgil watched fondly, remembering the first time he’d bought a book for Logan. He thought back to the days they’d spent in that cabin, how simple and beautiful life had been for that one brief year. He remembered falling in love, he remembered what it was like to be able to come back from a small outing and lean in for a kiss, to go to the market and bring back some trinket that he’d thought Lo would like. He remembered it all, and he mourned it. Looking at Logan browsing the shelves like a kid in a candy store, he thought that it would never be the way it was before. And then Logan turned to him, smile bright as the sun, waving him over to show him a book, and he thought, maybe it doesn’t have to be.

They had miles to go to rebuild their trust, they had so much to discuss to get to really know each other, they had a much more complex world to navigate, but looking at that grin, Virgil thought that it would all be worth it.

#this is. longer than i planned #also it's much more cheerful than yesterday's #not countdown #analogical #analogicalweek #janus sanders #my writing #i don't think there's anything i need to trigger tag but tell me if i missed it

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therewasatale · 3 years

Text

Instinct

On Ao3.

That was not the plan. They both knew that this should not have been happened.

The fire had already engulfed almost everything and spread throughout the house. The roof was turned into a searing hot crimson carpet, moments away from collapsing.

"Anderson!" Alucard looked around anxiously. His crimson eyes almost glowed as he tried to find man's trail. "Where are you, you damned priest?!" He hurried from the bedroom to an adjoining room. One of the windows crackled and the glass exploded from the heat.

"Anderson!"

He needed a couple of seconds to realized that he had to calm down if he wanted to find the priest. As much as he could, he began to focus on the noises and sounds around him.

Then he heard it. As the heat crackled and popped, there was someone's cough and angry grunts mixed in with it. The sound could probably come from somewhere downstairs.

Alucard looked down and decided to take the fastest way.

With his weapons, he simply began shooting the already weakened floor and fell down to the lower level as pieces of debris accompanied him. He followed the sounds into the kitchen as quickly as he could, from there through a door down he hurried down to the basement. He paused for just a moment as a large plume of smoke erupted from below, right into his face. Something cracked down there. The flames had already reached the basement too.

"Anderson!"

"Here…" the response was stifled by a strong cough. The priest seemed to have fought for every single breath.

Alucard ran down the dilapidated stairway, which collapsed after his footsteps. He found Anderson almost immediately. The iscariot was trying to free himself from being trapped under a two-doored closet. But he was completely stuck.

Their eyes met for a moment.

He wouldn't die, Alucard was aware of that. Maybe he would fry black, and his lungs would fill with smoke, but his healing ability would drag him back to life. And within a few hours, the iscariots would dig him out from the rubble.

Anderson gave out big, labored breaths, coughing, his eyes became dull for a second.

He wouldn't die, but he would feel the smoke suffocating him, and the fire eating into his body again and again…

The vampire's hands trembled.

"God damn it!" Quickly he put away his guns.

He grabbed the edge of the closet and only had to strain a little to raise it up. It was then that he saw the bear trap which caught Anderson's now utterly broken leg.

"There!"

Alucard followed the man's gaze.

As he picked up the bayonet, the blade began to burn his hand.

"Cut it off!"

Anderson bit his lips.

Alucard hesitated for only a second.

A clean cut slashed off the injured leg, leaving a bloody stump behind.

The pain flashed through Anderson's whole body making him wince. A sharp yell escaped from his throat, but he still remained conscious. He had to gather all his strength to at least try to push himself to one leg, he started by turning onto his stomach. From the smoke his eyes burned and his entire left side throbbed with searing pain, but that was nothing compared to the heat that slowly constricted around them.

Two hands grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up. Then an arm closed around him, holding him steady on his one remaining leg.

He opened his mouth trying to protest, but the vampire was faster.

"You can kill me later, let's get out now!"

The father nodded weakly.

"To hell with it." Alucard held the man closer. Shielding him from the inferno the best he could. He leapt up to the ground floor, and from there he hurried to the nearest window. Something must have fallen behind him because he could feel the heat on his back, but he was just watching straight ahead. He threw himself out the window, dragging the priest with him.

"Damn..." they weren't safe just yet. The main beams of the house signaled the end of their fight against the heat with a loud crack.

"Let's get out of here, Father." Putting his arm around Anderson's shoulder again he jumped away from the house as fast as he could. The man's head was drooping down, but he was still conscious.

"Alright, maybe here." Alucard carefully laid him down at the trunk of a thicker willow tree, and with a heavy sight he leaned against it next to him. Both of them need to took a few deep breaths.

The house to which they were both sent was built beside a river. It looked like an ordinary abandoned vacation house at first glance. Now, in the glistening mirror of the water, the flames consuming the house illuminated the trees growing on the bank.

In addition to the crackling of the fire, a new, dull rumbling could be heard.

It was evening, but as the vampire looked up through the crown of the trees, he could only see the thick layer of clouds. The smoke rising from the burning house mixed up in it. A lightning bolt crisscrossed through the clouds, then the angry rumble was audible again.

"Great…"

The rain swept down without warning.

The branches of trees rattled in the icy wind. Leaves got torn off and danced in the air as thousands of raindrops began to blanket the area. It was impossible to decide where the river ended and where the sky began.

Anderson took a few slow breaths. His eyes were just throbbing instead of burning and his smaller injuries were starting to knit themselves together, but his leg was still bleeding. He needed time, and for once he would have given everything for a couple painkillers. With a big sigh, he threw his head against the tree and closed his eyes.

"Hey, don't say that a little fire and a missing limb is enough to kill you?" Alucard had almost managed to hide the concern in his voice.

"Silence." The answer came after a couple of seconds which seemed hours for the vampire.

"Good."

They watched in silence as the rain and raging fire fought for dominance. The tongues of flame burst into the sky again and again, but from the few corners of the house Alucard could already hear that characteristic hiss as the onrushing water started to extinguish the fire.

"I thought it would have collapsed by now. We might have had time to take out the-"

The roof of the house buckled in, then with a huge crack and a loud snap could be heard, the top floor also fallen on the ground floor.

"Never mind."

Then the crackling of fire, and the pattering of rain was the only sound that remained.

Father Anderson took in a deep breath of ice-cold air. His lungs slowly cleared and the burns finally healed. Even the gunshot wounds stopped throbbing in his side. Only the pain from his legs refused to subside.

He gripped in his trouser leg with one hand. He just had to wait.

Over the years, he has learned that pain is always temporary, no matter how unbearable it may seem at that time. When they were testing the effectiveness of his healing ability, and even more so its limits, he had to endure much more serious wounds and for longer time.

There were two things, however, that he could not ignore. He wished his body would stop trembling. Even he felt the exhaustion, the aches, and cold gusts of wind. He tried to sit still, but his body shuddered betraying him.

Alucard watched the man tremble beside him out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." A weak murmur was the answer. If he had not worn his gloves, his fingers would have become numb by now from the cold. "It just needs some times…to grow back."

Alucard looked over him and watched in silence for a few moments. Then he glanced down at himself.

"Alright, move."

"What?" Anderson glanced blankly at the vampire's hand as it gently touched his shoulder and then tilted him slightly forward. Finally, a red coat fell on his back, covering his body. "I didn't ask for your pity."

"I wouldn’t have given it because of pity." Alucard shrugged and sat back beside him only in his black suit but didn't look at the priest.

Anderson blew out an angry sigh. He couldn't decide what was worse; that the vampire had helped him out of pity, that his help really did stopped his shivering, or the fact — and what he thought was most unbearable — he felt grateful for the damn bloodsucker.

"I didn't think they would be equipped like a small army."

Anderson snorted. "Someone must have told them we were coming."

"Hellsing only knew of a few odd occurrences. People missing in the area, two weird strangers lurking in the woods most every evening." He glanced at the man's slowly re-growing leg. "But according to this, the Vatican had no idea about the situation either."

Anderson shook his head in response.

"Hm," the vampire rubbed his face and grinned. "Then we're dealing with something interesting here."

Anderson snorted again, and his body twinged in pain. For now, it would be better if he stopped being jumpy.

They both watched the rain and the burning house again. The flames began to lose the fight against the rain. It was a miracle how well the willow tree's crown protected them from the rain.

Anderson hid himself into the red material even more. "I would have been able to get out" there was a pause. "Sooner or later."

"I would say later, and maybe your kids would have had to dig you out."

"That damnable vampire lured me into that trap and then he rushed me."

Alucard glanced at Anderson. "Did it slip out of your hands?"

Not even the rain could suppress the priests affronted snort.

"I tore out his heart," he glared down at his injured leg. "But by then everything was aflame. Where did the fire start at all?"

"Upstairs. Several cans of diesel were hidden everywhere in the house, and I think they were connected with some kind of ignition device."

"Did you not smell the diesel?" Anderson glared at him.

"I did." Alucard grinned. "I just didn't care. I was wondering what they were up to. Two old vampires versus a priest and an old vampire."

"Well, not much remained of them."

"Mh, I'm just disappointed I haven’t managed to bite one. He must have had some interesting memories." The vampire leaned back and sighed.

"And now what?"

"And now we wait."

The father glanced towards him again.

"I thought you can move through the shadows."

"I can."

"Then why are you still here?" He muttered again as he gazed at the remains of the burning house.

Alucard shrugged slightly. He had been thinking about the same thing for the last few minutes.

"The reason is same as that why I helped you. I'm a genuine monster who only listens to his instincts and his own head, and other similar things Integra always say." He moved his hand in the air. "My instincts told me to pull you out, and now they are telling me to stay here."

The vampire tried to suppress the small voice within himself, which only subtly whispered that he had not completely followed his instincts for the past hour or so. Huffing softly, he buried his fingers into his dark hair.

Anderson listened quietly then just sighed.

"Do what you want, but my students will arrive soon. Don't you dare to hurt them."

Their eyes met.

"I won't, I promise."

Anderson blinked in surprised when he saw the softness in the vampire's eyes.

Alucard turned his gaze towards the house once again. "But for now, I think you should rather rest."

The priest rubbed his face into his hand. He was blushing. There were more and more thoughts charging around in his head, but for once, and this he himself hardly believed it, he listened to the vampire. He slowly relaxed his shoulders and slightly rubbed his thigh as a pang of pain ran down his legs.

The two of them watched as the fire slowly fizzled out, then they listened to the noises of the rain in complete darkness.

#hellsing #hellsing fanfiction #alucard #father anderson #alexander anderson #alucard fanfiction #alucard hellsing #alucard x anderson #copper

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onfreckledwings · 3 years

Text

hoping you’ll see (what your love means to me)

15x20 fix-it songfic. shameless feel-good fluff. because our babies deserved the world.

When Dean dies on a Thursday in November, Cas is there to welcome him at the proverbial pearly gates. Sort of.

He can’t really even call it a gate. It’s blue skies, sloping mountains, pine trees, and open fields. The sun shines more brilliantly and warmer here.

The air breathes cleaner; the breeze is cool and languid.

He doesn’t realize he’d been walking until he comes to a stop, dirt swirling around his legs. Nothing hurt: not his hip, not his knees, his back, or chest.

Nothing.

“Well at least I made it to Heaven,” Dean murmurs to himself. In the next moment, Harvelle’s appears a few yards away.

“No way.”

He walks the short distance before standing in front of the bar, and he’s smiling so wide and he can feel his laugh lines on his cheeks and the crinkles of his eyes.

Harvelle’s Roadhouse

The same neon lights in the windows, the same sign. Everything is exactly the same.

“Hell yeah,” and then he’s walking up the porch and has a palm on the door before he stills.

Dean shuts his eyes briefly before opening them with a silent chuckle. He knows who’s there. Even before he turns his head.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns around to see Castiel standing a few yards away.

He feels his face cracking from smiling so wide, and he feels his eyes stinging with tears behind them. He faces Cas fully now, hands shoved into his pockets, and begins to walk towards him.

He ducks his head, almost shy, and glances up at him through his eyelashes. “Castiel,” he greets with pressed lips, eyes gleaming.

Heaven is strange, he thinks. He feels no sense of unease here. No nerves, no jitters. He only feels contentment. Peace. Joy.

Cas tilts his head in that fucking adorable way he does, and Dean can feel something behind his ribs melt. He stops when they are a few inches apart.

Cas’s eyes are bluer than Dean has ever seen them. Moss green and ethereal blue.

Sky and Earth.

The wind gusts gently around them. The blades of grass dance.

Cas lifts a hand and places it on Dean’s left shoulder. Cas’s shoulder. Dean smiles a small, watery thing.

“Are you...real? How-” and Dean trails off. He somehow already knows the answer. Cas squeezes his shoulder and smiles.

“Yes. It’s me.”

Dean’s eyes well up and his nose starts to tickle. He looks up to the sky and wets his lips in that way he does to hold tears at bay, before meeting blue again.

Dean reaches between them and grips Cas’s always-crooked tie. Cas looks confused at first, maybe even a little scared. But when Dean’s free hand comes to cradle the side of Cas’s neck and lets his fingers brush the strands of thick hair at its nape, Cas’s face smooths out and he stands a little taller.

One lone tear breaks free from the corner of Dean’s eye, and Cas’s thumb is there to catch it as he sweeps it over his cheekbone before cupping his jaw.

Dean tugs him close before snaking his arms around Cas’s waist under his trench coat and hugs him close, face buried in the angel’s shoulder. He melts when Cas envelopes him, cheek resting against his crown, hands rubbing soothing patterns against Dean’s back.

“You’re early,” Castiel whispers.

Dean gives a small chuckle. “Yeah, well...I’m a dumbass.” And then he’s inhaling slow and deep against Cas’s skin. Cas smells like sweet summer rain, the crisp air of fall.

He smells like Cas.

“And I missed you,” he murmurs against the warm swath of exposed skin on the angel’s neck before pressing a feather-light kiss there.

Cas seems to melt at the contact and grips Dean tighter. Dean feels fingers card through the short strands of his hair and Cas’s other hand comes up to cup the back of Dean’s head.

“I missed you too.”

Something occurs to Dean then, and he lifts his head to meet Cas’s eyes. His hands travel up Cas’s arms until they rest on his shoulders.

“Hang on...how did you get out? How did you get here?”

Cas simply smiles and gives Dean a knowing look. “Jack may have had something to do with it.”

Dean unfurls a bark of laughter from his chest before grasping that tie again.

“That’s our boy.”

Cas smiles again, and Dean thinks he’ll never ever tire of seeing it.

His eyes flit between Cas’s and his lips and back again, and he flattens his free palm on Cas’s chest, just over where his heart would be.

“Cas,” he begins, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “about what you said..before you left-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Dean,” Cas offers quietly. “I don’t expect-”

“Well that’s good,” he cuts Cas off, “‘cause I wasn’t really plannin’ on talkin’. I’m shit with words.”

Cas blinks quizzically. “Wha-” but he trails off when Dean grazes the stubble of his cheeks with the soft pads of his thumbs.

Dean starts to tremble slightly when he cups either side of Cas’s jaw again.

He dives in.

Their mouths slot together perfectly; Cas’s is warm and soft and pliant, and Dean brushes his tongue against the crease of Cas’s lips, and Cas lets him in.

Dean knows then that he’s in Heaven.

Everyone’s here.

Dean’s eyes scan the entire barroom from the table where he and Cas sit: at the bar, there’s Ellen, Jo, Ash, Bobby, and Karen discussing their hunting glory days. Charlie and Kevin are huddled with their laptops at one of the booths (because there’s WiFi in Heaven, apparently), and are probably discussing the latest sci-fi series or some other nerdy thing.

John and Mary are sitting at one of the candle-lit tables, holding hands and murmuring in each other’s ears that is always met with soft laughter.

Rufus is there too with Aretha at one end of the bar, Johnnie Walker Blue in hand. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man smile the way he is right now, so earnest and genuine.

Missouri and Pamela sit at the table nearest to Dean and Cas, talking about when Pamela séance’d Cas after Dean was rescued from Hell.

“I think he was just trying to show off in front of his boyfriend,” Pamela teases with a laugh as Missouri drops her face in one hand.

“Good Lord,” she marvels. “Some first impression there, Castiel. Burning out a woman’s eyes? Oh!”

Cas ducks his head. “It was an accident, I assure you,” and Dean can’t help but feel a little bad for the guy.

Pamela pats Cas on the back. “All in the past, sweetie. No harm done. Well, no permanent damage anyway,” and then tilts her head back in laughter. Dean can’t help but snicker.

Everything is fucking perfect.

Contentedness blooms in his belly, warming his insides until he feels like his body is humming. Everybody he has ever loved and lost in one room.

Sam, Eileen, and the others will be along, Bobby had said. And he feels complete peace knowing that Sam is in good hands, and that they will take care of each other until their times come.

Dean sits back in his chair, glass of wine in hand. They’re a bottle and a half in, celebrating Dean’s arrival, and his head is buzzing in the best possible way.

He glances at Cas from across the table through his eyelashes.

His trench coat, suit jacket, and tie are all draped on the backrest of the chair, because we gotta get you out of this holy tax accountant get up, man, and if he’s honest, Dean wants to feast his eyes a little.

Cas’s white shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, and Dean’s mouth goes a little dry at the naked dip of his collar bone. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Dean marvels at the ripples of muscle and bone in the angel’s forearms, his fingers itching to touch.

Dean smiles. His cheeks are warm, and something curious blossoms behind his ribs.

“Dean?”

He snaps out of his trance and meets Cas’s eyes. “Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes that he’s been caught staring.

Dean smirks. “Mhm. Jus’ enjoyin’ the view.”

Dean almost dies (again) when Cas blushes and ducks his chin with a roll of his eyes.

Yeah, he can get used to this.

The jukebox in the corner starts playing a new song, and Dean straightens in his chair with a wild grin.

“Oh hell yes,” he shouts with a slap to the table, wine bottles and glasses clattering. “I love this song. C’mon Cas, you’re dancin’ with me.” He stands and reaches for Cas with an outstretched hand.

Horror flashes across the angel’s face. “Dean, no. I’m a terrible dancer. I couldn’t-”

“Well, that makes two of us then” he says and grabs Cas’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “Come on. My ‘got-dead’ party, my rules.”

Cas groans and throws his head back with a grimace as he lets Dean guide him to the dance floor. “‘Got-dead’ party? Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, shhh,” Dean smirks as he turns to face Cas. “Here, lemme lead.”

Dean clasps Cas’s hand with his own and draws them to his chest, his other hand wrapping around his waist coming to rest on his back. Cas’s free arm mimics Dean’s.

Attached at the...everything.

Their mouths are inches apart, and Dean’s bowed legs go a little weak as he stares into Cas’s eyes. The lighting in the bar changes to ambient, almost candle-like glow.

Lying beside you, here in the dark,

Feeling your heartbeat with mine.

Softly you whisper, you're so sincere;

How could our love be so blind?

They sway somewhat in tune with the rhythm, but Dean’s a little wine drunk and accidentally steps on Cas’s toes. More than once.

“Sorry,” Dean giggles—giggles?— and lets all of his weight lean into Cas, who accepts it willingly. Dean’s lips press against his temple, and Cas hums appreciatively as Dean starts to sing low into Cas’s ear.

We sailed on together,

We drifted apart,

And here you are, by my side.

So now I come to you with open arms,

Nothing to hide, believe what I say.

So here I am, with open arms,

Hoping you'll see what your love means to me,

Open arms.

“‘s how I feel about you, you know,” Dean murmurs as he nuzzles the bolt of Castiel’s jaw. “I’m not good with words, but..,” Dean slurs and sucks a gentle kiss into his neck. “This could totally be our song.”

“Dean…” and Dean pulls back slightly at the crack in Cas’s voice. Tears spill over from those cobalt blues, and Dean’s thumbs are quick to catch them as he frames Cas’s face.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” he says through a smile, licking his lips. “You’ve got me. You always have. And I’ve got you, so…” he smiles and presses the softest of kisses to Castiel’s mouth before resting their foreheads together.

They never stop dancing.

Living without you, living alone,

This empty house seems so cold.

Wanting to hold you,

Wanting you near,

How much I wanted you home.

Now that you've come back,

Turned night into day,

I need you to stay.

“I love you,” Castiel says, and he brings their joint hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Dean’s knuckles.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and nods knowingly. It may be a little easier to accept love up here, but sometimes old habits die hard. Even in death.

“Me too,” he murmurs, and he wraps his free arm even tighter around the soft, curved line of Cas’s waist for emphasis.

So now I come to you with open arms,

Nothing to hide, believe what I say,

So here I am, with open arms;

Hoping you'll see what your love means to me,

Open arms.

As the song ends, Dean thinks maybe this could be his forever. Surrounded by family, both given and chosen; blissful in his angel’s arms. The love of his life. The one who has saved him more times than Dean can count. At utter peace knowing that Eileen will take good care of Sam, and he looks forward to the day when they can all be together once again.

Until then, he’ll take this. The life he’s always dreamed of but was too scared to hope for. A life of love, warmth, comfort, and peace.

A life after death.

And he’ll think, maybe, just maybe, he deserves it.

fin.

@blacklightguidesnic tortured me this morning and put this incredibly soft scene in my head. here you go ♥️

#destiel #I did a thing #15x20 #SPN fix it #supernatural #deancas #self reblog #fix-it fic #spn finale #spn coda #deancas coda

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timelordthirteen · 3 years

Text

In All Things 26/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: An invitation, a decision, and touch of regret.

Notes: Oh my gosh this got so long and there’s so much dialogue and uuuugghhh. Sorry. It was necessary I guess. Also idiots got all cute with each other and *hands*

[AO3]

Gold stared at the crown in the center of the wax seal, his thumb running back and forth over the thick, raised edge.

He knew what it was, particularly given the extra embellishment on the outside of the paper, and any other year it would have swiftly been tossed into the fireplace and forgotten, but this year he found himself in a different situation. The seal cracked easily, a few bits crumbling to the desk as he unfolded the letter. Inside was a card made of a heavier parchment and embossed in one corner with the sigil of the royal family. Across the card, in an elaborate calligraphy style writing, were the words... Lord & Lady Gold

He sat back in his chair, momentarily startled by the titles written together, much as the near daily realization that he was married did. Setting the card aside, he scanned the letter, noting the usual pleasantries and flowery phrasing. It was the expected invitation to the royal court’s New Year’s ball, an extravagant one night event, surrounded by some of the most tedious and disingenuous people he’d ever met. Still, Lady Ella would be there, and he supposed there would be other acquaintances of Belle’s that she might like to see. But a solstice celebration at Thornhill was a far cry from the royal court. Accepting the invitation would mean being seen in the most public way possible, at one of the largest events in the kingdom.

Then there was the small matter of the dance.

He rubbed at his leg idly, remembering the tight ache from a few days ago. The dance he’d shared with Belle had taken up residence in a corner of his mind, rather persistently. It kept coming to the forefront in the late hours, and he couldn’t sort out how he felt about it to put it to rest. There was a moment at the end, after he’d spun her around one last time, delighting in her bright smile, where they had been very close, and he could admit that for that brief instant he’d been almost spellbound. The thought of kissing her sprang to mind, shocking him, and had then been swiftly dismissed.

It was absurd for him to even consider. A beautiful woman in close proximity would naturally raise such ideas, if one's guard was let down, and he was only human. But that was simply not the way things were with Belle. Their marriage was becoming a strong, capable partnership, one where they were working together for the prosperity of two estates and all those who depended upon them. Romance, lust, too much wine, whatever that brief instant had been had no place in that plan. Never mind that Belle would likely be aghast at what he’d been thinking. She trusted him, and he couldn’t risk doing anything to disrupt that, certainly not something so silly and fleeting.

“What’s wrong?” came Jefferson’s voice.

Gold sighed and set the invitation down on the far side of the desk before looking up at his friend. “That.”

Jefferson frowned and picked up the page, his eyes jumping back and forth, getting wider as he skimmed it. “Well...”

“Hmm.” He sat back in his chair and motioned for Jefferson to sit. “That was my thought, or lack thereof, exactly.”

“Are you going to accept?”

Jefferson handed the invitation back, and Gold folded it closed. “I have not decided, but I should probably speak with Belle before I do. The palace may have become a dangerous place for us now that we’ve disrupted George’s plan to take Avonlea.”

Jefferson smirked. “Yes, I think your wife’s opinion on the matter would be interesting.”

He gave Jefferson a flat look and shook his head. “She likely wouldn’t want to go, and I can’t say I blame her.”

“Nor I,” Jefferson agreed. “There’s also the small matter of politics when one is at court. It’s a game I don’t imagine Belle would want to play.”

“Very true.” Then Gold sighed. “So, to what do I owe this visit from you in the middle of the afternoon?”

Jefferson suddenly looked deadly serious and sat forward in his chair. His voice was low as he spoke, as though he was afraid of being overheard. “On the heels of your little coup at Avonlea, I’m told that the King is attempting to subvert your victory by getting the council to take it away again.”

He made a face and then frowned. “Is it reliable?”

Jefferson nodded. “I believe so. Everything else I’ve received from this source has been, and they are very well placed with the royal court.”

Gold leaned his elbows on the desk as his eyes fixed on the invitation card for the New Year’s ball. “Belle will be the named heir to Avonlea now. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“But the King does not know that yet,” Jefferson said. “As far as he understands, the estate is yours by rights. Maurice signed it over, those were the papers were sent to the palace.”

He met Jefferson’s gaze and huffed. “That may be true, but the council would have to believe that it was done under some sort of false pretense, that Maurice was coerced or otherwise not in his right mind.”

Jefferson’s look was pointed. “Do you really believe it will be that hard for the King to convince them to agree with his proposal? Enough of them dislike you sufficiently to believe you are capable of willful deceit as it pertains to Maurice and Avonlea, whether or not it’s actually true.”

Gold scowled and made a begrudged, grumbling reply. He knew Jefferson was right. A number of the other nobles thought little of him, whether because of his past, or because of how he had helped George ascend to the throne. They were forced to treat him as an equal, though they clearly despised it, which he always used as a source of amusement. That the same derision with which they regarded him was now directed at Belle pained him, and further reinforced that he was nothing but a bastard for trapping her in a marriage.

“You’re right,” he said finally, nodding to Jefferson and sighing. “He would need Belle to support his petition to the council, and to support the claim that Maurice was forced to give up his land.”

“He probably believes she would if he promises to give Avonlea over to her heir.”

The words nearly startled Gold. Of course the King would make that sort of stipulation, it was the only way to ensure the misery of everyone involved, and the result that he desired which was Avonlea under royal control. Gold abruptly pushed to his feet, his fist thumping hard on the desk before he turned and stalked to the window. The cool draft off the glass was a welcome sensation on his face, and he knew it must be furiously red as dhis heart rate increased along with his anger. There would be no heir, and Belle would be forced to watch her home be given to whatever lord or lady prostrated themselves the most.

Jefferson came to stand beside him, his hands folded behind his back. “What do you want to do?”

“What I want to do, and what I should do, are very different things,” he said.

Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as he tried to calm himself. What he wanted to do was take George Spencer’s legs right out from under him with his cane, crown or no crown.

“Maybe...” Jefferson began, glancing sideways at Gold as he hesitated. “Maybe you should go to the ball.”

“What?” he snapped, turning to Jefferson. “You just agreed with me that it was a terrible idea to subject Belle to that viper’s pit, and now you’re suggesting I do exactly that?”

Jefferson smiled slightly. “Yes, I am, but what if - “

“Jefferson...”

“- what if...” he continued, ignoring Gold’s interruption, “you and Belle attended, and presented a very... united front? One that would imply the King would not have Belle’s approval for his proposal to the council.”

Gold looked out of the window at the snow heaped up over one of the planters as he pondered what Jefferson was suggesting. If the King got the impression that he and Belle were truly partners, that they were of one mind when it came to Avonlea, then it might be enough to thwart the entire effort for good. Without Belle to reinforce the assertion that Maurice was coerced into signing over his estate, the council could dislike him all they wanted, it would mean nothing.

“It could work,” he said finally. “Though it’s not without risk.”

“You would need to appear as aligned and together as possible,” Jefferson warned. “You know what the palace is like. Many eyes will be on you, both those you can see and those you can’t.”

Gold nodded. They would have to share meals, dances, everything including a room, the same as all the other couples. Everyone would be wondering about Belle, wanting to see how Lady Gold carried herself, and how they behaved together. It would be uncomfortable at best, and at worst she might return to Thornhill hating him. But Belle was strong willed and smart, and he believed she could do it, if she was willing.

Jefferson leaned to the side, bumping his shoulder against Gold’s. “You know it isn’t you I’m worried about, right?”

Gold glanced sideways at him. “I know. I will speak with Belle before dinner, let her decide how we proceed.”

Jefferson nodded, and left the room, leaving Gold alone to contemplate how to break the situation to his wife.

Belle sat tucked into the corner of the sofa in front of the fireplace of her library, several letters spread out on the cushion beside her.

Gold stopped in the half open doorway and knocked gently, a smile playing at his lips as he watched her. “May I come in?”

She looked up and grinned. “Of course. Come sit with me.”

“Heard from Desmond again?”

“Yes,” she sighed as she hurried to pick up and stack the papers she’d laid out.. “He wrote two days ago.”

Gold frowned and sat at the other end of the sofa. “Two days? Why did it take so long to arrive?”

Belle set the letters on the side table and then gave Gold a flat smile. “Apparently the road from Longbourne is nearly impassable with snow and ice.”

He made a face and shook his head. “Should have guessed. We’ve gotten quite a bit more since the solstice.”

“Apparently his son, Liam, took a hunting party out on Sunday, hoping for a deer or two,” she said, giving him a wry look. “But he lost his footing, slid down the side of the gulley, and nearly ended up in the river.”

“Good heavens,” Gold said with a light snort. “I presume he’s well?”

“He has a very hard head, he’ll be just fine.”

They laughed and then she added, “Unfortunately, they were only able to get two pheasants and a rabbit, and so the issues continue with supplies at Avonlea. It seems they can’t manage to find any good fortune of late.”

“Indeed,” he muttered. He let his gaze drift to the fire for a long moment as he pondered whether or not the news he brought and the question that came with it would help or hinder the situation.

Belle tilted her head and leaned forward, trying to catch Gold’s eye. He seemed preoccupied with something, and she hoped that he would tell her about it, whatever it was. “Cameron? Did you come find me because you couldn’t bear to wait until dinner to see me, or did you have something to ask?”

At the sound of his name he startled and then sighed. “Sorry. Yes, I have something to ask you, and no I could not bear to let it wait until dinner.”

She laughed again and shook her head, but then noticed he wasn’t smiling. “You seem...out of sorts? Are you well?”

Gold reached over and took her hand, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine, I promise, but we have something to discuss that I thought was best kept between us.”

At that her expression turned serious, and she shifted closer, holding his hand with both of hers and resting their joined hands in her skirts. “What is it?”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve received an invitation,” he said, “from the King.”

Her body stiffened, and she knew he felt the change from the way he looked at her, the lines at his mouth betraying his concern. “I see.”

“It’s for the New Year’s ball, and in normal course I would politely decline, but given the circumstances I thought it might to our advantage to accept.”

Belle bit her lip and frowned as her thumb passed back and forth idly over his knuckles. “How so?’

“Jefferson received a letter this morning, from one of his sources in the palace,” Gold explained, lowering his voice as a precaution.

Even talking about their potential ruse within his own house made him uneasy. If Jefferson had spies within the palace, who was to say that the King hadn’t done the same in return? All of the staff, save Astrid, had been there for years, and were well vetted beforehand, but now that the thought was in his head, he couldn’t ignore the possibility.

“It seems,” he continued, watching Belle’s face as he spoke, “the King may be continuing his attempts to take over Avonlea. Word is that he is going to petition the Royal Council to grant him temporary control, on the assertion that your father was coerced into signing the contract with me.”

She blinked and her fingers stilled. “What?”

Gold swallowed and put his other hand over hers. “The King would need your support to have a chance of succeeding, which right now he believes he would have if he promised to turn over Avonlea to you, or your heir. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but there are enough on the council who dislike me, that they would happily go along with it, whether they believed your father was being taken advantage of or not.”

Belle blinked, her mind only registering that the torment which she had thought they’d laid to rest was back, full force. Immediately, she sprang to her feet, anger propelling her from her seat with her fists clenched at her sides. She could feel a heat creep up her neck and a fierce pounding in her chest that made her stalk towards the windows for relief. The cool air drifted over her skin, and though it did little to assuage her ire, it did make her feel a touch better. She breathed in and out and closed her eyes, until she felt a presence at her side.

“Belle?” came Gold’s soft voice.

“I’m fine.”

His hand touched the middle of her back with a gentle pressure. “No, you’re not not.”

She gave him a tired glance. “Sorry, I’m - I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

She shook her head as her throat tightened. Many times she wished to be alone when she was like this, but right now she felt in great need of his company. “No, no, please don’t. I - I just need a moment.”

He waited patiently for her to collect herself, his hand began to move up and down, a soothing sensation against her back. Finally, she blew out a breath and turned towards him, standing no more than the length of their shoes apart.

“I’m sorry.”

Gold winced and caught her chin when she looked down, drawing her gaze back up. “None of that now.”

Belle closed her eyes. Her head felt heavy, and there was a disconcerting tension in her temples that felt like a belt cinched too tight. She knew it was her nerves getting the better of her, but that didn’t mean she could stop them from doing so. Cameron was calm and solid as he stood in front of her, as though nothing could move him from this spot except her word, and she gave in and let herself fall against him. Her forehead rested on the soft linen of his shirt as her fingertips brushed the paisley patterned stitching of his waistcoat. His arms came up around her, hands near her shoulders, holding her without crushing her to him, and after a long moment, she exhaled.

“Is there ever going to be an end to this?”

The words were muffled, but he could hear them clear enough and sighed. He wanted to tell her that it would, more than anything, that he would do whatever it took to achieve that peace for her, and, abruptly, he became aware that he would if she asked it of him. There were things he knew, things he could do that would upend the entire kingdom, and if that was what was needed, if this latest plan did not set the matter to rest for good, he would do it. Yet, he knew Belle would never ask for such a thing, not if she knew the chaos that would result. She was too good, and would see her own happiness lost before letting it come to that. It made his chest ache to

“I can’t answer that for certain, but I think if we were to attend the ball, we might be able to put it to rest, yes.”

She sniffed and looked up, surprised to see his face merely a breath from hers. His eyes were warm, his expression comforting, and the simple presence of his arms bolstered her. If they faced the King and the royal court together, it would send an unmistakable message. She could do this; they could do this. Suddenly, she was very glad she had married Cameron Gold, and her lips curved in spite of all her anxiety.

“Then we should go.”

His eyebrow quirked. “You don’t want to hear my reasoning?”

She nodded and stepped back, the chill of the window making her immediately miss the warmth of being near him. “I do, but I also trust you. I imagine that if we go, and make every effort to present ourselves as being truly united, then the King would know that no matter what he offered me, I would never agree to it.”

Gold’s mouth curved slowly as she spoke, marveling silently at how she had arrived at the same idea as Jefferson.

“What?” she asked as soon as she noticed him smiling.

He shook his head slowly. “You are brilliant, do you know that?”

She made a face and then let out a short laugh. “Well, I do try.”

“You know it won’t be easy,” he warned. “There will be all sorts of people there, friend and foe. The whispers and rumors, the politics...”

“I know.” She blew out a breath and nodded again, feeling strangely calm now that she had let herself think about things rather than just being angry and upset. “I’m not afraid of them.”

“Even Milton and Sir Gaston?”

Belle reached out and took hold of his hands. The mention of their names set her nerves on edge, but she could tell that it had less of an effect than even a week or two ago. She owed some of that to Cameron, and trusted that if he was by her side, then she could weather seeing a few unfriendly faces at a ball.

She lifted their hands out to either side and stepped closer. “I’m not going to let them deter me from having another chance to dance with my husband.”

His lips twitched, and he freed one of his hands to rest it at her back, lifting the other to the side as she came to stand toe to toe with him. They took a few small, circling steps together in the space between the windows and the end of the sofa, less wide and graceful than their previous dance together, but drawing smiles from both of them all the same. Once again, he surprised her with a brief spin, and her soft laugh settled his mind on the matter. They would attend the ball and leave no doubts as to where their alliances lay - with each other, and no one else.

Belle twirled back towards him, coming to rest with her hand on his chest, and immediately pushed up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. When she dropped back, she was smiling, and he was gratified to see she had recovered from her earlier distress. Her faith in him seemed to be unwavering now, and he hoped that when all this was done it would remain so.

“So, we agree?” he asked, letting her pull away from their impromptu dance.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We accept, and we put this nonsense to rest once and for all.”

“Then I shall reply immediately.” He gave her a brief bow, pleased at the way she rolled her eyes at him, but still smiled in spite of herself, and left her to finish reading her letters.

It was late, and Gold knew he should follow Jefferson and Belle’s examples and go to bed, but he had told Belle that he would reply to the King’s invitation and he was committed to doing so before the end of the day.

Unfortunately, the day had ended some hours ago, but before dinner there had been a frustrating matter with one of his tenants losing two horses that required a quick, coordinated search party to recover the animals. After dinner, the lure of cards with Belle and Jefferson was far greater than penning a perfunctory letter, but he was finished now and that was what mattered. He scrawled his signature at the bottom, and then scanned the page to ensure it had all of the required fluff and politeness.

He pushed to his feet, waving the paper idly to dry the ink, and crossed to a small table set in the corner between the bookcase and the window, tucked away where few would notice it. On it was an ornately carved box with a lock on the front, and he set the paper down next to it before reaching up to a shelf just over his head. He pulled out a book bound with green dyed leather and held it aside as he felt around on the small space its absence made on the shelf until he found what he was looking for.

The key was old and tarnished to an oily black, as was the lock it fit in, and he held his breath until it clicked open. It was a habit from so many years ago, and even now a faint smile graced his lips as he remembered the sly smile on his aunt’s face every time she pulled the box out from under her bed.

Gold opened the box and set the invitation card to the ball inside, pausing to stare at the small stack of papers inside. He swallowed hard and reached in, his fingertips lifting the card out of the way to reveal a letter, folded closed with the addressee and direction visible. His jaw clenched as he read the name for the hundredth time, penned elegantly above the broken wax seal of the royal house.

Lord Maurice Faure, Avonlea

Shaking his head, he pulled it out and then lifted up the rest of the papers inside the box to slip it back in at the very bottom. The invitation card went back on top, and he closed the lid of the box hard, exhaling heavily as he finally clicked the lock back in place. He quickly replaced the key on the shelf, followed by the book, and walked over to his chair by the fire. He lifted the glass of brandy he’d poured earlier and downed the rest of it one gulp, closing his eyes as it warmed its way down his throat.

He gave the fire a long look, and then his gaze shifted to the locked box across the room, wondering not for the first time if he shouldn’t burn the whole damn thing. Instead, he sighed and replaced the grate over the fireplace before heading off to bed.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #arranged marriage au #my rumbelle fic #fic #in all things

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Metanoia - Chapter Sixteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 8.8k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“You’re still sure you want to do this?” Finnick asks, you give him a look.

“If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. Feel free to join Katniss’ star squad.” you snort at the name of it, “Boggs already made us the offer and said we can change our minds at any time up until we leave.”

“I remember.” Finnick says, he grips his shiny, new trident in his hand tightly, before deciding that he might as well strap it to his body so he’s not carrying it around everywhere, “I just thought you might want to back out is all.”

You roll your eyes, “The day I back out of anything, is the day I’m a coward.”

“I’m Commander Paylor of District Eight.” Paylor begins, Finnick’s head immediately snaps up to see her, you practically already have Paylor’s speech memorized, “I’m a soldier like all of you so, here’s what I know. For the first time in our lifetimes, we’re standing together with thirteen districts. From what I see here, we’ve already made history.”

The clapping starts first, the cheering is a second behind. There’s a shitload of people here. No only in the streets, but on the rooftops too. Volunteers from every district have been flown in, leading up to this moment. What you did yesterday, really opened up a ton of opportunities.

“But history doesn’t stop to celebrate, and we’re facing an enemy that will not change and will never surrender. President Snow has pulled back peacekeepers to fortify the center of the city. He’s evacuating residents from outer blocks, these civilians will be confused and desperate. You are under orders not to target them.”

Paylor motions to the crowd, “We’re deploying medical brigades to help anyone in need. We’ll show the Capitol people who we are.” she motions to the live screen behind her of a map, “To slow our advance, President Snow is building a minefield of traps and lethal devices called ‘pods’. The sadistic inventions of gamemakers meant to make sport of our deaths.

“If our armies make it past peacekeepers and other defenses, we’ll converge in the center of the city at Snow’s mansion, where we won’t just unlock his gates, but unshackle all of Panem.” The crowd cheers again, “If we die, let it be for a cause and not a spectacle. If we succeed, let it be for all of panem, and let it be forever.

“Yes, you’ve already made history. But the future--our future--starts tomorrow at dawn, when we march together into the Capitol.”

The cheering resumes, and you give a quick glance to Katniss and Gale, curious to see how they’re taking all of this. Gale came into District Two a little after you had left--he was on a hovercraft full of volunteers--and Katniss came over this morning as a stowaway on another volunteer hovercraft.

She’s been insisting to help this entire time, not wanting to sit back. However, she’s going to be in for a nasty surprise when she realizes that she’s the top priority. Her squad is going to do anything to keep her safe--which is exactly why you’ve decided not to join the star squad.

You’ve already had the misfortune of being in on protecting her once, and that was enough for you. You might not have known every single detail, but the intentions were pretty clear. You’re just surprised that it took so long for Katniss to realize that she was the priority.

Also, the problem with the star squad is that they’re not front lines. Katniss can’t be killed, otherwise the revolution dies or whatever. So, Boggs told you that they’re going to give the volunteers a head start, and then they’ll follow behind. No matter what happens, the squad will still have to be careful of pods and whatnot, but most of them will be taken out by the volunteers by the time the squad leaves the base.

In other words--they’re not going to get any action. Katniss is still going to be filmed, but it’s practically useless in your mind. Her setting off pods or standing patriotically in front of things isn’t going to do much. She’s not leading anyone, she’s following behind people.

Which is a whole other reason why you’re up front: you’re not a follower, you’re a leader.

As Paylor gets back to her speech, giving more information, you grab a hold of Finnick’s arm, and start to pull him out of the crowd. Trying to navigate through is hard at first, until the volunteers see the look on your face, or recognize who you are. After that, a path just wide enough for you and Finnick to fit through, forms.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here, we were already briefed.” you say, and the second you’re out of the crowd, you let Finnick go.

Bouncing on your toes, you twirl around a bit, “Tomorrow, huh? Too bad it can’t be today.”

“We’ll probably be introduced to our squad at least.” Finnick says, “You know where to go?”

“What kind of moronic question is that?” you ask, heading to the building that Lyme said would be the meet up spot for you guys, “Of course I know.”

Lyme and Boggs had approached both you and Finnick. Either you could join Katniss’ star squad, protect her, befriend her, trust her--whatever. You guys would have a chance of being on television, and maybe even share some glory of ‘being brave and marching to the Capitol’. In your opinion, it looks like Coin just wants to put two of her best faces together to make you look like a team.

Especially after what you said to the people inside of the tunnel, you basically discredited Katniss in the worst way possible. By saying that she can’t relate to them, because she doesn’t get it. You said what you said, you weren’t lying to their faces. If Coin wants to think that, then she can because she’s psychotic anyway.

Anyway, Lyme said that you could go to the front lines. Like you said, Coin doesn’t control you, because you aren’t the one leading the masses--Katniss is. If you want to go ahead and clear out streets for the medical brigades, then you can go nuts with it. You’ll get your own personalized squad that Lyme thinks will get along with you, and then you’re free to go tomorrow.

You’ll have your own pod-tracker, a map to follow, food and water, weapons, etc. But this just means that you’re going to be in danger with every step you take. The pod-tracker, which is actually called the Holo, will be as updated as can be, tomorrow. However, if any new pods appear, you won’t really know until it’s too late.

You received all of this news pretty well. You’re used to being in places you’re not welcome at. You’re pretty agile, you can fight well, you’re not too bad when it comes to leading a group. And if you get killed on the way, what a noble way to go out.

As for Finnick, you could just tell that this isn’t what he thought it was going to be. You don’t know what he expected exactly, but it wasn’t a whole ton of danger all wrapped up in one big city. Seeing the Capitol as dangerous is a comedy. To you two, it’s been sparkle and shimmer for as long as you can remember.

Combining the pretty idea of it, and the idea that the gamemakers have not held back with what will go on with traps--isn’t a fun thought. Especially not for you, since you’re the one who’s seen it as glamour the entire time. Finnick… you’re not too sure. He definitely doesn’t have good memories either, but he also got his shitload of secrets from there, so you’re not entirely sure.

You know that he’s pro-rebellion though. That’s obvious by now.

Back to what you were saying, Boggs and Lyme both offered sides to it. Follow Katniss around and not be in direct danger all the time, or have your own squad and be face-to-face with danger. She liked to describe it as ‘death breathing down your neck’.

You already promised a lot of people that you wouldn’t be taking the cowards way out. And like you’ve said already; you don’t want to be in the star squad.

While the entire interaction was happening, it was obvious that Finnick was hoping you would change your mind. Like everything that you’ve done up until now has been one entire joke.

He’ll realize just how real it’ll all be as soon as tomorrow comes. When the deal with Boggs no longer stands and you have to go with Lyme no matter what.

Actually, you wouldn’t have to go with her. You would be able to just stay in District Two, while all the volunteers do your dirty work.

“Remember any of the names that she told us?” You ask Finnick, looking at him.

He’s got his thumbs looped into the straps of the bulletproof vest he’s wearing. He thinks for a moment, and then makes a face, “Not really.”

You shrug, “Not a problem, I’ve got a way around seeming rude.”

Finnick laughs, “You care about that?”

“They’re going to be the ones saving our necks, so yeah.” You say, cracking your knuckles, “They’re not a bunch of victors that I can mouth off to. They’re regular people, they won’t understand and will end up taking it personally.”

“Critical thinking.” Finnick mocks.

If you didn’t have all this armor on, you’d spin around and kick his ass. Even then, he might be able to win. When you two were putting the outfits on, he looked like none of the weight fazed him. As for you, your knees nearly buckled.

On top of the armor are the backpacks, and then your fancy weapons, and a hundred other things inside of the backpacks. It makes it all so heavy, and your shoulders had begun to ache after a while.

The only reason why you’re still wearing it—because in no way was it required to be worn—is because you want to get used to the feeling of it all. It’s why you continue to move around quickly, bounce on your toes, spin in circles and all of that. You’re trying to fix your balance.

If Finnick had tried to push you over when you first put all this weight on, you would have stumbled and fell. Now, you’ve begun to get a hang of it all, it’s not nearly as bad as you thought it was.

You two make it to the abandoned building. The upper floor is caved in, the windows are gone and if the ground shakes, concrete debris will come through the cracks. Definitely not a safe place to be at, but the entire district is fucked up like this. It’s not really a huge surprise.

The inside of the building is relatively empty, except for some furniture. Finnick waits by the door while you head inside, stealing two chairs--one in each arm--as you leave the house. If the place collapses, you’d rather be on the outside, not the entire.

Finnick takes his chair from you, and the two of you set up camp outside. You have to shed the backpack before you sit. Then, you unbuckle the bulletproof vest and drop it onto the dirt next to you, leaning back in the chair.

“Have you ever actually gone to war before?” Finnick asks.

“There’s always a first time for everything.” you give him a pretty smile, “Don’t be so negative about it, you’re going to imagine bad things and then get us killed.”

Finnick pauses for a moment, letting what you said sit, and then he moves on, “Are you doing okay?”

You watch his face, looking for mockery. It takes a moment of you squinting and watching the corner of his lips for you to decide. He’s being sincere about it, he actually cares.

You relax, “I’m still mourning, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Finnick is just as relieved as you are, “Are you throwing yourself into this because of her?”

“I’m doing this because I promised those people that I would.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t owe them anything--” Finnick tries.

You squint at him again, but this time it’s a very clear glare. Finnick shifts uncomfortably in his chair, and you resist to kick out the weakest leg that’s barely holding his weight.

“They are my people.” you lean forward, “I might not know their names, but they’re District Two. They are the people that I grew up with. They look up to us, they depend on us victors. Of course I owe them, and you do too.”

Finnick doesn’t bother with saying anything else, and it’s probably for the best. It’s only a few minutes later when you see people approaching. After that, you sit up in your chair, uncrossing your legs as you lean on your knees with your elbows.

“You must be (Y/n) and Finnick.” a girl with blonde, curled hair says, “I’m Hydri.”

You get to your feet, holding out your hand, “Nice to meet you.

“This is Taurus,” she motions to a tall man with black hair. There’s tattoos snaking up his neck, and they’re peeking out from beneath his sleeves, “And Alioth.”

Alioth is around average height. He gives a small smile and raises his hand as a greeting. His hair is blonde too, and it’s a style that was most definitely taken out of the Capitol’s stylists books. The sides are shaved but they have intricate designs in them.

“Let me guess, you two are from District Two?” you ask, shaking Taurus’ hand, and then Alioths.

“Not me.” Hydri smiles kindly, “Taurus is from District One, though. He was nearly in the games once.”

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t, you would have wiped the floor with my body.” Taurus says, his voice is pretty deep.

“No shit.” you laugh, “I always heard about the runner-up from District One, but I never got to see who you were.”

Taurus cracks a smile.

Finnick moves around you to greet them just the same as you did. Then, the conversation shifts to what you’re all really here for--what happens tomorrow.

The entire thing is very friendly, you all go over what you’ll be having inside the backpacks, and the difference between them. Just so that if one of you get hurt or killed, the others will know if the backpack is worth taking or not. While you’re talking, you learn that Alioth will be carrying mostly medical stuff. He’s got food and ammo for himself, but when he opens his backpack and shows it to you guys, you can see exactly what he means.

To have him get killed would be bad. You all have basic medical training, from the games or otherwise. But Alioth’s been studying it for years now since he got out of high school. He originally wanted to sign up for the medical brigade that will be sent out of District Two, but Paylor thought it would be better for him to come with you guys.

Taurus has got the basic prep-games training that you guys get in the academies, so he’ll be a pretty good fighter. Another person you guys wouldn’t want to lose, and yet he tells you all that he doesn’t care if you lean on him. It’s what he’s here for.

As for Hydri, she’s purely for organization. She’s been studying the maps for the last few days, so she’ll be able to keep you from getting lost and from getting off-track. You’ll be able to meet up around Snow’s mansion in the center city. They’ve already marked a building that’s not really used, so it’s the perfect place to go.

After a while, the conversation starts to get a bit dull, and it’s also around the same time that the sun has set. So, you tell them all that you and Finnick are going to grab dinner and head to where you’re staying for the night. Tomorrow, you five will be meeting up in a separate designated spot to receive the Holo, and then hop on a truck to be brought to the city.

Then, you’ll be fighting for your life. Again.

You turn the Holo over in your hand, looking at it carefully.

“Don’t break it, we could barely even spare you this one.” the lady tells you.

You look at her, raising your head to be level with her face. Finnick--sensing a showdown--steps in, “Thank you.”

He tries to drag you away, but you keep your stance for a moment, “Lyme personally requested it for me, so you aren’t sparing jack shit. Go fuck yourself.” without missing a beat, you take the Holo from her fingers, mock a smile and say, “I mean, have a nice day.”

You and Finnick leave the table after that, heading over to your group. They’re pulling on the last of their outfits, readjusting straps and buckling up. Taurus is messing around with Alioth slightly while Hydri watches.

They act like they’ve known each other forever, despite the fact that you’re all from varying districts. Taurus is from one, while you and Alioth are from two. Finnick is from four, and Hydri is from District Six. So far, you seem to like them. But they’re obviously a little apprehensive when it comes to you.

You don’t take it personally anymore.

“Got the Holo?” Hydri asks.

You lift it up for her to see, “We’re all good to go.”

“It’s already set up?” Taurus asks.

“Bitch at the booth taught me.”

Taurus snorts, “Let’s go then.”

Hydri leads the way, with Alioth right by her. Taurus hands back with you and Finnick during the walk. For them, it’s not quiet, but for you, it is.

At first, you’re looking at the groups of people getting ready to go to the trucks. And then your eyes wander a little further to where the tents are on the base. From where you are right now, you have a perfect line of sight to where Boggs is standing, talking to some woman, around them stands a few other people.

“How many people do you think have going with Katniss?” you ask.

“Remember when I ran off this morning?” Finnick asks, you nod but don’t look at him, “Went to talk to Boggs. Katniss has got her camera crew from District Thirteen with her, Gale, and the other five.”

“Huh.” you shift your gaze to the trucks, watching some of them take off. Then, it clicks in your head. Five, Katniss, Gale, and the four from the camera crew, “eleven people?”

“Yup. That’ll be a nightmare.” Finnick mutters, “Katniss is probably planning her escape at this exact moment.”

“And it would have been thirteen if we went with them.” you whistle, “There’s no safety in numbers. They’re all going to end up dead.”

Taurus turns his head a little in your direction, you can see the scowl on his face. Yet, he doesn’t ask any questions and just lets what you said slide. He doesn’t look like the confrontational type, but when he does, it’s when he’s pushed the edge. He just has that air about him.

“You really think that?” Finnick asks.

You look at him, “Thirteen people, all with different ambitions and minds of their own. All it would take is for one person to mess up, and the rest are dead. Especially since we’re walking into a minefield.”

Shaking your head, you turn the Holo in your hand, “Katniss will be lucky if she makes it past the first round of pods.”

“You hate her that much, huh?” Taurus finally pitches in, but he doesn’t look at you.

“I don’t hate her, and I don’t loathe her either. She should’ve stayed in District Thirteen, but it’s too late for that now.” you glance behind you to where Boggs is, one final time before they’re finally out of sight.

Boggs seems to be staring at you too, and when he realizes you’re looking back, he raises his hand. You stutter to do the same--mostly because you’re surprised at the action--but you do it, nonetheless. After, a building blocks the view, and you’re forced to go back to focusing on the trucks.

Hydri leads you right to an armoured truck. She knocks on the door once or twice, and then steps back as she waits for them to swing open. It takes a moment, but they do. On the inside, there’s already a couple of people sitting inside on the right. The guy who answered, takes a seat to the right again.

Hydri moves aside, a bright smile on her face as she motions for you guys to go inside. Alioth doesn’t hesitate, with one hand grabbing the bar to the left, and him taking one big step to get himself up. Then, he moves right on back. When Taurus gets up there, he doesn’t struggle with the step as much as Alioth had.

Finnick goes in before you, but he doesn’t sit down right away, instead offering his hand. You grab the bar with your left hand, and his hand with your right. Working together, he pulls you into the truck with no problem. Then, he offers the same courtesy to Hydri, but makes sure she doesn’t get the seat right next to you.

“Thanks.” you mutter, closing your eyes as you lean your head back.

“Anytime.”

Alioth must’ve leaned forward to talk to the driver through the window or something, because the truck gets moving after that. The ride is relatively bumpy at the start, since the trucks had been parked in gravel, but it smoothes out once you’re on the cement.

“Are we getting dropped off in the same spot?” Hydri asks.

“No, we’re earlier than you guys are. Trying to spread out and all.”

“That’s what I thought. At least Paylor knows what she’s doing.” Hydri sighs.

“Did you hear about Lyme?” Taurus asks.

“She’s fine.” Hydri says, “(Y/n) saw her this morning, it was just a scratch. Lyme will be back on her feet, and she might even join us in the center circle.”

“If we make it that far.”

Taurus sighs too, and the conversation between the two groups ends right there.

A while later, there’s some rustling around, making you open your eyes to see what’s going on exactly. The group across from you is getting their backpacks and weapons ready.

They’re talking amongst themselves, mostly about where the nearest pod is going to be the moment they stop off. It’s too bad that they won’t be able to locate where exactly, all they know is that it exists somewhere.

The truck comes to a slow stop, Hydri helps the other girl open the door, and she holds it open so it’s easier for the second group to leave. The other girl says a thank you, and then the doors are shut again.

Taurus and Hydri move to the other bench to make it more comfortable between you five. And Hydri just opens her mouth to say something, when there’s an explosion. For a moment, you think it’s okay, until the truck teeters, and then tips. Unfortunately, it’s in yours, Finnick’s and Alioth’s direction.

There’s not much you can do.

Butterflies swarm in your stomach. A scream rises to your throat. You reach out to grab something--anything.

Your fingers just barely latch onto the edge of the bench, but you hang onto it.

Your back slams against the truck painfully, but your head is cushioned. While you’re staring at what used to be the wall, which is now the ceiling, something slams into the metal next to you.

You look over to your right, trying to see who it is. Finnick is in your way though, and he’s already getting to his elbows, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” you tell him, sitting up and scooting back. Finnick had cushioned your head with his arm--you’re not sure if that was on purpose or if he was flailing just like you were.

Hydri is on her hands and knees next to Finnick, it just means she went flying towards you guys. At least she’s breathing and awake. Taurus is in the dip of the floor, sitting because he can’t stand. And with a look to Alioth, he gives a thumbs up to you.

“Get the doors open.” you tell Taurus, unbuckling the backpack from your body, and then you lean down and grab the Holo.

You turn it on, squinting at it through blurry vision. You blink a couple of times, watching as the device comes to life, and the orange dots take over the blue landscape. The nearest pod is about a hundred feet away--so they couldn’t have set off that one.

The doors slam open, and Taurus reaches for your backpack. He carefully drops it on the outside, eyes glued to the flames that are engulfing a building.

“New pod.” You say, “They ran into one of the new ones.”

You get up with the help of Taurus, not waiting for anyone else. After you slide out, you land on your feet harshly. Another look to the Holo shows an orange dot where the fire is.

“Figures.” you say, picking up the backpack and slinging it over your shoulder.

“(Y/n)--stop!” Finnick’s voice is hard, “What if there’s another?”

You turn around for a moment, “Did you not see what just happened? What if--”

There’s a blast of heat, and then the sound follows. You make a face, but don’t cover your ears as you look to where you were heading.

A second pod has been set off, and one of the people that were inside of the truck, now struggles to put the fire out. They flail, dancing around like they don’t know what they’re doing. Then, they shed the backpack, and the jacket--which are both charcoal black now--until they eventually sink to their knees, since the flamethrower is still targeting them, following their every move.

You open your mouth as if words will form, but all you feel is your hot breath on your lips as you breathe out.

“Are there any survivors?” Alioth asks, rocks crunching beneath his feet.

“They’re all dead.” Taurus says, “We should check on the drivers--”

“Alive!” Hydri calls, which makes you all turn, “But the driver’s got a head wound from the airbag.

Alioth doesn’t care, he goes ahead and checks them out anyway. You go from staring at the fire to looking at the path you took to get here. It would be a long walk back, and even then there’s no guarantee that Boggs will take you back. Or if you’ll make it in time.

“What are you thinking?” Finnick asks.

You reach up with your right hand, grabbing the left backpack strap as you tilt your head for a moment, “That we better be careful where we step from now on.”

Those two explosions that the second group had set off, might have been the first to happen, but they weren’t the last. It was just the beginning of the chain, that probably won’t end until the last volunteer travels through the Capitol.

The gamemakers were smart with their placement--you just have to admit it. They chose the very outskirts of the city, knowing full well that there would be a ton of volunteers that wouldn’t suspect a goddamn thing. You all were expecting the pods to be further into the city, not lining the outering of it.

It’s clear why they did it though, when those first pods went off, it was an indicator that you guys were now coming into the city. It was a way for all those peacekeepers to gear up and find a place to hide until a group of volunteers came through the streets. It would also let Snow know that he should probably be pulling back his citizens a little more forcefully, now.

And not only all of that, but the fact that they’d also know that you were all going in from different directions. Different starting points to offer different advantages. Of course, it also has its disadvantages. You’re having to set off the first pods, rather than walking through a street that’s completely clear already.

The gamemakers don’t care enough to set up the pods again, they’ve got worse things to worry about. Like predicting when you’ll all make it there, and trying to spot the places you hide during the night. For them, it’s going to be a fun game of paranoia that won’t stop until you’re right in their face.

They won’t have a clue either. Not after what Paylor said earlier, with different ways to hide yourself in a crowd. You might not be allowed to antagonize the Capitol citizens, but you’re definitely allowed to raid their wardrobes. Especially the ones that have houses that are already trashed.

If you dress like the citizens, do some crazy fucking makeup to alter your face, and figure out the accent and walk, you’re practically golden. There’s no way that they’ll really be able to tell it's you. If they end up asking for ID, all you have to do is make up some lame excuse about leaving the house in a hurry.

More or less, problem solved.

Until then, you’re all traveling through the streets, just trying not to get caught in the middle of a trap.

“Pod?” Taurus asks, looking back at you.

You hold the Holo up, staring down at the blue for a moment. The next orange dot seems to be miles away, “Not from what I can tell. Just go carefully.”

Taurus goes first, making you guys wait a couple of seconds before following him. In case there is a trap, there will be a few feet between you guys and him, allowing time for escape. It was his idea, it’s not like any of you forced it on him.

“Take a right.” Hydri says, “These alleys are confusing, but it’s our better shot. The main streets are a minefield, aren’t they (Y/n)?”

You shake your head, holding up the Holo for her to see, “Not really, the nearest one might be on the street but--”

“Stop!” Finnick yells to Taurus.

Finnick pushes his way up to you and Hydri, basically pressed against your back as he leans forward to point out the pods, “Right there, see? It’s so faint that we can’t see it.”

“The faint ones are supposed to be the ones that have already been triggered.” you tell Finnick, “It’s what that lady told me.”

“But we’re the first ones through here.” Alioth says, “That can’t be possible.”

While you all stand and stare, thinking up a million possibilities as to why this is happening, your eyes are searching the alleyway for a trigger. If Finnick is right about it being a pod, it’s here, in this little maze of backstreets. You all could be beneath it, on top of it, around the corner from it…

The brick wall of the alley is relatively clean, no one has been through here in awhile. The trash cans that are tucked away have genuinely begun to collect dust. If you were to swipe your finger on top of one of the lids, then you’ll get a thick layer of it on your finger.

This part of the city has long since been deserted. Not only because it was the first to be evacuated, but even worse than that. The gamemakers must have made them leave weeks before the day they thought you’d all be coming through here.

So, there’s definitely something in here.

“How close is the nearest one?” Taurus asks, he hasn’t moved from where he stopped, and that’s probably a good thing.

You move Finnick out of the way with one hand as you look behind you guys, eyes squinted as you search the walls for anything out of place. It has to be subtle, because that’s the way the gamemakers have it in the Holo. They must have figured out a way to hack into them or something.

“What is it?” Finnick asks.

You shush him, eyes sweeping the wall behind him. Brick after brick until--

“Cameras.” You say, pointing at it, “That means peacekeepers, guys.” you turn back to Hydri, “Give me the nearest building that should be safe to hide in.”

“Uh--” Hydri shakes her head for a moment, flipping open the map. She’s obviously trying not to freak out as she runs a finger over the alleyway and into the street, “--yeah, okay. I’ll lead.”

She zips past you, Finnick and Alioth and heads straight for Taurus, showing him the way. The two of them don’t hesitate with walking, which means that you guys shouldn’t either. However, you can’t help but reach into a spare pocket, holding out a throwing knife that Beetee had made for you.

“Fuckers.” you throw.

It lands straight into the glass lens. It won’t be able to watch you now, but that means nothing. The peacekeepers know you guys are here, and that’s all that matters.

Finnick turns to check where you are, but you’ve already caught up to him and Alioth.

“Quick thinking.” Finnick says.

“I could say the same about you.”

Hydri brings you guys around a series of corners. It reminds you of the streets of District Two for a moment by how confusing it is the first time you go through. But then you realize there’s a whole pattern to it. That doesn’t mean you had expected where Hydri would bring you guys.

A metal door. Taurus automatically thinks it’s locked, so he goes to kick it in, but Hydri shakes her head and presses a finger to her lips, “Listen.” she whispers.

The five of you all take a moment to try and listen, watching as Hydri pulls out a lockpick, sticking it straight into the lock and beginning to work her magic. It takes a moment of listening to hear it, but then the sound gets considerably louder.

It’s a truck. It’s a truck full of peacekeepers, and they’re not actually coming on foot. There’s going to be a lot more of them than you originally anticipated.

The others must be thinking the same as you because Taurus’ face drops, Finnick pales a little and Alioth opens his mouth to speak, yet nothing comes out. It takes another second before Hydri has popped the door open, and she heads in first, crouched down.

Taurus waits at the door, Finnick shoves you in next, and you go in crouched. Alioth follows, then Finnick, then Taurus--who shuts the door quietly and then locks it again. Hydri is still crouched by the door, waiting for you and Taurus to go up first to evaluate.

None of you actually know what the hell this building is, and by the sound of marching, you’re not going to have much time to figure it out. You and Taurus stop by the same place beneath the counter, and you place your knee against the ground as you squeeze your eyes shut.

This is bad. This is so bad.

You’ve encountered plenty of pods, but those have been relatively easy to bypass. They’re not as dangerous as a squad of peacekeepers are. You set off a pod, the pod is completely done. But peacekeepers? You have to kill each one individually or squeeze your way out.

Escaping them is going to be damn near impossible with five people, especially with a truck full of peacekeepers and god knows if there’s cameras inside of here too.

“Hey,” Finnick says, coming over, “Breathe, it’s going to be fine.”

Right after, there’s a slam on the door behind you guys, and the voices of peacekeepers just outside the building. You look over at Finnick, “Does this look fine to you?”

“I don’t know the layout of the houses, only the streets.” Hydri whispers.

You take a deep breath and another moment of complete silence, before you begin to waddle your way around Taurus. When he goes to stop you, you forcefully push him back, and look at the others.

“Wait.”

You go all the way around the counters, peeking your head around the corner to see the peacekeepers and the actual layout of the building you’re inside. It takes a moment for you to see, and then realize that you’re inside a whole apartment building. There’s a staircase nearby, you guys can go up that as far as it goes…

“Hydri, are there fire escapes?” you ask, looking back.

She nods quickly, and so you motion for them to follow. The pounding on the back door has not only gotten louder, but they’ve begun to cave the metal in from the force they’re using. As for out front--you have no clue what’s going on there.

You lead them all to the staircase, Taurus insists on taking up the back since he can’t have the front. You go up one floor, and then a second, then a third, and then a fourth. The entire way, you’re jiggling door knobs, trying to find one that’s unlocked. If you can run up the fire escape, that would be much easier.

On the fifth floor, you find one single door unlocked, and without a care as to why, you rush everyone inside. It’s only when you go to see for yourself, you freeze where you stand.

“We’re not here to hurt you.” Finnick starts first.

The Capitol citizens are sitting on their couch, enjoying their tea. The woman just barely has the cup in her hold, and her hand is shaking.

“My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, do you recognize the name?”

“Yes.” The man says, standing from where he sits, “What are you doing in my house--”

You ignore him, “You shouldn’t be here. You should have gone with everyone else when you evacuated, because the entire city is full of traps.”

As you make your way around the windows, you find the one with a fire escape. It’s above the alleyway, but it’ll have to work. The door you came in downstairs just blew. You pop it open, letting Hydri and Alioth go out first.

“We mean no harm.” you tell them, “We’re just trying to get away. When the peacekeepers come up here, urge them to get you out of here.”

“Why should we?” he demands.

You’re reaching forward, grabbing Finnick’s sleeve as you make him go before you.

“Because if you even step foot into the streets, you’ll die.” you hand the Holo off to Finnick.

“Go.” Taurus tells you, “I’ll go out last.”

The others are already going up the metal staircase, you can hear their rapid feet. The only person that hasn’t started moving yet is Finnick.

“Please.” you look at the woman, “I’m telling you it’s not safe here, not even for us.”

You go through the window, and just as Taurus comes over, you can hear the voices and the dozen pairs of footsteps too. Taurus gives one look to the door, then back to the window. You reach your hand out like you’re going to pull him through, but he slams the window shut instead.

As he’s reaching for the curtains, the automatic is in his hands. He tilts his head at you, like he’s telling you to run while you can. Then, the fabric covers the window, and you can hear the first slam into the door.

“Go.” you tell Finnick, pushing him, “I said go!”

Finnick gets moving after that, flying up the staircase faster than you can. He takes them two at a time, and at every landing, he looks back to make sure you’re following. Finnick just barely gets to the ladder when you hear the first bullet leave the gun, and following are the screams.

He’s just barely up far enough when you begin going. At the top waiting is Alioth and Hydri, reaching out to yank Finnick up the last couple of rungs. When you get up there, Finnick takes you all by himself.

At the top of the roof, you take a moment to catch your breath.

“Where’s Taurus?” Hydri asks, looking between you and Finnick.

“Dead.” you tell her, moving along the top of the roof to find a way out. The gap between roof to roof is narrow, you could take this jump in your sleep, “He couldn’t get through the window in time, so he stayed back to help us, but we’re not out of the woods yet.”

You pull yourself on top of the safety wall on the roof, getting to your feet. You shed the backpack, curse the bulletproof vest for getting in the way, and then you throw. The backpack clears the wall without a problem, and you look back at the others.

“We have to keep moving.” you insist.

You back up as much as you can afford, preparing for the jump.

“(Y/n)--!” Finnick yells.

You throw yourself forward in a run, taking the leap. The second roof is a little lower, which is perfect, you land onto the safety wall below, and tumble for a moment. When you catch yourself, you look right back at the others, who are hanging over to make sure you’re okay.

“It’s not a bad jump. Toss me the Holo.” you hold out your hands.

Finnick tosses it to you, and then he throws his backpack next to yours. He mirrors the way you had gotten onto the wall, before hopping over too. Then Hydri, and then Alioth. Just as you all get your shit back together, there’s more peacekeepers coming.

The four of you keep moving, onto the next roof. Then, you force them all to hide against the wall as you take a look at the Holo. The peacekeepers are nearby, they’re an entire rooftop over, and they have no clue what direction you guys actually moved in.

The Holo offers little help, from what you can see, there’s no faint orange dots. But the nearest solid orange one is literally in the street below. There’s no way you’d want to go down there, and from what Hydri said, the alleyway ended with that metal door. If you get down right now, then you’d have to trigger the trap when you step on it.

Unless you’d rather take a chance.

You shed the backpack, digging through the pockets until you pull out a metal ball. Taurus was using these to set off the traps that required weight and sight of something moving. All you have to do is throw this in the street below to set it off. The peacekeepers that are standing on the street will have to hide.

But it’ll take them a moment to realize what’s going on.

“What are you thinking?” Alioth asks.

“Just watch.” you move past all of them, taking one glance at the neighboring rooftops to see that there’s no one there.

You check the Holo again just to be sure, and then you get up, hurling the ball right where the pod should be. For a second, nothing happens.

Then the ground opens up, and starts to crumble.

“Oh shit.” you say, “Nearest rooftop--now!”

The rumbling of the ground gets louder, and you can hear the yells of the peacekeepers. Finnick and Alioth are the first to the rooftop away from the street--the far back one. Alioth sheds all his gear, Finnick gets down to grab his foot, and then he boots Alioth up.

Alioth squirms for a moment, but he gets up, leaning over for his shit. Finnick tosses them up, and Alioth takes it, and throws it behind him, completely disregarding it. And considering you all are on a time limit, it matters a ton.

Next is Hydri, but she insists her stuff goes up first, since everything inside is important. Anyone can read a map, but you all navigating the city without it will be hell.

You and Finnick stare at each other for a moment, and since you already know what he’s going to say, you hand the Holo off, then the backpack, and Alioth pulls you up with Hydri barely helping. The second that you’re on the higher roof, you’ve thrown yourself over the side.

The building Finnick’s on is tilting towards the gaping hole in the street, getting further and further away from you guys.

Pain strikes your heart, and you panic a bit when Finnick tries to take off the backpack.

“Jump!” you yell to him, “I’ve got you!”

Finnick listens to you, leaving the backpack and all on as he backs up a bit, gets a running start and bolts for the wall. You lean down as far as you can without losing your balance.

Finnick jumps, and with the amount of distance between the two buildings--you’re sure he won’t make it.

Then, his hand hits yours, and you’re reaching down with a second hand to grab his wrist.

Together, you and Alioth pull Finnick up the wall and into the roof with you guys. Once he’s inside, Finnick stumbles and falls onto his back, breathing heavy. You crouch down next to him, placing your hand on his chest.

“You’re okay?”

Finnick takes a breath in, “You were afraid.”

You crack a smile, “Of course I was.”

Offering your hand to him, he takes it. You pull him onto his feet with barely any struggle, patting his back as you move past him to gather your things again. You buckle the backpack, back in place, and take the Holo from Hydri.

“We should be good for a while.” you look up to Hydri.

“Ladder.” Alioth tells you guys, kicking off a hatch, “We should keep moving.”

“Ready to go, Finnick?” you ask.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Finnick says, giving you a smile.

You stare at the bedroom, “This feels weird to do.”

“You’re the one that said you wanted to have an apartment in the Capitol.”

You make a face at Finnick, tilting your head, “There’s a difference between getting a brand new apartment and sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

“Then go sleep in the living room.” Finnick heads into the bedroom, tossing his backpack onto a chair.

“How about you go sleep in a different room.” you jut your thumb towards the door, “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Finnick gives you a cheeky grin as he sits on the edge of the bed, taking off his bulletproof vest, “Also there are no other rooms besides the living room.”

You sigh, grabbing the door knob, “Goodnight, Finnick.”

“You’re seriously going out there?” Finnick asks, throwing the vest onto the armchair with his backpack, “You’d rather sleep on a couch than a bed?”

“I’d rather sleep alone.” you clarify, “But I’m not getting that either way.”

Finnick pats the bed next to him, “We can make a pillow wall.”

“I’d rather deal with the neck pain.”

“Don’t be a wuss.” Finnick says.

He knew that would make you hesitate.

And you can tell by the smile creeping onto his face more and more as he pats the bed again, “Come on.” he sings.

You squint, “Why are you so eager?”

“Don’t wanna sleep alone.” Finnick is now removing his shoes, “Haven’t really slept alone in years.”

You take in a deep breath, “That’s not what I expected to hear, and it was the wrong thing to say on your part, too. Going to the living room.”

“You can at least sleep on the floor.”

“The likeness of you staring at me all night is too high.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself.” Finnick scoffs, hurling a shoe at you.

You catch it without a problem, “That’s all I am, sweetheart.”

Finnick’s eyebrows skyrocket, “Sweetheart?”

“God--fuck you.” you turn around, his shoe in hand as you move to the living room.

Finnick is laughing, and he stumbles to catch his footing as he attempts to catch up with you, “You take the bed, I’ll take the floor.”

“Or you could sleep in the living room.”

“Which would still be on the floor.” Finnick says.

You pause in the hallway, watching Alioth and Hydri from it. The two of them are getting along well, Hydri is pretty upset over losing Taurus though. Unfortunately, you didn’t know him very well, therefore can’t mourn for him the same way they can. It was a noble thing he did.

Yet he also took all his weapon supplies down with him when he did it, which is a huge loss. He had--basically--an infinite number of those heavy, metal balls. As for you guys, it’s a limited number, and each one lost brings five pounds out of the backpack. You all discovered that after using so many after Taurus was gone.

Finnick’s not wrong about the living room either, there’s only two couches. And the only thing that looks remotely comfortable after that is the fur rug that’s also kinda matted because the people that lived here apparently didn’t know how to take care of it.

“I’ll take the floor.” You tell Finnick, heading back into the room. You drop everything off by the door.

“No, I’ll take the floor.”

You ignore him, unbuckling the vest as fast as possible before tossing it onto the backpack, and then you turn on Finnick, holding your fists up.

Finnick laughs, but mirrors your stance, “Bring it on, sister.”

“Oh, right.” you laugh with him, before aiming straight for his gut.

Finnick goes to grab you, but you’re too quick for him, bouncing in your boots as you take a jab at his face. It’s not anything too rough, more of a warning for him to knock off his own shenanigans.

Finnick somehow manages to get a hold of you at some point, twisting your arm and giving you a look, “The floor is mine.”

“Just a minute ago you were arguing for the bed.” you grab onto his wrist to keep him from twisting any further.

“Then I’ll take the bed,” he says.

“I’m fine with that!” you say, swinging your leg up for his crotch.

Finnick doesn’t flinch, staring you right in the eyes. And especially since you didn’t actually fall through with it, it’s extra awkward.

“Get me a pillow and a blanket.” you tell him.

“But you’re sleeping on the bed.” Finnick says.

“Then I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket, geez.” you push him away, since his grasp has considerably weakened.

You start pulling off your shoes, tossing them to your backpack. Once they’re off, you remove the socks too so that your feet can finally breathe, after hours of being walked on and the amount of sweat that they’ve had to endure. When you go over to the bed, you take a seat on it, and then throw yourself back.

The mattress is obviously expensive, you can tell by the way you sink into it. You sigh, closing your eyes.

“Better than your mattress at home?” Finnick jokes.

“Unfortunately.” you say.

“I’m gonna sleep on the bed.” he tells you.

“Whatever, I don’t care anymore.” you say, “I’m actually heading to bed, though. So you can tell Hydri and Alioth that we’re done for the night and we’ll recollect in the morning.”

Finnick smiles, “Sure thing.”

Finnick leaves the room, and you take the time to go ahead and get back onto the bed. You carefully place the necklace onto the nightstand, being sure that it won’t fall off and onto the floor. Then, you get comfortable on the bed.

You all really should be keeping your shoes on and all of that, but it’s not realistic. You’re not going to be able to fall asleep with it on, plus it’ll be like a hundred degrees with that fucking bulletproof vest on.

Finnick comes into the room right as you’re getting comfortable. He tosses a water bottle at you, and you drink half of it before deciding to lay down officially.

“I feel kinda shitty that we’re leaving them out there.” Finnick says, getting into the bed, “I mean, the two victors taking the bed?”

“They told me that I could have it.”

“Whatever.” Finnick laughs, “Hydri said that there was a bedroom back here, and that was it.”

Finnick goes to pull the blanket up, but you kick him with your foot, “Go sleep in the bathtub.”

He rolls his eyes, “Goodnight, (Y/n).”

“Touch me even once, and I swear to god you’re going to wake up with a knife to your throat.”

“That’s not very safe.”

“Neither is touching me.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia chapter sixteen #metanoia

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Stolen Sunlight

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her.

She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

Character focus: Arianna and Varian

Notes: This is a fic I started writing many many years ago, during the hiatus between seasons 1 and 2. I intended to post it way back then, as a long one-shot. I continued to occasionally work on it over the years, however, it's proven one of the hardest fics I've ever written to edit, (mostly due to the amount of internal monologue).

I finally decided that probably the only way to get it actually edited and posted is to break it up into multiple chapters, despite the fact that it's essentially only one scene, and I feel like that messes with the format. Hopefully it'll help me edit, and end up making it easier for people to read too XD I might post the full version of this, unbroken up, too after I finish it. But I finally got fed up with my editing process and decided this was the only way.

I'm aware that plenty of other people have written Varian and Arianna fics over the years, but at the time I started this there weren't that many yet, and I worked so hard on this, I still wanted to post it, even if others have done things like it. Plus, I'm not sure how many people have written it this heavily from Arianna's perspective.

I hope you all enjoy it, either way! Please don't hesitate to leave a comment to let me know, if so!!

Chapter 1: Fractured Memory

Sun splinters through the castle windows, designing reflections on the newly polished floor.

When she walks into the library, her mouth drops open; The entire room gleams. That Corona sunlight bounces between the tiles, tables, and shelves like a little boy full of energy, laughing as he leaps around the room.

It may be a royal library, but there’s usually still a layer of dust draped over everything, sealing up the gaps, and clogging up the stories. The servants try their best, but it’s hard to get into all the crevices between the shelves, the cracks between the pages.

The tiles glitter, the shelves look new, the books don’t cough up dust when she lifts them, even a few of their bindings are mended.

She stays a while to admire it before heading back for her room, and as she does, Arianna smiles, her gait almost dreamy—so like her daughter’s.

Who would take such care to polish her library? She appreciates the gesture more than words can express, but she would like to say ‘thank you’ at least.

A curious sight down the hall interrupts her wondering; a laundry cart, moving on its own.

A very full laundry cart, that is…Cassandra doesn’t usually fill them so much.

“May I…help you?” she walks up to the cart, tilting her head, strands of hair falling to the side.

“Oh, no, it’s fine! I got this!” the laundry cart replies.

The ventriloquist reveals himself: a boy steps out from behind it. She guesses he must be one of Rapunzel’s friends, since she doesn’t remember seeing him here before, and he doesn’t exactly look like a royal servant, (despite the fact that he’s performing one of their jobs).

He pushes back his hair—black, with a streak of turquoise at the front—and smooths out his apron. Upon seeing her, his eyes widen with shock.

“Oh!” he stumbles, attempting to bow too low, too quickly, “Your majesty! I-I am so sorry! I didn’t realize—!”

She laughs, holding out a hand to steady him.

“Don’t worry. Please. I’m Arianna.”

“Oh—O-Okay. That…seems to run in the family,” he mutters beneath his breath. “I’m Varian.” He leans confidently against the laundry cart…which starts moving, so he pulls it back with all his strength before it gets out of hand.

“Oh! Varian! Rapunzel told me about you!”

He freezes, his eyes trailing back to her, like people talking about him is usually a bad thing. “She…She has?”

“Of course!” she steps closer. “You’re the alchemist, right?”

He pauses, blinks, then his face breaks into the biggest grin. He clears his throat, rubbing fake dirt off his gloves, trying to hide his joy, as he looks back up at her. “Ten points to the lady in the crown.”

She smiles.

“Are you here for the completion today?”

He nods. “I think I’ve got a pre-tty good chance of snagging that first prize if I do say so myself,” he pulls on his apron straps, then pauses, realizing how arrogant that sounds. “Not to uh…toot my own horn or anything. But it doesn’t seem like there’s anything like my invention in the running, so I think once Master Doctor St. Croix sees it he’ll be impressed! At least I hope so.”

“Well, if your invention is anything like the ones Rapunzel has told me about you’ll have no trouble snagging that blue ribbon.”

“Oh stop,” he flicks his wrist to wave her off, but is beaming from ear to ear.

She notes that she may be encouraging him a little too much. The experiments Rapunzel has told her about aren’t exactly all blue-ribbon worthy. Or, perhaps they would be…if they all worked properly. At the same time, she isn’t sure labelling him as dangerous, and reckless is really fair. She and Willow had tried out their share of inventions, which often failed in a grand array of explosions. If they had worked properly, growing up wouldn’t have been as colorful. At least he was trying his best to help people with his inventions. Without the explosive failures, there was no room for fiery success either.

“Wait, shouldn’t you be there with the other contestants now?”

“Oh, yeah.” He says nonchalantly. “But I figured since I’m going second-to-last I’ve got a decent amount of time before I have to present. Cassi—Cassandra has agreed to be my assistant, so I’m helping her out with her lady-in-waiting duties first.”

“Don’t let her make you do all her work.” She says in a motherly way. Then gasps, “The library!”

He winces. “Did I do something wrong? I-I can fix it, don’t worry!”

“No, no!” she puts her hands on his shoulders, “So you were the one who cleaned it?”

“Yeees…?”

She pulls him into a hug. “Thank you so much.”—his eyes widen with shock—“I’ve never seen the place look so beautiful.” She releases him.

“Oh!” he rubs the back of his neck and the smile turns sheepish.

“That must have taken you hours!”

“It was no big deal. Nothing a little home-alchemy can’t fix.” He says like a salesman.

“How did you do it?”

“Just a compound of my own invention,” he digs in his pocket and holds up a little, blue orb between his thumb and forefinger. “Most people don’t understand the more practical uses for alchemy.” he marches forward, hands on his hips, in a hyperbolic show of pride, making his voice sound deep, “that’s why I make it a mission to show the world the value of alchemy! To boldly go where no man has gone before!” he laughs, his pose collapsing, “Or something like that.”

No wonder Rapunzel had such nice things to say about him. There weren’t a lot of people out there who were so…genuine. People who cleaned libraries because they needed cleaning, who created solutions for problems simply because they needed fixing.

“Maybe one day you can teach me.”

“Really?” He drops the ball and it explodes into a sudsy mess on the already polished floor. “I mean, not that I think a queen should be doing housework! But…really?”

“Please,” she waves him off. “I wasn’t always a queen, you know. If Willow and I had had tricks like this maybe our house would have always looked like a pigsty. Sometimes I think we started going off on adventures just to get away from the smell.” She leans in closer, whispering behind her hand, “One time, I set the kitchen on fire trying to bake a birthday cake for Frederic.”

He laughs, then pauses like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to. “I guess not every queen is scared to get her hands dirty, huh?”

“Uh huh,” she puts her hands on her hips, “You should have seen the look on his face.”

“Happy birthday huh?”

“Now make sure to always send someone to Monty’s for his cake…spare us all.”

He fails to keep himself from laughing again, then pauses.

“Well… I really should be getting back to these chores. This laundry isn’t going to clean itself, amIright?” he bobs his head and walks backwards to the cart. “But it was really nice talking to you, your Maj—I mean,” he points, “Arianna.”

“Let me help you! This cart is too heavy to carry on your own.” she rushes over to the other end—he’s so thin, she’s afraid he’ll snap in two if he does all the chores by himself.

“No no!” he comes dangerously close to slapping her hands away. “I mean,” he smiles nervously, pulling his fingers close to his chest, realizing his outburst to the Queen. “I wouldn’t want you to get your…er…royal hands dirty…Right?”

She smiles.

Well, if a little stubborn.

“As long as you’re sure.”

* The scene shifts, smearing like a painting left out in the rain. The reflection becomes more sinister; a glowing tower of amber, and encased within, a man reaching to the sky as if trying to catch rays of sunlight; as if light alone can break himself out of his prison of stained glass. The curtain to this godforsaken show is crumpled at the bottom. A giant machine stands in the middle of the room, made of metal, lightning, and cold, haunting music.

The room smells like sulfur, and rust, and a lot of other chemicals she can’t quite place. Things from the earth which don’t smell natural at all.

The same boy stands before her. The same, and yet…not the same at all. Along with the light from the windows, so too has disappeared the light from his eyes. The blue is something akin to moonlight; less the gleam of day, the reflection of the sunrise, full of hope, instead, more an eclipsed glow, shrouded by darkness.

She feels that rusted metal, the cold in his eyes, wrap like icy hands around her ankles.

She looks quizzically from her cuffed ankles to him. Doesn’t the warden usually cuff the prisoner’s hands?

He seems to understand her confusion, because he answers her unasked question;

“Please,” he scoffs. His eyes meet hers, and he smirks. The words, the smile, no longer contain compassion, they are manufactured with bite and scorn; “I wouldn’t want you to get your royal hands dirty.”

He tugs hard on the chain, showing that it’s connected to the lab’s floor, as if saying to a toddler You’re stuck here, understand? He walks back over to his desk—littered with bottles, liquid bubbling and seething like his emotions, an array of colors that tell nothing of what they contain.

If the color green is sleep, then what color is death?

She looks up at the golden tower in the center of the room. She doesn’t want to, but she can’t look away.

—Look away…like Frederic did, when people like Varian were crying out for his help against the rocks. Look away, like Rapunzel had to when the storm was coming, and Quirin was being imprisoned. Look away, like they all did after the storm passed.

She still couldn’t believe her husband would, could do something like that. That was the reason she was here, the reason the boy was hurt, the reason…the mistake, the poorly made choice.

No, she couldn’t think that way. Besides, she knew he had his reasons, that he wanted to make sure people didn’t panic, and he wanted to keep Rapunzel safe. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t fully understand the situation.

And she would never blame Rapunzel. Rapunzel had had to make one of the most difficult choices of her life that day, had had to learn too much about being queen, too soon: that it was about choices, and sometimes those choices would be leaving behind the one, for the sake of the many.

And the amber was the other reason, and that wasn’t Frederic’s fault...The amber Varian himself had mistakenly made.

Still, it would have been so easy. So easy to come back to him once the storm had ended. So easy...

So where did the fault lie, really?—

Was it amber? Was amber the color of death? Or just another kind of sleep?

The boy’s eyes shift, glaring at her with nothing more than bitterness.

Or was it blue? The color of the moon, a well-timed strike of lightning, an icy landscape. Was blue the color of death?

“What are you going to do?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “I’ll reveal my whole plan to you. Let me go into the tragic backstory of Varian,” he waves his hand grandly, “The poor boy, who lost his father to an experiment, a few rocks, a storm, and a princess’ broken promise.” He leans on the desk, resting his cheek in his hand in some mock-loving fashion, his eyes aimed on her like gunfire. “It’s simple; Rapunzel broke her promise.” He stands back up to his full height—which, admittedly, isn’t very high, but it’s more impressive from her place on the ground. “I tried asking nicely for her help, and I was denied.” He jabs a finger on the table to emphasize his point; the first sign of violence. “Now I’m going to ask” he smirks, tilting his head to the side, his eyes half-lidded in the dark, “not so nicely.”

He pauses a moment, glancing at the chemicals on his desk.

“I once said I’d teach you the ways of practical alchemy.” He reaches forward and takes up a flask. “Well, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I will show you something.”

He walked over to her, holding the flask full of something green and frothy that smells like dog breath.

Was it green? Was death’s color the same as sleep? The colors of leaves and grass and everything everyone thinks is a sign of life. ...It would be a cruel joke.

“This is a little solution I like to call…Varium.” There’s something hurt in his eyes when he says the word. “You see, when it reacts with the rocks,” he runs his fingers along the black spire jutting through the wall between them—one could be fooled into thinking in an intrigued way, but there was something harsh in his touch, resentful in his eyes, “it has this tendency to—” he held it over the stones, the liquid trickling slowly downwards in the flask, teasing her breath to catch itself and fall. He turns the bottle upright, and bites his lip, closing his eyes, willing himself not to turn around and look at what this has done before.

What he’s done.

“Well, you get the idea,” he mutters, returning the flask to his desk.

She doesn’t have to ask, and he doesn’t have to finish.

“You think if you threaten me Rapunzel will work with you?” there’s a bite to her words.

“Ten points to the lady in the crown.”

She pauses as he returns to work, her eyes trailing along the chain, the floor, jumping onto the windowsill—the rocks interrupting her gaze at every bend and break of the room—searching for any way out, any chance at rescue, anything her husband and daughter could use against him.

Was death black? The color everyone thinks it is. The black of these rocks, the low blue glowing beneath them, destroying his home, destroying their hearts, their chances at friendship and…It surely seemed like it.

“She won’t, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow as if to say oh, you think?

“Rapunzel.” She tries to urge her confidence, like a stubborn pet, to come out, but it shies away by the second. “She won’t help you.”

He smiles. “You make your hypotheses, I’ll make mine.”

“And what are yours?” her own eyes are half lidded.

He thinks over his words. “She can’t…help but help. She always had this sick compassion about her.” After a moment he adds softly, “…but only for her kingdom.”

Anger, injustice, bubble within her chest.

“You don’t have to be like this, you know.”

“And she didn’t have to break her promise,” he tilts his head, “ya know.”

She grits her teeth, clenches her fist. “I met you once. What happened to that boy who—”

He laughs a little, cutting her off. “Yeah, well, he learned a couple things about the real world.”

For a moment, just one brief moment, there is something there. Something in his eyes, a memory, a reaction, like the chemicals. Something real, something lost, something hurt, something…something not this. Incased within a prison of blue—

And then that moment ended.

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spookyceph · 4 years

Text

Rating: Teen and up

Crossposted on Ao3

Day 1 | Prompt: Fantasy

A Small Price to Pay

Appearing unremarkable was an underrated skill. So many people wasted their lives scrambling to be noticed. They traded away their dignity and sense for scraps of fame or fortune as if it would change their fate. Nobles, beggars, warlords, courtesans, criminals, heroes—they all wound up feeding the worms in the end. Tomura would know. He’d sent more than one of each category to their graves with a dagger slipped through the ribs.

The man who’d just strolled through the open tavern door, however, couldn’t have avoided attention even if he’d been making an effort. He wore all black, for one thing. The only variety came from the iron studs glittering across the shoulders and on the half-sleeves of his long leather coat. Even his disheveled hair had been dyed—that shade of coal couldn’t be natural. Like most not in Tomura’s line of work, he probably believed black was the ideal color for stealth. In truth, an entire outfit declared, Look! I’m up to no good and I think I’m being sneaky about it! Clothing in a drab, washed-out brown, like the threadbare cloak Tomura had draped around his shoulders, actually worked best. With wisps of his white hair sticking out from the hood, he’d easily be taken for an old drunk nodding off over his drink. No one of note. Certainly not the heir to the most feared assassins’ guild in the empire.

The stranger approached the bar. His step hesitated for a split second when faced with the rippling construct of shadow—a guild contact by the name of Kurogiri—who was tending it. Tomura channeled his energy into a bouncing leg as the pair conversed. After a minute or two, Kurogiri fetched a wooden cup and filled it with the tavern’s finest for the man in black, who must have given all the correct pass phrases because he turned and looked directly at Tomura’s corner.

His flashy clothing was nothing compared to his skin.

Initially, Tomura thought he was staring at raw, purple muscle stretched over the stranger’s forearms, neck, and lower half of his face. Not flayed, he realized several stunned seconds later. Burned. Some disaster or curse had charred his skin in impossibly symmetrical patches. Even more striking were the neat rows of slim silver rings running along the seams, binding living and ruined flesh. They flaunted what might have been a disfigurement as decoration instead. To anyone with a taste for the macabre, the effect came across as artistic. Even beautiful.

Tomura hated him instantly. Still, he regulated his breathing and didn’t allow his hands to lift from the table to scratch his neck while the ostentatious bastard meandered his way to the table to join him. Master All For One had entrusted him with assembling the team that would eventually topple the empire. If he meant to take over the guild one day—meant to rid the world of hypocrites and bootlickers like Yagi Toshinori, the Emperor’s Champion—he would need to deal with people he didn’t care for. Nothing would get done if he just shut himself in his room and played out ancient battles with maps and models forever.

The man in black stopped at the chair to Tomura’s left, resting long, slender fingers on its back. The blue of his eyes shone as bright as the center of the flame in the tin oil lamp sitting on the table.

“Evening. Mind if I join you?” His voice shared none of the swagger of his appearance. Low and soft, Tomura had to strain to hear it.

“If I did,” he snapped, patience frayed along the edges, “you’d be on the floor already, choking on your own blood.”

This warm welcome only made the man smile, silver rings pulling at scar tissue. He sat and made the mistake of actually drinking the ale.

Now here was something to cheer him up. A nasty grin stretched Tomura’s own scar, slashed straight down the side of his cracked lips. “How is it?”

The stranger tilted his head, peering into his cup as if he’d caught something swimming in it. “I think the only thing more likely to kill me is the water.” Regardless, he took another swig.

Bah. No fun after all. Mouth sagging into a grimace, Tomura pushed his own cup away just a bit more. “So. You’re the flame mage looking to tag along on the job.”

“Afraid so. Call me Dabi. And you’re the dreaded Shigaraki Tomura, protégé of the most feared criminal overlord in the empire.”

“The same. What makes you think you’d be any use to me, Lord Call-Me-Dabi? Looking at you, I’d say your spells blow up in your face more often than they hit your enemies.”

To his credit and Tomura’s further exasperation, the mage didn’t lunge at the bait. “If only it were that simple. My scars,” he lifted his rough, pitted arms, turning them over and back for display, “are the result of my father making a deal with a demon.”

Tomura had to catch himself before he looked Dabi directly in the face and revealed too much of his own. “Your father did what?”

That earned a wagging finger. “I’ll tell you the story…but only in exchange for answering a question about your own past.”

Unease played with the hair along the back of Tomura’s neck. “Let’s hear this question first.”

“Fair enough. I want to know whether it’s true you’re cursed to destroy anything you touch.”

Muscles knotting down his spine, Tomura stiffened. How did this flashy asshole know more about his past than Sensei’s own network of informants had been able to dig up on him? Was he lying about the demon story just to get Tomura to talk? For what purpose? He couldn’t determine an advantage for doing so. But…since he already knew about the curse there didn’t seem to be any use in hiding it. Anyway, maybe his reaction would reveal further clues.

Reaching out with his left hand and keeping his right on one of the daggers sheathed against his ribcage, Tomura touched Dabi’s cup with all five fingers. A series of soft crackles filled the silence as the wood split apart first along the grain, then into individual fibers before disintegrating into a powdery ash that plopped to the table as a pile of mush when combined with the ale. The mage’s eyes became as round and shiny as marbles.

“Fascinating.” He lifted one of his own half-scarred hands. Instead of curiously poking the mound of pulp, though, Dabi went for Tomura’s wrist. His fingers brushed skin, warmer than the sunlight it rarely encountered, before Tomura recoiled.

“Are you insane?”

“Depends who you ask.”

Two fingers carefully folded against his palms, Tomura tucked his hands under his elbows and shoved away suddenly intrusive thoughts of what the mage’s touch might feel like on other parts of him. “How did you hear I’m cursed?”

Dabi chuckled, low and deep and quiet like his voice. The sound sent a little thrill racing out from Tomura’s belly to the crown of his head before plummeting straight down to the tips of his toes, which curled in his boots. Bastard. He had to be using some sort of enchantment to enhance his voice. Had to. “So many questions. Information is too valuable to just give away, though. You of all people should know that.”

Tomura’s jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth squeak. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much—the answer ties in with your initial question, actually. A kiss should cover it.”

The remaining cup of ale tipped over and splashed its contents across the table as Tomura sprang up, jostling the edge.

“You want what?” He could sense the eyes of the handful of other patrons in the tavern locked on him from the outburst. Kurogiri, surely, must have been staring at him like he’d lost his mind. But Tomura couldn’t stop gawking at Dabi, who, despite an amused quirk of the brows, didn’t appear to be joking.

“A kiss in exchange for information,” the mage said. “To be collected in private, at your earliest convenience, of course. A more than agreeable price, if you ask me.”

For the first time in his life, Tomura was left speechless. “Wha…but…you…”

“’Why a kiss’, you ask?”

“Yes.”

Dabi’s shoulders bobbed in a shrug. “There’s already plenty of gold to be had for accepting this job from the guild. Ten tablets of gold upon completion, wasn’t it? A story about kissing a deadly assassin and living to tell the tale, though? Much harder to come by. Anyway, it seems fitting. I tell you something interesting about my past and you give me a new tidbit to share in the future.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I thought we already touched on that subject.” Leathery forearms folded on the table, the mage craned forward. “So? How about it?”

Realizing how far his common sense had flown from him, Tomura yanked his hood closer around his face and plopped back into his seat. He began snagging his thoughts out of the cyclone of emotion that had swept them up. From a purely practical view, Dabi lost in this bargain. Even if everything he said turned out to be a pile of unicorn shit, Tomura could still learn something from the telling itself. There had to be a hidden angle to this farce. A ploy to see his face fully and sell a description to the authorities? Hardly the easiest, most efficient way to go about it. An attempt to get Tomura alone and off guard to exact revenge? Plausible. He’d killed dozens of people, including two mages, in his career. There was no reason one of them couldn’t have been a friend or relative of Dabi’s. Giving the mage what he wanted, keeping him close, was an ironclad way to find out. A bit of pride was a small price to pay to destroy an enemy with their own trap.

And if paranoia had made something out of nothing…he could always kill Dabi anyway rather than live it down.

Tomura sniffed. “Fine. I agree to your insane terms. Now answer my questions.”

A sliver of white, straight teeth glimmered in the mage’s smile. Tomura had to rein in his imagination before it ran away with picturing them leaving bite marks all over his neck. “The reasons this story happened at all are rather prosaic, I’m afraid. My father was a powerful flame mage who wanted to be above all other warriors. Wanted to be the Emperor’s Champion, in fact. He fought in tournaments and dueled noble-funded contenders, beating every opponent, rising quickly through the lists despite being only twenty-five. Then he faced the man who would become his life-long rival. No matter how many times my father challenged him, he could never best him. So, not getting any younger, he changed tactics and decided to have a perfect child capable of beating this better man.”

Turning just enough to peek at Dabi past his hood and messy hair, Tomura snorted. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Told you the motivations were uninspired.”

“Don’t tell me he summoned a demon woman to bear him this perfect child.”

“The circumstances of my birth aren’t half so interesting, sadly.” Lacing his hands behind his head, Dabi leaned back in his chair until it was balancing only on two legs. “No, my father scoured noble families for any daughters with promising magical talent. Eventually, he wound up marrying an unlucky woman from a line of ice mages and she had me not long after. I inherited my father’s power over fire, but apparently not to the god-like levels he’d been hoping for. When ten years of trying to beat greatness into me didn’t produce results, he turned to alternative methods.

“I’ll spare you the gory details, but the old bastard summoned a demon with the authority to make the type of deal he wanted. He offered it my soul in exchange for augmenting my power. And now…”

With a flourish of one hand, flames the same brilliant blue of his eyes rippled up from Dabi’s fingertips. Heat slapped Tomura in the face even from that distance, sucking the breath straight from his lungs. Another flick of the wrist and the mage clenched his hand, snuffing the fiery ribbons.

“My flames burn hot enough to melt steel—hotter than any mortal can cast. Therein laid the problem and the demon’s trick. My new powers were too intense for a fourteen-year-old boy to withstand, let alone control. The attempt broke me, leaving me severely burned over most of my body and on the verge of death. In his infinite wisdom and mercy, my father declared me a failure. He sent me away to a monastery to ‘recover’. Really, he figured my injuries would finish me off and the demon would have its prize early. Fortunately, I’m more resilient than he gave me credit for.”

Despite Dabi’s casual, even flippant tone and posture, something in his eyes told Tomura that maybe this story—the core of it anyway—wasn’t a complete fabrication. Something within the burning-blue irises too cold and hard for even them to melt. “Not only did I pull through, I learned ways to protect myself somewhat from my own magic thanks to the monks and their connections to various rare book sellers and libraries. By the time my father sent someone—perhaps one of yours even—to finish what my injuries hadn’t, I was ready. I spent about another five years after that in hiding, accumulating knowledge and skill. Skills like breaking wards, or getting minor spirits to collect tidbits of information, such as a curse placed on an infamous assassin, say. When I finally had the strength, I summoned the demon who’d traded with my father and renegotiated the terms of the deal.

“See, promising somebody else’s soul, especially a child’s, is tricky when you don’t just outright sacrifice them. Comes with all sorts of cosmic snags. Rather than risk winding up empty-handed, the demon was willing to heal me as much as it was able and accept my father’s soul instead for services rendered. The next week, I delivered.”

Slowly, Dabi let his chair rock forward back onto all four legs. At the same instant, the scales in Tomura’s mind tipped as well.

“Fine. You’re on the job. Ten tablets of gold before, as you already heard. Thirty after. You cooperate with everyone else on the team, no exceptions, no complaints. Agreed?”

Dabi bowed as much as the table would allow. “I’m at your service.”

“Hmph. We’ll see if it’s worth anything soon enough. Are you familiar with the old entertainment district on the west side of the city?”

“I’ve kept an appointment or two over that way.”

“Do you know the fountain?”

The mage tapped his scarred chin. “Dried up, statue of a fox woman, lots of crude writing all over it?”

“That’s the one. Be there at sunset two days from now. Be on time or don’t bother to show up at all. I’ll take you to meet the rest of the rabble helping with this venture.”

“Perfect. And about that remaining payment—”

Tomura stood from his chair abruptly. “You’ll get it when I say so. Don’t push me or you’ll wind up with a blade through your windpipe instead.”

“I look forward to it.” Smiling, Dabi offered his hand across the table. “Working with you, that is. Not the slashed throat so much.”

He didn’t even glance down at the gesture of goodwill. “We’re complete opposites then.”

That parting barb still wasn’t enough to stifle the soft laugh that followed Tomura as he strode away, pretending not to notice the strange fluttering in his middle.

#shigadabiweek2020 #shigadabi #shigadabi fic #shigadabi fanfic #dabi x shigaraki #shigaraki x dabi #shigaraki tomura #dabi #fantasy au

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

Text

Bloom & Bone (1/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: I haven't written fanfiction in a decade, but this idea wouldn't let me go, especially once I got to thinking about Elain. And Tamlin. And then I fell in love with Lucien and Vassa. This is a long ride but everything's outlined, and I hope you'll join me on this journey. You can find all chapters here. You can also read this chapter on AO3.

Elain cannot look at her sister when she describes the vision: the spark in Tamlin’s green eyes, Feyre’s anguish, the press of his fingers into her wrist. The Crown on his head and his talons hovering just above the blue veins that are so stark against her younger sister’s milk-pale skin, a sickly shade that Elain has never actually seen on Feyre in life, not even in the cottage, in the dead of winter.

Instead, while she addresses the Court of Dreams, Elain makes herself look at Rhys, his rage-dulled eyes, at Mor, who moves toward Feyre as if magnetized, wanting to protect her friend. Even Amren is easier to watch, her face revealing no emotion but a certainty bordering on arrogance. Elain glances only occasionally at Azriel, the force of his glance a blow in her gut. Though the pain, in its own way, is useful, giving her voice a wobble that could be understood as horror or incomprehension. Mostly Elain angles her head so that she studies the swirls of marble on the floor. They are used to believing she is diffident, cowed, and honestly she often feels this way, in spite of her Fae body and her powers, no matter what new rancor stirs in her lately.

She recounts the vision’s grand finale: Tamlin and Feyre on the thrones in the ruined Spring Court, the Crown the only spark of light in the gloom, the room empty and covered in thorns.

“Azriel told me once,” she says, once the words have had sufficient time to settle, “that he thought my powers were not the visions alone, but the ability to change them.”

Elain allows herself, then, to turn from the floor to Cassian, the first person she’d saved knowingly, applying her fingers to Truth Teller, the knife to the king of Hybern’s throat. She’d seen his death in a vision, but not her father’s, and a kernel of her hates him for this, all those easy smiles. She had only ever told Azriel the details of the vision. At the time he was the only one who’d believed what she was seeing, who thought she might have the power to change things. The one who’d put the knife in her hands. Now she does not look at him.

Instead, she keeps her eyes on Cassian. Not because she needs to read the expression on his face. His reactions to her vision would have been audible even to her human ears, the horror at the mere possibility of a future for his High Lady. Cassian, who she knows will relay the story directly to Nesta, the sister who grew up entwined around her and can read the nuances behind each of Elain’s gestures, the timbre of her voice, and instantly detect a lie. She’d bided her time until Nesta was occupied with the Valkyries, a training exercise that could not be rescheduled, occupying her sister and also Gwyn, of whom Elain prefers not to think.

From the heavy silence in the room, she knows they all believe her.

“Then what should we do?” Feyre says, finally, her High Lady voice its own armor. She looks toward her mate, not even glancing at Elain. Her job, it seems, is to supply the visions, then return to her garden. For once in her gods-damned life, this is not Elain Archeron’s plan.

“I would like to go to the Spring Court,” she says, working her hands into fists. She waits for Azriel’s growl, but there’s only silence, Feyre’s mouth working silently, trying to determine the right words. As if her sister has suspected that something vile is brewing inside Elain, acrid and corrosive, that now she wonders why, unlike the other times, Elain could so calmly recount the details of her vision, a power mastered seemingly without training.

Instead her sister says, “There is no chance I’m letting you within Tamlin’s borders. Do you remember how you ended up in the Cauldron?” The words spit themselves from her lips.

“Who else do you suggest we send?”

It surprises them, the steel in her voice. For a moment, they are all silent, trying to determine what it means, Elain snapping at her sister. She watches as Rhys reaches out for Feyre, and the weariness overcomes her, the weight of the lie suddenly laid on her. That she could become a creature against whom her sister needs protection.

She clenches her fists tighter. Her fingernails dig into the callouses left by her gardening tools.

“Nesta could--” Feyre begins.

“Nesta could summon the Crown right to Tamlin,” Amren cuts in, before Elain can get the words out herself. Amren, who knows Nesta’s powers better than any of them.

“Nesta would never do that,” Cassian growls, and Elain bites her lip to keep from smiling. Of the entire Night Court, she can always predict Cassian’s responses most easily.

“If you were threatened?” Elain says, her voice low, concerned. “Nesta has her own duties. I can detect the Trove but not summon it. I couldn’t be used so easily as bait.”

“You are still--” Rhys starts, but Elain cuts him off, continuing as though she does not hear him, you are still one of the Cauldron-blessed Archeron sisters, the words a curse that will not leave her, the facts of her existence that have taken everything away from her, every choice she’d once thought to be her own. Hoping he’ll forget that until now she always has been bait, the soft and useless sister who could best be used to harm the others, the ones with real value in and of themselves.

“Send Lucien with me, if you like,” she says. Feyre’s eyebrow’s raise, and Mor’s, and though Elain is afraid she’s said too much, she allows the blush to rise to her cheeks. Let them think, now that Azriel’s found his mate, that she’s considering Lucien with renewed interest.

“I’ll go with them,” Mor cuts in.

“You’re needed in Valhallan,” Rhys says, fingers splayed under his chin. He’s all languorous consideration and sparkling violet eyes but Elain knows his mind is whirling, that the pleasant veneer is mostly for her benefit. After three years in the Court of Dreams, everyone still thinks she’s going to shatter. Even if they’ve given her ample reason to fall apart. “Would Vassa join your merry band, do you think? I’d like to keep an eye on her, given what we’ve learned about Koschei.” Thanks to Azriel and Gwyn, Elain knows, but Rhysand does not say.

“We shouldn’t leave Jurian unattended.” Cassian cracks his knuckles, his armor shifting.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Azriel says.

“Then it’s settled. Elain will act as our emissary in the Spring Court,” Rhys says, and when Elain finally does look into Feyre’s eyes, she doesn’t want to read her sister’s expression, only knows it’s one she’s never seen before.

Then again, Elain has never told such an incredible lie in her life. She’s not entirely sure what kind of creature that makes her.

“You don’t have to try and save me,” Feyre says later, standing on the threshold of Elain’s room with Nyx on her shoulder. The baby is almost asleep, his wings making languid circles that catch Feyre’s cheek in a sigh. Nyx is nearly too big to need holding, but Feyre is holding on to these last moments before he’ll be off and running or flying, a brilliant and holy terror.

“I know you can fight against Tamlin. But I’d like to see if that can be avoided. And... I’d like to have something to do. To be useful.” Elain busies herself with her dresses, selecting those which most resemble her favorite blooms, the pale azures and pinks that herald spring and the rich yellow that shows that fall is on the horizon.

“Is it Azriel?”

For a while now, Feyre has been dancing around this question with a poise that reminds Elain of Nesta’s skill in a ballroom. She invited Elain to sit for a portrait last month and began a hundred soft questions that Elain demurely did not answer.

Elain continues sorting through her dresses. This orange makes her look sickly, and of course the black gowns have no place in the Spring Court, would only serve to advertise her status as an outsider.

“I know that he and Gwyn were unexpected,” Feyre begins again, in a voice that she must use when meeting with her public, a voice that’s low and soothing and guaranteed to make them proud of their High Lady, “but I did not realize that you were so attached to him.”

Elain has turned, now, to her jewels. She grits her teeth against the scream that curdles inside her. You did not see Rhysand at the top of the staircase at the Solstice party the year before last, she does not say, because the words are too ridiculous for all that’s inside her. Azriel could have kissed her anyway. She could have reached for him. Instead they gazed at each other across rooms, let their fingers brush, until he stopped meeting her gaze. Two weeks later, Gwyn showed up at the house on the river, a faint blush on her cheeks, standing too close to Azriel for there to be any question as to the reason for her visit. And there was Nesta, taking a fighting stance at her friend’s side, the expression on her face so familiar to Elain that she could practically feel the grime of their old cottage on her skin. Between the two of them, Elain could hardly have approached Gwyn if she’d wanted to, if she’d had anything inside her head but roaring and emptiness. When she’d spotted the rose necklace Azriel had fastened to her own neck on Gwyn’s throat, Elain had excused herself from dinner before dessert.

That had only been the first dinner, the first hint of a smile she’d never seen before on Azriel’s face. Soon Gwyn appeared at all kinds of court affairs and family gatherings, and Elain has found herself seeking corners, wanting quiet. The roiling inside her grew stronger, a twist in her stomach and acid in her muscles, so that even a small group could feel overwhelming. Her gardens have never been more beautiful, or her hemlines so streaked with dirt. Nuala and Cerridwen sometimes tease her, wondering if she has found a lover in the gardens, and Elain laughs to keep them from asking questions. She schools her expression to be pleasant, never demanding, never petulant, never angry.

When she was human, which seems so long ago already, Elain had been the beautiful sister, the one her parents anticipated would marry well, enrich their family or establish them as aristocracy. They had told her always to be sweet and gentle, never creating a reason for a man to fall out of love with her. The instructions were not a burden for Elain, not the way they would have been to her sisters. But now, her character finely honed, she would never have expected to be without a husband, without the love and affection she sees between her sisters and their mates. She’d worked too hard on being loveable to be forced to end up with a mate for whom she has no regard.

Now, Feyre sets Nyx down on Elain’s bed and comes over to the jewelry box, untangling the pearls from the emeralds and rubies. Elain has always favored delicate jewels, nothing too large or ornate, and the golden chains seem to catch no matter how carefully they’re arranged.

“I always thought you were better suited to the Spring Court than I ever was,” she says, picking up a diamond earring and clasping it to its mate. “I wish you could have seen the gardens the way I first did. Though I think they would have a hard time competing with any of your gardens.”

Elain breathes a laugh through her nose. “You always try too hard to flatter me.”

“Only because you can never take a compliment.”

For a moment, they are girls again, in a funhouse mirror of what their adolescence could have looked like: Feyre always more self-assured than anyone would expect for a girl her age, Elain seemingly serene, allowing herself to be led down pleasant paths.

“You know that the Spring Court is dangerous.”

“I’ve been to the Court of Nightmares and lived to tell the tale.”

“The Court of Nightmares has a ruler.”

“Tamlin knows what would happen if he harmed me.” Elain runs her fingers over a set of combs shaped like branches that know winter is ending, emerald leaves unfurling. She will have to pack these in her trunks.

“Not according to your vision,” Feyre murmurs, and though the tone is pitched to be soothing, an acid knot forms in Elain’s stomach. “I know that Rhys will make things clear to him, but you can’t let Tamlin walk all over you.”

“He needs to trust me somehow.”

Feyre puts down the bottle of perfume she’s been toying with, releasing a puff of peony and rose. She pulls on the end of her plaited hair, not so much thinking as gnawing on her memories.

“I used to think that Tamlin only told his secrets to Lucien, or perhaps Ianthe, but now I don’t think… I think he is very alone. And he never trusted me with very much of anything.”

“He was wrong about you, Feyre.”

“I only mean, I think that a beautiful maiden would not necessarily inspire Tamlin to confess anything of interest. He will only trust, and grudgingly, the people he sees as his equals.”

“I am not some damsel, sister.”

It’s only when she catches Feyre’s wide-eyed look that Elain realizes the sharpness in her tone. The kind of tone her sisters both wield so well, but which no one expects to emerge from between her own lips.

But Elain does not want to ruin the moment, maybe the last in which she and Feyre will be so close, so she takes her sister’s hand and listens to her sister’s stories of the Spring Court, drying the occasional tear, until neither of them can talk for yawning. Before Feyre goes to her own bedroom with Nyx, Elain pulls her into a close embrace, taking in her sister’s scent of lilac and pear, until she’s sure that nothing could pull these memories out of her mind.

Alone in her darkened room, though she’s exhausted and worn, Elain does not sleep. This is a common side effect of her visions, she would say if anybody asked her. The futures she sees always haunt her to a certain extent, their texture real and yet unhinged, the world mostly nightmarish.

Elain has never seen herself in her visions, though. Not before this last one. Because she had lied to the Court of Dreams. She herself has been the Archeron sister sitting next to Tamlin in that ruined court. And she, not that High Lord, had been wearing the Crown.

Even more than that vision of herself, the haughty set of her chin and a glint in her eye that matched this newfound roiling inside her, the expression on Tamlin’s face drove away all possibility of sleep. His eyes were not alive, the green gone cold and deep, like the dying moss on an overturned stone, but the features of his face were calm, and, even unpracticed as she is in the analysis of her own visions, Elain could swear that she’d seen the hint of a smile on his lips, that in spite of the compulsion of the Crown, the joy was real.

She hates that she would be so desperate, even in the small room of her own mind, that she would look so closely at a prisoner’s face to find this kind of affection. Already, in the two days that passed while she tried to figure out how best to resolve this situation, she’s wondered if she could simply claw out the part of her brain that generates these nightmares. She would scoop out the part of herself that is evil, too, if only she could identify these horrible parts.

Elain isn’t sure if it’s the Night Court that is making her a monster, or if it was a gift from the Cauldron. Perhaps the Spring Court will change her, or maybe it was losing, twice already, the possibility of love.

All she knows is that she needs to leave before her sisters witness the transformation. She will die before she sees her monstrous self reflected in their eyes.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #elain is my queen #elain x tamlin #tamlin #tamlin redemption arc #tamlin x elain #vucien #vucien is goals #lucien vanserra #queen vassa #inner circle #nessian #feysand #post acosf #acosf spoilers #gwynriel

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thewritewolf · 4 years

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Adrien, Agreste No Longer: Chapter 1 - Bad Dad

Adrien has a terrible home life, but what can he do? This is his messed up family, after all.

...Or is it?

...I can explain.

I fully admit this is a crack fic - *I'm* definitely not taking it super seriously, so I don't expect you to either. It all stemmed from a joke I made with my beta reader while we watched Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse one day. We had a moment where we turned to each other and just sort of went, "...huh." Then the outline for this fic began to take shape.

Anyway, it's a weird fic to be sure, but I hope you'll enjoy it!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

It was a quiet and depressing dinner, but Adrien was in a good mood anyway. Not just because this week he'd be going to a charity event with his friends, although that was a big factor in it. After all those hoops he'd jumped through, he had finally cleared off enough space in his schedule to manage it. All that hard work and his father – through Nathalie – had allowed it.

Which brought him to the other reason he was so happy today – unlike almost every day, Adrien wasn't eating alone! Granted, they were eating on opposite ends of a very long table and the only noises besides Adrien chattering about school and work was the clinking of silverware against plates. But even just that was an improvement over every other day.

Adrien sighed contently as he finished his last story. “...Pierre was very happy with the photos. He was saying they might even be the best yet! But with a motivation like that thing with my friends, what else-”

“'Thing'?” Gabriel said, his head snapping up as he spoke for the first time since they sat down to eat. “What 'thing'?”

“The... the thing that I'm going to on Saturday.” A sinking feeling, like an empty void, opened up in his stomach as he looked at his father's blank expression, clearly not recognizing what he was talking about. This had been on the schedule for at least a month! Heck, Nathalie had even gotten father to sign the schedule for him! “With my friends? It's the Roberts charity drive.”

Gabriel's eyes widened at the name and he coughed into his napkin. “Out of the question. You will be attending the fashion gala with me, not cavorting around with those delinquent friends of yours.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut and for a moment Adrien couldn't decide what part of that sentence to refute first.

“Father! I don't do anything during those functions. Definitely not anything that would need both of us. And I worked so hard for this! Why won't-”

“That is enough!” Adrien was startled when his father slammed his open hands on the table and stood up. Fear rose up in him when he saw the glare being leveled at him. “I am your father and you will do as I say. No tricks, no deals. Am I understood?”

Adrien bobbed his head quickly.

“Good.” Gabriel stood up straight and folded his hands behind his back. “Now go to your room. You've had enough excitement for the day and I know that you can find some constructive use of your time.”

At that moment, Adrien would have taken any excuse to not be in the room with his father any more. Despite the growled protests of his stomach, Adrien left his plate of food behind and made a beeline for his room. He blinked down tears as he realized he'd have to call just to disappoint his friends.

Again.

But at least he was getting used to it by now...

---------

“Seriously, dude?” Nino's voice echoed through the emptiness of Adrien's room, the only distortion despite him only being present through facetime on his phone. “That is is seriously not cool of your daddio. We've been planning this shindig for weeks now!”

Adrien dropped himself into his chair, slouching in a way he knew his father would yell at him for if he could see him. “I tried to tell him that, bro, but you know how he is. Once he's made a decision...”

“He doesn't go back on it, yeah, I get it. Doesn't make him any less of a tool though.” Nino stared off screen and glared. “What is even his deal? I thought your old man signed your Agreste-brand permission slip, dude?”

“Maybe he just signed whatever Nathalie had put in front of him without reading it,” Adrien replied. As much as he hated to admit it, that was almost definitely what had happened. Maybe the whole deal had been entirely Nathalie's idea.

“Well, I guess it's not all bad.” Adrien looked back at Nino, who was wearing a vicious smile. “It ain't gonna look cool on your pops when word gets out you're gonna be a no-show. Lotsa folks were looking forward to you showing up for that charity.”

Adrien smirked, only to immediately feel bad about it. This was his own father – he shouldn't be feeling happy about the possibility he'd take some bad publicity over this. Right?

“But seriously, my main bro,” Nino continued. “Everyone loves the Roberts! I'd have thought even your daddio would make an exception for them.”

“I guess not,” Adrien sighed. His stomach growled again. “Listen, Nino, I'd love to keep talking but-”

“-But you've gotta do all that crazy homework so he won't come down even harder on you. Yeah, I get it.” He pinched his nose, then looked back at Adrien with sympathetic eyes. “You want me to tell Al and M?”

His heart sank even more. He'd almost forgotten this was just the first call he had to make tonight. “No... I'll do it. I'd rather they heard it from me. It's the least I can do.”

“You're a good dude, dude. Sometimes, I can't believe ol' Gabe is your father.” Nino scratched the back of his head. “Okay, most times I think that. Anyway, try to chillax. I know it sucks, but we'll get through, 'kay?” Adrien nodded. “See ya later.”

The screen went dark and Adrien stared at his own reflection in the polished surface. His stomach growled again and Adrien felt something land on his knee. Putting down his phone, he saw Plagg holding up a wedge of Camembert about as big as he was. He pushed it towards Adrien.

With a soft smile, Adrien took it. As he took his first bite, he said, “Thanks, Plagg.”

“Don't mention it, kid. But I shouldn't have to be the one feeding you.”

“I know, I'm sorry-”

“I don't want your apology,” Plagg snapped. His tiny face immediately twisted up in regret. “Sorry, it's just...”

“Don't worry, I get it. And really, I'm used to it by now.” Adrien pulled himself closer to his desk and started organizing his homework. It looked like a lot but he could probably get it done within an hour. Although he'd have to call Alya soon... And Marinette. For some reason, the thought of disappointing her weighed particularly heavy on his heart.

Plagg looked up at Adrien with an unreadable expression, his tail flicking back and forth irritably behind him. Then he floated up to the crown of Adrien's head and curled up. Adrien could almost swear he heard the kwami grumble, “You shouldn't have to be used to it.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #barbie: life in the dreamhouse #adrien agreste #Gabriel Agreste #Nino Lahiffe #Plagg #ml fanfiction #my writing #Adrien Agreste No Longer

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mlmdarkfiction · 4 years

Text

Long Lasting Solitude

For @pickingpixel

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dmitri/M!Reader

Summary: That voice.You know that voice.It’s the voice you’ve had haunting your dreams for the past five years.Despite yourself and the pain your eyes snap open.“Dmitri?”

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Read Below:

Being afraid of people is nothing new for you. This fear has existed in you for as long as you can remember, and with seemingly no cause. It’s a lonesome existence, the life you lead, and you dread the loneliness just as much as you dread the thought of interacting with others.

It’s one of the things that causes you to eventually agree to go from the seclusion of your home to Garreg Mach Monastery. Though it had less to do with your own wants and desires, but those of your parents. You, their only son, bearer of Crest Macuil, have quite the future ahead of you if you played your cards correctly. As your parents, they want what is best for you, and what it is they want is for you to have a real chance in Noble society one day.

Adjusting to school was hard to do thanks to your fears. Everyday since you first arrived it felt as if your heart was going to escape your chest from just how hard it was beating. Living your whole childhood as a shut-in meant despite the closeness of other Noble houses, you’d never actually met any of the other students you were now studying aside. Still…Your fellow Blue Lion’s tried to be courteous to you in return.

And yet at every turn it seemed as if you just ruined things.

Your fears.

Your anxiety.

Even now when surrounded by others your own age you still can’t connect.

It’s lonely.

It’s embarrassing .

The more days go on, the more your thoughts turn from fear of others to anger at yourself.

Of course, they would never want to speak with you, befriend you, you’re a pathetic lowly thing.

You end up isolating yourself even more.

When you aren’t in class, or eating, you’re training.

All your energy and focus go into your Dark Magic.

You want to prove yourself, prove your worth. You’ve seen what the other students in your class can do, and none of them have dedicated themselves to the dark arts like you have.

Despite your shortcomings, at least in that regard, you are the best.

The other students have noticed your odd behavior of course. Some have simply brushed you off as not wanting company, while others are worried, and an even selector few (Felix) have decided that whatever is wrong with you is not their business.

And of course, Dmitri, Head of House, Prince of Faerghus, had noticed your odd behavior. Not only had he noticed, but he’d taken it to heart, somehow overlooking the fact you were just as skittish and shy around everyone.

He began to believe he had…slighted you in some way, and so he made a plan to make it up to you. He would not only apologize to you for his wrongdoing, but by the end of it all he was sure the two of you would be fast friends.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Unlike Dmitri, Dedue was more than aware that your behaviors extended to everyone, and not just the crowned prince. He had even gone as far as to try and relay this message to Dmitri, who just seemed incapable of understanding.

And so, when the time came, and the prince inevitably asked for help in ‘Operation Become Friends With ____’ he didn’t object.

Still he was a bit worried about cornering someone as jumpy as you.

He’d done as he was told though, waiting until he was sure you’d settled down in the training grounds by yourself before informing Dmitri of your location.

For all it was worth cornering you was easy.

All Dedue really had to do to find you was to figure out where everyone else wasn’t. And the chances are if you weren’t in the least populated area of the monastery then you were in your room.

“Of course, it’s a good idea Dedue!”

The Prince doesn’t seem to recognize the concern at all as he makes his way to the training area, in his arms a small basket with all the supplies to make a makeshift picnic. An apology of the highest degree.

Still he quiets down the closer he gets to the training grounds. He knows he can scare you off if he isn’t careful. He’s done it before, but not this time!

This time was to be perfect.

When he arrives, he takes a moment to watch you, he’s transfixed.

Normally your face is one filled with fear, or at the very least unbridled anxiety but now in the moment, thinking you’re completely alone focusing on nothing but the target in front of you and the magic at your fingertips you look determined.

Dmitri may not notice the rush of colors coming to his cheeks, but Dedue does.

He gives a nudge to Dmitri, urging him to action and almost tripping the prince in turn.

“___!” He calls out excitedly taking a step into the center of the room.

Your reaction is impossible to miss.

It’s pure reflex, the way your body seizes in fear, as your heart begins to pound in your ears, it’s the heart of a trapped rabbit moments before the predator's teeth sink into its supple flesh.

Your stiff movements cause the spell you were working on to go flying, far off from the target you had been focusing on and to instead scorch into the stone wall.

If it were anyone else, perhaps you would feel silly to be afraid, but it’s not just anyone. It’s Dmitri.

He seems kind enough. As kind as anyone else, you suppose, but you’ve seen what he can do when he doesn’t mean to. That’s what being quiet affords you, perception. You’ve seen the way expertly forged weapons can crack and break under his simple grip.

It terrifies you.

The thought of what he could do to you if he touched you terrifies you.

“___, I saw you were here, I thought perhaps we could train together, I know we’ve never gotten to in the past, I even packed you something to eat, it’s late and I never see you in the dining hall and-“

He’s talking quickly. He can see your fear. It’s clear as day it would be impossible not to notice and he simply doesn’t understand. It frustrates him but he keeps it hidden behind his friendly demeanor as he tries desperately to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of.

When you start to shake, he acts without thinking, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder, but that was a mistake.

You squeak, a pathetic sound, and then your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Dmitri simply yells in panic and confusion when your body begins to fall.

You fainted.

The Prince of Faerghus, simply spoke to you, and you fainted.

More than that though, you’re alone. You recognize the infirmary at least, that keeps your panic at bay. It’s not the first time, nor will it come to be the last you’re here. Battle injuries, training injuries, and seeing Manuela often landed you hear.

Although this is the first time you’ve fainted.

It’s surprising though for the teacher not to be here.

You shed the blanket from your body standing with ease. You don’t hurt like you thought you would after fainting, but then you remember, right before you’d blacked out…

Dmitri had caught you.

The realization forces a blush to your cheeks in both embarrassment and humiliation.

Even if you were afraid...Dmitri hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

“God...I’m such an idiot.”

It’s said allowed for no one’s benefit but your own, anxious hands reaching up to cover your face.

As much as you don’t want to, you know you owe the Prince an apology.

The realization causes you to groan into your hands.

Dmitri had wanted to stay with you after taking you to the infirmary, but Dedue had pointed out that maybe it was for the best if he left you alone for now.

After all it was him who’d caused you to faint in the first place.

“I just don’t understand…”

He says softly, the frustration and desperation clear.

“He looked at me as if seeing a ghost.”

“Is it really that weird your highness?”

Sylvain comes to explain.

“I mean...when was the last time you saw ____ talk to anyone?” He asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him speak to anyone other than a teacher if he didn’t have to. He’s seriously anti-social!”

Dmitri sighs. Even if that’s the case he imagines it must be lonely. It’s because of that he can’t simply give up and leave you alone.

Not until you tell him yourself, in your own words, that you want him to leave you alone to your solitude.

The next few days are filled with even rarer glimpses of you than usual. Dmitri’s starting to believe that maybe he did really offend you if you’re going so clearly out of your way to avoid him.

However in reality the opposite could not be more than true.

Although you’re heavily fighting with your depression, and thoughts of self hatred you think that maybe...maybe this apology will be good for you.

Maybe after apologizing to the prince the two of you will become friends.

It would be nice…

It’s a nice thought.

Even if you, even if someone like you, doesn’t feel as if you deserve it.

So it’s not that you’ve been ignoring Dmitri. You’ve just been busy. Busy planning an apology, and trying to psych yourself up.

Even with the day of the apology finally being here you’re anxious. Your anxiety is so overwhelming that you almost back out entirely, but you’ve come too far to give up now.

To avoid having to see Dmitri face to face you leave him a note, slipped under the door to his room.It’s a simple note, simply asking the Prince to meet you at the gazebo come nighttime.

That’s easier. If it’s night time well...you won’t have to deal with anyone else seeing you.

And Dmitri finds the note, after finally returning to his room. He had spent a majority of his day with Byleth, teaching swordsman ship to the various orphans who lived in the monastery, and after he and the professor had gotten a very late dinner.

By the time he reads the note he fears you won’t be waiting on him anymore. After all, it's twenty minutes from when you’d asked to meet him.

It doesn’t stop the prince though, he doesn’t hesitate to drop everything,not even bothering to close the door to his bedroom as he takes off for the gazebo.

He fully expects to find you asleep, or simply not there at all. And he wouldn't have blamed you.

In fact more than anything else he’s surprised to find you seated there in the dark, the only light beneath the gazebo the single candle you had brought with you.

Dmitri does take note of how tired you look though. He imagines you must have been waiting even long before the note had asked to meet.

You’re dozing, half asleep, but far from actually losing consciousness. Fear keeps you awake.

Fear of someone finding you.

Fear of being exposed.

Fear of-

You wonder if Dmitri’s actually going to show up.

The thought of simply leaving had already occurred to you. Just because you’d left him a note didn’t mean Dmitri would come, it didn’t mean he’d actually want to see you.

To think even for a moment that he would-

Maybe you really are nothing more than a fool.

The self deprecating line of thoughts don’t continue, they don’t get a chance to.

Because there the prince is before you, in all his sweaty glory. A single hand is raised to greet you before going to join his other on his knees as he doubles over from the exertion of his run here.

He must have , you realize, ran from his room on the other end of the monastery all the way here.

For once you find yourself unafraid of the prince. To your own confusion. In the moment you are bemused but relieved and happy all at once to see he actually decided to show himself.

That night was what led to your eventual coming out of your shell, even if only slightly. Instead of spending all of your time alone you spent a large chunk of your time with the Prince now, which in turn, led to you spending a lot of time with your fellow Blue Lions. You were still afraid at times, you still felt undeserving of their friendships.

But unlike before you didn’t find yourself hiding away when you were afraid. No, now you hid behind Dmitri.

It caused mixed emotions in the young man.

On one hand something about the way you relied on him made him incredibly happy, to know that you trusted him enough to hide away from the rest of the world, relying on him for protection...It made his heart swell with pride.

You trusted him!

But on the other hand, as always, your fears only led to confuse and worry him. Sometimes they just made no sense to him at all. Dmitri could understand, maybe, being frightened of Felix and his hostile demeanor, but Flayn?

He can’t imagine anyone being afraid of the young girl, and yet there you were, cowering behind him as if she were a threat to your very life.

More than anything though, he was...somewhat saddened.

Dmitri had long ago reserved himself to the fact that his life was not his own. That he had goals for which he would risk his very life, and those goals left little room for close attachments.

The kind of close attachment the two of you shared.

In a way, it was Dmitri who began to fear you. After all, how could one person make him consider wavering in his convictions?

Still...He decides to make the best of the time he does have with you.

Surely one day you’ll understand.

After all, the world he wants, a world where those who cause tragedies would be brought to justice, would result in a world in which you no longer have anything to be afraid of.

Until then, until he’s King, and his time is focused on his overarching goal, he decides to savor the moments he has with you.

So while Dmitri is confused, flustered, and flattered when you ask him to go as your date to the dance that accompanies the White Heron Cup, he finds himself agreeing cheeks burning red.

He wonders what this means for him.

For you.

For the both of you.

To say you weren’t surprised at the situation, yourself, your actions, it would all be a lie.

Though you’re far more surprised at your own courage to ask Dmitri to accompany you to the dance was the fact that he had actually said yes.

You don’t know what you were expecting, really.

The doubtful, mean part of your mind tries to tell you that Dmitri simply pities you. That his yes was simply the result of that pity, but for once you don’t care.

You are far too related to allow yourself to ruin such happiness.

It was something Dmitri had been telling you for a while now, something you were trying to believe yourself;

The simple fact that you do deserve to be happy.

Happiness is never meant to last.

In the future, that’s the thought that will come to mind when you think of the events that take place.

The ending of not just your own personal happiness, but the happiness of all of Fodlan.

The end of happiness, the start of a war.

“I will take the head from your shoulders...and I will hang it from the gates of Enbarr!”

For the first time in a long time fear grips you at the mere sight of Dmitri.

His anger- although justified in your mind- was so unhinged, so unlike him.

You find yourself unable to move, frozen alongside the professor as you watch the man you had found yourself falling for brutally crush the skull of an imperial soldier in his hands as if it were nothing.

Petrified does not begin to describe how you feel.

But when Byleth moves so do you, taking up arms.

There is no time for fear, not here, not now, not after everything the Flame Emperor- no, not after everything Edelgard has done.

It has been five years. Five years since the war started. Five years since you had last stepped foot in Garegg Mach. Five years since you had last seen Dmitri, the Professor, or any of the others you had grown to call your friends.

And five years is, in the span of a war, no small amount of time at all. Yet, in the span of a human life it is, and although your past five years have been filled with grieving for the past, you’ve found yourself changed very little.

You may not have changed, but the world around you has. Fodlan continues to constantly move and change under the unyielding hands of time.

The lands that had once belonged to you and your noble family have been taken under the control of the Empire, or to phrase more accurately, they were seized by the she-witch Cornelia and given to the Empire.

Of course your family opposed the takeover, still there’s little to nothing you can do. Any attempt at stopping it would simply put your own lives on the line.

Although you’re a noble family, you have no tropes, and you no crest to rely on.

There’s no point in fighting a fight that would only result in you being killed, not even as a martyr.

But you’ve been biding your time, waiting to keep your part of the promise you and everyone else made so long ago.

Your parents were confused, rightfully so, when you told them that you were going to return to Garreg Mach Monastery.

On your own you’d prepared everything, a horse, rations, and enough tomes to get you there safely come Imperial Soldiers, or bandits.

Returning is something you simply have to do.

Even if the Professor and Dmitri are both-

No .

You won’t allow yourself to think such sad things, not now.

And if they are gone, truly gone, there is no better way to honor both their memories than by showing up, just like you had promised.

The monastery is absolutely swarming with Imperial Soldiers, but you knew this might be the case.

With a hard swallow you make yourself known, blasting through one of the already crumbling monastery walls, cringing as the screams of the crushed soldiers reaches your ears.

Killing was...a sad reality of war.

At the very least, the violence had cleared your path way and-

“____? Is that you?”

A familiar face and voice.

Never before had you been so relieved to see another human person before.

“Ashe!”

Hope swells in your chest. The others came. They really came back.

It’s more than you could have imagined.

An arrow goes whizzing past your head, ending the reunion for now.

You’ll fight.

You’ll win back the monastery, and then you’ll be able to see all of your friends again and maybe…

“Your highness!”

Gilbert’s voice bellowing across the battlefield gets your attention, and distracts you. Surely he doesn’t mean Dmitri. He’s dead.

You’d heard the news ages ago everyone had.

But maybe-

Your eyes scan the battlefield in a blind panic, trying to catch sight of the man you loved, and you find him.

He’s tearing through soldiers like they’re nothing.

Each man that tries to oppose him falls under his spear, cut through entirely.

It’s scary.

He scares you.

The look on his face is so similar to the one he’d had long ago when the Flame Emperor had been unmasked.

It turns your stomach.

Your guard is down. So focused on Dmitri, the feelings of horror mixed with utter relief that he’s even alive, that you don’t notice the approaching soldier behind you.

At least not until the blade of their axe digs into your shoulder.

All thoughts of Dmitri fade as you focus on the pain.

The blade rips itself from your flesh and you find yourself falling to the ground, knees buckling under you from the weight of it all.

Your warm blood soaks through your armor, in a weird way comforting you from the cold night air.

“This isn’t…”

This isn’t how this was supposed to happen.

But your words are spoken for no one. No one is close enough to hear, to see, they’re all too busy fighting for their own lives.

“Dmitri?...”

Blood loss and pain, you’re far too out of it to realize what you’re seeing now is real.

That Dmitri himself is there, cutting down the berserker who’d slain you with his axe, and anyone who follows after him.

It’s only because you lose consciousness that you don’t hear the wailed howl of a main who thinks he’s lost yet another person important to him.

“He’s stable but-”

Dmitri doesn't stop to hear the rest, he’s picking up your unconscious body with intent to move. You’ll be safer inside the monastery, a bed, the warmth of a fire, anything’s better than outside.

“Dmitri!” Mercedes gasps when he refuses to listen. “You have to be careful not to reopen-”

“There’s no point in trying to reason with a Boar, Mercedes.”

Felix says eyes narrowed as they follow the path of the man as he hides deeper within the monastery.

The constant roaring in Dmitri’s head doesn’t stop as he carries you to the makeshift infirmary. Other wounded are being brought in, laid on the makeshift cots and beds.

He remains quiet, placing your unconscious form among them in the nicest looking spot he can find.

Although you seem to be fine now, he knows no rest from torment.

The voices in his head torment him, reminding him that (truthfully or no) your injuries are ultimately his fault.

Just like everything else, it’s his fault.

He should have tried harder.

He should have been there.

Worse of all is the simple fact, if it wasn’t for him you would have never returned to the monastery in the first place.

He shouldn’t stay.

The last thing Dmitri wants is to get your hopes up for something that can never be.

In the past five years, since the last time he’s seen you, he’s become little more than a monster.

And a monster doesn’t deserve any semblance of happiness.

Dmitri knows he should leave.

But he just can’t force himself to go. Not before he knows you’re okay.

As soon as you’re awake, then he’ll leave.

Hours are spent in the makeshift infirmary, Dmitri staring at your unmoving body, steadily watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, ready to call for a healer the moment anything seems to be out of the ordinary.

Byleth tries to get him to leave, or get some sleep, but there’s no hiding the bitterness in Dmitri’s voice as he tells them;

“Even if I were to leave...I wouldn’t get any sleep. So please, just leave me be, Professor.”

They do.

There’s no point in trying to reason with Dmitri, not when he’s like this, unable to see or respond to reason.

Night passes, and still you do not wake from your deep slumber.

You’re unaware of the fact you’re being watched. A constant companion for you in your dreamless slumber.

When you do finally wake the first thing you notice is the pain. You don’t open your eyes, in fact you keep them clenched in an attempt to hide away from the pain wracking your being.

The shifting at your side catches your attention, and although you try to open your eyes you still can’t bring yourself to actually manage it. “Are you finally awake, ____?”

That voice.

You know that voice.

It’s the voice you’ve had haunting your dreams for the past five years.

Despite yourself and the pain your eyes snap open. “Dmitri?”

“Good.” He wants to tell you he’s glad you’re okay.

Wants to tell you to be more careful, because he isn’t sure if he can take you of all people dying too, but instead he simply nods, rising to his feet.

“Be more careful next time.”

You aren’t able to stop his leave, forced to listen to the heavy sound of his footsteps as the trail away from you.

Even if you could stop him, you aren’t sure what you would say.

Those eyes…

He’s the same man, surely, but those eyes seem so unfamiliar to you now.

What would you have told him if he’d stayed?

You don’t even know.

But god you wish he had stayed.

The moment you try to move, maybe to go after him, maybe to simply sit up, pain shocks your core and you cry out, getting the attention of Mercie.

“Don’t- Don’t move too much.” She says softly gently laying you back

“Dmitri,” You start to ask her. “What happened to him?”

Mercedes expected the questions. Everyone had been wondering, and what little explanation they’d gotten from the Professor, and Gilbert were hardly comforting.

And even then it was mostly hearsay with no words from Dmitri himself to confirm or deny.

You hadn’t heard any of it, having been unconscious here in the infirmary.

She does her best to relay it all to you.

“We thought...We’d all heard that he’d been executed.”

You nod. This wasn’t news to you.

They had framed Dmitri, put him to death.

“But...he survived?”

Mercedes nods.

“We think that Dedue-”

She doesn’t finish, but you know what it is she was going to say. It’s easy to tell from her choked voice, downcast eyes.

You forcibly swallow the lump in your own throat.

“I see.”

In a way it’s something you should have suspected from the start. Dedue was always loyal to Dmitri, and you were sure that one day he would die to protect the man.

The thought surely occured to the others as well, but surely none of you imagined that day to come so soon.

“And after?...”

The bandages on your shoulder are removed, and Mercede’s quickly gets to work disinfecting what of your wound she can. You almost gag, catching sight of the bloody wound from the corner of your eyes, and so you take to squeezing them shut instead.

“Well you’ve heard...haven’t you?” Each word is spoken quietly, and when you don’t respond she continues.

“You haven’t heard? There’s been talk of an unkillable war machine going through the Kingdom, killing Imperial soldiers and bandits alike.”

“And you think that Dmitri?...” You don’t need her response.

It fits.

It sounds fitting given what you’d seen on the battlefield.

“I need to see him.”

She hasn’t finished cleaning your wound, your sudden movements cause yourself pain, and Mercede’s panic.

“You can’t ____!” She says softly trying to once again ease you into bed, but she’s being far too careful, afraid to hurt you. This makes it easy for you to ignore her attempts and stand, wobbling, on your feet.

“If you aren’t careful you’ll reopen that wound! You could bleed out!”

“Sorry Mercie,” Although you apologize you don’t stop, continuing out of the infirmary.

Every step is painful, and in retrospect you probably should have let her bandage it back up, or found a shirt to wear, but you don’t stop now.

You have to find Dmitri.

Everything about the Monastery has changed since it’s prime five years ago. Nowhere has been left unscathed by the waves of time.

You wonder what type of people would be so willing to desecrate a religious site.

Were they vindictive Imperial soldiers sent by the Empress herself? Looking for Rhea, looking to destroy any semblance of power the church held?

Or were they bandits? Uncaring about the importance of the holy lands they walked upon, destroying for the sake of destruction.

Maybe they were thieves. People that had no choice but to fight and ransake any building no matter how holy in an attempt to just survive another day.

The fallen stone is cool against your palm.

If even a place as mighty and holy as this has fallen, what are the chances for all of you?

Eventually your mindless wandering of the Monastery pays off, you find Dmitri, and you find him somewhere you wouldn't have imagined.

Kneeled below the crumbled goddess statue.

There’s no one else there, likely all having abandoned the cathedral when Dmitri made his presence there known.

You’d gone through all this trouble to find him, your aching shoulder proof of the strain it’s taken on your injured body, and yet you find yourself speechless before him.

He looks like something out of a painting, facing away from you, blonde hair cascading over his face, as rays of the setting sun filter in from the holes in the Cathedral roof.

He’s ethereal.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, at least that’s what you’re led to believe, he doesn’t move or stir even as the steady sound of your footsteps on the stone floor come closer.

“Professor,”

Dmitri speaks, and your heart sinks.

Of course he wasn’t expecting you. He was expecting Byleth.

“I find myself at a loss for what to do,”

His voice sounds...broken and torn.

You find yourself wanting to reach out, or...at the very least let him know you’re not the professor, but...you find yourself remaining silent instead as he continues on.

“To have something, or...someone to fight for in the here and now...Something other than the voices from beyond constantly asking for me to avenge them….Do I deserve that?”

The words you considered saying died on your tongue with each and every word he says. Anytime you think you’re ready to respond, he says something that makes you hesitate.

“____ is here, and very much alive...F-For now.” His voice falters just a little as he thinks of you, in the infirmary, deep wound bandaged on your shoulder.

“And although I would love to act as if nothing has happened, if nothing has changed, it has. I’m not the same man he once knew.”

Oh.

He was thinking about you.

“Even if...It’s not fair to him, is it professor?”

He turns then, likely to gauge Byleth’s reaction, as they are ever the quiet listener, hardly a replier, and instead of the professor he finds you there in their stead.

“____.” His eye widens, and he opens his mouth to say something. His face goes through a clear trial of emotion; confused, shocked, and embarrassed before finally settling on a mask of nothingness to hide it all.

“I’m sorry-”

The words quickly tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to over hear, but Dmitri-”

Although he had only just been thinking, and discussing with what he thought to be the professor, what it is he would say to you if he allowed himself to, he’s still stricken silent by the mere sight of you.

But you don’t give him a chance to worry about speaking.

“Dmitri...More than anything, I’m simply glad that you’re alive. I thought that...We all had thought…”

You don’t finish that thought, quickly going onto the next, afraid the man will interrupt you before you’re able to get all of your thoughts out to him.

“If you’re a different man, truly, than who you were before, then...When the war is over, if we both make it, I’d like to get to know this new man.”

There’s no way for you to know for sure if he really is a different man, or if the war, the trauma of war, has made him feel as if he’s different. Maybe by the end of the war you’ll be an entirely different man too.

There’s no way to know for sure, not now.

The war inside Dmitri’s own head simply wages on. Such kindness, a second or third chance, it’s more than he deserves, and yet at the same time it brings him hope.

It’s exactly what he needed.

A hope to cling to outside of that of simply appeasing the neverending onslaught of the dead. Admittedly he had held no real plan of what to do after the war, if he had made it so far. He never stopped to think about what and if he survived.

There was never any reason to think of it.

Just when the time came, when Edelgard finally met her end at his blade, he would wander off somewhere, into the wilderness like a wounded animal to die in his solitude.

The relationship the two of you had shared five years prior, during your times as students of the very monastery you found yourself in now, was undeniably romantic.

Chaste, and innocent, but romantic.

Dmitri ends that now.

He’s a quiet, seething, hungry animal as he approaches you. There is no chance of reaction, no panic, or escape.

“Wha-”

Lips smash against your own effectively silencing you.

It’s not what you’d imagined finally kissing Dmitri to be like.

You had always imagined your first kiss to be romantic, that his lips would be soft, but it’s neither of those things.

His whole body encompases yours, a dangerously tight grip pulling your body to him as his rough lips assault your own.

No, it’s not what you had imagined, but...it’s better.

Both of you are desperate, needy, sloppy.

Neither of you are experienced with kissing, but you don’t have to be. The kiss itself is a representation of both of your years of unspoken words and yearning.

When the kiss ends, Dmitri is panting still. His face is flushed and he looks hesitant, surprised. Because he is surprised by himself.

Surprised by the sudden uncontrollable urge he’d had to kiss you.

“A-After the war,” He begins softly, still holding you against him, one hand going to rest on your cheek, the glove cold against your flushing face. “If we both live that long.”

Dmitri doesn’t know if he’s being truthful in promising you this.

More than anything he would like to be telling you the truth, but…

He knows no things are guaranteed in this world, and he’s already damaged goods.

What he doesn’t know is for which of you he’s making the unsure promise.

Is it to shield your fragile heart from the real possibility of heartbreak?

Or is it for himself? Is it some attempt to keep his humanity, a hope that if he has just one thing to cling and claw at that he won’t allow himself to slip any further into depravity.

And then there’s you.

Unaware of Dmitri’s internal dialogue, but knowing him so well even now to know he may be lying to you.

It’s clear in the trembling of his bottom lip, the tears pooling in his eyes but refusing to fall.

You make your choice.

And that choice is to believe in Dmitri.

To believe that something waits for you both at the end of all this violence and bloodshed.

So you’ll believe him.

Until the end of the war.

Until the very end.

“Right...After the war,” You nod in agreement, but don’t move away.

Still so close to him you can feel every rise and fall of his chest, even with his armor.

Neither of you moves for a long time. Just remaining in one anothers embrace, knowing that eventually you’ll have to part again, knowing that eventually you will both (even with your injuries) will have to return to the battlefield.

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