#[ please; call me Parapet - ic ]

[pacificwaternymph]

Just a small drabble about one of Scott and Jimmy's many secret meetings.

"We have to stop meeting like this" Smajor was perched on the parapet, like a bird, a sly grin on his face and his impressive wings folded behind him, as Jimmy walked out onto the roof.

Jimmy sent him a halfhearted glare, already approaching the supervillain and sitting down on the concrete to gaze at the city horizons. This was maybe the third time they'd run into one another here. Coincidentally, it was also the third time since that first encounter that Jimmy had come here at all.

It almost felt like Smajor was purposefully seeking him out. Did he spend every night here, waiting for Jimmy to show up so he could taunt him?

"Why do you keep coming here?" Jimmy half asked, half grumbled. He might have believed that Smajor was just here to torment him, but their first... conversation, if it could be called that, had changed things.

It was a subtle shift, not one that Jimmy could put a name to if he tried, but there was something almost more... amicable, about Smajor during their confrontations. It felt like his blows were landing a little less hard, his ice going wide a little more often than not.

"Why do you?" Smajor shot back in a sing-song sort of voice. "One would think that after your biggest enemy discovers your little perch, you'd abandon it and find a new one. I have to wonder why you haven't, already. It's almost as if it's because you're... secretly hoping to see me?"

It was phrased like a question, but both knew it wasn't.

"Well, I didn't think you'd stalk me." Jimmy grumbled, to which Smajor let out an offended scoff.

"Oh please, I have standards." Jimmy raised an eyebrow, which the other couldn't see beneath the mask. The message must have carried through, though, because Smajor's expression morphed into a pout. "Do you really think I would do that?"

No, not really. Smajor had always been... weirdly respectful of him, incessant flirting aside. He certainly showed more respect than any of the other villains in the city, who had a habit of tormenting him, specifically, because he was weaker than the other heroes.

"Well I don't know what you'd do. You are a supervillain, after all." Jimmy said, instead of voicing that thought. Scott let out another gasp, as if the remark cut deeply. But looking over, there was no trace of genuine hurt hidden in his expression, so Jimmy felt himself relax.

Since when had preserving the feelings of a supervillain become important to him? Jimmy shook off the thought.

"So... is there a reason for your intrusion into my night, or...."

#empires smp #flower husbands #superhero au #jimmy solidarity #solidarity gaming #solidaritygaming #smajor1995 #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wednesday- Spirit Tracks AU

So, I haven’t been in the state for a bit, and haven’t been doing a ton of updates, but here’s kinda what’s going on: Dance With Me, I hit some writers block attempting to write from point A to B kind of thing, so that’s why that’s a delay, Pirates is almost totally edited, One Knight I think I might be able to post ch 2 tomorrow, I walk beside you chapter is almost done so I’m thinking this weekend for that, and I have one of the prompts nearly done so that might also be tomorrow! 

ANYWAY This is the start of my spirit tracks AU that I started once I drew an aged up engineer Link and spirit Zelda and I’m coloring them now, but here was the doodle! And here is 1500 words of the first chapter lol 

~~

The sound of the train whistle had Princess Zelda’s ears perking up. Since she was a child, whenever the high pitch of the steam blowing out so loudly and with such a burning heat that it screamed, Zelda would run to the window to watch it race by.

How it must feel to go wherever you please, she thought bitterly, determined to ignore the train this time. There was no point in getting excited. It’s not like she was ever allowed to go anywhere. Her parents simply didn’t allow it.

“You’re too important,” her mother would say before kissing her hair. “To Hyrule, and to me.”

And her father would sit outside with her and name each train, guess the destinations, and teach Zelda every car. But never was she allowed to go inside a moving one.

The train whistled again, closer this time. It was nearing the gate.

“Ugh,” Zelda moaned, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and conceding to the call of the train.

She gathered up her long pink dress, still dressed up from a meeting earlier, though she forwent the crown. That was always so excessive.

With a sigh, she tossed the paperwork she’d been filling out into a folder and let it land on her desk with a heavy plop before rushing down the hall and out to the parapets for a better view of the station.

“Princess?” a guard asked, turning curiously as she threw herself comfortably against the stone.

“Yes?”

“Uh. Nothing. Never mind, Princess.”

Zelda smiled coyly before watching the train pull into the station. A freighter. There would be no passengers disembarking, but she could still come up with a story:

The train had just come from the Anouki region, and the engineer was a genius who knew exactly when to brake because there would be less friction to slow it down after all the ice and snow had saturated the wheels. She’d been doing it for years, so none of the cargo would move an inch, and when she came out of the train, her short black hair would be spiked with sweat. But the engineer wouldn’t care; she had more important things to do. She’d unload the cargo and be on her way to the forest for her next adventure.

Of course, Zelda’s story was all shattered in an instant when she saw the blurry figure in the distance was a blonde and a tall man. Too far to see anything else, she rested her chin in her hand and amended her story for hair color and a second engineer.

“Princess…” the guard said, hesitating. “Is there something you’d like me to do? Do you want privacy up here?”

Ruefully, Zelda smirked. “Oh, if only. However, there’s no such thing.”

The guard stood straight and bowed. “The illusion of it, then,” he said before walking away from her, taking up a post far away on the parapet where he could still keep an eye on everything.

She appreciated that. Truly.

Stories raced through her head as she watched the commotion as store clerks picked up their wares, gatherers watched the train itself, and even, it seems, friends came to visit the two who ran the train.

An older woman handed the younger engineer something, and Zelda could see them pop it into their mouth.

It was all standard, but still some of the most excitement Zelda usually got to bear witness to. A wistful sigh escaped as she wished for something more.

And then, something more happened.

The two engineers headed towards the castle.

No one ever came in. But there they were, each carrying a load of something on their shoulder. The blonde trailed behind a much taller, bulkier man in red coveralls and an even redder bandana over his head. He hulled inside, muscles bulging with the weight of his cargo.

The second was far less intimidating.

A young blonde man stepped into the courtyard, navy blue coveralls and a red hat with the train company’s logo on it, and thick gloves were just some of what adorned him. His hair looked messy under his hat, and a piece was in his eyes, but his two hands were occupied holding one of the sacks, struggling more than the other man was, but still carrying far more than Zelda estimated she could carry.

And he was young. Her age, perhaps. Maybe a little older, if he was an engineer. He was the one she’d seen step out of the train car earlier, the one steering. Goddess, she thought people had to be at least in their thirties before they could become the operator of such a complex vehicle. This man didn’t look even close.

And, Zelda noted with interest as she made herself comfortable on the parapet, hand on her cheek, he was cute.

The engineer stopped to readjust the sack on his shoulder, shimmying it into a more comfortable position, when the sun caught his eye. He flinched away, turning his face in the other direction.

And locked eyes with Zelda.

She felt her heart flutter. Oh, he most certainly was cute. Bright blue eyes the color of the clear sky met hers, and instantly, he seemed to melt. His mouth dropped, jaw slack, eyes wide. He went from unblinking, to several flustered ones in a row, to staring again. And she could see the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple after a few seconds.

Under his gaze, she found herself pushing her windswept blonde hair out of her face, and returned her attention to him, smiling widely and invitingly.

Perhaps it worked too well.

The man took a step towards the door, crooked as he was with his neck still craned at Zelda, and his feet twisted around each other, sending him wobbling. He seemed to catch his balance, but his sack tilted him further until he was flat on the ground. It ripped open, and hundreds of small pieces of— Zelda was too far away to see— scattered across the courtyard.

“Oh no,” Zelda breathed, pushing herself off the parapet and into the halls. She ran quickly, moving in a very un-ladylike way past several working maids, councilors, and footmen. But once the stone interior passed, she was in teh green garden of the courtyard and threw herself onto her hands and knees beside the man. “I”m so sorry!” She said, grabbing a…

“Coal,” he filled in, noticing her odd look. His voice was lower than she expected. But his blue eyes caught her once again, and gods, he was even more attractive up close. If he wasn’t, his beat red expression certainty would have endeared him to her immediately regardless. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was clumsy. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She handed him several chunks of coal, her stained hands brushing his warm ones, charged with a sort of electricity that shocked them both.

“Sorry,” he said with a soft laugh.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she teased, grinning as she picked up several more. “Are you the engineer of that train that just came in?”

He grinned to himself, turning his face away to hide it, but Zelda saw it all the same. “Co-engineer. Alfonso has been doing it far longer than I have. And he doesn’t trip over nothing.”

She handed him another pile, their hands shocking once again. But she was intent to ignore it. “So I have the fortune of meeting the clumsiest engineer by the name of…”

“Right, sorry,” he chuckled. He held out his hand. “Link.”

She took it, reveling in the warmth and the shock even through his gloves. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. There was something odd about this Link.

“And you are?” he prodded.

Zelda must not have hidden her shock well, because his brow quirked up. She fumbled for her crown, remembering that she’d left it off, and glanced down at her simple dress, de-ornamentalized from her earlier meeting. No, she simply looked like a noble right now.

“Oh! I’m—“

“Princess Zelda, what in the world are you doing?” shrieked the horrified voice of Chancellor Cole. A short man, but the second in power only after the Royal Family, he had a commanding presence, despite his un-intimidating voice and form. She did quite like the hats he wore, but aside from that, there was little else about him that she liked.

“Princess?” Link echoed, scampering to his feet before immediately kneeling down once again, bowing his head. “Forgive me! I didn’t realize…”

“No, Link, it’s okay! Stand up.” She urged him up with her hand, again, surprised by the shock that still jolted her. “Chancellor,” she added, spinning to face the short man. “Please have someone fetch a new sack for this man’s inventory. I tore it in my haste and he’s in need of a new one.”

“Why were you running—“

“Chancellor. A sack, please.”

#WIP Wednesday #link #zelda #legend of zelda #spirit tracks #spirit tracks au #engineer link #spirit zelda #writing #unedited #zelink

[percival-queen]

An officer lies face-down at the table, asleep. Beside her, a long list written neatly in black pen. The lamp is still on, although it’s now far past the curfew for lights-out.

But perhaps the strangest thing of all, a stone covering seems to be growing slowly upward in a ridge-like pattern, covering her sleeping figure.

...

...Nng. Where...

...?

This is...

“[Oh, good. You’re asleep.]”

Wh— how— wait—

“[...I’m afraid even with my higher powers, your mortal body won’t last long under my protection. We’ll have to keep this brief.]”

...Okay. What’s the situation?

“[You tried to break the rules again. You were making a list. Of your possessions.]”

...Ohh. I recall that now.

“[...]”

...Sorry.

“[Your apology is accepted. More importantly, I was able to take you over before anything was attempted. And in the meantime, I’ve had... a lot of time to think. I believe I may owe you an apology as well.]”

...Oh? Ah... That’s all right.

“[I understand that it’s disconcerting for you to face me. I have dictated your actions much more than most Epithets. Which... may not have been a wise move on my part. Seeing how Sundial and Goldbricker treat their hosts has led me to realize how often I’ve pushed you to my ends at your own expense.]”

But... I don’t wish anything for myself. You chose me because I was more or less of a ‘blank slate,’ correct? Using me as much as possible would seem the logical thing to do. Not to mention, I enjoy my job. I highly doubt I’d be better off without your influence... if past events have taught anything.

“[That may be true, but it is no excuse for the fact that I’ve neglected your own needs to serve my own. I did the same to my prior host, and he...]”

“[...he didn’t last very long.]”

...Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, but I still don’t think you’re responsible for my own actions. Not... those ones, anyhow. You’d never command me to waste a life.

“[But I may have been keeping you out of harm’s way without ever addressing the cause. Human minds are all sorts of flawed, Percival King.]”

...

“[...I want to lay down a few new rules.]”

Understood. Orders?

“[Rule one: Stop trying to see the whole picture. It’s occurred to me that I can see things from a much higher perspective than you. From now on, I only wish you to make the next right move, one after another.]”

I think I understand what you mean, but it isn’t a wise strategy to play chess one move at a time. What seems like the right move at a moment may end in disaster.

“[But you aren’t the chess-master, are you? You’re just a piece on the board. You’ve always been aware of that. So don’t worry about the other pieces. Do your job as a knight. Protect who you can; those who are out of your range aren’t your responsibility. This includes your concerns over any other Epithets. That is my domain, not yours.]”

...Okay.

“[Rule two: Let yourself seek joy.]”

...Excuse me?

“[You have a habit of viewing yourself as worthless... that may be partially my fault. You also have a steadily-growing habit of denying yourself any semblance of happiness that... may also be partially my fault.]”

...It’s not as if I avoid happiness on purpose. Not many things bring me... ‘warm, fuzzy feelings,’ so to speak. And unfortunately, the things that do are a bit contradictory to your other commands.

“[You rely too much on the flecks of Goldbricker that run through your veins— or your soul, as the case may be. Goldbricker’s host— Ramsey— has flaws of his own, where the human mind is concerned. He is deficient in joy, as someone may be deficient in an essential vitamin... Goldbricker alleviates this deficiency.]”

...How does this relate to me?

“[Goldbricker is not your Epithet. They have embedded pieces of themself into me, and you by extension, but these pieces aren’t enough to have the same effect. Moreover... you cannot hear Goldbricker’s voice regularly urging you to perform activities which make you happy.]”

...I’m happy when I protect people. 

“[You are. You need to get back to working full-time. Your soul is not one that finds joy in idling very much.]”

“[However. You also cannot sacrifice your body for that purpose. Overworking only makes you a less effective vessel— and it has detriments to your brain as well. You must be actively aware of your own health, mental and physical. As you stated, I will not allow you to waste a life, including yours. To die protecting another is acceptable, but actively seeking self-destruction is not. Understood?]”

Understood, but... how does this relate to ‘letting myself find joy?’

“[If you continue living only to serve my purpose, you’ll have very little incentive to keep going. I’d have to take almost full control of you to keep you in check. ...For a long time, I did. I thought that was the right thing to do. But even now, I can feel your heartbeat slowing down under my control. At this very moment, I’m using electricity to keep it pumping.]”

...Oh.

But... barring my job, I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for... joy, or happiness, or any of that. Not... in any way that doesn’t require other people, and that... hardly seems fair.

“[Others are a blessing, but it’s true you mustn’t rely on them. Do you recall in primary school, when you played dodgeball during Physical Education?]”

Oh, gracious, I’d forgotten about that. I was terrible at the game, but I did enjoy it greatly... heh. You were probably the one nudging me to always act as a human shield for the best throwers on the team, weren’t you?

“[Yes. My protective nature extends to even inconsequential games of make-believe... although I’ll stand by the claim that those games were good training for you. Yet, even more importantly than that, I notice that you’re smiling.]”

O-oh. Sorr—

“[Do not apologize. My very point is that there are things which make you smile. Yet you’ve discarded nearly all of them from your life because they seemed unproductive.]”

...

What are you suggesting? That I... play games? Surely there are better uses of my time.

“[...]”

Okay— er— point taken. But that still seems like... well, something of a childish solution, does it not?

“[You’re a capable individual. I’m sure you will find other ways to allow yourself joy without sacrificing your purpose... But yes, I think ‘childish’ activities are not beyond the realm of being useful. Perhaps you should remember that you were generally much more content as a child.]”

I... suppose so.

“[Our time in this space wears thin. I must return you to the driver’s seat now, before your body collapses. Remember both of the rules I’ve laid out.]”

...I understand. Thank you.

“[...and, Percival?]”

Yes...?

“[I’ve... enjoyed talking to you. I was never able to speak to my previous host in this manner. ...I consider myself blessed among Epithets to have this opportunity.]”

...Thank you. I think.

...

#[ soulbond AU ] #[ within the tower walls ] #[ please; call me Percy - ic ] #[ please; call me Parapet - ic ] #[ I'm afraid my stamina is rather low - ic musings ] #[ third person prose - ficlet ]

[penwieldingdreamer]

Dante's Prayer - Chapter 3

The 2nd part of the Ball, hope you guys will like it. Let me know what you think about this. A big thanks to my beta @fortheloveoffanfic for keeping me on track with the characters 😉

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2094

"Mrs. Gray, why don't we retreat to the parlour for a drink and leave the men to talk their business." Helene suggested linking her satin gloved arm with Polly's and led her away from Thomas and her husband, nodding at the two men in parting. 

"Lady McCann, please call me Polly, after all, we'll be family soon once the wedding is done." the Shelby matriarch told her nephews soon-to-be mother in law with a smile, the two women nearly gliding over to the smaller parlour of Castletown House. 

Returning the smile, the duchess nodded her head. "By all means, then I'm Helene. We will be family soon, given that my daughter won't bail on us." A soft sigh left her lips, knowing Saoirse could be difficult. "Your nephew will have his work cut out for him, I reckon." 

"Oh he'll learn how to deal with it. I have a good feeling that once they'll get to know each other they'll find common ground." The words were reassuring, yet both women knew that it would take a while for their children - in Polly's case she felt like her brother's children were just like her own - to warm up to the idea of sharing a life together. 

Arriving at the doors separating the sitting room from the grand ballroom, Helene nodded at the butler, who let them enter. They sat down at the round table, plush armchairs providing comfort as the Birmingham resident looked around the room. Polly thought back to the time when she had to work hard to provide for her family and be there for Ada and Finn during the war, and all she could feel was gratefulness toward Tommy who was able to give them the life they led now. 

"Has Thomas told you what he wants his wedding to be like?" the mother of three inquired, nodding at the butler in thanks for bringing them both refreshments and leaned back into the high-backed armchair. "I gather now that it is his second wedding he might want to change a few things." 

Taking a sip from the champagne, the gypsy lightly shook her head. "So far, he hasn't said anything. He only does this out of duty to the family. I told him it was a good deal, but other than that he's not going to object to anything. All I can ask of you is considering a custom my family on my mother's side has partook in every time during a wedding." Polly wasn't too sure, the duchess would agree to traditions of the travelling folks but the soft smile on her face and the light nod gave her hope. 

"I haven't always been a duchess, Polly." the blonde lady started, holding the Flute glas in her hand and watching the champagne sparkle in the soft glow of the lamps. "My mother originated from Germany, her cousin married the emperor of Austria and she was made Empress of Austria and Hungary. I often visited her when I was still a child and Sisi would visit the travelling folks of Hungary. Not all is as it seems, my daughter has the same spirit in her as Elizabeth did. Headstrong, modern, loyal to a fault, kind and with a childish wonder the war has snuffed out in many people. I do hope that Thomas won't try to do what the war hasn't been able to do. Despite me agreeing to this arrangement without her consent, she is still my little angel and I will grant you your customs just like we have ours, but should your nephew hurt her in any way, he will wish for war to take him again."

Nodding her head, Polly grinned at Helene, knowing they would get along splendidly. Protective of her family, just like herself, the Shelby matriarch knew that there was a good future ahead, bright was still to be questioned, but good at least. 

Just then the decorated glass doors of the light coloured parlour flew open, a disheveled looking Arthur standing there, eyes ablaze and his face red from anger. 

"Did ya know, Pol?" he asked storming over to his aunt, hands already grabbing for her arms. "Did ya know 'bout 'er, hm?" 

Polly had never been someone to be frightened or threatened, especially not by her family, so she wouldn't start now and still Arthur always had a soft spot in her heart. Delivering a hard slap, she pushed the eldest of the brothers away from her, regret shining in her eyes. "What the fuck are ya talkin' about, Arthur?" 

"I'm fuckin' talking about Niamh." he glared, his cheeks already turning a darker shade of red from anger and the hit he received. "She's been here all them years, pregnant with ma son, so 'm askin' again: did ya know 'bout it?" 

Wide eyed, Polly felt the wheels in her head turning, remembering the girl Arthur had left behind to marry Linda, the redheaded beauty in the back of the church. "She was at the wedding, didn't say a thing, just left when it was over. That's all I know." 

Letting out a heavy sigh, Arthur stumbled back into the armchair on the other side of his aunt, closing his eyes to order the thoughts in his head flitting about like butterflies. "What am I gonna do now?" Polly moved over to him, pulling Arthur into a tight hug because she knew it was hard on him. 

Even though she wasn't a fan of Linda, her nephew loved her and she had to live with that. Now he needed to make a decision on what to do with the mother of his first child. "You need to talk to her, that much is clear. And get to know him, too." 

Nodding his head against his aunt's belly, Arthur felt a small portion of the weight lifting of his shoulders. Linda would be furious, she already was with him leaving for Ireland to be part of the wedding preparations. Nothing had been decided yet, but the eldest Shelby had a distinct feeling, that Lady McCann would want the ceremony to take place in their home and he already dreaded the day the whole family would again sit on Tommy's side of the church and Linda coming face to face with his former lover and mother of his first son.

"I thought you'd have ta greet guests." he said, a cigarette perched between his lips as he watched his wife-to-be gazing at the sky. 

"And I thought you would talk about business with my father." she replied, a smirk grazing her features and might he say it looked more like a small smile than a smirk. 

Her body leaned against the banister and Tommy couldn't help but let his eyes roam over it, breathing in the smoke of the cigarette he had missed all evening. "There's not much business to talk about when there's a wedding about to take place." 

Nodding her head, Saoirse turned her face towards his own as he leaned against the stone parapet next to her. "I hope Arthur has calmed down again after his encounter with Niamh when I left." she said after a moment of silence.

"Ach, he's fine. Needs to talk to her, though." Tommy shrugged, his stormy blues void of emotion as he stubbed out the cigarette on the banister. "His wife's goin' to have his hide, but he'll get over it." 

Shaking her head, Saoirse looked away from the gang leader, feeling like the little progress they had made went up in smoke just like the cigarette. "You shouldn't be so indifferent to the feelings of others, one day you might not have anyone left to turn to." 

"Often enough you only have yourself to rely on." he replied before he stood again, running a hand through his short hair and holding the other out to her. "We shouldn't make your guests believe that we hate each other, it's bad for business." 

Snorting, the youngest of three took his hand, feeling the warmth of Tommy's skin through the satin of her glove as he led her inside to the ballroom. "Who said anything about me liking you? I don't really care what my guests think, mother's guests on the other hand, that would be a shame. After all, they came all the way from Austria and London." 

"I see, you're not going to make it easy for me, are you?" he wondered, twirling her around so they could dance to the waltz the orchestra started to play. "What is this marriage going to look like, hm?" 

Putting her left hand on his shoulder, Saoirse mentally thanked her mother for making her take the dance lessons in Vienna or else the future bride of Birmingham's most known gangster would have been an embarrassment. Her right hand delicately laid in his left and she couldn't help but wonder if they could do more than just hold a gun and kill. "I believe you'd like me to play the obedient wife, staying at your house and doing nothing, what with your fortune now. I heard you have a son, so probably be a mother to him, while you go out and do whatever you do." 

"So, ya do know something 'bout me." he smirked, leading her across the grand room, unaware of the other dancers and their families. The pair danced in their own world and voiced their opinion on the upcoming union. "And here I thought ya didn't know anything." 

"My sisters talk, Mister Shelby, although I didn't know which one my husband-to-be was, I still heard their opinions on you loud and clear." 

The smirk on his lips widened at the thought of what Amalie and Louise had told their sister. "An' what pray tell did they tell ya?" 

"Oh, you know, that you're a gangster, cold as ice, a former war hero and would do anything to get money." Saoirse shrugged, trying to rile him up as she saw his blue eyes darken. Tommy knew that he had to keep it cool. It wouldn't do him good to drag her off and…no, he wouldn't yell at her and make a scene, that would break the deal he made with her mother. He'd rather enjoy the rest of his life while it lasted. 

Pulling her tighter into his body, he felt a satisfied grin make its way onto his face at her gasp. "You'd do well to keep those comments to a minimum. That money you so kindly brought up will grant you safety among Birmingham and the rest of England and Scotland. I don't want another of me wife killed because she wouldn't listen and had a mind of her own."

"Well then, you'd better look for another wife because I can be just as stubborn as you, Mister Shelby." 

"I'd rather not. You're more than enough." Wincing at the thought of having to go through that process again, Tommy shook his head. The music had changed and another waltz was played. "Besides, finding a good woman that freely accepts my son is quite rare in these times."

Pursing her lips, Saoirse looked up into his stormy blue eyes. "I couldn't imagine someone not liking your son. Judging by what Louise told me about him, I take it he's a ray of sunshine." 

"Are you really trying to make me hate you right now? But yes, Charlie is in fact a ray of sunshine despite having me as his father." Before the youngest daughter of the Duke could say anything, Tommy had twirled her outward, keeping his eyes on her face as he read the delight written all over it. 

He couldn't help but enjoy these moments, couldn't remember the last time he danced like this with anyone that hadn't been Grace. When Saoirse had returned to his arms, she sent him a grin, a genuine one at that. "I'm not trying to make you hate me, I was stating a fact and to be honest I can't wait to meet your son." 

Nodding his head at her answer, he led her around the ballroom for one final dance. "In two weeks you will meet him, so I do hope you won't change your mind about this arrangement." 

"Don't do anything to make me change it and I'll be there." she answered him, her right hand squeezing his left tighter than before and Tommy couldn't help but grin at her attempt to threaten him. Life would be a lot more interesting once the wedding was over. 

tagging

@fortheloveoffanfic @fics-not-tragedies

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby #shelby family #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders

[monstersandmaw]

Female tiefling guard x human princess (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This has been up on Patreon for a week, and now it’s time to share it here!

Contents: a short, fiesty, gives-no-fucks female tiefling guard, some anti-tiefling sentiments from the other guards, a soft but 'don't mess with me' princess, an army of attacking demons, a minotaur best friend, and an nsfw scene to finish. Wordcount: 6756

A dull rumbling startled Salanei from her bed and set her reaching for the deep well of magic inside her in a heartbeat. The castle was shaking.

“Impossible,” she hissed, but other guards were tumbling out of their bunks all around her, some scrambling to draw weapons, others calling sparkling magic to their hands, though there were admittedly fewer of those. The castle was built on a promontory of black rock, harsh and stark against the chill morning light, but it was as old as the land itself and nothing should have been able to make the foundations shudder like that.

Unless…

Tilting her head to one side, letting her thick, messy, black braid slide down over one shoulder, Salanei opened her core of magic a little to the surroundings. At first all she found were the life-sparks of the other guards, but then, like a murmuration of birds on the horizon, she felt something far more sinister. “We’re under attack,” she yelled, stuffing her boots on and sprinting for the door. “Demons.”

The tiefling ignored the way the others dismissed her or scoffed at her - whether through deep-rooted prejudice or uneasy disbelief at her cry of ‘demons’ - and she bolted through the palace like a rabbit through its home warren. She didn’t think, she didn’t stop, she didn’t pause; she raced up back stairs and along half-forgotten passageways, and emerged, gasping, in what had once been an upper, open-air walkway that connected the main part of the castle to the residential wing. Her boots skidded on the rough stonework, grit and dust slipping beneath her soles, and she barely stopped before the gaping abyss into the courtyard below swallowed her.

Where a thick buttress of stone had arched across the space for centuries, now a smoking, singed stump of the bridge remained and the walkway was completely gone. “Shit.” Across it, she could see more of the royal guard backing into the part of the castle that would lead to the residential quarters of the princess after only a few staircases and passages. From the looks of it, they’d only just escaped back along the parapet in time.

Looking out at the landscape around the castle, she froze, horror icing over her veins.

Demons swarmed down the hillside and pooled around the outer walls of the castle to form a seething, foetid moat, their shapes as varied as the horrific noises they made; some with wings, some with horns, some with lashing tails and glinting claws. One or two of them breathed gouts of flame into the dawning sky, and from somewhere deep below at the curtain wall of the castle courtyard, the bellow of a bull in a blooded rage made her ears ring. A second later, the whole castle trembled again and a rain of fine particles and chunks of stone clattered down around her.

They were going to breech the wall.

“Fuck.”

The span across the gulf of empty air wasn’t so big that she couldn’t use a little magic to propel herself over it, and so, summoning a gust of air to spring her forwards, she leapt lightly off the stonework behind her and let the updraft catapult her onto the far tower. She landed hard but rolled through it and came to stand smoothly on her feet, finding herself face to chest with an enormous, familiar guard.

“Brandon, it’s…”

“Bloody chaos,” he said, falling into step beside her as they moved through the shrapnel-scarred archway and into the tower beyond.

The huge minotaur was about as broad across at the shoulders as Salanei was tall, and his huge war axe was cradled gently in his massive hands; ready. He was the only person who had ever treated her with any genuine respect at the castle, and the two were somewhat unlikely sparring partners more often than not.

“Who’s behind it?” she asked as they trotted down the stairs and a pounding, dolorous bell began to sound from the heart of the castle.

He shook his shaggy, black head, the patch of white at the front of his forelock dancing in the low light. “Not sure. Reports suggest they came from the west.”

“Dorhul?” she asked, steady pace stalling in time with her horrified, faltering heartbeat.

Brandon shrugged. “Seems likely. He’s always wanted to add the kingdom to his collection. With Ria’s father so ill…”

Salanei’s black eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to ram her hard horns against a wall with the wave of bitter spite that washed up inside her. The minotaur, clearly seeing the echo of a familiar urge bubbling up in the tiefling, laid a hand on her shoulder. It was so big, it engulfed the joint completely, and the weight of it steadied her. “Easy. We’ll get through this.”

“Where is the princess now?”

“The Elite Guard took her down to the undercroft.”

Salanei’s heart lurched and she stopped. “They’re taking her out by boat? Bran, that escape passage only leads to one place… if she’s caught out on the open water…”

“Dawn’s not far off. The sun rises over the lake,” he explained, but she could tell he was as unhappy with the plan as she was. “If the demons can even bear to look at the sunlight as it hits the water, they won’t see her. The glare will be too much. I think they expected to have broken through by now, but this castle’s a hard nut to crack, even with those numbers. It should buy her time to escape.”

He had a point. It was a flimsy hope and a prayer, but it was all they had.

They made it two floors down before the ring of steel and the snarl of demons reached their ears, and Salanei swore again, drawing deep on her reserves of magic so that it lapped like a vast lake a the very forefront of her mind; ready.

She flung a conjured talisman at the nearest demon’s head and the creature exploded into a mist of gore and black ichor. Not pausing to get splattered, she ducked low and aimed another spell - a lancing spike of ice this time - at a twin-headed monstrosity, one half of which was occupied with the head of a guard in its maw, the other half of which had just spotted her. The spike went through both skulls and pinned them to the wall before Salanei had even finished dancing lightly around them.

Quick and light as a mouse in a hay barn, she dodged and struck, until finally she was at the far end of the corridor. From behind her, she heard Brandon bellow a warning at her, asking her to wait, but she was gone like a weasel. Protect the princess. That had been what the old king had demanded of her in return for the shelter and comfort he had offered, and she had gladly accepted the trade.

Shouldering the door at the end of the corridor with a little extra magic behind the gesture, she burst through in a barrage of splintered wood and iron studs as the ramming spell cloaked around her shoulders made short work of it. Instantly, she found three spear tips at her throat, and she froze.

“Stop!” came familiar voice, and were it not for the glinting blades hovering so close to her pulse that she could see her blackberry-purple skin reflected in them, she might have gone slack with relief. “Let her go.”

“Highness,” Salanei said, bowing gratefully from the waist. “They’ve breached the castle from above, and they’re trying to get in from below. They’re only a floor above you now.”

She watched the princess’ freckled cheeks blanch, and she swayed ever so slightly before rallying her courage and pushing back her shoulders. “I have been advised that the undercroft is the safest route out of here, all things considered. Do you disagree?”

Before Salanei could reply, a guard stepped directly in front of her, his deep, maroon livery blocking her view of the princess. “Highness, we must leave. Now. Let the gutter rat fight the demons, but we have to get you to safety.”

Salanei’s lip curled back off her sharp canines and she snarled a warning at the soldier who ignored her completely.

It was a miracle that she even heard the soft tread of slippered feet on the stone floor above the clangour outside, but when the guard’s spine straightened and he shifted awkwardly back to where he’d been standing, Salanei almost snorted with laughter.

The princess’ face seemed carved from marble; all softness had shattered into hard lines, her eyes blazed green, her strawberry blonde hair falling behind her like a shield made of silk. “Repeat that,” she demanded in a voice low and deadly. When the guard stuttered himself into silence, she blinked. “Repeat that.”

“Highness,” he grunted. “Please, we cannot waste any more time! We must leave.”

“Repeat. That.”

“She’s a gutter rat, Highness. Everyone knows it.”

Stepping so quickly that no one saw her move, the princess darted forwards and backhanded the guard across the cheek. “I will not have someone spoken of like that, either in my presence or elsewhere in the castle. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Highness,” he nodded.

“Salanei, come here,” she said, turning away. Before Ria had gone two steps, a demonic portal began to open in front of her. The flickering purple and red edges were ragged as an old scrap of fabric, and a vile, sulfurous gas billowed out of it.

“Shit! Get back!” The tiefling dodged in front of the princess and brought her hands together, calling a binding incantation to mind and willing the strands of the spell to stitch the portal together again, preventing it from opening. The wielder on the other side was strong, their will like iron, but Salanei’s was stronger. Years of being whittled down until she was nothing but muscle and magic and sheer force of will had made her almost unbreakable now, and she knew it. Knowing it was half the struggle with magic.

I am stronger than you, she chanted in her head. This portal will not open.

“I knew having a magic wielder in my guard would be a good thing,” the princess muttered in her ear. “I’m just sorry my mother was so against it.”

Salanei could only grunt with the effort of closing the infernal portal. Behind it, straining against the glowing strands of her spell, a rabid demon snapped its jaws, trying to slice through the counter spell. The mage on the other side didn’t have a spare ounce of concentration to tell the beast to get back. Where was the High Mage when you needed her? Probably bolstering the wards on the castle walls, trusting that the Elite Guard would protect the princess for now.

“Get out of here,” Salanei finally rasped, sweating with the effort. The portal was almost closed.

A hand landed gently between her shoulder blades, fingers splayed wide, palm pressing securely against her skin through the fabric of her dirty shirt, and Salanei gasped as a rush of fresh magic and strength washed into her. With a snap, the portal sealed shut and she whipped around to find the princess smiling softly. “Come with me,” was all she purred.

Salanei nodded, winded and mute, and still dizzy from the surge of golden life that had poured into her from the princess and mixed so easily with her own magic. When had she learned to do that?

The path out of the princess’ chambers was littered with demons. Salanei used every trick and spell she knew, darting here, warping there, slicing, slashing, stabbing, to clear the path while the guard huddled close around their princess and picked off any stragglers who got through. The guards encircled the princess as though she were a jewel and they the setting. Nothing was going to touch her.

Out on another vulnerable, spun-sugar walkway that would lead them directly to the tower that sat atop the cavernous undercroft of the castle, a cloud of tiny, winged demons - which Salanei recognised with horror as having once been harmless forest pixies - swarmed towards them out of the lightening sky.

“Shields!” she screamed back over her shoulder, preparing another spell. Her vision swam from the speed at which she was hemorrhaging magic in the princess’ defence, but she blinked the daze away and focused on creating a wall of fire. Momentum sent the first half of the swarm ploughing straight through it, incinerating their fragile bodies to cinders, but the rest of the flock doubled back and regrouped. With a second flurry of flaming hands, Salanei danced through them until nothing remained but broken, blackened wings at her feet like campfire ashes.

One floundered uselessly at her boots, and while the princess was herded towards the safety of that final tower door by her retinue, Salanei scooped the wounded creature up in one hand and heard its infernal language as little more than a hoarse whisper, like wind through the grasslands. Tapping two fingers to her temple, she directed her magic at the creature, and connected a blue thread with its own yellow spirit thread, and demanded of it, “Who made you?”

A flash of images swirled through the connection, but she had seen enough. “Dorhul,” she spat when she saw the tall, slender figure of the most hated man in the four kingdoms. The connection sputtered, and the creature that had once been a pixie fell limp in her hand. Dropping it, she spun and trailed after the princess, blinking black spots from her vision.

Down staircase after staircase they plummeted, until finally they burst out into the echoing undercroft. Groin vaults stretched away into the darkness like the canopy of an endless stone forest, and Salanei shuddered. It reminded her of the dank dinginess of the slums so viscerally that she almost heaved.  

“Don’t stop now,” Princess Ria whispered, pausing to find Salanei staring off into the darkness with wide, black eyes. “We have to keep moving.”

Nodding silently, the tiefling fell into step beside her, scanning the shadows for the faintest hint of movement, but it was still as a sepulchre down there.

The lap of water eventually reached her keen, tapered ears, and she looked up to see three small rowing boats bobbing in the shallow, underground dock up ahead. A narrow canal of water led out towards the lake, and as they all climbed into the boats, Salanei took a moment to admire the calm presence of the princess. It was a miracle that Dorhul hadn’t known about this entrance to the castle.

Ria, still clad in an incongruously soft, pastel pink gown that was spattered here and there with the evidence of their desperate escape, somehow looked as regal as she had sitting in the great hall in her father’s stead these last two years.

She had remained a steady, reassuring presence in the kingdom even as the king’s health faded away despite the High Mage’s efforts to heal him. In his absence, Ria had taken over the rule of the kingdom with the grace and justice that her father had instilled in her from a young age. The queen had died only a few weeks after her father’s sickness had presented, and Ria had mourned her for the appropriate weeks before getting on with the governance of the kingdom. Beautiful, refined, and achingly gentle, it was no wonder that the kingdom was in love with her.

Salanei swallowed thickly. Half the kingdom, and… her too.

Now, although there was the air of a frightened child about her delicate shoulders, she sat in the centre of the small boat as her guards rowed her away, her green eyes fixed on the retreating castle as they skimmed across the lake. Just as Brandon had said, the morning sun glanced off the surface, glinting like a cut gem as the castle burned behind them.

Salanei uttered a quick prayer under her breath for the minotaur who was presumably still inside the castle.

Halfway across the lake, the guards’ oars faltered with a splash. A vast wave of power pulsed from the heart of the castle and spilled out across the land in all directions, sweeping demons off the walls and parapets, scattering them to ash on the wind. The sheer, raw magic made Salanei’s ears ring and her chest tighten, but when she’d mastered herself again, she found Ria staring wide-eyed at the castle with a look of unbridled horror on her beautiful face.

“Highness?” Salanei croaked, barely resiting the urge to grab her shoulder and shake her gently. “Highness?”

“Father…” she choked. “My father is dead…”

Three thoughts raced through Salanei’s mind before it went perfectly blank again: ‘that means you’re the queen’, ‘if the king is dead it means he used a purging spell so powerful that it obliterated himself as well’, and ‘the castle is free of demons now’. “Should… Should we go back?” she finally croaked.

Ria just sat there in the little boat, her breathing shallow, her face ashen.

“Highness?”

Nothing.

“Ria?” she asked, reluctant to use her familiar name. She leaned forward to touch her arm, but one of the guards - a huge, leonine rakshasa - growled at her. Salanei bared her own canines at him and hissed like a cobra.

The sound of her bickering guards drew the princess out of herself, and Ria turned to them. “Please,” she whispered. “Not now. For the goddess’ sake, not now. Let me think.”

Chastened, they fell silent, though Salanei’s black eyes never left her princess’ face.

“We go back,” she finally said.

The leonine rakshasa’s ears pricked up and he growled softly as he said, “Highness, we only just got you out of there…”

“Look,” she said, her voice eerily calm as she pointed a trembling finger towards the castle.

A cloud of sparkling, fluttering sparks had risen like butterflies above the remnants of the highest tower, and Salanei recognised Maeva’s magical signature immediately. “The High Mage,” she whispered. “You think it’s a trap?”

Ria shook her head. “No. We have a code in case such a signal is ever used. Green with gold is a trap. Pink and pale green is all clear. We return. Now.”

The rowers turned the small craft around, and Ria sat with her jaw set and her fists clenched in the fabric of her dress, eyes intense, mind working. No one spoke or grumbled, despite how the guards’ shoulders must have been burning from the effort.

The princess ground her teeth, and muttered, “This is taking too long. It’s not your fault,” she added as a guard’s expression flickered momentarily. “You’ve all been wonderful.” Snapping her head up suddenly, the princess said, “Salanei?”

“Highness?”

“Can your tiefling magic teleport me from here?”

Salanei tilted her head thoughtfully to one side as she examined her reserves of magic. “If I do, I won’t have much left in the tank when we get there,” she said. “I’d rather not…”

“Do it,” Ria said. “That’s not a request. Get me to my father’s chamber, and Maeva can take care of the magic from there if needs be.”

Jartyn, a gnoll with half his ear missing and a huge burn scar on his face, interjected, “I really must object, Highness -”

Ria’s eyes flashed and he sat back, teeth clacking as he shut his mouth quickly.

However, she got control of her frustration and spoke in a gentle, if tense, voice. “I appreciate your concern, and I owe you all my life,” she said, gathering them all into the praise with a sweep of her emerald green eyes. “But my father just sacrificed his life to cleanse that castle, and now I must return to protect his legacy. If I don’t, there’s still a window of opportunity for Dorhul to step in and claim the crown and the kingdom amid the chaos. Do you understand?”

They did, and they all bowed as one.

“You will follow in the boat and attend me back at the castle.” Ria turned her gaze to the tiefling, and held out her hand. “Now, Salanei.”

Taking the princess’ hand in hers, Salanei concentrated every drop of will and magic on the king’s chambers. Teleportation was not something many could do, and it wasn’t something Salanei particularly relished. The familiar sensation of blurring at the edges announced that they were ready, and a heartbeat later, it felt like two magical grappling hooks had yanked them by the spine and guts and had torn them away to somewhere else.

The princess landed awkwardly beside her with a cry, collapsing against Salanei as they arrived in the bedchamber of the king, and the tiefling caught her. “I’m going to be sick,” Ria hissed a moment before it happened.

Salanei supported her and held her beautiful, long hair back, and then magicked all the mess away with an easy flick of her hand.

Clearly grateful, Ria straightened and turned to her. Her eyes were pink and her cheeks were pale, but she still looked so regal that Salanei’s heart twisted in her chest.

Then Ria’s eyes slid from Salanei’s face to the bed in the middle of the ruined room. The glass in the windows had been obliterated, blasted out into the courtyard below. The twisted remnants of the lead work hung like the gnarled roots of a ripped up tree from the casements, and the rest of the room was reduced to splinters and tatters.

On the bed, there was no sign of the old king at all, but where his head would have rested on the pillow lay the golden crown, and where his heart would have been was a glimmering opal. Salanei gasped when she saw it, following at a respectful distance, a pace behind Ria.

“That’s…”

“The heart of the Lunar Forge,” Ria whispered. “Yes. Imagine what hell a necromancer like Dorhul could raise with a focus like this… That must have been how he was able to wield so much magic just now too…”

Salanei shuddered, not wanting to think about what could have happened. The Lunar Forge sat at the heart of the castle, and beneath the light of a full moon, any weapons quenched in the pool of spring water had the power to destroy demons utterly. The focus of the power was that opal. It was the size of Salanei's fist and it thrummed with power. That power did not have to be used to focus the powers of the Lunar Forge though; it could be used at the heart of any ritual, to add unfathomable power, and if the necromage had got his hands on it, who knows what he could have brought into this world.

Ria picked up the stone and the crown and then sank onto the bed. When she looked up at the tiefling, another pang went through Salanei’s chest. Tears flowed silently down Ria’s face and the urge to embrace her surged inside Salanei. “Highness,” she whispered, her heart going out to the young woman.

Her face twisted, and sobs wracked the princess then, and her guard didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close and the princess folded forwards, throwing her arms around her wiry torso and burying her face in the filthy fabric of her shirt. Her tears dampened it until the flow finally stemmed as Salanei stroked the coppery hair and just stood there, taking her grief and fears in her stride.

“I can’t do it,” Ria whispered, still plastered to her chest.

“You will. You’re not alone. I know he’s gone, but you’re not alone. You have Maeva, and your guard, and… for what it’s worth, you have me.”

It took another few minutes before Ria leaned back to regard Salanei and drew in a deep, unsteady breath.

Taking a chance, Salanei reached out and thumbed the remaining tears from the princess’ blotchy cheeks. “You have me,” she repeated as her golden eyelashes fluttered softly. A moment later, the tiefling let go and spun, adopting a defensive stance as footsteps rang on the floor outside and someone burst in.

She relaxed instantly, adrenalin dissipating when the familiar red robes of the High Mage swirled to a halt and the older woman appeared to go through a similar gamut of relieved reactions upon seeing the tiefling. “Thank the goddess,” she breathed, leaning heavily on a long, slender staff. “Ria, child, are you alright?”

Mutely, the princess nodded and stood. She touched Salanei briefly on the arm as she passed, and sent a tiny rush of her innate magic into the tiefling. The tenderness of the affection made her sway on the spot where she stood and she smiled at the princess, bowing her head.

The Queen, she corrected, forcing herself to make the mental adjustment. That’s the queen standing there now, you dolt!

The severe figure of the High Mage was made all the more stark by the harsh daylight now flooding in through the empty windows. The wind at this altitude whipped right through the room, tugging at tatters of cloth and blowing papers around like dry, rattling leaves. Maeva drew the queen to one side and the two proceeded to talk in hushed voices, leaving Salanei with nothing to do except keep watch.

She crossed to the door at the sound of — she tilted her head and strained — hooves. Demon or friend…? Brandon’s telltale white forelock and black pelt drew into view as he trotted up the staircase and she relaxed.

“You’re alright,” he smiled, tugging her into a quick hug before stepping back. “Thank the goddess. When you disappeared like that — And… the princess?”

“Queen now,” Salanei murmured. “She’s fine.”

“Goddess shelter his soul, and long live the queen,” Brandon said under his breath.

“What’s the rest of the castle like?” she asked, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder and adding, “It’s a fucking mess in there.”

“Same,” he said, leaning on the door frame and suddenly looking extremely tired. “It’ll take weeks to clear the demons and the rubble, but whatever that was, it purged them all in one go. Damned powerful magic.”

“It was the king,” she said. “He sacrificed himself to save the castle.”

“Not just the castle then,” Brandon said darkly. “Saved the whole bloody kingdom with it.”

It in fact took just over a week to get the last of the ichor and demons out of the castle, but it did take much longer to clear the rubble.

Ria insisted on being crowned in the goddess’ temple at the castle, despite the fact that half the roof was missing. Maeva and anyone with even a scrap of magic had been drafted in to weave invisible supports over the roof timbers and pillars to stop it all from tumbling in and crushing the congregation.

Salanei stood at the head of the guard of honour, her blade raised as the queen passed beneath, and she winked at one of the kitchen girls’ daughters whom Ria had selected to be one of the four train-barers. The tiny child could hardly lift the heavy material of the excessively long gown, but she valiantly did her best, along with the other children who had been chosen from the families of the castle staff. It was a lovely touch, and it had only endeared the young queen more to her people.

As the queen drew level with Salanei, she didn’t stop or break her step, but she shot her a fleeting look in passing, and the tiefling’s heart leapt. Over the past few weeks, the queen had shown her a remarkable degree of affection. She’d raised Salanei to the prestigious position of the Queen’s Blade - her personal bodyguard. But where the two had hardly interacted before the attack on the castle, now Salanei found herself often being admitted inside her private study to discuss security and plans to bolster the castle’s and kingdom’s defences with magic and boots on the ground. On such evenings, it was not uncommon for their hands to brush or their gaze to meet, but whatever swirling emotions Salanei felt, she kept her thoughts to herself. This was the queen after all.

The coronation service went on and on, but finally the oaths were taken, and the queen, now formally crowned, processed out into the courtyard beyond to thunderous cheering and applause. Maeva sent a rain of enchanted petals down around her, and she addressed her people as their new leader. All the while she spoke, Salanei scanned the crowd, but to her relief, she found nothing but adoring faces and cheering people. She met Brandon’s eye from the front row of guards keeping the crowd back, and he nodded at her.

It wasn’t until Ria was back in her chambers, again with Salanei at her side, that she showed the faintest sign of her exhaustion.

She was silent while her maids undressed her, their nimble hands undoing the regiments of buttons. Finally, they removed removed the ridiculous gown from the room and found something more comfortable. In her humble, ignorant opinion, Salanei thought that the queen looked much better in plain dresses anyway.

Ria had decided, upon Maeva’s advice, to take the rest of the day to herself, and just as Salanei was preparing to stand guard outside her door, the queen took her wrist in her gentle, firm grip, and halted her.

“No, Salanei,” she said in a hoarse, tired voice. “Stay. Please.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said with heartbreaking honesty. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Feeling her body go slack as her heart went out to the young woman, Salanei said, “Shall I run you a bath, Majesty?”

On the point of replying, the queen paused and changed her mind. “Call me Ria,” she said. “Please. When it’s just us two in these rooms, please… call me by my name. I’m… I’m afraid that I’ll forget the sound of it now that I’m queen and there’s no one left to call me that…”

Bowing her head under the weight of that gift, Salanei nodded. “As you wish… Ria.”

With a smile, the queen reached for Salanei's other hand and squeezed her fingers in her own. “You’re so strong, Salanei,” she said, running her thumbs over the rough, scuffed knuckles and feeling the calluses from weapons training on her palms and fingers. “You… You’re so beautiful…”

The breath left Salanei in a rush as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus. “Majesty,” she protested, embarrassed and trying to pull away, but the queen held firm.

“I mean it,” she said with a fierce light in her eyes. And then she went soft with a sigh and said, “But yes, a bath does sound nice.”

“I’ll run you one,” Salanei offered, glad for an excuse to leave the room. Her heart was thudding and her skin felt hot all over.

“You’re not my servant,” Ria barked as the tiefling made to stride away across the room towards the chambers. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to,” she said. “Please.”

With a nod, Ria accepted, and ten minutes later, a steaming hot bath stood ready for her in the adjacent bathroom, the scent of jasmine heady in the air. When Salanei emerged, she found the queen undressing again, and struggling with a button right in the middle of her back.

“Help me?” asked the queen in a surprisingly shy voice.

Silently, Salanei crossed to her and freed the tiny pearl button from the back of the dress, revealing the smooth, warm skin of her back as the fabric parted and fall away. She had three freckles just to the right of her spine. The urge to brush her fingers down the length of the queen’s back from the nape of her neck to the waist of her dress was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to step back. “Anything else?” she asked in a croak.

With a knowing, almost playful smile, the queen looked over her shoulder and said, “Fetch me a robe?”

Licking her lips, Salanei swallowed. Had Ria’s eyes always been so bright? Her hair so golden? Her lips so…

“Salanei?”

“Of course,” she chirped and turned abruptly to fetch a robe from the back of the bathroom door and bring it. When she found the queen standing completely naked in the middle of the room with her dress pooled around her ankles, she nearly cursed. Her feet stopped and she stood there, slack-jawed and staring.

“Are you going to pass it to me or not?” Ria giggled.

Flushing hot, Salanei handed it to her and looked away as she extended her arm.

“Don’t,” Ria breathed. “Unless you want to, of course.”

She had no answer for that.

“Salanei…?” the queen asked, sounding suddenly unsure. “What is it you want? Answer me honestly.”

You.

“I can’t,” she hissed, turning completely away.

Oh gods, I want you so much, she thought. I want to make you forget everything. I want to kneel between your legs and taste you. I want to sink my fingers into your heat and feel you let go. I want to give you what no other can give you.

The queen’s voice was steady as she asked, “If you could speak freely, what would you say to me?”

“Tell me I’m not out of line,” Salanei breathed. “Tell me —” she couldn’t finish it. It felt… blasphemous even to begin to voice her desires. This was the queen. And she was a gutter-rat tiefling from nowhere, with no family and nothing but her magic and her fighting skills.

“I want you, Salanei,” the queen said unflinchingly. “I want you, but I don’t want you afraid.”

Her lips parted when she heard those words, and she turned to face her queen properly. Ria still hadn’t done up the bath robe, leaving a column of perfect skin exposed between her covered breasts, and a soft nest of golden hair between her legs. Salanei’s fingertip ached to touch her just there and see if her knees would buckle at the contact.

Without a word, the queen turned and walked slowly towards the bathroom, leaving the door open. An invitation? Salanei stood there for a long time, listening to the slosh of the water in the huge copper bath as the queen got in and then lay back. Steam billowed out of the room, coiling along the floor like crooked fingers calling.

Swallowing, her heart thudding, Salanei padded into the bathroom and came to an uncertain halt. The bath stood in the centre of the small chamber, and the queen had her back to the door where she reclined in the steaming water. “Come here,” she said gently.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“I’d like you to do more than that, if you feel comfortable…” she purred, and as Salanei drew level with the bath, she looked up at her, features sharpening. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to, alright? I’m well aware of what I am, and what your station is. If… If you feel as though you’re… obliged in any way to… to…” tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them spill, and in a rush Salanei knelt on the cold marble beside the bath and put her left hand on the rim of the tub.

“No,” she said fiercely. “I want this. Trust me, I want this…”

“You can touch me,” the queen said in a low voice, tilting her head back. The bubbles just skimmed the surface of the water, but as she moved, fragrant waves lapped at her chest and Salanei glimpsed the roundness of her breasts beneath the water and the dusky pink of her hard nipples too. “Please…”

Salanei slid her right hand into the water, her plum-purple skin in sharp contrast to the warmth of the queen’s own, and she found the inside of the queen’s thigh, letting her palm play up and down it for a moment. Ria let out a long, broken moan and arched her back a little, and it suddenly occurred to Salanei that she probably hadn’t ever been touched like this. Aside from being dressed by her maids, she was always apart, always unreachable, always kept safely at arm’s length.

“I…” Ria faltered, her eyes still closed. “I never thanked you. I never found a minute, but… I should have made time. You’ve given everything to me, and you helped to save my life.”

“I made your father a promise,” she said, still just cupping the curve of her thigh in her hand, hardly daring to believe that this was happening. “And I grew to love you years ago. Your goodness, your grace, your kindness… You won me heart and soul, Ria. I’m yours. Always.”

A tear slid from Ria’s eye and disappeared into the dampness on her skin at her neck. “Touch me,” she whispered, voice intense, and Salanei complied.

She moved her hand further up her smooth thighs, feeling her tail coiling around her own ankle as her body heated up and she began to get wet from the sheer anticipation of touching the queen like this at last. How many nights had she touched herself with thoughts of the queen’s pleasure ringing in her imagination?

At the smooth glide of fingertips over her folds, the queen’s legs fell apart and she bucked weakly, sloshing water almost over the rim of the bath. Another moan escaped her and she let her head loll as Salanei repeated the gesture on the other side before circling her swelling clit and then nudging just beneath it.

A shudder ran through the queen and she gripped the edges of the bath as Salanei brushed against her, teasing and testing, finding out how she liked to be touched, where was too sensitive and what garnered her the most vocal reactions. Slow and firm seemed to drive her closer to towards her peak, while tentative and teasing made her buck and gasp, shivering and grunting with satisfaction delayed. Naturally, she drew out the process for as long as she could, and oscillated between the two.

“Please!” Ria finally gasped, curling forwards, knuckles white on the rim of the copper bath as Salanei ran one callused fingertip back and forth just between her clit and her entrance. It was far too slow and far too teasing. “Oh goddess… oh goddess…” she chanted, her whole body winding tighter and tighter. The water could not disguise the slickness that eased Salanei's attentions either.

In a single motion, Salanei slid two fingers deep inside her and crooked them, pressing against her walls while circling her clit with her thumb, and the queen shattered. Salanei was fairly certain she’d soaked through her own underwear, but nothing could distract her from the tight, clenching heat as pleasure ripped through the other woman and swept her away with it. She gave herself completely to it and convulsed, water slopping over the edge of the bath and onto the floor and drenching Salanei's loose trousers too.

“You’re so beautiful,” Salanei crooned as the queen continued to come. “Goddess, but you’re so beautiful…” She kept the pressure inside the queen’s body with her fingertips, easing her through it until finally Ria slumped back against the bath, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, and the softest, sweetest look of joy on her face.

When she’d caught her breath, she opened her eyes with a flutter of golden lashes and whispered, “I want to do that to you.”

“I’m yours,” Salanei replied with a wry smile, withdrawing her fingers and tracing a fond touch across her sensitive inner thigh without removing her hand from the water.

“Give me a moment to feel my legs again,” Ria said, “And then help me out of here, and I’ll return the favour. I do feel bad that you were on the floor though,” she said, a tiny frown pinching her eyebrows together.

Salanei laughed hoarsely and said, “If you knew how wet I was, you wouldn’t have said that.”

The queen went still, a surprised smile on her face. “That got you wet? Doing that to me?”

“You have no idea.”

With that, Ria stood somewhat shakily, water cascading down her perfect body, and, with her eyes practically glowing, said, “Show me.”

___

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#tiefling #exophilia #sapphic exophilia #wlw #tiefling x human #female tiefling x human #female tiefling x female reader #female reader #female monster

[lideria]

Lost in Yesterday. | Jeno

Request: Nope! I literally dreamed this and was so heartbroken I had to write it. 

Author’s Note: I really like this piece, I feel like I channeled emotions well but who knows? Plus, I do have a backstory for this that I planned out in my head while writing this out, so if people (or anybody) want me to I might write it!

For Jeno's POV, go here. // For the backstory, go here.

Warnings: Some swear words, mentions of war, mentions of death, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of manipulation. English is my second language so there might be errors. Not proofread I’m veryvery sorry. (If there is more that I’ve missed, please let me know!)

Word Count: 2.450 idk why but that is so satisfying to me 

Genre: SO MUCH ANGST, royal!au, rivalkingdoms!au, loverstoenemies!au

Hope you all enjoy it loves! I wish you all a wonderful week 💚

He makes his way towards you on the balcony, while you are gazing at the developed town below you, an area of truce and peace after the burdensome war days. You can hear steps coming from behind you as the Sun desperately tries to send its rays down onto the Earth if it were not for the clouds covering the sky— resulting in a grey yet bright sky. The weather is ever so slightly chilly, only when the breeze hits from the ocean in the distance. You are tired from all the travel you had done the day before, and from waking up early to attend this important conference with all the major monarchs you could imagine; the annual conference that upheld the peace after the war.

When you hear the steps you wish with all your might that it is not him, but from the side of your eye, you can already tell. It only becomes more obvious when he stands next to you, dangerously close to you to the point where your arms could brush against each other’s. He is looking forward and down at the town like you, his hands linked and placed on the small of his back unlike yours that are resting on the polished parapet. You had succeeded in never meeting his eyes or even accidentally looking in them as you have been for the past few years, but you could still see him unfortunately. He was covered in a white attire, head to toe, if it was not for his jet black hair and black shoes. His suit was covered in gold and red and blue, badges and medals bringing life and color to his attire.

Bringing life to his attire for all the lives that were taken in his lead.

And there is a smile on his face.

“It’s a pretty day here,” Jeno’s voice is content when he speaks, charming, the way it used to be when he talked to you when you were close. Not answering him is not a choice. “It is.”

He notices the way your voice sounds ice cold, unlike how it had been inside while the conference went on. Peaceful, hopeful, warm, appealing. But he does not stutter or mess up with his posture. Instead he turns his face to your profile slowly, the smile widening and warming up on his face. It makes you gulp slightly. “I need to tell you something, if you would hear me out.”

You take a breath. One that seems to linger on your lungs not as an oxygen source, but as pure pressure and weight. You find yourself nodding, keeping your eyes on the damn harbor and the people that seemed to be loading a ship, knowing that if you listen to him you will get to throw him to the deepest corner of your mind once the break ends and the conference picks up again. “Can you look at me as you hear me out then?” He is not demanding. He asks you with patience, and with understanding, as if he would be fine with it if you did not look at him.

But you are strong. So you turn to look at him. And you remember why you had been avoiding taking a glance at him all this time.

His face still gets you feeling that way. You feel your mind get clouds, the kind of clouds that make you feel all soft and dazed as if you are soaring through the skies. His face looks so innocent and bright like he is the man that was once yours, and he glows when he chuckles out a chuckle that he tries to hold in, resulting in only a side of his mouth lifting up further. His eyebrows relax. You had not even known they were not relaxed before. Yet he keeps his eyes only in yours, unlike you.

And then he opens his godforsaken mouth. “I’m to be wedded this winter.”

Jeno is the lightning that crashes you to the ground.

You are reminded of the reality and him immediately, but this time you cannot help it when your breath hitches. He seems to notice it. There is not a furrow of his brows or anything, but you know he sees you. He had always seen you, so what would be so different now?

“Oh.” The shaky reaction is all that leaves your mouth, and you hate that it is what it is. In an instant you turn your eyes back to the harbor, unable to look at him. You had done it only once in years and all it brings to you is pain. “With all due respect, your Majesty, haven’t you been married for months now? I cannot understand this response,” He says with a light laugh. The nickname hurts you. “Especially when I’ve taken the time to tell you about it.”

“Everything was over with, I wasn’t obliged to tell you.” You defend yourself knowing it is not all that true. You had loved him and he had loved you once, and perhaps you both still did. But the fact that everything had been over with was true. Jeno does not seem to care about the venom you spit out, but he does turn his face away to look forward and not at you.

You two stand in silence. And you want the palace guards, who were not your own or his, to call for the continuance of the conference so desperately. Yet at the same time you want to talk to him and look at him because you know this might be one of the last moments you ever get to be with him like this again— where you can say anything to him in any manner at this close proximity.

Fingers tapping at the parapet, you look at him again. “Who are they?”

“A princess,” He does not even take a second to answer you. “From one of the state kingdoms. You must’ve seen her at least once, but I hardly think you know her name.”

A state kingdom’s princess. The princess of a smaller reign. “Do you love her?”

The question scares you and its answer even more so. You hold your breath as you wait for it, and he gives you what you anticipate with his eyes on the town that carries on with its day, and the ever so eternal smile on his lips. “I presume we can say that. She’s the bearer of my child— the heir to my throne, after all. That must mean something.”

It does. He does not say that she is beautiful, he does not say that she has a great personality, he does not say that she is compassionate enough to take him into her arms, he does not say that she will make a queen that everyone will want to follow, and everyone will associate with him and his power— but it does mean something. It means many things, none of them good.

You cannot help when your chest heaves. Turning your head lightning fast away from him, you try to keep the tears that rush to your eyes inside no matter what. Even though you are hurting in such an invisible yet strong way. Even though he rips open the wound you have done everything in order to close up for the past years.

There should not be disappointment, but there is. There should not be betrayal, but there is. You are feeling everything all over again, the same feelings he had given you before.

And you cannot help but think of every lost dream that is truly lost now, every scenario that will not play out, and the life that will not be.

With all your anger and hurt, you mumble, because you did not get to do it last time. “We could have been amazing.”

Had you not become a puppet of your father, had you not so blindly handed all of you to him and his dreams and goals by giving up all that is yours, had your troops not broken into me and my family’s palace and towns towards the end of the war, the end that would signify what could have been the victory of our love, had the captured soldier not spoken your name out when his lieutenant’s name was asked as he got interrogated.

You want to scream these to him, and there is more where they come from.

Had you not betrayed me when you truly loved me, had you not handed me your heart so willingly and left it with my own when you ran to your father’s refuge, leaving it to rot with mine in the aftermaths of the countless harms you have given me and the people I have sworn to protect.

It could have been us against the world, like in the days when were mere heirs. We could have awed people like we did when you asked me to a dance at every single ball the two of us attended, making a political statement and showing there could be olive branches in royalty. We could have had each other’s backs like back in the day when we would secretly meet up in our gardens and would rant to each other about our struggles with our responsibilities, ask for advice, even help with each other’s duties— had you not betrayed me and my family and my people.

We could have been amazing if only you had said yes when I told you with dead seriousness in me to escape this madness for a few years until things die down and come back only after we had married and no one could bat a single eyelash at us anymore.

We could have been amazing if you kept on truly loving me and loved me selfishly— did not care about anybody else, not your father who only manipulated and used you and made you into a man I cannot know anymore, if you kept on breaking down in my arms into tears and actually kept on telling me what was happening, so that I could save you. So that we could save each other and prove the world that love did not have to work in the way people predicted it did.

We could have shown them that love could overcome everything— even two monarchies that despise one another.

But you went after your father and his acceptance rather than true love and hopefulness. I lost you, but the saddest thing is, you lost you as well.

But you cannot scream. Because everyone would suspect something, and you two would become the topic of all the talk again, and there would be royal gossip again, and the assumptions and so many more things, so you cannot do it. You cannot let him know how wrong he is. How he is throwing away his life even more seriously than before. Even if you did let him know nothing would ever be the same as before, you two would not ever be together again, but the Jeno that had left his heart with you was someone with his own hopes and dreams and pride and conscience.

And you want to tell him to take his heart back and run so he can be who he once was, so he can realize what is happening and what he is doing, even if it means his love that accompanies you runs away with him. But you cannot do it, because he is so oblivious to everything. Because he does not know. Because he is stupid enough to believe his guided and decided fate is good for him.

So you only bite down on your bottom lip when a tear runs down your face, mourning your lost dreams and him.

It is when your chest would finally give in and you would start letting the sobs loose that a hand finds its place on your waist after a few hurried steps coming from behind you. “Dear,” Donghyuck calls, bringing you back to yourself, giving you the ground that you direly need to stand on. He looks at Jeno who is already staring him down with narrowed eyes, the man who once used to be your guard that helped you with your secret rendezvouses and kept an eye out for any threats or people that would break you. Donghyuck seems to notice him and his feelings about him, but does not glare at Jeno. He only looks at him straight and dead in his eyes for a millisecond before turning back to you with his support and the sprouts of what might be love.

He lets you lean against him as he looks deep into your eyes, reaching your soul to try and repair the damage the man he once believed in had done. But he sees that you are not okay. So he gives you an opportunity to escape. “Shall we go inside? We can go get you something.”

His hand that is around your waist holds the one that has landed on your stomach as you try to get the sick feeling off of yourself, as if to say just give me the slightest signal, and I will get you out of here.

You have a feeling he had been watching the two of you from inside carefully, like the way he used to when he was the guard aiding you with your forbidden relationship. His timing was perfect and he understood something was wrong immediately.

Donghyuck gives you the trust you always need, as a good companion always does, which is why you nod at him and give his hand the slightest squeeze before you let your arms fall. His hand stays on your waist as supportive measure as he starts walking— but you stop after a couple steps and so does he.

You turn to look back at Jeno, who is looking at the two of you with the same discipline he had held this whole time. “Send an invitation for us, too,” You point at Donghyuck and yourself before continuing. “Our monarchs must be better than abandoning each other on their best days. Let us host you in our palace once honeymoon is over, which I hope is enough to make up for my mistake.”

With all the strength in you, you smile. Being weak is never an option for you. “And if you do not, then I wish all the happiness to you and the queen, your Highness.”

Without another glance at him, you turn away and let Donghyuck lead the way back in.

For the first time in maybe years, Jeno’s shoulders drop.

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct #nct dream #nct angst #lee jeno #nct jeno #jeno #jeno imagines #jeno angst #lee donghyuck #donghyuck #nct haechan #haechan #hope you're all hanging in there okay #i love you all and cherish you #i am here for you if you need anything #virtual hugs #mwah #fic: lost in yesterday

[qqueenofhades]

Hilary my dear my darling my love...what would you say to some post-Battle of Winterfell “thank god we’re not dead” Jaime/Brienne?

Full disclosure that I have not watched the show since season 4, only know what happened in this episode via my dash, and have not written for these two since… 2014 or something. But also, reasons.

Brienne is unable to stand the silence.

It is tormenting her, every step she takes, every ice-chafed breath she draws into her battered lungs, every instant that the winter world is quiet enough to hear the rushing of her living heart and the crunch of her living steps. She trusts nothing, cannot bring herself to believe it, that the Night King will not suddenly spring together from ice and ash and resume the attack. The White Walkers are gone, the ground is heaped with corpses, the mighty battlements of Winterfell preside over a frozen abattoir. The dead are starting to be retrieved and named, brought in on makeshift pallets, their own House colours draped over them if they can be found and any honourable blazon if they cannot. Brienne has seen Jorah Mormont and his little cousin Lyanna borne in, and Daenerys’ tear-stained face. Theon Greyjoy is fallen as well – Brienne dreads to tell her lady, though perhaps Sansa already knows – and so too the red priestess. There are others, countless others, Dothraki and Unsullied, men whose names Brienne does not know. But their sacrifice will be remembered. The north always does.

She walks slowly, battered and exhausted, into the shadow of the central keep. She needs to find Pod, she thinks. She needs to know that he is well. Then to the crypts to kneel before Sansa and give her the butcher’s bill, and then –

Brienne’s memories of the night already blur, jolted and smashed, raw shards, images and sensations. Her arms ache with the weight of swinging her sword over and over, and she is so exhausted that she wonders if she has become a wight herself, dead on her feet and yet still walking. She thought she would die every moment, up there on the parapet with Jaime at her side and the Arryn men behind, make an end worthy of a knight in a song, as if that was the only fate left for her. Yet she lived, and then again, and again, torn out of the darkest night Westeros has ever known, ripped her survival with teeth and claws and the strength of her sword. They will sing of Ser Brienne one day, and yet, one thing she has never allowed herself to imagine, she may even hear them.

Brienne finds Pod, assures herself of his survival, but is unable to manage anything else, and he insists that she sleep, as if sleep is in the cards for any of them, as if they can wrap their heads around the fact that thanks to Arya Stark, the war – this war – might be over. Brienne is so proud of her that she could weep, and drown, and never stop. And yet she does not. She is numb. She lifts her hand before her face and stares at it. Flesh, as yet. It does not feel so.

She floats into the halls of winter like a ghost herself. She wants to lie down, yet she fears to stop moving. They could come back. It could begin again, the chaos and the nightmare. They could – they could –

“My lady?”

Brienne jumps a foot, turns, and sees Jaime Lannister.

It seems impossible that he has managed to stray so far from her side, when he was never elsewhere than at it, and indeed, here he is again. He looks even more haggard than she feels, and she does not even remember how to speak for an instant, as he corrects himself, almost diffidently. “Or do you prefer ser now? You are entitled.”

Brienne, she wants to tell him. Call me Brienne.

She starts to nod back to him, their careful distance, their delicate dance, as if anything else about their old lives, their old selves, still matters. And then, to her consternation, her legs give out.

Jaime moves faster than she thought was possible for anyone to move after those unending hours of the deepest and darkest of the seven hells, catches her around the waist, and steadies her. A small shock goes through Brienne at his nearness, and she has some clumsy intention of pushing him off, to insist that she is strong enough, that she has always been. But Jaime is the one man that she does not need to beat or overawe, does not need to prove anything to. He is in awe of her, and in some ways always has been. And as their eyes meet, the weary warmth and pride and worry in them is enough to make her fragile heart shake, a coin flicked with a thumb, spinning and spinning, about to fall.

Quietly Jaime says, “Brienne. Let me see to you.”

When he says it like that, she cannot refuse him.

They bathed like this in Harrenhal, once. In tension and anger and pain, his stump knotted with bloody linen, as he told her the tale of the Mad King, and swooned like a milkmaid in her arms. Perhaps it is fitting, Jaime thinks, that it has once more returned to this.

There is not much hot water to be had, and he is clumsy at hauling it, but he works steadily until the tub is filled, and nods at Brienne to get in. She hesitates, as if she somehow still has maidenly scruple about disrobing in front of him, as if there is anything the two of them have hidden from each other. He is about to tease her gently, that being the only kind he can bear, but nor can he bear to be anything less than utterly devoted to her. Especially because as she continues to stand there, staring into space, he realizes it is not that she is too shy. It is because she is too tired to remember how.

Jaime pauses, decides that the wench can push him away if she so pleases, then walks over and begins to unbuckle Brienne’s breastplate, filthy with soot and smoke and the dried detritus of whatever bloody stuff White Walkers are made of, apart from evil. He works at the straps one-handed, takes it off her, and kneels before her like a squire to undo her greaves, to help her step from her boots. Brienne complies without a word, and he thinks wryly, poignantly, that the world is changed indeed if she has no heart to argue with him. Step by step, he helps her disrobe, until she is clad only in her smallclothes, and the air in the chamber is cold enough that perhaps she does not want to take those off. Then she comes to herself, shucks them off as well, and walks, naked as her nameday, tall as a goddess, to the tub, and steps in.

Jaime’s world is consumed by her, he can see nothing else, as Brienne eases her blackened and bruised and battered body into the water. He takes a step as if to leave her to it, but her shadowed head turns, her breath showing silver in the air even as steam curls from the water. “Jaime?”

(Gods, his heart shakes.)

He pauses, then manages to get his fool arse undressed as well, somehow. His frozen, filthy clothes slap on the stones, he untwists his golden hand and lays it on the sideboard, and climbs in with her.

There isn’t much room in the tub for two – this is not the great stone cisterns of Harrenhal, this is not then, this is not who they were then. They sit jammed almost knee to knee, heads bent together, foreheads touching, her fingers linking convulsively with his underwater, taking his good hand in one and grabbing hold of his stump with the other. She almost seems, his brave, brave wench, as if she might finally cry. Her breathing halts and heaves, her shoulders shaking. Her flesh is littered with raw marks. He wants to set his lips to each one, and kneel before her as she did before him. He never wants to rise.

“My lady,” Jaime whispers at last. “I – ”

He does not know what he wishes to say, but it lifts her head, and he stares into her eyes, the eyes that have, from the first moment, entranced him. Even when he was an arrogant two-handed son of a shit, and she beat him reeling. He lifts his dripping hand and cups her cheek, running his thumb over the strong line of the bone, as her eyelashes flutter and her breath catches and even this, he sees, she cannot truly trust. He can only try to wordlessly etch his love into her, to make her feel it without words, and with that, he leans forward – just as she, convulsively, does the same.

The kiss is awkward and badly angled. They almost knock noses, and then they knock chins, and in true predictable fashion, they’re initially both too stubborn to reposition. But then Jaime turns his head and so does she, and he opens her lips with his tongue, and he has kissed before and she has not, and he would teach her, would teach her everything. However he suspects, as ever, that ultimately, he would be the one to learn far more.

It is an endless moment until they pull apart, just a fraction. Her eyes are blank with shock, as if he might have done that by accident, so he leans in and kisses her firmly and with direct purpose, a challenge that she can recognize and accept. She is confident enough to return it this time, and water sloshes over the edge as he pulls her half on top of him. They float in eternity, even as his aching back jams against the side of the tub. The silence goes on.

Jaime Lannister has always wanted to die in the arms in the woman he loved.

(He wonders now, in this instant, in this rare raw beautiful unbearable stillness, in the gloaming, on the first day of dawn, if he might live instead.)

#got spoilers #jaime x brienne #braime #i have a lot of feelings #extasiswings #ask

[clownsgobeepbeep]

Fluffy Heart

@grotesquegabby @post-itpenny Tagging you because some of yours are in this :3 Just something I felt like writing

It seemed like another decent day to hang out at the park.

Children were in school, so the park would be mostly. Sure, there would always be the need to watch out for dogs and such, but it was safe to say...that it was safe.

Mr. Twinkles sat upon the parapet of a bridge, his arms behind him as he moved his little legs in sync. He was enjoying the nice sunlight that fell upon him, especially with the peach he had managed to snag the other day.

He gave a content sigh, then turning to look around the area that was empty. It was so wonderful.

“I’m winning!”

The doll turned to look down from the bridge, right where there was a source of water flowing right beneath it. And right on it, he spotted a boat, a small boat that was practically meant for his size.

“Dad! Dad! I’m winning!”

“Oooh, careful now. Your brother’s about to cross paths.”

“Hey, no fair!”

Mr. Twinkles looked down at the water where he now saw a second boat, this one crossing in front of the first which made it slow down to prevent a small crash. He then looked up to where another one of the bridges was noticing three figures. Two much shorter than the third who no doubt was a parent, the parent of the two kids.

“Ooooh, Rowan, you better be careful there.~”

“I was winning!”

Mr. Twinkles soon squinted at the trio, realizing that one of them had a head of black hair...and two different colored eyes. His face...looked so serious, like he was ready to stab somebody.

Wait…

“Dang it!”

“Aw, sorry about that champ.” the father ruffled the brown haired boy’s hair, chuckling at his pout. “Looks like Basil won this one.”

“Basil!?” Mr. Twinkles stood up from his seat, panic coursing through his tiny body which made him flail around and accidentally make his peach roll over the bridge and into the water.

This then caused a splash that caught the trio’s attention, especially the black haired boy’s.

“Oh shit!” the doll gasped, immediately turning before attempting to run down the bridge to get away before the boy came over, because he knew he’d come. “Oh shit! Oh shit!”

He soon found himself at the bottom of the railing, then giving a shriek of fear once he bumped into a body.

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” he repeated as he fell onto his bottom, now looking up in horror at the boy that loomed over him.

“Basil!”

“Where’d you go?”

Mr. Twinkles gulped up at the boy who glared down at him, coming even closer as footsteps were heard nearby.

“Basil, there you are.”

“Why’d ya run over here?”

In an instantly, the boy reached over and grabbed Mr. Twinkles, right before shoving him into his pocket.

“Basil!”

“Hey, don’t run off like that.” Twinkles heard the adult say. “You got me worried there for a sec.”

There was a silence for a moment, right before the other child gasped.

“You wanna go home already? But we just got here!”

“Rowan, we’ve been here for an hour and a half. I think Basil’s right. Dinner’s probably close to being ready.”

“Aww, but dad!”

“Come on, let’s go.”

Deep inside the pocket of a young boy, Mr. Twinkles’ fears increased by the second.

_____________

“Hey, you guys are back.”

“How was the park?”

“Fun! Dad bought us some ice cream on the way here!”

“Ice cream before dinner?” a woman’s voice asked as something was set down, no doubt a knife. “Atlas!”

“Rowan, I told you to keep it secret.”

“Oops.”

Mr. Twinkles felt as he was still stuck inside the boy’s pocket, too afraid to move. He was too afraid of attempting escape, but also remaining inside the pocket was too scary.

“Go wash your hands guys, we’re almost done with dinner.”

“Kay mom. Come on Basil.”

The doll gave a yelp as he felt the boy run off with the other, continuing to yelp every time he felt his small body bounce.

“Boys! No running!” called a man, one that wasn’t the one at the park.

“Hey Basil, where you going?” the brown haired boy asked, right before a silence followed, and once again speaking. “Oh, okay!”

The doll finally felt a hand slip into the pocket he was in, right before the back of his outfit was grabbed. He was pulled up and out of the pocket, right before he came face to face with none other than Basil.

“H-hey kid!” Mr. Twinkles nervously laughed. “How ya been, huh? Why don’t...why don’t ya let me go?”

He saw as the boy shook his head.

“Come on! You can let ol’ little Twinkles down! What’d I ever do to you?”

Basil’s eyebrows somehow furrowed even deeper, this sending chills down Twinkles’ body.

“Where are you even taking me? Won’t your mom get made for picking up random dolls at the park!?”

Mr. Twinkles soon heard a door open, and he felt as he was brought into a room that had a sort of soothing atmosphere to it. However...Basil’s presence made it seem otherwise.

“Come on, what are you doing!?” the doll exclaimed, Basil soon bringing him farther from his body and dropping him. “Whoa!”

He soon found himself on something soft. Something soft and fluffy.

“Hey, hey, hey! You can’t just leave me here!” Mr. Twinkles shouted up at Basil, especially as the latter walked away and shut the door behind him. “Hey! Please! Kid, please! You can’t just leave me here!”

The doll attempted to comfort himself, gulping as he looked around the area before taking notice of several things.

A rocking horse that was a carousel horse.

A rocking chair.

Pastel colors.

Animals painted on the walls.

A changing station.

“Oh...oh no.” Mr. Twinkles felt a fear go through him again, especially as he realized just where the boy had dropped him into. “It’s a baby room!”

He began to panic once again, especially as he heard a soft yawn behind him.

Ever so slowly, Mr. Twinkles turned around….fearing for his life.

That was when he looked at a face that fluttered its eyes open, now revealing big hazel eyes.

“Oh shit!” Mr. Twinkles cursed once again, especially as the eyes looked down at him. With a smile.

“No, no, no, no, no!” he shook his head, falling backwards before the baby reached over and grabbed his body, pulling it towards the baby as Twinkles shut his eyes, awaiting his new torture.

However, he was surprised when he instead felt...warm.

He opened his eyes in hesitation, hearing a coo from above.

The doll looked up at the baby, realizing that she was snuggling into his small body, her arms gently hugging him.

“I...um…”he looked at her in confusion, feeling her small hand pat his head while still cuddling with his tiny frame. “Huh…”

Mr. Twinkles allowed the treatment to continue, especially as the baby released him and placed him on her bed. He felt a blanket be placed over his body, an extremely soft one that almost made him doze off.

He looked at the infant who smiled down at him, and he smiled back up at her.

“Flora, Willow.~”

He looked to the side as a light shone through a now open door, and stepped in a man that made Twinkles panic a bit.

The baby squealed in delight as she reached her arms out, right before large hands reached inside the crib and took hold of her.

“Your sister’s still sleeping, but mommy has some dinner for you.” Flora’s father cooed at the baby who giggled at him. “Hey, where’d you get this new doll?”

“Hey there.”

“Whoa, what the-” the man blinked down at Mr. Twinkles. “Um, Atlas?”

“Yeah?” the man from before walked into the room, making Twinkles sit up as he looked at the two men and the baby. “Whoa.”

“Hey guys what’s wrong?” now sounded the woman from before, the doll already recognizing who it was.”

“Nothing! We’ll be there in a bit.”

“Just getting the girls.” Atlas said, right before reaching in and grabbing Mr. Twinkles who yelped as he was taken on yet another trip. He then made sure to pick up the other baby who had just started to awaken.

“Smells good mom!”

“Thank you Rowan, but it was your dad who made dinner this time.” Mr. Twinkles could hear the voice that clearly belonged to Ula, his nervousness once again returning. “What’s that Atlas?”

“You remember Mr. Twinkles?” Atlas sat down with Willow resting on his chest, Ula quirking an eyebrow. “Because guess who I found in Flora’s crib?”

“What?” Ula frowned, now seeing as the doll was set down on the dinner table. “How in-”

“Basil brought him!” Rowan exclaimed with a giggle. “He told me he brought him for Flora and Willow!”

“Uh...um…”Mr. Twinkles nervously laughed as all eyes were on him, and he gulped as he especially felt Basil’s eyes. “H-hi…?”

“I see you don’t stop getting into trouble, Mr. Twinkles.” Ula sighed, taking hold of her knife and fork which made Twinkles shake in fear, especially as she sweetly smiled at him. “So how about you stay for dinner?”

“W...What?” the doll stared at Ula in disbelief, not knowing if she was screwing with his head.

“Stay for dinner. I can get you some utensils and plates from the girls’ dolls.” Ula stood up. “Just sit tight.”

“R-really?” he asked again, seeing Ula nod before she made her way out, leaving him with everybody else.

“This is so cool! We have a tiny doll having dinner with us!” Rowan giggled as he stared at Mr. Twinkles in awe, then turning to Atlas and Schrader.

“Um...how, uh….how you guys been?”

“Good.” Schrader replied as he stroked Flora’s hair, seeing how she smiled down at the doll. “Just been with the kids.”

“Haha...nice to know.” Mr. Twinkles looked at every person again, right before hearing another giggle from Rowan.

“You know what Basil told me?” he grinned at Twinkles. “He told me the tiny doll flirted with mom when they were at the mall one time.”

Mr. Twinkles tugged at his hat for a moment, looking around the table once again as he now felt glares from Atlas and Schrader.

This was gonna be a long dinner.

[starswornoaths]

A Promise made, a Promise Kept (2/3)

Part 1

Though there are downsides to pining for an adrenaline junkie, there are perks. Sometimes.

Word count: 2,874

Without thought, his arm shot out to try to catch her, but he was too caught off guard, and only just felt the tips of her hair slip through his fingers. Even as he followed her trajectory until chest hit Midgardsormr’s back, his arm could not reach her as she plummeted into the misty abyss below. His cry of alarm tangled itself in his throat, struggling against his heart for purchase. He scanned the mists below for a sign of her, though once she had been enveloped below, she was lost to his eyes.

“Midgardsormr!” He called in alarm as he righted himself. He felt dizzying panic settle upon his shoulders— the wind lashing against him was nothing for the cold fear that sunk into his bones. “Serella— she—!”

“Follow her instruction.” The great dragon huffed in a bored tone. “She is fine.”

“She leapt!” He shouted. His blood roared in his ears and his chest hurt for how hard his heart was set to pounding, and despite how tightly he pressed his hands against the wyrm’s scales they still shook. “Please, we must—!”

“Thou art loud, child of man.” Midgardsormr snorted. “Have patience.”

Aymeric opened his mouth to argue— to beg to save her, if he must needs beg— though his pleas dissipated when he swore that he distantly heard her cheering. Peering over Midgardsormr’s neck, he saw a distant figure burst from the murky aether clouds below in a splash of mist and ascend, rapidly, and Serella’s cheering only grew louder as the figure rose.  

“Is that...a griffin?” He realized, startled that she had not only shaved a decade off of his life, but had also somehow managed to neglect mentioning she had a griffin.

“She hath a flair for the dramatic.” Midgardsormr said, and Aymeric could hear the unamused tone in his voice. “That thou were not aware beggars belief.”

His linkpearl rang— and he tapped his finger to it.

“Ohh, that was spectacular!” Serella’s voice came in through the static and wind. He watched her griffin flutter its wings to slow their flight. “Best feeling in the world!”

“What in the name of the Fury possessed you to do such a thing?!” He exclaimed, and if he had not been flying, he would have pressed a hand over his heart to still it. 

Midgardsormr quickly caught up to her bird, and they were close enough that he could see her grinning broadly.

“You need to fly without me!” She said, and he could still hear the laughter in her voice. “And I was safe besides!”

Aymeric spared her more than a glance, now that they were flying beside one another. She met his gaze, her eyes wide and wild, glittering with mirth and mischief, her hair windswept and whipping freely about her flushed face. The very picture of an adventurer in her element, gorgeous against the setting sun and the beating of wings. His protests faded in the wake of her splendor, and he quietly cursed her spell— for it must have been magic that made him utterly, stupidly enchanted by the crook of her grin.

“Pray adequately warn me next time,” he blanched to hide the way his heart flipped. “That I might not lose years of my lifespan to fretting.”

“I said not to panic!” She said, though judging by her tone her enthusiasm was duly curbed. “Still...sorry I worried you.”

“Given that you are safe,” he sighed and willed his heart to be still. “All is forgiven, I suppose.” He watched the griffin slow again, and allow them to pass. “Where are you going?” He asked her.

“I’m observing!” She explained, and when he turned to see where she had moved, he saw that she was now riding some fulms behind them. She waved. “I’m going to let you fly on your own, and we’ll circle a bit to let you get comfortable!”

“You mean to direct me from back there?” Aymeric asked, smiling in spite of himself.

“More like I’m back here to coach you on posture and balance.” Serella answered. “Last thing we need is you taking a tumble.”

“I shan’t fall,” he yessed her.

“Well if you do, then I’ll be here to catch you. Always, Aymeric.”

His heart flipped again in his chest— at this point he was beginning to wonder if her earnest nature was going to cause him some sort of medical condition— and he quietly cursed at the way he melted, just a little, at her words. For how could he stay angry at her when she gave him such a warm, heartfelt promise? When she made him feel safe despite the swirling aether that churned below? He had neither the will, want, nor strength.

She instructed him how to properly mold mis posture to follow that of the dragon he rode, how to loosen his shoulders and elbows to move with the beating of Midgardsormr’s wings. What pinching and discomfort had previously come with riding eased under her tutelage— though he had initially thought this lesson superfluous, he happily conceded that it was necessary.

Idly, he wondered if riding came easily to his ancestors— and if it would become natural to his descendants. He could only hope— and strive to pave the way for it.

“There we go!” She cheered him once he had managed to get the hang of it— and he fought the urge to preen, just a little, under her praise. “Now, just let Midgardsormr guide you. You’ll have to do much the same with Vidofnir.” 

“Of course,” Aymeric said.

“Presuming thou hath finished their hen squawking?” Midgardsormr mused dryly.

“Your what?” Serella asked.

“My nothing, Mistress Arcbane.” Aymeric grumbled, and hoped the Father of Dragons could feel the ice his glare was drilling into the back of his head. “Pray continue.”

“I’m just observing at this point.” She said idly. When he stole a glance at her from over his shoulder he found her with a hand to her ear, the other resting idly on her thigh. He felt a twinge of jealousy at her comfort in the skies. “I’ll guide you as we go, so just leave the comm open.” 

“By your leave,” he said simply, and returned his focus on following her instructions.

It was not long that they circled the Holy See and the surrounding mists, Aymeric was sure— long enough for his center of balance to adjust to flying, but not so long he could tell that the sun had shifted overly much in the sky. It was not long, and yet, that small part of him that keenly felt the wanderlust that had awakened in him from his brief travels with Serella wanted to beg her to land anywhere else but Ishgardian stone. He ignored such childish want; better he focused on his duties, and reminded himself that he would surely make poor company for the Warrior of Light, so inexperienced with adventuring as he was.

It was harder still to not allow his focus to drift to his instructor— he so dearly wanted to simply watch her fly around, her wings unclipped, her burdens laid upon the soil. He wanted to watch her wanderer’s heart thunder in the clouds. By the Fury, he could watch her forever, if he were allowed. He ached to hear her laughter ring like the church’s bells calling worshipers to their faith. Because he would answer, devout man that he was, and answer gladly to kneel in helpless supplication at her altar.

Would that obligation and duty not have clipped his wings long before they had met...

“We’ve been at this a while, and I think you’ve got a knack for it now,” Serella spoke up, drawing him from his wandering thoughts. “Let’s try landing— you’ll have to practice how to balance for that, too.”

“I am at your command,” he answered amicably. 

“I’ll fly ahead— Midgardsormr will follow, and I’ll walk you through it.” She said.

Sure enough, he watched with delight as her griffin carefully arced from behind the great wyrm, a flutter of feathers and a fleeting glance of her grin, and in the span of seconds she was flying past them. 

Under her guidance he hovered over Midgardsormr’s back and ignored the way his thighs protested the prolonged position. Though the landing jostled him somewhat, he didn’t fall back onto the dragon’s spine, much to his relief. Still, to compare their landings, it was clear Serella was the more practiced hand.

He watched her griffin descend upon one of the many parapets and platforms of the higher walking areas of the Holy See, those balconies and bridgeways typically reserved for the nobility or the clergy. Midgardsormr followed, though drifted far enough to the side that there was ample room for him to comfortably land. As he had been warned, when the great wyrm landed upon the stone, heavy and jarring, Aymeric fought to keep himself from falling back onto Midgardsormr’s spine. He eased back into sitting down once the great wyrm stilled. Serella’s griffin trotted closer, and she closed their linkpearl call. 

“We are landing here?” Aymeric asked her.

“For the moment,” Serella answered, dismounting swiftly. “It’ll give you a chance to practice another takeoff on your own—and a small break is good for all of us, I should think. We’ve been riding for a while— longer than you’ll need to with Vidofnir.” She came to stand beside Midgardsormr and peered up at him. “Your legs need to stretch.”

“My—?” He shifted to ask what she meant when he suddenly felt his thighs protest—sharply.

He choked back a noise of startled pain, stilling his legs instantly. It was not as though he had never ridden a mount before—why did his legs hurt so?

“Not the same as riding a chocobo, eh?” Serella called up to him, smiling. “Don’t feel bad. I fell face first in the snow first time I dismounted.”

“Fortunate that we are taking a break, then.” Aymeric concluded, swinging his leg around and trying to fight back a curse as he did so.

“Take it easy dismounting, though,” Serella warned him as he made to hop off dragonback. “Your legs will probably—“

Buckle, he found out as he landed with all the grace of a newborn doe. He let out a choked cry of alarm as he staggered forward in an effort to catch himself.

Serella seemed to expect it, as her arms shot out to catch him. With a hand pressed against his breastplate to stop him from barreling into her and an arm secured around his back to ensure he would not simply collapse under the weight of his stupidity, they were inadvertently pressed alarmingly close—less than a few ilms separated them.

“Steady now, Lord Commander,” Serella breathed with a quiet laugh, peering at him through half lidded eyes.

…Was she doing that on purpose? She must be, he thought errantly, his gaze flitting between her eyes and her lips. Fury preserve him, but it would be easier to simply give in. By the Fury, but ever since the Churning Mists, ever since she had pressed her lips to his it was near all he could think about in what few quiet moments he had for himself. It had only been a moment— only ever a moment between them— but to have felt the silk of her scars contoured against his lips, beneath his fingertips, to know she tasted of cinnamon and her kisses filled his head with hazy pleasure had haunted him ever since.

Halone save him, but if he just let himself love her already— and he could, he could—but no. Not yet—not yet, he told himself firmly. He had made her a promise, and Fury strike him down, he intended to keep it, agony be damned.

Her scent—cloves and lilies floated on the cold breeze when he took a deep, calming breath to try and steady himself—in more ways than one. The scent soothed and stirred him all at once, and as they lingered in that scant space between propriety and surrender he felt himself waver.

“Of course,” he said in an almost whisper, righting himself and feeling both relief and agony at the way she took that crucial but excruciating step back from him. He smoothed his hand over the front of his coat and managed to smile through the hammering of his heart in his ears. “My thanks, Mistress Arcbane.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” she said in a voice lilted with laughter as the hand that had wrapped around to his back softly slid down his bicep and rested upon his forearm. “I’ve told you time and again: I am, as ever, your shield.”

Her gaze was far warmer than that of a simple protector and friend, he noticed not for the first time. Given her candidness for her affection...it was harder to feign ignorance for the sake of his own promise. 

All the same, it was harder still to think that she could possibly love him.

“And that means much to me,” he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face, though he winced as he shuffled on his feet and was promptly reminded of the ache in his thighs. “Really, why does this bother me so?” He asked with a grimace. “I am more than accustomed to riding on the back of a chocobo—horses, even!” 

He began to wonder if he didn’t sound like he was merely whining, so he stopped himself from going on.

“It’s the width of a dragon’s back,” she explained, giggling behind her hand. “You’re not sitting at their widest part, but it’s still wider than riding on the back of a bird—moreso a horse.”

“I suppose ‘tis true enough.” Aymeric sighed.

“Take your time, let your legs relax a bit,” Serella said. “No one can see us here.”

His mind’s eye briefly flew to his desk, where there was still much left to do before he could allow himself to properly breathe but then Serella was grinning at him in that knowing way, and he allowed himself to drift back to her. 

“T’would seem in my best interest to take your expert advice.” He said, his smile returning.

“Good,” she replied with a grin as she stepped close again. “Because that’ll give you a chance to look out there,” she said, gesturing out to the open air with a sweep of her arm.

“What—“ would I be looking at, was what he had wanted to ask, though as he turned his head to follow what her hand was presenting, his question died on his tongue, slain by the splendor before him.

The Holy See, from the Pillars to Foundation, and the vast, sweeping vistas of the snow-covered Highlands beyond the Gates of Judgement stretched out before them, all bright and bathed in the warm glow of the sunset. Everywhere the sun’s light caressed seemed to glow under its affections, golden and brilliant and hopeful. A blend of steel, snow, and sun, all laid out before them, gilded by the Twelve’s resplendence.

“I know you rarely have the time,” Serella spoke up in the quiet of his awe. “But every once in a while, it’s important we remind ourselves what we fight for.” When he felt the heel of her hand brush his palm he tore his gaze from the world before him to see that she was looking at him with an expression he dared not to name. “And…who we fight for.”

Fury sustain me. 

His legs suddenly felt unsteady all over again. It seemed a good enough excuse to allow himself to lace his fingers with hers. 

“I suspect the timing of this exercise was premeditated.” He teased, at a loss as to what to say.

“I suppose I’ve been found out.” She answered with a grin.

“Thank you,” he murmured, turning his gaze back out to the other stunning scene before him. “I have lived here all my life, and yet—“ he let out a soft sigh. “I have never seen my home in such a way. It is as if it is all new to me again, gazing out from here.”

“I like to think it’s the sun setting on an old era.” She spoke up, her voice almost reverent. “And now…we just await the dawn of a new one.”

“I find that fitting.” He agreed quietly. Drinking in the glittering splendor, he almost distantly added, “though I wonder who we will be when that dawn comes.”

“Better people, I should hope.” She answered, her voice as soft as his.

Sparing her a sidelong glance as she peered out over the horizon, he marveled at the way her eyes caught the golden glow of the setting sun, her hair gently swaying in the breeze, and simply drank her in as she was. He suddenly felt the weight of the box more keenly in his coat, and a part of him thought that, perhaps, this was the opportunity he had desperately been waiting for.

No one can see us here, Serella’s words echoed in his mind, and he dug for what courage he could find.

Perhaps it was time to take more than just the one moment.

Part 3

#ffxiv #Aymeric de Borel #Serella Arcbane #I am as ever your shield #hhhhh this was longer by like a lot #h e l p #but hey!!! we're almost there!!! #I believe in us!!!

[supernaturallymarvellous]

Battle Lines

Author: @supernaturallymarvellous

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes 

Word Count: 762

Warnings: None

A/N: Day 24 of the Daily Writing Challenge being hosted by @sdavid09.  Tag Lists are open if anyone would like to be tagged for the rest of these fics all based around the character of Steve Rogers.

Prompt: About 20 inches of snow is piled up outside....so what does your character do?

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Everyone has their own impression of Steve Rogers.  The majority of the world see him as a beacon of hope, a courageous and brave man willing to fight in whatever battle is thrown his way.  A small percentage of people – mainly government busybodies with nothing better to do – see him as a potential threat, one that they simply can’t control.  And then there’s the views held by his closest friends.  They know that he’s a good man, but they also know that deep down, there’s a certain wicked streak that only comes to light when he lets his guard down.  He can be savage, cold-hearted, sometimes even positively cruel, and right now the people who trust him most are experiencing that viciousness first-hand. 

It shouldn’t have been this way.  From their point of view, there was neither rhyme nor reason in any of the decisions Steve had made and, as they sat opposite him, huddled together behind a hastily erected defensive wall, they tried desperately to come up with a plan to fight back.  Ideas, whispered in hushed tones, were being passed between the group.

“What if we sent Nat to try and get behind enemy lines?”

“I have a goddamn metal arm!  Why the hell didn’t he pick me?!”

As quickly as an option was suggested by one person, it was shot down by another, citing various reasons, including sheer stupidity in the case of the suggestion to get Clint to fire arrows at Steve from a high vantage point, something that they weren’t even in possession of.  

The in-fighting and bickering continued for a few moments, only to be disturbed by a missile that flew past them, dangerously close to Y/N’s head.  Steve’s voice followed, echoing across the space between each group of fighters.  “That was a warning shot.  The next one won’t miss its target.  Surrender now and perhaps I’ll let you walk away unscathed.”

That barbed comment was the final straw for Y/N.  She’d put up with enough over the last few hours and it ended now.  Summoning up every last bit of courage, she stood up, sticking her head above the parapet of the wall in front of her.  “Steven Grant Rogers!  This can only end one way so I swear to god you had better give up or I won’t be responsible for my actions!  Just quit while you’re ahead.”

Mocking laughter was the only reply, swiftly followed by a volley of well-aimed projectiles, each one managing to clip Y/N as she dived to the ground.  She lay there, dazed for a moment or two and, as she started to regain control of her senses, an idea began to form.  Pulling herself closer to her companions, she set out the bare bones of her plan, leaving Bucky, Nat and Clint to flesh out the details while she continued her recovery. 

                              ********************************************

“Steve, this has to end.  Y/N’s hurt.  You need to stop this now.”  Bucky shouted across the vast expanse separating him from his best friend, pouring every ounce of worry and panic that he could muster into his voice.  “Please, Steve – let’s just call a truce before anyone else is injured.”

“Y/N’s hurt?”  He seemed genuinely worried, as though he hadn’t realised that his actions could have had such consequences.  Seconds later, he’s running towards where his opposition has been holed up, making easy work of vaulting over their defences.  It’s not until it’s too late that he realises the mistake he’s made.  There’s nothing he can do as snowballs rain down from all angles, hitting every part of him as he tries to scramble back the way he came.  He starts to laugh, figuring that it’s all over, even as the ice cold assault continues.

Bucky manages to land a perfectly crafted snowball right in Steve’s face before reaching down to help his friend up from the frozen ground.  “Can’t believe you didn’t pick me for your team, man!”

“I’m not sorry Buck.  I chose the better team – Wanda can move things with her mind and Sam’s got a damn good aim. Now are we gonna get moving?  I’m pretty sure I heard Barton saying something about hot chocolate.”

Steve starts to jog back to the enticing warmth of the indoors.  Bucky shuffled along a short distance behind him, grumbling quietly to himself as he did so. “Oooh Sam has a good aim.  I’ve got a good aim – I’m a damn assassin. Perhaps I should just toss a snowball at the back of that punk’s head….see who he thinks has the best aim then!”

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Tagging: @sdavid09   @murdocksmartinis  @xxloki81xx   @waywardimpalawriter    @zepppie     @helvonasche   @redlipstickandplaid

#Tale Teller's Daily Writing Challenge #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve x Reader #Marvel Reader Insert #Marvel FanFic #Marvel Imagine #Bucky Barnes

[exoticarmy127]

Ice Dancing (Jimin, OC) Part 4

wonderful fanmade cover by @sleeplesswritersaito <3 If you have fan covers for my stories, don’t hesitate to let me know so we can use them as my covers! <3

PROLOGUE | 01| 02 | 03

Maddy’s High School

Wednesday – 5:54 PM

Ring!!!

Maddy left the room in a rush and went straight to her locker. She had an hour till skating rehearsals and half of that time ought to be time for warm ups. Sectionals was fast approaching and Jimin and she have yet to perfect the routine, so Maddy wanted to make the most of their practice hours as to make herself look decent enough to be skating beside Jimin—a world champion figure skater.

No pressure.  

Although, Maddy would say the skating thing was going well—better—than she had expected. She had grown comfortable with Jimin and were able to work together like two pieces in a pod; anticipating each other’s movements all the while syncing with each other.

Throughout their rehearsals, Maddy had lost a lot of her shyness and Jimin and she skated together as if they were doing it for years. Even Jongin was impressed by how fast they were able to learn the routines. Although it was a given that they were both dancers and learning choreography should be easy enough, but the surprising thing was how they effortlessly worked together despite coming from solo backgrounds.

Maddy had always been a solo act—a lone dancer in most of her pieces and she had always been comfortable that way…

But she couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity and camaraderie whenever she and Jimin danced against the ice. She wasn’t sure how their bodies moved together so effortlessly in sync; how easily they danced together when they’ve hardly known each other long.

Beep.

Maddy looked down at her bag just as she closed her locker shut. She retrieved her phone from the front pockets to check the message she just received, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw a text from her boyfriend.

ERIC:

I’ve been neglecting you, I’m sorry… Dinner Friday?

Maddy rolled her eyes at that, amused. Eric had been busy preparing for the play-off’s, which left almost no time for the two of them to spend together. It was completely understandable considering she knew how much football meant to him with the scholarship at stake. And besides, Maddy had ballet and the ice skating gig to worry about too.

But she did miss him, and so she didn’t think twice about answering:

MADDY:

If there’s ice cream after, I’ll forgive you.

In less than ten seconds, another beep sounded.

ERIC:

It wouldn’t be a date without ice cream ;) I’ll pick you up after ballet?

MADDY:

Ok :)

Just like that, Maddy’s spirits lifted and her exhaustion somehow faded away.

“So when exactly am I going to meet your new dance partner?” Taehyung asked. Jimin drove silently, eyes focused on the road ahead as his best friend fiddled with his iPhone in the passenger seat.

Once you and Jungkook stop being complete idiots, he wanted to say, but decided not to as he wasn’t prepared to be in an argument with him. He knew how in denial Taehyung could be, especially when it comes to Jungkook.

“When there’s a chance.” Jimin shrugged. “Why do you want to meet her?”

“Are you actually being possessive right now?”

“What? No!”

Taehyung gave him a knowing glance; smiling before crossing his arms and looking out the window. “Well, I have to meet her some time. I’m designing her costume after all.”

Jimin’s mouth turned into an “o”, realizing that Taehyung indeed designed their costumes for the competitions. It started about a couple of years ago when Jay saw his sketches while he was staying over one weekend at their house. The little kid literally just said, “These look nicer that ones you usually wear, hyung. Tae Tae hyung should make your clothes for you.”

Suho didn’t even bat an eye upon the suggestion, instantly agreeing when Jimin had opened it up to him. And just like that, Taehyung had a designer gig.

“Oh yeah. I guess you’ll meet her soon then.” Jimin said as he turned on the blinker before turning left at the intersection.

“What’s she like?” Taehyung asked before popping a mint into his mouth. “She’s in high school right?”

“A senior.” Jimin nodded. “She studies at that school close to your favorite record store.”

“Oh…” Taehyung nodded as he chewed on his lower lip. He suddenly glanced at his best friend and was surprised to see a small smile protruding from his lips. Taehyung tilted his head to the side and smiled knowingly.

Feeling his stare, Jimin glanced at him and gave him a questioning look in return. “What?”

“Nothing.” Taehyung laid back on his seat, looking half amused and triumphant like he just cracked the hardest code in the universe.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s obviously something…”

Taehyung shrugged, still smiling. “Don’t know about you, but I just can’t wait to meet this dance partner whom my best friend likes—”

“Whoa whoa whoa… who said I liked—”

“’There’s obviously something’.” Taehyung mocked, throwing Jimin’s words back at him with a grin while the latter scoffed in denial.

“There’s nothing. And I don’t sound like that—”

“Please,” Taehyung snorted. “I’ve known you since we were kids. I think I know that look in your eyes.”

“Why? Have you ever seen that look in my eyes before?” Jimin challenged, knowing well that he wouldn’t be able to say yes considering Jimin couldn’t recall having liked someone back then.

“No.” Taehyung answered as a matter of fact which confused Jimin a bit. “And that’s exactly why I know you like her. I’ve never see that look on you before. Or smile like that before.”

Jimin kept his eyes on the road as he thought about Maddy and how she had definitely wormed her way into his world so effortlessly. He had known from the beginning, with how comfortably he had spoken to her that day at the ice rink, down to the way they had easily danced on the ice like they had been doing it for years.

Jimin had always been a solo act, and he knew Maddy was too. It was amazing how easily they were able to work together despite being used to performing routines alone.

And then there was Maddy outside of the rink: the one who laughed at his lame jokes and tried to get him out of the house on the weekends to go on whatever it was they felt like doing that day; be it going to the mall or just driving around town without a definite destination. Jongin had lifted the rope challenge thing weeks ago, but the two of them had gotten used to having each other as company that they continued going out whenever their schedules permitted them.

Just last week, they had hung out at the mall, just walking around and window-shopping. Jay couldn’t believe it when his brother came home and told him he’d been out “hanging out”. The disbelief on his younger brother’s eyes was both insulting and endearing.

At the thought, Jimin felt like his ears were burning and it was getting really difficult to keep the grin off his face and so he cleared his throat and grumbled, “Whatever.”

“Aww~ Jiminie is blushing.”

“Shut up.” He spat and Taehyung chuckled. The latter looked over at his best friend and saw him rolling his eyes, but a small smile was still playing on the corners of his mouth and Taehyung wanted to pinch his cheek because his best friend couldn’t have been more obvious.

“You really like her don’t you?”

Jimin didn’t answer and ignored him. But Taehyung didn’t need one anyway. He already knew his best friend was whipped.

Jungkook was pissed.

And when he was pissed he resorted to an extra hour on the ice to cool himself down (No pun intended).

The reason for his bad mood was that he got a B on his Math test. A “B”. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t get B’s. He knew he was being pathetic and over exaggerating, but with the games coming up and their coach pushing him harder than usual, it was hard not to get annoyed by the smallest of things.

“Hey, little man!”

Jungkook paused and looked over to the rink’s side entrance, seeing one his teammates, Yoongi, had arrived.

“I don’t think you should be calling me that.” He smirked. “Considering it’s been years since I’ve been taller than you.”

“Still born first. Do I look like I care about height?” Yoongi scoffed as he let himself sit on the parapet of the rink. “You’re early. What’s got your pants in a knot?”

Jungkook’s frown deepened as he leant against his hockey stick. “I got a B on my Math quiz.”

Yoongi was quick to reply, eyes widening while mocking a gasp. ”No! A B?!”

“It’s not funny, hyung.”

“And it’s not the end of the world either.” The older rolled his eyes before getting on the ice to approach him.

“Hey, if coach sees you on the ice with shoes on—“

“Coach’s not here now, is he?” Yoongi smirked before giving his shoulder a firm grip. “Look Kookie—“

“Don’t call me that!”

“Kookie,” Yoongi repeated, not caring at all at the glare the younger shot him. “Why? You let that red-head call you Kookie all the time!”

At the mention of the redhead, Jungkook felt the tips of his ears burn and Yoongi smiled at him knowingly. “Wha—I don’t!”

“I was there and I heard him loud and clear.” Yoongi winked. “What’s his name? Tae Tae? Taeguk?”

“Taehyung.” Jungkook corrected and Yoongi sensed how his voice softened at the mention of his name. “Just Taehyung.”

“Is it really just Taehyung?” Yoongi snickered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Hyung!”

Yoongi chortled. He always enjoyed teasing Jungkook because he got so worked up easily. “Cute. Anyway, as I was saying stop pushing yourself too hard kid. You don’t have to be so perfect.”

Jungkook bit his lower lip at that and sighed. Yoongi may seem like he didn’t give a damn about anything that happens round him with his cold demeanour and a resting facial expression that makes you think he wants to murder you…  but he was in truth the kindest and most caring big brother Jungkook has ever had.

Jungkook was an only child and Yoongi had been his friend since elementary with the two of them living right across the street from each other. Their families were good friends and so it wasn’t that hard to find a brother in him, especially when the older had taken it upon himself to look after him.

“I know, hyung.” Jungkook sighed. “It’s just that there’s college and the scholarship…”

“Hey. Even if you don’t get to the school… there’s still plenty of colleges wanting to admit you! You just have to choose, Jungkook. You may be a jock, but you’re not exactly stupid.” Yoongi reasoned and Jungkook knew it was true. There had been several schools that already given him offers as early as July.

“You know how much the school means to dad.” Jungkook mumbled and Yoongi sighed. “Hockey’s everything to him…”

“Look Jungkook, you’re not a little kid anymore.” Yoongi said a matter of fact and Jungkook’s felt a migraine coming on. As always whenever talks of college or the future comes on. “Why don’t you just tell him what you really want?“

The younger snorted, knowing what he wanted wasn’t even in his father’s vocabulary. “He’d either throw a fit or disown me, hyung. I think the latter is most likely.”

“Oh wow, that is the most bullsh*t exaggeration I’ve ever heard.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Your dad won’t disown you, he loves you too much.”

Jungkook shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve been talking about the school since I was six. All he ever wanted was to have me follow his footsteps, hyung. To be part of the big leagues. I can’t just let him down.” He frowned before skating away, but not before hearing Yoongi say:

“But you’re not six anymore, Kook. Dreams change. And your dad’s just going to have to accept that you’re not him.”

“Okay. Good. Let’s do that again but keep your arms in so you spin faster.”

Jimin nodded as he held out his had to Maddy who took it without complaint despite having done the new routine 500 million times.

Of course that was an exaggeration, but Maddy had gone through a lot in her ballet years to know when the instructor was aiming for perfection.

After several weeks of practicing, Maddy was getting used to the new schedule that basically had her waking up at the crack of dawn. It was a challenge but she knew how to discipline herself. And if she wanted her application to be chosen, she was going to sacrifice a few things…

Like sleep.

And rest.

And a butt that doesn’t ache every time she tried to sit on it.

“You okay?” Jimin asked as he squeezed her hand slightly before turning them around for a backward glide.

It was late in the evening and they were going through the choreography for sectionals once more. They saw each other every day and Maddy could feel herself becoming more comfortable around him, which according to Jongin was the most important thing in pairs skating. They were getting to know each other pretty well too; so well that she would know the sound of his footsteps echoing through the rink when he arrived or even read his mind through the expression on his face. Maddy learned that Jimin was pretty transparent with his emotions but he himself didn’t know that.

“I’m okay.” Maddy breathed out as they finished the scratch spin. Jimin looked doubtful still, but didn’t push, even though he noticed how she was quite pale and a little breathless.

“Better.” Suho nodded as the two skated towards him. “It’s coming along well.”

Jimin nodded, pleased. “Hey coach, can we call it a day? I don’t think Maddy’s feeling well.”

Maddy snapped up at that, giving him a look. “I’m fine—”

“No you’re not.”

“I am.”

“No.” Jimin said firmly, staring her down. “You are not.”

Suho watched them with an amused expression, glad that Jimin was keeping a close eye on his partner and being observant. It’s the second rule in pairs skating, after all:

Watch over each other.

“Alright. Let’s meet tomorrow morning. Same time.” Suho nodded. “You two have a good night.”

Maddy had barely said goodbye to Suho when Jimin grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the rink.

“Jimin—!” She hissed but Jimin wasn’t having any of it and didn’t let go until they were off the ice. He handed Maddy her skate guards before putting on his.

“You don’t look so good.”

“Well, thanks. I’m having a bad hair day I know.” Maddy said as she touched her ponytail.

“I don’t mean that.” He rolled his eyes then sighed. “You look tired. And pale. You seemed really out of it today…like you’re just going through the routine.”

Maddy bit her lip, surprised he had noticed. Today was very heavy considering she had back to back quizzes for her morning classes and a project she had to finish at the last minute which evidently took up her lunch time. She could feel the exhaustion weighing down on her, but she swallowed it down and managed to get through night practice with Jimin and Suho.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.”

“I wasn’t scolding.” Jimin said a matter of fact. “Have you eaten anything?” He asked and Maddy’s hesitant reply was all the answer he needed. “When was your last meal, Maddy?”

“This… morning.” She mumbled and Jimin’s eyes widened. Maddy held her breath and expected another scolding but Jimin only sighed.

“Come on.” He said as he grabbed her wrist again and pulled her towards the locker rooms.

“Where are we going?”

“You can’t starve yourself especially when we have practice.” Jimin said, pausing to give her a firm look. He let her go and then nudged his head towards the girl’s locker rooms. “Get changed. I’ll wait for you outside.”

“But… where are we going?” Maddy asked again but Jimin was already walking away to the men’s locker rooms, leaving her alone, standing in the middle of the hallway.

Maddy gaped when they approached the gates of a familiar subdivision. Blue Hill was one the nicest places in the city with streets lined with similar houses and friendly-looking neighbourhoods.

Maddy knew Jimin was loaded with his status in the sports world but she never thought he would live in a place like this. She assumed he lived in one the nice apartment uptown—in a penthouse maybe.

They BMW parked by the curb of a beige house with a brown roof. Maddy could see the lights open at the first floor and one lit window on the upper right. It never occurred to her that he lived with someone. Maddy was worried she might be meeting his parents or something.

Jimin parked the car and shut the engine before walking towards the passenger side to open her door.

“Come on.” Jimin said and Maddy got of the car obediently. She walked behind him, pausing as she stared at the house; wondering who could be inside. The house was quiet and she figured there probably weren’t that many.

“Hey, you coming?”

Maddy snapped from her trance and saw Jimin looking at her expectantly by the front door. She walked up to him briskly, almost tripping at an uneven path.

“Look Jimin, I’m really okay. And I can have dinner at my place.” Maddy started as Jimin fumbled with the key to unlock the door. “I don’t want to intrude—“ Maddy stopped when Jimin stopped to look at her, his face a mask of confusion.

"Why would you be intruding? It’s my place and I invited you.”

“I know that. I just… I mean there might be—“

"It’s just me and my brother.” Jimin shrugged curtly before pushing the door open. “I’m home!” He called out but there was no reply and the only sound heard was the murmur of an open television.

“Come on, I’m starving.” He said to her before calling out, “Jay? Hey, where are you?”

Maddy followed him through the threshold, walking through the hallway until they reached the living room. There she saw two boys lounging on the couch; one looked about seven or eight with dark hair and chubby cheeks, while the other had flaming red hair and looked about Jimin’s age. He had a sketchpad on his lap and was focused on drawing something but Maddy was too far to see what it was.

“Hyung!” The little boy cheered before standing from the couch and running towards Jimin. Maddy smiled slightly as the little boy hugged Jimin, burying his face on his stomach while the latter ruffled his hair affectionately. She glanced up slightly and caught sight of Jimin’s expression; seeing a fond look in his eyes.

He must be the brother, Maddy thought just as the little boy released his hold on Jimin and looked up at her.

“Hello.” He said with a toothy smile that was oddly like Jimin’s. It was…

Cute.

“Hi.” She replied with a smile.

“Hey, you’re back.” The other guy spoke and when Maddy looked over at him, he was already standing up and moving towards them.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin asked though there was no trace of annoyance in his tone.

“I’ve been sexiled.” He pouted and Jimin’s eyes widened in alarm before covering his brother’s ears.

“Tae!” He hissed.

“What? You asked!”

“What’s sexiled?” The little boy twisted his neck to look at his brother and Jimin sighed before shaking his head.

“You don’t want to know.” He huffed before giving the redhead—Tae—a glare. Tae merely shrugged before looking at Maddy.

“Hi! I’m Taehyung.” He said with a boxy grin and Maddy felt herself smiling too. “You must be Maddy! Jimin told me so much about you!”

Maddy looked over at Jimin who was suddenly too busy playing with his brother’s hair, avoiding her gaze.

“Uh yeah.” She said with a small smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Jay!” The little boy said and Maddy turned towards him with a smile.

“Hi Jay. I’m Maddy.”

“I know! Hyung told me all about you!” He said and Maddy’s mouth opened in slight surprise. “I think he likes y—mmm!”

Jimin had covered his mouth, silencing him and Maddy was stunned at the gesture. Taehyung was chuckling beside her and nudged her slightly. When she looked at him, he winked.

“Did you guys have dinner yet?” Jimin asked, his hand still on his brother’s lips as he stirred the conversation somewhere else.

“Yeah. You had some left over chicken from last night.” Taehyung nodded. “There’s still some left. You guys haven’t eaten?”

Jimin shook his head before releasing his hold on his brother. “I’ll go heat it up.” He said then turned to Maddy. “Would you like some soup too?”

“I’ll have anything you prepare.” She answered and Jimin nodded before turning and moving towards the other room.

“You really are pretty like he says.”

Maddy jumped slightly at the statement, surprised. She turned to look at Taehyung who was giving her an amused expression.

“What?”

“Before I forget, would you mind if I measure you before you go?”

Maddy paused, unsure what he meant by “measure”. “Sorry, what?” She asked, dumbfounded.

“For the costumes.” Taehyung explained with a slight chuckle and Maddy decided he was cute when he smiled. “Didn’t Jimin tell you that I designed all his outfits for the competitions?”

Maddy’s mouth turned into an “o”. “Oh, really? He hasn’t really mentioned it…”

Taehyung glanced at the direction where Jimin had gone with a glare. “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Kick his ass!” Jay yelled and Taehyung offered him a fist bump.

“Let’s keep that to ourselves, kiddo.” He ruffled his hair playfully. “You know how your hyung gets when we cuss.”

“You’re teaching the kid how to cuss?” Maddy asked and Taehyung only shrugged.

“Not deliberately.” He protested. “He’ll learn them as he goes anyway. Better to learn it from someone who’s like family before he gets influenced by bad friends, right?” He quote on quote and Maddy wasn’t sure if that was an acceptable reason.

But before she could say anything, Maddy felt a tug at her shirt and saw that it was Jay trying to get her attention.

“Yes?”

“Are you hyung’s girlfriend?” Jay asked which caused Maddy’s mouth to open in surprise and sent Taehyung in a fit of giggles.

“Hyung?” Maddy asked though she knew he meant Jimin.

“‘Hyung’ is a term we use to address older brothers.” Taehyung explained. “You do know we’re Korean right?” Maddy nodded just as Taehyung turned towards Jay. “He’s just your hyung’s dance partner.” He said before winking at Maddy once again and returning to his seat.

“Oh. Okay.” Jay shrugged and gave her a smile before turning and moving to sit beside Taehyung on the sofa.

Maddy was taken aback by the kid’s assumption and wondered just how much Jimin had told them about her to make him think that. She moved towards the other room, into the kitchen where Jimin was setting the table.

He looked up when she came in and gave her a small smile. “It’ll be ready in a sec.”

“Thanks.” She smiled as she looked at the table. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, just take a seat. It’s fine.” He said as he retrieved something from the microwave.

They ate dinner in silence and Maddy was quite pleased with the meal, considering it really did taste delicious.

“Thanks.” Maddy finally spoke after a few minutes of utensils clanking against the plates. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but Maddy didn’t love it either.

Jimin smiled as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “No problem. You should really take care of yourself more. I wouldn’t want you fainting on the ice.”

Maddy smiled, appreciating his concern. “I’m sorry. Today was just… rough. I had a lot on my plate in school.”

“Oh yeah. You’re graduating right?”

“Hmm.”

They were silent for a split second until Jimin asked, “Are you sure this whole skating thing is okay with you? I mean, I don’t want you to be burdened considering your plate is full as it is…”

Only then did Maddy realized she hasn’t told Jimin about the big reason why she was doing this in the first place.

“Oh, um… I’m fine.” She said instead. “I… I want to do this.”

“Why?” Jimin asked, genuinely curious.

“What?” She asked, not expecting the question.

“Why do you want to do this?” He asked again and this time Maddy paused, suddenly wondering.

“I… ” She stopped to collect her words, unsure if she should say it was for a college application or because she genuinely wanted to try it out. She had always been interested in finding out just how far she could go in this particular sport. She had always enjoyed skating since she was young even though her heart belonged to ballet first. But to try ice dancing with a professional skater was an opportunity she had never thought in a million years would be given to her.

“I’ve always wanted to branch out with my dancing, you know? Try new things.” She explained. “Ballet is great and all and I love doing it but it wouldn’t hurt to try something different… to challenge myself with something new.”

To her relief, Jimin simply nodded, buying her explanation.

“I took ballet before I became a skater.” Jimin suddenly said and Maddy perked up at the fact. “I trained at this dance school until I met Suho who introduced me to figure skating. And…” he shrugged. “I just fell in love with it.”

Maddy smiled, understanding that feeling. After all, she felt the same way about ballet. There was just something about the way she felt when wearing her pointe shoes or the feeling of her body moved along with the music—pulling her in completely till she was no longer in this world.

Dancing, no matter where her feet touched, be it on a stage of a huge theatre or the wooden floors of a dance studio, felt like home.

“Yeah. I get you. Dancing for me… it feels like coming home you know?” Maddy held her breath for his reaction, thinking how she just said something completely cheesy. But Jimin remained silent, looking at her with a look she couldn’t quite read.

“Sorry that was,” She huffed out a laugh to lessen the awkward silence when Jimin suddenly said,

“Glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Maddy looked up and saw Jimin giving her a small smile. There was something in that moment where time seemed to be suspended and all Maddy could see was Jimin smiling at her… and all Jimin could see were Maddy’s clear blue eyes staring right at him.

It was oddly… nice.

“You know… now that I think about it, I’ve never actually seen you dance.” Jimin said as he stood from the table with his plate and placed it over the sink.

Maddy tilted her head to the side, a small smile on her lips. “We dance on the ice all the time, Jimin.”

“I mean like see you dance ballet.” He explained as he turned towards her, hands gripping the sink’s edge behind him. “I mean yeah, we have dance rehearsals together but solo dancing is different, you know?”

“Then come with me on Friday. I have practice at the academy.” Maddy said nonchalantly; realizing too late that she had just invited him over to watch her practice. It slipped so easily from her lips that she didn’t even had time to think about it. Maddy had never done that before: invited someone to watch her practice apart from her own mother. Gigi and even Eric, though they have seen her perform in competitions, have never watched her practice.

Simply because practices were where she was the most vulnerable; it was a time where she worked on her imperfections before finally showing a perfect and flawless routine at shows and competitions. Maddy was always scared to let anyone see anything other than perfection—to be judged before she could do something about it.

“Really?” Jimin titled his head to the side with a small smile and Maddy’s worries somehow disintegrated. They had been practicing together on the ice for weeks…what difference would it make if he watched her practice ballet for a bit?

Maddy should’ve taken it back, should’ve made up an excuse but with Jimin smiling like that… looking hopeful and curious at the same time, she couldn’t get herself to say no.

Or maybe… she didn’t really want to.

Jungkook was on his way back from practice when he felt the sudden urge for a caffeine fix. He wasn’t a coffee person but there were days when he craved for it and it usually comes at the weirdest of times and places: like now when he’s just about to cross the street.

He brought out his phone and looked up the nearest coffee shop and was glad that it was just around the corner.

The Espresso and Chai was a small coffee shop at the corner street of an intersection and exactly the kind of place Jungkook needed to be. He usually got his coffee at the local Starbucks, and always had his drink to go since the place was always too crowded for his taste. But as he entered the small coffee shop and saw only a handful of people occupying the chairs, he decided he was going to stay for a change.

He ordered a caramel macchiato (Yoongi always teased him about his favourite drink, saying it was way too sweet, but perhaps that’s because Yoongi preferred his coffee to be black and bitter as his soul. Although Jungkook secretly believed his hyung was more of a white mocha kind of guy). As he waited for his drink, Jungkook scanned the place for a spot to sit in. There was one near the door, another near the pick-up counter and there's—

Jungkook paused and tilted his head to the side when a familiar figure caught his eyes. Sitting on one of the window seats was a familiar flop of red hair, hunched over the desk and looking completely engrossed in what looked like a sketchpad. Jungkook was about to step closer to check when his name was called by the barista and the mysterious red-haired person looked up, their eyes locking instantly.

Taehyung looked at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open slightly. Jungkook stared back, noticing a dark smudge on his cheek and felt the sudden urge to reach out and wipe it away.

What the hell? He thought as he shook himself from the trance, breaking his gaze and turning to get this drink.

“Here you go, enjoy your drink Jungkook,” said the barista and Jungkook nodded in thanks before turning around again. This time, Taehyung was no longer looking and was back to his previous position.

Jungkook contemplated for a bit on whether or not to approach but it seemed that his feet had a mind of its own and soon enough he was making his way towards Taehyung.

He tapped his shoulder gently and gave him a small smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Taehyung said before smiling. Jungkook wondered why it was suddenly so hot in here?

“Can I join you?” He asked and Taehyung’s eyes were so wide when he nodded that Jungkook had to bite his lip to prevent himself from grinning at how cute he looked.

Jungkook sat down beside him and his eyes caught sight of the sketchpad in front of him. He was drawing clothes… girl’s clothes. And it was short, and sparkly, and looked awfully like—

“It’s for Jimin.” Taehyung blurted and Jungkook burst out laughing. The former realized a little too late what he just said and immediately corrected, “I mean! It’s for Jimin’s dance partner… Who’s a girl.”

“I though Jimin hyung was really going to wear that.” He chuckled, making Taehyung laugh too. “Dance partner, huh? I didn’t know hyung got into pairs skating.”

“It was only recently.” Taehyung told him and Jungkook nodded. “So here I am designing their clothes fro sectionals.”

“It looks really nice.”

“Thanks.”

Silence.

“Umm… so what are you doing here?” Taehyung asked.

“Uh, to get coffee.” Jungkook answered.

“Oh yeah, of course.” Taehyung replied, and face-palmed himself mentally.

“You’re up pretty late.” Jungkook commented, knowing it was well half past 10 P.M.

“You’re the one in high school. I think I should be asking you that.” Taehyung snickered.

“You’re just a year older than me.” Jungkook protested. “And that’s unfair, you skipped a grade.”

“Can’t help it I’m smart.” Taehyung stuck his tongue out at him, making the younger laugh. The two of them fell into easy conversation after that and the hour passed so quickly they didn’t even notice. Jungkook felt relaxed as he talked with Taehyung, listening to his stories and all the random things he went through that day like how he found a cool graffiti while walking to school or that stray cat he found and brought to the home shelter. Jungkook felt his heart swell at that when it shouldn’t. He realized he hasn’t felt like this in a long time.

Jungkook’s heart shouldn’t be beating so fast whenever Taehyung met his eyes… and his heart shouldn’t melting at Taehyung’s mere smile either.

But it did.

And he kind of liked it.

“I think I need another cup.” Taehyung muttered and Jungkook had his cheek leaning on his hand, elbow on the table. He knew he should get going soon since he had an early class tomorrow.

“What’s your drink?” He asked out of curiosity, wanting to prolong his stay. Taehyung was already standing to go to the counter when he looked over his shoulder at him and answered,

“Caramel macchiato.”

Thud-thud…thud-thud….

Jungkook’s shouldn’t believe in soulmates and yet here he was thinking their coffee preferences were more than just a coincidence.

It was…most probably… written in the stars.

Academy of Arts and Dance

Friday - 7:45 PM

“Staying till later?”

Maddy turned and saw Matthieu by the doorway, already carrying his bag and cane.

“Not long, just another hour, maybe.” She said as she wiped the sweat from her eyebrows. “I’ll close up—“

“Oh no need, dear. Ronald will be here till ten.” He said before stepping back and giving her a curt wave. “Don’t stay too late. Have a good night.”

“You too.” Maddy answered before turning back around and facing the mirror. A new melody played from the speakers and Maddy got into position before moving with along with the music. She knew the moves by heart as it was one of her favorite pieces and she had danced it so many times, she could probably dance it in her sleep, even.

When the song ended, she was panting but she didn’t feel tired at all. Instead, she felt so alive after that routine she thought she could do another round—

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Maddy turned abruptly upon the sound and her eyes widened when she saw Jimin leaning against the door way, smiling as he gave her a round of applause.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” She asked, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. It dawned on her that he just watched her entire performance and hoped to god she did well.

“You invited me to watch, remember?” He answered as he entered the studio. He was wearing black jeans that were ripped on the knees and a jean jacket over a plain white shirt. Maddy wasn’t sure how he managed to make a casual look seem fit for a fashion magazine.

At the thought Maddy blushed.

“What?” Jimin asked her when he noticed her looking away.

“Nothing. Sorry, just forgot you were coming.”

“You only asked me last me Wednesday.” He chuckled.

“A lot has happened since.” She huffed. “I had a couple of tests yesterday and honestly? My brain’s already turned into mush.”

“R.I.P.” Jimin sympathized and she stuck out her tongue at him.

“You’re really good.” Jimin suddenly added, making Maddy smile.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone dance the way you do.”

“And how exactly do I dance?” She asked teasingly as she went over to the water dispenser to fill her water bottle.

“Like you’re in love.” At his words, Maddy’s hand froze for a second before resuming to fill her bottle.

“In love?”

“Hmm. Like you really love what you’re doing. Happy. Weightless.” Jimin said and Maddy thought how she had never had someone describe her dancing that way. It was…nice to hear.

“But you lack passion.” Jimin added and the dream-like haze shattered in an instant, causing Maddy to turn towards him sharply, with a challenging look.

“Passion.” She echoed and Jimin simply nodded.

“I can see you’re good, and I can see you love what you do but I’m not feeling… the fire. You’re just dancing the steps… but you’re not feeling it, you know?”

“And you can?” She asked as she crossed her arms, giving him a look. “Dance passionately, I mean?”

Jimin smirked. “My dancing is so passionate its brought people to tears.”

“Oh yeah? How should it be done then Mr. ‘I have passion’?” She teased and Jimin chuckled before removing his jacket and throwing it to the side.

“Alright.” Jimin said, taking on the challenge before handing over his phone and instructing her to play the first track on his playlist.

The music sounded and Jimin got into position in the middle of the room. It was a haunting track, with eerie orchestral violins and shifting beats that Maddy found awfully familiar. It was a bold—an interesting song choice for a contemporary dance, knowing it would require a lot of complicated movements to get in sync with the beats. She watched Jimin dance and as he executed each move languidly, she slowly understood what he meant by “passion”.

Jimin danced like he was part of the music, like he was in the song—the main character of the story. Maddy watched in awe as he performed a contemporary ballet routine, one that really did seem familiar…

It was only around the chorus part that she recalled it. It was the piece he skated at the ISU championships… the skating performance where he got into that accident.

Watching him dance on the ice was different from watching him dance here. The moves were more precise, more detailed. And Maddy saw the effort in ever move executed, saw the lines of his body bend beautifully against the notes of the song.

Watching Jimin was mesmerizing and she didn’t even notice how he had already went towards her, hand outstretched in invitation with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Dance with me.” He said and Maddy’s mouth opened to decline but Jimin smiled widely and took her hand, leaving no room for protest.

“Jimin, I don’t know the steps—“

“You’re a dancer,” He said as he placed a hand on her hip. The contact made her shiver and though they had been within this close range from their rehearsals on the ice, this felt different…

Closer…

More intimate…

“Just dance how you feel.” Jimin whispered and before she knew it, he was leading her across the dance floor.

It was almost surreal how Maddy knew every step and every turn, the twirls and even lifts Jimin had spontaneously made up along the way and yet they executed perfectly like they had danced it before.

Maddy danced with her heart on her sleeves and with Jimin holding her in his arms, dancing passionately across the floors… she danced alongside him with as much fervour—their passion burning through the choreography.

By the time the song ended, they were panting and breathless. Jimin had his arms around her waist while Maddy had hers around his neck.

“That was…amazing.” Maddy breathed out with a smile.

Jimin was staring at her seriously, his face merely inches from her and Maddy felt the air shift slightly, her heart drumming wildly against her chest as Jimin gazed upon her like she was the only person in the room…

In the entire universe.

“You were.” Jimin said as his eyes glanced down to stare at her lips. Maddy felt herself do the same and it was like an invisible force was pulling them in….closer… and closer…and—

“Maddy?”

The trance was broken in an instant, like glass shattering as it made contact to the tiled floor. She turned to her left, and saw a familiar figure by the door.

“Eric?”

To be continued

This has turned out longer than it should hahaha but I hope to get more development in this story more quickly :) Sorry to keep you guys waiting! I had a minor block for this one but I hope you enjoyed this update! The taekook scenes are ASDFGHJKL lol and PARK JIMIN is so cute in this I cry :>

Let me know what you think, ‘kay? Thanks for reading!

- Kaye Allen

#Ice Dancing #part 4 #Jimin scenarios #Park Jimin #bts scenarios #taekook #Jungkook scenarios #Taehyung scenarios #networkbangtan #BTS #bangtan #bangtan sceanrios #bts fanfiction #Jimin fanfiction #Jimin fanfic #side Taekook #Vkook

[the-royal-courier]

Events This Week

July 17-July 23

____________________________________

Tuesday, July 18

Sprankles’ Sparkling Emporium Time: 3-5pm (server) Location: Lower corner of the Mystic Ward near entrance to The Commons. ((OOCly Longberry’s Regeants))

Where all that glitters is not always gold, but its just as pretty!

There will be all sorts of sparkling special goodies available for sale and for really affordable prices! We have everything from cosmetics, edibles, and even party favors!

(Contact @sparkling-adventurer for more information)

Arena Skirmish Bonus Event [July 18–25]

While this event is active, Arena Skirmishes will award Honor at an increased rate. Will you answer the call to battle?

____________________________________

Friday, July 21

Hearthstone Tournament (IC Horde side)

Midsummer Night’s Revelry is an upcoming server-wide Horde-side RP event, on Wyrmrest Accord server, from July21st-23rd. Opening ceremonies will begin at 6:00pm server time (PDT). Location will be Mar'at, Uldum.

The Hearthstone tournament will be on the 22nd, and sign-ups for the tournament will be from now until the end of the day before the actual tournament event.

The organizer for the tournament is yours truly, Aranya. (In-game name is also Aranya). To sign-up or ask questions, message me in-game, or on twitter or tumblr @aranyaphoenix.

Mr. Smites Improv Time:   7 Bells Where: SI:7 Building, Stormwind City

Come watch the Xanoic Brotherhood as they perform their weekly “Mr. Smite’s Improv” a unique show with laughter, groans, and prizes galore.

(Contact Dreyfusxano in game for more information)

The Rat Bastard Tavern Time:  8 Bells (server) Where: The Rat Bastard Tavern (Ship in Stormwind Docks, middle pier)

Tired of the same old watering hole? Have you counted the cracks on the ceiling of every local pub? The Rat Bastard Tavern offers a switch of scenery, floating serenely in the Stormwind Harbor for one night only every other week. If the change of scenery is not enough, why not come for the live music, the diverse patrons, and the fun and friendly staff? Sporting a wide drink menu of local and imported spirits and food menu to come, The Rat Bastard will leave you with some good memories and maybe a fun staggering walk home. Don’t dress up, we prefer things casual!

(Contact Masnira for more information @enigmatic-elegance)

____________________________________

Saturday, July 22

Auction House Dance Party [July 22]

The main auction houses in Orgrimmar and Stormwind have been cleaned out and turned into dance parties for the day! Crowd on in and show some faction pride!

“HELLSEQUEL - RIGHT TO REMAIN STUPID”! WHERE: The Shrine of Fellowship, Jade Forest WHEN: July 22nd, 8:20 PM WrA server time

The Tirisfal Theatre Troupe presents the sequel to their hit “Hellsqueel” Come out to see this encore performance!

Mr. Smites Improv Time:   7 Bells Where: SI:7 Building, Stormwind City

Come watch the Xanoic Brotherhood as they perform their weekly “Mr. Smite’s Improv” a unique show with laughter, groans, and prizes galore.

(Contact Dreyfusxano in game for more information)

The Bloodsport Brawl Time:   8 Bells (server) Where:  Stormwind Docks (The stone bunkers at the Stormwind harbor, the ones with the parapets, closest to the dry docks.)

Honor, jousting, nobility and chivalry. Most people know there is only one deciding factor in a real fight, and that is who lives and who dies.

The Bloodsport Brawl is a tournament drawing from that spirit. Leave weapons and armor aside and face off with another scrapper where only one rule decides the victor: Draw blood, any way you can. The first to bleed their foe moves on up the ladder, determining them to be the dirty, the bloody, the best.

Cash rewards to be given to the first and runner up.

(OOC:  Base d20 roll fight with a first to 3 contact victory. Contact Masnira @enigmatic-elegance  for more information!)

____________________________________

Sunday, July 23

Alliance Commerce Exchange

Time: Noon til 6 pm

Where: Goldshire, Elywnn Forest

Bi-annual Alliance Commerce Exchange (Summer/Winter). The Exchange will host a variety of vendors and charitable organizations, along with games and entertainment, recruitment opportunities, raffles and so forth.

So we are asking that Shoppe owners, charities, gaming hosts, live entertainment and prize donators to please contact Rinoha Holt (Rinoha), or Venreena Holt (Venreena) to inquire further. There are no spot or booth limitations, the more the merrier!

The Recruitment Area will be a place for your guild/House to plant a standard and recruiters to represent your banner though we ask that you be courteous to those also recruiting around you.

If you are interested in joining Rinoha on the ACE Committee for future events, please contact her via in-game mail or over tumblr chat. Please direct questions or concerns to the following:

@rinohaholt @venreenaholt

____________________________________

(In addition to these specific events, some shops are open daily or upon request. Check the List of Alliance Shops here to find your RP. See the MAP here)

____________________________________

Upcoming Events

____________________________________

Rosewood Righteous Rivalry When: August 13 Time: 4 Bells (Server) Where: Rosewood Isles (Kirthhaven, Twilight Highlands OOCly)

Join House Reinhardt for a night of fun and excitement at the Rosewood Righteous Revelry! We’ll have the sweetest of treats, hardest of drinks and the most enjoyable games and contests with plenty of prizes to win! From the Jousting Tournament to the Pie Eating Contest we have something for everyone!

_____________________________________

(Have an event you would like advertised? Send a message to @risrielthron or contact Risri in game)

#wra rp #rp #events wra

[percival-queen]

[ I’ve broken out of my host’s confines to make a VERY IMPORTANT announcement. ]

[ *ahem* ]

[ THE TWO OF US AIN’T GONNA FOLLOW YOUR RULES, COME AT ME WITHOUT ANY OF YOUR FANCY TOOLS LET’S GO JUST ME AND YOU, LET’S GO JUST ONE ON TWO— ]

#{I DO NOT CONTROL THE MUSE I DO NOT CONTROL THE MUSE—} #[ a little joke at grammar's expense - crack ] #[ please; call me Parapet - ic ]

[literaryavalanche]

Preview: The Killing Instinct

This is a preview of the Claymore AU I’m working on but won’t be posting until I finish some of the fics that are already online; I still need to run this by my lovely beta and probably missed at least a few spelling mistakes but that’s fine since it’s not really the final copy. 

Enjoy 

*****

Prologue – Below His Station

 The deep gorge dropped away below him, plummeting down towards the far distant silver ribbon of the half-frozen river at the bottom at a startling angle. Its walls were dark granite, cut from the mountains by the brutal winds and the passage of an ancient long melted glacier and crowned with a blanket of thick and frigid snow.

The wind howled like a near rabid animal, tugging at his pale curls until they were whipped into a wild bird’s nest and scratching at the apples of his cheeks with icy talons in a futile effort to leave them raw and smarting. To a lesser creature, like a human, the subzero temperatures would have been unbearable but Tom-not that anyone ever called him by that name, having long since learned to refer to him by his preferred moniker of Voldemort, or simply by his earned title of ‘Heartless’-was as unmoved by the chill as the mountains upon which the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been built; his body barely noticing the cold nor sparing even the slightest shiver, as if made from stone or ice rather than living flesh and blood be it that of a human or a monster.

Hollow silver eyes gazed down into the abyss with marked dispassion as he poised upon the mountain’s lip like a sneering gargoyle atop the parapets of a heathen church. The thought was near enough to make him laugh and snarl in equal measure: his kind, better than any other, understood the truth that there was no ‘God’. By any name. No matter what you were-rich or poor, merchant or minstrel, human or Inferus or both like him-all of them were Godless creatures, whether they realized and accepted that fact or not.

Thaurisaz gleamed silver against the ebon livery slung about his throat, the Rune chosen as the personal emblem to replace his name in the eyes of those who refused to recognize the fact he even had one in the same capacity that they did. Those that he was far superior to-even while bound to them as a servant under threat of death-and who forced him to protect humanity.  But mankind had never carried anything but hatred for him, even back when he’d been one of them himself, and were far from deserving of that protection. Tom. Voldemort. ‘Heartless’. All three reduced to a naked branch with a single thorn, emblazoned each upon collar and sword.

He growled, putting sharp teeth on display as his eyes flashed from silver to a piercing molten gold.

“The others can feel your restlessness for miles; you’re upsetting the trainees.”

Tom turned his head just enough to see his handler, as he called himself, standing not far behind him. Far more susceptible to the cold than he was the man had wrapped himself in thick fur clothing layers deep and his blonde hair, done back into a long pony tail, was whipped about behind him like some manner of absurd foreign flag.

“You’re presence here in Ravenclaw Province has begun to become a bit of a thorn in our side, Number One.”

“And what do you expect me to do about it, Abraxas? Suppress my Dark Aura enough that only those specialized in the sensory arts could perceive it? I don’t sodding feel like going through the trouble.” He returned his gaze to the gorge. “If the old man wants that, he’ll have to come tell me himself.”

This response was clearly a less than pleasing one, which was a large part and parcel of why he’d worded it in the way that he had. He chaffed under their yolk more than any other within the Order, and taking out his considerable frustrations on Abraxas was one of the few outlets he had through which to relieve his ever mounting frustration. Though he had to admit that doing so did carry some considerable risks. As much as Tom hated to admit it, on account of both his proud human nature and Inferus side’s distaste of admitting lack of dominance, the man did hold power over him; the slightest hint from Abraxas that he’d ‘gone out of control’ would see the entire force of the Order of the Phoenix coming down upon his head.

Even as the Number One of the current generation, up against forty six foes at once he’d be overwhelmed. Which was, perhaps, the only reason he hadn’t shaken off their chains years ago.

“We know better than to waste our breath doing such a thing. Your inappropriately vocal disagreements would be far more trouble than settling a batch of unfinished weapons is worth. Though I must admit that we do have some concerns about how unrestrained you are with the use of your power. You may be a half-breed but I know you’re not a fool and you’ve seen what happens to those who…take things too far.”

“I know my limits.” His hissed susurrus joined with that of the wind. “I simply prefer my fights to end quickly. A gross display of power is preferable over a battle dragged out too long.”

“Once you’ve finished playing with them, perhaps. We all know that your tendency to dissect your prey is where your moniker comes from in large part, ‘Heartless’. That being said, I suggest you mind yourself in the future: it would be a shame to put you down prematurely. You’re the strongest we’ve produced in centuries and we’ve yet to find an adequate replacement.”

“Just go back to using Wizards; the Organization already broke that rule with me.” Tom grunted. “What would you have me to do, then, if not suppress my Aura?” he prodded further, annoyance coursing through him when the other man failed to elaborate in a timely manner.

“We’ve a few jobs lined up for you in Gryffindor Province, to the South. They should break your boredom nicely, give you the chance to burn off steam, and take you far enough away from Ravenclaw Province that you won’t continue riling anyone else while doing it. They should serve to keep you busy, at least for a while.” He said. “And should more arrive in the meantime I’ll get in touch.”

He had to admit that the offer of a distraction was quite a tempting one. To have a chance to get out and prowl the countryside again. To get embroiled in a good fight. It would be just the sort of break he’d need to save him from going completely crazy. “And what jobs would these be?”

“Two separate villages in the Province are being terrorized by Inferus; one in Godric’s Hollow and the other in Ballycastle.” He said. “You’ll handle Godric’s Hollow first, as they were the first to send word for our assistance.”

“They’re simply Inferus? Nothing more than that? How many in each town?”

“One, most likely.”

“One?” This was not what his idea of a ‘good fight’ amounted to. It wasn’t even going to be a fight at all. “Single Inferus of the most general sort; have you lost your mind? I am this generation’s Number One! My function is to take out entire towns which have been overtaken by Inferus, dismantle whole covens of Magicals and put down the strongest of my own fellows who have lost themselves to their monstrous sides! Sending me after such targets wouldn’t only be a waste of my ability, it would be a job well below my station!”

“Below your station? You seem to have forgotten your station! You’re a weapon, nothing more, and are beholden to the will of the Order of the Phoenix! The Order has decided to dispatch you to handle this matter! And you will obey!” He snapped. “You will perform the indicated jobs and any others that spring up in their aftermath, as if your sole function and purpose for existing as you are! A Claymore without a purpose amounts only to a weapon without a purpose and a weapon without a purpose is a weapon for which we have neither need nor use. Number Two would be more than pleased to receive the promotion that your euthinization would provide in the interim of our finding a more suitable replacement. And Numbers Three through Eleven could use the further training.”

Tom’s teeth clicked together but he gave no other sign of his annoyance. “Even busy work is better than sitting here any longer.”

“I knew that you’d come to see it our way, Voldemort. You’re a sensible beast, after all.” His posture betrayed his relief to again be free of the cold and the wind as Abraxas turned and began heading back towards the building.

How he wished the Order had never discovered his only fear. Then they wouldn’t have been able to exploit it against him the way that they did. But they had, inevitably, and here he was. Forced to bow to creatures weaker than him. To fight against the Inferus for their sake and against his own inner monster for the sake of his sanity and for not having to be hunted down himself. In his training days he’d thought of little more than vengeance, but now he knew that he wouldn’t make it out of taking it alive.

Godric’s Hollow wasn’t a town that he’d been to before, but he knew that it sat on the border of the central Province of Avalon and the Southern Province of Gryffindor. Walking there and without once stopping to rest, reaching it would take him just under three days.

Without a passing thought or hesitation Tom stepped over the side of the precipice. The wind howled louder as it whipped around him, the mountain side blurring slightly as he passed. The drop would have killed any human and most Inferus or Half-breeds that attempted it, but with precise and timely direction of his Aura his legs were more than able to hold up against the landing’s crushing blow. The stone beneath his metal greaves was not so lucky, shattering into dust and jagged shards with a loud and very satisfying crack.

Pausing only long enough to determine the direction of his travel, Tom set out along the serpentine bank of the river towards the South.

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[shannaraisles]

Her Beacon And Her Shield - Chapter 27

The chaos of their assault on Adamant was worse than Amelia could possibly have imagined.

At dusk, Cullen's trebuchets swung into action, flaming projectiles smashing great hunks of ancient masonry from the walls, keeping the defenders busy as the rest of the army moved into position. When the trebuchets fell silent, it was the turn of the soldiers on siege ladders and bearing the battering ram to advance. Amelia caught a glimpse of Hawke atop one of those ladders, the first to breach the Grey Wardens' defenses as a small phalanx of soldiers bearing tower shields enclosed her party in a protective shell. That small space was cramped and dark, yet the sounds of the battle were still all around; the sounds of men screaming as weapons found their mark, of rocks hitting the shields held solid above her head, the roar of the men at the battering ram as they drove it toward the gate. At least once, she felt herself stand on a body part, an arm or leg belonging to one of her own people who had fallen just to get her here. It would be worse inside the fortress, she knew, but she had to get there. The ancient gate stood no chance against the modern equipment deployed against it, and as the brittle iron gave way, the shields around her fell away to allow the Inquisitor and her people to clear the first courtyard of demons and their bound mages. Then the real fighting began.

Hard-pressed, Amelia fought her way onto the battlements with her friends close at hand, joining up with Hawke to secure the three choke-points Leliana had identified, wresting control of the fight from pride and despair demons that might otherwise have killed too many of her people in this assault. What few Wardens they came across who were unwilling to fight took Stroud's word and pulled back, rather than join the fight against their fellows. The deeper into the fortress they got, the stronger the resistance became, and Amelia was glad to have the addition of both Hawke and Stroud at her back. Without them, any number of demons or mages might have taken her life before they ever reached the heart of the fortress. But finally they did burst into the main courtyard where the ritual was taking place. Several mages stood around a pulsing rift, warriors standing by, as above them their Warden-Commander slit the throat of one of their own under the direction of Erimond.

The Tevinter spotted them first, issuing orders in a shrill tone. "Stop them! We must complete the ritual!"

Amelia pushed forward as the warriors turned toward them. "I did not come here to fight you!" she shouted, her eyes fixed on the platform above. "It's done, Clarel. There will be no ritual, and no demon army."

"Then the Blight rises with no Wardens to stop it, and the whole world dies!" Erimond declared, stoking the fear she could see in the eyes all around her. "Is that what you want? And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty."

"Masterful performance, Erimond," Amelia snapped back at him. "Top marks."

"We make the sacrifices no one else will," Clarel asserted with a frown. "Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

"And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!" Stroud burst out angrily.

They all saw Clarel hesitate. "Corypheus?" she echoed. "But he's dead."

"He is not dead," Amelia informed her. "He planted this Calling in you all. It's false!"

Erimond scowled, seeing his influence over the Warden-Commander failing with every word. "These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel," he urged her fervently. "We've come too far to turn back now."

Clarel paused, indecision clouding her expression. Then her face cleared. "Bring it forth," she ordered the mages around the rift.

They stretched forth their power to widen the rift, offering a glimpse of the truly enormous demon waiting on the other side. Amelia and her party surged forward, desperate to stop this before it went too far, but the Warden warriors pressed in around them, ready to fight to the death to defend their mages and their Warden-Commander.

"Please!" Hawke pleaded with them, no one willing to be the first to strike. "I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!"

At Amelia's other side, Stroud snarled in frustration. "I trained half of you!" he protested as the Wardens advanced. "Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"

"Listen to me!" Amelia turned her imploring gaze onto the warriors who threatened her. "I have no quarrel with the Wardens - I have spared those I could. I don't want to kill you, but you're being used ... and some of you know it, don't you?"

The Warden directly in front of her hesitated, raising his hand to stay his comrades' attack. "The mages who've done the ritual," he said, and his voice was heavy with suspicion and regret. "They're not right. Look at them. They were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string."

Clarel's voice rang out across the courtyard. "You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!"

"He's not afraid," Hawke shot back. "You are. You're afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing."

Her words hit home. Amelia saw Clarel shudder at the possibility that Hawke was right, even as Stroud capitalized on that blessed moment of reason.

"I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters, but this is not the way." He put up his sword, sheathing the blade at his side, and Amelia followed suit, raising her staff from battle-ready to simply upright. Behind them, their small party did the same; this seeming surrender further disconcerting the Warden warriors who faced them. "You have been tricked."

Almost as one, the unbound Wardens turned to look at their Warden-Commander, the leader they had trusted on this dark path. None of them wanted to believe it, and yet the sheer conviction in the voices of the Inquisitor, the Champion, one of their own ... it could not be denied. But she was looking to Erimond, her Tevinter ally, suspicion finally dawning on her face.

"Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges," Clarel suggested, and Amelia felt her tension ease just a little. The woman was frightened, but not out of her wits. "To avoid further bloodshed."

Erimond's false sympathy evaporated as he realized his hold over the Warden-Commander had been broken. "Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally," he suggested in turn. He raised his own staff, striking the stones three times. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor," he called down as an unpleasantly familiar shriek rent the air. "He sent me this to welcome you!"

From over the battlements swooped Corypheus' pet archdemon, red lyrium eyes burning with malevolent intent. Amelia stared up at it as the Wardens scattered around her, as her friends dove for cover, standing her ground just as she had done in Haven. But this was not just any dragon, and she was not stalling to save lives this time. There was a purpose to the dragon's circling. It was here for her, and the moment it saw her, that purpose became blindingly clear.

"Duchess! Move!"

But she couldn't move, terror rooting her to the spot as the dragon circled once again, flame decorating the sky as it turned to plunge toward her. She saw the mouth open as it bore down on her, saw the flame ignite ... and felt two hundred pounds of Champion hit her hard, knocking her out of the dragon's path and behind a sturdy stone statue of a griffon. Hawke pinned her in place as the flames streamed past on either side of them. Amelia shuddered, trying to shake off the terror that had frozen her limbs as Hawke met her gaze fiercely.

"You all right?" the Champion demanded forcefully. "Don't get scared, Inquisitor. Get angry!"

Amelia swallowed, forcing her terror aside with no little difficulty. "Angry," she repeated, slowly gathering her wits together. Fear would not serve her here, Hawke was right. She should be angry; angry that Corypheus had pinpointed her fear, angry that Erimond had exploited it. "Angry, I can do."

"Good." Hawke nodded, unsheathing the two-handed sword at her back. "Let's give that thing something to really scream about!"

Champion and Inquisitor charged out of cover together, the only people moving in the courtyard. This time, Amelia did not freeze in fear; she threw ice into the gaping maw that flamed overhead, dousing that flame as it screamed down at her. Another scream erupted from the chilled mouth as Hawke's blade cut deep into its tail, and suddenly the courtyard was alive with movement. Mages turned their demons loose to attack the Inquisition, only to find the Warden warriors raising arms against them. With the dragon circling, with demons snarling and spells firing, Amelia almost missed seeing Erimond flee, pursued by Clarel.

"Cassandra!" she yelled above the chaos all around them, pointing her staff. "That way!"

The Seeker nodded, dispatching the demon before her to charge after the Inquisitor, Cole close on her heels. Hawke and Varric were quick to join them, falling in with Stroud as Amelia lead the way from the courtyard, sprinting through incidental battles with demons, trying to stay one step ahead of the dragon while endeavoring to close the distance between themselves and Erimond. A few hairy encounters slowed them up, but finally they rounded the bulk of the tower to find Clarel had cornered the Tevinter mage on the parapet overlooking the Abyssal Rift.

"You!" the Warden-Commander was shouting. "You've destroyed the Grey Wardens!"

Her spell caught Erimond by surprise, but he was laughing as he rose onto his knee. "You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch," he taunted her. "All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes, and you couldn't wait to get your hands bloody!" He cried out in pain as she hit him with another blast of raw power, curling in on himself even as he rasped. "You ... could have served ... a new ... god ..."

"I will never serve the Blight!" Clarel snarled. Her next spell sent him sliding back toward the tower as the dragon swooped down.

Amelia shouted a warning too late - the dragon caught the Warden-Commander in its mouth, biting down hard as it shook her form violently. Clarel's blood sprayed the horrified watchers as her body was hurled to the far end of the parapet. Heedless of the danger, Amelia bolted forward, unwilling to just stand by and watch as a formerly good woman was killed so brutally. A sweep of the dragon's tail knocked her to one side, pinning her briefly underneath Stroud as the others were knocked to the other side of the jutting parapet, no one in any position to help the fallen woman.

 "In war ... victory ..."

"She's alive!" Amelia gasped, scrambling onto her feet as the dragon loomed over Clarel's bloodied, broken body.

 "... in peace ... vigilance ..."

"Wait!" Stroud caught her arm as she started forward, forcing her to a halt. "What is she doing?"

Amelia squinted through the dragon's legs, watching as Clarel's broken hands formed a complex sigil that was all too familiar. "Oh, no ..."

 "... in death ..."

"Get back!" Amelia screamed, trying to drag Stroud away. "She's -"

The explosion was deafening. In her last moments, Clarel released every vestige of magical energy in her dying body in a shockwave that caught the dragon full in the face. It reared back, its great bulk shattering the stone railings that lined the parapet, sending huge chunks of masonry dropping into the deep abyss that bordered the fortress. The dragon slammed down into the stonework, scrabbling for purchase as the sturdy construction came apart beneath it.

"Run!" Hawke yelled, urging them to make a break for the tower, even as the stone beneath them gave way.

Amelia tripped and stumbled, struggling to make headway as the ground beneath her feet sank and juddered. Stroud was close by her side, refusing to leave her, the dragon taking flight behind them. She paused just a moment too long in her rush, hearing Cassandra scream her name as the world shifted, sending her into free fall with her friends not far behind her. All she could hear was the thunder of her heartbeat and the rush of air in her ears; all she could see was the endless chasm beneath her. All she could think was how stupid she'd been ... how Cullen would grieve her loss. And the Anchor on her hand flared, green flames erupting below her. She passed through the flames without harm ... and the world around her changed.

The abyss was gone, replaced with the pseudo-rock formation and unmoving clouds of the Fade. The sounds of the fall were suddenly silenced, their collective voices trying out in terror the only sound inflicted on their ears as the fall was reversed, all of them accelerating toward an unexpectedly solid surface. Amelia whimpered, closing her eyes ... and the impact never came.

"What in the name of ..." Varric's wonder broke through her fright.

She opened her eyes, and there was the surface just above - or below - her head. Suspended there, she glanced around, unsurprised to find her friends floating in much the same way.

"This is ... odd," Cassandra said, her voice dark with anger to cover her fear. "What is this?"

"Where are we?" Stroud asked, his voice rough with shock.

Rather than answer, Amelia turned her eyes back to the rock surface so close. She reached out to brush a fingertip against it ... and gravity asserted itself. With an abruptness that shocked the breath from her body, she crashed onto the rock heavily, blinking as her personal horizon reasserted itself as well. Around her, she heard her friends land too, their pained groans joining hers as they each shook off the disconcerting sensation.

"We were falling," Hawke groaned, pushing herself onto one knee. "Is this ... are we dead?"

"No ... no. Nonononononono ..."

Amelia rolled onto her knees, seeking out the owner of that voice - Cole. The strange spirit boy was crouched nearby, his pale eyes wide as his hands flexed and clenched, panic pouring off him.

"This is the Fade, but I'm stuck," he whimpered, terror bleeding through his voice. "I can't ... why can't I ...? This place is wrong. I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn't like this."

"It's not how I remember the Fade, either," Hawke offered, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Perhaps it's because we're here physically, instead of just dreaming." Her head turned, meeting Amelia's eyes. "The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?"

"I don't know." It was frustrating just to say that; she couldn't imagine how frustrating it was to hear her say it. "I still can't remember what happened the last time I did this."

"What do you remember?" Cassandra asked then, on edge in the eerie half-light.

Amelia shook her head, at a loss as to how to answer. "I ... was running," she said helplessly, knowing this wouldn't help. "There was a woman, I think, but I don't remember any details. I don't remember anything."

"Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume we're safe now," Hawke pointed out. "That huge demon was right on the other side of the rift Erimond was using, and there could be others."

"In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby, in the main courtyard," Stroud said thoughtfully. "Can we escape the same way?"

"Well, it beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?" Amelia turned, scanning their unearthly surrounding. The sky was gray-green, unremarkable but for a swirling bright vortex in the distance. "There." She pointed toward it, the mark on her hand crackling with the same shade of Fade-light for a brief moment. "Let's go."

Her eyes fell on Cole once more, moving to gently urge the boy up onto his feet. He stumbled as he rose, his eyes wild as he looked around at the familiar unfamiliarity of the Fade that had once been his home. She wasn't expecting it when he suddenly whirled back to her, pressing into her arms to hide his face against her shoulder.

"Wrong. Wrong, wrong," he gasped, clinging to her as she stroked his hair. "Wringing me out, wrought right and rigid. Can't relax. Can't release ..."

"Shh ..." Amelia held him gently, berating herself for ever bringing him along in the first place. This was just cruel. "It's all right, Cole," she murmured to him. "We'll get you out of here soon."

"Thank you," he whispered back to her, slowly standing free of her embrace. "It should be like home; it's not. This ... isn't me, not this part."

"We won't be here long," she promised him faithfully, hoping she could keep that promise. "We're getting out of here, all of us."

"I don't like it here." Cole rubbed at his watery eyes.

"You stick by me, kid," Varric told him, catching Amelia's somewhat helpless look in his direction. "I'll keep you safe."

That decided, Amelia watched as Cole moved to stand beside the dwarf, aware that the entire party was looking to her for guidance. To walk physically in the Fade ... it had only been done twice before. Once by herself, though she remembered nothing of it; more disturbingly, once by Corypheus and his fellow Tevinter priest-mages - that fateful journey that had cursed the world with darkspawn and Blights. Maker prevent such a horror being unleashed this time.

She hefted her staff, turning toward the distant vortex. "Let's move."

Together, Inquisitor, Champion, and Warden lead the way, following the tug of the Anchor on her hand across what seemed to be a narrow, rocky plain, dotted with pools of dark water and free-standing rock formation that had no natural place. But that was the nature of the Fade - it was shaped by the dreams of those who visited here, or by the will of whatever demon had claimed some small corner of this seemingly infinite realm. Amelia did not want to dwell on that thought, but one thing seemed clear - this part of the Fade had been claimed by the massive demon they had glimpsed through the rift from Adamant. They would likely have to face it before they could escape.

Climbing rough-hewn steps, she stopped suddenly, shocked by the sight of a familiar silhouette emerging from the shadows before her. She felt Hawke and Stroud come to a halt at her back, staring in disbelief.

"By the Maker ..." Stroud breathed. "Could that be ...?"

An achingly familiar voice answered him. "I greet you, Warden, and you, Champion."

Cassandra's gasp was both hopeful and disbelieving. "Divine Justinia?" she said, shock buffeting her usual composure. "Most Holy?"

The woman before them, who did indeed appear to be the deceased Divine Justinia, bestowed a kindly smile on the Seeker who had been her Right Hand in life. "Cassandra."

"You knew the Divine," Amelia said quietly to her friend, too used to the tricks of the Fade to accept what her eyes were telling her. "Is this really her?"

"I-I ... I don't know," Cassandra answered in confusion. "It is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but ... we know the spirits lie." Her voice hardened, no doubt bracing herself for disappointment. "Be wary, Amelia."

"I fear the Divine is, indeed, dead," Stroud warned. "It is likely we face a spirit ... or a demon."

"You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand, alive in the Fade yourselves," the Divine reminded them. "In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."

"Sure you can understand our concerns," Hawke pointed out. "Explain what you are."

"I am here to help you." The Divine's eyes turned to Amelia. "You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor."

She wanted to believe, so badly, that this was Justinia before them, but Amelia was a mage. She knew the Fade held more than just demons. "The real Divine would have no way of knowing that I'd been made Inquisitor," she said reluctantly.

"I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus," the Divine told her. "This demon is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes was its work."

Despite her reservations, Amelia found she trusted this being. It had not attacked nor offered a deal, therefore it was not a demon; a spirit, then, at best. "So it isn't Corypheus manipulating the Blight?" she asked.

"Corypheus is a powerful being, but he does not have that power," the Divine assured her. "Only the Nightmare can spread such horror."

"I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare has dealt my brethren," Stroud declared, angry at having been manipulated at all.

The Divine smiled her benevolent smile. "You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair."

"Wonderful." Amelia sighed. Not only were they near a terrifying-sounding demon, literally, but they were in the part of the Fade it claimed as its own. "Corypheus seems to have a lot of demons at his disposal. How does he command so many?"

The Divine - or whatever she was - shook her head. "I know not how he commands his army of demons," she admitted with reluctance. "His power may come from the Blight itself. But the Nightmare serves willingly, for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world. He was one of the magisters who unleashed the Blights upon the world, was he not? Every child's cry as the archdemon circles, every dwarf's whimper in the Deep Roads ... the Nightmare has fed well."

"Tell me more about the Nightmare," Amelia requested. "The more we know, the stronger we are against it."

"Knowledge defeats fear," Hawke agreed with her.

"It is not simply fear," the Divine told them. "It is the terror you cannot remember, the horror your mind erases to protect you. When old memories no longer make the veteran soldier's hand tremble, it is because the Nightmare has taken them. Most people avoid their fears. It is simple for the demon to steal the darkest fragments. They forget, and it feeds. Corypheus has helped it grow monstrous."

"It makes people forget the worst part of their fears?" Amelia's frown was curious, suddenly wishing for Solas to make all this easier to understand. "It almost sounds like the Nightmare is helping people."

"Perhaps it was, once." The Divine had no better answer than that. "But now, it helps no one but Corypheus. By his hand, it creates more fear and grows even stronger. In any case, robbing people of their fears is never a kindness. At best, it is a mistake born of compassion. Without fear, and pain, and failure, we cannot learn; we cannot grow. As you cannot grow until you recover all that was taken from you."

"And how do I do that?" she asked, not particularly happy about having to prolong their stay in the Fade.

"When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you," the Divine told her. "Before you do anything else, you must recover it. These are your memories, Inquisitor." She gestured, and Amelia turned to see wraiths forming around them.

"Oh, trust you to have memories that fight back, " Varric drawled, dropping Bianca from his back to take aim as Hawke, Stroud, and Cassandra charged.

It was a short fight, the wraiths so taken aback by the experienced enemy that not one of Amelia's spells found a living target. As the last wraith fell, the air around them seemed to thicken, holding them all in place as a scene played out before their eyes. Divine Justinia - the real Divine Justinia - alive and in peril, held in magical restraints by ... by Grey Wardens. And Corypheus, the orb Solas had spoken of in his hand, advancing on his captive.

"Keep the sacrifice still." Corypheus raised the orb, bright light flaring from his stolen elvhen artifact.

Panic rose in Justinia's eyes. "Someone!" she screamed in true terror. "Help me!"

And in answer to that cry for help, the door beyond her opened to reveal a mage, peering in curiously. Amelia stared - that was her.

"What's going on here?" she heard herself of two years before ask, polite and timid. She could feel Hawke and Stroud looking at her askance; they had never experienced the shy woman she had been before Corypheus' attack on Haven.

As they watched, Justinia took that opportunity to break free of her restraints, one arm flailing wildly toward the orb in Corypheus' outstretched hand. It was knocked from his grasp, crashing down to roll over the stone floor toward the mage Amelia had been. The shy woman picked it up, and the orb flared once more. She screamed in pain, her whole hand engulfed in that light as the Anchor was burned into her flesh, into her soul. The twisted form that was Corypheus snarled, rushing forward to intervene, and the magic ignited, setting off the explosion that had killed so many.

The vision faded. Amelia found herself leaning back against the unearthly stone, her mind whirling. The Anchor, the explosion ... it had all been her fault. Her mark wasn't a gift from Andraste, but a result of her own stupid curiosity. The explosion that destroyed the Temple and all those people within it ... her fault. The people of Haven had been right in the first place; she was no Herald. She really was nothing but a thief and an incidental murderer, raised to this position because of what she had done with her stolen mark.

"No." Cole's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Not a murderer, not a thief. You are the gentle hand that guides, the smile that saves. Herald and home, leader and loved. Nothing is not what you are."

"I'd say you were the bravest person at the Conclave," Varric agreed, quicker on the uptake where Cole was concerned than any of the others. He guessed only too quickly that Cole was refuting Amelia's thoughts. "How many were there? How many of the Knights Vigilant, who are supposed to be her bodyguard? But you're the only one who went looking when the Divine called for help."

"And I set off a chain reaction that killed everyone," she argued hopelessly.

"They were dead the moment Corypheus arrived, Duchess," the dwarf told her firmly. "He knew what he was doing. I'd say we got lucky you interrupted."

"More of my awful luck?" Despite her dark thoughts, Amelia felt herself smile.

"Providence," Cassandra interjected, catching up with what was going on. The Seeker did not want to see her friend blaming herself for so much death and destruction when it was plain that the world would be a darker place without her timid curiosity. "You did what had to be done, what you did not know had to be done. If you had not been there, Corypheus would even now be in the Black City."

"I wanted to believe it was Andraste," Amelia mourned, looking down at the eerie glow on her palm. "But I'm just an accident. It could have been anyone."

"But it was you," Varric said, gripping her wrists to make her meet his eyes. "Accident or not, I can see the hand of Andraste in all this. Hell, maybe even the Maker Himself."

"Chose, not chosen," Cole added helpfully. "Help and hope and peace, not pieces."

"But this tells us nothing!" Amelia burst out, embarrassed by their faith in her. "All it tells me is that I should break that damned orb next time it starts glowing!"

"Yet even that information may one day help you," the spirit of the Divine said, her calm tone soothing to Amelia's bruised heart. "You have recovered some of yourself, but now the Nightmare knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead."

Another breath, and she was gone, disappeared from view in this place that was no place. Cole took Amelia's hand, raising her onto her feet with an encouraging smile. Shaken by what she had seen, nonetheless she managed a smile in return, surprised to see Varric and Cassandra relax a little as they saw the expression. They were worried about her, about how she would react to the memories they had yet to recover; not because they feared the truth, but because they cared for her.

"All right," she said as heartily as she could. "Let's get moving. Are you two coming?"

This, she directed toward Hawke and Stroud, who had both been silent since the vision of her memories ended. The Warden raised his head, meeting her eyes with a brief nod, but Hawke didn't move. The Champion was frowning, deep in thoughts that marred her face with pain.

"Something troubles you, Hawke," Stroud said, touching her shoulder to bring her out of those thoughts.

She looked up, a bleak anger glinting in her eyes. "Those were Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision," she said, that anger turned upon the only Warden in their midst. "Their actions lead to her death."

"I assumed he had taken their minds, as we have seen him do before," Stroud answered, taken aback by the accusation in her eyes. "Come. We can argue after we escape this dark place."

"Oh, I intend to," Hawke promised darkly.

Amelia sighed, turning her face away from them as they began their long trek through the Fade. The last thing she needed right now was her two strongest allies at each other's throats. Not now, not here. Here, where the normal rules did not apply and their every step was dogged by demons, she needed them to be strong and capable ... because she was not. She was afraid, and the Nightmare was hunting her. Andraste preserve us, she prayed as they forged on, unable to escape the dark premonition in her mind.

 I'm going to die here.

#her beacon and her shield #multi-chapter fic #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dai #fanfiction #writing #cullen rutherford/female trevelyan #amelia rutherford #varric tethras #cole #cassandra pentaghast #stroud #marian hawke #divine justinia #the fade #adamant #warden-commander clarel #erimond #grey wardens #demons #one big mess