#And the entire time before she died I was ticking her off so badly (more or less intentionally but I didn't realize how successful I was) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadowphoenixrider · 21 days

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(A bit of a rough fic I wrote out after doing the Elisande’s Retort questline, which I proceeded to forget I had. I’ve tidied it up as best I can, but it’s still a little rough around the edges. Enjoy!)

“I don’t like dis.” Draggka said, watching the elven forces advance up the promenade, feeling the tension in Spike’s back. “I gotta bad feeling about dis.”

“A bad feeling? How so?” Khadgar asked, glancing to her with one silver eyebrow elegantly arched as they walked several paces behind the main invasion force.

“Don’t ya feel like it’s been too easy?” She asked, turning to the archmage. “Maybe dat not be da right word, but…Everyting has gone well, better da I expected. When do we be hittin’ da snag?”

“Hmmm.” The mage hummed, rubbing his chin. “I have wondered that myself. But maybe just this once things will go our way?”

The Huntmaster said nothing, her mind ticking over. Her gut told her something was going to go badly wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Maybe Khadgar was right; maybe she was so used to things suddenly going awry that she was worrying about nothing?

And yet…

Suddenly the image of Elisande appeared at the far end if the promenade, and immediately she was on guard. That was new, and unexpected, although from what the troll could hear, the Grand Magistrix was more concerned with disparaging the other elves than anything else. Yet she was openly boasting, and she’d not done that before; Lyleth had been mentioning that-

Wait. We haven’t heard from Lyleth since we stormed the city.

“Khadgar, it’s a trap! We need to go, now!” Draggka cried, the mage looking back at her in alarm.

“What? Say it in Common, I-” He was interrupted by Spike’s urgent bark, more like a shriek, and they whipped their gaze back down the promenade. A wall of arcane energy was thundering down the walkway, a tsunami bearing down upon them.

RUN! Draggka’s body screamed instantly. But she started to turn, she saw Khadgar staring at the magic in frozen shock. No!

Draggka continued her turn and lowered her body, all but charging into Khadgar. She struck him just low enough to topple him onto her shoulders, thumping the breath out of him. The magic was gaining fast, her fur prickling. Looping an arm around his legs to keep him secure, Draggka ran, summoning the aspect of the cheetah to lengthen her stride. Thas’dorah’s power lightened her feet, her vision narrowing to what was right in front of her - run, run, RUN.

Draggka encountered the stairs sooner than expected, and she tripped. She tumbled forward, only just managing to catch herself with the arm that held her bow, her bones jarring with the impact. She was scrambling up the rest of the way, when the sensation of lips against her ear broke through her foggy mind.

“Draggka.” The voice was deep and vibrated against her skin. “We are safe, love. Stop running now.”

Though the Zandali was basic, it cut though the fear, and Draggka finally relaxed, slumping against the stairs. It was only then that Khadgar’s weight began to make its presence fully felt on her shoulders, her back starting to complain.

“You can let go now, love.” Khadgar said, now in Common, but no less gently. The hunter resisted a moment, before she sighed, releasing her grip around his legs and letting the Archmage clamber off her shoulders. He sat heavily beside her on the steps, and she pulled herself up to sit with him, turning to look at the devastation they’d fled from.

The wall of arcane energy was now a field across a good three quarters of the promenade, the entire elven army frozen within like flies drowned in amber. Some of the siege engines were caught hovering in mid-air, cast aside by its before the magic locked them in position.

A dread chill sank into her bones at the sight, and Draggka looked to Khadgar at the same time he looked at her. He glanced behind them briefly before pulling her into a tight embrace. She went willingly, pressing an ear against his neck so she could hear and feel his pulse beating under his pale skin. That could have been us, she thought. Spirits above, I could have lost him. If they’d been leading the charge, like they’d wanted to, they would have had no chance. Draggka tightened her grip, clenching her teeth against the need to cry with relief. She really didn’t care if anyone saw their embrace right now; they needed each other, and anyone who thought otherwise could piss off.

“Are you alright?” Khadgar asked softly.

“Not really.” Draggka admitted, taking a deep, shaky breath before she pulled back. “You be alright?”

“Been better.” The mage agreed, smiling slightly. “Thank you for saving me, my dear.”

“Dere no need to tank me, love.” Draggka said. “I would never be leavin’ ya behind.”

“Good to hear.” He rubbed at his side. “As much as my spleen disliked being so intimately introduced to your arrows, I would have much preferred that over what has befallen our allies.” Khadgar frowned as he looked over the sight before them.

“What’s happened to dem?”

“Elisande has stopped time on our entire army.” He explained. “I knew the shal’dorei dabbled in time magic, but this is simply incredible…” Khadgar sighed. “You were right. It was too easy. We underestimated Elisande’s power.”

“Hmm.” Draggka hummed sadly. “What do we do now, Khadgar?”

The Archmage paused a moment, before looking to her.

“We have to investigate the spell,” he said. “Perhaps there is a way to break it, or least we can discover how it is being maintained.”

It took a moment for his words to really sink in, which was when Spike rejoined them, nudging Draggka with his nose.

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me!” She exclaimed. “Khadgar, we almost, almost...I was dis close to losing ya!”

“I know, my love.” He reached over, squeezing her hand. “I know. But,” he sighed, “but we cannot sit idle. Every moment we take is another that Elisande uses to marshal her forces. Or formulate even worse magics.”

Draggka sighed with frustration. He was right, but the wound was raw. Spike rumbled sympathetically, rubbing his head next to hers, and she returned the gesture by cupping his jaw with her hand.

“Our allies have suffered the brunt of the enchantment, but I can protect us from the residual energies for a time.” Khadgar said softly, rubbing his thumb over her fingers. “As you have protected me, I will protect you, my dear.” He leaned close, heedless of observers. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. I would not ask this task of you if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

The troll gazed into his pale blue eyes, seeing nothing but earnestness in the pain and sympathy, but also the familiar thread of determination. It was a reckless thing to do, which she had come to expect from her lover after their time on Draenor. Yet he was confident that he could protect them. Or at least exhaust himself trying, and in that case, he would need someone by his side.

“Alright.” Draggka acquiesced. “I hope ya be right ‘bout dis.”

“Me too.” Khadgar squeezed her hand one last time, before he released her, climbing to his feet. “Come, let us get a closer look.”

The hunter followed the archmage back down the steps to the shimmering field of magic, her fur prickling at the sheer power she sensed radiating from it. It made her skin crawl and her gut uneasy, every primal sense she had telling her to avoid it at all costs. The tense line of Spike’s body showed that he too shared his partner’s anxiousness, and was only by her side because he trusted her.

Khadgar, however, either did not have the innate danger sense or he was very good at ignoring it, as he walked straight up to the arcane field. And proceeded to lift his hand up to it.

“Khadgar…” The warning slipped from her before she could stop herself.

“It’s alright, I’m just…feeling it out…” He said, his hands lighting up in a glow as he ‘felt’ over the magic, like one would inspect a wall for a secret door. “This temporal magic rivals that of the bronze dragonflight!” He said, a note of excitement to his voice. “That does mean I must concentrate on maintaining our defences, least we end up the same way.”

Khadgar gestured, murmuring a soft incantation that despite the situation made Draggka shiver pleasantly to hear, and this time when he put his hands to the shimmering wall of arcane, he pushed, forming the beginning of a bubble into the magic.

“Stay close to me,” he said as he pushed all the way in, forcing back the enchantment until eventually they were inside of it, protected only by the shield at flowed from the Archmage’s glowing hands. “Alright, that wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

A flicker of motion in Draggka’s peripheral vision made her tense, and Spike growled, hackles raising.

“I thought I saw someting.”

“I’m not surprised.” Khadgar said, looking about. “Hostile entities will probably have been drawn to this disruption of time. Take care in dispatching them. If you step outside my barrier you’ll feel Elisande’s magic firsthand.” The single glance he gave her was all Draggka needed to know his entire feelings on the matter. Please stay safe. “Let’s go.”

Progress was steady, Draggka and Spike guarding Khadgar’s flanks closely as he navigated a way through the arcane field, passing frozen elves with their eyes wide and mouths ajar in silent screams. The Archmage’s protective shield could not undo the temporal damage once it was done, even as it passed over them. The Huntmaster realized that the magic was literally being held back by Khadgar; were he to falter, they were doomed entirely.

It was only when they reached a familiar blood elf did Khadgar stop.

“Liadrin!” He looked the time-frozen elf up and down, assessing, before his lips set into a grim line. ��I’m going to attempt to pull her out, but doing so will require my total focus.” He glanced to the troll. “Be on your guard, my dear.”

Draggka nodded, taking up position against the Archmage’s back, Spike close to his side, bowed low with his teeth bared. Usually the raptor would charge any opponent that threatened him or Draggka, but to do so here would be deadly. Draggka, too, could not fight as she usually would. Her arrows would freeze mid-air as soon as they crossed the threshold of the barrier, becoming useless decorations that she wouldn’t even be able to retrieve afterwards.

The mage’s power washed over her, disturbing her hair and fur, and the troll took comfort in it, even as it twisted thickly in the air around her, like the air of a fetid swamp in the middle of summer. The dark forms that had been slowly gathering outside Khadgar’s shield surged towards them, revealing themselves as elementals, made up of some dark, chaotic energy, their spindly limbs reaching out with clawed hands.

Draggka snarled, having to resist her natural battle-instincts to let them close in before she attacked, shooting at the mystical bindings that held their form to make them dissipate into the air. Spike did similar, holding still for a while, before striking fast like a serpent, snuffing the elementals out quickly and easily.

The magic built even more around them, and the hunter began to sense something deeply, utterly wrong. Like someone was tampering with reality, trying to twist and twist to get it to do something, but getting very close to tearing it asunder. The troll felt the natural reaction to call out to the man her back was against, but she caught it in her throat. If she could tell what was going on, Khadgar was probably keenly aware. Her panicked distraction would not help matters.

The sensation tightened, thickened, and Draggka felt that something would give at any minute. She briefly wondered what the catastrophe would feel like, if it didn’t obliterate her outright.

And then, suddenly, it did. Not in the snap of everything suddenly exploding, but instead as if a knot had been pulled undone, releasing the tension in a wave of relaxation, the thickness of the magic lifting like mist on a breeze.

“That was close!” Khadgar’s voice with thick with exertion. “I nearly shattered the flow of time itself…but I think it’s better now. Are you alright?”

Draggka looked around to see Liadrin fall to her knee, gasping in a breath as if she’d just woken from a nightmare.

“I couldn’t get my shield up in time,” she said, shaking her head. “What happened?”

“No time for that now.” Khadgar interrupted her brusquely. “Let me get you somewhere safe.” With an easy cast, he teleported her to safety, but Draggka noticed the strain deepening around him, and she swore their shield shrank slightly. He gave a grunt. “I can’t maintain our protection any longer. We need to go.”

She nodded, gathering close to his body with Spike, and closing her eyes. She felt his magic wrap itself around her, plucking them to safety as his barrier collapsed around them, the troll only opening her eyes when she felt the stone floor under her bare feet once again.

She looked up at the human mage to see sweat glistening across his face, fatigue clear in the deep lines around his eyes, but he seemed no worse for wear. He noticed her gaze and glanced back at her, a slight smile curling at the corner of his lips at made her heart skip a beat. Yet its humour soon faded.

“We got lucky that time,” he said. “But trying again could risk all our lives for nothing.” A sigh, and he glanced back to the time lock. “We must find another way.”

"We will." Draggka smiled up at him. “If ya pulled Liadrin out, dat means it can be reversed, right? We just be needin’ to find a better way of doin’ it.”

Her heart skipped another beat as Khadgar smiled properly this time, its spark reaching his eyes.

“Hearing you say that makes me believe we will,” he said, leaning in to kiss her, before movement in their peripheral vision halted them, as did the voices of the Nightfallen. “Good luck, Huntmaster. Come back in one piece.”

“Lok’tar ogar, Archmage.” Draggka nodded, before she turned to the other elves.

“What do ya be needing me to do?”

#world of warcraft #oc/khadgar #draggka/khadgar #draggka #khadgar #archmage khadgar #otp: walk on the wild side #sprs writing #wow: legion #quest rewrite #taken me 8 years but this is finally out

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sansxfuckyou · 4 months

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be right by your side (no matter what)

Summary: if there's one thing Dee knew from the second her little brother was born, it's that she'd be by his side until one of them died no matter what that meant

Warnings: minor gore, wounds, general anguish and tragedy, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I binged Scoob and Shag in one sitting and went through the five stages of grief and the entire spectrum of human emotion, please go read it or read this fic without reading it, your choice. @sobredunia I can tag you in this nonsense now that you've read majority of Scoob and Shag. there are no spoilers past page 116, hope ya'll enjoy and consider checkin the Ao3 port if you do to leave a comment or kudos

"Don't touch my sister," He snarls the words with this specific resonance that Dee knows all too well considering how very long she's lived with him. The gentle hand on her shoulder raises, the blood of her wound rests on Pop's hand.

"He's just trying to help us out, Dex," Dee said quietly, her little brother was still defiant on the matter. She gave this gentle smile, one she hoped would ease his tension like it usually does.

He's still seething, his sister got hurt, his beloved sister. The person he turned into the angriest kid alive for, the sister he took all of his parents expectations for, the sister he tried to protect and failed to do so. He was sure he could keep her safe, sure he could keep her just fine on the supply raid because she was so desperate to join him.

To prove she wasn't just the nuisance he always said she was.

"I'm aware of that," He spat back, "How do we know we can trust them? Trust they don't have a Ballyhoo that'll hide Antihoo monsters? They could hurt us, Dee."

"We won't hurt you," Pop said, "We're in Med Bay 03, Mick and his cohorts are out there and can't hurt us-"

"I remember, Mick, Bugs, Ger, and Scoob," Dex spat bitterly, "I'm curious as to what makes you so sure me and my sister aren't a part of Mick's team?"

"A hunch," was Pop's answer to the question, "We saw you and your sister about to be torn to shreds by an Antihoo monster and saved you, of course, we couldn't patch all of your wounds while you two were passed out.

Dee's fingers raise to the small wound on her brothers arm, partially dried blood spilling down his lab coat. He hissed and pulled away from her, "Bring me to your lab and I'll start devising better and more efficient healing methods than bandaids and polysporin."

-/-/-/-

"You need to stay where it's safe, Dee," Dex would consistently chide despite his sister's insistence on joining them on the battlefield. Her Ballyhoo was never combative, it was an assist at best. Closed Caption, it let her read the thoughts of everyone around if she needed.

Dee clenched her fists a bit tighter, pigtails comically drooping, "But, Dexter, I could help-"

"Don't be an idiot, Dee Dee!" The aggressiveness to his tone is unintentional, but it makes Dee back down unlike when they were kids. Before they were part of the forces on planet Toone, before things got really bad, "Your Ballyhoo can give us nothing on the battlefield, it can barely give us anything off the battlefield either. You need to stay here to stay safe, monitor the injured, watch the doors, make sure that no is trying to double cross us."

And Dee wants so fucking badly to defy him, to push back, but ever since day one her brother has been the intellectual of the two. She nods, submitting to what she knows to be the truth, proven time and time again by the insanity upon the crashed spaceship. She takes a seat on a spinning chair, "Alright, Dex, please be careful out there. You're our best medic in spite of your Ballyhoo, did you ever realize how destructive it is?"

"My Ballyhoo? Pah! It's naught but my machines, my gadgets, little bombs I place my power in, ticking time bombs to save us all or kill us all," Dex answered without putting any thought behind it, "Mick used his Ballyhoo for evil, he still is, and I'll use mine to fight the good fight." His hand come to rest upon a set of wrenches, flat head and perfectly fitting within his hand. He grabs a set of his small bombs, his little trinkets used to properly and safely activate his Ballyhoo, he'll need them if they come across A Commander.

Dee just nods solemnly, highly aware of the fact that her brother isn't a fan of his Ballyhoo being a weaker version of Mick's. It's detrimental to his sense of being, his sense of identity, that he can be on the good guys team despite the fact his Ballyhoo is just a terrible reminder of what they're facing. That's why he throws himself into medical fields and machinery for defenses, the only way to detach himself from using his power to be a help, "I'll go patch up Felix and Yogi," She snags some of his special edition gauze tape, medication infused within it for good measure.

"Thank you for understanding, Dee," Dex said quietly, raising a gloved hand to readjust his goggles, the other hand stuffing weaponry into his lab coat pockets, "I'll be back, and better yet with some of those chips you keep nagging me about recreating."

"Thanks bro," There's this hoping sweetness on her voice, an innocence despite the fact that everything is falling apart around them.

-/-/-/-

Eyes sting with tears as she watches her brother be wheeled off on life support after the bout with Foghorn Leghorn, the bout that put one of them permanently out of business and the other near fatally wounded. She managed to deface the asshole that hurt her little brother, that nearly killed her little brother, but there was still the problem of the fact she didn't move fast enough. This could be it.

"Like, he'll be fine," Shag tried to console, good hand resting on Dee's shoulder. He sat beside her on the floor of their getaway, their emergency escape whether they failed or succeeded. And they succeeded but at a cost that Dee absolutely hated, an expense that made her feel ill.

She takes staggering breaths, gloved hand raising to run through blonde hair matting with blood. It hurts. Every little thing hurts, talking, breathing, touching her hair, her face hurts so much with how badly Foghorn messed it up. She slumps a little bit further down, "It should've been me."

Shag doesn't answer to fill the radio silence.

"I'm the big sister, and yeah I saved him, but," She stares at the body of her little brother. He's barely breathing. His heart rate is weak. Her breath hitches as she draws a hand to her now bright pink eyes to stifle the tears, "I didn't really save him."

"We'll fix him up, Dee," It's a promise that Shag can't keep, but he makes it anyways.

Dee nods and leans against Shag, "Okay."

#scoob and shag #dee scoob and shag #shag scoob and shag #dex scoob and shag #scoob and shag fanfic #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #IM NOT FUCKING SORRY. THE TWO OTHER SCOOB AND SHAG FANS COME GET YOUR FOOD.

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celestiallights515 · 1 year

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The Aftermath pt. 5

I’m still in shock hours later, sitting on the forest floor like an idiot. I survived. I didn’t make it twenty seconds, but I survived.

It’s getting dark, and at this point I have no hope of getting home before nightfall, but I start walking while piecing together what I know, using the bright lights of Syrus to lead me home. Now that I think about it, the villain had a point. There were no lingering fires, no sirens wailing in the distance like they were this morning.

I strip off the uniform, dropping it by a tree as the cold wind hits the sweaty shirt on my back, adding to the chill. The villain kept the helmet, and I doubt I’d ever need a uniform again.

Syrus’ city limit is denoted by nothing but signs, likely what allows such frequent attacks. My home has been left untouched but for a single slip of paper sticking out from the door.

In case you were thinking of trying that again–

The threat and taunt clear in the note, I sigh and bang my head against the door. They know where I live.

Lovely.

I don’t spend long angsting over the note, I just sigh, drop my head, and go back inside. Three isn’t much else to do, but when the night sky is stained black like ink, sleep doesn’t come, so I spend a good few hours pouring over old news clips from Syrus–then the bigger, surrounding cities miles away.

I search for the villains’ faces in every one, coming up empty handed every time. I finally admit defeat when the sky starts to lighten, flopping down with a frustrated groan and an oath to look more after some sleep.

___

My sigh of annoyance echoes around my office, silent but for my clock’s constant ticking and Sierra’s wicked laugh.

“Is the child still out there?”

“No, they left a while ago.”

“From your voice, I thought they came back.”

I fix her with a look, and she returns with a cheeky smile. “Don’t even say that,” I snap.

“Aleksander.” I turn away. “Aleksander, look at me.” I don’t, but that isn’t enough to stop her. “You’ve been understandably avoidant these past couple weeks, but understanding is not the same as acceptance, especially within the League–surely you know that.”

Sierra continues through my silence, “Since the League gave you reign over Syrus–something I fought for as you may recall, you’ve been nothing but a disappointment, especially after your earlier performances.”

“I assure you, Sierra, the League has been plenty clear on their thoughts of my performance.”

“Have they?” Sierra stands and grabs the papers I showed the kid. Casualty reports, newspaper clippings, my noted public appearances, as few as they were. “Every single paper I am holding is one that the higher ups have seen, and been disappointed by.” She grabs another pile of papers, this time official letters from the aforementioned higher ups.

“Your performance was astounding, Aleksander. Enough so for your father to convince not only the rest of the council but the entire League that you were ready for your own city when you turned eighteen. He hasn’t lost faith yet, Aleksie, but the others are coming close. They’ll tolerate maybe another week without a response, maybe another three of this, then you’re out.”

I snap my head around. “Ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Sierra concedes, “but true. Even if you don’t like this, you have to remember that you're not the only one on the line. Every day you wait, every minuscule, pathetic attempt at an attack is time you give you Syrus and time that disappoints the League. It’s time that puts your father in danger after he stuck his neck out for you, and time that puts me at risk after I argued on your behalf.”

Every other word dies in my throat. I’ve disappointed the council, but been able to make up for it with the help of my father. If I’m booted out of the League, I fail out of my family, and if I fail so badly I bring my father down with me–

“It’s fine, Sierra. I have a plan.”

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@heroes-villains-side-blog whatcha think?

#original writing #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #manipulation #destruction #short story #snippit

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solis3clipse · 2 years

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well now I’m super curious about your ranking!! everyone’s opinions are so different but Dylan being both of our faves is pure taste 😌🤌🏼 also i love reading your tags hehe 💖

OHHHH MY you read my tags!! 🥺 <333 ALRIGHT ALRIGHT I’m so excited to talk to you about this :D I genuinely enjoyed reading through your reviews of the characters and it was so so fun hearing about your perspective and opinions, much much love.

Let’s go :D

11. Chris Hackett

• I’ll be forever mad at the fact that all of this would be avoided if he just talked to the counselors. Which ultimately brings me to the Controversial Hill Of An Opinion that I will DIE on: The fact that all of this happened is Chris’ fault, not Jacob’s. Considering that Jacob ruined the van with a more of an innocent intention to stay just another night, while Chris refused to give them an explanation that made sense and recklessly took off, thinking bunch of teens alone in a camp would actually take his advice and stay in. LOL

10. Abigail

• I can find at least 3 vague similarities between us, but I don’t like how the creators overdid the “socially awkward quirky” personality of hers in the game. The way she struggles to choose someone to dare in the game for 3 minutes, never takes compliments, and is sliiightly a coward ticks all my instant dislike checkboxes. However, I seem to LOVE the way she’s portrayed in fics! So much sweeter, bold and fun.

9. Kaitlyn

Kaitlyn’s a badass and i still like her a lot, but i’m afraid to admit that the love i have for her stemmed from her and Dylan’s friendship sequences where she’s being genuine. I just don’t get along with people who speak and act with massive sarcastic undertones at all times, therefore i feel like she often outdoes the facade she constantly plays of “The Boss Of The Group” which makes her less authentic for me. I often can’t take her seriously even though she’s supposed to be a fan favorite. Other than that, love her bravery, courage and protectiveness.

8. Laura

Honestly I don’t have strong opinions about her other than how badly she handles situations that would undoubtedly bring her towards ultimate doom. Like how she goes to investigate a forest after potentially running into (and over) a strange scary looking blob of a body and how she insists that someone in that basement needed help without staying for a second to look further or listen closely. Plot armor, i get it, but still! She’s a sweetie otherwise tho.

7. Emma

Very iconic, very relatable (especially referring to her interpretation of “faking it”, i feel like that whole conversation gave her so much more depth.), i just do not feel comfortable at all with how ruthless she gets with people. I understand being annoyed with Jacob, but the lines she throws at him for someone who’s just a softie that’s hung up on her are worryingly mean; I also don’t think she kissed Nick in order to “help him and abi out” but, eh. Love her apart from all that.

6. Jacob

He’s a dumbass. I believe he is quite literally THAT childish and silly, also almost the one that never had vile intentions and spent the entire game trying to save his friends (Abi, Emma) before he got caught with wolfie nick. I know if only he’d known this would have happened, he’d drop the idea and think of other alternatives to bother Emma, bahaha

5. Nick

My man dies when he’s supposed to die in-game. There is no more Nick after he turns into a werewolf, which is a pity, considering that there was quite a bit to unpack. Starting from his australian accent.

Beeeeeeuuuurrnnnnnn…

haha, now we beuuuurnnnnn….

4. Ryan

Don’t like how bland and dry he gets at times. Yes, i’m talking about the man that answers back with “smOoOoOth” to Dylan’s pick-up lines TWICE. LMAO. I’m also forever bitter about the fact that he tells Laura that he doesn’t really like Kaitlyn or Dylan more while being clearly interested, what was that about??

Man, i still love this boy, but does he make me mad from time to time😭 Obviously he holds a special place in my heart, but I wish he’d been more gentle with Dylan. I suppose we’re asking for too much here

3. Travis

Poor man is just trying his best. I might be just a TINY bit biased because of Ted Raimi’s BAFFLING performance, but i think Travis is just iconic, start to finish.

2. Max

One of the funniest characters hands down. I admire how patient and respectful he is to Laura throughout the game, he’s genuinely funny and cares for her a whole lot; doesn’t give up easily and doesn’t guilt trip her once for the mess they got into. Idk i adore him.

1. DYLAN

Love love love LOVE love LOVE HIM. Funny and charismatic, easy to get along with, friendly with a bit of sass and FIERCELY protective of his friends (just observe the amount of times he puts himself in front of Kaitlyn to protect her). Doesn’t bother anyone with whatever he’s dealing with, has interesting hobbies and is absolutely wiser than he seems at first glance. Honestly i can’t find one thing wrong with him; I’ll go as far as to say that he’s one of the best written characters in Videogame history to me. Very good boy.

Thank you so much for the ask :D Hope you enjoyed this enormous analysis haha <3

#The quarry #ranking characters #ask

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seijorhi · 3 years

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Thirty Seven Seconds

Soulmate AU commission for @pokemonfreak666, hope you like it, bby!

Bakugou Katsuki x Female Reader, Kirishima Eijiro x Female Reader

TW non-con, minor character death, nsfw

Part II

It’s funny how easily the things you think are important get pushed aside and forgotten when everything goes to shit.

For over twenty years you’ve watched the timers on your wrists slowly tick down, day by day, hour by hour, second by second. Separated only by a fraction of a second, counting down to the exact moment you’d meet your soulmates. And for as long as you can remember, those two timers have meant everything to you.

Twenty-four hours out, and you could barely focus, buzzing with nervous anticipation.

Twelve hours. Six. An hour and forty five. Down the timers tick.

Nine minutes.

Five and a half.

Two.

It’s hard to describe the almost dizzying excitement you felt walking down the street, your arm looped with your friend’s. Giddy and grinning like a fool, it’d felt like nothing in the world could possibly touch you - you were moments away from meeting the ones - your soulmates, your happily ever after.

And even though the timers never lied, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes peeled, desperately searching for an early glimpse of them while your friend (two months away from meeting her own) just rolled her eyes and laughed good-naturedly.

Thirty seven seconds out, and the ground shook as an explosion ripped through the sky.

Funnily enough, you don’t remember too much after that. Just a wave of searing heat, an aftershock that knocks you clean off your feet and the sound of your best friend screaming.

There’s a hard body colliding with yours, the smell of burnt sugar and musk choking the air around you-

“Oi, shitty hair, get the other one!”

And then there’s nothing.

—

You wake up in the hospital hours later and a nurse with a sombre face tells you that your friend didn’t make it, and for the first time in years your soulmates are the furthest thing from your mind.

It was a villain attack, some no-name wannabe trying to make a reputation for himself. It doesn’t really matter, you don’t really care.

It’s all white noise.

She tells you that you have visitors if you’re feeling up to it - the two Pro Heroes who rescued you stuck around to come see if you were okay, but you just shake your head.

It’s not their fault, you know that, but the timers stopped ticking and your best friend died and you’re honestly not sure whether you’ll ever be able to reconcile those two things in your head.

You spend just under a week in hospital, and every day they come to see you.

They never make it past the nurses station.

—

Two days after you’re discharged, there’s a rough pounding at your front door.

You know, even before you glance through the peephole that it’s them. And even with your hand resting on the doorknob, your heart hammering away inside of your chest, there’s a part of you that wants to walk away, to shut them out entirely until they get the message that you’re not interested.

But it’s not their fault, you remind yourself, and you can’t be cruel.

Tentatively, you twist the knob and let the door swing open just a touch, catching on the chain deadbolt.

The sight of the two towering Pro Heroes - Dynamight and Red Riot, unmistakable even out of their Hero costumes - standing out in the hall would be enough to set anybody on edge, but it’s the way their gazes snap towards you, red eyes zeroing in like you’ve caught them in the middle of a conversation that makes your heart squeeze uncomfortably.

They know. They have to.

“H-hello?”

The blond’s still scowling, but the redhead (Kirishima, a voice inside your head supplies. He was your friend’s favourite, wasn’t he?) grins brightly at you.

“Hey babe! Y’know, you’re one tough chick to get ahold of,” he laughs, and your eyes flicker to Bakugou’s just in time to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. “Mind if we come in, sweetheart?”

Your stomach twists at the casual endearment, even more so when you catch sight of the pink and red flowers in his hand.

The polite thing to do would be to say yes; soulmates or not they did technically save your life and they deserve that much at least, but you just-

You can’t.

Not when you buried your friend yesterday. You need time. You need space. You’re just not in the right place and now… you’re not sure if you ever will be.

Swallowing tightly, you nibble on your bottom lip, “Um… look, I-I’m really sorry, but-”

“Nah, fuck this shit,” Bakugou snaps. “Move,” and you have all of a split second to process the command before his foot’s on the door and it’s splintering inwards, ripping the deadbolt clean off.

A shriek tears its way free as you flinch in on yourself, and vaguely you register Kirishima loudly chastising him, but you can’t focus on that when the blond’s hand is on your arm, fingers digging in, dragging you unceremoniously inside.

“Shut up, Kiri. ‘m not gonna let her push us away because she’s too fuckin’ stubborn for her own good.”

And then those red, glaring eyes are fixed on you, and it feels like you’re a little rabbit, caught in the maw of a hungry wolf. “What are you- stop!” you cry as he painfully yanks you forward again, this time in the direction of your open bedroom.

But Bakugou doesn’t listen, doesn’t even pause, and despite his earlier protests, neither does Kirishima.

It’s too fast, too sudden-

Your heart is pounding, fear gripping at your throat, squeezing. You don’t understand what’s happened, why they’ve forced their way inside your home, why they’re hurting you.

“Wait, please! I-I don’t-”

“You don't what, princess?! You’re our soulmate, aren’t you?” he snarls, and you can only sob. “Then just…” he breaks off with a frustrated huff, “just shut up and enjoy this.”

Against two Pro Heroes, you never stood a chance.

It’s all too easy for Kiri to manhandle you back onto the bed, impossibly strong arms encircling your torso, drawing you back to prop you up against his chest while Bakugou busies himself with your lower half. Clothes are ripped off of you, greedy hands palming at exposed flesh, and you choke on another sob as heated red eyes gaze up at you from between your forcibly spread thighs.

The first lick of his tongue against your sex has you keening, writhing against the redhead’s grip. It’s useless - Kiri has no intentions of letting you go anywhere, and Bakugou only growls, fingers tightening on the meat of your thighs as he pushes his tongue further between your folds.

He eats you out like a man starved - sucking and slurping gracelessly at your cunt, messily, with no rhythm or technique, fucking his tongue into you while you shake and tearfully beg for him to stop. Yet you can’t fight the shameful warmth that burns at your cheeks, the way your toes curl and your breath stutters when he decides to add two fingers into the mix.

“Please,” you sniffle, choking back another moan as his tongue wraps around your clit and he suckles the swollen bud, but neither one of your soulmates pays the cry any heed.

You can feel Kiri’s own hardening cock nudging at your lower back as he plays with your tits, cooing at you and laughing when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger just as Bakugou’s fingers hit that sensitive bundle of nerves and you scream, shaking and trembling in his grip.

“Yeah, you like that baby? You like Bakugou eating your pussy out?” His lips trail along the curve of your neck, sucking hot, wet, open mouthed kisses against the tender flesh while he ruts his hips against you. “Don’t go all shy on us now, wanna hear how good we’re making our pretty girl feel.”

And while his fingers relentlessly pump into your dripping cunt, Bakugou pulls back, lower jaw shining and wet with your juices, and grins, “Course she fuckin’ likes it. Little slut’s practically clamping down on my tongue with how badly she wants to cum.” His smirk deepens, something dark and feral burning in those crimson depths as his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, “But we’re just getting started, aren’t we princess? Gonna fuck you till you’re a drooling fucking mess, begging for your soulmates’ cocks, and you’re gonna love every damned second of it.”

Trapped between the two of them - your soulmates, the two people on earth who’re supposed to love you, protect you - you can only sob.

#yandere bnha #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere kirishima #yandere bakugou x reader #yandere kirishima x reader #yandere kirishima eijiro #yandere bakugou katuski x reader #yandere kirishima eijiro x reader #tw non con #tw death

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 22 – With Friends Like These...

Chapter 1 Chapter 21

Sweat was rolling off of her body. Her breath was coming in short, irregular pants, only broken up occasionally by mournful whimpers. She gripped and released the sheets repeatedly as she turned over and over in bed. Her movements quickly escalated to thrashing as her whimpers became cries that were still quiet enough not to alert Dick as he worked in the living room. He was completely engrossed in cross comparing a few reports he and the other Titans had turned in, until a cup fell off of the dresser across the room from Marinette.

“Mari! Marinette! Wake up! Marinette, you need to wake up.” Dick shook her gently trying to wake her without causing any more distress than she was under already. His face was marked with deep lines from his concerned frown as he tried to wake her. She’d been having nightmares on and off for a while, but this looked like the worst one yet.

Marinette’s eyes snapped open and she shot up, gasping for breath. She whipped her head around taking in her surroundings, trying to get her bearings after her sudden reality shift. Her eyes finally focused back on her environment as she made eye contact with Dick. “Marinette, are you…”

Before he could finish his question, she had launched herself into his arms, hugging him much tighter than he had thought she was capable of. “Dick! Oh my God Dick. You’re here,” she sobbed into his chest. “You’re here. You’re safe.” Her grip got impossibly tighter around him as she sobbed harder.

Dick let her squeeze him, refusing to complain as she squeezed his injured rib, likely further bruising it. He hugged her back, rocking slightly as he ran his hands over her hair. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m here. We’re okay,” he repeated over and over again in a soothing voice. After a few minutes he tried to pull away slightly to wipe her tears, but she was still too tightly buried in his chest for him to see her face, so he kept repeating the comforting mantra hoping it would help.

This was definitely the worst one he had seen her have. Her whole body was shaking and she was still crying fifteen minutes later. She had mentioned having nightmares before, especially during the Hawkmoth reign, and he prayed it was nothing like this. It was heartbreaking to watch her like this, especially knowing there wasn’t anything he could do to help her or fix it. He just had to sit there and watch her break down.

After a while, Marinette’s tears finally started to slow and her breath started evening out again. Her body had stopped shaking, but Dick wasn’t sure if that was because she had worn herself out or if she was calming down, or both. When he was confident she was calmer, he leaned back slightly to look at her face. Her eyes were still closed, but at least the tears had stopped. “Hey,” he started, gently wiping away the tear tracks and brushing her bangs out of her face, “you okay?”

Marinette pressed her lips together and nodded timidly, still not opening her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, trying not to disrupt her delicate calm.

Marinette took a deep breath and slowly let it out as she finally opened her eyes. Dick gasped at the forlorn look in her eyes. “Hey, hey. It was just a nightmare.” He pulled her back in for another hug. “It wasn’t real. It was just a nightmare.” He kissed the crown of her head then her forehead then her temple. “It wasn’t real.”

Marinette opened her mouth and immediately closed it, blinking back tears. She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her head on his chest, taking a few deep breaths. She pulled away when her heartrate slowed again and looked back up at him. As he watched, her face slowly morphed to appear more hopeless. Her forehead had just a shadow of lines and her lips ticked down slightly. Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder as if looking to the distance for inspiration or permission.

Suddenly, she took a deep breath and gave a shadow of a nod, returning her attention to Dick. “It was…” she looked down and her brow furrowed further. “I…” she tried again. She took a deep breath and looked off to the side. Dick watched her patiently, letting her prepare herself and find the words she needed in her own time. While she figured out what she wanted to say he rubbed gentle circles against her back.

“It was kind of real. It was… Some akumas were worse than others,” she started slowly. Dick nodded in understanding. It was a memory. Past fights that went bad or where someone just barely survived, one inch to the left or the right, one moment slower or faster would have resulted in their death, were always the worst nightmares for him. All the what ifs, but with the added force of being rooted in reality.

“There was one… You can never tell Adrien!” she suddenly looked desperate. “He doesn’t know about this one. You can never tell him. Promise,” she demanded pulling on his shirt in desperation. Dick gave her a confused look but nodded. There were akumas that she lived through that Adrien didn’t and weren’t on the record for him to discover?

Assured of his silence, Marinette continued. “There was one that… One of the miraculous can time travel. Her entire reason for existing is to keep the miraculous from destroying the timeline, from destroying the world too badly. I mean, bad things can and do happen, that’s fine… I mean, not fine, but… you know. That doesn’t trip her sensors. But apocalyptic events… those activate her.”

Dick started to open his mouth to ask questions, but immediately shut it. She needed to talk at her own pace and he needed to give her that opportunity no matter how apprehensive he was. ‘Apocalyptic’ sounded significantly worse than he was anticipating. “So one day, she came to take me to the future.” She looked out the window for a few seconds. “Did you know miraculous wielders could get akumatized when they were transformed?” she gave a mirthless chuckle. “Because they can. They’re still human. They still have emotions. And A… And Chat had a lot. I don’t know exactly what happened but… everything was gone. There was nothing. There were no people, there were no animals, not even sea animals. Nothing but water and a destroyed moon… and Chat. All alone and white. Chat Blanc,” she whispered in a despondent voice.

“But, why you? Why would the miraculous person get you?” Dick asked softly, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. Marinette wasn’t a hero. She shouldn’t have been involved in any of that. She shouldn’t have had to see that, to experience it. She was a civilian! She should have been put in a situation that would cause her nightmares years later.

“She needed the people Chat loved the most and loved him the most. She needed Ladybug and me.” Marinette shrugged. “She needed us to get through to him. Hawkmoth no longer controlled him, because he had died along with everyone else… including me�� but, the way Hawkmoth created akumas, they mess with the victim’s head, even without his control. They can no longer think straight. They can’t reason. They don’t remember…” her eyes got distant again. “He tried to kill me. He almost did. A few times. I… He… I trusted him more than anyone else in my life at that time.”

Dick pulled her into another hug. That he understood. Someone you loved and trusted being under mind control and trying to hurt you? Yeah, he’d lived through that too. The memory never really leaves you. The knowledge that they could do that never goes away, not fully. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

“That was the dream. I was back there, surrounded by nothing but water… water and him… but this time it wasn’t me he wanted to kill, it was you. And I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t reach him in time to save him this time. I couldn’t save you. I had to watch you…” she started crying again. She buried her head in his chest again as she sobbed.

Not for the first time Dick wished he had been there when they took down Gabriel Agreste, or that he tried to escape and the Titans got to be the ones to capture him. The damage he had done to Marinette, the pain and suffering he had caused her was immeasurable, but Dick would gladly take the opportunity to pay it back.

After she had cried herself out and had calmed down, she pulled away and looked at the time. “Oh, we’re going to be late.”

Dick shook his head, his brow furrowed. “You’re kidding. We don’t have to go, Marinette. We can just do this another night. That nightmare took a lot out of you.”

“No,” she exclaimed loudly. “I haven’t met all your friends yet. I really want to meet them and they’re never in town. I want to go.”

“My friends are planning on being in town for a little while. We’ll have other opportunities,” he assured her.

She gave him a determined look. “I don’t want to let the fear control my life. And with the fashion show coming up, I probably won’t have a lot of time. Let me just take a shower and I’ll get ready. I really want to go.”

Dick let out a resigned sigh. “Do you want to take a bath instead? We can be late, they’ll understand, and the bath might help you relax. Maybe I can even join you.”

Marinette gave him a small giggle. “I don’t think there’s enough room for me and anyone else in the bath or shower. I’m massive.” She looked up at him with an appreciative smile. “But thank you.”

“You’re not massive. You’re tiny considering you’re three people in one,” Dick smirked at her. Marinette groaned and pushed him away as she tried to get up before deflating and asking him to help her get up off the bed. “How about instead… can we lay down together for a few minutes?” he asked slowly. “I know you don’t want to be late, but I’d really like a few minutes to just lay down with you.” Marinette gave him an understanding smile and nodded, positioning herself to lay in Dick’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped protectively around her.

<><><><><>

Dick was infinitely grateful to the other Titans for being willing to move their base of operations to Gotham while they tracked down the final bits of information they needed to end the Court’s plan and to Bruce for providing the series of flats for the five of them to stay indefinitely. On the bright side, that meant his friends finally got to meet Marinette, which Donna and Lilith had been asking about since he first mentioned her, and Marinette got to meet them, which he knew she’d been craving just as long.

The downside was this was where they did all their planning. This was essentially their base of operations and they were letting her in when she didn’t know about their alter egos and were under strict instructions from Dick not to tell her. Not unexpectedly, that resulted in a bit of tension in his friends. Lilith was absolutely brilliant at covering it up, but Wally, Garth, and Roy were tenser than guitar strings. Dick had to send more than one glare to Wally to get him to stop tapping his feet or fingers at superhuman speeds and at Roy and Garth to get them to stop unintentionally glaring.

“Marinette!” Lilith welcomed her as soon as the door opened. “It is so nice to meet you! Dick talks about you all the time. I’m so glad we were finally able to find time to visit. How are you feeling?” She ushered her into the room with an excited smile and an arm around her shoulders.

“You must be Lilith,” Marinette smiled at her. “Dick talks about you guys all the time, too. It is really nice to meet you.”

Wally and Garth stood up to welcome her while Roy watched her from his seat. “Yep, that’s me. That,” she pointed to the redhead standing up, “is Wally. That,” she pointed to the man next to him with black hair, “is Garth. And the lazy brute sitting down is Roy.”

“Where’s Donna?” Dick asked popping a chip in his mouth and making his way to Marinette’s side.

“She wanted to finish up a few things,” Garth answered in a voice that Marinette was positive was intended to mean something to the rest of the people there.

Marinette coughed suddenly when she heard Plagg making noises in her purse. She dropped her arms suddenly, “accidentally” hitting her purse with a sharp impact. She looked back to the group with an overly wide smile. “So, Dick didn’t tell me what brought you guys to town,” she prompted.

The group looked back and forth between each other a few times before trying to subtly look at Dick for an answer. Marinette fought to keep the smile on her face and keep from laughing at the awkwardness. There was something going on that they didn’t want her to know about. That wasn’t so bad, her friends would do the same, they would just be better at covering it up, they had been better at covering it up in front of Dick. But Dick’s friends were bad at it and they knew they were bad at it so it was creating a tense atmosphere, making everything worse. She didn’t know what they were keeping secret, but she really, really hoped it wasn’t anything important because none of these people would be good spies.

Dick gave her a wide smile. “They said it was a break from school so they’re taking their break here instead of Cancun.”

Marinette was greatly tempted to ask them about what school they went to and what they studied, just to see how they would react. Plagg hadn’t gotten too much amusement lately and she was sure he would appreciate it, but she held back. These were Dick’s friends and they, and he, were allowed to have secrets. She also didn’t want to start off their friendship by being mean just to amuse herself. So instead she plastered on a smile and offered, “That’s so nice, giving up the beach to come to Gotham. It’s almost never sunny here.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed at her as if calculating something, but Lilith waved her off. “Oh, we can go to the beach anytime, but we were dying to meet you.”

Talk seemed to come easier after that, though the underlying sense of tension never seemed to go away. The more she tried to ignore the awkwardness and move past it, the more Roy seemed to glower as though not appreciating the dishonesty of it. The rest of the group were more than willing to pretend and move forward until it wasn’t so awkward anymore and it seemed like it worked for Lilith and Wally, who were now enthusiastically conversing with Marinette about gaming and fashion and pastries, Marinette had promised to bake a few different treats for him to try.

“Dick! I have something!” A black haired woman burst into the room. She glanced over and noticed Marinette as she rushed in. Her expression immediately morphed into a strained smile. “You must be Marinette! It’s so nice to meet you. Dick has said so many sweet, lovesick things about you. I’m so sorry I’m late. I was working on… something.” She gave Dick a significant look and an excited smile. “I’m so sorry to hit and run, but can I borrow your boyfriend for just a few minutes just over here?”

That wasn’t at all suspicious. Seriously, at this point, she was beginning to suspect a cult going on. Marinette gave her a smile. “Not at all. I’ve been dying to take a look at the view from up here anyway.” She motioned toward the balcony and the view beyond it, which was a fairly good view of Gotham’s lights from the top floor of the centrally located apartment building.

“Okay. I won’t be long,” Dick assured her as he helped her get up with a kiss to the temple. He pulled Roy aside to whisper in his ear. He was trying to convince him of something based on Dick’s severe gestures.

Marinette smiled at him and moved out to the balcony. She took a deep breath of the not quite crisp air, but certainly clearer than the air in that room. She just needed a few seconds to recollect herself before she went back into the room. She could do this. These were Dick’s friends. They mattered to him so she needed to make more of an effort. They mattered to him so therefore they mattered to her as well. She would just focus on Lilith and Wally and hopefully the others would eventually warm up to her as well, although she got the impression Garth always acted like that.

“Beautiful from up here, isn’t it?” Roy asked as he joined her on the balcony. He closed the door behind him before turning back to look at the city. “It almost looks peaceful, but then again beautiful things can be deceptive.”

Marinette blinked at him a few times trying to figure out the meaning behind his words. Did he mean Dick was being deceptive? Was it a general comment on beautiful people? Did he go through a breakup recently? Oh, her line was deceptively beautiful. Had he seen pictures of it? Marinette shook her head and turned back to the night scene. She wasn’t going to figure it out without talking more. “It is. I guess I’ve been lucky. The city has been pretty peaceful for me so far. In fact, I’ve had an amazing time here, but I’m pretty sure that has more to do with Dick than the city.”

Roy leaned against the balcony railing and looked over to her with a seductive smile. “It probably has more to do with the fact that you’re gorgeous.”

Marinette froze. What? Was he… She immediately shook her head. No, he was trying to be nice. She looked like a beached whale and he was trying to make her feel better about herself, just in the most incredibly awkward way possible. It was just her hormones and stress and the effects of the tension from the meeting making her see things that aren’t there. He was like Kim, good heart but dumb and didn’t understand socially acceptable boundaries. “Thank you,” she smiled kindly at him. Kim was able to communicate better when he was calmer, so if she could get Roy to relax, they could have a more casual, less awkward conversation. “You are too.”

Roy chuckled deeply. “Thank you. You know, I was with him the first night he met you. I think Dick got lucky he found you first. I wish I would have gotten to you before him.”

Marinette froze again. Well, she didn’t imagine that. Bastard was hitting on his friend’s pregnant girlfriend. “Um…” What the fuck did she say to that?

Roy misinterpreted her silence and moved closer to her so he was within arm’s length of her. “I don’t know if Dick told you, but I’m actually a lot richer than he is. I could keep you in a lot more comfort, if you were interested.”

Marinette continued to stare at him dumbfounded. He reached up to touch her cheek, finally sparking movement in Marinette. Her eyes narrowed and she slapped Roy as hard as she could. Hard enough to leave a dark red mark on his cheek in a very clear shape of a handprint. “What is wrong with you? Even if I didn’t love Dick, I wouldn’t go for someone like you, you disgusting, wretched excuse for a human being.”

She stormed back into the room and looked around for Dick. He and Donna were no longer in the corner they had been in. In fact, she didn’t see them anywhere in the room. “Hey Lilith?”

Lilith looked up from the laptop she, Wally, and Garth were looking at, only now noticing she was back in the room. “Hey, done with the view? I don’t blame you. It gets kind of boring after a bit.”

Marinette gave her a strained smile. “Yeah… do you know where Dick is?”

Lilith paled slightly, her eyes flicked over to the boys. “Um… I think he and Donna went to her apartment to go over… that thing.” Marinette took a deep breath. And he left. He left her there. “Hey, are you okay?” Lilith asked, concern lacing her voice. She moved over to Marinette to get a closer look at her.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Um. I’ll text him. I had something come up and I need to leave. It was really nice meeting you guys though. Have a great night. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” She rushed out of the room before anybody could ask any questions. As soon as the door closed behind her, she ran to the elevator. Her breath was ragged and tears were streaming down her cheeks. What the hell just happened? What the hell was all that? And then Dick was just gone. Did Dick know how terrible his friend was?

She stumbled out of the elevator and left the complex in a daze. She needed to go home. She needed to lay down. She needed to think and she needed to lay her head on Dick’s chest. She was a few blocks away before she remembered to text him. She sent a quick text to him saying she suddenly felt lightheaded and was grabbing a taxi to head home. She got a text back almost immediately asking if she was sure she was okay. She smiled at her phone and shot back a text confirming she really was fine.

Before she could put her phone back in her purse it dinged again with a message from Dick. He said he was going to stay with his friends and might be there all night. Marinette stared at her phone. He wasn’t coming home tonight. He was going to stay with them. She wasn’t going to be able to comfort herself with his heartbeat. She was going to have to deal with it on her own. She could go to Adrien, but she didn’t want Adrien getting even angrier at Dick and she couldn’t go to Dick’s brothers when she was having problems with Dick.

She started gasping for breath again. Luckily or unluckily, depending on how you saw it, there weren’t many people on the street so there wasn’t anyone to judge her breakdown. Dick was staying with those horrible people. He had talked with Roy before he came out to hit on Marinette. Was it a test? Was Dick testing her? Did he really not trust her after all this time? She gripped her head. There was too much. It was too much coming at her all at the same time.

She startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She lunged to punch the person’s exposed side and swept her leg under him to knock him down so she could run away… well waddle away. She couldn’t really run right now. “Fuck Pi… lady. I was just checking on you.”

Marinette paused just long enough to look back at who she knocked down, which she knew was stupid. This was Gotham. Any weakness like she was showing got punished severely. Once she finally registered the red mask and who she had knocked down, she took a deep breath and walked back to him. “Sorry. You caught me off guard and I just reacted.”

“Don’t apologize. Those were really good moves, especially considering how much of you is baby right now,” Red Hood motioned to her stomach. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I just wanted to check on you. You look like you were a bit distressed. You okay?”

Marinette let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah awesome. My boyfriend’s friend just hit on me, suggested that the only thing I would be interested in is money so I should leave my boyfriend for him. And when I got back to the party, my boyfriend was gone and he’s apparently going to stay with that asshole all night. I’m awesome. Everything is awesome. Life is just awesome.”

“Yeah… that’s a few too many awesomes to be real and way too many awesomes for that fucked up situation. Want me to go kick someone’s ass? Maybe your boyfriend?” He offered.

The voice modulator prevented her from being able to pick up on how serious he was in his offer, but with Red Hood’s reputation for violence, she didn’t want to take the chance. “No! He doesn’t know. I wanted to tell him in person.” She chewed her lower lip. Her mind finished the sentence with ‘or maybe he knew,’ but she wasn’t going to unload all that on this poor vigilante who was just trying to help.

“Okay, how about I get you home instead then? How would you feel about riding in the Batmobile?” he offered with a quirk to his head.

“I would love it, but I don’t think I’ll fit right now. Hit me up after the babies are born,” she gave him a wry smile. “Maybe my boyfriend and I can both do it.”

“Fuck him. He left you, this is his punishment.”

“He didn’t leave me,” Marinette objected.

“Right,” he answered, seemingly unconvinced. “I’ll have Oracle call a reliable cab then and wait until you get in.” He touched his ear as he said it, giving Marinette the impression that it was already done.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have more important things to do. More important people to help.”

“I have nothing more important than this,” he assured her. “I’m done for the day anyway. I just have an archer to pummel and a sister-in-law to check on.”

“You have a sister-in-law? Actually don’t answer that. Secret identities and all,” she waved him off suddenly. “Thank you for this.”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.”

“You’re really good at it,” she smiled at him. He was stopping for no reason, calming down a hysterical, crying, pregnant mess when there was no reason for him to. It showed a big heart.

Red Hood faced her silently for a few seconds. She felt like he might be staring at her but it was hard to tell under the mask. She started to think she said something wrong when he finally spoke up again. “I… not a lot of people say that to me and it means a lot coming from you. Thank you.” He gave her a hug only pulling away when her cab pulled up.

Chapter 23

Note: pregnancy nightmares can be a bitch even when there isn’t something to give you nightmares, hormones and pregnancy brain will create one. And if you were already prone to anxiety (Marinette) you’re screwed.

Also, to explain Roy, he noticed that Marinette was acting extremely fake, because you know, everyone there was and she was trying to pretend like she didn’t notice. Having seen LOTS of people coming onto Oliver and Bruce in the past for their wealth, he was suspicious and testing Marinette. Being the brilliant dumbass he is, he put two and two together and got 7.

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@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123 @lady-bee-fechin @thewitchwhowaited @redscarlet95

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - spy

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cinaja · 3 years

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Before the Wall part 60

Masterlist

----

Queen Andromache of Angolere is no stranger to anger. Like most humans, she has never been short of reasons to be angry, and the last seven years of war, for all that they have improved the general situation, have done little to ease that. The general unfairness of life, arrogant allies, hypocritical assholes, people who hate her for being mortal – she’s had to deal with it all.

In all those years, she has never been this angry, though. Never felt this close to combusting. It’s like she swallowed a lump of magma and it’s not lying in her stomach, burning her up from the inside. Even two days after the fact, her anger shows no sign of lessening. Instead, it only seems to grow worse, perhaps because she has not yet found an opportunity to let it out.

When the news arrived two days ago, she didn’t believe it. Outright refused to even consider it. More than five hundred thousand people dead in the blink of an eye – the numbers were too big to consider possible. The idea that Miryam, Drakon, and Mor, Mor especially, were all dead from one day to the next was too horrifying to consider. The notion of something as terrible as this happening after the war had already ended downright impossible. And there were no bodies, no way to be sure.

Andromache spent that entire day curled up in her rooms, first trying to convince herself that this had been some terrible mistake, then struggling to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t. This was real.

The second set of news arrived that evening, chasing her out of her hiding place. The messages from four separate sources – three spies and the person in charge of Telique’s wards – arriving at roughly the same time, all brought the same news: What happened had been no terrible accident, no tragedy with no one to blame. It had been planned and brought about by their own allies. Shey. The Autumn Court. Others as well, many of them unnamed.

Again, Andromache refused to believe it. In general, it is her firm belief that one can never have too low an opinion of the Fae, but this… this still went too far. She could not wrap her mind around it, could not understand how anyone could do this.

Like most people in the Alliance, Andromache was well aware that Shey saw Miryam as a threat. But what she could not imagine no matter how hard she tried was what might have caused the level of hatred that would have been necessary to do something like this. Miryam had, as far as Andromache knew, never done anything that might have given her allies cause to hate her. Dislike, perhaps, but not hate. She certainly gave Shey and cause to hate so fiercely that her death wasn’t enough to satisfy him, that he had to have her killed in the cruellest way possible, killing most of the people she cared about, thousands of innocents, in the process and destroying what she spent most of her life working for.

“I don’t think it was hatred,” Nakia said when Andromache voiced her thoughts to her. “I think he just didn’t care. He wanted Miryam dead – everyone else was just collateral damage. Expendable.”

That was when the anger started.

Now, thirty-one hours later, Andromache feels ready to combust with the force of it. Still, her hands are surprisingly steady as she closes the straps of her armour. There will be an Alliance meeting in half an hour, the first one since Miryam and Drakon (and Mor, although no one but Andromache seems to care much about that crucial detail) died, and Andromache intends to use the opportunity to make the Fae regret it.

Her and the other humans met yesterday to agree on a plan. What they came up with isn’t ideal in Andromache’s mind – it doesn’t involve Shey dying painfully, which is truly a shame. It’s the best they could do in their situation, though, and Andromache sincerely hopes their demands will make the Fae regret their actions.

With one last look into the mirror, Andromache straightens and stalks out of the room. Her steps are firm as she walks through the palace’s halls towards the meeting chamber. A lucky side effect of the anger, she supposes. It doesn’t leave space for any other emotions. Otherwise, she would probably be dissolved in tears, unable to move or function. But even so, she can barely bear to think of Miryam and Drakon, and cannot think of Mor at all without feeling like someone punched her in the chest.

By the time she reaches the meeting chamber, it is already filled halfway. Usually, councilmembers would be chatting with each other before the meeting, the room buzzing with activity, but today, silence reins in the chamber. The tense atmosphere can almost be felt physically, like the air is thick as water and pressing anyone inside the room down with its weight.

Quietly, Andromache takes her seat. The silence is only broken by the ticking of the clock that has been places on the opposite wall. She watches the hand creep forward as more and more people arrive. The time when the meeting was set to begin is reached and passed without anyone stirring. Andromache realizes that everyone at the table is waiting for someone to open the meeting, but Miryam isn’t there and Andromache isn’t inclined to step in for her as she usually does.

Eventually, it is Shey who opens the meeting. When he starts spouting nonsense about what a “terrible tragedy” Miryam’s and Drakon’s death was (he doesn’t mention any of the other people who died) or how “devastated” he was by the news, Andromache immediately regrets not opening the meeting herself. When he starts talking about how much Miryam did for the Alliance and the war effort in general, Andromache briefly contemplates getting up and punching him in the face. It might help take the edge off her anger, but their plan is a different one and Andromache is forced to stick to it.

Finally, Shey seems to be done with his monologue of faked mourning and changes the subject. “Sad as we all are,” he says, “I think Miryam and Drakon, more than anyone else, would want us to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past.”

Never mind. Andromache is actually going to punch him. “I think they mostly wouldn’t want to be dead along with thousands of their people, you fucking asshole,” she mutters, balling her hands into fists.

Shey’s eyes jump to her, narrowing slightly, but he seems to decide that she isn’t worthy of a reply. “I believe the treaty detailing what should happen now that the war is over is all but ready. All that’s left to do is to sign it.”

“If you think any of us are going to sign that contract after what happened, you’ve lost your mind,” Andromache snaps, louder this time. “Why would we want to work with any of you after this?”

Shey is far too well-trained to show any reaction, but Andromache hopes the bastard is shocked. He probably didn’t expect the stupid little mortals to figure out what he did.

“I don’t – “ he begins, but Andromache is already on her feet. The other human councilmembers rise with her.

“This Alliance is over,” she says, voice biting. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go drown in an ocean.”

With that, she turns towards the door. As one, the human members of the Alliance walk out of the room. No one makes a move to stop them, no one even says a word. The Fae just remain sitting where they are, looking around the table like they are waiting for someone to find the words to fix the crack that is running through their alliance.

Had Miryam been here, she would have been the one to speak out now. She would have found the right words, maybe even managed to convince them all to keep working together. For the sake of the treaty she wanted so badly, she would probably have been willing to excuse even her own murder.

It’s really too bad for the Fae that they had Miryam killed. Because without her, there is no one there to stop the Alliance from shattering into a million pieces.

Without looking back, Andromache stalks out of the meeting chamber. When she returns to her rooms, she finds Mor sitting on her bed.

----

Mor never planned to simply vanish without a word to anyone, certainly not for an entire week. When first left the Black Land and winnowed straight to the Night Court, she only wanted to stay for a few hours, maybe spend the night in the cabin in the mountains to calm herself before returning to Telique.

But then, almost against her own will, she had found herself staying longer and longer. The cabin was so peaceful, and with each day she stayed, the thought of going back became more daunting. Going back would mean facing what Miryam had done, facing their argument. Probably facing Miryam herself. For all that she knew hiding would only make things worse in the long run, she simply hadn’t found it in herself to return.

So instead, she stayed. She visited Rhys a few times. Sat on the couch by the fire and read. Emptied bottle after bottle of wine and did her best not to think about water turning to blood, ice raining from the sky and the look on Miryam’s face before she left her standing alone in the sand. She didn’t want to return at all, but after a week, there was no way to put it off any further, not if she didn’t want to risk worrying her friends in Telique.

It might already have been too long, Mor thinks as she watches Andromache freeze in the doorway, staring at her like she is a ghost. Maybe she should have sent a letter. But surely Miryam told Andromache about what happened, and knowing that, it should have been clear to anyone that she was safe.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the chance, Andromache snaps out of her paralysis. Letting out a sound that sounds a bit like that of a wounded animal, she rushes towards Mor and sweeps her up in a hug. Her body is shaking, and Mor can feel her damp cheek against her neck. Awkwardly, she begins patting Andromache’s back.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, not entirely understanding why Andromache is this distraught. She wasn’t in any danger, Andromache must have known that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Andromache lets go of her and holds her at arm’s length so that she can study her. She is still clinging on to Mor’s arms, though, like she is scared to let go.

“How did you get out?” She asks.

Mor frowns. She doesn’t entirely understand the question. “I winnowed,” she says, then quickly adds, “I’m sorry for not writing. I just… I just needed space.”

Now, it is Andromache who seems confused. “What do you mean?” She asks.

Mor can’t help the sinking feeling that they are not entirely on the same page. Could it be that Miryam didn’t tell her about the argument? She wouldn’t have had any reason to keep that information back, though.

“We argued,” she says hesitantly. “I just…” She shrugs. “With what Miryam did… I couldn’t stand it, and she wouldn’t stop. We got into a fight over it. And then I left.”

Andromache stands and stares at her, completely unblinking. Then, slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides. “What Miryam did?” She repeats, voice dangerously soft. “What Miryam did?”

“Yes, what Miryam did!” Mor replies forcefully. She can’t believe that Andromache seems to be taking Miryam’s side on this. “She burned down an entire country, Andromache! Thousands of people died. She – “

“You’re acting like she did it for fun!” Andromache cuts her off. “There were reasons.”

“What reasons are good enough to murder thousands?” Mor asks, throwing her hands up into the air in desperation. “You weren’t there, Andromache. You don’t know what it was like. This was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and Miryam happily allowed it to happen.”

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that Miryam is dead,” Andromache snaps.

The words hit Mor like a punch to the stomach. She actually stumbles back a step, gasping. “What?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Andromache says, her voice cutting as a blade. “Her, Drakon and everyone else.”

No. No. It isn’t possible. None of them were in danger when she left. Miryam was just in the process of single-handedly taking down the entire country, with an army of thousands with her to protect her. She was days away from winning – and actually did win, from the last news Mor heard from an enraged Rhys who complained endlessly about the war ending before he had a chance to kill Amarantha.

They couldn’t have died. They couldn’t have.

Oh Cauldron. Her last conversation with Miryam and Drakon was an argument that ended with Mor storming off. She doesn’t remember what she said to them, only that she was furious and desperate, and that they were both yelling at each other and then Mor left. She left them alone and then they died and she…

Mor presses a hand to her stomach, trying to reign in a sob. “I…” She whispers, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. She promised to protect Miryam. And then she left. And Miryam died.

“Get out,” Andromache says, voice still deadly soft.

Mor starts shaking her head. “No, I…”

“What Miryam did?” Andromache throws her words back at her with enough anger that Mor actually flinches. “You’re no better than the others.” With that, she pulls open the door. “And now get out.”

Words are escaping Mor. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Tears are burning in her eyes, blurring her vision. Andromache is still staring at her, gaze hard, and so Mor ducks her head and rushes out of the room.

----

Andromache is shaking with fury. Pain and sorrow will come later, she knows, once she has calmed down enough for the reality of what just happened to sink through, but for the moment, she is just angry. Angry with the entire fucking world, but mostly with Mor, because from her, Andromache expected better.

How could she be so stupidly narrow-minded? What Miryam did. She sounded just like all these other Fae who called Miryam’s actions horrifying and then turned around and had her and five hundred thousand innocents murdered. What Miryam did. What about what the Fae did, now and for centuries prior?

She needs some way to let the anger out, or she might actually explode. With swift steps, she stalks through the room and to the cupboard that holds cups and plates. She is still aware enough of herself to avoid the expensive, gilded ones meant for formal occasions and sticks to the simpler pottery for private dinners.

One by one, she pulls them out of the cupboard and hurls them against a nearby wall, watching them shatter into a million pieces with grim satisfaction, hating the fact that this pointless act of rage is all she can do.

How she wishes she had Miryam’s abilities. If only she was able to turn blood into water, make the sky rein ice and fire and command the sun to stay away as she sees fit. Oh, how she would make them all pay for what they did. She’d show them horrifying.

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting Andromache’s fantasies of setting Shey’s palace on fire. She spins around, dropping the plate she had just pulled out of the shelf, and stalks over to the door. This better not be Mor…

It isn’t. When Andromache pulls open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, she instead comes face to face with Nakia.

“Oh,” she says, awkwardly running a hand through her hair. “Nakia.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Nakia asks drily. She glances over her shoulder into the room and raises her eyes at the mess. “Someone to help you clean up, perhaps?”

Andromache can feel her cheeks heating. “I will clean that myself,” she says. She won’t make any of the maids clean up a mess she created on purpose.

“Do that. It will have to wait, though. For the moment, you are needed for a meeting. The Fae asked for a meeting; their representative is already there.”

Andromache groans.

Andromache would have liked nothing better than to refuse the meeting outright and tell the Fae exactly where they can shove their offers, but unfortunately, that is not an option. There are matters to be discussed, and there is no getting around that necessity.

It was agreed well in advance that Andromache would represent the humans for the meeting, as Angolere is the country whose leader is usually in charge of foreign politics. Andromache only finds out who the Fae sent when she steps into the meeting chamber, though: It is Zeku.

Some part of Andromache realizes that this is likely meant as a peace offering. Ever since the founding of the Alliance, Zeku was one of the Fae who worked together with the humans most closely. He was Miryam’s most prominent Fae ally, her, him and Andromache spent more hours than she can count sitting together over proposals and strategies. The Fae likely assumed his presence would appease Andromache, and under different circumstances, it might have. As it is, though, his presence is just another slap to the face.

“Your Majesty,” Zeku greets her, bowing deeply.

“Zeku.”

Greeting him by name instead of title is a capital insult, but Andromache stopped caring about the Faes’ rules for politeness the moment these rules didn’t stop them from murdering more than five hundred thousand people. All these rules ever did was bar anyone who didn’t have a Fae noble’s education from being taken seriously in their political meetings. Andromache played by their rules for far too long.

Zeku ignores the insult and takes the seat opposite her. He opens his mouth to speak, but Andromache cuts in before he gets the chance. Every moment she has to spend in the presence of someone like him is one too much.

“To make this clear right at the beginning,” she says, “I’m not here to play games. There are some issues that need to be settled, and I have no interest in spending more time than absolutely necessary in your presence, so I’d appreciate if we could deal with this as quickly as possible.”

Zeku sighs. “Alright, then,” he says, “But before we begin, just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened.”

Yeah, sure. She believes that right away. Once that conversation is over, though, he might actually be sorry.

“Well, I believe it ought to be clear to anyone that the continuation of the Alliance is no longer possible. The treaty we worked on is a thing of the past, as are any agreements we came to. We can no longer trust you, and so working together is no longer an option.”

Zeku, at the very least, does her the favour of not pretending he doesn’t know what she is talking about. “I know what happened was unforgivable,” he says, “but Miryam wouldn’t want – “

“Don’t,” Andromache cuts him off, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare talk to me about what Miryam would have wanted.”

Zeku lifts his hands as if warding off a physical attack. “Alright,” he says. “Forgive me. But the point remains that we need to work together. The situation is far from ideal, but together, you and I could still turn it around.”

Andromache lets out a sharp laugh. “You and I? Together?” She shakes her head, laughing again. “No, thank you. With what happened to the last human who worked together with you, I have little interest. Maybe if you wanted this alliance, you should have made sure she stayed alive.”

“I had no involvement – “ Zeku begins, but Andromache cuts him off.

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. “Miryam might been willing to listen to your explanation. She might have played along with your game, pretended she believed and trusted you and maybe even agreed to work together with you again in spite of everything. For peace. She really wanted that, you know? A world where humans and Fae could live together in peace and equality. For that, she might even have been willing to look past what your friends did. But I am not Miryam.”

“I am aware,” Zeku says quietly.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to understand what it means.” None of the Fae ever understood, and they never bothered to try, either. “You and your Fae friends always thought that Miryam was the only one of us worthy of being taken seriously, didn’t you? That the rest of us were meek and harmless and unimportant, and that without Miryam, we would be lost. Because she was the only one who could play by these stupid rules for politics you had designed to keep anyone who isn’t Fae nobility from being taken seriously in politics. She could smile and talk and behave just right, and she had magic, and so you took her seriously and dismissed the rest of us.”

“I never dismissed you,” Zeku says. “And you were always quite willing to take a backseat while Miryam dealt with everything, so you have little grounds to complain about any conclusions people draw from that.”

Andromache presses her lips together. How dare he bring this up, act like what happened was somehow their fault for making Miryam get involved? As if the human leadership at the beginning of the war willingly decided that an eighteen-year-old was the perfect fit for emissary. The entire reason they had to give Miryam that position was that there had been no one else. Learning Fae politics was a matter of years, and the humans lacked diplomats skilled in the rules the Fae so valued. That they found someone who was able to fill the position at all was a minor miracle in itself.

She doesn’t say that they only let Miryam take the lead because she was the only one able to navigate the Fae political landscape that had been so skilfully designed to keep anyone but them out, though, because that would only be one part of the truth. The unimportant part, for this specific conversation.

“None of us ever wanted to work with the Fae, did you know that?” She gives him a sharp smile. “We didn’t trust you. It was Miryam who convinced us to give it a try. She said we needed allies, and that there would be Fae territories that would be willing to help us.”

“And she was right,” Shey says. “We helped you win this war.”

“Yes,” Andromache says softly. “Miryam was right – she managed to secure us the alliance she had promised, she managed to make things work, and so we went along with her plans. We ignored the countless offences your side committed against us because Miryam had her strategy and it was working. And then, when she insisted that the only way to get peace to work after the war was to find a way to work together, to build bridges between our people, we went along with that as well. Because we trusted her, because you seemed to respect her.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you understand now?” She asks. “We weren’t scared and meek without Miryam. She was the one who convinced us to work with you in the first place. But then, you killed her and you made it entirely clear that our lives are worthless to you, that no matter how much we try to work with you, you will never see us as equal.”

Zeku nods slowly. His face is grave. Now, he finally seems to understand. “So what now?” He asks.

Andromache leans back in her chair. “Miryam wanted to build bridges,” she says. “We were willing to go along with that, willing to give it a try, but then you killed her. So now what you are getting is a wall.”

----

Shey is waiting in one of the private meeting chambers. He is lounging on one of the chairs, idly flipping through the pages of a book that he snaps shut when Zeku enters.

“Your Highness,” he says with a slight smile, sitting up straighter. “How did the meeting with Their Majesties go?”

In answer, Zeku takes a slip of paper out of the pocket of his coat and throws it onto the table in front of Shey. “A list of discrete assassins and ways to contact them, since you don’t seem to know about the possibility of discrete assassinations yet,” he says. “You might want to look into it to save us any further scandals.”

Shey very deliberately places his book on the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“Kindly do me the favour and explain that to Andromache and the other human queens. That might be amusing.” He shakes his head. “They know. And they are none too pleased, if you will allow the understatement.”

Shey, at the very least, does him the favour of not denying his actions a second time. After the meeting he just had, he doesn’t think he would be able to stand Shey’s games. He just shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not shaking with fear at the prospect.”

The longer this conversation lasts, the more does Zeku understand Andromache’s feelings towards Fae nobility and their politics. To think that there was a time when he enjoyed these games… Now, all he can feel is disgust.

“You went too far,” he says, shaking his head. “This time, you really went too far, Shey.”

Shey waves him off. “It was a neat solution,” he says. “Everyone who had any cause for interest in Miryam died with her.”

“There are literally millions of humans who have a cause for interest in Miryam.”

Shey snorts. “Oh, not these mortals and their exaggerated sense of solidarity or whatever they call it, acting like any harm done to one of them is somehow a direct attack on all of them. If you ask me, they are just using it as an excuse to make themselves into the victims and give themselves the moral high ground in any given situation. Or do you see any Fae complaining about Drakon and his soldiers getting killed?”

That he thinks this is a negative reflection on the humans, not the Fae, probably says everything that needs to be said about what kind of person he is. Zeku doesn’t want to imagine what it will do to the Alliance – the entire Continent – if he gets put in charge. Had Miryam only been a little bit smarter, a bit more willing to play to win… She had everything necessary to leave her in charge of the Continent after the war ended. But she didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, and how did it end? Her dead, everything she was working for in shambles and the Continent in Shey’s hands.

Zeku could scream at how stupidly unnecessary all of it is.

Instead, he merely offers the barest shrug at Shey’s comment. “Regardless of their motives, our human allies seem out for your head over this.”

“So what if they do?” Shey asks. “Miryam is dead. Without her, there is little they can do.”

“They seem to disagree,” Zeku says. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but feel a little smug. “Andromache says they have proof. And that she will happily make it public should you not meet their demands.” He smiles slightly. “Not only will you and your friends be revealed as honourless in front of the entire Continent for betraying your own allies, I also imagine that some people will be rather cross with you for murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent humans after we justified that entire war with wanting to save the humans.”

Shey doesn’t reply. Maybe he just considers for the first time that justifying a war with wanting the protect the humans and then turning around to casually murder five hundred thousand of them was not a particularly smart move. Not to mention that over the past years, Miryam became the face of the entire war effort, which not only brought her a whole lot of popularity, but also made her into a symbol. And turning against the symbol for the war they just won is political suicide.

For a brief moment, Shey’s calm demeanour cracks as he seems to realize that he just made a catastrophic mistake. Then, he catches himself, summoning a calm expression again.

“What is their price?” He asks, voice entirely business-like.

Zeku wonders what he is hoping for. What price would, in his mind, be able to make up for a betrayal like this, the loss of thousands of lives? Knowing Shey, he probably doesn’t imagine it will be too much. A bit of money, maybe, or land. Trading rights and favourable treaties. A small price, as is appropriate for lives that were entirely worthless to him.

“Half of our world,” Zeku counters calmly. And yes, he does enjoy the look on Shey’s face at the reply. “They are withdrawing their consent to the treaty I worked out with Andromache, Miryam and Drakon.” Well, mostly Drakon. “They no longer trust us to live side by side with them, so they have come up with their own solution: They want to divide the Continent in two. One half to the them, the other to us, and a wall in the middle. They’ll take the south.”

For a few heartbeats, Shey says nothing at all. Then, he asks very slowly, “Have these mortal fools completely lost their minds?”

Zeku shrugs again. “They don’t trust us anymore, not after what happened, and I honestly cannot blame them.”

“And they truly think they will get away with that?” Shey lets out a laugh and jumps to his feet. “I’ll have them assassinated before I meet these ridiculous demands.”

“I am sure they have plans for that scenario,” Zeku says. “And should this be made public, I imagine they would have quite a few supporters. Miryam was very popular, as you know, and you might find many Fae care more than you anticipated. Especially since there were also so many Fae amongst those you had killed.”

Shey wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Lesser faeries,” he says.

And what am I? Zeku thinks, fighting the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Shey. At himself. After all, he always knew what kind of person Shey was, and still, he chose the way he did. Withdrew support for Miryam and hoped… yes, what did he hope for? That Shey’s disregard for human and faerie lives wouldn’t carry on into his style of ruling? That he would follow through with the promises Miryam had made after replacing her?

Maybe he should have risked sticking up for Miryam. Should have made it clearer to her what was at stake, helped her work out a way to come out of this on top. Instead, he took the safe route and withdrew support, marked his wager in working with her down as failed and cut his losses.

A mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You’re a coward, Miryam’s voice says in his head. He can still see her so clearly, standing in that hallway with tears in her eyes and fury on her face. I hope this haunts you.

A bitter smile twists Zeku’s mouth. It will, he thinks. Don’t you worry, Miryam. It will.

“You would do better to do as they say,” Zeku says. “Because if you don’t – or if you get the brilliant idea to make them disappear the way you did with Miryam – I can assure you that you will have a problem. Should it come to war, I will be the first one to side with them against you, but I will not be the last.”

Shey stares at him in disbelief. He opens his mouth as if to reply, then closes it again. Of course. He isn’t used to getting push-back.

“You went too far,” Zeku repeats. “And it will always be my greatest shame that I didn’t stop you sooner. But if you think I will let you take this any further, you are dead-wrong.”

If him and Andromache were still allies, he might have begged her to allow him and his people to join them on their side of the wall that is soon to be built. But he lost that alliance the moment he decided to cut ties with Miryam and he knows perfectly well that there is no getting it back.

He played. And he lost. And now, he will have to pay.

----

Without corpses, there is no real need to hold a funeral. Unless, of course, you are Fae and want to make a grand gesture about how terribly sorry you are about the death of the people you had killed, and so the Fae seem to have made it their mission to hold the most dramatic funeral possible for Miryam, Drakon and the others, perhaps in a vain attempt to cover up their guilt.

Had the idea come from anyone else, Andromache might even have been willing to admit that she thinks holding some kind of ceremony is the right thing to do. As things are, though, it only feels like a cheap publicity stunt. Hundreds of thousands of pyres erected, one for every single person who died during that battle, all of them lit at the same time – this isn’t a show of respect, it’s a political spectacle and Andromache hates everything about it.

The worst part is that she wasn’t even able to argue against the idea, not without making it seem like she doesn’t want to honour Miryam and the other dead. So instead, she has decided to use the entire situation to her advantage. Shey wants to use this funeral to improve his image? Fine, then Andromache will ruin that plan as thoroughly as she can.

The good thing about ceremonies like that is that everything, down to the choice of clothes, sends a message. Shey has apparently decided to show to the entire world how much he mourns Miryam’s death and respected her. He is wearing black with blue details, showing his mourning and pretending to the entire world that he respected Miryam, looked up to her.

Andromache and the other human councilmembers appear entirely in red.

Their choice of clothes draws stares as they arrive at the ceremony together. Miryam wore red details on her dress for Jurian’s funeral, but that was a different matter – then, at least everyone knew who she wanted to get revenge at. Now, with the war over and Ravenia, who is officially responsible for every death that occurred, dead, no one understands why the entire human fraction of the Alliance is publicly declaring that they want revenge.

Shey steps in Andromache’s way before she reaches her place at the front of the assembled crowd. His face is almost as red as Andromache’s dress. “What do you think you are doing?” He snaps.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Andromache asks, then glances down at her dress like she is only now realizing what his problem might be. “Oh, that. Well, I thought the choice of colour in a dress should reflect our feelings regarding the death.” She frowns at Shey. “Although you don’t seem to have taken that all too seriously yourself. What colour says ‘I had the deceased assassinated’ again?”

“Will you be quiet?” Shey hisses, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard. “I agreed to your demands, and in return, you were meant to keep your silence. If you aren’t able to do that, our agreement is over.”

“You are the one who made this funeral into a farce!” Andromache snaps back. “This isn’t an opportunity for you to improve your image and if you had any sense of decency whatsoever, you would never have tried.”

With that, she shoulders past him and goes to take her place with the other humans.

“Remarkable show of restraint,” Nakia says by way of greeting. “I thought you’d break his nose.”

Andromache shrugs. “Might still, depending on his bad his speech is.”

The first speech isn’t Shey’s, though. It is hers.

Andromache struggled against the suggestion that she should hold the opening speech. To her, it felt like she would be assuming a position she never held. She was a close friend with both Miryam and Drakon, yes, but she was never closest to either of them, and she didn’t know most of the others who died at all. It was only when she realized that anyone who was closer to them than her had died in that battle that she agreed to hold the speech.

Slowly, she steps forward, red dress shifting around her feet. She will not have to light any of the pyres as would be human tradition; they will be magically lit at the end of her speech with her only needing to give a signal. It feels wrong, somehow. Pyres are meant to be lit by hand, the person who was closest to them doing them that final service and bidding them goodbye in doing so. Magic takes away all of the intimacy of the moment.

Everything about this funeral-that-isn’t-one feels wrong. It is unworthy. Miryam and Drakon and all these countless others would have deserved better.

They would also have deserved a better speech than the one Andromache ends up giving. She did her best to find the proper words, she truly did. What point is there in talking about all the things that were wonderful about them, as if putting into words all that she lost will somehow make it better. Why would she tell the world about all the things Miryam and Drakon and the others would have wanted and deserved from the future, as if the one thing they would have wanted and deserved wasn’t to be alive. How can she call this a tragedy when she knows that in truth, it was a crime?

The only words Andromache wants to say are ones made from anger, condemning the ones responsible for these deaths, but those, she cannot speak, and there are no other words that might mean anything in the face of such a terrible, senseless crime. She still tries, and she fails, and she knows she does even as she holds her speech.

She is relieved when she is finally done and gets to return to her place. The pyres are lit by magic and Andromache tries to comfort herself with the fact that there are no bodies, anyways, that Miryam and Drakon and all the others are dead and will never know about the farce that is their funeral. It is no comfort at all, though.

The rest of the ceremony passes far too slowly. Andromache stands in her place, stares at the flickering flames and ignores the speeches the others hold. She only notices it is finally over when people start moving around her. She leaves her place as well, wandering around aimlessly for a bit. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to eat, or drink. She cannot stand this.

Andromache turns away from the ceremony and stalks off into the darkness. Away from the crowds and the noise and the fire. Away from the empty pyres and the Fae pretending they care about the deaths that occurred.

For the first few steps, her posture remains stiff, her steps fast and firm with anger. But as she walks through the night, her anger seems to dissolve like smoke in the wind. It leaves her feeling cold and alone. Empty. Soon, her vision is blurry with tears and she is stumbling more than walking.

How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? Mere days ago, she was giddy with happiness, drinking to victory and a bright future with the others, but now… Now, Miryam and Drakon and so many others are dead, and she cannot imagine ever speaking to Mor again, much less spending the future together as they planned. Everything she had wanted for her future, blown apart in one terrible day.

She lets herself drop to the ground, not caring if the damp grass stains her dress, rests her head on her knees and cries.

There is a soft rustling in front of her. Andromache is on her feet within moments, hand going for the dagger she has hidden under her dress. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is all alone out here, no guards in sight, and almost unarmed.

“Who’s there?” She calls, slowly drawing her dagger.

No one answers, but there is another rustle. This time, Andromache can place where the noise is coming from. She looks down and finds a falcon sitting on a small rock a few feet away from her, staring at her from amber eyes. Andromache stares back.

Birds usually avoid people. They do not land mere feet away from them, or remain sitting this still. Andromache points her dagger at the bird, trying to shoo it away, but it merely cocks its head to the side and hops a step closer to her. There is something fastened around its neck.

Rationally, Andromache knows that there are several people who could be responsible for this. Miryam wasn’t the only witch in the world, and even discounting people who are able to control animals, there’s always the chance of some Fae or another being able to shapeshift into one to use its form to trick her. Rationally, Andromache knows perfectly well that it is a terrible idea to approach a weird animal with some item fastened around its neck. Unfortunately, that knowledge is overridden completely by the fact that the only person she ever met who had a particular affinity for animals was Miryam, and Miryam favoured falcons. And they didn’t find a body.

Slowly, Andromache steps towards the falcon. It doesn’t make a move to flee, merely looks up at her. Andromache crouches down and reaches for it. If I get ambushed now, that will be entirely on me, she things as she carefully unties the thin bit of rope fastened around its neck.

A small amulet falls into her waiting palm. It appears to be bronze, with a blue stone in the middle. Andromache frowns down at it, then at the falcon who is still watching her.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” She asks.

The bird clicks its beak and hops from one foot to the other. If there is any message hidden in that reaction, Andromache fails to understand it. She turns her attention back on the amulet, turns it around in her fingers. Nothing happens, but she notices that the stone seems slightly loose.

“What are the odds of me getting cursed from this?” She asks softly.

The bird offers no reply, and so Andromache reaches for the stone and turns it around once. There is a flash of light. When it recedes, Andromache is no longer standing on the soft forest floor, but on hard earth. She stumbles forward and might have fallen had there not been a hand ready to steady her.

Slowly, she looks up. Miryam and Drakon are standing in front of her, both very much alive.

----

An hour after the official part of the ceremony has ended, Mor is already drunk. She has foregone the food entirely and instead gone to the drinks directly after the last speech ended, and then proceeded to methodically empty one wine bottle after another.

By now, she is three-quarters through the third bottle and a merciful numbness in beginning to set in. Everything still sucks, but it no longer feels like someone is twisting a knife in her chest. She even manages to look over at Andromache, who looks particularly beautiful and just as furious in her red dress and ignores Mor entirely, without feeling like she is dying. Maybe with a few more bottles, it will stop hurting altogether.

She drains the rest of her bottle and makes for the table with the wine again, slightly unsteady on her feet. Once, she stumbles over her own feet and crashes into one of the other guests. With a mumbled “sorry” she continues on, finally reaching the safe haven of the table. She clings on to it with one hand as she carefully places the empty bottle on the table and reaches for a new one. Bounty in hand, she retreats back into the crowd.

The fires are still burning, and the light stings her eyes. So many fires… So many dead people… Miryam’s face flashes in her mind, the coldness in her eyes as they last spoke. Drakon telling her she went too far. Andromache, who isn’t dead but seems to wish Mor was, telling her she is no better than the rest.

She opens the bottle and goes back to drinking. Halfway through that bottle, the pain dulls to a soft throb and she begins to feel better about herself. Yes, everything is all horrible, but she sort of feels like she is floating, and the fires are very pretty. Like little glittering jewels.

Maybe she should talk to Andromache now. The prospect no longer feels as daunting as it did an hour ago. She will talk to her and tell her… well, she will think of something to tell her.

Mor drains the last of her bottle, letting it drop to the ground, and tries to stand up on her toes to scan the crowd for Andromache. Her sense of balance isn’t entirely up to the task anymore, though, because she begins to sway dangerously and stumbles. She would have fallen had there not been a pair of hands taking her by the shoulders and pushing her upright again.

“Oops,” Mor mutters.

The hands let go of her shoulders but remain nearby, as if waiting to catch her should she fall again. Mor looks around for the owner of the hands, finding a dark-skinned Fae standing in front of her. It takes her a few moments to work through the haze in her mind and place his face, then she smiles slowly.

“Helion. Want some wine?” She wants to offer him her bottle, but then realizes it’s not in her hands anymore. She looks around for it until she remembers that she dropped it earlier. “I’ll get us a new one.” Cauldron, forming words is difficult. Her tongue isn’t cooperating the way it should and the ground seems to have started swaying under her feet. She stumbles and Helion grips her by the shoulder again.

“No, thank you,” he says. “And you should probably switch to water for the rest of the evening, too.”

Mor shakes her head. “Spoilsport,” she mutters but doesn’t resist as Helion starts leading her towards the food.

“’m looking for An…” She stumbles over the name. Frowning with concentration, she tries again. “Andromache.” It comes out almost correctly. “She was very mean to me,” she adds. “Not nice at all. Not fair. Wasn’ my fault.”

Helion raises one eyebrow. “I think she left already,” he says, handing her a plate.

Mor looks down at the steaming food – and bursts out crying. It’s all so terribly sad. The entire world is sad and bad and hopeless, and Andromache hates her, and Miryam and Drakon are dead and it’s all because of her.

“’s my fault,” she mutters, words coming out even more unclearly now. “I was supposed to… to keep them safe and…”

Helion wraps an arm around her shoulders. His arm is very warm and very nice, and it makes more cry even harder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left – no one could have anticipated this.”

Mor buries her face in his jacked, sniffing. “But I said…” she begins. She would have continued the sentence, would have told him about all the horrible things she said as well as she remembers, but her mouth stops cooperating.

“Alright,” Helion says, and Mor feels herself lifted off her feet and picked up. “I’m bringing you to your rooms now, and tomorrow…” Helion hesitates. “Well, I’m sure things will look better tomorrow.”

There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, like he doesn’t believe what he is saying himself, but in her state, Mor doesn’t notice. She only vaguely registers that she is being carried up some stares and gently tucked into bed before she slips off into merciful oblivion.

----

For a few heartbeats, Andromache merely stands frozen in place and stares. A part of her wants to scream at them, shout her fury because how dare they scare her like that? Another part just wants to hug them, somehow convince herself that they are real.

“Andromache,” Miryam whispers and takes a step forward.

That breaks the spell. Andromache darts forward as well and wraps her arm around her neck. Hot tears sting on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Miryam whispers. “We’re alright.”

Andromache lets go of her and turns to hug Drakon. The first minutes after that are so hectic that Andromache only barely manages to keep track, the initial happiness giving way to fresh worry quickly. All three of them seem to be talking at once, questions and answers and more questions buzzing through the air. It would have gone far more quickly had they talked it through calmly, but they are all far from calm. Andromache can barely believe what she is hearing – the ocean parted, a battle on the ocean floor. It is a miracle that they all survived.

“Maybe we should go away from the camp for a bit,” Drakon suggests, nodding to the onlookers that have gathered.

“Good idea,” Andromache says, and Miryam, who has been unusually quiet after the initial excitement died down, nods as well.

They find a quiet place a bit away from the camp where the forest meets the ocean, only just within the bounds of the wards. Miryam leans against a tree, staring out at the ocean. Drakon sits down on the trunk of an upturned tree. Andromache remains standing.

“If you want, we can declare war that very day,” she says.

It’s an idea that has been passed back and forth between Nakia and Andromache ever since the news about what Shey did arrived. So far, they’ve always had to decide against it. They lack the military force to be able to successfully fight the Fae, and with so many of theirs newly freed from slavery, they cannot spare the resources. But with Miryam, who has shown herself capable of taking down entire countries by herself and who might be able to gather them support amongst the Fae… They would actually stand a chance.

Miryam doesn’t react at all, though. From the way she keeps staring at the ocean, unmoving, unblinking, Andromache almost thinks she didn’t hear her at all.

Drakon reacts, though. He spins around to her like she slapped him. “What?” He asks, managing to put all the disbelief in the world into the word.

“Declare war,” Andromache repeats. “That is the common reaction to a betrayal like this, isn’t it? Any Fae country on the Continent would do the same thing, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because the only thing it would accomplish is get thousands of people killed and potentially undo years of work!” Drakon answers with more force than is usual for him. “What could you hope to accomplish?”

“What else could I do?” Andromache shoots back. “We need to react in some way, we can’t just allow them to walk all over us like that. They were willing to kill thousands of us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand – “

“Stop,” Miryam cuts her off, turning in a quick, precise motion away from the ocean. “They were willing to kill Drakon and his soldiers right alongside us – most of the people who actually did die were faeries.”

Andromache deflates slightly. She sighs and turns to Drakon. “Sorry,” she says. “I just…” She shrugs.

“You’re currently in the mood to strangle any Fae you come across?” Drakon suggests. “Understandable. No offence taken.”

Still, Miryam has a point. Maybe Andromache was wrong to draw the lines in this conflict simply as humans against Fae. In reality, the High Fae don’t have much more respect for faeries than for humans. There’s a total of two faerie rulers on the entire Continent, and for all that Shey just proved he didn’t care about killing thousands of humans to get what he wanted, he did the same to the faeries who were involved. Drakon’s status and the protection it should have offered stopped him as little as Miryam’s.

It’s an interesting thought. Isolated, it might be difficult for the humans to fight back, but if they were to work together with the faeries, if they realized that the differences between humans and faeries are far smaller than the ones between faeries and High Fae… An interesting thought indeed.

Unfortunately, Drakon’s thoughts don’t seem to go into that direction.

“War won’t make anything better, though,” he says. “This isn’t like this war where we had a clear, manageable goal: Ending slavery. That was simple. But how do you plan to win a war against the fact that they don’t see humans as equal?” He shakes his head. “Short of killing every one of them, what way is there to resolve this issue through war?”

He looks at Andromache like he expects her to say something. She remains silent. She hadn’t thought this far yet. Of course she doesn’t want to kill all Fae, not in the slightest. She doesn’t even hate them all, she just… How can Shey and the others get away with what they did?

“All a war would accomplish is kill millions of innocents,” Drakon says. “And we’ve already…” He shakes his head and starts over. “This war has already taken things so far. What lines are left that haven’t been crossed yet? And if we take this any further, if we now start a war with our former allies… it will tear this entire continent apart. And it will hardly even matter who wins, because either way, millions of innocent people will die and reconciliation or peace will be made impossible for generations to come.”

Andromache wrinkles her nose, but she is still unable to argue. That was also one of the reasons why Nakia especially argued against the idea of a military solution: To start a war now would mean to risk everything they have won.

“Drakon is right,” Miryam says. “War is not the solution. Too many innocents have already been dragged into this – I won’t allow for any more people to be made into collateral damage by jumping onto Shey’s game of trying to murder each other in the most catastrophic way possible.”

Andromache refrains from saying that this goes far beyond a political powerplay. She doesn’t want to argue with Miryam over something like that.

“The treaty is the best chance for peace we have,” Miryam says. “I won’t let Shey’s actions ruin that. I know circumstances are far from ideal, but we can still make it work.”

Andromache stares at her, not quite believing what she is hearing. After all that happened, how can Miryam still talk of her treaty? How does she not realize that this treaty died the second Shey betrayed them. Andromache wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she starts seeing sense. She has to forcefully remind herself that Miryam is likely still in shock from what happened and is desperately clinging to a solution that is no longer possible as a way to cope.

“That’s not happening,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “That treaty relied on mutual trust, and after what happened, I cannot see that coming about anytime soon.”

Miryam and Drakon both look like she slapped them. It actually makes Andromache feel bad for them. Her own stakes in that treaty were always low, she really mostly went along with it because Miryam and Drakon were so very convinced that it was the only way, but for them… She doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to watch a thing you believed in and spent years working for fall apart before your eyes.

“And what will you do instead?” Drakon asks.

“We have decided to split up the world. One half to the Fae, the other to the humans and a wall in the middle to keep us safe.”

Drakon frowns. “What kind of wall would that be?” He asks, but Miryam is staring at Andromache, wide-eyed.

“No,” she whispers. “No, Andromache. You cannot do that. Please. It isn’t necessary, there is still another way.”

The desperation on her face stings. Andromache wants nothing more than to give in, if only to wipe that look off her face, but she cannot. Not on this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more softly this time. “But this is the way it is going to happen. You don’t want war, so I will not start one in your name. But after what happened, there cannot be peace either.”

Miryam shakes her head. Straightens. “Just give me one more chance,” she says. It’s the same tone she always has when she tries to convince people that she can handle a situation she cannot handle. “Let me talk to the Fae. I can still fix this.”

Andromache slowly shakes her head. “Are you out of your mind?” She asks. It is a struggle to keep her voice controlled. “They tried to kill you, Miryam. All of you. What do you think will happen if you go back?”

“This treaty needs to go through!” Miryam retorts. “This is important. It’s more important than… If we are to ever have peace, we need to find a way to live together. You – “

“Miryam stop,” Andromache snaps. Now, she actually does take her by the shoulders and shakes her slightly. “Do you truly want to die over this? Because this is what’s going to happen if you go back. They are going to kill you.”

“They already did,” Miryam mutters.

That throws Andromache off, but only for a moment. Chances are Miryam is just being dramatic, and if she wasn’t… well, then she will have to deal with that later.

“If you go back, you will die, and your death will be completely pointlessly,” she says, “You will not reach your goals, only get yourself killed. Is that truly what you want your life to be? Sixteen years as a slave, two years on the run and seven years of war. Killed at twenty-five in some pointless political struggle.”

Miryam starts to cry. Drakon makes to rise, but Andromache is faster, wrapping her arms around her.

“It doesn’t need to end like this,” she whispers. “You can still live, Miryam. You have won. Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

Miryam steps away from Andromache, already wiping her tears away again. She still looks completely miserable, though, as she lets herself drop onto the trunk next to Drakon.

“But what options do we have?” Drakon asks. He looks no less miserable than Miryam. “If we cannot go back, if we will never be safe after what happened, then what about the people in our camp? They are witnesses as much as we are. Some of these people have homes. Families. We have a home. We can’t just leave that, even if we had a way to vanish hundreds of thousands of people.”

Andromache bites her lip. She didn’t think of that yet. For the humans, she supposes she might be able to hide them amongst the other newly-freed slaves, since Fae never pay much attention to humans, but even then, there would be the problem of word of what Shey did getting around. And there is no hiding the Seraphim at all, not amongst the humans and not anywhere else. Miryam and Drakon alone might hope to hide somewhere, but what would the point be if their people were still left in danger?

She briefly contemplates saying that if they were to go to war, none of that would be a problem. But that would be a very cruel way to push Miryam and Drakon to take her side. Give up your home or agree to a war you know to be wrong is not a particularly fair choice, and certainly not one she should ask of her friends.

“We can’t just vanish,” Drakon continues. “And Andromache, you can’t just split the Continent in two and build a wall in the middle. How would that even work? Do you expect millions of people to get up and leave their countries to march to the other end of the Continent and settle down there? That’s a terrible idea, not to mention that the kind of wall you seem to be thinking of won’t be easy to get.”

Miryam seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Apparently, she never told Drakon about the wall spell. Understandable, Andromache supposes. Until now, none of them ever thought that spell would become relevant.

“Let’s just assume that the wall is happening,” Andromache says. Let Miryam talk that one through with Drakon on her own. “The issue is what we do with you two.”

“No, that’s not the issue!” Miryam replies. “The issue is that this wall is a downright terrible idea and – “

“And not your choice to be made,” Andromache finishes. “The decision was unanimous, Miryam. I’m sorry, but even you cannot change that.”

Neither Miryam nor Drakon argue any further after this. Miryam merely reaches for Drakon’s hand, and then, they are sitting side by side in complete silence.

Andromache feels terrible about herself. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt them with the solution she came up with, but there seems to be no way around it. She firmly believes that the wall is the only was to guarantee the humans’ safety in the long run, and for that to work out, Miryam, Drakon and their people need to disappear. It means that they will not get the future they wanted, and that Drakon and his people will have to give up their homes, and it is far from fair but Andromache doesn’t see a way around it so she simply stands around and stares down at her feet in shame.

Finally, it is Miryam who breaks the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go,” she says softly. “Somewhere they would never find us. Where we would be safe.”

----

Tags: @femtopulsed @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites

#second-to-last chapter!!!#the fae are getting exactly what they deserve #i hope you'll like how i'm wrapping everything up #i feel kind of bad abt the way i have things end between mor and andromache (although this chapter isn't the end yet)#but well. canon dictates that their relationship ends and i like it better to have them break up than for them to be tragically seperated -#by the wall #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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dulce-pjm · 3 years

Text

clean up on aisle seven!

word count: 3.3k

genre: casual fluff :)

summary: you really didn’t want to go on this grocery trip. and now you’re stuck trying to track down that last thing your mom needs while the clock is ticking before she checks out. but something (or someone) might just make you lose track of time.

This is your worst nightmare. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths were shallow and staggered, and you could feel droplets of sweat quickly accumulating on your forehead. You’d just suffered finals week and you could definitely say this was the most stressful situation you’d experienced in your life.

This might be where you die.

Actually, if you died now, your mother would drag you back from the grave and kill you again for being so dramatic.

You were standing helpless in the middle of the produce section of your hometown’s grocery store, desperately looking for the red potatoes. And while you frantically scanned for the vegetable- Are potatoes vegetables? Maybe they’re starches. Or a root. It isn’t important. What is important is that you have no clue where they are and your mom is currently in the checkout line, wondering what’s taking so long.

Onions, leeks, asparagus, radishes, cabbage. . .

Maybe you were looking in the wrong place. You circle the aisle, hoping you don’t look like a madwoman as you wring your hands and tug at your hair.

You were a STEM major, for god’s sake! You just crushed your sophomore finals (maybe. probably. you completed them, it’s all that matters), you were not going to let some stupid red potatoes and a fear of abandonment you’ve harbored since childhood distress you in this way.

Spinach, lettuce, carrots, celery. . .

You know, you never should have agreed to go on this grocery trip. Just an hour before now, you’d been comfortable in bed, sleeping in to your heart’s content. But it’s the holidays and you know your mom likes to run her errands with someone and the guilt was just too much. So you let her drag you out of bed and you barely got to brush your teeth before she was dragging you out of the house, too. You probably looked like a wreck. You sure felt like one.

Tomatoes, avocadoes, peppers. . .

Normally by now you’d suck it up and ask an employee for help like the adult you were supposed to be, but, just your luck, the entire section is void of any workers. Honestly, good for them. You’re sure they’re tired of dealing with hopeless idiots like you, anyway.

Garlic, strawberries, blueberries. . .

Who puts garlic next to strawberries? And how did you end up in the fruit section? Even you could do a better job organizing this place. Or maybe you have poor observational skills. You decide not to dwell on which thought is more correct.

You rush back to where you started, begging your eyes to actually work and help you with this one task.

And then: a miracle. Yellow potatoes! You scan the vicinity and...

No red potatoes to be found. Maybe there’s no such thing as red potatoes. Maybe your mom just wanted you to go away for a while. Well, no, that can’t be it. You’re certain you’ve had red potatoes before.

The stress was getting to you. By now, your mom was probably loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, annoyed at your slow pace and mind.

You know, in many other situations you’d actually consider yourself good under pressure. Put you in a lab coat and in front of a titration and you were a goddamn genius, if you did say so yourself. But once you weren’t poring over textbooks or analyzing data, you felt completely useless. Ask you to cook and you’ll set the kitchen ablaze. Anything more athletic than a casual jog is off the table. Your friends often joke that you can’t even be trusted with a microwave. For good reason. How were you supposed to know those chicken sandwich bags can’t go in the microwave? They’re made of paper.

Other shoppers bristle past you to grab their own groceries, but all you can do is reply with a few murmured “sorries” and stand in the middle of the place looking like a lost puppy. To them, you look utterly distressed. A few shoppers consider asking if you’re okay, but little do they know there’s only one question plaguing your mind.

“Where are the motherfucking red potatoes?!”

You didn’t mean for it to slip out, but at least there’s no one close enough to hear-

A giggle rings from the other side of the waist-high aisle you’ve been staring at. Your eyes slide up to meet the gaze of a boy not too much taller than you- kind of cute too- but the important thing is that he’s staring right at you. Very obviously trying (and failing) to fight an uncontrollable grin on his face.

Your cheeks heat like a furnace. All you can do is stand and stare, caught red-handed cursing over produce at the corner grocery store.

The boy with full, boyish cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a very cute smile that you might consider infectious in any other scenario leans forward on the tips of his toes and peers at the side the aisle you’ve been intently gazing at for the past several minutes. To your horror, he lifts his finger and points just inches from where you were just looking.

“Maybe right there?” It isn’t said sarcastically or with even a hint of ridicule, but despite his genuine nature you only grow more sheepish. You wish you could shrink into your sweatshirt and never come back out.

You lower your eyes to the direction he’s pointing and lo and behold, there are several bags of red potatoes just under your nose.

“Oh. . uh. . Thanks.” You tentatively reach and grab a bag, your eyes not leaving the boy’s face. You can’t help but notice the line forming between his eyebrows and the way he cocks his head to the side. Now, that you think about it, there’s something distinctly familiar about him.

“Wait, Y/N?” Your eyebrows raise, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs to know that you somewhat recognize him too. “I’m Jimin!” He continues when you don’t respond. “We were best friends when we were, what, six or seven?”

The memories immediately begin rushing back. Though many of your memories from back then have faded, you can remember very distinctly the elementary days full of you and a younger version of the boy across from you causing mischief. More specifically, the two of you thought up increasingly risky pranks to play on your parents and friends until one or both of you got the scolding of a lifetime. You’d nearly completely forgotten about him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you finally manage. “It’s been a while.” Jimin circles to your side of the aisle.

“Oh my god! When was the last time I saw you?” Jimin thinks for a moment. “Wasn’t it your birthday party? When we hid in the bathroom cabinet and it took them hours to find us!” The memory has the both of you giggling.

“Yeah! My mom would have grounded me for scaring her so badly if it wasn’t my birthday.” The atmosphere is comfortable. Almost as if it had been no time at all.

“I think if anyone was scared, it was you. Weren’t you terrified of the dark?” You blush despite the ridiculousness of his teasing.

“Hey! I talk to you for two minutes after all this time and you’re already back to making fun of me?” Despite their legitimacy, the words carry no malice and you’re grinning from ear to ear. A smirk plays on Jimin’s cheeks and you catch yourself studying his features. It should seem normal, but you’re slightly struck by how much he’s grown up. His baby fat is long gone, replaced with a striking and defined look despite his sweet and boyish features. His brunette locks are neatly cut, his bangs complimenting his cheeks and forming a slight heart shape on his forehead. He’s cute.

If you weren’t so caught up in your own embarrassment, you might have noticed the endeared look he’s giving you as he studies your face at the same time.

“What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “You’ve always been easy to tease.” You scoff, shifting the bag of potatoes in your arms.

“Speak for yourself, crayon-eater.” Jimin’s giggle is infectious, drawing a snort or two out of you, though you desperately try to play it off as just a cough.

“Where did you end up going? I never saw you after that.”

“Ahh, we moved to the other side of the city. It was pretty sudden.” Jimin nods in understanding.

“I guess you moved again for college, too?” he asks tentatively, gesturing to your sweatshirt. You glance down at the university logo before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah, I’m just back for the holidays. You?”

“I go to university in the city. Just picking up some groceries for my family. I tend to do our grocery shopping on weekday mornings anyway, since most of my classes are in the afternoon.” You learn that Jimin is a communications major, which you think suits his personality spectacularly. Jimin is not even close to surprised to find out you’ve dedicated yourself in chemistry.

“And to think, just yesterday we were making potions from mud in your backyard. You’re practically a prodigy. Can I get your autograph? You know, for when you become a famous scientist saving the world and all that?” You shake your head, noting that Jimin is just as ridiculous as you remember him.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you muse. “But I’m leaning more towards education. I’d like to teach high schoolers one day, maybe college students too.” Now that strikes Jimin as a surprise, evident by his shocked expression. You can’t help staring at the way his lips puff out in an unintentional pout.

“Really? You want to deal with those brats? We just left high school and you already want back?” If your mom thought you were a drama queen, Jimin had you beat tenfold. He’d always been a bit of a class clown, always supplying exaggerated expressions and stupid jokes to garner as many laughs as possible. You roll your eyes.

“They’re not that bad.” You pause. “Well, they are pretty bad but I think I could get through it if I knew I could make at least one kid excited about science, you know?” You inwardly cringe at your mini-spiel. Normally once you get talking about your love for chemistry, your friends zone out or casually change the subject to avoid massive boredom. But to your surprise, Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit annoyed at your sappy, nerd-ish outlook on your career. Instead, he’s nodding with you, attentive and interested.

“That’s. . . really nice.” You blush, stopping yourself from going on a further tangent, sure he has much better things to be doing than listening to you go on and on.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You twiddle your thumbs and Jimin tugs on the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “Do you still have that cat? What did you name him... Snuggles?”

“Chubbles!” he nearly shouts with a massive smile. “And yeah, I do. He’s still overweight as ever. And old as hell. But I love the grumpy thing to pieces.”

“He was so cute! I remember cuddling with him while watching cartoons together.”

“Oh my god, yeah! That was the only time my mom would let me eat in the living room. I swear those waffles tasted better in front of the tv screen.” The story sparks a memory in your mind.

“Hey, wanna know a secret?” Jimin leans in slightly, confused but definitely interested. You pause for effect. “My mom didn’t let us eat in the living room either. I only said that because you wanted to and I thought it’d convince your mom.” Jimin feigns a gasp, putting a hand on his chest.

“Are you serious? I was jealous of you for years after that and it wasn’t even true? You said your family always ate in the living room.”

“I may have exaggerated a lot of things back then in order to impress you.”

“No way. Then do I really know you at all? Was everything a lie?” You find yourself laughing again. Talking with him is easy, like being kids again.

You shrug. “I like to maintain an aura of mystery.” Now Jimin’s the one rolling his eyes at your antics.

“Hey, speaking of Chubbles, do you want to see a picture of him? My mom posted the best picture of him on Facebook the other day.” Jimin whips out his phone. While others might find a college student doting on his cat and his mom’s Facebook a bit dorky, you find it all too endearing.

“Um, of course!” You step towards him to peer at his phone. But instead of cat pictures, all the two of you see is an endless loading screen.

“Shit. My service sucks out here. I’m sorry.” He gives an apologetic look, but you’re quick to brush it off.

“No, it’s okay. You can just send it to me later.” The connotation of your words hit you like a freight train and you’re about to not-so-eloquently take them back, but Jimin beats you, a smile is plastered across his face. A part of you wants to reach up and squish his cheeks together, but you don’t need to create any more reason for the other shoppers to think you’re unhinged. Also, personal space.

“Oh, great. I’ll just get your number-”

“Y/N.” You freeze, your head whipping around behind you to where your mother stands. She glares at you with her hands set on her hips, no groceries in sight.

“Oh, um, oops.” You muster the best smile you can but your mother is anything but amused. “I found the red potatoes!” You hold up the bag that’s been making your arms ache, as if that would magically fix the situation. She scoffs.

“And while you did, I checked out, paid, put the groceries in the car, and realized that we’d already gotten red potatoes. They were just piled under all that sugary cereal you insist on-” Her eyes flicker to the boy standing awkwardly behind you when she lets out a scream of joy. “Park Jimin!” She nearly shoves you aside to wrap him in a hug, instantly recognizing him despite years of not seeing him. Though if Jimin’s mom is active on Facebook, you guess your mom has seen plenty of Jimin via social media. While you stare incredulously at your mother, Jimin is staring at you, internally laughing at your expression.

“How’s your mother? Is she well? Healthy?” Jimin nods with a charming smile.

“Yes, she’s great.” Your mom is clutching Jimin’s hands as if she’s in her seventies and not her forties. Jimin awkwardly shifts his grocery basket to his elbow, but your mom pays no mind to the uncomfortable position he’s in.

“Oh, you’ve grown so much! I can still remember the days when you two were taking baths together!” Your face blanches while Jimin chokes. Knowing the volume of your mom’s voice, you’re sure the entire grocery store knows your and Jimin’s history now. “You know, I was just thinking about your mother the other day. When we were pregnant with the two of you, we-”

“Hey, Mom.” You place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you think we should get going? The groceries are in the car...”

“Oh! You’re right, sweetie,” she smiles. It seems that all it took was Jimin’s charm (and by charm, you mean standing there with that grin of his) for her to completely forget about your previous transgression. She turns back to Jimin. “It was lovely to see you, dear. Please tell your mother I said hello. We really should have a get-together over the holidays, don’t you think?”

“That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. L/N,” Jimin says, his eyes trailing to you. “Sorry for keeping your daughter. We were reconnecting and lost track of time.”

“You’re too sweet. I’m sure my daughter was the one babbling on about whatever popped into her head next. It’s no wonder she got lost looking for potatoes, she’s so easily distracted. You know, we had to put her on a leash as a child.” Your cheeks flush red while you get the sense that Jimin is enjoying this a little too much, despite his awkward smile.

“Oh...” You can tell he’s doing his best to spare you the mortification, but if anything his efforts to conceal his laughter only make you more eager to end the conversation.

“Uh... Mom... Groceries...”

“Fine, fine. You didn’t seem to care that much when you were flirting in the produce aisle.” Now that is the final straw.

“Mom! Oh my god, let’s just go.” You feel like a teenager again, embarrassed and at your mother’s mercy. “Bye, Jimin! It was nice seeing you!” You grab your mother by the elbow and nearly drag her out of the store, tossing the red potatoes back onto the aisle as you go. You barely catch Jimin’s weak wave as you storm out.

“He really is such a sweet boy, I’ll have to give his mother a call.” Call. That’s right. You forgot to give him your number.

On pure instinct alone, you spring around, abandoning your mother in the parking lot to sprint back inside.

“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back! Start the car!” Your mother sighs and shakes her head. You imagine she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering how her child still acts like a seven-year-old chasing after butterflies.

You find Jimin not far from where you left him, skimming through the juices. You do your best not to show how heavy you’re breathing or how you’ve nearly broken a sweat. And you curse yourself for not using the university gym more often. Upon seeing you reappear, Jimin’s face lights up, albeit somewhat confused.

“Oh, hey.” He holds up two jugs of orange juice. “Pulp or no pulp?” You freeze for a moment.

“Pulp. Obviously.” Jimin nods in agreement, putting the jug in his basket. He looks at you expectantly. “And I forgot to give you my number.” You quickly catch yourself. “For that Chubbles pictures.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Jimin’s hand rises to the back of his neck nervously as you punch the digits into his phone, making a contact for yourself. If your friends saw you now, they’d think you’d been replaced by aliens or finally gone over the edge. But something in you just had to do it.

“Send me that picture, yeah?” You hand him back his phone.

“Of course.” Jimin gives you a salute, making you giggle shamelessly again. With nothing more to say, you spin on your heel and speed walk out of the store to be mercilessly interrogated by your mother.

Jimin shakes his head and smiles to himself as he watches your retreating form. He makes a mental note to go through his mom’s scrapbooks to find a childhood photo of you two to use as your profile picture.

While your mom is berating you for wasting time and questioning your intentions with Jimin, you couldn’t be happier, grinning from ear to ear. Didn’t Jimin say he did the grocery shopping on weekday mornings?

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” You nod vigorously, which is enough for her when she switches to ranting about gas prices nowadays.

But in reality, you’re not listening at all. You’re planning your next grocery trip.

At least next time you’ll know where to find the motherfucking red potatoes. Though you doubt you’ll need to remember. Something tells you Jimin will remember this for a long time too.

#bts #jimin #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts scenario #jimin scenario #bts fluff #kind of boring but short and sweet (i hope)

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daughterofhel · 3 years

Text

My icon died last night.

The little black and white cat, Auk (or-ick). A silly name from a badly remembered name from my childhood.

He was pretty much deaf; car got him.

I haven’t seen him since I left Texas, as I moved for a year to VA before finally moving to be with my wife in Vento. One of my guy friends family took him in on their ranch.

It was fitting; I did get Auk from a ranch. He was used to it, loved it even. And this was without the competition of an unhealthy amount of breeding stays like the ones I grabbed him and Ivy up from. I could only take two, my friend the same.

Funny. I had originally gone there to see the birth of a colt only to leave with a cat. Return the next day and get one more, a friend for my tiny runt of a thing.

And who should but all demand it be him to leave with me but Auk? The friendliest of cats that I’ve ever had the pleasure to be around. He also thwarted my attempts at having two girl cats. He was insistent to leave with me and you don’t argue when you’re chosen you know?

I won’t detail the tears following or the rough road and chaos that went on, but many double shifts back to back to back endlessly, a medicated clumsy grandmother with rapidly failing health, and complex roommate situations, I just wasn’t able to provide the needed time and care for my cats.

I cried the entire 45 minute drive to my buddys property when he said he could take them in. I had to pull over twice. They also cried the entire time, being afraid of the car, which made it harder. My buddy, He was the same guy who rescued a big pup clearly abandoned some years back. I had helped train him to not jump on people and other stuff. His folks also owned a longhorn ranch, lots and lots of space.

Those cats deserved better and this was a familiar element, now neutered, vaccinated, and with no stray competition and the dog was so careful. But god. I never wanted to say goodbye to my cats. It didn’t matter though, what I wanted; they needed care and time I wasn’t able to keep providing.

So I dropped them off. As expected, Ivy kept close but never got too close to the family. She simply doesn’t trust; I’ve no idea why such a little thing bonded instantly with me and remained quite the fixed cuddle bug. But she had. I felt worse about it with her than Auk if I’m to be honest.

Auk loved attention. Loved fetch. Belly rubs. This cat was a classic dog and a huge whore for attention. XD He essentially made himself at home and lavished any and all attention, to which my buddies mother instantly fell for this fuzzy dorks charms. He has been well cared for.

I know younger me could’ve and should’ve done better when I got these cats. Mind you, I’ve been gone for over 10 years now, so it has been quite some time. I’m doing what I wish I could have done for my cats then with the two rescues we got last year here.

I was young and working so many hours for nearly no profit after stuff was paid, even living at home and with roommates. I couldn’t afford the extra vet fees I needed or the fanciest of foods or any of that. I loved them, and I felt them being with me instead of the half starving state they were in from constantly competing with so many other cats, was still a better option for them. I still was at least able to do some of the important visits for them.

I cleared their fleas and earmites. I never did get rid of Ivys worms, though I desperately tried. I tried so many ways to get this pill into that cat. Even crushed into wet food. Friends helping to wrap and hold her to make her swallow. All the tricks we found, failed. She just. She wouldn’t take it. And I didn’t have the cash to go every single day and time she needed a dose to a pet clinic. I had checked more than once. It was so much money.

Older, better situated now.. I’ve been able to do right by the cats, Nyx and Tivali, that I have now.

We even saved Nyx’s eye. We have a system to give her her seizure medicine every 12 hours. They’re both fully up to date with their shots and are fixed. Ears totally clean. Monthly newly added anti flea tick collars.

The best food we can reasonably find at the local pet shop; their pelts are beautiful, soft, shiny, and they never smell.

We’ve even found a biodegradable corn based litter we can flush which has been the greatest find.

We get semi regular check ups on our girls and they’re doing just fine now. I’m still proud about saving Nyx’s eye. It was a tedious ordeal. 3-4 times a day we had to clean and medicate a cats eye. We got good at it even if she wasn’t fond of it. Thankfully the vitamins they required were like treats. Even the antibiotics from the colds they had from the shelter.

I miss Auk. And Ivy. And I wish I could’ve not only given them the life I’ve given my current cats now, (I’ve constructed basket beds, hammocks, a whole canopy jungle gym and rope bridge to boot for them with my wife!), but I wish I could have been the one to have them in my life still. I know it was not possible. It wouldn’t have been possible.

But I think of them. A lot. And I knew it was inevitable. Auk would’ve been well over 13 or so years by now. A little old but could’ve lived longer yet for sure. My buddy didn’t mention he has gone deaf. Of course he rarely goes home himself; I don’t blame him. Life’s complicated.

I have mourned these two cats multiple times now. So I’m not thrown into tears upon this news, I’ve cried plenty over the years already. But I’m still sad to hear that fuzzy delight has passed on. I won’t ask, but I hope, and believe, the accident was a quick end for such a friendly guy.

I’ll mourn him eventually in full. I know I will. But considering this is the fourth major bad news I’ve gotten in less than a month and most of it a week, I thought to write about it. If only to keep sane.

May I not receive the same news of my grandmother or my sister who both remain in the hospital.

And god. May my mother stop forcing me to recall and talk about our shared trauma under my father and just keep me up to date on my families health. I don’t want to be crushed under this suffocating vice on my neck that makes me hesitate to call and see my family. I know she needs to vent. And god. I try to let her. I do. I try to be kind; she needs it.

But it isn’t the time and place when I’m trying to figure out if my grandmother is dying or getting better. I shouldn’t have to receive that confirmation, be granted a brief video called hello and check in, with the price of an hour long dredge through a past I personally have gone to two different types of therapy through to try and cope with. Which, only to some degree, have helped.

One of the last longer calls we had she all but said she hoped her theories on my father possible molesting me were true, so, you know, that would be one more trauma we had in common. She went on and on, even trying to provide loose evidence to her theory. Troubling sentences I would say in my rare visits. Etc. She just. Wouldn’t. Stop. And that was after an hour of recalling how terrible her life was with my father and the abuse, the screaming, the terror, the hiding, the injuries, all of it. As if I wasn’t left to live my life with this very man she said her three years with ruined her more than all her past shit combined.

She assured me she was a good mother who tried. And honestly. No. But I do believe she tried. But she was already weak emotionally and mentally and my father wrecked what was left. She left me sometimes for a couple days lock in that house when I was in diapers. You don’t forget that shit. I’m still scared of the dark. I can’t reason with myself on it. But being mad about all of it doesn’t change anything and would hurt a woman already broken. Why would I do that.

Still. It bothers me. So fucking much. But she’s such a fragile person in a fragile emotional state with everything else on top. She’s been heavily depressed for many many years and it’s a bunch of other stuff that spirals and honestly, at this point, she’s toxic even to herself. I’ve tried working on it with her but it matters not if she’s not willing to work on it too. I don’t know my mother besides her many traumas. We’ve been separated and estranged for most of my life. Unless I was physically able to actually be there and provide a use.

But that’s par for the course; no one will have you around if you’re unable to provide something for it. My wife’s the first person who genuinely seems to enjoy having me around just because and wants nothing more. I do stuff of course; but with her I am not afraid a slip up could mean everything it taken away and lost. I can forget the dishes once or had a bad mental health day and stay in bed without it having catastrophic consequences. She’s such a wonderful kind woman; I cannot help stressing over how to repay her.

I try and I’ve expressed my distraught on the topic and though she always seems baffled and confused about my insistence that I should be doing far more, that lass doesn’t agree at all. It’s her parents home so I am not able to freely run the house as I would on our own, as I’m able and have in many places, so I’m often less useful with the restrictions. She’s also use to the flow and swing of things and has things half done before it’s being asked.

Our own place will make life smoother and calmer for both of us; most importantly her. I’ve watched this family, sweet, but absolutely tone deaf to how many and often their demands are tossed to her. All the other kids moved out with partners. Hell, the oldest s child basically lives here. Our own hurdle with raising a kid who we don’t have the final say on any single thing. His grandparents are enablers cuz they don’t want to hear any loud noises, no matter what. And that causes strain when the kid can and does get anything and everything as long as he kicks up a fit. And he sure as hell does. There are days it’s so bad my wife’s in tears. And that pisses me off. The kids a good person, but the fact no one will actually parent and draw definite lines and be firm with No’s can also make him horrible too.

I’ve to deal with the chess match that is my father. I often call him my own personal Devil. He kind of is. But one I’m familiar enough with at this point in my life. I know where and when to cut my losses, where to step around, when I need to swallow my pride or the easily seen through lies, and nod my head. If he was all terrible, I could have cut him from my life. But no one ever really is. And I do know I owe it to the man; he has helped tremendously in my life as much as he’s been a big problem of it. I know his biggest fear is to be alone and forgotten. I wouldn’t do that, not even to the devil.

I need some bland news. Not thrilling. Not depressing. Just some ‘hey that happened’ ‘oh cool.’ Kind of news. Just a small reprieve.

Im. Scared. Of what’s next.

I. Know that things are teetering dangerously into a very very tragic terrible story on my mothers end. I know her husbands already super suicidal. My half brothers severely autistic, non verbal, among a few other things and will require his whole life to have someone be there for him. He’s not stupid, and I hate when people treat him as so, but he is absolutely unable to care for himself. He doesn’t have the right motorskills even, though we’ve gone to many different places to try and help him find ways to do actions in his own way that still get the same result. I admire how he’s such a positive little man, generally not just happy, but delighted. I aspire to look at the world like he does. He reminds me to try. I do love that about him.

He is, however, a Big boy, 15 now, and growing. He’s also very strong now. My mother is getting to an age where his, as well call em happy slaps, are really hurting her. He is generally good about slapping your hands and not your back if you provide them. But when he is upset he is a shover; one bad fall could really cause a lot of chaos for my mother with her health. The husband spends most of his time locked in his room.

My half sister is epileptic. They have done tests for years and can’t figure out all her triggers or the whys. They just sometimes stop for a long time then suddenly happen. She’s 16, turning 17 soon. And I don’t even know if she’s going to be, since my mother won’t let me know. And there are large gaps from my sister being on tech due to concerns of what triggered her seizure this time so she’s often removed from electronic devices for a time.

When I had turned 21, my mother and her husband tried to have me sign a paper to become legal guardian of my half siblings, should something happen to them, so the kids didn’t get separated.

At that time, I was still taking care of my fathers mother along with working at a shit job, and had a house full of temporary roommates who I had offered rooms to as a sort of safe house for them. I have a knack for finding people from broken homes, what can I say? With the house my father and I built, we had space, so I used it. I was able to help the girls get out of toxic places, get on their feet, and move on. Not all of them always. But it did generally work out. One has a boyfriend who was growing worse to her on top of getting more and more into hard drugs while also she dealing with an abusive aunt who got worse once her mother died of cancer. So she was stuck with the terrible boyfriend. I had her stay with me as soon as I heard.

Another was complicated, but generally revolved around the alcoholic mother and the many, shady, men in and out of the house. The dangers of that alone were.. problematic without the friend also being suicidal and not taken seriously. I’ve stayed many times with her to just hang out, clean, cook, or even read a book cuz she just wanted to hear someone talking and such. You know? Until eventually I had her move in with me too.

Another’s mothers died of a cancer and dad an alcoholic; not abusive, he just became childlike and super forgetful. To a hurtful degree in his totally dependent state, whenever he was home. Plus their whole little trailer smelled of piss. And her boyfriend (they’re married with kids and happy now) was in jail. He had a bad past but had cleaned up his act quite well, but. Well that’s complicated. We all know that the police don’t squint at details of any issue if the accused has a problematic past.

I had two different girls with trouble at home who were being used by their family to constantly work, clean, and pay for everything.

I had an ex and her girlfriend with problematic homophobic parents who were terrible and semi violent so I had them stay with us so they could be together somewhere safer.

I did not. At all. Have the assured means to also be a parent of ten children with very different needs nor any medical benefits to help out with.

I also knew, that, with how my mothers husband was, if he had some guarantees for his children’s safety, he would likely end his life if he could. He’s been so close so many times. If signed this paper, he would have the last big most important concern that’s kept him from.. I just. I didn’t want him to do it. I selfishly didn’t want to be responsible for my siblings that would take away any bit of time I had for myself away. If anything happened, I would not abandon and forget my siblings. That’s absurd. But my mother implied heavily she wanted to be sure of that. And thus this paper.

I was struggling to find aid for college so I could go to school (never got to, by the way. Minus two classes in total. Aced them both, but it doesn’t matter. Credits in the wind). I was already dealing with my grandmother. The girls I chose to help. My shit job. My fathers temper and his horrible horrible ‘on again off again’ girlfriend. The chaos that alone committed.

I was busy providing a safe space in my home and making sure it stayed that way for the rare times trouble makers made the mistake of stepping up to my door to try and harass my girls.

I often worked 10 days in a row before a day off. Many of those days often had double shifts which were 16 hours. Sometimes I got an hour nap on the double shifts.

I just couldn’t do it.

And now. I remember something that came to mind back then that comes back to mind now. My moms husband adores my grandma. She’s been better to him than his own mother. She’s dying. He’s not taking it well and his mental health has always been pretty low and in the last couple years, already dangerously rock bottom. I’ll admit, same.

His daughter is now in the hospital. My brother is smart but there are some things we can’t really explain for him to get. He understands something is wrong but not sure what and it upsets him. He doesn’t like change and gets super fussy for it. Which can be taxing and hours and days and weeks of it. Grandmas been in the hospital for a couple more or more now. She coded a few days ago but they got her back.

If grandma dies. If something happens to my sister…

God. I don’t see that man sticking around.

And with my mom isolated. A lot of it her doing with her own family but also a good part of it being dumb petty bs of other folks that have no reason to behave like that (a whole drama I don’t have the energy to keep up with..). I just.

I see it as a domino effect of terrible terrible events I don’t want to write.

My mothers side im not very close to. I don’t blame my cousins, we were kids ajd our meetings were brief as they were. But the adults kept their distance with me. No one expected me to survive and decided it was easier to not get attached. To not get involved with me, and by extension, the devil himself, my father. So I never got the chance to know that family. Even when I tried.

So the only family I do have some ties to ajd know, is in a hospital bed, or on my dads side, and they’re dying to. And I get it… that at a certain age in life, many of the people around you start to. It’s just life. Ajd it sucks. And I miss having a best friend. I miss having friends who just seem to like to have me around. Want to have me around.

And I wonder if the friends I thought I made with my roommates were just because I provided something for them. Sure we laughed a lot, we cried over shared traumas, celebrated holidays together so as to not be alone.

But not a one speaks to me now. And hey. That’s also life. But it makes me feel pretty shitty; every where I look in the past, I can’t see any relationship, family, partner, friendship, that ever had me around unless I was providing services they wanted and needed. And I don’t mean the natural give and take.

I’m aware that I’m not the friend folks have around. I’m a fun distraction at best and have been told and reminded as such. I feel like shit cuz my wife’s wonderful and the best person in my life, and yet I still mourn having close friends to hang with. I miss gaming together the most. Or the bullshitting. Sharing food.

I’m not a nice person. I’m working on it. I am. I’ve also, for years, been working on my own personal problems so as to not bring them into even conversations. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I just.. can’t seem to keep anyone around. And frankly.

I find myself crying about it a lot with no idea what to do.

And. I’m burnt out.

I don’t want to make friends anymore. And yet I still crave it. Which sucks. I can’t stop seeming to want that. And I keep trying. And trying.

I’m trying to accept and be happy with any bit of time I get from the few friends who talk to me. I try to take my chances where I can to hang out (online, as they’re all distance by now), cuz I know it’s a short window and I’ll be lucky to get a next time in the near future.

Online is harder to provide a use, and once the ‘honeymoon phase’ of the friendship winds down, some drop off the map entirely. A few abruptly. And I just. That’s fucked me ho a ton. I can’t even express how many hours I stay sitting. Thinking. Unable to understand what I am not doing or what I am.

It’s a pity party. I know. But it’s fine. I’m still the only one at it and though I’m quite forward even with nerves eating away at me, I still just don’t know how to keep anyone in my life.

It’s taken almost 6 years for me to relax enough to believe my wife will, in fact, stick around.

But at this point in time, I’ve realized, on a note I just keep getting really sad over, that the bits of friendship I’ll get to experience with people, will be brief, snippets, and frankly, only if I am providing something they’re not getting.

I’m essentially the magazine next to the toilet when you have a bad bad stomach bug and your phones dead.

Man’s that’s.. probably my own doing. I know I’m a lot of woe is me in here. And it’s a post talking to me, so I’m indulging in it. I absolutely can’t out loud or in life. I’m working on just.. trying to feel instead of ignoring it. Per my therapists suggestions. So I feel fucking overwhelmed, sad, and alone. Isolated. Heavily.

Ignorance is bliss for real. I wish I wasn’t so aware that I was the friend you go to when all options are down and you’re bored. When you are in a bind and need a safe spot (I don’t mind that one but it does suck that it’s the only time some folks pop back in or up). That if I’m not working then no one even has a small little want to just say hi. I wish I had people who just wanted to say hi because they just.. missed me? I gues?

I wish I knew how to be better as a person and a friend. I thought I was making strides on that. I really had. And yet.

Here I am. Just.

Bitching to the void. Becuase my wife doesn’t need me to add more to her life with her father (finally back from the hospital after surgery) and his health concerned along with everyone else’s and the own sets of ordeals here. I don’t need her to fret over me.

She’s needed distraction and I’ve left her alone for a couple weeks now to her drawing. Probably one of the best things I did do for her was clean up a space for a literal drawing room for her. She’s happier for it. People compliment her art and she rather enjoys the well deserved attention.

I personally would love to have her around more. But I’m having a lot of bad shit days. Weeks at this point. And I’m using my energy to be useful in setting the table or doing the dishes, the cats, playing with the nephew, etc.

All I want to do is sleep.

Frankly. I’m tired of waking up.

But for her. I will.

#void screaming #ignore

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impala-dreamer · 4 years

Text

A Taste of Summer

SPN FanFic

~Sam's left alone with the girl he's just helped saved and he can't seem to stop thinking about kissing her...~

Sam x Y/N, Dean

2,468 Words

Warnings: PG13. Making out. Kissy Kissy. Mild adult themes. It could be on the show.

A/N: This is for @negans-lucille-tblr ‘s 4k Foreplay Challenge... in which I chose making out. Went a tad over the word limit but I hope you won’t mind, Bee. and I do hope you and everyone enjoys...

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon

There’s a clock somewhere in the room and the faint ticking is getting louder with each passing second. As soon as Sam hears it for the first time, he can’t unhear it, and it’s starting to mess with his head.

How long since he’s said anything? Feels like way too long.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Feels like his heart is starting to beat on the second mark.

Tick. Tick.

Isn’t there supposed to be a tock?

Tick.

He clears his throat and it sounds painfully loud. It rings in his ears; even the sound of his tongue moving in his mouth seems like it’s coming through over a loudspeaker. He has to say something. Has to break the silence.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“So, uh…”

His tongue dries up instantly but for some reason, his palms feel wet. He rubs them on his jeans, big hands covering most of his own thighs as he wipes away the nervous sweat. He cringes as words fail him, hoping she doesn’t notice.

Next to him, Y/N laughs gently. It’s not a full-blown thing, just a tickle at the end of a breath, something sweet. Sam could lose himself in those tiny little noises; the gentle sighs, the hums, the simple sound of her breathing next to him, so calm, so soft…

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“You OK?”

Y/N’s voice breaks Sam out of his thoughts and the ticking dies down. He’s staring at her suddenly and he can’t remember when he started. He looks away, embarrassment flooding his system. He can feel his cheeks start to burn and his gut does a backflip.

He swallows down as much nervous energy as he can and gives a little half-smile. “Yeah. You?”

She licks her lips and Sam almost dies. She says something about being OK, but his attention is stuck on her lips. The tip of her tongue was so pink and it left such a perfect sheen behind. He can’t help but stare again, wondering what she tastes like.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s back again and Sam knows he’s gonna go insane if he sits there much longer. Dean was only supposed to be gone for a little while, but it feels like he left days ago.

“Sam?” Y/N’s voice is timid but beautiful and Sam sighs as he stares at her lips move. “Do you think Dean’s OK?”

She’s worried, he can tell. He nods quickly to put her at ease and internally kicks himself for thinking about anything but the case. She was a victim, someone who needed saving and comforting; not some girl he’d picked up at the bar intent on some midnight special.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sam says finally. “We do this stuff all the time.”

Y/N laughs again, her face lighting up as she stares right back at him. “All the time? You seem a little nervous for someone who rescues damsels in distress all the time.”

Sam lets out a light laugh. “I mean, not all the time. Well, we do. But not-” He can’t find any more words, losing his train of thought in the tunnel of her beautiful eyes.

“You don’t always take the damsels back to your room and sit with them in silence, you mean.”

She’s teasing him, he can hear it in her tone, and something about the levity in her voice calms him. His shoulders drop with a deep exhale and he smiles.

“Yeah. That.”

Y/N bites her lip as her cheeks turn a darker shade, blushing as his gaze travels her face again. “I must be pretty special then, huh?”

Sam drops his left hand from his thigh to the couch cushion. “Yeah, Y/N. I think you might be.” His voice is deep suddenly and he wonders if she notices how far it’s fallen. He can’t help it; hopes it doesn’t come off as creepy or assuming.

Y/N turns in her seat and kicks a knee up on the cushion between them, leaning against the back of the sofa. She rests her elbow on the top and her head on her knuckles, just calmly watching him. Her knee is so close to his fingers Sam can almost feel the warmth.

“If I had a nickel for every time some handsome hero came to rescue me and called me special…” She pauses for a long moment, teeth digging into the corner of her lip as she makes herself smile. “I’d have like...one whole nickel.”

Something in the way she looks at him recharges his courage and Sam takes a leap, surprising even himself.

“Well, I am glad you’ve never needed rescuing before,” he says, dipping his chin a bit so he can look up at her through thin lashes. “But I highly doubt no one’s called you special before.”

There it is, Sam thought. He made her blush in full and he’s never been more proud of anything in his life. All he can think of is making her smile like that over and over again. It’s so beautiful, the way she tries to hide it, looking away and stifling the tiny giggle that accompanies it. Sam could die happy just looking at that smile.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, trying to regain her composure. “But it sure feels nice hearing it from you.”

Tick. Tick.

Anytime Sam thinks he’s gotten a handle on the moment, she knocks him off his feet with a look or a word. She’s incredible and he’s losing his grip.

Tick.

Her hand falls from her cheek and lands close to his. His heart races, his eyes drifting down to watch, wait, pray that she touches him.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Sam?”

Her pinky brushes impossibly soft against the side of his wrist and he sucks in a deep breath.

He looks up and she’s so much closer now, leaning forward over her crooked knee, cheek shyly bent towards her shoulder. She pulls in her bottom lip and bites gently, smiling back at him.

He can’t even speak, she’s so beautiful, so warm and close.

“You gonna sit here all night staring, or you gonna kiss me?”

Time freezes as her question wraps around him like a tight bandage, pulling him back together and forcing him to act.

“May I?” he asks, dumbstruck by her forwardness.

She laughs and starts to say yes, but Sam’s already making his move. His hand looks huge against the side of her face, long fingers stretched out, covering jaw to forehead. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, but leans into it like his touch is the thing that she’s been waiting for her entire life. She closes her eyes slowly as he draws near, parts her lips so effortlessly as his breath hits her mouth, lets out a delicious hum when he finally makes contact.

God, it’s like Heaven, Sam thinks. He can’t pull away, doesn’t want to, so he keeps the kiss going, never breaking, just moving his mouth gently against hers.

He can’t even breathe, but he doesn’t care. When she opens her mouth a bit more and her tongue brushes against his bottom lip, he nearly screams for the shocking pleasure of it. It’s like he’s never been kissed before, never felt the heat of another’s breath on his skin, never tasted something so sweet.

And fuck is she sweet. She tastes like cherry lip balm and that lemon-lime soda she’s been drinking all night. It’s like summertime in her mouth and Sam is grateful for the gum he’s had stuffed in the back of his mouth for the last few hours; just a hint of peppermint. It’s amazing.

Y/N moans as his kiss deepens and suddenly her hand is pushing through his hair, fingers curling so desperately in his long locks. His eyes are closed but they roll all the same as she scratches at his scalp.

He’s dizzy all at once, lack of air and all the blood rushing through his system making him swoon. He finally breaks the kiss and sits back just an inch, just enough to breathe and look at her.

She smiles and tugs at his hair, making his eyes glaze over with desire.

“That was some first kiss,” she teases, watching his face dance as his brain tries to cycle through a thousand emotions. Lust, shock, love, anxiety, it’s all there and more, twitching in his brows.

Sam grins easy and pushes forward. First kiss behind him, he’s all fire and touch, running his hands across her shoulders, cradling her head in his big hands as his lips massage hers. His kisses are hungry but slow like he’s drawing out every movement. They don’t have to rush because there’s nothing else in the world more important than those kisses, than his tongue pushing against hers, than their fingers in each others hair.

Sam’s straining against his jeans but he won’t take it any further. If he has to wait forever just kissing her soft lips, he will.

Y/N lets out a moan that nearly kills him; this whispering groan of his name that echoes deep in the back of her throat. He swallows it all down, absorbs her vibrations, her smell, her taste. She’s part of him now, even if just for a little while.

Suddenly her hand is curled around the nape of his neck and she’s moving, sliding down onto the cushions and pulling him to her. She spreads out, legs wrapping around his waist as he lays on top of her. He’s careful not to crush her, using his strong arms to brace himself but fuck, he wants to fall so badly. She bucks her hips and hits him just right and the world spins around in his skull like a merry-go-round out of control.

He lets his mouth wander, unsure of who’s in control. He can feel her fingers pulsing on his neck, guiding or allowing, he’s not sure. His lips cover her jaw, trail slowly down to her ear. He sucks at her pulse and Y/N arches her breasts up against him, hissing in a tight breath that makes Sam’s mouth water.

Her feet hook around the backs of his knees and she pulls him down. His elbows buckle and he’s down, pressing her into the couch, full weight trapping her there. She moans and runs a hand down his back, reaching inside his collar to feel his flesh. She scratches him hard and he growls against her collarbone, taking a quick bite before sitting up on his knees to reclaim her lips.

She looks at him with darkened eyes. Lips, swollen and wet, denting by teeth marks and puffy.

Sam stares down at her, panting as the edges of his vision blur. He’s never met a succubus before, but he’s pretty sure this is what it would feel like, and he doesn’t care one bit. Let him suck the soul from his body, he’ll die happily on that couch.

She bats her eyes and cracks a sexy smile. “Do you...um…” She pauses, afraid to say the words, but Sam gets the hint as she reaches down between them and tugs on his belt.

“Shit. Yeah.” He looks behind him at the duffle bag on the bed, kicking himself for not keeping a rubber in his pocket. “Gimmie a sec.”

The worst pain he’s ever felt is moving away from her. His body is stuck to hers like a magnet, but he has to go. She kisses him sweetly, lips landing at the corner of his mouth, and he finally manages to push away.

It’s cold without her and his dick is aching. She watches as he rushes to the bed and rummages through the bag.

“I know I’ve got one,” he promises, sneaking a look at her.

She’s squirming on the couch, hands pawing at her own breasts, teeth sunken into her lip, waiting.

His bag is empty so he grabs up Dean’s and digs in. “Don’t go anywhere,” he jokes, head practically inside Dean’s duffle.

“Oh, I’m not.” Her voice is so alluring, so sensual that Sam nearly loses control of his hands. He fumbles through the bag and finds a loose Trojan at the bottom, gold wrapper calling to him in the dark.

“Got it!”

In his excitement, Sam barely notices the echo, but Y/N’s sudden movement calls his attention to the other side of the room. She’s sat up, quickly adjusting her messy hair, and staring at Dean who has just burst through the front door.

“What?” Sam stumbles, palming the condom.

“I said, I got it!” Dean smiles proudly and lets the door slam behind him. “Winchester one, ghoul zero.” He plops down on the chair facing the couch and stretches his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles.

Sam swallows hard and begs his erection to fade. His mouth is dry suddenly and he’s equal parts embarrassed and furious.

Tick. Tick.

“That’s amazing, Dean,” Y/N says, her voice wavering a bit. “Thank you so much.”

Dean smiles smugly and folds his hands behind his head, relaxing. He’s covered in mud and god only knows what else, but he’s happy, satisfied with a job well done. “You’re very welcome.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The silence is back and Sam wants to wring his brother’s neck. Y/N, too, seems out of sorts and Dean is not blind to the tension.

“I’m sorry,” he says bluntly, “did I interrupt something?”

It’s a quick “no” in tandem from Y/N and Sam and Dean nods his head knowingly.

“Ah…”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He sucks his teeth and then drops his hands, slapping his thighs as he stands up. “Whelp, allow me to leave you guys alone.” He’s at the door before either can stop him, but he can’t help himself from throwing a jab at his baby brother. “Call me when you’re finished,” he grins. “Then we can celebrate two jobs well done.”

The door takes the hit as Sam throws a shoe at Dean.

“I’m really sorry about him.” His cheeks are bright pink and he’s pretty sure he’s lost any chance he had with Y/N now. He looks up bashfully and she’s still all smiles, standing up from the couch.

“Why? You don’t think you can get the job done?” she asks, fingers hooking around the hem of her shirt.

Sam swallows hard and the fire returns to his eyes. “Oh, I can get it done.”

“Good.” She smiles and pulls her shirt away, tossing it at him. “Because I need to thank my hero properly.”

It’s funny, but as Sam lays her down on the far bed, their bodies warm against each other, he can’t hear that stupid clock anymore.

2020 Forever Tags:

@67-chevy-baby @akshi8278 @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @because-imma-lady-assface @blondemarvelchick @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @coopercharlie16 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @defenderrosetyler @desiree---1986 @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @eternal-elir @fandom-princess-forevermore @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mummybear @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear

#bees4kforeplaychallenge #sam x reader #sexyyyy #sam winchester x reader

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alarawriting · 3 years

Text

52 Project #39: Seista Nikita

Wow, my brain is a sieve lately. I just didn’t notice it was getting to be 5 pm until it was almost 6.

I wrote this story originally in senior year of high school, in a college creative writing course. Even if your political views don’t change over time, the culture around them does. The Culare was a mockery of ridiculous extremes of environmentalism and animal rights, a la PETA and suchlike. I wouldn’t write a story like this nowadays because the pendulum’s gone so far in the other direction, I wouldn’t see that worthy of mockery, even though I still disagree with such extremes as much as I ever did. I am very fond of the trickster heroine, though, so I’m publishing it anyway. It’s kind of a stupid story, but I still think it’s funny. There have been some revisions made, so if you note things that didn’t exist in 1987, that is why.

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

Once upon a time, in a distant province that never appeared on any map, probably because either a. it was too small to bother with or b. someone bribed the mapmaker, or possibly both, an evil beast called the Culare reigned. (It was pronounced like “Cool air”, but if anyone tried to spell it that way, the Culare would eat them.) Some said the Culare was an experimental mutation; others, an ecologist gone mad. The Culare was an intelligent lion-like being with teleportation powers who took the concept of “protecting the environment” to a degree so ludicrous, not even the most extreme environmentalist would support it. He refused to let the human beings in his province harm the native wildlife by picking it or killing it. That would have been reasonable, but he also wouldn’t let people pick anything they planted themselves, even on their own property. If the plant in question was native, he wouldn’t let them harvest it, and if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t even let people plant it, claiming it was an invasive species. And of course he wouldn’t allow anyone to raise animals for food. Not even unfertilized chicken eggs. (He also took a dim view of the cellophane wrapper industry.)

If people wanted to eat meat, they had to find roadkill, or something that had been killed by another predator. The problem was that the Culare thought that “protecting nature” meant preventing predators of any kind from killing other animals… which meant there were very few animals who’d died of anything other than starvation or disease as their populations exploded. If they wanted to eat vegetables or fruits, people had to find things that were lying around on the ground. In the beginning of the Culare’s reign, there had been shipments from other countries of rice, and bacon, and potatoes, and tomatoes, and whatever else people wanted to eat. But the Culare wouldn’t tolerate ships that consumed fossil fuels coming in to the ports, and the people of the small nation couldn’t pay enough to make it worth sending sailing ships. Also, packaging. If the food came in anything other than packaging made from recycled matter, which would biodegrade, the Culare would eat the people who brought it.

The Culare himself was sustained on sunflower seeds and papaya juice… when he wasn’t consuming errant humans.

(Some said the whole thing was a scam, giving the Culare an acceptably environmentally correct reason to eat people. None of them said it very loudly, though, or else they never said it more than once.)

One day, an old man who had once worked for a living making cellophane wrappers, and his 20-ish son Harold, were out, searching for rotten apples and fallen nuts to eat. It was hard enough to find such things, when the entire country was desperately trying to find the same things so they wouldn’t starve to death. It was made even more difficult by the fact that it was springtime. You might think that the reason springtime was an issue was that nothing had had a chance to get ripe enough to fall, and you’d be correct enough. But the bigger part of the problem was that Harold was in love, with a girl named Seista Nikita, and he seemed to think that he could live entirely off air, sunlight and his love. At least, one would suspect that from how much attention he was not paying to finding food.

The old man finally got ticked off at the way his son was paying next to no attention to the task at hand, and hobbled off.

“At last,” Harold thought. “That old geezer’s gone. Him and his stories about the glorious days of Saran Wrap! I’d much rather sit under a tree and think about Seista.” With that, he sat down under a tree and thought about Seista.

At the height of his romantic musings, he saw a bunch of flowers. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pick them and give them to Seista,” he thought, ignoring the fact that Seista would probably prefer nearly anything to flowers. Quickly, he looked around. He saw no one. His hand reached out and he plucked the blossoms.

Suddenly there was a burst of acrid smoke, and a huge lion-like beast appeared in front of him, kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West. “The Culare!” Harold babbled, and tried to hide the flowers.

“SLEAZOID,” the Culare rumbled. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THOSE FLOWERS?”

“Well, it was – it was an accident, yeah. I – you see, I, I thought they were looking ill, that’s it, and I tried to lift them up to inspect them. Yeah, that’s it. And – and they accidentally came loose, yeah—”

“FOOLISH SLIMEBUCKET, DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SUCH A RIDICULOUS STORY?”

“Oh, please don’t eat me!” begged Harold. “I’ll never do it again!”

“THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY. BUT IT ISN’T GOOD FOR ME TO EAT A HEAVY MEAL THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING. I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU AT SUNSET.”

With that, the Culare vanished.

Harold ran straight to Seista Nikita’s house and told her the news. “And so we must be forever separated, beloved,” he said, tears in his eyes. “For I am doomed! At sunset tonight, I am destined to lose my life at the hands of the Culare. The paws? The claws? I’m not sure ‘hands’ is the correct thing to say here…”

Seista sighed. “You would go and do something like this, wouldn’t you? Stop moaning like that, you sound like a dead cow. I’ll kill the Culare for you and save your idiot backside. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harold sniffed.

So Seista Nikita put on her very tall platform shoes. These shoes were easily a foot and a half tall. You wouldn’t think anyone would be able to walk in such shoes, unless maybe they went to clown college and learned how to use stilts. Seista was a very acrobatic and skilled young woman, though, so while she wobbled a bit, she managed to stay upright all the way to the nearest meadow, which was badly overgrown with wildflowers, pokeweed, ground cover plants, and about half a billion tiny mimosa seedlings. She began to pick flowers and toss them into the air.

The Culare appeared. “SLEAZOID!” he boomed.

“Come and get me, shag-face!” Seista yelled, which was a reference to his lion-like mane rather than some sort of rude reference to a private activity. She kicked off her shoes, directly in front of the Culare, and ran. The Culare tried to pursue, but he tripped over her shoes and broke a forepaw.

“Damn,” Seista said, after escaping. “Those shoes were big enough that he should have tripped over them and broken his neck.” The thought occurred to her that perhaps she should have factored in the fact that he had four legs, and therefore had better balance than she’d accounted for. “I’ll just have to think of something else!”

An hour later, after getting into sneakers and sensible clothes, she climbed a tall cherry tree, went up as far as she could before the branches could no longer hold her weight, and began to pick cherry blossoms. It wasn’t long before the Culare appeared. “YOU AGAIN?”

“Nah, nah, nah nyah nah!” Seista taunted. She was tall and strong and very acrobatic and fairly smart, but she was, admittedly, more than a little childish.

The Culare leapt at the tree and began to climb up. Seista waited until it had almost reached her, then dropped, letting go of the branch she was on… having already checked that there was another branch right below her. From there, she clambered down as fast as she could go. She figured that would hold him until he starved to death; the Culare was obviously a type of cat, and cats are terrible at climbing down trees.

So she went home to Harold, who was watching a Tarzan movie. It was an animated Disney reboot in 3D. “Well, I took care of that problem.”

“Really?” Harold turned, his 3D glasses sliding off his face. “O my beloved, my thanks know no bounds—”

“Skip it.”

A bulletin interrupted the Tarzan movie. “We interrupt this movie for an important bulletin.” This was impressively implausible, since the movie was on a streaming service and you wouldn’t think anything could break into and interrupt one of those.

The Culare’s face appeared on the television. “SEISTA NIKITA, IF YOU’RE OUT THERE, YOU’RE DEAD!”

Seista stared in shock, as the movie resumed. How had he gotten out of that tree? …oh yeah, he could teleport. She probably should have thought of that.

“I thought you said you took care of it!” Harold whined.

“Shut up, I’m trying to think.” Tarzan swung across the jungle floor on a vine. The 3D was powerful enough that he visibly swung toward Seista, despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing 3D glasses. “Oh! That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Harold.” She patted his very handsome cheeks. “I love you dearly but you’re too stupid to know what I’m talking about.”

***

Nearby, there was a ravine, where Seista found a tree on one side. With a very long rope, tied to an upper branch of the tree, and a rock tied to one side of it, she flung the rope to the other side, getting it caught on the other side of a bush. There was a bridge a few hundred feet away; she ran down to it, crossed it, and went back to the bush.

With the rope held in one hand, she picked a dandelion.

The Culare appeared. “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE DEAD!”

As he leapt at her, Seista grabbed the rope and swung to the other side. The Culare roared and leapt at her, apparently unable to see the cliff through the bush. It turned out he couldn’t teleport if he was in midair; he fell to his death in the ravine below.

She and Harold were married the next week. Three months after that, Seista left Harold to find herself, and ran away to a country where she worked as a stuntwoman in movies. Harold mooned over her for another month before finding his next true love. Seista herself never married again, having decided that being tied down by romance wasn’t for her… particularly since she seemed to be sexually attracted to idiots. She had many fun and satisfying sexual relationships with people whose stupidity didn’t have to impact her life very much.

#52 Project #comedy #trickster tale #fairy-tale-ish

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kumeko · 4 years

Photo

Title: for the dances that never were

Prompt: Exploration, Secret, Ambition, Devotion, Bonus: Gossip

A/N: For the Fódlan Bakeoff challenge! I couldn’t post it on time due to internet issues (sadness). I had a hard time picking what characters to write before realizing, I haven’t posted anything with my OTP of the series!

…

There was, Claude had to reluctantly admit, a sort of grace to Fódlan dancing. Standing in the Great Hall, he watched as his peers swirled on the dance floor. Above them, enormous chandeliers gave enough light to chase the shadows out of every corner. Dresses swished as women twirled, the silken fabrics resembling a fully-bloomed rose. Pairs of dancers glided past one another, just narrowly avoiding collision.

This dance was nowhere near as loud or energetic as an Almyran dance. There was a vibrancy, a feeling of life in their movements that just couldn’t be matched with a simple twirl and side-step. Still, the dances here were nonetheless pleasing to watch. Standing in a corner, he swirled his wine and watched as the lion prince and eagle emperor dominated the dance floor, elegance and poise radiating off every step.

Claude wasn’t the only one watching. Across the dance floor, he spotted Byleth and Jeralt chatting amicably, their eyes firmly on the students. Well, he guessed they were having fun. It was hard to tell with his professor sometimes, her expression was often blanker than a slate.

“Whatcha looking at?” A familiar voice asked beside him and he didn’t have to turn his head to know it was Hilda. Slightly breathless, she leaned back and fanned herself. “Or should I say who?”

“You can say whatever you like,” he replied smoothly, smiling as he turned to his exhausted friend. Her neatly coifed hair was starting to unravel, stray hairs falling out of her bun. “Someone’s popular.”

“Please, I’m not that popular.” Despite her words, she looked utterly pleased. Winking at him, she gestured at the professor. “She’s everyone’s first choice.”

That didn’t surprise him in the least. It explained why Byleth’s expression looked slightly worn, the way it did when she’d entertained too many of his questions or cleaned up after his pranks. “I wonder who her’s is.”

“No idea.” Sighing, Hilda shrugged. “She accepted everyone who asked, which is really stupid. You have to be picky or you’ll wear yourself out.”

“Like you have?” he teased, smirking.

“I am just taking a short break. I can still dance.” Hilda glanced at Byleth, than at him. “You going to ask her too?”

“Maybe.” It wasn’t a bad idea. She was Jeralt’s daughter, a teacher at the academy, the wielder of the Creator’s Sword, and seemingly Rhea’s favourite. There were only bonuses to getting closer to her. One way or another, she’d be useful to his ambitions. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating, standing on this side of the room and as far from her as possible.

“Ohh, too late.” Hilda giggled as Sylvain approached Byleth, looking as charming as ever. “You have to be fast to catch her.”

“There’s always the dance after.” Claude shrugged. Holding out a hand, he winked. “Care for one more?”

Hilda frowned. She still took his hand. “I thought I told you I didn’t like too much work.”

ii.

Claude stared at the ceiling. It was funny how, five years later, this sight remained the same. The dorms hadn’t been as badly damaged as the rest of the academy in the attack, but his room had remained utterly unscratched. The structural damage remained unseen.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the leaves as they gently rustled. An owl hooted nearby, crickets chirped. Five years ago, there would have been students chattering as they snuck off for a nightly escapade. Now there was just the clink of chain mail, the guards patrolling the area in case of attack.

After tomorrow, they wouldn’t need to. A final clash between Empire and Alliance, one that would hopefully go as the battle of Eagle and Lion had gone years ago. Claude sat up at the thought. Who was he kidding? That had been a friendly bout between houses. Now almost everyone he’d defeated from that time was dead. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. There would be no sleep tonight, which was a pity. A tactician needed his rest. Edelgard and Hubert wouldn’t make tomorrow’s battle easy.

Slipping out of his bed, he crept out of his room. The sensation as he stalked the school at night was both familiar and strange. Even now, he remembered the secret passages, which stairs creaked, the best shadows to slip in. Yet the stairs were different, the walls lined with scorch mark, and he felt like he was exploring an entirely new place, an explorer finding ruins where a city should have stood.

He was not sure what led him to the great hall, to the half-collapsed ballroom. He wasn’t sure, but when he spied Byleth inside, sitting on a jagged piece of rubble, he couldn’t stop his smile. Somehow, his path led to her, and he shouldn’t have expected this to be any different. They were connected, fates intertwined, and he was certain that if she died, their journey would end right there.

Despite his quiet entrance, Byleth noticed him right away and watched as he slowly approached him. Bathed in moonlight through the broken roof, there was something ethereal about his former teacher. She had always been a mystery, even before all of this. With her blank expression and gaps of knowledge, there had been something interesting about her. The secrets she held now only made her even more intriguing.

He always liked puzzles. Sauntering over, he asked, “Couldn’t sleep, Teach?”

Byleth shook her head. Her eyes looked even darker in the gloom. It was strange to think that he’d seen this place entirely lit up once. Now all it held were shadows.

“Me neither.” He leaned against the rubble, looking around him. “One way or another, it will end tomorrow.”

“Can we…” Byleth trailed off, her voice so low he could barely hear it. She wrapped an arm around herself, her fingers digging into her arm. “Do you think we can…”

“Win?” Claude guessed, giving her a confident smirk. “Of course.”

She shook her head. “Save them.”

“Oh.” That was a harder question. Almost impossible to answer. Edelgard and Hubert would fight to the death; he had never seen either of them back down. Dedue seemed to be on a suicide mission. How many others were left alive? Petra, Dorothea—but who else? Maybe some of the Blue Lions had survived that last skirmish and were just hiding. “I don’t know.”

Her shoulders slumped at the answer. It was strange to think that at one point he thought her emotionless. Her tells were more subtle than others, for sure, but he could read her now. It was hard to mistake the sorrow washing over her for anything else.

Maybe she wouldn’t smile, but he wanted her to be at least a little happy before it went down. One way or another, it would end tomorrow. Maybe he’d die. Maybe she would. Maybe neither of them would and he’d remember this night as the time he had been a little dramatic. Claude gestured around them. “Remember the last time we were here?”

Byleth glanced at him curiously before nodding. “The dance.”

“Yep. I remember someone being very popular that night.” He winked at her. “I think you danced with everyone that night.”

Still not following him, she nodded. “There were a lot of hands. I didn’t want to refuse anyone.”

“Even Marianne asked you to dance.” Claude sighed. “And yet, I think I’m the only one who didn’t get a dance.”

“You didn’t?” Byleth frowned, ticking off her fingers as she remembered that night. It might have been five years for him, but for her it must have felt like months.

“Every time you took a break, someone else approached. What’s a poor guy to do?” Claude tapped his chin for a long minute before pretending to come up with an idea. “Oh, but you’re free now.”

“There’s no music,” she pointed out, catching on.

“That’s fine.” Claude held out a hand. “I still want my turn.”

She looked at him for a long second, and he wondered what was going on behind her green eyes. There had always been a practical air about her, no doubt from her lifetime of mercenary work. He wasn’t even sure if she liked dancing, let alone wanted to do it. Before he could retract the offer though, she slipped her hand in his. “Alright.”

“Great.” He pulled her down from the rubble and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Winking, he started waltzing through the debris. “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to dance.”

“I never learned in the first place,” Byleth answered, her tone lighter. It was a start.

“Then I’ll just have to take lead.” Claude twirled her. He wasn’t sure when it happened, when he’d stopped thinking of Byleth as a friend and instead as something more. Maybe that was what had stilled his hand all those years ago, an emotion that had slowly taken root and refused to go.

He had always known he was a bit of a coward, but hadn’t realized that it even extended to his feelings.

iii.

It wasn’t a surprise to find Byleth alone, after all was said and done. They had defeated the Empire and yet somehow, it didn’t feel like a win at all. They had lost almost all their classmates, either at their hands or at the hands of the Empire. Even Dedue, who had reappeared out of nowhere, had fallen in his last-ditch attempt to avenge his king. And even then, after killing Edelgard, they had discovered that they had an older enemy to face.

It was no surprise that victory rang hollow. His peers were scattered about the monastery, trying to make sense of it all, and so it wasn’t a surprise that Byleth had isolated herself as well. What was surprising, though, was that he’d found her here in the ballroom once more. The repairs were almost done now, the rubble from before cleaned up. There were cracks along the walls, signs of the war that wouldn’t fade, but with a little paint this would be a ballroom once more.

The late evening light bathed the room a dark red. It wasn’t the same colour as Edelgard’s cloak, as her blood, but he couldn’t look at it all the same. Byleth stood in the center of the room, back toward him. He wondered what expression she had.

“You okay?” he asked, leaving off her nickname as he broke the silence. It was too quiet in here. It reminded him of the throne room and he didn’t want to think of that.

Byleth didn’t reply. She turned toward him, looking utterly heartbroken.

Stopping next to her, he lifted his hand before dropping it back to his side. He didn’t know where to touch her, what to say that wouldn’t hurt her. She had looked like this as she’d lifted her sword, as Edelgard had closed her eyes. He should have stepped up then, taken her sword so she didn’t have to carry that burden too.

He could still hear the sound as Edelgard’s head hit the ground. Maybe she was still listening to it too.

Finally, she uttered, “Did it have to be like this?” Byleth gestured around, her voice cracking slightly. “We danced here. Edelgard, Dimitri—I danced with all of them. Couldn’t we have done something?”

It was a question he had asked himself many times. There had to be a path, somewhere, somehow, that had all of their houses surviving, all of the people coexisting. But there had been too many secrets, too many untold ambitions and hopes. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

He hoped there had been but it was too late now.

“I should have been here,” she murmured, her shoulders sagging from the weight of it all. He had never thought of Byleth as a small woman, but she looked tiny now. A single touch could shatter her. Somehow, despite it all, she didn’t cry. Her expression looked like she wanted to, needed to, but her tears remained unshed.

“There’s nothing you could have done.” Gingerly, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in for a hug. He hadn’t understood the word devotion before, what had made his mother leave her homeland and everything she’d ever known, but he could feel it now pulsating through his veins. Claude would give anything to make Byleth whole again but after this, he wasn’t sure anything could.

“There had to be something.” She rested her head against his shoulder.

“Even if there was, we can’t change the past.” Claude slowly walked her around the room, a slower version of the waltz they’d done just a month ago. He hadn’t imagined that the next time they’d be in this room, they’d feel even worse than they had then. “There’s only the future.”

“The future.” She followed his steps automatically. “Another fight.”

“Beyond that.” He shook his head, pulling back so she had to look at him. Smiling gently, he added, “After the war, after it all—that future.”

She still looked lost. “What happens then?”

“Many things. My dreams. Yours.” He rested a hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the dance. Half of him wanted to confess, to kiss. To show her there was some light in the darkness. But the future was still too uncertain and he didn’t want his love to be another stone she had to carry. “We’re bringing peace to everyone. We’re going to change Fódlan, for the better.”

“So no one has to go through this again.” Byleth nodded, her lips pulling up slightly.

“So no one has to feel like this again,” he echoed, resisting the urge to push back her hair. “We can do this.”

“Yes.” While her expression still looked bittersweet, he thought it was more sweet than bitter this time. “Thanks, Claude.”

“Anytime. We’re in this together.” Claude winked. “We’re partners, right?”

“What about you?” Byleth asked, looking at her hand. She turned her attention to him, her green eyes bright. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now.” It was a truth, in a sense. He felt much better now that she did. After all this was over, maybe he’d tell her what was really in his heart. When she still looked doubtful, he playfully added, “Teach, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

She didn’t refute him, like he’d expected. Instead she gave him a flat look. “Of course I do.”

Claude wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He wasn’t even sure what she meant, or if he wanted her to clarify. There was no way to tell without asking. Faking a laugh, he replied, “Aww, Lorenz will be jealous.”

“How are the others?” she asked, looking past him at the ballroom entrance. “I should check on them.”

“They’re coping, but I think they’d like a little comforting from you.” Claude sighed. “I guess I can’t hog you all to myself.”

“No, you can’t,” she agreed, letting go. Byleth had always been all work and no play, and he had expected this reaction.

That didn’t make his hand feel any less empty. “I’ll head to the war room, then. Maybe Judith has some information on those slithering guys.”

Byleth nodded before heading to the doors. At the threshold, she paused and looked at him over her shoulder. “After this is over, let’s have another dance here.”

“A dance?” Claude smiled as he looked around the room. More than a paint of coat, what this room needed was laughter, was the smell of sweets and the bright lights of a thousand candles. It was what they’d all need, after it was all over. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. A party would lift everyone’s spirits.”

“And this time, you’ll ask me to dance.”

He whipped his head to the entrance, but she was already gone.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one who had some feelings left unsaid.

#claude von riegan #byleth #claudeth #fe3h #claudeleth #claude x byleth #fire emblem three houses #fanfic #it's been ages since I've written a non-zine piece #huzzah

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