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princessvicky01 · 6 years

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Silk Cushions

Part 7 of Happily Ever After - my self indulgent Annabel x Cullen epilogue, because they deserved one!

This part is SFW with lots of pregnancy fluff with Dad!Cullen to be just being adorable really. You can read it all on AO3 here or on tumblr Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 - hope you enjoy!

Cullen chuckles as his wife huffs and throws a blouse at him which he catches clumsily. That’s the third that no longer fits over the ever-growing bump of her belly and swell of her breasts. He’s not sure she’s ever looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the pink morning rays lighting her silhouette in dusty hues and highlighting every radiant curve. It's enough to make his groin stir to life. To think, he's gazing at his wife, carrying his baby - it's a gift that feels beyond divine. If someone had told him three years ago, that he would be here, right now, he would never have believed them.

His adoring gaze is broken by her heavy flop onto the edge of the bed, the contents of her trunk spread around her in a picture of chaos he's come to see for its natural beauty. Trying to make Annabel tidier had proven to be like trying to coax water uphill, so he'd quickly given up and come to accept the mess as a part of her. Proof she was close by, and now he finds it strangely comforting, even if he does have to clear a space before he can join her on the bed.

Resting her hand over her eyes, she shields out the light as she collapses onto her back, only to grumble, fishing under herself to pull a belt free. Despite the early hour and evident stress, she cracks him a little smirk with a raised brow. “Well, won't be needing that anytime soon.”

The little jest doesn't convince him that she's alright though, and sprawling on his side, he gently places a hand on her stomach. They should arrive at Mai’s in a few days, and even he must admit he feels a ball of nervous energy in the pit of his stomach about it. It's been so long... He pushes his own concerns to one side to focus on her instead, while he knows Annabel will fit in splendidly, she's already confessed several worries about the meeting. The latest of which was what she'll wear. Apparently, she didn't want to be too posh, and neither too common, although it now seems she would settle for anything that just fitted remotely comfortably.

“Stop fretting, my love.”

Annabel's eyebrows shot up incredulously. “I'm not fretting! You'd be annoyed too if you tried on your entire wardrobe and not a single thing fitted! I even struggled to put my socks on!” She raises her legs to wiggle her slightly wonky socks at him until he's smiling warmly once more. “Should’ve known I’d end up carrying some kind giant Rutherford baby. I mean look at me! It's ridiculous.”

With his calloused palm stroking over the soft rise of her belly he chuckles. She always managed to draw that sound out of him somehow, and he doesn't believe he's ever smiled so much outside her company. “I think you're beautiful just as you are,” leaning over he places a tender kiss against her belly, before dropping his head to rest his forehead against her. Against them. His little family.

“Yes, well you would, but I can hardly show up to meet your family in just my underwear. I don't want their lasting memory to be how I gave your grandma a heart attack.” There is a playfulness to her light scolding and his chuckle that follows. Contently resting against her, he soon feels delicate fingers toying with his hair as he continues to rub absent-mindedly at her stomach. When she twinges and grabs his hand, he all but shots upright with a jolt of panic.

"Now whose fretting?" She asks, taking his hand with one eyebrow cocked. "Here, can you feel?"

Cullen stares at her small hand pressed over his, still uncertain everything is alright. That is until he feels it, a small bump, a press, a jerk, even against his palm. His baby! Kicking! Wonderment renders him speechless, eyes glancing up at her's to see them full of warmth while his own are blown wide by the rush of excitement. It doesn't last long, and soon the babe settles down, but at that moment he could swear he already loved this child more than he knew was humanly possible. And that, in no small part, was down the woman who carried it. The fact that the babe would be the two of them, forever intertwined is entrancing and he knows represents a real chance for him to bring some good into the world. Perhaps he could not help all those he'd failed, could not go back and right wrongs, but he could raise this child to be a better person than him, and full of Annabel’s warmth it could light up the world. Or he could fail… but that is a thought reserved for only the bleakness of nights.

Cullen can't be sure how long he stays curled beside her, but its long enough that by the time he lifts his head she's deep asleep and the pink light has turned to bright sunshine. Kissing her belly once more he eases himself up. She won't thank him for waking her, and she did desperately need the rest, so instead, he slips from the room to make himself useful.

Waking confused and with an ache in her back, Annabel blinks her bleary eyes to try and clear them. The sun is well up now, and she groans as it blinds her. Stupid sun. A groggy corner of her mind tells her it means they're late setting off, again.

Perhaps Bryan had been right with his concern, this journey does feel like it's slowly killing her, never has exhaustion been at the forefront of her mind so often. After almost dangerously falling asleep in the saddle Cullen had insisted they stop for a few nights at an inn. Stubbornness told him that she was fine, although her eyes had said otherwise. Thankfully her husband knew her well. Sleeping in a real bed the past few nights had felt heaven sent, but they must continue unless she really did want to have her baby in the middle of nowhere.

Sitting up slowly with a groan she notes how the mess is gone, looking to her trunk she finds a small stack of garments neatly folded there. What's he been up to now? Holding her great swell of a belly, she pads over to investigate, finding a small note in Cullen's scratchy script.

‘Kindly donated by the innkeeper for saving the world. Love Cullen’

As always it's short, and she smiles faintly at the way he curls the ‘c’ of his name. She could be presented with a thousand versions of that name, but she’d know in an instant which had been done by his hand. It's much steadier than it used to be, but still unmistakable.

Placing the note to one side, she picks up the simple floral dress with thin stretchy leggings that no doubt would be far more comfortable than anything she currently owns. A kind gesture indeed. Then again, there had to be some perks to being Inquisitor and saving everyone.

She rubs the fabric between her fingers as worries begin to bubble up to the surface once more. Cullen had been right, she had been fretting, but with good reason. In all their discussion of his family, it had become clear they were large and close-knit, warm and welcoming, nothing at all like her own. With a sigh she sits back down to chew on her lip, she doesn’t usually worry about fitting in, as she never really had fitted anywhere, and she guesses that’s the reason she’s so concerned. She does somehow fit with Cullen… but if she doesn’t with his family? What then? What if she’s too brash, too loud, too exuberant? Or maybe just too noble?

For a long time, Bryan had been her own family, now to think she is about to be welcomed into the bosom of a much larger clan is a little intimidating. It’ll be nice though, she decides with a little-determined nod, being alone has never suited her, it leads to thinking like this, which is clearly to be avoided. Besides she'd been born a Trevelyan, and taught to be fearless in all things, so that is what she shall be.

Dressing is even more difficult thanks to the bump, but with much huffing and wriggling, she manages. Running her hand over the fabric, she smoothes it down, instinctively rubbing at her belly tenderly as she checks in the mirror. And for all her complaints, all her weariness and achiness, she wouldn't change a thing.

Slipping on her shoes is easier said than done but after some fiddling Annabel manages. Searching for her husband, she wanders the corridors then through the bar to be greeted by a fresh breeze let loose by wide-open doors. Several people appear to be hovering just outside, and she catches the deep baritone of Cullen’s voice although she can’t make out what he’s saying.

The sunlight is near blinding, but the weather is pleasantly mild, much to her relief, as she steps outside where the packed dirt path leads her eye to the grandest sight. A brilliant wooden carriage, adorned with sturdy but elaborately patterned iron decoration. As Scout Jim steps back, she catches sight of the freshly painted Inquisition symbol blazing proudly on the door. Her hand absentmindedly lifts to her mouth as she approaches, entranced by the way the structure dominated the road yet still looked so pretty.

She hears his boots crunch on the pebbles before she sees him, although her eyes can’t be dragged away from the carriage. “Cullen… how did you? It’s…” The truth is, it’s overwhelming. Maybe it's her hormones, or maybe its the lifting of the niggling worry about what the strain of the journey might be doing to the baby, either way, her eyes fill up. One of his hands steadies the swelling emotion before it can consume her and gives her arm a little squeeze to draw her focus to him.

“It’s what every growing family needs,” his smile is warm enough to light up the golden amber flecks in his eyes and the softness she finds there spills a tear down her cheek. “Although I was hoping for a slightly better reaction…”

Smile beaming she pulls him in as close possible so can nuzzle against his chest and wipe all the tears away on his mantle as she’s done a hundred times before. “Thank you, Cullen… I… I…”

“Shhh, I know,” his lips murmur the gentle words into her hair before she pulls back to reveal a glowing smile.

Like a child herself, she’s quick to hop inside, finding it cosy with plenty of cushions and blankets. With a giggle, she taps the space beside her, and his bulky frame soon climbs aboard.

“Not sure what the villagers will make of this turning up on their doorstep,” settling beside her, Cullen's forced to pick up a lilac cushion to make space. His family had moved back to Honnleath after the blight, and he’s certain the tiny settlement won’t have been graced with anything quite so grand before. “I should’ve known Josephine would only supply the best.”

Snatching the silk cushion, Annabel promptly rests it behind his head. “Of course! The Inquisitor and her Commander should arrive in style, don’t you think?”

Smirking he leans his head back against it. “Hmm… yes… although...it does feel awfully… Oreselian.” With that the pillow is whipped away so fast he bumps his head against wood. “Hey!”

“It’s an Ostwick design! My father had one when we were little… not sure what happened to it… But Josie has done her homework once again, bless that wonderful woman!”

“Hmm,” rubbing his head with a petulant frown Cullen sits up. “We'd best set off,” as he goes to move Annabel quickly grabs him by the collar.

“I don’t think so, I said the Inquisitor and her Commander were to arrive in style,” she gently places the fancy pillow in his lap with a little smile. “And before you argue, just know I’ll be ever so bored and lonely in here all by myself…” fluttering her eyelashes her fingernails toy with the frilly edge of the cushion perched precariously over his groin. Shifting she leans further into him, her thumb tracing down the edge of his jaw. “And I promise I’ll keep you entertained, Commander,” her voice drops with a deliberately inticing purr as she kisses him, hot but soft.

He hums into her lips, and she can feel a vibration run through him as their tongues slide sweetly over each other.

Suddenly sunlight floods their sultry moment. “Commander, sh-" Jim cuts off mid-sentence at the fierce glower both lovers cast him. “Sorry, Ser! I… You said too…” he shakes his head. “Never mind, Ser.” The door promptly closes once more.

Seems privacy is in as short a supply as ever. Likely only to be made worse by sharing a small cottage with Cullen’s extended family. Not that Annabel minded, in fact, she’s been looking forward to it from the moment the plans had been made. A chance to see where he's from and to meet the people who’d help shape him into the man she loved. Whether she fitted in well didn't really matter, what mattered was it was his family and a chance to him truly feel at home. With that in mind, she pulls back. He's right they really should get moving.

“Perhaps we can continue this later?” She offers a little naughty smirk his way as he sets about trying to leave once more.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” there is a richness to his baritone that betrays his arousal, but with a great deal of self-restraint, he merely pecks a kiss against her cheek. “In the meantime, however, I can think of a fellow who would love to keep you company.”

Annabel creases her brows as it takes a second for her mind to return from the gutter. When it does, she smiles and nods, and as Cullen climbs out, there's a sharp whistle. The carriage rocks and creaks in place as the great mabari bounds aboard. Tongue hanging out and stump wagging wildly, Prince leaps onto the cushions to sit upright, proud as punch beside her.

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Thank you for reading - hope you enjoyed it! Likes, reblogs and comments all help feed hungry writers <3

#happily ever after #cullen x annabel #my writing #cullen rutherford #silk cushions #cullen fanfic #sfw #fluff #she's about five to six months pregnant #annabel trevelyan #commander cullen #dad!cullen

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amalforelias-blog · 7 years

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The War (SKAM fanfic)

Pairing : Mikael Overlie Boukhal and Adam Malik

Characters : Mikael Boukhal, Adam Malik, Even Bech Næsheim, Yousef Acar, Elias Bakkoush, Muttasim Billah.

Plot :

- In which Mikael freaked out and lashed at Even for kissing him, because he was secretly in a relationship with Adam Malik.

- Mikael Overlie Boukhal and Adam Malik are together romantically, but Adam, unlike his lover, isn’t fully coming to terms with doing what he thinks his religion views to be a sin.

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Chapter One : Mates From Among Eachother

The minutes passed slowly, as if holding between their seconds grande ages that time couldn’t sweep forwards in a blink of an eye. Mikael felt the vast moments absorbed by every second, forbidding the world from moving forwards. For it was his own tale stuck between the seconds and minutes of the clock. It was immensly heavy, he almost felt time push his shoulders, crying for him to lighten his heart and let the world go on freely by its laws.

It wasn’t possible for Mikael though. He couldn’t let his past crumble behind and be swept by time forwards. He couldn’t do but hold still, chained by the memories. His consciousness of time was almost non-existent, and that of the world poured from between his fingers, as his eyes stared into nowhere. He could swear his eyes watched inside his mind. He could swear the world fell off its grounds and emmerged only him. Either the world sucked him in, or he sucked the world into him, for he could only think and feel himself; that mess of a mind.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Thoughts flying around and questions colliding. Nothing sitting still, nothing making sense. Not that he couldn’t make sense of it all, not that he couldn’t rid himself off this misery, but he wasn’t free to act. He was emprisoned by morals that, somehow, being a human had obliged him to adopt. The unwritten rule of hiding the mess of loved ones under the rubble and protecting them from what could come of harm from them or from others. He couldn’t know how but he found himself following the rule and, thus, losing his well-being in the process.

A dear friend of his, one named Even, had done- one among many- an act of oddness. In fact, it was nothing to be frowned up. A mere kiss on the lips, a usual emboddiement of attraction and translation of love. It wasn’t odd from Even’s side, it was odd from Mikael’s side. He couldn’t handle the heavy messages sent through the kiss, beyond the attraction.

He saw his friend drawing new patterns he had never swam in between. It was as if each human lives inside a framing; one we paint through living but it’s firmly stable to keep us in order, and suddenly the framing breaks, then nothing makes sense. Our eyes can’t read the new visions, our minds can’t comprehend the new uncoded language spoken. Even broke his framing, he was skating out, away. And Mikael couldn’t understand the hazardness, everything was read off as odd.

And so, he couldn’t figure out why Even kissed him. But he wasn’t sliding back to his past to confront him, nor was he marching forwards to tell the ones who deserved to know. He just rolled at a halt now, stuck in time. He couldn’t push himself forwards and tell the man with whom he shared his heart that another had kissed him. Not just any other, it was Even Bech Næsheim; their bestfriend from little age.

He knew Adam Malik too well to vomit out the confusion to him. Adam, although a friend of Even himself, wouldn’t be as confused to know of the incident. Indeed, confusion wouldn’t be what will fill his mind upon hearing Even kissed his boyfriend, it would be anger and furiosity.

Mikael’s body was as glued to the wall as Iblis is to sin. He had been sitting there for three hours. His limbs refusing to budge, his eyelids refusing to move and even his tears refusing to fall. His chest was barely moving up and down in sync with his breathing. Barely. For the heaviness of the secrets sitting on his chest almost put his heart to a deafening silence. It is a human’s most destructive weapon; a secret. That and hatred. Mikael’s heart fortunately was as white as milk, not a drop of hatred towards no one. However, secret upon a secret, the rocks fell into the bowl and the milk poured out, falling here and there, escaping his heart as if Iblis had been chanting evil words to him continuously the night before.

“Why am I even hiding...” , the words left his mouth like saliva from someone’s lips on a fasting Ramadan day, “...love ?”, he could swear he heard SYML’s The War playing in his head. Appearing out of the crazy chaos in his head to portray his emotions, much to his ignorance, and somehow managing to decipher his puzzle of a question. They say the mind works in boxes, that, from time to time, a box steals in a wordly item from our surroundings to stick into it moments from our lives, as we live. Sometimes, it’s smells, and other times, it’s songs. Like SYML’s The War. That song had its box in Mikael’s mind, and had its memories stuck to it that would rise to surface when Mikael hears the song, or the other way around.

So his question about why he was hiding his relationship with Adam and why they decided to keep their love a secret, was the suitable thought to provoke the box to open up and let out that song. For, now, his mind jumped back to a memory, one that gives him the answer.

* * *

“And among His signs is this, that He created for you mates from among yourselves that you may dwell in tranquility with, and He has put love and mercy between your hearts...” , Mikael read off the Qu’ran in Arabic to Adam, not finishing off the twenty-one verse of Surah Al-Rum, only absorbing from it which he wanted his lover to hear. A big smile appeared on his lips as he let the word “hearts” trail in the air, as if he just discovered the preciousness of the world in the words he had just read, to an Adam who seemed a little less happy about the seemingly big revelation that fell upon Mikael from the clouds.

“Allah has made me of you, and you of me !” , he ecxlaimed, closing off the Qu’ran on his lap and moving closer in bed to the blue-to-green eyes man. Adam wasn’t receptive to the excitement that ran through Mikael though. In fact, his eyes roamed, searching in the eyes of the smiling boy for a hint of anything that would tell him Mikael wasn’t serious. But he was.

“Ah. If I were a girl, yeah.” , Adam let out a sigh despite of himself, as he watched Mikael’s eyes and lips drop, a cloud of darkness fell over his head.It wasn’t the first time Mika had Adam refuse his thoughts, he thought his boyfriend to be deep into the negative reading of Islam, it would take more than one time of introducing the words of Allah to him under a sweet light, it would take continuous collisions of their relationship with religion. He knew he had to move loads of rocks down the river but he refused to see him drenched by guilt and even dislike towards his own being, thinking he wasn’t accepted by his own creator.

Here stands a man at the bottom of a hole he’s made, Still sweating from the rush, His body tense, his hands, they shake,

It was then, on the sole radio sitting on the salon’s table next to Adam’s room, SYML’s The War started playing. Barely heard, but with the silence swimming between them and the little words jumping from one to another, the song was a clear tune playing in their heads at that moment.

Adam took a hold of the Qu’ran and shoved it inside the drawer. “Stop trying to merge between Islam and...”, he sounded more hurt than upset, almost sweating of shame, as if he was caught naked, “...us.”, he felt nude. Under the eyes of Allah. Not that He wasn’t always watching, but the thought was always at the back of his head, burried, but with Mikael reading the Qu’ran, it couldn’t be escaped. He couldn’t help but feel sin crawling into him as if worms were eating his skin.

Don’t you ever leave me alone, Be my shelter from the storm, My war is over, I am a sad boy,

As the song came to an end, the last words ringing in their heads, it was almost a promise to keep both lives seperate, to Allah was the five prayers and to Mikael was what fell between them. And it was also abvious that what Adam wasn’t comfortable in with his own self, he wasn’t comfortable in with his friends, so it needn’t words from any of them to know that what pulled them together was a secret to be burried.

* * *

Mikael thought if their love was flying around them, revealed for everyone that even the trees and flowers of Oslo knew of an Adam and a Mikael in love, then maybe Even wouldn’t have kissed him. And maybe then, he wouldn’t have reacted in the certain manner he did towards Even.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, not for the first time but it was only now that he made sense of it, his grasp of life around him finally breaking into his soul. It was a call from Akhoy, which was what Mikael had Adam registred under as his contact. Akhoy is Egyptian Arabic for Brother, in a Sa’idi dialect for a humorous touch, Mikael thought it to be witty. It was the equivalent of Khoya in Moroccan Darija, the word that Adam used to call Mika more than his own name. Apparently, in Morocco, it was a thing to refer to eachother as Khoya for men and Khti for women as a direct tradition falling from the precious words of Allah : “Humanity is but a big brotherhood, so make peace with your brethren.”. Not that it wasn’t common in Egypt either, but Adam didn’t seem to know any conversational tricks but to call every soul Khoya.

He picked up, but he didn’t utter a word, his fragility working its way to the surface. “Where are you, man? Been calling and sending messages, why you not answering ?”, Adam’s worry was apparent, bursting from his voice into Mikael’s heart, warming him at the realization that Adam was there. At least he had him to worry about him, to hear from him. But it also worried him himself, that the man he loved was rendered into a ball of worry after his disappearance for only a few hours, and that the only man he confined in wasn’t to be his cushion of comfort from the guilt of what he perceived to be a horrible deed he had done upon a friend.

“At your place. By the door.” , because Mikael couldn’t let his bruised self fall into the arms of his lover, he thought he’d let the shadows of his being embrace his pain instead, so he headed to Adam’s home and just sat by the door, leaning on the wall, crunched down onto the floor, his clothes almost swallowing him away from life.

“What?”, his question reeked off confusion and a little bit of dread even, but it wasn’t met with an answer, “Alright, coming!” , his words trailed, Mikael hummed a “Hmm” in response, hanging up, and just drowned even more into his own clothes.

It wasn’t a grave sin that nastily dragged Mikael into this cave of suffocating gloominess, it was the obligation, sitting on his throat like a sharp knife, to keep his insides inside only. If there was anything that blew Mikael off his feet, then it was filling himself up to no end. He couldn’t, to save his life, keep a word sewed to his tongue. If only he could tell Adam, and if only Adam could understand that Even was in disorder.

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#skam #skam fanfic #mikael overlie boukhal #adammalik #mikael x adam #adam x mikael #even bech næsheim

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thaliaarche · 7 years

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Lies (or Literalism)

This fic was 100% inspired by the Campania arc, so I’ve re-edited and posted it for day 1 of @queenofsebaciel’s Sebaciel week-- “Book of Atlantic.”

Ships: Sebaciel Rating: T+ Word count: ~1.5K Content warnings: mental health issues, discussion of suicide, 100% not-recommended medical advice Summary: When Sebastian comes closer to dying than ever before, Ciel invokes the full power of the contract's "truth-telling" clause to obtain answers for his questions.

The reaper attacks with a ferocity that somehow surpasses the rumors. Even with five butter knives lodged in her torso, she growls and rushes at Ciel, aiming her scythe straight at his head. When Sebastian materializes in between, the blade pierces his breastbone and his spine before emerging on the other side. He crumbles to the ground, and brightly-colored reels depicting this contract burst from his chest, throwing glimmering specks of light upon his face— his closed eyes, his strangely serene smile.

The reaper flees a moment later, yet Ciel remains still, holding his breath, staring at Sebastian until his eyes flutter open once more. The demon’s expression contorts first into something like rage before settling into a perfectly blank mask.

For the second time, Ciel gives his butler the day off.

Ciel spends hours plotting in his study, then enters the servants’ quarters after dinner. Sebastian lies still on his bed, eyes closed, fresh bandages faintly visible under a crisp white shirt, his mangled tailcoat hanging from the bedpost.

“I apologize for destroying yet another wool coat,” his butler murmurs as he surveys the scene. “With your permission, I will use magic to repair it . . .”

“Absolutely not, this is your day off,” Ciel interrupts. “And you didn’t destroy the coat anyway. This new reaper’s scythe did.”

“I placed myself in the way of her scythe, and so I bear responsibility for its destruction.”

Ciel snorts. “I’m amused to hear a demon take responsibility for a problem, but I see no need for you to. You had no choice but to throw yourself in front of me, did you?” Receiving no response, he continues, “How have you enjoyed your sick day?”

“I look forward to returning to my duties.”

“Are you well now?”

“This body has largely repaired itself.”

“I see.” Ciel glances at his butler’s chest, rising and falling in a perfect approximation of human breathing, a bloody chasm just yesterday. “I rather feel I should thank you.”

“As your loyal butler, I require no thanks.”

“Would my gratitude matter to you if I gave it?”

"It would only be fitting for a loyal butler to appreciate a token of his master’s favor.”

“You could have died, Sebastian—” Ciel’s tone suddenly turns to ice— “one more bloody casualty of my revenge. Am I right? Were you truly at risk of dying last night?”

“I did not die . . .”

“Did you know you wouldn’t?”

“I realized fairly early on the blow would not kill me.”

“And how early is ‘fairly early’?”

“Why fixate on words, young master?"

“It’s a simple enough question.”

“The moment was rather chaotic, who could remember each detail . . .”

“You could.” He pauses, eyes narrowed. “Need I give an order?”

“About half a second after the blow fell.”

Ciel gapes for several seconds before recovering his voice. “And . . . And did you throw yourself in front of me simply because of the contract’s magic?”

Sebastian opens his eyes, pushes himself up with only the slightest wince, and chuckles. “Are you sure you’re asking the questions you want answered?”

“I’m sure I’m not. Now answer.”

“No.”

“What did you just say?”

“No.”

“Stop refusing to— oh. So you didn’t block the scythe just because of the contract. Is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“Why did you block the scythe?”

“Because the angle and speed of her scythe would surely end your life, without outside intervention, and the intervention I provided would allow me to suffer the blow instead.”

“I bloody well know that,” Ciel scoffs. “And you know what I meant.”

Sebastian replies in the pedantic manner of “Professor” Michaelis, over-articulating his words. “I cannot possibly know exactly what you mean. Language is a terribly imprecise tool, and I have misused more languages in my lifetime than you can even name.”

“So you’re using language to pretend ignorance,” Ciel groans. “What would happen if I commanded you to answer my questions as you think I intend them, not just as I articulate them?”

“The result would depend on your exact wording, and on your state of mind, and . . .”

“Give me your most plausible guess.”

“You would storm out of here with poorly concealed tears in your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I would tell you that I did not act as I did because I feel your mortal feelings, nor because I return your human ‘love.’”

“You—” Ciel nearly lunges forth but stops himself, exhaling slowly, eyelids floating closed and open again. “Say that again, just as you did.”

“Because I would tell you that I did not act as I did because I feel your mortal feelings, nor because I return your human ‘love.’”

“Can you— can you feel anything like mortal feelings?”

“I have not in what seems like an eternity, even to me.”

“And can you ever return human ‘love’?”

“I have never done so before.”

Ciel looks down at the ripped coat. “And how did you know that . . .” He trails off.

“That you do love me? Let me count the ways. I smell it in the dark and dirt and pain your soul now holds, while blundering in vain . . .”

“Shut it.”

“With pleasure.”

“What—” Ciel exhales, trying to keep calm. “Then what motivation compelled you to block the blow?”

“I wished for it to not hit you and to hit me instead.”

“And what deeper motivation are you trying to hide with that unhelpful answer?”

“As a millennia-old creature, I have many deep motivations for this, and almost all my actions.”

“Tell me the first, clear, deeper motivation that came to mind when I asked my question.”

“I wished for it to hit me.”

“What— but you thought it might kill you.”

“Indeed,” he says with a smile in his voice.

“Did you wish to die, then?” Ciel scoffs.

“No more than usual.”

“Do you value your life?”

“Yes.”

“Do you value your life more than mine?”

“No.”

“Do you value your life more than, say, Elizabeth’s?”

"That depends on the particular standard by which I judge.”

“What would you have done, if Elizabeth had been standing in my place?”

Sebastian contemplates. “I would have pulled her out of the way.”

“That was a viable option?”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“Then what the hell were you thinking?” Ciel bursts out. “Really, at the moment of impact, what were you thinking?”

“I was wondering whether this blow, which seemed fiercer than Undertaker’s on the Campania, would unearth Cinematic Records from before this contract and yet leave me alive. Of course, it did not."

“Did you want that outcome?”

“Not particularly.”

“What’s in those records that you were so afraid of?”

He frowns. “I felt no fear in that moment.”

“Then what did you not want seen?”

Sebastian makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sigh. “I doubt there would be much to see. They’re cluttered with events, of course— balls, riots, wars— but I suspect those would all blend together on the film.”

“So, even if the blow had revealed more of your past, we’d still have seen nothing but a colorful blur?”

Silence.

“Sebastian?”

“I have doubts about ‘colorful,’ my lord. My previous life seems far more likely to be rendered in monochrome.”

“Like Madam Red’s?” Ciel intones.

“If you search my history for a grand tragedy, you will be disappointed.”

“A series of small griefs can do as much damage as a single tragedy,” he shoots back. “Do you often wish to end your existence?”

“I have no intent to commit some flamboyant suicide . . .”

“Do you often wish your existence would end?”

"It . . . does grow tedious, from time to time.”

“And?”

“I do not intend to burn the earth and sky down in search of death, as others of my kind have. I have no serious suicidal intention at all.”

"Only dreams of suicide?”

“I have had dreams of starving and undergoing sublimation,” Sebastian smirks. “Of simply closing my eyes, melting to smoke that quickly wisps away.” He inhales deeply, pausing for dramatic effect . . .

“I feel that’s a rather common sentiment, actually," Ciel cuts in.

“You know not of what you speak.”

“But here is what I do know, Sebastian. The record you describe sounds as sad and gray and pitiful as Madam Red’s, from when she fell into her depression. And frankly, I find this half-hearted grasp at suicide quite pitiful in its own right.” Ciel’s voice rises. “I have questions, Sebastian. Why am I still alive? Why have you left me alive? I was no trained lawyer drawing up our contract; if you chose to attack it with the full power of logic and wordplay and language you demonstrated today, then you could find at least five loopholes to exploit, ending the contract immediately. You could claim that my father’s activities as the Watchdog brought this ruin on me, and that my revenge is already complete, that the person responsible is already dead. Is this correct, Sebastian?”

“I do believe it is, young master. A fascinating idea, and I am surprised to hear you lay out it so clearly for me . . .”

“You thought of this the day our contract started,” Ciel snaps. “Probably by the second minute. And yet I am alive. And yet—” he advances along the side of the bed— “your memories of this contract, as I’ve seen three times now, are clear and bursting with color. And yet, you cannot bring yourself to say that you can’t feel human emotion and human love, because those possibilities are in sight for you, now, for the first time in millennia.”

Ciel drops down and grips Sebastian’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling him up, drawing his lips close. He breathes, “So don’t you dare think you really want to die.”

Sebastian simply stares, motionless, as Ciel’s own jaw trembles. He straightens once more and proceeds towards the door, only stopping to say, “This is an order, Sebastian. Try to be happy.”

He sweeps out of the room.

In that second, Sebastian sees a good five ways to circumvent that order, or abuse it. He knows Ciel has seen them too.

Still, he leans back, ignoring the coat still torn on his bedpost, and lets the smile spread across his face.

#sebaciel #sebacielweek #my fic

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broomballkraken · 4 years

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Title: Shock and Awe, Chapter 2

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing: Sylvain/Lorenz

Word count: 3851

Warnings: None

Summary: Sylvain runs into his insufferable rival Lorenz after not seeing him for a year. He is eager to battle him again after such a long time, but neither of them were prepared for what would transpire as they both sent out their first Pokemon…

Now Sylvain and Lorenz are forced to travel across Faerghus together until they reach Garrag Mach, the sight of the annual Gym Leader Summit, where they would gladly part ways and hopefully never see each other again. Or so they thought...

It hadn’t even been 24 hours yet, but Sylvain was already regretting his decision to travel with Lorenz.

“Will you hurry up already?” Sylvain groaned, arms crossed over his chest and fingers drumming against his arms impatiently. Both he and Lorenz had woken up at the same time, just as the sun was rising over the horizon, and while Sylvain had managed to clean up and make himself presentable in about ten minutes, Lorenz’s morning routine was taking over an hour. It was starting to piss Sylvain off.

“Come now, Sylvain,” Lorenz said, glancing briefly at him out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the hand mirror that Lorenz’s Roserade was holding up for him. “I just happen to care greatly for how I present myself to others...Unlike some people.” Lorenz ignored the heated glare that Sylvain was sending his way as he continued applying his eyeliner.

“Ugh, fuck off. I do care about my appearance, you just care too much about yours.” Sylvain grumbled, and Lorenz huffed as he finished putting on his makeup and moved on to carefully and meticulously brushing out his long purple hair.

“Whatever you say. I do have an extra brush if you need one. And, judging by that rat’s nest on your head, it looks like you indeed are in need of one. Badly.” Lorenz said, letting out a haughty chuckle as he looked at Sylvain with narrowed eyes. Anger bubbled up within Sylvain, and he couldn’t stop it from spilling over as he let out a frustrated growl.

“Okay, that’s it!” Sylvain spat, whipping out one of his Pokeballs and thrusting it in Lorenz’s direction. “We’re having a proper battle, right now. Three-on-three. If I win, we get on the road as soon as possible, whether you’re ready or not.” Lorenz glowered at Sylvain as he stood up, taking the mirror that his Roserade was holding and stashing it away.

“Very well. I accept your challenge. If I win, I will take as long as I like to get ready, and will not hear a peep from you about it for the duration of our journey together.” Lorenz said coolly, “Rosepetal, my dear, let us teach Sylvain the importance of a proper morning routine, yes?” The Roserade nodded and stepped in front of her trainer, and Sylvain snorted as he tossed the Pokeball in his hand, his Houndoom appearing in a flash of red light. He howled and took a fighting stance, growling as he glared at the Roserade in front of him.

“Bring it on, Lorenz!” Sylvain taunted, and their heated battle had begun…

...only for Sylvain to lose by the slimmest of margins in the end.

“This is fucking bullshit…” Sylvain grumbled from his spot on the ground, his shoulders slumped dejectedly as he glowered at Lorenz, who was now preparing tea in a large kettle over the campfire.

“Hm? Is that complaining that I hear, Sylvain?” Lorenz said, raising an eyebrow as a sly grin crossed his face. Sylvain pursed his lips together and glared even harder at Lorenz, hoping that a laser might shoot out of his eyeballs and disintegrate the pompous asshole into dust. Lorenz chuckled softly and continued making his tea.

Sylvain chewed on his lower lip, stewing in his disappointment at his loss. He had thought that his Houndoom, Doom, would have easily wiped out Lorenz’s Roserade, but Sylvain had not expected Rosepetal’s moveset to include Dazzling Gleam of all things. The first hit had caught both Sylvain and Doom off-guard, and that had proved costly, as the hit was critical. However, Doom was as stubborn as Sylvain was, and he had managed to get a few good hits on the Roserade before succumbing to his injuries.

Sylvain had sent Ty, his Typhlosion, out next to make quick work of the exhausted Rosepetal. His brief confidence boost was short-lived however, because Lorenz’s next Pokemon was his Milotic, Majesty. Majesty had been with Lorenz since he was a tiny, weak Feebas, and he was anything but weak now, as Lorenz’s training had turned him into a beast of a Pokemon. He had, unfortunately, quickly defeated Sylvain’s beloved starter, but not before Ty had managed to hit with a successful Wild Charge that had luckily resulted in a paralyzed Majesty.

Lux, Sylvain’s Luxray, was his last hope in winning the battle. The paralysis was a blessing, for the first hit with Discharge had almost knocked Majesty out. Almost. That was unlucky, because it allowed the Milotic to get off a Mud Shot, which did a good chunk of damage and rendered Lux a bit sluggish. After Majesty went down, both Sylvain and Lorenz were down to their final Pokemon.

Sylvain’s heart sank when Lorenz sent out Serenity, his Serperior, who had been with him since the start of his career as a Pokemon trainer. Sylvain had been there when Lorenz had picked the grass snake as his starter, as Sylvain had picked his fire mouse at the same time. Their rivalry had started right then and there, as Sylvain had challenged Lorenz to a battle immediately, after the latter had already begun gloating to the former about his superior starter choice. That time, Sylvain had been victorious and shut him up good, but he knew better now. Even though he didn’t like the guy one bit, Sylvain knew that Lorenz was an exceptional trainer. He wouldn’t have called the snobby, stuck-up guy his rival if he didn’t always push him to better himself by giving him outstanding battles time and time again.

Unfortunately for Sylvain, the Mud Shot that had slowed Lux was proving to be costly, as it allowed Serenity to move first and poison him with a nasty Toxic. She then quickly followed up with a Giga Drain, sucking away Lux’s energy to use for herself. Lux had managed to get a few good hits in with Crunch, knocking enough of Serenity's health to cause her to stagger, but the poison and the grass serpent’s relentless assault proved to be too much for Lux and he fainted, granting the victory to Lorenz.

And now Sylvain had to wait until Lorenz was ready to get back on the road, much to his dismay. At this rate, they wouldn’t get moving until noon, and their journey would take twice as long. Sylvain didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with his insufferable rival, but he had lost a bet fair and square, so he’d have to just deal with it. It was all for the happiness of one of his beloved Pokemon, after all.

As if on cue, Sylvain glanced down at his Pokeball belt when one of them started shaking. Shortly after, Tox had released himself from his ball and let out a big yawn. Sylvain looked over at Lorenz, and found that Lavender had done the same thing, and it wasn’t long before the two love-struck Toxtricity were back in each other’s arms, nuzzling their cheeks against each other.

“Ugh, get a room already!” Sylvain said, rolling his eyes. Tox stuck his tongue out at his trainer and trilled at him in Pokespeak, and a sour look crossed Sylvain’s face.

“I am not jealous of you! I could have anyone I want, when I want,” Sylvain said, smirking as he ran a hand through his hair, “I’m totally a catch.”

“Oh please,” Lorenz interjected, trying and failing to contain his laughter, “I don’t know how anyone could stand to be around you for more than a few minutes. I’m certainly having a time of it.”

“You’re one to talk, Lorenz. As if anyone could tolerate your insufferable snobbishness for any longer.”

“Hmp, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” A smug grin crossed Sylvain’s face, but was quickly replaced with a look of confusion as Lorenz poured a cup of tea and offered it to him. Sylvain just stared at it with an eyebrow raised, and Lorenz let out an annoyed huff.

“Take it already.”

“Why?”

“It would be rude for me to indulge without offering some to my traveling companion. Wanted or not.” Sylvain pursed his lips at that, but took the cup from Lorenz anyway.

“Thanks, I guess,” Sylvain mumbled, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a small sip. The warm tea chased away the morning chill, and the taste made Sylvain let out a content sigh.

“Bergamot? Damn, that’s my favorite,” Sylvain said, a small smile crossing his face as he moved himself closer to the fire.

“Oh? How interesting,” Lorenz said as he pulled out six Pokeballs, “It is also one of my favorites. How I loath to have something in common with you of all people.”

“Egh, I feel sick just thinking about it,” Sylvain said, the loud exaggerated gagging noise he made causing Lorenz to send a glare his way.

“Stop being so childish,” Lorenz said, rolling his eyes as he tossed his Pokeballs behind him, releasing his entire team. “Come, my dears. The tea is absolutely delightful today.” His Pokemon let out excited chirps as Lorenz began handing out cups of tea, and Tox and Lavender were quick to join in as well.

“Sylvain, are you not going to have your Pokemon join us?” Lorenz asked, and Sylvain shrugged.

“I guess I could. Wouldn’t want to use up your precious supply of tea, though.”

“Oh, nonsense. I have plenty stored up, and I can always restock in Fhirdiad if need be. No need to worry.” Lorenz said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. Sylvain sighed and shook his head; he really should have known that Lorenz would have an entire stock of tea with him. He had been notorious at the Academy for inviting women to have tea with him, and ultimately getting rejected every time. Sylvain had often teased him about it, leading to rather hostile arguments that more often than not had almost resulted in them trading physical blows. It had never come to that, luckily.

“Alright, if you say so.” Sylvain said, and soon the rest of his Pokemon had joined the massive tea party. After the tea had been dispersed to everyone, Sylvain and Lorenz’s Pokemon talked happily among themselves, and Sylvain couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He had to admit, even though their trainer was an insufferable twat, Lorenz’s Pokemon all seemed to be well-trained and got along with his own rather well. It was odd, considering a few of them had been battling earlier this very morning, but Sylvain guessed that to Pokemon, fighting in battles brought them closer together. If only that worked for humans too.

“I must say, Sylvain,” Lorenz said, snapping Sylvain from his thoughts, “your team is rather impressive. I’m surprised to see how much it has changed over this past year.”

“Well, yeah,” Sylvain said with a shrug, “I think the last time we battled I only had Ty, Lux, and Dash with me, of my current team.”

“Do you still rotate your team out every now and then?”

“Well, yeah. Gotta keep all of my ‘mons trained up and ready for anything.” Sylvain said with a grin. In addition to his current team of six, Sylvain had six reserve Pokemon: Arcanine, Corviknight, Umbreon, Steelix, Walrein, and Pangoro. They had all gotten their time to shine in his main team, and he wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.

“Yes, yes. As it should be. One should always have at least two full, diverse teams of Pokemon to battle with.” Lorenz said, nodding as he took a sip of his tea.

“Heh, there’s another thing we agree on.”

“Unfortunate.”

Sylvain couldn’t help but snort-laugh at that, and Lorenz even let out a small chuckle. Sylvain hated to admit it, but Lorenz was actually being quite tolerable at the moment. In the end, they were both future Gym Leaders and their rivalry did push Sylvain to be a better trainer, so his relationship with Lorenz was a bit more complicated than what it looked like on the surface.

“Your team’s seen some changes too. Where’d you find a Froslass? I’ve never heard of them or Snorunt appearing anywhere in Fodlan.” Sylvain asked, glancing over at the ice/ghost Pokemon. Her attention was pulled from her conversation with Dash and Ty as she floated over to Sylvain, bringing a graceful hand up to her chin. She tilted her head as she gazed at Sylvain with big, blue eyes overflowing with curiosity.

“Ah, my dear Aurora here is the newest addition to my team,” Lorenz said, a look of fondness crossing his face as he reached over to pet Aurora’s head, and she cooed with delight, “I actually just caught her on my recent visit to Sreng. She is a beautiful, pristine example of her species, and she has already shown immense potential in the few battles that we have engaged in.” Aurora let out a cry of joy at the praise and wrapped her arms around Lorenz, pulling him into a tight hug.

“A-Aurora! You will make me spill my tea, darling!” Lorenz said as he tried to push her away with his free hand, “And you are messing up my hair!” His plea fell on deaf ears as Aurora only hugged him tighter. Luckily for Lorenz, Ty had been watching this whole exchange, and he grabbed Lorenz’s tea cup from him before it could spill. Sylvain burst out laughing at the scene, and Lorenz glared at him before sighing in defeat and embracing Aurora in return, earning a pleased hum from the affectionate Froslass.

“Thank you, Ty. At least you have some grasp of common courtesy, unlike the person who trained you.” Lorenz said, and Sylvain's laughter faded as his eyes narrowed.

“Tch, whatever. Ty learned everything from me.”

“Yes, learned everything not to do.”

“Why you-”

Sylvain stood and took a step towards Lorenz, who had also risen from the ground, but they were prevented from moving any closer to one another when Ty stepped in front of Sylvain, and Serenity in front of Lorenz. Ty crossed his arms over his chest and a burst of fire erupted from the spots on the back of his neck, signifying annoyance. Ty let out a few growls and Sylvain sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll calm down.” Sylvain mumbled, and he snorted to stop from laughing when Serenity smacked Lorenz over the head with her tail.

“Will you stop that, Serenity? Ugh, at this rate I’m going to have to redo my hair-”

“Oh hell no! We are not wasting any more time here for that!”

“I do recall winning a bet that prevents you from complaining.”

“Fuck you!”

Sylvain pushed his way past Ty this time, seething with anger as he stalked his way up to Lorenz. Lorenz met him halfway and Sylvain grabbed the collar of his shirt, cursing the fact that he was just an inch shorter than his bastard of a rival.

“What the fuck is your problem, anyway? Why do you have to be the most stuck up, insufferable snob that I’ve ever met?” Sylvain hissed, his face only inches away from Lorenz’s and eyes set into a heated glare. The unique amethyst eyes of his rival narrowed as he glared right back at Sylvain, and Sylvain continued to hold his gaze even as Lorenz’s hand came up to fist into the front of his jacket, jerking Sylvain closer so that their foreheads were barely touching. They were so close that Sylvain could smell the sweet scent of Lorenz’s shampoo; lavender with a hint of rose. It was amazing that someone who smelled so good could be such a fucking thorn in his side.

“My problem?” Lorenz echoed, his voice low and surprisingly threatening, “My problem is you Sylvain. You have always aggravated and instigated these pathetic confrontations and I-”

“Me? You’ve started just as many of these fights, you arrogant douche bag!”

“How dare you!”

Just as Sylvain and Lorenz both pulled back their fists to throw a punch, a powerful blast of ice-cold water slammed into them, knocking both of them off of their feet. Sylvain winced as he hit the ground hard, and he lay soaking wet on the ground for a moment to try and process what had happened.

“Majesty! What are you doing?” Sylvain pushed himself up to find Lorenz yelling at the Milotic, who just flicked her tail and turned her nose up at her trainer in response. Sylvain chuckled, but his humor faded when he saw all 12 of their Pokemon staring at them, with a mixture of looks ranging from disappointment to annoyance to anger. Lux and Tox looked the most angry, as electricity sparked dangerously over their bodies, and Sylvain paled slightly.

“Haha, it’s fine guys! We’re gonna get along now, right Lorenz?” Sylvain said, laughing nervously as he got to his feet and threw his arm over Lorenz’s shoulders. He felt Lorenz bristle at the contact, and he turned his head to shoot a venomous glare at Sylvain.

“Get off of me you-” Lorenz started, but his gaze turned to the angry electric Pokemon and his mouth snapped shut. Sylvain was relieved at that, for he certainly did not want to experience what it was like to receive an electric shock while soaking wet, and he expected that Lorenz felt the same. Sylvain’s arm dropped from his rival’s shoulder when Tox and Lux calmed down, and Lorenz groaned as he peeled his wet hair from his neck.

“Ugh...How bothersome…” Lorenz muttered, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. Sylvain violently shook his head, sending beads of water everywhere, including on the already soaked Lorenz. Sylvain snickered when Lorenz shot him a sour look, and he was surprised when Lorenz dissolved into a fit of laughter. That made Sylvain’s grin widen. Huh, odd...

“Hey, uh, sorry about...all that.” Sylvain said, rubbing the back of his head with one hand while he waved the other awkwardly in front of him. He hated to admit it, but he had been acting like a prick, even if Lorenz deserved it. Lorenz averted his gaze for a moment, before sighing with defeat and turning back to Sylvain, a surprisingly guilty look appearing in his eyes.

“I, well...I accept your apology,” Lorenz said, “And...I’m sorry too. I lost control of my temper...how incredibly uncouth of me.” An awkward silence fell upon the two for a few moments, before Sylvain peeled off his wet jacket and walked off towards his tent.

“Well, I guess we better get dried off and changed. Didn’t think anything would stall us more than your insufferable morning routine, but…” Sylvain said, glancing over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Hmp. I do have to go through that routine again, though, so do get comfortable, Sylvain. Maybe you’ll have enough time to do something about that messy mop on your head that you call your hair.” Lorenz said, turning up his nose as he sauntered to his own tent.

“Eat shit.”

“Profane degenerate.”

With that trading of insults done with, both men retreated to their tents to change and dry off. Sylvain sighed, already tired from arguing with Lorenz for the entire morning. He wasn’t sure if he was going to survive this journey, or at least make it to the end without throttling the insufferable bastard. Sylvain let out a frustrated grumble as he stripped out of his wet clothes and threw on some dry ones. He just had to keep reminding himself that he was doing this to make Tox happy, but it was almost not worth it, if Sylvain was being honest with himself. He could only hope that Tox’s infatuation with Lavender would wear off and Sylvain would never have to look at Lorenz’s dumb face ever again.

Sylvain left his tent and tossed his wet clothes to Ty and Dash, leaving the two fire types to dry them off for him as he packed up his tent and other supplies. Lorenz had given his clothes to Majesty and Serenity, who had them hanging off their tails to air-dry. Lorenz was back to fixing his hair and makeup, so Sylvain resisted the urge to complain and instead pulled out his phone, texting his childhood friend group chat to inform them of the drama of the morning.

Ingrid was sympathetic, but told him to behave for the sake of Tox’s happiness, Felix relentlessly teased him about his situation, and Dimitri wished him luck and offered to buy him a beer when Sylvain got to Fhirdiad. Sylvain was grateful for that, because he’d probably need a stiff drink or twelve after his time spent with Lorenz.

Finally, just a little bit after noon, Lorenz was finished getting ready and had packed up his things. They both returned all of their Pokemon to their balls - with some resistance from the two love-struck Toxtricity - except for the two Rapidash.

“We should make it to Fhirdiad tomorrow morning if we ride through the night.” Sylvain said, hopping onto Dash’s back. The Rapidash neighed excitedly and stomped her hooves, restless and eager to get moving.

“Indeed. It is a good thing that we both have fast, ride-able Pokemon,” Lorenz said as he followed suit and mounted Beauty, “I shall buy you some treats when we reach our destination and give you a good brushing, my dear Beauty.” Beauty whinnied as Lorenz cooed at her, running his hands over her neck fondly. Sylvain rolled his eyes and took hold of Dash’s mane, and a sly grin crossed his face as an idea popped into his head.

“Hey, Lorenz?” Sylvain said, and Lorenz raised an eyebrow at him as he waited for him to continue, “Let’s make this a race. Last one to Fhirdiad has to buy tomorrow’s meals!” Sylvain did not wait for Lorenz to answer as he yelled for Dash to go. Dash reared up and neighed before taking off at a thunderous gallop. Laughter filled the air as Sylvain turned around to see Lorenz yelling at him, but the wind whipping past his head prevented Sylvain from discerning what Lorenz was saying.

Sylvain turned his attention back to his front, and he heard another set of hooves thundering behind him, and he knew that Lorenz and Beauty had given chase. The two rivals raced off to Fhirdiad together, and Sylvain would be sure to order the most expensive items on the menu for his meals after he won this race. The absolutely sour look that was sure to cross Lorenz’s face would be so, so worth it.

#fire emblem three houses #sylvain jose gautier #lorenz hellman gloucester #sylorenz #fanfiction #pokemon au #jade writes fanfiction

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howboutdemwings · 7 years

Text

Come And Knock On My Door with @InMyOwnMhis

Jagger -Aching face? Check. Swollen neck? Check. Diminished life capacity? Checkmate. It was brutally sobering that a night with such a small amount of bloodletting had so obviously left me with fewer sands in my hour glass. I was well acquainted with going without before I hesitantly bellied up to the old vein tap. Safety nets were powerful things. Haven had been mine. There was security that came with having a familiar to sustain you. Without that catch all I was staring down a thousand stories about to take the free fall. Yep. It had just become real. Shit. I felt doubly cheated, the high from my roughing up had worn off; standing in was an ice pack to the face and the phantom pains of Assail’s hand around my throat, taking up residence where my mother’s cross should be. I wasn’t one for materialism. I liked my domain tight, clean and uncluttered. This was the singular exception when it came to possessions. The loss had sent me reeling back into mourning with an immediateness. The ache was as fresh in the frontal lobe as if I’d only just lived her death. Course, it had never been further away than lurking anyway. I hadn’t bothered with a glass for the whiskey, opting to keep up the black eye, bruised nose image I was working by drinking directly from the bottle. I was on swig three when the pounding at my front door came along with the shout of my name. You fucking kidding me? Assail had had me followed? Clearly it wasn’t the silent brothers with that set of lungs. Great. The slumber party I’d never wanted was standing on my doorstep with the burning ball of fire about to debut its-deadly-to-vampires rays. If Assail had sent a watchdog for daytime hours, it wasn’t going to bode well if I turned him away. Not to mention if I did that I’d be just like… Yeah, wasn’t gonna finish that thought. Well played, ya fancy bastard. What in fresh hell had I gotten myself into by attempting to do the bloody right thing? I gave the knob a sharp twist but before I could open the door even part way, I was shoved back by whoever was behind it. So reflexes were toast, too. Yippee. There was no missing what had crashed through my door. It sure as hell wasn’t a thug. No. I shook my head in protest as what registered in a few very disorienting moments was a male that was flanked by a set of opalescent wings in my entryway, his bronzed skin set off by a light that -felt- like it came from him. That had me blinking a few times… In his arms was the limp and beaten body of a fair-haired female. She was clearly broken, complete with a savage gash at her throat. A portrait of both beauty and agony . My stomach twisted and my eyes flashed back to the male. Thoughts were traveling at the speed of light through my weary mind, too many things to say, too many questions. Until I latched onto what hung around the male’s neck. Briny tears pooled and risked a spill and without conscious thought, I closed the three of us in together. The question was my only and it flew out without any pomp and circumstance.- Where did you get that? Lassiter: <I waited for the door to close behind us and looked around the space we had intruded upon. It wasn’t much but the windows were covered and that was all I had hoped for in terms of the immediate when my foot had been pounding on the door. Looking down at the female, I checked to see if she was still breathing then moved past the shocked guy I assumed was Jagger so I could lay her down on his couch. Surely he wouldn’t mind...it’s not like she was going anywhere in the next twelve hours anyways, she might as well be as comfortable as possible given the beating she had taken. As my hand brushed her hair back from her face again, I realized he was talking to me. I shook my head, of all the first things to say…> THAT? Dude, she’s nearly dead and you want to know where I found her? <Turning around to face him, my gaze was all steel and disapproving attitude until I got a better look at his mug. Seems tonight was the night for fists connecting with faces in Caldwell. There was light bruising around his throat that looked to be the vague shape of a hand and he had a solid black eye which skewed his features to a degree that paired with it. In his hand, which lacked any evidence of bruising or scuff marks was a bottle of amber liquid I guessed to be whiskey. He was nursing his injuries, much like I had seen the Brothers do and if I had to guess, it had been a one sided fight. I set aside my nosy inquiry and scrubbed over my face as my aggression toward his question simmered down and I moved back over to the girl, pulling the card from her pocket.> I found her in a fucking alley, watched as some asswipe dumped her and took off. Your name and address were on her when I checked her pockets, so here we are. <Turning back to male, I held out the card> You are Jagger, aren’t you? Jagger -I watched in disbelief, my mind still on that cross -my mother’s cross- hanging from his neck. I didn’t have the wherewithal to be bothered when he laid the female on my couch, but was snapped to attention when he relayed that my name and number were in her pockets. For a minute I wondered if maybe the skull smash had left something cracked because this was starting to be like a whole lot of Jagger-In-FuckNoLand. The rest of what he said filed in out of order behind the soldier of my name. Beaten. Dumped in an alley. Alright, this was way more Dicken’s than Disney and here I was with Ghosts-of-Daddy past right here in my living room.- I’m Jagger, yeah. But I don’t know her… -I could barely stand a glance her way, not out of disregard but because that whiskey wanted to burn its way right back up and make an escape. How in the hell had she ended up with my number and address? I lifted my hand to my face, the scrub doing nothing to erase the scene, instead it manifested in sharper relief. I wracked my brain and finally it dawned. She had to be Haven’s doing. Or her father… Lhance. That was the only explanation. I could contact them in the evening, thank you ball-o-sunshine.- There’s someone I can call when the sun drops. -I wanted to ask about the cross, I wanted to walk right over and take it off his neck, but with an injured female on my couch, I stuffed my own shit, having no damn clue what to do or say next.- Lassiter: <The confirmation of Jagger’s identity wasn’t necessarily needed, given that the female was stuck here while the sun was out doing its daylight thing, but it was good to know we had, at the very least made it to the right house. Beneath the scent of alcohol on his breath, lingered the confirmation I needed that Jagger was indeed a vampire. I paced back and forth in the small living space as my mind began to work through the “how tos” and in what order when I realized he had spoken again. Stopping directly in front of Jagger, my brows knit in confusion.> Excuse me? You’re going to do what when the sun drops? Does it look like she has that kind of time to you, buddy? No. She’s waiting for the Reaper himself to arrive and collect her innocent soul. I am not about to allow that to happen. She needs blood. Your blood because she sure as shit isn’t going to heal on mine. <As I spoke it dawned on me that he was avoiding her, as I spoke, his eyes had landed on everything else they could but were steadfast in doing their best at staying off her broke, unconscious body. Nope. Not cool. If he wanted to play the avoiding game, I was going to put an end to that fast. Grabbing Jagger by the upper arm, I pulled him over to the couch and stared down his beat up profile while forcing him to look at her, allowing him no opportunity to avoid her any further.> Can you not hear the weakened thuds of her heart, it has already slowed considerably since we arrived only minutes ago. You may not know her, but if we wait, like you’re suggesting, she’ll be dead before long and I simply cannot allow that. Jagger -Oh. God. No. My eyes had nowhere to go but down but my body tried for escape, the grip of the golden male wouldn’t give and I was forced to face the reality he was suggesting as my heart pounded in the rhythm of doom. My lungs were paralyzed and I tried to draw oxygen, coming back with a big fat empty.- I can’t! She’s better off in the fade than she is at my vein. My blood is corrupted, I’m tainted… spoiled, unworthy… I won’t… no! -With escape impossible, I was left to crumble to my knees, shoulders sagging while tears burned down my face with a liquid heat that rivaled that of the whiskey that had recently flowed down my throat and my arm was left up north, in the male’s grip. Why… why was this angel’s life left hanging in my hands? She hadn’t deserved this any more than the savagery that brought her here. If taking the vein had rendered me so stunted and emptied my soul, the thought of her at mine was ruination. Closer to her, still shielding my eyes, I could hear her slowed pulse and I knew the male was not bluffing. If I opened my vein for her, her life would be salvaged by something soiled, and she was… pristine. What if she would choose to deny it if she knew of my past? The nature of my sire. How he had treated females thusly. And… what if the act alone unleashed something in me that was the very thing I had always fought to become? Rhuin. I could barely mutter the words. I could hardly acknowledge this cruel twist of choices.- I am no one’s salvation. Lassiter: <Denial of my request was something I was used to hearing, especially if it was from the Big Guy in the sky. My jaw dropped in shock as Jagger refused to help the female. Certainly I hadn’t expected him to jump for joy over offering his vein, but flat out refusal wasn’t something I had even considered. As he crumpled at my side, I watched the bottle in his other hand slip from his grasp but didn’t bother making a reach for it to save the contents from spilling all over the carpet. My head shook in an effort to try and rattle free another approach that would have him agreeing. I didn’t understand how he could view himself as tainted or unworthy. And I certainly didn’t understand what was with all the stubborn male I was being forced to deal with of late.> It’s bad enough I have the Brothers to deal with, now you give me civilians who don’t want to listen either? This is NOT the kind of overtime I was expecting. What now, huh?! < I had hoped forcing Jagger to see the gravity of the situation would work to my advantage but instead I now had two damaged vamps on my hands and not a clue at how to deal. After a moment of thinking, I released Jagger’s arm and rubbed my hands together and as a brighter glow than I normally casted began to illuminate the room, I crouched down next to him. I spoke his name softly and when he turned to face me, my hands moved to the wounds on his neck and face, healing the bruises and taking away the swelling with a little further effort. Maybe if I fixed his physical injuries he wouldn’t feel so damaged and I’d be able to convince him he could do it.> Please reconsider, Jagger...I can even wipe your memory of us after you help her. You won’t remember a thing. Jagger -Conversations with God? Actually sounded more like a union worker issuing a formal complaint. Could this dude really be an angel? Something told me the Magic 8 Ball would answer “Sources say yes” but I’d donated mine to Safe Place when they’d had a drive that Haven had told me about. Damn it. Guess I’d never know. The word that hung most in the background was “civilian” the first part of which was “civil.” But half of my genetics were anything but. I was on the precipice of catatonic, about to give myself over to the numbness that would make the decision moot, when the male released me. My head still hung heavy only swayed when I felt his looming presence drop to my level. Were his hands glowing? Sanity came into question but before I could go down that rabbit hole, he laid hands on my injuries. I felt a warmth replace the pain that was served up courtesy of the SUV window and Assail’s neck hug. My breathing leveled out as I was suffused by a peacefulness that defied logic, reason… and a sound mind. What in the actual…? His plea felt soft on my ears but not at all light on conviction. My eyes were magnetized to the cross around his neck which seemed to shimmer while basking in the glow of his skin. I wanted to rage against this outcome. I wanted to fight against exposing the girl to my sickness, but there was something else I was denying in the process. I had so focused on the monster of my father’s legacy, I had forgotten he wasn’t all that made me. Smacking me in the face with reality was a sign, the cross the male had come to wear. The one I thought I’d lost. A loss that had reinforced the decisions I’d made for myself. There it was, returned to me, under circumstances so strange I couldn’t deny the message. It was incredible how something so silent could actually scream at you. I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Three times before the vocal chords agreed to get with the program. I didn’t give an answer, but I had come to one.- What’s your name? Lassiter: <Slowly I pulled my hands away from Jagger’s face and throat when I was certain I had reversed the damage he had sustained from only God knew whom. When I finally got a clear look of his face, no longer obstructed by the deep purple bruising and swollen flesh, my jaw dropped.> Holy shit high in the sky. It’s you. I should have fucking known. <Shaking my head in disbelief, my fingers went to the cross around my neck. The metal was warm from my skin but just like before, the images held within the item flash-carded through my mind on instant replay all while I stared at the face in person.> How did I not...My God. I must be failing somehow to have not realized. <My brows knit together and without saying another word, I looked up to the ceiling, muttering a few choice words to my boss about his twisted sense of humour as I grabbed ahold of the chain and lifted it up over my head then reached over to return it back to its rightful owner.> This is yours. <Once the chain settled around Jagger’s neck, the warmth I had felt from the item had relocated deep inside me, leaving me feeling accomplished and pleased about having so quickly and successfully returned it without even trying, much like I had found the necklace without trying. A low laugh parted my lips and I dropped my hands out of his personal space, finally feeling ready to answer his question that remained hanging in the air between us.> My name is Lassiter. And I promise, I'm not always such a shit show like you just bore witness to. Jagger -Despite the world of fuckery I found myself basking in, the reaction to sight of my must-be-healed face earned a chuckle. It was lost on me how in the hell this winged-male knew me but his next move had me going with an internal jaw drop. Without a request or further word, my eyes tracked every move as he carefully handled the cross with as much consideration as I would. When it returned around my neck, the weight barely registered but the breath I’d been holding since realizing its loss was expunged from my lungs in a full body sigh of relief. My eyes flicked up to his, my gaze a penetrating force.- Many thanks, Lassiter. I am about to return the favor. Maybe complete with shit show. -My eyes shifted back to the girl who looked near lifeless. A new dread took up residence in my chest and I thought I might start my shit show with a spectacular return of my whiskey to the surface. I lifted my hand, noting the tremble, gently pushing a lock of her hair from over her eye. Who could do this? Who could disregard a female in such a manner? The echo in my head bore my own last name in answer. I looked back at Lassiter, to whom I owed a debt, my voice was meek at best.- Will you be able to heal her when I am done? My blood is...an abomination. Lassiter: <It was clear my returning the necklace back to Jagger had a weighted effect on him, one I should have expected perhaps given the strong images that had hit me when I found it, but nothing about me being here in his place with a battered female was what I had expected of this night. I had thought I had already filled my guardian duties, but apparently not. Leave it to the Big Guy to throw a wrench into my plans of returning back to my BFF back at the manse. She’d keep just fine though... hung on the wall exactly as a good flat screen does. Jagger’s exhale had my eyes lifting from the golden cross as it rested upon his chest up to his serious gaze and as he spoke, something about the way his voice sounded had me mentally lifting a brow. I didn't understand what he was getting at, how could helping another cause a shit show? Wasn't this a normal thing for the fanger types? All the Brothers did it back at the mansion. Well, the ones who were able fed from their females and they kept their lady’s thirst quenched in return. Granted, it was almost always paired with a tumble between the sheets. Only in the case of feeding from a Chosen was sex rarely involved. The thought had me clearing my throat just as I watched his hand reach over to brush some hair away from the unconscious female’s busted eye. Yeah...so...that was definitely an act of intimacy if I had ever seen one. Perhaps that's what he was getting at, maybe he was used to the feed and fuck way of life. Though, there was no way this female was in any shape to participate in that kind of activity and maybe that was what he meant by his own shit show. Was worried about sporting wood with me next to him? Hell if I knew. I could deal if that was the case. Or I could even offer to step outside. That could make him feel more comfortable. Right. So deep in spiralling thoughts, I was, cycling through the what- the-fuck-nows that when he spoke again, I nearly missed his question.> Huh? <My head shook while confusion washed over my face, perhaps I had heard him wrong.> Dude. You feed her and she’ll heal just fine on her own. What she needs is blood...none of her injuries are fatal from what I can tell. Plus, I sincerely doubt your blood is anything but exactly what she needs which negates any sort of suggestion of it being an abomination. Just get to, you know… <flashing my pearly whites at Jagger, I brought my wrist up to my mouth and mimed biting into it before hovering it over the female’s mouth.> ...should be easy peasy. No? Jagger -Easy. Peasy. Yeah, that was a fuck no. While dread built with the fury of a hurricane in the trappings of my ribs, I could hear the female’s heartbeat slowing. Lassiter was right. She didn’t have the time to wait out the daylight, she didn’t even have the time for me to sell my plight to the… angel. That’s what he was, wasn’t he? Only he lived and breathed and was very much standing in my living room, not off on a Cumulonimbus frolick. The explanation would have to wait until after. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my switch blade. The demons rose to my brain with a quickness, taunting my choice with haunting reminders of the vile blood that had made me by half. A female taking my vein had never been on the table. Closing my eyes, my hearing sharpened to that dull, weak thudding in her chest counting down opportunity with a somber suspense. Physically I was headed on the fast track to paralysis and inability to do shit. My fangs stayed retreated, cowering in fear, not offering up their services. Those sharp canines were staying loyal to me, betraying her, but I knew that was coming, didn’t I? I met Lassiter’s gaze again, holding out my knife to him.- You’re going to have to tap my vein and now. She’s not got long. And one other thing. Whatever you do, you can’t leave me alone with her. At all. -My voice cracked unsuspectingly at the admission, portraying my inherent weakness, the one that came from Rhuin. What if this act woke some dormant beast inside of me? What if saving her meant the demise of my character? This somehow felt like skydiving only I didn’t have chute.- Lassiter: <Waiting for Jagger to answer my question felt like a lifetime of moments, suspended in the air surrounding us along with my expectation and his reluctance to hop to it. I was dumbfounded as his eyes closed and lost my pierced brows to my hairline at the sight of a pocket knife appearing in front of me. It seemed he was intent on doing exactly the opposite of what his natural instinct should be. Did that mean he also didn't have the usual sexual urges, too? I wasn't about to assume because up until now, all I had managed to do was make an ass of myself on repeat. As he held out the blade, I took it from him and convinced my brows to drop down to their usual spot on my forehead so they could knit together in confusion. This was most definitely way out of the ordinary. But so was this whole fucked up situation and if he needed me to play slip slide with the blade to his wrist and hold his hand like a bottle to save the girl, I wasn't about to leave him without aid. The very fact that he went from suggesting we wait until sundown to agreeing to help meant I had made the right decision to shove my way through his door. Nodding slowly to his requests, I grabbed ahold of his hand with my free one and without giving the action any further consideration or analysis, I quickly drew the point of the blade over his wrist, running parallel with the tendons and opening his vein effortlessly. I didn't concern myself with the pain he likely felt from the knife gliding through his flesh, no doubt it ranked low on his list of booboos given the black eye I had healed for him only a few moments ago. As soon as the bright red fluid raised to the surface of his skin, I moved his wrist to the female’s barely parted lips, pressing it against them to open her mouth a little further so the blood flow could make its way to the back of her throat thanks to gravity. He had said I was going to have to do the work which I didn't mind, even if I didn't understand why. I didn't dare chance a look his way but with the way his body had gone stone still next to me, I could hazarded a guess he was likely freaking out some. My wing closest to him spread out and curled around his body, pulling him in closer to my side, hoping it would help relax him even a little while I did my best to block his view of where his hand was being held captive at the female’s mouth. My voice was quiet as I spoke, hoping it could reach into her unconscious mind.> Come on, sweetheart take what you need. Jagger -I inhaled in relief as the blade made like my flesh was butter, the streak of pain the least of the penance I felt I deserved for what I was about to subject an innocent to. In giving to her, I felt as though I was taking something irretrievable from her. Only the cross so recently returned around my neck held me to the deal and something about the angel who’d returned it to me. Seeing my blood -his blood- ratcheted up the internal cringe to a point of outright rejection to what was happening. In some sick macabre twist, I wondered if this was the way I was meant to go. If my death were to be some poetic warp of irony - saving a life with the very blood I wished to extinguish - perhaps I’d actually check-out with some honor. “Here lies Jagger son of Rhuin, male of worth.” Yeah. Nope. That shit wasn’t in the cards. Besides, it wasn’t my intention to go out with a bang, but to slip into death without any pomp and no one left behind to tell my tale. When Lassiter pressed my wrist to her mouth, the meeting of her lips felt soft and I was rendered a helpless volunteer. My heart pumped painfully, delivering what she needed, while I was doing a mental sprint far, far away. I was removed from my body but aware of the slight shake that had joined the party when I was blindsided yet again. One of those wings cocooned me, bringing me closer to its owner. And I broke. Fiery tears escaped the corners of my eyes, rebelling against my statued state. I’d been rejected by the only male I’d ever known. Not swaddled or held. Not verbally commended. Rhuin had even wished me into death. And now…. Now I was funneled into the reality of what he had deprived me of in a small act that had a monumental effect. I couldn’t comprehend anything on the global level of meaning, but knew in a moment this is what I had suffered to experience for so long. I didn’t know what to do, how to cope or understand as the experience played WWE with my feelings. My world started to spin erratically, when something stopped it. Suction at my wrist. A soft gasp. I sagged against Lassiter as our sleeping beauty showed first signs of revival.- Lassiter: Oh, thank fuck. <It didn't take long for the girl’s natural instincts to kick in, and even while her body lay broken on Jagger’s couch, I exhaled a sigh as she began to take weak pulls at his vein. I was beyond grateful for one damn thing to go as it should. Finally. My eyes didn't leave her face out of fear that she might suddenly catch herself a case of the all-dones far too soon. Even to a non-vamp like myself it was clear her blood loss had been paramount. Thankfully she was up for the fight and continued to suck down his blood while I kept his wrist at her lips. The weight of Jagger’s form as it sagged into my side did not go unnoticed however, and for a brief moment, I looked over at him to check that he hadn't passed out. My heart twisted inside my chest and stuttered a couple of times at the expression on his face. It was utterly devastating to witness such upset and defeat on another who should be exuding pride and joy. While I didn't quite understand the tears that were staining his cheeks, my wing tightened around him in reassurance while my fingers that continued to grasp his hand and forearm loosened just enough so that both thumbs could brush back and forth over his skin, offering more physical comfort in any way I could. The guy looked like he needed a hug in the worst way and if I had been confident it wouldn't send him over the edge, I might have chanced wrapping one arm around his shoulders too. But his earlier words continued to echo in my mind and so, I held his wrist steadfast to her lips. The muted and weak sounds the female made as she swallowed at Jagger’s vein were encouraging and just as I knew his blood would help her, something inside me felt the need to affirm the evidence aloud.> Look, Jagger. Some of her colour is returning. And listen...her heart. It seems stronger, no? That's all because of you. She was on the Fade’s doorstep but your blood called her back to the land of the living. Even the gash across her eye appears less gnarly, too, you can't deny. <A small grin took hold of my lips and as I turned my head to see if he was looking for himself, I whispered quietly, hoping it wouldn't destroy our tentative life saving venture.> There is no way your blood is contaminated with the way it's healing her so quickly. I told you it was all she would need, didn't I? Jagger -It was difficult to feel victorious with the knowledge that with her growing strength she was ingesting more of my contaminated plasma. My heart was stretched like taffy, gripped between distress and relent and… relief. I felt a surer latch on my wrist and in a moment of what seemed preordained, a slight loosening of Lassiter’s grip, followed up with a gentle pass of his thumb. The urge to go fetal was strong and my power to resist it lessened as her heartbeat drummed louder, stepping her away from fatality. I was trapped in this triangulated maze of emotions I couldn’t process, leaving me despondent. I heard the easy encouragement when Lassiter spoke. It wasn’t overly pushy and I was overwhelmed with the sense I couldn’t let him down by being the coward who refused to witness what he was touting. That would be failure. My head felt weighted as it lifted from my shoulders and there was no denying the change in the female was remarkable. Her colorless skin had taken on a dewy glow, which stood out in contrast to the gruesome purple that framed her eye. My teeth clenched. I heard the whispered words, but my mind rejected what Lassiter was saying. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He wouldn’t have brought her to me had he known. Fuck. Would he regret this too? Would the gravity of what I had done by saving her life sentenced him to regret and God knows what else? Shit. Angel. The man in charge would know. Turning my head in weary relief towards Lassiter. The confession spilled out with the barrier of my self control temporarily lost. - He did this to her. To them. To all of them. -shaking my head- You have to heal her… save her… Soul. -For as much as I knew my father was dead, this display of a ravaged female clinging to life at the tap of my vein left me with the three dimensional, in your face vision I’d never known. Virtual reality was bad. Reality reality was a nightmare.- Lassiter: <Have you ever experienced a moment where you are so sure of something and expect a certain reaction that when you don't get it you need to do a double take? Yeah. That was exactly where I had found myself. Hello, Confusionville. Population: One. I could see with my own glowing white eyes the healing effects of Jagger’s blood and yet, he was still insisting she required saving. My eyes shifted past his face that was etched with worry and concern and landed on the long forgotten tipped over whiskey bottle.> Just how much did you drink before I invited myself in? <This time I hadn't expected an answer from him, in fact I hadn't really meant to speak my query aloud but I was back to speaking to myself as a means of working through shit because it was starting to get beyond capacity up in the grey matter.> Did you drink so much your vision is wonky, buddy? She's healing amazingly and her soul is perfectly intact seeing as she’s still alive. There isn't anything more for me to do… <I paused my out loud thinking and rewound what he said in my mind. The first part made no sense. Who was the “he” Jagger had been referring to and what did he mean by “all of them”? So many questions and I had no idea how to make sense of what he was talking about. I shook my head and as I collected my thoughts, piecing them together to form an actual question I hoped he had an answer to, I barely noticed the sucking sounds at Jagger’s wrist had slowed even though my hands kept it gently pressed to the female’s lips.> Who are you talking about, my man? Do you mean the limping asshole who dumped her in the alley? He only had her, nobody else with him. <Quiet stretched for a few moments and my gaze held Jagger's as I waited for him to clue me the fuck in. As his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, the answer I once again wasn't expecting came and not from Jagger but from the female who, up until now had been unconscious and mute. Her voice was raspy and quiet, clearly she had worn it out during her struggle but despite that, it didn't lack conviction and was full of malice as she spoke, leaving us both shocked into silence.> “Rhancid...piece of shit.”

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inmyownmhis · 7 years

Text

Come And Knock On My Door (with @HowBoutDemWings)

Jagger

-Aching face? Check. Swollen neck? Check. Diminished life capacity? Checkmate.

It was brutally sobering that a night with such a small amount of bloodletting had so obviously left me with fewer sands in my hour glass. I was well acquainted with going without before I hesitantly bellied up to the old vein tap. Safety nets were powerful things. Haven had been mine. There was security that came with having a familiar to sustain you. Without that catch all I was staring down a thousand stories about to take the free fall. Yep. It had just become real.

Shit.

I felt doubly cheated, the high from my roughing up had worn off; standing in was an ice pack to the face and the phantom pains of Assail’s hand around my throat, taking up residence where my mother’s cross should be.

I wasn’t one for materialism. I liked my domain tight, clean and uncluttered. This was the singular exception when it came to possessions. The loss had sent me reeling back into mourning with an immediateness. The ache was as fresh in the frontal lobe as if I’d only just lived her death. Course, it had never been further away than lurking anyway.

I hadn’t bothered with a glass for the whiskey, opting to keep up the black eye, bruised nose image I was working by drinking directly from the bottle. I was on swig three when the pounding at my front door came along with the shout of my name.

You fucking kidding me? Assail had had me followed? Clearly it wasn’t the silent brothers with that set of lungs.

Great. The slumber party I’d never wanted was standing on my doorstep with the burning ball of fire about to debut its-deadly-to-vampires rays. If Assail had sent a watchdog for daytime hours, it wasn’t going to bode well if I turned him away.

Not to mention if I did that I’d be just like…

Yeah, wasn’t gonna finish that thought.

Well played, ya fancy bastard. What in fresh hell had I gotten myself into by attempting to do the bloody right thing?

I gave the knob a sharp twist but before I could open the door even part way, I was shoved back by whoever was behind it. So reflexes were toast, too.

Yippee.

There was no missing what had crashed through my door. It sure as hell wasn’t a thug.

No.

I shook my head in protest as what registered in a few very disorienting moments was a male that was flanked by a set of opalescent wings in my entryway, his bronzed skin set off by a light that -felt- like it came from him. That had me blinking a few times…

In his arms was the limp and beaten body of a fair-haired female. She was clearly broken, complete with a savage gash at her throat. A portrait of both beauty and agony . My stomach twisted and my eyes flashed back to the male. Thoughts were traveling at the speed of light through my weary mind, too many things to say, too many questions. Until I latched onto what hung around the male’s neck.

Briny tears pooled and risked a spill and without conscious thought, I closed the three of us in together. The question was my only and it flew out without any pomp and circumstance.-

Where did you get that?

Lassiter:

<I waited for the door to close behind us and looked around the space we had intruded upon. It wasn’t much but the windows were covered and that was all I had hoped for in terms of the immediate when my foot had been pounding on the door. Looking down at the female, I checked to see if she was still breathing then moved past the shocked guy I assumed was Jagger so I could lay her down on his couch. Surely he wouldn’t mind...it’s not like she was going anywhere in the next twelve hours anyways, she might as well be as comfortable as possible given the beating she had taken. As my hand brushed her hair back from her face again, I realized he was talking to me. I shook my head, of all the first things to say…> THAT? Dude, she’s nearly dead and you want to know where I found her?

I found her in a fucking alley, watched as some asswipe dumped her and took off. Your name and address were on her when I checked her pockets, so here we are. <Turning back to male, I held out the card> You are Jagger, aren’t you?

Jagger

-I watched in disbelief, my mind still on that cross -my mother’s cross- hanging from his neck. I didn’t have the wherewithal to be bothered when he laid the female on my couch, but was snapped to attention when he relayed that my name and number were in her pockets.

For a minute I wondered if maybe the skull smash had left something cracked because this was starting to be like a whole lot of Jagger-In-FuckNoLand.

The rest of what he said filed in out of order behind the soldier of my name.

Beaten.

Dumped in an alley.

Alright, this was way more Dicken’s than Disney and here I was with Ghosts-of-Daddy past right here in my living room.-

I’m Jagger, yeah. But I don’t know her…

-I could barely stand a glance her way, not out of disregard but because that whiskey wanted to burn its way right back up and make an escape. How in the hell had she ended up with my number and address? I lifted my hand to my face, the scrub doing nothing to erase the scene, instead it manifested in sharper relief.

I wracked my brain and finally it dawned. She had to be Haven’s doing. Or her father… Lhance. That was the only explanation. I could contact them in the evening, thank you ball-o-sunshine.-

There’s someone I can call when the sun drops. -I wanted to ask about the cross, I wanted to walk right over and take it off his neck, but with an injured female on my couch, I stuffed my own shit, having no damn clue what to do or say next.-

Lassiter:

<The confirmation of Jagger’s identity wasn’t necessarily needed, given that the female was stuck here while the sun was out doing its daylight thing, but it was good to know we had, at the very least made it to the right house. Beneath the scent of alcohol on his breath, lingered the confirmation I needed that Jagger was indeed a vampire. I paced back and forth in the small living space as my mind began to work through the “how tos” and in what order when I realized he had spoken again. Stopping directly in front of Jagger, my brows knit in confusion.> Excuse me? You’re going to do what when the sun drops?

Does it look like she has that kind of time to you, buddy? No. She’s waiting for the Reaper himself to arrive and collect her innocent soul. I am not about to allow that to happen. She needs blood. Your blood because she sure as shit isn’t going to heal on mine.

<As I spoke it dawned on me that he was avoiding her, as I spoke, his eyes had landed on everything else they could but were steadfast in doing their best at staying off her broke, unconscious body. Nope. Not cool. If he wanted to play the avoiding game, I was going to put an end to that fast. Grabbing Jagger by the upper arm, I pulled him over to the couch and stared down his beat up profile while forcing him to look at her, allowing him no opportunity to avoid her any further.> Can you not hear the weakened thuds of her heart, it has already slowed considerably since we arrived only minutes ago. You may not know her, but if we wait, like you’re suggesting, she’ll be dead before long and I simply cannot allow that.

Jagger

-Oh. God. No.

My eyes had nowhere to go but down but my body tried for escape, the grip of the golden male wouldn’t give and I was forced to face the reality he was suggesting as my heart pounded in the rhythm of doom. My lungs were paralyzed and I tried to draw oxygen, coming back with a big fat empty.-

I can’t! She’s better off in the fade than she is at my vein.

My blood is corrupted, I’m tainted… spoiled, unworthy… I won’t… no!

-With escape impossible, I was left to crumble to my knees, shoulders sagging while tears burned down my face with a liquid heat that rivaled that of the whiskey that had recently flowed down my throat and my arm was left up north, in the male’s grip.

Why… why was this angel’s life left hanging in my hands? She hadn’t deserved this any more than the savagery that brought her here. If taking the vein had rendered me so stunted and emptied my soul, the thought of her at mine was ruination.

Closer to her, still shielding my eyes, I could hear her slowed pulse and I knew the male was not bluffing.

If I opened my vein for her, her life would be salvaged by something soiled, and she was… pristine. What if she would choose to deny it if she knew of my past? The nature of my sire. How he had treated females thusly.

And… what if the act alone unleashed something in me that was the very thing I had always fought to become?

Rhuin.

I could barely mutter the words. I could hardly acknowledge this cruel twist of choices.-

I am no one’s salvation.

Lassiter:

<Denial of my request was something I was used to hearing, especially if it was from the Big Guy in the sky. My jaw dropped in shock as Jagger refused to help the female. Certainly I hadn’t expected him to jump for joy over offering his vein, but flat out refusal wasn’t something I had even considered. As he crumpled at my side, I watched the bottle in his other hand slip from his grasp but didn’t bother making a reach for it to save the contents from spilling all over the carpet.

My head shook in an effort to try and rattle free another approach that would have him agreeing. I didn’t understand how he could view himself as tainted or unworthy. And I certainly didn’t understand what was with all the stubborn male I was being forced to deal with of late.>

It’s bad enough I have the Brothers to deal with, now you give me civilians who don’t want to listen either? This is NOT the kind of overtime I was expecting. What now, huh?!

< I had hoped forcing Jagger to see the gravity of the situation would work to my advantage but instead I now had two damaged vamps on my hands and not a clue at how to deal. After a moment of thinking, I released Jagger’s arm and rubbed my hands together and as a brighter glow than I normally casted began to illuminate the room, I crouched down next to him. I spoke his name softly and when he turned to face me, my hands moved to the wounds on his neck and face, healing the bruises and taking away the swelling with a little further effort. Maybe if I fixed his physical injuries he wouldn’t feel so damaged and I’d be able to convince him he could do it.> Please reconsider, Jagger...I can even wipe your memory of us after you help her. You won’t remember a thing.

Jagger

-Conversations with God? Actually sounded more like a union worker issuing a formal complaint. Could this dude really be an angel? Something told me the Magic 8 Ball would answer “Sources say yes” but I’d donated mine to Safe Place when they’d had a drive that Haven had told me about.

Damn it. Guess I’d never know.

The word that hung most in the background was “civilian” the first part of which was “civil.” But half of my genetics were anything but. I was on the precipice of catatonic, about to give myself over to the numbness that would make the decision moot, when the male released me.

My head still hung heavy only swayed when I felt his looming presence drop to my level.

Were his hands glowing? Sanity came into question but before I could go down that rabbit hole, he laid hands on my injuries. I felt a warmth replace the pain that was served up courtesy of the SUV window and Assail’s neck hug. My breathing leveled out as I was suffused by a peacefulness that defied logic, reason… and a sound mind.

What in the actual…?

His plea felt soft on my ears but not at all light on conviction. My eyes were magnetized to the cross around his neck which seemed to shimmer while basking in the glow of his skin. I wanted to rage against this outcome. I wanted to fight against exposing the girl to my sickness, but there was something else I was denying in the process. I had so focused on the monster of my father’s legacy, I had forgotten he wasn’t all that made me. Smacking me in the face with reality was a sign, the cross the male had come to wear. The one I thought I’d lost. A loss that had reinforced the decisions I’d made for myself.

There it was, returned to me, under circumstances so strange I couldn’t deny the message. It was incredible how something so silent could actually scream at you.

I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Three times before the vocal chords agreed to get with the program. I didn’t give an answer, but I had come to one.-

What’s your name?

Lassiter:

<Slowly I pulled my hands away from Jagger’s face and throat when I was certain I had reversed the damage he had sustained from only God knew whom. When I finally got a clear look of his face, no longer obstructed by the deep purple bruising and swollen flesh, my jaw dropped.> Holy shit high in the sky. It’s you. I should have fucking known.

<Shaking my head in disbelief, my fingers went to the cross around my neck. The metal was warm from my skin but just like before, the images held within the item flash-carded through my mind on instant replay all while I stared at the face in person.> How did I not...My God. I must be failing somehow to have not realized.

<My brows knit together and without saying another word, I looked up to the ceiling, muttering a few choice words to my boss about his twisted sense of humour as I grabbed ahold of the chain and lifted it up over my head then reached over to return it back to its rightful owner.> This is yours.

<Once the chain settled around Jagger’s neck, the warmth I had felt from the item had relocated deep inside me, leaving me feeling accomplished and pleased about having so quickly and successfully returned it without even trying, much like I had found the necklace without trying. A low laugh parted my lips and I dropped my hands out of his personal space, finally feeling ready to answer his question that remained hanging in the air between us.> My name is Lassiter. And I promise, I'm not always such a shit show like you just bore witness to.

Jagger

-Despite the world of fuckery I found myself basking in, the reaction to sight of my must-be-healed face earned a chuckle. It was lost on me how in the hell this winged-male knew me but his next move had me going with an internal jaw drop.

Without a request or further word, my eyes tracked every move as he carefully handled the cross with as much consideration as I would. When it returned around my neck, the weight barely registered but the breath I’d been holding since realizing its loss was expunged from my lungs in a full body sigh of relief. My eyes flicked up to his, my gaze a penetrating force.- Many thanks, Lassiter. I am about to return the favor. Maybe complete with shit show.

-My eyes shifted back to the girl who looked near lifeless. A new dread took up residence in my chest and I thought I might start my shit show with a spectacular return of my whiskey to the surface. I lifted my hand, noting the tremble, gently pushing a lock of her hair from over her eye.

Who could do this? Who could disregard a female in such a manner?

The echo in my head bore my own last name in answer.

I looked back at Lassiter, to whom I owed a debt, my voice was meek at best.-

Will you be able to heal her when I am done? My blood is...an abomination.

Lassiter:

<It was clear my returning the necklace back to Jagger had a weighted effect on him, one I should have expected perhaps given the strong images that had hit me when I found it, but nothing about me being here in his place with a battered female was what I had expected of this night. I had thought I had already filled my guardian duties, but apparently not. Leave it to the Big Guy to throw a wrench into my plans of returning back to my BFF back at the manse. She’d keep just fine though... hung on the wall exactly as a good flat screen does.

Jagger’s exhale had my eyes lifting from the golden cross as it rested upon his chest up to his serious gaze and as he spoke, something about the way his voice sounded had me mentally lifting a brow. I didn't understand what he was getting at, how could helping another cause a shit show? Wasn't this a normal thing for the fanger types?

All the Brothers did it back at the mansion. Well, the ones who were able fed from their females and they kept their lady’s thirst quenched in return. Granted, it was almost always paired with a tumble between the sheets. Only in the case of feeding from a Chosen was sex rarely involved. The thought had me clearing my throat just as I watched his hand reach over to brush some hair away from the unconscious female’s busted eye.

Yeah...so...that was definitely an act of intimacy if I had ever seen one.

Perhaps that's what he was getting at, maybe he was used to the feed and fuck way of life. Though, there was no way this female was in any shape to participate in that kind of activity and maybe that was what he meant by his own shit show. Was worried about sporting wood with me next to him? Hell if I knew. I could deal if that was the case. Or I could even offer to step outside. That could make him feel more comfortable. Right.

So deep in spiralling thoughts, I was, cycling through the what- the-fuck-nows that when he spoke again, I nearly missed his question.> Huh?

<My head shook while confusion washed over my face, perhaps I had heard him wrong.> Dude. You feed her and she’ll heal just fine on her own. What she needs is blood...none of her injuries are fatal from what I can tell. Plus, I sincerely doubt your blood is anything but exactly what she needs which negates any sort of suggestion of it being an abomination. Just get to, you know… <flashing my pearly whites at Jagger, I brought my wrist up to my mouth and mimed biting into it before hovering it over the female’s mouth.> ...should be easy peasy. No?

Jagger

-Easy. Peasy. Yeah, that was a fuck no. While dread built with the fury of a hurricane in the trappings of my ribs, I could hear the female’s heartbeat slowing. Lassiter was right. She didn’t have the time to wait out the daylight, she didn’t even have the time for me to sell my plight to the… angel.

That’s what he was, wasn’t he? Only he lived and breathed and was very much standing in my living room, not off on a Cumulonimbus frolick. The explanation would have to wait until after.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my switch blade. The demons rose to my brain with a quickness, taunting my choice with haunting reminders of the vile blood that had made me by half. A female taking my vein had never been on the table.

Closing my eyes, my hearing sharpened to that dull, weak thudding in her chest counting down opportunity with a somber suspense.

Physically I was headed on the fast track to paralysis and inability to do shit. My fangs stayed retreated, cowering in fear, not offering up their services. Those sharp canines were staying loyal to me, betraying her, but I knew that was coming, didn’t I?

I met Lassiter’s gaze again, holding out my knife to him.-

You’re going to have to tap my vein and now. She’s not got long. And one other thing. Whatever you do, you can’t leave me alone with her. At all.

-My voice cracked unsuspectingly at the admission, portraying my inherent weakness, the one that came from Rhuin. What if this act woke some dormant beast inside of me? What if saving her meant the demise of my character? This somehow felt like skydiving only I didn’t have chute.-

Lassiter:

<Waiting for Jagger to answer my question felt like a lifetime of moments, suspended in the air surrounding us along with my expectation and his reluctance to hop to it. I was dumbfounded as his eyes closed and lost my pierced brows to my hairline at the sight of a pocket knife appearing in front of me. It seemed he was intent on doing exactly the opposite of what his natural instinct should be. Did that mean he also didn't have the usual sexual urges, too? I wasn't about to assume because up until now, all I had managed to do was make an ass of myself on repeat.

As he held out the blade, I took it from him and convinced my brows to drop down to their usual spot on my forehead so they could knit together in confusion. This was most definitely way out of the ordinary. But so was this whole fucked up situation and if he needed me to play slip slide with the blade to his wrist and hold his hand like a bottle to save the girl, I wasn't about to leave him without aid. The very fact that he went from suggesting we wait until sundown to agreeing to help meant I had made the right decision to shove my way through his door.

Nodding slowly to his requests, I grabbed ahold of his hand with my free one and without giving the action any further consideration or analysis, I quickly drew the point of the blade over his wrist, running parallel with the tendons and opening his vein effortlessly. I didn't concern myself with the pain he likely felt from the knife gliding through his flesh, no doubt it ranked low on his list of booboos given the black eye I had healed for him only a few moments ago.

As soon as the bright red fluid raised to the surface of his skin, I moved his wrist to the female’s barely parted lips, pressing it against them to open her mouth a little further so the blood flow could make its way to the back of her throat thanks to gravity. He had said I was going to have to do the work which I didn't mind, even if I didn't understand why.

I didn't dare chance a look his way but with the way his body had gone stone still next to me, I could hazarded a guess he was likely freaking out some. My wing closest to him spread out and curled around his body, pulling him in closer to my side, hoping it would help relax him even a little while I did my best to block his view of where his hand was being held captive at the female’s mouth. My voice was quiet as I spoke, hoping it could reach into her unconscious mind.> Come on, sweetheart take what you need.

Jagger

-I inhaled in relief as the blade made like my flesh was butter, the streak of pain the least of the penance I felt I deserved for what I was about to subject an innocent to. In giving to her, I felt as though I was taking something irretrievable from her. Only the cross so recently returned around my neck held me to the deal and something about the angel who’d returned it to me.

Seeing my blood -his blood- ratcheted up the internal cringe to a point of outright rejection to what was happening. In some sick macabre twist, I wondered if this was the way I was meant to go. If my death were to be some poetic warp of irony - saving a life with the very blood I wished to extinguish - perhaps I’d actually check-out with some honor.

“Here lies Jagger son of Rhuin, male of worth.”

Yeah. Nope. That shit wasn’t in the cards. Besides, it wasn’t my intention to go out with a bang, but to slip into death without any pomp and no one left behind to tell my tale.

When Lassiter pressed my wrist to her mouth, the meeting of her lips felt soft and I was rendered a helpless volunteer. My heart pumped painfully, delivering what she needed, while I was doing a mental sprint far, far away.

I was removed from my body but aware of the slight shake that had joined the party when I was blindsided yet again.

One of those wings cocooned me, bringing me closer to its owner.

And I broke.

Fiery tears escaped the corners of my eyes, rebelling against my statued state. I’d been rejected by the only male I’d ever known. Not swaddled or held. Not verbally commended. Rhuin had even wished me into death.

And now…. Now I was funneled into the reality of what he had deprived me of in a small act that had a monumental effect. I couldn’t comprehend anything on the global level of meaning, but knew in a moment this is what I had suffered to experience for so long.

I didn’t know what to do, how to cope or understand as the experience played WWE with my feelings. My world started to spin erratically, when something stopped it.

Suction at my wrist. A soft gasp. I sagged against Lassiter as our sleeping beauty showed first signs of revival.-

Lassiter:

Oh, thank fuck. <It didn't take long for the girl’s natural instincts to kick in, and even while her body lay broken on Jagger’s couch, I exhaled a sigh as she began to take weak pulls at his vein. I was beyond grateful for one damn thing to go as it should. Finally. My eyes didn't leave her face out of fear that she might suddenly catch herself a case of the all-dones far too soon. Even to a non-vamp like myself it was clear her blood loss had been paramount. Thankfully she was up for the fight and continued to suck down his blood while I kept his wrist at her lips.

The weight of Jagger’s form as it sagged into my side did not go unnoticed however, and for a brief moment, I looked over at him to check that he hadn't passed out. My heart twisted inside my chest and stuttered a couple of times at the expression on his face. It was utterly devastating to witness such upset and defeat on another who should be exuding pride and joy. While I didn't quite understand the tears that were staining his cheeks, my wing tightened around him in reassurance while my fingers that continued to grasp his hand and forearm loosened just enough so that both thumbs could brush back and forth over his skin, offering more physical comfort in any way I could. The guy looked like he needed a hug in the worst way and if I had been confident it wouldn't send him over the edge, I might have chanced wrapping one arm around his shoulders too. But his earlier words continued to echo in my mind and so, I held his wrist steadfast to her lips.

The muted and weak sounds the female made as she swallowed at Jagger’s vein were encouraging and just as I knew his blood would help her, something inside me felt the need to affirm the evidence aloud.> Look, Jagger. Some of her colour is returning. And listen...her heart. It seems stronger, no? That's all because of you. She was on the Fade’s doorstep but your blood called her back to the land of the living. Even the gash across her eye appears less gnarly, too, you can't deny.

<A small grin took hold of my lips and as I turned my head to see if he was looking for himself, I whispered quietly, hoping it wouldn't destroy our tentative life saving venture.> There is no way your blood is contaminated with the way it's healing her so quickly. I told you it was all she would need, didn't I?

Jagger

-It was difficult to feel victorious with the knowledge that with her growing strength she was ingesting more of my contaminated plasma. My heart was stretched like taffy, gripped between distress and relent and… relief.

I felt a surer latch on my wrist and in a moment of what seemed preordained, a slight loosening of Lassiter’s grip, followed up with a gentle pass of his thumb. The urge to go fetal was strong and my power to resist it lessened as her heartbeat drummed louder, stepping her away from fatality.

I was trapped in this triangulated maze of emotions I couldn’t process, leaving me despondent.

I heard the easy encouragement when Lassiter spoke. It wasn’t overly pushy and I was overwhelmed with the sense I couldn’t let him down by being the coward who refused to witness what he was touting. That would be failure.

My head felt weighted as it lifted from my shoulders and there was no denying the change in the female was remarkable. Her colorless skin had taken on a dewy glow, which stood out in contrast to the gruesome purple that framed her eye. My teeth clenched.

I heard the whispered words, but my mind rejected what Lassiter was saying. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He wouldn’t have brought her to me had he known. Fuck. Would he regret this too? Would the gravity of what I had done by saving her life sentenced him to regret and God knows what else?

Shit. Angel. The man in charge would know.

Turning my head in weary relief towards Lassiter. The confession spilled out with the barrier of my self control temporarily lost. -

He did this to her. To them. To all of them. -shaking my head- You have to heal her… save her… Soul.

-For as much as I knew my father was dead, this display of a ravaged female clinging to life at the tap of my vein left me with the three dimensional, in your face vision I’d never known. Virtual reality was bad. Reality reality was a nightmare.-

Lassiter:

<Have you ever experienced a moment where you are so sure of something and expect a certain reaction that when you don't get it you need to do a double take? Yeah. That was exactly where I had found myself. Hello, Confusionville. Population: One.

I could see with my own glowing white eyes the healing effects of Jagger’s blood and yet, he was still insisting she required saving. My eyes shifted past his face that was etched with worry and concern and landed on the long forgotten tipped over whiskey bottle.> Just how much did you drink before I invited myself in?

<This time I hadn't expected an answer from him, in fact I hadn't really meant to speak my query aloud but I was back to speaking to myself as a means of working through shit because it was starting to get beyond capacity up in the grey matter.> Did you drink so much your vision is wonky, buddy? She's healing amazingly and her soul is perfectly intact seeing as she’s still alive. There isn't anything more for me to do…

<I paused my out loud thinking and rewound what he said in my mind. The first part made no sense. Who was the “he” Jagger had been referring to and what did he mean by “all of them”? So many questions and I had no idea how to make sense of what he was talking about. I shook my head and as I collected my thoughts, piecing them together to form an actual question I hoped he had an answer to, I barely noticed the sucking sounds at Jagger’s wrist had slowed even though my hands kept it gently pressed to the female’s lips.> Who are you talking about, my man? Do you mean the limping asshole who dumped her in the alley? He only had her, nobody else with him.

<Quiet stretched for a few moments and my gaze held Jagger's as I waited for him to clue me the fuck in. As his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, the answer I once again wasn't expecting came and not from Jagger but from the female who, up until now had been unconscious and mute. Her voice was raspy and quiet, clearly she had worn it out during her struggle but despite that, it didn't lack conviction and was full of malice as she spoke, leaving us both shocked into silence.> “Rhancid...piece of shit.”

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