#if I could use my anguish and suffering emote of my cat's face that I have on discord in all modes of communication my life would be better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucycola · 3 years

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The Lone Survivor; Spock x Fem!Reader

Premise: Fem!Reader accidentally bonds with Spock when rescued from her own starship crash. Hijinks and unbelievable plot points ensue for my own pleasure. Not sure if I’m writing mind melds right but eff it.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bodies and blood. Movie amnesia. Paternal Bones figure to reader. You get the drift. Movie sci-fi healing and medical procedures. It’s StarTrek, what do you expect.

Part 1: There Was Something In Everything About You

You still felt the cold from the tundra below enveloping your body. Your little body shivered under the thermal blanket and a calloused, albeit gentle touch sponged your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open and you half expected your vision to still be clouded with harsh whiteness.

Why? you thought. There’s no snow, Why would there be? You didn’t know where you were.

Soft, faded blue eyes smiled gravely in your blurred line of vision. “Welcome back,” said a weathered voice. “Take it easy now,” it instructed firmly as you moved to sit up right. Your whole body roared in ache, especially in your left leg.

“I’m your doctor, Doctor McCoy,” said the man in blue, his hand moving to your shoulder. A woman, donned in blue as well, hovered behind him with a curious expression. “You’re on the Enterprise.”

Your voice was scratchy at first, but found itself buried in the base of your throat, tumbling out sloppily. “Hello, my doctor, Doctor McCoy.”

He smiled gingerly, “Do you remember what happened?” It was the first of a long line of question that only rendered blank stares and subtle shakings of the head. ”You were found near the wreckage of the starship the U.S.S Calvary.”

No, you didn’t know what happened or what happened to your ship the U.S.S. Calvary.

The name felt like a knife in your chest and you could only give your doctor, Doctor McCoy, and his nurse, Christine Chapel, watery blinks.

Hell. You didn’t even know your own name.

A long series of tests and more questions continued. Your leg had been broken in three places (to which your doctor, Doctor McCoy, had expertly mended shortly after your arrival) and you were suffering from an awful concussion resulting in-

“-acute post traumatic amnesia, Jim,” your doctor’s voice rattled you from a sticky, uncomfortable slumber. “I don’t think you’ll be getting much from her.”

“The crew is still salvaging data from the wreckage. There’s no telling what’s been lost or if we’ll even find out the cause of the wreck,” said the other. “It’s worth a shot.”

A golden man approached you with sunshine behind his expression, and along something a little sad. Like the doctor he interrogated you with similar questions, some a little trickier than earlier. Thought provoking and pressing. Desperation. However, his voice was soft and made you feel welcome.

“If there’s anything you can think of or if you remember something please send for me right away-” the golden man’s brow furrowed, “Still no name, Bones?”

“Not yet.”

“He’s been calling her kitty,” Christine said.

The doctor grumbled, “Well, she’s got big cat eyes. Looks a lot like my Jo.”

“Jo?” you inquired innocently.

“His daughter,” replied the golden man.

You hummed sweetly.

“If you remember anything,” the golden man said in response with his own dazzling smile, “Please. You are the only one.”

The realization hadn’t yet touched you and you only offered a dizzy smile, “Yes, Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise. I will.”

He exchanged an amused look with his ‘bones’ and turned on his heel to leave.

You still felt cold. The palm of your right hand itched. Neither of the man, blue or gold, were the right one. You could feel a tiny pull in the back of your head. A warm place, away from the tundra or the medbay, both stark white and freezing.

Where was the right one? What an odd thought. What even was the right one? You didn’t even understand your own thoughts. Everything was foggy and heavy. You struggled to be alert, at least of all receptive to everyone’s courtesy. They wanted to know so much and you wanted to help, but you knew nothing. You were an empty cannister of what you used to be.

Except that pull, that sensation in the back of your brain. It was a palm, bigger than your own, waiting for you somewhere on the ship.

“She’s shivering again, Doctor. And crying.”

“Take it easy now, kitty cat,” he said quietly, “This will help you sleep.”

“Yes, Doctor Bones.”

The hypo didn’t help you sleep. You tossed and wracked in a freezing sweat, crying, still stuck in the tundra. Masses of dark, solid ice surrounded you, in bellies of red and pink snow.

You are the only one.

Funny, twisted shapes of dark ice with bulging eyes and gaping mouths.

How? How did you only survive with a broken leg and a bruised head? Luck?

A hand reached out, to you, anchoring onto your right. An angel.

You could hear his own self, humming in the back of your mind - a explosion of foreign presence. He had moved closer and you were pulled from sleep once again.

“...a few of the logs have been retrieved, but have sustained partial damage that can be corrected. A personnel roster has yet to be obtained from the data. It is imperative that such data is retrieved before Starfleet launches an official investigation.”

A warmth enveloped your entire bodily, tingling and washing away the tundra.

“And why is that, Mister Spock?” the captain asked, suspicion lining his inquiry.

“When I came into tactile contact with the survivor I was able to acquire personal information,” the angel replied in turn, “Lieutenant Y/N L/N of the botanical division.”

“L/N,” the captain hummed in assent. The name felt shapeless and empty in your mouth. It was yours, but still didn’t feel like it.

“Anything else?”

“ I was able to retrieve memory fragments from the lieutenant as well. I read large amounts of the human emotions guilt and fear. It can be deducted the lieutenant may have had some indirect involvement with the crash.”

“Why is it crucial to launch our investigation before Starfleet?” the captain asked with a forming smirk .

There was a pregnant pause.

Mister Spock had noticed you finally, sitting up right staring widely at the both of them. The warmth intensified in your right hand. A muted sensation creeped in the back of your mind, barely tasting of curiosity and embarrassment?

You could remember it. The ship. The crew. The ship crashing into the icy tundra below, hundreds of bodies being ripped from the deck and into the sky. You had held on somehow, strapping yourself in right before contact.

You awoke to blistering cold and sharp wind, tangling your hair. You crawled.

Twisting angles of dark, icy shapes dotted the snow like landmarks. White snow. Red snow.

The crew. Four-hundred men crewmen dead.

Your scream was silent, wrenching in anguish. How could this happen?

“...located another crewmember for corpse retrieval.”

You moved to scream again, still silent, croaking in the back of your throat. You reached out.

“I negate my last statement, Captain.”

“Why is that, Mister Spock?”

“She is alive.”

You could only see a blurred version of your savior hovering behind your outstretched limb.

“Do not be afraid,” he had said, hand enclosing around your iced one, red and raw.

You knew him in an instant.

Do not be afraid. The Lord has great favour with thee, whispered in the back of your mind. A loose memory.

Despite the terrible memory you smiled at him now, eyes big with awe and yet still fear.

“T’hy’la,” he said in a sharp tone, almost reprimanding.

The word was foreign to you, but it felt like an insult and your brow creased.

“I must remove myself immediately,” the monotone voice of your savior said almost hastily. His statement felt like a slap in the face.

“Doctor Bones, I want to go back to sleep now.” Your voice was broken, your face buried in your hands. Two sets of hands braces themselves on your wracking body, emitting little sobs.

“Kitty, what’s wrong? Did that hobgoblin upset you?” Bones asked.

Nurse Chapel patted your shoulder, “Now, now, Y/N take some deep breaths. Mister Spock is the one who found you. There’s no need to be scared of him.”

“I want to see Mister Spock,” you said, between each little hiccup, “I need to-”

“Jim, I don’t know what he’s done, but-” Bones began.

“I’ll go...” Kirk looked down at you, befuddled by both of your reactions,”...investigate, Bones. Hold down the fort.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Bones retorted.

“I want to get up now.”

“It’s only been forty-eight hours, Y/N,” Bones replied, residing as his chair across from your bed. “Your tibia, fibula, and femur were all broken. I’m a doctor, not a magician. You can start on crutches tomorrow.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Like what?”

“Y/N,” you stuck out your tongue, “It doesn’t sound right. I liked kitty better.”

He chuckled, “Like I said, we’ll get you walking tomorrow. After the investigation clears we can take you to the nearest starbase and contact your family.”

You frowned, “And leave the ship?”

“That’s the idea,” he replied, “We’ve already been contacted a recovery crew. After they salvage what they can and help us with-” He winced, “With funeral proceedings we can help you along. We’ve got a number of wonderful psychologists on the ship. You can speak to on if you’d like. Might even help you regain some of that memory.”

Anyone who even spent a day on board the Enterprise and partook in any of its zany adventures would need to speak to a therapist. Bones had meant to say ‘body retrieval’, but after seeing you cry many times he had learned to be careful with his words. Poor, poor thing.

“What will happen to my crew? They will have a funeral?”

“I’m sure Starfleet will do something to honor them once the investigation is over.”

“Investigation?”

“Yes,” he treaded carefully, knowing you were already suspect at this point, “A crash like that so unpreceded without...any malfunction is strange. Especially with only one survivor.”

Your brow furrowed, “I know it’s strange, Doctor Bones. I wish I could remember. I remember their faces. And-”

Mister Spock.

“I want to see him.”

It was the fifth time you pressed the issue and Bones internally sighed. “I know. Spock is busy at the moment trying to clear your name and I’ll be busy trying to clear your health. I prescribe no stressful situations or conversations-and trust me, he can be very vexing. Now, it’s time for your dinner.”

You had slept often during your time in the medbay and faking it wasn’t difficult. You had long noticed the nurse working your bed had long dosed at his stations and the others were few, far in-between.

With eyes still softly closed, you in-took an even breath.

I want to see you, you whispered inside.

You felt the warm lull in your right palm intensify, matching the newly occupied space in your mind.

I must know what’s going on. Mister Spock, see me, please, sir.

The warmth grew to an unbearable itch and you figured to follow its meaning. With a gentle form you moved up, careful not to stir the nurse and reached for the crutches.

It was hard to hobble along at first, but you found you way slowly, the warmth in your brain egging you on in the right direction-at least you hoped it was.

The end of that tunnel was waiting for you somewhere-a subside to that itch. A sleek, silver door with a doorbell of sorts. You rang it.

It was waiting for you on the other side.

The door slid open.

He was indeed waiting for you, standing in the middle of his quarters. His his left hand was a little orange bar. Recovered.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted evenly.

“Mister Spock,” you looked at his left hand, “Are you still mad at me?”

“Negative. I believe I was never, as you humans put it, mad at you.”

You didn’t press further. You felt a trembling igniting in your ankles. The thing in back of your mind clutched at the orange tape in his hand. A look. A see.

Guilty, guilty guilty, the thoughts tore anxiously.

“Do you have something you want to show me?” you asked.

He nodded curtly and took long strides with his long, long legs, to the computer and slipped the tape in. “This was only recoverable footage from the Calvary. Unfortunately for your case it happens to also be the most damning. I’ve been working most of the day and night cycle to piece it together.”

The screen spit static to life as it conjured up the Calvary’s bridge and you. You were in what you were found in: your blue uniform dress with long sleeved black fatigues underneath. You suddenly remembered being cold that day-even though you had no reason to be.

Something in your hand was slender and long. A large pipet and you jammed the glass into the neck of your Captain before firing your phaser at another crewmember.

Your brain felt light and frothy and you were caught by a steel grip before making friends with the floor.

“It wasn’t me,” you heard someone say groggily.

Spock steadied his grip, “Explain, Lieutenant, when it is you that the film portrays. His voice felt icy.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered.

It was silent a moment.

“I can look. But it will intensify the bond already at present and in the future that may prove unsatisfactory for you.”

You didn’t understand, offering a furrowed brow, but nodded to give him permission.

With his left arm anchored underneath you, his right hand featherily skimmed the side of your face.

“Our minds...are now one.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Indeed,” he whispered in a strained voice, dipping further into your conscious. “It was not.”

PART TWO

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penbalfour · 3 years

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Chapter One (x)

“Lower your swords,” Queen Eloana commanded, her hair shining a glossy onyx in the sun as she sank onto one knee. The raw emotion pouring out of her seeped into the temple floors of the Chamber of Nyktos, bitter and hot, tasting of anguish and a helpless sort of anger. It stretched out toward me, needling my skin and brushing against this…primal thing inside me. “And bow before the…before the last descendent of the most ancient ones. She who carries the blood of the King of Gods within her. Bow before your new Queen.”

The blood of the King of Gods? Your new Queen? None of that made sense. Not her words or when she had removed her crown.

A too-thin breath scorched my throat as I looked at the man standing beside the Queen of Atlantia. The crown was still upon the King’s golden-haired head, but the bones had remained a bleached white. Nothing like the gleaming, gilded one the Queen had placed at the feet of the statue of Nyktos. My gaze skipped over the terrible, broken things scattered about the once pristine, white floors. I’d done that to them, adding their blood to what had fallen from the sky, filling the thin fissures in the marble. I didn’t look at that or anyone else—every part of my being focused on him.

He remained on one knee, staring up at me from between the vee of the swords he’d crossed over his chest. His damp hair, blue-black in the Atlantian sunlight, curled against the sandy-hued skin of his forehead. Red streaked those high, angular cheekbones, the proud curve of his jaw, and ran down lips that had once shattered my heart. Lips that had pieced those broken shards back together with the truth. Bright, golden eyes locked with mine, and even bowed before me, so motionless I wasn’t sure he breathed, he still reminded me of one of the wild and strikingly beautiful cave cats I’d once seen caged in Queen Ileana’s palace as a child.

He had been many things to me. A stranger in a dimly lit room who’d been my first kiss. A guard who had sworn to lay down his life for mine. A friend who had looked beyond the veil of the Maiden to truly see me underneath, who’d handed me a sword to protect myself instead of forcing me into a gilded cage. A legend cloaked in darkness and nightmares that had plotted to betray me. A Prince of a kingdom believed to have been lost to time and war, who had suffered unimaginable horrors and yet managed to find the pieces of who he used to be. A brother who would do anything, commit any deed to save his family. His people. A man who bared his soul and stripped open his heart to me—and only me.

My first.

My guard.

My friend.

My betrayer.

My partner.

My husband.

My heartmate.

My everything.

Casteel Da’Neer bowed before me and stared up at me as if I were the only person in the entire kingdom. I didn’t need to concentrate like before to know what he was feeling. Everything he felt was wide-open to me. His emotions were a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting tastes—cool and tart, heavy and spicy, and sweet like chocolate-dipped berries. Those unyieldingly firm and unrelentingly tender lips parted, revealing just the hint of sharp fangs.

“My Queen,” he breathed, and those two smoky words soothed my skin. The lilt of his voice quelled the ancient thing inside me that wanted to take the anger and the fear radiating from all the others and twist it, turn it back, truly give them something to fear, and add to the shattered things thrown about the floor. One side of his lips curled up, and a deep dimple appeared in his right cheek.

Dizzy with relief at the sight of that infuriatingly stupid—and adorable—dimple, my entire body shuddered. I feared that when he saw what I’d done, he’d be afraid. And I couldn’t blame him for that. What I’d done should terrify anyone, but not Casteel. The heat that turned his eyes the color of warmed honey told me that fear was very much the furthest thing from his mind. Which was also a little disturbing. But he was the Dark One, whether he liked being called that or not.

Some of the shock faded, and the pounding adrenaline eased. And when it left, I realized I hurt. My shoulder and the side of my head throbbed. The left side of my face felt puffy, and that had nothing to do with the old scars there. A dull ache pulsed in my legs and arms, and my body felt funny, as if my knees were weakening. I swayed in the warm, salty breeze—

Casteel rose quickly, and I shouldn’t have been surprised by how fast he moved, but I still was. In a heartbeat, he’d gone from kneeling to standing, a foot closer to me, and several things happened at once.

The men and women behind Casteel’s parents, the ones wearing the same white tunics and loose pants of those lying on the floor, also moved. Light reflected off the golden armbands adorning their biceps as they lifted their swords, shifting closer to Casteel’s parents, protecting them. Some reached for crossbows strapped to their backs. They had to be guards of some sort.

A sudden growl of warning came from the largest wolven I’d ever seen. Kieran and Vonetta’s father stood to my right. Jasper had officiated the marriage between Casteel and me in Spessa’s End. He’d been there when Nyktos showed his approval by briefly turning day to night. But now, the steel-hued wolven’s lips peeled back, baring teeth that could tear through flesh and break bone. He was loyal to Casteel, and yet instinct told me that it wasn’t just the guards he warned.

Another snarl came from my left. In the shadows of the blood tree that had sprouted from where my blood had fallen and grown to a massive height within seconds, a fawn-colored wolven crept into my line of sight, head dipped low, and wintery blue eyes iridescent. Kieran. He stared down Casteel. I didn’t understand why either of them would behave this way toward the Prince, but especially Kieran. He had been bonded to Casteel from birth, meant to obey and protect him at all costs. But he was more than a bonded wolven to Casteel. They were brothers, if not by blood then by friendship, and I knew they loved each other.

Right now, nothing about the way Kieran’s ears were pinned back was loving.

Unease skipped its way through me as Kieran sank down, the sleek muscles of his legs tensing as he prepared to attack…Casteel.

My stomach plummeted. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “No,” I rasped, my voice hoarse and barely recognizable, even to my ears.

Kieran didn’t appear to hear me or care. If he had been acting normally, I would’ve just assumed he was attempting to ignore me, but this was different. He was different. His eyes were brighter than I ever remembered seeing, and they weren’t right because they…they weren’t just blue now. His pupils glowed silvery-white, an aura that seeped out in wispy tendrils across the blue. My head jerked to Jasper. His eyes had changed, too. I’d seen that strange light before. It had been what my skin had done when I healed Beckett’s broken legs—the same silvery glow that had radiated from me minutes earlier.

Icy bursts of surprise raced through Casteel as he eyed the wolven, and then I felt…relief radiate from him.

“You all knew.” Casteel’s voice filled with awe, something no one standing behind him felt. Even the easy grin was absent from the auburn-haired Atlantian. Emil looked at us with wide eyes, broadcasting a healthy dose of fear, as did Naill, who had always appeared utterly unfazed by everything—even when he’d been outnumbered in battle.

Casteel slowly sheathed his swords at his sides. Hands empty, he kept them down. “You all knew something was happening to her. That’s why….” He trailed off, his jaw hardening.

Several of the guards moved to the front of the King and Queen, surrounding them fully—

A shock of white fur shot forward. Delano tucked his tail back as he pawed at the marble. He lifted his head and howled. The eerie yet beautiful sound raised the tiny hairs all over my body.

Off in the distance, the faint sounds of yips and barks answered, growing louder with each second. The leaves on the tall, cone-shaped trees separating the temple from Saion’s Cove trembled as a rolling rumble echoed from the ground below. Blue-and-yellow-winged birds took flight from the trees, scattering to the sky.

“Godsdamn.” Emil turned to the temple steps. He reached for the swords at his sides. “They’re summoning the whole damn city.”

“It’s her.” The deep scar slicing across the older wolven’s forehead stood out starkly. Potent disbelief rolled off Alastir as he stood just outside the circle of guards who’d formed around Casteel’s parents.

“It is not her,” Casteel shot back.

“But it is,” King Valyn confirmed as he stared at me from a face that Casteel’s would one day become. “They’re responding to her. That’s why the ones on the road with us shifted without warning. She called them to her.”

“I…I didn’t call anyone,” I told Casteel, voice cracking.

“I know.” Casteel’s tone softened as his eyes locked with mine.

“But she did,” his mother insisted. “You might not realize it, but you did summon them.”

My eyes darted to her, and I felt my chest wrench. She was everything I’d imagined Casteel’s mother to be. Stunning. Regal. Powerful. Calm now, even as she remained on one knee, even when she had first seen me and demanded of her son—What have you’ve done? What have you brought back? I flinched, fearing those words would stay with me long after today.

Casteel’s features sharpened as golden eyes swept over my face. “If the idiots behind me actually laid down their swords instead of lifting them against my wife, we wouldn’t have an entire colony of wolven about to descend on us,” he bit out. “They are only reacting to the threat.”

“You’re right,” his father agreed as he gently guided his wife to her feet. Blood soaked the knee and the hem of her lilac gown. “But ask yourself why your bonded wolven is guarding someone other than you.”

“I really could care less at the moment,” Casteel responded as the sound of hundreds—if not more—of paws pounding the earth grew even closer. He couldn’t be serious. He had to care, because that was a damn good question.

“You need to care,” his mother cautioned, a thin quiver in her otherwise steady voice. “The bonds have broken.”

The bonds? Hands trembling, my wide eyes shot to the temple steps, to where Emil slowly backed away. Naill had his swords in his hands now.

“She’s right,” Alastir uttered, the skin around his mouth appearing even whiter. “I can… I can feel it—the Primal notam. Her mark. Good gods.” His voice trembled as he stumbled back, nearly stepping on the crown. “They’ve all broken.”

I had no idea what a notam was, but through the confusion and the blossoming panic, there was something odd about what Alastir had stated. If it was true, then why wasn’t he in his wolven form? Was it because he’d already broken his wolven bond with the former King of Atlantia all those years ago?

“Look at their eyes,” the Queen ordered softly, pointing out what I’d seen. “I know you don’t understand. There are things you never needed to learn, Hawke.” Her voice cracked then, thickened at the use of his nickname—a name I’d once believed to be nothing more than a lie. “But what you need to know now is that they no longer serve the Elemental bloodline. You are not safe. Please,” she begged. “Please. Listen to me, Hawke.”

“How?” I croaked. “How could the bond break?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The amber of Casteel’s eyes was nearly luminous. “You’re bleeding,” he said as if that were the most important issue at hand.

But it wasn’t. “How?” I repeated.

“It’s what you are.” Eloana’s left hand balled into the skirt of her gown. “You have the blood of a god in you—”

“I’m mortal,” I told her.

A thick lock of dark hair tumbled from her knot as she shook her head. “Yes, you are mortal, but you are descended from a deity—the children of the gods. All it takes is a drop of god’s blood—” She swallowed thickly. “You may have more than just a drop, but what is in your blood, what is in you, supersedes any oath the wolven have taken.”

I remembered then what Kieran had told me in New Haven about the wolven. The gods had given the once-wild kiyou wolves mortal form to serve as guides and protectors to the children of the gods—the deities. Something else Kieran had shared then explained the Queen’s reaction.

My gaze shot to the crown lying near Nyktos’ feet. A drop of deity blood usurped any claim to the Atlantian throne.

Oh, gods, there was a good chance I really might pass out. And how embarrassing would that be?

Eloana’s gaze shifted to her son’s rigid back. “You go near her? Right now? They will see you as a threat to her. They will rip you apart.”

My heart lurched to a panicked stop. Casteel looked as if he might do just that. Behind me, one of the smaller wolven lurched forward, barking and snapping at the air.

Every muscle in my body tensed. “Casteel—”

“It’s okay.” Casteel’s eyes never left mine. “No one is going to harm Poppy. I will not allow that.” His chest rose with a deep, heavy breath. “And you know that, right?”

I nodded as each breath came too fast, too shallowly. It was the only thing I understood at the moment.

“Everything’s all right. They’re just protecting you.” Casteel smiled for me then, but it was tense and tight. He looked to my left, at Kieran. “I don’t know everything that is going on right now, but you—all of you—want to keep her safe. And I’m all about that. You know I would never hurt her. I would tear out my own heart before I did that. She’s injured. I need to make sure she’s okay, and nothing is going to stop me from doing that.” He didn’t blink as he held Kieran’s stare, as the rolling thunder of the other wolven reached the temple steps. “Not even you. Any of you. I will destroy every single one of you who stands between her and me.”

Kieran’s growl deepened, and an emotion I’d never felt from him before poured into me. It was like anger, but older. And it felt like that buzz in my blood had. Ancient. Primal.

And in an instant, I could see it all playing out in my mind as if it were happening before me. Kieran would attack. Or maybe it would be Jasper. I’d seen what kind of damage a wolven could inflict, but Casteel wouldn’t go down easily. He would do just as he’d promised. He’d tear through all that stood between him and me. Wolven would die, and if he harmed Kieran—if he did worse than that, the wolven’s blood wouldn’t just be on Casteel’s hands. It would mark his soul till the day he died.

A wave of wolven crested the temple’s stairs, both small and large, in so many different colors. Their arrival brought terrifying knowledge. Casteel was incredibly strong and unbelievably fast. He would take down many. But he would fall with them.

He would die.

Casteel would die because of me—because I called to these wolven and didn’t know how to make it stop. My heart thumped erratically. A wolven near the steps stalked Emil as he continued backing up. Another tracked Naill as he spoke softly to the wolven, attempting to reason with the creature. The others had zeroed in on the guards surrounding the King and Queen, and a few…. Oh, gods, several of them crept up behind Casteel. This had slipped into chaos, the wolven beyond control of any of them…

I sucked in a sharp breath as my mind raced, breaking free of the pain and turbulence. Something had happened within me to make that drop of god’s blood break the bonds. I superseded their previous oaths, and that had…it had to mean that they now obeyed me.

“Stop,” I ordered as Kieran snapped at Casteel, whose own lips were now peeled back. “Kieran! Stop! You will not hurt Casteel.” My voice rose as a soft hum returned to my blood. “All of you will stop. Now! None of you will attack.”

It was like a switch had been thrown in the wolven’s minds. One second they were all poised to attack, and then they were sinking onto their bellies, lowering their heads between their front paws. I could still feel their anger, the old power, but it had lessened already, was fading in steady waves.

Emil lowered his sword. “That…that was timely. Thank you for that.”

A ragged breath left me as a tremor traveled up and down my arms. I almost couldn’t believe it’d worked as I scanned the temple, seeing all the wolven lying down. My entire being wanted to rebel against further confirmation of what the Queen had claimed, but gods, there was only so much I could deny. Throat dry, I looked at Casteel.

He stared at me, his eyes wide once more. I couldn’t breathe enough. My heart wouldn’t slow enough for me to make sense of what he was feeling.

“He will not hurt me. You all know that,” I said, my voice shaking as I looked at Jasper and then Kieran. “You told me that he was the only person in both kingdoms that I was safe with. That hasn’t changed.”

Kieran’s ears twitched, and then he rose, backing up. He turned, nudging my hand with his nose.

“Thank you,” I whispered, briefly closing my eyes.

“Just so you know,” Casteel murmured, thick lashes lowered halfway, “what you just did? Said? It has me feeling all kinds of wildly inappropriate things at the moment.”

A weak, shaky laugh left me. “There’s something so wrong with you.”

“I know.” The left side of his lips curved, and his dimple appeared. “But you love that about me.”

I did. Gods, I really did.

Jasper shook out his fur as his large head swung from me to Casteel. He turned sideways, making a rough, huffing sound as he did. The other wolven moved then, coming out from behind the blood tree. I watched them trot past me—past Casteel and the others—ears perked and tails wagging as they joined the wolven descending the steps and left the temple. Only Jasper, his son, and Delano remained, and the feeling of chaotic tension lifted.

A thick lock of dark hair fell over Casteel’s forehead. “You were glowing silver again. When you ordered the wolven to stop,” he told me. “Not a lot, not like before, but you looked like spun moonlight.”

Had I been? I glanced down at my hands. They looked normal. “I…I don’t know what’s happening,” I whispered, my legs shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on.” I lifted my eyes to his and watched him take a step forward, and then another. There were no snarls of warning. Nothing. My throat started to burn. I could feel it—tears creeping into my eyes. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Everything had already turned into enough of a mess without me sobbing hysterically. But I was so tired. I hurt, and it went beyond the physical.

When I first stepped into this temple and looked out over the clear waters of the Seas of Saion, I’d felt like I was home. And I knew things would be hard. Proving our union was real wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as gaining the acceptance of Casteel’s parents and that of his kingdom. We still needed to find his brother, Prince Malik. And mine. We had to deal with the Ascended Queen and King. Nothing about our future would be easy, but I had hope.

Now, I felt foolish. So naïve. The older wolven in Spessa’s End, the one I’d helped heal after the battle, had warned me about the people of Atlantia. They did not choose you. And I now doubted they ever would.

I drew in a stuttering breath and whispered, “I didn’t want any of this.”

Tension bracketed Casteel’s mouth. “I know.” His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as he placed his palm over the cheek that didn’t feel swollen. He lowered his forehead to mine, and the shock of awareness his flesh against mine brought was there, rippling through me as he slid his hand into the tangled mess of my hair. “I know, Princess,” he whispered, and I squeezed my eyes shut against a stronger rush of tears. “It’s okay. It will all be okay. I promise you that.”

I nodded, even though I knew it wasn’t something he could guarantee. Not anymore. I forced myself to swallow the knot of emotion that rose.

Casteel kissed my blood-streaked brow and then lifted his head. “Emil? Can you retrieve clothing from Delano’s and Kieran’s horses so they can shift and not scar anyone?”

“I’ll be more than happy to do that,” the Atlantian answered.

I almost laughed. “I think their nakedness will be the least scarring thing to happen today.”

Casteel said nothing as he touched my cheek again, gently tilting my head to the side. His gaze then dropped to several of the rocks still littering the ground at my feet. A muscle popped along his jaw. His eyes lifted to mine, and I saw his pupils were dilated, only a thin strip of amber visible. “They tried to stone you?”

I heard a soft gasp I thought had come from his mother, but I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see their faces. I didn’t want to know what they felt right now. “They accused me of working with the Ascended, and they called me a Soul Eater. I told them I wasn’t. I tried to talk to them.” Words spilled out in a rush as I lifted my hands to touch him, but I stopped. I didn’t know what my touch would do. Hell, I didn’t even know what I would do without touching someone. “I tried to reason with them, but they started throwing stones. I told them to stop. I said it was enough, and…I don’t know what I did—” I started to look over his shoulder, but Casteel seemed to know what it was I searched for. He stopped me. “I didn’t mean to kill them.”

“You were defending yourself.” His pupils constricted as he caught my stare. “You did what you had to do. You were defending yourself—”

“But I didn’t touch them, Casteel,” I whispered. “It was like in Spessa’s End, during the battle. Remember the soldiers who surrounded us? When they fell, I felt something in me. I felt that again here. It was like something inside me knew what to do. I took their anger and I—I did exactly what a Soul Eater would do. I took it from them and then gave it back.”

“You are not a Soul Eater,” Queen Eloana said from somewhere not too far away. “The moment the eather in your blood became visible, those who attacked you should’ve known exactly what you were. What you are.”

“Eather?”

“It’s what some would call magic,” Casteel answered, shifting his stance as if he were blocking his mother from me. “You’ve seen it before.”

“The mist?”

He nodded. “It’s the essence of the gods, what’s in their blood, what gives them their abilities and the power to create all that they have. No one really calls it that anymore, not since the gods went to sleep, and the deities died off.” His eyes searched mine. “I should have known. Gods, I should’ve seen it…”

“You can say that now,” his mother spoke. “But why would you have even thought that this would be a possibility? No one would’ve expected this.”

“Except for you,” Casteel said. And he was right. She’d known, without a doubt. And, granted, I had been glowing upon her arrival, but she’d known with unquestioned certainty.

“I can explain,” she said as Emil appeared, carrying two saddlebags. He gave all of us a wide berth as he dropped them near Jasper and then backed away.

“Apparently, a lot needs to be explained,” Casteel remarked coolly. “But it will have to wait.” His gaze touched on my left cheek, and that muscle throbbed along his jaw again. “I need to get you somewhere safe where I can…. Where I can take care of you.”

“You can take her to your old rooms at my place,” Jasper announced, startling me. I hadn’t even heard him shift. I started to look over at him but saw skin as he reached for the saddlebag.

“That will do.” Casteel took what appeared to be a pair of breeches from Jasper. “Thank you.”

“Will it be safe for you there?” I asked, and a wry grin tugged at Casteel’s lips.

“He’ll be safe there,” Kieran answered.

So shocked by the sound of Kieran’s voice, I turned. And didn’t stop. There was a whole lot of tawny skin on display, but he stood there like he wasn’t naked in front of all who remained. For once, I really had no problem ignoring the fact that he was nude. I looked at his eyes. They were normal—a vivid, striking blue without the silvery-white aura. “You were going to attack Casteel.”

Kieran nodded as he took the pants from Casteel.

“He most definitely was,” Casteel confirmed.

I looked back at my husband. “And you threatened to destroy him.”

The dimple in his left cheek appeared again. “I did.”

“Why are you smiling? That isn’t something that should make you smile.” I stared at him, stupid tears burning my eyes. I didn’t care that we had an audience. “That can never happen again. Do you hear me?” I twisted to Kieran, who arched a brow as he pulled his breeches up over his lean hips. “Do you both hear me? I won’t allow it. I won’t—”

“Shh.” Casteel’s light touch to my cheek drew my gaze back to his as he stepped into me. He was close enough that his chest brushed mine with each breath. “It won’t happen again, Poppy.” His thumb quickly swiped under my left eye. “Right?”

“Right.” Kieran cleared his throat. “I don’t…” He fell quiet.

His father didn’t. “As long as the Prince doesn’t give any of us a reason to behave differently, we will protect him as fiercely as we will protect you.”

We. As in the entirety of the wolven race. That’s what Alastir had meant when he’d said that all the bonds had broken. I had a lot of questions, but I plopped my head on Casteel’s chest. It didn’t feel that great, sending a flare of pain across my head. I didn’t care because when I inhaled, all I smelled was lush spice and pine. Casteel carefully folded an arm around my upper back, and I thought… I thought I felt him shudder against me.

“Wait,” Kieran said. “Where is Beckett? He was with you when you walked off.”

Casteel drew back slightly. “That’s right. He offered to show you the temple.” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at me. “He led you here.”

A wave of goosebumps pimpled my skin. Beckett. Pressure clamped down on my chest, squeezing tightly as I thought of the young wolven who’d spent the vast majority of the trip here chasing butterflies. I still couldn’t believe that he had led me here, knowing what awaited. But I remembered the bitter taste of his fear that day in Spessa’s End. He’d been terrified of me.

Or had he been terrified of something else?

His emotions had been all over the place. He’d gone from being normal around me, happy and grinning, to suddenly afraid and anxious, as he had been when he brought me up here.

“He disappeared before the others showed up,” I told Casteel. “I don’t know where he went.”

“Find Beckett,” he ordered, and Delano, still in his wolven form, tilted his head. “Naill? Emil? Go with him. Make sure Beckett is brought to me alive.”

Both Atlantians nodded and bowed. Nothing about Casteel’s tone suggested that the alive part was a good thing. “He’s just a kid.” I watched Delano rush off, quickly disappearing with Naill and Emil. “He was scared. And now that I think about it—”

“Poppy.” Casteel placed the tips of his fingers against my cheek, just below a spot that ached. He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the cut. “I have two things to say. If Beckett had anything to do with this, I don’t care what or who he is, and I sure as fuck don’t care about what he was feeling.” His voice rose until all who remained at the temple could hear him, including his parents.

“A move against my wife is a proclamation of war against me. Their fate is already sealed. And, secondly?” He lowered his head even farther. This time, his lips brushed over mine in a featherlight kiss. I could barely feel it, but it somehow still managed to twist my insides into knots. He then lifted his head, and I saw it in his features—the stark stillness of a predator locking onto its prey. I’d seen it before, right before he’d torn out Landell’s heart back in New Haven.

Casteel turned his head to the side, looking at the only wolven who remained, now standing on two legs. “You.”

#casteel da'neer #hawke flynn #poppy balfour #penellaphe balfour #cas x poppy #hawke x poppy #the crown of gilded bones #blood and ash series #jennifer l armentrout #TCOGB

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moons-br · 2 years

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Angst :)

Very fun and this is a ref for a group im in. Also i share more Zhongli/Venti/Kazuha/Xiao form that rp. Also evil!Zhongli/Morax.

More tags and such such will be added later, i cant do it rn.

Cw: angst, war, evil!Zhongli, erosion!Zhongli

The wind Blew, Body's of mortals scatter the ground, painting it red. The wind spirits body releasing light wind from the cuts and wounds on his body. His arms stretched out and palms facing downward. His Archon marks glowing with powers, as he looks up to see what hes holding down. The prime Adepti lays on his stomach, forehead against the ground, the atmosphere around him forcing him to stay there. He could easily end the Wind spirit if he wanted too, Geo energy was still buzzing in his blood. Liquid gold leaking from arrow wounds and cuts caused by wind.

Venti took a deep breath in, preparing himself to finally slay the god stuck against the ground. His eyes close momentarily while doing the action, but they snap open when he hears a sickeningly exited laugh emit form the pinned dragon. Venti looking at Zhongli Morax, only to find the God of Geo staring right into the wind gods soul. The almost misplaced grin present as his tail swishes against the ground like a cat who has caught a mouse.

“Are you going to kill me bard?” He says, a joyous tone to his voice. “Because if you do, i cant wait to see how i go out~.” He adds, moving his head so his cheek rests against the ground. The deranged smile ever present.

“What? Morax, of course I’m going to kill you. Look at what you have done?!” Venti yells out, arms moving to put more pressure on him.

“Do it. I cant wait for those consequences catch up to you.” Morax says, eyes going slack as he almost looks like hes given up. “Oh! That’s right, you don't know what happens when you kill a born god, Decarabian wasn't even one of those huh, Just a power hungry immortal who got the power of a Gnosis, but neither was you, Barbatos. Chance is a bitch of a thing.” He sneers. Venti felt more rage burn in his chest, the tough that all the suffering he went though before he assented to an Archon being disrespected. The bard was about to snap at his fellow Archon before he was interrupted again.

“You have never seen what happens when a true god dies, and i would love to see what happens to myself, even if i don't live to see it. Thought, i have a question Barbatos. How close is Mondstadt to us right now?” He asks, the grin widening past the human made design as his more draconic traits pick up. Venti didn't know what he was going on, what was he planing that required the proximity of his city? The anger dying out quickly being replaced by worry and concern.

“What are you planing? Why do you need to know that?” He asks, panic poorly hidden in his voice. Morax laughs at the bards panic.

“When a born god dies, all the energy they had shoots out of their body. The energy has to go somewhere after all. I’ve told you about Guizhong’s death, she wasn't very powerful but animals around her when she died were turned to dust in an insistent. Havria turned her people to salt apon her death and she was weak. Think about my death Bard! I wonder what it will do?” He yells, the earth around reaction to his emotions, in a few waves. The lay lines deep in the earth glowing in Geo energy. Zhongli could feel a few sets of footprints running towards them. “Kill me Bard! Do it! You wanted to see me dead right! We both know my death is the only thing that can stop me! Do it!” He screams, fingers digging into earth. The madness of an immortal life fully effecting him at this point. He didn't know if this was a taunt or a beg, part of him wanted so badly to die, to rest, but causing his past lovers play things anguish was much more fulfilling to him at this moment.

Xiao, Kazuha, and Mondstadt leader run into the seen, Xiao getting into a defensive stance in front of the two humans. For the first time in a while, Morax was reminding him of past gods he had served, and he didn't want the humans present to be injured in any crossfire. Venti could sense Morax was going to speak again, not wanting to deal with him again. He increased the wind around the dragon to force the wind out of his lungs, preventing him from speaking again.

“Xiao, what does he mean when a god dies they kill everything in the area?” Venti asks, turning to face the new people in the area. Xiao showed confusion before absolute fear crossed his face.

“We cant kill him, Morax will kill anything within Mondstadt and Liyue.” Xiao speech was panicked in nature. The Archon and two humans voice there distress at what the Adepti said.

“During the Archon war, Morax absorbed most of the gods power to limit the damage or he sealed them away under stone. If we kill him all that energy will combust and could affect even you and I, Venti. IF we tried to seal him away he could break out if we aren't careful enough. Seals only truly work if the one casting it is stronger.” He clarify. They had been check mated, nothing they could do to stop Morax would 100% cause no backlash and consequences.

“We could seal him away. I think i know someone who could do the job.” Venti says, sending a burst of wind to get the person if they were still alive. It didn't take long for an ash blonde to arrive to the seen. The chalk man listened to the immortals explain the situation at hand, geo pulsing from the ground under where the atmospheric bubble was holding Morax.

“I do have researcher from when the Twins left this world, and the Unknown God fell, we could replicate her ability to seal ones power and it would allow us to seal Morax easier without killing him.” Albedo says nodding as he summons a note pad, the alchemy he needed always at his finger tips to preform any tools. Venti’s marks glowing more as he strains his magic to hold an ever growing angry Morax. It didn't take long for the Chalk man to make the item with the seal, the item being a black and red glowing box that seems to move against the light. An item that can cause the destruction of city's, and seal away a gods right to be. None present enjoyed the thought of such an item existing. “After this, ill make sure that this can never be used again. A one time item to prevent anything like the past from happening again.” Albedo says, looking at the cube in hand.

Everyone positions had to be perfect. One mistake could cause them all there life's, so they had to be careful. Albedo and Xiao prepared to fight and get the two humans out of the area as fast as possible, while Venti needed to do Everything, from using his power to seal Morax’s away, to releasing him so they can do so without it backfiring onto Venti himself. A deafening silence washes over them as Venti pushed Morax deeper into the ground to stun him, wind dispelling from the grounded god. Morax had no time to react, suddenly gaining the ability to breath again, he looks up to see his vision be engulfed by red. The cubes pressing down onto his true being, sealing his godhood away and keeping him stuck in this as his permanent form. The change in his being knocks the dragon out. The others hold their breath as Xiao tests to see Morax's condition.

They work quick, very few places near by could work to seal a god away and Xiao can only think of one, a cave near the bottom of Mt. Hula not to far away from the tree Azhdaha’s resting place. Entering the cave they start to mark the seals to bind Morax to be stuck in the cave. Sigils of old painted the ground to set up pillars, Anemo being used to seal him instead of the Geo of his element. Slowly they leave the cavern as the seals around Morax activate, and as they seal the door way, the dragon awakes. The last glimpse of light catching his eye as hes plunged into darkness.

It took a moment for Morax to register what happened, the moment he does he try's to summon his geo to strike at the Shield keeping him in, read lines glow across his skin, contrasting his gold marks. He lets out a scream.

“Let me out! Barbatos! I’ll kill you!” He yells, voice going hoarse from the screaming. This went on for days, non stop screaming, crying, and threats amid towards the Anemo god, calling him out to not be a coward and kill eventuality he collapsed onto the ground, resting on his knees in a praying potion as he crumples into himself and screams. No words, just making as much noise as he could. Glowing gold from his body, and amber eyes being the only things to produce light eventually he just closed his eyes and rested.

As his person faded from history as time passed, so did his memory's. Morax hid away in his mind, in memory's of the past to stave off the fast set erosion in his mind. Staying in the memory's of Guizhong at first, his happiest time. But slowly, her face eroded from his mind, then her body, soon enough the memory's are like sand falling in between his finders. He could only remember looking as a flower as she someone laid on the ground, there was emotional significance to this. But he couldn't remember why, so he ran deeper into his mind and landed during the time when the Traveller was running around Teyvat, looking for there twin.

These memory's Eroded quicker then the past memory's. People and places quickly falling like sand, a ginger who payed for his things, a mischievous woman who enjoyed teasing him, giving away a strange item and live life as a mortal. All gone in dew time. But a twin set of golden eyes, people made of the sun itself looked at him before tuning away, the only memory of this time era he remembers. So he left to go to more modern memory's.

Three people stand out the most, even if theses memory's escape him the quickest. Almost as if they were already sand before he even got to them. The only memory, if you can even call it that. That remains is foggy, those three people sitting by a window as a song is being sung. The words don't exist, he can feel an instrument being played, but that's all. He didn't know why these people were so disconnected from his mind, had they done something? It didn't matter. He strolled by those memory's only to find nowhere else to go. Out of his entire immortal life, thousands upon thousands of years lived, reduced to three memory’s.

He didn't know how long it had been. But when he opened his eyes again he could feel the shield around him be weak, and he waited for it to be repaired, sending a small bit of geo to disrupt the walls allowing him to get out. Exiting the crack in the wall, leaving the cave for the first time in gods know how many years, the sun was the ting he missed the most. The warmth seeping into his tired bones as he walked aimlessly. He stopped in front of a tree, with a flower growing at the base of it, why did his feet bring him here? That doesn't mater as he sits down and moves to lay in his back, the sun seeping into his skin with a satisfied smile. But that peace didn't last long, foot steps approached in a quickened pace even thought his eyes stayed closed, he didn't move from his spot under the tree.

Venti, Kazuha, and Xiao couldn't believe there eyes, Such a good laying around like a cat, ignoring the threat they pose to him. Kazuha approached the resting good first, saying his name to see the response. The surprise on his face when he sees Morax look at him, before turning onto his side facing away from the human Anemo user. This is what clued them into the wrongness of Morax, Never would he just turn his back on an enemy. This was no longer Morax, or even Zhongli. This was a stranger to the world, just as much of a stranger to them as they were to him. The mountains had finally succumbed to the harsh winds and waters of time, turned to the finest grains of sand that rattled around his head instead of a brain.

#genshin venti #genshin albedo #genshin zhongli #genshin xiao #zhongli angst #tags to be added later lmao #zhongli x kazuha #zhongli x venti #zhongli x xiao #eroded!zhongli

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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*exhales heavily* Cinderella AU time again...and yes, I am in just as much pain as you are.

Carewyn’s dress, which she first wore at the Winter Festival several sections back, is once again based on this design. The scene Orion is pictured in above was inspired by a scene from one of my absolute favorite Disney shorts, The Prince and the Pauper. (Yes, turns out a Mickey Mouse cartoon can end up bringing out some real emotions!) The line “have courage and be kind” is also a reference to Disney’s 2015 live action remake of Cinderella.

Trigger warning for grief, depression, thoughts of suicide, and minor character death.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- so let’s begin.

x~x~x~x

Carewyn rode without stopping all the way back to the Cromwell estate. Her mind was so dark and her spirit panged with such emptiness and pain that she could hardly have explained why. Perhaps she’d thought to confront Charles. Perhaps she’d thought to demand that he explain why Talbott was wrong -- where he’d really sent Jacob, if not off to War. Perhaps she’d thought to demand the truth. But for her to do that, she’d have to accept that what Talbott said was really true. And if she did that...

Overhead the clouds gathered and grew darker still in the night, rumbling with thunder. By the time Carewyn had reached the capital again, it had started to pelt sleet and rain.

When Carewyn had arrived at the Cromwell estate, she leapt off her horse in such haste that her foot got caught in the saddle. Loosing her balance and grip, Carewyn fell right off and right into the mud several feet away from the manor’s front stoop. Her horse, startled by the sound of his rider’s cry, gave a whinny, backing up with its hooves padding the muddy earth.

Carewyn shakily eased herself up out of the mud. One of her slightly-too-big shoes had come off when she fell. She tried to gather enough awareness of her surroundings to retrieve it...but in that moment, she found herself unable to move. The cold of the freezing rain was enough to make anyone feel numb, but combined with the paralyzing despair that clung to her blood like ice, she was just too weak to stand.

Jacob...Jacob...

Carewyn tried to get up, but her legs quaked under her and she slumped forward.

I have to get up, she tried to tell herself. I have to be strong. I can’t fall apart...when...

“Jacob needs me. I have to be strong for Jacob.” That was always the thing that kept her from breaking. That was always the thing that helped her stand back up, every time she fell. That was always the thing that convinced her that she could still endure somehow.

I need to make up for my mistake. I need to bring Jacob home. It’s okay if I can never be free -- it’s okay if I can never be happy again. If I’m a slave to Grandfather the rest of my life, that’s fine, as long as Jacob is...

Carewyn’s hands vaguely clutched at the sleeves of her dress, almost trying to simulate the way Jacob had hugged her nine years ago.

The memory of her older brother’s arms squeezing her tight always used to bring Carewyn some warmth in the past, even through the pain of how much she missed him. But now...now even that memory could not shake the shuddering cold off of her shoulders.

A loud crash of lightning overhead spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a scared whinny, it galloped away toward the stable, leaving her alone. Carewyn, however, barely noticed. She was too lost in her own head.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Jacob’s choked, relieved voice echoed in her ear...only to be replaced with Chester’s recollection of Jacob’s final words.

“‘Wyn. I’ve failed you, Wyn.’”

Carewyn’s heart felt like it was being ripped open. A part of her was gone -- torn out with force.

No, Jacob. I failed you. It was me. It’s all because of me.

She was the foolish one, to have ever trusted Charles in anything. She was the ignorant one, to never have questioned his explanation or why she’d never seen a single shred of a letter from Jacob, all those years. She was the stupid one, to not have immediately run after Jacob, rather than stay under Charles’s thumb all that time. She was the pathetic one who’d sold her and Jacob’s souls away...all for nothing.

Jacob did everything he could to try to get away. He must have known he was going to die, but he did everything he could to try to get back to her...while she...she immediately got to work being her family’s servant. She cowardly slunk into the kitchen and obeyed Charles’s will, in the exact moments when Jacob was trying everything he could to reach her. And then, when the spell was broken...he died alone. He died alone, and in chains, bruised and crying...knowing that he’d never see his sister again.

Carewyn had stayed in line hoping to keep Jacob from suffering...but her inaction -- her stupidity -- had made him suffer all the way up until his last breath.

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. She felt like claws were tearing at her heart, ripping her apart from the inside. She couldn’t catch her breath. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep herself from sobbing openly, and huddled in on herself. Her soaking hair was coming out of its bun and falling all around her face, but she didn’t even feel it. All she felt was cold and pain and grief and heavy, unnatural gravity.

You deserve this.

The thought was a whisper in her mind, but it was a knife in her brain and her heart at the same time.

Jacob died alone. Jacob suffered and died...all because you didn’t...

She shut her eyes, her shoulders quaking.

You deserve to be alone. You deserve to die alone.

The voice that had always belonged to that “beast” inside of herself had never been stronger than it was in that moment. Its voice rumbled like the thunder that echoed overhead, and yet it was silent poison in her ear, trickling through to her brain and into her icy blood.

She screamed. It was all she could do. She screamed in anguish, clutching her own shoulders as her tears muddled with the raindrops sliding down her cheeks.

Die alone. Die alone.

Time blurred for Carewyn as she sat in the rain alone. Looking back, she could hardly have said whether it was ten minutes or an entire hour later before anyone approached her.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn barely heard the cry of her name. It was as if it’d come from a mile away, in a voice that was vaguely familiar in how misty it was, but echoing with anxiety.

Someone collapsed to their knees in front of her, grabbing hold of her arms and hoisting her upper half back up. Carewyn stiffened like a cat -- when her eyes shot open, they could just barely make out a man with wet hair messily falling into his black eyes.

“Carewyn,” breathed Orion.

Carewyn tried to speak, but she couldn’t inhale without choking back a sob. She clenched her teeth harder.

Orion had been waiting outside the gates of the Royaumanian camp for her, she recalled. He must’ve seen her ride off and immediately followed after her.

Orion’s face was so pale -- so anxious. It made Carewyn almost ill to see it. Tearing her eyes away, she brought a hand up to his chest and pushed him back away from her.

“Go away,” she whispered.

The words were an arrow in Orion’s heart.

“Carewyn...”

He reestablished his grip on her shoulders. but Carewyn once again pushed at his chest.

“Leave me!” she rasped.

Orion, however, only squeezed her more tightly, his eyes flooding with pain and caring.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she lashed out despite herself, as more tears slid off her lashes. “I told you to leave me! Leave me be...”

Orion amazingly didn’t respond to Carewyn’s temper. Instead he merely steadied his hold on her shoulders, even though his hands were trembling.

“Carewyn,” he whispered, “your brother...”

“DON’T TALK ABOUT JACOB!”

Carewyn brought both of her hands up and finally shoved Orion off of her. She tried to get up, to put more distance between them, but her legs collapsed out from under her and she fell back into the mud.

“Carewyn...” said Orion, reaching out to try to help her again, but Carewyn wrenched herself out of his reach.

“I told you to leave! I don’t want your help -- I don’t want your kindness, or your caring, or your sadness -- ”

"You don’t want them,” said Orion, his voice a bit faster than normal due to the anxiety throbbing through his head and heart, “but I feel them, all the same. Please...won’t you accept them? Accept how sorry I am, that I couldn’t reunite you with him -- that I couldn’t -- ”

“No.”

Carewyn shut her eyes tight, clutching her own shoulders in a vain attempt to make them stop shaking.

The denial made Orion flinch. “...Why?”

“Because I don’t deserve them!” she shot back, her voice choked with pain. “I don’t deserve your concern -- I don’t deserve your worry -- I didn’t deserve it before, and I don’t deserve it now, so stop trying to give jewels to swine! I will not appreciate them!”

Orion’s black eyes welled up with anguish.

“My lady -- ” he whispered.

“NO.”

The title made Carewyn’s eyes flood with fresh tears, her eyebrows knitting tightly over her eyes.

“I’m not your lady -- nor am I anyone’s! I’m not a lady -- I never was! I’m barely even a Cromwell! My mother ran away from home and eloped with a merchant against our family’s wishes -- Grandfather disowned her long before I was born! I’m just as much an outsider to my family as she was -- as Jacob was! I have no dowry, no money, no status -- the only reason I was even at the palace was because Grandfather sent me to work there! I’m a maidservant, a peasant, an orphan...I’m nothing!”

Orion’s eyes were very wide upon Carewyn’s face. He seemed a bit intimidated by her ferocity, but he didn’t recoil. Instead he tried again to reach out.

“You’re not nothing, Carewyn Cromwell -- you’ve never been nothing...”

He didn’t touch her this time, instead clutching his own hands in his lap, but inched as close to her as she’d let him.

“Carewyn, I was a peasant myself, until my half-brother, the first Prince, was killed,” he whispered. Once again, the anxiety that made his heart race and his head pound was making him talk in a faster, tenser, rambling voice. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are -- I know who you are, and you’re the furthest thing from nothing to -- ”

“Who I am!”

Carewyn couldn’t contain her volatile emotions. She clutched at her own face, the nails digging into her skin.

“Who I am is a SLAVE, Orion! A slave to the Devil I stupidly trusted, thinking he would help my brother...the Devil I stupidly followed the bidding of, trying to get him a crown through my cousins, in the misguided thought that it would spare Jacob from further suffering! And instead...instead all I did was stay in line, march lock-step, for no reason at all! My brother died alone, because of me! I gave up our freedom for nothing!”

Her nails left red marks on her face with the effort of trying to force back her tears.

“Everything, all of it -- all of this pain is my own fault! All because I couldn’t save Mum or Jacob -- because I was actually stupid enough to believe Grandfather would help me, pathetic enough to become as much of a liar and a fraud as he is -- ”

Orion impulsively unclasped his hands and grabbed hold of hers gripping her face.

“Carewyn, please,” he choked. His eyes were rippling like turbulent black waves and his voice was strained with anxiety. “This is your inner beast talking, not you. You don’t deserve this pain and grief. You deserve more, so much more -- you deserve to be happy -- you deserve to be free. If I could break your chains, I would -- if I could bring your brother back, I would -- if I could give you the Southern Sea itself for you to sail on, I would -- ”

Orion’s hands were shaking as he tried and failed to peel her hands from her face. He couldn’t bear to see this woman who had always been so strong, who had become an anchor when he’d needed it, so off-balance. He knew he needed to find his center, and try to focus...but how could he, when his center of balance was the cause of his lack of balance? It made it so that all Orion could do was mirror Carewyn, becoming more upset and losing more hope as she did.

His heartrate was spiking. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do or say, to fend off the beast assaulting the woman he loved.

“Please...” Orion whispered, “please don’t hurt yourself like this -- please -- let me help you...”

All of a sudden, a lantern was lit inside the manor. A window opened, and the sound of voices came out of it.

“Who’s there?!” bellowed the voice of Blaise Cromwell.

Carewyn and Orion both stiffened. Orion’s hands tightened on Carewyn’s on her face, but she tore out of his grip again.

“Go,” she said very coldly.

Orion faltered, his face desperate. “Carewyn -- ”

“Now. Before you’re caught trespassing.”

Despite the coldness of her voice, it was not cruel. It was very quiet and strained, despite its lack of light -- an opaque shadow of her usual voice.

Orion’s hands were trembling as he impulsively grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his lips.

“Come with -- ”

But she withdrew her hand.

“I said go now!”

Orion closed his eyes, trying to hold in the wounded, miserable flinch that passed over his face.

It was the first time she’d refused to accept his help at all. When they’d first met, he’d said that if she did refuse his help when it was offered willingly, it would only serve to make her all the more wonderful of a contradiction...but now that she had...it only served to make his heart break.

She’s in so much pain, he thought. She’s in so much pain, and yet still, even now, she cannot place her well-being over someone else’s. Even now, she sacrifices, and endures, and suffers...even now, she’s so...

Orion was breathing heavily, shakily. His thoughts were racing as fast as his heart, making his brain throb just as badly.

He was in no state to help her fight her beast in that moment, while fighting his own...especially when she had already surrendered to it.

And so, Orion did as Carewyn asked. He turned away and ran back to his horse. He climbed back onto its back, flicked the reins, and charged back off into the rain, just as the door of the Cromwell estate opened.

Orion returned to the Florentine capital. He was so off-balance that he didn’t have the heart to try to go look for Andre, KC, Erika, and the Weasleys, to tell them where Carewyn had gone. He didn’t have the heart to face them, knowing that Carewyn’s brother had been killed in a conflict with his own father’s men. (For, as one might recall, Orion never learned the circumstances behind the spell cast to stall Jacob’s death.)

Orion arrived at the palace soaking wet nearly three hours later, just before midnight. It was fortunate he did, for as soon as he rode in through the gates, a pretty woman with braided blond hair rushed out to him. It was Penny Haywood -- the chief medic from the war front.

“Orion! Thank God you’re back!”

Orion was too emotionally overwhelmed to give her a proper greeting. Instead he tried to detach himself, climbing off his horse and immediately moving toward the stable to tie her up. Penny, however, seized the horse’s reins out of his hand and stepped in front of him.

“You must go to your father at once,” she said urgently. “He’s up in his chambers -- ”

“I shall speak with him in the morning,” said Orion lowly. He let Penny take his horse -- he couldn’t focus on fighting with her about it. He just had to get somewhere quiet, away from the thunder and pounding thoughts in his head...

“No,” said Penny, her voice very strained. “You must see him now, Orion -- ”

She held onto his horse’s reins as she pursued him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Orion...the King is dying.”

It seemed that General Parkin hadn’t just been blustering back at the battlefield, when he was trying to coax Orion to return with him to camp. The battle King Cosimo V had prematurely waged against the Royaumanian army had stolen many lives and injured many...the most prominent of which was the King himself. He had been shot several times in the heart, an injury too traumatic to the human body for any of Penny’s potions to heal -- and so all that could be done was stall his death through a spell that temporarily gave him the heart of a pig the army had co-opted from a local farm. Severus Snape, the court magician, had stood by the King in his chambers maintaining the spell, in the hopes that Orion would return in time to say his proper goodbyes.

Orion found Skye and McNully waiting outside the King’s bedchambers. Skye offered Orion a towel to dry off, but Orion silently shook his head and, with a trembling hand, pushed open the door.

Snape was sitting at the King’s bedside, his concentration fixed on his spell, but was talented enough of a magician that his focus wasn’t broken when Orion entered the room.

“Your Highness,” said Snape lowly. “At last.”

Orion clasped his hands in front of him. “Master Snape.”

The court magician’s expression was very stony, but he nonetheless rose to his feet and moved to Orion, his eyes boring into his face solemnly.

“I shall leave you alone, to speak with him,” he murmured. “Be quick. His time is short.”

Orion closed his eyes, his head falling in something of a half-hearted nod. Snape swept past him, his outer robes billowing behind him like a bat’s wings, and he closed the large door behind him with a soft, but resounding boom.

Orion’s hands were very clammy. He squeezed them tightly, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in a vain attempt to calm his racing heart.

“Cosimo...?”

His father’s voice came out very hushed. Orion’s eyes shot open, startled and dismayed.

“Be quick,” the memory of Snape’s voice urged him again.

Taking a deep breath, Orion swept over to his father’s bedside, sitting down in the chair that Snape had been sitting in before.

The King of Florence lay limply in bed, his green eyes half-mast upon Orion’s face. When his son approached, something in them softened.

“Cosimo,” he murmured. “You’re safe...”

Orion nodded. “Yes.”

The King closed his eyes, his expression breaking into a relieved smile. Orion swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“Father,” he said quietly, “I didn’t know you were injured -- if I had, I would’ve come to the camp straightaway...”

“I’m grateful for that,” said the King. “Under the circumstances...I’m afraid I did wonder.”

Orion’s black eyes grew a little smaller. “You believed I wouldn’t care, if you died?”

The King’s face grew very somber as he slowly opened his eyes again. “Not believed. Simply wondered. And...perhaps understood the logic of it.”

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes with confusion and upset. “Well, I’m afraid I fail to.”

The King sighed.

"...You have never had an easy life, Cosimo,” he said lowly. “I knew it long before you became Prince, and yet I did nothing to mitigate it. I was never a father to you, when you were young. I never gave you anything but a paltry allowance, to make sure you were clothed and fed. All because I chose my duty to our people and country over my love for your mother.”

Orion squeezed his own hands tightly.

“I do not resent you for that,” he murmured. “You couldn’t abandon your responsibility...nor your first son. If you’d done what Mother had intended, and cast aside your wife and my half-brother so that I would be sole prince and heir, I’m certain you would’ve had just as many regrets. My half-brother would’ve been the one in my place...and after having actually known you as a father, that would’ve been far more crippling to his sense of balance -- to his identity and his life.”

His black eyes softened sadly.

“I’m not foolish enough to think that Mother was right, to expect you to choose her ambitions over your duty. She should never have put you in the position to make such a choice...least of all by giving me your name, so that everyone would know I was meant to be a replacement for your first son...who I know you loved more than anyone else. I’ll always love and miss my mother...but she never learned that one can’t love another person by forcing them to choose between two sides of their heart.”

The memory of Carewyn crumpled over in grief in response to her brother’s death rippled over his mind again.

I couldn’t tell her not to grieve for him. I couldn’t disrespect her, by refusing to leave, when she told me to...by forcing her onto my horse and stealing her away...

His heart clenched.

Even so...I wish I did. I wish I wasn’t such a coward that I didn’t just refuse to leave her side, no matter what she or her family said...no matter what happened...

But Royaume and Florence were still at war, despite everything. If he’d stayed and been arrested or gotten into a physical altercation with Carewyn’s family, what would that have helped? Who would it have helped?

The King’s green eyes trailed over Orion’s face, slightly awed. Then they melted, rippling like emeralds under candlelight, and he reached out a hand through the bed curtains toward Orion.

“...You truly have become so wise, Cosimo,” he whispered, his eyes sliding closed. “So wise...”

After a brief hesitation, Orion shakily detached his hands and took his father’s in both of them.

“You...will be a great king, my son.”

Orion’s eyes fell down to his father’s hand.

“I’m not ready,” he confessed.

“No prince is.”

King Cosimo squeezed his son’s hands, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.

“Tell me about her,” he murmured.

“About Mother?” asked Orion.

The King shook his head. “No. The lady you wrote of, in your letter. The Royaumanian.”

Orion’s heart felt like it had been dunked in water. It sparked some adrenaline and made his heart race, yes...but it was still so cold...

“She’s...”

Orion closed his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled several times to try to steady his heartrate.

“...a robin in a cage, Father.”

The King didn’t respond. Orion pressed on.

“She has a frame so small and fragile that anyone could underestimate her...but her soul has wings strong enough to take flight, if she so chose. Her feathers sheen with light and color, yet they pale in the face of the brilliance of her eyes. She flits about with courage and agility. She has a heart too large for her red breast to contain...and so she sings. Oh, how she sings! Her song could soothe the most savage beasts...and they have, in the hearts of men. It can bring people together -- inspire hope for a future that had seemed impossible. And...”

He swallowed.

“...she’s selfless. The bravest, kindest, most selfless person I’ve ever met in my life. Nothing frightens her. Nothing intimidates her. No pain is one she won’t endure...so long as the people she loves thrive. As long as she can bring others happiness...she’ll take every bit of pain onto her own shoulders, take the brunt of the whole world’s ire...just so that no one else has to. She’ll help a complete stranger simply because they need help...and yet never demand a single thing for herself. All because, even with how wonderful and good of a person she is...she still somehow sees herself as unworthy.”

His voice had become very hushed.

“Her standards...are higher than I could ever fathom.”

“I can imagine.”

The King’s hand squeezed Orion’s hands lightly.

“She truly has inspired you, Cosimo. I realize now that you never wished to be a King of War, as I have been...but she was the one who encouraged you to fight for that wish, regardless of the risk. When I first read your letter...I was so blinded by my own fears...of losing you, as I had your brother...that I could only read your words as evidence that an infatuation had caused you to recklessly put yourself in danger...just as I might have, as a young man. But now...now I only regret that I won’t get to meet Lady Cromwell myself.”

He opened his eyes, and to Orion’s surprise, they’d started to flood with tears.

“I understand the pain of loving someone who you’re not free to be with,” said the King. “I lament that you must know it too...but from the sound of things...your lady knows love better than either I or your mother did.”

He actually gave a choked laugh.

“Please consider courting her -- I’d love knowing my son had a queen like that, by his side.”

Orion wanted to smile in return, but he just couldn’t.

Somewhere far away, a clock began to toll the hour. The sound made Orion’s heart clench with anxiety.

“No...”

He looked at his father. As the second toll gonged, the King clutched his chest. The third and fourth tolls prompted the wounds in his chest to start reopening.

“My time is up, Cosimo,” the King said solemnly.

“No,” said Orion again, “no...not yet...”

“It’s all right.”

The sixth gong made the blood blossom up out of the wounds in his chest. Despite the pain he was clearly in, King Cosimo faced Orion with a very brave, firm expression.

“You must promise,” he told him, and his voice came out as a rasp, “promise me you’ll rule Florence from your heart...justly...and wisely.”

Orion felt like his racing heart was stuck in his throat.

“...I promise,” he said at last.

“Follow...your lady’s example. Have courage...and be kind.”

“I will. I promise.”

The tenth toll of the clock made blood spill out the side of the King’s mouth, but he forced a smile all the same, even as tears streamed from his eyes.

“...I’ve...never been more proud...to be your father.”

He kept his eyes on Orion’s face all the way up until the last stroke of midnight. His eyes remained there even after all of the light had left them and he had taken his final breath.

Orion’s hands were shaking as he held his father’s limp hand. He bowed his head, closing his eyes, and sat there in silence. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, for a very long moment.

Florence...its people, its land, was solely his responsibility now.

His shoulders suddenly felt so heavy -- as if he were suddenly Atlas, with the weight of the world resting upon him. It was suffocating, but it was also devastating...for no man could hope to run free, carrying such a heavy burden. He wouldn’t be able to leave Florence as he pleased any longer. He wouldn’t be able to escape from his duties for a day, or make believe he was anything other than what he was.

Carewyn couldn’t fly because she was in a cage. And now...Orion couldn’t fly because he bore a weight too heavy for him to carry.

It was only when the door of the chambers opened several minutes later and Skye, McNully, Penny, and Snape all reentered that Orion raised his head. He looked over his shoulder at them, his face very restrained and calm, even though his black eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Skye immediately ran over to Orion and threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his shoulder and squeezing tight. McNully wheeled right up beside Orion too, his own eyes full of tears. For once, he didn’t seem to know what to say.

The door inched a bit more open, and Orion caught sight of Lord Malfoy coming to stand in the door frame. Although he was dressed in black and tried to appear solemn, however, his cold gray eyes were glinting with an odd kind of satisfaction.

Lord Malfoy had certainly not planned for things to unfold as they did...but the wealthy businessman wasn’t unhappy at the thought of the King who’d been too noble for his own good being replaced with an ignorant bastard peasant.

Orion released King Cosimo’s hand at last to hug Skye in return. Then, detaching himself from her, he rose from the chair and moved over to the bed so he could bring up a hand and gently close his father’s eyes.

“The King is dead,” Snape said solemnly, his eyes locked solidly on Orion as the Crown Prince faced him. “Long live the King.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #my art #my writing #penny haywood #skye parkin #murphy mcnully #severus snape #*exhales heavily*#out of the frying pan and into the fire #but hey...can't expect to get a happy ending without a little trouble along the way

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mystery-vixen · 3 years

Text

And now for something a little different—

I’ve been feeling very upset for a few days now and haven’t been able to work on anything. Pumped out this depressing story in a little over a hour yesterday though.

Goes hand in hand with my headcanon that Macavity was a jellicle who went insane. This is his failed rehabilitation.

Angst

Characters included: Macavity, Jennyanydots

Warnings: Depression. Suicidal thoughts.

Macavity arrived back in the den late. He was tired from a night out with his “family”. He used that term loosely now. It never felt natural to him in the first place.

As soon as he closed the door he covered his head with his hands. His eyes filled with tears and his claws dug deep into his scalp. He was shaking. He was holding his breath. Everlasting cat above why must you torment me! His mind screamed above the scrambled mess of thoughts and emotions.

He whipped around, striking down the nearest object which was a vase on the table. The ceramic pot smashed against the floor and left glimmering shards scattered in the dirt. He continued his rampage. He walked forward, his shins instantly meeting with the short table on the floor and he bent down to curl his fingers under it. With little effort he flipped the wooden table and threw it across the room where it smashed against the wall and came to slide down in front of the door.

“Macavity stop!”

The ginger cat took pause in his destruction when he heard the all too familiar voice call out to him and he turned his attention to the opposite side of the room. Standing amongst his mess was Jennyanydots. Her brow was folded in worry and she stared at him, horrified by what he was doing. The very sight of her made him feel weak and vulnerable.

“Don’t.. don’t look at me,” he tried to command her, but his voice came out in a plea.

“What is happening to you?” She asked, looking down only for a moment as she stepped over the ceramic shards.

“Nothing!” He responded quickly to her questioning. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” At this, Jenny’s fear faded to sorrow and she stared at him with such sadness that it made him want to fold into himself and never open up again.

“Macavity, dear.. you don’t have to pretend with me. Please let me help you,” she whispered barely audibly. His knees felt weak and he felt the overwhelming urge to fall down at that. Instead, he sank to a squatting position and covered his head once more.

“No. I can’t.. I can’t let you,” he said, not caring if she heard him or not. So many emotions spun around in his head and fought to overpower and kill each other. The need to hurt another —to make someone else feel as powerless and as in pain as he was— came to him and he felt disgusted in his own need to cause others misery.

A warm compress covered his back and he jolted back upright, his eyes wide and staring at the queen who had dared to touch him. “Don’t.” Came his pathetic attempt at a demand. It was worn and broken. A plea to be left alone. To fall deep into himself and never be brought back to others he could potentially hurt —or others who could, in their hatred for what he was, hurt him.

“Please,” she whispered and Macavity could see the beginnings of tears beading in her eyes. How could he deny her this? She wanted to touch him, but oh, how he despised the thought of someone feeling him. Feeling the disgusting outer shell of his decaying and wretched soul. But, contradictory to his previous wish, he desperately wanted to be held. For someone to touch him and not shy away in fear and horror. To love him and not be repulsed in the way that he was by his own being. To stay.

He folded, flattening his ears and lowering his head submissively. He had no strength left in himself to deny her —or himself— this kindness. She didn’t wait. He felt her arms heavy around him in an instant and he allowed himself to be guided against her chest where he rested his cheek against her breast.

“I’m scared,” he whispered. He blinked, tears falling down his cheeks and soaking the queen’s bosom. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s like I’m being torn apart and it hurts… so much.” He didn’t recognize his own voice at that moment. It sounded as if it had been said by a child. A weak, lonely child. Nothing like the cruel and powerful adult he’d become.

“There’s something inside of me,” he whimpered quietly and sniffled against her. His cheek pressed harder against her chest as he pushed into her, begging to be held closer. For his pain to end in this one minuscule act of affection. But, it would never be so easy; and even if this was the first act of love he’d felt in so long it changed nothing.

“It has teeth. It screams for blood. For my own or for another’s.. it doesn’t matter.” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear the light. The visual confirmation that this was real and this is what he had become. He silently prayed for all light to end. For darkness to overtake him in an eternal slumber that left his body to decay as his mind had so many years ago.

“Oh dear,” the woman whispered down to him. He felt her gentle hand against his hair and she stroked him ever so carefully. The treatment was so calm. It was so soft. It reminded him of a delicate touch he once knew when he was a kitten and had long forgotten as an adult who’s only source of physical contact was that of tooth and claw. “We all saw it.”

He opened his eyes and the light burned his sight. His heart pounded against his chest as he blinked his vision clear. “What?” He asked quietly. He felt the sigh leave her chest and her gentle pats kept him aware of her presence as she spoke to him.

“We knew you would eventually break, dear. We always knew you were a failure.”

“What?” His voice was sodden with pain. He raised his hands to her back and held onto her, pulling her in against him in a pathetic attempt to coax love and comfort from her. “From the moment you slithered from your mother’s womb like a parasite I knew you were a monster. A despicable little beast that had no right or place among us. You knew it too.”

He felt her fingers beneath his chin and he allowed himself to be pulled back away from her breast. She tilted his head upwards to meet with her gaze and he saw the tears in her eyes. Her lips separated into a smile. A wide, sick smile that made him uneasy and afraid. “You said it yourself, son. We could never love you.” She cackled as she looked down at him. At something truly unworthy of her love and admiration.

In a blink Macavity was leaning forward and he stared at the wall before him. His head whipped around. His eyes darted frantically to find the woman who had cradled him. She was gone. She was.. never there.

He sank further into his knees. The weight of his body was overwhelming and his mind screamed in a thousand anguished voices that begged for any sense of cohesion. His claws raised back over his head, digging deeply into the sides of his face. The physical pain brought some semblance of pleasure to him. As if the distraction to his own inner turmoil was within the destruction of his flesh. No words. No comfort of an otherworldly force his mind had created to torment him would calm him. He craved only one silence that would never be granted to him. He wanted it far more than any kind of magic. Any godly ability he’d accomplished over the years that he cursed now as the accursed thing that had forced him to be an outsider. Although, as he lay crumpled on the floor begging an outside force to lull him to a sleep he wished to never wake from, he questioned the very basis of their unbridled hatred. Was it his magic? Was it his love that he had kept buried so deep within himself that it had starved and eaten away at his heart? Was it him? His disposable, unlovable being forced to live long in misery only to grant others whom he loved to suffer. How he’d beg for that disgusting waste to be ended so that they may live long enough to erase the memory of him and his love. His bitter, empty love that was broken and filthy —because it was his.

As he lay upon the floor, begging any outward force to destroy the monster that lived deep within his body, he cried. The creature feasted upon him. It devoured everything. His heart. His lungs. His stomach. It ate everything until there was nothing left within his body but a black cloud of bitter hatred and sorrow.. and he allowed it. After all, this horrible, excruciating pain hadn’t left him like others had... and it never would.

#cats the musical #mmm smell that angst #tw suicide #tw depression #Macavity #Jennyanydots #cats fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction

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malkumtend · 4 years

Text

Meeting.

Crowfeather X Squirrelflight AU. (Belongs to @lonely-ghost-606)

Soooo after the angst ridden fireball that was “His Blood”, I couldn’t resist adding a follow up to it. So here we are, a direct sequel to that one shot (which I would highly recommend reading before this one).

So in case you’re unaware: this follows the AU of my friend @lonely-ghost-606 where Crow and Squirrel fell in love during the great journey, only to separate after Squirrel couldn’t find the heart to leave Leafpool after she was injured in the badger attack. They met up once again and have seen each other for many nights since then. But now secrets have been revealed and blood has been spilled.

It’s time for Crowfeather to meet his kits, face to face.

...

He waited with his heart in his mouth. Windclan wouldn’t believe their eyes if they could see him so visibly worried, pacing back and forth, his fur on end; this wasn’t the reserved, silent cat that ran through Windclan, the one who didn’t look like he would even be able to spell the word ‘smile’.

But, then again, he had ran away like his life depended on it when Onestar announced what had happened at Thunderclan camp.

He knew that Nightcloud would understand. He knew she was scared as well.

She just wasn’t as...ugh...sensitive as he was about his mate’s safety.

He’d have to make an excuse up to Onestar later, but that was at the back of his mind for now. All that he could feel now was just the unknown fear and horror that surrounded Thunderclan’s cats.

Then again, it wasn’t so much Thunderclan he was worried about. Only four cats.

The air around the border was cold and dark, only rippling on the hazing fear crawling across Crowfeather’s back. Inside his mind, burning, scorching destruction exploded, screaming possibilities that made his stomach churn and rise. He screwed his eyes shut, hissing to rake the images away, but they only rasped and boiled harder in the darkness.

He let out a low groan. He hadn’t felt this for moons, this fear and grief that he still didn’t entirely know was warranted, it had been on the first night he’d retraced his steps to this border that he’d had to suffer from that. But after, when hope and passion that he’d been stark off since he was young was finally returned to him, it all felt worth it.

But now, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel that again if what he feared came to spite him as true.

It wasn’t just that the one cat that he had ever been blessed to love could be dead. But, his children too. The children whose lives he’d been denied. The children where his sole moments of pride came from hearing about their growth from the mother able to share the lives that he had never seen.

Maybe would never see.

Again, Crowfeather wracked with soul crushing fear. His eyes searched through the darkness, along the unmarked tree trunks, and the thorns that mockingly lined the whispering mist. Anything for a sign.

He wished he had the courage to race to Thunderclan camp and see for himself, confirm that he was truly terrified for no reason. But two things held him back: The knowledge that if he attempted it, he would only brew a maelstrom of anger and suspicion that could ruin so many lives. And the unimaginable dread that he could be right, and that so much of the quaint allowance of what he held precious could be gone.

Crowfeather didn’t have the heart for either.

He could only wait. It was one of their nights. And it was a night he hoped wouldn’t change everything he had longed for.

He had traced the line of the border so many times, and he would continue to do so until the sun rose if he needed to. He ignored the rain that rattled his fur and made him shiver under his light coat. In fact, he welcomed it. If the rain had put out the fire that he had heard was ravaging Thunderclan camp, he could maybe feel just a little easier. What a luxury.

They had to be okay. He repeated that over and over again. They had to be. Thunderclan was many things, but their cats were well prepared. They must have found a safe area by now. And he knew she would never rest if she knew her, their, kits were in danger.

It felt strange for him to rely on such optimism. But she’d always had that effect on him.

Almost as if rewarding his newfound hope, a new scent drifted along his whiskers. A scent he recognised.

His heart leapt, his eyes widening with astonishing reprieve. He actually smiled, true and bright, as he turned to where he knew she was approaching from. His mouth, wired by a mind too delirious with elation and affection he was too often denied, began to move before he could fathom what he was saying.

The glint of her emerald eyes made him blissfully hysterical.

“Thank Starclan, you’re okay! I was so worried! After Onestar told Windclan about the fire, I couldn’t just-”

More eyes blinked and burned in the shadows.

More scents lingered over his senses.

Crowfeather’s smile left him, bringing back the harsh line associated with himself.

She was at the front, not showing a twitch of the happiness that was meant to fill these nights. Her head was low, her tail dragged along the floor. Behind her, four sullen faces followed.

Crowfeather’s heart sank. He recognised them all.

One belonged to a tom that Crowfeather knew from his youth. A massive brown tom that looked so much smaller now than he size augmented. He also carried responsibilities Crowfeather felt he deserved more than any Windclan cat.

Deputy and parent. Even though he wasn’t truly the latter.

Three he only saw on the rarest of occasions. He had never spoken to them, yet they were linked to him in ways that only the disapproving eyes of Starclan could see.

One as black as night, kept close to Bramblestar, unmissable hostility flashing in bright green eyes that were clearly reminiscent of her mother. Crowfeather gawked at how much she looked like him, from the wide shape of her ears to the short spikes of fur along her back.

Beside her, a light grey cat shimmered blue under the cool moonlight. His blue gaze sparkled, but was blankly angry, staring ahead but not seeing anything. He stood on refined legs and his body was sleek and streaming. Unmistakably Windclan by all accounts. If only he knew that.

And just behind Squirrelflight, a huge golden tom looked warily ahead at Crowfeather, his amber eyes glowing dimly, trembling. The thickness of his coat was clearly inherited from his mother, but now it looked flat and still, making him look so much weaker than he was.

Hollyleaf. Jayfeather. Lionblaze.

Three cats. His kits. The cats he’d wanted to meet for so long.

From how they were looking at him, it seemed Crowfeather should have been careful what he wished for.

His pelt prickled uncertainly, stiffening as he began to take in Squirrelflight's expression. He hated seeing her anything other than happy; now, she looked utterly heartbroken, for the both of them.

She dragged her gaze up to him, something revealing glinting inside them. The look of prey that had been caught. Crowfeather's head began to whirl.

They knew. All of them, even Brambleclaw...

Squirrelflight caught his realisation with a slow, dreading nod. She'd clearly been crying. She stopped a whisker away from him and Crowfeather could now see the raw emotions all around her.

For the first time, he could call himself their father and be recognised as it.

It suddenly felt like even the stars were burning their silver eyes on them.

"So this is the cat," Crowfeather broke away, turning to the icy voice that belonged to his daughter. She looked up and down slowly, seeming to grow more disgusted as she did so. "Doesn't look like much."

There was such bitterness in those few words that Crowfeather couldn't help but grimace.

"Hollyleaf." Lionblaze frowned, exhaustion draining the anger from his voice.

"What?" She demanded, lashing her tail.

"We're not here to start a fight." Jayfeather mewed, though his voice still carried a miserly unease. Lionblaze nodded, pointing his sister with a glare.

"I'm not the one who started it!" Hollyleaf growled, sending a much more venomous glare to her true parents.

Crowfeather couldn’t stop a snarl becoming caught in his throat as he saw Squirrelflight flinch, hiding her eyes from the hate their daughter was forcing on her. He sucked it back though, he needed to keep calm. So he just sat down, his tail waving patiently.

“It’s nice to finally meet you all.” He said, hoping it sounded as genuine as he meant it to, but the eeriness of the atmosphere was rendering him toneless. “Your mother told me so much about you.”

“Of course she did.” Hollyleaf grumbled, turning away as Brambleclaw whipped her back with his tail.

The brown deputy padded ahead, his amber eyes unreadable. “I assume you heard about the fire.”

“Yes.” Crowfeather nodded, still uneasy about his former friend. Last he’d heard, Brambleclaw was under the impression that the three were his, that thought still made Crowfeather’s stomach curl a little, so the fact he looked so... empty right now was extremely disconcerting. Unwittingly, Crowfeather felt his spine tense in case Brambleclaw had any ulterior motives here.

But as long as Squirrelflight was by his side, he didn’t think he had much to worry about.

“I’m glad to see you’re all okay.” Crowfeather mewed genuinely, using his tail to press gently against Squirrelflight’s pelt. “Were there any losses?”

At that, every cat suddenly turned grave; an unknown darkness louring over the Thunderclan pack.

“One.” Brambleclaw said, hollow, unnerved. “That’s really why we’re here.”

“Apart from the obvious reason.” Jayfeather snapped in with a mood that Crowfeather recognised greatly. Brambleclaw silenced him with a harsh look, then he sighed and began to speak. Explain.

Fire. Secrets. Threats. Death. Anger.

So much anger.

All the while, Crowfeather’s face darkened and his tail curled more and more protectively around his mate as he sensed the tears coming back into her eyes.

By the end, he felt so much. Anguish for his love. Fear and relief for his kits. Twisted appreciation for Brambleclaw. Unbelievable hatred for this Ashfur character!

He’d wanted them to someday find out that he was their real father. But not like that! Not as if it meant that there lives would be lost because of it! A stupid guilt coiled into Crowfeather, a wish that he could have been there, that he could have been the one to protect them.

He was jealous. Jealous that Brambleclaw had the opportunity to act like the father he never had been.

But still, even though it stung him to be, he had to be grateful to the brown tom.

He had saved his kits. He had saved his mate. And he had kept their secret.

“How long have you known?” Crowfeather sighed.

Brambleclaw hissed softly through clenched teeth, his eyes were screwed shut like it hurt to think. “Since the night you found out they were yours as well.”

That long? Fox-dung. Crowfeather couldn’t help but be shocked. He looked up with real questioning; Brambleclaw knew that Crowfeather hated being the one in the dark. “Why?”

The Thunderclan deputy heaved his impressive figure with the indication that he weighed as heavy as a mountain. His eyes darted to the three cats beside him, all silent and tortured with thought, the he looked back at Crowfeather. Levelly, but challenging. “I didn’t want to lose them.”

Ah. That was right. They were still his to lose. Crowfeather wanted to feel sympathetic to the tom that had clearly loved these kits with all his very being. But he didn’t have the power or graciousness to do so.

He only scowled at the ground, sour resentment making his tail lash. Feeling the familiar unfairness that he was and was not the father of these kits. The cruelness of reality and consequence biting him with the sting of loss that twisted him every day.

A sharp grunt came from Jayfeather. “You’re not the one who deserves to be upset! We’re the ones who’ve been lied to the most!”

Crowfeather’s gaze drew back up, his mouth opening. How had he..?

He felt Squirrelflight quiver, her face met her son’s desperately, stark with pain. “Jayfeather please, it’s not his fault! He never even knew you were his until you were apprentices!”

“He didn’t try to say anything after though!” Jayfeather snapped back.

“And we’re not his!” Hollyleaf cried, looking furious at the very thought. She took a deliberate step towards Brambleclaw, her tail lashing with satisfaction at the wounded look that crept across Crowfeather’s face. “He didn’t raise us. He may be the one that Squirrelflight made the mistake to betray her clan for, but he is not my father!”

She spoke with amazing clarity. Toxic assurance. Crowfeather tried to hide the way it made his heart ache. This was the first time he was meeting his only daughter, and she spoke to him like he was a rogue.

Worse still, he had enough sense to understand her. Why should she see him as her father when he was never there? He may not have known about them when they were kits, but he’d never made the effort once he had found out.

But how could he? How could he let his kits know that they went against the Warrior Code just by existing? He felt a spiting anger for the stars. It wasn’t fair. All he and Squirreflight had done was be in love, and the kits they’d had had grown into Warriors that Crowfeather would be proud of no matter what they did.

Squirrelflight had told him about the strength of Lionblaze, about the loyalty of Hollyleaf, about the skill of Jayfeather, his medicine cat son. Of course Crowfeather had a right to be proud! He couldn’t take away the pride of their clan by telling them that it was him that was their father instead of the strong Deputy.

At his side, Squirrelflight stiffened, fixing her daughter with a firm stare despite the tears running down her cheeks. “I have made many mistakes in my life, Hollyleaf. But being with Crowfeather is not one of them!” She moved closer to him, her ginger fur mixing with his grey. Crowfeather’s felt something swell inside him. “Being with him made me happy and it gave me you three, that will never be something that I regret.” There was an edge to her voice that Crowfeather only heard in rare times. Most of them had come in their earliest days, when they had hated each other before finding out how much they truly liked the other.

Hollyleaf’s face coiled with astonishment, then filling back with the bitterness and anger. “Don’t talk about us like you cared! If you did you would have revealed this long ago.”

“That is a mistake I made.” Squirrelflight nodded, her voice still firmer than before, but laced with sadness. “I should have told you myself but I was worried about how it would affect you.” Her green eyes slowly found Brambleclaw. “How it would affect all of you.”

Brambleclaw bristled with something unknown, turning away.

“How it would affect us?” Hollyleaf laughed with resentment. “We go against Starclan, because of you two!” She glared at Crowfeather now. “How could you do this to your clan? Why in Silverpelt would you do this?”

Anger began to twitch across Crowfeather’s whiskers again. Her words sounded so much like the doubts that had kept him unhappy for so long. “Do what? Fall in love? It’s not really something I had a choice in you know!”

“But why her?” She whirled on Squirrelflight, her anger now sounding much more pleading. “Why him?”

Crowfeather’s eyes narrowed. His tail joined with Squirrelflight’s. “She made me happy.” They wouldn’t accept that, Crowfeather knew, They couldn’t possibly understand how much that meant to Crowfeather. Hazily, Squirrelflight nodded to join Crowfeather’s answer.

Hollyleaf made a deep sound in her throat that seemed to be in-between a growl and a sob. “Why couldn’t you be happy and normal as well?”

Every cat cringed at her words. Crowfeather did it out of true, remarkable hurt.

Normal. Was that what she thought he went against? Or was it what she thought she went against now she knew she was his?

Was that what he did to her in the few hours he was her parent?

Crowfeather knew that he shouldn’t, but he felt truly distraught at that prospect.

Squirrelflight looked dismayed as well. But it was clearly not something Hollyleaf hadn’t said to her before.

“Were you happy?”

They all looked Lionblaze’s way. Crowfeather just now realised how quiet the cat had been. His amber eyes were low and stinging with something, but at least he was actually looking at Crowfeather without complete hate.

“What do you mean?”

Lionblaze looked to the side, fighting to keep a straight face. “Were you happy when you found out we were yours?”

Hollyleaf’s pelt prickled. “What in Starclan does that mat-”

“I wasn’t asking you!” Lionblaze snapped, there was such strength in the way he shouted, a fire igniting in his glare, that even Crowfeather flinched. Hollyleaf, true to form, snarled but she said no more. The golden cat huffed, turning back to Crowfeather. “Well?”

Had Crowfeather been happy?

“No. Because that meant that I’d never been there to see my own kits grow.” Crowfeather hoped he was exulting just how painful that was. Lionblaze’s face softened. “It meant that I’d missed the most important moments of your lives.”

When he saw Squirrelflight sink down, guilt tainting her beautiful face, he purred against her to show that he never blamed her actions. “But when your mother told me about you three, that made me a little happier to know what amazing cats you’d all become.”

Crowfeather didn’t notice Jayfeather feeling everything off of him. Feeeling the truth. He didn’t see the young cat’s anger slowly fading as he saw all the moments his parents had shared, the genuine love they held for each other, and for their kits.

“She talked about us?” Lionblaze asked.

Crowfeather smiled, pressing his nose against her neck making her stifle a laugh. He ignored Brambleclaw looking away with a sigh. “Every time.”

Lionblaze glanced at Squirrelflight, and she shrugged with a small, sad smile. The golden tom scuffed the ground with his paw. “W-What did she say?”

Crowfeather actually found the effort to laugh slightly. “How long have you got?”

Jayfeather’s hard line across his mouth broadened, but his eyes were gentler. “Long enough.”

Crowfeather spoke about all he could, all the pleasant memories that Squirrelflight had felt and experienced and shared with him. Their first kills, Jayfeather’s experiences in the medicine den, their warriors ceremonies, all the Thunderclan cats who spoke so well of them. Then eventually Crowfeather was able to mention pride that he himself had experienced.

Lionblaze blushed when he was told that Heathertail had spoken so well of him.

Jayfeather softened when Crowfeather spoke of how Kestrelflight was amazed by the things the blind cat could do.

Hollyleaf didn’t react when she found out that many Windclan cats had admitted she was one of the forest’s strongest warriors.

For a while, the atmosphere seemed relaxed. Not enough to seem like they were truly a father and his kits talking, but well enough to match what Crowfeather had imagined this moment of meeting would be like.

Crowfeather felt something warm as Lionblaze began to loosen, the tuft of fur around his neck puffing a little as he looked back at Squirrelflight. Perhaps he was able to hear the clear joy that Squirrelflight felt when she’d told Crowfeather about them. Perhaps he could feel the yearning in Crowfeather’s voice and the true pride he radiated when he thought of them.

“Th-That’s a lot.” Lionblaze admitted when Crowfeather was finally finished. The large cat looked amusingly small when he was so quiet.

Squirrelflight let out a tender laugh. “There was a lot to tell.”

For a second, it seemed that Lionblaze was about to smile. But a wilt came over him as he looked to the ground. “But no to us.”

Crowfeather and Squirrelflight both felt his betrayal. They lowered their eyes.

“Why? Couldn’t you have at least mentioned it?”

“We couldn’t.” Crowfeather said coolly. He nudged for Squirrelflight to be quiet when he was sure she was going to take sole blame again. He wasn’t going to let that happen. They’d take this together. “We didn’t want to tell you in case certain cats found out.” He took a brief look at Brambleclaw that made the brown tom clench. “We didn’t expect they’d react well.”

“But what about us?” Lionblaze pleaded, his tone becoming firmer.

Squirrelflight stepped forward, pressing her head against her eldest’s. Crowfeather was relieved that he didn’t pull away. “I didn’t want to take away the pride that Thunderclan gave you. You were all so happy to be accepted by the clan, I didn’t think it would do any good to tell you the truth.” Again, she looked gently to Brambleclaw. “And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Brambleclaw lashed his tail in clear skepticism.

“Brambleclaw, I am sorry for what happened.” Squirrelfight padded over to her friend and Crowfeather swallowed down his stupid jealousy. He didn’t want to admit it, but Brambleclaw deserved credit. “I could never say anything against how you raised them. You have always been a wonderful father to them, and nothing could take that away.”

“It doesn’t change what happened though.” Brambleclaw said bitterly, but there was true hurt shaking in his eyes.

Squirrelflight nodded gravely, her ears folding back. “I know. Not telling you in the first place has always been one of my biggest regrets.” Brambleclaw didn’t respond, but it was clear that it wasn’t anger surrounding the cat, but deep pain. “And now that I know that you actually kept quiet even though I never told you, I’m beginning to see just how right I was to choose you to raise them.”

Crowfeather smiled even though every word she said sounded like a whip against his skin. But he suspected the truth did hurt like this. How could he argue? He’d spoken about how proud he was of the cats his kits had become. Brambleclaw had been an amazing parent to them. Neither he nor Squirrelflight could ever deny him that.

He just wished he had been given the chance to prove himself to them.

The deputy didn’t move a muscle, but it was clear that there was no more real anger surrounding him. Just pain. Pain that he knew these kits would never really be his own. A pain that Crowfeather felt as well. It was a paradox they shared, a tragedy they couldn’t escape. They had to deal with the fate that life had bestowed on them.

A piercing yowl broke the silence, making every cat draw away at the cold fury in its wake. Hollyleaf began to step back, shaking her head. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Squirrelflight began to tremble again, she took a step towards her daughter. “Hollyleaf-”

“So what?” The black molly shrieked, halting her mother in her terrified tracks. “What does it matter how you feel?” She glared back at Crowfeather, “Why should I care that you know so much about me? You’re not my father! Just some mongrel who was stupid enough to fall for this traitor!”

Crowfeather didn’t reply. He was frightened it would reveal just how much her words hurt him.

Lionblaze frowned, clenching his teeth as he took a forceful pad towards Hollyleaf. “Would you calm down?”

Jayfeather braced himself.

“Don’t you tell me to calm down, you mouse-brain!” Hollyleaf yowled. A wind began to rush through the forest, making the rain sting as it hit the cat’s faces. “Have you gone mad? How can you sit there and act like this is okay?”

“I never said that-”

“Why should we sit here and listen to what these two talked about?” Hollyleaf didn’t let up, if anything her voice became louder. Her eyes blazed with green fire. “They’re nothing but a couple of selfish fox-hearts who betrayed everything we live by! They don’t deserve a second of our time!”

Squirrelflight’s eyes filled again with wet tears. Crowfeather frowned, his neck fur rising. “Hollyleaf, please listen-”

“No! You can shut up!” Hollyleaf advanced, swiping the air with unsheathed claws. They clearly weren’t meant to hit her, but Squirrelflight still jumped back like she’d been struck. She already looked like she was bleeding!

That was it! Crowfeather leapt over to the Thunderclan side of the border, placing himself between his mate and his daughter. He glared, knowing he wouldn’t dare hurt her, but promising he wouldn’t let her hurt Squirrelflight. Hollyleaf hissed at him meancingly.

“Enough of this. Whatever you think, your mother has only ever had your well-being in mind! She would never want to hurt you, surely you know that!”

“What would you know? You’ve never been there!”

Crowfeather’s lip curled, “I was there long before you were. I know your mother and she was only ever thinking of the best for you!”

Hollyleaf stiffened, turning away with a bitter growl and a swift swipe of her tail. “Then she never knew the best for us! If she did, she never would have seen you in the first place!”

Crowfeather growled deep in his throat, his tongue ready to strike again. Then he felt a light push on his side, Squirrelflight forcing herself ahead of him. “Crowfeather, calm down.” The urgency was back in his voice, a bite.

The Winclan tom stiffened with upset. Squirrelflight noticed this, sighing, and rubbing her tail along his pelt. She spoke up again, gentle and loving, “Please.”

A snarl of utter loathing forced them to look ahead. Hollyleaf’s fur was spiked with revulsion, she cast them another snapping glower. “I don’t have to see this! This was a waste of time!” She began to storm away.

Squirrelflight braced, her fur rising in despaired alarm. “Hollyleaf, please!”

“No!” Hollyleaf didn’t even look back.

The ginger molly began to tremble, tears spilling out of her eyes as she watched the icy back of her daughter slink away into the darkness. “Please just understand,” Squirrelflight cried, her voice rising in one last desperate mewl. “I did everything I did because I loved you, I still do and I always will!”

Hollyleaf looked back, green eyes fiery in the ebony shadow of the trees, but she didn’t stop leaving the cats. “If that’s what your love means, then I don’t want it!” She snapped her head away screaming into the trees. “That stray will never be my father!”

Squirrelflight let out a broken sob, stepping back as she felt the rejection course all over her. Crowfeather felt it too, burning his skin. There was no room for forgiveness in the ferocity of his daughter. She hated him, and Crowfeather knew she meant it with every strand of her fur.

Crowfeather’s throat was dry and he felt he had no words left. Not for this. A haze of consequence and blame sank around him, and he didn’t know if it would ever be lifted.

He’d been so happy to know he had a daughter. Now he wondered if he truly did, or ever would.

He knew that she never wanted him to be her father.

Movement twitched in the corner of Crowfeather’s eye and he saw Brambleclaw begin to follow Hollyleaf’s steps. “Where are you going?” Lionblaze questioned, his voice numbed by his sister’s reaction.

Brambleclaw stopped, looking back at the golden tom with a connection so deep that Crowfeather suddenly knew he could never match it. “I’ll talk to her about this. I’ll try to help her understand everything.” His voice lowered with a gentle tragedy. “Hopefully she’ll calm down if it’s me.”

Crowfeather bit his lip, focusing on the question on his mind. “Why?” Why would he want to help them? After all this. Why would he want to help the cat he once saw as his own realise she was another’s?

Brambleclaw’s muzzle contracted back, “I’m not doing it for you!” He snapped, bitterness on his fangs. “No matter what you say, I will always see them as mine!” He promised, staring right into Crowfeather’s glare. The grey tom didn’t hold back despite his knowledge that Brambleclaw could send him down with one paw. They both met each other with the strong mutual dislike.

Then Brambleclaw shifted his gaze to look at Squirrelflight. He mellowed. The ginger cat looked at her ‘mate’ with vulnerable wonder. “But, no matter what, they’ll always be hers as well.” He looked vulnerable too, breathing heavily, glancing back and forth between the cat he still loved and the cat he realised she loved instead. “She’s their mother, and I don’t want her, or any of you, to forget that.” He meowed, casting his once believed sons a desperate glance. A fatal resolution, perhaps his last request as a father.

“I’m not saying that what she did was the right thing.” Brambleclaw dipped his head with a small moan, it sounded like something that the cat should never make. “But I don’t believe for a second that she did anything that wasn’t out of love for you. You know she isn’t that kind of cat.”

When Squirrelflight found Brambleclaw’s gaze again, it was the most loving she had ever looked at him. Grateful, but aching.

The two young toms kept the deputy’s eyes a moment longer. Jayfeather looked away with a curled lip and Lionblaze stared painfully at the cat that was once his father.

Brambleclaw grit his teeth like a blizzard was stinging every atom in his bones, “She will always be your mother, and she will always love you.” Something seemed to bite his mind as his ears flicked back, “Please, don’t waste that.” He twisted to meet Squirrelflight, but his eyes were devoid of anything but emptiness.

The ginger cat stood still, but the way she looked at him might as well have been her purring against him. “Thank you, Brambleclaw.”

“I don’t want you to thank me.” Brambleclaw said stonily, “Just make sure that these young cats do not get hurt in the future.”

Fire erupted in the Thunderclan molly’s eyes, “I never would.”

“I believe you.” If there was anything else he wanted to say, he didn’t say it, he stalked away, fading away as he went back to Thunderclan camp. Crowfeather almost felt guilty when he felt a twitch of relief that the cat was gone. He owed a debt to the cat, whether they wanted it or not.

“I’m going to make my way back as well.”

Those words might as well have been a kick to Crowfeather’s gut.

Jayfeather stood still on his paws, glazed eyes unseeing but obvious with thought. His tail swung lazily from side to side, contemplating, but Crowfeather only felt the bite of dismissal again. Was he expected to take this from two of his kits before he could see them truly for a second time? The stars were truly cruel to him.

“Don’t be such a sad lump of fur. I’m not Hollyleaf!” Jayfeather snapped, this time straight at Crowfeather.

The Winclan cat looked up again, Jayfeather stared at him with an expression changing almost as quickly as Crowfeather’s emotions. Again, how did this cat seem to know so much?

His son’s grey fur laid flat and unnerved on his back, a soft sigh escaping him. “Don’t let your mind slip, I’m still angry with you both!” He clarified, his tail swiping the air like an unsheathed paw. “Neither of you had any right to lie to us for this long.”

Crowfeather groaned, “We weren’t trying to-”

“I don’t care. I’m still right.” There was such a short temperament yet a fiery certainty in his voice that Crowfeather couldn’t help but feel the slightest pride that his son had clearly taken after him.

Even if it was some of his worst qualities.

Jayfeather let his anger set, then it began to cool, his tail curling down on the floor. “But, I don’t hate you. I barely even know you after all.”

It was hard to tell if that was a joke or a jab, so Crowfeather didn’t react.

Actually that wasn’t true. Crowfeather felt the smallest appreciation and vindication. He didn’t hate him. Why did that mean so much when it could hardly be considered a compliment? It was complicated and confusing. Of course it was. That was all Crowfeather’s life seemed to be.

So he did what he always did now. He accepted it. It was all he could do. These were all the product of his own choices and he had to take them in his stride.

“I’ll go back with you as well.” Lionblaze mewed, stepping beside his brother. Seeming to feel the dread creeping back into his parents, Lionblaze swiftly gave them a pointed look, his tail rising.

“I don’t hate you either!” He said quickly, a sheepish glow rising on his whiskers. “I-I think I understand why did what you did.”

Crowfeather knew he didn’t really. But it was enough when he saw the answer made Squirrelflight’s misery begin to construct into something wonderful again. A bloom rippling on her tear stained cheeks.

Then Crowfeather felt his stomach sink when Lionblaze’s gaze dropped again, now conflicted and strangely... guilty? “But I-I don’t want to lie to you.” The golden tom stepped towards Crowfeather, already a whisker above his father’s height, and the Winclan tom lowered a little more when he saw the lack of recognition, the frailty of true acceptance.

“I-I’m sorry but, Brambleclaw will always be my father. He’s the one who raised me.”

There it was. Now Crowfeather really began to feel it. Lionblaze’s words pounded in his ears, a torture that the cat clearly didn’t want to submit the older cat to. Be he was. Renunciation seared around Crowfeather, branding him with the reality that it was truly too late for that kind of relationship to blossom.

It was the same for Jayfeather as well as Crowfeather saw him nod slowly.

It burned like the stars above. The truth that Crowfeather suspected but had tried to avoid; why had he expected anything different? He had never been there. Be it his fault or not, it was a fact. Why should they reject Brambleclaw for a father that they would never really see?

He wanted to lash out, he wanted to blame them, but he couldn’t. Once again, it was a consequence of the life he’d taken. No one was to blame.

He just had to keep his head down, bite his lip, and take it.

He felt Squirrelflight curl against his side, and hoped that would make it a little easier.

“I do want to see you again though.”

The burning stopped, if just a little. Crowfeather let true shock come over him as he found his son’s gaze again. The golden tom stood tall, lacking any resemblance of recognition, but still luminous with something else. Kindness? Pity? Forgiveness? Whatever it was, it made Crowfeather bask in something he, for once, knew was good.

“If that’s alright with you? Could we be able to speak again?” There wasn’t anything demanding in his voice, just hope. True interest. Friendliness. Lionblaze looked on patiently, eager, trusting.

Why was it this... this that made Crowfeather’s throat hurt instead of Hollyleaf’s hostile rejection?

Crowfeather took it in, the dismissal and the yearning. The opportunity he was still mercifully granted. His stomach felt like it had the day he had received his Warrior name, or the day he found out the cat he held so closely wanted the same things he did.

And now, his son wanted something from him, not what Crowfeather really wanted, but how could Crowfeather deny the rare hopes he was gifted.

“I’d like that.” Crowfeather said raggedly.

Lionblaze smiled. A real smile. Actual happiness. It was swarming. It only grew as Lionblaze slowly padded to his mother and didn’t hesitate to press his forehead against hers. “No matter what,” He purred, “You will always be my mother.”

It was contact that Crowfeather knew he’d never receive, but his heart still soared when the blazing, flaring relief twisted Squirrelflight’s face and made her cry. She rubbed her muzzle beside her son’s, afraid to break away as if it could mean she would come so close to losing him again.

But it was clear now. She would never lose Lionblaze. That was something.

Once Lionblaze had stepped back, still beaming with love, Jayfeather took the brief moment to press his forehead against his mother’s. Her shock was minimal compared to the cats around her. “There’s a lot we still need to talk about.” Jayfeather tried to sound hard, but the quaver was unmissable. His tail wrapped around her. “But... I’ll try if you will.”

Squirrelflight held her son close, crying still, promising she would.

Crowfeather would try as well, whatever chances he was given. Jayfeather didn’t say a word to him, which made Crowfeather’s pelt feel cold, but he accepted the small nod his son cast in his direction.

It was hard to tell what the nod held, but Crowfeather needed to be hopeful. It was all he had left.

“We’ll see you back at camp, okay.” Lionblaze mewed to his mother. He spoke gently, like he was still grasping onto her with his forepaws.

She nodded, shining.

Lionblaze nudged Jayfeather to his side, then he sent one more look Crowfeather’s way. “See you later.” It wasn’t curt or unfaithful, it was a promise.

Crowfeather promised back, he swore on Deadfoot’s memory that he would never let go of the little he had. He never took his eyes away as his sons padded softly back to the clan they’d been raised in. Their true home...

Crowfeather swallowed. They were trying. He had to as well, even from the shallow end of the river. He was their father, he had to be proud of whatever choices they made. Respect the Warriors he would have been proud to call his own.

He didn’t know if that was possible.

His attention turned back to his mate, she watched her sons walk off as well. She was wiping away the tears from her eyes with her tail. Crowfeather remembered another duty he still had. One that he had made his own. Purring deep in his throat, he bent down to lick Squirrelflight’s cheek. “That face never suited you.” He joked tenderly.

She let out a ragged laugh, sinking into his touch. Her smile was sparkling. “Oh, don’t you start with that. I’ve seen you cry like a kit too many times.”

“That’s different. You’re made of stronger stuff than me.” Crowfeather began running his tongue along her head.

“Oh am I?” She giggled.

“How else could you have raised such wonderful cats?”

She must have caught the twitching loss in his tone as she pressed against him, rubbing her muzzle against his neck. “It’s going to be alright. You should have seen how they were looking at me hours ago.” He felt her grow still, relishing in their rare embrace. “They’ll understand soon. Brambleclaw will help.”

“I know.” Crowfeather said, his voice hollowing, but he never moved away from her. He didn’t have the will to hate the deputy anymore. “That’s because they’re his.” It was painful yet fulfilling to say it out loud. Relieving to accept the truth.

“They’re yours as well.” Squirrelflight lulled.

“No. You were the only one of us that was there, Squirrel.” Crowfeather accepted, his head sank away to smile down at her. Proud to call himself her mate. “They’re yours more than any cat’s.”

Squirrelflight stared up at him, sadness tainting her again.

Crowfeather did what he could to calm her. “But that’s fine.” He mewed, then he pressed his head against hers playfully, “Because I’m still yours right?” He teased, rubbing her fur with his own.

Squirrelflight began to laugh, though it did almost sound like crying, she pulled her head away, green eyes glinting lovingly up at the cat she had chosen. Then her lips met his. And Crowfeather remembered why he had chosen the life he had. Why he didn’t regret a moment?

She broke away, smiling. “You shouldn’t ask questions you know the answer to, it’s not polite.”

“Was that a lesson you taught them as well?”

It was moments like this where they could forget the harshness of what surrounded them. Because for these brief moments, everything that went against them seemed to fall into a perfect balance with the many things that held them together.

It was why they could accept what would come. Be it bad or good, the beginning had been worth it all.

...

So that was that. A nice little mix of angst and fluff, I believe. I enjoyed writing it, I hope you all enjoyed reading it.

Please send some much deserved praise to @lonely-ghost-606! They created the ideas for this AU, I just helped flesh them out!

Thanks for reading!

#crowfeather #squirrelflight #Thunderclan #WindClan #brambleclaw #hollyleaf #lionblaze #jayfeather #Warriors #warrior au #Warrior Cats #warriors fic #crowsquirrel #squirrelcrow

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miss-tc-nova · 4 years

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A New Purpose - Chirithy

Another that’s jumping up my list of favorites. They’re just so cute!

~~~~~

The existence of this cat is a curious case. Their unusual life began in a lab, but full awareness came after, when they met the man in the hat. Only meant to be a guide to the human, the relationship started off a little rocky. A few misadventures later, however, and the two could finally admit to being allies. Calling them best friends was off the table; they were both just too aloof and stubborn to be all buddy-buddy. Nevertheless, Brain was all that truly mattered, and Chirithy was his only friend.

The fate of a Chirithy has always been to perish along with their key-bearer—a fate that this particular spirit remembers fulfilling. So the very fact that they’re still plodding around is bewildering. Not only that, but they’ve become a cat; not the cat-shaped dream eater they were meant to be, but a standard, ordinary house cat. There’s no end to the string of questions running through their head but the memories of the wielder’s passing keep bubbling up.

“Looks like this is the end for us. Thanks for sticking around, Chi-chi.”

There’s a black hole in their heart, swallowing every coherent thought, mixing in with the confusion to overwhelm them. Emotions like these have always been foreign; Chirithy perish with their wielders and those are the only people that matter. Sadness has been accessible, usually sharing that with their humans, but anguish through the loss of a loved one—Chirithy were not made to endure such raw suffering.

As it turns out, normal cats can’t cry; at least the sky is kind enough to do so for the miserable creature. Silver-tabby fur clings to the small frame while petite paws carry them across the stone pathways of this unknown world. This is definitely not Daybreak Town; instead full of white buildings and endlessly ascending steps. Lost, confused, and still mourning the passing union leader, the animal trudges through the rain, head hung low.

Clacking boots grow closer. “Hm? What’s a cat doing in the rain?” Peering back reveals a young man in black, with silver hair and matching eyes. “Come here, little guy. Let’s get you out of the rain.”

Dealing with a stranger right now is impossible, but they can’t possibly tell him that. Because communication is not an option, they saunter off into a shrub just off the path. Hiding away gives minimal relief from the rain and strange new place; however, assuming that was that is apparently incorrect.

Leaves part to reveal the boy had followed. He surely means no harm; he’s just not welcome at the moment. “It’s alright. C’mere.”

The downside to taking cover is that it very often becomes a corner with no escape. There’s still one way to keep an unwanted person away. A low warning rumbles in the cat’s throat which does its job—he’s warned. Definitely more cautious than he began, he still chooses to reach forward.

Leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE! The caterwauling escalates.

Whipping claws narrowly miss his hand. “Ah! Hey! Calm down! I’m trying to help!”

I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP! LEAVE ME ALONE! Only feral yowls and hisses express the pain. YOU’RE NOT MY WIELDER! I DON’T WANT YOU! I WAN’T BRAIN!

“Xehanort, what are you doing?”

All that explosive despair goes right out the window. Disbelief grips the tumultuous creature.

Brain, is it you?! Brain please!

“There’s a stupid cat in here. The damn thing’s soaked and pissed off.” The boy in black, Xehanort, sits back enough to reveal his friend.

At first, all they can see is the man they yearn for, but upon closer inspection, it’s not. He’s just like him—almost the spitting image of Brain. That brief hope gives way to turmoil even stronger than before. It’s back to the frustration of not being able to cry; so instead, the sentience inside simply begins to break down.

This new boy kneels down beside the first. “Geeze, it looks half-drowned.”

All the pent up grief comes out in a wail. You’re not Brain!

A hand eases closer. That smile is exactly the same, even if the following words are a little on the bright side. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”

His friend warns, “Careful Eraqus. It-”

There’s no resistance from the tabby. Pitiful cries repeat over and over, even as Eraqus scoops the kitty up.

“Of course you can pick it up without getting ripped open,” huffs the kid with silver hair.

Wrapped protectively in white fabric, the small animal finally quiets down. “Maybe you’re just scary looking,” Eraqus teases in a manner dredging up old memories. “C’mon. If those clouds mean anything, this storm’s only gonna get worse.”

Eraqus and Xehanort hurry through the rain, taking home a creature with no will to live.

~~~~~

A spoon full of chicken stock nudges the muzzle. “Come on, Chihiro. Please eat; just little.”

Now dubbed ‘Chihiro,’ the cat has let their depression consume them. Eraqus, the new owner, has taken to bringing his sad pet everywhere, using every free moment he gets to tempt them with food and water—he hasn’t succeeded yet. It doesn’t help that every glance at this human is a reminder of who was lost.

Xehanort rests a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Era, it’s been three days. It might be too sick to recover.”

The boy gives up on the soup; instead taking a brush to the fur Chihiro won’t groom themself. “But the vet says there’s nothing wrong…”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not sick.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s a pause before the other admits, “I used to act like this before I left my world: sad, unresponsive, empty. I think it’s depression.”

“You think cats can get depression?”

“Looks like it to me.”

“So what do I do?”

“Considering we can’t ask what’s wrong, there may be nothing you can do.”

The silence is somber, broken by the bell that signals class will start soon.

~~~~~

“Eraqus, before you go, your parents sent you something,” the Master announces at the end of the day. Said student stands to retrieve his parcel.

Once they’re dismissed, the red-head calls out, “Yo, Era, you gonna come hang out with us tonight?”

“Sorry guys,” he answers, stuffing the package in his bag.

The taller girl presses a fist to her hip. “Still gonna try to get that cat to eat something?”

“Yeah. Plus I think this is the photo album I asked my mom to send.” Chihiro is lifted from the spare seat. “I kinda wanna take a look at it. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Good luck!” chimes the little blond.

True to his word, the wielder-in-training returns to his room. A couple hours go into trying to coax food into his animal with no luck. As let down as every other time, Eraqus lets Chihiro lay unbothered in his lap while he looks through the book his mother sent him.

Weak and tired, the feline begins to doze. It breaks when the kid speaks aloud: “I wish keyblade wielders today still had Chirithy—that could’ve been fun.” Pulling from the fog, blue eyes focus on the page. “My great-great-something-great grandpa helped found Scala. He had a Chirithy that looks kinda like you,” he tells his pet.

That’s why Eraqus looks so much like him; the face smiling back at the camera, signature hat and all, is Brain.

Immediately, a meow escapes Chihiro. It surprises the young man. “What’s wrong?” All he gets is a second cry. “It’s okay, Chihiro.”

A shaky paw plucks at the page of the book. Clearly confused, the human turns the page. There’s another picture of the ancestor, this time with his matching companion. On the second page, though, he’s awkwardly holding a bundle in his arms.

That’s right…He had a child… They look up into the face studying the photos. Is that why I’m here? For you?

It’s the only explanation Chihiro can make to rationalize a life that should’ve ended. Perhaps they were loyal enough the gods assigned them to watch over Brain’s relatives—maybe the wielder trusted them so much he did so himself.

Is that what you wanted, Brain?

He notices the cat staring. “You okay now?” Chihiro answers, earning a little shock from him. “Will you eat something now?” There’s a hopeful reply.

A bowl of plain stock never smelled so wonderful. With a renewed purpose, they lap at the liquid.

Something patters onto their head. Ears flicker and cat eyes gaze up. It took them so long to find their new meaning in life that Chihiro never saw the worry they caused, but this tear-filled relief really drives it home.

“Nya.”

“Heh. I’m okay,” he whispers, passing a hand over folded ears. “Keep eating.” And they do.

With an empty bowl, full belly, and a happy human, Chihiro purrs away beneath ear scritches. It’s when the book closes that they’re alerted.

“Alright, it’s bedtime.” The photo album moves to the nightstand. Lamplight goes out shortly after the blanket covers the pair and the feline snuggles up against their new ward. “Good night, Chi-chi.”

That strikes the animal to silence. It really sucks not being able to cry when that’s the only desire. Nevertheless, if the cat has to live a second life away from everything they know, then at least they can live it watching over Eraqus, descendent of Brain. In place of crying, they purr louder than before, much to the boy’s pleasure.

The two fall asleep in each other’s comfort—the start of a new story.

“Good job, Chi-chi.”

#chirithy #kh chirithy #khux

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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How Dany assesses the counsel she receives and makes her own choices - The way from the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro

This will be a series of posts meant to show that Dany is open to receiving advice and criticism, but that she doesn’t act solely based on what other people tell her to do. On the opposite, GRRM makes great effort to write a Dany who most often merges different viewpoints and/or finds her own solutions to the problems she’s facing. I won’t include every single decision she ever made (e.g. her decisions at court are often made without counsel and her execution of the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs was already exhaustively and deftly analyzed by other people), but there will be plenty of instances in this series that will prove my point nonetheless. The metas will always have four items: in which chapters the events mentioned take place; what advice she receives and from whom; what were her actions; the verdict (whether she followed other people’s advice, ignored/rejected them or did both at the same time).

Chapter (s):

ACOK Daenerys I

The advice Dany receives:

Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany to avoid any route that any other khal took.

Jorah says that, while it's uncertain that they will survive by moving forward through the Red Waste, it's certain that they will die if they try to go back.

Jhiqui and Irri advise Dany to not enter the city because of the evil ghosts that inhabit it.

Dany's actions:

As I said in my meta about the relationship between Dany and the prophecies, Dany thinks it's best to follow the comet both because it's her only viable alternative and because there would only be despair left if she didn't believe that it meant something. As she lays out, all the other paths would compromise her small group:

She dare not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had small reason to love them. (ACOK Daenerys I)

By the way, it's noteworthy that Dany was able to assess her situation and think of all these implications on her own. And I do believe she did it on her own, considering that the author explicitly recognizes when the ideas come from other people:

She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono’s khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver’s Bay.

“Why should I fear Pono?” Dany objected. “He was Drogo’s ko, and always spoke me gently.”

“Ko Pono spoke you gently,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “Khal Pono will kill you.[”] (ACOK Daenerys I)

And this leads us to an interesting exchange between Dany and Jorah. As I said before, there are lots of instances to infer that she says things she does not necessarily believe in to obtain his respect, and this is one of them. First, he says that she and her hundred warriors won't stand a chance against Pono's ten thousand warriors. In her mind, Dany is quite conscious of her vulnerabilities, for she knows she doesn't even have a hundred warriors:

No, Dany thought. I have four. The rest are women, old sick men and boys whose hair has never been braided.

But instead of revealing these insecurities, Dany declares:

“I have the dragons,” she pointed out.

Which then leads Jorah to reply that they won't help her that much, since they are still hatchlings; in fact, they may be liabilities at this point since everyone will want to possess them. Dany fiercely says that they are hers and no one will take them from her while she lives. She is putting on a facade here, and admirably so. As the last Targaryen, khaleesi and now Mother of Dragons (as they started to call her), she is their leader and the one who must organize them to work towards a single purpose. To be in that position means being firm and reliable when no one else could be:

“We follow the comet,” Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo’s people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon.

Like I said before, while Viserys used the expression "the blood of the dragon" to be ostentatious and coerce others into doing whatever he wanted, Dany reclaims it to restrain her emotions so she can be the kind of leader who "belongs to her people, not herself". The use of that phrase is also reminiscent of her duty not being only towards the living, but also the dead, whom she doesn't fail to mention:

Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not. (ACOK Daenerys II)

Dany is being very protective of her dragons for two reasons:

She loves them as she would love her human children and considers them family.

They are also the means for her to successfully claim her father's throne. Only then she will honor all of these people that the gods claimed. That is also why she won't admit defeat in Qarth when all hope seems lost - she has the dragons and a shot at doing justice for her ancestors and carrying out their legacy, so she will not look back and be lost.

Because Dany's leadership style is rooted in empathy and accountability, she never takes advantage of her position:

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick[.]

Another leader might have taken most of the food or water for themselves, but that's not what Dany chooses to do. She "must know the sufferings of her people", after all, even more so when she is unable to help them the way she wished she could. The trauma of seeing so many of her people perish will later inform her attempts to bring peace (untenable as it was) as quickly as possible to Meereen in ASOS and ADWD.

Wine gave out first, and soon thereafter the clotted mare’s milk the horselords loved better than mead. Then their stores of flatbread and dried meat were exhausted as well. Their hunters found no game, and only the flesh of their dead horses filled their bellies. Death followed death. Weak children, wrinkled old women, the sick and the stupid and the heedless, the cruel land claimed them all. Doreah grew gaunt and hollow-eyed, and her soft golden hair turned brittle as straw.

[H]er khalasar withered and died. Around them the land turned ever more desolate. Even devilgrass grew scant; horses dropped in their tracks, leaving so few that some of her people must trudge along on foot.

Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless.

Even here, Dany does the best she can to alleviate their pain. She respects and follows their customs:

Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later he was done. [...] Dany bid them kill the weakest of their dying horses, so the dead man might go mounted into the night lands.

Two nights later, it was an infant girl who perished. Her mother’s anguished wailing lasted all day, but there was nothing to be done. The child had been too young to ride, poor thing. Not for her the endless black grasses of the night lands; she must be born again.

She also feels a lot of gratitude for Doreah and strives to make her death a little less agonizing:

Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evenfall she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

Later in ADWD, during a feast where people start bringing up the names of the combatants in the upcoming duels at Daznak's Pit, Dany feels complicit in their imminent deaths. She remembers Doreah as an example of someone who died under her protection. More than that: in Dany's mind, Doreah is proof that "[n]o queen has clean hands" because that's how guilty Dany feels about what happened:

Much of the talk about the table was of the matches to be fought upon the morrow. Barsena Blackhair was going to face a boar, his tusks against her dagger. Khrazz was fighting, as was the Spotted Cat. And in the day's final pairing, Goghor the Giant would go against Belaquo Bonebreaker. One would be dead before the sun went down. No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. (ADWD Daenerys VIII)

I want to cry.

Also, even if in vain, Dany's proactive (though failed) efforts to find resources in the Red Waste should not be overlooked, for it's still admirable that she took them without anyone even suggesting:

Dany sent outriders ranging ahead of the column, but they found neither wells nor springs, only bitter pools, shallow and stagnant, shrinking in the hot sun.

And neither should Dany's discovery of how to feed the dragons. While Viserys gave her the knowledge, she was the one who retained it in her memory, guessed that it might work and applied it:

Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. They would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food ... until Dany recalled something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had said.

When she had her handmaids char the horsemeat black, the dragons ripped at it eagerly, their heads striking like snakes.

Eventually, Dany and her khalasar arrive at the abandoned city that would later be named Vaes Tolorro. She is the one who takes precautions at first:

They made camp before the remnants of a gutted palace, on a windswept plaza where devilgrass grew between the paving stones. Dany sent out men to search the ruins. Some went reluctantly, yet they went ...

But then, after finding out that the place has figs, fruit trees, vines and water, she decides to enter it, stay, rest and be practical rather than leave it because of superstitions:

... and one scarred old man returned a brief time later, hopping and grinning, his hands overflowing with figs. Other searchers returned with tales of other fruit trees, hidden behind closed doors in secret gardens. Aggo showed her a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes, and Jhogo discovered a well where the water was pure and cold. Yet they found bones too, the skulls of the unburied dead, bleached and broken. “Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important.

She takes note of the resources available to her ("food and water here to sustain them, and enough grass for the horses to regain their strength") and gets her people to work on the different tasks she finds for them:

Dany gave him charge of a dozen of her strongest men, and set them to pulling up the plaza to get to the earth beneath. If devilgrass could grow between the paving stones, other grasses would grow when the stones were gone. They had wells enough, no lack of water. Given seed, they could make the plaza bloom.

Dany thanked him and told him to see to the repair of the gates. If enemies had crossed the waste to destroy these cities in ancient days, they might well come again. “If so, we must be ready,” she declared.

In these two cases, we have explicit cases of Dany concocting ideas to improve Vaes Tolorro's facility, namely by improving its lawn and fortifying it. Not only that, but we also find out that, under Dany's leadership, her whole khalasar is now taking action and making the place better in the ways they can help:

Women harvested fruit from the gardens of the dead. Men groomed their mounts and mended saddles, stirrups, and shoes. Children wandered the twisty alleys and found old bronze coins and bits of purple glass and stone flagons with handles carved like snakes. One woman was stung by a red scorpion, but hers was the only death. The horses began to put on some flesh. Dany tended Ser Jorah’s wound herself, and it began to heal.

This is all great setup for when Dany becomes Queen of Meereen and handles large-scale projects to improve the city's economy and infrastructure.

However, even though Dany thinks it "pleasant" to stay in Vaes Tolorro, she's aware that she must eventually leave, and she doesn't want to do so without being fairly sure of where she's going. With that in mind, she makes the clever decision to send her bloodriders in different directions so that, hopefully, one might find a path that's not as arduous as the one they had to face:

The next morn, she summoned her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood,” she told the three of them, “I have need of you. Each of you is to choose three horses, the hardiest and healthiest that remain to us. Load as much water and food as your mounts can bear, and ride forth for me. Aggo shall strike southwest, Rakharo due south. Jhogo, you are to follow shierak qiya on southeast.”

“What shall we seek, Khaleesi?” asked Jhogo.

“Whatever there is,” Dany answered. “Seek for other cities, living and dead. Seek for caravans and people. Seek for rivers and lakes and the great salt sea. Find how far this waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side. When I leave this place, I do not mean to strike out blind again. I will know where I am bound, and how best to get there.”

And this decision pays off when Jhogo returns with the three strangers who will guide Dany to Qarth.

Aside from the beginning when Dany ponders which direction to take, neither Ser Jorah nor her bloodriders are ever mentioned as part of Dany's decisionmaking. Instead, GRRM takes pain to make Dany's reasoning and actions her own, while also showcasing her selfless nature. ACOK Daenerys I is a chapter that highlights the authorial intent to portray Daenerys Targaryen as an intelligent, capable and principled leader.

Verdict:

From the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro, Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany about where not to go (though it must be said that she had already made most of the assessment on her own). Besides that, every single action that Dany takes is of her own volition and without the influence of anyone's help. She:

Exhibits emotional intelligence by acting as a leader who drives her group.

Tries to find resources in the Red Waste.

Attempts to ease the khalasar's pain by taking part in their customs and giving Doreah a less painful death.

Decides to remain in Vaes Tolorro despite superstitions.

Takes note of the resources that she has in her disposal.

Gives her people several different tasks to improve the city; thanks to her guidance, some possibly started to do different activities on their own.

Sends her bloodriders in different directions to find one that isn't as taxing as the previous one.

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta #a clash of kings #valyrianscrolls #dany and her choices

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irrlicht-ghostfront · 4 years

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@thefinaltaterthot You’ll love me.

TW/CW: temporary character death, toxic relationship

Alastor was a cruel and sadistic man. He knew that. He’s never been anything different. They’d call him a homicidal maniac and they wouldn’t be wrong. Hurting people was one of the things he did best. However, this pain never used to be of the emotional kind. He had no time for mind games. Emotional pain could take years to manifest and that was just too long to wait for. No, immediate, physical pain was better. He’d get to see the effects right away and it’d be over with.

Of course, perception in Hell changed quite a bit. For one, time was not limited. On the second, there was absolutely no need to hide. He could rip a man apart in the middle of the street and eat his flesh right then and there, and no one would bat an eye. He still preferred physical pain over mental anguish however. Old habits die hard, after all, and he’s never been a man of change.

Charlie was intriguing to be sure. Her plan was absolutely ridiculous and would never work. Redemption? They were all in Hell for a reason. Chances were slim that one of these fools actually managed to change so much that Heaven would open up for them. How would it even happen? Would an Angel come down from Heaven and take them? It was absolutely ludicrous. He chuckled to himself. But, her plan had one upside to it: he’d get to see a lot of sinners fail. It was promising to be fun; and if it turned out not to be, well – he could always just leave.

Without a doubt, seeing Charlie lose her hope would be the most worthwhile. She’d lose bit after bit each time a demon failed to actually master redemption. He was looking forward to spending more time with her.

“Hey, Al, wanna have a drink with me?” “No thank you Husker! I have a meeting with Charlie to attend!”

He didn’t turn to look at his friend. What was the point of seeing the dejected expression yet again? It was always the same.

Husk was in love with him.

Now, he never came and said it outright, but Alastor was no fool. People had tried to be affectionate with him in the past and they have looked and acted quite the same. Husk would try to get closer and he would utterly reject him. When sitting on the couch, Husk would inch closer every few seconds and right before he was next to him, Alastor would stand up to go somewhere else. When he was sitting at the bar to sip his whiskey, Husk’s claws would move slowly towards his hand. He placed it on the countertop deliberately so Husk would stage yet another attempt. And again, right before he reached his goal, Alastor would withdraw his hand.

He didn’t know why he did this. Husk was his friend, his loyal companion. He gained nothing from this. It would be better if he just spoke to Husk about this, stopping this all together but – for some reason, he couldn’t. Every reaction to Husk’s attempts came automatically and before he even realised what he’d done.

He couldn’t reject his friend. If he did, it’d break Husk. No, that wasn’t right.

Husk had come into Hell already broken, poorly held together as it was. Rejection would utterly smash the cat. Alastor had no idea why Husk chose to fall in love with him of all people. He should’ve chosen the first bartender that allowed him to sit on his tab.

But Husk chose him. Devil only know why.

“Hey, Al, happy hour in the pub just started, do you –“

“Great news! I hope you have fun there!”

He was a cruel and sadistic man, but breaking Husk’s heart quite like this didn’t give him the satisfaction it should have.

Why didn’t Husk just give up? He was clearly not getting anywhere, so why not give up? But to be fair, he didn’t make it easy on him. Anytime he saw Angel Dust sitting at the bar to talk to Husk, he would intervene and join them. He’d have no business at the bar, no need for a drink, and he’d still interrupt them. He didn’t know why. He just knew that Husk would hyper-focus onto him and Angel Dust would be left behind. Alastor didn’t know why he couldn’t let Husk have this, he truly didn’t.

Husk was his cat; and as such, nobody else was allowed to interact with him.

Husk was sweeping the bar while he and Charlie had a conversation in the same hall. She excitedly told him about her plans and how she envisioned everything to work and he decided to humour her. While he absolutely couldn’t wait for it all to fail, he encouraged her and even pitched in some ideas of his own. He already offered to broadcast across Hell, and Charlie agreed immediately. She had tasked Vaggie to write a message post-haste. To be honest, her enthusiasm was infectious. Much like her, he couldn’t await the first residents of this establishment. Of course, it was for quite the different reason, but it was excitement nonetheless.

“I’m quite fascinated by you, little princess.” He cocked his head and smiled widely at her. He noticed that Husk had stopped sweeping for a split second. Hm. Curious.

“Oh, ehm, thank you! I’m glad you like, well, me! You are quite different from what I expected, I must say.”

He simply nodded his head. Sure enough, the sinners described him as a force of nature and while they weren’t wrong, he wasn’t a brute. He quite valued civil talks.

“O-oh! Husk, wait, I need to talk to you!”

Husk had finished the sweeping, then. The cat stopped and looked over to them; and Alastor noted that he looked tired.

“Now, you won’t dismiss our princess, won’t you?”

Husk clenched his jaw, balled his fist and started walking again without a word. Now, this simply could not stand.

“Husker.”

Husk stopped.

He always stopped. Charlie ran up to him to discuss whatever she will.

He was cruel and sadistic, treating Husk like this. But he couldn’t stop.

Charlie was weeping. She was sitting on the sidewalk they’ve been walking on and crying her eyes out. Under her lay Husk, dead with a hole in his chest. Now, of course you couldn’t escape Hell by simply dying; only the weapon of an Angel would do the permanent trick.

But sinners could still suffer fatal wounds and a hole in the chest surely counted towards that. They had just been walking; him, Charlie and Husk. Husk had come along because Alastor had asked and also to carry any eventual bags they might acquire.

Gang Wars were quite frequent everywhere in Hell and there was no common decency to keep them in a confined space. But someone shooting at Charlie must have been a mistake. The only question was – why did Husk jump in? Recovering from such a wound was painful and took at least a week, depending on the fatality of the wound.

It also made Alastor angry. Husk wasn’t allowed to die. He wasn’t, but he did anyway and now someone had to pay. So, he ripped the offending sinner in half. Not enough carnage, but it would have to do. He stepped up to Charlie and Husk; and picked the latter up. Huh. If Husk were conscious right now, he’d quite enjoy that. Too bad he’d never know.

“Charlie”, he said to get her to focus. “Let us return to the Hotel and resume shopping tomorrow.”

He could see in her face that shopping was the last thing on her mind but he didn’t care. He simply teleported them back to the Hotel and dumped Husk onto his bed. It was eerie, seeing his friend ragdoll like this. Charlie was snivelling next to him.

“I’m going to go out for a bit.”

He didn’t wait for her approval, and Husk would not awaken for quite some time.

He didn’t understand. He just didn’t understand and he needed to clear his head.

Murder has always been his first choice.

Husk woke after roughly two weeks.

“Welcome back, Husker! I see not even death could stop you, dear friend.”

It was rude, greeting him like that when he just came back to life, but it was another automated response.

Husk blinked lazily at him. He needed a moment to focus his gaze and then he tried to sit up. Alastor didn’t stop him even though he should.

“You’re here”, Husk just said after he painfully managed to sit up. Ah. There it was. The look on his face, the one he always had in Alastor’s presence.

“Mhm”, he simply replied. Husk’s breathing was ragged and he should really lie back down. Well. Husk was back awake, no point in staying any longer.

“Will you stay?”

“I suppose I should take my leave.”

Two things said at the same time and Alastor stopped for a second. He could feel the hope in Husk’s chest swell.

And then he left.

#hazbin hotel #radiohusk #charlastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #fanfiction #pining #toxic relationship #temporary character death #ficlet #alastor x husk #alastor x charlie

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theresnosuchthingasmonsters · 4 years

Text

(((Combo Prompt!)))

(((“Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you,” with Martin and Ainsley, sent in by Anonymous.)))

(((“If you go anywhere near them, you’ll have to deal with me!” with Martin and Nicholas, sent in by Anonymous (Modified) )))

-----

An echoing, electronic buzz unlocked the door to The Surgeon’s cell. But Martin Whitly remained lying on his back, glaring at the ceiling above his cot with mild irritation in his eyes, irked that he’d been disturbed from his nap.

Mr. David poked his head into the cell, announcing, “Call for you.” He held the hallway phone in one hand, the pig-tail cord extended to its maximum reach.

“Is it another set-up?” Martin grumbled with a dash of spite. “Like last time, when I quote ‘tried to escape?’” What bullshit. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been hauled off to Riker’s. That was what Endicott was going for, he just knew it.

“It’s your daughter.”

Martin glanced over, hesitated only a second longer, then heaved himself to his feet and padded to the entryway. Mr. David moved back toward the phone’s base on the wall, giving the cord some mercy.

“I expect you’re going to piledrive me the second I step foot outside this door,” Martin mumbled with sarcasm, glancing outside the cell to ensure that no other untrustworthy guards were lying in wait for an ambush. The crotchety inmate was still bruised from yesterday’s ‘misunderstanding.’ He continued griping, “Or try to kill me when I turn my back.”

Mr. David gave him a deadpan look. Evidently, the guard did not think that the nefarious incidents which occurred during his absence were funny. Toting a grumpy, miserable look, Dr. Whitly ventured into the hall and finished his jokes with a bitter, “No? Good. I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome,” Mr. David muttered. Dr. Whitly came to stand beside the guard and lifted his cuffed hands to accept the handset from him. Mr. David remained close by, and although he’d repeatedly assured his patient that everything was going to be fine, the guard did glance at the red door down the hall.

Things were tense lately, to say the least. There was no telling what surprises would pop up next. Mr. David didn’t know exactly what The Surgeon had done, but he had apparently pissed off some pretty powerful people.

Martin held the phone to his ear and forced a cheerful tone through his voice box. “Hello sweetheart!” No one would have been able to guess that mere seconds ago, he was as cranky as a drenched cat. “How is my girl? Any news on--?”

Ainsley wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. “Dad, shut up,” she urgently hissed.

Martin shut up. Before he could ask what was wrong (because something was clearly wrong,) Ainsley rushed through what she needed to say. “Look, I don’t have much time, but I-- I wanted to say, I love you.”

Dr. Whitly didn’t know which part of that sentence caused him more confusion and surprise. His expression shifted indecisively between a smile and a concerned grimace. “W-- Ah, Ains... what d’you mean you... ‘don’t have much time?’” he laughed nervously.

She didn’t answer him, but he could hear her breath. “Ains?” he repeated expectantly, listening as hard as he could to try to translate her subtle sounds. His half-smile abandoned his facade, which was no longer a facade, but a genuine look of worry. He could hear her suffering through a silent sob. Crying.

“I love you,” her voice croaked. “I love you, dad.”

That didn’t matter to him at that moment. His daughter was wasting her breath, and wasting whatever amount of time she claimed she had. Martin wanted to know what was going on. “Ainsley, what’s wrong?” he demanded. Alarm congregated on the cusp of his stern voice, as if his words were preparing for an attack. But he employed what was left of his calm, patient reserves.

She didn’t answer.

Martin stared at the wall in front of him, his eyes searching through the detail of the painted bricks as if they displayed a map of encrypted answers. Mr. David warily watched his patient, and they both held their breath.

Dr. Whitly heard a muffled rattle on the opposite end of the line as the other phone was roughly handled. Ainsley cried out in the distance that had been placed between her and their call. “Ainsley?” he raised his voice so she could hear him, wherever she was.

Again, she didn’t answer him. But someone else did. “Hello, Martin.”

It was Endicott.

Endicott was what was wrong.

“Nicholas,” Dr. Whitly hissed, his fury boiling in an instant. “You leave her the fuck alone!”

“Sorry, I can’t quite hear you over the sound of your daughter screaming.”

Ainsley screamed.

Martin had heard too many screams in his lifetime not to know the difference between them. It was a language that only those familiar with them could translate, like how only a parent was able to immediately identify the cause of the various cries of their own infant. Hunger, fear, emotional anguish, or physical pain. Ainsley’s scream was born from a prolonged, invasive, searing kind of pain --the purpose of which was clearly to rip the sound out of her. Thanks to all of his experience, Martin could easily imagine the many inflictions that could elicit such a scream from his daughter.

Martin’s own scream was born from pure rage. “NICHOLAS!” he roared, his blood vessels swelling with heat and strength as an angered adrenaline surged through him. The phone felt like a pistol being pressed to his head, but he leaned into it, yearning to get to the other side of that weapon and turn it on his assaulter.

Endicott chuckled. “But don’t worry, she’s not going to be ‘alone,’” he promised with an audible grin. “Your son’s gonna join her soon.”

Fire burned in Martin’s eyes. It was nearly tangible enough to char the wall in front of him, yet he was frozen in place and struggled to breathe.

Mr. David stepped closer and raised a hand to take the phone. “Martin--”

The Surgeon took a large step away and bore his teeth, displaying a deep, silent snarl like that of a feral beast. He held up a finger of his free hand, which was chained beside the other. It was a reaction that warned, ‘do not fuck with me right now.’ Mr. David didn’t need to be told twice, and he heeded the warning. The guard gave the man his space, then moved to grab the wheeled cart with the other phone on it. He used it to dial the NYPD.

“Nicholas, if you harm them--” Martin seethed, returning his acidic attention to the wall.

“Already did,” Endicott interrupted, enjoying this.

“--You are going to swallow a KNIFE, I swear to God--” Wrath poured from Martin’s cavernous lungs, which in that moment were endlessly deep and entirely filled with hatred. “--I’m gonna shove a blade so deep down your throat--!”

“I warned you, Martin. You didn’t listen,” Endicott’s honey smooth voice smiled. “You brought this on them.”

“I--!” Martin’s rage shattered. He was unable to argue against or deny that. He flipped a switch, transitioning from detestation to desperation. “I lied, Nick, I lied.” There must have been a short in the circuitry of that switch, because his anger resurfaced in bursts. “I LIED, Goddamn it, I don’t know anything! Sophie didn’t tell me ANYTHING!”

“Too late, Martin. You can’t beg your way out of this, though I do love hearing it.”

The Surgeon’s fire extinguished. His passionate wrath could not stop Nicholas, no matter how fiercely it burned.

Behind him, he heard Mr. David talking to the NYPD on the other phone, explaining that they’d received a threatening call at Claremont and ordering the police to find Ainsley, now. It was no use. The police weren’t going to stop Nicholas either. There was nothing Martin could do to regain control of the situation. Nothing could wake him from this nightmare.

He’d never felt so helpless.

Endicott continued to taunt him. “I hope you love hearing them scream as much as I love hearing you begging for th--HHGK-!”

The Surgeon stared at the wall, wide eyed as he listened to Nicholas’ choked cry. It was a cry that he recognized all too well. Thanks to all of his experience, Martin could easily imagine the many inflictions that could elicit such sounds from his enemy. Endicott’s garbled sounds were those of a dying man.

A rattle accompanied the constricted sounds as the phone was dropped. Martin waited, studying the brick in front of him with bated disbelief.

Finally, he heard, “Dad?”

In the form of a relieved gasp, he answered, “Ains?”

“Hey,” she greeted plainly. Her voice was slightly trembling, but also calm, and emotionless. Numb. Her shock conflicted with her adrenaline.

He knew the feeling. “Hey,” he echoed.

They breathed together for a moment, each processing what had happened. After a long exhale, Martin hesitantly smiled. “Did you get him?”

“Yeah,” she answered hollowly. “I got him.”

Martin closed his eyes and grinned before hissing a violent, “Good.”

“Thanks for distracting him,” she huffed with faint humor. Dr. Whitly could hear her smile.

That was the true reason why she’d called him. The Surgeon’s grin spread. He couldn’t be more proud of her, even if her plan had given him a heart attack. “Anything for my girl,” he joked. But it wasn’t really a joke. He was still beaming when he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she answered in the same emotionless tone. “Better than him.”

Martin chuckled.

It was then that he heard a door slam in the environment of Ainsley’s call. Malcolm’s distant, muffled voice cried, “Oh my God, Ains, what happened!?”

“Gotta go.” Ainsley hung up.

Martin removed the phone from his head and fondly smirked at it.

“The police are on their way,” Mr. David informed him, also ending up his own call to the cops.

Martin turned over his shoulder and delivered a pleasant smile to the guard. There was no need for him to be concerned any longer. “Oh, it’s fine now. She took care of it.” His happy expression remained on his face as he tenderly placed the handset back on the switchhook on the wall. “Everything’s alright.”

Mr. David cautiously stared at his patient as he walked back into his cell, knowing that everything was not alright. It was far from alright by any ordinary, sane standards. But in Martin’s mind, everything was bliss. The Surgeon settled himself on his cot and grinned at the ceiling above it.

He closed his eyes and imagined.

---------

Hope you enjoyed it, Anon(s)! Want me to write a short scene? Send me a prompt with a pair of characters! Check out my #starter and #prompt tags for more ideas and responses!

#martin whitly #dr. martin whitly #ainsley whitly #prodigal son #prodigal son fanfic #fanfic #martin #ainsley #my writing #mine #starters #starter #prompt #prompts #ficlet #Mr. David #murder

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whatwashernameagain · 5 years

Text

Keep him safe - Chapter 28

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, Previous Chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, Fantasy AU You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 11.720

Warnings: memories of abuse, getting startled, mild panic, touching feet, food/baking, mentioned alcoholism. Let me know if I missed any.

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: Sooooo I realized I’ve been criminally neglecting my Tag list and I am SO sorry! Please forgive me, I swear to do better. This Chapter was originally supposed to feature Remus already, but I realized it was too soon, Patton needed some more time. A special thanks again to my beloved betas @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 and @hanramz-the-fander, you are both simply incredible!

Chapter 28

Patton felt like his whole body was cut and bruised as he woke up after The Fight. This was not entirely unusual – he’d gotten used to bearing the sharp needle stabs of pain every movement caused in silence, yet this time, he did not have to get up painfully and treat quietly on the tips of his toes in a desperate attempt not to draw attention to himself and to somehow make up for his mistakes before Trevor got out of bed. Usually, he’d try to make breakfast, clean up the effects of last night, make himself pretty or at least presentable and fearfully hope the anger from before had vanished when his boyfriend woke up. He’d hardly dare to make a sound for days and try to smile and soothe whenever he could. He knew how badly Trevor handled those episodes when he lost control and would not want things to slip out of control again or have him falling into one of his depressive episodes over it.

This morning however, he woke to the quiet sound of voices whispering over his head. He smelled tea and laundry detergent and that green smell of a lot of verdant plants and damp earth. A large body was wrapped around him that rumbled against his back very softly, while a thin figure was still curled up in his arms, taking up little space. On instinct, the patissier remained small as a mouse, unnoticed and silent. As he blinked his eyes open carefully, he found that Cat had no such reservations. She and the kitten had spread themselves out in the night and taken up a large portion of the bed displaying soft belly fur while he, Roman and Virgil had shuffled away from sharp little paws and tails in their faces and had now settled at the corner of the mattress in a tangled pile.

Logan was awake already, as he usually was. Bathed in the warm, early morning light and dressed in a handsome, form fitting shirt in pale blue with the sleeves rolled up and top button undone, he looked soft in a way that suggested he hadn’t come online entirely yet. His raven hair was still slightly damp from the shower, curling at the ends. He wasn’t wearing a tie. While he carefully placed three mismatched mugs of tea on the bedside table, he quietly filled Roman in on their work schedule for the week and about how their application for a part-time home office had been granted.

Patton, used to carefully observing men’s moods especially when he was bruised to the bone, noticed dark, tired shadows under his eyes as well as bluish bruises on the knuckles of his right hand. Yet his shoulders and neck seemed to have lost some of the tension the patissier had become used to as they hugged, before the taller man’s muscles had relaxed as he’d wrapped his arms around Patton’s narrow waist. His next breath came more easily.

No one actively mentioned what had been done to him as they sleepily untangled from each other. As soon as he noticed Patton had woken up, Roman distracted him with anecdotes about sleeping with his animal friends (less glamorous than in the Disney stories!). He moved slowly as not to startle the younger man again. Virgil, still unusually quiet, helped settle Patton in the bed and slunk off to make breakfast.

“He’ll be okay, don’t worry, my dearest.” Roman assured him as he noticed the baker’s concerned look. Patton had huddled against the pillows stacked against the headboard and wrapped his arms around himself like a child, tiny and half buried under clean, if fur covered blankets. His honey-brown eyes were wide and wet.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out. Guilt was creeping into the space behind his collar-bone, coalescing and rising up his throat bitterly. He tried very hard to keep his thoughts centered in this room, but even here, Virgil was suffering when Patton had only ever wanted to shield him from this. He’d spilled his problems into this safe space and now the air was thick with unaddressed emotion. Anger and blame and humiliating questions. Why did you let him do this? He’d been asked by everyone who found out. Shame threatened to drown him in a red hot wave, making him sweat and tremble.

A gust of cool morning-air ruffled his light-brown curls against his forehead. Logan had opened a window and was pushing a lightly furred, colorful plant around its already perfect spot on the windowsill. Its leaves were colored a deep burgundy red with pink in the middle and a light green border around the edges. It looked lovely between his pale, long fingers.

“Roman is right.” The detective muttered, keeping his gaze focused on the pot he was turning this way and that so the light caught it just right. He felt too shaken still to look Patton in the eyes and expose all of his feelings rattling loose and unprotected around his head. The sensation of the fragile cellular structure under his fingertips grounded him and he tried to focus on it entirely instead of the thrumming images of Patton hurt Patton bleeding Patton shying away from him in terror. He was afraid to meet his eyes lest he’d see the same fear again.

“You have no cause for worry anymore, Patton. I hope you understand that we will aid you as you deserve from now on and therefore solve any issue together. Neither you nor Virgil will be without support anymore, just as Roman and I surely will profit from your care. I am certain that no problem can be so insurmountable as not to be fixed by a group of such diverse talents and inclinations as this.” He uttered, trying to keep his voice low and soothing, hyper aware of the wide eyes focused on him.

The weight of the small patissier’s attention felt heavy suddenly. He swallowed hard, trying to chase away his insecurity. He had Patton here, finally, safe in his hands and Roman’s arms and Logan was petrified. He longed to touch Patton, to run his hands all over his body where blues and reds had been spilled under his skin and take the memories of violence and humiliation away. He wanted to replace his fear with trust, he wanted to make Patton smile, he hurt with how much he wanted his happiness.

The memory of his anguish as he’d been beaten to the ground made the detective understand what people referred to when they used overly poetic phrases like ‘gutted’. He could relate to the sensation of having a sharp metal hook driven into the space behind one’s throat, tear deep into the soft tissue of one’s neck and rip out all of the structures that gave stability. His whole nervous system felt torn from his body, impossible as it may be, and he was left with a feeling of being ripped open – tender and vulnerable.

The soft, burgundy colored leaf ripped in his shaking hand.

He took a deep breath, centering himself. Shutting it all away. Patton didn’t need his unreliable urges and needs right now. His features were smooth as he turned to the tangled little family on the bed.

“I believe it would be beneficial to orient our efforts on your needs directly, instead of attempting to presume the best course of action on your behalf. How may we assist you, Patton? What do you need?” He inquired politely, folding his hands in front of himself. Keeping them from where they might not be wanted.

Patton, now curled up against a mountain of pillows against the headboard with a not really awake kitten snoring in his lap, looked frightened at the offer.

Logan’s breath caught on the hook tearing at his neck. Had he demanded too much of Patton already? Had he frightened him with his clinical tone?

“It’s alright, dearest Patton.” Roman soothed. He settled the kitten comfortably in his little friend’s arms and gave him a soft smile.

“Whatever you need is alright. We won’t be mad and we don’t need to understand it to accept that you need it.”

The baker tried to believe his friend’s kind words, but the thing he knew he’d have to do as soon as Logan had offered would make them angry, he knew it. He was frustrating and hurting them and they did not deserve any of it.

He was too scared to ask.

“It’s about him, isn’t it?”

Virgil’s voice was quiet and hard to read. The young man was half hiding behind the door, burrowing his hands deep in his pocket. He sighed, his whole, thin body appearing to become heavier with it. After a long moment, he pulled himself together to face his frightened friend. He wouldn’t fail him again with his anger and prejudice.

“It’s okay, Patton. I get that you worry. You don’t just stop caring about people who hurt you, even if they’re bastards. Even when you should. So, what do you need?”

Oh fuck.

Tears started streaming down Patton’s pale, bruised face. He swallowed a sob, still utterly silent, small and undemanding.

Both Logan and Virgil had frozen, fearful of getting too close, of doing the wrong thing, of having caused -

Roman gave the barista a subtle nudge and Virgil went, offering his arms awkwardly.

Patton burrowed into the embrace gratefully. He loved Virgil so, so much. When he felt safe enough to raise his head, he found Logan crouching in front of him, quiet and patient.

“Please don’t put him in prison.”

The words had been spoken almost too quiet to hear. Patton was clearly frightened to make his request. He knew it would hurt Logan. And it did. The detective looked devastated. Patton still felt threatened by him, even if it wasn’t for his own sake.

Logan’s silence was painful to bear, thought it was not reproachful. Finally, he nodded.

“I will not do anything without your consent, Patton. I promised.”

“Oh. Thank you, Logan.” The slight patissier mumbled.

“There is no need for gratitude, Patton.”

“Yes there is! I know this is normal for you, because you are amazing and smart and kind and so nice to me all the time, to everyone really, but it means so much to me when you say that. You have no idea how important the things you say are. I’m so grateful to you. You’re my hero.” Patton exclaimed, suddenly finding it very important that the older man understood just how marvelous he found him.

Logan flushed brightly.

The group tried their best to understand that Patton wasn’t able to just ignore what happened to Trevor and move on. He at least had to find out if he was badly hurt, so they agreed to find out if he was still in the hospital and how to contact him after they fed him and made sure he was comfortable. Everyone was wound up so tightly, the time to breathe would help them calm down.

Breakfast was marvelous. Patton was better able to enjoy being taken care of now that he found that no one was angry at him for needing to check up on Trevor’s health. He knew they were disappointed that he could not make a clean cut, though. He understood them, too. Patton wished he were able to just close this chapter of his life and walk away. He didn’t know what he still needed to hear to make it happen. Maybe he was just too stupid to know when to stop.

As if sensing his heavy thoughts, Roman made sure to distract Patton. Making sure to keep any weight off his injured ankle, he carried him to the kitchen Virgil had taken over and kept him entertained while they ate the lovely food the barista had prepared. Then, they settled him on the comfortable couch with the kitten and cleaned up the kitchen together to give Patton some privacy to find out how the man that had injured him so badly was faring.

Though he had been feeling much better during breakfast, now that he stared at the number Logan had written down in his tidy handwriting in dark blue ink, he felt afraid once again. Yesterday had been the worst fight he’d had to live though in a long time and perhaps the most disappointed he’d ever been. Just thinking about it made him barely able to hold back his tears. He covered his face with his hands and tried to think of something other than his feral expression, so betrayed, so hateful. He was hit hard by how much he loathed the thought of hearing his voice. How badly he never wanted to see him again. He feared this man, no matter how much he’d loved him. Still, he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t even find out how badly he was hurt. What kind of person would that make him? He was here, cared for so well and Trevor was all alone. No one would ask him how he was but Patton. He had no choice. With shaking hands, he picked up the phone – a land-line – of course Logan would still have one, dialed the number and was connected with Trevor’s room.

“Hello?”

Even though he’d called him, hearing Trevor’s voice was a shock to Patton’s system. It made him freeze for a long moment, heart racing with terror.

“Hello, what is it?” He repeated. Then, more quietly, “Is that you, babe?”

“Um, yes.” Patton muttered. He couldn’t get out more than a whisper. He was tiny and afraid again, guilty and helpless once more.

A shocked flinch almost made him drop the phone altogether. The kitten he’d been left with had pounced on the hand lying in his lap and tried to wrestle with it. It’s tiny tail was sticking straight like a little flag. Patton remembered an expression he’d learned from an Austrian student when he’d studied for his patissier-training in Germany for a few months. ‘Autodromkatzer’ they called the really little kittens, because they’re tails would stick up like the flag-poles at the back those funny bumper cars. He’d always wanted to have one. Turning his hand a little he let the kitten gnaw at his finger with its tiny teeth. It looked proud to have caught him. He tried to focus on the warm baby animal to get through the conversation.

“Babe?”

“Uh, yes. Sorry. Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry.” He stammered. Trevor couldn’t hurt him here, he reminded himself, only the feelings Patton just couldn’t control could. Trevor’s next sentence was enough to send him spiraling with guilt.

“You’re not here.” He sounded shaken. Alone. Patton struggled to find words through the tears gathering in his throat.

“I’m sorry you woke up alone. Are you hurt very badly?”

“Don’t pretend you care!” Trevor screeched suddenly, his voice almost breaking. “You did this to me! You brought him into our lives! How could you do this to us? I wasn’t enough and you went looking for someone better! Is that it? Did you want a better man?!”

“NO, Trevor, I never tried to-”

“Did you sleep with him?” Trevor interrupted. He sounded close to tears now. Patton clutched a hand over his mouth to hold himself together, breathing through the upset emotions for a moment.

“Never.” He whispered miserably. Nothing could eat away at his insides quite like his boyfriend’s suffering. His narrow chest ached so badly he had to wrap a bandaged arm around himself. “I never wanted to replace you, I swear. I love you. I only wanted you to be happy.”

Like a switch had been flipped, Trevor’s tone changed from broken to pleading, manipulating. Patton had never noticed it this clearly before.

“I want you to be happy too, babe. Don’t you see what that man is doing to us? He’s trying to steal you to keep you for himself where he can isolate you. He’s a psycho, you have no idea what he could do to you. Babe, he’s a cop, he can get away with doing whatever he wants with you and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

“Trevor, no-” Frustrated and worried for him, Patton tried to find the right words. He didn’t want him to work himself into a paranoid breakdown and he hated hearing him to upset, yet he couldn’t quite accept what he’d said.

“Logan isn’t like that, he would never hurt me.”

“HE ALMOST KILLED ME YOU DUMB BITCH DON’T YOU SEE?!”

Patton flinched hard, almost dropping the phone. Shaking with sudden terror, he pressed himself against the cushions. Despite being half a city away, he expected to feel the consequences of this explosive anger for a terrible moment.

A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Logan stood in the doorway to the kitchen, framed by the colored glass and wood. He was clutching a dish towel in bruised hands, looking helpless. His dark eyes were large and worried, telling Patton he wanted to do nothing more than protect him somehow. Roman and Virgil were hovering behind him, frozen in their futile attempt to keep a wiggling Cat from climbing Roman’s back with sharp claws to get to the upper shelves and hover there in wait for unsuspecting victims. None of them looked anything like the abusive, controlling men Trevor was making them out to be. Patton had never seen the irony of his claims more clearly. He gave them a shaky smile.

Scooping the kitten up to his chest and holding it close, he braced himself.

“Trevor, please calm down. I’m so sorry you got hurt, but Logan was only trying to protect me. You left him no other choice. It wasn’t his fault.”

The unexpected reprimand was delivered softly, but it didn’t fail to have an effect. Trevor sounded taken aback. Once again, his tone changed seamlessly.

“You’re right, of course. I’m so sorry, babe. I- I deserve to get the shit kicked out of me, I shouldn’t have hurt you, you’re right, you’re always right. I don’t deserve you and I hate myself for what I did, please, I’m so sorry, I just want you to be happy. I’m so sorry I’m such a failure.” He rambled, his voice thick with tears and desperation. Horrified and a little disoriented at the sudden change, Patton rushed to reassure him.

“You’re not a failure! I’m so proud of you for how you wanted to try to fix things! You wanted to work on yourself and that is so good of you! I believe in you, you can get better! Please don’t say those things!”

Trevor’s response became soft as butter. He sounded so helpless, harmless.

“I can’t do it without you, though! Babe, I’m nothing without you! When I woke up alone I didn’t know how to go on. I love you so much, you’re the most important thing I have, you’re my babe. My love. I’ll try to be what you deserve, I’ll give you everything, I’ll listen to you, whatever you want, just please come home, don’t stay with that psycho. I don’t know what he told you, but he doesn’t love you like I do. He doesn’t need you.”

Patton froze. Yes, he was right. Logan didn’t need him.

His gaze fell on the clean floor at his feet, swept over the healthy plants, over Virgil whose cheeks were gaining color and Roman who was wrestling a confident stray, to Logan who was trying – and failing – to look like he was not watching Patton to see if he needed any help. Nicodemus sat on his shoulder nibbling a nut with both paws. The little animal had been adopted into a flat that was tidy and clean. There was no screaming here, no violent episodes, no broken glass in corners no matter how much Patton cleaned, no odd jobs that were barely legal and that forced Patton to pay the rent for both of them, no accusing looks and threatening, thick silences. Logan had his life under control. He didn’t need Patton in it.

Nothing could have prepared him for the relief he felt. Logan didn’t need Patton to make him eat or shower, to compensate for his unpredictable moods or to satisfy his emotional or physical needs. Logan didn’t need him to survive.

Patton had never truly felt the pressure he had been living with until this moment.

His narrow shoulders fell with an exhaustion that came with finally unwinding. Finally letting go. The thought of not being needed had always terrified him, until he had learned what it meant to be wanted, instead of needed.

“You’re right.” He muttered softly.

Trevor pounced on the change of heart with the desperation of a drowning man, modifying his tone to what he believed would make Patton so what he wanted, as the baker noticed.

“I know, babe. But it’s okay. You made a mistake with that man and you got in too deep with him, but I forgive you. I’ll always be there for you, I’d never leave you. Now everything can be different. Now you’ll come home and we’ll figure everything out.”

“No.”

A long, startled pause stretched on the other line.

“What-”

“I’m not coming home. I’m sorry. I really tried to give you what you need, but I’ll never be able to make things right for you. Only you can do that. Please get help.” He pleaded, making things quick before he lost his courage entirely. And softly, he added. “I love you.”

Patton hung up.

Astonished silence flooded the apartment. Though they had definitely tried not to listen, all three men were watching the patissier from the doorway of the kitchen, baffled at the abrupt cut the gentle baker had made.

The phone slipped from numb fingers and landed on the turquoise cushion with a dull thud. Patton was crying before any of them had the chance to process that he had just effectively evicted Trevor from his life.

His tears were hot on his cheeks and seemed to leave burning lines behind. Yet as he looked up through the haze he found not only endless patience and affection on the faces of the men he’d chosen over his boyfriend, but also awed pride.

They were proud of him.

Though he was crying, he felt nothing but relief.

********

During the next two days, Patton’s overwhelmed body and mind simply shut down. He was tired and drained to the bone by his injuries and the emotional stress his decision had caused him to the point of simply sleeping most of the time. Whenever he woke up, someone was there to fuss over him or at least he had a pet to cuddle. He was fed and cared for and finally, on the third day, he woke up and felt like he finally had the strength to face the world again. It felt like a new day.

That day was a Saturday and from what he could tell from the sounds of the apartment, the others were already awake. The shower was running next door and he could hear Logan’s annoyed voice grumbling and cursing from the bathroom over the running water. A moment later, Roman wailed his complaints about his ignored hygienic needs. Poor Logan really wasn’t safe anywhere.

Through the crack in the bedroom door, Patton saw the younger detective shuffle out of the bathroom in his silk night-gown with the large, smooth fabric adorned by a crimson flowery pattern threatening to slip over one shoulder, arms laden with the beauty products he had apparently not been able to wait for. There were little pieces of cotton stuck between the painted toes to protect the fresh coat of ruby polish. It made him waddle like a fancy duck. Surprised by his own feelings, Patton giggled. The moment the unexpected sound left his lips he knew he’d found his mission for the day. He’d make sure no one would have to worry about him anymore. The most important thing for him had always been to make his family happy and he had not been doing a very good job of it recently. He knew they’d worried and especially Logan seemed to have dealt badly with the knowledge that Patton had been with a troubled man and had refused the offered support. He must have felt very helpless.

He wouldn’t be the cause of any more worry. No Sir. Today, he’d smile and start making himself useful. It was hard to imagine how much they had to care for him in, well, the last few months, really. He’d been such a burden. The memories of Logan’s restrained, worried glances kept piling up in his head the more he thought about it. He’d asked so much of the poor man, how would he ever make up for it? The fact that he had slept away the days in the detective’s bed after literally having to be carried in his arms to safety felt impossible to wrap his silly little head around.

But now Patton felt some new hope. Yes, he was still hurting and yes, he was lost. More lost than he’d even been in fact. During all of his adult life, he’d been with Trevor. He’d always had him to focus on and structure his life around. Now, he was gone, along with the flat and the relationship that had given him stability and purpose. But the end of their life together had not ended Patton’s world as he’d been sure it would. He’d fallen and been caught in the most gentle embrace. This time, his laugh did not have to be forced. Especially considering his lovely Roman was the most exasperatingly adorable thing in the whole wide world for sure!

Having already passed the room, upon hearing the little giggle, Roman retraced his steps and stuck his ruffled head into the room. With the side cut and his uncombed hair standing up in a curled mess, Patton amended that an awkwardly strutting peacock might be more fitting than a waddling duck.

A happy peacock at that, since he brightened like sunshine as his attentive examination revealed his friend’s cheerful expression.

“Dearest Patton, the sight of your lovely face makes my heart soar! How are you faring this fine morning?”

“Morning, RoRo! I’m feeling like a new person!” Patton cheered with his sweetest smile, spreading his arms wide. His cheek was still tender and must have turned to a bluish purple, he knew, and his split lip protested when he smiled, but he didn’t bleed again, which was great.

The look of affectionate relief on his friends face was enough to melt Patton and make him feel so soft. How he adored Roman. He loved the way he looked so cute this morning, caught in the middle of his grooming, or the obnoxious need for attention that had probably made him sneak into the bathroom just as much as the desire for his rose-scented lotion. Sometimes, Patton thought he liked to annoy Logan just to enjoy the fact that his partner would scold him but still so obviously love him. Just to wake up and get to witness Roman harassing Logan during his shower (and most importantly get away with such a thing Patton would have been terrified to do) made him feel blessed and soothed his heavy heart. It was the atmosphere of this place – the sounds in all corners of the flat speaking of people comfortably going about their business. Not to mention the personal touches of everyone who lived here. One of Roman’s pictures hung above this very bed. Patton had looked at it a lot when he had woken up at night. The room was never really dark due to the timers on the planet-shaped lights spread around the room. He’d known about them from Logan’s confession of course, yet during his second night here, he’d noticed another endearing detail. The large image of a black, blue and purple cosmic nebula appeared to wake up in the near-darkness and became awash with a thousand glowing stars spread over the canvass. It was so beautiful and so thoughtful of Roman.

The next day, he’d found a book about renewable energy sources tidily filled with lavender and purple post-it notes in the chair next to the bed. And of course, he saw Logan’s presence everywhere. Though he’d been too tired to stay awake long, he’d examined the collectibles and self-built models of spaceships that had been strung from the ceiling or crammed between the books. Logan would not love to hear them called toys, but Patton still did, in the privacy of his mind. The more he cautiously snooped around, the more he found traces of the kid the serious detective tried hard to hide. There were a lot of detective novels with lovingly touch-softened pages and even quite a few comic books in the very bottom of the shelf. One was missing, probably swiped by Virgil to read half-hidden under the covers of his bed. Patton had wondered, tentatively, in his silly, hopeful moments, if he would be allowed to spread out his roots this way as well. The light gray hair floating through the sunlit patches of air in the bedroom suggested that maybe he already had.

Roman was more than happy to exchange him for his lotion and whatnot and sweep him into his arms, despite the dangerous wobble the cottoned toes caused him. Both he and Logan still insisted on carrying him everywhere, due to his ankle. He had a crutch, Logan had made sure to have everything he might need on hand, but he had never had the chance to use it.

The sleeping ball of fur was simply placed in his lap. It made a soft “Whrm?” noise upon being grabbed by a large hand and continued to sleep.

The living-room was filled with a delightful smell that wafted in from the kitchen like warm fog blanketing every surface. Virgil was humming to the quiet music Patton would describe as adorably punky be-bop. The edgy lyrics always made him think those kiddos needed a hug.

Roman settled Patton on a comfy chair at the long, wooden table in the kitchen where he could easily watch Virgil and wobbled to retrieve his lotions. Virgil stilled as he spotted them, spatula laden with an unflipped pancake in hand and pale feet bare on the clean floors. Pulling his sleep-messy curls back from his face, Patton grinned at him, genuinely happy to see his kiddo so at home and doing something he enjoyed. He had never had such an easy time summoning his smile and covering his aches and fears. And he would do just that! Virgil had been terribly silent and hurt the other day and Patton would make extra sure nothing reminded him of the things that had happened to him. He would not bring his failures and issues into this home anymore!

“Good morning, Virgil! What an eggsquisite day! I’ve never slept butter!” He chirped with perhaps a touch too much cheer, intending to make very sure his friend lost the concerned frown marring his pretty features.

Still, Virgil huffed a quiet laugh, shoulders sagging with relief.

“Morning Pat. Want some tea?” He mumbled.

“Sure! Let me help you, sweetie!” Patton offered, feeling perfectly capable of making his way around the kitchen with his minor injuries. He barely felt the cuts on his hand and arm anymore after Logan had diligently cleaned and checked them every day.

“Nah, it’s fine. I got this.” Virgil waved off his offer, worriedly waving the spatula in his direction to shoo him back into his seat. He looked like he would use it to coral Patton back into a sitting position if he had to. It was an endearing thought. Though he didn’t do well being catered to, Patton could see how comfortable Virgil was with the pancakes baking, the pretty, colorful fruits diced in a bowl behind him on the counter and the eggs bubbling in another pan. He’d claimed this space for himself and was ruling it confidently. The atmosphere was contagious. Patton couldn’t remember feeling so light and calm before breakfast in a long time. He was so proud of Virgil.

Instead of following his ever present urge to work to make the people around him happy and anticipate and fulfill their needs, Patton allowed himself to settle down and watch the fattening raccoon noisily demolish the fruit peels left for it on the counter. A moment later, a thick walled ceramic mug was placed before him, steaming with sweetened tea.

“Thanks a brunch!” He exclaimed, smiling in a way he hoped conveyed just how well he thought the former gang member was doing. He knew his praise made him shy, so he tried to convey his love and pride non-verbally as much as he could. Even so, Virgil flushed and ducked his head.

The sound of a closing door announced Logan’s immediate arrival and caused the barista to grab a grumbling raccoon under the belly and settle it on the floor with its bowl. After a quick wipe of the counter he was back to innocently flipping pancakes by the time the detective entered the room.

A quick burst of white hot fear shot through Patton. Had the raccoon not been allowed on the counter? Would Logan get angry? He’d been feeling very well a second ago, but now he could not help remembering how intimidating the tall detective could be in his rare, intense fits of anger.

The disgruntled glance Logan examined the counter with showed that he was not fooled about the whereabouts of the raccoon, but he said nothing about it. A little smile lit up Virgil’s face as he found that he was allowed to get away with his transgression. Neither man seemed inclined to pay more attention to the situation.

Patton hid a trembling sigh behind his cup, quickly recovering from his brief moment of shock. It was like missing a step and feeling like falling – frightening, but only for a moment. His little heart would slow down eventually.

“Good morning Patton, Virgil.” Logan nodded to the both, trying, and failing, to subtly examine Patton. The patissier smiled brightly at the taller man.

“Heyja Logan! Don’tcha worry, there is muffing wrong with me! Roman carried me here and Virgil wouldn’t let me help at all. I couldn’t hurt myself if I fried!” He joked, pleased with the way the sound of the sizzling pan underlined his puns.

A small twitch of his lip told Patton that the return of the puns was appreciated. He was so glad to see the man’s shoulders loosening. He refused to allow any dark thoughts to enter this flat today. The guilty dreams he’d battled during his tired days and nights had been more than enough. It was time to start over and make his friends smile as much as he possibly could. The mission invigorated him and filled him with a purpose he’d been so terrified to live without. He focused on it completely, finally managing to not feel torn by conflicting loyalties anymore. He’d managed to make a decision that was final and that allowed him to start a new chapter.

Roman joined them just in time to be fed, briefly having to squabble about his chair with Cat who liked to steal his spots in particular to place her paws on the table and creepily stare at everyone.

It occurred to Patton that this was the first time he got to experience a normal day at the flat.

Breakfast in Logan’s household was something Patton had imagined a lot while he’d brewed black coffee before the sun rose and tidily set the table in the hopes of making Trevor eat. He’d wondered what it would be like to see them all sitting together in the morning ever since Virgil had mentioned they ate together.

Very domestic, as it turned out. Whenever Roman wasn’t chatting, Logan and Virgil had short, quiet conversations, like they needed very little space next to the loud young man to understand each other. They all made sure to involve Patton and entertain him, while still trying not to demand too much. He must still feel very fragile to them. Or perhaps they did not trust his sudden good mood. Patton had the feeling he would have to deal with some issues sooner or later, as he always did when he pushed away his dark feelings during happier times at work, but for now he felt freed. There was no going back and for once, he felt too good to beat himself up. There was more than enough to distract him after all.

As the day continued he found that the members of Logan’s household tended to drift apart doing various things on their own without really being alone. Roman read magazines on the couch, occasionally showing the pictures to Patton or gossiping with him and later settled on a cushion on the floor to paint.

Logan would scowl at him and berate him about the growing radius of supplies scattered around him like debris after a colorful meteorite strike after he nearly brained himself from stepping on a paintbrush on his way to the kitchen. He buzzed around the flat with various cleaning supplies before he got busy with his books or laptop in his room or occasionally at his desk in the living-room, though he made his rounds through the flat like a clockwork, harassing people to drink water like a mother-hen. Even the pets were carried to their bowls whether they wanted to or not. Trying to scoot backwards between his feet to escape was pointless. Being a good pet lead to tasty rewards, though. Nicodemus clearly had it figured out long ago and was gazing at the poor, dumb beasts trying to evade the clumsy love and care with aloof pity.

Virgil snuck out of the flat for two hours with a gym bag once but otherwise he drifted through the rooms silently like a pale ghost, making snacks, working in his room or curling up with Patton in the very corner of the sofa to read quietly.

The patissier himself had been settled on the couch with a nest of pillows, surrounded by an odd collection of things his friends thought he might enjoy. Books and magazines, the remote control for Netflix kids, cookies and a tablet for scrolling through Pinterest, and set aside for when his hand was healed more, an adult coloring book and even knitting needles and a ball of rainbow-colored wool, both still packed together in plastic. Logan had left it for him like a reverse thief in the night, blushing bashfully.

Patton awoke from his nap as the shadows lengthened from the mid-afternoon sun. Before they’d all fallen into a food induced coma, Virgil had cooked lunch for them while Logan had diced the vegetables into very tidy squares. The creamy pumpkin soup with garlic-herb baguettes had made everyone sleepy and caused the comfortable silence that was still heavy in the air as Patton rubbed his eyes. He’d slept more than enough during the last few days. Freeing himself from the tangle of Roman’s long limbs, he quietly got up and headed for the kitchen. Though he’d been very well entertained, he couldn’t help the familiar urge that drew him to the workspace. Creating something lovely and tasty was the best way for him to put his mind at ease and he knew very well that too much time to think would hardly be a good idea. It would undoubtedly leave him spiraling with thoughts of who he’d left behind and allow him to remember of all of the threats Trevor had made about what he’d do if Patton ever decided to leave him in vivid detail. With Roman’s cheerful help, he’d already knitted a fair length of a quite uneven scarf in order to keep his mind pleasantly blank, making the kitten fall asleep after exhausting itself chasing after Patton’s wool. Yet, nothing soothed him quite like baking.

Logan had left the crutch within his reach so he now used it to get around. It was no trouble for Patton, since he knew the pain of walking on injured limbs would become ignorable with enough distractions after a while. After quietly easing the lovely doors shut so not to wake Roman snoring noisily on the sofa, Patton dared to roam around the beautiful, brightly lit kitchen like he’d dreamed for so long. The white, classy cabinets and the warm, wooden floor made the space so comfortable and inviting to him. He’d secretly dreamed a lot about what he’d do here given half the chance, and baking was only a part of those daydreams. He wasn’t serious of course. Daring to suggest redecorations in a flat where he actually had no business spreading his issues would be unbelievably rude and he did feel a bit ashamed of his thoughts, but it was just a harmless hobby, he told himself. No one needed to know.

First, he opened the balcony doors to let in the fresh air. There were a few sensible, evergreen plants placed around the sunny space, but otherwise Logan hadn’t done too much with it yet. Patton had so many nice ideas. Colorful cushions and low benches and maybe a pretty fabric pulled over the balcony to shield them from the brightness. And lots of cheerful flowers to go along with the useful herbs Logan or Virgil had planted there. And fairy lights for the evening. Also a few flowers on the table in the kitchen and perhaps some candles in varying shades of blue would made the space feel even more like a home. He could clearly imagine how well his professional, turquoise Kitchen-aid would fit in with the matching colors of the living-room.

He shook his head at his silly ideas. Best not to let a jumbled mind like his run wild, he’d only say something dumb and insult somebody.

Now, what could he bake to make himself useful? Logan had repeatedly said he could, (“‘Make yourself at home’, is, I believe, the correct figure of speech”), yet he was still a little shy about looking around. Would Logan even have baking supplies? He’d never heard him mention it before and he knew Virgil preferred to cook. Best have a look around and find out. Making extra sure to remember the way things were stored so not to make the tidy man mad at him, Patton started searching the cabinets like a slightly nervous kid during Easter. Bending and walking hurt and he got dizzy standing up to the point of almost toppling over, but he could handle that. While he found some useful baking pans and even a muffin-tray, as well as an old set of cookie cutter shapes he was quite intrigued by, the real prize awaited him in the little pantry whose door was discreetly placed in the far corner.

All of the wooden shelves along the walls were neatly labeled and most of the ingredients and supplies were stored in mason jars to protect against moths or stacked in pretty, weaved baskets. There was enough stuff to feed the whole household for weeks. Logan seemed to be a little on the paranoid side, which surprised – precisely - no one.

Curiosity awakened, Patton limped into the little room, examining the sections – rice, grain, soy, lentils, nuts, jams (lots), canned vegetables, oh – baking. Next to large mason jars filled with three different types of flour he found a whole section of the shelves near the back filled with baskets whose contents he was quite familiar with. He found one labeled ‘sugars’ filled not only with brown, powdered and white sugar, but also with an array of sugar-based decorations like sprinkles and a colorful selection of candies. Another box contained various little packages of baking soda, yeast, citrus-, rum- and butter-aroma, several spices like cinnamon, lavender, ginger, nutmeg and other little helpers. There even was a basket containing different kinds of chocolates, chocolate-chips and pure cocoa powder. Everything was still sealed in its original package.

Patton stood for a long moment, hands clasped over his mouth to stifle any sound, and just cried.

Why were they doing this?

He tried to grope for an explanation that did not make him look like a hopeful, deluded idiot. Had Logan or Virgil planned to learn how to bake? Patton didn’t think so. Before his mind’s eye, the image of Logan diligently researching baking supplies was clear as day. He’d gone shopping with Roman – the candies were far too elaborate and playful for the serious man, and perhaps Virgil had come too. Lavender and ginger were hardly part of the basic set. His clever barista had an eye for flavors though.

His lip hurt like a flash of white hot lightning as he bit it to stifle his gasps as he cried, alone in this tiny little room where Logan and his family had created a space for him. He didn’t even know why his tears had come this time, he just felt so overwhelmed. He should be laughing, but all he did was cry. All he ever did was cry. Virgil had had it much harder than him, he bet, but he was sure he’d never been this ridiculous.

Trying to pull himself together only made him gasp harder for a moment. He had to lean heavily on the sturdy shelves, making the glass jars filled with peaches and cherries clink together softly. Yet with the passing minutes, he calmed. Settling his gaze firmly on the supplies bought for him, Patton manage to ignore his dizziness and focus. To his own shock, a wheezing laugh escaped him. His chest felt jumbled and untidy with its storm of emotions, but a few were starting to gain the upper hand. Love, for one. He felt loved and he just loved these men so much in return. They’d made a group effort to give Patton what he wanted so much – what he’d always wanted in life. A place to belong. He was jittery with joy suddenly, and realized he was crying with happiness.

This was what he’d always looked for but had never gotten in his life with Trevor. A home where he was seen with all of his needs and wishes. A place where he was wanted and where he was allowed to just be. Knowing he wouldn’t dare to do it himself, Logan invited him to take space for himself instead of making him reduce his bothersome needs to the bare minimum. Sometimes he’d felt like Trevor’s mental illness had pushed everything else out and had not left enough space in their lives for more than one person, so Patton had to be less than that. Less emotional, less needy, less… himself.

He allowed another laugh, finding the feeling just so nice. He hadn’t indulged in the pleasure of laughing in so long. Grief and elation were so close together right now, he didn’t know how to tell them apart sometimes. His mood swings scared him a little, but then again, he’d always been a little all over the place. Messy.

His hands were salty with tears because he’d brushed them over his tear-damp cheeks, mindful of the purplish bruise. He’d have to wash them extra carefully. Now, time to bake and be well. He was determined to heal.

As he examined the ingredients, he realized that his bandaged hand wouldn’t make things easy for him, but again, what was new? He’d leave the crutch and just hobble around a bit. Like a rabbit. It would be fun.

But what would he bake?

As he rifled through the things he loved so much, the tastes and smells appeared in his mind, combining vividly with everything his fingers touched. The aromas of vanilla, cinnamon, citrus, butter and chocolate were as clear to him as if he were working with them right now. He tidied around himself a little as he thought, putting the packets back in order and turning to rearrange the jars with the various fruits nicely. The glass of cherries landed in his hands again and he thought of the German curse Logan had thrown Roman’s way this morning in the shower. Patton knew some German from his unfortunately brief time learning there. It had been the biggest adventure of his life! He hadn’t thought he’d be brave enough to go through with it, all alone on another continent. But the scholarship had been paid for and he’d just been so curious. Even Trevor, who had been doing better than he had in the last few years, had seen how much he wanted to go. And it had been so worth the apprehension. He’d found the place so quaint with its colorful half-timber houses, old shutters and geraniums at the windows and the people hadn’t been as strict as he’d feared at all. Actually, many had been just as confused as him. And he’d learned most of the popular curses from a colleague. That was something he couldn’t tell anyone of course.

Logan’s dad had been German, if Patton remembered correctly. He wondered if he would appreciate something from home, sort of. He didn’t even know if the detective had ever been there, but considering how well educated he was, he’d probably seen much more of the world than little Patton.

Mind made up and looking forward to getting dirty, Patton started gathering supplies and piling them on the counter – mercifully without dropping any of them because of his injured hand. The German Black Forest Cake was a favorite of Patton’s, even though he sometimes thought it could do with more cheerful colors. The only concession he would make would be to leave out the Kirschwasser, and not only because there was none to be found. Though he sometimes used alcohol to bake in his Pat-isserie, he’d never included any in the recipes he made at home. He’d grown up with the horrors of an alcoholic father and had lived in constant fear of losing Trevor to the same addiction. It was one of the only things he’d ever put his foot down in the relationship. He would have only little alcohol in the flat, if at all.

It was something he’d guiltily looked for in the pantry as well. He hadn’t really gotten to know Logan and Roman properly in their private space yet and he knew how men could show a different picture in public before revealing their struggles in the comfort of home. He tried hard to ignore that some part of him waited for the other shoe to drop. He hadn’t found any hint of a terrible secret yet, though. There was some white wine in the pantry that looked cheap enough to cook with as well as a bottle each of sparkling-wine, Rosè and bourbon pushed into a corner with the gift-cards still attached. The wine was still in its paper bag and the carton of the bourbon was unopened. Well, Patton had had his own fair share of impersonal gifts to deal with, so he could understand the reaction of just sticking them somewhere out of sight.

Reassured, Patton decided to simply heat some cherry jam with water to spread over the chocolate cakes for the added moisture and mix it with almond extract to make some of the bitterness balance the sugar and replicate the sharpness of the alcohol.

After turning on the oven so the batter would have a warm and toasty home, he leaned against the counter to take the weight off his ankle and started measuring flour, salt, baking soda and cocoa powder for the chocolatey note and sifting them into a large bowl. The smell of the cocoa filled the room immediately and rose in the air like a powder soft cloud. Holding his tools carefully so not to have them slip because of his cottony bandage, Patton held his uninjured hand under the sieve as he shook the dry mixture into the bowl and sighed at the silk-like texture on his pale skin. The contact to soft, pleasant materials like yielding flour you could make satisfyingly smooth imprints in with your spoon, cool, brightly-colored sprinkles, or melting chocolate had always created a contrast to his life at home that could pull him out of his head and into the moment entirely. The darkened flour flowed down between his fingers like water, soft as flower-petals.

Pushing the mixture aside, Patton prepared the pan so the cake would come out without breaking into sad little pieces before preparing to separate the eggs. Beating the egg white into a solid cloudy mass and carefully mixing it with the rest of the batter would make the whole thing delightfully light and fluffy. Also, Patton loved the smooth and pure look of egg white clouds growing solid in flowing swirls in the bowl.

Knowing he’d need a little more space to work, the patissier pushed aside the pans quietly while grabbing another bowl for the egg-shells. In his mind, he was already a few steps ahead, which caused him to forget about his precarious grip on the smooth glass caused by his bandaged fingers. The pristine bowl slipped from his hand before he’d really noticed and shattered with a shockingly loud crash, exploding crystal-clear shards all over the ground.

Patton jumped in shock, terror stabbing through his insides like an ice-cold knife. His heart was racing instantly, cold sweat breaking out on his pasty skin. He stumbled backwards, instinctively wanting to hide, as a solid form appeared behind him.

The little patissier flinched hard, barely repressing a shriek as he was grabbed.

“Patton, please don’t be alarmed. I did not intend to startle you.” A calm voice rumbled in his ear.

For a long moment, Patton heard nothing but the deep baritone close to him and knew that he would be hurt with absolute certainty. His whole body trembled as his lungs struggled to work, adding dizziness to panic. He felt terrifyingly helpless.

Yet, the moment of being shaken, being beaten and tossed to the ground passed.

The smaller man’s rabbit-fast heart seemed to miss a beat from sheer relief as he was slowly released from his all encompassing terror. Logan hadn’t grabbed him, he’d wrapped his arms around him and pulled him back so his vulnerable, sock-clad feet had ended up standing on his running shoes, safely away from the sharp glass glinting in the mid-day sun.

Looking down at the image of himself standing on Logan’s feet like a child, Patton had to laugh despite his breathlessness. He was still reeling from his sudden fear, but the way he was being held was just too funny to keep his amusement at bay. Feeling him relax in his arms, the detective helped Patton turn around in his embrace so he could hold on to his shoulders and stand a little safer. Tension seeped out of him as Patton breathed out a sigh that seemed to release all of the tightness in his muscles. He held him closer carefully with his arms around his narrow waist. Despite neither having intended it, the hold turned into a comforting hug as Patton’s forehead fell against the cotton of the navy-blue t-shirt covering Logan’s shoulder.

The taller man had dressed for a run before he had been lured into the kitchen by tasty smells. He hadn’t meant to sneak up on Patton. The way he’d been so relaxed and competent with a soft smile on his lovely lips had just drawn him in. Now there was nothing separating them but two t-shirts warmed by their bodies. Getting lost in the moment, Patton turned his head to lay his cheek on the worn material, finally sinking against Logan’s chest like he should have days ago. They had both been so shy to touch for different reasons. He hadn’t realized how badly he had wanted this contact until now. His friend was so alive and reliable against his body. His chest expanded with quiet breaths Patton could feel warm against his neck and his heart beat a little too quickly against his own. Trustingly, he pushed himself close, liking the way he could feel so much more of the other man’s chest without the layers of pressed fabric between them. Every muscle in his back seemed to respond to the way Patton’s hands ran over them and he was getting absolutely lost in it. He even caused a little shiver in the stoic man that was just so adorably in character for him. He enjoyed that he knew that the detective was blushing even more hotly right now, despite how different the embrace was in some ways. For one, he was taller than usually, standing on the other man’s feet.

Logan ran a soothing, careful hand over the slender back without breaking the secure hold around the waist in his grip. With a little shifting, he managed to take the pressure off of the injured leg. The baker shouldn’t be standing up in the first place. Regrettably, he knew he’d better get him off his feet. He allowed himself a last breath of the pale curls though, smelling vanilla and cocoa and a warmth that came from Patton as much as from his own insides when he pressed him against his body. He was filled with protectiveness and affection so powerful it seemed to seep into every crevice of his being.

“We should avoid aggravating your sprained ankle. May I set you down on the counter?” He asked softly, mindful of how close his lips were to Patton’s ear so not to startle the relaxed creature in his embrace. He was gratified to notice how long the other appeared to need to respond, as if he was too relaxed to process the words. Indeed he could feel the small form grow pliant and heavy in his arms, trusting him to press him closer to hold him up.

“Hmn?” Blinking his eyes open, Patton lifted his face towards his friend, bringing them very close. Despite his bruised face, he was achingly pretty.

“Your ankle.” Logan reminded him gently, his deep voice resonating between them. “I would like to lift you onto the counter in order to avoid pressure on the pulled ligaments.”

“Oh, right.”

Growing more aware of his surroundings, Patton pulled back self-consciously and looked down at the broken glass, instantly pulling his limbs closer to his body to make himself smaller. Guilt coalesced in this chest.

“I’m so sorry I broke your bowl. I didn’t mean to make a mess. If you didn’t want me to clutter your kitchen I-”

“No!” Logan hastened to reassure him, uncharacteristically falling over his worlds in his fear for losing the pleasant atmosphere that had finally made Patton relax. “No, I am happy you are making yourself at home. Please utilize whatever you like. I enjoy seeing you and Virgil use the kitchen. And… I apologize for interrupting you.” He added self-consciously, already feeling a flush climb his cheeks. How could he be so rude?

Patton huffed a little laugh at how sweet Logan was to him. The last of his fear seemed to drain from him like sand running through the cracks of old stone. The more vulnerability the other showed him, the more confident in his wish to put him at ease Patton grew.

“Okay. Thank you.”

With a shy smile, Logan ducked his head. Shifting his grip, he gently wrapped his strong hands around the narrow hips and lifted the patissier up with barely an effort. Patton yelped despite having been warned and held on to the ever shifting muscle of Logan’s shoulders as they flexed under his hands. With a little giggle, he found himself safely deposited on the counter between the ingredients, a flushed, bashful detective standing before him. This time, they were pretty much of equal height. It was almost impossible to avoid eye contact this way, since his usual strategy of looking over Patton’s shoulder when embarrassed failed to work this way. Logan gazed at the tender, hazel eyes for a long moment before he couldn’t handle his shyness anymore. Ducking his head, he mumbled something about checking his ankle if he did not mind and suddenly he was gone.

Having swept the glass aside unceremoniously, he had crouched down and started brushing leftover glass dust from the cheerfully colored socks. Shocked at the sudden, ticklish sensations, Patton laughed in delight and pulled his feet up protectively, hugging his legs to his chest. Logan pulled his hands back abruptly.

“I apologize. May I examine your ankle for additional injuries?” He asked patiently, looking up from the ground at Patton far above him. The little patissier’s breath caught as the humbleness of the gesture sunk in. Logan was literally kneeling before him, keeping his hands loosely folded in his lap as if in prayer. The moment suddenly felt terribly intimate.

Feeling his breath catch in his throat, Patton lowered his feet slowly, wanting the attention the man before him was offering yet feeling oddly bashful. He looked vulnerable like that, settled at his feet as if waiting for a benediction, hopeful and undemanding. Even after Patton had uncurled, he waited for his nod before taking hold of his foot with the utmost care. First, he made sure no glass had caught in the material of his sock before carefully pulling the material down. The air felt cool on his foot in comparison to the warmth of Logan’s hand as he cradled his ankle to avoid moving it after slowly unraveling the bandage that gave him stability. Patton’s breath caught as those long fingers softly brushed over the swollen area.

“I’m sorry. I did not intend to hurt you.” The detective offered immediately, stopping his explorations.

“It’s fine. You’re really- um- really nice about it. Toetally sweet. I am head over heels with how you take care of me!” Patton joked, softly kicking his now neglected feet. He felt good. Fluttery, somehow.

He saw Logan bite back a small smile and allowed himself to enjoy the bright happiness heating his insides. The loving attention seemed to warm his limbs with an exciting sensation washing through him. His friend’s slightly calloused hands closed around his calf to hold him still as he examined his foot, before carefully brushing the back of his fingers over his sole to make sure no glass had cut him or was still stuck to his skin. A shiver ran down Patton’s body that was only partially due to ticklishness. The room had become intimately silent while Logan re-wrapped the still slightly swollen joint.

“You are healing adequately.” He muttered, sounding satisfied. Yet he did not appear to be ready to release Patton. Gently insistent, he made sure to check the other foot for cuts and glass before replacing both socks and even rubbing some warmth into the now a little cool toes tenderly. Patton felt soft.

Logan demanded Patton stay on the counter while he cleaned up the glass, so he kicked his feet softly and watched the unfamiliar scene of having somebody contently clean up for him. Once he was done, he asked for his hand to examine it with a critical glance.

“You should allow your injuries sufficient time to heal to ensure optimal flexibility. Some of your cuts were deep enough to damage the muscle tissue underneath the skin.” The detective complained softly. Despite his criticism, he cradled the smaller hand gently between his own while brushing his thumb over the back soothingly. Patton hunched his shoulders guiltily.

“You’re right, of course. I’m really sorry, Logan. I just get so antsy and then I need to do something, you know? I should have known better, but I have to work whenever you’re not around to take care of me too, so I thought… never mind. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.” He asked in a small voice.

“There is no need to apologize, Patton. I have no right to dictate your actions and I did not intend to lecture you.” He appeared to puzzled over a problem for a moment while he gently rubbed the hand in his grasp.

“I would like to help you fulfill your need for productivity. Do you suppose you would still be satisfied if I acted on your behalf? I am not a proficient baker, but I should be able to follow your instructions with reasonable accuracy.”

Patton brightened instantly, immediately taken by the idea.

“You would bake with me? Really? I thought you wanted to go out. You’re dressed for a run...”

“It is of no consequence. Allow me a moment to put my trainers away and wash my hands, then we may proceed according to your wishes.”

Oh, the patissier was awed by the idea. He loved baking with friends, it was such a comfortable thing to do! He just hoped Logan really wouldn’t mind following his instructions or grow bored or irritable. He was such a patient and skillful man, though. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, baking didn’t come as naturally to Logan as it did to Patton. The detective listened respectfully and attentively, but even though he did as the baker asked, somehow, even the most simple things went differently for him than for Patton. Even during his first task, the egg yolks threatened to break and fall into the egg whites as he tried to separate them, which would ruin any chance of creating a solid structure when beating them. They’d only cracked one egg and already three pasty pieces of calcium-white shells were floating in the bowl. Of course Patton would never dare to interrupt Logan’s efforts. He didn’t want to make him feel bad or risk the anger hurt pride so often brought about, yet he itched with the wish to take a hold of his hands and guide them.

Depositing the shells in their bowl, the detective huffed a frustrated sigh and turned to the patissier.

“Patton, would you please help me improve?”

The smaller man brightened like a flower opening in the sunshine. He hadn’t expected Logan to allow him to show him how to do something, much less ask for support. He instantly felt at ease and appreciated. Once again, he was awed by how confident and composed this man was. It was wonderful not to have to fear aggression caused by a feeling of inferiority.

Once Patton knew his aid was appreciated, they worked together so well. Often, he would reach across the counter he was sitting on and direct the older man’s hands to show him the motions he needed or guide his hands so the cherries would be spread uniformly or the cakes would be cut into even layers by turning the plate as he moved the knife through it. Though Logan blushed and was clearly embarrassed at not performing to perfection, he never snapped at Patton or held his interference against him. After a few hours of companionable baking, Logan had proven himself to be grateful for his advice and guidance and had even made him flush with pleasure a few times by complimenting his skills.

The patissier had been floored by the admiration and respect he’d seen in the detective’s eyes as he’d spoken about skills Patton had perfected or the amount of information he could provide about the process of creating textures and flavors. Logan spoke about temperature, chemistry and components reacting to each other but to Patton, it was just experience and feeling and fun. Baking wasn’t hard, was it? Anybody could to it. Yet, as he scooted close to the man he thought could do everything perfectly and gently guided his motions as he evenly spread the cream around the layers of chocolate cake, cream and cherries, he thought perhaps he could be a little more proud of his abilities.

Their eyes met over the cake, causing them both to still. They were very close.

“I learned a lot from you, Patton. Thank you for your patient instructions.” Logan muttered softly, as if he feared disturbing the quiet that had comfortably settled between them.

The smaller man grinned, his face bright with joy. “Aww thank you! I really enjoyed baking with you, you did such a good job! I’m really proud of how well you did and we worked so well together, I really felt we have a confection!”

Both felt warm with affection and appreciation for the other, smiling softly. The silence between them felt comfortable as Patton showed Logan how to place the chocolate shavings at the side of the cake with practiced ease. His flour-dusted curls brushed along the taller man’s chin. The detective slowly reached up, showing his movements clearly, and brushed them back behind the patissier’s ear with deliberate tenderness. Patton’s breath caught. He’d hardly noticed how close they’d become. His thigh was a warm line of contact with Logan’s hip where he leaned against the counter. He felt very warm, suddenly.

His little heart fluttered excitedly as Logan’s dark eyes held contact with his. He was reminded abruptly of how handsome he was with his dark lashes usually half hidden by black-framed glasses and raven hair contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Despite wearing only a t-shirt and close fitting workout pants instead of a suit and tie, his even features made him look distinguished.

Patton shivered with a sudden burst of pleasure as he realized that his pale brown locks were still woven around the others fingers, causing a lovely, lightning-bright sensation when he moved. The detective let the cool strands slip through his hands with a look of wonder on his face, his touch so soft it felt like nothing more than a caress.

After a long moment, Logan smiled. The expression seemed to light up his whole face and soften his eyes. The usually so serious man looked deeply content in a way he hadn’t seen till today. Patton’s heart seemed to miss a beat and a sensation quite like falling made his whole body feel light and giddy.

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Please reblog my work, my darlings!

ART:

Have a disheveled Patton in an oversized sweater to make your day better!!!

Keep him safe is now a Meme together with To build a home which is too cool! Thank you @lemon-the-ups-man

And how adorable and surprisingly deep is this image of Patton with a little smile (and a bruise on his cheek, oh no) by @not-safeforsanders

Look at this cool concept for a cover up for Virgil’s tattoo made by @lissaslifestory! Lots of others helped with tips as well. Its really well thought out and there’s even a drawing!

And there is a picture drawn of it that I just found!!! @doctorwhooian made it and it’s lovely!

FICS:

@broadwaytheanimatedseries did some work on the amazing first chapter of Keep her safe and made it even better!

THEORIES:

I loved this idea about Roman’s father and his reaction to Ro and the issues he and Virgil could face in high society so much, especially because a lot of people pitched in. Have a look if you like!

Next Chapter

#Sanders Sides #Detective AU #Keep him safe

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wonwooze · 4 years

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Personal Essay: Inside Llewyn Davis

Inside Llewyn Davis, might not be Joel and Ethan’s most popular movie. It is undoubtedly outranked by No Country for Old Men, Fargo and The Big Lebowski. A quick tour to letterboxd will easily confirm that. Despite that, if you ask me and anyone who have been acquainted with Joel and Ethan’s work, Inside Llewyn Davis will come out as the winner if the question you’re asking is “Which one of their movies evokes the most emotional stir out of you?” This 2013 production stars Oscar Isaac as our protagonist, Llewyn Davis. We follow this struggling folk musician as he overcame his grief after the death of his singing partner.

Like most aspiring star, Llewyn was no exception to the struggle of the entertainment industry, he had to crash on one couch to another, hitchhike to Chicago from New York to meet a record producer, and then back. Through all of that, Llewyn’s sorrow oozed from the screen and into whatever is left of my heart. I see Llewyn fail, get rejected, get angry. I see his anguish. All through the experience, I found myself rooting for Llewyn through every bump in the road. Though Llewyn is selfish, egotistical, distant, and you sometimes want to smack him in the head the way a loving sister would show her affection to her siblings in a house that has taught them to be distant, I still root for him.

All throughout the experience, Llewyn and I share the same frustration. Llewyn is frustrated that he’s broke, homeless, and in the end of the movie almost left with no sense of purpose. And I, too. Though I am not an aspiring folk musician, by all means. Hell, I couldn't even carry a tune even if it’s what my life depended on. But I thought we’re all stray cats like Llewyn, right? I don’t have to hitchhike all the way to Chicago to be rejected by a record producer, to relate to the feeling of being hopeless. I didn't have to couch surf my way through Manhattan to relate to Llewyn’s sorrow of not making it big in the industry. Because Llewyn lives in all of us.

There is this one scene where Llewyn had to sing in front of a record producer to try to land a gig, y’know, the usual. Unintentional, or not, Llewyn picked the most basic folk song if compared to all the line ups of the soundtrack presented before. Later, he was told he wasn’t going to make it big and he should consider getting himself a partner. That particular scene sends me into an unimaginable emotional turmoil. I felt sad, and betrayed. But I feel the most anguish thinking about what that particular scene meant to me. You know that feeling? When you try your best to make it at something, you really wanted it, you swear up and down that you want to make it big. It’s what you want and what you need. But, you’re either told that you’re not enough — hence, Llewyn being told he had to harmonize with a partner — or you’re slammed with the reality that maybe it’s not going to be so easy for you. It might be fairytale, and walk in the parks for other people. Hell, you’ve heard countless stories of people making it big, sometimes with less hardwork than luck, and some other times with less luck than hardwork, right? In that instant, Llewyn Davis lives in me. His rejection, mirrors mine. Though I wasn’t struggling to meet record producers, living a day to day life as a mediocre, middle class girl living in a third world country was enough to make everyday a struggle. Though not asked to harmonize with a partner, I was asked to keep up my spirit and try again next time by individuals who had probably rejected kids like me more than they would’ve liked.

The movie ending scene, paid an homage to Bob Dylan. We see Llewyn steps out of the bar he regularly plays at, while keeping his eye on young Bob Dylan taking the stage after him. Bob Dylan’s career was one that most people would envy, he rose to stardom in what we would call a combination of luck an hardwork. And then compares it with Llewyn’s, that seemed to be stuck on a perpetual stage of stagnancy. Llewyn might not know that the kid performing after him would be a legend, constantly tacked up on walls, records earning limitless royalty. But in that moment Llewyn Davis lives in me.

It is the sheer realization that some people possesses similar traits, capacity and what have yous, as you, but some will make it bigger than you, earning more zeros, owning more cars than you, that makes Llewyn Davis relatable to the audience.

I never knew why Llewyn Davis never made it big, for all I care he’s an amazing musician, he could’ve been, you know. And that same line of logic, will be the start of most of the self crisis I will be facing. I will never know why some people managed to earn more zeros, or to own a fucking bungalow in their 30s, and the thought of being unable to answer that question terrifies me.

But if I have to end this on a positive note, I’d like to think Llewyn Davis ends up happy. It might not be entirely wrong though. In the very end, before the screen turns to black and the credits starts to roll, Llewyn’s last word was injected with a little bit of the dark humour he preserved, and even if not happiness, at least the tiniest bit of optimism. Hell, I really thought he was almost breaking into a smile. Call me naive, but that very last appearance of him, gave me at least the sheer optimism that Llewyn Davis might finally be happy. After all the misfortune, the bad decision, and the struggle he suffers through, I think he might be happy. And if a movie that spends at least 2/3 of its running time portraying grief, sorrow and anguish, could end on a positive note. I’d like to think we will too.

#Inside Llewyn Davis #2013 #Oscar Isaac #personal essay #movie review #the big lebowski #fargo #no country for old men #coen brothers #joel coen #ethan coen #Academy awards #oscars

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miracutrashcan · 5 years

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Only the irredeemable should tremble (Part 1)

After being out of the fandom for so long, I was not expecting to write FanFiction so shortly after returning after the premiere of “Ladybug. So I am apologizing in advance for any character inconsistencies. Please enjoy!

Spoilers for: Basically every single episode but primarily Ladybug

Part: [HERE] [2] [3]

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“So it was worth the wait, I can feel all of these negative emotions! Betrayal, hurt, rage, injustice, such a sweet taste! Not to mention packaged up nicely in one location for my Akuma to-” The sound of coughing caused Hawk Moth to stop speaking, attention is drawn to the source of the noise. Moving away from his window, he walked towards Nathalie, a concerned look on his face. She was on the ground kneeling, desperate to grab a breath. He needed her to be well enough to withstand being Akumatized so he could become Scarlet Moth. However, given her current condition, it was clear her body couldn’t handle the stress. Even if they continued with the plan, he could tell that they would not have enough time to retrieve the Miraculous before the Akuma became too much for Nathalie to endure. Gently guiding Nathalie to her back, he laid her down on the floor. He could see the protest in her eyes as he gently shook his head. “The plan will not work with your health in such a fragile state. Scarlet Moth will not be making an appearance today.”

Another cough came from Nathalie’s lips as it was her turn to shake her head once the coughing subsided. She understood how much getting the Miraculous meant to Gabriel. She swore to herself that she would not let her failing health get in the way of helping him achieve his goals. Besides, if he got both Miraculous, then he could use the power to restore her health anyways. So in the long term, there indeed were no risks involved assuming that they can successfully retrieve the Miraculous. “I’ll be fine. We should not let this opportunity go to waste. Who knows when she’ll be able to drum up such a strong reaction again?”

A frustrated sigh came from the Butterfly holder. She was a stubborn one, and he would give her that much. However, this particular issue was not one he would budge on. Moving his hands away from her, he made sure that she was as comfortable as she could be on the cold floor of the lair. Turning his back to her, he made his way back to the window. The negative emotions remained within the school. She was right, though, it would be a waste to spoil this opportunity. However, he was not going to implement the original plan either. He could sense one person's emotions growing stronger, a smile coming to his face. These emotions were oh so familiar, it was one of the few people he's been wanting to Akumatize for some time now. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one person who has managed to evade his Akumas not just once, but twice now. Going based on the emotions he was feeling, it was clear to see that Marinette will be one of his strongest Akumas by far. There was a small concern he had over being able to control someone who has such a firm will though Hawk Moth had confidence in his ability to keep her subdued. A few reminders of what caused her to be in such pain should be more than enough to keep her in line. "You are right, and we shouldn't waste this opportunity. However, things will go a bit different than planned."

With an outstretched hand, Hawk Moth beckoned one of his butterflies to come to him. Once the butterfly landed with his hand, he gently covered the butterfly up and infused it with his twisted energy. "Fly away my little Akuma and evilize that wronged heart!" The once pristine white butterfly was now a dark shade of purple with corrupted energy coursing through it and effortlessly flying through the glass window of the lair and towards its new host. Once the Akuma left the building, Hawk Moth turned his attention back to Nathalie. Based on the emotions he could sense coming from Marinette, he had full confidence that she would not escape his grasp this time. Once Marinette was under his control, not only would he be able to judge for himself what Lila said about Marinette. But also gain possession of the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he moved to tend to Nathalie while he waited.

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Marinette was furious. There was absolutely no way any of this would have happened unless Lila spent hours planning this day out. Everything was set up correctly if the goal was to get her expelled. Like usual, most people were quick to accept Lila's lies as the truth and to place the blame onto Marinette. They did not even bother to check the facts first, like with the test answers! The crime would have made more sense if the test answers were reported after the test was turned in, not when the test was being given back. If she had taken the answers after the test was completed, what good would that do her?

No one knew the sacrifices she's made for Paris, and to be fair, she did not want them to know. If push came to shove, yes, she would even give up her life to keep Paris safe. At the same time, she felt like she should be given some slack for all of her hard work. She's gone out of her way for just about everyone in this school. So what motives does she have for cheating on a test? If anything, that should be one of the first indications that something foul was at play here. Too absorbed within her thoughts, she was focused on getting out of this room so she could calm down away from these traitors and re-gather herself.

However, the moment she opened the door, the Akuma arrived just in time to slip into Marinette's purse before she had a chance to react. In that exact moment, Marinette felt an intense burning sensation where her Miraculous rested, and a quiet hiss of pain could be heard somewhere else in the room. As quickly as the pain came, soon afterward, a dark and familiar voice slipped into Marinette's mind. "Princess Justice. You were wronged not only by your peers but also by those in power. They were tricked by a devious fox and blinded to the truth. I am giving you the power to pass judgment and reveal the hidden lies of this world. All I ask for in return is Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous. Do we have a deal?"

"How about you Hawk Moth? Do you understand how many people you have hurt since you first started tormenting Paris? Are you offering me the chance to judge your sins as well?" Marinette spoke to the unseen voice. The entire room went silent the moment that they realized what was going on. Uneasy glances were shared among Marinette's classmates as they were debating on what to do. Marinette was currently blocking the primary exit and one of the other hallways.

Off to the side, Lila was smiling to herself. Maybe now that Adrien can see Marinette at her lowest, he might lose interest with that idiot. Then again, Lila knew that she'd been Akumatized a few times now so this situation may not work out as much in her favor as she would like. Though regardless, her classmates will see that Marinette is not that special anymore.

Alya was the first to move as she rushed to her best friend's side. Alya understood the pain of being Akumatized and would not want to see Marinette suffer the same way she did. "Come on, girl! I know that you are better than this! Focus on my voice and not his!" Was it risky getting close to someone this close to becoming Akumatized? Probably. Especially when Alya knew that Ladybug could be counting on her to become Rena Rouge. Though if she managed to get Marinette to calm down enough, Ladybug would not need her in the first place. She dropped her tone lower, so that way, only Marinette could hear her next words. "I believe you Mari, and I know that Adrien and Nino do too. I'm sure we can find a way to prove your innocence and get you back."

Hawk Moth swore under his breath. He could feel the negative emotions starting to waver and dissipate. He was so close to getting his newest villain, and he was not prepared to let this one slip through his fingers. He dug through the limited memories he could access, trying to find something that would back up his proposition and add fuel to the injustice fueled fire. Most of Marinette's negative emotions involved liars and himself. Of course, this girl would hate him. There was not a single person in Paris who loved the fact that he attacked the city regularly. Though maybe this case just required a little bit more poking to get that obnoxiously strong will to buckle a bit more. "You are right. I have done countless things to this city that caused pain and suffering. Though they say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, once I retrieve the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous and achieve my wish, I shall face my punishment then."

"You never answered my question, Hawk Moth. Are you offering me the chance to judge your sins as well?" Marinette pushed the question again, the memories of seeing those she cared about changed into monsters wallowing in pain and anguish. It sparked a fit of repressed anger through her, and she remembers the nightmares that Alya occasionally share with her about being Lady Wifi. She's overheard her father talking to her mother about what terrible things he did while he was Akumatized, to name a few. She knew that there was no valid reason for Paris to have support groups for Akumatized villains!

A smile came onto the Butterfly holder's face, and he could feel her anger start to grow the longer he kept her talking. Maybe dragging out this conversation will give him the closure he needs to corrupt her heart. "I will let you judge my sins once my ultimate wish is granted." He lied, knowing very well that he can recall the Akuma once he has the Miraculous in hand. "Then again, how many other people have wronged or lied to you? Maybe to a loved one or a friend?" Now that he had greater access to Marinette's memories, he found out the truth about the Miraculous book. So she lied to him about who took the book to get Adrien back to school, interesting.

The memories of when Lila first came to school, and no one recognized the lies she was spewing came to the forefront of Marinette's mind. Then came the situation where she was almost arrested for being accused of stealing. Another memory came to mind, only this time of her uncle when Chloe sabotaged his food during the cooking competition. This caused Marinette to dig her nails into the palms of her hands. All those times, people she cared about was getting hurt by the actions of others. "It's a vicious cycle, isn't it? People doing bad things to others and usually being powerless to stop it? I'm giving you a chance to break the cycle Marinette. Become Princess Justice and not only can you break the cycle of Akuma attacks but help protect those who cannot protect themselves. What do you say?" He could feel her reasoning and logic give away to the anger and desire to punish those who are irredeemable in her eyes.

She could protect the innocent and punish those who take advantage of others and not learn from their mistakes. Finally registering how tightly someone was holding her hand, Marinette pushed the hand away from her. "You are right Hawk Moth, I accept on one condition. You uphold your end of the deal, I get to personally judge you for your sins once I retrieve the Miraculous." After her last word is said a dark miasma covered the broken hero, a pained cry could be heard in the distance, then a solid thud, and finally silence.

#ml season 3 spoilers #ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug season 3 spoilers #Princess justice #OTIST ML

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mjwiththefangs · 5 years

Text

Beautifully Deadly (NaLu) #7

Chapter 7

Vampire/Supernatural AU

Rating: M

Summary: "Supposedly an entire kingdom disappeared when their queen went beyond the borders, remember?" When Natsu Dragneel leaves the kingdom to investigate mysterious disappearances, he finds a much bigger adventure than he was bargaining for, including a beautiful vampire hidden away in an ancient castle. She has little to say about her past, or why she's locked away. Who did this to her? What has she been feeding on? One thing Natsu knows for sure that she is dangerous... Could she have something to do with the disappearances? "I'm sorry, Natsu, but I'm just so thirsty."

Chapters: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

Read it on: AO3 & FF.net

AN: Hello again! So, once again, my update was late. oops. My bad! Im almost moved in with Gary now, just a few more things and we’re good! So, since my work hours are doing crap, i ought to have more time to write :) This one is a bit shorter again (sorry) but i made up for it with fluff. I hope you all enjoy reading, let me know what you think! As always, thank you all for your patience and reviews, and thanks to both my Betas, @mannyegb and @bmarvels !

Review shoutouts! to: ChaosreigN, darkvampirekisses, KatanaNoNeko, Anna5949, YunaYue

Jellal felt grim. He was following Arlock and a few others down a darkened stairwell. They were taking him to “view their progress”. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he felt it in his gut that it was not a good thing. The Angel could still sense the wariness and suspicion of those around him and he ground his teeth in frustration, he had to remain in power of this situation.

His magic thrummed beneath his skin, as it had during the entirety of his stay here. It flexed and crackled like a live wire, ready to zap any who dared to come too close. He kept it that way, alive and ready to strike. He made sure that those around him could sense it. Heavenly magic was certainly a force to be reckoned with, after all.

Arlock in particular kept his attention on him, Jellal was all too painfully aware. Still, he followed him silently. Jellal narrowed his eyes at the iron door before him. He turned his gaze towards Arlock. Beneath the unusual mask adorning his face, he smirked and side stepped Jellal, gesturing towards the door, 'Siegrain’ he inclined his head.

Jellal felt wary. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, he stepped forward, his hand grasping the cold door knob and opening it.

The Angel had always been an expert at concealing his own feelings, a professional actor. He would later be glad of this skill set, but he was currently struggling to retain his composure.

As an Angel, one of his powers was being empathetic to the emotions of souls. It allowed his kind to assist all manner of creatures and guide them.

However, as soon as he opened that door, he felt assaulted by the anguished cries of suffering souls. It took every fibre of his being to not rush to their aid, to fight his instincts.

The only physical reaction to come from him was a sharp exhale of a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

The door opened to a long, white corridor. Either side was lined with cell doors. Moans of pain, distraught sobbing, confused screams… Jellal could hear it all. He stiffly turned to regard Arlock.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he finally registered exactly what Arlock was, and briefly wondered how he hadn't noticed sooner.

Arlock's mask glinted in the light. Saying nothing, he strode past Jellal down the corridor. Jellal followed like a shadow.

They stopped in front of a cell door and he noted that it even had a barred viewing window, through which he saw a trembling figure chained to the wall.

Arlock reached into his cloak, withdrawing a key and unlocking the cell. Jellal, meanwhile, observed carefully, newly aware that Arlock was a Golem. A Golem without a master, apparently.

'Siegrain. I'd like you to assist with it.’ he pointed at the figure in the cell, ‘Take the chains and bring her with us.’

The blue cat yowled unhappily and squirmed against Lucy's gentle grip, his sharp claws skittering across the smooth granite surface. She gnawed on her lower lip, careful not to puncture herself with her fangs as she had done many times previous, muttering to the damp cat.

She'd been somewhat successful bathing him, but now she found herself struggling to dry him off with a towel.

‘You can't run off still dripping wet,‘ she scolded softly, ‘you might catch cold!‘ the cat glared at her indignantly. He hissed with vehemence and leapt from the counter, fleeing the washroom in a flash.

Lucy sighed. She wiped her hands dry on the towel and left to pursue the blue feline.

Meanwhile, still chained to the wall, locked in the small chamber, Natsu was growing frustrated. He sat cross-legged on the cot, cupping his palms together. He scowled intensely, concentrating all his magical energy into the empty space between his hands.

A growl rumbled in his chest. He was deeply focused, seeking out the fire in his belly. He exhaled slowly, wisps of smoke pouring from his mouth. He felt the warmth trickling through his veins, albeit sluggishly, lightning him up from within.

He tried again.

The air between his hands trembled, and finally a small flame sparked to life. His face burst into a grin, elation flooding him. The flame flickered with his lapse in concentration and he swore, his eyes locking onto it again.

It shimmered and danced between his palms. Natsu honestly couldn't remember the last time he had needed this much focus to create a flame. Probably when he was still a hatchling, he mused to himself.

Suddenly, drowsiness washed over him, like having icey water tipped over his head. He swore again, watching how the flame dimmed and was abruptly snuffed out.

The Draconic groaned heavily, slumping back against the wall. He hated it when his magic power dwindled. His mind just couldn't wrap around why his supply was so low.

His hand reached upwards, only to snatch at thin air. He blinked suddenly, bewildered. ‘what…?’

He straightened up again, whipping his head around frantically. He cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Especially when he’d already discovered bandages wrapped around his torn throat.

Had the blonde woman taken it? Maybe it had been strained or torn when she drank from him? His heart clenched at the thought. He whined softly.

Before he could further wonder where he may have lost his beloved scarf, a familiar scent caught his nose. A scent that probably shouldn't be here, Natsu found himself thinking, deciding in that moment that he must be hallucinating.

As the scent got nearer, his hallucination got stranger. He could almost hear paw pads pattering along the stone floor. And then there was the long mewling, and claws scraping at the door.

The bewildered Draconic quirked an eyebrow. He shrugged to himself, and summoning what little magic power he had left, he felt the fire inside him bubble and spat a small fireball at the doorknob.

'Now that was pathetic' he mentally scolded himself. His fire had been successful though, the door swinging freely open as the metal latch melted away.

In a flash of blue fur, the cat launched himself into the room and leapt into the man's lap. 'Happy?!' He exclaimed, 'what the hell are you doing here?'

His question was answered with a self-satisfied purr, and then footsteps approaching down the hall at a brisk pace. He recognised her scent immediately, his eyes moving to the ajar door.

Happy meowed expectantly, shaking droplets of water from this fur. Natsu smiled apologetically, 'Sorry little buddy, I'm all outta magic to dry you off' and he truly was, he realised, unable to even summon warmth to his palms now.

There was a creak as the door was tentatively pushed open, the noise snatching the man's attention. He immediately saw the flush on her cheeks and how she quickly averted her eyes from his face. He felt his lips twitch into a smirk. She was definitely amusing. He'd never known anyone as easily flustered as she was.

He didn't want to scare her off again. So he decided to introduce himself. 'My name's Natsu,' he said to her, making sure to keep his voice low and calm, 'I didn't catch yours before.'

Her honey gold orbs slowly moved to regard him- Natsu. She felt herself beginning to relax, but she still hesitated, reluctant to divulge that information to him. She still feared that her new visitor would result in her being found.

Natsu sensed her hesitation. He felt as though he understood something about her already. She was afraid of something, or someone. He wanted to know more about her. So when he felt tiny claws kneading his arm, he tried a new approach.

'I see you've met Happy.' He said, gesturing to the blue cat. She glanced at said feline, the question falling from her lips on impulse, 'His name's Happy?'

Natsu grinned. 'Yep!'

'And he's your cat?'

'Yep!'

'Why is he called Happy?'

'it's 'cause I was happy when he hatched.' Natsu shrugged, as if that explained everything clearly.

Lucy blinked at him. 'He hatched?' She asked, incredulous.

'Well, yea, he's an Exceed.' the man deadpanned. Happy meowed loudly in agreement.

The blonde's expression softened. What an unusual pair. Perhaps she could trust him. After all, how many evil folk would name a cat 'Happy'?

She smiled softly, her decision made. 'My name is Lucy.' She told him. Natsu beamed at her then his expression suddenly turned mischievous, 'Nice to meet'cha Luigi!'

He burst into cackles at her vexed expression and found himself laughing even harder when she pouted at him. Even Happy made small snuffling mewls, that sounded uncannily like giggles.

Natsu's laughter died down to snickers and he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. He turned his head, still grinning, towards the blonde stood glaring at him with her hands on her hips.

If he'd had any more magic in his reserves, he would have blown a wisp of flame at her. He was definitely going to have fun teasing her. Now that he was done laughing, he realised her scent was slightly different from before. The scent of lingering magic clung to her skin.

He met her gaze curiously and asked her 'Do you use magic?'

Her eyes widened fractionally, and for a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer him, before she quietly uttered 'I can't anymore.'

'You smell like magic though.' He told her, gesturing with his hand and disturbing the Exceed in his lap, 'did you try a spell?'

She shook her head, golden strands dancing in the light. Her heart was pounding beneath her breast. She surprised herself at how calm her voice came out when she spoke, 'No, nothing like that.' She sighed silently, 'I just had a visit from an old friend. I… don't think I'll be seeing them again though.'

Natsu listened intently, his curiosity burning. His mind was piecing some things together. Sure, Natsu could be a bit obtuse sometimes, but his instincts were sharp. His own magic was still sluggishly recovering since she bit him, barely even there. Now Lucy stood before him, smelling of magic, saying she couldn't use it.

He knew she felt regret for having attacked him. He spoke carefully. 'Lucy,' he began, 'did you drink away my magic?'

She stared at him for a long moment. 'Yes' she thought.

Instead, she began to gnaw on her lip, anxious of what he'd say, if he'd judge her. Natsu kept his gaze on her, taking her silence as the answer. Slowly, he nodded and his frown fell to the ground. His brows drew down into a frown, falling deep in thought.

Lucy, however, bit down worriedly on her lower lip, misreading his expression. She instantly winced, hissing in pain as her sharp fangs pierced the plump flesh. ‘Sthit…’ She muttered, raising her hand to dab at the blood.

The sound of chains pulling taut and a disgruntled yowl from a certain unseated Exceed snapped her attention. Her eyes landed on Natsu, who was glaring at the cuff around his wrist, and Happy, hissing at the man then trotting off.

Natsu tugged at the cuff again, growling when the metal chains clinked together. Oh, how he wished his magic was replenished! Maybe he could ask Lucy to bring him some fire to eat…

He whined in his throat, turning back to the blonde before him. She held one hand beneath her split lip, trying in vain to catch the blood and her tongue darted out to wipe over the cut. She repeated the motion, Natsu’s onyx orbs fascinated with the movement.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he found it amusing that her fangs grew even when it was her own blood, but her eyes remained that stunning honey-gold even as she grimaced at the flavour.

She stepped towards him, reaching for his hand and he stood still as a rock when she mumbled something that he supposed was meant to be ‘Dont move’. Her fingers moved nimbly and quickly unlatched the cuff, Natsu didn’t hide his surprise that it didn’t need a key.

He rubbed at his wrist, relieving the discomfort from having been constrained for so long. He grinned, ‘Thanks, Luce!’

She half-smiled in return, still trying to stop the crimson liquid dribbling down her chin. He clicked his tongue. The scent of her blood was distressing to him. She seemed nice enough, after all, and he definitely had fun teasing her. His instincts screamed at him to hoard her just for her golden hair, and made it very difficult for him to ignore that she was injured.

She watched him questioningly when his hands slowly reached for her face, ‘Nat’thu?’ she whispered his name.

He brought one arm towards his mouth, ripping a length of the shirt sleeve with his teeth, ‘Just hold still, Weirdo… Let me get that for ya’... ‘ He murmured. He rolled up the torn scrap clumsily, then, with a face of pure concentration, he gingerly wiped at her lip. He ignored the way she took a sharp breath, and the way it brought some colour to his cheeks.

She didn’t move a muscle as he tended her, partly so he could work in peace and partly because she was in shock about the gentle treatment, having lived in isolation for so long now. She had missed having the company of others, and she realised then how much she longed for physical touches.

Her thoughts returned to the present, and she stifled laughter at the expression on the Draconic’s face. Especially the way his tongue was sticking out. She burst out in giggles.

‘What’s so funny?’ Natsu grumbled, although the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

‘S-sowwy!’ She giggled, ‘It’th jutht.. Your face!’

‘What’s wrong with my face?’ He almost sounded hurt. Almost.

‘You were thticking your tongue out’

He pouted, but she saw mischief shining in his eyes. With gentle movements, he pulled his hands away from her face. She immediately missed the warmth they radiated.

‘There, stopped bleeding now.’

She blinked, having forgotten why exactly he had been wiping her lip to begin with and moved to graze her fingers over the tender injury. She saw how his pout morphed into a smirk, and he stuck his tongue out at her, deliberately this time, and blew a raspberry in her face.

He grinned, satisfied when she laughed. He gazed around the room, spotting the trail of wet paw prints leading out the door. He nudged her gently, pointing at the floor.

‘Happy’s taken himself for a walk.’ He mused. Lucy opened her mouth to suggest going after him, but Natsu cut her off. ‘Don’t worry,’ He shrugged, ‘He’ll have gone to find some fish.’

The blonde frowned, ‘Fish?...’ She gasped, a realisation hitting her and she groaned, ‘Oh no, He’ll probably go looking for Juvia! And i just got that pond smell out of his fur, too.’

Natsu snickered, ‘He’ll be fine.’

#beautifully deadly #bd nalu #BD updates #Nalu #natsu dragneel #Jellal Fernandes #lucy heartfilia #natsu x lucy #Nalu fluff #nalu fanfiction #ft nalu #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fairy tail #vamp!au #vampire!Lucy

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