#is sand harbouring some demons too?

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends: Sand's First Display of 'Messy' Behaviour

I'll preface this by saying I adore this man, and he's probably been the least problematic individual out of the Self-Proclaimed Friendship Circus. However, what left me with a chill was how Sand behaved when he revealed the affair to Ray.

Since we've been introduced to Sand, I think many of us have been pretty relieved by his largely green flag behaviour (in the midst of a very low bar being set in this group). This has often had me wondering what Sand's wider arc is going to be. The writers are not going to keep his storyline on one setting the whole way through. Therefore it's natural to anticipate we will be given another side to Sand - perhaps a less sympathetic or irrational part of his character. And maybe this was our first inkling into Sand's imperfections. He's also prone to vengeance and acting with an ulterior motive in mind.

Why it left me feeling so uncomfortable is because we haven't seen Sand in this light before. His score card has been pretty blemish-free.

Fuelled by a Vendetta

Nick shared this knowledge with Sand a while ago. However what triggered Sand to do something about it now was his confrontation with Top. We don't yet know what the circumstances were behind Top stealing Sand's ex from him, and how that played out. But it's evidently a sore grudge that Sand still very much holds against him.

Seeing Top again reminded Sand of the information he has at his disposal which could be used to teach Top a lesson. Sand is a very righteous person, and he doesn't think it's fair that someone should ruin his previous relationship, and now get what he wants with Mew as well. He wants Top to be punished. 'You're going to get what's coming to you, just wait'. It's possible that Sand didn't have the resources or means to get back at Top back then. But now he sees an opportunity to do so.

Combined with the fact that Sand has recently discovered that Ray loves Mew, this provides him with the perfect excuse for passing this information on. One, because as an outsider of their group, this can't come directly from him. Two, he knows based on Ray's temperament and his feelings for Mew, he'll be guaranteed to act.

Motivated by Selflessness or Selfishness?

I was originally going to post a deep dive on the scene between Ray and Sand at the bar, but I found myself constantly yo-yoing and ultimately undecided as to whether Sand's intentions were good or bad.

On the one hand, he's sharing this because he knows Ray will reveal the affair and Top will suffer the consequences. Thus, satisfying an act of indirect revenge.

On the other hand, he could also be doing this (as he so claims) due to his sense of righteousness. He just can't bear bad people getting away with bad things. And perhaps he does genuinely see Mew as a innocent victim here, and wants him to expose Top for who he is.

What also had me conflicted is that 'breaking' up Mew and Top doesn't play to Sand's interests. If Sand is romantically invested in Ray, and Mew becomes single again, this would allow Ray to continue pursuing Mew, which means Sand loses out. This is plausible if you're fuelled by unconditional love and a desire to see the person you love be happy. But I'm not entirely convinced that is the case here either.

You can also argue that Sand is 'using' Ray in this instance to achieve his objective, which is very questionable. He knows what a loose cannon Ray can be. Either he didn't think too much about the possible repercussions of how Ray would react, or he didn't care as long as Top got what he deserved. I don't think by any means Sand wishes to cause Ray any harm, but something really primal seemed to drive Sand to do this regardless of how Ray may be affected as the messenger.

So I don't know if I've decided yet. It could be a mix of all the above. This did seem to veer more on petty vengeance under the guise of righteousness. Mainly due to how Sand looks at Ray in that entire scene, which felt slightly manipulative and cold compared to how he usually has been with Ray. Especially when he says, "Mew is lucky though to have you by his side." It's almost with pinpoint precision that Sand triggers an image in Ray, to be the saviour swooping in to protect Mew.

All in all, I found Sand's behaviour this episode to be highly intriguing and unexpected. I saw a clip of First talking at an event recently, where he says something along the lines of 'when you see Sand do this, please forgive him', which implies there will be some further questionable or inexplicable behaviour later on potentially. Hmn.

#only friends #only friends the series #ofts #only friends meta #ray x sand #sand x ray #raysan #sanray #khaofirst #firstkhao #first kanaphan #is sand harbouring some demons too? #this is one where i really want to get a sense of everyone else's thoughts on this because this had me really stumped #i guess we won't know until we see more of sand revealing this side of himself to gauge if it's out of good will or bad intent #that whole scene where he speaks to ray just gave me the heebies jeebies for some reason - i was like where's my sweet Sand?

[hypermanga]

Choices, choices (Eric x reader)

Requested by: @rachelcarroll1819​

Request: Hi can you do a imagine where the reader is the daughter of Jeanine Matthews and she is divergent and bff with four and in a relationship with Eric please and thank you.

Word Count: 1628

Warnings: Cuss words and perhaps Eric being a little OOC? ~

~~~~~~

Your mother's face was in every Chicago's screen, her scrutinizing gaze that you had gotten to know so well reached to any corner of the city, always looking out for them.

Divergents. 

To her, a threat to the faction system. To you, someone beyond who could guide humanity to a better tomorrow, one where you were not defined by your aptitudes, but the actions of your everyday life. Like it had just been before the war.

It was weird for you to disagree with your mother, but ever since the aptitude test you started to percept the world with another lense, a divergent's one; You had become what your mother despised the most, and you knew about her plans, so you decided to make the most rational decision: transfer to Dauntless. There you could prepare for whatever your mother had prepared for your kind and all the "collateral victims", as she put it. 

For what you didn't prepare was meeting who could possibly be the love of your life: he was caring and well-read in private, but displayed a brash, cold and sometimes sadistic behaviour towards Initiates. You had met him after entering Dauntless, being Max who had greeted you at the roof.

Four, your best friend since two or three when you made the bold choice of sassying Eric after he had told you for an hour long that you were not going to pass the cut "Got some fire in you" The former Abnegation boy had said, patting your back before letting Eric do whatever he was about to do. After all, he was a leader and Four was a subordinate.

As for Eric, you still weren't able to pinpoint the exact moment you fell for him: perhaps it was the time he had gone out of his way to help you improve your position to perfect your punches, or perhaps one night where he caught you doing a stroll in the night and joined you, having a long conversation,...There were so many occasions that had made you fall a little bit more for him, but you considered it more of a crush than anything else. 

As soon as Initiation had finished and you were asked to become a trainer alongside Four you couldn't be happier, but Four outdid himself telling you how he had heard Eric talking to Max about how he felt about you "Today's not April Fools I recall" "That's because it is not. Be careful, he can be dangerous" " I know how to take care of myself. Remember, I was once an Erudite like him, not some lovesick dove" 

But you fell. And hard.

Sadly all hell broke loose, as the alliance between Dauntless and Erudite stepped into the light. Tobias and you decided to escape Dauntless alongside Tris Prior, his girlfriend and Initiation acquaintance for you.  You could still remember the train that had brought you to one place you never expected to be living in. Amity: all that peace serum and smiling all day didn't sit right to you, it felt as if they wanted to evade everything bad thing that was going on around them as an excuse to not intervene. 

Johanna had been really kind (ironically) letting you stay, you would give her that, but working in the fields was not made for you. Nor cooking. Nor being happy all the damn time, which seemed to be the base point of your relationship with Tris. She seemed like a nice girl and really in love with Tobias, so you approved of their relationship. Now, for the other two companions, Peter and Caleb, you were skeptical about the first after he had gotten into a fight during lunchtime with Tris. 

It had been another tranquil morning when Dauntless trucks pulled up the path that lead to Amity, Eric leading them and ready to hunt Divergents for Jeanine. Ever since you'd escaped he had delved into his work, leaving any kind of feelings he had harboured for you during Initiation aside: he had taken interest in you at first because of your sassiness towards him as well as your closeness with Four: he had spent so many nights thinking about your determination to pass Initiation, how you laughed at the things Four said...It made him sick to say the least. But then he'd gotten the chance to become closer to you, and even though he had tried to fool himself that he was doing that to piss off Four, any fool could see he had also fallen just as hard as her.

'Falling for the boss's daughter, great fucking job Eric' He had mutered to himself in between punches 'And someone who has taken the oposite side in this conflict, you just won grand prize Eric' Punch 'She chose Four over you' Punch 'She might now see you as a soulless monster' One last punch before he broke the bag, sand spilling everywhere, making him huff in disdain.

Those same thoughts threatened to cloud his vision now, so he pushed them aside to concentrate on his task: hunting those damned Divergents. His team had gathered everyone in the dining room before he and Max decided to check for anyone hidden,starting with the stables and Johanna's office upstairs.

Just like you, he had a special disdain for Amity: problems had to be tackled,not ignored. Zooming out as Johanna greated them, he just checked her with his device to list her off before moving on to the stables.

As soon as you saw those trucks, Tris, Tobias, Caleb and you made a run for it, the three hiding in Johanna's office and you in the stables "I'll catch up with you!" You said to them, ushering them away. You blended with the shadows as best you could, for you knew if someone checked your divergence percentatge you were done.

It seemed like time was going too slow, before a figure stepped inside the stables. Eric. 'Play hide and seek with a Dauntless leader they said. It will be fun they said' you thought to yourself. Even now as your enemy, you still found him just as handsome as the first day you'd seen him.

You felt your heart stop as he walked up and down the stables, stopping just to pet some horses, which in all honesty you found adorable, before his eyes fixated in your hiding spot "I'm surprised you didn't run with the others" He smirked, grasping your arm "I'm Dauntless, I don't run from things. But I'm damn sure that I will not stay while you and my mother kill Divergents for...What purpose exactly? A system! A fucking system! You're killing innocent people who cannot be just one thing, is that a crime Eric?" He looked at you coldly, unaffected "You are a Dauntless, and an Erudite as well as I was! I'm pretty sure you can understand there's a lack of logic! What has she promised you: Fame? Honor? A high position? Nothing but empty promises bathed in blood Eric!"

As you freed from his grasp, which was lacking force, you balled your fists "Please Eric. I know you can understand...Please, don't do this" Your pleas fell short as Eric brought out the machine that analyzed your divergence percentage. You looked at him defiantly "Go on, Eric" The venom-coated way that his name left your lips made him almost flinch, but what broke his façade was the 'Divergent, 60%' that left his device.

Chuckling lowly "Checkmate" You held your arms in surrender, smiling "Get it over with. I don't want to live in a dictatorship, worse my mum's" You grabbed Eric's gun giving it to him and, slowly and steady, brought it to your heart.

He felt numb, in a crossroad: he had a mission, but there you were in your Amity's clothes as beautiful as ever, looking at him with a dim hope in your more lifeless eyes as the seconds passed.

Dropping his device, he walked past you, punching a wall "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" You knew he had quite the temper, but you knew that in this particular occasion he was not just boosting out, but battling his own demons. He kept punching the wood, blood starting to drool from his fists "Eric stop!Look at me!" He slumped on his knees in defeat"First my family, then Initiation, now this" He sniffed "Why can't anything go the way I want?" Grabbing his face in between your hands, you also dropped to your knees "Because we can't control everything, I wish I could myself..." You shrugged sadly "But our choices and attitudes can change our perspective of things, and even their consequences" "You always know what to say, now do you?" He chuckled "Well, this has brought your attention. Now you decide if it is for better or for worse" You smiled and, as he looked into your eyes, saw his decision made up "I will not give up someone who truly believes that something good can come out of me"

Now it was his turn to grab your face, approaching it to his as your lips connected in a soft kiss. It was not the kind of kiss that you would expect from Eric, all rough edges, but the from the true Eric, that boy who has felt rejected all his life and has hid all his fears behind a tough demeanor.

As you parted Eric stood up, offering you his hand which you accepted gladly "Now where to (Y/N)?"

"To the battlefield"

~~~~~~~

@imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @beltz2016 @readsalot73 @kenzieam @captstefanbrandt @sserpente @book-boys-are-my-guilty-pleasure

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

#divergent one shot #divergent one shots #divergent #Divergent Eric #divergent eric imagine #divergent eric oneshot #divergent eric x reader #divergent imagine #insurgent #insurgent imagine #insurgent eric #insurgent eric imagine #insurgent eric x reader #divergent eric coulter #eric coulter #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter one shot

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

A Familiar Soul - Chapter Three

Summary: Hilda decides to be completely honest with her mother, surprised when she seems to be a lot more in on magic than Hilda had expected her to be.

With her daughter’s association with witches, Johanna is forced to face some secrets of her own, bringing her back to feelings and people she’d rather have left behind

Dealing with insecurities and inner demons of her own, Kaisa finds herself face to face with the very issues that brought her to be so displeased with her own abilities

Or: the one where Johanna is Kaisa’s familiar

Notes: I tried my best not to make Johanna’s parents downright abusive again but... that whole “this isn’t the sort of mum I wanted to be” breakdown Johanna had in The Fifty Year Night wasn’t something someone who grew up with good parents would do, I think. Hope you enjoy it!

Read it on ao3: (chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3)

“Yep, this is certainly magical business just like you suspected, Frida. You can close your mouth now.”

At the librarian’s command, David closed his mouth and swallowed, feeling the bitter taste that arose every time he did so. He had been with his friends in the woods for a leaf identifying Sparrow Scout activity when he ate a berry that had evoked the most bizarre reaction from his body. Purple bubbles the same colour as the berry had sprouted on his tongue and made it feel like a dead slug inside his mouth, and as soon as the girls had taken a look at it they’d decided to go ask Kaisa what her opinion on the matter was.

“Am I going to die?” He whispered fearfully. David knew he could trust magic when it came from Frida, but aside from that his experience with it so far had been less than pleasant. Kaisa blew raspberry and swept a hand on the air, as if to brush his concerns away.

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

The librarian turned her back to them and continued calmly typing on her computer behind the circulation desk, like she’d been doing when they arrived. Judging by the books on the counter, they assumed she was taking note of which tomes had been returned that day.

“Well?” Hilda shared a look with Frida as she asked. “What happened to him?”

The way Kaisa looked back at them and then to the side was uncharacteristic. She seemed to be battling with herself about whether or not she should answer them, which only made David worry that he was, indeed, going to die.

“He ate the berries of a bush protected by the fae people.” She explained at last, looking not at them but at the computer screen. “Terrible idea.”

“And how do we undo it?” Hilda stepped closer to the counter. The librarian placed her hand on top of one of the books, biting her bottom lip as she did so. Though she might not like Johanna, Kaisa wanted to respect her wishes as Hilda’s mother, and giving them what they needed very much went against them. It was the way Hilda was looking at her, with wide and hopeful eyes, that made her throw caution to the wind and give her the book. If the girl’s first reaction to disaster was looking for some random witch and not her mother, that was on Johanna.

“The potion is on page 63. It’s simple to brew, Frida shouldn’t have any trouble. Oh, and just for good measure, go back to the bush and place an offering on the ground for the faeries. They’ll enjoy anything sweet or shiny, as long as it’s not iron.”

“Thanks, Kaisa!” Hilda smiled up at her as she handed Frida the potions book. “You’re the best!”

The trio ran out of the library together, hoping to get started on their tasks as soon as possible. Until the doors closed behind them, Kaisa could hear Hilda talking about how she could handle the offering while her witch brewed the potion. She sighed and allowed herself to fall back against her chair, her head on her hands as she breathed deep.

The girl was too much like her mother.

_#_#_#_

It had been an extremely risky move on her part, but Johanna arrived safely on the ground. The palms of her hands were stinging from gripping her makeshift rope so tightly, and she looked up at the string of clothes she’d tied together in order to allow herself out of her room on the second floor of her house. As soon as her feet touched the earth, her best friend sighed in relief behind her.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Kaisa asked. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Johanna turned to face the young witch with a bright smile. Since the day they’d met each other in the woods two years before, they’d been inseparable. And Johanna wasn’t about to let that change.

“A three pm curfew is ridiculous and you know it. I’m not letting you go on a cool magical adventure without me, Kai. Besides, they won’t even be home! I’ll be fine.”

Kaisa sighed. She had to admit Johanna’s curfew, as well as every other limitation her parents gave her, were very strict, but how fair something was or not didn’t change the fact that Johanna would be punished if she got caught. At least she knew Johanna was quite good at this: she knew exactly what to do to not be seen having fun. It was around this time in the afternoon that Kaisa got invited over to Johanna’s house to play on most days, since the girl knew her sitter would be too busy watching her soap opera to notice her sneaking another child in the house. Besides, it wasn’t like Kaisa could talk her out of helping her; when Johanna got something in her mind, nobody could stop her.

“If you say so.” She shrugged, turning her attention back to the book she was holding. It was wordy and hard to read even for an adult, but Kaisa rather enjoyed deciphering it. In its pages was all the information humans knew about the Draugen treasure. Tildy had assured her that it wasn’t real, nothing more than an old sailors’ tale, but Kaisa knew it had to be real. Out of the few things her mother had left her, this book was one of them, and Kaisa believed that her mother wouldn’t give her a book filled with made up information.

“So, where are we headed?” Johanna fell in step with Kaisa, trusting her friend to lead the way even if she occasionally had to point out a closed walking sign or stop her from hitting a person or a street lamp. Kaisa could get very distracted when she was concentrating on her books.

“To the harbour.” The witch said with confidence. “And then, to the Draugen treasure.”

_#_#_#_

Things hadn’t been as simple as that. Once at the harbour, the two children had to face the fact that they had no means to go underwater. Johanna knew how to swim, and she even offered to go and get the proof that Kaisa wanted to bring home to her mentor, but Kaisa declined, not only wanting to see the treasure herself but also knowing that no matter how good Johanna was at swimming, she wouldn’t manage to find the shipwreck.

Feeling stuck, she’d sat down on a bolster to think. Nothing in her book hinted at how to actually get to the treasure, she knew so because she knew each word in it by heart, and still she searched the pages hoping an answer would magically appear.

“It’s not too bad if we don’t find it.” Johanna cooed from where she was sitting on the sand. The disappointment in Kaisa’s face was something she didn’t like to see, and it made her want to hug her. “Even if you don’t have any proof to take to Miss Pilkfist… you know it’s true. That’s already enough, isn’t it? Plus, if we wait we’re going to see a gorgeous sunset from here.”

Holding her cheeks between her hands, Kaisa grumbled. “I guess.”

Even though she’d given up, Kaisa continued staring at the book. Until, that is, she heard her friend gasp.

“What a pretty seashell, look!”

On Johanna’s palm there was a pearly white conch shell, its shape a little too perfect for it to be natural. Kaisa hopped from the stone, extending her hand so as to ask Johanna to see it, but the girl didn’t notice. Instead, she chuckled as she took a better look at it.

“It kind of looks like a tiny tuba, doesn’t it?” Saying that, Johanna brought the shell to her lips and blew. Both of them shrieked when it made a sound much louder than they had expected, even the birds from nearby trees flying away in fright.

“What the heck?” Johanna looked to her left to check if Kaisa had also been as surprised by the vibration, but the witch was staring wide eyed at something behind her friend. Turning her gaze to the sea, the girl gasped as she saw a tower of water rise up, with eyes staring right at them. If a being entirely made of water could even look annoyed, Johanna was sure this would be it.

“A water spirit.” Kaisa whispered. “Johanna, you’re a genius.”

Johanna had no idea of what was happening, but given that Kaisa seemed to have she didn’t worry. Instead of running away like she imagined would have been the most logical decision, Kaisa walked closer to the spirit and uttered gibberish. At this point, Johanna had lost count of how many magical languages she’d already heard her friend talking in.

Apparently happy at having been talked to, the spirit shape shifted to the form of a bubble. Kaisa turned back to Johanna with a smile, offering her hand to help her get up from the sand.

“Come on, Anna. We’ve got a treasure to find.”

_#_#_#_

The underwater landscape was something they both knew they’d never forget. Miraculously, the water spirit had taken them, safe and dry, through the sea that connected their city to other far away lands. When Kaisa pointed out a picture in her book that showed a representation of the sunken ship, the spirit had set off to a certain direction without needing any further instruction, which left the two girls free to look at the fish that swam by them and the other strange creatures they couldn’t recognize.

Once they reached the boat, or at least what was left of it, they couldn’t help but stare in awe for a couple of seconds. As soon as the shock of actually having found it wore off of Kaisa, she fist pumped the air. She really had been right, and she’d prove it.

Aside from a single draugen who for some reason didn’t stop sweeping a broom around during the whole time they were there, no one seemed to be guarding the treasure. This allowed them to find the chests the book spoke of, filled with golden items and a variety of other items.

“We could be rich!” Johanna had said, touching the golden coins and chains as soon as the water spirit rolled forward so the chests were inside the bubble.

Kaisa shook her head. “I don’t think we should take any of it. Tildy says it’s never a good idea to steal from the dead. We don’t know what’s up with that Draugen there.” She pointed to the cleaner, who had explained his situation upon their arrival. “As far as we are concerned, he might have been cursed for trying to steal some of the treasure.”

The possibility made Johanna hastily drop the coins she’d been holding.

“Oh.”

“Besides, maybe someone else would like to see this in the future, and I wouldn’t want them to find nothing. “

Following that logic, Kaisa decided to take a chip of wood from the weak shell of the boat. Certainly, that was insignificant enough that they wouldn’t face any repercussions, and it still was something they could take home for her to show her mentor that she’d been right.

They were returned to the harbor by the spirit, who as kind as always nodded them goodbye. Kaisa stared at the spot where it had disappeared, thinking that now she’d have even more motivation to learn to speak Water Spirit. That one seemed like a good friend to have.

Just as the sun was beginning to set, the two of them arrived at Tildy’s home. The sorceress was sitting on her couch, crocheting something out of pink wool, and Kaisa knew she’d felt it when they entered the house even though she didn’t look up.

“Aha!” The girl cried triumphantly, walking up to her teacher and raising the chip of wood above her head. “I told you the Draugen treasure was real, Tildy! We’ve found it, and I can prove it!”

As serene as if she was going through a daily occurence, Tildy lifted her gaze up to her young apprentice and to her friend, who was just beside her.

“How lovely that you found a fun way to spend the day! And welcome, Johanna, I made a cake today thinking about you. Why don’t you put some water in the kettle and we can all eat it while having some tea?”

“Sounds delicious!” Johanna set off to the kitchen, having been there enough times to know where everything was. Kaisa was left standing in front of the woman with an eyebrow lifted.

“Thank you for this, dear.” Tildy said as she took the chip from her hand. “Just what I needed.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You’re not surprised? You believe me?”

“Of course I’m not. And you have always been more of an overachiever than a cheater, so yes, I do.”

“Wait…” Kaisa looked down with a crease between her brows, trying to put the pieces together as the mentor got up from the sofa.

“I do know the treasure is true. But you see, I needed something that belonged to a Draugen for a potion I want to make and that’s not really easy to get! So I thought I could count on you to want to prove me wrong if I said I didn’t believe in it.”

“Tildy!” Kaisa groaned. She wanted to be annoyed or angry but truly? She found her mentor’s behaviour quite amusing. Would she ever manage to outsmart the great arch sorceress, Kaisa wondered.

“Let’s go eat, now. You two deserve your cake.”

_#_#_#_

After eating, Kaisa had offered to walk Johanna back to her house. The days were getting ever shorter, and the wind was icy cold as they walked, but they didn’t care. Being with each other always made the rest of the world fade away, and once again Kaisa was grateful that Johanna had been so insistent on befriending her. They were laughing and shooting the breeze while they walked, until Johanna stopped abruptly and gripped Kaisa’s wrist so she would too.

“My parents are home.” She whispered stiffly, looking at the house’s garage, where there were now two cars. “They will probably have noticed I’m gone by now.”

“I’ll go with you.” Kaisa said immediately. “I’ll… I’ll say I pressured you to leave without supervision.”

Johanna gave her a sympathetic smile. There was evident sadness in her eyes, and she squeezed her friend’s hand.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do and you know it. We’ve been here before. If they think you’re guilty of anything, they will want me to stop seeing you. Turn back now and it’ll be better for both of us.”

Kaisa’s shoulders slumped. It wasn’t often that something like this happened, but whenever it did, she was filled by a sense of helplessness before her best friend’s situation. Still, Johanna knew her own parents better than Kaisa did, so she always obeyed.

“Library as soon as you can?” Kaisa asked in a small, hopeful voice, knowing that Johanna’s parents wouldn’t allow her to leave the house at all for a while. It was their arrangement that whenever Johanna got grounded, Kaisa would be in the library at exactly ten in the morning every day until Johanna was allowed to leave, even if followed by her sitter, to tell her she was free to visit Kaisa and be visited by her.

Johanna nodded and let go of her hand, only heading toher house when Kaisa had already begun to walk away, so as to be sure her friend wouldn’t try anything heroic.

Her pace was closer to a run as she went back to Tildy’s. Tears stung at her eyes but she held them back. It wasn’t fair that Johanna would be punished if Kaisa was the one who had asked for company. It wasn’t fair at all. One day, Kaisa thought, she’d be strong enough to save her too.

_#_#_#_

When Johanna asked her how her afternoon had gone, Hilda had had to resist the instinct to say the first lie that popped on her mind. She was being honest now, she reminded herself. In the most calm and casual way she could, she narrated the events she’d gone through while her mother finished preparing their dinner, but it was easy to tell her mother did not approve of most, if not everything, of what she was telling. Her shoulders were visibly tight and her mouth was pursed, and the only reaction Hilda got were grunts. When the story was finished, the woman sighed tiredly.

“Hilda, I… I don’t know what to tell you. Sweetheart, you could have gotten hurt.”

“Mum” Hilda groaned, trying to make herself look taller. Why did her mother think she was so fragile? “I understand you’re scared for me because you just want me to be okay. But I am okay! This wasn’t dangerous, I promise. You had to see Frida, she was awesome! She’s so smart and skilled.”

Johanna took a deep breath as she took the pie away from the oven and over to the table. No, it wasn’t dangerous, at least what Hilda had told her wasn’t. She still didn’t like it, since her own experiences led her to be wary about that situation, but she knew making a storm in a teacup would only make it so Hilda never told her anything.

“You’re right, sweetheart. I just want to tell you to try not to rely on magic for everything. And Frida… she’s your friend, and a good girl, but do not idolize her, okay? She’s just as human as us, and you may not be able to count on her for everything.”

Hilda’s brow furrowed, thoughts about what it was that her mother wasn’t telling her clouding her mind. “She’s my best friend, mum. I know I can count on her.”

Johanna clenched the fist that wasn’t pulling herself a chair.

“I suppose you can. But listen to me on this, I don’t want you seeing the librarian again.”

Now sitting in front of her mother, Hilda blinked in surprise. “What? Why?”

“Anyone who feels this comfortable giving children magic is not to be trusted” Johanna answered simply, making her child sigh.

Getting her mother to trust her judgement would take a while.

#my fic #fic: afs #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic #kaisa hilda fanfic #johanna hilda fanfic

[prose-for-hire]

Christmas Angel

[This fic is part of my (super late) 12 days of Christmas]

Pairing: Charles Gunn x reader

Request: can you please do a Gunn x reader one shot with the prompts “You didn’t really think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” and “You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not”

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Like one swear. Reader really doesn’t like Christmas. Gunn uses the nickname ‘angel’, just in case you don’t like that lol (it is teasing).

You weren’t big on Christmas. You hadn’t celebrated with any family for such a long time. It hadn’t really been much of a big holiday even when you had. You felt a little trapped back home, which is why you had moved away as soon as you had.

It wasn’t even just Christmas you didn’t enjoy. It was winter. You didn’t particularly like snow once the novelty wore off and you were just sliding around and incredibly cold. That’s why you decided Los Angeles was the perfect place.

You had been a little bit of a loner when you first moved to the big city but you eventually made some friends and found a really great place to work. Saving the World no less.

You had told them dryly that you had expected to get a cape at least with your new job but alas you were just given an empty coffee cup that you were allowed to personalise yourself. You chose not to bother.

Along with your own mug, you were also given a few other benefits. Such as a half-decent paycheck; A stake-licence and, I suppose, bragging rights that you were part of the ‘good fight’. Whatever that meant.

But the biggest draw, the thing that got you up every morning and almost giddy with excitement (that you never let anyone see) was that he worked there too. Gunn.

He was funny, attractive and he had such a big heart. If you were a different type of person you definitely would have swooned whenever he entered the room.

You had a fun relationship, you would bounce off each other. You could tease each other, enjoying the back and forth without taking anything too seriously. Little did anyone know, this was your way of flirting.

You weren’t great with feelings. Vulnerability sickened you and you hadn’t cried in public since you lost your mother in the supermarket when you were five.

You had scoffed at the decorations when you walked into work that morning. It was November for God’s sake. Fred and Cordy had been waiting everyone to arrive and compliment their decorating skills. You bypassed them, going straight for your mug. You identified it easily as the only one that was still plain white.

You made your morning hot drink and listened as Gunn complimented the girls nodding that it was new… and bright. That made you smile. He continued telling to them that he really liked it. But when you turned, you saw that they were all looking at you, waiting for you to continue the compliments.

“Uh, it’s y’know…” You said hoping someone would finish your sentence. You rolled your eyes when they didn’t, “Green. It’s very green”

“Aw, y/n come on. We know you can do better than that!” Cordy persisted, she liked to needle you because she could sense how nice you were really. Underneath it all. Which you appreciated but it did make you uncomfortable. That she saw through your front. The team was fond of you, you never really knew why but you did like them you just didn’t really know how to show it any differently.

“I like green” You stated before turning to the stack of files and sifting through them, sipping from your cup.

Gunn smiled softly as he watched you just walking around doing what you usually would. He really liked you. Wanted to spend the entire day with you, the nights too. His eyes followed you around the room. He didn’t know how to approach you, you were kind of intimidating and besides he didn’t really want to lose what you already had. He saw you as his closest friend, his partner in fighting demon-related crime.

It had taken a while for you to be comfortable enough with him to even tease each other like this. Because it was you being nice, he could feel it. Plus, he had seen you angry. It was scarier than the demons you fought each day.

You looked up and he looked away, towards where Angel had just emerged from his office. He also had to tell the girls that he liked the pretty decorations they had spent a long time putting up. You squinted at him, but shrugged. You thought if he had liked you he would have said something.

No, it was one-sided and you were in deep. Cursed to sail the choppy waters of unrequited longing for as long as this affection would last. In fairness, your feelings for Gunn had lasted a lot longer than the liking you had harboured for any other.

It did annoy you at times, the way you waited to have time alone with him. The way seeing his smile lit up your day. His laughter the most-played track in your mind.

You scanned your eyes down his athletic frame, he was leaning against a desk with his hands in his pockets.

You were staring. Again. You looked around the room, where talk had turned to Christmas plans past and future. Angel had caught your eye, he knew brooding over a love you didn’t think you deserved. If there was ever a person that understood, it was him. He raised his eyebrows at you and you just glared, snapping your eyes away. He smiled, shaking his head.

During this non-verbal conversation, where Angel was willing you to embrace your vulnerability and you were doing the most to get him to read ‘fuck off’ from your face (which he got by the way), Gunn had pushed off from the desk he was leaning against and had made his way over to you.

“Hey, morning, angel” He said this to you. He had started to call you angel teasingly. He did this because you thought it was sickly. And, more personally, because of the affection he held for you.

“I’ve told you before that’s confusing when you work with an Angel” You muttered, but he grinned. That wasn’t why you didn’t like it.

“What about you, huh? What are your plans this year?” He pushed on, ignoring your usual eye roll at him.

“What?”

“Christmas”

“Oh, that” You muttered, hoping you had moved on, “I plan on sleeping through it. Maybe drinking through it. I’m still deciding between the two” You looked up, as if this was a really important decision before getting back to the file you were pretending to skim-read.

It was too hard to concentrate with him so close. He had started to wear a cologne, maybe it was an aftershave you weren’t sure, that smelled so good. You wanted to embrace him every time he was close as it was, but he smelled so good. You wanted to rest your head in the crook of his neck and inhale. Land a kiss, perhaps…

You had zoned out, staring at the space beside the crook of his neck. He waited for you to blink before rubbing the side of his neck in case there was something there. He hoped it wasn’t a demon bug that had bitten him. He really didn’t need to be the next spiderman.

“Why don’t you do Christmas?” He moved the conversation on, not willing to part with you yet.

“Maybe you should ask why you do Christmas? What has it ever done for you?” You asked. You were being unnecessarily harsh on the holiday, you could feel it but you had your reasons and you just didn’t like it, “I like my own company, oh and Santa isn’t real”

“Don’t lie, I met him one year” He claimed which actually made you snort and look up. He smiled, pleased with himself that he had made you smile. He eventually went to his own work area, getting into it. The research was boring, but having you across the room was worth it.

He found himself reading your facial expressions over the book Wes had given him. You were thinking. He wasn’t convinced that you did entirely only enjoy your own company. He hoped that you liked him even a fraction of the way he liked you.

He asked several times through December, trying to gauge just how alone you were going to be. You explained the same thing each time, but every time you said it you could acutely feel it getting sadder and sadder. Until you refused to reply anymore.

Turns out, he heard from Cordy that you really didn’t celebrate. You call home sometimes, maybe buy some kind of discount dessert after the fact, but other than that, nothing. Cordelia would usually invite you places for holidays but you were free of that particular drama this year as she was visiting her family where they relocated after Sunnydale collapsed in on itself.

In the middle of December, your true love gave something to you. A brand new, hot off the presses festive moniker.

“Hey, Christmas Angel, how’s things?” He gestured at you with his head as he asked and you lit up inside. You loved when he came to check in on you. But you kept your face neutral as you replied.

“Dark and dangerous, the usual” You shrugged, before realising what had been said, “Wait, what did you just call me?”

“You answered, so, must be your new nickname” He shrugged, a wide grin as he walked off, “Don’t make the rules!” He called over his shoulder as he could tell you were floundering to respond with some kind of comeback. You could feel the mischievous intent from across the room where he was now sat.

You were still for a moment. The letters of the name pouring like sand through a hourglass in your mind. It was only a matter of time with this and you were starting to feel it.

That nickname was dangerous. It had grown on you. It made you begin to soften. You thought it was stupid, but he said it to you. He only ever said it to you.

He continued to call you this, much to the rest of the team’s amusement (and knowing looks that they shared about you both) through the rest of the month.

You all got Christmas Day off. Even Angel had plans by this point, it was now Christmas Eve after all. Him and Wesley had invited you too, you almost told them that you would rather stick pins in your eyes (the conversation would be dead, not just because of the obvious dig at the other guest). But, you chose, in the spirit of Christmas and all, just to politely decline.

Gunn watched you interact with the others, he saw the mask slip even only slightly. And thus, on Christmas Eve he had started to plan something he had been considering for a while.

Christmas Day rolled around and you were staring at the tv, feeling so very bored. You were almost regretting getting stuck in some dusty read-a-thon with Angel and Wes (you were, of course aware that the men could be fun but it was just easier to say this to convince yourself you were better off on your own).

As you considered calling someone, anyone, there was a knock at the door. You frowned but walked over there. You smiled, pretty wide when you checked through the peephole who it was. You swung the door open and there he was.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” Gunn shook his head at you and didn’t wait to be invited in. He just walked past you and made himself at home.

“Gunn, you really didn’t have to-”

“I want to. I like spending time with you, anyway” he shrugged, “’Sides I’m just showing you how it’s done” he added a glint in his eye as he took large amounts of food from the bags he had brought with him. It was all going to have to be reheated but you couldn’t stop smiling as he started to busy around your little kitchen. He noted you really had been sleeping through the day. There was a blanket and a pillow on your sofa and the tv remote had been chucked on top as you went to answer the door.

It made him more determined. He didn’t want to think of you alone, no matter how much you insisted you enjoyed it. The only people you were friendly with was the team and ‘friendly’ was a term that could be applied only very loosely.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m only doin this as long as you do one thing for me” He said, keeping a straight face. You frowned, raising an eyebrow which almost made him break. He whipped out some red material from the bag and started to smile. You started to shake your head absolutely not as he maintained, “You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not” He pointed at you, brandishing the hat in front of you. You shook your head, trying to snatch it from his hand and throw it away.

He chased you through the house, with you zipping about trying to get him to give up and get rid of the stupid hat. You were having fun, actual fun, on Christmas. You squealed slightly as he eventually managed to tackle you onto your sofa and stop the chase.

You both landed into a heap on your sofa. Basically on top of each other. So close you swore you could feel his heart hammering as fast as your own. He was warm and his smile made you feel safe. Elated.

Laughing. You both were laughing, staring into each other’s eyes. You were so close, you felt your heart start to ache. Nobody had gotten through like this before. Broken down your barriers so much. Made a home for himself within your heart. You had never even let anyone see where you actually lived before.

He took the opportunity, as you were lost in his eyes, to plant the hat on your head. Before you could reach and remove it, he took your wrists and quickly leaned in. His lips crashing against yours. It was a desperate pouring of feelings. Untold and a long time coming. His lips were urgent and loving. Fiery but gentle. This was his one shot, so he was going to kiss you like this was the first and last time he would ever get to be intimate in this way.

He took his chance, knowing well that he could have read the signs all long. But he couldn’t not take this chance. He wanted you. He wanted to spend Christmas with you, because you spend time with the ones you love at this time of year.

His hands slid up your arm, cradling you as you weaved your fingers between his on the other hand. You were lost in this kiss. The choppy tides of longing had calmed, giving way to a deep all-encompassing current. His love, his adoration was pulling you under. And you surrendered.

It was the best Christmas you ever had. The other gifts could wait, the only one that mattered was this. Each other.

#Charles Gunn x reader #Gunn x reader #Charles Gunn #Gunn #Charles Gunn x you #Gunn x you #angel the series #angel the series imagine #Angel #Christmas fic #12 days of christmas #12 Days of Xmas #ats #ats x reader #ats imagine #ats x you #gender not mentioned #gender neutral

[theaurorfileshq]

D E L I V E R A N C E   M A Y H E W   /   A U R O R   O F F I C E R

AGE: Twenty-Seven

BADGE NUMBER: S35F11

BLOODSTATUS: Unknown (Likely Halfblood)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Non-Binary, He/Him

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: Cross necklace always worn, near constant bruises around the knees, cross tattoo on forearm, dove tattoo over collarbone.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Curse-Breaking, Offensive Magic, Hand to Hand Combat.

(-): Unstable, Occasionally Expresses Issues with Authority, Defensive Magic.

BACKGROUND:

–– how much sin can one man contain in his body? how wrong and twisted can one boy be? the limit does not exist. there is only sin piled atop sin, wrongness and guild like a plague. a litany of reasons why he deserves every pain that greets him. –– Deliverance was an orphan, cursed to lead alive alone and apart from the rest of the pack. Abandoned, left behind. The Mayhew family took him in out of the goodness of their pure Christian hearts. They were devout in their faith, fanatical in their love of God. Deliverance was the child that they had longed for, year after year. A miracle that crossed paths with them when they needed him the most. It was a strict upbringing, but Deliverance was loved. Every touch, every reprimand, every moment of –– it all reminded him of the fact that he had been unwanted, unloved, and they had taken him in when no-one else would. –– He must have been left behind for a reason. He always wondered what the reason was. What set him apart from other children, whose parents kept them safe and warm and close? Why did they leave him all alone, out on the streets, where death was sure to find him? Why did they leave him with nothing but doubt? Deliverance finds a clue when he is ten years old. He is small for his age, a slip of a thing that could easily blow away in the wind. He has a tender heart that begins to bleed so easily. He is studying his bible in the garden with the other children when they come across a baby bird – already cold and dead. With a breath, with a touch, with tears in his eyes, Deliverance brought the bird back from the dead. A miracle, some would say. A curse, others might call it. The Mayhew family call it witchcraft.

–– The soft scraps of love that Deliverance had grown accustomed to grind to a halt, very quickly. Once his magic began, it was very difficult to stem the flow. It poured out and out and out, no matter how hard he tried to stop it. With more making itself known by the day, his parents did what they did best: they prayed for an end to their misery, they reached out to their church leaders and begged them for help. So Deliverance Mayhew became the subject religious fervor. They tried anything they could think of, group prayer, exorcisms: anything that might drive the demons out of his body and set their son free. All the while, they wondered aloud of this curse was God’s way of punishing them for something they had done. –– Deliverance prays too. With every breath. With every heartbeat. He asks god for a respite, for someone to rescue him from his eternal torment, to pull him out of the fires of damnation and set him free. He does not want to be a dirty thing, he does not want demons to live under his skin, he does not want to be a consort of the devil himself. He is a good boy, he knows it in his heart. There is no sin that he does willingly. Yet the torment never does end. His life remains a map of grief and sorrow, guilt writ in every inch of him, bruises on his knees from endless hours knelt in prayer. His fraught emotions only spark more magic, his fragile body expelling it like a torrent. Deliverance almost doesn’t go to Ilvermorny. In fact, he starts a year late. It takes a great deal of pressure and manipulation layered on his parents to allow him to go. A professor arrives, and spins a tale of a wonderful school where they can remove the sin from Deliverance, where they can teach him control and drive the devils out. Deliverance knows its a lie, but his parents send him away happily. –– There is something in Deliverance that never accepts the magic. It seems ungodly, prideful, to think that one can control the universe itself with a flick of the wand. Yet Deliverance’s magic remains a torrent, easily directed into physical magic. He responds well to a wand. He finds that he is somewhat a natural talent. His mind rejects it, but his body thrives in the pull and wonder of it. The older he gets, the more Deliverance allows himself to give in to things he knows he should not have. The magic he loves despite himself, the boys he kisses in dark corners. He allows himself to have these things, and kneels again by his bed to pray for forgiveness when the sun hsa gone down. During the summers, he manages to keep his magic reigned in. He plays the part of a picture perfect son, but he knows his entire existence now is a lie. The love never comes back, no matter how hard he tries to be good. His parents still look at him like hes a monster, nine times out of ten. They know that their son is a monster, a wolf in sheeps clothing. –– He doesn’t particularly want to be an auror. A professor at school suggests it to him, boasts about his natural talent, how well suited he would be to the job. He feels like a child, sitting in that room. When he had been home for Christmas, in his final year, he had been instructed not to come back. The Mayhew family had found evidence of his continued perversions, his sins. They were tired of harbouring the devil in their home. So the world of magic was all that Deliverance had left, the only port in the storm of his life. He allows himself to be cajoled into applying to the auror academy in Salem and resigns himself to his life of sin. –– He does better than he expects to at the academy, and then bounces around from squad to squad for a grip of time. He’s too intense. Too flighty. Too argumentative. He has issues with authority and he expresses them one too many times. After five years on the force, he’s sure they’re going to kick him out on his ass. Luck is on his side, however, because he does something unignorable: he solves a fuck-off big case. Groundbreakingly big, and the solution to the problem hits him like a ton of bricks. Two other aurors get killed by the murderer they’re hunting, but with quick cunning and a fiery burst of magic, Deliverance brings him in. His raw potential is something that’s hard to ignore, and with the right hand he could be honed into a wonderful auror. His transfer to Central Squad is something unexpected, but he’s embracing it as best he can, selfishly glad to have moved up and on and away from somewhere with tragic memories. –– There is very little Deliverance doesn’t hate about himself. He hates the magic. He hates the love he feels for people he shouldn’t. He hates how he’s never quite been the boy his parents wanted. Most of the time, he hates his job. More than anything else, he hates how much he doesn’t hate some things. He has become tainted beyond repair, and no amount of prayer will grant him absolution from that fact. The magic gives him a thrill, he drinks far too much, he has too much sex with too many people. There is no limit to how much sin can live in one man, he has not yet drawn the line in the sand that he will not cross. Yet he carries on. He works, he helps people that he loathes, he strives to find some kind of peace in his life, yet he knows it is unlikely to come.

#written by wren #deliverance mayhew #aurorx

[kattegat-kittycat]

Fates Entwined - I: Your Gods

After your former clan was brutally murdered, you agree to an arranged marriage with Ivar to keep your social status. You may not always see eye to eye and sometimes even find yourself on different sides of one war or the other, but somehow you can never escape each other no matter how much you try to forget, deny and run. Somehow you always end up in each other’s faces. Sometimes quite literally.

A/N: I do have an outline for this project, but somehow new ideas keep popping in and out of my head, so I’ll just see where this will take me. I hope you enjoy this one. :)

Some might say I'm not the fortunate one You love to break me down But I'll stay to hear you out Some might say that I'm the fallen one Lead me out from the dark and kill my pain

Entwine - Break Me

It was a beautiful morning in Kattegat and I certainly appreciated the beauty of the bustling town coming to life. The sea was glittering in the morning sun, spitting the fishermen back onto the land with their catch of the day, and playing with the boats anchored in the harbour. Still, I could not quite bring myself to be happy. There was a weight on my shoulders that couldn’t be lifted by the sight of my soon to be hometown. The thing is, I should have been happy about this latest turn my life had taken, because it had set me on a new path that looked much brighter than the last few months. I was grateful to Queen Aslaug for the chance she had granted me, but at the same time, I was afraid.

A couple of months ago, my family had been slaughtered and I had been spared; for what reasons, I did not know. I hadn’t been sure, where to go, but then I remembered that my mother had once spoken of a good friend of hers who was now the Queen of Kattegat, which had led me here. I had placed my life in Aslaug’s hands and she decided to welcome me into her family.

 I heard the sand move behind me and it wasn’t the sound of footsteps, so I instantly knew who it was, only could be.

“So, Y/N, how are you feeling on the morning of your wedding?”

I was surprised. Normally, there was always a cutting tone or an arrogant snark in Ivar’s voice. Not so now, he sounded sincere.

“Are you looking for the truth or are you here to make fun of me?” I asked wearily.

He leaned against a boulder and shrugged while he carefully placed his legs in front of him. He seemed almost insecure. “I am scared.” He said simply. He looked at me, his eyes challenging me to laugh. But I didn’t. “How about you?”

“I am scared as well. I don’t know if it was the right decision to come here.” I answered. Might as well be honest, he would be my husband, after all.

He weighed his head from one side to the other, then nodded.

“Yes, but mother seems to think the Gods want this marriage for us. And she has never been wrong.”

“So they say”, I said, trimming my eyes back on the sea.

I heard him stir. “What made you come here?” he asked, his voice betraying his curiosity.

I sighed, then turned towards him and sat down. I met his gaze that had scanned me, looking for clues.

“Truthfully, I had nowhere else to go. And Aslaug was a good friend to my mother, when they grew up. I remember how fondly my mother had spoken of her, how impressed she had been by Aslaug’s ability to see and plan ahead. I thought a woman with these gifts might be able to help me.”

“What happened to you that you don’t have anywhere else to go?” His interest had been piqued.

I closed my eyes. “I…I will tell you. In time. But I do not wish to relive it today of all days.” I gave him a small smile and while his face fell, he did not seem angry. Just disappointed. I was afraid of his anger and rage, they made him unpredictable. I only hoped there was more to him than that. A moment we sat in silence, then a jolt went through him and he crawled over to where I was sitting. He looked out on the town, then he smiled.

“One day, I will rule over all of this. This will be the start and center of my kingdom, and everybody will speak my name with awe. I will be known from one end of the world to the other and the Gods will know me as one of them.”

I snorted. “High-flying plans for a cripple like you. But I will be right there by your side, supporting you where I can.”

His eyebrows drew together in distaste. “Are you saying it is impossible? Do you doubt me?”

I reached over to where he sat across from me and took his hand in mine. “No”, I shook my head, “All I wish to say is that this is going to be harder than it would be if you could walk. But I also believe it will only be possible, because you are different and know how to fight.”

He seemed to think about my opinion a little, then he changed the subject.

“Your hometown, what is it like?”

“It is smaller than Kattegat. I knew everybody and loved them dearly. We were mostly fishermen. I hear Kattegat was once a humble settlement of farmers. Is that true?”

Ivar smiled a little. “Yes, my father had his farm here. But then he set higher goals and made Kattegat the town it is today.”

“Is happiness not a high goal?” I asked.

“Happiness doesn’t entertain the gods. It is selfish.”

“Your gods seem to be different from mine. Because don’t you think that the gods would want us to be happy and enjoy the world they created?”

“Maybe that is enough for you, but only warriors go to Valhalla.”

I sighed and looked into the distance. “That is what they tell us.”

Ivar rolled his eyes at me. “You do not approve of my goals, do you?”

“It is not a path I would choose for myself, but if you decide to walk it, I will be right there beside you.”

“Are you making fun of me?” he asked and I wasn’t sure if he was serious or mocking me. He sounded annoyed, but there seemed to be an amused undertone in his voice.

“I would never dare to make fun of my husband to be.” I said, then grinned lopsidedly.

A smile crept into the corner of Ivar’s mouth. “When you are my wife, you will not be allowed to make fun of me.” He said.

“Oh, that is interesting. What are you going to do about it?”

“I will teach you manners if you need to learn them.”

“And how are you going to do that if I am faster than you?” I asked, got up, and slowly moved away from Ivar, still facing him.

He grinned and crawled after me, looking almost menacing. I walked backwards, down the path back to the city. He followed me, slowly, but steadily. I sped up and he accelerated his tempo. Then a sudden burst of speed and arms around my ankles and I didn’t realise I was falling until I hit the ground and Ivar crawled over me. When his hands were on both sides of my head and his face was level with mine, he grinned like he had won.

“What are you talking about, faster than me? Now I will decide which punishment would be fitting your crime.”

I looked up into his eyes and saw the mischief playing in them like little demons with a tinder box. Two could play this game, so I lifted my head a little and kissed him innocently on the lips. The gesture confused him and he froze. Then he looked into my eyes in wonder. Like he had seen me for the first time. His face went soft for a moment, like he had never been kissed by a girl before. Then, all of a sudden, he dove down and caught my lips with his. Roughly, needy, but some sort of hesitance was still palpable. Maybe ours wasn’t the greatest love story, but I might not be off too bad.

#vikings #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson x reader #vikings fanfiction #kattegat #stories from kattegat #fates entwined

[atinytokki]

𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Chapter 1: The Ghost Ship

The water sparkled turquoise, reflecting the bright noontime sun. Seagulls cawed overhead loudly, but Eden was focused on pushing a boat off the shallow beach. He turned around and beckoned with a wave. “Come on! There’s nothing to be afraid of!”

Hongjoong hesitated, digging his feet into the sand. He kept a cautious eye on the clouds in the sky, searching for any sign of bad weather. Eden followed his gaze and shook his head. “The seas are calm. Nothing to worry about.”

Chewing his lip, he remembered a day in the past that had been clear at first, and disastrous later. “Not this time,” he whispered. “I trust Eden.”

Sand shifting between his toes, he took a step forward and then a second and then a third. The water was up to his waist by the time he reached the sailboat.

“Alright,” Eden grunted softly as he hoisted the boy up and into a seat. “I’ll take the tiller, you’re going to tack.” Hongjoong said nothing but gave his hyung a pleading face. “Just let your body remember,” Eden encouraged with a soft smile.

Grasping the ropes for the sail, something reawakened inside Hongjoong. It was a sensation he hadn’t experienced since he was much younger in a time of innocence and unregulated discovery. Waves of nostalgia washed over him as he crested the ocean waves in his little boat and thought about the exploration that had been the centre of his childhood. A childhood that was snatched away too early, but it seemed was being offered to him again.

“You’ve got so much potential, Hongjoong,” Eden sighed from behind. 

Hongjoong turned to face him, resolved. “Would you teach me?”

...

“Captain? Captain!” Yeosang’s voice seemed to part the heavens and descend to him. “How is the deciphering coming along?” Hongjoong blinked until his eyes could fully open.

Asleep again, this time at the bowsprit, where he had hoped the brisk winds bearing on them would keep him awake. He sighed. “Yes, I’ll do it now, I promise.”

With Yeosang’s eyes on him, Hongjoong positioned the magnifying glass over Eden’s map splayed in front of him, and traced it over the blank areas of sea. As he gazed into it, the glass revealed markings of islands, which he traced over with pen to make them readable without the glass.

“There’s a port two points northeast, that’s the closest stop.” Yeosang looked over his captain’s shoulder, trying not to intrude but longing to witness the navigational magic for himself.

Hongjoong nodded. “In all honesty, the ATEEZ desperately needs repairs and we need some recovery time. Assuming the port is neutral, let’s dock there. Since we have this now, I won’t mind waiting a few days to get on course in earnest.”

Yeosang couldn’t argue with that logic, and with permission to take the map, retreated to his cabin to update his own charts.

Hongjoong’s eyes lingered on the sea before him. It sparkled the same way it had in his dream. The dream was really a memory, and one Hongjoong thought back to frequently.

There was such a yearning in his heart to be reunited with Eden, assured of his safety, and told that he did well. But next to that yearning had grown a new desire over time, one for protecting his own crew. He was their Eden now, and he wanted to do what he could for them, putting their well-being first and helping them reinvent themselves from their own troubled pasts.

He watched his men cheerfully go about their work, a secret smile on his face, before succumbing to his ever-present fatigue and retiring to his cabin.

...

Wooyoung had loosened up astronomically in the week or so that had passed as the ATEEZ made its way to the harbour. So much so that he was, in fact, among the troublemakers onboard. When Mingi went to fetch him, he need only follow the sound of his extremely squeaky high pitched laugh to find his location.

Wooyoung was in the rigging with Yunho when Mingi yelled his name from the quarterdeck. Both scampered down with ease and presented themselves to their quartermaster, wondering what they were in trouble for this time.

“It’s payday,” Mingi announced, unloading the money bags he had carried over into the confused officers’ arms. “Perfect timing!” Yunho exclaimed, beaming at the cash collecting in his arms. Mingi unleashed his gummy smile and nodded enthusiastically. “Enough for the tavern and the sauna this time! It’s been awhile since the last payday.”

Wooyoung’s eyeballs almost flew out of their sockets as the money kept coming. “This is all for me?” 

Mingi giggled at him shamelessly. “You’re an officer, remember?” 

Wooyoung was speechless and began to count his earnings as Mingi chatted with Yunho. “You think they’ll have a sauna at the port? We are a good ways from the last one we visited...”

“Where’s San?” Wooyoung interrupted, already taking a step towards the infirmary. 

Yunho’s arm shot out and grasped his. “Talking to Seonghwa,” he muttered, an edge to his voice that Wooyoung heard and understood. His mouth formed the shape of an “ah” but he didn’t say anything.

All three of them knew it would be best to wait until the two had finished their confrontation before bursting in with good news. Instead Wooyoung helped the conversation resume. “Saunas on the eastern islands? I don’t know, but perhaps you can find a natural hot spring.”

...

“What I did was unforgivable,” San faced Seonghwa with carefully composed strength and confessed. There was no more waiting. Leaving the truth unspoken between them could only ever strain their relationship and those around them, and San knew he had done enough harm as it was. “I’ll understand if you want to stay away from me.”

“No, San, I understand perfectly,” Seonghwa comforted quietly. “I saw a vision when I was there, too.” 

San shook his head bitterly. “But you ignored it. I didn’t.” It felt like the room was closing in. Both were silent for a long time. “There was so much blood.” Sobs began to surface, breaking through his defences and racking his body. “I’ve seen blood like that before but I’ve never seen your blood and on my hands, Seonghwa-hyung!” 

Seonghwa’s hands played with the threads of his blanket.

Everything had come back to him as San explained, haltingly, and almost too quietly to be heard. The book he had been reading before San came in to take off his bandages lay paralysed on the table next to him.

Something inside Seonghwa was twisting around uncomfortably, a feeling of being stuck midway in a battle, ducking until the crossfire let up. He had a decision to make. The San in his mind held a steaming gun and had wild eyes, but the San in front of him was vulnerable, shaking under the pressure of sobs being held back.

Seonghwa’s eyes drifted down to his wound. A scar graced his torso, a constant presence to remind him how he came by it. Part of him yearned for justice and needed to see the end of the demonic San of his imagination. But he could see how fragile this had made the younger boy and knew any turmoil he felt over this must be kept in, neatly packed away somewhere to stay untouched and unspoken so that Seonghwa could forget about it and put an end to San’s self-inflicted suffering.

“San, look at me.” San acted as if he wasn’t already peeking at him from the corner of his eye and shuffled his position to face his patient fully. “I forgive you,” Seonghwa said. “I know you meant no harm— the real you. And I know you would do anything to take back that bullet. I’m going to be fine, see? Already scarring over. Let’s put it behind us.”

San released a shaky breath. Seonghwa had truly risen above his circumstances to offer San this peace of mind. “Never talk about it again?” San whispered, wiping the tears off his face.

Seonghwa nodded and beckoned the boy in for a hug. San whimpered a thank you and curled up in his arms. Seonghwa’s cheek rested on the green hair and he kept the grimace off his face as San’s hiccups distressed his fresh scar.

If that’s what it took to ease the atmosphere, he would do it a hundred times.

...

Finally docked in the port of the nearest settled and neutral island all eight officers departed excitedly for their night on the town. Everyone was in a good mood and ready for an enjoyable time.

Wooyoung had to admit he was truly happy. His doubts at the beginning of his time on the ATEEZ had not been unfounded, and the voyage had not been without its difficult moments but what he had gained out of it was more special than anything he had ever had in his life. What he had on Si-Hyuk’s ship was never really camaraderie but a shared fear and a loose bond formed around desires to make it to the next meal if it ever came. He wondered distantly if those little boys would open up onboard the ATEEZ as well, or if they were beyond saving.

“Five silver pieces says you can’t lift me with your neck!” Jongho’s challenge to San shook Wooyoung out of his reverie. San looked appalled. “No way I’m taking that up! I need this for the rum!”

“Five pieces says you can’t lift me with your neck!” Wooyoung spoke up, turning the bet around on Jongho who simply laughed and held his hand in front of the pair, halting them.

“Watch this!” He announced confidently before leaning down behind Wooyoung, grabbing him from the backs of his legs and lifting him up with his neck onto his shoulders. “No!” Wooyoung protested, throwing his head back in despair as the hyungs all laughed at him.

Five silver pieces short was still enough for the booze Wooyoung wanted to order, and soon all eight of them were seated around a table in a tavern enjoying their drinks and conversation.

“How about a game?” Yunho suggested.

“Oh! Let’s play the animal ga—”

“Not the animal game,” Yeosang cut Mingi off with a death glare. “Your giraffe will get us kicked out of this pub.”

Yunho observed Mingi’s pout and made another suggestion. “How about the drawing guessing game?”

“But we don’t have any parchment,” Jongho pointed out before offering his own idea. “We could do an acrostic game.” The company oohed and ahhed at the suggestion before agreeing on it and beginning a wild competition. By the end of the night nearly all of them were tipsy and several sported the red foreheads that resulted from finger flicking punishment for losing.

There was still work to be done the next day so the older four members dragged themselves out of their beds in the morning and went back into town. Yeosang shook a sluggish Wooyoung awake just before noon and brought him along with them to do some bartering in the market.

Next over from the stall they were at, a group of men had caught Mingi’s attention and seemed to be having a conversation with him. “What’s that all about?” Wooyoung grabbed Yeosang’s sleeve and pulled on it until he got an answer. “Just locals looking for work. If they’re competent, we’ll probably take them. We lost those men who deserted in the doldrums, remember.”

Hongjoong joined the conversation with Mingi, briefly explaining the course of their expedition. “We understand the risks, but we’d like to be hired regardless,” the spokesman of the hopeful workers responded. He had an almost square jaw, intense eyebrows, and short hair. “I’ve got a dozen men here, all experienced on the water. My name is Seunghyun.”

Hongjoong scanned him up and down before offering his hand, which was taken. Seunghyun bowed while they shook hands, turning and relating the news to his followers gathered behind him. “You’ll be split up according to our needs, but we’ll take you on,” Hongjoong concluded before gathering his purchases and returning to the ship.

“Ready?” Yeosang had to wave his hand in front of Wooyoung’s face to capture his attention again.

“Oh? Yes. Have we got everything?” Wooyoung stopped eavesdropping to help Yeosang carry the supplies back to the ATEEZ. The walk back was quiet, but Yeosang could tell Wooyoung was deep in thought about something. “What is it?” He finally sighed.

“Those men...” Wooyoung lowered his voice almost to a whisper, leaning in to share his suspicion. “They seem quite nervous about something.”

Yeosang looked back over his shoulder, observing the new recruits as they followed them to their frigate. He nodded almost imperceptibly to Wooyoung. “You’re right. Maybe it’s just paranoia. The Eastern Sea is dangerous, but they sounded desperate for employment.”

Wooyoung didn’t answer but the air was still thin around them. “I’m sure Captain picked up on it too. Nothing to worry about.” Yeosang sounded as if he had convinced himself, but both knew better at this point.

Once the ship was careened and back in top shape, she set sail for the island with the X marked on it, which was slightly southeast and only a few days’ journey away. All the sailors were glad to be at sea again, having had trouble adjusting to their land legs. The winds were on their side and soon half of the journey had passed without incident. The new hands hadn’t caused any issues but were withdrawn from the rest of the crew in a way that Hongjoong didn’t appreciate.

The Captain was on the watch before sunrise when a figure approached the quarterdeck and kept walking in the direction of the Captain’s quarters until Hongjoong called him out. He turned abruptly, face coming into view in the soft lamplight. It was Seunghyun.

“Can I help you with something?” Captain asked the man.

“No, sir, just answering the call of nature.”

Hongjoong wasn’t buying it for a second. He could see the handle of a weapon peeking out. “You need to bring your knife to relieve yourself?”

Hongjoong’s flesh was crawling at the complete lack of a change in expression as he showed him two empty hands. Unflinching, Hongjoong reached straight into the man’s pocket and pulled out his knife. “I don’t like liars, Seunghyun.”

“All due respect, Captain,” Seunghyun whispered. “But I never said anything.” Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed at the implication. “That had better not be a challenge.”

Seunghyun raised his head slightly, an air of quiet confidence emanating from him. “It is.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Hongjoong scoffed but Seunghyun ignored it. 

“A duel. Not to the death. Just for fun.” They stared at each other for a moment longer before Hongjoong crossed his arms. “You’re very eager to be humiliated in front of your friends.” 

Seunghyun shrugged with a “We’ll see” and walked away casually.

“Don’t let me catch you on my quarterdeck again!” Hongjoong pursed his lips discreetly as he returned to the wheel. This wasn’t going to end well.

...

Seunghyun didn’t let Hongjoong forget about their nightly agreement and, as soon as it was sunrise, looked directly at him and drew his sword. Not even the officers had any idea what was happening when Hongjoong walked down calmly to the main deck and drew his own sword.

Jongho threw down the rope he was holding and rushed to intervene but stopped in his tracks at the Captain’s raised hand. “It’s my fight, Jongho.” His eyes stayed on his opponent and suddenly they clashed blades.

A gasp swept through the gathering crowd and a ring formed around the two contenders. They were acknowledging an unspoken challenge between their crossed swords, neither one backing down.

“What is—” Mingi pushed past some fascinated riggers to see what was happening. “Captain!” 

Yunho held Mingi back. “Let him take care of it,” he cautioned.

Hongjoong broke the standoff and swept his weapon at Seunghyun’s neck. Seunghyun ducked and returned a blow that was evaded.

Spinning around with masterful footwork, Hongjoong had the challenger pinned and disarmed in a matter of minutes. “Well, that didn’t last very long, did it?” He growled, inches from Seunghyun’s face. 

Embarrassment bloomed in the defeated sailor but again his expression was hardened and unchanged. “I see that it hasn’t. Well done, Captain.”

Hongjoong let him up but didn’t accept his handshake, turning his back and returning to the helm, sword back in its sheath. The onlookers gaped at the swiftness of the battle before obeying Mingi’s call of “Back to work!”

Not five minutes had passed when Yunho yelled from the crow’s nest. “Sail ho!” Instead of staying at his station as usual, the master rigger rushed down the webs of rope and ran to the bow of the ship with his telescope. “Sir, the ship looks completely devastated...” There was a sail, but it was tattered and useless.

A sense of macabre hung about it as it loomed in the distance, creeping close enough for everyone to see. “I don’t like the direction it’s heading,” Hongjoong whispered.

Still Wooyoung heard him and scrutinised the mysterious ship’s path. He understood his captain’s misgivings. The weather beaten bow of the frigate was pointed straight at them.

“C-Captain?” Yunho called out from the bow. The deck of the approaching ship was completely empty. “No one’s onboard...” 

Jongho frowned from his spot at the rail. “No one’s onboard, or everyone’s hiding.” He shook his head at the others. “I don’t like it.”

Jongho was voicing what everyone else could feel in their gut. Something had happened here, and the ATEEZ was about to encounter it with no context. There was a hushed drone of men discussing the sighting with each other.

Hongjoong checked the contents of his gun and, deciding it was fit enough to proceed, called the officers to him. “Jongho, Yunho and Mingi with me. We’re going to board and investigate. I want the rest of you to keep a close eye on the horizon and our new friends. Be watchful.”

With that, he and his newly formed team prepared to board the swiftly approaching vessel. Wooyoung did as he was told, and stood at attention on the quarterdeck, ignoring the stirring in his stomach. “Bad feeling?” Yeosang whispered from behind him. 

“I get them all the time,” Wooyoung rationalised. “Nothing to worry about.” He echoed Yeosang’s own words from before, a jab that didn’t escape the older officer.

“Captain!” A familiar voice arrived from the main deck. Hongjoong stopped in his tracks, eyes pressed shut in quiet annoyance. He turned to face Seunghyun who was approaching.

Mingi stepped between the two, trying to use his height to intimidate. “The Captain didn’t give you permission to come to the quarterdeck—”

“I recognise the ship,” Seunghyun cut him off, ignoring his presence entirely and locking eyes with Hongjoong. “Let me come, I might be of some use.”

Only the noise of wood and water punctuated the silence. “Very well.”

“Captain!” Yunho exclaimed.

“It’s a chance to redeem himself,” Hongjoong explained briefly before signaling to have the boards ready at the side rail. The rest of his team followed without further protest and crossed the boards to the mysterious ship.

Immediately an air of death penetrated the surroundings. Each creak of the vessel’s frame sent a shiver down Mingi’s spine as he followed the company, bringing up the rear. Hongjoong kept Seunghyun talking about the make and territory of the foreign ship as they crossed onto unfamiliar territory, getting everything he could about its purpose in the Eastern Sea out of the man.

“What business did he have challenging Captain to a duel anyway?” Jongho’s voice was just loud enough for Yunho to hear and answer, “My guess is he made a mistake of some kind and thought he could get his honour back by beating him.” An amused smirk etched onto his face. “Obviously that didn’t work out.” The two muffled their snickers as the group made their way into the hold.

“Split up,” Hongjoong ordered, receiving nods from all parties. It was Seunghyun in the gun deck who found a heap of bodies rotting in bilge water and ran to fetch Hongjoong.

“Dead bodies again...” the Captain grimaced at the putrefying smell. He leaned forward to observe closely, reaching out a hand and checking the elasticity of what was left of the skin.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” Mingi warned, hurrying in with Jongho and Yunho, obviously put out at not being summoned.

“They died of some kind of sickness.” It dawned on Hongjoong suddenly and he took a step back.

“Why weren’t they flying a yellow jack?” Mingi snapped, accusing eyes on Seunghyun.

“How should I know? It’s not my ship!”

“You said you’d seen it before. Where?” Jongho joined in.

“It just looks like some of the other ones I see in this area, I don’t have anything more specific, sir,” Seunghyun’s tone almost slipped into disrespect but he caught himself. Mingi averted his gaze, trying to cool off.

“You three find anything else of worth on this skeleton of a ship?” Hongjoong cleared the tension. 

Yunho shook his head. “It’s just the bare bones. I think they’ve been dead and adrift for some time.”

That seemed correct judging by the state of the bodies as well and Hongjoong acknowledged it before leading the group above deck.

The officers met briefly on the quarterdeck to hear the report, struggled to keep their food down, and agreed unanimously to move on.

Wooyoung still couldn’t shake the feeling that had rooted itself in his mind again. Nothing to worry about, he repeated to himself while monitoring the soundless retreat of the ghost ship, once again the watchdog. Nothing to worry about.

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx

A/N: Should’ve renamed this chap “nothing to worry about” lol. It appeared no fewer than 5 times. Easing into the action a bit but keep anticipating, things will pick up. I should preface it with a warning that things are getting more intense and there will be more and more potentially disturbing content. Thanks as always for the support and please reblog so others can enjoy it too xoxo

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#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateeztreasures #atzeditors #ateez au #ateez pirate!au #ateez pirate au #ateez pirate concept #pirate concept #pirates #pirate au #ateez imagines #atiny #ateez author #ateez writing #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez series #kpop fanfic #zero to one #treasure series #tokki writes #ch.1 the ghost ship

[blackenedinsomnia]

The Runaway Circus

Hey, it’s me again. I’ve just finished this chapter for this Victorian/Mystical Kirimina AU. As always I've had a delight writing this I hope you all enjoy! 

Most of my inspiration came from @skeletordraws picture: http://skeletordraws.tumblr.com/post/177491877978/its-timmmeeee-its-kirimina-appreciation-day

And some inspiration from my story that I’ve been writing as well. 

________________________________________________________________

Waves crashed on the murky docks, orange lanterns illuminated the streets as the sun arose from the clouds. Kirishima laid there on his bed, the white creased sheets slung over his body. His head buried in his left pillow, saliva patches covering the other pillow. The wind howled and barrelled through the cracked and broken window, sending the thin curtains flapping frantically. His floor covered with bottles of rum and ale, whistled as wind skipped on the neck of the bottle.

A foghorn had blasted through the harbour, knocking over bottles; Kirishima leapt up out of his bed. His mind ringing and his senses rattling around like a broken toy. Falling out of his bed he slowly shuffled his way to his bathroom and clicked on the light.

Using the sink he hoisted himself onto his legs he took a thorough look at his groggy appearance. His white shirt he was wearing was drenched in grease, oil and vomit. His eyes were black rimmed and a five o’clock was ever present. “What the hell happened last night?” he whispered as the overhead light flickered on and off. “Well at least I have today off” he smiled with a hint of regret from the previous night.

With a change of clothing, he sat down on the chair; it creaking with his weight. He sat there as his clock chimed to the eighth hour of the morning, his teeth biting into the stale bread that was his breakfast with a hard crunch. He unravelled the newspaper and started to read the headlines. They ranged from a masked vigilant hanging people in the streets from the streetlamps, the latest football scores or even advertisements for a travelling circus.

His morning routine was interrupted by a knock on his apartment door. “Come in, the lock is already broken anyway” Kirishima yelled. The door slowly creaked open and a sluggish, rough looking man came walking inside. He had a black waistcoat and a white shirt on, with dark navy trousers and mucky Oxfords.

“So, you got home all right then?” TetsuTetsu exclaimed

“Of course, I did, I’ve been through worse” he chomped down on the last bit of his morning meal. “So, what brings you to my humble abode” he gestured his hands stretching out around his apartment.

“Well it’s your free day you up to anything?” he asked pulling the other chair out and slipping into it.

“You assumed I would be?” he chuckled, folding his paper up and slapping it on the table.

“Well I was thinking of going to the Circus later on?” he asked taking out a pocket knife and orange from his trouser pocket and started to peel it.

Kirishima sat there for a moment and rubbed his beard “It does seem to pique my interest, but I think I’ll need another thing….”

“They’ll have beer there!” TetsuTetsu squelched eating his orange slices.

“Okay I’m sold, when is the event taking place?” Kirishima grinned

“The Circus will be in town at seven at night and then the main event will be starting at ten.” TetsuTetsu lifted himself out of his chair. “So, you’ll have some time to kill my friend,” he said throwing Kirishima another orange out of his pocket. “I’ll meet you outside of the Circus’s entrance, don’t be late” he yelled walking toward Kirishima’s apartment door.

“See you there buddy!” he cheered back.

Time passed throughout the day, and the night was finally upon Kirishima; nine o’clock. He walked down the cobbled street in brown oxfords, almost as similar as TetsuTetsu. With that, he wore maroon tartan trousers with a white shirt accompanied with a red tie.

The centre of the street was buzzing with stores selling unique and exotic foods. Whale burger, frog legs, toffee apples, all the vendors were yelling for their time in the spotlight.

The echo’s of flutes, trumpets and drums came from the glowing orange brilliance of the Circus.

Kirishima got closer to the entrance of the venue and stood there in awe. Acrobats spun sparkling rings interchanging between their arms to their legs, to their heads to their hips. Muscular me stood on a podium flexing their muscles with pride, as flamboyant dances handed out alcohol and food to all the patrons in the venue.

“Well, well I thought I was going to be the one that was late!” TetsuTetsu yelled

“Thought I would surprise you” he laughed back, hugging his best friend.

“Now we have an hour to spare what do you want to do?” TetsuTetsu said pulling in his friend closer, moving closer into the mouth of the circus.

“How about a drink? Some food?” Kirishima asked pushing him away “Do you think we have time for both?” he smiled

“Maybe…” TetsuTetsu grinned. Half an hour had passed, and they were separated. Kirishima was lost in a crowd of colours and entertainers. His head was a little dazed from the drinks he had beforehand.

“You look lost mister, you need some help?” a female voice whispered in his ear. A scent of strawberries wafted passed him as the women spun around him, in an elegant and seductive dance. The woman had a veil covering her hair and her mouth. She was wearing dancers dress, ribbons were attached to her wrists and her waist; they seemed to move in unison with her dancing.

“Yeah I was looking for where the event is?” his eyes fixated on this woman.

“If you just keep walking straight, you’ll find the tent honey…” she stopped talking and dancing all together. “Oh, you like what you see mister?” she grabbed his tie and pulled him in closer to her “Say you don’t look too shabby yourself” Kirishima blushed almost redder than his hair. “Well you know where I will be…” she whispered

“Wait what’s your name?” he stuttered as she gently pushed him away.

“My name is the “Pink Succubus, I’ll see you at the show” she giggled blowing a pink cloud of smoke onto Kirishima’s face. He wafted away the smoke from his face, and she was gone.

“What a weird woman” he whispered under his breath walking toward the tent.

He clambered his way to the tent, people were funnelled in through the two spinning gates as workers handed out tickets. “Hey, Kirishima!” TetsuTetsu yelled, one hand in the air and the other a stein of beer; it’s head overflowing, spilling onto the ground.

“Ah, thank god…” he exhaled meeting up with his friend in the line, his cut in was met with drunken heckling and disgruntled looks. “I thought I would get lost here,” he said supporting his weight on his shoulder.

“Hey buddy you don’t look too great, booze not going down too well?” TetsuTetsu

“No TetsuTetsu, a woman with gorgeous pink skin and she smelled like strawberries and she was dressed like this dancer.” Kirishima stopped with TetsuTetsu putting his hand over his mouth.

“It’s the booze” he groaned.

They finally entered the red and white striped tent; the tension was rising as well as the excitement. Four rows of red leather chairs wrapped around the stadium. The arena’s ground was covered in sand and a red podium sat there illuminated in a spotlight, another span of light came from where the entertainers would enter the stage from. The two men sat down in their seats, trying to get comfy.

The light in the middle had dimmed and a voice boomed over the speakers attached to the support beams. “Ladies and Gentlemen, what you’re ‘bout to see will fill your mind with spectacle and wonder!” the man boomed; smoke filling the arena’s centre. “Prepare to feast your eyes on air defying acrobatics, wondrous creatures and daring devils! I welcome you!” a flash of light filled the centre blinding the audience as the smoke shot up into the air forming into a dragon-like shape.

The dragon hung from the roof of the tent, it’s talons gripping into the support beams, the wood cracking, splinters falling from it. An ear-piercing roar, its eyes and the open mouth glowed a malice red., shook the tent to its core.  The dragon released its grip and crashed down into the floor a cascading wave of wind and dissipated away.

There stood a muscular man in a red jacket, under that was a cream waistcoat and white shirt. Black trousers and a black top hat also accompanied the outfit. He had jet black hair with a rugged face with a scraggly beard. He wore a devious smile which looked like an alligator’ and a black eyepatch covered his right eye.

“To your night of Hell!” he cackled fire erupting from the entrance. Dancers ran out onto the performance grounds and started to get into position. A marching band followed soon after playing an intense tune, firing up the crowd. Kirishima was fired up, he had never felt like this for years; a burning passion was awoken.

The performance had finished a couple of minutes, it felt like a flash and bang of pure ecstasy. Trapeze artists followed next, then fire breathers and then it happened. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you have a wonderful time, I know I have” he chuckled, his grin still sharp as a knife.

“Here is a lil’ demon I found a while back that was just a paper on the streets.” Smoke started to slowly crawl its way towards the stage. “A sublime, delicious, supple young thang; that’ll leave you begging for more” a black silhouette emerged from the smoke. Kirishima’s eyes opened, and the woman waltzed out.

Her face was still covered by a black and red kabuki mask. Two horns extended from the mask and it had a devious grin; it is bearing its teeth. She wore a full black dress; red dancing shoes and red arm high gloves finished the dress. “I introduce to you, The Pink Succubus!” the ring leader yelled.

Her feet were dragging along the sand, her thighs moving side-to-side. Her body was like a well-oiled machine as she found her rhythm. She was a natural, like a bird taking flight she glided through the stage, kicking up sand with her toes; exaggerating her movements even more.

The smoke started to form into a stringy wisp-like creature and started to weave in and around her body adding to the performance. She came closer and closer to Kirishima’s side, still dumbfounded by her beauty.

Her tracks were halted by his flamboyant red hair. She paused for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Her body now shrouded in smoke, she studied him; staring at her. She slightly removed her mask, her amber iris pierced him. Kirishima started to sweat, his gaze fixated on her visible eye.

His reaction making her chuckle, placing the mask back on her face the smoke enveloped her entirely. Smoke moved back into the middle and started to fill the room again. Kirishima frantically scanned the area for the woman, she couldn’t be seen.

The music started to pick-up and rise in intensity. Suddenly out of the smoke two big, beady, orange eyes with black slits for pupils; stared back at the crowd. A thunderous roar blew the smoke away, stood in the middle of the stage was a wondrous creature. A head of a lion, the wings of a bat and the tail of a scorpion. The pink girl sat on top of the creature stroking its mane.

“Hiya!” she yelled cracking the reigns on the creature, its wing spanned and flapped majestically; sending clouds of sand scattering everywhere around the stage. Kirishima covered his eyes as he watched the beast fly up into the air. They reached the top of the tent at their top of a loop. The girl let go of the rains and blew a kiss with both of her hands. Suddenly with a snap of her fingers, they dissipated into pink rose petals.

The crowd cheered and applauded, some even tried to grab the petals. Kirishima was still stunned, he looked at his trousers petals covered them as well as the floor. Brushing the petals off, he noticed a piece of purple card on his leg. He turned it over and read it. “Come and find me” signed off with a heart. Kirishima looked to his right and saw his friend snoozing in his chair.

“Man, even with all that noise he didn’t wake up, he must really like sleeping” Kirishima joked to himself. And with that, he got up his seat and went for the backstage area.

#Kirishima Eijirou #mina ashido #fanfic #au #victorian #mystical

[hiraeth-doux]

A Road Paved In Gold (4/?)

Summary: In Steve’s memory, the seconds, and minutes, and hours of that day blurred into one endless moment of aching uncertainty and bone-chilling fear, but if his calculations were correct, his watch stopped ticking at the exact moment when his plane had gone up in flames.

Steve Trevor was never meant to die in the sky above Belgium for the reasons much bigger than he could ever imagine. Therefore, he didn’t. However, surviving came with a price he didn’t ask for. The price that Diana had to pay, as well.

A/N: Oh look, it’s only been 2 weeks. I’m going to try to keep the updates regular. This part is a bit long, but I hope it’s not something you would mind :) Thank you so much for your love, I appreciate it beyond words! 

AO3 |  Fanfiction.net

“You’re a moron, Steve Trevor.” There was the kind of exasperation in Etta’s voice that made it hard to disagree with her. He could see her oh so clearly before his mind’s eye, shaking her head and maybe rolling her eyes at him for good measure. God knew he couldn’t blame her.

Yeah well, what else is new? Steve thought, but somehow managed not to say it out loud.

He glanced up at the yellow light spilling from his living room window, an old receiver of a payphone squeezed between his ear and his shoulder as he shivered in the cold that the glass walls provided zero shelter from, his senses so on edge he could almost hear the wind chase the dust along the pavement outside the tiny booth. The fact that this phone was even working when most of the things in this county didn’t was a miracle in and of itself.

A shadow moved behind the curtains, and Steve’s stomach twisted into a knot, his gaze glued to the slight sway of fabric. It was so damn easy to imagine Diana move about his scantily furnished place, curious and maybe just as restless as he was. Which made him wish he’d kept it cleaner. Which made him scold himself mentally – for caring and because it wasn’t like it actually mattered in the present circumstances.

“Have you or have you not spoken with her?” He asked again, trying not to dwell how oddly comforting it was to hear Etta’s voice again, a little relieved by the familiarity of it, a little ashamed of not talking to her more often. Of not talking to her, period.

She huffed, and Steve could hear her move around her apartment – back in London, a few hundred miles and a whole lifetime away from where he was. “I have not, but it’s what you should be doing. Instead of calling me at… half past midnight.”

Steve winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late--”

“It’s not what I meant, Steve.” There was a long pause on the line, and after a few seconds, he thought they must have been disconnected, wondering if he should dial the number again or leave her alone. Until she spoke again. “You need to go there and fix whatever happened between the two of you. God knows you’ve been pining for her long enough.”

Steve let out a sharp exhale and rubbed his eyes. “I haven’t been…” He trailed off, too tired to argue.

“Is she really there?”

Unless I made her up. “I think so.”

“Are you okay?” Etta asked in a different voice, and the simple concern all but snapped him in half.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “I better let you sleep. Thanks, Etta.”

“Steve?” She said before he had a chance to hang up. “Take care.”

He hadn’t seen her in years, refused her offer to help him when the new war started and, technically, he needed someone on the sidelines to help him from the outside. Between the risk of being exposed and a genuine affection toward Etta, it was easier to cut the ties, tell her to stay as far away from this mess as she could. So much easier that way.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Diana said when he stepped through the door some pacing and a million half-formed thoughts and questions later, his insides coiling.

“This is my home,” Steve responded evenly as he shrugged out of his jacket that proved being almost entirely useless against the German winters and hung it on the peg by the door, ignoring how dry his throat got in a fracture of a second.

Diana looked around, and in that moment, Steve saw the place through her eyes – without the old books and photographs filling his apartment in London. His grandmother’s clock wasn’t sitting on the mantelpiece, and a knitted quilt wasn’t draped over the back of the couch, and if it wasn’t for some spare clothes that he kept in the drawers in the bedroom and several pieces of cutlery in the kitchen, no one would ever guess that anyone lived here at all.

She didn’t turn to him when she spoke, “No, it’s not.”

---

It was the light that awoke Steve a few hours later, a faint strip underneath the bedroom door that didn’t really bother him, per se, but that was impossible to ignore. All those years of living on his own made him too aware of another person’s presence this close to him.

Earlier, it was somehow decided to postpone the inevitable conversation till the morning, on account of how the day was long as hell. However, Diana refused his offer to take his bed, claiming that the couch – old and lumpy and decidedly uncomfortable – would be more than enough for her, thank you very much. He insisted because she was the guest. When he said that, she nearly flinched like he’d struck her, making Steve wish that he hadn’t opened his mouth at all.

He didn’t have it in him to argue after that, the mere idea of being separated from her by only a door was enough to leave him jittery, twisting and turning in the bed that suddenly got too big and too cold and too hard and—

Steve let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes, his head pounding from exhaustion and a million things that he couldn’t stop thinking about. He kicked away the thin blanket that was of little to no help against the drafts snaking in through the cracks in the window frames and climbed out of the bed, the floor freezing under his bare feet. It felt odd to not be at ease here. Diana was right, this was not his home. Yet, it still was the only place where he didn’t need to pretend to be someone else, and these days it counted for something.  

Steve’s hand paused on the door knob, his heart tripping over itself momentarily. Maybe she just forgot to turn the lights off…

Diana was sitting by his desk in the near the window, very much awake. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye when he stepped out of the bedroom and looked up, and for a long moment, they simply stared at one another across the space that was miles and decades and thousands of words they never got to say.

Her hair was down and falling over her shoulders in heavy waves, the heavy coat that was hiding her armour before draped over the back of the armchair in the corner, and even though the sleepwear Steve offered to her was left untouched on the armrest of the couch – something that he was both grateful for and regretful about - she still looked soft around the edges, a little tired, and so much like what he used to wake up to every morning that it all but left him breathless.

Steve’s hands curled into fists at his sides, fingers itching to touch her, run through that impossible mane of hers, feel her again. He felt his cheeks grow hot and dropped his gaze, grateful for the dimness of the reading lamp and the ten feet between them.

Some things never changed.

It didn’t come as a surprise that her presence somehow hurt even more than her absence, the dull throb somewhere deep inside him a familiar feeling he was way too accustomed to for his liking.

He cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot, antsy and on edge, too tired to focus properly on anything, too wired to sleep. Maybe this was why she was up as well.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

Diana shook her head and looked down at the papers strewn over the desk before her – their earlier haul. “Couldn’t sleep,” she responded softly as though there was someone else she might have disturbed. “So I thought I would….” She trailed off with an uncertain half-shrug. “To be honest, I have no idea what I’m looking at here.”

It was late, and his eyes felt full of sand and his head buzzed in that overly-exhausted way that he knew he was going to pay for later.

He should have turned around and gone back to bed right there and then. (He should have found her another place to stay, period.) Instead, Steve ran his hand over his hair, either smoothing it down or ruffling it even more, and walked over to the desk, mindful of Diana’s shield propped against one of the chairs and her overcoat draped over the back of it, trying hard not to look directly at her.

Like he could get blind if he stared for too long.

Like she was the sun.

Steve reached for another chair to pull it to the desk, but then decided to perch on the couch armrest instead, leaning forward to study the map spread before her, ignoring the encrypted transcripts for now. They might require some proper brain power he didn’t have.

This time around, he had a rule – not thinking about any this at night. Trapped in the never-ending nightmare had a toll on him as it was, the war wearing him thin. Losing the sleep over something he had no control over was impractical at best, and downright stupid at worst. The demons haunting him were no less present when he was awake regardless.

And yet here he was, breaking the rule that saved him from madness and desperation more times than he could count. All it took was for Diana to make an appearance in his life again and turn it upside down like he had no say in it whatsoever.

Not that he ever harboured any illusion that he had.

“It’s a maneuver map. Russian. Supplied by the German intel, I believe,” Steve explained, finally taking a proper look at what they managed to escape with. “You know, how they plan to move their troops and��” Right, a warrior.  “You probably know all about those things.”

Diana’s finger traced one of the lines, marking the position of the borders of the front. “We do it differently,” she offered if a little absently, and he nodded, uncertain if any response was required. Which made him wonder where she was all this time. Which made him wonder, period.

“Yeah, so…” He started again, pointedly keeping his eyes on the map.

He explained to her that with the direction the war was heading, his main job at this point was finding information on the offence planned by the Germans, and clearing the civilians, particularly those doomed to end up in concentration camps, out of the way. Half the time they didn’t believe him, sometimes they thought it was a setup, mistrusting of anything by now, too tired to carry on the fight. But there were lives that he saved, and they really and truly counted.

Unofficially, this was what he had been doing these past four years.

Officially, he was supplying the British with scrap of information he could get his hands on, much like the first time around.

Except he never flew a plane again.

“Concentration camps?” She echoed when he finished, confused.

Not now.

There was a lot about his kind that Steve Trevor wasn’t proud of, slavery and discrimination being high up on that list, but the camps were undoubtedly the most inhuman and inhumane thing that happened in this world, and to say that he was ashamed to bring it up with someone who used to believe in the goodness of all people was a monumental understatement. At times he couldn’t help but think that they didn’t deserve to be helped by someone like her after all.

“I’ll—I’ll explain later.”  

She didn’t press, but her expression remained determined. “Surely there is more that can be done,” Diana frowned, studying him pensively.

He rubbed his eyes, feeling the weight of the day press down on him. No, not the day. The past four years that drained him to the core. “I’m only one man,” he said, his voice weary. Which wasn’t entirely correct, per se. However, his commanding officer didn’t know even half of it, deeming Steve as nothing but a spy, and thus eliminating any support in anything else that he tried to achieve.

“Not anymore.”

“Why are you doing this?” He asked quietly, meeting her gaze for the first time. “This is not your battle. You don’t owe us anything.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Because I can help. There’s always a choice, right? To do something or to do nothing, it’s what you said.” Diana repeated his own words to him, the answer he’d long forgotten about. “I can do something.”

At last, he nodded. Then turned back to the map. “This is a new one because this area here is still marked as ours.”

“Here?” She followed the line he was pointing at, her fingers brushing briefly against his, and Steve jerked his hand away like he got burned – something that surely didn’t escape Diana’s attention. She drew her own hand back as well and stared straight ahead. “Do you really hate me this much?”

The question felt like a sucker-punch, knocking all wind out of Steve, making his throat close up, the air between them thick and heavy.

“You’re hurt,” he said all of a sudden.  

“What?”

Steve’s gaze fixed on a long cut on the outside her arm, running from the wrist and halfway to her elbow, red and raw, no longer bleeding but looking awfully painful nonetheless, his brows furrowed. “How did that happen?”

Diana turned her arm to look at it. “I… I don’t know. Must be the glass.”

“I’ll get something to clean it up,” he muttered, getting up, somewhat grateful for an excuse to change the subject. With the way this conversation was going, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get to the end of it.

She shook her head dismissively. “It will heal.”

“It can get infected--”

“Steve.”

As if not hearing her, he crossed the room, which required no more than two steps to get to the kitchen where he kept his first-aid kit – a military bag with bare necessities, at this point. Some gauzes and dressing pads, a strong-smelling antiseptic that burned as hell when it came in contact with the skin and a handful of other things. He couldn’t remember the last time he needed to use anything more than a bandage. Maybe he needed to restock it properly, in the light of recent events and—

His fingers clutched the bag as he tried hard not to feel this… this odd warmth in his chest. The ice breaking, his armour cracking, its jagged edges scraping the fabric of his soul.

She was still sitting at the desk – he might never be able to sit on this chair again without imaging her in it, watching him fumble with the zipper with the expression he couldn’t quite read. Something between endearment and exasperation and Can you please do as I ask for once? He chose not to think of any of that.

“Steve…”

“Let me…”

He lowered down on the armrest again and reached for her hand, turning her wrist gently and struggling to keep on functioning properly, although it was not the cut itself that unnerved him – on the battle field, he got to see the things he knew he’d need several lifetimes to forget. A person torn apart or turned inside out was not something easily erased from the memory. Right now, though, it dawned on him that he had never seen Diana hurt. Not anything beyond a bruise or a scratch that would disappear before his eyes.

Invincible.

Unbreakable.

A goddess.

It was like everything about this day was meant to be wrong somehow.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered when she tensed at the touch of antiseptic to her wound. “We need to… you wouldn’t want it to get infected,” he repeated, uncertain if it even mattered. Maybe she couldn’t be affected by any of that to begin with.  

Her fingers flexed a little. He could feel her eyes on him and didn’t dare look up. Diana’s skin felt smooth and soft and warm against his calloused touch, her pulse tripping ever so slightly under his fingertips, and it was pretty damn hard to pretend that he didn’t notice it.

“It will be fine,” she said softly, and he wondered if she did it just to fill the pause hanging between them.

Steve wrapped a sterile bandage around it, fighting through a strong sense of déjà vu, his mind springing back to the day on Themyscira when it was him who’d been bandaged in the healing caves underneath the castle. He remembered the scent of some oil, strong but not unpleasant, and a cool touch of an ointment that the woman whose name he never found out applied to his cuts even though she probably didn’t have to. He was a prisoner. They didn’t have to care.

“Now it will be,” he secured the bandage and pulled away from her, finding it hard to keep avoiding looking at her. Such a fool. “How did you find me?” He asked at last, unable not to.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” Diana replied after a moment of hesitation, and he couldn’t tell at once if he was disappointed or relived by her words. “I didn’t think you’d want me to. I was looking—I saw Sameer.” That would explain in, Steve thought. “He said he hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

“It’s better if they stay out of it,” Steve responded, burning with the desire to know if Sami brought him up, or if she asked about him. “All of them, they’re better off without being involved again.”

“And you?”

A wry smile flickered across his face before Steve could hold it back. “It’s not like I have much else to do.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped herself and simply nodded. “Sami told me about Hitler.” Her gaze darted quickly toward the lasso. “I came looking for answers.”

And just like that Steve remembered that Hitler was, in fact, expected to be at the mansion this week, expect his plans changed the last moment, which, ironically, played out in Steve’s favour – without the Fuhrer, there was less security around. The fact that they managed to get out of there alive was all thanks to the fact that Diana’s initial plan sort of failed.

“He’s not another relative of yours, is he?” Steve offered. The first joke he’d allowed himself, and he could have sworn her lips quirked a tiny bit.

“It crossed my mind, yes,” Diana admitted, not without a hint of amusement.

His eyebrow crept up in genuine curiosity. “Is he?” Diana shook her head, and for a moment, he felt foolish – like he was the one being insane asking that question. As if he hadn’t seen her fight an actual god. He cleared his throat. “Hitler is not Ludendorff. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Than what?”

“You thought that killing Ludendorff would change everything.” He stuffed his poor medical supplies back in the bag and zipped it shut, desperate to do something that didn’t involve looking at the woman sitting before him, aware all of sudden of the fact that he was only wearing a loose shirt and, well, underpants, feeling oh so very underdressed. “It’s different now. Many tried to come after Hitler but this war—it’s bigger than just one person. It’s politics. Japan in involved. Austria, Russia…” He trailed off with a shrug. “There are people who benefit greatly from this mess.”

“It wasn’t about Ludendorff. It was about Ares,” Diana reminded him.

Steve glanced up at her. “But it’s not now, is it?”

She shook her head. “There must be something… something that can be done to stop it.”

“There is something. Helping is something.”

It felt like a lie even coming from his own mouth, and for a moment, he almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

Maybe there was no way out. Maybe they were all doomed for extinction.

“You never answered my question,” Diana murmured when he stood up.

“I think we need to have some rest.” He met her gaze. Held it, almost daring her to ask him again.

She didn’t.

Later, when Steve was dozing off at last, sometime before dawn, he could have sworn he heard the door open and close, half-scared and half-certain that she would be gone when he woke up. However, a few hours later, when the harsh sun streaming through the uncurtained window dragged him out of uneasy slumber and he stumbled into the living room, rubbing his eyes that felt like someone scrubbed them with sandpaper, Diana was fast asleep, curled under her cloak on his old couch.

Maybe he dreamed it up, Steve thought, watching her sleep, her breathing deep and even.

Or maybe he was still dreaming.

---

The light was grey when she woke up one morning, just after dawn, to the white noise of a slight drizzle pattering against the windowsill and a palpable absence of familiar warmth next to her. She loved the rain, the soft rustling of it against the streets and rooftops, like a whisper; like the world telling her secrets that weren’t meant to be shared out loud. For all the luscious green perfecting of Themyscira, the moodiness of the weather in the man’s world fascinated her beyond words.

It was early still, the room veiled with shadows lingering in the corners. Diana rolled onto her back, blinking sleepily, her hand brushing against the cool sheets.

“Steve?” She rubbed her eyes, the fog of a dream she could no longer recall clinging to her brain like a thin film.

Another moment had passed before he appeared in the doorway, sporting a raging bedhead, his smile brighter than sunshine, soft and all hers, and Diana felt her own lips tug up at the corners in response as he crossed the cold room, walking toward her.

“Hey.” Propped on one knee, he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Sleep. It’s still early.”

Her hand curled around his wrist. “Where did you go?”

“Coffee,” he grinned. “Want some?”

She tugged him down to her with the tiniest shake of her head. “Stay with me.”

Steve pushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his smile growing so tender it hurt to look at it, and then slipped under the covers, curling around her like a shell. He let out a breath, folding Diana into a curve on his body, his bare chest warm against her back and his breath tickling her neck. Perfect fit, he would joke now and then, albeit in somewhat… different circumstances most of the time. She couldn’t agree more.

He tucked her closer to him, his lips brushing to her shoulder. “Do you miss it?” His whisper was so soft Diana almost missed it. “Your home?”

She did. More than she was willing to admit even to herself. Her whole existence was tied to Themyscira, it was in her blood and bones, maybe someplace deeper than that, even.

She kissed the inside of his bicep that her head was resting on; traced her hand along his arm, lacing their fingers together. Looked up just enough to see a line of his jaw, his face obscured by the shadows. When Steve was this close, she could feel his heartbeat, barely able to tell it apart from her own. Warm and real and solid and alive.

“Sometimes.” A pause. “But this is where I want to be,” she murmured, feeling Steve’s grip on her tighten - a little protective, a little possessive.

“Sleep,” he repeated against her temple.

And the rain kept on falling…

---

The war was ugly and brutal, and at times, Steve couldn’t help but think that mankind had lost its face completely, revealing something entirely monstrous underneath. Half the time, he felt like they was taking one step forward and two steps back, every victory leading to more damage.  

More often than not, it felt like they’d already lost.

Steve knew that they would come after him, and when a few nights later they did, he was prepared.

He were done here anyway, it was time to do something with the information he possessed. The Germans decidedly did not like to share. And they certainly had no intention to let Steve get away with it. They saw him, and he had no doubt that it took them no time to single him out among the other officers who had access to the Commander’s Office. After all, he was probably the only one who never returned.

“Come on, quiet,” he urged Diana as they climbed down the fire escape while the SS officers pounded on his door, yelling for him to open up, the precious papers tucked under his coat and the rusty metal rough against his palms.  

“Who are they, Steve?” She asked in a hushed whisper when he landed on the cobbled alley road, drawing her back until their backs were pressed against the cold brick wall.

His eyes darted up and down the alley. They would not be able to cross the city, not with the morning so near. The sky had already started to get pale-grey at the horizon, brushing against the rooftops. They would have to circle it around and hope to fly under the radar of the ever-present patrols. And after that – France.

“Some guys you don’t want to meet in the middle of the night,” Steve muttered, his eyes darting toward the opposite end of the alley as he started to run in that direction. It wouldn’t take them long to break down the door and find the fire escape, but with any luck, he and Diana had a few minutes to put as much distance between them and the Germans as they could.

Behind him, a staccato of her footsteps was the only sound in the stillness of the night.  

“But we could just…” She started, nearly bumping into him when Steve stopped at the end of the alley and peeked into the street, illuminated by a row of dim streetlights. “I could…”

Fight, he finished for her mentally.

“No,” he shook his head, glancing at her. “Better avoid this kind of attention.” He looked past her shoulder, the voices already spilling from the upper floor and into the narrow space between the old buildings. “For the time being,” he added under his breath when she opened her mouth to protest. “Let’s go.”

If they could put a few streets between them and their pursuers, it could give them a chance to form an actual plan. The night raids were a regular thing, these people clearly knew what they were doing, catching their unsuspecting victims off-guard. Unfortunately for them, Steve saw it coming. He tried hard not to think of everyone who did.

“Steve.”

In two blocks, there was a busy street, never empty even at this hour, especially with the bakeries and post offices often opening before dawn. In less than 5 minutes, the two of them could get lost in the crowd and be done with it.

Steve snapped his head up when she called his name  just in time to see two black figures rounding the corner ahead of them, massive rifles clutched in their hands, their heads turning as they scanned the streets and porches, looking closely into every nook and crevice between the buildings. There were more of them than Steve anticipated, cold sweat trickling down his spine despite the winter chill.

Shit.

“Let me…” Diana started, her hand reaching for the sword fastened behind her back, her shield already clutched in her hand, eyes darting between the alley they had left a minute ago and the two men walking fast in their direction, fading in and out of sight as they moved from one street light to another.

There was no time for another plan, really. There were too many of them.

He turned to Diana, his hand sliding around her waist. “Do you trust me?” Steve murmured and then drew her to him without waiting for an answer, his lips capturing hers, fingers curling around a handful of her cloak, holding her close. She stilled for a moment, surprised, and for a brief second, Steve was overcome with a sudden panic – mistake, mistake, mistake! – certain that he would be the first one to be tossed ten feet into the air. But then Diana leaned into him, relaxing into his touch; her hand found his cheek and slipped around to grip the hair at the nape of his neck.

The world fell away, shattering against the sheer force of Jesus Christ, finally! The German officers walked past them, their heavy boots hitting the pavement with enough force to leave dents in the cheap concrete. Through the blood rush in his ears, Steve heard a faint laughter and a low whistling meant for the two of them, but by then, it hardly mattered. She tasted of warmth and memories, and the sunny mornings on the banks of the River Thames and laughter and light, and he would walk through a thousand wars if he had to just to have this moment back, here, now, his fingers carding through Diana’s hair as her lips parted for him, deepening the kiss.

“I think they’re gone,” Steve murmured soundlessly a long while later, breathless and dizzy, leaning his forehead against her temple for a moment as his heart raced ahead and their breaths puffed out in small clouds.

“What?” Diana looked up, her gaze confused a slightly glazed over. Even in near complete darkness, he could see the colour on her cheeks, and it was pretty damn impossible not to trace her face with his fingers, brush away that unruly curl that kept falling on her forehead.

“They were looking for one man, not for a couple,” he breathed out. “They have never seen you, I don’t think so.”

Her hand dropped to his chest, his skin instantly missing the warmth of her touch. “Right.”

She drew back, stepping away from him, and looked away.

And maybe Steve saw too much into something that wasn’t actually there, but for just a moment, he could have sworn that a flicker of disappointment flashed across her features, gone before he was sure it was there at all.

He didn’t allow himself to dwell on it.

---

One nameless village after another, infrequent phone calls with his commanding officer and the rain. The world looked like it was made of grime and sadness and blood and pain, a hopeless colour that left Steve drained and weary, and a thousand years old. A few days on the road, and Steve was starting to feel like his bones were straining under the weight of the things he couldn’t fix.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Diana said from the other side of a campfire, pulling him out of his thoughts.

There were close to the Austria’s border, not more than a mile away from what used to be a village only yesterday. The air still smelled of fire and dust and everything Steve chose not to think about when they reached it even though the rain that fell the precious night dulled their intensity. Tried not to think of the life filling it before the bombs wiped the houses off the face of the earth. Diana didn’t say anything when they passed it, keeping close to the forest in case someone stayed back to loot whatever was left of it, only her expression froze, grief-stricken for what she couldn’t stop.

“You barely sleep.” Steve noted – a questions that wasn’t a question. On the other side of the dancing flames, Diana’s face was streaked with shadows, barely recognizable and entirely unreadable.

It had been a couple of weeks now – a couple of weeks of dancing around one another, pointedly not talking about what happened between them after the first war, pretending, that weird thing hanging between them – unsaid words, unasked questions, the things he wanted to know but didn’t dare ask, half-scared that she would answer, half-worried that she wouldn’t – didn’t exist. Pretending that the kiss in Berlin never happened.

It was odd enough that she hadn’t left. There was nothing in this godforsaken land for her, nothing worth fighting for. Steve kept asking himself what was it that kept him going, but the answers never came, and moving forward felt better than doing nothing at all. And so when Diana followed him, he didn’t question it. There was comfort to being around that calmed the storms raging inside him even though it hurt as hell half the time. He wondered if this was better or worse than having none of her at all, but this kind of thinking was the path that could lead him to madness.

“They never go away,” Diana said after a long pause, her voice so soft that the sound of it was almost swallowed by the crackling of the flames licking the dry twigs. “The dreams. The memories.”

Steve pushed another log into the fire, sending a burst of sparks into the chilly night air.

He looked up, wishing she would look back at him, wishing that he could read her, and somewhat grateful that he couldn’t, uncertain of what he would see. A reflection of his own life, perhaps.

“Don’t let them get you,” he muttered, staring into the flames, his voice hollow. He wanted to ask her more, get her to tell him what was it that made her push him away the way she did, take them both apart and put them together, but this time the right way, making sure that all the parts fit. Instead, he uncurled from his crouch and sat down on the trunk of the fallen tree across from Diana, only now noticing that he was shaking from the cold and adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His eyes locked with hers. “It’s what they want, but you can’t let them win.”

“How do you make them stop?” Her gaze on him was almost palpable, making Steve’s whole body prickle.

“You don’t.” He couldn’t lie to her. Never did before and wasn’t about to start now. “You become friends with them. And hope they’ll let you be.”  

Neither of them slept that night.

---

Paris was in disarray.

Under German occupation, it was a ghost of a place it used to be, and there was some cruel irony, Steve thought, to how the last time he’d been there was with Diana as well.

In his mind, the trees along Champs Elysees were in bloom and the cool air was filled with the smell of roasted chestnuts sold on every corner. (“Why would you eat this?” Diana asked when he bought a bag of scalding-hot chestnuts for them, and Steve laughed. “Just try one.”) Her hand was warm in his as they walked the narrow back streets and climbed up the Montmartre hill, all the way to the Basilica of the Sacre Coeur and their stolen kisses tasted of promises and something bigger than the world itself.

“You know, people call Paris the most romantic city on earth,” Steve noted, standing behind Diana on the balcony of the Basilica, his hands resting on the stone railing on either side of her and the wind kept throwing her hair is his face with every angry gust. Up here, it was malicious and moody, and he moved closer to shield her from it and keep her warm.

Diana snorted, her eyes scanning rows of grey houses stacked along winding streets like domino pieces. “I suppose it means that mankind doesn’t know what romantic is.” She turned to him, one eyebrow arched, her face so close that their noses touched.

Steve smirked, amused, before leaned in to kiss her. “I suppose you can show me.”

But that was then, in another lifetime, in another universe where they made promises they meant to keep and the world was a different place.

Now, the city of dreams was grey and bleak and faceless, filled with screaming and gunfire and blood. It no longer smelled of flowers, but of dust and fear and smoke. Now, he was running – must have been, his own footsteps inexplicably loud and resonating through his body, his lungs screaming for air, even though the whole world seemed to have stopped. Like in a dream, Steve thought if a little absently as his hands moved on the will of their own, pulling the trigger of the heavy rifle, the kickback from every shot pushing painfully into his shoulder, and then reloading it again and again until his fingers were numb. Like moving through water.

The plan formed along the way. After 4 years, France was suffocating under German occupation, running out of supplies and hope. However, the German army was starting to get desperate in the past months, their progress not as rapid as it was expected in the beginning, their losses greater than anticipated and the resistance of the opposing armies far more fierce than they could ever imagine. They let their guards down, Paris being their weakest post – or so Hitler referred to it in one of the letters that was never meant to end up in the hands of a spy.

If they could liberate France, the whole defence strategy of the allies would change.

And there was only one person who could truly make it happen.

He stopped, pushed in the back and to the side by someone running behind him, the blood rush in his ears muting the screams and angry yells and the crumbling of the stone walls somewhere in the distance.

Mayhem. There was no other word for it.

Steve inhaled sharply, hungrily, and turned around, his eyes scanning the crowd in panic, soldiers and civilians, two armies with only one victory ahead of them. All or nothing this time. Paris was not giving up again.

And then he saw her… The lightning snaking along Diana’s bracelets, her eyes closed for a moment as though she was calling something from deep inside her, a figure of utter stillness in the chaos that couldn’t stop moving, so bright it was almost impossible to look at her without going blind. He didn’t remember seeing her do this before, on the night when he died, but he must have, he was thinking now. He must have because the vision was familiar in the way only a memory could be, his own fingertips prickling as though the air around them was charged.

Someone fired at her, and he watched the bullet fly and then disintegrate before it was a chance to reach her, her armour reflecting the light of the faraway explosion. She was a force, infinite power, a goddess made of light, and when she snapped her eyes open, the army closing in on her flew away like a pile of leaves blown off by the wind. The aftershock of it threw Steve against the wall, knocking all air out of him. He gasped, more surprised than hurt, and grit his teeth, his hands slick with sweat gripping his rifle so tight that his knuckles went white.

He aimed and fired again, his mind blank. If they could make it through the next second-minute-hour, then maybe all of this wasn’t in vain. Maybe they still stood a chance.

If the French army was surprised by the sudden reinforcements, they didn’t seem to care, moving forward, determined and – for the first time in years – hopeful.

“Steve!”

A flash of something bright darted past him, Diana’s lasso knocking a soldier that had a barrel of his gun aimed at Steve’s head off his feet. He span around and hit the man with the stock of his rifle. Then nodded at her a silent thank you, their eyes locking momentarily.

“Diana!” He yelled, trying to be heard over the sound of gunfire and nodded his head toward the dome of the Pantheon looming ahead of them. “There!”

Almost done…

Almost…

Later, there were cheers and happy tears, and the songs Steve couldn’t recognize, their words morphing into the sound that meant happiness, and somehow, it was enough.

He knew he had to make contact with the British, make himself known and accounted for, but the night was deep and black – he’d long stopped counting the hours, and the celebrations around him were intoxicating in the way that only undiluted happiness could be. The city that spend the past 4 years suffocating under the siege could finally breathe again.

“Steve…”

He turned around to see Diana make his way toward him through the crowd, nodding absently at anyone trying to thank her but not slowing down, her eyes fixed on him. The crowd parted before her without even noticing they were doing it, and he watched her move through it in awe and relief. And then she was standing right before him, her hair wild and her chest still heaving as if she could barely catch her breath, and her streetlamps making the star in her tiara glow like it was made of gold.

And then she was smiling at him because they did it again, a little tentative, a little hopeful, her eyes glinting. And someone tried to push a bottle of something that, judging by its smell, was meant to burn straight through a person’s stomach into Steve’s hand but he was pretty caught up in being too damn happy to see her again to care.

And then her fingers were on his face like she needed to make sure that he was real, and he was breathing her in, and Jesus Christ, he missed her so bad that if he let go of her now, he would probably turn to ashes right there and then.

“Are you okay?” Steve mouthed softly.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, her nose brushing against his cheek. “Come with me.”

---

They stumbled into the room, tripping over each other’s feet and the threshold, Steve’s arms closing around Diana just in time to break their imminent fall, her breath catching, a sharp gasp against his mouth, as her hands gripped the collar of his coat.

The corridors of a small inn that opened its doors to the soldiers amidst the celebration smelled faintly of tobacco and cheap cologne, but inside the room it was all furniture polish and clean sheets and a somewhat stale air of the space that hadn’t been aired enough. He didn’t care. All he could feel, all he could think of was her, and her mouth on his, and his hands on her body, his heart hammered against the metal parts of her armour.

Steve broke the kiss, breathing hard, his chest heaving and his thumb running slow circles over her cheek.  

Diana’s fingers curled around one of his wrists, her breath warm on his skin. Her palm on his jaw, she tilted her face, finding his mouth with hers again.

“I’m sorry—sorry for having left the way I did.”

“Don’t,” he muttered, the sound of his own voice drowned in the thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat. “Diana…”

“You wouldn’t touch me,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Would hardly even look at me.”

His hands framing her face, Steve leaned his forehead against hers. “If I did, I would never want to stop.”

“Please.” She kissed him again, hungrily, desperately. He could taste fear and the salt of her tears he didn’t notice until now on her mouth, the need that resonated inside him, the missing that mirrored his own, his own hands skimming over her arms and around her body of their own accord.

Jesus, he wanted her so bad.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, pushing his jacket down his shoulders and tugging at the buttons of her shirt, Steve’s lips peppering her face with small kisses until there were no tears left, until he didn’t know where his breath ended and hers began.

His fingers slid over the leather and metal of her armour, smooth under his touch, softened by the years of wear and yet as impeccable as the first time he laid his eyes on it in 1918, the memory so clear like no time had passed then.

His jacket hit the floor, Diana’s hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, frantically and awkwardly in her haste. A low growl formed in Steve’s throat, something primal and out of control when her hands ran over his bare chest, her breathing short on his mouth, against his neck, everywhere of his skin. His focus tunneled, his attention zeroing on the almost electric zaps of desire crazing through his body, the need to feel her, be in her, nearly unbearable.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh as his fingers worked on undoing to clasps on her boots, eyes shut and chest heaving. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled him to her, her eyes black and wild with want, her mouth finding his, hands tugging at his hair, running over his shoulders.

“God, I missed you,” Steve rasped, nuzzling into her neck, her hair, a zing of pure fire shooting up and through him mixed with pure elation over being alive. Her nose bumped into his, a little playful, a little seductive. Not that he needed another nudge.

“I was scared,” Diana whispered, her fingers threading through his hair, and he could hear the unsaid words that were just as loud. Of the fear he also felt but didn’t know how to define.

And then she was inside and around him, everywhere, too much and too little and never enough, his whole universe. He fitted his mouth to hers, swallowing her whimper that morphed into a moan, a fistful of sheets bunched in his hand, his fingers moving over her back and along her thing, pressing it into his.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, dropping soft kisses along her neck when his hips snapped up, filling her to the brim, and her breath hitched audibly, her whole body clenching around him and nearly undoing him in the best way. Didn’t mean to hurt her…

“No, don’t stop.” Her eyes dropped shut as she arched into him, giving in to immense pleasure.

A few crazy collisions, and they settled into a rhythm as easy as breathing. Faster and higher, and over the edge, her hands digging into his flesh, guiding him and following him, breathless and shuddering in his arms. Perfectly here and perfectly his.

His awareness blurred, Steve’s hand slid down her side, along her abdomen. His thumb slipped between their bodies, finding the sweet spot, and she stilled beneath him, coming completely undone with a muffled cry into his shoulder, dissolving into the searing pleasure and taking him with her as a lightning of bliss tore through Steve as the universe exploded around him in myriads of colours, Diana’s name on his lips and her body wound tightly around him. Perfection.

“Don’t go,” she murmured a few long moments later, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his neck when Steve tried to shift his weight off of her.

“I’ll crush you,” he whispered back, kissing whatever skin he could reach, waiting for his breath to find itself, his head spinning and his mind empty and his body completely liquefied.

She laughed softly at that, turning to look at him, amused. “I doubt that.” Which made his grin widen because she probably had a point there. Which made him think of her pinning him down, whatever the circumstances. Which was a very nice idea, all things considered. Her fingers pushed his damp hair from his forehead, trailing along his cheek. “I missed you, too.”

---

It was like no time had passed at all, his feelings for her as strong as they’d ever been. Like not only his body got stuck in time but the rest of the world did as well. Like there could be nothing else for them, not now, and not ever.

Infinite.

Steve was sitting with his back leaning against the headboard of the bed, staring at his hands resting in his lap like they held answers to all questions in the universe when Diana walked out of the bathroom, his half-buttoned shirt hanging loosely from her frame.

(“Why would I do that?” She asked him the first time he suggested she wore a piece of his clothing instead of putting on her own garments.

“Well, it’s what people do, sometimes… after…” he squirmed, biting back a laugh.

“After they make love?” She offered helpfully, one eyebrow arched, and Steve chuckled and leaned in to kiss her on the temple.

“Yes, after they make love.”)

“Steve?”

“What am I?” He asked in a hollow voice without looking up.

Diana stepped toward the bed and climbed onto the mattress, crawling over the rumpled sheets to him; kissed him on the shoulder and rested her forehead against it when he didn’t turn to her, listening to him breathe softly. “You’re Steve Trevor,” she whispered. “You’re loyal. Compassionate. Brave. The bravest man I’ve ever met.”

When he didn’t respond, Diana shifted, moving closer to him and tossing her leg over his. For a long moment, she just sat in his lap, her hands splayed on his chest, with only a thin sheet draped over his lap between them, and the ticking of the clock on the dresser uncharacteristically loud as the world shrunk to a few feet of space around them. She cupped her palms over his cheeks, and Steve had no choice but to look at her, eyes dark and stormy. His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, his fingers pushing through her hair.

“You’re my Steve,” she whispered, tracing the lines of his face with her fingertips – down is cheek, along his jaw, over his brow.

“If you’re going to disappear again, I’d prefer you to do it sooner rather than later,” Steve murmured.

She leaned in, their faces nearly touching. Awfully close. “Do you want me to leave?”

He looped a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes searching her features. “I never wanted it. Not then, and not now.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing for you.” Her voice was quiet, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. “I didn’t think--” Her lips curved as their eyes met. “I didn’t think you would be so impossible to get out of my mind.” She paused, her smile slipping away. “I never meant to hurt you.”  

He swallowed. In the dim light of the reading lamp on the nightstand beside him, she looked luminous, almost ethereal. Steve ran his thumb over her cheekbone. “Does it not bother you?”

“Does what not bother me?”

“That you’re…” He cleared his throat and then let out a humorless laugh. “That you’re you, a daughter of Zeus, and I’m—I’m only a human, if even that.”

Her face softened. “You never were only a human, Steve Trevor,” she whispered, brushing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. “But maybe you could…” another one to the corner of his mouth, “… show me the differences…” a soft touch to his lips, “… between us. Just…” her voice dropped, “…to make sure.”

He could taste amusement mixed with simmering heat rising inside them both on her, feel her melt into him, languid and soft, sweet weight in his arms. Her breath caught when he flicked his fingers, easily undoing the two buttons that kept his shirt in place, palms sliding underneath it. Steve tightened his grip on her, rolling them both over and tucking her beneath him, capturing her giggle with a kiss.

Outside, someone was signing the French anthem, loudly and completely off-key, and when Diana’s arms snaked around his neck, he thought he would fight a million wars just so he could come home to her.

---

“Steve, what is it?”

Diana glanced at him standing by the window the next morning, the grey light of an overcast day filling the room. Her armour affixed on her body, as familiar and as comfortable as a second skin, she picked up the bracelets from where they fell on the floor the precious night but the stillness of him drew her in, her gaze lingering on his silhouette against a rectangle of light as it followed the line of his shoulders and the taught muscles of his back, his hair still tousles even though he did try to smooth it down at the sink earlier. The memory made her lips tug up at the corners and her heart ache with tenderness.  

“It’s quiet,” he responded absently, his shirt clutched in his hand, the whole of idea of dressing seemingly forgotten for the time being. (She wouldn’t mind if he only wore pants for as long as they both lived. Or nothing at all, for that matter. The man had exceptional physique.) “I almost forgot what it could be like.”

She put the bracelets down on the side of the bed and walked over across the room toward him, arms sliding around his waist from behind, his bare skin warm against the exposed parts of hers. They had the time now, she thought. A tiny bit of it, perhaps, but still.

“It’s not over,” he added softly, as though reading her mind. She could almost hear him think. He let go of the shirt he was holding, allowing it to over the back of the chair and his hands closed around hers, thumbs running slowly over his wrists. “Not yet. I’m not sure how it can ever be.”

“I’m sorry about these,” Diana murmured, brushing a kiss to his shoulder where a few red marks left by her nails stood in stark contrast against his skin, running toward his shoulder-blades and along his ribs.

Steve turned to her, glancing down his back, his confusion turning instantly to recognition. He grinned like a cat that caught a canary. “I’m not,” he informed her, looking so ridiculously smug that she would have rolled her eyes had she not been deliriously, unapologetically happy and barely able to contain it. “That was the part that I liked quite a bit, actually.”

She arched an eyebrow in response, struggling to keep a straight face. “I’ll remember that.” A pause. “Did you sleep at all?” Her voice dropped, Steve’s breathing steady and soothing against her chest, and easily the only thing she wanted to feel.

He was awake before her, fatigue hiding in the lines around his eyes, behind the veneer of the smile that greeted her, the side of his bed cold enough to imply that it had been a while, and in the brief moment between sleep and wakefulness, with her mind trapped in this odd, undefined state, she was overcome with fear. You can’t save everyone, Steve told her on that day in Belgium, before she crossed No Man’s Land, and in the light of everything that followed, she couldn’t help but hear it as, You can’t save me.

She wouldn’t ever forget that she never did.

“You know, the last time we—” Steve stopped himself with a sharp inhale. I woke up alone and you were gone.” He shook his head.

“Steve…”

He let out a long breath and turned around in the circle of her arms, his hand anchored on her side and his fingers brushing her hair back from her face. She leaned into his touch when he ran his knuckled down her cheek.

“Look--” He started.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said – not a promise but a fact.  

Steve swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I can’t ask you to stay.”

“You’re not. I can make my own decisions.” She tore her gaze away from his, her fingers tracing a faint scar just over just left collarbone. “This is new.”

He glanced down. “Things happened. It’s been a while,” he muttered

“I dreamed about you, every night, for years.” Diana let out a small laugh that came out almost rueful, slightly disbelieving. “I would wake up to a rumble of an airplane, except the sky would be empty, or to the sound of your voice calling my name.” Her thumb followed the line of his jaw. “I didn’t come looking for you but I wanted to. More than anything.”

Things happened. She didn’t want to miss any more of them.

“Well, we might need to get a thing or two out of the way,” Steve responded at last, “but we could make it work, perhaps. If you want to.”

Her face split into a smile so wide she thought it might crack in half. “If I want to?” She echoed.

A long time ago, her mother taught her that everything of value came with a price. There was pain in becoming a good warrior, loss in winning a war, letting go of some parts of yourself in growth. Whatever the price there was for being with Steve, she’d pay it a thousand times over.

He laughed – an open, infectious sound that lit her up from the inside.

When the bomb hit the building a few moments later – a parting gift from the Germans – and the force of the blast wave tore them from one another, the last thing Diana felt before the blackness closed over her was Steve’s fingers slipping from her grasp.

Not again.

To be continued....

#wonder woman #diana prince #steve trevor #wondertrev #wondertrevnet #wondertrev fic #this story will be the end of me #a road paved in gold

[ashleighxx]

Klarolinemashup Day Three

Sunday16th|TropeMashupPrompt|MythicalCreatures+CoffeeshopAU

She was deep into her favorite book, coffee machines and people chattering as background noise as she was consumed by the story yet again, and she never tired of the feeling she got when she submerged herself into a new world, lived a different life from someone else's eyes.

"Your kind are hard to come by." A deep, accented voice brought her out of her reverie.   She glanced up from her book that was sat in front of her next to her latte and saw a handsome man. He had stubble which helped emphasise his jawline a bit, short, curly, brown hair and bright blue eyes. Very handsome indeed. He exuded charm, bravado and power underneath the good looking exterior, her inner demon was itching to come out and play. Can tell how powerful he was, can tell how more powerful he could be too. Her demon smiled in delight. "And yours is fun to play with." "I'm glad you think so, maybe you can help me out with a tiny problem?" He leaned forward into her personal space, his scent of woods and whisky and age travelled to her, she nestled purred in delight. "What kind of problem?" She raised her eyebrow in question, trying to tame herself, rein her claws and teeth that itches to sink into his skin. "One that requires your unusual tactics. Come by place tomorrow," he passed her a business card with and address and number on, "we can have a chat in private if you're interested." And with that he stood up from his chair and walked out of the coffee shop. Glancing at his card she spotted his name. Klaus Mikaelson. His kind was so much fun indeed. Especially a family of Original vampires.

.

Caroline walked up the pathway leading her to a massive mansion. The architecture of the place was simply stunning and was highlighted with the off-white limestone paint. She stood in front of the huge door way, two large marble pillars at either side of her, she knocked the door quietly knowing she would be heard. "Well hello there, darling. What can I do for you?" The young, dark haired, roughing looking man greeted her. A seductive smile graced his face but his eyes were all predatory. A gust of wind drew her attention behind him where Klaus appeared. "Come in, love. Ignore my brother Kol here would you, he knows no manners." Stepping into the house she was awestruck by the beauty of the interior. No matter how long she had lived her life, she still loved seeing the beauty in the world, was still shocked by the wonderful sight of it all. Caroline turned back to see Klaus gazing at her with a pleased smiled, and he should. "So you're the succubus." Kol concluded before his features lit with glee and mischievous. "You have got to do me! Glamour me, put me in a trance!" He practically jumped around like he was a child wanting treats, a dog wanting it's chew toy. Caroline looked at Klaus to see if his brother was insane or dead serious in his request and the hybrid shrugged his shoulders a little, giving her the choice to use her power on him or not. She looked into the younger originals eyes and felt her power prickle beneath the skin, smiling seductively she touched his shoulder as she walked passed, leaving him to sand where he was, stuck until his visions were over. "Follow me."

The hybrid led her into his study slash studio. The large room was split in two, on the left was an easel and paints decorated around a table, canvases strewn across the side wall and sketch book upon sketch book stacked on a side table too. She was surprised that the art studio was as organised as an artist could be. She's seen her fair share of them over the centuries. The right side of the room had floor to ceiling height bookcases, lined up with ancients rolls of parchment and books. A large wooden desk was sat in front of the bookcases and a chair in between them, facing his art studio. In the middle of the room sat two sofas opposite each other and a table in between. Decanters of blood and alcohol inside them. "Please sit." Klaus nudged her further into the room and he walked around her to gather some crystal glasses, sitting on a sofa while he poured the brown liquid into them. "So how did you know what I am? Only a few know my kind exists, never mind actually finding us." Caroline asked him. It was true though, not many people seemed to find her species out, even witches claimed they were myth and that only vampires and werewolves existed. "Let's just say my brother Kol is on good terms with a friend of yours, Lorenzo?" She nodded, thinking of ways she's gonna kill him if this goes wrong. "Well he told us if your location as you were closer to us than him. He also said you wouldn't mind as you'll enjoy playing." Caroline took a deep gulp of her whisky as Klaus leaned back in his chair, confident that she would help. He had a tiny gleam in his eyes, excitement. Hers probably matched his, she did enjoy having fun. "What is it you wish for me to do?" "What is it you can do?" Klaus challenged her, not many that did know of her existence knew the power she held and how she weaved it. It's how they liked it. "Don't you worry about that, what do you need done?" She challenged. "There's a precious stone that I need to retrieve, but I cannot procure an invite to the house. The town of Mystic Falls are aware of vampires and their weaknesses due to a council of founding families. The whole town aren't aware but just enough to get messy when I need to do a bit of light thievery and murder you know?" He paused sipping on his drink before he carried on. "The moonstone I need back is in the mayor's house, somewhere. There is also a teeny glitch called the Salvatore brothers. Both vampires and harbouring my doppelgänger." Caroline was deep in thought planning, seeing what powers would be needed and what not. Humans are easy, they don't really question much. Vampires, though fun to play with, may be able to tell if she put them in a trance depending on how old they are.

“So why don't you just kill them all in a horrific town meeting then take the doppelgänger?”

“My brother, Elijah, made me a deal unfortunately. If I was to spare his deceitful doppelgänger who escaped my last ritual and promised not to kill anyone next time round, then he and his whore would help me by keeping an eye on her family lineage, let me know when a new doppelgänger popped up and stay out of the way.”

A few hours later, a few more drinks later, Caroline and Klaus had finally mapped out a plan and a contingency plan and a further few more ideas if anything should go wrong. But she was confident in getting the job done the first time. Klaus was doubting as he didn't know of her abilities and he also didn't want the ritual to go wrong.

Suddenly the doors barged open, Kol standing in a slight gaze, looking at her in awe with a huge smile on his face. "Oh my God. That. That was amazing! Wow. Nik, you need a go of that.." He thrummed in excitement. "Thank you." And with that he flashed back out.

"What did you make him see? When he was in that trance?" Klaus asked her, still curious of her powers. She didn't mind answering this though as she didn't know herself. "When I put people in that trance like state of mind, it shows the person their desires. It could be money, power, sex. It differs person to person. Once in that trance I could see what they are seeing, use that information to seduce them into plans and schemes or I could choose not to see their desires and still feed on the power they produce from the trance." "So that's one of your powers?" "And that's all you're getting to know of them." She pointed her finger at him sternly. . It only took Caroline an evening to do her tasks, like she told the hybrid, so she waited until the night before the full moon. She made sure he had his witch waiting for the ritual. She was in the Grille for her unsuspected target, son of the mayor, Tyler. He was so into her all evening that she didn't need to seduce him with her powers before he invited her home. Luckily enough for both of them, he passed out in bed from all the alcohol he drank. Waiting until she could hear his parents sleeping she cast her powers over them that made sure they slept, giving her plenty of time to find the moonstone in the location Tyler drunkenly slipped out. The house only had one safe. After Caroline pocketed the moonstone, she made her way over to the Salvatore boarding house. The eldest brother and the school teacher, from the notes and research Klaus told her of, sat by the fire drinking, brooding. From the power she absorbed from the Lockwood's, she felt it prickle under her skin, itching to get out. She focused her power as she let it loose and she knocked the pair out before casting them into a sleep. Just one more house to visit tonight then she had work to do tomorrow to keep them distracted. The Gilbert house, just three humans and a vampire staying in the house. Perfect. It was nearly sunrise so the occupants were already asleep, making her job so much easier. The aunt and brother were the easy targets, but the vampire had to be done first in case he woke up and spotted her. Once the three were under her spell she woke the brunette doppelgänger up, her eyes lit in fear and confusion as Caroline's eyes turn silver whispering seductive commands for her to calm down and follow, into her car and back to her hotel where Klaus waited for her.

He smiled gratefully as he took the moonstone and the Gilbert girl away, leaving her to get some much needed rest and a shower.

The next day she spent all day trapping them inside the grille unknowingly under her spell before she made her way to the woods to watch Klaus' ritual. Watching him slaughter three innocents before he fell to the floor, blood dripping down him, bones cracking and golden eyes. Breathtaking. . Caroline spent three days pacing her hotel room nervously, constantly checking her phone for any signs of him being alive. She wasn't used to feeling this anxious before, this need to know if someone is safe. But she had and she needed to know. So she grabbed her bag and made her way to the front door, surprised at opening it to reveal the hybrid in question, looking very much alive. Looking very, very attractive. Wearing his dark grey henley, black jeans that fitted his rear perfectly, black combat boots and his array of necklaces. Bringing her eyes to his face hoping she wasn't caught practically drooling, she brought herself back down to her mask of boredom and nonchalance. "Finally going to take me up on that trance offer?" He walked in without taking his eyes off her and closed the door after him, "You could try if you want." Frowning, Caroline brought her power from deep within her, felt it being cast over Klaus but it didn't click, didn't sink into his body but instead drew back into her. "It didn't work." "Performance issues." He joked as he walked towards her, making her step back unconsciously. "That's never happened before." She was still staring back into his eyes as she felt the wall hit her back all of a sudden, Klaus standing in front of her, gazing, searching. "Why didn't it work?" She questioned herself more than him, but he answered anyway. "Because I don't want a little fantasy, Caroline. I want the real thing." His voice came out husky as he positioned himself, hitching her right leg over his hip and drawing his hand on her bare thigh as her dress moved. "The real thing?" She gulped in anticipation, blood pumping with arousal. "And what real thing do you want?" She spoke breathlessly. His other hand came up and cradled her face, both thumbs moving in circles, in sync with each other over her soft skin. He tilted her face up towards his more as he closed the gap between them. Both smiling as their eyes flicked to the others lips and back to each other's eyes. "You." He barely managed to get the words out before his mouth finally reached hers, her hands coming up to cling on to the back of his neck, grabbing into his curls as she deepened the kiss.

#klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klarolinemashup #au: mythical creatures #Ashleigh's fanfiction

[diablesses]

From Quarantine Beach, with Love: A .GIF Story

I’m embarrassed, to say the least. My body has outrun my spirit and I am not the child I remember, a child feigning patience with their sandcastle. I’m embarrassed when I go to the beach to build sandcastles because they stare

                                                  yet

they can’t see me for what I feel, for whom I feel to be. I go there when I can because it keeps me sane; putting my mind to it, shelving the isolation and its demons—

I’m not ready to name them here;

that would award them a substance better dedicated to the sand, the tide and its many gifts of debris.

The practice of building sandcastles is a precarious one, in that you can only really count on its precarity. Don’t build a sandcastle if you want things to last. Don’t build a sandcastle if you can’t afford to lose, if you can’t afford to grieve.

When the night comes, so does the tide. And when the night comes, so do the crabs.

They outnumber the tourists and they don’t complain when the shore gets eaten up. I don’t know if sandcastles left ashore are built on crab tunnels. I don’t know if crabs hop the fence, trespassing these delicate remains. I don’t know if crabs live in the ruins. I don’t know if crabs mate in the ruins. I don’t know if crabs die in the ruins. I don’t know because the sea doesn’t tell me and, out of respect, I would never dare to ask. I don’t question the sea’s behaviour because it is unconditionally generous. Its capability is known, from splash to storm. I know the crabs come with the night because I’ve seen them and they’ve seen me. The sea tries to hide this fact just as it hides the spoils of the day. 

When day returns to the beach, I try too. I try because I’m curious of the remains. I try because there’s something to be said about visiting the remains of things that were never meant to survive. I try because it helps me to figure loss and grief into my life in ways that are both nurturing and reparative.

A helpless commitment to memory, my archive of sandcastles boasts a material inventory of casuarina castoffs, sea-glass, shell fragments, urchin spikes, driftwood, palm husk, twigs of nameless varieties, Shak-Shak, coconut shell crescents, sea-grape leaves, mahogany pods, seaweed, wet and dry sands, grit from the shoreline, dead corals, concrete refuse and—I can’t remember the rest.

                                None survive in the ways I leave them.

But don’t worry. This is the game we play; I build with the day, the sea builds with the night. The night and sea enjoy an elegance with sand I can neither know nor envy. To see what the night and sea have left behind, to see what they have made, I return with the day. The silhouette of each castle is melted to a soft bump of sand. The heavier concrete and corals protrude from the surface like ancient ruins while all the foliage and shells are nowhere to be seen. I can’t ever know what I am inheriting with the day; I can only know that it takes the shape of loss while leaving something else in its place. If melancholia means to grieve what I can’t know I have lost, then what does it mean to grieve an unknowable inheritance? If I can indeed mourn the known loss of a sandcastle, what is to be done with the unknowable inheritance of its remains?

You cannot bury or entomb a sandcastle; you can only destroy it further. Or, to put it differently, you cannot restore a sandcastle; you can only build, from its remains, anew.

                                I’m embarrassed to say I am grieving.

When the responsibilities and policies of social distancing came to be, I awoke with the day to a practice in shambles. And I keep reawakening to that day, trying to make sense of dead corals, disappearing leaves and soft melts of sand. The story I kept telling myself of my practice—a practice of complicated comings-together, joys and intimacies—had already come undone in front of me and I didn’t—I still don’t really—know what to do. Josh Gabert-Doyon reads me with a mirror when speaking of this particular rupture, “the old world before the disease becomes irretrievable […] it seems hard to believe we’ll be able to make it through without abandoning some of our old selves.” It’s difficult not to take offence when a well-said, too real and too relatable truth clocks you so viscerally; perhaps being read to filth still also means being seen.

I’m embarrassed to say I am grieving what felt like a fixed and stable, yet already always momentary, form of practice I didn’t anticipate losing. I felt like the tiniest queer in the world and my practice felt like a sandcastle left overnight. For a moment—and perhaps still even now—this unanticipated inheritance of its remains has stayed illegible, irreparable and unforgivable.

I’m embarrassed to wake to a kanga now too old for this day and these days. Its face bears a since naïve image of two figures kissing in profile, their hurricane eyes, dead in stasis; stares eclipsed in butterflied horror. Its name?

                                “THE WHOLE WORLD IS TURNING”.

Imagining this kanga after Dorian and after the ongoing queering of the climate felt across different trembling frontlines of the world, I had hoped to attend to those strange unlikely pockets of intimacy, kinship, love, warmth, tenderness, empathy, and so on, springing up almost magically after another crisis-oriented queering of our worlds.

An image, like this, of intimate contact harnessed after crisis, seems so tricky and sticky given our present responsibilities and duties of social distancing. I don't know what to make of it in this light. The metaphor collapses and, again, illegible silences find me in new ways.

These conditions of distance remind me of another world; my once world of growing up queer in Barbados, my once world of sandcastles built, of sandcastles left to the mercies of unanticipated presents. Though certainly not the same yet not altogether separate, to be queer in anti-queer spacetime is to be both cautious of and estranged from the joys of social intimacy. Your queer friendship or your love or your sex would have to be quiet and unseen, lest the sight of it mark you for death or exile. So, you kept your love hidden, untouched, unmarked, and you learned to be close in other marooned ways.

With this in mind, to be queered might be to touch and be touched dangerously, to be put out of touch or for touch to be out of the question. I’m surprised—and therefore, embarrassed—to find myself back in this place and time, where intimacy can only be safely harboured through digital screens and windows. My local supermarket has since raised plastic barriers for its checkout staff and so the screen persists in and out of home. For some queered folk, the screen is bittersweet. At times, it is a magic portal, taking you elsewhere and otherwise; the first point of access to your not-so-local community, your distant love, your digital cruise. And at other times, it is a wall that strands you; a mocking horizon that keeps you out of touch and out of time. From intimacy to isolation, it is a pendulum at its cruellest, with queer life dangled at its mercy. At its kindest, it is a way home.

I’m embarrassed to have momentarily forgotten the kindness of screens and the warmth of those faces sat behind them. And I’m embarrassed to have also forgotten where driftwood comes from.

Where does driftwood come from?

                                                              I have no idea but I do know that it ends up on shorelines when building sandcastles. Driftwood and other flotsam have come to feel like unlikely gifts, unlikely tools, unlikely food, offered up or, more accurately, spat out by an indifferent horizon. When I’m embarrassed, forgetting where driftwood comes from, it is to say I’m embarrassed because I’ve also forgotten the generosity of horizons. Whether building sandcastles and staring out to sea, or staring into screens for warmth and company, what is most nurturing and sustaining, it seems, is the generous arrival and reunion of detritus. Finding the right—and that isn’t to say “perfect”—piece of driftwood for a sandcastle always begs the question, “How could you have been thrown away? You’re everything I ever needed.” And I’m again embarrassed to find myself asking that same question about the loveliest of friends; long since queered, long since set adrift on those troubled waters only we could call “home”. Communities of castoffs, castaways, dejected things and people; we have a habit of drifting together and, more than that, we make a habit of keeping each other afloat.

Tiny queers with not-so-tiny love have been teaching me, again and always, how to be close otherwise. And right now, learning to be close otherwise means, as Anne Boyer reminds me, “to see the negative space as clearly as the positive, to know what we don't do is also brilliant and full of love.” Where it had once been a shelter in the isolation of anti-queer spacetime, the screen opens up again with faerie heart circles, digital dance parties and other little gestures to hold many a sad queer from falling apart.

I’m embarrassed to have woken to what looked like a shoreline devastated; stripped of all practice and possibilities for intimacy. I hadn’t even taken the time to properly look, to see that, for the most part, it was still all right there, albeit in tiny, tiny pieces. Even if it’s disoriented, cast out of reach, forgotten its shape or loses its frills to the night, a practice always remains, even if only in remains. For every tiny remnant and speck of sand can build a world of difference. Each livestreamed poetry reading, each smiling webcam, each meal shared with a lover, each phone call with faraway friends or family, each delicate connection and tiny gesture can be, as Audre Lorde assures me, a discreet bit of “ammunition in my arsenal against despair.”