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gwynrielsupremacy · 3 years

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Time to rest your weary head: Part 13!

IT TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH, but it is here!!! As I explained before, I was facing the last weeks of my semester, delivering final papers and such, but now I'm freee!!!! I thank you all for your patience and eternal support, really <3 hope you like this one! :)))

Also tagging some of my beautiful readers <3 @madie2200 @katiebellf @starbornsinger

Last thing: I wanna leave here my praise to all fic writers and fanfiction and headcanons I had the pleasure of reading on this website; you all inspire me so much, and I’m glad to say I am a part of such a beautiful net of sharing and reading other’s stories :) you are awesome and you inspire me to keep on writing! Thank you :)

Check out the Chapter List and Part 12 if you haven't read it yet!

It was late, but Azriel didn’t mind. He felt like he could explode: like all of a sudden, all his life made much more sense.

He had a mate.

That mate was Gwyn.

And Gwyn had kissed him.

As he jumped off the balcony at the House of Wind, diving fast before soaring, he couldn’t contain his grin. His heart hadn’t stopped thundering in his chest ever since he got to her door. They kissed, and he sensed her affection and desire as sure as she had felt his. He held her in his arms, just like he had that night all those weeks ago. And he had missed so badly doing so, he realized the second he felt her hand on his cheek, caressing him in a way no one ever had, before she enlaced her arms behind his neck.

He felt like a teenager, his Ilyrian hormones pumping through his body, making him restless and euphoric. He wanted so bad to go back, to just stay with her, to make up any excuse to see her, to wake her up, to lay down with her. To spend every second he had right next to her, learning all the different ways he could make her glow.

For so long, he deemed himself worthless; tainted and scarred and damaged. But now he could see that perhaps that wasn’t true. He was hurt, but he could heal; everyone had a past, and it shouldn’t prevent them from living their present. And Gwyn… She was the reason he started believing that. That he had hope left, and that maybe…. Maybe he could care about himself just like others cared about him.

It took a second to realize he was crying. Alone, just him and his shadows, as he soared and spun across the night sky, he was crying. Sobbing and laughing uncontrollably at the same time. He breathed in and out, trying to calm his racing heart, but he still let the tears flow; he still kept smiling, the image of Gwyn’s face never fading from his mind.

Feeling the cold wind across his face, he landed on the pathway to the River House. It was all dark, but he could see a dim light from one of the windows. Rhys’s study.

Rhys. He lowered his mental shields enough so he could voice his brother’s name. Are you there?

Silence, before Rhys’s voice sounded. Yes. Are you alright?

I need to talk to you. May I come in?

He heard footsteps approaching the front door, and then Rhysand was staring at him, violet eyes dark in the dim light. “Come in, brother.”

He was greeted by the image of Nesta facing him, that huge portrait that Feyre had painted some time ago, after The Blood Rite. The house was silent, and all he could hear was his steps as he followed Rhysand to his study.

When he closed the door, Rhysand had just sat down at his armchair.

“Are Feyre and Nyx asleep?”

“Fortunately. The kid’s been having some trouble sleeping these last few months, therefore so have we.” He snorted, but smiled fondly at the thought of his family. “Sit down, Az.”

He obliged, and felt the way Rhys sized him up, trying to decipher what was going on with him. And although Azriel’s expression yielded nothing, he didn’t make an effort to wipe away his tears from before; so his brother was probably putting up the pieces together by now.

Azriel didn’t leave enough time for him to do so, as he again talked to him mentally.

Gwyn is my mate. But I reckon you already know that.

I do. I suppose it didn’t go well, then.

And Cauldron-damn him if he didn’t start laughing at that. And not a bitter one, but a true, genuine chuckle that made Rhys’s brows shot up and a bemused smile appeared on his face.

“It went more than well, actually.” Azriel corrected, shaking his head as he looked to the ground, still smiling. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” His brother shifted in his seat, resting his elbows in his knees and interlocking his fingers.

So Azriel explained what Rhys needed to do for them. He honestly didn’t care if his family knew or not about their mating bond, but was well aware Gwyn might need some time to adjust – and the required privacy to do so. And that was fine with him; as long as he was able to spend time with her, he’d be happy. In any way she wanted.

When he was finished, they stood in silence for a couple of seconds.

“So, I see you have your shot at happiness in your hands at last, brother.” Rhysand stated, with a knowing smile on his face.

“I do.”

“She was very good at refraining from telling you. Of course, I didn’t mean to pry when I found out. But do you know why I read her thoughts that night?”

Azriel shook his head, and watched as his brother declared with a low tone.

“She was just sitting there, in a midst of people whom she didn’t have familiarity with, and you were by your usual spot, talking to Mor. And she was just staring at you, eyes full of an emotion I couldn’t decipher, but I knew what that gesture meant. She couldn’t keep herself from looking at you, just as you couldn’t stop from glancing at her time and time again during the evening: like you were drawn to each other. I was going to ask her if she needed to talk about it, though I knew it was none of my business and she was unlikely to do so, but then I read her thoughts about you being mates.”

“That’s why I didn’t meddle in. I was witnessing something way bigger than me, and I think you know what I mean.” He finished, and completed “That’s why I - and Feyre - kept quiet about it.”

All Azriel could do was laugh quietly again at the mention of his High Lady. “Of course she’d know.”

“My dear brother, I learned by experience you shouldn’t keep things from your mate, even if it is to protect them. You're supposed to walk through it together.” Regret crossed Rhysand’s face at that confession.

Azriel knew that although his brother claimed to hide the details of Feyre’s pregnancy from her not to worry her, it wasn’t exactly fair all the same.

“But I’m certain you’ll learn that with time.” He completed, leaning over to pat Azriel on his knee. “So, don’t worry. I will do as you ask.”

Azriel nodded his thanks and stood up, meaning to leave. But, just as he was reaching the door, a thought occurred and he turned again to his High Lord.

“Rhys” He kept sitting on his chair, staring at him expectantly “It took me long enough to realize, but I’m glad you stopped me that Solstice night.”

Rhysand let out a soft chuckle at that, and bowed his head slightly, raising his glass. Knowing well what Azriel had meant with that.

****

His shadows were restless. He barely slept during the rest of the evening, his mind too awake to give in to slumber. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was slightly nervous to see Gwyn again – and to see if they’re new acknowledged bond would stand out or if Rhysand’s spell would work. He wouldn’t doubt of his High Lord and brother, but still. He wanted to see it for himself.

He stood in the training ring ever since sunrise. Gwyn had gone to her usual morning service and he hadn’t seen her, only felt her absence in the House, both an effect from the mating bond and his shadows, since they were so eager to be around her. So he sparred for hours, waiting for the moment training began and he would see her again.

The priestesses started to arrive right about the time Cassian showed up.

“Morning, brother”

Azriel nodded back, and turned to arrange the practice swords and shields into place, preparing the room.

“How was last night?”

He could sense Cassian’s presence behind him, and the innuendo in his sly tone. Gwyn’s image appeared in his mind once again, her burgundy dress complimenting her body’s every feature. He could feel her in his arms, their proximity and heat, the way he kissed her with all need and tenderness he ever felt towards her, the small sound she made when he pulled her close, pressing their bodies together… He was cut short from his thoughts when Cassian cleared his throat, suppressing a laugh.

“I can scent everything went well, then.”

Fuck.

He started thinking about other things, anything at all, to cover his desiring scent. It wasn’t professional nor respectful to appear that way in front of the Priestesses, even though Cassian and Nesta didn’t seem to mind covering their own arousal multiple times during all these months.

It was right at that moment Cassian’s mate and Gwyn arrived, their voices filling up the air. Azriel was still with his back to the door, and counted a total of five seconds before turning around and facing the deep teal ocean that were Gwyn’s eyes.

Like the seas in Reyna.

His shadows whispered one of Summer Court’s many beaches, the quietest, most isolated and beautiful one. Azriel felt a subtle need to take her there someday, to travel around Prythian with her, to watch her explore and discover the continent, her face lighting up with each new sight.

He casually approached the two females, who were still talking while they began their stretching on the mats.

“Good morning.” He let out, dipping his head a bit.

“Hello.” Gwyn greeted back, meeting his eyes. He watched as she breathed, noticing every detail of her exposed neck and freckled cheeks before meeting her eyes. It was a monumental effort to not scan her entire body and take in all of her curves. She seemed to notice that, and with a thrilling sensation he watched her face blush.

“Good morning to you too, Azriel” Nesta mocked, interrupting their charged silence. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

She directed this particular question to both of them. Gwyn finally tore her eyes away from Azriel, doing nothing to conceal her flushed cheeks.

“Yes.” She nodded a bit timidly, biting down her lip to keep her from smiling further, and met her friend’s inquisitive stare with a sparkle that almost sent Azriel to his knees.

Damn. That female would be the death of him.

“We did indeed.” Azriel found himself agreeing, his voice rough all of a sudden. His shadows reached towards Gwyn, desperately trying to turn her attention to him, to them. He wanted to be lost in those teal eyes again, to be alone with her.

“I’m glad to hear that, Gwyn.” Nesta smiled kindly to Gwyn, honesty and pride in her tone. “Although you’re aware you’ll have to give me more details later.”

Gwyn rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, continuing her warm-up exercises while Nesta stood up. As she went on to stretch her thigh, holding it behind her back, she leaned on Azriel, placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and taking advantage of the situation by voicing quietly:

“You hurt my sister and I’ll make you regret it, Spymaster.”

His shadows protectively wrapped around his shoulders, but he was well accustomed to Nesta and they had developed a great friendship after all those months. He could always understand and read through her pain and aggressiveness, even when others didn’t. He did believe her words, though. She, pretty much like him, would do anything to protect the ones she loved.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He nodded once, staring into her piercing eyes, and she patted his shoulder once, seeming satisfied with his answer, before pushing back and striding towards Cassian.

Gwyn kept stretching on the floor, but he could see she heard everything they said by her amused smile as she watched her friend walking away. Azriel reached his hand towards her, and she faced him again and grabbed it, helping herself up.

They were standing face to face now, hands still intertwined. He could hear Cassian and Nesta organizing the Priestesses in the background, the rustle of robes and training leathers as they moved across the training ring. But he couldn’t care less, not when he was holding his mate’s hand, face mere inches from hers.

“It seems you just got intimated by Nesta, huh?” She teased.

He shrugged: “It’s nothing to which I’m not used to by now.”

She chuckled, her eyes crinkling and her voice a sweet melody to his ears. He couldn’t stop but join her, with a quiet laugh. He could feel both Cassian and Nesta’s stare on them, observing their every move. It didn’t seem like the couple caught up on the scent of their mating bond, even though that faint chill mist mixed with water lilies, the combination of him and her, was currently inebriating his senses.

“Could we see each other later today?” Gwyn surprised him by asking, her big bright eyes waiting expectantly for him to answer.

She took a sudden breath, like she was trying to capture the new scent they shared as well, and Azriel found his lips blooming into a smile, both at the thought and at the request:

“I’d love to.”

She beamed “You can meet me at the library, if you are free.”

Gods, she was stunning. He couldn’t stop counting her freckles, observing the way her ponytail twirled behind her back, marveling at how warm her hand felt against his. What a strange and powerful feeling, he thought; to miss someone with that intensity, to desire more than anything to be close to them at all times.

And Azriel wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll be there.”

***

And so he went. After successfully ignoring most of Cassian and Nesta’s teasing remarks through training and lunch, none of them, however, related to the mating bond, Azriel found himself heading towards the library.

He was greeted by Clotho as soon as he entered the space, her magic pen already moving.

Good afternoon, Azriel. What can I do for you?

“I’m looking for Gwyn.” He cordially bowed his head to the Priestess.

Do you want me to call her?

“Thank you, but there is no need. If you could just tell me in which section she is I’ll meet her there, if that’s ok.”

“Ancient hymns and rituals”, third floor down to the right. You’ll find her.

He swore something about the way that magic pen swirled at the last sentence had a tinge of cheekiness, mischief even. So he gave Clotho a soft smile and went into the depths of the library, descending the stars and carefully avoiding staring directly at any Priestess that walked by, only greeting quietly the ones he knew from training.

As usual, his shadows kept swirling faster and faster with each step closer to Gwyn, excited at the prospect of being alone with her. Well, not alone entirely, but Azriel didn’t particularly care at the moment. He knew the curious eyes directed at them would be much more discreet than the ones at training – or anywhere else, for a matter of fact.

He could hear her before he saw her, humming softly as she labeled and stored a few books back on their spots. His heart thrummed against his chest, and he leaned on a shelf across from where she stood, still absorbed in her task, humming the same sweet melody over and over again.

Before he managed to say anything, one of his shadows darted to touch her hand, and her eyes lifted from the book she was holding and met his, her mouth quirked to the side.

“How long have you been there?” She put down the book and crossed her arms in front of her chest, lifting an eyebrow.

His shadows had encapsulated her shoulders and hair now, in a way that she seemed to be the Shadowsinger, and not him. He commanded them to get back to their places, but in vain. He honestly didn’t know why he even tried anymore.

“Not long.” He finally pushed away from his place by the shelf and stepped towards her, while she did the same.

He grabbed her hand, his thumb feeling her soft skin. His shadows encircled them both now, creating a dark cloud in an already dim-lit room. Gwyn laughed at them; curiously following their patterns with her eyes, hand still intertwined with his.

“They never did that before, with anyone.” Azriel observed the way his shadows expanded and darkened around and above them.

“Well, as you said before, they like me. If I were you, I’d be worried they might run away and come to me. I wouldn’t mind at all. Curious little things.”

When he faced her again she was staring at him with such intent he drew a ragged breath, mind focusing only on the female before him. The poor lighting of this particular hallway made her eyes darken, her pupils dilate, mouth slightly parted. Her copper hair now a shade of deep red, like molten fire. He just wanted to kiss each and every one of her freckles, from her face to her neck and below.

The thought made his body ache for her, his pants growing uncomfortably tight. He breathed deep, once, twice, in order to calm his mind and thoughts, but was cut short when her lips met his.

His arms instantly found their way to her hips, gripping her gently. She tugged her hands in his hair, pressing herself against him as the kiss deepened, her lips parting wider to give him access. He enlaced one arm around her, keeping her close and placing his other hand in the back of her neck. He could hear a song, an ancient melody spreading from them, an array of strings and choirs.

When they parted at last, her eyes were wide.

“Did you hear that?” She whispered as they breathed in each other’s scent. Her hands were still on his hair, and he couldn’t take his hands off her just yet, placing them steadily on her hips once again.

He nodded, smiling, and she laughed silently before continuing: “It was magical.”

He leaned to kiss her once again, stopping for a brief second and silently asking for her permission to continue. She closed her eyes, lifting her face, and a soft sigh escaped her lips when they met his for the second time. It was softer this time, tender. Azriel didn’t know if something could ever feel better than this, than having his mate in his arms; than having Gwyn in his arms.

When they parted, he rested his forehead on hers, their breaths mingling. The scent of their mating bond stronger this time, only enough for them to sense it.

“Do you think they could feel it today?” Gwyn seemed to read his mind. “Our scent.”

He met her ocean eyes and shook his head: “Well, Nesta has a sharp mind, and Cassian knows me my entire life. They definitely suspect something.” He huffed a laugh “But not relating to the bond. They probably think is a crush thing.”

She laughed at him, teasingly: “Is it, Shadowsinger? A crush thing?”

“It’s so much more and you know it, Berdara.” He answered in the same tone, but he knew by the way she swallowed once that she heard the husk in his voice, sensing the promise in his words.

Someone is near. Priestesses.

His shadows curled around his ear and he retreated a step, just enough to allow a casual distance between them. Gwyn turned her head to the sound of robes shuffling by, and looked at him again. “Care to join me?” She offered, nodding towards the cart with a loving smile.

“Gladly.”

They fell into a comfortable routine after Gwyn taught him how to shelve the books she cataloged and labeled; sometimes she hummed or sang something to herself, and it was usually at those times when he paused what he was doing, bewitched by her voice. Even the movements of the other Priestesses seemed to still when Gwyn sang, the whole world going quiet. Usually, though, she noticed the subtle halt in his movements after a few moments, and interrupted herself by laughing at his reaction.

If Azriel could exchange the work he did as a Spymaster to just label and store books with Gwyn the whole afternoon, he would. Even if he knew the importance of his work, he would trade everything in a heartbeat just to be with her. Or perhaps he really needed a break.

There was a time in which he thought his spying to be the only thing that he was meant to do. And there was so much in it that he disliked: the torture, the gore. But maybe… Maybe it was time for him to start making some changes. For his sake, and the ones he loved.

“What are you thinking about?”

Her quiet voice distracted him from his thoughts. He shook his head, shelving another book, and turned to her, finding her kind eyes staring straight back at him. “It’s nothing.”

“Az.” Gwyn reached for him, holding his hand in hers “You know you can tell me.”

“It’s just” He gazed at their joint hands and sighed “I did such bad things in the past, and have been doing it for so long… I'm tired of it.”

She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers against his skin, meeting his stare. “You did a lot of great things too, Azriel. Like helping your friends, your family, your people… And me.” She smiled, reassuringly. “You were the one who saved me that night all those nights ago, and then helped me stand up back on my feet every morning after it. You helped me become who I am today.”

Her tenderness broke him, touched a place inside him he was just starting to realize he had, and he took a deep breath before he took her hands in his, lifting them to meet his lips. The only possible reaction he could have to all that gentleness without allowing tears to fall; and he prayed to the Mother it could convey everything he felt.

The way Gwyn smiled and leaned in to softly kiss his cheek gave him his answer.

#awwwwwww #sorry it took me so long #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel and gwyn #post acosf #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fics #i live for gwynriel

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milkiane · 3 years

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so i am feeling incredibly emotional rn so, here’s an appreciation post for my favorite people. (this have been in my drafts for three weeks now) -- so why not post this along with my sleepover <3 sleepover bash

@chokemepansy

need i say more? no— but i will anyway. asteria, my mean cheerleader girlfriend, you are the first moot i’ve ever had, and honestly, i wouldn’t have it any other way. you're my favorite person in the entire world, and pls i am getting so emotional rn, i hate you >:-( i’ve told you everything at my previous letters but i just want you, and everyone else who’s about to read this, to know that you’re my platonic (and quite possibly romantic) soulmate, and my other-third, because pansy owns the shit out of us. love u lots, don’t say it back <3

@accioweaslcy

my favorite headcanon writer 😩 pls alyssa, i’ve had, and still do, have so much fun talking with you. i really, really, love your company, i love your writing, and most especially love you. you were one of my moots that talked to me with such ease and comfort despite being a tad bit younger than you, and it’s been fun ! you’re like one of those seniors who befriends juniors, but still have this amazing (and envying) friendship with each other. not only that, but you being my friend, and me being a dumbass, made our own version of the golden trio with @weasleyyy ! now, this is a story i’ll tell my kids. love u, even if you choose to chomp me <3

@weasleyyy

gHAZAL ! now, are you thankful for me being a half-asleep dumbass who thought you were rose because of your similar urls before, or what ? because i definitely am PFT SJSHSJSHSJN anyways, i’m so happy to have you in my life. i’m a sucker for your chaotic and impulsive energy, and your little thoughts about the hpu. just like rose, thank you for acting just as yourself around me, a smol bisexual mess, because i really do appreciate it, and now you made me a fanclub— which btw, i still cannot get over with. i wheeze everytime i remember it. i love u, madame gazelle, even if you’re a mean li’l fuck ! <3

@amrtxntias

AAAAAAAAH heather, you are officially my unofficial soft british best friend, and no, you do not have a say in this, because you’re stuck with me forever. thank you so much for helping me with terms i need for writing. you’ve been the best, you’ve supported me through every ups and downs with my writings ever since we’ve met. it wasn’t even too long ago ! but you’ve welcomed me like i was a long lost friend of yours. love u, h, the lily to my marlene <3

@buckysbeloved

aliciaaa !! you’re honestly like an older sister i’ve never had. i’ve never had anyone to rant about my marvel fangirlings with, but i am so glad that you were so open with my rants and conspiracy theories. you’ve never judged me or shown any disinterest with my rambles, you’ve been so supportive and you continue to give me the same energy as mine. it’s a very little thing to fuss about, but lish, you’ve got to know that it means so much to me. i’m tearing up— blame the hormones. but really, i’m so grateful for you and your company (and your maxibaby fics). love u to the moon and back ! <3

@acosmis-t

isa isa isa isa isaaaa, pls i love u so much. that’s all i want to say, but ofc, i need to say more. you have been one of my best friends— we clicked the moment we spoke to each other and i was incredibly happy to be your moot. i couldn’t even believe it at first because you’re this rly cool writer with tons of followers and i’m just another user in the crowd but like, everything i want to say is beyond the words that want to come out of my mouth, so i’ll leave it with a thank you for choosing me to be one of your mutuals. thank you for blessing me, and the others, with your lovely fics. never stop doing what you love, i’m here for you always. always was, and always will be. i mean, it should be with the jointed graves and all. love u <3

@reguluscore

SOOOORINNNN. sometimes i question what’s happening inside your head. like one second your posting angsty fics and thoughts, and next thing i know you’re posting a dancing prongs gif. i’ll never understand, i reckon, but that’s alright, i’ll love you just the way you are, even if you break my heart with your angst. tell me who hurt you and i’ll beat them up. i love u so much, i’m still listening to your playlist, because it’s astronomical. sending you some forehead kisses <3

@inks-and-jinx

vivian !! i’m still beyond grateful for you and your artistic and writing talents. you’re such an angel, and i’m so incredibly happy to have you in my life. you’re a sweetheart. you’re every sweet-soft-fluffy nickname there is, because honestly? i cannot speak well, or think straight because i don’t think words can describe how lucky i am to have you. well, i love u, and that’s all i could comprehend <3

@comfortwriting

karis ! you’re honestly one of my fave moots because you never fail to make me so appreciated and loved. your out of the blue messages always make me feel so happy because you’re so wholesome and nice. i’m very, very, glad to have you in my life. thank you for always being there to be my personal therapist and my human diary— who listens to all of my writing ideas, even if i have tons of wips to write. thank you for inspiring me to write again, without you, i would’ve never find my passion for writing again, so thank you, thank you for being the sweetest person there is, i love you ! <3

@krasivayadarling

ANYA ! darling, you are one of the very first mutuals i’ve ever talked to, you’ve welcomed me with open arms when i was new here and i wouldn’t change anything in the world. i’m so glad that you were the first person i’ve ever talked to because you are practically the human form of a squishmallow. don’t question me, you’re my squishmallow. anyways, you’re such a lovely person and i’m very happy to have you in my life, love you ! <3

@cursestothemoon

cHARLY-CHAR !! hehe you are like one of those nice, cool, senior students in school, you never fail to make me so giddy and loved. i’m so happy to have you in my life, and i’m wishing you all the happiness and love in the world because you truly do deserve it, especially when you’ve been nothing but so kind and friendly. pls i feel like crying because i don’t know what i did to deserve you. I BLAME U AND UR AMAZING WRITING SKILLS FOR MAKING ME SOFT >:-( i love you tho <3 — also thank you for that play fighting blurb with fred, i didn’t know that i needed to bite his cute butt until i read it.

@sunflowergirl522

ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ! I LOVE YOU. i feel so complete when i read your peter fics. i always look forward to them because it’s not everyday you find someone who actually writes him so good, and i know we don’t really interact much, but i feel like i got to know you more through reading your fics. u better trust me when i say that i’ll be your personal hype woman and maxibaby supporter, because i am, and i will forever be ! love u <3

@fives-cup-of-coffee

amelia, you bitch, i love you. to be honest, i've never really expected us to be friends, but ofc, here you are, simping for me and now we're besties. you've been, and still are, so fun to be around with-- only because i get to tease the shit out of you >:-) anyways, thank you for keeping up with my utter bullshit, i'm here for you always, i hope you know that. love ya ! <3

@moonvicake

wAHH-- sasha, hi. pFT JSADHJSAHDJH SORRY BUT PLEASE I LOVE YOU, DID YOU KNOW? it's been so painfully awkward at first because believe me, i'm the most gauche person you'll ever meet if we talk for the first time, but as soon as we grow accustomed to each other, you'd wish that you never spoke to me, because i'm this hot fucking mess, so thank you for keeping up with me. you're one of my favorite mutuals in here. i love you more than puppies and hello kitty pancakes <3

+ my mutuals who’ve been such amazing people, we haven’t talked as much as the tagged moots but i love you all just as equally, you lot mean the world to me, and i’m willing to go on the ends of the earth for all of you <3

@anchoeritic @babyjordy @frankenkyleluvr @ronsbadidea @kc-needs-coffee @nevilles-top @weasleyclaw @sweetnspicysimp @redbullchick @willowbleedsonpaper @weasleysandwheezes @daffodilmoons @incorrectpeterparker @dracosaccount @cedrics-grave @pad-foots @peepeepotter @oldschoolkiddo @spideyspixies @daltonacademia @eunoniaa @love-peachh @george-fabian-weasley @mayonnaise-and-anarchy @darthwheezely @thotbutpurple @l0ttadreamz @daisyyy2516 @prettywhitedoves @band--psycho @widowdays @loveboyhalo @gxtitobxby @fandomvariousness @nothinghcppens (i passed the 50 tags rule, eek— i’m sorry, i love all of you whom i didn’t get to tag, though 🥺)

#mutuals appreciation post ! <3 #amourtentiaa’s sleepover bash <3

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maybankiara · 4 years

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NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN (I’LL CRAWL HOME TO HIM)

pairing: JJ Maybank x Pope Heyward

summary: JJ realises he’s immortal when he wakes up buried in a coffin. He’s got to make his way back to his friends - more than anyone else, back to Pope, whom he hasn’t admitted his feelings to. (Not like he admitted them to himself either, anyway).

w/c: 4.3k

a/n: gay angst with some immortality!! also, there’ll be no mention of claustrophobia, just jj trying to figure out how to get out. i have another mayward fic planned with immortal!jj but basically everything else is different.

masterlist | tag list

read on archive of our own

JJ wakes up in a coffin. He comes to the realisation when he makes an attempt to turn around, thinking he’s in the bed of the spare room at the Chateau he’d long ago claimed his own, only for his shoulder to bump into something hard.

‘Ow!’

The sound of him hitting the wood and it feeling oddly…contained, for the lack of a better word, summons a series of flashing images.

A gun in his hands. Topper Thornton dangling by his ankle from a tree, screaming bloody murder. John B shouting JJ’s name. Pope crying it out in pain, Kelce’s hands on his neck.

A gun in Rafe’s hands. White thunder.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers. And then— ‘Holy shit, I’m immortal!’

Laughter that falls from his lips is maniacal. He thinks of all the pranks he could do now – if there’s no death to fear, there is nothing to fear. Even if he doesn’t know the limits, JJ can only think of the endless possibilities of what he could do – what do you do when you aren’t afraid of anything?

JJ’s hand slams against the top of the coffin and he does it again, on the verge of crying from excitement. His breathing is rapid and so is his heartbeat.

‘Take that, Rafe! Whoo!’

He wants to tell the pogues. He wants to see the look on their faces—all the questions they’ll have—and he wants to see who’s missed him out of others, if anyone has. He has to ask Pope about the implications of his immortality and how it works – if his memory hadn’t suffered up when Rafe blew his head up and it still serves him right, Rafe did blow his head up. It was probably a closed casket.

Huh.

JJ’s fingers hesitate for a long second before touching his chin, half-expecting to find nothing but a mesh of whatever his body was made of. But they’re met with a firm, hard jawline, skin connecting it to his neck, and his lips, and keeping his blood and whatever—Pope would know better—where it’s supposed to be, inside.

The blond lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It comes out in the form of a chuckle, airy and free.

Pope would find this the most interesting. Does JJ have scars? He’d know how his body managed to heal, how his brain preserved.

He begins to wonder about what effect this has on the rest of his life—afterlife?—when he hears a small voice, just like Pope’s.

‘Being buried alive is one of the worst ways to die,’ he told the pogues months ago, solving a past paper that someone who wants to be a coronary would take. ‘You’ve got five and a half hours’ worth of air, tops. You’ll suffocate before someone finds you, if they ever do, anyway. It’s not all bad, because the carbon dioxide you produce breathing eventually overtakes most of the air inside the coffin, and you fall into a coma. You die and you feel lightheaded, like you’re falling asleep.’

You die like you’re falling asleep.

JJ wonders if he’d wake up again. Probably. Does he have nine lives or an infinite number?

He’d like to test that.

But for now, if Pope’s right—and JJ is kind of hoping he isn’t—then he’s got about five hours to get to the surface. Even if he wakes up again, there’ll be no air for him to breathe, which essentially keeps him dead, until possibly thousands of years pass and someone accidentally opens his grave and he storms out like a zombie from another time like in that movie with—

Focus.

‘Focus. Yeah, I gotta focus.’

JJ nods to himself. He calms his breathing and starts to think about every possible way to get out of his situation. He’s not claustrophobic, which is surprising, but that might be because the fact that he vividly (kind of) remembers being shot in the head is kind of more dramatic than waking up in a casket six feet under.

Four feet, he remembers – the earth on the Cut where they made the graveyard isn’t good for digging, or anything, really, so the graves are usually shallower than the standard six feet.

He should be able to push through it – right?

Right?

JJ’s died and come back to life. If he can do that, then he can make his way out of here.

For the next however long, JJ tries to remember every piece of information that would help. He knows from John B and when they worked at a construction site for some quick cash that when he opens the casket, all the dirt will fall into the hole he just made and fill it out.

He knows from surfing that aerodynamic works best the flatter the object is, so if it applies to water, it probably applies to earth, too. When he opens the casket, he needs to shoot upright as straight as possible—doing something straight will be the biggest challenge, really—and let the dirt fall over him.

It’s a game of seconds. He’s really got one shot at this.

‘If there’s a massive fuckin’ hole in the middle of a graveyard, someone will notice, right,’ he mutters to himself.

It’s fine. It’s something.

JJ presses his palms flat against the massive wood over him. The material is hard and stiff, but when he bangs against it, it moves a little. Enough for a few bits of the earth to fall in, on his chest.

(Or so he thinks. It’s not like he can see.)

He figures that his best bet is pushing it open like a door, then squeezing immediately as he keeps pushing it. The gravity of the earth falling should hurt him—he knows this isn’t going to be easy, or nice, or pleasant—but he should push through if he does the Superman pose, with his hand in the air.

The thought makes him chuckle, and as his lips stretch, he tastes sweat in the corners. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and it leaves a wet mark, so he wipes that on his shorts.

JJ sighs. ‘They buried me with the fuckin’ cargo shorts.’

��He hadn’t given much thought to how he’d be buried, but now he reckons his hair is a mess, his shirt is a basketball-style, holes big enough so that the sweat from his armpits soaks into whatever carpet they put at the bottom of the coffin.

JJ stinks – like, badly. He remembers Pope said that corpses shit and pee themselves and fart and whatnot, but has no clue if he acted like a real corpse. Was he dead dead, or just kind-of comatose without a heartbeat?

Shit, what if he’s been dead for a while? If his dead had been blown off then it must’ve taken ages to reconstruct.

What if he comes back and the pogues have moved on, they have families and kids, and Pope’s gone off to university and—

‘Shut up,’ JJ whispers to himself. This pitch-black darkness is making him see things, and feel things he doesn’t want to.

He’ll deal with that later. The only thing that matters right now is getting the fuck out of here.

JJ doesn’t let his hand shake when he applies pressure to the wooden board above him. He does it slowly, and when it doesn’t budge, he knows slowly isn’t the way to do it.

So JJ just thinks of Pope, John B, and Kie, and their faces on the HMS Pogue, and slams through the coffin. He slithers through the whole immediately, eyes and mouth closed and the same hand that opened the coffin is outstretched, high above his head, and he’s pushing with his legs instead of his back.

He was right – the earth is heavy. He feels it crumbling around his chest, around his feet, around every inch of space he’s just created, but he keeps pushing.

If he doesn’t push, he’ll stay like this—half buried—forever.

The tip of his finger touches the air – then another, then all five. The fact that he’s so close gives him a surge of adrenaline, coursing through his veins, and he pushes through the weight of the earth even further, until his entire hand is above the ground.

fuck yeah.

Then an elbow. Then he slides his other hand across his torso, feeling the weight tug at the bones until the pain is so intense he thinks he might’ve broken it. His chest tightens—it’s been almost a minute—but he manages to get the other hand out, too.

Just a little more.

One more push.

that’s what she said, he thinks.

And pushes.

Being out of the coffin after spending it in about an hour or so is like jumping from a tall cliff – thrilling, chill-inducing, and very much like breaking the water tension with your back instead of the head.

He gasps like a fish out of water, still trapped from shoulders and below, but he breathes.

JJ laughs, and then realises he’s also being soaked because it’s raining harder then he can remember, and figures it’s okay to open his eyes. It hurts, at first glance – the sky is shrouded in dark grey clouds and rain is absolutely pouring, but he sees that it’s day, not night, and he sees that the trees still look like late summer.

‘FUCK YEAH!’

Thrilled to be alive, JJ lets himself have a moment to breathe. He sees he’s buried in one of the cheapest parts of the graveyard—which says much considering his dad must’ve been the one who paid for the funeral—and most of the other graves look terrible. He turns his head to the side, just enough to look at his own.

J. MAYBANK. 2003 – 2020. BELOVED SON AND FRIEND.

‘Sons of bitches,’ he mutters. ‘It’s like it would’ve killed them to be fuckin’ creative for once.’

His arms ache and his legs feel like they’re about to give in, but he’s got to get out. With a deep breath, he buries—ha!—his fingers as firmly into the ground as far as he can, and then tugs.

He’s out a minute later, but he’s damn glad no one was around to hear him grunting like a little pussy.

JJ shakes his limbs, getting some blood through them. He looks disgusting – dirt mixed with sweat means that it’s all sticking to him, and he doesn’t even want to know what his face must look like – even if it isn’t absolutely mangled. His hair is terrible probably, too, because the strands that aren’t sticking to his face seem mucky when he tries running his finger through it.

i thought they made dead men look pretty.

Then he tells himself not even dying and crawling out of a grave could make him look any less pretty, so he’s okay.

‘Ha,’ he muses to himself, ‘my pretty goes beyond the grave.’

About ten minutes later, when his muscles feel as alive as he does, he begins his twenty-minute trek to the Chateau. He figures it’s his best bet – it’s next to the marsh, which isn’t too far from the graveyard, and JJ’s not going to get anywhere near the road if he’s taking the fastest route.

So, looking like a dead man walking, he sets off for the Chateau.

By the time he’s arrived, some of the dirt has washed off—he conveniently stood under a tree that was basically leaking water—and he guessed he didn’t look a lot different than anyone walking around under this kind of weather. There were no puddles for him to look at himself at, which was quite a shame, but he figured he’d just check himself out at a mirror in the Chateau.

Now, JJ is just… He’s just standing in front of the backdoor to the place. The marsh is behind him and the house in the front, and this should be simple, except he’s got no clue what’s about to happen. Lights are on in the living room, that much he could see from the outside, but there was no guarantee it would be his friends.

Panic started to eat him inside out – what if he walks in, unannounced, and it turns out he’s been dead for years and some completely random people live here, instead?

Before he manages to chicken out, he opens the door. The door creaks—that’s a good sing, thinks JJ, John B was going to have it fixed by the end of the year—and promptly closes behind him. Old reggae coming from the living room is the only sound aside from water dripping off of JJ.

fuck it.

JJ makes his way to the living room. A lightning strikes somewhere nearby and, just as he rounds the corner, thunder follows.

His friends are sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room.

JJ grins. ‘Tell me, do I make Freddy Krueger look pretty?’

In that very moment, three things happen. John B screams. Kiara knocks over the speaker. Pope faints.

And as for thing four, that happens a moment later, JJ just sighs. ‘That bad, huh?’

—

‘…and that’s how I ended up here.’

About two hours later, JJ’s finally finished his story. It took them quarter of an hour just to stop freaking out—Pope had been convinced he’d seen a ghost until Kiara and John B managed to explain to him he hadn’t—and even then, they weren’t ready to hear the story.

They made him take a shower, first. Fair enough.

John B went with him to get some towels and clean clothes, and Kiara stayed in the living room, getting Pope some water. Nobody spoke for a very, very long time.

When JJ looked at himself in the mirror, he was both distraught and amazed. There was a scar running from cheek to cheek, over his nose, and well underneath his jaw, with skin inside this circle looking like it had been slightly burned years ago, with colour different to the rest of his face. JJ ran a finger over it – the texture was rough in some places, smoother in others.

Somehow, he was convinced the scars would persist, but his skin would heal. He felt it in his bones – it rang as true as the fact that his heart was about to burst through his ribcage the moment he’d locked eyes with Pope.

JJ took a shower, cleaned himself up. The clothes John B had brought him were his own, and he smelt them for a second – it felt like coming home.

The Chateau had always been his home.

When he returned to the living room, Pope looked a little better – they all did. JJ reassured them that he had, in fact, died and been buried. Pope went on to state in graphic detail how mangled his body—head more so than other parts—had been when they’d last seen him.

JJ forgot Rafe had killed him in front of them.

‘Y’all must be scarred for life,’ he said as he took a seat on the floor of John B’s living room, and then grinned. ‘But not on the outside, like me.’

They didn’t find it as funny as he did.

So, with the aid of some water and pizza they had leftover from earlier, JJ told his story. There were a lot of interruptions—not as many from Pope as he would’ve thought, considering dead people are his expertise—but he managed to get it done.

And now, he grins at them, arms spread over the couch behind him. ‘So, y’all impressed already?’

The silence is pregnant. Kiara’s hands are folded in her lap as she leans her back against the couch, and John B mirrors her position, only on the wall. Pope, unlike the other three, is standing with his side against the doorway, biting his nails. (JJ is pretty convinced that’s a habit he picked up from him.)

Kiara clears her throat. ‘JJ, you were gone for two months.’

‘What? No way, that’s— That’s impossible, Kie. It was just yesterday—’

‘We buried you,’ says John B, voice hoarse. ‘Mourned you. Had to learn how to live without you.’

‘But I’m back now! That’s great news, right?’

‘JJ, we’re fuckin’ happy you’re back.’ John B leans forward and pats him on the back, squeezing his shoulder. His smile is grim, but it’s there. ‘It’s just a little unbelievable. We watched you die. It’ll— It’ll take us some… time.’

At the doorway, Pope is still staring at JJ as if he’ll disappear at any given moment.

JJ’s neck stiffens, and he’s sure John B feels it, because his hand falls limp to the side. The blond mumbles something, incoherently enough that not even he knows what he said, then shakes his head. ‘I should probably get some rest.’ His eyes fall to his lap. ‘Apparently two months wasn’t enough.’

His words seem to cut through the atmosphere in a way that alienates him from the rest of them – the uninterruptedly living.

Nobody says anything, but JJ still rises to his feet. His hands pat his shirt and his shorts, as if they could do anything to smooth the creases. He glances at John B, whose eyes are fixed on him. ‘My room still empty?’

‘Nobody’s touched it since you…’ The brunet shakes his head, as if a thought needed to get out. ‘Might be a little dusty.’

‘You want me to fetch you anything?’ asks Kiara, voice wavering. ‘I can go to the Wreck—’

‘I’m good. Thanks.’

JJ doesn’t linger around to see their reactions – if there are any, anyway. Last thing he sees is Pope, still leaning against that door frame, unmoving and stoic as ever.

Like John B said, the bed needed to be dusted. JJ was done with that in a couple of minutes, and then he stripped into his underwear (what a waste of fresh clothing) and slipped under the covers.

The weight of these past few hours crushed on him like a raging storm. It doesn’t matter that he crawled out of his grave to join them – they had two months to figure out a way to live without him. Two months is more than enough to move on, to accept the new reality.

He knows because he’s been through it.

Outside, the storm rages on, too. JJ thinks of John B, a little calmer and quieter now; Kiara, distant like she seemed at the beginning of her kook year; and Pope.

Pope, who wouldn’t look him in the eye for longer than a second. Pope, who always had a smartass comment to chime in with, now pushing himself to the side and not participating.

JJ sighs. His chest is heavy and his face is stinging a little, but the realisation is heavier than any physical pain – his friends managed to move on from him. Couple of hours for JJ meant a couple of months for the pogues. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he gets to leave, now, when everybody thinks he’s dead.

Some time later, JJ lies awake, still. The storm has dwindled to mere tapping on the window, but his mood hasn’t changed.

Another kind of tapping him reaches him – full, against the wooden door separating him from the rest of his life.

JJ gets out of his bed with a tired sway to his hips, legs dragging along the floor. He rubs his eyes before he opens the door and when he does, he leans against the door frame, blinking against the sudden light.

‘Hey,’ greets Pope.

‘Hey.’

There’s hesitation reeking off the boy in front of him. His shoulders are slumped and JJ feels like he’s his height, even though Pope has always been taller.

The blond scratched the itch underneath the left side of his jaw. ‘You want to come in?’

Pope nods. JJ moves to the side and closes the door once they’re both in.

Out of habit, JJ plops down onto the bed, face-first. He doesn’t even notice Pope hasn’t done the same until he shifts a little and realises there’s a silhouette positioned against the window, blocking the moonlight from entering the room.

JJ drags himself to the edge of the bed, feet bare on the floor. His elbows are draped over his knees and he sees Pope a little better now – hands in his pockets and a frown on his face, lower lip with a quiver to it.

‘What’s up?’

‘You’re really here, right?’ Pope doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Alive?’

JJ chuckles, but there isn’t much humour to it. ‘As far as I can tell.’

‘But we watched you die.’

‘I know. I can remember all of that.’

‘You shouldn’t be here. Alive.’

‘I know,’ JJ says. ‘But I am. What are you going to do about it?’

The hesitation that comes off of Pope is different this time. It’s fleeting—ephemeral—and JJ only gets a moment’s worth of looking into his eyes when there’s hands on his cheeks, and warm lips smashing against his own.

All he hears is the rain tapping on the window, or the beating of his own heart. The warmth of Pope’s lips on his, or the cold of the storm.

The touch disappears, and JJ thinks he’s about to wake up in hell, and this was just a way to torture him – to give him something he’s yearned for and take it away like it was nothing.

open your eyes, boy. we ain’t finished.

His dad’s voice is like electricity and JJ opens his eyes, terrified.

Except it’s just Pope staring at him, looking just as distraught as he feels. JJ isn’t in hell. He’s in John B’s room, and while it might stink like hell, it isn’t it.

The storm is still quiet and gentle, but JJ doesn’t even notice it so much. Not after—

‘I thought I’d missed my chance,’ Pope says, weakly. ‘I just needed— I couldn’t—’

JJ shifts the weight to his feet and his hands find Pope’s neck like they belong there (because they do). He holds him—gentle, cautious, fragile—and shakes his head, at loss for words.

He wants to say ‘me too, Pope,’ except it’s not good enough. Except it doesn’t encapsulate what it feels like to die thinking the man you love never loves you back, or at least you’ll never find out, only to wake up, alive, and find out that your feelings have been reciprocated all along.

To crawl out of a grave for him.

JJ kisses him with the very same ferocity, with more hunger to it. JJ’s felt death—he’s felt the unknowable—and he won’t let another moment pass without doing the things he’d been afraid to do.

By the time they part, both boys are catching their breath, not even an inch apart. JJ’s hands are firm on Pope’s neck, thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw, while Pope’s hands grip the blond’s shirt at his sides.

JJ wants to say something, anything.

Pope is faster. ‘I thought I’d never get to do this.’

All JJ can do is nod; no words could ever be enough.

The shaky breath that falls from Pope’s lips only moments later is different from the boy who was leaning against the door frame earlier – more like the Pope JJ knew.

fell in love with.

It’s a little bit cynical, and a little bit guarded, but nevertheless free and innocent like JJ always knew him to be. But he takes creates some distance between the two, and JJ’s hands drop to his sides.

Pope’s smile isn’t what JJ thought it would be. It doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re leaving.’

He should’ve known Pope would realise it. He just wondered what gave him away. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Don’t lie to me, JJ. Not after we just—’ Pope cuts himself off. He clears his throat, resting the back of his head against the window.

Breathless, JJ sits down on the bed, same position as earlier – as if his entire life hadn’t just been rocked from one side to the other. ‘I’m dead, Pope. You buried me. That’s what John B said. I get to— I get to do whatever I want. Go whatever I want. I’m… I’m free, Pope.’

The moon peeks through the clouds, bright enough to bask Pope’s silhouette in silver. JJ thinks of how much the boy resembles an angel – how he felt like one when he’d kissed him, granting him a wish he’d never dared to voice.

‘You could stay,’ suggests a small voice. ‘Be our own little ghost.’

JJ lets out a full laugh. ‘Is that what I am now?’

Pope’s smile becomes a little clearer as the moon gets back behind the clouds, and JJ wishes he could see his eyes clearly, too. ‘I can’t lose you again.’

He knows he should leave. They both know, Pope more so than anyone. JJ’s dead—legally—meaning that he can’t be seen around town without raising more than a couple of eyebrows. He can’t live on his own. He can’t—

He’s free from his dad, from obligations, but if he stays, he becomes enslaved to his own death.

But if he stays…

i lost you once already, pope. i can’t do it again, either.

He sighs and, unaware JJ’s already made his choice, Pope drops on the bed next to him, hand holding the blond’s. ‘Just for a year. Not even that long. Then I’ll be off to university, where no one knows any of us, and— And we can get a fresh start. Together.’

Careful, JJ cups the boy’s cheek. He can see his eyes now, as the moon shines on them like no other person has been worthy of its light – they’re not sad, or hopeful, but they are fretting.

JJ kisses his cheek, before turning his head slightly to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

He could never think of giving up on this. Not when he’d died to get it.

So he echoes, ‘Together.’

★

tagging. @the-pogues @ronnieweasley @outerbankslut @drewstarkey @jjmaybanky @sacredto @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @outrbank @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @teamnick @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @nicolewithasoul @starlightstarkey @stargazingstarkey @anonymous0writer @outerbongs @jjandreidsgirl @kaitieskidmore1 @maybanksbaby @obx-direction-sos @stfukie @abbiesthings @tempestuousjj @solllaris @ijustgotnothingbetter2do @rafej-cambanks

#mayward #jjpope #jj maybank #pope heyward #outer banks #obx #mayward fanfiction #jjpope fanfiction #outer banks fic #obx fanfiction #obx fic #my fic #s: mayward #f: obx

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

Love Blooms

Summary: Princess Emma and Lieutenant Killian Jones have been together for three years. They’re deeply in love and an engagement is imminent. There’s only one problem: His brother doesn’t know about them, and Killian isn’t sure how to tell him. So when Liam finds out by accident, all that’s left is for Emma and Killian to fill him in on the story of how they met.

This is that story.

(a prequel--and sequel--to Error 404: “Little” Brother Not Found)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @mariakov81!!! My lovely, brilliantly talented Masha, you are a pure delight. Your gif responses make me laugh and your art makes me cry. Your enthusiasm and love of fic is so inspiring and your encouragement is one of the reasons I’m still writing. I love you lots. 😘

You mentioned that you’d like to read a meet-cute, so I hope this one pleases you. Have a FANTASTIC day ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Rating: G Words: 4.3k Tags: Lieutenant Duckling, Modern Lieutenant Duckling, Modern Royalty AU, Brothers Jones, College AU, Meet-Cute

On AO3

Love Blooms:

It should have worked, really. As risky plans go, it was a pretty solid one. It should absolutely have worked.

Princess Emma was easily recognisable, of course. As the only royal child and heir to the throne she’d been photographed extensively all her life, and those photos disseminated throughout the kingdom. But they were always taken in controlled situations, with her hair carefully styled and her clothing precisely engineered to invoke a very specific image. Her parents made absolutely certain of that.

After the attempted coup by the queen’s stepmother on the day of the princess’s birth, the king and queen had taken decisive action to protect their only child and to ensure that no one but trusted personnel had access to her. On the rare occasions when she left the expansive palace grounds, no paparazzi followed her and none of Misthaven’s citizens so much as snuck a sneaky pic with a cell phone. Emma was to have protection and privacy until she came of age and officially took on her royal duties. That was the deal her parents made with the press and the people, and they enforced it rigidly.

It should have worked. Emma’s most recognisable feature—her long, bright gold hair—was dyed a temporary dirty blonde (her mother nearly cried) and her green eyes shielded by large glasses. Most days she pulled her hair back in a ponytail and wore no makeup. She dressed in jeans and t-shirts, like any other college kid. It was a good plan. It should have worked.

She hadn’t reckoned on Killian Jones.

She’d known him for a few years, sort of. For several months of the summer she was sixteen while his brother served as a member of her personal guard, Killian had hovered around the edges of her world, thin and gawky and usually with his nose in a book. The one time they were introduced he’d gulped visibly and made an awkward bow, then got away as soon as he could. But not before he’d made an impression.

She wasn’t sure what it was about him that caught her eye—possibly the way he seemed to be trying so hard not to catch it, or the size and variety of the books she saw him reading, or the way he would smirk and roll his eyes whenever he heard something he thought inane (which happened fairly frequently; polite conversation at court was not exactly scintillating). Possibly it was just those eyes, the bright, clear blue of them and the intelligence and humour she was sure she detected in their depths. Whatever it was it made butterflies dance in her belly whenever she saw him, and though they exchanged no more than a dozen words in the months he was at court she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head.

“What does your brother do?” she’d asked Commander Jones one afternoon, as casually as she could.

“He’s starting at the university in the autumn,” the commander replied, pride audible in his voice. “Going to study physics and engineering.”

“Wow.” Emma wished she didn’t find that so impressive.

“He’s a smart lad,” said Commander Jones with a grin. “He’ll change the world, mark my words.”

Emma marked them, though she asked no further questions. It wouldn’t do to appear too interested.

That was August. By October Killian Jones was gone from her life and so was his brother, the elder Jones off to serve on Misthaven’s flagship and the younger of course, to the university. And that really should have been the end of it.

Her desire to go to university herself had nothing to do with Killian, it truly didn’t. She hadn’t forgotten he was there, exactly, but her determination to attend had far more to do with her status as heir to the throne and wishing to be as prepared as she possibly could be when she became queen.

“But your tutors have given you the best education you could have,” her mother pointed out. “You’ve studied the history and political structure of Misthaven and all its allies and enemies. You’ve read all our country’s great books and know the history of our art. You speak six languages. That’s far more knowledge than I had when I became queen. What else are you looking for?”

“I want a chance to get to know the people I’m going to be ruling,” said Emma. “That’s one thing you had that I don’t. I’ve spent my whole life in the palace, and I know you kept me here for my own safety but I’m nineteen now and I want to meet people. Real ones. Ones who don’t know I’m the princess.”

“Emma—”

“Just give me a year,” she pleaded. “Just a year to go to college and live like a normal student. I’ll wear a disguise and go by a different name, you can even plant guards around me if you must but please, please just let me do this.”

In the end her parents relented. Her mother, despite her tears at the new hair colour, had been unconvinced that the small changes Emma made to her appearance would be enough of a disguise, but Emma insisted they were plenty and her father backed her up.

“Do you know why no one figured out Clark Kent was Superman?” Emma asked, as King David nodded approvingly behind her. “It wasn’t because putting on glasses was such an intricate disguise. It’s because the idea of Superman working at a newspaper was so completely absurd. No one saw a superhero in an ordinary reporter and no one’s going to see the princess of the realm in an ordinary literature major. People see what they expect to see.”

And they had. All of them. All except Killian Jones.

She really hadn’t reckoned on him.

She settled in well to college life, though it was not the easiest transition going from her own suite of rooms in the palace to a tiny dorm shared with another student, a bright, chatty girl called Ruby. Ruby was easygoing and outgoing and always going. She loved to party and whenever she went out tried to coax Emma along as well, and though Emma really had gone to college with the intent to study, she reasoned that her main aim in being there was to get to know her people, and what better way to do that than at a party?

Which is how she found herself two weeks into her first semester standing in the living room of a run-down student house, sipping valiantly at some locally-brewed ale and trying to remember the names of all the people Ruby introduced her to, and trying to remember that when they said ‘Anna,’ they were talking to her.

She was chatting with a boy called Walsh who had a supercilious smile and, she soon realised, a very high opinion of himself, when her flagging attention was caught by shrieks of laughter coming from the other side of the room. She glanced over in search of their source then immediately looked again, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes from bugging out of her head.

There across the room, surrounded by a largish group of people—one of whom, Emma noted, was Ruby—stood Killian Jones. It was him, she was sure of it, sure that she would recognise him anywhere, but oh, the changes time had wrought on the boy she’d known. She wasn’t sure if he really was any taller but he looked it, standing straight with his shoulders squared. There was stubble on his jaw and hair on his chest, clearly displayed by the undone buttons of his henley, and his eyes—so much brighter when not hidden behind thick glasses—twinkled as he delivered a quip that had everyone around him exploding in fresh peals of mirth.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, staring so hard she could see the exact moment he sensed her gaze and turned, his own eyes widening immediately in recognition. Of course he recognised her, Emma thought, he would; however older and cooler and hotter he might be now he was still the smartest boy she’d ever met and Superman’s disguise could not fool him.

He stared at her for the longest moment of her life and then he winked—the worst excuse for a wink she’d ever seen—and turned his attention back to his crowd. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to blow her cover.

She realised with a start that Walsh had kept on talking this whole time and she hadn’t heard a word he said. He seemed to realise that too, finally, and scowled at her.

“Hey,” he said. “Earth to Anna.”

“Sorry.” She offered a polite smile. “My mind wandered.”

“Well, wander it back over here,” he said. “I was telling you all about my Reddit subgroup I started, and you weren’t even listening.”

“Sorry,” she repeated. “Though actually, would you excuse me, I—”

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, his scowl darkening. “I bring you a drink, come all the way over here to talk to you. All I ask in return is a little bit of attention and you can’t even give me that.”

“I—”

“I’m a nice guy, you know,” he continued, moving closer. “I’d treat you right. Don’t think I didn’t see who you were looking at just now. If you think those guys would treat you better than I—”

“Look, Welsh—” Emma interrupted, bristling at his presumption and his tone.

“It’s Walsh.”

“Yes, sorry, Walsh. Um, I don’t know what you think this is, but we only just met. We’ve been talking for ten minutes and it’s basically been you monologuing about Reddit the whole time. If you’re really looking to connect with people it might be better to ask them something about themselves instead of dominating the conversation.”

“Oh, right, because it’s all about you, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I—”

“You’re not even that pretty, you know,” he sneered. “Glasses are really unattractive on a woman.”

Emma began to sputter with indignation. No one had ever spoken to her in such a way before and she was outraged to learn that there were men in her realm who felt that it was acceptable to insult women as long as they weren’t royalty, apparently. Walsh smirked as she struggled to find words vile enough to express her opinion of him, and then a deep voice spoke from just over her shoulder.

“Perhaps you’re the one who needs glasses, mate, if that’s what you really think.”

Emma didn’t even need the butterflies leaping up in her belly to know that the voice was Killian’s. Her heart began to pound in time to the butterflies’ dance as she turned to find him standing just behind her, glowering darkly at Walsh. “I’m certain the lady told you she’s not interested, so why don’t you bugger off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under?” he snarled.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” blustered Walsh.

“And yet I just did.”

“Who the hell do you think you are—”

“He’s my boyfriend.” Emma jumped in before the scene could escalate, blurting the first thing that popped into her head. Walsh gaped at her, so astounded that he failed to notice Killian’s own slack jaw and bugging eyes. Killian recovered quickly, however, and casually looped an arm around Emma’s shoulders.

“Aye,” he said. “I am.”

Emma slipped her own arm around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder and doing her best not to faint. He was surprisingly sturdy and he smelled so good. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and just breathe.

“So stop trying it on with my girlfriend and piss off,” he said, tightening his arm to tuck her more securely against his side while also managing to loom over Walsh through the sheer force of his personality, despite them being more or less of a height.

Walsh glared at Killian and then at Emma and then back to Killian again, and when neither of them budged he reached out and snatched the cup of ale from Emma’s hand.

“I’ll be taking that back, then,” he huffed, and marched away.

“Thank goodness,” said Emma. “It was not pleasant.”

“Dwarf ale,” remarked Killian. “Not for the faint of stomach.”

Emma chuckled and looked up at him, into those bright blue eyes that had never faded from her memory. He grinned back at her, a grin with an edge it hadn’t had three years ago, and she caught her breath.

“Killian—” she began, then his eyes went wide with horror and his ears flushed bright pink. He pulled his arm away so quickly she stumbled and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Em—er, Your High—”

“Shhhh,” hissed Emma, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a quiet corner. “Careful or you’ll blow my cover. My name’s Anna now. Anna Swan.”

His tense expression relaxed and he raised an eyebrow. “Swan, hmm? Interesting choice.”

“Yeah, it’s a—well, it’s a story. Kind of a long one.”

He smiled, the eager, interested smile she remembered so well. “I have time. If you’d care to tell it?”

He got her a drink, a sweet, fizzy one this time laced with just a few drops from his cup of Glowerhaven rum. They stood close together in the darkened corner and he listened intently as she told him about her childhood fondness for the palace swans, their elegant beauty and terrible manners, and how she’d loved reading the tales of the Swan Princess and the fable of the Ugly Duckling, and how her father had taken to calling her his little duckling after she’d demanded he read her that story at bedtime for three months straight.

“So it just seemed appropriate,” she said with a shrug. “Meaningful, but also it doesn’t give anyone a clue as to who I am.”

“And it suits you,” said Killian. “Swan. Beautiful and fearsome, just like you.”

“I’m not fearsome!” she protested, scowling to cover the blush that heated her cheeks when he called her beautiful.

“Aren’t you?” he asked earnestly. “You terrify me.”

“I do? I don’t wish to.”

“I’m sure it’s unintentional,” he said softly. “And more to do with me being timid.”

“You’re not timid,” she scoffed.

“Much less so than I used to be. And yet—” he took her hand and held it to his chest, just above his pounding heart. “You see?”

Emma gulped and her mouth went dry. His chest was firm and the hair on it rough beneath the fabric of his shirt, his hand covering hers so warm.

“Mine’s the same, though,” she whispered, taking his other hand. With hers still on his chest she could feel his sharp inhale and his heart racing even faster when she laid his palm flat over her own frantic heartbeat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Their eyes locked, his looking dazed and very dark, the colour high on his cheeks and his breaths audibly harsh.

She licked her lips and his eyes followed the movement, his fingers tightening around hers, his hand on her chest sliding up to curl around her neck. He leaned his head down and she tipped her chin up and their lips were barely a breath apart when a crash and a shriek sounded from the kitchen and they both jumped. Killian squeezed his eyes shut, swearing viciously under his breath as he released her hand and neck and stepped away.

“It sounds like things are winding down here,” he said gruffly. “When glassware starts to shatter, that’s your cue to leave. Bit of advice.”

Disappointment tasted bitter, Emma realised. Bitter and crushing and achy and she hated it. She never wished to feel it again. She nodded in response, unable to speak.

They stood silently for a minute, then Killian sighed. “So, um, may I see you home?” he asked, rubbing at his neck again.

She smiled despite herself. “We’re not at court, Killian.”

“Perhaps not, but I’d still like to walk you back.”

“Yeah.” Her smile came more easily with the next attempt. “I’d like that too.”

He kept his hands in his pockets as they walked the short distance to her dorm, but she was acutely aware of him and how near he was and the faint heat she could still feel from his body. When they reached her building he turned to her and smiled.

“Well, Swan, I hope it won’t be another three years until I see you again,” he said.

“It’s a small campus and I’m here until next summer, so I’d guess probably not.” Not if she had anything to say about it, she thought.

“You’re only staying for a year?” he asked.

“It’s all my parents would permit.”

“Ah. I’ve only this year remaining as well, actually, until I graduate.”

“Graduate? But—in three years?”

He shrugged. “I’ve worked hard.”

It was more than that, Emma knew. He was clever and ambitious and determined to make something of himself. To change the world, just as his brother had predicted. She didn’t know the precise circumstances of the Joneses’ life before they found refuge in Misthaven, but from the few hints Commander—now Captain—Jones had dropped they hadn’t had the easiest of beginnings. That they had already made such a success of themselves was deeply impressive, and Emma suspected they were only just getting started.

“Do you—have far to walk to get home?” she asked, a bit wistfully. It was late and she was tired but she didn’t want Killian to go. She wasn’t ready for their time together to end.

“Just to the other side of campus,” he replied. “I’m here on a military training scholarship so I live with the other cadets. When I graduate I’ll join the navy as a lieutenant.”

“Like your brother.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Possibly even on his ship.”

“That would be amazing.”

“We think so.”

They were standing close again, in a shadowy recess just to the side of the door, and Emma’s heart was pounding, not again but more like still; it had barely rested since she’d laid eyes on Killian. He was looking at her with a gaze so intense she could swear she felt it caress her lips and gods she wanted him to kiss her. If only she had paid more attention to the gossip among the ladies at court, or even to Ruby’s chatter the past two weeks, then she might have at least some idea of how to make that happen. How exactly did one go about letting a man know one wished to be kissed without actually saying ‘please kiss me’? Maybe she should just say it? Or, as the princess, did she need to kiss him first? What was the protocol here? She was royalty damn it, she couldn’t do anything until she knew the protocol.

Instead she just stared at him, feeling hot and itchy and increasingly desperate until he swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, then stepped back. Again.

“Well. I imagine I’ll see you around, then, Swan.”

Don’t go, Emma’s body screamed, even as her mouth said “I hope so.”

He smiled and gave her a small nod, then headed off down the path away from her building, and from her. She watched him go, simmering with frustration. She should have just grabbed him, she thought, and protocol be damned. Grabbed him and kissed him, because damn it she was not going to be able to sleep tonight for wondering what that would feel like, and wishing she didn’t need to wonder.

With an irritated huff she went to the door, taking her keys from her pocket and sorting through them in search of the correct one. She’d just managed to locate it when a warm hand took her by the elbow and tugged her back into the privacy of the shadows.

“What the—” she exclaimed, and then Killian’s lips were on hers. The keys slipped from her fingers and fell unheeded to the ground as her knees went weak and she grasped at his shoulders for support. He walked her back until she was pressed against the wall, his arm firm around her waist and his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her, soft and slow and deep and gods.

Emma whimpered, clinging to him, yearning for things she couldn’t articulate. His hand flexed against her jaw at the sound and just for a moment he pulled her flush against him, insistent yet so gentle, like he wanted to consume her and also never let her go. Then, ever so softly, he broke the kiss.

“Go out with me,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers and stroking his thumb across her chin.

“Hmmmm?” Emma struggled to think through the spinning in her head and the frantic thrum of her blood. “Go where?”

He chuckled. “Let me take you out to dinner. Tomorrow.”

“Like—a date?”

“Aye, Swan, very much like a date. An actual date, in fact.”

She blushed at the gentle teasing but the butterflies in her belly were performing an elaborate pas-de-deux and she felt like she could fly along with them. “I’d like that,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Um.” He cleared his throat and stood straight, though his hand remained on her cheek. “I’ll come by here to pick you up. About seven?”

She nodded. “I’m in room 3017. You can call me on the intercom from down here.”

“3017,” he repeated. He stepped back with a swagger in his hips this time, and bit his bottom lip in a way that made her want to drag him up to her room now, no date required.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he said, his voice dripping with promise, and she smiled.

“Tomorrow.”

“And that’s how it happened.” Emma concludes. “More wine, Captain Jones?” She smiles at Liam who’s gaping at her, slack-jawed. Slowly he inclines his head and pushes his wine glass slightly forward on the table. The three of them are sitting in the small dining area of Emma and Killian’s apartments at the palace, sharing dinner as they fill Liam in on the story of their relationship. As Emma refills his wine glass, Liam turns to Killian and punches him squarely in the shoulder.

“Oi!” Killian cries. “What was that for?”

“I can’t believe you just kissed her like that!” Liam exclaims. “What were you thinking?”

Killian shrugs. “I was thinking I wanted to kiss her.”

“You can’t just up and kiss the princess!” Liam sputters.

“That’s what I was trying to tell myself,” says Killian. “I walked away cursing who she was and reminding myself I had to treat her appropriately, and then I thought but why? If she’d been the normal girl she was pretending to be, I’d have kissed her at the party. So I turned back and, well, you heard the rest.”

“I’m glad he did, too,” says Emma. “It saved me the trouble of hunting him down and kissing him myself. Didn’t help me sleep that night though.” She shoots Killian a saucy look which he returns in kind.

“All right all right, bloody hell,” Liam grumbles. “Could you stop doing that, please?”

“Doing what?” asks Emma innocently.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, brother,” says Killian.

Liam groans and lets his head fall into his hands. “Where’s that wine?” he says.

When dinner is over Liam takes his leave, and Emma offers to walk with him as far as the door to the inner courtyard. They stroll slowly through the wide corridors and Liam waits, knowing she must have something she wishes to say.

“I’m glad you finally know about us.” Emma glances up at him with a rather apologetic smile. “Killian’s been wanting to tell you for ages. He couldn’t say anything at first of course, because no one outside my family and our closest advisers knew I was at the university, but since we began living together he’s felt awful keeping it from you.”

“I understand why he did, though,” Liam replies. “And I’m truly sorry he ever felt that he couldn’t confide in me.” They walk in silence for a few minutes. “Do, er—” he clears his throat. “Do your parents know?”

“They do.”

“And… how do they feel about it?”

“They’re delighted,” says Emma gently, and Liam feels the tension in his shoulders recede.

“Truly?”

“Truly. It was a bit tricky at first, but they adore Killian and they’re happy I’ve chosen someone who will be a true partner to me when I take the throne. They know how essential that is.”

They are approaching the doors to the courtyard, but Emma stops just inside them and turns to face him. “Liam,” she says. “May I call you that?”

“Of course.”

“Liam, I just want you to know that Killian—” Her voice breaks and she blinks rapidly, looking faintly embarrassed. “I—I just—I love him so much,” she chokes out as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. “Oh, gods I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, lass.” Liam withdraws a crisp handkerchief from his uniform pocket and offers it to her.

“Thank you.” She takes the handkerchief and dabs at her eyes. “I’ve never found it easy to talk about my feelings,” she says once she’s calmer, “and the stronger they are the harder it is. But I need you to know that Killian’s heart is safe with me. As I know mine is with him.”

Liam nods, his chest too tight for the words he wishes he could say. He contents himself with a simple “Thank you.”

Emma smiles and gives him his handkerchief back, squeezing his hand as he takes it. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Brother.”

—

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @kmomof4 @stahlop @darkcolinodonorgasm @katie-dub @teamhook @donteattheappleshook @xhookswenchx @snidgetsafan

#cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain duckling #modern captain duckling #cs ff au #modern au #modern royalty #meet cute #college au #brothers jones #love blooms #profdanglaisstuff #mariakov81 #happy birthday masha

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milkkygirls · 4 years

Text

grease and grime. (sam winchester.)

request: Could you do a Sam Winchester fic when he’s in college? Like he went to college in Kansas and he works as a mechanic for his dad. The reader and Sam have been dating for years and One day the reader brings her car there to be repaired and her and Sam have like sexy, car greasy, sex on the work bench after hours or something like that? from: @thatsabummer02

warnings: female!reader, smut (oral m!recieving, penetration.) some dirty talk, language, me knowing absolutely nothing about cars to accurately talk about what’s going on before the ~smut~

word count: 1.6k

*gif is not mine, but edited by me*

SPRING BREAK, THE TIME OF YEAR WHERE STUDENTS ARE FREE FROM THEIR HELLISH STUDIES AND LET LOOSE. But here you were, stuck in a Lawrence, Kansas at you parents house with you piece of crap yellow Pinto that was at least a thousand years old. You came back from college for the week with your boyfriend, Sam, whom you’ve been dating since your freshman year of high school. You figured that since his dad and older brother were the way they were, your dear lover was probably trapped inside his father’s mechanic shop.

You wanted to drop by and visit, maybe even get your shitty car fixed for once. Sam was a law student just like you, but he sure did know a thing or two about vehicles. So with the screech of your tire and the boom of the exhaust you drove your squeaky and unpredictable car to the shop, only seeing one car in the lot: Sam’s. You pulled out your cellphone, dialing the number of your beloved and held the phone up to your ear, after four dial tones it answered.

“Hello? [Y/N]?” You heard him ask from the other end, the sound of machinery nearly muffling him. “Baby? I can barely hear you!” You yelled into the phone, covering your free ear until the sound of the machinery shut off. You sighed with relief. “Come outside.” You simply said, hanging up the phone before he could answer. You leaned against the Pinto patiently waiting, hearing as the mechanic garage’s panel door slid up, revealing the sweaty and grease covered body of your boyfriend clad in a tank top and blue jeans. Truly a sight to behold. Although he was absolutely filthy, you’d be lying if you said seeing him like that didn’t make warmth pool in your panties.

Sam came striding over, squinting to see, he smiled as he grew closer, nearly picking you up completely to kiss you. You pulled your sunglasses off to cut the interference between your eager kiss. Sam set you down, resting a hand on the roof of the car, towering over it. “What’s wrong with it now?” He questioned.

You sighed, crossing your arms, pushing up your breasts in your low-cut T-shirt in the process (something that didn’t go unnoticed by him). “Same as always.”

He nodded, doing his best to play off the blush on his cheeks to the heat, “Steer it on it, i’ll do what I can. But Dad or Dean will have to fix it.”

You gave him a motion with your hand as to say Roger That! And turned the Pinto back on cringing at the squeak it made when you pressed on the brakes as you drove it into the shop. You watched as the car’s hood was lifted, steam nearly choking the both of you.

Sam grabbed a rag, wiping away built up grease on parts of the car you couldn’t even begin to name; thank god for a mechanic savvy boyfriend. But one thing you noticed was how muscular Sam had gotten since spring break started, I mean, his back muscles were bulging out of his tank top with the slightest of movements. “Your engine’s busted, Babe.” He informed, wiping his hand on his forehead, smearing black oil on his skin.

You giggled, using your thumb to help wipe it away, standing on your tippy toes to reach the gentle giant. “This is nice.” You said, Sam raising an eyebrow, “Being stuck in a hot shop all day?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “No, dummy. Spending time together. We hardly get to do it because of college, but now you’re stuck here all day. I miss spending time with you.” You frowned at the last part, pulling him towards you and resting your head on his chest, listening to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I know you’re trying to be sentimental, but I really miss the sex.” He sighed. He had a point, back at college when you two were stressed you let it all out, taking your stress and turning it into bliss. You looked up at him, resting your chin on his body, “Who says we still can’t have sex without the stress of exams.. I mean, I don’t see anyone around.” You smirked.

Sam cleared his throat, “You want to fuck in a mechanics garage?”

“Why not?”

“First of all, I’m disgusting, look at me.”

You bit your lip, trailing your fingers up and down his back, sending chills down his spine, “It’s kinda hot, Sammy. Why not get down and dirty while you’re literally dirty?”

Sam leaned down, capturing your lips, holding your face within his hands, “You’re a force to be reckoned with, woman.” You giggled once more, pulling him by his shirt to the bench in the corner, pushing him down and climbing on his lap. You kissed him hungrily, almost kneading on his abdomen, nibbling at his bottom lip.

“You’re so eager babygirl..” He breathed hands moving up to cup your breasts. “I missed you..” I was pathetic to you, how easily you were putty in Sam’s hands, how just with a couple of sly looks and you’d answer his every command. You found yourself instinctively grinding yourself against his hardening bulge, mewling out when your already sensitive core made contact from under your skirt.

Sam grabbed your face, not enough to hurt you, but enough to get you to look at him, oh how those hazel eyes swirled and danced with lust, “What else did you miss?”

You moaned when his hand met with your clothed core, pressing down on your clit. “Y-Your cock..” You admitted, feeling yourself getting wetter when he smirked, removing his hand from your pussy. “Show me how much you missed my cock then.”

You gave him a quick peck on the lips, removing yourself from his lap to sit on your knees, ignoring the pain from sitting directly on hard concrete floor. You raked your nails along his jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling them down his legs. You teasingly dragged a finger along his inner thighs, close to the bulge being constricted hy the grey boxers her wore. He shuddered at the feeling, at the feeling of having your hands and mouth so close to his cock but not doing anything.

He enjoyed it when you teased him though, making him more ready to fill you up to the brim. You kissed up his thighs, your mouth hoovering over his hard member, kissing it through his boxers. He groaned out, holding tightly onto the bench until his knuckles turned white. You smiled up at him, batting your long eyelashes until you hooked your index finger onto the elastic of the boxers, slowly pulling them down. The constricted and very hard member sprang free, slapping on the side of your cheek. You admired the way Sam looked from this point of view. His adam’s apple bobbing, muscles tensed, the veins under his well groomed happy trail throbbing. You grabbed his dick gently, slowly pumping your hand up his shaft. Sam closed his eyes, feeling the pleasure he had missed since spring break started.

You kissed the head, then licked a long stride up and giggling when Sam’s hand grabbed your hair, tugging at it. You knew you shouldn’t tease him any longer and give him what he wanted, he deserved it after all. You slipped his head into your mouth, rolling your tongue around it in a way that made him writhe, looking him in the eyes as you almost swallowed him whole, pumping your hand up and down to spread the warmth of your mouth that kissed his skin.

His head fell back, a guttural moan following its wake as he tugged harder on your hair, causing you to groan, the vibrations sending a delicious sensation straight to his dick. You continued to lick and suck, doing all the things you knew drove him crazy until he released in your mouth, seed oozing from the sides of your mouth.

You swallowed, wiping your cheeks with your thumb before popping it back in your mouth to swallow each and every drop of him. You crawled back on his lap, “Such a good girl, taking my cum like that, so hot.” You kissed him, him being the eager one this time.

Sam hiked your skirt up, the fabric bunching up around your abdomen. “You ready to take me?”

You nodded quickly, moving your lacy-white panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt in the fluorescent light of the shop. He groaned at the sight of you, moving your hips to line up with him, sliding his head up and down your folds to gather the wetness before he pushed into you, eliciting the most dirty, borderline pornographic moan he’d ever heard come from that pretty little mouth of yours.

You adjusted to his size, almost crying out when he twitched inside you, moving yourself against him. You were both sweating, the wet sounds of him pushing in and out of you and the slapping of your ass on his thighs was absolute paradise. You rested your forehead against Sam’s, moaning out his name as you got closer, feeling the familiar sensation at the pit of your stomach every time he hit your g-spot. That sensation, the butterflies, the special flutter was worth it when you released messily on him, Sam finishing not long after you.

He pulled out, pulling you towards him in his lap, petting the hair that rested on your back and ignoring the goose skin he got from you kissing his neck. Sam had missed this, and so had you. And just maybe spring break wasn’t so boring after all.

—

author’s note; sorry it took so long babes!

#sam winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam girl #sam winchester smut #supernatural #supernatural smut #supernatural imagines #supernatural x reader #spn imagines #spn smut #spn

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livlepretre · 4 years

Note

tysm for all ur FE updates!!! i'm really excited for elijah's introduction in this dynamic. i feel like he's just as acquainted with elena's morally complex nature as klaus's since, after all, he was the first one she ever lured in and daggered (call-back to that scene was GREAT btw). i'm just curious how you view elena/elijah's dynamic vs. klaus/elena's, even outside the scope of the fic, esp since they've had more canon interactios

This is an ask after my own heart, nonny!

This is such an interesting question-- it’s true that Elijah and Elena have a lot more canon interactions to work with, although the Klaus and Elena interactions we DO have in canon are so ripe and explosive that it lends itself to a lot of speculation.

So, here are my thoughts:

Elena/Elijah: Elena and Elijah both operate under the false assumption that they’re both honorable people. In fact, all of the trust they build together in season 2 is based on this idea, with both of them going to great lengths to negotiate and prove themselves to the other. They both think they’re being extremely honest with the other-- the deal they make in 2x11 utterly fascinates me, because Elijah honestly asks Elena to die as her part of the deal, and she agrees??? It doesn’t sound like he tried to hide that from her at all. Now, Elena DOES dagger him, but she also proves herself to him later and is able to account for her actions. All of that combined with the insane levels of attraction between them (WHEN HE SMELLS HER AND THEN GIVES HER THAT LITTLE WAVE IN 2x08????) make for really captivating television. There’s also a lot of interesting framing going on with the camera angles-- if you look back at it, notice how often Elena is shown in mirror reflections during her early scenes with Elijah-- all the time. What a great call back to how he sees her not just as herself, but as her role as the doppelganger. I do think he BEGINS to see her as herself as he gets to know her, especially by 2x19, but that takes time.

Well. The crux of it all is that Elena goes through with her side of the deal-- the deal on which their entire relationship is based-- going to her death, losing her aunt whom Elijah fails to protect-- even though doing so was HIS part of the bargain-- and then Elijah is the one who breaks his word when he decides not to kill Klaus. This is the first sign we have that actually Elijah isn’t honorable at all; he thinks that he is, but really, he’s as selfish as his siblings. I don’t really think Elena ever forgives him for this. We see in season 3 that she still really is attracted to Elijah, and that she can’t quite help but be drawn in by him, but she never allows herself to really put herself in his hands again. She might feel bad about conspiring to kill him with the rest of his family in 3x14 and 3x15... but she also doesn’t hesitate. And she doesn’t exactly confess what she’s done, either. She just gets caught. I also don’t think that Elijah’s letter to her did anything to smooth over the wreck they’d made of their relationship/unspoken attraction to each other. The way Elena recites it back to him in season 4 says it all about how much she dwelled on his words, but it also implies that she’s still hurt and angry about it all all of that time later. I think she had this really powerful, idealized image of Elijah, and her disillusionment with him is profound.

Meanwhile, Elena is also on a path throughout seasons 2 & 3 of discovering that she’s not who she thought she’d grow up to be. She is definitely more honorable than Elijah when they meet, and she means to keep her word. But Elena’s story is that she’s an orphan with no parental/mentor guidance influencing her in a positive and moral way; instead, she has a 26 year old aunt who means well but is totally in the dark about what’s really going on and pretty much in over her head, and maybe Alaric, who shouldn’t count as a good influence because, well, look at his life, look at his choices. And she has the Salvatores. The greatest influences upon her. Damon has the greatest part in tipping her away from the straight and narrow path, to getting her sense of right and wrong to slowly unravel until she gets to a place such as 2x05, when she watches Damon eat the deputies and she doesn’t bat an eyelash (how far she’s come from 1x07 when she slapped Damon and called him out!). I MORE than suspect that the infamous Elijah-daggering at the lake house was a Damon/Elena collaboration. But even Stefan, who the show frames as so stalwart and honorable, is still a terrifying vampire with ultimately little concern for human life. He still hurts people off and on throughout seasons 1 & 2, or doesn’t particularly have a problem with it when Damon does. I mean, do you see Stefan crying over what Damon did to Caroline in season 1? It’s inconceivable from a human view point. But that’s the point. They’re not human, and they’re the greatest influences in Elena’s life. No small part of Bonnie’s horror with the Salvatores is because she watches Elena slowly turn down this dark path with those two leading Elena by the hand-- human Elena, who should never cross through the veil into the shadow.

She’s still in the process of straying from that path-- from her honorable self-- when Elijah meets her. By the time they encounter each other in season 3, she’s already left all of that behind. She stabs people in the back when they trust her. She negotiates and gives her word only to double cross as soon as the moment is right, and she doesn’t seem to lose very much sleep over it. Elijah’s issue is that he cannot see that in Elena-- he wants to see her as who she was when he met her-- who Katerina and probably who Tatia was-- as a miracle that he desires but doesn’t quite dare to touch-- but he is incapable of seeing that his betrayal of her at the sacrifice was probably the last straw that killed whatever innocence was left in Elena.

I think the attraction and the yearning is always going to be there between them, but it’s so embittered, especially from Elena’s point of view, that it’s hard to say whether they would be able to work past that unless Elijah suddenly learned some actual introspection skills.

Elena/Klaus: I’ve had to think a while about this dynamic to answer the question of how this relationship is as directly compared to Elena/Elijah. Obviously they both have the history and repetition element, of the dead lover whose face keeps reiterating through time-- what a dreadful and terrifying idea, honestly. Except where Elijah is almost afraid to even touch Elena (he SO desires her, but never ever acts on it), Klaus touches Elena all. the. time. There’s a real possessiveness to his relationship with her-- notice how he holds her as he devours her; how during the Reckoning he’s always physically close to her, leaning into her space, touching her-- whereas Elijah really physically backs off from Elena when he confirms her identity, Klaus comes closer.

This is interesting because I’ve realized in thinking about this relationship, and what Klaus and Elena potentially have in common, that what they really share is their isolation-- their loneliness. Klaus explicitly states that this is why he desires Elena-- to make hybrids, so he won’t be alone anymore (Rebekah mocks him for it, but there it is). Elena, meanwhile, is at her most alone in season 3-- everyone walks away from her there, for reasons she has no control over. This is never really used as a point to bring them together as characters, but I find it really interesting as a possibility for connection.

Another thing that really interests me is that Elena often tries to negotiate with Klaus the way she would with Elijah-- and mostly, it fails spectacularly. Klaus recognizes in Elena that she is a schemer and a liar-- because he is too. What’s fascinating though is that, just like Elijah, he tends to treat her as an equal in these conversations-- even if he doesn’t want to play. He doesn’t tend to treat with the other characters in this way, and that gives Elena an intriguingly special status there.

In canon we really don’t have a ton to work with to talk about the Klaus/Elena dynamic-- it’s all potential. The idea of fate being so strong and impossible to avoid-- that in that sense, they’re almost warped soul mates?; the powerful fire imagery surrounding them (the only time Elena’s elemental coding switches from water to fire is with Klaus); the chemistry and attraction that bubbled over in all of their scenes, especially in the early days; the fact that she is just so constantly challenging him and wrecking him at every turn? Klaus’s big problem is that no one is his equal, and yet... here is Elena. Human Elena, whose reasoning is as warped as Klaus’s by season 3, who somehow keeps scrambling up to play against Original vampires and witches and all sorts of creatures who should be able to crush her and yet, she keeps besting them. That’s some potent stuff to work with. I tend to think that at the end of the day, Klaus actually understands Elena much better than Elijah did, because his view of her isn’t really muddied by idealism and instead really takes into account her more tarnished nature. My only regret is that the showrunners obviously feared ever really exploring Klaus x Elena x Elijah (EVEN THOUGH THEY COMPLETELY SET IT UP) because they felt that Stefan x Elena x Damon was already as much as the show could handle (it wasn’t-- we should have done both, obviously).

#anonymous #elena gilbert #elejah #klena #tvd meta #klaulena

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liw-the-melancholic-apple · 4 years

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How it may have gone - Humble Beginnings

A fic taking place in the marauders era. While the political climate seems to head to a conflict, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are still just teenagers. Dealing with typical teenage problems.

But this year their little group grows. Who would have known that more prefects would be a good thing?

Masterlist

Ten: Detention III

When I came back to Greenhouse 4 the next day around the same time a new list lay on the first workstation. Next to it I found the lower section of the one I had worked off of yesterday. The little facts about the plants and creatures were apparently mine to keep. I folded that piece of parchment and put it in my bag.

Then I unfolded the new list.

To Do – Day 2

Behind the bumblebush by the desks you’ll find a door. I houses the supplies and tools. It’s not locked, grab whatever you need.

One table over is a stack of books that tells you what you need to know about the various plants and animals.

Feed the Abtu in the river

Check elderly mandrakes for signs of life (or death)

Water nettles, beets and tea (green, white and black)

Cut eight branches of Dittany

Wear gloves !!! and collect Streeler slime.

The Chameleon Potion is a very advanced one but it is one of the most powerful ways of disguise. In contrast to polyjuice potion which lets the drinker only turn into one person, of whom a ‘piece’ is required as an ingredient, which poses its own risks and obstacles, the Chameleon potion enables the drinker to practically become a metamorphmagi for at least two hours after consumption.

Nettles, beets and tealeaves (fresh or dried) are basic ingredients in a lot of potions. Nettles are mostly used in healing potions to provide the best starting points for the more magical ingredients. Not a single common healing potion is brewed without nettles! Beets are mostly used for colour in cosmetic applications. White, Green and Black Tea all have different properties that are released when put in hot water. Those properties often react with more magical plants like devil’s snare or moon dew to bring the potion to full potential.

When dittany is boiled and reduced, then combined with liquid silver it becomes a paste that is a very powerful cure against werewolves bites, called Lykoiaomai. This is the full recipe: Boil and reduce dittany leaves, strain the liquid to rid it of all solids and stir it into a liquid but slightly cooled silver. The ratio is one tablespoon of liquid silver to five tablespoons of dittany reduction.

When dried over a moderate flame Streeler slime turns into thin transparent gelatinous sheets, that can be dissolved in hot water. Dissolve the sheets in white tea as a cure for sleep deprivation.

Again, with the factoids… While the last ones seemed random these appeared to be a little more tailored to my situation. Mainly because of the werewolf and sleep deprivation. Full moon would be tomorrow. All of the Gryffindor boys would be completely destroyed on Thursday, if I could find dried sheets of Streeler Slime in Slughorn’s shelves, I might just take them to see whether they worked as well as pepper up potion.

While Sirius was right and there were no side-effects to using the potion it was pretty hard to get a hold of and expensive to buy. If the giant slugs provided an alternative I could see myself nicking some jars of their slime before detention was over. It would be helpful to the boys and to Crick and me. Just yesterday the next month of nightshifts had been figured out and I was serving at least one a week, not one on the weekends. Crick had had a similar fate while Jonas got way too many Saturdays to his name. Anything that would get me through a day of classes after a nightshift was absolutely worth breaking the rules for.

On the other hand, Sprout had never once said that I wasn’t allowed to take anything from the greenhouse. Obviously I could assume that nothing was to leave the treehouse but nobody had officially forbidden it.

I got to work and finished a bit quicker than the day before. One of the mandrakes didn’t react to anything I did to it, so I assumed it to be dead and put it on the table with a note. I thought it smart to let everybody know that I wasn’t sure what a dead mandrake looked like. Just in case this one was just really old and moved so slowly I didn’t realise it. The last thing I needed was to get in trouble while serving detention.

After I placed the dittany branches on top of the books I walked back into the shed and looked through the Potions section. I found two interesting things: There were a lot of sheets of Streeler slime and there were about 12 glasses of Dittany-Silver-Paste. They were labelled with dates. All of which lay in the future. One of which was tomorrow.

I had thrown myself in a homework marathon yesterday night and written my essay on the significance of Venus in relation to death for the Thursday class. Normally I couldn’t be bribed to research astronomical deteails outside of class or homework. It was one of those subjects whose importance to general magical education I understood – unlike divination – but I really wasn’t all that interested in it. Yesterday however, I had broken out my moon chart for the decade and checked the dates of full moons. I had made a list and pinned it into my wardrobe, just so I was prepared for a weak and sickly looking Remus and a grumpy Potter-posse. Aside from that, I had a feeling that the other boys were stupid enough to hang out with Remus after he had transformed and I wanted to be able to run to their rescue when something happened.

The dates on the glasses of anti-werewolf-bite-cream were all full moon dates. Seeing how Remus didn’t need a specific potion to be healed, even if he bit himself, because he already was a werewolf and didn’t get affected by the poison in his own fangs, the existence of all of these jars seemed to proof my theory that my stupid, stupid friends did regularly lounge with a transformed werewolf. And that the school knew.

While making these observations I found one glass with a December date. The 26th, to be exact. Remus would have been with his parents during the holidays, so this one went unused. Then, again, I doubted that every other jar of this stuff had been used. Did it maybe spoil quickly? Maybe, but not very likely. There were jars labelled for next November. I went back out into the bright garden and checked the special edition book on uncommon healing potions. I had a section Dittany, the recipe for the cream and stated that it was good for roughly ten years.

So, maybe the teachers relabelled the jars after every full moon that went well. I could safely assume that every single one of these jars was good to go in case of an emergency. And that it would be for couple of years. After all Remus had only started school five and a half years ago. And I doubted, that we had more than one werewolf on campus.

I struggled with my conscience and I didn’t feel good about it. But I went back into the shed, ripped the label off the December jar and put it into my bag. Just in case I really needed to run to anybody’s rescue. When I left I felt really guilty but I also reckoned I could talk myself out of the situation if it ever came to light.

We were all pretty nervous on Wednesday. It was our first full moon. And even though we weren’t going to actually be around Remus during the night, all of us girls were hyper aware of Remus’ bad shape and what would happen at night. I was glad that we went on revising spells in Charms class that morning. That way nobody noticed how little I could concentrate. Transfiguration went fairly well, too, as it was a theoretical class and I only needed to write down notes. I did, however, pull myself together to write them completely, detailed and legible because Milla was an absolute wreck at this point. Yes, her feelings for Remus weren’t influenced by the fact that he was a werewolf but the thought of every bone in his body breaking horrified her for him. Her voice was shaky all day and it sounded like she could start crying any second. Needless to say that she didn’t take any notes at all during McGonnagal’s monologue.

“Please, keep me away from Remus!”, she begged when we crossed the foyer for lunch. “Or at least don’t let me talk to him. He already looks like death and I don’t think my state would help that at all.”

“Sure thing. We’ll distract him.”

We did. Quite successfully. By now the others knew what my detention consisted of exactly and I decided to tell the entire group about my recent venture into thieving.

“Point is, that I have that stuff. I don’t hope you’ll ever need it but in all honesty if you should ever need it, it’s probably better if you have it with you rather than it sitting in my night stand”, I whispered while smoking.

“You stole Slughorn’s supply from a restricted area of the school? You sure you’re still you, Goods?”

“Fairly certain, yeah. Honestly, I’d rather lose my badge and serve detention for the next two years, than live through the nightmare of something happening to any of you.”

“I’m with Jette”, Remus agreed strongly. Well, as strongly as he possibly could. Milla was right, saying he looked like death. His skin was basically see-through and the dark circles under his eyes nearly reached his upper lip.

“I’m not myself. What if I do bite one of you?”, his voice got a little shaky and I had the distinct impression that that had nothing to do with his physical condition.

“You haven’t yet, Remus”, James tried to calm him down, with a pad on the shoulder.

“First time for everything”, Remus half-smiled in response.

“Just take it!”, I shoved the jar in Peter’s hands. “If you never need it, I’ll be heavenly happy, but if you do need it and don’t have access to it I’ll kill myself over it. And so will Remus. So, don’t argue!”

We sent them off to their classes and descended to the dungeons to learn something or other about fever-reducing-potions. Blair took care of her cauldron that she shared with Millla and the one that Chloe and Nica were supposed to brew in, while Joe was absolutely on his own with ours. I’d told him that I wasn’t on my A-game and could barely concentrate and being the wonderful person he was, he took it upon himself to just do the potion on his own, allowing me to lift. I had to promise that I’d help him out in Defence, though. And I was more than willing to pay that price.

When I got to the treehouse that afternoon I was met by Professor Slughorn. Oh. Not good.

“Miss de Witt. How nice. I thought it useful to talk you through some of the ingredients we have you collect and store. While I’m aware that Professor Sprout provided you with the books and some additional information, I’d like for you to know a little more. You up for it?”

“Certainly, Professor.” Maybe he hadn’t noticed that I nicked his December jar.

“Very well. We will get to the Dittany you collected yesterday. First, you should feed the animals. I’ll set up over there.” He pointed at the tables and pulled out a collapsible cauldron. I scanned my list for the day that just told me to feed the fish and lay out some hay for whatever other creature. I did both those things, visited the mandrakes, who were all still alive and returned to the table.

The Dittany branches were already in the cauldron and a shimmery, shiny substance sat atop a different fire. Shimmery, shiny and silver. Maybe he had noticed that I nicked the jar.

“Now, I’m sure you can guess what we’re doing today.”

“The potion – paste – that Professor Sprout wrote about. The one that heals werewolf bites?”

“Excellent. Five points to Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, thank you, Sir.”

“Now, I’m aware you don’t like potionmaking all that much. Contrasting your brother, who is still doing brilliantly.”

“Happy to hear that, Sir.”

“But with your strong suit being Defence against the Dark Arts, I don’t think that it would be crazy to assume you at least think about working in theat field. I would favour you for an auror but obviously you might end up a curse breaker, a member of the department for magical law or a dejinxer at St. Mungo’s. Every single one of these professions is connected to potions and potionmaking in one way or another. And if you’d ever want to apply to the auror training programme you need to have achieved an A at least in your NEWTs. So, I thought we’d try to install some interest in you by meeting here every now and again during your detention to work on interesting and practical potions. Would you be okay with that?”

“Of couse, Sir. Thank you. This is probably the best opportunity anybody has ever gotten by getting detention.”

“Well, I personally don’t agree with your actions, Miss de Witt. But I also don’t agree with those of my own students.” I had fully forgotten that Slughorn was Slytherin Head of House.

“What Messrs Black and Mulciber said and did does not represent my house. I trust you know that. And I don’t want you to miss opportunities over a throw-away nasty comment.”

“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate that. A lot. A whole lot.”

“Let’s get to work then.”

He went through the recipe and one or two tricks that could help me when brewing the thing myself. At the end we had produced four more of the jars. Three of them Slughorn put on his shelves, one he gave to me.

“I’d guess you won’t need it anytime soon. But it keeps nearly forever, so it won’t hurt to keep it for emergencies in whatever field you chose to work. And now that you know how to brew it and should wish to practice again, you can always ask me for the ingredients or supplies. I would have to supervise your use of them. You’ll understand that I don’t want you to take the silver for making jewellery. “

“Completely.” Frankly, I didn’t understand anything that was going on but I ran with it. By this point I was one hundred percent certain that Slughorn had noticed the theft. Otherwise he’d not have said that I could ask him for more of the potion. I thought he’d be mad at me but since he wasn’t I had to conclude that he knew about Remus’ condition and my friendship to him.

When Slughorn dismissed me it was pitchblack outside. I quickly looked up. The moon hadn’t fully risen yet, but it was definitely visible. According to our DADA material the transformation didn’t happen until the moon had done exactly that. Full rise and full moon. I imagined that the boys had already eaten and were on their way to wherever they hid during these nights. They’d gone so far as to tell us that there was a hideout but not where it was.

My steps quickened as I crossed the lawn. Suddenly, the lights from the castle’s windows seemed very far away. How fast did the moon rise? How far away from the castle was the hideout? Did the boys get there in time for the transformation? I quickened my steps. I started jogging. I did not want to run into Remus tonight. Absolutely not. Nope.

“Goods!” I stopped. Turned around.

“Sirius?”

“What are you still doing out here? Moon’s nearly risen.”

“Why d’you think I’m running?” I couldn’t spot any of the other boys.

“Oh… are you scared of the big bad wolf?” Sirius smug smirk appeared on his lips.

“I thought I already told you that I’d rather not run into a transformed werewolf. So, yeah. I love Remus, I do, but …”

“You don’t want to share his fate.”

“Well, no I don’t. And I’d rather not die, either.”

“Fair enough. No need to be scared, he’s already where he’s supposed to be.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Forgot you wonder potion in the dorm… We have a fairly established routine for nights like these. And your stupid jar, is not yet part of it. But Remus insisted I get it.” I swung my backpack from my back to my chest and opened it.

“What are you doing?” I handed him the new jar of dittany and silver.

“Slughorn was at detention. He must have noticed that I stole one of the jars and taught me how to brew it. I got to keep one. Fully legal this time.”

“What kind of detention is that? I only ever get to clean things or write the same sentence over and over again.”

“Haven’t quite worked that out yet. But it seems to have some kind of deeper meaning. Slughorn said that he’d stop by more often during detention to teach me potions. The useful kind that I might enjoy brewing. He said it’s to help me get into the auror programme but I don’t know whether I should believe that.”

“Curious” Sirius looked up at the dark sky. “I gotta run.”

“Right… Hug Remus for me, yeah?” Sirius tilted his head. He didn’t look impressed with that suggestion.

“Or tell him I’m hugging him mentally.”

“Will do.” He was ready to head back to where he had come from.

“And be careful, you hear?”

“You worried about me?”, again he smirked at me.

“Yes, Sirius, I am. About all of you. Including Remus. So, be careful and not arrogant or heroic or Merlin knows what. Okay?”

Sirius came a little closer and studied my face.

“Nothing will happen, Goods. We’ve done this for a while now. We know what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, right because it’s such a common practice to ru…”

“Nothing”, Sirius interrupted me “will happen to any of us. I promise.” He gave me that look that made one feel like he uncovered the deepest and darkest secrets of one’s soul.

“Fine. Fine, fine. Run off, then.” I pushed him against his shoulders to give him some momentum.

“Get something to eat you worried Goodie-two-shoes”, Sirius grinned as he ran back into the blackness of the grounds.

I continued on my way to dinner, slower than before, but distinctly more concerned. He could promise me that they’d be fine a million times, I would never fully believe that none of them took unnecessary risks. That was in their blood. They were inherently adventurous. To the point of stupidity. This was going to be a long night. I doubted I’d get any sleep at all.

Entering the Great Hall and spotting Milla, Blair, Chloe and Nica I realised that none of us would sleep. We’d all be awake all night assuring one another that the boys would be fine. Although none of us were sure about that.

#james potter #remus lupin #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #original character #sirius black #harry potter #peter pettigrew #james & peter & remus & sirius

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trashpandaorigins · 4 years

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The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 14 Reckoning

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

I can see you in the distance, and you're heading for a fall

Sinking deeper by the minute, you're about to lose it all

You better change, before the sun goes down

You better leave, before you are the last in town.

You better raise, your fortresses or tear them down

Better Change - Dan Fogelberg

Rocket’s claws clinked against the metal plating on his collar bones, tap tap tapping against the rusted pieces. He curled in his bunk, but despite his efforts nothing replicated that surreal cautious tenderness with which someone besides Groot had dared touch those metal bolts. It was …...nice. It warmed something inside him that had been cold. Some dark place devoid of light where he had poured his malice and hatred at the world. None but Groot, the old Groot, the real Groot, the one who was gone had ever shed any light on that space inside of him. Until now. No one else besides the flora had ever touched him without wanting to hurt him, change him, upgrade or improve or experiment on him. And, like the monster he was...he’d returned the favor with betrayal. He lowered the protective mask and fired more plasma at the Hadron enforcer’s core, sealing it. No it probably didn’t need any fine-tuning but Rocket’s mind spun for something, anything to tinker with, so an upgrade it was.

“Hey, Rocket?!” Quill called over the intercom, “Can you come up here? We got a situation.” The hair on the ringtail’s back rose with irritation,

“If this is about the patch job I do more work on this hunk of junk than any of yous so make Drax repair it!”

He threw down his equipment and made his way to the main deck.

“M Groot!” The little flora rolled into the hall, giggling and munching on the tiny leaf that grew from his own arm. Rocket’s mouth twitched in an amused smile, scooping the little thing up.

“There you are.”

“I...a...am Groo..ot!”

“Quill was tossing you?”

“I am Groot!”

“Tsch, well if he did that , I’m about to get my blasters and…”

The words died in his mouth. Three Nova Corps ships, and six officers surrounded them. Rocket instantly recognized the man to the left, the one whom he had called just terran hours ago. How’d they get here this fast? The engines on those things must be over twenty quarstones.

“Peter Jason Quill and the Guardians of the Galaxy, well we didn’t think we’d be seeing you so soon. Honestly, I’m impressed you made it this far without coming up on our radar.”

Rocket reached for his holster, his other paw reaching up to his shoulder where Groot perched curiously out from behind his ear.

“What is this about Nova,” Quill’s attempt at diplomacy appeared ineffective. The officer, one whom Rocket did not recognize, shook her head. He slid his gaze over to Gamora who stood beside Quill, as stern and expressionless as ever, arms folded and stance secure.

“If this is about the Platain town I massacred...that was….a while ago,” Drax defended, both of his knives out and ready. The Nova officers ignored him.

“Lady Gamora,”

Fuck…. Rocket cursed inwardly. His body tensed, grip tightening around his sidearm. Fuck...fuck...fuck you stupid piece of pelt….you really thought you could get away with this. After all she’s done for you? You fucking monster.

“You are under arrest for endangering your fellow crew, illegal pursuit of a fugitive and to prevent further actions against innocent plants and peoples.”

Three of them encroached, the man holding cuffs.

“Hey, hey!” Quill stepped between them. “There’s gotta be a misunderstanding! You sure your not thinking of the other daughter of Thanos? The bald one with the metal. What’s her name? Nebula? Yeah her! She’s the one you ought to be after!”

“Step aside Starlord,” the Nova officer ordered. Quill grinned cheekily,

“Uh uh, I see what you're doing, but validating my badass outlaw name is not going to make me turn Gamora over.”

Shoot! Run! Get the flark out of here! The machine...or heart...whatever was in his chest raced with trepidation. Take Groot and go! He slipped his revolver out of it’s holster and gripped it tight.

“There must be a mistake,” Gamora clarified evenly. She made no move for her sword even as the officers side-stepped Quill. “I was going after Nebula. But she is no more a daughter of Thanos than I am.”

“Family relations aside, we have deemed you too reckless to be allowed out in the Galaxy unchecked. You were given your chance.”

“What chance? I’ve done nothing but pursue Nebula who is a direct threat not only to myself but to every planet she lands on.” She spoke like someone who’d talked her way out of dangerous situations before.

“That’s enough,” the woman Nova officer dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Take her away, she can answer to Nova Prime.”

“No no, no, wait man that’s not what we agreed to!” Quill exclaimed, “we just saved your lousy planet, remember?” The officers moved for Gamora, the one with the handcuffs approaching first. Rocket watched her strike the man, he didn’t even realize she’d unsheathed her sword. He fell to the ground with a thud. One down, five more to go.

“Damn it!” Quill’s blasters were out in seconds, and Drax charged forward towards the three Nova ships with uproarious laughter. Rocket took aim instantly shooting at the man he’d spoken with not long ago. The man dodged, just in time to duck and take his own shot. Rocket leapt away, the hiss of the bullet ringing in his ears. Behind him Drax shouted something obscene, rushing to beat down the third Nova officer who was making a run for Gamora. She grunted, kicking him in the temple and ran her sword through his side.

“Guys the ships they….!” Quill shouted, but Rocket didn’t need to hear the end of his words. Two of the Nova officers had gone back to their ships, now firing volleys at them and the Benatar.

“Get back to the ship!” Gamora was screaming, pivoting as three rounds of fire shot towards her. Rocket, reached behind him to grab the Hadron Enforcer, grasping blindly for the handle,

Shit…! Shit! Shit!

“I am Groot!”

The frightened saplings cry sent his blood coursing with fright. Shaking, he dropped to all fours just in time for a Nova Officer to run at him. He slid on the ground and spun, firing at the man’s back.

“Die! Die!” Drax cackled, running towards the ramp of the Benatar.

“Get the people in the ships you dumb ass!” Rocket yelled, wincing at the sound of crumpling metal. They’d only just repaired the ship!

“Groot hang on,” he instructed, he’d have to get closer to get the best shot with a revolver. He ran forward to the Nova Officer’s ships. He darted instinctually on all fours, dashing from side to side and leaping up the nearest tree, scurrying out on a limb and dropped down on top of the ship.

From this position, he could see Gamora grappling with the remaining officers, Drax and Quill on either side of her. The officer inside the ship sent solar flares at the Benatar with unrelenting force. Rocket stood over the glass dome, taking aim and shot. The glass shattered, the man inside looked up in shock, cursing something before the ringtail jumped on top of him. Clawing, scratching, biting. Tearing into the fabric of the man’s uniform. His enhanced claws scratched the metal painfully.

“I am Groot!” Groot shrieked, desperately holding on to the straps of the raccoonoid’s jumpsuit.

“Get off me!”

The officer flailed, kicking, the ship rocked. Rocket stumbled backward, turning as the whole ship veered to the left, the hail of solar beams skated from the Benatar towards Quill, Drax and Gamora fought.

No! NO! NO! NO!

Rocket spun, grabbing the controls, throwing his weight against the gun, shoving with all his might.

“Quill!” Gamora’s shout caught his ears even from inside the ship. He looked up, stomach buckling. The humie was down, the woman’s arm around him. Drax brought down the remaining officer with a quick thrust of his knife through the man’s jugular.

“Why you!” The Nova Officer behind him yanked at the scruff of Rocket’s neck with his glove torn hand. The ringtail snarled, teeth bared. He lunged forward, pointed incisors sinking into soft flesh. Warm, metallic blood spurted, filling the raccoonoid’s nostrils in a frenzy. He snarled, gnawing. The man screamed, ripping out handfuls of fur, pulling on his tail. Rocket’s teeth latched around something hard, there was an audible crack and something wet, fleshy quivered in his mouth. He rent backward, blood smattering against his fur. The Nova officer pressed his hands to his throat, gurgling.

Rocket starred, his entire body shaking, fur raised. His claws curled. In a heated rage he watched the man’s open neck, twitching, ghastly and shredded.

“I am g...g...Groot…”

The ringtail turned, still heaving for breath. The tiny flora pointed towards the ship. Rocket wiped his muzzle with the back of his paw and grabbed Groot in his blooded claws, running back to the others. Iron sweet blood slick on his tongue, he swallowed as he ran trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

“There you are furry friend, I did not know where you….what happened to your face?”

“T...take Groot,” the raccoonoid offered the sapling to the Destroyer who accepted without question.

“Quill!” Rocket shouted, eyes scanning the man for any wound as they half ran half limped up the ramp into the Benatar. “Quill, yah alright?!”

“Y...yeah,” the man wheezed, one hand pressed to his side. “It was just a graze.” Rocket snorted, though no less comforted. “You think you can get us out of here?”

“She’s taken a few bad hits but I can get her going.” The raccoonoid nodded, scrambling to the flight deck and revved up the engines.

Come on, come on, come on!

He thrust the engines up and forward adrenaline still coursing through him. He licked his lips, whiskers twitching. The Benatar rumbled, grumbled and spat, finally lifting off from Recseta.

“Drax, what’s the nearest planet?”

“Tarque. The largest planet in the Keystone Quadrant.”

Good enough.

They raced through the jump port.

---

“Where we headed?”

Quill’s voice jolted Rocket from his reverie. The ringtail licked at the inside of his mouth, the taste of blood still lingering.

“Tarque, not far.”

The human nodded, collapsing with a sigh into the co-pilot seat.

“So I’ll live, in case you were wondering,” he lamented. Rocket shook his head, ears flattened making a concerted effort to appear irritated.

“I wasn’t.”

“Okay, well we’ll stop on Tarque. Hopefully Nova hasn’t sent backup and we’ll be able to resupply before they find us. If we weren’t wanted before they’ll really be after us now.”

“Really?!”

Rocket hissed, punching autopilot. He cursed, climbing down from the seat and taking off to his quarters.

“You really did it now…” he muttered to himself, storming down the rickety stairs. His fists balled, tail thrashing.

How the flark and I am going to…

Something hard hit against his face, he teetered backward. Looking up and instantly away with shame.

“Gams!”

She looked down at him, stepping around him and down the hall with a grunt.

Rocket’s stomach threatened to empty itself before he made it to his quarters. Even ignoring Groot who called for him as he passed.

---

Tarque was just populous enough to comfortably hide a band of outlaws in plain sight. Not nearly as big as Knowhere, but still….Rocket could not calm his tight muscles. The cybernetics in his back ached, tugging at his flesh with the slightest movement.

“I’m gettin’ a drink, don’t wait up for me,” he grumbled as they departed the Benatar.

“No! Dude! We need to stick together! We need supplies! We can’t risk landing on another habitable planet for awhile! We have to get…”

the human’s voice quickly died off in the crowd of aliens. Rocket walked in a daze through the streets. Eyes shifting between the people as they bustled and brawled. It took no time to find a dank, dreary dive bar.

“Evmon’s” the sign proclaimed. Rocket peered in to the hazy room. A bartender cleaned glassed, only two other patron’s kept to themselves on either end of the long bar.

Perfect.

He shoved the door open, hauled himself up onto the stool and ordered two shots of Urkven.

If anything can wash the taste of that guys blood out of my mouth, it’s Urkven.

---

“You,” a voice seethed.

Rocket’s mind swam with the alcohol he had consumed in the last...well...he wasn’t keeping track of the time and the foul fleshy taste of the Nova officer’s neck was not washing away as he’d hoped.

“You betrayed me to the Nova Corps.”

“N...no I didn't,” he slurred, groping for the glass before him.

“What did they offer you?” She fumed stalking over to him out of the darkness. “Units?”

“....yeah,” he burped a little and took another drink. “Lots of units.”

“What were those units going to buy you, Rocket?” Gamora’s voice rose beyond rage “Weapons for your anger? Booze for your pain? Friendship? Sympathy? Answers?!” She glared at him with such ruthless disappointment the raccoonoid almost had the audacity to look ashamed. “I thought we were worth more than units. I thought you learned your lesson.”

“What lesson?” Rocket managed a sneer.

“That there are things more precious than bombs or ships or getting rich. Family....empathy...” Rocket rolled his eyes. “You know who taught me that?”

“Lemme guess, Star Shit?”

“Groot.” Gamora answered shortly. Rocket watched her face shift from livid contempt to something he couldn’t name. Something softer...sadder. The thing in his cybernetically enhanced chest nearly shorted out.

“I thought...we were a family after that. That we could be something better. Groot taught me that. That’s what his sacrifice meant to me. I thought....I was sure it would mean something to you too. I thought if anyone could get through to you it would’ve been him.”

She looked down at her glass, tapping her finger against the rim. Hair fell over her shoulder obscuring her face.

“I was wrong about you both. I guess his death wasn’t worth much after all. Not to you anyway.” She turned back to face him, eyes searing as she looked down at him with disgust.

“You were right Rocket. You are a monster. I’m sorry Groot didn’t realize that sooner. It would’ve saved him if he had.”

She looked down at her hands.

“The people from Halfworld were right. I should’ve given you back to them.”

Sobriety came crashing back to the ringtails mind, brought on by stomach dropping dread.

“Y….you wouldn’t....”

“No but I should have. I wouldn’t do that though. I’m not like you.”

“W...what?” Rocket tried to conceal the hurt in his voice trying to stop it from shaking already afraid of what she was going to say. Even his bravado has its limits.

“Your heart. You have none. The only thing that's there is a cybernetic pump. No different than this tap,” she gestured to the bar.

“At least the bar tap can bring people joy and comfort.”

“Shut up! You don’t know what the flark your talking about!”

“I saw the scans Rocket. You had them saved on your data pad. You want to know what was in there?” She jabbed a finger towards his chest,

“A metal pump with wiring connected to your main circulatory system. There’s no heart. Just a machine.”

His tail trashed madly, claws curling around the bottle in his paws so tight it smashed.

“Shut up! You're no better than Thanos! You’re a murderer and a killer and you’ll always be one!

Gamora curled her fists, ready to strike. He braced for it, but the blow never came. Instead she only slammed her knuckles into the counter.

“Papa Thanos never should’ve let you out to Ronan and we never should’ve trusted you!” He bared his red stained teeth. “You’re worse than Thanos, he knows he’s an evil son of a bitch, but you,” Rocket stood up on the counter of the bar, leaning in to the assassin woman’s face so close his nose nearly touched hers. “You pretend to be good and care about people! Your worse than him! I hope Nebula finds you! I hope she murders your cybernetic ass!”

Gamora’s hand swung out grabbing him by the back of the head and lifting him off the bar counter with ease. She strode out the door and dropped him with a thud on the hard ground.

Rocket rubbed his head, staggering to his feet.

“When we get back to the ship, I’m telling the rest of them what you’ve done,” she threatened.

“N...no!” the ringtail shouted, turning his back on her. He dragged himself off, into the thin alley between the bar and the next building. If Gamora saw him go, she didn’t bother to follow him.

---

The ringtail slid down the wall, onto the trash infested ground. Gamora’s furious green face screamed at him everytime he closed his eyes.

He smelled of filth and stale booze, his stomach lurched and he wretched onto the ground beside him. The world spun in a dizzying mess.

Where was Groot? Where was Groot to tell him Gamora was wrong? To tell him he did in fact have a heart, a real one? Maybe If I finish this bottle I can find out. He smiled at the thought. His head lolled to the side to see the cracked green bottleneck still clutched in his claws. The big dumb flora smiled at him in his imagination. If Groot were here we could run off, if Groot were here…. he’d curl up in those long wooden arms and sleep off this terrible nausea. If Groot were here he’d...be ashamed that he had sold Gamora to the Nova Corps.

The thought made the raccoonoid sick again, vomiting.

“Hey! Look what we have here?”

Something hard knocked Rocket in the ribs. He doubled over curling in a ball.

“Give us your units rat!”

A flash of white pain exploded across his head. Everything went dizzy. Something trickled down his fur and dripped onto the cold ground. He tried to reach for his gun, but hard fingers grabbed around his wrist, twisting it. He yelped in pain,

Groot!

He tried to snarl and bite, but the assailants shoved him against the wall; a hand closing around his throat.

“Where are your units?!”

“I d...don’t got n..no uni...units!”

The fist smashed into his stomach again, knocking the breath from him. He gasped, small claws scraping frantically. The second attacker pulled at his tail, the tender bone snapping. Rocket chittered with agony before being flung to the ground once more. Fingers rifled through his pockets but try as he might the raccoonoid could not move.

“S...stop! St….aghh,” he gagged as three feet at once beat into his stomach and back. The paneling in his spine twinged and spasmed, pinching his nerves and crushing his bones.

“Hey!”

A bright flash of yellow light streamed by, screams, shouting.

“Leave him alone!”

Rocket opened his eyes a sliver,

“Quill?”

More shots, the man ran into his attackers, shooting and beating at them until they ran.

“Rocket!” The humie was at his side in an instant.

“Oh shit man, I’m sorry I didn’t come in time. Gamora said she found you at a bar….I just didn’t know which one! There’s so many of em and…”

Rocket yowled as the human attempted to lift him up.

“Sorry man, but we gotta go, I heard the word Nova’s on our tail already.”

The man’s words drifted into his ears and out again, replaced by Gamora’s.

I thought you learned your lesson. I thought...we were a family after that. That we could be something better. Groot taught me that. That’s what his sacrifice meant to me.

His vision clouded even as Quill tucked him safely to his chest and hurried through the city. He tried to imagine Groot’s branches; the soft little lights of spores, the smell of earth...but all his nose could sniff was alcohol and vomit.

He had to do something. What would Groot do? No fuck that, Groot would NEVER betray his friends. What...what would Groot want him to do? Make it right. But how?

Rocket swallowed, tasting the blood of the Nova officer still stuck to his throat.

---

On the Benatar, after Quill had forced him to drink water and sit in the common area the raccoonoid slowly began to regain his thoughts, slipping off the couch and heading for the weapons storage.

“Rocket!”

The raccoonoid jolted in panic, but steadied a little upon seeing the humie. He grabbed several guns and a med kit, stuffing them into his pack.

“What are you doing?”

“Somethin’ I shoulda done a while ago.”

He sniffed, taking a casing of bullets and made for one of the escape pods.

“Dude, where are you going?”

“Someplace I’ll probably regret,” he whispered slowly, checking the fuel saloge. “If I’m not back in four turns just...just take care of Groot okay?”

“Rocket…” Quill reached out a hand to him.

Either Gamora hasn’t told him yet...or he’s even dumber than I thought.

“He needs watering everyday, twice a day. Make Sure he still sleeps in his pot and that he gets enough sunlight. He should be under the portrain lamp for at least thirty nano secs. But not too much or he’ll dry out.”

“Rocket, man where are you going?”

The ringtail punched the codes, opening the pod and strapped in. Looking up at the humie who blinked down at him, naive and innocently unaware. It made the heart. ..no, machine in his chest cinch.

“If I’m not back just tell Gams….tell her I’m sorry, kay?”

“Rocket whatever is going on we can talk this out man!”

“No. We can’t. Trust me.”

He looked away before that stupid face made him change his mind. He punched in the coordinates.

“Fine,” Quill muttered. Trusting him.

Something thudded into Rocket’s lap. He paused, glancing up at the humie again.

“Quill, I can’t...take one of your elemental blasters.”

“You're not taking it. Your borrowing it,” the man corrected, smiling. The raccoonoid looked over the weapon and sighed heavily, taking it in his paws and strapped it to his side. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the man’s face again. But pressed the release button, holding his breath as the escape pod released.

#my writing #the body keeps the score fic #groot #baby groot #drax the destroyer #drax #rocket raccoon #gamora #peter quill #star lord #gotg fanfiction #gotg fanfic #Guardians of the Galaxy #this is a duzy #gamora and rocket friendship

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ayma-nidiot · 4 years

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In the White Light - Prideshipping fic Chapter 3

Also on AO3.

Chapter 3 – Because You’re Worth It

“Stop… Stop the pain…” Kaiba started crying tears of agony – that was until he heard a sweet baritone voice singing nearby. “Who is it? …Yugi. Get the hell away from me before I kill you!”

Even in the face of this threat, Yami Yugi continued to sing this ancient Egyptian song to Kaiba as he approached, the Millennium Puzzle surrounding them both in a golden light.

“Graaaar!” With a swing of his sharp wings, Kaiba slashed Yami Yugi across his left arm.

“Ngh…” Despite this new wound, Yami Yugi barely showed any pain as he picked up the song again, and now reached out and hugged Kaiba.

“St-Stay… away…” Kaiba could feel his anger washing away in Yami Yugi’s voice and the cool, rising water now surrounding them. It was then he saw the young pharaoh’s tender expression - Yami Yugi would not be swayed. He closed his eyes, losing himself in this song he didn’t understand, as the two were now completely submerged.

Before sleep could fully take Kaiba over, Yami Yugi had stopped singing to alert him. “Hey, Kaiba, wake up, we’re about to land.”

“…What?” Kaiba opened his eyes to find himself not in the KaibaCorp blimp, but instead in a vast desert – several thousand feet in the air. “Gaaah! Yugi, what am I supposed to- Hey!”

Unfortunately for the both of them, Yami Yugi had started to drift off almost as soon as he had finished his song, but he still managed to say, “You… can fly, you know. What do you think your wings are for?”

“Don’t take me for an idiot, you third-rate duelist with a fourth-rate deck!” Kaiba felt tempted to drop Yami Yugi to the sand dunes below, but even he felt the need to show gratitude to the one who just saved him from his own madness. So, he spread his wings and slowly made his way down, landing on a stone platform in the sand. His dragon features were now gone. “…So. Explain yourself. Where are we and what did you just do? Why are we here?”

“As you know, I am a pharaoh of ancient Egypt.” Yami Yugi gestured his arm to their surroundings. “And that is where we are right now.”

“Well, duh, I wouldn’t have figured that out myself, Sherlock! I think Ishizu has shown me enough of this place, thank you.”

Yami Yugi started walking to a magnificent palace nearby - a palace that he knew well - prompting Kaiba to follow. “But she didn’t show you the legend of the Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon, did she?”

“Your point being?”

“I’ve brought you here because I wanted to show you something. I'm just thankful I could calm you in time.”

“ ‘Calm me?’ What the heck does that mean?” Kaiba stopped to block Yami Yugi’s entry into the palace. “So, you’re the one who’s responsible for all of this happening to me?”

“Can you just forget you hate me for a few seconds? I’m trying to-”

“Hey! Who goes there!” A voice interrupted the argument.

“Damn…” Yami Yugi desperately looked around for some sheets but could only find one.

“Eh? H-Hey, watch it!” Without warning, Kaiba had a large linen sheet thrown over him. “Just what do you think you’re-”

“Shh!” Yami Yugi had barely concealed Kaiba in time, but not himself.

“Who dares to infiltrate the palace of our late, great pharaoh?” The source of the voice revealed himself to be Mahad, one of the pharaoh’s guardians. “Gah! It’s a ghost in the guise of the pharaoh! Begone, you cursed apparition!”

“Quick, over here!” Yami Yugi pulled Kaiba into another corridor.

“Dammit, Yugi, that’s my dueling arm!”

Yami Yugi had arrived at his destination, but not without hearing the sound of pattering footsteps coming from all directions.

“Stand back! I’ll fight them off!” Kaiba stood up, puffing up his chest.

“There you go again, thinking that you’re the best at everything… Get down here, you idiot!”

Mahad and his fellow guardian met at the entrance to the pharaoh’s bedchamber. In short breaths he asked, “Isis, did… did you see someone who looked like the old pharaoh run about here?”

“So, that’s who our intruder is? Hmm… Do you think that maybe someone is trying to disguise himself as our old pharaoh to try and take the throne for himself?”

“I’m thinking that, too… If that’s the case, then we can’t waste any time. Oh?” Mahad had started to patrol the area again, until he opened the door and noticed a huge pile of linen sheets inside the bedchamber. “Sigh… Our housekeeper-in-training certainly has a lot of training to do. I better tell her master about this.”

A few minutes after Mahad and Isis had left the scene, Yami Yugi asked quietly, “Are they gone yet?”

“How should I know?” Kaiba grumbled as he lay in that corner, cramped, under the linen sheet with Yami Yugi. Just as he had the notion to uncover himself, he noticed he had been holding Yami Yugi close to him the whole time.

“Kaiba, I think we’re safe now. It’s been ten minutes, and I haven’t heard any footsteps. …Kaiba?”

The pharaoh… Kaiba closed his eyes halfway, enticed by Yami Yugi’s scent; it had to be that blood orange body wash, he reckoned. Not once since their first duel had he been this close to the pharaoh. He’s beautiful…

“Kaiba, come on! I’ve just checked, and the coast is completely clear now.”

Kaiba had at last come to when he felt the linen sheet suddenly fly above him and into a heap on the floor. Getting up and dusting off his clothes, he thought, Gods, why do I have to have another dream here – and now, of all times!

“If you’re done preening yourself over there, then come this way.”

“So… This is where you used to live?” Kaiba didn’t want to admit it, but this bedchamber was easily bigger – and more extravagant – than his own.

“Yes, and emphasis on ‘used to.’ Now there is a new pharaoh in power, and he’s only a minor relative of mine.” Yami Yugi stopped to look at a stone drawing of this minor relative – a young man of 14. “He’s far too young and arrogant.”

“So, is that why you brought me here? To take your throne back? But why only a minor relative? Didn’t you have any children or siblings who could succeed you? Or even a wife?”

“…Kaiba, I was only a teenager when I died.”

“Ick… Forget I asked.” Kaiba knew that Yami Yugi would not speak further on this topic and decided to drop it.

“To answer your first question, yes and no. I intended to go back even further in time, before he had become pharaoh, but…” Yami Yugi clenched his fist at his side. “I wasn’t strong enough. In this reality, most of my priests are dead, and that includes us. That’s why I was trying to avoid Mahad and Isis – if we had met, a time paradox might have happened.”

“And just how do you know about something that happened after you died?”

“As you know, Yugi brought my spirit back when he solved the Millennium Puzzle – the Millennium Item that bore my soul. But just before I manifested myself in Yugi, a goddess told me of what happened. That was when I figured that I could recruit someone strong enough to help me turn back the hands of time and allow my priests to live again.”

“Hmph. I’m not buying it.”

Yami Yugi started pushing an enormous dresser. “Then maybe you’ll buy this.”

“Oh great, it’s another giant rock.” Kaiba wasn’t impressed.

“No, look harder. Do you remember who this is?”

Kaiba immediately recognized the figure at whom Yami Yugi pointed. “Anubis… It’s that bastard Anubis, who is the only reason why I couldn’t beat you after getting my Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon! Wait a second… Is that what I think it is next to him?”

“Yes. This beast is the Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon. According to my priests, the Shining Dragon is a beast created by Anubis himself.”

“Do you remember how?”

“Unfortunately, the inscription on this tablet doesn’t go into much other detail. My guess is that after we defeated Anubis in the present day, in his dying breath he cursed you with the power to transform into the Shining Dragon. Probably as an act of vengeance.”

“I suppose me nearly blowing chunks during our last duel had something to do with this act of vengeance, too?”

“I think so. The more you use your Blue-Eyes cards, the more the curse affects you. And if your Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon were ever to be destroyed in battle…” Yami Yugi cringed. “Well, you know. It’s a good thing I could calm you before the curse completely took you over. In the meantime, I suggest you refrain from using your Blue-Eyes cards in the future.”

“…Yugi.”

“Yeah?”

Kaiba took a seat on the bed. “You do realize that I am the president of a multi-billion-dollar corporation that produces the latest in dueling technology.”

Yami Yugi also took a seat. “Your point is?”

“My point is, why in the name of the seven hells do you think I’m going to believe in all of this superstitious bullshit about curses and monsters?”

“Believe or not believe… At least in my mind, everything I just told you is true.”

“Huh. Whatever you say. Oh, and one other thing. My Blue-Eyes cards are my everything. I am NOT going to stop using them. I’m too strong-willed to lose my mind and go berserk like that again.”

“You shouldn’t. Not as long as I have my song. …Even if it does… drain a lot of my energy…” Yami Yugi could finally feel the effects of his incantation and laid flat on his back to ward off the headache that began.

“But why would you go through all of that just for me? If… If what you say is true, then if you use this power of yours too often, you could…”

“I don’t care, Kaiba.” Yami Yugi turned his head to look at the other young man. “Because you’re worth it.”

“Ah…” Kaiba felt his heart skip a beat at these words. Yugi… Do you feel… that way about me?

“Kaiba?” Yami Yugi wanted to sleep but sprung awake again when Kaiba touched his face.

This… This is for real… Kaiba laid on the bed, too, as he simply stared into Yami Yugi’s eyes. Come on, ask him out loud!

“You look like you want to say something.”

“Yugi…” Kaiba could feel his heartbeat in his throat. “Yugi… I’ve been meaning to ask… How-”

“Ah!” Yami Yugi suddenly sprung awake. “Kaiba, watch out!”

“Eh?” Kaiba turned sharply around and was not pleased to see an undead mummy dripping goo all over the place. “Shit! Get away from me, creep!”

“They’re Anubis’ mummies!” Yugi’s voice sounded from within Yami Yugi.

“You know of them?” Yami Yugi asked.

“Yeah! I remember having to beat a bunch of them with Tristan, Joey, and Téa, when you were dueling with Kaiba. That’s why I couldn’t communicate with you. The only thing that could stop them was the Dagger of Fate.”

“Which we don’t have!” Yami Yugi stumbled out of the bed, but with the help of Kaiba, he could stand again. “Kaiba, we need to get out of here, now. If these mummies don’t get us, Mahad and Isis certainly will.”

“Wait… Do you mean go back to present-day Domino City?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“But how? Don’t tell me… The incantation again?”

“How else? In addition to calming raging souls, my song has the power to transport us between ancient Egypt and modern Domino City."

“But… You’re not strong enough…” Kaiba could tell Yami Yugi was ignoring him. Without even looking at him, the pharaoh began to sing, and the water arose again. “Heh! Goodbye, losers!”

_____

“Yugi…”

Kaiba could hear a voice – and several others – call out to him. In spite of that, they were quiet voices – too quiet for him to make out any distinct words.

“Huh? My name’s not Yugi, you dweeb…” Kaiba mouthed, feeling sure that nobody heard him.

To his surprise, someone did hear him – someone he’d known his whole life. “Seeeeto! Wake up!”

“Gah!” Kaiba came to when he felt someone slap both of his cheeks. “Dammit, Mokuba, what was that for?”

“So, you’re finally awake.” Joey didn’t seem too pleased at the sight of Kaiba. “Thought you were gonna just sleep forever and hope you’d forget about the prize money you owe Yug, huh?”

“All right, all right. I’ll get the damned prize money. Just don’t hit me again.” Kaiba nodded as a gesture for Mokuba to retrieve what Joey asked for.

“Speaking of Yugi, look, guys!” Téa alerted as Yugi also began to awaken.

“Ugh…” Yugi sat up; surprisingly, he didn’t take long to feel well again. Even more surprisingly, he had recalled everything that happened during his short stay in ancient Egypt.

“Yugi, what happened?”

Yugi, please don’t tell them, Yami Yugi asked. The magic I just used is a secret spell, and if others were to find out about it… I don’t think I want to know.

“I just started to feel sleepy after my duel with Kaiba, and… well, so did Kaiba. But I’m okay now.” Yugi turned to Kaiba. “What about you?”

“Oh, I think Mokuba made sure I’m fine.” Kaiba acknowledged his brother coming back, presenting Yugi with a suitcase full of money. “Since the Battle City Tournament is now officially over, I think you all better leave.”

“Okay…” Joey gave Kaiba the stink-eye as he motioned for everyone to follow him out of the newly landed blimp.

But before he decided to follow them, Yugi stayed behind. “Say, Kaiba?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember right before we came back to present-day Domino City? What were you about to ask the pharaoh? You were sure acting a bit weird at that time, too…”

Kaiba counted his lucky stars that Yugi was dense as hell. “Nunya.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Nunya?’”

“As in ‘Nunya Business.’ Now leave, because after what the pharaoh just did to me, I need my beauty sleep.”

“Well, if you really don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine… But you know, you’re welcome to duel us at any time! Just as friends. See you at school tomorrow!” Yugi shrugged as he took his suitcase and left.

“Yeah, screw you.” Kaiba made his way to his bedroom and flopped onto the Blue-Eyes White Dragon bedsheets, falling quickly asleep on them. “…No way is this love.”

#yugioh #prideshipping #kaiba x yami yugi #kaiba x atem #fanfiction

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everlarkficexchange · 6 years

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Zero Hour

[Promt 88]:I love soulmates fics ! Anything with Everlark being soulmates and finding each other -finally :) thank you ! - anonymous

Written By: Mega-AuLover

A/N: this monstrosity you can thank @xerxia31 for. There were several Soulmate Prompts and the one I wanted was taken by another author, whom I personally stalk, but she was talking about a wedding and I thought a wedding no…soulless mindless Zombies..I think I made tea come out of Xerxia’s nose :) but seriously thank you for saving the life of this story. To my beta who I have a serious writers crush on @alliswell21 you and I both know how much awe I am in over your writing skillzzz.

Rated: T

PART ONE - ZERO HOUR:

They were known as the living dead. Zombies created by the Capitol who didn’t find their true love. Katniss Everdeen watched one of them from her window, walking slowly, a mask of indifference on its colorless face. He was followed by Darius, one of the nicer Peacekeepers.

She glanced down at her arm, the cause of such a creature, was the tracker embedded under the tattoo they had to get printed on their arm. It was a control measure put in by the Capitol after the war.

At the age of twelve, all children received a tattoo with their initials and age. It was the first step to show the ever presence and dominance of the Capitol. At 18, they were brought to the school yard to be outfitted with their trackers.

The tracker remained silent until they met their soulmate. When you met your soulmate, the tracker would glow showing their initials for exactly 8 hours, in which you had to connect with your mate and register with the local magistrate.

The magistrate were the only ones with the authority to remove the tracker.

If you missed the 8 hour window, the kill switch would activate. An electrical discharge was sent from the tracker directly to your brain, a sort of modern day lobotomy.

Everyone strived to find their life partner, afraid of becoming a poor soulless creature, just as her sister, Primrose, called them.

Primrose was right, the mateless walked the earth with no purpose other than to do the dangerous jobs the Capitol assigned them. They blew up the caverns in the mines, tested new machinery, the lucky few became slaves to a Capitolite or wealthy member of the society. They were kept far away from the regular folk and guarded by Peacekeepers.

“Hey Catnip,” Gale knocked on the window pane bringing her out of her thoughts.

Katniss smiled at her friend, hunting partner , and soon to be in-law. This morning both families were overjoyed about the nuptials She waved him inside. “Hey Gale.”

Gale was twenty six, tall and very good looking. There were rumors about his prowess in the bedroom, though she didn’t care much about the stories.

He entered the room, and filled it. He was a little over six feet tall, one of the tallest men in The Seam. “So Primrose finally got you to wear a dress.”

Katniss grimaced,”It’s like putting lipstick on a pig, Gale.”

Gale chuckled. “You should see my dad, he didn’t want to wear a suit, but you know my mom.”

Hazelle Hawthorne was a force to be reckoned with.

“Vick wanted me to give this to Prim.” Gale extended the package he held in his hand.

“Thanks,” she took the package from him. “I’m sure whatever Vick cooked up, Prim is going to love it.”

Everyone thought Katniss was going to be Gale’s soulmate, but it was never meant to be. Katniss was thankful that the odds were in her favor.

“I can’t believe my baby brother is getting hitched before me.”

When Vick turned eighteen the previous day, no one was surprised his tracker showed Prim’s initials. The entire Hawthorne clan came to the Everdeen home, to confirm Vick’s initials showed on Prim’s arm. Both families ran to the Seam magistrate to have the trackers deactivated and removed. Katniss had been so happy to see the darn devices removed from Prim and Vick’s arms.

Because they were from the Seam, they needed to fill out the wedding certificate at the Justice Building on the other side of the in the Merchant quarter.

“Me either. It’s insane that Prim’s all grown up.”

Gale laughed, “Yeah , Rory and I have been ribbing on Vick all day with the older woman bit. It’s just funny that even though Prim’s like two years older than him, she still manages to look younger.”

“You Hawthorne men look old, or have you forgotten that when we met in the woods, you were 14 but looked like you were 18. I mean right now you look like you can be someone’s grandfather. Now that we’re talking about it, you’ve looked like a grandpa since the day you turned 16.”

“Hardy, har, har,” Gale snickered, pointing to his tracker, it read 26. Gale had worn his tracker for the past 14 years. A constant reminder that the Capitol owned him.

“Well you can’t help it old man,” Katniss joked back.

“Old man? you’re practically an old lady yourself. How old are you? 24? that’s ancient by Seam standard’s.”

Gale was right, no one in the Seam waited this long. There was only two occasions where a person never found their soulmate.

“Maybe you and I are the new Goat Man and Ripper.”

“Well I do know my way around a distillery, and you do have a Goat.”

“Lady does not qualify as a goat, she’s more of a pet.”

“Remember when you bought Lady for Prim?”

“You mean with the money we got from the stag I got with my arrow, that you claimed you shot?” Katniss crossed her arms over her chest.

“I still say my arrow was the one that got him.”

“Gale you and I both know you’re no marksmith. You can’t shoot down a full grown bear standing 20 yards away.”

“Man those were great good old days.” Gale wistfully uttered, his days were now spent in the mines.

So much had changed since she was a child. She looked behind her to see the empty rocking chair. It reminded her of harder times.

According to many, becoming soulless was the worst fate someone in Panem could have. But Katniss had seen a different kid of desperation.

She had seen what happened to soulmate when their love was taken away. Her mother had found her soulmate in a man from District 12’s Seam side. Fate brought them together and for a long time they were happy, until he was taken away by illness.

“How is your dad feeling?”

“Good, if he could stay away from Haymitch and Ripper’s liquor. My maw says he drives her insane, he says she drives him to drink.”

“Your mom then says drive, what drive, we don’t even have a car.” They said together. It was an old joke between them.

Gale’s father had survived the great illness thanks to her mother. The Hawthorne’s were lucky. Many were not.

Katniss was eleven when the great epidemic filtered through District 12 and beyond. It affected the Seam the greatest especially those poor souls loveless creatures. When her father became infected, her mother, a healer, tried everything she knew to help save him but her father was too far gone. He died shortly after the diagnosis.

Her mother never fully recovered.

“Listen I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in less than twenty minutes. Who knew someday you’d be my sister.”

Katniss shook her head, “I guess somethings are meant to be Gale.”

She closed the door and from her vantage point she watched him flirt with Mrs. Andrews. She was glad they were not a match, she and Gale were too alike. They were more like siblings then lovers.

Her mind swirled with images from the past. The constant hunger, the near death, the death of her father, and the loss of the care of her mother.

It became very clear no one cared about dying children, or the sick people of The Seam. The Capitol was more concerned with its own plans. They tightened security around the wall that was erected after the great rebellion was neutralized. The wall cut through the land separating the privileged and the poor. The vendors lived in the Merchant Quarters and the workers and the poor lived in the ghettos.

In District 12 they called it the Seam. In District 2 Darius a Peacekeeper said the ghetto was known as the Dungeon.

“Katniss.”

Hearing her sisters words brought Katniss out of her thoughts. She turned around to see Prim dressed in white. “You look beautiful.”

“Never as pretty as you.”

“Oh here, Vick sent this to you.”

Prim blushed as she reached for the box. She opened it and gasped. “Bread! real bread for toasting!”

“Bread?” Katniss wondered where Vick had gotten it. There wasn’t a bakery in the Seam, it wasn’t allowed. But once a month. The Baker sold his goods outside of the gate door, but most of the time the bread was stale. Gale would trade with him, when they got a good haul. The last time she’d tasted fresh bread was when that boy had given her bread./

“It’s still warm Katniss,” Prim touched he bread reverently.

“Can I smell it, “ Katniss asked recalling smelling the scent of freshly baked bread. The smell of fresh crust and flaky interior had never left her.

“Sure, do you remember the last time we had fresh bread Katniss. It was a miracle. We were so hungry.”

Katniss recalled how empty their stomachs were on that hollow day.

Her last resort was to sneak into the Merchant side and rummage in trash cans for food. She found nothing and as she was giving up, a boy appeared by the window. He nodded at her then a few moments later a commotion from within the walls of the house.

She remembered hearing the painful cry of a child, before the door of the back yard opened. It had been the blond boy who’d seen her through the window. He had a welt on his face and his big blue eyes held unshed tears. But his chin didn’t tremble as he ran out and gave her two loaves of burnt bread.

Katniss had never been able to forget that boy. She’d never seen him again. However, no matter what the Capitol did to divide them, in her heart she could never forget that boy.

That single act of kindness gave her the strength to carry on. To remember her father’s generosity, his dexterity, and his abilities to hunt. Katniss looked down at her wrist, the glaring zeros poised to begin at any moment.

“It was a miracle, Prim. And today we have another one. Vick and the rest of the Hawthorne’s will be here at any moment. Why don’t you go get mother?”

“Don’t worry, Katniss, someday you’ll find your soulmate.”

Katniss hid her grimace. “Don’t worry about me little duck, today you’re going to sign the official paperwork, precisely at 1:00 in the afternoon and we’ll have a toasting afterwards.”

“I know! I’m so happy!” Her sister couldn’t contain her joy. She was as bright and as delicate as the yellow flowers she was named after.

“Katniss don’t forget your pass.”

“Don't’ worry. I will not forget.” Katniss put on the long sleeve jacket that went with the dress. Katniss was shorter than her mother so the sleeves reached the tip of her fingers, she didn’t mind, she was always cold. She was glad it had pockets.

PART TWO - RACE BEGINS:

Prim turned to their mother, “Isn’t it a great day for a wedding mom?”

Their mom slowly nodded. “Yes dear.”

It really was a breathtaking day, there wasn’t a rain cloud in the sky. It was warm, with a pleasant breeze. It was a the perfect day for a wedding.

“It’s really happening,” Prim squealed when she saw Vick arriving.

Tears gathered in her eyes, as she watched her sister take in Vick in his suit. He was handsome, as handsome as the rest of the Hawthornes. He was tall like his brother Gale, but his eyes were kinder. His smile softer, and unlike Gale who sported a beard and mustache, Vick always had a five o’clock shadow.

“You look amazing,” Vick softly said taking Primrose’s hands in his.

“Thank you for the bread.” She offered.

“Every bride should have fresh bread on her wedding day.”

“Okay, everyone time to get moving,” Hazelle, Gale’s mom interrupted the tender moment between Prim and Vick.

“Yeah some of us are hungry,” Rory shouted.

“When aren’t you hungry?” Gale muttered.

Katniss chuckled. She wondered how long Gale and Rory would go before one tried to hurt the other.

As they made their way through the Seam, many stepped outside to softly hum the bride’s song.

This was a special time in a young person’s life when the future seemed limitless.

Katniss was the curmudgeon trailing in the back with the full knowledge that life was filled with more hurt than good.

As they approached the wall, the streets became busier since it was the day the merchants sold their wares to the inhabitants of the Seam. Everywhere Katniss looked there were men, and she was filled with dread and panic as she saw two young people looking at their trackers as they time slowly ticked down.

The tracker would automatically start when she was near her mate. She took deep even breaths as she followed the wedding party.

When they arrived at the wall, the sun in the sky indicated it was noon. Katniss heard Rue’s song being of the giant clock-tower as it struck twelve. She’d never seen it but she heard it all of her life. On a cold winter’s day the bell could be hear in the Seam, it chimed on the hour.

They stood long in the long line waiting patiently to go up into the small wall border crossing outpost. They moved slowly until they reached where the gate was between the Merchant and the Seam. Katniss kept didn’t really look around but the smell of bread caught her attention.

The baker was at the wall, with a tall man with curly blond hair. They looked alike, Katniss assumed he was the baker’s son. He reminded her of the young boy who had given her the bread. When he looked in her direction, Katniss swiftly looked the other way.

“Peeta, please give the lady her bread,” his father admonished.

Katniss glanced at him once more when his attention was turned to the woman in front of him. He was broad shouldered, his arms were muscular, and his hands were large but they were careful enough to gently hand the woman her bread. His actions caused her to smile.

“Next,” the Peacekeeper called out.

“Come on Katniss,” Posey, Gale’s baby sister called.

Katniss joined the group as they were allowed in the building. Prim was ahead of them with Vick.

Her sister had her hand linked with Vick, as they spoke with the Peacekeeper. “State the nature of your visit.”

“We are getting married,” Vick’s deep voice boomed. “Our trackers were removed yesterday by the Seam Magistrate.”

The Peacekeeper checked their passes. “Congratulations on your nuptials, may the odds be in your favor.”

“Thank you,” Prim gushed.

One by one they went through the checkpoints. They were all in a festive mood as they entered past the checkpoints and headed toward the Justice Building. Katniss paused at the looming clocktower, it’s shadow cast the town square in darkness. When they arrived they discovered their appointment was set back a hour.

The small party waited in the lobby of the building waiting to be called to sign the paperwork. They had all of the time in the world.

“Only fifteen more minutes before we’re married,” Vick said quietly for Prim to hear, but Katniss overheard it.

Her sister gazed up at Vick and her pale blue eyes shined with happiness. Katniss swallowed as she recalled the harshness she had to experience. Their mother Lillian stood just feet away, a pale shadow of the woman she’d been.

Katniss shuddered the at the prospect of becoming someone like her mother. It was why she’d decided to not interact with men. She didn’t want to find her soul mate. Her mother Lillian, had slowly come back from her depression,but there were days she returned to the rocking chair.

In the beginning, her mother spent months in her rocking chair simply existing, without words, vacantly staring out into the void. Katniss barely got her to eat or bathe. At age eleven, Katniss had become an adult, taking on the responsibilities that were beyond her years. She tried, but with the illness no one opened their doors to orphaned children.

“Everdeen and Hawthorne,” a young woman called out with a clipboard.

“Yes?” Prim stood up.

“Thank you for your patience. As a reward, you’ve been selected to have a wedding ceremony by the Head Magistrate.”

Only a few received this honor. It was fitting that it should be Prim and Vick. “Thank you,” Prim whispered.

“This way, please.”

Everyone followed the woman into the Head Magistrate’s office.

The head magistrate was a woman with mile high pink hair and an outfit that had white doves all over it.

“Welcome, welcome.” The woman stood and she had the strangest shoes Katniss had ever seen. “I am Head Magistrate Effie Trinket.”

“A pleasure ma’am,” Vick nodded.

“Oh my, you are a tall one,” Effie said as she looked up at Vick. Her eyes scanned all four Hawthorne men. “You certain are a handsome lot.”

Gale grinned, and Katniss rolled her eyes.

“Are we ready for the ceremony?”

Prim eagerly nodded.

“Good you stand here my dear,” Effie instructed Prim and then turned her attention to Vick, “ and your beloved over here.”

All the attention was on Primrose and Vick as they solemnly stood before their families and the Head Magistrate.

“Dearly beloved we’ve come together to witness this woman, Primrose Everdeen join this man, Vick Hawthorne, in the sacred bond of marriage.” Addressing the groom and bride, she asked, “Are you ready to take the vows to uphold the laws of marriage as decreed in the statues of Panem?”

“We do,” Prim and Vic said united.

“Do you promise to keep the other in health and in sickness. To stand by the other in good times and harsh times?”

Katniss watched Gale’s parents exchange loving looks. Her mother turned pale. Katniss lowered her head and glanced down at her shoes, tucking her hands in her jacket’s pocket.

“We do,” Prim and Vick replied.

“The by the power vested in me, by our beloved President, Corilanius Snow, and the Country of Panem, I now pronounce you, husband and wife.” Effie Trinket joyfully exclaimed, “You may kiss the bride.!

Katniss looked away as Prim and Vick kissed.

“Now if you could please sign the certificate.”

Katniss watched as her sister wrote Primrose Everdeen for the last time. It was a bittersweet moment. She was losing her sister to someone else. Albeit it was to Vick, and he was moving in with them, but things were changing.

Maybe she should start thinking of it as gaining a brother, instead of losing his baby sister.

“Who are the two witnesses?” Effie Trinket asked.

Katniss stepped forward with Gale.

Gale signed first and handed the pen to her. Katniss took the pen, and pushed down her sleeves. Smiling she glanced up at her friends and family as she poised to sign her name. But everyone looked shocked and ashen. Katniss frowned.

Her first instinct was to search for Prim to make sure she was alright. Prim’s eyes were wide, her face pale. Her sister had clamped her hand over her mouth and was pointing to her arm. Katniss glanced down at herself, that’s when she noticed the timer on the tracker had begun it’s count down.

Everything in the room became still as it suddenly dawned on Katniss, her race had begun.

#Springtime Edition 2018 #mega aulover #prompt 88 #submission

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lenafromthenordiccoven · 6 years

Text

With Open Arms - Joseph Seed x Reader Oneshot

Fic Title: With Open Arms

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Series: Bliss and Madness, Holiness and Sins - Part 1

Pairing: Joseph Seed x Reader/Deputy

Rating: Mature, light mentions of previous abuse

Summary: You were supposed to arrest Joseph Seed, but when you met him face to face, you decided not to.

Word count: 1648

Read on ao3

A/N: Just a silly little one shot. Cause my brain wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone. Might continue this with a second part. I don’t know yet.

You had seen the footage from the hidden cameras various people had snuck into the community of Eden’s Gate. You had seen and heard what Joseph Seed and his brothers were capable of. Your stomach sank and continued to do so while you watched the helicopter land close to the church. The buildings looked like miserable versions of what they could be. The ground was muddy.

You hadn’t really been listening to what Sheriff Whitehorse had been saying. You’d heard it before. To tell the truth, you didn’t even want to be here. You’d had your own share of religious nutcases, who called themselves your family. But you were new to the police force of Hope County. The Rookie. And so you hadn’t had much of a choice but to go with your boss, some of your colleagues and the US Marshall to arrest Joseph Seed.

No matter how many times you mulled this over in your mind, you couldn’t stop your gut from telling you that this was a bad idea. You eyed all the worshippers warily, who in turn didn’t let you or your team out of their sight while you made your way to the church. Your instincts were screaming at you to get out of there. To just turn around and run.

You had seen what religion did to people if they put too much faith into it, if they relied too much on an invisible entity that would never speak to them. Even to this day you sometimes woke up in a cold sweat, haunted by the monsters of your past with whom you shared blood. But you always reminded yourself that you had survived. You had gotten out and through most of the trauma. You even had the scars to prove it.

The sheriff brought you out of your trance. You had reached the closed doors of the church, could hear the congregation inside singing. Roughly a dozen voices or more carried the lyrics of Amazing Grace through the simple wooden walls of the church and to your ears.

‘Hudson. On the door. Don’t let any of these people in. Rookie – on me,’ the sheriff said, then turned to the Marshall who had one hand on the gun in his hip holster and kept looking around until he was spoken to. ‘And you. Just try not to do anything stupid.’

‘Relax, sheriff. You’re about to get your name in the paper,’ the Marshall replied with a sarcastic undertone to his voice and a gloved hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder.

Hudson gave you a small reassurance that you would be fine before the Marshall and Sheriff Whitehorse opened the double doors.

The singing stopped as you set foot into the church behind your superiors. A lone figure stood at the end of the room, cloaked in shadows. You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear his voice. The voice you had heard on countless broadcasts and videos. A voice that was warm, while giving a warning.

‘Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you? That we are creeping toward the edge… And there will be a reckoning,’ the Father’s voice drifted towards you. The floor boards of the church creaked under your feet as you moved further down the aisle and he continued his sermon. His flock listening intently, while some of them turned to watch you. ‘That is why we started The Project. Because we know what happens next. They will come. They will try to take from us. Take our guns. Take our freedom. Take our faith!’

You had almost reached the end of the aisle. More and more of Joseph’s followers stood up from their seats on simple wooden benches. You could feel the atmosphere shift from peaceful worship to crackling tension. You knew, the others in the room could feel it to.

‘We will not let them,’ continued Joseph. Now you saw that he had no shirt on. The reason why was beyond you, but you had to admit, you couldn’t stop staring.

‘Sheriff, c’mon…’

‘Just hold on, Marshall.’

God, you wanted to get out of there. You really didn’t want to be here. And Joseph’s piercing stare made it even worse. His kind, warm voice had turned to stone. He and his followers didn’t want you here.

‘We will not let their greed, or their immorality, or their depravity hurt us anymore! There will be no more suffering!’

The Sheriff and the Marshall started to quietly argue about the next step. While Whitehorse tried to diffuse the situation and meant for everybody to stay calm, the Marshall was of another opinion.

‘No. Fuck this.’ He pulled out an arrest warrant and held it up for Joseph to see. ‘Joseph Seed. I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm! Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see ‘em.’

You were so close now that you realized, Joseph wasn’t the only one at this end of the church room. There were other people with him. His brothers and a young woman. Joseph’s followers voiced their protests, but he only put up his hands and looked at the three of you. His eyes lingering on you for a moment.

‘Here they are. The Locusts in our garden. You see they’ve come for me,’ he continued to speak. The men and women in the church stepped between you and their ‘Father’. You realized they were armed and the sinking gut feeling was back. This was bad.

‘They’ve come to take me away from you. They’ve come to destroy all that we built!’

The protests grew louder, more agitated. The Marshall reached for his gun. Sheriff Whitehorse told him not to, told everybody in the room to stay calm and put down their weapons.

‘Stand down! Everyone calm down!’

And just as quickly as the mood had shifted, it did so again. As Joseph stepped forward, the line of followers that separated you from him, formed a path. They grew silent again, staring at their leader and listening to whatever he had to say. He gently put his hands on the shoulders of some of them. Now he looked more like the loving father he always wanted to have himself be depicted as. He reminded you of what you had always thought God must be like. Until your family had turned into the monsters they were and you had turned your back onto faith.

‘We knew this moment would come. We’ve prepared for it. Go. Go… God will not let them take me.’ And as if by miracle, his followers actually obeyed and left the church. You watched them leave the building. When your attention shifted back to the person you were here to arrest, Joseph had begun to recite a verse from the Book of Revelations. You hated yourself for knowing where it came from. But it was hard to escape the demons of your past after all.

‘Step forward,’ the Marshall said, unimpressed by the theatricality of the speech. But Joseph stepped forward nonetheless, continuously reciting the verse.

‘… and Hell followed with him.’ He put his hands forwards, as if trying to reach out to you. The coldness of his stare from before had been replaced by curiosity and knowledge. It was as if the piercing gaze behind those vintage yellow sunglasses was trying to say: ‘I know your pain. I know what you suffered. But I will give you opportunity to truly heal, to be welcomed in the embrace of a loving family.’

You blinked. Confused. The Marshall ordered you to cuff Joseph. But you couldn’t move. A small voice of doubt crept into your mind and became louder until it was drowning out everything else. What if he was right? What if, by arresting him, you would set off a chain of events that was beyond your control? What if the strange prophecy of his would come true and bring about the end of the world?

‘God will not let you take me.’ For He chose me. And He still loves you. Despite your flaws. Because of your flaws. His gaze was unwavering, not letting you break contact.

‘Rook! Put the cuffs on him!’ The Marshall insisted. But you still did not move. Your hand stayed on the cuffs, on your hips.

‘Put down your guns. Take your friends. And walk away,’ Joseph said calmly. But you had a feeling, he wasn’t really speaking to you. No. He wanted you to stay. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in your heart. For some reason, you would not arrest Joseph Seed today, and you would not leave his side.

The Marshall still insisted and still you didn’t obey.

‘God is watching us. And He will judge you on what you choose in this moment.’

Oh boy. You had heard that phrase all your life. ‘God is watching. God will judge you. Don’t stray from the path. Be a good child. Don’t make a sound or God will become angry.’ The memory of your family sent a shiver down your spine. You knew, Joseph’s cult wasn’t really that much different. And yet, you felt yourself drawn to him. Felt an unspoken promise from his side that he would never let anybody hurt you the way your family had. How did he even know about that? Or was he just acting on instinct? Was your burden so visible on your face?

‘Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone,’ Joseph uttered. Your hand fell from your hip. Joseph still had his hands stretched towards you. You reached forward, hesitantly, your eyes never leaving his gaze. When you touched his hand, he smiled a little bit.

You heard the Sheriff sigh. Could imagine the Marshall gaping at you. They both turned to leave and you watched them go. You didn’t know whether your choice was the right one. But you were sure, you would see it in the near future. The Father would help you see.

#sophie writes #far cry 5 fanfiction #joseph seed x reader #never thought i'd write this god damn #bliss and madness - holiness and sins

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 6 years

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You might have discussed this before, but for the DVD commentary: discuss why you decided to incorporate Diana the way that you did in Remniscence? I've always been really intrigued by it and kind of loved that she and Mulder are friends in that universe

I know I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: the same traits that make canon Diana the product of some truly lazy writing (she’s a poorly-realized character with almost no backstory and no motivations beyond OMG SHE MAKES SCULLY JEALOUS) mean that she’s also a fic writer’s dream (she's a blank slate who can be utilized in any number of roles).

Personally, I enjoy the challenge of never writing Diana exactly the same way in any of my stories. She shows up in four of my long fics, with her offstage role in “Ripper Weather” being the closest to canon: she’s literally there just to make Scully jealous, just to give the reader a sense of satisfaction when Mulder rejects her. In “Someday Your Child May Cry,” she hates Scully, but she has an actual reason: she’s furious Mulder has agreed to give Scully what he once denied Diana, during their marriage (a child), and she falls back on that hatred whenever she’s feeling morally conflicted about what she’s being ordered to do. Her hurt and envy make excellent motivators for her, right up until the moment she realizes what she’s denying Mulder, for whom she still harbors a sliver of love, corrupted as it may have become. And in BTDAFL, she’s probably what I would term the most despicable version I’ve ever written: she doesn’t care about slavery, she’s not the slightest bit invested, and when Mulder’s decision to fight for the Union threatens her ordered and comfortable life, she’s more than happy to be used as a tool in the Union’s downfall, so long as it means that Mulder will be hers, and she’ll never have to lift a finger to care for herself OR pay someone else to do it for her.

ANYWAY. Diana in “Reminiscence” is a distinct departure from all of that, because I wanted to do something different. This version of Diana has no interest in pursuing Mulder romantically, even after she learns that the husband and child she thinks she’d had for the last twenty years are nothing more than an elaborate hoax.

I like to think that at the end of the story, Diana has undergone a sort of personality reset, courtesy of the men who wiped her memory after her faked assassination in “Amor Fati.” She’s got her true memories back, yes, but now they’re at war with her fake, implanted memories, and she’s gotten a real taste of what it’s like to be the target of Spender and company’s manipulations. They’ve made her believe she’d been married to a man she’d deeply loved, and then she’s been forced to shoot him when he attacked her. They’d implanted memories of her “daughter’s” entire life from birth to college years, and those memories, as fake as they were, did not go away when she learned the truth, that her supposed daughter was an imposter, a young agent roped into serving the wrong side, just as she’d been once. And beyond all of that, she can’t even begin to imagine what Spender’s men had been doing with her for the almost twenty years that are still a blank in her memory, the years between her faked funeral and the start of the story, years when any number of horrors could have been inflicted on her without her knowing. She’s got a newfound appreciation of the cruelty her former masters are capable of, now that she’s been on the receiving end of it all.

So Diana, at the end, has sort of reverted to an older version of herself. She’s closer to the person she was when she and Mulder had first met and fallen in love than she is to the person who had lied to him and had nearly allowed him to be killed before having a last-second crisis of conscience. In Amanda, her supposed daughter, she sees a shadow of her former self, someone idealistic and hungry to prove her worth, who had been seduced into serving the devil, who was in too deep to get out by the time she realized what she’d signed up for. Diana’s undergone one hell of a reckoning, and I think that’s what allows her and Mulder to part as friends, as real friends, probably for the first time since their earliest days together. It’s also what inspires her to take Amanda with her when she leaves.

Thank you for asking about that story! It has a special place in my heart!

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ineverhadmyinternetphase · 7 years

Text

Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) 22/28

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Warnings: some violence, mentions of death (no main characters), dark magic, descriptions of wounds/blood, some hints of sexual scenes (but no actual smut), murder, dangerous situations, stealing/thievery

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Word count: 240,000+

Updates: Sunday

Thanks so much to @botanistlester for betaing this giant monster, as she’s been super helpful and encouraging with her little comments and endless excitement. We couldn’t have done it without you <3

Sorry for that slight cliffhanger xD we think this chapter more than makes up for it, so hopefully you will agree too. And thank you for making it this far! We’re both so proud of this fic and couldn’t be happier with the response we’ve been getting ^_^ again, thank you all so much for all the comments, I am sorry we haven’t had a chance to reply yet, I’m chronically sick and struggle to do things, and snowbunnylester has been crazy busy and dealing with things too, but we read every one and treasure them all, thank you so much to all of you

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil

For reference, @snowbunnylester is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

(AO3 link) (Masterlist)

It was dark by the time Phil carried Dan out of the dragon’s cave. His thief was shaking in his arms, body going into shock as he continued to lose blood despite Phil’s tunic wrapped around his body, held tight with a knot that Phil had remade before picking Dan up. He was out cold again, but Phil had expected no less. Dan’s body had gone through far more even than Phil’s had, and Phil was never going to forgive himself for allowing his Dan to be struck down by a dragon.

He was crying. Phil couldn’t seem to stop, body once again covered in blood from head to toe thanks to his wounds and Dan’s seeping into his clothes, but that didn’t matter to him. No, all Phil could think was that the two of them had been damn lucky making it out alive that night, and Phil swore to every being in the cosmos that he would make this right for Dan.

He didn’t know how just yet, but he’d manage it, and as the tears continued to leak down his face, Phil gritted his teeth against his own pain, and started to walk.

With all the noise the dragon had made, was still making up in the cavern Phil had so narrowly escaped from, there was no doubt in his mind that this side of the final village was no longer safe. The villagers had to know that Dan and Phil had found the dragon, and their corpses would be searched for. Hiding out here… it wasn’t safe, not when Dan was shaking from shock, his body dying on Phil…

No, they had survived the dragon! Phil would not allow his thief to die here, now, from a mere scratch. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but Phil was going to do everything in his power to get both of them safely through the village and onto the other side. Screw their supplies.

If Phil could help it, he would insist on a healer as well, or some poultice, something, from the villagers to make up for what they had done.

They were about to face the wrath of the Captain of the Royal Guard, and they no idea yet.

The mountain pass was both more dangerous and more terrifying coming back down in the dark, but Phil did not stop. The weight of the world felt like it was on his shoulders, a dragon scale kept carefully stowed away in his pocket, while the love of his life weighed heavily in his arms. He couldn’t afford to stop, not now, not before he found Dan some help.

Phil’s feet slipped and slid against gravel, ached at the pain from where rocks had struck him in the battle with the dragon, but he did not stop moving. He did not allow himself to trip, kept Dan safely tucked to his chest out of sheer force of will, arms bracing Dan from the back of his legs and around his middle, his head hanging free over the ground. It bounced with Phil’s footsteps, and he worried that the movement would do nothing but aggravate Dan’s condition, the blunt force trauma he’d taken, but Phil didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

There was far too much more to worry about.

As the village came into view, Phil found exactly what he’d been expecting. A search party, led by the guards from before, had been assembled, waiting at the gates with their spears raised, while the elder with the gift from the witch instructed them in a language that Phil did not know. His approach startled many, and they began to mutter and point, until their voices rose in a crescendo of angry noise that did nothing but incite rage inside of Phil.

He didn’t care, then, if anyone knew who he was. He was Captain of the Royal Guard, and he had a duty to his people to put a stop to this village who sacrificed the innocent to a supposed God who was nothing more than a beast. Phil had the dragon’s scale now. No one knew what he had come for, and no one could hold him hostage now.

As the village elder turned to face Phil, motioning to hush the loud calls of his hunters, Phil came to a stop a few meters away from them, and bared his teeth.

“Elder of the people of the Mountain,” Phil stated proudly, anger clear in his voice. “Who are you, to sacrifice my people to your dragon?”

The elder’s brow furrowed, and a hushed rumble started up among the hunters, but Phil ignored them.

“Who are you, to decide who should live or die, so that your village may prosper? Who are you, to put your needs before the many, the individuals whom I have sworn to protect?” he asked, voice growing louder and louder as the night turned to silence once more. Villagers were crowding in from outside the gates, just behind the hunters, all wanting to see what was going on.

How had a nephew and his senile old uncle survived their dragon?

“And who are you?” the elder spoke, taking advantage of Phil’s pause when he stopped speaking to inhale deeply, his body shaking with rage and pain. His muscles were dying to give out, but Phil would not let them. Adrenaline would carry him through. “Who are you to call those ‘your’ people? A senile old man, a fool with visions?” the elder continued with a snort. “You are nothing but dragon fodder to us.”

Phil snarled at that, and took a heavy step forward, nearly losing his hold on Dan, but managing to pull him back into strong arms at the last minute. He knew his eyes must be wild, and he knew he must look an intimidating sight, despite this elder’s words, as no one stepped towards him.

“A senile old man?” Phil shot back, “Is that truly who you think I am?” he asked, not bothering to wait for an answer as he took another threatening step forward, glare hard as steel as he took in the elder of this village, of this mountain. “Check again, old man, because tonight you are facing down Prince Philip Michael Lester, Captain of the Royal Guard, and protector of Morellia.”

A hush fell over the crowd that had begun to form before Phil, and he stood, panting and desperate, more dangerous perhaps than he had ever been, as those before him took him in.

The elder’s face grew white, but no one spoke a word. They were taking him in, picking out his features, connecting the dots to the man they’d all been taught to fear, but had assumed would never find them out.

They were growing afraid.

“How dare you lure men to their deaths here, how dare you use my people as sacrifices to your beast above. Did you not think that I would find out? That I would come for you?” Phil threatened, taking another step forward, only to watch as the fear took hold and all those gathered before him scrambled to take a step back. The hunters still held their spears raised, and the elder’s green tunic was glowing, like he was preparing to defend himself, but no one dared to stand up to Phil.

He was seething, covered in blood, with his half dead lover in his arms.

It was no wonder they all feared him.

“Well think again, people of the Mountain, for I have come for you, and my rage will reign down on you like no other. You have nearly killed the love of my life, not to mention killed thousands others in the name of sacrifice to a beast. I will not let this go. I will not forget what you have done.”

The people’s eyes were wide, shamed, but the hunters did not back down, still, and neither did the elder.

Snarling loudly, Phil stumbled forward another step, and said, “I dare you to attack me. I dare you to murder me right here and now, in cold blood, and see what happens. Do you not know why I am here? Do you not know who will look at my death, my disappearance, and realize that my theory about your corruption, your involvement with the dragon murders and the witch, was correct? It is too late, savages, you have been discovered, and if you kill me here tonight, an army will reign down so heavy upon you that you will never see another living day, not one of you.”

Phil’s chest was heaving as he spoke, his eyes wild with the lie, and all he could do as he stood there, a threatening force not to be reckoned with, was pray that his bluff would not be called.

For a moment, no one spoke. The hunters hesitated, unsure, debating and looking to their leader, their elder, for guidance. Pale as a sheet, and clearly terrified of Phil, the elder only stared at him, considering, as he tried to find a lie…

It seemed he found none, because in the next second, his tunic stopped glowing, and he raised his hand, only to lower it, in a sign for his hunters to stand down.

Grudgingly, the man offered Phil a low bow, his head nearly touching the ground, and his long, white, braided beard scraping across the rock below.

“My Prince,” he stated, voice reverent, if not full of disdain. There was an undercurrent of fear there, in the way that he trembled, recognizing his loss. “I beg for nothing more than your forgiveness --”

“And I grant you nothing in return,” Phil spat, seething. His chest was heaving, and he was dizzy with his own loss of blood, with the weakness of his panic attack from hours before, the battle he’d survived with the dragon, but he refused to show even an ounce or mercy, of pain. “Not here, not now. You will speak with the counsel and I on how you and your people will make this right in a short time, once I have returned to my home. We will decide your punishment then, and we will take the time to help you feel safe once again, to get rid of your dragon, and undo this need for sacrifice altogether,” Phil said, managing to remind himself that this was not the villagers’ fault, not really, and that he had always been a forgiving Captain. “I will not leave my people to suffer, but you should have come to me,” Phil demanded, the rage bursting from him once again as he stormed towards the people.

Shamed, cast asunder, the people refused to look into Phil’s eyes.

“The dragon made his home here, my Prince. You must understand --” the elder spoke, turning wet eyes up to Phil as he realized the depth of what he had done, but also the depth of the Prince’s misunderstanding, his lack of knowledge for why the villagers had turned to this. “He took all from us. We had no choice.”

And just like that, the anger, the rage feld from Phil like no other, until he felt nothing but weak and exhausted.

His shoulders slumped as he looked at the elder, and he offered him a look of absolute sadness.

“I know, Elder… I saw… I see,” he said, broken. “But you should have come to me,” he begged, sniffling as he turned his gaze for just a second down to Dan’s body cradled tightly in his arms. “You should have come to me…”

No one spoke as Phil sniffled, and he could hardly blame them.

“I am sorry, for calling you savages,” he remarked after a second, looking up to see these people staring at him, tense with surprise, unease, suspicion. Phil looked at Dan, aware that Dan would hate to see him like this, and shook his head. “You are not. You are nothing more than what a dragon and a witch have done to you. I promise on my oath to my people at both your Prince and your Captain, that I will help you. But first, you must help me.”

The relief amongst the people was palpable. Their grief, their suffering… it was almost done.

The pain was nothing short of unbearable as Dan drifted in and out of consciousness.

He was vaguely aware of being carried, of being in someone's arms -- Phil's arms, it must be, had to be because the last thing Dan remembered was watching in helpless panic as Phil fought to drag himself over the edge of the ridge and back towards safety. The shock and panic and cold fear Dan had felt at the possibility of losing his Phil were beyond measure, enough to make him forget the blinding pain until his body could take no more and he fell into the blackness again.

Occasionally other voices passed over Dan, unfamiliar ones murmuring sentences he couldn't make sense of. Dan tried to move, tried to find his mouth to say something reassuring, or ask what the hell was going on, but the pain in his side overrode everything else he could attempt. Dan could do little but succumb to it.

Why wouldn’t they just shut up? Why was there no peace, no reassurance? All Dan could feel was pain, white hot, writhing through his body, curling through his veins, spreading from the gaping, open wounds he could feel tearing his left side in half.

The dragon. He knew it had been the dragon. Dan remembered - he remembered gold, and the roar of a beast, and fire, and crisp burning heat, and Phil… Phil in danger…

Of course. Dan had dived in front of Phil, because of course he had. Desperate fear had driven him, terror of losing Phil, of losing the one person he’d finally been able to let in again, and Dan… Dan couldn’t lose anyone else.

He couldn’t. He’d risk it all above losing someone else.

Plus, he’d promised Phil’s mother. He’d promised to bring Phil back safely. Dan wasn’t going to be responsible for tearing another family apart.

Pain flared through his side again, and Dan groaned faintly, or at least he tried to. He couldn’t quite seem to find his mouth, floating in and out of consciousness as he was. His brain was fogged over, his thoughts thick and fumbling. There were arms around him, though, proof that Phil was alright. Because that had to be Phil.

They were moving again. Dan could feel footsteps, heard the familiar velvet tone of Phil’s voice. He could also feel the blackness tugging at the edge of his skull, threatening to pull him back under, but Dan ignored it, fumbled instead for Phil. He had something important to tell him…

It was too much. Dan struggled as much as he could, but he wasn’t strong enough, and the blackness overcame him once again.

The villagers were kind, far kinder than Phil had thought they would be after all that had happened. Their elder removed his green, magic tunic with a frown of distrust that told Phil he’d never once wanted to accept the magical gift from the witch, only felt that he must, and locked it away inside of his offices with a key that he handed to Phil afterwards.

“It is the only one, my prince. I swear to you.”

Choosing to take the elder at his word, Phil merely nodded his head, and accepted the key, which the elder placed within the bags the villagers had prepared for him. Phil had refused to put Dan down for even a second, snarling at the nursemaids who attempted to come to his side, and while they accepted his pain, accepted his refusal of their magic to help still the blood until Phil could get Dan help, they did force him to stand still and listen to their explanation on how to use the poultice they’d provided for him.

Phil did his best to pay attention, but it was difficult when his mind was spinning with thoughts of Dan and his near desperate desire to get out of here already. He pitied these people, understood their pain, but after tonight, after what had happened to Dan, Phil just needed to get away for a bit.

When his family was safe, his kingdom healed from the witches curse, he would return here to help the mountain people. But for now, Phil just needed to save Dan.

He knew, deep down, that if the elders had come to Phil before this, he might never have found a dragon and been able to save his family, but equally, maybe few would have died, maybe the witch would not have been around to curse his brother… anything number of things could have been different. Phil just wanted his people’s suffering to end.

Bag packed for him, the hunters helped Phil to shoulder it, and guided him to the far end of the village as Phil stumbled in the dark. They plead with him to stay the night, to allow them to help Phil to heal Dan, but Phil refused, unable to stay here lest he released his rage on undeserving people who’d only been trying to do what was best for them.

Still. The hunters sent a scout ahead, to warn the other two villages that Prince Philip should not be stopped on his journey through their homes. He should not be bothered.

For that, Phil was grateful, and as he began his journey back down the mountain, he had one place in mind; the cave where he and Dan had left the Duke’s dead body. Forgoing their supplies altogether, terrified about the lack of food when Phil had lost Dan’s hunting bow back in the cave, Phil just kept walking. He knew that if he stopped now, he’d never make it to their cave, and he was determined that he would.

It would be the only safe place left for them.

The trek down the mountain was far easier than the trek up it, and despite the weakness in all of Phil’s limbs, he managed to walk much faster than he had on the way up. Dan was a heavy weight in his arms that Phil never stopped crying over, and from to time, he still tripped and stumbled and came this close to sending Dan flying, but he always managed to right himself at just the last moment.

Dan did not wake up, nor did he stop trembling, and these two facts terrified Phil, who wanted nothing more than to protect his thief.

By the time Phil reached the second village, and began his long trek through it to the other side, thankful not to have to use the ravine like last time, he started to wonder if he’d made a mistake. As promised, the villagers did not stop Phil from moving through their home, but Dan was still bleeding against his side, Phil could feel it. He was losing a lot of blood, though it was stemmed by the pressure of the tunic wrapped so tightly around his body, and he was shaking. He hadn’t woken up in so long, despite still breathing, and Phil worried for his brain.

Would Dan even be Dan when he awoke once again? Phil didn’t know, and he cursed himself for not having stopped to allow the villagers to help him care for Dan.

It was just that, for all their kindness, Phil did not fully feel that he could trust them. Not with Dan, never with Dan. Phil had to keep Dan safe, and he was going to mend him if it was the last thing that he ever did. Phil didn’t care what anyone said… he could, and would take care of his thief like no one else ever had, and no one would weave a spell over his thief without Phil knowing exactly what it was.

The sun was just beginning to rise when Phil finally reached the cave he and Dan had left behind only a day ago. His arms and legs were numb, ready to give out at any minute, but he refused to let them as he gently lay Dan down near the middle of the cave, dropping the satchel the villagers had suited him with.

The dead body of the Duke was untouched by creatures in the night, the day, and when Phil saw this, he felt hate like no other surge through him once again. Using the Duke for an outlet, Phil gripped tight to his arm, and started to yank him out of the cave, dragging his bloodless body from the cave and dropping him next to the cliff face. With gritted teeth, Phil reached out with his boot, and shoved the Duke over the edge, feeling his chest constrict with the way his body never seemed to make a sound as it fell.

If Phil hadn’t known any better, hadn’t been certain the Duke was dead, he might have feared he had somehow survived, but as he glanced over the edge, it was only to see the Duke’s body, a near speck, towards the bottom. He was well and truly gone from their lives, now.

Once back in the cavern, Phil collapsed to his knees at Dan’s side, and just stared at his thief, looking smaller than he ever had before. For a moment, all the words of the nursemaids flew from his head, and he was left with nothing but the swell of panic in his chest as tears anew sprang to his eyes.

Why was Phil such a fuck up? Why had he thought to take Dan away from people who could help him!?

"You never should have wrestled with a dragon," a voice said moments later, startling Phil so badly that he snarled, whirling on the person with his knife instantly in his hand. His eyes were bugged wide, his lip curled up in a snarl, and his heart nearly bursting out of his chest, when he caught sight of the person the voice belonged to, and sagged at the realization that it was just Brandon.

Dropping the dagger with a loud clatter, Phil fell to his knees at Dan’s side once more.

"Fuck off. I don't need you to tell me what I've done wrong,” he muttered, doing his best not to cry anymore. He was on the verge of losing Dan, and Phil no longer knew what to do. He should have stayed back in the village, where Dan would be safe.

The only problem was, Phil had no real idea if Dan would have been safe there, and that was why he’d brought Dan here… to the only place Phil had been able to think of, the only place he’d thought they could be alone.

Yet, now here he sat, with no knowledge of how to take care of his beaten and damaged lover, covered in blood and wounds of his own, with a bandit at his side tsking at Phil because he was an absolute idiot.

“I never should have let Dan come with me,” he muttered to himself, and swiped angrily at his face when the tears began to fall.

Brandon, who previously seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and had made no noise in his approach to Phil, shuffled across the cave floor then. Phil could hear the way he moved against the rocks, knew he was doing something, but he was too busy scrubbing at his eyes to find out what; which was why it was such a surprise when a very tentative, unsure arm wrapped around his shoulders, and pulled him into a warm body that was most assuredly not Dan’s.

Somehow, that made the tears worse, and Phil pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes hard enough that it started to hurt… anything to make the anguish just that little bit more bearable.

“If you are to the King of Thieves what I think you are, Prince… do you really think Dan would have ever let you go alone?”

The words jostled a startled laugh out of Phil, who snorted around the sound of his own tears and scrubbed harder at his face at the same time, shaking his head with a half smile on his face. He shook his head, offered the bandit a shrug, and then shook his head again.

“Why do you think he was here in the first place?” Phil shot back with another tiny chuckle, biting back a sob and squeezing his eyes shut because he couldn’t bear to look at the mess that he’d already made. He couldn’t keep crying like this. Phil needed to do something.

Brandon laughed beside Phil as well, pulling his arm back from around his shoulders to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder, respectfully ignoring the fact that Phil was quite literally falling apart beside him.

“Sounds like the King I know,” he commented easily with a soft little sigh. “Always chasing after the ones he loves.”

Phil wished the bandit hadn’t said that, because it only made his shoulders shake harder for all that had happened. Terrified that somehow, someway, everything would turn out to be false, Phil had put off saying those three little words until it was nearly too late, and now he might not ever get to hear them from Dan in return. The very idea of that tugged at his heart until Phil had to bite into his lip savagely to prevent himself from crying out in pain.

Why had he been so stupid? Phil didn’t know if the bandit was right, if Dan truly did love him, but something about this tone rang true. Dan had forced Phil to let him come with him, had tried to force Phil to stay behind… surely, that should be enough to tell Phil everything he needed to know.

“Fuck!” he groaned, and dropped his hands. “We have to save him, I have to -- do something, fuck. Maybe I should take him back to the healers? I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t even remember what they told me to do,” Phil groaned, and surged over Dan’s body for the bags he’d dropped before. He dug through their contents without knowing what anything was, and drew forth item after item, dropping them onto the cave floor next to him.

Dan was unmoving, now. The tremors Phil had felt the entire walk here had left his body, and he was still breathing, but Phil had no idea whether or not that was a good thing. Did that mean Dan’s body had given up? Was Phil too late?

He wanted to scream, wanted to reach up and pull his hair out, if only to release something of what he was feeling.

“Why are you here?” Phil barked harshly towards Brandon. “What do you want? To pillage Dan’s body too? Well that’s not going to happen, bandit, because I will never allow that. Dan’s not going to die --”

Phil never got a chance to finish his statement. He never even got a chance to finish digging through the bag the village healers had sent him off with, as seconds later, Brandon had taken hold of Phil’s upper arm and had dragged him backwards to face him, fingers like claws the way they gripped tight to Phil’s skin.

“How dare you speak to me like that,” Brandon hissed, voice quiet. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing, when I have known the King of Thieves far longer than you.”

Brandon’s voice was trembling. For the first time, Phil was properly looking at him, and he could see the anguish clear as day in those dark eyes. He swallowed, shocked, and remained still under Brandon’s gaze.

“I am here for the same reason as you,” he growled, shoving Phil bodily away from him, and letting him go. “Because I am not going to allow my King to die because some tawdry Royal doesn’t know how to care for a mere wound. If you truly think something as simple as a dragon scratch could take out our thief, than you do not deserve him.”

The words were like a slap in the face to Phil, who could do nothing but stare in shock at Brandon, whose eyes were like daggers as he glared at Phil. His jaw hung loosely open, and it seemed almost as if the tears had dried up in his shock, as even as he blinked, nothing fell. The lump that had once been in his throat was gone.

“I --” Phil tried to say, but Brandon merely shook his head, and reached between them for the items Phil had so carelessly tossed aside.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. If you want to prove yourself to me, you’ll pull yourself together, and help me save Dan.”

For another moment, Phil was taken aback. Brandon’s arm was outstretched to him, holding something, and waiting with a tight jaw for Phil to take it from him. His eyes were hard, and yet, behind that anger, Phil could see the pain.

Dan meant something very important to both of them, and Phil -- well, Phil did need to stop crying. Every second that passed by was another moment that Dan could die.

Setting his own jaw, Phil finally managed to force himself into some semblance of calm, and nodded his head jerkily at the bandit sat in front of him. With more confidence than Phil actually felt, he reached up and took the proffered item from Brandon’s hand, and nodded once more.

“Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s save our King,” he said.

Finally, finally, Brandon’s expression melted into a smile, and he repeated, “Let’s save our King,” with a nod of his own.

When Dan came to again, it was to find his back pressed against something hard, his arms wrapped protectively around his torso, and pain rocketing out from the lancing wounds he could feel in his left side.

He felt like his body had been torn open, and he wanted to scream, but all that came out was a quiet whimper.

Pathetic. Dan sounded pathetic. He was the King of Thieves! He’d faced worse than this in his lifetime and survived, been cut up too many times to count. What was once more? He’d thought his tolerance for pain was pretty high, but this…

This was incapacitating him.

He wanted to move, to curl up into a ball and wrap his arms around his left side to hold it together, because it felt like it was ripping apart, but Dan couldn’t find his limbs. He couldn’t find his fingers, his toes, his eyes to open them. Everything was darkness and pain.

There were voices floating somewhere above him. They were familiar, but raised, as if arguing. Dan groaned, wanting to tell them to shut up, but he couldn’t find his mouth. Instead, trying to think through the fog in his brain, he attempted to distinguish just who they were.

One was rough, coarse, the dialect unfamiliar. The other one… the other one was like smooth velvet, and even just hearing it warmed Dan’s heart.

Phil. Of course Phil was here. Of course he wouldn’t have left Dan.

Just hearing his voice allowed Dan to relax, if only marginally. Some of the tension left his body, and he wasn’t trembling anymore, was instead lying still aside from the occasional pained whimper that left his lips. Part of him was desperate to open his eyes, to look up and see Phil again, and finally answer what he’d said outside the dragon’s lair, those three words…

But the other part of Dan never wanted to open his eyes again. He didn’t want to face this, to see what the dragon had done to him. How he had been torn apart this time.

Dan was a coward, it turned out.

The voices were still arguing. The other one, not Phil, was talking now, gruff and familiar, and - yes, Brandon. He’d somehow found his way here, had probably been tracking them up and down the mountain knowing him. Dan just wished he was able to react to them, to tell the two to shut the fuck up, and… and Dan didn’t know what. All he knew was the he was in pain, and that he wanted it to end.

Eventually, the voices settled down, and Dan felt himself relax marginally further. He couldn’t quite make out words, his brain too fuzzy, pain still racing through him, but there was movement somewhere vaguely above him.

Was he lying down? Dan thought he was lying down.

Suddenly, there was movement right by his head, and then hands were in his hair. Dan jerked, the movement involuntary, but it sent another lance of pain shooting through him. He cried out, a pathetic wail the most he could manage, and then there was a gentle voice shushing him.

Phil.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Phil soothed, sounding broken and lost. Dan wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he couldn’t uncurl himself from the tight ball he’d rolled into. So he lay there, whimpering, and leaned into the touch in his hair.

Brandon was somewhere around, too, as his voice was the next thing Dan heard.

"See, the thing about my friend here, is he's a tough-un," Dan heard Brandon say gruffly. "I've seen him suffer the worst at the hands of men, and he always comes through. Always."

Phil watched as Brandon took item after item from the bag Phil had been given, and start to sort them on the floor between them. Phil didn’t recognize any of them, but that didn’t seem to matter, as Brandon did. The relief was palpable in Phil when Brandon began to take two items and start to mix them together in a bowl Phil had been given as well. Brandon didn’t use all of either ingredient, but as he began to mix them together, Phil began to recognize the mixture as a poultice, and nearly collapsed from relief.

Finally, something Phil could understand. Surely, surely if he just watched Brandon, he’d be able to take care of Dan.

Once the poultice was mixed together, Brandon moved to draw a dagger from his waist. It was Phil’s trust in him alone that prevented him from panicking, and when had Phil come to trust a bandit? Still, he watched as the man tore away at Phil’s lackluster job of tying up Dan’s wound, and then continued to tear away at the tunic Dan had been wearing in the first place. It was clear from the matted blood that there was no saving the garment, so Phil didn’t say a word. Besides… he could already see the job the dragon’s claws had down to the garment.

The feeling of fingers near his open wound made Dan cry out, and he flinched in Phil’s lap, his head moving from side-to-side. He edged away from Brandon’s touch, feeling the wound become more and more exposed as the material that had been holding in the bleeding was removed.

At Dan’s bodily flinch and his low whimper, Phil’s eyes flashed in stunned surprise to this thief’s face. Dan’s eyes were still closed, but his breathing was suddenly far less even than it was before, and the way his face scrunched up in pain made Phil think he might finally be awake.

Ignoring Brandon entirely for a second, Phil reached for Dan’s hand and squeezed it in his, Dan’s head still positioned in his lap..

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised, and wished that he could lean in and kiss Dan’s head, wished that he could take all of his pain away, and hold onto it himself instead, but he couldn’t so much as move just then, too afraid that he might do something wrong if he wasn’t careful. “I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

Dan tried to move when he heard Phil's voice, only that turned out to be a mistake as pain tore through him once again and he fell back with a quiet whimper. He felt fingers grip his hand and tried to squeeze them back, though his touch was weak, but he was awake. Or as close to awake as he could be. And he wanted to see Phil, to talk to him… if he could just make his limbs work...

“Hold his head,” Brandon suddenly ordered Phil, his voice rough and knocking Phil out of his previous distraction with Dan. Letting go of Dan’s hand instantly, Phil moved to grasp Dan’s head, only for his gaze to land on the wounds suddenly laid bare to him, and he nearly threw up.

There, in stark contrast against Dan’s tanned skin, sat three very long, very deep scratches that spread from Dan’s armpit down to his hip, far worse than even Phil had realized. They were bleeding profusely still, and it was clear that despite the way that Phil had wrapped up Dan’s wounds, he hadn’t come even close to covering the majority of it.

Tears sprang to his eyes once more. How could he have let this happen?

“Phil!” Brandon shouted, knocking him back to the present once more. “Pull it together! Grab his head, and hold it steady. It’s time to spread the poultice over his wounds, and it’s going to hurt,” he stated gruffly, voice strained enough to alert Phil to just how much this was hurting him as well.

Nodding his head, Phil merely stated, “Right,” and shifted his body all the way around Dan’s body so he could embrace his head. Knees on either side of Dan’s head, Phil gripped him tight, and leaned in close to press a kiss to his head. Finally.

“Hold still, my Dan,” he whispered.

Dan was glad his fellow thief was there, but he didn't much like Brandon's words and the promise of pain they brought with them. He just hoped Phil wasn't going to let go of him.

The first press of the poultice to the wound had Dan screaming, and he writhed, hands flailing desperately for something to hold onto. His hand found something warm and he held on hard, digging his fingers in as his body flinched and adjusted to the pain. The poultice worked quickly, thankfully, cooling the searing heat flooding through Dan's veins, and he calmed a little, breathing heavily.

It became clear seconds after Brandon applied the first bit of poultice to Dan's wound that Phil gripping tight to just his head wasn't going to be enough, and in a desperate attempt to both distract himself from the sound of Dan's screaming and keep him safe and still, Phil leaned over him, bracketed Dan's head with his biceps, and used the rest of the arm to force Dan's body down and flat to the ground.

Crying, Phil had to look away from Dan's face for a moment to try and not drip his own tears into Dan's eyes.

"I've got you, I've got you," he mumbled, wishing that this hadn't happened, that there was more Phil could do for Dan, that somehow, Phil could take the pain for him.

Large hands griped tight to both of Phil’s arms, and almost immediately, Dan's nails dug in, his grip so tight it was bruising. Phil couldn't bring himself to care, didn't dare complain even as he was forced to clench his own teeth against a scream of his own. His pain was nothing compared to the agony that Dan was going through just then.

Dan's body was writhing so hard, his legs kicking the ground, but Phil just continued to hold his neck and head still, continued to press his forearms down into Dan's chest, until finally, the poultice seemed to sink in, and Dan finally relaxed some.

His fingers didn't stop their intense grip on Phil's arms, though, and it was clear from his panting that the pain wasn't entirely gone. It couldn't be, and once again, Phil wished he could take it away.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry," Phil whispered, squeezing his eyes shut against another onslaught of tears.

As Brandon continued to spread the poultice, Dan winced and panted and squeezed his fingers against the warm soft flesh he assumed was some part of Phil, desperate to know Phil was there. He’d felt pain before, but he’d take the cut of a sword ten times over this. The poultice was cooling, yes, but it stung like hell when it hit his open wounds, and he knew about healing. He knew Brandon would have to let the poultice set before he could wrap it with bandages.

Dan bit his lip and braced himself for the pain.

Dan fought with his heavy eyelids, wanting to see Phil, to know for sure he was there and had made it out of the ridge without injury. It had been so long since he last saw Phil’s face - and he’d never been able to answer Phil’s words, to say them back. That seemed very, very important just then.

Dan battled with his eyes, battled with his heavy limbs, fought through the pain and darkness and fog until he could feel his body again, feel himself within it, and have control over his limbs. After a long, painful minute, Dan's eyes fluttered, and he forced them to open to be met by Phil's anxious face hovering over him.

Dan smiled instantly, still trembling. He clutched tighter onto the thing he'd grabbed, realising belatedly it was Phil's arm, and leaned into him as much as he could with Brandon working on his side. "You… made it," Dan panted. "Idiot. Don't… distract a dragon. Bad idea."

When Phil opened his eyes again, Dan was looking up at him, a pained smile gracing his features. Phil coughed out a half laugh, half sob, leaning in when Dan appeared to try and lean up to get closer to Phil, relief that Dan was awake and speaking flooding through him like no other. Perhaps, there was hope for them after all.

"Fuck off," Phil whispered, voice thick. "Why did you get in the way," he mumbled, and leaned in to press a quick, fierce kiss to Dan's lips. If he was crying again, then so be it. He didn’t care. All he cared about was showing Dan just how much he meant to him. The wounds… surely they would heal. Phil’s only fear now was how much blood Dan had left, if the wounds would become infected, if the dragon had some kind of poison in its claws...

He couldn't think about that just then. All he wanted to do now was sink into Dan’s mouth, and distract him even for a moment from his pain.

"Don't you dare ever do that again," Phil ordered when he finally pulled back away, grateful that Brandon was allowing him to have this moment with his thief.

Dan let Phil kiss him, would ordinarily have tried to return the favour, but he couldn't lean up anymore with the way Phil had him trapped in his embrace, holding him down like a lovely weight on his chest. Dan distracted himself with that, with gripping tight to Phil's arm, and trying to forget the constant needling pain in his side.

"Of course I got in the way," he mumbled back to Phil, wincing again as Brandon applied more poultice. "Couldn't… you were… danger." He panted, closed his eyes for another second. Dan had felt pain before in many different ways, felt the bite of blades and teeth and nails throughout most of his life, but he'd never felt anything as ferocious as this.

Dan shuddered and collapsed fully against Phil, letting him take all of Dan's weight because Dan wasn't quite strong enough to hold himself up just then. "You're safe," Dan murmured, clutching at Phil wherever he could. "That's… good. Need you, Phil."

It was difficult to see Dan in so much pain, more difficult still to see him closing his eyes again. Would there come a time when Dan just wouldn't open them again? In the hours that had passed, in all the time it had taken Phil struggling to carry Dan down the mountain and to a safe place, he'd been so afraid that Dan wouldn't wake.

Now that he was, Phil was almost desperate enough to tell him to keep his eye open, but how could he ask that when Dan was clutching so tight to his arms that it was obvious how much pain he was in?

"I'm safe," Phil agreed, closing his eyes as he tried not to cry once more. "And more importantly, so are you," he added, gasping out a sob.

"Never again, Dan," Phil demanded again, voice thick with tears. "Don't you dare pull something like that again."

He wanted to shake Dan, but the last thing he ever wanted to do was cause his thief any more pain than he was already in.

"I promise," Dan mumbled, words slurring. "Never again. Just don't -- don't hurt yourself. Promise." He wasn't making much sense, he knew, but his limbs were heavy and he ached so much that it was all he could do to stay conscious. There was a buzzing in his ears and a fuzzy fog over his brain, but he knew Phil was close, and that was all he needed.

Dan closed his eyes and let himself fall.

Dan didn't reply anymore after that, no matter what Phil said, while Brandon finished up with the poultice, prompting Phil to bite his lip and focus on the tiny scrunches of pain that flared across Dan's face, a reminder that he was awake and aware and most importantly, not dead.

Hating every second of having to watch Dan suffer, however, Phil shook his head and twisted his gaze back to Brandon, something wild in his eyes.

“How much longer?” he asked, “How much more of this?”

Brandon had his jaw set, and refused to look at Phil, gaze intent on his work at Dan’s side.

“However much more I need,” the thief gritted out through clenched teeth. “Do you think I like watching my King writhe around in pain any more than you do? This must be done.”

That was enough to shut Phil up, and he turned his attention back to Dan quick as a stone. He had to trust Brandon, to stop lashing out on him. It wasn’t his fault Dan was in so much pain… it was Phil’s.

It seemed to take forever, what with Phil being forced to watch Dan’s face screw up in unimaginable pain, making small, soothing noises that meant nothing, but eventually, Brandon pulled away with a flourish, covered in sweat, and pronounced that he was done.

“You’re going to have to prop him up now. We have to apply the bandages,” Brandon explained as he wiped the sweat away from his brow, and started searching the floor for said bandages.

Those words sent dread pooling through Dan’s heart. The idea of moving was repellent. Although the poultice was doing its job and numbing the pain, making his side feel cold instead of the hot, burning sensation that had been plaguing him for what felt like hours, the idea of moving made Dan’s insides squirm.

Phil, meanwhile, could do nothing but stare on in horror. The idea of moving Dan, when Dan had already collapsed back into him in pain, constantly wincing in pain at every touch of Brandon's practiced fingers on his body, was horrifying, and yet, Phil recognized the need for it. He just wished he didn’t have to hurt Dan anymore than he already was, and surely, trying to bend his body into a sitting position was going to be -- agonizing.

And yet, Phil did it.

“Dan,” he whispered as a warning, “Dan, I have to move you now. This is going to hurt, but I need you to stay strong for me, okay?” he begged his thief. Dan didn’t answer, not verbally, but Phil watched as he swallowed, shivering all over once again, and nodded his head, fingers tightening on Phil’s arms.

Closing his eyes against what he had to do, Phil took a deep breath, and then finally released Dan’s head and his chest. Positioning himself just right, Phil pressed his arms up under Dan’s armpits, avoiding the wound on his left side as best as he could, and grimaced as he started to raise Dan up into a sitting position.

Instantly, Dan was crying out, his jaw clenched as he screamed through his teeth. The sound tore at Phil’s heart, who wanted nothing more than to stop moving Dan, if for nothing else than to save him pain, but he knew that he couldn’t. Instead, Phil shifted his own body so he could work as a chair for Dan, and spread his legs on either side of Dan’s until he had Dan in a propped up position, practically resting against Phil’s chest, back and side exposed enough that Brandon could wrap the bandages around his wounds.

The pain when the wound stretched was immense. Dan gritted his teeth, doing everything he could to hold in his noises, but they escaped him anyway. He hated being vulnerable. But here, he couldn’t help but show his vulnerability.

Dan leaned back into Phil and breathed in and out, shallow counted breaths, as he was lifted upright and the wound stretched and stretched and stretched.

It was the worst moment of both Dan and Phil’s lives. Phil cried silently into Dan’s hair as Dan moaned in abject pain. His wounds were no longer being stretched and moved, but all the soothing work of the poultice had seemed to leave him in an instant at being propped up, and he was merely doing his best not to sob. They hurt so much, and as Brandon moved to start wrapping bandages around his body, all Dan could do was clench his teeth at the new pain that that brought.

Watching Brandon wrap Dan’s body was a difficult thing for Phil. He could feel every shiver and shake of Dan’s body, the winces as he tried not to cry out in pain, and the flinching that came from something sharp pressing into still open wounds that probably needed stitching, if only Phil or Brandon knew how to do that.

The poultice would have to do for now. There was nothing else that either man could do, and moving Dan back to the village was… clearly out of the question now. Not when forcing him to sit up had made him scream the way it had. No… Phil would take care of Dan here, himself.

Eventually, Brandon finished wrapping the bandages around Dan’s body, tying them off tightly enough that, even as blood began to soak through, it was clear that the pressure would stem the flow soon. Dan, for his part, had fully collapsed backwards against Phil by this point, and Phil had let him, doing everything in his power to hold Dan and comfort him, even just a little bit.

When Brandon pulled away, Phil was quick to settle his right arm around Dan, the one on the left as far away from Dan’s side as possible, but still a comforting presence despite not touching him. Even still, Dan reached out and clutched at Phil’s leg painfully.

“It’s over. We’re done. It’s okay now,” Phil whispered to Dan, because he could, and he didn’t know what else he could possibly offer to his thief to help. Dan didn’t reply, but Phil didn’t blame him. His chest was heaving, he’d lost a lot of blood, and he was probably far weaker than either Brandon or Phil realized in that moment. Dan, surely, was going through hell.

Dan was quiet now, mostly. He wasn’t being moved anymore, and there were bandages wrapped around him, holding him together. The hellish, roaring pain from his side had calmed some, though his every bone and muscle and joint ached. He sagged back into Phil’s chest, eyes closed once more, and gave himself a few minutes of rest.

Phil was behind him, around him, holding him. That was enough for Dan.

Suddenly recalling Brandon’s presence, Phil turned his head to look up at him. “Thank you,” he said, “For helping. For knocking some sense into me. I don’t know what I would have done had you not arrived.”

Brandon merely shrugged his shoulders, going about putting away the things Phil had taken out of the medical bag in quick procession. He wasn’t looking at Phil, but the tense line of his shoulders told him why that might be. Dan’s pain had affected him just as much as it had Phil.

Unable to help it, Phil managed a small smile at that. Brandon… was a true friend.

Clearing his throat and wanting to change the subject at least slightly, Phil asked, “What do I do now? I don’t know how to care for him, but I don’t -- I refuse to let him die.” Phil’s voice was carefully fierce, determined as he turned his gaze down to Dan once more. His thief’s brow was damp with sweat, and his eyes were closed, fluttering lightly with every strained breath. Phil wanted to lower him back down to the ground so he could rest, but he was afraid of the pain that would bring.

Dan deserved at least a moment of rest, surely.

Brandon’s heavy sigh was enough to drag Phil’s attention back to him, and he turned his head again to take in Brandon’s stiff expression.

“You have to change him,” Brandon explained. “At least once a day. Wash him carefully from here on out, as I did not this time, and reapply the poultice solution in the bag the village healers gave you. There’s plenty there, you just have to mix only what you’re going to use, or it will surely go bad. Make sure you keep the bandages wrapped tightly when you’re finished.”

Phil nodded his head in relief, thankful for the easy explanation, for the fact that he was able to hear it and understand this time, but Brandon appeared not to be done. He rifled through the bag he’d only just repacked, and handed Phil a small bottle.

“Keep the wounds taken care of until they at least appear to be scabbing over, maybe beginning to scar, and then the poultice will no longer help, and the bandages can stay on longer, but in the meantime, this is for pain. It will force him to sleep. Use it sparingly, there’s not much.”

Brandon glanced down at Dan then, face set, and said, "Don't let him be an idiot and chase after a dragon again."

"Heard that," Dan mumbled, refusing to open his eyes or move from his place of comfort on Phil's lap.

Brandon lifted his eyes heavenward, getting to his feet then, his job done. He breathed out heavily. "I hope you got whatever you needed, Captain Philip. Don't let my King die. If you need me, tap three times on the rock. I'll hear you."

"I promise you've left him in safe hands," Phil reassured the man, clutching the pain medication in his hand tightly.

It was obvious that Dan needed it now. His words had been slurred and barely coherent when he’d tried to joke with Brandon, and his hold on Phil’s leg had loosened, showing just how weak he was becoming. The problem was that Phil didn’t want Dan to sleep, terrified that if his thief fell asleep, he might not ever wake again. Phil couldn’t face that this might have been the last time Phil ever heard Dan’s voice.

Still… Phil would rather Dan sleep, than suffer.

He sighed to himself, and placed the bottle down next to him carefully.

“I will not let Dan die.”

With one last look at Brandon, one that said much about their feelings in that moment, the two finally bid each other goodbye. It was clear that Brandon did not want to be here anymore, not to watch Dan suffer, not to intrude, and for that, Phil was grateful.

Once the man was gone, Phil turned his attention back to Dan once more. He was laying still in Phil’s arms, chest heaving slowly with each and every painful breath he took. Phil could tell he was still awake from the way that his eyes continued to flutter, and he grimaced from time to time. That was both reassuring and concerning to Phil, would could tell from that alone just how much Dan was hurting.

Surely, unconsciousness would be better at this rate, and yet, Phil just wanted Dan to keep his eyes open for a tiny bit longer.

Using his free hand to card his fingers through Dan’s sweaty hair, Phil let out a soft sigh and pressed a kiss to the top of Dan’s head before leaning in close to his ear. “I’m going to move you now, so you can rest,” he explained. “Then we can get you some medicine, and you can sleep.”

Even if Phil didn’t want that. Even if Phil was afraid.

Dan tensed at Phil’s words. The idea of moving again - even just as little to lay down - sent shudders of regret through his body. Dread pooled in his body. He knew, realistically, logically, he needed to lie down again, that he couldn’t just lie on Phil forever, but - to be honest, that sounded like a much better solution.

Eyes still closed, Dan murmured, “If you think it best.” He tried not to sound sullen, wasn’t sure how much tone his voice had anyway when he was so exhausted and bone-weary, but hopefully Phil would get the point.

Phil did, if the way he petted Dan’s hair gently was any guide.

Bags left abandoned outside of the third village, Phil could do nothing but curse himself for not having thought to grab them, and gently started to lower Dan to the ground by shifting his own body out from underneath his. Dan cried out in pain, flinching, but gritted his teeth and tried to hold himself together for both of their sakes.

Phil wished his thief wouldn’t have to do that. It was almost harder, watching Dan hold himself back from crying out, when Phil knew beyond a doubt just how much pain he was truly in. Still, he didn’t stop moving until he had Dan comfortably rested against the cave ground, and then sighed heavily.

“Sorry there’s no furs. You can’t be comfortable down there, but I --”

Phil didn’t finish that sentence, as suddenly his eyes caught on three bags left abandoned near the entrance to their cave, and found himself grinning. He laughed, the sound a surprised bark, and reached out to gently rest a hand on Dan’s forehead.

“Seems your friend was far more prepared than me,” he mumbled. “He brought us our bags.”

Dan managed a tired smile, his breathing still fast and shallow as he recovered from moving. But at least he was horizontal again, and Phil was still near.

Heart warmed by the small gesture that spoke so much, Phil got up on unsteady legs and headed on over to the bags. Like hell was he going to leave Dan to lay on the freezing cold stone of the small cave’s floor, not if he had furs to grab hold of. Sending thoughts of thanks Brandon’s way, Phil opened up each bag, and started to pull out the furs he found inside.

His fingers were shaking from weakness of his own, and Phil’s mind briefly shot back to the fact that he was covered in wounds of his own, but he shoved those thoughts aside in favor of caring for Dan. Phil was is no danger himself, he was sure of that. Dan, however, needed Phil just then.

Once the furs were gathered up in his arms, Phil headed back over to Dan’s side, and placed the furs down neatly at this side for ease of movement. There was no preventing hurting Dan, but at least Phil could make it quick if he had to do so.

“This is going to hurt now, Dan. Just bear with me. I’m going to pick you up and move you onto our furs, alright?”

Dan sucked in a breath, not wanting to move again. He’d barely got settled. The poultice was doing its job of cooling down the hot burning pain in his side, but he still felt tender and sore, like he might fall apart if the bandages didn’t hold him tight in place. He didn’t want to shift again, to feel that kind of lancing hurt racing through his veins.

But the promise of blankets was enough, so Dan nodded reluctantly, bracing himself. He at least felt more awake now, the pain faded to a dull hum at the back of his brain. It was manageable, if he concentrated.

When Phil returned, Dan was doing better, if still exhausted. He tried to say as much, mumbling, "'S'ok. Doesn't hurt so much, anymore." He reached for Phil blindly, pleased when he found him close and Phil's arms wound around him once more. Dan winced and whimpered a little as Phil lifted him and the deep wounds in his side stretched, but the poultice was doing its job.

"Normally, I'd be complaining at you carrying me around like a child," Dan muttered into Phil's shoulder as he was cradled against Phil's chest for a moment. "Don't go telling anyone. If anyone asks, I was totally brave and didn't scream even once."

Despite Dan's reassurances, Phil was still careful as he picked Dan up, cradling him in his arms and to his chest. He could hear Dan whimper nonetheless, and it broke Phil's heart. The last thing he wanted was to cause Dan any more pain, but once he'd settled Dan onto something warm, he’d feel a little bit better about their current circumstances.

"As opposed to now?" Phil murmured back softly, Dan was clinging to him like a koala, and as much as Phil liked it, the pain of what he'd let happen to Dan hurt so much more. "I don't understand you," he teased, laughing a bit though the sound was still wet with his tears. "You want me to pamper you, and yet you claim to complain at me carrying you around."

Still, Phil leaned in and kissed Dan on the cheek lightly as he made his steps as slow and careful as possible, reassuring him that no, he wouldn't tell anyone that Dan had ever screamed. The look on Dan's face as he'd asked Phil for help outside the dragon’s lair flashed before his eyes again, and he held back a sob.

As carefully as possible, Phil leaned down and laid Dan back into their furs. He stayed crouched over Dan, though, not ready to leave his side, and leaned down so his knees rested against the floor.

“'M'not against you pampering me," Dan agreed with a little sigh, "You just can't tell anyone. I'm the fearsome King of Thieves, and all that."

The feeling of soft furs at his back had Dan relaxing again and he lay back with a low sigh, eyes fluttering open so he could see Phil's face. A small crease appeared in Dan's brow and he reached out to poke Phil's cheek, gently swiping his thumb under his eye. "You're crying? Don't do that. I don't want you to be sad."

When Dan opened his eyes to finally look at him once more, Phil smiled softly at him, aware that his cheeks were wet with tears. It hurt him to see Dan's brow furrowed in worry for Phil though, and he shook his head as Dan swiped away his tears.

"Get better for me, and I won't be sad anymore," Phil argued, sniffling as Dan peered up at him in clear distress. It was breaking Phil's heart to see Dan like this. "Lay back. Stop worrying about me. Let me take care of you for once," Phil insisted, pressing lightly on Dan's shoulder until he had completely relaxed. "Close your eyes. I'll make us some food, wake you up when it's ready."

As Phil leaned in for one last kiss to Dan's cheek, eyelashes still wet with tears, and then stood to walk away, he knew he wasn't leaving Dan's side so Dan could rest; it was so he could fall apart in silent despair.

This was his fault. This was all his fault. If he had been more careful, Dan wouldn't be hurt now.

Dan was as soft and vulnerable as he'd ever been as he stretched out in the furs, his body feeling like a dead weight. His limbs were heavy and he ached and hurt and was covered in blood and sweat and tears, but Dan never wanted to move again. He was so comfortable, the poultice cooling the pain right down until it was a dull thud.

Nothing quite stopped the worry about Phil, though, despite Phil telling him to stop and let Phil take care of him. Dan didn't really have much choice in that regard. As much as he'd love to sit up and drag Phil close to him and pepper him with kisses and tell him everything was alright, he couldn't quite move. All he could do was sit and watch as Phil leaned over him with tears still clinging to his lashes.

A memory emerged then -- of Phil crying, screaming, reaching for him over a ridge as Dan went tumbling down the other side, shouting three words that had given Dan the strength to move, to wake, to tug himself up onto the ridge to safety. Dan remembered the pathetic way he'd asked for help, and shuddered, but more importantly, he remembered exactly what Phil had shouted to him, which three words had convinced Dan to fight on.

It was important. As much as Dan's body was trying to drag him into sleep, and as heavy as his eyelids were in that moment, this was important, and Dan needed to say it, so he reached for Phil, grabbing his trouser leg just before Phil could turn away completely, and tugged.

"Look at me," Dan murmured, a little breathless, forcing himself to stay awake long enough for this. “Look at me.”

It was the sound of Dan’s voice that drew Phil to a stop, the words causing a furrow to appear between his brows. He stopped moving and turned back around, concerned. There was something about the tone of Dan’s voice, the urgency there, that made Phil want nothing more than to as he’d said and look at him.

Was something wrong? Was Dan dying?

Phil’s heart started to race as he took in the sight of his thief, peering up at him with hazy, glazed-over eyes. Seeing Dan like this… it was the hardest thing that Phil had ever experienced. Phil was used to Dan being the strong one, always sure and confident in himself, so much more alive than he was right now. Even when he allowed himself to be vulnerable to Phil, it was never like this, never so heartbreaking to see.

Dan looked almost like he was on his deathbed, and it set Phil’s heart to clenching in unease.

“Dan,” he whispered, and reached up to swipe roughly under his nose, where snot was beginning to run from his efforts not to cry. He didn’t even care when Dan saw him do it, didn’t even care quite how vulnerable he was being right now, not when Dan had been through so much.

"I'm looking," Phil whispered around the lump in his throat, and he would always be looking. He promised himself right then and there that he would look after Dan, take care of him, force him to live a long, happy life doing whatever he wanted so long as he kept himself safe. If not safe, Phil would settle for alive.

"Phil,” Dan murmured, his tone soft, words still a little slurred, but he meant them. “Need to say. To tell you. It's - it's ok, and I - I love you too." Dan tugged again, eyes wide as he stared up at Phil. "Heard you, before, and I love you too."

Phil’s heart nearly stopped at Dan’s words, and he felt his eyes go wide as he stared down into his thief’s face in absolute astonishment. He hadn’t been entirely certain if Dan had heard him back there, or, if he had, that he would remember.

The acknowledgement of those words, the acknowledgement of Phil’s feelings… that was everything to him, and he was stunned into silence to be promised that Dan loved him too.

Phil felt himself gasp on a small sob.

Dan loved him too.

Dan stared beseechingly up at Phil, willing him to hear, to understand. He thought he saw understanding in Phil’s face, the soft little gasp he gave a reassurance in itself.

There. Complete. Dan had replied, finally, had been able to tell Phil what he needed to, to answer his desperate cry from the ridge outside the dragon’s lair. Now, Dan could rest easy.

He gave Phil one final tentative smile before his heavy lids closed and he allowed sleep to take him once again.

Before Phil could so much as try and pull himself together in order to reply, Dan’s eyes were falling shut, and his breathing falling even. For half a second, terror gripped tight to Phil, and he nearly expected Dan to stop breathing altogether, but he didn’t.

Terrified Dan was about to die, Phil dropped to his knees at Dan’s side once more and took his hand tightly in his. “Dan?” he asked, calling lightly. “Dan, you can’t just -- Dan, are you with me? Dan? Baby? Love?” he begged, starting to cry heavily all over again. His eyes scanned over Dan’s face, how he looked suddenly like he was suddenly resting too peacefully, and then fluttered over his neck and his chest, just to reassure himself once again that Dan was, in fact, still breathing.

He was still breathing. He hadn’t slipped away just yet, and despite the fact that Phil hadn’t even had to give him medicine to help him sleep, he was surely just resting… just resting…

Choking on another sob, Phil closed his eyes and lightly rested his head down onto Dan’s chest, squeezing his fingers tightly in his own.

"Fuck," he cursed himself. "Fuck, Dan. I love you, too."

#phanfiction #snowbunnylester #iwritephanthings #phan AU #phan fantasy AU

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