#you become not human but rather a force of will. something that moves sideways so to speak. you lose yourself in the pain you express. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dameronology · 3 years

Text

never doubt me {cassian andor}

summary: after falling into the hands of the empire, a situation of life and death forces you and cassian to finally talk about your feelings {for @megmeg-chan and i am sO sorry it’s taken me so long to do this}

summary: language, mentions of injury, talks ab death/loss in a canon kinda way

enjoy!! i haven’t written for cassian in so long and i forgot how much i loved him, so expect more of him in the future😌

- jazz

Cassian Andor was a filthy liar.

No, deep breath. He wasn't that bad.

The situation was just really fucking irritating and, in all likelihood, making your anger towards him a little more irrational. It wasn't really even his fault either. He'd told you incessantly that the mission was going to go well, and that you both going to be fine. Like, totally fiiiine, and that you would both get into the base without trouble and reunite in the middle, near the Imperial comms system. It was just that neither of you had planned for or expected stormtroopers to be present -- he'd gotten away in one piece, but you hadn't been so lucky.

That brings us to now: a cell, with two stormtroopers parked outside and quite literally no sign of Cassian anywhere. You knew he'd be looking for you; in fact, you didn't doubt it once. There was a sort of unspoken pact between you that you would always rescue one another; always have each other's backs and never leave the other behind. It was born from the fact that friendships were hard to forge in your line of work, and what you and Cassian had was rare. Not even just in the Rebellion, but rather life in general. On the surface, you teased and ripped into one another to no end. The chemistry was almost suffocating for the people around you, because they could never get a word in edge ways. Then, if you dug a little deeper, there was something more. Something sweeter, something more supportive. You knew him better than he knew himself and in return, he could read you like his favourite novel (though, admittedly, it did sometimes feel like you were missing a few pages. Human complexity and all that).

‘Do you feel like speaking now?’ The modulated voice of one of the stormtroopers came from the other side of your cell door.

‘I’ll die before telling you jackshit.’ You muttered. Hopefully that was more of a statement and less of a prophecy.

The trooper snorted. ‘Okay, sweetheart-’

‘- call me that again and I will shove that blaster sideways up your ass.’ You spat.

‘The only thing you’re doing is rotting here.’

With that, he turned his back to you again.

You slumped further down the wall, ignoring the feeling of the cold concrete etching through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was cold in here. Really, really fucking cold, and Cassian had said you wouldn’t need a jacket. Then again, he’d said a lot of things. And again, none of it was his fault, but you cursed yourself for so blindly listening to him. It was nice that you took everything the other said as gospel, even if it came back to bite you in the ass every so often.

‘A word of advice-’

‘- I don’t want any advice.’ You turned away from the trooper, pulling you knees to your chest.

‘The sooner you talk, the less painful it’ll be.’ He ignored your refusal.

You didn’t need to ask what he meant by it. You’d been part of the Rebellion long enough to have heard stories -- stories of torture, stories of war and the the kind of horrors that people often took to the grave. You had a fair few of your own, and so did Cassian. That was probably why he’d become so important to you. He was one of the only people in the galaxy who truly understood the downfalls of being a Rebel spy. Your cause was more important to you than anything (well, almost anything) and you wouldn’t have changed it for the world, but there were times like this where you wondered if it was all worth it. Would there ever come a day where the Empire truly fell, once and for all? And would you even be around to see it? Would Cassian?

Speaking of the devil, where the fuck was he? He never usually took this long. A few hours at most, but you’d long surpassed that. You could only very barely see the sky through the tiny window, but the sky had faded from powder blue to a dark navy, signalling it had been well over half a day. That was bad for multiple reasons -- the first being that the longer you were here, the more likely Cassian was to assume the worst and stop searching. Secondly, and perhaps most hauntingly, was that each passing second brought you closer to the Imps dragging you out the cell and taking you for questioning. And questioning, in their books, didn’t involve much talking. Go figure.

The injuries you sustained in your capture were bad enough; a bust lip, bruised eye and twisted ankle never made for much comfort. Even less so when you couldn’t get medical attention. The fact you knew it would be the least of your problems in a few hours made it all that much worst.

You’d never doubted Cassian Andor before. Not once. Couldn’t even fathom it, truth be told. He always came through for you; always saved your ass, whether it be from yourself or from Imps. He was your person. That’s the only way you could have put it.

But, above all, he was a human being. Not a super hero, or a miracle worker. He could only do so much and you knew he would. He would follow every lead and every clue to try and get to you, but that’s all he could do. If he couldn’t find you, that wasn’t him on him. You doubted that he would think the same, and when you heard the lock to your cell open, you could only hope and pray that he knew that. That you weren’t going to blame him for what was about to happen, or hold it against him.

‘It’s time.’ The stormtrooper announced. ‘Hope you can handle a bit of pain.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I can handle anything.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ He guffawed. ‘Hands out.’

‘C’mon, man.’ You murmured. ‘My legs gone, my lips bust and my head feels someone’s dropped an iron anvil on it. You don’t need to cuff - ouch!’

You let out a squeak as he grabbed your wrists, tugging them forward and shoving a pair of metal cuffs on them. Was this really it? The end? Was your name gonna be the next one on the list of people lost in the Rebellion? That was if anybody even noticed.

Cassian would. Of course, Cassian would. It hurt your heart to think that you wouldn’t see him again, or get to say a proper goodbye. The last time you’d seen him, you’d been dragged away from him kicking and screaming. He’d been so close, and if he’d been just a little nearer when they’d got you, he might have been able to save you, to stop you from falling into the hands of the Empire. You always figured that if you were gonna die in the field, he’d be by your side. The dumbassery you so often found yourselves in usually happened together.

The walls of the Imperial base were dark - as if you’d expected anything else. It was hardly like the place was going to look like a bright, airy Ikea showroom. The only light came from the thousands of tiny red and blue buttons flickering on the wall, illuminating the hallways in what would have been a pretty glow if the circumstances weren’t so fucking miserable. Talk about a high way to hell.

You took another left, the trooper’s grip on you tightening as you neared some double towards the end. Yep, here it was. This is where you met your maker. And from what you’d heard, the six-foot-something guy in a black mask did not take prisoners. Not that he was the one you were thinking of. No, that was Cassian. Completely and entirely Cassian; just his face and his presence and his everything at the back of your mind, the last thing you could think of before you were about to die for your cause-

-you let out an oof! as the stormtrooper suddenly pulled you to the ground, practically using you as a human shield against the blaster fire and smoke grenade that had just come from behind you. You tried to use your elbows to push him off, but with the cuffs and your already existing injuries, he easily overpowered you. Also, you were too busy coughing from the smoke to even think about making a getaway.

Tumbling forward, you fell onto your hands and knees. The trooper’s gun clattered to the ground, and you used your good leg to kick it further out the way, eyes not moving from the cloud of smoke that come out of the grenade. The red and blue lights were beating down on it, casting a purple glow over the shadow of whoever had thrown it, acting as a guide as they finally emerged. With a blaster in one hand and the other curled into a fist, your best friend had never quite looked so handsome, especially under the violet illuminations.

‘Cassian!’ Despite everything, you couldn’t help but grin.

‘Duck.’ He demanded.

You did as he said, flopping back to the floor. Squeezing your eyes shut and covering your head, you stayed there for a moment. There was another blast, and then the trooper’s body fell beside yours with a dull thud!

Then, in what must have been two of most contrasting feelings ever, a warm pair of hands found yours. Cassian’s, undoubtedly. You would have known them anywhere. He pulled you up from the cold ground, warm palms finding your face as they ghosted over your cheeks.

‘It’s okay.’ His voice was soft. ‘You can open your eyes.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I know. Thank you.’

‘How badly are you hurt?’ He asked. ‘Because we need to move fast.’

‘My foot’s pretty wrangled.’ You said.

Without another word, Cassian threw an arm over your shoulders, tucking it under your arms to support you.

‘Lean against me.’ He instructed. ‘The exit isn’t too far-’

‘- what about the other troopers?’ You asked.

‘I dealt with them on my way in.’

And dealt with them, he certainly had. The men were practically laying in unconscious piles (he only ever intended to maim, but never kill), working as some kind of fucked up map out of a twisted and horrible maze. The pain in your leg only grew worst as you moved, your good leg beginning to ache from carrying all the weight. With all your attention focused ahead of you for potential enemies, you didn’t even notice how close you were to stumbling over -- not until you fell back onto the cold lino floors.

‘Hey.’ Cassian dropped beside you. ‘Look at me, okay, just...look at me.’

You glanced up, tired eyes meeting his warm, brown ones. ‘It really hurts, Cass.’

‘We’re really close now.’ He said. ‘Two more minutes. Can you do that? For me?’

‘Yeah.’ You took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I can.’

(Because really, for him, you’d do anything.)

Cassian helped you back up, pressing one of his blasters into your hand. His arm returned to hold you by the waist, gripping you a little tighter this time. Your leg was practically screaming in pain, a dull ache shooting from your ankle up to your knee. You had to remind yourself that in a few minutes, it would all be over - and not in the way you thought it was going to be over an hour ago. Over, as in this whole ordeal would simply be something to report back to your bosses at base, and not your final moments. The fact you ever let yourself accept that fate and think that Cassian wouldn’t come for you was something else entirely in itself.

You almost cried with relief when you saw his battered old ship docked outside the base. You normally cried for other reasons when you saw it - usually ones to do with the rusty old engines and creaking sound it insisted on making whenever it flew - but right then, you had never been happier to see it. Even if the insides smelt weirdly of petrol and oil, and the seats in the cockpit were made of uncomfortable cracked leather, you practically threw yourself on board.

Neither you nor Cassian said anything for a while. His attention was completely on getting away from the base and avoiding TIE fighters - something he did without ever moving his hand from your thigh - and yours was on steadying your breathing and heartbeat. It had been a rough twelve hours to say the least.

Once the ship had lurched into hyperspace, he turned in his chair to face you. He held your gaze for a moment, before opening his arms out and letting you flop from your own seat and into his chest. They tightly wrapped around you, one hand softly your head to his body and the other gently rubbing up and down your back. You had to squeeze your eyes shut to stop your tears from spilling.

‘I’m sorry.’ He murmured.

‘For what?’ You peered up at him with a frown.

‘Not finding you sooner.’ He replied. ‘Or for even letting you get caught in the first place-’

‘- Cassian, stop.’ You pulled back and tangled his hands in yours. ‘Once I get some bactaspray, I’ll be totally fine.’

‘But you almost weren’t.’ He shot back. ‘If I was just a few minutes later and you could have been a thousand times worst, or even...gone completely.’

‘That’s beside the point.’ You softly sighed. ‘It’s doesn’t matter would have beens or could have beens. I am here and I will be okay.’

‘You’re right.’ He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I just...I want to protect you, you know? And I failed.’

‘You don’t need to protect me, Cass.’ You shook your head with a soft smile. ‘Actually, no, today I did but you pulled through.’

‘I don’t need to, but I want to.’ Cassian murmured.

He’d done a pretty good job at sitting on his feelings for the last few years. Pushed them down when he felt the urge to tell you, and ignored them entirely when they got really intense. But that had been when the threat of completely losing you was just that: a threat. A distant possibility, and one that you were both too busy living your lives to fully consider. Now, however, you’d come close. Too close. Cassian had come face-to-face with a reality where you were gone, and one where he’d never actually told you how he felt.

‘You know I love you, right?’ He quietly said.

‘Yeah, I know.’ You nodded.

‘No, I mean I love you.’

You peered up at him, realising what he was getting at. You did know. In fact, it had very much been an unspoken thing between you for a very, very long time. It was really just a matter of saying it - but that was always the hardest part, right?

‘I know.’ You repeated. ‘I love you too.’

‘You do?’

You softly laughed. ‘Of course I do.’

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and pulled you back against his chest, chin resting atop your ahead. ‘Good.’

You stayed like that for a few minutes; it was undoubtedly a deeper conversation you were going to have later on, but it felt good to have it out in the open. So good, in fact, that it momentarily made you forget the last day entirely. Instead of pondering on it, you let yourself get lost entirely in Cassian’s presence, and the feeling of his body against yours and and his arms holding you. If you could have it your way, you would have stayed like this forever. The rest of the galaxy could wait.

‘I’m sorry if you thought I was going to make in time.’ He said quietly.

‘I didn’t.’ Your voice was slightly muffled by his chest. ‘Not once.’

‘I love you.’ Cassian said it more firmly this time. It still completely felt weird to say, and even more so to see you smile and say it back.

‘I love you too.’

He dipped his head down, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. The feeling of your lips against his was familiar and foreign all at once; it was something he’d gone over in his head a thousand times, but it was nothing like either of you had imagined. It was better. Sweeter, in the kind of way that gave you butterflies in your tummy and made you feel giddy. It was worlds away from the usual dread and bloodshed that came with being in the Rebellion.

But that was quintessentially Cassian. He was everything that the war wasn’t: sweet and constant and warm. Somebody as beautiful and as caring as him both did and didn’t belong in the Rebellion. Did, because he was a good man who wanted to fight for the right thing. Didn’t, because he constantly risked his life for the greater good and you couldn’t quite stomach that idea.

‘I’ll always come back for you.’ He lightly brushed his hand against your cheek. ‘Never doubt me.’

‘I won’t.’ You promised. ‘Not ever.’

tags: @megmeg-chan @karasong @bb8sworld @marvelinsanity @poestardust @etherealsanakin @bo-kryze @punkbach @phoenixhalliwell

#cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars imagines #star wars fluff #cassian andor fluff #rogue one imagines #star wars angst

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handwrittenhello · 3 years

Text

gave you wings

T, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, 4k, modern-with-magic AU. When Geralt is woken one morning by a crow tapping at his window, he finds that it's no ordinary crow--it's a shifter, bound in animal form by a nasty spell.

read here on ao3, or below:

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Geralt was roused from sleep by something persistent tapping at his window. With a groan, he rolled over—catching sight of his alarm clock flashing 3:48 as he did—and went to investigate.

He hoped it wasn’t one of the local kids again—lately they’d become far too fond of daring each other to throw rocks at his windows. It almost made him long for the times when witchers were feared and hated—nobody would dare risk provoking him so stupidly.

When he opened the window, though, it wasn’t kids throwing rocks—no, a crow sat on his windowsill, a pebble clutched in its beak, which it promptly dropped when it saw Geralt.

“Scram,” Geralt muttered, waving it away, but all it did was hop sideways a bit before letting out a loud caw.

Geralt furrowed his brow. “Get out of here,” he said a bit louder, trying to shoo it away again. It deftly avoided his hands, flapping a little to maintain balance on the narrow sill, before hopping onto his hands and letting out an even louder CAW.

This was no ordinary crow. Why else would it be tapping on his window so early in the morning, and so unafraid of his closeness? “Fuck,” he muttered, and left the window open while he went to brew a pot of coffee.

The crow seemed quite at home perched atop his kitchen counter, watching him with its beady eyes as he leaned back against the fridge and downed a cup of heavily sugared coffee. “So,” Geralt finally said, setting down his mug on the counter. “What’s so important that you got me out of bed at four in the morning for?”

The crow drew itself up and ruffled its feathers, as if readying itself for a speech. It was a strangely human gesture—Geralt was reminded that they wouldn’t get very far with the crow not being able to speak.

“Hm. Can you even understand me?” Geralt backtracked, earning himself an indignant look and a low rattling sound. But the crow bobbed its head up and down in a sure nod. “But you can’t speak.” Another nod.

The crow hopped closer, then, until it was almost atop Geralt’s hand lying on the countertop. Geralt caught a flash of something shiny around its leg—was there something wrapped around it? But when he made to reach for it, the crow skittered backwards, making another low rattle and fluffing up its feathers.

“It’s alright, I just want to look,” Geralt soothed, stilling his hand. The rattle stopped, and the bird hopped hesitantly closer. Geralt waited for it to come to him, motionless and patient. Only when it perched on his hand did he bring it closer, peering intently at its leg.

A silver chain, so fine as to be nearly invisible to the eye, wound its way around the crow’s leg. This close, he could see the barely-there, shimmering aura around it—it was surely enchanted. Likely a binding charm—chains rarely served any other purpose in spells.

Geralt whistled lowly. “No ordinary crow, then,” he surmised, though he’d already known. “Human?”

The crow rattled its displeasure at the term—so it wasn’t transfigured, then. But it was still clearly sentient—

“Ah,” Geralt said, an idea dawning. “A shifter.”

Sometimes called weyr, in the old tongue—as survived in words like werewolf—the species was exceedingly rare. Even before monsters and chaos had dwindled down to nearly nothing, one would be hard-pressed to encounter a shifter, let alone recognize one upon seeing it. In human form, they were indistinguishable from anyone else, by the naked eye or by magic. They retained their wits in their animal form, too, so unless one was careless enough to be seen shifting, it was nigh impossible for them to be caught.

Their rarity had made them a target by mages and non-mages alike—they were either hunted in hopes of harnessing their unique connection to chaos, or else were pursued by the ignorant who feared anything strange.

It was nothing short of a miracle, one showing up at Geralt’s door (or window, rather).

“Someone caught you. A mage,” Geralt guessed. Only a powerful magic user would be able to bind a shifter so thoroughly. “But why are you here?”

The crow cawed and launched itself towards Geralt’s throat. Geralt jerked his head back, but he had nothing to fear—the crow was pecking at the witcher medallion that lay in the hollow of his throat.

“My friend, you’d be far better off going to a mage. I have skill with breaking curses, but none so complex as yours,” Geralt confessed.

The crow let out an ear-splitting screech. Geralt slammed his hands over his ears. That would be a resounding no, then. He decided not to broach the matter of payment just then.

He eyed the crow, wary of another reaction. When none was forthcoming, he cautiously lowered his hands, the crow watching him intently all the while—waiting for an answer.

“I’ll help you,” Geralt decided. Well, he had decided the moment he’d let the crow inside, really, but it was easier to pretend he’d made an informed decision. “May I see the charm again?”

The crow obliged, fidgeting in place but mostly managing to hold still while Geralt inspected the chain. Though it was fine, he doubted it would be as simple as snapping it—that didn’t stop him from trying anyway, though the moment he touched it, the crow screeched and beat him back with its wings, before retreating to atop the fridge. There it huddled, fussing fretfully at its leg—and then Geralt saw, almost obscured by feathers but visible when looking for it, the dark skin beneath the chain, the blackened marks that resulted from a bad burn.

“Enchanted and cursed, then. I apologize.” The crow glared at him, not moving from its spot stop the fridge and out of reach. “I won’t touch it again. I promise,” Geralt vowed, sorry that he had caused any pain in the first place.

The crow huffed, but flapped back down to the counter. It watched Geralt, waiting for his next move.

“Come with me,” Geralt said, grabbing his jacket and keys.

The crow gripped the handlebars of Geralt’s motorbike tightly, the wind whipping past and threatening to dislodge it. It kept starting to open its wings, only to force them closed again, as if it was reminding itself that it wasn’t actually flying. Geralt kept a close watch anyway, afraid that if he took a turn too sharply or revved the engine too suddenly, the crow would be thrown off and crushed beneath the wheels of another vehicle.

Should’ve taken a taxi, Geralt thought to himself, but it was too late now. They were already on the freeway to Vengerberg, where a certain violet-eyed sorceress kept a summer home. He supposed he could have called ahead, but he still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of cell phones—always forgot it whenever he went anywhere—and besides, Yennefer always appreciated a good surprise.

Geralt chased the sun east, watching as the horizon in front of him slowly went from indigo blue to purple to stunning gold as the sun rose. They crossed the border into Aedirn sometime mid-morning, and Geralt pulled over to a rest stop to refuel and grab something to eat.

The crow perched atop his shoulder as he entered the gas station, preening its feathers into place after being disturbed by the wind. The attendant stared openly, though Geralt was sure she must have seen weirder. He ignored it and grabbed a packet of sunflower seeds for the crow and some beef jerky for himself.

“Five sixty-eight,” the attendant said when he came up to the register, followed by, “Nice pet.”

The crow looked up from its preening and cawed loudly at her.

“He’s not a pet,” Geralt said mildly, then grabbed his food and left. While he stretched his legs out at a picnic table, the crow stretched its wings, flapping in circles above his head. Every so often, it would land briefly on the table and peck at the sunflower seeds Geralt had scattered there, before returning to its circling.

Geralt ate his jerky leisurely, and debated going back in for a soda.

After half an hour, Geralt felt they had delayed long enough. The crow was likely anxious to get going, and Geralt would be lying if he said he wasn’t as well. He got to his feet and whistled for the crow, which had steadily flown in greater and greater circles, and had since disappeared briefly from sight. Geralt wasn’t overly worried—until the crow didn’t show up. Geralt wished he knew what to call it—he would’ve felt stupid calling it ‘crow’.

He whistled again, louder and longer this time. Nothing happened for one second, two, and then Geralt heard it, and only thanks to his enhanced senses—frantic cawing and flapping wings among the trees behind the rest stop.

He broke out into a run, pushing aside the thin branches that snapped at his face as he fought his way through the undergrowth. The cawing was near, now, and Geralt heard tense voices accompanying.

“The cage—get the cage—!”

Geralt broke through the trees to a small clearing, stopping stunned at the sight in front of him. A silver woven net lay tangled in a heap on the ground in one corner, and opposite was a steel cage, door hanging open and waiting for an occupant. There were feathers scattered everywhere, and Geralt smelled traces of blood in the air.

And in the middle of the clearing was the source of the commotion—the crow flapped wildly above the heads of two men, talons extended and trying to scratch at their faces, while they flailed about with nets, not unlike the kind used to catch insects, though a bit bigger. A third man, older, wizened, stood apart, his eyes closed in concentration as he muttered something under his breath. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat.

Stregobor.

It had been centuries since Geralt had seen him, though he’d heard plenty about his latest exploits in the news—he was said to be making great strides in magical research, investigating transformative magic and its applications. Geralt had often tuned it out, but now it all made sense—if he wasn’t the one who had bound the crow shifter to a single form for some nefarious purpose, Geralt would eat his bike.

He wasted no time in instantly tackling Stregobor to the ground, disrupting the spell he was casting. The crow seemed to be holding its own against the two men with nets for the time being, though Geralt knew he needed to hurry—the scent of blood was growing stronger, the crow actively bleeding. He had the element of surprise, and didn’t waste it—he grappled with Stregobor, surprised at the strength the old mage still had even after so many centuries.

There was a sudden cry of pain behind him—Geralt thought it was human and not avian, but he couldn’t tell for sure. It distracted him momentarily, and that was all Stregobor needed to shout something in Elder that had Geralt flying backwards.

His back hit the ground hard, stunning him for half a second. Stregobor got to his feet, brushing the debris from his clothes—he still wore robes, even after all this time—and shot a bolt of light towards the crow.

It hit it in the wing, sending it tumbling out of the air in a heap of feathers. One of the men with a net—the only one still standing, the other writhing on the ground and clutching his bleeding face—slammed his net down onto the motionless crow with far too much force.

Geralt caught his breath and rolled to his feet, launching himself at the man that had the crow captive. He knocked him unconscious easily with a swift blow to the head, but that was as far as he got before Stregobor sent another pulse of magic towards him.

He dodged. It missed him by a hair, screaming past his head and exploding against a tree behind him.

“Stay out of this, witcher,” Stregobor warned, readying another spell. “This doesn’t have to concern you.”

“Let the shifter go and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Stregobor replied, and threw the spell at Geralt. Geralt dodged again, but too slowly—it clipped his arm. Hot, agonizing pain spread from the area.

If this turned into a fight between magic and witcher skills, there was no question who would win. Geralt made a snap decision, scooping the crow off the ground and darting out of the clearing, heading back towards the rest stop.

Stregobor was hopefully depleted after the many spells he had already cast—Geralt could only hope that he wasted the rest of his energy by chasing him through the brush. If they could just get to Yennefer’s…

Sure enough, as he sprinted towards his bike, Geralt heard Stregobor yelling curses behind him. Once or twice a bolt of magic went flying by, but it missed every time.

As Geralt broke through the tree line, he hoped that he had finally lost Stregobor. He straddled his bike and tucked the crow inside his jacket, hissing in apology when he jarred the crow’s injured wing. With a roar of the engine he peeled out onto the freeway, speeding east to Vengerberg.

Though there was nobody pursuing them, Geralt still felt hunted as he pulled his bike into Yennefer’s expansive driveway. He all but ran to her door, pounding urgently on it, regretting not calling ahead so that she knew to expect them.

Luckily, she answered only moments later. “Do you have wards up?” was the first thing Geralt asked.

“Yes. Do you know how alarming it is for that to be the first thing you say after not seeing each other for months?” Yennefer asked, beckoning him in.

“Have to be sure,” Geralt grunted. “Got a problem, and I don’t know if I was followed.”

“Would it kill you to bring flowers or wine instead of a problem every time you come by?” Yennefer sighed. “What is it?”

Geralt unzipped his jacket and carefully extracted the crow. It was no longer unconscious, but drowsy would be an understatement—it looked on the verge of a coma, eyes half-closed and breathing shallow. A few loose feathers drifted to the ground.

“Pest Services might be more apt,” Yennefer started to say, but paused when the silver chain caught her eye. “Ah. Binding spell? Friend of yours?”

“No. I’m for hire,” Geralt said, conveniently leaving out the part where he’d received no such payment. “It’s a shifter. Wanted by Stregobor—probably for research.”

The skin around Yennefer’s eyes tightened ever so slightly—he dared to call it concern for the shifter—and she gritted her teeth—and that he knew was deep-rooted hatred for Stregobor.

“Bring him to my workroom.”

He followed her upstairs, where she kept most of her magical equipment. With a wave of her hand, she cleared the books and various sundries from the worktable against the wall, and indicated for Geralt to lay the crow down on it. He did so carefully, mindful of its injuries, and hesitantly stepped back. Yennefer didn’t appreciate hovering, but he couldn’t fight back his protective instincts that had been roaring ever since the fight.

Yennefer leaned over the crow, inspecting. Her hands went to the chain, and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. “Don’t,” he warned, stepping forward and reaching out as if to physically stop her.

“I know,” she snapped back. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen a binding spell or two in my time, Geralt.” But she showed demonstrably more care in handling the crow, then, lest he become alarmed again.

She moved on to inspecting the crow’s wing, then, frowning at what she saw. “This was a magical injury, yes?”

“Yes. One of Stregobor’s spells—it was a bolt of light, caught it in the wing.”

“Well, lucky for it, the damage is physical only, from what I can tell. Stregobor likely meant to stun it only. Hence the lifelessness. It’ll wear off within the hour.”

Geralt let out a sigh of relief at hearing the diagnosis. Physical injuries, those he knew what to expect, how to deal with them. Now what worried him most was the binding spell.

“And the chain? Can you remove it without hurting it?”

Yennefer pursed her lips. “No. It’s an extremely strong bond—the sort not taken as a trifle. Forging a connection like this without the shifter’s consent…” She shook her head. “It’s a violation of the worst sort, Geralt.”

Geralt’s heart thudded in his chest. He wet his lips. “So what do we do?” He gazed at the poor crow, looking so small and hopeless where it lay. He couldn’t put words to his horror—being bound body and soul, and to Stregobor, no less.

“There are… theories, things I’ve read, but you have to understand,” Yennefer said, pinning his gaze, “I don’t suggest what I’m about to lightly.”

A pit formed in Geralt’s stomach. “What is it?” It couldn’t be worse than the binding spell, could it?

“If we formed another bond, one even stronger than this, it would give us room to throw off the old one. But the strength required… it would be ironclad, unbreakable. The shifter would spend the rest of its very long life bound to us.”

Even now, some eight hundred years later, Geralt thought back to the djinn in Rinde, to the connection that had once bound their destinies together, and he knew she was remembering it too. “Yen…” he trailed off. How did he put it to words? How did he express his understanding, acknowledge that she was trying to help, while warning her of doing the same thing she’d opposed so strongly then?

But then, looking into her eyes and seeing the haunted look there, he knew that he didn’t have to. She had already had this conversation with herself, and, seeing no other option, had accepted her role as becoming exactly what she hated.

A weak croak caught their attention. Geralt looked over and saw that the crow was looking slightly more lively—it had managed to sit up, at least, though it still looked bedraggled and unsteady. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked, and received a delayed nod. Then a thought struck him. “Yen, can you…?”

“Read his thoughts? I would, but they’re too muddled. I don’t know if it’s the result of the spell or if it’s always like this in animal form. I’ve never met a shifter personally, and gods know there’s hardly any literature on them.”

The crow got shakily to its feet, and before either Geralt or Yennefer could stop it, it flew up to perch on Geralt’s shoulder, nuzzling in close to his neck. He instinctively put a hand up to cradle it in place—the last thing it needed was to fall off.

“Well, then? Clearly it’s gotten attached,” Yennefer said, arching an eyebrow.

“I don’t—I don’t know.” How could he make this decision? It was too big, too important. He held the shifter’s life in his hands, and the knowledge terrified him.

The crow nipped him on the ear. “Ow,” Geralt complained, but was drowned out by the crow cawing in his ear. He suddenly felt very foolish indeed—the crow had heard them discussing it, must have, and they hadn’t even considered asking it its opinion of the matter. “Hm. I’m sorry that we can’t give you a better option.”

The crow cawed again, softer, and nibbled gently at his ear. It’s alright, it seemed to be saying, or perhaps I understand.

“It’s your decision,” Yennefer said. “I can bind you to us—permanently—in order to break the bond with Stregobor. Or, if you’d rather, you can live out your days here, and I give you my word that no harm will you come to you—though the bond would remain.”

The crow rattled in disgust. It nipped gently once more at Geralt’s ear, then flapped-hopped over to Yennefer’s shoulder, where it began preening her hair. Geralt couldn’t believe that she would allow it, but she made no move to dislodge the crow.

“Is that a yes?” he asked nervously, anticipation curdling in his stomach. The crow stopped its preening, looked directly at Geralt, and bobbed its head up and down neatly.

“Alright,” Yennefer said softly.

They cleared out all the furniture for the ritual that would replace the bond. The crow watched them, perched atop the table, until they had to move that too, and then it clung to Geralt’s shoulder as he worked. Finally, the room was clear, and Yennefer drew a large chalk circle on the floor.

Geralt took his designated seat warily, nerves making his skin prickle. Yennefer sat opposite him, legs crossed, while the crow was sat in between. Yennefer dimmed the lights and closed her eyes—he copied her, relying on his other senses.

He smelled smoke as Yennefer lit the bundle of herbs she’d gathered, heard the soft susurrus of the crow’s feathers as it shifted. As she began to chant, he felt the characteristic tingle of magical energy settling over him like a second skin—the bonding had started.

Yennefer’s chanting grew steadily louder, and behind his eyelids Geralt saw the light of the candles flare even brighter. The crow’s fidgeting grew wilder, and little croaks began to make their way out of its throat.

Geralt hoped it wasn’t hurting—and if it was, he hoped it would be over soon.

He himself was in no pain at all, besides the discomfort that came with all magic cast on him. He gritted his teeth and bore it, until all at once it stopped—the candles went out, Yennefer gasped once, and the silver chain around the crow’s leg fell to the floor with a soft clink.

Geralt’s eyes flew open, and where the crow had been only moments before, there was now a pair of legs—bare—and when Geralt followed them upwards, there was an entire man—also bare. Geralt blinked a few times, mind blank, before averting his gaze.

“Well,” the shifter said, smacking his lips. “That was unpleasant.” And Geralt watched as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, too quickly for Geralt to catch him.

“He’ll be fine,” Yennefer said, getting to her feet. She swayed a little as she stood, and Geralt ached to steady her—something she would never accept. “The bonding took a lot out of all of us—him most of all.”

Geralt hummed, gathering up the shifter in his arms. He weighed more than he looked—or perhaps Geralt was simply used to his weight as a crow. While Yennefer put her things back in order, Geralt carried the shifter to the guest room, tucking him into bed and feeling strangely fond as he did so.

“It’s the bond,” Yennefer explained, leaning in the doorway and watching the whole affair. She ambled over to the bed and sat down next to the shifter, reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Can you feel it?”

He could, he realized, when he reached deep inside. Just beside the djinn’s magic that tied him to Yennefer, he felt a fledgling something, a fluttering newness that nipped and tugged at his breastbone.

“That’s him?” Geralt asked, though he didn’t need the confirmation—he knew it as surely as he knew himself.

Yennefer nodded, dropping her arm and standing up. “Leave him to his rest. I imagine he’ll need some time to acclimate to the bond—we all will, for that matter.”

Though Geralt wanted nothing more than to stay and study the shifter, watch over him until he woke, he followed Yennefer out of the room, shutting the door softly so as not to disturb him.

The shifter woke some hours later, after Geralt and Yennefer had eaten a late lunch and were debating if it would be worth eating dinner. The shifter stumbled down the stairs, interrupting their discussion, and said, quite plainly, “Are we talking dinner? I’m starving.”

“You’re up,” Yennefer replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” the shifter—Geralt really needed to ask his name—answered. “Sunflower seeds are nice and all, but really, nothing compares to a good hot meal.”

He was wrapped in the bedsheet, Geralt realized suddenly. Of course—he had no clothes. It didn’t seem to overly bother him, though, as he crossed the room and promptly deposited himself on Geralt’s lap, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. Geralt’s hands came up automatically to wrap around his waist.

“And your wing?” Yennefer asked.

“Oh, good as new!” the shifter replied cheerily, untangling his arm from the bedsheet and wiggling it in demonstration. “Healed right up as soon as that awful binding spell was gone.” He turned to look at Geralt. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to help me—I know it was a lot of trouble.”

“It’s alright,” Geralt answered. “I wouldn’t leave you to Stregobor.”

The shifter shuddered. Geralt held him a bit tighter. “Ugh. He caught me unaware—normally I’m careful, but this very handsome man bought me a drink, and then another, and then before I knew it I was being manhandled into the back of a car. And I thought, well, can’t be manhandled if I’m not a man, but then he had that awful chain…”

“You’re not the first to fall victim to him. Though binding a shifter to him is a new low,” Yennefer said darkly.

Guilt tightened in Geralt’s gut. It was different, what they had done—but was it really? It was still a bond the shifter had been forced into. He moved the shifter off his lap, ignoring the hurt look that he flashed him. “Need to go for a walk,” Geralt grunted, and headed for the door.

“Don’t mind him,” he heard Yennefer say behind him. “Let him clear his head and then he’ll be back. In the meantime—what do you say to pasta?”

The door shut heavily behind Geralt, cutting off their voices, giving him room to think. The bond still pulsed heartily in his chest, but like this, it was muted enough for him to catch his breath.

How was the shifter so blasé about it? Surely he understood the fact that he was now permanently bound to two strangers?

Geralt jammed his hands in his pockets and started to walk, focusing only on his feet hitting the ground and the evening calls of the bird around him.

By the time his thoughts had settled and he’d made his way back to the house, the sun was setting, and a deep tiredness was settling into his bones. The early morning and excitement of the day were catching up with him.

He could hear Yennefer and the shifter inside, chatting, and hesitated on the doorstep. He suddenly felt as if he were intruding—what right did he have to storm off in the middle of a conversation and expect them to welcome him back seamlessly? Clearly they were getting along just fine without him.

The door opened suddenly and a gust of wind at his back urged him inside. Yennefer. He let her guide him to the kitchen, where the shifter stood washing dishes at the sink and she sat on the counter. “Ah, you’re back!” the shifter said, setting down the plate it was washing.

“Jaskier was just telling me about your trip here. It sounded quite exciting,” Yennefer teased.

“I like a bit of adventure, but I could do without the almost-kidnapping,” Jaskier said, leaning in closer to Geralt. “Lucky I had you there, I suppose.”

“Hm.” Geralt hesitantly lifted an arm, and Jaskier wasted no time in burrowing into his side. “Lucky.”

“And lucky you have such wonderful friends as Yennefer,” Jaskier continued, looking meaningfully at Yennefer. She raised an eyebrow, but hopped off the counter and sidled closer. Geralt let her sink into his side too, holding them both tightly, and felt the thrumming bond inside of him settle in contentment at having them close.

Lucky indeed.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskefer #yenralt #yenskier #yennskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt/jaskier/yennefer #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #geralt #jaskier #yennefer

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

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The Mo Village arc and establishing the MC

MDZS is a sprawling book with many characters, but it seems that it was clearly important to MXTX to establish her MC’s characterisation very strongly from the start. Although the novel in its entirety leans toward providing a strong characterisation for WWX, I thought it’d be fun to look back at how it is conveyed to the readers in the first few chapters before the inciting incident at Dafan Mountain

(N.B. I’m using a composite translation made of different translations so the wording/format might be slightly different than the version you are using)

Framing

The prologue starts with a conversation between unnamed characters in an inn, discussing the news of WWX’s death. While it was a clever way to already introduce an important theme of the novel (the effects of public opinion and how easy it is to make someone into a irredeemable villain) and get the exposition out of the way, it also frames WWX as a character: as readers, we are introduced first to perceptions of him, a characterisation-from-hearsay we’ll be able to compare to his characterisation in the novel. WWX is a “scourge” whose death is celebrated, who “defected” and bit the hand that fed him, a “deranged” killer who took thousands of lives. But before he went on the crooked path, he was a promising youth--although others seem to think he was corrupted from the start.

“But it can’t all be blamed on the path he cultivated. Ultimately, it was still because this Wei Wuxian’s moral character was too flawed, angering the Heavens and man alike! By the heavenly law, everyone answers for their deeds in the end, good and evil……”

The rumours also suggest that if WWX comes back to the world of the living he will enact his revenge upon them all, and his unimaginable powers would allow him to rain fury upon both Heaven and Earth. We get told: this guys is an incredibly powerful villain, reviled and feared by many.

But the Yiling Laozu had enough power to overturn the Heavens and smother the Earth, move mountains and drain seas—at least, that was the way the rumors went. If he wanted to resist the summoning of his soul, it wouldn’t exactly be outside of his abilities. If in coming days his spirit were restored, if he forcibly possessed a body and were thus reborn, then not only the cultivation world, but all of humanity would inevitably meet with an even greater frenzy of vengeance and curses, sinking into a chaotic age of foul winds and bloody rains.

Establishing WWX and how he reacts when he’s thrown into an unpleasant situation

When WWX is brought back by MXY, we already have something to contrast him against thanks to the hearsay and rumours, and from the get-go we get a sense that WWX is not this fearsome figure that people made him out to be.

I’ll never get over the fact that our first introduction to WWX’s is the equivalent of the “the audacity of this bitch”.

Hazily, he thought: that’s quite a lot of courage you must have to kick this Laozu.

Our MC and POV character is thrown into a situation, and from his reactions we can rapidly tell that he is someone who is observant, resourceful, good at deductive reasoning and thereby apt at solving mysteries. This is something that is reinforced at many, many points in the first few chapters and helps us buy in into what happens later in the novel when they uncover many other mysteries. WWX is a guy who figures shit out.

When WWX figures out he was summoned as a “an unforgivably evil malicious spirit“, we get his take on his public perception.

Wei Wuxian reeled at the implications. How had he been classified as “an irredeemly evil, malicious spirit”?

Yes, his reputation was rather poor and his final moments, horrifying tragic—but he had neither haunted nor had he seeked revenge on the living since becoming a spirit. He would dare to swear upon the Heavens and the Earth that you would never find a more peaceful and well-behaved lonely soul of a wild ghost!

At the same time, readers get a sense that even when he’s dealt a bad hand, WWX does not wait in despair for his luck to turn. Even though WWX describes his situation as “hopeless” and keeps “repeating over and over How could this be! in his heart “, he immediately goes into problem-solving mode, trying to figure out the situation and the wishes MXY forgot to share. This also happens later.

There was not a single thing to help him find some joy in being reborn! He might as well sit and meditate for a time, and adjust to the new body.

That same passage gives us a sense that WWX is not rushing into situations without taking the time to take it in, make up his mind and prepare as much as he can: the fact that we see him do meditation twice during that day (before he goes to the East Hall and after he checks on the Lan juniors) also contributes to that idea.

The chapters convey as well that WWX is sympathetic to MXY’s situation and does not resent him even though he forced WWX to enact revenge in his stead. As readers, we thus receive the following message: WWX is not prone to being resentful, to hold grudges.

He had originally wanted to wash his face and pay a few respects to the owner of this body, but there was no water in the shack—neither for drinking nor for washing.

WWX is also, for a lack of a better word, sassy. It’s clear that he has a flair for the dramatics and lots of attitude. Look at that dramatic entrance.... he just.... yeets the bowl he was holding....

He pondered for a moment. Then, rising to his feet, he kicked the door open.

The two servants, in the midst of making eyes at each other, screamed in horror as the double doors of the shack suddenly burst open. Wei Wuxian threw aside his bowl and chopsticks and walked outside without anyone’s leave [...]

We are also introduced to the fact that WWX does not seem to take himself seriously and loves to shock people.

When it came to wild displays of misbehavior, Wei Wuxian was a master. In the past when he ran wild, he still had to mind appearances lest others accuse him of having not been raised right. But now that he was a lunatic anyways, what face did he need! He could go straight to making a scene, acting however it pleased him.

While WWX is clearly not the one-dimensional evil monster depicted in rumours, we do see that he can be cunning: he lies easily if he feels it motivated, he is very good at talking people into a corner, apt at making them do incriminating things by leading them on, which he does by humiliating the Mo family for their mistreatment of MXY in front of a crowd. But in a way, that is also a quality of his: he is not just silver-tongued; he’s good at assessing a situation and people’s characters, able to figure out what will set them off.

We further get proof that he is not a blood-thirsty monster who disregards others when he tries to figure out if he can satisfy MXY’s spirit without having to wipe out the Mo family (although it is clearly the obvious solution) and when he is shown to care for the well-being of others. This is illustrated by the way he double-checks (through ruse) that the zhaoyin flags are properly set up and will be used safely by the Lan juniors.

During the conversation, Wei Wuxian had already finished making a rapid examination of the Yin Summoning Flag in his hand. It had been painted in the correct manner, and there were no missing sigils either. There was not a single error or omission, so they should worked as intended. That being said, the person who had painted the flag lacked experience, and the painted sigils could only attract the evil spirits and walking corpses within at most five li. That should however prove to be enough. (chapter 2)

[...]

Wei Wuxian’s first thought was that something had gone wrong with the flag arraw the youth had set up. His inventions needed to be used with extreme caution, or else risk disaster. This was also why he had gone to check earlier if there were anything wrong with the array. (Chapter 3)

As our POV character, WWX comes across as endearing through little details: it’s in the way he calls LSZ a “good little seedling (好苗子)” and calls the Lan juniors a group of “小朋友“ in his inner monologue, or when he defends the Lan juniors from Mo-furen’s accusations. Or the way he likes Xiao Pingguo because it looks at him with contempt:

A donkey was tied to the handle, chewing on it. When it saw Wei Wuxian run over rashly, it seemed like it was surprised, and eyed him sideways as if it were a real person. Wei Wuxian made eye contact with him for one second and was immediately touched by the minuscule amount of contempt in its eyes.

Establishing how WWX acts in high-pressure situations

Things escalate quite quickly into accusations of murder and death and resentful corpses. This first sequence is thus our introduction to how WWX acts under pressure and in high-risk situations (which will continue to happen to our MC until the end of the novel).

WWX is shown to be cool under pressure and quick to think on his feet, constantly re-assessing the situation and the risks. He is also seen as expecting people to arrive to conclusions without him needing to explain them out loud, like when he takes out the zhaoyin flag that MZY stole from his corpse, letting the Lan juniors understand on their own what happened. When he needs to explain, he will not do it in a straight-forward manner, giving small hints first (this preludes many of WWX and LWJ interaction when they understand each other’s thought process with only one sentence being said, and preludes how WWX will continue to act with the Juniors later on, making them think through the situations instead of feeding them the answers).

We also get the proof that WWX does not privilege self-preservation over the fate of others.

If he wanted to avoid having the situation get out of hand, Wei Wuxian should retreat. If they people who came did not know him, then all would be well—but if they happened to be someone who had dealt with him or fought against him in the past, it would be hard to guess what would happen next.

But the curse meant he could not leave Mo Village yet. As well, the spirit that had been summoned had taken two lives in quick succession, meaning it was extremely vicious. If Wei Wuxian left now, once the reinforcement arrived, the streets of Mo Village might already be packed with corpses missing their left arm, of which some would be blood relations of the GusuLanShi.

After a short deliberation, Wei Wuxian thought, fight a quick battle to force a swift resolution (速战速决). (Chapter 3)

[...]

Wei Wuxian was watching the battle attentively. His tongue was slightly curled, suppressing a sharp whistle inside of his lips, preparing it to be let out. The whistle would be able to evoke even more hostility in the cruel corpses, which might turn the tables. Then, however, it would be difficult to ensure that nobody knew that it was his doing.

In the blink of an eye, the hand moved like lightning, ruthlessly and precisely breaking Madame Mo’s neck. Watching as the Mo family grew closer to defeat, Wei Wuxian prepared to blow the whistle that he suppressed under his tongue. At the same time, the echoes of two strums on a stringed instrument came from far away. (chapter 4)

As well, we are told something about WWX when he only leaves once LWJ arrives: certainly because he’s afraid that LWJ might recognize him but mostly because (as it will become clear later on) he trusts that LWJ will be able to handle the situation in his stead. In order words, although WWX is willing to risk himself to help others, he is not careless with his life and safety (for instance he makes sure to destroy the proof of the Offering ritual before fleeing to make sure no one can figure out the fact that he is back from the dead).

WWX will not hesitate to fool people or pretend in order to help his goals. In this case, he is trying to help and fight without appearing like a powerful cultivator who can do modao, balancing self-preservation with the incentive to protect the people present. This is why he pushes LJY in front of LSZ at one point in the battle, instead of blocking it himself, while pretending to just be a lunatic doing lunatic things.

Inside of the Lan clan’s uniform jacket, there were compact stitchings of incantations using thin threads of the same color, included for protection. However, against strong ones like this, it could only be used once before it became invalid. During the emergency, he could only kick Lan Jingyi and use his body to protect Lan Sizhui’s neck.

This sequence also allows the reader to know more about modao and WWX’s skills, and how he can control corpses, as well as how WWX perceives his own abilities.

TLDR:

The Mo Village arc, in conjunction with the prologue, competently sets up a lot of the moving pieces for the novel. It also leans heavily toward establishing a strong sense of characterisation for our MC and POV character, which is neat!

NB: I think it’s also very telling that the next chapter after the Mo Mansion arc begins with us learning that WWX has been, in the past few days since his retreat, lorded over by a capricious donkey. WWX is clearly not someone who takes himself very seriously (often mocking himself):

The donkey ran over there and nothing could make it leave. Wei Wuxian hopped down and slapped its honoured buttocks. “You’re definitely destined for wealth, even harder to please than I am.” The donkey spat at him.

#mdzs meta #i kind of hate to call this meta because it's not uh very deep lmao #wwx #wei wuxian

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 26)

Notes: Enjoy! And let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list...

Chapter 26 Nesta

Solstice approached with terrifying speed. Somehow, Azriel managed to carve out time in what Nesta imagined to be a busy schedule to oversee her training when she was in Windhaven. Nesta did not know if that was simply because Rhysand did not want to hold true to his promise to train her himself, or if the Shadowsinger was doing them all a favour by keeping the two of them separate for a little longer.

Nesta could not say that she was disappointed. Whilst there had been a slight shift in the air between them, Nesta was not deluded enough to think that her sister’s arrogant mate had found it in himself to let go of the grudge he so obviously held against her. From the moment they had met in the Human Realm, Nesta had sensed his disdain and simmering anger towards her. Had dissected what he thought was a flawless exterior as something too careful, too polite. It had not quite been as if he was treading on eggshells, but as if he was having to use all of his power to reign in his own temper.

Yet, to Elain... that resentment and hatred had faded into acceptance and forgiveness over time. The same could not be said for he and Nesta. Even though it had been she who had fought and sacrificed her life in the war. Even though she had saved Cassian from the Cauldron’s blast. And even though it had been she who had killed the King, tracked the Cauldron and acted as Emissary, Feyre’s mate had been unable to hide the anger that Nesta had allowed her sister to provide for them when they were young.

So, Nesta had made it worse, testing the waters of that night eternal power to see how far she could go until he snapped completely. If their High Lord wasn’t going to bother to try and see the effort Nesta had made, then she would make life hell for him when she started to drown. She spent his coffers, banished her sisters and wrapped her words in thorns of steel. For some, it was not unlike the work of a petulant child desperate for a reaction. For Nesta, it was a method of slow, numbing destruction until she became nothing but a husk. It had been far more dangerous and much deadlier then any of them had imagined, and now Nesta was out of the other side, she understood why Cassian had look so ravaged when he had searched her face and assaulted her with words that should have been like spears to the heart but never hit home.

Even so, Rhys’s hatred of Nesta was a punishment she believed was deserved. Nesta knew that. And she would not take job offerings which were given out of loving duty and obligation to one’s mate. Nesta would only work for a court she did not view as hers if it was because she had worth and use. If she was needed rather than an irritant one wanted to banish.

This time had been different. The Illyrian cause was greater than the shattered pride Nesta would endure by assisting someone she did not want to be around. And Nesta had vowed to step out of the past and into the present. Had decided she would try with her sisters and start to rebuild who she wanted to be. Nesta did not want to be someone who selfishly stood on the sidelines whilst others suffered. It was true that she had been a victim and made others a victim of her trauma, but she was done weighing up old grievances and her many errors. She would bite her tongue and step forward into the present. And if that meant learning to be civil then Nesta would do it for the females and for Cassian, who she could not bear to make life harder for.

To think that Nesta might cause him to ache made it hard to breathe. So, should the situation demand it, Nesta had decided she would rise above it. She was strong. She was resilient. She was powerful.

She would protect and heal.

Nesta supposed her goals were the same as the rest of the Inner Circle, after all.

When it came to mastering her ability to read others emotions, Nesta found the power now came to her as easy as breathing. With the acceptance of her magic - the understanding that it was part of who she was and who she wanted to be - Nesta found it far easier to lower her walls.

Identifying and concentrating on one target was where she had difficulty, but in the end, even Azriel gave more and more praise in that solemn, cold way of his rather than constructive criticism.

“It’s all down to practice now,” the Shadowsinger had told Nesta after their last training session, as they walked through the camp back to the bungalow. “You know how to do it. It’s just a matter of tuning out the unwanted emotions of others and focussing on those that matter.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Nesta had replied, biting back a grimace. Sometimes she found the background ‘noise’ so overwhelming she wanted to vomit.

“It’s nothing you can’t master,” Azriel replied dismissively, in the way that Nesta had learnt to be a compliment. “As long as you hold on to something as a tether - something to ground you that will always pull you back and stop you from becoming overwhelmed - you will be fine.”

Nesta had glanced sideways at the Shadowsinger as they stepped up to the backdoor of the bungalow. Azriel often stayed for dinner after their training sessions, and Nesta found that she did not mind him joining she and Cassian’s shared space, mainly because it gave her the opportunity to witness the brothers relationship up close.

Whilst Cassian and Azriel might not have been related by blood, their interactions were bound in a way that melded them by flesh and bone regardless. And to Nesta’s surprise, she found that in a smaller group the Shadowsinger was not so quiet. He had a dry wit about him that often had Nesta biting back a smirk, especially as it was usually directed at Cassian, who would either gape in surprise or let out an unabashed bark of laughter that was so lovely it made Nesta want to both stare and look away.

“Do you have a tether?” Nesta asked Azriel curiously as she held her palm to the door. It was a blunt question that she only dared ask because she had no doubt that Azriel would swiftly cut her down if he did not want to answer.

“Of course,” Azriel replied as they stepped into the kitchen.

Cassian was by the sink, the sleeves of his tunic pushed up to his elbows as he washed some grains under the tap. He dared to wink at her as she entered, but he didn’t offer any other formal greeting.

Her blood heated and she ducked down to untie the laces on her boots.

“What is it?” She demanded.

Ariel had already made quick work of his boots, but he flung his wings out of the door to rid them of melted snowflakes. “What’s yours?” he had countered in that chilled way of his, knowing that she would not dare tell him. Would not tell anyone.

So, she had merely snorted in response, quickly disappearing in search of a hot shower before either of them could guess what she was thinking, dare her mask slip and render her readable.

On Solstice morning, Nesta found herself naturally rising with the dawn, even though Cassian had told her that it was the one day of the year that Illyrian’s did not train. Crawling out of bed to open the curtains, Nesta had sat in the window seat to stare out at the ethereal, low mists that shrouded the mountain pass and horizon in moving fog. Not for the first time, she wished she were already halfway up the mountainside; a part of the natural scenery rather than separated by glass, so she could see unhindered, the dusky streaks of colour painted across the sky and the yellow strip of light that signalled the sun was ready to start the day.

Nesta was first to breakfast. Cassian had been in Velaris the evening before and Nesta had not been awake to see him arrive back in Windhaven. He smelt distinctly of stale alcohol as he joined her in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of low slung pants and nothing else but wild hair and endless tan skin licked with ink that made her skin itch.

Sleepily, Cassian batted Nesta away from the stove as if she were an irritating fly, but she only hissed at him with such malice that he barked a hoarse laugh. When she thumped a mug of coffee by his side moments later, she did it with much more force than she usually mustered so early in the morning, and she caught his features soften for a fraction of a second, before he made himself busy at the stove.

They ate eggs and smoked salmon on toasted rye in relative silence, and Nesta watched Cassian proceed to eat two ginormous portions with a mixture of disgust and awe.

When Nesta loftily gave in to the temptation and asked Cassian whether he had considered saving himself for the Solstice feast, he had just snorted and told her that he was stretching his stomach. After that, Nesta was certain that he ate a third portion just to spite her, but even she couldn’t help but slide another piece of smoked salmon onto her plate, much to her chagrin when Cassian’s eyes glinted triumphant.

It was an hour later when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. Nesta was in the process of pinning her hair with the golden leaf pin Elain had sent her all those weeks ago, and she answered the door with one hand whilst the other held her hair in place.

“Are you ready?” Cassian asked as soon as the door opened.

For once, he was not leaning against the doorframe, but standing upright in a wide stance which highlighted just how broad and tell he was.

There was a look of impatience on his face, but Nesta paid it no heed and took a moment to survey how different he looked from usual. Today’s festivities had turned him out in dark pants and a shirt, the collar of which sat just below ink which whorled up the right side of his neck, stopping a few inches below his ear. The clothing made him appear the most human Nesta had ever seen him, if it had not been for the apex of his huge wings which he was holding high behind him.

As if they sensed her attention, his wings flexed in a movement that usually told Nesta that Cassian was either uncomfortable or nervous. They spread wide enough for Nesta to notice how magnificently they shone, as if they had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned for the occasion. Even Cassian’s hair gleamed, as if he had run a brush through it before it had scraped it back into a loose bun.

He looked unforgivably, heart-stoppingly handsome, not that Nesta would ever admit it out loud.

Ignoring the unusually apprehensive expression on his face, Nesta frowned and secured the pin at the back of her head. “Am I late?”

She had thought she had given herself plenty of time to get ready, but her half coronet had taken longer than usual. It appeared that three months of only wearing a simple plait had her out of practice. At least she had worn a loose braid overnight, which meant that her hair already hung in soft waves down her back. She knew that the Night Court dressed up on Solstice, and Nesta liked Lorrian and Frawley enough that she did not want to offend them.

Nesta had stayed with them twice since the kerit attack at Windhaven, where she had spent her days learning the art of the bow with Lorrian and practicing her healing powers with Frawley.

And the bow… Nesta loved it. It felt right in her hands, the way her muscles strained and trembled as she pulled back the string. Cassian and Lorrian had her working hard on her upper arm strength to the point that they felt constantly sore, but she did not care. Lorrian and Frawley had even taught her how to fly on Caerleon, with Lorrian insisting that when she was more able, they could practice shooting a moving target. Nesta had the sneaking suspicion that both of them had quickly realised that she hungered for the skies, but she did not mind that they had read her so easily. Being on the back of Caerleon, her fingers buried deep in the mane at his neck, was the most liberated Nesta had ever felt, to the point that she had laughed when the manticore had sent her into a nose dive and the wind had howled so fast around them that Nesta and Caer had become a part of the element rather than separate from it.

When Nesta had not been training with Lorrian, Frawley was teaching her how to harness her healing power. The witch had Nesta look inwards to her two strands of her magic, until Nesta could pick them apart with ease, summoning either silver or white at her palms. When she had mastered that, Frawley had plucked flower after flower from the forest floor, had them wither in her open palm and ordered Nesta to bring them back to life.

It wasn’t so much bringing things back from the brink of death that Nesta struggled with, rather it was knowing when to stop. The key, Frawley had told Nesta, was to constantly observe the patient as she healed. To understand what injuries were fresh and required immediate life-saving attention and what was old enough to be left well alone. The former always shone with a pressing light when Nesta’s magic passed over it, whereas the latter took on a dull, shadowy quality. There was also the matter that Nesta’s power reserves could swell to unprecedented levels, of which the bottom was determined by the energy she had sequestered.

The solution, Frawley had told Nesta, was to know what her reserves felt like, so that when her magic started to give out Nesta would know to stop.

That had been easier said than done, and it had taken Nesta hours to reach into herself and travel down, down, down to scrape the bottom of her own power.

“You will know when you reach it,” Frawley had only told Nesta with an infuriatingly mysterious air that had Nesta wanting to snarl.

But she had. It tasted like the last, bitter dregs of tea and metallic blood. It felt wrong and life threatening, enough for Nesta to pull away so sharply that Frawley had patted a shaking Nesta on the shoulder and passed her a steaming mug of energising tea.

But what Nesta hadn’t told Frawley was that she didn’t just sense white and silver when she looked within herself, but something else. Something hidden behind a veiled curtain which she couldn’t quite touch. A terrified part of Nesta wondered if it was the chunk of the Cauldron she had taken. The piece of inky black which sung of darkness and terror. Nesta had not found the words to ask Frawley about it. Was too scared about what it meant. That perhaps there was something rotting inside of her that would taint her soul and those around her.

It sung to her, the veil. It whispered reverently when she brushed against it. Her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

She had stayed well away from it, after that, but sometimes she heard it whisper softly, the sensation like her power turning over in her veins.

Like now, as Cassian stared at her rather than reply, his hazel eyes darkening as his pupils widened and pressed against his irises.

Nesta tried and failed not to feel self-conscious. She smoothed down her midnight blue dress and walked past him, her back straight.

“You’ll need to shield my hair,” Nesta clipped, as she headed to the hooks by the door and slipped on her coat.

When she turned, Cassian was still staring at her with something that Nesta almost wished was longing.

She wanted to bite her lip, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do it. “Aren’t we going to be late?” she clipped.

Slowly, Cassian blinked. Then, his gaze dropped to her feet. “Are you going to wear those shoes?”

Nesta scowled. “Yes.”

“They’re not practical for flying.”

“I’m not flying, I’m being carried. And is it not custom to dress nicely for Solstice?”

She stiffened as those sharp eyes dragged over her body with such intensity Nesta felt as if her skin were entirely bare.

“It is custom,” Cassian agreed eventually, his voice so impossibly low she felt it rumble through her bones. Even as there was a bite to his words that suggested he was holding something back.

Perhaps how she had not bothered the year prior.

Nesta nodded as if to indicate that the matter was settled and wound a scarf around her neck. “Don’t set me down in any mud or snow and I won’t find it in myself to set you on fire.”

A derisive snort but no jab or jest as he opened the front door. Cassian stepped onto the concrete step just beyond the threshold and with a flare of his siphons, light-weight armour clicked into place scale by scale over his dark clothes, the action like a ripple of water.

He held out his hand to her. Nesta glared at him but squeezed onto the step beside him. His hands wrapped around her, gathering her to his impossibly warm body and the steady, reliable beating of his heart. He smelt wonderful — of woodland and bracing blue sky which sung Illyria. Begrudgingly, Nesta held on to him, absorbing herself even more in his scent as he shot them into the sky.

They travelled in silence for a long while, Cassian unnervingly quiet. Usually it was he who struck up conversation and Nesta found it disconcerting to be yearning to speak with him rather than the other way around.

She twisted her head up to look at him: the dark eyebrows that always made his hazel eyes stand out so brilliantly; the tan, freshly shaved face which took the ruggedness out of his features; the ebony hair pulled back into a casual bun that she had come to favour on him.

To his credit, Cassian had listened to her about her own hair, casting a shield that was void of the gentle breeze he usually allowed to filter through. Instead, Nesta was warm, the

gentle pulse of his siphons indicating that he was expelling his magic to alter the temperature for them both.

“You look clean,” Nesta observed, when she knew she had studied him for too long. He was deliberately not acknowledging her blatant staring. “Is this your first and only bath this year?”

Cassian snickered. “Very good, sweetheart. It’s good to see that the festivities haven’t smoothed over your sharp edges.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” Nesta remarked drily, watching the craggy terrain; the snow capped mountains and the stretch of pine ahead of them. “Consider it a Solstice present.”

A laugh then, soft and throaty. More like himself. “You’ll have to save that fire for the lords tomorrow, sweetheart. It is no way to speak to your beloved.”

Sharply, Nesta craned her neck up to find him smiling down at her. It was a wicked smile that Nesta suspected he had willed into existence solely to stoke her fire.

“What,” she spat. Demanded.

Cassian’s canines flashed. “Consider me your Solstice present. I’d have wrapped myself in a bow, but we were in a rush.”

Nesta glared at him with such ferocity she imagined him burning into cinders. “And when were you planning to tell me that I have to pretend that we’re...” She trailed off, suddenly at a loss to carry on.

“Dating? Courting? Fucking?” Cassian said the last word with a grin that turned feral.

Nesta snarled at him with such savagery that Cassian choked on a laugh. His hazel eyes flared amber.

“If you start smoking I’ll have to drop you,” he warned, as silver sparked from her fingertips. “And I planned on telling you now,” he admitted. There was no apology in his voice, if anything it only carried amusement and a faint layer of… something else. “I thought it best to tell you when we were suspended in midair for my safety.”

“Insufferable,” Nesta muttered under her breath, irritated that she could not let go of him and cross her arms over her chest. “Not only am I to be stuck in a room full of Illyrians, but I have to pretend to be bedding the most irritating of them all.”

“Feel free to boast about my technique to those assholes at any point,” Cassian snickered wryly, but then his playfulness dropped at his next words. Nesta suspected he’d glanced down and seen her solemn expression, “Think of it as an unpleasant few hours for the sake of finding out more information.”

“Who do you usually take?”

A beat of silence followed her demand. Then, “Nobody.”

A disbelieving frown pinched between her eyebrows. “Ever? Not even your friends?”

She craned her neck to look up at him.

“It’s partners only,” Cassian explained, but he was looking ahead of them with an intensity that told Nesta he was deliberately not meeting her eye. “I very rarely have one and never one who I think could hold their own amongst the vultures.”

Some tension bled out of Nesta. She would have thought that Mor might have accompanied him at some point. Those lines were so blurred Nesta had no idea what to make of them other than that she hated it. Would never not hate it.

The amusement had faded from Cassian’s features and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He suddenly seemed angry and Nesta didn’t know whether it was her reaction or another memory. And perhaps her reaction to pretending to court had wounded him, especially given their turbulent past. Sometimes Nesta did not know where they stood with the other. The bond strung between them made everything so complicated, so much more difficult than other narratives. To understand what was fact and fiction. Lust and love.

The thought of pretending they were together, even for two days made it difficult to breathe. It was another twist in their storyline - another complicated strand, which warped what was honest and true.

“Don’t worry, Illyrians aren’t big on public displays of affection,” Cassian assured her, breaking her out of her worrisome thoughts. His dark eyes found hers again, and they looked a little sad, as he admitted, “The males here don’t cherish females the way they should.”

It took everything in Nesta to suppress the shiver that wanted to crash over her body and remain silent. They were tiptoeing around today, using banter and sharp words to cover up what had happened last year. How she had dismissed him so brutally… so effectively. How she had heard the water splash and ripple as he threw her gift in the river. How he had followed her anyway until she lit a light in her apartment, his wings a steady beat as she sunk to the rickety, splintered floorboards utterly numb.

It was not Cassian’s cruel words from that evening that haunted her — not even hers did — but it was oddly the vulnerability in his expression as he finally let her leave that repeatedly churned in the forefront of her mind. That made her think that perhaps Cassian had been genuine. That he wasn’t embarrassed of her, even if his actions — the way he ignored her when his friends were around — insinuated that he did. That he truly had wanted her, enough to swallow his pride and follow her. To continue to flirt and fight for her, even now.

But when Nesta remembered how he had laughed as he held up the satin undershorts from Mor, red slid over her vision.

Cassian seemed to sense that displeasure, remaining silent for the duration of the journey.

Caer trotted out to meet them as soon as they landed outside Lorrian and Frawley’s, his tufted tail dancing in the shape of a question mark. Smoke billowed from the crooked chimney of the cottage and the smells that wafted towards them on the soft breeze were so divine Nesta’s stomach grumbled.

Frawley met them at the open stable door, and to Nesta’s surprise, she bent to place a swift kiss on each of Nesta’s cheeks. She was wearing another dark dress the colour of smoke, the underskirts laced with a misty tulle that shimmered beautifully in the light.

“Happy Solstice, Nesta,” Frawley said brusquely. “We’re being thrown to the wolves tomorrow so we’ll have to make today a pleasant one.”

Cassian’s laugh was low in Nesta’s ear. “If past experience is anything to go by, I’d predict that Nesta will be the wolf and they the sheep,” he corrected, as they both stepped into the warmth of the cottage.

Lorrian appeared behind Frawley as he stepped into the hallway from the living room. His chuckle was deep and delighted. “I’m looking forward to witnessing that.”

Frawley’s grin was terrifying as she levelled her gaze with Nesta’s. “Surely they do not still think you’re a witch after the kerit attack?”

“No,” Nesta said slowly, thinking of Devlon’s begrudging acceptance of her. How the Illyrians no longer looked as if they might spit at her. At the distance the males gave her, as if she were finally a threat rather than a pawn in their game. “They don’t know what I am.”

“That probably terrifies them more,” Cassian told Nesta with a devilish grin as they followed Lorrian and Frawley into the living room.

Like the rest of the house, fresh greenery had been wound into garlands around the room. Beautifully arranged teardrop swags hung beneath the faelights on the white-washed walls: bundles of pine, cones, holly and its ruby berries, ivy and honeysuckle vines.

“Mulled wine,” Frawley told Nesta, thrusting a large mug into her hand. “I’ve magicked it to remove the alcohol. It practically tastes the same. Lorrian likes it, anyway.”

“It’s the closest I’ve had to the real thing,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin as he finally moved forward to greet her. He bent to kiss both of her cheeks in an air of heat laced with sandalwood, the close cut of his stubble rough against her skin. “You look beautiful, as usual,” he told her.

Nesta’s snort was a soft dismissal, but she was secretly pleased. The dress she was wearing had hung off her months ago. She’d still had Mas take it in a little, but she saw her outfit as a symbolic triumph, having finally gained back the majority of the weight she had lost so dangerously after months and months of denying herself sustenance.

“Come,” Frawley beckoned to Nesta, “I’ve put your armchair close to the fire. You’re as bad as Caerleon. Sometimes I think he’d sit on top of the hearth if he could.”

Nesta’s lips twitched but she didn’t comment. It was true that now Nesta could light fires of her own, she could enjoy sitting by the hearth without fearing that it might send her into a downward spiral. Not that Frawley hadn’t taken care of that herself the two times she had visited, and as expected, the fire was already silently eating the glowing wood that had been stacked into the grate.

At the mention of his name, Caerleon padded towards Nesta just as she took a seat in the armchair and pressed his large head into Nesta’s lap. Burying her fingers into the beast’s soft, shaggy mane with her spare hand, Nesta huffed a laugh as the manticore let out a low whine in greeting.

“How do you usually celebrate Solstice, Nesta?” Lorrian asked conversationally, as he seated himself in the twin armchair opposite her and stretched out his long legs.

Nesta didn’t have to glance at Cassian from where he had settled on the low-back couch to know that his expression had turned tight. She felt the trepidation in her stomach. The more and more she dropped her emotional guard, the more keenly she felt him, even through the shield of fire he had resurrected around himself.

“Solstice isn't celebrated in the Human Realm,” Nesta replied in a way that she hoped came across as unaffected.

“Of course it isn’t,” Frawley interjected, glaring at her husband with an intensity Nesta was glad she was not on the receiving end of.

“Well, the good thing about Solstice is the food,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin. “If you need a motivation to start celebrating it.”

Nesta harrumphed in the back of her throat. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Speaking of food...” Cassian started hopefully.

Frawley rolled her eyes but dumped a plate of pastries unceremoniously into the warrior’s lap. “Lorrian made these solely to tide you over until dinner.” She tutted as Cassian began to tuck in with gusto. “I’ve never witnessed anybody eat so much and I live with an Illyrian. Did you train this morning?”

“No,” Cassian said around a mouthful of pie. His voice was incredulous — offended, even. “It’s Solstice, witch, or have you forgotten in your old age?”

“I would not put it past you to train three hundred and sixty-five days of the year,” Frawley snapped in retort, “for fear that one day off would have those muscles of yours shrinking.”

When Frawley’s ice blue eye rested on Nesta, it was not sparking with anger but amusement, even as her face remained impassive. She and Cassian often bantered like this; with Frawley seemingly infuriated and Cassian prodding insults. “Am I wrong, Nesta?”

Nesta did not try to fight the slight curve of her lips, she was too amused by Cassian’s mouth which had gone slack. Thankfully, it wasn’t full of food. “No, he preens and puffs like a rooster.”

Lorrian threw his head back and laughed. Frawley snorted with delight. Grinning, Cassian stood to offer Nesta a mince pie with twinkling eyes.

Surprised, Nesta cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

What she had said wasn’t true. Cassian’s physique was all to do with being a cut above the rest. He trained with an intensity that sung of a determination to prove that he was worthy. He allowed his body to become battered and bloody, his knuckles bruised and his hands calloused. He wore scars as if they were armour… as if they were akin to the black tattoos that licked up his body. Symbols of luck and glory and proof that he would endure, above all else.

So much of Cassian was worn on the surface if you chose to look.

And she certainly wasn’t complaining about his figure. Even if just staring at the corded muscles of his body made her fill with a liquid heat that both embarrassed and thrilled her… She had wondered on more than one occasion what it might feel like to straddle the vast width of him… to allow her fingernails to bite into his sizeable shoulders as she sank down onto him. The way he’d groan, the sound guttural in the depths of his throat. She had dreamt about it more times than she’d like to admit. She knew what it felt like to have his phantom lips bruise her skin and his teeth scrape at her pulse point. Knew what it felt like for that relentless drive to hound her blood, each throb of her veins pulling her towards him.

But if her blood was desire, her mind was logic and she knew why she felt like that. Why he felt like it too, sometimes.

So she kept her ribcage close around her heart. It was a shield rendered with gaps but it worked just fine if she fortified it with ice.

Those glowing amber eyes did not leave hers as she took a sweet pastry dusted with sugar from the plate. For a terrified moment, Nesta thought that he knew what she had been thinking, but then he turned to Frawley and said with such casualness it took her a moment for the words to sink in, “Not all of us can look as effortlessly devastating as Nesta.”

Cassian didn’t look at her for a while, after that.

The day was not like the previous Solstice: full of gifts and banter that she was not a part of. Nesta did not spend her time shying away in the corner for fear that the fire would make her power finally roar.

There was food. Lots of variety without being excessive. Roast meat, potatoes and steamed vegetables. Battered savoury pudding, gravy and pigs in blankets. Nesta ate more than she usually would, each dish so delicious she could not help what she piled onto her plate until she was practically bursting at the seams.

Afterwards, Nesta helped Frawley to carry the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Lorrian had done the majority of the cooking and Frawley had woefully admitted that meant it was her job to clean up. Nesta had risen without thinking and in a blink of an eye she had her hands submerged in water and bubbles.

Frawley was telling Nesta that it was she and Lorrian’s anniversary the day before Solstice. That they had decided to become chroi on that day many years ago, and had the magic seal their intents a few hours later.

Despite Frawley’s fierce edges, the witch softened when she spoke of her husband in a way that told Nesta that the love ran deep. Not that Nesta couldn’t see that plainly before her whenever the two were in a room. They had a way of moving together that was completely at ease: respectful and kind and pure and accepting.

It made Nesta hungry for the love she had read about in her books. But she knew better than to believe she was deserving of it.

“How did you know Lorrian was the one?” Nesta asked curiously, as Frawley detailed how they had decided to intertwine their lives the same day in front of the other witches.

Taking a plate from Nesta, Frawley began to dry it with a seriousness that told Nesta that she was thinking hard. “I’ve lived a long life,” Frawley said eventually. “After a while, night and day become repetitive. Boring. I didn’t realise I’d fallen into a rut until I met Lorrian. He made me feel alive again.” She shrugged, the action unlike Frawley as she pinned Nesta with both her eyes. “And Caer liked him. Caer has always been an extension of me in some ways, so I knew that Lorrian was right. We fit like two puzzle pieces. We didn’t try to change who we were for the other, but our love made us happier, more content, even in the face of great challenges.”

Nesta wondered if Frawley was referring to their lost witchlings as well as Lorrian’s arm. She could not imagine losing something so precious. The thought made her heart ache with such intensity she wanted to run away for a moment, before she reminded herself that emotion was part of life. It was better than being numb.

Nesta wanted to see the world in colour, not in black and white. Training with Azriel had taught her that.

“It must be nice,” Nesta observed after a moment, “to know you both chose one another. That you had a choice.”

Both eyes swivelled to rest on Nesta’s face. The effect was alarming. Nesta was used to them moving independently rather than together. “Everyone has a choice in love, Nesta.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but then Lorrian and Cassian entered the kitchen laden with more dirty dishes. Lorrian mentioned a dessert he needed to take out of the larder and Frawley turned to help him.

Whilst Nesta’s stomach was full in a way that was uncomfortable, her ears perked up at the thought of something sweet, as if it would cut through her savoury food coma.

“I have something I’d like to show you,” Cassian said into Nesta’s ear, as Frawley batted away her husband with a tea towel. He was trying to take the pudding she was carrying from her. “Will you come with me?”

Nesta cast a look at Lorrian and Frawley, but they were still both fussing over the Christmas pudding to notice them. So she nodded and followed him out the back door and into the crisp night air. Already a layer of frost dusted the greenery on the forest floor and pine needles, but Cassian quickly cast a bubble of warmth around them. It had not snowed, a rarity for this time of year Cassian had told her earlier, especially in Illyria which was usually deep in blankets of snow by now.

Gesturing to the outbuilding to the left of the cottage, Cassian walked ahead of her, his large wings bobbing behind him as he moved. They flared slightly as he slid open the huge wooden door, before quickly tucking themselves back in, no doubt to protect them from the bitter cold wind which was doing its best to cut through his shield.

It took Nesta’s eyes a fraction of a second to adjust to the darkness, her Fae eyes gifting her with far better sight than her human body ever had.

She stared around the barn — the bails of hay, the wooden rafters…

She twisted to look up at Cassian, a frown on her face. “What am I looking at?

“There," Cassian said with a jut of his chin. Nesta followed the direction he had pointed in and then her eyes went wide.

There, on a makeshift bed of hay was a manticore. It was not like Caer. There was no orange mane, only beautiful sandy fur and a handsome, elegant head, large ears and huge, almond eyes. Her leathery wings were smaller than Caer’s but in proportion to her body and tucked in tight.

Her amber eyes glowed in the dark, that regal head cocking as her gaze clicked into place with Nesta’s. That one look had Nesta’s heart thumping in her chest. It was not from fear, but utter awe.

“Do you know the associations surrounding manticores?” Cassian asked. His voice was low in her ear. Intimate.

Frowning, Nesta dragged her eyes away from the manticore with regret. “They are an apex predator known to devour their prey whole,” Nesta said, reciting what she had been told since she was young. “They are vicious and deadly and cannot be overcome by man.”

But even as she said the words, Nesta knew them not to be true, because she knew Caer. Knew his empathetic heart and the way he had comforted her when she was sad. “Obviously, that’s another human myth that holds no truth,” she finished with a lift to her chin, daring him to laugh.

But Cassian did not mock her, he only nodded. “Yes. Manticores are ruthless creatures and because of their ability to kill with such ease they have been labelled as bringing strife and suffering to the world. But that is not true. Manticores are rare and hard to come by because they are born from the blood of true sacrifice.”

Nesta wondered what Frawley had done to earn Caer’s loyalty. For him to serve her above all others. From what Cassian had told her, Caerleon had been with Frawley for so long even history could not pinpoint an exact date.

“Rhys found this manticore in the spot where you healed Mas.”

A long, long silence. “Frawley took her back to The Steppes to raise her. Manticores grow incredibly quickly, as you can see, but are incredibly vulnerable when they are young, largely because their wings are not fully developed. Fae and humans alike also have a nasty habit of trying to kill young manticores as it is when they are at their weakest. They try to damage their tails so they cannot take life from range and injure their wings so they never develop.

The thought made Nesta’s stomach roll. To harm something so beautiful and pure.

“Sala is only two weeks but she has already taken adult form. Only a fool would try to take her down now.”

“If manticores are so deadly, why isn’t she trying to kill us?” Nesta breathed, her gaze again connecting with the beast’s.

“Because we believe that she is yours, if you want her.”

“She’s mine?” Nesta asked sharply, too surprised to arrange her expression into one of indifference. “How do you know?”

At the words, the manticore raised her beautiful, beautiful head. Golden eyes settled on Nesta as leathery wings unfurled from the beast’s back — stretching — as if she had woken from a long sleep. She rose until she was on her haunches and then her four huge paws.

The beast padded towards them, her hips slinking, her head low and assessing. Yet none of it was threatening. Instead, Nesta only felt a rush of calm as the manticore moved towards them. She stopped in front of Nesta, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth of her breath on her skin, could see that close up the shimmer of gold in Sala’s eyes, the dotted muzzle and the long, pointed incisors.

And then, the beast hopped up onto her haunches, her impossibly large paws coming to rest on Nesta’s shoulders. Despite the enormity of the animal, Nesta remained grounded without having to brace herself. Mesmerising gold filled her vision. It was an ancient, omniscient stare that sung of wisdom and knowledge, of years lived and lived and lived.

And then Nesta saw herself: a reflection of silver-grey; of elegantly pointed ears; of pale skin and pink lips; as if she had become a part of the beast, their lives entangled. Bowing her large head, the manticore closed the distance between them and rubbed her forehead against Nesta’s.

The action was gentle — a familial caress — and when the beast was done, she kept her head against Nesta’s, the gesture solicitous and binding. They breathed together, their chests moving at the same time, and Nesta revelled in the softness of Sala’s fur and the affection that laced the movement. The implication behind it.

“A manticore chooses an owner it deems worthy. Someone pure of heart.”

Cassian’s voice was a low rumble as Sala dropped to all fours. When Nesta twisted around to look at him she found him leaning against the barn, as if he had stepped away to give she and Sala space. His smile was crooked and so beautiful Nesta wanted to touch it; to trace the lines of his mouth where it curved upwards. But most of all, to draw the lines that creased around his eyes that softened the wildness of his features.

“The tuft of her tail is made of silver fire, which is also a giveaway,” Cassian mused, his hazel eyes glowing with what Nesta dissected as amusement. Had she been staring at him a little too long? “Manticores take on elements of their partner.”

Nesta hadn’t even noticed Sala’s tail, but now she could see the trail of silver flame as the tip flicked slowly from side to side in the dark.

The ice that protected everything creaked and cracked at the sight.

Nesta let it. She wanted to refute it — to tell Cassian that he was wrong and Sala wasn’t hers — but the moment Sala had rested her heads on hers, she knew that they were bound together. The manticore made her blood sing, as if their paths were irrevocably entangled in such a beautiful way that Nesta daren’t question it. It was a similar feeling she had encountered when Cassian had delivered the letter in the Human Realm; that compelling pull of destiny.

After the war, Nesta had thought they were done. That she and Cassian had made history and were now travelling on parallel paths of a forked road. But now she was not so sure. She had not been sure for a while now.

“And what if I were of bad intention?” Nesta asked, smoothing her palm over the manticore’s head. The fur was as soft as the finest silk; the touch so divine that Nesta wanted to bury her face in the beast’s ruff and breathe her in again.

A frown worried itself onto Cassian’s expression. Nesta pushed it to the periphery, keeping her attention focussed on Sala.

Nesta had thought revenge would be sweet. Thought that killing the King would have rendered her new and swept away all of the regrets and the pain of the past, but it had only set a deep fear within her. What if her palms only sung death and destruction? What if she was evil and cruel and a thorn in the side of everyone she met? What if she was bloodthirsty and she would not stop until she had quenched that thirst?

But when she had dropped to her knees in front of Mas, Nesta had felt a different hum of power; a magic that had been pushed down and quieted but was wholly good. And as Nesta had forged herself anew, she realised that her magic had presented her with a choice. She could be death if she wished. She could cause destruction and wreak havoc but she could also protect and heal. And whilst Nesta had decided who she was, the knowledge that she had the ability to take away life as she pleased still terrified her. The kerits were different. They were not Fae or human. They did not look like her, did not think like her, did not have conscious thought. Their heads did not tumble right, and whilst life disappeared from the depth of their eyes, it was not akin to the way her father’s eyes had faded, his very being sputtering out until there was only vacant emptiness.

Nesta did not want to take life. Not unless she had to.

She was not a killer.

Scar-flecked fingers tilted her chin and urged her to look upwards. Nesta had not heard him move, but she registered his warmth and saw his earnest expression as she stared up into Cassian’s tan face.

“You are not of bad intention,” Cassian said, as if he somehow could sense her self-deprecating thoughts. His voice had dropped; the tone soft, like a brush stroking tenderly against a canvas.

“What would happen?” Nesta insisted. She needed to know. Needed to understand as surely as she needed to understand that she would wake tomorrow and he would still be there; her steady presence.

“Then Sala would disappear into the ether, as it were. An allegiance can be changed, after all. Manticores are highly intelligent creatures.”

Nesta did not know what to say. Yet, whilst she had no words, she knew with a fierce conviction that she would not allow herself to lose Sala. This beast… she was a gift. Sala was the first true blessing that Nesta had been granted in a life that had only been bleak and cruel.

Sala was hers just as she would be the beast’s. A companion in the grey of her life. Another flicker of light in the dark.

“I thought she would give you more freedom around the camps.”

Nesta blinked. Cassian had dropped his hand but remained close to her. His warmth seeped through her clothing, the sensation welcome in the shadows of the barn. Sometimes Nesta felt as if his warmth was directed solely to heat her limbs.

“I know you must feel limited in where you can go,” Cassian elaborated, stretching his wings slightly. He kept the one closest to her outstretched; a barrier against the cold.

To Nesta’s surprise, Cassian’s cheeks stained a faint pink and he looked away. “I can’t imagine being in Windhaven and not being able to fly,” he confessed. “Sala can carry you about if you want to taste the wind. She can also fight alongside you should you ever need it, both on ground and in the skies.” Another crooked smile as those dark eyes rested back on her, as if he were making himself do it. It nearly knocked the breath from her lungs, the vulnerability in his expression. “She’s not a steed, but perhaps she will become a close second.”

Nesta didn’t know what to do with her body. She felt self-conscious beyond belief, thrown completely by the repeated offering — of freedom. Cassian knew of her growing love of flying. He had truly listened when she confessed that the air rushing around her made her feel alive. That she hungered for it — desperate to gobble up the adrenaline that for the short time, made her feel awake. The rush was akin to an orgasm; the sensation of hot, silky skin sliding against hers as the wave crested and shattered on the shore. Better in some ways. Healthier. More attainable.

Even though words flashed through her mind, Nesta only asked, “Sala?”

Cassian’s lips turned up at the corners as if he were accessing a memory. “It means fire in Illyrian. A temporary name should you wish to call her something else. Although she is rather attached to it, as you can see.”

Indeed, the manticore’s round honey-coloured ears had pricked forward at the sound of her name. She tilted her head slightly at Cassian, as if she were waiting for him to give her a command.

Nesta bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears.

“But where will she stay?”

It seemed a stupid question to ask, but the words blurted forth anyway.

Cassian shrugged but the gesture appeared relieved. Had he thought she would turn Sala away? He must have asked Frawley to keep the manticore secret so he could show her the beast himself. “She can come into the bungalow if she likes. Manticores are needy creatures who bond fast to their chosen companion. She’ll like to exercise and hunt, but she’ll always want to come home to you. It is in her instincts to protect and serve.”

Silence fell. Nesta brushed her knuckles across the beast’s muzzle, just as she’d seen Frawley do with Caer. Sala’s purr was loud and she dropped to the ground as if she were in heaven, rolling onto her back and stretching her legs out.

Nesta mouth widened into an unstoppable smile at the sight — of the open display of trust and affection which Nesta found so difficult — and squatted down beside the manticore to ruffle her ears.

“Do you like her?”

Cassian’s words caught her, reminding her that he was watching her. His eyes were soft and wide when she twisted to look up at him. The faint ghost of a smile was still hovering on her lips.

“Yes,” she said, in a way that she hoped didn’t come out stiffly. “Very much.” Then she frowned. “What if I’m made to go back to Velaris.”

It was a possibility Nesta couldn’t cast from her mind. Even though Feyre had insisted Nesta could leave Illyria should she want to, Nesta could not help but fear that some event would call her back to their City of Starlight before she chose it herself. That her involvement in court matters would demand her presence.

Cassian’s expression hardened, showing a hint of the warrior she had been privy to earlier. “I promise you don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”

“But what if—"

“I don’t care if it’s demanded of you, Nesta. You never have to go back if you don’t want to.”

The way Cassian spoke was short and dark… and troubled. He truly meant it.

Another creak reverberated in Nesta’s ears as ice tumbled from a glacier. Cassian’s words had reminded her of what she needed to do — what Nesta had known for a while but did not want to admit. It was another path that had been cleared of vines and brambles, but remained laced with thorns. It was not an easy route, but it was what she had chosen. “I do want to go back.”

Everything stilled. The air went taut around them and Cassian’s angry expression shifted into something else entirely.

Nesta watched him open and close his mouth, the movement small but enough to indicate that she had stunned him. Eventually he said, “Ok.”

Another long, long pause. She watched him swallow, the column of his throat moving up and then down as he looked away. “We can move you back, if that’s what you want.”

Arrows formed between her brows as she frowned. Did he think…?

Stupid bat.

“I have no intention of moving back there permanently,” she clipped. “I have things I need to take care of. I’ll go back with you. You said you were going for New Year’s Eve.”

Again, Cassian’s lips parted. “You want to visit?” he asked with a disbelieving frown. “I’m going for a few days. I’ll return New Year’s Day.”

Dread twisted inside of her but Nesta did not let it show. Determination won out. She would not stray from her path. Her intention was bigger then her fear to return back to Velaris, to undoubtedly have to face member’s of the Inner Circle in their home — their territory. Where she had been broken and lost and so numb she could not remember the year that had slid by in a roll of bare flesh and the burn of alcohol.

“Yes, for a visit,” she confirmed. Then, she added, “As long as I don’t have to stay in that wretched new house.”

Cassian looked away from her. “Your apartment is still there.”

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Nesta thought of that cold and dirty apartment with its four locks on the door. She had never felt safe there. And it was not a place for her now. A different Nesta had lived there … and Nesta was not that Fae any longer.

“Where will you stay?” she asked.

“I usually stay with Rhys and Feyre or at the House of Wind.”

“Why don’t you have your own place.”

Cassian laugh was rough and throaty and it made the hairs on her arm stand on end. “Why, would you want to stay there?”

Nesta scowled, even as she asked, “How insufferable would you be if I said yes.”

“Very insufferable,” Cassian assured her, his eyes twinkling.

“No, then,” Nesta replied … and Cassian laughed. The sound was bright and so, so delighted that she couldn’t help the twitch of her lips.

“Shall I send word ahead that you’re coming?”

Nesta shrugged. “If you like.”

A pause.

“Elain will be pleased.”

“Yes,” Nesta said tightly. Already she was starting to backtrack, the thought of heading back to Velaris too much. But then she thought about her purpose and the courage it gave her made her stand that little bit taller. Stiffer… but taller.

“How about this,” Cassian offered, as if he sensed her trepidation. “We won’t send word ahead until the night before. Then you have the night to sleep on it. If you decide you don’t want to go back, nobody is any the wiser and it means you won’t overthink things.” His expression was carefully neutral. “You could even have Sala come to meet you,” he added. “The journey would help to strengthen her wings.”

Armour. He was offering her armour amongst her fire.

Nesta loosed a slow breath and played with Sala’s soft ears. “Ok.”

Then she looked up at him, those stormy eyes suddenly clearing to blue as a small smile crept onto her face — she was still in too much disbelief to control it. “She’s really for me?”

Cassian reached a hand downwards. It hesitated in midair, but when she did not move away his thumb brushed the dimple in her cheek with such reverence something inside of her glowed hot.

“She’s all yours,” Cassian assured her, his expression so soft he looked as young as her. “We can bring her inside now if you like. We’ll have to watch Caer, he’s taken a shine to her.”

Nesta woke the next morning in the small bedroom she had been allocated at the cottage with Sala spread out on the bed beside her. The manticore’s body was deliciously warm and Nesta raised a hand to scratch behind the animal’s ears.

Already the beast was Nesta’s steadfast companion.

Sala let out a deep rumbling purr that continued to vibrate as she knocked her head gently against Nesta’s in greeting, and Nesta allowed herself a moment to rest her forehead against Sala’s, holding her close and breathing her in.

The night of festivities had bled into the early hours, and Nesta had only dragged herself to bed when her eyelids had become so heavy she could barely keep them open.

Blearily, Nesta dragged herself to join her friends for breakfast before heading back upstairs to get ready to fly to Ironcrest. She was just finishing weaving her hair into a coronet, when a knock sounded at the door.

Cassian was wearing elaborate leathers that she had not seen before. He had scraped half of his hair back into a top knot tied tightly with leather and red cloth. The rest hung to his shoulders in gleaming ebony, as if he had deigned to run a brush through his hair yet again.

Nesta considered making a comment about how he had brushed his hair two days in a row but stopped herself at the last minute. There was a tense set to his shoulders that she had not expected to see given yesterday’s festivities. She doubted it was because he was hungover. Nesta had noticed that he had not gorged himself on wine like he had the year prior, only enjoying a few glasses over the course of the day, as if he knew he needed his wits about him for the luncheon. And, she imagined, so as not to drink excessively around her. Not that she hungered for a drink, any longer. She hadn’t for a long time.

The solidity to Cassian’s frame was the sort that he used to wear when she first arrived in Velaris. It was a stance prepared for barbed words and insults, even as he feigned casual joviality. A stance ready for a fight he did not want to participate in.

Perhaps he was worried about today… That was a possibility. She had heard him tell Rhys ‘no’ when he asked them to stay the night at Ironcrest. There had been no contemplation, just fierce, adamant refusal…

Nesta had a feeling it had nothing to do with his safety but her own. And even though Nesta had her silver flames and her beginner’s training in combat, she was still the female who craved four locks on a door before she could go to sleep. The bungalow was different, it had a magical protection that Nesta had cause to doubt, but in a camp where the General and their High Lord were out of favour…

Even as her power moved restlessly beneath her skin, Nesta hoped she and Cassian were sharing a room. She would gladly pretend to be seen as a couple if it meant she would not sleep alone in a strange place. Just the thought of it made her fire want to roar, even as the thought of sleeping beside him made her want to self-combust.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Cassian bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears with a large hand. “Ready to go?”

Nesta’s eyes snagged on the chain dangling from his other hand and her magic gushed through her veins as if it were a flood.

“What’s that?” Nesta asked with a scowl.

For a moment, Nesta actually thought Cassian was going to turn on his heel and leave. A muscle feathered in his jaw, but in the end, he only stepped so close to her she almost had to take a step back to steady herself.

Sala came to sit by Nesta’s side. The manticore stared up at them with her beautiful, almond eyes that shone gold as Cassian thrust a hand out. “Here.”

Nesta stared at the silver chain that dangled from his fist and the pendant that hung from it. It was so odd to see an impossibly broad warrior holding something so delicate that Nesta wanted to laugh — the first time the sound wanted to desperately bubble out of her in his presence— but she knew to do so would be a fatal move; a wound that could not be healed. So she swallowed down the sensation and tilted her head to study the necklace instead.

She hoped that he couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating in her chest.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Cassian swiftly changed tactic, steering her around so her back was to him. The movement was abrupt and uncontrolled, designed to stop her speaking and laced with something that Nesta thought she detected as panic.

The firm touch of his hands on her skin made everything hiss, like steam as water hit a hot pan on the stove. And once she had her back to him and the room stopped spinning, everything slowed. Hyper-aware, Nesta felt the movement of air against the arch of her neck; felt the way her body betrayed her and covered her in goosebumps as his calloused fingers brushed her neck. The pleasure at being touched coursed through her and she stiffened, suppressing the shiver that wanted to sweep her away.

She hadn’t been touched intimately in months. Hadn’t been touched tenderly ever and she found she craved for it.

The comprehension made her both sad and angry: a double-edged sword plunged into the gut.

“What do you think—” she started to snap, but she broke off as a light weight nestled on her sternum, a few inches below her clavicle.

For a moment, the stone was cool, but then it pulsed against her skin, as if it were a heart and it had been kicked into life for the first time. The pendant was a colour Nesta had never seen before - not quite gold and not quite silver. Understated but undoubtedly beautiful.

Nesta snapped her gaze up to Cassian as all seven siphons on his ornate armour glowed softly.

He was staring at her with apprehension… and he looked strangely vulnerable, as if he were ready to take a step back. As if he were about to take a hit.

Despite that, Nesta couldn’t help to stamp out the intimacy of the moment, even as her mind chanted for more. His head was bowed slightly towards her and she was so consumed by his scent that too much derision flooded her voice, “You’re giving me jewellery? I’m touched.”

“Very good,” Cassian snickered. His wary expression was suddenly replaced with determination, the shadows shifting on his dark, untameable features.

“I know you don’t usually wear jewellery,” Cassian said with forced lightness, “but I thought you might make an exception. The stone is made of pyrite. Pyrite is revered in Illyria for its protective properties—it’s very rare. It provides a level of protection over the wearer.”

Nesta fingered the beautiful pendant, the stone which was still warm against her skin. It reminded her of safety: of being curled up by a silent fire with a storm raging outside; of a hot meal settling in a stomach carved out hollow from weeks of barely having enough to survive.

She should accept the necklace and get him to leave, Nesta knew that, but her curiosity had been piqued even as something warned her to remain quiet, “When did you have time to hunt down a rare protective charm?”

A muscle feathered in Cassian’s jaw. Suddenly he was not looking at her again but past her, as if something had captivated his attention on the wall. “A while ago.”

And somehow she knew from those three words exactly what this was: the Solstice gift he had tried to give her.

All the fight bled out of her, because somehow Nesta knew that he had found this for her so she would feel safe. So when she closed the door to her apartment at night with the four locks or walked home well after dark in an inebriated state, that it would offer her protection. That even though she had rejected him and he knew that she was fucking male after male, that no harm would come to her.

At the time she would have been furious at the gift — at the audacity that he thought he should protect her. But that wasn’t it at all. It was because deep down, despite all her sharp words and his confusing actions, he had cared. And whilst post-war Nesta would have been so blinded by rage and numbing grief that she would have been unable to see the gift for what it was… the Nesta here and now - the female who was slowly emerging out of the dark - felt as if dawn was peeking on the horizon.

A lump formed in her throat. Had Cassian dived into the Sidra to retrieve it? When she had been so cruel to him and he so cruel to her? When she had lashed out because he would not listen. Because he had ignored her and flirted with Mor in front of her face as she felt discarded in the corner.

“It will provide you with an added layer of security during our trip,” Cassian told her.

Even now, Nesta did not want to discuss what they had been. What they could have been. So she said, “You think I need it today?”

“I think that I don’t trust Illyrian males, especially Illyrian males from Ironcrest. I think that you are stronger and more powerful than any of them, but I would rather die than have something happen to you on the off-chance that they got closer than you’d like or if they teamed up on you.” His words were a low vigorous rumble that shook her bones.

Then he hesitated. “And Illyrian males give a piece of jewellery to females they are promised to — it’s a symbolic gesture. For the sake of today’s pretence, it would be good if you wore it.”

A long, long silence where Nesta could feel Cassian’s pulse thumping against the skin of his neck. For one true beat, their eyes locked. His eyes were so dark and intense that Nesta couldn’t bare it.

She was thankful when they shifted slightly to stare right past her rather than tunnel far inside of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she conceded, unable to voice what she wanted to say. There was too much churning around in her mind, so she stared down at the teardrop pendant that glimmered against her pale skin.

“Good,” Cassian said, moving away from her with such abruptness it was almost military with intent. “Put it on and come downstairs.”

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#embersandlightfic #embers and light #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acosf #acofas #nessian #nessianfic #nessianangst #nesta x cassian #cassian #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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queertwilight · 3 years

Text

LETS BE HUMAN FOR A DAY

Pairing: Edward x Bella (others will appear as the story progresses and no not all are canon)

And yes the person you think is a witch is a witch in this

This was in my drafts, idk if I’ll continue I guess it depends on if it’s any good?

Part One: Eyes

“Green,” he says out of nowhere and Bella tilts her head slightly even though she’s lying on her bed and he can’t see her from this angle. They are currently lying on opposite sides of her bed with their heads close together, so she knows he can feel her head move in a silent question. “My eyes were green, when I was human.”

“Green,” she murmurs testing how it sounds in her mouth. She’s too close to his face to look him in the eye, but from her angle she can see half of his iris and imagines it turning green. “What kind?”

He makes a small noise of confusion, almost like a humph, and she smiles knowing he’s annoyed at not knowing her question. He says it’s her mind’s brilliance that makes him so curious to hear her thoughts but she’s rather grateful he can’t. He didn’t need to know the amount of days she has spent drawing golden irises in the margins of her math homework. He’d think she was insane. “Bella?”

“What do you mean, what kind of green?”

His voice brings her back and she blinks rapidly to try and distract from the heat she feels climbing her neck to color her face red. “What kind of green?” She replies, knowing if she answers fast enough he’ll forget to tease her about her blush. And it works like a charm, he furrows his eyebrows as he peers sideways at her. She wants to reach out and smooth the skin there. Revel in how soft and smooth something so cold can be, in how his eyebrow muscles relax automatically at her touch.

“Yeah,” she whispers in reply. Their voices are softer now, as they tend to get when discussing his human days. Days she can never be a part of, days she wishes she could grasp from his mind to brush away the hurt that comes into his velvet voice when he remembers his mother. If she could soothe his pain how she soothes his furrowed brow, she would without a second thought. “Moss green? Jade green? Grass green? Blue green?”

“Ah,” Edward sighs as he understands at last where her mind had drifted to. “I don’t remember mine very well but I remember everyone comparing them to my mother’s. Carlisle says they were emerald.”

Of course, Bella thinks, they had to be as brilliant as a gemstone. Even human, Edward was beautiful and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for accidentally making him remember his mother. “They must have been beautiful, though I must admit I’m quite fond of golden myself.”

His quiet musical laughter shakes her bed, and her heart leaps at the joy she hears in it. That is until she realizes something, “Are you- I mean will you? Be fond of them too?” She stutters out the half question before realizing she could’ve just ruined the whole day. He didn’t particularly like remembering her decision to join him in becoming a vampire, and though they were better about communicating she still felt uneasy in mentioning it. The last time she had mentioned her transformation they had sat down and discussed how he would miss her heartbeat. It had been a moment of clarity for her, to realize that he loved her so much her heartbeat had become his personal version of a lullaby.

“What are you referring to?” His voice questions to her breaking her from her memories. Bella purses her lips, wondering if she should ask a different question, but the quirk in his eyebrow lets her know he can tell she’s plotting an escape. Even as she feels the apprehension rising in her stomach, she can’t help but smile slightly at how well they know each other.

“When,” she looks away and up towards the ceiling, “you change me. I know you’ll miss my eye color, you’ve said as much before. But will you learn to love my new eye color? Even before they turn gold, when they are still red? Or - I mean you don’t have to and please be honest don’t edit your answer to spare my feelings. I understand if you can’t - I know it will be a drastic change and I won’t force you to I mean we can completely ignore this in fact -“

“Bella,” his voice is firm but calm. She pauses in her rambling to see that he’s sitting against her pillows now with an easy crooked smile on his face. It makes her heart leap into her mouth and she swallows to try and get ahold of herself. It wasn’t fair how his smile still held the power to take her breath away or make her heart soar. His smile was home in its crookedness but just because it was home didn’t mean it wasn’t without its surprises. Sometimes she caught him smiling at her crookedly from the corner of her eye and the simple fact he looked at her like that without her always being aware of it caused her immense heart palpitations.

“Yeah?” Her voice wavers slightly but it’s not in fear of his anger. No, she knows him better now than to think he’s angry, besides his voice isn’t harsh or cutting when he says her name. Almost as if just the idea of saying her name in bitterness or reproach would burn his tongue, her name remains soft and warm in his mouth. His eyes aren’t clouded with anger or pain, they glisten in the late afternoon light with the curiousity she has often seen when he tries to disentangle her actions.

“Come here, love,” he says as he opens his arms to her, and she goes willingly. Settling at his side, curled so her legs rest on top of his, she sighs as he presses a gentle kiss to her hairline. “I think,” he begins as he sighs, “I may have inadvertently caused you some insecurity.”

“How?” She doesn’t glance up, instead she grasps his hand that lies on his stomach and begins to play with his fingers. Their coldness helping to ease her growing embarrassment. Bella knew she had insecurities, Edward knew she had them, hell most of the town new everyone else’s insecurities. Yet there is a difference between knowing someone’s insecurities and having them spelled out for you, especially by your lover. Edward sighs above her making her hair move and sending a small shiver down her spine. He chuckles as he hears her heart leap, her face reddens as she realizes she can’t blame the reaction on his coldness - not when it’s ninety-nine degrees outside and the humidity in her room is stifling.

“You seem to be under the impression I love your eyes more than you,” his voice is light but marred with a hint of worry. Of angering her? She doesn’t know, but she just continues to trace the outline of his fingers. “Bella, I love your eyes because they are yours. I’d love them if they were blue, green, grey, yellow,” he laughs a little before gently moving so that their fingers intertwine, “or red. I’m sorry I made you believe your eye color was more important than keeping you forever. Because it’s not Bella, your eyes aren’t what I care about keeping, it’s you.”

She closes her eyes against the onslaught of tears she feels collecting, her nose burning and itching as she fights to keep herself from whimpering. She didn’t know why she felt such relief, she knew Edward loved her and though he was difficult about the transformation she knew he wanted her forever. Yet here she was about to start blubbering because he had just eased a guilt she had unknowingly been carrying around in her chest for a while. The fear of taking away one more thing he loved. She bit her lip as she eased her breaths.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured “it’s silly to be crying I know. But I guess we’re alike that way, you want to give me things and I want to do the same for you. Changing my eye color...it’s so permanent - yes,” she says rolling her eyes as she peers up at him through blurry vision, “so is becoming a vampire but that’s different. I’ll still look like me just...more durable. I can’t make my eyes brown again. It’s just nice to know that even if they won’t be brown, you’ll love them.”

Edward barks out a laugh and she can’t help but feel thoroughly thrown off. Had she said something funny? “No you didn’t love. I’m sorry I’m not laughing at you.” Oh, she had spoken her question out loud, well that saved her having to figure it out on her own. She tilted her head so she could watch his laugh shake his body for a moment longer before he smiled down at her.

“Care to explain what was so funny?” Her eyes were almost completely dry but her nose still burned and her voice wobbled a bit.

“I feel like a right idiot,” he responds as he lets another small laugh take over, “no wonder you haven’t said yes to marrying me! I’m here whining about taking your soul and you’re guilt ridden over harming me with your transformation. Goodness, Alice was right we really should communicate about things more openly. I could’ve saved you so much heartache if I said I love you with and for everything you are,” he grows silent for a moment before adding, “and will be.”

Bella smiles. It’s the first time she has seen him smile at the mention of her impending vampirism and hearing his confirmation makes her shoulders drop as he continues, “how is it we’ve confessed our love for each other so many times yet forgotten the basics of ensuring we help each other through our insecurities? For the love of all that is holy, maybe Rosalie should have given me therapy sessions.” He sighs as he squeezes her hand, “maybe then I could be more forward in showing you that I am excited in having you forever by my side. Maybe if I were human I could feel secure in me being what you want.”

Edward’s smile was only a soft curve of his lips and Bella couldn’t help but feel the honesty of his words. And then it hit her - “That’s your insecurity? That you think you’re not ... enough?” Her eyes searched his, and for once she saw passed the walls he kept up and down into the worry that lined his eyes, the insecurities that made his brow furrow, the way fear locked his jaw in place.

“I wish we were on level ground, Bella. I don’t want you to have to adjust things for me or to be with me. I just want us to be Edward and Bella. You constantly compare yourself to how I look and it kills me to see how dejected you look. To know I’ve praised your human qualities so much you aren’t aware of how much I esteem your humor, your sarcasm, your wit, your inquisitiveness, your compassion, and your love. I’d give anything for you to see that even human me with terrible coordination, probably bad eyesight, and no social skills would want to marry you because I’m that sure I’d want you till my heart stops beating. Perhaps if I were human, you’d realize you’re my dream, too. That I’d change everything if it meant you not having to change for me. That I don’t want you to one day look back on this and hate me for not giving you all you deserve. I want to be enough for you for eternity.”

Her heart had never felt more love, as she stared up in realization that he was every inch the insecure teenager that she was. Her who constantly felt the need to try and appear like she belonged at his side was suddenly realizing he was trying just as hard to appear that he belonged with her. It made her throat tighten at the epiphany that this was what kept them from forever: themselves. He needed to know she would choose him regardless of what universe they met in, no matter in what life they had been born into, in what circumstance. She needed to know he loved her for her not just her human qualities like her heartbeat or blush but her personhood. And she knew just the way to do it. “Would you like to try?”

“Try?” His eyebrows rose in question as Bella’s smile morphed into its widest and giddiest form. He could practically feel her muscles tightening with the sudden spark of an idea her eyes held. He traced her features quickly, this, he thought silently, this is what she could give him forever - her smiles, her expressions, her radiance.

“To be human,” she replied as she scrambled to get off the bed. She began zipping around the room as he lay in the same position they had just been in curled up on his side slightly peering down at where she had lain. “For a day,” she turned after a few minutes, “be human with me. Then you can see I’m happily in love with you no matter what you are or who you are. Let me help ease your fears too. Please?” She walks to his side of the bed and holds out her hand for him to grasp, “Let me show you that you are enough.”

Bella swears the fireworks in her stomach erupted into masses of butterflies as Edward took her hand in his. “How?”

Bella smiles as Edward’s brow pinches in confusion as she proudly states her answer: “Angela.”

#twilight #edward cullen #bella swan #twilight renaissance #effervescent #twilight revival #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #edbella #Edward x Bella #Bella x edward #bellward #twilight fanfic #angela Weber #idk what I’m doing I just got so bored guys #this was in my drafts??? will I continue it?? idk #angela webber #new moon #eclipse

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bondsmagii · 3 years

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anonymous submitted:

Let's talk about sleep paralysis! I have some wild theories, feel free to believe them or not, but this has been my gatherings after over 15 years of experiences. So - after years of Slffering from it, I've slowly learned how to control my sleep paralysis. I can morph them into cool/interesting incidences now, and have even begun using it as a jumpoff for lucid dreaming. (Disclaimer: Not reccomended if you can't control it yet, please don't try to induce SP unleash you're TOTALLY prepared for it. I don't want anybody to get hurt. And still, I cannot guarantee my own results. This took YEARS of practice.) Anyway, I've found that if you're able to force one small body part to move or jerk your head (repeatedly til it works), you can break out of patalysis at will. It takes some high focus, and becoming conscious of your physical body vs your sleeping self. You CAN move, it's just difficult. Jerk your head, snap your eyes open, or set an alarm if this planned. You'll feel intense heaviness upon waking and a strange desire to fall right back to sleep, but you'll need to sit up straight and fully wake yourself up to end it, otherwise you'll just resume it as soon as you fall asleep again. There's probably a reason for that, actually. What I may have learned through these trials is that sleep paralysis might just be the nightly beginning of the sleep cycle that we aren't meant to be conscious for. Let me run my theory by you. There was a point in my life where sleep paralysis would occur every single time I slept. Every night, it'd start with a buzzing hum that I'd kind of "melt" into, like tinnitus slowly washing over til it's all you can hear. And suddenly, I can't move. Horrific entities bearing down on me.I don't need to go into detail, you've been there. I didn't understand why, until I slowly realized I'd been conscious of the entire business of falling asleep - and that it was a several-step process. Body falls asleep first, mind follows. That's why most people don't remember the act of falling asleep and just seem to become conscious in dreams once they've already begun without you. You're paralyzed because your body is dreaming and you aren't supposed to be conscious yet. It's perhaps a REM stage that's supposed to be painless, nothing. I tested this theory by forcing myself to be calm through my nightly episodes. They would happen regardless, so I may as well try to make them less horrific, right? I would slow my heart rate using breathing exercises. I observed what was happening rather than panicking, and noticed that crushing weight on my chest slowly shift into this peaceful, almost pleasant sinking-down feeling. Like heavy water pulling you down, like a cool blanket of static coccooning around you. And sink down I did - right through this strange buzzing dark haze and directly into dreams. Most of them starting lucid. I was completely conscious of them, sometimed even seeing the dream world "load in" and fill in textures and buildings and skyline. It was surreal. I tested this over and over, and every time got the same result. If I "survived" the paralysis and just calmed, I'd drop into dreams. Sometimes I'd litrrally feel myself sink into my bed, going "below" consciousness. Soon I mapped out the enitirety of the process. Waking, pre-sleep imaginings, those imaginings getting surreal as my brain drifted, static hum overtaking, the ordeal of paralysis, and then I'd sink into what I began calling "The Platform". It was this shifting midpoint between dream-awake where it'd allow me to choose my own dreams. Sometimes I'd see dreams floating movie-like in bubbles at the edge of a void, sometimes I'd see a hall of doors, sometimes I'd literally land on a platform and build dreams from nothing, sometimes I'd fall straight through the void and start the dream flying. Now, as an aside, I am someone who experiences chronic nightmares. Almost all of my dreams have some "horror" element to them, to the point where I've learned to forcibly wake myself up by snapping my "real" physically eyes open. Now I'm overall

able to exert control over them, and overall more conscious of the state of dreaming. I can enjoy them like first-person horror movies and nope the hell out when shit gets too Sideways. The only ones that get me bad now are ones that feel real enough to hurt (real world fears like loved oned dying) ordered ones that deal with a specific phobia that makes me lose my shit. A lot of the method seems to do with "feeling" your real body outside of the dream and understanding that your dream/metaphysical(?) self is a separate entity. I wish I could describe how to do that better - its sort of how you center your body during grounding excersises. Forcing myself awake from nightmares and yanking myself out of sleep paralysis feel extremely similar. I've given myself a sort of Eject Button. Anyhow - I began talking to my SP entities and exerting some gentle control over the whole scene. Changing the power dynamic, de-escalating scary situations by joking with the entities, standing up for myself or catching them off guard. I still get terrifying incidents where I'm attacked or forced to view esoteric horrors, but, well.. I'm a horror movie fan. Sometimes creepy imagery is cool and enjoyable, and now I can cut it off if I want to. I'll even sass them if they get rude. I think I differ in beliefs with you in that I do believe that SP has a spiritual aspect (the same way that dreams do), but I recognize the psychological element as well. I think they go hand in hand, and in finding this I've been able to turn something that was deeply traumatizing into something pretty neat. Thanks for listening, friend. I'm sure this is long and rambling, but I felt like I needed to tell someone, and you seemed like the right person to tell. Be well, I hope you have pleasant dreams, or at least that your nightmares are very cool.

this is actually very impressive, because yeah. this is exactly how and why sleep paralysis happens! I always find it interesting when people arrive at a theory through their own investigation, and it adds up with official findings -- if the time and the place had been a little different, you would have been the person to pioneer the theory! but essentially yes, this is precisely why it happens and why it can be used as a platform for lucid dreaming. when you sleep, your body enters a natural state of paralysis to ensure that you don't injure yourself while sleeping. sometimes this goes wrong, but the usual failure is seen in sleepwalking -- the paralysis stops, the body wakes, the mind does not, and the person wanders around acting out their dreams or perhaps going about their usual morning routine on autopilot.

sometimes, though, it's the other way around. your brain is still awake, but your body is asleep. your dreams translate as vivid hallucinations, you can't move because of the natural paralysis (and this feeling translates itself as a heaviness, especially on the chest, resulting in the all-too-common description sleep paralysis has become known for: the feeling of something sitting or pressing on your chest) and the feeling of dread is likely because of the realisation somewhere deep down that something is very wrong; that you're not supposed to be experiencing this. some people theorise that's why sleep paralysis is overwhelmingly a terrifying event -- rarely do you hear stories of pleasant hallucinations, and this is likely because of the fact we're terrified on some level, aware that something is very unusual. combine this with the fact that sleep paralysis happens to most people only rarely -- once or twice in their lives -- and it's clear that many people don't have the opportunity to understand what happened and become familiar with it.

you're also correct in your observation that moving a small part of the body can snap you out of it. generally it's better to focus on a small part -- moving all of you is too much, but focusing on a small part like a finger or toe is much more effective. it takes a lot of effort, but the effect on the paralysis is instantaneous. the dread and the heavy feeling may take a while to pass, though. another trick to minimise how unpleasant sleep paralysis is is to keep your eyes closed. you can still sense things, and some people might hear things, but overwhelmingly the worst hallucinations are visual. keeping your eyes closed means you at least don't have to see what's crawling up your bed!

I'm like you in the way that I enjoy horror, and I also find sleep paralysis fascinating. now that I know what it is and how to get out of it, I very often just let it run its course -- at least until things get too repetitive or spooky, and then I snap myself out of it. it's absolutely incredible to see what tricks the human mind can play. the hallucinations are so incredibly real, and it's a brilliant opportunity to observe while being in no real danger. only a couple of times have I come across something genuinely paranormal during a sleep paralysis episode -- or what I thought was one, anyway. thankfully it doesn't mimic it exactly, so I can continue to enjoy watching the wild shit my brain comes up with in relative peace.

#sleep paralysis #anon #long post #submission

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

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Mind Over Matter || Dani and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @surmamort and @inbextween SUMMARY: Dani is worried for Bex when she realizes they haven’t talked in a while. They decide to go to Al’s to catch up, but someone else has other plans. CONTENT: Domestic abuse, medical blood

Dani felt as though she had the right to be worried about Bex. She had seen people disappear. Some came back, some didn’t. She didn’t know if they shared any mutual friends, so it wasn’t like she could ask them if they’d heard from her. Dani had only become worried after three days of silence. It wasn’t like her, Dani thought. Bex loved to talk. Had Dani fucked up during their last meeting? Had Bex had a little more time to think about it and decide that she didn’t need, or want somebody like Dani in her life? Dani thought about what Morgan had said that day in the thrift store, and after that, the way she-- No. She couldn’t think about that. She refused. What she had to do was find Bex. Hadn’t she mentioned being in pre-law? That was a good start.

Due to her patrol, Dani felt as though she knew the campus like the back of her hand. Though, her memorization skills were unneeded once she spotted her friend. “Bex!” Dani didn’t feel anything different from her. She hadn’t been turned, or bitten, or-- Dani swallowed her anxiety. “Hey,” She said as she walked over, dreading the idea that Bex might get up and leave without so much as a hello. “I’ve been texting you, you didn’t…” She didn’t know what to do with her hands. What was she supposed to do with her hands? She didn’t want to look threatening. Dani forced as natural of a smile as her muscles would allow. “I was worried--” No, that wasn’t it. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Human? Alive? Not mad at me? She carded her fingers through her hair. “But you look fine-- Great, even. Do you feel great? Sorry.” She forced out a laugh.

The agreement Bex had made with her parents had been a simple one-- drop all of the people in her life who she’d let drag her into the supernatural world, and they’d let her keep studying history instead of law. She would still take over the family business one day, but she’d probably have to marry into another family of lawyers. Her parents were figuring that part out, though. It wasn’t a fair trade, but at least Bex had one thing in her life to look forward to. Most of the people she’d already told she couldn’t talk to them anymore had respected that wish, despite the pained glances and the horrible, horrible feeling in her stomach as she’d watched the realization dawn on Mina’s face. It still made her entire body feel like lead.

The only person she hadn’t told was Dani. Dani was on the fringes. Her parents didn’t know about Dani. Dani was just a school acquaintance. And if she kept it that way, maybe she could keep her, too. Maybe she could have something good, too. She’d ignored the texts, she hadn’t meant to, but she didn’t know what to say. And when Dani called her name and trotted towards her, she still didn’t know what to say. “I’m, um-- yep!” she squeaked, swallowing hard. “I’m totally fine! Sorry, I haven’t texted, I’ve just been-- so busy. End of the term and all and the whole uh, major shifting thing. So much work! But I’m fine, really. I’m--” her voice cracked and wavered and she had to stop and clear her throat. “Sorry. I’m okay. See?” she held her arms out as if to put herself on display. “I’m alive.”

It was reassuring to see that Bex was alive. But Dani knew that in a town like White Crest, being alive could mean that you were barely living. When Bex showed her arms, Dani couldn't help but laugh. “Stop that,” she reached out to tap her friend’s arm, but her arm fell instead. She dropped her hand into her lap again and looked down at her shoes. “I guess I get the whole studying thing. You know, for somebody who… actually studies.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth before she looked down at her phone as it lit up with a text from Lauren. Deep breaths, she reminded herself. She didn’t feel like sticking around campus. Not that she ever did, but still. She quickly shot a text back to Lauren explaining she’d be home a little later than expected.

“How’s studying?” Dani asked. She didn’t care, not really. But she wanted to make sure that Bex was okay, and she felt as though only a few seconds would not clear that up for her. “I haven’t started. Honestly, I’m thinking of just taking the failing grade and getting that job as a janitor you recommended.” It was a joke. She actually had been doing some studying. She had already received a C+ on a paper she did entirely on her own. It was about the fall of the Trojan Empire instead of the Byzantine, but it had counted for something. “It’s good to see you haven’t fallen entirely off the face of the planet though,” She commented, looking Bex over for any bruises, any cuts. So she was… living a perfectly normal existence. Or Dani had hoped. Nobody else needed to be sucked into the bullshit that crept through this godforsaken town.

Bex was glad she was sitting for the moment, shuffling to move her broken, casted foot away from a quick view. If she could help it, she wouldn’t have to show Dani. She still didn’t know what to tell people except that she “fell down the stairs”, but then people would look at her more worried and ask if she needed help and really, she just needed it all to stop. She swallowed and looked back over at Dani, lowering her arms. “I would rather not have the W or the F on my transcripts, yeah,” she agreed, nodding, “if I wanna get into a good master’s program, I have to study.” And she did want to. And maybe she’d go somewhere far, far away from White Crest, away from Mina, so she could clear her head and just be normal and forget about the pain that was stuffing itself into her heart. “Sometimes you do just have to take the L, though, huh? I-If you need help studying, though, I’ve um-- heard that I’m pretty good at that.”

She shuffled the papers around on the table. “Nope, though I might’ve considered jumping into our abyss a few times,” she teased back, but, really, sometimes, it didn’t sound like such a bad option. At least if she was falling forever, she wouldn’t have to go home every night and wonder what the next day would look like. “How um-- how are you? I see you haven’t bit the dust pulling some heroic maneuver.” She motioned to the spot next to her. “You can sit, if you want. I’m almost done.”

It was obvious that the two of them were on entirely different paths. Dani had been certain that their talk at the falls had cemented that fact. Bex was smart, well established, and seemed as though she had a lot going for her. Dani, on the other hand… She was strong and capable, but all in opposite ways. Even though she had lied about not studying, she still felt a pang of guilt for not trying harder in school. Though, what was the point? Dani hadn’t ever dreamt of a master’s program. Not like Bex was. “Yeah, it’s probably important you do decent in class, then.” She knew that for many, escaping White Crest was the end goal. For Dani, the thought had never occurred. Even with everything that had happened, it still wasn’t something she could ever seriously consider. The town needed her. The people in it needed her, whether she was close to them or not. She wasn’t sure what she could do for them, though, when she had already failed so many. Dani forcibly cleared her throat, pulling herself from her own thoughts. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about me. Wouldn’t want to waste your time.” It would be pointless, Dani thought.

Bex’s words caused a crease in Dani’s brow to form. She refrained from telling Bex that it wasn’t funny. She instead wrung her hands together and took a seat at Bex’s guidance. “I’m fine,” Dani smiled. She wasn’t dead. She was still doing her job, even if it felt heavier since her run-in with the portal that had opened and swallowed her whole. But still, she was there. Living, breathing. It was all she could ask for until she wasn’t. “It hasn’t taken me yet, so…” She shrugged. “Looks like I’ll be around for a bit longer.” Maybe, she didn’t add. She looked down at her feet, and then towards Bex’s feet. The boot was hard to miss. “Yo, what the fuck happened to your foot?” She asked, eyebrows raised. “You held out your arms and everything, I thought you were good.” Dani scooted close, but not too close, remembering the way that Bex had recoiled from her the night that she had been saved from the vampire in the parking lot. Still a decent amount of space between them, she pointed at the boot with an outstretched finger. “You’re gonna have to let me sign the cast.” She froze for a moment, Milo’s face flickering before her. She shook it off easily and crossed her fingers. “Swear I won’t write anything weird.”

“Probably,” Bex agreed quietly, but the future was something she hadn’t considered anymore. Not since it was taken from her. Not since the one thing she did want had been taken from her. No, not taken. Abandoned. Bex had been the one to leave, not Mina. She folded up her papers and crossed her arms in front of her, leaning against the table. “It wouldn’t be a waste,” she said, looking sideways at Dani as she stretched her legs out. “I like helping others, so even if you ended up failing, it wouldn’t be a waste.” It was one of the few things left in life that brought her joy. She wished she’d never left, but there was no going back. Wishes were for fools.

“Well, good,” she said, glancing sideways at her. Maybe this could be okay. Maybe she could keep Dani. Maybe Dani could be her one connection to the world she longed to be a part of. Aside from Eddie, she was all she had. She could barely even bring herself to talk to Kyle, and he had nothing to do with all that. Well, except the werewolf thing, but they didn’t really talk about that. Not when it was still...raw. Bex glanced around and found the study hall getting emptier, and her heart began to squeeze. She liked being in full rooms now, where it wasn’t just her and one other person. No one could take her if she was in a crowded room. Her gaze dropped to her feet. Shit. “I--” was kidnapped and chased barefoot through the forest while my ex hunted me down and tried to take me away, “I’m pretty clumsy, remember? I just tripped on a tree branch and twisted it real bad. Stupid me…” She tucked her legs back in and fiddled with her papers. “Hey, you um-- wanna get outta here? Maybe go grab a milkshake or something?” Not that she could drink a milkshake, but she really didn’t want to be here anymore, and maybe she just wanted something good. Just one thing, please.

“Well, if I fail, I’ll make sure not to blame you.” Dani knew it was pointless. Truthfully, even if Bex didn’t find it as a waste of time, she knew that she would. She’d rather Bex focus on more important things, like whether or not her dress matched her shoes, or if she had enough time to grab a coffee before her next study session. Dani didn’t need to be involved in that, she didn’t need to take up somebody’s time, not when Dani knew her truth of where she’d end up.

Dani barely looked up at the sound of shuffling footsteps. She could see everything. At least, for the most part. She could hear it, too. She might not have supersonic hearing, but she had learned from an early age how to listen for things, for disturbances. For now, there was nothing. She didn’t anticipate there to be, even with the depleted crowd. Dani could tell that Bex was trying to figure out how to explain her foot and she felt a pang of frustration. Had something happened to her to make her this way? She forced herself to wait for the explanation, rather than jumping to conclusions. If she did that, who would it help? “A tree branch…?” Dani stared at Bex a beat of a second too long, eyebrows still furrowed. “Okay…” If that was the story Bex wanted to go with, then Dani would go with it. Hell, maybe it was true. Maybe Bex was the one person to trip over a tree branch instead of having some terrifying and traumatic experience that bent and broke her bones. Just maybe Dani could have one person that avoided all that shit. Save for the vampire attack, but Dani had taken care of that. Bex’s pause made Dani’s expression soften. Her offer stuck out like a sore thumb, like a cry for help from the amount of studying she’d been doing. Dani smiled. “Switch that to smoothie and you’ve got a deal.” Fuck lactose intolerance. She got to her feet and tugged at her own bag as she waited for Bex to gather her things. Did she offer to hold her bag? Probably not. Bex would probably hate that. “Where were you thinking? Al’s?” Dani asked, looking down at her fingers. Black nailpolish immaculately laid out in a matte fashion against them.

“How sweet of you,” Bex replied, rolling her eyes a bit. A feeling crept up her spine, like she was being watched, and she glanced around the room once before focusing back on Dani. “Yeah, yep, a tree branch. I went for a--” desperate bid for my life-- “hike through the woods and just wasn’t paying enough attention and caught my foot right on a root sticking out of the ground. Clumsy me,” she grinned, trying to hide the pain in her voice. “Luckily someone was with me--” my ex who was trying to kidnap me-- “so it all turned out fine.” Fine was the exact wrong word about how it had all turned out. Frank taking her had ruined everything. It had ruined her relationship with Mina, and it had ruined her home with Morgan and Deirdre, and it had ruined any chance she’d had at being happy. He hadn’t succeeded in taking her, but he’d done what his parents had wanted him to-- he’d taken everything else and left her with no choice but to leave. She swallowed again, feeling her heart beginning to seize up again. “Smoothie’s work better for me, too,” she agreed, smiling, “Al’s sounds perfect.” She stood up and grabbed her bag, stuffing her papers in, eager to get out of here and away from the feeling of being watched. “You’re driving,” she said as she brushed past Dani and hurried towards the door. This place was getting suffocating-- everywhere was just so suffocating.

Dani decided to take Bex’s explanation as the truth. She didn’t have a reason not to. She did however notice the way that her friend glanced around the study hall. Dani mirrored Bex and cast a few quick glances, but didn’t see anyone, or anything out of place. For the most part, everyone had their nose in whatever the hell it was they were studying. “Maybe you should stay out of the woods,” Dani offered her a lighthearted laugh and stretched her arms above her head. “But it’s good you didn’t get too wrecked.” The woods were dangerous, but something told Dani that she didn’t need to remind Bex of that. Once Bex got to her feet, Dani followed after her, not expecting the brunette to rush out the door. Something was off, but she couldn’t place it. Dani left the study hall with one last look over her shoulder. Nothing. She gave a concerned look to the back of Bex’s head as they walked out into the sunlight. “Truck is this way,” She pointed towards the opposite parking lot, not too far from where the study hall was. Dani made sure to stay a few inches or so behind Bex. Her movements were abrupt, careful, anxious. It was so different from the girl that had hung her legs into the abyss. Dani took a deep breath and shoved her own anxieties as far down as they would go. Once they got to her truck, Dani rounded the side to the passenger door and unlocked the vehicle from there. “The driver’s side is busted.” A lie, but Dani couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She waited on the other side for Bex to slide over and unlock the door for her, making a show of how the keys wouldn’t go into the keyhole.

Bex didn’t remember that from last time, but she didn’t really stop to question Dani. She didn’t mind having her close until she crawled into the truck-- with a little trouble thanks to her boot-- and sidled over, unlocking the driver’s side. She’d closed her own door, first, glancing out the window as she scooted back. Nell hadn’t just taught her how to feel magic, but after everything that happened with Frank, she taught her how to understand her instincts. And they were screaming at her to get out of this place. She looked back over as Dani crawled in. “No new stains, I see,” she said in as much of a light-hearted tone as she could. She grinned. “Is the radio working yet?” she fiddled with the dials as the truck sputtered to life, only giving a sigh of relief when they’d pulled from the parking lot and were on the road. No one could hurt them out here. She leaned back in her seat and let her head rest against the back, closing her eyes a moment. She was going to be fine. This was all fine. She pulled out her phone and fiddled with it, wondering if she should text Eddie. She looked over at Dani. “Thanks for uh...hanging out with me.”

Dani hopped into the cab. “Nah, it’s been awhile.” She had plenty of run-ins with different things, but none that had her creating new works of art with her wounds on the upholstery. It took her no time to pull out of the parking lot. She checked the rearview, as well as sideview mirrors. “It is, but we have to hit a certain part of town for it to actually be clear.” She glanced over at Bex, immediately noticing the way her features started to soften. Yeah, something was definitely not right. She held her tongue despite the questions she wanted to ask. It wasn’t a far drive to Al’s, at least. Soon they’d be tucked away in a booth, and then maybe she’d ask. Would Bex instead feel cornered? Would she feel cornered now? Dani was pulled out of her thoughts once Bex spoke up. “Oh, yeah. No problem.” The hunter didn’t correct Bex about how she had practically seeked her out. Instead, she reached over to the dial on the radio and began to fiddle with it. A staticy pop song filtered through the speakers and she looked over with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, this might be the best you’re going to get.” She continued to drive until she hit the turn that’d take her down the main street to Al’s. While they drove, she continued to look at all of her mirrors. Nobody seemed to be following them, but Dani still couldn’t shake Bex’s appearance from before they left the school.

The song jumped to life on the radio and Bex tried to let the sound of it relax her. She didn’t actually like the song, but it was better than the silence that let her remember how the forest had sounded, how the leaves sounded, crunching under her feet as she ran. Her body shivered in the seat and she shook it off, looking back over at Dani. “It’s fine,” she said, smiling, even as the hairs on her arms stood on end. No, it would be fine. It would be. There wasn’t anyone following her, it was just her own paranoid mind. She’d been thinking about it too much lately, she needed to just relax. Besides, Dani was capable. She could let herself relax here. They pulled up to Al’s and Bex turned to look back at Dani. “I am sorry,” she said suddenly, “for-- for not texting you back. Things have been...complicated, lately. But I swear it was nothing about you! Or on you. It’s uh-- more a me thing.” She figured Dani deserved the truth about at least one thing in her life. Her throat felt tight, but she felt an almost obligation to tell her. She hoped she understood. “But I’m working on it! And I...really appreciate you not, um, being mad or anything.” She felt the inside of the car growing smaller, suffocating her, just like the study hall had, and she reached for the door handle. “Shall we uh-- milksh-- smoothies! Head inside?”

Finally, Dani pulled into the parking lot. She glanced around before, checking her mirrors once more. When Bex apologized, she held a hand up and shook her head. “Don’t apologize. You obviously had your reason or whatever.” Dani didn’t go into how she thought Bex had gotten hurt, or how maybe she’d gotten sick of her. What would it matter if it were the latter? One less person to worry about outside the context of her job. Still, ever since having seen Milo’s end, the fear that everyone close to her would suddenly up and die was eating at the back of her brain. “But I appreciate it.” Dani smiled at Bex. She meant to reach out, to give her friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but the passenger side door was being ripped open by somebody she didn’t recognize. “What the-- Who the fuck!” Dani yelled, trying desperately to grab onto Bex’s arm as the man pulled her out of the cab.

“Yeah, but I just want you to know I appre--” Bex had started, but in the next moment, her door was being thrown open and someone was ranking her out of the car. She’d been facing Dani, she had no idea who it was. A dread had filled her up and she let out a scream and whoever had been holding her was thrown backwards into the car a few spots behind them. They hit it with a crunch as Bex’s magic exploded from her and the windows of all the cars around cracked-- some shattered. She fell to the ground, palms scraping against asphalt as she scrambled to push herself back to her feet, into the car, towards Dani-- anywhere. Her mind was dragging her back into the forest with Frank and she couldn’t breath, and her hands grasped at leather of the seats and she tried to hold herself together so she didn’t explode even more. But then hands were on her again, and she had enough time to turn her head to see who it was and-- “Frank!” she screamed, kicking out at him, “Let GO! LET GO! FRANK!” she screamed and kicked and she saw his missing hand and felt his arms wrapping around her again and she screamed. “DANI!” And she didn’t even feel metal slipping between her ribs, as her body fought against the shock of what was happening. What was happening again.

Dani acted quickly. She didn’t care that it was bright out, or that they were in a parking lot, and that anybody could see them. What she cared about was Bex being dragged away. She slid through the cab out of the passenger side door. Using her own would be too risky, it’d take too much time. The windows of the car next to her truck exploded and Dani barely flinched. Any action to save herself was inaction for Bex. “Bex!” Dani yelled. She didn’t know who this man was, or what he wanted from Bex. What she did know was that he was not undead, which meant that she couldn’t be certain if he was human, or some other god awful creature. What mattered most was that he was hurting her friend. She could see the fear on Bex’s face and it fueled her fire. Bex seemed to recognize him. Frank. Who the fuck was Frank and why did he think he was allowed to touch Bex like this? Dani threw herself forward as soon as she saw the knife, but she was a second too late. She saw it plunge deep into Bex’s side. Dani let out an animalistic cry and reached for the hand that was around the knife and snapped it backwards. He only had one good one. From this angle and with everything happening, Dani was unsure where the knife had gone through. Pulling out could risk bleeding out quickly. If it stayed inside, then she had a fighting chance. One arm supporting Bex from falling too far to the ground, the other still on the man’s broken hand, Dani craned her head back and slammed her forehead into the man’s nose. Pain exploded in her own face, but hopefully it’d be enough to distract the man with the now broken hand.

The commotion was already drawing the attention of those just trying to enjoy their day in the restaurant. Bex didn’t notice any of them, because her mind was focusing on staying here, in this moment. She stumbled back and the ground turned to leaves as she blinked. Leaves and mud and twigs and she should run. She needed to run. Except she couldn’t run. Someone was holding onto her. She cried out again, trying to shove them away. It was Frank, he was back for her, he had found her, she hadn’t gotten away in time. WIthout any control of her mind, her magic reached out and it wormed its way into Dani, and all the fear and the all anger and all the pain Bex had felt from that day rushed through it. She yanked her arm away, reeling backwards, falling to the ground again. She backed herself up until she hit the car. The pain in her side began to spread, but the only thing she saw was a forest and trees and Frank.

And something-- something wasn’t right. He was already missing a hand. He looked so angry. He hadn’t been this angry before. Bex’s gaze stuck on him. Something was wrong with him. She heard his bones snapping but he just kept going. He barreled into Dani and brought them both to the ground and started hitting her. “S-stop it,” Bex stuttered, “Stop it!” Louder, ears ringing. “STOP IT!” Windows blew out, car alarms went off. The pavement beneath Dani and Frank caved in and tossed them apart. She should’ve let Nell kill him. She should’ve let her kill him. Kill him.

Dani’s heart was loud in her ears. This wasn’t Milo’s situation, but she saw Milo’s face. But Bex was awake, she was alive. For the most part. From what she could tell. Dani grunted as the man shifted his focus from Bex onto her. She used the skills she’d learned from her mother, from the Quinn’s, from watching Adam, from just about anyone who had a hand in training her. She shifted her feet slightly, avoiding the first knock from Frank, but then something happened. Something changed. She felt anger seep into her bones, cracking and reverberating around inside of her chest. She could feel it in her throat. Deep, terrible, hungry. She barely noticed Bex falling to the ground. All she saw was Frank, and how she wanted to wrap her hands around his throat until there was no life left. Before she could, however, she was being thrown to the ground. The man was on top of her, his only, slightly broken hand coming into contact with her already broken nose. Dani reached up with her own hands, thumbs coming to the base of his throat, starting to squeeze. He choked and spluttered, but he didn’t stop hitting.

Dani could feel the blood running back past her ears, from her mouth and her nose. Blood dripped from his face, too. Carnage pooled around them and individuals stared on. She kept her hands tightly around his throat, envisioning the way that he might succumb to her grip. It was the only way she could make Bex safe. Before she could dig her fingers into his skin even deeper, he was being pulled off of her from the force of something beneath them. Dani continued to see red, it twisted her insides. She felt everything. Dani wanted to continue, she wanted to squeeze until the light left this man, the man who dared to hurt her friend. Somehow, she managed and turned to look at Bex. There was blood blooming at her wound and she looked dangerously pale. Fuck. Dani pushed past the anger, it felt like drinking poison. She hurried over to her friend and checked over the wound. From the angle, it didn’t seem to hit a major organ, but Bex was still losing a lot of blood. “We need to go,” She said coldly.

Bex blinked and she was in the parking lot and the trees were gone and she wasn’t barefoot in the forest. She was in the parking lot. And Dani was on the ground and she was bleeding and Frank was on the ground near her and he was also bleeding. Her body felt cold, hot at the same time. She was trembling. Her side hurt. She pulled her hands away and found them stained red. It was draining down her side and onto the pavement and felt nauseous. There was something sticking out of her. She wrapped her hands around the handle and pulled it out and she screamed as a ragged edge tore through her skin. Oh no. Oh no. She shouldn’t have done that. She shouldn’t have done that. Mina had taught her about knives. She should’ve known. Of course his knife had been serrated, it made for better tearing, it made it harder for a wound to heal, to close. “D-Dani…” Bex stuttered, looking around bewildered. The girl was coming towards her now but something was different. She looked so angry. She looked ready to kill. Maybe Bex should just let her do it. Her eyes fell to Frank. He was unmoving on the ground. People were rushing towards them. A siren sounded in the distance. Bex squeezed the knife in her hand. It would be so easy. She could walk over there and finish what Nell started. No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that.

Dani’s voice was chilling and Bex shivered again. She looked up at Dani with unseeing eyes as the world began to blot away. There was so much blood on her hands. She barely registered being lifted back into the truck. Her head lolled to the side. Wasn’t this all supposed to stop? This was supposed to stop. That’s why she’d gone home. If it didn’t stop, then what was the point? What was the point? Why had she suffered, why was she suffering? The engine roared to life and Bex sagged against the window. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep. She remembered how it felt after Kyle had mauled her. Knife in her side, just like claws on her chest. She scrambled to find some sense of preservation, like she had in the alley. She’d fought against the ebbing tide of blackness for Kyle. For Mina. For Morgan and Nell. She’d had something to fight for, then. Now, she had nothing. Even here in Dani’s car and with Kyle’s promise and Eddie’s hand, she had nothing. She closed her eyes.

Dani watched as Bex removed the knife and a silent scream bubbled in her throat. The anger she felt, it bloomed and bit at her, little pin pricks of what if’s scattered in her head. What if I killed him for doing this, what if I used the same knife he’d used on Bex, what if I-- She could see the blood more clearly now. Bex’s entire shirt was covered in it, so were her hands. Everything was red. An angry, sickly red. She felt her heart in her throat as she moved. The pain that blossomed in her nose, in her head-- all of it was forgotten. With Bex there, bleeding out on the ground, Dani knew she needed to work quickly. If she didn’t, her friend would die. The anger she felt still splintered and crackled across her skin. It took everything in Dani’s power not to turn around and stab Frank with the knife he’d used on Bex. She couldn’t do that. He was human. She’d have to let the authorities-- the human authorities deal with him. Walking away was painful, she soon realized.

But still, Dani managed to get Bex into the truck. Robotic in her movements, she ran to the driver’s side door and threw herself in. The engine roared to life and Dani peeled out of the parking lot. Dani looked through her side view mirror to see Frank trying to get to his feet, but the onlookers pushed him down as the police swarmed in. It took everything in her power to not reverse the truck, to-- Dani noticed the silence and immediately looked over to Bex. Eyes closed, her chest barely rising and falling. The blood continued to blot her shirt and Dani’s seats. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing into Bex’s wound, Dani drove, ignoring all stop signs and lights. The roar of the engine was the only noise to her ears. “Bex!” Dani yelled. She looked between the road and her friend. “Bex, you have to wake up! Wake the fuck up.” Her hand was covered in Bex’s blood now. It was hard to tell what was her own, Bex’s, or Frank’s. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d been wheeled out of the hospital by Nell. Now, she was back, and with an injured friend in tow. It was something she never wanted to have happen, but now it was-- was it her fault? She hadn’t acted quick enough. She had let Bex get stabbed, and now… Dani fought the urge to scream as she threw open her door with one hand. She awkwardly maneuvered around the cab, her hand still against Bex’s wound to try and quell some of the blood loss. She wasn’t sure how well she was doing. Bex looked lifeless. “Come on,” She breathed, pulling her friend out of the cab. Bex sagged in her arms, but Dani used all of her strength to carry her friend inside, having to release the pressure she held on her side to do so. “Somebody help!” Dani screamed as she ran through the doors. Immediately, Bex was removed from her hold and placed on a gurney. Dani tried to follow, but was being pulled back by a nurse who insisted she needed to be checked for injuries too. “Don’t let her die!” Dani screamed after them.

Someone was calling her name. Was it Mina? She hoped it was MIna. Bex didn’t move as someone pulled her from the car and cradled her in their arms and rushed into the building and Bex watched the world passing by above her. Clouds and sun turned into burning white light. Tiles. Her head lolled over and she was set on a bed. Faces appeared and Bex realized it wasn’t Mina. They started rolling her away and she turned to look back at who had carried her in. It wasn’t Mina. Dani. She looked so upset. She was yelling at the doctors, even as they struggled to pull her away, to look at her face. Her face was bleeding. Frank had done that. Anger roiled through her body again and she couldn’t stop it. She should’ve let Nell kill him. She should’ve let Nell kill him. She might bleed out now because she hadn’t let Nell kill him.

Why was this all still happening? Wasn’t she supposed to be safe at home? Why had Frank come after her again? What was wrong with him? Her mother had said she was safe from him. She had lied. She had lied. Her mother was always so full of lies. The doctor’s pulled her onto another bed and looked down at her and said something to her. She didn’t hear them. All she could think about was Frank. What was wrong with him? Why was he doing this? What if he hurt someone else? He’d already hurt Dani. WHat if he hurt Mina? Or Nell? She tried to reach up to them, to tell them she needed to go, she needed to find them and warn them-- but her arms wouldn’t move. Someone was hushing her, telling her not to move. She groaned, she needed to move. “Mina…” she managed to squeak out, “I need to--” There was something cold in her arm. She looked down to try and see but it was too late. In the next moments, sleep overtook her and she fell back to the bed.

Bex woke up to the calming sound of a beeping meter next to her. There was someone in the room with her, a blurry figure hunched in a chair. “Mina?” Bex called, but she blinked, and the world came back into view and her side was bursting with pain despite the I.V. in her arm and-- it wasn’t Mina. It was Dani. Bex tried to hide her look of disappointment and looked back up at the ceiling. “Sorry…” she muttered. She should probably text Eddie, he’d want to know about something like this. She was trying to figure out how she’d get out of here before her parents were called. She didn’t want her mom to show up. No one else needed to see that.

The moment that Bex was rolled out of sight, Dani fell to the floor. Every bone in her body hurt. She could taste the blood in her mouth, and every time she tried to speak, she could feel her skin pulling and stretching against the dried iron. The nurses in the emergency room fussed over her, leading her to an examination room. It felt like hours. Cotton swabs, tweezers, butterfly bandages, and stitches. All to put her back together. All to make her presentable for the outside world. With every few minutes, Dani had asked for updates on Bex. Was she alive? Was she awake? How much blood had she lost? She had offered her own, but found out they were opposite blood types. Then again, she wasn’t too sure how that worked with things the way they were. The anger she felt in the parking lot floated like an ember in the center of her chest. She wanted to find out where Frank was, she wanted to drive the knife through his chest. In the back of her head, she knew that was wrong. He was human. Even the undead did not deserve harsh, demented deaths. They deserved to be relieved from their suffering. But Frank? He deserved to suffer. She wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. For some strange reason, the thought did not scare Dani. Instead, it simmered.

Eventually, she was led back to Bex’s room after constant insistence. Who’d be able to prove they weren’t sisters? She’d been asked multiple questions about what happened and she had told them honestly. Somebody named Frank had decided to stab Bex. That was all she knew. She hated the idea of them asking Bex more questions, especially when she’d already been through so much, but Dani knew that it’d happen regardless of the details she’d be able to give. She waited in the chair for some time, every beep of the machine beside Bex’s bed loud and jarring, as if taunting Dani. You were too late. She’s gone. It’s your fault. Except, Bex woke up. She looked disappointed, but Dani pushed past the hurt that bubbled in her chest. Bex was alive. Dani didn’t give a fuck if she wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there as she woke. Dani rose from her seat, catching her reflection in an adjacent mirror. Bruises had already begun to form under her eyes and she had butterfly bandages peppered like freckles across the bridge of her nose. “Hey,” Dani said quietly, holding onto the side of Bex’s bed to keep steady. “Are you…” She looked at her friend. She was alive. Dani could cry! She wanted to reach out, to touch Bex’s hand, to hold it. She withheld. Her own bandaged hands, rough and wreaking of death didn’t deserve to ghost against somebody like hers. Bex was good. Innocent. Damaged, but who wasn’t in this fucked up town? Dani thought about how she had let this happen. How Bex had nearly died because of her. “I’m sorry.” She said, and it was quiet, barely above a whisper. She looked into her friend’s eyes. The anger burned hot, the tendrils of its flame licking at every muscle, every blood vessel. Just seeing Bex in the hospital bed made Dani want to leave, to find Frank. She steeled herself against the thought. “Is there… Is there anything I can do?” She asked. Fuck, she wanted to reach out, to show herself that Bex was okay, that she was real. That this wasn’t some new fucked up portal she’d fallen through. But that’d be selfish. Her own comfort was not what was important here. The fact that Bex was alive was what was.

Dani’s face was littered with bandages and butterfly tape and Bex was suddenly angry that she’d just gotten away with one little stab wound. Well, one big one, she supposed. And scraped palms, but that was about it. She held up her other hand to look at it, picking at the bandage with the other. Dani was apologizing and Bex didn’t know what to say. “Don’t apologize,” she mumbled. She was trying to remember what had happened, wondering if the bruises under Dani’s eyes were her fault, too. She could remember Al’s, and being in a car, and then being yanked out and dragged to the ground and-- “Frank,” she said, and her voice felt urgent, raw in her throat. She swallowed. “Where-- where is he? Did he get away?” Had the police shown up? She didn’t remember. All she could see was grass and mud and leaves and trees, curling over above her, blocking the sun, casting shadows of hands reaching to grab her, take her, steal her away. They’d won, hadn’t they? The trees. Bex pressed her palms to her eyes and tried to let the gauze on her wrists soak up the tears before they fell. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been caught up in that, I--” she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know how to explain it. Not in way that didn’t make everything sound stupid and horrible. She wondered if Dani would ask. She didn’t want her to ask. She looked back over at the other girl and saw the bruises and cuts and bandages again and reached out as if to touch her face, letting her hand hover just inches from it. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Dani could hear the ticking of the clock that was centered above the door. That, in combination with the steady beep of Bex’s monitors began to sound like a lullaby. She blinked past the exhaustion that had settled and reached up to tenderly wipe a blood clotted strand of hair away from her own face. They’d done a shoddy job of cleaning her up. Then again, she hadn’t really let them do more than bandage her up. She’d broken her nose enough times to set it herself, and the look on the doctor’s face had shown visible pain at the very act, but she didn’t care. She was fine. She wasn’t the one who’d been stabbed, she wasn’t the one who had lost all that blood. When Bex asked about Frank, she felt a pang of guilt. Dani had bargained with the idea of having stayed, of having watched life leave him for what he’d done, and though that anger grew hot in her stomach and felt like iron on her tongue, she knew that she shouldn’t feel that way. He was human. Or appeared human. The idea of pretending he wasn’t had also flitted across her mind, but Bex’s blood loss had been too hard to ignore. If Dani hadn’t gotten her out when she did, her friend would be dead. “I think they stopped him. I can’t be sure.” Her voice was low, barely audible over the steady rhythm of the hospital lullaby.

Bex was crying and Dani wanted to reach out, to comfort, but she didn’t know how. The rouge on her bandages from her split knuckles had already begun to peek out. It’d only be a matter of time before her cuts were worn over from her self-healing. She looked down at the way her injuries bloomed beneath the ace bandages and shook her head. “I’m okay, I’m not that hurt.” She smiled and looked up at Bex’s outstretched hand. She should take it. She knew she should. Instead, she reached forward and settled it down from where it’d come. She patted it twice, and though her fingers itched to linger, to feel the way Bex’s pulse vibrated beneath her fingertips, she pulled her hand away. This was a weakness. Caring the way she did for Bex like a sister. The question at hand being Frank, and if he’d gotten away, if he’d find Bex again-- it was too much for Dani to push away. “Do you need anything? Do you want me to call someone for you?” She straightened up and looked back behind her by the door. If Lauren knew that she was here, there’d be hell to pay and she knew it. “I told them we were sisters. I gave them a fake name.” It’d been quick thinking, and really, she wasn’t sure why she’d done it. “Mostly so they’d let me in to see you.” She took a deep breath and it felt like her chest was going to cave in. She needed to find Frank, to make him pay for what he’d done. But with Bex laying there, her deep brown eyes wet with tears, Dani wasn’t sure if she could make herself leave.

Dani only thought they’d stopped him. She couldn’t be sure. Bex closed her eyes and tried not to let the thought send her into another spiral. She was safe here. She remembered how angry she’d been .She remembered watching Dani pummel Frank. Bex ran her hands through her hair, wincing as a pain in her arm reminded her of the IV in it. She looked back at Dani and she couldn’t explain what she was feeling. She had no idea. She was feeling everything and nothing. She wanted to scream again, she felt like she was going to explode. Dani didn’t take her hand, because Dani wasn’t Mina and Dani wasn’t Morgan and Dani wasn’t Nell. She curled her hands into fists and tried not to protest against the drowsiness too much. “No, no, I’m fine,” she muttered, laying her head back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling. But when Dani mentioned calling someone, Bex’s blood turned to ice. They would have called her, wouldn’t they? It was on her emergency forms. Bex sat up straight and started pulling at the cords on her. “I need to go,” she said hurriedly. The soft beeping turned to a loud drone as she ripped off the electric patches on her chest. If her mother got here before she left, if her mother knew, if her mother saw, it would all be so much worse.

A nurse came bursting in only to see the scene, rushing to the bedside, pushing Bex back down. Bex winced and cried out, the pain in her side blossoming all over her body. “Relax! I need you to calm down!” the nurse turned to look at Dani sharply. “What happened? What’s going on?” Her voice hushed slightly as she returned her attention to Bex, struggling against her uselessly. “It’s okay, your mother is on her way, she’s almost here.” Bex froze, dread drawing on her face. “No, no, no. No, she can’t see-- no. I have to go, I have to--” But it was too late. It was always too late. Her mother always got there first. Her mother always found her first.

The pain and fear was recognizable on Bex’s face. Dani hated that it was there. She wanted to ease it, but she wasn’t sure how. She flexed her fingers. The air felt heavy, it felt like she was drowning in it. Her chest felt heavy. There had been fear, but then there was panic. Bex was suddenly thrashing in her bed, pulling at the IVs in her hands. It was the only time that Dani reached forward, trying to still her hands. “Bex--” Dani said, her voice coming out softer than intended. But it wasn’t any use. Bex was lost to the panic and she was spiraling. Dani didn’t know what to do. What had she done? Had she said something wrong?

Before she could reason with Bex, a nurse was coming through the doors. Dani was pushed to the side as the woman began to smooth her hands over the cords and IV that were attached to Bex. The woman snarled at her and Dani steeled herself. So she had done something wrong. Anger boiled inside of her, it coated her throat. She wanted to yell back at the nurse, to tell her that she’d only been trying to help. Bex was still panicking and she was trying her best to get out of the bed. Dani watched with a pained expression on her features as Bex begged to leave. Something about not being able to be seen? By her mother? Dani’s eyes widened slightly, and just as Dani was about to explain that she could take care of Bex, she was being ushered out of the room, the feeling of the nurse’s fingers digging into her bruised arms and back. “Hey--” Dani protested, trying to grab the door, “Bex-- BEX!” Dani felt another hand on her wrist as she was being pulled away from the room. “Bex-- Hey! Fuck off, stop it!” She cried out at the feeling of the man’s pressure on her wrist. He wore a hospital uniform, something about security. She was being escorted out. Why? Why? Dani could easily break this man’s hand, she could give him the same broken nose, it’d match her own, but he was human, she couldn’t do that. He was just doing his job. “Bex!” Dani yelled again as she lost view of her friend’s room. Something was wrong-- far more fucked up than she had originally thought.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: dani #domestic abuse tw #medical blood tw #dani #frank

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mst3kproject · 3 years

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Mars Needs Women

This is one of the B-movies that a lot of people have heard of, although I’m not sure how many have actually seen it. It was written, produced, and directed by Larry “They Just Didn’t Care” Buchanan and stars Tommy Kirk from Catalina Caper and Village of the Giants. Happy belated birthday to Mr. Kirk, who just turned seventy-nine in December of 2020. That’s not a bad score for a guy who’s done as many drugs as he has.

The planet Mars is suffering from a genetic problem – their chromosomes are so degraded that one hundred males are born for every one female! Clearly this is not conducive to the survival of the species, so a group of Martians have come to Earth seeking another solution: they want five female volunteers to return to Mars with them and find out if our genes are compatible! The army brass (all male, obviously) dismiss the idea out of hand, but the Martians cannot afford to fail. They will have their way with the Earth Women, with or without the Earth Men’s permission.

We all know that Larry Buchanan couldn’t come up with an idea of his own, so naturally this is a remake of sorts. Mars Needs Women was inspired by Tommy Kirk’s previous movie Pajama Party, which doesn’t sound like an alien invasion flick, but is. In it, Kirk plays a Martian named Gogo (yes, really), who comes to Earth as an invasion scout but decides not to take over the planet because he falls in love with Annette Funicello. Mars Needs Women dispenses with the teen hijinks angle in an attempt to be a straight-up sci-fi thriller, and fails miserably.

We get the normal Larry Buchanan types of suck, such as crummy lighting, appallingly awful day-for-night, a washed-out, colourless print, and copious stock footage. There’s a long bit where the air force tries to attack the Martian ship and fails, which is entirely stock footage intercut with men in uniforms staring at something next to the camera. We don’t see the flying saucer itself even once during this sequence, although they do have a model of it that shows up elsewhere and is almost definitely the best effect in the whole movie. Not a high bar, of course, but seeing as they actually appear to have spent money on this miniature, you’d think it’d get more screen time.

The Martians themselves dress like a sort of noir version of the Chicken Men of Krankor. Their costumes are black wetsuits decorated with duct tape and silver paint, with stupid antennae on the sides of their heads. It amuses me that the first thing they do after acquiring some ‘Earth apparel’ is complain about how dumb neckties are. There’s a mention about how they’ve been trained in ‘Earth slang’, which seems to have happened just so the movie would have no possible sources of humour. When I think about Attack of the The Eye Creatures, I’m kind of grateful that Mars Needs Women never tries to be funny, but it leaves the whole film relentlessly monotone.

The acting is pretty crummy, even from the main characters. Yvonne Craig (Batgirl – no, not one of them, the actual Batgirl) does her best with the material but the lines she’s given are such technobabble bullshit there are very few people who could deliver them with any conviction. Almost everybody else is bland at best. The women scream and faint, and the military guys tense their jaws and glare. The only decent acting moment actually goes to Tommy Kirk as he describes the conditions on Mars, the dying planet. His tone barely changes, and yet you can sense his nostalgia and regret.

Do I even need to ask if this movie objectifies women? Well, yes, actually, I do, and you’ll see why in a minute. The answer is a resounding yes and a good bit of run time is spent doing exactly that. Before the opening credits we see three blondes abducted in broad daylight, dematerialized by the simple means of stopping the camera, removing the actress, and starting it up again. One of these hapless victims is taken from the shower. We later learn that the beam-ups failed somehow, which I assume means the women died, but that’s apparently not worth more than a throwaway line.

Once the five Martians arrive on Earth, they disperse to go hunting for suitable subjects. The first one goes directly to a strip bar, perhaps on the assumption that the employees will not be married (he’d be amazed). We then watch the stripper dance at great length, cutting back to it repeatedly in between other threads of the storyline, which suggests that the Martian sat there for hours staring at her before making his move. He seems to have been the least choosy of the five, simply taking the first woman he gets a boner for. The others are a bit more discerning.

None more so than the leader, Fellow One (the Martians are Fellows One through Five, which did save the writers from having to come up with ‘alien names’ that sound like synthetic fabrics). He decides on Craig’s character, Dr. Marjorie Bolen, an expert in ‘space medicine’ and ‘space genetics’ (this may be 60’s for astrobiology). Her skills seem to be just what the Martians need. This character is treated terribly by the movie and almost everybody in it. A news reporter commenting on Dr. Bolen’s arrival describes her as a stunning brunette who found it hard to hide her charm behind her horn-rimmed spectacles, and only then moves on to her qualifications. She gives a news conference titled Sex and Outer Space, and the reporters who are supposed to be interviewing her have a laugh about the good time the kidnapped women will supposedly be having on Mars. The prop department can’t even bother to spell her name right – it’s written as ‘Majorie’ on a sign even though the r is clearly audible when people say it out loud.

In contrast to this, Fellow One treats her with some degree of respect. Their conversations about science are mostly nonsense, but you can tell what the script is going for. They go on a couple of quick dates, one to a planetarium and one to a museum exhibit on human reproduction (yes, this is weird and icky), and while it is rushed, their little love story is actually important to the plot in ways besides Fellow One deciding to abandon the mission so he can bone her. The movie considers Dr. Bolen a sex object, but from the beginning Fellow One sees her as more than that.

This brings us, in a sideways kind of way, to the thing I find weirdly fascinating about Mars Needs Women: the alien invaders are curiously considerate. They steal a car, but they take one from airport parking on the assumption that the owner won’t need it for a while. They request unattached women, not wanting to break up any happy partnerships. And most of all, they ask for volunteers for abduction! This makes me wonder what would have happened if they’d broadcast their message to the entire world instead of one group of soldiers. Humans being the way we are, I’m sure there’re lots of people out there who’d fuck a couple of aliens if it meant a free trip to Mars (or move to Mars if it meant they got to fuck some aliens).

The female characters even seem designed to want a trip to space. Dr. Bolen might well have helped them willingly in exchange for this unparalleled chance to expand her research, and she does find it very sexy that Fellow One speaks to her as an equal. Yet somehow, the idea never even comes up. At the last minute, she becomes the helpless princess who must be saved from peril, and Fellow One simply tells her he loves her and asks her to flee. Why not invite her along as a guest instead of a captive? It’s got to be worth a try.

The others can be made to fit this pattern, too. The stripper? Maybe she’s sick of being gawked at like meat and would welcome the chance to be among people who will treat her like a queen. The flight attendant? She might feel like she’s been everywhere and seen everything – on Earth, at least. The artist? A whole new planet to inspire her! The homecoming queen? She’s a journalism major. What a scoop if she can report back to Earth about the culture and history of Mars! I want to see a remake of this movie in which the ladies really are volunteers, who must help the Martians outwit the military so they can start their new lives on another planet.

Sadly, this is not that movie, and its exploitative aspects stand rather awkwardly alongside the embryonic feminism embodied in Dr. Bolen, overwhelming it more often than not. I do want to give it maybe half a kudo, though, for at least acknowledging that women can have interests and ambitions. I guess the point of the ending is that Fellow One has realized they need to be allowed to pursue those instead of being forced to breed.

Mars Needs Women is probably Larry Buchanan’s best movie, which is a statement on the same level as saying that The Beast of Yucca Flats is Coleman Francis’ – by any reasonable standard it still really sucks. While it has many problems, I would say that the one that kills any entertainment value is how the narrative totally lacks the urgency the title implies. The ending should be a race to stop the Martians taking off with their prisoners, but no, it saunters instead. If there were only some tension in the film, it could have been the guilty pleasure you’d want from a movie called Mars Needs Women.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #mars needs women #larry buchanan just doesn’t care #60s

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babycracker · 3 years

Text

Fire Meet Gasoline: Chapter 4

chapter rating: mature story rating: explicit pairing: morgan/m!oc (tanner drake) & farah/f!oc (sadie kennedy) word count: ~3k chapter warnings: none story warnings: eventual smut, canon-typical violence, au - canon divergent

read it on ao3 here

She'd expected him to dress down a little, seeing that they are likely venturing into a sewer this morning. But all that's missing is his jacket; he's still wearing his usual long sleeve dress shirt and vest though his sleeves have been partially folded back, revealing the smallest glimpse of a tattoo on the outside of his right forearm.

"You know you're probably going to get covered in crap, right?"

"Wrong. But if you want to keep doubting me, go right ahead," he grins an obnoxiously cocky grin at her before turning and heading around the warehouse towards the sewers.

It’s the darkest part of morning, the soft glow of sunlight only just beginning to peek over the horizon and she’s grateful that she doesn’t need light to see where she’s going, because if she did she’d be about screwed. Surprisingly, Tanner doesn’t seem to need it either. Whether it’s because he has above average eyesight himself or if he’s just used to reading the environment around him she’s not sure, but she guesses it's the latter. He has to be at least somewhat perceptive to be good enough at finding people to have caught the Agency’s attention. And as far as she knows, nephilims don’t possess any especially advanced abilities beyond their strength and speed.

She reluctantly falls into step beside him, the tattoo on his arm catching her attention again as they walk.

"What's that?" she asks eventually, curiosity getting the better of her.

"A tattoo," he deadpans.

"I'd worked that much out."

"You asked," he gives a shrug and she waits for him to say more, but apparently he's done talking.

"So one of your parents was an angel, right?"

He frowns over at her, "I didn't realise we were taking part in a team bonding exercise."

"Forget it, I'm not that interested," she doesn't even know why she has questions in the first place, let alone why she's bothering to ask them. Probably she just wants to know who she's venturing into the sewers with.

He lets out a sigh and she sees him cast a sideways glance at her. "My Dad."

"So do you have wings or something?"

"I do," he answers distractedly, his focus clearly on their surroundings rather than her.

"Really?"

"Do you have fangs?" he snaps at her, and she rolls her eyes. Fine. He doesn't want to talk, then they won't talk.

It doesn't take them long to reach the sewers, making it less plausible in her eyes that they're going to find anyone here. If there was a demon hanging around so close to them, they would've caught its scent by now.

His hand shoots out to get a tight grip on her arm as she starts to step out of the trees and he yanks her backwards roughly, making her stumble back against him. His arms wrap around her waist from behind both to steady her and hold her still, and when he leans down to shush her right against her ear a shiver runs up and down her spine.

She does as he says though, staying perfect still and quiet and definitely not thinking about how his arms feel around her or how the steady beat of his heart against her back makes her realise that he's having a far bigger effect on her than she is on him.

She's just about to ask him what they're waiting for when he lifts one arm and points in the direction of the main part of town where, sure enough, a tall, scrawny and scruffy looking man is skulking towards the sewer entrance.

"Told you so," his whisper is laced with a very subtle hint of sing song mocking, his chin just about resting on her shoulder for a moment before he lets go of her and steps away.

"Alright so what's…" she trails off as he steps out of the trees and walks straight towards the guy, throwing her arms out to the sides in exasperation as she finishes her sentence to herself, "the plan?"

She watches as Tanner strolls towards the alleged demon, who looks at him in confusion for a moment before recognition dawns on his face and he tries to make a run for it. Morgan readies herself to give chase, but Tanner's too fast anyway and wraps an arm tightly around his shoulders to keep him by his side as he walks him over to her.

His hand shifts to the back of the demon's neck, holding on so tight that Morgan can see his fingers digging into the skin. He pushes him towards her as though holding a stuffed animal out for her to inspect and raises an eyebrow. "Well? Ask your questions, we don't have all day."

"Don't we?"

"Well I don’t know about you, but I don’t have all day."

She scowls at him before returning her attention back to the demon.

“You’re working with a group of people, who and where are they?”

He just sneers at her before spitting at her feet, and Tanner lifts his free hand to smack him across the back of the head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not working with anyone.”

“You’re lying,” she glances at Tanner, who whacks him again before letting go of the back of his neck and taking hold of his wrists, holding them tightly behind the demon’s back.

“I’d tell her the truth if I were you,” he says in a low voice, and the demon scoffs and looks over his shoulder at him.

“I’ve heard about you. Heard that you don't play nice with others," he glances pointedly at Morgan, but Tanner just chuckles.

"Neither does she, so imagine how pissed off we both are already."

“Just cut the crap and tell me why you’re here,” Morgan butts in, and the demon glares back over at her.

“Why don’t you make me, little girl?”

Morgan huffs and steps closer, wrapping a hand around the demon’s neck while Tanner keeps his hands restrained behind him. She stares at him for a moment, a frown of concentration on her face before speaking again. “What do you want in Wayhaven?”

The demon sputters for a moment before answering, “word’s gotten ‘round about a human here, their blood can boost supernatural’s abilities.”

“How many of you are there?"

“Look, I’m just a scout, alright? I’ve only met with one other guy but I assume there’s a whole bunch of them.” Morgan glances up at Tanner with a frown, who just looks back at her with complete disinterest and shrugs.

“Who’s the one other guy you’ve met and where can we find him?”

“I only know him by Axle, he’s usually hanging out in a bar in the city.” Her hopes to be done with this mission and Tanner as quickly as possible instantly fade away, and judging by the look on his face, Tanner feels exactly the same way as they realise simultaneously that this means they’re going to have to travel to the city together.

“What bar?”

“Shakers.” Tanner sighs and releases the demon’s hands, and the guy slaps Morgan’s hand away from his neck and glares between them, rubbing at his sore wrists. “We done here?”

Morgan doesn’t answer, just waves a hand dismissively, her gaze focused on Tanner as the demon turns and jogs away from them, disappearing into the sewers.

“You know what this means, right?” she asks, and he rolls his eyes before turning and stalking back in the direction of the warehouse.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters in response.

Well. This is beyond irritating and quite frankly Tanner isn't finding it entertaining in the slightest anymore. He moodily trudges along beside Morgan, flexing his hands and then clenching them into fists over and over and glaring at nothing in particular and going over in his mind how he's going to track down Helk now so that he can get the hell out of here and the hell away from Unit Bravo.

“Well?” Adam asks before they’ve even made it all the way into the common room where the rest of the vampires are waiting for them when they return.

“We got a vague name and a vague location somewhere in the city,” Morgan answers, taking up her usual spot in the shadowed corner and leaning against the small table there.

“So when do you leave?”

“Uh, excuse me, what?” Tanner cuts in before Morgan can answer, and Adam turns to frown at him. “I’m not going into the city with her.”

“Yes. You are,” Adam turns away from him to address the rest of the group but Tanner steps forward, irritation taking over him. He sees Farah’s eyes widen when he places a hand on Adam’s shoulder and turns him towards him again. Adam’s eyes narrow and he pointedly looks down at Tanner’s hand on his shoulder before turning his harsh gaze up to his face.

“You’re not my commanding agent.”

“You were assigned to work with us, so at the moment I am.”

“I did what I was assigned to do.”

Adam finally shrugs his hand off of him when it becomes obvious that Tanner’s not going to move it himself. “You were assigned to assist Morgan in finding this group. You have found one person and a possible location of another.”

Tanner glares at him, his fingers fidgeting at his sides as he considers the repercussions of telling Adam to shove it up his ass and leaving anyway, but decides that the risk of being caught and disciplined by the Agency are too great.

“I guess we’re leaving now, then,” he huffs in obvious annoyance, starting out of the room before turning to raise an eyebrow at Morgan. “You coming?”

She glances at Adam who gives a single nod and she sighs loudly before pushing herself off of the table and following Tanner out the door.

“I gotta make a quick stop before we leave town,” he tells her moodily as he stalks through the halls and out of the warehouse, and Morgan jogs to catch up with him and catches his arm to stop him. It doesn’t work, but he does slow down a little and glance over at her.

“Adam’s not gonna be happy if he finds out you’re running personal errands on a mission.”

“Adam’s never happy,” he answers bluntly, shaking her hand off of his arm.

It’s not ideal, but he can make this work for him. If he’s going to be forced to work with a vampire then he might as well get some use out of her. She can help him find Helk before they leave for the city, because there’s not a hope in hell that he’s leaving this sad little town without the things he came here for in the first place.

“You still after this goblin or whatever?”

“Yes.”

“Why so eager to find him?”

“Because he has my rings and I need them back.”

She’s quiet for a moment before replying, “what’s so special about them?”

He turns to face her with what’s almost a low growl, narrowing his eyes at her. “They’re mine.”

“Yeah, but do they do anything?”

“Two of them do,” he’s growing increasingly annoyed with the relentless questioning.

“And the rest?”

“The rest are none of your fucking business.”

“I think if you’re planning on roping me into helping you get them back then it kind of is my business.”

He rolls his eyes and starts walking again, not bothering to check if she’s following before calling back over his shoulder, “no one’s making you hang about, sunshine.”

It takes a minute but he hears her jogging again to catch back up with him, and he glances over at her when she falls back into step beside him. “Do you have any ideas where he is?”

“I think so.”

“Then let’s get it over with so we can get back to work.”

He doesn’t reply, a little surprised that she’s agreed to help him so easily but mostly because he doesn’t want to appear too grateful for her agreement. She already knows that he wants them back, she doesn’t need to know how desperately.

Even she can barely keep up with how efficiently he can get information out of people and how quickly he can put the pieces together and work out exactly where someone is. It’s actually quite impressive, not that she’d ever tell him that.

She spends the rest of the morning tailing him, watching him work his charms on several of the shopkeepers and workers of Wayhaven, getting snippets of information from each of them about a strange man that none of them recognise wandering about town, until they make it to their last stop; a jewellery store at the end of the main street.

Apparently a “funny looking little man” who had introduced himself as Bill had been here only an hour before them, claiming that he had some rings for sale and had gone home to retrieve them and bring them back to be valued.

“Maybe he has something closer to what we’re looking for, darling,” it takes her a moment to realise that he’s talking to her, and she blinks up at him while he watches her expectantly. After a few seconds he gives up and subtly rolls his eyes at her. “Come on, we’ll have a look around while we wait.”

She tenses when he slings an arm over her shoulders and leads her away from the cashier and to the other side of the store, glancing over his shoulder before moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist to lean down closer to her ear.

“Thought you’d be better at role play than this,” he murmurs, and she slaps at his hands until he lets go of her.

“I’m better at it when I know it’s coming. What, you’re just gonna wait here for him?”

“Yep.”

Before she can launch into a speech about how stupid his plan is, the bell at the door rings and she looks over to see a small and dreadfully ugly man walk into the store holding a small black velvet bag.

“Is that him?” Tanner asks her, giving her an irritating ‘told you so’ smirk and she shrugs.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” She turns to face Tanner, her eyes on the man as he suddenly turns and looks at them, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “He’s watching us.”

Tanner lets out a barely audible but obviously frustrated groan before pushing her away from him and spinning around.

“Bill, is it?” There’s no small amount of sarcasm in his voice, and the goblin’s eyes widen as he almost drops the small bag that he’s holding.

“Tanner!” he exclaims, slowly starting to back up towards the door.

“I believe you have some things of mine in there,” Tanner gestures to the bag but barely makes it one step closer to him before who is now obviously Helk turns tail and takes off out the door and down the street.

“Oh for fuck sake,” Tanner mutters before starting out after him, but before he even makes it onto the street Morgan is chasing after him on her own, and by the time Tanner gets outside she’s got a hold of the goblin’s arm and is leaning against the wall waiting for him.

Tanner grins at her and gives a nod of appreciation as he calmly walks over to them and holds his hand out. “My rings?”

“I- um. I was gonna give the important ones back, I swear.”

“They’re all important.”

“I thought there was only those two that-”

“You thought wrong, now give them back.” Tanner cuts in, and Morgan wonders what the two in question are actually for and why this goblin seems to know about it while Tanner refuses to tell her.

“You don’t get it, I need the money.”

“No, you don’t get it, so let me make it clear to you. I will break a finger for every minute that goes by without you giving them back to me. Starting now.”

“Tanner, wait,” she protests. Adam will not be pleased if he finds out they’ve injured someone for personal reasons. His gaze snaps up towards her and he nods down the street.

“You don’t like it, go and wait around the corner,” he snatches the goblins arm away from her and gives him a smile which - under a different circumstance - could be considered friendly before taking his hand in both of his and bending his pointer finger backwards.

“You should listen to your girlfriend, half-breed,” the goblin taunts, giving him a smirk and a wave of anger crashes over Morgan. She narrows her eyes and comes to stand beside Tanner, taking Helk’s other hand in hers.

“You want us to break two at a time?” she ignores the way Tanner glances over at her, something other than arrogance or annoyance on his face for once - maybe he even looks a little impressed with her - and keeps her gaze on the goblin.

“Alright, alright,” Helk snatches his hand away from her and digs into his pocket for the bag, pushing it into Tanner’s chest and shaking his hands when he gets them free. “Jeez, didn’t take you for such a sentimental little thing.”

“You want me to break your fucking hand anyway? Piss off.” Tanner spits at him, and the goblin glances between them hesitantly for a moment before turning and taking off down the street.

“So can we get going now?” Morgan asks and he gives a distracted nod, though it doesn’t really seem like he’s even heard her as he opens the bag and empties its contents into his palm. A small sigh of relief escapes him as he slides the rings back onto his fingers, pausing at a small and delicate looking silver band and closing his eyes for a moment before slipping it onto his pinky finger.

She decides against asking what the deal is with that ring in particular, she doesn’t care enough to be willing to deal with his attitude about it again.

“Yeah, lets go,” he finally answers, holding his hands out and looking at them with a satisfied nod before turning his attention to her. “We driving or are you just gonna run there?”

“I’m not getting in a car with you,” she retorts, and he shrugs and hands her a small scrap of paper with an address written on it before turning and walking back towards the tree line.

“Why the fuck would I drive if I don’t need to? Meet me there.” he calls over his shoulder, glancing around him carefully before a massive pair of light grey wings extend from the centre of his back and he’s gone.

tags (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @admdmrtn @masonsfangs @oxjenayxo @mmerengue @agentsunshine @bravomckenzie @freckles-spangledvampire @mistyeyedbi @agentnolastname @kelseaaa @detectivewiseman @utterlyinevitable @masonscig

#twc writing #the wayhaven chronicles #unit bravo #a du mortain #n sewell #f hauville #twc morgan #tanner drake #sadie kennedy #fire meet gasoline #chapter update #n*fw #kat writes

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janekfan · 4 years

Note

How about this witcher prompt: Jaskier suffers a throat infection resulting in not being able to talk. Geralt thinks it's a blessing. Then Jaskier develops a sepsis

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867821/chapters/65555047

Sorry that took so long! But here we go and I hope you like it! It ended up becoming chapter one of a larger project :3

Oh, he’s having a right time with this. Jaskier sipped his tea, hot as his sore throat could manage and grimaced at the sharp sting. He thinks I can’t see his smug grin. Last night, Jaskier had gone to sleep after a rough performance with an aching behind his tongue and woken to full fledged agony, and no he wasn’t being dramatic, it hurt, and unable to speak. After finishing his gruff assessment of him, Geralt had prescribed hot tea, plenty of water, and even so magnanimously agreed to stay one more day at the inn and for that, the bard was grateful. The thought of sleeping out in the rough feeling this dreadful inspired many a woeful ballad. If only he could sing them. But his voice was quite and thoroughly gone. Something Geralt found amusing to say the least.

“What a pleasant day this is proving to be, wouldn’t you say, bard?” Jaskier glowered, setting the cup aside and burrowing deeper into the inadequate bedclothes. He was positively freezing, clenching his jaw to avoid chattering his teeth, because while Geralt seemed to be in relative good humor, he could just as easily leave without him. “Ah, I forgot, you can’t.” Petulant, Jaskier stuck out his tongue and twisted up his face, turning away in the bed to curl up in his misery. He’d sleep this off. A good, restful day would clear whatever this was right up.

And of course, with his terrible luck, it didn’t and he woke in the early evening so incredibly thirsty, cursing himself for sleeping throughout the entire day. He downed the cold tea, whimpering and holding his neck at the burn of it, and noticed that Geralt was gone. The flash of fear at being abandoned was tempered by seeing armor and packs by the door, but Jaskier felt very suddenly alone. He longed for something warm to sip but after barely making it to the rough hewn pitcher to pour himself the last bit of water, he decided against a trip down the stairs. He would fall and make an embarrassment of himself and that wouldn’t do. Jaskier was exhausted and aching, a headache making itself at home behind his eyes and the throbbing, pulsing agony in his throat made tears spring to his eyes. Sleep. Sleep would make it all go away, at least for a little while, and he staggered back into bed to will himself to sleep. At least when Geralt came back he’d be warm.

The next morning dawned cheery and bright, the wretch, and Jaskier woke perhaps even worse off than yesterday. But he was met by a cup of medicated tea if the smell was anything to go by, being thrust into his face and Geralt saying he’d be waiting with Roach, but not without one more jab about his lost vocal talents. It was bringing him no end of amusement.

“Take your time.” Ah, that was nice of him and by the looks of things, Jaskier would need a fair bit of it. The weakness in his legs didn’t bode well for a day of travel. He was about to collapse and the day hadn’t even truly started. But he forced himself up, reeling as the room spun sideways, and very carefully limped down the stairs. He offered up a wan smile, trembling under all his layers.

Geralt looked furious.

He’d taken forever, he knew, but he really was trying his best, and as the sun rose high and the chills became worse, Jaskier fell behind. He could hear Roach, Geralt was traveling at a much slower pace than he normally would, and Jaskier would be grateful if he wasn’t focused so hard on the weight of his lute pulling him toward the forest floor. Everything hurt and the tears springing to his eyes almost had time to fall before he remembered himself. Geralt wasn’t a fan of his over emotional displays and without words he wasn’t able to express just how poorly he really was. No cure but to walk on. Stumble on. His weaving steps slowed him further, enough that Roach had been turned back around.

“G--” Like swallowing a blade, and the syllables died on his lips. Oh goddess. He was going to be ill and was, thankfully not all over Roach’s hooves, and the fire of it drove him to hands and knees.

“Jaskier?” The thump of heavy boots hitting the ground was all the warning he got before a rough, blessedly cool palm pressed itself over his forehead. “Alright.” Jaskier could have sobbed as Geralt grabbed his bicep and dragged him, supported him, a little ways down the path. There was enough space here to set up a small camp and Geralt threw down his bedroll, dropping Jaskier on top of it and going about the motions that suggested they’d stay for at least a little while. The bard held his breath, tried to inhale, exhale in a way that didn’t make everything hurt worse and had almost dropped off to sleep when more tea was thrust under his nose. Willow bark and something else. And even if his stomach did feel up to it, the promise of even a modicum of relief was a heady thing, and Jaskier downed the cup even though it was too hot, falling back and curling into the rough wool.

Late afternoon sun lancing across his face woke him up and Jaskier was not well pleased at how sick he still felt. It was unlike him to be laid low like this. He shifted his head, drawing a shaky half breath, and found Geralt tending to the fire. He was so thirsty with no way to tell him and no way to get up. He hadn’t been drinking enough and tried to gesture, nimble fingers uncoordinated and frightened because of it.

“Go back to sleep, Jaskier.” With no other recourse, he did as he was told.

This time, Geralt’s hand on his cheek pulled him up out of the dark place he’d gone. The witcher tutted, levering him up and holding more tea to his lips, only this time Jaskier could barely swallow, the pain was so great, and rather than waiting on him to finish, he pressed the cup into his quaking hands. Jaskier wasn’t sure he could even lift it. So he didn’t. Just watched blearily as Geralt broke camp, tied his lute to the saddle and that was good. Except there was no way he’d be able to stand, he could tell, and the thought prompted the tears to slip silently down his face and off his chin. He was going to be left here to die. Because he was human and weak and useless. Geralt could sell off his instrument for a good price, make up for the time Jaskier wasted slowing him down. The tea dropped from his fingers and he hid his face behind his hands. Geralt didn’t like it when he was emotional. Better to hide it. Better not to see him walk away from him. At least then he could pretend that he hadn’t left him.

“Jaskier?” He risked a glance and wished he hadn’t. Disappointment and frustration. With him. Always with him. He hadn’t meant to get sick. He hadn’t meant to. “You’ll have to hold on.” Hold on? To what? And the answer came moments later when he was hoisted onto Roach’s back like he weighed nothing at all and Geralt mounted in front of him. “Hold on.” Tentative, confused, Jaskier threaded his arms around the witcher’s waist, hugging him for lack of a better term and burying his cheek into a warm shoulder. Hold on. Easy enough. Even he could do that, right?

Apparently not, and Geralt’s gruff demands for him to hold on and stay awake and don’t fall became increasingly intrusive. Jaskier didn’t want to do those things. He wanted to stop moving and sleep, he didn’t even care anymore about how mad his failures were making Geralt. The alternating stripes of trees and beams of sun passed by too quickly, dizzying him and it seemed like everywhere he looked there was more of it and he couldn’t keep up. The speed was too great, he was being shaken from his precarious perch and his arms were so numb he couldn’t feel them where they’d let go of Geralt.

An attenuated moment passed where Jaskier was completely airbourne. He’d fallen from horses before. He knew how to fall. But he couldn’t get anything to work with him, all deadweight and drained. When he hit the ground, the hard impact wasn’t even bad enough to distract from the stoked embers burning up in his throat and he laid there, listening to Roach’s nickering and uneven gait as she turned around. He was cold. He was hot. He was nothing at all and Geralt’s shout of surprise sounded like it had come to him from miles away underwater. Jaskier knew he was being touched, knew he was being lifted, even knew he was being yelled at, but it seemed like it was all happening to someone else. Someone far away from all this. He’d tried. He had. But like always, it hadn’t been good enough.

“Jaskier!” Growling, loud and rough, and he couldn’t open his eyes long enough to see the rage painted there. The light was too bright, blinding and blistering, adding to the fire and the heat and Jaskier wasn’t able to stay conscious even through the witcher’s shouting.

An indeterminate stretch of time passed and Jaskier wouldn’t be able to tell anyone all of what occurred within. It was a haze of hurting and being touched by unfamiliar hands. Maneuvered whether he wanted it to happen or not. Horrible tinctures poured down his throat that made him shed silent tears because he was nothing without his voice and no one would listen to what his body was trying to say. He was helpless, frightened, confused. Glimpses of familiar white hair caused him to weep because he was sorry, so, so sorry that he’d done this, even if he wasn’t completely sure what ‘this’ was. Damp clothes soothed some of the blistering and there were moments in between the suffering where he was sure he’d never again open his eyes.

But he did.

And he felt dreadful. So sick. Still pained and barely able to lift a finger. Gently, as though he might break, a cool flannel swept over his hot face, down his cheek and the warm compress over his throat was adjusted, wafting the strong scent of garlic into the air. He must have made a face because a familiar chuckle rang out somewhere to the left of him.

“Jaskier?” Soft and kind and he did Geralt the courtesy of tipping his face toward him but didn’t remember much after that.

“You should’ve told me.” Jaskier glared weakly, pained, wrung out and still so, so tired, and Geralt had the sense to look shamed. After a strict regimen of teas, potions, and elixirs from the village healer, Jaskier appeared to be on the mend, albeit slowly. The witcher explained, for what was probably the seventh time seeing as he couldn’t hold a thought in his head for longer than a moment when he first began to wake, that he’d succumbed to a blood infection. “I should have noticed sooner." He fussed, tucking the blankets closer around him, smoothing them out and brushing back his sweat-soaked fringe. "Shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” With an obscene amount of effort, Jaskier patted Geralt’s hand where it now rested on the sheets beside him, letting it linger there, absorbing the warmth.

All forgiven.

Or it would be after a few more days of attentive doting.

#The witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #sick #illness #prompt #caretaking

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shadowed-yet-vibrant · 3 years

Text

Something Was Burning

Izaya x Shizuo

Word Count: 2050

CW: vehicle accident, blood

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

The end was supposed to have dignity. At least, with as much dignity as someone like him could hope to have when he took his last breath. Be it at the end of a gun or beneath the blade of a knife, there was supposed to be someone left for him to smirk at, the fleeting opportunity for one last laugh. The inevitable death was never supposed to be a sign of defeat, but rather the earnest embrace of karma’s overdue hands around his throat.

It wasn’t supposed to end pinned between pieces of crumpled metal, nothing but a seatbelt left to suspend him above a sea of broken glass. Not alone, without an enemy in sight, without any of the intimacy that would come from something as tantalizing as murder. Not an accident that arose without any greater purpose, no motive emerging from deep inside a broken human heart.

But something was burning.

Above all else, Izaya ached. He could hear himself gasping for breath as though he were listening in from a distance, a shaky rattle coming from a bruised chest. The belt across his middle had taken the brunt of the impact, and it was from there the pain radiated outwards, a reminder of how just one piece of fabric had kept him from launching to certain death. His ribs had paid for the small modicum of safety, the pain of mortality left in place of what would have otherwise been blissful nothingness.

Something was burning.

Plastic, melting rubber, and chemicals on the verge of combustion, a caustic mixture which had launched a frontal assault on his tender senses. But there was nowhere for the man to run, and even if he had been able to free himself from the wreckage, he suspected the pain shooting up his right leg may have rendered such an attempt futile regardless.

Izaya craned his neck to look at the car door above him, confirmation that the vehicle had indeed been thrown on its side in the crash. The last thing he had been able to comprehend was the truck speeding into the intersection and making contact with the driver’s side door in a brilliant flash of light. He felt no need to look forward toward the driver: there was no question the man was dead.

However dazed he was from the pain, Izaya could feel his mind struggling to give him a way out, a computational process which had started the moment the car had come to a halt on its right side. Within moments he had calculated how long until the flames would reach him in the back of the cabin, and to place the estimate above mere minutes would be unrealistic.

At the same time he had been running through the options to free himself from the wreckage, and was coming up painfully empty. Though he hadn’t yet put eyes on it, he knew his knife was no longer nestled up against his body. Its familiar weight was gone, a gaping absence in its place. It was the same case with his cell, both small objects having been ejected from his pockets during the cash. Unless he was able to release himself from the seatbelt and heave himself up through the window, he was still damned to burn.

He moved his hands to try and undo the belt, silently cursing Namie for pestering him about it so often that it had become habit. Though he would have surely died without it, in the moment he thought a quick death would have been somewhat more noble than this embarrassment.

It was only when he was fumbling for the belt did he take another look at this right leg, an area from which the pain was only growing more intense with each passing moment. There was little that could bring Izaya shock any more, but his stomach flopped as he took in the sight in full. His limb extended outwards from his hip with a sense of familiarity, but it disappeared into a gnarled hunk of door pressed up against the seat in front of him. The wreckage had him pinned, his leg stuck in a vice that no human feat of human strength could ever pry open.

Were there more time at hand, Izaya would have cursed to the skies. He would have reached forward and attempted to wrench himself free, emerge from the wreck like a hero, brush off help from onlookers who were still shouting in horror. But at the moment the only sound his constrained chest allowed was a short wheeze of laughter, a hollow sound that echoed amidst the deafening white noise filling the vehicle’s cabin.

But before he could close his eyes and embrace the crackling flames rushing towards him, Izaya’s world lurched. His sense of balance, already all but destroyed from the vehicle spinning out of control, once again swung sideways. The sound of crunching metal resounded, and the car slammed into the ground right-side-up with a great rattling of the suspension. Izaya bit his tongue as his leg twisted where it was pinned, instead letting out a grunt as his body was jarred yet again.

As soon as he was certain the car was back on its four wheels Izaya glanced out the window, wondering what force of nature could have turned the car over. And what met him at nearly eye-level was a familiar pair of tinted glasses, resting below angrily furrowed brows and a mop of blond hair.

In normal circumstances, this infuriating view would have taken his breath away in frustration. But at the moment, all he could do was give his enemy a dumbfounded stare, residual shock from the accident taking away all of his usual rage. Izaya could tell that it took the beast a moment to recognize just who he was looking at, expression frozen until those empty eyes widened ever so slightly. It was only then that Izaya found he still had enough strength for a fleeting smirk.

“Izaya,” Shizuo hissed, voice low and husky in anger. That constant state of rage had never abated, even when the man had taken the time to arrive at the scene of an accident and commit a rare act of kindness. The logic of this uncharacteristic assistance was beyond Izaya as he currently stood, so he grimaced and pulled halfheartedly at his leg in the hopes the car’s grip had loosened.

“What are you doing here, you brute?” Izaya asked, trying to buy himself some more time to focus. Now that the car was righted he felt as though there were some better chance at his survival as the flames grew nearer, his back already hot from their closeness. Death was licking at him, along with some distant thread of fear. He knew there was a decent chance that Shizuo would either walk away or speed up the killing process right then and there. Izaya would have preferred a chance to spar with Shizuo properly, rather than face his killer as nothing more than a rat in a cage, but it was still more dignified than succumbing to the chemical-fueled flames.

He could see the thoughts forming in Shizuo’s eyes, their gaze flitting from Izaya’s face to the wreckage of the cars, then back to the flames which had engulfed the rear of the vehicle. By now they were crawling into the far window and lapping at the leather seats, waiting to catch. Another few moments and Izaya knew that his soft collar and cuffs would begin to singe, his face already searing from the encroaching heat.

A scowl overcame Shizuo’s face, and he flashed his teeth in what appeared to be anger. Izaya drew in another short breath, no matter how much it hurt, and returned a smirk in kind. If he was going to be killed here and now, the least he could do was smile in the face of it, piss off that blond-haired menace one last time.

But instead of Shizuo’s arms reaching in through the broken window and making their way to crush Izaya’s neck, they wrapped around the side of the car door. The impact had crushed it inwards, making it impossible to open with merely human strength, but Shizuo was hardly human. Izaya watched in awe and shock as Shizuo secured his fingers into the ridges of the crumpled metal and pulled, grunting slightly as he did so.

That simple action, one which appeared to flow without any excess of effort on Shizuo’s part, resulted in the door slowly peeling away from the body of the car. The metal groaned as the frame was bent and snapped, shifting the entire vehicle with the sheer force required. Shards of glass from the window flew into the cabin, and Izaya looked away just long enough to shield his eyes. Seconds later the catastrophic noise had ended and sunlight streamed in freely, half of the car peeled back as though it were nothing more than a tab on a can of soda.

And it was now that the pain renewed in earnest on Izaya’s leg, and he gave an involuntary grunt as he looked down at it. Now that there was no longer a mass of metal pinning it up against the seat he saw his own flesh split open, his shin crooked and bone bulging beneath the skin as blood dripped from the lacerations.

Keeping a side-eye on Shizuo, who was taking a deep breath and staring into the car, Izaya fumbled with his seatbelt one last time, finally releasing himself from its grip. The fire was around him now, the flames reaching up to kiss him from either side. But the very moment that he was contemplating how to drag himself out of the vehicle without being able to put any weight on his right leg, arms wrapped around his torso, yanking him free from the car in a swift motion that wrenched his body through space.

It was all Izaya could do not to cry out, especially as his right leg bore the consequences of momentum and broken bone ground against broken bone. But he was freed, the smell of fire growing more distant, his limbs all freed from where they had been trapped. And now he was held surprisingly close to Shizuo’s chest, dangling from above the ground ever so slightly, suspended in an unexpected embrace.

He felt Shizuo’s breath hot on his neck, a gentle hiss of exhalation in his ear. And he could feel the gentle brush of hair against his cheek, shifting as he was slowly lowered onto the pavement. Whether it was the shock or pain that made him freeze, Izaya remained motionless as Shizuo laid him somewhat gently on the ground, a few long paces away from the remains of the wreckage. And as the man knelt and put Izaya onto the sidewalk, for just one brief moment, the hot skin of their cheeks collided. It was such an unexpected sensation that Izaya felt his eyes widen involuntarily. The contact ended as suddenly as it had begun, and Shizuo was already pulling away from him before he could react.

The sun framed Shizuo’s face in a way that was almost angelic, darkening his features as Izaya looked up at him, fighting to retain his comprehension through the pain. Unblinking, the man stood to his full height, finally releasing Izaya from his grasp. For a moment Shizuo was silent, expression pensive. Then he opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, as though there was something on the tip of his tongue he was fighting to get out.

Instead of speaking, however, the man turned his back. He walked away, quickly disappearing from Izaya’s field of vision where he lay on the ground. Now other spectators were rushing forward, their shock wearing off, and the sound of sirens was growing near. Others descended around him, their hands both eager and fearful to touch him, wanting to render aid.

But all Izaya could think of was the brief moment where their cheeks had grazed, the tender way that the all-powerful monster had cradled his broken body. And where their flesh had met, something was burning.

#shizaya #durarara #shizuo heiwajima #izaya orihara #drrr #fanfiction #hey anyway I haven't posted fanfic to tumblr in about 4 years and haven't written any in probably 2 #so here I am back on my bullshit about a show I haven't watched in like forever #shizaya is my otp tbf #these two jerks live rent free in my head ok #anyway I hope that anyone reading enjoys! this was a fun break from studying law and let me stretch my writing muscles a bit #take care and have a good day everyone :)

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary: Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden

Chapter 6: In Search of a Market

Tws: brief mention of panic, if there are others to tag please let me know!

WC: 2766

General taglist (ask to be added or removed): @im-an-anxious-wreck @logans-library @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi

Leaning his cane carefully against the outer wall of the building Hyden settled down on the ground slowly and began arranging the sticks he had been picking up into a pile. Logan followed not far behind, sighing in relief as he slid off the heavy pack and gently placed it beside him on even ground. The last thing he needed was for it to tip and have to rearrange everything if his samples shifted around.

Hyden looked up from his work to eye the pack in annoyance. “We’d go a lot faster if you hadn’t brought your entire barn with you.”

“We’d also go faster if-” Logan cut himself off from snapping something he’d regret, cranky and tired as he was throwing insults about something no one could change was not a line he would cross.

Hyden, stubborn ass that he was, decided to dig. “If what Logan?”

“Don’t.” He reached forward to place his hand on the pile, moisture collecting around it that was ficked into a container before he placed a finger near the pile again. There was a muted snapping sound as a single spark crackled in front of the shriveled wood, immediately catching and spreading to make a small fire for the night. It was hardly even dark yet but it was always good to stop early if there was a good resting spot to be had, especially with how unpredictable things could be the farther from the forest they ventured.

“I’m not stupid, Logan. But-” He held his hand up to cut the other off from whatever he was to planning to retort with. “I understand. Even if it is still an ungodly amount you took the bare minimum to continue your research. I’m only concerned about being caught out here, either by guards or beasts.”

They were both tired and on edge, running away from both the forest and avoiding whatever mech beasts they could until they found a better way to carry Logan’s portable, hashed together lab. It had been a few days since they had left and they had done nothing but walk, taking as little breaks as possible to cover as much ground as quickly as they could and they were both starting to feel the effects of it, Janus because of his leg and Logan because he simply wasn’t used to travel. He had stayed in the farmhouse for so long, becoming complacent in its relative safety that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind to be ready to pick up and leave at any given moment. He only hoped he truly had grabbed everything he would need and wouldn’t be missing anything later when they needed it. Speaking of which-

“It isn’t what you're used to but this should hold you over until we can get somewhere that I can make more salve.” Passing a bottle of arthritic tylenol to the other he made a mental note to keep an eye out for the herbs he would need; he had been going to go on a trip soon to replenish his stock but they had left before he got a chance. Hopefully whatever he could scrounge up would be enough for now.

“Thank you.” They sat in silence, just staring into the dancing flames. Logan wanted to say something but really didn’t want to bring up another argument, content enough to wait for them to warm up before pulling anything out for dinner. They couldn’t cook anything for fear of the smell attracting anyone who might be close if they fire didn’t do it already, but preserved bread and some nuts were just as good...for now.

Hyden shifted into a more comfortable position, wincing slightly before settling his chin in his hand. “Either you start talking or I do and I’m willing to bet the last thing you want is news from the Court right now.”

Logan shuddered to think of the chaos it had most likely dissolved into by now, considering the state he had left it in. No, he definitely did not want to know what they had been doing all this time- for now at least. It was always best not to talk too openly about the affairs of the fae out in the open. “No, I was mostly wondering where we could go to stock up our supplies. We’ll need to soon depending on how far out we need to go before we’re safe.”

“Logan.” He looked up to see Hyden’s confused expression. “You do realize we’ll most likely never be able to stop right? Unless you want to go back and gain freedom somehow with brute force, but they aren’t going to stop looking just because you moved out of the forest. Your research isn’t exactly...encouraged.”

“It never was.” Logan mumbled, idly throwing a small stone into the fire to watch as the dirt it was covered in flared before soot began to coat it instead, pointedly ignoring the look he was getting.

“You don’t even know that you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“I know enough to suspect and with the way things- Hyden those things were dead. They were hastily constructed, poorly made machines that could barely imitate the wobble of a toddler if left to their own devices. And then all of the sudden they were up and running and attacking like it was instinctual! We hadn’t even programmed that in yet.” Logan ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “It needs to make sense and my hypothesis is the only one I can think of-”

“You honestly think animals are running in little hamster wheels inside them to make them do things?’ Hyden smirked at the deadpan stare he received.

“That is not what I said and you know it.”

“Isn’t that why when they attack they still eat? To feed the animal inside?”

“Hyden-”

“I’ll stop.” He chuckled at the scientist's sour expression. “But honestly, animals being preserved inside for energy? I don’t think they’d be capable of such a thing in such a short time span.”

“At the level of desperation they were at before I left I wouldn’t put it past them. The beasts have the instinct to hunt and fight just like any other animal would- the only difference is they have specific targets in mind when they do it. I can’t fathom what else they could have done unless they were working on a secret program that I had no idea about- which is highly unlikely considering how high up in the project I was.” Sniffing indignantly Logan passed a few pieces of the crunchy bread to his companion, already missing his usual meals and wishing more than anything they were far enough out that they could catch and cook something.

“In answer to your earlier question,” Logan flushed with the realization he had forgotten what they had been originally talking about. “There’s a few settlements underground- some quite impressive- that we might be able to find to get more nonperishable items to have until we can get far enough away that trapping and cooking wouldn’t be an issue. We just need to find a river.”

“A river?”

Hyden nodded. “They’re used somehow to power the city. They’re humans, but they can be clever at times.”

“They’re just as smart as anyone else, we just beat them to the stupidity of ruining the planet.” Finishing his dinner Logan sighed. “The sooner we figure out how the beasts work, the sooner we can shut them off and lower the Court’s defenses. They weren’t relying on anything else when I was there.”

“That’s your plan? Shut down whatever gets in the way and just waltz your way back in?” Hyden snorted. “I’m sure they’ll all adore the scientist that abandoned his post coming back to give them a stern lecture on the importance of ethical science.”

“I’ll have you know I have a bit more tact now that I’ve spent some time away.”

“Oh honey, I love you so much but you blew holes straight through buildings and ran in a straight line through the forest to escape.”

Flushing, Logan looked away as the other laughed quietly. “It was a flight response and I didn’t think pulling the emergency evacuation switch had actually worked!”

“It was cute. Very subtle and very you. Though I do wish you would have waited for me, I would have loved to see you running through snap explosions like a dragon learning its magic for the first time.”

“It was a straight line!”

“Logan a building fell over sideways because you blew through an entire support wall.” Hyden’s eyes crinkled with a fond smile. “That pout definitely helps your case.”

Hurrying to unfold his arms he took a few seconds to move oxygen away from the fire, letting Hyden rearrange the sticks so they’d stay as lit embers to keep them warm until they fell asleep. He yelped as his blanket was thrown in his face, taken out of god knows where just to spite him. Shooting the other a withering look he didn’t end up seeing he curled onto his side and sighed. Another night spent outside and another day spent walking in a random direction. Hopefully they’d come across a town soon.

He really hated the dry bread.

-----

“Wait Roman, is that it?” Virgil pointed to a spot in the middle of the river they had been following. The subtle line of foam could easily be missed if you weren’t looking hard enough but he and Roman had spent almost their whole lives learning to look for these subtle hints a town was nearby.

“Finally! Okay keep going this way, you circle back the way we came and look.” So saying Roman hurried over to where the line was and began walking out to the surrounding field while Virgil turned to look out from where they had already passed.

There wasn’t a clear agreement on what kind of settlement was better: one that was above ground with tall, thick walls to try and hold back the forest and mechs, or ones made underground that people hoped the forest would grow right over- and seeing how the mechs had never been seen digging into the ground there was little fear of it being destroyed. Underground settlements however, obviously didn’t see the sun like the ones above did, so they used water instead. The little line of foam signaled that water from the river was being redirected to a system of water wheels for hydroelectric power for the city. To keep it from flooding or corroding, the system was often just beside the river on the other side, where there would be a subtle exit for water to escape if the system failed. On the other side was the actual entrance, another hidden passage that would lead underground to the levels of the city beneath it. All they had to do was locate and identify the passageways and they’d be able to get in, get to the market to trade and get back out hopefully without too much hassle. It was a system that after years of traveling together they had perfected, however rocky their beginning had been.

He heard a shout from Roman as he was poking around in some grass, sighing in relief when he saw them waving him over. Readjusting the heavy pack he walked up to where there was a bump in the grass, almost like the ground had a pimple. Toeing around the edges however he could feel a thin seam that when lifted revealed a ladder about a foot away from the top.

“The entrance on the first try!” Roman declared triumphantly.

“Yeah now I won’t have to hear you complain about wet boots and pants the entire time we’re here.” Virgil teased. If they were unlucky enough to find the exit first, where there was just a straight drop to the water systems, they’d have to cross the river to find the entrance instead. The past few times had been like this with Roman complaining about being wet and both of them shivering miserably through the market the entire time. These trips weren’t fun to begin with but it added another layer when their clothes stuck fast and the cool air of the caves did nothing to dry them faster. Ignoring Roman’s pout he dropped down and began to descend.

The air immediately cooled as he surrounded himself with earth Roman shimmying down above him and shutting the entrance, encasing them in darkness. Taking a steadying breath he made his way down carefully, counting softly as he went so Roman would know when to step down. He was always very grateful the holes were wide enough to fit both them and their bags since dropping them down first wasn’t an option. The tunnel began to lighten the further down they went and Virgil let out a breath as his feet finally touched solid earth, reaching a hand out to steady Roman as they made it the rest of the way down as well. Gripping Roman’s hand tight to his so they wouldn’t get separated he squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes into the meanest glare he could muster, tugging up his hood and mask and stepping forward towards the light.

In most underground cities the main markets were on the first level. A seemingly endless amount of stalls and shacks set up advertising a variety of goods and services. Further to the sides had buildings for general maintenance where workers that handled the waterwheels and power lived...as well as other services that required walls to pay for. The second level was mostly housing with buildings set in place for doctors offices and more formal stores if you had something to pay the price with. There were also the occasional restaurant and place of worship and even a school if the city had resources and time for it. If and when these kinds of settlements had a third level- most didn’t for the sake of time and integrity- it would be where more housing and the darker market was set up. Typically normal people wouldn’t be carrying around mech parts to sell, as being a Hunter wasn’t exactly the safest job to have. To make sure civilian numbers didn’t dwindle since they were low enough as it was, selling mech beast parts was typically banned, though no one would question you if you just happened to have them and weren’t trying to sell them.

They had heard a while back about a settlement further out with a thriving black market that used the metal and gears from the mechs to make prosthetics and sometimes weapons. Since mass production of anything was a no-go with the way the world was, this person was absolutely flourishing in their business, even if it was kept on the down low so as to only attract the attention of people who would be buying and selling rather than investigating. This is where they were headed to sell the parts they had been able to gather, eager to finally get a good price for everything and get enough provisions to get back on the road. Weaving their way through a sea of people and following the shotty directions they had been given a few weeks back they finally stopped at a building tucked innocently in a far corner of the marketplace, a small sign out front advertising medical care. Virgil looked to Roman and nodded, moving behind them as they approached to keep an eye on the surrounding area. Being this deep in the city was dangerous; if they were recognized here they’d be hard pressed to get out in time before they were caught, the thought of which had Virgil’s heart hammering in his chest as Roman gave a few sharp raps to the door.

He shifted his pack as footsteps were heard banging up to the door that opened moments later to reveal a tall, rather lanky man with wild curly hair and a neatly kept mustache. The shop owner opened his mouth to speak but stopped before he let a word out, squinting his eyes and staring at Roman hard. Virgil felt his heart beginning to beat faster, muscles tense and ready to run as his eyes darted from the man to Roman back again, half tempted to punch him out and run regardless of what his intentions were. Blood rushed in his ears as the others’ eyes widened, Roman standing frozen in front of him as he finally spoke.

“Roman?”

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I have a lot to expand upo in regards to how magic works in this worked, which we'll definitely be exploring in later chapters. For now if you have any questions about, feel free to ask either here or head over to @5-falsehoods-phonated on tumblr. Anon is always on and I'd be delighted to answer any and all questions provided the answer wouldn't be a spoiler. Thanks for reading ^-^

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#false writes #overgrown metal #fantasy au #sandrs sides fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil snaders #logan sanders #janus sanders #qpp lociet

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

Note

Quarentene with Ledger Joker, please

This is a request but I’m personalising it for @jokershyena because I love her and I want to give back some of what she does for me. So: female pronouns, some sensuality, the name ‘Lilith’ and other personal details used with permission.

Word count: 1, 615.

Ledger!!Joker @nothing-but-a-comedy @justahyena @anyatheladyclown @mijachula @joker-daddy @rinbyo @imightaswellnotexistatall @vladtoly @joker-is-my-hero @liz-rdwitch @enigmaticandunstable @ledgerskitten @tsukiakarinobara @germansarechill @ezziesworld

With the fatality and infection rates of a new virus sky high and the number of confirmed cases within Gotham growing even higher by the day were you on the edge of a panic attack just from watching the news for only five minutes. You dreaded to think of the actual statistics, for only confirmed cases could be recorded within the news.

There were over a thousand cases in central Gotham alone and for that reason had the entire city been placed under quarantine for an indeterminable amount of time. You and J lived together (or rather, the apartment was leased under your name and J came and went as and when he felt like it) which meant that, for the duration of the lock-down were you forced to be together.

You and J.

Alone in your apartment.

For who knew how long.

I found the silver lining to all of this was your thought as you clicked the television off, leaning back against the sofa so that you could stare up at the ceiling. Absentmindedly did you begin to count the cracks, squinting in concentration. You shook your head every time you lost count and began again, always from the same corner. You always lost count at the same crack, too, and the definition of insanity crept into your mind.

It, too, found itself discarded with a firm shake of your head.

“You look as,” J plopped himself down on the sofa beside you, chucking his legs up on the coffee table, crossing his arms over his chest, “Bor-ed as I feel.”

You hummed and leaned sideways, crashing dramatically into J’s chest. “Hold me. Protect me from the virus.” Your words were dramatic, but an edge of fear crept into your voice and J picked up on it immediately. He huffed laughter against the crown of your head as he accepted your less than subtle question for a hug, his arms loosely encircling you. Dissatisfied were you, for you clambered into his lap and seated yourself upon his muscular thighs, your arms looping around his neck as you nuzzled into the warm crook of his neck. Oh, but he was a heater.

“The virus ain’t gonna get’cha, doll,” Joker squeezed his arms around you in comfort as he said, “Not so long as ya’ wash ya’ hands and keep away from peo-ple.” J cackled, his breath hot against the top of your head, the small hairs moving with his exhalations and making you shiver.

You smirked against the skin of his neck, pursing your lips to press a chaste kiss there. “Does that mean I gotta stay away from you?” You made as if to move and J didn’t like that one bit.

“No,” J growled, pulling you even closer to him so that your knees were brought up toward your chest, your kneecaps resting against the back of the sofa, “I am not people.” He spoke the word with real venom, as if he was insulted by the idea that he was a mere person; a plain nobody who could be found on any corner of Gotham’s filthy streets.

“True,” You grinned, raising your head from his neck to press a kiss to the very corner of his mouth, your lips so light and gentle out of fear of irritating his scar that J barely felt it. He groaned in irritation and tilted his mouth towards yours, desperately for more than a ghostly kiss, and you giggled as you gave him what he wanted. He pouted, for you had still only pecked his full lips with your own.

“Jeez, what’s a guy gotta do to get kissed ‘round here, huh?” J grumbled, the corner you had kissed seconds ago was now quirking upwards in amusement.

“You’re such a drama queen!” His jaw dropped just slightly in indignation but you sobered him up with your next words, the words you had been intending on speaking all along. Only he could so thoroughly distract you, even when he was the topic at hand. “You’re not a person, no - you’re more than that.”

A quizzical look as J wondered if finally you had cracked. He still had yet to figure out if he was a good or a bad influence on you. You were becoming more like him every day and again did he puzzle over whether it was a good or a bad thing. Still, who cared? He didn’t.

You trailed a hand across the back of his neck, your cool fingers raised goosebumps upon the hot flesh and J shivered as you trailed your hand around to his clavicle, down, down his chest, to rest over his heart. You pressed your hand down hard and met his intense chocolate eyes with your own as you said, “You’re a human, J, just like me.”

J’s eyes slammed shut and he squeezed them tightly. His sinful tongue, which made dampness begin to pool and collect in your undies already, darted out to lick the corner of his full lips, and his jaw muscles clenched. You had struck a nerve within your chaotic clown, a place which he always denied being there but in moments like this was it more than obvious.

J was just a man, but he wasn’t like any other. He was wild and untamed, unpredictable at the best of times, raw and passionate, chaotic and loud and so dangerous that people were right to be scared of him, if only because he was something new and undefined; people had always and would always fear that which they did not know or understand, though the citizens of Gotham didn’t want to understand J in all of his multi-faceted complexities. His anger and lack of sanity (though you thought him to be the most sane of all) was only the facade for the decades of hurt and pain; from his time in the military, to the true origin story of how he acquired those macabre scars, to the loss of his wife upon coming home, to dealing with PTSD while re-adjusting to civilian life and who knew what else alone… He had always been alone through all of it and the result was the man upon which you were sat.

When J opened his eyes some time later, which was marked only by the rising and falling of your chests; as you inhaled did he exhale, his eyes were ablaze with fire. His hand crept up to grip the one which rested over his chest, and he slid his fingers into the spaces between your own.

“My hyena. Mine.” J’s arms tightened around you as he pulled you in to a tight one armed embrace, burying his nose into your neck as he sunk into you while you cackled like a hyena; you had always been quite good at impersonating them and it was one of the things J loved about you. As you inhaled deeply to begin another cackling refrain did J lift his head from your neck, his hand joined with your dropping from his chest so that they came to rest between your bodies; laughing along with you. Your shared laughter - loud, chaotic and my, how you both thrived in these conditions - rang loudly off the walls of your high maintenance, expensive apartment and created a melody worthy of only its creators.

“Yes, J - I’m yours. I’m all yours. And you’re mine. I love you. I love you so much.” You were breathless from laughing, from love, from life as all thoughts of debts and bills and viruses slipped out of your mind, chased away by the overwhelming love which you felt for your Joker, your clown.

“I’m yours, Lilith,” Only yours, always and forever. “The hyena and her clown.” J’s dramatic flair displayed itself once more in the way his intense chocolate gaze penetrated yours, his smirk growing steadily by the second. Oh, how he loved you in his all own ways.They were small and obscure and you had had to learn to look for them, but there they were, waiting to be found and savoured as only a girl like you could.

Hers.

The word sent a warm fuzzy feeling to the base of your spine and you shifted forward on J’s lap. He growled. “Don’t start something ya’ can’t finish, dollface.”

“Who says I can’t finish? Ladies first.” You smirked and leaned in to kiss J, his lips hot and heavy against your own, his tongue demanding and his hands were splayed open wide, exploring fingers touching as much of you as he could in the same moment, so hungry and longing for you was he. He was a clingy man, was J, when he was comfortable. He only ever felt so free, so liberated with you.

“Mm,” J purred against your lips as his hips bucked, sending his erection straight into your core. You were so wet that he could feel you even through your jeans and it only made him more thirsty for you. “Let’s - ah - put that to the test.”

Yes, there was a killer virus outside of these four walls which you were forbidden from leaving until further notice. Yes, you had a hell of a job on your hands keeping J inside the apartment until that notice had been given and yes, you were scared and stressed and tired, but you had something that no one else in Gotham had.

Being together felt so simple, so right, almost as if… Almost as if you were meant to be. In short, you had your Joker, and he had you, and together was there no storm that you couldn’t weather.

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primergon · 4 years

Text

i’m searching low in the night , starscream/fem!reader

Summary : What could he possibly want from an organic? A filthy, weak, and incompetent organic? An organic whose tears he could not stop imagining, an organic whose eyes follow him everywhere he goes, an organic whose laughter crowded every space of his silence.An organic, who is out there, unknowingly waiting for him.

( Starscream meets shattered glass! Starscream and discovers somethings better left unknown)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/M

Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime

Relationships: Starscream / reader, Starscream (Transformers)/You

THE locks hissed, latching themselves in place. Shockwave remained unperturbed by the whole scenario, mulling about as if it was nothing short of a usual day in the lab. If this couldn’t shake the stoic Mech, then Starscream doesn’t want to know what will. Knockout seemed much more hesitant, shooting glances at him every now and then – Starscream would have found it comical if it wasn’t for the look everyone’s giving him.

Starscream marched to his counterpart, peeling himself off the wall. “ You’re an Autobot.”

His doppelganger shot him a no slag look. The Autobot insignia gleamed above his armor, a stark difference to the walls that held him prisoner. Starscream took the chance to observe him – or himself, up close. Aside from the minor scratches he got upon entering the portal, he seemed unharmed. The color scheme of his plating was enough to make Starscream nauseous. It was white down to his claws – no, fingers. It was white down to his fingers.

Starscream scowled.

“ Pathetic,” He scoffed, “ I expected better from myself.”

“ Makes the two of us.”

The vehicons left once their work was done, ushered out by Knockout. There was comfort in knowing that Megatron won’t be around to witness this himself, even if a field report was inevitably going to inform him of it, considering that Shockwave was with them – yet his temporary absence gave Starscream the closure he needed to let his curiosity wander.

Mirror-Starscream – as Knockout has dubbed, looked uncharacteristically calm, which only serves to agitate him even more. Deep down he was rooting for him to resist, to fight back – to even beg. Where was his cunningness? Where were his shrewd quips and witty reasoning? Why isn’t he trying to talk his way out? Was he that much of a coward? Yet the look in his eyes stated otherwise. It was one of determination. One of courage and loyalty and – bah! It makes him sick.

Pathetic.

Shockwave can toss his words to the Pit – there was no way he was staring at his alternate self. Whatever failed science experiment the one-eyed slagger had conjured, it couldn’t have possibly brought back anything that resembled him. This must be some sort of trick, a curse, a bad omen.

“ Mind sharing to us how this all came to be?” Knockout hummed, attaching the very last wires into the system. The computer whirred to life, the noise enough to set him on edge – again Mirror-Starscream was almost unresponsive, merely glancing around as if he’s laying on a human beach rather than the torture chamber of a Decepticon warship.

“ You’re going to pry it from my head anyways.” He tugged on the restraints. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter – you won’t get any information that you can use against my friends, because I don’t know how the slag this happened either.”

Starscream scoffed. “ We’ll see about that.”

Starscream slid onto the opposite berth, letting the doctor ease a cable around the back of his helm. His double regarded him silently, confusion in his eyes – as if he couldn’t picture what they’ve become. “Why ?”

“ Why not?”

Knockout gave him the signal and at the count of three, Shockwave activated the cortical psychic patch. His double gave him a horrified look, before falling into his memories, pulling Starscream with him.

He shouldn’t be surprised – no. He’d seen many things throughout this war. He’d seen Vos crumble at his feet, he’d seen flyers getting their wings ripped out by blasters mid-air, he’d seen Megatron on his worst days. He’d seen it all, nothing could catch him off-guard.

Except maybe this.

“ W-what is this?”

His double raised a brow at him. “ This is the part that surprises you?”

Starscream recoiled. “ Why am I touching that organic?”

His double searched his gaze. “ That organic is our – my Conjunx.”

Starscream swore he could hear Knockout’s gasp, or perhaps it was his own. The seeker retreated, looking back and forth. “ I would rather go to the Pit than admit that-that creature is my – “

“You don’t recognize her?”

His double moved forward, walking past Megatron – a parallel Megatron, where he wasn’t a bloodthirsty warlord, but instead, a scientist whose driving force is to protect humanity and take down Orion Pax. Orion Pax, Optimus, for short - who is supposedly a gladiator of Kaon. Starscream could barely picture the red and blue Mech even taking down a vehicon before the primacy, what more Megatron? Then again, the silver Mech didn’t even look threatening – with no claws and blue optics. Primus, what happened to his optics?

Starscream pretended to be nauseated, insulted, infuriated – yet he couldn’t bring himself to pry his eyes away from the sight. The scene had melted into another one, the once vibrant colors peeling into a dark room. He could hear the sound of rain, and the roof above his head suggested that he was inside a human home. He flinched when the wood creaked below his feet, only to realize that it came from the memory.

He could walk only to where his double stood, not daring to reach out any further. In his double’s memory, he was hugging – hugging? Yes, hugging the organic. They were laying down on a human berth, limbs tangled. He was nearly lost in the intimacy, watching as she dragged her fingers across his wings. This would imply that – Primus, they really are Conjux Endurae. Watching himself being courted is weird enough, watching him being courted by a fleshling is even worse. Then again, she was being extremely careful, reaching out to cover the expanse of his wing with her faint caress.

“ Are you falling asleep?” She asked, whispering into the dark. Their bodies were illuminated by the half-light pouring through the window, shielded from the ongoing storm. It was quiet, so quiet, that he could hear her breathing.

“ I am.” He murmured, burying his head deeper against her clothed stomach. Starscream wanted to flinch at that, to rage at the idea that he would give himself to something so –

She laughed. The noise faint and brief, yet enough to send something through his spark. He retreated, watching as she pulled him closer. “ That’s good to hear. You’ve been working so hard, and I’ve been worried. I can’t imagine anything happening to you.”

Outside he could hear the roll of thunder. His double raised a finger, tracing it across her cheek. “ I should be the one that’s worried.” He pulled himself up, sitting upright. “ What did the doctor say?”

There was a moment. He should’ve taken this as a chance to break the vision – they should be looking for information. One related to winning this war, yet he felt anchored to the ground, unable to move. The fact that they haven’t shifted to another memory meant that Shockwave no longer has control over the psychic patch, leaving them with no room to argue.

The human woman hesitated. He waited, combing her hair. “ Tell me, please.”

There it was, begging. Starscream stole a glance at his counterpart, who was leaning by the wall, looking away. She rose to sit, placing both her hands across his cheeks. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his own. He felt appalled, but the feeling ebbed away when she started crying. Liquid leaked from her optics – eyes, humans called them.

“ Starscream.” There was something in the way she uttered his name. He’d heard people shout his name, scream his name, belittle and butcher his name. He was used to the anger dripping from their voices when his name was called, he had grown to the cruel and sneering way everyone would refer him to.

That’s why hearing his name uttered so gently was enough to shock him into flinching.

He couldn't remember the last time someone did that.

“ We both know I…my life is finite compared to yours. We both know I will leave you much sooner than you want me to. I wished we had more time, but if this is all that the universe is going to allow me, then I want to spend it with you.” The tears continued to spill, even if she’d buried her face on his shoulder. “ I’m sorry…I’m sorry that we’re so unlucky in this lifetime. I’m sorry, I had to get sick, I’m sorry I’ll – “

His double shushed her. She was hiccupping, spilling her tears all over his armor – yet he didn’t seem to care. All he did was hold her, rocking her sideways. Warmly, tenderly, intimately. “ Don’t apologize for something you cannot control.”

He laid her back down on the bed, the two of them facing one another. It was at this point that Starscream felt as if he had interrupted something private, something he shouldn’t see – but the rain outside was growing stronger. The wind howling and shaking the trees.

Once she’d calm down, she raised a hand above the pillow. “ I didn’t know I was sick. But, if you had known earlier – will you still stay?”

“ I would.” He answered.

She narrowed her eyes.“ Even if it would hurt you?”

“ I would.”

His mirrored-self embraced her in a way that seemed so foreign – could he do that? Was he capable of really giving her that kind of security? That kind of comfort? Here, within these four walls, the war couldn't reach them. Here, in this far, distant memory coming from a life he could have had, she laid next to him as if she trusted him more than anyone.

She could have never done the same with him – yet this was him, wasn't it?

“ I wish we are luckier in another life.”

She murmured, eyes struggling to keep themselves open. He – his double, continued to rub comforting circles around her back. Under his metal fingers, her skin looked so pliant, so inviting. He nuzzled the column of her neck, arching into her touch.

He could crush her, hurt her – yet he didn’t.

Why? Starscream didn’t understand. Why, why, why, why –

“ Why?”

Once again, the scenery before them started to blur, fading into the next one. His mirrored-self ex-vented.

“ Why not ?”

Even after they’ve severed the psychic link, Starscream still finds himself going back to the memory. He could never forget the look Knockout had offered him. He could have handled the gloating or the disgust in his face. Yet everything about the medic screamed pity, and Starscream had to walk out of the room to stop himself from getting angry.

At what, he didn’t know.

His double had managed to escape. After three days of captivity, Mirror-Starscream was rescued by his team – Starscream scoffed bitterly, all that hassle, all that trouble, just to rescue one Mech? In this world, Megatron would have left him for scrap.

He let his hands fall to his sides.

He would have left him for scrap.

The warlord was indifferent to the incident, if not a little agitated with how they’ve managed to still return empty-handed. The Vehicons had initially gossiped about it, whispering to one another whenever he would pass down the halls. After a week, however, it died down – any talk about his second life vaporizing into thin air. Disappearing without a trace.

Starscream wished it was the same for his memories.

Yet, here he lay – awake at night in his berth, staring at the ceiling. If he closes his optics, he could hear the pitter-patter of the rain above the roof. He could hear her breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. He could imagine her hands against his skin – warm. They would be very warm. Initially, whenever the thought would arise, he would push them away. He’d spent weeks running from it, only to find that he’s been going in circles – haunted by a memory that wasn’t even his to begin with.

What made it so appealing?

What could he possibly want from an organic? A filthy, weak, and incompetent organic? An organic whose tears he could not stop imagining, an organic whose eyes follow him everywhere he goes, an organic whose laughter crowded every space of his silence.

An organic, who is out there, unknowingly waiting for him.

“ I wish we are luckier in another life.”

He clenched his fists.

He stared at the datapad. At that time, he had caught a glance of her name written above what seemed to be a medical report. He had entered the syllables into a humans search engine, scrolling through the world wide web for her identity. He stared at her picture on a social platform – social media, they call it.

He groaned. What am I doing?

She was smiling. He noted. She looked healthy here.

But will it stay that way?

“ Even if it would hurt you?”

He stood by the roof of the Nemesis, feeling the clouds cluster oppressively around him. The onslaught of rain did nothing to deter his stance. He watched the storm below, observing the flash of lighting. Thunder followed not long after. The wind strong enough to faintly rock the ship.

Just one look to quench your curiosity, he reasoned, just one look so you will stop thinking about her.

He turned off his comm-link, severing all communication with Soundwave. This should buy him some time, how long ? He doesn't know. Hopefully, it will be enough.

All he needed to do was jump, and somewhere below – inside a human home, you were waiting for him.

Pathetic. He thought - leaping off the platform.

A/N : I hope this isn't too OOC, you can set the timeline anywhere you want - but I'd like to think it's somewhere around season 2. Don't hesitate to tell me what you guys think and correct my mistakes <3

AO3 Link : I’m searching low in the night

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