#YOURE MAKING ME ANNOY ALL MY FRIENDS DIE A THOUSAND PAINFUL DEATHS

[bicon-crange]

causing someone else to maybe possibly get a crush on you ( or otherwise inexplicable fascination bordering on utter madness ) uhhh.. should be punishable by DEATH. im SO serious.

#no i dony know if i like this person. YES i want their blood on my hands IMMIDIATELY. #IM GOING TO BASH MY HEAD INTO THE FUCKING WALL #i am. going to. smack this person across all their joints with a golf club im so fucking serious #i am being the MOST annoying bitch on earth about this and i FEEL IT. #IM A FULLY GROWN ADULT IM GOING TO KILL YOU #HOW FUCKING DARE YOU. ACTUALLY. #YOURE MAKING ME ANNOY ALL MY FRIENDS DIE A THOUSAND PAINFUL DEATHS #EXPLODE!!!! COMBUST!!!!!! #FUCK YOU!!!!!!!

[spiralcass]

NEW X-MEN: THE ANIMATED SERIES - SEASON 3, EPISODE 12 (PART 1 OF 2)

We open months ago, just after Sofia completed her transformation into War. War, having changed into her initial blue armor, sans helmet, follows behind a tired and weakened Apocalypse through the halls of their base. 

APOCALYPSE: “Your training remains far from complete. You are now armed with the weapons you have earned, but you must still learn how to use them.” 

SOFIA: “I believe I am already skilled with my winds. I have not forgotten anything.” 

Apocalypse doesn’t doubt that, only what her imagination was previously capable of. She knew how to slice her enemies and disrupt their eardrums, but how far did she ever take that? 

APOCALYPSE: “Have you ever torn the air from a man’s lungs and watched the light leave his eyes? Have you considered that with mastery over all that surrounds you, you could make the wind track the most minute of your opponents’ movements? These are the skills I will teach you.” 

Sofia looks at Apocalypse from behind, in awe of him. 

SOFIA: “Thank you, Lord Apocalypse.” He turns his head to glare at her. “Oh. I am sorry. I am still accepting that this is real…Father.” 

APOCALYPSE, turning his head straight: “You are not the first child I have had since my first. Not by blood or by other means.”

SOFIA: “I’m not? Then where are they?” 

APOCALYPSE: “Dead. Either killed or aged to dust. My genes do not guaruntee immortality. You are now the first since the original Horsemen to possess it.” 

The two stop at the grand entrance to Apocalypse’s bed chambers. 

SOFIA, smiling at him, now at his side: “Meaning I have plenty of time to get it right…my lord.”  

APOCALYPSE, glaring back at her: “Meaning I would prefer you not going out of your way to annoy me for all eternity.” 

SOFIA, playfully: “You made me permanently seventeen. Blame yourself.” 

Apocalypse shuts his eyes and seethes as he has his servants open the doors and enters. Before Sofia follows…

SOFIA, still processing: “All eternity.” 

Inside the bedroom, Sofia’s eyes dart around at the ornate furnishings, before Apocalypse holds something out to her. 

APOCALYPSE, holding out a lightning bolt shaped sword: “The swords crafted by Isca the Unbeaten are unrivaled by any on this plain. I possess them all. I gift this one to you.” 

Sofia, hands shaking, takes it and admires it. She notices that it’s different from the ones he uses; it’s much smaller. Apocalypse informs her that this sword was wielded by his wife. Her body was small, but her power was unmatched. 

SOFIA: “You are sure she would want me to have it?”

APOCALYPSE: “She will decide that for herself when she meets you.” 

Now then, War shouldn’t be thinking that her training will become any easier or less painful just because of his own ailments or her elevated status. Now that she is immortal, he can push her harder than ever. He will make her wish she could die. And she will thank him. 

APOCALYPSE: “Are you ready?” 

Sofia’s face lights up as she sheathes her new weapon. 

SOFIA: “Always, Father.” 

Elsewhere, a news broadcast is watched, as millions of people protest around the world against the rising threat of Mutants, not just motivated about everything else that’s happened in recent months, but two new pieces of breaking news. First, the thousands of mysterious deaths from Apocalypse’s plague having finally been tracked to have a connection to the X-gene, and second, Graydon Creed has been found dead. 

Graydon’s two largest benefactors, Carlton Kilgore and Lenore Kensington, hold a press conference, surrounded by Friends of Humanity members, and with their respective son and daughter as their side. Since the news first broke forty minutes ago, the Friends of Humanity has gained thousands of new members. They will continue their work, now in honor of Graydon, and avenge his deaths at the hands of the Mutants by finding a new candidate to get America back on track. 

The news reminds its viewers of where the source for this accusation is coming from, playing a clip from earlier in the morning of Lenore’s daughter, Wilhelmina, holding a kitten, crying in front of the cameras about how nice Mr. Creed was to her, and that she knows it must have been the Mutant Emma Frost who killed him; she was just meeting with him! She and her friend Kade saw her, but no one else remembers! 

The TV this is being watched on is destroyed by an optic blast. 

In the headmasters’ office, Cyclops and Magneto are equally pissed. 

CYClOPS: “How does this keep getting worse?” He turns to Erik, his anger boiling and his fists shaking. “The news coming about Apocalypse’s plague couldn’t just have come out now by coincidence? The media must have been waiting for something like this just to drive it in.” 

ERIK, scooting Scott back with his magnetism to get him out of his face: “Optics are your concern. You will figure something out. I want to know why Emma lied to us.” 

Scott’s confused about what he’s talking about, but Erik tells him to not be stupid; Emma told them yesterday that neither she nor M were able to complete the assasination attempt. Scott says he isn’t stupid, he just can’t think of a single reason she would have had to lie. 

ERIK: “As if that woman needs to reason.” 

SCOTT, even more pissed, eyes glowing behind his sunglasses: “What was that?!” 

Before the two can start fighting, Scott’s mind is telepathically soothed as Emma enters. 

EMMA: “I don’t know what your problem is, Erik, but keep my name out of your mouth, hm?” She holds Scott’s hand as Erik glares at her. “If you would like to point fingers, consider aiming them toward the little twerps who miraculously avoided having their minds wiped.” 

ERIK: “You are saying ten year-old children poisoned Graydon Creed?” 

EMMA, narrowing her eyes: “Show of hands. Who here hasn’t had a child of that age, or younger, attempt to kill them?” Magneto can’t raise his hand. Scott smirks. “Precisely.” 

Erik questions why they would do this even if they are responsible but, letting go of Scott, Emma thinks they need to table this discussion; they have to worry about their own children. 

EMMA: “Our X-Men in Training are gone. All of them.” 

Scott asks what she means, with Emma explaining that none of them, or Laura, are here, and from the scan she and Danielle ran, none of them ever came home last night either. 

ERIK “They’re rambunctious children with high-stress lives. I’m sure they just–”

EMMA: “I’m not sensing any of them in New York, either.” 

Cyclops, clenching one of his fists, exiss the office as he presses on his com. 

CYCLOPS: “Danger, prep my jet.” 

Emma and Magneto follow after him, wondering what he’s planning. 

CYCLOPS: “I’m not losing any more people. I’m done playing games and asking questions. We’re going to have a chat with the one person who has all the answers.” 

We cut to the Egyptian dessert, as four figures in the distance trudge through it. Just before we see them, it becomes clear who they are as they start talking. 

PITOR: “I already told you, I do not wish to speak about it.” 

KURT: “Oh come on, Pete, if anyone can understand the strange emotions of your sister dating your ex, it’s me!” 

LOGAN, leading the group and sniffing the air: “You mean because you used to kiss your sister?” 

KURT: “That is not what was happening!” 

ORORO, clearly happy to be back with HER team: “It isn’t contrary to what transpired either.” 

KURT, frustrated even Ororo is teasing: “Storm!” 

PITOR: “As soon as our mission is complete, I will express my feelings as I see fit.” 

ORORO: “Does that mean a painting? I hope you will be in the mood to share, little brother.” 

Pitor smiles. He’ll make sure she gets to see it. 

KURT: “Okay, but seriously guys, I wasn’t kissing my–” 

LOGAN, cutting him off: “Shut it, Elf. I’ve got something.” 

Pitor doesn’t know what he’s talking about; there’s nothing here. Ororo pulls out a device, and adds that, according to the coordinates Kitty gave her, Apocalypse’s base wasn’t far from here before its destruction. 

Logan growls as he continues to sniff. He sniffs high, he sniffs low, and eventually…

LOGAN, cringing: “Slim, you idiot.” Kurt questions what Scott did. “That man thinks of everything. But he didn’t think to look underground!” 

A pink light flashes and sand is blasted in their faces. The season X-Men prepare for battle, with Logan popping out his claws, Nightcrawler drawing a rapier, Ororo pulling out her knives, and Colossus transforming into his metal form. 

“Welcome X-Men!” 

Exodus reveals himself, floating above them as he keeps the sandstorm raging. 

EXODUS: “Your timing couldn’t be more perfect. Have you come to oppose destiny or to submit?” He holds out the hand he used to steal Ororo’s powers. “Storm?” 

BEAT

STORM: “I do not know if anything can be done for me.” She twirls her knives. “But you are not leaving this place with that hand. To me, my X-Men!” 

Colossus and Wolverine start the fight with a Fastball Special (Classic Edition), with Pitor tossing Logan at Exodus. Exodus casually flings him away, but the X-Men quickly follow up, with Nightcrawler teleporting Colossus above Exodus’ head to smash him. Bennett reacts quickly enough to fling them away as well, but Colossus grabs his arm and throws him into the ground. 

Storm and Logan rush him while he’s down, but Exodus launches a massive energy blast at them. Nightcrawler teleports them both out of the blast’s range, while Pitor lands, crashing his knees into Bennett’s chest. Exodus screams, as Colossus pumbles him, drawing blood, until Exodus blasts him away in a rage. 

Even as Exodus picks himself up though, the X-Men don’t give him a moment to breathe, as Storm distracts him by throwing one of her knives and slicing his face, giving Logan the chance to move in and slash his chest. Nightcrawler returns with a badly injured but stil standing Colossus, above Exodus, ready to smash him again, but Exodus has had enough of this. The Omega-level telekinetic blasts all of them away with a gargantuan wave of TK energy in all directions. 

Logan and Colossus pick themselves back up, while Ororo and Kurt are conscious, but too injured to stand. 

EXODUS, enraged:  “You actually thought you weaklings could come here and overcome ME?” 

LOGAN, trying to get under his skin: “We were actually thinking about your boss, not you.” 

COLOSSUS: “Now that we stand here though, I do like our odds.” 

Exodus derides them for the fools they are. His power is unrivaled! And them? Two of them cannot even fight on their own. And the metal men are hardly a threat themselves. 

Logan and Pitor are tense as they stare him down, knowing he’s right. But…

STORM, forcing herself to stand: “You presume too much, Exodus.” Bennett sneers at her. “Iceman defeated you, did he not? And you have served not one, but three masters. Your power does not seem unmatched to me.” 

EXODUS: “Silence!” 

STORM, smirking with her single knife at the ready: “You had to cheat to defeat me at my best. Forgive me for favoring my chances while at my worst.” 

Ororo’s words get to Bennett, just like she hoped, but not in the way she expected. This depowered, arrogant woman with a blade standing up to him makes him think back to when he was first training Sofia, and become livid that he allowed her to remain such a nuisance. 

Exodus screams as he unleashes another blast encompassing the entire area. 

In Clan Akabba’s base, Lady Akabba walks past the cells holding Laura, Julian, Noriko, Cessily, and Roxy, not just with her usual grace, but an extra pep in her step. Death and Dust follow behind her, with Sooraya’s eyes guilty as they pass by her friends, and Akihiro assuring Sofia that they won’t wake up until she’s ready for them. 

SOFIA, with absolute confidence in her voice: “Good. I don’t want them waking up in these conditions. It will send the wrong idea.” Sofia notices the look in Soo’s eyes. “Do not worry, Dust. Once they understand their place is among the strong, this will be their world as much as yours.” She giggles. “Well, a little more Hellion’s.” 

Akihiro narrows his eyes. 

AKIHIRO: “My lady, may we speak in private?” 

Lady Akabba is quietly amused as she thinks she knows what this is about and asks Sooraya to leave them, informing her the servants will get her anything she needs. 

SOORAYA: “I…thank you.” 

Soo gives a small bow, before flying off as a cloud of sand. Sofia watches her depart with a smile on her face, before turning back to Akihiro to smirk at him. 

SOFIA, mockingly: “Something to say?” 

AKIHIRO, displeased: “I would of course never question you…but you still intend to make that boy your king?” 

SOFIA: “Why wouldn’t I? I love him.” 

AKIHIRO: “He may be fit, but he is hardly worthy of you. You deserve nothing less than an Omega.” 

SOFIA: “If memory serves me right, the only Omega men on Earth presently are either incorporeal energy beings, gay, someone I intend to kill, or more than one of the above. That is not what I am looking for.” 

AKIHIRO: “And you have just forgotten the way he betrayed you?” 

SOFIA: “Love is pain, and pain is love. Besides, you all misled me. He never once slept with Surge while we were together.” Akihiro tries to speak, but she talks over him. “And just as I knew they would, they broke up on their own. So there are no problems.” She tilts her head. “Unless you wish to tell me that you are jealous.” 

AKIHIRO, aghast at the prospect: “Jealous? I’ve told you before that if I wanted you, I would have you.” 

SOFIA: “And you have never said why you don’t.” 

Sofia shoots Akihiro a taunting grin as she strokes his muscular arm, Aki not appearing too happy about it. 

EXODUS, approaching: “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He tosses down the unconscious bodies of Storm, Wolverine, and Colossus. “But we have a problem.” 

As Lady Akabba and Death compose themselves, they have Famine explain that the X-Men were finally able to find them. He dealt with the intruders with ease, of course, but they have a little issue. 

SOFIA, realizing who’s missing based on her inside knowledge: “Where is Nightcrawler?” 

We cut to the Danger Room, where Escapade and Foxx are sparring. In the command room above, Kitty, while watching over her student, is also on her computer, desperately trying to track down the X-Men in training. 

KITTY: “Come on. Where are you guys?” 

Behind Kitty, Illyana leans against the wall, brooding, thinking about Pestillence’s offer to free her from her suffering. She shakes her head. 

MAGIK: “KItty, may I ask you something?” 

KITTY: “A little busy babe, but shoot.” 

Illyana weakly smiles at the term of affection from her girlfriend. Before she can say anything though, Nightcrawler BAMFs in, laying heavily injured and exhausted on the floor. 

KITTY: “Kurt!” 

Kitty drops to the floor to check on him, and asks if he’s okay, quickly following up by asking where the others all are. Kurt tries to answer, but before he can, he passes out. Kitty and Yana share a look of concern. 

 We cut to a familiar large Missisippi home, where elderly Irene Adler is spreading rhubarb jam on a piece of toast. She moves calmly and precisely, before pausing. She sighs. 

DESTINY: “I wish you’d knock.” 

Irene’s door is blasted in by an optic beam, before Cyclops, Emma, and Magneto barge into her house. 

EMMA: “Mystique isn’t here.” 

ERIK: “Good. I don’t think I have the patience for that right now.” 

 IRENE, off-screen: “Excuse me?” 

Irene crunches down on and chews her toast, before swallowing and dabbing her face with a napkin. 

IRENE: “That’s my wife you’re talking about.” 

EMMA: “And do you always have the patience for her?” 

Irene cracks half a smirk. 

IRENE: “I believe you’re the one with something to say here, Mr Summers. We can talk about it while Ms. Frost writes me a check for my door.” 

Cyclops stomps up to Irene. Destiny isn’t afraid as he attempts to appear imposing, taking another bite of her toast. 

SCOTT: “Where are the Horsemen? Where are they keeping our students?” 

DESTINY, swallowing: “What makes you think I’ve had any visions about that? And why didn’t you come to me about them two months ago?” 

SCOTT: “Your first question confirms you know what I’m talking about.” 

IRENE: “And your dodging my second makes me suspect an answer.” 

SCOTT: “Don’t care. You know about Lady Akabba.” 

IRENE: “I do. She attempted to recruit Raven and I. Horrible young lady. Absolutely no manners.” 

SCOTT: “We know. Where is she?” 

IRENE: “The home that is her present, but not her future.” 

ERIK: “We do not intend on allowing her to live. If you see her future, then we have already lost.” 

IRENE: “Do not be such a downer, Magneto. My visions are not always accurate.” 

SCOTT: “But you do see where she is.” Cyclops’ visor glows, the sound of his beams loud enough for Irene to hear. “And you’re going to tell us right now.” 

Irene’s face becomes expressionless, before she sticks the last piece of her toast in her mouth. She smirks at Cyclops’ frustration as she chews. 

EMMA: “I take it back, Irene. You and Mystique are perfect for one another.” 

Destiny swallows. 

IRENE: “I know. Just as I know that the only reason you’re breaking down my door now and weren’t knocking on it months ago is because you’re afraid.” 

SCOTT: “Don’t push me.” 

IRENE: “You’re not going to murder me in cold blood. That isn’t you. It’s who you’re scared you’re turning into.” 

SCOTT: “Emma, get the info from her head.” 

EMMA: “I’ve been trying, Darling. She’s had more than a few decades to learn to protect her mind.” 

IRENE: “Well? Will you order Magneto to bring my house down on me, next?”

ERIK, pissed: “I do not take orders.” 

IRENE: “Of course not. Supervillains like you and Ms. Frost are like me; you only give orders.” Scott’s blood boils and Irene enjoys watching it happen. “I know. You didn’t want to get into bed with another one. But here you are.” 

A small amount of energy bubbles out of Scott’s visor, but before he can shoot…

EMMA: “She gave me the coordinates. We’ve been played. They’re underneath their original base.” 

Erik is pissed enough by this revelation that multiple glass objects around the house explode. Irene remains unphased. 

IRENE: “I suppose I should go clean that up. Good luck saving the world…X-Men.” 

As Scott continues to pant and sweat and seethe, Emma calms his mind again, putting an arm around him and leading him out of the house, Magneto floating behind. 

EMMA, telepathically: “What she was saying. It’s true then.” 

SCOTT, telepathically: “Yes. I’m sorry.” 

EMMA: “I don’t particularly care if I’m seen as a hero or villain. You’re getting a little old for that as well. Do you love me?” 

SCOTT, without hesitation: “Yes.”

EMMA: “Then we have no problems. At least not between us.” 

As they hold each other on their way to the Blackbird, the camera pans over to Magneto. Magneto calls Cannonball over his com. He needs him to bring all the teachers together, immediately. 

In Clan Akabba’s base, Exodus and Malice float down a hall together. Malice groans, as she dusts her hands off, with burnt pieces of skin falling off. 

EXODUS: “You’ve held this form for nearly a year, and only on the eve of our victory are you beggining to burn?” 

MALICE: “I wasn’t fighting for most of that time. I was fine, but the princess and the wannabe prince were more challenging than I anticipated.” 

EXODUS: “Well keep it together. You will have your new body soon enough. It would just be tragic if the X-Men arrived and we fell because of you, wouldn’t it?” 

Exodus floats away from her with a smirk. 

MALICE, annoyed and dusting off more burnt skin: “I’m not the one who keeps losing to them.” 

Both Horsemen arrive in a chamber, away from the other prison cells, where Wanda and Pietro are shackled to the wall, with power dampening collars on them. Malice calls upon the power of Pestillence and opens the red eyes on her palms, and rips the poison out of Wanda, absorbing it back into herself. 

Wanda wakes up, gasping after her extended slumber. 

EXODUS: “Hello, Witch.” 

Wanda’s eyes fill with rage as she takes note of her surroundings, including Pietro, and attempts to blast her way out. But nothing happens. 

EXODUS: “There is no sorceress more powerful than you, Wanda Maximoff.” 

MALICE: “But even you are subject to the incantation placed on this chamber to block magic.” 

Wanda struggles, but soon accepts she’s trapped. 

WANDA: “I was asleep. For a long time.” 

MALICE: “Two months exactly, love.” 

WANDA, glaring at the face of her sister: “What do you want?” 

EXODUS: “It is just as the two of you discussed. Your chaos magic will break down the fabrics of reality, and resew them to form a beautiful quilt of Mutant dominated perfection.” BEAT. “Although…our specific ideas do differ from our diminutive queen’s.”

Exodus grips Wanda’s chin tightly. 

EXODUS: “In the world you forge, I will rule alone as king, my rightful place as the strongest of all. And my world will have no use for humans…or for filth.” 

Wanda shakes her head and Bennett lets go. 

WANDA: “I’ll die first.” 

MALICE: “No. You won’t.” 

Exodus and Malice’s eyes both glow, and Wanda screams. 

In Laura’s cell, she continues to lay unconscious. Until she suddenly jolts awake. 

AKIHIRO, standing over her: “I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But I guess you’ll always be your father’s daughter.” 

When Laura doesn’t respond, only glaring back, Akihiro tells her they always knew what she was doing. Lady Akabba tells him everything. But still, it was fun training her while it lasted. 

Laura looks away. 

AKIHIRO: “I can see it, you know. You being the ultimate weapon. If you’d just let go of the idea that it’s all you’re meant to be, I’m not even sure I could stop you. You’ll never be normal. But you’ll also never be what they wanted you to be.” 

Laura seethes. She then sniffs, picking something up. Laura looks back at Death. 

LAURA: “And I wasn’t lying.” 

Akihiro questions what she’s referring to. Laura sardonically explains that her understanding where he’s coming from wasn’t an act. If Logan really did what Akihiro said, she gets his rage. 

LAURA: “But Logan’s here. I smell him.” 

AKIHIRO, mockingly: “And you think I just need to hear his side of things to hug him and call him Daddy?” 

LAURA: “I think I need to hear. Then I can choose which of you I kill when I’m free.” 

AKIHIRO: “And what makes you think you’re ever getting free?”

LAURA: “Because…” she trails off, choked up. “Sofia may have lied about sharing my feelings. But she still loves me.” Laura forces a smirk. “And you woke me up for a reason.” 

Akihiro thinks, circling his tongue around his mouth. 

AKIHIRO: “I’ll think about it. For now…” With his pheremones, Akihiro puts Laura back to sleep. “There’s another brat I need to chat with.” 

In a low-end, New York City bar, we catch up with Roberto, who’s cheered on as he wins a round of darts with a bullseye. He sticks out like a sore thumb in this environment, wearing a three-piece suit. 

ROBERTO, blowing kisses: “Thank you! Thank you! You’re all too kind!” 

His disgruntled opponent pulls out his wallet and gets the money together to pay him for their bet, but Beto assures him that isn’t necessary. 

ROBERTO: “Next round is on me!” 

The whole bar cheers even louder. 

PATRON #1: “Doesn’t he seem to be a little too yuppy to be hanging out here?”

PATRON #2: “He kinda reminds me of those rich guys from the movies who like to kidnap and kill people.”

PATRON #3: “Both of you, shut up. He’s paying, and I’m not complaining.” 

Roberto sits down in a booth, where, on his phone, he has a million missed calls and texts from Monet. Most of Monet’s texts are monosyllabic and vaguely threatening, and one of them is just a picture of her glaring at him with a raised eyebrow. 

Beto rubs his forehead, as he thinks back to the ultimatum he received last episode. He buries his face in his hands. 

BETO: “What would you do, Papa?” 

As the door to the bar is opened, someone wearing black and red high-heels steps in. One guy hollars, only to get slapped by his friend; where does he think he is? 

PATRON #3: “Hey Bobby, she a friend of yours?” 

Beto picks his head up. He should have known he couldn’t hide from Monet. 

Sunspot gets up, only as he does so, everyone else in the bar disappears. 

BETO: “What the…?” 

“I thought we could use some privacy.” 

Beto’s eyes widen in horror as the woman who’s entered the bar reveals herself. Along with her black and red heels, which perfectly complement her long, flowing red hair, she wears a bright green business suit with gold shoulder-pads, a gold belt, and various gold and emerald jewelry. 

JEAN, smiling sweetly: “Hello, Roberto. It’s nice to see you again.” 

In the school’s medical bay, Kitty and Illyana stand by as Danger treats Kurt, with assistance from Melody Guthrie. 

DANGER: “She wants to be a nurse, and began aiding me after the riot. Isn’t that sweet?” 

YANA, still brooding: “Like a pony.” 

Kitty is a little more supportive and gives Aero a smile and a pat on the shoulder, as Melody leaves to get something. 

KITTY, sitting down next to Yana: “You still wanna talk?” 

MAGIK: “Not really. Feel like I should say something though.” 

KITTY, holding her hand: “What’s up?” 

Yana takes a deep breath. 

YANA: “How would you feel if I went away again?”

Kitty’s immediately worried by the question, and demands that she be direct with her. Magik sighs and explains that she’s just not sure what she’s really doing here. Yes, she’s with her friends, and fighting to protect Mutants but…

YANA: “The only times I’m not sad are when I’m with you.” She summons the anti-soulsword. “I’m not a demon. But I’m barely a Mutant either. My body doesn’t feel right, food doesn’t taste right. I thought I could handle being…this…but I can’t.” 

Kitty’s so sorry. But she’s also really glad Yana is at least able to come out with this on her own. She used to have to practically force it out of her when she was a teenager. 

KITTY: “Right now…right now, just know that, whatever you are, I love you. Because no matter what, you’re still Magik.” Yana weakly smiles. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to do more for you. We haven’t had a chance to breathe lately. But we’re about to beat the Horsemen, and when we do, we can take the deepest breath of our lives, and save Wanda. And if it’s what you want…” 

YANA: “She has the power to fix me.” 

Kitty hugs Yana, promising they’ll get through this. Then maybe Yana can finally take her out on a real date. 

YANA, getting red: “Me…taking you out?” 

KITTY: “I know what you want.” 

Yana’s face flickers between peace and distress. 

“Hi Ms. Pryde!” 

Kitty and Yana untangle as Foxx enters the medical bay. She heard Nightcrawler was here, and she wanted to make sure he’s okay. 

FOXX: “He was one of my favorite teachers. Blue solidarity and all.” 

KITTY: “That’s sweet, Foxx, but you can’t be here right now. I’ll ask Kurt to come see you later, okay?” 

FOXX: “Hmm. Okay. So he hasn’t even woken up yet?” 

KITTY: “Afraid not. Don’t worry, he will soon.” 

FOXX, smiling: “Cool.” 

As Foxx leaves, Magik asks Kitty if she’s talked to that girl about kissing Bling! yet , with Kitty replying that right now, she’s just worried about where Bling! is. 

The camera follows Foxx into the hallway as she pulls out her phone and sends a text. 

FOXX, texting: “Nightcrawler is unconscious. He hasn’t said anything.” 

“BABY DICTATOR”: “Make sure he doesn’t.” 

Foxx grins maliciously. 

We cut to the past, where Apocalypse is training a newly recruited Akihiro in his arena. As the two duel, Apocalypse complements the Muramasa blade; next to his own, it is one of the finest he has seen. 

Apocalypse guts Akihiro, and kicks him to the ground. 

APOCALYPSE: “But its side effects are unfortunate.” 

Akihiro pants as he heals, saying that the sword doesn’t change anything. 

AKIHIRO: “It is as you said. Death is all I am. It is all I need to be.” 

APOCALYPSE: “Correct. But being Death is something to relish. Not something to have infringed upon you.” 

AKIHIRO, standing: “Listen, my lord, me and Muramasa are on the same damn page. The world is worthless, and everyone in it deserves to die.” 

Apocalypse grumbles. He grabs Akihiro’s head and makes him scream, as his skin is completely covered in scars, and his eyes are gouged out. 

APOCALYPSE: “You birth family. The Hand. Romulus. They have all hurt you. They have all fed your hatred. And hatred can be a powerful tool, but it is not the strongest one there is.” Apocalypse makes Akihiro scream again, reversing his last procedure. “I do not hate humanity. No more than they hate the flies they swat at. True stregnth…” 

AKIHIRO, interrupting, still in pain: “Please do not say it comes from love.” 

APOCALYPSE, smiling: “I could say something else. But I would be lying. Hate only drives you to kill your enemies. Love drives you to do whatever comes after.” Apocalypse tightens his grip on Akihiro, before letting go. “You have never known love.” 

Akihiro doesn’t respond. Apocalypse slightly crushes his skull, prompting him to spit out that that is correct. He values his lord’s words, but he is not capable of love. Nor is he capable of being loved. 

Akihiro braces himself for more pain, but Apocalypse lets him go. 

APOCALYPSE: “I am not here to be your parent. You are here to serve. But I see your worth. If you persevere and prove yourself, I will grant you all that I have to offer. You will have the respect you earn. Once you know respect, from within and from others, love will come.” Apocalypse turns his back and walks away. “And when you do find one you love, show all their enemies the power of Death.” 

As Apocalypse exits, Akihiro collapses, panting. 

In the present, we remain in the arena, as Akihiro screams, kicking Julian into a wall. Julian wakes up, still wearing a power dampening collar, with everything aching. Seeing Death, he processes what’s going on, and stands. 

JULIAN, panting: “Where…is she?” 

AKIRHIO, Muramasa in hand: “You mean Lady Akabba? Visiting Lord Apocalypse. She’s about to wake him up and take over the world. Big day.” 

Hellion tries to power up, but groans as he notices his collar. 

AKIHIRO: “Sorry. Death fears no one, but I still wasn’t taking any chances.” 

Julian gets further pissed, knowing now that this is Laura’s creepy brother. Akihiro can’t deny either part of that description. 

Hellion clenches his metal fists. He knows he’s a powerless prisoner and he’s up against a Horseman. But that isn’t an excuse not to try. 

Julian rushes Akihiro, who licks his lips. Death swings at Hellion’s head, but Julian barely slides underneath Muramasa, only losing a few hairs. The X-Man then jumps out of the way as Akihiro brings his sword down on him. 

AKIHIRO, not seriously chasing and swinging at Julian: “You must be curious why I have you here.” 

JULIAN, barely dodging despite Akihiro’s lack of care: “Nope! Just thinking about knocking your head off!” 

Hellion gets kicked upside the head, launching him up into the air before he crashes back down. 

AKIHIRO: “Same powers and more as your friend. It would just grow back.” 

As Julian struggles to stand, Death explains to him that he wanted to have a chat. To reach an understanding before everything changes. 

AKIHIRO: “For reasons I can’t fathom, Lady Akabba still loves your boyish face. And she intends to–”

JULIAN, cutting him off: “Sofia.” BEAT. “Her name is Sofia.” 

AKIHIRO, grinning: “Not anymore it isn’t.” Julian attacks him, but Akihiro casually dances around his punches. “ She is Lady Akabba. War. The daughter of Apocalypse.” 

Death slices an “X” across Julian’s chest,before backhanding him away. He can’t get back up this time. 

AKIHIRO: “And despite what she thinks, she no longer has a use for you. You are beneath her. So if you want what’s best for her, when she offers you the opportunity to rule at her side, you will decline. And you will bear the honor of dying at her hand.” 

Julian grunts, scratching his hands against the ground. 

JULIAN: “What…did you do to her?” 

AKIHIRO: “I only gave a push in the direction.” He presses the tip of Muramasa against Julian’s forehead, drawing blood. “Do we have an understanding?” 

Julian is pissed, but forces himself to grin up at Death. 

JULIAN: “I don’t know a ton about what’s going on right now…but she’s not gonna fuck you, man.” 

Death is incensed. We pan away as he does something else to make Hellion scream. 

Elsewhere in the base, Hellion’s screams transition into Wanda’s, as Exodus and Malice continue to psychically torture her. 

EXODUS: “I don’t know what Pestillence is seeing in there. Frankly, I do not care enough to look. All that matters is the power you do not deserve.” 

WANDA, still able to speak on the physical plane despite her mind being invaded by Malice: “What…are you talking about?” 

EXODUS: “We Mutants were chosen by the lord. In that way, we are all special. But your connection to the chaos force was born of sheer luck. When you build my new world, it will no longer exist.” 

WANDA, struggling to hold in her screams, but standing strong: “It does not matter what you do to me. I will not grant you want you seek.” 

EXODUS: “What you want is irrelevant. I am the strongest. And the strong always get what they want.” 

Bennett turns up the psychic torture, making Scarlet Witch scream again. 

We flash back to the past. 

One year ago, a nude Bennett steps out of a steamy, ornate shower. He clears the fog from his mirror with his telekinesis and begins brushing his hair and drying himself off with his telekinesis as well. 

As Exodus does this, he can’t help but admire his own attractiveness. He feels and strokes his own muscles. And then imagines someone else doing the same. Turning his head, a young knight in black stands behind him, smiling innocently as he massages Exodus. 

Bennett at first appears at peace. He then cringes and shouts, destroying his bathroom with a telekinetic wave. 

EXODUS: “No! No. I have purged myself of this sin. I cannot fall to it now.” 

“You have been fighting this battle for centuries, and still have not achieved victory.” 

Exodus sneers as Apocalypse appears in his cracked mirror. 

APOCALYPSE: “Are you not ready to yield?” 

Exodus spins around and fires a massive energy blast at Apocalypse, destroying part of his own home. Apocalypse merely reaches his hand out to disintigeate Exodus’ attacks, as he fires a speared tentacle out of his stomach to skewer Bennett, and pull him in close to him. 

EXODUS, gasping for life: “I…will kill you.” 

APOCALYPSE: “Another mission you have had for centuries, and another you will never achieve.”

Apocalypse shoves Exodus off his tentacle and onto the floor. 

APOCALYPSE: “You will never defeat me. Just as you will never cease to hunger for the taste of the first you killed in my name.” 

Exodus shouts again, launching an energy blast aout of his bleeding mouth, but Apocalypse puts a quick stop to that as he gets on top of Bennett, mounting him, and forcefully covers his mouth with his hand. 

APOCALYPSE: “I require new Horsemen. And you, my once trusted Crusader, are whom I believe to be the fittest of Mutantkind’s present crop. The rest of the world’s Mutants are weak and soft in their own ways. But you are of another world. Another time. And you were built by me.” 

Apocalypse’s eyes glow back as he attacks Bennett’s mind. 

APOCALYPSE: “But before I upgrade you, my creation.” Exodus struggles, but can’t do anything to get Apocalypse off of him. “I will purge you of your weaknesses.” 

Bennett is completely afraid. 

Back at the bar, Roberto isn’t sure what to do in the presence of Jean. Jean, however, has no fear or anxiety, and hugs Beto. 

JEAN: “I’ve missed you.” 

BETO, even more confused: “I guess you’re not here to blow me up then.” 

JEAN, pulling back: “We didn’t get to spend much time together on the X-Men, but it was never difficult to see the gentleness in your heart.” 

Jean smiles warmly, allowing Beto to breathe and smile back. 

BETO: “I’m guessing the Phoenix Force isn’t just here for a social call though.” 

Jean holds her arm out to be able. 

JEAN: “Please. Sit.” 

Beto turns his head and sees that a whole buffet of food has appeared where there was nothing moments ago. 

BETO: “You really can do anything now, huh?”

JEAN: “It’s just simple molecule manipulation.” Jean sits. “And don’t worry, the other patrons are all still alive.” 

BETO: “Nice to know.” 

Jean asks how Beto is first. Beto cheekily responds that she probably already knows. 

JEAN: “Yes. But I’m trying to not forget all of my manners.” 

Sunspot gives the cliffnotes of her current position. He has no faith in Cyclops, Emma, and Magneto, something he’s sure Jean and himself are in agreement on, and is still trying to support them, while also making his own, better plans, but they’ve made clear they don’t want him if he isn’t committed. 

JEAN: “Isn’t the answer simple? Aren’t you more confident in yourself than them?” 

SUNSPOT: “I’m more confident in my ability to protect us. I’m not confident I’ll like who doing so makes me.” 

JEAN: “Not surprising. There are many shades of Erik and Emma in your plans.” Jean consumes a steak by tapping it with her finger and absorbing it into herself. “I’m so disappointed in Magneto. I didn’t think he’d be overrun so easily by the others.” Jean snaps her fingers. “That’s not how I’m supposed to eat here.” 

As Jean picks up a fork to eat a salad, Beto acknowledges their ideas aren’t all bad. The problem is the people themselves. Of course, they’re far from the worst people. 

BETO: “Could you imagine what my father would have done with the power of an Omega-level Mutant?”

JEAN: “We can ask him if you’d like.” 

BETO, unsure if she’s serious: “Umm…no thank you.” 

JEAN, shrugging: “This is tasty. I should grow my own food more often.” 

Jean tells Beto that she never knew his father, she’s only heard stories. But from what she’s seen, Beto could never be like him. 

BETO: “Big words from you.” 

JEAN: “They aren’t all I have for you. I was drawn here by the machinations of an old friend of yours. John Sublime.” 

Beto curses in Spanish, before Jean tells him it’s fine; he’s finally dead, and she stopped what he was planning. 

JEAN: “However, I wasn’t entirely successful in what I sought to do.” 

BETO: “I didn’t think you could make mistakes anymore.” 

JEAN: “I can’t. But I also can’t always stop others from making them.” 

At the table next to theirs, Beto sees Celeste, Phoebe, and Mindee, eating in silence, with cold eyes and shaking hands. 

BETO: “The Cuckoos? What happened? Why are there only–?” 

He bangs the table, not even needing to finish his question to know the answer. 

JEAN: “I tried to save Esme. I did. But there was nothing I could do.” 

As Beto beats himself up, knowing that, whatever happened, the Cuckoos wouldn’t have even been involved if they hadn’t let the riot happen, Jean tells him not to despair. 

JEAN: “I’d like to ask you for a few favors.” 

In Clan Akabba’s lair, Dust knocks on the door of Sofia’s bedroom. Classical music is heard from the bedroom. 

SOFIA: “Enter.” 

The guards at her door open the entrance for Sooraya, who steps forward to find Sofia, seated on her bed, waving her finger along to the music. 

SOORAYA: “You wished to see me, So…Lady Akabba?” 

SOFIA, getting up, in a good mood: “You are a part of my inner circle, Dust. War is fine.” 

War has both good news and bad news for Sooraya. 

SOFIA: “Thanks to the Celestial implant I gave her, your mother just woke up, and is on the verge of a miraculous, full recovery.” 

Sooraya presses her hands to her heart and says a swift prayer. 

SOORAYA: “Thank you so much. May I go see her?” 

Sofia’s face falls. This is where the bad news comes in. 

SOFIA: “Some X-Men found us. We apprehended most of them, but Nightcrawler got away. There is a chance Cyclops and his team will come next, and before our plan is put into place.” Sooraya gets nervous, and Sofia picks up on this, floating over to her. “I will not make you fight them if you do not feel you are ready. Making you fight when you are not fit for battle would be foolish. If you would like, you may leave right now and go see your mother. I would like you at my side when I create our paradise, but it is your choice. And it is one you must make now.” 

Sooraya hangs her out, taking a moment to think. Until…

SOORAYA: “May I ask a question?”

SOFIA: “Anything.” 

SOORAYA, shooting Sofia a hard stare: “Did Apocalypse offer you choices like this?” 

The question catches Lady Akabba off guard, but she keeps herself together. 

SOFIA: “Yes. He did. Father never forced me to do anything. He only encouraged what was in my best interest.”

SOORAYA, demure, yet skeptical: “I see. And you don’t regret any of them?” 

Sofia fails to maintain her composure this time, as she cringes. 

We flash back to this bedroom, several months ago, where Apocalypse meditates, hovering above his bed. 

While Apocalypse is trying to experience a moment of peace, it becomes clear he isn’t going to get it, as War floats behind him on her side, in a loose fitting yellow and white dress. 

Apocalypse tries to ignore her as she casually flits around the room, but his frustration grows as he grumbles. 

APOCALYPSE: “May I help you?” 

SOFIA: “I am bored. I wish to train.” 

APOCALYPSE: “I am meditating. Challenge Famine.” 

SOFIA: “I don’t want to train with Famine.” 

Apocalypse lets out a deep sigh, making Sofia giggle. 

APOCALYPSE: “Do you know why I am meditating?”

SOFIA: “I once made a video about how it is good for your skin. But I doubt that is what this is.”

Apocalypse explains that he is attempting to heal his internal injuries, and regain some of his lost strength. 

APOCALYPSE: “In my current condition, I estimate myself to possess strength similar to that of my original Horsemen. Tolerable, but not ideal.” 

SOFIA, face filling with guilt: “Oh. I see.” Sofia sits down on the bed. “I won’t bother you then.” 

Apocalypse returns to his meditation. But although the room is silent, Sofia’s thoughts aren’t. 

APOCALYPSE: “What?” 

SOFIA, exploding out of her seat: “You know what! It’s my fault you’re like this! You’re this injured and weakened because I wasn’t strong enough on my own.” Sofia shakes with guilt. “If you had never met me, no one, not the X-Men, not humanity, would have stood any chance of stopping you from achieving our dream.” 

Apocalypse takes a few moments to respond. 

APOCALYPSE: “Yes.” 

SOFIA: “Yes?! And?!” 

APOCALYPSE: “And I enjoy your company more than any I have had for the past century, so I do not regret my choice. I have faced 4,000 years of set-backs. This is just another.” 

SOFIA, with a pained smile: “You really aren’t upset?” 

APOCALYPSE: “I am. But I am not going to blame you for matters outside your control. I am your father, not the worm who gave you your first life.” He pauses to admire Sofia as her smile warms up. “Do you doubt that we are strong enough to destroy all who stand against us?” 

SOFIA, shaking her head: “No. I do not.” 

APOCALYPSE: “Then there are no problems.” 

Apocalypse attempts once more to meditate, only to be hit with a burst of fire from behind, knocking him back. 

He glares at Sofia as she smirks at him. 

SOFIA: “I know that we are strong enough to defeat anyone. But I believe your full current strength should be tested. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Apocalypse momentarily looks pissed, before laughing and smiling at her. 

APOCALYPSE: “You are so strange.” 

The camera pans out, moving out of the bedroom. War laughs and screams as the sounds of their fight are heard. 

In the present, Sofia has an answer for Sooraya. 

SOFIA: “No. I have no regrets.” 

Cyclops, Emma, and Magneto arrive back in the school, dramatically entering the foyer. Kitty lets Emma know telepathically that everyone’s together in the Mission Room. 

As the three headmasters make their way there, Pixie and Blindfold take notice of them. 

MEGAN, blowing up obnoxiously large bubbles with her bubblegum: “What are they in such a hurry for?” 

RUTH: “I believe the time has come for this semester’s battle between the X-Men and those who seek to damn us all.” 

MEGAN: “Uh, what do you mean, “this semester’s, Blindy”?” 

RUTH: “Please don’t talk to me.” 

Scott, Emma, and Erik arrive in the Mission Room, where they find Kitty, Magik, Dani, Warpath, Cannonball, Karma, and Wolfsbane all waiting. 

SCOTT: “Alright, X-Men. Listen up. We know where the Horsemen are. And it’s time we–” 

Sam interrupts Scott, apologizing, but wondering where Sunspot is. 

EMMA: “We gave Roberto a choice regarding his future on this team. From the fact he is currently blocking out my telepathy, it appears he’s made his decision. Understood?” 

None of the New Mutants look happy about whatever went on, but now’s not the time to dwell. 

“Let’s get to the battle plan.” 

Scott turns, and is surprised to see one more face: Iceman. 

ICEMAN, shaking Cyclops’ hand: “Heard we were finally doing this.” 

SCOTT, barely smiling: “Glad you’re here. Sit down.” 

The headmasters fill in everyone on what they know. The Horsemen’s base is located directly underneath their previous one. They know what to expect from Lady Akabba, Exodus, Malice, and Akihiro by now. The wins the Horsemen have scored against them were thanks to their surprises, but there shouldn’t be any more of those. Still, don’t forget that there are still no doubt other villains they’ve faced in the past working for them. 

SCOTT: “They have our kids. Every one of our X-Men in Training has been taken.” Dani is clearly pissed. “They have Logan, Storm, and Colossus.” Kitty is enraged. “And they have Scarlet Witch. I don’t know what they’ve been waiting for, but if we don’t act now, they will use her to rewrite everything.” Erik shuts his eyes. 

SCOTT: “Dani, these are your students, and I know you’ve been wanting this. Welcome to the X-Men.” 

Dani nods affirmatively. Magik pats her on the back. 

SCOTT: “Kitty, Magik, you’re obviously with us. The rest of you are staying here.” 

This comment causes an uproar among the others, who all want to fight, but Magneto orders them all to settle down and behave like adults.

ERIK: “Even if some of you barely are ones.” 

Rahne growls at him. 

Bobby demands to know what Scott’s doing. 

BOBBY: “I come back out here, I’m the biggest gun you’ve got, and Warren and Brian need me to get justice for them, and you’re benching me?!” 

Scott tells him that it’s because he’s their biggest gun that he can’t come with them. Look they already have, now look who he’s taking. 

SCOTT: “If you come with us and we fail, there’s no one left who’s capable of stopping them.” He puts a hand on Iceman’s shoulder. “If we go down, it’s up to you. Got it?” 

Bobby doesn’t like it, but he gets it and agrees. 

EMMA: “Our hypothetical back-up squad will also require a leader.” She turns her head. “James. Ideally we won’t give you the chance to, but don’t let us down.” 

Warpath is more than a little surprised they picked him over Bobby or Sam. 

MAGNETO: “Don’t be. You’ve earned it.” 

WARPATH, proudly nodding: “You’ve got it.” 

CYCLOPS: “Okay then. To me, my X-Men!” 

Kitty, Magik, and Dani gather around the three headmasters, with Magik teleporting the six of them away in a stepping disc. 

Underground, Akihiro stalks through the cells, cleaning Julian’s blood off his hands. 

“Death!” 

Akihiro raises an eyebrow at the sound of who’s calling his name. He turns to find Dust walking him from behind. 

AKIHIRO, dismissively: “Something I can help you with?” 

He doesn’t even pay attention to her, turning his attention to cleaning himself off. 

SOORAYA, put off: “I am friends with your “lady”. Should you not be more respectful?” 

Aki laughs and looks up at her. 

AKIHIRO: “You’re bold. Stupid, but bold. How can I help you, Dust?” 

Sooraya is momentarily distracted by the blood on Akihiro’s hands before she answers. 

SOORAYA: “I am about to leave to visit my mother in the hospital. Before I left, I wanted to thank you.” 

AKIHIRO: “For what?”

SOORAYA: “You found Leper Queen. If you hadn’t been able to do that so quickly, Laura and I would be dead right now. So…thank you for saving our lives.” 

The concept of being thanked for actually preventing death is one that’s clearly foreign to Akihiro from the look on his face, but she shakes it off. 

AKIHIRO: “It was Lady Akabba’s will, so it was done.” 

DUST: “You mean you do not care if Laura dies? I doubt that.” 

AKIHIRO: “It’s not up to me. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to go see who’s definitely going to die.” 

Aki turns around to go see Logan, but…

DUST: “I want to speak to Storm before I go.” 

AKIHIRO, still walking away: “Unless War gave you permission, that’s not happening.” 

DUST: “Did she give you permission to torture her king?” 

That stops Akihiro in his tracks. 

AKIHIRO: “How did you…”

He trails off as all the sand particles on the floor hover into the air. 

SOORAYA: “We are in the desert, Death. There is nothing here I cannot see, and nothing I cannot hear.” 

Akihiro resumes walking after a moment. 

AKIHIRO: “You get two minutes. But I promise, if this is a trick, it won’t matter to me who your friends are.” 

Dust finnesses some of the sand particles delicately into Akihiro’s hair. 

DUST: “That won’t be a problem. Thank you.”

In the bar, as Jean eats a Phoenix-themed sunday, she tells Sunspot what she needs from him. First, he needs to take the Cuckoos home. These girls have suffered so much and, much as she hates to admit, Scott and Emma are who they need right. 

BETO, taking a guess: “And you don’t want to have to explain the situation to them yourself because…that would mean talking to them.” 

Jean pops a cherry in her mouth and sucks on it. 

JEAN: “The other favor is a little more involved, and I’ll understand if you aren’t up to it?” 

BETO AND JEAN (who knows exactly what Beto will say): “Roberto Da Costa is up for anything.” 

Beto glares at her. Jean looks back warmly, telling him there’s no point with the bravado around her. He can relax. 

BETO: “Not something I’ve been good at since hitting puberty, I’m afraid.”

JEAN, leaning in and resting her hand on Beto’s arm: “I need you…to keep doing what you’re doing.” Beto raises an eyebrow. “For me.” 

Beto doesn’t understand. Jean explains that she completely shares his fears over Cyclops and Emma screwing everything up for both Mutantkind and humanity and, at this stage, she has just as little confidence in Magneto. 

JEAN: “Maybe even less.” 

Jean knows he’s been building his own operation, with the help of some of his old friends, and some old enemies. All for the purpose of protecting Mutants, should the X-Men fail. 

JEAN: “Skimming your mind, it’s a solid plan. But wouldn’t it be so much better if, instead of just a contingency plan for after the fact, you had a way to actually stop them?” 

ROBERTO: “I’m listening.” 

Jean finishes her sunday by abrosbing it into herself, as he levitates herself, and levitates Beto onto his feet. 

Energy swirls around Jean, shaking the ground and making the lights flicker, as she groans in mild pain. She pants as she completes her task, releasing a tall, flaming crystal from her pointer finger, with it sitting on her finger delicately on its tip. 

PHOENIX: “This is a Phoenix Shard. It is a piece of my essence. Cute, isn’t it?” 

ROBERTO: “You’re giving me a piece of you?” 

PHOENIX: “No. I’m going to implant it in your heart.” 

Jean explains that once this is inside him, he will no longer be among the weakest X-Men. He won’t be among the strongest either, but he will be able to hold his own. It will bring out his full potential. 

JEAN: “And, just once, when the time comes that the X-Men must be stopped in their tracks from making a grave error, it will give you the ability to fufill any singular miracle necessary to stop them. It will then burn out after that use, and all the power will slip away, And, if you use it for selfish or malicious reasons, thinking you can go behind my back, it will also incinerate your heart.” 

Beto looks into the Phoenix Shard, captivated by how free the flames dance within their confined space. He takes a moment to think. 

BETO, standing tall and popping his collar: “It would have been nice working more with you, Jean Grey.” 

JEAN, grinning: “Is that a yes?” 

BETO, nodding: “Yes It is.” 

JEAN; “Good. And don’t worry. We will work together again.” 

Jean raises her finger, the crystal not moving or falling as she does so. She slowly sticks it inside Roberto’s chest, making him scream, and lighting up the bar. 

Cyclops, Emma, Magneto, Kitty, Magik, and Dani appear in the desert via stepping disc. They’re ready for battle, with Scott already having a blast ready to fire, Emma in her diamond form, and Magik and Dani with their weapons drawn. 

CYCLOPS: “Stay alert, X-Men. Emma, can Kitty phase us here, or do we need to move?” 

Before Emma can answer, a furious wind blows sand all around the X-Men, and into their faces. As everyone coughs, Kitty grabs onto them to phase them through the sandstorm. Emma and Magneto don’t wait any longer to use telekinesis and magnetism to clear the storm. 

When the sandstorm is cleared, the X-Men turn their attention to the highly-visible figure responsible for it. Dressed in her full armor, Lady Akabba stands before them. 

WAR: “X-Men. I am glad you are here. Claiming victory while you still stand would have felt wrong.” 

Dani doesn’t hesitate to fire a spirit arrow at War’s head, but Lady Akabba casually draws her sword and deflects it in the same motion. Dani’s eyes are wet and intense. 

LADY AKABBA: “I see we are getting straight to the point then.” 

DANI: “You murdered two of our students. You aren’t walking away from this.” 

BEAT

LADY AKABBA: “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Ms. Moonstar. As I am the only reason Selene didn’t snap you like a twig, I believe gratitude is in order.”

DANI: “What the Hell are you talking about?” 

Before War can answer, Cyclops fires a mid-level blast at Lady Akabba, which she flies into the air to avoid. 

SCOTT: “We know you aren’t how you present yourself. We know you’re just the latest kid Apocalypse brainwashed, just with a god complex. You can’t fight all of us. Call out your Horsemen, or surrender.” 

BEAT

Lady Akabba laughs. She laughs more and more, as her voice fluctuates between her natural one and her modulated one. 

LADY AKABBA: “Oh, Mr. Summers. How is it you can have plans and contingencies for everything…” War reaches behind her head and undoes the clasps of her helmet. She takes it off and shakes her glossy brown hair, revealing herself as Sofia. “And yet you couldn’t see what was right in front of you?”

Scott, Emma, Kitty, and Magik are all shocked. Dani pulls her hands to her mouth, tears escaping her eyes, horrified. 

Magik is the first to get over her shock, charging up mystical energy in her hand as she roars. 

SOFIA, smirking: “Emma, take them out.” 

The psychic command implanted in Emma’s mind back at the beach activates, forcing her to comply. She psy-blasts the other X-Men without restraint, before collapsing. Illyana and Dani are knocked out by the blasts, but Magneto is protected by his helmet, and while Cyclops and Kitty are forced to their knees, their red triangles are strong enough to keep them awake. 

Cyclops fires a much larger blast than before at Sofia, which she meets in mid-aid with a wave of flames. 

SCOTT: “Magneto, take her down!” 

Erik nods. And then knocks out Kitty with a magnetic blast. 

SCOTT: “What?!” 

Magneto then knocks out Cyclops as well. 

Sofia giggles as Magneto hangs his head in shame, removes his helmet, and kneels. 

LADY AKABBA: “Well done, Magneto.” She lands right in front of him. “You have no idea how good it feels to have you at my feet.” 

ERIK, cringing: “The X-Men are defeated. My life is forfeit. And in exchange…”

SOFIA: “Your children may have a bumpy ride getting there, but they will all survive into my new world.” 

As Erik struggles with what he’s done, Lady Akabba backhands him to knock him out. 

We flash back to months ago to a rarely seen mansion, where Walter Barrett is annoyed, as he’s forced to get dressed in the middle of the night, and return to the office to take care of something. 

WALTER: “Derek, get the card ready! We need to be there fast. These damn, incompotent…” 

Walter trails off as he’s startled, entering the foyer of his home, to find Sofia, dressed in normal clothes, but with her new sword on her waist, and her blue skin visible. 

SOFIA: “Hello, Walter.” 

WALTER: “Sofia?! What is the meaning of this?! You nearly gave me a damn heart attack!” 

SOFIA, grinning and floating up to him: “I am sorry.” 

WALTER: “If you’re here to take me up on my offer, you’re far too late. Especially if that new pigment of yours is permanent.” 

SOFIA, shaking her head: “I am not here for your home or money.” Sofia blows him away, forcing him against the wall. He tries to scream, but she prevents the sound of his voice from traveing anywhere. “I already have more than you could ever offer.” 

Walter, terrified and whimpering, asks what she’s doing. She can’t just come in here and murder him. 

SOFIA: “I studied English more recently than you. Murder is also known as homocide because  it is the killing of someone by another of their kind. That is not what is happening here.” Walter screams as she slashes his face with the air. “This is the beginning of an extermination. And I cannot think of anywhere better to start.” 

Walter pleads and begs for his life, clearly amusing Sofia, and each time he tries to call for help, Sofia crushes the soundwaves in mid-air. 

SOFIA: “Think of what you could have had if you weren’t such a worthless worm. My mother. Me. And all of this to enjoy with us in a long, happy life. Instead, you will die here, surrounded by your riches, alone and unloved by anyone.” She grips his throat and chokes him. “I am not your daughter. But if there is anything you have ever wanted to tell me, say it now.” 

As Walter’s face weakens, it seems like he may actually have some heartfelt final words. Instead…

WALTER: “Yes. I should never have fucked that damn who–!” 

Sofia squeezes her hand, and pops Walter’s head off. 

Sofia is shaken by the act, freezing up for a moment, and looking at the blood all over her. This took more out of her than expected. 

“Sofia?” 

In a daze, and with her instincts kicking in, Sofia spins around, swinging her sword. Only to realize in horror that she just sliced through Derek ‘s chest. 

SOFIA, as Derek falls over: “No.” 

DEREK, on the floor and bleeding out, reaching out a hand: “Sofia…please help me.” 

Sofia institucally moves to take his hand, but stops herself as she catches her reflection in her sword. She steels herself as she pulls her hand back and stands tall. 

SOFIA: “I almost forgot myself. How weak of me. To almost value the life of a man so worthless he devotes it to a man he hates.” She points her palm down at him. “Thank you for taking care of Sofia. But that service is no longer needed.” 

We cut away as Sofia releases her flames. 

In the present, Surge finally wakes up, seated at the dining room table in Clan Akabba’s face. 

NORI: “What the Hell was that…nightmare?” 

Cessily and Roxy wake up as well, neither remembering how they got here. 

And Julian and Laura are each woken up a second time, as they all find themselves sitting around the same table, and with the same hostess. 

Lady Akabba, in an evening gown, sits at the head of a table, a lavish meal spread across the table, and Dust stood behind her lady. 

LADY AKABBA: “I know you all must be very confused, my friends. But fear not. I will show you all the way.” 

As Surge, Mercury, and Bling! are all in shock, Laura is pissed, and Julian is heartbroken. Elsewhere in the base, Akihiro is waking up Logan, Exodus and Malice are torturing Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch, Storm, Colossus, Dani, Kitty, and Magik are locked up, guarded by Greycrow and Riptide, and Cyclops, Emma, and Magneto are chained to the walls of Lady Akabba’s throneroom. 

With victory at hand, Sofia ttriumphantly takes a sip of wine. 

TO BE CONTINUED…

#New X-Men: The Animated Series #New X-Men #Academy X #Scott Summers #Emma Frost #Magneto #Kitty Pryde #Roberto Da Costa #Illyana Rasputin #Laura kinney #Sofia Mantega #Julian Keller #Noriko Ashida #sooraya qadir #cessily kincaid #Roxanne washington #The Stepford Cuckoos

[engels-art-gallery]

I wrote a short blurb about how Reynauld always falls victim to Dismas’ gallows humor, and is now fed up with it. Read the full story (with art!) under the cut.

They were victorious once more, but they paid a high price. Alhazred was dead and Boudica tethered at the brink of madness, Dismas and Reynauld both were at death's door, covered in injuries and blood. Yet the highwayman laughed in the face of death.

"Gettin' the feeling death keeps avoiding me!" he boasted, but there was pain in his eyes while he looked over the mangled corpse of their fallen comrade. "When will it end..?" he whispered.

"You should not joke about that!" Reynaulds voice sounded harsher than it needed to be. Dismas always joked about getting killed and dying in the fight for the Hamlet. The knight had heard it a thousand times, and he didn't know how longer he could take it.

The highwayman had a lopsided grin on his face, "Wha'? Ye really think we will get out 'ere alive?" he laughed, but it was the laugh of desperation. He came to this Hamlet to die, to do one good thing with his godforsaken life before it snuffed out. Better than hanging at the gallows, like he deserved it.

"Yes! Yes, I believe it so!" Reynauld shouted, shaking with rage. No he didn't. He knew Dismas was right. It was just a matter of time before they ended up like the occultist, whose body soon would become food for maggots and worms.

An annoyed sigh escaped the highwayman's throat before he looked back at the crusader "Get a grip, Reynauld, and face reality. We are walkin' corpses and not even yer light's gonna change tha'." he said, while cleaning his short sword with a rag. Dismas suddenly looked very intently on the blade. He hated when Reynauld got like this. He almost made him believe with those pretty words of forgiveness and mercy. But there was no mercy for people like him.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through his left cheek, Reynauld had backhanded him. "Wha' was that for? You fookin' lost yer brains or what?" he growled and held his cheek, shooting the crusader angry looks, his sword ready to strike in case Reynauld had indeed gone mad.

"Stop. Talking. About. Dying!" the knight grabbed Dismas at the coat's fur and dragged him closer. Uncomfortable close. "I'm so sick of listening to you rejoicing your own death and looking forward to dying!" his voice shook with anger and for a moment Dismas feared the mad man would hit him again, but that fear faded once he saw the tears glistening in Reynauld’s eyes. One fell out and mixed with grime and half dried blood on its journey into the crusader's bushy beard.

"I know damn well that we are doomed! I know that we are not making it out of here alive, not at the rate everyone around us is dying. Our enemies are getting stronger and more cunning the more we slay. We are walking corpses, just as you say." the crusader took a shaky breath before he continued, "I know all that but I can't continue fighting like that without hope, I’m not strong enough to do that! I want to believe that the light will save me when I drive my sword into the flesh of the pigs. I dream of living a peaceful life while I shatter the bones of skeletons, and I think of growing old with you while we march through brackish waters and get assaulted by snails!"

Raynaud's voice failed him, and he buried his face in the fur of his companion's jacket, "Please, Dismas, don't deny me this hope." he begged.

The highwayman had listened to his friend until the last sentence. The whole time he believed Reynauld to be naïve, to be blind to the fate they faced. But this was just his way of coping with the horrible situation they were in. 

Slowly he lifted a hand and gently ruffled the scraggly hair of the knight, "I'm sorry, Rey." he whispered softly and decided that he would try to not talk so much about looking forward to death, if it hurt his friend so much.

#darkest dungeon #dismas #reynauld #highwayman #crusader #I'm not much of a writer on my own #i always feel better writing collaboratievely with someone else

[fanmoose12]

Sorry if angsty prompt hehe

Levi's last letter to Hange after death?

🙏🙏🙏

"I've heard... that it helps people, you know, makes it easier to deal with the loss," Onyankopon shifts his weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with the topic at hand, but at the same earnestly trying to help him.

Levi appreaciates it, Levi appreciates Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco, even if he shows it only on rare occasions. But it was always a fault of his, a fault that only person didn't care about, person who is now... gone.

Levi doesn't believe that something as trivial as writing a letter would help him get over Hange's death. He doesn't believe that anything in the world would help him to move on from this loss. And how can he move on? When Hange was the one who took his heart.

"If it doesn't help," Onyankopon continues, putting writing utensils on the desk before him. "Maybe, it can ease the pain a little. Some people say that writing to their lost loved ones makes them feel like they're actually alive."

That's what convinces Levi to do it. He knows Hange is dead, knows that dead can't come back, but he's an old, grieving man. If writing some letter can make him feel like Hange is actually there with him, he'll write a thousand letters, until his fingers go numb.

Besides, it's not like he has anything better to do, right?

"I'll do it," he tells Onyankopon and rolls closer to the desk, taking a quill in his hand. Writing using his left hand is not as easy, his handwriting is not as neat, but for Hange, he'll do his best.

He waits until Onyankopon leaves the room, before writing the first words.

Dear Hange,

Instantly, he crosses it out. It's too formal, too impersonal, too... normal for the two of them. He crumbles that paper and takes another one. There he writes,

Shitty four-eyes,

There, so much better.

He stops after that, not knowing what to write next. What should he write about? About his everyday life? A lot has happened after Hange died. But all of these events don't seem all that significant to him. Will Hange be of the same opinion?

Hange is dead, he reminds himself. Dead can't have opinions.

Then what should the letter be about? Should he write how much he misses Hange? How most of the nights he wakes up in cold sweat, reliving that fateful day over and over?

Dead don't have feelings, but still, Levi doesn't want to write about that. Even if he knows that Hange won't be able to read his letter, he doesn't want to write about his troubles, about his grief and pain.

What is left then? If he can't write about his feelings and can't write about his routine, then...

Oh. It finally dawns on him.

He can always complain. Hange liked listening to it, after all.

Levi grips the quill tighter and aims the point of it on the paper.

You probably wouldn't believe it, but I'm stuck with children again. I don't know if you remember Gabi, but Falco says he remembers you. They're loud, these brats. And they're in love with each other and watching the two of them awkwardly dance around each other is excruciating. Perhaps, that's my punishment for all the things I've done - I have to be around hormonal teenagers until the day I die. Not the worst fate I've imagined for myself.

But even with two brats that visit my apartment at all times of day, the house is still so fucking quiet. The kids don't yell random curses, they don't sing in the mornings, don't hum while cooking, don't laugh like they've lost their minds, don't pester me with annoying "Levi, Levi, look what I've found", don't taunt me until I snap.

They're nice, these kids. I suppose. But they can't replace you.

The first tear rolls down his nose and onto the paper, staining it, but Levi doesn't stop. He doesn't even notice that he's crying, too focused on the letter and the thoughts in his head.

You would laugh at me, four-eyes, you always liked doing that, but sometimes I forget that you're not with me. I can't understand the reason for it - perhaps, I'm already going crazy, or, perhaps, you've been annoying me for so long that now I simply can't get you out of my head, but there are times when Gabi says something stupid and idealistic, I turn my head to the right, a joke already on my lips. And sometimes, when Falco does something ridiculous, I subconsciously search for your eyes, so I could exchange an amused look with you. I realize what I'm doing only a moment later.

It's annoying, you know? I can't get away from you even after your death. You're not here anymore, but I guess... I guess you're still in my heart.

I don't know when you will leave it, honestly, I don't think you ever will.

But that's exactly what I meant, didn't I? When I told you to devote your heart. You devoted your heart to the bright future, to the survival of humatiny. And I devoted my heart to you.

You're dead, but my heart is still beating, although sometimes it feels like every heartbeat brings me only more pain. I wonder when will this pain end? Will it end at all? Will it end when I see you again? When our hearts reunite and start beating in unison once again?

If so, I hope you're waiting for me, Hange. Personally, I can't wait to see you again.

His letters came out uneven, the paper was wet with tears, and the deep longing inside, the constant heartache don't disappear, but... Levi feels lighter. Levi feels like... he has talked with a friend, like he has talked with Hange.

Onyankopon was right, it seems. Perhaps, he should thank him.

Levi puts the quill down, setting it neatly aside. He wants to leave the desk, but as his eye swipes over the letter, it feels incomplete.

He grabs the quill again and writes down a few more words. He looks over the letter again, squinting as he rereads it. Now, it is finished. Now, he is satisfied.

Say hi to everyone for me.

Forever yours,

Short clean freak.

#sorry for the late reply! #also warning! too much uhhh heart metaphors? #levihan

[peachyaone]

the pain of losing and the relief from comfort.

pairings: giyuu tomioka x gn! reader

warnings: mentions of battle and a breakdown.

plot: you break from the pain, can giyuu put you back together?

The mission started like any other but quickly turned into a living hell. An upper moon with a large group of its friends, slaughtering the unprepared and terrified slayers one by one. You tried to assist them but there was too much for you alone to handle.

Giyuu was gone, he was assisting others at the other side of the field. Your legs were so close to collapsing. You look up to see one of the demons grasping another slayer, its large hand crushing his neck, killing him instantly. You sped by and sliced its head, killing the beast.

The determined slayers fought their hardest, and after hours of fighting, almost all the demons in the area had been defeated. There were too many casualties and injuries to keep going with the mission.

“FALL BACK!” Your voice echoed through the battlefield. Then you saw The Upper Moon cornered a group of slayers. You knew those kids. “No.” You said under your breath. You pushed yourself forward.

You would never forgive yourself if you let them die here.

You saw it grabbing one of them, you were begging to the skies to let you get there in time. But then a group of demons stopped you. You fought them in a desperate, rushed manner. You heard screams coming from the group. Your heart started to beat a thousand miles per hour. You were so, so exhausted.

"SENSEI!” “PLEASE HELP US!”

More screams and pleads for the demon to stop came from the younger slayers clouded your mind. When you successfully decapitated the demons, to your horror, the Upper Moon has eaten them. The light inside your eyes faded.

You stood there in shock.

Your legs gave out and you fell to the ground.

The Upper Moon escaped, as you sat there, still and in shock.

“Y/N!” Giyuu ran up to your dazed form. “If you aren’t hurt, get up and focus on the battle .” You couldn’t hear him. He was cold and harsh, but deep down, you knew he was trying to help you. You couldn’t help but feel like you deserved to die for not saving your juniors. You just fucking stood there and watched all of them die.

Giyuu cursed under his breath. There was no way you were in any state to fight. He figured you had seen something traumatic when he saw the way you were looking at the pile of bloody uniforms. Witnessing the deaths of somebody you cared for was not easy, especially when you lose everyone at once. He would know. He knew you would blame yourself. He knew you’d feel guilty for not being able to save them. He saw it in your eyes. You were shutting down your emotions as you wouldn't feel the pain. You wanted to grieve for them, to scream your throat raw. But now wasn’t the time.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “Come on, get up.” He said.

You couldn't look at him. You just stared at the spot. Your kids were screaming for help. Help that you couldn’t give them. If only you had just moved faster. If only you pushed yourself harder. They were just children.

Giyuu kneeled in front of you, his steel-blue eyes boring into yours. He noticed that the shine that you always had in your eyes was gone.

“Come on. We have to get away from here.”

You were on a brink of breaking down while he lifted you up, hoisting you onto his arms. He cradled your head into his chest and rushed to the headquarters.

When you got home, immediately brought you to the Butterfly Estate to ensure you weren’t injured in any way. After getting patched up, he took you to his estate.

He set you down in his bathroom. You hugged your knees to your chest, tears threatening to fall at any moment. Your mind was racing a million miles a minute, reliving the moment. No matter what you did, you couldn’t stop seeing it and hearing the screams of terror coming from your students. They were your responsibility and you failed them.

Giyuu turned on the water, the sound of running water played as background noise to you. His eyes glanced in your direction sadly. He knew you love those kids like your own. You would talk about them so often, with a soft parental look. You went through the tough years of training them. Losing people that close to you would be difficult. He knew. He felt lost and defeated after losing Sabito. If he had stayed with him, who knows whether or not he’d still be here. He didn’t have anyone to help him grieve. But this time, he had you. And he plans to do the same for you.

As the warm water filled the tub, Giyuu’s fingers hesitated to wonder if he should even do this. Well, you were sweaty and caked with dirt and dried blood. He was sure that you wouldn't want to wake up to see the reminder of your loss. And there was no way he would leave you like this. He took off your haori, and unbuttoned your uniform, then carried you to the tub.

He knew he wasn’t the best at comforting, how was he supposed to know what to do? He didn’t have anyone to show him how. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable but still, you clearly need someone right now. He grabbed the cloth and poured a generous amount on his hand and began to gently scrub the dirt and blood of you. You closed your eyes at the gentle scrubbing.

Giyuu’s calloused hands were so gentle against your body, washing away the evidence of what happened earlier that day. His hands felt good against your skin. You just wanted to be close to him, to fall completely apart, but you didn’t want him to think that you’re weak or annoying.

He didn’t expect you to be this silent. It makes him feel uneasy.

He gently set you down on the bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before helping you into your nightwear, then he moves to quickly take a shower himself.

Yeah, you don't really talk a lot sometimes, preferring to savor the comfortable silence with him. You never minded talking about how you felt, and he surely never minded listening. He fathered you talk to him, instead of bottling your emotions like that. After he took you out and dried you, he carried you over to the bed. Your slightly damp hair leaving spots on his haori.

It was that moment you exploded.

Your body began to shake as tears streamed down your face, soft sobs escaping your lips. The images of each student flashed so vividly in your mind and your heart started to feel heavy again. Your nails dug into your arm, creating little indents in your already scarred skin. You hissed in pain but you didn’t make any effort to move it either. Your breath uneven and you wailed loudly as you think of them. Giyuu came running to you.

“I couldn’t save them, my children-“ Your hands gripped your arm tighter. You just wish you had done something to help them. Even if you had been injured or killed, you at least would die knowing you saved your students, your children. Your breathing had become frantic and you were on the verge of tears. "They were calling out for me and I couldn't even save them!" Your eyes squeezed shut, wanting to scream. Giyuu grabbed your cheeks and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Hey, hey, hey.” his voice called out to you softly. “breathe for me, dear, breath.” He pulled your hands away from your arms and made you hold his. He was being soft and kind, which was different than he usually is. Then again, you needed him. So, you threw yourself into his arms again, hugging him tightly. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight against his body.

“Nobody blames you.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “Your students, they will not die for nothing. You hear me? We’ll have to take revenge, for them, alright? We’ll make those demons pay.” He said. You nodded against his skin. He kissed your head. “That’s my dear.” He whispered. “Giyuu?” You whispered. He hummed in reply. “Can we… can we go back and give them a proper burial tomorrow morning?” You asked him. “….” He looked into your eyes, searching for signs of guilt and that you were forcing yourself to do this. “It's the least I can do.” You said, looking away. “Sure. We’ll head there first thing in the morning.” He said. “Thank you.” You whispered, holding him tighter. “You welcome.” He said.

He may be a man with a few words but you knew you can always depend on him when times get rough.

#giyuu tomioka #giyuu tomioka x gn!reader #giyuu tomioka x genderneutral reader #kny #demon slayer #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #eli writes #kny fanfics #giyuu fanfiction #kny x reader

[youbloodymadgenius]

What Could Have Been (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This piece wasn’t requested;  the idea just popped into my mind and I had to write it. I don’t write smut often - I find it very hard in a foreign language - and I know I’m not very good at it. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

@geekandbooknerd​ - thank you so much for beta reading this for me ♥️

@pomegranates-and-blood​ - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed the last sentence from you. It fit perfectly 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: When Ivar calls for a healer, he does not expect you, his occasional lover, to enter his tent.

Warning: smut.

Words: 2385

"Go and fetch the healer!" Ivar commands, exploding as the guard outside the tent doesn't react quick enough. "YOU GO NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A STICK BEFORE NIGHTFALL!" His roar loud enough to be heard all over the camp, the frightened guard runs away while babbling apologies, his cheeks burning red.

 Sweating and in pain, Ivar enters the tent, heading slowly toward a straw mattress. Grunting, he flops down on the makeshift bed and closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep the agony in his legs at bay. The battle had been harsh on his twisted limbs, leaving him with stiff, aching muscles. 

 "You asked for a healer, Prince Ivar?" Your fresh and youthful voice startles him and he raises his head, furrowing his brow as he looks at you. "I was expecting Una." His dry, annoyed tone doesn't unsettle, nor surprise you. Prince Ivar is not exactly the most easygoing person. And you know he's very secretive when it comes to his pain. He trusts Una, the main healer, who has been taking care of his legs on a daily basis for many years.  

 "I'm sure you were." You just nod, undeterred. "We may have won the battle, Prince Ivar, but the wounded are countless. Una is taking care of Hrafn, whose arm had to be cut off. She's the one who sent me to you. So, sorry if it bothers you, my Prince, but I'm afraid you'll have to do with me. As for myself, rest assured that I know precisely what I must do. " 

The truth is, tending to Ivar's legs is nothing hard, nor complicated. A meadowsweet and nettle infusion to ease the pain, a salve made with a concoction of boiled blackcurrant and ash leaves collected on Midsummer Night to undo the knots in his thighs and calves, that's all you need, and both are in the small leather pouch you wear at your waist at all times. 

In addition, a hot bath of course wouldn't do any harm, but there's no such luxury while fighting a war.  

 Seemingly unconvinced, Ivar scowls and snorts, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs pros and cons, longing for relief but at the same time reluctant because you're not his regular healer. And perhaps also because you're… you.

 Your suspicions are confirmed an instant later, as Ivar wearily rubs his face with a bloody hand. "No other healers were available? Surely there are not just the two of you, right?"

 You shrug, hardly suppressing a grin. He's right, of course. There are many of you here in Wessex, alongside the Great Heathen Army. However, you and Una are the only ones who are not terrified of Ragnar's unpredictable youngest son. Therefore, since Una was busy, you were the only one willing to go and take care of his legs. But telling him that wouldn't be very wise, right? So, you choose another way.

 "My Prince, if I may say so, don't make things harder. I'm already here, and I can tell you're in pain. So, please, let me do what I'm here for." Inhaling deeply, you give him a small smile. "If it's easier for you, let's say that what happened in the past stays in the past. I'm here as a healer, nothing more, I intend to do my job in the most efficient way and I know I can help you."

 Back in Kattegat, when Ivar was still a boy and not yet this bloodthirsty man obsessed with revenge, before Aslaug's and Ragnar's deaths, before all Hel breaks loose, you and he used to fuck from time to time. At first, you agreed to do it because you wanted to help him. Not because you were a healer, but because Hvitserk, your best friend, was worried about his baby brother after his tremendous failure with Margrethe. You taught Ivar how to please a woman and showed him that he was much more whole than he thought. You then kept sleeping with him because sex was great, Ivar a skilled and fast learner. Yet, there was no real bond, no love between the two of you; just some kind of mutual respect, tinged with an undeniable physical attraction. 

 "My Prince?" You ask softly, your hands ghosting over his thighs as you kneel down in front of him. "May I?" Remembering Una's words – this leg is so broken, so twisted, I do not know how the prince can manage walking, but I do know its iron equipment is like a torture device which causes him an unbearable amount of pain – you gesture first toward the metal armor encaging his right leg.

 Ivar barely nods, a long sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes shut. You never did it. Back then, you weren't allowed to. But today is different. Ivar is tired, in pain, and you're not his occasional lover, but a healer. There's no hesitation in your movements; your skillful hands undoing the loops of the brace, you're working fast. Soon, you're able to carefully remove the heavy contraption, and then give your full attention to his left leg. 

 When both his legs are free, you stand up, "Can you take off your pants, my Prince?" and step away, rummaging around the room for a water bucket and a cloth. Actually, you want to give him some privacy. You never really saw his legs and are aware it's a huge matter of concern for him. Once again, you remember what Una told you – I usually work under the furs – and add without turning around, "And please, cover your legs with as many furs as you can, we need to keep them warm." 

 ***

 After making sure his legs are well covered, you grab the cloth Ivar used to clean his hands and face, placing it on a nearby table, next to the water bucket. You then put your supplies in your pouch before turning towards the prince. Eyes closed, his head on a fluffy pillow – the perks of being a prince, you can't help but think, slightly jealous – Ivar seems completely relaxed. You're sure he's not sleeping, though, so you clear your throat while turning toward him. "If you don't need me anymore, my Prince, I'll go back to Una." 

 Ivar exhales slowly as his eyelids flutter open. He just looks at you without uttering a word for a long time, looking a little confused, as if he doesn't exactly remember your presence. He then gives you a small smile – his way of thanking you? – but shakes his head no. Something sparkles in his gaze and Ivar licks his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that's the exact moment when his mood swings. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching out in an attempt to grab your hand, but to no avail. He lets out a frustrated groan, but his voice is soft, and so are his eyes. "Come closer." Yet, you know you don't have a choice. Denying a prince is anything but a wise option; denying Prince Ivar could be life-threatening. 

 Taking two steps forward, you join the bed and place a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "What else can I do for you, my Prince?" 

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ivar pulls you toward him, leaving you no choice but to sit next to him. "Kiss me." He breathes, his blue orbs never leaving your eyes. 

 "Your wish is my command." You whisper while leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips find his and Ivar immediately takes charge, a hand behind your neck. His tongue invades your mouth while his free hand slips under your dress, his thick fingers finding the bare skin of your thighs. You let out a gasp, surprised, and delighted. 

 This is new. 

 Back in Kattegat, whenever it was just the two of you, Ivar was always this insecure, tentative boy, eager to learn but clearly grateful that you were willing to take the lead. 

 He's no longer the same. War changed him. The boy has grown into a resolute man, who knows what he wants and who doesn't wait to take it. You won't lie: if you found the boy alluring, this – the warlord look, the confidence, the straight-to-the-point thing – is a whole new level of attractiveness. And a major turn-on.

 When Ivar deepens the kiss, fierce and hungry at once, he pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chiseled chest, you cannot help but arch your back as a wave of heat spreads in your belly.

 "Ivar…" You moan and he captures the sound in his mouth, delving deeper again while slipping a rough knuckle against your clit. You nearly choke, almost missing his next words. "Scoot closer." He mumbles, his lips against yours and you don't have to think twice about his demand as you are all too happy to surrender. Straddling him, you push him down onto his back and drive your tongue into his ear. The feeling of his solid, muscular torso between your thighs consumes your senses, a blinding heat coursing from between your legs to fill your entire body. You can't wait any longer. You need him. The craving of being filled up is almost unbearable but when you move your hand downward, your fingers grazing his erected cock, he stops you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I want to taste you first." 

 When he runs his hands up the insides of your thighs after you had moved up to sit on his face, you practically die and clamp your legs around his face, shoving your wet pussy into his mouth. Rewarded with a slap on your ass, you gasp in excitement as he slides a knuckle along your lips. It drives you so wild that you can barely breathe, and Ivar keeps going, his mouth just inches from your clit, drawing shapes around your sensitive skin, teasing you, blowing air into you. Heat is slowly building in your core, burning you inside. You curl your toes and contract your lower belly, panting and moaning, and suddenly, Ivar touches your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. You almost lose it. Your whole body is about to break into a thousand pieces and you struggle, sucking in several short breaths. 

 "Gods…" Eyes closed, you shiver as Ivar picks up a rhythm. He knows exactly what he's doing. Barely moving his skilled tongue, he applies a warm pressure, each tiny move bringing you to the edge. It doesn't take long for your stomach to be drenched in sweat, and as much as you want to make this last forever, your entire body is taken over by a wave of spasms and pleasure and you explode in orgasm, biting your lip to keep from screaming. 

 Ivar doesn't give you time to settle down or to come to your senses, lifting his head, a cocky grin playing on his glistening lips. 

 "Ride me." He commands, his voice hoarse and loud as he pulls the cover off his groin. A wild laugh escapes your lips when you scoot downward, still on top of him, kissing his nipples, then his toned stomach; you find his cock hard under your fingers, your other hand massaging his balls. Without a warning, you plunge him into yourself, gasping as you feel his cock slide deep inside you. Leaning forward until your head is just above his, you kiss him hard before grounding your hips against his. You then pull up, all the way to his tip, constricting the muscles in your lower belly, and then push back down as far as you can. It sends a rippling wave along your inside walls and Ivar moans, his hands grabbing your ass. 

 As you pump your hips up and down, Ivar squirms beneath you, meeting each one of your thrusts, pushing his hips up as you speed up the pace. Back and forth, back and forth… You move your hips faster and faster, a drop of sweat trickling down your back. The rhythm is frantic now and you almost black out as you suddenly climax once again, Ivar groaning loudly while spreading his hot seed inside you. 

 You fall heavily onto him, sated and exhausted. "Gods, that was amazing!" You finally say, and Ivar chuckles, a smirk on his face. "It was, indeed." Wrapping his hand around your waist, he then does something surprisingly sweet, kissing your forehead tenderly. With your head resting on his tattooed chest, you just hum, and since your eyelids are getting heavy, you close them, sated and exhausted.

 You're dozing off as Hvitserk's voice outside the tent, startles you awake. "Y/N, you're still in there?"

 Sitting up in bed, you give Ivar a confused look while stretching out your upper body. "Yes." You want to ask why but Hvitserk doesn't give you the time. "Hurry up then! Una is looking for you."

 Sighing, you give Ivar a quick peck on the cheek and stand up hastily. "You heard your brother; I have to go." You give him one last look and are about to get out of the tent when his voice stops you. "Wait, Y/N."

 You turn around, and to your surprise, there's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord in front of you, but a boy, shy and insecure, who bites his bottom lip and lowers his gaze. The new Ivar turns you on, there's no denying it, but this one, the timid one, is absolutely adorable, and your heart flutters. You flash him a reassuring smile. Ivar inhales deeply, blinking a few times. "Will you…" He starts but stops immediately. 

 You raise a brow questioningly, but the moment is gone, his face now expressionless. Ivar just nods at you, his gaze steady as he gestures to his legs. "Thank you."

 You're sure that's not what he was going to tell you; that's not what you could read in his eyes. Will you come back later?

 Stifling a sigh, you straighten your dress as best you can. Sadly, there's nothing you can do. "You're welcome, my Prince." You say softly; and with that, you walk away, your mind filled with regret.

 You would have said yes.

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​

#ivar #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar fic #smut ivar #ivar vikings #vikings ivar

[lovesanmotion]

yandere!ateez 99 & 00 liner reacts: seeing s/o kill for the first time

💌. This is: requested | 98 liner reaction here 

TW: blood and gore 

Yunho: 

The thought originally came when Yunho let you borrow his playstation controller while playing an rpg game. Situated in the living room, he made himself comfortable besides you on the couch and watched how you strategized and kill your enemies through the screen. And then the thought came into him, what if you kill with him? Slowly his mind drifted into the new found thought and kept pondering about it besides you. 

“Are you okay, love? I said I finished the game and look!” You smiled as you pointed at the screen with the words YOU WON. He smiled and placed a kiss on your cheek before turning off the controller and helping you cook dinner. 

When the following week came, Yunho was on his way home from the groceries when someone he knew particularly bumped into him. 

“Watch where you’re going man. Jesus.” He sneered at Yunho before going back to whoever he was talking to on the phone. That particularly person isn’t just a random stranger, it was your ex boyfriend who dumped you for a random girl he met online. Yunho stopped on his tracks, pondering in his thoughts before putting the paper bags inside the car and walking over to some place else. 

“Y/N look what I have for you!” you went over to where you heard Yunho was and it lead you to the living room, in the middle of the room is a man tied onto a chair with a sack covering his head. 

A smile still plastered on his lips as he hands you a metal baseball bat. You blinked twice before taking it in your hands. You were using the same kind of bat while playing Yunho’s game. He was sensing your hesitation before he went behind you and whispered in your ear. 

“This is your ex boyfriend. He bumped into me the other day, wouldn’t it be nice to take your revenge?” And with that, a thousand of horrible memories came flooding into your head. There are good memories with your ex, however, they were overshadowed by the bad ones. Gripping your hold on the base, you swinged the bat and continously swung it over his head. Hearing a few bones cracking and watching as the white sack turn into bright red. You wouldn’t stop not until Yunho wrapped his arms around you from behind and took the bat away from you. 

“That’s enough, darling. You did so well today. Done beautifully.” Sensing his smile, he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face on the crook of your neck and hearing the thud of the metal bat onto the floor. 

Yeosang: 

“Do you love me, Y/N?” 

His voice ran chills down your spine. In front of you is the love of your life, staring deeply into your eyes while a third party whose hands and ankles are binded, hid behind Yeosang’s back and body on the floor. And this was no ordinary person who’s binded and laying pathetically on Yeosang’s basement. It was your old college dormmate, now all botched up, who tried to take Yeosang from you. 

“If you love me” Yeosang says, taking your hands in his before placing a small pointed metal with a wooden handle into your hands. An ice pick. “you would kill for me.” He ends his sentence before moving away, his eyes never removing from you. Yeosand’s smart and you knew why he chose this weapon. Once stabbed, the victim doesn’t die immediately, rather, the stab wounds would turn into injuries forming blood clots until slowly the victim slips into their death. Making the victim look like they died from blood clotting, internal bleeding or aneurysm. 

You slowly kneeled down besides her head, watching as her eyes gloss with tears. 

“Please Y/N. Were friends” she chokes out before breaking into a sob. You softly cooed at her, brushing a few hairstrands away from her face. 

“This will be quick” raising your right hand and then stabbing the ice pick onto her forehead, burying the metal surface deeply into her skull, twisting the weapon and then swiftly pulling it out of her. 

Yeosang’s giggles broke the silence of the room as he takes the ice pick from your hand, placing it on top of the table before wrapping his arms around you. 

“I knew you love me too, Y/N!” He chirps. Seeing him happy made your feelings swell and warm your insides, you raised your arms and slowly wrapped them around his nape, hugging him back. 

San: 

You and San are not in the best of terms as of the moment. You had raised your voice at him and disobeyed him, causing him to leave the shared home, only to return home with a random girl he picked up from the streets and started to have sex with her in the living room. You took your earphones and mp3 player from your desk, playing a random song just to block the girl’s annoying autotuned moaning from your ears. You couldn’t care less if San was dicking her down, you knew you were bound to die in this place before you could even see San in a different light. 

And everything was going fine until your bedroom swung open and a shirtless San barged into your room, grabbing your forearm and then dragging you into the room next to yours. 

“Let go of me you manwhore!” You tried yanking your arm away from his grip only to fail. You were expecting to see a naked woman on his bed, whoever it turned out to be the opposite. The woman, still fully clothed, has her arms and ankles tied onto the bed posts. You were confused, you looked at San for an answer. 

“Do you think I’m a manwhore when I dedicate my whole life to you?” He says, walking closer to you, eyes staring straight into your dark brown orbs. “Kill her, if you hate her presence bothers you so much.” He says before taking a hold on your shoulders and spinning you around. The woman shook her head, pleading for her life. But all you did is grab onto the pillow and watch her suffocate while struggling. When she was no longer struggling, you immediately let go of the cushions, your back bumping into San’s hard rock chest. 

“That’s my baby.” He whispers softly, hugging you from behind and placing his chin on top of your shoulder. 

Mingi: 

He doesn’t see the point of you still working in your corporate office when all your boss does is humiliate you in front of your co workers. For all he knows, your boss should keep his mouth shut or else he’d kill him. Kill. The word rang into his mind. What if you, the love of his life, kill your boss? It sounded like a good plan. Better even. That night, he stepped out into the night and kidnapped your boss who is easy enough to locate. 

Your self esteem went lower and lower as your boss would continue to humiliate you inside the office. But when you heard that he didn’t come to work today, you were wondering where the devil is he. It wasn’t until you clocked out at 6pm and went straight home. 

“Hi Y/N!” Mingi smiles, waving his hand happily but with your boss all tied up into a chair. Your eyes widened in surprise making you drop your handbag. 

“I can’t let this fat fuck run his mouth and talk shit about my baby. So I did the honors for you.” How could he still smile in a situation like this? He kidnapped your boss and he’s happy about it? 

“And so, to end my baby’s pain, she gets to do this. One time big time only.” He hands you a jagdkommando knife. 

Your breath hitched. “H-how do you have this?” you asked, your voice coming out merely a whisper. Mingi takes a step closer to you, cupping your eyes as he looks into your eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t ask questions like that now, jagi. What matters here is that once we, well you, kill him, all the money he has will be wired into my account and you wouldn’t have to work for that damned office anymore. Don’t you want that?” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead. 

You turned to face your boss whose wailing around his seat, his pants dampening with his pee. Raising your hand, you brought the knife down on his neck. Hearing that squelching sound before taking the knife out, raising your hand and bringing it to his stomach and pulling it out. Your work clothes stained with his blood, watching your boss bleed out through the large holes you’ve created on his skin with the knife. 

“Don’t hurt yourself now.” He whispers, taking the knife away from your hand. “How was your day today, jagi? Let me run you a hot bath before we have dinner.” He says, taking you upstairs. 

Wooyoung: 

He got a little carried away torturing a guy who confessed to you the other day for liking you. He was having his own little fun by purposefully making him trip on his own feet and stab his legs, dodging him whenever he would lunge at him and then hit his head on the wall. That was what he was doing until you came home. 

“Hear that, idiot? She’s home.” He says, leaving the basement with a mood shift. Happily skipping to the living room to greet you. “Darlinggg~” he flings his arms around you. 

“What’s got you so hyper right now?” You chuckle softly, turning to face him. Instead of replying, he took a hold of your hand and lead you the basement. To your surprise, you see a man whose lying on the floor, pants bloodied and covered in sweat. 

“It’s your turn to get into the fun!” He smiles handing you a russian roulette with only one bullet inside. “I already had my turn with him and I reserved for you the grand finale.” He says, hugging you tightly in his arms. “Think of this as his final dying act. When he dies, the curtains will close and the people will praise you.” He places a big kiss on your cheek. 

You weren’t skilled like Wooyoung, but you hoped that this bullet would go into his head. You took a deep breath and pulled the trigged. And as you wished, the bullet pierced through the skin of his forehead and into his skull. 

Wooyoung clapped and stood up from his seat like a standing ovation. He walks up to you and takes your hand in his. 

“What a natural.” 

Jongho: 

Staring at you is something that Jongho will never get tired of doing. Even when you get embarrassed, Jongho will never keep his eyes off you. If his eyes were his stomach, they would feel so full just by looking at you. Only he can stare at you how he wants to. No one else except him. Not until his next door neighbor accidentally discovered you when you opened the door. 

He was furious at you and at his neighbor and dragged both of you into his basement. Before he left, you pleaded not to let him leave you alone. Seeing the tears in your eyes were his ultimate weakness, he hated the feeling that it was him who made you cry. But you broke a rule, and it is only fitting that you receive a punishment. 

“Wait here” he says, ascending up the stairs and going somewhere. When he came back, he has a 7 needle gauge in his hand. 

“You broke a rule, darling. You shouldn’t have answered the door. If you want me to forgive you, stab his eyes.” He says, your breath hitched. Never once did you imagine yourself killing someone. Let alone be an order from a person. When you sat closer to his neighbor, you quickly pierced the needle into his eye. Letting out a blood curdling scream, your heart raced. Swiftly taking the needle out, the man lets out a cry before screaming again as you did the same into his left eye. 

When he was no longer moving, it was your turn to cry. Tossing the needle away as you brought your knees close to your chest, sobbing. Jongho’s footsteps could be heard behind you, slowly he lifted you up and carried you bridal style. 

“It’s over now, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you anymore.” 

#ateez #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez yandere #yandere ateez #ateez reactions #kpop yandere #yandere kpop #yandere #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #song mingi #choi san #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #kpop reactions

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Laid out cold, now we're both alone (part 3)

A/N: Hello, this fic is very important to me because I tried my best to give justice to such a cool idea and I hope I did a good job. Plus I don't do multichapter ofter, so this was a challenge.

I wanna thank the lovely @livdonna​ for proofreading my work, you're literally the best <3.

P.S. If you want to get tagged in the next chapters, let me know.

Summary: Nikki needs to ask a favor to Vince Neil, in order to keep someone safe.

Warnings: Major Character Death,Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug Use, Angst, Overdose.

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Taglist: @slashscowboyboots @witchytombstonesmile @arnold-layne @emometalhead​ @i-dont-like-rice​ @nikki-sexx​ @smokeandmirrorz​

Bittersweet. That was the best way to describe Nikki’s emotional state as he got teleported in front of Vince’s house. They weren’t the biggest fans of each other.  He was always so annoyed by his singer, whom he considered more of a diva prince than a front man.

Sometimes Vince Neil was a stupid spoiled fucker, in his opinion, yet he needed him. What made his blood boil the most was that he had to put his pride to the side, because this wasn’t about him but about Tommy, and there was no way in hell he would have disappointed him again, even if that meant having to deal with the blonde’s bullshit.

He decided to get in the blonde’s house but without showing himself at first.  He wasn’t being avoidant ( absolutely not) but just he wanted more time to think, that’s all. The first thing he noticed was how different Vince’s mansion looked from Mick’s : outside there was a big pool, in which the clear water was shining thanks to the sunny day, meanwhile the inside was mostly white and gave the whole house a very elegant and snobby atmosphere; however it was very messy too, which was a huge disappointment.

It reminded him of the singer: face of an angel but inside he had his demons. Who didn’t to be honest? Unfortunately Nikki wasn’t so lucky to get an angel face to hide his dirty soul, he felt like everyone could tell how fucked up he was.

Lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice Vince passing right through him, talking on the phone in an exasperated tone.

“I know Doc, you repeated that hundreds of times! Yeah , I’ll call Mick and Tommy and we will do this fucking conference!”

There was a small pause.  Doc was probably answering back, and Vince looked like he was about to smash the phone on the ground.

“What’s holding us? We fucking lost our bassist, our friend and brother. Jesus, I fucking get it that you want our money but show some fucking mercy, bastard! Fuck you!” He violently put the phone down, only to fall ungracefully on the couch.

The whole conversation made the bassist laugh out of anger.  He knew Doc was all about money, especially because they made his life a living hell, but Vince appearing concerned about his death was honestly so fake.

What? Were you saying that Vince Neil was mourning him? The guy who kept fucking up the band over and over again was sad for him?

“Fucking Nikki, real dick move you pulled there!”

Nikki didn’t wait one second before sitting on the couch and making himself visible to the blonde.

“Oh Vinnie, that’s so rude to say.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vince screamed,  trying to back away but just managing to fall off the couch.

The other man couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Nikki, is that you? What kind of joke is this?!”

“Yeah. Look it might sound nuts but I’m a ghost. I’m dead and couldn’t pass through because I have unfinished business to solve.”

If looks could kill, well Nikki would have died again judging by how Vince was staring at him. He saw his face turning into an angry snarl before he started to yell.

“What the fuck, Sixx?! You die, leave us all alone and then you even have the courage to stay a fucking ghost! You fucking selfish prick!”

The bassist felt his blood boiling, well not literally but he got the same feeling as if he still had blood pumping in his body. How did Vince dare to say such things? He was the selfish prick, he was the one never caring and always causing trouble.  He was destroying the band!

“I’m a selfish prick?! I didn’t decide to fucking die! I put my heart and soul in the band and you kept destroying it. Now you want to accuse me? Fuck you!”

“You didn’t want to die? Oh well, what did you think would happen if you kept injecting that shit in your veins. We are fucking screwed now, without a bassist and ready to split up!”

Oh that was funny! Vince wanted to shame him, as Nikki was the only one drinking and fucking up with drugs. Oh sure Mick, Tommy and him could do anything but Nikki dares to shoot up, oh he’s a junkie! However he knew it was different, it wasn’t a simple way to party for him... He needed it to be alive. He had tons of pages written in his diaries that could be used as a proof.

“Oh because you’re such a saint, aren’t you Vinnie? I’m the bad one, I’m the one out of control. Well guess what?  The only person I hurt was myself, meanwhile we can’t say the same thing for you!”

It was a low blow, a terrible one and Nikki knew that. Rage blinded him, but that didn’t mean he had to dredge up the past, especially on something as horrible as Razzle’s death.

Good job Sikki, great way to get your friend to do what you want.

Vince’s face turned red, his fists clenched and got up to Nikki’s nose. He looked like he was about to punch him, but he had to realize it wasn’t going to happen since the bassist was not tangible, so he kicked a small table.

“You’re the only one who you hurt? What about the band, the fans, all those people you lied to and made suffer. Most importantly, what about Tommy, Nikki? How is he? Because it doesn’t look like he wasn’t hurt when you left him all alone, when you preferred shooting up instead of caring for him.”

Tommy. If he knew Vince’s weak point, the singer knew his too. It fucking hurt so bad, now he was the one wishing to be able to slap him.

“You don’t know a fuck about me or Tommy. Shut the fuck up!”

“Oh, I know all the times I saw him scanning the room around hoping to find you, all the times he looked heartbroken when you disappeared in the bathroom during rehearsal. I saw him after you destroyed him, how he still loved you even if you threw him away like trash. His two worst nightmares came true: you left him and you died. So tell me again Nikki, how did you just hurt yourself?

He wasn’t about to cry, even if he felt like a thousand legs were kicking his chest, he wasn’t about to give that fucker the satisfaction to see him crying ( he probably couldn’t even do that). But after the pain came the realization : he was there for Tommy. He was angry to forget that this wasn’t about him but about the drummer, and he probably ruined everything.

Now the hard part came : swallowing his pride down and convincing Vince. Oh, he would probably torment the bassist as slowly as he could, but eventually he had to accept.  Fuck, the two of them knew each other since high school!

“How’s Tommy?” His voice was so low, he doubted the singer heard him, but somehow he did.

“Oh, so now you want to know how he is?!” His voice was still loud and angry, but he must have seen the desperation on Nikki’s face, because he decided to answer anyway. “ He’s a mess. I just talked with him very briefly, he wanted to know if it was real. Then Doc fucking occupied this phone like it was his bitch, so I haven’t called him again, yet.”

This wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, it wasn’t fucking reassuring at all… Fuck, literally anything could have happened, Tommy could have hurt himself or left the country and this was all because of him. He just hoped his family was going to be close to him, he was loved, they would have never left him alone. That was supposed to be his job too, but he failed.

He failed his sweet Tommy.

“Sixx, what are you thinking about?”

It was the moment. Even if his heart wasn’t beating, he still felt the oppressive pressure of anxiety.  He wanted to run but he had to do it.

Swallow your pride. You fucking owe it to Tommy.

“Vince, promise me that you’ll protect Tommy, no matter what.”

“What?” The blonde was visibly confused and how to blame him!

“You were right, I broke Tommy and he’s going to have such a hard time. He fucking loved me, even if I didn’t deserve it, and now I’m terrified he’s going to destroy himself. You can’t let that happen!”

“Nikki…”

“I fucking love him Vince. I still love him so much.  He deserves a good life, I can’t ruin him even in death. He needs support.”

“Why me? It’s not like Tommy and I are best friends.”

“Because both you and him have known each other for a long time, and when the band will keep playing there’s going to be you, him and Mick left. He would never tell his stuff to Mick and he has something else to do, which means that you have to do it.”

A dry laugh escaped from Vince’s mouth.

“What if he doesn’t want to get helped?”

“You know how to get what you want. You’ll find a way, I’d do it but I’m a little dead… look I know you hate me but I’m only asking this. Like I said to Mick, this is my dead man’s wish.”

“Okay.” The voice was so low and Nikki barely had the time to react before Vince disappeared in the kitchen.

All his insecurities came back to eat him alive. What was even the point of being a ghost if he still had feelings? The truth was that he wasn’t sure on how much Vince could help, sure having someone close to Tommy was good, but he knew his boyfriend and fuck if he was a stubborn fucker.

His boyfriend.

It was a dagger through his chest, yet it still felt warm like the first time Tommy called him that. His face always lit up whenever he said it. The drummer always made loving him seem like the easiest thing in the world, as it was even possible to love someone like Nikki.

But Tommy did and what did he get in return? A junkie boyfriend and eternal heartache, because the love of his life was dead now.

Vince came back with a beer and softer expression on his face. Nikki didn’t move from the couch so he sat back to where he was.

“I will do it. I’ll keep an eye on Tommy.” His firm voice eased Nikki’s worries a bit.

Fuck, he never expected to see Vince Neil agreeing with him.

“Thanks dude, I know you hate me but Tommy didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice was shocked and the bassist had to suppress a laugh.

Yeah sure Vince Neil, not hating Nikki Sixx.

“Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you weren’t happy to hear I was gone.”

“Fuck no. Nikki we might have fought a lot and you were a fucking pain in the ass, but I’d never want your death. I cried, you were still my band mate and brother!”

He wasn’t sure why this whole conversation was hitting him so hard.  It was probably because he didn’t know how to react to the simple act of someone caring for him beside Tommy. Especially when this someone was his singer.

But did they really hate each other as they thought they did? If the roles were reversed, would he be happy about his death?

“I felt the same. Ya know, when we thought you were dead in the car crash.”

Vince gave him a small sad smile.

“Maybe we can bury the hatchet. You don’t follow me for eternity and I won’t talk shit about you in interviews. Deal?”

“Deal.” Nikki smirked.

It’s time to go, Nikki.

The same sense of helplessness he felt before with Mick, came back. Because he could pretend everything was somehow normal, until the voice reminded him that this wasn’t his place. Even if in this case it was for the best for him to go, considering how awkward it felt for both of them to be so friendly with one another.

“Vince, I have to go now.”

The singer made an expression between sad and relieved, but maybe for the first time ever, it was genuine.

“Don’t be a stranger. Send us some bottles of Jack or some strippers from hell, okay?”

Nikki let out a chuckle. Since when he was laughing with Vince Neil?

“I’ll try my best. Vince, keep the promise.”

“He loves you. You should visit him, he deserves to say goodbye to you one last time.”

He knew that, he fucking knew that already! It didn’t matter how hard he was trying to avoid that, he was going to go to him anyway, not only because Tommy deserved it but because he was selfish.

He wanted to see him one last time too.

“I know. I’m going to go to his house next.”

Vince seemed happy and gave him a small smile. Nikki took a deep breath and got out of Neil's mansion, feeling every type of emotion.

God, now it was show time.

#nikki sixx #Tommy Lee #Vince Neil #Mick Mars #Motley Crue #motley crue fanfiction #80s rock band #80srock #fanfiction #My writing #tommy lee x nikki sixx

[noemibalbii]

Six of Crows duology quotes

“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.”

“Kaz leaned back. “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.

“No mourners. No funerals. Among them, it passed for ‘good luck’.”

“The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.”

“When someone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.”

“He needed to tell her… what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.”

“I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

“What do you want then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome, You, Inej, you.

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.”

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“Better terrible truths than kind lies.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you some day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.” “There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance.”

“Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.” She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. “What would be the point?” He took a breath. “I want you to stay, I want you to… I want you.” “You want me.” She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. “And how will you have me, Kaz?” He looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set, It was the face he wore when he was fighting. “How will you have me?” she repeated. “Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?” He released her hand, his shoulders bunching, his gaze angry and ashamed as he turned his face to the sea. Maybe it was because his back was to her that she could finally speak the words. “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, “Impossible!” They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“He’d broken his leg dropping down from the rooftop. The bone didn’t set right, and he’d limped ever after. So he’d found himself a Fabrikator and had his cane made. It became a declaration. There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.”

“Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?”

“Facts are for the unimaginative.”

“When we get our money, you can burn kruge to keep you warm.” “I’m going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.” “Why don’t you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That’s what the big players do.”

“How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.” “I am indeed.” Kaz leaned back slightly. “You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those who take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach - the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.” “Do you always speak in metaphors, Mister Brekker?” Kaz smiled. “It’s not a metaphor.” He was out of his chair before his chains hit the ground.”

“A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he’ll keep to any deal you strike with him.”

“You couldn’t train a falcon, then expect it not to hunt.”

“The life you live, the hate you feel - it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.”

Jesper: “If Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Kaz: “I’ll just hire Matthias’s ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” Matthias: “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

“But all he could think of was Inej. She had to live. She had to have made it out of the Ice Court. And if she hadn’t, then he had to live to rescue her.”

“He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When i couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

“Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to write magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.”

“Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don’t forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for.”

“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or want to kill us?” “So?” said Kaz. “Well, usually it’s just half the city.”

“She smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.”

“No mourners. No funerals. Another way of saying good luck. But it was something more. A dark wink to the fact that there would be no expensive burials for people like them, no marble markers to remember their names, no wreaths of myrtle and rose.”

“Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?” “Guns?” asked Jesper. “Ships?” queried Inej. “Bombs?” suggested Wylan. “Political bribes?” offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered.

“We meet fear. We greet the unexpected visitor and listen to what he has to tell us. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.”

“You don’t look like a monster.” “I’ll tell you a secret, Hannah. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Until this moment, Wylan hadn’t quite understood how much they meant to him. His father would have sneered at these thugs and thieves. a disgraced soldier, a gambler who couldn’t keep out of the red. But they were his first friends, his only friends, and Wylan knew that even if he’d had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose.”

“They were twin souls, soldiers destined to fight for different sides, to find each other and lose each other too quickly. She would not keep him here. Not like this.”

“At some point, Jesper realized Kaz was gone. “Not one for goodbyes, is he?” he muttered. “He doesn’t say goodbye,” Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. “He just lets go.”

“I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’m not some sort of a monster.” “No, you’re the man who sits idly by, congratulating yourself on your decency, while the monster eats his fill. At least a monster has teeth and a spine.”

“But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.”

“You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are. […] It’s shame that lines my pockets, shame that keeps the Barrel teeming with fools ready to put on a mask just so they can have what they want with none the wiser about it. We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“She could feel the press of Kaz’s fingers against her skin, feel the bird’s wing brush of his mouth against her neck, see his dilated eyes. Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again. A foolish wish, the sentimental hope of a girl who hadn’t had the firsts of her life stolen, who hadn’t ever felt Tante Heleen’s lash, who wasn’t covered in wounds and wanted by the law. Kaz would have laughed at her optimism.”

“No matter the height of the mountain, the climbing is the same.”

“But when someone does wrong, when we make mistakes, we don’t say we’re sorry. We promise to make amends.” “I will.” “Mati en sheva yelu. This action will have no echo. It means we won’t repeat the same mistakes, that we won’t continue to do harm.”

“Van Eck promised us thirty million kruge,” said Kaz. “That’s exactly what we’re going to take. With another one million for interest, expenses, and just because we can.” Wylan broke a cracker in two. “My father doesn’t have thirty million kruge lying around. Even if you took all his assets together.” “You should leave, then,” said Jesper. “We only associate with the disgraced heirs of the very finest fortunes.”

“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan’s lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”

“A proper thief is like a proper poison, merchling. He leaves no trace.”

“She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.” Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz had built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty. “We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“I just don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life hiding the things I can’t do. Why run from the amazing things you can do?”

“She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. For a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of the sea.”

“Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz Brekker had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark - he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.”

“She wouldn’t wish love on anyone. It was the guest you welcomed and then couldn’t be rid of.”

“Brick by brick. Brick by brick. I will destroy you.” It was the promise that let him sleep at night, that drove him every day, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay. Because a quick death was too good for Pekka Rollins.”

“Kaz narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some character out of a children’s story who plays harmless pranks and steals from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Inej had once offered to teach him how to fall. “The trick is not getting knocked down,” he’d told her with a laugh. “No, Kaz,” she’d said, “the trick is in getting back up.”

“It was because she was listening so closely the she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.”

“Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.”

“This isn’t… it isn’t a trick, is it?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. The shadow of something dark moved across Kaz’s face. “If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the Barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” For some reason, those words had comforted her. Better terrible truths than kind lies. “All right,” she said. “How do we begin?” “Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he said as he led her out of the salon, “don’t ever sneak up on me again.”

“They fear you as I once feared you,” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone’s monster, Nina.”

“You still may die in the Dregs.” Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. “I may. But I’ll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.”

“Shame holds more value than coin ever can.”

“None of us move on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

“Why do you wear gloves, Mister Brekker?” Kaz raised a brow. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Kaz had heard them, too. Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone - a single brush of his bare skin caused your flesh to wither and die. “Pick one,” Kaz said as he vanished into the night, thoughts already turning to thirty million kruge and the crew he’d need to help him get it. “They’re all true enough.”

“You have no finesse,” a gambler at the Silver Garter once said to him. “No technique.” “Sure I do,” Kaz had responded. “I practice the art of ‘pull his shirt over his head and punch till you see blood’.”

“A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse.” [...] “What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking?”

#six of crows #crocked kingdom #leigh bardugo #book quotes #six of crows duology #six of crows quotes #crocked kingdom quotes #leigh bardugo quotes #shadow and bone #netflix #shadow and bone netflix #quotes #deep quotes #kaz brekker #kaz brekker quotes #inej ghafa #inej ghafa quotes #nina zenik #nina zenik quotes #matthias helvar #matthias helvar quotes #jesper fahey #jesper fahey quotes #wylan van sunshine #wylan van eck #wylan van eck quotes #jesper x wylan #wylanjesper #kanej #kanej fanart

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 ♡ 

[request: i was thinking in Pietro Maximoff,the one of the Avengers Something like being an Avenger and secretly loving him,but being to shy and insecure And maybe could involve baking with Nat and Wanda for him because he just woke up from coma ? (Yea,he is not dead for me )]

thank you so much @pilindielofgondor  ♡ and sorry for being late, school’s a bitch ᵘʷᵘ

after the sokovian accident, you were the one who noticed pietro’s bloody, wounded body; you were the one who held him, trying to cover all the bleeding bruises.

“you’re not gonna die, please don’t die on me” you muttered, eyes heavy with hot tears, yelling out for help. using your power, the ability of controlling fire and ice, you tried to soothe the pain on the different places of his body. 

“y/n, you... is this you?” you barely heard his voice, only a soft grunt as he fought for his life. “it hurts so much...” as he spoke, a little blood overbrimed onto his sea-blue suit. trying not to force more the pain, you shushed him. his pupils dilated and narrowed, like his soul danced on the edge of life and death. no, no death, not today. not until you’re here. 

“pietro, please... you need to calm yourself, breath, slowly... like i do, okay?” he don’t nodded, but following your steady ex-and inhalations, the ambulance arrived fast. 

you don’t wanted to leave him, if he dies in the hospital, he gotta know that you love him, with your whole heart. even if you never did or said anything that reassures that fact. even if you seemed like sometimes you are annoyed because of him –but truly, you were so insecure around him that your breath hitched, voice becoming a little bit higher than usual. 

wanda often listened to you, all to the long monologues and sentences about what you felt for pietro, or that you even were irritated by your own behaviour. 

and yes, maybe the only solution was the right-in-the-face-confession, but this was not you. you don’t even spoke normally in his company, standing in front of him, saying things like “i just realized i love you so much that i would die for you right now”... hell, never! 

to him, you always just another member of the avengers. another brilliant, but silent, professional hero. but nothing more, not a friend, mainly not his soon-to-be-girlfriend.

on the way back home, wanda held your hand, your mind spinned around pietro, feeling little needles piercing your skin, your heart –”don’t worry, he’s gonna be alright. he never dies, especially when i want to.” but in this moment, she’s just as scared as you. 

“you like pietro?” nat’s voice break the silence. you catch up your head, looking at wanda, who’s just shrugs her shoulder. you nod, first a little bit choppy, hoping she not gonna say to steve... or worse, tony. god no. 

“don’t worry, i knew that. he’s gonna be alright.” and with that, you tilt your head back to regain some energy to continue the day.

the three of you drive off to wanda’s and pietro’s house. you were here several times, having countless sleepovers and girly nights, a couple of times dreaming about what if you fall asleep in pietro’s arms the next time... or the next next time. 

after a couple of hours, nat’s phone rang a bit on the table. you laid on the couch, while wanda tilted her head in her palms, but snatching her head immediately at the sound –what if he’s alright? 

nat reads the text, smirking a little bit, barely apparent –”steve says he’s stable.” thank god, you think, smiling at wanda with so much concern off from your shoulders. if pietro’s alright, everything’s alright, even if he don’t remember that i saved his life, and with that, you feel a little euphoric.

“guys, can we... cook for him something?” the other two turning at your words, natasha nods with ease, wanda nearly jumps to the counter –”is chocolate chip cookie alright, y/n?” “of course, ma’am!”

the time passes by in a blink, a doze of cookies packed in a box for the sweet, tough boy. wanda wanted you to decorate it a little bit, but in the end, she was just happy that you are happy too. arriving to the hospital, nat stops you and wanda, giving you the cookie-jar –”be lucky, y/n. maybe your prince wakes up with one kiss.” you close the door quickly, before any of the two of you can be harmed by wanda’s fangirl screams. 

when you glance at pietro’s limp, enervate body, all of his abdomen and chest covered with white bandage, infusion in his arm, the engine beeping rhythmically, your heart twists a knot on itself. his eyes are closed, but when he hears you footsteps, he tries to smile –and he’s doing it for you, even if it hurts like hell. 

“hi, y/n.” he rustles, following with his eyes as you pulls a chair next to his bed, placing the cookies in your lap. “hi, pietro. everything’s fine?”

“besides that i hardy even breath, those scums make me a sieve, and i would die for a glass of water... yeah, it’s fine.” you giggle, patting his free, strong hand. “it’s good that i see you first when i wake up. even questioning myself when you stepped in, am i in heaven or... you know.” you heart throbs at his words, nearly don’t believing that he says things like this to you. from the nowhere, really! or are you dead too, and is this heaven? 

“i brought you some cookies, wanda, nat and i made it. thought you gonna be hungry when you wake up”, you mutter, gently grabbing his hand. the corner of his lips curl up slightly, the heavy, purple lids above his eyes tried to comfort him with slow, bitty blinks. “i hope you gonna like it.”

“i’m gonna love it.” he choughs a little, placing his own hand onto yours, his cold skin calms your hot, sweaty one. “escpecially if it don’t comes out here, there or there.” pietro continues, referring to the big injuries on his body. you laugh, a little bit louder than usual, but neither of the two of you mind it –something beautiful, soft-hearted evolving in this moment.

“you gonna be alright. i’m– we gonna take care of you.” correcting yourself in no time, your other hand sneaked into his dyed, silky locks. 

“you know, i’m perfectly okay with the first option too.” your cheeks sink into deep red. “but... why were you always so quiet? i never... wanted to disturb you, i thought i bother you, or something.” 

you tugged on the white sheets, looking into another side –”the truth is, like you. very, very much, like i like like you... it’s just my nature, i was scared that if i draw on you, you get the sight and- you know, you don’t like me, or just as a friend. and i’m not that easy type, who gets down from this in no time.” 

“i would never hurt you, y/n. i often seems to be like a girl-magnet, and actually i am... but if we had a good relatinship, i never would fuck it up.” “that’s good. i love to hear that.” you whisper, smiling with bliss in your heart and eyes. 

“what do you say, sweetheart? can we give a try to the good relationship? just you and me, and the cookies.” leaning down on the comforting mattress to his side, you press a little kiss to the back of his hand.

“yes, we can.”

a thousand times yes. 

𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 )):

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff oneshot #pietro maximoff headcanons #pietro maximoff x y/n #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff drabble #pietro maximoff fluff #marvel #avengers one shot #Avengers #avengers imagine #avengers preferences #avengers x reader #avengers x you #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel imagine #marvel preferences #marvel headers #marvel headcanons #avengers fluff

[darkpoisonouslove]

The Light in You Is Shining in My Eyes

Summary: Robin is annoyed with the conditions of the nature hike she’s on when she falls through a hole in the ground to discover the domain of a nymph. The short encounter changes her life when she’s touched by Alice’s spirit and kindness.

Special credit to the guest stars of this fanfic - mosquitoes. They are playing a very important role in the lives of our leading ladies. XD

For @intothewickedwood​. I wish you all the best and many, many smiles!

The leaves rustling in the wind were drowned out by the laughter of large friend groups taking selfies and screaming children on family hikes but the cloud of mosquitoes surrounding Robin buzzed in her ears over all of that. Waving her hands to chase them away was like sticking them in the beast's mouth. Mosquito bites covered her like a map of her blood flow and the thin flannel shirt over her tank top only stuck to her skin with sweat to irritate her rather than protect her.

There was an unusual presence of mosquitoes at the spot where she was growing roots as if to taunt her. Killian had left her there to the annoying and hungry insects to follow up the fox tracks he'd spotted. Walking away was an option but the worst one. Having a phone on him didn't do much when Killian was a technological disaster so she had to wait around if she didn't want to lose him. Her mom would kill them both over the phone at the smallest mishap. Even the little pricks preying on her blood were preferable to never being let out of her room again, let alone Storybrooke.

A mosquito landed on her arm where she'd pushed the shirt off her shoulder. Robin got it before it could bite her smearing it over her skin. Her face twisted in disgust as her fingers brushed it away and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as if that could help her escape.

She froze at a loud crack under her feet but to no avail. She plunged through the crumbling ground.

Great! Down the rabbit hole was the last thing she needed. Underground roots tugged at her hair and whipped at her hands when she raised them. There was no avoiding the hard soil under her weight or the sharp-edged stones poking her but she could protect her face and her glasses. Her heart pounded in her ears over her own screaming.

Her feet hit the ground to send the impact rattling up her bones. She was thrown forward, down into a pile of damp leaves. The smell of decay hit her from the heap of brown, yellow and red to give her a boost.

She pushed herself up on all fours. She was a breath away from a thick trunk in front of her. A few more inches and she would've face-planted into a tree. A very peculiar tree.

A woman's face was carved into it, though it could hardly be the work of a human hand or mind. Every line and curve was one with the tree bark as if shaped into it from the inside of the trunk rather than hacked into it with a blade. The woman's features were detailed despite the gentility with which they were imprinted in the tree and made her look ethereal. Like a work of art brought to life.

Robin squinted at the faint light trying to make out more before she lifted her head to look for the source. She'd fallen underground but all that was above her head was a thick net of intertwined tree branches that formed the ceiling of a tunnel. The light was coming from somewhere above, golden-white like a whisper of sun rays. It was far from bright or sufficient.

Robin pushed herself up to her knees to fish her phone out of her jeans' pocket. In the light of the screen a scratch on her hand caught her eye. She hadn't felt it through the rush of adrenaline but it wasn't the only one. She was covered in shallow slashes on her exposed skin and where her jeans and shirt had ripped. One of her bracelets had torn off as well from the fall but she ignored them. She could only have them tended to once she was back on the surface.

Focusing on her phone left her rolling her eyes at the different notifications from social media waiting for her before she'd even unlocked it. She'd told her so-called friends she was taking a hiatus on all her platforms while traveling to distance herself from the routine of Storybrooke. Yet her phone was still a receptacle for gossip that bored her to death and performative acts of friendship.

She swiped aside the notifications to get to the flashlight. It shined light into the endless darkness of the tunnel and Robin raised it towards the face in the tree.

"Hey! Stop that!" a loud voice sent her hurtling back, phone dropping in the pile of dead leaves while her heart pounded all around her in the black absence of her flashlight.

"What the bloody hell?" Robin groaned as a sturdy root poking from the ground stabbed her in the small of her back.

The tree bark stretched in front of her to shape the rest of the woman and fell back into a normal trunk when she phased out of it. "Oh, no, none of that in my park."

Robin shuffled backwards, mouth gaping open. "Wh-what are you?" her fingers dug in the ground, the pain rushing through them doing nothing to snap her out of... whatever this was. If she had to guess, she'd hit her head in the tree and had dreamed up everything after that. Either that or she'd breathed in something highly questionable rummaging around Killian's boat.

"What? What? What a rude question! I am not a what," the woman spoke fast, her diction and tone the embodiment of time if Robin had ever imagined what it would sound like. "My name is Alice and I'm a tree nymph and guardian of this park."

Robin had read about nymphs in a book her mom had borrowed from her sister. All she could recall was that they were nature spirits that lived in trees. That was true enough but she had no idea whether she should work on returning her heart back in her chest from her throat or yelling for help with all the might of her lungs.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered. She swallowed quickly under Alice's calm gaze. "You just startled me." She wasn't menacing but that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.

"Well, you were shining that flashlight in my eyes."

Right. Her phone. She'd have to grope around for it since the leaves had swallowed its light. Or she'd broken it.

"You're familiar with phones?" Robin's eyebrows rose high on her forehead.

"Thousands of people come here every day and they all bring phones with them. It would be impossible to miss it. I'd have to turn away from the park. Were you looking at your phone when you missed the hole in the ground?"

"No." Robin patted her hands down on her jeans. She'd already destroyed those. She could leave all the dust on them to keep it away from her glasses and hair. "I was trying to get rid of a mosquito."

"You failed in that," Alice was staring at her like she could see not just the outside of her in the dark but also the inside. "There's still some of it left on your arm."

Robin's face contorted again at the proof of Alice's words as she swiped her fingers over her arm. "How did you-"

"I told you. I'm the guardian of this park. I'm connected to all life here. I felt that mosquito die as you squashed it," her voice quieted and a gleam of light reflected in the wetness in her eyes. It was deafening in the aura of strength she exuded. As if all life stopped to pay its respects to a little insect.

"I'm sorry," Robin fiddled with the loose ends of her shirt. She hadn't meant to do that. She hadn't meant to disturb her.

"Don't apologize to me. It's the mosquito you wronged but apologies won't bring back its life."

Robin frowned. "It was going to bite me."

"That's what mosquitoes do. Would you kill a person for eating food or drinking water?"

"But it's... different," Robin faltered under the power of Alice's resolve. She'd never raised her voice. It just echoed around them like it reached every inch of the park, like it was a part of it. "Mosquitoes aren't-"

"They aren't important? And what is important? Not the mosquitoes, not the bees, not the sea turtles, not the melting ice caps, not the rain forests, not the ozone layer, not Earth, not anything," her voice sped up with the anxious energy seeping into it. She wasn't angry. She was distressed.

Robin's mouth hung open as her eyes filled with tears at her loss for words. Someone who was one with nature was so shaken from the things that Robin closed her eyes to when she didn't have the power to change them singlehandedly. And Alice for all her understanding and care for life couldn't change them either.

"Robin," Killian's voice dropped from the hole like a lifeline to grab on to before she or Alice could break down. "Are you down there, lass?"

Robin looked up the hole she'd fallen through. There was nothing but darkness as all the twists and turns got in the way of the light coming in. "Yeah, I'm here, Killian," Robin yelled back, chest moving easier with the relief that he'd found her.

"I'll get you out of there. Do you think you'll be able to get out if I let down a rope for you?"

"Yes, that should work." There was no other plausible option even if neither of them knew how deep she'd fallen. Killian had tons of rope on his boat. The question was how quickly he'd be able to carry them over. It wasn't a short distance to the docks on the route they'd taken.

Robin turned back to Alice to find a question clearly etched on her face. "He's a close friend of my mom and aunt's. He instantly agreed to take me on his trip when I asked to join him." It was a miracle she'd convinced her mom to let her go.

Alice nodded. "Sounds good. But you won't be able to climb up like that. Your ankle's sprained. Can't you feel it?"

Robin stared at Alice's face. Her constant concern with all life around her should have carved deep lines in her skin but it only lit her eyes up like stars in the dark tunnel. Maybe she was the source of the dim light, though if it were her, there would have been a shine brighter than the sun above.

Robin tried her ankle at the reminder of the climb awaiting her. "Ow!" she whimpered at the charge of pain shooting through her. "You're right. I won't be climbing up that hole."

"Hold still," Alice knelt down next to her slowly as if to keep from scaring her.

In the proximity Robin's eyes caught on the material of Alice's dress. She'd assumed it was somehow her hair twisted and braided around her body due to the similar color but it was strands of dry grass instead. A summer coming to an end.

"I'll heal it," Alice startled her back to reality.

Robin opened her mouth to ask how but Alice was already rolling her jeans up. She locked her hands around the exposed skin to pour energy into it. A ring of waves closed around Robin's ankle, each washing away the pain and swelling little by little.

"How do you do that?" Robin gasped, her chest barely moving in the delicate balance of the magical process even if there was nothing fragile in Alice's concentration.

"Nymph magic."

"Whoa!"

"You don't believe me?" Alice looked up at her, eyes so blue she could have captured the whole ocean in them.

"I do. That's the thing." Robin could feel the magic working its... well, magic. And even if she couldn't, she'd believe whatever Alice told her. She was genuine in a striking way that didn't cancel out her gentleness. There wasn't the rawness of cynicism and jadedness Robin had seen in her mom and aunt and anyone else who used the truth to slap you in the face with it. Alice was just honest because it was her nature just as empathy and tenderness were. All that was left a mystery was what she wanted with Robin. For someone so genuine she sure wasn't easy to read.

"Why are you helping me?"

"I've always liked robins." Alice smiled, more to herself than to Robin. "Though, you're the most prickly one I've met."

"I'm not... I'm not prickly." At least she wasn't trying to be. "And I'm not a robin." All she could make fly were arrows.

"Humans are a part of nature, too. And all nature is beautiful and needs preservation." Alice looked up at the tree branches–or were they roots?–or what lay above them. "It pains me to see the direction in which the human race is driving the entire planet. It didn't use to be like that. People were one with nature. Now they're trying to escape from it and sacrifice it in the name of progress. When nature is progress, it is growth, it is life."

"How would you solve the problem then?" Robin had always been put off by the radical notions of exterminating humankind to let Earth heal. And leaving behind her environment hadn't worked for her on a personal level either.

"By being kinder and valuing the life of every person, every animal and every plant. By respecting nature and working with it, not against it. By giving it in return as much as you take from it. It is a powerful force but it is not unlimited, you know?" Alice's hands retreated from Robin's ankle and she buried them in the leaves around them. The perfect proof of her words. Her domain along with all nature above ground and even her outfit were cycling through different seasons to replenish their energy. "It needs tending to and someone to take care of it once in a while just as it takes care of everything and everyone."

Alice pulled her hand out of the fallen leaves with Robin's phone clasped in it. The flashlight was still on and blinded Robin as Alice handed it to her. She understood Alice's frustration from before.

"How old are you?" she asked, fingers curling around her phone desperately It was only Alice's face in front of her that kept her eyes away from the screen in pursuit of some clue to the answer.

"You really are a rude one, aren't you?" Alice teased, a grin from one ear to the other on her face. She probably didn't get a lot of company.

"Wow, that old, huh?" Robin chuckled. "Well, you do look spectacular for your age." She was a vision. Robin was lucky she hadn't hit her head and missed all of this. A dark and humid underground tunnel that was the home of the kindest soul she'd ever met.

"The light comes from the trees above," Alice explained when she noticed her staring at them. So those were roots then on the ceiling of the tunnel. "They spare some of theirs for me and my tree. Just enough to let me live," Alice smiled brightly even as she was starting to fade. Her energy came from the light and there wasn't that much of it as the sun must have started to set.

"Robin," Killian's voice reached her again. "I got the rope. Here you go."

Dirt fell from the hole as the rope skidded down before it unrolled in Robin's feet. There was even some length to spare as Robin scurried to turn off her flashlight and shove her phone back in her pocket to grab the rope.

"Thank you," she looked to Alice. "Looks like I have to go. At least if we want you to stay hidden." That had to be the reason why her tree was in the tunnel of roots with barely any light reaching it.

"Goodbye," Alice clasped her hands in front of her before raising one to wave stiffly.

Robin would abandon the rope and run into her arms to remain tangled in the tree roots if it wouldn't alert the world above to Alice's existence. She nodded and climbed into the hole.

"Take care, little robin. You can do more than you know," Alice's voice had the rope slipping in her sweaty palms.

Robin craned her neck back for a last peek but Alice was gone, retired to her tree. Her face was the only thing showing in the bark, her eyes staring upwards into the mellow glow of light coming from the roots of her park.

Robin pulled herself up, arms wailing as she climbed. She had to press her back to one end of the hole and her feet into the other to push herself up. She was an archer, not a body builder. Her back would be bruised from all the roots and stones poking it on her way up and she chaffed her palms on the rope.

She must have fallen into the very core of the Earth with how long it took her to make her way out The hole was cramped and claustrophobic and the only thing that kept her going was the certainty in the pit of her stomach that there would be no Alice to heal her if she plummeted back down. Nearly losing her glasses as she glanced down convinced her to train her gaze on the passage above her and light finally hit her eyes.

Killian grabbed her hand and then her arms to pull her out. All her muscles burned as she sprawled on the ground.

"Are you okay?" His concerned face blocked out the trees above her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Robin heaved out while her senses adapted to the brightness and loud noises along with all the different smells.

A mosquito landed on the back of her hand. She winced at its bite but left it to its devices. It was only doing what was natural for mosquitoes.

"Here, you dropped your bracelet," Killian handed her the offensive thing in blue and white. It was from a girl she'd never liked and belonged in the trash. She'd worn it to keep up appearances because it'd mattered to her whether the people that were hardly her friends liked her or not. It'd mattered until she'd fallen down the rabbit hole.

Looking at her hand, the mosquito was gone to differ from the bracelets. They were the real parasites. Out of the twelve she still had on only one or two called smiles to her face. The rest were coming right off.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Killian asked as he watched her tug on them like she'd lost her mind.

"I'm fine," she repeated. Better than ever. The mist in her head was clearing to leave her with ideas. All the followers she had on her social platforms keeping up with her archery achievements would be the perfect audience for a new ecological lifestyle she wanted to start. That would be the meaningful thing she'd been looking for all along to expand her consciousness and her world. And she had only Alice to thank for opening her eyes. Thank goodness for phones and flashlights you could shine in a tree nymph's eyes.

#once upon a time #ouat #robin mills #alice jones #curious archer #killian jones #wish hook #(he's kind of an amalgamation of the two) #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #happy birthday becky!

[heliads]

Counting On It

When you’re cornered by a group of hunters in the middle of the preserve, you’re more than a little surprised to be rescued by Theo Raeken, the one person who was the least likely to help you.

masterlist 

Your feet pound away at the forest floor. As you sprint past tree after tree, your heart hammers in your ears. You can’t control your fear and so you quickly duck behind a nearby tree, peering hurriedly over your shoulder to see if your pursuers are still behind you.

They are.

Just beyond the line of trees marches a group of hunters. Their clothes are dark, their weapons drawn, and they will hunt you down until you go screaming to your death. This is what you are running from, but with every step you take, you know it does you no good. You still die here, alone, no matter how far you go.

You gather up your courage and start to move again. One of the hunters raises a crossbow and fires; the bolt pierces your ankle. You scream in pain and fall to the ground, yanking out the bolt to let the wound heal. Once you can stand, you run again. 

You pass thicket after thicket, grove after grove. Then you see it- an opening in the trees ahead. Have you made it out? You muster your energy for one last attempt and sprint the final few feet. Your legs are carrying you as fast as you can- and then you force yourself to a stop.

Before you is the edge of a cliff, your feet mere inches away from the precipice. You glance back behind you, and realize the hunters have cut off all other means of escape. So this is it- death at the hands of humans who despise you for being a werewolf.

Biting back blood, you extend your claws, growling at the hunters. You’re not going down without a fight. You breathe in and out shallowly, preparing yourself for the upcoming fight, then race at the hunters, claws outstretched.

The world quickly becomes a mess of claws and fists. The hunters came prepared, you’ll give them that, but they clearly aren’t used to the desperation of one lone wolf. You’re able to take down one before two more stand before you, guns cocked and ready to shoot. You stand there for a moment, staring deep into their eyes. This is where it all ends.

Strangely enough, it doesn’t. There’s a growl from behind the hunters, and suddenly one of them is on the ground, clutching a wound on his stomach. While the other one is distracted, you launch yourself at him, slashing his side and taking him out as well. When you’re sure the threat of the hunters is gone, you finally look back at your mysterious lifesaver.

“Who are you?” You manage one question of the dark-haired boy in front of you, taking in the golden eyes of a beta and claws that show he’s a werewolf as well. The boy smirks and nods at you. “Theo Raeken. Figured you needed a hand with the hunters, so I dropped by.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Theo Raeken. As in the one that was sent to Hell after you betrayed Scott and the others about a thousand times?”

Theo sighs. “I’d hoped for a better introduction, but yes. That Theo. Even if you might be familiar with me, I still don’t know you.” You answer his questioning gaze. “I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N. You don’t know me because I just moved here a month or so ago. I met Scott’s pack after they found out I was a werewolf too, and we’ve been allies ever since.”

Theo nods slowly. “If you’re close with Scott, what were you doing in the middle of the woods? I thought you’d know what happens to lone wolves.” You tilt your head to the side, considering him. “I could ask the same of you. I was stupid enough to think I could hide from the hunters long enough to explore the preserve, that’s on me. You’re a lone wolf too, you know. What’s keeping you here?”

Theo fixes you with a piercing gaze. “I happen to like being in the forest at night. Feels like one of the only places in Beacon Hills where I can be alone without anyone staring at me like I might snap and kill someone at any moment.” You can’t help but grin at that. “To be fair, you did snap and kill people a good few times, so their suspicions aren’t exactly unfounded.” Your smile broadens at the sight of his annoyed face. “I’m kidding. Come on, I’ve got to get back home.”

The two of you walk back out of the preserve and Theo’s about to take off before he realizes you don’t have a car. “Need a lift?” You nod gratefully, and he drives you back to your house. The two have parked in your driveway when you turn to him with a thoughtful expression. “Do you want to stay the night?” Theo looks at you, confused. “What?” You repeat yourself. “Do you want to stay the night? Look, I know I just met you but I can tell when someone shouldn’t go be alone. I’m not asking for anything, I just feel like I owe you after you basically saved my life tonight.”

Theo considers your offer for a moment, then nods. “Actually, that wouldn’t be too bad. Just one night, though. I think Scott and your friends would kill me if they found out I was staying with you.”

The next morning, you’re talking to Theo before he goes. “You know, if you ever need a place to stay you should feel free to come crash at my place. Werewolf-friendly establishments aren’t exactly common around here.” Theo smirks slightly. “You had better be careful, or I might actually take you up on that offer.” You smile back at him. “I’m counting on it.”

True to his word, Theo does drop in every now and then. Maybe once every few weeks or so, you hear him knocking on your front door. You’re not entirely sure what he’s doing when he’s gone, but you’re more than happy to see him. The two of you quickly develop a fast friendship, and you always look forward to his visits.

Now, however, you don’t have time to worry about whether or not Theo Raeken is dropping by. Beacon Hills has been swarmed with new hunters, with everyone in town suddenly fearful of supernaturals. You’ve heard a report that Liam’s trapped in some warehouse in a corner of the town after an investigation into the hunters went south. The warehouse is surrounded by hunters, and they’re going in after him.

You quickly make your way over to the building, sneaking in through some access door on the side where nobody can see you. All you have to do to find your friend is follow the sound of distant fighting.

You’re surprised to see that Liam isn’t alone- there’s another figure fighting the hunters on the far side of the warehouse. As the figure turns to claw another hunter, you realize who the mysterious figure is- it’s Theo! You dash over to him just in time to take down a hunter who was about to shoot him in the back.

Theo turns to see you and instantly breaks into a grin. “Look who it is!” You laugh and continue fighting next to him. “Hey, I said I’d have your back, right?” Theo nods. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else.” Beside you, Liam throws a disappointed glare Theo’s way. “Hey- I’ve known you for way longer than Y/N. I feel like you should trust me more.” He pauses for a second, then looks back at you. “Wait, Y/N- how do you know Theo? He left before you moved here.” You just wave a hand at him. “We’re friends. That’s all you get to know.”

Before you know it, the fight is over and the three of you have successfully made it out of the warehouse and back to Scott’s house. The entire pack is clustered around the kitchen table, listening as Scott lays out a plan for how to deal with the Argents.

You’re distracted when Theo walks up next to you, smoothly entwining his hand around yours when nobody else is paying attention. You hope the blush in your cheeks isn’t noticeable to anyone else there. 

After the meeting is over, Theo slips away from the group, heading towards the front door. You peer after him confusedly. “Where’s he going?” Stiles waves a hand dismissively. “Probably leaving town again, this time for good. Now that the town’s safe he’s got nothing keeping him here.” There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that you can’t explain, and you quickly walk away and head out of the house after him.

You catch Theo just before he gets into his car. “Are you really going to leave without saying goodbye?” Theo turns back to face you. “I’ve never been much good at goodbyes. I figured it would be easier this way.” Your normally cheerful smile falls into a slight frown. “Do you really have to go, Theo?” The boy glances away. “Look, no one really wants me here after what I did. It’s better that I go.”

“That’s not true.” Theo finally looks back at you. “What?” You force yourself to make eye contact with him. “I want you here, Theo. I don’t know what I’m going to do if you leave.” Theo breaks into a smile. “Are you sure?” You laugh quietly. “More sure than I’ve been in a long time. You’re important to me, and I don’t want you to go.” 

Theo steps closer to you, brushing a small piece of hair away from your forehead. “I’ll stay for you. I didn’t want to go, but I thought you didn’t trust me like the others.” You smile up at him. “Of course I trust you. I’m just warning you- if you stay, you’ll have to see a lot more of me” Theo presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m counting on it.”

#teen wolf #theo raeken #theo raeken imagine #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken imagines #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagines

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 61

Masterlist

----

Initially, moving everyone to Cretea seemed like a brilliant solution to a terrible situation. In practice, though, it soon turns out that there are about a hundred problems attached that Miryam didn’t see coming at the first glance.

The first issue is, obviously, that most of their people do not want to move to Cretea. In spite of knowing about Shey and the other Fae members of the Alliance wanting them dead, the Seraphim still thought they would be able to return home to Erithia, and they are understandably reluctant to leave their home behind. The idea of moving to an island that is considered holy in their religion does little to ease their unhappiness, either. Meanwhile, the humans are theoretically fine with moving to some island they never heard of before, but are far from pleased at the prospect of having to share that island with a group of Fae.

Convincing everyone to go along with the plan takes days, and it only works because the alternative is to risk getting murdered. There are several concessions that need to be made, though. For one, it quickly becomes apparent that the Seraphim will only agree to come along if their friends and families can come as well. That was not initially something Miryam and Drakon had planned for – no need to drag more people than absolutely necessary into it, after all – but the Seraphim refuse to leave otherwise, and so they have no choice but to spirit the hundreds of thousands of Erithians still waiting in Erithia away to their camp. The attack they stage to cover their tracks is not exactly a good trick, but they hope that in the general chaos ensuing all over the Continent right now, no one will think to double-check.

Meanwhile, the humans come up with a few demands of their own to assure their safety. Most importantly, they downright refuse to be ruled over by any Fae. (“No offence to your husband,” Niria, who relays the decision to Miryam, says, “He seems nice enough, but he’s still Fae.”) Miryam would have picked Niria for the job of leading the humans, but everyone else seems to agree that it will obviously be her who takes up the role, and she has to admit that it’s convenient for an eventual unity within their soon-to-be-formed country to have the rulers of the Fae and humans already married to each other. Eventually, they might actually manage to get a unified government for all people living on Cretea, but for the moment, it is agreed upon that humans and Fae will be governed separately, with an option of merging the two governments eventually should both sides agree.

By the time they finally move on to the next issue (how to get everyone to Cretea), the Continent has already completely dissolved into chaos. They had to pull in most of their spies, but Andromache, who drops by almost every day, keeps them well-informed.

“It is a mess,” she says one day, looking drained enough that Miryam wordlessly hands her a mug of tea and gently pushes her towards the nearest chair. “Millions of people on the move everywhere. All roads are crowded, and the soldiers are busy day and night trying to keep the violence between groups at bay. And we still haven’t got any idea where to put most of these people.”

For the most part, Miryam just tries not to think about it. She doesn’t want to imagine these millions of people who are forced to leave their homes and travel through the entire Continent into the unknown, doesn’t want to think that this was not the future she was hoping for when she dreamt of what a world after the war might look like. (We won, she reminds herself. That’s all that really counts. Any other problems, we will find a way to deal with.)

There are many things she is trying very hard not to think too much about. Her death, for example. Or the wall that will soon go up and the people who will have to die for it to happen. Or how the entire mess the world has been turned into is, in some way, because of her. During the days when she is too busy to spend much time thinking, it works for the most part. At night, it’s a different matter.

At the end of the day, she’s still one of the lucky ones, though. Unlike so many others, at least she isn’t losing her home. Of course, there are places she will miss, Erithia and Telique for one. But she never truly had a place she considered home, not really, so there is no home for her to lose now. Her home were always other people, and most of those will be coming with her.

It more difficult for Drakon. He is trying very hard to pretend that he is enthusiastic about moving to Cretea to set a good example for his people, but Miryam can tell that losing Erithia is tearing him apart. That is definitely her fault in a way, just as the fact that his right arm still hurts and none of the healers they talked to has been able to do anything about it is because of her. (Well, the blame for that last thing lies with Daín for the most part, but he had the good sense to stay away so far. Miryam is sure that will change soon enough, though, given what she knows about him.)

Drakon and her settle into a rhythm of sorts together. During the days, they pretend everything is fine. At nights, when they are alone in their tent, they allow themselves to mourn, to be scared and in pain. It probably isn’t ideal, but Miryam supposes they will have all the time in the world to deal with what they lost once everyone is safe and settled on Cretea.

----

Miryam is asleep in their tent, or at least pretending to be, but Drakon gave up on trying to sleep after having spent two hours tossing and turning on his mattress. His right arm still hurts, pain shooting up from the fingertips to the shoulder at any movement, which makes sleeping difficult.

Instead, he leaves the camp, nodding to the guards as he passes them, and sits down on a flat stone by the shore still within the wards Miryam set up around the camp. Tiny waves are lapping around his feet. Drakon picks up a handful of pebbles and starts tossing them into the water, sending ripples running over the surface.

He is just about to pick up a second hand of stones when a reflection appears in the water. He looks up and finds a dark-haired man with dark skin and blue robes floating above the water. So he did come, just as Miryam predicted.

“Ghost,” he says, only to remember a heartbeat later that the being in front of him is called Daín.

“Hello Drakon,” Ghost – no, Daín, remember it already – says quietly.

He doesn’t say anything after that, and Drakon only stares at him. Miryam told him about what happened after he resurrected her, but he still cannot quite believe that the man before her is the second-most important being in his religion. (Although given that his goddess apparently wants him dead, he might want to reconsider his religion as well. There are many things he needs to reconsider, it seems.)

“How… how are you doing?” Daín finally asks.

“Good,” Drakon says in a too-casual tone. “Thanks for asking. You might want to avoid Miryam for the time being, though. She’s furious with you.”

“Miryam, huh?” Daín asks. “And you?”

Drakon shrugs with his good shoulder. “My arm still hurts.” Understatement of the century. “I can barely hold a pen. How do you think I am feeling?”

Daín’s form dims slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s what I actually came to tell you. I didn’t mean…” He breaks off, then starts again. “I regretted it the moment I did it.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Drakon asks.

That’s what has been bugging him ever since. Admittedly, he isn’t the best at judging people, but he still thought he could trust Ghost. They weren’t exactly friends, but he still thought they liked each other. That he was apparently so wrong stings.

“Because I couldn’t spend the rest of eternity stuck in that cave,” Daín says, voice rising slightly. “I just couldn’t.”

“But we had promised to get you out,” Drakon says. He doesn’t like how small his voice sounds. This would probably be easier if he was angry.

“And how would you have done that, with Miryam dead?” Daín shakes his head. “Any possible way to ever free me – be it in combination with resurrecting Miryam or just cutting me loose – involved you using the sword. I didn’t want this, I swear I didn’t, but it was my only chance.”

“Ah,” Drakon says, nodding slowly.

He hadn’t considered that. It makes sense, though, and it being the reason for why Daín did what he did is actually a relief. It means that Daín didn’t hate him, didn’t fake friendliness to manipulate him into freeing him from the beginning – Drakon didn’t misjudge him that badly, after all – he just wanted to get out of the cave. After eight thousand years of being trapped there alone, it is certainly something Drakon can sympathize with. He doesn’t exactly approve (his arm hurts too much for that), but he has a hard time blaming Daín.

“And you…” Daín continues, “you wanted to save Miryam so badly. Initially, I wasn’t going to help you, but you practically begged me and so – “

“And so you thought it was fine to lie to me?” Drakon asks, annoyed again. He understands why Daín didn’t give him the choice, but there’s really no reason for Daín to act like he was doing him a favour, or like he was justified in taking away his choice on the matter. “If you were so sure I would do it anyways, you could have just told me the truth.”

“I – “ Daín begins, but he is cut off by a voice from behind.

“Are you actually apologizing because you feel bad, or just because your little plan to free yourself didn’t go quite as planned and you need me to not hate you, Daín?”

Drakon turns around to Miryam who is leaning against a tree behind him, arms crossed so tightly she looks like she is moments away from accidentally snapping them.

“Can’t sleep?” Drakon asks by way of greeting and moves aside a bit on his stone to make space for her.

“As usual.” Miryam pushes off her tree and goes to sit next to him. Arms still crossed, she turns to glare at Daín. “Still waiting for your answer.”

Daín still seems to be processing what Miryam just said to him. He is hanging entirely still in the air, not even blinking. At Miryam’s words, he snaps out of it, though.

“I really do want to apologize,” he says. “I would have come even if I had been freed fully, instead of just being tied to you instead of the sword. And I would still want you to not hate me even if I was able to move more than a mile away from you at a time.”

Miryam snorts. “Yeah, it must be terribly inconvenient. All that work to get free, only to end up tied to one of the people you betrayed to get what you want.”

She is very good at only letting anger and coldness show right now, but Drakon knows that she was as hurt by Daín’s betrayal as he was, and that she isn’t pleased at all by having him bound to her now. Under different circumstances, Drakon thinks she might have decided to be more charitable about the entire situation and give Daín a second chance, but it seems she decided to be angry for both of them about Daín nearly getting him killed.

“Besides,” Miryam continues, “your apologies hardly undo what you did.”

Now, Drakon does feel the need to interject. He is almost beginning to feel bad for Daín.

“It was nice of him to explain, though,” Drakon says. “I can’t even blame him, honestly.”

Miryam twists around to face him, looking outraged. “What?” She asks. “You can’t be serious.”

Drakon shrugs. “He wanted a way out of that cave. I understand that. And if I had just let him out earlier instead of leaving him trapped there all alone just because I was scared to break tradition, none of this would have happened, so at least part of the blame for the entire situation lies with me.”

“Using the sword would still have killed you, though!” Miryam is clearly trying to keep her voice calm, but she doesn’t succeed entirely. “That was his plan from the beginning. How can you just be willing to overlook that?”

In spite of himself, Drakon finds himself smiling. It has been an ongoing discussion between the two of them in the last weeks which one of them is putting to little importance into their own wellbeing. Drakon feels that Miryam is brushing off the fact that she died and the related trauma too easily and also spends far too much time blaming herself and too little blaming others for everything that happened. In turn, Miryam thinks that Drakon should focus less on her and more on how he almost died and also lost his home.

In the end, they are probably both right. It seems that they are both painfully alike in that they never quite manage to place enough importance on their own lives.

“That wasn’t my plan at all,” Daín objects, making Drakon turn to face him again. “I didn’t want to hurt Drakon, that’s why I stopped suggesting he use the sword after a while!”

Miryam looks like she already has a reply ready for that, but Drakon cuts in before she gets the chance. “I think we aren’t going to solve this today,” he says. “What I’d like to know, though, is how you ended up in that cave. The true story. And how you know the Mo… Étain.”

That stops Miryam from saying whatever was just on her mind. She has been dying to know the details of Daín’s and Étaín’s past, and she evidently cares more about that than about telling Daín off yet again.

“Alright,” Daín says. He seems relieved at the chance to change the subject. “Then let’s start at the beginning. From my understanding, it is Fae belief that I am a Fae who was chosen as a consort by Étaín, who is the goddess who created this world.”

Drakon nods, internally bracing himself. He has a feeling he isn’t going to like whatever is coming next. He was never go-to-the-temple-daily religious, but he did care about it. The years of war didn’t exactly improve his relationship with his goddess, but he can’t shake the feeling that this will be worse still.

“The Fae, as usual, were wrong on both counts,” Daín says. “Étaín and I are both members of a species called Aín. We are born from the universe itself, made from the strings that make up its essence and have powers that are – although any Aín I can think of would consider the comparison an insult – similar to the powers witches exhibit. Although the more correct way to put it considering the history would be that the witches have powers that are a faint echo of ours.”

“Sounds pretty god-like to me,” Drakon mutters.

“That’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” Daín asks, perking up. “What is a god?” He seems genuinely excited at the question. “You see, there is no clear answer. If we define it as a ‘being of great power that is worshipped as a deity’, one might consider Miryam to be a goddess, provided she got herself some worshipers, and – “

“Can we get back to the subject at hand?” Miryam asks sharply. Drakon cannot tell if she is just annoyed with Daín in general, wants him to continue his story, or doesn’t like the goddess-comparison. Probably a mixture of all three.

Daín winces. “Sure. Anyways, long story short, Étaín grew tired of simply visiting worlds and watching life there as a spectator. She wanted… well, I suppose that no longer matters. She took over one of the worlds – this one – and began to shape it to her liking, using the Cauldron, a magical item she created, to anchor the spell she used. She never particularly cared about the world’s original inhabitants – the humans, as I am sure you already guessed – but there was a bunch of invaders from another world – the Fae – who were all too happy to worship her as a goddess when she had prepared this world so well for them. And Étaín quickly found that she enjoyed being worshipped as a goddess.”

Drakon groans and buries his face in his hands. He prepared himself for the worst, but this is worse than anything he considered possible. His ancestors were invaders who stole this world from the humans and then proceeded to enslave him, his goddess the one who helped them, and –

“And what was your role in all this?” Miryam asks.

“I was her best friend,” Daín says without looking at Miryam. “And then I was her lover and her husband.”

“So you helped her.” Miryam has her arms crossed again and seems to be growing increasingly angry as the conversation progresses.

“No. But I didn’t stop her either, and that’s almost as bad.” Daín sighs. “It took me far too long to realize that she was wrong, and to start acting against her. I only changed my mind when I met Rashida. But from then on, I worked with the humans against Étaín. Well, mostly against the Fae, but Étaín backed them, so it made little difference. I managed to keep it secret for centuries, but she found out eventually. When she did, we fought. And we hurt each other badly enough that we were both reduced to this.” He gestures at himself. “Powerless. Mere shades of what we once were, forced to remain stuck in this world forever without ever having the power to influence it again.”

Drakon curses softly and runs a hand through his hair. Wonderful. So everything he believes was one giant lie. Well, not everything, of course, but still quite a lot. A lot of really important things.

Miryam nods slowly. “Interesting story. We’ll think about it.”

“There’s more still,” Daín says. “So much you do not know yet.”

“Maybe some other day,” Miryam says. “I’d rather be alone with Drakon now, though.”

Daín nods. “Of course. And I truly am sorry.”

Miryam doesn’t react. Drakon might have offered some acknowledgement, but he is still chewing on what Daín just told him. After waiting another heartbeat, Daín disappears into thin air.

Drakon turns to Miryam. His first instinct is to apologize, to offer some kind of comment about what Daín just revealed about his ancestors, but Miryam likely wouldn’t care about that. She didn’t the first time around, and she doubts he will now.

Miryam is the one who breaks the silence. “I can’t believe you are actually considering to forgive him,” she says, but she is smiling as she shakes her head slightly.

Ah. So this is what they are talking about. “And you?” Drakon asks. “Are you just going to hate him forever? Might be inconvenient, given that he is tied to you. He’ll have to be around a lot.”

Miryam laughs. “Unfortunate, isn’t it? I guess I’ll have to put that on the list of things I will eventually have to deal with. Sometime after we’ve made sure our people get through the next year without starving, I imagine.”

Drakon smiles back at her. “At least it won’t be boring?” He offers.

“Oh, definitely,” Miryam says and takes his hand. “At the rate things are going, we’ll be lucky if we ever get so much as a single boring day in our lives.”

“There’s a lot to be done until we get there, though,” Drakon says and jumps to his feet. “Houses to build and fields to plant. A country to create from scratch.” He offers her a hand to help her up.

Miryam takes the offered hand and lets him pull her to her feet. “Sounds fun. We better find a way to get everyone to Cretea safely first, though.”

----

Moving over to Cretea turns out to be less of a challenge than Miryam initially anticipated. Lacking ships and unable to purchase new ones for secrecy reasons, they had to rely on magic to get them across the ocean and onto the island. The entire matter (disabling the wards to even allow people onto the island and then creating a spell that allows about a million people to transfer to the island) took Miryam four days and no less than six trips to Cretea.

The spell she ended up with is hardly a work of art – it’s a one-way bridge of sorts between their camp and Cretea, and only ten people can pass through at a time and the transfer over to Cretea takes about thirty seconds, meaning that they need to have the spell running for well over a month to get everyone over to the island – but it is functional. A month is long, yes, it seems like a small price to pay for a relatively safe and comfortable way of travelling. Especially compared to what the millions of people on the Continent who also lost their homes have to deal with.

On the last day before the first people will start leaving for Cretea, Andromache visits again. Drakon is busy explaining the logistics of everything to the group of soldiers that will pass through the wall first, and so it’s just the two of them sitting together in Miryam’s tent.

“So, how are you doing?” Andromache asks.

Miryam shrugs. “Getting used to everything.” She doesn’t say that the nightmares are bad again, or that she feels so terribly guilty for all these people having to leave their homes, or that she is terrified of what the future might hold.

Andromache is kind enough to leave it at that and not call attention to her lie. “You’re leaving with the first group tomorrow?” She asks instead.

“Yes.” Miryam nods to the necklace Andromache is still wearing around her neck. “That will still bring you to me whenever you want. I’m hoping to see you again even when we’ve left the Continent.”

“I’ll come visit,” Andromache says with a sad smile.

Neither of them says that Andromache will have a very limited amount of time where she is even able to visit. The evacuations will probably take a few months still, but once the Wall goes up, there will be no more visits. Because there will be no more Andromache.

It is a subject both of them have carefully avoided in the last weeks. The knowledge that the wall spell will require the lives of the six human queens to come into function is always there, standing between them, but Miryam hasn’t yet found the courage to address it and Andromache doesn’t seem interested in bringing it up either.

Miryam reaches into her jacket and pulls out a second necklace. “And it would be great if you could give this to Mor. Tell her that I’d like to see her again sometime.”

Andromache frowns at the necklace in Miryam’s hand, then reluctantly takes it. “Is this your way of making me talk to Mor again?”

“This is my way of making sure a friend of mine doesn’t spend the rest of her life blaming herself for my death, and of possibly clearing up our argument,” Miryam replies. “Although I do wish you two would talk things out.”

Andromache makes a face at Miryam. “I don’t.”

“It was just an argument, Andromache. And it was halfway my fault, anyways, for not warning Mor of what I was going to do. It’s really not worth breaking up over.”

And Miryam feels terrible that this argument led to two of her friends breaking up. She never wanted that to happen, and she doesn’t think Mor deserves it. What she has said hadn’t exactly been kind, but given what Miryam had done, it hadn’t been unwarranted, either. Miryam doesn’t regret her actions, but she also cannot blame anyone for hating her for them.

“Well, it’s not your relationship so you don’t get to decide that,” Andromache mutters. When Miryam just watches her in silence, she sighs. “Besides, I’m not breaking up with Mor over the argument the two of you had. I’m breaking up with her because of the general implications of her behaviour.”

“You don’t really think Mor is anything like Shey,” Miryam says.

“No. But I don’t think I can imagine a relationship with her either. Not anymore.” Andromache shrugs. “I mean, even if I wasn’t going to die in that spell, I think it would be better for things to end here. Especially with the wall soon going up, there is little point in investing in a relationship I am unsure about.”

“Either way, you should talk to her sometime,” Miryam says. “You won’t get many chances to clear things between you up anymore, and such things shouldn’t be put off too long.” She thinks of Jurian and all the things she never got the chance to say to him and adds, “Talking from experience.”

Andromache sighs and closes her hand around the necklace. “I’ll give it to Mor,” she says. “And I’ll see. About the conversation.”

Miryam nods. “That’s all I am asking.”

----

Almost two weeks after Miryam gave it to her, Andromache still carries the charmed necklace she was meant to give to Mor around with her. She intended to give it to Mor right away, but somehow, the opportunity never arose. With the entire Continent dissolved into complete chaos, refugee trails running from one side to the other, she simply didn’t have much time for private conversations. Besides, Mor wasn’t in Telique as much as before, meaning they rarely saw each other either way.

Alright. If Andromache is being entirely honest, she didn’t exactly put much effort into meeting her, either. She could easily have sent a letter and asked Mor to come visit, but the truth is that she simply doesn’t want to talk to her. Having a few weeks to think everything through helped calm her anger into a manageable extent – which was, of course, helped by the fact that Miryam and Drakon turned out to be alive and… well, not quite well, but well enough, she suppoes – but that still doesn’t mean she’s just going to forgive Mor. Not for her behaviour and not for the mindset behind it.

Talking to Mor now would mean having to deal with that, and she simply doesn’t have the energy to explain to her where her problem is. If Mor doesn’t figure it out herself, it’s hardly up to Andromache to help her.

She promised Miryam, though. And Miryam also has a point that some things ought to be settled in due time. So as the date when the wall is scheduled to go up (which will, as it happens, also mean Andromache’s death), she finally makes herself approach Mor after a meeting in Telique.

“We need to talk,” she says by way of greeting, making Mor spin around to her, the papers she was just studying forgotten. Before she can say anything else, Andromache adds, “Meet me in half an hour in our usual spot.”

With that, she turns around and stalks off.

Their usual spot is one of the palace’s private gardens, this one belonging traditionally to Angolere. Usually, it is visited by courtiers from her country, but with everyone so busy lately, it is entirely empty when Andromache arrives. She still walks around once to check, then sits down on a bench under a willow and waits.

Mor arrives five minutes later. She is clearly nervous, fiddling around with the sleeve of her dress as she walks. Andromache nods to the seat beside her and waits until Mor has put up a ward around them before pulling the necklace out of her pocket and holding it out to her.

The explanation she offers is quick and hard. She only offers the bare bones of the situation. Miryam, Drakon and the others are alive, they are hiding, Miryam wants Mor to visit. She does not mention Shey, or the fact that Miryam died. If Mor wants to know about these things, she will have to speak to Miryam about it.

Halfway through her explanations, Mor begins to cry. Andromache does not put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Part of her wants to, but that would send a signal to Mor she doesn’t want to send, and so she simply finishes her explanation and then waits for Mor to stop crying.

Maybe it was wrong of her to wait this long before giving the news to Mor. Letting her go on for weeks still thinking Miryam, Drakon and the others are dead was cruel, perhaps. Did she truly do it because she did not want to speak to Mor, or was it some sort of punishment? It bothers Andromache that she cannot tell and she vows to herself to do better. She once loved Mor dearly – for all that she made mistakes, she does not deserve cruelty, or punishment.

“So things between us…” Mor begins, hesitantly. “Things are fine again? We’re good.”

Andromache’s initial reaction is to snap at her, but she promised herself to be kind about this from now on, if only to make up for not delivering Miryam’s message earlier. This is, although Mor doesn’t yet know it, their final conversation. And Andromache wants a neat resolution to this, one that will leave her knowing she did everything right. She doesn’t want to be angry with Mor anymore. She just wants this settled and then she wants to move on.

“No,” she says as gently as she can manage. “I never blamed you for Miryam’s death, and so her not being dead changes nothing at all.” Mor looks completely crestfallen. She doesn’t say anything else, so it’s up to Andromache to say the final words. “Things between us are over, Mor.”

She doesn’t say that she is sorry. This conversation is already more for Mor’s sake than for hers, but there are limits to how far she will go. Maybe if Mor hadn’t thought that the sole problem was Miryam’s death, she might have been kinder.

Mor is crying again.

Andromache sighs. Still, she doesn’t reach out to comfort her. “With the wall soon going up, we wouldn’t have much of a future either way,” she says. “The Night Court and Angolere will be on different sides of the wall, with no way across.”

It isn’t the reason for why she is ending the relationship, but it might soften the blow for Mor. Let her think that the wall influenced her decision, that they might still have had a chance without it.

“I could stay in Angolere with you,” Mor sniffs.

“And leave your family behind forever? That’s not a choice I’d want you to make. Especially not over a relationship I am no longer sure about.”

She is far more than “no longer sure”, but there’s no need to say that. If not for the wall, if not for Andromache’s upcoming death, there might be some way to salvage their relationship, but Andromache doesn’t think she would be willing to make the effort. She certainly wouldn’t want Mor to make a choice as permanent as leaving her home behind for her now.

It does not make Mor cry any less, though. Andromache wishes she would stop crying long enough to think about her words and realize she is right. There’s no way Mor would want to leave her family and friends behind, not even for Andromache. But well, maybe she has a right to her tears and this is just Andromache being impatient with her. Looking at it objectively, it is probably her who is being too cold about this while Mor’s reaction is appropriate to the situation.

“Not all endings have to be bad,” Andromache offers. “I know it sometimes feels that way, but a relationship ending isn’t the end of the world. It just happens sometimes, and sometimes, it is even for the best. At times, two people are just right for each other for a time, and then they aren’t anymore, but that doesn’t mean the time before was bad or didn’t bring anything to both of them.”

That was very, very kind of her, Andromache thinks. Miryam will be satisfied. A bit cold, perhaps, but she just can’t help it. She is done with this relationship and, harsh though it may sound, done with Mor. She believes what she said – for a time, their relationship was good and she will always be grateful for that. But she sees no cause to maintain any kind of relationship with Mor after this.

“But I don’t want to go on without you,” Mor whispers.

Is it too cold if Andromache tells her that she will get over it in time? At least that’s the experience Andromache made in her two previous relationships. (Well, the first of these relationships barely lasted more than a month, but that didn’t make Andromache at eighteen feel less like she was dying when her then-boyfriend broke up with her.) On the other hand, that is probably not what Mor wants to hear right now, and given that this is her first relationship, it might be best if she makes these experiences on her own.

“You’ll manage,” she says. “I was the first person you loved – I doubt I’ll be the last.” For the sake of the good years they had, she makes herself smile. “I was happy to have met you, Morrigan. I wish you a long and happy life.” It is true, too.

Mor is crying harder again and doesn’t seem capable of saying anything, but that’s alright. Andromache would have appreciated some kind parting words from her, but she doesn’t need them. She is perfectly at peace with the way their relationship ended – this meeting’s intention was to give Mor a resolution, not her.

She gets up, inclines her head to Mor one last time, and walks out of the garden, leaving Mor alone on the bench.

----

On the Continent, the evacuations continue, the chaos showing no way of easing yet. By contrast, Prythian is almost eerily calm. The only court that is losing any territory is Spring, where everyone is busy moving hundreds and thousands of people, but up north in the Night Court, one might think there are no evacuations happening at all.

Mor enjoys the quiet. It offers a nice contrast to the storm raging inside her, and gives her all the time in the world to nurse her broken heart. After that terrible last conversation with Andromache, she fled to the cabin in the mountains where Rhysand is still recovering – or, lately, quietly seething at the fact that his father forbid him from going after Amarantha on his own – and together, they spend days in solitude.

They are a good fit these days, both of them equally miserable. For the most part, they do not talk at all. Rhysand wants to be left alone with his rage, and Mor doesn’t feel like talking about what happened with Andromache either. Well, she wouldn’t have felt like it even if Rhys had known about their relationship in the first place.

As far as she can tell, Rhys believes she is mourning Miryam and Drakon. About them, they talk once or twice, but Mor usually blocks off the conversation. She loves Rhys, but she isn’t prepared to talk about Miryam yet. Not when Miryam and their last argument are so closely tied to everything that is now wrong with her life.

Some days, she sits outside in the cold and twists the necklace in her hands. She hasn’t found the courage to actually use it yet. If Miryam wanted Mor to get it, that likely means she wants to talk to her, but what would they even talk about?

Nothing Mor might say would change anything about the facts. It won’t undo what Miryam did in the Black Land, or the argument they had about it. Nor will it erase the fact that Mor promised to protect Miryam, and then she left, and then Miryam almost died. It won’t make Andromache want her back, either.

Mor is sitting outside with the necklace again one day when Rhys sits down next to her. “What is the business with that necklace?” He asks. “A gift from a lover who left you?”

“No,” Mor chokes out. And then, before she can think any better of it, she is telling him the truth. Not everything – not a word about Andromache – but she tells him what the necklace is, what it does. She wants to mention her argument with Miryam, but every time she tries to repeat what happened, her voice abandons her.

After she is done, Rhys is silent for a while. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure if you should visit them. It would be a risk.”

“How so?” Mor asks, perking up.

“Well, if Miryam and Drakon wish for people to think they are dead, you visiting them would only put that in danger, wouldn’t it? What if father notices that you are gone and starts asking where you were?”

Mor flinches. She didn’t consider that option yet, but he is right. It would be irresponsible to visit Miryam. Even if Miryam asked for it, Mor shouldn’t… At least not right now. Maybe in a few months, once everything has settled down and she isn’t watched this closely by her uncle anymore. Maybe by then, things will have calmed down all on their own, too. Sometimes, time is the best medicine.

Yes, Mor thinks. This is right. Soon enough, things will have calmed down and it will have stopped hurting and then, she will be able to talk to Miryam again, too. It will all be alright. It just takes a little time.

----

The next two months are so busy that the time seems to move at twice the normal speed. That it takes over a month to move everyone to Cretea seemed inconvenient at first, but having people appear one after the other on Cretea actually turns out to be a blessing. That way, the first people to arrive can already start setting up a camp, scout the terrain and look for food. All of this is be painfully necessary because Cretea, densely forested and full of unknown plants and animals as it is, it definitely not an island you just want to dump a million of people onto without preparation.

By the time the last of their people arrives and Miryam closes her bridge spell, they have not one but actually five separate camps, all within less than an hour of each other, to avoid people being too densely crowded in one area and polluting the water. They also have some makeshift huts erected and catalogued most of the common fauna and flora as well as mapped the nearby parts of the island. The cartographers and scouts especially have done great work, but everyone on Cretea did their part.

Loathe as Miryam is to admit it, though, everything would have been a whole lot more difficult if not for Daín’s help. Within a day of the first people arriving on Cretea, they realized that the island is completely different from the rest of the Continent. More than half of the local plants and animals are unknown even to their experts, and it is impossible to tell which ones are dangerous. (For example, who would have thought that the tiny elephants living in the jungle can spit poison if they feel threatened?)

Daín, having apparently been the one to create Cretea as a wedding gift to Étaín, knows all the local specialities, though, and he is willing to help, which forces Miryam to put her lingering anger with him aside for the moment. To his credit, he doesn’t tie his help to any demands, doesn’t even ask Miryam and Drakon to forgive him for what he did in exchange. Drakon still seems to forgive him, even though his arm still hasn’t gotten better. Miryam doesn’t feel inclined to do the same yet.

Busy as they all are with trying to settle into Cretea and not be killed by the wildlife, she barely notices how the time passes. It’s like she blinked and suddenly, more than two months have passed since that battle on the ocean floor. On the Continent, the evacuations are drawing to a close. Not everyone is settled in yet, of course, and on the Fae side of the Continent, it is already obvious that there will be struggles over borders still to come, but everyone has reached their side of the Continent by now. Which means the wall will go up soon.

The realization hits Miryam like a punch to the chest when Andromache calmly tells her that they will cast the wall spell in less than a week. Before she even had the chance to truly comprehend what is about to happen, it’s Andromache’s last visit and they are forced to say goodbye to each other.

Andromache seems entirely calm about the situation, which just makes it more difficult for Miryam. Words rarely fail her, but now, they do. Andromache is one of her closest friends – the idea of losing her like this is unbearable. It almost feels like Miryam is killing her herself.

Andromache seems to guess her line of thought, though, because as she hugs Miryam goodbye, she whispers into her ear, “I know you like to blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault, and that you won’t listen to me when I tell you that you hold no blame for a decision I made freely. I still want you to not blame yourself for this, though. Consider it my last wish if you want.”

Miryam isn’t sure if that is a wish she will be able to honour, but she still makes herself nod. After Andromache has disappeared, she spends a long time staring at the space where she was just standing, trying not to think about anything at all. Then, she turns around and walks over to the nearest human camp.

It is perched in a valley, and Miryam finds a flat stone on a nearby hill where she sits down. From up here, she can see the entire camp, all the people moving round down there, going about their daily activities and simply living. Children are running through the camp, chasing each other in some made-up game. Fires are burning everywhere, adults preparing dinner over them.

Miryam smiles softly. Maybe in a moment, she will go down there and join the hustle, maybe find herself some dinner and join the groups of people sitting around in front of the tents. For the moment, though, she is content to simply watch.

She loves moments like this. They remind her that even if many things didn’t go the way she planned, at the end of the day, she got the most important thing she wanted, the only one that really mattered. At the end of the day, they won and they are free, and that’s all that really counts.

She just wishes Jurian was here to see this. He would have loved it as much as she does and it is so beyond cruel that he never got to see that the victory he sacrificed so much for.

“I miss you,” she whispers.

She doesn’t believe that anyone is there to listen, doesn’t even believe in an afterlife, but some things are better said out loud. For some words, it is easier to be able to pretend that there is someone listening.

“I wonder what you would make of everything if you were here.” She smiles, shaking her head slightly. “You would probably be against the wall far less than I am. You would think I’m stupid to dislike it so much, I know. We might even argue over it. I would give anything to be able to argue with you over that one more time. But mostly I just… I really wish you were here to see this. We won. And it kills me that you never got to hear about that.”

The only answer is the wind rustling in the leaves. What wouldn’t Miryam give for one chance, just once more chance to talk to Jurian. How is it that she got a second chance at life but he didn’t?

She tries to comfort herself with the knowledge that Jurian would be happy for her. If he was able to talk to her, he would probably tell her off for feeling guilty that she lives while he is gone. He would want her to live a happy life, the same thing she would have wanted for him had their positions been reversed.

“We won,” Miryam repeats once more, and then, she gets up and walks down to the camp.

----

The sunlight pierces the darkness without warning. Had Jurian been able to, he would have closed his eye against the sudden light, but as it is, he can only wait until his eye adjusts to the brightness and he can see again. Slowly, Amarantha’s face comes into focus in front of him.

“Have you missed me?” She asks.

Even if Jurian had been able to reply, he wouldn’t have. He didn’t miss Amarantha, of course, but after so long trapped alone in the dark, even the face he hates the most in the entire world is a welcome sight. He doesn’t know how long it has been since Amarantha shoved his eye into that casket, furious over the Loyalists’ defeat and clearly trying to sour the victory for Jurian, only that it felt like an eternity trapped alone in the dark, moments blurring together in a never-ending stream of terribleness.

“It’s been almost three months,” Amarantha says as if reading his thoughts and picks the ring with his eye on it up.

“Such a long time!” She seems in a good mood today, and Jurian is immediately suspicious. Her good news tend to end badly for him. “There is so much you missed. Do you want me to tell you?”

Yes. No. Jurian doesn’t know. If he still had a body, he is sure his heart would be racing. Any news that has Amarantha in such a good mood can only be terrible indeed, especially when it must be bad enough to counter her anger over the Alliance winning the war.

“Well, one thing you certainly didn’t miss was your allies looking for you,” Amarantha says casually. “Because they didn’t. They seem entirely content to leave you to rot. If you ask me, they are probably glad to be rid of you. Not that I can blame them.”

Once, Jurian might have objected – internally, at least – but now, he cannot. He has run out of possible explanations for why none of his friends came to save him yet, especially with the war now over for months. They should have come. But they didn’t, and the only possible reason is that they do not care.

“No, there was something else I wanted to tell you about,” Amarantha says. “I even considered interrupting your little time-out for it, but I thought you could use some time on your own to contemplate how little use your side winning this war was for you in the end.”

Desperately, Jurian tries to cling onto the knowledge that this war was still worth it. If they won, that must mean slavery was abolished. Millions of people must have been freed. It was worth it.

It is difficult to truly feel that way, though, when he cannot see the effects. All that’s there for him is pain and suffering, and none of his supposed friends seem to be willing to help him. It’s like they won and then forgot about him, like they had no use for him anymore and so they threw him away.

“Well, now you hear a few months too late,” Amarantha continues. She smiles at him. It is not a pleasant smile, showing far too many teeth. “Your little mortal lover – sorry, former lover – is dead.”

Jurian’s world goes entirely still. It’s a lie, is his first thought. It has to be a lie. A poor one at that, given that he knows the war is already over. Miryam cannot be dead.

“That lesser faery she betrayed you with is dead as well, although I doubt you are sad about that,” Amarantha continues. “As well as a whole bunch of other people, mortals and faeries, mostly. Ravenia sent soldiers after them, and they somehow managed to completely wipe each other out. Everyone dead, on both sides.” Her smile broadens further. “I find it beyond amusing, honestly. Although I would be really curious to know what you think about it.”

What he thinks about it? He thinks, of course, that it cannot be true. And if it was… No, he cannot bear to think about that.

“She betrayed you, after all,” Amarantha continues. “You did everything for her, and she couldn’t even be bothered to try and save you. Maybe she was too busy with that faerie prince she picked over you. Maybe she was glad to have you out of the way.”

Jurian wishes he could block out her words. He doesn’t want to hear what she is saying, but he can’t stop it. The words are like poison, all the deadlier because there is at least a spark of truth in them.

Amarantha shrugs. “If I were you, I would probably hate her. I’d be glad that she is dead.”

Jurian isn’t. He isn’t. He could never hate Miryam, could never want her dead.

But she must have hated him and wanted him dead if she never came for him. He tries to tell himself that she simply might not have had the time, that she might have come for him after she freed her people had she survived to do so, but it isn’t a good enough excuse. Had it been Miryam being tortured, he would have dropped anything to try and save her. Nothing, absolutely nothing could have been more important.

And she left him for Drakon, Drakon who wouldn’t even try to save her when she was in danger. Jurian told her to stay away from him, but she didn’t listen, and what did it get her? It’s her own damn fault if she died.

No, no, he doesn’t mean that. What is he thinking?

Amarantha smiles like he knows exactly what is going on in his head. “You are glad,” she says, and Jurian spends the entire rest of the day forcing himself to relive all the good memories he has of Miryam to prove to himself, to Amarantha, to everyone, how very much not glad he is.

----

Given that Andromache is going to die in less than half a day, she is surprisingly calm. She spent the last days settling all the needs to be settled. She visited her mother and all her remaining family, met up with any close friends and wrote a few letters that are meant to be opened only after her death. Most of the meetings went well. Her mother didn’t want to let her go at the end, hugging her again and again which just made it harder for Andromache to leave, but at the end of the day, she feels that all of the meetings were a success.

Her people are not yet entirely settled in, but her successor will see to that. Everyone will be provided for, and Andromache is sure that Ania is a good choice as a successor, someone who will govern fairly and wisely for the years to come. Everything is settled. She isn’t leaving any loose ends behind.

With only five hours to spare before she wants to meet the other queens, though, she suddenly finds herself with nothing left to do. Everything is settled, but Andromache still feels like she needs act, to somehow do one last thing even if she doesn’t know what. Her hours are so limited now, she can’t help the feeling that she ought to be using them to their fullest extent.

Yanis eventually finds her wandering through the palace aimlessly. He doesn’t say a word, just takes her by the arm and leads her to one of the gardens. They sit down amongst two rose bushes. With autumn approaching, the flowers are raining petals on the pathway. With a start, Andromache realizes that she will never see roses in full bloom again.

She swallows against the sudden tightness in her throat. In all the last months, she avoided thinking about all that dying entails. She thought about the fact that she has to die plenty, of course, but she never really allowed herself to contemplate what that means. And there were a million different things to consider, her people and the evacuations and the final council meetings keeping her so busy that she simply didn’t have time to think about it.

Now she does, though, and she doesn’t like it at all. Like most people in the world, Andromache doesn’t want to die. There are so many things she still wants to do. She would like to see Angolere rebuilt south of the wall, and see her people thrive. Should it ever become possible, she would like children of her own, and a partner to grow old with should she find someone she can imagine spending her life with. She once thought it might be Mor, but it wasn’t, and she would have liked to have the time to find someone else.

Maybe she should have asked Miryam what dying feels like. But no, that would just have made Miryam feel worse about the entire situation. Besides, she doubts bleeding out from a spear to the chest feels anything like being consumed by a spell.

She supposes at least she get to see another sunrise, as they chose dawn as the time to cast their spell. Hopefully, the morning won’t be cloudy so she will get to see the sun one last time.

Slowly, Yanis takes her hand. His rough, callused fingers squeeze hers.

“Remember our first mission, when we were rooky soldiers together?” He asks.

“When we were sent out to chase that band or faeries that had attacked the village?” Andromache asks, a smile tugging at her lips. “And you idiot thought you could get into a fistfight with one of these lion-wolf-mixture things and win?”

“It knocked my sword out of my hand!” Yanis objects. “I was panicking.”

“Lucky for you I still had both my sword and my senses, or that thing would have taken your head off.”

Yanis grins, but his smile soon fades. “Anni, I – “

A messenger bursts into the garden, nearly stumbling over his feet in his haste to bow to Andromache. “Your Majesty,” he says, holding out a letter to her. “From Queen Nakia. She said to deliver this to you.”

Frowning, Andromache takes the letter. She sees no reason why Nakia would write her a letter now, not when they are both going to die together in a few hours. She breaks the seal and unfolds the parchment.

Dear Andromache,

If all goes according to the plan, this letter will be delivered to you by midnight, which means that by then, it will be too late for you to change anything about any of it. I apologize for lying to you, but I didn’t think you would agree with my plan, and I had to do what I thought best for our people. I hope that you will be able to forgive my ploys.

For all that I believe we have all chosen worthy successors, it would be irresponsible to leave our people without any experienced leaders in a time like this. We couldn’t all die, and I trust that you and the others who remain will keep our people safe and lead them into a bright future.

It has been my honour to work with you in the last nine years.

Your friend,

Nakia

----

Queen Nakia of Scythia considers herself a practical woman. As such, it became clear to her quickly that robbing the humans of their entire leadership in one go would be a very, very bad idea. Admittedly, it was her bad idea, and at the time where she suggested it, it might not have been so bad at all, but now, there is simply no way sacrificing all six queens in one go is the right thing to do. Not when it would bring instability to their people in a situation as precarious as this one.

Fortunately, Nakia listened closely when Miryam initially explained the spell to them all. Back then, she said that the spell would work not only for the people it was tied to, but also for any close relatives. Some reading in books stolen from abandoned Fae libraries confirmed quickly enough that any close relatives to the other queens would work just as well as sacrifices.

It was not difficult to find people willing to step in for the other queens. Andromache’s mother. Sehline’s older brother. Mije’s uncle. Kjani’s grandmother. Only for Leline, there was no one since her entire family had died two years ago during an attack, so she is in the forest where they met to cast the spell along with the others.

Some part of Nakia feels bad for going behind the other queens’ backs like this. They will not be grateful to her for sparing them at the expense of their loved ones, but she is not doing it for their sakes. No, glad as she is that Andromache and the others will get to live, she is doing this solely for her country.

As for herself… Well, she had plenty of relatives of her own she might have asked, but she didn’t. A child should not die for its mother, nor a grandchild for its grandmother, and while Elmira is still young and inexperienced, Andromache and the others will easily able to support her through the initial years queen, just as Nakia herself did for so many others.

She had a long life, and a good one. For forty years, she ruled her country, kept her people safe. She watched her children and grandchildren grow up. Now, she gets to die knowing that her people will be forever free from slavery, never forced to fear the Fae again.

It is good, she thinks as she sketches symbols she does not understand into the earth around her, following the instructions Miryam left closely. The moon is standing high above in the sky.

Nakia finishes the last symbol and turns to face the others. “Shall we?” She asks.

They all look back at her. Some are crying, others firm. They all nod, though.

Nakia turns to look up at the moon. Slowly, she begins to recite the spell, keeping her gaze fixed on the moon above. It is the last thing she sees.

----

Miryam isn’t sleeping. She is lying in bed fully clothed, head resting on Drakon’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around her. When she senses the magical tremor running through the air, she sits up bolt upright.

“What happened?” Drakon asks, sitting up as well.

Miryam shakes her head, gasping. She can still feel the magic thick in the air, pulsing like a second heartbeat. It is not a pleasant sensation. And there, miles and miles away, she can sense something else. A barrier running through the world, cleaving it in two.

“It’s too early,” she whispers, stretching out her senses to investigate that new barrier. It is too far away for her to get a proper read, though. “Andromache said dawn.”

“The wall?” Drakon asks, turning around to her.

“Yes,” Miryam says slowly. She swings her legs over the bed’s edge and walks towards the door to the tiny hut they are sleeping in. She looks outside over the sleeping camp, as if to assure herself that they are still there. “The wall is in place now.”

----

A/N: So, this is not the last chapter after all. There will still be an epilogue coming, set 10 years after the wall went up, to wrap up some loose strings and also just... generally end on a positive note. That is obviously hard to do in the direct aftermath of basically 7+ years of extremely traumatizing events, but I do want to give off a HOPEFUL expression of the future, so an epilogue it is.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites

#NOT the last chapter after all. we'll have an epilogue still #but the last part of the main story #very excited for everyone's reactions #the epilogue will be happier i promise #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Fifteen Seconds.”

Warning: For graphic depictions of injury that are sort of gross

The senator's son lay on the cold hard floor of the brig. The tears had long since tried up and the abject terror of his situation had faded to a dull sense of panic. He lay on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees rocking back and forth as he stared at the wall.

He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.

Maybe if he had just listened to his father, listened to his mother too and not taken the shuttle for a weekend gambling trip on the Tesraki home planet, maybe then he wouldn't be in this predicament. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten so drunk he would have seen them coming and been able to defend himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining all of his friends passed out back at the casino, probably unaware that he was missing. 

He looked down at his pathetic body covered in a flashy white suit and blue undershirt that had originally been designed to mirror the twenties for his outing, now it was rumbled and torn at the bottom, and his jacket was missing. He felt silly and stupid.

He wanted to go back home to the family mansion where it was safe and where the house staff would bring him breakfast in bed. He would have done anything, even tell his father that he was right, and that he’d behave. hell , he would even be happy to go to military school like his father had threatened on so many occasions. Anything to be away from where he was right now.

There was a rattling outside his cell, and he looked up to see two of the pirates standing outside his cell, the first the dark furred tesraki and the second a light-skin redheaded human with a crooked grin and bad teeth. He curled up further into the corner with a whimper. The human laughed, and the Tesraki flicked it’s ears, “not so cocky now are we Master Bauer.” he curled up with his head in his his hands and stifled a sniffle.

The other human laughed. It was an ugly sound.

“We have just sent word to your father Ten million credits for the safe return of his poor son, and no involvement with law enforcement or we shoot you out of the airlock.” The Tesraki leaned against the bars, “personally i want the money, but.” he jerked a thumb back at the read headed human, “Terry here wants to shoot someone out the airlock, so you better hope daddy comes through, or you will be experiencing a horribly painful death.” “Actually, it is likely he would pass out after 15 seconds and asphyxiate.” the human added 

The Tesraki glowered at him but continued on, “ANYWAY. We will leave you to your moping while we go wait for your father’s ransome. If he loves you enough he probably wont take too long. That is assuming that you were a good son and hes not GLAD that you got kidnapped by pirates.” The Tesraki looked at him thoughtfully, “Then again I am having my doubts. You are a little shit.”

Pier had to stifle a sob covering his mouth with his hand as the pirates laughed and turned away.

He begged his father silently to send the money, though doubts were beginning to weasel their way into his mind. He wasn’t a particularly good son. He had crashed multiple of his father’s vintage cars, stolen his new however car and wrecked that. He had brought police down on their family for drug charges, and forced them to pay thousands of dollars on court bills. He had lied and cheated and stolen He had maxed out seven credit cards, and his latest stunt had involved stealing his father’s shuttle to take his friends from private school out on a all expenses paid gambling trip to the Tesraki homeworld, where the age limit on both drinking and gambling was…. Well there was none.

He sobbed again, feeling his heart sink and knowing that his father would not come for him.

Why would he want him back after all the things that he had done.

Once upon a time it had all seemed like some big game, but now he could see that his past actions would be more than enough to guarantee his horrible and painful death.

Tears began to stream down his face again, and he was almost surprised to find that he had any left to give. No one was there, so he didn’t feel bad about his pathetic sobbing, and occasional whimpering for his mother. Maybe she could convince his father to come after him. Despite all the things he had done, he always had a good relationship with her. He admitted to himself now that he had used her love on multiple occasions to get him out of things he probably should have suffered as punishment, but despite that he knew their relationship was sound.

Please mother, please convince father to get me out of this.

He lay there in the darkness for who knew how long thinking about his parents and repeatedly begging them over and over to come save him. At first he expected the Tesraki to come in at any moment and release him into the waiting arms of his father’s security detail, but as the hours wore on, and the meals began to pile up by the door, his hope faded diminishing until he was dumb inside and knew that his father was not coming for him.

He had brought this on himself by being a horrible son, and he was going to suffer the consequences.

He fell asleep sometime during that night tears still wet on his face, only to wake up a few hours later to the sound of shouting and running footsteps. He sat up and tilted his head to the side listening as, in the distance, he heard the sound of gunfire, and the occasional body dropping to the floor.

He shifted and wobbled to his feet, walking over to the side of his cell and peering out with bleary eyes crusted with salt.

The screaming and yelling grew louder, but with one last loud BANG, everything seemed to go silent.

Then the voices started up again.

He leaned forward and thought that he heard the red haired pirate laughing in the distance.

He had no idea what was going on, but pressed himself further against the bars, trying to peer out into the hallway.

Things calmed down after that, and he was left alone again. 

He was just beginning to doze off to sleep, when the door to his cell was violently thrown open, and the Tesraki came marching into the room a look of absolute rage on his face.

Pier scrambled back into the corner of the room eyes wide as Terry followed behind. The man had a bandage on his cheek, and a gauze patch over one eye. His usual crooked grin had been replaced by a snarl of annoyance and anger.

The Tesraki stopped just before Pier, his fuzzy little hands balled into fists, “You…. you little bastard.”

Pier raised his hands as if afraid he was going to be struck, “I...I didn’t do anything.”

The Tesraki ignored him, “Your father could not follow one SIMPLE order, and now I am going to have to make an example out of you. The money would have been nice, but now Terry is going to get to live out one of his childhood fantasies”

Terry’s grin appeared again, and Pier screamed as the man reached forward and hauled him violently to his feet by the back of his shirt. He kicked and screamed and cried as he was dragged from the cell and out down the hall.

“I told your father not to get the authorities involved. I told him that if he loved you, than he was going to have to send the mone and forget any of this ever happened, but NO the man had to go out and do something stupid, and now we are all oing to come out with less because of this. I am going to lose ten billion and he is going to lose his only son.”

Pier screamed and tried kickin at Terry’s legs, which finally annoyed the man enough that he slammed pier up against the wall, a single massive hand clutched tightly around his neck. Pier tried to scratch as the man’s hands but he was rammed back against the wall until he saw stars.

His legs went limp and he was dragged the rest of the way down the hall.

“There is no use in fighting my dear boy. You are going to die in a way that not many humans have had the privilege. I think it might be less than a hundred. Either way it isn’t going to be pretty. Assuming there is air in your lungs those will probably rupture first, so you will suffocate, and then all the gasses will boil out of your blood because of the reduction in pressure. Sort of like getting the beds but very quickly. You will die very very quickly.”

Pier felt another sob coming on.

“I imagine that it is one of the most terrifying ways to die, staring up tat the stars overhead and underneath, exposed to temperatures below 400 degrees. Granted heat leaks out of your body slower in the vacuum of space so it actually isn’t the cold that is going to kill you surprise surprise.”

The Sick Tesraki Bastard seemed to be enjoying this, which Pier didn’t understand. He had plenty of Tesraki friends who he enjoyed hanging out with and while they tended to be a little bit greedy and weren't above counting cards, they would never think about killing someone in cold blood.

They made their way around the next corner, and into the docking bay where the rest of the crew was standing, and he was surprised to find another unfamiliar face, another prisoner.

At least that is what he assumed considering the man was kneeling on the ground with weapons pointed at his head.

Pier was thrown down next to the man as the pirates conversed among themselves.

He took the time to turn his head and look over at the other prisoner. The man turned to look at him and somehow managed a roguish and nonchalant smile, his blind hair sticking up in spiky tufts where drying blood caked through it. 

The man was dressed in a dark black undersuit designed to be worn with a space suit though the hood was down, and over his right eye he wore….. And eyepatch.

Pier’s eyes widened, and the corner of the man’s mouth twitched, “Ah, good to see you alive.”

“Y-your the guy from that movie.”

The man rolled his eyes, “yeah, I am the guy from that movie, but more importantly I am here to rescue you.’

Pier stared at him incredulously, and he felt his face go red with subtle anger, “Well you're doing a bang up job.” He snarled, “really, I am sure this is JUST how you planned it.”

Rather than looking offended or worried the man just shrugged, “No, no it actually went horribly wrong about two hours ago. Sort of one of those if it can go wrong it will go wrong things. Like it was a great plan and all but everything kind of went to shit all at once.” He glanced down to inspect his nails, “I was supposed to be able to get on the ship and sneak through to rescue you without any issues, but my suit malfunctioned and then my weapon malfunctioned and then the maps for this place were completely wrong, and etc etc. You know good times. Of course, I called in my crew for backup, but they probably won’t be here until it’s too late.”

Pier stared at him mortified, how was he so calm!

“Did my father send you?”

“Yes the Senator did send me.”

“And now we are both going to die because you fucked everything up?”

The man turned his head and frowned, “So negative. Are you like this all the time.”

“HOW CAN YOU NOT BE NEGATIVE WE ARE GOING TO DIE!”

The man just rolled his eyes, “Will you stop bitching for about five seconds. I am counting on the fact that I have used up all of my bad luck for today and all of my good luck is going to hit momentarily.”

Pier dropped his head into his hands. This IDIOT was going to get them killed. He was so mad at that moment that he couldn’t even cry about it.

“He should have just paid the ransom, not sent some asshole idiot to try and rescue me.” he moaned 

Adam snorted, “You think your father has that much money.” He barked a laugh and pier stared at him.

“What are you talking about?”

The man shook his head, “Listen kid, your daddy isn’t exactly good with his money, a trait that you, evidently inherited. He’s about a month away from declaring bankruptcy because guess what, his son keeps racking up a literal shitload of debt, but apparently he pawned off his family jules at some point in there to keep you all going because he doesn’t have the courage to admit it and actually start living below his means.”

Pier stared open mouthed at him, “And he told you this”

“No, but I got suspicious when he didn’t do exactly what you said he should be doing, so I had my team of accountants, Tesraki by the way run the numbers on his net worth and gross income and all of hie expenses. Tesraki are rarely inaccurate when it comes to money.”

“So this is my fault.” He squeaked 

The man rested a hand on his shoulder, “Not your fault kid. It's your parents fault for turning you into the manchild version of Veruca Salt.”

He was about to be offended, when their conversion was cut off by the Tesraki who moved forward grabbing the man by the air had tilting his chin back, “Admiral Vir, you know if the GA didn’t have a policy against paying ransom, I would toss the kid out of the airlock and use you instead, but unfortunately you are now both useless to me.”

The admiral didn’t look too concerned as he grinned at the Tesraki, “Yeah sucks to suck for you I guess.”

The Tesraki flattened its ears back against its head, “You seem rather chipper for someone who is going to die in the vacuum of space.”

Admiral Vir shrugged, “You know I’ve honestly had way worse days than this. It doesn’t even reach my top ten if I’m being honest. I would put it somewhere around eighteen or nineteen.”

The Tesraki smiled an evil smile, “Well why don’t we see if we can change that. Terry, throw them in the airlock.”

The big ginger moved forward and grabbed them both by the back of their shirts, hauling them to their feet. Pier screamed and kicked and begged and pleased, but Admiral Vir only put up a token amount of resistance, a sort of glassy smile on his face as he was led towards the airlock and shoved violently inside. The door slammed shut behind them and Pier threw himself at the door screaming and sobbing.

Admiral Vir stood and dusted himself off looking around the room with a half frown on his face.

He tilted his head suddenly and smiled, “Glad to see you guys could make it. Do you mind doing me a favor.”

Pier didn’t pay attention to the rest of the man’s instructions as he continued to scream.

After finishing what he was about to say, Admiral Vir glanced around at the room, and his face lit up with a huge smile as he proceeded to stretch his arms and legs as if he were about to run a 5k, “I have ALWAYS wanted to try this.” Pier was nearly shocked out of his state of panic as he turned to look at the Admiral, who walked over to the nearby wall and used his elbow to shatter the glass on a handheld fire extinguisher.

He pulled it out and looked it over, “You know, there really is no point of keeping a fire extinguisher in the airlock, all you have to do is open the doors and vent the fire into space, but I guess whoever McGyvered this piece of shit together had no idea what they were doing.” He glanced down at it, “I sure hope this thing works”

He pulled the pin just as lights began flashing overhead.

Pier sobbed.

Admiral Vir walked over to him, grabbing him around the arm and looking at him with one hard, green eye, “I need you to breathe out, son.”

“What! Why?”

“Just do it.”

“No you have to-”

He saw the look in the man’s eyes and guessed what was happening too late as he drew back a fist and underhand punched him in the gut so hard he nearly collapsed to the floor, all the wind completely knocked out of him in one loud woosh, and his diaphragm ceased to work.

He couldn't even squeak out his pain as the man grabbed him around his middle fire extinguisher in his left hand hoze in his right.

And then All sound was sucked from the world and he was violently thrown off his feat as they were sucked from the airlock and into the vacuum of space. 

His ears ruptured into violent pain as his eardrums were torn apart.

Sheer unadulterated panic set in as stars whirled above him black and dark.

One

He heard nothing, he smelled nothing, he tasted nothing.

He couldn't breathe.

He wasn’t as cold as he thought he should be but death surrounded him on all sides, his body exposed to the direct touch of infinity.

Two

The only thing he could feel was the tight pressure of the Admiral’s Arm around his waist.

Three

He looked up, feeling no sensation against his kin, since there were no air particles for him to move through. Looking up At Admiral Vir’s face, lips pressed tightly together one green eye wide and manic.

Four

His body tingled and the surface of his eyes and tongue began to bubble slowly

They were jolted back again, and a trail of white vapor vented into space below their feet.

Five 

His lungs screamed for air, the bubbling on his tongue and eyes increased in intensity.

 Six

His skin Hurt.

Seven 

He was sure he was going to pass out.

Eight

His entire body hurt.

Nine

Then the darkness passed over them, and his vision was obscured.

They slammed against something hard and then dropped to the floor as gravity engaged.

If he could have screamed he would have.

The light of the stars was blocked out, and though he couldn't hear it, he felt the burst of air across his skin as the airlock was pressurized.

He gasped.

And that’s when the pain hit him, Pure unreal agony. Fire across his entire body

He couldn't see, he couldn't hear.

***

Dr Krill rushed into the airlock with the entire team of medical staff behind him. The two bodies lay on the floor like bloated corpses, their skin mottled a horrible purple red. 

There was no way they were alive.

He threw himself down next  to Adam, nearly unrecognizable now, and was surprised to find his chest heaving up and down as he was still breathing. He reached up and pulled off the eyepatch as others rushed forward to cut away their clothing.

The mechanical green eye spun to look at him, undamaged by the vacuum of space.

Someone placed an IV while Krill worked eye drops into his real eye and more of the same solution onto his mouth, nose and tongue, so dry it was like sandpaper or worse.

One of the nurses had to leave the room as the mottled skin of the two bodies was too hard to stomach.

“Knock them out.” krill ordered.

Adam wheezed the rehydrating solution doing it’s work on his tongue and throat. Blood trickled from his mouth and nose as the water made its way inside.

“You STUPID stupid man.” Krill snarled at the body, as the mechanical eye rolled back into his head, “Stupid stupid stupid stupid human.”

Granted he knew Adam had had no other choice, but still… only humans could survive in the vacuum of space, but this was the price, the horrible, horrible price.

***

Full body bruising and a couple of stem cell treatments later and Adam was feeling pretty chipper for someone who looks like a cruised corpse. His skin was a light delicate shade or purple unevenly spotted in certain areas, and his eardrums were just beginning to heal with their advanced medicine, so he was like a deff old granny for the moment, but all the same he was doing pretty good.

Granted the same stunt pulled in the movie Titan AE had been way cooler, considering those two hadn’t suffered any of the side effects, but now he could say he survived the vacuum of space conscious and lived to tell the tale.

Which was pretty badass if he did say so himself.

Which, he did.

Smiling, his face hurting. He walked with young Pier down the walkway both of them stiff and soar, walking like the old grannies they were as deff as.

At the bottom of the ramp two very concerned looking parents rushed forward to greet their sun eyes widening in horror at the state of him, mottled purple skin and all.

Adam stopped a few feet away wishing he could go lay down.

The senator looked up at him, “What the hell did you do to my son! Adam shrugged, “Well I stopped us both from dying is what I did, though it wasn’t easy. On the bright side, your son is going to make a full recovery and have an awesome story to tell in the process.”

The senator looked like he was going to lose his damn mind, but the boy cut in, “Dad….” “Yes son, whatever you want, whatever you need?”

He paused, “A nap would be cool and….” He glazed back over his shoulder at Adam, “Maybe military school wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Adam grinned and the boys parents looked shocked  but turned away as their shiny black car arrived.

He continued to smile as he watched them drive away and didn’t hear Sunny as she came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder, “Are you ok.”

He continued to smile, through through his teeth he said, “Once they leave can you carry me inside, my soul hurts.”

***

Humans can survive 15 seconds in the vacuum of space.

We aren’t jealous of this ability. 

[numbaoneflaya]

Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

#my ocs #holy cow that took a while #how do i tag this #jilly #ciggy #kilaine #mike #thurwen #dag and thagna #caz #reila #valkya #espira #riley #herren #felria #AND THIS IS IGNORING A GOOD TEN OTHERS TOO GGSDFSDF #i have. a proble #too many!!!! #FEEl free 2 ask for more info on any :) i kno this is a lot

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (21/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: With Tamlin and Vassa on the brink of death, is there anything Elain can do to save them? You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ If you'd like to get an early preview on the next chapter, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane.

Elain has been pacing the Spring Court estate since Tamlin left, hours before dawn. Her fingers trembled so badly that Mor, come from the Night Court, was forced to button her dress, then forced Elain to sit while Mor held a cup of tea to her lips. Elain could taste the whisky in the mixture but accepted the burn in her throat without complaint, nodded when Mor told her it would be all right. She’d watched Tamlin in battle dozens of times, she said, and the Mother always protected him, you’d think a male so big would be an easy target, but Tamlin always knew exactly where to be, when to wield his magic or his sword or the shape of the beast. Mor’s babbling, Elain knows, and yet her musical voice is so soothing that it’s all she can do to keep herself from begging Mor to stay with her. But she’s here to guard Vassa, to winnow her if Koschei attacks.

She’s let Vassa down enough, Elain knows. She cannot allow her friend to be captured by Koschei, not after seeing what this second captivity has wrought, the way Vassa is crumbling.

So when the queen and the Morrigan go to the lake to await the sun, Elain stays in the estate with Lucien, alert to every sound. Finally, he retreats to the library after placing a spell on her that will alert him to the presence of another living being, and Elain takes to the halls again, her heels clicking on the marble and the old stone. Normally she would linger at the windows, comfort herself with the view of the flowers and her endless hypotheses about how to improve the garden, but now the blooms are a smear of color in her vision, refusing to become distinct and consoling.

She spends an hour in the kitchen, letting Cook boss her through the baking of the day’s bread, but eventually he shoos her away for over-kneading the dough.

If she had not promised Tamlin otherwise, she would go to the Autumn Court, no matter that the only places she knows are likely already in the thick of battle. If only she could see him for a few more moments, she thinks, striding through the estate one more time.

Mid-stride, the pain hits her. The agony begins on the left side of her torso, the place where her waist curves, and then it consumes Elain whole, a blaze of agony.

The pain makes her silent, drives her hands into fists so tight that blood seeps from between her fingers, from where her nails have punctured her palm.

“Lucien,” she breathes through the pain, though perhaps it is a scream, “someone has cast a spell on me.”

Though she can see no magic around her, detect nothing with her own powers. The attack from Koschei has begun, she realizes, and when she disappears out of the world, even though the pain remains, flaring and ebbing, she waits to hear his voice, feel the spark and crackle of his powers.

Instead she appears outside her room in Feyre and Rhys’s river house, and Rhys is muttering, “if you die like this, it’s going to look as if I killed you, and we both know this isn’t how I would kill you,” and then, despite the fire that clamps its jaws tighter on her, Elain runs until she reaches Tamlin, nearly falling out of Rhys’ arms. She knows exactly how far they’ve walked by the thick trail of blood, a shocking red against the gleaming floor.

“Get Madja,” she orders Rhys, reaching for Tamlin, a challenge in her eyes. She won’t ask what happened. There is no chance that Rhys would have left a losing battle with Tamlin instead of Cassian or Azriel. Which means that Tamlin had some plan he didn’t divulge to her. But she will be angry with him later.

Now, she only tells Rhys that she can bear Tamlin’s weight and braces herself for him, his head coming to rest on her shoulder, the blood of his injury warm on her hip. She presses her hand over the gash, walking him step by agonizing step to her bedroom, murmuring, you’re all right and hold on and please, Tamlin, please until none of those words have any meaning and her voice sounds like a shrill whine in her ears.

Finally, they reach the bedroom and she eases him as gently as she can onto her bed, pressing with all her might on his side, the magic in the wound sparking against her own. Koschei was behind this attack somehow, of this Elain is certain.

But as she presses on the wound, calling her magic up inside herself, willing it through her fingers in a golden glow, the pain in Elain’s side recedes.

She can still feel Tamlin’s blood, hot and throbbing against her palm, but Koschei’s magic is gone. All she can detect is Tamlin’s own magic, and Rhys’, where he tried his best to throw a patch on the damage.

There is still so much blood, though. Enough that a man would be dead. Elain has never much liked the sight or smell of blood, but she pushes through the bile that rises in her throat, presses her hands hard against Tamlin’s side, willing his blood to stay inside his body, for his own rapid healing to begin. Hoping it will be quick enough.

“You need to live,” she tells him, “because I want to scream at you for whatever made you decide to sacrifice yourself. And then I want to apologize for all the times I told you to do something, to lead your court. Because I didn’t realize it would hurt me so much to see you like this.”

She can still feel the warmth of the blood trying to escape his body, and Tamlin’s eyelids don’t so much as flutter. Despite his tan from so many hours spent outside, his skin is pale, going blue and gray, as if shadows have begun to claim him.

“I could’ve lived with the pain in my side,” she goes on, as if he had been listening to her, “but the pain in my heart at losing you is too much. I can follow you to the realm where the dead go, and if you die today you will find me in that world. But I want to know what it would be like to be with you in this world and unafraid. So you need to hold tight to whatever binds you here and live.”

She sets free a pulse of magic through him, not sure if it will do any good, but there is no answering gush of blood, and she hears a steadier breath leave Tamlin’s lungs. The seconds drag on and Elain holds her hands to the wound, alert to Koschei’s magic.

When the hand presses to the back of her neck, cool and dry, Elain screams.

Then she registers Madja’s scent, the calming herbs that seemed to have seeped into the healer’s skin.

With a practiced gesture, Madja slips her hands around Elain’s, then replaces them, pressing on the wound. Her magic, a white glow, surrounds Tamlin's side, spreads itself across his body.

“It is only his flesh that is harmed,” Madja says, and her voice is equal parts calming and annoyed. “I had thought from the state the High Lord was in, that there was a magical catastrophe of some kind.”

“Koschei’s magic was in the wound. It felt spiky and strange, like lightning in the air but more… evil, somehow.”

“There is nothing like that in this wound. Not even a trace of that kind of magic. I sense yours, and his, and the High Lord’s awful attempt at healing. It is as if that magic has not existed in this world, Lady.”

“You can call me Elain, Madja,” she responds, which is what she always tells the healer despite no evidence that Madja will listen, but behind her words, Elain’s mind is whirling. That she could remove Koschei’s magic from this world. There are a thousand things that she could do with that power, beginning with freeing Vassa from her curse.

She’s dimly aware of Madja’s magic as she wields it on Tamlin, knitting his flesh together, which Elain feels now in her own body, an easing inside her, the banishment of pain. She finds herself clutching at Tamlin’s hand, feeling the pulse at his wrist protesting her tight grip.

Yet inside, her mind works through the implications of this new facet of her power. This magic of Koschei’s was weaker than what she’d previously encountered, and untethered to Tamlin. It reminds her most of Beron’s magic when he interrupted the meeting of the other High Lords, and of course Koschei would have had to offer something to cement a continued alliance with the Autumn Court. Helion and Lucien could help her finesse her powers, will spend happy hours bickering over the best way to navigate the curse on Vassa.

This time, when she squeezes Tamlin’s hand, it’s because she is eager for all that awaits her, the unfolding of her plan. And this time, his fingers reach out and squeeze hers, and Elain can’t contain the little shout of joy that rises in her throat.

“Will he be all right?” she asks Madja.

“He will be weak for a few days while his body heals,” the healer says, applying a fragrant bandage to the wound, “but then it will be as if he were never harmed.”

Later, Elain will hear about the victory at the Autumn Court, how Eris claimed his throne and how Helion and the Lady of Autumn absconded to the Day Court, and joy will rise inside her, mixed with relief. But now, as Madja tightens the bandages and checks her handiwork, as color returns to Tamlin’s face, premature as it may be, this is when Elain rejoices.

&

&

&

Exhaustion robs Vassa of most of her capacity for celebration. When Elain and Tamlin are returned to the Spring Court after the battle by Rhys, who recounts everything that has happened to Lucien and Vassa and the Morrigan, who has remained faithful to her duties as a guard, the most Vassa can manage is a smile that reveals her teeth. She wants to lean in to Lucien, pillow her head with his shoulder, but even the idea of the pain of that gesture will involve robs the desire from her, sends her to the opposite corner of the couch, tucked into herself so that there is less of her to touch.

She wants to rejoice for Eris but she worries about the curse on him, which Lucien says resembles the architecture of her own. Koschei feels only a whisper away, the grip of his magic so strong that it seems as if his own hands brush against her, polluting her. But she does not have the resolve to point this out to the grinning members of the Night Court, not after Morrigan’s bright chatter kept her distracted all day, and Vassa does not have the capacity to tear at the fragile hope in Rhys’s eyes. She should have the strength to hold Lucien close and allow him to mourn or celebrate the deaths of his other brothers however he wants, but it’s as if a thousand sleepless nights now press in on her, painful and muffling, so that she can only think of what she requires in each moment. And the idea of holding Lucien close, letting his touch cause her pain, is beyond what Vassa can currently bear.

Instead, after Rhys and the Morrigan leave, she hovers at the threshold of Tamlin’s room, where Elain has carefully arranged him on the bed. Lucien has quickly established himself on a deep armchair, his feet propped up on a low table as he works on a worn parchment which Vassa knows quite well. It contains a detailed analysis of her curse.

“You don’t know if the bond played a role,” Lucien is saying to Elain, who looks up from the fragrant compress she’s laid on Tamlin’s forehead just long enough to wrinkle her nose in annoyance.

“Even if it did, I don’t see how this isn’t worth a try.”

“You’re very sure of yourself for someone who learned this power moments ago.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You know that Lucien is generally right,” Tamlin croaks, and the way Elain’s fingers reach for his jaw, trace the line the bones make under his skin, makes something clench, tender and jealous, inside Vassa.

She steps inside the room and they all turn towards her, her heavy human tread.

“Didn’t you always tell me that everyone underestimates Elain?” Vassa says, summoning levity to her voice, a wink towards Elain. She can tell from Lucien’s expression that he hears the strain anyway.

“I think that it is possible that I can break Koschei’s curse on you,” Elain says, in a voice that is sweet and adorably unsure, though Vassa is predisposed to give those words in any tone a rosy judgement.

“How?”

“Earlier, with my magic, I sent a spell of Koschei’s out of this world and into another. I think that I could do the same with your curse.”

“That was magic Koschei gave to my brother,” Lucien says. “My brothers were--”

“Your brothers were all powerful sons of two powerful High Fae, just like you.” Elain’s words shift between comfort and accusation, a tone Vassa recognizes. One she taught Elain herself.

“Try it now,” Vassa says, walking towards the bed and extending her hand toward Elain. She tilts her palm to the ceiling, the way a queen bestows her favor.

Then Elain steps off the bed and takes Vassa’s hand, and the pain cleaves her completely. It is as if her blood is boiling fire, as if there is an animal inside her, slashing at her with its teeth and claws, as if the world has turned to pandemonium and ragged screaming.

When Vassa finds herself on the floor, Elain and Lucien and Tamlin all staring at her, wide-eyed, she realizes that her throat is raw. That the screams were her own.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain says, and Vassa has to hold herself back from reaching for her.

Because as horrible as that pain was, when Elain reached out to her, there was an end to it. And the pain that Vassa endures every day feels endless, a life sentence.

She does not want to think about what it implies, that she wants Elain to grab her and hold on until the pain stops.

Instead, Vassa summons the depths of her will, assures her fae companions that she is all right, that she would like a few moments alone to collect herself, and manages to keep from collapsing until she reaches her own bed.

&

&

&

“You were going to rip her apart,” Lucien growls, as soon as Vassa is out of earshot, and for a moment Elain is actually afraid of him. She’s never heard him so full of wrath.

Still, she cannot help asking: “What did you see?”

“Did your magic keep you from hearing her screams?” There’s an edge in his voice that threatens tears, wrathful sobs. Still. She had felt the magic rise in her, the will. A possibility that seemed apart from Vassa’s torment. Even in spite of her friend’s suffering, the maelstrom of pain, Elain had almost kept her fingers wrapped in Vassa’s tight grip. Of course, she will not tell Lucien how her friend clung. Perhaps she will never reveal the extent of the queen’s desperation.

“You saw something else,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. She feels Tamlin’s hand on hers, warmer than it was even moments ago, and the luck of it, the fact that he is here in his court and healing, makes her plunge onward. Because she has been trying to pretend that there is plenty of time to break Vassa’s curse, but that is clearly now a lie. “Tell me what you saw, Lucien, and we can try to fix it. We can go to Helion, or--”

Lucien interrupts her with a wave of his hand, lightning between his fingers. So powerful and yet completely unlike Koschei’s magic.

“That curse is interwoven with an essential part of Vassa. When you try to send it into another world, you are ripping that out of her.”

“Can you determine what part it was?”

Lucien’s face has gone pale, his lips yellow-white.

“It was her life, Elain. Her human life.”

“But that’s easy,” she says, not understanding his misery. “We’ll just summon the High Lords. Feyre was a human once.”

“Feyre saved our world and half the High Lords would still kill her to get that bit of their power back, if they didn’t believe she herself would destroy them in the process,” Tamlin says, the words between a groan and a sigh. “Now that they know the cost of such a miracle, you’ll never summon all of them. Not for a human queen who can offer them nothing.”

Elain is preparing a blistering retort when he reaches for her, squeezes her hand.

“If it were my decision alone, Vassa would already be High Fae.”

She dips her head and kisses him, a gentle press of lips that belies the furious workings of her mind. Because the moment Tamlin said her sister’s name, Elain’s own words to Feyre echoed in her mind. Your magic is something new entirely , she’d told Feyre. And isn’t it true of herself, too? Of Nesta?

“As soon as we can get a guard on this house,” she tells Lucien, “we go to the Night Court and then Helion. I have an idea.”

“I won’t let you kill Vassa,” he says, already halfway out the door, feet pointed in the direction of her room.

Elain only nods, doesn’t say that Vassa will surely die without her intervention. It would not be a kindness.

Instead, she turns back to the bed and smooths Tamlin’s hair away from his face, checking for signs of fever and too relieved when she finds none. She forgets, over and over, the fact that they aren’t human, that their lives are no longer so fragile, even in the thick of battle.

“You’re going to have to tell me why you weren’t shielding your forces,” she says, letting frustration suffuse her words.

“Helion and I went to rescue Cybele.” His eyes on hers are steady, no apology in them. “The Summer Court was better equipped to hold a shield against the Autumn Court’s fire.”

“So you had to be a hero?”

“You were angry when I hid in the forest,” he says, a sharp tone in his voice. “This is what it means, to be High Lord. To gain the peace you seek.”

His skin stands out against his white sheets now, and, had she not known the sight of him so well, Elain would think Tamlin unharmed. Still, she can see the exhaustion in his features, the pale cast to his skin.

“I didn’t know it would hurt so much,” she says, her voice breaking as soon as she meets his gaze. “I thought that you were going to die of that wound. That magic.”

“Now you know how it felt for me when Beron took you.” He reaches for her, his thumbs swiping away the tears that have fallen down her cheeks.

“Is it just the mating bond?”

“I--I sometimes think about what it would be, if you left this house. If you left me. The emptiness. And still I think I could… I think you’ve shown me how I could bear it, being alone. Anyway I probably deserve it.”

She lays herself carefully against him, avoiding his injured side, nestling close against his warmth.

“You are much better than I used to think,” she says.

“Better than I was. It isn’t much.” She hates that he won’t take the compliment. Accepting his flaws and failures is one thing, but this sorrow, in the face of his survival, still worries her.

“You were ready to sacrifice yourself for the Lady of Autumn. So that Helion could get away safe, and Rhys would be all right.”

“Who told you all that?” A confirmation in his eyes, the green gone bright as new leaves.

“Vassa was right when she said everyone underestimates me,” she says, taking his hand and sliding his fingers under the bodice of her gown. She does not want to talk about strategy or battle now. What she wants is far more than she can express in words. Not the desire for a man to protect her. More than the fervent kisses they exchange in other worlds. So many things in the world are awful, and Elain is tired and relieved and alive, and what she wants is Tamlin against her, inside of her, somehow still alive with her at the end of this day.

She stretches, allowing his hand to fall, cup her breast, and feels the heat rise in her at his harsh breath.

“I thought we were going to argue,” he says, his thumb pressed against her nipple. She can feel every movement, every hesitation.

“You’re alive,” she says, casting out with her magic to pull the door shut, leaning towards him so that her breasts swell against the neckline of her gown and his fingers are trapped against her soft flesh. “And I will have to go to the Night and Day Courts in the morning.”

In seconds, with his assistance, her dress is undone, landing on the floor with a muffled thump, her undergarments flung alongside, and then Elain reaches for Tamlin, pushing up the soft fabric of his shirt and running her fingers over his skin, the golden hair that’s light on his chest and thicker on his forearms, the muscles of his chest and abdomen, the cock that strains through his pants at the gentle exploration of her fingers.

She’s never touched him there before. She’s never dared.

His lips are on her neck, his teeth against the skin as his thumbs, featherlight, skim her breasts, teasing her soft skin, and she can’t help the moan she looses, the urgency of her own fingers, scrabbling between his back and the wall of pillows she’s constructed.

“Are you all right?” she asks, knowing that in a moment all semblance of consideration will desert her.

He pulls her against him and nods, but she feels his fingers going cold. She pulls her hands from behind him and cups her palms around his fingers, holding them above her heart.

“I’m alive,” he says, a growl edging the words, as if to distract her from the exhaustion in his words. “I’m alive thanks to your magic.”

“I’m never going to let you forget that.” She curls herself beside him, hoping he hears the promise in the words. The declaration in them.

With a groan, he reaches over and tucks the blankets around her, up to her chin, strokes his thumb across her lips.

“You saved me,” he says, and though the weight of the day bears down on her, a thick exhaustion, Elain can’t stop smiling.

&

&

&

Over the next week, the firebird flies less and less, and Vassa spends more of each night in her room, curled up on the bed. Though he tries to hide it, Lucien has taken to sleeping on the floor, rousing himself at the slightest motion before spending his days far away. They’re getting closer to figuring out how to break her curse, he tells her, but Vassa has to work to feign interest, let alone believe him.

In both her human and firebird forms, her body feels as if its wrapped tight with cotton and pain, everything muffled, everything a strain. Elain’s laughter is harsh against her ears, Lucien’s worried looks are cloying and overfilled with pity. She hates that she cannot bear them.

She finds herself, one night, in the doorway of the High Lord’s bedroom, where Tamlin has been forced to wait for his innards to knit themselves together again. Already he looks fully healed to Vassa, but Elain has compelled him to remain in bed and Tamlin is clearly too besotted to put up much resistance.

“I see Lucien and Elain are still away,” he says when she greets him, the words not quite as jovial as he intends. A creature like that, forced into confinement, never rests easy. “Elain barely sleeps. She thinks only of breaking your curse.”

“Do you think that there is hope?” Vassa does not ask about Lucien, who no longer speaks to her about the breaking of the curse, but who is away with Elain, and who stays awake puzzling at all hours over reams of parchment and obscure spellbooks that smell like centuries of dust. Vassa falls asleep and he is leaning over his desk, making annotations, and when she wakes before dawn, she keeps finding Lucien in the same position.

“I believe in Elain,” Tamlin says, his gaze landing on her so powerfully that Vassa is reminded of what it means to be a High Lord, “I think she is only beginning to realize her capabilities. If she says it can be done, I believe her.”

“I am not so sure. I think Lucien has lost hope.” She has not made this confession to Elain or to Lucien himself because she can imagine the vast sadness in their eyes, the onset of grief. That she would be lost to them.

Still, even the sadness in Tamlin’s face is enough to steal her breath. She, who was bred and raised to withstand armies.

“I think Lucien would sacrifice the world if it meant keeping you safe.”

“In the stories,” she says, leaning on the threshold, “you were not nearly so perceptive.”

“If the stories are true, they describe me rightly as a monster.”

“You sacrificed yourself at the Autumn Court. No monster of my acquaintance has ever been so noble.”

“I knew this court would go on without me. The stories say you were beloved in Scythia.”

“All I ever wanted was to rule,” she says, because a queen accepts a compliment gracefully, but it’s been so long since she was last among her people that she’s beginning to wonder if it is true. If the things she’s always thought she wanted are the things she truly wants, now.

“Before you return--” Tamlin begins, but he’s interrupted by a flurry of footsteps, the intake of breath that precedes Elain’s voice.

“We figured out how to break the curse!” she announces, a riot of joy as she sweeps into the room, careful not to make contact with Vassa.

Behind her, Lucien and her sisters take a more sedate walk, and before Vassa steels herself to meet Lucien’s eyes, she takes in the careful void of emotion on Feyre Cursebreaker’s face, as she walks into Tamlin’s bedroom. Vassa knows enough of Prythian gossip to know what a moment this is, even if the tableau is innocent, the High Lord convalescing and his gaze intent on Elain, all pride and delight.

“Is it true?” Vassa makes herself ask, wrenching her eyes on Lucien. The deep violet under his eyes.

She does not miss the look that passes between him and Elain, the weight of it.

Still, he nods.

“When I touch you,” Elain says, her voice gone serious, “the pain is unique because my magic is attempting to pull the curse out of this world and into another, where it cannot harm you. But as part of his adjustments to the spell, Koschei ensured that if I removed the spell, I would shatter your humanity. That’s why I couldn’t take you from this world. I would kill you.”

“I was Made High Fae under similar circumstances,” Feyre says, every inch the High Lady even in her sweater and leggings and boots scuffed with wear. “But after realizing that assembling the High Lords was unlikely, Elain thought that Nesta, who can Make and Unmake, and I, with power of the High Lords, might be able to approximate their capacities. We’ve been determining a theory and practicing the spell and its timing for the past week.”

“ Someone is too slow with her magic,” Nesta interjects, rolling her eyes towards Feyre even as she smiles at Vassa with the confidence of an alpha predator.

If Vassa hadn’t been listening so closely, that would have been the moment she thought that everything would be resolved.

But: “I would be High Fae?”

“The combination of your curse and our magic means that you would have to become something new,” Feyre says, in a voice she no doubt uses on her child when he is so tired that all he can do is sob. The way that Vassa feels now.

All her life, she was raised to be the human queen of Scythia. She had always envisioned herself returning to rule there for the rest of the years that remained to her. Because she grew up learning the history of the faeries of this world. Such a queen would never be recognized, would never be accepted.

She would no longer be Queen Vassa of Scythia. She would no longer be a firebird, or a cursed queen, or a human woman.

She would no longer live with this curse eating its way through her, the fire raging in her veins as it prepares to swallow her whole.

She turns to Lucien, meets his eyes for the first time since he walked in the room. Sees the despair in them, the fear, and the hope. And another emotion, which at this moment Vassa can hardly bear. Still, she does not look away from him, tries to etch his expression into her mind, so that she’ll never forget his russet and gold gaze, which sees everything that makes up this world, the lips she’s kissed a thousand times, the bronze skin and red-orange-gold of his hair. The jagged scar which only highlights the handsome angles of his face and makes him more dear to her, for everything that he’s survived. Her Lucien, with his clever remarks and the wit that makes her cackle with laughter, whispering secrets and endearments to her every night, who has always made her feel as if maybe it were possible to live under this curse, so long as her life was illuminated by his light.

“This magic could kill you,” he says, “or destroy you past the point of recovery.”

She thinks of what it felt like, when Elain touched her this last time. What she might become even if the Archeron sisters are successful.

“How much longer do I have if we do nothing?” She tries to stay calm, not to upset Lucien, but still the words feel jagged in her throat.

“It’s possible that Koschei could reverse the spell,” Elain says, “if we compel him.”

For the first time since she’s entered the room, Tamlin speaks.

“You will not offer yourself to the death-lord,” he growls.

Elain moves toward him, but Vassa reaches toward her first, her fingers grasping for Elain’s wrist. A bolt of pain that shocks through her. The kind of pain that carries its end within itself, which cannot last forever.

Vassa thinks, in a rush, of all those new years she might have with Lucien, should this plan succeed. All the nights where the pain of holding him has overwhelmed her. Who she might be, at the end of this. No more days trapped within the mind of the firebird, no more nights watching the life drip out of her. There will be pain, but maybe, after, there will be something new. A future she has never even allowed herself to imagine.

“Break the curse,” she says.

For the first time in a long while, she sounds like her rightful self.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #elain is my queen #tamlin #tamlin redemption arc #queen vassa #lucien vanserra #elain x tamlin #tamlin x elain #tamlain #lucien x vassa #vassa x lucien #band of exiles #vassien #vucien #vassien is goals #post acosf #acosf spoilers #acosf fanfiction #spring court #novel length acotar fanfiction #feysand #nessian #gwnriel #acosf #elain acotar #elain acosf #pro tamlain #pro vassien