#also i cannot stress enough how cruel it is to have taken away so many black organizers

[iftari]

heres my personal question/reflection. growing up post 9/11 i rmr a lot (& i mean A LOT) of sentiment surrounding the concept of assimilating to the west, being the "good immigrant" and still being fucked by institutions. in line w that was a lot of feeling on how tiring that felt, how exhausting, n like, would we ever be accepted? this isnt an accurate timeline but i would say say this shit peaked in mainstream culture w yt ppl in 2016 (hamilton i think is acc a really great pinpoint of this) and then this energy i would say imo kinda died down throughout trumps presidency (which i personally think has to do w the fact that sm yt liberals were firing up for poc so arguably this was the time institutions were pretending to make "amends". actually. liberals & instutions were maybe trying to make 'ammends' a bit before 2016. maybe since 2014? timeline is rough on this but for sure they were Very Sorry during trump...)

anyway. 2024. in the imperial core of america alone i would say theres *at least* 4 genocides happening (& thats prob me undercounting !) simultaneously. there is currently a very overt livestreamed genocide of palestinians. it is VERY much impacting ppl in the imperial core in the sense that the facade of liberalism is so plainly falling away, institutions are very explicitly engaging in islamaphobia, antiblackness, n anti-palestinian sentiment, etc. and like i obviously think its important to document bc every form of fascism is important to note but i also feel like we're kinda back to convos we've had before of 'omg been SUCH good immigrants n *this* is how they treat us??? oh my!' n like i understand the feeling of betrayal but i wonder how much interrogating is going on beyond the betryal. to sum degree it feels like the way ppl engage w covid in the sense of...im wondering how much of what ur experiencing is actually radicalizing u that america even in its most liberal form should not exist - exactly like israel - n how much of what ur experiencing is like...shock that it could happen to u & the ppl u care ab (vs the....'unimportant/undesirable ppl). like yes its awful campuses are so blatantly engaging in islamohobia. but shouldnt we be reconciling more, as a community that we need to create a world w.o colleges n shifting the importance *away* from unis (esp in a time of shitty economy?) rather than reconciling w like...the betrayal of a institution preserving imperial interests? like how many times are we going to keep learning this? what are we benefiting from having this same shock over n over again? who is it serving to keep experiencing this? feeling similar to this campaign of voting 'uncommited' like who does this serve? dems dont acc care if they have office or not and theyre very clearly ok w losing. they dont need the presidency fr - if anything hey want to lose so they can punish ppl more for not shutting up. so like when we extend energy on the uncommited campaign, who is it serving? what purpose is it filling (& i do believe it is filling a purpose for some ppl. i think for lots of ppl it fulfils the very real emotional need to do *SOMETHING*, to move, to exert the tension n energy we're feeling n thats a correct emotional response! but how u spend ur energy DOES matter bc part of fascism is to literally divert energy so u DONT take up arms. like imo america is not at a place culturally for any sort of violent revolutionary resistance (organized or not) ! like we're just not! but the most explicit nonviolent form of resistance is not being uncommited to voting for a party that is relying on not having electoral offices but rather an actual coordinated strike. THAT has purpose no?)

#idk id k idk. im not trying to demonize any organizers or activists or anything #but really sitting w the concept of defanged movements that still are trying to pserserve liberal fascism #the thing ab liberal america n perserving it is the same as perserving liberal israel n its easy to criticise israel esp now bc theyre youn #but the parallels are there w america so explicit. if we cannot stand w something w isarel u fundementally cannot stand for it here in usa #ither #but i feel like so much defanging has happened to movements that the ppl left to pick ip the torch rn are like...younger inexperienced #activists who have a lot of aderanaline n little political radicalized compass n experience #n its like...showing #also i cannot stress enough how cruel it is to have taken away so many black organizers #to sum degree i also wonder n think ab nonblack cowardice n how its showing up here. like. almost waiting for black ppl to take the burden #of escalation so if it succeeds yay we as nonblack poc take credit n erase but if it fails they get blamed #idk idk i just think antiblackness is really so pervasive - obvi everywhere but i can only talk ab it here in the imperial core #idk. i just feel...idk. movements are defanged n i think the way its going to be inevitably escalated #is going to like...throw a lot of 'organizers/activists' off unfortunately

[outofangband]

@nelyoslegalteam from our conversation! Unsurprisingly I got a bit distracted thinking about medical related world building which I’ll probably have to make a second post to explore in more detail 

I cannot understate how profoundly effecting the sense of unprecedentedness and lack of understanding around Míriel’s death impacts the situation

Valinor is a place without death. It is not that the elves do not know death or loss. The elves of Valinor come from a world where the dark rider and his servants steal away their kin in the night. They were hunted by monsters and shivered in the darkness. Their sisters, fathers, children and friends were taken away and transformed.

Valinor is supposed to be a safe haven from this past. Finwë brought his people here to be safe. To grow and rule and learn and flourish.

Míriel’s death is not unprecedented as death but for its location, circumstances, and aftermath.

Fëanor grows up with the loss of a parent treated as, at best, an academic or philosophical debate about mortality and survival and at worst, a source of cruel rumors with some blaming Míriel or him for her refusal to return.

Even when they mean no cruelty, their frank curiosity is damaging. They ask and they want to know…why would someone choose this? What circumstances or people could make someone choose this?

The medical aspects of this seem poorly understood by the general population of Valinor even if there are those more learned, in Lórien and similar. Míriel’s death and more importantly her choice is treated as a mystery, an anomaly, a marring.

And maybe it is in their eyes! We don’t have records of pregnancy related healthcare and psychological research in Valinor. Perhaps this was truly the first known instance of postpartum depression, exhaustion and similar phenomena.

Perhaps Míriel truly was the first person to choose Mandos instead of returning to life

We do get a sense however that these subjects, especially as they relate to death, might not be completely unspoken (certainly people are speaking about them) but they are taboo. They are the realm of speculation and stigma.

Given the fact that so much of the suffering of the elves is noted to include grief which can be fatal, and the fact that the mind-body-soul connection is so repeatedly stressed, I don’t think the issue is a complete lack of understanding or acknowledgment of mental health.

I think there is absolutely a base understanding of emotional wellbeing and lack thereof. This does not mean that the understanding or mental health in Valinor is not incomplete or flawed.

I imagine that most healthcare would involve at least some aspect of psychological care for the elves given the profound link between their mind, body and soul. Even if it’s just an added emphasis on soothing distress or an increased understanding of how psychological hurt can exacerbate physical injury and the other way around.

And I imagine that absolutely includes care during pregnancy! What little information we do have (and to be fair some of it is from LaCE which is not strictly canon) seems to support both.

But when that isn’t enough? When those feelings of emptiness or exhaustion or despair endure long after the birth?

This I think is where at least some of the issues lie.

I also think about Lórien as a place of healing where it is both a genuine sanctuary and place of rest but also by nature allows many of the issues of health and wellness to be isolated and distant. People go there to heal or recover and then they return, healed and recovered*

Community health models are not successfully being utilized in Tirion (I do actually headcanon that they are utilized by the Teleri but that’s a different post)

*Lórien is not the only place where people go for healing but it is the primary one. I headcanon there are other smaller locations similar to it and then there are just healers who can address trivial and minor accidents and injuries

Fëanor does not properly grieve. How could he grieve? There is not sufficient societal understanding of how to mourn in such a situation.

As I said, there has been loss so there have been practices of mourning but when the expectation is that Míriel will recover or return, these practices, largely created to cope with sudden disappearances with no closure or violent deaths that took place before Valinor, do not bring Fëanor much comfort.

As he grows older, his thoughts about what he wants for Míriel and what he thinks he should want, become more complicated. His understanding of some of the discussions regarding her death and his birth do as well.

Morgoth corrupts all that he touches repeats again and again to him

(Medical stuff is one of my favorite areas to write about and I want to make more world building about healing and medicine!)

#the silmarillion #Míriel #finwë #Fëanor #musing and meta #I am having a day so I hope this is ok

[pondwatr04]

Who Obeys Who?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

~F!Mc~ Word Count: 4,494

Summary: After Mc’s latest brush with death, Lucifer has placed various rules to ensure her safety. However, the independent human will soon discover that the brothers have become increasingly possessive/protective over her, to the point where she begins to feel suffocated. In the heat of the moment during a particularly bad fight, Mc uses the power of her pacts and accidentally harms the brothers in the process. Anguished over this and the brothers’ behavior, she runs away and seeks a way to break the pacts, for their sake and her own!

Warnings: Mention of death, brief violence, aggressive scenarios.

It was no secret to anyone that the 7 Lords of Devildom were fiercely protective of their little human, however this was something that Mc was still adjusting to. Back in the human world, Mc was never really the center of attention or had particularly protective family/friends, and was quite content with the sense of freedom that came with such a life.

However, as the brothers began to grow closer and closer with her, their desire to guard the new member of their family also swelled. At first, she found this behavior somewhat endearing; it warmed her heart to know that such powerful and feared demons cared so deeply for her, a mere mortal human. With this new sensation of the brothers at her side, Mc felt safe in Devildom, despite the multiple times she had almost lost her life.

That was until she had a particularly bad run in with several lower demons at RAD once a day. Mc had left her classes mid-session to use the restroom, the hallways were silent and empty as everyone was seated in their classrooms. However, when she was making her way back to class, three lower demons jumped out and began attacking her, beating her nearly unconscious.

In between the grunts and deafening blows the demons dealt her, she could hear them shouting something about how she was making the Demon Lords soft, that her presence was ruining their reputation as fearsome, cruel creatures.

However, it was over as soon as it started; the demons left her gasping alone on the cool, tiled floor. Soon after Mammon (who had been in the process of skipping class) discovered her battered body and called his brothers for help. Although Mc hadn’t sustained any serious injuries, she was quickly raced to the nearest hospital and made a swift recovery with the help of Solomon and Simeon’s healing abilities.

In the days after the incident, Mc was feeling suprisingly unscatched, both physically and mentally. Despite how worried sick the brothers were, she was simply happy that the whole ordeal was over and done with, the perpetrators promptly beaten and jailed. However, Lucifer had decided this was not good enough for Mc, or rather, him.

==================================

Mc sat nervously at the dining table in the House of Lamentation, all the chairs filled with their respective brothers. Lucifer had called a “family meeting” earlier that day during RAD classes and had stressed that everyone must be there.

At first Mc hadn’t been too worried about the sudden order, but simply watching Mammon anxiously bounce his leg from next to her with his chin resting gravely on his palm, had her suddenly reconsidering. Everyone instantly perked up as Lucifer cleared his throat from the end of the long table.

“In light of… recent events...,” he begins his gaze sweeping from brother to brother, eventually landing firmly on Mc, making her jump slightly. He pauses for a moment, huffing slightly.

“...I have decided that there is an urgent need for new rules regarding Mc, more specifically on how to ensure she remains safe in her time at Devildom,” he announces.

“What do you mean ‘new rules’,” Mc questions, eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Lucifer shoots her a quick glare after being interrupted before continuing.

“I mean that as of today, you cannot be without an escort when leaving the House of Lamentation under any circumstances-,” he says as Mc rises quickly from her chair.

“What?! I need an escort?-'' she exclaims, hands placed definitely on the table before her.

“-That includes walking to and from RAD, walking between class periods, and anywhere else outside of the House of Lamentation,” he continues, ignoring Mc’s sudden outburst.

“That ridiculous, I can handle walking myself perfectly fine-,” Mc shouts.

“You will be required to have your D.D.D on you at all times, and you are not permitted to leave the house after 8pm,” he states coldly, staring down Mc. “All of which are effective for an indefinite amount of time.”

“This isn’t necessary, Lucifer! I know what happened last week, but that doesn’t mean you can just start making me follow all these crazy restrictions!” Mc pleads, desperately looking around the table at the brothers for any semblance of support.

However, they all avoid her gaze, a few of them taking sudden interest in the intricate carvings that adorn the side of the wooden table.

“It is necessary, Mc,” Lucifer says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. “I know that you’re a very independent person, but these rules are for your own safety.”.

“I’m sorry Lucifer, but I won’t allow myself to submit to this-,” Mc begins defiantly.

“-You will follow these rules. This is not something that is up for discussion, Mc!” he bellows, causing everyone at the table to flinch at the sudden aggression.

“And that goes for all of you,” he commands, pointing accusingly at his brothers. “You all are to make sure that she adheres to these rules, you understand?”

They all exchange quick glaces between a fuming Mc and Lucifer’s stern expression. They all nod slowly, reluctantly submitting to Lucifer’s will. Mc flops angrily into her chair, teeth clenched as she festers silently in her own wrath.

As much as she wants to, she simply can’t win against Lucifer, especially not on this one. Seeing that none of the other brothers came to her aid, she decides she has no choice but to swallow her pride. Biting her tongue, she nods slightly along with the brothers.

“Then… that is all that I need to say,” Lucifer says, his composure restored as he rises from his seat. “This meeting is adjourned.”

In the days after Lucifer's declaration, Mc begrudgingly followed each rule. Although she was still fuming, she offered no further protest on the matter, electing to just wait until Lucifer decided these restrictions were no longer necessary.

After a while, Mc began to not be particularly bothered by these rules. Although she valued her occasional moments of solitude, having the brothers escort her from place to place proved to be somewhat enjoyable. Additionally, having her D.D.D on her at all times wasn’t too much of a hassle, and it wasn’t like she had many places to be in Devildom after 8pm.

However, Mc began to feel more concerned with the brothers’ behavior as more and more questionable moments occurred between them. She first took notice of this somewhat alarming shift in behavior when Mc was conversing with a new friend from her Curses and Hexes class; another demon, obviously.

Mc was always eager to make new friends, especially since she rarely had the chance to talk to any demons outside of the seven brothers. Her and this new demon had randomly sparked up a conversation when he had asked her for a spare pencil. He had noticed it had a design on it that originated from a popular movie franchise that he was also interested in, so the duo became engrossed in discussing the topic long into the class period. Even after the bell rang, they continued absentmindedly laughing and chatting with one another.

This caused Beel, who had recently begun waiting for Mc outside of each of her classes to walk her from period to period, to peek his head in the room worriedly. The redhead immediately noticed the lower demon and how he was leaning against Mc’s desk, deep in conversation with his human. Anger quickly sparked in the pit of his abdomen, prompting him to stalk swiftly towards the duo.

He planted a solid hand on Mc’s shoulder. “The bell rang, Mc. Let’s go to your next class,” he grunts, refusing to acknowledge the surprised demon beside him.

“Oh, it's okay Beel. You can go without me, I’ll be leaving after I finish up here in a second,” Mc says cheerfully, waving Beel on without much thought.

In response, his grip tightens every-so slightly on Mc’s shoulder, digging into the fabric of her uniform. “No. I have to go with you Mc,” he says firmly.

“Beel, seriously, it’s okay,” Mc responds in a quizzical tone, eyes flickering between his face and his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll just have my friend here walk me instead. Your class is on the other side of campus anyway, so you’ll be late if you wait for me.”

“I don’t care if I’m late. I’m not going to let you be alone with some other demon, Mc,” he growls.

Both Mc and the lower demon gape at Beel, taken aback by his sudden aggression.

“Beel! Don’t be rude! You don’t need to worry about him, he’s oka-,” Mc exclaims.

“Mc. I’m not leaving you with him,” Beel repeats, this time finally eyeing the fidgeting lower demon sitting across from him. He wilts slightly from Beel’s piercing gaze, feeling as if he’s somehow made a grave mistake by simply talking to Mc. Mc shakes Beel’s hand from her shoulder, rising from her desk to confront him head on.

“Beelzebub. I’m telling you-,” Mc begins before she’s abruptly interrupted by Beel grabbing her wrist and tugging her towards the classroom’s exit. Despite her protests, he managed to make it halfway to her next period before Mc finally wrenched herself from his grip. The other demons in the hallway disperse, fleeing to their classrooms after sensing the dangerous arua the Avatar of Gluttony was emitting.

“What the hell Beel?” she pants, rubbing the angry red skin on her wrist. She eyes him, feeling increasingly uneasy; what happened back in the classroom...it was completely out of character for him. He never spoke to her, or anyone in that way, let alone put his hands on her like that.

“Lucifer said you can’t go anywhere by yourself,” he explains, placing a hand on his neck while shame begins to replace the wrath within him.

“Yeah, I wasn’t going by myself. I said that my friend was going to walk me instead,” Mc shoots back.

Beel frowns, “You can’t trust any demon you meet, Mc. You don’t know if you really would be safe with him.”

In the back of her mind, Mc knows he’s half right; she simply didn’t know that demon well enough to confidently say he wouldn’t try something the moment she was alone and vulnerable. However, she wasn’t upset that Beel questioned his integrity anymore, she was upset that he didn’t even take a moment to consider her feelings on the matter. He simply ran off with her without a second thought, completely disregarding her ability to judge a person’s character on her own without him or one of his brothers weighing in with their own cynical opinions.

They stood silently for a moment as Mc stewed in her thoughts, the hallway empty, its air turning stale around them. Before she could give a proper retort, the sound of the school’s bell rang around them, indicating that they were now both late for class. Mc clenched her firsts angrily.

She then turned sharply and stalked to her next period, allowing an uneasy Beel to accompany her from a distance. Once she entered her classroom and slammed the door behind her, Beel began the trek on his own class. When the next period ended, Mc found Belphie waiting outside to escort her in place of Beel.

Despite this concerning event, there was a brief lull in the brothers’ display of possessive behavior; whether that be because they finally realized that they were suffocating Mc with their antics, or because Mc had been more careful about complying to Lucifer’s rules.  However, this moment of peace was soon to be interrupted.

After Asmo accidentally spilled wine on Mc during a visit to Ristorante Six, he had vowed to take her shopping for a whole new outfit, even though it only really stained her blouse. When Levi caught wind of the excursion, he decided to tag along to go window shopping for some newly released Ruri-chan merchandise.

That weekend, the trio made their way to the bustling shopping center at the heart of Devildom; the majority of the day was very lighthearted and served as a much needed break from school and the crushing protectiveness of the brothers. They all spent hours browsing and trying on clothes in Majolish, laughing as Asmo forced Levi to briefly explore his fashion sense with them. After they finally left, Mc and Asmo struggled to carry the various bags filled to the brim with clothes and accessories while Levi happily snapped pictures of the exasperated pair, offering no help as he uploaded the photos to Devilgram.

After some more teasing, Levi finally slid his phone away before reaching to take one of the heavier bags from Mc’s hand. Mc gladly accepts the aid, shifting her weight forward to lean towards his extended hand. However, her shoe briefly caught the raised surface of a slightly out-of-place tile in the pavement, causing her to trip mid-step. Before she could sprawl across the floor below, she collides into a passing demon, falling face first into their chest.

“Hey! Watch it-,” the demon shouts, falling backwards from the force of the impact.

Mc instantly removes herself from the demon. “Ah-, I’m sorry! Are you okay?,” flustered from the embarrassing spectacle she’s caused. She offers a hand to the fallen demon, smiling politely as they glare at her from the floor.

“My apologies, I accidentally tripped, and you just happened to be in front of me...,” she says quickly as they begrudgingly reach to take her hand.

Before their palms can overlap, Levi moves in between the two, slapping the demon’s hand away from Mc’s. Shocked, the demon sharply pulls back his hand, hissing from the insult.

“Levi? What the fuck was that for?” Mc gasped, Levi’s expression startlingly contradicting the joyful demon he was moments ago.

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that,” Levi snarls at the demon, shoving Mc behind him despite her protests. “Stay the fuck away from us.”

At a loss for words, Mc desperately looks to Asmo for help. Rather than stepping forward to mitigate the situation as he so often does, Asmo simply moves to pick up the fallen bag and plants himself next to Levi, ignoring Mc’s aghast face.

“Guys, calm down! It was my fault, I was the one who bumped into them!” Mc exclaims, moving in front of the pair with raised hands.

“Yeah, what the hell? It was just an accident-,” the demon begins, moving to return to a standing position. Before they can get themselves completely upright, Levi shoves him to the ground.

“Levi-,” Mc yelped at the sudden display of violence. This time, she places a hand on the two advancing brothers’ chest, glaring at them both.

“If you two don’t knock this shit off right now, I’ll use our pacts to command you to stop,” she warns, hoping the anger in her tone masked the fear she felt creeping its way into the corners of her mind.

Levi clicks his tongue in frustration, reluctantly taking a step away from the terrified demon. Asmo slowly follows, never taking his eyes off them.

“Fine,” Asmo mutters. “But it would be in your best interest to leave, and never show your face around us ever again,” Asmo spat at the demon, his usually pristine face twisted into an irritated grimace.

The demon immediately takes off in the other direction, leaving the trio alone in the street. Before Mc could scold them, they both link their arms around her’s and stomp away.

“That was out-of-fucking line, guys!” Mc exclaims after a moment of stunned silence. The pair flinch a little but continue tugging her back to the House of Lamentation wordlessly.

“That was… that was absolutely ridiculous! It was just a simple mistake, and it was my fault! There was no reason for you guys to blow up on them like that!” she says, whipping her head from side to side in an attempt to read the faces of the two demons.

“Why’re you acting like that demon running into me was some kind of assasinaton attempt?! You guys didn’t used to be this… unreasonable…” she trails off, desperately trying to get Levi or Asmo to meet her eyes. “...What the fuck happened?” she asks the pair.

“I’ll tell you what the fuck happened, Mc,” Levi finally retorts, clenching his teeth as he lifts his head to look at her from behind his violet hair. “You… you were almost killed... not even a month ago. And if you think we’re just going to let something like that happen again then-”.

“But they weren’t trying to kill me!” Mc thundered, shaking with anger. “You both totally overreacted!”

“We can’t be too careful, Mc. I’m sorry we upset you, but I’d rather that than risk you being murdered!” Asmo admits, gripping her arm desperately.

“There was no danger, Asmo!” Mc yells. “Why can’t you two understand that?”

Levi and Asmo exchanged troubled glances.

“Mc, we’re just trying to do what’s best for you…” Levi pleads, Asmo nodding.

“This is what you think is best for me?! Just tearing off with me the moment I interact with any demon aside from you guys?” Mc scoffs, struggling to wrap her mind around the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

The two demons are silent, festering in shame and frustration. They avoid her eyes, struggling to produce a proper retort.

“I decide what is best for me, got it?! Because clearly, you guys have lost all touch with reality!” she continues, beyond caring about softening her insults.

Although the brothers wanted to argue back, they both elected to bite their tongues for the rest of the walk home, hoping that Mc would eventually calm down and come around to their point of view.

However, when they finally arrived home Mc ripped her arms from their grip, storming to her room while Asmo and Levi frantically tried to apologize from behind her wake. She slammed the door in their faces; they knocked the wooden surface as they pleaded for her to let them so they could make it up to her.

After a while of fruitlessly calling to her, they finally gave up, leaving Mc alone to quietly sob in her room. She refused to speak to the pair for a couple days afterward, but eventually gave up on attempting to hold a grudge on the demons she loved so deeply. She tried to drop her guard around them once again, but still couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling that had been clouding her mind ever since that day.

==================================

Although Mc found these instances incredibly peculiar (alarmingly so), she still gave the demon brothers the benefit of the doubt. She understood that they cared for her fiercely, and that this could lead them to act aggressively; but she could not wrap her head around why they were starting to disregard how Mc felt. They had begun to handle her like a delicate piece of artwork; something to be admired from within a protective container, never to be touched by outside hands.

Despite this, she decided that for the time being she would simply grin a bear it all while she gave them a chance to calm themselves, hoping they would all eventually return to their normal selves. However, this was not the case as Mc would soon realize after she had forgotten to walk home with Mammon after classes at RAD.

As per Lucifer’s rules, Mc was to be accompanied by one of the brothers to and from school. After much pestering from Mammon, she agreed to make walking back with him a daily occurrence. The two would meet in the garden at the center of RAD’s campus and make the journey home together, chatting about their day. However, Mc had completely forgotten about this agreement one day.

Mc has a bad habit of becoming lost in thought, forgetting the world around her as she silently listens to music through a pair of tangled earbuds. Mc was often accompanied by at least 1-2 demon brothers at once, so she doesn't often get much time to simply explore her own thoughts without interruption. This, coupled with her bad habit of becoming detached from the present, caused her to simply walk straight to the House of Lamentation without the thought of meeting Mammon even crossing her mind.

She had gotten home before any of the others, and absentmindedly slumped into bed after changing out of her RAD uniform. Lazily rolling over, she reached out to pick up her previously discarded D.D.D and earbuds, music still faintly playing. She clicked on the screen to turn off the music and noticed she had 9 new notifications while her phone was on silent. There were 6 text messages from Mammon, and 4 new missed calls. Mc sat up in bed to read the texts:

“Oi! Where the hell are ya at Mc?” - 19 minutes ago

“Are you coming or not? Did ya forget about me?” - 16 minutes ago

1 missed call.

“Did ya walk home with Asmo instead of me? That hurts my feelings, ya know.” - 15 minutes ago

1 missed call.

“Hey! Respond to my calls… you’re startin’ to worry me”. - 12 minutes ago

"If you’re worried that I’m mad, I’m not! Just text me when ya get home safely, OK?” - 11 minutes ago

2 missed calls.

“That's it! You better call me back right now, or I’m gonna start freakin’ out!” - 6 minutes ago

Mc drags a hand over her face, annoyed by his gross overreaction. Mammon has always been the clingy type, something she had gotten used to and eventually found somewhat endearing. However, this was just too much…

Before she could even begin to return his calls, the door to her room burst open, swinging on its hinges and slamming into the wall with a loud bang. There in the doorway stood Mammon, sweaty, panting, and obviously very distressed. Alongside him stood Satan, Asmo, and Belphie, all looking slightly less disheveled but with equally concerned expressions. As soon as they laid their eyes on her, relief immediately flushed all other emotion from their faces.

“Wha-”, she began, but was swiftly cut off when Mammon leapt towards her to clutch her shoulders.

“What the hell happened Mc?!” he exclaims, shaking her before embracing her firmly. After a tense moment, he quickly peels himself from her form, his flushed face mere inches from her own as he continues his volley of questions.

“I really thought something bad happened to you!” he cries out, silvery eyebrows furrowed. Mc opened her mouth to explain but was interrupted once again.

“-and why didn’t ya answer my calls? I got so worried that I even called Asmo, and when he said that you weren’t with him, I totally freaked!” he says, his eyes wandering to inspect her body; still expecting her to be harmed in some way.

Mc pushes the babbling demon off of her as she explains, “I’m sorry, I had my D.D.D on silent, so I didn’t see any of your texts.”

As Mammon tumbles to the foot of her bed, Asmo quickly takes his place next to her.

“Mc! You can’t do that to us again! We really thought some other demon got to you!” he sobs, wrapping his arms around her , dramatically burying his face in the crook of her neck. Satan turns his back to them to make a call on his D.D.D, presumably to let the others know that Mc is safe and sound at home.

Overwhelmed by the sudden attention, Mc struggles to pry the weeping demon off of her. She looks to Belphie to help as he’s usually the brother that grants her the most freedom in situations like these. Meeting her gaze, Belphie moves forward, his facade of indifference faintly cracking.

“That doesn’t explain why you didn't wait for one of us to walk with you. You know you’re not supposed to go anywhere by yourself, Mc,” he says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to feign exasperation.

Mc glares at him; she half-expected him to be on her side, to scold Mammon and Asmo for their dramatic antics as he so often does.

“I’m sorry guys, I totally forgot to wait. I guess I just got so lost in thought that I didn’t realize I forgot about Mammon,” she admits, chuckling awkwardly at her rather anticlimactic explanation. Satan turns to face them as he places his D.D.D back into his pant pocket, frowning at her words.

“Well, it's a good thing that you at least went straight back to the House of Lamentation, because if we didn’t find you in your room, Lucifer would have asked Diavolo to form a royal search party for you,” he says, his hand cupping his chin thoughtfully.

“What?! A search party?” Mc exclaims, becoming more exasperated by the second. “Isn’t that a bit much? I mean… I was only unaccounted for for less than half an hour, right? Doesn’t that seem like overkill to you?” she questions, attempting to face Satan as Asmo and Mammon fuss over her.

Satan and Belpie, who normally jump at any chance to criticize Lucifer’s decisions, simply shook their heads.

“No, it’s understandable. We can’t afford to give you the benefit of the doubt anymore,” Satan sighs.

“Huh?” Mc says, completely vexed by his explanation.

Satan moves to place a hand on her head, his palm lovingly stroking her hair despite the troubled expression that lingers on his features.

“You better start working on your apology, because Lucifer and the others are on their way back now,” he says, only half-joking. “And from what he told me, Levi and Beel had been tearing up every inch of RAD’s campus looking for any trace of you.”

Before she can argue about the matter any further, the sound of 3 pairs of footsteps thunder against the hallway’s stairs and towards her room. The other brothers burst into her room, followed by another flurry of questions and quick embraces. After a while of explaining and apologizing, Mc finally managed to quell the fears of the brothers.

Later that afternoon, they all sat down to have dinner together, the brothers continuing to fuss over an annoyed Mc. Although this ridiculous incident hadn’t ended in complete disaster (aside from the scolding of a life-time from Lucifer), it still worried Mc. She could understand, to an extent, their protectiveness over her, especially after the most recent attempt on her life. However, she was only unresponsive for less than 30 minutes, and all of them had flown into a panic; it was completely out of character for most of the brothers.

She poked at her food, still sore about the lecturing she had received. Hopefully, this was the last incident for a long while. Little did she know, it would get much worse.

==================================

Thank you for reading part 1! Can you tell this is my first time ever writing fanfic? lmaoo

Let me know if you guys wanna see more, because regardless I plan on making 2-3 more chapters! Comments, suggestions, and reblogs are much appreciated!

Tags: @obey-mes-treasure

#obeyme #obey me! shall we date? #obeymefanfic #obmswd #obeyme mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me levi #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me angst #obey me x mc #f!mc #obey me fanart #reader insert #omswd mammon #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

[gohyuck]

pairing: head knight!jeno x monarch!reader (reader has genitals attributed to those considered biologically female but no pronouns are actually used)

genre: fluff, mild angst (they discuss an oncoming battle they must prepare for), smut (it’s mostly smut)

word count: 6.5k

warnings & notes (nonsexual): mentions of war/battle, mentions of injuries retained from past skirmishes, jeno is as tall as you need him to be in order to rest your head against his chest without leaning down, it’s kind of cheesy tbh they are disgustingly head-over-heels in love with each other, also a peryton is a fantasy creature that’s essentially a stag + a bird, also i know y’all must be tired of royalty aus but i swear this is almost pwp (except there’s context so there’s plot) so give it a chance (if you’re legal) i guess

warnings & notes (sexual): oral (giving and receiving for both parties), fingering (reader receives), spit kink (lmao sorry), general messiness honestly, mild knife kink (no blood drawn, he just uses a dagger to tear apart clothing), gratuitous usage of the name ‘lionheart’, jeno has a big dick because i cannot stop myself from doing that to y’all for some reason, some choking

special thanks to @moonlit-jeno​ @domjaehyun​ @waithyuck​ for reading parts of it/all of it beforehand!

the soft hours of twilight have their holds on you, chilling you to your bones even as you pull the heavy fur cape tighter around your body. you should’ve pulled something over your thin nightgown, you suppose, something to act as a middle layer between silk and skin and peryton fur, but it’s too late for that. you’re already out on your private balcony, overlooking a kingdom you’d do anything to see the sun rise on day after day. 

far, far past the outskirts of your humble realm, barely visible to your own eye, an unsettlingly large camp of soldiers is finishing setting up camp for the night. you watch as tiny, tiny orange pinpricks - no doubt the fires they’d set to make food, to alert you of their presence - begin to get snuffed out. finally, they sleep.

if you were any worse of a person, of a ruler, you would send your army after them now, hours before the battle is set. perhaps, if you were any less selfish, you would do so regardless of keeping your status as a good and just monarch. if you were any less selfish, you would shake awake the love of your life and hand him his cape after shedding it from your shoulders. you would tell him to rouse his men and women, to arm them to their teeth, and to fight for what is right using means that are entirely wrong. 

as if privy to your thoughts, your head knight stirs in the too-large bed behind you. you turn just in time to see him sit up and twist his body left, right, left as he stretches to rid himself of sleep. it’s too late - or maybe too early - for either of you to be awake. maybe you should have stayed within his warm embrace rather than gotten out of bed to size up the army of the kingdom of crithage. 

even now, you can’t help but strategize, at least on a basic level. crithagians are unused to the cold of your beautiful - but often frigid - ekoria. they won’t expect your people to fall upon them from the icy cliffs that surround their camp, nor will they be able to see over the oncoming blizzard your royal sky-reader has predicted. she has not been incorrect in many, many years. ekorians have, over the years, grown accustomed to heavy snows, among other weather phenomenon, so your army’s visual acuity is not to be questioned. 

that, and your troops are in the hands of the best warrior ekoria has ever had.

jeno. your jeno. your lionheart. you rein your thoughts in just as he pulls open the balcony door, closing it behind him with a soft click as he steps over the threshold separating in from out and warm from cold. goosebumps rise across his bare flesh the moment his skin meets air, and you don’t hesitate to slide his cape off and thrust it towards him, knowing full well that his arms will provide more than enough heat for you. he fastens it with ease, seeming slightly amused at how you’d been using it as a blanket, and gently grabs ahold of your wrist before pulling you into his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist. with his other hand, he takes a corner of his cape and wraps it around you, leaving you enveloped in both his hot-to-touch skin and the comforting fur. 

“they’re out in the valley, aren’t they?” he finally murmurs, leaning to place his mouth against your ear. jeno’s voice is thick and sleep-ridden, still raspy in a way that settles around you, inside you, within you. you lean back slightly, raising a cold hand to rest against the tattoo of a lion that adorns his left pectoral, mane stretching up to his collarbone and encroaching on his bicep. the lion has a scar on its right cheek. you pull away more, eyes landing on the thin discolored line underneath your lover’s same eye. 

it had been a longsword, meant to slash across your throat. jeno, with the speed of a star falling from grace and enough adrenaline to fuel a hundred men, had leapt across you in order to take it across the face. for crown and for country, bard’s songs later regaled of him. for you, he’d whispered to you that same night as you’d stitched him up, using the threading tactics you’d learned from the castle medic as a child. for you. always for you.

“my love?” jeno prods, and you realize you haven’t given his rhetorical question any acknowledgement. you hum, meeting his eyes with your own, and watch as he allows one corner of his mouth to turn up. 

“they only just put out their fires.” you finally respond, moving to be against his chest again. you rest your head against the intricate ink against jeno’s skin, finally letting out a breath of what one might consider worry. the air that leaves your lungs manifests into wisps out in the cold world that surrounds you. your lionheart pulls you ever closer. 

“you need not stress.” he says simply, and an outsider to your relationship would see no cohesion between your statement and his. still, you know precisely what jeno means, why he’s said what he’s said. you turn, pressing your lips against the lion’s forehead. above you, your own lion brushes his lips against your temple. 

“i have an army, a kingdom, even, to worry about, and yet i only fear tomorrow for whatever outcome befalls one man.” you whisper, and even you are surprised to find tears catching in your throat. you do not cry easily, not when you know firsthand how cruel the world can be. 

you only reign because your parents no longer breathe. 

tomorrow’s battle could easily bleed into next year’s war, and while your kingdom is prepared for such a thing, your heart may not be. your people are not belligerent, and neither are you. crithage had been the one to throw the first stone, had sent word that if you refused to relinquish your throne and bow your head, they would aim the first arrow, draw the first blood. no tears had been shed then, not even when you’d paced around your bedchambers, reading and rereading the note signed with blood red ink until jeno had physically pulled it out of your tight grasp. you hadn’t cried, not even when he’d said that he was willing to die if it meant keeping crithage out of ekoria, out of the kingdom you’d both built from ground up after the war that had taken your parents, out of the home you’d created together. 

“wherever you take us, i will follow. wherever you need me, i will lead.” he’d murmured the words against the lobe of your ear, standing beside and slightly behind your throne as you’d written out your reply to crithage in a room full of your advisors. nobody else had moved a muscle then, not even as you closed the envelope with hot wax and the royal seal. 

you’d sent back a much, much shorter letter than their own in response. 

a time and date for battle. nothing more and nothing less.

that had been so many months ago, so far away that the concept of time dissipates when you attempt to organize it in your harried mind. with a hostile army on your doorstep, everything suddenly feels far more real than it has before. your people have been evacuated, your troops have been trained. your lionheart is unafraid to the world, standing tall and proud at your side as he always has.

a sigh that starts from deep in jeno’s chest brings you back to the present. tomorrow is it, you’re reminded. crithage has seiged almost every other state between themselves and your beloved ekoria. if they get to you, they’ll have your head, raised high on a stake they’ll erect outside of the gates they’ll install to the place you call home. if they get to you, it means they’ll have gotten through jeno.

you can’t live in a world without him. it’s a dangerous attachment for a ruler to have, you’re well aware. if other kingdoms find out that your weakness is a person, one that lives and breathes, you’re not likely to ever see your love again.

it’s little comfort that jeno can’t live in a world without you, either. 

“i worry about not being here, at the castle, to protect you,” he mumbles into your hair. “i know that you are perfectly capable, and that you’ll have your own faction of our knights with you, but i- it feels as if i’m about to open my chest and leave my naked heart unguarded, right there for any arrows to pierce.”

jeno’s confession is simple, beautiful in the way the most ornate of daggers are: that is, you feel as if he’s just dragged a sharp edge down the length of your sternum, taking you apart piece by piece. his words cage you in, force you deeper into your own head in a way you can’t afford, not right now. 

“eloquent,” you hum, unable to resist teasing him even as the moment does not call for it. it’s to save yourself from your heavily beating heart. “it isn’t too late to make you my poet laureate, you know. no need to wield a sword tomorrow then.”

“and who would be your head knight then, hm? the current laureate? you want renjun to lead the charge against the crithagians? to be your lionheart?” your lover draws back to ensure that you can see his eyes, glimmering with mirth. renjun is an able man, and one of your best friends, but he is not the warrior jeno is. 

nobody is the warrior that jeno is. 

“such a foolish thing to say,” you smile up at him, lips folding from joking to earnest within moments. the merriment fades a little from jeno’s eyes at recognizing the change in your expressions. “you’re my only lionheart. always have been and always will be, even when you’re too old and gray and slow to be my head knight.” 

“someone seems confident of that happening.” he says quietly, raising the hand at your waist to come up and rest over your own hand that lies against his chest. you swallow, your own spit feeling too heavy for you to stomach, your throat dry and scratchy. 

“who else can have confidence of a victory rather than a monarch?” you ask, a smile that isn’t quite sad - but isn’t quite self-assured either - resting on your lips. jeno raises your hand to his lips, pressing one, two, three chaste kisses to the back and then repeating the pattern against your palm. he does not let go.

the two of you stand there for a stolen moment. you lay your head back against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat below the ink and skin and muscle and bone. he is real, and he is here. 

he is real. he is here. 

“the monarch’s lionheart, of course,” he murmurs, finally dropping your hand to reach back and push open the balcony door. “we only have four more strokes of time until i must go, my love. is this truly how you want to spend it?”

it’s evident that jeno no longer wants to mull over the what-ifs, not when he prefers living in the present more than anyone you’ve ever known. unsurprising, you suppose, for someone whose livelihood involves strategizing away his own mortality. you allow him to pull you back into your bedroom, immediately more comfortable when the door closes behind you, keeping you in with the body heat of your lover and the warmth of the crackling fire on the hearth in the corner of your room. jeno sheds the cape, draping it over the nearest chair, before bringing you back to his chest by placing his large hands against your waist.

it takes feeling his fingers against your skin through the thin silk of your slip to remember that jeno has nothing on. he’s always preferred to sleep naked, unlike you. though you hardly have any undergarments on, you at least wear a sheer gown most nights. 

you’d ridden him passionately before bed, tiring both of you out in order to get any semblance of sleep. as your lionheart pulls you flush against him, though, it’s difficult to avoid the way his cock hardens against your hip once more. you want to quip about how jeno’s insatiable, but he trails a hand up, up over your body to swipe a thumb over one of your hardened nipples, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes through your prettily parted lips. 

“will you get on the bed for me, love?” jeno’s voice is smoother now that he’s more awake, though you can’t help but miss the low growl that had come with the earlier rasp. he may be asking you a question, but you know that it’s an order in disguise. wordlessly, you step back, back, back until the wood of your bedframe presses against the soft plushness of the back of your thighs. jeno has not moved, choosing to stay put and appraise you instead. his eyes are hooded now, and as his gaze trails from your neck - he’d marked it up earlier, the kiss-bitten bruises not yet having faded from your skin - down to the curve of your chest, over the expanse of your thighs, he can’t help but reach one hand down to his dick, swiping two fingers over its head to collect his precum on his skin. 

jeno says nothing else, makes no other move. it’s to give you an illusion of control, you suppose. not that you need one. 

“should i rid myself of this, lionheart?” you ask, the words coming out breathier than intended. the nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and you’re sure he can even see the slick wetness that’s pooling against your inner thighs. jeno adores seeing your body more than anything, but the gown does not inhibit that. 

it’s no surprise, then, when he shakes his head no, instead finally moving to stand at the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as they naturally move apart to fit him in. his clean hand slides up under your gown, resting just above your cunt, as he raises his other hand to your face. 

“lie back, and open.” jeno states, no air of leniency about him anymore. you oblige, and your love leans over you, his dark gaze centered on your parted lips. 

he lays his two precum-coated fingertips against your tongue, pressing in and then down and revelling when you don’t gag but instead run your tongue over his fingers, cleaning them off for him. you haven’t gagged in a long time, your reflexes getting used to him in the way the rest of you is. when he withdraws his hand, your mouth stays open, and jeno can’t help himself as he leans over you and, after gathering it in his own mouth for a moment, allows his own spit to fall from his own tongue and onto yours. 

your eyes go wide at the action, and you know that he notices it even as he does not acknowledge it. even so, you don’t miss the smirk that crosses his face upon hearing your breath hitch. jeno has you in his palm.

satisfied, he stands, and you close your mouth and swallow a part of him with a part of you. jeno’s no longer looking at your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he’s ruching up your nightgown with growing hunger, not when he’s kneeling on the stone ground just to make himself eye-level with your pretty, pretty pussy. 

“i took you hardly any time ago,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin as his mouth nears where you so desperately need him. “and yet here you are, laid open once more, all for me. only for me.”

“always you, jeno, please - ” you can’t get any more words out, the air being pulled out of you as he dives in and circles your clit with his tongue, bringing his two spit-soaked fingers up to press into you with almost no resistance. your reaction is instantaneous, walls clenching like a vice around his fingers as he lays a filthy kiss against your bundle of nerves, hips jumping up only to be kept down by jeno’s other hand, pressing down against the bottom of your stomach. 

“patience.” he pulls off of your clit just to growl the word out against the skin of your inner thigh, and the wet heat of his mouth directly against your flesh has you practically gasping out. when jeno sinks his teeth into your thigh as he’s often wont to do, you let out a full-bodied whine, the kind that starts in the back of your throat and rises up through the inner column of your neck, meant only for your lover’s ears. jeno laves his tongue over the marks he’s just created, as if to wash the pleasurable pain from your body. 

he does not reattach his mouth to your core, choosing instead to fall back and watch, eyes trained, as he scissors you open. with hardly any warning rather than his gaze jumping up to meet your own momentarily, jeno presses his thumb into your clit, using your slick wetness to eliminate any raw friction as he rubs slow circles against your nerve endings. he’s never failed to bring you to the edge with ease, and now is no different. you’d be embarrassed at how easily you fall apart just from his simple simultaneous motions, in and on you, but it’s jeno, and he knows your body maybe even better than he knows his own. 

keening, a loud, gasping wail, falls from your lips only for jeno to rise from his place in between your thighs and swallow your sounds with his open mouth, his clean hand coming up to cage you in against your sheets. the way you raise your arms to loop them around his neck is akin to the way a drowning man would grab on to a lifeline, and once he rises you pull him back into a longer, filthier kiss, where your teeth click against his and his tongue opens up your mouth the same way it feels like his touch opens up your body. 

you feel as if you’re being flayed, as if hellfire is the only thing comparable to the heat against your skin. jeno steps closer, just by the tiniest bit, and you feel his hand - the one shining with your arousal - brush past your hip before he uses it to wet his cock with one, two, three firm strokes. copious amounts of precum arise from the tip before being pulled down against his flesh with expert downstrokes. your mouth waters as you watch.

“my mouth, lionheart, please?” you finally gain the courage to ask what is on your mind, sitting up on your elbows as you begin to slowly find your strength. your love raises an eyebrow, and not without reason: jeno is a big man, making even you - a literal monarch - feel small at times, and this does not end with his personality or his person: you have never been able to take all of him into your mouth. the ache borders on painful, frankly, and jeno himself refuses to harm you in that way. 

“this, now, is about you.” he responds, and your heart cracks as you register that as a ‘no’. still, you speak again. you need him in your mouth, suddenly. it isn’t just a want. something has to anchor you to the here and now, it may as well be the head of his cock, heavy against your tongue.

“what is about me is about you as well,” you respond, and before he can lay his refusal down out flat, you slide onto the floor - warmer than expected - and tuck your heels behind your bare ass. “i need this. please.”

you’re directly in front of him now, face parallel to his strong thighs. jeno strokes up, squeezes tighter just below his frenulum, and you watch, struck, as precum beads at the tip and then splits into two streams, half sliding down his hard dick and the other slowly-but-surely falling to the ground, hardly a quarter of a step from one of your knees.

“give me your hand, then,” your knight murmurs from above you, drawing your gaze from his leaking cock up past the dainty curve of his lip to his hard eyes. “now.”

when you raise your hand up, you only put it up limply, unsure of what he means to do with the limb he’s asked for. your eyes must be swimming with questions, because jeno gives you a hint of a sweet, reassuring smile before allowing his expression to become stoic again… right before he grasps your given hand and straightens it out, gentler than expected from such a great warrior but harsher than he truly ever treats you. 

he’s passionate. this demonstrates it. 

before you can react, your body following your hand up off of your heels, though only slightly, as he yanks up your hand, jeno leans down and licks up your hand, from the bottom of your palm to the top, all while maintaining eye contact with you. he lets go, though you keep your hand raised, your gaze obviously dumbfounded. 

“a dry hand would rub me raw,” he explains, though the smirk that’s tugging at one corner of his mouth shows that he finds your wide-eyed expression at least mildly amusing. “we do not want that, do we?”

it’s amazing how easily he can get you under his thumb when you give out orders that hold his life in the balance on a day-to-day basis. maybe that’s why he finds taking charge in private so easy. maybe it’s his way of evening your dynamic out. even now, as he asks you an innocent question with no hidden meaning or reaction, you find yourself shaking your head along enthusiastically. no, of course you don’t want to rub him raw. of course you and him don’t want that. 

you raise the hand now deemed ‘not dry’ up as jeno watches, finally, finally wrapping your hand around it. your thumb and middle finger do not meet, no matter how tight you squeeze. your lover lets out a fulfilled groan at finally feeling a touch other than his own on his hard cock, and it’s a beautiful sound. you want more of it. you want more of him. 

as if mesmerized, you lean closer, darting out your tongue to lick experimentally at his slit. he holds his breath, a large hand coming to rest lightly against the back of your head and base of your skull, waiting. you take this as a sign to stretch your lips wider, engulfing the entire tip of his cock in your hot mouth. his grip tightens in your hair, and, in return, you clench around nothing. 

as you struggle to take more of jeno in your mouth, you do your best to stroke the rest of his cock with a tight enough grip to make him feel everything, but not tight to the point where you’re hurting him. regardless of how little you can take on your tongue - not your fault, by any means - jeno seems happy, barely able to stop himself from bucking up into the back of your throat. at this point, you’re essentially just warming his cock, so you pull off with a slick pop to look at him with slightly watery eyes. a string of precum and saliva connects your bottom lip and his tip, and when it breaks, you’re acutely aware of the mixture dripping down your chin and onto your nightgown. it’s no matter.

jeno’s thumb runs over your scalp, just above the bottom of your skull. you close your eyes momentarily to take in a deep breath. 

“you can force yourself down my throat, you know,” your voice is raspy when you speak, eyes fluttering open almost drearily. “i’m not too delicate for it.”

there’s something simultaneously raw and pure about the way you speak, and jeno recognizes that your headspace has changed, just a little. your need truly is all-encompassing now. he must tread more delicately than usual.

there’s so much love, so much adoration in your wide-eyed gaze. he only wishes to return it with the same intensity and double the care. 

“i know, love,” jeno responds, finally moving his hand in order to place two fingers under your chin. he tilts your face up, taking note of the way your eyes run over his tattoo before looking at his chin, then his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead, until, finally, you land on his eyes. you’re a tad bit unfocused, full of need, but that’s okay. you’ll always come back to him. he continues speaking. “you’re so strong. always so strong for me. that’s why you deserve to be rewarded, yes?”

“rewarded?” you’re confused, to say the least, though you do not dislike the direction jeno is suddenly moving towards. he only smiles, gentle and kind and good and yours. all yours. 

“on the bed, (name).” he tilts his own head, jutting his chin towards the bed you’d slid off of earlier. you don’t hesitate to follow, pushing yourself up onto your feet and all but scrambling backwards to be seated against the soft mattress. the blankets are all haphazard and the pillows aren’t straight, but that’s the least of your worries right now. jeno gives no other orders, only stepping closer and, without warning, winding his arms underneath your thighs and propelling you backwards, causing you to land, back flat, in the center of your bed. 

it had always felt inescapably large when you’d slept in it alone. now, it feels welcoming. safe. 

“you’re ready for me, yes?” the tone of voice jeno uses is soft, even as his rough palms push apart your thighs. you nod, murmuring a small ‘yes’ once you realize he’s waiting for you to verbalize your thoughts. this is all jeno needs to climb onto the bed and move in between your spread legs, settling back on his calves as his hands smooth over your hip bones and waist. it’s evident that he’s bent on taking his time with you tonight, likely under the illusion that that is what you want. 

it is not what you want. it is most definitely not what you need. 

“i need you within me, lionheart,” one of your hands clutches at the sheets beneath you while you stretch the other towards your lover, imploring. “soon. now. please.”  

“absolutely impatient,” jeno only chuckles in return, drawing an indignant whine forth from the base of your throat. he looks over your barely covered body once more before finally - almost in slowed motions as if to tease you further - rising up onto his knees. his hands stop moving against your skin, finally circling around the soft meat of your upper thighs. swiftly and fluidly, jeno pulls your body towards his, wrapping your legs around his own waist. his wet cock lies heavy against your pelvis, leaving slick precum against the apex of your thighs and the bottom of your stomach. he smirks. “is this what you wanted?” 

the motion of being pulled into your knight had forced the air from your lungs in a surprised yelp, and the feeling of his warm skin - he’s always supplied so much heat, it baffles you to no end - against your own momentarily blanks your mind. jeno repeats his question twice, cocky grin growing with each utterance, before you nod vigorously and sputter out something vaguely affirmative. yes. yes, this is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you want. 

you’ve been growing steadily wetter the longer your foreplay had drawn out, but jeno, ever-caring, still pulls back - his cock sliding against your thigh has you moaning - to slip two thick fingers into you, adding a third when he’s absolutely sure that you can take it. in no time at all, you’re grinding your clit against his rough palm, the friction absolutely heavenly. jeno makes no move to stop you, only gently forcing his fingers in deeper. 

a fourth finger is added just as your abused clit can’t take anymore, and you spasm on his hand as you fall past the point of no return. your second orgasm of the night washes over you, and you can’t help the muted but harried gasps you let out as your hips buck up, driving your head back into the mattress. jeno draws his fingers out slowly, licking your essence off of them with practiced ease. once your body has calmed down, you can only let out a small whimper, still basking in the intensity you’ve just experienced. 

jeno knows your limit, and knows damn well that you haven’t reached it yet. it’s because of this that, even as your walls are still clenching around nothing due to aftershocks that wrack your body, he places the fat head of his cock against your hole and slowly but surely slides in. the hands on your thighs move up to wrap around the sides of your waist, and his grip is bruising as he pushes deeper and deeper. even as he goes at a snail’s pace, you feel as if you’re being pulled apart only to be pieced back together again. you hold your breath.

jeno is halfway in when he realizes you still aren’t quite wet enough. he shifts slightly, carefully moving one of your legs up just a little bit higher, before swiping over your raw clit with a thumb he’s wetted with his own tongue. a moan flies forth from your mouth immediately, and a gush of wetness coats jeno’s cock anew as he circles over your bud with abandon. he’s finally free to surge forward and bury himself within your warm walls without fear of repercussions on your own body… so he does. the breath you’d been holding in is punched out of you, replaced with an honest-to-god wail. tears bud at the corners of your eyes at the stretch, falling as he pulls out almost entirely and slams into you again. 

jeno does everything in his life in order to live up to the name you’ve given him: lionheart. he is just and loyal and thoughtful as an advisor, and analytical and fearsome and ruthless as a warrior. sex is where both sides of him meet. it is where he is not just the kingdom’s bravest knight, or the crown’s right-hand man. it is where he is your lionheart, and yours alone, where your souls intertwine at the place your bodies meet. 

he notices how your hands come up to reach for him, leaning down so you can place one hand against his heart - against his tattoo - and throw the other one over his other shoulder. jeno’s nose is almost touching yours, though your bodies shift continuously as he keeps drawing back and driving his hips into yours with force.

he never ceases to make you feel full. 

your walls grip his cock tightly, amplifying every movement jeno indulges you in. the slide is slick and wet and perfect, but it is not easy. the head of his dick catches on your clenched walls every time he pulls out just to slam back in, forcing you to feel him with everything you have. it’s exactly what you want. 

he slows down his thrusting for a moment as he moves forward slightly, leaning closer still as he places one forearm against your head and raises his other hand to fondle your chest over your sheer clothing. somehow, this is no longer enough for you. jeno’s cock is fully sheathed within you as he swipes a thumb over one of your nipples, and the feeling of his skin pushing the cloth against one of your most sensitive areas has you shuddering in a way that causes you to squeeze even tighter around him. his hips stutter slightly, driving him impossibly deeper into you.

“jeno,” you rasp out, tongue heavy and dry. “my pillow. beneath my pillow.”

his eyes go wide as he processes what you’ve just said, his shallow thrusts slowing down. jeno gulps audibly. 

“your- love, your dagger?”

“need you to touch me.” you respond, holding his gaze and watching it clear up from confused to comprehending you entirely. he pushes himself up from his forearm to his hand, sliding out of you in the same movement. you whine sadly at the loss of contact, but jeno mutters a good-natured ‘be quiet’ almost immediately. 

“you know,” he starts, voice teasing, even as he pulls your dagger - black steel, quillions and hilt encrusted with blue jewels, black tempered glass at the pommel - out from beneath your pillow using the hand that had been fondling you earlier. he moves back down to his prior position, and your breath hitches as he presses the apex of the knife against the collar of your nightgown. “i’m already touching you.”

“more,” you moan out, the end of your word coming out almost breathlessly. one of your hands slides against his tattoo once more, as if feeling the lion will make it roar to life. “touch me more.” 

jeno chuckles, albeit darker than he had been earlier, and digs the dagger into the cloth in front of it without any further ado. you hold your breath willfully this time, not wanting to actually nick yourself on the blade, as he moves down your body, cutting the sheer gown open down its direct center. your lionheart dots his lips against your flesh in a trail in his wake, scraping his teeth against your skin as he sees fit. 

he leaves a quick, but filthy, kiss against your clit for good measure, eyes lighting up as you attempt to close your legs around his head on impulse, only to have them pushed apart even farther than before by his strong hands. once he gets to the hem of the slip, he throws your dagger somewhere on the stone floor - neither of you pay any heed to where it clatters - and rips it apart with his bare hands, hardly able to bear not feeling you around him for much longer. 

before you can do anything or say anything or even think anything at all, your lover surges forward and presses himself back into you with a grunt that sounds almost like a growl. his hands knead at your thighs as he finds his rhythm with ease, pounding into you with practice as if you’re an art medium and he’s a skilled master. he’s everywhere, all around you and inside of you and in the air and in your skin, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“touching - ha - touching you enough now?” he asks, resolve crumbling bit by bit as he fights to keep himself from tumbling over the cliff’s edge before you do. you can’t dignify him with a response, unable to do anything but claw at his back and pin yourself further against his chest as if it’ll make even more room for you in his heart than there already is. he doesn’t need a response, anyways. jeno already knows. 

he knows just how close you are, too. just as close as he is. it’s because of this that jeno moves a hand up to curl around your throat just as he circles your clit with two fingers of the other hand, continuing to fuck into you at the same rate as best he can. with a sharp cry and the arching of your back off the bed, you clench around him for one final time before he comes to a halt, barely holding himself up over you as he releases within you with a shuddering, gasping groan. 

moments pass, stretching into longer than they typically are. jeno takes care as he slides out of you, climbing onto the bed and flopping down next to you right after. the feeling of his release, sticky and wet against your inner thighs, is unpleasant at best, but you can’t bring yourself to clean up just yet. instead, you turn your head to your side, your nose immediately brushing against jeno’s sternum as you realize that he’s turned his entire body towards your own. he lets out an airy laugh at the sensation, pushing half of the sliced cloth off of your body in order to run a wide open palm down your naked side. 

“good?” he speaks first, asking an arbitrary question. ‘good enough to make you forget?’ is what he means, knowing full well that you could never lose thought of what awaits the two of you. the sentiment is what’s important, though, and you let out an agreeable hum as a reply. the sex itself was great, of course. he’s well aware. 

“sleep, lionheart,” you say just as silence attempts to cloak the two of you. “we must be ready soon, as it is.”

jeno gives you no response, and you do not require one from him. instead, he pulls you even closer into his chest as if doing so will protect you from the crithagians across your kingdom. his entire world rests between his arms. you are both tired enough that sleep forces your eyelids closed swifter than expected, and as you fall asleep to your lover’s slowed breathing and muted heartbeat, you can’t help but, just this once, allow your worries to slip off your body as your torn nightgown does. 

just before the rise of the sun, jeno will have to get out of bed and clean you up as best he can before donning his clothing, his armor, and his cape. you’ll put his helmet upon his head, pull his visor down over his face after sharing a kiss that could be your last. it is always like this. jeno will rouse the army, you will dress and arm yourself, and meet with your own private troops. 

as the sun begins to take its place in the morning sky, luckily opposite your gaze, jeno will lead his people into battle, riding his steed far, far from you. you will watch him go, but he will not look back. doing so is unfortunate luck at best. you’ve ingrained this into his mind. 

you do not know whether he will be back or not.

you desperately need him to come back.

all of that will happen in due time, but now, you drift to dreamland, safe in the arms of the man you’ve sworn to be with until the end. he tightens his hold around you, and that is how you spend the night before battle, in total comfort and full of love. no matter what tomorrow brings, at least you have this now. at least you will always have this moment. 

the lionheart and his liege. your lionheart and his love. 

for now, you are at peace in the calm before the storm.

#first #five #tags #dont #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream

[burnedbyshoto]

good little omega

— He was an alpha, you were an omega. Can I make it anymore obvious? He was a crime boss and you were a movie star. What more can I say? Oh, he wanted you, really wanted you, but you swore you would never, ever need an alpha.

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pairing: alpha!shigaraki tomura x omega fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, abo/omegaverse, chad alpha!shiggy, virgin celeb!reader, kidnapping, drugging, sex slave auction, biting/marking, belly bulge, knotting, sex toys, heat, implied murder (lol rip shigsters last omegas), mind break, breeding, degradation, finger fucking, fucking in front of a crowd, modern world!au

word count: 6,174

a/n: this goes out to my shiggy stans. I never understood you until recently and now I blush like a schoolgirl when I see him. mondays are so busy, are they not? ive been home for 6 hours today wtf????

kinktober day 12 main kink: abo/omegaverse | kinktober masterlist

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You sat before the mirror, your eyes intently staring at your reflection. The people around you running around, chaotically bringing brushes and pencils to your face, the smell of chemicals in the air, tickling your overly sensitive nose. 

“Are we ready?! Is Y/n ready?! I don’t think she’s ready?! We need to be out of here in five minutes, people, let’s hurry it up!”

Breaking your gaze from your reflection onto your agent in the background, you sighed softly at the growing sour and distressed omega pheromones. Oh, you realized suddenly, your nose unable to keep from scrunching at the mildewy detergent scent, they were really stressed out.

Today was the night of the biggest award show one could attend as a movie star celebrity in Japan. The Motion Picture Awards gave only the most prestigious and prodigious actors and actresses their due. A night of fashion, alcohol, and nervous pheromone pumping alphas and betas in a single room to reveal who was the best this year. Working in an industry such as your own, you had become quite the living legend already at the mere age of twenty-two.

As an omega, you grew up in a society that banned you from enlisting or attempting to join the ranks of the best in just about every field of focus or study. So that even included the area of acting. Casting Directors had always said the same thing each and every time you were forced to present your secondary gender to them all when being called back for auditions.

‘Omegas can’t be movie stars, your heats are too often and too long, they cause rifts in filming schedules this project cannot afford.’

‘We have too many prime alphas on set. Our film's projected main character is an alpha, we wouldn’t want to be caught up in a lawsuit should she find you to be too… fertile.’

‘Omegas can only be good, suitable nurtures and well, mothers. This movie just seems a bit too intense for a little omega like you!’

Omegas can’t do this, omegas can’t do that. Alphas, the pride of society, couldn’t be made to hold themselves back to your alluring scent and occasional heats. Betas, the majority of the population, didn’t feel a challenge when working alongside omegas. Omegas? Well, if there were any that actually existed within the film industry, they were for sure never heard from, or seen of.

At the age of eighteen, you had nearly given up on your long aspiring desire to become the first omega actor or actress to ever grace the scene. But just as you were ready to tell your agent that you were tired of all of the same, repetitive bullshit, a gentle alpha had approached you with an exciting role in mind for you.

Movies and cinematic films had always showcased omegas as sweet, nurturing individuals. For the most part, you agreed that that’s how you omegas were. You enjoyed hugging your close friends, scenting them softly as means of a small pack you had created as none of you were mated this young, yet didn’t ever wish to be bothered by self-righteous alphas or betas. Through many, many biology courses revolving around your secondary gender, you knew that the hormones that made you an omega also affected the brain to accept and view things in a… softer light. But unlike what they taught in school, and unlike what the alphas in society knew about omegas as they could never honestly watch an omega in heat while alone, was that omegas weren’t always the most nurturing or kind.

The week before your heat, the week of, and the week following your heat, you were always irritable, angry, almost cold. You’d flash your small fangs at anyone who dared to approach you with a scent you hated, your heat room never once escaping with everything torn to shreds, and you definitely did not wish to seek any fiber of soft love.

So when the alpha male sat in front of you, a single fang poking out of his lip as he exposed his neck in a motion of vulnerability and conceding to you — the omega — you knew he was serious.

He explained to you his plan on creating a more realistic movie surrounding the brutal truths of what being a single omega was like. Films had, after all, had always depicted omegas as being mated the moment they presented and going as far as saying that there were others means to be coupled to other alphas without actually being marked. It was atrociously wrong of the omega lifestyle, and it always made your stomach curl to see that it was an alpha or a beta actor putting on the role.

But he wanted to focus on the realities. The anger, sadness, and horrors you could face as a single, unmated omega. The director raved that you were the face for that movie and had a soul that made him come seek you out. And without so much as consultation from your agent, you agreed on the spot.

The title of the film had been an ironic one. Good Little Omega was what it was called in the end.

All in all, the movie had done poorly in the eyes of the critics. Many individuals — namely alphas and betas — claimed that the depiction of omegas within the film had been horribly wrong. Omegas were never sad, never homeless, never abandoned by society! That’s what they had all cried the moment the trailer flashed with bright letters:

AND INTRODUCING: Y/L/N Y/N (Ω)

Still, the movie made billions as many went to watch it because they ‘needed to see how horrible the movie was.’ They wanted proof that omegas weren’t cut as movie stars because how could someone who was out of commission for a week every two months be proactive on set. But all they got was a cinematic masterpiece.

You had taken a claim in the industry, one while small, that hadn’t hurt that much because you were much more focused on the fact that you now were a household name. Well, that is until you were nominated for the awards ceremony you were currently about to attend, only that it was the one from four years ago.

You were the first omega actress and now the first omega nominee. You hadn’t won, but that had solidified the step you had in the door. After that, the interests to hire you in omega roles came pouring through the door.

But you were brought back to reality when the setting spray splashed against your face, your eyes fluttering when they covered your scent glands with the flesh-colored band-aids they got for you. Alphas could never complain about you being a distraction if you smelled the same as betas. 

Rising to your feet, you smiled graciously to your makeup and styling team, thanking them profusely as your agent placed her hand at the small of your back and began pushing you towards the exit.

“Goodluck!”

“Thank you!”

.

..

.

Shigaraki glared down the table of averted eyes, and his hands brought up under his chin twitched at his annoyance.

“Are you going to say anything, or are we going to remain silent?” he asked, his voice quiet yet heavy in all of their ears as they flinched. “Don’t think you’re going to get away without giving me an answer.”

The sour smell of fearful alphas should have corroded Shigaraki’s nose. It should have done something to unsettle the way that the young head sat on his black leather seat. But as a matter of fact, the young alpha had to resist the way he wanted to bare his teeth in a bloodied smile, his red eyes slit in his cruel lust for fear.

“O-Of course not, a-alpha!” croaked one of the smaller alphas down the table. Shigaraki snapped his eyes towards the yellow-haired croony, his neck exposed for the alpha, eyes refusing to look at his leader. “I-It’s just that, um, I — I mean, we don't know w-what happened to your mate!”

“I thought I gave clear and distinct instructions that you were supposed to have found them by this meeting,” Shigaraki stated, his voice somehow growing colder, meaner yet never once changing as his hands dropped from his chin to rest on the arms of his chair. He tilted his head, watching the pathetic alphas quiver like some scared, stupid omega. “Useless. Get out of here before I change my mind on killing you all where you sit.”

The crowd of alphas left quicker than Shigaraki could blink, leaving behind the reeking smell of scared alpha pheromones. 

“Tomura-kun, you killed your mate,” came the singsong giggle from behind him, and Shigaraki didn’t bother turning around, his nose and ears sharp enough to pick up exactly it was behind him. 

“They’re all a bunch of pissy lackeys,” Shigaraki simply stated, his eyes rolling as he slowly fell to the back of his chair, red eyes meeting golden ones that shone with mirth and joy. “What do you want, Toga?”

Toga leaned against the leather armrest, uncaring that Shigaraki hated his personal space invaded. The young female was an alpha, much like most of the people within this gang group, but unlike the others, she had a distinct, almost terrifying way to change the way she smelled. She could smell like anyone or any secondary gender. She often preferred to smell like an omega too. 

“We have a guest visiting us today!” Toga chirped, her fingers clasping together. “I wanted to introduce him!”

“Bring Giran in,” Shigaraki snapped, his eyes narrowing with no real malice for the alpha next to him who simply pouted at the surprise — not a surprise — being ruined. Giran reeked of cigarettes and cheap body sprays that, when wafted with his distinct omega pheromones, made Shigaraki want to throw up. “Hurry up.”

“UGH!”

Shigaraki’s mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes watching as one of his most trusted allies walked to the table, and taking a seat in the abandoned chairs as Toga purred in happiness, sitting on the armchair of Giran’s chair, arms enveloping him. 

“Shigaraki, how are you doing?” Giran smiled, the cigarette that seemed to take a permanent residence in his teeth moving with his words. “I came bearing some great news.”

“What do you have for me?” Shigaraki simply states, his eyes focusing on the letter that is unpocketed from Giran’s pockets and placed onto the table. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to sell me your omega niece again.”

Giran chuckled, looking at Toga, who was smirking softly, “I guess he still hates that joke, huh?”

“Absolutely livid!” Toga laughed.

Shigaraki growled, his mind and his inner alpha snarling at the lack of respect to the command of his question. He outranked them, outpowered them; they needed to respect his orders. 

Giran took a deep inhale of his cigarette, sliding the card over to Shigaraki, his eyes averted, but his stance still firm. “I know you go through omegas faster than a teenage boy goes through a pack of tissues, but I think this can answer the pleas you have at night.”

Observing the card in his hand, Shigaraki scowls, unsure of how to feel about the print on the invitation. 

“Say the word, and I’ll get you a seat,” Giran whispers, like a sinister god begging a mere mortal to sign over their life for something completely worthless. But Shigaraki knows his worth, and more importantly, he knows in this game he outranks Giran, who would never betray him. In the slightest. He huffs, his back hunched, and his eyes looking with subdued excitement. 

“Who else is showing up?”

Giran knows the seat will be wanted that instant.

“No one who could hold a candle to you, alpha.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Of course not, my liege.”

.

..

.

The award sitting in your hand feels almost fake as if the entire night was nothing more than a heat-driven fever dream. You had won, had actually won the most significant award of the night that an actress could win!

“Oh my gods, okay, okay,” your agent muttered beside you. Her eyes glued to the shiny gold statue between your legs. “Well, I know your heat starts tomorrow, and I’ll leave you alone for a week. But I swear, y/n, as soon as your mind isn’t a full-blown lusty heat brained bimbo, we’ll reconvene, and we will make sure you are nothing but the greatest!”

“Yeah,” you breathlessly state, eyes transfixed on the prize that felt like it could melt away any second right now. “That sounds wonderful.”

The car you were in pulled up to your front door, and you felt meek excited the car in nothing but a silk robe and slippers. The dress you had worn that night had already been put back into a plastic bag to be returned to the stylist who had offered to style you for the night. You waved with an almost transfixed look in your eyes as you closed your front door behind you, your heart hammering as adrenaline still coursed through your veins as if you had just been declared the victor of the category yet again.

Placing the trophy onto the table, you sighed in a wondrous, dreamy way.

You had done it.

You had won.

Fuck all those directors who had ever said anything different.

Still deep in your thoughts, you almost missed the knock on your door, and you figured that you must have left something in the car. Walking back over to the front door, your nose curled at the lack of scent, was it a beta?

Opening the door, you don’t remember seeing faces or even a scent of a pheromone. A single cloth wrapped over your head, and before you could send out your painful, fearful moments-from-heat omega pheromones, you were knocked out.

Cold and lifeless, you sunk against their arms, bile rising up to your throat as you know exactly what was going on. You were being kidnapped. 

No… please not… not after all of this had happened.

.

..

.

You wake up to the sound of moving feet, sneering laughter, the feeling of coarse, hot, hands on your ass and wet, simmering tongues on your lubricated cunt. The sense is vivid. You can feel the very littlest touch on your body, the layer of scented pheromones on your glands, and slick from alphas — you know it's alphas imprinting themselves on you as a mark of a claim.

You knew about this from high school; it was an extremely outdated and frowned upon version of mating and claiming as it simply turned away any sort of pursuer who wasn’t the thick pheromone individual. You also knew it was frowned upon because if multiple individuals sought mateship with the typical omega individual, it would result in a massive, unsolvable death match. But these alphas, even with layering their scent on you so thick you thought you were turning crazy, didn’t attack. No, they took languid stripes of your fresh, intoxicating slick and growled to you, maybe, how that was how slick was supposed to be. 

You wanted to move, to kick the stupid, demeaning alphas in the snout before running away, but in a twist of horrible realization, you soon figured out that despite your alert mind, you couldn’t move your body. Couldn’t shift it even the smallest of bits. 

“I hope all you wonderful clients have been able to taste and smell your potential mates out here!” A loud, commanding introduction voice echoed from somewhere where you couldn’t see, his voice vibrating into the straps of your legs, but you couldn’t make a sound or even open your eyes. “As you know, we have such an arrangement for you all, the best of the best, really! We don’t wish to rush, but as always, all of these events are incredibly time-sensitive, so if you would, please alphas, please come and sit down, and we’ll begin bidding on our first of seven beautiful, fertile omegas tonight!” 

The words sounded foreign in your ears yet at the same time, something so familiar because this was something you omegas were always warned about. This had to be some sort of omega mate auction, and by the stench of alphas who smelled like they owned millions and killed millions, you were in no doubt somehow caught up in one of the worst ones imagined. 

Two long, completely hardened fingers suddenly entered your cunt, and as if for a single millisecond, your mind and your body were able to work in tangent, your hips bucked at the sweet feelings. Oh, your eyes tried to flutter, enjoying the way the two fingers circled the walls of your long lonely cunt.

“Please, alpha, please refrain from touching the merchandise for now, please join us so that we may begin!”

The two fingers buried within your cunt as if it was their right, slowly withdrew out of your pulsing walls, and you heard the sound of sneakers against the hardwood floor and felt relaxed and sickened at how you sort of liked it.

Heat brain, you reminded yourself. Just your stupid, horny heat brain.

You were a celebrity, you mantra, a dignified star who didn’t need a beta or an alpha unless you saw it fit. Right now, as you had repeated many times to the countless amounts of reporters who had asked, you had no interest in someone to share your heat with.

“Alright, and to start off our night in a rolling go! Please, everyone put your hands together for the fertile and beautiful thirteenth in-line the Princess of Cabodia: Dayanara!”

This auction was insane, all six omegas before you all sold from a price that ranged from 198 hundred million to the one right before you who sold for one billion dollars. You were a prideful omega, and you saw worth to your abilities, smell, and looks, but were you even worth anywhere in that range?

The entire time you had been set up in who knows what, the small, overwhelming pound of your heat sinking into the depths and pores of your body was becoming heavy. You couldn’t move a single muscle still, your body still refusing to respond to the call of your body, but the seep of your slick running down the innards of your thighs, undoubtedly beginning to pool on the ground, must be embarrassing of you. 

Suddenly someone spread the skin below your ass out, and you couldn’t react as something sharp and prick stabbed into your flesh. You howled in the surprising pain, and you were fast to find that whatever they had injected you with had allowed systematic movement within your body. Your eyes fluttered open as two, impossibly huge alphas grabbed you by your forearm and hoisted you to your feet. 

Your neck was far too weak to carry the weight of your head, so your eyes were transfixed on the white silk of the slutty dress they dressed you in. It showed off your cleavage with no regret, and by the feel and look of it, it barely passed the bottom of your ass. Your vision swam, the alphas all over the room distorted and melting within one another as you stepped onto a stage, the spotlight on you feeling deliriously hot and melting your skin.

Your hormones, already going crazy with your heat, seemed to intensify at the small of so many capable, potent, possessive alpha pheromones that suffocated the room. Handcuffs slapped onto your wrists, and you moaned pathetically at the sting of cold metal on your skin, and you obediently followed the command of one alpha to go on your knees. 

A nail slammed between the metal links of the handcuffs, practically stapling you to the wooden floor, and you whimpered at the feeling of a stuffed pillow mount being placed beneath your lower stomach. You were in a forced and easily accessible mating position with your slick and cunt exposed for all the alphas to re-smell and see. 

Moaning, you shifted against the mount, your body not able to have the full movement you needed to ward off that building, insufferable heat in your core, but nothing you could do seemed to satisfy it.

“And for our biggest prize of the night, we have the one, the only, the beautiful sensation Y/l/n Y/n!” the auctioneer roared. His voice echoing in your ear as he walked over to you, exposing your dripping cunt to the crowd of alphas who had all gotten a sweet taste of your essence already. His hand came down to slap your ass with a chuckle. “Where do we start the bidding on this one, alphas? She needs no introduction, and none of you better be pussies because we know this bitch of an omega won’t take any tiny cocks as her alpha! She needs to be broken in, fucked to submission. No one likes a trailblazer… someone needs to remind of what fucking trail she’s supposed to be on. Besides, the bitch is in fucking heat, and if you don’t claim her, I just might do it myself!”

“75 million!” someone started the bidding.

You stiffened.

“75 to the man in the back!”

“90 million!” someone challenged.

“We’re up to 90!”

“125 million!”

“Do I hear another offer?”

“250 million!”

“250 million!”

The number climbed and climbed, the same voices coming to challenge each other until finally, they rounded out to a quantity that sounded bizarre even to you. 

“950 million!”

If it had been possible for your knees to give out, you would have been collapsed onto the floor, the pool of slick that continued to lubricate your cunt without a doubt drowning you as you craved the need to be fucked by someone with undoubted alpha pheromones and cock in this room. 

“950 million?” the auctioneer repeated, his voice for sure carrying a shark-like grin. “Going once, going twice—”

“Five billion.”

The gasp in the crowd was undeniable, and the omega in you crooned, knowing that this alpha valued you and your omega to be the price of five billion US dollars. 

“Fuck!” screamed the man who had presented the 950 million deal. 

“Wowee, five billion dollars, everyone! Anyone think they can beat that?! Going once! Going twice!” The crowd remained in silence, and you shook against your restraint, the heat emitting from your cunt almost demanding to be seen and fucked through this heat week. “SOLD! The virgin celebrity, Y/l/n Y/n sold to our own Shigaraki Tomura!”

The cheers of amaze weren’t nearly as loud as the smell of reeking petty alpha.

“Come and pay up, alpha, and then you can show us… a demonstration of how you’re going to break this omega.”

“Shut up.” Shigaraku growled, his footsteps heavy in your ear as you feel him climb up the stage, and you weakly tilted your head to look at the white-haired alpha boss hand over a simple credit card before walking over to you, his eyes unreadable as he looked you dead in the eye.

He reached out a finger that raised your chin up for him to study your face, moving and tilting your head as he pleased as a small, sinister smile pressed to his lips as he dropped your head. A sharp, uncomfortable pain fell on your chin as it crashed to the floor, and you shivered at the feeling of his calloused and rough fingers running down your exposed back.

“You’re such a small omega, still stupidly tiny. I bet you’ve never thought your first knot would come from someone like me,” Shigaraki laughed, his fingers and voice ice cold. His words were soft, spoken in a way that had your omega stupidly cooing for having secret conversations with your alpha who promised to fuck you till you were carrying a litter of pups. “I hope you realize that this is real life, that I will break you, and no hero in this world will be able to fucking save you.”

“Fuck the omega!” someone from the crowd screamed, and Shigaraki glared upwards. Still, you shivered in the thought of this alpha who spent five billion dollars to make you his claiming you, fucking your stupid heat brain into mush in front of these smaller, irrelevant alphas. 

“I’ll do what I fucking please,” Shigaraki snapped, but the fingers you remembered to have been the last ones to enter your slicked crazy walls seemed to be his. They moved deep within you, curling and spreading your tight, sopping wet cavern apart, letting your pathetic, chirping cries echo powerfully in the room as lusting, near rutting alpha pheromones filled the room. “For fucks sake, omega, your pussy’s fucking tight as shit! Don’t you have any real knotted toys?”

You couldn’t respond back, your body on the road to a complete shut down at the feeling of something other than silicone deep within your body, fingering and dragging against your pheromone soaked walls.

“Alpha, y-your fingers feel so good!” you gasp, your hips thrusting backward, enjoying the way his fingernails press onto your warm velvet walls. “So good, you make me feel so good already.”

“I’ve seen you all over the news,” Shigaraki growled low into your ear. “Talking about how you didn’t want an alpha, how you never needed to feel the tightness that a fat knot could bring you, and look at you now. I’ve barely touched you, barely begun to make you mine, and yet you’re already begging for me, omega.”

Your arms tug at the handcuffs, pathetically wanting them off. Exasperatedly seeking more friction from your newly bought alpha. You can’t think straight, can’t come up with a single response except the stupid apologetic, “I’m so sorry alpha, I didn’t know i-it would be y-you!”

“Don’t be shy on her, Shigaraki! Fuck the slutty omega already! Fucking knot and claim her in front of us, I want to hear the omega whore scream. It’s always hotter when it’s the first claim ever!”

“You better learn how to shut the fuck up, or I’ll kill you for interrupting my fucking session here,” Shigaraki seethed, his red, smoldering eyes ripping from yours and glaring at some loser alpha behind you. You couldn’t care. You only wanted what looked like the growing cock in Shigaraki’s pants; you wanted to feel the cock fill up your cunt, and his knot to lock you both in place.

You drooled at the thought, your loud, whimpering cries unable to keep from pouring out as the slick from your core seemed to pour endlessly from your pussy, demanding attention and a knot. “Breed me, fill me with your pups,” you begged fingers taking in his dirty fingers in your mouth, tongue wildly and uncontrollably flicking across his fingers in hopes it would be a sinking prayer of your promise to be good. “I want your knot, alpha, I want these stupid alphas to know you’re so much better than them~!”

Shigaraki’s once snarl fell when he looked at you, a slowly growing smirk falling on his face as his lips spread into a cruel smirk, one that had you moaning around his fingers as he pinched the pink muscle in your mouth before disappearing before you.

“I smelled your distress when I put my fingers up your sloppy little cunt right before the auction happened; I could tell even with your growing heat that you hated the feeling of my fingers up your pretty pussy. But look at you now, I haven’t even set you on my goddamn knot, haven’t stretched that tiny cunt to its max. You’re smelling better than a bitch in heat,” Shigaraki growled in your ear. His clothed chest pressing deliriously into your exposed back, the huge cock outline in his pants grinding incessantly into your wet core, undoubtedly leaving a damp patch where his cock ground into you. “You’re an actress, aren’t you, little omega? I bet you just needed this audience cheering your name to break your mind over this. How. Pathetic.”

And the pressure on your tongue is gone, the drool and saliva sticky and cold on your chin as you whimper for your alpha. You promised that it wasn’t right, it was just that you had been scared before, but your alpha was so strong, his pheromones so scary and mean, he could protect you and fill you up with so many pups you couldn’t help but to be excited now.

The smell of Shigaraki seemed to brighten, and you moaned when his hands pressed the white dress up, allowing for your naked ass to be seen by him and everyone who stayed to watch. Shigaraki squeezed your asscheeks away, chuckling at the way your small asshole clenched in your embarrassment and pain at how your hormone-driven heat demanded that he fuck you and knot you now.

“So fucking wet,” Shigaraki observed, his fingertips tracing the slick on your folds before a small pop told you that he licked you clean from his fingers. “Such sweet slick too, you really are a prime omega, little one.”

You whimpered, ass shaking for him to continue to touch you, to continue to fuck you more. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for my knot, precious omega,” Shigaraki taunted, and his words were a sealing deal in your lusting mind. Your hips knocking backward in some sort of desperation for more.

“She won’t,” commented the auctioneer.

“I will!” you scream, eyes filled with painful tears that could only be resolved with your alphas knot and claim. “I can take your knot, alpha!”

Shigaraki makes a small noise, and you choke at the feeling of something huge, nearly monstrous, shift into your cunt. You were a virgin, but even you knew that it was merely the head of his alpha thick cock, not enough for you to be satisfied, not far enough in you to breed or fuck you properly. All the moans in your throat were slightly painful, and the tears in your eyes continued to fall as you rocked your hips backward, trying to sink yourself further on his cock, wanting him deep in your womb.

You craved him.

“Ah, good, you can take more,” came the airy, almost insane driven coo of Shigaraki, the lack of humor making your cunt flutter against his thick, long cock. “Cry for your alpha, little omega.”

With that, Shigaraki slammed into you with no mercy, his cock bottoming out into you with a powerful, edging thrust. You screamed in pain, tears leaking from your eyes, and even with the pool of lubricating slick, his cock was far too big, incredibly thick that you felt your inner walls splitting in two as he fucked you as if you weren’t in delirious pain.

Drool and tears covered your arms, your painted fingers digging into the floorboards with crazy strength that you clawed scars on the floor as Shigaraki rutted deep within you.

Shigaraki commanded you with every thrust he gave, and soon the omega in you was cooing, howling for more, the pain of having your virginity ripped from right under you having become bubbling, glowing pleasure. You screamed in pleasure, Shigaraki grabbing onto your rolling hips to slam you back onto his cock, allowing for his thick cock to hit deep within you over and over again. The angle and power he possessed with every thrust were almost inhumane, nothing your lonely heat filled nights could ever dream of recreating ever. Shrill moans and pleas drowned out the annoying commentary of your onlookers, Shigaraki’s chest still flushed against your back, his hips landing heavily on your ass that was at this point raised because of the mount beneath you. 

“My alpha,” you babble, eyes unfocused, hazy, and incredibly heavy as you stared at some point on the wall, overwhelmed with the feeling of Shigaraki’s hot cock pounding in you. “My alpha, such a good alpha. His cock is making my tummy feel funny, making my pussy feel so tight. Please fill me with your children, I’ll be a good omega to you and them, I promise! I promise — I — oh myyy goddd — I promise, alpha!!!”

Shigaraki puffs up with the praise, but he continued to fuck into you roughly, mercilessly, as if you were nothing more than the breeding whore omega that he had purchased you for. The wet slaps and satisfying squelches rang in the blazing heat room, the smell of the pleasured and heat insane omega saturating deeply within his nose, and in the other's nose, the prideful smell of a satisfied alpha.

Your spongy walls clenched and spasmed against his penetrating, pounding cock, sometimes even forcibly because, by god, it was hot when his cock would twitch within your womb, especially against your cervix.

“Fuck, you’re so damn annoying,” Shigaraki snarled into your ear, his teeth biting and scraping along your neck, and you wailed when his teeth dragged over the sweet scent gland on your neck. The one and only place for mating bites to go. His hand gripped your hair, tugging your head back so that you could feel his rough facial skin rub up against yours. “If you want me to fill you with my pups, you better be the best fucking omega on this goddamn planet.”

“I can be the best! I’ll be the best!�� you cried, your ass shifting backward to meet his drilling hips. 

The delirious sensation of his cock rocking against your cervix slowly begins to inflate the knot on his cock, restricting his still barbaric thrusting as he made to move faster. He wanted you to cum before he knotted entirely within you. 

The pressure in your stomach is scorching and impossibly tight, and he takes another long stripe at your scent gland. You tremble with need, your fingers tearing into the wooden floors. You can feel the knot on his cock swelling up, catching onto the opening of your cunt with every successive cunt, and you begin to cry, shake, and tremble as the knot becomes too big.

Your eyes cross, your tongue falling out of your mouth as you babble his name. Your walls clamp around his knotted cock with the ferocity of a vice, and your body jerks violently as you cum hard around his cock. The slick essence of your orgasm slipping out of the few lasting places open before Shigaraki’s knot fills you out entirely. Despite his cock unable to move, the swollenness of his knot preventing him from moving out of you, Shigaraki still shoves his weight into his hips, the inflated knot stretching your cock out so widely, your vision went white, and you came yet a second time.

A small pop was heard, and suddenly with a rush of thick, hot, and heavy white cum exploded within your womb, his teeth sink around your scent gland, marking you — mating you. He filled you, filled you, and filled you. His cum wouldn’t stop until your belly was swollen with his hot cum, and he eventually fell off of you with a shaky, shallow breath.

You still remained on the mount, your eyes unfocused, breaths mumbling to your alpha, a promise to carry out every single pup he gave you and would give you. You were his omega, his good little omega, and you would never disappoint your alpha. Not now, not ever.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The next week, you opened your door with a broad smile, your usual clothes replaced with a dress Shigaraki had picked for you and a frilly white apron on as your agent was standing outside of your house, eyes wide, mouth gaped at the still bleeding mate wound on your shoulder.

“Ah, how funny!” you laughed, waving your hand as you sighed dreamily, your eyes fluttering at the thought of your alpha who was on a business call right now. “I’m actually going to be quitting! My alpha and I have many plans right now, I gotta produce as many litters as I can, being an actress would never give me this sort of meaning in life!”

“B-But, you’re doing so much?! You have so much to do! You can’t give up?!”

“Oh, my love, we both know that I look much cuter with a pregnant belly! Don’t worry,” you smile, taking your agent's hand, brightly smiling at her one last time. “I’m sure all omegas will eventually find their alpha so they won’t be so depressed and angry like I was!”

Your agent doesn’t get another word in.

You slam the door in her face, your hands already resting on your belly that you knew was already growing the life of your first litter of pups. It had been known the second Shigaraki filled you up anymore.

You were a good little omega, and your alpha needed you!

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

[dilfbane]

It Gets Better(A Silky Pearl)

Summary: It’s been a long time since things have gotten this bad. Loki, returned from his latest mission, lets you know that, with help and support, you can overcome the worst of things, and makes sure you know that he’ll be there with you to get you through it, each and every day. 

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Reader in this fic struggles with eating disorders. Thoughts and feelings related to these(specifically to anorexia and bulimia), are made throughout the fic, especially those that, in my personal experience, people with these disorders experience. I cannot stress enough that this will be discussed/referenced/talked about, sometimes explicitly(Though not graphically) and sometimes implicitly, so please be aware of that and know that it’s OK to take care of yourself and skip this one if that would be triggering to you! 

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I want to preface this by saying that there are a LOT of people, both here and on AO3, who have made some amazing Loki/reader oneshots where the reader is struggling with mental health and/or physical health issues, that really provide a sense of warmth and fluff and support to people who may be going through those things themselves, and I’ve taken a lot of comfort in those fics over the course of the pandemic(I’ll be shouting out a couple of them in the tags!). I want to acknowledge that these exist, and that they’re awesome and have partly inspired my own writing, before talking about this little project I’m embarking on. 

Because, while I have gotten a lot of comfort out of many of those pieces of writing, there are definitely some things which I feel like aren’t talked about as much in pieces like these which I have gone through, and which a lot of other people have gone/are going through, and…. I figured that maybe I could take a crack at trying to provide that hit of fluff for people dealing with those things, if I can, and hopefully use my own experience with them to do it in as respecful and accurate a way as possible. 

All that being said, the first oneshot in this little project is going to be dealing with a pretty heavy subject, that being eating disorders. The reader in this fic does struggle with eating disorders - specifically anorexia and bulimia. I will not be actively describing anything too graphic about these disorders in this fic, except to highlight through implication and some sparse details that this is what’s happening here, as well as show some of the inner thought processes of the reader, but there definitely is enough in here to show that that’s what’s going on, so if anyone would be triggered by that, please take care of yourselves and give this one a pass! Also, I will further disclaim that there are many types of eating disorders, and everyone’s experience with them is different. In this oneshot, I wrote based off what I know to have been true during the time in my life when I struggled with the same conditions, and I really tried to make the fluff and support as kind and encouraging as I possibly could. If for ANY REASON there’s something that I did badly at, or something that’s disrespectful, anyone reading this may feel more than free to let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it! I don’t want this fic to be a place where anyone feels hurt or disrespected, that isn’t my intention at all, and if I make a mistake in that regard for any reason whatsoever, I would really appreciate knowing so that I can correct it!

Anyways, after that extremely lengthy A/N, just… please know, if you’re going through something like this, that you’re not alone, that help does exist and is out there, and that you are seen and heard. And take this Loki fluff, because honestly, there can never be too much of that in the world! 

You know that he worries about you. Even before his latest, three-week mission, you know that he worried about you. In the mornings, as you pour your coffee, you watch him watch you with careful nonchalance, gaze boring into the back of your head, slight furrow creasing his eyebrows, frown pulling small at his lips. He dresses early, because he wakes early; it is a battle, most mornings, for you to get out of bed. And so what, if you take your coffee with more creamer than is necessarily normal - it has to last you a long time, this coffee. You need the sugar of it, to get you to that clean pain. It is sharper, more real, than any scalpel, any knife that Loki keeps concealed by his armor; all that fine Asgardian leather, green and supple and him. It gives you back the control that you lack. Lets you be the person that you would be. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of your body, but you are ashamed by it; cannot fathom, even now with his gaze on you, that Loki could love somebody so dreadfully overweight. 

Today, though - Today, you had thought, you had hoped, that it might be different. You don’t know why you have that hope, but it brims up in you; a physical need, a visible yearning, for you to be enough for once. Someone that Loki can stand to look at. Someone that Loki can love. He is looking at you now like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you flinch from the frown that creases his piercing gaze, unable to bear how it roves up the planes of your body; silhoutted in the light coming in through the window, you can feel each ounce of fat that stretches over your sinew, cartilage. (You know that Loki hates your body - He traces it sometimes like he’s probing you, trying to find where your bones are. You wish that you could call him on it, and know that you never could). 

You stand at the counter, and turn from him; rummage in the cabinet for your coffee mug with shaking fingers; you almost feel like they’re rubber. Blue and cold, like his Jotun skin, but you know that it isn’t enough. Pins and needles prick at them - you can almost convince yourself that it’s only your guilt and shame, but you cannot hide from the pain suffusing Loki’s voice when he speaks. 

“Darling,” He says, on a shaky breath, “We need to talk about this.” 

“I know -” You tell him - you know that you can’t run from this, anymore. He knows how you look, how nothing you do is fixing it. And now, he’s going to leave you. “I know, Loki - I tried, Loki, I’m so sorry -“ 

The agony that wells up in you threatens to overwhelm your ability to speak, and you feel your knees buckle the second before you fall. Your kneecaps slam against the cupboard underneath the sink, your head hitting the edge of the counter as you slide down hard to the floor. It hurts. But every part of your body hurts, these days. It’s as constant as your worthlessness. And something else, too - 

He is there, on the floor with you, in less time than it takes place to blink, pulling you hard and desperate into his arms; you don’t understand why, and you try to wrench yourself from him, sobs bubbling up and spilling out from your tightly shut eyes. You can feel the bruises starting to form on you, a lump throbbing at your temple. 

“Love,” He is saying, “Y/N, sweetheart, come back to me. Come back to me, darling, please.” He is stroking your hair; you feel his fingers at its strands, thin and brittle. God, you think, how pathetic you are - you can’t even keep yourself pretty for him, for this god and all the sacrifices that he’s made. You cry harder, unable to stop your own wailing. When you finally do, you’re exhausted - it takes everything out of you. 

“Loki,” You say, on a wretched whine, “I’m so cold.” 

“Hush,” He says, “You’re alright. You’ll be warm soon - We’ll sort it, darling, I promise.” 

You don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t something you can sort, but somehow you know, deep in your heart, that Loki understands. Still, his voice is so sweet, and the shudders that wrack you begin to halt in the steady hold of his embrace; the tender brush of his fingers over your skin. You feel like you can look at him, now, so you do it, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth to steel yourself for the cruel things you’re certain he’ll start with. But Loki’s gaze isn’t angry at you, not full of fury or disgust. They sparkle with unshed tears and concern, emerald in the daylight. It takes you a moment too long to realize all that pain, all that worry, is for you; when you do, though, you flinch away. Feel Loki’s fingers drop from your hairline to your cheek, then your chin, tilting your head up so that you can’t run and hide. 

“I’m losing you, love,” Loki says. His voice is low, and steeped in sorrow. It is his turn to look down, with guilt and shame, and you feel a pang blossom, raw and red, in your heart. He sighs, and straightens his shoulders. He is filled with some new resolution, some new determination you can’t wince away from. 

“I need to know,” Loki tells you, “How long this has been going on. I need to - I need you to tell me why, love. I can’t bear to see you like this.” 

“I can’t,” You say, blinking back a fresh torrent of tears, “Tell you why. It’s not - I can’t - I don’t know.” 

But you know, and Loki does, too. It’s the god of lies, holding you - of course he can tell that you’re lying. It is something other, and runs deep, this bone-y reluctance. A complex game of mental gymnastics. How could you ever tell Loki about the control that it gives you, the desperation with which you used all your calorie-counting and aching restraint to regain the love that you lost? The nights bent over toilet bowls; the way that, sometimes, you empty stomach made you dig your nails hard into your palms ’til they bled, to stop yourself from crying out at the pain. And he loves you - the part of you that craves his affection, that yearns to burrow fast and fierce into Loki’s embrace and spill all your secrets to him, makes sure to remind you of that.

“Y/N,” Says Loki, soft and tender, yet infused with a note so harsh that you would wince, if you could. “You can tell me anything. You need to.” 

You notice things, now, in the face of his determination. You notice that Loki is looking at you like he’s in physical pain, and that there’s something sticky and red on the pads of the fingers that brushed up against your head. 

“I’m bleeding,” You say. It comes out soft, horrified. 

The frown that creases Loki’s face would bring you to your knees, if you weren’t there already. 

“It’s just - a thing that I do,” You tell him, too ashamed to look at his face as you reveal it. “You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“That’s not enough for me, love.” 

Loki’s lips are pursed tight, and the wound in his eyes has hardened to steel. The you part of your body - the fleeing part, the one who knows how to survive - seizes its’ chance and you duck out of his embrace, with far more strength than you had possessed in what felt like, potentially, years. Scrambles, backwards, like a cornered animal, over the tile floor, before heaving itself up to standing. It faces Loki, and its’ breath comes in stabbing-sharp. It is hard to remember that you have to call it ‘myself’. You feel older than you were, yesterday, and you cannot, quite, get air to come into your lungs. That’s not enough for me, you hear your lover say, ringing in your ears like a hyena’s howl. 

You’re not enough for me, love. Your fingers spasm, clutching the sides of the kitchen table white-knuckled. You wonder, fleetingly, what Loki would do if you died. The thought makes you cry out in pain, a whimper ripping out from a throat rubbed fingernail-raw, but Loki does not move to stand. 

“Come back to me,” He tells you, spiked with sorrow and need. And, perhaps for the first time, you admit it - to yourself, as much as to him. 

“I don’t - I don’t think I know how.” 

He smiles the smiole of someone who’s seen his own pain, faced his own lashing demons, and you pause to take him in fully, this god who says that he loves you, the man he is trying to be. You catch on hixs eyes, those bright emerald coins, his hair like the feathers of crows. His high, pale cheekbones, and his silver-tongue cut like glass. The pads of his fingertips, slender and cold, tender and fierce on your skin or the hilt of a dagger. You breathe in the smell of him, parchment and iron; peppermint tea and the smoke from a lorn, crimson fire. Wet leaves, after a rain. You feel your resolve start to waver. 

“Well,” He says, all thoughtful, all trickster, “Sitting down, I believe, would be a good place to begin.” 

The teasing lilt of his voice - an act that he is putting on, and all for you, always for you - cajoles you, coaxing you to lever your elbows and slide back down onto the floor, your weary legs feeling unimaginably grateful. Loki shoots you a new smile now, light and proud. He beckons you, with a cock of his head and a slim, fond gesture, to him - Of a sudden, the tiles beneath you seem like a desert, an ocean. You feel the weight of your emptiness. It laughs at you, its’ white teeth filed and barred. In your head, your failure is heavy; a hot and cackling creature with seven-foot claws pressing down on your chest, restricting your matchstick limbs. You are lost to the unyielding insistence of it, trapped in the maw of its cage, and Loki’s words, when they come, sound as far away as the shores of a country ancient and foreign. 

“I was hardly gone,” He is saying, but you cannot answer him. “How could it have gotten this bad?” 

It is that - that sadness, that fear in your lover - that breaks you, and you take the thing at a clumsy, terror-steeped sprint, not caring how wretched you look, so long as you can reach him - So long, you finally let yourself think, as there is something left of you for Loki to hold in his arms. Your body hurts worse than anything. You feel every scrape and bruise and chill on it; the pins and knives working at oxygen-starved nerves, and the gnawing clamp of your hunger, a brand pressing into your gut; and you know that Loki can’t save you. But maybe, just maybe, you can find some way to save yourself. And his fingers are there, going up to your hair, thumb rubbing at a hollow cheek and catching the salty dirge of an errant tear. 

“It gets better, you know,” Loki tells you. He gets you onto his lap; you feel his heartbeat under your palms where you clutch tightly at his shirt to hold yourself up. A steady, thrumming proof that he is alive. And when he says it, you get the sense that, somehow, you’ve always know it, this whispered secret he’s weaving into your soul. “If you get proper help for it. If you want it to.” 

He speaks casually, but there is a weight to his words. Miraculously - you’re not quite so sure how - you find yourself able to meet them. 

“I want it to,” You tell him. “I didn’t, before - “ And here his eyes widen, and he shakes his head like you’ve shot him - “But I do. I want to -“ 

“Alright, love,” He tells you, running a soothing hand down over your side, past the hard planes of your collarbone, “Alright. It’s okay. You’re such a strong person- It’s going to be hard, for awhile, but I know that you can get through this. I’ll be right here with you, darling. Right here, by your side.” 

“You will?” You ask him, voice cracking, hardly daring to hope that despite all this, he would stay. He chuckles, sadly, as if your thinking it hurts him, and he is deadly serious when he tells you,

“Y/N, of course I will.” 

Somehow, though he’s the god of lies, you don’t doubt his words for an instant. You nod, and the nodding takes effort. Yet you are certain he understands what you mean. 

“So,” Says Loki, “Can you - Tell me about this?” 

You have to think, for a minute. Can you tell Loki about this? You know that he’s telling the truth, that he isn’t going to leave you. Still, you’ve never been this vulnerable with him before, not even in bed, and the fear in you won’t be put to rest so easily. You shake in his hold, and realize, with a frigid shock, how you must look to him - how badly you are hurting him, and how badly you’re hurting yourself, by keeping your feelings inside yourself and leaving your body to rot. You know, now, that Loki will  help you through this - that he will be there, kind touches skirting the bad days; warm, mischevious smirks smoothing the wrinkles of your persistent self-doubts. There was a time when you needed to do this - there will, probably, still be days when you feel like you need to do this, to get a firm hold over your life, and keep the jackals at bay. There are other words to keep yourself safe, though. Loki’s breath in the dark is more home to you than anything you’ve ever had, and his open waiting, here in the daylight, makes you brave enough to speak. 

“Maybe… Over lunch?” You offer. You bite your lip and hold out the query, a silky pearl in your hand. For one moment, Loki seems to consider; after all, he is the trickster, and a man not given to acting rashly, or stripping the drama from his complicated schemes. If this is a scheme, you think that you might forgive him - Later, when his lips are on your frame, when you’re there with him, again. His lips twitch into a grin so affectionate and proud that you know- you know - that if you seek proper care and really want to get better, you’ll get through the days that feel like walking on broken glass. You’ve done so much for me, that grin tells you. Let me do this for you.

He reaches out, and takes the pearl. You hardly recognize the man who rained hell down on New York, who snorts and jabs with sarcasm at every word that comes out of Iron Man’s mouth. 

“Breakfast?” He counters, shooting a pointed glance at the microwave clock. It is a dare and a promise - a challenge, but never a trick. It tastes like honey on your tongue. 

“Fine,” You say, “But you’ll have to cook.” Some kind of joy is creeping its way into you. Your voice, you find, barely trembles. 

“Midgardians,” Lok says, with an eye-roll - a friendly, loving glint in his eyes that refuses to fade. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who burns water.” The joke prods your tender, new understanding, reassures you that he is still Loki; that he isn’t going to treat you differently, like a child, just because you’re suffering. The smile comes full onto you, and you wriggle, stretching your arms over your head and yawning, exaggerated for effect to add to the banter. 

“I never said that I couldn’t cook,” You tell Loki, “Just wanted you to do it.” 

“Mm,” He says, “And what will you be doing, then, while I cook?” 

You chew at your lip, and choose to answer before your nerves make you panic. 

“Finding the right words,” You admit, laying the truth bare to him. 

His hands are wending through your hair now, and his lips are unberarably gentle on yours. He tastes like embers and ink. That sweet, slightly metalic tang that you’ve come to associate with his magic; cinnamon, tinged with steel. He kisses you for a second or two, before pulling away,  but you could live in those seconds - Unfold it, like a blanket, and let the care of it warm your thin, freezing bones, if Loki weren’t here to show you that, with the right help, you can learn how to do it yourself. 

“Finding the right words,” Loki muses, vaulting himself up to stand in a movement that’s unfairly graceful. “I’d much prefer yours, to be honest.” 

He holds a hand out, and you take it, letting him pull you up. The floor, underneath you, feels solid. The sun is coming through the clouds, and out there in the wide world you can hear bird-song, the low, sugared sway of the breeze. There is something else there, too: 

You let it wrap its tendrils around you, and you decide that it’s hope. 

#loki/reader #loki/female reader #established relationship #eating disorders #mental health struggles #not me writing 3k plus words of loki helping the reader come to terms with the fact that they can recover from their eating disorders #because that's what I wanted to have when I was going through it #soft loki #i mean seriously #yeah there's angst #BUT #also just an unrepentant amount of loki fluff #he says it in the fic but i'll mention it here too: #if you're going through anything like this #know that you don't have to do it alone! #and that not only is it okay to get professional help #it's a good and positive thing that can be a very important part of recovery! #you have so much love and support in your life #because you're a beautiful amazing strong person and it's NOT YOUR FAULT that you're struggling with a mental illness #fics mentioned in the beginning as inspirations for writing this(and the next couple oneshots I have lined up) include: #The 'Loki's Lullabies' series by kaoerin on AO3 #and the 'As You Are' series by hopeless_romantic_spoonie/yespolkadot_kitty #also on AO3 #if any of you are on tumblr i'm so sorry i don't know your url's #but y'all should go show these fics love

[sparklingchan]

Phenomenal you are || Choi Jongho(Ateez)

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Jongho

Word count : 2.1k+

Warnings : cuss words.

Genre : Fluff, angst if you look with a microscope, romance, rock band au.

Description: In which, a band practice for the Annual Winter Festival brings Jongho to finally face his true feelings for you. 

A/N : I wrote for ateez after soooo long. I’ve been pre occupied kinda but I’ve written a few drabbles to post from time to time. 

Enjoy!

In the quiet summer afternoon , while the sun is at its most cruel forms and the rest of the world is enjoying their holiday at the pool, the only sound that can be heard from Hongjoong's old car garage is the soft strumming of Jongho's acoustic guitar. Lazy and unmotivated.

"We need a singer." Hongjoong says with a sigh louder than Wooyoung's laugh as all the boys stare at him.

How dare he!

The tension in the air is so thick someone could cut it with a knife and though no one breaks the silence, they know what is to come next.

Jongho stares at Hongjoong, eyes big with curiosity and mouth gaping, half expecting Hongjoong to suddenly start laughing and declare it all a prank.

"We really need a singer." Hongjoong stresses on every word yet again. That's a combination of words he never thought he'd hear the older boy say yet here they were.

"Man, come on, we already have Wooyoung and Jongho. We don't need another singer." Mingi groans, absent-mindedly playing with his drum sticks. His foot is slightly tapping against the bass drum pedal.

Jongho and Wooyoung shake their heads in agreement but Hongjoong looks unconvinced. Like always.

"But the rules for The Winter Music festival are clear. They said that a band needs to have a separate singer along with the instrument players. Or else they won't be allowed to participate!" Hongjoong argues.

Jongho sighs with frustration. He loves singing as much as he loves playing the guitar, but if he had to choose between one, he'd always choose the former. He can't let someone new take his place as the voice of the band.

It hurt his ego more than he'd like to admit to his friends.

"I'll stop playing the guitar. I'll just sing." He suggests, although he's immediately met with Hongjoong's disapproval.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous. Who will play the guitar then? I play the keyboard and Wooyoung is on the bass. We can't play the guitar!"

There he is, leader Hongjoong, who's always right.

"Fine. Fine. So does anyone have any singers in mind? Should we hold a small audition or..?" Mingi says.

Wooyoung smirks at Jongho's direction, leaning in to whisper into his ear, "Dude, its your chance to shine. Come on. Tell them."

Except Wooyoung can't whisper. He can only yell.

"What? Tell us what?" Hongjoong questions.

"Oh, you know y/n right? She sings really well. She has a YouTube channel too." Wooyoung exclaims, walking as far away from Jongho as possible.

Jongho elbows the older boy right in his stomach.

"Y/n? As in Jongho's y/n?" Mingi asks with a mischievous grin.

Jongho hides his face in his hands, cheeks burning red as an unknown combination of happiness and embarrassment wash over.

The sound of your name always makes him feel vulnerable yet he cannot bring himself to hate this new found side of his personality.

Were you truly Jongho's? He didn't know. But did he want you to be his? Obviously, yes.

"So who's going to talk to her?" Hongjoong asks, actually considering it.

Jongho is beyond exasperated at this point, "Hey! We can hold a small audition or something. I'm sure there are other singers who'd want to try out?"

"Do you really want that ?" Wooyoung teases.

No, he doesn't. He doesn't think there's any better singer out there than you. Your honey like voice with the most beautiful texture ever gifted to a human and the way your eyes close in concentration when you feel the music right in your bones always makes him feel weak in the knees. He wants to be able to watch it all live and not from behind a laptop screen.

"Fine. I'll talk to y/n."

No one reacts because they already know Jongho could never say no to anything that involves you.

*

"I'm not very confident, Jongho, I'm telling you!" You cry out loud as you walk down the unfamiliar road with Jongho close by your side, not paying heed to any of your protests.

When Jongho first asked you to join his infamous band as the lead singer, you were sure he was joking. But he insisted that he wasn't and the serious expression plastered on his face showed nothing but honesty so you let yourself believe him.

Of course, you did throw around your own set of tantrums which you were sure irritated him, even so he somehow manages to take you to the boys' practicing session in Kim Hongjoong 's garage.

"Y/n, please, you and I both know you're the best choice. Mind you, Hongjoong personally discarded the idea of an audition just to save this position for you!"

Lies. It was him that had said no to the prospect of holding an open and fair audition for all the students of their school. Because he only ever wanted you.

"Why do I feel like you're buttering me." You mutter to yourself but Jongho obviously hears you, and a smile crawls its way onto his lips.

The garage is old and a little small, you notice the moment you enter the place, but that place also has everything you ever dreamed of - instruments, good mics, a band who wanted you to be their lead singer, and Jongho.

"Hey, y/n! I'm so glad you actually came. You know Jongho's never been the most convincing man on earth, right?" Wooyoung greets you, his fingers busy fiddling with the tuning keys of his bass guitar.

You smile, "I think he convinced me well enough though. "

You shoot Jongho a shy glance, only to find him staring right back at you, his eyes reflecting the same yearning as yours do. The sides of his mouth are slowly curving into a grin, and the thumping in your chest increases as you watch him blush under the warm, afternoon sunlight.

Ethereal is what he looks like to you.

Mingi clears his throat, breaking the unexpectedly long eye contact, "Guys, come on. We have to practice."

And with that begins your musical journey with the boys.

There were really nice and welcoming and made you feel very comfortable. It almost felt like you were...home.

Within weeks, you had gotten so close to the guys, one would almost confuse you of having known each other for a long time when in reality you guys barely talk to each other at school. And nothing would have changed if you hadn't joined the band.

And on the other hand, we have Choi Jongho. Nice and sweet and talented and has heart eyes for you and only you, yet with your new found friendship with the other boys, he finds a foreign feeling of insecurity settling down in his heart, like foreign sediments in fresh water.

Until a few days ago, you were his little secret, his only friend out of his normal social circle at school, he had you all to himself. But now that his other friends have started showing equal interest in you, he feels neglected, jealous even. Though he would die rather than mention it you or the boys.

"We're going for ice cream. Come on." Wooyoung unlocks the door to Mingi's car, and slides is as if it were his own, "I'm driving."

Hongjoon mutters a warning under his breath before sitting in the front passenger's seat while Mingi follows suit, and sits behind them.

"When was this decided?" Jongho leans against the car's door , an irritated expression etched onto his face. His forehead is creased, his eyes alert and his hands are stuffed in his pocket - he looks displeased  .

"When you were in the toilet. What's the big deal." Wooyoung says impatiently.

Jongho looks at you, his forehead crease deepening, "Why didn't you tell me?"

You are taken aback; in all honesty, you hadn't thought it was such a great deal to him. The five of you were just going for ice cream. Its not a life or death situation.

"I-I didn't think it was that important. " you reply.

Jongho scoffs, a sarcastic smile on his lips, "You didn't think it was important to tell me we were going somewhere? I see, I wasn't wrong to think you'd finally sidelined me. "

"Jongho, what are you even saying?" You say, exasperated.

Jongho has never been a man of too many words, or too many gestures. He doesn't have the habit of beating around the bush. Which is why is words are often too honest, too harsh.

You knew this, yet you couldn't help but feel a sting when Jongho accuses you of sidelining him. It feels like your chest is on fire.

"Dude, just get in the car. What's gotten into you?" Hongjoong says.

You are utterly confused - you couldn't believe Choi Jongho is throwing tantrums over something so trivial - the man who is known for his high tolerance and abundant patience.

"Nah, I'm good." Jongho pulls away from the door and turns on his heels , "See you guys tomorrow!"

And with that, he walks in the opposite direction, toward his house. And needless to say, he doesn't even bother sparing a single glance at you.

"Should I go after him?" You ask out of impulse, but you do mean it.

What's the point of going with the guys when your mind would anyway be preoccupied with Jongho?

"Not to play cupid, y/n, but yeah, I think you should." Hongjoong sighs, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows .

You nod, closing the door, "I'll see you guys later then."

"Give him a smack in the head while you're at it ,y/n." Mingi chuckles, shaking his head.

"Oh, I will."

*

Jongho had not walked far enough yet, making it easier for you to run up behind him.

"Oi! Jongho! Wait."

Now, Jongho is sure he's making up things in his head because he genuinely believes you’d not have left the boys behind just to chase him. Well, prove him wrong now, y/n, will you?

"Jongho! " you yell again and this time he stops in his tracks, not having the guts to turn around yet curious enough to wait for you.

"What?" He demands without sparing you a glance still his eyes somehow manage to stare at your shadow on the concrete of the street, "Why didn't you go?"

You quickly catch up to him, though the run exhausts you badly but you convince yourself it's worth it.

If it's for Jongho, everything is worth it.

"Because its no fun without you. "

Jongho had built up this weak wall around him, a wall meant to protect his fragile heart from being broken but there has never been anything as fragile and delicate as this wall - and the words that leave your mouth does exactly that.

"Y/n, I-" he begins but you cut him off.

"Uh, no. Firstly, you owe me an apology for all that you said before, and secondly, you owe me a whole tub of ice cream because I chose my crush over ice cream and that is not done."

You'd never been the best at confessions, really, and before today You'd never felt the need for it either. Yet here you are. Confessing to Jongho as if it were the most natural thing to do.

"You - what?" He asks in disbelief, his body growing warm under your intimidating gaze.

Y/n just confessed to you, dumb ass, wake up!

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too ahead of yourself." You roll your eyes, wrapping a shaky arm around his.

"Do you really mean it, y/n?" He asks in the most sincere voice, the tremble in his voice giving him away completely.

Jongho doesn't deny your touch but he does look away from you, his face scrunching in a peculiar way.

You don't know if he's crying or laughing or about to combust, but whatever it is , the slight blush on his cheeks and the softness of his eyes makes you feel all mushy inside.

"Of course! " you whine, "Why don't you believe me?"

Jongho pulls you closer and then wraps his arms around you - like how he'd seen people do in those stupid rom com movies. And when you hug him back , placing the softest kiss on his cheek, he realises how relieved he is.

“I believe you.” He sighs, “And I like you, too.”

And he realises how much more special this feels than the scenarios he’d often make up in his head. He realises how terribly sweet you smell, how radiant your laughter is and how phenomenal you are.

#ateez #ateez au #ateez kpop #ateez jongho #ateez fics #ateez angst #ateez x reader #ateez flufd #ateez scenario #choi jongho #ateez choi jongho #jongho x reader #kpop au #kpop imagines #ateez imagines #choi jongho fics #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #ateez smut #kpop fanfic #kpop ff #ateez jongho scenarios #rockband au #ateez reactions

[startanewdream]

Summer Heat

Summary: James is late and summer heat always brings out Lily’s emotions.

Part of my Jily Lives AU, set during Order of the Phoenix and based on @secretsongdeer​‘s amazing prompt of “James or Lily is late from an Order mission, and the other is worried sick".

It turned out into this crazy emotional roller-coaster of Angst and Smut.

Rated M, so all below the cut or on AO3. Read at your own risk (but if anyone wants a PG version, just tell me that I can post it too :D)

_______________________

James is late.

It is not like it never happened before, it is not like every Order mission has a defined duration of time and it is not like he is on a particularly dangerous mission tonight, but still fear bubbles like acid in her stomach. He is supposed to be on watch-duty with Sirius, and while she trusts Sirius to guard him with his life, she also knows Sirius can be a little hothead too and Sirius hates to stay still for too long.

Also, when they are together, Prongs and Padfoot, things tend to escape control, even for a mission that is supposed to be only guarding a door.

Or maybe she is overreacting. Many simple things could have happened. Tonks got caught in her work and could not relieve them; someone decided to stop by the Department of Mysteries and they had to wait to get out. Still, Lily knows she will never get used to that feeling of waiting for him to come home safe.

Maybe it was the years of relative peace they enjoyed that have made her feel more unacquainted with that waiting. For the last fifteen years, James had not once taken a mission for the Order. Ever since Harry was born, they both had promised to concentrate their energy in protecting their son - and all they had done that first year was hiding, moving from a place to another, until Voldemort had finally found them and -

She blinks, deciding to not let her thoughts wander in that direction - in that horrible night -, and her eyes fall on Harry. He is sitting on the kitchen table, reading a muggle newspaper, his face closed and troubled.

That is not new. All summer Harry has been distraught, demanding they talk to him and yet refusing to say anything himself. Lily can read her son easier than she can read the book she is supposed to be currently studying, and she can see a storm brewing inside Harry, but he insists on staying silent. He hasn’t said a word about that night in the graveyard with Voldemort, nor about Cedric Diggory and not even a mention of whatever dreams have been tormenting him at night.

Her husband is late and her son is suffering and she cannot help any of them right now.

Her head hurts.

Somehow this feels worse than the first time, which doesn’t make any sense. In the First War, she was too young and inexperienced and no matter what they said to each other, they were losing - Dorcas was killed by Voldemort himself, Marlene and her family had perished in a fire, they didn’t trust Remus and they trusted Peter too much, and Harry was the target of a prophecy.

Now they are better prepared. Voldemort is still hiding and they know what he is after and that gives them an advantage. As long as they can keep Voldemort away from the prophecy, they will have more time to… She doesn’t know what they will do with more time. Convince those stupid politicians that Voldemort is really back? Gather more help for the Order? Prepare better her son for -

No. This is not Harry’s obligation, no matter what a stupid prophecy says. Voldemort is still human and then he can die like any other man. Anyone can kill him; she will kill him if she gets the chance. Not her fifteen-year-old son, who is currently crumpling the newspaper as if it offends him, tearing each page with particular vengefulness and throwing it in the fireplace to watch them burn.

‘Harry…’, she begins, her voice as tired as she feels, trying to ignore the buzz in her head.

‘There is nothing here’, he complains, still tearing the pages. ‘Of course, we could actually know what’s going on if we hadn’t cancelled our subscription of the Daily Prophet’.

Lily presses the bridge of her nose to see if her headache gets better. It doesn’t help.

‘We told you the Prophet is not reporting anything because nothing is going on’.

Except for the current attack on them - the silly remarks of Harry's instability, the cruel distortion of her story with James -, but she doesn’t say that. They will have to tell Harry eventually; she just never found an opening for it, because he is always brooding and upset and Lily knows that Harry will feel guilty for causing trouble when he hears it.

As if it’s his fault for witnessing Voldemort’s return.

‘How can there be nothing to report? With you guys all mysterious?’

‘We are not - ’, when Harry rolls his eyes disdainfully, she stops to control her own rising anger. It is not Harry’s fault that she is more stressed than normal today. Where the hell is James?

'Don't pretend everything is fine, Mum. I see you looking at your watch every five seconds. I know you are worried about Dad'.

She forces herself to breathe normally, even though she knows she won't deceive him. Harry and Lily always understood each other too well.

‘It’s just normal Order business’.

‘If there is Order business happening -’

‘There is always Order stuff going on, Harry. We didn’t stay doing nothing for all these years’.

‘You could have fooled me’, he whispers loudly enough for her to hear but to also pretend she hasn't understood him.

She shouldn’t take his bait, but James is not there and how can he be so damn late? She is fearing for him and also a little mad - why couldn't he choose another mission? One that he could do safely at home? And why did she have to stay behind? Someone has to look after Harry, sure, but she is as much capable as him of doing things. Next time he can be the one staying and worrying about where is she and why the hell she is late -

‘And what do you mean by that?’, she asks before she can stop herself.

Harry turns to really face her now. He may look like a copy of James sometimes, but the raging expression in his face is just like the one on Lily’s.

Like her, Harry’s temper rises too fast and too quickly.

‘I didn’t see your amazing Order when I was facing Quirrell. Or when there was a basilisk in the castle. Or -’.

‘Harry -’

‘And a great job you all did last year’, he adds, ignoring her, his voice raising. ‘That bloody Death Eater was just under your nose -’

‘HARRY!’

Lily stands furiously and Harry blinks at her, seeming both surprised and satisfied that she screamed at him.

‘You know, this, right now, is why you are too young to be involved with the Order’.

‘Am I young?’, he asks, baffled, crossing his arms. ‘How can I be too young with all the things that happened to me?’

‘You are fifteen and you don’t get it. Do you think facing Voldemort is enough? I’ve done it four times too -’

‘And I am the one with a scar! I am the one that gets stuck with sphinxes and dragons and that has to escape him over and over again, so no, you don’t get it!’.

She closes her eyes briefly and then she can see, as if she is locked on that moment, the memory of that night, that horrible night, of Voldemort raising his wand to her little baby, of her and James alone and helpless -

No.

‘What I get’, she says, forcing herself to calm her voice, ‘is that you are fifteen and you should be worried about other stuff. School, dates, your pimples. And I am sorry that things keep happening to you and I know it’s not fair -’

‘And still, you treat me like a baby! You don’t tell me anything!’

‘You want to talk about who is withholding information? How about we talk about your nightmares?’

Harry stands suddenly, making his chair fall with a heavy sound, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are blazing with fury and for a moment Lily thinks he will scream at her.

‘I am out’, he says instead, his voice trembling with cold fury. When she opens her mouth to argue, he adds: ‘In the backyard. I know I can’t leave this bloody house’.

He makes the house sound like a prison.

‘You know perfectly well why you have to stay near’, she reminds him, ignoring his bad language. Harry shrugs, indifferent.

‘Yeah, that amazing blood protection’, he scoffs. ‘Helped a lot last month’.

‘You are alive, aren’t you?’

‘But Cedric isn’t’, he says and more than the anger she can hear his sorrow.

Her annoyance suddenly vanishes, and she takes a step in his direction, but Harry turns his back to her and leaves her alone in the kitchen.

Great. Just all she needed. A grieving teenager son and a missing husband.

She points her wand around the kitchen, thinking of making tea for herself - and Harry when he returns from his walk around the garden. She knows her son. He will still be angry, but much less inclined to fighting again. He will accept her tea.

She glances outside the window, fanning herself with her hand. It’s early night already, but the heat did not wave. It's the hottest summer she can remember, which isn't probably helping any of them. Summer heat always brings out your emotions, her mother used to say.

And once more she feels that bitterness of worry for where James is and why he didn't warn her that he would be two hours late - he could have been drinking with Sirius right now as much as he could have fallen into a trap for all she knows and -

The thought makes her feel strangely cold and Lily shivers before she notices it's not only her mind playing tricks with her. Something is off. She can see her own breath condensing in the air. It’s eerily quiet around her and she can’t hear any sound coming from the street, nor the sound of the teakettle whistling - in fact, even though she is three feet away from the stove, she can’t feel the warmth of the fire at all. It is like there is an ice storm coming, inside the house, and she thinks she will never feel happiness again -

The realization comes to her suddenly and it helps shake her senses. Lily raises, gripping her wand in her trembling hand and she concentrates on one thought. Find Harry.

She leaves the kitchen, following Harry’s steps, going almost blindly to the edges of their propriety, close to the small woods that James uses to transform with Remus on full moon nights. It is dark outside as if the lights from the lamp streets cannot reach their house and the sky has lost all the stars. The despair threatens to overwhelm her and she takes deep heavy breaths, looking around - she can’t see them, she can’t see Harry, but she knows they are close… They shouldn’t be here, not here, not with their blood protection…

Except she knows Voldemort was able to touch Harry, so maybe it isn’t as strong as before… maybe Harry is helpless, and she will have to watch her son die before her eyes once more - no, she can’t think about it…

‘Mum!’

Harry’s voice breaks through her reverie and she turns towards the sound. Harry is running, coming from behind the old broom shed, his face pale and sweating. Two dementors are gliding behind him, and for a moment Lily thinks of silly horror movies, of how no matter how much the victim runs, the killer always catches it -

Harry screams for her again and Lily raises her wand, the spell ready in her lips, her mind focusing on protecting him. But Harry is still looking fearfully at her, his eyes opened in panic and it takes her a full second to understand he is not really staring at her.

But at something behind her.

The cold gets stronger than before and it is like a block of ice has dropped directly over her, almost making her heart stop beating altogether. It is not fear - it is the certainty she will never feel happiness again, that this is all useless. All she ever did was delay this moment because nothing could ever stop it - did she really think she could save herself? Or Harry?

The dementor is almost gentle as it grabs her, opening her arms and approaching her face. It does not seem to be in a hurry, and she doesn’t see the dementor’s face, because she thinks of Voldemort during that night. He wasn’t in a hurry either.

She can hear her own voice, how she pleaded and pleaded that not Harry, not ever Harry, they would do anything, her and James, because they loved Harry too much. And Voldemort had laughed, cruelly and happily, and told them to stand aside. But James and Lily had stood, their hands together, protecting their son as if their body shield would be enough - Voldemort had then blasted them out of the way like they were nothing and then he had marched to her son, his wand raised just like the dementor’s hand in her direction - and she had watched helpless, unable to stop, as he cast the Killing Curse on her son - and the world had exploded in a bright green fire and she had thought - she had believed - they all were dead… and Harry who was barely one-year-old, who had died alone because she couldn’t protect him…

But he didn’t die, a small part of her thinks, Harry is alive, your love saved him. And she tries to concentrate on this small hope, even though this time James is not there with her -

‘ Expecto - expecto patronum!’

There is a small wisp of vapour, a light that seems to flicker for less than a second, but her doe does not come out of her wand. This last effort used all her strength, however, so Lily drops her wand and the dementor is upon her now, his horrible mouth close enough to kiss her, taking away her hope and her soul -

‘EXPECTO PATRONUM!’

There is a flash of light and Lily is suddenly falling in the ground, the dementor dropping her. She raises her eyes to see, through her blurred vision, antlers hitting the dementor that was holding her - it’s a stag, she realizes, so James has finally come home…

But it’s not James. It’s Harry and for all they look alike, she never once mistook one from another.

Harry is at her side, his arms around her while he points his own wand to direct his patronus to the other dementors. His face is contorted with fury and fear and his arms are trembling, but Harry makes his patronus draw away all dementors, until his stag patronus comes back to them, circling them as if on guard.

‘They - they are gone’, Harry whispers and Lily knows he is right. The stars are shining in the sky again, there is a sound of life around them and the heat is back. She is sweating, but she doesn’t think it’s because of the summer heat anymore.

‘Thank you’, she says weakly, and when her eyes can focus on something, she finds herself staring at the bright eyes of the stag patronus he had never seen him cast before. Her hand raises, but the patronus dissipates in thin air before she can touch it. ‘He was beautiful’.

‘It is Prongs’, Harry says, his voice still very low. ‘Can - can you walk?’

She nods and accepts his help to stand up; he is almost at her height now. She had not noticed it before.

‘Let’s go back’.

--------------------------------------

Lily hates Grimmauld Place.

It is the darkest house she ever entered and she feels that the house hates her too as if every long-dead Black is watching over her when she is there, judging her, calling her a mudblood and how dare she enter their sacred house. All the pureblood air threatens to overwhelm her, crush her like a bug and she curses the place.

But for all she is unwelcomed there, she hates it more because of Sirius.

She knows Sirius hates that house that was never a home for him and she admires him for offering Grimmauld Place as a safe hour to host the Order of the Phoenix; she knows the place holds no good memories for him and she hears his bitterness whenever he mentions his parents. And Sirius is miserable all the time he is there; he loathes everything, from the house-elf he never wanted to inherit to his mother’s portrait that they didn’t manage to take down.

And an unhappy Sirius is never a good thing. She notices how he always drinks more when they are there in one of their meetings - something Snape always mentions - and how reckless he gets after staying there for more than five minutes as if he is still that teenager who once needed to prove himself so different from his family.

When she mentions it to James, he looks worriedly at Sirius, but tells her that everything is fine - but Lily knows it is not fine, because Voldemort is back and Harry is suffering in silence and everything they fought for in the last fourteen years is crumbling. And she fears that James wants to be a little reckless too. They went hiding for a year before the First War ended and she knows him - he hated standing still, feeling like he wasn’t doing enough, and he is afraid to have to lie low again.

And James always enjoyed taking risks too much - he would never do anything that could harm Lily and Harry, of course, but then things are different now. Harry is older and not a helpless baby and Lily agreed to watch over him, concentrating on more internal missions, all because he assured her he would not be in danger -

All these thoughts come back to her but Lily doesn’t say anything. She feels strangely detached, doing things automatically, without really thinking about it. Some part of her registers when she and Harry arrive in the house, when he offers her a piece of chocolate that she can’t make herself eat despite knowing it will help, and when she hears their laughter.

Sirius’s bark laughter and James’ the-world-is-a-good-place-come-laugh-with-me laughter.

The sound causes a wave of anger through her body and that almost wakes her, but the numbness is still too high.

She watches them entering the kitchen and their smiles dying when they see her and Harry, in the exact moment they register something is wrong. Harry is explaining what happened and James is at her side, his face pale - and she wants to cry, where were you?, but she still keeps silent.

She almost jumps when an owl flies through the open window - owls aren’t allowed, they’ve cut communication -, but it is only an official owl from the Ministry. It shouldn’t be bad - except the Ministry of Magic has declared war against the Potters lately, so it is not surprising when the letter talks about Harry being expelled from Hogwarts.

Harry looks heartbroken and somehow more afraid than when he was running from dementors, so that sparks some life in Lily. She raises, ignoring James’ hand extended towards her - she can’t deal with him, not now - and she puts her hand on Harry’s shoulder.

‘We need to go to a safer place’, she says, her voice rough. It’s the first thing she has said in the last fifteen minutes, even though she knew they had to move ever since she saw the dementors.

‘Grimmauld Place’, Sirius suggests and for once Lily doesn’t grimace at the mention of that house. She will go anywhere if it means Harry will be safe and that was the only place she thought of.

‘But - Hogwarts - I can’t be -’

‘Dumbledore will solve this, Harry’, James promises, and Lily sees his patronus already galloping and vanishing in the darkness outside. It’s a stag, as always, but this vision fills her with more violence than comfort and she ignores him once more when he tries to take her hand.

‘Go pack your things, quickly’, Lily tells Harry, placing a soft kiss on his forehead before letting him go.

‘Lily -’, she hears James calling her but Lily doesn’t turn around. Sirius looks from James to her and then back again.

‘I will go help Harry’, he says, hurrying after his godson and leaving them alone.

There is a moment of silence. Lily flinches when James touches her arm, and he doesn’t insist.

‘Lily?’, he asks again, his voice very soft.

‘Where were you?’, Lily whispers, still avoiding looking in his direction. ‘You were supposed to be back more than two hours ago’.

‘I -’, he hesitates and Lily knows he is considering lying to her in that one second it takes for him to keep talking. ‘It was a very good lead, Lily, I swear -’

‘Lead’, she repeats, without any emotion in her voice.

‘It was the best one we had in months - the sewers -’

‘The sewers? You left me alone to go on a chase for Wormtail?’

She doesn’t need to see his face to know she got it right. She can hear the heaviness in his sighing, the one that only thinking of his former friend causes him.

And she doesn’t need to ask him how the search was. James has been looking for Peter for more than one year now and he never got close to finding him.

He is a rat, she wants to say. You will never find him .

‘I will go take our things’, she says instead.

‘Lily - I am really -’

‘Not now, James’, she cuts him and she leaves the kitchen because she can’t stand to look at him.

It may not be fair, but so it wasn’t leaving her alone.

-------------------------------

Dumbledore promises he will fix things, but the fact is that Harry has a disciplinary hearing and she can see real fear in her son’s eyes.

And not just that. The anger too. She hears him screaming at Ron and Hermione, obviously unhappy with the fact that he was alone all summer while they were together, no matter in a dismayed place like Grimmauld Place. Harry is feeling betrayed.

Right now, he isn’t the only one feeling like that.

Lily survives through the Order meeting barely registering what everyone is saying. She doesn’t participate in James and Sirius’ heated discussion of how the hell three dementors managed to pass their barriers to attack her and Harry, she doesn’t even acknowledge that Snape is for once glancing in her direction. They end the meeting rescheduling their patrol rounds and for the first time she submits her name, her voice daring anyone - James - to disagree with her participation; but even though she can feel James’ eyes looking intensely at her, he doesn’t say anything.

That’s for the best. She doesn’t want to hex him in front of everyone.

When the meeting is over, Sirius, obviously thinking he is being very nice, takes them upstairs to offer her and James the master bedroom. It’s a nice old room, even if a little dusty and dark, and she realizes that Sirius was late for the Order meeting because he had been fixing the room for them in whatever way he could.

A part of her thinks it was kind of him, especially because he must hate that room that belonged to his parents. Lily glances around, her eyes falling on the elegant canopy bed, but all she feels is loathe, if only by the fact that Walburga and Orion Black once slept there; she never met them and she barely heard the stories, but she saw how much they messed with Sirius to know she would hate them. The feeling would be mutual - they would despise her for her blood.

When she turns around, James is alone with her in the room, in front of the closed door. His expression is concerned.

‘Here. Eat this’, he says, offering her a chocolate bar. She ignores it. ‘You need chocolate for dementors, Lily, you know Remus -’

‘This is your fault’.

She hears her words but somehow it takes a second for her to realize she said them.

It’s irrational, she knows, because James wasn’t the one that sent those dementors she should be able to handle, nor he is the one that threatened to expel Harry from Hogwarts, and for one mad moment, she thinks he will argue with her. But James just blinks, his shoulders slumped and he nods.

‘I know’.

‘No’, Lily whispers, taking a step closer to him, her eyes ablaze. ‘You don’t get to self-hatred’.

James blinks.

'You don't want me to agree with you?' he asks, and Lily can hear the faint amusement in his voice, the one that always looks like an invitation for grinning with him.

Any other day she would accept it, but now there is only one emotion strong enough to break into her numbness: fury, senseless and overwhelming fury.

'You don't get to find this funny, James. You don't get anything, because you left us'.

He frowns and she sees a flash of hurt in his eyes. Good, Lily thinks darkly.

'I would never leave you -'

'You weren't there. There were three dementors and an underage kid but no James Potter'.

'So I was supposed to foresee it?'

'We all knew something was bound to happen. That's why we keep our eyes on Harry, isn't it?'

'It is not like he was alone - you were there with him!'

'Yeah, I was', she admits, defeated. 'And I was useless because there were dementors and you know what I hear when they are around? That fucking Halloween night, every time'.

'That is what I hear too'.

'And all I could think was that at least that night you were with me. We were losing and dying but at least you were there'.

'Lily… I was on a mission -'

'Oh, spare me, James. The Order comes first, we always agreed on this. But your mission had ended and instead of doing the right thing that was coming back to your family you decided to play the hero'.

He gasps.

'What? I wasn't -'

'No, you're right. It was not playing the hero - that’s Harry. You were on your crazy suicide revenge mission’.

'It is not - it was a good lead, Lily, I wouldn't go if -'

'Did you find him? Did you see Peter? Even a hint of him?'

He doesn't say anything, but she knows the answer in his resentful face.

'Your problem is that you forget everything when it involves him'.

'He betrayed us', James spats, venom in his voice. 'Then he bleed Harry one month ago and he held him and he would watch him die without saying anything. He. Betrayed. Us'.

'Yeah, but that's not what bothers you. It’s your bloody ego. It’s the fact that he betrayed you'.

James' eyes are burning now.

'Yes, it was me firstly', he concedes, agony and hatred in his voice. 'But he would give us all up because he never cared'.

'Taking him down won't change that'.

'And what do you want me to do?', James finally screams and she feels a dark satisfaction in making him lose control. 'Let him go?'

'I want you to care more about us than for your selfish need for revenge!'

'I already care!'

'Then prove it!'

She is screaming too and maybe even crying because her vision is blurred once more, but still, she registers that at some point they got closer than ever, their noses almost touching. She can smell his musky scent and she can feel his heavy breath over her face. James is angry, but so is she and Lily won't stand down, won't forget that while he couldn't stop what happened, he should be there, he should be with her.

He promised they would always be together - and his absence hurts and she is afraid and she hates him for leaving her. She only wants them to be safe. How can they be at war again? Why can’t they have some peace?

She hates him right now, but she hates more all the danger they are in and even then all that hate pales in comparison to how much she loves him.

'Fuck, James', she sighs.

'Fuck, Lily', he agrees, and then their lips are crashing and it's desperate and painful how she clings to him.

Her numbness is all gone, replaced by a familiar urge of James - of his lips, of his touch, of knowing he is with her. It’s been a long time since she felt this fear, this adrenaline rush after a battle or a near-death experience, but she knows how it goes.

His hands cup her face, his thumbs drying the tears that are falling there without Lily even realizing, and she feels locked in his arms - it’s a good feeling. James is home, James is safety and love. She wants more of him, all of James. She needs him.

And he seems to be thinking the same about her. His hands fall to her arse, to hold her up and press her against the door of the room, her legs going automatically around his waist for better support, their lips never leaving each other. She grips the hair at the back of his head, as if holding a lifesaver she can’t let go or else she drowns.

They are not teenagers and they are not in that mad sex phase of a new relationship, so Lily knows they should stop and recover their senses. But this was Orion and Walburga Black's room, she thinks incoherently, and they would never accept someone like her there - that was the prejudice that started a war that messed with their lives. And suddenly Lily knows what she needs to do.

Her hands are shaking as much as before, though for completely different reasons, as she fumbles with his clothes, opening his shirt so she can feel his heartbeat and the muscles in his torso. James is always so warm , much hotter than any summer heat.

His lips move away from hers and before she can complain, James is kissing her neck - or sucking it, she doesn’t know. Where his lips touch her skin she can feel goosebumps erupting and it is so fresh that she moans, even as he, always aware of her, keeps bending down his head until he is kissing the top of her breasts, any piece of skin her cleavage exposes.

She attends his silent request. Her hands leave his chest to take off her own shirt and bra, and as soon as she holds his neck, his mouth is covering her nipple and Lily arches her back as much as she can against the door. It’s cool , she thinks irrationally, feeling his tongue teasing her and feeling the wood of the door behind her naked torso. Good. It was too hot .

But she still needs more.

‘James’, she moans, and he stops to look at her. His hazel eyes are dark and for as much as she loves their natural colour, she loves so much when they are almost brown, filled with lust for her. She knows it’s a match for her own desire. ‘Kiss me’, she asks, and his lips find hers once more.

They are closer now, so it’s easy to slide her hands through his chest, following the path of his hair there, until she is opening his belt and his jeans and she is feeling him, sliding her hand through his length. He moans into their kiss and his hands let her down for just the seconds it takes for him to touch under her skirt and take away her panties.

‘I need you, Lily’, he whispers and it is so much a pleading as a demand; she is willing to accept both.

She nods and he raises her again, both hands now under her skirt, one holding her tight and another grabbing her arse, his fingers pressing her skin and she hopes it leaves a mark for tomorrow. She has been hurt and bruised in battles before, and because of that she loves seeing the soft purple of the places James grabbed her rough, lost in their moment together; these are the marks she is proud of.

His lips are once again on her neck, sucking the skin there (good, another mark), his body pressing her against the door and she can feel his hardness against her pelvis and her pulse beating down there.

‘James - please’.

He was never able to refuse her anything, not really, so James complies at once, his hand leaving her thigh just so he can help himself slide inside her - and it’s a familiar feeling that she can never get really used to, that of him filling her. She moans loudly and uncaringly, her hips trying to move for more friction and God bless James, he attends her wishes once more, moving in sync with her.

They are not young anymore and she knows they will probably regret this tomorrow, but right now she just tightens the grip of her legs around him, inviting him to go deeper and he groans, his head buried in her neck. It is a sound that reverberates into her, and Lily opens her eyes suddenly, her eyes falling on the master bed. It’s still a beautiful canopy bed, one that speaks of luxury and expensive fabrics, and she thinks briefly of how she hates that house, hates the people who lived there.

Toujours pur.

‘James’, she calls him, and he stops moving at once to look at her, breathing heavily. ‘The bed’.

If James finds her request weird, he doesn’t say. He takes her to the bed, laying her down gently, before standing to take off his pants. She moves to take off her skirt too, but he stops her, laying over her, his hand caressing her face to keep her hair out.

‘Keep it’, he asks, and then his lips are finding hers and she loses herself happily in the taste of his mouth. His hand bounds hers above her head, and all Lily can do is arch her back as he enters her again, his movement much more desperate than before and all she can do is meet each one of his thrusts.

She wants to giggle of pure joy, but James is still kissing her and as much amused as she is, she needs that kiss more. But still, a part of her sends a big silent fuck-off for Sirius’ parents in whatever hell they are, because there is a blood traitor and a mudblood fucking in their bed and somehow this makes everything better.

‘Lily’, he groans and Lily hears the warning and request in his voice. She frees her hands, but before she can do anything, James lowers his hand to touch her, on the soft wet spot right above where their bodies meet, and she lets out a moan that is lost in their kiss.

She knows he is losing control now, his thrusts erratic and needy, and that’s fine because she feels the same. More, she thinks, feeling the pressure building inside her, and like if he is reading her mind, James obliges instantly, his finger circling her faster, in sync with the movement of his body. More, James, she thinks one more time, and then she is over the edge, her world exploding in a blinding light that sometimes looks a lot like what happened in that Halloween night, but so different - it is colourful (not just green) and powerful and its ache is welcomed and her heart is beating so fast and so alive.

God, she loves James so much.

Almost like in a dream, she feels James pushing inside her one final time and then his body is shaking, his mouth leaving hers so he can cry her name like a prayer. After what seems years and seconds at the same time, his grip over her looses and she raises her shaking hands to cup his face until he opens his eyes.

His hazel eyes are still burning, but his voice is tender when he whispers: ‘I love you’.

She kisses him softly in response.

James rolls to lay by her side and, in a movement she has made thousands of times before, Lily lays her head over his chest, hearing his heart still beating too fast, while her hand plays with his chest hair.

‘I am sorry for not coming home sooner’, he whispers after a while, his hand caressing her hair absently. ‘You are right, it was selfish - everything. I just… I feel so guilty, Lily, it is my fault only -’

She knows he is not talking about the dementor attack.

‘I trusted him too, James. We all did’.

‘But I - I was the one that was his friend first, I was the one that thought I knew him for all those years - I would have died for him -’

‘You are not wrong for trusting people’, she assures him, finding his hand to grip it tightly. ‘Your faith - that is one of the most amazing things about you. He is the one at fault for not living up to your trust’.

‘I just think, somehow, that if I catch him… I can make everything all right, like if that night never happened, like -’

‘James’, she calls him softly, turning so she can look him in the face. ‘We can’t change the past. Let us live today’.

This makes a sparkling shine in his eyes.

‘I say we are definitely living’, he notes, looking around for all the mess of clothes on the floor, and she lets out an amused laughter that only James can cause. He touches her face, looking at her with undeniable tenderness and love. ‘I will be there next time’.

It is a promise and she believes him.

‘Already waiting for the next dementor attack?’, she asks playfully, and he kisses her on the forehead before they get up.

‘Harry is a magnet for trouble’, he sighs, just half-teasingly, as he picks up his wand to clean them up.

Still, she laughs softly, because sometimes laughing at their own misfortune is all they can do.

‘A little bit dusty here, no?’, James says, looking around.

‘Guess we will have chores to keep Harry busy for a while’.

‘I think he will prefer the dementors’, he jokes, smirking.

Their hands are clasped together when they descend the stairs, following the sound of people talking in the kitchen. Sirius is waiting for them, his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, and he closes the kitchen door to muffle the sound.

‘How old are you?’, he asks grumpily.

‘Same age as you, Padfoot’, James answers easily.

‘And do you have a wand?’

That makes James blink, clearly missing the point.

‘Yeah, you know -’

‘Then why did you forget a basic Silencing Charm?’, asks Sirius, in a hissed whisper. ‘Do you know what I had to endure to go upstairs and cast it just so you wouldn’t further traumatize your son?’

Fifteen years ago Lily would blush at this, but now she just stares at Sirius with pure amusement.

‘That’s what godfathers are for, Padfoot’, she says nicely, raising on her tiptoes to press a kiss in his cheek, while James laughs at her side.

‘Do I even want to know what you were doing with that mouth, Evans?’, Sirius asks, looking at her with an expression torn between disapproval and respect.

‘Probably not’, she chuckles. ‘And it’s been “Potter” for a while now’.

‘Come on’, James says, coming between them because he knows they can lose themselves in their silly banters. ‘I am starving’.

‘Wonder why’, scoffs Sirius, but Lily can see a grin on his lips. Sirius always feels bad when she and James are fighting. ‘Hope you broke the bed at least’.

‘It is a work in progress’, Lily promises, winking at him, and they enter the kitchen.

#Jily Lives #Eyes glistening #Jily Fanfiction #Smut and Angst #Order of the phoenix #James Potter #Lily Evans #t: fanfiction

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

How’ve you never been a Draco anti? Just cause he was a teenager doesn’t mean he had the right to make disgusting racist comments and do other ignorant shit. Age is just a number. I don’t mean that in a creepy sexualising way or anything but there’s never an age where it’s okay or acceptable to be racist and just be a terrible person overall. Sorry I’m all for respecting opinions and whatever but I really can’t comprehend how you apparently didn’t go anti for him. You called him insufferable in the Malfoy TLSQ but that wasn’t even him at his worst 😒

(Going under the cut, this became a #LongPost)

Did I say that? I don't doubt it but I have no memory of this and I don't really think I'd agree with that description anyway. Because he really wasn't insufferable during that quest, you're right. He was pretty spoiled for sure, and if anything I was pleased to see that side of him which the films could occasionally downplay. Like, don't get me wrong, Jason Isaacs is amazing, but he has specifically talked about his motivation during interviews, how he wanted to build sympathy for Draco by being such a cruel father. Which is just...not the kind of dynamic Lucius and Draco had, and I've talked about this before, but Lucius abusing Draco is just very out-of-character if you ask me. It's also the secret backstory of every cheesy Draco redemption fanfic ever and by no means is that limited to his character, but he's a prominent example of the trope. Ben Solo is another.

As far as the books go, Draco is another character like Snape where he gets downplayed. In the early books, he was such a pain in the ass, but I never took him seriously as a threat even as a child. I knew enough about bullying to recognize how small he felt on the inside. In no way does this make it okay for him to behave the way he does in books 1-5, I'm just saying that he was scarcely a character that I would even argue earned the title of "villain." He was Harry's school rival. The worst thing he did, by far, was the entire framing of Buckbeak. Painting this narrative of him being the innocent victim of a savage monster, with Hagrid as the negligent fool who let it happen. Draco felt humiliated and wanted revenge, and he saw an opportunity to try and get Hagrid fired. And amazingly, despite an entire classroom of witnesses who can verify that Hagrid did everything by the books and that Draco's own arrogance got him just a minor scratch....he is still, even next year, telling people like Rita Skeeter about the Hippopriff attack. How is he getting away with that? Well, I say this, and then I remember that the man behind the "Anti Vaccine" study had his license revoked after it was debunked and yet he continued to give lectures about the dangers of vaccines...

Boy, I'm getting off topic. Draco's character just doesn't bother me that much because I don't take him seriously. The Buckbeak Incident was his worst moment by far, but he remains a stagnant character for the first five books. And god damn, how can I not empathize with him starting in Half Blood Prince? Voldemort selects him for a mission that he fully expects to result in his death, all to punish Lucius. It is made very clear to Draco that he must murder his school Headmaster, Albus freaking Dumbledore. I have already on many occasions, documented how much this world reveres him as an all powerful, omniscient force of nature. I doubt I need to reiterate just how daunting and impossible this task would and did start to feel for Draco. But the consequences for failure were plainly stated. Either Dumbledore had to die, or Draco and his parents would die. He was all of sixteen years old, and he was cornered by Voldemort, when his family was already deeply involved with the Death Eaters.

I hold nothing against Draco for any choice he made in HBP. What was he supposed to do? He was trapped. He had no reason to trust Snape or Dumbledore, and they were probably his only lifelines. Even if he had managed to escape Voldemort, his parents would still have been in danger. Dumbledore offers them protection up in the Astronomy Tower, but how does Draco know he's telling the truth? How does he know that to be a promise that Dumbledore can keep? In the end, he couldn't do it. He didn't have it in him to take Dumbledore's life. Despite all that pressure on him. I think that means something. The stress of trying to carry out the mission was making him physically ill. Oh, and this was the year that Harry hit him with Secumsempra. Probably the stupidest thing Harry ever did, and I'd say it leaves them even for Ron and the poisoned mead, however indirectly. After Snape kills Dumbledore, Draco just tries to keep his head down. All he can do is nod or shake his head whenever Voldemort addresses him at Death Eater meetings.

When The Golden Trio is captured and taken to Malfoy Manor...Draco's fear, and his growing moral conflict, show themselves again. He cannot commit to identifying Harry, even though we're meant to assume he knew damn well that it was Harry. Now, sure. You can argue that he wanted to wait and be absolutely sure before they went as far as summoning Voldemort. Or you can argue that he just didn't want Voldemort to show up because he was frightened of him. I think that's more likely. Because Harry under a stinging hex is one thing, but Hermione? When asked if Hermione was who they thought she was, he once again gives an evasive "Yeah, it could be." Like it's not clear as day. Draco flip-flops a lot during Deathly Hallows. He does try to capture Harry during the Battle of Hogwarts...and a childhood best friend dies before his very eyes. Ultimately, Harry's choice to save Draco winds up being a positive inversion of his choice to save Wormtail. Saving Wormtail guaranteed Voldemort's return. Saving Draco, on the other hand, ensured Narcissa's cooperation, and thus, it bought enough time for Neville to kill Nagini, and doom Voldemort once and for all. Harry saving Draco made all the difference.

In canon, Draco is little more than a sleazy coward. His story echoes that of Regulus, and sometimes I like to imagine what it would be like if he had taken on a more heroic role toward the end and had a more complete redemption. That said, I don't strictly speaking, mind that he didn't. I love the image of the Malfoys just huddled together after the battle, unsure if they're welcome or not, but no one is actually sparing them a thought. I also like final shot of them in the film, where they just up and leave. That works for them. There was apparently a cut scene where Draco was supposed to throw Harry his wand and properly defect...and while that would have been pretty cool, again: He didn't need a full redemption necessarily. The books kind of ran out of time, especially since there was no eighth year. Draco was not emotionally ready to do the right thing. But he had learned enough about himself and the world to know that he was uncomfortable doing the wrong thing. It's easy to parrot the slurs you're taught from the cradle, but as you get older and are expected to start participating in hate crimes and things of the like...you might begin to realize just how fucked up it all is. Even if the realization is slow. Even if you're not brave enough to take a stand.

TL;DR: Early books Draco is annoying, but no more so than a fly. I just kind of brush him off. Late books Draco is actually a very compelling character and he has my sympathy.

#Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Harry Potter Analysis #Lucius Malfoy #Narcissa Malfoy #Lord Voldemort #Harry Potter Books #Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince #Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

[thescienceofapologetics]

You do know abortion isnt murder right? There's multiple types including including labor refered to as an induction abortion, miscarriage which is a spontaneous abortion and lets not forget the people prolifers shit on the most, people whos child is dead or dying in the womb. Even if you have some stupid heath exception, if the world was how you want it to be, those mothers would die with their babies, so carrying and loving and prolife of you guys to want both to die together ❤how horrible.

Murder: the premeditated killing of one human being by another.

The unborn baby is a human being from the moment of conception. That is a scientific fact. It is a living human with its own unique string of DNA.

Abortion: the deliberate termination of a human pregnancy.

There is one goal with abortion and that is killing the child in its fetal state.

Abortion is murder.

Now let’s talk about the types of abortion:

Morning After Pill — Also known as Mifepristone, this oral drug is used during the first trimester. It breaks down the lining of the uterus so that the fetus is devoid of nourishment and cannot be sustained. It takes 24-48 to kill the child, after which a second drug (Misoprostol) is taken to expel the dead fetus from the woman’s body.

Vacuum Aspiration/Suction Abortion — This type of abortion is also performed in the first trimester. The cervix may or may not need to be dilated depending on your anatomy and how far along you are. The abortionist inserts laminaria to absorb moisture. A suction catheter is then used to vacuum the fetus out of the uterus, after which the abortionist uses a curette to remove any remaining pieces of the baby that may have been left behind in the uterus.

Dilation and Evacuation — This is a second trimester procedure. The abortionist will first dilate the woman’s cervix in order to gain access to her uterus and fetus. A suction catheter will then be inserted into the uterus to remove the amniotic fluid. After the fluid is drained, the abortionist will use a sopher clamp (surgical instrument with rows of sharp teeth) to tear apart the child, limb from limb. After dismembering the fetus, the abortionist will scrape the remains from the inside of the uterus with a curette. After the abortion, the abortionist will collect the dismembered parts in order to make sure he or she has effectively removed every part of the unborn child. A shot may be administered before hand to induce a fetal heart attack, killing the child before the invasive portion of the procedure begins, but that is often not the case. It has been noted that the fetus will react to and try to avoid the dismembering tools.

Dilation and Extraction — Also known as a partial birth abortion, this takes place in the third trimester. Because the opening of the woman's cervix must be greatly enlarged, the abortion requires three days with repeated visits for insertion of laminaria. These are pencil-shaped or tapered devices which are inserted into the cervix and gradually dilate the cervix by increasing in diameter as the laminaria absorbs water. Three days later the abortion is performed. The abortionist ruptures the membranes and drains the amniotic fluid. Using an ultrasound on the mother's abdomen, the fetus is identified and orientated within the uterus. Having turned the unborn baby inside the uterus so that he or she is feet first and face down toward the floor, the abortionist inserts forceps into the cervical canal and into the uterus and grasps one of the baby's legs. The other leg with the remainder of the torso up to the baby's neck is then pulled outside of the uterus. The head must remain inside the mother's body, or else the fetus is considered "born alive." Blunt scissors are inserted into the base of the living baby's skull and spread apart to enlarge the hole. The scissors are removed and a suction tube is inserted into the skull and the brains are suctioned out. This kills the baby. The abortionist collapses the head, and the fetus is removed. Then the placenta is cut away. It must be noted that babies born as prematurely as 21 weeks have been able to survive. That means at this point you are killing a baby that could possibly live outside the mothers womb. At this point it no longer becomes an issue of a women’s right to her body because you have chosen to kill a child who could have lived outside the uterus in one of the most horrific ways imaginable.

Things that are NOT abortions:

Ectopic Pregnancies — Over half of ectopic pregnancies resolve by themself by way of miscarriage. There are, however, many cases of ectopic pregnancies being carried through gestation enough so that the fetus is delivered. There are people alive today who were themselves ectopic pregnancies. There’s also studies seeking to make relocating ectopic fetuses to the uterus a more viable option. Ectopic pregnancies are not an argument for abortion.

Natural Miscarriages — Medically known as spontaneous abortion, it is NOT a medical abortion and does not carry the same definition. A miscarriage happens as an involuntary bodily response to the pregnancy. Certain deficiencies, extreme stress, even a history of medical abortions can contribute to why a woman’s body may induce a miscarriage. Anyone who blames a woman for a natural miscarriage knows nothing about science whatsoever. Furthermore, it is callous and cruel to put mothers who are grieving the loss of their child in the same category as mothers who deliberately kill their child. Shame on you.

Fetal Death — If the fetus is dead from natural causes, it is not physically possible for an abortion to take place because abortion, by definition, is killing the baby. You can’t kill something that is already deceased, so I genuinely have no idea what you are getting at there. However, if the baby is still in the process of dying, our responsibility is to try and save it, not kill it faster. If someone has a gunshot wound, you don’t put another bullet in them to finish them off. You get them to the hospital and let the doctors do everything in their power to save them. A couple years back the doctors told a family their baby wouldn’t live to be born. She’s now four years old and one of my favorite kids in the whole world. Doctors may make educated guesses, but they never know how long someone will live, that is so far beyond them.

In closing, abortion is never medically necessary. Abortion, by definition, is strictly killing a fetal life, it never saves one. Sometimes the unborn may die as a secondary cause (ie., chemotherapy), because difficult choices do exist, but all attempts are always made to preserve the life of both mother and child. Inducing a heart attack in a baby is never necessary to save a life. Dismembering a child is never necessary to save a life. The intentional killing of a baby is never necessary to save a life. Abortion never saves a life, it ALWAYS ends a life. Brutally.

Sources:

[x][x][x][x][x]

#abortion #pro life #pro choice #planned parenthood #ask #anonymous #reference

[tarotchariot]

Return with past pick a card

Pick a card reading: Dealing with the hurt

“

This is a free pick a card reading for those going through a challenging or hurtful situation. I’m not certain how these will turn out, but I hope they bring some kind of clarity, peace or comfort to any of you. I understand that some may feel lost and almost begging silently for some help, yet not seeing anything to get advice or a sense of stability from again.

I will use 6 groups to choose from, believe it or not - simply because to me, 6 symbolises harmony and reciprocity. Please know that you are not alone, and something will find you in a wonderful moment.”

So moving on, please take a quiet moment and use your intuition (for example taking 3 deep breaths and clearing your mind, or envisioning a number perhaps)

And choose between the numbers 1, 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , or 6

____________________________________________________

Group 1 :  

Knight of water, The dreamer, Unity, 3 of air, synchronicity

Alright you guys, you had quite a few cards here. At first glance, it’s appearing like a new start is necessary. Maybe something didn’t go well at work or school, or what you thought was a solid and stable place has become uncomfortable due to someone in your vicinity.

It’s odd, it’s looking like someone wasn’t entirely truthful. The angels want to point out that there will always be light and dark.

Getting the vibe of feeling left out, not part of the group anymore. Or at least not feeling like you are. Maybe someone has literally excluded you or pushed you out because of something they see as “bad” in accordance to the groups beliefs or interests. I’m seeing a crisis of faith here.

There’s quite a few possibilities. I’m seeing, maybe for just one singular person that they have lost someone that mattered very much to them. I get such a playful and light hearted energy about the person. Whether you believe in life after death or not, if it were for certain a thing I could say one thing they would be saying to you, even now: Please laugh, have fun.There are so many things to be happy about.

There is a deep loneliness, and for that I feel for you, so much. Your Angel(s) are right next to you.

For others, feeling left out or excluded, most likely undeservedly. However, I’m getting the message that you are being guided to a new way of thinking and being, and to acknowledge that there is good and bad in everyone. No one is perfect, we each have our shadow. Please try not to take their treatment of you personally. It’s more to do with them, and not you. It is projection. It’s likely you have witnessed and seen who can be trusted and cannot. Run with that fact and hold the lovely one(s) close.

Those in this group are being guided extremely in the form of synchronicity. Please be on the look out for further advice, and insight through the following forms, and even more:

Music that really resonates Conversations you over hear Signs out and about Seeing a similar image many times Hearing the same kind of message similar times An idea keeps popping up in your mind Some of you may want to move forward with a creative project. It’s encourages as it will aid you in positively letting out your emotions. Not only that, it may be simple and overlooked, but simply by just spending time and being around any loved one or friend (not even talking directly about your situation) will give a small bit of peace and gratitude.

This is a signal of a new chapter, and you are guided to have the fun you are meant to have.

Hope that did somethin’.

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GROUP 2: 

Queen of earth, Page of air, Ace of earth, The miracle of forgiveness

There seems to be an issue surrounding give and take. Queen of earth talks about kindness, practicality and nurturing. It could also symbolise a mother, or someone who has motherly energy.

With the theme of pentacles, the material, and page of air here who seems to have a wolf around them, I wonder if you have been taken advantage of in the material sense (financially, physically). And it seems you are very aware of this, since forgiveness is the crux, and the advice. It’s like the more you get, the more they take.

I’m seeing there might be debt as well. I’m seeing someone here who has had to uphold a whole lot. You’re the kind that can make things happen. I’m also seeing great resentment, and that doesn’t happen from just anything. Yes, I can’t help but see someone else having a hand in your finances and do whatever they like, or did that in the past. Wasteful. Basically - it’s not fair and it’s cruel, because there’s something here that I see that you want to do, but this is getting in your way.

I’m seeing a talent in you that is not to be wasted. Know that it cannot be taken away - it is yours, and god given, No one can truly take what matters. The comment I receive from the angels is that the abundance for you will always come. What is truly yours and needed will always find its way to you. I feel a very powerful solidarity, independence and ambitious feeling.

Your future is yours, not theirs. Not anybodies.

I would like to also say, that despite this, there really is actually love still there. Whether you want anything to do with them in the future is another thing. You’re asked to (in whatever tiny way you can) try and understand them. Understanding is the first step to forgiveness. And forgiveness opens up doors and new energy for you personally.

I recommend that you try and understand the truth of forgiveness, and not just what you hear or see on tv, This could become something that actually drives you further.

I really see you as such an inspirational and strong person.

That’s what I see for you, thank you.

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GROUP 3: 

Page of earth, six of earth, awakening, eight of air, take time to breathe

So here there are themes of feeling trapped, having to wait, unemployment/difficulty finding a job or career and possibly even being taken advantage of as a student or in a low level job as a trainee. Off the top of my head.

Patience is a big note here. Something is not happening as fast as you would like here, and I can understand how scary/stressful that can be. You might be scared about your security or future here. I’m seeing that you have put a lot of effort into this situation. I’m also seeing that maybe you have felt alone as well, hints of valentines keep coming up.

I’m seeing that you might be under a lot of scrutiny/judgement, so I’m wondering if you guys have been suffering in terms of anxiety or being just plain down, or more. If you have been struggling with confidence or motivation or anxiety, I encourage you see a professional or join a support group/forum online. Even talking things out in a journal can release a lot of that pent up energy,

I’m sensing a lot of pressure that you may be placing on yourself, and I hear the angels want me to say “Darling” withsuch love and care. Please give your worries to the angels. They say they will take care of them. And will take care of some issues.

Oooh, I am truly seeing so many pent up emotions that they encourage you get out - if you have to scream at the ocean, or in a car, do it.

Get it all out, empty your mind for some quiet time, and just be.

You will see the appropriate solutions at the right time, and as a result of taking your mind away from its current habits, you will be so much more capable of seeing them.

Please, give yourself a break. The angels want you to see just how good things are in some ways, and how much you may be focusing too much on others.

Take some time and be willing to see things differently, things can change just that much. The angels want to say how much they love you and adore you, feeling much love for you here. I hope you can feel the peace they want to send you in this writing. And you are capable of so much.

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GROUP 4: 

King of water, The magician, Live your joy

With the king of water here, it’s showing you may be finding it difficult to trust people or life. What feels difficult here is that you may not be receiving the help or advice that you deserve and should be receiving as a default.

It might be showing that a paternal figure in your life is withholding themselves or even being manipulative. Basically, not being the role model they should be.

More than anything though, I’m seeing that you want to create something, something that really gives you joy, that truly speaks for you and is your honest expression. Which makes me think: perhaps there is someone who doesn’t like that. There is certainly an abrasiveness there.

For whatever reason, perhaps someone here doesn’t accept you, or your self expression, or whatever it is that makes you feel right.

When it comes to this, the answer is very simple. Choose to release those binds.

How, you ask.

2 things. simply practice this self expression or take part in whatever it is that you want - that will set the energy up. 2. raise your vibration. Do not involve yourself in the negativity, refuse to take notice of anyone elses expectations or judgements. in general have more fun, express gratitude, see the positive

Truly embrace whatever this is. If it has to be, let it be at night when others are asleep, and build your confidence. Change things bit by bit.

a few of you here may be psychic, or have a spiritual hobby or talent. Embrace this role, you are meant to be someone who spreads higher knowledge and support.

There’s someone I see that plain just doesn’t like change. But hey, since when did it have everything to do with them? never. This is you. The message I’m getting for you guys is: be proud. Be so darn proud of you. No one will ever be big enough to diminish you. You, in spirit, the divine part of you, will always be such a special and wonderful thing to behold. When you live your joy and your truth, you shine like no one else. Let this change you, shape you and gravitate towards joy no matter what this person, or people say. You can create the life you want.

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GROUP 5: 

Three of fire, ten of earth, express your creativity

I’m seeing some distance with loved ones here. perhaps there has been a quarrel, a falling out. Or perhaps a family member has moved a fair bit away. I’m feeling a family or community that was once warm, has experienced some kind of change that has left you feeling quiet, humble and retrospective.

if this is not family, it could be a group of friends that felt like family, or a job where you felt like a family with the team.

I’m seeing for sure for some, that there was a blow up and the effects are still rolling. You may feel as if the effects won’t end, but it appears you will be left alone in that way for the time being. It seems very much on your mind.

It is really looking like the aftermath of a big storm here, a sweeping change or an eruption from an argument that has separated two or more people. For a couple of you it might have been triggered by something very small. I’m seeing a lot of hurt here, true heartbreak. Please know that there will be peace. Things always calm after a storm.

No one seemed to be necessarily right or wrong, it appears to have been something that simmered in the distance for a long time.

All I can say is now, you are on solid ground and it’s time to calm down from it all. Something the angels want to put forward is that the strangest things happen, and we may not understand for the longest time, but it triggers the right change for us, or sets us on a certain route for our most divine path.

I’m seeing the universe, and its connections and paths that we all take, that as humans we couldn’t understand. I do see that one day, when you are comfortable and feeling at home, safe (which I promise you will be) - you will get the zap of a vision. How things worked out. Why. What it led to.

Moving forward I can see the suggestion of working as a co creator and envisioning how you want things to go. What do you want for yourself, or you and your family. What kind of connections do you want. Be as creative and imaginative, and extreme as you want.

The message I get from the angels, again and again, is calm. Take time to be calm, cool down from it all, take a rest, and feel your angel/guide next to you, supporting you and shielding you.

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GROUP 6: 

seven of water, renewal, knight of earth, the inner voice

For some, I’m seeing being worried about the loyalty/faithfulness of another - the recommendation seems to be to look at the dedicated actions of the person. Do they display through action and practical means that you are their priority? (other than their purpose or work of course). Use this as an opportunity to both review if you feel you are receiving the level of dedication and care that you deserve and need.

Perhaps your person has been unfaithful in the past and you decided to give them another chance, but again, there is worry. There are too many factors that you may be holding onto from the past that have no part of the thought process you should be taking, or judging with currently.

So either way, it appears to be a time when you need to judge for yourself, are you able to trust the other or if this gives you what you need. Are you willing to go forward with it? Not just recklessly, not for the sake of it, but after great thought and deliberation.

For others, I’m seeing feeling at a loss as to what to do next in their life/career.I know all too well that this can feel scary and like a major crisis. Straight up, I can say from experience that the answers come gradually, and in a relaxed way in the right timing.

The guidance in both cases is to listen to your inner voice, your higher self.

I know, it sounds a bit annoying, or like it might not give you fast answers but it’s the way that you can feel confident in your own conclusion. It won’t come from anyone elses judgements, words or coercion.

Come to a point where you know you, you know what you want and need, and you only accept the right things.

When it comes to making your decision or conclusion, you may need to discern whether this comes from the angels or higher self, vs the ego. If it comes from the ego, it will speak in terms of winning, of gaining something, or appearing a certain way. If it’s from spirit, it’s often for the highest good of everyone involved, is sympathetic, loving and understanding. It does not judge, only seeks to help.

I would like to affirm for everyone here, that there is much love for you here. And let everything you do, be because of love. Of yourself, and others.

Thank you.

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“Wowwwww that was a lot. Guys, I hope that helped in some tiny way.

I do this simply out of love. I wish you all the best.”

(A copy of an old pick a card reading by myself, not shown on this account until now)

#pick a card reading #pick a card #free pick a card #free reading #my return #tarotchariot #tarot card #tarot cards #tarot card reading #oracle card reading #tarot community #divination #divination community #oracle cards #psychic #angel reading #angels #angel cards #angel tarot #angel oracle

[enby-hawke]

For I Have Sinned Chapter 9

Read on AO3

Ship Malcolm/Leandra

Chapter 9: The Nightmare’s Wrath

TW for graphic violence, racist talk, exploitation of mages, and child abuse. I hope I'm not forgetting any. The Nightmare is not a happy guy. 

Word Count: 11682

Leandra held her family’s rosary, counting the beads between her fingers as she sang the Chant silently to herself. She knew she was at the Maker’s mercy at this point and she had no idea what kind of god he would be right now. Was Isaac innocent enough to be spared His wrath? Sometimes she knew not even that mattered. She had to be strong for her cousin and yet she could find no more strength within her. She needed to make that phone call, inform Revka and yet how could she?

 She felt frozen by death, he had come for her again. With her grandfather at least it was peaceful, in his sleep in his old age. But when the Hartlings were taken by an irreverent drunk driver who survived it himself, it shattered Mara, and she never quite recovered all the pieces.

 Leandra remembered Mara’s dark days. She stopped eating as if she had to punish herself that she still lived. Leandra would bring over meals from her favorite restaurants just to get her to take a few bites. The grief made Leandra awkward. She was so used to leaning on Mara when it came turn to lean on her, Leandra found she could only give old advice, that Mara would see her family again at the Maker’s side.

 But Mara asked a question that still scared Leandra to this day.

 “What if the Chant’s all bullshit and that’s just something people say so we don’t get sad?”

 Leandra didn’t know how to answer that. Mara was angry at the Maker and had lost her faith. Leandra didn’t know how to give it back to her when she had too many questions herself.

 The conversation ended awkwardly, with Leandra trying to get Mara to eat again. A sidestep. A misstep.

 Eventually Mara started pushing Leandra away and everyone else. She partied dangerously, experimenting with anything that could take the pain away for a few moments. Leandra dragged her out of  plenty of seedy   Lowtown houses and backwater bars with Mara fighting her every step of the way, only Gamlen able to calm and steady her.

 He saved her when Leandra couldn’t. He brought brightness back to her life and Leandra had never felt so helpless. Shallow. Useless. Like her faith was.

 She tried to make it up to Mara however she could, it was a regret she’d always hold.

 Now she was praying even as the shreds of her faith were left in tatters? Isaac barely turned nine. Revka had already lost him to the Circle, but to lose him to a demon, she didn’t think Revka would survive it.  

 How could the Maker be so cruel?

 And as much as her nephew’s death scared her, there was another regret Leandra found bubbling up that made her feel vulnerable, like she knew this would break her. Her eyes flicked to Malcolm, his presence so calming and assured. His honey eyes looked so resolute as he signed his death waiver without even a flinch.

 “Do you want to write out some last words to anyone? Any confessions you’d like to make to a priestess?” The First Enchanter asked, tiredness in his voice.

 “No need, I’m not dying,” Malcolm said in the same self-assured manner he always had.

 Leandra bit her lip, his hubris making her panic more than feel at ease and she said, “we should at least bring you to a Sister to give you the Maker’s blessing.”

 “Don’t need that, either,” he gave her that sexy lopsided grin that made her breath stutter even as his words dripped with blasphemy.

 Leandra opened her  mouth, her  words caught for a second, her cheeks hot. “A-are you really so arrogant that you think you don’t need the Maker’s protection?”

 Malcolm’s face then turned serious meeting her eye. “I’d rather skip the rituals. Isaac’s timeline is more important.”

 Leandra’s mouth dropped but found no argument. He made sense and yet to think he would go in the Fade again without the Maker’s hand guiding him. Her heart clenched frightened at how badly it ached at the thought of his loss. That he could die without her knowing what his touch felt like. This feeling felt too premature to be called love but it was so close, it scared her. Too soon, she thought, and yet she wondered now if she was also too late. Would the Maker see Malcolm’s arrogance as a slight and take both Isaac and him from her this day?

 She didn’t know what else to do. She took the rosary from her fingers, and draped the cord around Malcolm’s neck. “Then take this. It’s protected my family for generations.”

 She had held that rosary during every Mass, blessed her family every night with it, and though she hoped it would protect Malcolm she couldn’t see it as anything but a pretty trinket she carried for comfort. Maybe it would protect him, or maybe he could just wear it and think of her. She found she had no more use for it.

 Malcolm dangled the golden sun chain between his fingers as if he had caught the tail of a dead animal. “I do not need to be accused of stealing this.”

 Both the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander seemed surprised by Leandra’s gesture and was unsure what to make of it. “Hawke is right,” the Knight Commander said for the first time, “he’s too irresponsible to handle something so valuable.”

 Malcolm bristled at the implication in the Commander’s tone but Leandra was ahead of him. “Well then I’ll give it to him with all you as witnesses so now you can’t accuse him of thievery.” Her eyes glistened, as she looked at him, imploring him to accept this small token if not the Maker, of herself. “You need it more than I do.”  

 Malcolm’s shoulders dropped, letting the amulet fall against his black robes. He bowed his head in respect, his dark curls falling in his face. “Thank you for your generosity, my lady.” He then added with a wry chuckle, “though something with Isaac’s essence would help me more.”

 Without missing a beat Leandra said, “I have that, too.” She dug through her purse bringing out a children’s book with different automobiles with faces on it. It looked too rudimentary to belong to a nine year old but Leandra said, “This is Isaac’s favorite book. If he has trouble sleeping he might want you to read this just front to back again and again.” The Knight-Commander’s thin lip completely disappeared as she dug out a small cloth bag. “These are his building blocks. He might not warm up right away but if you start building something he’ll absolutely want to join in if you ask.” She closed Malcolm’s hands over the items as she handed them over, the smell of his clover musk soothing her frazzled nerves. “Would any of these help? He hasn’t held these in months.”

 Malcolm nodded, opening the bag with interest. He held a small bright red tile between his fingers. “No, I can tell these mattered to him. They are coated in his essence.” He dropped it back into the bag, the blocks clattering together as he closed it and he gave a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have these back.”

 That’s when the Knight-Commander finally intervened, “I can’t allow these. This goes against regulation.”

 Leandra’s shoulders snapped back in fury. “A child cannot have toys?”

 The First Enchanter leaned in. “Lady Amell, there are many mage children whose family cannot send them toys. It causes jealousy. It is better that he learns that the Circle is home.”

 Leandra couldn’t accept that. “And what home can it be if you’re so harsh that a child cannot play. Is it any wonder my nephew fell prey to a demon!?”

 The First Enchanter gathered the large stack of forms they had wasted time on between his gnarled fingers looking completely uncomfortable with Leandra’s temper that only seemed to be rising. “Lady Amell, please be civil. I understand you are stressed due to these events. Go home. Rest. It is in the Maker’s Hands now.”

 Leandra crossed her  arms, planting her   feet firmly. “Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere until Isaac is safe.”

 The First Enchanter tensed sharing a look with the Knight Commander. “My lady,” the wizard’s mustache twitched, “we don’t have the facilities to house a noble. Your safety must be maintained.”

 Leandra scoffed so hard it blew the bangs from her forehead. “For 10,000 sovereigns you’d better figure it out!”

 A snicker escaped Malcolm’s throat drawing the glares of both the Knight Commander and First Enchanter and that’s when Carver stepped in, an uncomfortable bystander to a convenient rescuer. He bowed his head to the Knight Commander offering a peaceful smile. “I believe the chapel can be isolated for the lady. There she can pray for her nephew’s recovery.”

 The Knight Commander pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache and with a wince he said, “Fine.” His eyes then leveled his most intimidating glare to Leandra as he said, “but the Circle is a military institution, not a day spa. Don’t expect to be entertained.”

 Leandra met his glare with one of her own, though it looked like a chihuahua going after a pit bull. “Oh I’m entertained enough by the fact that you used my family’s misfortune to fatten your coffers. Dare I ask what happens to the mages whose families cannot meet your outrageous price?”

 And like a chihuahua, she went right for their knickers.

 They dropped their eyes from Leandra’s accusatory stare, their faces twisting into uncomfortable grimaces as the silence answered her question.

 Leandra’s heart hardened with more anger. What a barbaric place this was. She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse as she readied to dismiss herself. “Do your duty, gentleman, and know I will be watching.” Even if she had no powers of her own, she could at least hold them to that.

     ---

       Isaac was fine this morning. Malcolm still recalled the huge smile on his face and the boy was practically vibrating at breakfast. Ever since Leandra told him of their connection he made more of an effort to speak to the boy, though the conversations were mostly them making truck noises at each other. Today, though, when Isaac came to bus his tray for Malcolm, Isaac actually spoke words.

 “My mama’s coming,” he bounced up and down.

 “That’s awesome, little dude,” Malcolm offered him the usual friendly high five but the boy was so excited he ended up head bumping the flat of his hand shouting,

 “Beep!”

 It kinda hurt but Malcolm laughed regardless. Then Isaac turned to Taylor with the same excited smile, “My mama’s coming,” he repeated with the excited tone.

 “That’s wonderful, Isaac.” And when he got his praise from Taylor he turned to Charlie.

 To think so much could change in a few hours.

 The Harrowing Chamber still smelled like death and everything was as horrifying as Malcolm remembered it. The Fade here was thin, like a film and Malcolm could hear the faint echo of screams that still carried within the stone, thousands of deaths layered upon the other. If he closed his eyes he could see the last moments of mages meeting their ends.

 Lanterns lit the walls making the room dark and the shadows  bounced   off each other as the ground was discolored by various stains that they failed to scrub out. In the middle of the chamber was Isaac strapped down to a table, sweating profusely, his bangs sticking to his forehead as his body fought the demon the only way it knew how. A bright red barrier surrounded Isaac, keeping him in place in case the transformation completed. He whimpered as he thrashed in his nightmare, his voice still chanting in an echo that repeated itself;

 “My mama’s coming.”

 Along the walls lined the Templars surrounding Malcolm, their guns gleaming in the threat of his failure. The helms hid the Templar’s faces but he could feel the eager energy in the air, ready for slaughter.

 Malcolm’s hands were sweaty with nervousness as he waited for Senior Enchantress Karena to finish her spell.

 Malcolm fiddled with Leandra’s rosary, well his rosary now, but it was coated in her spiritual energy, almost making it feel like her arms were wrapped around his neck. It made him breathe easier in the nightmare of being back in this room. Gave him hope that there was some kind of future for the two of them after this.

 Enchanter Karena hunched over an ancient spellbook reading over the instructions, her glasses giving her fish eyes as she stirred different animal and plant parts into the lyrium brew. She seemed to be taking a long time, cutting things down into the smallest batches and scraping only the tiniest pinches into the mixture.

 Malcolm sat on the gurney that they had wheeled in for him, feeling antsy.  He gazed over the over at the cauldron, the mixture foul and pungent and heady.  “Do you need help?” he offered genuinely.

 The Enchantress scowled, “Excuse me, young man, I have made this spell hundreds of times.”

 Malcolm wasn’t sure how he offended her this time but he gritted his  teeth, biting back   his usual snark. “Look, I'm just trying to speed things along. Isaac doesn’t have a lot of time.”

 “Don’t rush me! If the ratio is off there can be dire consequences,” she snapped but then she turned back to the brew with a frown, “but I’ve never made such a weak concoction. With only one vial of lyrium I’m not sure there will be enough strength to pull you into the Fade.” She glared at  Malcolm, her   squinted eyes enlarged in glass. “If you were boasting, young man, that child will pay the price.”

 Malcolm scoffed. How many times must he prove himself? “I don’t need to boast.” If only he could slip into the Fade right now and skip this charade. He still had a tile from Isaac’s toy bag, even though Carver had to ‘confiscate’ everything else Leandra brought which also included some sour gummy worms, a phone and a drawing his sister made for him. Still, the tile would be enough to track his dream. He didn’t need this witch’s brew.

 Then Enchantress Karena pulled a vial from a case that was especially red, viscous. As soon as she uncorked it an iron smell filled the air.

 Malcolm didn’t like the way it tingled the hairs in his nostrils. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he drank that. He had never ingested lyrium before but he was sure it would make taking care of whatever demon assaulted Isaac a piece of cake.  Malcolm wrinkled his nose in recognition. “Is that what I think it is?”

 Enchantress Karena stiffened as she poured in the vial. “It’s the essence of life and will help tether you to Isaac.”

 Malcolm shook his head. In other words, Isaac’s phylactery.

 He watched as a portion of blood was mixed into the blue shimmery concoction causing it to bubble, the whole cauldron taking a purple sheen as she stirred. It thickened the air with a copper rain-like smell.

 “Soooo, how is this not blood magic?” Malcolm wrinkled his nose. Sure blood would be the easiest way to find his essence but he never expected the Chantry to actually resort to it.

 The Enchantress snarled. “This is nothing like blood magic, blasphemer!”

 Malcolm held up his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I’m just asking a question. Don’t bite my head off.” Still he couldn’t help but feel like the Chantry were a bunch of hypocrites.

 An armored hand clapped his shoulder, gripping slightly in a warning to be quiet. “Let’s let the Senior Enchantress concentrate,” Carver’s voice echoed from underneath his square imposing helm.

 Malcolm sighed, dropping his shoulders as he relented. Of course the Circle sanctioned blood magic under the circumstances they deemed fit. He wasn’t sure why he was even surprised, but it made Malcolm wonder what other secrets the Circle was hiding.

 Carver bent over his eyes gleaming from the darkness of his helmet as he said in a low voice. “Don’t take any stupid chances in the Fade.”

 Malcolm  scoffed, whispering   back, “This isn’t my first hunt. I know what I’m doing.”

 “Still,”  Carver drew   his shoulders together, “it never hurts to be careful.” He lowered his helm to Malcolm’s ear and whispered, “what if it’s that terror demon?”

 Malcolm stiffened. He had considered that as a possibility, and his leg swung impatiently from his seat. “Isaac’s managed to hold on this long. Have a little faith.”  

 Carver nodded, the tension not releasing from his shoulders.

 Soon the purple brew darkened a few shades and the Enchantress took her spoon tapping off the extra liquid back into the cauldron, the sound echoing like a dull bell through the chamber. “It is done.” The Enchantress poured the concoction  into   a goblet and passed it to Malcolm. “Now drink every drop and lie down immediately.”

 Malcolm gagged as he stared at it. Thankfully there  were   only a few mouthfuls to swallow but along with blood he had seen animal organs and poisonous mushrooms ground in. His skin turned a shade greener as he held his breath, unable to take the raw odor.

 But then he remembered he could change the flavor and took a moment to weave the spell over his tongue before he knocked it back into his throat. He tasted strawberries again, but the texture still made him gag and there was still a distinct coppery taste that overlapped the flavor and burned into his nostrils. He forced himself to swallow before he coughed wishing he had soured something else. The liquid numbed his mouth and his throat and he found himself unable to say anything as he tried his best not to throw up.

 “Lie down,” she reminded him curtly, pressing his nails into his shoulder and back into the gurney.

 His head knocked  against a firm   cushion, the swirling feeling overtaking him as the room started to discolor and spin.

 She then snapped her head at Carver as she took Malcolm’s arm and strapped him down with the leather bindings. “Bind him firmly, Knight Captain.”

 Carver obeyed, his helm obscuring his expression, but his fingers shook as he bound his friend’s limbs tightly to the gurney.

 The ceiling melded into indescribable colors but then Malcolm realized it was because the Enchantress had activated the containment barrier they had drawn around Malcolm. The room was swirling as his skin prickled with energy, the lyrium buzzing in his blood so it seemed to be singing.

 The pull was immediate, the room melting away and replaced by images of a green sky, the stone walls growing into jagged hills as a road stretched before him, unpaved and uneven the hills glittering with the darkest obsidian. The Fade felt so real, the air smelling like the sea, the gravel crunching beneath his body as he pushed himself upright from the ground.

 Usually traversing the Fade felt like walking through a memory, details not always in focus, but he could see every whorl on his fingers, feel the breeze wafting through his hair, smell the dirt coming from his clothes. He looked behind him and saw that he was trapped on an island, a sharp fall into a bottomless chasm that stretched out like the sea. The island stretched upwards and upwards into a tower so high that the clouds  obstructed the view   from the top. The other islands lay barren and pulverized, every path destroyed except the one forward.

 Malcolm thought for a second that he had been deposited to the gates of the Black City but when he gazed over the chasm, there it  hung   in the sky, looking closer than ever. He plucked the Fade strings with his fingers, reaching out to Compassion.

 She didn’t answer him.

 In fact nothing did.

 That’s when Malcolm noticed there was something strange about the way the Fade here was constructed. For one the usual hum of spirit chatter was nonexistent, the Fade strings seemingly gnarled and cut up. He could sense no connection to any spirits like he was a shorting circuit, and it gave Malcolm a sense of unease. He couldn’t read the terrain like he usually could. It just seemed like the whole area was frozen in a silent scream. The memories of the Fade had been stripped completely blank somehow.

 “Somniari?” Compassion’s voice finally rang out in his mind and he flinched like he had been burnt, but the feeling faded into discomfort. The hair on the back of his neck stood at end as the voice coated him, primal fear seeding in him, but he was quickly reminded of his previous conversation with Compassion and bit down the feeling as best he could so he would not warp her.

 “A child is in danger of being possessed,” he said aloud, the connection starting to feel more familiar each second, the unease subsiding as he chalked it up to being in the middle of a demon’s web. “I could use the backup.”

 “A child? Oh dear, I must come immediately,” her voice said with more enthusiasm than usual. Malcolm thought it odd, but before he could think much on it she appeared before him, her robes more fitted than before. Her eyes burned brightly, but the azure color a shade more lilac than he remembered, but no sooner than he thought that in a blink, the color looked more familiar, and Malcolm chalked it up to a trick of the light.

 “Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Malcolm kept polite, but his eye never left Compassion studying her as she took in her surroundings in interest.

 She gazed down at the abyss, her braid dangling almost like a snake with how it moved.

 Forcing down uncertainty he said, “I think I sense Zefuckwad here, but I’m not completely sure. Something’s wrong with this place, right?”

 Compassion’s eyes flashed as the corner of her lips quirked in a smile for once not correcting Malcolm’s mispronunciation. “This realm is sundered, memories swallowed, but whether it is the work of Zelophehad remains to be seen.” Her voice tripped over the terror demon’s name, and for a moment it seemed like the Fade stirred, as if it flinched.

 Malcolm could agree with her assessment. There was no memory in the stone, no whispers telling him of secret knowledge. “I’m certain,” he suppressed a shiver. “Only felt like this once before. And the fact Isaac was taken doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

 The spirit pricked up at Isaac’s name. “I sense your connection to the boy. He is precious to you?”

 Malcolm’s gut twisted. “Not to me,” he admitted. He suddenly wished he had made more of an effort to build a connection. The boy seemed lonely. He never seemed to hang out with anyone his own age, but clung to his teacher’s skirts.

 “Ah,” Compassion cocked her head in sudden understanding. “The connection is to the one is Bound to your heart. My mistake.”

 Malcolm suddenly felt uncomfortable, unsure what was relevant about this conversation, though to hear Leandra was Bound to his heart did strike a sense of joy in him. He could sense the Compassion spirit watching his reaction in interest and he decided it was time to change the subject.

 “I can track Isaac,” Malcolm said, feeling the block that still was tucked in his physical hand. He pinched his fingers, feeling the ridges, and soon the little plastic red tile formed shining brightly. He let the tile go, letting it take life. It blinked in it’s yellow light, flitting around in a circle as if it was trying to  get a sense   of direction.

 “Impressive,” Compassion nodded, “and so what do you need me for?”

 Malcolm touched the tile and it spun, glowing like a star in the murky Fade. “To keep me alive.”

 The tile floated like a wisp, droplets of light leaving after images of where it flew. It darted up the rocky path bouncing up and down as it waited for it’s master to follow. Malcolm sighed, dropping his shoulders as his feet crunched up the rocky steps.

 The castle hills were craggy that slid down and threatened to plummet them into the chasm below. The walls of the castle crowded them against the cliff, as if they were reaching for Malcolm. Some of the steps crumbled beneath his feet, the rocks clattering down to the bottom and into the pit. The beacon stayed in sight flitting just out of reach leading Malcolm higher and higher until they reached a deserted courtyard. Ruined rubble filled the area, the grass dead brown and dry. Two beheaded statues guarded a dark murky portal that served as the castle’s door. The beacon floated between the crossed axes of the statues spinning in place before it sucked into the hazy rippling portal with a bloop.

 Malcolm looked to Compassion. “Isaac’s inside but I don’t like the idea of just charging in blindly.”

 Compassion looked between the cracks of one of the large walls  that   caged them in, her lips in a small thin line. “What are you suggesting?”

 Malcolm thought for a second. He had never had to be so careful on a hunt before and he wanted to do this as stealthily as possible. “Can you coat me with your essence? I can hide my physical form but if the demon can track my aura it would be pointless.”

 Compassion looked hesitant, even though the request seemed simple enough. “Your aura is so powerful I’m not sure mine will do much to mask it.”

 “Do you have a better idea?”

 She smiled. “I do,” she then opened her hand and in a flash of white light a staff of dark gnarled twisted wood with long purple thorn spikes appeared in her hand. “This is Thornheart. Use it in the coming battle.”

 As Malcolm’s fingers wrapped around the shaft, his hair raised up in alarm. He had never felt so much power in his hand, and he suddenly felt stronger, faster, more alert. He balanced the staff, feeling the ridges of the bark beneath his fingers, an unsettled feeling sinking inside him. “Not sure if a branch is going to help me.”

 “It is my soul in solid form. It is the greatest aid I can offer.”

 Malcolm felt her power seeping into him, her foreignness feeling like a leather glove over his skin. The way the magic melded together made him slightly nauseous, like he had gorged on too many sweets. The energy gave  him   a buzzing feeling, and he felt like he needed to run a few laps to burn it off. He ignored that and waved the staff instead, trying to pull parts of the Fade into himself to help mask his presence. By the second turn of the staff he was completely invisible.

 “I’m right behind you,” Compassion spoke in his direction though it offered no comfort.

 Malcolm gritted his teeth as he looked at the portal, feeling that familiar darkness lurking within. The demon could have wiped Isaac out at any second, but Isaac was alive, being toyed with. And Malcolm felt responsible for putting him there. If he was smart enough to use  the boy   as bait, then this changed everything.

 With a steadying breath, he steeled himself for the worst and stepped inside.

 Suddenly he was in a mansion, grander than he had ever stepped in before. Kids' drawings filled the walls and toys were everywhere, servants surrounded them in a flurry as they brought down luggage from a grand staircase. A tall brown man with a silky mustache that connected to his beard and a wide nose was walking down the stairs as two screaming children held his legs, one a little girl with long brown hair and bright brown eyes, and the other boy he recognized as Isaac.

 “Daddy please,” the little girl held onto his pants leg as if she was holding onto her life. “Daddy please don’t go.”

 Isaac just kept repeating the same phrase over again like a mantra. “I’m sorry.”

 The man practically kicked his children off. “Get off me! I’m not your father. Your mother’s a cheating whore.”

 Malcolm clenched his fist, ready to clock the man, but moving in dreams was not like moving through life. Each part was played by a different demon, only Isaac the true player. Malcolm stepped closer to the family, waiting for his moment to strike.

 The man headed for the door, Isaac dragging on his heels. “Daddy,” he sobbed, snot bubbling down his nose. “Daddy. I love you.”

 The man recoiled as if he had been hit. He bared his teeth, “You are a thing. You don’t even work right. There is no way I am your father.”

 That’s when Malcolm almost swung, but before Malcolm could, another demon came from one of the back rooms and started throwing clothes at the man. She was a plump woman with warm caramel skin and a long satin dress. “Get out!” she screamed. “Say no more words to my children and leave before you infect them with more poison.”

 The man’s nostrils flared. “Gladly. Just don’t come running after me for coppers to feed these creatures.”

 She huffed, angry tears in her eyes. “As if I ever needed your money.”

 The man slammed the front door in Isaac’s face, almost smashing his fingers. “Daddy,” he said in a broken voice.

 His mother scooped him up as he cried  on her   shoulder, Malcolm breathing a sigh of relief. Now he just needed to find a way to speak to Isaac to wake him up without alerting the rest of the demons. He tried to find where Compassion was in the nightmare but she had gone oddly silent ever since he stepped through.

 The boy sobbed into his mother’s chest, the other little girl reached for her with outstretched hands as she joined in the family cry.

 “I’m sorry, loves, I’m sorry,” Isaac’s mother wiped her children’s eyes. “We’re cursed. We’re a cursed family. This is all my fault.”

 Malcolm tensed as Isaac renewed his wailing.

 The little girl stopped crying and  said.   “Mama, how do we break the curse?”

 The woman smiled through her tears as she cupped the little girl’s face. “It’s simple. We die.”

 Isaac took fistfuls of his  mother's skirts  . “Mama, no. Mama, no.”

 The woman took hold of his chin with a razor smile. “Oh, my sweet  child, I   should have drowned you at birth. It would have saved you so much suffering.”

 That’s when Malcolm finally revealed himself, slicing the demon’s hand with a wave of his staff. He gra

 “Mama!” A frightened Isaac elbowed Malcolm in the face.

 Malcolm gave him some more room but didn’t let him go.

 “That’s not your mother, look at her more closely,” he struggled to keep the boy still. He was surprisingly strong for his small size.

 The boy reached out for his Mother, her arm not bleeding as much as it should. Her teeth and eyes looked sharper but it didn’t seem to matter to Isaac. He couldn’t see past his nightmare.

 The woman waved with her unhurt hand. “Isaac. Mama’s leaving now. And she’s never      ever    coming back.”

 “No, that’s not your mom. Your Mom is waiting for you to wake up, little dude,” Malcolm forced the boy to face him but  Isaac's eyes   couldn’t leave  his   mother.

 Isaac’s Mother grabbed his sister’s hand and with a sly smile turned her hand on the doorknob. And then Malcolm realized his mistake. He had forgotten to protect the portal.

 As soon as the woman opened the door every corner of the room filled with blackness, the only slits of light now emanating from the  goat's eyes   splitting from the darkness. The servants and Isaac’s family started to warp as the nightmare changed into more sinister shadow forms. Isaac’s outstretched hand lay frozen as the face of his mother morphed into Compassion.

 Except now Malcolm could finally see that it wasn’t Compassion at all. The demon was wearing Compassion’s face, but her skin was now too purple, her eyes darkening to a malevolent shade of violet glowing like embers.

 A desire demon. Her brown hair started to float as it mimicked the fire that should be on her head.

 Malcolm instinctively reached for his weapon but the staff wrapped around his wrists, thorns snaking into his arms and into his torso. Malcolm let Isaac go before the thorns could wrap around him, too.

 Malcolm tried to speak, tried to tell Isaac to wake up, but only blood coughed out of his mouth.

 “Mama?” Isaac cowered from the figure in confusion, his eyes and heart seeming to wrestle with  what was happening  .

 The Desire demon outstretched both arms, her hand regrown into  thorn-like   points, her robes turning into flowing strands of silk. “Bound and offered, Master, as you commanded. I told you my plan would  work  .”

 The goat eyes swirled in amusement as another figure loomed in the portal forming in the tendrils. “So you said, Avarice. I am most impressed.”

 Malcolm’s spine chilled, trying to move, but the more he struggled the more it hurt. He could feel something stabbing his heart, keeping him from speaking, but even if he could his words would be stolen from him. The voice the demon took raised all of Malcolm’s hair on end and he withheld a tremble as his father stood before him.

 The elf was all lean muscle, his fists scarred and fingers broken from fistfights and punching walls. Malcolm forgot how much he looked like his father, the same nose, the same shaggy curls, the same smattering of freckles, even his eyes were the same shade of gold except instead of regular pupils they were square like a goat. They blinked eerily, the corner of his eyes and lips wrinkled into sharp lines.

  Malcolm knew he made a mistake but he was so focused on Zelophehad he had never considered the demon would team up with another to trick him, never considered that the demon would successfully dig out the thing in his psyche that would freeze him in place. He watched helplessly as the Desire demon sauntered up the steps towards Isaac, holding her arms out in a welcoming hug.

 “Come to Mama.”

 Isaac stood his ground, trembling in fear. “Y-you’re…not…” The boy couldn’t finish his sentence. He stood instinctively near Malcolm, even though there was nothing Malcolm could do to protect him at this point.

 Malcolm tried to push through the pain, his panic riding against him in an oncoming wave, but couldn’t let himself be overcome. He saw only one option, and he started to subtly weave threads from the tips of his fingers towards Isaac.

 The demon was coming closer, faster, it was hard to focus on weaving the magic with the fear eating at his nerves.

 “Your mama’s never coming back. But I can be your mama. I promise I’ll never abandon you, child.”

 Malcolm panicked as the demon closed in, about to grab Isaac but before she could Zelophehad blinked beside the demon and grabbed her wrist. He raised a thick eyebrow, his sneer almost a smile. “And what are you doing with my snack?”

 The Desire demon looked too terrified to fight, but the confusion on her face was apparent. “M-master, I thought this was what was agreed?”

 WIth a flick of Zelophehad’s wrist, he broke the demoness’ wrist and she howled in pain staggering back. “I agreed to let you have my scraps, but if you’re so impatient you’re welcome to be included on the menu.”

 The demoness looked conflicted. The anger was apparent on her face. “This is how you repay my service? You will reap what you sow.”

 Then she blinked away from sight leaving Malcolm alone with his terror demon.

 Malcolm had forgotten how overpowering the demon’s presence was, blanking out thought.

 Isaac shuffled towards Malcolm grabbing his hand in fright, and Malcolm squeezed back, trying to offer what comfort he could.

 “So shall I eat the boy first?” the demon circled them lazily, slouching with confident ease. Tendrils of dark tentacles circled around his legs and snaked up his arms reaching out to taste the fear on Malcolm’s bound body. “Or will you chivalrously go first?”

 Every movement still shredded him, but he found with Avarice gone, her magic was no longer overpowering and he could force himself to speak. “Real cocky considering you made your servant do your dirty work.”

 “And why not?” Zelophehad said with a gleeful smile. “Is it not what they are for?”

 Malcolm scoffed, though that made a thorn stab deeper into his ribs. He held onto Isaac’s hand his Fade strings wrapping around his balled fist. He saw only one way out of this. “You haven’t won, yet.”

 “Good,” the demon grinned. “I like a meal that has fight. Let’s see how brave you are after I eat your charge.” Then the tendrils wrapped around Isaac pulling him towards the demon.

 Isaac screamed, squeezing onto Malcolm’s hand, and Malcolm  pulled, wrapping   the rest of the Fade strings firmly around Isaac.

 Malcolm closed his eyes, diving into the depths of his psyche and pulling Isaac along with him. He felt the pain intensify as Zelophehad tried to rip Isaac away from him, but Malcolm pulled them safely both into the safety of his mind.

 Their spirits tumbled as the Fade tried to give form to their consciousness, Isaac and Malcolm’s memories melding together in projections in every corner he saw, the overlapping memories serving as the Fade’s usual hum. Malcolm could feel the terror demon ripping  off the w  alls of his defenses, following him inside. He was at his most powerful since it was his mind therefore his dream, but he was also cornered, trapped. If the terror demon managed to overwhelm him here, he had no more tricks to pull, no hidden hole to dive in.

 Malcolm wouldn’t have done this if he had another choice.

 He needed to become conscious, take control of the dream, find Isaac and wake them both back to safety, but that was easier said than done. The Fade had not become so much as moldable clay but a projection of thoughts and wants sprung to life with just a breath. Any stray thought, no matter how tiny, could derail everything.

 It took all of Malcolm’s energy to focus in the dream fog, like a dulling drug to his senses muting his thoughts. Isaac. He needed to find Isaac. He repeated the name in his head, not allowing any other thoughts to surface. He suddenly recalled something Leandra said after gifting him the rosary, which was like a warm tether on his neck. Without another thought he tore off parts of the Fade and reshaped them into brightly colored blocks.

 And started building a simple wall. He clicked the pieces together, slowly building as he started to recite what he could remember from the book Leandra brought.

 “In this big wide world,

 We all have a place

 Every bee needs it’s rose,

 Every rose needs it’s vase.”

 Soon the walls formed into a house where he left room for a couple windows and an opening for the door. The shadows of Isaac’s memories strengthened with each stack of the block, as Malcolm led his spirit back to him.

 “But where do the broken and stinky things go?

 When the pen in the ink refuses to flow

 Do we keep all the clutter? Does anyone know?”

 “Yes,” a small voice finally answered him, “it goes in Mr. Dumpdump’s tow.”

 He looked up from his work to see that Isaac had joined him, taking the blocks in his hands with focused effort as he started crafting his build.

 “Hey, little dude,” Malcolm sighed in relief. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

 But Isaac wasn’t listening to Malcolm. His eyes never left his hands as he built up the walls of his structure with impressive speed, all while reciting the book like a mantra.

 “He takes what is bad

 So things can be good

 Isn’t he the best neighbor

 In the whole neighborhood?”

 The Fade churned as the walls of the dream struggled to take shape in the competing mindscapes of Isaac and Malcolm, the familiar Circle the only common ground for the Fade to form in. Malcolm could tell Isaac was paler than usual, his eyes seemingly blank as if he was far away and not at all aware what his hands were doing. The Fade was practically responding to his creative urges forming walls around him, as if he was trying to block himself in.

 Malcolm crept up to Isaac, his fingers reaching out hesitantly. “I’m going to wake you up, now, but I need you to trust me.”

 “How can you trust him?” Revka’s disembodied voice rang shrilly across the Fade. Suddenly Revka was there dressed in fitted royal purple silk, her brown hair loose around her shoulders. She outstretched a pointed nail at Isaac, her pupils too square to be human but everything else was a remarkable likeness. Yet Isaac was frozen, staring at the image of his Mother with a tremble as he fumbled with his blocks. “Come to Mama, Isaac. Let me in.”

 Malcolm stepped closer, imploring Isaac to listen. “She’s not real. Your real Mom is waiting for you to wake up.”

 The demon smirked with a sharp toothed smile. “I’m your Mama. This elf is the one who is not real. Why would he help you?”

 Isaac blinked at Malcolm, his eyes suddenly filled with distrust.

 Malcolm held up his hands showing open palms forming no spells. “This is a bad dream, Isaac. You can end it now if you wake up.”

 “If you wish hard enough you could have more than just this little reality,” Revka’s laugh tittered as the Fade started to shape into what Malcolm could only guess was some twisted form of Isaac’s old bedroom. The building blocks seemed to take a life of their own building into the sides of the room. Kids drawings filled the walls and books filled dragon shaped shelves. Revka sat down on Isaac’s bed, her fingers beckoning him to come closer.

 Isaac’s eyes filled with tears. “I-I can’t.”

 Malcolm dared to take one step closer to Isaac. “Let me help you wake up.”

 The Nightmare growled, the room distorting color. “He wants to kill you. Don’t let him get close!”

 Isaac froze, as if he didn’t consider that and backed away from Malcolm. When Malcolm took another step closer Isaac took another step back closer to the Nightmare.

 Malcolm gritted his teeth, wondering what he could do to prove to Isaac that he was really him and not some twisted imitation. He needed to prove to Isaac he was real, but he didn’t know how.

 And then it hit him and Malcolm took a deep breath and belted out the loudest most obnoxious “HOOOOOOOONK!” he could manage.

 The Nightmare blinked in confusion as the boy broke down in a fit of surprised giggles.

 Malcolm joined in the carefree laughter, ignoring the glaring Nightmare demon and said, “Hey, don’t leave me hanging. Your turn.”

 The boy didn’t hesitate, he threw back his head and screamed, “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!” in a louder, more obnoxious way that only a 9 year old could manage.

 The Nightmare’s forces seemed to be shrinking in the laughter and the demon scowled. “How undisciplined. I guess it’s time to punish you until you listen.”

 Then the Nightmare leapt, his claws forming into long scythe-like points as he raked for Isaac.

 Malcolm twisted the Fade around the Nightmare and turned into a crushing prison, paralyzing the demon for a moment but he wasn’t sure with its strength how long it would hold.

 He turned back towards Isaac who was now huddling behind his constructed wall, his head in his knees and his hands over his ears.

 Malcolm crept beside him. “Little dude,” he said in a hurried voice. “You need to wake up now.”

 “I c-can’t,” he sobbed into his knees, holding fistfuls of his hair.

 The demon howled in pain, causing Isaac to tremble.

 Malcolm reacted with haste touching his forefingers to each side of Isaac’s temples, pouring his magic into him.

 Isaac popped up socking Malcolm in the jaw as he gasped in shock.

 The jab hurt but Malcolm held firm and Isaac’s next fist went through Malcolm as he faded back into the waking realm where he was safe from the Nightmare’s grasp.

 Suddenly a claw wrapped around his neck, digging into his skin but no sooner did the Nightmare grab hold did he fling his hand back like he was burnt.

 Malcolm looked down to find the rosary around his neck glowing in what he could only describe as a heavenly light.

 Warm trickles of blood seeped down Malcolm’s neck and when he touched the cord it grew hot. A strange and unfamiliar sensation ran through him.

 Malcolm wasn’t sure what happened. That was no spell he weaved and yet the demon seemed to eye his rosary with a wariness that he didn’t reserve for the man himself.

 The Nightmare’s face contorted, its shape shifting into several darkspawn like forms before it settled onto the face of Malcolm’s father, but Malcolm was a bit more ready for it this time. Still the sight of the man before him made him take an uneasy step back, his nerves instinctively screaming at him to wake up from this nightmare.

 “Are you going to face me like a man or run like a rabbit?”

 Malcolm clenched his fists, the slur even from a demon like a punch to the gut. Still, he knew when he was being baited. “Yeah real manly going after a child. You really do take after my father.”  Part of him wanted to throw every spell he knew at his disposal. It was his dream, but he was facing the Nightmare. He knew it was smarter to run.

 “I’ll take that as a compliment,” the demon examined his burn in disinterest, a casual smirk on his lips. “But I have to say if you don’t get rid of me now, I only plan to become a bigger problem.” He tapped a finger on his lip. “Shall I try to eat Charlie next? Taylor?”  

 Malcolm’s heart froze in his chest as the Nightmare’s golden goat eyes seized him in place with the next name that fell from his smirking lips.

 “Leandra has been looking awfully delicious,” the Nightmare fell back to the rosary neck and gestured to his burned hand imprinted with its beads. “Shall I pay her a visit now that you’ve generously supplied her essence?”

 Malcolm saw red, sending crackling energy at the demon but it disappeared in a blink and his lightning bolt hit a wall of colorful blocks scattering them.

 The demon suddenly appeared behind him delivering a stunning blow to the back of Malcolm’s head.

 He saw stars as he struggled to reorient himself. He sent a clumsy fireball at the demon’s direction, but even if the demon didn’t teleport out of reach again the ball would’ve barely grazed the demon.

 Malcolm was ready for the Nightmare to be in his blindside again, and moved to dodge, but his foot was caught. He looked down to see that a tentacled hand had wrapped around his ankle from the floor and prevented him from missing the crushing blow to his nose that made his eyes water.

 Blood spattered from his face, streaming down his nose so he couldn’t breathe. It felt broken. Jostled, he picked himself up enough only for a blow to the chest that knocked the wind out of him.

 This went on for a while, Malcolm barely keeping his footing as he absorbed blow after blow that he was too slow to react from, each spell dying in his hand before he could fling it. He was unsure why the demon chose to use his fists over something more lethal like magic or claws or anything, but Malcolm realized that even with those goat eyes when he was staring at that face the punches hurt more, his reflexes were more hesitant, and that familiar taunting laugh tripped him off balance.

 This didn’t feel so much of a fight as a beating.

 “What’s the matter, boy?” The demon punched Malcolm in the stomach, avoiding the rosary by inches. There was an unexpected weight behind each punch but this one felt like being hit by a freight train and Malcolm keeled over, almost throwing up blood. “Weren’t you supposed to be teaching me a lesson?”

 The demon then knelt beside Malcolm's crumpled form and caressed his curls fondly, which made Malcolm shiver as distant memories were quickly brought to the surface. “I’m going to take everything you love sooner or later. You have two choices, the painful way, or the less painful way. It’s up to you.”

 Malcolm tried to flee, to wake himself up, but all he could do more was cough and gasp as he tried to breathe through his pain, the memories of his childhood terror so fresh, he was trembling. His voice was caught in a web he couldn’t get out of. All he could do is touch the rosary around his neck, praying for the help that burned the demon before.

 The Nightmare seemed to sense this so he sighed, grabbing fistfuls of Malcolm’s curls. “The painful way, then.”

 One punch shattered his nose.

 “Even if Leandra loves you, she’ll always love her status more.” Malcolm struggled to breathe as another punch knocked out a tooth. “They’ll laugh at your children.” Another punch dislocated his jaw. “What kind of a father will you be anyways?” By the fourth punch he was losing consciousness, and he struggled to grasp for his body in the waking world before it was too late. Suddenly the Nightmare stopped and took in a heavy annoyed sigh.

 “You are intruding, little spirit.”

 Malcolm’s spotty vision noticed a blinding glow in the darkness in the room. He raised his head to see Compassion, the real Compassion shining brilliantly, a rainbow crystal staff wielded in her hands.

 “Have you not feasted enough, Zelophehad? Is your hunger so great you must swallow everything in your path?”

 The demon smirked malevolently, his bloody knuckles cracking as he clenched his fist. “My gluttony is boundless. My wrath is unquenchable. My greed unsatiable. A little compassion will do nothing to stop me.”

 Compassion stood vigilantly, unshaken, her staff brightening with indescribable colors from the carved crystals. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

 She met Malcolm’s gaze, his head trapped in Zelophehad’s fist, her azure fire eyes burning. “Somniari, trust me,” And then Compassion turned the crystals to the ground, and poured light that made the floor glitter like diamonds.

 “Awaken again, my friends,” Compassion poured more healing magic into the Fade, the air brightening to a more normal greenish hue.

 The demon hissed, dropping Malcolm to cut off Compassion.

 Malcolm hit the floor with a thud, breathing in the magic, that seemed to soothe his aching, broken body. Suddenly, the Fade was no longer silent, a rush of hurried frightened whispers of the particles of the Fade woke up and filled up Malcolm’s thoughts with indecipherable chatter.

 “Shut up!” Zelophehad bellowed as he dove for Compassion, his claws coming out to scythe-like points but she blinked out of sight and then beside Malcolm.

 She knelt down and touched him with her iridescent hand.

 The magic was almost instant. In one breath, everything ached, like shards of bone were digging into his gut, his eye was swollen shut, his nose too mangled to breathe through, and then in the next moment it was like coming up from a cool pond. There was an uncomfortable sensation of bones knitting back into place, as a cooling healing touch soothed his burning skin. In a few moments he could move more normally again, his vision clear, his mind alert.

 Zelophehad growled holding up his hand and a beam of concentrated dark light shot towards Compassion. Malcolm, still grounded, threw up a barrier without thinking, and Compassion did the same. The double barriers cracked but held but the force still blew them back. Zelophehad kept the assault, making the beam bigger, the energy arcing wildly.

 “Wake up!” Compassion ordered.

 Malcolm balked, his energy being drained by trying to keep the barrier reinforced. “Don’t you need help?”

 “You’re in the way,” she sneered, which was like a slap in the face to Malcolm. Still, as much as that stung he couldn’t argue that he pretty much had his ass handed to him that fight.

 “Fine,” he scoffed, pulling back the magic, and reaching for his body back in the waking world. As he did, the barrier started to crack, light showing through.

 Malcolm hesitated, pouring more magic into the barrier.

 “I have this handled. Flee, you fool!” Compassion hissed, the crystals of her staff quivering in effort. Suddenly the Fade air shimmered around Compassion, sealing the cracks in her barrier as soon as they formed.

 Malcolm wasn’t sure what Compassion’s plan was, but it was clear she knew more about what she was doing than Malcolm did, so he pulled back his magic completely, and concentrated on reaching his body. It was quicker with the lyrium in his system. He could feel the buzz of it speed up his magic in a way he didn’t think possible so that instead of falling he felt like he was flying back. He was unsure what magic Leandra had given him, but all he knew was that she saved him.

 Red light finally filtered through his eyes, and he opened them quickly to find blood all over his face and robes and every templar pointing a gun at him. Even Carver.

 Malcolm gulped nervously, his limbs still bound to the gurney. He found himself struggling not to panic at the sight of his friend holding a barrel at him. “I’m not possessed.”

 Carver lowered his gun slightly, but there was a hesitancy to it. “I’m sorry Malcolm, but we’re going to need a test.”

 Malcolm’s gut dropped. He had forgotten that Carver was still a templar though it would be harder to forget in this moment. He gave a nervous, bloody grin and said. “Yeah, dude, whatever you need.”

 Carver walked up to the barrier and turned to the Senior Enchanter and said, “lower it.”

 Enchanter Karena nodded and with a wave of her staff the red barriers around Malcolm and Isaac came down.

 Carver looked over at Isaac who was strapped to his own bed with a frightened look on his face.

 “I’m not going to hurt you,” Carver said in the most soothing voice as he could manage, though it was hard to believe with his gun strapped to his side.

 He took out a device that looked like a small tablet and scanned Isaac’s head. Isaac squirmed to the side as the device beeped and fed Carver information. It was supposed to be the templar’s foolproof way of thwarting possession, looking for extra brain waves or unusual activity. Though sometimes mages that looked completely fine were sometimes pulled because of weird readings so it never failed to make Malcolm nervous.

 Though whatever was on the screen seemed to satisfy Carver. He started unbinding the straps, turning to the Senior Enchanter and said, “get this boy into the infirmary. He’s very weak.”

 She nodded and hurried to Isaac, unbinding him fully so he could stretch out his arms and legs. He sat up reluctantly, helped by the Enchantress, who proceeded to cover him with a blanket to help with his shiver.

 Carver approached Malcolm with the scanner, and ran it over his head.

 Malcolm could hear the device whirring and beeping. This wasn’t the first time he’d been scanned but it never failed to heighten his nerves.

 Carver’s voice was a whisper as he eyed the drying blood on Malcolm’s face. “Are you alright?”

 To be honest Malcolm wasn’t sure. His body didn’t ache anymore, but the pain was like a ghost haunting him, his father’s cruel mocking laugh still ringing in his ears. He wondered for a second if Compassion made it out alright, or if he had gotten her killed. He might have gotten Isaac safely back, but this felt like a defeat.

 “I just need to see Leandra,” his voice was almost begging. He wasn’t even sure if it was protocol, but he just needed a moment, so it all could mean something. He wasn’t sure if he would last if he didn’t end the day at least seeing her face.

 Carver started unstrapping his ties as the templars lowered their guns hesitantly, looking at each other in disappointment. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

       ---

       Revka’s sobs filled the chapel as she squeezed Leandra’s hand in a vice-like grip. She had taken the first plane back to Kirkwall and had stormed the Circle, along with Guillaume, Mara and Gamlen who had generously picked her up from the airport. (Well Mara and Gamlen were supposed to, but Guillaume insisted on coming to show support to Leandra.)

 Now the five of them were huddled in a group prayer as they begged the Maker for Malcolm to succeed.

 The nuns were all very accommodating, reciting the proper Chants with them, and invoking protections on Isaac on Malcolm from afar, though Leandra felt so powerless she felt like she was only doing it to keep her and Revka sane. Because they had to do something to make the time pass.

 When asked about the rosary during prayer, because Leandra always prayed with her rosary, she evasively said she lost it and hoped it would never come up again. She was surprised when Gamlen scolded her, because he wasn’t particularly religious. Still, she knew what he would think if she told him the truth.

 “It’s my fault,” Revka sobbed, breaking from the Chant as she crumpled in exhaustion. The others broke off from the Chant, looking away to give Revka the privacy of a breakdown. Even Gamlen didn’t have anything smart to say for once.

 “No,’ Leandra squeezed her hand. “You can’t think that.”

 The tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head. “What kind of Mother is not there for her children? Colette’s all alone at home. I had to abandon Anna during our visit and now Isaac...is lost.”

 Leandra pulled Revka in for a hug unsure of what other comfort to offer. “Have faith in the Maker, Revka. He will deliver Isaac.”

 ‘And Malcolm,’ she added silently. She didn’t dare say his name aloud while Guillaume was by her side.

 Suddenly the doors to the chapel pulled open and all of them turned to see who disturbed them. Carver and the Knight Commander stepped through, side by side, Leandra deflated, thinking that they were by themselves when Malcolm finally lagged behind, a noticeable sag to his shoulders and a sluggishness to his steps.

 Revka stood up and pushed her way forward towards the Knight Commander. “Isaac. He is safe?” It was a command rather than a question.

 “He is, my lady, you can rest easy,” Carver bowed his head with a warm smile on his lips.

 Revka’s eyes then overflowed with tears. “Thank the Maker. And thank you Commander.”

 The Knight Commander preened at the gratitude. “Only doing our part.”

 Revka’s hands flew to her eyes as she hastily wiped them. “Can I see him? Just for a moment.”

 Carver looked imploringly at the Knight Commander who seemed uncomfortable with the idea. “It would do wonders for Isaac’s recovery.”

 Leandra stepped up beside Revka glaring at the Knight Commander, joined by Guillaume and Mara. The Knight-Commander’s eyes passed over them, seemingly wanting to avoid a fight, and turned to Carver and said. “Yes, yes give her five minutes and then they all need to leave.”

 Revka looked overwhelmed with relief and eagerly held out her arm to be escorted.

 Only for Carver to be distracted by the fact Mara was there. Their gazes seemed to catch, her face going red as she avoided his shocked stare. He seemed frozen, as if he had not expected Mara to be there at all, and he didn’t notice he was staring until Gamlen put a possessive arm around her.

 “Captain?” Revka asked impatiently.

 Carver shook his head as if he was breaking from a daze and said, “Sorry, my lady. This way.” And then he took her arm and started leading her out of the chapel.

 The Knight Commander then stared at the rest of the group as if they were ruining his day. “Your mage wishes to return your trinket.”

 Leandra bristled at the phrasing the Commander used and she found herself arguing. “It was a gift.”

 Malcolm bowed deeply to Leandra, the rosary draping from his fingers. “My lady, the protection magic on this saved my life, and for that I thank you, but I would rest easier knowing it's guarding its true owner.”

 Gamlen looked outraged seeing the rosary in Malcolm’s fingertips. “A gift? I thought you said you lost it? Leandra what were you thinking?”

 Leandra opened her mouth to argue when Guillaume put a warm hand on her waist and said, “My lady only ever has the purest intentions, Lord Amell. Do forgive her.”

 Gamlen barked out a laugh as he eyed Malcolm, a shit eating grin as he muttered “Poor schmuck,” under his breath.

 Mara elbowed him in the stomach with warning eyes to be quiet.

 Leandra stiffened at Malcolm’s sudden glare, not able to voice what she was thinking and took the rosary back feeling conflicted and partly rejected. Their fingers brushed as the necklace exchanged hands, the feeling like a shock to her heart. She wanted to insist he keep it, but she knew that it would be inappropriate and rude so she bit her lip and examined the beads, noticing some new stains on the metal. She gasped. “Is this your blood?”

 Malcolm looked sheepish. “Sorry, I thought I cleaned that better.”

 The Knight Commander put a warning squeeze on Malcolm’s shoulder as he pulled him back from Leandra and changed to the real subject he wanted to talk about. “As you can see Malcolm is the finest mage we have to offer.”

 Guillaume put a finger on his chin. “Yes, ser, I quite agree,” he said. He offered his free hand in a friendly shake. “You are quite talented, messere. This means everything to Leandra. I can’t thank you enough.”

 Malcolm gritted his teeth staring at the hand as if it stunk, but one glance at the Knight Commander had him schooling his face and he took the hand politely. “Anything for my lady,” he said while looking straight into Leandra’s eyes as he gave Guillaume the firmest shake he could manage.

 “And a man’s handshake at that. I’m very impressed,” Guillaume beamed amusedly.

 It took everything Malcolm had not to snort. He wiped his hand on the side of his robes feeling vindictive and petty. To see Guillaume’s hand so casually on Leandra’s waist was like sitting down for a good meal only to find a dead fly in it.  

 The Knight Commander gave Malcolm’s shoulder another squeeze. “We look forward to your renewed bids on Hawke’s services. We assure you we’re training him daily and instilling the best manners and education so he can best attend to your needs.”

 The Knight  Commander's   words made that two dead flies.

 Malcolm looked at Guillaume, a tall handsome man with everything and the world, who could hold Leandra’s hand in a crowd and kiss her openly in the sunlight, or the moonlight, and everything in between. He found himself trembling as he tried not to scream or cry or punch the man senseless.

 Guillaume pulled Leandra closer and took one of her hands as he stared seriously into her eyes.

 Leandra shied away from him but didn’t stop the embrace from happening which was like a dagger in Malcolm’s heart.

 “Ma cherie, after everything that's happened with Isaac I wouldn’t dare put us at odds any longer.”

 Leandra couldn’t meet Guillaume’s gaze, her eyes pulled unwillingly to Malcolm who was not looking at them at all. “Guillaume, I don’t know what you mean.”

 Guillaume patted her hand. “I’m withdrawing my family’s bid for Ser Hawke. If there is truly a curse, then I shall not have you unprotected.”

 Leandra didn’t know what to say so she went with a diplomatic, “That’s very generous, Guillaume.”

 “Not at all,” he said, kissing her cheek, his mouth lingering near her face. as he said, “Besides we’ll be husband and wife soon, so chances are he’ll be serving us both in time.”

 And that’s when Malcolm turned to the Knight-Commander and said, “I think I should go check in on Isaac, yes?”

 The Knight Commander seemed surprised but pleased by Malcolm’s initiative and said, “Do that. I will escort everyone else out.”  

 Leandra immediately launched after him as he stormed away, forgetting anyone else was there. “Malcolm!” she cried out.

 He turned to meet her, stopping her with a glare and she went red, realizing that Gamlen was smirking at her as he raised an eyebrow about how she would play this.

 “Leandra, is something wrong?” Guillaume stared in confusion, a hand touching hers imploring her to spill her troubles.

 But her attention was on Malcolm. She bit her lip as Malcolm watched her along with everyone else and unsure what she was doing she stuck out her hand like Guillaume did. “I’m truly indebted to you. I won’t forget my whole life, what you did for me.”

 Malcolm’s face softened into a smile, truly the only thanks he was actually looking for, and he couldn’t help but take her hand since it looked so warm and inviting, “And I’d do it again,” he said as he brought her hand to his mouth and put a chaste kiss on her knuckle.

 It was proper, but so very intimate that her face flooded with warmth, her breath caught in her throat.

 “Messere Hawke,” The Knight-Commander barked strictly, causing the both of them to jump.

 Malcolm cleared his throat and left without a word, the Knight-Commander glaring daggers into his back.

     ---

             Every goat eye searched the whole surface of the Fade, but it seemed that the Compassion spirit had indeed escaped his labyrinth. How she managed to get in, he did not know. Everything in this realm was supposed to be loyal to him. If there were whispers of her coming he should have known about it.

 And yet the Fade protected her. Hid her. His own minions of his realm would not raise a hand to fight her.

 What was she to them?

 And why was it so hard to kill one measly Compassion spirit? They had hardly any offensive powers. They spent their days healing the sick, not taking on embodiments of darkness. Still if the Somniari Bonded with her, it would prevent his Bonding to take place. The Spirit would have to die first.

 An eye alerted him that it found something and he teleported to a wing of the palace that he had forgotten about but seemed to have been altered. Drapes of fabric held from the ceiling and it seemed like collected human artifacts like statues and goblets filled with gold and shiny jewels was scattered through the room. In the middle was a bed draped in silks, the roof overhead broken so the moon shone on Avarice in a masculine form, wearing nothing at all. Her chiseled muscles were relaxed in the plush bed as she stared at Zelophehad with a smirk on her face.

 “So he got away.”

 Zelophehad almost killed the demoness out of pride but his need for her kept him from lashing out. “There was an intruder. Why did you not take care of it?”

 The demoness’ long fiery purple hair danced on her head lazily, “I thought you didn’t need me.”

 The taunting jab made Zelophehad punch a decayed wall. A new crack ran up it all the way to the ceiling. “I can always find a smarter demon.”

 That only made her smirk widen. “I delivered the Somniari gagged and bound, as ordered. I could have had him for myself, Master, but I only spared him because of my loyalty to you.”

 Zelophehad sneered, his ugly mouth a mess of gnarled teeth. “That Compassion spirit will regret toying with me. I’ll burn every ounce of Compassion until there is none left in this world.”

 The demoness chewed on her cheek, her violet pupiless eyes not masking disappointment. “You could do that, or….”

 “Or…” the Nightmare echoed impatiently.

 The demoness perched herself up on a pillow. “We approach a mortal and make a strike in the waking world.”

 Zelophehad cocked his head at the idea, a malevolent smile spreading on his inky lips. “I know just the one.”

#malcolm/leandra #dragon age fic #da fic #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic

[in-tua-deep]

🌻 If I may just request something lighter. I nee that right now.

a “happy ending, the team wins and life is made easier for them” au coming right up ;3c

bear with me for some less light content though bc it is the umbrella academy and there’s a lot of. u know. child soldiers and death. but i will try!! bear with me, starts off less light and ends much lighter I promise

so maybe not light but on god it’s going to end soft

---

When Five is seven, he walks into a room and makes a face. His siblings, who are loudly arguing, don’t notice. It’s just One and Two, going at one anothers throats for the eleventh time that one.

(It should be noted that’s it’s only the fifth of the month. So really not surprising in the slightest.)

And then Five tilts his head, and very purposefully steps backwards, and a few seconds later a knife embeds itself in the wall a few inches from Five’s face.

“You almost hit Five!” One roars, pointing accusingly.

“I wouldn’t have.” Two scowls.

Except he did.

The next day, Five looks up from his homework and frowns at Six. He’d rather ask Six alone, and Four is present, but this is the best opportunity he’s going to get to ask anything without Dad finding out or having to deal with, ugh, One. 

“Hey Six?” Five asks, getting a quiet ‘hmm’ in return as Six looks up, “You ever have a dream that comes true?”

Before Six can get out a word, Four rolls over from where he’s taken his book and sprawled out on the floor with it since he can’t sit still in a chair longer than four seconds. “I thinks that’s called deja vu, dude.”

Six nods, “The feeling something has happened before, sure. Plus, if you’re stressed out about something you might dream about it. You having dreams, Five?”

Five shrugs, thoughtful. If there’s a name for the experience, then it’s something that happens to everybody and isn’t something to worry about. 

“No,” He says, “I’m fine. Thanks.”

---

When Five is ten, he refuses to follow One’s - Luther’s - plan for the first time in a real life situation. 

“No.” Five says, firmly, “That plan is going to get someone killed.”

“It’s a good plan.” Luther says, equally firm and just the slightest bit irritated. Being in Luther’s favor actually counts for more than he might know, and being out of it... Reginald listens to Luther in a way that he doesn’t for the rest of them. 

So Five toes the line, but usually doesn’t give the boy a reason to actually complain about him. So he grouches and snipes and snarks but usually follows the plan, if with some... embellishment. He doesn’t usually disobey outright.

“I’m not doing it.” Five says, and the team is quiet to the side. Five has always been headstrong, but this head on collision is not his style. 

“Yes.” Luther says, anger twisting his face into something ugly, “You are.”

And then their illustrious leader beckons for them to go, and it’s Allison who flounces off first to her position followed by a stalking Diego. Ben gives Five a hesitant look, but goes ahead without saying anything. Ben has never been a fan of conflict.

Five stares at Luther, and Luther’s eyes narrow, and Five thinks fine, he thinks, I’ll do it myself. And he jumps away.

And when things fall apart and go to shit, Five is there yanking on a skinny arm and a bullet whizzes by and Five cover Klaus’s body with his own as he shoves them both under a desk. A few minutes later, knives appear out of thin air and Five pries them out. He doesn’t even realize until they’re all looking at him, horrified, that he’s been shot. Not until he touches his fingers to his shoulder and feels the red against his fingers.

“Oh.” Five says, frowning, and then he looks at a pale faced Luther. “I told you your plan was shit.”

That’s the last thing he remembers, until he wakes up in bed feeling fuzzy with his shoulder patched and bandaged and Mom right there helping him sit up and sip from a glass.

That’s the first time Five realizes that what he does can be dangerous.

---

The thing is, it starts off incredibly simple. Harmless. 

When Five dreams, his dreams are... strange. He dreams of simple things, little things. An argument that will happen. What dinner will be. That Ben is going to leave his book in the little storage room by the dumb stature of an elephant that looks more more like a bulldog with a snake attached to its face.

The thing is, he believes Klaus at first. That it’s harmless. Except it becomes less fuzzy and less a feeling that something will happen, and becomes something sharper. Something more than deja vu.

He thinks about telling his father, because he’s angry with Luther and craves recognition and discovering something new about their powers is a surefire way to get Dad’s undivided attention.

(When Diego discovered he could hold his breath for an alarming amount of time, the rest of the family didn’t see him for a week.)

That’s the first night he wakes up with cut off screams in his throat, and the knowledge that his father is a ruthless, tricky man. And very very inventive. 

(He does not tell his father about his power development. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually.

He loves his siblings, but he doesn’t trust them. Information, in this household, is power. A bargaining chip. He loves his siblings, but Reginald is clever and he is cruel and any one of them would betray the others if it hurt enough.)

As he grows older, his dreams become more vivid. And they stop just being about the next day.

He saves Klaus’s life from a bad plan, but he learns a lesson. If he changes what his dreams show him, he doesn’t know what will happen next. He saved Klaus, but got shot himself. 

He gets a choice, between having absolute certainty, and changing the future. It means that Five rarely acts on his dreams. Not unless he has to. And after that awful, awful mission, Five also learns to be more subtle.

Especially after a bedbound interrogation by his father, that Five barely manages to spin into it just being a challenging brat, and things just happening to go down badly was a coincidence that Five will hold over Luther’s head for the rest of time.

And Five is a challenging brat at the best of time, and so Reginald believes him, but he learns to be more subtle.

So Five... nudges things. When he absolutely has to. And the rest of the time he bites his own tongue and stomps on his own fury and grits his teeth. He does what he can, when it can’t be traced back to him.

(Klaus goes into the mausoleum, and he wraps his arms around himself in a terrified hug, and his hand bumps something in his pocket. A little flashlight. Klaus thinks for a moment about how it could have gotten there, and decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s still terrible, but it’s more bearable with a little bit of light.)

---

Five is twelve when he starts dreaming about the end of the world. He also discovers an entirely new aspect to his power.

When Five sleeps, he dreams of time travel. He dreams of the fizzle of time itself against his palms, how exhilarating it is. Time itself at his command, no, not command. Time itself cradling him in its infinite grasp. It’s not like jumping through space. Time is, it’s so big. And it loves him. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. Time loves him, and he loves it.

He wants to travel, he wants it desperately. But he knows what will happen if he does. He knows, he sees, he dreams over weeks, over months, lives an entire life in eight hour increments. 

And in this life, Five learned his lesson early. You don’t tell Reginald Hargreeves about new developments in your power unless you’re willing to go through his private training in order to train it. 

Five doesn’t mention anything about time travel, to anyone.

Five is thirteen-years-old and two-months and he misses the day he was supposed to time travel on. And he wakes up sweating and dizzy and dying. 

(Five Hargreeves is time’s child. Time loves him, but he needs time in a way he never realized. he made a change. It’s too big of a change.)

Five wipes his face, splashes some cold water, and gets to work.

The first thing he does, is go into Vanya’s room and sit her down.

“Are you okay?” She whispers. She’s always been so quiet, like a mouse tiptoeing around in a house full of cats. And Five regrets, for just a moment, not telling her sooner that she’s always been a cat as well.

“I need to tell you something.” Five whispers back, determination making him sit up straight. “And I need you to not be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?” Vanya asks, tilting her head and looking confused.

“Because I kept a secret from you.” Five whispers.

Vanya just gives him the most puzzled look, “What secret? Why?”

“Because information is power, Vanya.” Five tells her, reaching out and taking her hand in his own, “Because I love you, I love you all. But I don’t know what’s going to happen, only what could happen. What cannot happen.”

“Five you aren’t making any sense.” She reaches up to feel his forehead, snapping her hand back to her side, “You’re burning up! Five!”

Five smiles at her, “I keep so many secrets, Vanya. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m going to change the world, and you’re the only one I can trust to help me, okay?”

“Five... I don’t understand.” Vanya says, helpless.

“You will.” Five says, his smile turning just a little watery, “Promise me something though. Promise me you won’t hate me. Won’t hate any of us.”

“What are you talking about.”

Five shakes her hand, “We were so little Vanya. We didn’t know. Allison didn’t know. The only person to blame for this is Dad, because he did something terrible, Van. Something awful. He made us all do something terrible.”

“Five...”

“Promise me Vanya.” Five demands, shaking his head. “Promise me, promise me you won’t hate us. If you have to hate someone, hate dad. But promise me.”

“I - I promise.” Vanya stutters, confused.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re the only child that didn’t develop powers?” Five asks gently, “Haven’t you ever wondered why, if you don’t have powers, Dad kept you? You know him. We all know him. He’s a practical man. If you’re of no use to him...”

“...He would throw me away.” Vanya finishes, her voice a mere whisper. “But he did. He did keep me, so - so he must think I have potential, right?”

“He knows you have potential, Vanya.” Five’s voice is soft, gentle, in a way it never is. “He knows, because he took it away from you.”

“What - Five?”

Five gives Vanya’s hand another little shake. “How long have you taken your anxiety meds, Van?”

“My what?” She pulls her hand out of his, drawing it up to her chest, “I - I don’t know. A long time.”

“Since we were four, Van.” Five tucks his empty hands into his lap, hiding the trembling of his fingers, “Do you know what else happened when we were four? We started getting our powers, remember?”

“Speak plainly, Five.” Vanya’s hands are trembling as well, but not for the same reason.

“He stole it from you, Van.” Five whispers, “You were four. You didn’t realize how dangerous you were. You didn’t understand, you were so little. So he took them, and then he never gave them back.”

Vanya’s eyes are wet, and she brings a trembling hand to her mouth, “No.”

“He told Allison to make you forget.” He grips the fabric of his shorts as a shudder ripples through him, “She was four. How could she say no? He made all of us forget, and then how could we know to tell you?”

Vanya is openly crying, a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs because everyone in the manor knows how dangerous crying can be. How dangerous the wrong kind of attention can be. “Then how do you know, Five.” She manages to get out, “How do you know.”

Five offers her a watery smile, “Because I keep secrets, Vanya. My powers, they’re not. They’re not what everyone thinks. I know things, because when I close my eyes at night I see things.”

That makes Vanya stop crying, just for a moment out of sheer confusion. “What?”

“I’ve known about you for a year. I know so many things. A lifetime of things. But none of that matters, because this, right here, right now? Changes everything. Do you understand?

“No!” Vanya bursts out, sounding angry. “No, I don’t understand!”

“I’m dying, Vanya.” Five says bluntly, which throws off Vanya’s anger like she’s been dunked in cold water. “I didn’t know. Not until today. This is the biggest change I’ve ever made, do you understand? I didn’t know. I need to leave. I need to - to reboot. I don’t belong to this timeline, not anymore. It’s rejecting me, unless I can reset myself. But if I do, where will I land?”

Vanya looks confused, and Five can’t blame her. He’s dropping a lot on her right now.

“Isn’t it funny?” Five’s smile is anything but cheerful, “Isn’t is cruel? If I want to survive, I have to jump. But if I jump, I can’t change anything. So you see? I have to try and change everything now. I have to trust.”

Five loves his siblings, but he’s never trusted them. Not really. Not with the important things. But now he has to. Has to take a, ha, leap of faith. 

“Five, talk sense.” Vanya demands.

And so Five tells her everything. He tells her about yesterday, about getting up from the dinner table, of jumping three times and ending up in the apocalypse. He tells her about the Commission, about Reginald’s death, about a man with two faces who convinced Vanya he loved her and turned her against them. He tells her about the end of the world.

Vanya is pale, and shaking. “I wouldn’t.” She whispers, “I wouldn’t.”

“You won’t.” Five says, “You were manipulated. It was planned, you were pushed. You were the weapon that was used to start the apocalypse, but you weren’t the shooter, Van. You’re my sister. I love you. I know you. You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’m not. Five, I’m not.”

“Look at me.” Five demands, getting get attention. “I’m right here. Telling you. I’m not in Luther’s room, asking him to keep an eye on you. I’m not in Allison’s room, telling her to use her powers to keep you in line. I’m not in Ben’s room, telling him the future. I’m talking to you. Vanya. My sister.”

“Five...” Vanya whispers.

“I’m a secret keeper, Vanya.” Five says, “I don’t trust. But I’m here, and I’m trusting you.”

“Why?” Vanya asks, a sensible question.

“You’re the only one I can. Luther and Diego are too hotheaded. Allison too vain. Ben too afraid, Klaus too fragile.” Five tells her as another tremor goes through his body. “I love you. I trust you. You’re going to save the world.”

“How?”

“You need to be careful. There are eyes on us. Watching. If we change too much, we risk everything. You need to be quiet, you need to be wary, you need to trust no one. Dad thinks he controls you entirely, he thinks he has you completely under his thumb. He doesn’t watch you the way he does the rest of us, which gives you a freedom none of the others have.”

Vanya shakes her head, “I don’t know, Five.”

“If you want to stop taking your pills, you can. You can sneak out. You can train by yourself, away from the cameras. If you’re careful, you can learn.” Five looks at her sympathetically, “But the thing about that power, is that you have to keep it secret. Dad kept you, when he thought he could control you. What would he do if he thought he couldn’t?”

Vanya lifts a hand to her mouth. She wants their father’s attention with same fierce heartbreaking way they all do, but she also knows him. He’s Reginald Hargreeves, and he’s drugged her for the entirety of his life in the name of control. He is the ultimate power in the household. Reginald doesn’t flinch at killing. They all know that.

“You have to be careful.” He tells Vanya, “You have to stay alive. You have to save Ben. You have to be smart, you have to be so smart, Van. And you have to do it alone, because I won’t be here.”

Vanya nods, quiet and solemn. 

Another shudder ripples through Five, this one hard enough to make him fell off the bed with a muffled shout. Vanya shoots to his side instantly, grabbing his arm and helping him up.

“You need to go, Five.” She says, frantic, “You need to go.”

“I don’t want to.” Five admits, “I don’t want to leave you alone. This is so much, Van. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“I’m not alone.” Vanya tells him firmly, “I have you. And I’ll have you again, in seventeen years. It sounds like a long time, but that doesn’t matter. Because you’ll be alive. You’ve always been there for me, even when you didn’t know. Even when you thought I was ordinary. You’re the only person in the house who treats me like, like a person.”

“You’re my sister.” Five smiles, “I trust you.”

“Go, Five.” Vanya whispers, leading him to the window and hiking it up. Five appreciates the gesture, it’s always easier to jump when he knows where he’s going to land. “Go, and I’ll make sure you have a world to come back to.”

Five nods, and he’s crying a little as he pulls her into the tightest hug he can. She’s crying, too. 

And then he jumps, and he’s out on the street. He turns to look back up at the window, and there’s Vanya with a hand to her mouth but still watching him. He nods to her, and then he jumps.

---

He’s crying, as he jumps the first time, but it’s almost in relief. The way he changed the timeline - it hurts. It’s not a simple thing. The other timelines he altered, they aren’t nearly as big. By not going the day he should have, by telling Vanya and asking her to save the world...

He gouged out a timeline. He carved out a future from time itself to cast it aside. Not just a little one, not one that didn’t matter, not the future of something as small as a human life. He changed the future of the world.

But when he bathes himself in blue, it smoothes over the ragged gaping wound he put in himself. It takes away the pain, because time is... adaptable. It isn’t linear. It repairs itself, given the opportunity.

He jumps again, and the pain gets even better as time itself heals. As it accepts his actions, what can and will happen. 

He hesitates though, before the final jump. He never lived that first timeline. Not really. But he remembers it, which is nearly as bad. He remembers the hunger, sharp and painful. He remembers the grief. He remembers finding the bodies of his siblings, and not understanding what had happened. He remembers the apocalypse, in all of its gruesome glory. It’s never happened. It will never happen, because he trusts Vanya. But he remembers it, and so he hesitates.

But he trusts Vanya. He has to trust Vanya.

So he jumps, one final time, he jumps.

---

He stands on the street, and someone bumps into him from behind and mutters an apology, and Five is rooted to the ground. The world has not ended. He is on the street, in front of the manor, and he whirls around and looks up and a window and - 

Vanya isn’t there. Of course she isn’t. He never got a time he arrived in the future-that-wasn’t. She wouldn’t be able to just... stand at a window all day. That would be silly.

He has to find her. He doesn’t know where she is. Except - except he can hear something. Loud, raised voices. Familiar voices, even out here on the street.

The courtyard.

Five is exhausted. He’s healed, the timelines have smoothed over and stopped killing him, but he’s tired. But even so, he jumps. It’s nice to have a view of where he’s going, but he’s never needed that.

He jumps into the middle of - an argument. His entire family is there. Harold Jenkins is there, yelling something about the family not loving her, and Five freezes.

And everybody freezes. 

And then Vanya smiles at him and says, “Five. You made it.”

Harold Jenkins sputters, the rest of the family starts to shout, and in one smooth movement Vanya pulls something out of her jacket and turns around and - 

Harold Jenkins falls to the ground. Dead. The gun sits in Vanya’s hand, steady as anything.

“Shit!” Luther roars, but Five doesn’t care about that.

He’s already run into Vanya’s arms. She drops the gun on the ground and folds him against her and he’s crying and he isn’t quite sure why. “Shhh, sh. It’s over.” She soothes him, her hand carding through his hair, “It’s over. You did it, Five. You saved the world.”

“No,” Five manages to find his voice, “You did. And you did it alone. You must have been so so alone.”

Vanya laughs, squeezing him tighter, “Don’t worry. I’ve had a lot of practice at that.”

“What the actual fuck.” Ben says. Ben. Alive and wonderful and alive and Five draws back just to stare at him. “Five?”

“You killed a man!” Luther hollers, looking absolutely scandalized. He isn’t huge, isn’t wearing a trenchcoat. He looks... smaller, than Five remembers him being. More normal.

Klaus looks... normal. Well. He’s got what look like the tightest possible skinny jeans and a crop top and way too much eyeliner, but otherwise - he looks healthier, draped across Ben’s shoulder and staring at Five with wide eyes.

“Vanya?” Allison demands, and Five kind of wants to duck behind Vanya because his breath is coming a little bit fast and he feels a little bit dizzy, which is stupid because this is everything he ever wanted. Everything. His family, safe and sound and whole. 

Vanya smoothes her hand through Five’s hair again, and then looks around at their audience. “I think,” She says, and her voice is strong and sure and so very different from the Vanya Five knows, the one that whispers and tiptoes as quiet as a mouse, “We should take this conversation inside.”

And that’s how they all end up in the living room, squished onto the couches. Five is next to Vanya, he hasn’t let go of her arm.

“I think I should tell you about the night that Five went missing.” Vanya says finally, when they’re all settled.

“What about it?” Diego says gruffly, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. He also hasn’t taken his eyes off of Five.

“Five’s powers aren’t just jumping.” Vanya says, after looking at Five to get his nod. And doesn’t that comment set a fox among the chickens? There’s a solid five minutes of yelling before the family realizes that Vanya is patiently waiting for silence.

Vanya smiles and nods approvingly when they all settle down. Five wonders if she’s a kindergarten teacher or something in this timeline.

(He has to hold in another shudder at the thought, because he’s finally realized why his lungs feel so tight and he hasn’t really spoken yet. He’s terrified. He’s so used to knowing, and he’s just dropped himself in the middle of a giant mystery. He loved his siblings. He loved them in the timeline-that-wasn’t. He loves them now. But he doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know anything. And that terrifies him.

In their household, information was power. To not have any at all is... unthinkable. Horrifying. He’s so scared, he can barely breathe. But Vanya is holding him back, and she just saved the world, and he tries his best to trust her.)

“Five’s powers are to do with time. He saw the future, and he saw the end of the world, and he decided to stop it.” Vanya says finally, “And he told me how to do it.”

“Why is Five so quiet?” Allison demands, sounding worried. Five wonders if Claire exists in this universe. He mourns, just a tiny bit, for the niece he never met. 

Vanya squeezes Five a little, and looks at him with just as much worry in her eyes. “Five?”

And for some reason, the first thing that falls out of Five’s mouth is - “Dad’s dead?”

“Dead as a doornail.” Klaus confirms, and Ben nods.

“Really dead?” Five insists, and he’s not sure why, “You’re sure he’s dead?”

“Yes, Five.” Ben says, quietly. “He’s dead.”

Five looks up, and he finds Diego’s gaze and holds it, “If he knew, if he knew what I could do...” He sees the realization spark behind Diego’s eyes, “I saw it, when I thought I was going to tell him. I saw what he would do, if he knew.”

“So you kept it a secret.” Diego says softly. He’s not as hard as not-Five’s Diego, or at least not right now. He looks sympathetic, as Five nods carefully.

“Do you remember,” Five begins, pausing the clear his throat, “Do you remember that mission where I told Luther his plan was stupid?”

Luther’s eyes are wide when Five glances over at him.

But Five skips over Luther and looks at Klaus, “You could have died.” He tells his brother, and his voice shakes a little bit, and it’s terrifying to say these things out loud. Part of him expects his father to walk out from behind a door, having heard everything. “You would have died. Except you already died, the night before, when I was dreaming.”

“Five...” Klaus shakes his head, and Ben grabs Klaus’s arm tightly as if the lanky man will evaporate into thin air. 

“I for one want to know about the dead body in the courtyard.” Luther says, sounding a little shellshocked.

“He introduced himself as to me as Leonard Peabody.” Vanya picks up, “His real name is Harold Jenkins. He wanted to destroy the Umbrella Academy. He didn’t realize that he was actually priming a bomb.”

“A bomb?” Diego yelps, “What bomb?”

“Me.” Vanya says, smiling.

Everyone stares at her, and Five hits her on the arm. “You aren’t a bomb. You’re my sister.”

Vanya smiles at him, and tucks him firmer against his side. Two days ago, Five would have bristled and pushed her away. Today, Five’s entire world has been ripped away from him and he refuses to feel guilty for taking comfort where he can.

Five turns to glare at Luther, at Diego, at everyone. “You all died.” Five informs them, and he isn’t sure why he’s angry, “The whole world died. I don’t care about one murderer who hated us, who wanted us to suffer. He tried to use Vanya, and I’m glad he’s dead!”

Silence follows this declaration, and Five isn’t actually sure when he’d started yelling. Or when he’d started crying, actually. 

But there’s Vanya, and she’s there folding him back into her arms and letting him tuck his face into her neck as he sobs like the world ended. Except it hadn’t. It hadn’t.

“What’s wrong with him?” Klaus fails to whisper.

“It’s been a long day for him.” Vanya says, and Five is so tired. “He’s just helped pull off the biggest con of the century, and the fight isn’t over yet.”

“The commission.” Five whispers.

“Get some rest.” Vanya tells him, pushing at him until he’s paying down on the sofa with his head in her lap, “You’re practically falling asleep. We’re still going to be here after you get some sleep.”

“You promise?” Five asks, and maybe it’s childish but - he’s afraid. He’s afraid he’s going to open eyes and find out that this is just a dream again, that he’s going to have to do this all over again. 

“I promise.” Vanya says, smiling. “Have I ever broken a promise?”

And Five’s eyes are slipping shut, and the world has been spinning for a while, and he’s had a very very emotionally exhausting conversation with his sister, jumped in time three times, and then had a very emotional time reuniting with his family and watching his sister shoot a man. 

“Trust me.” Vanya says softly.

So he does.

---

“He’s so little.” Ben whispers, a solid five minutes after Five’s eyes slip shut.

“He’s thirteen.” Vanya tells them, carding her fingers through Five’s hair. “He’s thirteen, and he’s had the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

“Why didn’t he just tell us?” Allison asks.

Vanya just looks at Allison with sad eyes, “Why would he have? By staying quiet, he gave himself the power to act. By staying quiet, he protected himself.”

“He should have told us.” Luther states firmly.

“He was just a kid.” Vanya says, “He was just a kid, and he was scared. We all were. But he was more scared than anyone. You know the way Dad pitted us against one another. He loved us, but he didn’t trust us. Not when Dad was too smart and too cunning and too cruel.”

“Don’t talk about Dad like that.” Luther says quietly, and just shakes his head, “I know. I know. But - I know. But he’s still - he’s still Dad. I still - I know, but - ”

Luther has had a week, so Vanya forgives him. Finding out Dad was... Dad had been a bit of a shock to him.

“What now?” Ben asks.

“Now, I tell you about the Commission.” Vanya says serenely, “Now, we work together and make sure that the world stays whole. Now, we look after our brother.”

“If I remember anything about Five, that’s going to be a difficult job.” Klaus waves his hands a little but in emphasis. 

“Good thing he has all of us then, isn’t it?”

---

That’s it. That’s the au. Five’s time travel powers translate into seeing the future, and he uses it to give his sister a little trust and a lot of responsibility and manages to save the world

Vanya listens to her brother. She keeps her head down. She knows, with undeniable proof, that her family loves her. That at least one person trusts her. That at least one person believes in her. 

She is Vanya, with a mission. With the most important mission the Umbrella Academy had ever faced. Perhaps the most dangerous mission the Umbrella had ever faced. The scariest mission, because it’s an undercover one. 

It’s one where Vanya kept quiet, stayed silent, stayed under the radar. She hid pills under her tongue and left the mansion, going to the parks in the dead of night with her violin tucked under her chin trying to figure out a power she didn’t quite understand. 

Vanya saves Ben. She crept out, was in the right place at the right time. Blasted one man into a wall with the sound of gunshots rattling in her skull, and then went home and bit her knuckles until the whole team came home safe and sound.

She saves Luther. Luther was hurt, but he didn’t die. He wasn’t at the point their father tried an experimental drug on him. His knee might never recover. He might always walk with a limp. But he’s alive, and he doesn’t have to hide. Isn’t ashamed any time he looks in the mirror.

She saves Klaus. She gets him into rehab. She encourages Ben to check in on him. She keeps in touch with the both, makes sure Klaus has enough to eat and isn’t on the streets and that he’s happy and healthy and safe. 

She saves Allison. She doesn’t write her book, but she writes to Patrick. She talks to him, on the phone, and essentially gives him the shovel talk. She tells him that Allison has issues, she encourages them to get therapy. Couples therapy. Allison works on her issues at Patrick’s insistence. They still divorce, but it’s amiable this time around. 

She saves Diego, who in another world grieved Ben and pushed the rest of the family away. Diego is less angry. More solid. He dropped out of the police academy, but he co-owns a gym and boxes in his free time and he doesn’t live in a boiler room. 

She saves Five, who is so young and so frightened, who loves her enough to trust her. She saves him, by saving the world. Her brother, her wonderful brother who pulled the strings for so long and was terrified to stop. Who is thirteen years old and a child and it’s hard to believe that she was ever that young herself.

They have a lot to do still, of course. The Commission isn’t going to be happy, they’re going to be sending people. But they aren’t as broken. And they have a unifying force to help them along:

Five. Because he’s young, and tiny, and he reminds them of exactly what their father did to them in a way canon five just... doesn’t. Because canon!Five looks young, but they know he isn’t every time they interact with him. This Five is... he’s young. He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s grieving. 

He doesn’t know them, and he isn’t sure if he wants to. Isn’t sure if he wants to let go of the siblings he knew while wanting desperately to connect with the siblings of now. Because at the end of the day, he loves them.

And Vanya is independent, and more confident, and she hasn’t been on that numbing medication in years. She hasn’t been a mouse since she left her father’s house when she was eighteen. Her brother was gone, and she had to step into his role as puppetmaster. She had to pull strings, to keep her family alive, while never looking like she was. 

Vanya has waited seventeen years preparing. She has a two bedroom apartment, she moved most of Five’s things over there years ago. She’s ready to do what someone should have done all those years ago. She’s ready to take care of her brother, because she didn’t realize until she took the job just how much he had on his plate. 

The family has to band together to deal with the commission agents. But Vanya refuses to be a weapon. She refuses to be the bomb. She refuses to betray her family. 

Five chooses to trust, but Vanya is the one who steps up. Decides that even if she doesn’t care about the rest of the world, even if she doesn’t particularly care for half of her siblings, it doesn’t matter.

Vanya is going to save the world.

#ask game #this was fun lmao #prophet au #five has future vision why not #vanya gets to save the world by herself #because she deserves it #vanya saves everyone including herself #and also still gets to kill harold #vanya deserves an award for trickery #she makes for the best secret agent #five is. very stressed out #that's what happens when you experience an entire lifetime of memories that are super traumatizing #without actually experiencing the trauma #five is very confused #and very scared #and very stressed out in general honestly #he's only thirteen after all #not sure how light this ended up being but it sure is new lmao #it was this or an au where five travels back in time... after he dies #and everyone knows that klaus's power is 'astral projection' not talking to the dead #aka klaus fakes a different power with ghost!Five's help #but instead you get prophet five au #long post #far tua long #the umbrella academy #tua #tua au #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #jojowing

[glossyeon]

natm || pt.1 || osh

*All credit goes to the creators of these images*

~𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮…~

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Museum Curator!Sehun x Sculpture!Reader

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: sexual content, oral m recieving, fingering, dirty talk, degrading names during sex, rough sex, nudity, explicit depictions of sex, Sad scenes, Reader is a sculpture?, Swearing, Lot’s of grammar mistakes, heartbreaking and heartwarming scenes ahead…

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1.6k

𝘼/𝙉: This has been a series that I’ve been dying to do for a very long time! I think Museum Curator!Sehun is such an uncommon paring that we need more of these days. Also inspired by Night at the Museum Movie Series... Enjoy!

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘖𝘩 𝘚𝘦𝘩𝘶𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘮 𝘊𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 12...

                                   ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At the strike of 12 o'clock midnight you are given the chance to come to life once more. No longer do the Velvet rope barriers that keep you motionless throughout the day block your freedom. You’ve done the same thing each and every night for the past thirty years since you were moved to this museum. Roam the halls and exhibits with your fellow friends of art that are bound to the grounds of this grand building just like you. 

There’s your sassy and confident friend HyunA, which is better known as the girl with the pearl earring. Constantly chattering and gossiping about the cavemen’s in exhibit B, or the newly arrived valuables that belong in the Victorian history section. 

Then there’s your calm and collected friend Mona Lisa, but you just call her by Lisa. Quite popular amongst the mummies in the Ancient Egypt section for some reason that you cannot out your finger on. The three of you have been together for the past decades, stuck to be stared, examined, and pick apart by the public eye. It’s not easy, but it’s what you were all made to do. 

Stay perfectly still and be art. 

Be the magnificent piece of history that people label you to be. 

That night was the same as any other. The booming chimes of the grand clock in the entrance of the museum signalled the time had come for everyone. The time to live. 

Soon, the stiff marble that you called your hair turned to luscious black locks, healthy and shining with brilliance. The pale cover that was your skin melted off to uncover a radiantly glowing hazel one. No one could deny that the beauty you obtained was less than perfect. You were the epitome of beauty, confidence, and love.

“Jesus Christ I think I’m gonna need to see a chiropractor after this” you signed in pain as you cracked the remaining hardened parts of your body. Standing in place for 12 hours was exhausting and cruel to say the least.

“You’re a sculpture. How on earth would you survive that painful session with a chiropractor? Your fine marble would bruise and dent the minute hands are laid on you.” Absurdity was evident in the voice that came from behind you. A voice with too many thoughts that had been kept hidden for so long that just ached to be heard...

“Taemin-“ you started out, tired of dealing with this again 

“First of all, how would you even meet this chiropractor? We are bound to the halls of this museum!” He stated as if you weren’t reminded of this everyday. “And what would the chiropractor even say to you if you show up to them? “Oh why hello there nice to meet you, you must be that hundred thousand year old sculpture th-“

“Taemin!” You shrieked in annoyance. It wasn’t long before you clamped the tall mans mouth shut with your hand and warned in a threatening voice. “I’m popular, I’m beautiful , and I have many many friends in this exhibit that wouldn’t mind making a few dents in those kneecaps...” you said, emphasizing many.

The boy gasped in horror and pulled away from you before gulping in fear from your series expression. you sighed and proceeded to leave, your white dress floating behind you as you tried to find your friends. “I have no time to deal with you” you explained, swiftly walking away. 

He called behind you “it’s not my fault that I’m constantly surround by my thoughts with NO ONE to talk too” he huffed and pouted his lips in a frown that you could already tell was there. 

it wasn’t long before the shrieks and laughter that belonged to HyunA filled the History section next door. You smirked, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed. You couldn’t help stopping to witness the scene of your friend right before your eyes.

HyunA’s voice and chatter was dripping with charisma and curiosity. As the girl sat elegantly on one of the museum benches, the Norwegian cavemen fought and huddled to get a glimpse of her beauty and an earful of her words. 

“And as his deep stoic eyes bored into my eyes, I knew right then and there. He was to be mine. From the tip of my tongue, to the ends of my toes, he owned me. Every inch and corner” 

your best friend seductively read out each word of the novel in her hands, passionately describing the lewd contents that were about to come. 

“Don’t you think that’s enough reading HyunA?” I commented, walking closer to the bench. The cavemen immediately moved to create space for the best friend of the woman they called their goddess. 

I smiled at the eagerness visible in her eyes. “How on earth am I supposed to stop now when I’ve just started!” She explained, patting the heads of the cavemen like they were her pets. To be honest, they weren’t far from it, with their eyes overflowing with love and admiration. 

“HyunA has taught us many important lessons during our nights!” One built and muscular man named Shownu stated, piling the agrees of many others as well. 

One man named Chan then began to say, “HyunA has taught us the importance of love, sensuality, and passion” he declared, smacking his chest with his fist and roaring with pride. the others didn’t hesitate to join in as well. 

Meanwhile, HyunA just seemed to stare virtuously at the men, admiring the fan club she had successfully accumulated during her read alouds. I shaked my head in disbelief and proceeded to swiftly snatch HyunA away from the male energy surrounding the room. 

“HyunA” I begged. “Please don’t hang out with those men anymore, hm? It’s not good to waste your nights away by reading some fantasty romance to them” I tried to reason with my best friend but HyunA being HyunA, she didn’t hesitate to assure me. 

“Oh Y/N,” she looked at me like I was a stray cat in need of help. “My time with boys like Shownu and Chan are just play times”. Brushing a hair behind my ear and while holding both my hands in hers, she went on. “I’m just trying to have a bit of fun before I meet The One” she declared, sighing at my clueless face. 

I snatched the book that was still under her armpit and shaked it in front of her. “Reading the museum secretary’s hidden fan fiction won’t do anything to help you find love”

“give that back” she whined. 

I pinched my nose bridge in disappointment and stress, raising the book high up in the air where she couldn’t reach it. As she was struggling to retrieve her precious novel, noises erupted from the ends of the halls. 

“What now...”

The hallways outside the separate exhibits were especially loud at night. It’s a true mystery how the security guards and night shift workers don’t find out about us. Dinosaurs, extinct wildlife, and many many nude men were running rampant, overflowing with excitement and life.

“Yuna that’s a 4000 year old Naqada Vase your holding” I exclaimed, reaching out to snatch it away.

But Yuna wasn’t easily defeated. Being born of Victorian Royalty, Shin Yuna was quite a mischievous handful, never hesitating to get what she wanted. 

“What, this one?” She smirked, dodging my actions and obviously playing dumb. Her small wrist went right through one of the handles, dangerously hanging it through one hand. 

Letting out the 100th sigh that night, my footsteps carried me away from the chaos. 

“If I don’t see it, I don’t know it” I mumbled to myself.

As HyunA and Yuna stopped to talk more about her petticoat, I made my way to the library of historical records. A place where not many of the historical artifacts went to enjoy their nights. But I preferred the quiet, peaceful setting as it was much more fun than getting pissed at by Napoleon Bonaparte. 

Shuddering at the memory, I then opened the doors to the library. Greeted with the familiar scent of must and candle wax, I happily pranced along the endless supply of books. 

Books from about the Ice Age to Modern Art surrounded me. My passion for reading could never bore me. Not in a million years. 

I swiftly walked past the spines of each and every book, only to stop at an empty shelf. The section of famous poets and philosophers that I was just getting fond of had been apparently moved to the other side of the room. Frowning in annoyance I was just about to head back when I saw him. 

The tall, slim, figure sitting at one of the tables, back covering the view of my presence. I stopped in my spot, frozen in fear as this man was definitely not one of the museum's peoples. At least not the usual ones on night duty. 

The countless precautions put in place to avoid being caught by the workers and night guards had served its purpose for all this time. If there was anyone to see the magic that happened in these walls, we wouldn’t know what we would do. 

Would we be taken away? Would we be shipped off to the CIA? Lord knows what would happen if I left HyunA and Lisa alone...

Although his face was covered with the cover of a book, there was no denying that his body was well crafted. The muscles under his black turtle neck stood out under the fabric, perfectly hugging his chest and arms. I felt quite a bit embarrassed with my sheer cloth dress, which was quite absurd considering practically everyone has seen the my crafted body. I carefully took a step back. 

“The quicker I leave and warn the others, the better” I thought. Keeping my footsteps as light as I could, I made my way almost 2 feet away from the door. And that's when his words echoed in the silence of the library. 

“You’re forgetting something aren’t you?”

(Copyright 2020 © Glossyeon // all rights reserved)

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo fluff #exo angst #kpop fanfic #kpop series #kpop masterlist #oh sehun #sehun fanfic #sehun #glossyeon #fluff #angst #exo writing #sehun writing #kpop writing

[writer-room]

Siblings: Chapter Two

AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Barbara never really thought about having siblings.

Sure, she’d wonder on occasion, when kids would bring up how lucky she was not to have any siblings. Or to tease her when she didn’t understand whatever strange rituals they got up to.

It was just life. She was an only child, and that was fine with her.

Of the two sets of parents she’d had in her life, neither really brought up having other kids. Jim mentioned it once, but she figured it probably wouldn’t be happening, since it was never brought up again. That was fine with her. She wouldn’t really have the time to deal with one, anyway. She had priorities, vigilantes to learn about, not babysitting a kid.

She was fine without any other little kid to deal with. She probably wouldn’t be any good at it, anyway.

,

“Well. You’re not supposed to be here.”

Three pairs of eyes snapped up, two of them shining briefly like they were in a badly taken picture with flash on.

“We’re also not supposed to be awake,” Tim said calmly, slowly setting down the case files he had in his hands. “And yet, here we are.”

“No, that’s normal for you,” Barbara said, waving her hand. “Even Cass I kind of understand,” She said, giving a nod to the girl, who nodded in return. “But Cullen?” She turned a disappointed frown to the boy. “C’mon, I thought better of you.”

“Don’t guilt trip me on this,” Cullen pointed a finger at her. “These two forced me along.” He said, pointing at Tim and Cass.

“I literally told you not to come.” Tim deadpanned.

“You were breaking into Babs apartment,” Cullen stressed. “I came to shield you from getting beaten to a pulp.”

“And blackmail?” Cass tilted her head.

“...and blackmail.”

“I knew it.” Tim whispered, narrowing his eyes like he’d solved the mystery of the year.

Barbara groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She set aside the taser she’d had hidden in the seat of her wheelchair, knowing she wouldn’t need it now. She didn’t have to do much to get these idiots out of her apartment.

“Why are you here?” She sighed, facing them as she wheeled closer to her coffee table, where she’d left a few minor police cases to look back on in the morning.

“The energy drinks haven’t left my system yet.” Tim said simply, slowly inching his hand back to one of the files. “I already took care of my stack of cases, and you always get the hardest ones, so I thought--”

Barbara smacked his hand away. Tim squeaked and jerked his hand back, clutching it like she’d stung him.

“Go bully Dick on his cases. In fact, why not just go to sleep?” Barbara said, reaching out and gathering her cases closer to her. “Why is Cass even here?”

“Make sure he does not pass out,” Cass said, signing the words she spoke in a slightly more understandable manner. “Or run. Cannot let little brother solve case on own.”

“He’s banned from taking on cases by himself after the last incident.” Cullen explained.

“The one with the ghosts or the turtles?”

“I still can’t believe you won’t believe me on the turtles,” Tim rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “We’ve met aliens and witches and repeatedly come back from the dead, but mutant turtles in the sewers are out of the question?”

“They’re turtles, Tim.” Cullen sighed, like they’d had this conversation a hundred times. Which they probably had.

“And?”

“Alright, alright, enough out of you.” Barbara scolded, tightening her hold on her files when she saw Tim’s hand twitch towards them, his expression looking close to becoming crazed.

“Only one?” Cass pleaded, suddenly appearing at Barbara’s side. “Small one. Tiny one, like baby brother.”

“I resent you,” Tim huffed, glaring at Cass.

“You couldn’t have waited till morning like normal people?” Barbara muttered, eyes shifting between the two. “You’re not even in your uniforms! Did you walk here like actual normal people?”

“They stole the limo because they didn’t want to be spotted carrying me across Gotham.” Cullen mumbled, eyes looking anywhere but at Barbara.

Barbara stared at him for a moment, wondering how she’d lasted as long as she did with these people.

“Is there a goddamn limo belonging to Bruce Wayne outside my apartment?” She demanded.

“Of course not,” Tim said, like this was the stupidest question he’d heard in his life. “We parked it a block away so that suspicion wouldn’t be drawn.”

“You almost crashed it into restaurant,”

“But I didn’t.” Tim said, raising a finger as if that made a good point.

“You parked it on the curb.”

“...alright I deserve that one.” Tim relented, letting his hand drop.

“Why did you let the seventeen-year-old with no licence drive a limo?” Barbara stressed, wondering if she could risk her files by rubbing at her temples. She was going to get a migraine from these two.

“Because Cass behind the wheel would’ve been anarchy and Cullen forgot where you lived.” Tim said easily.

“I didn’t forget,” Cullen corrected sharply. “Nobody ever told me. How was I supposed to know she has a place outside the Manor like Harper and me? I thought she lived at the Manor or at some, I dunno, underground bunker with a million computers or something.” He said, waving his hands around.

“All the more reason for me to get out of the Manor more,” Barbara mumbled under her breath. “Look, tell you what,” She said, freeing an arm for a moment to wheel herself back from the coffee table. 

“You three go to sleep, because I am not taking you back to the Manor or having you drive back in the limo,” She said, adding a glare that the three of them looked away from. “And I’ll find some case for Tim in the morning, where Cass and Dick can keep an eye on him.”

“You’re cruel,” Tim whined, rubbing at his face like that would somehow hide the bags she could very obviously see under his eyes. 

“So will Bruce be if he finds out you took his limo on a joyride at midnight unsupervised.” Barbara said calmly. “Now the three of you better be grabbing the sleeping bags from my closet in the next twenty seconds or I’m not covering a single one of your backs on that inevitable disaster.”

Tim and Cullen were up and scrambling off before she’d even finished her sentence. Cass was quick to get up too, but she was far more dignified and less frantic than the others. She gave Barbara a delightful grin before slipping off after the boys.

She was going to have to do so much editing of security cameras for these morons. Barbara sighed and wheeled towards the kitchen, stashing her files in one of the drawers and hoping that would be enough for now. She had never been more grateful she’d prepared sleeping bags in her room after the Bats had broken in one too many times in the middle of the night.

She allowed herself a small smile as she checked her files to make sure they stayed at least somewhat neat in the drawer. Oh, if Jim knew the people she was stuck around with.

She paused, counting her files again as she frowned. She counted them a third time under her breath, sifting through them.

A file was missing.

That damned sneak!

“Cass!” Barbara barked, pushing herself away from the drawer. “You bring me my file right now before I call Bruce!”

“I can’t believe she used the ‘I’m calling dad’ argument,” A muffled voice complained from what was definitely not her room.

“I can hear you, you little shit!”

“Scatter!”

#dc #dc comics #dcu #barbara gordon #batfam #batkids #cullen row #tim drake #cassandra cain #police #case files #dumbasses #fics #ao3 #siblings #my writing #writing #fanfiction #sleep deprivation #but what else is new #barbara cant threaten cass but by god she'll try

[pinkjeanist]

untitled fantasy work - opening scene || nanowrimo 2020

note: captain tenning is indigenous. or, at least, i based him off of an indigenous person, because idk yet what “indigenous” means in this fantasy setting. i just thought i should let yall know that. also adolen is a little shit. hes 29 years old and he wakes up every morning and chooses chaos. this is unedited because i don’t fear God. anyway @lirinstaalem i love you

---

It wasn’t often that the king called upon anyone but his own servants for aid, but even as a recognized medic and healer of His Majesty, Adolen was starting to think that being hired by him twice was a little more than strange. And yet, he felt the silent tremors in the earth of a creeping gorgon, a steed of the King’s Guard, which could only mean that Captain Tenning had come to the Orchards for him. 

Even while anticipating a knock, Adolen still jolted at the firm few beats against his door, and covered the cauldron over the extinguished fireplace before answering it. Of course Tenning was waiting for him on the other side, his helmet under one arm with the other clutching the hilt of the sword at his belt. The strands in his two black braids had become askew from where they sat on his shoulders during what could have only been hours of flying from the capital. The flight was apparent in the heaviness of his eyes, as well. 

Adolen cleared his throat. “Good evening, Captain.” 

“Good evening, Doctor.”

“Fey is fine,” Adolen replied, looking out into the night passed the man in front of him. His gorgon was tied to one of his nearby apple trees, though the rope was merely a suggestion to the strength of those creatures. They were bigger than carriages and stronger than all the horses that pulled them combined. Such was expected of the descendants of dragons, not to mention the steeds of the King’s Guard. 

Remembering the cooling cauldron behind him, Adolen inclined: “Have I done something wrong?”

“It’s what you’re able to do correctly and efficiently that has brought me here. Have...have you done something wrong?” Tenning’s brow furrowed. Adolen coughed. 

“Oh, no. Just an anxious thought. Please, come in.” Adolen stepped back and held the door open, allowing Tenning to make his way inside. It had been over two years since they’d first met and last saw each other, but Adolen had always wondered why Tenning walked so fast. It was like he’d never taken a slow step in his life. 

He began moving books off of chairs to make room, but Tenning cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to trouble you. I won’t be here long.” 

“What do you mean? Are you going straight back to Brenne?” Adolen continued to move things around, despite Tenning’s request.

“I was just going to find an inn for the night.” 

“The only inns in the Orchards are the two in Pyr. Are you sure you want to travel that far off course?”

“Well, I’m not going to trouble you-” 

“It’s no trouble at all, Captain. Sit.” Adolen cleared a seat at his dining table, which was always used for non-dining purposes, and grinned to himself as Tenning relented. He made a seat for himself across the table. “I believe it’s custom to offer a drink to visitors outside of the Orchards, but I’m afraid I have none besides rubbing alcohol. I hope water will suffice.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fey. You’re very kind.” 

“Kindness is always a given here.” Adolen set a glass in front of Tenning before sitting. “What kind of business do you bring?” 

“Ah, I’m afraid it is again unofficial. From His Majesty,” Tenning added. Adolen moved various books and bottles on the table to make room for his arms. “There’s been an incident at the palace in Brenne.” 

“What kind of incident?”

“A theft. And a very horrible one. Someone has stolen the King’s Jewel.” 

Adolen blinked. “Well, I’m sure he has plenty of those. Why’s this one so important?” 

“This jewel is worth more than money. Its thief knew this well.” Tenning’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if there were anyone else in a mile radius nearby. “It must be returned to His Majesty.”

“With all due respect, Captain- what am I supposed to do about that?” 

Tenning downed all of his water in one go. Adolen grabbed the pitcher. “I have been tasked with assembling a skilled group of people to retrieve the jewel. His Majesty requested only you specifically. He told me that you are to be his assurance.”

“Assurance in what?”

“In this company’s success, as well as its survival.” 

Hearing the word “survival,” Adolen paused for a long moment before he pleaded: “Captain Tenning, I’m not sure I’m the person you need for this venture. I’m just a healer.” 

Tenning shifted closer. “I am aware that this is not your typical job, Mr. Fey, but I ask kindly that you hear what I have to tell you.” 

“I apologize for dismissing you. Please, continue.” 

“I understand your doubts. There is no need to apologize.” 

Adolen grinned across the table. “You are very kind, Captain.” 

Tenning’s eyes went wide, followed by a quiet “thank you” and an inkling of a smile. Adolen wondered how long it had been since someone complimented him. He then proceeded: “The pay you earn from this job will be enough to last the rest of your lifetime, and if it doesn’t, His Majesty is willing to give you more. I cannot stress how important this job is.” 

Adolen would be lying if he said Helnian money wasn’t appealing. He’d seen those expensive satchels in shop windows the last time he had visited Brenne, and he hadn’t forgotten. He hummed. “Of course.” 

“I currently have another person out to hire the other three members of this company. They should already be in Brenne by the time we arrive tomorrow.” 

“Is this person also joining the company?” Adolen reached for his own glass and the pitcher, but stopped. “Pardon. Tomorrow?” 

Tenning gave a hesitant nod. “Yes, I’m afraid. This quest must be ventured as soon as possible.” 

“Uhm…” Adolen gripped the edge of the table, taking a brief glance around. He didn’t have anyone scheduled, but he had no doubt that his magic would be needed sometime within the next week. It was spring- the children would be learning to climb trees. And learning what it felt like to fall from them (for most, it was inevitable). But he pushed those thoughts away. He had agreed to listen. “...Okay.” 

He knew that Tenning was seeing right through him. Tenning saw everyone, whether or not they wanted to be seen. But alas, the captain continued. “The thief is a woman. She will be wearing the King’s Jewel on a collar made of corundum.” 

“Wait, what’s corundum?” 

“Red jewels.” 

Well, he hadn’t seen red jewels before. “Okay. What does the King’s Jewel look like?” 

“It’s a diamond.” 

“Uh...just a diamond?” 

“Yes, but it…” Tenning leaned closer with a sharp intake. “...it’s an enchanted one.”

“Enchantment, as in the type of magic that Helnian kings have outlawed since the third age? The very thing that people are executed for practicing?” Adolen deadpanned. Tenning gave him a stern look. 

“Yes. That thing.” 

“Well, that’s very hypocritical of His Majesty.” 

“You do realize that you are speaking to the Captain of the King’s Guard?” 

“What are you going to do, arrest me?” Adolen poured his water and kept his eyes on Tenning’s. He could tell that Tenning wanted to laugh at that remark, but was keeping it to himself. He allowed himself to smile again, though.

“You seem like someone who doesn’t fear death, Mr. Fey. Very unbecoming of someone who saves lives.” 

“Facing death for a living is what keeps me alive.” He filled Tenning’s glass once more. “However, I have never been one for danger, and this job seems very dangerous. Give me a reason to go.” 

“Is the money not appealing?” 

“It is, but money has no value here. Try again.” As much as he wanted those satchels, Adolen was telling the truth to himself. Tenning didn’t seem too stirred by it. 

“I’m sure you Orchardians aren’t too swayed by glory, either.” 

“The Orchards are glorious enough. You should see the blooms of spring in the day.” 

“Just seeing them in moonlight kept me awake during my flight,” Tenning smiled, then gripping his glass as his smile faded. “Though I am not sure what else I have to give a man who has everything he needs.” 

Adolen pondered for a long moment. He felt magic pooling in his fingertips from days without a patient as he tapped them against the table. He paused to look at them. “How many others will join the company, again?” 

“Four. They are all skilled in their own ways, but none are advanced in medicine of any kind.” Tenning’s voice grew soft as the lanterns grew dim. “I know not what His Majesty wishes of you, but I know that you will be needed, if only by the company. I fear that they cannot last on this mission alone.” 

Adolen finished his water. He felt something blooming in his chest- anxiousness, he thought, or perhaps excitement. He settled with both. “You know, Captain Tenning, we can’t have had more than three conversations together - this one included - but you are a very persuasive man.” 

“And that means…?” 

Adolen drew a sharp breath. “What dangers will I face?” 

Tenning’s back straightened, slipping back into the rigid posture he’d walked in with. “The world beyond these orchards is a very cruel and treacherous place. There are beasts both in creatures and men. As far as I’m concerned, there are no others who know of this mission besides those involved, but...it would be unwise to let your guard down.” 

Adolen leaned back in his seat. “That’s certainly vague.”

“I will discuss this further once we reach Brenne. That is, if you accept this offer...?”

“Well, yes. I thought I made that clear. Apologies if I didn’t.” 

“No, no need to apologize. I am very much relieved.” Tenning showed as much as he leaned back and sunk into his seat. The exhaustion Adolen had seen under his eyes had now reached the rest of his body. “I’m glad that you didn’t take much convincing. I was prepared for an argument.” 

“I have a hard time saying no,” Adolen smiled, “and I’m sure you would have had to kill me if I’d said as much. I’m sure I know too much after this conversation.” 

“Well...I probably would have helped you get a ship to the Isles. You’re very kind, after all.” Adolen gave a laugh, and Tenning finished his water with a grin. Setting his glass down, he said: “Oh, but His Majesty also said that, once you’ve found the thief, that you “would know what to do,” or whatever that could mean. He seems to have a lot of faith in you.” 

Adolen’s brow furrowed. “Well, I’ve only met him once. I don’t see how I could be very trustworthy in his eyes. But I’m flattered, I suppose.” 

He refilled his glass, emptying the last of the pitcher, and wondered what exactly the king was asking of him. Though, it wasn’t ever in a governing body’s best interest to be exact or honest with their people, and knew he shouldn’t expect much else information.

“I believe I must start preparing,” Adolen suddenly hurried, standing from his chair to grab the worn satchel hanging by the door. He’d had it commissioned by the only leatherworker in the Orchards to carry glass bottles of medicines and ointments securely some six years ago when he’d returned from university. It was a kind of craft he wouldn’t find in Brenne, he thought with a lightness. 

Tenning turned in his chair as Adolen began speeding around the cluttered room. He was lucky enough to know his way around the comfortable clutter as to not trip over books and tablesides.

“You will have to carry lightly. Pack less than what you need,” Tenning advised, standing. “I will return at dawn to retrieve you.”

Adolen found his common stash of medicines and started selecting them carefully. “You’ll be staying here tonight. There’s no point in flying clear to Pyr.” 

“It can’t be more than an hour-” 

“A trip there and a trip back would be two hours of lost rest. I’ll get my guest room ready. Can you find the wrenna wart in the meantime? It’s these little red, purple plants packed into a small bottle. It’s labelled, you can’t miss it.” 

Adolen gave Tenning no time to accept nor decline before he was making his way up the set of stairs behind a discreet curtain, leaving the captain to stand in a cluttered room with no beginning or end to bottled plants, amongst everything else. Needless to say, Tenning hadn’t found the wrenna wart by the time Adolen returned, grinning. He hadn’t expected him to, either. Wrenna wart didn’t exist. 

#nanowrimo #my writing #not bnha