#if you’re exceptionally desperate to see some people and you’re carrying that child this is a great excuse

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Calling Out For Her

Cassandra Dimitrescu x She/Her Reader

A/N: Cassandra is my favorite I just love that girl. I thought it was real neat that Lady D could just call out for her and she’d appear so that inspired this. Some typical resident evil violence and language in here and Cassandra isn’t exactly nice at first, but she figures out how to be personable...kinda. Thanks for reading! Word Count: 6,158

(Y/n) was exceptionally careful. If tasked to understand what had allowed her to survive in the castle for so long, she would say it was because she was so careful, meticulous, with her work. All she had to do was follow a certain set of rules.

A polite tone brimming with reverence, ‘Yes Lady Dimitrescu’ or, ‘yes ladies Bela, Cassandra and Daniela’. Never a no, even if warranted, unless you want your eyes level with your toes and cool air meeting your stump of a neck. Always serve with a curtsy, never meet their eyes, never ask questions, keep your head down and clean, clean, clean like your life depends on it because like with everything else, it does.

The bottom line was that (Y/n) knew how to survive in the castle of Dimitrescu. It took tact, forward thinking, and a bit of luck. But today, after a very respectable nine months of service, (Y/n)’s luck had apparently run out. She had royally fucked up.

“Oh, fuck me—!“ (Y/n) hissed, followed by a sharp gasp as her grip slipped because of the dip of the chandelier.

She had no one to blame but herself. She had been assigned to clean the banisters and chandeliers of the foyer and had leaned out just a little too far with her duster. Thus, her scramble for purchase on the confounding light fixture to save her from cracking her skull on the marble floor below.

“H...help!” (Y/n) called, barely above her usual speaking tone. She dared not speak louder for fear of alerting any of the bloodthirsty daughters of her predicament. She could only hope one of her fellow maids was working nearby.

“No, nonono—“ the words left (Y/n)’s  mouth faster than her lips could move. One of the metal weldings that held up the chandelier was creaking and becoming dangerously loose as time ticked by.

“Help!” (Y/n) called a little louder, the desperation bleeding into her tone as her fingers dug painfully into the decorative, jewel encrusted rim of the chandelier.

Yet still not a sound besides the creak of old metal giving way. Nine months of service to the Lady of the Castle and this was never how (Y/n) imagined she’d go. It wasn’t uncommon for some maids to take their life by their own hand, but (Y/n) wanted to keep fighting—!

“Ah!” (Y/n) cried sharply. The chandelier’s tether frayed a bit further, causing it to drop a few inches. She was fully panicking now, arms aching and chest heaving as she dangled. She made the mistake of looking at the cold, hard floor below and that only made her heart beat faster. She didn’t want to go out like this!

The chandelier fell another inch, stinging (Y/n)’s fingers. She was gripping so hard she was sure her fingers must have been bleeding. She needed someone, anyone to come and somehow in her panicked state, she thought of her Lady. If her Lady needed something done and done fast, all she had to do was call out her name and she would be there in an instant. Somehow in (Y/n)’s desperate mind, she thought that calling upon the most ruthless of the Dimitrescu Family was her best course of action.

“Cassandra!” (Y/n) yelled, closing her eyes tightly and fighting to maintain her precarious grip.

For a few seconds, there was just the creaking the chandelier and (Y/n) didn’t know whether to be relieved or devastated by the silence. Before she could resign herself to her fate, a faint buzzing could be heard below, growing in intensity until (Y/n) could see the swarm of blowflies collecting below her until they completely formed the middle Dimitrescu daughter. She looked up at (Y/n) with a sneer on her blood stained lips.

“Well, well, well. I must say that this is a first for me.” Cassandra hummed, a fist over her hip as she craned her head up, twisting this way and that to really get a good look. Yes, a maid hanging from a chandelier must have been a novelty to the monstrous woman indeed.

“Just how did you get into this predicament little mouse? Perhaps you are more of a monkey, hmm?” Cassandra giggled sadistically before idly licking the blood from her lips, smearing it around more than anything.

“I leaned too far over the banister while I was dusting.” (Y/n) explained through clenched teeth, trying to maintain her aching grip.

“Mmm, how clumsy of you.” Cassandra laughed again, moving her arms to rest across her chest, she propped her chin up in her gloved hand as she regarded (Y/n) with glee. “You know, I was going to skin you alive. You had called me away from cellar time after all, new arrivals are always the most fun to break. Not to mention that you, some lowly maid, think that I, a noblewoman of the House, am at your beck and call. Yes, I was going to kill you myself but now I’m curious,” Cassandra’s smirk widened to a full blown maniacal grin, “what will give out first? Your arms, or the chandelier?”

“Lady Cassandra, please!” (Y/n) wasn’t sure where she thought pleading would get her, but people will do all kinds of things they wouldn’t normally do under duress. Including begging a known sadistic killer to save them from certain death.

“Oh, she remembers her manners!” Cassandra mocked, “Do me a favor and just fall already. I fear I might be developing a crick in my neck.”

(Y/n) could feel the heat of incoming tears sting her eyes as she dangled several feet above her one woman audience. Well, no one could say she didn’t try. She started mumbling a little prayer for herself that turned into a yelp as the chandelier fell another half a foot, a much larger drop than the occasional two to three inches. The sudden gravity shift yanked (Y/n)’s hands clean off the chandelier, slicing her skin terribly as she tried to grab back on. She missed, she was falling.

(Y/n) couldn’t even scream, she just closed her eyes as tightly as she could and waited to meet the ground... speaking of which, shouldn’t she have hit it already?

(Y/n) peeled open an eye and slowly allowed herself to finally take in the buzzing that was surrounding her. Blowflies. She peered down past the swarm to see Cassandra, half formed with her arms outstretched, ready to receive her. (Y/n) could only stare, mouth slightly agape, as she was settled in Cassandra’s arms, watching the blowflies that had carried her mesh back into Cassandra’s legs.

“Why so surprised?” Cassandra asked with a mock sweetness that made (Y/n) shiver, “I simply couldn’t let you die just yet. No, I think I’d like to play with you just a little while longer.”

Cassandra happened to glance at the bloody hands clutched tightly to the maid’s chest and hummed. Adjusting her strong hold on the paralyzed maiden, she clutched the outermost wrist tightly and pulled it to her bloodied lips for a sample.

“Mm,” Cassandra appraised, passing her tongue over the cuts again, “yes, I think I’ll enjoy taking my time with you.” She cackled before unceremoniously dropping (Y/n) to the floor at a much safer, but still painful height.

“Go patch yourself up, my prey. You’re dismissed.” She said and then, she dispersed into a swarm of blowflies and was gone, her laughter bouncing off of the high ceilings.

(Y/n) sat on the floor dumbstruck, before finally getting up on shaky legs. She made her way to the maid’s quarters and upon seeing that it was empty, she allowed herself to cry as she cleaned and dressed her fingers. Lady Cassandra had saved her, saved her for a worse fate by her own hand no doubt. All she could do was wait.

***

Cassandra was a menace.

After the chandelier incident, (Y/n) found herself assigned to areas of the castle that Cassandra was known to frequent. There was never a minute’s rest when the middle child was free from her mother and sisters and even if Cassandra was occupied, (Y/n) often found herself nipped by the occasional stray blowfly as she did her work. There was no question in her mind where they had come from.

Yes, having caught Lady Cassandra’s eye had created a lot of extra work for the poor girl with extra antagonism. She’d poke and prod and pull, jostling (Y/n) around while she tried to stay on task. She would drag bloodied bodies through the carpeted halls (Y/n) had just cleaned and laugh as the poor maid went to restock her cleaning supplies. Cassandra would even demand (Y/n) drop everything to run her baths when she had grow tired of running around with blood smeared all over her like a toddler left alone with finger paints. She’d smugly present her bloodied face to (Y/n), silently demanding she wipe it clean for her and when she was satisfied, she would lean back in her tub and order (Y/n) to clean the bloodied weapons she’d drop dangerously close to her feet.  

Cassandra was insufferable, yet, (Y/n) couldn’t help but think positively because it could have easily been much worse. For as taxing as dealing with Cassandra could be, she had never hurt her, not really anyway. Not like the poor maid who went to clean the armory and left with one less arm than she went in with. The occasional bite of a blowfly stung and the shoves and pinches could be bruising, but at least she still had all her limbs, no broken bones or sickle scars puckering her skin.

(Y/n) sighed to herself as she polished the same battle axe for the third time that week. She was the only maid allowed to clean the armory anymore after Bianca lost her arm. Lady Cassandra had said that only (Y/n) knew how to clean her toys with proper care and could make them twice as shiny and sharp. A few of the other maids would darkly joke with (Y/n) in the serving quarters about the middle Dimitrescu having a crush on her, but (Y/n) would simply dismiss their gossip and continue her work without complaint. Such rumors could be dangerous after all.

As (Y/n) heaved the axe back into its place on the wall, she heard the thrum of quick light feet running across the carpeted hall just outside. She frowned to herself, but kept working. Assuming it was just just another poor girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. However the door the the armory clicked open, and the slightly out of breath maid (Y/n) recognized as Moiara peaked in, flushed from all her running no doubt.

“Lady Dimitrescu is ordering all of the maids back to their quarters immediately.” The girl urgently informed.

“Whatever for?” (Y/n) asked, brows furrowed in concern. It was a most unusual order.

“Apparently a pack of Moroaica have escaped the cellar and are currently roaming the castle. The Lady’s daughters are hunting them down, but it could take some time to clear everything up. Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t wish to lose more workers than she can replace.” Moiara explained, albeit the last line came out a touch bitterly.

“I understand, I’ll make my way now. Be safe.”

“Thank you.” Moiara nodded before darting off again.

(Y/n) cautiously made her way to the door and peered down both ends of the hallway. Noting that it was clear, she left the doorway and shut the armory door before quickly walking in the direction of the maid’s quarters. It was quite a walk and (Y/n)’s heart went out to Moiara and the rest of the girls who were still scattered further within the castle’s walls.

The halls were eerily quiet and empty, not unusual, but with the added threat lurking, well, it made it a tad more unsettling. It was laughable really, for (Y/n) to be afraid now. The threat of death loomed over her head constantly and only now she was concerned?

(Y/n) chuckled despite herself as she rounded another bend, hardly checking her surroundings as she crossed the third hallway and then the fourth.

“Oh!” (Y/n) tripped on a raised wrinkle in the rug, her hand automatically grasped the curtain beside her to steady herself. She was lucky it didn’t rip or surely the Lady of the House would have her head, never mind the Moroaica.

As she made to steady herself on her own two feet again, the curtain she had grasped twisted harshly and was ripped from her surprised and slackened grip. (Y/n) felt her blood run cold and her feet turn to lead as the ‘curtain’ reached out for her, revealing rotten, gnarled fingers that snapped (Y/n)’s bicep in a firm squeeze. As it completed its turn, (Y/n) saw scraggly, yellowed teeth lunge for her neck.

She attempted to keep the stray Moroaica at bay. The whole interaction, frightening and life threatening as it was, was a near silent struggle. It was as if (Y/n) had lost her voice completely. All that came from her were stuttering gasps as the creature snarled and snapped at her.

It wrestled her to the floor and clawed at her clothes and skin, drawing the blood that it seemed to desperately crave. (Y/n) struggled and kicked at the creature but it was unrelenting and finally something happened that helped (Y/n) find her voice, she screamed.

The Moroaica clawed at her ribs, tearing fabric, skin and muscle alike. (Y/n)’s fighting grew weaker the more the monster dug at her and her mouth was still parted from her pained screams but they were now near silent croaks as the pain and blood loss threatened her consciousness. Seemingly noticing her weakened state, the Moroaica neared its yellowing teeth to her exposed flesh and—

“Oo, look Bela! I found another one~!”

(Y/n) reflexively closed her eyes and felt something hot and wet splatter across her face. She heard a squelching noise and felt dead weight fall against her body as Daniela’s giggles filled the hall.

“You shouldn’t be having so much fun.” Bela grumbled at her sister. “I knew mother should have sent you to your room. It would have been a more fitting punishment.”

“Okay, so maybe I forgot to lock the cellar, but you can’t say you aren’t having a good time as well.” Daniela said, grinning when Bela rolled her eyes, a small shadow of a smile forming on the eldest sister’s lips.

“Aw, look,” Daniela grunted, kicking at the dead Moroaica until its corpse rolled off of (Y/n), “well, let’s not let her go to waste. Her blood still smells good.”

“Wait, Daniela,” Bela said, holding her younger sister’s shoulder as she peered down at the bloodied maid her breaths coming raggedly as she fought to open her eyes. Bela sniffed and winced, shooting her sister a look.

“Daniela, take a closer look.”

“Ugh, fine,” the youngest groaned and leaned forward, “I don’t see why...” Daniela paused, her back went rigid. She just stared at (Y/n) for a few moments before finally turning to her sister, lips pursed.

“Cass is literally going to kill me.”

“You think?” Bela said, almost with complete disinterest.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Help me! If she dies, I die!” Daniela hissed, couching beside (Y/n) to assess the damage.

“I don’t know, I think I would kind of like to see Cassandra hunt you for sport.” Bela smirked.

“Bela!”

“Alright, alright.” Bela sighed, couching at (Y/n)’s other side.

The last thing the maid could make out before succumbing to unconsciousness was a dull, muffled buzzing and a feeling of weightlessness.

***

When (Y/n) awoke, she immediately noted that her throat was drier than a desert wind; her stomach and ribs also burned and itched like nothing she had ever experienced. She gingerly touched her stomach and found it covered in bandages. Her head ached so she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes for a few moments.

With great effort she hoisted herself into a sitting position and had to do a double take of her surroundings. This was not the maid’s quarters and given the amount of time she had been spending in here lately, she was quick to realize she was in Lady Cassandra’s room, in her bed. Before (Y/n) could really let it all sink in, the door was yanked open.

Cassandra stalked in, shutting the door tightly behind her before standing over (Y/n) with a fire blazing in her golden eyes. A blowfly (Y/n) had initially failed to notice crawled down the bedpost before meshing back into Cassandra’s body. Apparently she had been being watched.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Cassandra gritted out, gripping the bedpost so hard (Y/n) was afraid it would splinter.

“Lady Cassandra?” (Y/n) questioned, still feeling numb and achy and not at all ready for such aggressive energy.

“Glad to know you still remember.”Cassandra said mockingly before her voice became low and serious again, “You were in trouble, why didn’t you call for me?”

“I don’t...” (Y/n) winced and held her head, it felt like she was on a boat in rocky waters.

Cassandra took notice and with surprising gentleness, lowered (Y/n) to rest fully against the bed once more. She even offered (Y/n) water and helped her drink. Then she checked her temperature, the cool touch of her skin felt wonderful against (Y/n)’s aching head.

“What happened?” (Y/n) murmured, whining when Cassandra went to remove her hand. A bit hesitantly, she put it back. A small, prideful smile curved at her lips when (Y/n) relaxed against her touch.

“Don’t you remember?” Cassandra scoffed, “I swear, you humans are so unbelievably fragile. You were attacked by a Moroaica that strayed from its pack. Bela and the idiot who caused the whole mess found you. I did some sucking up to mother and we fixed you up with a little herbal remedy,” Cassandra frowned her voice becoming a tad accusatory, “Yet you still slept for a long time.”

“I’m sorry to have been an inconvenience Lady Cassandra.” (Y/n) spoke up after trying to absorb all that Cassandra had told her. Surely it would have taken more than a, ‘little herbal remedy’ to fix what had happened to her.

(Y/n) scrunched her eyes shut when Cassandra suddenly growled and pinched the maid’s nose.

“I’m glad you realize it. Do you know how infuriating it is to watch another maid handle my weaponry all wrong? To not make my room the way that I like it? Ugh, I’d have killed them all if mother let me.” She let go of (Y/n)’s nose, swiping the side of her index finger playfully over the bridge a couple times before re-settling her hand over (Y/n)’s cheek.

“That’s why, when you’re all better, you are going to have to train one of those imbeciles how to do it right.”

“I can do it myself, Lady Cassandra. I can get back to work tomorrow I’m sure of it.” (Y/n) nearly pleaded. She was sure any girl she trained would end up killed anyway. There were too many little things that could set Cassandra off to count.

“There is no more cleaning for you. You’re retired.”

“Retired?” (Y/n) couldn’t help but gawk up at Cassandra. The notion was wholly unbelievable. No one retired from serving the Dimitrescus’ unless you counted dying as a form of retirement.

“Yes.” Cassandra said with near vicious finality.

“Lady Cassandra, my parents count on the lei I send them from my job here, please reconsider. There is no work for me back at the village and I’d just be another mouth my family cannot afford to feed.” (Y/n) beseeched, her body quaked with fever.

“Calm yourself.” Cassandra spoke as if attempting to be soft, but was still very on edge. “Your family will still receive money. You aren’t going back to the village.”

“I’m not?” (Y/n)’s brows drew together with further confusion, “but, then what will be my purpose if I’m not to work?”

“Does it really matter?” Cassandra flustered, a buzzing sound filled the space between them, “Your family is getting money and you don’t have to do anything for it, be grateful!” Cassandra pinched (Y/n)’s cheek a bit harshly before standing and stalking away. The buzzing following her as she tore the door open once more.

“I’ll be back with lunch.” The Dimitrescu grumbled before closing the door behind her once more.

“What is going on?” (Y/n) whispered to herself in disbelief before resting her head fully back against the pillow. She caught movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head just in time to watch a blowfly crawl back into the dark canopy of the bed.

***

(Y/n) wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Suddenly, she had all this free time on her hands and would for a long time apparently. It was nice when she was still recovering, but now that she had healed, she felt antsy.

Cassandra had handpicked a trembling maid for (Y/n) to train, but even those sessions did not last long as the poor girl, Anca was her name, was still expected to complete other chores. Something that did help to pass the time however was Cassandra herself, strangely enough. She was always the one to bring (Y/n) meals unless she was busy with some task her mother had given her, also giving (Y/n) little gifts and talking to her throughout each day. Sometimes the ‘gifts’ were gruesome and the talks seemed more like interrogations, but the effort in which Cassandra put into every interaction left (Y/n) intrigued with, and appreciative of the middle child.

Now wasn’t one of those times unfortunately, and (Y/n) found herself pacing the floor of her room, yes, one of her very own. Given to her by Cassandra right across the hall from her own. Now that she was well enough to do more on her own, she had been moved there about three weeks ago to have her own space. Another thing that was unheard of coming from the middle Dimitrescu. (Y/n) paused by the window to look out upon the snowy ground below.

“Miss (Y/n)?” A knock on the door, “May I speak with you?”

“Anca,” (Y/n) paused her paces, that was strange. There had been no plans for a lesson tonight. Nevertheless, (Y/n) was happy for the company. Ever since Cassandra had removed her from service, the other maids had avoided (Y/n) like a plague “please come in.”

The nervous little maid came in, closing the door tightly behind her, shoulders stiff as she slowly approached and took a seat in the chair (Y/n) offered to her.

“Are you alright? You’re shaking.” (Y/n) frowned, reaching out to comfort her only to watch Anca shrink away from her hand.

“Lady Cassandra,” she spoke, looking wildly around the room, “she will kill me I’m sure of it. What game are you playing?”

“Game? I’m playing no game.” (Y/n) tried to assure. “Has she said anything to you? I promise I’m covering every base I can—”

“You aren’t doing enough!” She screeched, startling the other. “I’ve seen the way she treats you. The privileges you’ve gained. This is all a set up! You were in my shoes not long ago, have you really lost your humanity so quickly?”

“Anca, please, calm yourself. I’m not working against you, I swear.” (Y/n) tried to explain. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help you. How can I help you?”

“How?” Anca mumbled, rubbing at her dark rimmed eyes. “It’s all because of you that I’m in this mess to begin with!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Anca.”

“No, I really don’t think you are.” Anca sniffed, rising from her chair. “But maybe there is something you can do to help me. I’m already dead, but I want to hurt Lady Cassandra before I go and I think I can do just that,” she pulled a knife from her apron, “if I take you down with me!”

“Anca!” (Y/n) screamed, stumbling away just before the knife could strike her.

“Just hold still! I’ll do it fast, please!” Anca cried as she swiped at her again. “Let me just have this one thing! This one last fuck you to this hell hole!”

“Stop! You’re making a mistake!” (Y/n) tried again, wrestling with Anca for the knife.

The scuffle went on for minutes before (Y/n) was thrown to the back wall, the knife missed her head just barely and sunk into the wood behind her. As Anca struggled to hold her in place and wedge the knife free, (Y/n) called out for her without even realizing it until the blood drained from Anca’s face.

“Cassandra!”

“No, shut up! Shut up you bitch!” Anca squealed, rocking the knife more vigorously.

“Cass—“ (Y/n) tried to call out again, this time fully aware of what she was doing, only to be head-butted by Anca in a desperate attempt to quiet her while she continued to work at the knife.

It was too late for that however, as proven by angry buzzing sounds roaring through the hallway and sliding under the door before forming right at Anca’s back, a cold hand joined Anca’s over the knife and grasped her so hard, (Y/n) could hear the maid’s fingers crack.

“You want this knife, do you?” Cassandra sneered, “Please, allow me.”

Cassandra tugged the knife from the wall like it had been warm butter, Anca’s hand still clenched in her own. She used her other arm to pull Anca off of (Y/n) with a rough tug and hardly took more than a few steps away before plunging the knife deep into the girl’s chest.

“There you go. You’re welcome you miserable little wretch.” Cassandra raked the knife downward, slicing Anca’s flesh all the way down to the hip as the poor girl screamed. “That will teach you to touch what doesn’t belong to you!”

(Y/n) could only watch, wide-eyed and trembling as Cassandra dissolved into her swarm, allowing Anca to fall to the floor before hundreds of little mouths began working at her flesh until the screaming ceased and all that was discernible was a frozen expression of agony on Anca’s face.

The blowflies came back together after a few more moments of feeding and Cassandra reformed, crouched beside (Y/n). (Y/n) didn’t even realize she had sunk to the floor during the gruesome attack.

Cassandra raised a blood covered hand to (Y/n)’s cheek, turning the face in her grasp, she assessed the damage, buzzing all the while. Somehow the sound felt, calming, reassuring. (Y/n) didn’t even flinch away from her touches and instead found herself leaning into them.

“Just look at what that thing did to you,” Cassandra hissed as she watched the blood leak from (Y/n)’s nose, “I should have killed her even slower.”

(Y/n) sniffled, leaning her head on Cassandra’s shoulder, “Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll always come to you if you call for me,” Cassandra sighed and pulled (Y/n) into her lap. She smelled almost overwhelmingly of blood, but (Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to care. “No one has ever called for me like you have before. No one that wasn’t my mother or sisters anyway,” Cassandra bit her lip, “I... at first, I was enraged that you called for me that first time, but the more I thought about it... Ugh! You made me feel all gross and buzzy inside. I’m just so used to humans fearing me, associating me with death. Never have I been called by one expecting to be saved from it.”

“Is that why you helped me after that Moroaica had attacked me?” (Y/n) asked, her voice still muffled by Cassandra’s shoulder. She didn’t really want to catch sight of Anca’s remains again while in the arms of her killer.

“Yes. I’m still mad at you for that.” Cassandra growled, “Why didn’t you call for me that time? I thought we had an understanding.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) chuckled despite everything, “But I think understandings are usually met through open communication. I’m sorry I didn’t interpret your bug bites and general antagonisms as anything but blatant harassment.”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra snarled, reminding (Y/n) just how frightening she could be.

“I, I’m sorry Lady Cassandra. I forget myself.” (Y/n) stammered before gasping as Cassandra effortlessly rose to her feet with (Y/n) still in her arms.

“You must be awfully tired to be so mouthy. I can’t imagine you’ll want to sleep with a corpse on your rug so you’ll just have to sleep in my room until the maids clean this mess up. I suppose I’ll need to fix your nose too. So fragile, my prey is.” Cassandra sighed, clearly feeling inconvenienced by the whole situation. Though she carefully maneuvered out of the doorway so (Y/n) wouldn’t bump against it as they made the short trip across the hall to her room.

“You treat me quite well for being prey.” (Y/n) tested with caution. “You protect me, but why? Is it all so you can end me yourself at your own leisure?”

“Oh wow Cass, you really know how to make a maiden feel special.”

“I knew she was full of it, Bela! I bet they haven’t so much as kissed yet!”

(Y/n) felt Cassandra’s grip on her tighten as the mocking voices of her sisters closed in on them before Cassandra could slink into her room.

“Shut the hell up and mind your own business!” Cassandra fumed, crossing the threshold into her room before kicking the door shut, making a thunderous slam reverberate off of the castle walls.

Bela and Daniela merely giggled, seeping through the cracks of the doors before reforming over their sister’s bed, nearly falling on top of each other as Cassandra sped past them to take (Y/n) into her en-suite bathroom.

She placed (Y/n) on top on the counter and tweaked her nose without warning, making (Y/n) yelp in pain.

“Quiet prey, I needed to set your nose back into place is all,” Cassandra wrinkled her nose as more blood oozed from the abused cartilage, “damn, why must you smell so enticing.”

(Y/n) couldn’t find any words, both because her nose stung like hell and she was still stuck on what Daniela and Bela were taunting Cassandra about, so she just managed a small shrug.

Cassandra hardly seemed to mind her lack of verbal response. She was too busy grinding her teeth as her sisters continued to whisper and laugh in the bedroom. Cassandra quickly wiped and stuffed (Y/n)’s nose, nearly hissing at her to remain still before going back to deal with her unruly siblings, licking the stray blood from her fingers as she went.

(Y/n) tried to give her some privacy, she really did, but it was hard not to listen in when they were speaking so loudly, and about herself no less.

“You two get out of my room, now!” Cassandra commanded.

“Why? It’s not like anything unseemly is going to be happening in here. Right, Daniela?” Bela giggled while Daniela downright cackled with glee.

“Get. Out. Now!” Cassandra bellowed.

“Oh no Cassie,” Daniela waggled a finger, snatching it back before Cassandra could bite it, “you spend weeks pretending to have gone all the way with dear (Y/n) over there like some casanova and now we find out she doesn’t even know you like her?”

“What’s the matter Cassandra? It isn’t like you to be so chaste.” Bela said with a smirk.

“She must really like this one to be taking her time like this.” Daniela hypothesized with a bloodstained grin.

“Leave you idiots!” Cassandra nearly screamed, “She can probably hear everything you’re spewing! I’ll throw you out in the cold, don’t think I won’t!”

“Geez Cass, no need to be so hostile,” Bela shivered at the thought.

“Yeah, you take your well deserved teasings or we’ll tell mother you are not playing fair.” Daniela added with a pout.

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose shutting her eyes tightly before releasing her nose with a growl and snapping her gaze back to her sisters.

“What do you want?” She grumbled.

“Oo! I want the best bits of your next hunt!” Daniela immediately proclaimed.

“I want to watch you flounder about whilst you try to explain your affections to the maiden.” Bela had said after a moment of consideration.

“Oh! That sounds fun. I retract my previous statement. I want what Bela’s having.” Daniela wiggled.

“I hate you both.” Cassandra huffed before stalking back to the bathroom, her giggling sister’s on her heels. (Y/n) quickly shot her gaze down at her swinging feet, suddenly more interested in the patterns of the floor below.

It didn’t take long for Cassandra to grab (Y/n)’s jaw and pull her face upward to meet her golden eyes.

“Listen prey,” Cassandra swallowed and blinked, her eyes darting all around (Y/n)’s face, “I...”

“Come on, Cassandra. It’s not that difficult.” Bela cooed, egging her sister on.

“I could tell her for you. That would be fun.” Daniela suggested, shrinking back just a bit at the look Cassandra shot her over her shoulder.

“Prey, (Y/n), I... Why is this so hard!” She stomped her foot and her nails bit into (Y/n)’s skin a bit too harshly, “I like you a lot and that’s why I’ve been helping you. I want you to like me too. Do you? Be honest.” She asked with a bit of hostility.

Did (Y/n) like Cassandra? Either way, it seemed like a death sentence to say no. Cassandra seemed to notice (Y/n)’s trepidation and quickly added,

“You don’t have to be scared. I won’t hurt you, just tell me the truth. If the answer is not to my liking then I guess I’ll simply have to try harder.” She said as if the words physically hurt her to say.

(Y/n) thought back on all of her interactions with Cassandra in a new light. Actually being caught as she fell, the schoolyard boy with a crush behavior (which honestly didn’t give the her any points but did make sense for how the murderous woman might try to show affection), most promising was how she brought (Y/n) back to health and continued to send money to her struggling family despite not working. Then of course she had saved her from Anca’s knife, wasting no time in cutting her down and checking (Y/n) over with care.

(Y/n) gave Cassandra a small smile that steadily grew a bit wider as golden eyes traced the movement and a hopeful sounding buzz began warbling in the back of her throat. Even the sisters standing behind her buzzed in unison, seemingly feeling their sister’s hope and growing excitement.

“Lady Cassandra, I like you too—Eep!”

Cassandra’s face dove into (Y/n)’s neck as her strong arms wrapped around (Y/n) to hold her still as she nuzzled and buzzed to her heart’s content. Bela and Daniela dissolved into their swarms and were haphazardly flying around them in celebration.

Cassandra gave (Y/n)’s neck a playful nip, much softer than a blowfly, before standing back to her full height and throwing (Y/n) over her shoulder.

“Lady Cassandra?” (Y/n) tried, wiggling a bit in the sudden new hold.

“Shhh, I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks.” Cassandra said, craning her neck to look up at her sisters still buzzing above them, “Buzz off.” She told them. The clouds of flies let out a bout of disembodied laughter before slipping back under the door, feeling that they had given their sister enough grief for one night.

Once Cassandra was sure they were gone, she tossed (Y/n) on to the bed and climbed in as well, hovering over the stuttering maiden.

“Wuh- wait, Cassandra, I know we established we like each other but—“ the former maid flustered as Cassandra rested her full weight over (Y/n)’s body and moaned pleasantly in her ear.

“Mm, you’re so warm. I could just lay here forever.” She sighed, snaking her hands underneath (Y/n)’s back.

“Thank... you?” (Y/n) awkwardly replied. For as tall and strong as Cassandra was, she was surprisingly light. (Y/n) figured the fact that she was made up of flies had something to do with that.

Cassandra hummed some more, nuzzling her nose in the crook of (Y/n)’s neck and breathing so deeply that (Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle. There was a bit of concern bleeding in the back of her mind, but the smiling lips on her collarbone were quick to distract her.

“I quite like it when you make that sound, it’s sweet. But right now I’m quite tired, and I would like for you to be quiet now. I’m listening to your blood move.”

Well, that was a slightly terrifying admission. (Y/n) must’ve been going mad because she reacted no differently than if she had said she was listening to her heartbeat.

“Goodnight then.” (Y/n) murmured, slowly patting Cassandra’s hair, earning a low continuous buzzing that persisted until they had fallen asleep together.

#re8 oneshots #resident evil oneshots #resident evil village oneshots #cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader

[imnotusedtobeingloved]

A/B/C/D/E/F/G/H/I/J/K/L/M/N/O/P/Q/R/S/T/U/V/W/X/Y/Z

 FROM THE CHARACTER ALPHABET WITH IVAR RAGNARSSON.

REQUESTED BY: @witch-of-letters

A - affection (how affectionate are they? what do they enjoy?)

At first? Not at all.

The only person he is used to getting affection from is Aslaug, so naturally you might earn a few sceptical looks from him if you try to get close.

Nevertheless he quickly learns how pleasant the attention of someone else can be, but tries to be subtle about it. He wouldn’t want to tell you upfront that he enjoys having you close or that he likes your touch, because he fears the rejection that might come with it.

In time, he would alert you with a little nudge here and there whenever he requires your tenderness.

Slowly but surely Ivar would get more daring, trying to innitiate the soft touches himself. If you don’t pull back, he’ll get more sure of himself and as soon as it is clear to him that you are serious about him, you’ll be the only person in Kattegat to recieve affectionate touches from Ivar without any deadly concequences.

What he loves most is either having his head placed on your chest or stomach, feeling you breathe and with your hands in his hair, or laying on the side, with you wrapped around his back.

B - bodypart (what’s their favorite bodypart on their partner and them?)

His arms.

His arms have been a replacement for his legs for all his life. Since he has to crawl everywhere until he has his crutches, they are well built and knowing that you love being wrapped inside them, makes Ivar love them even more.

Your legs.

He likes your legs because they are what he cannot have. He likes them because his are so flawed, and yet you choose to love them anyways. And he likes them due to their shape, the softness of your skin and how they look when you move around.

C - commitment (how quick are they to commit?)

Not that quick.

Ivar is reluctant, to say the least.

He needs to be 100% sure that you are commited to him, before he will make any kind of promises to you. It would be a long process full of selfdoubt, selfdeprication and fear of betrayal.

Ivar would also visit the seer and ask about a future with you by his side. The seers answers would be, as always, very vague (if he says something at all).

In addition to all those troubles, his brothers are in the midst of it. Ubbe and Hvitserk might be the only positive voices of reason at times (apart from Aslaug), while Bjorn would not really concern himself with it. Sigurd on the other hand would throw salt at Ivars mental wounds, saying you were only with him out of pity.

So the viking has no real option but to rely on you reassurance and your loving words. You’d probably have to spend months proving that you are serious about him, because he has been hurt and rediculed so many times before, but in the end it’s all worth it.

Once Ivar chooses to fully commit to you, he’s there to stay.

D - dates (what would dates with them look like? what would they plan?)

Ivar is usually not that much of a planner when it comes to dates.

Normally he is content with finding a secluded place to spend time with you, away from the crowds and far, far away from his relatives.

But if, for any reason, a special occassion should arise, he would definetely ask his brothers for help as much as he hates it.

He would send Hvitserk to distract you with requests and tasks all day, while Ubbe helps him set everything up in a little cabin in the woods. Ivar would ask Aslaug to have some thralls bring plates of food as well.

E - experience (how many relationships have they had before?)

Close to nothing, really.

Ivar did not have any experience with real love and he was very sceptical of it.

The few kisses and cuddles he may have had, have all come from the thralls his family owns.

Apart from that, he has not been interested in anybody, other than finding some attractive on the outside. Too often he had to find out the hard way that the insides of people where much more ugly than the exterior.

So in response to that Ivar mainly focused on his training and on becoming a better viking, until you came along.

F - family (do they want to start a family?)

Ivar would love to start a family.

At first, he is actually astounded that you’d bring it up.

For a long time, he could’ve never imagined someone wanting to have a family with him. To have a child with him (no matter if it’s your own or adopted). So when you suggest it, he is mindblown for a second, before he cups your face, telling you that it is what he longed for all along.

He would be ecstatic upon the idea of having an heir. Or two. Or more. But at least one is fair.

For him, it feels like everything is finally falling into the right place.

G - generosity (do they give their partner a lot of presents? if so, what?)

Exceptionally generous.

And you don’t even have to ask for them.

Ivar brings tons of goods and riches home from every raid, where you can pick whatever you like. He makes sure to safe the best pieces for you and keeps an eye out for suvenirs he knows you might love.

Should you require anything else Ivar has enough resources to get you everything you want from the market. Since Aslaugs rule in Ragnars absence, Kattegat has also transformed into an important trading center, will all kinds of diverse products.

Ivar sees to it, that you have anything you could possible require, even in his absence.

He spoils you, not gonna lie.

H - heaven (how would they react if they lost their partner?)

Ivar would never recover from the loss.

After everything that happened to his family, all the betrayals and the lies and the fights, you were the one thing to keep him going. You had been there for him everytime, no matter how hard it was. No matter how dangerous it got, no matter how exhausted you were.

But now?

There was nothing.

No one.

And no way to bring you back.

One of the things that scares Ivar most is how numb everything feels. There was nobody to be angry at. Nobody to blame, except for the illness that took you away. And against something like that, not even Ivar the Boneless could seek revenge.

He should have known when you confessed you love, that you were just another thing he had to lose. First it was his father, then his mother, then Helga and Floki and now... there was nothing left of him.

Still your face, your smell, you presence would follow him everywhere he goes.

And he’d beg you to haunt him.

I - i love you (who says the three magic words first and why?)

It depends.

The only way Ivar would say it first is if he is frantic. Either in a screaming match, or when you are close to leaving him.

When neither of those are likely though, this viking would most definetely wait until you’ve said it first. For a long time he does not even dare to hope that you will. He is still a cripple after all, no amout of love could ever change that and he fears the day you realize it. Ivar is so used to rejection that he tells himself it wouldn’t hurt if you left. But deep down he knows it would. That’s why he always hesitates in the very last second, drawing back. 

He leaves the first ‘i love you’ to you. But when it comes, you’ve never seen him smile that big. He can’t believe his luck. Can’t believe that you truly choose him over anyone else.

Ivar will rarely outright tell you that he loves you and only chooses particular moments for it.

But that just makes it all the more special.

J - journey (how did they first meet their partner?)

Unfortunately, you met Ivar while his men were preparing for a raid.

You stumbled upon their camp and he questioned you, demanding informations. This way he could gather when the best time for an attack might be. But not only that. You captured his interest in a way he would not have expected.

There was something in the way you spoke and the way you carried yourself that made him hesitate. He supposed that was what it must have felt like for his father with that unlucky priest Floki killed in the end. But then again, in time, he discovered it wasn’t quite the same. There was something more that drew him to you, apart from curiosity.

And he intended to find out what exactly it was.

Who knows after all?

Maybe it was fate.

K - kisses (what are their kisses like?)

Ivars kisses are desperate.

Desperate for warmth, desperate for acceptance, desperate for belonging.

He puts his emotions into every kiss and there is no such thing as ‘just a peck’ with him. Ivar likes to feel needed. He likes showing you how much he loves you, rather than expressing it with words.

He’s also not ashamed to kiss you in front of an audience, frankly he does not care who sees it, because you’re the only one that counts (but he will stop should it make you uncomfortable). He does not fear that it might make him seem weak, that thought is pretty ridiculous to him.

If anything, he’s even more proud to be the one you want.

L - love language (what’s their love language?)

Ivars love language is physical touch closely followed by words of affirmation.

Ivar feels loved the most if he recieves physical touch. He senses that most people around him are too intimidated to get close, or are simply put off by his condition. As a result of that, he rarely gets affectionate touches or attention, which he craves dearly. Even more so since Aslaug is dead and Floki and Helga are both gone. It’s important to Ivar that his partner makes him feel appreciated this way, even if it’s just a hand on his arm at the table, or your fingers laced with his. Every little touch counts.

The second best way to make him happy is through words of affirmation. Words have great meaning to Ivar, so beware of saying anything hurtful to him, for it might stay with him for a lifetime. In time you may notice that especially Ragnars last words “happiness means nothing” are stuck in Ivars head. Words impact him greatly, and you may have to undo some of the damage others have caused in his mind, with a few well-placed strikes. Ivar will appreciate it if you reassure him of your love with the right words at the right time.

M - memory (what’s their favorite memory of the relationship?)

The morning after the first night spend together.

Back then he had no idea how it happened or how you did it.

You were still snoring next to him when he came to realize he didn’t just like you. He loved you. And while you moved around, hugging the fur close to your chest a thousand emotions had swirled in his head. He was confused, surprised and completely thrown aback about what you did to him. About how you made his heart beat faster and his limbs tingle with the need to draw you closer. He watched, until the sun tickled your skin, rousing you from your sleep and when you opened your eyes to look at him with that smile... you knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Whenever he thinks back to that morning now, you catch him with an absent-minded smile on his lips.

N - newborn (how would they react to expecting a child? how would they deal with the pregnancy?)

Ivar would be shocked.

First of all, he would question if the child is truly his, as it seemed impossible before. He wouldn’t have thought that he would ever get the chance to have an heir. So, once you’ve settled his doubts, he would be the proudest father-to-be in all of Kattegat.

But also the most anxious.

He heavily questions his ability to raise a child. Even he knows his father was not a really good example to look up to when it comes to raising children, or to being a husband.

So he seeks the not really helpful advice of his brothers, who all seem to go in completely different directions when it comes to kids. Hvitserk is clearly letting his nephews and nieces walk all over him, while Ubbe is acting like an overprotective hen. Bjorn seems deadset on training them and sending them out in the wild. And Sigurd? Ivar is not quite sure the man is a grown-up himself.

In conclusion: they all started fighting amost themselves while Ivar watched the mess unfold.

Clearly, his mother Aslaug would have been a much better option.

But if she is no longer around, Ivar will instead turn to Floki and Helga where he finally finds some words of wisdom and support.

Without a doubt the woman carrying his child will be protected at all times. This is a literal miracle to him and he would be devastated if anything went wrong with the mother, or the child.

Other than that Ivar finds great joy in the pregnancy. He loves seeing the mother grow with his child and he would be truly proud of his child for carrying on his legacy. Ivar’s love grows during this incredible months, even during all the moods and cravings.

Both, the mother and the baby will be incredibly spoiled.

O - oasis (what’s their favorite place to spent time?)

The pier.

He enjoys the location, especially on warm summer days.

He has many memories stored in his mind, of sitting out on the docks. It’s a place where he can clear his head and it also gives him an overview of everything that is happening around him.

Ivar also likes the calm view of the ocean, even though he’s terrified of the sea. He likes to imagine all the lands that await him on the next raid. The atmosphere helps him to resume his strategies and to gather his thoughts.

It helps him to visualize the terrain the next war will be fought on and the techniques his enemies might use.

You will find him there often, sitting and staring out to the sea until the sun fades away.

P - petnames (what petname would they give their partner?)

“My love.”

The words tasted absolutely ridiculous on his tongue, when he first said them. Almost pathetic. That is also what he threw at your head, when you first said it, but not in anger. It was... something else. Some thing you had to figure out first.

The way he put you off was so reluctant, that it didn’t fit. He liked it. You knew he did. And he knew you knew he did. And he hated it.

This, in turn, made you use the petname whenever you could, with a smirk on your face. Eventually he not only gave in, but started using it himself.

The first time he did you probably spit out your drink in shock tbh.

He’d grumble out of embarassement, until you’d reassure him. When he knows for sure that you actually love it, it’s settled.

It would become a habit.

Q - quiet (what do undisturbed moments look like?)

Peaceful.

In quiet moments Ivar can take a breath and let go of all that troubles him.

He likes taking you down to the beach on those rare days, lying next to you in the sand and relaxing for hours. In those moments all the fights, the wars and the arguments truly fade away. Sometimes they might creep into his mind, which you scold him for when he shares those thoughs absent-mindedly.

Apart from that, it is in those quiet times that you can truly find joy in the company of each other. There don’t need to be many words or actions to keep you happy, just the two of you alone will do.

R - rivals (how do they handle jealousy?)

Not too well.

If there is anyone making advances towards you, Ivar will be the first one to notice. Probably even before you.

He knows very well that you would not appreciate a bloodbath. And further than that, there are political figures that are better kept alive during those stressful times of war. So, no matter how much it bugs him, he would keep still for the time being, trusting you to tell them off (but you may notice the tick of his jaw, or the whitened knuckles when his fingers clench around the armrests of his chair).

If you don’t notice, Ivar will be sure to inform you and ask you to do something about it. He doesn’t voice his concerns about it very clearly, but he is afraid of you leaving him for another.

Though, should a situation get critical, even after you have made clear that Ivar is the one for you, you can be sure that Ivar wont let it slide.

Even if he has to make it look like an accident.

S - song (what song is a reminder of them?)

OCEAN EYES - BILLIE EILISH

I've been watchin' you for some time

Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes

Burning cities and napalm skies

Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes

Your ocean eyes

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

I've been walkin' through a world gone blind

Can't stop thinkin' of your diamond mind

Careful creature made friends with time

He left her lonely with a diamond mind

And those ocean eyes

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

Da, da-da, da-da

Da-da-da, da, da

Da, da, da, da, da-da-da-da

Mm

Mm

Mm

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

T - token (what kind of object would be the proof of their love? a ring? a necklace? something completely different?)

Ivar can, as a prince and as a king, buy you anything you want.

So he goes a completely different way.

He would try and make you something himself. Something that wouldn’t bother you during the day while tending to your tasks, but also something that would show everyone around you that you are taken.

And something that would remind you of him.

Ivar has noticed you fiddle with the pendant of his necklace often enough.

The viking takes is upon himself to make a twin to the mjolnir hanging from his throat. He would spend ages drawing out the form and details of the hammer, making sure everything looks perfect. He would also use much more expensive material than his own was made of and would insert fitting gemstones if possible.

Ivar works through days and nights to complete his work and smiles like a child when he can finally hand it to you.

It would turn out so beautiful that you would never want to take it off.

U - unique (why did they choose their partner? what first attracted them?)

The thing that first drew him to you was your personality.

Ivar likes looking at pretty features and bodies, yes. But in a way, doesn’t everyone?

Physical attributes don’t mean that much to him. That he may find a body pleasing to look at has nothing to do with feelings. It is more about an aesthitic. About a facade.

What really interests him is your behavior and your mannerisms. How you talk and behave when nobody sees you and how you move when the great hall is filled with people.

Ivar is first attracted to you because of your habits and your character. The unique tells when he catches you lying, or the characteristic twitch of your mouth, when Bjorn shares a story around the dinner table.

V - vulnerable (how vulnerable do they allow themselves to get?)

He is a tough nut to crack.

Ivar is not the type to be vulnerable around others.

He is not always proud of it when he loses his temper, but he absolutely hates it when he has to cry. Not particularily because he sees it as a weakness, but because he despises the whole feeling of it. He hates the helplessness that settles in and the pityful looks everyone carries on their faces when tears are shed.

He does not like to cry in front of you, even when you are close. You will often have to force him to lean on you and let you comfort him. At the beginning he dislikes doing so, but quickly notices that it helps.

He starts to appreciate your help and your knowledge when you assist him to get his mind back on track and give him a perspective he might not have thought of (though there is rarely a way he does not come up with).

X - xfactor (what’s one of their special talents they try to impress with?)

His mind.

While his brothers might be honest in saying that they consider him their equal despite his disability (which he is already sceptical of), Ivar is very aware that that does not count for everyone else around him.

Not even for you.

So he tries to impress you with what he does best. Ivar is intelligent and an incredible strategist on all fields. He will use his smarts and his witt to catch you attention (and maybe even aks you for advice, even though he already has the perfect solution).

Y - yin & yang (how does having their partner around change their behavior?)

It changes quite a bit.

Ivar becomes calmer when you’re around. More patient and less heated. Apart from that he puts great value on your opinions, even of you are not familiar with all of his strategies.

The times of war are stressful even on a bright mind such as his. It makes him agitated when you’re parted and he trends to get nervous when he can’t keep an eye on you.

Since what happened to his mother while he was not around, he fears that the same fate might come for you if he is not on guard at all times. That, in turn gets him easily frustrated when you can’t join him where he is going.

Needless to say, his men are glad when you are present.

Ivar becomes more relaxed, witty and even pleasant at times as soon as you are near.

Z- zen (how calm are they during arguments?)

Not very calm, even though he tries to keep his cool.

He tends to let his frustrations out, wether that be through screaming or trashing something.

This viking does not hold back.

And we all know Ivar is already intimidating enough when he is not in a bad mood.

But usually, all of that doesn’t happen around you. Between the both of you arguments rarely arise. You are pretty much on the same page and definetely act as a team.

Though, of course, it can’t be that easy all the time. When an argument between the two of you arises Ivat tries to reason with you. The man is used to things going his way, so it might be quite a struggle to go against him at first. He tends to get louder, as a way to emphasize his reasoning, but will quickly try to shut it down if you tell him that it upsets you.

He’ll try to explain his situation and get a grip on your view at the same time, until you reach an agreement both of you are happy with, which he does not do with anyone but you.

#ivar x reader #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar vikings #ivar fluff #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x you

[visander]

Promises to Keep | Ao3.

When Alec adopted a warlock, he expected that people would be watching him closely. He didn't expect the High Warlock to follow him while he was running errands.

This is my ‘Spy AU’ square for @shadowhunterbingo.

Spying on a shadowhunter wasn’t exactly how Magnus intended to spend his evening but when you were the High Warlock, sometimes you found yourself doing things that you wished desperately you could pass off on someone else. Yet, there was no one to pass this off to. So, Magnus found himself dawning a glamour and following a shadowhunter around New York all evening.

See, the shadowhunter in question wasn’t just any shadowhunter. The shadowhunter was Alexander Lightwood, Head of the Institute and as of recently, caretaker to a baby who had only been discovered to be a warlock in the past week. Magnus offered to take the child as soon as the news reached him. It was part of his job after all to take any warlock children found in New York and relocate them to somewhere suitable but Alexander had declined.

He told Magnus that the child being a warlock didn’t change anything for him and that he had been caring for Max for months and he would continue to do so. Which was a lovely sentiment but a shadowhunter caring for a baby warlock? Even if Alexander himself was an abnormally strong ally to the downworld, which he was, a warlock growing up in an Institute tended to lead to problems. Malcolm had grown up in an Institute and that story had gone sideways, even if it had taken years for it to do so. Magnus wasn’t looking for a repeat of that situation with this tiny new warlock.

Now, Magnus liked Alexander and he was sure that the man had the best intentions but the child in his care being a warlock undoubtedly changed things, if not for him then for the people around him. Magnus was spying on Alec to make sure the child was being cared for and to make sure that none of Alec’s colleagues took it upon themselves to fix the warlock problem on their own. If he had any reason to think the child didn’t belong in Alec’s care, it was his duty to rectify the situation.

Magnus would feel bad about invading Alec’s privacy, if there was not a child involved. Because there was, Magnus was entirely guiltless as he followed behind Alec into the city. Alec had left the Institute a few minutes earlier with a bundle of blue skin curled onto his chest, attached rather carefully with a piece of fabric that Magnus had never quite understood how to wrap. Alec carried a small bag with him and even from where he was standing, Magnus could see a bottle peeking out of the zipper.

Magnus found himself a little impressed. Clearly, Alec was prepared but that didn’t exactly change anything. Even well prepared shadowhunters could fail, especially when they were doing something as impossible as raising a baby warlock.

The baby blabbered happily against Alec’s chest as he walked and Alec cooed softly to him, hushing quiet tender words that Magnus was too far away to hear. If it warmed his heart a little - well, no one needed to know that and it was certainly not something Magnus was going to be telling anyone.

Alec’s walk took them to a small store, where Alec bought baby food and other essentials that Magnus supposed the Institute did not stock for him. Outside, Alec took a moment to carefully put everything into the bag he was carrying. The food went into a specific pocket, the diapers into another, until everything was put away carefully and neatly.

The baby, Max as Alec had named him, chewed on the pacifier Alec had given him and watched what Alec was doing with a wide eyed interest that Magnus only associated with babies. When Alec finished, he shifted to push the bag onto his back, pull the baby closer and head off again. Magnus had expected Alec to go back to the Institute but he didn’t. Instead, he started walking towards a small park that Magnus had always been particularly fond of.

Magnus had never thought of shadowhunters enjoying simple pleasures like parks and he found it a little hard to believe that was where Alec was going but when they reached the park, Alec did stop. He settled at the base of a tree after peering around for a contemplative moment. He stretched out a small blanket next to him and then, he started to unwrap Max from his chest.

The moment Alec lifted the baby off him, the baby’s legs started kicking through the air at the newfound freedom he had. Alec laid the gleefully child onto the blanket next to him and then, he slipped a blade out of his back pocket and placed it down carefully on the opposite side of him, far out of the baby's reach. The discordance of seeing a deadly weapon on one of Alec’s sides and a baby on the other almost made Magnus laugh but Magnus wasn’t sure what else he was expecting from a shadowhunter.

Magnus was about to settle against a tree or decide to leave Alec to the privacy he thought he had for the rest of the night when Alec spoke without looking over.

“You can come sit, if you’d like,” Alec murmured.

Magnus froze and it took him too long of a moment to realize that Alec was in fact talking to him. He had to be. There was no one else in the park, besides the baby who he could not be referring to. Magnus shifted uncomfortably as Alec lifted his eyes and peered towards Magnus at last.

Magnus expected him to look angry but there was something in his eyes that was subdued and just a little amused. Alec held his hand idly over the baby, wiggling his fingers as Max reached his blue hands up to try to contain Alec’s fingers in his tiny grasp.

Magnus hesitantly took a step forward and when Alec said nothing further, Magnus took a few more steps until he was only a few feet away from the pair he’d been following. “I’m sorry to have invaded your privacy,” Magnus said finally. He and Alec had a strong professional relationship up until this point and if this ruined it… well, that would hardly be productive at all and it would certainly make it a lot harder for Magnus to keep an eye on Max.

But Alec didn’t seem exceptionally concerned by what Magnus had been doing. Instead, he waved his free hand vaguely in Magnus’ direction. “It’s fine. Come sit,” Alec said again, nodding his head to the spot across from Max, pointedly away from the weapon Alec had laid on the ground.

Knowing now that Alec had known he was there, Magnus wondered if he’d put the weapon down to make him more comfortable. Magnus didn’t ask. Instead, he walked around Alec and settled to the ground, watching Alec idly play with the baby who seemed so distracted by Alec’s hand that he hardly noticed Magnus’ arrival.

“I was trying to check on- '' Magnus had been about to go on and explain that he’d only been trying to keep an eye on Max, who was a warlock in his jurisdiction but Alec made a soft noise and Magnus fell silent before he could finish his sentence.

“I know what you were doing.” Alec looked up at Magnus and offered him a soft, bittersweet smile. “I expected someone to be checking up on us. Though, I didn’t quite expect to be followed running errands.”

Magnus swallowed a little uncomfortably. He wasn't embarrassed to have been following Alec. It was his job. He was making sure the child in his care was being cared for, something that was of grave concern in this odd situation. He was a little embarrassed to have been caught so easily and not even have known it but with a shadowhunter, Magnus wasn’t really sure what he expected.

“Well, I can’t exactly watch you while you’re in the Institute. My spying options were a bit limited.”

Alec shrugged. He had let Max grab his hand at last and the baby was happily chewing on one of Alec’s fingers. “You could,” Alec said simply. “You have the clearance to come in whenever you’d like. I don’t mind if you want to come watch.”

Magnus fell silent at that. Finally, he cocked his head, “I don’t know many people who would be so welcoming at the prospect of being observed.”

Alec lifted his eyes up to meet Magnus’ again and when he smiled this time, there was some genuine amusement on his face. “I don’t know many shadowhunters who adopt a warlock baby.” Again, Alec shrugged as he looked back down to the baby still clutching his hand. “I get why your people might be concerned. I’d rather you stop in and be able to assure everyone that I’m caring for my child.”

“Your child?” Magnus questioned. Magnus knew Alec’s intentions to keep the child but Magnus still found it hard to believe that a shadowhunter would so willingly accept a child into his life that was not a shadowhunter like they’d thought when they’d first found the baby on the steps of the Academy months before.

“My child,” Alec confirmed. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his tone and Magnus found himself pressing his lips to suppress the small smile that had threatened to come across his face.

“Well, perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow morning. If you’re not incredibly busy?”

Alec looked up and Magnus could see instantly that he was relieved. It took a second for Magnus to think over the conversation they’d just had and see why. Magnus’ question of Alec’s wording, to Alec, might not have seemed like an inquiry into Alec’s intentions like Magnus had meant it. It might have seemed like an attack on Alec’s claim on this child.

Alec had expected Magnus to try and take the baby, Magnus realized. He’d thought Magnus was going to challenge him and demand that he take the child to someone more suited to care for him.

“You can come even if I’m busy,” Alec insisted. “When I’m working, he stays with my siblings but you can come anyway. I’ll tell them to let you in.”

Magnus nodded and he could have left it at that but there was something about the hopeful, earnest way that Alec spoke that made Magnus frown. “I hope you’re not offended if I take you up on that,” Magnus said finally.

“Of course not,” Alec said instantly.

Magnus frowned a bit deeper. “Your situation is a little… unorthodox but if you are caring for him, I don’t see any reason why that would be a problem,” Magnus said at last. Truthfully, there were some who thought Magnus should go and take the child anyway. He would be well within his right to and Alec would be able to do nothing about it.

Some thought Magnus should do so before Alec could raise a warlock to do the Institute’s bidding. Some who had met Alec and like Magnus, had a professional respect for him, admired his intentions but still thought Magnus should take the child away. An Institute was not a kind place for a baby warlock and Magnus would be lying if he said that wasn’t a concern for him still but Magnus didn’t think taking the child away would be best.

Even if Magnus did take the child, finding someone to care for a young warlock was not easy. Few warlocks wanted the task themselves and few people besides a warlock could handle the uncontrollable magic that came with a warlock who was so small. It might not be the best situation but as long as Alec stepped in the moment any of his people thought it appropriate to bother the boy, Magnus didn’t really see a problem with it.

The Institute was warded and protected. If it wasn’t for the shadowhunters themselves, it might be one of the best places for the small warlock to be.

At his words, Alec’s hand fell still as the tiny baby continued to play with his fingers gleefully. “Lorenzo Rey doesn’t think I should be able to keep him,” Alec said simply.

Magnus almost scoffed. “It’s not up to Lorenzo to make that decision,” Magnus assured him quickly. “Lorenzo hasn’t been in New York long anyway. He’s not very well acquainted with you or your family. If he knew you a bit more, he might feel otherwise.” Truthfully, Magnus doubted that Lorenzo would feel otherwise. Lorenzo was an aggravating pest of a man and he’d probably protest to a warlock being cared for by a shadowhunter regardless of how progressive said shadowhunter was but Magnus didn’t think it would be helpful for him to tell Alec this.

“I’m not worried about Lorenzo specifically but I’d just like your people to know that I’m taking care of him.”

Magnus processed that for a moment before he spoke. Even knowing Alec, Magnus found himself a bit surprised by that sentiment. He didn’t know many shadowhunters who would be worried about what the warlock population thought about anything they did, especially when Magnus had already assured Alec that the child would stay in his care, unless Magnus was given a reason to think he shouldn’t.

“Show me that you’re taking care of him and I will tell them,” Magnus promised.

A moment later, Magnus rose to his feet, brushed his pants off and moved to turn away, intent on meeting Alec the next morning, like he’d said he would. It was only when Magnus had taken a few steps that Alec called out to him, making Magnus pause and turn back to look.

Alec had pulled the baby into his lap and was in the process of shoving the blanket back into the bag with one hand as he cradled the baby tenderly in the other. When Magnus looked back at him, Alec smiled soft and grateful. “Thank you,” he said. “I will take care of him,” Alec assured.

Magnus smiled himself and nodded. Magnus still had his doubts. One rather personal meeting with a charming shadowhunter who made grand promises was not enough for Magnus to feel assured of anything. Alec might think he could do this now, until the child’s magic started to manifest fully for the first time. Alec might think he could do this until his people started to protest at the presence of a warlock who was no longer a baby in their Institute.

Alec might just be lying to him. It wouldn’t be the first time a shadowhunter had hid their true intentions from Magnus but beyond his reasoning, Magnus found himself hoping that Alec meant it. He found himself hoping that Alec did intend to care for the baby like it was his own.

Alec would be a good father and Magnus knew more than most how much warlocks deserved and rarely got someone like that in their lives.

Magnus walked away and he hoped that Alec Lightwood would not come to disappoint him.

#shadowhunters #insects #max lightwood bane #Alec Lightwood #Magnus Bane #fluff

[fearlessenator]

padmé was exhausted.

the word did not feel strong enough to convey the heaviness in her bones, the throbbing in the back of her mind, unsure what was internal and what was external. her limbs were stiff from her restraints in the chair, stomach ached from hunger –– exceptionally few breaks had been given, for the bathroom and to drink water, but the rest of her time was spent restrained. she knew better than to try resisting. the two with long hair had both already proved themselves to be unstable at best. angering them would not get her out of there faster. she had to be smart about it, and that meant not allowing her emotions to get the best of her.

the man had made that more challenging, though he had not tried to physically hurt her in the way that the other two had. no, his tongue was his weapon, and it was just as hurtful as a hand around her throat, making her see stars.

“time to wake up, senator.” if the words were not enough to wake her, then their sharp slap to her face was, head jerking to the side before they could look up at the curly-haired sith that had introduced himself as lord ren. the name ren had not gone past her. even if she had wanted it to, they had ensured that it did not.

brown eyes turned up toward even darker ones. despite her physically frail appearance, small frame tied down with dark bags underneath her eyes, one bruising into a more sickly shade of purple, hair frizzed like a child who had never seen a brush, there was still a fire, a defiance in her gaze that had yet to be defeated by the likes of him, or anyone else here. it required just a hair of anger to truly fuel it but for now, it seemed to be the more appropriate reaction that heartbreak. to people like this, that was weak. but anger was not.

“you and i are going to make a little film together,” they spoke smoothly, arms folded across their chest. “i’m sure you don’t mind, since you’ve already been in the news so much. i was starting to think that no one would notice that you’re missing.” 

“that’s not a very convincing lie,” padmé responded with a slight grimace. a droid swivelled in, getting a nice upclose shot of her bruised face before it backed out. 

“relax,” aiya insisted. “this won’t be much longer.” 

her gaze moved from the droid, back to ren. “if you kill me, i become a martyr for the new republic. that doesn’t help anything that you’re all trying to do.”

“maybe, maybe not,” they shrugged as their arms unfolded. “fortunately, i have a multitude of different things that i desire, and you’re going to be quite instrumental in carrying some of them out. dead, alive, it doesn’t matter. i get what i want either way.”

“get it over with. you won’t get what you want.” 

“yes, i will.”

the knight of ren extended their hand out, and only a beat passed before padmé was suddenly gasping for air. she tried her best to remain calm, but it was useless. her cheeks turned red until she was spluttering, limbs fighting against the restraint as she tried desperately to get any kind of oxygen in her lungs as they only tightened the grip. the filming droid zoomed in as she suffocated for what seemed like eternity until the vice-like hold was suddenly gone. she gasped for air, panting as her hands trembled.

it was a few long moments before she could will herself to bring her head back up. so many nightmares had occurred in the last three years about what it was like to be force-choked, after what she had learned.

nightmares didn’t live up to reality.

choking was not where it ended. some of the abuse was physical, would leave bruises, cuts, and scars across some of her body. but there was a great deal of show to make it clear that a good deal of what she was going through was from the force.

by the end, the beloved figure of the new republic’s senate was bloody and sobbing.

“see? i knew you’d cooperate,” aiya laughed, a hand going to padmé’s chin once the camera had been turned off, forcing the senator to look him in the eye. “such a good little doll. i look forward to our new... working relationship.”

padmé could only cough out the blood in her mouth.

...

twenty-four hours would pass before it would be the exclusive press release covered by alton kastle on the holonet news: a five minute video with several shots of padmé being choked and thrown about by unseen forces, a particularly gnarly shot of her ulna bone breaking all the way through her skin. 

if the galaxy had not suspected that senator amidala was missing after a week of unattended senatorial duties, there was no doubt that she had been kidnapped now.

#torture tw #choking tw #self para #ft. aiya ren

[stormyblue90]

Blessed by the Gods

A little oneshot featuring Kassandra and Brasidas and the birth of their first child

Tagging some Kassidas fans: @j3nnt @cafekat91 @frolickingangels @crimsonsun1030 @cogitoire @alethiometry

Warning: Childbirth mention. I know some people are uncomfortable with that sooo...

Otherwise, pure fluff. Also PHOIBE LIVES AU! May write another oneshot to tie into this...not sure yet...

Anxiety filled Brasidas' heart and mind as he paced, it only continued to grow since dawn. He and Kassandra had been expecting their first child and she'd gone into labor just before the first rays of Helios crept over the horizon. Quickly shrugging on a chiton he raced out of the house to wake the midwife and Myrrine.

Once they arrived at his home the old crone of a midwife immediately pushed him out as he tried to head inside. Told him to wait like all the other expectant fathers saying "men had no place" in such a situation. Brasidas tried to convince her, but the woman wouldn't have it. She had a stubbornness to rival most hardened Spartan warriors. Seeing this was a battle he unfortunately could not win, he was forced to stay outside and instead left to make offerings and pray to both Artemis and Hera for a safe delivery and healthy child. Afterwards heading to the training grounds to help train the young Spartan boys there, anything to keep his worries at bay.

However the distractions could only work so long, and other instructors took over, seeing how distracted he was. Brasidas desperately wanted to be by his wife's side in such a trying time. Hours had gone by and it was nearly midday. Kassandra's water had yet to break when he brought back the midwife and her mother, so he wasn't sure how long she would have to suffer.

"Worried about your wife and child?" an old voice said, bringing his anxious mind back to the present.

An elderly man, greatly resembling Brasidas with silvery hair walked over, accompanied by Kassandra's father, Nikolaos.

"Pater? Yes, no matter what I do I can't seem to shake off such thoughts." Brasidas answered. "I've made offerings to both Hera and Artemis that everything goes smoothly, and keep muttering prayers to them."

"Ah I was the same that snowy evening you were born as well." the man, Tellis replied.

"I believe I remember, you couldn't sit still and you were so impatient to return home and made several offerings." Nikolaos added. "Sadly I was away from Sparta the day Kassandra was born, but thankfully I was here for Alexios."

"And you were even worse than I was!" Tellis replied. "Do not worry my son, Kassandra is strong, as will your child be I'm sure of it."

Brasidas nodded, he knew Kassandra was exceptionally strong and undoubtedly so would their child, carrying on the powerful bloodline of Leonidas; however it still didn't quell his fears.

"I only wish I could be at her side. However the midwife wouldn't have it, said it was no place for a man."

"Ah yes, that sounds familiar. Short with pale green eyes?" Tellis asked.

"Y-yes, how did you-"

"Because I remember her. Doris was a young assistant to the midwife who brought YOU into the world. Said the same thing to me. Stubborn then, and more so now."

"That would explain her comment about 'helping bring me into the world so she could just as easily send me to Hades' as she shoved me out of the doorway."

The two older men shared a laugh at that. In truth were anxiously waiting as well, both about to become grandfathers, but still not as worried as Brasidas.

"Phoibe!" Myrrine called out, standing by her now exhausted daughter.

The young girl from Kephallonia, now a teenager and adopted by Myrrine, ran into the room. "Yes? Is it over? Am I an aunt now? Is it a boy or a girl?" she questioned excitedly.

"Yes yes it's over, now quickly go, find Brasidas, tell him everyone's fine and he can return."

Phoibe nodded, and glanced at the midwife and her assistants, busy cleaning, caring for Kassandra, and swaddling the newborns. Quickly she took off to find the general.

She sprinted down the streets of Sparta, Ikaros flying overhead. Phoibe had a few ideas where he might be and she already checked some, her next destination was the training grounds. She did however stop briefly on the way to confirm if any had seen him, and they did say they saw him head that direction.

Once she arrived she asked the soldiers if Brasidas was there and that she had an urgent message for him. Sure enough he was there and Phoibe ran towards the place he was said to be, ignoring the young boys who either called out to her or began to show off. Phoibe only rolled her eyes and their obnoxious displays. How many times did she have to tell them, she wasn't interested in boys; instead it was a few Spartan girls who caught her eye.

Finally she found him, speaking with Nikolaos and who she assumed was Brasidas' own father, judging by their close resemblance.

"B-Brasidas!" she called out, trying to catch her breath as she stopped, leaning over with her hands on her knees.

"Phoibe! Is everything alright? Kassandra! The baby, are they-"

Phoibe stood up and nodded, a huge smile on her face. "Yes! She's fine. They're ALL fine. You can come back now!"

All? Brasidas' eyes widened as he realized what she meant. Tellis and Nikolaos looking to each other, small knowing smirks on their faces.

"Better hurry back home then." Tellis told him as Brasidas glanced towards him, as if wanting confirmation he heard Phoibe right.

Immediately he ran back home, nearly stumbling either on his own feet or from other people in the streets. The crisp autumn air rushing across his skin. No matter how fast he ran he just couldn't return home fast enough. His mind racing with so many thoughts, even more than before now.

Finally, finally he made it back home. The midwife, Doris, who had shooed him out of his own house earlier stood at the doorway. She tossed a damp towel to him, hitting him in the face with it.

"Clean yourself up first young man!" she commanded, clicking her tongue, "You're covered in dirt and sweat and I will not have anyone so filthy hold a newborn!"

Begrudgingly he did as the old crone asked, wiping off the sweat and dirt that covered him. He already knew not to argue with this woman. Once she seemed satisfied, she nodded in approval and let him inside.

"She's been moved back into the bedroom." she said.

Brasidas quickly made his way to their room, heart still pounding from both his run and nervousness. He saw Kassandra, the most exhausted he'd ever seen her, hair disheveled and dark circles rimmed her eyes from a lack of sleep. She was laying in bed, propped up by several pillows, a wrapped white bundle in her arms, cooing softly. Myrrine was by her side, but back turned to him. It looked as if she was holding something as well.

Brasidas let out a nervous breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Myrrine quickly turned to face him and she and Kassandra both looked towards him, huge smiles on their faces. It was then his suspicions were confirmed.

His eyebrows rose and his eyes widened when he saw Myrrine hold a second bundle, this one wrapped in a red blanket. A second baby, twins! He and Kassandra had twins!

"Brasidas!" Kassandra called out, her voice so tired but so joyful as well. "Twins! Can you believe it?"

He walked over feeling as is if his smile reached from ear to ear.

"Time to meet your Pater little lamb!" Myrrine said to newborn in her arms as she stood up, gently handing the red bundle to him, making sure he supported them properly.

"Meet your daughter. Kassandra holds your son." she told him.

"Chaire little one." He whispered, gently stroking the newborn's face. "Pater's here."

Brasidas felt tears of joy prick his eyes as he held his daughter and sat next to his wife on the bed. Not just twins, but both a daughter and son, he hadn't felt so blessed since Kassandra agreed to marry him.

"Now I know why it felt like they were training for the Olympics whenever they kicked. And why everyone said I was bigger than other pregnant mothers..." Kassandra said.

Brasidas laughed softly, "Yes, carrying twins certainly explains everything. I still can't believe it."

"Neither can I." Kassandra replied. "It still feels like a dream and I'll wake up back on Kephallonia.

It was still too soon to tell who the babies looked more like, him or Kassandra. Only time would tell, but it didn't matter who they resembled, he was just happy both were strong and healthy. For now the twins looked identical, pink, and soft. Though it did appear both shared his eye color since their eyes appeared too light to have Kassandra's rich, dark brown.

Brasidas lifted the swaddled newborn, giving her a soft kiss on top of her head, already covered in thick wisps of dark hair, as was her brother's. She wiggled, reaching one arm out of the blanket. It was then he noticed something peculiar.

On the inside of her upper arm, looked to be a birthmark. As he looked closer, he noticed it resembled an eagle in shape. Fitting given Kassandra's famous title.

"Kassandra, look there." He said, gesturing to the mark.

"It... looks like an eagle." She commented. "The Fates clearly have a sense of humor."

"Or she takes after her grandmother." Myrrine added, she too had been born with birthmarks on her arm resembling the stars of Aquila.

"She's not the only one." Kassandra replied as she shifted the blanket around the baby in her arms, revealing the back of his left shoulder.

The little boy also had markings, but instead of an eagle, the marks seemed to make up the constellation of Leo.

"The lion constellation." Brasidas said. "It seems the Fates DO have a sense of humor. Perhaps it's a sign we should name him after your grandfather."

Kassandra laughed as she wrapped her son back up. "Perhaps you're right." Gently she placed a kiss on his head. "Leonidas."

"And our daughter? Like you she seems to bear the eagle of Zeus. he asked.

Kassandra thought for a moment, "Hmm... Perhaps... Zenais?" she offered. "It appears we have been blessed by the Gods."

"Zenais." Brasidas repeated, mulling over the possible choice for a moment, before smiling and nodding. "Alright, Zenais and Leonidas." He leaned over, kissing Kassandra's temple, whispering "I love you, ALL of you."

#Assassins Creed Odyssey #Kassandra #Brasidas #Kassidas #my writing #PHOIBE LIVES!!! #Absolute fluff #Told ya a nice cute fluff fic was coming after the angsty one #Assassins Creed

[aikatxt]

Letters Recovered From The Stydalous House Ruins

My dear Almira,

    I miss you terribly now that you’re left Sobourn, but I am happy to know that your new home is just what Jackie and Luis needed to start feeling better. Though I must express my concerns: will you not be lonely out there? It is ever so far from the rest of us. A whole day’s trip away, in fact! But it is a trip I will make gladly and constantly if only you wish for it. 

    Tell me about the house. I’ve heard the stories, you know. Was it in such a state of disrepair that the slightest touch might send the whole thing tumbling down? Or was it exaggerated, as Henry’s mother tends to do? Such a grand house sold for so little, will you three really be alright fixing it up yourself? If only I could be there with you, in that house, that I might do the weary work that would toughen your hands so that you may rest and look after your siblings. 

    Things are largely the same around here. The street is still buzzing with the news, of course, no matter the time that passes. What your parents had done… Such horrible things done by such kind looking people. I am glad you trusted me with the truth, so that I may help you escape them. It is not without its consequences: no one will speak to me in anything louder than a whisper, and no friend stays by my side as the dreadful attention sweeps over me.

    Promise me that you’ll write to me everyday. I know I made you promise before you left, but promise me one more time. You have always been my reason for carrying on despite the pain of things, and I need you more than ever. Your words, if I cannot have you in my arms. Take care and hope that we meet again soon.

Ever yours,

Elizabeth

Darling Almira,

    Oh, the things I heard of Stydalous House! Surely there is no place on Earth more dreadful, I had thought, but your words have swayed my opinion. The lovely gardens, with flowers as far as the eye can see, the high walls and arches of the largest rooms, the chandeliers draped in silver; what I would give to see it all with you. I do hope you’re not catching a cold, however. It is still humid outside, and the cold winds won’t be upon us for another few months. I’ve sent over a shawl to keep you warm, do let me know when you get it. And make sure to drink plenty of tea, you and Jackie and Luis, it will do none of you good to be pale and weak after you’ve just moved into a new house. Let me know if there is anything I can do. You know you can ask me for anything.

    In regards to your concerns: I will be fine. You know me, Almira. Small as I am, there is much I can hold on my shoulders. Don’t worry over me when you’re still settling in to the house. All I have to do is wait out the storm, and though I may be alone in it, I keep your letters close to my heart. 

    I’ll look into the old Stydalous couple as well. Surely some of the older women around here remember what happened to them. I doubt it will be anything bad, though, so don’t fret. They were old, and their son was a gambler; worse things have happened around here. 

    Send Jackie and Luis my love. Know that you hold most of it.

Love, always,

Elizabeth

Almira, my sweetest,

    I apologize for the brief absence of my letters. I have done as you asked, searched for answers to your questions, and the story I’ve pieced together is a strange one. Most people who remember what happened have conflicting recollections. Newspaper archives repeat the same thing over and over again. And no one will speak to me for a few days after I ask them about the Stydalous family.

    Here is what I know: 15 or so years ago, there was a large fire that destroyed the gardens farthest away from the house. Donny, their son, had been accused of stealing winnings and cheating people out of their money. Two men whom he gambled with often confronted him at the edge of their estate, and a mistaken toss of a match set the place up in flames. Donny had tried to put out the fire to save his mother’s gladiolus flowers, but it was an exceptionally dry summer, and so the fire spread and burned him badly. 

    Mrs. Stydalous had to break up a fight between Mr. Stydalous and Donny. Mr. Stydalous had knocked her back and she had hit her head on the corner of a table. She passed away in the hospital two days later. Donny had blamed his father for the death, publicly accusing him of murder many times as his father drank himself into a stupor. This is where things get confusing: many people speculate that they fought again in the house, tearing it apart. Some people say Donny killed his father in a fit of rage and then hung himself in parlour. Others say Mr. Stydalous killed Donny with a broken bottle of liquor, then drowned himself in grief. Yet others say that one had survived the fight and disposed of the body before disappearing. 

    The papers cover this story for a few months. First, with the death of Mrs. Stydalous, which was described as a “tragic accident”. Then, with the trouble the drunk Mr. Stydalous would get into, as well as the fights Donny found himself in when the people he gambled with came after him for money. The last few papers covering the Stydalous family say nothing of what happened to the two. Just that the house had been cleared out following the suspected deaths or disappearances of Mr. Stydalous and Donny. And thus the story ends.

    It’s a rather disastrous family, and the tragedy was in everyone’s mind back then. No one has lived in the Stydalous house since, fearing any ghosts they might find there. There are no ghosts, of course. I know you worry about the strangest things, but do not worry about ghosts. The dead have nothing more to do to the living, and so they move on. There are no ghosts for afterlife is much too alluring for the dead to resist.

    Try not to mention any of this to Jackie and Luis. I saw how terrible Jackie’s nightmares got at the height of it all. I do hope she’s sleeping better now that neither of your parents can get to you. I’ve sent some tea that Grandmother Ylvia made for you; it’s meant to be calming and soothe any pains in the body. Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll send it over right away. And if you need me there with you, just tell me and I’ll go.

    In regards to you last letter: the house is old. It hasn’t been in a good condition for nearly two decades. I’m not surprised to hear that there have been strange noises and drafty rooms; I doubt anyone did a good job fixing up enough of the rooms to make it habitable for you. Keep Luis close, he’s always been a curious one, wandering away just to get a closer look at something we wo[...]

[The end of this letter has been too damaged to read. There was likely a page or two left of Elizabeth’s reply.]

Beloved Almira,

    I must admit, your last letter caused me a great deal of concern. If it is affecting your sleep so much, I am more than willing to go to you so that you do not have to sleep alone. You and the kids could even come to stay with me, I have more than enough room here. How desperately I wish to hold you in my arms and soothe your fears; though we are apart, never forget that you carry a piece of me with you.

    Jackie is young enough to be easily frightened, and old enough to understand what happened to her. Now that she is in a place where she can be safe, it’s likely that she is finally allowing herself to feel everything she shut away while with your parents. Her cryptic remarks are strange, but children have vivid imaginations we can’t keep up with. Jackie is still your little sister. She loves you dearly and looks up to you. She would never hurt you.

    Luis is an explorer, you know that. I’m not surprised to hear that he’s been getting himself stuck in places he has no business being. How did he end up with his arm stuck in a vent? Never a boring day with that one, I see. 

    From what you’ve told me, you’ve been working too hard to take care of them, and are not taking care of yourself. Take a few days to rest. Walk the gardens and tell me about it. Curl up by the fire and read the books you treasure so dearly. You’ve only just found your footing after your parents ran away, let yourself heal from that first. I’m sure the dreams will stop once you let go of some of that stress.

Take care darling,

Elizabeth

Almira,

    Love, please write to me. I’ve been so worried since your last letter (from two months ago). Stydalous House is not a good place for any of you. For anyone. Please, love, come back to me. I will keep you safe in my home. I will look after your siblings with you. I will protect you all from the pity of the others. 

    Had I heard this from any other, I would not have believed them. But it is from you, and so I trust in your words. Whatever is there with you three wants to cause you harm. It is already causing you harm. No child says that “the weeping wi[...]

                   [...] she has never been anything but bright, but whatever resides in Stydalous house with you has sunken into her. I can only pray that it doesn’t get you as well. Living shadows that walk the walls a[...]

    [...]that is not the kind of things a child says. And if you cannot find Luis soon, I fear that we may never find him at all. Almira, keep with the light, the fire, and don’t listen to what the house tells you. 

    Please, my dear, write to me. Let me know you are still here. Please.

Elizabeth.

[Sections of this letter have been damaged, most likely by water, though some of the coloring around the edges suggest that it was blood, instead. Any letters that may have existed between this one and the one before it are lost.]

Alimra,

    I will be with you soon. I love you.

Elizabeth.

[This is the shortest letter of the bunch. The rest of the paper has been torn away and some of the ink has been smudged, as though touched by tears. These are the only letters found in the ruins, from one Elizabeth addressing the last owner of Stydalous house, Almira.]

#horror #lgbt fiction #Sapphic #short story #epistolary #prose #cw: death #cw: murder #cw: alcohol #im gonna write a companion piece in the form of almira's diary entries be ready :)

[pertinax--loculos]

Character Study: Jay (1)

[Quite note for CW -- vague reference to drug use.]

1. Intro My name is Jay Johns, though my parents would probably deny it. Oh no, they’d say, that’s not our boy. Must be another Johns, y’know I hear there’s another family with that name out north.

Don’t get me wrong, they love me to death. That’s their mistake.

People would probably look at my life and go, oh my gosh, where did they go wrong? Or, what happened to him to make him like this? The trouble is, nothing happened. This isn’t a product of trauma or a horrible home life or whatever else. No funny uncles. No ridiculously strict parents making me rebel. No reason.

Just… boredom, I guess.

Technically speaking I suppose it can be traced to an injury I sustained when I was fourteen, but don’t read anything into that. Truth be told I was being a moron, thinking I could balance on a ledge I shouldn’t have been trying to balance on and, surprise surprise, I fell. Nothing insidious about it.

Same can’t be said for the panadeine forte I was prescribed for the broken collarbone, though.

Stuff’s fairly well regulated if you don’t need it, and doctors weren’t particularly keen to prescribe it to a teenager more than once. So I outsourced. Knew a guy who knew a guy, you know how it is. Except turns out the guy on the end was kinda tangled up in some heavier stuff. And at fifteen I didn’t exactly have disposable income.

So I had to do a few odd jobs to get the next fix. But, like, who the fuck cares. No big deal. Flow like mine, didn’t really matter what they asked me to do; it was always get in, do the job, get out.

Y’know talk about, like, a self-fulfilling prophecy? Where you do a thing in order to get the result but the result makes you do the thing again, and so ad infinitum?

Yeah. Given my… aptitude for certain jobs, I suddenly started getting only those. And those morphed into Jobs, capital J, which I didn’t regret so much as want to erase from my memory which was facilitated by, you guessed it, more opioids. And so on and so forth.

Dunno why I decided to get clean – well, that’s a lie, the decision was taken out of my hands, essentially – but I was way too entrenched by then to get out. Knew too much about the operations, the players, the secrets.

Plus, y’know, it was easier. And the pay was almost worth the nightmares.

Almost.

So, yeah. Take the Jay Johns of today and describe him to my parents, and they’d marvel at the coincidence of some amoral gangster having the same name as their beloved golden child. The one who’s off working as an engineer a few hundred clicks south – no, haven’t heard from him lately, but you know how it is, they get to be adults and forget about their dear old parents. And, I mean, I could disabuse them of that notion, sure.

But I don’t wanna break their hearts. They deserve better than that.

They deserve better than me.

2. Family Jay had a very specific memory he wanted to preserve of the last time he’d seen his parents. They’d been so very proud, and through the guilt that threatened to strangle him they’d had an exceptionally pleasant day, culminating with a barbeque in the backyard, warm summer evening heavy with the buzz of dragonflies reminiscent of his very favourite recollections from childhood. If he closed his eyes he could still see his mother’s beaming face as he told her about the job offer; could still see his father’s gruff pride, hidden behind layers of learned reserve but shining through his eyes regardless. He could still taste the tang of lemon in his mother’s specialty cheesecake on his tongue.

Right now all he could taste was blood, and he wondered if that was why it had taken him so long to place the figures wandering past the end of the alley.

Markus had frozen as soon as they’d come into view, his fingers still wrapped around Jay’s wrist, and it took Jay a half-second too long to clap his free hand over his mouth. The sound that escaped was truncated but hellishly loud.

The figures hesitated; the shorter, wider one swivelled towards the alley.

“Did you hear that?”

Her voice was more curious than apprehensive, and Jay was nearly certain being stabbed in the chest would be less painful than hearing that warm, comforting tone juxtaposed with the tiny, pleading whimpers rising in Markus’s throat. The hold around Jay’s wrist tightened and Markus squirmed a little.

Without looking away from the mouth of the alley Jay uncovered Markus’s mouth and instead buried his fingers in his hair, twisting savagely. It elicited another whimper, but at least he stopped moving.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Jay heard his father say, even as the two of them took a couple of steps forward, into the darkness and squalor. “What was it?”

Jay’s jaw was aching – he hadn’t even realised he’d clenched his teeth – and his grip on Markus was white-knuckled, less due to concern the dumb fuck was going to move and more to keep his hands from shaking. His breath was roaring in his ears and there was an uncomfortable scrabbling inside his chest, some sharp-clawed animal desperate to get out.

“It sounded like someone in trouble,” his mother said, alert and worried and good god for once in your life don’t be a fucking good Samaritan.

The only advantage Jay had was the light; he’d chosen to ambush Markus in this alley for a reason, it being one of the few he knew that completely lacked any illumination. It was stupid enough for Markus, a young man experienced with the unsavoury elements of the city, to try to cut through. Surely an older couple wouldn’t risk it. Plus, motionless as he was, Jay was nearly certain that his parents couldn’t make out whether or not there was actually someone down there.

Anxiety was an iron band around his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

His mother stopped.

“It was probably just a cat,” his father said. “I read somewhere that they’ve actually evolved to mimic the cries of human babies. Which, as far as I’m concerned, is just another strike against them.”

His mother chuckled, though she continued to peer into the gloom. “I guess it could’ve been. It just sounded so…”

There was a pause that stretched interminable. Jay twitched the hand knotted in Markus’s hair, a silent warning not to try anything stupid.

“… tormented,” his mother finished finally. Then she shrugged and turned, making her way back to the street. “I must have been imagining things.”

Their voices faded as they walked away, and Jay sucked in a deep breath. It felt like he was choking on it.

“Johns,” Markus gasped, twitching in his grip. “Please. I’m not—I get it, okay? I understand. You don’t have to—”

Jay hauled him up and around, slamming him against the wall of the alley. Markus’s cry of pain was so breathless it was nearly inaudible.

“Unfortunately, Markus,” Jay said, his voice light and even and betraying none of the shame surging so strong inside of him he felt like he was drowning, “My colleagues see it differently.”

“Johns—”

“I like that word. Tormented.” Jay twisted his left hand. He felt the familiar tingle of the Orn between his fingers, and then the just-as-familiar weight of his knife in his palm; Markus’s eyes widened when it shimmered into being in the physical world, a low keen breaking out of his throat. Some tiny part of Jay cringed at the noise, at the fear in his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead he just cocked his head a little, letting the detached smirk settle on his lips. “Let’s see just how tormented you can sound.”

3. Friends “It’s not like you have to screw him,” Cassidy said matter-of-factly, crunching another couple of almonds between her teeth. “I’m just asking if you like the guy.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, very purposefully continuing to stare down at the book spread out over his lap. “Keyword being guy, Cass. Who says I even swing that way?”

They were spread out on his bed, ostensibly doing homework, although Cassidy had abandoned that pretence nearly half an hour ago in favour of interrogating Jay on his nonexistent love life. The fact Jay still had his books open was more to provide him with an excuse not to look at her than any real attempt at finishing his math assignment.

Cassidy waved a hand expansively, blowing her fringe out of her eyes. “Jay. There is no need to pretend in here. I know you.”

“Wait,” Jay said, glancing up briefly enough that he hoped she wouldn’t notice the blood he could feel warming his cheeks, “Are you assuming I’m gay because I’m not into you?”

“Well, I mean, that would be a fair assumption, because I’m hot as hell,” Cassidy said, her grin wide enough that Jay could hear it in her voice. “But one, you have never actually said you’re not into me, and two, I never said you were gay. I was simply asking if you liked a guy. Singular.”

“For the record,” Jay said, turning a page in his textbook. He hadn’t actually absorbed anything on the preceding page, but hell if he was gonna give up the ruse now. “I am not into you.”

Cassidy sighed theatrically. “Oh gee, well there go all my hopes and dreams. Whatever will I do now, how will I overcome this devastation.”

It was getting difficult to keep his face straight, but Jay was fairly sure he managed it. “I’m sure you’ll find the strength to carry on.”

“Mayhaps!” Cassidy clapped a hand to her chest and fell backwards on the bed with a wail. “Or perhaps this broken heart will be the end of me!”

“Could you at least die quietly?”

Jay jumped when her hand landed in the centre of the page he was looking at.

“Never,” Cassidy said. “Or at least not until you answer the question.”

“You mean how on earth you will carry on knowing that I’ll never be your boyfriend?” Jay glanced up to throw her a smirk, and Cassidy jabbed a finger at him.

“No, whether or not you like Johnny Davis. Come on, Jay. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Jay couldn’t stop himself; this time he jerked his head up to stare at her, feeling horror unfurl across his face. Any hope of hiding his blush was gone, his cheeks flaming as he processed what she was saying. “I’m not—”

Cassidy’s teasing veneer vanished and she scooted close enough to rest a hand on his arm. Jay dropped his eyes. “Relax, darl,” she said softly. “It’s not obvious at all. Like I said, it’s because I know you.” She ducked her head, and Jay let her catch his gaze again. Her face was warm, made even more comforting by the tiny crinkles extending outwards from the corners of her eyes as she smiled; not that Jay would ever tell her that. She’d probably end up in a back alley getting illegal botox if he so much as suggested she had anything remotely resembling wrinkles.

“I’m not trying to be a bitch,” she added.

“No, that just comes to you naturally,” Jay said without thinking.

For a beat Cassidy just stared at him, before she roared with laughter, swatting at his arm. Jay grinned as well, raking his fingers through his hair as he waited for her to calm down.

“Nice one,” Cassidy said eventually, still snickering. “I’ve gotta remember that. Man,” – she swiped her hand across her face – “What was I saying?”

The smile wouldn’t shift from Jay’s face, and he met her eyes as he said, “The answer’s yes. As in yeah, I like Johnny Davis.”

The admission was more than worth the grin that practically split her face in two.

4. Education/Mentors Friday was the Big Day.

Mrs. Phillips had told them all about it, had explained how important it was and how they weren’t allowed to muck about in the waiting area or they would be sent to the principal’s office. Jay thought it was all a bit of a hullabaloo. After all, the Orn was just a fact of life. Why did it need to be measured?

Mum and Dad had told him that he should be very careful when he was taking the Test. But that didn’t make sense either. They’d talked about all sorts of stuff and Jay had stopped listening pretty quickly. After all, Mrs. Phillips had told them that there was no way they could fail the Test. It was just to get an idea of where they were at.

Like with their reading. That was a Test, too. Normally it was done when the rest of the class was working on their handwriting, so they were real quiet. You waited until your name was called, and then you went up to the teacher’s desk – all by yourself, so that the other students couldn’t hear you in case you made a mistake – and you read through the list. It was a very long list, and it started with super basic words like ‘at’ and ‘the’ and then by the time Jay started stumbling he was up to words like ‘pneumonia’ and ‘rendezvous’.

Mrs. Phillips had been very impressed with how good he was at his reading. So why shouldn’t he try to impress these teachers too? Just because he didn’t know them didn’t mean he should pretend.

And it wasn’t like Dwayne’s parents had told him the same thing. Jay knew, because they’d been discussing it for the last forever while they waited for their names to be called.

That was kinda why they were friends, because Cass was in Mr. Allen’s class this year and Dwayne’s last name was Jacobson so he and Jay always got to sit together. And if they were real careful and talked real quiet Mrs. Phillips didn’t seem to notice.

“But, see, like, there’s different, like, levels,” Dwayne said, leaning sideways as he kept one eye on the door their classmates kept disappearing through. “Y’know how I can do different things to most everyone else?”

Jay nodded, as wisely as he could. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“So that’s what this is for. Mum calls it a attitude test, so that they can get an idea of what sorta connection to the Orn you have and then they can teach you the right way to handle it.”

They paused as Gary came back out of the door, and Mrs. Phillips whispered to the man who came with him. Then she nodded and ushered Gary back over to the other side of the room as the man glanced down at a paper and called, “Carrie Harvey?”

Jay watched Carrie disappear through the door and then said, “So your parents didn’t say, like, some people get taken away after the attitude test?”

Dwayne frowned, deep furrows appearing in his forehead. “No. Why would they? They just wanna know what we can do.” He straightened a little, smiling instead of frowning now. “And they reckon that the testers’ll be real impressed with me.”

“Well, yeah,” Jay said, like he was saying well, duh. “You’ve gotta be the best at it out of all of us.”

Which was annoying, really, but Mum and Dad had been very very clear about Jay not showing off. It would get him into trouble, they said, and Mum and Dad were normally right. But this wasn’t showing off, was it? This was just showing the special teachers what he could do.

Carrie came back, Mrs. Phillips whispered to the man, and Carrie took her seat on the other side of the room.

“Dwayne Jacobson,” the man called.

Dwayne sent Jay a nervous sort of smile, and Jay gave him two thumbs up.

Without Dwayne there to talk to the time seemed to drag even more. Or maybe they were actually taking longer to test Dwayne. Jay didn’t want to look at the clock, because every time he did the second hand seemed to freeze into place.

When the door opened this time, the man and a woman stepped out with Dwayne.

Mrs. Phillips hurried up to them, quicker than she had been walking. Jay watched carefully as they talked, trying to look around Mrs. Phillips to see Dwayne’s face, to get an idea of whether he thought he’d done well or not. But try as he might, he couldn’t get a good look.

After a few more seconds of whispering, Mrs. Phillips nodded and stepped back. But instead of ushering Dwayne to the other side of the room, she just nodded at the strange woman, and the strange woman took Dwayne’s hand and led him through the side door.

Jay stared, waiting, waiting for them to come back. Maybe Dwayne had just really needed to go pee. But Mrs. Phillips had walked back to her chair and sat down. She didn’t seem to be waiting for Dwayne to come back.

Jay felt like his chest was about to burst. Heat raced up into his eyes and he tried not to sniffle as he swiped at it. He was not gonna cry. Not in front of everybody.

But he could suddenly hear Mum’s words, real clear.

You’ve gotta be careful, Jay. Promise me, alright? Promise me you’ll be careful.

“Jay Johns,” the man called.

Jay swiped at his eyes one more time, and then pushed himself to his feet. He held his chin up as he walked across the room.

He was gonna be careful. Even if it meant he didn’t show them everything.

He wasn’t gonna give them a reason to take him away.

#WIP: CASCADE #original writing #writeblr #character study #original character #excerpt #kinda #i guess?

[alternislatronemhq]

Congrats, Jenna, you have been accepted to AL for the role of Alecto Carrow (FC: Victoria Pedretti). Jenna!!! Wow, so excited that you’re picking up Alecto! She’s such a badass and I can’t wait to see her on the dash. Your biography of Alecto really draws out this character that’s so often one dimensional in this world. I think she’s going to add a lot of conflict to the gorup in the best way possible. EEp I’m PUMPED! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist. Welcome home (once again), we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — jenna age — 20 pronouns — she/her timezone — gmt+10

IC Overview

name — alecto carrow age — 25 gender — cis female sexuality — bisexual patronus — non-corporeal, but it would take the form of a vulture. boggart — her brother lies dead at her feet, her parents standing above him, somehow more vicious looking than they are in reality. “it’s your fault,” they sneer, as alecto notices the blood on her hands.

IC In Depth

personality traits — ( + ) dedicated - though she may be dedicated to the wrong people and causes, Alecto is dedicated. If she decides she wants something, she will go after it with everything she had, and she won’t rest until whatever she wants is hers. Maybe it comes from the deep sense of entitlement she’s been raised with, or her insatiable need to be acknowledged and appreciated. ( + ) headstrong - Alecto has her opinions, and she won’t be swayed on them. She also will make them known, loudly, and publicly. She’s not a complete idiot, and has learnt to kept some of her more… unsavoury opinions under wraps since the end of the war, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still believe them. ( + ) loyal - Though Alecto rarely gets close to people, those she decides she trusts have her undivided loyalty, especially to her brother. She also has a strong loyalty to the Dark Lord, still trying to find a way to bring him back even years after his defeat. ( - ) ruthless - This goes hand in hand with her dedication, Alecto will stop at nothing to get what she wants, including hurting ( or even killing ) people to get her way. ( - ) brash - She can be incredibly rude, overbearing, and obnoxious. She asserts herself over everyone and anything she believes to be beneath her, and often comes across quite poorly. ( - ) vicious - Alecto is a shark raised by sharks, you don’t grow up how she did without earning teeth of your own.

character biography —

Alecto Carrow was not a wanted child, this much has always been abundantly clear.

The marriage of Alecto’s parents was not one born of love or affection, but of duty. They both hailed from affluence, highly-regarded pureblooded families, and shared values typical of such a background. The sole purpose of their marriage was to produce an heir and perpetuate their bloodlines, nothing more, and nothing less. Only a year after their marriage, they had succeeded in this endeavour with the birth of their son, Amycus. He was exactly what they had wanted in a child; he was the perfect pureblood heir. Unfortunately, he would not be the only child the couple would sire.

Alecto was not expected. The exact nature of her conception remains elusive to this day. Some speculate that Alecto came into existence one night after her parents had a little too much to drink at one of their parties, falling into bed together before they could think about the consequences of what they were doing. They never wanted a second child, let alone a daughter, but, nine months later, they were one again at St Mungo’s awaiting Alecto’s arrival. Unlike her brother, Alecto was born screaming, demanding attention from the very moment her lungs were able to draw breath, turning her face red and angry with the effort of it. Maybe that’s where they got her name from – unceasing anger. She didn’t stop crying for almost a full day.

She was brought home from the hospital the next day and instantly thrust into the arms of awaiting nannies. To the Carrows, children weren’t something that required a lot of hands-on attention, they weren’t something to be cared for or raised carefully. They existed solely to preserve their legacy, and as long as they were capable of that, the rest of the day-to-day maintenance could be seen to by household staff. Alecto’s father had a job at the Ministry which kept him exceptionally busy, and her mother never worked, instead spending her days out fraternising with her peers and climbing up the social ladders of pureblood society. They paid little attention to Alecto, leaving her mostly neglected in her nursery, save for curious visits from her older brother, wanting to catch a glimpse of his new sibling.

The Carrow household was cruel and cold, and with their parents rarely around, Amycus and Alecto came to rely on one another. During her childhood, Alecto’s only solace was in her relationship with Amycus, despite both of them inheriting many of their parents’ less desirable qualities, the siblings had a close bond. They genuinely cared for each other, though they often had strange ways of showing it. There were few people who could truly understand the childhood that Alecto had experienced, and fewer still who could understand Alecto, but her brother has always been the closest. Alecto idolised her brother, she wanted to be just like him, and she his was the only direction she would follow without question.

Lessons for Amycus and Alecto began very early in life. Lessons on what to say, when to say it, and who to say it to. They were trained to hate anything that was different to them – and hate, Alecto would. Perhaps, had she been raised differently, she would have become a far more kind and empathetic soul, but, then again, this is perhaps a slight exaggeration. Something inside of her may have been broken from the beginning – she accepted the hate-filled ideas her parents presented her with. She accepted the prejudices, the fact that she was simply better than everyone else. That, because of the blood that ran through her veins, she deserved to have the world grovelling at her feet.

While Alecto took to her lessons of cruelty and superiority like a moth to a flame, there were other lessons she didn’t take quite so well to. For the most part, Amycus and Alecto were raised identically, but, as they grew a little older, their paths started to diverge. Amycus was the male heir, he was trained to carry the Carrow name with pride, while Alecto was taught to rid herself of it as soon as possible. Her parents intended for her to marry a nice young man ( preferably one from the shortlist of candidates they’d had picked since her birth ) as soon as she was of age – Alecto herself had different ideas.

The two years between Amycus leaving for Hogwarts and Alecto doing the same were two of the loneliest of her life. She became aware of how quiet their house was, without her brother in it. Her parents ignored her even further when Amycus wasn’t around, when she wasn’t sticking to him like gum to the bottom of a shoe. She tried her hardest to please them, but eventually realised that doing exactly what they wanted wasn’t working. So, like many neglected children, Alecto reached the conclusion that negative attention was better than no attention at all. She had always tried to tone down aspects of her personality to appease her parents, but Alecto wasn’t the porcelain doll they always wanted.

She was sent off to Hogwarts at eleven, and it was a breath of fresh air. She was sorted into Slytherin, like her brother before her, and quickly established herself within the cohort with her good looks and her strong opinions. It certainly helped her that she bore the same last name as her brother, who had already amassed a number of allies in the Slytherin dorms, simply adding his sister to his posse once she arrived. She was loud and unapologetic and gained herself a rather unsavoury reputation – but people couldn’t help but be enthralled by her. Much like at home, much of the attention was negative, but it was attention, and she would take it.

Though she always had a certain charm, a magnetism to her, Alecto never really played well with others. Her parents wanted her to be beautiful, charismatic, but submissive – capable of pleasing the sons of their friends. Submissive was the real problem. Even during her childhood, Alecto had cunning and ambition to rival the greatest of Slytherins, she was callous and brash. She met any attempts at courting from young men with a sneer, as she matured, she decided she found far greater pleasure from the physical relationship than an emotional one. Alecto was not at all like what her parents expected her to be in this regard, and they never made their displeasure a secret.

The war was something Alecto had always been ready for. Her parents had believed it was inevitable, that they would need to fight to rid the world of muggles and muggleborns once and for all, to ensure that only purebloods remained. They trained their children to believe the same. Alecto knew that she would one day need to fight, that she would be thrust into war. Her father insisted on special training to ensure she would be of use to their master – dark magic was something she became intimately familiar with when she came home for summers during her school years, training to withstand the cruciatus curse, to counter dark spells, to wield them herself.

While rumours of war that swirled around during her final years of Hogwarts set most people on edge, they simply invigorated Alecto. Amycus had already graduated, he was already doing his part, and Alecto desperately wanted to do the same. Though she had given up on winning the affections of her parents a long time ago, she wanted to please the Dark Lord, she wanted Amycus to be proud of her, and she wanted to do what she believed was the right thing. She grinned with maniacal glee as she received the dark mark – and if she saw her parents smile as she did so, she never mentioned the fact.

What she hadn’t been prepared for was losing. At the tender age of twenty, Alecto had never really known what it was to lose. On October 31st, 1981, she found out – and she didn’t like it. Nobody had anticipated that the Dark Lord would fall, least of all Alecto. Her parents immediately went into damage control, trying desperately to restore their name before the hammer fell. Their children wouldn’t be so lucky. It had been Amycus who suggested that only one of them needed to go to Azkaban – Alecto had first imagined it would be her, but Amycus took the fall for the both of them, accepting his sentence and insisting that Alecto keep herself out of it, to keep serving their master while he was away.

Not only had everything Alecto ever believed fallen apart, she’d lost her brother and her best friend, and, if his life sentence was to believed, she might not ever see him again.

Alecto had still been living with her parents at the time, but when she returned home after Amycus’ trial alone, she endured a wrath she could have only imagined up until that moment. It didn’t matter that it had been Amycus’ idea for her to walk free – they were furious that their male heir was to go away while they were given Alecto as, what? A consolation prize? Though she was fairly certain they’d calm down eventually, Alecto took the first opportunity she could to leave her parents’ house and get out on her own. She managed to secure herself a position at the Ministry, and has been doing her best to provide for herself in the years since her brother’s arrest. She may not be living the life they imagined for her, and they may vocalise their displeasure whenever she sees them, but it simply spurs Alecto on.

Alecto believes that the Lark Lord will return one day, and she intends to be the one to bring him back. She has been searching far and wide for any trace of her father, detailing her expedition in her letters to her brother. Of course, she has no idea where to begin. Her ‘search’ is more of a vague exploration, hoping against hope that she will stumble upon something. She’s trying to prove to herself, to her brother, to her parents, and to her peers, that Amycus made the right decision – that she’s better off on the outside, that by avoiding arrest, she can make use of herself and help bring back the Dark Lord. To Alecto, it’s almost like a race, and she thinks she’s vicious and scrappy enough to do what it takes.

She just hopes Amycus really did make the right decision.

plot ideas —

Amycus | Honestly, her relationship with her brother is probably the closest thing that Alecto has to a healthy relationship, and that’s saying a lot. The pair are still deeply dysfunctional - Alecto craves the validation she never received from her parents from her brother, and would literally follow him into hell. Letting him be imprisoned after the war was something that was incredibly difficult for her, so I’d love to explore how she’s been coping without her big brother’s guidance. She’s managed to get herself a fairly decent job and an apartment on her own.. did she ever really need him in the first place? I’d also love to see Amycus as a playable character in the future ( perhaps Alecto could even be involved in his breakout from Azkaban… hint hint ), to explore their dynamic properly, as well as how it has changed in the years they’ve been separated. Death Eaters | Alecto is on a quest to bring back Voldemort, and this probably isn’t a secret to anyone who she believes to be sympathetic to her cause. Of course, she doesn’t want any help because she wants the entirety of the credit for herself, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t curious about what exactly she’s doing ( please can somebody call her out on her stunning lack of progress? ). I’d also like to see her interact with some of the less loyal Death Eaters. She’s big on dedication and loyalty, and if she feels that there’s traitors in their midst, Alecto will not hesitate to make this known… or exploit it for her own gain. Ministry | Alecto works as an Obliviator for the Ministry. She’s not so stupid as to go around telling everyone that she’s an active supporter of You-Know-Who, but for anyone who was part of the Order ( or with any common sense ), it’s not hard to figure out where her loyalties lie – her brother is in Azkaban for being a Death Eater, and her parents are active pureblood supremacists. I’d like to see her trying to keep up appearances at the Ministry, interacting with former Order members or even muggleborns… how much will it take for her to crack?

extra —

mock blog / pinterest / playlist

extras that didn’t fit in the bio:

Parents. Alecto’s relationship with her parents has always been strained, however, over the last few years it has become even more so. They have made little secret of the fact that they would prefer Alecto be rotting in Azkaban than Amycus. Alecto doesn’t see them very often, and when she does, they’re trying to pressure her to marry a nice pureblood man before they’re all gone, or making her feel even worse about Amycus’ imprisonment. She still has a great deal of respect for her parents, but she knows they’ll never have a great relationship.

Residence. Alecto lives in a small apartment not far from Diagon Alley. It’s quite lavish, more than she should be able to afford with her salary, but she had considerable financial assistance when buying it… her parents couldn’t have her living on the street, could they?

Occupation. Alecto works as an Obliviator for the Ministry. She’s always been quite skilled with charms ( though she usually uses her skills for evil rather than good ), and her father had always told her that having a job at the Ministry was a good position to be in ( well, he’d said her husband should have a job at the Ministry, close enough ). She doesn’t enjoy having to interact with muggles… but she does enjoy robbing them of their memories.

Romance. Alecto isn’t one for commitment, but she learnt young that her looks were a powerful weapon, and one she wields expertly. She likes to toy with people, and she’s not fussed about anything so trivial as gender ( blood status is the only thing that matters to her ). She’s never considered herself bisexual, much less put a public label on it, but if she gave it any thought, that’s probably the conclusion she’d arrive at. She’s never told her parents about her relationships with women, and has no intention to.

#al:accepted #alecto carrow #harry potter rp #hp rp #marauders era rp

[ahiddenpath]

Books that Shaped My Writing: Childhood

For a long time, I’ve been thinking of writing a post about the books that left an impact on me and shaped me as a hobbyist writer.  I’ve always wondered if I could trace elements of these books to how I think and write now, but I also...  Frankly, I’d really like to see what you guys might have to say about your own childhood reading!

Please read on below the cut.

First, I should point out that I’ve been an insatiable reader all my life.  I’m only mentioning the handful of books that I recall having a huge impact on my writing, and I’m also not going to mention Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings, just because I assume everyone’s read them/knows about them.  I was and am a huge fan of both, though!

These aren’t necessarily my favorite childhood books, or the ones I think are the best.  They’re simply the ones that I suspect shaped how I write today.

I’ll start in rough chronological order of when I read the books, ending at about age twelve for this post.

The Fairy Rebel, Lynne Reid Banks

I read this for the first time in second grade, so roughly age...  Seven?  It’s about a couple that cannot conceive and the fairy that decides to help them, in direct breach of fairy law.  After the baby is born, the fairy queen (who is EXCEPTIONALLY evil) goes nuclear.  The rest of the story deals with the humans and the fairies struggling to survive the queen’s wrath.

This book is really a trip.  It’s got bratty and sweet fairies, cute domestic moments, a human girl touched by fey magic, a super evil queen, and lots of dark stuff.

In retrospect, there’s some stuff that I could do without.  For example, the book constantly mentions how chubby the female characters are, like...  In a really self-conscious way?  And the eventual mother is in deep depression over her infertility until the fairy helps her, which is a heavy topic for a kid.

But like...  As I said, I read constantly, but this is the only book I really remember from that far back.  It blew my second grade mind and hooked me on fantasy.  I immediately began writing stories about fairies interacting with humans.  From there, I transitioned to “animals behaving like humans” stories.  I still have them all!  They’re illustrated, too, which is fun.

I’m not sure if I picked up any writing elements beyond topic from this book, but it inspired me to write my very first full-blown stories.  Before this, I was drawing ideas in comics that are incomprehensible to me now.  

Where the Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls

This book is about a boy who desperately wants hunting dogs, eventually acquires a pair, and forms an incredible bond with them.  Unlike the other books on this list, I was only able to read this once.  

My mother found me inconsolably sobbing when I finished this book.  I could barely communicate why I was crying!  I tear up easily, but I’ve never cried over a work of fiction like this, before or since.  Even though I only read it once, I can remember the ending so vividly, down to sentences.

If I’m lucky, then maybe I picked up some knowledge about moving readers from this book.

Matilda, Roald Dahl

Matilda is probably the fictional character that my child self related to most.  She’s a gal who survives emotional abuse at home by reading, creating a beautiful world for her mind.  Unlike most kids in similar situations, however, Matilda was able to carry out small acts of revenge on her abusers, and even help an adult escape her abuser.  No wonder so many kids love this book!

Thematically, I absolutely solidified the idea of cultivating inner resources to deal with a stormy outer world from this book.  This continues to pop up in my writing, but it also supported me as a kid struggling at home.  God, what an important book.  And it’s Dahl, so it’s hilarious, unpredictable, and pretty dang dark.

Island of the Blue Dolphins, Scott O’Dell

The story of a Native American girl left behind when the rest of her people sailed away from their island.  She has to survive on her own, awaiting the day that another ship will arrive.

Like Matilda, it’s about surviving however you can, but it’s more physical in this story.  Although when you’re alone, there are emotional and mental elements to surviving, too.  I remember taking away a feeling of awe at the main character’s power.  And she didn’t have magic or anything like that; she was resourceful, tenacious, and smart.

That’s something I want all girls and women to see in themselves (although I certainly don’t want anyone to be marooned, lol!).  I make a point to write with this goal.

Absolutely Normal Chaos, Sharon Creech 

I was probably about ten when I read this for the first time?  I can’t begin to tell you what it did for my sense of characterization and voice.  In it, a girl is given a school assignment to keep a journal over summer break.  She develops a passion for journaling, which helps her deal with an unexpectedly tumultuous summer.

It’s a fun read with a lot of life.  I felt deeply familiar with the main character by the end of the book.

The Last Dragonlord, Dragon and Phoenix, Joanne Bertin

I read the second novel, Dragon and Phoenix, before the first.  I was about twelve, which was waaaaaaay too young for these books.  I bought it in an airport before a flight, and I chose the longest book with the coolest cover (a dragon facing off with a phoenix, of course).

Having reread these as adults, it’s clear that they’re a writer’s first two books from a technical level.  However, Bertin’s world building is so thorough and developed, and her love for her cast is so strong.  Hands down, this is where I first learned how to handle multiple close third person perspectives in a story, and to use the various characters to show the reader things that only that character could show them.  

These books are not for the faint of heart; they have every dark thing you can imagine, if I recall.  They’re also rather slow and ponderous (another thing I might have picked up here, lol!), but...  At the time, I thought they were the best books ever, and I owe a lot to them.

The Last Dragonlord is the tighter, more cohesive, less dark read.  Dragon and Phoenix is much more ambitious, but not as well executed, I’d say?  The third book, A Bard’s Oath, was frankly...  Not worth reading, but that’s another story.

And that is where I will end the early childhood section of this journey!  I’ll probably talk about books I read as a teen next, and then adulthood?  I might try to cover books on writing, also?

Please let me know what books shaped your writing as a child, I’d love to hear!

#books #book talk

[ofevercfters]

— intro

wooowwwweeeee i have no self control. here is my newest character SAGE. or as she as known in the land without magic, MOTHER NATURE. here is more info on her than you could ever want or need, but i have none-the-less provided.

here is some quick info: 

gabriella wilde,  24,  female,  she/her,  fae |   did you see the look on SAGE LOANDERYN’S face ?   they know as well as anyone that a war is coming.   i’ve heard they’re a neutral good guardian of the forest with a reputation for being rather - docile,  - insecure as well as + nurturing,  + forgiving.   no wonder they’re known as THE PHOENIX.   they hail from the kingdom of the seasonal realm and are a noble.   i’ve heard that in the land without magic, their fable is called FANTASIA. let’s see how long they’ll last.

Pls like or message me to plot! if you have a particular dynamic in mind, message me or note them on this post.

ABOUT THE CHARACTER

gender & pronouns: female, she/her

sexual orientation: pansexual

siding with: no one (for now)

character label: the phoenix

species: fae

place of birth: Villeneuve

headcanons

• Sage is the bastard child of a high ranking noble in the Spring branch of the seelie court. Her father already having a wife and two children, she was not welcome to live in her father’s household for many years. 

• Sage’s mother was a human peasant from the Villeneuve countryside who worked in an orchard picking fruit and tending to massive stretches of gardens. It was hard labor, but Sage’s mother was never one to complain. She met Sage’s father during a local spring festival and they spent the entirety of the warm seasons together. It was during this time that Sage was conceived. 

• Sage’s father left before her mother even knew she was pregnant. Although her father broke off the relationship with her mother before leaving, in the small cottage where Sage lived with her mother, there was an enchanted flower kept in a crystal vase that sat on the windowsill. It never wilted and whenever Sage asked about it, her mother would reply with a small smile, “a gift from your father,” lifting the small girl on her hip to see the blossom better. “Precious… but not nearly as precious as you.”

• Sage lived on the orchard with her mother and several other families who tended the fields. She was used to a humble life driven by bitter work, but in spite of her hardship, was a happy (albeit a bit quiet) child.

• From a young age, Sage had an affinity for magic involving nature, specifically plants, growth and healing. She wonders if she may also have some power over the weather, but it doesn’t come naturally to her, and this inclination only seems to arise during the spring and summer seasons

• She often had to style her hair to hide the pointed tips of her fae ears, and therefore she has always worn it long and loose or carefully braided.

• When Sage was about 8 years old her mother became grievously ill. Her sickness grew more severe as the weeks passed. Only as her mother’s condition began to decline did the flower begin to also wilt.

• Sage was keeling at her mother’s deathbed the first time she saw her father. She did not recognize him, and although he seemed shocked to see her, he quickly seemed to recognize her. The two waited at her mother’s side as she slowly gave into fever. Sage and her father buried her at the edge of the woods near the base of a large and beautiful tree. Using magic she had never seen before, her father transformed the tree to take on her mother’s shape and promised Sage that the tree would never die or be felled.

• He then took Sage by the hand and brought her into the seasonal realm where she would live for several years with her step mother and step siblings

• Court life did not suit Sage. She was far too sweet and lacked the stamina to keep up with the political subtleties of court. Furthermore, her position as a half-fae bastard child made her the subject of much gossip. In addition, her relationship with her step-mother and step-sister was contentious at best. However, she does have a tender relationship with her step-brother.

• Because of her unhappiness at court and trouble with her father’s family, the two negotiated that she would leave his house and, due to her affinity for plant life and nature, become a guardian of the forests surrounding the seasonal realms (although she has found that, in one way or another, all forests seem to end up linking together and often wanders from forest to forest, fostering its growth and tenderly caring for it. However, she does have a deep attachment to the forests surrounding the spring court and spends much of her time there. She left her father’s house at around age 15 to care for the forests.

• As a result, she has been very sheltered due to focusing on her duty as a guardian and her near complete isolation. Her friends tend to be creatures of the forest.

• Recently, a fire broke out in the forests surrounding the spring court and despite Sage’s desperate efforts to protect it, the woods were consumed by the flames and reduced to ash and bare skeletons of trees. It is unclear if humans or fae or any other creature caused the fires, but the loss of her most beloved forest has left Sage emotionally devastated and grievously injured (as the forests she cares for have, in many ways, become an extension of herself. The forests surrounding the spring court being the greatest example of this).

• The only reason she survived the fires at all was because The King of the Forest found her before the flames could consume her, too weak to save herself, and carried her to safety.

are they aware of the land without magic ?  no

residency status: she wanders from forest to forest, although she has a special connection with the forests enclosing the spring court and occasionally visits her father (but his house never feels like home)

quirks: 

• Her clothes are often sparse and constructed out of plants. She has been known to have skirts made of petals or scalloped leaves. She is regularly seen with butterflies, flowers, and sometimes birds nestled in her hair

• She never wears shoes. She feels like it creates a barrier between herself and the earth and such distance feels unnatural to her.

• She is often in the company of other animals typical of the area she happens to be in

• Having spent so much of her life alone, Sage isn’t used to talking to or being around other people. When she interacts with them, she typically finds herself stumbling over her words, feeling quite shy or anxious and prone to blushing. That being said, she deeply desires companionship, especially friendship, which she has gone most of her life without.

• She has a high, airy, lovely voice, which when heard from a distance has been mistaken for the sound of the wind

• Living for so long in the wild, Sage’s awareness of social boundaries is limited. She doesn’t understand why people feel shy about nudity etc. because Sage believes it to be a natural and beautiful thing (although she is very likely to feel shy or flustered if people touch her, even in a casual manner).

• Sage’s knowledge of plants, herbs, and need for self-sufficiency in the wilderness have made her quite adept at medicines/healing practices. However, all her methods are homeopathic or magical in nature.

any additional notes / thoughts ?   if not,  you’re free to delete this part.

I know I refer to Sage as a ‘guardian,’ but she’s not like a guardian as detailed in rise of the guardians. She acts like one in many ways, but she isn’t part of that group. More than anything, she’s become a wandering spirit and protector of nature.

QUESTIONNAIRE

this is simply another quick way for you to get to know your character better and flesh them out more.   all we ask is that you answer at least three of these questions and do so with at least one full paragraph.

how does your character feel about the uprising of the villains ? 

sage feels concerned for the wellbeing of all who would be impacted by a war or fight. Having lived as long as she has in isolation, Sage is still fairly naïve to the actions of villains and how heinous they can be, so I think she’s more sympathetic to their experience than she might otherwise be. More than anything, Sage just wants people to get along and hopes that the uprising of villains will result in a truce where the issues can be worked out peacefully.

how does your character feel about magic ?

Sage values magic and sees it as an integral aspect of who she is. To Sage, magic is just as much a part of who she is as her hair or limbs. It connects her to the earth, which she has an exceptionally symbiotic relationship with. I don’t think she’s been exposed to the true power magic has or the threat it can pose if wielded in the wrong hands. She, naively, sees magic as infallibly good and pure, as well as a solution to most problems.

what side is your character taking in the foreseeable war ?   why ?

I don’t think sage wants to have to pick a side. To sage, picking a side means the guarantee of war and thus the loss of life and the cause of great suffering. In this sense, Sage doesn’t see any right sides, just a conflict that will result in bloodshed. The only side she could ever be convinced to take would result from finding out who burned down her forest. Even so, it would be a decision fraught with conflict for her and she believes the attack on the forest must have resulted from the growing tension between heroes and villains.

#tales.intro #| musings ; sage |

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Ik you prob don't care 'bout it, but what's your opinion on Santa Claus? I'm just trying to see if there are people who feel creeped out like me at the idea of an old dude who knows everything about every single child in the world and enters your house in the silence of the night without anyone noticing or hearing him

(And Ik he's not real, but the idea still creeps me out when I think about it for too long)

Ok so, this is a very important question to me because obv I have a kid and probably next year I’ll have to start explaining Santa to her and there’s a lot to deal with

‘Santa is always watching and see’s what you’re doing’

Obviously I understand the premise is ‘convince kids to be good’ but I personally hate this insistence on being ‘extra good’ at Christmas. If you have to use threats of no presents and coal for Christmas to get your kids to be kind, you’re parenting wrong. So while Santa will be a thing in my household, it won’t be the same story.

Santa is a friend of parents in my mind. Someone who delivers presents the child or parents have specificlly asked For, and keeps contact with parents who know the child’s behavior better than anyone else. He works with parents to make Christmas a little more special. That being said, Santa is also not rich

Santa brings small gifts. A new set of Pj’s, a book, a cheap toy. Nothing over the top.

Santa does not exist to spoil kids. He exists to spread joy and cheer with the help of parents. 

This Especially extends to this new ‘elf on a shelf’ trend that has exploded in the last few years. That’s a hard no in my household. It’s downright creepy and honestly if my parents did that to me as a kid I would probably have nightmares.

The whole ‘everything you do is watched’ is very creepy and I don’t want to hand that down to my child.

Mall in all, Santa is an interesting idea and concept. It shows the creativity of the human mind and the desperation of parents to allow their kids some extra innocence.

But it’s carried out really poorly by a lot of parents. Santa isn’t supposed to be this all knowing person who will punish kids for the smallest transgressions

He’s supposed to be kind and loving, only punishing those with coal and no presents who are exceptionally cruel and horrible children.

Not doing chores is not a reason to be put on the ‘naughty list’

Not saying ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ once is not a reason to be put in the ‘naughty list’

And I think a lot of parents forget this and act like Santa exists to punish their kids when they deem their behavior ‘less than perfect’ and that’s sad cuz Santa is supposed to be jolly and kind. Not a judge mental creep

#personal

[sapphicscholar]

A/N: For @performativezippers - hope you're starting to feel better, friend!

HELLLOOO! I'm back from the world of PhD applications--a little sleep deprived and so much poorer than I was a week ago, but back! And overjoyed to be done with that process! I'll be taking some time to get out a nice long update for Undercover(s) and to work on my Secret Santa prompts, but then I'll be getting back to pull a few from the queue that have been waiting. But I've also got 2 AUs in the works, one of which has been plotted and planned obsessively for about 9 months now, so they'll be taking more of my time and attention for a while because damn I do love a good long-form AU...

Hilariously, this story is plucked from my real life. Except I didn't meet Alex Danvers; I met a very flustered, awkward, burly security guard. And Zipps mentioned my life might make for a pretty cute Sanvers story. So voila. Please enjoy.

Fun fact #2: Every title mentioned was plucked from the bibliography of my paper, so they all exist, and you too can find them in your local university library and have a go at finding love or just the awkwardness I did XD

Chapter Text:

“Excuse me!” Alex yelled at the student shuffling through the entrance without stopping by the guard desk.

“Hmm?”

They always looked so innocent, the impossibly frustrating “who me?” look, as she thought of it. As though finals week was the first time they’d ever been to the library. As though they didn’t know that ID was required to get inside. As though they didn’t notice the line of people waiting to flash their student cards to her before going in. “I need to see your ID.”

“Oh, I just need to return something,” the student replied, waving in the general direction of his bag like it held some magical proof that made him exempt from following the same rules as every other person in line.

“And I just need to see your ID,” Alex nearly growled, her tolerance for bullshit having all but disappeared over the past few days. She’d taken the guard job as a way to make a bit of extra cash, since her graduate stipend was livable, but didn’t quite cover some of the luxuries she’d come to enjoy: a nice bottle of whiskey, say, or a new leather jacket. And for the most part, it wasn’t a bad job. It forced her to go to the library most days, and early morning shifts left her with long stretches of quiet time to do her work. But when finals hit…suddenly the library was the hot place to be, and she was left feeling like Charon and Cerberus and Hades all at once as she ushered in awake, if anxious, students, only to watch them stumble out hours and sometimes days later looking like haggard shells of their former selves, their eyes dull and souls deadened.

With a show of huffing and grumbling and rummaging in his bag, which appeared to be full of crumpled papers and snacks that Alex just knew would end up leaving sticky residue all over whichever desk he used, the student finally produced his card, flashing it in Alex’s direction until she waved him away, satisfied that he was a student. The next students in line at least had the decency to have their cards out and ready, and a few even thought to say hello and thank her or wish her a good day.

Eventually the rush dwindled to a slow trickle of students, most of them having settled in for the evening. Alex listened as the antiquated intercom system crackled to life and one of the on-duty librarians announced: “This is a last call for check out. You have ten more minutes to bring any books to the check out desk. As a reminder, the front desk will be closing at 9pm sharp. Thank you!”

Over the next few minutes a few students came rushing out of the elevators and stairwell, piles of books clutched to their chests as they got in the line that had begun to curl around the front desk. She chuckled at the sight of one girl nearly too short to see over the stack of books in her arms staggering out of the elevator and toward the check-out desk. Alex most definitely did not find her gaze lingering on her ass—no, that would definitely be unprofessional, even if it was obviously an ass worth noticing.

As the librarians got everyone through the line, Alex wished the ones who decided to pull all-nighters back in the comfort of their dorm rooms and apartments a good night, pulling out her own work again when it seemed like she might get a few minutes of peace. Of course, moments later, the girl with the great ass appeared in front of her, the stack of books now crammed into an overstuffed backpack.

“Have a good night,” the girl called out, giving Alex a small two-finger salute that made her stomach flutter—not that she’d admit to a thing as childish and Kara-esque as butterflies.

“You too. Don’t study too hard.” Alex cringed internally; she never made small talks, and she certainly wasn’t the type to make dad jokes. Yet here she was. Doing both.

The shrill beep of the alarm going off when the girl walked past the sensors saved them both from having to either laugh off the lame attempt at a joke or come up with an adequate response.

“I swear, I went through, and they got all the books!”

“I believe you. Still need to go through them one-by-one, though,” Alex offered with a shrug. Some of the scanners were a bit old at this point, which meant she’d gotten used to the process of scanning the titles and the receipts, making sure they were all listed before she sent the students on their way.

“Oh, um, you know it’s cool, I can just work here.”

Alex cocked her head to the side; the woman looked oddly on edge, the easy way she had carried herself before replaced with a stiffness to her movements. “It’s fine, really. I’m not saying you stole anything! I just need to go through and check your receipt.”

“Yeah, but I’ve, uh, I’ve got so many books—wouldn’t want to bother you. You’ve clearly got homework too.” She gestured to Alex’s notebook, which was littered with complicated graphs and notes in a scrawl that Kara had deemed indecipherable.

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Alex insisted.

With a grimace of a smile, the student plopped her bag down on the edge of the desk and began unloading the large stack of books. Once they were in a neat pile, she handed over the receipt and turned her attention to the floor tiles in front of her. She wondered if they might do her the favor of opening up into a surprise sinkhole that would save her from this moment.

Alex spun the books so that the spines were facing her and began skimming the first title, pen in hand, ready to begin checking the books off the receipt. The Feminist Porn Book: The Politics of Producing Pleasure. Oh. Hoping her cheeks weren’t already the same flaming red color as the book cover, Alex checked it off the receipt and moved it into a new pile, looking for the second title. Coming to Power: Writings and Graphics on Lesbian S/M. She heard the student clear her throat and caught sight of her fidgeting with the zipper of her leather jacket. Lesbian Erotics was up next, followed by Beyond Explicit: Pornography and the Displacement of Sex.

“It’s for a research paper,” the girl finally said.

“That’s what the kids are calling it these days?” Alex couldn’t help herself. It was joke about it or ignore the elephant in the room—or, even worse, accidentally risk letting slip some hint of the images that had filled her mind about all the ways they could perhaps practice lesbian eroticism and BDSM together some night, maybe in the stacks, not that it was a thought that had ever flitted through her mind during exceptionally long, lonely night shifts. No, never.

The student relaxed at that, arching an eyebrow playfully as one side of her mouth curled up into a wicked smile, bringing out dimples that had Alex biting at her lower lip. “Mm, I prefer to be direct. Otherwise you end up with girls who didn’t realize the flannel and the flirting and the winking meant that what I called a coffee date really was a genuine date.”

“Not just two gals being pals?”

“Exactly. I’m Maggie, by the way. Maggie Sawyer.”

Alex nodded, like she hadn’t already looked at her name on the receipt. “Alex Danvers. Resident library security guard.”

“That title come with cuffs and everything?”

“Tragically no. Just a panic button that I don’t think even works.”

“Very fancy. They really went all out, huh?”

“Only the best for us guards.”

Maggie smiled and let Alex get back to work, finishing up with her stack of books. After a few moments, though, the silence got to her. Gesturing at the large textbook, Maggie asked, “Bio major?”

“Uh, bio-engineering, actually. Grad student.”

“Impressive. Sorry, didn’t mean to mistake you for an undergrad there,” she laughed.

“Oh, you’re fine,” Alex brushed off the apology. “I mean, by my age, I guess I really should still be an undergrad.”

“One of those child prodigies, then?” Maggie teased, though, given the look of the notes in front of Alex, she wasn’t exactly joking either.

Alex shook her head. “More like summer classes and a desperate need to live up to my mother’s impossibly high expectations.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Very. What about you? Undergrad?”

“Senior,” Maggie answered. “Had space for a few electives, so…” she trailed off, gesturing at the stack of books in between them. “Thought it would be fun to take a sexuality studies course.”

“Is it?”

“It was.”

“Oh no, what happened?”

“Oh just a little thing…you know, having to hand over a whole stack of books on porn and lesbian sex to a pretty girl…just a tad bit embarrassing.”

“I’m sure she’d tell you it wasn’t embarrassing.” Maggie looked unconvinced. “Or that it was just as embarrassing for her as it was for you.”

“Could I maybe make it up to her?”

Feeling a rush of boldness that could have come from the days of built up sleep deprivation, or the rather X-rated image flashing up at her from the next cover in her stack, or the sight of a very gorgeous woman flirting with her, Alex smirked up at Maggie. “Gonna impart all the lessons you learned from this—what’d you call it again? Research?” Alex teased, finding herself beyond pleased at the throaty laugh that spilled from Maggie’s lips and drew the ire of a student just trudging in from the night, ID card clutched in fingers turned red from the cold.

“I was thinking coffee, but I’m not opposed to, as the kids call it, Netflix and chill-ing.”

“Why don’t we start with coffee and see if you can’t entice me with all the thrilling facts you learned…”

“Challenge accepted, Danvers.”

#sanvers #fanfic #college au #meet cute #alex x maggie #supergirl #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #ao3feed

[thewaywedo33]

Wynonna Earp 2X12 Thoughts and Faves

Season One of Wynonna Earp brought me on such a rollicking good ride, enjoyable from beginning to end, that I was expecting good things from Season Two. I was confident we’d get good writing, storylines and humor, but I swear, on Friday night it’s like the season finale showed up and said “You think what came before was good?  Hold my whiskey.”  Everything was on point over the course of the final hour, from the emotions to the dialogue to the cinematography.  My heart was so full and my smile wide as the end credits rolled.  They gave us so much to love, and so much to think about over the hiatus.  Time to dig in to some of those thoughts, in no particular order (sorry, my brain couldn’t help it):

At its core, Wynonna Earp is a love story between two sisters. Everything is rooted in their triumphs and failures; grounded in their love for one another.  What an episode for Wynonna and Waverly.  On a lot of levels, it felt right that Wynonna chose not to dwell on Waverly’s betrayal and poor choice.  For starters, as she pointed out, there wasn’t time for emotional hang ups with Clootie rising. But more importantly, if anyone is equipped to understand poor decisions that potentially hurt the people you love, it’s Wynonna.  The most jarring thing for Wynonna wasn’t the actual choice that screwed them, it was the fact that Waverly made it.  The very same Waverly who is the level-headed one, who has backed Wynonna, followed her, never let her down before, has a million reasons to hate her, but loves her unconditionally anyway, all when Wynonna didn’t feel like she deserved it.  The biggest issue for Wynonna was how blind-sided she felt by it.  

Waverly's betrayal was an important hurdle for the Earp sisters.  I think it’s going to help Wynonna realize that Waverly is an adult who is going to make her own mistakes.  Wynonna’s had Waverly on a bit of a pedestal up to this point.  She can’t help it, not when she compares her own past mistakes and demons to Waverly’s.   But now, Waverly is all grown up and making her own choices, sometimes with negative consequences. Wynonna can find a familiar sort of comfort in that. They’re ready to move forward on more equal footing. A lot of this season has been about their shift towards that.  Wynonna has slowly allowed Waverly to become more involved in BBD business, and Waverly has asserted herself more and more in Wynonna’s personal life.  Rightly so, because what affects Wynonna affects Waverly, and vice versa. Wynonna carries a heavy burden from the curse, and she’s the only one who can end it, but Waverly has longed to help lessen some of the weight.  I think Wynonna is ready to let her.  

The way they’ve grown to support each other is really something.  How beautiful it was when they each declared the other as the best of the group.  They can argue about it till they’re blue in the face, they both have valid claims, but the truth is, they’re the best of each other.  Truly, look at both of their progressions from the pilot through this finale, and the areas they’ve made the biggest growth in, the parts of themselves that have flourished since Wynonna came back to town, are the strengths of the other.

The heart of the show, right here

I’m glad Waverly didn’t solve the mystery of her lineage yet, because I don’t think she was ready before now.  There were two extremely important moments of validation for Waverly in this episode that she desperately needed for feelings she struggles with. She felt left out and mostly unloved by the family as a child.  We know the facts: no one remembered her birthday, Wynonna left town for years, she’s always been afraid Wynonna will never love her as much as she loved Willa. “You’re just as much a part of me as this baby.” That was the moment, and those are the words, that will lock themselves in Waverly’s heart forever. The fact that Wynonna said it after admitting she knows Waverly has different parentage, possibly even demon parentage, adds to the weight of the words. Moving forward, I think Waverly will finally feel secure in her relationship with Wynonna.   Wynonna loves and adores her like a sister, so she is her sister.  DNA doesn’t matter.

Then we have the moment when Nicole tells her she’s extraordinary. Waverly, who isn’t the heir, doesn’t have revenant blood, who is ‘just Waverly’, as she lamented so long ago over bubblegum sake, is extraordinary (and I think we can all agree, she is). Those words are everything for someone like her, who’s spent her life not being the chosen one, surrounded by people enhanced in some way or another, who outwardly molded herself to others needs/wants/expectations so they would love her, even when it wasn’t who she is deep down inside. Look at her face when Nicole says it.

I can make hearteyes too you know, I learned from the best

After those moments with Wynonna and Nicole, I think Waverly is ready to find out what she is, because she’s finally coming to terms with who she is.  Prior to this episode, I suspect Waverly would have reeled significantly at whatever lineage discovery awaits her. But now, secure in the truth of the love from her sister, and the unwavering support and belief her girlfriend has in her, she can handle it.  I’m not saying it won’t be a wild ride, but I am saying Waverly is ready to hold on tight and endure it without losing herself.

There was a parallel between Bobo and Rosita in this episode.  Both of them make choices in order to avoid going back to hell, and it doesn’t particularly turn out well for either one.  But where Bobo is comfortable in his evil deeds (hell, he relishes in them), Rosita is not. As much as I hated what she did, I think she hated doing it more.  Doc is the one that pulled her into all of this.  He promised her protection and encouraged her to find connections with the Earp sisters. Yet not twenty-four hours after revealing her Revenant self, she’s listening to Wynonna say she’ll shoot her last.  Rosita thought she’d proven herself, and maybe earned the chance to try and help Wynonna break the curse in a way that doesn’t require her to shoot all the Revenants. Instead, Wynonna threatens her and confirms she’s going to send her back to hell.  So Rosita does what she feels like she has to in order to survive, even though she finds it distasteful.  Watch her closely throughout the scene.  She’s shaky, nervous, and a couple times her face straight up gives away that she doesn’t want to be doing it. It doesn’t change how awful her choice is, but it does break my heart a little for her.  I hope they’re not done with her character.  I think there’s potential for, not necessarily a redemption arc per se, but a survival arc that puts her back on the side of the good guys while she tries to find a way to live with her demons and choices.

I am so very here for whatever is going on between Dolls and Nicole and the Bulshar cult.  I have a few scattered thoughts on what could be going on, and I’m sure I’ll come up with a dozen more along the way, none of them quite right.  The important thing is that I’m not remotely worried Nicole is going to turn out to be evil in some way.   The final scene gave me notes of what they did with Doc in the first couple episodes of the season.  They made it seem like he wasn’t really working in the groups best interest, and perhaps had nefarious intentions, but ultimately he was working to create the serum Dolls needed to survive.  I won’t be surprised if the end result of whatever this is with Dolls and Nicole is a similar sort of thing.  If any two members of the group would get the boneheaded idea that they should take on the root of the curse on their own, for the sake of the women they love, it’d be Dolls and Nicole.  

Where Doc has always had a quiet acceptance of the danger Wynonna faces fighting demons and working to break the curse (loving and losing Wyatt, immortality, and a gray moral code all contribute to this one way or another, but that’s a discussion for another day), I suspect Dolls struggles with it more.  I think he wants to provide a more normal existence for Wynonna if he can, whereas Doc knows she’ll never have one. So Dolls teaming up with Nicole, who’s training, sharp wit, and keen observational skills make her exceptionally qualified to dig into things, isn’t that far outside the realm of possibilities for me.

I find myself looking with a new light at Dolls encouraging Waverly to turn the third seal over to Widow Beth in order to save Nicole. He said it was because Nicole would then be there to help them put Clootie back in the ground, and now I don’t think it was such a hypothetical statement. I think he was telling the truth, without revealing what the two of them actually have going on.  Because the best lies are mostly truth, and the most effective slights of hand happen in the brightest of daylight.

I wasn’t sure what route the show would take when Wynonna’s baby came, but as soon as the choice became clear, it seemed so obvious this was always going to be the way it turned out.  What a testament to the way they built the storyline all season long, that as an audience we felt like there were multiple options, but once the choice was revealed, we realize it was truly the only one to make.  I love that Wynonna sent the baby to Gus. Clearly they’ve had communication after Gus left the triangle, and I’d like to think that after seeing how great Waverly turned out, especially now that she knows what her early years were truly like, Wynonna knows Gus will give her daughter a good and loving life.  It also gives me hope that Gus realizes just how much Wynonna has changed since coming back to town, and that in turn she’s offered her the love and support she deserves.

I found it curious that Peacemaker lit up orange when Wynonna pointed it at Doc.  Doc admitted to Bobo he went to hell when Dolls killed him, so now I’m wondering if Peacemaker lights up for those that have been touched by hell. Revenants, demons, and previously immortal beings who went to hell and came back all fall under that category.

I do think the gun is somewhat sentient, especially since Wynonna was able to command it work for Waverly.  At the very least I think it’s in tune with who wields it.  It glowed blue for Rosita, just like it did with Willa.  I have to wonder if it picks up on when the shooter doesn’t really want to kill who they’re aiming it.  Also, I don’t think it only grazed Rosita because Waverly’s aim was off.  I think she literally can’t put a Revenant down because she’s not the heir.  So while the gun listened to Wynonna’s demand to fire, it wouldn’t allow Waverly to reduce the revenant count.

I think Jeremy is some sort of empath.  He clearly knows things he shouldn’t, like in episode six when he was aware of Wynonna’s pregnancy before being told. At the time it seemed like a funny, throw-away moment to show that Jeremy is observant, but now I don’t think that’s the case. I also wonder if his deep aversion to Rosita and Dolls being guinea pigs wasn’t just the result of his morals. I think those are very real, but maybe his abilities amplify the hurt he feels for people when they hurt, and he can’t control it. Regardless of how it works, it was obvious he was picking up on strong emotions or thoughts coming from Wynonna when he told Doc to go meet the baby.  His eyes clearly zone out before he relays the information.

That’s so Jeremy

Waverly asking Nicole how the divorce is coming along, and Nicole laughing that she’s on it might as well be them stating “I’m serious about you, and I know where this is going if things keep progressing the way they are.” Only, they did it Wynonna Earp style with humor and an adorable butt tap.  I continue to be blown away by the level of care and development WayHaught gets on the show.  The F/F pairing is the main romance, and they’ve made it real, poignant, sometimes messy, and so, so beautiful.  I do want to see some things addressed in Season Three.  Mainly, that Waverly kissed Rosita, and a clear establishment that they still have trust in one another.  Hell, they can do it with humor if they want, because the show’s so darn good at it.

This is actual art, put it in the damn Louvre

By the way, in case you missed it, Nicole Haught has got both of the Earp sisters, and that gives me some kind of feelings. The woman whose parents I suspect didn’t have her when she needed them to, is damn well going to come through when her found family needs it.  It doesn’t matter what they reveal about her in Season Three, who she is, deep in her bones, is the woman who will never stop saying “I’ve got you”, and meaning it.

Mama Earp, y’all.  I knew she was coming, but I didn’t know how.  So Wynonna has known all along where she is and how to reach her, that’s probably not going to sit well with Waverly.  Why did Mama Earp really leave, and why did she maintain a pathway of communication with Wynonna?  When she left, Willa was still alive and the presumed heir once Ward died, and from what we know about Ward I don’t think anyone expected that he would ever manage to break the curse.  Did Mama get in touch with Wynonna after Willa died?  Why keep it from Waverly?  Why was Wynonna resistant to what Mama told her about Bulshar rising?  I have a hundred questions, and I hope at least five get answered next season.

A Few More Stray Thoughts For the Road:

-Of course Wynonna didn’t give her baby a W name.  She’s going to break the curse, stop the repeating history in its tracks, and she’s going to do shit her own way. I suspected Doc’s mother’s name might get used in some form after his story in episode 2X09.  What a sweet gesture Wynonna was able to do, even in the face of having to send their child away.

-I want to write a small love letter to the way components of the showdown scene in the middle of Main Street change once you go back and watch it with more information. On my first watch, I thought they were trying to show how hard Nicole was struggling to break the paralysis, since they gave us not one, but two close-up shots of her on the ground, and none of Jeremy. But now I think they were playing us a little.  The first time was the establishment shot, so you don’t think anything of her reaction in the second shot when Widow Mercedes mentions the ring of Bulshar.  But once we have the scene from the end of the episode, you can go back and clearly see Nicole is directly reacting to the mention of the ring. You know what else changes in that scene when you go back?  The way Wynonna says “Bulshar” after Mercedes says it.  Now we know, Wynonna’s heard that name before, because her mother warned her about him.

-Doc putting Bobo in the well was such a satisfying moment of retribution. I’m glad they’re putting a lid on Bobo for now and saving him for future use.  He’s a delicious villain, and his brand of crazy is so fun to watch.

-There were so many funny lines of dialogue in this episode that I’m actually in awe.  I’m not going to quote every single favorite line, because I’ll just wind up writing out the entire script, but i’ve watched the episode ten times now, and  “Better not be a nickname for your beave, because I’m not in the mood” makes me laugh out loud every single time.  I can’t believe how many times they said vagina, or referenced it with slang, and it made me love the show even more, which I didn’t think was possible.

Okay, I have to wrap this up at some point, even though there are so many other things from this episode worth mentioning (like, all of it).  

I knew Andras and Co would tell us a good story in Season Two, but I don’t think I was expecting the most satisfying season of television I’ve ever watched.  Television is littered with tv shows that had an amazing Season One, only to follow it up with a ‘Meh’, or worse, downright terrible, Season Two. Wynonna Earp not only avoided that fate, it took every great thing from Season One and amplified it.  The final result is nothing short of amazing.  This is what prestige tv is, my friends.  I don’t care what the hard-scrabbled television critics tell us; a tv show that can make you feel the entire range of emotions, that gives such consistent characterization while allowing for growth, that makes you want to watch episodes repeatedly, and every time you see things in a slightly different way; that is prestige tv.  And that is a show worth coming back to, again and again.

I’ll be around during the hiatus, doing rewatches (and maybe writing more rambling analysis), working on fanfic stories, and tweeting some threads on what Officer Haught is up to.  Come join me, and we’ll get through this hiatus together, until it’s time to join our found family of heroes and anti heroes alike as they start on their next adventure.

Stay awesome.

#Wynonna Earp #Earp Sisters #WayHaught #Waverly Earp #Nicole Haught #This episode was so good #This season was so good #Given some time I'll probably come up with an entire part two of this post #Maybe I'll come up with a better name for these by the time season 3 comes along

[archive-creamycomet]

Same gal who asked about the alpha/omega/beta dynamic aND HOLY SHIT SO MUCH WISDOM, and if you get the chance can you write a one shot (or full blown story) cause that would be amazing! Also I'm so fucked up cause the idea of Gaku exploiting Satoru in heat is just LORD HAVE MERCY HOT

(whispers quietly) i am a sinning man and these are my sinning hands. 

Also on AO3 here: [link]

People often asked Satoru what it waslike, waking up after fifteen long years. They wanted to know whether he sawlight at the end of a long, dark tunnel; whether he heard anything when he wasasleep; what thoughts went through his head while he lay there, eyes closed andunmoving. More often than not, Satoru was able to answer with a little shrug ofhis shoulders. It took days before his eyes had adjusted, so he didn’t seeanything. His ears were the same—he hadn’t even heard when his mother hadwished him that first good morning. And as for what he thought—

Nothing. One moment, Satoru had beenleaving his house in the morning, frantically looking for his recorder andracing off to school. The next, he was in a hospital bed. There was noin-between: just the nothingness of sleep, deep and dark and over in aninstant.

But what he does remember, from the moment he first became aware of himselfagain, was that he wasn’t alone.

Before any of his other senses, Satoruhad felt it: something that wasn’t himself, mingling with his mind. A gentlehand grazing against his soul, curious and holding its breath, not yet daringto hope. And though he couldn’t move his limbs, couldn’t even bat an eyelash,he weakly reached back out to it—and Satoru felt his own consciousness tanglingwith the other, offering a feeble little nudge in the void.

And then too much—devotion and awe and unrestrained euphoria—crashed intohim like a tidal wave. The presence pushed its way into his head, wrappingSatoru’s thoughts up in an embrace that was desperate and tight. It clutched athim in a crushing, suffocating grip—yet Satoru found himself sinking into itall the same, feeling these feelings that were not his own, too weak to fightthe pure joy he felt humming across the bond.

It’s you, itwhispered, disbelief etched in every word. You’reawake.

It was that familiar, comforting voicethat lulled him back under.

Everything smelled. The next timeSatoru felt himself stirring, that’s what hit him first: all the scents thatwere now assaulting his senses, stirring him awake. The muscles in his facetwitched, his nose curling in displeasure. For some reason, everything carriedan aroma, even the air itself, and it made his head spin. Made him want to turnand bury his face in his pillow until he fell back into a deep, scentlesssleep.

But he couldn’t even move his head,let alone do anything as ambitious and moving. So with every inhale, he workedat identifying what he could: antiseptic, laundry detergent, fresh plastic,cleaning supplies. And distantly, buried under it all, something else:something inherently softer, comforting and warm. Something that smelled likecooked rice and home.

Slowly, Satoru peeled his eyes back,only barely managing to stare at the blurry world beyond his eyelashes. A darkshape moved into his vision, and a voice came to him muddled and distorted, asif he were listening from underwater. He couldn’t make out the words, butSatoru knew that sound—and his aching voice left him in a sigh. “M…om…?”

Her hand slipped into his, giving areassuring squeeze. And in his skull, that not-him was also there, dutifullywrapping his anxiety in a warm blanket of emotion. It wasn’t perfect by anymeans, but it would do; Satoru let himself go, floating somewhere betweenasleep and awake, wrapping himself in his mother’s scent. Feeling her fingers,tracing soft little circles against the back of his hand.

Days must have passed, but Satorudidn’t remember them; there were just bits of awareness, bubbles occasionallyrising to the surface of his mind. One moment and his mother was there, thenext she wasn’t; sometimes he could see light, blinding and bright—andsometimes none. The only constant was that feeling of someone else: alwaysthere, always coaxing and comforting, soothing and smoothing out the franticthoughts in his head.

Well, that—and Kitamura-sensei.

Satoru watched the doctor bustlearound his hospital room, inspecting machines and replacing IV bags withsingle-minded purpose. He liked Kitamura. He was little straightforward andlacking in tact, but the honesty was refreshing. His mother, the nurses—Satorucould tell they were side-stepping his questions, placating him with a smilebefore changing the topic. At least Kitamura didn’t… coddle.

Satoru observed the doctor with acertain detached interest, his head leaned back against the pillows. His bodystill wasn’t strong enough to move on its own, so all he could really do wasgaze at the world from his bed. Powerless to do anything but watch therevolving door of specialists and orderlies, cycling in and out of his hospitalroom.

At least Kitamura smelled better thanthe others.

“That’s probably because I’m a beta,”the doctor replied, tapping at the IV drip.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that outloud.

Satoru stared pointedly down at hishands, his fingers twitching restlessly against the blankets. Kitamura wassilent for a moment as he stared down at his clipboard, flipping through thecharts and check-up notes. He eventually broke the silence with carefullymeasured words, never tearing his eyes from the page. “Can I ask you something,Satoru?”

He weakly nodded, his neck aching withthe effort. “Sure.”

“Do you remember when you presented?”

Satoru stared at him for a longsecond, his mouth parting. Of course, he’d assumed he must have presented atsome time—he wasn’t a child anymore, and his body had gone through puberty,even if his mind wasn’t along for the ride. But as for the moment itself, likeso many others, it was lost in the haze of his memories. Just one more piece ofhimself, pulverized by his jumbled mind. “No.”

Kitamura paused, before letting thepapers flip back into place. “I see. That’s fine.”

Satoru frowned, his shoulders shiftingagainst the mattress. Now that they were talking about it, he’d be lying if hesaid some part of him wasn’t curious. He’d wanted to ask this entire time justwhy the world seemed to smell so strong,and it was increasingly clear that Sachiko wasn’t going to tell him. So hesteeled his resolve and stared his doctor in the face, his stomach tight.

“What,” he started, swallowing thecroaking in his throat. “What am I?”

The physician tensed for a longmoment, not tearing his eyes away from his clipboard, as if it were suddenlythe most interesting thing in the world. Satoru could practically see thewheels in the man’s mind turning, before he tucked his notes back under his armwith an awkward shuffle. “An omega,” he answered.

Satoru’s brain stuttered, and heblinked up at his doctor. “A—what?”

“Omega,” Kitamura repeated, staringSatoru in the face. “You presented a week or two before the accident. I’m notsurprised you don’t remember.”

“Oh.”

And for some reason, Satoru—wasn’t assurprised as he should have been, either. Just like when he had seen his new,adult face, the shock just… didn’t come. The truth settled into his brain andbones easily, like an answer he had known all along—like a puzzle piece finallyslotting into place. Satoru stared down at his lap, trying to ignore thatpresence that was still brushing affectionately against his own, practicallypurring in his head.

“I, uh,” he started, struggling forsomething to say. “I thought only girls could be omegas.”

Kitamura stared at him for a longsecond, before pulling up one of the fold out chairs and lowering himself intoit. “99.9 per cent of the time, you’d be right,” he explained. “It’sexceptionally rare, but male omegas do exist. And you’re one of them.”

Satoru’s nose crinkled. “Is that whyeverything smells so much?”

Kitamura tried to hold onto hisimpassive stare, but the corners of his mouth were twitching up. “Basically.Your hormones are playing a bit of catch-up, so your body is kicking itselfinto overdrive. It’ll settle down eventually.”

Thank god. But that wasn’t the worstof his concerns, and Satoru’s fingers twisted and tangled nervously in thesheets. “So, does that mean I can get—” He stopped, the word clogging in histhroat, but he forced it out anyway. “P-pregnant?”

“No,” Kitamura promised. “You’re anomega, but your body is still male. Your hormones and biology just—aren’t reallytalking to each other.” He paused and adjusted his glasses. “Think of it likethis: your body is tricking itself into thinking it can carry a child, even ifyou can’t. So you’ll still be having heats, unfortunately.”

He leaned his head back against thepillows, feeling a shiver crawl over his skin. An omega heat: Satoru couldn’tremember ever experiencing it for himself, but he could just barely feelsnippets of it, the muscle memory buried deep in his nerves. The feeling ofthat never-ending hot, boiling under his skin—the primal need for something totake the fever away. The desperate scramble to get rid of the ache coiled inhis core, by any means necessary.

By anyone.

Something possessive and dark growledlow through the bond, and that was all the warning he got before the lustpoured in. It hit him like a wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. It was—Satoru, my omega, my mate—making his body burn, and he panted desperately againstthe feeling. But it was so hard to breathe when he could sense that gaze on hisnaked skin, when he could feel teeth bearing down on his throat. A cold leatherglove, brushing against his cheek—

Satoru squeezed his eyes shut andgasped, his heart monitor jumping wildly. He needed to calm down, he needed—need, yes, please—needed to get this under control. His head was trying toreign it in, but it was like riding a mechanical bull; all he could do was holdon to whatever logic he had, trying not to get bucked by the foreign lustflowing in his veins.

A glass was pressed against his lips,and Satoru found himself gratefully swallowing down water. It was a cold splashto his system, shocking it back to reality. As he drank, he could feel theintruding thoughts retreating—pulling back with little half-apologies scatteredin their wake.

When Satoru opened his eyes again,there was still only Kitamura, frowning as he pulled the empty cup back.“Fujinuma—?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, gratefully inhalingoxygen as he sank into the pillows. He could feel a thin sweat covering hisskin; he at least wished he had the strength to wipe it all off for himself. Heforced his eyes open again, half-staring at the ceiling as his heart steadiedout of its staccato rhythm. “That—wasn’t me.”

The doctor’s scowl deepened. “Wasn’t…you?”

Satoru weakly nodded. His body feltcold, colder than before—all of him soaked and damp, craving someone’s touchand shivering without it. “It’s like,” he started, brows furrowing, “likethere’s… someone in my head sometimes.”

All the time, really—but Kitamuradidn’t need to know that.

“I… see,” the doctor murmured, hiseyes narrowing as he gripped at his chin. For a long second, he just stared atSatoru, something calculating passing through his gaze—but then it was gone,and Kitamura was pushing himself to his feet with a small sigh. “I’d like youto meet a colleague of mine this afternoon, if you feel up to it.”

Which was code for you are absolutely seeing anotherspecialist, whether you like it or not—so Satoru just nodded along, eyesclosing. “Okay,” he murmured, sinking under the blanket. Right now, all hewanted to do was rest. Wanted to curl up on himself in his bed and wrap hisarms around himself, as if he could trick himself into thinking he wasn’t alonein the sheets.

He’d deal with the afternoon when hegot there.

But later and eventually alwaysended up turning into now—and Satoruwished he’d bothered to ask Kitamura even a single question about this wholething. As it was, he was already caught unaware: after forcing down some foodand sleeping most of the afternoon away, he’d been woken up by a knock on hishospital door. Satoru had barely managed to wake up when the door slid open,and the smell of sugar cookies jumped into his nose.

Satoru stared at the new face, a bitof hair still stuck in the drool drying on his cheek. She wasn’t like any ofthe other doctors that had visited him so far: there was no lab coat, nostethoscope, not even a clipboard—just a little notepad and a warm smile, acozy sweater draped around her frame. She looked… pleasant. And disarming. Evenher scent screamed comfort: sweet and slightly maternal, inherently omega. Shewas charming, in every sense of the word.

A little too charming, actually. Every alarm bell in Satoru’s skull wasringing, flashing neon warning lights, and he felt his weak body tensing underthe blankets.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fujinuma-kun,”she started, clicking her kitten-themed pen as she took a seat by his bed.“Your attending physician, Kitamura-sensei, asked me to have a quick chat withyou. Is it okay if I asked you a few questions?”

Satoru continued to stare at herwarily, his hands curling into fists. “I… guess.”

“Great!” She started brightly, tuckinga bit of hair behind her ear. “We’ll get this over with quickly, okay?” Shepressed the nib to her notebook, never taking her eyes off her patient.“Kitamura said sometimes you feel like you’re not alone, is that right?”

Satoru blinked at her, his mouthparting a little. Is that what this was about? As if sensing his surprise, thatother presence gave him a small and curious tug, as if confirming that Satoruwas still there. For the moment, he ignored it; the specialist was stillstaring at him, waiting with a patient but expecting glance. Satoru couldn’tescape the feeling that he was being assessedsomehow, and it made his mouth go dry.

“I, uh,” he started, rubbing at theback of his neck. “Yeah, sort of.”

She immediately began to scribbleblindly on the page, nodding knowingly. “What would you say it feels like?”

He furrowed his brow. It was a goodquestion; he’d never taken the time to really try to dissect the feeling, buthe gave himself the luxury now. Steadily, he began poking at the foreignexistence that hung in his head like a fog. He’d often felt it making itselfknown, but this time, it was Satoru who pulled at the sensation—and wasimmediately rewarded with an eager and overflowing affection, warmth spillinginto his chest.

Satoru stopped and stared down at hishands. When he was a little kid, he and Atko had made a telephone made out ofcans and a piece of string. To a four-year-old, it had been the coolest thing:that he could feel Atko’s voice, thrumming up the thread and into his ear. Fordays he would insist on only speaking to his mother through the make-shift toy,feeling the vibrations humming against his little palms.

It was something like that—but that seemedtoo difficult to explain, so he flexed and unflexed his stiff fingers, feelingthe phantom thrum. “Like… a thread, I guess.” It felt like a terriblecomparison, a huge oversimplification of whatever this was—but it was theclosest thing he could think of.

The doctor tilted her head to theside, continuing to frantically take notes. “What’s at the other end?”

“Someone that’s not me,” he mutteredwith a small shrug, “with feelings that aren’t mine.”

“But you feel them?”

He nodded again, feeling the affectionat the other end of the telephone steadily twisting into concern. As much as hecould, he tried to ignore it—tried to force back down his own guilt welling upin response, threatening to spill over. “They’re not my emotions,” he said,“but I can’t help but have them anyway.”

She gave a small hum at that, stoppingsuddenly and staring at his face. For a long second, she just scrutinized hisexpression, her tone measured and careful. “Fujinuma-kun,” she asked, raisingan eyebrow. “Is it there right now?”

Satoru paused for a second, toyingwith the end of his blanket. “Yeah.”

“I see,” she muttered, pressing theend of her pen against her lips. “How long have you had this, again?”

“Since I woke up.” And probablybefore. He didn’t remember ever experiencing this feeling, but that didn’t meanmuch; there were still plenty of blank spaces in his brain. The memories were in there somewhere—he knew that, at least—but they were marred andburnt-out, like damaged film reel. No matter how much he tried to get it toplay, all he saw was the black. Who knew what his mind was or wasn’t hidingfrom him.

The specialist gave a low hum, her pentapping against her chin. For some reason, the sound put him on edge, a twitchingand anxious restlessness crawling under his skin. That formless other personwas immediately there, all guilt and worry and protective, and Satoru tried topush them back—tried to create distance between him and the “other” in hishead.

“Okay,” she said suddenly, droppingher hand back into her lap. “If you’re willing, Fujinuma-kun, I would like youto try something.”

He eyed her carefully. “Something…?”

“You said it was like a thread,” sheconfirmed. Carefully, she set her pen and notebook down against her thighs,balancing them in her lap. With two fingers, she formed a crude imitation ofscissors, snipping at the air. “If you’re comfortable with the idea, I wouldlike you to try to cut it.”

For some reason, the words stabbed himthrough like a knife, his breath snagging painfully in his lungs. Something inhim was snarling at the very idea, something he couldn’t blame on that otherpresence. Though he didn’t know why, Satoru knew that this feeling—this defensive, protective, aggressive something—was entirely his own. Hisshoulders rose like hackles as his breathing quickened, adrenaline beginning tobeat through his veins. “Why?”

She didn’t seem surprised by hisreaction, but he could pick up her scent, cranked up to eleven—sickeningly,pacifyingly sweet and soothing. It only made him more on edge, his eyesnarrowing as she spoke. “I’m just curious if you think you’re able to,” shesaid easily. “If it’s not something you feel up to, then you can forget I saidanything.”

Satoru’s lips twisted into a frown. Hisgut reaction was no, absolutely not, whoare you to even say that—but even he didn’t understand why he was feeling that way. And it wasn’t like there weren’t timeshe wished he was actually alone in his own head, free to think and feel withoutinvisible eyes following his every move. A part of him undeniably craved thatprivacy, that autonomy.

Was it really such a bad idea, then?

His head was still roaring at theidea, but he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe past the growling in hisskull. “Okay,” he muttered. “I’ll try.”

“Alright,” she said, her smile brightand easy-going. “Take your time. There’s no need to rush it.”

Right. Satoru let his eyes fallhalf-lidded as he began to blindly feel for the intangible string that tied himto the stranger at the other end. As if on cue, the presence gave a curioushum—and Satoru could feel the thread, reverberating between them. Felt ittangling around the fingers that only existed in his mind, the cord slidingover his palms.

His eyebrows scrunched together as heconfirmed its shape for himself, testing its strength, tugging and pulling andexploring. The outsider was there, watching attentively, half-curious andhalf-amused—but standing respectfully back, giving Satoru the space toinvestigate to his heart’s content. Which he did: it was the first time hethought of this thing as a thing, somethinghe could grasp for himself. Something he could control and manipulate.

Slowly, he took a long, deep breath,holding that thread in one hand—and imagining a pair of scissors in the other.Imagined the feel of the metal, heavy and cold; imagined sliding the stringbetween the blades, his fingers ready to snap down. For the briefest ofseconds, Satoru hesitated; he paused to take a long, deep breath, steadying hisnerves.

There was a jolt, as if the string wassuddenly pulled taut, before—

Satoru’s eyes shot open, and he screamed.

His hands snapped to his head as pain, real pain speared into his skull. Someone had stabbed a red-hotiron between his eyes, carving and slicing up his brain; had taken asledgehammer to his head, smashing the bone to bits. The pain even strangledhis lungs, twisting and wringing the air out of his chest—but his mouth wasstill open, choking for air, he couldn’t breathe—

There were hands on him, pushing himagainst the mattress, but he couldn’t feel any of it; voices that were callinghis name, but he couldn’t really hear them. All there was was that screechingin the very core of himself, full of betrayal and rage and heartbreak and no, not ever, I won’t let you go, don’t you dare try to leave me! The wordswere like claws, reaching across the bond—and they buried themselves intoSatoru’s soul, the talons digging in deep.

A tight and strangled noise toreitself out of his throat. Satoru shook his head frantically, trying to push boththe pain and the voice away. His feet kicked wildly against the empty airbecause he needed it gone, needed itto stop, begging through the bond to please, make it stop, I can’t—

Something pierced the base of hisneck, and everything went blissfully black.

For the hundredth time, he woke up tothe sound of beeping.

Satoru stared blankly at the dark ceiling,his vision unfocused and eyes only half-open. There was a hissing in his ears,and it took him longer than he should have to identify it: the sound of oxygen,rushing into the mask on his face. He was too tired to even turn his head, hiswhole body heavy like molasses and lead—but he could hear the whirling of atleast half a dozen machines, scattered and stationed around his hospital bed.

And, more distantly: voices, muffledby the closed door separating his room from the hallway. Everything—his limbs,his mind, even the thread—it was all numbed, but he still strained his ears,trying to catch snippets of conversation. His mother’s voice cut through thehaze easily, strained with a barely-contained fury. “What the hell happened?”

“I asked Satoru to try to sever thebond.” Was that… the specialist? Her voice sounded—different. Professional andclipped. It had been an act, then.“If it was an accidental bonding, then the bond might not have beenpurposefully maintained. In which case, he should have been able to sever iteasily.”

“Obviously, that’s not the case.” Ah, Kitamurawas there too.

“So,” his mother started, her tonetight, “you’re telling me this bastard wantsto be bonded with my son?”

“It would appear that way,” thespecialist said. “For one reason or another, the culprit has maintained hisbond with Satoru and kept it strong, despite him being comatose for fifteenyears. And he seems unwilling to let that drop now.”

“I’ve spoken with the police investigatorsin charge of Satoru’s case,” Kitamura added. “We’ve come to the mutualagreement that it would be best to have an officer stationed outside ofSatoru’s room from now on.”

There was a long, tense moment ofsilence, before Sachiko spoke again. “You think he’s going to come for him.”

“If he feels so strongly about beingbonded to Satoru,” Kitamura said, speaking slowly, “then we shouldn’t take anychances.”

Bonded…? And who… was coming for who?Satoru blinked up at the ceiling, trying to detangle the words, but it was nogood. It was all jumbled together like a knot of string, his muddled brainunable to work it through. On the other side of the door, his mother gave aharsh sigh, before her voice dipping low to a whisper. “How is he?”

“Sedated,” Kitamura said. “It was apretty intense shock to his system, but there isn’t any permanent damage, asfar as we can tell. But he’ll need plenty of rest, I’m sure.”

“Fujinuma-san,” the specialistinterrupted. “There are ways to… silencea bond without severing it. Once he is feeling strong enough, I think it wouldbe best if Satoru familiarizes himself with them.” Her voice dipped lower, abit of concern seeping into her tone. “Bonds are powerful things. If your son is bonded to the one behind his incident…it would be best to minimize his influence before it gets worse.”

Before… what got worse? Satoru could feel his eyelids starting to droop. Hetried to force himself to stay awake—this was important, he needed to… neededto… needed to what, again? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t keep his eyes open.The pull of sleep was too strong, and he slipped off the edge of consciousness,the voices fading back into nothing.

The next time he opened his eyes, thehospital room was bright.

Too bright.Satoru immediately winced and squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help asmuch as he’d hoped. Light was filtering through his eyelids, and he resignedhimself to waking up, cracking one eye hesitantly open. Someone had opened thewindow, and sunshine was pouring in, carrying with it a cool breeze. Satorutried to breathe it in, but only got dry and filtered air, pumped through hismask. He frowned and weakly reached up to take it off, IV tubes following hisarm.

In the end, someone else did it forhim. Satoru looked sleepily up as his mother unhooked the machine from hismouth and nose, a coy and exhausted smile on her face. “Finally decided to wakeup, huh?”

Satoru stared at her for a moment,before his nose twitched. Something floral was tickling at his senses, and heslowly turned his head towards his nightstand. The vase on his bedside tablewas stuffed with fresh flowers, pale petals and soft hues bursting andoverflowing out of the rim. Sitting next to it was a smaller glass jar, clearand brightly-coloured candy waiting inside.

“Yashiro-sensei brought them for you,”Sachiko explained, setting the mask down beside the gifts.

“Ya… shiro?” he whispered, his voicedry.

“That’s right.” Sachiko was alreadyreaching for the water jug, pouring him a glass. “We told him you weren’t seeinganyone today, but he insisted on having them brought to you.”

Satoru nodded as he accepted the drink,precariously holding it in both hands. He sipped at it slowly, still staring atthe presents out of the corner of his eye. Yashiro-sensei… some memories werejumbled up in his brain, but he remembered Yashiro very well. The teacher who alwaysoffered an understanding smile and a listening ear, ruffling his students’ hairat the end of each day.

His hands fell back to his lap,loosely balancing the empty glass between his palms. For some reason, thinkingof Yashiro-sensei felt—warm.Comforting and calming, like a hot spring welling in his chest. Satoru couldn’tresist the small smile that melted onto his face as he thought back to thosedays, to the man laughing easily as he leaned against his desk. Yashiro-senseihad always been kind, hadn’t he?

(A prickling, tingling sensationitched at the side of his neck. Satoru ignored it.)

The easy feeling didn’t last long. Itwas only seconds before Satoru felt itagain: the presence at the other end of the thread, humming and crooning at him.He inhaled sharply as it made itself known, memories of pain making his wholebody tense. His grip tightened on the glass until his pale knuckles were a purewhite, his eyes shutting and bracing for another round.

But it didn’t come. The strangerremained distant, tentative and unsure—though Satoru could feel its distressall the same. It carefully reached out like a wounded animal, approaching withits head bowed low. Satoru grit his teeth as it brushed against hisconsciousness, gentle and apologetic, like fingers tucking away a stray hair.It was in that brief moment that he felt it: remorse, self-loathing and guilt, intense enough to make Satoru’sintestines twist up into his throat.

And beneath it all, the littlest speckof hope, a weak little plea for forgiveness.

Satoru jerked away from it all as ifit burned, scrambling as far away as his mind would allow. The outsiderimmediately retreated as well, bitter disappointment and fresh regret trailingin its wake. Satoru waited for a few seconds to make sure it wasn’t going toapproach again before giving a harsh sigh, his grip on the glass finallyfalling loose.

He should have cut the thread when hehad the chance.

“And—Satoru?”

He looked up, and his mother gave himan unimpressed look. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, shakily settinghis empty glass down on the nightstand.

“I was saying,” Sachiko began again,sitting at the edge of her son’s bed with forced levity, “an inspector will bestopping by with Kitamura later. They want to talk about your case.”

He frowned. “I still don’t rememberanything.”

“I know,” she said, offering her sonan oddly sad smile. “But I think you’re going to be the one asking thequestions this time, Satoru.”

They told him everything.

Satoru had already pieced togetherbits and pieces of what must have happened that night, but not much. Only thatthere had been an “accident,” that they had pulled him out of the frozen river,and that he’d slept for nearly fifteenyears. But beyond that, nothing. Most of the month leading up to his comawas a blank page he couldn’t fill in on his own, no matter how much he wrackedhis tired brain.

And now the inspector was there,sitting at the foot of his bed with a grim expression, walking him through itall with an almost clinical detachment.

It hadn’t been an accident at all. Abasketball was found wedged against the gas pedal, purposefully pushing the carinto the water. The seatbelt lock had been tampered with, keeping him trappedto his seat. There were abrasions all over his chest when they brought him in:deep red lines where he’d struggled against the strap, trying to force his wayfree.

There were so many problems with hisbody—the lack of oxygen to his brain, the hypothermia, the fact that he wasn’teven breathing on his own—that theydidn’t address the last one until the police had already arrived to photographthe evidence on his skin. “You had a bite mark,” the inspector told him,pointing at the base of his own neck. “Here.”

Satoru pressed his hand against theskin of his throat, the crook between his shoulder and jugular veins burningand itching beneath his palm. A thousand questions were already racing throughhis head—a frantic clamoring of what andwhere and why—but nothing could getpast the stupefied silence that had killed his voice. “And,” the inspectorcontinued, watching Satoru intently with hands entwined in front of him, “someof your clothes were torn.”

“What?” Satoru muttered, his braintrying to play catch-up with his ears. The implications were already forming inhis brain, but some part of him just couldn’t accept them; something continued to whisper wrong wrong wrong, prickling under his skin. He pursed his lips together,keeping his hand defensively against the side of his throat. “Why didn’t youtell me sooner?”

“You didn’t remember,” Sachiko said, ashred of guilt making its way onto her face. “We thought it would be easier foryou this way.”

Satoru’s frown deepened, his own nails digging into the sideof his neck like teeth. The inspector cleared his throat, looking seriously inthe patient’s direction. “It’s likely you were targeted because you’re anomega,” he explained regretfully. “Probably by an alpha with a… tendencytowards children.”

But that’s wrong, Satoru’sbrain screamed, but he swallowed down the thought—and tried to ignore the factthat the officer was an alpha himself, his strong and heavy smell spiced withcigarette smoke. “So why are you telling me this now?”

Kitamura finally spoke up from his seat, carefully adjustinghis glasses. “That feeling you said you have,” he explained, “it’s called amating bond. It can occur when one person bites another, usually on the neck.It’s most common in alpha-omega pairs, for some reason or another.”

Satoru could see where this wasgoing, and his stomach was already stirring, furiously nauseous and churning.He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from being sick. A the shivercrawled across his body, seeping into his bones; distantly, he could feel theother presence in his head—worried and fretting—making itself known. Satoru breatheddeeply, a bead of sweat crawling down his neck.

“Then,” he started quietly, “thatperson tried to kill me.”

No one said a thing, but they didn’t need to. Hisfirst instinct was to deny it all: the voice in his head had been kind, always trying to comfort him withwordless assurances. Satoru could feel what it felt, devotion and affectioncoming as naturally as breathing. And when he’d first stirred awake, it hadbeen overjoyed, relief flooding over them both and grabbing onto Satoru like itnever wanted to let go. It just—didn’t feellike that person wanted him dead.

But. His body still remembered that pain. How it had seared into his skull, tearinghis limbs and muscles apart; he could feel it even now, raw and achingsomewhere beneath his skin, like a wound that hadn’t healed. Could stillremember how it had roared and raged like a hurricane inside his head, violentand unrelenting; yet cold and calculating, like claws and thorns made of ice,digging into his flesh.

A deep certainty settled into Satoru’s bones. Thatpresence, that person—they had killed before. Definitely.

He dropped his hand away from the bite’s phantom pain,still pulsing on his neck. “How do I get rid of it?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Kitamura said, tucking hishands into the pockets of his lab coat. “Not right now, at least. It’s amiracle your body managed to withstand what happened yesterday. Maybe whenyou’re stronger, we can try again.” He gave Sachiko a quick glance, beforeturning back to Satoru. “In the meantime, there are ways for you to shut themout.”

“That being said,” the officer interjected, “if youhappen to feel anything across the bond that could help the investigation,don’t hesitate to tell us, Fujinuma. There will be an officer outside your doorfrom now on—just let them know if you think of anything relevant. Evensomething small can be a huge help.”

“Right,” Satoru murmured, staring down at his lap. Hecould see where the inspector was coming from, but frankly, the last thing hewanted to do was engage with the killer atthe other end of the thread. The sooner he could tune him out completely, thebetter.

There was barely a beat of silence before his motherwas there, stepping away from the window and fixing both men with a hard look.“Kitamura-sensei,” she said, staring directly at the doctor. “I think that’senough for today.”

The doctor easily gave a nod as he stood to his feet.“I agree,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. He’d probably longlearnt not to even try against Fujinuma Sachiko—but the officer wavered for amoment longer, standing but not moving, watching Satoru out of the corner ofhis eye.

“Here,” he said, slipping a business card onto the nightstandnext to Yashiro’s gifts. “In case there’s anything.”

Satoru nodded without a word, and watched as hismother ushered both of them out of his hospital room. Only when the doorslipped shut again did both Fujinumas release a slow breath, their shoulderssinking together in slow motion. Together, they listened to the sound of thetwo of them walking away, their voices hushes and footsteps fading. Only whenit was all silent did Sachiko turn back to her son, her brows furrowed. “How doyou feel, Satoru?”

Confused. Conflicted. A bit irritated, though hedidn’t know at what or at who or why. But most of all, he felt powerless—unableto do anything one way or another, trapped in this goddamn bed. His handscurled into fists in his blankets. “It’s,” he started, turning to look at thejar of candy by his bedside, “a lot… to take in.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed again. “It is,”she confirmed, the corners of her mouth tight. “More than you should have to.”She tipped her head to the side to stare at the flowers for a long moment, hervoice coming out achingly soft. “What do you want to do, Satoru?”

“I…” He stopped, staring at the presents on the table.He could barely figure out where—or who—he even was right now, let alone wherehe wanted to be. It seemed like every day he was learning something that threwhis reality for a loop. He didn’t even know if he could trust the voicesringing in his own head, didn’t know what emotions were even his anymore. But what he did know was—

“I want to stand,” he said firmly, turning in hismother’s direction. “Alone, on my own two feet. And then, I can move forward.”

Sachiko stared at him for a second, before a smilebroke out her face, small but fiercely fond. An almost-laugh left her lips in arush of air, even as her eyes turned wet. “I watched you change for all theseyears,” she said, a tear managing to slip out of her eye, “but you really are agrown-up now, aren’t you?”

“I already was one before,” he countered sulkily, andhis mother laughed again.

“I think you might be right,” she said, patting hisknee. She took a moment to wipe at her eyes, before fixing him with a genuinesmile, strong and determined. “Alright. Let’s start getting you on your feet,then.”

As promised, the bond specialist taught Satoru how tokeep the killer out. Apparently, it wasn’t too different than cutting thethread—which is probably why they had two nurses standing by with anestheticand sedatives, just in case. Satoru tried his best to ignore them, turning hissenses inward, to that dark and formless place; breathing steadily until hecould follow the string again, floating and swaying between their minds.

The person on the other ended was immediately atattention, observing hopefully, with longing thrums echoing along the bond.Satoru shuddered, because he didn’t want any of it; didn’t want something so affectionate coming from someone who killed people. Who had tried to kill him, for some reason he still didn’tunderstand.

“It’s easiest for most people to imagine a wall, or adoor,” the specialists offered, whispering in his ear.

Satoru nodded, pursing his lips tight. A door: eversince waking up, he’d felt like his memories were behind a locked door, so itwas easy to imagine it. In his mind, he could see a pair of big, impenetrablewooden things, thick and branded with metal plates; the string ran through thetwo, swirling and disappearing into the invisible beyond.  

With a shuddering breath, he began to push the gatewayclosed. There was that shock of realization and panic from the other end of theline—just like last time—and Satorugrit his teeth and tried to move faster, scrambling to close off theconnection. This time, there was no pain: just sorrow and pleading, a bitterresignation, and then—

The doors slipped shut, and everything went silent.Satoru let out a soft sigh and opened his eyes, blinking as the bright lightsof the hospital room came back into view. The specialist was there, her kittenpen clutched tightly in her hand. “How does it feel, Fujinuma-kun?”

He waited for a moment just to be sure, before a smallsmile made its way onto his face. “Quiet.”

A week ticked by, and then two of them.

Mostly, things stayed the same. Bit by bit, Satoru wasallowed out of his hospital bed—only ever in his wheelchair, of course, but atleast it was something. More oftenthan not, he found himself out in the gardens, inhaling the fresh air andfeeling the unfiltered sun on his face. With his sense of smell still out ofcontrol, the freshness of the outside world was a welcome change. Inside the hospital,there was the constant stench of medication, antiseptic and sickness. In thecourtyard, there was only the grass, the leaves, the wetness that came afterrain—

And the police officer, following a couple of stepsbehind him.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, being constantlywatched and observed. They never came into his hospital room, but Satoru couldstill see them through the frosted glass, a constant reminder of the killerthat was still in his head. For better or worse, the bond hadn’t been broken—andSatoru was forced to learn the hard way that a silenced bond wasn’t completely silent.

The locked door kept him from feeling the other’s emotions,but the outsider was still there, hovering on the other side. Every so often, Satorucould feel a knocking—a set of three gentletaps against the door, politely asking for re-entry, to be permitted back intohis mind. As much as he could, Satoru ignored it; tried to drown it out withthe Wonder Guy theme song, playing through a pair of headphones.

Sometimes, it worked. Other times—

Satoru stumbled, just barely managing to catchhimself, his grip on the wooden beams tightening. His body was hot, every limb aching as they wereforced to move again—and through the sweat on his face he could see thephysical therapist, arms out and ready to catch him if he fell. “You’re doinggreat, Fujinuma,” he promised. “Just a few more steps, okay? Almost there.”

Satoru winced, but nodded. The polite knocking hadgiven way to a frantic pounding, asif the killer was trying to tear down the door between them by force. Asalways, he tried to ignore it—tried to focus on the fire burning in hismuscles, the heat under his skin, the way his breath was coming out indesperate pants for air. Tried to focus on the next step, his legs screaming asthey were forced to move.

His foot shuffled across the mat, not really able tolift, barely managing to move forward. Just one step, then another. But thistime, Satoru’s entire body spasmed as the killer threw themselves against thedoor with a bang—and this time hisgrip on the bars wasn’t strong enough to keep him from hitting the floor.

His limbs landed with a soft thump against the cushioned ground, his muscles shuddering. Bothhis hands reached up to clutch at his head, a low growl of pain and frustrationmanaging to slip past his grit teeth. The therapist was there in an instant,crouching down next to his patient. “That was great,” he assured him, his voicebright. “You’re making real progress, Fujinuma.”

The pounding was already starting to ebb, and Satorulet his hands drop, flopping against the mattress as his body heaved. Usually,the mats were refreshingly cold—but right now, all he could feel was the heatstill pouring off his body. “Not,” he panted, “not enough.”

“You have to be patient.” The man beamed down at him.“Your efforts won’t be in vain, I’m sure of it.”

Ijust couldn’t let your noble efforts end in vain, Satoru.

Satoru’s eyes widened. Who had… said that before?

A ragged gasp ripped itself from his mouth, his headthrown back. Satoru could feel his body suddenly convulsing, every muscle screamingunder his skin. For some reason, he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t manageto cool down. There was a deep ache coiling not in his limbs, but somewhere deepin his stomach; and he wrapped his arms around his middle with a high-pitchednoise of wanting. His body was hot,too hot, but he couldn’t worry about that now—not when there was that voice,ringing in his ears but far away, whereare you—

His legs weakly squirmed against the mat, a desperatewhine coming out of his throat. He could hear his therapist’s voice, but that’snot right, that’s not who should be here.His hand clapped down on his nose and mouth as his body twitched, trying toblock out the scent of not him, it’s nothim! Satoru’s vision was blurring in front of his eyes, his mouth openlypanting, his skin burning, the smellof—

  —leatherand candy, assaulting his nose. It had brought him comfort once, but now itonly strangled him, panic tighteningaround his throat like a noose. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything exceptwatch through the car windows as Ishikari faded into the distance behind them.Satoru could smell his own scent, frantic and distressed, pumping out of hispores: the sweet smell of vanilla, stained with adrenaline.

Besidehim, Yashiro paid it no mind. The man didn’t even look in his direction as herolled down his car window, staring up at the sky. “It’s snowing, huh?”

Thecar—the car had stopped. Desperately, Satoru threw himself against theseatbelt. He repeatedly plunged his fingers into the buckle, trying to press itloose, his shoulders twisting. No good, no good, no good: it didn’t so much asbudge, and he gave a short, frightened whine, his legs frantically kicking atthe air.

Tohis right, Yashiro just continued to stare out at the river, his voice even.“It’s game over. For you and for me.”

Asob tried to rip itself from his throat, but Satoru bit it down, his lipsshaking with the effort. This wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening, this was alla lie, it just had to be. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thrashed, hot tears cutting down hisface. He needed to escape, he needed to get away, or—or he was—Yashiro was going to—!

“Tobe honest, I’m stunned you cornered me like this.” Beside him, his teachereasily unbuckled his own seatbelt, and Satoru could do nothing but watch as theolder man leaned over him. His body froze as the alpha’s scent stormed hissenses, thick and predatory, coveting. Atwisted smirk curled slowly over his features, wild and deranged, so unlikeYashiro-sensei that it sent a shiver down Satoru’s spine. “It’s almost likeyou’ve seen the future.”

Fingers,cold as ice, reached up and brushed against his cheek. Satoru inhaled sharplybefore hitting the hand away, a small snarl rumbling out of his throat, even ashis legs and knees curled defensively close. “D-don’t—don’t touch me!”

Thosefingers drummed against the headrest of Satoru’s seat, and Yashiro tilted hishead, bangs falling across a pair of sharp eyes. “I did a little research,Satoru,” he started, still leaning over his prey. “Did you know? Since theystarted counting, only 127 male omegas were ever reported in Japan, notincluding you. Tell me—how many of them do you think made it to their thirties?”

Satorupressed his lips together, eyes red-rimmed and wet.

“Sixteen,”Yashiro continued, “out of 127. A little over 12.5 per cent, mathematicallyspeaking. Do you know why?”

Hecontinued to glare, his hands still wrangling with the buckle, the seatbeltdigging painfully deep into his chest. “Because of people like you?”

Yashirothrew back his head and laughed—a joyless sound, dry and cold. “Yes, I supposeyou could say that,” he responded. “Sexual assault, discrimination, abuse.Extremely high rates of suicide. Many died from health complications related tosuppressant overdose.” Yashiro’s eyes were practically red in the low light,his fingers still tap-tap-tapping just over his student’s shoulders. “And somejust disappeared. You’re a smart boy, Satoru—I’m sure you can figure out why.”

Asmall growl, pitiful and high-pitched, tore itself from his choked-up throat.“Wh-what’s your point?”

“Well,I obviously have to kill you,” Yashiro said. Satoru’s stomach flipped, collidinginto his lungs and kicking his breath out of him. There was no emotion to thewords, no feeling; if anything, his teacher looked bored,staring down at Satoru with a detachedcuriosity. “But someone will always wonder. Why you? Why Satoru Fujinuma? Whatdid he know?”

Itwas then that a killer’s smile stretched slowly across his face. “So I thoughtto myself,” he whispered lowly, “why risk turning you into a martyr… when I canturn you into a statistic instead?”

Thewords hadn’t even sunk in when a hand clamped down onto Satoru’s throat.

Hegave a strangled gasp as Yashiro’s fingers wrapped around his windpipe, hishead thrown back against the seat. His immediate reaction was to scream—but thegrip was tight, too tight, his cryfor help coming out as more of a stifled gurgle. Desperately, Satoru’s fingersreached up to claw at the offending arm, his legs trying to kick away at thealpha looming over him. “L-let—me go—!”

Athumb grazed against his jugular vein, and Satoru felt it press down at thebase of his neck. A shock shuddered through his system like lightning, his entirebody tensing. Already, he could feel the pheromones and endorphins rushingthrough his veins, melting the tension in his muscles—and Satoru could donothing but whimper, his limbs struggling to keep up the fight. “B-bastard…”

“Language,”Yashiro chastised, his thumb continuing to rub circles into Satoru’s scentgland. That hand remained tightly wound around Satoru’s throat, coaxing hisbody into an unwilling submission—but the other moved farther down. Satorucould feel the cold leather glove slipping under the neck of his shirt,brushing against his collarbone.

Yashiro’shand curled into a fist and pulled. Satoru winced as his shirt tore with along, slow rip, the thin fabric falling apart easily. He shivered as cold airmet exposed skin, his hands weakly trying to dislodge the grip still wrapped tightlyaround his throat. No use: it might as well have been made of steel, for allthe good it did him.

Methodically,Yashiro’s hand moved lower, fingers slipping into the miniature belt loops onhis jeans. Satoru shut his eyes tight as the killer tore his pants apart, hischeap clothes splitting at the seams. He knew that the killer didn’t sexuallyassault his victims—not the Ishikari ones, at least—but that didn’t stop hischest from rising and falling rapidly, panic flushing into his lungs.

Eventually,Yashiro leaned back with one hand still firmly keeping Satoru pinned by thethroat. He gave a small hum, his eyes roaming across the omega’s form,assessing his work. “It feels like something is missing,” he hummed. “Wouldn’tyou agree, Satoru?”

Hecouldn’t even shake his head, let only speak—so Satoru continued to glarethrough wet eyes, swallowing thickly. Slowly, steadily, the grip on his throatcrawled upwards, the thumb trailing up and tracing the arteries beating underhis hold. Satoru could feel Yashiro’s other hand clutching at his shoulder, trappinghim firmly against the seat. There were fingers digging into his chin,wrenching his head to the side. For a brief moment, Satoru didn’t understand,didn’t know what was happening—

Butthen hot breath brushed against his skin of his neck.

“No!”he gasped, his fingers digging into Yashiro’s sleeve. The heel of his footcollided with Yashiro’s stomach, but nothing happened: the older man didn’t somuch as flinch, wet exhales landing against his scent gland. Satoru staredfrantically beyond the windshield, his heart leaping into his mouth as theman’s teeth grazed against his throat. “Yashiro—!”

Theman’s teeth sank into his veins, and this time, Satoru really did scream. Thecanines split the thin flesh apart like knives, sending fire shooting throughhis blood. It set his entire body on fire, like everything under his skin was boiling,sweat and tears rushing down his face. Even his breaths felt like they weregetting swallowed by the murderer’s maw, his lungs and chest hitching, unableto even inhale as Yashiro’s jaw worked at his throat.

Afterwhat felt like hours, Yashiro’s teeth slowly slipped out of his neck, a longtrail of saliva following his lips. His tight grip on the omega was suddenlygone, and Satoru gasped as the air flooded his lungs, his legs curling in tightas his hands flew to his throat. The wound underneath his palms was slick andhot, pulsing under his touch. When he pulled his fingers back, even in thedarkness, Satoru could see the red that was smeared all over his skin.

Thesame red that was staining Yashiro’s lips. The man wiped at his mouth with agloved hand, the leather smearing a streak of blood across his cheek. Satoruglared up at him, futilely trying to stem the bleeding as tears ran down hisface. “W-why?”

“Didn’tI tell you, Satoru?” he explained, reaching behind him into the backseat.“You’re going to be a statistic. Just another male omega who didn’t get to growup, killed by an alpha who couldn’t resist your scent.”

“Y-you’rean alpha!” Satoru yelled. His head felt heavy, like molasses was pouring in tohis brain; he tried to keep his head clear, focusing on the sharp sting still throbbingfrom the bite. “You’ll be at the top of the suspect list!”

Asmile twitched at the corners of Yashiro’s mouth, and he pulled a duffel baginto his lap. “There are rules about working with children, you know,” heexplained, slowly unzipping. Satoru watched every movement, his body heaving.“I’ve been on suppressants ever since I started teaching. A single blood test,and my name will be cleared.”

Hishands lifted the basketball out from inside the bag, a grin stretching acrosshis face, revealed his blood-stained teeth. “Besides,” he added, a fake andmocking sadness seeping into his tone, “I didn’t even know you were an omega.Your friends did such a good job of hiding it, after all.”

Satoruwatched as Yashiro unlocked the door on his side with a flick of his wrist, thebasketball balanced on one hand. “Just to be clear,” he continued, “I’m notdoing this out of revenge. Honestly, I bear no hatred towards you, Satoru. Ihope you understand that.”

“Ithought you said it was game over for you too!” he snapped, his skin tingling.His clothes were ripped, it was the middle of winter—yet Satoru felt oddly hot,his breath coming out in little bursts of white fog.

Yashiropushed his door open and stepped out, one hand resting on the roof of the caras he peered inside. “It is,” he said simply. “I’ll be leaving Ishikari. You’veearned this town’s peace. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked, smirking. “AndI earn a death for my sake, at my hands. We all deserve a return for ourefforts, don’t you think?”

Thefire underneath his skin exploded into a rage, and Satoru threw himself againstthe seatbelt holding him down, his lips curled back into a snarl. “Yashiro—Iwon’t die until I see you destroyed!”

Thekiller stared at him for a moment, before jamming the basketball against thegas pedal. “That,” he said, stepping back, “is what they call aiming too high.”

Afrustrated cry shot out of Satoru’s throat as the car began to roll steadilyforward. His hands—slick and soaked with blood—frantically reached for the beltbuckle again, his hips trying to twist out of the hold. As always, it held: themechanism didn’t so much as shudder, and Satoru felt the car pitch wildly aroundhim. His head whipped up just in time to watch the water surge over thewindshield, the glass cracking under the weight of the river.

Liquidice poured in from the open windows, and he gasped, the cold shocking hisoverheated body. The surge buffeted against his face, the taste of wintercrashing against his cheeks. He shook his head, as if it could somehow stop thetorrent flooding into the car, his legs kicking wildly. He needed to get out,he needed to get out now—but the water was rising, the river rapidly crawling up his stomach.

Satorusqueezed his eyes shut and cursed again. He didn’t want to die here: he wantedto eat his mother’s cooking again, and go camping with Kayo like he promised.He wanted to thank Airi for believing in him and talk with Kenya on the stairsagain. He wanted—

Hewanted to survive.

Satoru’seyes shot open, and deep in the core of his being, two puzzle pieces snapped loudlytogether. For a second, all he could feel was the vertigo—the feeling offalling, before being yanked back, his entire soul wrenched and pulled along.But then he felt a tether, holding it together; a bond, tying his mind down,wrapping his consciousness in spider’s thread.

Andfrom the other end—through his own fear and panic and screams of I want to live!—he felt it: adeep-seated satisfaction, a thrum of happiness and pride, twisted and pervertedpleasure beating from the wound in his neck. Instinctively, Satoru knew whoseit was—and he clamped both his hands down against the bite, throwing his headback.

“Yashiro!”he shouted, his fingers digging into the blood with a piercing cry. “I knowyour future!”

There:a tug of curiosity, confusion lacing that homicidal delight. Satoru let out ashuddering breath, before the river licked at his chin; with a panicked yelp,he took a deep and desperate inhale. The water slipped over his nose, lickingat his temples—and then it overtook him completely, silently swallowing him whole.

Shit!His feet stamped against the bottom of the car, his torn clothes floatingaround his body. His fingers were turning stiff and unruly, his grip slippingoff of the buckle; his body was losing the ability to even feel anything exceptthe cold all around. Already, he could feel his limbs slowing to a stop, hislungs burning and threatening to burst inside his chest.

Hewasn’t going to make it. The truth had settled into his brain, but he didn’twant to believe it; his body continued to weakly jerk against the seatbelt, alast-ditch effort to survive. Eventually, even that stopped—and Satoru wasforced to finally open his mouth, the last of the precious oxygen slipping awayfrom his lips.

Atendril of blood floated in front of his face, staining the river red. He couldvaguely taste it on his tongue as he inhaled the water, the world alreadystarting to dim. His body wouldn’t—couldn’t—move anymore. Even his brain wasshutting down, he knew; even the panic was gone, replaced by an empty resolvethat he couldn’t fulfill.

Fromsomewhere far away, it felt that moment of realization, the clarity cutting thekiller’s mind in two. Desperately, the other presence reached for him; anddespite himself, Satoru weakly reached back, their two minds reaching for eachother in the void. How weird: now, it was the other one who wasafraid—desperately pleading for Satoru to wait, to hold on, to just keep hiseyes open until—

  —his body lurched, gasping and heaving, raw airscraping its way down his throat. Burning burning burning: the cold was biting at his body, only it wasn’t cold atall. No—no, this was heat: all-encompassingand inescapable, as if burning embershad been buried under his skin. Desperately, his fingers clawed at his chest,his head throwing itself back against the mattress. It needed to stop, how didhe make it stop—

A cool cloth was gently placed on his forehead, andSatoru immediately sighed, his chest still heaving despite the respite. Still,he reveled in the small comfort, trying to focus on it—and not the painshooting through his stomach, the ache between his legs, or the wet feelingthat was smeared all over his thighs. Not the growing, hungry need for someone who smelled like candyand leather, his toes curling with a desperate whine.

Someone was calling his name. Satoru forced his eyesto crack open, his mouth open and panting, legs twisting against thesweat-soaked sheets. “Ki…tamura?”

“Hey there,” the doctor said, wringing out anotherwashcloth. This time, he pressed it to the omega’s neck—and Satoru had toresist the urge to force that hand to go elsewhere,his arms wrapping around himself and gripping at his shirt. But he stillarched his neck back, revelling in that amazing chill, giving a happy exhale.

“You gave us quite a shock,” Kitamura continued.“Usually, omegas show signs before going into heat.”

Satoru opened his mouth, but another jolt of pain shotthrough his stomach, swallowing his words with a desperate groan. “Youshouldn’t talk,” Kitamura continued, frowning slightly. “This is your firstheat in fifteen years. You’re going to need all your strength.”

Heat? His eyes shot open, his lungs leaping in hischest. He’d—gone into heat? When? How? Frantically,he looked around, and realized that this wasn’t even his hospital room; therewere no flowers or gifts, no comforting yellow walls, not a hint ofsentimentality. Instead, this place seemed almost sterile: the walls and floorsa pure white, the room empty of furniture except for the large bed he was in.

He turned his eyes to his doctor, pleading andconfused. “You’re in one of the hospital’s heat rooms,” he explained. “It’sscent-proof and soundproof. Your hospital room would have been too… open.”

Satoru weakly nodded. That made sense, but—but beinghere, in this place devoid of scents and sound and people sent something in him on edge. It made him want to thrashand scream and cry out, because this place wasn’t familiar, wasn’t safe. All the pillows piled up aroundhim didn’t change the fact that he was isolated and alone, when all he wantedwas his mate.

Wanted Yashiro.His eyes widened suddenly, a ragged gasp scraping out of his mouth. YashiroYashiro Yashiro: his mate, his alpha. His fingers flew up to his neck,but the bite was gone—and that alone made Satoru want to scream, his nailsdigging into the skin of his throat desperately. He needed him here, he neededthose teeth to sink into his neck, he wanted Yashiro to tear off his clothesand mean it. He needed—

He needed to tell someone.

Satoru grit his teeth, his breath quick and rabid. Someoneneeded to know that Yashiro was the killer: Satoru wouldn’t be able to stop himlike this, but someone had to—or morepeople were going to get hurt. Somehow, that logic managed to cut through theheat-haze; weakly, he reached out to his doctor, his fingers curlingdesperately into Kitamura’s sleeve.

“P-please,” he panted, sweat trickling down his face,“K—Kenya.”

Kitamura stared at him for a second, before droppinghis hand onto his patient’s wrist. “Satoru,” he started slowly, “I know you andKobayashi are close, and that he’s an alpha you trust. But you need to getthrough this alone.”

What? No! Satoru gave a frustrated whine, his armtwitching. “I just—I need,” he grunted, eyes squeezing shut, before shaking hishead against the pillows. “Then—p-police.”

“There’s one outside,” Kitamura said, placing Satoru’shand back across his stomach. For the first time, Satoru noticed the long, thintube attached to his arm: an IV, the needle nestled in his veins. “A beta, ofcourse. He’s going to make sure no one goes in or out but me, but he’s notcoming in.”

For fuck’s sake, how can someone so smart be so stupid? Satoru gave a strangled curse asanother round of pain and lust punched him in the gut, his entire face twistingin discomfort. His hips squirmed against the bed, desperate for relief—but thiswas more important. He needed to make Kitamura understand, he needed to makesure someone knew.

“The killer,” he whispered, swallowing thickly. Heopened his mouth, but the syllables died on his tongue. All he had to do wassay the man’s name—Yashiro Gaku, Nishizono Manabu, whichever—but for some reason, his voice failed him. His lips couldn’tform the words, reined in by something desperate and wanting, hot and coiled in his core.

“He isn’t going to get anywhere near you,” Kitamuraassured him. “There’s the officer outside the door, and security at everyentrance to the wing. You’ll be safe here.”

Justsay it. Satoru parted his lips, but the heat had strangled hisvocal chords. Deep down, something was growling that it would be a betrayal, atreason, protect your mate. Satoru’sfingers curled into the sheets, and he gave a short and irritated cry, rage andfrustration burning in his bones. He wanted Yashiro brought to justice, he did,he did—but something kept it allcorked inside, and he felt like he was going to explode.

Kitamura readjusted the wet cloth on Satoru’sforehead. “I know it’s hard, but try not to pull out your IV. It’s going tohelp keep you hydrated,” he explained, pulling the stand closer to the bed. “Ihave to go now, but I’ll be back in a few hours to get some food and water inyou.”

It’sYashiro! He tried to kill me! He’s going to kill someone else! Butno matter how loudly his mind was screaming, it never made it out of histhroat. After all this time, Satoru had finally found the answer he was lookingfor—and he couldn’t even tell anyone. As it was, his body couldn’t even move;the limbs too weak to do anything but thrash and squirm, powerless against thehormones rushing through his veins.

Satoru could feel the failure pooling in his eyes, saltyand wet. It was just like the car all over again. He couldn’t do anything.

Kitamura pushed himself to his feet, giving hispatient a slightly sympathetic glance. “I’ll see if I can get something youhelp you with the symptoms,” he said, walking towards the door. “Until then,try to hang in there, Fujinuma.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Satoru wasalone.

For a long moment, Satoru just stared at whereKitamura had disappeared, his body heaving and panting. With a loud grunt, he somehowmanaged to roll himself onto his side, his face desperately burying itself intothe pillows. The scent he was looking for—familiar, warm, mate—wasn’t there, and he hated himself for looking for it in thefirst place.

Goddamn it. With Kitamura gone, without anything totake his mind off of it, his body was even harder to ignore. A single washclothdid next to nothing to stave off the heat-wave crawling along his skin, impossiblysweltering and hot. It felt like someone had dropped him in the middle of adesert, and Satoru tangled both of his hands in his sweat-soaked hair, growlinguselessly at the world.

But the worst of it was concentrated below hisstomach. Between his legs he was aching, andhis hips weakly tried to rut against the mattress. It was so desperate that it hurt, and all he wanted was relief,wanted someone to come along and take it away.But even he knew that that fingers and touches alone wouldn’t be enough;the slick pouring down his thighs made that very clear, his pants alreadysoaked through.

Bleary-eyed, he stared forward into space, his handsslipping down—one resting on his neck, and the other travelling lower. Slowly,Satoru slid that hand beneath the band of his pants, his fingers weakly takinghis length in hand. He tried to get a grip, tried to move at a speed that wouldat least take the edge off—but his muscles were too weak, and a needy groanrumbled out of his throat.

He couldn’t do this alone. He needed someone to come,to help take all of this away. With nothing else to do, Satoru took a deepbreath and tried to pretend that he wasn’t here. Immediately, his mind took himback to that dark car, watching the world become small in the rear-view mirror.

In his mind, the car would stop somewhere far away,private and unseen—and this time, he wouldn’t flinch when Yashiro came closer.The very idea of the locked seatbelt—keeping him held down, unable to escape,practically on display—made the ecstasy spike under his skin, and Satoru pantedopenly, lust building in his belly.

He knew this was fucked up, disgusting and wrong in so many ways—but Satorucouldn’t stop it, his head rushing away from him faster than he could hold on.Yashiro would be slow, but firm; every touch just a little too rough, a littletoo tight. Too easily, Satoru could imagine himself coming undone under thosehands, the feel of cold gloves moving against his exposed skin. The pricking ofthe older man’s teeth against his neck, breath hot and heavy against the wintercold. The feeling of his knees being pushed apart as Yashiro—

Satoru’s eyes shot open, the fantasy broken.

For a long second, he just waited there: panting asquietly as he could, his eyes suddenly jumping to the door. He hadn’t imaginedit, had he? All of his senses were more sensitive, his hearing included—and hecould have sworn he had heard something, but now there was only silence. Satorustrained his ears as much as he could, trying to hear the world over the soundof his own frantic heartbeat.

Then it came again: that three-tone knocking, echoingfrom inside his own head.

“Yashiro,” he whispered, his skin crawling. That washim: his Yashiro, his alpha—reachingout, calling from behind the locked door. So close and yet so far, but yet nothere. Satoru could feel his entirebody itching and prickling with ecstasy, every fibre of his being craving theperson behind the barrier.

Ifyou open the door, his traitorous mind offered, he’ll come.

Satoru slapped his hand over his mouth, his teethsinking into the flesh of his palm. No: he couldn’t. After everything Yashirohad put him through—killing his mother, killing Kayo, not to mention drowninghim—he couldn’t just, just let the killer back in. No matter how much hewanted it, no matter how much his body shook and shuddered with need—

Yashiro knocked again, and the breath left Satoru’slips in an uneven moan.

He knew the older man had regretted everything: Satorufelt it every time they brushed together, the man’s deep-seated guilt buried inevery emotion. Yashiro had been kind, affectionate and warm since the moment hewoke up; comforting him, making him feel safe.Despite himself, Satoru could feel his mind already crawling closer to thedoor; could feel his heat-hazed brain trying to claw at the locks, fumblingwith fever.

“Don’t,” he whispered out loud, shaking his head. Hetried to hold on to the memories of pain:the ripping, tearing, all-encompassing ragewhen he’d tried to sever the bond. More than once, that person had hurt himmore than anyone ever had. Satoru tried to tell his head that, tried to get itthrough his own thick skull. Yashiro Gaku was dangerous, he was a killer, he—

He’syour mate, his mind reminded him, before it threw the doors open.

The reaction was immediate: Satoru could feel theother presence, relieved and elated—and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.His mind was a hurricane of lustdesperation anxiety lonely where are you please help me—and he could feel the moment the force of it hit Yashiro,the other man practically staggering in surprise. Still, desperately, Satoruclutched at him, wrapping himself up in his mate’s head, his distressshuddering across the bond.

Satoru could feel as the realization dawned onYashiro, his own thoughts echoing Satoru’s own. First came lust, then thefrustration and fury of being apart, simmering angrily and low. Still, hemanaged to send comforting thoughts thrumming up the thread—and Satoru let outa pleased sigh, the shivering of his body slowing to minor shudders. Steadily,Yashiro’s thoughts seemed to settle into something firm and resolute, a promiseentrenching itself in both their minds.

Don’tworry. I’m coming.

That was bad. That was very, very bad. People couldget hurt, and Satoru knew that, knew he had to tell him to stay away—but despite himself, he found himself nodding, reliefflooding through his system.

Yashiro was coming. And then everything would be okay.

Time went by agonizingly slowly when you’re alone inheat. Satoru remembered that from his past life: the few times he hadn’tmanaged to suppress his heat, the days seemed to crawl by, every minute feelinglike an hour. This time was no different, except that it was possibly worse: this body had only ever had itspresentation heat, and nothing since. Almost an entire lifetime worth ofhormones was hitting him at once, and there was little Satoru could do but liethere—squirming, sweltering, suffering.

And waiting. He breathed openly against the pillows, droolingand swallowing down precious air. Yashiro was still there in his head, resoluteand single-minded, a man on a mission. When Satoru reached out to him, theother man was quick to offer assurances and comforts—but he was clearly focusedon something else, overtaken by a single-minded determination.

But still not here.Satoru didn’t know if he was relieved or betrayed—maybe both. Just havingYashiro there in spirit did wonders for the emotional side of his heat, but hisbody was still being ravaged by the hormones, spasming wildly when another wavehit. There wasn’t much he could do but whine and ride it out, watching the sundip lower and lower in the sky outside his window.

He suspected he might be slipping in and out ofconsciousness, but he couldn’t really be sure—or, hadn’t really been sure until he jerked suddenly awake. Satoru cameback to his senses with a jolt, frantically looking around his empty room. Inthe evening light, the sterile white room looked orange and warm. But thatwasn’t what woke him up.

It took Satoru longer than he should have to identifyit, staring blankly at the ceiling, his lungs heaving.

There was a ringing. For a second, he thought it waslike the knocking—something coming from inside his own head, bouncing aroundhis skull—but no. His nose twitched, and immediately, Satoru could smell…ashes, and smoke. His brows furrowed together slowly, his hazed brain slowlychurning, before the conclusion snapped together in his brain.

The fire alarm. The hospital’s fire alarm was goingoff. Satoru’s eyes widened, inhaling the scent of burning as he turned overonto his side. His heart was hammering inside his chest, fear and hope beating togetherin time. Coincidence? No, there was no way: the timing was too perfect, tooconvenient. It had to be—

“Yashiro,” he whispered.

Yashiro was here. For him. For a second, joy surged through his body and soul, a softsmile breaking out on his face. He would make all of this better; he would makethe heat and the pain go away. Satoru swallowed thickly, his wet thighs squirmingin anticipation. Yashiro was coming, any minute, any second—

The killer wascoming.

Satoru’s eyes widened, his body freezing. That’s right:Yashiro was the killer. The person who had tried to drown him, all those yearsago; the person whose deadly resolve he could feel in his head, even now. Thesirens continued to wail in his ears, and he breathed frantically, his eyesdarting to the door.

He needed to get out of here.

Satoru grit his teeth and forced his arms underneathhim, his limbs shaking as he pushed himself away from the mattress. The dampsheets stuck to his skin, and he weakly kicked at them, detangling his legs.Just propping himself up sent his head reeling, nausea and vertigo making theworld spin in front of his eyes. Satoru panted, and slowly began to crawltowards the edge of the bed, grunting with every inch.

His fingers reached out blindly, and Satoru felt hisfingers hit the IV stand. With one hand, he grabbed hold, the tube tying hisarm and the bag together—with the other, he reached for the needle end, stillburied under his skin. Satoru took a deep breath, and pulled. Fuck, it hurt—the needle scraped againsthis vein the entire way out, leaving a bleeding patch of skin where theconnector had been.

With both arms now free to move, Satoru gripped holdof the IV stand, and began heaving himself to his feet. Immediately hiswobbling legs tried to give out from under him—they hadn’t been able to supporthis own weight in rehabilitation, and that was with supporting bars and braceson his thighs, not to mention his heat. Still, he refused to fall—so he leanedalmost the entirety of his weight on the metal pole, his knees buckling. Hislegs quivered with the effort but remained, ultimately, standing.

It would have to do.

Sweat and slick were still coating his every pore, andjust breathing seemed to invite more of the hotinto his lungs—but Satoru forced himself to take one shuffling stepforward. Every fibre of his body was screaming against it, heat-weary andexhausted; Satoru couldn’t even stand up straight, hunched over and panting,clutching at his make-shift support. But—

He needed to get out of this room before Yashiro gothere.

The door slid open, and Satoru froze, his headwhipping up to stare at the figure in the doorway.

The two of them met eyes, and then police officer’sshoulders sagged in relief under his uniform. “Fujinuma-san,” he started,“thank goodness you’re awake.” The man took two tentative steps into the room,making every movement slow and deliberate, his hands help up in a placatinggesture. “It looks like we’re going to need to evacuate you to another wing,alright? I’ll get you—”

Satoru barely saw the shadow crawling up from behindthe officer, before he felt the hot blood splatter across his shirt.

His eyes widened, his overheating pulse turning cold.Slowly, Satoru’s eyes dropped down to the floor. Red, bright red was splashedall over the pristine white room; he could already feel some of it was poolingat his toes, seeping under his feet. Somehow, the police officer was on theground—his body writing in pain, his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. Bothof his hands clutched at the fountain of blood gushing out of his neck, crimsonpooling out from between his fingers.

Satoru stared, his mouth parting but unable to make asound. The officer ripped one hand away from the wound, reaching blindly forthe two-way radio strapped to his hip—only for a pair of feet to step forward,crushing the man’s fingers with a crunch.Satoru shuddered, and followed the arch of that leg, his gaze crawling up untilhe was staring the killer in the face.

He was dressed in doctor’s scrubs, latex gloves on hishands and a medical mask covering his features—but Satoru would have recognizedhim anywhere. Under the thick metallic taste in the air, he could smell it: theheavy scent of leather and candy, possessive and overpowering, filling theroom. Nonchalantly, Yashiro tossed a bloody surgical scalpel to the floor,dropping it into the growing puddle spreading under the officer’s body.

Then he turned his attention elsewhere, and stared theomega in the eye.

Satoru gripped the IV stand in both hands, holding itdefensively in front of him like a weapon. Through his sweat-soaked bangs, heglared at the intruder, his arms and legs shaking with the effort. Everythingin his being was buzzing—it’s him, yourmate, he’s here, he came, just like he said he would!—but Satoru tried toswallow it down, even as the slick slid down his leg.

“Get,” he started, one foot sliding backwards, “getaway from me!”

The alpha stared at him for a long moment, unmoving, untilthe police officer’s movements slowed to a stop. Then, Yashiro lifted his footfrom the man’s hand, purposefully stepping closer to his mate. Satoru’s entirebody tensed, bracing itself as Yashiro closed the distance. The older manstopped in front of him, a pleased and fond sigh escaping his lips from behindthe mask.

“After all these years,” Yashiro whispered, reachingup and brushing his fingers across Satoru’s cheek, “you truly haven’t changed.”

Satoru stared up at his face, and felt somethinginside of him snap like a thread.

His knees were the first to go. There was a moment offreefall as Satoru’s legs gave out underneath him, his body lurching forward. Twoarms wound themselves around him, catching him and cradling him against someone’schest. Yashiro clutched him close, whispering comforts into his ear as helowered Satoru towards the ground. Distantly, he could hear the IV standclatter to the floor, bouncing in the blood before lying still.

A desperate whine escaped Satoru’s throat, and hesquirmed in Yashiro’s grip, the heat engulfing his body like wildfire. Thelogical part of him knew he needed to fight back, needed to get away—but none of his limbs werecooperating, all of them stiff and twitching. Even his head had rolled back,his neck wide-open and exposed; gently, he felt someone’s thumb brushingagainst his throat, hovering above his scent gland.

Satoru’s eyes fell half-closed, his breath hitching inhis chest. “D-don’t—”

“Shh,” Yashiro whispered, pressing down. Satoru’smouth fell open, the last of the fight ebbing out of his bones. He wanted toprotest, to fight back—but everything was already getting muddled in his brain,the finger swirling firm circles against his skin. Every muscle had turnedlimp, his arms and legs hanging uselessly and unmoving. Even his vision wasblurring, the world fading together into colours and shapes.

He opened his mouth to call for help, but all thatleft his throat was a shuddering moan.

“That’s it,” Yashiro continued encouragingly.Eventually, the finger left his throat—and Satoru could feel an arm looping itselfunder his knees, the other adjusting itself to cradle him his shoulders. With asmall grunt from the older man, Satoru felt himself being lifted, his head landingagainst the crook of Yashiro’s neck. Eagerly, he inhaled that familiar scent:leather and lollipops, just as strong as it was that day. It filled somethingin Satoru that he didn’t realize had been empty; a void in his own heart, screamingout for his mate.

“Don’t worry, Satoru,” Yashiro said, carefully steppingover the corpse. “No one will separate us again.”

Weakly, he gave a little hum, his eyes finallyslipping closed. How strange: like this, in Yashiro’s arms, with the scent ofblood still still clinging to them both—for the first time since wakingup, all those weeks ago—

Satoru felt completely at peace.

#yashisato #ABO!au #omegaverse #boku dake ga inai machi #erased #it feels like this fic goes from zero to sixty #t-though it takes fourteen thousand words to get there

[valerie-shadebrook]

  She hid behind her camera. It was easier to smile and be calm when you had a job to do. Self-assigned or not. She couldn’t be the sole support for Miss Abbey when so many of the people who surrounded her made her doubt herself. Hosted by Mister Rowe, a man who held no tongue at his over all discontent for her existence. Miss Cana and Mister Bales who she had quite fully made a fool of herself in front of. The Countess herself and her lady were incredibly intimidating.

   Of course, she couldn’t look at Torel. Not after that night in the Tavern. The event that had pulled her from ignorance, and into the wrong. Where she had lost all her higher ground and likely, all his respect. Then, there was Jago. Standing there like a statue on fire, always burning, smoldering. His voice echoing from behind metal and tormenting her with such casually spoken words to people who admired him so.

    It went well, all tolled. Excusing herself after the appropriate amount of time and when talk of her ex’s backside became the hollered subject of conversation. It was a silly thing to finally push her away, the mentions of seeing what had never been seen causing her to shake her head to push the visions out of her mind. It put a shadow over her heart and she had opted to depart for the evening. The photo’s she’d later develop would have to be her thanks to the host, Mister Rowe as she wasn’t able to do the proper thing and thank him before she left. Though she doubted very much the man cared if she had done the proper thing. Perhaps it would have only offended him.

   Stopping before leaving town to visit Lord Blakemore with an apologetic bottle of red wine in hand. Their conversation would have to be brief, her plan was to, in no uncertain terms, flee the city that night for Graystone. Something was calling her back to that family home. An urge much like homesickness, a hollowness in her chest that could only be fixed but the familiar stone walls and the love of those who lived within them. She didn’t understand why, only distinctly knew that it was so.

    She realized suddenly she may have been misleading Lord Blakemore with her intentions. It was easier than she could have expected to explain to him. She didn’t have possession of her heart, not that he had asked for it, or set out an expectation. He was ever kind and understanding. Still, she wanted him to know that she was wounded. There was no way for her to move forward while she still lingered in the pain of the past. He was exceptionally merciful and sweet with his reply. It caused a great deal of worry to fall from her shoulders and she believed his willingness to wait and his contentedness to remain as they were. Friends. She was in desperate need of friends.

    The journey to Graystone is a long one, by sea or by air. On the ship however, there were private quarters for the Kilmasters to steal away and be alone. She dared to use this room as a darkroom and be sure to develop the photos from the Campfire. In the red-lit room she had so much quiet time to think, watching the ghosts of faces slowly fade onto glossy sheets, like she was calling souls to imprint and become locked within. Macabre thoughts inspired by her missing friend. She had spoken to no one about Lady Holt’s sudden abduction. There was nothing to say and to whom she would say it, she didn’t know.

    Still it was her lovely face she kept seeing, for only brief flickers as each negative gave it’s picture away, before the real face became clear and it was another. First it was Cordelia’s. Nightmares for only the blink of an eye, over and over as if to tell her something horrible. It was only her imagination, of course. Only her mind connecting to images in a way that drew from logic to emotion and mixing up signals. Or so she reminded herself, over and over each time the look of wide eye terror flashed for only an instant before another, calmer face took it’s place.

    It was tricky to develop photos at sea, where it was humid but she did the best she could, setting them all on a line to dry before at some point, she must have laid on the couch and fell asleep. Awoken by the gentle nudge of the Sniper, who flinched at her startle. He apologized, the poor man having to follow her everywhere, just out of sight, but always watching. She wondered so many times what he must think of her. Of the charade she carried on. She also wished he wouldn’t hide. That having someone to talk to would be quite lovely more often than not. That wasn’t a conversation in that moment and she nodded her thanks before rising. 

    The port of Greystone was fairly large and from it, the grounds rose up as an impressive sight. She smile softly at it, as she moved down the dock and followed the rocky, weaving path up to the Castle proper. There was a buzz of something, she couldn’t pinpoint. A look on the faces of guards, they way the smiled and greeted her, the ladies on the staff how they seemed so... 

  “Lady Valerie! Oh thank the gods, you’re home! Where have you been girl?” 

  Val blinked up at the older woman, Miss Lana, a woman of dark complexion and deep eyes. “... ma’am?” 

  Before she could offer excuse or reason the Matron’s arm was around her urging her forward down the hall. “The babies, child...” Her voice was usually stern, usually quite to the point. In this moment, it was sweet and rich. 

  “Babies?” Val asked in a confused tone. “They aren’t due--” Her eyes went wide. “She’s had them?!?” She couldn’t believe it and soon, she was breaking into a run, leaving Miss Lana, chuckling in the dust. She raced through the stone hallways to where the previously, empty nursery was. She slowed down just before the door, and opened it like a normal person, not bursting in loudly. Though she was out of breath as she called out in a rasping whisper. "Ian?? Ali??"

    To be continued...

  {| @house-reinhardt - @iron-and-flesh - @caerston - @lorddeanblakemore - @house-morningstar - @cordeliaeresholt - @alistandra - @iankilmaster - @sniper-drake |}

#Princess Update 1/2 #Drabble #Long Post #TOO LONG A POST #tl;dr: stuff happened but babies!

[thealfanator]

The Steel that Warmed Us in the Night-Time ~ Chapter 6

Yennefer and Triss stared at each other from across the room.  The daytime sun leaked ferociously through the windows whilst also being remarkably soothing.  The innkeeper gazed upon the room with a casual boredom; it was ‘just another day’ after all.  The smell of beer stimulated the air like a bitter electric shock.  For what had seemed like days, the tavern was still noticeably empty – with people staying clear from it since the moment Geralt had arrived a few days earlier.

“I wonder how long they’ll be.” Triss brought up.  She felt awkward with Yennefer’s piercing, crystal-like eyes which failed to blink.  She merely nodded her head or grumbled a tiny sign of approval, then sighed.  Triss sighed too; trying to solve the everlasting grudge but failing miserably. Hunter watched from a distance, fondling over his own, large cup of ale.  His tired eyes dragged their way from Triss, then to Yennefer, then back again – constantly watching a competitive game of conversation.  Yennefer sighed again.

“They won’t be long, I hope.” She pointed out, “A couple of days?  It’s Toussaint, we’re talking about – as far as I know, Geralt loves fighting monsters in White Orchard rather than getting dressed up in a luxurious city…”

“He’ll want to escape the place as soon as they have the amulet.” Triss finished.

“Exactly.” Yennefer almost cracked a smile.  She looked at the floor with tired eyes, clutching her almost healed stomach wound.  From time to time, she prodded it with unsatisfying effect, exerting her frustration of not being able to mount a horse on an exceptionally thick, white bandage. She sighed again.

Geralt and Cirilla stood at the edge of the lively city of Toussaint, feet sinking slightly in the dancing, brightly coloured sand which slowly merged into a blinding pale green grass which coated the city’s structure.  Ciri laughed and enjoyed the bliss atmosphere whilst she looked around at the people who worked their day, carrying clothes, picking fruit or travelling along the cobblestone intestines of the city.  On the other hand, Geralt studied the layout once again, in a curious fashion.  He had been here before, but not in quite some time. They both shared a fascinated expression; green splodges of life dissolved into the red and white structures of the roofed tiles and infrastructure.  The air was crisp and Geralt could almost smell the delightful mood of the inhabitants here.  Flowers bounced around, overjoyed at every passer-by.  Geralt looked to Ciri.

“As much as you love it here, you know we have a business to do?” he prodded.

“Absolutely.” Ciri stared back, eyes still voluntarily open, drinking in the charm of Toussaint.

“Right…” Geralt, amusingly, did not look convinced. “I got good news and bad news. Good news first, we have large city to look for an amulet.  Bad news is exactly that! We have a WHOLE city to explore for an amulet, and further – we have no leads to follow.”  He sighed, “You ready to do some exploring?”

“You kidding?” Ciri chuckled, “I’d explore this town for days! Just say the word.”  They moved forward, deeper into the city.

           Geralt and Ciri decided to split up and take different roles so that they could expand their search for the amulet.  Geralt agreed he would delve deeper into Toussaint’s mazes and pathways whilst Ciri headed to a shoreline which surrounded a large, beautiful lake just off the side of the city.  Ciri continued to absorb the amazing nature of the place.  Her eyes as wide as a tiger’s, constantly observing the liveliness. People bustled around their business. She noticed that there were no true monsters here like in Velen; she hadn’t seen such purity and happiness to extents like this!  She walked up to a woman who, just outside her small cottage door, was picking some berries then washing them in a sweet-smelling bowl of water.

“Hello, Miss?” she poked politely, trying not to invade her business.  Luckily, the woman turned around without angry eyes but instead greeting her with immediate happiness.

“Yes, my love?” she croaked.  She was an older woman, with cloth-like clothing which seemed worn out from kneeling so much.  Ciri asked her about an amulet in the area – trying not to sound too desperate for an answer. The woman looked down at a wet patch of sand, but she was clearly in thought.  She stood silently, puzzled like a wise wizard in his tower.  After a few, awkward moments she replied.

“There was one… A man, a knight to be precise, who thought it would be funny to make a beast swallow it.  ‘Twas a peculiar beast; shaped like a bird – has feathers ‘n all that but it mostly stays underneath the lake there.” She pointed; Ciri followed her arm, “Every now and then, not often – mind you, does it burst out of the lake in rage, scaring all the people including me!  The rather expensive looking item as you said is clearly in its stomach. It looks too beautiful to ignore…” she trailed again into thought.  “Unfortunately, the rather arrogant man who forced it down its throat was also eaten. He may’ve deserved it, but I won’t wish death ‘un anybody!  It was a tragic day.”  Ciri looked down at the sand again.  It was almost like they were both sharing each other’s thoughts if only for a moment.

“Thank you so much.” Ciri said eagerly.  Just as she turned to leave, the woman called her again.

“Please, do me a favour and pick some of these gooseberries? I’d be ever so grateful.”

*

Meanwhile, Geralt stumbled into the city’s depths, wandering aimlessly and hoping for something to latch onto.  He randomly started asking people about an amulet in the area but found no immediate luck as they would usually keep their head down and slowly shy away.  He sighed again.  He sat by a bench, deep in thought.  The afternoon sun scorched his forehead and brought small entities of sweat to the surface like a father dragging his disobedient child.

“Hey, Witcher!” someone whispered.  Ears peeked up towards the sky.  The Witcher turned.  “I know somethin’ ‘bout that amulet you been askin’ about.” He cupped his hands round his mouth, trying to encourage his whispers.  He went across the busy street to meet the stealthily looking man who bent down into a crouch inside a doorway.  He was evidently one of the townsfolk and not a city guard, which was noticeable due to Geralt’s perceptive nature, and the fact he could see his ‘not incredibly expensive’ clothing.  “Let’s make a deal.”  They both leaned into the warm, wooden building and increased their whispers into a normal-sounding chat.  Geralt nodded, expecting more information.  “Look, I had a bottle ‘o wine which was stolen from me.  It was dear and I need it back.  I saw you, Witcher, ‘cause your kind ‘ave those swords! Please, fetch it for me and I’ll give you information about this task you’re pursuing.”  Geralt looked reluctantly at the man, but was forced to take on the quest.  He sniffed the area, picking up the trail.  For what seemed like eternities later, he returned from this mundane task with a frustrated look on his face and a bottle of half-drunk wine.

“I have it.  Now tell me about the amulet.” Geralt said as he passed the bottle back to the man.  Geralt had a headache from the frustration and had a rumbling sound and sensation in his head.  Trying to ignore it, he put his forefinger and thumb on his temple whilst leaning on a table.  It wasn’t until the wine bottle Geralt had just retrieved smashed on the floor after it fell off a shelf, that he realised the rumbling wasn’t in his head.  Books and ornaments shook, chairs wobbled. There was a vivid vibration through the floor.  The Witcher heard screams coming from outside.

“What the hell is that?” The man in the room screamed. Geralt used his hand to restrain the man from running wild.

“Wait here!” Geralt shouted above the chaos of sound, adjusting his swords in the process – ready for a potential fight.

           Geralt ran through the chaotic streets of Toussaint.  High pitched screams of women and children stabbed at his brain. He pushed passed in the opposite direction to the bolting people.  He cursed to himself, hoping that Cirilla was not caught in the mess.  Stalls were pushed over followed by the sprawling of food items which became bludgeoned with the feet of others.  After minutes of panicked breaths and the wish to move faster, Geralt came to a clearing.  Below him, past a few banisters and intestine-like pathways, he saw a large lake in the distance bubble and shake like boiling water.  He stood in shock, paralysed to the strange matter.  Decades of suspension and expectation passed before a griffin-looking creature burst out of the water, producing a storm of water which spread for what seemed like miles.  Shielding his eyes, Geralt noticed that this wasn’t a pure hybrid of a griffin, but instead a peculiar beast of a creature which he had not seen before.  It had jet-black feathers with a red-stained beak and large, evil eyes.  It zoomed into the air, screeching all around before diving towards the ground.

*

Ciri urgently shouts to the woman she was just talking to and others which crowded in awe around the beast.

“Get out of here!  Now!” She warned as she drew her sword.  The beast dived down towards the ashen-haired figure.  Ciri deflected its attack with a swipe of her weapon.  It was incredibly strong.  It continued to dip and dive around buildings and over the lake it had emerged from moments before.  Ciri continued to prick the creature.  Not long passed before she gave a powerful attack to it which caused it to spray blood, turning the sand to a stale copper-like colour.  It involuntarily smashed to the ground. Amongst the blood-spilling stomach, conveniently oozed the amulet.  The colour was coated with blood so much that Ciri couldn’t even see the glistening greens and blues of the gemstones which were embedded into it.  Geralt continued to look at the situation whilst desperately trying to reach her.  It proved quite difficult due to the high amounts of obstacles and great quantities of idling bystanders.  He looked a few dozen seconds later to see that he had made almost no progress at reaching her.  Ciri snatched the amulet immediately, breathing heavily at her achievement. Despite the situation, Ciri couldn’t help but grow a small smile.  They had retrieved their fifth amulet.  That counts six now; she almost forgot that the contractor already has one out of the ten they had to gather.  She continued to breath heavily, restoring the oxygen in her lungs.  The corpse of the bird lie a few feet ahead of her.  Geralt saw a bunch of city guards approach her with spears drawn.  They looked puzzled at the scene and, with their narrow minds, immediately grabbed Cirilla by the arms and dragged her like a cat held by its neck away from the situation.

“What are you doing?  I killed this creature!” Ciri yelled.

“Aye, you might say so, but let’s see what the queen says about the matter!  You could’ve meddled with other people with a bloody-stained sword like that!” one of the soldiers replied.

“Are you kidding?  You think I’d idly stand there and watch that monster bite away at the people of this city?” Ciri countered in shock whilst being continually dragged.

“We don’t know.” They blindly said from within their helmets. “For now, a holding cell is in order for you, missus, even if you are innocent!”  Ciri could almost sense their stupidity through their empty, iron suits. She failed to resist their physical prods as she helplessly flailed with them towards a jail cell far inside the large castle in the middle of Toussaint.  Geralt shouted at them and tried to push his way towards her, but he couldn’t make it and they couldn’t hear him.  He grew angry as he fell to the cold, hard floor, unable to keep himself upright in his shock.  After he came to his bearings, he stomped back into the alleyways of Toussaint in search for a better plan.

This is the start of ‘the Toussaint Trilogy’!  I hope you still enjoy the series.  It is very action packed!  Please feel free to leave me some feedback; direct message me or anything you like!  In the meantime, please - if anything - reblog because my mission is to expose my series to as many people as possible and increase recognition!  Nevertheless, have a great week :)

Link to Chapter 1: https://thealfanator.tumblr.com/post/161443706234/the-steel-that-warmed-us-in-the-night-time

#the #steel #that #warmed #us #in #night #time #chapter #six #geralt #of #rivia #butcher #blaviken #yennefer #vengerberg #ciri #cirilla #triss #merigold #witcher #rise #white #wolf #assassin #kings #wild #hunt