#vdaydrabbles

It was cold.

Not the cold that Arya had grown up in, not the chill that suffused her life every day nor the frost of her nights. It wasn’t the comforting snow or the beautiful dangerous ice that crept through her childhood.

It was cold, a blustery, depressing cold that crept under her skin and gripped her heart.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

And Sansa couldn’t protect herself. Arya knew the Northern armies would defend their gentle Queen with all they had, but Arya knew she was better than a whole army.

Especially with the best of the best (Jon and that foolish Clegane and the brash Brienne and all their trusted and untrustworthy allies and the dragons) fighting undead armies that didn’t even bleed.

She shivered, and stared off into the dying sunset. No, Sansa and Bran were in Winterfell, and she would keep them safe.

It was burning, not the Kings Landing heat that was hot and muggy and caused sweat to drip down each and every awkward crevasse of her, nor was it the Braavos heat that gave her the first sunburn she had ever acquired.

It was a burning from the inside out, a rippling heat that seared her and caused her to twist in pain, would cause her to scream if she had any moisture left in her throat to create the noise.

Tender hands pressed to her side, her forehead, her arms. “Sh, lovely girl, shh.”

Maybe the hands were gentle to anyone else, but to Arya they were rough, pressing her overheated flesh to the breaking point as she was tilted and a cup pressed to her lips. As soon as the liquid hit her tongue and throat, she found the strength to scream, spewing the brew out, feeling it dribble down her cheeks.

“Foolish girl!” Someone hissed out, and a moment later cool lips were pressing against her own, begging her to just obey, to just listen.

For him, she would.

It was cold, the feel of the blade against her arm even as she twisted to avoid the impact, instead letting it slide across her skin, the impact frozen in time for a moment before a line of blood oozed out, not that she could feel it. Arya lunged, her remaining knife finding the skull of the enemy.

Assassin, traitor, it made no difference now. Her sister was bleeding but breathing, and the threat nothing more than a dead man soon to be consumed by flames. Her brother was on his way back, an army on his heels, and soon she would have plenty more wounds inflicted, and many would be cut down by her Needle. She wobbled towards her sister and the man tending to the bleeding Queen.

Her arm burned, and she wheezed out his name, seeing dread in his clear blue eyes as she shakily said, “I can feel the cut…”

It was hot. She snuggled closer, letting her warmth infused limbs trail slowly over the object next to her. Her fingers curled against skin, and she forced her uncooperating eyes to open.

The skin belonged to someone she had never expected to see again, let alone this far north. His red and white hair was resting against the wall, and what she had grabbed was his hand, the only part of him under the blanket with her. She was curled completely to his legs, and her face rested against his arm and thigh.

“Wh...What?”

“Easy, lovely girl. Let it come naturally.” He reacher his other hand across his body and gently moved her sweaty hair from her face. She sighed and laid her head back down.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, and eventually she remembered. The fight. The one who jumped from the shadows and took her sister aside as Arya fought. The cut on her arm from a poisoned blade. The fire under her skin.

Arya writhed her way up, shivering as the drafty room’s air hit her sweaty skin, and grasped Jaqen’s shoulder. “You’re here. Why are you here?”

He said nothing, just watched her silently, the hand he had used to brush her hair he now pressed against her forehead consideringly, and nodded to himself.

“Jaqen.” She squeezed his shoulder as hard as she could in her groggy state. “You’re at the end of the world. There’s a good chance of death, whether from freezing or bleeding, and you are here.  Why?” She hissed the last word out desperately.

There was something her mother used to say to her, on the nights Kagome would wake up crying, missing a father she had barely gotten the chance to know.

The saying itself had never been what calmed her down; no, it was her mother’s soothing presence, her comforting hand on her daughter’s brow and the lavender and rosemary smell that Kagome would burrow into that made Kagome’s tears ease and nightmares fade.

Sometimes she would mouth it to herself-- “Stars can’t shine without darkness”--and while the familiarity of it, the memory of her mother’s love bolstering her spirits, she still didn’t understand it. Stars shined because they were space stuff, full of atoms and all sorts of other science. They glowed because that’s how they were built. The sun was a star, and it shined during daylight.

It took falling in love to understand her mother’s words. Waking up every morning to see Inuyasha’s eyes, bright with love and kindness and patience, she realized what her mother was telling her all those years ago.

Inuyasha had grown up in a bleak world, and every hope of finding home had been violently taken from him time and time again, and yet he had created a family for himself, and he had protected that family time and time again. He wasn’t just a star, he was a supernova, shining through even the darkest parts of her life, that moment when she was alone with demons and just one wrong wish away from losing everything.

“Stars can’t shine without darkness.” His voice, his eyes, his face, those had been her Northern Star giving her a path home, and it had taken so many years to make her way back to him, to their life together.

Kagome watched him smooth the hair away from their son’s face, slack with sleep. Her husband looked at her, tilting his head at her face, and she just smiled.

For once, she was alone with the only one she wanted: her annoying, aggravating, amazingly talented with his tongue, full time bodyguard and entirely too sexy coffee addicted war mage. They were blessedly alone, and from the moment she had realized it, she had wanted to do one thing, and one thing only: Ravish Pritkin.

And so far, everything was going according to plan. He was pinned underneath her, both legs on the floor, head rolled back for easy mouthing access, shirt and jacket tossed away, and pants loose enough for her hands to wander to her delight. His large hands were spread on her back, and she was loving the way his blood rushed under her tongue, the way he whimpered when she changed the pressure and the pace, and the friction from her shirt rubbing against his chest hair--who knew that something she had found so unappealing all that time ago would be driving her crazy now?

Life sure was strange. But oh--it was so much better than she had ever thought possible.

So of course, something had to ruin it for her. And that something was her pain the ass sidekick, her own personal manifestation of Scrappy to her Scooby gang, the cowboy with a distinct lack of filter.

“Hey Cassie, have you seen...oh my god!”

Cassie ignored him; Pritkin had decided to return the favors she had bestowed on his clavicles, and was currently showing her up, the jerk. She shivered and let her hands move in retaliation.

“Oh my god my eyes, I think I need to bleach them..Cassie stop ignoring me!”

She didn’t, letting her groan shift from annoyance at her former best friend to pleasure as the war mage moved north, and she clenched her thighs around him.

“Cassie, seriously, I have to ask you a...oh my god where are your hands? ARE THEY REALLY WHERE I THINK THEY ARE CASSIE WHY.”

She snickered and moved one slowly and confirmed his suspicioun, shooting him the bird and letting it make it’s way back, causing Pritkin to let out his own low groan and slide a hand down from her back to her…

“Gah!!! Cassie this isn’t funny! Dammit, I’m out of here, this is not okay, you are not a good friend.”

Cassie ignored him, and implemented phase two of Ravish Pritkin.

I’m making a master list of the drabbles I wrote for today for easy reference and for anyone who missed them.

Arya/Jaqen:

“Ghosttown by Madonna” for @darkeleni 

“High School” for @i-crossed-the-narrow-sea

“Blue Jeans by Lana Del Rey” for @needlestark

Chanceverse:

Angsty “I’ll Stand by You by Rachel Platten”  (Casskin) for @five-star-hellhole

“Bus Stop by the Hollies” (Casskin) for @overlycaffeinatedwarmage

“Roses are Red, Violets are Blue” (Casskin) for @natsing

“Third Wheel Billy” (Casskin) for @five-star-hellhole

“Breakfast” (Radu/Gunther) for @marcosburlybiceps

Arya loved clear nights like this. The city lights shone for miles over the dark, rolling sea. The effect captivated her, and on days she wasn’t busy, she would go to this spot she knew, a dilapidated construction zone, and just sit on the highest level, smelling the sea air and letting the colors fill her vision until all her worries were gone.

Braavos was a fun city, always busy and bustling and alive in a way that other cities could never be, it’s citizens never have had the hope suffocated from them the way their cousins across the sea had, had hope and honor and strength sapped from them in every way possible, like she almost had until she had finally fled after the rawest loss, run towards the only direction she had hope that a tomorrow would come, instead of another piece of her soul being crushed and killed.

She laughed softly to herself, stretching her legs out and wiggling her toes. It was a hot summer night, and the city was empty, most of the trade ships delayed due to a storm, and most of the fishing ships gone through the night to make up for them. There had been a rash of murders lately, and although they had stopped weeks ago, just enough fear lingered to keep most people inside during the darkness.

Arya had never felt the air invigorate her so much. She stood, relishing the cool breeze that swept around her and caressed her bare neck. Throwing her head back, she lazily walked closer to the water, ambling along the streets, listening to the radios playing behind locked doors.

Several minutes later she made it to the docks, and she hopped off the wood boards to land in the sand and rocks below. The girl made to the water's edge and slid her shoes off. There was a figure in the shadowy waves further in the water, and Arya grinned, unbuttoning her shirt and pants, stepping out of them before walking further into the balmy water.

The figure stood ab deep, which meant it was just shy of neck deep. She found his hand through the current, and lifted it, checking for scrapes or cuts. Finding none, she brought it to her face and nipped at his palm, flashing a wicked grin at him. “You’re in my spot.”

The man smiled indulgently and stepped back a few paces, stopped when Arya kissed the same spot she had bitten.  “Better?”

“Much.” She purred, relishing the way the water slowly slid down his body back to the water that started just at his hips. Arya had wanted to come enjoy the lights from closer, but this...this was just as good. She bent and sucked at the water droplets, feeling the most deadly man she had ever known shiver and catch his breath, and a heady euphoria came over her: the water, his skin between her lips, under her hands, the sand under her toes, the sound of her name oh so preciously said, whispering through the breeze….goosebumps sprang up and she pressed closer, humming happily as his hands began their own exploration.

Once she had been a wisp, dying in a city far from her family, yet so close that she felt bitterness and resentment at the possibilities so ripped from her, and then this man had given her a beautiful gift, had taken her from meek to powerful, shown her how to haunt those who would see her powerless. And then she had gone farther away than she thought possible, and found him again. And he had shown her, when those same people had sought to come to her new home and bring their plots and their ambitions and their evil--Jaqen had shown her once again how to make them disappear.

She moaned his name, nipping at his side, and he knelt, picking her up and finding the most perfect spot on her neck to whisper against and oh, she loved the feel of his skin through her fingers...and then they were moving, the water and words and tongue lapping at her and then she was floating and oh, oh…

Everything hurt.

Around them, the sounds of battle droned on: chants and screams and wails, fire and thunder and wind, but he ignore them and focused on the feel of Cassie’s hand in his as they backed further away, eyes on the twenty or so opponents advancing on them.

“Pritkin…” Cassie’s voice was weak, her hand shaking in his. Even with her heritage, she had been put through the ringer, one too many shifts, way too many spells, two too many instances of stopping time.

He squeezed her hand, not even grimacing at the knowledge that yes, three of his fingers were definitely broken. “I know. Stay close.” His watchful eyes noticed the movement , and he cussed even as he threw himself over the Pythia. “Move!”

The explosion sent them flying, tumbling over and over the broken environment, heads tucked together, one of his hands around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head no matter what.

Maybe he blacked out, he wasn’t sure, but he became aware that while he was breathing, he wasn’t in pain anymore. That was...not good.

He rolled off Cassie, and she scrambled up, mouth moving a mile a minute. He looked at her, trying to process her words, when he realized...he couldn’t.

He couldn’t even hear her.

Pritkin closed his eyes, trying to focus. It must have been a bad roll, his ears weren’t even ringing from the detonation, it was just...achy. Quiet.

Cassie had noticed. He opened his eyes when he felt her hands on his shoulders, and her eyes were panicked, mouth moving frantically. He shook his head, and tried to stand, and he must have yelled, for Cassie was immediately shoving him down, hands running over his leg, knee, arms, chest, checking for pain.

She stared in horror at all the blood that covered them, and stared at him accusingly. Pritkin shrugged. He hadn’t hidden anything from her this time, he had learned that lesson a long time ago. But still...if she hadn’t seen his injuries he couldn’t blame her. She had been a bit busy too. He grimaced and made to sit up, and instantly her hands were back on his shoulders, forcing him to lay back down. He shook his head again, pushing at her hands and rolling to his knees. Their enemies were still out there, and he knew they could be here any moment.

He focused on her lips to keep from throwing up from the movement. Her bottom lip was busted and her top lip scraped, but he ignored it and focused harder. It looked like...Stay...I’ll...bra...draw?...them...away...stay down….hide…

“Fuck that!” Blood leaked out as he growled the words, and Cassie grit her teeth and grabbed her hair in frustration. She picked up the speed of her words and he barely could read what she was saying, but he got the gist. He knew just enough to be bloody pissed.

“No way, Cassie. No. You are not leaving me.” He grabbed the hand pushing on his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at her. “No.”

She leaned in so close and screamed at him, his hair moving from the volume of her anger, and he ignored it in favor of getting his very broken leg underneath him. Despite her obvious rage, her hand instantly went to brace him and he struggled up, leaning heavily on her.

“I’m standing with you until the end.” He murmured, and her eyes filled with tears, but she leaned over and kissed his shoulder. His ears were ringing finally, he must have had busted eardrums, and over the war cries coming towards him, he heard his lover’s faint lament.

Some people think that the best thing a partner could do for you is let you sleep in, and then bring you a beautiful, heaping plate of your favorite foods and juice, decorated ever so delicately and topped off with a flower or two on a tray and let you eat without ever leaving your nice night cocoon spot under the blankets.

Some people have no imagination.

Yes, quaint as that is, it’s outdated and quite frankly, while it’s fun getting beds messy, there’s absolutely no reason to put oatmeal and strawberry crud all mixed together with your nightly sweat stains. Who wants to deal with that?

No, this was much better, Radu decided. Next to him, Gunther was toying with the jet in between bites of the omelette their chef had brought in. The platter of food included all sorts of breakfast delicacies, from intricate pastries shaped like snow drops to heartier servings of ham and bacon, and oh so many eggs and fruits and veggies. Radu nibbled on his own slice of toast, careful not to let crumbs fall in the water he reclined in.

The hot tub was sunk deep enough into the ground that it came to almost their shoulders, and neither he nor Gunther were short men. All around them, heated and spelled windows showcased the beauty of the land they were in, and let in the beautiful pre-dawn sky. Radu gazed at his lover, admiring the way the shades of blue washed over Gunther’s toned skin, the shadows and hues lit every valley and crevice that Radu could (and had) spent hours exploring. Reaching over, he poured himself another round of wine, and offered one to Gunther, who laughed and shook his head.

“Wine for breakfast? Careful, dear, one might start to think you as ordinary as an alcoholic.”

Radu wrinkled his nose. “That’s not funny.” He nevertheless set the wine down and stared balefully at the orange juice Gunther was drinking.

Gunther laughed, and scooted closer, kissing the tip of Radu’s nose softly. “Don’t pout. You’re too adorable and I really can’t be distracted from food right now.” He nuzzled the vampire a moment longer and then turned back to his breakfast, bypassing the omelette to grab bacon.

Radu leaned over to him, gently tracing the trail of Gunther’s spine down until it disappeared into the water, and that’s where he gently nibbled, smiling as Gunther groaned softly. “You really can’t be distracted…”

Gunther shivered as the cool breath hit his warmed skin. “It wasn’t a challenge. But if you want more of how we woke up to happen again, this frail mortal needs his calories.”

The vampire pouted again, hair dripping over his and Gunther’s shoulders as he embraced him from behind. “There is nothing about you that is frail.” He emphasized his words with a slow, deep caress from Gunther’s belly to his calf, and Gunther swore softly before turning with as much speed as his kind could possess, catching Radu’s hips and dragging them to his.

I have accomplished it, I thought, finally. Finally I have pulled him from the focus of spells, of training, of COFFEE. Who would have thought that to distract him I would merely have to go shopping for clothing.

He finally managed to speak. “What…” He cleared his throat. “What are you wearing?”

I grinned and posed, lifting and dropping each shoulder in turn as I walked closer. “Just a little something something I picked up while shopping last time. Do you like it?”

“Take it off.” His voice was hoarse, and he hadn’t looked away, his eyes burning into the apparel.

I grinned, so glad it was affecting him this much. “Maybe if you say pretty please….”

He sighed, finally wrenching his eyes to mine. “Cassie.”

“What” I breathed as I got close enough to let the fabric touch him. He closed his eyes.

“Take that hideous monstrosity off.”

Gasping, I covered where the ears would be on the alleged hideous puffer jacket. “You take that back! You’ll hurt it’s feelings.”

Pritkin rolled his eyes. “If it had feelings, be sure I could come up with even more insensitive words. I thought you were getting ready to go, we’re going to miss the bus if you don't hurry.”

“I’m ready.” I shrugged my shoulders at his once over. “It’s raining, and it’s cold. All my other heavy jackets aren’t rainproof, so I figured I’d wear this.”

We both looked at the admittedly ugly but warm jacket, then he rubbed a hand over his face. “I will never understand you Americans and your absolute ignorance of this thing called the umbrella.”

I rolled my eyes. “Umbrellas are so impractical! Getting in and out of a car with one without getting wet is almost a feat worthy of sainthood!”

“Ah yes,” Pritkin said dryly, “Because Americans still have not embraced practical public transportation.”

“Not to mention storing it, trying not to hit other people with it on accident, resisting the urge to hit other people when they deserve it...it’s just too much trouble!”

Pritkin wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him, so close that I could smell his weirdly sexy coffee breath. “You sure you don’t want to try?” He mimed holding an umbrella over us, and I moved closer.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try…You won’t let me get wet though right?”